Tag: oikawa

“Why do you still care?” 

Hajime is silent. His fingers brush white ointment onto Tooru’s split lip. His soft skin bleeds red. 

“Because someone has to?” Tooru asks, rough. “Is it a chore to care for me?”

Hajime pulls the bloody shirt over Tooru’s head. He stuffs him into one of his own sweaters, fingers shaking in rage and fear and why-couldn’t-I-protect-you. Because Tooru doesn’t let him, that’s why. Hajime wants to bite that fake smile off his pretty red lips. 

“Stop. Just – god, stop. ‘m not worth it. You’re wasting your time. Hajime, stop.” 

And he takes Tooru’s bruised knuckles and leans them against his forehead. It takes minutes to find his voice, a scared little thing in the back of his throat. When he speaks, it’s a sentence that’s twelve years old, and finally falls out. 

“You’re worth it, idiot. All of if. You’ve always been worth it. Shit, you – you go and get into fights or hook up with people just to, what – feel something?” Hajime breathes. Tooru is quiet, stares at him, and he’s so beautiful in Hajime’s old sweater and with a hint of a blush on his cheeks that Hajime’s heart breaks. 

He swallows, and kisses the soft space between Tooru’s knuckles. “Let me make you feel. Just once, let me try, ‘kay? I’ll do anything. Just lemme keep you safe. Can’t stand seeing you bleed.” 

For a long time, Tooru’s breath is the only noise. Then, something drips onto Hajime’s hand. “Okay.” Tooru says, voice tiny. “Okay, Hajime.” And he cries.

“Hey, Haji. Do you think we’ll be forever?”

A typical Tooru-question, Hajime thinks, but of course he replies. “No. Nothing’s forever, not even the universe we live in. Move your butt, don’t wanna spill food.” He balances a tray full of sandwiches and two protein shakes to the couch table, then slumping down on their old couch just as Tooru pulls his legs out of the way. The window is right in front of them; the meteor shower will begin soon.

“Aw, come on! You’re not fun anymore since you started studying physics.” Tooru pouts, arms crossed over his chest. And then, soft, quiet: “So no forever.”

Hajime thinks that he’s gorgeous in his low sweatpants and baby blue alien shirt. That’s his boyfriend, his lover. Somehow, Hajime’s allowed to adore him, he’s the one who Tooru loves to tease and drive to insanity and kiss, late at night, when he’s done counting stars. 

Hajime sighs. “Hey.” Tooru’s dark eyes go wide when Hajime presses a reverent kiss to his jaw, his temple, lips moving until their lips are inches away. 

“No, I don’t believe in forever,” Hajime whispers. Tooru trembles below him, fingers catching Hajime’s hair. He sighs, says “…but? Please, Hajime.”

The first meteors fall. Tooru curls against his chest when Hajime promises into the soft skin of his neck: 

“But we could be a lifetime.”

The Alchemist of a Thousand Eyes. || iwaoi. fma crossover.

The darkness around him is four weeks old. They give him food and water, pull the chains around his ankles and wrists so tight that his skin bleeds underneath the fur. Every day, a man with yellow eyes visits him. He touches Hajime’s forehead, and a searing pain twitches through his head. He knows what this is, and when a cruel, sharp mind pierces into his own thoughts, he screams for help, begs, promises anything and everything. Help me, God, please. 

“He’s still human, in there,” the man says one day. Hajime whimpers. Finally, he’s heard him. The guard standing outside the cell smiles; he’s all ink-black hair that sticks into the shadow above his head in the light of the lantern. Both wear the badge of a state alchemist. They’ll help him, right? The man with the yellow eyes – he looks like a cat, Hajime thinks, licking his mouth in the hope of more water – steps out of his prison cell. He’s quiet for a long time. 

Then, he turns to the guard. “Kuroo, we need him. This could be it. Tell him that we got a chimera that’s been made by his old teacher.” And before Hajime can even open his jaws in an attempt to growl out words, the lantern goes out and darkness engulfs him yet again. 

In the three hours that pass, he lives through everything all over again. The man luring him into a house in the forest with a promise for food and money; Hajime’s stomach growling, the hunger in his chest, he hadn’t eaten since his village had burnt down in the war. Everyone dead, dead, dead, corpses in the wet, red darkness of the ruins, lingering, watching him. The man had taken him in. And when Hajime woke, he’d been in chains, and his mind had howled at the sight of his body, transformed, bleeding and there were claws, teeth, fur – 

“Is that him, sweetheart?” – “Do not call me that. Yes. We think the body’s a bear, the horns seem to be from a bull or something. Excellent nose from a dog. He’s got some humanity left in his head, so we didn’t cut him open to see if – “ 

“God, he’s… yeah, he’ll do. Let me in.” A soft chuckle. “Finally.”

Hajime barely hears the voices whispering around him. The cell door creaks, light casts over his face. He blinks, chains rattling, a growl in his chest, and then there’s a man standing before him. His eyes are dark, a glint of fire sparking in them as he leans down to touch Hajime’s nose. 

“Hello, sweetheart,” the man says. “My, what did this monster do to you, hm? You can tell me later. First, I’ll get you your voice back.” Hajime’s eyes go wide. He roars, struggles against the chains, and the man raises a hand to hold the guards back from storming into the cell. 

“Relax. This’ll only hurt a bit. I cannot turn you back into who you were. But we’ll make a deal.” Hajime hears a metallic sound. The man pushes up his sleeves, the state alchemist’s watch dangling on his hip. And then, Hajime sees his skin, and he whimpers in sheer horror. Oh God. 

“You see,” the man smiles, smiles, his lean arm flexing in the lantern’s light. His skin is covered in human eyes. Their lids open to stare at Hajime, life pulsing inside them, pupils wide in silent terror. And when a hand grips his throat and the blue light of transmutation twitches through the cell, he hears the man say: 

“The man who did this to you is the same who did this to me. I’ll give you back your voice, sweetheart, for a few of my eyes. And in exchange you’ll lend me your nose to find the man who made me the Alchemist of a Thousand Eyes.” 

When the blue lightning dies, Hajime’s throat burns like hell. The man stands and turns to leave, pushing his sleeve back down. Hajime gets up and follows him, not paying any attention to Kuroo or the yellow-eyed alchemist. 

“Who are you?” 

The man looks at him over his shoulder. His collar slides down a bit, and a row of tiny, sad children’s eyes stares at Hajime from the alchemist’s neck. The smile on his lips is dangerous, sharp enough to cut. “I’m Tooru Oikawa. You coming?”

And Hajime follows him. 

The last time Hajime had talked to Kageyama had been at his own high school graduation ceremony, and Kageyama had asked him a question, as simple and natural as breathing. “You love Oikawa-san, don’t you?” 

“Yes,” Hajime had replied. Lying was useless, unneeded. Kageyama’s blue eyes had traced along his face. He hadn’t smiled. “I see. I don’t understand, but I guess I don’t have to.” To that, Hajime had said no, and they’d said goodbye. 

It’s five years later and Hajime wants nothing more than to go home from university in this horrible blizzard, but a hand catches his shoulder. When he turns around, there’s Kageyama – but then again, it’s not. The loneliness is gone from his dark eyes, the tiniest smile tugging at his lips. And maybe that’s because of the young man clinging to his arm, sunshine-bright hair, eyes wide and warm like sweet honey milk. 

“Iwaizumi-san,” Kageyama says, and Hajime hugs him simply because it feels right. They chat for a moment, the boyfriend – Hinata, right – making sure to distract Kageyama with touches all the while. And then, Kageyama says: 

“You still love him, don’t you?” 

Hajime says yes. “We live together, but it’s not like – “ 

Kageyama shakes his head, and even Hinata looks sad. “I thought you’d find out on your own one day. Iwaizumi-san, he – he’s always loved you.” The snow tastes bittersweet on Hajime’s cold lips. He swallows, shakes his head. 

“He does,” Hinata says softly. “Sometimes, he phones Tobio. Believe me when I say that he loves you. Y’know, Tobio’s almost as big of an idiot as him, they both thought they’re never good enough – ow!” Kageyama growls at him, smiles then.

But Hajime doesn’t hear them anymore. He runs, snowflakes catching in his hair, blue-white cold bleeding over his mouth as he pants heavily. Tooru’s at home when he arrives, his bag being thrown in the corner. He’s on the couch and looks up, smiling, then opening his mouth. “Haji – “ is all that he can say. 

“Eight years.” Hajime’s face is buried into Tooru’s shoulder, arm around his waist, his cold body strong against Tooru’s chest. “That’s for how long I’ve – God, why didn’t you say something, I thought – I wanted to, but Kageyama told me… ‘s it true? Talk to me. Tooru, talk to me, and don’t lie, don’t lie anymore.” 

Tooru doesn’t speak for a long time. Then, his fingers softly cup Hajime’s jaw, trembling, thumb brushing his lips. His eyes are a beautiful darkness, star-lit by a glint of swallowed sadness and something long, long hidden. 

“Twelve years.” The warmth of his mouth presses to Hajime’s lips. And Hajime chokes on the sob that roars in his lungs when Tooru whispers: “I was scared. You’re everything, and I was noth- “ 

Hajime shuts him up with a kiss, a desperate, wild thing lingering between their mouths, and Tooru curls against him like he’s that moon that’s only ever waited for its stars to finally frame the pale grace of its body, and light it up in white. 

The day that one of his classmates spits in front of his feet and snarls “you’re fucking disgusting at him” is the day that Iwaizumi learns an important lesson. He learns that being gay and holding hands is still a crime in the eyes of some stupid assholes, and that Tooru’s eyes can go dark as coal within moments. 

Iwaizumi learns that he’s not the one people should fear. Oh no – not him, but –

Because Tooru unlaces their fingers before he can say anything, and steps forward to the bully. He gently takes a grip at the guy’s collar, pulling him so close that their foreheads almost touch. 

Iwaizumi can’t hear what Tooru says – but he sees the guy go red, then pale as death, and his body begins to quiver as if he’s seen a monster, a beast ready to devour him. The people behind him back a way. Silence falls over the classroom. Tooru’s mouth curls into a soft grin. Then he says, loud and cheerful:

“And if you ever so much as look at him again, I swear, darlin’, that I will make all those pretty things I just told you come true. Oh, and I am sure that a lot of people would love to hear the things that I know about you, your sweet little secrets… So – do you understand me, honey, or do I have to make myself any clearer?” 

Iwaizumi doesn’t know what Tooru has told the guy to make him run away afterwards, choking on tears and shaking from head to toe. But he has learned something very important. 

It’s not him that people should be afraid of. It’s that smile, the soft laughter hiding a tongue sharp enough to slice through flesh and bleed someone’s sanity dry. 

It’s Tooru. 

Tetsurou isn’t quite sure how he ended up in such a position, but then again it’s hard to think when he has a young god like Tooru in his lap and that soft, warm tongue licking into his mouth. Any coherent thought becomes impossible when rough hands drag down his spine, caressing his skin from tailbone to neck, a hot kiss pressed against his shoulder with a harsh drag of teeth. Hajime’s chuckle echoes deep into his bones, and when blunt nails send sparks flying through his nerves, Tooru shifts just a bit to moan softly into Tetsurou’s mouth, just as he’s pulling back from the kiss and whines. Hajime’s body is strong against his back. 

God, they are all he’s ever wanted. 

“We got you,” Hajime whispers against the shell of his ear, lips wet and burning on Tetsurou’s skin. His fingers keep dancing, worshipping every inch of him, just as Tooru wraps slender legs around Tetsurou’s waist and sucks a dark bruise below his jaw. “Relax,” his voice is playful, even softer than Hajime’s. “We’re not going anywhere, darlin’. We’ll be here all night.” 

No, Tetsurou doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve boyfriends like those two. But Hajime and Tooru have chosen him, all his bad things and dark walls and the fear that he’s been swallowing down before confessing that fuck, yes, he loves them more than he could ever put into words. He’s theirs now, and somehow, like a miracle he can’t explain, they are his as well. 

And then Tooru grins and lets himself fall back, pulling Tetsurou down on top of himself, his mouth catching the surprised gasp on Tetsurou’s lips with a searing hot kiss. ‘Gorgeous,’ Tetsurou thinks, and then a large hand slides down his back, the rough pad of Hajime’s thumb dragging along his shaking thighs, deliciously slow and teasing and perfect. “F-fuck, please – “ He’s never begged for anyone, but he does so for them, and his heart feels like it’ll melt when Tooru reaches for Hajime’s neck to pull him into a warm kiss, and then Hajime steals another one from Tetsurou’s mouth. 

“We’ll be good to you, darlin’, I promise you that.” Tooru’s voice is raw and thick against his ear, and just as Hajime breaks the kiss and Tetsurou tries to gasp for air, Hajime’s fingers slide deeper and press into him, careful, slick and gentle. “God – ah, can’t – ohh.” And he sinks down on Tooru, who runs shivering fingers through his hair and pets him, “yes, jus’ like that, we’ll take care of you,” as Hajime kisses his back and slides his fingers deeper into Tetsurou, sending liquid fire over his skin and right into his chest. 

Tetsurou doesn’t know how he deserves this. But when he wakes, later that night, Tooru’s curled against his waist and has Hajime’s arm slung around himself like a makeshift blanket – that’s when Tetsurou smiles, and thinks: Maybe he’s worth more than he’s always been told. At least, he can make them happy. He can love them, more than anything, and that could be enough. 

In class, they are a quiet mumble of “Iwaizumi” and a resigned sigh of “Oikawa” as one shuffles closer to make their knees touch underneath their tables. 

During practice, they are a cheerful “Iwa-chan” on bouncing feet and a soft, fond groan of “idiot” as a two hands slap together in the air, a new technique perfected.

On the court, they are a shout of “Iwa!” with slender fingers grazing a ball and a yell of “…kawa!” as a yell of victory unites their voices, a fierce hug and bright grins. 

At home, in the darkness of blankets and kisses, they are “Hajime” with hearts open and vulnerable, and “Tooru”, as lips graze against skin and fingers slide into one another to melt, join, unite. 

bubblline:

happy birthday my sweet little muffin moami OuO

I hope you like those boys taking a walk on the beach, and have an amazing day with lots of cake and presents

Annie is one of the sweetest, most honest and soft-hearted people I have ever met. She spreads love and beautiful colours through her art, a kind of magic that is so nice to watch, and I am so grateful to be friends with her. 

And you did it again with this art – the tender love radiating between Tooru and Hajime, the grasp of their hands, how they look at each other like they’re everything – gosh. Thank you so, so much. I hope we stay friends for a long, long time. 

Your Iwaois warmed my heart. They are a gorgeous birthday gift, darling. Danke, Liebes. ♥ ♥ ♥