#Oikawa tooru fluff | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mysterystarz · 12 days

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kiss me maybe:

summary: finding a flier for the volleyball's kissing booth was surprising for two reasons. a) kuroo had created one of the worst fliers known to mankind and b) oikawa tooru, the school's resident pretty boy was capitalizing off the rumors surrounding him. still, you couldn't deny your attraction to the setter, and he couldn't hide that you were the only one he wanted to kiss

pairing: oikawa tooru x g!n reader

word count: 12.6k (please give this a chance)

genres + themes: college!au, sort of friends to lovers(?), fluff, angst, kuroo being an occasional menace, iwaizumi being the sexiest friend you can have, kiyoko being an icon, romanticized college experience, oikawa being an idiot but yours

warnings: cursing, a tad suggestive in some parts, absolutely not proofread

a/n: hi there i am back with a long fic. anyways this thing is my lovechild and probs the most fanfic thing ive written. its really just a fluff monster (lol) and i hope you give this a chance <3 also dedicated to @chimielie because her stuff gave me the inspo to write ily lia thank you for being so talented

It was said that Oikawa Tooru’s kisses were mythical.

Some claimed that one press of lips from the kingly setter was like a hit of a drug, sudden in a way that sent you reeling.

To some, his kisses tasted like the finest candy, hand served on an ornate dish.

Most magically, it was claimed that a kiss from Oikawa Tooru could heal even the most broken of hearts. Just one thread through sun bronzed hair could make you forget about the most painful memories.

And of course, like any celebrity would, he knew about each and every rumor.

Naturally, you reckoned you were bound to see the dreaded flier sooner or later. It sat there still, taped onto the tiny bulletin board outside of the Organic Chemistry I room. It was the worst godawful flier you’d ever seen in your life. In front of you was a myriad of colorful borders, and even more whimsical fonts atop of a cardstock page. It seemed to call out to you with its boldness, as if to say “kiss me” with its scrawling typography.

Mystic Kissbooth, it read in an infuriatingly ornate font. Come and kiss your woes away (and kiss ours away too – a mutually beneficial fundraiser!)

“I see you’ve seen our handiwork,” chuckled a voice. You didn’t have to turn around to recognize Kuroo, who simply leaned against the bulletin board in an attempt to catch your expression.

Not that he would. You weren’t going to give him that luxury.

“No wonder it’s such shit,” you laughed, gesturing to the list of names at the bottom, “I’m honestly ashamed to even know you.”

“Hey,” he frowned playfully, ruffling your hair as he began his signature large strides. Curse him and his stupidly long legs. “That was heavily inspired by your Canva templates…..you know….the bad ones.”

You let out a long and dragged out sigh while you followed your best friend (unfortunately) to one of the secluded benches on campus. Beneath the hustle and bustle of students as they sprinted to class, it was almost peaceful to rest your legs for just a moment.

Relaxing onto the bench, you placed your backpack at your side, creating a wedge between you and Kuroo, who’d taken the seat right next to you. He didn’t seem to mind, simply casting a grin in your direction.

For starters, you weren’t sure how to feel about the Canva invasion. Yes, it was a design platform, and yes, you’d tried (and failed sometimes) to create infographics whenever Kuroo needed a helping hand. It was just a tad surprising to discover that Kuroo had drawn his inspiration from your least successful works.

“What’s this whole thing about?” You decided on asking after a lengthy pause. Kuroo cast his gaze to meet your own, his grin almost glued into place.

“Well, not that we’re in any trouble, but the volleyball club could use some funds. We’ve been trying to set up some pretty competitive matches and practice games, but we need the fuel to do it. Oikawa thought this was a great way to make use of all the attention we have.”

“No wonder. He’s probably the most popular one on the team….though Iwaizumi is honestly the one to be looking at.”

“Rude,” Kuroo huffed, “There’s a lot of other people to be interested in, you know.”

“Hopefully you don’t mean yourself,” you chuckled, dodging a playful hit on the arm from Kuroo. “But in all seriousness, a kissing booth?” Kuroo paused for a moment, seemingly mulling over a proper response, when Iwaizumi entered your frame of vision.

There were times you wondered why Iwaizumi Hajime didn’t consider a career in modeling. From where he stood, the sunlight almost seemed to caress his skin, tanned and sun bronzed from a summer spent playing volleyball on the beach. Upon seeing you and Kuroo on the bench, he extended a quick wave before jogging over, arms flexing as he got closer.

“Stop ogling him,” Kuroo smirked, “You could stand to be a bit less obvious.” “Shut up,” you muttered just as Iwaizumi ended his jog to stand in front of you.

“Nice to see you here,” he beamed, his eyes meeting your own, “I barely see you around these days. Did Kuroo scare you away from the club?” “No not at all,” you smiled, moving your backpack to make space for the handsome spiker. Some of the students on the nearby path stopped to turn at the three of you, and Iwaizumi, none-the-wiser, took a swig from his water bottle.

He was never aware of the effect he had on people. That was exactly what contributed to his charm.

“Y/N wanted to know a bit more about the booth,” Kuroo started. “I think you’d explain it better than I could.”

Iwaizumi raised a brow, “It’s just a club fundraiser. I mean, it's the only decent idea that Oikawa’s had in a while.”

“So he really was involved, huh.” You said (more to yourself than anyone else). The two men looked at you confusedly, before Kuroo finally spoke.

“You know, you always seem to get a bit fidgety whenever someone mentions Oikawa. And you always try to be away from him when you come to our practices…were the two of you involved or something? Because if you were, I am honestly offended you didn’t tell me.”

You aggressively shook your head no, warranting a chuckle from Iwaizumi. “Well, if they were, I think it’s had an impact. You start to see him for who he really is.”

The three of you laughed, choosing to enjoy the fresh breeze.

However, even despite the simple beauty of this moment, you couldn’t stop yourself from thinking about the booth.

Oikawa stood at the front of the lecture hall, spinning his pen while meeting the eyes of his teammates. At his side was Kuroo’s flier, whimsically colorful in all the ways a magical kissing booth (like this one) was supposed to be. Iwaizumi sat in the front, close enough for Oikawa to catch the teasingly judgy stares of his best friend while he waited for everyone to settle down.

Finding a free lecture hall had been no problem. All he’d had to do is smile nicely at a few eager students, verify with a few professors, and send a frantic “MEET NOW” to the club group chat.

The real problem was convincing the rest of the team of this idea in the first place.

“Hey guys,” he beamed, putting the flier down on the desk closest to him, “Thanks for showing up on such short notice. You guys are the best.”

“We didn’t come for you,” Makki snickered. “We’re just here to see what crazy justification you have for this.” “Well,” he began, “We’ve been in the spotlight for quite some time now. A lot of us have been featured in the campus newspaper, we’ve made it onto our university’s podcast, and have you even seen the instagram fanpages for us? They’re absolutely insane. So, what better time to take advantage of this?”

“And this has nothing to do at all with the rumors?” A voice asked. Oikawa turned to meet the eyes of Semi Eita, who sat on the left corner closest to the door.

The team laughed as Oikawa shook his head in faux denial. “Absolutely not. Why would I ever do such a thing?”

“Because you're smart!” Oikawa was almost surprised to hear the remark from Bokuto, who sat near Kuroo with his own flier. “And it’s a lot of fun.”

The team murmured their respective agreements before the room fell silent again. Oikawa, ever the opportunist, slid into the silence with an explanation.

“I was thinking we set it up as sort of a de-stress day after midterms. We could get the other clubs to join in their own mini fundraisers…like a carnival of sorts. We’ll set up the booth with colorful signs and posters, and we kiss based on the cash. We can take shifts to make sure the two of us aren’t running the whole show. All proceeds are for our matches and practice games. Sounds good?” “A question. Are you going to make people line up to kiss you?” Matsukawa asked casually.

“You mean us Mattsun. And yeah, a line works just fine.” Oikawa stopped for a moment to admire the unanimous cooperation of his team. “I’ll talk to the other club leaders and see if we can come up with a date. If that’s all the questions you’ve got, I’ll see you at practice tomorrow!”

With this, his team filed out the door. He caught Kuroo animatedly discussing a design to attract customers to their booth with Bokuto, mentioning that he had a friend who’d know just what to do about it. In the midst of his rant, he’d mentioned a name.

Yours. A name he hadn’t realized he missed hearing.

A faint smile crept onto his face at the thought.

Kuroo was a menace. From the minute he’d found you at the library, he’d been nagging you the entire day, practically begging for you to come to their practice.

“Y/N please,” he whined, attempting his own version of a pout, “If you see us, you could help design the poster to attract customers.” “I don’t think you need help with that.” That much was true. Especially with Oikawa headlining the event. They were guaranteed strong profits.

Somehow in the midst of all this pleading, you’d ended up right outside the gym. The sounds of volleyballs hitting the wooden floors resonated off the walls, the sound so clear that you could hear it from your spot near the door.

“You planned this,” you glared, watching Kuroo’s smile twist into one of faux innocence. Bastard.

“What can I say? I am the master of distraction.” He opened the door, swapping his shoes out at the front and walking into the gym to the greetings of his team. You followed closely behind him, carefully striding across the polished wood and shutting the door behind you.

The gym had always been grand. Your university’s colors were plastered onto the bleachers, with a wide curtain separating the different sides of the gym. There was space – so much of it – and the team spread out to practice various skills.

For a brief moment, you allowed yourself the childish awe of standing in a space so big.

“I forgot how long it’s been since you’ve been here,” a voice greeted, “But it’s good to see you Y/N.” You knew that voice. You’d know that voice like the moon knew the stars. You’d know it anywhere.

“Oikawa,” you said, turning to acknowledge the brown-haired setter. “Long time no see.”

As much as you didn’t want to, you drank him in. He seemed to be in high spirits this afternoon, hair artfully tousled in the way he always did, and lips so perfectly smooth that they seemed out of a Chapstick ad.

“You don’t really come around anymore,” He said, taking to walking with you around the gym (much to your own surprise). “I was getting a bit worried actually.”

“What do you mean?” You stared at a spot a bit beyond the setter, watching Bokuto’s cross court spike slam into the floor with dizzying speed.

“Well….we talked a bunch. And you came here at the beginning of the year. You suddenly stopped though….so I wondered if something happened.”

“You noticed?” You scoffed. “I’m surprised you paid attention.”

“Why wouldn’t I pay attention?” Oikawa raised a brow in confusion before suddenly, the answer seemed to smack him in the face. “You’re petty about that?”

“You barely paid me any mind,” was all you said, meeting Oikawa’s warm gaze, “It was like we’d never met at all.”

You’d met Oikawa Tooru on the flight to university. You’d waved your family goodbye at the gate, hugging them tight to your chest and memorizing the feel of them against you.

You walked steadily, pulling your suitcase along as you made your way to the security check in.

“Everything goes in a bag! Belts, shoes, phones! Take off your shoes and step aside. Laptops can stay in your bags! Move along!”

You hauled your suitcase into the bin, placed your phone and wallet beside it and sent it over to the TSA associate, taking a minute to place your jacket and shoes into another bin and sending that over too.

The gray bins were plain, old and rackety and classic, comparable to a washed out 1930’s movie. You trodded through the metal detector, feeling the cold floor through your socks.

When you finally made it through check in, you were met with a TSA associate over your bag, looking straight at you as if you’d committed some heinous crime.

“Excuse me,” the TSA officer asked, gesturing to your bags, “Are these your bags?”

“Yes,” you affirmed, almost nervously. “Is there an issue?”

“You seem to have some liquid above the restricted amount. I’m going to have to take a look.”

For a moment, you were startled. What did you even bring? You’d diligently packed your belongings and made sure everything was secure….surely there had to be some mistake.

Your breath wavered the minute the officer pulled out your favorite body wash.

In the midst of your packing, you’d forgotten you’d slipped it into your carry on.

“Oh.” Your voice shook as you meant the TSA officer’s eyes, “I’m sorry. That’s my favorite one.”

“I’m sorry.” For a moment, it almost seemed like the man had sympathy for you, “But I’m going to have to ask you to pour half of it out. If you refuse that, you’re going to have to give it away.”

Every step towards the outside garbage felt like a punch to the chest. While you kept composed on the outside, pouring away half of your prized wash felt miserable.

A dying rose. A dying star. Something dying slowly and surely inside.

Now you’d have to get another one. Brand new packaging lost to your honest mistake.

This sucked ass.

You meandered through the security area again, more ghost than person and collected the rest of your belongings. While your voice wavered, you didn’t shed a tear, and simply walked along.

Somehow, in the midst of all your wandering, you ended up in the departure lounge. In front of you were an array of connected seats with their generic cushioning and the customary TV screens telling you what flight was taking off when.

The glass paneled windows to your right showcased the hangar, and from your spot, you could see planes parked out in front. The sun set down in the distance, leaving a watercolor blend of pinks and oranges in its wake.

You could almost call it picturesque.

You leaned your suitcase against a wall for a moment, scanning the lounge for an available corner. Unfortunately, your plane was packed.

The chatter of students was overwhelming, and without a choice, you settled into a seat at the far corner of the lounge next to a pretty-boy who you were certain wouldn't speak to you.

They normally never did. Why should it be any different now? And honestly, you didn’t want to talk.

“This plane is probably fully booked.” A voice (the perfect blend of warm and deep) said. You turned to meet the eyes of said pretty boy, a surprisingly lovely shade of brown. Light and bright and inviting. Almost like a mocha. Or a latte.

“Tell me about it,” you laughed, slightly amused by the novelty of the situation. It wasn’t common for pretty boys to talk to you. Even less common for you to entertain any conversation, especially when you felt the way you did. “When I waved ‘goodbye’ to my family, I wasn’t expecting this much of a crowd to tell them about.”

“Yeah?” Oikawa smiled, the corners of his mouth lifting upwards invitingly. “I was more surprised at the lack of seats.”

“You’d think they’d anticipate a college student stampede.”

Oikawa laughed, the amusement lighting up his whole face. It was a simple laugh — chiming and lovely in the way that all laughs were, but you were certain you’d do anything to hear that again.

His presence had a way of putting you at ease.

The two of you coincidentally had seats right next to each other on the flight. As the plane lifted off, you snapped a picture of the city lights, twinkling their tiny goodbyes as they faded from view.

The cabin’s lights were dimmed, yet even in the haziness, you could make out the features of the boy next to you.

High cheekbones. A defined cupid’s bow. Lips that seemed even softer than the lather of that soap you loved so much.

You’d mourn your soap later. Even if it was an object, your attachment to it simply showed a care for your belongings.

What could be more human than that?

Oikawa turned to you, gaze friendly as the plane began its mounting ascent.

“You know, the TSA can be real dicks sometimes.”

What the fuck. Who was he? A psychic?

“What did they do to you?”

“They made me pour out half my expensive hair gel. I insisted it fit the requirements but they refused to accommodate me. So mean.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at the pout he wore. It seemed even someone as vivacious as Oikawa couldn’t charm himself out of aviation regulations.

Somehow the whole thing made you feel a lot better.

You and Oikawa (Tooru as he later insisted) shared many conversations throughout the flight. Some revolved around human existentialism (with him quoting the “we were infinite” from The Perks of Being a Wallflower). Some revolved around space.

Some even revolved around clubs, with him sharing high school volleyball stories and pledging your university’s team to greatness.

When fatigue finally claimed you, the comfort of his shoulder was unmatched by anything you’d ever felt. He’d extended an invite for you to come and see them practice anytime, and laid his own head atop of yours.

Of course, when you showed up for said practice, so had a bunch of other fans. He’d barely spared you a glance, let alone spoke to you when you’d tried to seek him out.

A grand gym and an even grander boy.

You just avoided him after that.

“Im really sorry about that,” Oikawa said. While his expressions were genuine, you weren’t sure how much you were going to trust it. Certainly, in all the time you’d spent apart, he must have changed at least a bit.

To think he was the exact same boy who you met on the plane would be foolish.

“Yeah, water under the bridge.”

“No, not really.” Oikawa paused to study your expression. Beneath all of your nonchalance was something fragile. Admiration? Loathing? He doubted it. “How long did you plan on avoiding me?”

“As long as I needed to.” You answered matter-of-factly. “Then again, that was when I thought you’d forgotten about me.”

“How could I ever do that?” Oikawa’s expression morphed into a worried one, eyebrows knitted together and mouth downturned as if to say damn that’s an accusation.

“Well-“

“Look I meant to seek you out after that day. I saw you there, wanted to come over, but at that point you’d gone off to continue chatting with Kuroo and met Iwa. And classes exist.”

“Okay. Water under the bridge for real.”

His eyes lit up. “You mean it?”

You nodded in approval, only to be dragged away by Kuroo, who’d suddenly appeared behind you.

“What the fuck?” You yelled, not caring much for your use of profanities. Some of the nearby team members snickered as you were pulled to the corner of the gym, in front of an array of poster boards.

“What?” Kuroo asked, “You and Oikawa seem to be fine now, so I thought I could ask you some questions about stuff that really matters. Namely posters.”

You were met with various shapes and sizes of poster boards. Some were Elmers Tri-Folds. Some were the cheap foam boards you sometimes saw while grocery shopping.

“If you want a design for your freaking booth,” you began, looking at Kuroo, “Give me some time.”

Oikawa was in the podcast studio. The room was secluded, plastered with posters and heart decals of all shapes and colors. Right beside the door was a framed picture of the volleyball team, with their silly faces frozen in motion.

Shimizu Kiyoko walked out from behind the desk, nonchalantly acknowledging Oikawa with a nod. “Oikawa, what can I do for you?”

“Hey,” he winked, unaffected by her lack of reaction, “Have any idea where I can find your host. I’d like her to do me a favor.”

“Advertising.” Kiyoko said bluntly. “I don’t think your booth needs any more attention. Our socials have covered it already.”

“We always love the extra coverage.”

“Doesn’t your friend help with all the designs? I think they’d be the perfect candidate to help with all this.”

“Y/N?” He asked, almost dumbfounded by how obvious that answer was.

“Yes,” Kiyoko smiled. “They’re very nice. I’ve seen you talk a few times, though it honestly seems like they don’t like you very much.”

“Not true.” He huffed.

“Well it makes sense. Especially if the rumors are true.”

People saw Kiyoko’s beauty and shyness and mistook her for a soft and innocent podcast manager.

Anyone who’d dealt with her enough knew she was actually a force to be reckoned with.

“The rumors are whatever you make of them. I’m simply an opportunist.”

Kiyoko chuckled and for a moment, Oikawa felt accomplished. “You don’t need to tell me this. I already know.”

He leaned against the door, and stretched out his arms in front of him before resting them at his sides again. “Would you at least consider telling the main host to help us out?”

Kiyoko shuffled the papers in her hands, before meeting his eyes. “I won’t give any guarantees, but something tells me that if you do set up a de-stress carnival, your club will be the central focus of our broadcast.”

“Thank you!” He beamed, feeling like a weight had been lifted off his chest. “I could kiss you for that.”

“No thank you,” Kiyoko declined, “I’m not interested in confirming the rumors.”

As Oikawa left the studio, Kiyoko walked into the recording room, a tiny smile on her lips.

Your Canva page lay woefully blank before you.

You’d promised Kuroo a design if he gave you time and Kuroo, ever the considerate friend, actually stopped bothering you about the poster. He seemed to trust in Oikawa’s judgment, and it seemed that the rest of the volleyball club did too.

As a token of thanks, you’d come to the library, your brain and Pinterest providing you at least a vague idea of what it was you wanted to do. However, when it came time to put pen to paper (or more fittingly, hand to mousepad), it seemed that your ideas had been wiped clean.

Your disappointment felt like a leaky faucet. Despite the minuteness of the feeling, it seemed to pool the more you thought about the situation. While designing was never an obligation, you owed it to your friends.

You sighed, placing your bag onto the hardwood library table and casting your eyes outside. A slowly setting sun was what greeted you, a medley of pinks and oranges appearing onto a slowly disappearing blue sky.

How cliche. Considering one's disappointments next to a sunset.

“Y/N?” A voice called, almost saccharine in the silence of your surroundings.

And there he was. Draped in the setting sun like a painted figure, cloaked in a veil of sunlight that skimmed his skin like silk. Oikawa’s eyes were almost honey colored in that lighting, and beneath the darkened shelves, he was almost a mystical apparition.

“Oikawa,” was all you said, cursing every possible force for him appearing now, looking like that, when you barely had anything to show for it.

“Kuroo told me you’d offered to help us put together some signs for the de-stress carnival.” Oikawa walked over, stepping away from the sunlight and placing his bag down at your table, opting for a seat across from you. “Which, in case you were wondering, I got approval for. A lot of the other clubs are going to be there.”

“That’s good.” You allowed yourself a glance at him. Your pettiness had all but dissipated, but you were still wary of looking at him for too long. He was like the sun, golden and lustrous and magnetic. You weren’t quite ready to be pulled into his orbit.

“So,” Oikawa said, taking a glance at your computer screen, “Rough designing?”

“Yeah. Inspiration has been hard to find and your club is counting on me.”

“If it means anything to you, we wouldn’t have asked for you to do it if we didn’t believe in you.” You looked up to see Oikawa’s gaze set firmly on your own, as if tracking your expressions. Under his stare, you felt raw. Vulnerable. If you were a cake, and he was cutting you open.

You weren’t sure what to say.

A beat of silence permeated the space between you, and the two of you made no effort to stop it. It was somewhat comforting. Unsaid words of yours were understood by him.

“It feels like a lot of pressure,” you finally admitted, letting out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding. “I want it to be worth your while.”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Oikawa was closer. His breath was soft, fanning over the side of your cheek like a secret.

“I’m not sure.” Your voice was nothing more than a whisper.

Oikawa paused for a moment, as if contemplating something before decisively placing his hand on top of yours.

For a moment, you were startled by the warmth of his palm, grounding you in some way that didn’t quite make sense to you yet. Something about this was intimate in all the ways it shouldn’t be. Amidst a darkening sky and a slowly dimming library, you could almost consider this clandestine.

You waited for the rustle of a book’s pages or the resounding footsteps of the librarian to break down the moment, but they never came.

Oikawa looked at you, seemingly memorizing your features. He said nothing, but a slight smile appeared on his face the second he spotted a stray lock of hair by your ear. You could feel your face progressively heating with every moment spent in this proximity.

Damn celebrity setters. Damn stupid stupid beautiful men who do this. Damn that Oikawa Tooru.

Gently, as if touching something fragile, Oikawa smoothed down your hair, brushing the tip of your ear with his fingertips. He held your gaze fondly before suddenly, making an incredulous face.

“What the-“ He said, looking at your hair again. “It’s back up again.” He looked at his hands in horror, as if their magic didn’t work. “Damn it, that’s not how that goes.”

You couldn’t stop the laughter from erupting out of you at his antics, You swiftly flattened that pesky strand and looked back at him, feeling the amusement pool in your chest at his dismayed expression.

“Sorry man,” you laughed, syllables coming out breathless, “Sometimes stuff doesn’t go to plan.”

Oikawa seemed like he wanted to melt into the floor, and feeling the need for some fresh air, you dragged him out of the library. Upon leaving the double doors (and air conditioning), you were met by the lit sidewalk and found the wooden benches by the line of trees.

You sat down, gesturing for him to join you.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen this one before,” Oikawa mentioned off-handedly, “I mean I’m here a lot, but I’m not sure when this was put here.”

“It’s been here…?”

Oikawa sighed, tilting his gaze to the now dark sky. “You do have an eye for good things.”

You raised a brow. “What does that even mean?”

“The stuff you make is adorable. And Kuroo’s always said that everywhere he brings us are all places you found.”

“Really?” You leaned your upper body onto the bench. “I didn’t expect credit from him.”

“He cares about you,” Oikawa said. “He gave a lot of shit when he realized that we’d talked on our plane and then not again. But I deserved that.”

“I was petty. But it’s not like I can actually walk up to you.”

“What?” Oikawa seemed puzzled, as if this was something impossible for him to fathom. “Why not? I don’t think I’m that bad.”

“Iwaizumi says otherwise.”

“Mean. But seriously, why?”

You’d forgotten how refreshing Oikawa was. Even though you were sitting on a bench, you felt practically weightless.

“Rumors,” was all you said, gesturing to him.

Understanding seemed to flash into his eyes, and slowly, like connecting pieces of a puzzle, it all fell into place. He paused for a moment before meeting your eyes with a grin.

“You know they’re just rumors right?” He smirked, “I went to a party a while back to kick off club season. There was this one girl who really wasn’t leaving me alone, so I ended up leaving. Turns out she’d told her friends that she and I made out at the party and gave me a whole lot more credit than I was expecting. Not that I mind making out, but I’m picky.”

“Picky how?” You asked, words leaving your mouth before you even had the chance to think them over.

“Picky as in there’s really only one person I’ve even wanted to kiss since I got here but haven’t got the chance to. I’m hoping they come to the booth. Just so I’ll get to know what that’s like.”

You felt a subtle twist of something in your chest, though you weren’t sure what to make of it. Of course he had his eye on somebody. It was bound to happen eventually.

“Why are you making a booth to do mass kissing then?” A valid follow up question. A guy like him could successfully pull whenever he wanted to.

“Because I’m an opportunist,” he sighed, “And I’m not even sure if I can make a move properly. I don’t function like I normally do when they’re around.”

“Of course you can. Anybody would say yes to you, Tooru.”

With this, something in him seemed to snap and he immediately pulled you closer, your faces just an inch apart. His hands were firm around your waist, and the sensation was nearly searing. You could feel everything, from his hands to his breath to even the way his eyes seemed to scan your face.

The way he looked at you now was like worship.

“What are you doing?” You whispered shakily. With him all around you you could barely breathe, let alone think.

“Making a move.” His eyes were on your lips. His hand gently left your waist to skim your arm before placing a hand on your cheek. “May I?”

Your nod was nearly imperceptible before he captured your lips in yours.

Soft, was your first thought as you felt his lips brush yours ever so lightly. You leaned into him, relishing the vaguely sweet taste of strawberry Chapstick on his lips as you swiped your tongue over his lips.

Oikawa Tooru was a mystic. His fingers tangled in your hair and his lips searched for yours as if he was a lost man and you were his savior. He traced the curve of your waist and kissed you passionately, nibbling your lips when you pulled at his shirt.

You could kiss him forever. You moved to nip at the tip of his ear, and his shaky breath had you considering if you should bite down harder. He pulled you back in and you melted into the feel of his lips and hands and the way his touch seemed to awaken something inside you.

The way he held you was reverent.

When you finally split for air, Oikawa held you close, his smile never wavering. He rubbed a thumb across your cheek, and placed a chaste kiss on your forehead.

“That was magical,” you murmured into his shirt, and you couldn’t help but feel the slightest bit happy to hear the laugh you liked so much.

You reckoned you’d be able to put together a solid design after tonight.

Oikawa had a skip in his step the following morning. He’d aced every assessment, finished all his homework, and made major breakthroughs at practice. His sets to Bokuto were so flawless that Bokuto could hardly believe he’d made those shots.

Everyone on the volleyball team was certain that something had happened, but Oikawa refused to let up.

He didn’t kiss and tell after all.

“What is up with you?” Iwaizumi asked good-naturedly, tipping back a water bottle. “You’ve been in a surprisingly good mood all morning.”

“It’s been a good day,” Oikawa smiled, offering no other details while picking up a few stray balls on the court. The gym floor seemed exceptionally shiny today. He’d be sure to thank whoever waxed the floor for their services when he could.

“Something definitely happened.” Kuroo chimed in, scrutinizing Oikawa like he was something under a microscope. “The question is what.”

“Am I not allowed to have good days?”

“No you are,” Kuroo smirked, “But a day this good only happens after a sudden surge in popularity which —last time I checked— didn’t happen, or……did you make some breakthrough?”

“With my sets, yes.”

“No,” Kuroo smiled knowingly. “I’m gonna curse them out for not telling me anything.”

Oikawa hid his surprise with a flash of indifference, though internally he cursed the middle blocker. It seemed that he was just as good at reading people as he was at read blocking.

Iwaizumi caught on almost immediately, casting his eyes to his longtime friend, who all of a sudden, was acting like a deer in headlights. He found it odd that the nature of your relationship with Oikawa had transformed seemingly overnight.

It seemed that you never truly harbored any resentment against him.

Still, he resolved to approach you about it as soon as he could.

The minute that you walked through the gym’s double doors, the entire team thought that they’d summoned you with all the prying they were doing. You hauled something large through the door and placed it against the wall, proud of yourself for the herculean effort it took to bring it through.

The minute he registered your presence, Oikawa’s face looked like a puff of cotton candy. His cheeks were rosy with all the teasing and the memories of last night, and when he saw what it was that you’d leaned against the wall, he thought he should run over and kiss you out of pride.

“Good morning guys,” you beamed, a smile so radiant that Oikawa had suddenly lost all the focus he’d had all morning.

“Morning Y/N,” Iwaizumi greeted, walking over to greet you with a hug and a slight gesture to the object that was now leaning against the wall. “Is this it?”

You nodded excitedly. “I got the inspiration to put it together last night. I think it captures the magic of the booth.”

Iwaizumi leaned to flip over the posterboard and decided that he’d never seen anything more fitting in his entire life.

The sign was a pastel wonder, a pale blue at the bottom and moving to a light pink at the top. Across the poster were small and light volleyballs, somewhat transparent against the background as if the pattern was a part of it. The borders of the poster were filled with various lip prints (and even funnier, some hidden Chapsticks).

The font at the center was a far cry from the scrawling archaic font that Kuroo had used on their initial flyers. It was a simple block font, a shade of pink with a glow filter and a pattern that made it look like a light-up sign on the part that really mattered.

The Volleyball Club presents, the poster read, written in a smaller font. Right below that, the light up letters spelled out The Mystic Kissbooth. Help kiss us to greatness.

The team crowded around the board, marveling at both its quality and its thoughtfulness.

“Y/N….” Bokuto trailed off, his eyes nearly bursting with amazement, “This is crazy!”

“Yeah,” Semi added, “This is ridiculously good. Kuroo, where the hell have you been keeping them.”

Kuroo simply crossed his arms and smiled with pride. He’d always believed in you.

Oikawa stood shell-shocked at your work, feeling all the days of preparation finally coming together. He looked at you and smiled a smile so genuine, you were glad you’d finally pulled through.

You looked to the floor bashfully for a moment before meeting the team’s eyes with renewed confidence. “Thank you. I’m glad to help.”

Iwaizumi stood at your side, smiling fondly at you before turning his gaze to Oikawa. “Hey. Oikawa. What is the deal with the de-stress carnival? When is it, where is it, and where are we setting up?”

Oikawa, still elated, looked around the gym at the team. “If you want details, I think we should call another meeting.”

”That is a great idea,” you chimed in.

“Wanna join?” Oikawa asked (hopefully).

”I’m sorry, I don’t think I can. I’ve got a date with Kiyoko.”

The team went silent. “You have a what?!”

The evening hues only made Kiyoko more beautiful. She was dressed casually, wearing classic blue jeans, a tank top, and a cardigan that only accentuated her figure. When she saw you approaching her, a smile appeared on her face instantaneously.

“Y/N!” She greeted, “It’s good to see you.”

You jogged up to her and pulled her into a friendly hug. “It’s good to see you too!”

You and Kiyoko fell into step naturally, opting to have dinner at one of your favorite places outside of campus. It was a quick walk from where you’d chosen to meet up, and in such good weather, it was a crime not to spend more time together.

“I have a lot to tell you about,” Kiyoko began, “Starting with Oikawa Tooru. He showed up in my room and asked for the host. He’s got to know it’s me right?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, “I know you use a modulator to stay under wraps so people take the podcast seriously, but he’s had a very good track record for being perceptive.”

“That’s a pain” she sighed, “I hope he’s not going to spread it around.”

“He won’t,” you assured her, “Oikawa can understand rumors better than anyone.”

Kiyoko smiled relievedly, though she raised a brow at the mention of rumors. “Are those true?”

You fought the heat that seemed to emerge onto your face the minute she mentioned that. You just hoped it would go unnoticed by her.

Her blue eyes, unfortunately, were just as perceptive as they were pretty.

She smirked, crossing her arms and stopping on the sidewalk path. “When did that happen?”

“Don’t worry about it. Let’s keep walking.” You wish your voice had come out more strongly than a murmur.

“When?”

“Last night.” Damn Kiyoko for getting answers out of you.

“And…?” She raised her brows expectantly.

“Rumors are baseless but I confirm them. He is magical.”

“I ought to say something about that,” she giggled, and you wanted to bury yourself into your hands to avoid her teasing.

“Shush.”

The two of you had a lovely dinner and opted to grab a quick drink from the speciality beverage store next door. Kiyoko grabbed a strawberry milkshake and you opted for a tropical fruit floater that they’d just created. Thanks to Kiyoko, both drinks were on the house.

She nursed the straw between her lips and took a drag of her milkshake before meeting your eyes. “I have some information on the de-stress carnival.”

You urged her to continue, and Kiyoko did.

“Looks like Oikawa and the other members of clubs decided to officially name it the Cool Down Carnival. They’re just going to refer to it as Cool Down for ease. They’re planning to organize it the Saturday after midterms and they’ve been working on concessions like cotton candy, caramel apples, popcorn, and a whole boatload of stuff. Administration is also totally fine with this.”

“Wow,” was all you could say as a response. You were honestly impressed with Oikawa. He put so much thought and care into a silly rumor that had transformed into one of the school’s biggest upcoming events. He was an alchemist of opportunities, taking a rumor of lead and transforming it to gold.

“Yeah,” Kiyoko nodded, “I’ll get social media to cover it for me. So far, nobody doubts that I’m the manager of the ‘Cast, so it should be fairly reasonable for me to do.”

“Out of curiosity, do you know anything about how they’re planning to do the shifts of the booth?”

“All I know for certain is that Oikawa said he probably wasn’t gonna do a headlining shift…or a shift at all. A lot of the other members were perfectly fine with taking this on, but there has been some backlash.”

He was planning on not headlining the booth?

Your heart was suddenly very warm and fuzzy in your chest.

Kiyoko knowingly smiled at you before tipping at the front register and dragging you outside. The breeze was oddly pleasant, something a bit uncommon for this time of year. It was approaching colder weather, but it felt nearly spring-like.

“The weather isn’t making sense,” you said, enjoying the feeling of freedom that came with nighttime out.

“It hasn’t been making sense,” Kiyoko smiled, “We’re anticipating a fresh fair.”

Springs and falls blended together. You found a beautiful leaf on the sidewalk and pressed it to your palm, preserving the feel and look in your memory.

“I’m looking forward to it,” you’d finally tell Kiyoko as you parted ways, meaning each and every word.

When Oikawa had showed up at your doorstep in the morning, your sleep-addled brain could barely fathom the reason as to why he would do such a thing.

That was, until he walked into your room carrying breakfast in a brown bag.

“Good morning Y/N.” He said, voice still slightly raspy from a good night of sleep. (You weren’t going to forget how that sounded forever).

You greeted him with a morning greeting of your own and sat on your bed, stretching your limbs and analyzing the boy who—at this present moment—seemed like the happiest guy on earth.

“Feel free to help yourself,” Oikawa grinned, grabbing a bagel and a pack of cream cheese from the bag. “I have some updates for you.”

“Does it have to do with the Cool Down?” You walked over to the bag and grabbed something you liked from the inside.

“Wow. How did you know about the name?”

“I have my sources,” you winked.

Oikawa simply laughed. “I know it’s Kiyoko dumbass. She’s one of the sneakiest podcast hosts of all time.”

“So you do know.”

“Obviously.” Oikawa lounged on the chair in your corner. “Nobody else is ever working in that office. She should get some people to join her.”

You nodded and shifted to sit next to him on the couch. His warmth was a surprisingly pleasant addition into the morning, and you found yourself leaning into him. He didn’t make any move to stop it, opting to pull you in and place his arm over you.

“We have classes soon,” you said groggily, “But I don’t want to move.”

“We don’t have to right now.”

“Thanks Tooru.”

“Of course, Y/N.” He smiled. “Though we do have an afternoon meeting on how to divide the shifts. I’m not sure what we’re going to be doing about me.”

You suddenly felt a lot more awake. You shifted your weight onto your unsupported arm and looked up at Oikawa. “Are you planning to take a shift?”

Oikawa shifted nervously in his seat. “I’m not sure. I may have to for the sake of demand. Everyone is expecting me to live up to the expectation. I think we would be less successful without my involvement.”

You felt a twist of something. Not jealously, but not comfort either. Something between the two. You rose away from Oikawa, walking over to the opposite side of the room where your bed was and met his eyes.

“Do you really have to?” you asked, feeling partially unfair. There was nothing official between the two of you at the moment, but you’d thought after the kiss two nights ago…..you thought you had a chance.

“I might,” he gulped, “But you know you’re the only one I’ve ever wanted to kiss.”

You sighed exasperatedly. “I know that you came up with this as a business opportunity and because you thought we’d never…get anywhere, but a long shift is going to be a lot of people.”

“I know,” he sighed, meeting your eyes with an expression in his own that looked a lot like sadness. “But the fundraiser might just have to come first for now— no that’s not what I—“

“Please leave,” you said, voice wavering a bit, “I don’t want to deal with the whole priorities thing right now. We can say we kissed once for fun. Headline it if you must. Later Oikawa.”

You turned away from him and walked towards your closet to find appropriate clothes for the day. You couldn’t even stand to look at him right now. Things would become too complicated for you to handle.

“Y/N, I’m really sorry.” Oikawa said from behind you, “That is genuinely not what I meant.”

You turned to face him again, not even able to meet his eyes. “There’s got to be some semblance of truth in what you said earlier. You love your team Oikawa. They are important. I don’t expect you to throw away opportunities for me. We’re not even dating.” You laughed dryly. “I’d like a bit of space. We can talk a bit later.”

Oikawa seemed like he had a lot more to say, but he wordlessly slipped out of the door, leaving your room noticeably empty.

Once he’d left for certain, you collapsed onto the floor and let loose the dam of tears you’d held in for so long.

When Iwaizumi found you in the library, he knew immediately that something was wrong. Your eyes were reddened ever so slightly, covered over by a splash of cold water to the face (most likely), and your usual cheerfulness when you greeted him was a lot less lively.

He took the seat beside you, surprised by your lack of response.

”Hajime,” you said softly, turning over to smile sadly at him, “Good to see you here.”

Correction: something was horrifically wrong.

“What happened?” He asked softly, wondering what was enough to dampen your normally resilient spirit.

“Fucking Oikawa,” you laughed sarcastically, “Look at me saying I’d never get caught up in his web, and then doing exactly that.”

Iwaizumi wrinkled his brow. That day on the bench, he’d known enough to discern that you and Oikawa had some sort of history. That much continued to be made obvious by Oikawa’s constant urge to see you and include you in everything that he and Kuroo didn’t think was important enough to invite you to.

However, he wasn’t sure when you and Oikawa became more than a past set of acquaintances….and that stung a little. He understood your reasoning though. Especially if it was as complicated as you seemed to feel at the moment.

“Were you guys dating?”

“No.” You turned to face him in full, and he was struck by the magnitude of just how magnetic you were. Iwaizumi was guilty of being stuck in your orbit. “Just a kiss. Because he sweet talked me into thinking he wanted something.”

“Knowing him, he probably did.” Iwaizumi said, “Oikawa has a tendency to be obsessive to get what he wants, but also be blinded by obligations. This was definitely about him headlining the booth, right?”

You nodded, feeling a sudden tightness in your throat at the thought. You weren’t ready to confront the morning’s events quite yet.

“That dumbass,” Iwaizumi groaned, “If he’d told us that he liked you and had actually managed to make a move we would’ve gladly taken his shift! Who gives a fuck about what the college body wants? Half of them thirst over everyone!” You laughed a bit at the truth of that statement. “Yeah, and Kiyoko told me she was also planning on making a little appearance.”

At this Iwaizumi raised his brow. “Oh that’s about to be carnage.”

“Absolutely,” you giggled, “Who knows? Maybe you’ll be the lucky person.” Iwaizumi laughed, a sound that was low and sweet and comforting. “I think I’ll leave it to some of the other boys. They deserve a chance after all.”

The two of you grinned at the mental imagery of the team fighting for a chance to interact with your beautiful friend, and suddenly, Oikawa’s shittiness seemed like something far less relevant.

Still, even with the humor of the situation came the very uncomfortable realization that you and Oikawa–-whatever you were–-were done if you didn’t come to some consensus.

You shoved your hands into your face, wondering how the hell you’d managed to go from avoidant and unattached to too attached. Maybe the rumors had some merit. A kiss from Oikawa was all that it took to get so jumbled.

Iwaizumi’s warm palm on your back was what brought you back to your senses. He rubbed his slow circles and sat there patiently until you emerged from your cover of shame.

“What am I going to do?” you asked, voice raw and vulnerable and everything you’d rather it not have been.

“Whatever you want to do.” Iwaizumi’s gaze was genuine, soft eyes studying you. “You’re entitled to your own decisions. Kuroo and I would never ditch you for Shitty you know.”

“It’s for the team,” you whispered, feeling tears threatening to spill over your cheeks. Your vision was hazy, and you blinked slowly to clear the water from your eyes. “So then why do I feel like this?”

“Because you care about him, Y/N.” Iwaizumi squeezed your shoulder affectionately, “You and him clearly bonded on some intergalactic level, so having that be suddenly shattered in favor of something seemingly less important is going to feel like shit. In fact, he is the real piece of crap here.” “The team matters.” “The team is all about relationships.” Iwaizumi said firmly. “I have a hunch there’s someone in this tournament that he needs to beat. That’s why he’s been obsessively orchestrating the perfect way to raise money to have a practice match beforehand. Still, I won’t deny it. Oikawa is an idiot for doing this to you. You have all the rights to move on with your life.”

“I think I’m gonna take my space from him for a few days,” you eventually responded. “I think I’ll also not visit the booth. I’ll give Kuroo the sign in advance so he can help with setting up?”

Iwaizumi nodded solemnly. “If that’s what you need to do, I’ll be your number one supporter. I’d still love it if you could stop by though. We love having you around.”

You nodded at him. “I’ll be there for you and Kuroo. Always. And you guys can hang out with me at the Cool Down when you’re off shift.”

“Of course,” Iwaizumi smiled, “For you? Anything.”

“How do you say, ‘I’m angry’ in French?” The ping of the recording microphone tapped on as Oikawa paced quickly around his room.

“Je suis fâché.”

“How do you say, ‘I like to go out with my friends’ in French?” “J’aime sortir avec mes amis.”

“How do you say, ‘I went to my friend’s house’ in French?”

“Je ne veux pas continuer.”

“Oui Monsieur. À Bientôt!” His phone’s recording feature switched off, leaving him in a silent room once again.

He was regretful, so much so that he paced around in his room in the hopes that it would give him some sort of clarity. As much as he wanted to approach you, he knew you weren’t ready to talk to him right now.

“Shittykawa,” he heard from his door, opening with a subtlety and closing with a bang. Classic Iwa move.

He turned to face his best friend, who at this moment, seemed to be quite irritated with him. He could feel the lecture as certain as one could feel a thunderstorm in the air.

Iwaizumi stood, arms crossed in Oikawa’s room, leaning against the wall and pinning him with a look so strong it might as well have been a thumbtack. Oikawa felt rooted in place, and all the words he initially planned on saying left his mouth.

“So Ushijima Wakatoshi happens to be at a school just a bit over,” Iwa started, “I did my research. Why not play a practice match with them to start to see their setting style? Break down their setter, practice receiving from a left-handed person, and maybe we can beat him, right?”

Oikawa sighed, feeling all the fight leave his body. He made his way over to his pale blue rug and sat down. “I know. It’s ridiculous.”

“What’s ridiculous is what you did to Y/N.” Iwaizumi glared at him. “If you’d said something about liking them and actually successfully getting them to like you, then we would’ve been perfectly capable of handling the shifts. Hell, even Kiyoko is coming. That alone will give people incentive to come and kiss us.”

“I made a mistake,” Oikawa cringed. He didn’t even want to think about the morning. What was intended to be a romantic gesture ended up being a horrible memory. His attempts to distract himself were futile, and he couldn’t help but wonder how Iwaizumi had found you. “But they probably don’t want to talk to me.”

Iwaizumi looked at Oikawa sadly. “They’re planning on skipping the booth. They’ve already decided to give their poster to Kuroo so he can help us with set-up. So don’t plan on seeing them.”

He grimaced. “Not coming? Really?”

Iwaizumi nodded. “I was pretty unhappy about it, but we’ve got to give them space to process everything.” The minute you’d smiled at him in the airport, talking about “college stampedes,” Oikawa knew he wanted nothing more but to know you better. He’d thanked every lucky star for the seats you had next to each other and relished every moment spent with you.

He wondered why you avoided him for the next months, always daydreaming about what he’d say to you when you finally reappeared at practices. He’d searched for you in your classes, but he always missed you.

When you walked into the gym on that fateful day, he thought he had a genuine chance. You were perfect. Your thoughts were exquisite, your smile radiant, and everything about you felt right. When he kissed you, he could’ve screamed to the heavens that his heart was yours.

Perhaps that was why his heart seemed to tear a bit at Iwaizumi’s declaration. You wanted to move on from this.

“Oikawa…you can still fix this you know?” Iwaizumi pulled him up from the rug, noting the reignited spark in his eyes. “You should probably get the fair set up, find Y/N, and explain yourself. I’m certain they’ll understand.”

“It’s the least I can do,” he said solemnly, “And if they still decide they want nothing to do with me, at least I did my part.”

You found him at Kuroo’s place at night when you’d stepped through his door uninvited (like you did at times). In your hands was your laptop, a few pencils, and the sign you’d made for the booth. The last thing you’d expected was to see the person you’d been trying so desperately to avoid.

Oikawa, for a moment, looked like he’d seen a ghost. He looked at the door, brown eyes concerned and scanning you as if you’d just walked in through the wall.

Nobody said anything. You stood still, too shell-shocked to process the fact that a night before the Cool Down, Oikawa was spending time with Kuroo. In fact, you could barely believe Kuroo had ever allowed Oikawa into his place in the first place, especially when he knew that you were planning on popping in at some point.

Kuroo’s eyes followed your gaze, finding it landing right on the floor next to Oikawa (as opposed to straight at him).

“Well,” Kuroo began softly, “I didn’t warn either of you.”

“You could have,” you said, looking back at Kuroo, “I would’ve liked to know before I got here.” “But then you would have never showed up.” Oikawa’s voice was clear, slicing through the silence of the room with a blade of decisiveness that you hadn’t heard from him. He looked you over, seemingly analyzing your health since the day he’d fucked up.

“I wasn’t planning on running into you,” you admitted, finding the courage to meet his eyes. “In fact, I was literally just coming to drop off the sign for your booth, talk to my best friend, and then go to bed.”

“Please let me explain myself.” Everything about Oikawa seemed pleading. His face harbored an expression of guilt so boundless that you weren’t sure how to react.

You wordlessly sat down in the corner chair closest to Kuroo’s door, setting your stuff down on the surface closest to it.

“I’m sure Iwaizumi must have told you what it was that we were raising money for.”

You nodded.

“I never had the chance to tell you more about what I struggled with in high school," Oikawa said quietly. “I was surrounded by talented players. Some of them are so talented that I thought I never even stood a chance. I realized at the end of my matches that I deserved to be on the court just as much as anyone else.”

“You’re a damn good setter Oikawa,” Kuroo interjected, “And even Semi admires your sets. He’s from the same school as Ushijima too.”

“Thank you,” Oikawa laughed softly, but even the sound was sad. He turned to meet your eyes. “I was out of line trying to say the volleyball club mattered more to me than what we were getting to be. I was worried they’d be weird at me for flaking, but they’re my team. Iwa told me they’d always have my back. Happy setter happy tosses right?”

You took a moment to process everything that he was saying, ultimately coming to one conclusion. He really did feel bad.

“Why are you so obsessed with having a chance to beat someone you had a rivalry with in highschool?”

Oikawa paused, contemplating your question. His brow was furrowed, and his hands clutched anxiously around nothing, seemingly finding the best words to phrase—whatever it was—that he was feeling.

“It was to give myself the confidence to know I can still beat tough opponents,” he said quietly. “But it was never worth losing you.”

You gently moved onto the floor, kneeling your way over to where Oikawa sat. When your fingertips skimmed his cheek, cool from the fall time air, he seemed fragile.

You gently curved your fingers to tuck a lock of his hair behind his ear. “Are you sure you mean it?”

“Every last word.” Oikawa whispers, and maybe against your better instincts, you pull him into an embrace.

As far as Oikawa was concerned, you weren’t coming to the booth today.

Cool Down’s set up began bright and early, and despite last night’s emotional clarity, Kuroo was still the one who showed up with the sign.

The booth was placed in a central location, but deep enough into the carnival so that after a sweet kiss, everyone could go and support the other clubs. He hadn’t been able to spot Kiyoko quite yet, but he was certain they were bound to cross paths eventually.

He walked across the grassy area where the carnival was being set up, watching the glorious “Cool Down” sign being placed at the front of the admit area. Many sports teams and board members of academic clubs were helping organize their own booths.

“Hey Oikawa! I can put up the banner!” Bokuto shouted from across the field, jogging up to their area with a rolled up “Mystic Kissbooth” backdrop.

“Be careful!” He yelled back, “We can’t have one of our best spikers getting hurt. I need those cross court and straight shots in perfect condition!”

Bokuto grinned so widely that Oikawa couldn’t help but grin back. “You can count on me!”

He took a moment to slouch against the now filled bouncy castle by their stand, clutching his clipboard to his chest. He could practically sense the excitement seeping into the space as the nearby club members set up their stands.

He’d had the opportunity to survey the space beforehand, and was quite pleased with the nearby stations.

The art club created a paint gun bullseye game to win handmade trinkets and jewelry. The president stood proudly at the set up side, excitedly loading up paint into the guns. He could already predict the boyfriends who’d attempt to win there.

To the other side of them was the statistics club’s probability stand. They’d set up numerous games: cards, a wheel, and even ring toss for the chance to win huge prizes. At the present moment, Kuroo was inquiring about the legitimacy of the airpods in one of the member’s hands (and yes—they were legit).

“This is pretty amazing, huh?”

Oikawa snapped out of his reverie, only to see Mattsun sporting his classic smirk. He looked around for Makki, but didn’t find him.

“Yeah,” he admitted, “I’m honestly surprised our little flier accomplished this much.”

“I’m not,” Mattsun chuckled, “You’ve been like this since high school Oikawa. Everyone here is really grateful for the rumors. Speaking of which…think the culprit is going to show up today?”

Oikawa snorted, momentarily horrified at the sound

that escaped him. “That’s ridiculous. I’m not planning on being a headliner. Iwa’s got that covered.”

Makki walked into view just a few moments later, looking thoroughly confused. “Where’s the rest of the team?”

Kuroo walked over at the exact moment, clapping Makki on the back. “We decided to give them a little break, considering they’re going to be doing all the kissing later.”

The group gathered together, and Mattsun pointed to the castle. “Who’s running this thing?”

“Oh it’s just a free fun thing the school is putting up.” Oikawa smacked it for good measure.

“How did midterms even go for you guys?” Kuroo laughed, “I pulled what I wanted in all my classes. Somehow. Orgo was a fucking miracle though. I genuinely thought I failed.”

“I was mostly fine,” Mattsun chuckled, “Though we won’t talk about history. Freaking liberal arts.”

Oikawa’s midterms had gone more or less to plan, but the added emotional stress had made it much more difficult to keep cool.

Standing there in that grassy field, he felt more at peace than he did the rest of the week.

Maybe today would be okay after all.

You and Iwaizumi were in your room trying to devise a plan on how to attend the carnival. The cool wood of your desk hit your wrist as you spread out the makeshift blueprint of the event that Kiyoko had so graciously given you.

Iwaizumi paced along the floor, inspecting outfits that you picked out while you devised a mental list of everywhere you wanted to go to maximize your enjoyment. Economic principles were literally designed off of utility, and you wanted to make sure all your contributions would have the best outcome for the clubs and yourself.

Midterms had been stressful, and while last night’s talk had fixed most of what had contributed to that stress, you still wondered about Oikawa.

Iwaizumi was the event’s new headliner, so what did that mean for Oikawa?

You weren’t sure.

The Saturday morning filled your room with sunshine that was comforting. From your window you were greeted with the multicolored leaves of campus, some floating down leisurely to hit the grass.

Iwaizumi, it seemed, had finally picked your outfit.

“Here,” he gestured, pointing to one of your favorites. “You rock this one.”

“Why thank you,” you smiled, tossing him the blueprint. “I’ve finally figured out the order I’m going to tour the Cool Down.”

Iwaizumi caught the paper in one arm, muscles flexing ever so slightly as he did. You nodded appreciatively. He was going to generate a shit ton of money.

He put a pen between his lips ever so slightly as he read the marks on the page. “Cotton candy. Art booth. Bouncy castle. Stats games. Chemistry lab. Apple dunk to win candy apples. Physics coaster.” He handed the page back. “That’s a pretty solid list. I think you’re missing something though.”

You pulled the pen out of Iwa’s mouth (surprised at your boldness) and smiled gently at him. “I’ll be sure to pop in at some point or be nearby to support you.”

Iwaizumi nodded, “Of course. I just need to beat you at any and all games we visit after my shift.”

You snickered. “Not a chance.”

Iwaizumi simply smirked in response.

“Hey, I need two tickets!” A student hollered to her assistant, who at the present moment, was working on acquiring more admit tickets from the roll they’d customized for the event. “We have quite the line here.”

“I’m working on it!” The assistant hollered back, jogging over with the entire row.

The line for the Cool Down was large, and you were thankful you’d had the foresight to arrive early enough to avoid a majority of the crowd. Being friends with Iwa had its perks too–the minute that the admitting team had spotted him, they’d immediately ushered you to the front so you were in a position to visit him later.

Soon enough, you were at the front of the line.

“Well hello there friend of Iwaizumi,” the girl at the front smiled, “How many tickets do you need?” “Just one,” you said, surprised at the lack of prompt to pay the entrance fee. “What about the entrance fee?”

“Oh, Iwaizumi took care of that already,” the assistant grinned, handing you a beautifully designed cardstock ticket and tying a wristband around your wrist. “So you can walk straight in.”

You smiled graciously at the duo. “Wow. I’ll go find him and pay him back. Thank you guys.”

Stepping around the ticket distribution center, you walked straight through the decorated entrance area and walked in.

For a moment, you were awestruck. The usually empty grass fields were filled to the brim with activity. All around you were the booths of various clubs, all with lines to try them out. You could smell the sweet and tart scent of caramel apples in the distance, and saw a couple trying out the physics club’s make-shift coaster with a cotton candy in their hands.

The late afternoon was brisk and fresh, and you felt the possibilities of the evening unfurl around you. As the sky darkened its hues, the fair would begin to light up from the fixtures that trimmed everyone’s areas. Everything, from the food areas, to even the Mystic Kissbooth would create a movie-like scene.

You decided right there and then that the Cool Down was the best fair you’d ever attended. You’d never seen anything as well thought out as what you saw today.

You made your way to the popcorn area, finding new booths that you hadn’t seen on the blueprint. In front of you was a simple dart-throw, with the guarantee of winning a special edition Cool Down shirt if you hit within a certain range.

This was intriguing.

“Hi there,” you said quietly, walking up to the booth. “Can I give this a whirl?” The booth’s president looked up at you shocked for a moment before nodding.

“Of course!” He said excitedly, elbowing his shift mate. “Y/L/N Y/N, right? We are huge fans of your work. Kuroo has told us so so much about you!”

“My work?” You asked curiously as they pressed a dart into your palm. “Like my fliers?” “Hell yeah,” the president grinned. “Pay if you win okay? I honestly want you to get our design out of it. We were inspired a bit by your Mystic Kissbooth sign.”

In the spirit of good fun, you aimed the dart as best as you could, so surprised when you hit a spot very close to the bulls-eye.

“Hey!” you shouted excitedly, “I actually got in range!” The president smiled excitedly. “Amazing! What’s your shirt size?” You told him your size, tucking a good amount of money into the jar. As soon as the soft shirt fabric hit your hands, you were immediately overcome with a sense of pride. The design was beautiful and simple, capturing the essence in the fair in just an image.

“You’re the design club?” You grinned, “This is amazing!” “Ah thank you,” the president said bashfully, “It’s an honor to get a compliment from you. You’re more than welcome to join us. Canva art is still art we love.”

“I’ll be sure to consider it!” You waved goodbye to the design booth as you made your way deeper into the fair, a t-shirt in hand.

“Hey there! Want a chance to win a cool plushie? Come right over!” You turned your head to be met with the sewing club with something that looked a lot like “Bop-It” set up with sheets of papers next to them. Out of sheer curiosity you made your way to the booth, finding a larger crowd than you anticipated. “Okay,” one of the members began, “Here is how this works. You and your competitor will receive a pre-programmed Bop-It machine. Follow the color scheme as closely as you can and note the last color in each sequence on your sheet. If you don’t mess up before your partner, you win ANY handmade plush of your choice!” In front of you, you spotted a couple tucking money into the jar and competing against one another. The round was quick, ending when someone clicked the wrong color. The handmade plushie of the winner was adorable.

Somehow, all your observations had led you to the front of the line.

“Hello,” a student smiled, “Do you have a competitor with you?” You were about to share a response when you heard a voice behind you. “Yeah, they do. I’d like to play please.” You were pleasantly surprised to find Kiyoko grinning as she tucked a hefty amount into the jar. The student at the front seemed enamored, and so did the entire line.

“Shimizu Kiyoko is here…” they all whispered.

“Hey Kiyoko,” you smiled, placing your own money in the jar. “Planning to beat me?”

“Of course.” She grinned mischievously, “I ran a volleyball team. I am competitive enough to beat you.”

The game began as soon as the students got a grip of themselves. You frantically hit the colors and noted them down, only to tie with Kiyoko. You’d both walked away with adorable plushies, though Kiyoko had forcibly had to ensure that they didn’t hand her an extra.

“I’m glad to run into you,” you smiled, walking with her further into the grass. “I had no idea what time you were planning to get here.”

“I’m glad I found you.” Her smile was infectious, and soon enough, you stood in front of a candy apple stand.

“Are you planning to visit the booth?” You asked her, watching her pay for her apple.

“Yeah,” she smiled, “Oikawa begged me to cover, so I was feeling nice. Though he’s been sulking lately.” You raised a brow. When you saw him last night, you could feel his fatigue. You felt the stress melt out of him when you pulled him in for a hug, but you hadn’t realized the extent of his distress.

“He hasn’t kissed today at all,” she smiled knowingly, “I think he’s saving an appearance for a special someone.” “He’s….not headlining?” You were shocked. After everything, it seemed that he really meant what he said.

“Nope,” Kiyoko wiped some caramel from her lips. “And the booth’s sales have been spectacular.”

Standing there in the field, you were hit with the intense urge to see him. “Go,” Kiyoko smiled, “They’ve been waiting for you to show up.” “We’ll catch up.” You smiled as you took off in a jog towards the booth. The wind swept your cheeks as you ran, and you could see the evening sun dip into different colors. Beautiful, you thought, feeling the adrenaline pump through your veins.

He really had meant everything. You needed to see him.

When you arrived at the booth, you were shocked at the line. So many students lined up, money in hand as they waited for their chance to kiss a volleyball player. You were shocked to see the crowd, watching someone hand Semi a particularly large bill before leaning in for a kiss.

You surveyed the booth for Oikawa, but you couldn’t find him anywhere. You couldn’t stop the thrum of your heart in your chest from overpowering your senses. Where was he? What if you were too late? At that particular moment, Oikawa walked out from behind the stand, putting some Chapstick onto his lips. And then, he saw you.

You stood in line, a large bill in hand and an expression that seemed almost desperate. Oikawa has never seen anyone look more perfect than you did right now. You held a handmade plushie and a shirt, lips flushed from biting them.

You met his eyes, feeling your heart shock at the sensation. There he was.

Before you even had a chance to think about what you were doing, you ran out of line to him, shoving the bill into his hands.

“Tooru,” you said breathlessly, looking at him with an expression he’d never seen before. “Kiyoko told me you weren’t headlining. I was afraid I wasn’t going to find you. I’m sorry for not trusting you.” Oikawa could hardly hide his shock as the words tumbled from your lips. He studied your cheeks, and smoothed out your wind mused hair with a soft smile. “Hey, it’s alright.” You exhaled, looking at him like he strung the stars. “I thought I wouldn’t make it in time.” Oikawa simply grinned before pulling you in for a passionate kiss.

This was different from the last time you kissed. He cupped your face softly and wrapped his other arm around your waist, tracing a small heart into your back. You could feel the curve of his lips as he kissed you softly, pulling you deeper when you smiled back into it. Everything about this was soft, almost loving. It felt like a truce. It felt like a confession.

It felt better than both of those things. When you finally split for air, his smile was nearly blinding. He looked at you like you were a poet and he was your poetry, a product of your purest affections.

“Go out with me sometime?” He looked nervous, standing there like he hadn’t just kissed you like you were the most special person in the universe.

“Of course,” you grinned, pulling him down for another kiss.

if you got this far, thank you for reading <3!!

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theushijimaoverlord · 2 months

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"this whole thing is a mess"

♡ tooru oikawa x reader - 1.3k ♡ warnings - none other than oikawa himself (and some ugly baby shenanigans) ♡ notes - hi! i'm purple and this is my first post, enjoy! (prompt credit from @creativepromptsforwriting)

It was a mess.

A big, tremendous, nearly-unfixable mess.

The day started off normal enough, you in your comfy gray sweat, loose shirt (that may or may not belong to Oikawa), a book you’ve been overdue to read in your hands. As your eyes scanned the pages, your attention was drawn away as you began to the thump thump thump of someone running up the stairs. And unless someone had broken into your house, you already knew who was currently making their way towards your bedroom.

As if on cue, a familiar ruffle of brunette hair came into view as said person came barreling through your door. For an athlete, it always bemuses you how Oikawa always got so winded running up your stairs.

You patiently wait for him to catch his breath. Finally, after he had decided that enough air had entered his lungs, he looked up and if you knew any better from the look in his eyes, you could already tell he was about to tell the most ridiculous thing ever. Because your boyfriend wouldn’t be doing the world justice if he were one for the dramatics.

“You would not believe what I just found out.”

Staring at him for a few seconds, you roll your eyes, close your books and turn your whole body to face him. This was gonna take a while. “Okay I’ll bite. Tell me what you found out.”

If you squint hard enough, you could almost see the joy gleaming in his eye from the fact that he caused you to turn your whole attention to him. But it quickly disappeared as he crossed the room and plopped down face first onto your bed, arms wide, and began whining.

You should convince him to take up theater.

“Come on Tooru, tell me what you came all the way up here for or I’m going back to my book,” Turning his face, Oikawa looked at you and gave his signature pout. If you called him out for it, he would vigilantly deny it.

“Did you remember when you went over to my mom's house a week ago?”

“When we visited for new years? Yeah I remember, remind me later to ask her for her mochi recipe.”

“Yeah, yeah. So you remember when the two of you decided to torture me by looking at my baby photos?” Honestly, he was the one torturing you with the way he was loudly complaining with each flip of the photo album.

If it wasn’t already obvious by the media attention, countless photo-shoot bookings, and (to his dismay) amount of fanfic being written about him, Oikawa Tooru was a very handsome man. Some might even argue (you) that the word pretty comes to mind when talking about the Argentina National Volleyball Team’s setter.

But a little secret that he had and would rather take to the grave is that he was a very, very ugly baby. At least by his standards. You have a running theory that he only thinks that way because Iwaizumi liked to taunt him about it, especially when they were younger.

“Yes Tooru, although I’ve told you pointless times that you were a very normal looking baby, I do recall looking at photos with your mom.” Reaching a hand out from under the warm blanket, you grab his hand that is closest to you and intertwine your fingers. You swear his pout lessens a little before he continued telling you about his current dilemma.

“Well I was scrolling online and you will not believe what I saw” Sitting up without disconnecting your hands, he sits on the bed, brown eyes now directly across from you.

“Well she. Posted. The. Photos.”

A beat of silence passed as he just stared at you, straight faced and serious.

And then you break eye contact by letting out a short laugh, which apparently broke a dam inside you because your free hand came up to cover your mouth as you tried to suppress the fit of giggles you couldn’t hold back anymore.

Oikawa just continues to stare at you, but now he had a dumbfounded expression on his face, as if he hadn’t just told you the worst possible thing to ever happen to him. Realizing you weren’t gonna stop, Oikawa lets out a long drawn whine, closing the gap in between the two of you and throwing his arms around your body, pressing his face into your neck.

The position caused you to uncover your mouth and now the only sound filling the room was your unfiltered laughs. As much as Oikawa loved listening to the noise, he hugged you tighter hoping you would eventually stop being entertained by his misfortune.

“Why do you hate me, babe. What have I done to deserve this mistreatment?”

As your laughter finally dies down, you reach your arms around and hug him back, rubbing one palm up and down his back as the other hand carded his brown moppy hair through your fingers. Your bedroom was now engulfed by a (rare) moment of peaceful silence as you felt him breathing into your neck.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’d have a knack for always being the most dramatic person in a room” A pause before his response.

“...no” An obvious lie, but you let it slide.

“Alright, what are people saying about your photos though? Can’t be that bad”

Sitting up straight again, his arms were still wrapped around your body so he had to crane his neck to look down at you and you find yourself doing a similar motion to look up at him. If anyone else saw the two of you like this, they might find the positioning comedic.

“It’s terrible. Absolutely horrible. This whole thing is a mess. The entire world is making fun of me as we speak.”

Rolling your eyes, you reach for your phone on the nightstand and begin searching for his mother’s post which wasn’t hard considering you closely followed her actively due to her weekly recipe post. And just as you presumed, Oikawa’s mom’s most recent post was a picture of some photos from the album the two of you looked at a few days ago.

You could tell they were pictures of Oikawa during his infant years, but only because you were able to see it in person but…. When you closely examined the post, you were astonished that anyone could even tell what the photo was off. Even though mama Oikawa had skills in the kitchen and taking pictures of the foods she makes, the woman wasn’t as skilled when photographing other things.

“Babe, literally no one can tell what this is a picture of. If I didn’t know any better, it just looks like she took a picture of a photograph of a loaf of bread and posted it.” A gasp falls from his lips, causing you to look back up at him.

“Are you saying I look like a loaf of bread? How dare you!” You are practically rendered speechless.

“No! I’m saying that unless people have seen the real thing, there is no way anyone would guess that it’s a photo of you as a baby. And I’m looking at the comment section right now, no one is saying anything about you, most people are asking what it even is.”

“What? I swear people were saying stuff” Snatching your phone, he also begins to scroll before he comes across a comment that read:

that’s the stupidest looking baby I’ve ever seen

Turning the phone to show you, he pointed at the words on the screen, giving you a wide eyed I-told-you-so look.

“See??” Looking at him, you gave Oikawa a blank stare.

“Tooru, Hajime is that one who commented that” Flipping the screen back around, his eyes quickly scan for the person who typed out the atrocious words and staring right back at him is Iwa-chan’s username, and profile pic of the gym he worked at.

“Oh”

Pondering his existence, Oikawa almost misses the snort you let out if it wasn’t for the explosion of laughter you let out.

Again

♡ hello! thank you for finishing my first work, i hope you enjoyed it. i would love any type of constructive criticism, either in regard of my writing, theme, or anything else

♡ i took a lot of my inspiration from @adoringhaikyuu, especially when creating my theme so i wanted to give them credit, and i completely recommend their work so go check them out

♡ thank you (again) and warmest regards, ms. purple

#oikawa tooru #oikawa x reader #haikyuu!!#haiykuu #haikyuu oikawa #oikawa fluff #tooru oikawa #haikyuu x reader #oikawa toru x reader #haikyuu x gender neutral reader #haikyuu x f!reader #oikawa tooru fluff #ms.purple♡writes

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livinghostly · 6 months

Text

back to it — tooru oikawa x reader

a/n: woah hey guys !!! 2 years late heres an oikawa drabble wk: 1.5k reader bumps into competition at a volleyball meet. fluff. oikawa being a brat

the karasuno boys volleyball team pressed through the entrance doors to the unfamiliar high school, eyes gleaming with curiosity as they observed their new environment. the halls were stuffed with parents and friends waiting to support their players, sporting the jerseys of different schools. the line for the concession stand wrapped around the corner.

hinata was a few paces ahead, his head on a swivel as he passed all the players– much taller than him. his eyes gravitated to a particularly tall first-year, he was so fixated on looking behind him to realize he was running directly into someone.

“what–? oh my god! i am so sorry! i’m sorry, please forgive me! i wasn’t paying attention,” hinata stumbled backward and fell into a respectful bow, his anxiety swelling in his stomach as he clenched his eyes shut.

you looked over your shoulder at him, barely registering that he’d run into you by the time he’d finished his ramblings. you couldn’t help but laugh at his overreaction, brushing it off with a shrug and turning to face him.

he shot his head up at the sound of your light giggles, somehow more relieved, as well as mortified. he was paling with fear, taking a small step back and running into the chest of his captain, who laid a solid hand on his shoulder. hinata felt helpless, jaw agape as he made himself smaller and smaller between you and daichi.

he recognized the colors on your jersey, white with deep green lettering that matched the shade of your shorts. there was a volleyball tucked beneath your left arm and your fingers were taped together. hinata peeked behind you, where the rest of your team congregated at the water fountain to refill their bottles. there were duffel bags and knee pads scattered on the floor.

“you’re– you’re the iron wall!” hinata pointed with a shaking finger.

“hinata! it’s rude to point,” daichi removed his clasp on the redhead’s shoulder to slap away hinata’s hand. “y/n, i am so sorry about him. he’s one of our first years, he gets overwhelmed pretty easily.”

you laughed, shaking your head. “it’s alright. it’s good to see you, daichi.”

daichi moved hinata to the side so he wasn’t between you anymore, but the first-year still observed with wide eyes. you shook hands and, unfortunately for daichi, he couldn’t hide the way his cheeks flushed.

kageyama narrowed his eyes as you continued talking to his captain. there was something eerily familiar about you, something wrong. maybe it was because most volleyball players he met ended up being competition, but your friendliness threw him off. and he certainly didn’t like the way daichi was enamored with you. “daichi knows her?”

leaning into his teammate, sugawara answered, “they went to middle school together, or something, i think. she’s captain of the girls volleyball team and took them to nationals last year.”

but why were you so familiar to him?

despite how genuine you were, there was a cunning glint in your eye, subtle to his teammates and their lackluster observational skills. from behind him, he could practically hear tanaka and nishinoya reel their tongues back in after catching flies.

“you went to nationals!?” hinata interjected with an admiring gasp. his eyes seemed to sparkle at the mention of the competition.

“sure did,” you winked at him. he could melt right into his shoes.

daichi laughed heartily. “oh, yeah. it’s incredible to watch her play. don’t let her trick you, though. her mind games on the court are pure evil.”

“c’mon, daichi! don’t give it away, it’s more fun when they find out on their own.”

if it wasn’t for the buzz of conversation filling the hallway, you would have heard him coming– the fe, fi, fo, fum of his 6’0” stature. he was parading himself through the hallway in his freshly steamed volleyball uniform, so far unscathed from his morning practice. if only you could see him behind you, a narrowed expression of concentration and mischief, his eyes on the prize.

suddenly, it seemed as if the karasuno boys had spotted a ghost. fear struck daichi’s eyes and his words died in his throat, and your face contorted in confusion.

“y/n! it’s lovely to see you here.”

oh, there he is.

oikawa had sauntered up behind you, towering over your figure with a smug grin. he was as ecstatic as ever, eyes squinted with the generous smile that took over his face. it was a regular habit of his to mask his disdain with glee, one of the many things that made him unsettling to be around.

you did your best to contain your excitement but lost the fight against the corners of your lips curling upward. he was insufferable. your stomach turned and you straightened up, relaxing your expression as you turned to face the seijoh player. from behind you, daichi let out a noise that resembled uncertainty, but wasn’t strong enough to use his voice.

“oikawa,” you greeted with a thin smile.

“how was your first game? i heard it was pretty quick.”

“hardly a warm-up,” you corrected. even if the karasuno boys couldn’t spot the mischievous gleam in your eyes, it was clear you were ready to match his energy. it sent a chill down sugawara’s spine. “pretty easy to win when your girl's volleyball team only serves as your fan club.”

tadashi gasped as if the comment was meant to slice him, and was quickly glared into silence by his peer. the team couldn’t help but stay silent as they watched the showdown, the strife in you and oikawa’s eyes met in the middle like a clash of lightning, both of you trying your hardest to win the battle.

oikawa’s smile faltered for a millisecond, and your ego swelled as you waited for a rebuttal. “you’re lucky to hold down the fort as the sole surviving third year on the team. has it gotten to you yet? reining in all those underclassmen by yourself?” he leaned closer, down to your level, and his voice dropped. “they have pretty big shoes to fill if you’re gonna make it again.”

“h-hey!” hinata cut in. you and oikawa snapped your head in his direction, suddenly remembering he was there. “at least y/n has been to nationals! how can you call yourself the great king if you haven’t even gotten that far?”

there was a beat of silence. the redhead only met you minutes ago, hardly knew anything about you, but he would be damned if he let oikawa win. a smile slowly crept up your face, all the while oikawa was frozen in horror– possibly embarrassment if he’d ever admit to it.

you threw your head back in a bark of laughter, hugging the ball tighter against your side and resting a hand over your chest. it was hard to contain, and went on too long for oikawa’s liking. his ears were red, and he snapped out of his shock and faced you again with his nose scrunched.

“you know, i don’t call myself the great king!” oikawa cried, crossing his arms as he straightened up– ever so dignified.

it was the same tone he used when iwaizumi called him out, kageyama recognized it from the countless arguments he witnessed in middle school. oikawa’s pride had been swept away by hinata’s comment. despite how insignificant he found the first year, he knew was right.

the tension in the air has completely dissolved, instead the air filled with a playful breeze as you bickered back and forth. it left the karasuno team dumbfounded and awkward, caught in between it all.

“oh, but you revel in it, don’t you?” you said, almost in a purr as you grinned, narrowing your eyes and leaning closer to him.

oikawa stared you down, only lasting a few seconds until he whipped his head in the opposite direction in a poor attempt to hide his blush. you shook your head with a faint giggle yet again, relief washing over your body. it was silly to say you won the interaction, but you couldn’t help but revel in the satisfaction of getting him to react like that.

but now, like every other time, you had to be the one to clean it up.

you dropped the volleyball on the bench beside you and wrapped a hand around his bicep. his shoulders relaxed, and you turned to the crows. “sorry about that, guys! i gotta go, but i’ll see you after you win!”

“y/n! can you stop saying things like that?” oikawa huffed, his voice barely above a whisper as the two of you began to walk away. you cackled, and he slipped his hand into your own despite the steam coming off of him.

the karasuno team was left dumbfounded as they processed the events that unfolded in front of them. all but kageyama, who hummed with acknowledgment as the pieces started to click together. he slipped away to the nearby vending machine with the other first-years that had reeled in their shock (ie; tsukishima and tadashi) while leaving the upperclassmen to mend daichi’s morale. i won’t lie, man. that was a tough watch, said asahi.

as you rounded the corner you were greeted by iwaizumi at the end of the hall, his anger warping the air around him like a bonfire.

“oikawa! what the hell do you think you’re doing? stop messing around with your girlfriend and get your ass back in here!”

“why is everyone so mean today?” the setter whined.

#oikawa tooru x reader #oikawa x reader #oikawa tooru fic #oikawa tooru #oikawa tooru fluff #reader x oikawa tooru #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #oikawa fic #reader x oikawa #oikawa fluff #hq x reader #spleen writes #tooru oikawa x reader #toru oikawa x reader #oikawa toru x reader

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oikharou · 1 year

Text

"PLEASE MARRY ME, Y/N-CHAN!"

with oikawa tooru

note: f!reader, she/her pronouns | you are younger than Oikawa by one year but in the same grade as him

genre: fluff, crack

WARNING/S: LONG FIC AHEAD!!

19 years ago...

You and your friend attended a kids' volleyball tryout that's currently being held in Miyagi prefecture. With great interest in volleyball, you two decided to try out as well. As expected, many kids were also going for the tryout as they were scattered on the court.

A whistle was heard all over the room as the coach entered the room. "Welcome kids! It looks like a lot of children here are going to be volleyball pros when they grow up?" He asked, and a lot of kids answered 'yes'.

"Wonderful! Now, let me introduce myself. My name is Takahashi Sanji and this is Yumemite Hotaru, and we are your coaches. But before we start, let us do an attendance."

As the two coaches do an attendance, you heard two boys talking loudly about a certain alien cartoon that has been very popular lately. "Iwa-chan! Did you watch the latest episode yesterday?! The boss fight was so cool!" A certain dark brown hair boy said to 'Iwa-chan' while having visible sparkles around his aura.

"Of course I did. You're going to annoy me if I didn't." A boy with dark, spiked-up hair replied. "So mean, Iwa-chan!" The former said.

"Well he's cheery and an alien enthusiast..." You muttered and your friend giggled at your remark.

"L/n Y/n!" The coach called out for your name. "Here!" You replied.

"Oikawa Tooru!"

"Here coach!" The 'cheery' boy you described replied. 'Oh, so his name is Oikawa Tooru...' You thought.

"Iwaizumi Hajime!"

"Here!" The dark, spiked-up hair that made a snarky reply earlier to Oikawa replied.

'No wonder his nickname is like that...'

After the attendance, you were paired with 5 different girls as your friend is on the sidelines, waiting for their turn. You stretched for a good 5 minutes before the coach whistles. Your eyes immediately diverted to the boy named, Oikawa, whom you caught staring at you. You raised an eyebrow and he looked away. You just shrugged and prepared to receive once the ball was served from the other side of the net.

As expected, the ball went in your direction and you perfectly received it. Your posture was commended by the coaches as they write down something on their clipboard. As the ball went to the setter of your team, she sets it to another player and they managed to land in a perfect spike but it was received by the other team.

They tossed it to the other side of the net so the libero of your team received it perfectly before letting the ball go outside of the boundaries. It went to the setter again, 'Nice receive...' you thought. This time, she called for your name to spike to the other side of the court. You jumped and position your arm back before hitting the ball gracefully with your hands. You thought the other team will receive it but you were wrong. The ball touched the arm of the opponent but since it was a strong spike, she couldn't receive it perfectly.

The referee whistled, signifying that your team got a point. The kids from the sidelines, including Oikawa, Iwaizumi, and your friend, let out a loud "Wow!" and began to applaud for your flawless spike. Your teammates cheered, letting out praises and claps. "That was amazing, Y/n! Can you do it again?" The temporary captain of your team asked and you nodded. "Yes, of course! Thank you!"

Unbeknownst to you, Oikawa let out a loud gasp as his eyes twinkled at the sight of you. "Did you see that, Iwa-chan?! She hit the ball so perfectly! She's amazing!" Oikawa yelled and Iwaizumi just smacked him in the head. "Dummy! Don't shout!" "That hurts Iwa-chan!"

After the game with your team won the 2 matches, you approached your friend and they squealed, congratulating your excellent performance in volleyball. "Congrats! You were amazing, Y/n!" You just chuckled. "Thank you, F/n."

You felt someone tap on your shoulder and it was none other than Oikawa and his friend, Iwaizumi. "Hello, Y/n-chan!" He greeted you happily.

"Oh hello, Oikawa-san right?" He nodded. "You were amazing and your spikes were incredible!" He complimented, making you stunned and a little blush appeared on your cheeks as you received the praise. "Thank you, Oikawa-san."

"Ah, there's no need to put '-san'. We're friends now! By the way, this is my best friend, Iwaizumi! I call him Iwa-chan for short though." You and your friend nodded. "This is my friend, Y/f/n."

After a while, Oikawa suddenly went silent and looked down, the three of you noticing his sudden change of behavior. "Oikawa?" Iwaizumi called.

He then looked up, grabbed your hand (gently), and had sparkles in his eyes as he stared at you. "Please marry me, Y/n-chan!"

You and Iwaizumi were shocked as your friend just laughed behind you. "E-Eh?" You stuttered. Iwaizumi then bonked him in the end, making Oikawa let go of your hand and hold the painful spot on his head. "Ow, Iwa-chan!!"

"Stupid! Why the heck are you asking that kind of question to Y/n?! You weirdo!" Oikawa just whimpered in pain and you merely chuckled. "Thank you, Oikawa, but I have to refuse." You said with a smile on your face.

Oikawa immediately got heartbroken and stood up on his feet. He clenched his fist in front of you and a determined look was planted on his face. "I'm very heartbroken right now, Y/n-chan! But we'll get married in the future! I just know it!" He said with confidence, and you were sure that he was weird.

Aaand another smack landed on his head. "Do you even know what marriage is?! Oikawa, you dumbass!" You just smiled at their interactions before leaving the conversation (swiftly) to go to your friend.

12 years ago...

Now in 3rd year of high school at Aoba Johsai High School, you were about to graduate along with Oikawa and his friends. When he first heard that you also enrolled in Seijoh, he was thrilled more than anyone. Oikawa's love for you never died even if you rejected his proposal 3 times in childhood, junior high, and the 1st year of high school in Seijoh, his feelings for you only grew stronger. He knows the fact that he's popular with the ladies but that never fazed him. His heart is for you and only you.

As the principal called your name for graduating with top 1 in your class, Oikawa made sure to clap very loudly (because he wants to and possibly for you to notice him) than the rest of the class. The principal also gave you a certificate of recognition for being an outstanding student in Seijoh.

As you went down from the stage and return from your seat, Oikawa was called for being the Student-Athlete of the Year as his performance in volleyball is greatly known in the school and the Miyagi Prefecture. You smiled as he went to the stage to receive his medal but you rolled your eyes jokingly when he threw a wink in your direction. He just chuckled and will deal with your sassiness later.

When the graduation ceremony ended, you were instantly greeted by Y/f/n, who captured you in a tight hug. "I'm so proud of you! Look at you graduating top 1 in the class!" Y/f/n graduated a month early than you as they were studying at Shiratorizawa Academy. Your parents also greeted you with a hug and congratulated you. "There's our girl! Congrats sweetheart!"

You beamed a smile at them. "Thank you so much, you guys! Honestly, the finals had me all nervous because I was so worried that I'll fail!"

Your friend and your parents just chuckled. "Well, it IS the finals after all. Who wouldn't be nervous?" Your father commented and you giggled.

You felt arms wrap around your small figure and you instantly recognized the fresh male perfume. "Tooru-kun?"

"Congrats, Y/n-chan! You deserve for being the top 1 in class!" You turned around and he pulled away. You smiled at jim, "Thank you, Tooru-kun. You also deserve the award for being Student-Athlete of the Year. I believe it's all thanks to your hard work as one of the most famous setters in Japan."

Oikawa felt himself blush at the compliment. "Ah, t-thank you..." He said and rubbed his nape.

"Oh? Is he your boyfriend, sweetheart?" Your mother asked and you reddened at the word. "M-Mom?!"

"Hmm, he looks handsome and kind. I approve of it." Your father nodded in acknowledgment as his arms were crossed in front of him. "Dad?!" You cried out and felt yourself hot as a chili.

Oikawa was blushing as well but cleared his throat. "I will be if she will say yes to my proposal."

Your mother's eyes widened and one of your father's eyebrows were raised. "Proposal?" Your father repeated. "Oh no." Your friend commented.

"A-Ah nothing! He's just joking, Dad!" You then turned around and smacked Oikawa on the head. "Must you bring that up to my parents?!"

"That hurts, Y/n-chan..." He said as he held his head. "But!" He then stood up straight. "I must have the confidence to ask for your parents' blessing in the future so I'm practicing now!"

"Oikawa Tooru, you dumb-"

You were about to smack him again when your mother realized that it was THE Oikawa Tooru standing in front of you. "O-Oikawa? Is that really you? My, have you grown!" Oikawa chuckled. "Well, I'm all grown now, Auntie."

"Ah, I knew your face is familiar! I've seen you on the sports channel every time volleyball season is on and I must say, your sets are really unpredictable. You sure do know how to keep the team's aura and atmosphere high." Your father showered him in praise and Oikawa went bashful. "Thank you, uncle."

"Well, we'll be waiting in the car. Don't take too long now, Y/n!" Your mother said and you nodded. As they leave you and Oikawa alone, he nudged your shoulder. "Guess I'm on their good side now huh? Maybe they'll finally approve of my proposal to you. So," He then revealed a bouquet of roses behind his back. "Please marry me, Y/n-chan!"

You gasped and pinched him on the arm. "Shut it, crappykawa." He pouted. "But," You started as you accepted the roses from his hands. "thank you. I'll take you on the offer of a date though."

Oikawa's eyes went wide. "R-Really? You're not joking?" You smiled at him and gave him a peck on the cheek, leaving him dumbfounded. "This week, Friday. 7 pm. Don't stand me up, dummy." You said and walked away with the roses in your hands.

Oikawa clenched his fist in the air before letting a loud, "Yes!!" And he skips happily back to his friends, who were watching the whole scene unfold and smacked him on the back. Though you rejected his proposal for the 4th time, at least you accepted his offer on taking you out for a date.

4 years ago...

Now at 25, you and Oikawa have been dating for 8 years straight. Even though he had moved to Argentina to continue pursuing his volleyball career and studies there, not once, did your love for him fade even the slightest bit. Of course, it can get lonely most of the time due to the different time zones of the two countries but he made sure that he'll video call you two to three times per week.

He'd tell you all different stories about his life in Argentina but mostly about volleyball and how he is improving more than his high school self. He never fails to greet you exactly at midnight in the Japan time zone whenever it's your birthday or your anniversary. Of course, you do the same to him too.

Today is your 8th anniversary as a couple, but you knew that you would be celebrating it via video call again. You know the reason, but you've secretly been checking out some flights to fly over to Argentina just to surprise your boyfriend. You know that he's been busy for the past few days due to volleyball but he never used that as an excuse to not spend time with you.

"Happy 8th anniversary, mi amor." He greeted you with a smile at exactly midnight in the Japan time zone. You smiled back at him but not with your usual smile, "Happy 8th anniversary as well, amor."

He noticed your mood very quickly and offered you a sad smile. "I'm sorry if we're celebrating our anniversary via video call again baby. Ah, I don't know how many times I've apologized to you since I first moved to Argentina. You're probably sick of hearing it so many times."

You just chuckled. "It's okay love. I just hope that you're in my arms right now." He smiled at your wish, unbeknownst to you that he prepared a surprise for you.

Then you realized something, "Huh? How come it's dark there in Argentina? Isn't it like, noon there? Plus, why is it so quiet?" You bombarded him with questions and he just chuckled at you. You then heard a knock at your door. "Oh, someone just knocked on the door." You mumbled before standing on your two feet to walk towards the door. "I'm actually hiding from a certain person right now. Oh sh- I hear their footsteps. Shh, quiet baby." He hushed you and you had to stop laughing before giving him a nod. Suddenly, the call dropped, and you thought that the wifi where Oikawa is right now was bad so you let it be.

As you checked through the peephole, you noticed a large square present outside. You slowly opened the door and looked from left to right if there was anybody suspicious. You then walked to the box and it says, 'To: Mi amor, Y/n. From: Your beloved boyfriend <3'

You smiled at Oikawa's thoughtfulness but you were deeply confused as to why he needed to buy you so many things inside that big present box. You know that you can't carry the big damn box all by yourself so you decided to open it right then and there. As you removed the ribbons and opened the cover of the box, you were engulfed in a tight hug. You were about to scream when you caught a whiff of the strangely familiar perfume and you were shocked to see that it was no other than, Oikawa Tooru.

"Surprise baaaby!!!" He yelled and you were speechless as heck. "Did you like my surprise?! I bet you do because I'm the surprise!!"

Oikawa noticed you were so quiet and immediately felt a bit sad so he pulled away from the hug. "Are you okay, mi amor?"

You surprised him by engulfing him in a tight hug as well. You buried your head in his chest as a few tears fell from your eyes. "I miss you, I miss you so damn much." You whispered and he smiled at you before returning your hug. "I miss you more, Y/n. You have no idea that I thought of going home to Japan so many times just to see you and my family again." You looked up to see him staring at you with that genuine smile of his, and he took the opportunity to give you a sweet long kiss on the lips. Oh, how both of you missed kissing each other like this. The last time that you did, was when he left for Argentina, which was 8 years ago. The countless overthinking, small arguments on the phone, and the feeling of longing were too much to bare for the both of you, however, you two reassured each other that they are still the home that you want. The person that you want to spend time with for the rest of your lives.

As you both pulled away, he placed his forehead to yours and started at your eyes. "I love you." He whispered. "I love you too." You replied and moments later, you can feel him fidgeting a little. You pulled away with confusion planted on your face as you looked at him up and down. "Love? Are you alright?" You asked.

He sighed loudly. "Y/n, the feeling of being away from you hurts my heart so much and it tortures me every day when I was there. I know that I followed my dreams to become one of the best players in Argentina, but it still felt lonely without my number one cheerleader there beside me, to watch my games, to watch me play, and overall to see you cheering for me as I win many tournaments. I know you feel the same way so I'll ask you this,"

He then kneeled on one knee and revealed a red velvet box to you, which made you gasp as you recognized the luxurious brand. He opened the lid and there revealed an expensive-carat ring, that made you utterly speechless because it was the newest release ring. You looked at him and he was smiling at you as he tries his best not to shed tears. "Will you make me the happiest and luckiest man in the whole world and, please marry me, Y/n-chan?" He put an adorable look on his face and you chuckled at the nickname he used to call you in childhood and high school with your hands on your mouth as fresh tears of joy stream down your face. "Yes, of course, Tooru-kun." He giggled at the nickname and stand up on his feet before wearing the ring for you on your ring finger. The ring wasn't too large or too small for your finger, it was the perfect fit. It's as if Oikawa knows your ring size, well, he should though because he's your future husband and your boyfriend of 8 years.

The two of you hugged each other tightly as he kept whispering 'thank you' to you. Cheers erupted from the sides and you pulled away to see that it was Oikawa's high school friends, Iwaizumi, Hanamaki, and Matsukawa cheering. They rushed towards the two of you and gave you a group hug before pulling away. When they did, they ruffled Oikawa's hair and smacked his back. "Congrats man! We know that she'll say yes!" Said Matsukawa.

"Yeah! We can tell that you two missed each other so much that you kissed for like what? 15 seconds? Surprised both of you didn't insert tongue." Hanamaki said, earning a punch from Oikawa while the both of you had a blush on your face. "Shut it!"

"Kinda surprised that Y/n didn't reject your proposal this time. She's been rejecting your proposal since childhood." Iwaizumi teased, erupting laughter from the two while Oikawa was offended. "Oh, my go- shut up, Iwa-chan! She accepted my proposal now so move on!" Oikawa whined.

You snickered. "Yeah, as if he had any rings to show me before." The three burst in laughter at your response, while Oikawa just whined even more. "Mi amor, even you?!"

What you didn't know is that Oikawa did have rings for you, paper rings. But he felt like he should just show it to you on your wedding day so he'll just have to wait.

After a few hours of celebrating, you were waiting for your fiancé as you kept staring in awe at your ring. When he came out of the bathroom, looking fresh and ready to go to bed, he saw you admiring the ring. He smiled and came to the bed before kissing you on your temple. "Do you love it?"

You hummed in response. "Yes love but..."

"But?" He repeated. "How much did it cost you?" Oikawa didn't say anything. "I know this is the newest released ring from the luxurious brand but I'm still curious."

He just giggled in response, which put together you raise your eyebrow at him. "Tooru?"

"You don't have to worry about the price baabyyy~" He singsongs as he cuddled you. "Oikawa Tooru! I swea-" "Shh baby."

Oikawa knows that he's rich and has a lot of money but he also knows that you don't like it when he spends more than millions for you buuuuut you're his future wife after all.

Present time...

Now at 29, you and Oikawa have been married for 4 years and currently have 2 twin children who are 3 years old. The two looked exactly like their father, inheriting his hair and hair color, skin, and smile while they inherited your eyes and nose. When they were 2, Oikawa remembers you saying that "I did not go through 9 months of torture just for them to come out looking like the replica version of their father" (jokingly).

Oikawa is waiting for you to come out of the room because you and your him have a date tonight. Iwaizumi, Hanamaki, and Matsukawa will be babysitting your children for the night while the two of you enjoy your alone time together so as Oikawa's most trusted friends, they volunteered to do it.

When you slowly come out of the room wearing the dress that he bought for you, Oikawa fell in love all over again. It's just like back in childhood when he saw you spike for the first time. He fell in love the moment you first played volleyball, and now he continuously fell in love all over again when you showed him your vulnerable side, when you smiled at him for the first time, when you two went on a date for the first time, when you finally accepted his proposal when you two kissed at the wedding altar as husband and wife and many more. Now, he feels like his childhood self again.

"What do you think?" You asked him, feeling a little shy under his starstruck gaze. "You look so beautiful, amor..." He whispered but loud enough for you to hear before extending a hand. A blush crept to your cheeks and you shyly but gladly took his hand.

A loud gasp was heard and you looked to the side to see that it was your twin boys, staring at you with their mouths agape. "Mom! You look so pretty!!" They said in unison and rushed towards you. You kneeled and gladly accepted their hugs. "Thank you my loves! You two look very cute with your blue pajamas as well!"

A knock was heard from the front door and you stood up on your own feet. "Well, that's your uncles. Let's greet them, shall we?" You said and they excitedly nodded before rushing ahead the two of you.

You noticed that your husband was very quiet so you diverted your attention to him and he was still staring at you in awe. "Penny for your thoughts, Mr. Oikawa?" You teased him and he snapped out of his trance. "It's nothing, Mrs. Oikawa." He said and grabbed your hands before putting it on his shoulders. "But I must say, you're very ravishing and charming tonight. I might not hold back from kissing you right now." He whispered and pucked his lips before lowering his head to kiss you, but you abruptly stopped him by putting a finger on his lips. He pouted, making you giggle. "Maybe later."

"Haahh," He placed his head on your shoulder. "Please marry me, Y/n-chan." He said and you laughed. "We're already married, dumbass."

"Oh.." Was all he said. "Then let's get married again."

You shook your head and lifted his head from your shoulder before placing a peck on his lips. "You're so cute, Mr. Oikawa Tooru."

"And you're such a tease but I still love you, Mrs. Oikawa Y/n."

#haikyuu #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu!!#haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu!! x y/n #oikawa #oikawa tooru #haikyuu!! x you #haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #oikawa fluff #oikawa tooru fluff #oikawa x reader #oikawa x you #oikawa x y/n #haikyuu fic #karou's hq!! works

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𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐔𝐏 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐘𝐑𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐃. + 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐌𝐀 𝐊𝐎𝐙𝐔𝐌𝐄

masterlist. / taglist. / any request? synopsis. when your high school boyfriend broke your heart and destroyed your sense of self-worth, the last person you expected to mend it was some awkward scrawny gamer and his four-year-old son. video link inspo~

pairing. dlif!kenma kozume x fem!reader

word count. 4.1k

genre and warnings. +18 nsfw under the cut. minors dni, dilf!Kenma, ex!Oikawa, strangers to lovers, pwp, but the plot is holding on by a thread, black-coded reader, fluff, kid fic, cheating, toxic relationship, trust issues, Harue being an Ipad kid, hurt/comfort, clothed sex, biting, spanking, spit as lube, rough sex, light choking, finger sucking, underwear ripping, unprotected sex, creampie, slight nipple play, praise kink, whiny Kenma, slight femdom at the end, mentions of pregnation, domestic vibes, eye contact, not beta'd sorry bae | — first anime piece, feedback is always welcomed & don't forget to reblog 🤍

You and Oikawa had been high school sweethearts up until the second year of college.

You were a headstrong yet deeply hopelessly romantic type of person, the type to wear their heart on their sleeve, which was probably why you had fallen hard and fast for Oikawa’s charming charisma the moment you first met during your first year of high school.

It was also the reason it took you six years to realize your boyfriend had been cheating on you with several different women behind your back since he left for college, and another year to realize he was not going to change after you had to officially let him go.

You discovered that during your relationship, you were constantly competing with other women who were just better than you at holding his attention.

Starting with transferring universities just so that you two could spend more time together, hoping that without the distance, he would pay you more mind or even fully pay the rent to your shared apartment in hopes that maybe, just maybe, he would come back home to you at night.

You had fallen to rock bottom trying to rekindle that light that you two once shared together, holding onto the dearest memories hoping that he would see how hard you were trying to change just to please him.

To no avail, the night you came home early during your lunch break to find him in your bed with another woman had been the final nail in the coffin that buried all hopes of mending your love life.

The first thing you did was kick him out, throwing all of his shit from the balcony window, and leaving him on the curb in nothing but his underwear trying to defend himself. In the same week, you decided it was better to just drop out of college and move back in with your parents, giving up on love completely.

Leaving your bedroom only to go to work or feed yourself, you had settled nicely into the single and bitter lifestyle for merely two years. Becoming an expert at dodging your family's questions that start with that special someone.

You had to admit that you had purposely not been seeking any type of inmate relationship with anyone since your ex. Discovering the still hollowing pit in your stomach seeing pictures of Oikawa seemingly with a new, different , beautiful girl on his Instagram account every month.

You also understood that stalking your ex’s account was everything but the first step to moving on and going through acceptance, but your curiosity would just get the best of you every time you would scroll through your feed and flinch at seeing his posts.

It didn't help that while he was so busy living through his peak in adult life, you were stuck working the night shift, stocking up just to keep your side of the rent afloat.

At the prime age of twenty-one, your life felt so meaningless at the prime age of twenty-one even your parents nagged you about needing to stay out more and for better hobbies that didn't involve staying up for long periods of time with a PS4 controller in your hands.

While most women your age were out doing hot girl shit, you were trying not to get back pain from squatting down to self things. You were lucky enough to get scheduled for the night shifts, only having a minimal amount of customer interactions at the twenty-four-hour Target.

The only people that would step foot inside the store around where you worked were usually guys looking to buy condoms or high school students looking to buy snacks.

The last thing you expected to see walking down your aisle was a lone child taking a look around.

Being in the book aisle, you had half expected the kid to have taken a wrong turn trying to get to the video games section, but to your surprise, the child seemed interested in the arranged literature that was stacked in front of him.

Only being able to reach to the second shelf, standing on the tip of his shoes, reaching for a book, you couldn't help but smile at the adorable sight, side-stepping closer and grabbing it instead to help him.

"Here you go kid," just as you were about to hand the book away you froze at the bold printed title; Wine, Dine and 69 ways to get some: A Locker Room Guide to Scoring with the Beautiful Women of the World. Your smile dropped as your face fell neutral, glancing at the doe-eyed boy that came up to your hip in height in concern.

"Thank you, Unnie," he replied politely, taking the book from your hands with a slight lisp in his voice as his front teeth were missing, not being able to properly pronounce symbols yet still being able to shock you completely in how to handle the situation.

"Don’t you think you're a little too young to be reading something like this?" You ask him with a quirked brow.

The little boy doesn't seem to understand the oddity in his choice of literature, holding out the book with both hands as his eyes scanned over the cover, not fully able to process some of the letters before nodding his head as if he had figured out something.

"Oh, it's not for me, it's for my dad. I’m trying to help him get some." As if it were surprising enough, something about the child openly indicating that his father needed to get laid made you smack your hand over your mouth in the habit of holding back your laughter, struggling to keep your professional adult composer.

"And just where is your dad?" You had just now realized how huge and bright the kid’s eyes were, almost a golden yellow shade as they widened, turning their heads frantically looking around the isle, finally realizing that he was without his guardian.

His lip poked out, his arms crossed with the book between him. You hadn’t got much of the ocussicanal baby fever hype. The need to want a clone of yourself was not really something that you had much in mind since breaking up with Oikawa, ruining your entire perception of growing up and starting a family with some other man.

"What a dick," He spouts harshly, "He left me again." as if it weren't the first time he had to call his father out; you weren't as lucky as the last time out, backing your reaction with a small "oop." passing through your lips before you could stop it.

"How about we go find him before he starts to get worried?" You offer to take his hand and abandon your station, starting to walk down the main aisle towards one of the intercom phones.

You hadn’t even fully made your way up a different section of the store before the kid jerked his hand away, passing by the video game section, his little shoes pattering against the tiled floors before engulfing an older man that was browsing the Nintendo games in a hug. "You said you wouldn't leave me again, you liar."

"I’m not a liar; you're the one who wandered away first." The man’s eyes glance at his son, seemingly unbothered by his frantic state, even grabbing the child by the top of his head and pushing him away to grab another Nintendo controller box from the shelf.

"You're supposed to look for me. What if a bad stranger tries to kidnap me?"

"Bad strangers only kidnap cute kids," he says blandly. The child, taking huge offense to his father's teasing, his dramatic gasp, and head turn, eyeing you in disbelief, made you stiff. Having both of them notice your existence while standing just a few feet away made you stiffer still.

You watch him stiffen up, completely clearing his throat and awkwardly setting aside the controller box before picking it back up once he realized that he needed a new one.

From how easily he turned skittish, you were starting to understand why he needed a bit of help talking to women, to the point where even his son was struggling to find outside advice on how to help his dad score.

That had been your first introduction to the single father, the second time coming around that falling week when you had caught the pair during their day out.

The little boy was chewing his father out in the middle of the GameStop for murdering his Minecraft dog, so in revenge, he made him return the game entirely, claiming to be "scared for life." Then you were able to formally introduce yourself and have since formed a pretty odd relationship with the two boys.

Harue called you almost every day from Kenma’s iPad, just to tell you how his day went or ask if you wanted to come over and play games with him. Much to Kenma’s muttering protest, telling his son how you had more important things to do than come over, much to his surprise, you hadn’t.

During your first visit, you quickly realized how truly loaded Kenma was, meeting Harue outside in the lobby of the penthouse, the kid rambling the entire elevator ride up to the top floor.

It was also around that time that you found out they had been set financially for life because of Kenma’s microcelebrity status as a gaming review channel that harbored around six million subscribers as well as owning a huge percentage of big company stocks.

But despite their being extremely wealthy, the main reason you always came around was that they were genuinely charming because you thought the two had the most entertaining and most positive personalities that you've ever met.

You loved to spend time with the two, enjoying their constant bickering and debates on which game character was better than the other, which fast food place they should order dinner from that day, and even being the middleman on which sports car they should drive just to go to their local game store.

You have also learned that Kenma’s baby momma didn't even claim Harue. The two weren't even together when she showed up on Kenma’s doorstep crying about being a few months pregnant after ghosting him the night after their first date.

Once he had gotten comfortable around you, Kenma was very open about regretting having a one-night stand with the woman, but always made it clear to Harue that he would never change a thing if it meant he would end up being his dad.

As the year continued, you quickly realized the feelings you had for Kenma were more than friendly, and that fucking scared you.

But Harue, being the master matchmaker that he was (along with using his dad’s credit card to purchase dating advice books), would always set up you and Kenma to fall into some scheme that would always leave you two alone and flustered in each other's company until you had gotten tired of the whole awkward talking phase and bit the bullet, leading to a shared confession between you two.

You had to admit it was odd getting back into the dating scene, but you were also a very petty bitch and made it known to everyone that you were practically dating a millionaire.

An evil smirk would always spread across your lips. Oikawa would always be one of the first people to swipe through your Instagram stories of Kenma and you spending the night at a fancy restaurant or view your Tiktok videos of you and Harue failing to attempt some new trend online.

Your lives had changed drastically in just a year of knowing Kenma. Spending another year dating each other felt like a dream waking up next to him every day.

★ . . . !

As you continued to poke and prod at your braids, cursing yourself for thinking the thirty-inch locs were anything but practical for the poor, plain eight-dollar pack of hair scrunchies you had purchased from Target.

Some strands had managed to peek through when you were molding the bun into place on your head with two elastics. No matter how many times you huffed and leaned down, convinced you were going to pass out just trying to tuck them away.

Leaning in closer to the mirror, humming at the sight of your hairstyle, your lips pouting as you tilted your head to the side before your eyes caught sight of your boyfriend through the glass, wanting a second opinion on how you looked.

Swaying towards the bathroom's wide door frame, you gave a small pose that had caught his attention, turning away from the YouTube video that played from the flatscreen mounted across the room.

Kenma’s brow arched in confusion, his eyes gliding down your figure before meeting your eyes once more, expecting him to at least compliment you, your arms failing, gesturing towards your hair. "Does this look?"

"It looks fine." He shrugged his shoulders, his face as neutral as the first day you had first met him.

Since you two had started dating, Kenma’s walk-in closet had gone through a drastic change, his usually neutral color shades expanding to warmer and brighter colors that were still in his comfort zone.

It was like you had become his personal stylist, the way you would have to pick out his outfits for any occasion that was remotely close to formal in any way.

On the night of your anniversary, you had to convince him to take a shower and wear a dark gray sweater vest despite his claims of it making him look like a fucking nerd. You had paired it with a white collar button down that peeked from the bottom and covered the belt of his black slacks.

You could already tell he was itching to remove the layers, already yanking at the neckline of his vest and eyeing his gaming console from across the room.

In addition to trying your best to make the night as perfect as possible, you had to physically peel Harue away from his VR set with the bribe of McDonald's and make him spend the night at one of his friend's house just to secure as much time alone with Kenma as possible.

"Just fine?" you asked once more, earning a side glance from Kenma, his expression now blank as his arms crossed over his chest. You had known him long enough to understand every expression and gesture that the grown man made. You had considered it a curse at this point to be able to understand him so clearly.

"Ah!" you shout, snapping your fingers out towards him as if he were a dog caught doing something wrong. "Fix your face, you're too damn old to be whining about having to go outside." Then, you returned back into the bathroom to examine yourself once more, your fingers flattening the creases in your black cocktail dress as it stuck and shaped all of your curves perfectly.

"Now come make yourself useful and help me zip this please." Your request was quickly followed by a dramatic sigh, Kenma dragging his feet until he approached from behind you, with his hands guiding your hips still in place.

Your eyes rolled as he held eye contact through his thick lashes, teasing by biting into your shoulder. "We don’t have time for you to be kinky right now." With a hitch of your breath, you had managed to distract yourself by rummaging through your jewelry box, eyeing the different assortment of gold and silver necklaces that you thought would work well with the low cut of your dress.

Kenma didn't seem to mind your distaste, only continuing to trail small kisses up your neck, your thighs pressing together, his hand wandering down to the plump of your ass, winding his hand back and smacking it with an open palm as if he had owned it. "How do you expect me not to act up when you look so good?" he whispered in your ear, recognizing the dark gaze in his eyes.

You ignored it, holding up a single golden hoop earring to see if the design would clash with your dress as Kenma continued to fondle your ass through your dress. "You said I looked fine," you scoffed, smacking his hand away.

Kenma only chuckled, "So fucking fine," his long fingers reaching around to fondle your breast instead of guiding your hips back into his crotch, pushing against his erection. You allowed him to manhandle you into place, only sighing as you were quickly wrapped around his finger, caught in the web of his dorky charm that always left you leaning in for more.

"In fact," he hummed, using the hook of his fingers to drape the straps of your dress down your shoulders. "Let me show you how pretty I think you look." Already he had started to strip you, holding eye contact when his hand pressed against the middle of your back, bending you against the cold marble sink.

His fingers trailed under the hem of the ass, yanking it over your ass, exposing your lace panties, and looking down at you like he had unwrapped the best present ever. With the sound of his belt struggling to get loose, you couldn't help but peek at his fingers eagerly trying to shake loose from the metal belt.

The sound of your chuckling reaction makes him glare up at you, yanking the leather from the belt loops and zipping his pants to release his cock, his fingers making quick work of your lace thumb, tracing over the material against your clit before hooking them to the side and tearing them. "My bad," he says half-heartedly.

"I’ll buy you another pair." Spitting in his hand and lathering his length in a mix of your wet arousal thrusting himself against your lips with a breathy sigh.

His hand reaches out to grab around the front of your neck, forcing you to stand with your back pressed against his chest. "I want to see you." He mutters in your ear, a shiver running up your spine as he curved his thumb to tilt your head up to get a better look at your reaction in the mirror.

Your knees are almost bucking into the counter, smacking a hand against the surface to keep yourself from falling forward from the feeling of his fingers spreading apart your lips to press his cock inside of you with little to no ease.

His pace started off mercifully, as with every thrust you chased after the feeling of being stuffed so fully, "so pretty ___," Kenma sighs, his fingers pushing past your lips and into your mouth, your tongue instantly wrapping around the digit as his rhythm sped up into deeper strokes.

The squelching noises and the sound of skin on skin echo through the bathroom. Every thrust Kenma had to hold as you felt light-headed every time the head of his cock would rub against the spot that made all your muscles feel like jelly.

Practically an expert at knowing every nook and cranny of your body, "Ken, just like that–" you whine around his finger. He only replied in a low hum, his eyes focused on your body, entirely convinced that he had known your body more than you did from the way he would leave you feeling dizzy and your legs wobbling from an orgasm.

His hands let you go free as you slumped against the counter in the new position. Kenma raises your thigh up by the hook of your knee to angle himself inside deeper, his fingers leaving an indent in the plush of your skin.

Even before you two were comfortable with having sex, he would always be too touchy. His fingers played with the bud of your nipples, grinding against you while spooning and even forcing you to crawl into his lap whenever you made out.

Much to Harue’s disgust, he walked in many times just trying to find where you had run off to, only to see his dad with his tongue down your throat.

To Harue’s luck, you had a strict "no sex while the kid is around" rule to keep any embarrassing and potentially scary childhood memories from forming at a young age.

But you had somehow gotten the worst end of the stick. His son seemed to have gotten the same homebody trait when he was always stuck in the home office with his private tutor.

After he had completed all his work, he never seemed to show any interest in leaving the comfort of his gaming setup. Kenma was left high and dry, usually for weeks until Harue’s friends would invite him over. Kenma suspected that their partners had caught on to his suffering and were practically throwing his son out when they came to pick him up.

He would always make up for the time that you two would spend alone together, eating you out to the point where you had been begging to take a break from how sensitive your cunt was, or making it a goal to fuck on every surface around the house that he possibly could.

"Shit," Kenma yanked the material of your dress away from your ass, his fingers spreading you apart to get the mouthwatering view of his cock sucked in, his length covered in a creamy white coat from your arousal.

His controlled pace makes your thigh tremble, "you look so gorgeous like this angel." His compliments were almost tormenting from the way he had fucked even the gel from your edges, grasping onto your hips tightly as if you’d turn into putty and slip away if he weren't too careful.

"I’m so close," you plead as mascara-covered tears stream down your cheeks, the tightening feeling building in your gut.

The pleasure was unbearable as Kenma made it a point to fuck you like you were a personal sex doll custom made just for him to ruin. His name is constant on the tip of your tongue, moaning and gasping it like it was your favorite word.

Your legs were wobbly like you had just figured out how to use them, planting them both back on the floor, leaning into Kenma’s front, too preoccupied with being fucked stupid to care about how your hips were smashing into the edge of the sink with every thrust.

It wouldn't be the first time Kenma had been the reason you would find questionable bruises on your body in the morning.

Your cunt clenched at the disheveled sight of Kenma who had been completely pussy drunk, his normally pale skin now flushed a light pink hue.

His eyes squeezed tightly shut, with his canine teeth pointing from his lips as he bit in your shoulder to keep himself from whimpering out your name every time your pussy clenched around him so desperately.

Leaning in and grabbing his chin to place a kiss on his mouth, like your lips were a reward. Kenma’s tongue was already poking from his mouth into yours. His fingers naturally gravitated towards your chest, as if he had found comfort in playing with your hardened nipples.

As his thumbs ran across your hardened buds, you shivered, your cunt clenching around him in response."You make me feel so good, baby," His hands gripped tightly against your torso.

His nails dug lightly into your skin, chasing his high, nuzzling his forehead against the back of your neck as he choked on the moan that threatened to pass from his throat.

"I wanna see your face, Ken-ken," you say, even with him plowing into you. You had still managed to sound so demanding.

Kenma was quick to melt into the little obedient boyfriend that he was, revealing his hazel eyes that glistened from the threat of shredding tears from how pussy drunk he felt. "Gonna cum in me, huh—ah, wanna get me all knocked up, pretty boy?" The praise affected him as expected, and Kenma grimaced at it, even ducking his head away as if turning away would be enough to hide his flushed reaction.

With the courage of a racing horse, he had delivered one more smack against your ass, which you thought was a nice finishing touch, apparently too nice as your end tumbled out of your walls, making his hips stutter, struggling to stay in sight at the sight of your orgasm.

The marble countertops were only being used to stabilize you as Kenma tugged out of you and released you on your backside with a low grunt.

There was a moment where clarity had settled in pulling away from his hands that groped at your ass. "I can’t believe your socially awkward ass just fucked me to get out of going to dinner." You hunched over the counter, trying to catch your breath as Kenma wiped your behind clean with a piece of tissue.

next part.

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piichuu · 5 months

Text

♡ CHILDISH BUILDS - OIKAWA TOORU

WARNINGS: not proofread, fluff, gn!reader

WORD COUNT: 471

DECEMBER DRABBLES

after a few days of snowing, it has finally made its place in the grass, most likely staying there for at least a week due to the cold temperature.

“baby! i have an idea,” your boyfriend speaks as he jumps onto the couch and wraps his arms around you. the two of you have been cuddling and watching movies all day, but the last hour, he’s been walking around the house to try and keep himself occupied. “why don’t we build a snowman? please.”

you brush a hand through his hair and smile softly. “okay, we can do that,” your boyfriend kisses your cheek and reflects your smile with one of his own. “let’s go!”

he grabs your hand and pulls you into the hallway where you quickly put a jacket and gloves on. oikawa’s inner child comes out when getting to do things like these, things he would only get to do with you. “come on, you’re too slow,” he mumbles as you sip your jacket and roll your eyes.

“i’m trying to hurry, tooru,” you speak before intertwining your fingers with his and allowing him to take you outside the house.

the cold hits you in an instant and oikawa flashes you a sweet smile, squeezing your hands. “not too cold?” he asks and you shake your head, walking with him towards all the snow to start making a snowman. “okay, maybe you can make the lower part and i’ll make the middle?”

you nod and begin to gather snow into a giant snowball. oikawa is a little quicker than you and as he watches you try your best to make the lower part of the snowman, he puts some of the white powder in his hands and makes it into a ball, throwing it towards you.

at the feeling of cold touching your neck, you snap your head towards him and widen your eyes. oikawa puts his hands up innocently and looks around. “what? i didn’t do anything,” he speaks and you roll your eyes, turning your head back to continue with the snowman.

after doing the part you were assigned to do, you get some snow in your hand and throw it at your boyfriend who has now occupied himself with making the head. “hey!”

he doesn’t even get anything else out before you tackle him to the ground and shove snow in his face. he tries to push you away but ends up giggling and nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck so the snow will get to you as well.

oikawa holds you close in his arms and rolls over so he’s on top of you instead. “you got me,” he mumbles and leans down to kiss your cheek. “you’re such a child, tooru.” “i know, but it’s all because of you, baby.”

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late-night-secrets · 9 months

Text

It’s almost midnight when you’re finally ready for bed. Tooru’s lying on his side, bedside light on, glasses on the bridge of his nose, book lying open on his chest. The slow, rhythmic rise and fall of the novel and the soft features of his relaxed face are all you need to know that he’s dozen off. Your heart warms at the sight, yet at the same time guilt pinches your stomach; he’s been waiting for you, but the late hour and the exhaustion of a busy week have got the best of him.

Carefully trying not to wake him, you remove the book and his glasses to put them on the bedside table. Strangely enough, it’s you turning off the light that makes him stir. As you lie down next to him, you hear him mumbling your name.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you,” you mutter into the dark. Since he’s – kind of – awake anyway, you don’t hold back when you snuggle into his side throwing your limbs across him.

Out of reflex, he pulls you closer and tugs your head under his chin. “’s fine,” he mumbles into your hair. “What time issit?”

“Around midnight,” you answer and lift your head briefly to give him a light kiss against his jaw.

A grumble vibrates through his chest which could be interpreted as complaint.

“Sorry, it’s gotten late,” you apologize quietly. “I really need to work on my time managem–…”

“Lips…!” he interrupts to clarify his wordless protest.

You can’t help but smile. Once more, you stretch to lift your head. “Sorry,” you whisper again before you give him a proper kiss on the lips. When you part, you can see his content, droopy smile in the dark. His eyes remain closed.

He’s as tired as you are.

Guilt tugs at your guts again and you lie down in your place underneath his chin. “I’m sorry, Tooru. I really wanted to spent time with you tonight.”

He holds you tightly in his arms, your head pressed against his chest. After being used as pyjamas for a couple of days now, his shirt not only smells but also feels like him; all soft and comfortable. “You worked hard today.”

For a moment you relish his scent, his embrace, his support. Then, you reply, “It’s still no excuse to neglect us. Our time together.” You snuggle a little closer. “Miss you, Tooru.”

“’s fine,” he exhales. It sounds as if he’s at the verge of sleep again. You are about to let him, he deserves the rest – and you do, too.

But then one of his arms shifts; lower. You almost squeal in surprise when he suddenly pinches your butt, and his voice, tired or not, sounds somewhat mischievous. “’m gonna take back all of what we’re missin’ out now when your exams ’re over…!”

You chuckle. “Is that a threat?”

“Yes.”

You let a moment of silence pass. “A promise?”

Because you are missing him.

He presses a lazy kiss on the crown of your head. “’course.”

More seconds pass and you’re slowly drifting into sleep.

You swear he’s fallen asleep with the way his breath slows down but then you hear him once more, his voice muffled by a thick layer of slumber. “Love you.”

A content sigh. “Love you, too, Tooru.”

**********

masterlist

#oikawa x reader #oikawa tooru x reader #oikawa tooru #oikawa tooru fluff #oikawa drabble #haikyuu oikawa #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu drabble #hq fluff #hq!!#fluff #take a wild guess who has exams and is burnt out??#(spoiler) it's me

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kurolumiis · 4 months

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𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐎𝐄

featuring — oikawa tooru, y/l/n y/n

summary — you snatch a kiss under the mistletoe with a guy who didn’t make it to nationals.

warnings — oikawa x y/n, gn!reader, reader is iwaizumi’s cousin, dedicated to @silverflqmes <33, fluff, kisses under the mistletoe, possibly ooc oikawa (he’s a bit flirty and confident, also i haven’t seen hq in ages so i apologize)

it was lively party your cousin hajime invited you to. people were scattered around, either dancing to christmas music or eating the snacks left out for guests.

meanwhile, you slumped in your seat on the sofa. iwaizumi had been dancing with the girl he had complicated feelings for. as for oikawa, you didn’t know where he was, probably stuffing his face with as many sweets as possible.

finally getting up, you decided to go find at least one of your friends or grab something to drink. as you made your way through the room, you entered the kitchen, seeing a group of college students taking shots.

you paid no mind and headed to grab a cup of hot chocolate. when exiting the kitchen, you nearly stumbled into someone. “oh i’m so sorry.”

you apologized then looked up at the person. it was oikawa. “not a problem, y/n-chan!” he told you. “how have you been?” you asked, feeling a bit flustered under his gaze.

you’ve had the biggest crush on oikawa for ages, ever since high school. he’s taken note how many times he’s flustered you, remembering your cute face at night before he falls asleep.

the two of you drifted into a conversation, standing on opposite sides of the large doorway to not get in people’s way.

“uh, i don’t know if you guys realized, but you’ve been standing under a mistletoe for about twenty minutes now,” a voice said, standing beside the two of you.

“mistletoe?” you questioned, looking up. sure enough, there was a mistletoe hanging right above you. “oh,” you said, suddenly becoming flustered. what would oikawa think? would he leave in disgust or just ignore it? or…

“well well, it seems we’ve gotten ourselves into a predicament, y/n-chan,” oikawa cooed, smirking. “i guess a quick kiss wouldn’t hurt. anything for my adoring fans,” he said, leaning down.

oh my god, it was finally happening. your lips pressed against his. it was meant to last a few seconds but turned into about 30. it was filled with love and admiration, something he’d be more than happy to give to you.

finally pulling away, you caught your breath. “oikawa—” “shh shh shh, you’ll ruin the moment.” he combed his fingers through your hair, pressing a tender kiss on your forehead.

“get a room!” iwaizumi scoffed. you turned to your cousin and huffed. he had a stern look and crossed his arms. although, his eyes held a bit of softness, happy his cousin and friend finally got together.

diorlumx productions, 2023

#—galactic.works #tooru oikawa x reader #oikawa tooru x reader #oikawa #oikawa torū #oikawa x y/n #oikawa x you #oikawa x reader #tooru oikawa #oikawa tooru #oikawa tooru x y/n #oikawa tooru fluff #oikawa tooru x you

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missmeinyourbones · 1 year

Text

YOU WISH IT WAS ME, DON’T YOU?

cw: fake dating, wedding cake testing, friends to lovers, mutual pining, so sweet i suddenly have a cavity, oikawa is a big fat nerd pass it on

You don’t think you hear him correctly the first time.

But when he repeats himself, brashly confident and clearly enunciating his syllables between teeth and tongue, you know you’ve heard him right.

You can’t stop yourself from blurting out a genuine, “And why the fuck would we do that?”

Your words are harsh but granted, it is a stupid request.

Oikawa has officially decided the two of you should go to a bakery for wedding cake testing—to pretend to be an engaged couple. In public. As friends. Platonically. For fun.

He must’ve gotten hit in the head at practice.

“For free cake, obviously,” he shrugs, clearly not seeing an issue with his brilliant idea. “Come on, there’s gotta be a brain somewhere in that pretty little head of yours. You should use it every now and then.”

You ignore his backhanded tease (and the way your heart skips over the word “pretty” leaving his lips in reference to you.)

You pray your poker face is decent enough as you send him a glare that’s meant to be intimidating. However, the smirk growing on his face let’s you know it’s mediocre at best.

“Tooru, that doesn’t even make any sense,” you try to reason with the idiotic proposal. His head innocently turns to the side in confusion, so you begrudgingly elaborate.

“We can just buy a cake,” you rationalize, as any normal person would. “I’ve seen your paycheck and trust me, you can afford it.”

His tongue prods against his cheek in amusement (and pride) at your dig before he continues with his act, whining like a child and pouting his stupid lips.

“But that’s not the point,” he drawls the word out for at least three full seconds.

He takes a dramatic inhale, “This makes it more exciting, it's like—a whole extravagant thing!” His hands fly out by his sides, showcasing the grand gesture of how fancy the idea seems in his puny little mind.

While he thinks he’s painting an intricate picture, you aren't seeing his vision.

“It’s a silly and overdramatic ordeal, all for some lousy cake.”

At your pessimism, he scurries his way over to where you mope on his kitchen barstool. He’s never been one for utilizing personal space, but the conversation topic at hand has you overthinking every single thing he does. He’s so close you can feel the wind of his movements, the air of his dramatic exhales. You do yourself a favor and choose to look anywhere that’s not his face.

Stopping right before you, his hands clasp together in a begging formation as he borderline pleads.

“You won’t need to worry about anything, I’ll handle it all. I’ll book it, drive us in—I’ll even pay if they actually saddle us into buying something!”

When you finally pull your gaze away from your fidgeting fingers and up to his face, his eyes are glimmering with excitement. Though your stare would appear exasperated to most, he knows there’s love behind it. He can feel it.

“All you need to do,” he whispers with a knowing smile, “is come.”

You ignore how your stomach flutters. His word choice has you blushing and fuck, you can’t tell if he’s doing it on purpose or not.

You sigh with irritation and though Tooru knows you’re not quite done putting up a fight, he’s already won. The look in your skeptic eye tells him you’ve already agreed.

“If we like the cake, they’re going to expect us to follow up, with, like—actual wedding plans,” you try to reason.

“So we get married,” he easily concludes with a smile. “Well, maybe. We’ll see how this first date goes, huh?”

You overlook the wink he shoots you and how it makes your cheeks flush hot. “And if we get caught?

“That’s what makes it so fun. Our own dirty little secret.”

Okay, he’s definitely doing it on purpose.

“But that won’t happen,” he casually concludes, shrugging his shoulders with blasé confidence, “I can be very convincing.”

A silent staring contest ensues and Tooru knows he has you in the palm of his calloused hand. He watches as you struggle to fight off the smile that fights to work its way from the corners of your lips and across your entire face. Serving the final blow, he pokes your side gently and watches the grin take over.

“Do you ever tell the truth?” your eyes roll but your smile makes up for it.

He shrugs happily, “I like to lie.”

…

“And this is our white chocolate ganache filling.”

You don’t know why you’re here.

The bakery is small, cozy. A family-owned business that sits on the corner of Main Street downtown. You pass it sometimes on your daily commute to work, allowing yourself to ogle at the pastries in the display window if the weather is nice enough.

The sweet woman scheduled to run your consultation was waiting for you both by the door when you arrived. She’s an older woman, small in stature but her kindness makes up for it. You can tell she loves what she does by how she’s gleaming at the tiny details of your supposed love.

How Tooru opens the door for you, how he fixes your hair when you remove your coat, how you blush when she addresses the two of you as the soon-to-be Mr. And Mrs. Oikawa.

Eager to get the process started and sit you down, she goes through all of the assortments of flavors in what feels like one singular breath. Af if she’s some kind of dessert-wizard, she begins to list all possible kinds of combinations. Some sweet and fruity, others dense and rich.

It’s an overwhelming scenario in general, and knowing the truth behind the matter makes it all the more intimidating.

“It all looks so great,” you sheepishly stutter behind a smile, “I don’t even know where to start, honestly.”

The baker continues to overflow with excitement, “Wherever you want! It’s all yours—but we do have one tradition. For your first bite.”

Tooru indulges, now intrigued by the mystery, “Do tell.”

The woman blushes like a cherry tomato.

“You have to feed it to each other,” she practically oozes with excitement, “as practice for your actual big day! It’s a good luck thing we like to encourage all of our couples to participate in.”

She eyes your brief exchange of worried glances before carefully adding, “Only if they’re comfortable, of course!”

The hole you’ve dug yourself in just keeps getting deeper and deeper.

You slowly nod your head in faux confidence, an act Oikawa clearly sees right through.

“Yeah, sure,” you reluctantly agree. Almost immediately, a hand is on your shoulder and a pair of lips is skimming the shell of your ear.

“Look, we don’t have to—”

“Just pick a flavor, Tooru,” you snap.

He decides on a classic strawberry shortcake blend.

The tiny sample square is bright and endearing. Vanilla cake covered in a blush white frosting, stuffed with a flavored whip, and decorated with a sugared strawberry sitting bold on top. It looks delicious, almost so perfect that you don’t want to pry your shaky fork into it. But Tooru does, so you follow suit.

He makes the first move. His grip on the utensil is tight in a way that he hopes comes off as sturdy, as he slowly maneuvers closer to you. Like feeding a child a spoonful of mashed vegetables, he mimics an airplane before teasing.

“Open wide.”

With a subtle glare, you do. And he does the same. And the two of you are equally guilty of watching one another's lips curl around the metal and savor the airy sweetness dancing on your tongues.

It’s incredible. It’s delicious. And it’s the first one.

“Oh my god,” your fiancé for the evening practically moans in bliss, “Oh god, I think I died and went to heaven.”

Normally, you’d whack his arm, but given the circumstances (being the faux relationship you need to sell and how delicious the cake truly is), you resist the tempation.

“Okay, normally I’d call you dramatic, but it’s actually really good.”

Tooru opens his eyes in a daze before placing his hand over his heart in a swoon.

“And my very own personal angel? Yup, this is definitely heaven.”

...

The afternoon gets easier. You try nearly every flavor the bakery has to offer, every combination the woman recommends. From dulce de leche to lemon raspberry to chocolate mousse, everything tastes incredible and leaves your stomach fluttering with a fullness it's never known.

At least you think that's the cakes doing, and certainly not courtesy of the man sitting beside you.

With all flavors consumed and the consensus being weighed, the woman eagerly awaits your thoughts.

Tooru’s hand finds the small of your back as you sit in the cushioned chairs of the bakery. “What do you think, darling? Which one’s your favorite?”

An instant fire dances in the pit of your stomach—burning bright and contagious and terribly loud.

“I think I like this one the best,” you decide. Pointing at the strawberry shortcake, Oikawa beams.

“Knew you were gonna say that one!” his tongue darts between his teeth as he grins. “Me too. I mean, you do have great taste, after all.”

Tooru generously tips the sweet lady for the free consultation, and you don’t miss how his smile grows in size when she wishes you a happy and healthy life together. He thanks her without a second thought.

“We’re probably gonna take a day or two to think some things over, but I think it’s safe to say we’ll be in touch!” He practically hollers as he guides you out of the door and back into his car.

Stuffed to the brim with sugar and batter, you're exhausted. Amid the biggest food coma of your life, you crawl inside his passenger seat and immediately close your eyes. Though not asleep, you keep them shut when you hear him curse beneath his breath and close your door.

“Shit, I think I left my wallet on the table. Be right back!”

…

Oikawa’s car pulls into your driveway. Once the car is shifted into park, he’s removing his hand from the steering wheel and turning to where you ;lazily slump in his passenger seat.

He raises his eyebrows in amusement at your tired and full appearance. Catching his eye, you groan in response and lean against the window.

“I’m so full, I can’t even breathe.”

“And you call me dramatic,” he scoffs with a smile on his face.

You turn to him, sincere and delicate as you ask, “Are you happy? You got your dose of free cake.”

“Ecstatic,” his tone is soft, but he means it. “Iwa-chan’s gonna be mad when he sees my cholesterol levels, though.”

A laugh breathes through your nose, “He’d find a way to be mad at you, anyway.”

After a moment of quiet breathing, you dramatically sit up with a sigh, stretching your body and unbuckling your seatbelt. Tooru uses your movement as a distraction to reach for something in the backseat of his car.

When you face him to say goodbye, a tiny to-go container sits atop his car’s center console. His eyes dart from the box to your face, a silent request for you to open it.

Your brow crinkles in confusion, so he laughs and answers your silent question.

“A thank you,” he softly elaborates, “for coming with me.”

You hide your blush, “I think if I look at another piece of cake, I’ll start bleeding cream cheese frosting.”

“Oh, just open it,” he begs.

Inside the box sits a single piece of strawberry shortcake, the very first flavor you tried and your ultimate favorite of the day. It's a tiny slice, but its size isn't what you hone in on—a little frosting heart sits smack dab in the middle of the top, a detail Tooru had personally asked the woman to quickly add when going back into the shop.

While it’s a small gesture, it’s a reflection of his true intentions. As childish as he is, he didn't bring you along today just for some free cake. He did it to spend time with you—it was just an extra perk that he got to feed you cake and call you darling while doing so.

You melt in honor at the pretty pastry in front of you.

It’s no wedding or proposal or confession in the slightest, but it makes you smile, and Tooru hopes it's a step in the right direction.

#oikawa tooru #oikawa #oikawa x you #oikawa tooru x you #oikawa x reader #oikawa tooru x reader #oikawa fluff #oikawa tooru fluff #oikawa fic #oikawa tooru fic #oikawa haikyuu #oikawa tooru haikyuu

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bontens-new-executive · 1 year

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Fluffy boys being so excited for Christmas and just their eyes glowing and brightening the second they see the snow outside

- - - - - - - - - - - -

"Baby!! Its snowing!! Are you seeing this? The snow? The beautiful white snow? Christmas is basically tomorrow. We need to start decorating NOW. Get the Christmas tree and the ornaments and the candles", his wide, bright eyes fixated on the falling snowflakes.

"That's a brilliant idea but we need to buy a tree first before we can do anything, love", you say, laughing at his excitement.

His eyes drop for a second at the sad and world crashing news before hearing your next words. "What we can do, is get some hot chocolate and get fluffy blankets and socks and cuddle while watching movies!"

His smile as wide as yours, running to hug and pick you up with a little spin, "and Christmas songs???" Laughing at his eyebrow-wiggle, you nod, "Christmas songs and movies!"

Giving you multiple pecks, he whispers a few quick 'I love you's before setting you down and dashing out the room to get everything you both need.

It might only be November but it's never too early to be excited for christmas.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Tōru oikawa, tetsurou kuroo, Shoyo hinata, Yu Nishinoya, Manjiro Sano(happy version:/), Chifuyu Matsuno, Kotaro bokuto, Atsumu miya, Izuku midoriya, Denki Kaminari, Eijiro kirishima

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emmyrosee · 1 year

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AHHHHH I just found new brain rot! Okay okay. So. The Try Not To Kiss trend on TikTok where you're supposed to lay on your partner like you're going to make out, get as close as possible to kissing, and see how long you can last until one of you breaks. I can't even begin to choose from any of the HQ guys because honestly, I love them all. But I think Bokuto would cave INSTANTLY! Atsumu and Oiks would try to tease the absolute shit out of their partner but would be dying. I feel like Sakusa would last the longest? Maybe Suna because he's a little demon.

I don't know I'm losing it over here.

IM GONNA SHIT RAINBOWS DONT DO THIS TO ME MATE-

Also Suna/Sakusa got just the smallest, littlest bit heated, reader discretion is advised!!

Bokuto doesn’t stand a chance my guy. He’s merely watching tv, sprawled in his sweats after his shower and you have the NERVE, the AUDACITY, the GUMPTION to DO THIS TO HIM??? WHEN HE CAN BARELY KEEP HIS PAWS OFF OF YOU IN THE FIRST PLACE???

The minute you snake over to his side, an arm tosses over your shoulder to bring you close. You hum happily and gently nose at his temple, relishing in the smell of his clean skin. “You’re warm,” you murmur.

“I take hot showers,” he chuckles, turning his head to kiss you. You duck away slightly, and there’s a flash of confusion that crosses his face for a moment. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“I wanted to kiss you… don’t you want to kiss me?”

There’s no shot of doing this. Not when his mind revolves around kissing you constantly, always, feeling his lips dominating yours in eagerness, teeth clacking together with need and desire and-

Your thoughts are cutoff when he captures you in a kiss exactly so, one hand coming up to cradle the back of your head, the one around your shoulders pulling you close. You can’t help but purr, and even if now there’s a failed tiktok recording, it’s worth it whenever the Bokuto Koutarou starts kissing you.

“You think too loud,” he teases with a nip of your lip. “Hate when you hesitate. I just want to kiss you forever, babe…”

Who would you be to deny him?

Oikawa is a little different, same with Atsumu. Because he constantly craves you too, he’s obsessed with you. But who is he to back from a challenge? Especially when you swing your leg over his lap, settling against his thighs contently, and he looks up with an amused smile.

“Comfy?” He teases, and you laugh before lacing your fingers in his fluffy hair. He mewls and angles his touch, and when you start to lean forward to simulate a kiss, he leans over to meet you, but he’s confused when you don’t meet in the middle. One brown eye opens up to peek at you, and when you’re gazing back down at him with challenge glimmering in your eyes, he exchanges the kiss with a smirk and a bite of his lip.

“You wanna play this game?” He mumbles softly, and you snicker as your hands scratch at his scalp. “You don’t want to kiss me?”

“Of course I want to kiss you,” you assure, nudging your nose with his. His hands cradle your hips as they gently smooth up and down, thumbs stroking over the meat. “I want to kiss you so bad.”

“Then kiss me,” he pants. In truth, your teases only make you more tantalizing, and there’s nothing more that he’d like to do than make you mewl from his kissing, a complete putty in his hands just because he’s the only one who can. “I won’t tell anyone.”

You laugh out loud at his words, feeling the mood slip slightly, but he’s not budging other than his coaxing words. The hand in his hair moves to instead cradle his jaw, and he needs to kick it up a notch.

In faux submission, and in an attempt to make you crumble, he leans even closer and whimpers softly close to your mouth, panting needily and eyes flicking up to you as if you’re the bad guy here, denying him. And you gotta give him credit- he does look delicious.

“You’re evil,” You whisper, but you still try to hold strong, thumbs caressing his jawline. Your head angles and you sigh in return against his lips, biting your lip enticingly.

You’re not sure who finally connected the kiss. But what you do know, is it wasn’t appropriate for tiktok.

Sakusa. Sakusa and Suna. My beloved menaces. They would have ABSOLUTELY no problem withholding longer than you, sheerly because if you start something, he’s gonna make you finish it. Not to mention Suna having the knowledge of the viral trend HA-

If you want to break him? You gotta start before you film the tiktok.

He’s in the kitchen, literally just grabbing a glass of water, when you’re up against him, arms wrapped lowly around his waist and eyes peering up at him. He chuckles down at you and wraps his own arm around your waist. “Missed me that much?”

“I did,” you whine, resting your chin against him to look up at him, and you see a glimmer of dominance flicker in his gaze. “Always miss you so much…”

“I’m coming right back to the couch, my love,” he says, humming softly. “Come on. We can go cuddle.” You’re practically clinging to him as you make your way to the couch where he was reading. One of his legs folds over the other for a small perch for you to sit in, and when you settle in, he flips back to the page he was reading.

That is, until your hand gently reaches up for his jaw, turning his head back towards you with a needy whimper. He smirks as his eyes flick up and down, “are you demanding my full attention now?” He asks, and you nod softly. “Too bad. You can wait until I finish this chapter.”

That, certainly, wasn’t the reaction you’d been anticipating. “But… but…” your fingers slip down to fist the collar of his tee shirt, tugging softly. “But I want your affection…” to entice him further, you lean closer and bite your lip, internally cheering when he leans forward as well. But before you can connect the kiss, he purrs out a teasing ‘no.’

“You constantly have my affection,” he says softly, confidence in his voice. “You will live for five extra seconds without it.”

“You’re being mean!” You pout.

Then, you gasp when one of his hands shoots to the back of your neck, gently slipping his fingers over the shorter hairs and fisting the locks dominantly. His lips finally ghost over yours as he snarls out against them, and you know he’s not going to break but god, this whole ordeal was almost worth it when he speaks.

“I’ll show you mean if you keep acting like an entitled brat.”

You squeak and tip your head back to try and ease the pull, relishing in the excited rage that flicks in his eyes when you mumble back, the war now being waged.

“You promise?”

315 notes · View notes

aiiku · 1 year

Text

why do we close our eyes when wishing on a star?

oikawa tooru x fem reader

word count 10,038

synopsis you’re going to be the death of oikawa. he can’t think of a better way to go.

tags she/her pronouns used, crime lord! oikawa but this is light-hearted i promise, exes to lovers, my attempt at a romcom, fluff, slow burn-ish, mutual pining (so much of it. oikawa’s needy.), crime au/ non-canonverse.

notes @blueparadis hello! it’s me, your secret cupid from @suyacho’s event! i’m sorry for being so late, but i hope you enjoy reading this <3 inspired by +this! and here’s a +fic tag! happy reading :+) !!

Maybe 7 in the morning isn't the best time to vent out his childish woes, but Oikawa believes complaining is a healthy outlet and that there's no time like the present.

So the nudging on Iwaizumi's arm and the ringing in Matsukawa's ears follows naturally, expectedly. A lifetime together has made their nerves accustomed to his grating.

"Iwa-chan," Oikawa whines, crossing his arms over his chest. The glare he directs at the television is far from kind, but none of the men in the room can take him seriously when he follows up with, "They really couldn't have used a better picture of me? This is broadcast nation-wide — nation-wide, Iwa-chan! And now everyone's going to think I'm some hotshot crime lord who can't do something as simple as his hair." In true Oikawa fashion, he completes his tirade with a flourish of sweeping arms, falling back onto the sofa with theatrics fit for The Globe. "Why is life so cruel?"

Three men share one look as Oikawa huffs, uttering curses to his coffered ceiling. Matsukawa shrugs, Hanamaki grins, and Iwaizumi's left to sigh. A lifetime together has made a fickle thing of their patience.

"Are you done with your tantrum now?"

"Not yet." Oikawa pouts.

He stares at the beams above, gorgeous, luxurious and, most importantly, neat — everything his windswept hair wasn't in the morning news. The police must have better pictures of him, so it's just downright mean of them to not use those instead. Aren't they supposed to be good, upstanding citizens of the law? This is practically defamation.

"If you're that mad over the pictures, you could turn yourself in and let them take better ones," Hanamaki suggests.

"Or stop fussing over nothing, Idiot-kawa," Iwaizumi says (and is promptly ignored).

"Or send them a little portfolio to choose from next time," Matsukawa adds. Oikawa sits up at that.

"Or stop being an idiot, Stupid-kawa." (Iwaizumi is ignored once again.)

"That's not a bad idea," Oikawa says, turning to the nicer two of his friends. "Post or email?"

Three men share one look as Iwaizumi rolls his eyes, dropping his head to his hands and wondering where it all went wrong for him.

"Definitely post," Matsukawa says. Hanamaki nods in agreement.

"Perfect!" Oikawa grins before turning to Iwaizumi. "Stop frowning so much, Iwa-chan, you're too young to have so many wrinkles." Iwaizumi's brows pinch together more, rigid even when Oikawa tries to iron out the creases with an incessant finger. They barely let up when Oikawa gives the good news. "I'm done throwing my tantrum now."

"Finally," Iwaizumi breathes out in relief. He bats Oikawa's hand away, sitting up straighter. "I spoke to Yahaba earlier and he said all's still good on his end. How long do you want to wait before moving the money?"

The television is background noise as they begin talking business as usual. Stay low while the heist is fresh and law enforcement are on alert, act like everything is fine — because it is fine, Oikawa tells himself. It's business as usual. He runs a hand through his hair, fixing it up, making it a bigger mess, he doesn't really know now. His phone burns a hole through his pocket despite its silence.

He listens as Matsukawa talks about some low-level dealings on the border of his territory, and tells Hanamaki to get a couple guys together to investigate whether it poses a real threat or not. He lies down again and looks to the panels above for help.

The news is louder now as it finishes with another reminder of what his team had managed to pull off: a broad daylight robbery of one of Japan's most prominent banks. Operation Get rid of those Monday blues, Oikawa had dubbed it. The heist that'll do us in, Iwaizumi had claimed it to be, right before discussing escape routes. Either way, it'll be the talk for weeks to come and Oikawa's proud of it all, but that image of him flashes back on the screen.

His phone rings in his pocket.

The words 'possible suspect' and 'do not engage' roll onto the screen, and he hears the reporter say something about that warrant out for him, to exert caution and report any sightings of him. Stay far, far away.

Nothing about his ringtone says being wary. His thigh twitches against the vibrations, like they're pushing his muscles alive, forcing his body to move. There are only two people outside of this room who have this number and his sister has long since cut contact with him. He doesn't think this will be the family bonding moment he dreams of which leaves only one other person: someone who he really should not be getting involved with again.

It's a possibility he saw coming when his team came back yesterday, but not one he has prepared himself for beyond pretending like you've called the wrong number.

The ringing continues and he sighs — there's no relief found in delaying the inevitable.

"Thought you blocked her number," Iwaizumi comments.

Suddenly, he's freshly graduated and on his old bed, hovering on a contact page he needs to delete. The profile image is blurry to him, but he knows the pink of that tongue sticking out better than anyone. He knows the bark in the background isn't from any in the City of Trees, it's from the one closest to that blue streetlamp in Tsutsujigaoka park where you said you were tired and he thought the sunlight had fought through layers of foliage just for you.

He can't do it.

He's back on a fine leather sofa and he's grown older, a little taller, but not much stronger when it comes to letting go. He couldn't do it then and his fingers itch to move, but he can't do it now, either. He's still that same boy who cried himself to sleep that night, still that same boy who knows your number off by heart, even though he hasn't seen it in years.

He hums noncommittally.

"You're not gonna answer?" Hanamaki asks.

He lets the ringing play out, turning to his friend with a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Well, that'd be risky, don't you think?"

Hanamaki snorts. "When have you ever played it safe?"

The answer to that is obvious, and it makes his lips curl into a frown when the music finally ends.

He's about to brush off his knees and find an envelope — going through with that postal plan is stupid, but at least it'll get his mind off of things for a while (that isn't long enough) — when his phone buzzes.

He ignores it, dusting off his pants and standing.

"Get Watari to take over for Yahaba," he says to Iwaizumi before facing the other two. "Take some men to check out that group and get Kunimi involved, will you? He's so pale, it scares me." He plasters on an exaggerated pout as if everything's okay, as if there isn't a weight rooting him to his place, begging him to ease its burden. He stands on the tip of his toes and falls back on his heels, heavy, weightless, wanting. "And try to avoid starting another turf war, please?"

When he's in his private office, he slumps into his chair and looks every bit the unkempt crime lord the news had shown him to be. He tugs his hair and groans, finally away from any judgemental eyes (Iwaizumi's).

Really, he doesn't know why his picture was broadcasted this morning because, as carefree as he lets himself be, he was loud and proud in promoting his alibi for this robbery. Hotel conferences are always so conveniently publicised. Even though he was behind it all, the police have no proof of it, so they shouldn't have gone to the media with these absurd, unproven, theoretically-unjust-but-truthfully-spot-on accusations. They couldn't have done so without consequences, and maybe the only positive to come out of this situation is that someone on the opposite side will be made just as miserable as him.

It doesn't feel like much of a win because his picture is still out there. Your message is still tucked away in his notifications, unread.

His phone sits on his desk, entirely unaware of the turmoil it causes. It lights up, gloating, and buzzes just to rub it in his face some more. And he's a fool to his own emotions, springing up in his seat in an instant.

Not utterly weak, he waits three whole seconds, tapping at the foot of his chair, digging into the arm rests to show restraint, before he pounces on his phone to see what's new.

He throws it back down carelessly when he sees it's a message from Matsukawa.

They say time heals all wounds, but Oikawa thinks it makes you empty. There's no such thing as healing when summer makes your scars itch, and winter has you lonely and crying all over again. Time is cruel because the body never forgets what has happened to it. Hitting his palm on his forehead does nothing to knock sense into himself, but at least it gives him a different type of pain to focus on. Surface wounds are so much easier to deal with than those aches that rot you down to the bone, making you brittle with yearning.

His hand strikes himself one last time.

The heat of it all pushes against his skull, like a dead man clawing out of his own coffin. It's heavy. No one talks about how hard it is to dig your own grave and jump into it. He watches his own hand shake but it's numb to him, light. The phone is a nail in his sweaty palm, splinters under his fingernails. No one talks about how ugly it is to keep the dead down.

He almost doesn't want to open the message — a lie.

He'll open it but not reply. Because it's better this way. Because it's all he knows how to do. Another lie.

The notification tells him it's a message, but doesn't give him anything more. It's cruel, like the police, like the smarting of his forehead, like he is to himself. He hopes it's a picture of you, but he knows better because there's no logical reason for you to be sending him pictures of yourself anymore. He can only ever see your face late at night, when he's torturing himself and taking a reprieve from another failed escape attempt and looking through pictures he'd sworn to delete. (It's not a lie if I had my fingers crossed, Iwa-chan!)

The truth is that Oikawa can lie to everyone but himself: he hates the smell of dirt, wood digging into his back, and he's so tired of the darkness. He wants to be able to see the stars from down here.

It isn't a picture of you.

It's one of him — the very picture that had single-handedly ruined his morning. It's tinged pink and green and there are so many CD cases collecting dust on your TV stand. The angle doesn't show your reflection on the screen, but he zooms in in search of it anyway. Beneath it all is a very short, very sweet, 'You look stupid.'

It makes him laugh, and he's loud, startlingly so, because that's easier than crying. He does look stupid. He digs the heel of his hands into his eyes and his phone clatters onto the desk: it sounds like the trembling punch to wood that haunts the skin of his knuckles because he doesn't get to see what he wants tonight, either.

He's pushing around spring onions when the call comes. He doesn't think much about it until he's face to face with a narrow, bold, 'Babe' printed across his screen, pinks and brown crystal clear to him now.

Not answering you yesterday should have been a clear message.

Do not engage.

But his phone rings on, like this isn't a mistake, like you need him for something.

Remain cautious.

He wants to be needed. He wants to be useful. He wants to see the stars and be happy and not have to cry himself to sleep tonight.

Stay far, far away.

He answers the call before he's left in the silence, before he can wallow in the self-blame and regret that have made a home of his shadow.

You sound so far away. It's where you should be, where he wants to be, too. He doesn't think to put you on speaker until there's silence — too much of it and it's everywhere, all-consuming and heavy — and his shadows creep closer, his eyes are getting darker, he can't hear your breathing.

He clears his throat and you call his name again.

His tongue feels leaden, his mouth dry. He stares at the crinkle of your eyes, how they hide your colours from his. "Y-Yeah?"

You sigh in relief. Like you're glad it's him.

"Hey," you say plainly. "Hey, it's, uh, sorry, it's" — and you tell him it's you as if he didn't know, as if he could ever forget.

"I know," he says quietly. You clear your throat like you don't know how to go on. He doesn't fill the silence because it's been so long since he's gotten to hear you breathe.

"I saw the news."

He was hoping you'd indulge him in pleasantries first, but there it is.

"How have you been?" he asks instead. "How's work? Your family?"

You sigh loudly like you're tired of him. Are you? Already? Don't you miss him like he misses you? Were you holding your breath for every second the phone rang? Do you want to see him, too?

"I've been better," you say, your voice a little sharper. He can see the creases in your clothes already, knows you've got a hand on your hip now. He wants to ask you what you're wearing. "A little weirded out, you know, having been robbed and all."

He lets out a pathetic, dry laugh. "Scary what the world's come to, huh?"

"Oikawa." He gulps. Would you be mad if he hung up on you now? "What the hell?"

He holds onto the edge of his desk, watches as his nails whiten under the pressure. It's so much easier to talk to hardwood than look at your contact picture — where you're happy, his, because he's sure you wouldn't be looking at him like that if you were with him now.

"In my defence," he starts, "you're on the no hit list, so that's—"

"The what?"

"You know…" It's a little scary how quickly you make his palms sweat, his heart jump to his throat. "The no hit list. Like a hit list is a list of all the people you want to kill, so the no hit list is the list of people you don't want to kill, or, well, you know, the people you don't want to see killed— Not that I had to write you down or I'd forget! It's just so the others don't kill you, you know? Not that we go around killing people, either, that's really not what we— nevermind. The no hit list. It's a good thing, honestly. Helpful. Good. How’s your family?"

He wipes his hands on his trousers and grimaces at the dark stain that's left behind. That could have gone better, but that also could have gone much, much worse. Either way, there's a pit in his stomach, and he doesn't know whether he wants to cave into it or let it consume the rest of him.

You're silent and Oikawa almost worries you've left him. He licks his lips, dry, his eyebrows knit together, hot. His phone screen has darkened and he clicks on it as soon as he notices. You're vibrant under his fingertip, present, listening. He cradles the phone in his hands like he'd done to the real you once upon a too-long time ago. You were warmer, then, softer. He doesn't want to let go so soon, though, so he clings to you, bringing you closer, staying quiet for once.

"So that was really you?" you finally say. "You actually did that? You're really a— a, what do you even call yourself?"

He's called a lot of things in the darker side of the world, goes by names that'll make you wince, that'll make you wish you’d heeded the news' warnings. The easiest to say is a criminal — the worst of the worst. But to you he just wants to be Oikawa Tooru.

"The Grand King is kind of growing on me now," he says, instead. He'd hated it back then — hated that his crown was always slipping off his head, dirty gold. He hates it now, too. Maybe more so because when someone says king, he hears fool; his heart forged itself a crown of blood and bone and the king, the fool, the boy who cries himself to sleep every night, all walk down the same path, alone together. You snort and the misery sits in his dry, lonely mouth. "H-Hey— I live up to that name, you know?" What is a king but a boy fooling himself, a grand brace on the throne of a greedy body? "I'm pretty good at what I do, if I do say so myself."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Need I remind you, I've yet to be caught?" Which is as much the truth as it is a haunting lie: you have him nestled in the palm of your hand — still, always — and you don't even know it.

You hum, and he wants to take it all back, wants to hear you say his name again, wants to know why you bothered calling again and what you're wearing. He wants and wants; this grave wasn't easy to dig.

"I know," you say. "They came— um, the police, I mean— I'm at work and they came to me, asking me about yesterday."

His brows knit together as he echoes, "They came to you? What did they say?"

"The standard stuff, I guess. I don't know, I spoke to someone after it all happened but the ones who came today were different." He hums inquisitively. "And they were telling me about you and—" you cut yourself off with an irritated groan and he hears the faint knock of wood as if you're slumping over "—I think they think I'm part of your stupid, little gang."

He blinks, silent. "What— How did they— Huh?"

He did not tear himself away from you all those years ago just for the universe to reject his sacrifice like this. Keeping you away from the misery of this world has been his goal for so long — he can't let some rundown cop with a hard-on for seeing him cuffs make his efforts worthless.

He wants to see you. Now. He shouldn't, it'd only give them more reason to be suspicious, but he wants and wants. This grave did not dig itself.

"Yeah." You let out a heavy sigh and his speakers crackle in his ear like the wisp of your breath has breached through for him. A shiver wracks through his body. Hot or cold or barely, he wants to feel you. Now. "They brought up us being in Seijoh together and, like, dating, and then he was all—" he smiles when he hears Seijoh, together, dating, and it only grows at your poor impression that follows "—'I find it a little strange that a gunman would turn away from you like that', and it's like, well, yeah, I did too, man! But now we know why, I guess! And then your guy— was that Makki?"

Oikawa murmurs a small 'yeah,' dizzy from hearing you speak after too many years of silence.

"Then Makki just had to go and say sorry to me, and someone else must've heard because he kept asking me about that as if I knew about your stupid no hit thing. And then he just kept going on about how he's gonna lock you all up and if I'm involved I should just come clean and— ugh, this is all your fault."

"Sorry," he says, and he does mean it, truly, but he doesn't sound it at all right now. He wants to hear you talk more.

"No you're not, but— Tooru, they came to me at work." Tooru — the muscles in his cheek ache from smiling so widely. "And they're saying I might have to come to the station as well and that they're gonna keep an eye on me. Why're they making me out to be the bad guy? You robbed me, I'm literally the victim here!"

He hums, putting on his best customer service voice (the extra shitty Shitty-kawa voice, as everyone has so lovingly dubbed it). "And you are entitled to compensation for it all, my dear."

"I better be," you sigh, and he can picture the pinch of your brows, the way you're rubbing at your forehead. "This is giving me a headache."

He keeps the act up. "So how much would you like?"

"I— huh?"

"Compensation," he says, voice lowering back to his normal shitty Oikawa level. "How much do you want?"

"That's not what I meant," you say. A beat passes and then, "How much can I have?"

He laughs softly and you seem to echo it, tiredly. However much you want, he wants to say. All of it. He doesn't think the guys would appreciate that, but he's sure they'd understand… eventually. Hopefully.

Instead, he murmurs, "I'm sorry." He sounds sincere this time and it makes you quiet. "If I knew that you'd be there — or, just, knew that that was your bank — I wouldn't have done a thing." He almost expects you to ask him why, but he's sure you know, sure it's as obvious as the sun because you're just as blinding. "I didn't— I never—" he cuts himself off with a heavy sigh, only ever angry at himself.

He doesn't know what he should say, just what he wants, what he knows he shouldn't.

"You shouldn't have called— no, I— I shouldn't have picked up. Just… Go on with your life as usual," he tells you. "They've got nothing on me and— and you're not involved with this, anyway. They'll leave you alone eventually."

At least, maybe he should have said that.

Instead, what comes out of him is a whispered, "I want to see you."

"That's… I don't think that's a good idea."

"Me neither," he laughs, and it sounds ugly, rotten, coming out of him. It might just be the worst idea ever, but it's also the most simple truth. "I just miss you." He wants to ask if you miss him too, but he doesn't want to hear the answer.

"I should… go. My lunch break's ending and I have…" The rest of your words scatter in his brain, and he was right: he didn't even need to ask, but he hates your answer all the same.

"Yeah. Yeah, go," he says, digging his nails into the soft palm of his hand. He can feel the quiver of his brittle bones, hear them cry as he sinks deeper.

"Okay. I'll see you… whenever, I guess." You clear your throat, as if saying goodbye has words piling up inside of you that you can't say. He wants to hear them all. He calls your name quietly. "Y-Yeah?"

"One last thing," he says before you can hang up, picking up his shovel and closing his eyes. "What are you wearing?"

He knows seeing you is a bad idea, but Oikawa's always suffered from a nasty case of hypocrisy. Plus, it's not really seeing you if you don't see him, right? It makes sense in his head (the only place things seem to be making sense lately), so, naturally, he follows his thoughts.

He pursues them in his imported 1996 Bentley Rapier — which is a little more inconspicuous than the Ferrari J50 he wanted to take (only 10 of these beauties were made, you know?) before he remembered he wasn't supposed to stick out to you.

He parks his precious car, prays no one tries to steal it, and bides his time under the awning of a bus stop. It's a little after quarter past when he spots you leaving the building and he perks up immediately.

He only wanted to see you for a bit, just long enough to make sure you were okay, that no officers would hound you again upon leaving work. And he's done that now, he's fulfilled his goal. He should head back to his car, drive home, and stay far, far away from you.

But you don't head in the direction of the train station and he gets curious.

He shouldn't, he knows that, but he's got his sunglasses on and he's dressed down in non-Oikawaesque clothes (a.k.a he raided Hanamaki's cupboards and blindly wore whatever his hands picked out first), so his disguise is practically foolproof. He'll maintain his distance. He just wants to know where you're going, wants to make sure you'll be safe.

He watches you head down the little market street that stretches out between the buildings. It's busier than he thought it'd be — how dare all these people be out in search of street food when he's on a mission? Don't they have better things to do? — and he's glad he's taller than the average man, able to lock onto the cream coat you're wearing as he stays paces behind you.

You turn to a stall and he walks until he's close enough to see you're lining up for taiyaki. He kind of (really) wants to line up behind you, but it seems the universe has taken it upon itself to maintain his distance for him.

"Come, come!" the vendor he's standing in front of calls him loudly. "What would you like?"

He catches you moving ahead, speaking to the seller now, before his attention is pulled once more. When he turns, the smell of fish makes his eyes water. "Come, son! Try some shioyaki!"

"W-Wait—" Out of the corner of his eye, he can see a flash of cream, your arms moving around. The lady in front of him steals his attention again. "No, I'm not— I'm not hungry, aunty, but thank y—"

"Nonsense!" she says, wrapping a tissue around the ends of two sticks. "Frail boy, you need to eat more! Try some, okay?" He peeks over to your stall and you're gone. He's lost you again. He curses beneath his breath; he's never even liked shioyaki (Mattsun’s voice comes to him, then, It's because you're salty enough.) but now he hates it, swears he's never going to so much as look at mackerel ever again.

He pulls out his wallet and hands over a few notes in exchange for the food. "Thank you," he says, whilst eyeing the fish sticks with enough malice to burn right through him. He has half a mind to stomp on them right now, the hard-working aunty's feelings be damned.

But he doesn't because he's mature (because he's also wearing Makki's shoes and that man will kill him in his sleep if he ruins them in any way).

He steps away with a pout that betrays his immaturity only to walk right into you.

"Oh, sorry!" you say and he freezes. It seems even the universe has given up on him. How on earth did he miss you? Where did you go? Why isn't he saying anything?

"My fault," he finally says, but he thinks it's a little too late. You've scrutinised him enough in the long three seconds it took him to come back down to earth.

"Tooru?"

"Who, me?" He laughs, nervously. "I'm not sure who—" your face drops, utterly unimpressed with him, and he slumps over "—Fine. It's me."

You sigh like you're tired of him already. "What are you doing here?"

"Well, I'm not here for you," he feels the need to say. "I was just… hungry."

You raise a brow, unbelieving. "For shioyaki? Really?"

"The aunty was really convincing!" You walk away and it's only natural that he follows alongside you. "And it's grown on me now, you know?"

"Eat up, then," you say, nodding to the untouched meal. He feels bile rise in his throat at the thought of doing just that.

"No… I'm not hungry anymore," he mumbles. Your laughter sharpens to a glare when he follows with, "You made me lose my appetite."

"You're such a bad liar," you grumble before holding out your own food. "Want some?"

"If you're offering," he grins, making sure to take a massive bite right where you've been eating from. Warm chocolate spills into his mouth, but you snatch it away before he can take another bite. He holds out one of his sticks to you. "Wait, we should finish this first."

"'We'?" You snicker. "That's all yours."

He whines your name and he thinks maybe you're just as weak for him as he is for you because you don't put up much of a fight after that.

You both eye up the too-salty fish with disgust, pushing them together with a pathetic, 'Cheers!' before digging in.

You both pull away with loud groans, ignoring the side-eyes from passersby. He manages to finish his in two bites, barely containing the urge to throw it up immediately. After your first go, you try to wash away the taste with a bit of your taiyaki; it doesn't seem to have the desired effect because your face scrunches up and it makes him burst into laughter.

"Come on," he says, grabbing onto your wrist and tugging you a little ways down the street. He spots a stall selling refrigerated drinks and lines up.

Amidst your complaining, 'Why would you even buy that? You should get your money back!', he takes the stick from your hand, holds his breath, says a prayer in his head, and finishes the rest of it in one go.

You laugh at him when he sticks his tongue out in disgust, and it's like the salt moves down his throat slowly just to taunt him more.

"Thank you," you sing, grinning at him. He can't bring himself to do more than groan in response. When he gets to the front of the line, he asks for two bottles of water and hopes they're enough to make him forget the last 2 minutes of his life.

He's pulling out his wallet when you stop him. "Are you paying?"

"Sure," he says. "But feel free to offer."

"Definitely not," you snort before turning to the seller. "Can we get the soy-milk drink too, please?"

"Help yourself," he grumbles as soon as the seller turns his back.

You nudge his arm teasingly. "You can afford to splurge a little after yesterday, don't you think? This is just the start of my compensation."

He sighs, eyes softening when you perk up to take the drink.

You walk out of the market area together, and he sips on your milk between taking bites of your taiyaki. You don't seem to notice that he's led you to his car until he opens the door for you (like a gentleman, like a lover. His own thoughts make him giddy.).

You hesitate. "You don't—"

"Come on," he says, hand reaching for the strap of your bag. You're about to protest and he continues, "It's dark and cold, and are you really going to miss the chance to sit in a Bentley? Only 6 of these were made, you know?" It doesn't seem to impress you, so he gets pushy, pulling your bag off your shoulder and urging you into the car. "Come on, you're letting my baby get all cold."

(He's talking about the car, of course. What else?)

You roll your eyes and sit in, and he beams, shutting the door behind you. He places your bag in the back seat before walking around to his side. You snort quietly as soon as he settles into the car and he's quick to ask, "What?"

"Nothing." You shake your head, laughing to yourself. "You just… you look like you stole this car, not that you own it." A beat passes and you squint at him. "Did you?"

"Why're you making me out to be a bad guy, huh?" he whines, taking off his sunglasses.

He gestures to the glove box and you open it, raising your brow. "Are you really asking me that? Seriously?" You pull out the empty glasses case, taking the sunglasses from him and putting them on yourself.

He turns the car on, putting up the heating. He huffs quietly as he does so, mumbling, "I've always been good to you." Which is the truth, for the most of it. At least, he's always tried his best to make it true.

He almost expects you to say something sharp. Robbing me was good? Keeping secrets and lying and breaking up with me with no explanation was good?

But you don't. You hum, instead. "How do I look?"

You turn to him, brows raised above the top of his glasses. They're too big on you, slipping down the bridge of your nose, taking up half of your face, but all he can say is the simple truth. "Cute."

"Yeah?" You turn away, reaching for the sun visor. He can't stop watching you. The smile on your face drops as soon as you get a look at yourself. "What the hell?"

“What’s the matter, pretty?” he asks. You’re too annoyed to react to his words — he doesn’t know if he’s grateful for that or if he hates it. Would it be weird if he repeats himself? Would you stop him from going any further?

“I hate you,” you whine, and he watches as you wipe the corner of your lips, dried sauce flaking off of your skin. “Why didn’t you tell me I was walking around with chocolate on my face?”

Because you’ve done it to him before (no, he hasn’t forgotten. And no, this one instance doesn’t make you two even.). Because he was too busy hanging off of your words to interrupt and stop you. Because if your face is messy then maybe passersby won’t look at you with heart-eyes and he can have you all to himself tonight.

“It makes you look cuter. Endearing.” You glare at him, completely unimpressed, and he grins. And before he can stop himself — because you’re looking cute in his shades, because he’s always been a fool for pretty things (a singular pretty thing, really) — he wets his thumb and presses it to the corner of your mouth. You had wiped it all away, and he’s sure you know that, too, but you let him do it all the same. You don’t say anything about the way his eyes soften. You don’t say anything when he skims over the swell of your bottom lip. You don’t say anything when his fingers cradle your cheek, too.

He thinks you lean into it, too. He didn’t realise how cold he had been until your warmth pressed against his palm. Or maybe he’s dreaming now and he had pushed himself on you. Either way, his heart is racing more than it should because it’s been so long since he’s touched you and he doesn’t want to stop, even if he knows he should.

“There we are,” he whispers, and he traces over your lip, again, just because he can. “You’re all clear now.”

His little finger brushes against your throat and he simpers when you gulp. Is he making you nervous? He wishes he could see your eyes. Are they open? Are they focused on him? Will you let him—

You clear your throat and he recognises it for what it is. Pulling away, his fingers wrap in on themselves, wanting to hold onto your warmth for as long as possible.

“Thanks,” you mumble, turning back to the mirror. He hums, watching as you pull the glasses off and lick your lip; it makes him content, makes him ache.

It’s quiet for a few moments as you both orient yourselves. You put his glasses into the case and tuck them away. He holds onto his steering wheel and gets used to the cold again.

“Here,” he says, breaking the tense silence as he takes his phone out. “Put your address in and I’ll drive you back.”

“It’s fine,” you say, shaking your head. “I can still get the train and I—”

He laughs you off. “Don’t be like that. We just went through this.” Should he apologise? Would that make you feel better? You must know he isn’t sorry, he’s only a little wanting, but he’ll say it for you if it gets you to stay for a bit longer. “It’s not a big deal.” It isn’t. Nothing will ever be too much for him when it comes to you. And if you want to ignore the fact that he was inches away from kissing you, then that’s not a big deal either. It isn’t.

“Alright, fine,” you sigh, taking his phone. “But I don’t want you coming over in the middle of the night, bleeding because of a failed robbery one day.”

“As if that’d ever happen,” he scoffs. “I never fail.”

“I’m being serious. I don’t even have a first aid kit.”

“Well, now I want to see how much you’d panic if I did come over—”

“I’d let you bleed out—”

“You’re so mean!”

The journey to your place is too short for his liking. He listens to you ramble about work and that annoying co-worker of yours who claimed your proposals as his own—

(“Want me to get rid of him? I can make it look like an accident.”

“You can’t joke about that kind of stuff, Tooru,” you chastise. A beat passes. “Could you really, though? Wait, have you ever actually—”

He looks away from the roads just to wink at you. “I can’t kill and tell, cutie.”)

—and he turns the radio on when you tell him you’re tired of talking—

(“The radio always sucks at this time,” you fuss. “Way too many ads.”

“Want me to sing for you instead?” he asks, clearing his throat like he’s going to start belting out something powerful. How did that one Adele song go?

“God, no,” you snort. “You’re a lot worse.”

“You’re so mean,” he sings, stretching out the syllables to the sound of your laughter. He clicks his teeth, pouting. “You’re not too tired to complain, huh?”

“Of course not.” You grin and he almost swerves off the road trying to hold your gaze. “Never too tired when it comes to bullying you.”

Minus the ‘bullying,’ he thinks your words are going to be his lullaby for tonight.)

—and he thinks about taking the wrong turn just so he can spend more time with you.

He knows he shouldn’t, and so he follows the GPS’s ‘Take the next right. Your destination will be on the left.’ until he’s right outside your building.

“Thank you,” you say, yawning into your hands and blinking slowly. You don't try to leave instantly and Oikawa takes the opportunity to admire the way you sleepily rub your eyes.

"Any time," he murmurs, and a part of him wants you to take him up on that offer, wants to see you tired and awake and everything in-between again.

You give him a small smile. He's back on his bed, phone in hand. He's not tearing up, he's just tired. He's too old to swallow his thoughts; he's too young to give up on the stars.

"It was— It was good seeing you." It doesn't feel like a weight has lifted off of him. Not when there's so much more he wants to say. Not when this sounds so much like a send-off, like the good-bye he's never wanted to give. And before he can help himself, he says, "I missed this." And because he likes torturing himself, he adds, "Missed you."

Maybe you're too tired to keep your guards raised. Maybe you're too tired to act like you don’t know him as well as you do. Either way, you keep your smile. Your eyes droop at the corner. He's not crying. You face the door and you're quiet when you admit, "Me too."

And he had thought it would be enough, knowing you feel the same — still felt the same, just like him, always his — but hasn't his grave shown that nothing is ever enough for him?

Your hand is on the handle, but you don't pull it open yet. Instead, you turn back to him. "Do you want to come in?"

"I shouldn't."

"Probably not." Your eyes are tired, hopeful. "But do you want to?"

He's greedy. This hole isn't deep enough. "More than anything," he tells you.

He thinks about how easily he could kiss you now, how he could follow you into your building, press you up against your door and kiss you some more there, too. And he wants that, he wants all of that and so much more, which is exactly why he can't do any of it.

The light in your eyes looks as close to stars as a dead man deserves to see.

He's greedy, but he's too tired tonight. The shovel slips from his hand and he watches a shooting star flit across your irises, basks in the remnants of its warmth. He wants to cast a wish in the starshine of your eyes before the dust settles.

He doesn't make a wish.

He takes the risk and kisses your forehead. "You're tired," he murmurs, so close he could kiss you again, lower, longer. "Get some rest, okay?"

The click of the door handle opening sounds a lot like a hammer coming down on a nail.

It's so pathetic it's almost comical how, when Oikawa gets a taste of something, he lets it consume him.

Matsukawa buys meals from a new side dish shop one time and Oikawa only eats there for the next two weeks because everything's so good, so fresh, isn't it about time we have personal chefs?

Hanamaki downloads a new game on their shared console and Oikawa plays it nonstop, completing the main mission and the side quests in little under three days.

You call him one day and he thinks it's a great idea to call you the next.

Truthfully, he knows it's a bad idea. He does it anyway.

Because it's been so long since he's seen you and one night together isn't enough for him. He'll keep his distance — he can do that, to keep you safe he'll do that much at least — but he wants you in his vicinity a little, just on the outskirts of his vignette gaze, there but faded—

"Tooru? You okay?"

—there but faded but all he finds himself straining to focus on.

He hums, closing his eyes and picturing what you're doing. "I just wanted to check up on you," he says before you can ask. It sounds like you're outside, breathing evenly so you must be sitting down. "No pesky cops today, right?"

There's a beat before your laughter rings out. You sound further away now. Have you put him on speaker now? He doesn't know why but it has a kaleidoscope of butterflies bursting inside of him. It feels oddly domestic. "Wrong! He hasn't come up to me or anything, but I'm eating outside" — Oikawa grins — "and he's, like, right across the road from me. It's actually kind of creepy and— oh, he's coming over now, what the hell? This is all your fault—"

"My fault?" he cries. "I was trying to be nice, why didn't you tell me he'd come, I could've done something or—"

"That would've been worse, don't you think?"

"Right, right, just… just calm down, it's fine."

"I am calm." You've always been good at staying level-headed. He feels his hand twitch with your nerves. He's always been good at getting under your skin. "I'm not doing anything wrong."

"Exactly."

"I'm only talking to a bank robber—"

"There's no proof—"

"Hello, again," he hears the officer say and immediately his mouth snaps shut. "I'm not interrupting, am I?"

You clear your throat nervously. It passes off as awkwardness, you have nothing to worry about.

"No, you're good. It's fine." It's anything but fine, really. Oikawa wonders how purple he looks right now, holding his breath, waiting for the cop to somehow know it's him on the other end of this call and lock you away because of him. This is all his fault. "Um, babe"— and he'll take all the blame because where did that come from? He's got a too-big smile on his face and not enough regret in him now— "it's that officer I was telling you about yesterday. Can you hear him?" That last part must be your way of confirming that he's on speaker, that he needs to be anyone but himself.

He could be whimsical and dramatic, but that's too dangerous, too much like himself. The wanted man. And if Oikawa lets on that you're speaking to him, then this officer definitely won't stop harassing you.

The quirky lover is out. Instead, he digs deep through decades of friendships, letting the ghosts of head slaps and bruised skin possess him, to channel his innermost Iwaizumi. He grunts into the speaker of his phone like a bull.

You clear your throat like you're stifling a laugh and Oikawa has to grit his teeth to do the same.

What would Iwa-chan do? Should he say something? What would he even say? Iwaizumi's always clipped, straight to the point. 'What?' Is that good enough? Or should he say, 'What's the problem?' Or 'What's going on?' No, wait, he should ask you if you're okay, right? That's what a good boyfriend — babe, you called him babe, and it's been replaying in his mind ever since. What should he say to get you sweet on him again? — would do, isn't it? He's taking too long to answer, he can feel it, why isn't someone else speaking up?

The officer clears his throat and Oikawa lets out a quiet breath, grateful until he remembers that that's the enemy. And the enemy currently has you — his lover, his darling babe — in his dirty clutches.

"Ah, I'll keep this short," the man says, and he sounds just as close to your phone as you do. Is he sitting down next to you? Is he making himself at home? Are the crime rates really that low that he has time to waste like this? Oikawa has half a mind to rob another bank right now. "I just wanted to check on you again, ask if you had any more information to give. Sometimes details come to you later, and we wouldn't want to miss anything that might help put criminals away, would we?"

"Of course not," you grumble, but he continues like you hadn't said a thing.

"So, has Oikawa reached out to you? Or anyone else in contact with him? You know, he's a very dangerous man and—"

"And you think I should stay away, I know," you cut in. "But I was looking into it and doesn't he have an alibi?"

Are you seriously trying to defend him right now? Why— well, he knows why, but why bother? It only makes you seem more suspicious considering the situation, but… Oikawa can't deny it has a little part of him melting like butter, hot, sizzling and giddy.

"Yes, but—"

"So, maybe you're wrong about this," you suggest. "I mean, it's possible it was someone else, right?"

He speaks through gritted teeth. Oikawa's proud of how you've gotten on his nerves with just a few words — he'll take all the credit for that, thank you. "We are pursuing multiple leads and suspects."

"Really? How come Oikawa was the only one mentioned in the news then? And then the police took it all back this morning, too? It just doesn't make sense to me that—"

"Our priority is the people's safety," he interrupts. Oikawa hears the ruffle of clothes. Is he finally leaving? "Like I said, if you have — if either of you have — any information at all, then do come forward. Thanks for your time."

You give a plain greeting, and Oikawa doesn't even bother with an Iwa-chan grunt. He waits until you give him the all-clear.

"Holy shit, I think I made things worse." His heart picks up like it's yours. You speak so quickly. "I did, didn't I? Why'd I do that?"

"Baby, calm down. You're okay."

"No, I— I thought I was being smart but it just makes me seem so suspicious, doesn't it?"

A beat passes before Oikawa says quietly, "Maybe a little." You groan his name. "But it's fine! He knows we have history, doesn't he? It just comes across as you being a little defensive over someone you knew — you know, like how you don't expect the worst of someone you've known for a while. It's fine."

You groan again. He thinks he hears you slap yourself on the forehead and it makes his own flare up with heat, makes him frown. "Yeah," you sigh, "except the other day I told him I hadn't spoken to you in years and that we ended on bad terms, so this was just…" You trail off into another heavy groan before grumbling to yourself, "Why'd I do that?"

"Oh." There's a moment of quiet before he asks, "Then, why did you?"

"Because you—" you splutter, and he wonders how funny you look, screaming down at your phone. "You make me do dumb things!"

His mouth parts, but he doesn't know what he should say to that.

'I didn't do anything.'? That's a lie. He tipped the first domino all those years ago and he's been digging down ever since.

'You'll be fine now. It doesn't matter.'? He can't promise you that, no matter how much he wishes he could.

He wants to ask why he still has an effect on you. Wants to hear the answer from you instead of entombing himself in half-thoughts and what-ifs.

You fill the silence. "I should get back to work."

"Yeah. Yeah, of course," he mumbles. "Burying yourself in work is the best way to forget about things," he teases but his voice is strained, taut.

You laugh, bitter. "I wish."

His stomach turns with the idea that you can't let go of him either. He wants to ask you if he's right, if your hands are rope-burned too.

Before he can entertain it any more, the click of the call ending nails itself into his ears. He wants to call you back, but Hanamaki knocks on his door and he thinks maybe it's better this way.

"I think I've done something I shouldn't have."

"What?"

Oikawa hears your TV playing in the background until you mute it. You repeat yourself and he listens to your quiet breathing as you wait. It's late, windy. He has to focus.

"What would you do if I said I was outside your place right now?"

A beat passes. "If you're bleeding then I swear—"

"I'm fine," he interrupts, smiling. He wants to take it back, though, wants to know what you'd do if he was out here bleeding. Do you really not have a first aid kit? "A little cold, though."

"Why are you here?"

In a way, he is bleeding — he has been for a long time, he thinks. Because he tore himself from you and you left a wound in his side and he doesn't want to heal if you're not the light stitching him back together.

"Because you make me do dumb things, too."

You end the call, but he doesn't hear the crude sound of metal piercing wood. He wonders what's different. Did he just miss it? Is there dirt in his ears and is the dark playing tricks on him—

He sees the light when you open the front door and he crosses the road to you without even looking.

"You don't have to let me in just because I'm here," he says in lieu of a proper greeting. He stands at the entrance of your building, rocks on his heels because he doesn't know if he should be in the light with you or retreat back into the dark. "I know I shouldn't be here, so if you want me to go then I'll leave right now, but I had to— if I don't at least try then I don't know what else I'd do."

"Do you want to come in?"

He doesn't tell you he shouldn't, doesn't leave it up in the air this time.

"Yeah."

You take a step back and he follows you under the lights until you reach the lifts, until you take him up to your apartment. There’s a block of wood separating you from the rest of the world. You make a casket feel like home. Maybe he could spend the rest of his life here.

As soon as the door closes behind him, he's on you. Pulling you into a hug, his fingers sink into you where they can, squeezing your waist, sticking to your shoulder blades. "I'm sorry," he whispers, because it's finally just you and him. No pesky officers, no stringent right hand man, no reasons to let go right now. "For, for breaking up and never telling you anything and putting you— god, I missed you so much." You find out how much it hurts to make your own grave when his fingers dig deeper into you, a dead man and his final breath.

"It's okay," you say, and you cling onto him just as much, like his reflection, his shadow, the dirt under his nails.

"It's not," he cries. He's hunched over your body, soaking your shoulder like you're a pillow and he's that boy all over again.

"It is. You're here now." He burrows his face into the crook of your neck, shaking. "I missed you, too, you know?"

He pulls away, and your eyes are red-rimmed and tired, lashes wet with his tears. He sniffles and it sounds disgusting, but it makes you smile all the same.

"Yeah?" You nod and he licks his lips. "Say it again."

"You're so needy," you tease.

"I know." His fingers cling onto your sides, his voice is hoarse. "You are, too, though."

"Not as much as you."

'That's because I love you more,' he wants to say. It's at the tip of his tongue. His gaze drops to your mouth and — you're right there — he wants to go for it. Wants to push the words out of his mouth and have you swallow them down, so you know how real they are.

He could.

You're right there.

He presses his lips to your forehead instead, and it's soft, you're soft, his palm is flat against his coffin but he doesn't push. He closes his eyes and holds himself there, pulling away just to place another that's shorter, bittersweet.

"I'm not gonna let anything happen to you." He can see the dew on your cheeks and he wants to wipe it away, wants to touch you wherever you'll let him, wants you to kiss him back, anywhere, everywhere. "You know that, right?"

“I know,” you murmur. A breathless laugh escapes you. “But this is so… God, I don’t even know. I know I shouldn’t trust you, that this is all— this—” your fist shakes the air between you, but you don’t step away “—is dangerous for me, but it’s like I don’t even care. I still trust you. I still want—” You hit your head on his sternum, neck bowed, voice far, far away. “How do you do this to me?”

He cradles the back of your head, keeps you flush against him. He wants to ask you the same question. How can you make him want to throw his life’s work away so easily? How can you make him want to do nothing but stand here and hold you to him for the rest of his life?

The king in him is tired of the weight on him, but you’re right there; he kisses the crown of your head because he’s always been a fool for you.

“I don't… If this is just for tonight then I'd rather not— I’d rather not get my hopes up,” you murmur. Your smile burns through his shirt. “It's fine if you don't want anything more, but if you don't, then I… I just don't think— why are you laughing?” You jerk away, but he keeps you close, hands sprawled across your back. “I'm being serious—”

“I know.” He smiles, luring you back in. “And as much as I'd like to hear more about how much you want me—” he kisses your nose, watches you gulp “—I'd rather show you I'm not going anywhere this time.”

You worry over your own lip, like you're arguing over what he's said in your head, alone, losing, and he can't have that.

He kisses you, finally, pulling your lip from your own mouth and into the grave of his.

He never knew death could taste so sweet; a dying man clings to life, but Oikawa’s desperate to dig deeper now, sink his teeth in the soft bed of your lips, rest his tongue on yours until it withers away, wanting you to sip the ghost of him.

He promises, “I’m not gonna leave you again.” Your breath is warm, fanning across his face, and he forgets what it feels like to not be under your low-lidded, scorching gaze. You’re his final breath. “Don't think I can,” he laughs against your mouth and you seal his vow with your lips, bruising, blazing. His eyes slip shut, but the dark doesn't scare him when you flash white-hot, honey-wanting and bright behind his eyelids; and the door, his casket, doesn’t hurt his back any more, he leans on it, his home; his hands break free from the grip of a shovel, they don’t ache around the curve of your body, they bleed into your waist like he was sculpted to hold you.

He doesn’t stop digging. He doesn’t stop wanting to see the stars. He didn’t realise how easy, how beautiful, it is to keep the dead down: with your fist in his shirt and your heart hammering in his chest, he thinks he could stay this way for however long it takes for him to turn to bone, however long you needed him to.

He thinks it will be okay. If you can swallow his words and he can nestle his way between your ribcage, curl himself around your beating, burning heart, it will all be okay.

He doesn’t mind love gnawing at his flesh if it’s done by your pretty, trembling lips.

“You don’t know how much I missed this. Needed this,” he says, panting against your mouth. His body aches all over, he can’t feel a thing. He doesn’t want to feel anything but your body under his, not when you’re finally right there. “Been dreaming about this for so, so many years, you know?”

He devours your ‘Me too’ in a heavy kiss. His lips are dry, fervent, but they’re not lonely slotted against yours. It’s a perfect fit, he thinks. Lock and key. Shovel and dirt.

“Worst mistake I’ve ever made,” he grits out, forehead resting on yours. He’s still the crying boy, but he’s happy now. “I swear, I’m never, never, doing that again.” He can’t keep his mouth away from you for too long, rough, demanding, desperate. “Never staying away from you. Always gonna come back to you. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you again and I’m not—”

He doesn’t mind being buried anymore if your body is his coffin.

“—I’ll die before I ever let go of you again.”

Tonight, he makes a grave for himself in you.

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