tooru – Page 3

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.

jeannetteleven:

Pic for my friend @moami based on her awesome fanfic. Read it!

Weiterlesen

Jeanette, this is so wonderful. I hope I didn’t use too much capslock when you showed it to me first and after you said you’d draw for my work. Inspiring you is an unbelievable feeling, and your art has captured the scene perfectly.

I already said it in our chat but again: Hajime’s hands are so, so nice. I can practically feel him press his thumbs on Tooru’s skin to massage the fear away. You did splendid, brilliant work on it and the intimacy is slaying me.

You may have killed me a little bit. Never stop. Thank you so much, dear. Thank you. ♡

“Boys don’t cry,” his father says when Tooru comes home crying, his knee scraped red like the sunset outside and like the panic that bleeds on Hajime’s cheeks as he drags Tooru inside, wailing for someone to take care of the hurt. Tooru is four years old.

“You’re not a girl. Stop crying,” his father says when Tooru limps home, his knee swollen, his mother helping him out of the car and into the armchair in the living room. Hajime calls later that night and offers to talk until it gets better, to bring ice for his knee every day and, in a softer, nervous voice, to listen when Tooru has to let out his tears. Tooru is twelve years old.

“Real men don’t cry,” his father says when Tooru stands before him, fists curled by his side, his suitcase packed and the train to his new college just half an hour away. His mother sighs and leads him outside, but Tooru grits his teeth and pulls away, just to wrap his arms around his father in one last awkward hug. There’s a moment of silence. Then, a hand pats his back. “This will be good for you, being on your own a bit. Study hard.” Tooru is nineteen years old.

“Crying is weak,” his father tries to say, but Tooru lifts his head and yells. Hajime stands by his side, proud and silent, not as Tooru’s sword but as his shield if hell should break loose. His fingers are laced up with Tooru’s, two silver glints of metal pressing together, Tooru’s mother is in tears and laughs and begs her husband and above it all, Tooru screams.

“It’s okay to cry,” Hajime says when Tooru lies in this arms that night. They’re back in their flat, back in Tokyo, warmth in their veins and tears falling from Tooru’s cheeks as if he’s been saving them like silver coins for this moment. His father hasn’t looked at Hajime when he said goodbye, but there was a hug, and just before they fall asleep, Tooru whispers:

“I think he said ‘sorry’.”

“You don’t need to forgive him,” Hajime whispers back and kisses Tooru’s forehead. Tooru closes his eyes. “I know. It’s… a start.”

They fall asleep with each other’s breath, the moonlight dancing over the silver rings on their hands.

Even ten years later, Hajime will always remember exactly where he was when Tooru’s service ace wins his team the Olympic golden medal. He’s in his dorm, glued to the tiny tv screen, and because of the fucking time zones he startles his flatmate awake with his howl of victory in the middle of the night. Hajime doesn’t apologize. He calls Tooru an hour later, and there are tears on both sides; Hajime keeps whispering his name, says that it’s okay and that everything has paid off, “I’m so proud of you” – but Tooru repeats one sentence through his happiness-drunk sobs:

“I need to tell you something when I’m home.”

Hajime is at the airport when the team arrives. Their team jackets seem to glow in the late afternoon light. They look tired, exhausted, but Hajime can see their smiles from a mile away. They’re victorious, it’s in their step, it radiates from their skin. Tooru is walking ahead. When he spots Hajime, his mouth opens into a yell. He’s crying before they even hug.

“H-Haji – I’m – we d-did it, and that means. Th-that I can finally-”

“You were incredible,” Hajime grins, and looking back, he should have noticed how Tooru struggles for words that aren’t about winning or losing. “You took their breath away, fuck, I gotta show you the tape, I recorded it all, their damn faces, Tooru!”

“I love you,” Tooru says and starts sobbing.

Hajime falls silent. The team is standing around them, greeting their own families, but Hajime feels their watchful eyes on him. They must know, he realizes. They’re waiting for me to hurt him. “Tooru.” His lips somehow form words. He doesn’t get to say them.

“I did it. I’m at the top.” Tooru’s face is buried against his shoulder. That bastard is still taller, holding Hajime tight, he stinks like sweat and dry skin from the long flight and he’s so beautiful that Hajime wants to hide him below his heart and keep him there forever. “Tooru,” he tries.

“I th-thought that if I win this…” His tears soak Hajime’s shirt. The sun reflects off his hair. He’s all that Hajime’s ever wanted. “That you could love me if I p-proved that I’m the best. I’m… not a girl, I know that, but. But, for you, I could-”

“Idiot.” The kiss that Hajime’s lips press onto his hair is softer than a whisper. “I fell for you when you were on the ground. I’m not leaving, no matter if you fall or fly. It’s too late to ever stop loving you. But I’m glad that you’re not a coward like me. God, I lov-”

The team breaks into another roar of victory when Tooru lifts his childhood friend up and kisses him right as the first camera begins to flash.

greenhousenurseart:

Fanart for @moami and one of their new fanfics. It was absolutely monstrous and I had to do at least one thing for it before class.

I absolutely adore the perspective that you drew him in, looking down on the viewer like that. Thank you so much for this! His horns are great, and are those the extra eyes on his forehead? Amazing! ♥

“Mom,” Hajime says when he’s sixteen and sitting on a kitchen chair, watching his mother decorating gingerbread cookies with frosting, white as the snow outside. “How do I know that I love someone?” Even before his mother can reply, he stands, hurrying to check on the turkey with red-blushed cheeks. “I mean,” he murmurs into the oven. “I don’t know – he could be – I mean, sh-she, of course. But how do I know that I want to be with someone forever?”

His mother smiles. She tucks back a strand of brown hair, streaked with grey. “You’ll know, Hajime. One morning, you will wake up and feel calm. It’s not a wild and exciting thing, realizing that you’ve found the one. It feels like coming home.” When she reaches out to brush back a strand of Hajime’s hair, he gives her a nervous smile. “O-okay. Thanks.” – “You’re welcome. Wanna try a cookie?”

“Mom,” Hajime types into his phone when he’s twenty-six. The message is sent, and Hajime quickly deletes the usual notification of ‘this number is out of service’. He looks at the man next to him, soft brown hair, fingers curled into the pillow, glasses on the nightstand. A ring would look good on him, Hajime thinks. Silver, maybe. Platinum. Something that lasts forever.

“Mom,” he types once more, smiling even as the tears come and wake Tooru up. “I wish I could have told you in person, but I hope you’ll read this somewhere up in the sky. You were right. I did it. I’m home.”

“What is your wish tonight, my prince?” Hajime whispers the word into the hollow of Tooru’s collarbone, where he’s painted him night-blue with his teeth and has flicked the dawn’s colours underneath his skin. Tooru, his prince, the jewel behind his shield, laughs and rolls his head back.

“Do not ask me silly things, Hajime. My wish is the same as always.” There’s a spark of heat through amber eyes, and Hajime catches himself licking his lips. His mouth hovers above Tooru’s neck now, breath catching where his hair is braided out of the way, where the collar of his royal gown will sit tomorrow and his shoulders will tremble beneath the weight of the crown.

“Then I would dare to say that you wish for my touch,” Hajime says. His thumbs caress the sharp edge of Tooru’s hipbones, and as he lowers himself down, knees slipping away, the prince spreads his legs and welcomes him with a soft moan. His thighs catch around Hajime’s waist, slender fingers sliding over his wrists, nail by nail scratching over his skin and leaving white marks that tell stories of whom the guardian of the prince belongs to.

“Not just your touch.” Tooru smiles. His lips are red-kissed and slick, a small tongue flashing as it licks up the residue of Hajime’s length sliding into that whining mouth just earlier. “I want all of you. Are you not to protect me and make sure that I am safe?”

In the end, he always gets what he wants. Hajime leans over his lover, elbows sinking into the bed by Tooru’s head. Their breaths melt into steaming heat, foreheads touching, and Hajime pushes, slow, intoxicating, burning. Tooru falls apart below him with a whimper, a sputter of Hajime’s name on his royal lips, the chest that bears pink marks of Hajime’s rough warrior hands arching into a sweet bow.

“I will have you all night, then, and some more after that.” The promises are accompanied by a gentle rock of Hajime’s hips, and he slides a hand to cradle Tooru’s cheek when the prince moans, oh, he is beautiful like that. His insides tremble, relax, spreading around Hajime as he buries himself into his prince. They breathe, together, hands finding their counterparts and fingers sliding into a web of touch. “Please,” Tooru whimpers. His legs are tight around Hajime’s waist. His mouth is slick, red, spelling words that are love and want and a plea.

Hajime lets their foreheads touch, and takes him apart.