Tag: oikawa

Iwaizumi’s mother calls Tooru at six in the morning. “Tooru, dear, would you please excuse Hajime in school? He won’t be coming. He’s… presenting.” 

Tooru can’t focus in school. He messes up all his tosses during practice, and when training is finally over, he runs to Iwaizumi’s house as fast as he can. His mother hasn’t said whether he’s presented alpha or omega, but that doesn’t matter. Tooru’s been through this shit one year ago and he knows that it’s bad, that a good friend and physical comfort (like long cuddling) can help. 

When he knocks, Iwaizumi’s mother opens quickly. “There you are. I made some tea and sandwiches, could you take it upstairs? He’s not feeling very well.” She smiles, but there’s worry in her eyes. Tooru bows down politely before taking the tray she hands him. The door to Iwaizumi’s room is closed but there’s a sweet, honey-soft and warm scent curling from underneath the door, making Tooru’s skin crawl wonderfully. Omega. Somehow, he’s unsurprised.

“Iwa-chan, it’s me. Can I come in?” 

“Yeah.” Iwaizumi’s voice sounds exhausted and quiet. Tooru swallows and takes a deep breath, focusing himself onto the warm scent of his best friend. He’s glad that presenting isn’t as horrible as their teachers sometimes try to tell them. Just because he’s an alpha, he won’t jump Iwaizumi like some animal. 

“Alright, coming in.” Tooru manages to push the door handle down with his elbow and navigates himself and the tray into the room. Iwaizumi’s curled up inside a nest of blankets, only his face peeking out. His cheeks are dark red, eyes half-lidded and tired. Tooru feels pity rise in his chest. Presenting is exhausting, annoying, and it hurts. He sits by Iwaizumi’s side and carefully reaches out, hand stopping before Iwaizumi’s chest. 

“May I hug you? Y’know, I told my mum that I’d stay here. If you want to cuddle, or just want me to sit here – I’m going to leave if that’s better for you, too – “ 

“Come here already, jeez,” Iwaizumi grumbles and one of his hand appears, pulling Tooru into a firm, warm hug. He’s shaking, sweaty and in pain, and Tooru feels his instincts kick in. “There, there. It will be fine. We can watch movies all night, okay? And I’ll get you new tea when you’re too weak, Iwa-chan.” 

“I’m not weak.” Iwaizumi buries his face into Tooru’s neck. His fingers dig into Tooru’s back, blunt nails scratching a bit, but it’s okay. Tooru struggles a bit to lie down, letting Iwaizumi drape himself across him. “I hope it’s over quickly,” Iwaizumi whispers into his neck. “But – are you really gonna stay?”

“Of course,” Tooru says. “I won’t leave you alone. I’m here.” And Iwaizumi smiles. He falls asleep on Tooru, who pets his hair and keeps him warm. 

‘Soultouch.’ – fic. iwaoi.

Iwaizumi Hajime / Oikawa Tooru. 

Chapters: 1/1

Words: 8,762

Rating: General Audiences

Characters: Iwaizumi Hajime, Oikawa Tooru, Kunimi Akira, Kindaichi Yuutarou, Nekomata Yasufumi

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, Touch-Starved, Touchy-Feely

Summary:

Maybe Hajime’s just always adored him, in secret and silence, deep down in the bottom of his whole being.
Maybe it’s always been like this and he just didn’t know.

And that’s why he can’t touch Tooru anymore.

‘Soultouch.’ – fic. iwaoi.

amalasdraws:

“It’s good that you broke up,” Hajime says and carefully takes Oikawa’s chin, turning his head to look at his bruised eye. “He wasn’t good enough. You could have anyone, you know. Not that fucking asshole. I could beat him up – “

moami ‘s stories are just so heartbreaking and good. I couldn’t stop myself.

…takes a deep breath. 

Oh god, this is heartbreakingly beautiful. The bruises look so real. The kindness in Iwaizumi’s touch. You captured everything so perfectly, oh thank you, thank you, thank you. I literally don’t know what to say, how do I deserve this wonderful art. 

Tooru is so vulnerable, GOD. Thank you, darling, this means so infinitely much. ♥♥

“Everything is ruined.” Oikawa falls onto the bed, buries his face in a pillow and whines dramatically before curling into a pitiful ball of shivers. 

Hajime sighs. This is a tough one. He sits down besides Oikawa and runs a hand through his hair. “Hey, it’s okay. The pain will pass. What are you so worried about? It’s just – “ 

“Because I look hideous and it hurts, and I have to wear an ugly teeth protector when I play volleyball!” Oikawa drops himself into Hajime’s lap, arms wrapping around his waist. His cheeks are swollen, mouth red and chapped from the hour-long procedure of metal wire and plates being framed onto his teeth. 

“It’s just braces,” Hajime says and runs his fingers through Oikawa’s soft, soft hair. He’s still pretty even when he’s whiny, when he curls around Hajime like a love-craving puppy and looks at him with round, dark eyes. But there’s real worry in Oikawa’s glance, and he licks his bruised lips before he asks: 

“They’re ugly. And – maybe you won’t kiss me anymore, with all that metal…” 

Hajime rolls his eyes. That’s so typical. “Hey, look at me.” He’s gentle when he lifts Oikawa’s chin, and then his fingertips trace the softness of Oikawa’s lips, thumb resting against the heart-shaped bow below his nose. “You’re really fuckin’ beautiful, okay? And I’d even kiss you if I cut my tongue on all that metal in your mouth. So stop crying. You’ll be fine.” 

Oikawa blinks. His eyes are wide, dark and blown-out from wonder, and he slowly touches Hajime’s chest where his heart beats wild and nervous. “You,” Oikawa says. He smiles. “You… really love me, don’t you.” 

Yes, Hajime thinks. Yes, god yes. More than I could ever tell you, more than you should ever know, with all you have and are and will be. 

“Yo, ace. I heard that your star setter is a fuckin’ fag. ’s that true? You let a gay dude play by your side?”

The game hasn’t even started and Hajime is already pissed off. The other team’s setter grins at him when they line up before the net, throwing Oikawa a disgusted look.

Hajime takes a deep breath and shakes his head at Kunimi who looks like he’s ready to climb over the net and commit murder. “Wait. Hey, Oikawa. C’mere for a sec before you serve.”

“What is it, Iwa-chan?” Oikawa jogs over, volleyball under his arm, giving the referee a short gesture to wait for a moment. As soon as he’s reached the net, Hajime grabs him by the collar and pulls Oikawa right against his chest.

“I sure hope he’s gay,” Hajime tells the other setter whose face is going bloodless and pale. “Because if he wasn’t, he wouldn’t be my boyfriend and I couldn’t do this.”

The entire gym breaks into chaos when Hajime presses his lips against Oikawa’s, and the other setter looks ready to faint when Hajime’s tongue slips over Oikawa’s soft mouth for a split second.

It doesn’t matter that the referee has to give a loud warning whistle and threatens to throw Hajime off the court if he does it again. The other team looks uncomfortable, and their expressions quickly change to terrified when Hajime lets go of Oikawa, grins, and says loud enough for everyone to hear:

“Let’s destroy them.”

And Oikawa stands at the back line, smiles, fingers gently rotating the ball before he throws it up in the air. “With fucking pleasure.”

“I broke up with him.” 

Hajime’s fingers still on Oikawa’s mouth. The cut on his lip is fresh and blooms dark-red, a drop of blood running down Hajime’s fingertip. He’s shaking when he wipes it off and smears white, innocent ointment onto it. “Finally,” he says. His chest aches, heart burning like steel and war and fucking liquid darkness. Oikawa smiles. His mouth is bruised, neck full of bite marks. Hajime knows that he likes it gentle, because he’s told him, and that man has never treated him like he deserves. 

“It’s good that you broke up,” Hajime says and carefully takes Oikawa’s chin, turning his head to look at his bruised eye. “He wasn’t good enough. You could have anyone, you know. Not that fucking asshole. I could beat him up – “ 

“You have no idea, Hajime.” And Oikawa’s voice… cracks. Tears spill over his cheeks, silent, salt and blood, and his fists crash into Hajime’s chest to grip his shirt. 

“You think I could – you’re an idiot. God, you’re so dumb. There’s only one stupid thing that I want, but you know what? I won’t get it, because it’s me who’s not good enough! You’re – always here, and shit, you’re so good at heart, and I’ve always just wanted – you. You treat me like I’m a goddamn jewel or something, like I’m precious and bright and you call me things like brilliant, but I could never be enough, never be yours – “ 

Hajime kisses his forehead. Tooru stares, eyes wide, his fingers clenched into angry fists – and then, a dark sob breaks out of his throat. He falls into Hajime’s arms, rips him so close that their chests collide and Hajime can hear his warm heart beat. 

“Idiot,” Hajime whispers. His lips are soft on Tooru’s forehead, his hair, and then finally, his shivering crying mouth. “Idiot. You idiot. You – you can have the world at your feet, and you’ve always had me there as well.” His fingers find the cut on Tooru’s lip, tracing it through their kiss, and Hajime hopes that he can heal it. 

“Do you think I’m pretty, Iwa-chan?”

“I – what the fuck?” 

It’s unbelievable, how easily Oikawa still leaves him speechless even after years of friendship and four tentative months of kissing and holding hands. Hajime sighs, shutting his book and pulling his reading glasses off. Oikawa hasn’t said anything for an hour while staying quiet and curled up against Hajime’s waist, and that should’ve rang all alarms already. Hajime touches his hair, nuzzles his lips into the crown of it. “Why the hell do you think you even need to ask that?” 

Oikawa doesn’t look at him. He presses his face into the curve of Hajime’s neck, fingers searching for Hajime’s hands to hide inside his grip. His shoulders shiver, and there’s a dark, sharp sting in Hajime’s chest. “Oikawa?” He asks. And then, softer, sliding his warm hands between his boyfriend’s shoulders blades, his small fragile wings – “Tooru. What’s wrong?”

“I’m not a girl.” Oikawa says, quiet. “I’m not pretty, am I? And before me – you’ve only kissed girls. You like girls. I’m the only guy you’ve ever… and I’m not soft and petite, I’m taller than you.” 

“Okay, you need to shut the fuck up.” Hajime pulls him up, right into his lap, and guides Tooru by his neck, down, down, making their foreheads touch and his lips press softly against his boyfriend’s. Tooru makes a sweet noise, giving Hajime the gorgeous sight of his dark lashes fluttering shut, red dawning on his high cheekbones. Hajime slides his thumb over Tooru’s mouth and whispers, almost inaudible, into the gap of Tooru’s lips and his own heart: 

“Pretty isn’t the right word. You’re not a girl, won’t ever be, and I like that. You’re just – just you. And I’ve fallen so fuckin’ much for you that you take my breath and my mind and my – my goddamn soul, okay, you take all of me and tear me apart with how beautiful you are.” 

Hajime doesn’t let Tooru cry afterwards. Instead, he kisses him until his own mouth tastes sweet and raw like Tooru, and rests his hands on the slender ivory of his ribcage, below his heart.