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hweiro · 7 years

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Sunday morning rain is falling (Haikyuu, Iwaizumi/Oikawa, R:PG-13)

Me: I should edit the next chapter of ‘Could be the one’. My brain: No, you need to write the thing. Me: What thing. My brain: The thing. *shoves a thing* Me: No. My brain: Yes. Me: *screaming internally*

So, uh, here’s another short fic-bit I dashed off in the Iwaoi established husbands!AU. Un-betaed, so please forgive any mistakes I might have made.

In other notes, I should probably figure out how to format my fic title details across my stuff.

Iwaizumi yawned, stumbling out of their bedroom with heavy eyelids and even heavier feet. Of the two of them, Oikawa had always been the early riser; a habit written into his system by early team practices and even earlier warm-ups.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Oikawa seated at what they had dubbed the ‘kitchen island’ - the bar-top table attached to their apartment’s tiny kitchen unit, with barely enough space for a single man’s elbows, much less two. Stacked neatly in a basket on his left was a sizable amount of fan-mail; judging from the pile of unfolded papers building up on the brunet’s right, Oikawa was already halfway through them, eyes skimming over the carefully-neat writing and cute sticker-hearts from behind over-sized glasses.

It was a part of their usual Sunday ritual - Iwaizumi would sleep in, enjoying the liberty of doing so once a week, while Oikawa would wake up and read through the mail the team manager regularly passed to him. Even now, his hair was tousled, sticking up in all directions as he snuffled, pulling the blanket around his shoulders more snugly around him, long legs tucked in close on the stool he was seated on. Sunlight pooled in the crook of his neck where the overstretched collar of his sleeping-shirt had drooped a little too low, fanned shadows that darted down sharp cheekbones as Oikawa looked up, blinking owlishly at his husband.

“Oh, you’re up earlier today.”

“Mmm.” Iwaizumi’s feet did not pause in their shuffle towards the coffee machine, where he knew a full pot of coffee was already waiting for him. It had taken Oikawa a while to figure out how to work the coffee maker - one of the few things Iwaizumi had brought along with him when he had first moved in - and the right amount of beans to use, but he had stubbornly insisted on mastering it.

“I refuse to be bested by a machine, Hajime,” he had huffed, glaring at the coffee-maker balefully as he slammed the pot of freshly brewed coffee onto the counter. “So sit down, drink up, and tell me if this batch is acceptable. And don’t you even think about lying to me, I will know.”

It wasn’t; neither were the ten or so tries after it. But one of Oikawa’s best characteristics was his bull-headed tenacity, and these days, Iwaizumi would be the first to admit that his husband probably knew how to use his coffee machine better than he did.

The caffeine in his system woke up his words; mug clutched firmly in hand, he moved over to the kitchen island, dropping himself onto the seat beside Oikawa’s. Oikawa had already moved the already-read mail away to make space for Iwaizumi, waiting until Iwaizumi was firmly ensconced on his seat before he leant on the other man’s shoulder, wriggling around until he was comfortable. A tuft of soft hair tickled Iwaizumi’s cheek; lifting a hand, he brushed it off his face, careful not to obstruct Oikawa’s reading.

“Any funny ones this round?”

Oikawa hummed, a short, dipped sound that indicated the negative. In his older age, the setter had gotten more conscientious about the things his fans sent him. He insisted on at least looking at the letters sent to him, and was careful to not dispose of gifts, even the more shoddy ones.

“They’ve put in a lot of effort into getting these things to me,” he had explained to Iwaizumi once - needlessly, really, but Iwaizumi had humored him, allowing him to voice his justification out loud. “And some of these take courage to write and send in - the least I can do is ensure their hard work doesn’t go to waste.”

Iwaizumi had kissed the guilt off his face that night, caught the silent apology with his lips and swallowed it with the sounds Oikawa had made as Iwaizumi pressed him backwards against the blankets, fingers already tugging at the drawstrings of Oikawa’s pants. Even now, he idly started scrolling through the notifications of his phone as Oikawa read portions of the letters aloud, adding random commentary on some of the more eloquent bits.

“Apparently, my eyes are 'the most beautiful shade of hazel on this earth’, Hajime.”

“Huh - this person was our schoolmate back in Seijou. I wonder if she came to our games then?”

“Ooh, this one wrote a haiku!…oh. Oh.” Oikawa’s voice was golden with repressed laughter; Iwaizumi could feel the tiny trembles of amusement that shook the brunet’s body along his side. “It’s a racy haiku. She’s very…it’s very…wow, is this even possible?”

Iwaizumi looked up from where he was tapping out a quick reply to his colleague to glance at the sheet Oikawa waved in front of him. “…well, I suppose if she were really flexible.”

“Do you feel flexible, Ha-ji-me?” Oikawa’s purr was ruined by a giggle. “Flexible enough to-”

“No,” Iwaizumi told him bluntly, tugging on Oikawa’s hair in warning. “Not even if you bribe me with agedashi tofu.”

“Awww, no fun.” Mouth curved into an exaggerated pout, Oikawa nevertheless went back to his reading, putting the suggestive letter aside as easily as he had done the others. Iwaizumi dropped a lazy kiss to the crown of Oikawa’s head before he went back to his phone.

Was there ever a time that Oikawa’s guilt would have been justified, that Iwaizumi had hated the amount of attention Oikawa gave to fans of his volleyball skills and public personality? Iwaizumi didn’t think so; the brunet’s general appeal wasn’t something that had bloomed overnight. Oikawa had always been popular, even when they had merely been best friends, before Iwaizumi had fallen in love with him.

Still, younger-Iwaizumi might have felt a little more insecure, been a little less sure of his place in Oikawa’s affections when there were so many other options laid out before the setter, a veritable buffet of eligible partners for Oikawa to select from. Older-wiser-Iwaizumi though…

“Oh, this one’s looks like a nice one,” Oikawa mused. “'Oikawa-san, I’ve been a fan of yours for years, ever since we used to-”…“ His voice trailed off, but Iwaizumi knew full well what the rest of the letter said.

Oikawa-san,

I’ve been a fan of yours for years, ever since we used to play on the same volleyball team together. Even now, I still watch you - it’s hard not to. On the court and off it, you always demand my attention, and I can’t help but give it to you. I tried to stop once, but we both know that didn’t turn out particularly well. So these days, I allow myself to look at you whenever I want.

I’m not very good with words, but you already know that, right? Sometimes, I wonder if you know me better than I know myself. Maybe you do. But it goes both ways - maybe I know you better than you know you.

I don’t know when Saisaki-san will pass this to you - probably with the latest set of letters, since I sent this by post properly. I’ll keep this short, since you have other letters to read as well, but since this is a fan letter, I’ll list some of the things I love about you.

I love your commitment - to volleyball, to your fans, to us.

I love your smile. I love your ugly tears too.

I love when you insist on spooning with me, even on the humid nights.

I love how you call my name.

I love that you love me.

I love you.

Your fan, Iwaizumi Hajime

"Hajime.” Hands caught his face and turned it towards Oikawa’s, his eyes bright in the shards of sun that fell across his face. “Hajime.”

Iwaizumi wordlessly leant down as Oikawa tilted his face upwards, sealing the seams of their lips together as the blanket fell from Oikawa’s shoulders to the floor. Oikawa tasted like the coffee he had perfected for Iwaizumi, and Iwaizumi curled around him, his hands already reaching for the frayed hems of Oikawa’s sleeping-shirt even as Oikawa tangled his in Iwaizumi’s short hair, moaning into Iwaizumi’s mouth.

“We should stop at Tokyu Hands tonight. I want to buy a nice frame for that letter, maybe hang it above our bed,” Oikawa would say later, idly tracing circles along Iwaizumi’s naked side as they lay on their bed, bodies cooling atop the rucked blankets.

“Oi,” Iwaizumi would mutter, turning to face Oikawa, “you don’t have to do that."

"No,” Oikawa would agree, “But I want to. Hey, Hajime, since we’re here and all, how do you feel about trying the position that haiku earlier suggested?”

Iwaizumi would groan but roll over, pliant under Oikawa’s prodding fingers. “I’m going to regret this.”

Oikawa would laugh, smile brilliant in the dim bedroom. “Maybe, but we’ll never know unless we try, right?”

#fanfic #haikyuu #iwaoi #iwaizumi hajime #oikawa tooru #fluff #established relationship

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