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shibaraki · 7 months

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

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

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

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

“But Hajime, the otter cafe!”

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

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

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

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

“Stop fussing and sit with me”.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oi—!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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 toward 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. “Looks like it’s open. Maybe”.

Tooru cranes his neck, lips comically pursed as he looks toward the cafe. “It’s pretty romantic out here. If we have Hajime get on one knee 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 tucked 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 are crowned with cumulus clouds of smoke from the hot springs; young families stand beneath tall, crimson painted torii gates; vendors shelter from the sun in 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 standard 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 flowers in the early moonlight as it floods in through the sliding lattice doors. Behind them 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 shelves frame a small flatscreen TV, neatly decorated with painted clay art 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 to be lain 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; you’re caught in a tentative dance that never seemed to end. They all know and 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 and pushes onto his knees to drop his body heavily beside yours.

You struggle against his dead-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 hard 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. “C’mon,” you grow 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, 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 that,” 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.

Later, you inhale deeply and grimace in discomfort. The air is humid. 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 to walk 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 push into his side and attempt to 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 is reluctant. At the very least he’s worried. It’s apparent 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. “We’re adults. It’s no problem, 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 until your eyes sting, 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, his 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 eyelids.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to push you”.

“Yes 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. Some point along the line it became a crater you couldn’t climb out from. And 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. A final push. 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 gather at the reception desk and pretend 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 ache, like a deep bruise. 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 all already had this planned, didn’t you? Issei told me the same thing”.

“He wants to talk to you. Confess, don’t confess. Either way, I think it’ll be good for you both,” he says resolutely. Tooru’s one armed hug has the steadiness of home. You return it, hooking around his lower back, and walk together. His strides that much longer, and you a little 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 grows at Hajime’s admonishments now you're considering the love behind them, Tooru’s words on a loop in your mind.

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

Clothes 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 floor 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. 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 your gaze 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 told you. You don’t particularly enjoy being seen to the bottom of; it makes you want to shrink away. 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 of that,” Takahiro bemoans, his tone on the precipice of teasing. You recline to allow Hajime to pass the dish across and instinctively know what will come next. “Oh, I see how it is. Not gonna feed me too? Favouritism at its finest—” With a flat glare Hajime 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. The whole evening had been a whole unravelling of doubt. Until this point you’d 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 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 whirls 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 uniformed 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 movies 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 discern how much remains before pouring it 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 hear his wordless request and fill his drink too, with hope the alcohol will not steal these warm moments come morning.

Once the movie was over your sprawled out bodies eventually migrated toward the futons Issei prepared. You forgo the double 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. You’re happy to indulge him.

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, turning off the lights as he saunters in. He drapes himself across an already 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, honeyed 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 was too drunk to make any purposeful decision but it was 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 your nerdy sci-fi movie 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 abruptly 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 a beat later the stillness is 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 of silence 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 gauzy 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 mind 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 single 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 wild night out,” you murmur, closing the door behind you. The air is cool again. 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?”

His nonchalance falls flat and 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 belt. He looks sleep mussed where he’s sitting on the tatami, pushing the door further open to lean against 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 is necessary. Condensation from Tooru’s earlier hot shower sticks to the tile and the mirror’s surface. The reflection is foggy, your figure like a smudge. You regret not bringing nicer clothes 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 table 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 as if 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 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 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 can 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 trembles with restrained mirth. Issei catches your eye and shakes his head while Tooru sniffs primly, attempting to scrunch his own smirk into a displeased pout. “Fine,” he relents. “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 and wait 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 coming, 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. “I 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 that when they get back?” you laugh. Hajime’s mouth curls at the sound 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”.

EXTRA:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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lovrsm · 7 months

Text

ɢᴏʀɢᴇᴏᴜꜱ

sum: in which your brother invites you to a party, and oh god, you're so glad you accepted.

word count: 2.4k

pairing: charles leclerc x singer!reader

warnings: drinking, curse words & insinuation of cheating.

Spotify - Apple Music

ᴍᴀɪɴ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

ᴘᴀʀᴛ ɪ - ᴘᴀʀᴛ ɪɪ - ᴍᴇᴅɪᴀ ᴀᴜ

"you should take it as a compliment that I got drunk and made fun of the way you talk"

Monaco was such a lovely place, when my brother had told me about it I thought he was exaggerating. I mean, it wouldn't be that weird if he had, he's always excited about everything, he's the kind of guy who makes you see as if the world is made of bright rainbow colors, and I believe him.

I arrived from the airport about 2 hours ago, I was on my way to the hotel where Lando was staying, he told me he got another room for me. How could I say no?

He called me yesterday at about 3pm

"No, I'm telling you, IT WILL BE THE PARTY OF THE YEAR!" he screamed over the phone, making me laugh.

"Lando, I just came from signing with my sponsors, they expect me to write more songs in a 4 months period, you know how complicated that's going to be?" I exhaled, taking off my heels, tossing them across the room as I lay down on the couch. I was exhausted.

"C'mon, you'll have plenty of things to write songs about, look, I can already hear it!" he started to hum a catchy tone, making the corners of my mouth go up. "Lando... Jake won't be able to be there, god, I don't even know if he'll want me to be there, you know?"

I could already see him in the doorway telling me where am I.

Sure, he was on canada filming, but what if he finds out?

"I'm not even letting you say no, I'm already booking tickets, get all you need, you can even shop here if you want, I just want my sister with me tomorrow night with me"

"You better go get me at the airport Lando Norris."

"I wont let you down peanut" He chuckled and hung up on me.

Well he kinda let me down, he couldn't come get me due to some last minute meeting he had. I don't really mind, I know having a busy life is exhausting.

I thanked the taxi driver giving his a generous tip, my bodyguard helped me get out my suitcases, I had a hoodie and black sunglasses, he had a casual outfit so we wouldn't stand out.

For being a top artist in the whole world, I did not like having that much security. But it was an obligation, not an option, I had to stick to what my manager and team asks me to do.

After a busy day of shopping and walking around the streets, I could barely feel my feet. I had gotten a beautiful short red dress. Perfect fit for the occasion. It was just 7p.m. and Lando had texted me he was on his way to my dorm.

The door opened to reveal my very festive brother in the other side "You're here!" "I'm here!" I screamed back jumping into his arms.

We catched up, he was telling me about how he checked the track, for the next season, since we were in December. Although I never really understood racing, when we were kids our parents would take us out to the karts, and I'd always crash while he was beating all of us who tried to play.

He focused on sports and I focused on music, since I was 12 years old I learned to play the guitar. My mom used to tell me that I was a genius at writing songs, I guess many people think the same.

Time passed by too fast, with him I felt like an hour were just 5 minutes.

After hating each other all our childhood, we became closer than ever after my career and his took off. I think it was because we were twins, we hated it when people said we acted the same, because physically we are not alike at all. I am so much prettier, obviously.

it was already 8 o'clock "I'm leaving, I should get ready, do you wanna come with me?"

"I'd stopped talking to you if you let me get there alone, I know none of these guys Lando."

"I'm sure you'll know somebody miss famous." He bumped my shoulder and left my room, entering to his which was next door.

I took my time getting ready. God, I love being a woman. I took a bath, fixed my hair, put on my make-up and finally there was the dress, hanging on the bathroom door. I think it is one of the most beautiful dresses I have ever seen in my life.

How did I manage to put on the mini dress correctly by myself? I don't even know, but I couldn't stop looking at myself in the mirror. God if only someone could look at me.

Oh wait! There is someone, I grabbed my phone to click his name, my phone started to ring. I waited patiently, but he did not answer. So I called him once more, this time he did answer.

I heard loud music and singing in the back. "What do you need?" he asked, I could hear the irritation in his voice. "I wanted to hear from you, we haven't talked-"

"We talked last Monday, wasn't that enough? I'm busy." He interrupted me.

"Where are you?" I asked intrigued this time.

"Uhm... I'm in the bar with some friends"

"Oh and that's just more important than your girlfriend?" I raised my voice at him, I was now sitting the edge on the bed.

"Look, I don't want to fight, just call me later." He said, basically hanging the phone. "Jake..." I said before he could do so.

"What?" He sounded desperate. "Take care." I said.

"Ok" He hung. I felt disgusted, why? not idea, I just felt dirty, as if I was forcing him to talk to me. I took some deep breathes so I could calm my nerves down.

I don't even want to go out anymore.

I tried hard not to cry, I wasn't going to ruin my makeup over some small argument, I'm sure tomorrow we'll be alright, we always end up alright.

It felt as an eternity till I heard a knock on my door, I quickly grabbed my bag, looked in the mirror once more to fix my dark wavy hair, and rushed to the door. I opened it, in the side was Lando, his back on the wall while he was looking at his phone.

He turned it off and looked at me, I smiled "Ready to go Peanut?"

"Lets go"

We finally got to the club, electronic music was blasting off, people were already drunk, and boy they didn't even tried to hide it.

We had to basically run to the VIP area, I didn't said anything to my bodyguard about this, besides, he can use a break.

Lando was immediately greeted by everyone who was in the room. "LANDO!" A man screamed to him "Ayee, we're here!" He said hugging the man, and patting him in the back. "you're so late, you were the only ones missing!"

"we're here Pierre, I'd like to present to you all my sister!" He hugged me by the side and I waved with a smile on my face. It seemed that most of them recognized me, because some of them just stood there in shock "Hey everyone, ready to get wasted?" I laughed, that made them less tense and cheered, lifting their cups.

Lando gave a me a sweet kiss in my head, "see, you'll be fine, have some fun peanut!" I let go and we both went our own way.

I started to talk to a girl, her name is Kika, I learnt she was the girlfriend of a guy named Pierre Gasly. I've heard about him but no one ever told me how fun his girlfriend was!

"Girl, you should try this margarita, the most wholesome thing you'll have in your life!"

She was not kidding with that. In a few minutes, I had asked for... about 5 of them, or maybe just 13.

I had talked to everyone in the room by 10 pm, they were all so fun, and the energy was of another planet.

"Yeah, and then Max would make that grumpy face. I swear he looks like and old man!"

"very mature Lando, so mature." I bursted out laughing. "LECLERC HAS ARRIVED!" I heard someone scream in the entrance, and in seconds half of the group was there greeting the guy.

I decided I was going to take something else than a margarita. I walked up to the bartender, who definitely did not understood me. I don't know if I was speaking too softly or if I was just way too drunk to talk, but I decided to leave, I turned around and bumped into someone.

I was about to loose my balance till his arms were wrapped around my waist, I was able to stand straight. "are you alright?" he asked.

I looked into his eyes, green eyes "what?"was all I could manage. "Are you alright?" He asked again, I now noticed a thick accent, I bursted out laughing for that.

He looked so confused, he let go and chuckled with me. For a second it was as if the whole club was quiet. I looked again at him, and I immediately looked down at the floor. He grabbed my hand, the lights went out for a second and my world spun. My legs were about to give up.

His touch was... it was, god I can't even say it.

"I'm Charles, what's your name?"

I bit my lip, what went out of my mouth was definitely not what I wanted to say. "Do you always talk like that?" I asked a bit to seriously, I chuckled so that I wasn't that rude.

"Yeah, my first language isn't english."

"Huh." I said, I felt as if he had a goddamn magnetic field and it was pulling me towards him, I couldn't stand it.

I ran off to the other side of the room, leaving him standing alone next to the bar.

All night.

All night I couldn't stop thinking about him, his hand touching my hand in the darkened room...

and I made fun of the way he talked.

I'm never drinking again.

Yet there I was, in the bar once more, asking for whiskey. Mature, so mature.

I kept bouncing back and forth between the people there, once I saw Charles walking to my way, I would ran to the other side of the room.

I have a boyfriend for gods sake! I can't be thinking these unhealthy things about him.

But, I mean, can you blame me?

Look at him.

His first two buttons were unbottened which made him look so attractive. And you should see his dimples, he's so gorgeous it actually fucking hurts!

"So you're not going to talk to me?" I heard a voice behind my ear. His chest touching my back. I didn't move, but I did answer.

"Who said I wasn't going to?" I asked playfully, with a grin on my face, knowing he couldn’t see me.

He hummed in my ear, before he turned me to look him in the eye, he grabbed my neck, but he didn't kiss me. Instead, he brought his lips back to my ear.

"Then why do you keep running, huh?" His hot breath sent a shiver down my spine. I was dumbfolded by his actions, he took a step back to look at me.

I looked into his eyes, I was absolutely taking him in. I looked at his dimples because of the grin he had in his face. His eyebrows, his slightly sweaty hair, with pieces of it falling into his face.

I couldn't help myself, I noticed how he looked into my eyes, and then to my mouth.

What if..?

I asked to myself, I closed my eyes and got closer to him, waiting for a kiss. But he grabbed me by my hips pulling me back.

"You're far too drunk, ma chou" I heard and opened my eyes, he gave me a sympathetic smile. I felt dumb for a second, but after seeing his face... I think I might be falling.

"Why don't we leave, would you like that?" I hugged him, my head in his neck. I nodded as fast as I could. He grabbed me and in a second, we were in his car.

For sure the alcohol got to my head that night.

Taglist

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc imagine #scuderia ferrari #lando #gorgeous

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sohnric · 7 months

Text

paris – l. juyeon

pairing: lee juyeon x fem! reader

genre: exchange student! juyeon in paris (ft. his erasmus friends). friends to ???, angst, fluff. actually, the genre is longing. halloween party au but the halloween part plays like,, 0 part in the fic, basically. idk the paris pics did something to me he is so european coded. paris by the 1975 without the drugs in a fic, essentially

warnings: cheating from yn's side, swearing, alcohol, smoking. the reader is canonically french im sorry 💀

word count: 6k

There’s quite a few reasons why Juyeon never told his friends from home about you- the girl he met on his student exchange trip. Some were the cause of Juyeon’s insecurities in himself, some the cause of your relationship status, all the cause of his unrequited love and the way you broke his heart, making Juyeon’s whole memory of Paris a bit hazy and bittersweet and the leave, paradoxically, that much harder. But still– and maybe you’re the reason for it– oh, how he’d love to go to Paris again.

a/n: do NOT cancel me for being a casual matty healy enjoyer i am a 2014 tumblr girlie at heart

“And where are my gifts? Where are the souvenirs?” Hyunjae calls after the boy that’s still kind of jet lagged from the flight (even though it’s been 3 days since his landing and he slept the whole day after his brother picked him up from the airport), the latter looking at him with tired eyes.

“That’s all you want from me after not seeing me for 6 months?”

“Yes. Where’s my baguette?” Hyunjae glares, making the younger boy whine at the request.

“I didn’t know you wanted a hard rock baguette from me. If I had known, I would’ve taken one with me and smashed it against your head the moment I arrived here.”

“Well, if it’s authentic,” Hyunjae shrugs, laughing. “I’m just joking… I know we’ve been calling and texting like, every other day, but let me ask again. How was it?”

Juyeon finally smiles at his friend’s question. This is what one expects after coming home from studying abroad for 10 months– not a souvenir request. And trust me, Juyeon did bring gifts, out of the warmth of his own heart, but after being asked for them, he kind of doesn’t want to play Santa anymore. Kind of like when you decide to wash the dishes, but your mum tells you to do it at the same time of your decision– the motivation fades away the mere second you’re requested to do the thing.

“Well, it was good,” he shrugs, “it was… something,” Juyeon says– because how does one fit 10 months of their life into a few sentences without stammering– and before he gets a chance to say anything, Hyunjae catches him off guard with another inquiry.

“Is it true, by the way? Are European girls really prettier?” he grins, wiggling his eyebrows at the boy as if to suggest something– but all it does is make Juyeon shrug, acting not really bothered with the question.

“Dunno,” he hums, “I think it’s equal to here.”

“So you’re telling me you went 10 months without getting laid in France?” Hyunjae gasps, making Juyeon furrow his brows in utter disbelief.

“When did I say that? Or anything that would even suggest that?”

Now, this was a trap. Juyeon is too gullible. See, Juyeon was pretty transparent with everything during his calls with Hyunjae back when he was in Paris. He told his friends back home all about the European food, the rock-hard french baguettes, the weird looks and annoyed sighs he got when speaking English to the clarks in the shops, the cold showers in his accommodation and the pretty park in front of his university building. They also know all about his friends from Paris– the international students he met in his course like Shotaro from Japan, Bence from Hungary and Marco from Italy– but when the question of girls came around, specifically in the romantic light of things, Juyeon went awfully quiet. You can’t blame Hyunjae for getting into suspicions.

“So you did?” Hyunjae gasps, grasping at the straws.

Juyeon sighs, reaching for his bag. His awfully big hand slips inside of the black backpack, fingers touching various things before he brings out a bunch of gifts: a keychain with the Eiffel tower, some magnets, postcards, a fashionable beret he found in one of the souvenir stores but never saw anyone actually wear in the whole 10 months in the streets of Paris, some perfume and high quality chocolate. Hyunjae’s eyes go wide, making satisfaction swim through Juyeon’s veins at the sight– he managed to deflect the attack.

Sometimes, having materialistic friends is a plus.

As he watches Hyunjae touch all the things on the table, fingers trailing over metal and the shiny wrapping of the dark chocolate with an acknowledging nod, Juyeon takes out another thing out of his bag– his digital camera that he brought along for the ride. He sent his friends a lot of pictures when he was in Paris, and he also posted quite a few on Instagram for everyone to see, but the camera held more memories and more moments than anyone’s ever seen before– it’s a source of treasure for himself as well, but he figures it wouldn’t hurt to share a glimpse with his best friend.

“Wanna see? I took tons of pictures, but you can look through only the interesting ones, if you want to,” Juyeon hums, offering the camera to the male, the display already shining at him from the gallery, small icons of all pictures on the SD card in a 3x3 row on the small thing.

A few pictures of the town are on preview right now, but if you scroll through the gallery, moments of his friend Marco’s birthday party that his friends threw for him, or the snapshots of his friend’s faces come into sight– Juyeon’s sure Hyunjae’s eager to see how all of the people he’s been talking to him about look like.

Hyunjae nods, taking the camera from him and squinting at the little icons. His fingers move along the touch screen and scroll through the gallery, eyes zooming on the interesting ones and grinning as he shows them to Juyeon, awaiting the backstory of a certain image.

Everything goes well, until Hyunjae gets to the latest pictures on the SD card– well, apart from the ones Juyeon took from the window on his flight home. And Juyeon really doesn’t know what he was thinking, but hey– sometimes he doesn’t think things through as much as he should– and that’s why when a particular photo comes into his best friend’s sight, turning the camera towards Juyeon with a shiteating grin on his face, the question ‘Who’s that?’ makes the poor boy a bit shaken.

His tall figure, standing alongside someone shorter– you, in your vampire costume, fake blood running down the side of your mouth, a hand thrown over his shoulders and your side pressed into his a bit too close as he stares down onto you with an obviously star-struck face, suit covering his body in a poor attempt at Joker’s costume– the moment stares back at him like a haunted memory.

He clears his throat. “That’s… that’s just Y/N.”

Hyunjae hums, having a staring contest with the picture on the screen. The date on the bottom reads 31/10/23, the last day of Juyeon’s stay before he had to go home. “How come I’ve never heard about Y/N?”

“There wasn’t much to say, I guess,” Juyeon shrugs, taking a sip from the bottle of beer on the table.

“Sure…” Hyunjae doubtingly nods, scrunching up his nose in disbelief.

“I’m serious. She’s just a friend I met there,” Juyeon offers, licking his lips in nerves.

And it’s the truth– you were just a friend and there really wasn’t much to say about you two– so why does Juyeon’s heart hurt a bit as he recognizes the events of the night as if it happened yesterday? Why does he feel nostalgic, maybe a little bitter about the way you two left off?

Hyunjae doesn’t know, but there’s quite a few reasons why he never heard about you in the first place. Some were the cause of Juyeon’s insecurities in himself, some the cause of your relationship status, all the cause of his unrequited love and the way you broke his heart, making the whole memory of Paris a bit hazy and bittersweet and the leave, paradoxically, that much harder.

But still– and maybe you’re the reason for it–

oh, how he’d love to go to Paris again.

31/10/2023

The buzzing of the room makes Juyeon’s already thumping head ache in its crevices, the smell of alcohol in the breath of everyone talking to him only making his stomach twist and turn with acid. He’s had his fair amount of drinks himself, but there is a very faint line between the amount that’s just enough to keep him going through the night and the amount that makes him puke and have a two-week hangover, and with the flight home he has to take tomorrow afternoon, he doesn’t think drinking more would be a good idea.

“Don’t break it!” Juyeon tiredly hurries out as he sees his friend Marco handle his camera, the device almost falling out of the foreign friend’s hands.

“I won’t! Hold on, let me just–” the Italian mutters, the coating of vodka shots and the cheap red wine (made to look like blood to keep things festive) making his words slur together as he speaks.

Juyeon reaches towards his drunk friend (while also questioning how he’s going to take a plane back to Italy tomorrow in a very hungover state) and tries to pray the prized possession out of his hands, but comes to a fail as the tall man waves him off with a theatral arm wave, shoving the poor boy towards the white wall and putting the camera up against his own face. “I’ll take your picture! So you can– you only take pictures of us, Juyo,” he rambles on, “I’ll take your picture so you can show it at home to your friends!” Marco grins, having Juyeon aimlessly sigh and stretch out his lips into a fake smile, waiting for his friend to take the picture so he can get his camera back to safety.

“Me too! Me too!” he suddenly hears from somewhere to his right, and before he has the chance to decipher the owner of the female voice, a weight on his shoulder tells him you just jumped at his side– almost topping him over and into the spooky decorations to his right– as you giggle into his ear. “Have it?”

“Aaaalmost!” Marco stretches out as he squints at the camera– and in the spare few seconds before the shutter goes off, Juyeon allows himself to stare down at your figure glued to his side. You’re wearing a dark lipstick on your smile, a drip of fake blood rolling down the side of your mouth. There’s a corset top enveloping your middle and a flowy black skirt only pulling the whole look together even with the absence of fangs– and while you don’t suck out his blood, Lee Juyeon can physically feel how you sucked out all oxygen out of his lungs in your sexy vampire costume.

He’s seen you around tonight, but he never got the courage to walk up to you. Something about this being his last night in Paris might be the reason why.

He was simply too bummed out about how things between you and him never went further than fits of laughter in class as you helped him with his French, or friendly hugs when you bid him goodbye at the corner of his street. Maybe it was his own fault for falling for someone so out of his reach. He always knew his stay in France was temporary– hell, he was an exchange student, he was aware of what he was getting himself into– but still, he couldn’t help but recognize the familiar warmth in his stomach whenever you were around and the strange racing of his heart whenever you were close enough for him to smell your shampoo for what it was. He was completely, utterly smitten with you– a french local that would be erased out of his lifestyle as soon as he lands back home in Korea.

The shutter of the camera is all it takes to break his train of thought, making him snap his head back to his Italian friend. A sigh of relief is heard in the room as Juyeon finally reunites with his digital camera (he was surprised to see Marco let go of it so easily), and before he has the chance to think of a conversation topic to indulge in with you, you have his words catching in his throat at your own pace of speech.

“Have you been here for long?” you ask, flattering your eyelashes at him. Juyeon gasps before he presses his lips together into a tight line, shrugging.

“A bit.”

“Why haven’t you said hi?” you frown. “You said it’s your last night! You wouldn’t leave without a goodbye, would you?” you shake your head at him, playfully poking his shoulder with your pointer finger.

He was going to. Not anymore, he guesses.

“No,” he disagrees instead, “I was gonna look for you when it was my turn to leave,” he quickly comes up with an explanation, having your features relax as a warm smile overtakes your pretty features again.

Even with your face all bloody and your eyes having dark circles under them from eyeshadow (and mascara that weared off a little, which you were completely unaware of), Juyeon finds you absolutely, utterly and fascinatingly beautiful. He’s glad no one is able to read his inner monologue– or else he’d be the one with blood running down the side of his face. If the punch to seal the cut would be coming from you or your boyfriend, he’s not quite sure.

Maybe both. The main thing is, you’re taken and his feelings aren’t reciprocated.

Which is why his silly crush on you that maybe, just maybe, turned into something more meaningful was that much damaging to his poor soul.

Because Juyeon swears he never loved anyone before, but after spending the night with you drinking cheap wine in his empty dorm room on his birthday completely alone– since it fell on a Sunday this year and he didn’t have that many friends yet to celebrate with, only having spending 2 weeks in Paris at the time– during which you taught him French swear words and kissed his cheek goodbye (which he thought may be a cultural thing, although he wasn’t sure); after all of this, he felt like you’re the person he’ll think of when someone asks him about his first love when he's old.

And even if he had the balls to do anything about it (which he didn’t), he simply couldn’t. You were out of reach.

“You’d better,” you hum, “or else I’d hitchhike a plane and come over to Korea just to kick your ass.”

“You can’t hitchhike a plane, you weirdo.”

You sigh, shaking your head. “Of course I can. Watch me.”

Juyeon finds himself grinning at the adorable determination in your voice. It makes him feel a certain type of way that he knows he shouldn’t– but after spending 10 months with the feelings (5 of which you were single, 5 of which you’ve spent dating your boyfriend) and absorbing the idea of leaving you and everything behind tomorrow, Juyeon no longer feels as guilty about the act of loving you. Not anymore– not tonight.

“I like your costume,” Juyeon comments, pointing to the attire you’ve dressed yourself in.

“Really?” your eyes light up. “Look, I even wore the bow my idiot of a boyfriend said looks tacky,” you say, making a little twirl for the man. Your skirt flows nicely in the air and you stumble a bit due to the alcohol in your system, but when Juyeon catches you by your forearms and steadies you, there’s a content smile sitting on your lips despite your previous sentence.

“It looks pretty on you,” Juyeon hums, nodding. “It’s not tacky at all.”

“I always knew you had more taste than him,” you sigh dramatically, making Juyeon question your actions.

Oh?

“Anyways, I like your costume as well,” you comment.

“Thanks,” he says, although his half-assed attempt at a Joker’s costume wasn’t anywhere near your level of preciseness, “Shotaro was supposed to go as Harley to match with me, but he pulled out of it at the last minute,” Juyeon pouts.

“Gosh! That would’ve been fucking amazing,” you laugh, swatting your friend in the arm playfully– the way you always do when you laugh– but as you come down from it, there’s a bitter tone in your voice. “I asked my boyfriend to wear a couple’s costume too, but he said all my costume ideas were lame.”

“Y/N–” Juyeon starts, wanting to speak up about the matter very obviously present in the conversation, wanting to console you, say anything, but you cut him off again– your courtesy– with a shrug and a grin on your face made to mask your true emotions (didn't work. Juyeon knows you too well).

“It’s okay. That’s why I dressed up as a slutty vampire just to spite him,” you say.

“What’s his costume?” Juyeon asks.

“Not sure. I think he just bought the Scream mask, or something,” you mutter, rolling your eyes at the male.

And now, Juyeon was never big on gossip. But if gossiping meant poking fun at your boyfriend, the last night before his plane back home takes off is not the time he’s passing on a snarky comment. “Lame.”

“I’m so glad we are on the same page, Juyo.”

His heart leaps at the nickname– a lot of people call him that, but the tone you say it in, the sweet melody of your voice as you throw it at him like a promise (of everything and nothing at all– you’re fond of him, but never fond enough), only you have this effect on him when you call him that. He wishes he had you saying his name recorded, documented somewhere on his phone, your accent and all, so he could hear you say it when he foolishly misses you in the middle of the night, like he knows he will when he lays awake at home, in his tiny, silent room.

“Do you want to get out for a bit? It’s getting too hot in here,” you say as you wave yourself, hoping to cool off, but failing miserably with the heat created from the bodies swimming through the house, and Juyeon finds himself nodding at your question.

Your feet drag you outside of the house, the cold breeze instantly cooling down your sweaty bodies. You two stand on the front porch together, watching the world around you revolve in a fast, yet slow manner– there are couples making out in the corner of the yard, one of them pressed up against the tree, and friends chasing each other down in zombie costumes, passing by bottles of alcohol between each other.

Juyeon hears you hum, making him turn his head towards you and see you offering a cigarette to him. He'd never been much of a smoker before, but Europe taught him to never turn down a cigarette when offered, and so he only takes out one out of the pack, watching you mirror his movements. You fish for your lighter in your bra (and Juyeon finds himself too mesmerized to look away during the action), clicking it and putting the flame against the cigarette trapped between his lips.

He doesn’t know what it is about the action that makes his eyes hooded as he watches you– noticing the forgotten speck of glitter from some step of your makeup routine under your eye, making him want to swipe his thumb over it and take it off for you– but he can’t get his gaze off you as he breaths in the smoke, his head going more fuzzy than it has been only a few minutes prior.

When Juyeon’s cigarette is lit, you move to light your own, all while the male watches you with almost a dreamy look on his face. Somehow, he’s glad no one’s watching you. He doesn’t think he would be able to conceal his feelings for you tonight.

“Are you gonna miss this?” you suddenly ask, looking up at him from his right.

You? Absolutely.

“I think so,” he nods, “it’s a lot different to home, but I made a lot of memories here.”

He watches a hint of smile spreading over your features. “Do you remember when you accidentally told our professor you were horny instead of excited?” you laugh.

“Oh, shut up,” Juyeon laughs at the memory. His French never really got to a perfect level– that’s why most of you settled on speaking English between each other– but the first few weeks were a living hell of a language barrier for Lee Juyeon. “The more concerning part is that this is what made you approach me,” he notes.

“Well, I recognised that you needed help, and I was willing to provide it,” you say, taking a drag out of the cigarette and blowing the smoke into his face.

Juyeon looks at you through the smoke cloud, snickering. “I’m kinda grateful, though. You were the first friend I made here.”

You look at him with a tender look– something so full of care Juyeon swears he feels his stomach doing somersaults– before you press your lips into a solemn smile. “Well, I’m honored, Juyeon Lee,” you drag out in a posh accent, making the boy break out into a laugh.

He takes another drag off the cigarette, inviting the nicotine into his system. Mixed with the alcohol in his veins and your aura surrounding him, he almost feels on cloud 9, like he’s flowing in space and he can’t get down. He watches as you lean over the railing of the porch, forearms meeting with the metal in a set of goosebumps. Breeze flies through the air, making your barely-clothed figure shiver.

He knows he probably shouldn’t. Your boyfriend is somewhere inside, and although you two are seemingly in a weird sort of fight, it’s not his place to act as a gentleman.

Still, Juyeon finds he has nothing to lose. He shrugs off the suit jacket he’s been wearing and drapes it over your shoulders wordlessly, noticing the way you look back at him over your shoulder with a soft smile on your lips.

A comforting silence overtakes you two. Juyeon takes the last drag off the cigarette and puts it out on the iron railing, enjoying the effect your sheer presence has on him. The music coming out of inside is only a mere background noise now, providing him an occasional distraction to the buzzing of his own thoughts.

“Say, Juyo,” you start, “do you know where Dorothy lives?” you ask.

Juyeon hums in disagreement. “Don’t think I do. Why?”

“I’m sleeping over at hers tonight,” you mumble, mentioning your best friend– the girl Juyeon’s met plenty of times in the 10 months of knowing you. “I was supposed to stay at Andre’s, but I’m not talking to him right now.”

“Oh,” is all Juyeon says. The mention of your boyfriend always throws him off the track a little.

“I dunno where Dorothy went, but I’m getting kind of sleepy.”

“Why can’t you just go home?” he asks.

“Juyo,” you laugh, “my parents would kill me if I got home tipsy and smelling like cigarette smoke. Don’t you know how they are?” you joke, shaking your head in disbelief.

He doesn’t. He kind of wishes he had the chance to know, though– because if he knew your parents, maybe it would imply something. Signify something more.

“Do you want me to walk you to Dorothy’s?”

“Yeah,” you nod, lids heavy. Juyeon doesn’t know what time it is, but the last time he checked, it was well past midnight– he doesn’t think he’d stay around much longer himself.

“Okay,” he nods, watching as you slowly peel yourself off the railing and wear his suit jacket properly, the fabric drowning you, but keeping you warm. The sight, the sentiment of it, makes Juyeon’s hands shake and his throat go dry. You’re so close, yet so out of his reach.

Your feet are slow as you march towards the direction of your best friend’s house. Juyeon doesn’t know how far it is, but he wishes for you to take the long way home– if those are the last moments he has with you, he wants to drag the evening out the best he can.

The night is quiet. The only thing ringing in your ears is the sound of your own footsteps, when Juyeon surprises himself with the question that noisily cuts out of his throat.

“Why don’t you break up with him?” he asks.

He expects you to go mad at the question– you were known to have quite the fierce temper. You and Andre have had a few problems in the past: he was known to be reckless with his snarky comments that somehow hurt your pride, his nasty behavior when he got drunk, and the not-so-happy opinion your parents had of him. You were known to blow things out of proportion, screaming, crying and making a scene whenever you could if you thought it was appropriate, known to talk about your conflicts with your friends and digging out opinions out of them on the matter.

Juyeon always made sure to give you lukewarm arguments whenever you asked him about your boyfriend. Never too heated to make himself seem suspicious. Your relationship was none of his business.

Again– tonight, though, he has nothing to lose.

“I dunno,” you shrug, your steps a little uneven on the pavement, “it’s… a matter of habit, maybe? It’s weird,” you say.

The explanation gives Juyeon just about nothing. A matter of habit? Is it a habit to stay with someone? Was there not more needed for a relationship?

Juyeon doesn’t find it in him to reply. Instead, he lets you talk.

“I think I might love him, or something. I’m not really sure…” you mumble, the sentences breaking Juyeon’s heart a little by little, shattering it right in front of you on the pavement, “because if I didn’t, why else would I put up with all of this?” you ask, not really expecting an answer.

“All the shaming, the spiteful remarks. The pettiness, the silent treatment… tell me, Juyo, do I have any dignity?” you laugh, shaking your head in disbelief.

“Y/N…”

The snicker that escapes out of you quickly turns bitter. Your body grows impossibly closer to his, your hands sneaking around his bicep. You walk with linked arms, your head falling to his shoulder. “I don’t think I really love him, though,” you suddenly rebuttal, “‘cause like… I wouldn’t- I wouldn’t tell my grandkids about Andre, y’know? I think that’s the way you know. If you can imagine thinking so fondly about someone that you… that you’d mention them even in 50 years, ‘cause the memories still feel fresh and you’re delighted you once knew them, then…” you trail off, voice fading.

“Do you know what I mean?” you hum, pouting.

He does know.

“Sorry, I’m rambling–”

“No, I get you,” he reassures you, nodding to himself.

“You always do,” you sigh, breaking Juyeon’s heart into a million pieces, “anyways, with that being said… I think I’m with him only because breaking up is too much of a hassle. And, I think I like the attention,” you splutter, laughing at yourself, “that’s… so desperate of me, I know. I’m starting to doubt if it’s even worth it.”

“He’s not,” Juyeon finds himself saying as you two cross the corner.

“You’re only saying that as my friend.”

“No, I’m saying that as your– as someone who cares…?” he stutters, mentally kicking himself for sounding so readable. Surely, you must’ve already noticed. If not from his current statement, then from the way he looked at you the whole night. You are a smart girl– you were always quick to point out the men that would soon hit on you when you were at the club. You have a good eye when it comes to others.

You only laugh, though. Oh, how Juyeon loves the sound.

“Thank you,” you hum.

You two fall silent for a while. Juyeon finds himself enjoying it. It feels comfortable– to walk with you through the emptied Paris, accompanied by the yellow lampposts and soulless streets. Only you two, your linked arms and his suit jacket around your shoulders.

“We’re at Dorothy’s,” you muse when your steps come to a halt, gesturing towards the silent, dark house on the other side of the street, “I think she’s not home yet, though. Her light would be on.”

Chewing on the inside of his cheek, Juyeon looks from the house and back at you, then back at the seemingly empty house again. “And now what?”

“I have to wait for her,” you shrug, “will you… keep me company?”

You don’t even have to ask. He’d always keep you company.

“Well, I’m not just gonna let you stand alone in the street in the middle of the night, am I?” he playfully shakes his head in disbelief, but secretly enjoys the fact that he has more time with you before you have to pay each other goodbye.

“Always knew you were a gentleman.”

“Pretty sure that was my middle name,” he notes.

“I thought you said that was ‘handsome’ once?”

“I have two,” he laughs.

“Is that possible?” you tease.

“Of course! Look it up,” he says, turning to you as he talks. “My name’s actually Lee Handsome Gentleman Juyeon, it’s on my ID and everything,” he jokes, watching as your eyes turn into moon crescents and your throat lets out a fit of amused giggles.

Another playful punch to his shoulder. A happy sigh. A shake of your head, full of disbelief.

“Damn, Juyo. I’ll miss you like crazy, you know?” you suddenly utter, making the boy’s heart fall down into his stomach. The implication of your words sounds a lot like a goodbye, and although he was aware of the fact that he was leaving before, he doesn’t think he really let the reality down on him until now.

This time tomorrow, there will be no Paris. No Marco. No Shotaro. No Bence. No French locals, no bagels for breakfast, no shitty ass dorm room.

No you.

“I’ll miss you more,” he says. He thinks he’s right.

You’ll miss him like a friend. He’ll miss you like his first love.

You stare at him for a heartbeat. One, two– before you latch onto him, much like when you first met tonight. Your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him close, head resting on his shoulder only when you notice his hands wrapping around your middle. Breathing in your scent, Juyeon focuses very hard to keep his heart rate in check– it’s hard to not falter under your touch when your nose buries itself into his neck, cold skin nuzzling into his hot one, hands squeezing him tighter.

Juyeon doesn’t think you’ve ever hugged him like this before.

And now, you won’t ever again.

You break away from him only enough to still be in his hold, your forehead resting against his. The new intimacy between the two of you makes him gulp, eyes focused into yours– watching the silver and gold swirl around your irises, counting your eyelashes. Noticing the faint mole on the top of your nose bridge.

Foolishly letting his eyes dip lower. Memorizing the shape of your lips with his gaze. Taking in a shaky breath when he feels your fingers playing with the hair on his nape.

“Will you tell your grandkids about Paris?” you ask, voice barely louder than a whisper. Juyeon would almost think you’re suggesting something with your question, but when you speak up again, the suspicion is proved correct. “Will you tell them about me?”

The boy drags his eyes up back to yours. He examines the intention. He finalizes that he has nothing left to lose.

Tomorrow, this will all be a memory. A moment out of his reach– much like you, all this time. A moment of time he experienced and won’t ever get back.

“I will,” he nods, swallowing. “Will you?”

You smile at the boy, the curve of your lips capturing his attention again. If anyone asked, he’d tell them it’s pure biology– the way his eyes zoomed in on your mouth the moment your expression changed. That’s how attention fluctuates– he learned about it in class somewhere, he’s fairly certain.

Why he’s unable to look back into your eyes after the question is a matter of something else, though.

“I think I might,” you breathe out.

There’s buzzing in his fingertips as he relishes the moment. The sentiment makes his knees weak, his brain fuzzy, his sight blurry and a little hazed. When he finally catches a glimpse of your gaze, he finds it glued to his mouth.

He could take it as an invitation.

He won’t, though.

“Kiss me?” you ask, whispering.

He shakes his head in disapproval. “I can’t.”

Not when you’re taken. Not when he’s aware. Not when he knows you might regret this in the morning.

“Can I kiss you, then?” you ask.

That, however, is a whole other situation.

You asked to. You're making the first step. He doesn't have to feel guilty– who cares whether either of you might regret this decision tomorrow.

A simple nod–

that’s all it takes before you lock your lips with his. Your mouths move against each other with a passion he’s contained for his whole stay. You taste like vodka and orange juice, the slickness of your lip gloss making Juyeon’s lips slide against yours with more ease. He kisses you like you’d kiss your first love– with everything in him, with everything he is.

He kisses you in a way that shows he wants to remember this forever. In a way that makes you lean even closer, pressing up firmly against him as you angle your head to make the kiss deeper. One of your hands moves from behind his head to twist itself deeper into his hair, tugging a little at the root to make the boy gasp under your actions. That has you inviting your tongue into his mouth, eager to taste him, to explore.

Juyeon doesn’t think he’s ever been kissed like this. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt so vulnerable, so open while kissing someone. This is him with his heart on a plate, naked and ready to be stabbed, squished by the weight of circumstances breathing onto his back.

His cold fingers move along your sides. Your hands settle on his shoulders to steady yourself, head pulling away to gasp for oxygen.

You look so pretty when he opens his eyes. Lipstick smudged and eyes blown out, hair a little messy from the October wind. He’s like an addict presented with his favorite drug– he can’t get enough, he can’t resist as he chases after you, leaving kisses along your jaw and the corner of your mouth, where the blood is, slowly meeting your lips again in another lock.

Everything else disappears. In this moment, there’s just you, you, you…

No flights. No weight of his own conscience. No boyfriends, no unsaid feelings.

No regret.

And Juyeon thought he had nothing to lose, but suddenly, with you in his arms, he feels as if he’s being stripped of everything he never even had, only got the glimpse of last minute, a few hours before he’s gone.

You lean away again. Juyeon watches you with big eyes. A smile appears on your face as you move a finger up to his face, cleaning up the side of his mouth off the dark lipstick you’ve imprinted on him. He feels fragile under your touch. One bad move and he breaks, falls apart under you.

“You have to come back to visit one day,” you whisper, cradling the side of his face.

Juyeon nods. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever get the chance.

But as you stand on your tippy toes and press a kiss to his forehead, making a million different fireworks erupt in his stomach, he doesn’t let himself think of that (im)possibility. He watches as you smile at him, locking your eyes in a gaze tender and soft, yet electrifying, holding something special.

Before you take off to meet your best friend walking up the other side of the street, you hug him one last time and whisper into his ear.

“Goodbye, Juyo.”

Seeing as you lock your arms with Dorothy, walking up into the silent house and never looking back, Juyeon lets himself feel the last hint of longing for someone he always knew would never be his. And it’s strange, because he hasn’t even left yet,

but oh, how he’d love to go to Paris again.

#deoboyznet #the boyz #juyeon #lee juyeon #tbz #the boyz x reader #the boyz angst #the boyz fluff #juyeon x reader #juyeon fluff #juyeon angst #lee juyeon x reader #lee juyeon angst #lee juyeon fluff #tbz x reader #tbz fluff #tbz angst #juyeon scenario #juyeon fic

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lakesbian · 4 months

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Put the Undersiders in a busy airport or train station. How do they handle it? Who gets onto a the wrong flight/train? How many times would Aisha use her power to get into the cockpit or engine room of the train?

oh my GOD how is putting the undersiders in a busy airport or train station not one of the Situations we've put them in yet. this is great. paging @simurghed urgently. everyone please share your undersiders go to busy airport or train station thoughts this is my favorite kind of autism to engage in

brian is like. You know he's being brian about this. you know he's got his schedule printed out and all the tickets pointed out and they're in some little binder and he's making sure he specifically is carrying it the whole time. and the one time lisa casually reminds him to make sure he has xyz necessary item he's like I Have It, Don't Be Neurotic, because his coping mechanism for being nervous and feeling like a woman is questioning his Authority (<- assumed as the main and eternal coping mechanism) is misogyny. love him.

obviously taylor is bringing bugs with her wherever they go and i like to imagine if theyre sitting down in an airport waiting for a really long time and they were in one of the areas where the birds have gotten inside and are nesting + looking for food (that's a universal airport feature right? the birds that got indoors and just live there now?) she might entertain alec and aisha and also herself by flying bugs around 4 the birds and leading them on little hunting excursions and into loops and shit.

aisha takes selfies in the cockpit or engine room (shes posing next to the pilot and making bunny ears behind their head with her fingers) whenever she gets bored and then comes back to show them to alec and brian realizes theres Muffled Laughter happening in their row after aishas been Not There for a while and is like. hmm. that cant be good. and is doing a really bad job of trying to twist himself out of his seat casual-style to find out whats all that then. i can also imagine him insisting on seating himself next to aisha

...three seat plane rows. brian sitting in the middle of aisha and alec and having a wretched time. taylor rachel and lisa lezzing it up in the row in front of them.

i think alec would really enjoy take-off on a plane because Wheee he's all floaty :) and then spend the next however many hours experiencing boredom-induced ego death. possible activities include: fiddling around on his ds. making a little teenager-typical 2011-era flipaclip animation. accidentally falling asleep on brian's arm and starting to snore and drool while aisha is doing the same thing on his other arm. watching a bad movie on his little in-flight tv screen and hopefully trying to engage both brian and aisha in conversation about it because he wants to have friends.

okay i diverged from the point of air Port or train Station sorry. ive never been in a real train station so i have less to speak for there but i think it would be fun to watch the undersiders get crotchety with each other in a long line for overpriced airport food.

imagine if you will brian and taylor trying to fit comfortably in a Nappable Position in the chairs in the flight waiting area. leg cramp city

i think this would all probably be very stressful for rachel :( maybe she andt aylor should hold hands about it. to be safe.

i want to see how lisa tries to make waiting in an airport an enriching and fulfilling activity for taylor so bad. honestly it would probably be no matter what. real bonding experience.

brian laborn tries to carry 9 suitcases at once: and other fun adventures in toxic masculinity

alec vasil has to go pee, right now, for approximately 10-15 minutes, when he's asked to find something in a heavy bag: and other fun adventures in shirking responsibility

aisha laborn's mysterious magical snack manifestation: and other fun adventures in robbing the airport

you know if they were at a busy train station brian would do that thing where he ushers the undersiders around physically and it is fully an indicator of his psychological issues but also it'd be cute. it'd be cute to watch him blocking the crowd so everyone else could move more comfortably and use his Height Advantage to guide everyone most efficiently by pressing on their backs. his psychological issues are endearing

people keep asking about How Much Longer Until Boarding and lisa starts getting bored and providing real-time updates of the Precise amount of time left. if theres a delay she reads out why too

???

its nice. to imagine if they could have a fun time going to locations.

#ask #wormblr #parahumans #this isnt my best its nothing actually im just Rotating

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evilwrongdoer · 1 year

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can you write general hcs of bella ramsey x fem or gender neutral reader 💘

absolutely yes i can, just hope whatever i come up with is what you had in mind :)

- Hands. Ever since they first caught you staring at their hands they've been constantly doing things to try and make you flustered. She sometimes "accidentally" brushes her hands against your arm, or your thigh, or your neck. He tucks stray hairs behind your ear or innocently grazes your neck with his cold fingers, knowing exactly what they're doing. They constantly gesture when they talk, although somehow they've picked up the habit of doing it even more around you. Casually grabbing your hands during conversation or resting her hand on your knee while you talk, it all drives you crazy and you're starting to suspect it isn't all so innocent after all.

- Physical touch, they love touching you all the time. Hugs, kisses, just tangling their hands in your hair when you're watching a movie or holding hands in public. She loves the little things like snaking an arm around you waist when the two of you stand together, or planting soft kisses all over your face in the mornings, they never let you have a single second when they're not clinging to you, and frankly, you love it.

- Again with the clingy-ness. He doesn't like being away from you for long. They bring you to interviews, parties, hell even when she's filming for a show or a movie they try to bring you on set with them. Whenever he has to be away for longer than a day, and even then, the two of you FaceTime almost constantly, you tell them all about your day and she tells you all about hers. You would talk to each other so much that he'd end up leaving his phone on a chair to let you watch as they performed and recorded scenes. Of course, when she returns from her trips, you always wait for them at the airport or wherever they get off and once they come out of the gate you're bombarded by hugs and kisses and promises that he'll never leave you again; Which of course, you know that isn't true, people have to work and pursue their passions and you wouldn't dare stand in the way of them being happy, but in the moment, it's just comforting to have him back in your arms after so long (probably less than 48 hours tbh)

- He likes to annoy you, it ties in with the clingy-ness really, but they just absolutely love making you flustered and bothering you with whatever's on their mind at the moment. Of course, you would never tell her for fear that she'd stop, but you love it when she "bothers" you. You would be walking around your apartment, bored out of your mind and they would come right up to you, calling you cheesy nicknames or making dad jokes and smiling proudly to themselves at making you laugh.

"Sweetheart? What does a bee brush its hair with?" They would yell from the kitchen, fighting a giggle as they did so.

"I don't know, what is it?" You would yell back, already knowing the answer but not wanting to spoil her fun.

"A honeycomb!" He'd say in response, before immediately bursting into a fit of laughter.

With them, it was always the little things, and you would never, ever stop loving that about them.

Sorry this was so short, I've never really done requests before, hope this was what you wanted.

Byeeeeeee

#bella ramsey x reader #bella ramsey hcs #bella ramsey #headcanons #fanfiction #im a simp for them holy fuck

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tigertales9 · 1 year

Text

Necessary Roughness II

Pairing: Joe Burrow x Reader

Warnings: 18+ / Smut

Description: This is part 2 of Necessary Roughness (Valentine's Day blindfold action that occurs after the Super Bowl loss to the Rams)

Date/Location: 2/14/22 - Cincinnati, Ohio

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You pull your car into the garage and pop the trunk, making a couple of trips to bring in your luggage and the groceries you stopped to pick up on the way home from the airport. You shiver as you put the groceries away before hurrying to bump the thermostat up a few notches. It was a little jarring to go from balmy temps. in LA to below freezing in Cincinnati.

Your flight left LA about 2.5 hours before the team charter, so you have plenty of time to get ready before Joe gets home. You grab your luggage and head upstairs, deciding that a hot shower is the first item to knock off of your to-do list.

40 minutes later you walk back downstairs, freshly washed, moisturized and perfumed, your long hair cascading down your back in partially dry waves that'll be totally dry by the time Joe gets home. You head to the kitchen to prep dinner while thinking back on the conversations you had with Joe over the last several hours, both in person and on the phone. It had taken a while before he decided what he wanted for dinner. The final convo went something like this:

"No really, Joe, you need to tell me what you want. And don't say a damn blindfold!"

"Okay," he'd sighed. "Maybe something Cajun."

"Something Cajun? Can you be more specific?"

"I don't care. Something spicy and Cajun."

"Cool," you'd chirped. "Guess we'll be having spicy fried alligator."

"Not alligator," he'd laughed. "How about salmon?"

Y'all had finally settled on blackened salmon, dirty rice, roasted broccoli, garlic bread plus bananas Foster for dessert. You'd asked if he wanted an appetizer and he'd said:

"No. Let's get straight to dinner so we can hurry up and get to dessert."

"Really looking forward to that bananas Foster, huh?" you'd teased.

"I'm not talking about the bananas Foster."

You shake your head when you think about the sexual innuendo in that last line. He'd been like a dog with a bone ever since you casually mentioned a blindfold after your tryst in the jet-black storage room during the Super Bowl after-party. He'd mentioned the damn blindfold so many times over the ensuing hours that you were almost certain he was hyperfixating on it as a way to ignore the horrible disappointment of losing the big game.

You finish dinner prep and wash your hands before rummaging through a closet where you keep holiday and party decorations, looking for one of the feathers from a Mardi Gras party y'all had thrown last year. You smile as you encounter a plush purple feather. "Perfect," you mutter, flicking the feather a few times before heading upstairs.

Regardless of his protestations, you knew Joe was going to be way too tired for a full scene tonight, but you still wanted to give him a little something before he crashed. You stash the feather in the top drawer of your bedside table and go looking for a few more props. You consider just using a scarf for a blindfold before you remember that black sleep mask that's way too big for you. "Bingo," you purr, pulling the mask out of a drawer in your lingerie chest, stretching the elastic to test it. "This should fit his big head," you chuckle, grabbing a gauzy red scarf before heading back into the bedroom; you place the scarf and mask in the bedside drawer before folding the comforter and top sheet down to the foot of the bed.

"What else?" you whisper to yourself. "Oh yeah," you mutter, grabbing a bottle of perfume that drives Joe crazy; you spritz the heady elixir on your clean sheets, smiling as the sensual aroma wafts up toward you. "He's gonna love that," you sigh, feeling a little tingle between your thighs thinking about the night to come before you give yourself a reality check. "Girl please," you laugh. "You'll be lucky to get him fed and give him head before his ass passes smooth out."

You head back downstairs, thinking about another conversation you had with Joe earlier in the day; he'd let you know he did not want to talk about the Super Bowl loss. To basically pretend it didn't happen. You shake your head thinking about it. "Probably for the best," you mutter to yourself. "He'll work that shit out in his own sweet time. No rushing it."

You walk to the living room to get the fire going. Joe had stacked logs in the fireplace before he left for Cali, anticipating that y'all would have a romantic Valentine's Day when you got home. You feel a pang of sadness as you light the fire, wondering if he's even going to want it now. You glance at the small bistro table and two dining chairs that he'd helped you set in front of the fireplace before he left. Y'all almost always had date night dinners in front of a roaring fire when it was cold outside, but you're not sure what he's gonna want tonight. "Just roll with it," you whisper, jumping a bit when the doorbell rings.

You grab your phone to check the ring camera, smiling when you see a lady holding a ridiculously large flower bouquet with all of your favorite flowers. You hurry to the door and sling it open. "Oh my gosh!" you exclaim, smiling ear to ear as she hands you the gigantic arrangement. "Let me grab you a tip," you say, leaning your head around the massive bouquet to make eye contact with her. "It's been taken care of," she trills, giving you a wave as she heads back to her van. You close the door and carry the bouquet into the kitchen, setting it on the bar. "Holy shit!" you laugh, stepping back to take in the impressive display. Your eyes land on an envelope nestled within the blooms; you grab it and pull the card out.

Happy Valentine's Day, Gorgeous! Can't wait to see you tonight. Love, Joe

You take a few pics of the OTT flowers. "Can't use this as a centerpiece on the table," you giggle to yourself. "We wouldn't be able to see each other." An idea hits you and you carefully pluck three coral pink peonies out of the huge bouquet, rearranging it just a bit so you can't tell anything is missing. You grab a small glass vase out of a cabinet and add a little water before arranging the frilly flowers in it. You set it on the bistro table in front of the fire and add a candle on either side, smiling at the result. "Simple but perfect," you sigh.

Your phone rings and you hurry to grab it. "Hey babe. How was your flight?"

"It was fine," Joe mutters. "I'll be home in about 30 minutes, longer if traffic is bad."

"Okay. Be careful."

"I will. I can't wait to see you."

He delivers that last line in a way that sets off butterflies in your stomach. "I feel the same," you whisper, biting your bottom lip before a thought hits you. "Thank you for the flowers," you blurt out. "They're absolutely beautiful! All of my favs."

"You're welcome. I'm glad you like them."

"I love them and I love you."

"Love you too, baby. See you soon."

You hurry upstairs to change clothes, stripping out of your yoga pants and oversized t-shirt before shimmying into a slinky 3/4 sleeve black wrap minidress, no bra or panties. You sit down at your vanity table and deftly apply a quick smoky eye plus a dark red lipstain, smiling at your sultry reflection in the mirror while fluffing your hair. You slide your feet into a pair of fuzzy pink slippers and grab a pair of candy apple red patent stilettos before heading downstairs.

You check the clock and quickly get the dirty rice started since it takes the longest to finish. You pull plates and silverware out, the butterflies in your stomach taking flight when you hear the garage door open. You hurry down the hall to meet Joe at the garage entrance. The door opens and Joe walks in followed by a frosty swirl of air. "Brrrr," you shiver, giving him a dazzling smile as he shuts the door and turns to face you. Your heart breaks a little at the dark circles under his eyes, no doubt the result of a lot of disappointment, a few tears and a mostly sleepless night. He reaches for you and pulls you into a tight hug, nestling his nose in your hair and breathing you in. "It's so good to be home," he whispers. "Good to have you home," you sigh, melting into his embrace as he runs his hands up and down your back. He drops a kiss on your forehead and cheek before capturing your lips, sliding his tongue in your mouth to slowly tangle with yours in a way that sets off a throb of arousal deep inside you. You lean into him as he deepens the kiss, both of you laughing several seconds later when his stomach growls loudly. "Better get some dinner in you," you giggle against his slick lips.

"I guess so," he grumbles, whistling as he steps back to take in your slinky minidress. "Damn, you look amazing," he continues, his eyes lingering on your bare thighs and cleavage before finally re-capturing your gaze. "Thanks," you grin. "I have some killer heels to go with this outfit, but I got so excited when I heard the garage door that I forgot to put them on." You point at your fuzzy pink slippers. "Guess these kind of ruin the sexy effect."

"You don't need heels to be sexy, baby girl," he states, kissing your neck before stepping back to strip off his coat. You take it from him and hang it on the coat rack before grabbing his hand. "Come check out this gorgeous bouquet of flowers," you say, leading him into the kitchen. "Damn," he chuckles. "I said I wanted it to be big and they didn't disappoint."

"It's so big," you giggle.

He gives you a dirty wink. "That's not the only big thing you're getting tonight."

You give him a cheeky look before walking to the stove to stir the dirty rice.

"I'm gonna take a quick shower then I have something to give you," he says, laughing when you throw him a look over your shoulder.

"I know exactly what you want to give me, but I'm going to get a nice hot meal in your belly first, so just slow your roll."

"What?" he chuckles. "I wasn't talking about that, you horndog. I have an actual gift for you."

You spin around and hit him with a 'boy please' look. "You've been talking about blindfolds and sex for several hours straight, but I'm the horndog?"

"Obvs."

You pick up a dish towel and throw it at him, shaking your head when he easily side steps it. "Sheisty ass," you grumble. "Go get your shower."

"Yes, ma'am," he mutters, chuckling as he heads upstairs.

He comes down about 15 minutes later in slinky black trackpants and a blue t-shirt the same color as his eyes; he places a red Cartier gift bag on the bar, giving you a deep-throated laugh when you reach into a cabinet and pull the exact same Cartier gift bag out and set it next to his. "Uh-oh," he chuckles. "Hope we didn't get each other the same thing."

"Before we open gifts, can you open the Champagne?" you ask, grabbing the bottle out of the fridge. "Sure," he says, taking the bottle from you as you pull Champagne flutes out of a cabinet. You were perfectly capable of opening the bubbly, but it was much more fun to let him do it so you could watch his ridiculously sexy hands gripping and twisting the bottle, easing the cork out with effortless finesse.

The cork leaves the bottle with an audible 'pop' and he lets it breathe for a bit before pouring. He hands you a glass of effervescent bubbles before picking up his own. "Happy Valentine's Day," he purrs, holding his glass up. "Happy Valentine's Day," you echo, kissing your glass against his before taking a sip.

"Ladies first," he says, sliding your gift bag toward you. You take another sip before reaching into the bag and pulling out a rectangular gift box. Bracelet, you think to yourself, smiling in delight as you flip the box open and lay eyes on the Cartier interlocking Love bracelet in rose gold. "It's gorgeous," you sigh. "I love it!" You pluck the delicate chain out of the gift box and hand it to Joe. "Put it on me please," you ask, watching as his agile fingers easily work the tiny clasp. "It looks perfect," he says. "Classy and beautiful just like you."

"Thank you, daddy," you tease, smiling when his eyebrows shoot upward. "Your turn," you continue, pushing his gift bag toward him. "I'm just supposed to ignore the whole 'daddy' thing?" he grumps, his hot gaze raking up and down your curvy frame as you give him an innocent smile. "Yes," you giggle. "Dinner's almost ready."

He narrows his eyes at you playfully before reaching a hand inside his gift bag, pulling out a tiger-striped thong. "My fav," he purrs, eyes lighting up.

"I know you told me to order 50 more," you shrug, "but that seemed excessive so I ordered 20. They'll be here in a few days."

"20 is a good start," he mutters, his eyes glued to the lacy panties. You shake your head and hold a hand out. "If you want me to wear those tonight I'm gonna need 'em. That's the only pair I have right now since you shredded my other ones last night." He flicks his gaze down to your crotch before meeting your eyes. "What are you wearing now?" You give him a grin. "Nothing, but if you want me to wear those . . ."

"Hell no," he interrupts, tossing the thong to the side while licking his lips. You nod at his gift bag. "There's something else in there." He continues to eye you like a starving man eyeing a juicy steak, so you clear your throat and try again. "Babe, I need you to focus," you state, smiling when he finally manages to pull his eyes off of your crotchal region. "Huh?" he mutters. You tap a finger against the bag. "There's something else in there," you repeat.

"Oh," he mumbles, reaching in and pulling out a rectangular box, grinning when he flips it open. "New shades! Thanks, baby, I love 'em." He slides them on, turning his head side to side. "How do they look?"

"Uh-oh," you mutter, tilting your head to the side as you grimace.

"Do they look bad?"

"Badass," you giggle.

"Then why'd you make a face?"

"I'm just afraid you might cause trouble wearing them."

"What kind of trouble?"

You shrug. "You look so damn hot, I'm afraid your fangirls might spontaneously ovulate at the sight of you."

"Shut up," he chuckles.

"No seriously," you sigh, giving him a solemn look. "The tidal wave of estrogen could be catastrophic."

He slides the glasses off and shakes his head at you. "You're trippin'," he mumbles, trying and failing to keep the smug grin off his face.

The oven timer goes off and you spring into action, pulling pans out of the oven while giving orders. "Babe, take the napkins and silverware to the table, plus top off our Champagne flutes and take those too."

"Got it," he says, doing your bidding, stopping long enough to throw another log on the fire and light the candles before heading back to the kitchen. You're just finishing up plating the food when he walks back in. "That smells delicious," he moans, taking both dinner plates from you as you grab the plate of garlic bread. "I'm fucking starving," he continues, setting the plates on the table before pulling your chair out for you. You give him a smile and hand him the garlic bread. "Be right back," you chirp, hurrying back into the kitchen before reappearing several seconds later wearing the candy apple red fuck-me pumps. You put a little extra swish in your hips as you walk toward him, smiling at the look on his face. "Goddamn," he breathes, watching you intently as you get settled in your chair. "You like 'em?" you ask, making a show of crossing your legs. "Love 'em," he mutters, tilting his head to the side, his gaze sliding from your feet to your crotch. "You trying to get an upskirt, Burrow?" you tease. "Damn right," he chuckles, making a disappointed face when you place your napkin on your lap.

He eventually drops into his chair and starts eating his dinner, making appreciative noises in between small talk, his eyes instinctively drawn time and time again to the deep 'v' of your cleavage and your bare legs shimmering in the flickering firelight. He pats his belly as he polishes off his last bite of garlic bread. "That was so good, babe, but I'm too full for the bananas Foster. Can we have it tomorrow?"

You nod your head. "Sure. What time is your MRI scheduled for your knee?"

"Not until 2:00 p.m."

"Good. We can sleep in then I'll make us a nice brunch with bananas Foster for dessert. Does that sound okay?"

"Sounds great. Let's go to bed." He closes the fire screen then helps you carry everything to the kitchen.

"Let me handle this," you say, shooing him toward the stairs. "I want you booty butt naked in the bed when I get up there in 10 minutes."

"Bossy ass," he chuckles, as he heads for the stairs.

"Damn right," you giggle. "I'm calling the shots tonight."

He mumbles something under his breath as he heads upstairs. "What was that?" you holler. "Nothing," he answers.

You shake your head as you finish loading the dishwasher. You wipe down the counters and wash your hands before grabbing your half-full glass of Champagne; you finally head upstairs, expecting Joe to be sound asleep. Instead he's deliciously naked sitting on the side of the bed.

"Hey," you mutter, turning off the overhead light as you walk in the room. "Hey," he responds," his voice thick with carnal promise as you walk toward him and flick on the bedside lamp. You set your glass down on the bedside table and pull the drawer out just far enough to slide your hand in, not wanting him to see the contents. You pull the red scarf out and drape it over the lamp. "Sexy," he murmurs, sliding a big foot forward to press his toes against your porny red heels. "Mood lighting," you whisper, reaching back in the drawer to pull out the mask. You step between his thighs to place the mask on him. "Hold on," he protests. "Take your dress off first." You raise an eyebrow at his bossy tone. "Please," he adds, "I wanna see you before you blindfold me."

You untie the strings holding your dress in place and allow it to fall open, watching as Joe's gaze takes in your breasts and crotch, his prominent Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows hard. "Maybe the blindfold isn't such a good idea," he admits. "Oh hell no," you laugh, shrugging off your dress. "I've heard the word 'blindfold' several hundred times since midnight last night. Best believe we're doing this." You step forward and place the mask on him. "Lay down," you order, smiling when he does your bidding. You look at his pretty pink nipples and quickly realize you forgot the damn whipped cream. "Be right back," you chirp, "forgot the Champagne."

You hustle downstairs and grab the mostly-empty Champagne bottle and the can of dairy-free whipped cream from the fridge, slightly out of breath as you hurry back into the bedroom. He pulls his mask up to peek at you and you wiggle the Champagne bottle at him while hiding the whipped cream behind your back. "Got it," you purr. "Quit peeking," you continue, waiting for him to lower his mask before setting the bottle on the table while sliding the whipped cream under the covers at the end of the bed. You take a sip of bubbly and crawl on the bed beside him, leaning down and letting the cool, fizzy liquid dribble into his belly button before slurping it out. "What's that?" he gasps, as you do it again. "Battery acid," you mutter, rolling your eyes as he pulls his mask up to look at you. "It's Champagne, goober," you giggle, giving him another splash and slurp while he watches. "Quit peeking!" you snap, waiting for him to lower the mask before crawling in between his thighs; you reach down and grab the can of whipped cream, giving it a vigorous shake before anointing his hard nipples with two creamy puffs. "What the hell is that?" he croaks, groaning as you lick and suck the sweet foam off of his sensitive nubs. You give him a second helping, shaking your head when he lifts the mask to peek at you. "Boy, you are too damn nosy," you laugh, waiting for him to lower the mask before licking his nipples clean.

This is the goofiest scene ever, you think to yourself, your eyes flicking down to his raging hard-on. Guess he's enjoying it, you shrug, leaning forward to grab the feather out of your bedside drawer. "Put your hands over your head," you order, waiting until he obeys before sliding the gossamer feather down the length of that prominent vein on the underside of his right arm; he hisses as you tickle his exposed armpit before heading farther south, grazing his hard nipples before slowly sliding down the length of his torso. You smile when his well-defined ab muscles jump and twitch under your sensual onslaught.

You shift the feather to your left hand and gently drag it over his erection, biting your lip when his cock flexes up into the caress. He hisses in pleasure as you repeat the motion while stealthily reaching your right hand out to grab the whipped cream; you give the can a quick shake then adorn his balls with a decadent swirl.

"Oh my God," he whispers, moaning as you lick a stripe through the cream. He rips the mask off and throws it across the room, watching as you lick and suck the frothy, sweet foam off of him, taking your time as he squirms beneath you. "You like that?" you tease, looking up at him through your long lashes. "Love it," he grits out, fisting both hands in the slinky sheets. You finish cleaning off his balls then flatten your tongue against the base of his cock and slowly drag it up, lapping up the precum on his tip before taking him deep.

"Shit baby, hold on!" he croaks. "I don't wanna cum yet." You pull off and go back to teasing him with delicate licks. "Let me know what you need," you breathe. "I just need a minute," he mutters. "Let me calm down a bit."

You sit back on your heels and give him a thorough up-and-down look, your eyes coming to rest on his thick thighs. "I think I'll have some fun while you reset," you purr, straddling one muscular thigh and grinding down. You both groan at the feel of your slick heat sliding against him. He flexes his quad as you roll your hips and you moan at the added friction. "So juicy for me," he murmurs, reaching a hand down to tease your clit as you ride his thigh. You gasp when he pinches the sensitive nub causing a gush of wetness. "Mmmm," he moans, trailing his fingers through your essence before raising them to his mouth and sucking them clean.

"Come here," he urges, curling two long fingers to beckon you forward. "I want it straight from the source," he teases, slowly sliding his long tongue across his bottom lip while giving you an absolutely filthy grin. You know exactly what that tongue is capable of; you feel a throb of anticipation deep inside as you crawl forward to do his bidding, biting your lip as you straddle his face. He turns his head side to side, pressing wet kisses against your inner thighs before lining his mouth up with your core. "Lower," he demands, making a guttural noise in his throat when you spread your thighs wider, dropping down until you can feel his hot breath on your most sensitive flesh.

You gasp when he flicks the tip of his tongue against your slit, squeezing your eyes closed as you wait for more, the anticipation making you a little lightheaded. After several seconds you look down and notice he's looking directly at your crotch. You're almost shy in that moment since you're basically doing the splits on his face, but your shyness vanishes when you feel his deep voice vibrating against you, lavishing praise for how you look and taste in a way that sends a sizzle of pleasure up your spine. "Such a pretty pink pussy," he groans, using his thumbs to spread your lips before giving you a long, slow lick from ass to clit. "Taste so good, baby," he breathes, continuing to tease you with his fingers and tongue.

You grab the top of the headboard to steady yourself as he works you in all the ways he knows you love, switching between delicate and aggressive, keeping you off balance with shallow licks followed by the hot, velvety length of his tongue pushed deep inside you. "So good," you whimper, feeling a coil of pleasure tighten in your belly. You lift one hand off the headboard and reach down, threading your fingers in his unruly curls as you shamelessly grind your pussy against him. He moans as you pull his hair, the added sensation causing your core to clench around his tongue.

"I'm close!" you whine, your breath catching in your throat as he slides his tongue up to your clit and gives it a loud suck while shoving two fingers inside you, nothing delicate anymore just relentlessly fucking his thick fingers into you as he devours your clit. Several heartbeats later your climax hits hard and you throw your head back, his name on your lips as your core squeezes his fingers.

You moan as his fingers continue to tease you, wringing every bit of pleasure out of you as you gasp for breath. "Oh my God," you gasp, pulling off of his fingers and sliding down a bit, trying to get your trembling legs to cooperate as you maneuver your way down until your core is hovering over his erection. "Now let me take care of you," you whisper shakily, taking several deep breaths while you reach down and guide his thick cock between your slick folds. "Take it slow," he urges, his eyes sliding shut as you inch down until he's buried to the hilt. You're just starting to slide back up when he grabs your waist. "Don't move," he orders, and you go completely still, biting your lip as you feel the aftershocks of your climax fluttering around his cock. "No need to rush this," he states as he wraps his big hands around your thighs and gives a squeeze. "Your legs are still shaking."

"Everything is still shaking." You give a breathless laugh. "That climax was insane; I'm a little lightheaded, but I'm good. I can handle business."

"Let me take over," he demands.

"Thought I was calling the shots tonight," you pout.

"I've got a better idea," he points at his mouth. "I want your lips right here."

You lean forward slowly, hitting a hard Kegel just as you press your lips against his, catching his groan in your mouth. "That's what you get for being bossy," you giggle.

He bites your plump bottom lip hard enough to get your attention. "Babe, I need you to focus."

"Okay."

"I'm gonna flip you over then I'm gonna fuck you senseless. You okay with that?"

His husky voice sends a shiver up your spine. "Yes, sir," you whisper against his lips, your breath catching in your throat as he wraps his arms around you and flips you over, his cock still buried deep inside you once you're on your back; you wrap your legs around him and arch up into his thrusts as he snaps his hips forward. You run your hands over his back, shoulders and arms, breathless at the feel of his muscles flexing and bulging under your fingertips.

He shifts his upper-body weight onto his left arm to free his right arm to play with you. You relish the feel of his big body pressing you into the mattress, his fingers on your nipples and his hot mouth on your neck. He licks a trail up to your sensitive ear. "You feel so good, baby. So tight," he groans, his deep voice mixed with soft grunts as he fucks you hard sending jolts of pleasure to all the right places. He wraps his free hand around your slender throat, his eyes icy-hot with arousal as he squeezes just hard enough for the edges of your vision to go a little hazy. You gasp for air as he eases up, his gaze pinning you in place as he squeezes a little harder, leaning down to catch your whimpers in his mouth as your core clenches around his thrusting cock. "Fuck," he growls, the raw lust in his voice sizzling across every nerve ending in your body.

You're drunk on the sound of him, the smell and the feel of him as he pulls back and locks eyes with you. "Can you cum for me again?" he asks, sliding a hand down to tease your super sensitive clit. "Yes, daddy," you whisper, watching in fascination as his baby blue eyes go completely black, pupils blown wide from arousal. He continues to play with your swollen clit while pounding into you, giving you every. single. inch. of his big cock in a way that straddles the line between pleasure and pain, drawing whimpers from your throat in a steady stream. He presses his lips against your ear. "Cum for me, baby," he growls, while pinching your clit. Your vision immediately goes hazy then fades to black as your climax hits; he follows you seconds later, burying his cock to the hilt and rocking into you as your pulsating core milks him dry.

He eventually rolls onto his back and pulls you on top of his sweat-slick chest, running a hand up and down your back as you catch your breath; you breathe in his scent as you listen to his racing heartbeat gradually slow back down to a normal pace.

After several minutes, you take one more deep breath and speak up. "So much for me doing most of the work and calling most of the shots," you grumble playfully.

"Sorry," he groans. "Guess I'm never beating the bossy allegations."

"Never!" you chirp. "I mean that blindfold didn't last long before you hucked it across the room."

"I wanted to see you," he pouts. "Can't blame me for that."

"I guess so," you mumble, sighing in contentment as he continues to stroke a big hand up and down your back.

Several minutes pass before his deep voice stirs you out of your post-climax bliss. "You awake?" he asks.

"Yeah."

"Listen," he states. "I don't know what I'd do without you. Win or lose, I know you'll always be there for me. Can't even explain how much that means to me." He heaves a sigh before continuing. "I just wish I could've gotten it done. Wish I could've made everybody proud."

"Baby, everybody is proud." You sit up and lock eyes with him. "You carried this team all the way to the fucking Super Bowl in your first full season, coming off a horrible knee injury and behind an asstastic o-line that tried to get you killed every week." He laughs softly as you continue. "You put the entire league on notice. They know you're a couple decent o-linemen away from total domination."

He gives you a tired smile. "You always know just what to say to make me feel better," he sighs, cupping a hand around the back of your neck to pull you down for a kiss. "I love you," he whispers against your lips. "Love you, too," you murmur, melting into the languid kiss for a minute before snuggling into his warm embrace.

Just before you nod off, your leg touches something cool and you turn your head to see what it is. Oh yeah, the whipped cream, you think to yourself. Better put it back in the fridge. You slide out of bed, giving Joe a smile as he reaches a hand out for you.

"Where are you going?" he pouts.

You shake the can at him. "Be right back. Just gotta put this in the fridge." You take two steps before his voice stops you.

"We will definitely need that tomorrow."

You spin around and give him a smile. "Yep, the bananas Foster wouldn't be as good without it."

He gives you a grin that's half sleepy half naughty. "I wasn't talking about the bananas Foster."

You raise one eyebrow at the look on his face. "We just had sex and you're already thinking about it again?"

"Obvs," he says, yawning while giving you a wink.

"Go to sleep, horndog," you chuckle, rolling your eyes playfully as you head to the kitchen.

#joe burrow #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow fan fic #joe burrow fanfic #joe burrow imagine

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babydollmarauders · 1 year

Text

MAROON — JACK HUGHES

jack hughes x fem!reader

part of the Midnights Fic List

summary: in which y/n and her best friend, Jack, get drunk on cheap wine and finally confess their feelings in her New York apartment.

specific lyrics: “‘how’d we end up on the floor anyway?’ you say, ‘your roommate’s cheap-ass screw top rosé, that’s how.’” and “the burgundy on my t-shirt when you splashed your wine into me and how the blood rushed into my cheeks” and “i chose you, the one i was dancing with in New York..”

warnings: light profanity, alcohol

notes: i’ve been so excited to write this one. if you guys can’t tell from my other fics, best friends to lovers is my favorite trope so this one was so fun for me to write!

i’ve known the Hughes family my entire life. with my mom and Ellen Hughes being best friends from playing hockey together, i grew up spending my summers at the Hughes lake house and visiting whenever possible. so, of course, i grew close to the three brothers.

Quinn, the oldest, is three years older than me. growing up he was always like the annoying, protective older brother i never had, and he still is.

Luke, the youngest, is a year younger than me. he’s my buddy, the one i go to when i need something set straight for me, and the only guy i know that would sit in his bedroom and miss a party at his own house just so he could comfort me over the phone.

and lastly, Jack. a year older than me, and my best friend since i was born, i guess. my mom and Ellen have always said that as soon as i was born, it was like Jack knew we were meant to be best friends. they claim that when i was a baby and he was one, he would cry until they put him in my crib with me, in which case they swear that it would instantly put a smile on my face. but no matter if those stories are true or not, we have indeed been best friends since diapers.

Jack and i’s friendship has always been different than the ones i have with his brothers, especially when i turned thirteen and started really paying attention to guys. that was the fateful year that Jack graduated from not only being my best friend but also my biggest crush. i started noticing not only how cute he really is, but how sweet he could be, and how comfortable i am with him.

which brings us to now, in my New York apartment, where i’m currently sat on the floor with the guy i’m head over heels in love with, sharing a bottle of wine. it’s the first week of the off-season and he had originally came over to help me pack for the annual lake house trip, but then my roommate popped her head in to ask if we wanted a couple bottles of rosé that she bought on sale. she was about to leave for the airport for her flight back home for the summer and couldn’t bring them with her. so Jack and i shared a quick glance and said yes, and now here we are.

i’m sat with my back against the coffee table, my feet in Jack’s lap.

“hey, do you remember that time- when uh- when Luke jumped into the lake from the rope swing, and just completely belly flopped?” Jack’s words were broken up between fits of laughter, and i burst out in laughter, as well, at the memory.

“oh my god yes! his entire chest and stomach were red!” it’s a wonder how we’ve yet to get a noise complaint from my neighbors by now. as our laughter dies down, Jack shifts around.

“my ass is numb from the hardwood.” he tells me, and the casual announcement makes me double over in laughter once more.

“how’d we end up on the floor, anyway?” i wonder out loud.

“your roommates cheap-ass screw top rosé, that’s how!” he exclaims through giggles. i don’t laugh with him, instead i stay silent, studying him. he’s so beautiful.

Jack stands from the floor, letting my feet roll of his lap and land with a thump. grabbing the empty wine bottle and our glasses from the coffee table, he goes into the kitchen. i watch him as he grabs my bottle of red wine from the fridge, refilling our glasses before walking back to me. he bends down to hand me my glass, but in his inebriated state, he doesn’t pay attention to his own glass in his hand and his wine splashes onto my white t-shirt. the burgundy liquid staining and leaving the shirt slightly see through, clinging to my braless chest.

“oh shit, sorry y/n/n!” his eyes go wide and he stares at my chest. logically, i know he’s just looking at the stain and not my breasts, but blood rushes into my cheeks at the thought of him eyeing my chest.

“it’s fine!” i wave it off, as i stand to go change. “i’ll be right back.”

i go into my bedroom and ruffle through the shirts that i don’t have packed for the summer, picking out an old USA Hockey shirt of Jack’s.

i step back out into the living room to find Jack had put on one of my vinyl’s, i watch as he dances around my living room to the sound of Photograph by Ed Sheeran. a smile breaks across my face as he just spins around the room. finally spotting me, he walks over and holds his hand out.

“dance with me, belle.” my heart flutters at his use of the nickname he started calling me in high school. he never explained why he started calling me ‘belle’, all i know is that one day when i had met him after his french class and my spanish class, he said he had a new nickname for me, and he’s called me ‘belle’ ever since. usually the nickname seems to be reserved for special moments or when it’s just the two of us.

i slip my hand in his, allowing him to pull me closer. his hands take hold of my arms, sliding them up onto his shoulders, and he wraps his arms around my waist, swaying us around the living room. he gazes down at me, a soft smile on his face and an unreadable emotion present in his eyes.

“hi.” his voice is barely a whisper.

“hi.” i reply in the same low volume. his eyes flicker over my face and his cheeks turn pink. making me ask- “what are you thinking?”

“i’m thinking that i’ve wanted to be in this position since high school.” his words confuse me. but my heart speeds up, as if it knows what he means before my brain does.

“dancing?” i laugh halfheartedly.

“you in my arms. just the two of us.” he clarifies and i can feel myself blush for the second time tonight.

“if you wanted me to yourself, you could’ve just asked.” i joke.

“i don’t just want you to myself.” he whispers. “i want you to be mine.”

his reply causes me to stumble a step, and my heart feels like it might beat out of my chest.

“don’t say things you don’t mean, Jack.” i tell him. suddenly, i feel insecure and afraid. i’ve never felt this way with him. other guys, sure. but never him.

“why would you think i don’t mean what i’m saying?” he stops our dancing and i only just realize that the song has changed. my arms slip off his shoulders, dropping back down to my sides, but his hands never leave my hips. “y/n, do you think i would say something like that if i don’t mean it?”

“i don’t know.” i mumble, shrugging my shoulders. he brings a hand up to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, before letting it fall back down to my hip.

“i’ve been in love with you since high school, y/n/n. i thought by now you would’ve caught on, but i guess that’s on me because you always have been pretty oblivious when it comes to flirting.” he laughs.

“wait, what?” i ask. please don’t be messing with me. please be telling the truth.

“did you really not know? look if this is too much, if you don’t like me like that, then just tell me. straight out. because i don’t want to compromise our friendship with this confession. we can just forget it ever happened.” that sobers me up real quickly.

“wait, no, hold on. i never said i didn’t like you.” i rebut.

“what are you saying?” by the smirk on his face, i know he knows what i’m saying, but i take a deep breath and clarify anyways.

“jack, i’ve liked you since i was thirteen.” i confess. “i didn’t think you thought of me as anything more than your annoying best friend though.”

“y/n, i literally gave you a nickname that translates to ‘beautiful’ and you thought i was looking at you like ‘oh yeah that’s my best friend, she’s so annoying’?” he asks.

“what? is that what that means?” my tone is incredulous. i assumed he was calling me ‘belle’ like princess belle because i like to read.

“oh my god, you really had no idea? i literally gave you that nickname after we learned the word in french class. you were the first thing that popped in my head when we learned it.”

i can’t take any more talking. Jack starts to say something else but i cut him off by pressing my lips against his. it doesn’t take him more than a second to start kissing back, his lips locking with mine.

i pull back, breathless and anxious, but the smile Jack wears eases my nerves.

“so you like me, huh?” he jokes.

“oh shut up.” i roll my eyes, giving his shoulder a playful shoulder.

**BONUS SCENE**

we’ve been at the lake house for three days and so far, no one has even noticed that Jack and i are officially dating. have we really always been this touchy?

Jack and i have made a game out of it, guessing who the first person to notice will be. he says Ellen or my mom, but i say Quinn or Luke. we both know our dads don’t pay enough attention to catch onto anything.

i walk down the stairs, prepared to grab a snack before us ‘kids’ head out on the boat. Ellen and my mom sit in the kitchen talking, but go silent as soon as i walk in.

“heyyy.” i drag out, eyeing them suspiciously.

“hi, honey.” Ellen gives me a kiss on the forehead as i stop in front of them.

“what were you two talking about?” i ask.

“nothing.” they say in unison, shaking their heads.

“i believe you, not at all.” i joke, opening a cupboard to grab a granola bar. “what was it?”

“they were talking about you and Jack.” Luke says, walking out from the walk-in pantry. “mom was saying she thinks they should set you guys up on a blind date with each other.”

“Luke Warren Hughes! how long have you been in there?!” Ellen scolds, not even bothering to deny his claims.

“i was looking for something to eat, you’re the ones who came in gossiping.” he shrugs. before Ellen can refute, Jack walks in from the same way i came. wrapping an arm around my shoulders, he stops next to me.

“what are you guys talking about?” Jack asks.

“our moms wanted to set us up on a blind date.” i say, a sly smile on my lips as i look up at him.

Jack lets out a chuckle before directing his gaze to his mom.

“sorry, no can do mom. i’ve got a girlfriend.” he smiles, and i have to bite back a grin. it’s the first time he’s called me his girlfriend. i like it.

“you what?!” Ellen exclaims. “why have i not met her? or even heard about her?”

“it’s a recent development.” Jack shrugs. “anyways, i’m gonna steal y/n/n here. Quinn is waiting for us at the boat. Luke, c’mon.”

before i can even think to take a step, Jack sweeps my feet off the ground, throwing me over his shoulder and walking away. i smack at his back with my free hand while one still clutches my granola bar.

“Jack Rowden Hughes, put me down! right now!” he barks out a laugh and i can feel his neck shift against me like he’s moving his head around before he lands a smack against my ass. “HEY!”

he ignores my struggles, walking down to the dock, all the way to the boat before finally setting me down.

“i can walk. i have legs.” i laugh.

“i know, but i wanted to carry you.” he grins down at me. i scan the dock for Quinn, but with no sight of him i relax.

“you just wanted an excuse to stare at my ass.” i joke. Jack hooks his fingers through the front belt loops on my shorts, tugging me closer so that i’m pressed up against him.

“and is that a crime?” he asks. i smile up at him, sending one last glance toward the house over his shoulder, not seeing Quinn or Luke. i lean up, planting a kiss on his lips.

“what the fuck?!!” the exclamation comes from behind me and i pull back, spinning around quickly to find Quinn stood on the boat. he’s leaned over the side, staring at Jack and i with a dropped jaw.

“oh- hi, Quinny.” i smile, painting on a face of innocence. Quinn’s eyes dart between me and Jack.

“when the hell did this happen?” he asks. “i knew i never should’ve let you move to New York. he’s corrupted you. i should’ve insisted you moved to Vancouver, but no, i said ‘if New York is where she wants to be, i won’t push.’ i should’ve pushed.”

i look over to Jack, sharing an amused smile with my boyfriend as his brother rambles on.

“Quinn.” i interrupt. he stops, throwing me a raised brow before giving a side eye to his younger brother. “did you really think this wouldn’t happen eventually?”

he sighs, before nodding.

“i know. i expected this. i prepared for this.” it’s my turn to quirk a brow now.

“you prepared for this?” i ask. he nods and hops onto the dock.

“okay, it’s time for us to talk. Jack, y/n, when a man and a woman love each other very much, sometimes-”

“oH MY GOD.” i shout. plugging my fingers in my ears. “la la la la la i can’t hear you! i am not currently getting the sex talk from my boyfriends older brother! la la la la la.”

Quinn’s face lights up and he burst out in laughter. i take my fingers out of my ears, eyeing him.

“oh, that was good! you should’ve seen your faces!” he laughs. i turn to look at Jack, who still wears a disgusted grimace. i pat his chest and let out a sigh. “seriously, i’ll be right back though.”

Quinn takes off in a jog towards the lake house, but before he disappears inside, i hear him yell.

“MOM! YOU’LL NEVER BELIEVE WHAT I JUST SAW!”

Jack finally unfreezes from his state of disgust. pulling out his wallet and handing me a twenty dollar bill.

“you won.”

#jack hughes #jack hughes imagine #jack hughes x reader #nhl fic #nhl imagine #faithlynn’s writings <3 #babydollmarauders #nj devils #midnights fic list

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callmewrinkles3 · 1 year

Text

This Love - DR3 x fem!OC

Summary: An escape to Perth for a week helps Dan and Em to realise what they want. But they each have a secret to tell that could rip them apart before they can begin to fix each other.

Words: 5.8k

Warnings: Pregnancy loss, retirement talk, smut (piv sex, fingering, light choking)

A/N: A day later than planned, but the continuation of what’s going on to our babes in 2022! This part deals with some pretty heavy themes, so look after yourselves. Take this as a present for the 300 followers. Hope you like it and lots of love! 💜

June 2022

When Dan helped Em to bed that Monday night she didn’t really sleep. The fog that had clouded her thoughts and judgment basically since she’d left London was lifting and it was like coming back to 4K from an old VHS tape. The way she’d buried her thoughts and self in anything except thinking about what happened, the weight she’d lost, the way she didn’t feel like herself anymore. She’d buried her head in the sand and hadn’t realised what was going on until it was too late. She didn’t want to be like this anymore.

Having Dan there at her side helped. They’d decided to delay their conversation for the summer break, booking flights to LA to leave soon after the race there. It was a week talking about everything and building their relationship and a week of wine tours to celebrate her birthday. She knew it would be hard and they’d both struggle at points but it needed to happen. They were committed. They were going to tell the world about their relationship in Baku. It was going to work out for them. It had to.

Em tried to push the thoughts swirling in her brain aside but it didn’t work, her sleep fitful. She woke up to Dan kissing her forehead and she smiled up at her boyfriend. He was right there beside her and that wasn’t changing. He wasn’t leaving her. She could do this. She could talk to him about anything.

Grace and Joe were staying in Monaco and using it as a base to visit family in Italy while Em and Dan were packing for three weeks away, from Perth to Baku to Montreal. She had her packing list on her phone and Dan pulled it out of her hand.

“What happened to your screen?” He ran his finger along the broken glass, a plastic screen protector barely holding it together.

“It broke when I was away.”

“How?” She blinked and took a breath before answering. It was probably the most embarrassed she felt about how she acted when she was gone.

“I threw it against a wall.” That was a story for another day.

“We’ll get you a new one. It’s not safe to use like this.”

“Danny, it’s fine. I can get the screen changed.”

“No. Baby you’re gonna hurt yourself on it. You’ve had it nearly three years, you need an upgrade anyway.”

“Fine.” He kissed her and she smiled, not truly annoyed at him as he went to the bathroom. She was filling the case mostly for Baku and Montreal, she had clothes in Perth still. They were old but they’d work for while she was there.

Dan came out of the bathroom with the two toiletry bags, passing her the purple one she put in her checked bag and the clear one that went into her hand luggage. Em smiled and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“I put a box of tampons in too. It’s about time you’ll need them, right?” The casual way he said it made her want to smile, but it nearly broke her at the same time. She had to tell him everything.

“Things shifted when I was away. But better safe than sorry.” They finished backing and Dan held her for a few moments as she got herself ready to leave. Final hugs went to everyone else before they went to Nice airport to start the trek to Perth.

Dan held her hand the entire way in the car, and for once they decided to take advantage of the VIP service the airport had. Usually they didn’t bother, but today it was worth it. They were escorted through security and to the lounge to sit and wait for their flight to Dubai. It was packed, a side effect of it being the day after the Grand Prix. Most of the other drivers who didn’t live in Monaco had already left the principality but they were ignored by most of the clients there. Another Formula One driver wasn’t a big deal. They spotted Kevin with his wife and daughter sitting a few tables away, smiling and waving to them.

As she watched Laura sit in Louise’s arms, babbling away, Em felt another pang of longing and loss hit her. The memories of that day four weeks ago when she realised her planned but delayed trip to the pharmacy for a test wasn’t needed anymore. That the suspicions she’d had but was too afraid to confirm for a few weeks were right but she was too late. Sobbing on her childhood bedroom floor clutching her knees to her chest because she was in the worst physical and emotional pain she could think of. She was losing the last piece of Dan she thought she’d ever have.

He needed to know. She needed to tell him and it couldn’t wait until August. It couldn’t wait for months because, selfishly, she couldn’t live with the guilt of not telling him if it was what would break them in the end. The internet had told her that it wasn’t her fault. That losing a pregnancy before twelve weeks was common, that late periods because of stress were normal. That running your pill together for three months and then not taking it for two could throw your cycle into chaos.

She had no true proof of what had happened apart from her symptoms and suspicions but it was enough for her to know. The way the constant exhaustion had eased, how the tenderness in her chest calmed within hours. The nausea she’d had stopping even though she didn’t want to eat. The nearly two week long period when before she was ever on the pill she’d been like clockwork.

Em knew the truth of what she’d lost. And she knew telling Dan was going to hurt both of them. Now that she could think clearly there was no alternative to telling him. She should have tried to get in touch no matter what to tell him and he deserved to know now.

She was quiet on the flight to Dubai, both of them taking a nap through it. Em woke to Dan’s hand on hers, his arm stretched awkwardly over the screen between them so he could hold onto her. He loves her. That was what could get her through until they were alone.

Arriving in Dubai meant that they were escorted to the first class lounge to wait out the three hours of their connection. As they got to the door Em stopped dead in her tracks. Dan was pulled back by his hand because of it and he watched her stare at the door.

“Emmy? Is everything ok?” He asked as she shook her head and bit back the tears she wanted to let out.

“We haven’t been here since last year.” She could see the moment the realisation hit him of their last time in the lounge together. When they said goodbye and he was going to Perth for New Years and she had to go back to London. The beginning of the end of everything.

“We’re going to find a table and sit, ok? Just you and me and some food. That’s all, Baby girl.”

“Ok.”

He found them a seat on the opposite side of the lounge to last time, both of them slipping into seats. Food was brought to them that Em didn’t want to eat but made herself take some bites. Dan’s arm was around her as he held her close and pushed kisses against her head. Fuck the rules, they needed this closeness.

The second flight from Dubai to Perth was eleven long hours as they fought to stay awake to try stave off jet lag. It was caffeine and watching films together, pressing the play button on their screens so they could watch them at the same time. The flight passed slowly but she held Dan’s hand whenever she could. They stayed connected like that as they got off the plane and she put her carry on over her arm to go through immigration and customs. They only let go when she had to join the non Australian line at immigration. Dan watched and waited for her as he was already through.

“What’s the reason for your visit?”

“We’re seeing my boyfriend’s family. I’ve only seen them once in the last two years and I had to leave Melbourne pretty quickly when I did. We have a spare week so wanted to see them.”

“Is your boyfriend Australian? Is he travelling with you?”

“Yes he is. He’s already through if you look behind you.”

Even in a hoodie and jeans to beat the Aussie winter Dan’s smile was infectious. It was the same grin as on nearly every Optus ad in the country and Em could tell the exact moment he was recognised.

“Oh, of course. Enjoy being back.”

She rarely used Dan’s celebrity for her own good, if ever, but it was worth it now to get through without extra questioning. Instead they collected the bags and went through quarantine with a smile and handing over the entry cards. The treats that they’d brought back were approved and just over an hour after landing they were in the familiar surrounds of Perth international arrivals. Joe had given them the keys to his car so they didn’t need to rent one. Instead they piled their bags into the boot to go straight to the farm. It wasn’t too cold for Em but Dan hated the thirteen degree weather and put the heat on as soon as they got into the car.

Their original plan had been to get to Michelle’s from the airport to see everyone but they couldn’t face it. Em was desperate for the hugs from her niece and nephew, for Michelle to wrap her in the big sister hugs that felt so good, but she couldn’t keep her emotions together if she saw them. It took all of three minutes to choose takeout to order on the way home to the farm. They sat at the table as Em nibbled the pizza she’d gotten while Dan ate chicken and rice that mostly fit his race diet. Once they were finished they curled into bed, wrapped around each other.

They lay there in the dark, quiet room, not sleeping or speaking. Em took a deep breath and let out a sigh as everything was screaming at her to speak.

“Penny for them?” Dan asked and she blinked, looking up at him and realising that this was the moment she had to say everything out loud for the first time. “There’s been something on your mind since you came back, right? What’s going on Wrinkles? You know you cal always tell me anything.”

“I’m afraid if I tell you then you’ll hate me.” His arms tightened against her while she closed her eyes and felt a kiss pressed to her forehead. He was there. He wouldn’t leave.

“I can’t hate you. I promise, Baby. I could never hate you. I love you. If you want to wait we can until we’re in LA and we have our talk. It’s whatever you w—“

“No. I need to tell you now.” Em pressed a kiss against his chest, holding onto him so tightly that she thought she might break him for a moment. “I…Fuck. When I was in Liverpool I was late. I was really, really late Danny.”

His sharp intake of breath was enough to tell her he’d heard what she said, but he stayed quiet and pushed his lips to her head until she was ready to keep speaking. Em took a couple of quiet breaths before continuing.

“I had a plan. I was gonna take a test to confirm, and when it came up positive I was gonna call you after the race. You had a right to know, y’know? I wouldn’t have kept that from you. I swear, Dan, I never could have done that. But the day I had the courage to buy it and take it I wasn’t late anymore.” Trying to get the words out felt like a clog in her throat. Tears streamed down her face as she forced herself to push everything else out. “Remember when we were here for lockdown and how I was when things got too much? I was like that and I was alone and in pain and I was so sad. I didn’t know I wanted a baby. But I really wanted your baby. And then I had one and I lost our baby and it’s my fault and I’m so sorry, Danny. I’m so, so, so sorry for losing them. I’m sorry.”

Her sobs overtook her but Dan sat up in the bed and pulled her to him. She didn’t know how they ended up like that but she was in his lap. His arms wrapped around her as he rubbed her back, soothing her and trying to calm her tears. She’d lost their baby and the only things going through her head was that it was her fault and if she’d looked after herself and not let herself be so upset and angry then things would have been different. It was her fault. It had to be her fault, it couldn’t be anyone else’s fault because she was the one who couldn’t keep their baby safe. As her tears began to slow and the wracking sobs eased she could hear Dan’s constant murmurs while she calmed down.

“How can I blame you, my Emmy? It’s not your fault and I will never, ever say it is. You’re so fucking brave, Baby. You’re so brave for getting through this and doing it by yourself and I wasn’t there to help you and I’m so sorry I wasn’t there. I’m so, so sorry that you didn’t think you could ask for help. I’d have been there in a minute, fuck everything else. Nothing else matters except you and me, Baby. You are wonderful and strong and brave and it’s going to happen for us. When we’re ready to have a kid we’ll get to. I promise you. You’re going to be ok. We’re going to get through this, you and me, like always.”

She clung to him as he spoke, a weight lifting off her shoulders. The miscarriage had been in the back of her mind ever since it happened, even when she hadn’t realised it was there. She’d been ignoring it since that day, nobody knew. But it was real. They’d lost their baby and she had hurt so badly because they had but they were going to be ok. They were going to make it.

“You back with me?” Dan asked as she stopped sobbing and he wiped at her eyes. His thumb wiped the tears away and all Em could see when she looked up at him was love. He loved her. Even after all this, even after her failure, he still loved her.

“Yeah I am. I’m not ok. I’m really not doing ok Danny.” They were some of the hardest words she’d had to say.

“I love you so fucking much. So much. I always knew you were brave anyway. Anyone who’s seen the crap said in the paddock knows that about you. You are amazing and wonderful and kind. We both know this is the kind of thing so many people have nightmares about. And you, my amazing and strong girlfriend, went through this on your own.” A watery smile went across her face as Dan pecked her lips quickly. “I’m sad we’re never going to meet that baby. I’m so sad we won’t get to see them grow up. But the worst part is that you went through that without anyone to support you. I’d have been there in a heartbeat if I knew. When did it happen?”

“The week of the race in Miami.” The pain was clear on both their faces. “I nearly texted Michael so many times. There was a photo of you—“

“The blonde who wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

“Yeah. I saw that photo the day after it happened. Started. I guess. I tried writing and deleting a text a hundred times to ask him if you’d moved on but I couldn’t. I didn’t want to know.”

“Oh Emmy, baby. I was never going to move on from you. Ever.”

She believed him. She believed every word he said, every moment of them together. And that realisation made her curl against him even tighter.

“I’m so tired, Danny. I’m so, so tired.”

“You just sleep. We’ll see the kids in the morning before they go to school and we can pick them up after to bring them to dinner. Sound good?”

“That sounds really good.”

It was probably too early to go to sleep but for the first time in a week Em slept well with Dan’s arms tightly wrapped around her. She woke up to him shifting in his sleep with his lips against her forehead as he slept. She smiled as she woke and kept her head on his chest before Dan’s alarm went off to wake them.

“You up?” He asked as Em twisted her neck to loop up at him again.

“Yeah. You?”

“Just about. I love you.”

“I love you too.” She let out a breath she didn’t even know that she was holding as Dan caught her in a kiss. He grinned against her lips before letting go and watching her for a moment.

“I’ll put coffee on, we can get breakfast out later?”

“Perfect.”

They were able to take their time getting ready. Dan watched as Em got dressed in clothes she’d kept there, putting her jeans on and pulling the belt tight against her. It was an old belt but it was in a new notch. The jeans that she’d owned since the Chinese Grand Prix were loose around her legs and it felt wrong. She was physically and mentally exhausted and worn out and desperately needed to relax and spend time with Dan. He held her hand as they got into the car, Dan the one who drove back to Michelle’s home.

They arrived just in time as Michelle hurried the kids out the door to go to school. Isaac started asking who was in his grandpa’s car but when Em opened the passenger door and stepped out there were two excited yells as they sprinted to her. The force nearly knocked her backwards into the side of the car but Dan held her arm so she could keep on her feet. Bending down for hugs Isabella wrapped her arms around Em’s neck to be lifted for a cuddle and Isaac followed suit.

She shouldn’t have been able to lift them up. Not with how tired she felt, not with how weak she felt. But she made herself stand up with them in her arms. Dan’s hands were supporting her lift and helped her stay upright as she did, grabbing onto them and holding close. Michelle ran towards them in surprise and once the kids were standing on solid ground Em got a hug from her too. She was home and in her sister’s arms and even with how awful her body felt this was good.

Michelle had to go back to work but they both promised to be back for when the kids finished school to take the family out for dinner. But Dan and Em ended up in a hipster breakfast place Dan found online, sitting next to each other in the booth. She sat there with her caramel latte and avocado toast with a poached egg and listened to Dan’s accent get thicker the more he spoke to people. They could both tell he’d been recognised but the nice thing about Perth was that people left him alone there.

“I think this is technically our first date,” Em murmured and watched as he frowned and thought.

“Fuck. You’re right. I always figured our first official date would be something fancy. Bring you somewhere you deserve.”

“We’re sitting in Perth having breakfast together. It’s the first of many.”

“Yeah it is.” He grinned and gripped her hand while they finished what they were eating before leaving the cafe.

Em just followed Dan down the semi familiar streets. So much had changed in the two years since she’d been in Perth, stores closed and new ones taking their place. They held hands in the weak winter sun, still warm on her skin compared to England. Dan walked like a man on a mission until they arrived at their destination.

It was the Apple Store, quiet for the Thursday morning as they arrived. They went to the phones immediately, Em looking at Dan.

“You need a new phone, Baby. One that isn’t going to cut your hand. Which size do you need for everything?”

“Danny I can get this fixed.”

“Please? Fresh start. New phone, new iPad. You need a new iPad for work anyway, it was upgrade time. So we’ll get it all now.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m positive.” He pressed a quick kiss to her lips, both of them smiling as they separated from their first kiss in public. Em was still nervous about it and would have rathered just get her phone fixed but she knew what Dan was like when he got an idea in his head. So she held his hand as he explained exactly what they wanted.

“So it’s two 13 Pro Max phones, each one terabyte. Can we get a gold and a silver one? And an eleven inch iPad Pro with as much memory as you have.” Dan put the other accessories he’d picked up on the table beside the sales assistant, two cases for the iPad - one with a keyboard and one without - and two phone cases. Em’s was purple leather, Dan’s a bright blue silicone. She felt overwhelmed with the amount of money Dan was spending on her but just gripped his hand as he put it through his card. It was for them. Them as a couple, nobody else. It was worth it.

Instead of going back to the farm to come back to town they found a coffee shop to set up their new purchases. It felt a little ridiculous but Em loved it as Dan pulled her in for a selfie as he gave her a kiss on the cheek and set it as his Lock Screen. This was real. It was them.

“We’ll talk to Blake in Baku about when you start coming back to work? You left things easy for him to pick up so if you want some time you’ve got it.”

“What are you talking about, Dan?” She looked at him carefully. She’d quit her job. She didn’t have anything to go back to.

“I assumed you’d want to come back to work? If you don’t that’s fine. If you need time or anything it’s totally fine. But it’s there for you.”

“What about your new assistant?”

“What new assistant?”

It made the tears want to come out again. They hadn’t replaced her. She thought people were just keeping her replacement away but they hadn’t. They still wanted her. They always had wanted her and she’d walked away.

“Em. Emmy, look right at me ok? You and me.” She blinked the tears back to stare at Dan as he squeezed her hand. “We couldn’t even think about replacing you. Never. You’re right here and not going anywhere. And if you want to come back you’ll slot back in. If you don’t want to come back to work that’s also fine. It’s up to you.”

“I didn’t think I could come back.” The words were slow to leave her mouth, each one an effort as her panic started to recede.

“We wanted you back as soon as we could find you, Baby.”

“Thank you.”

“For?”

“For loving me.”

“Always.”

Dinner at Michelle’s was fun. The kids enjoyed seeing their Auntie Emmy and Uncle Daniel when it was least expected, and the idea of a sleepover for two whole nights was exciting. Most of it was casual until Michelle half cornered Em in the kitchen.

“Are you ok?” She asked and Em shook her head.

“I…no. The last two months haven’t been good. But we’re getting through it.” Michelle wrapped her in a hug and it felt so, so good. They were close together for a moment and Michelle kissed her cheek.

“If you need anything we’re right here. No matter what’s happening between you and Dan we’re here. Especially if my idiot brother needs a reality check.”

“Don’t call my boyfriend an idiot. But no, it was both of us. We’re fixing it. It’ll take time.”

“Still, if either of you need anything. We might be the other side of the world but we’re here for you.”

“Thanks. For all of it.”

They left before it got too late, the two of them exhausted from jet lag and a busy day. Dan navigated the turns back to the farm easily, his hand on Em’s thigh. When they got inside she sat on the couch, opening the iPad to set it up.

“I haven’t looked at my emails since I left Melbourne. It’s going to be scary to look at, isn’t it?” As she finished speaking there was a crash, Dan smashing a glass that had been in his hand. “Danny?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine. You haven’t looked at your email since then?”

“No. Why?”

“Fuck. I thought you knew.” He sat beside her and took her hand, Em staring at him as he did. “Two days before you came back I sent you an email. I…I’m retiring at the end of the year.”

“What?” The words were going around her head. Retiring. Dan. It didn’t feel right.

“Racing’s taken everything from me. It nearly took you from me. I can’t do this again. I can’t, Baby girl. I can’t do it. I’m not happy anymore, I hate this team, I hate the way they treat you and act about you. How they don’t listen to me and keep blaming me when it’s the fucking car. So I’m out at the end of the year.”

“Don’t do this for me. If you start doing this because of me you’re going to regret it.” The naked fear that he’d start hating her because of this decision filled Em. She didn’t know what she’d do if he hated her.

“It’s not just you. I don’t—“

“Do you still love racing?”

“Yeah. But not with McLaren. Not in this car. It’s fucking toxic.” She squeezed his hand and kissed him carefully.

“Then we’ll find a team for you. But don’t retire like this. Don’t let them chase you out of the sport you’ve loved. You’re the king of fucking Monaco, Danny. You’re an eight times Grand Prix winner, and you haven’t bottled multiple podiums the way your teammate has. I believe in you. So if you want to retire because it’s time then do it. If it’s like Kimi and you’ve done what you want to do. But not because you think it’s your only option. Don’t do that.”

His expression changed and Dan pulled her close. Kisses pushed against her head and she smiled up at him to kiss him properly.

“Do you really mean that? Mind another couple of years of travelling around the world?”

“I mean every word. This is your time, Danny. And in a couple of years we’ll move back and it’s my time. Deal?”

“Deal.”

He didn’t respond, instead lifting Em up and carrying her to the bedroom carefully. Her legs wrapped around his waist while he did, arms holding onto his neck for dear life. But she knew Dan wouldn’t drop her. She trusted him not to.

When they made it to the bedroom it was fumbling fingers, both trying to get the other naked and hold on at the same time. She gasped as Dan undid the clasp on her bra, his hands cupping her boobs for the first time in too long. He lavished kisses against them until he was interrupted by Em taking his shirt off, pulling her too him as he sat on the edge of the bed.

She moaned as Dan’s fingers slid through her folds, feeling where she was wet and slowly playing with her to make sure she was fully ready for sex. He held onto her cheek with the other hand. They each pushed soft kisses to their faces while they got ready, but finally Em positioned herself and slid onto Dan. The stretch as he entered her was perfect, everything she didn’t know she’d missed.

Every time Em tried to get a rhythm going Dan held her at her hip, slowly thrusting. It was shallow and didn’t feel like him, didn’t feel the way they always had sex. It just felt wrong and that terrified her. From the first time they’d slept together they’d always managed to make sex work. And now it felt wrong and if this was a sign of things to come then they wouldn’t be able to save themselves. She couldn’t lose him. Not like this. Not after everything they were fighting for.

“You can go like normal.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.” It was like a punch in the gut but Em held firm and looked at him. Her hand caught his chin and made him look into her eyes.

“I need my Danny back. I need the Danny who doesn’t treat me like I’m about to break back, the one who knows exactly what we need. We know each other so well, we know what we have. If we’re scared of each other this isn’t going to work for us. Baby, please. I love you and I believe in you.”

Em didn’t know what possessed her to do it but she took Dan’s hand from her cheek and carefully pressed kisses to each digit. The final one went to the centre of his palm. Watching Dan’s face carefully she pulled his hand from her lips and pushed it to the centre of her neck.

It had been their thing for so long she’d forgotten how it started. Her riding Dan, his hand on her throat controlling how she moved. She trusted him with all of it, with her. It was the ultimate way of showing how she felt.

“I love you and I trust you. Let me feel you, Baby.”

“I love you so fucking much.”

After the first proper thrust Em didn’t remember much else from the sex they had. She knew she came more than once because Dan would never let her be otherwise, and she knew his back was covered in scratch marks from her nails. Her boobs had love bites marked into them to mark her as Dan’s. The small spots where he gripped her hips to bounce her up and down would darken to fingertip bruises as well. There was a hickey on Dan’s collarbone that she knew Michael would kill her for but she didn’t care. It would fade.

But it felt right. It felt good. It was tiring and she was sore but Dan was all around her and it was everything. He brought her into the bathroom and ran the bath, helping her in and settle beside him. He even remembered a hair tie so her hair didn’t get wet.

“We’re going to make it.” Em said it determinedly, her voice quiet in the room. Dan pulled her even closer as she did.

“We’re gonna make it, Emmy. You and me, like we promised.”

“Yeah. We are.”

Dan helped her out of the bath and they got ready for bed, curling up with Em lying over him. A day ago she had the weight of the world on her shoulders, but now it felt like a new life for them.

“Ready for a weekend of chaos? I thought we could do the Zoo with the kids on Saturday, and Sunday bring them to the cinema and send them home hyper on sugar. Plus they want to spend time with you.”

“Yeah, that sounds good. We’re lucky to have them.” She could feel exhaustion hitting and kissed Dan’s chest once. “Gonna go sleep now. Love you.”

“Love you too, Emmy. Sleep well.”

For the first time in too many months, Em fell into a dreamless sleep with her boyfriend’s arms tight around her.

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