#kris writes

It was a nice, relaxing day off for the both of you - there was a week between races, so you had decided to binge your favorite TV series. You’d already seen it three times over, but Liam only caught bits and pieces, so a rainy day was perfect for staying in and snuggling on the couch. Your legs were draped over his lap, scrolling on your phone while he watched your show of choice. As you scrolled, that video popped up once again, the faintest of smirks encroaching on your face.

“What’s that about? See something funny?” Liam muses, a hand gently rubbing your calf as he lazes about. 

“Mmm, you could say that.” Your boyfriend raises an eyebrow, head leaned against the back of the couch as he examines you. 

“Well, no need to be tightlipped about it, then.”

“You sure you wanna know?”

“What’s that supposed to mean? Oh, god, it’s not one of the VCARB shorts, is it?”

“You’re moving in the right direction.”

“Which one?” He laughed, passing a hand over his face. They were always making him do stupid shit.

“The one where they call you… good boy.”

“Oh, Christ-” He immediately squirms a bit, shaking his head and struggling to appear nonchalant. “Yeah, that was dumb.”

“Was it? Are you so sure about that?”

“What do you mean?”

“I think you liked it. Do you like being called a good boy?”

“N- no, shut up!” Liam moved to get up, but you were faster. Before either of you could process anything, you were straddling his lap, looking down at him with a near-evil grin. “Babe-“

“What? C’mon, your reaction told me something different. I think you like being called a good boy.” The protest he was forming dies on his lips, and you feel him melt ever so slightly under you. You leaned forward, capturing his lips in your own, a hand threading through his hair and tugging gently. This earned a gasp from him, causing you to pull back with a smirk.

“What’s that? Does my good boy like having his hair pulled?” A breathy whine escapes your boyfriend, and you tug again, punctuated with a roll of your hips against him. He was already getting hard.

“Oh, sweet boy. Use your words.”

“Christ-“ He barely chokes out, face flushed beautifully. The next words you could only faintly hear.

“Speak up, baby. Don’t go mumbling on me here.”

“Wanna… be your… good boy,” the last two words fell from his lips, and you were in heaven. That was all you needed. Your hands dropped to his lap and began fumbling with his shorts, relishing in the gasp escaping your boyfriend as your warm hand met his cock.

“What’re-“ You leaned in and captured his lips in your own, sloppily making out with him as you gave him a light squeeze. However, as soon as his hands touched you, you pulled back.

“Ah, none of that. Hands to yourself.”

“What?!”

“I’m taking care of you,” you leaned in closer to nip at his earlobe. “So be a good boy, and keep those hands next to you, or I’ll have to tie you up.” Oh, the way his cock twitched so deliciously almost made you feral.

“Jesus, babe, I-“ His face was beautifully flushed, lips parted and pupils blown wide as he looked up at you. God, he’s beautiful. Your free hand trails up his torso to rest lightly on his jaw while you loosely, slowly jerk him off, feeling him slowly getting harder by the second. His hands flex beside him, fingers digging into the soft cushions. 

“Mmm? Feels good?” Liam struggles to hold back a groan, your eyes narrowing. Your hand grips his jaw lightly, your thumb brushing against his lips. They parted almost immediately, eyes fluttering. “Don’t want to answer? Guess I’ll have to otherwise occupy this mouth, then. But be a good boy, and keep your eyes on me. If you can’t do that, well…” You trail off, pushing your digit past his full lips, feeling his mouth eagerly wrap around you. “I’ll have to take matters further into my own hands.” A whine tears itself out from Liam’s chest, his beautiful blue eyes locking with yours, a simple look of desperation decorating his face. His hips buck up into your hand, and you push down on his tongue, gripping him tighter as you force your finger deeper into his mouth. 

“Keep those hips still. I know it’s hard, sweet boy, but be good for me, okay?” You cooed, gripping his dick ever so slightly tighter as you sped up the pace. He moans at your words, muscled arms trembling with the effort it takes to keep him from grabbing at your body, your clothes, anything to keep him anchored as you continue to pleasure him. You can’t help but let out a soft moan of your own, feeling yourself grind your own hips down against his lap. He sucked so obediently on your thumb as you gripped his jaw, feeling his stubble rub against your palm. His hips twitched involuntarily, eyes pleading with you not to stop as he fought to keep control over his body while you jerked him off, twisting your hand with every stroke. 

“Aw, look at those desperate eyes, baby boy. You like when I take care of you?” He barely manages a nod, a whine escaping him when you remove your thumb from his mouth, a trail of saliva connecting you two. “Go ahead, use your words.”

“Fuck,” he pants, head dropping back against the headrest. “Please, babe, god…”

“C’mon, I know you can do better than that,” You punctuated your words by moving a bit quicker again, relishing in the heavy throb from his cock.

“Please, please, makin’ me feel so good, want more, want you, please let me touch you, please baby, please…” 

“Aww, look at that, what a good boy for me! You’re doing so well, keeping so still even though you want to fuck up into my hand. I suppose I could be nice and let you touch me,” you hummed, watching his hands twitch and lift from the couch slightly at the thought. “Go ahead, baby.” Liam did not delay, his hands flying to your hips and gripping tightly, a low moan escaping him as he pulled you closer. His lips found yours and trapped you in an eager, passionate kiss, his head positively swimming with pleasure. Breathy pleas escaped him between your lips, desperately clinging to you as he grew ever closer. As his desperation mounted, you smiled against him, timing yourself perfectly.

“Babe- I… fuck, please, gettin’ close, gonna-” And with that, you pulled your hand back, letting his cock smack against his stomach as his eyes flew open, a pathetic whine spilling from him. “Wh- nononono, please, please, oh my god!”

“Ah ah, I told you I’m taking care of you. I’m not ready for you to come yet. Relax, sweetheart,” you lean forwards, kissing his neck as you feel his hips buck, desperate for friction as his orgasm fades, Liam letting out breathy whimpers as he squeezes his eyes shut. You vaguely register the steel grip he has on your hips - that was definitely going to leave a mark tomorrow morning. You can feel his control wavering, desperation begging to override his want to be good for you. 

“Please,” he whispers the word hoarsely, like a prayer, chest heaving with desire. It almost makes you moan, seeing him like this, heat shooting right to your core. 

“Oh, god, how can I deny you?” You mumble against his neck, hand returning to his member as you resume pumping him in your fist, desperate to make him cum now. “So pretty, so good for me, such a good boy…” 

Liam jolts as you start again, mouth practically hanging open as his head swims with pleasure, one hand dropping to squeeze at the meat of your thigh, the other pushing under your shirt to splay across the small of your back, pulling you ever closer to him. His hips buck shamelessly now, drawing moans out of you as it builds friction in your jeans. 

“G-God, fuck, please baby, please…” 

“Gonna cum, baby? Gonna be a good boy and cum for me?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” he chants, “Oh, God, please, please let me cum for you, wanna be good for you!”

“Go ahead, then. Let me take care of you. Be good for me. Cum.” That’s all it takes, his breath quickening as his fingertips dig into you, feeling his cock pulse in your grip as he plummets from the edge, wanton groans escaping him that the neighbors will definitely hear. You feel the warmth of his cum spill over your fingers as you continue stroking him through his orgasm, unable to help yourself as you bite down on the crook of his neck, grinding your hips down against him. Slowly but surely, he comes down from his high, jerking a bit as you give him a few final pumps of his overly sensitive head, his eyes fluttering as he struggles to catch his breath. You hum against him, pressing gentle kisses against the red mark you left on his neck. 

“Hah… fuck…” He manages out a weak chuckle, hands moving to rub soothing circles against your skin, as if in apology for gripping you too tightly. “Shit.”

“You okay, baby?”

“Am I okay?” Liam asks incredulously, a grin on his face as he laughs again, gently pushing you back so you can look at him. “Fuck, babe, I’m more than okay.” You giggle, pushing a few sweaty strands of hair out of his face. 

“Good. I knew you were a good boy.” He can’t help but to roll his eyes, the smallest noise of protest escaping him. “Oh, you can’t hide it from me anymore!”

“Maybe not. But…”

“But what?”

Your face scrunched up in confusion. “The airport?”

“I know you know what an airport is.”

“Obviously I know what an airport is, dumbass,” you scoffed. “I meant why are you at LAX? Shouldn’t you be in Argentina right now?” You put your feet up on the couch, hugging your knees close to you.

The last time you had seen Oikawa was well before you and Hajime broke up.

You hear him sigh. “Just come get me and we can keep talking after that. Okay?”

“Fine. But I live out in Anaheim so you’re gonna have to wait at least 45 minutes.” You glance at the time on your phone. “Make that an hour. Maybe more.” You pinch the bridge of your nose. How is this happening to you? All you wanted was to move on from your breakup in peace. Was that too much to ask?

Apparently.

“See you then!”

—

You and Oikawa sit in your car, a tense yet awkward silence enveloping the space. The radio is humming quietly, the bright guitar chords the only thing keeping you sane at that moment.

“So…” Oikawa begins. You mentally brace yourself for whatever it is he’s about to say. “Why exactly did you and Iwa break up?”

Your grip on the steering wheel turns your knuckles white. “I can’t imagine Hajime didn’t tell you already.”

“Oh, no, he did,” Oikawa states. “I just want to hear your perspective.” He turns to look out the window. The sun had already set, the city lights the only thing left to light up the twilight. The yellow of the streetlights casts the car in an amber glow.

You let out a deep sigh. “Well, I’m not really sure how much there is to tell.” You purse your lips before continuing, “I didn’t want to break up. Hajime did. We talked about it, and he got what he wanted.”

“Ok.” His eyes flick over to you. “Is that really all there is to it?”

Somehow, you feel like Oikawa is testing you. On what, you don’t know. “We tried long distance.”

He hums, nodding you along.

“Hajime said he felt guilty asking me to wait for him.” You nearly whisper the words, and you wonder if Oikawa could even hear you. You speak up. “He said he didn’t want to keep me waiting when there was no guarantee we would get to be together in the future.” Your grip on the steering wheel remains firm, the grooves of leather digging into your palm. “I got angry with him. I still am angry with him. It felt like he was just giving up on us.”

“Let me ask you this,” Oikawa says. He locks his eyes on you, and though you can’t look at him, you feel his gaze burning into your skin. “How far would you go for him?”

You feel your anger dissolve, floating off into the night. “For Hajime?” You question, eyes soft as you stare out at the road ahead of you. “For him, I would go anywhere.” You feel a bittersweet smile rest on your face. “And maybe that’s naive of me, but it’s the truth.”

Oikawa smiles in return. “I don’t think that’s naive at all.” He breathes a laugh. “I mean, I literally left Japan to play volleyball in Argentina. I had no idea what I was getting myself into at the time, but I don’t think I could ever regret it.” He turns his attention to the night sky.

Your voice is soft as you say, “I offered to follow him, y’know.”

The words linger in the air, resting warm but heavy on the two of you.

“I know.”

—

“You want me to do what?”

Oikawa leans back in his chair, laughing. “I want you to go see Iwa-chan in Miyagi!”

The two of you sit at your dinner table, his laptop open in front of the two of you. The slightly cracked screen shows a list of flights from LAX to Sendai, all set to arrive by December 23rd. Oikawa must’ve lost his damn mind.

“Are you actually stupid—that's like, a month away.”

His smile grows wider. “I’ll choose to ignore your hurtful words. But hey, that’s plenty of time to buy your plane ticket!”

You pause for a moment, nervously searching his eyes before sighing. “Why are you doing this?”

Oikawa’s cheerful expression softens, turning a touch more serious. “You said you would go anywhere for Iwa.” He leans towards you. “Did you mean that?”

“Of course I did.”

He leans back, a gentle smile on his face. “Then go chase your dream.”

—

You’re glad to be off the plane; a full ten and a half hours of sitting still is not your idea of fun. You make a mental note to book a session with your chiropractor when you get back to California.

You drag your suitcase behind you, scanning the crowd for Matsukawa. You’ve never actually met him in person, though you had talked to him a few times when Hajime video-called his old friends. You spot him leaning against the wall just outside of baggage claim; he’s taller than you thought he would be, though you suppose it makes sense given that he used to play volleyball.

“Matsukawa-san!” You greet him with a smile.

He kicks off the wall and reaches out for your suitcase. You let him take it but keep your backpack with you. “Nice to finally meet you in person,” he says, adjusting his grip on your luggage. “I'm parked not too far from here.” He nods towards the door and you follow behind him as he exits the terminal. “How was the flight?” He asks.

“Eh.” You shrug. “It was about as good as it could be, I guess.” You’re suddenly grateful for all the time you spent learning Japanese, both for Hajime and for fun. The words still feel foreign in your mouth, though you manage to get through your response without too much trouble. Hopefully, you haven't gotten too rusty in the past few months.

Matsukawa chuckles. “Yeah, it’s not exactly an easy trip.” You walk in silence for a few minutes before finding his car and beginning the drive to his apartment.

“Y’know,” he says, glancing at you briefly. “I’m glad you agreed to come.”

“You are?”

Matsukawa sighs before replying, “Hajime wanted to do what he thought was best for you. Even if that meant hurting you and him both. The ends justified the means.” He flicks on his blinker. “He misses you.”

You can’t make yourself look at him, so you content yourself with looking at your fidgeting hands. “I would certainly hope so,” you mutter. “It would make this whole trip a little awkward if he didn’t.”

“Well,” Matsukawa chuckles, “you’re not wrong about that.” He comes to a stop at a red light. “Hajime’s never given up easily. I’ve known him for years now, and I don’t think he’s ever backed down from a challenge,” he says. “He hates losing, but he hates giving up even more.” he glances at you for no more than a moment, but his knowing gaze burns you all the same.

You don’t respond for a moment. Then, “I thought I knew a lot of things about Hajime.” You pick at your nails, grimacing when you pull a hangnail a bit too far. “But I’m not sure what I know anymore.” You shake your head, willing the thoughts away. They could wait for another time. “Anyways,” you redirect, “why don’t you tell me more about Hanamaki-san! I’m excited to meet him.”

Matsukawa snorts, responding, “What do you want to know?”

—

Matsukawa’s apartment was surprisingly clean. You had seen your fair share of bachelor pads back in California, and they were almost never this neat. Not to say you didn’t welcome his apparent cleanliness; it was a nice surprise, really.

The kitchen was an absolute mess, though.

“Hey! Issei!” You jump a bit when a head pops around the corner—you can only assume the mystery man is Hanamaki. His strawberry blond hair is dusted with flour and, once he moves into the hallway, you can see he is wearing a frilly blue apron that is absolutely caked with who knows what.

You had no idea it was possible to get that messy in the kitchen.

“Hiro!” Matsukawa walks further into the apartment with you following closely behind. “What the hell happened to my kitchen?” He asks, more confused than angry.

“I made us all dinner, obviously.”

“Fuck that,” Matsukawa deadpans, “we’re ordering take-out.”

Hanamaki pouted at the taller male, whining, “Aww come on, man! I promise you won’t get food poisoning this time!”

Well, that’s not concerning at all.

“Do you want your usual?” Matsukawa is resolutely ignoring his friend at this point. Hanamaki doesn’t answer, choosing to grab a plate of the food he prepared. “I’ll take that as a yes. Do you want me to just order for you?” He asks, turning to you.

“Oh, uh,” you begin, “I wouldn’t want to upset Hanamaki-san!” As worried as you are for your immune system, you still don’t want to turn down someone’s hospitality.

“He’ll be fine,” Matsukawa says, eyes shining with amusement. “Hiro just started watching this cooking competition and now he thinks he’s God’s gift to the culinary arts.” He continued typing on his phone. “Last time he tried to make something, we both got food poisoning; let me tell you, it was not a fun time.”

In the end, you decide to play it safe and let Matsukawa order you food. Though you did graciously (and perhaps a bit stupidly) let Hanamaki feed you a sample of his dinner.

It was pretty gross.

“So, Hanamaki,” you started up some conversation as you waited for the delivery to arrive, “what do you do for work?” You notice Matsukawa’s smile as Hanamaki finishes chewing his food.

“I’m sort of in between jobs right now,” he admits. “But I just had a job interview for the Sendai Aquarium, so I’m hoping that’ll work out.”

“Well, I wish you the best of luck!”

Your eyes flit between Hanamaki and Matsukawa as you try to piece together their dynamic. They seem really close. How do they make it work? Hanamaki is such a free spirit, and Matsukawa seems much more grounded. Of course, they’ve known each other for a long time, and they certainly have things in common, but what makes it so easy for them to stay together?

And why wasn’t it that easy for you and Hajime?

“I’m not gonna ask about you and Iwa,” Hanamaki’s voice breaks you out of your thoughts, “but I will say this: sometimes, it’s best to just go with the flow. Shit happens, y’know? I mean it’s not like Issei and I always get along. We just keep trying. So, just see where this takes you.”

You let that sink in for a moment. “Yeah, maybe you’re right.” You give him a small smile. “Thanks, Hanamaki.”

—

On the frigid morning of December 24th, you stand on the front step of Iwaizumi’s childhood home. He had moved back in with his parents when he returned to Japan six months ago, hoping to save up money and move to Tokyo.

You feel your heart squeeze in your chest as you knock on the door. The ensuing silence is almost suffocating despite the winter wind chilling your cheeks. Your breath catches in your throat when you hear the soft scuffing of socked feet on the wooden floor inside.

The door opens to reveal Hajime in a faded UC Irvine hoodie and dark grey sweatpants. The hoodie was one you had given him for his birthday two years back, and the sight makes tears rise, unbidden.

“Hey, Hajime,” you whisper. You wear a ghost of a smile, your eyes drinking in his form.

He says your name, obviously confused. “What are you doing here?” His eyes are wide, and he ushers you in from the cold. He takes your jacket and hangs it on the coat rack. “I thought you said you were going home for Christmas?” You can see the concern in his dark brown eyes.

Your voice is thick as you reply, “I am home.”

Hajime stills for a moment before his face crumples and he cries, pulling you into a warm embrace. You bury your face in his sweatshirt, comforted by the familiar scent of his cologne. When he finally pulls away, he asks, “How long are you here for?”

You slide off your shoes, answering, “I go back in two weeks.” He nods, leading you into the living room. “Hajime.” You call. He turns to look at you, your hands held firmly in his.

“Yes?”

“We need to talk about what happened,” you say firmly, but not unkindly. He nods silently, walking to the couch. It’s plush and comfortable, and the two of you sink down into the cushions, a safe distance away from one another.

“I know you had your reservations about this, but I’m going to move to Japan.” You squeeze his hands. “I told someone recently that I would chase my dream. And I meant it.” You look into his eyes, hoping he could feel your sincerity. “I’m going to be here for this Christmas, and every other Christmas after that.” A shaky breath. “If you’ll have me, that is.”

“You know I want that too.” His eyes are watery, and his hands hold yours in a firm grip. “Of course I do. But I can’t ask you to uproot your whole life for me. That’s just not fair.”

“Hajime.” You pull a single hand out of his hold and guide his face to look at you. “You’re not asking me to give up anything. I’m telling you this because it’s what I want.” He leans his face into your hand. A stray tear makes its way down his tan skin and you gently wipe it away. “If I didn’t want this, I’d be sitting on my shitty green couch in California, not here right now with you.” You press your forehead against his and close your eyes. “Don’t ever think I don’t want you, ok? I want to be with you—I don’t care if that’s here or California, or anywhere else in the world. And that’s my choice. Not yours, not anyone else’s—mine.”

Neither of you say anything for a while, simply sitting and basking in the other’s presence.

“You know,” Hajime’s voice cuts through the silence and you open your eyes to see his dark brown ones staring at you intently, “I happen to really like that ‘shitty green couch,’ thank you very much.” A teasing grin sneaks on his face and you can’t help but laugh.

“Not really sure why, but whatever.” You shake your head, grateful the atmosphere lightened up. Your hands are still intertwined, and though his palm is a bit sweaty, you’re grateful for the reminder that he’s really here with you. “So, will you let me stay?”

His smile grows. “Nothing would make me happier.”

Swathes of half broken, dummy-like familiars warbled out of existence as reality reality faded back in. The thrill of the witch hunt had dissipated, and now Aiga stood in a yard, feeling the long dry grass scratching all too much at her legs. Xhan's shaky breaths as she tried to ground herself felt deafening. And she was all too aware when she heard the grief seed fall to the ground with a rustle.

“I don’t need this!”

She brought her foot down with gritted teeth, shattering the seed until it no longer crunched and just got fragments lodged into her sandals and scarring her ankles, stomping again and again and again and again—

“Hey, that could’ve been handy for me, y’know!”

“We don’t need it, Ranjiro. We’re both strong.”

“Both my ass, you’re the only one going on this crazy spree! If you pulled your head out of your ass for five minutes then maybe you’d see—“

“We’ll go after the next one tomorrow morning.”

Aiga’s tone was final. Even as Ranjiro looked down pitifully, she let out only a scornful huff. Her eyes were still glued to her as she detransformed in a flash of amber and turned to walk home, only looking away when she felt something cold beneath her chin, forcing her to look ahead. 

“Hey! What’s your problem?”

It took a moment for her to register the face of Valt, a serious glare on her face almost as unbefitting as the fact that she was brandishing her sword at her neck.

“My problem? My only problem here is with you." Valt stated, voice stern and clipped.

"Oh? So that's what it is? You're jealous."

"...you really think that's what this is about? You-you're a danger. To all of us and yourself.

"Danger? DANGER? I AM NOT-"

She shut up immediately when she heard the clink of Valt's sword on her soul gem.

Silence stretched on until Xhan, who had finally cleared her head and straightened up again, interjected.

"Would you not say that this is going, w-well, rather overboard? Surely there must be a better way that does not involve… this…”

“I really wish there was. But someone’s got to stop it before it’s too late, ‘cause you may be one strong magical girl but that’s gonna make one real wicked witch.”

Aiga lashed out again. 

“I’m NOT going to become a… a FUCKING WITCH!

The pressure of Valt’s sword at her chest got stronger. Looking now, she noticed that the once gleaming teal of her soul gem had become almost dangerously clouded with inky black. 

“Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

While Valt steeled herself and Aiga glared, Ranjiro had picked up on the commotion.

“What’re you yellin’ about? Aren’t you comin’ with me?”

She turned around just in time to see Valt plunge the tip of her sword into Aiga’s chest. There was a horrid crackle akin to glass shattering as Aiga let out a weak splutter, her now limp body falling unceremoniously. A flurry of cyan sparkles settled onto her, and just like that, Valt had gone off again. 

Xhan could still barely believe her eyes, and could do nothing but sink to her knees. There was an ugly screech as Ranjiro dashed forward to cradle the corpse of her friend. 

“WHY THE HELL DIDN’T YOU DO ANYTHIN’?!”

If she could, she’d be grabbing Xhan by the collar and shaking her. 

“I was not exactly in a position to…”

She trailed off shamefully, not looking back up when Ranjiro retorted.