Jump the Gun (And Into His Arms)
Summary: Iwaizumi Hajime, 27, athletic trainer, educated in the United States, avid fan of Godzilla, and polo shirt aficionado. According to your best friend, you are also 27 and lover of men who wear polo shirts and/or Godzilla costumes. It is a match made in heaven if his arms can even be considered that.
Genre: fluff; comedy (debatable); meet cute; Tinder matchup; your best friend is referred to as Bestie; reader is a market research analyst because this is my self-insert; slightly ooc Iwaizumi because I usually write him a little more embarrassed and romantically clumsy than this
Word count: 2k. help
A/n: there is no plot. This is me getting carried away saying Iwaizumi Hajime, 27, athletic trainer way too many times.
You thud into him, impact hunching you over for balance as you stutter back, and when you look up, your whole life flashes before your eyes. Your future actually. Your future is flashing before your eyes, but not so much flashing. He’s actually pretty solid and staring at you with a concerned but also slightly uneasy expression.
“Iwaizumi Hajime, 27, athletic trainer.” You whisper before you can even stop yourself. Hands cover your mouth a second too late, eyes widening at the words you just spoke into existence and you watch his face contort into actual horror.
You wish he’d take a step back so you have room to breathe. Should you? Or would that make you more suspicious? Does it even matter, because really, can you even recover from this?
When he finds his voice, all he says is, “Yes?”
It’s tentative and it feels like a loaded question. Like, yes, that is me, albeit I admit this unwillingly. Like, yes, that is me but how did you know that? Like yes, that is me but why did you say it like that?
“I– uhm,” You lift up the phone in your hand, pointing at it, but the excuse fades away because how can you find the words that describe what has happened in the last thirty minutes?
You hear your best friend screaming behind you before you even see her. Iwaizumi startles at the frantic sound and instinctively grabs your wrist as if to pull you back. (What the heck? Is this even real?) Hardly having any time to process the meaning of the physical contact, you’re pummeled from behind by your best friend.
“Give me my phone back!” She yells as she tries to crawl past your shoulders, reaching for your outstretched hand that is holding her phone, and consecutively being held by Iwaizumi Hajime, 27, athletic trainer as well.
“Miss. Can we calm–” He tries to start, but you cut him off with harsh whispers.
“Bestie. Bestie.” It’s a futile attempt to be discrete, but admittedly a valiant effort to save some bit of your dignity.
“Don’t bestie me.” She retorts back, aggressive as ever. Granted, you deserve this. A nice outing with your friend where she reveals she’s selflessly created a Tinder account for you over salad bowls and yuzu spritzers did not warrant a high speed chase on a lovely Sunday afternoon with her phone in your hand and her desperately trying to catch up after having to throw a wad of cash on the table since you decided to stiff the bill. You’ll zelle her later. “Give me my phone back. I can’t believe you! Just so you know, I’m totally messaging him now and I’m going to tell him all about–”
“Bestie, please get off me.”
The urgency in your voice makes her stutter, makes her look at you and whatever it is you’re trying to project in your eyes, (you’re hoping it’s desperation, drama, and dread – the triple d’s) she finds it. It all happens in slow motion, as if you witness a storm rally across her face – confusion to concern, and then when she looks up and registers that there is a world beyond only your two existence, does awe strike her face.
She hobbles off you and decides to clutch your upper arm for support.
“Iwaizumi Hajime, 27, athletic trainer,” she says as breathily as you did earlier.
Iwaizumi Hajime, 27, athletic trainer has been the topic of conversation for the end portion of your lunch. Your best friend had listed off a good deal of applicants she had swiped through, much to your equal dismay and reluctant curiosity.
Being married, she thinks it’s time for you to settle down. You don’t share those opinions, but entertaining the fantasy never hurts. That is, until she swipes through Iwaizumi’s profile. Your best friend, as best friends do, immediately notices your interest beyond a superficial one. Educated in the United States, avid fan of Godzilla, polo shirt aficionado, and a cute picture of him and his friend in front of the Hollywood sign has you sold. His friend, despite being put in a headlock by Iwaizumi Hajime, 27, athletic trainer, is equally attractive, but in a more symmetrical kind of way, the one that society accepts and puts in magazines. This guy, on the other hand, exudes big brother energy. There’s a sturdiness to him, a capability that you can rely on and you’ve always been attracted to people that can take care of you.
“Ooohhh,” Bestie smiles when she finds you staring at his photos a little too long, “you like this one.”
“I do not.”
“Oh my gosh, you do!”
The back and forth lasts much longer than it should and before you know it, you’re running out of the restaurant with her phone in tow before she can cause any damage. You were looking for a low-stakes date, one for shits and giggles, not someone you actually want to impress because you know you’ll definitely fail to.
And fail you do.
“We’ve established that.” The object of your desire looks at your best friend dryly and it’s then you notice that he still has your hand around your wrist. It’s massive. You want to shriek your way out of his grip but just the weight of his limb holds you in place. It feels like a trial run, one that ascertains all your assumptions. Capability exudes from his touch and tone alone. Is it possible to fall in love at first touch? “I am Iwaizumi Hajime, 27, athletic trainer.”
““Holy crap. When Tinder said you were 1 kilometer away, they weren’t lying.”
He ignores her statement, instead inquiring, “You are?”
“The bestie.” She grins, sweetness of spring upon her lips. Suddenly so well-behaved, she shoots you one side glance of warning before continuing her introduction. “27, Bestie’s matchmaker.” Then she shakes your upper arm, indicating to you. “And this is the matchmakee.”
That’s hardly a word but neither you nor Iwaizumi correct her.
“Also 27 and lover of men who wear polo shirts and/or Godzilla costumes.”
He gives you a peculiar look. “You like guys who cosplay as Godzilla?”
You open your mouth to retort but Bestie interrupts you once again. “If you're the one doing the cosplaying.”
“I don’t.” You and him both say to defend yourselves. That thoroughly entertains her, and when she glances down, her grin widens with her eyes full of manic and mischief.
“That’s okay. They’re also great at running and love it when men hold their wrist.”
His reaction time is much slower than you expect. He stares at where the two of you are joined for a second too long. You watch the way the tips of his ears flush, like red dye fading into water. He drops your hand immediately once he processes the sight. You grip your long lost wrist into your other hand, holding them in front of your face to hide the embarrassment growing behind it.
This is exactly what you had been trying to avoid but Bestie revels in it, especially Iwaizumi’s flustered look. Poor guy was living his life normally and unexpectedly crashed into not one, but two trainwrecks consecutively.
“Sorry about her.” You try to amend this situation even if it’s hardly salvageable. Your pride has slipped down the sewer grates, but maybe you can save Iwaizumi from her lack of shame. “She’s in one yuzu spritzer too many. Low tolerance for citrus. Scurvy or something.”
“I think scurvy is when someone is actually lacking vitamin C in their diet.”
“You did not strike me as pedantic from your profile,” Bestie observes beside you and you shove your elbow into her ribs, making her wheeze out the final word. She’s said enough and you know you’ve ruined this poor man’s day. He’ll probably call his mom about it, or maybe his therapist if he has one because this truly is one traumatic incident.
“We’re going to get out of your hair now,” You start tugging your companion out of the situation, eager to put this behind you. “Sorry about this whole thing.
��Hey, hold on.” He grabs your wrist, the same one he just let go of, and darn that authoritative tone. It leaves no room for no so you stop in your step. The three of you make an obstructive train on the sidewalk that requires people to awkwardly move out of their way to avoid you. He immediately lets go again when Bestie whistles out an easy there, Tiger accompanied by a playful grin. When you get a chance, you’re calling her wife because for some reason, she can’t behave herself without her.
You wonder why he keeps doing this. Latching onto your wrist like an eel, only to spit you back out as if you’re not his favorite flavor, as if he mistook you for matcha when in reality you’re wasabi. You won’t lie. It stings, at least a little.
The flush is back in his ears and dripping down to his neck like sunset bleeding into dusk. He hides his lips behind his fist, glancing down, before clearing his throat and staring directly at you. You almost flinch at the intensity of his gaze.
He says your name, last name then first. “Right? 27, market research analyst?”
“Right,” You hesitate the same way he did when the two of you first bumped into each other.
“I recognize you. I just matched with you on Tinder.”
Hardly processing, excessively blinking, “You? You just matched with me on Tinder? You swiped right on me?”
“Yes.” He chuckles nervously. “Did you not want me to?”
“Want? Yes. Expect? No.”
“Well, I did.”
“Iwaizumi Hajime, 27, athletic trainer just matched with me.” You mutter the sentence quietly to yourself, like a pep talk because the reality of the situation is hard to accept.
“Hajime.” He says, “just Hajime.”
“Just Hajime,” Bestie teases into your ear but still loud enough for him to hear.
“Oh my gosh. Are you sure you don’t want to unmatch after all of this?” You gesture into your companion’s general area. “After having to deal with this?”
“Well I’d rather go on a date without the matchmaker, but no.” He agrees softly and just the way he looks makes your heart burn. You want to squish him like a teddy bear for being so cute even when he looks rock solid. “I have my fair share of nosy friends. Nothing can compare to the way they act in public.”
You wonder if the friend from the Hollywood sign is one of them.
“I can tell when I am not wanted.” Bestie slips from your grasp and points her finger between you two. “But don’t forget that this happened because of me. I want to be mentioned in the wedding vows.”
Then she walks away, whispering into your ear that she will be at the FamilyMart across the street.
“Sorry.” This is what? Your third time apologizing for her? “She likes to jump the gun.”
“You like to jump into my arms.”
You open your mouth, pleasantly surprised by his statement, and try to defend yourself but find yourself speechless. Skimming past the golden curves of his shoulders and aiming your gaze at his biceps, you shrug.
“Yeah, I think I do.”
His entertainment is contagious, you think when his blushy chuckle makes your cheeks go taut.
A shake of his head, verdant eyes look at you, saying your first name, just your first name, testing it out on his lips. It’s not graceful but it washes onto you, smoothing out along your skin like a shower that transitions from cold to just right.
“Hajime.” You say, fighting the urge to complete his full biography. 27. Athletic trainer. Man I’m going to marry.
You quickly cross the last thought out. Bestie must have contaminated your brain for a second.
“Will you go on a date with me?” He asks.
“Will you cosplay as Godzilla for me?”
“I do not own a Godzilla costume.”
“Fine. I guess I can settle for one carry in those biceps of yours.”
“That, I can do.”