All Tooru has to whisper is “let me take care of you”, and Hajime melts into a shudder underneath the weight of his body.

It’s been too long since Tooru has kissed him like that, too long since his tongue has traced the soft rim of Hajime’s mouth, coaxing a whimper, a sigh, the jolt of strong hips against his own. “I’ll be so good to you, I promise. Jus’ let me – yeah, c’mon. All yours tonight.” Tooru’s promises are sweet, his words catching between the ivory cage of Hajime’s ribs when he kisses his chest and drags a tease of nails over the hitching shiver of Hajime’s stomach.

It’s been too long, Tooru thinks and feels Hajime’s hands slide into his hair, a breathless gasp of “God, I need – “, strong fingers curling into his dark-sweated hair, pulling. It’s so good, he’s going insane, and Hajime will fall apart for Tooru’s touches and it will be his name, the syllables of his soul that crack from Hajime’s lips in heavy moans when –

He can’t wait anymore. His fingers find the waistband of Hajime’s underwear and drag it down. “Tooru.” The noise Hajime makes, oh, that vulnerable sound, he wants to remember that forever. He wants to mark his chest with it and carry this man’s marks around on his lips so that everyone sees how fucking perfectly Hajime makes his blood rush.

“It healed nicely.” Tooru smiles, and brings his lips down on Hajime’s burning skin. “Didn’t think you could become more attractive, but this is – “

And then, Hajime throws his head back and whimpers something that sounds like “please, Tooru, please.”

Oh, he’s so weak for this man, Tooru thinks as his mouth closes around the silver glint at the head of Hajime’s thick cock, and his tongue flicks against the cool metal. His eyes fall shut when Hajime’s fingers tighten in his hair, and his lips tighten, a flutter of dark lashes, before his nails dig into Hajime’s shuddering thighs and Tooru lets him fall.

Sometimes, Hajime is scared of how perceptive Tooru is.

Well, not scared. More like impressed with a hint of surprised and honestly fascinated, but he’s not saying that out loud. Tooru would never stop teasing him about it. Really, it’s incredible, that Tooru just has to take one look at Hajime’s hands as he serves dinner for them (it’s pasta with some sauce, tomato-garlic-ish and delicious).

“You didn’t take care of them. Again.” Tooru takes his plate from Hajime and then curls his finger around the warm palm of Hajime’s hand. He frowns, tracing the rough skin, and Hajime shivers slightly. It feels good, but he still says: “Sorry.” – “I’ll help you out once more. But this is the last time. You have to do this by yourself, can’t have them bleed one day.”

It won’t be the last time, and they both know it. Hajime smiles while they eat.

His hands resting on Tooru’s leg has become a ritual. Hajime has never been one to take care of his hands; they’ve always been dry and cracked from volleyball, even now in university. He didn’t think Tooru would notice. But one evening, when Tooru’s lips had tasted honey-sweet and dark underneath his mouth, Tooru had laced their fingers up and whispered: “Let me take care of you. Just this once, let me – relax for me, please. Okay, Hajime?”

And Hajime had said ‘yes’. Had promised to take better care of himself. Oh, Tooru had made him fall and relax, go pliant and warm and offer up his body in so many ways. Loving Tooru is easy, and being loved? Just as breathing.

“You get so calm when I do this.” Tooru’s warm voice takes him back to reality. It’s after dinner and of course they’re on the couch, Hajime resting his hands on Tooru’s leg while strong, gentle fingers rub the warmed-up lotion into his strained palms. “Do you like it?” Tooru asks. His voice smiles with amusement.

“Yes,” Hajime mumbles, and kisses him on the lips. “I do. And you, too.”

“You could have found someone less difficult,” Tooru says into the silence of their new bedroom. The walls still smell like paint, and Hajime’s fingers are rough from carrying furniture inside and making this place a home.

“What do you mean?” He asks back, soft, because Tooru’s voice only shivers like a scared animal in a storm when he’s falling into the abyss of his own mind.

“A girl.” Tooru turns, buries his face into Hajime’s shoulder. “Anyone would have been less complicated. Another guy, not so fucked up, not breaking down like – “

Hajime kisses him. Their lips melt for long seconds, and maybe Tooru sobs, quiet and overwhelmed, when Hajime’s mouth lingers on his forehead in faithful reverence.

“Loving you,” Hajime says, “isn’t hard. It’s easy as breathing. I don’t know how I do it. It’s just always there.” He lets Tooru curl his arms around his neck and listens to the melody of his tears.

“As long as I breathe, you’ll never be alone.”

“Kill prince Tooru. I don’t care how. Slit his throat, poison him. But don’t leave traces. You get the other half after you succeed.”

A pouch was slid over the table, the hand pushing it scarred and fat. A few gold coins spilled out of it, pouring over the tabletop. The assassin gently pushed all of the money back inside and stood. “He will be dead by morning.”

The hours until night went by swiftly. The assassin had been watching the palace closely, and as the last night inside the prince’s chambers died down, they moved to action. There had been rumours about guards patrolling around the castle – strangely, the assassin couldn’t find any, no matter how hard their eyes searched. Their senses were alert, burning, red with fire to kill. The trees before the prince’s chambers made it easy to swing over to the windowsill, and a sharp knife helped to open the lock. It was a wonder the prince was still alive.

They slipped inside, feet soundless on the soft carpet. The prince was sleeping unguarded, curled underneath soft blankets, his face innocent. He could barely be a man yet. The assassin didn’t hesitate. Their dagger glinted, and –

“You wouldn’t be the first to try that. Good evening, murderer.”

The pain came after the blood. A man had appeared besides the assassin, clothed in black and smiling softly. But his eyes gleamed raw and wild as the night’s sky, and his sword was quick. The dagger fell, and so did the young assassin’s hand. A horrifying scream rose in their throat, eyes widening, because what monster would be able to approach them unnoticed, who could be so powerful –

“Do you know why there are no guards, hm? There’s no need for them. If someone sends you here, they want you dead. It always works.”

A hand clasped over their mouth and made them choke on their own scream. The blood drowned in the carpet, droplets glistening red and soft in the moonlight. “Be quiet, you will wake him,” the gentle voice told them. The terrifying man had a hand over their jaw, crushing, and oh he’d kill them now –

“Mhm… Hajime?” A sleepy voice came from the bed, and the monster holding the assassin stilled. “Yes, my prince?”

“Another one?” – “I’m afraid so. I will take them out of the way.”
The assassin could see the prince blink drowsily, warm brown eyes blinking before something hard and cold flashed through them. “Go ahead. I don’t want to disturbed any further.”

And the monster, the man who had risen like a shadow besides the young assassin, smiled. “Of course, Tooru. I will get rid of any dirt that bothers you.”

“I can’t sleep.” – “Me neither. Wait, I have something.” Tooru reaches underneath their bed, pulling out a flat black cardboard box. Hajime shuffles closer and hugs him from behind, glancing over his shoulder as Tooru opens the lid. And within moments, a story of paper and ink unfolds before them. This is how they met.

“You kept all our post-its?”
“Yeah. Everything we ever wrote. Look, here’s – “

“H-a-j-i-m-e.” The first time Tooru wrote his name. The paper they used is mostly blank, back when they were in elementary school, no lines for long words yet.

Then, a bit later, pink pages out of Tooru’s old favourite notepad.
“Which girl do you think is the cutest?” Hajime’s handwriting was terrible back then, god.
“None. They’re all mean.”
“I told them to stop pulling your hair. I can tell them again.”
“Thank you, Haji.”
“No problem. You’re my best friend.”

The next batch of notes is younger, scrawled over pages from college blocks. Middle school, high school, tons of notes and stories and oh, they were so young.
“Gotta talk to you after training’s over later.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Well, I don’t know. Maybe I’m sick.”
“Shit, go see a doctor.”
“I – I just think I’m different. Strange.”
“That’s okay. How are you different?”
And then, the next day: “It’s called being gay. You’re not sick, Tooru. It’s okay.”

A long letter, crumpled up between the notes. “You will never read this, Hajime. I just had to get it out. Last night I cried like a stupid baby because I realized I could never kiss you. I’m sorry for loving you, god, I’m so, so sorry, I – “

Time flies through their notes, and the youngest pile of notes – yellow and filled with doodles from Tooru’s joyful fingers – has Hajime smile.
“We need some junk food & coke for tonight, can’t wait to watch the movie with you! ♥ Tooru”
“I don’t know when you’ll be home. Left food in the fridge for you. Hope you had a nice night. The girl you met in that bar, huh? She’s cute. Good luck.”

“When will you talk to me again?”
“This is childish.”
“The dorm doesn’t clean itself. I’m busy, can’t do it.”
“Please, talk to me. I don’t wanna keep putting sticky notes onto your door.”
“I didn’t go with the girl. I went to Kageyama’s.”
“Fuck. Fuck you. I hate you for making me do this. I love you, always have, always will. Talk to me.”
“Put an alien movie in.”
“I can make pizza. I’m sorry. I should have told you.”
“You’re an idiot. Pizza is great.”

Hajime leans in and kisses Tooru’s cheek. “Tomorrow, you can put another letter into the box, y’know.” And Tooru smiles, rubs away the tears shimmering in his eyes, before he closes the box and lies back down. “Yeah. Tomorrow.”

The wedding vows still rest on their nightstands in the morning, two pure white envelopes catching the sunlight with their silver writing.
“Hajime.”
“Tooru.”

“If my father ever catches you in this position, we will both be – oh. Ohh.”

Hajime presses his slick mouth against the soft inside of Tooru’s shivering thigh and glances up at him. “I will be dead, you will be disinherited. I know. I do not care.”

Before Tooru can say anything else, Hajime hooks one of his legs over his shoulder and brushes his wet-shining lips against the heat between Tooru’s gorgeous legs. It is a wish come true to watch his lover collapse, hips arching in a bow of pale skin and milky traces from the long hour before where Hajime has made him come. Tooru is taking his breath away, burning his skin off with every touch, and when his long elegant fingers tangle in Hajime’s hair, he can feel Tooru tremble hard and uncontrolled, desperate for more.

Hajime kisses the sharp edge of Tooru’s hips, eyes dark and hungry. “But as long as you let me, I will still return, despite the risk,” he says, low and hot words whispered into the hitching skin of Tooru’s heaving stomach. “I want you,” is what Tooru moans back, before his head falls into a long beautiful column of purple-blue bitten skin when Hajime pushes down to devour him once more.

“Good,” he mumbles before his tongue takes Tooru apart, makes him crumble and scream and sob Hajime’s name into the hand he presses over his mouth. The other curls into the silken bed sheets, and his gown falls open over the crown prince’s naked chest when Hajime kisses him moments later and melts their bodies together with a growl, a careful thrust – and Tooru’s nails leave the best kind of pain on his back that he has ever felt.

Because Tooru is the heir to the crown, and what he takes, he takes to the fullest until it belongs to him with bone and soul.

how about some post-first time fluff (like cuddles in bed and talking totally fluffy and innocent)? Would that be okay? Iwaoi ❤❤❤ I love u senpai

The rain hasn’t stopped when he drifts back into consciousness. Tooru doesn’t open his eyes. A dark symphony of thunder growls outside, raindrops dancing onto the window in a calming rhythm, and the warm arm slung over Tooru’s stomach is heavy and sweaty. Hajime doesn’t move. His breath flows softly over the sleep-drowsy skin of Tooru’s neck, Hajime having pushed his face into there when hugging him after last night and not letting go of him again.

Tooru turns his head towards the ocean of breath curling against his pulse, and blinks. Even in the dim light of the street lantern from outside, even through the raging storm clouds and white lightning, Tooru still recognises the relaxed silhouette of Hajime’s face. His jaw rests against Tooru’s shoulder, a heavy hand spread onto his waist as if he’s holding Tooru safe, protecting him even in sleep.

“Good morning.” Tooru whispers the words so quiet that they’re barely alive.

“Mhmm.” Hajime doesn’t move, but his lips twitch for a second. Then, he presses the softest kiss onto Tooru’s neck. Oh. Memories of last drift back to him. Oh, he remembers, the touches and the pure heat, a blunt press into his body, and the wild shivers wrecking him with little gasps and moans, and through it all there had been Hajime, kissing and cradling and being with him –

“Hey, uhm. I didn’t…” Hajime’s breath stills, then he exhales. “…hurt you or anything, yesterday, right? I – you gotta be sore, shit, I should have – “

“God, shut up,” Tooru mumbles back, and it comes out much more loving than he’d intended. It’s ridiculous and heartbreaking and terrifying how much he loves this man. “You were – “ He swallows. Hajime’s looking at him, gentle fingers tracing Tooru’s lips. An encouragement. “I was what?”

“You were everything I wanted, okay, are you happy now? I bet you’re so smug that you got me to admit that, that you made me say you were – “

But Hajime just kisses him, long and breathless. Tooru forgets what he wanted to say and rolls onto his side, Hajime’s hand sliding from his waist to his hip, thumbing tenderly across his warm skin. Their mouths fit together, warm, soft, perfect. “It was the same for me,” Hajime finally whispers into the holy space between their lips. His nose brushes Tooru’s, and his dark eyes are shining bright and god, how can you love someone so much?

And then, Tooru sighs, and gives in to the urge of curling into Hajime’s arms and bathing in the warmth of his scent. “I’m glad it was with you.”

“I hope it’ll never be with anyone else again. For – for both of us.”

Tooru smiles. He kisses Hajime’s chin from below, and finds a comfortable position against his chest, one where he can feel his heartbeat in his own bones. “I think… I want that, too.”

Can you write a fluffy iwaoi?? Please?? I cry every time i read your fics. They’re so lovely but so sad…

Drabble may contain traces of flowers, hair clips and braiding.

“You know, I’ve been thinking about cutting it off.”

“What?” Hajime’s fingers still their gentle movement through Tooru’s hair, and he frowns without wanting to. They’re cuddling on Hajime’s bed, just another evening after exhausting training, and Tooru has his long limbs stretched across the blanket, rolled onto his side so he can read comfortably in his textbook. Hajime doesn’t like to admit it, but recently, he’s been hurrying to finish his homework before Tooru.

Because now Hajime’s chest is pressed smoothly against Tooru’s back, one arm serving as a pillow for Tooru’s head, resting motionlessly underneath his neck – and Hajime carefully runs his fingers through the soft strands of Tooru’s hair.

“Why would you cut it off?” The thought is a bit sad. Hajime closes his eyes and shifts, nuzzling Tooru’s neck where his pulse beats, the warmth and dark scent of his skin sparking a low hum in Hajime’s chest. “I like how long it is,” he says. “It feels nice.” He hesitates for a moment. Should he? Yeah. “It suits you.”

Tooru’s chuckle echoes all the way into Hajime’s chest. The textbook’s pages rustle when Tooru shuts it and turns in Hajime’s embrace. “Is that so?” His eyes are crinkled around a smile, something sheepish glinting in his brown iris. “But it keeps getting in the way. It’s annoying.”

Hajime answers much too fast. “I could braid it.” Goddamnit. He can’t keep his mouth shut around Tooru. Before his boyfriend can make another comment, Hajime scrambles to get off the bed and stomps towards the door. “Be right back! Sit upright and brush it, okay?” He doesn’t wait for Tooru’s reply. The bathroom is the kingdom of his two sisters, four and eighteen years old, and Hajime quickly finds what he’s been searching for.

“You want to put that in my hair?” Tooru raises an elegantly curved brow at the items that Hajime spreads out on the bed before him, just moments after returning from the bathroom. Well, he has to admit, it may be a bit unsual for a boy. But Tooru’s doubtful glance shifts into something softer when Hajime kisses him. “Just let me, okay?” He whispers. And, a miracle, Tooru nods and turns.

His hair is so smooth, Hajime thinks as he tucks a few bobby pins between his teeth to have them ready. His fingers gently trace Tooru’s head, nails scratching over his scalp in a quick, calming massage. “Mhm, that’s nice,” Tooru says and his head tilts back a bit, shoulders relaxing. “Stay like that,” Hajime mumbles through his teeth and takes a deep breath.

He takes his time with Tooru’s hair. The braid is easy, but Hajime tucks a silver and blue hairband into it as well, and puts a violet flower hair clip near Tooru’s ear, just above his temple. The small fake flowers are from his little sister, and Hajime’s picked the tiniest he could find, barely large than his thumb’s nail and perfect for Tooru’s hair. His fingertips gently work them into the valleys where the braid’s strands meet, the white colour almost innocent against Tooru’s brown hair.

“Okay. I think I’m done. I can take the clips out if you don’t like them – “ Oh god, shit, he totally forgot that he was just supposed to braid and not decorate Tooru like some nature princess, “I can fix it, gimme a moment.”

But Tooru’s up on his feet already and taking a hand mirror out of the nightstand. Hajime waits nervously as his boyfriend looks at himself in the mirror. Tooru’s fingers trace the braid, the flower above his ear. Then, he turns to Hajime and lifts his chin with one hand. “Thank you,” he whispers and kisses Hajime’s lips until they tingle. “Thank you so much.”
“You’re welcome,” Hajime mumbles, and no, his cheeks aren’t red at all.

His name is Hajime, and he doesn’t know why there’s blood on his hands.

He wakes in darkness, face-down, wet grass tickling his naked skin. His body drips red, and when Hajime forces his muscles to push himself upright, he discovers the fire. The giant building complex before him crumbles apart underneath roaring flames, smoke hissing across the black night sky.

Hajime doesn’t know why there’s blood on his hands. He looks around, and doesn’t know where all of those dead bodies came from, either. They’re all wearing military uniforms, and only Hajime’s naked. Fear jolts through his head. He gets up and starts running, feeling his limbs and testing his skin. There’s not a single bruise on his own body. The blood isn’t his. Something black on his wrist catches his attention – a combination of letters and numbers. TELE-Ki-07.

He runs for what feels like hours. There’s a forest he crosses, away from the fire, across a metal fence that snaps in half before him. The fear inside his head screams, his blood surging. He doesn’t look back once.

He reaches the lights of a town when morning dawns. It’s dirty and loud and he hides before anyone can see him. There are no memories in his head but one – his name is Hajime. When sunlight spills over the horizon, he’s curled in an alley where his feet carried him, in front of a wooden door. He doesn’t move for a long time. The blood’s dried and breaks off his skin. He’s hungry and so, so scared.

Slow footsteps approach him when the sun’s high in the sky. He flinches, jumps to his feet, and the lid of a metal garbage bin flings at the man who stands before him. Hajime wants to warn him, yells something, but his throat just croaks. And then the lid stops. It hovers right before the man’s face, the edge pressed against his neck. The man smiles, and Hajime wonders why there are tears falling down his cheeks.

“You’re back. You got out.”

The lid combusts into dust. Hajime leans against the wall and expects his muscles to twitch, another strange thing to happen that he cannot control. But strangely, his body – relaxes. And then he tumbles forward, arms around the man’s neck, and it’s the scent of lavender and soap that makes him realize. He may not remember, but his body does.

The man kisses his hair and pulls him closer, and pushes a key into the wooden door. “It’s okay. It’ll be okay, Hajime. You’re home now, and I’ll never let them hurt you again.”

And Hajime remembers, one word. “…Tooru.”

Tooru opens the door. Hajime clings to his neck, and follows inside.

“I didn’t lie. I did love you. I still do. But this is a job, and I have to. I have to.”

Hajime’s tears drip silently. Tooru stares at him, mouth so pretty when red-kissed, the gun resting against his bottom lip.

"You are the sweetest thing I’ll ever have to kill, Tooru.”