Tag: haikyuu!!

Daichi knows that something is going on, and it can’t be good. Training camp is exhausting his team, he’s got to make sure they work hard but don’t strain themselves, and the heat isn’t helping either. But Daichi still isn’t blind. He notices things in the periphery of his vision.

So when Kuroo moves to stand by his left side and Bokuto’s arm slides around his shoulder from the right, Daichi can reduce his wincing to a minimum. He doesn’t even get to say hello.

“Lovely day, isn’t it,” Kuroo says. Daichi squints at him. This is going somewhere that he most definitely won’t like.

“Absolutely peachy,” Bokuto grins. His golden eyes are far too fixed on Daichi’s face. “Perfect conditions.”

“Indeed.” Daichi shakes Bokuto’s arm off and takes a step back. “May I help you two-”

“You know who’s also very lovely?” Kuroo’s lips twitch at one corner.

“I know!” Unbelievable. Bokuto actually fucking puts a finger to his chin as if he’s thinking. “That setter of yours, ah, what’s his name again?”

“Hm, I forgot it too,” Kuroo says, faux sadness clouding his face. “I only remember that cute voice and his nice legs.”

“His name is Suga,” Daichi growls. He gets ignored.

“Yeah, those are damn nice.”

“Irresistible even.”

“Impossible to miss. Especially when you’re around him all the time.”

“And I mean, we’re all just men, you can’t just keep your eyes from wandering a bit-”

Daichi’s hands clench into fists. He shouldn’t say anything, fuck, of course Suga is gorgeous, brilliantly so, even guys can pick that up, and the other captains are known for picking partners by attraction and not what’s between their legs, but does it have to be his Suga?

Wait. No. Suga isn’t his boyfriend. Maybe, just maybe, Daichi kind of wouldn’t mind if he was.

“It’s interesting,” Kuroo keeps going, “that you knew I was talking about him when I mentioned that he’s hot.”

Daichi wants to die. He looks away from those idiots, searches for an escape. “I was guessing.”

“You didn’t deny that he’s attractive.”

“Well, judging from an objective basis-”

“Dude.” Bokuto slaps his shoulder so hard that Daichi starts coughing. “He’s so into you. But I mean, if you don’t care for a guy as sweet and dang hot as Koushi-”

“Don’t use his first name. He doesn’t like that.” Daichi runs a hand down his face. Then his brain catches up on what Bokuto said. He stares at the other captains. “…he what?”

“Finally,” Kuroo nods, looking like a very pleased father. “He’s catching up with the newest information.”

“Because we were so kind to help out.” Bokuto wipes an invisible tear from his eye. “I almost went to kiss poor Suga myself, just to make captain dense here jealous.”

“He wouldn’t like that.” Daichi’s voice is tiny. “Are you guys joking? Is. Am I…” He clears his throat. His entire face burns. “Is it that obvious?”

Bokuto wraps an arm around Kuroo’s shoulder. “Our job here is done. Look who’s coming over to check on his captain’s safety.”
Daichi can’t help but turn around. He doesn’t hear the other captains run off, a high five clapping through the gym somewhere far away from Daichi’s mind. Suga is striding over to him along the side lines. There’s a dark crease between his brows and his eyes ask a silent question: Are you okay?

Daichi swallows. Absolutely not. He’s so fucked and in love and has been for longer than he’d ever admit. But when Suga is by his side, there’s somehow enough courage in Daichi to reach for Suga’s hand and hook their little fingers together.

Daichi doesn’t know what Suga’s face shows when he pulls him back towards the team. He hopes that it’s something good – the shy squeeze of a sweaty palm against his own seems to be a nice omen.

“There’s a first time for everything,” Kuroo had told him. “You’re eighteen. It’s time to let your gay out a bit.” Alright, maybe he was right, but Bokuto still wasn’t prepared for all of – this. The name of the club had flashed in front of his eyes for just a moment, high above the long line of people trying to get in. Kuroo had pushed at his shoulders, fumbled with both of their IDs, and then they were in.

The crowd is a trembling ocean of lights and skin blinking from beneath dark clothes. Bokuto can’t recognise any faces, can’t even see exactly what’s going on along the walls, where the bar is, but Kuroo’s hand is at his elbow. “You wanted to dance, right?” – “Yeah,” Bokuto shouts back, because it’s loud and the song that comes on goes straight to his blood, roars through his bones. “I’ll just go and – you’ll find me again, yeah?” 

Kuroo just grins and claps his shoulder. There’s no way he’d ever let Bokuto out of eyesight. Fuck, Bokuto thinks as he moves, pushing himself through the people standing around, to the dancefloor where the lights dance in so many colours that he just has to open his eyes wider, drinking them in. He’s wanted this for so long, to go out and be himself, like this, to feel the rhythm and just be.

Then, it’s easy. He finds space somewhere, fits himself into the waves of other humans, and the beat floods him. Everything is all at once. The music is thunder with twitching lightning as the melody, and Bokuto puts his hands over his head, neck bare, feet following some pulse he didn’t know he could feel. 

The boy appears during the third song. He’s wearing all black, his hair’s a mess of sweat and lights pouring colour over his neck, and Bokuto can’t see his face. The lasers flitting around only throw tiny spots of red and blue, it’s anonymous and united, and so Bokuto moves. The boy, no, they’re all not teenagers and yet, he curves his body into a shivering wave, head fallen back, his skin gleaming almost white. Bokuto swallows. He shouldn’t, it’s just someone he doesn’t know, but that man moves like he’s been born to slither his way into Bokuto’s head, hypnotizing and utterly gorgeous – 

A hand grazes his arm. Bokuto’s eyes whip forward. The man is facing him, and just now the lights have dimmed, so his expression is impossible to read. Anything after that is a blur in Bokuto’s head. He remembers that his hands find slender shoulders, thumb brushing against collarbones, that his thigh pushes against hips that roll softly into his motion. Songs pass by, music drowning into his bones, skin burning where the other man shows him a new dimension of what dancing is, and Bokuto’s fingers grasp at a shirt, naked skin over thin hipbones.

It could have been hours, or years. The music goes quiet, light flickering through the room – and Bokuto blinks. The crowd has dissolved. Almost nobody is left. It’s almost silent, then, and from the corner of his eyes he finds Kuroo, leaning at the bar, mouth agape. 

The man stands before him. Bokuto’s hands are on his hips, and that face, he would recognise that anywhere. 

“Akaashi?”

The smile on Akaashi’s lips is tiny, trembling. “Is that the moment where you pull back and say that you didn’t mean it like that?”

He’s gorgeous, God, he’s incredible, Bokuto thinks and lifts Akaashi’s fingers to his lips in an impulse. “No, I just – you were so – I didn’t know you could move like that.” His mouth brushes Akaashi’s knuckles. “We should do that again.”

Akaashi’s smiles softens. “We should,” he says, and then he winks at Kuroo who’s still speechless and looking like he tries to comprehend all of this. “But somewhere more private, where I can look at you, and you can see me.”

beechichi:

Hey remember that time where @moami and I accidentally created an AU? Here’s some more 😀 Also Happy Kuroken Day (5/1)~ ❤

Kenma’s prediction did, over course, come true. The council approves his application with gritted teeth and fear sitting in their eyes. Kuroo almost ruins a sword when he hears the restrictions that have been put on, without a doubt, the most gifted and skilled magician that the council has seen in centuries. Still he is there to wait for Kenma to leave the sacred room where the rituals is performed. It takes two days. Kuroo can’t imagine the things they must have done to him.

But Kenma smiles when he exits the council’s holy halls. His silver jewelry, forged in the fire of Kuroo’s smithy without magic, gleams on his skin as if it had grown into his body. “They allow me to practice as I wish,” he says, closing his eyes as Kuroo wipes a tear off his cheek. 

“And they made you cry,” Kuroo growls.

“Only a little.” Kenma flicks his fingers. A rush of wind curls around the both of them, and the guards standing by the council’s holy halls jump back with a cry. 

They don’t walk out – they soar. Kenma’s magic radiates in gold now, having had its limitations removed by the council to give him access to his full potential. “What did they forbid you?” Kuroo whispers into his ear. He clings to Kenma, arms around his stomach, as they sail over the city, the wind obeying Kenma as if it was a cat that had found its true companion.

“Oh, a lot of things.” Kenma’s lips twitch. He sighs when Kuroo kisses him by his neck, careful not to touch the jewelry that echoes with powerful magic. “They,” Kenma mumbles, and his fingers slide to lace up with Kuroo’s. The touch sends a surge of warmth through Kuroo’s bones, oh, so that’s what it’s like, loving a man who could let his soul crumble to dust.

Kenma catches his breath as they sink to the ground. Kuroo’s smithy is quiet, no smoke rising from the chimney. When their feet touch the earth, Kenma’s cowl slides from his head. A wave of golden hair pours down his shoulder. “They said that I should not abuse my power.”

Kuroo grins. “A very loose definition.”

“Indeed.”

“You know, all this magical stuf sounds really adventurous. And I’ve always wanted to go on an adventure.” 

Kenma’s smile is tiny when a white light flares up in the palm of his hand. A soft howl whirls through the air, invisible power lifting his gown, fluttering behind him as if it was… wings. “What a coincidence. So did I.”

The music’s rhythm pulses through his veins like a breath of aconite. He wants to go home. He wants to go home. He wants – 

Kuroo is in the crowd. He’s carrying drinks, one for himself, something else for Kenma, and everyone moves along him like a court bowing for their king. Majesty, come through, let the music roar to your glory. He doesn’t even know it, Kenma thinks and bites at his own lip until it tastes bad and red. They adore him. Everyone does, he’s too nice, kind underneath all that snark and grinning, with hands that frame Kenma’s face like a masterpiece when Kuroo kisses him.

A girl. She smiles, oh she’s beautiful, Kenma looks down on the floor. His jeans are torn, shoes dirty. Why Kuroo took him here, he doesn’t know, something about having fun, about Kenma liking to dance with him? He does. It’s true.

The girl’s fingers touch Kuroo’s arm. Her nails are half-moons, rose-thorns, and Kuroo looks at her with a flip of his head. 

Please, Kenma thinks. His fingers dig into the fabric of his jeans. He’s still out of breath from dancing, remembers Kuroo’s hands by his hips, their bodies together. It had been like living through a starburst, moving along with Kuroo, knowing everyone envied Kenma, looking at them. 

But please, don’t, Kenma begs across the room with wordless eyes, don’t take him. Don’t touch him. Don’t take him away, even if you could. Let him be.

Kuroo shakes his head. 

A shudder rakes down Kenma’s spine. He stands, bottom lip between teeth, staring at Kuroo as he comes over. One day, he’s going to lose him, to someone with grace and feather-light laughter and without cracked ugliness scattered across their past. 

“Let’s go home.” Kuroo pushes the drink into his hand, lips tracing a kiss along Kenma’s temple. “You’re zoning out. Take my hand?”

“Okay.” 

When they’re outside, drinks finished and jackets around their shoulders, Kenma pulls him down. He kisses Kuroo until their lungs ache, until Kuroo’s fingers burn in his neck and at his hip, until Kenma feels like they melt together again. 

Kuroo kisses him, his nose, lips, the bow over his mouth that’s named after love’s god, until Kenma allows himself to cry. It’s silent between them. There are no words on the way home. Kenma’s hand is in Kuroo’s. He thinks back to the girl, but then they’re through the door and Kuroo nuzzles his hair once more before starting to talk about hot cocoa, about going to bed afterwards.

Kenma leans against the wall of the corridor and closes his eyes.

The girl’s face is in his mind, soft, overwhelmingly unbroken. 

Not today, he thinks. And if I can do anything, everything, never. 

Then Kuroo calls his name. “I’m here,” Kenma says, and moments later, Kuroo’s by his side again, pushing a mug into his hand, finding him in the corridor without turning on the light. “Let’s sleep in a few, yeah?”

Kenma smiles around the edge of the mug. The cocoa is sweet. Outside the window, the sun rises. “Yeah.”

kkumri:

when u squeal on twitter about braces hina with moami and they drop THIS BOMB

Oh my gosh. Ally, this is so adorable! Look at that tiny lovestruck Tobio. (I understand him so well. A blushing Hinata who smiles around braces would pierce my heart, too.) He’s so cheerful and warm, waahhh, I love this ♥ Thank you for doing this amazing work and for squealing with me!

Source: kkumri

When he was still in high school, when he’d just realized that falling in love with Hajime is was something that happened before he could even write his own name, Tooru always tried to find an I love you on Hajime’s lips. 

It never came. It took Tooru years to understand that instead, there are other words, thousand, sentences that speak between the lines.

Be careful.
I miss you.
Did you sleep enough?
You idiot, you have to eat. I brought you dinner.
What’s wrong?
It’ll be okay.
I don’t hate you.
You’re not disgusting, not for loving someone, no matter whom.
Yes, I kissed you. That wasn’t an accident. I don’t regret it.
Are you okay? Does it hurt?
I told my parents.

Now, Tooru understands. So one day, he says something back: “Thank you.”

Hajime just ruffles his hair, laughing, as bright and warm as he did when they met and Tooru fell in love without knowing the word for it. “Don’t thank me for something like that,” Hajime then says, kissing Tooru’s forehead, their hands laced up, his thumb tracing Tooru’s knuckle. “Couldn’t be anyone but you.”

“Over here, Mr. Oikawa. Yes, that’s perfect.” The girl blinks at him so rapidly that Tooru would worry about a fly being stuck in her thick lashes, if he didn’t know that she’s trying to flirt. “Thank you, darling. I’ll be alright now.” Tooru gifts her with a semi-bright smile, but it’s enough. The girl’s cheeks turn as red as her lipstick. “Of course. Just call me when – if you – I think I have to go over there.”

Tooru watches her leave and closes his eyes for a moment once she’s vanished from the set. The producer and technical assistant are chatting a few feet away, mumbling a name Tooru doesn’t know. He takes a deep breath. 

It’s not his first model job, not by far. And he’s not arrogant enough to call himself famous yet. But this campaign for famous black boxershorts could be his big thing. Maybe things will change after today. If only the photographer was here already, Tooru thinks, opening his eyes. It ruins his nerves when there’s waiting time. Stressful shootings? No problem. Someone letting him wait? Hell no – 

“I’m so sorry,” a low voice says. “There was an emergency. I’m here now.”

Fuck, Tooru thinks. 

“Excuse me?” The man that has just entered the room turns to him. Tooru realizes too late that he must have said that out loud. That guy is – and his brain supplies no better word – gorgeous. So much that it’s almost upsetting. Tooru lets his autopilot mode kick in. A hand slides to his hip, he moves, walking over to the guy despite being just in underwear while that man’s in a shaggy leather jacket and hair that shouldn’t be so wildly endearing when ruffled. 

“I wasn’t informed that I would be shooting with another model. Who are you, darling?” Tooru stares at him. His throat is dry. Why the hell is he feeling so naked? It’s just another colleague to work with. A breathtaking one, his brain whimpers. Tooru swallows and pushes his hip to one side, pleased by the arched brow that the man gives him. 

“Just so you know, this is my campaign. I play the main role here. Stand back.”

The guy blinks at him for a second. Tooru is about to turn around when the man reaches into his messenger bag and pulls out – a camera. 

“It’s my campaign too, princess. But I’m the one putting you into focus, so swallow that attitude or it won’t just be five pounds that the camera adds on.” 

When the man walks past Tooru, his shoulders brush against Tooru’s. He’s shorter, his eyes are dark and alight with stars, and Tooru is so fucked when a deep blush rises to his cheeks. 

“By the way,” the man says, calm as a damn ocean, his long fingers settling the camera on the tripod. “My name’s Iwaizumi. And you don’t call me darling.”

ceejles:

“Oikawa. Hey. Are you – oh.” 

 Hajime’s mouth snaps shut. The movie is flickering in white and yellow, a flashback of the protagonist to a happier time when they were younger, the world pure, golden, free of monsters. There’s still so much popcorn over, it’s barely past midnight and usually, they’d be in a heated discussion about whether the aliens are animated like shit or not. 

 But Oikawa’s hair tickles his neck. Hajime tries to breathe as slow as he can, his arm tingling where it’s falling asleep, supporting the heavy pressure that Oikawa puts against him. How did he get tired so easily, Hajime wonders, watching him as his lips pull into a smile. Oikawa looks young and small like that. His legs are over Hajime’s lap, God, why’s he still wearing those silly alien pajamas, and he smells like summer, the forest they played in as children, popcorn and soft, endless trust. 

 Hajime is careful when he reaches for a handful of popcorn. He manages to move slow enough for Oikawa to not even flinch. The movie goes on, but Hajime chews on the popcorn and his eyes lose focus on the main protagonist. A hero, out to change the world. Hajime touches his thumb to Oikawa’s collarbone. 

 “Sleep,” he whispers, words lost in Oikawa’s hair. “I’ll stay here.”

(written by Moami on Twitter) 

Another preview of my piece for @kittlekrattle‘s IwaOi Fanzine: Moments 
Please check it out AAAA!!
[Preoreder it here!] 

What a beautiful work of art! Thank you for letting me write for your creation, dear cj, and a big compliment to Kami for putting together the incredible zine that will feature those precious Iwaois. You are both so amazing. ♥

astronautical-polarbear:

“How the hell did you even get up there?!”

Hajime’s
words are a dark growl, and Tooru winces. He doesn’t like it at all
when Hajime stares at him as if he’s just eaten away all of his tuna.
“It’s not my fault that the cat treats were up here,” he says, quiet,
and then raises his voice into a whine. “Just help me get down!
Iwa-chan, you – you won’t leave me up here, right?”

Tooru
watches how Hajime shuffles back a few steps from the big kitchen
cupboard, seeming to consider the situation. Yes, okay, maybe Tooru is a
bit of an idiot for climbing up the side of the cupboard and
accidentally kicking over the hat stand, which would have been his only
way down. It’s his own fault, fine, but that won’t help him down the
steep front of the cupboard and back onto the floor. Plus, his tail –
his beautiful, wonderful tail got hurt!

Tooru
sniffs. A bit of the fluffy hair got stuck in the rack and when he
tried to pull it away, the hat stand fell over, taking precious
creme-pale fur from his tail with it on the way down. “Look at this,
Iwa-chan… I look terrible, so please help me down already, I don’t
wanna stay here!”

Hajime
watches him from below. His short, charcoal grey tail twitches, clearly
distressed. Tooru makes himself smaller, wrapping his ruined tail
around his front paws. “Please?” He asks, flicking his ears back and
forth.

“Fine,
alright.” Hajime moves back another inch, then sits down. “But you
gotta jump.” Before Tooru can protest, Hajime cuts him off. “There’s no
other way. I’ll catch you, okay? Don’t you trust me, idiot?”

Tooru
does. He also wants to get down from the cupboard and back into his
comfortable hammock by the fireplace and he wants to nuzzle Hajime’s fur
and-So, he jumps.

“Oomph!”
– “Iwa-chan?” Tooru only realizes that he’s closed his eyes when warm
fur presses against his nose. Hajime’s flat like a pancake below him,
but he seems alright. And Tooru is back on the ground! He gives a joyful
mewl,

“Thank you!”, and before Hajime can defend himself, Tooru is
nuzzling his chin. He begins purring as soon as Hajime relaxes. “My back
hurts,” Hajime mumbles.

But Tooru just purrs and wraps his tail around Hajime’s, snuggling against him. “I knew you’d catch me.”

– Moami

Isn’t Moami’s writing simply the cutest?! My deepest thanks and all my love for all of their patience and for agreeing to collab this little iwaoi with me! This was so fun to brainstorm with you~ ❤

Lina’s cat Iwaois are the light of my life. Working on this has been so much fun, and Lina is an absolute delight and a star in the sky. Thank you, sweetheart, for letting me write this and creating that wonderful gif. ♥ Thanks so much!