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“Tooru?” He asks one day.

“Yes?”

Hajime takes a deep breath. “I don’t get it. You’re so possessive and demand so much attention, and stop pouting, you know you do. But you never ask me to return the words when you say them. You know, those… three words.”

Tooru tilts his head. “You wonder why I don’t make you say that you love me?”

“Well. Yeah. It’s something I thought you’d do. Tickling it out of me.”

“No.” Tooru laughs, and it’s so fake that Hajime shudders. “I didn’t want to know.”

“What? Wait. Are you an idiot? You know that I-”

“I don’t know what you’re feeling, Hajime. I didn’t want to know because if I ask, you could possibly say no. Don’t you get it?”

Hajime’s throat is dry. “But I sleep with you,” he croaks, his chest feeling too cold, too tight, “doesn’t that mean anything? That should’ve told you, you fucking moron!”

Tooru’s smile breaks his heart quietly. “Fucking someone doesn’t always mean that you love them. Just because I love you doesn’t mean that you see me as more than just-”

And Hajime has never touched his fingers around Tooru’s jaw as gently as he does now, breath caught in his mouth. 

“It means everything. I sleep with you because, and now I want you to fucking listen,” he lets his forehead touch Tooru’s, a finger tracing those lips in absolute reverence, “because I love you, I love you, I love you. I need you to understand that. I need you to get that into your head and all the way down to that dumb heart of yours because it’s true and it won’t change. You have me. And you always will.”

Tooru is crying without a sound when Hajime kisses his forehead, holding his face as if it were the shrine to most adored possession. “So next time, ask. Ask every time. I’ll answer.”

Hajime’s got to be honest: This isn’t what he expected. Not at all. This is the furthest from any guesses he made about how this whole thing would be going.

It doesn’t help that Oikawa is frozen in place. His fingers are stiff in Hajime’s shirt, lips still parted where Hajime had kissed him. Yes, he had done it, and he’s never going to forget the hitch in Oikawa’s breath or the tiny noise that bubbled out of his throat when Hajime had pressed their lips together. It had been soft, just a brush of his mouth against Oikawa’s.

It had been everything.

But now Oikawa looks almost… embarrassed. Hajime blinks. His brain isn’t catching up. “Hey. Are you okay?” he decides to ask.

Oikawa closes his mouth. There’s a faint blush rising up his cheeks, spreading down to his neck. It’s gorgeous. Hajime swallows. “I didn’t read your signals wrong, did I? You wanted me to ki-”

“Don’t say it out loud!” Oikawa’s hand slaps across his mouth. Hajime almost stumbles back, and he’s ready to punch Oikawa in the face because fuck him, this took all courage he’s ever had, he’s wanted this for so long –

“It’s because it’s my first,” Oikawa blurts. And Hajime stops struggling against his hand. He stands still when Oikawa leans against him, and his heart explodes into warmth and the need to protect when Oikawa – no, Tooru – buries his head against Hajime’s neck.

“I kind of hoped that it’d be you.” Tooru’s lips tremble against his skin, a small touch. Hajime closes his eyes.

“That was your first kiss? You’re fucking with me.”

A chuckle. “We just kissed and you’re already thinking about that. Naughty.”

Hajime kind of wants to hit him again, but Tooru slings both arms around his neck and presses their foreheads together, eyes alight with a joy Hajime swears he’ll keep glowing.

“Idiot.” Hajime slides his thumb along Tooru’s cupid’s bow, as gentle as he can. “We have time.”

Tooru’s smile widens. “Yeah. All of it.” And then he’s the one kissing Hajime, pushing him against the wall of their now old school, their lips falling together as the graduation celebration goes on without them.

meru90:

“The café is a secret. Oikawa chose it, back when their first kiss had left invisible marks on each other’s lips, clumsy and awkward, and when they needed a place to sit on their own and not have anybody watch them. Nowadays it’s tradition, and Oikawa’s lips are as soft as the day they first came here, when Iwaizumi asked him to be his boyfriend.” – moami

small preview of my guest art for kami’s “Moments” iwaoi fanzine ; v ; – pre-order it here! !!! thank you so much for letting me participate kamichan > w < 

Gosh Meru, your artwork is beautiful. Thank you for accepting my words to stand below your creative firework. ♥ and Kami, thank you for asking me to write for the previews, and I wish you all of the success with that wonderful zine!

kkumri:

“He looks up at the sky like it’s a miracle. His hair is dark and warm-shining in the rain, and he’s going to catch a cold like that. But Iwaizumi watches him still, knowing that he will lend Oikawa his jacket once he comes back inside. He will kiss the water from Oikawa’s cheeks, touch his shirt that’s changed from blue to purple like the cool skin below, and Iwaizumi knows that Oikawa still won’t realize what the true miracle is.” – moami

sneak peek of my piece in kami’s iwaoi fanzine! [PREORDERS ARE OPEN] so go go go support our little patoot!! i’m very honoured to have been part of this with many amazing people thankyou bab!!

Thank you so much for letting me write for this beautiful piece of yours, Ally! I’m very happy that I got to help this project at least a little bit. Kami has done such great work on the zine, putting all of this together. I’m sure the final result will be stunning. This was so nice to do – I’m astonished by all the people coming together for this. To the Iwaoi.

Source: kkumri

Tooru almost forgot about their symbiosis. He’s reminded that Hajime and him are connected by some ancient part of themselves during a situation that couldn’t be more harmless; volleyball training before an important match.

And Tooru is reminded with stinging cruelty when Hajime receives a ball just with the tips of his fingers. He falls, his ankle hits the court, and the entire team freezes when Hajime screams. It’s sharp, short, and Tooru’s feet kick into motion when their ace crumbles on the ground.

Someone calls both of their names. It could be the coach that’s shouting, something like “don’t move his foot, let me through”, but Tooru’s ears are deaf. His vision is white and teal blurring into skin darker than his own, his own steps echo up his spine, and then his hands reach Hajime’s shoulders.

“No,” Tooru thinks he’s saying. His face feels wet, he can’t see clearly. He doesn’t fucking care that he’s crying on the court and Hajime isn’t. He can’t be hurt, he can’t, it’s not supposed to be him who gets hurt-

“Hey. Tooru. Shh, look – look at me.” Hajime’s voice is dark, twisted by pain, but he wraps his arms around Tooru’s neck and allows himself to be lifted. Tooru doesn’t know how he carries him to the bench. All he knows is that he keeps saying, like a prayer: “You have to be okay again.”

Hajime kisses him just when Tooru is blocking everyone from seeing them, just before the coach comes running, just before it turns out to be a harmless overly strained tendon that will recover after a few days.

But still, that night, Tooru stays at Hajime’s place. And Hajime doesn’t complain if Tooru holds him more tightly, nails digging into his back, ear pressed to his ribs to listen to his heart beat.

beechichi:

Inspired by @moami ‘s Kuroken drabble

Bonus:

You’re making me sob internally more and more each time, Bee. I honestly can’t find the right words anymore. I have been looking at this for fifty years. Let me look at it for another fifty. They’re so gentle and good and natural; you captured everything my drabble tried to say. (And the bonus is gold, oh gosh, Lev don’t make your tiny boyfriend angry.) Bee, you’re so wonderful. Thank you. ♥

rainbowd00dles:

for @moami‘s cute lil’ fic here

You are successfully killing me with your wonderful art on a regular basis. Thank you so, so much for transforming my words into lines. I love how you included Yaku, how he talks so casually with Kuroo who’s used to Kenma needing to recharge, aaa I am so happy. This touched my heart. Thank you. ♥

Kenma recharges in a very special and, admittedly, kind of strange way.

And Kuroo doesn’t know when it began – sometime when they were smaller and the world was loud, scary, colourful – but it’s a ritual now, one that won’t break.

The team understands. They watch with a mix of amusement and fondness, because as soon as their coach calls for a break, Kenma reaches for Kuroo’s wrist. His fingers wrap around it, tugging once, twice. “I’m tired, Kuro.” 

Kuroo talks to their other teammates while he sits on the bench. Nobody even looks twice when Kenma climbs onto his lap, legs sliding around his waist. They don’t question why Kenma nuzzles Kuroo’s neck, lips a soft pressure against his skin, dark lashes fluttering above his cheeks like feathers. There were never any questions asked about what relationship is going on there, exactly, it only mattered that Kenma could play and felt good and that Kuroo was grinning.

And because nobody really pays attention to it anymore, because it became so normal in its uniqueness, nobody is surprised that Kenma always enters the court with a tiny smile after their coach calls them back into training.

Akaashi has a thousand questions.

“How can you just confess to me so easily?”

Bokuto is standing before him, and it’s strange seeing him in casual clothes, neither school uniform nor training clothes. His hair is a bit less dark and more light-streaked. He smiles, wide and shaky, even as Akaashi keeps asking.

“Why? I’m a man, you know that. Don’t you care about that? Is it because I’m your teammate? You could be mistaking friendship for affection.” 

He doesn’t say: You just think you love me. But Bokuto understands. He steps closer. It’s a day past his graduation, he’s standing in front of Akaashi’s door, face hopeful and so easy to wound. Akaashi doesn’t let him in. He doesn’t flee, either. The questions pour out of him, flooding over Bokuto, because how, how-

“I’m not a girl. This won’t be so easy. Does your family know that you’re-”

That’s when Bokuto’s smile fades. “No. Parents that are dead can’t really be against it. My aunt’s got enough to do already.”

“Fuck,” Akaashi says. He didn’t know. He never asked. It didn’t come up. Fuck.

“Do you want to be with me?” Bokuto asks again, softer this time, biting hard on his lip then – he does that when he tries not to shout, Akaashi knows, why does he know about that but not about other things that could tear a heart into pieces? “But not out of pity. Just if you like me. I’ve liked you since you gave me the first toss after you joined our club. You’re amazing, Akaashi.”

It’s stupid. Akaashi is aware of that. He shouldn’t. They could make this easier; parting ways, one still in school, one in a prestigious university with a great sports team. But rationality falls in a single battle against his heart. 

“I don’t know if you’re brave or really just don’t care.” Akaashi reaches out to take Bokuto’s hand and squeezes it. He hopes that his fingers aren’t shaking as hard as his knees are. “Come in already. The neighbours will talk if you keep standing in front of my door.” 

Bokuto’s arms are around his waist, then, and Akaashi smiles when Bokuto hugs him so tight that it hurts a bit. “Hey, you asked me, so expect a reply.”

“I like you, Keiji,” Bokuto mumbles into his neck, sending shivers down Akaashi’s spine, and warm hands curl around his back. “I like you so much.”

Akaashi sighs. Idiot. His idiot. “Yes, Koutarou. Me too.”