#you can ofc write a fic where that happens. i eat those up all the time. but that doesn't mean it would've happened in canon

[themultifanshipper]

Can you write a fluffy carcar fic where imagine carlos trying to get oscar into golf? I saw oscar say somewhere that golf is frustrating- but carlos tells him "it's not frustrating, it's about patience" or something like that

He went to the golf course bc lando actually invited him after the wcc and all, and since lando was really insistent and he had time to kill, and he was like sure one afternoon won't hurt. So he goes, there by genuine accident they bump into carlos, and lando didn't think carlos was even back home so he was just as surprised to see him and then carlos ofc joins them but then lando has to leave (how convenient) so oscars suddenly all awkward

BUT THEN CARLOS IS LIKE ITS OK ILL TEACH YOU, ILL MAKE YOU LIKE GOLF

And suddenly oscars all flustered and both of them in their heads are all like "this is nice, omg this is really nice, why is this so nice!?"

Or something along those lines??

Oscar’s mind was going at a million miles an hour.

How he got into this predicament, with Carlos' strong arms wrapped around him while he shivered from the contact, was a mystery.

Warnings: smut, ass eating, inappropriate use of golfing equipment (gloves and balls specifically), public sex, kinda wild, i'll be honest there is not much fluff, asking me for fluff is like asking Fernando to retire, it ain't happening.

Lando. This was all Lando's fault.

He'd suggested going out for golf, which he knew Oscar wasn't particularly fond of.

And he was the one that had lost track of time and forgotten that he had a meeting to go to.

He'd also been the one to suggest Carlos join them, after running into the Spaniard by accident.

“It’s december!” he’d said. “We'll be the only ones on the golf course! It'll be fun!” he said. Well that was a fucking lie.

It may not have been high golfing season or whatever, but they ran into two people Lando knew from around Monaco, and Carlos.

The entire situation felt like the setup for a joke, and Oscar felt like he was the absolute butt of it.

Celebrating the WCC? Great idea. Golfing with Lando? Fine, why not. Golfing with Carlos? Not something he wanted to be doing in a million years.

He didn't not like Carlos, but every interaction they'd ever had could be summarised with two words: forced proximity.

Either they came together on track, or they were forced to interact by their mutual friends, namely Lando.

So he wasn't exactly fond of the man, but he tolerated him enough to be civil. And the less time he spent talking to him, the more time he had to check him out from afar.

Bexause he was hot as fuck, Oscar couldn't deny that. He'd caught himself checking his fellow drivers out on multiple occasions, but there were no cameras around now, so he could let his gaze wander a bit more freely.

As soon as Carlos agreed to go along with them, he knew this was going to be a long afternoon.

Golf just wasn't his thing. He’d tried. He'd really tried, he would do anything to please Lando.

But he thought it was a sport for pompous rich pricks who had absolutely nothing better to do with their time and money. He'd never had lessons, and Lando wasn't exactly a great teacher, so his form was shit, and to make matters worse, Lando and Carlos made fun of him for it.

Well excuse him for not growing up fucking rich!

“This is a shit sport!” he raged after missing yet another swing. “I just don’t get why you like it, it's so frustrating!”

Lando was too busy wheezing to reply.

“It is not frustrating, it is about patience. Observe”  Carlos put a ball on his tee, and positioned himself as if he was going to swing.

“You need to shift your weight as you swing, and don't aim for the ball, aim a few inches after the ball. And don't forget the position of your arms, the left one is straight while the right one is at a right angle, otherwise your aim will be all over the place…”

Carlos showed him the movement as he explained it, but Oscar had stopped listening entirely.

His eyes had zoned in on Carlos' arms. He knew the guy was fit, they were athletes after all, but he was absolutely astounded by how fucking enormous Carlos’ biceps were.

They were glistening with sweat under the sunlight as he flexed them. Then his eyes went to Carlos' pecs, which were also flexing, and looked like they were about to pop out of his polo shirt.

He was brought out of his reverie by Lando cursing loudly next to him.

“Shit! Guys I have to run, I completely forgot I have a meeting with my publicist in fifteen minutes!”

He left his stuff with them and sprinted away, promising to be back soon (they both knew he wouldn't, and one of them would inevitably have to drop his stuff off at his apartment).

Oscar was relieved, he could finally be out of this hell hole.

But as he picked up his bag of rented clubs to make his way back to the golf cart, Carlos put a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

“Oh no, Cabrón. We are not done here. I am going to make you a professional if it is the last thing I do.”

Carlos teaching him golf sounded like the last thing he wanted to do, and the older man was smirking infuriatingly, as if torturing Oscar into liking golf was the most fun he could have.

But a part of Oscar was curious. Maybe he could have some fun of his own. He knew Carlos wasn't a particularly patient man. Maybe he could rile Carlos up enough for him to give up.

Making an F1 driver give up on anything was a hard feat, but Oscar liked a challenge.

It was a bit awkward at first, Carlos made him get into position, which he did very wrong on purpose, to try and frustrate Carlos.

But the man didn't even sigh, he just started explaining all about how the handle had to be pointing at his belly button, and his knees needed to be bent, and he needed to twist his shoulders while lifting the club while still looking at the ball, and then he had to-

Oscar had stopped listening again.

While explaining each action, Carlos' hands were moving Oscar's body around like a puppet.

His skin burned wherever Carlos' hands made contact.

And after a while it started getting to him. Carlos' touches were getting rougher, like he was getting sick of explaining and repositioning him over and over again.

But instead of chanting victory, Oscar's brain was slowly frying at the harsh grip Carlos had on his flesh.

They were both sweating in the sun, and Carlos was damp.

He was plastered to Oscar's back, his arms around Oscar's arms, hands gripping the handle over Oscar's hands as he tried his best to explain… whatever it is he was trying to explain.

Oscar’s brain was on one thing only: the hard planes of Carlos' body pressed against his.

The Spaniards breath smelled like the minty gum he'd been chewing earlier, and his mouth was so close to Oscar's cheek he could feel the heat of his breath as he spoke.

He was sweating, and not just from the sun, his body was on fire, and he could feel his blood rushing down from his brain to his nether regions.

Carlos hadn't noticed at first, fully absorbed in his long winded explanation of the subtleties of hip movements to emphasize striking power.

But when he grabbed Oscar's stiff hips to twist and move them the correct way, the younger man gasped out the tiniest of whimpers.

That made Carlos freeze. “Are you okay?”

His hands hadn't moved from Oscar's waist though, and that fact was making his head spin.

Carlos’ eyes followed the movement of Oscar's Adam’s apple as he swallowed before nodding shyly.

The flush creeping up the younger man's neck was enough for Carlos to understand what was happening.

He gave his hips another squeeze. “Oscar…”

The Aussie let out a shaky breath, the way Carlos whispered his name made him close his eyes in embarrassment.

“Yes?” his voice cracked and he closed his eyes, waiting for Carlos to yell at him for being inappropriate, or uninterested in golf, or gay… or something.

But the yelling never came, instead Carlos chuckled darkly and squeezed the flesh of his hips.

“Is my lesson making you too horny to think properly? Pathetic… And ironic given how you seem to be the one trying to distract me with these shorts” he spat, pulling at the hem of the offending shorts, which would be considered indecent to anyone who wasn't Oscar.

But Oscar had a habit of not realising how he looked, and today Carlos was having trouble not ogling his body.

Carlos’ hand barely brushed his bulge, and Oscar whimpered again, looking down to see just how tented his shorts were.

He had no idea he felt this way about Carlos, but here he was, hard as a rock and secretly wishing that Carlos would touch him more.

“Maybe I need to teach you some discipline before you can learn to play properly…”

Carlos nosed at the back of his sweaty neck, pulling his hips back against his own.

Oscar gasped when he felt the hard press of Carlos' cock through his shorts.

“Do not worry, I can teach you everything you need to know” he growled into Oscar's skin, hand sliding around to cup Oscar over his shorts.

That's how Oscar ended up pressed against the front of the golf cart, leaning on his elbows, and doing his best to stay quiet as Carlos ripped his shorts down his legs.

“If I didn't know any better, I would think you were hoping this would happen, given how slutty these shorts are.”

Oscar wanted to protest. They were practical! It was 25 degrees out and excuse him for not wanting to wear fucking chinos to golf.

“They're not sl-” he tried to argue but Carlos landed a harsh spank to the back of his thigh.

He yelped but Carlos scolded him.

“First lesson, no arguing with the teacher.”

He hooked his fingers in the waistband of Oscar's boxers and peeled them off, groaning at the plumpness of the flesh in front of him.

“My god, it's a miracle your ass fits in those shorts at all…” Oscar blushed at the compliment, he knew what his body looked like, he knew he was gifted in that department, but Carlos praising him was turning his brain to mush.

He let out a surprised half-moan half-whine when Carlos spread his cheeks and spat, right on his twitching hole.

The act was so dirty, they were out in the open but Oscar no longer cared, he needed more.

He could feel the cool material of Carlos' leather glove against his overheated skin.

Carlos rubbed the pad of his thumb over Oscar's slick rim, making him keen.

“Lesson two: you have to be quiet or we are going to get caught. Do you want this to be our last lesson?”

Oscar was trembling with need, and his legs were seconds away from giving out if Carlos didn't get on with it soon.

“No! Please…” he whined pathetically and Carlos laughed.

He crouched behind down, spreading Oscar open.

“Then keep your mouth shut”

He licked a stripe from his balls up to his crack, and it took everything Oscar had in him not to moan.

“Good boy” Carlos praised, and dove in, licking and prodding at his tight rim.

Oscar could feel the strong wet muscle opening him up, it was obscene.

He bit his hand to avoid making a noise , he didn't really care about being kicked off the course, but he would rather avoid getting caught, with Carlos of all people. He'd never hear the end of it.

The repetitive feeling of Carlos' tongue breaching him had him gasping into his hand.

He pushed his hips back, his back arching as he fucked himself on Carlos' tongue, and the older man moaned at how quickly Oscar's body was betraying his need to be fucked.

He pulled away to suck a couple of fingers into his mouth, wetting them thoroughly before pressing them into Oscar's slick hole.

Oscar was on fire. Carlos was using his gloved fingers to open him up, and the slick leather sliding into him made him want to rip his own hair out.

Carlos stood up and put a hand on Oscar's lower back to make him arch more, which he did gladly.

Carlos was surprised at how needy Oscar was under him, writhing and gasping every time his fingers brushed his prostate.

Suddenly he had an idea on how to keep Oscar's mouth occupied.

He reached into his pocket, where he had one of those extra large golf balls used for training, and tapped it against Oscar's lower lip.

“Open up, Oscar. You can suck on this to stop yourself making too much noise” and Oscar opened his mouth immediately and stuck out his tongue, taking the ball in his mouth almost too eagerly.

He was submitting beautifully, and Carlos had to unbutton his pants and pull them down, just to take some pressure off his now aching cock.

Once he deemed Oscar ready, he spit on his hand, slicking himself up and pushed in slowly.

Oscar couldn’t hold it in anymore, despite the ball gag, he moaned loud.

“Shit” Carlos hissed, slapping a hand over Oscar's mouth. “You need to be quiet”

Oscar was unable to respond, he was too busy drooling over how well Carlos' cock was stretching him out.

So Carlos took the ball out, accidentally shifting his hips which made Oscar’s eyes roll back and he let out a high pitched squeak.

Carlos then took his glove off, baled it up and shoved it into Oscar's mouth.

He then thrust into him hard enough to make him moan loudly again, and was satisfied when the glove successfully muffled the noise.

Or at least enough so that they couldn't be heard within a few hundred feet.

He kicked Oscars feet apart to spread him further, and slammed into him again.

Oscar was sure he could feel Carlos all the way up to his fucking throat with how deep he was inside him.

The sound of Carlos' hips slapping against Oscar's plump flesh made the two men wild as their bodies made contact over and over again, pushing and pulling against each other.

Oscar was doing his best to push back against the onslaught of Carlos' savage thrusts, but his body was slowly giving up on him.

His knees buckled, and Carlos wrapped his arms around him, pushing him harder against the now searing metal of the front of the cart.

He reached a hand down to wrap around Oscar's leaking cock, squeezing rythmically with each thrust and Oscar was a goner, he came with a muffled wail, painting Carlos' hand white, along with the front of the cart.

Carlos followed quickly after, hips stuttering as he filled the younger driver up, biting his lip to muffle his deep groan.

After a few seconds of trying to regain his sanity, he pulled his glove out of Oscars mouth and pulled his softening cock out of him.

Oscar sighed, leaning his head against the surface with his eyes closed in bliss.

He didn't register Carlos moving around until he felt him lick up the cum that was seeping out of his used hole.

He jolted, gasping as Carlos cleaned him up, lapping up his own cum and overstimulating Oscar to the point where he started wriggling and the Spaniard had to hold him in place.

The lewd slurping sounds were almost humiliating, and he was suddenly acutely aware of how exposed he was.

But that just served to turn him on again, and if Carlos had carried on for much longer, he would have definitely been up for another round.

Thankfully though, he soon deemed Oscar cleaned up of his cum, and helped him pull his underwear and those goddamn shorts back up.

He turned Oscar around and grabbed the back of his neck to press their lips together in a kiss that very quickly turned filthy and they made out for a few minutes, until they were in desperate need of air.

As they panted into each other's mouths, Carlos grinned.

“Rule number three: one lesson is never enough”

Needless to say, Oscar got a membership at that club. And he met up with Carlos every week for lessons, which they did not invite Lando to.

 Lando found that a bit strange, but he wasn't going to complain, he was just happy his two friends were finally getting along.

[arminsumi]

can i get an eager, inexperienced gojo? he is probably so silly and loving during sexy time but he still acts like a horndog, not sure where to touch, kinda nerv but tryna cover it up bc he’s the strongest sorcerer, ofc he’s been with so many ladies before!!!! (he hasn’t but he doesn’t want YOU to know that)

love your works as always stay safe💗💗💗

AIN'T NEVER DID THIS BEFORE, NO.

𝐆. 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 — 五条悟

NOTE: this made me think of that j. cole song so i looped it while writing all 2.3k of this fic 🥴 i hope u like what i did!! mwaaa smooches!! hope ur well <3

🔞 mdni / 18+ content

SUMMARY — Gojo's saved up his virginity ever since he met you, savoring every wet dream through the years until he finally got the real thing in a hotel room in Okinawa.

WARNINGS — fem reader, n.sfw content, profanity, pre-established relationship

SMUT WARNINGS — virginity loss, light dirty talk, nicknames (good girl, sweet girl, daddy), Gojo's so nervous and inexperienced wheee😩💗, protected sex/condoms used, multiple rounds (2), kitty eating, giving him head, fluffy ending scene, lmk if i have missed smth and pls overlook errors i'm slepy asf it's 2am

Wordcount ≈ 2.3k

Playme ♪ wet dreamz

🍒 𝐉𝐚𝐲 — サクランボ ⋅ 𝐑𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬/𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐭 !

You can’t miss the way his Addam’s apple shifts up and down when he swallows, or the way he gawks when you wiggle out of your clothes and toss them off the side of the hotel bed.

Where are my hands supposed to go?

He’s thinking that while haphazardly squeezing a large handful of your hips and hotly kissing your neck.

This has been his long-anticipated dream come true… see, Gojo Satoru met you in high school. And the first thing he thought to himself was I want her to take my virginity. So, he had promised himself that one day, when he was older, he was gonna give it to you.

All his cheeky flirting and dirty jokes got him here, in this room of some dreadfully expensive hotel in Okinawa. Yes, he’s cheesy, as cheesy as he was when he used to lean over his desk during high school to whisper dumb pickup lines into your ear; he requested rose petals and wine. He had the lights dimmed. He laid you down with kisses right on top of those strewn petals.

Crazed, feverish, eager, overwhelmed; he was bursting with a bunch of feelings – predominantly horniness. He’s always had that horny twang about him, he was unashamed about it around you – it’s what got you hot for him in the first place, the fact that he was so bold with his dirty jokes and naughty hints.

But now he’s struggling to find his words. Now that smart mouth is sparsely throwing out witty remarks. Now he was heavily relying on comedy to ease his nervousness and mask his inexperienced movements.

He let you roll on top and savored each kiss that you pressed down his chest – heaving, he was heaving and hot already and all the two of you had done so far was romantic French kissing and tentative touches across each other’s bare skin.

The heat of your flushed cheeks seared his lower abdomen.

How low is she gonna go – oh my god what do I do – play it cool – oh my god is she actually – wow this is really happening.

Such a mess of goofy thoughts passed through his mind when you pressed a testing kiss to his glistening cockhead. Giving the slit a lick made his shoulders scrunch up, and his voice shook a bit, “Shit, baby, you don’t have to do that if you don’t w – want to… oh fuck…”

“But I’ve wanted to suck it so bad, I’ve thought about it so much.” You batted your eyes at him.

His stomach flipped.

“O-okay… ” he breathed. In the back of his mind, he was self-conscious about sounding like a virgin… because he totally was. And he wasn’t masking it very well when you started kissing and licking on his cock.

Feling your tongue swirl circles around his bulbous head, then swiping the underside, nearly made him bust right there. It took every bit of this strong boy’s strength to hold it in. And there was a lot to hold in.

“Oh that’s so fucking good.” He moaned.

You lowered your lips down his slickened cock, the warmth and texture of it delighting your tongue. Taking in his scent, his taste, his sounds – when you hollowed out your cheeks and suctioned your lips around him, he let out an uneasy moan. He was really gonna bust right there in your mouth if he didn’t tell you to ease up.

“B-baby, you’re so good at that – but – but fuckkk – slow down f’me…” he pleaded, big hand coming to the back of your head as you slid off his cock – that also almost made him bust. Oh god, you unknowingly edged him. Maybe you knew that, because you giggled at the way his cock jumped and visibly twitched after popping your lips off of it.

“Sorry, you good?” you asked him sweetly. He looked at you through lust-glazed eyes, his lower lip glistening with a bit of drool.

“ ‘m okay – fuck come here and get on your back. ‘Wanna do that to you too.” He commanded you, eagerly shuffling positions.

He lowered his face between your legs, marvelling at the shiny wet sheen smeared across your inner thigh. A thin web of juice connected from your hole.

“Sorry, I know it’s rude to stare.” He chuckled, joking to lighten his nerves. But earning a laugh from you made his heart flutter before he dove right into it – now here’s where you realized something.

He was inexperienced. Totally. Sweetly so. His tongue flicked and darted around, swiping along your slit, gathering your juices like he was thirsty. The way he licked you up felt like he was some college boy giving his crush head in a lucid dream.

But if there’s one thing you know about Gojo Satoru, it’s that he can do anything he tries. You started out giggling and squirming on his face, and ended up squealing his name and arching your back. Switching between suckling at your clit and lapping at your folds and slipping his buttery tongue into your hole – he was having fun figuring it out.

And my god, he had the biggest, smuggest, most smackable grin on his face when he made you cum.

“W-wipe that grin off your face.” You panted, half-dazed from your orgasm.

His grin only grew wider. Now he was feeling a bit cocky, a little high on a sugar rush of confidence because he just made the girl of his dreams cum from a little amateur tongue-fucking.

“You musta really wanted it bad, huh?” he teased, crawling up to meet your face and pressing a few wet, sloppy kisses to your awaiting lips. You could taste yourself, and he was conscious of that – and it made him almost bust on your tummy. You felt his cock jumping and twitching and throbbing against your skin.

“Don’t get all smug now…” you muttered.

His plumped, flushed lips hovered over your face. “Thanks for the meal.” He whispered jokingly, wiping your juice off his cheek with his thumb and suckling it off.

“Hahaha what!” you broke out laughing. “You’re ridiculous!”

He ran his tongue over his lips to tease you, “Tasted better than in my dreams.”

Now that made you flush hotter underneath him. Because for some reason, it hadn’t occurred to you that he had wet dreams of you. But he did. And he was too embarrassed to admit the number – it was big. He dreamed of you a lot. Especially taking you from the back… so naturally

“Turn around f’me, please?” he asked, “I wanna see you from the back.”

Your lack of hesitation to switch positions for him made his heart thump.

“Good girl…” he muttered under his breath, unsure of how you’d take the nickname. But hearing your giggly hum and seeing your hips wiggle up to his pelvis reassured him that you liked it.

So he engulfed you from behind, “You like that?” he whispered into your ear, big hand smoothing over the curves of your body to get a good feel of it. “Want me to call you a good girl?”

You nodded into the plush pillow, “Yes please. I like it.” You mumbled into the fabric.

“Can’t hear you, speak up.” He smiled against the shell of your ear teasingly. “Daddy’s hard of hearing.” He joked.

You rolled your eyes at his dumb goofiness. For some reason you thought it would switch off in the bedroom, but no – he was just as much as a dumb good in and out of bed.

“ ‘call me your good girl, please. I like it.”

His cock twitched. He’d started rubbing and pressing his cock into you from the back. The way your thighs and plush little pussy hugged him was better than any dream – lucid or not. And he’s had a lot of lucid wet dreams of you. Of this, specifically; taking you from behind. In his dreams, he’s pounding into you so good that you cream and cream and cream all over him. He just hopes he can actually achieve that in reality.

When he lowers his hands and fists his cock a bit before running the head between your folds, a pang of nervousness strikes his chest. That feeling came over him – that realization that oh, I’m gonna have my first time.

“So pretty…” he compliments, one hand soothingly caressing around your pussy.

To you, it almost feels like he might have done this before – you’re not sure – with the way he lightly smacks his cock on your hole, and the way he tests your smallness by slipping his tip in and out, you think he’s probably got at least a bit of experience under his belt.

But no. No, not at all. Not even a little bit. In fact, before you, he only kissed two people – and the first didn’t count to him because he hated it, and the second also didn’t count apparently because he was just practicing with Suguru in anticipation of kissing you one day.

“Fuck me…” he hissed through his gritted teeth when he finally sunk more than his tip through your hole.

“Fucking didn’t expect it to feel this good…” he thought out loud. “Might bust right here… fuck.” He blurted, then proceeded to boyishly blush.

Little hole squeezing on his virgin cock, hips wiggling back to meet his pelvis and take him deeper, you pawed behind you to feel him. “Baby, I-I gotta tell you something.” He begins embarrassedly, the nervous twang in his voice is so unfamiliar that you look back at him. “I’ve never done this before…” after he said that he sucked in a breath through his teeth at the feeling of your hole tightening and untightening.

You blink at him, and he’s worried for a split second before you smile sheepishly and tell him that he’s your first, too. Well, that little fun fact is what made him snap his hips against your ass and start fucking into you like he was some sort of crazed animal. He felt dizzied with the rush of pleasure, so stirred by the feeling of your pussy sucking his cock – there was no comparable thing in the world to him right then. He was definitely gonna become a sex-crazed fiend after this night, he thought. Absolutely. How could he not?

“S’toruuu – right there right there!” you cried out his name with such a pretty, strained voice that it made him want to tell you he loves you.

“Here? You like it here?” he hit that spot harder and harder, the squelching sound so dirty that you almost felt ashamed for a second. “My good girl gonna cum like this? Yeah? F-fuck t-t-tell me when you’re close ‘cause I’m close – really fucking close – fuck fuck fuck ahhh ‘gonna cum!”

He’s driving into that sweet spot while he cums, spilling a warm creamy mess into the condom – completely falling to pieces. Gojo’s always been inclined to obsessing over things, and he knows right then – when he cums with your quivering pussy sucking him in – that he’s gonna be obsessing over sex with you after this.

“Keep goinggg ‘m gonna cum too, please!” you whimpered from underneath him. He heard you, he was attentive even though he was panting and dazed. His thrusts got sloppy and he weighted on your body more heavily, you could feel his heartbeat.

“Good girl – g-good girl, rub your pretty clit. Want me to do it for you? M’kay sweet thing, lemme get you there – ah yeah? That feel good? You like daddy’s fingers toying with this pretty pussy? Oh fuck you’re gonna cum aren’t you?” he breathed all that into your ear and it absolutely destroyed you, especially with how those intense blue eyes piercingly stared down at you from behind.

“Get that relief, pretty girl – cum all over me. Fuck, there we go – oh wow…” he hit another sweet spot, feeling you gush and writhe under his imposing frame got him close again. “Fuck, baby – just a second, j-just a second ‘m gonna get ‘nother condom, n-need to fucking cum in that pussy again.” He pulled out quick, fingers struggling to free his cock of his already filled lil’ rubber. Squeezing into another one was one of the fastest yet most frustrating things he’s done in a while – oh, you just know that he’s gonna ditch the condoms as soon as you give him the green light to do so. Patience, he thought. He’s gonna need patience and a lot of rubbers.

“Ah fuck me! Satoru!” you arched your back when he re-entered.

“ ‘m gonna cum again, baby – fuck – s-sorry is it too much?” he breathed into your neck. Sweat beaded down his torso, down his thighs – both your bodies pricked with just enough sweat to make it erotically uncomfortable.

You barely managed to tell him that it wasn’t too much because of the way he was sloppily hitting his cockhead into your pussy. Feverish, dazed, pussy-drunk and love-drunk, you felt his hot lips nibbling at your shoulder, then he unexpectedly sank his teeth into your skin. It wasn’t sore, but those canines were a bit sharp.

Muffled moans on your skin sent a shiver down your back, one that travelled to your ass and thighs.

Rolling off to the side, panting and laying exhausted and unmoving.

“Fuck.” He muttered as if to say that was mind-blowing.

“Fuck.” You agreed.

“And ya didn’t even tell me you were a virgin!”

“You didn’t tell me, either!” you giggled, rolling into his embrace.

“But it’s hot if the girl is a virgin!”

You laughed with him.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you asked.

He stayed silent for a little while, pulling you closer and caressing your shoulder. The two of you stared up at the ceiling.

“It’s embarrassing.” He admitted. “There was a time I wanted to lose my virginity just so that when I finally got to you, I’d be able to please you better. But I’m glad I waited…”

“Mmm really?” you hummed, he felt your smile print on his chest.

“…yeah.” You could hear his little smile in his voice. “I’m glad I gave it to you.”

[byfulcrums]

Maybe they would have been able to save Anakin together, but that doesn't mean he wouldn't have fallen if she had stayed

The Council 'betraying' her was definitely something that made him distrust it even more, yes. But if that hadn't happened, there's still literally everything else. His mother's death and Rako Hardeen, for example. Palpatine's influence is still there, regardless of Ahsoka staying or not

The thing about Anakin, is that he chose the path he went down. And he would have still chosen it with Ahsoka at the Temple. Anakin, as he is right now, would have tried to spare her, by bringing her to his side. But it wouldn't have worked, because she would've refused

Anakin killed everyone he grew up with. He tried to kill Obi-Wan too. He almost choked Padmé to death, and she was the one he was trying to save in the first place. The Dark Side clouds your vision, makes you do things you never would've done before. And that includes murdering your own family. If he truly needed to, and especially if Palpatine made him believe that Ahsoka ""betrayed"" him too, he would do another murder attempt

If Ahsoka stayed, it wouldn't have changed much, because Palpatine's influence is still there. She, like everyone else, wouldn't be able to see what he's been truly doing to Anakin, and therefore she couldn't have helped him. Palpatine is, like, really fucking smart. He would've found another way to make Anakin fall even if Ahsoka was with him. And, most importantly, he would have found a way to separate them so he could get to him

And a last thing: they broke pieces of his mask, not all of it. They didn't evenly cut through that helmet thingy, they just broke enough of it to be able to see his eye. They don't even see his mouth!

Ahsoka and Obi-Wan would have been able to make Anakin be seen. But it was only Luke, who actually removed it from his head without even breaking it, who could bring him back to the light

dunno who needs to hear this, but if ahsoka hadn't left she wouldn't have saved anakin, she would have just died

[poledancingdinos]

You're My Person

Pairing: Captain Syverson X OFC (1st person POV)

Word Count: 1139

Warnings: Domestic Fluff

Taglist: @summersong69 @amberangel112 @utterlyhopeful-fics @marantha ​ @kebabgirl67 @littleone65 @omgkatinka @luclittlepond @elizabetharegina @enchantedbytomandhenry @narnianaos @geralts-yenn @peaches1958 @avengersfan25 @sillyrabbit81 @lena-banena @mrsevans90 @confessionbrain-writings @eclecticfashionbookszipper @rosecentury @shellyshellshell @winter2112rose @secretdream2 @toooldforobsessions @wa-ni @valacircareads @missemrose @liecastillo @identity2212

Masterlist

“Ow! Motherfucker!” I rubbed my head where I’d hit it on the kitchen cabinets. Yes, I hit my forehead on the eye-level kitchen cabinets. No, it unfortunately wasn’t the first time. Yes, I did foresee it happening again. 

The washing machine buzzed, giving me an excuse to escape the kitchen and leave behind the sink full of dirty dishes. If I didn’t immediately hang the laundry on the line, I would definitely forget to do it until the next time I tried to start a load and found the washer full of moldy clothing.

When I came back in, nearly tripping over Aika who darted outside right as I opened the door, I found Sy leaning with one shoulder on the kitchen archway. Instinctively, I checked his feet to make sure he wasn’t leaving dirty footprints on the freshly mopped floors.

“Hey, did you want me to get you something before I start the dishes?”

It wasn’t unusual for him to ask me to get him a drink when he came in with grease-covered hands. Having a mini-fridge—or even a second full-sized fridge—in the garage might be something to consider in the future. The extra freezer space would not go to waste with Sy’s appetite resembling that of a starved animal.

“Actually, I need ya to come downstairs with me.”

Confused, I set the empty basket on the table and followed without protest. I was expecting him to show me some new problem that would need to be fixed in the bathroom we were renovating, but instead he caught hold of my wrist and led me the opposite way towards our lounge area.

Sy pointed at a spot in the corner of the sectional couch where all my fluffy blankets were waiting.

“Sit.”

He waited until I obeyed before pointing to a steaming mug of hot chocolate that I hadn’t noticed was waiting for me on the table.

“Drink.”

Finally, he handed over the TV remote.

“Watch. No more work, no more chores, I don’t want ya back upstairs until you’re singin’ about pineapples and not tellin’ the truth.”

“Pineapples aren’t in the theme song,” I corrected without thinking, taking the remote.

“Blueberries then.”

“Those aren’t in the song either.”

To his credit, Sy fixed me with a sharp look but kept the annoyance out of his tone. “You’re doin’ it again.”

I was. I’d been picking fights over the most insignificant things all day—sometimes even with inanimate objects. In my defense though, carefully clearing the jammed paper didn’t keep the printer from eating more pages but threatening to throw it off the roof sure as hell seemed to finally make it run smoothly.

With a sigh, I let my head drop on the back of the couch. “You’re right, I’m sorry. Thank you for all this. You can go back to what you were doing.”

Making myself comfortable with one blanket around my shoulders and another over my lap—a necessity even at the height of summer since the whole house was on Sy temperature—I picked up the hot chocolate from the table. I gently blew on the hot milk before taking a small sip. Sy had made it just how I like it with lots of cocoa, sugar and a tiny pinch of salt instead of the pre-made mix. 

“What’s wrong?” I asked when I noticed Sy hadn’t moved. He stood in the same spot, arms crossed over his chest and frowning at the ground.

“Nothin’,” Sy scratched his scruffy cheek before putting his hands in his pockets, “I’m just realizin’ I have no clue what your favorite show is even about.”

Sy wasn’t really the binge-watching type. Actually, he wasn’t really the watching type period. Occasionally he would hear about a new show or movie that he specifically wanted to watch but other than that he normally did his own thing when I watched my shows. That was why we had our main living room upstairs and a movie area downstairs.

“I’ve explained it before, haven’t I?” I took another sip of my hot chocolate, humming in satisfaction.

“Sort of,” he shrugged. “You said it was a guy pretendin’ to be a psychic but I never understood why the boxset had a pineapple on it.”

“The lead actor ad-libbed a line with a random prop pineapple in the pilot and the showrunners ran with it. The blueberry is from a line in the second season and it refers to their little blue hatchback.”

There were numerous magnets on the fridge with silly quotes from the show or fanart which was how Sy knew about the fruity references but not the actual plot of the show. I also had a habit of humming the theme song around the house when I was feeling particularly perky.

“Huh.” There was another moment of silence before Sy seemed to shake off whatever thoughts were going through his head. “You need me to put a DVD in for ya?”

“No, I think I’ll stream it while it’s available. That way I don’t need to get out of my blanket burrito to change seasons.”

With a nod, Sy kissed the top of my head and left me to pick out an episode. I didn’t really know which one to watch so I found a number generator on my phone and had it pick one for me. I wasn’t currently doing a rewatch so there was no reason to follow any particular order.

To my surprise, Sy returned with snacks and a beer right as I prepared to press play. He had swapped out of his work clothes for a pair of grey sweats and an old army shirt.

“I thought you had stuff you wanted to finish in the garage?”

He dropped by my side with a groan. “Changin’ the breaks can wait until next weekend. I’ll sit with you for the evenin’ and take care of the rest of the chores tomorrow.”

“What about supper?”

“Food will be here in an hour.” One large arm wrapped around my shoulders, pulling me into his side. “Now, what do I gotta know before we start?”

Nervous energy passed through me and I had to actively try to contain my excitement.

“There’s nothing specific to know for this episode but in general? We never skip the opening or ending credits, I will sing them every time and if you see the hidden pineapple you have to point it out.”

That seemed to pique Sy’s interest. If anything, it would give him something to focus on if he got bored halfway through which I really hoped wouldn’t happen. He set a bowl of popcorn on his lap and nodded for me to start the episode. Smiling to myself, I sank deeper into his side and leaned my head on Sy’s shoulder.

I was feeling better already.

[jade-len]

hello yes i'm that one guy who was asking if people would be interested in svsss x / & gn or male reader fics (also tysm for the comments?? like i was not expecting so much support. i really appreciate it!)

i've decided on writing idea 3 first, the bingge one! ...albeit with a lot of tinkering lol. if you don't know what i'm talking about, feel free check out my last (and first) post.

however, because i am very indecisive and absolutely cannot make many decisions on my own without some guidance or opinion, i would like to ask for a little feedback!! please choose which idea you like more, and i might write that one first.

i feel like the themes in both ideas are pretty similar, though just approached a little differently. i don't really wanna spoil how it'll entirely go ofc.. but there def is more to them, i hope it'll be sorta clear once i present both routes!

i can't promise i will go with the more favored idea, but it will definitely heavily influence my final decision! please don't be afraid to ask any questions, i'll answer :)

if i end up choosing the one you were less interested in, don't worry! remember, this is what i'm going to be writing first. it doesn't mean i won't write the other one too.

route 1:

an enemies to friends to lovers type deal! a slow burn fanfic where you are pretty much the opposite of shen yuan's passive nature, absolutely fuck with luo binghe's plans (at least, the ones you know of..), and slowly find the small, bruised boy hiding under that proud front. will be rated M.

that manipulative bastard, luo binghe, hurt everyone you loved and cared about. he tarnished the sweet gongyi xiao's reputation, seduced your fiance, and shredded the small, remaining pieces of self worth you had left in your heart.

you played right into his clawed hands, believing his charismatic front and pretty lies. you were naive, downright stupid. you and huan hua palace welcomed luo binghe with opened arms after he crawled out of the endless abyss, and because of it, those you cared for suffered.

really, you were so easy to manipulate. if only you noticed earlier. you couldn't do anything. no- you wouldn't do anything. if you weren't such a coward, perhaps this would've all been prevented. this isn't fair for everyone else. why did you get to live, while those who fought back and stood up against luo binghe had to suffer?

the survivor's guilt eats you away every waking moment of your life. and, when that's not happening, your sleep is plagued with nightmares of what could've been.

it's too late. luo binghe is now the almighty emperor of the two realms. he can easily overpower anyone who gets in his way, and especially you.

while you certainly wish to beat luo binghe, you don't hate him.

maybe this is just the softer side of your brain, but for some reason, you can't shake off the empty, miserable look in his eyes. even as he's surrounded by countless of maidens and riches, luo binghe looks as though he he'll never be truly fulfilled.

what is it, luo binghe? do you need more power, more gold? a hundred more women, perhaps? do you regret killing them? do you regret not killing more? why is it that even with your intricate mask, behind it is a hollow shell?

it's strange. you should absolutely detest him, but instead, you pity the king. luo binghe is a man who has everything, yet it seems as though he cannot find any sort of happiness through it.

when you travel back in time - exactly right after the demonic invasion where luo binghe was pronounced dead - you are determined to make things right.

you won't let anyone suffer from his wrath. you'll play your cards smart with that very same poker face luo binghe uses. use your knowledge of the future to your advantage. be smart, all the way from the start.

when luo binghe enters huan hua palace, you are the stronger, better person you were too scared to form into before. "gifted with the knowledge most people can never obtain," the old palace master says. you're an essential part of the sect, whereas you were nothing before. maybe not the head disciple like gongyi xiao, or the child of the master like the little palace mistress, but definitely akin to a secretary in the disguise of an ordinary disciple. someone with very valuable information.

you'll save your dear friend, gongyi xiao. you'll save your fiance, and, hopefully have her be with someone who isn't a manipulative, two-faced asshole. you'll save everyone.

(perhaps you'll save a poor, hurt boy, too. one whose been hiding from his cruel shizun for years, using the face of a proud demon to muffle the sounds of his crying and the breaking of his already cracked heart)

you know luo binghe's advantages. you know of his plans. let's just hope he doesn't find out about yours and change up his too much.

aka, you severely confuse and frustrate luo binghe (why the hell aren't his plans working? who are you? why do you look at him as if you can see right through him?), and luo binghe severely confuses and frustrates you too (why the fuck is luo binghe doing that? that totally goes against what he was supposed to do! hold on, hold on- new plan guys!).

both of you are smartasses who are also, secretly, simultaneously dumbasses going against each other.

route 2:

this'll most likely be rated T, but it may change.

luo binghe stripped you of your very being. you were once someone who was proud and undeniable, and now, you are a person that people only pity and grimace when your name is mentioned.

you hate it. you hate him. you can't even remember what the outside world looks like anymore, you can't even remember that wretched man's face. the only thing that is burned into your mind is his demon mark and those cruel scarlet eyes. the only thing that runs through your head is revenge. the only reason why you're even still alive is because of the glimmer of hope that you'll do the exact same things he did to you.

you fought back against him early, while he was still rising the ranks. continuously, you tried warning people about his capability and evil nature. yet, no one listened to you. and then, it was too late once people realized. fuck! everyone was so stupid, believing his pretty face and lies! you'll get back at him, you'll carve his heart out and present it to his wives, the world, and everything that he has. you worked too hard to reach to where you were before luo binghe destroyed your reputation for daring to step in his way. you went from a mere nobody to a powerful cultivator, and it just all went downhill from there!! for... months? or years? you don't remember anymore - you wished to the heavens for a second chance. you'll correct his wrongdoing. only evil lies in his heart, behind his deceitful, flowery words.

after suffering from a qi deviation, your wish to prevent any of that destruction is granted, and suddenly you've been transported back into the past. way, way before you've even heard of the name... wait, what was his name? fuck, fuck! you don't even remember the outline of that- that monster!

you'll still get back at him, though. you recognize your clothing and the time.. it seems as though you're still just a wandering, rouge cultivator. if your calculations are correct, then you'll have more than enough time to prepare. when you fought back, you were still weaker than him. you'll get stronger and take him down before he can even dare to lay a finger on your hard work.

on your journey to gain even more power, you come across a poor, abused boy. he reminds you all too much of yourself. luo binghe, the orphan says that his name is. your heart can't help but still at it, but it's probably for no reason, right? you're in a little shock after literally going back in time.

how could this small boy with such pure, starry black eyes, hurt you after all? how could anyone hurt such a sweet thing, too? it's a shame how monsters like that man take advantage of people like luo binghe. a white lotus, you mentally nickname him.

he frequently visits you with a wide smile and some lovely tea (where did he get that from? this is some really expensive, fancy stuff. he couldn't have gotten it without stealing it from somewhere really nice, like shen qingqiu's stash, or something... haha, he would never! that pure boy!). you keep on telling luo binghe that he shouldn't miss out on sleep just to say hi, that maybe he should be with his friends instead, too. luo binghe doesn't talk much about his life at the peak, but it's nice to chat with him.

when you realize what's exactly going on, you take him under your wing. if shen qingqiu can't appreciate the little lotus, then you will (you'll put him right under that man on your "revenge" list.. which only consists of them two). perhaps it'll be good to have a successor, a disciple you can pass your teachings down onto. it would be handy to have someone else's help once that monster's actions come into light, after all.

its then you decide, you'll protect the little luo binghe, too. the world is much too cruel, and it'll especially be under that demons' ruling. you won't ever understand how people could become so evil, downright monstrous. you swear on your life, you'll keep that man in your grasps and end his tyranny.

unknowingly, you've already stopped it the moment you held your hand out to that very same monster.

oh, what will you do once nothing happens to you or anyone? once you begin to remember more and more of that man's face and find out just who exactly you've helped?

aka, you're an utter buffoon worrying over that man, while that same man is now just a little guy wanting to please his kinder (and kind of more improper) shizun.

. . .

i've planned a little more for route 1, but i have a pretty good idea for route 2 as well. route 1 will most likely be a little longer than 2 too since it's a slow burn with scheme-y little shits. ever since i posted, i've just been trying to plan out the plots lmao. please leave your thoughts! or not, but thanks for using your time to read all of this lol.

@happycandydinosaur @tuxibirdie @wilczymotyl sorry if you guys expected a full chapter with me tagging you three but i promise after this, i'll (hopefully) have a chapter ready! tysm for supporting my last post :)

[mercars-musings]

Author Ask Tag

TYSM @sunny374940 & @thedissonantverses for the taggies 💖

{half the answer under cut bc I don't wanna eat any uninterested peoples dash lmfao}

What is the main lesson of your story?

Gay shit prevails over all.

Jk, well half jk lmfao

I like exploring a lot of lessons in my fics but I think the main one is how broken people are still worthy of love and more often than not recovery will take place when a person is nurtured in a loving environment. {Can you tell I'm tired of the "nobody will love you till you love yourself" mentality? lmfao}

What did you use as inspiration for your world building?

Anything Dragon Age I can get my hands on, the DAV art book & all the games specifically. I'm still making my way through the written works bc spoons and what not, but I do suppliment anything I can't find myself with information I can find on Tumblr & forums {that have sources linked ofc}.

What is your MC trying to achieve, and what are you, the writer, trying to achieve with them? Do you want to inspire others, teach forgiveness, or help them grow as a person?

So, I mostly like to just put my boys in situations tbh. But I find I always tend to have SOME focus on self care, self reflection & communication.

So I imagine subconsciously, I'm trying to remind others & myself to practice these things as often as possible as both self growth & relationship growth kind of rely heavily on these things.

How many chapter is your story going to have?

As many as the noggin can get honestly. I'm more of a one shot boy, but I have been thinking of doing a piece solely focusing on a play by play of when my Rook is stuck in the fade prison. In that case it'll probs be like 7 or so mini chapters, that's still up in the air tho!

Is it fanfiction or original content? Where do you plan to post it?

Fanfiction. I DO like to write my own original pieces one day but I've been in a writing slump for like 6ish years now? DAV fanfic is the only thing that's been able to drag me outta it so I'm just going along for the ride and hoping this leads me to making original pieces again one day! I always post my actual fics on here & my AO3

When did you start writing?

First ever time? Like 8ish I think, I was a highly lonely kid so it was how I passed the time mostly. {I do not claim that era of my writing was good lmfao just that it happened!} I wrote for most of my life {used to write superwholock fanfic between 14-16 rip lmfao} and went to university for Creative Writing because it actually is my favourite art medium.

Though, this new iteration of my writing came about like a month after DAV came out {mostly bc I played it like 3 times in a row lmfao}

Do you have any words of encouragement for fellow writers of writeblr?

Do the thing! If you're stumped do ask games! Those have definitely pulled me out of the mini slumps that have started to take over during this fanfic era!

No Pressure Taggies: it took me so long to answer my usual tags have all also done it lmfao so honestly just anyone who sees this and wants a piece!!! <3

[blooming-violets]

Hi! This isn't a request but how do you think Peter would react to reader being a Funeral Director? Let's say it's like a blind date (set up by Auntie May ofc). Im asking because a good amount of your fics that you write with Peter revolve around death- weather it being Ben's, Gwen's, and/or what he see's around just being Spider-Man.

Lol this is coming from someone who's about to get their license to become a f.d if you couldn't tell :)

omg over a decade ago i used to roleplay with an oc who was my dark humored, lil goth queen and she was studying to become a funeral director and even though it was so long ago, once an oc, always an oc. she still lives up in my brain with the rest of every other character i've ever created in my life time. i'm going to channel her energy into my soul for this one

Ok, so! I love this.

(using gender neutral "they/them" for this character)

This might sound slightly gruesome but I'm going with it! May is getting a little older in age. Nothing crazy but she's a realist and she wants to be extra prepared when it's her time to go because she doesn't want to burden Peter with such things. She knows what it's like to go through the entire process of burying a dead loved one when you are in the middle of the worst grief of your life. She doesn't want Peter to have to make any of those choices like where to go and what casket to chose. She's a planner and is going to keep nurturing her boy even after death.

Soo she starts doing the rounds of looking into funeral homes, types of caskets, potential flower arrangements, details for the service, how she wants her body to be prepared...she's got it all figured out and in a binder with laminated pages. And she's having the time of her life doing all this because any chance to pull out some stationary is a good day in her book.

Peter freaks when he finds out because that's his girl and he refuses to let her die ever. But she calms him down by reminding him that death can happen to anyone, at any time, and she wants to be prepared for him. All he will have to do is hand over this binder to the director and they can do the heavy lifting so he can just take time to grieve. He's still not happy about it. Aunt May will never die. He doesn't even want to entertain the idea that it's a possibility even twenty years from now.

But then she throws in a lil twist.

"Oh, by the way, Peter...you have a date next Saturday night. I set you up with the director of the parlor. They were just lovely! So accommodating, so funny, absolutely gorgeous, not anything like I was expecting. I told them I had a nephew who was single. Showed them a picture of you. You know that picture I took last summer of you at the beach eating a Ninja Turtle popsicle next to the ice cream truck? I just love that picture...reminds me of when you were a boy...anyway, they agreed to meet up with you! Isn't that wonderful?"

And he's standing there speechless and mortified because only Aunt May would start prematurely planning for her death and then go around showing embarrassing, shirtless pics of him to his potential suitors...who are also helping her plan for her death. He tries to refuse to go but it's May and you can't say no to her. She will always win.

She picks out his best outfit for him and makes sure he's all dolled up (also to be sure he actually goes through with the date and doesn't bail).

He's shocked at how young and attractive they are when he meets them. Even though May insisted they would be a good match, he still was picturing some creepy old, sickly pale, skeletal man wear a dark suit. He's been dating a bit lately but nothing really sticks. This date feels different. He starts off by making a dark joke about dating the person who's going to bury his (still very much alive) aunt. Which gets a laugh from the both of them. They start in on how lovely it was to meet her and how she brightened up the house when she came for a meeting. And Peter talks about how baffled he was to find out she was even doing all that in the first place. He would have gone with her or been more than willing take care of everything. But they insist that May was adamant on doing it on her own. Peter asks a lot of questions on why they would ever want to go into this line of work but they just laugh it off. They're helping people, even after death. Helping their loved ones have the best final goodbye they can have.

The first date flows smoothly. They both try to avoid the death talk after the first few minutes and keep things light and happy. Peter is unknowingly smitten at the time but finds that once he goes home for the night, he can't stop thinking about them.

A second date is soon to follow. And a third. And fourth. And so on until they are officially dating.

I think as they get more comfortable with each other and open up to each other more, Peter will start to reveal how badly of a relationship he has with death. Reader has a healthy outlook on it. They don't mind taking care of the dead. They enjoy being able to provide that kind of service. Nothing really turns their stomach at this point. Peter can't remember much about his parents or their funerals, Uncle Ben's was a blur, and Gwen's is blackened out from his memory. It really upsets him to picture Reader doing any kind of body preparation. He keeps having intrusive thoughts about them working on Gwen's corpse and it kinda fucks him up. (They obviously weren't the one's who did that but his mind is putting the two people he cares about together without reason). Sometimes it makes it hard for him to look at them. It causes tension in the relationship. He starts to resent that they do that job. He think that they are "better than that" and they should leave that sort of job to someone else. He thinks it's gross and upsetting.

Reader would take massive offense to that. They love what they do. It's very important to them. Peter keeps not being able to hear what they're saying and is throwing his own uncomfortable attitude into the mix. They represent death to him and he hates death. Almost like they're a constant reminder of everyone he loved who has died. Cue the climaxy fight part where they separate for a bit in order for the growth to happen. Peter goes off to sulk and eventually ends up on May's doorsteps like a lost, sad puppy.

He'd need to go have a heart to heart talk with her about why he feels so uncomfortable dating someone who is so close to death. She'd talk about his past traumas, losing so many loved ones, and how he never allowed himself to put those people to rest. That's what Reader does. They helps other's put their loved one's to rest. And that frightens Peter because he's afraid of letting go. They represent someone who is at peace with themselves and Peter is living in a constant state of turmoil. In order to love properly again, he has to let go of the past. Reader can become a healthy path forward but only if Peter is able to cut off the baggage that is holding him back.

He'd let that talk sink in for a few days until he finally crawls his way back to their home with a box of their favorite chocolates (not flowers because they've seen enough flowers to last them their entire life time). He's met with nothing but a gentle smile and open arms. He'd open up to better explain himself to them so they can understand where he's coming from and see into his past. It's a healing moment for him to overcome.

Over time he'd warm up more and more to the idea of them working so closely to death. They both like to lighten any dark moods with some terrible jokes and dumb comments. A lot of silly ghost/ haunting talks. A lot him questing them about things. Like if guys can get an erection after death. Or what exactly is embalming fluid (bc he likes science-y things). And trying to find out the craziest things they ever experienced while working. They have endless stories to share so there's never a dull moment.

And when they finally find out about Mr. Parker and his big, giant Spider-Man secret, they threaten Peter that he better never end up on their table or else they'll mutilate his corpse by cutting off his dick and keeping it in a jar. (too dark? lmao not for them!)

Peter loves it. It makes him feel loved.

[lusthurts]

for the fanfiction writing asks, 7, 12, and 74 please <3

ofc thank you :)) fanfiction writing asks

7. Post a snippet from a wip. (I'll post a bit from what I think is chapter 9 of Until We Burn Out!)

Sebastian rolls his eyes and turns back around, but Blaine sees him smiling anyway. “I’ll deny it if you tell anyone I said this, but you guys are the best friends I’ve ever had. It’s gonna suck leaving next year.” 

Blaine’s heart feels like it’s melting, and he thinks he might cry at Sebastian’s words alone. Trent squeezes Blaine’s hand this time, and Ethan looks like he’s going to cry, too. 

Ethan looks around, trying to pull it together. “Enough of this emotional crap. I’m starting to feel like we’re in a soap opera.” 

“You started it,” Blaine points out. 

“We need snacks or something,” Trent agrees. “The munchies are taking over.” 

Ethan sits up, stretching lazily. “Good call. Thinking about those pop tarts Jeff wouldn’t stop eating.” 

“It was the same pop tart for 20 minutes,” Blaine says. 

“You two should get out, go back to the lounge and we’ll meet you there in a bit,” Sebastian says, nodding toward Ethan and Trent. 

Ethan and Trent glance at each other, then Ethan narrows his eyes at Sebastian. “Oh, I see how it is. Take us all the way out here then kick us out so you two can bone.” 

Sebastian sticks up his middle finger, then unlocks the car doors so they can get out. “If that’s the way you want to see it, that’s your prerogative. But get the fuck out.” 

Trent and Ethan both roll their eyes, and Ethan flips them off, but they exit the Porsche and start walking away while Sebastian leans closer with a mischievous glint in his eye. 

12. Do you outline your fics? If yes, how detailed are your outlines? How far do you stray from them?

I usually start writing and then write an outline when I get to a point where I'm stuck and/or feel the need to map out the whole story. They range in detail a lot - some of them will be just bullet points of the general thing that needs to happen in each chapter, some of them are detailed descriptions of scenes that need to be included, and some don't have outlines at all. I like to allow myself the freedom to stray from them quite a bit, mostly because I find once I actually get to the point in the fic where I'm following the outline, the stuff I had originally planned doesn't fit as well anymore, so I go in a different direction and rework the outline.

74. Do you have a fic you wish got a bit more love?

maybe 'til the veins run red and blue?? it's on the lower end for kudos and comments compared to my other works and it's a fic that feels very short and sweet but I think I wrote the pining well in that one, and it feels very true to canon seblaine to me

[dixieconley]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

Saw this in @just-here-with-my-thoughts's blog.

How many works do you have on Ao3? 45.

What’s your total Ao3 word count? 266,872.

What fandoms do you write for? Currently writing for the Star Wars fandom, Clone Wars era. Before that, most recently Avengers and Stargate: Atlantis.

What are your top five fics by kudos? They're all Avengers fics and, apart from the first one, all part of the same series! 1. Darcy Lewis: God of War. 2. A Rebellious House. 3. Eyes To See. 4. Something's Got To Give. 5. The Great Escape.

Do you respond to comments? I love comments! I respond to most comments, but sometimes I don't know what to say to things like the all emoji comments and I won't.

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? Three Bitter Bastards (Clone Wars). I prefer happy endings, so 'bittersweet' is the closest I've gotten. The main characters get a happy ending, but in doing so, leave people who care about them behind.

What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? For all that I love happy endings, almost all of my Star Wars fics end in murder. (I mean, Palpatine deserves to die, don't get me wrong, but can you call that happy?) If you count those, then Penguins in SPAAAACE (The Penguins of Madgascar/Clone Wars) is probably the most light-hearted. Otherwise, it's Sheppard and the Sex God (Stargate: Atlantis).

Do you get hate on fics? Only once, and it wasn't exactly hate. More of a constructive criticism of a racial stereotype I was unwittingly perpetrating.

Do you write smut? If so, what kind? Not so much anymore. I used to write a lot of smut, but you'll only find a fraction on Ao3 and it's tame stuff. The closest I've gotten recently was the main character waking up after an A/B/O heat. Practically PG-13 by my standards considering I used to write X rated stuff.

Do you write crossovers? Yes! I love crossovers! The craziest one is a tie between the This Is The Way-de (Deadpool/The Mandalorian) and Penguins in SPAAAACE.

Which fic are you proud of but wish had gotten a bigger response from your readers? A Matter of Taste (Clone Wars). It's an OFC self-insert, so I totally understand why no one likes it, but it really feels personal to me and I'd really like to hear anything, even what people didn't like about this one.

Have you ever had a fic translated? Not as far as I know.

Have you ever co-written a fic before? On Ao3, only with SirKate. Before that, I wrote a number of Star Trek fics in collaboration with Alara Rogers. I treasure both partnerships. Amazing friends.

What’s your all-time favourite ship? Which fandom? ;> In Star Wars, it's Fox/murder, hands down. While I've never written it, I adore Tony Stark/Bucky Barnes, but am also a fan of Darcy Lewis/Bucky Barnes.

What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? There's only one, Meanwhile In Tonygard (Avengers). I hate leaving anything unfinished, including stories, but my ex-husband killed my joy in writing for years until I finally rediscovered it in the Star Wars fandom. I can't bear going back to writing the Avengers with his words about Darcy reverberating in my head. I eventually resolved it by writing up my plans for what would have happened and adding that to the end. It's not as good as finishing, but it's the best I can do when I can't stop hearing "So she's a slut" when I try to write.

What are your writing strengths? I used to think it was snappy dialogue, but I've been told that my ideas are unusual and noteworthy. And judging by the response I've gotten in the Star Wars fandom (where I've been writing two types of fic: crack and serious), I have a talent with crack.

What are your writing weaknesses? I don't know what the official name for it is, but I have a problem where my mind goes too fast and skips over things or substitutes other words. So you'll see sentences like "She didn't finish eating clock," instead of "She didn't finish eating her meal." And because of this glitch, I end up having to read and reread my stories to find all the problems -- because my mind continues to glitch, skipping over the mistakes. Other than that, overuse of commas.

Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? I'd never done it until I got into the Star Wars fandom and discovered Mando'a and now I find it fascinating translating the concepts to Basic and back again. One of my favorite things about being a writer in the Star Wars fandom is developing new head canons from the culture clash inherent not just in the lives the characters lead but also the world view a language gives you. It's difficult, but I love it.

First fandom you wrote for? Battlestar Galactica, the first version. On paper, in a five-subject notebook. My self-insert, Starbuck and Apollo.

Favourite fic you’ve written? Probably The Only Way Out Is Forward (Clone Wars) series. I couldn't pick a favorite from that one; they hang together too closely to pick just one. I cried multiple times writing these stories.

[nixoon-again]

(for the director's cut for fanfic writers). can you maybe talk about this part? (illusionary are your arms around me, chapter 2) just wanna hear u ramble abt this, not a question :') (if you want to ofc <3)

[Sonic looks at Tails, takes in a deep breath and puts forth a feeble leg. He's gotta get them out of here. He's gotta get Tails help somehow and if that somehow includes kicking Shadow's butt again, he'll gladly do it.

(If he's in no shape to carry Tails, he's definitely not in any shape to fight, much less defeat Shadow but reason completely flies over Sonic's head because Tails is lying unresponsive in his arms and it's his fault.)

"We're getting out of here, bud. Just hold on for me, okay?" The blue hedgehog whispers to the kit in his hold. He knows Tails isn't in any condition to reply but the silence from the kit still breaks his heart all the same. Sonic squeezes him, letting out a shaky breath before he attempts to pull his and his brother's weight together on his feet.

He almost manages it too. Almost because even through the god awful throbbing in his head and the alien weakness he feels in his body, Sonic manages to stand up with Tails in his arms but when he does, when he's as steady as he can be on his two feet, he feels the weight in his arms lessen.]

Hi, how'd you manage to get my current favourite part of the fic

This scene was so vivid in my head, the angst was so clear. Actually, there are so many vivid scenes for this fic in my head but like- I'll have to write them first :")

Anyway! This part was fun and we're actually going to explore it a little more in the next update but for now let's see: what I was going for in this part was to show Sonic's desperation. Three weeks, no running, losing the will to talk and eat and then bam! Little brother is here to the rescue — you can imagine how happy that makes him, the hope this one fox brings him and oh how so quickly I take it away from him when minutes later Tails is shot :)

And now Shadow's standing in his way as well? See, this is where he says "Fuck it," because those three weeks almost drove him made and he wants to escape so badly now that he has a chance but Tails is hurt, Tails is hurt very bad. He's been hoping that after he got captured, nothing happened to his little brother. He's been hoping, praying, begging that the fox is safe and when he finally sees him and he's actually fine and then they're both getting out of this hell hole and then Tails suffers a fatal wound — Sonic is desperate

He's hurt, he knows he'll lose against Shadow and most of all: the crushing weight of knowing that Tails might not make it — his little brother might not make it, he might not be able to save Tails and it makes him want to run but he can't just run now, can he? It's not like running away from lunch or running away from sleep, it's different because it's Tails.

So, even though he's fully aware that he's playing a losing game here, he still steps forward. He still struggles to stand with Tails, unmoving, in his arms because he has to.

He can't bear living in a world without his brother knowing that it was his fault he's not here anymore. So he tries, he tells Tails they're getting out of here, he gives him a squeeze to reassure himself that Tails is still here, he's ready to fight Shadow, he's ready to get Tails out of here and hes ready to take on anyone crossing his path

Except just when he stands up, Tails fades from his arms.

Basically; I give him hope. The hope is short lived but he desperately clung on to it nevertheless, tried his best to keep holding on, but then it's taken away from him so fast he doesn't know what do to anymore

Spoilerish(?) funny part: its not the worst spice im going to use for the reunion :)

[namodareads]

me when. me wenw wehen . me when wen mont.en. wehen mtony . when monty writes about love

(pay for my tissues)

not only does monty write abt love, but it's so CAPTIVATING!!!!!!!!! everything in me is sooooooo tender and and and and soft and just 😭😭😭 this very much brings me back to the feelings i held onto during high school. like. how to explain this. the feelings that were so much and had nowhere to go but trickle out when i was hopeful, that would exist inside me and then those feelings would steep and leak out and would just make everything so painfully nostalgically sweet

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.

^ LIKE. SMTH ABT THIS PARAGRAPH HAD ME TEARING UP ALREADY!!!! IT'S LIKE. LIKE. BEING PHYSICALLY APART FROM UR FRIENDS BUT ALWAYS STAYING CLOSE. THE INTIMACY OF THIS, WHICH, LIKE THE FACT THAT IT HAPPENED WAS LIKE A KISS FROM LADY LUCK!!!!!!!!!!! words r so hard but it's like. somehow lining up the lives of ppl u love and trust and care for so EFFORTLESSLY!!! thats what gets me !!!!

and when ur reading this, u can FEEL each character as if they were written in canon. idk the way u describe iwaizumi--like, the significance of him suggesting that trip, and then reader being the one to follow thru. idk thats my hq canon. godbless.

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.

^ THIS PARAGRAPH MADE ME TEAR UP JUST READING IT WHEN I COPY-PASTED IT IN HERE (:AGONY:, BUT LIKE. THE GOOD KIND)!!!! ITS LIKE. this is smth i think many ppl have gone thru when they have friends that move away--it's exactly what i felt when i went on a trip w some hs friends before 1 of them moved across the country. it's a subject thats tender and raw and bittersweet because going on a trip to celebrate it, even quietly, makes the departure feel so much more real!!!! and seeing those emotions put into a fic.... ough.... be still my bleeding heart 🥺🥺🥹🥹

(and side note those MUSCLES.... bites lip.... 1 chomp pls iwaizumi)

and and . and 😭🥺😭🥺 and reader's relationship w the other 3. i will. CRY (<- already been crying) i love the casual intimacy i love the closeness and banter i LOVE the moment where oikawa kisses reader and it's like "ur heart doesnt flutter" bc its casual platonic intimacy and man i wish that were me. 😔😔😔 reader feels like their pal, their guy(gn), their precious friend!!! and they feel just as if not more precious to reader. u cant help but root for them thru this entire thing, holding ur breath with them, cheering them on, crying when they cry. like. GAH. all these emotions r so visceral

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. 

^ not me having to google presque vu but pluck more bugs from my hair and eat my heart iwaizumi!!!!! i wuld do anything 4 u !!!!!!! GAAAAAAARGAHRGAHRGAHRGAHRGAHRGAHRGAHHHH !!!!!!!!! and that last line rly makes u feel a sense of desperation and urgency!! coaxing urself to address this thing uve been feeling and!!! WEEPING AGAIN!!!

i want to be sandwiched in a car w them 😔 they r just 1 big happy family to me!!!! with ofc reader and iwaizumi being the only reasonable ppl around LMAO /j /lh

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. 

^ speaking of which, i loved this part just bc of the way it makes u feel like ur in the car w them. like ur experiencing the roadtrip again thru a scrapbook or diary and it's just!!! shaking off the early morning rush and settling into the excitement of a roadtrip w ur friends..,,, EEEEEK!! imagining a movie montage w some pumpy upbeat music as they zoom on da freeway 😌😌😌

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.

^ THIS MADE ME GIGGLE AND KICK MY FEET AJHDSFJHDSFJ idk ur friends knowing abt ur crush on someone is always the same LMFAO theyre little shits abt it but it comes from a place of love. they can see u admiring the person u like before u even notice what ur doing !!! embarassgin!! !! but i love them!!!

This is your Hajime, the one you’ve always known; only now there’s stubble lining his jaw.

^ THE CASUAL TOUCHING... I NEED IT

and the fact that theyve grown so much from summer and those cicaida shells but hes still reader's hajime!!!! AGONKNEEEEE!!!!!! /POS BC ITS LIKE THAT SAYING "even after everything its still u" ITS STILL HIM AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA hes still hajime hes just got some facial hair 🥺🥺🥺 and the fact that he blushes so easily when reader compliments him. hehe. (talking to iwaizumi) i know what u are... (in love) 🫵🫵

AND THAT WHOLE SCENE ABT IWAIZUMI GETTING ON ONE KNEE AAAHRJRKHUAJDUASHHWHADJKFHSIDFRIUHDSJKFHR

AND READER BEING SO CLUELESS LMAOOOO for all their overthinking they are a little dummy /aff 😌😌😌😌 but the fact that they probs didnt think of it bc they hadnt considered that iwaizumi likes them back... 😔😔 feels bad man... good thing they got there eventually LMAO ✨💖💕 THEIR HEARTS WERE SO CLOSE IN THIS MOMENT BUT THEY DIDNT EVEN KNOW IT !!!!!! AGONKNEE!!!!!!!

AND!!!!!!! THE PIC THAT HANAMAKI GETS OF READER AND IWAIZUMI 🥺🥹🥺🥹🥺 AAAAAAARGHAHHGHHAAAAA!!!!!!! reader and their boys..... i miss them already (<- just finished reading) and like. idk. the way that reader is enjoying this time even tho theyre anxious abt the future when iwaizumi and oikawa leave... 😔😔😔 WEEPING AGAIN!!!!!!!

i did get a good laugh when oikawa used his charm on the receptionist LMFAOOO, using his good looks for justice. thank u great king 🫡🫡🫡 and its like. even tho oikawa got those updares for them the fact that they all basically sleep in a pile anyways. lmao. love them sm,,,

and the way they love reader too 🥺🥺 THEY WANT THE BEST FOR READER EVEN IF THEYRE PUSHY ABT IT AND THEY LISTEN TO READERS WORRIES AND TELL THEM 'ur bein silly abt this' IN A LOVING WAY... GAAAAAAHHH.... it makes me want 😔 i want to be in a dog pile w them. just maybe not at the very bottom bc they will crush me LMAO

^ on that note tho, i thot it was interesting how oikawa pushed reader a little more. bc he and oikawa are close bffs so like. idk ofc it makes sense that oikawa knows iwaizumi like the back of his hand (oh lala) and he's a little fiercer but no less loving in his encouragement of reader. i was preparing for him to psychoanalyze them over the chip section or smth LMAOOOO

“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”. 

^ PAY FOR MY TISSUES, MONTEE

SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEECH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEECH!!!!!!!!

BC LIKE. BC. BC BC BC OIKAWA AND IWAIZUMI LEAVING IS ALREADY HARD ENOUGH AND EVEN THO THEYRE HAVING FUN!!!! AS I SAID!!!!!!! ITS ALWAYS GOING TO BE IN A CORNER OF THEIR MINDS AND !!!!! AND MAYBE THEY FEEL A LIL TRAPPED, A LIL OVERWHELMED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! AGONKNEEEEEEEEEE!!!!! and !!! and theyre finally in a private-ish spot where they can talk abt it 🥺🥺🥺🥺 and that in of itself kinda makes it a lil more raw and scary!!

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. 

^ pay for my tissues 2: electric boogerloo

i can only imagine that oikawa was just. mere moments from simply grabbing reader by the shoulders and shaking them n being like "OFC IWA-CHAN LOVES U HOW CAN HE NOT" sjdfhsdj clinging to ur leg montee HOLD ME HOLD ME !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! the love between these 5 idiots (/aff) is so plain and obvious and precious :((( i love them sm

also reader trying not to stare at iwaizumis chest lmao. felt. AND HIM FEEDING READER FROM HIS OWN CHOPSTICKS??? GOING 2 EAT MY FECKING HAND!!!! /POS

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.

^ eatign my haend /pos i just ... i just i just i just..... it doesnt have to make sense to everyone else as long as it makes sense to each other, and thats what makes it so special!!! 🥺🥺🥺🥺 GAHHHH

AND THEN. AND THEN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! there was only ONE FUTON!!!!!! (and its the one iwaizumi is in!!!!!!!!!!) AAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAA SHAKING THE BARS OF MY CAGE LET ME IN LET ME IN!!!!!!!!!!!!! IWAIZUMI U LITTLE SHIT I LOVE U IM GOING TO BITE U!!!!! U KNEW WHAT U WERE DOING!!!!!!!! WEEPING IM WEEPING IM CRYING !!! and thinking abt the similar times when they slept beside each other as children!!! but now its ... its more !!!!!!!!!! iwaizumi petting reader's back what if i chew my ankle off..., aaaaAAAAAAAAAA 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

ALL THE WAYS TO SAY 'I LOVE YOU'!!!!!

tears PISSING from my eyes dont look at me.

and then omg ofc,,, ofc,,, iwaizumi telling reader they look good!!!!! WEEPS... AND THE . THE !!! THE THIS!!!

“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.

^ oh my gah... OH MY GAH!!!!!!! i was holding my breath while this was happening bc i was like omgggg what if !! what if he POINTS IT OUT!!!! omg i WAS reader in this scene BEING SO ANXIOUS AAAAAA BC when u. when u like someone and ur friends know abt it and do stuff like this it can feel SO obvious. it can feel so awkward and obvious and scary... but thank god for iwaizumi being who he is LMAO...

(thru incoherent sobbing) AN D THN. THEN. AND THEN THE CONFESSION SCENE oh my GOD i burst into tears they were PISSING FROM ME EYES LIKE U WOULDNT BELIEVE!!!!!! READER U ARE SO BRAVE AND LOVABLE GAAAAAH !!! GAAAH..,, THEIR RAMBLING ... THEIR CONFESSION.... LAYING THEMSELVES OUT LIKE THAT PHEWWWWW ... PHEEEWWWWWWW...

and omg iwaizumi's silence RRAAAGAGHHHHHH DONT LEAVE US HANGING LIKE THAT SJDHFKDSJH !!!! but side note its so silly(/lh) to me that reader was thinking maybe iwaizumi was gonna be like "sorry i dont feel the same way" after he tried to suck their face off SDKJFHSKDJFHDSJK /LH /AFF LMAOOOO idk <333 smooching them. iwaizumi move aside or smh.

"I love you too. Not sure if there was ever a time that I didn’t,"

dont lOOK AT ME DONT NO ONE LOOK AT ME !!!!!!! im going to . EAT MY FOOT!!!!!!!!

and then they BANG and its TENDER and LOVING and FULFILLING EMOTIONALLY SPIRITUALLY PHYSICALLY GAAHHHHHHH . iwaizumi WOULD be good at eating thussy thats canon . these bitches r so in love and i love that 4 them,,, weeps.... and the fact that reader looked up the distance to california :(((( on god thats some loverboy(gn) shit /pos

monty ... i am holding yer face in me hands... kissing u on da cheek so tenderly ... i am so glad i finally had the time to read this and respond... weeps cries... i loved every second of it 🥺🥺🥺🥺 i always will 💖💕

AN OBSERVER OF LONGING ┊ IWAIZUMI HAJIME

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

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

wc: 18K

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But Hajime, the otter cafe!”

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

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

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

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

“Stop fussing and sit with me”. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oi—!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Turn it up, Haji”. 

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

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

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

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

You grin, “You’re such an old man”. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s annoying”. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The camera shutters.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What was that all about?” 

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

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

“Last one there has to pay!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You relent, “Send me it”. 

“As I thought,” he mutters smugly. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Almost there, man,” Issei offers sympathetically.

Hajime grunts, “Don’t talk to me”. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shut up, idiot”. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’re you guys doin’ in here?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…You alive in there?” 

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

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

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

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

“The other two?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You glare at him.

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

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

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

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

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

“No”.

“Not even if I say please?”

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

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

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

“Stop changing the subject”.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to push you”.

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

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

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

“That’s not good”.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, no”.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Issei purses his lips expectantly. Tooru leans forward. 

“You okay?” 

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

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

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

“No thanks,” he says. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Use a cold damp cloth or something”. 

“Mattsun, you're so primitive”.

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

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

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

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

“Looked cold over there,” he reasons. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hajime. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good,” he says. 

“That’s all?”

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

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

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

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

“Hey,” Takahiro says. 

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

“The other two up?” you ask. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“About what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Paranoid, is what I mean”.

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

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

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

“Oh”.

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

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

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

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

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

“I think it’s finally happening”. 

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

What the fuck, you think. 

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

“Right?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Win it yourself!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You can be selfish sometimes," Hajime argues.

“Even with you?”

“Especially with me”.

You scrunch your eyes shut.

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

A slow burn has to catch fire eventually.

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

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

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

—Hajime surged forward and kissed you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You have?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh—you can—"

"No, you".

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

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

“This okay?” 

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

“Noted,” he says roughly. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then what’s the next step?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

[mrvlbimbo]

Mrvlbimbo's Eddie Munson Masterlist 

hiiiiii everyone, I figured it was time I made a master list for all my Eddie fics.

For anything in the series and longer fics catagory y'all can send me requests to further those stories and/or HCs you have for them.

Everything other than the drabbles is explicitly xfem reader because I write in third person using she/her pronouns.

The summaries are bad but hopefully this is helpful for everyone.

Smut meter

🍓complete fluff

🍒suggestive

🌶smuttish

🔥full on smut

Other tags

☁️angst

🍬sub! Eddie

🧁sub! Reader

🏠established relationship

🎲virgin! Eddie

💎virgin! Reader

Series and longer fics

Secret admirer series, pt1, 2, 3, 4

reader leaves romantic notes in Eddie's locker because she's too shy to talk to him in person.

Rating: 🌶💎🎲 (will change when chapter 4 is posted)

Eddie x bimbo!reader series masterlist

based on this request: eddie and bimbo reader!! a unique pair, but reader likes metal and rock music, and they find other ways to bond later

Rating: there’s too many parts but it’s a mix of all

Incentive, pt 1

Eddie has a crush on the assistant coach of the Hawkins High women's tennis team. She's only a year older than him, only problem is she refuses to date a highschooler. Looks like Eddie has some incentive to graduate

Something isn't right here, pt 1/2

A few weeks after returning from the upside down, Eddie wakes up changed. His new bloodlust only rivaled by his regular lust for his best friend.

Bimbo!reader x Vampire!Eddie

Perv!Eddie thoughts,

some hcs

Just a little quid pro quo, Virgin!reader buys drugs from Eddie and just so happens for 'forget' her money

Eddie's neighbor gets drenched in the cold and he just neeeeds to help her warm up

Sub!Eddie thoughts,

using a vibrator on Eddie

making Eddie cry his eyeliner off

What’s the plot of Romeo and Juliet again?

based on this request: eddie X (cheerleader?) reader where reader is dating jason. they get into an argument and eddie steps in to protect her. maybe they end up breaking up and eddie is really happy about it.

Rating: 🔥💎🧁

And they were roomates (pt 2 eventually)

Eddie and the reader are roommates, she catches him jerking off. She offers to help.

Rating: 🌶🍬

You mean nothing (everything) to me

friends to enemies to lovers. They fuck in the hellfire chair. It's almost 5k words.

Rating: 🔥🍬☁️

Practice makes perfect, first times the charm (coming soon)

based on this request: Eddie fic? where poor baby is a virgin but his not-girl-friend is more than happy to let him give her head for ‘practice’?

Rating: 🌶🍬🎲

It’s about time someone wrote an Eddie Munson sex pollen fic

its an Eddie Munson sex pollen fic.

Rating: 🔥

Jason doesn’t know

Eddie and reader are fwb and she's cheating on her boyfriend (Jason) Loosely based on the song Scotty Doesn't Know.

Rating: 🔥

One shots

Don’t move

cockwarming with subby Eddie

Rating:🔥🍬🏠

Polar Opposites

based on this request: eddie with a hyper feminine, super spoiled girl? Like, everyone just being exhausted by the stereotypical girly thing she is, and her just sitting all pretty in his lap in the throne in the hellfire club room

Rating:🍒🏠

Oblivious

based on this request: Eddie coming home after a club meeting that went rlly well and he’s super pent up and energized and he gets into his room and he’s greeted with the sight of his sweet y/n on his bed in the cutest pink lingerie set waiting to have him basically rearrange her organs, and ofc he does cause how could he say no to his needy girl

Rating: 🔥🏠

I like-like you too

based on this request: eddie x fem!reader where they both like eachother and it’s sooo obvious to everyone but them? and they get teased all the time by everyone

Rating: 🍒

One more?

based on this request: Eddie fucking readers brain out and then taking care of her while she's in subspace

Rating: 🔥🧁🏠

Gummies

based on this request: u eat some of eddies gummy bears only to find out they were edibles, n now eddie has to deal with a very high y/n who wont stop gushing about him and being all giddy

Rating: 🍓

Road trip

based on this request: reader and Eddie aren’t really close but they both unknowingly think each other are attractive but reader thinks Eddie is way out of her league. So they’re in the car with dustin, max, mike and Steve, but there’s no room for the reader so Eddie offers for reader to sit on his lap. So they’re both really nervous and reader keeps shifting in his lap so he grips her hips to get her to stop because he’s getting hard and he’s really embarrassed about it

Rating: 🌶🍬

I’ll never leave

based on this request: eddie having a nightmare where his gf leaves him only for him to wake up with her drooling all over his arm in her sleep

Rating: 🍓☁️🏠

It goes both ways

based on this request: reader getting into a fight with a jock because he hit and/or upset Eddie? Like, maybe she could kick his ass but she would also have gotten her fair share of hits?

Rating: 🍓

Not so innocent

based on this request: y/ns like this good girl teachers pet-- pleated skirts and mary janes and all-- with straight a's and she's sent to tutor eddie bc man is failing with a capital F so they're studying in her pink room with a bunch of awesome stuffies (in my head a lot of them are dragons and gargoyles and eddie's nerdy lil heart fricken explodes but this is just me being stupid in love) and he has full intention to do absolutely zERO work

(corruption kink and dom!eddie if you couldn't tell by now jdjjd)

and the whole time he's just teasing her (cough degrading her cough) and flirting with her (cO U G H praising her ahem) and- oops now they're fucking *acts shocked*

Rating: 🔥💎🧁

Thoroughly

based on this request: idk idk i’m just imagining eddie being like bold bold

“you wish you could handle me”

“yes, i do. roughly…thoroughly…for hours…”

Rating: 🍒

Mommy? Sorry. Mommy? Sorry.

based on this request: eddie accidentally calling you mommy while you’re edging him? so u like slightly laugh cause ur like omg???????? and he’s just so embarrassed BYE

Rating: 🔥🍬🏠

Rings can’t go in there

based on this request: eddie having to fish his ring out of your coochie

Rating: 🌶🏠

Teenage rebellion

Based on the request: What if Jason’s sister flirts with Eddie just to annoy his brother but she ends up having sex with him (I like how you write, specifically submissive Eddie)

Rating: 🔥🍬🎲

Drabbles

Aftercare

Wearing his rings

Giving him hickies

Boobs, boobs pt2

Belly bulge

Thighs

Fingering

Your first time with Eddie

Praise kink

Sub Eddie with begging

Naked Polaroids

Eddie x plus sized reader

Eddie with a mommy kink

Eddie x y2k aesthetic reader

Role play

Possessive Eddie

Giving Eddie head scratches

Flirting with Eddie

Jewlery and tits

Eddie is needy and wants attention

Eddie doesn't want to share his cookies with Hellfire

Getting Eddie's name tattooed

(Plz lmk if any of the links don’t work)

[ashdreams2023]

Hi Ash! I was just wondering, if you have time ofc, maybe if you could write some sort of Vic where the avengers get turned into animals? Whether it’s a trick by Loki or some machine annoy made or whatever is up to you! If not, that’s totally ok! Thanks! Love a lots! (Btw I absolutely adored the baby Loki fic, it mad my heart so happy and warm) ❤️❤️

Animal avengers

"Pepper what’s this?"

"Your teammates"

"You have to be fucking kidding me…"

You stared at the caged animals in front of you.

Seven in total since bucky joined the mission.

You had a pretty good idea who could have done this, especially since he’s nowhere in sight since early morning.

"Ok god, what happened to you" you pet the head of the golden retriever, whom you assume is Steve with those unusual blue eyes.

There was three dogs in total, one golden retriever, one Saint Bernard which you guess is Thor, and the last one is a german shepherd….Tony.

Natasha and Bucky were black cats, clint was a hawk…how fitting.

Bruce was a panda bear? That wasn’t something you expected.

You took the three puppies or more like big grown dogs out and the first thing thor did was jump on you with all his weight licking your face, the scream you let out was painful.

"You’re too heavy!" That’s the issue with big dogs they think their small compared to humans.

Steve was barking at him, as if he’s telling him to get off of you and that actually worked.

Tony was thankfully the calm one, just pushing his nose against your cheek towards the kitchen.

Of course he’s hungry.

To think about it, what were you supposed to feed a big animal like Bruce!?

You immediately texted happy for help and after like an hour of trying to keep everyone calm and locking all the windows so clint wouldn’t fly away, a delivery arrived at the compound.

Happy was a great help making sure animal food for all of them came within such a short period of time.

"Ok guys, dig in" you hoped tony wouldn’t mind using his expensive plates set from China.

Bruce was the only one eating with his big bear hands and he just look so peaceful.

You wished the others would act the same but no here was Natasha hissing at bucky for being too close to her food, and Thor trying to steal from Steve and tony.

Clint was getting blood drops on the clean floors since it was fresh meat.

Goodness you wanted to kill Loki right then and there.

After that very messy and stressful lunch you locked the hallway door and stayed on the couch with Steve and Thor playing around with some toy that was thrown in with the food sent and tony watching from afar, probably afraid to be crushed by accident.

Bruce was now asleep, Natasha and Bucky still didn’t get along but Bucky settled on laying on your lap while she get her distance sitting on the counter.

Clint flew from one side to the other, you were secretly thankful that none of the others turned into a hopeless pre for him to hunt.

It around 5pm when tony started barking loudly at the front door, you held bucky in your arms while standing up.

The door opened and the mischievous scamp behind all this mess stood there with a huge grin on his face.

"Why hello l-"

"Thor on him!" Loki screamed as his brother jumped on him licking his face over and over again.

"Stop that! You filthy thing!"

"That thing is your brother! Turn everyone back before I make Bruce sit on you"

"Fine!"

And that’s how you ended up with bucky’s dead weight on top of you and Clint breaking an arm because he was flying mid air.

Oh and apparently eating so much sugarcanes can give you a terrible stomachache.

"I need the bathroom…"

Loki heard an ear full after everyone was taken care of.

[the-fab-fox]

Sorry for the extra long reblog but people need to reblog this one too. The addition here is so important as well and those stats ABSOLUTELY prove my point here.

Imagine if your favorite book author or favorite comic book artist or mangaka only got a bit of feedback. They'd probably think their work tanked, right? Why do you think tv shows literally have viewing numbers that are tracked? To see if the show is liked and how it is doing.

We don't have that. We only have the numbers on our works to see how they are doing but if y'all aren't putting those numbers in, how the heckle are we supposed to know if y'all like what we're doing? (Fanartist and fic writers and graphic creators and all content creators in these fandom spaces.)

Y'all gotta tell us. We aren't mind-readers and I guarantee that if you go right now after you read this and go write a comment on just one of your favorite past works that you've never commented on, it'll make the writers day. Even the ones that say they don't care about the numbers, I promise you that they'd absolutely still love to hear from their readers. Especially the ones that haven't got much love.

So yeah. And if y'all are ever curious about what stuff we wanna hear:

Keyboard Smash: No words, only emotion.

Emoticons and emojis: Don't wanna be perceived by words? Make up your own hieroglyphics and leave it for us the writers to figure out. 🤣

Wanna quote parts and talk about what you love about them? FUCKING YES PLEASE. (I personally love and eat that shit up. XD but I've also got a praise kink so y'know.)

Wanna make guesses on what's gonna happen next? AGAIN. Y'ALL ARE SMART MOTHERFUCKERS OKAY. I love when my readers catch on to where things are headed. It means I've placed my hints and paths and prose points well.

And, if the author accepts it, constructive criticism (that means you put real thought and considered from all angles and still feel that a part could be made better or really thought about all the parts in the writing that show why a character may not be fully in character).

If they don't say they accept constructive criticism on their profile/blog or in the tags of the story (or on the info bit before the story on tumblr) then you can ask if they would be willing for some or just don't send it.

Did you know that you can post pictures and GIFs in a comment? Using <img src="link">link title</img> you can include a gif to show what that fic did to you! XD

Have fun with it. Guys this is another chance to interact with people who not only love the very same media you love but also someone who is writing stuff that you love.

But yeah. Not an exhaustive list but here's some to start with.

And ofc if it's a fic you do not like or just don't like or agree with the subject matter, then do not comment on the fic. They do not need your hate and if it's not to your liking, then you have no business commenting on it.

Okay so this has been something I've been chewing on for a long while. About making this post I mean.

This one is to those who actively ingest fanfiction but seen to think it's okay to just read free fiction that people have put time and thought and crafted prose for your enjoyment.

So we ever ask for and all we ever want is for y'all to AT THE VERY LEAST hit that kudos button if you like the work. That is the BARE MINIMUM of what you SHOULD be doing. Especially all of you who say you're too nervous to comment or don't wish to be perceived. And if you don't want your account on the list, you can log out and send a guest kudos.

But as I said, BARE MINIMUM. If you loved the fic, if you got something out of it that left you feeling good and energized (or whatever angst does for y'all) then I want to take a moment and strongly urge you to comment, subscribe (if a wip), and bookmark those works. Did you know there's an option to even mark it as a Fic Recommendation? You can put notes in to and say why you liked it and things like that (DO NOT DO A RATING IN PUBLIC BOOKMARKS HOWEVER). And, you can indeed make them private! The writer still gets the number added to their stats but your bookmark we won't see.

Anyway, I now wanna turn your attention to Exhibit A:

This is a list of my best performing fics. Do you see the problem with this? The green highlights are the hits I've received for those fics. The red is the Kudos and comment threads. Now the kudos is obviously right?

Let's look at my number one fic right now, Accidentally in Love (a Malleyuu fic from Twisted Wonderland fandom). It's the seventh fic in a romance series. As you can see, it's doing great as far as hits, right? And I know it's an amazing fic from the comments I have received and just from rereading it myself. Note, I am probably the biggest bully to myself as @sunshineandteddybears and @mellosdrawings and @romantichopelessly can tell you in great detail. So when I am saying it's really damn good, you can probably trust it's gonna be pretty damn good. And yet, a fic that has 4K hits only has 119 kudos. And now to bring your attention to the comment threads. So honestly with how bad readers are on actually commenting (which by the way if you log off you can send anonymously as a guest—you'll have to put in your email address but we authors won't see that)... 107 seems pretty good right? But you guys don't see that. You see what's on the info for the story. Unfortunately, on the fic info at the top of the story, it counts every single comment (including the Author's). (The comment threads is just every single starting comment, i.e. the first comment received from each commenter.)

The thing is, I—and probably quite a few other writers—do respond to every single comment.

So that means where the info on my fic itself says 230 comments, in reality, I'm at half that when I subtract my half of the comments. So that's actually 115 comments from other people. So some people might see that 230 and think oh they got a lot of comments so I don't think they want to hear from me or I can't be fucked and they're already doing good so.

NO. NO. NO. Do not look at the numbers as a guide if a fic is good or not. Do not look at the numbers and think that we don't need or deserve to get any more. And finally WE WANT TO HEAR FROM Y'ALL.

Excuses need to stop.

Speaking of numbers. Here's my over all stats current on AO3.

In the 3 years on this AO3 account (I've had others in the past and accounts on ff.net and live journal. I'm an oldie fanfic writer lol. 21 years of fanfic. My gods. 🤣) It didn't used to be like this guys. Back in the day I'd get 12 plus comments and this is on stuff a teenager wrote.

We have got to get back to the point of supporting each other and building each other up. Also while I'm at it, I have a huge beef with the fact that fanartists get so much more positive feedback and replies and comments, but the thing is, even their numbers are skewed. You can go into the notes of a fanart on here that has 10k notes to see they have maybe 100-1K reblogs (if that, I'm being generous) and maybe 10 or so replies (if turned on) and the rest are all likes. EVERYONE has been on here long enough by now to know that likes do nothing to get a post in the algorithm and tags only do so much. Reblogs are the only way their art (or our fanfictions for people who post them on here) gets seen! By sharing!

So y'all gotta get better. Yes, we write for ourselves first, but ultimately a story is meant to be shared with everyone and feedback should not be optional.

TLDR:

IF YOU FUCKING LIKE A FANFIC. KUDOS AT THE VERY LEAST BUT BE BETTER. COMMENT. BOOKMARK. SUBSCRIBE IF IT'S A WIP YOU LOVE. (Like, comment and reblog if on Tumblr)

IF YOU FUCKING LIKE A FANART ON TUMBLR. COMMENT. LIKE. REBLOG.

DO BETTER AS READERS AND US WRITERS AND ARTISTS WILL GIVE YOU THE WORLD (AND MANY OTHER WORLDS TO BOOT)

That is all. Please reblog the fuck out of this if you agree.

(and tagging my current and last fandoms so this can get in fandom spaces where it needs to be.)

[heyyylittlemo]

Small details in 19 Days that keep me up at night

((That I feel rarely gets talked about))

-Mo Guan Shan & The Zodiac Magazine

This chapter was pretty early on in 19days—So that must mean Mo Guan Shan has done this a lot more since, right??😳 and he didn’t even rlly know HT that well at this point so...he must be in heat on the low for HT by now 🥵🥵

So it canonically confirms at least a base physical attraction from the start—and c’mon if this isn’t the most relatable thing ever. Soon as I get an attraction to someone I’m a bit piqued to find out their zodiac. Mo Guan Shan’s hidden curiosity for HT is lwk so cute.

It def suggests that MGS has an under the surface lvl (where he can’t even detect it) pull to understand and get closer to HT.

Mo Guan Shan dreaming of He Tian

I know it was passed off like a “joke” and a “nightmare” but cmon this gay as hawlll

Who DOESN’T dream of their crush?? Dreams usually are about things we heavily think about and/or what we thought about before bed—and I can’t help but to think OX was onto smth

Not to mention, this has high bottom-denial energy. Literally. Like he was soooo trying to avoid getting a shot at the docs bc it was in his ass, why??? Like sir...ur fragile masculinity that was created from ur inner homophobia towards ur own bottom reality was def crashing at that second

N Why he got pain in his tushy??? In this dream?? N ppl bullying him like that abt it lmaoo who irl be saying those things?? Things like “aren’t in the guy who got a shot in ur ass” and “haha I’d like to see you with ur ass in the air~” even tho the translation and the way it was written can be said to mean that these bullies are literally finding it funny that his ass was in the air I have a feeling it was censored and rephrased to hint at its actual implications,, I feel like these guys were actually trying to jokingly solicit Mo in gay acts thru him bottoming—in reaction to the needle butt-scenario. I feel like OX wants us to read between the lines.

And if you see it that way, it really makes it seem like Mo is having a sexuality crisis here. And I think it’s what OX was building up to around that time bcuz it was around after the kiss happened.

It rlly makes me believe MGS genuinely thinks getting a shot in his ass will somehow societally and with unspoken words “expose” him and miraculously express to others that he likes it up the ass—bcuz u cannot tell me that dream and what those bullies were saying weren’t his damn paranoia demons talking

I think a dream interpreter could stretch it enough to say that the bullies are a metaphor of his own insecurities towards his homosexuality and particularly towards his upcoming bottoming feelings. Like he’s legit scared of a hospital needle in his butt—this is not straight behavior. And then we have He Tian to the rescue—(and do you see his look and his flirtatious line) and omg he’s gripping the shit out of his ass in the dream. He’s both being bullied for his bottom-ness and guilty-pleasure getting one rubbed out by He Tian. Like ok, have ur cake and eat it then bitch.

Mo Guan Shan Staring at He Tian

This was a moment leading up to the kiss. MGS was staring (probably admiring while also judging and heating up over HT) He Tian while he was playing BSKTBall—and As a BL writer myself can’t help but to think HT noticed MGS very not-straightly stare at him with a sort of sexual attraction he had towards him on the field.

Like cmon?? I doubt OX writes lines like these for no reason.

I feel like...at least irl...The eyes usually give it away if someone is interested in you or not. you can always see if someone is checking you out and noticing you in a different light like it just has different vibe and feel to it. OX was def trying to show and not tell with this panel that MGS has noticed HT and stares at him in the way we all hope he does. We don’t really get to see and (and I guess it keeps us on our toes and keeps us wondering if the little redhead could actually be falling for HT)—so it’s very subtle, but it is there, and once you notice it you’re like d a m n this makes the kiss scene so much more hopeful (at least for me).

I think this was the push that gave HT hopes to kiss MGS in the first place and it gets overlooked. How do you think HT own curiosity peeked? I think as a community we often think abt Mo and how he developed feelings or will develop feelings for HT but rarely do we ever questions The Who what when where and how He Tian came to like Mo himself. I have my own feelings about them that I can’t explain in this post, least it gets off-topic, but I think it’s very important.

I think his comment “Do I really disgust you that much” makes more sense in this context, of MGS giving HT some reassurance through non-verbal ques. HT was already under the impression that MGS was egging him on with his staring so it can warrant some of He Tian’s confusion. HT probably is pursuing MGS bc he probably senses some lvl of homosexual tension from Mo, and it’s exciting to him. Not only that, but MGS is exciting in his character. So I think HT was also relatively new to this venture and kinda spontaneously kissed Mo out of his own curioustes to explore their attractions and to get a grasp of what Mo was feeling.

It also makes me think HT and MGS experienced some undeniable pleasure or unspoken moment that could not be denied within the kiss as attraction and when MGS then decided to go agaisnt that with violence it only further hit HT, who knew MGS was lying to himself. I mean, it’s a classic BL moment. The two kiss, obviously feel smth (probably couldn’t show much of that due to censorship so had to pass it along as a 100% unsatisfactory exchange) and then one, feeling too much all at once and isn’t comfortable with their confirmed suspensions abt their sexuality—denies everything to the other causing further tensions especially sense both know how eachother really feel despite the others denial. And then the rejected one downplays the kiss’ seriousness to soothe their ego knowing full well the kiss meant smth. So they both internalize what the other said and both feel rejected, but both actually liked it. It’s a classic.

I truly feel that if it wasn’t due to censorship, that the kissing scene would’ve looked a lot more consensual than so forceful and wrong. Like it would’ve been taken as an tension filled “experimentation” that we see a lot in BLs and it only further ties into why MGS would be so bashful whenever the kiss is mentioned, and why HT can use it As a leverage over Mo (“don’t make me kiss you again”) bcuz it brings them back to thy moment where HT experienced some “answer” between Mo and that answer was fulfilling even tho it cannot be fulfilled and probably HT is hoping that maybe one day if he teases him enough about it they can share another kiss one that is a lot less rushed and now that they are closer, will lead to a better result.

Anyways those are my speculations. And I actually have written a short story based on these assumptions(focused on the kiss—and it’s also leading up to a jealously fic) but ofc I haven’t written it in ahwile haha. Just thought it was worth sharing since I noticed 19 days has been updating pretty “eh” lately.

[snarkwrites]

ssw | pietro maximoff; you make my heart beat faster. [ suggestive ]

Notes:

Okay, so.. This is kind of a follow up to the one shot I wrote a few months ago, happy birthday. So this picks up the next day. Idk where this idea came from or if it even makes sense when read immediately after that one, but ah well. My brain kept nagging at me to write the thing so I wrote the thing.

[ happy birthday ] for those who haven't read it already.

The translation: ty chuvstvuyesh', chto delayesh' so mnoy, kotenok = "do you feel what you're doing to me, kitten?" loosely via Google translate.

Prompts:

taken from either [ HERE ] or [ HERE ] give or take. It could be one or the other or a mix of both at my own choosing.

the daydream of him inside you // seeing the bulge in his pants // you make my heart beat faster. - those were all the prompts / inspiration used to write this.

Fandom / Character:

MCU / Pietro Maximoff x Barton!OFC, Nicola.

Other Writing Nicola / Pietro can be found in:

[ happy birthday ] + several other oooold posts way back on the blog I think. I wanna write a fic for them one day. We shall see, though.

Warnings:

[ NSFW. Absolutely no minors.] If you're underage, this was not written for you -nor should you be reading it. If you choose to keep reading, this is strictly a you problem. I can't do anything about it. I warned you.

Things you need to be warned about before reading: implied sexual encounter.

Yes. I realize that I don't go full into writing out the scene. But there's enough here that anyone underage has zero business reading it. So, I'm warning you guys now.

Tagging:

@chasingeverybreakingwave

@kyleoreillysknee

@micolegg

@mrsstevenbuchananstark

Other Stuff:

[ ABOUT MY WRITING | TAG LIST DOC - IF YOU WANT TO BE TAGGED, THAT IS. ]

“Are you feeling okay? You’ve barely touched your food, Nicola.”

My mom’s concerned question cut through my thoughts and I made myself smile, nodding. Taking a bite as I replied through a mouthful, “I’m fine. Was just thinking. That’s all.”

“About?” my mom eyed me expectantly. Hints of an amused smile played at her lips. I hesitated for a moment. If I didn’t know any better, I’d almost swear that somehow she knew something was up.

,, would it be a stretch to think so? One, she is my mom and two, I’ve been acting skittish and just plain out of it all damn day...” the thought came and as quickly as it did, I shoved it down in the depths of my brain.

I shrugged. “ Nothing in particular.” I gave the vaguest answer I could come up with. If she had one tenth of a clue what I’d really been thinking about just now, I’m honestly not sure how she’d react to it.

I’d been replaying last night over and over again in my mind all day. Every single part of me was dying to ask Pietro if it meant anything or not but at the same time, every single part of me was also scared to death to do that very thing. The one or two times we’d been alone with each other today and I did try, the words got stuck in my throat. And he wasn’t behaving any differently than he normally did, so I kind of just… Let it go. Started to convince myself that making the two of us love the night before was just a one time thing. As my best friend Simone would put it, “Sometimes, you just need to scratch that itch.”

The whole problem with her theory is that even now, having scratched this particular itch.. I wanted to do it again. And again.

I wanted so much more than that too. The brief glimpse I’d gotten of Pietro beneath the sarcasm and the flirty swagger the night before completely did me in. I’d gone from trying hard to keep him at arms length to falling head over feet in love with him and knowing this drove me crazy.

I felt someone staring at me.

I looked up just as Pietro was looking down. Pouting to myself a little, I reached out to grab the spoon in the bowl of mashed potatoes to scoop another serving onto my plate. Pietro reached for the spoon at the same time and when our hands brushed, I felt this little jolt.

He moved his hand but not until he’d let it linger against mine for a second or two. His gaze not leaving mine for the entirety of it. Under the table, my thighs clenched tight. I could see his hands all over me again in my head. Feel his cock buried deep inside me.

I went from a little wet to full on soaked between the mental imagery and the brush of his hand against mine. My stomach coiled.

My body tensed a little.

I dropped my gaze first, busying myself with putting more potatoes on my plate. Pietro kept watching me.

My parents were talking at the head of the table as my mom fed Nathaniel some smushed peas and carrots... My little sister scarfed down her food and then shot out of her chair and out the backdoor to go play a game of tag with my brother in the backyard before it got to dark to play and they had to come inside.

I dared to glance up from shoveling food into my mouth and Pietro gave a teasing wink. Biting his lip as he openly fucked me with his eyes.

And there it went.. The lazy flip flop of my stomach. And no matter what I tried, I couldn’t tear my eyes out of the ocean blue depths of his.

I couldn’t take any more of the torture that was being around him and not having the courage to ask what I was dying to know so I stood and grabbed my plate as soon as I finished eating, making my way into the kitchen to put it in the sink.

I went ahead and washed it while I stood there. I was just drying the plate and about to put it away in the cabinet overhead when I felt Pietro’s muscular body press against me from behind. Wordlessly, he took the plate from my hand and sat it on the top of the stack inside. I turned to face him.

This put us body to body.

I swallowed hard. My mouth opened and closed and for about five or six seconds, I willed myself to say something. Do something.

But I couldn’t bring myself to. Because as much as I was dying to know whether last night was a one time thing or if there was really something between us… Parts of me were scared to death that if I asked, I wouldn’t like the answer.

And that kept me quiet.

Pietro’s hand raised. Reaching out. Brushing strands of hair out of my eyes. I barely restrained a whimper at the touch. His eyes flashed a brighter blue and his head tilted slightly as he stared down at me.

Lost in thought.

His hips pressed into mine harder. When I felt the bulge in his jeans, I took a few shaky breaths. His hand rested on my hip, squeezing. Digging the tips of his fingers into it. He leaned down slightly and his mouth grazed the shell of my ear as he asked, “ty chuvstvuyesh', chto ty delayesh' so mnoy, kotenok?” in a breathless whisper.

If I thought I was wet before, hearing him speak to me in his native tongue had me soaked. Absolutely flooded. The only word I could pick out of whatever he’d asked was kitten. And as usual, when he called me kitten, my heart fluttered just a little more in my chest. He rocked himself into me clumsily and I sucked in a breath.

“Pietro.” I muttered. I was right on the verge of asking him what he’d just said. And asking him about what the night before truly was, if he felt anything or if it just kinda… happened. But just as I thought I’d finally be able to get the words out, it’s like my brain froze up all over again. I frowned at myself in frustration and sighed, shaking my head. “Nothing. It’s silly.”

I heard my dad calling my name from the next room, so I stepped away from Pietro reluctantly and went to leave the kitchen. Pietro grabbed hold of my hips, holding me in place for a few seconds. Staring down at me.

“ I need to talk to you later, kotenok. Alone.”

All I could do was nod. Tell him that I was going to go up to my room in a few minutes.

He nodded.

I stepped away and walked into the next room, only barely managing to pull myself together enough to talk to my parents without either one of them seeming to be aware of just how flustered I truly was.

As soon as I got done talking to my dad, I made my way upstairs. Shutting the door to my room and leaning against it just to hopefully pull myself together.

I still couldn’t.

I flopped across my bed, picking up the Anatomy book and my notebook, preparing to start studying again for the final I had coming up soon and just as I settled into it, there were two knocks at my bedroom door.

I slipped off the bed, wandering over to the door. Opening it.

Pietro leaned in the doorway, gazing down at me. That hungry look in his eyes again.

I stepped out of the doorway and let him into my room, shutting the door behind me. When I turned around to face him, we were body to body. Leaning into me, he put a hand against the door, just above my head. I could feel him straining even harder against his jeans. His other hand raised, resting against the side of my face. Cradling my cheek as he closed the distance between our mouths.

I started out with my palm down. Determined to keep distance between us until I finally worked up the courage to ask my question, hear my dreaded answer and be done, but by the time his tongue slipped past my lips and started to trace my teeth, I was clutching at the front of his fitted black shirt instead. He nipped at my bottom lip, tugging until I felt it swelling under pressure. The kiss deepened until I got so lightheaded I thought I’d melt.

He seemed to sense this because he crushed me against him and the hand cupping my face drifted down. Skimming down my side. Stopping at my hip.

The kiss finally broke so we could breathe and we pulled apart; breathless. Staring at each other quietly. Wide-eyed.

“Kotenok…” he muttered softly. Fondly. His voice dying away as he stared down at me like he was lost in thought. Trying to say something.

“What’s up?” I mumbled, my stomach flipping and flopping lazily.

“Last night was..” he went quiet on me again and I tensed a little, bracing myself for him to continue. Preparing myself in the event that what he was about to say wasn’t what I longed to hear.

So it shocked me when he was closing the distance between our mouths all over again as he muttered in a lust-filled whisper, “Last night was more than just sex. You make me feel things that I haven’t before, kotenok.”

My breath caught in my throat and I didn’t realize it until I finally took a breath and it was shaky. I gazed up at him, letting his words sink in. Trying to wrap my head around it. I went to say something, to tell him that I felt the same way and I didn’t do what we’d done last night often, but he pressed the side of his finger against my lips, silencing me and continued to speak.

“You make my heart beat faster.” he took hold of the hand I had rested against his chest, placing it over his heart. I gasped quietly as I looked up at him again and saw the way he was looking back down at me, a look of pure and total adoration.

He looked nervous as hell. Fidgeting a little. Not quite sure what to do with his hands after he moved one off my hip and let go of my hand with the other. He went to step away, swearing under his breath and I realized that he wanted me to react somehow.

I pressed against him from behind. My hand wrapping around his where it lingered on the knob to my bedroom door. “Don’t go. Please?” I asked in a hushed whisper. Pietro turned around and when he did, I melted against him. Raising my arms to wrap them around his neck. Dragging my fingers through a thick mess of platinum blond. Tugging at it as I rose to tiptoe and crashed my mouth against his. Laughing softly when our noses bumped and our lips connected all over again; hungry. Desperate. Frenzied.

He reached down, twisting the lock on my door knob so that it was locked and no one could come in by accident. A low growl rose up from the depths of his chest, hanging in the air between us only to be swallowed by the kiss as our mouths reconnected and it deepened. I rubbed myself against him clumsily. Needy.

His hands locked across my ass and he slipped me up his body, stepping over to my bed. Dropping me against my mattress softly and positioning himself on top of me. Pressing his hips into mine. Bucking against me as his mouth strayed from my own, working it’s way down the side of my neck. His lips caught on my pulse, making me shiver and rock myself up into him as I gave a needy whine and raised my legs, squeezing his hips with my knees. The kiss broke and he muttered against my mouth with a teasing grin, “ Think you can be quiet for me, kotenok?”

“ I can try.” I whimpered as his mouth worked down the front of my throat, teeth scraping against skin. Stubble tickling me. Making me cling to him as he snapped his hips against me and his hands moved down between us, catching in the hem of my shirt. He pulled me up to a sitting position and pulled my shirt off, tossing it onto my bedroom floor. I tugged at his shirt, whining impatiently and he chuckled. Nipping softly at my bottom lip as he teased, “Patience.”

“Pietro.” I pleaded.

He tugged his shirt over his head, letting it settle on the floor near mine. And then he was leaning in. His hands moving up my sides. Stopping to squeeze my breasts, growling to himself quietly before reaching around. Hooking a thick digit beneath the band of my bra and working the clasps free. He pulled it off, balling it up and tossing it on the floor with the rest of our clothes as he leaned into me even more, my back pressed flat against my bed all over again. He positioned himself on top of me, his body spreading my legs wide and as his head dipped down, my fingers curled in my blanket and thick blond hair.

His mouth worked across my collarbones. Then lower. He squeezed my tits together, mouth diving down. Latching onto one of my nipples. Tongue circling lazily until he’d teased it to a point and I was squirming beneath him, rocking my hips, desperate for any kind of friction I could get. My fingers caught in the waistband of his jeans and I worked the button and the zipper free. He pulled away and slipped off the bed to shed his jeans and underwear and eyed me hungrily. Leaning down. Meeting my gaze with a mischief filled smirk as he took off my pants. Holding my gaze the entire time.

I kicked my pants free at the ankle and he was on top of me again. The tip of his thick cock brushing right against my fabric covered crotch as he bucked into me and muttered against my mouth, “Are you ready for me, kotenok?”

“Please?” I begged breathlessly, barely managing to keep my voice a whisper as I did so. When he smirked at me as if he were pleased with himself, I realized exactly what his goal was.

He wanted to see just how close he could get me to getting loud.

I pouted up at him and he chuckled. “What’s wrong?”

“You’re being a tease. I know what you’re trying to do.”

“Oh?” he muttered, his hand disappearing between us. Slipping into my panties. Fingers working me open. Burying deep in my throbbing, wet sex. I arched my back and gasped, my fingers tangling in his hair, tugging at it as I rocked against his hand.

It wasn’t enough. I wanted him buried to the hilt inside of me. Now.

But Pietro was in a teasing mood tonight. Something told me that the more I begged, the more he was going to prolong it. And if I didn’t beg? He’d prolong it.

I was absolutely fucked.

One way or another, he was going to have me screaming his name by the end of the night.