#OIKAWA ANGST DID YOU SAY NOW.

[revasserium]

@fuckinglevi: #what if i cried so hard i flooded my room and house and neighborhood. what would happen#what if. what if i exploded. what if i what if i acted normal about anime characters#whatever dude. TAKE OIKAWA OFF THIS LIST I CANT HANDLE THIS TODAY!!!!!#thinks about oikawa angst. smiles

me: *adjusts glasses*, *pours a glass of wine*, *stretches* me: opens new notion doc --

[alpali]

the perfect match ᥫ᭡

includes: kageyama x fem!reader, oikawa is readers ex boyfriend, 3k words, angst, fluff, sexual innuendo but no smut, mentions of alcohol, cursing, miscommunication, , college au, mutual pining

note: idk how to feel abt the ending(-.-;) let me know what ya guys think, reblog and leave a comment! I like reading your guys thoughts! enjoy<3

The first time you laid your eyes on Tobio you were on your way to class.

He had a milk carton in hand. His deep blue eyes, jet black hair and monotone expression. He was incredibly attractive and just the sight of him already had those butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

The first time Tobio sees you is in his English class.

He never was that good at English and you weren’t helping either. He’s caught himself staring at you one to many times. Luckily you haven’t noticed.

At least that’s what he thinks.

Kageyama is stuck at the vending machines in the campuses cafeteria. He’s narrowing his eyes, deep in thought.

He’ll just get milk today…

No! The yogurt—

“Hey!”

He jumps, turning around and locking eyes with you. He blinks at you, not fully registering that you’re actually talking to him.

“Kageyama right? You left your notebook.” You wave it around and he purses his lips.

“Oh. Thank you.” He says, your guys hands grazing one another. The both of you perk up at the slight touch, coughing awkwardly.

“Are you stuck on choosing?” You say, not wanting to let this chance slip.

He nods.

“What are the options?” You stand next to him, shoulders grazing. His ears redden at the contact, trying to focus on your words.

“Milk or yogurt.”

You laugh.

“That’s it?”

He narrows his eyes.

“Yes. Is that a problem?”

You giggle again and the corner of his lips perk up.

“Nope! Of course not. I say the yogurt.”

He thinks about it for a bit and you smile at how cute he looks so deep in thought.

“Did you want one?” He asks before.

“I’m good…”

He narrows his eyes again and you laugh.

“Guess that’s my cue. I’ll see you around!” You wave, leaving his side. He waves back, feeling rather prideful that he was able to talk to you.

“So we meet again.” You say slyly.

Here you were both again.

At the vending machine.

“How about you try my favorite hm?” You tilt your head and he gulps, your cute antics getting to him.

“Ok.”

“Man of few words.” You click your tongue.

He awaits for your choice. You’d probably pick the coffee or probably a tea.

Wait a minute…

His brows furrow in confusion as you pull a yogurt out. You laugh at his expression.

“What?”

“All of that teasing last time just for you to choose the exact same thing.” He deadpans.

“I just wanted to mess with you.” You smile and he finds himself smiling along with you.

“Very funny.” He says sarcastically, choosing the milk.

“Now that’s something I can’t get behind.” You shake your head.

“What?” He pouts.

“How do you just drink milk.”

“It’s good for you. You don’t drink milk?”

“Only if I eat something sweet.”

He hums.

“You don’t pay attention in class do you?”

It catches him off guard and he quickly looks to the side. Have you noticed his staring? You have.

“Not really. I don’t like English.”

“I can tell.”

He glares.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

You bite your lip.

“Nothing.” You drag out and he pouts.

“If you ever need help I’ll be more than glad to help you.” You smile.

“I might have to take you up on that offer then.”

“Great! Let me give you my number.”

His eyes widen a bit.

“Uh ok, sure.”

“Or not?” You back track.

“No no, I’ll take it please.” He avoids your eyes. You smile at him and happily type your number in his phone.

“Perfect! I’ll text you ‘kay?”

“Ok then.”

“Bye Kageyama!” You smile, waving and leaving once again. Another successful day for him again.

The two of you begin texting one another frequently. Completely forgetting your guys English class in general. You guys talk about your interests, what you hate, your hobbies. He tells you he’s on the volleyball team for your guys college and your interest in him only grows. You both had settled on a day to study. He didn’t like the sound of you tutoring him.

You arrive at the library and set up your things, awaiting his arrival.

“Hey sorry I’m late.” He whispers.

“I got us snacks.” He places the food, all of them being what you had mentioned you liked. Your heart warms at the small act.

“Thanks Kageyama. You didn’t have to.” You gush and he smiles.

“Take it as my thank you for helping me. Also you can just call me Tobio.” He almost murmurs the last part.

You smile softly at him.

“Okay Tobio.”

He blushes almost immediately, trying to distract himself by hurriedly pulling out his things. The study session goes perfectly and he actually did pretty well.

“You’re a pretty good teacher.” He smiles, packing up his things.

“Am I? Maybe I should start charging people.”

He pauses.

“You tutor other people?”

You grin.

“Don’t worry. Just you Tobio.” You eye him and he averts his eyes, his ears going red.

“I’ll make sure to pay you next time.” He mumbles.

“Next time?” You say coyly.

“W-Well I mean only if you want to.”

You grin, absolutely loving his reactions.

“I’m teasing you. You don’t have to pay, just take me out.”

He thinks he might just die.

The girl that he’s been pining over a month just asked him to take her out?

He’s definitely short circuiting.

“Take…you out?” He finally locks eyes with you and now you feel yourself growing nervous.

“I-It was a joke sorry!” You wave your hands, a blush creeping on your cheeks.

“Are you sure? I mean I don’t mind.” He says blankly and you blush even more.

How did this turn on you?

“Um yea. We can just text each other the details.” You laugh awkwardly.

“Ok. Sounds good. I’ll text you.” You hum the both of you leaving the library.

Tobio wasted no time in texting you. He was eager to take you out but the only problem was.

He was nervous.

Like.

Really nervous.

When was the last time he took a girl on a date? God he can’t remember.

What the hell does he do?

A picnic? It’s been snowing.

Maybe some food and walking around. That sounded decent to him. But would you be fine with that? He was overthinking too much.

He ends up going along with it and you agree enthusiastically, which eases his mind.

The day has finally come and he’s back to shitting bricks. He stands in front of your dorm room awkwardly, a bouquet of flowers in his hands. He takes in a deep breath, knocking on your door.

“Coming!”

He hears from the other side and he his hands are sweating. You swing open the door, smiling up at him. But your eyes widen at the flowers.

“I got these for you.” He holds them out, glancing away. Your eyes soften and you gently take them from him.

“Thank you Tobio. They’re so pretty.”

Like you.

But he doesn’t have enough courage to let those words spill out.

“Are you ready to go?”

“Yea! Could you help choose a jacket though? I don’t know which one goes with my outfit.” You pout. He shakes his head in amusement as you hold two jackets up and he chooses.

“Ok! All ready.” You smile, leaving and locking the door.

He takes you to a simple but nice diner. You ramble most of the time but he listens to every word you say intently. He talks about volleyball and you comment about it too.

The rest of the day is just that.

You guys window shop as you drag him into every story imaginable. Showing him outfits that’d suit him, all with a small smile lacing his face.

You guys get dessert as well, laughing when he gets a little bit of frosting on his nose.

On the walk back to your guys campus the conversation turns a little deep. The both of you talking about past relationships or experiences in general.

“You’ve never had a girlfriend?” You blink up at him.

“I mean I’ve talked to girls but no, it’s never gone that far. You?” He eyes you.

“Just one. In highschool.” You seemed to be lost in thought.

“He played volleyball too.”

Tobio snorts at that.

“Guess you’ve got a thing for volleyball guys.”

You pout.

“Hey I didn’t know you played!”

It catches you off guard for a bit. I mean obviously you could call this a date. And it’s not like it’s some secret that you guys have a thing for each other. But nevertheless it still makes your cheeks warm.

“I know I’m joking.” He chuckles.

“Ahh, I’m rubbing off on you.” You raise your brows.

“I guess you are.” You both laugh. However his next words make your laughter die out.

“So how’d it end?”

You stare off. The snowy night, tickling your face.

“Sorry I don’t know why I asked.” His lips pull into a line, mentally slapping himself.

“No it’s okay. It didn’t really end well. He was a heart throb. It was hard to maintain his attention because every girl at school liked him. So it just felt like I was competing to keep his attention on me.”

He listens carefully, a frown on his face.

“I’m pretty sure he regrets it now.”

You smile.

“Probably. I’m too good for him anyways.” You toot your own horn.

“Yea you are.” He fully means it.

“Am I too good for you?”

The words leave your mouth before you can even think. You’re about to bow on the floor, scream a bajillion apologies—

“Yea.” He says so genuinely, his eyes boring into yours.

The both of you had stopped walking. Your guys face flushed. However you’d both liked to blame it on the cold weather. A smile creeps on to your lips as you stuff your hands into your pockets.

“What a shame. I think we’d be a perfect match.” You look around playfully, leaning back and forth on your heels.

He tries to hide his smile, chewing the inside of his mouth.

“Yea?” He raises his brows, staring at you with delight.

“Mhm!” You hum, continuing to walk down the street.

“Hey, wait.” He grabs your hand.

“So…what does this mean.” He purses his lips and you laugh.

“What do you think it means.” You tilt your head.

“Do you like me?” He flushes.

“Obviously you dummy.” You laugh again.

“I’m not good at these things okay.” He glares at you yet your bright smile is contagious.

“Well then you’re lucky I’m a patient girl. We don’t have to put a label on it yet. But don’t take advantage of my patience.” You give him a stern look but he blinks.

“But I like you too.” His brows are furrowed.

“I know. I’m just saying we don’t have to rush things.” You play with the zipper of his jacket. His eyes soften as he looks at you.

“Okay then.” He smiles, taking your hand in his. The both of you walking back to the campus contently.

It’s been a month of numerous dates, showing up to his games, studying with each other and Tobio being the sweetest guy you’ve ever met.

After midterms a party was being thrown after weeks of rigorous studying.

“Come on Tobi! I wanna go with you.” You pout.

He grimaces.

“I don’t know. It’s not my kind of thing.”

You pout again and he almost immediately changes his mind at the sight of it.

“It’s okay then, I’ll just go with my friend.” You play with his hair.

Almost on cue your friend perks up, smiling deviously.

“Don’t worry it’ll be so much fun! Although guys could be a handful. Especially if they’re horny and had a drink or two.” She eyes Tobio with a smirk.

Tobio frowns.

“I’m going.”

You stand there cluelessly as your friend laughs in victory.

The party was a week from now and you take this as an opportunity to go shopping with Tobio.

“Do we really have to go shopping. It’s just a party.” He sighs as you drag him into a store.

“This is the perfect time to shop. I can dress you up!” You smile.

“What’s wrong with my clothes.” He looks down at himself.

“Nothing Tobi, I just wanna match.” You peck his cheek. He blushes and abides.

“This is so hard. You look good in everything.” You pout. He smiles, playing with your hair.

“Why don’t we get your dress first then go from there.” He suggests and you nod.

“Smart man.” You smirk at him and he chuckles.

Now he finds himself in your shoes.

Because all of these damn dresses look too perfect on you.

“Maybe I should just go with this black one.” You look at yourself in the mirror, giving Tobio a twirl.

He gulps at the sight of you, not trusting his voice. He hums, nodding his head as he tries to settle his thoughts.

“So does it look cute?” You swing his hands.

“Yea you look beautiful.” He chews on his lip, a nervous antic that you noticed he has. You grin to yourself when you realized the effect you had on him.

“We’re gonna be the hottest people there.” You smirk, your hands placed on your hips. He laughs at your pose, shaking his head.

Loud music is heard from the house. You and Tobio are barely on the front yard.

“Are you sure you wanna go in? We don’t have to.” You pout, noticing how tightly he was gripping your hand.

“Just as long as you don’t leave me.” He murmurs. You smile, cupping his cheeks.

“I won’t.” You peck his nose and he feels his nerves melt away.

When you both enter, it’s hot and musky. Bodies pressed up on bodies, sexual tension swimming through the air and the heavy stench of alcohol.

“I never asked you? Do you even drink?” You glance up at him.

“Not really. Only when the guys have some at hangouts.” He says referring to his teammates.

The two of you greet your friends. His teammates eyes bulging out of their skulls when they see him.

“No fucking way! How the hell did you convince him to come!” They exclaim, slinging an arm over his shoulders, pointing at him.

“With a kiss!” You tease and Tobio glares.

“Don’t lie.” You guys laugh and he blushes as you talk to your friend.

Tobio talks with his teammates as his hand rests on your thigh, rubbing it soothingly. A little habit to show he’s still here.

“We’re gonna go use the restroom okay? Don’t move an inch.” You wiggle a finger at him.

“You don’t want me to come?” He’s about ready to stand up.

“I’ll be quick!” You peck his cheek.

Your friend and you disappearing into the sea of people. His shoulders slug, a frown on his face.

“You hit the lottery man. When did you guys start dating?” He laughs, taking a swig of his beer.

“We’re not dating yet.”

They all look at him like he’s insane.

“Why the fuck not?!”

This was the last thing he wanted to talk about. He’s not one to share his personal life even if he sees these guys everyday.

“We’re taking things slow.” They all hum.

“I heard some guys from another university are coming.” One of them says.

“Yea, I think we played against them.”

Tobio zones them all out.

“Kageyama!? Fancy seeing you here!” He turns to the voice.

“Welp here they are. At least two of them.��� One of his friends says.

“Oh. Hey.” Tobio nods. The guy grins at him.

“You! At a party? I gotta get a picture of this. Iwa take one yea?”

“No.”

“You’re such a party pooper!” He rolls his eyes.

“Anyways. Are you guys ready? We’ve been learning some new things~”

They all talk about their match coming up soon. Unaware of you staring at them all from afar.

Your heart is hammering against your chest and your legs feel weak.

“No way…” Your friend says from beside you.

They knew each other?

Scratch that.

They’re friends?

Your head is racing with questions and thoughts.

What were the fucking odds.

You knew this was too good to be true.

“W-What do I do.” You glance at your friend and she’s as lost as you are.

You see Oikawa laugh, his eyes tracing the crowd and then.

He locks eyes with you.

His eyes widen, his stare unwavering. Tobio follows his eyes and he lights up.

“Oh. There she is.” He says, getting up from his seat on the stool.

Oikawa’s eyes flicker to him, then back to you.

“You know her?” Oikawa huffs out.

“Uh yea?” He raises a brow.

“They’re together!” His friend yells and he glares at them making them laugh.

Iwaizumi’s eyes widen, awaiting Oikawa’s reaction.

“Seriously?” He says with distaste.

“We’re talking.” Oikawa scoffs as Tobio makes his way over to you but you step back.

“Hey I was waiting for—what’s wrong?” His brows furrow.

You gulp.

Your eyes not meeting his. With no words leaving you, you’re off.

“What—Hey!” He chases after you.

“Aww their first fight.” One of his friends says. The other laughs at Oikawa’s face.

“I know man. She’s a gem. Can’t believe he pulled her honestly.”

Oikawa’s jaw tightens, the red solo cup in his hand crunching.

“That’s my fucking ex girlfriend.” He grits.

Everyone is speechless, eyes wide.

“Damn.”

Tobio is spamming your phone.

Calls, texts, all of it and you aren’t answering any of them. He’s worried to no end and more than confused.

Did he do something wrong?

Are you okay?

Why weren’t you talking to him?

He’s out of breath from running back to campus. He reaches your dorm room, frantically knocking. Your friend opens the door and he frowns.

“Where is she.” He huffs.

“She’s…not here.”

His frown deepens.

“Where the hell is she.” He glares.

“She’s staying at a friend’s.”

Tobio closes his eyes, sighing.

“Tell her to answer me please. I was worried about her.” Your friend nods closing the door.

It’s been almost a little over a week and you haven’t talked to Tobio at all.

He found out the news from his teammates and was shocked. It was a little awkward but in no way did that change his feelings for you. They also told him that you were probably ghosting him and that scared the shit out of him.

He liked you so much and he didn’t want to lose you over this. All he wanted was to talk and he knows he’s not good at it but he wasn’t going to lose you like this.

He’s been showing up to your dorm almost every day. Hoping to find you there. Just how long were you going to avoid him?

With high hopes and determination, he knocks. He shifts on his feet.

Silence.

He sighs.

Maybe tomorrow.

The door opens and he snaps his head towards it.

It’s you.

His eyes soften and gulps.

“Finally.” He seems relieved but you avoid his gaze.

“Can we talk? Please?” He steps closer.

You nod and he steps inside.

“Look I heard what happened and I—”

“I think we should stop seeing each other.”

His heart drops.

“What—Why?” His breathing becomes faster.

“You didn’t tell me you were friends with him.”

“I didn’t know he was your ex boyfriend!—Why does it even matter?” He says, his brows pulled together.

“You guys are friends Kageyama!”

“I wouldn’t say friends. Why are you calling me that.” His heart feels like it’s gonna burst out of his chest. His chest feeling tight.

“Do you know how awkward this is for me?”

“No I don’t. Unless you still have feelings for him. Do you?”

“Of course not!”

“Then why is this bothering you so much?”

You sigh frustratedly.

He kneels down in front of you, grasping your hands.

“I—like you. A-A lot.” He gulps, trying to gather his words.

“I wanna be with you. You said we were the perfect match and I believe that. I always will. I don’t wanna lose you.” He says desperately.

His hands tighten around yours, his thumb gliding along your knuckles. Your bottom lip jitters as you look down.

“If you’re not over him, I’ll wait. I’ll wait as long as you need me too. I-I don’t want anyone else.” His hands move to cup your face, wiping your tears.

“I’m sorry.” You gasp out.

He pulls you into him as you cry. His eyes are shut tight as he holds you. You sob as you grab his shirt. He rubs your back soothingly as he nuzzles into your hair.

“It’s okay.” He whispers.

His words calm you down, the way he holds you. You missed him so much. You were stupid to think you could push him away. When your breathes begin to even out he pulls away. His hand caressing your face. You lean into his touch as he wipes your tears again.

“I don’t like him. I feel nothing for him. I was just so overwhelmed by the situation, I didn’t know what to do.”

He listens to you, his eyes softening. This was his first time seeing you cry and he’d do anything to take your pain away. To have that bright smile grace your face, the smile he fell in love with.

“I should’ve just talked to you but I pushed you away and hurt you.” You frown. He shakes his head.

“It’s okay. I understand. It must’ve been hard for you.” He says quietly.

You can feel his breath on your lips. Your noses practically touching one another’s. The both of you gaze at each other, your eyes falling on each other’s lips. With no words to be said, your lips meet in the middle.

The kiss is soft, sensual, hesitant. It lasts a second. Until he’s pulling you in for another. Your lips connect again, this time with no hesitation.

The kiss deepens as your hand comes up to grasp around his wrist. You both pull away and kiss again.

And again.

The kisses more frantic and feverish. His hands fall to your hips, as your lips move in sync. Your hands glide along his neck and you fall against your bed. He climbs on top of you, not breaking the kiss once.

Before things could escalate, he pulls away from you. His arms resting beside your head, caging you in. You both are breathless, with plump lips and messy clothes. His eyes are lidded as he stares down at you. Your hair is splayed out on your bed, framing you so beautifully.

“I’m done taking things slow. Can I be your boyfriend now?” He whispers, still not fully recovered from your guys make out.

You break out into a smile. Your hand cupping his cheek, swiping his bangs out of his face.

“Yes Tobi. You can be mine.” He smiles wildly.

“My pretty girl.” He whispers, kissing you once again.

© alplai

[adumbratrapedme]

dating you for a bet | oikawa x reader

happy ending with oikawa | cute ending with matsukawa

Synopsis. Oikawa Tooru, the charming and ever-popular volleyball captain, surprises everyone—including himself—when he asks the quiet first-year, Y/N, to be his girlfriend. What begins as an unlikely romance blossoms into something beautiful, filled with stolen moments and heartfelt confessions. But behind Oikawa’s practiced smiles lies a secret that could shatter everything.

wc. 600 aprox. | genre. angst |cw/tags. oikawa being a bitch |pair. oikawa x reader

It was late afternoon when Oikawa leaned against the railing of the rooftop, the sun casting a golden glow over his sharp features. Y/N stood across from him, clutching her bag tightly, unsure why the third-year volleyball captain had called her here. “Y/N-chan,” he began, his voice unusually gentle, “I’ve been watching you for a while now.”

Her cheeks flushed a soft pink. “W-Why?”

Oikawa chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Because you’re different. You’re not like the girls who scream my name in the hallways or obsess over my every move. You’re... real.”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard. She wasn’t used to such direct attention, especially from someone as popular as Oikawa.

“So, I was wondering,” he continued, taking a small step closer, “would you go out with me?”

Her heart raced, the sincerity in his tone making her doubt the stories she’d heard about his flirtatious nature. After a moment of hesitation, she nodded.

“I-I’d like that,” she whispered.

Oikawa’s grin widened, and for the first time, she felt like it wasn’t one of his practiced smiles for the crowd—it was just for her.

The months that followed were like a dream. Oikawa made her feel like the only girl in the world, shielding her from jealous whispers in the hallways and holding her hand boldly in public. He’d surprise her with little notes in her locker, sneak her out for late-night stargazing, and even let her wear his team jacket on particularly chilly days.

“See, Y/N-chan?” he teased one afternoon as they shared crepes at a local café. “You fit perfectly into my world.”

She laughed, her eyes sparkling. “I think you’ve been spoiling me too much, Oikawa-san.”

“First of all, it’s Tooru,” he corrected, leaning closer. “And second... I can’t help it. You make me want to be better.”

Y/N’s chest swelled with warmth, and she couldn’t imagine a time when she’d been happier.

It was a text message that shattered her world.

Y/N had been rummaging through Oikawa’s bag for a pen while he was in the shower after practice. His phone buzzed, and the name “Iwa-chan” appeared on the screen. Normally, she wouldn’t have snooped, but the preview caught her attention.

Iwaizumi: So, did you win the bet yet or what? You’ve had plenty of time.

Her stomach twisted uncomfortably as she unlocked his phone, scrolling through the chat history.

The texts unfolded like a nightmare:

Iwaizumi: 5,000 yen says you can’t even get her to hold your hand. Oikawa: Make it 10,000. I’ll have her wrapped around my finger in no time. Iwaizumi: Don’t get too cocky, Oikawa. This isn’t your usual fan club girl. Oikawa: Relax, Iwa-chan. I’ve got this. Watch me.

Her hands trembled as she read further, the pit in her stomach growing heavier. The texts started months ago, before they’d even begun dating. But what hurt the most was seeing how casual Oikawa had been about it at first, as though their relationship had been nothing more than a game to him.

By the time Oikawa emerged from the bathroom, towel draped over his shoulders, Y/N was already on her feet, holding his phone in her hand.

“Tooru,” she said, her voice quivering, “what is this?”

He froze, his wide eyes darting from her face to the screen.

“Y/N, I can explain—”

“Explain what?” she interrupted, tears streaming down her cheeks. “That I was just some bet? That you used me so you could win money from your friends?”

“Y/N, please,” he said, stepping closer, his voice desperate. “It started like that, but it’s not like that anymore! I—I care about you. I love you.”

Her heart clenched painfully. “You don’t get to say that, Tooru. You don’t get to turn this into something real when you started it as a lie.”

He reached for her, but she stepped back, shaking her head. “We’re done.”

“Y/N, wait—”

She didn’t. She grabbed her bag and bolted out of his room, leaving him standing there, drenched in regret.

Oikawa sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the phone in his hands. The texts that once seemed like harmless banter now felt like daggers. He hadn’t meant for it to go this far, but somewhere along the way, he’d fallen for her.

And now she was gone.

The room felt emptier without her laugh, her warmth, her everything. He buried his face in his hands, wondering if he’d ever get the chance to fix what he’d broken—or if he was destined to spend the rest of his life haunted by the memory of her tear-streaked face.

Can he ever earn back her trust, or will his mistake be the end of the best thing that’s ever happened to him?

tbh i do think oikawa would do something like this BUT i dont think iwa would be part of it, but i just added him for the plot.

[strwbrryeyes]

☼ bye ☼ (oikawa tooru x reader)

⟡ cw: she/her pronouns used, angst, break up, getting back together at end, idk im still bad at these, lmk if i miss anything else

⟡ a/n: i have my own interpretation of this song so it doesn't really follow the meaning behind it? idk but i still like it (even if i did write it poorly) but bear with me this song didn't have a lot to work with despite it being very catchy also rip a good third of this was just iwa #iwa4life

⟡ eternal sunshine masterlist

You and Oikawa had been dating since your third year of high school so about 4 years now and to say you had a wonderful yet disastrous relationship was an understatement. He was the perfect boyfriend, attentive, loving, caring, admirable- anything that comes to mind. Oikawa Tooru was picture perfect and so were you. At least 99% of the time. That 1% that was not perfect was whenever you would feel insecure or jealous of the girls that would constantly throw themselves at him. It’s a silly thing really, he did choose you over everyone else after all so you didn’t think you had anything to worry about and Oikawa thought so too so he never really reassured you and tried to take those insecurities away from you. Anytime you brought up how uncomfortable you felt with how touchy his fans were with him he would shrug it off and tell you to pay no mind to it but never actually address how you felt about it all.

There were countless times where you would lie awake at night thinking about if you were really just overreacting or if you were actually valid in the fear of losing Oikawa’s interest over time as he gains more fame and as more girls fall for him. You even confided in two of your best friends, Matsukawa and Hanamaki, and sure they were also best friends with Oikawa but over the last few years they have not been that close to Oikawa considering how much he traveled for volleyball, regardless though, they remained as neutral as they could. The pair of boys would reassure you and say that it’s just the result of the spotlight Oikawa has had on him since the beginning of high school. This reasoning made you feel better and you would shrug it off for as long as your mind would let you. It was a constant cycle and you were as used to it as you could be until one day when Iwaizumi knocked some sense into you.

☼ ⋆。𖦹˚⋆

“Listen [name], as much as I cherish shittykawa as my best friend, I also cherish you just as much.” Iwaizumi says with a worried expression on his face as he slows down his pace as you two were on your weekly jog and after you didn’t respond for a few seconds, he stopped jogging all together and grabbed your wrist to make you face him. “Break up with him.” Iwaizumi said with all seriousness in his tone.

You had just told him about your most recent fangirl incident where a fangirl asked for a picture with Oikawa where he would kiss her cheek, this wasn’t an unusual request that was asked of him but that didn’t make you feel any better every time it happened even if you did simply roll your eyes at it and just shrugged it off every time. This time was different though. As Oikawa was going in for the kiss on the cheek, the girl turned her head so that their lips would collide. Of course the girl faked a panicked apology and said she wasn’t ready and just turned to ask him a question and of course Oikawa said it was okay in an all too calm manner causing the girl to give you a smug look when Oikawa turned around to tend to another fan. At that point though, you didn’t even bother bringing it up to Oikawa because you thought he would just dismiss it as usual.

“I was expecting you to find some way to defend him to be honest… I was kind of hoping you would actually…” you sigh as you sit down at a nearby bench with Iwaizumi sitting down next to you.

“Why would I defend him?”

You sigh while burying your face in your hands “I don’t know? Because you guys have been friends since you were childr-” “We’ve been friends for ages, [name]” Iwaizumi interrupts you “All three of us met each other at the same time back in grade school. Just because I’ve spent more time with Oikawa doesn’t mean I don’t care for you both equally and because I care for you two idiots so much…I think it is best for both of you to end things.” he continued as he forced you to face him once again.

“But Haji…he’s all I’ve known. Even before we started dating in our last year of high school… it has always been Tooru.” Your words begin to wobble as you feel a few tears fall down your face.

“Which is exactly why you guys need to at least take a break,” Iwaizumi begins as he wipes away a few tears. “You need time for yourself, to figure out what you want out of this relationship or any relationship. Hell, to figure out what you want for yourself, [name]. For the last few years you’ve been following Oikawa around while he plays volleyball and not once have I seen you be passionate about your own interests. You’ve made your life revolve around him ever since we graduated high school.” Iwaizumi’s tone starts to harden causing you to slowly stop crying “As for Oikawa, he just needs to get his head out of his ass and realize that there are other people in the world besides himself.” Iwaizumi finishes before standing up and holding out his hand to help you up that you accepted. And with that, you knew what you had to do.

☼ ⋆。𖦹˚⋆

“Welcome back, darling!” Oikawa greets you with a kiss on the forehead as you walk into your shared apartment. “How was your jog with Iwa? What did you guys gossip about this time~” Oikawa wiggles his eyebrows as he waits for your response since he knew you both would always talk shit about people.

As you walked to the couch without saying a word, Oikawa followed you assuming you were tired and just wanted to sit down and catch your breath first but that assumption didn’t last long when you turned to look at him with a serious expression making him confused

“We need to break up, Tooru.” you finally say, causing all the  color drain from his face.

“What do you mean we need to break up? I thought everything was going great?” Oikawa sputters out while desperately grabbing your hand.

“Everything is great but there are just some things we need to think about if we want to continue with this relationship…” You start off before explaining all the things that have been troubling you along with the talk you had with Iwaizumi.

After a long talk that lasted hours and that included a lot of emotions, you and Oikawa came to an agreement to end things and to better yourselves- you with your confidence and insecurities and individuality and him with his consideration for other people and how he handles boundaries he and other people set. You also both talked about the possibility of maybe trying a relationship with each other  if you both still had love for each other later down the line.

With all that said and done, Iwaizumi came and helped you pack your things right after the break up just so neither you or Oikawa would back out of it and by afternoon the next day, you were moved out of the apartment you had known for the last few years and moved in with Hanamaki and Matsukawa who were more than glad to give you their spare room.

You were now excited to start a new part of life even if it would take a while to get over the grief of the relationship and even if it did take a while to stop crying every night because all you wanted to do was call Oikawa. You knew better than that though. This was the best decision or the both of you.

☼ ⋆。𖦹˚⋆

Two years later, Oikawa’s fame in the volleyball community skyrocketed and he was doing what he loved and always dreamed of, while you were the happiest you’d been in what seems forever.

The last two years have taught you both a lot about yourselves and allowed the two of you to grow as people. You have grown more confident with yourself and have picked up new hobbies and have gained passion for a few things that you plan to turn into a full fledged career and you were excited for what more the future holds for you. As for Oikawa, he has become less self-focused and has set proper boundaries with his fangirls and even other people, overall has just gotten better at maintaining his relationships with his friends, family, and whoever else mattered to him. Except you.

You and Oikawa haven’t spoken to each other in a year and half but that doesn’t mean you guys didn’t think about each other all the time. Oikawa has never left your mind and you have never left his. Admiring each other from afar, you both have grown very proud of the person the other has become. You both have gotten so proud of each other that it's gotten to the point where it’s so bad that Iwaizumi, Makki, and Mattsun have to force you and Oikawa into the same room to finally talk and catch up so they wouldn’t be forced to listen to your praises for one another every time one of you so much as blinked.

So that’s how you ended up stuck in Iwaizumi’s room with the door blocked on the other side so neither you or Oikawa could escape.

“We’re not letting you out until you kiss!” Makki shouts from outside the room earning a smack on the head from Iwaizumi.

“Ignore him and just talk.” Mattsun says with a giggle before walking away with Makki leaving only Iwaizumo to guard the door.

After a few minutes of awkward silence, you finally gathered the courage to sit next to Oikawa who was sitting on the floor on the other side of the room. He watched you as you fiddled with your hands before grabbing them into their own as to calm you down since he always knew that was a sign of you being anxious. And in that moment, you hugged him like you were never letting him go and of course, he hugged you back with the same amount of love and care before you both started happy crying.

After a few more moments of emotional silence, you pulled away from each other and talked about everything you’ve been wanting to talk about for the last year and a half and it was like you never left each other’s side.

“I missed you, Tooru.”

“I missed you too, angel.”

Finally, after all this time, you both had talked things out and decided to try things out again. You loved Oikawa and Oikawa loved you and you would and will do everything you can to never be apart from each other ever again.

[koushisun]

runnin' home to you

Iwaizumi x GN!Reader, reader and iwaizumi both graduated from UCI, sequel to - Where the Love Light Gleams -

WC: 2.7k - angst to fluff, getting back together

A/N: i wrote this almost 3.5 years ago and figured it was finally time to post it lmaooo

You have no idea how you ended up in this situation.

One minute, you were washing dishes peacefully in your apartment, and the next you were braving LA rush-hour traffic to pick up Oikawa from the airport.

After your break-up with Iwaizumi two months ago, you hadn’t really expected to see him again.

“Oikawa? What’s up? Is everything ok?” You were in the middle of washing dishes when your phone rang. After quickly drying your hands with a fluffy dish towel, you picked up the phone, only slightly confused at seeing Oikawa’s name.

You heard him gasp loudly through the phone. “Must something be wrong for me to call you?” You could picture him with his hand over his heart, dramatic as ever.

Rolling your eyes, you replied, “I guess not.” You moved away from the sink and over to your living room, plopping down on your couch. It was a… well-loved couch, one that you had thought of replacing many times, but kept for Hajime’s sake. He really seemed to love that worn, green sofa for some reason.

“Well anyway, I need you to come and pick me up from the airport,” Oikawa stated happily.

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

“I know you know what an airport is.”

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

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

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

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

Apparently.

“See you then!”

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He hums, nodding you along.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know.”

—

“You want me to do what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course I did.”

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You are?”

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

The kitchen was an absolute mess, though.

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

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

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

“I made us all dinner, obviously.”

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

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

Well, that’s not concerning at all.

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

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

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

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

It was pretty gross.

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

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

“Well, I wish you the best of luck!”

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[chimielie]

sun seeker

summary: you are a princess, a future queen. somehow, this is still not enough.

word count: 1.5k

cw: fighting, oikawa’s an asshole (sorry), arranged marriage/royalty au, fake history stuff, angst to fluff (i guess), i’m not telling you who the love interest is but like. Guess, misogyny, ambiguous ending

a/n: if i tell you that i imagined a whole other side for oikawa will you forgive me? also this was supposed to be a short drabble related to between lightning strikes but it very much was not. my bad

Your betrothed is unexpectedly quiet.

It had only been a few days since you met the crown prince, having been sequestered in your father’s court in the country for most of your life, learning to fill the seat of someday-Empress. The capital is huge, bustling with people, always noisy—or so you surmised from within your veiled carriage. You had thought, as you bowed before the Emperor and Imperial Heir, that your life was finally beginning, finally growing beyond the narrow confines of etiquette training and religious rituals.

Instead, you felt your dreams shrivel and die as your daily routine proceeded exactly as it had for close to two decades. The only difference was time mandatorily spent with Tooru, who seemed… less than enthused by your match.

You had dreamed of someone who chafed against authority as you had, who felt as bound by propriety despite the privilege of your positions. Alas, you found him to be both sullen and arrogant, eager to rule but in denial of his own dissatisfaction with a noblewoman such as yourself. It made you want to scream. You had not chosen the circumstances of your birth, the path which you had been led to walk. It was not your fault that fate had pushed you two so forcefully together without regard for your desires, ambitions, or personalities.

“I was told you visited the temple this morning,” you say, watching your fiancé pause a long sip of tea, his brown eyes temporarily widening. Your face slips momentarily into a frown; you cannot conceal your frustration with his clear disdain for such small talk but unwillingness to bring anything more engaging to your table.

“Yes,” he says finally, setting down his cup. Light brown liquid sloshes over the rim and onto his fingers; he wipes them on his robes without care for the expensive fabric. “There are many rituals that must be done to ensure the most auspicious wedding possible.” His voice catches noticeably on the word wedding. You take a sip of your own tea to hide your grimace.

It is lukewarm. How long have you been sitting here, trying to force civility?

“Did it go well?” You ask in turn, your pitch straining. Behind you, one of the imperial guards snorts. When you try to discern which of them broke character, they have all returned to a stoic, uniform position. You straighten your posture.

“It was satisfactory,” Tooru says. You hear the snort again, and the crown prince’s lips twitch, just barely.

You shut your eyes tightly for a moment, trying to take in a deep breath. Your chest feels tight, though, bound by heavy fabrics and scarlet ribbon. There doesn’t seem to be anywhere for the air to go.

“What did you do this morning?” He asks, and you throw the cup at him.

His Imperial Highness is athletic beneath his aristocracy, and he dodges it easily. It bounces off one of the silk screens behind him and lies, cracked in two, in a puddle of lukewarm tea on the floor. You bury your face in your hands and scream through your teeth, a short, guttural noise that carves a little more space in your chest to breathe.

When you look up again, he stands over you, his perfect brows pulled into an expression of concern. You know without looking that two of the Imperial Guard are standing behind you, hands on their weapons.

“You have asked me that,” you say slowly, fighting to push the words out through the red haze of rage, “twice now. And you asked what my plans were yesterday. And the answer is always the same: wait in my rooms for you to call, because I am a painting of a woman waiting for you to walk in and criticize my form and decide that I am satisfactory.”

“I didn’t—” he says, and for a moment you become a fairytale heroine instead of a scorned princess, sitting on the floor looking up at him with despondent eyes that betray your desire to be loved. “This is what we are,” he decides finally, expression no longer concerned. “I think perhaps you need some rest.”

“You cannot be serious,” you seethe, pushing yourself to your feet. One of the guards puts a hand on you, ready to restrain you.

Tooru turns, his back facing you. He glances back as he exits, tone bored, eyes cold.

“Do not worry yourself,” he tells you, “I still find you satisfactory.”

You lunge after him, but two strong hands clamp down on your arms, hauling you back. You writhe and kick, but when you look up at your guard, his face is impassive, his eyes distant.

“I hate you,” you snarl, and watch as his eyes flicker down to your face. Seeing you. “I hate you,” you say again, but it sounds much more like a sob.

You can’t sleep that night.

The moon is full, high and bright, and every time you close your eyes, you see visions of your future. A glorified concubine, living in an expensive sanitarium, surely to be driven to insanity before your husband can ascend the throne.

You sit up, wild-eyed, and throw your door open with more force than you realize.

“Princess,” says your guard, startled.

“I can’t sleep,” you say, your heart thrumming in your chest. “Hajime, please, I can’t sleep.”

“I can’t let you out of your quarters,” Iwaizumi Hajime, head of your security detail, says.

“I don’t want—” you start, and he gives you a knowing look. “I know. Please just come and—talk with me. A little.”

He sighs, deeply, a rush of wind through cypress trees, and follows you into your room.

“Sit,” you order him, and the moonlight affords you the ability to see his green eyes flash with panic. “I am your future queen. Sit.”

He sits, trying to maintain his stern, professional face, even as you peel his helmet off and run your hands through his flattened hair.

“You lied to me,” you hum, and he jerks under your touch, façade breaking. “You told me Tooru never shut up.”

“I knew him a long time ago,” says Hajime. One of the few who had come with you to Kyoto, he had been raised here and come to your father’s court as a youth to learn to fight. “He’s not—he’s stubborn. He’ll soften eventually.”

“I don’t care,” you say bitterly. “Why did you hold me back?”

“He’s the prince,” Hajime says, his voice rasping with exasperation.

“I am the princess,” you say, and his lips press together into a straight line.

“My princess,” he murmurs. Hajime has always run warm, much more suited for Kyoto’s climate than your hometown’s. When he wraps an arm around you and pulls you against his side, you can feel his body heat through his armor.

“You let him say horrible things to me,” you say. His hold on you tightens.

“He is my oldest friend.”

“I am your—” you sigh heavily, pushing away from him, looking out at the moon. “I am nothing to you. I will live, though I am ungrateful. Many would say I am the luckiest woman in all the land.” The air is very cold without his touch.

“You are not nothing to me,” Hajime says, and you smile wistfully at his selective hearing.

“At least I am satisfactory.” You don’t see what happens, but Hajime’s helmet clatters loudly on the floor a moment later. “What—”

“He is my oldest friend,” he repeats himself, but his voice is low, so deep in his chest you can barely hear him. It does not matter; you can feel his words. “I wanted to kill him.”

Your lips part on a silent gasp, and he leans in close, so close that you can nearly taste him. You’ve always loved the way he smells, something base that relaxes you instantly. You haven’t been this close to him since you left home.

“He’s the Emperor,” he continues, “I can’t hurt him. I held us back.”

“Us?” You ask, his fingers suddenly tightly intertwined with yours.

“Ask me to help you leave,” he says, and you shut your eyes against his gaze, frightening and familiar all at once. “Ask me to take you away from here. I had—I have plans, and you will not be happy with him, Princess. You will be more than satisfactory, satisfied—you will be loved.”

Something knotted tightly unspools in you, red threads laying themselves out in perfect lines. You duck your head and nod against his shoulder, face rubbing against the metal of his armor.

You aren’t likely to succeed, you know, no matter how thoroughly Hajime has planned. Your fiancé will look for you: a stubborn man, like he had said. You do not know if his disdain for you or his love for Hajime will protect you. You could both die.

“Take me away,” you say, voice ringing out like a queen’s.

The moon, at its fullest cycle, chases its estranged wife into the day. The crown prince wakes without his betrothed. The world only spins forward.

[kitkat13001]

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖࣪ 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖𝚜

i can see the end as it begins my one condition is say you’ll remember me standing in a nice dress, staring at the sunset, babe red lips and rosy cheeks, say you’ll see me again even if it’s just in your wildest dreams 

>> tooru oikawa x reader

>> angst, friends to lovers, ambiguous (happy?) ending, fem-leaning reader (no pronouns, one use of the phrase ‘trophy wife’), title and lyrics from taylor swift’s song “wildest dreams”, dividers by @/anitalenia and @/saradika-graphics

oikawa was more than your high school boyfriend. he was more to you than any cookie-cutter definition you could slap on him like a discount store sticker. 

for starters, you’d basically known him since elementary school. 

you still remember the first day of second grade, the chatterbox of a boy who sat on your right and the mellow kid in the godzilla t-shirt who sat on your left. 

the three of you have practically been inseparable since. 

you and iwa were admittedly the more rational of the trio, while oikawa was the lallygagging daydreamer wandering behind you two. 

that is, until you get to high school, and suddenly he’s the volleyball star dreamboat who’s got the whole school fawning over him. 

it felt like a dream when oikawa had asked you out. you’d figured that with his pick of anyone at seijoh, you wouldn’t be at the top of his list. 

you were wary at first, of course. you’re not stupid, and you’re far from naive. for years you had listened to your friends talk about their boyfriends and girlfriends as if they were really, truly soulmates. like their relationships were years rather than months long. you watched them celebrate anniversaries by the week. 

you knew that high school love wasn’t meant to last. but still, this never felt like cliche high school romance. 

tooru was your first everything. and you were careful, cautious to not let this infatuation consume and ruin you like you had seen happen to so many of your friends and their first loves. but it was so easy to love tooru, and to let him love you back. he knew you better than anyone, held the map to your mind and heart alike. your last years in school together were the best you ever had. 

your caution was all for naught, though, as most worries are. all the precautions you’d taken, the bubble wrap you’d encased your heart in useless in the end. 

you don’t know how it never came up before. of course, you’d thought about your plans after graduation. you knew what you wanted to do, where you wanted to go. but whenever you were with tooru, you didn’t give a damn about the future; all that mattered was here and now, just him beside you. 

that’s why it catches you so off-guard when he makes an offhanded remark about argentina when matsukawa asks about his post-graduate plans, like he had already made up his mind. 

mattsun smiles, making a joke and wishing him luck. he says the same to you, good luck with this one here, but you’re still reeling, unable to return his smile. 

tooru laughs before bidding him goodbye, steering you away with an arm around your shoulder. you follow, lost in your head.

“what was that?” you ask, when you’re finally able to form words again. you duck out from under his arm and he frowns. 

“what?”

“argentina?” 

he blinks. “argentina?”

“since when did we decide that we are off to argentina?” you demand, panic and volume rising in your voice. 

he looks half-surprised, and then nervous. 

“well i didn’t…i mean, i didn’t decide, i just thought—”

“didn’t you ever think to ask me?” you cut in. “what about what i want? doesn’t that matter to you?”

“of course it matters to me!” he exclaims, running a hand through his hair. “i just figured we’d figure something out, y’know?”

you’re both flushed, short of breath. but where there’s panic rising in tooru’s chest, you’re beginning to get angry. 

“like what, tooru? that i go with you and be your trophy wife? or we do long distance and never see each other?”

you take a step back, pressing your hands against your hot face, and release a breath to try and calm yourself. 

“tooru, i want to go to college,” you tell him, looking up at him with big eyes. 

“there’s plenty of colleges in argentina!”

“that’s not the point!” you burst, burying your face in your hands. “i just…why didn’t you ask me, tooru?”

“i…i don’t know,” he replies in a helpless whisper. “i want to keep playing volleyball. they scouted me, and it seemed like such a no-brainer, and i couldn’t pass it up, and i—”

your heart freezes to ice. “you already said yes?”

tooru’s eyes shrink to guilty pinpricks. it’s all the answer you need. 

you straighten, taking in a deep breath. you try to compose yourself, even though you feel utterly sick to your stomach. you will your eyes not to well up. 

“well, then i guess we’ll go our separate ways.”

the declaration hangs in the air for a moment, haunting and final.  

you’ve always been able to see past tooru’s facade, past the brave face he always puts on. he talks a big game, but he’s really quite fragile when it comes down to it. 

you see it in his face now, the way he’s practically gaping at you. he’s surprised. 

“you…what?” 

“i think we should go our separate ways, tooru. we obviously want different things, and i just don’t think we’ll be able to reach our goals if we stay together.”

you start to rethink everything as soon as the words leave your mouth, just because of the way he’s looking at you. a pit settles in your stomach as his big brown eyes bore into yours, the very picture of heartbreak. 

“you want to break up?”

“we knew this wasn’t going to last,” you reply quickly, resisting the tears pushing behind your eyes and trying desperately to swallow the lump in your throat. 

“i didn’t,” he whispers. “i didn’t know this wasn’t going to last.”

you clench your teeth and hang your head, a tear slipping down your cheek against your will. 

tooru hates seeing you cry. you hate when he sees you cry. that’s why you don’t hesitate to run into the safety of his arms when he opens them to you like you’re not breaking his heart. 

you feel guilty, traitorous as you burrow into the warmth of his strong torso. shame burns in your gut as the tears stream down your face. his arms are steady and strong around your body, hand warm as he cradles the back of your head.

“it’s okay,” he whispers, shushing you gently. “it’s okay. i love you. i thought i loved you enough for both of us, but it’s okay.”

“of course i love you!” you burst, lifting your head to look at him. you sniff, wiping your face as you disentangle yourself from his arms slowly. “i just…can’t follow you around for the entire rest of my life.”

tooru nods, arms fidgeting like he doesn’t know what to do with them when you’re not in them. 

“right. okay.”

you heave a sniffle, trying to compose yourself again. “when do you leave?”

“‘bout a month.”

“okay.” you inhale, exhale. “okay. well…i mean, until then..?”

“until then,” he agrees, offering you a half-hearted smile and his hand. of course, you take it. 

you’ve been dreading today for a month. it feels like it’s been marked on your internal calendar in big, fat, red letters. in actuality, you couldn’t even write it in your planner because it hurt too much. 

you offered to accompany tooru to the airport. he told you he’d be fine, you didn’t need to, but you had insisted. it was the least you could do after shattering his heart. 

so here you are, walking him up to the gate. neither of you have said much on the way up here. to be honest, neither of you have said much since that day you decided to end it with tooru’s departure to argentina. 

“this is me,” he says, gesturing to the gate behind you. you can hear the fragility behind his voice, that quaver only you’d notice. 

“right,” you say quickly, wringing your hands awkwardly. “well, good luck.”

you almost flinch. three years dating, ten years friendship behind it, and all you can say is good luck. 

“thanks,” he replies, but you know he’s thinking the same thing you are. 

“i mean…” you sigh, but no words come to you. you shake your head, pulling him into a hug instead. 

he’s shocked at first, you can tell by the way he tenses up. but it takes only a second for him to melt into your embrace and then he’s hugging you tighter than he has in your life. 

there’s really nothing else to say after that. you both separate after a small eternity and try not to cry as he heads for the gate. 

he pauses just before he walks through, looking back at you. 

“there’s nothing i can do to change your mind?”

you shake your head, shrugging helplessly. “i would never ask you to give up your dreams for me, tooru. but i can’t sacrifice mine just for your sake either.”

he nods solemnly, releasing a long breath. you can hear the slightest waver in his voice when he speaks. 

“i guess this is it, then.”

“yeah,” you agree, hugging the sleeves of your sweater. sincerity and heartbreak bleed through your voice. “goodbye, tooru. i hope it’s everything you ever dreamed of.”

he smiles softly at you, hanging off every word. 

“don’t forget about me when you’re rich and famous,” you say with a watery laugh, wiping tears from your cheeks.

tooru stares back at you with the most lovesick expression you’ve ever seen, longing and caring and warm and haunting all at the same time. 

“i could never forget you for as long as i live. and one day when i am rich and famous, i’ll come back for you.”

“riches and fame won’t get me back, tooru.”

“no,” he agrees. “but maybe seeing that i’ll wait for you will.”

and with that, he’s disappearing through the boarding tunnel with his bags. and then he’s gone like you had just dreamed him up, five seconds later and already a distant memory. 

his words ring in your head the entire way home as you stare out the window. 

they replay all over again, years later, when your phone lights up with a photo you treasure every day, a name you hear every night in your dreams. 

“hi, tooru.”

this got away from me. if this takes off and breaks ur hearts like it broke mine, i might consider a part two. oikawa is so special to me, pls you have no idea. he’s so 1989 coded too. i <3 soft angst. love and take care, - 𝚔𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚢

[rockleeisbaeeee]

Tw: angst.

part 2

——

He was the it boy, all the girls at his feet, Oikawa Tooru.

You were his classmate, not really friends, just acquaintances. Still he liked your stories and on rare occasions he texted you. He probably did that to other girls, there’s nothing special about it, but you would be lying if you said that it didn’t make you feel special. Receiving attention from boys, and a really handsome one at that, was nice.

Your interactions in school were short, just a few words here and there about class, but it was something. You don’t have a crush on him, well not a big one, you know he’s a flirt and he most likely doesn’t have any feelings for you. Still you threw some glances when he wasn’t looking and offered help when he seemed to not understand the topic, not always because that would be obvious, but since you don’t actually like him it’s fine, or so you say.

——

“Hi y/n” Oikawa said sitting down in front of you, he had that typical smirk he always wore. “You need something?” you said not looking up from the book you were reading. “Ok ouch, can’t I just talk to you just because I want to talk to you?” he said clutching his chest as if in “pain”. You finally looked up and sighed, “fine, what do you want to talk about?” you said looking annoyed, but in reality it felt quite nice that he wanted to talk to you, ok bare minimum, but it was something, to you. “Weeeeeell, I was wondering if you wanted to come to my game tonight?” He said now resting his head on his hand with a look you would describe as expectant. You froze for a bit, why would he want you there? You’re not really that close, and he couldn’t possibly like you so what did he want? “Why?” you said without thinking, “well It’s just that I never see you at any parties or having fun in general, so maybe you could come and have fun!” He said with a full blow smile, wow he has a pretty smile. You were even more shocked by that response, how could he know that you don’t go to parties? You don’t know most of the people that go to them so it seems pointless to attend, but how did he notice your absence? Did he look for you? No, that’s impossible, he was probably just assuming. “Well I’m sorry my type of fun isn’t your type of fun” you said now more relaxed, he was about to say something but you cut him off, “but that does seem fun so I”ll go,” he smiled at that, “So see you there at 7?” oh god he looked so cute, “yes, see you there at 7,” with a quick goodbye he left, saying something about preparing for the game. Fuck, you might like him a bit more than you thought.

——

You were standing at the entrance of the gym, wondering if you should actually get in or just go home, what if he asked you just as a formality, but didn’t actually want you here? Does he actually want you here or he just thinks you’re a loner? Your train of thoughts is interrupted by an all to familiar voice, ��y/n!!!” Oikawa said running to you, you smiled in a greeting manner, but were shocked to be suddenly pulled into his arms for a hug, he quickly pulled away to look at you, his stupid (cute) smile was back. “I like your dress, it suits you,” he said looking you up and down, you were wearing a yellow sundress with a flower pattern, the way he was looking at you made you feel nice, maybe he actually wanted you here. “Thanks,” you said with a shy smile, “so can I just sit anywhere?” you were now inside the gym, Oikawa look around the stands, “well it would be nice if you seated near the front,” he said now looking at you expectant, wow he did want you here, “nice, I’ll be going so you can get back to your team,” you said looking back at him, “I would insist for you to stay here, but the game’s about to start so I should go” he looked a bit sad when he said that, but you probably imagined it, well, you can’t know for sure, this situation is kind of weird if you really think about it, if you looked at it simply it seemed as if he was trying to flirt with you, you didn’t want to see it before, but now it was too obvious to ignore.

You bid each other goodbye and while he returned to his team you went to find a seat. You found one near a group of girls, one had Oikawa’s jersey, probably a fan, they were talking, but you weren’t near enough too hear what they were saying, not that you really cared, he had a lot of fans that went to his games so you were expecting this.

The game started and you had to admit, he was a really good player, he had this focused look that forced you to look at him, he moved flawlessly across the court, he was clearly made for this.

——

With a bang made by the ball the game ended, everyone on your side of the stands cheered, you looked down at the court to look at Oikawa, if you hadn’t done that you would’ve noticed the girl that had his jersey run down to him. You were about to go down too until you saw that girl jump into his arms and kiss him.

You stood dumbfounded, he had a girlfriend, did you imagine everything?, Your eyes burned, sign that if you didn’t go out soon, everyone would see your crying face.

You quickly ran for the exit trying to not be seen, this was so embarrassing. “Y/n!!” Fuck, he saw you. Composing yourself you looked at him, hoping your face didn’t show anything of the turmoil you were feeling inside, “congrats on the win, you seemed busy so I didn’t want to interrupt,” he looked at you with what you could only describe as a guilty look, that little shit, “yeah me and my girlfriend were having problems, but we’re all good now. So-“ you interrupted him, “that’s nice, glad it worked out, my mom is waiting for me at home so I have to go, bye” you didn’t let him say anything back and just left.

As soon as you were out of the gym you started running, you didn’t know where, you just had to get out of there.

——

After a while you stopped, you looked around and didn’t recognize your surroundings, but that didn’t matter, everything that just happened came down crashing on you, so you started crying, it soon turned into full blown sobs. Now you got it, he was just using you as a second option in case the things with his girlfriend didn’t work out, you felt so stupid. Just when you finally thought someone would actually choose you it turns out you were just an unused replacement. Second best. It hurt, really bad. So you kept sobbing in an unknown place.

——

I made this cause I wanted to rant about the situation I’m in, I dramatized it for plot purposes, but the feeling is the same. It’s the first fic I’ve ever made so it probably isn’t that good, but I enjoyed writing it and that’s what matters :)

[nanasrkives]

Navigation : midnight records! the starlight EP! haikyuu EP!

── .✦ "DID I TELL YOU THAT I MISS YOU?" ─ Oikawa Tooru

I've been rewatching season 2, my shaylaaa i missed you content : one shot. angst. timeskip. 900 words. 3rd pov. before reading! its better to read while listening to "did i tell u that i miss u" by adore

The city was bustling, but she could not get away from the silence that surrounded her. The world moved around her, yet she was still. She was in front of a big screen downtown, watching Oikawa as he floated gracefully on the volleyball court in the Olympics. His face flashed in her mind, and she heard the soft murmur of the crowd.

She hadn't planned to stop her walk and didn't think she'd be drawn in. Yet here she was in the city, frozen in time. Her heartbeat echoed louder than what surrounded her as the song started playing, a tune she could not flee from even if she wanted to. Did I tell you that I miss you? The words had the feel of being created for this era, for everything she hadn't spoken, for everything they hadn't repaired.

She could barely breathe.

All of this—this place, this moment, this feeling—was too much.

Argentina had always felt like another world. The air was heavy with memories, warm with all the moments they had shared. But that day, when they were standing on the beach, Oikawa's hand was cold in hers. His voice, usually strong, shook.

"Do you think I can do this?" he said, his eyes showing weakness and doubt she had never witnessed before.

She smiled softly, combing her fingers through his hair, which was tousled by the salt air. "Of course you can. You have always known how to make it happen."

Yet even as she spoke, she knew. She knew his dreams were bigger than what she could offer him. She knew that one day, this place and these moments would be only a memory. She did not know if they already were imperceptibly fading in ways neither of them had noticed.

And now, here in front of this screen and seeing him play in front of thousands of people, that memory is but a shadow. A shadow too far away to be grasped.

The song snuck in under her headphones, gentle but persistent. Did I tell you that I miss you? It was a question you don't ask because the answer hurts too much to say. It stayed with her in her chest like a sigh, one she hadn't been able to get rid of for years.

She glanced at her phone again—Oikawa's name continued to blink, taunting her. The distance between them now seemed so vast, so unforgivable.

He's moved on. He's elsewhere.

She always knew that he was meant for greater things. His ambition was always larger than their love, larger than Argentina, larger than Japan. He became the player that he always dreamed of being. And it was not with her.

The truth weighed on her chest, heavier than the sounds of the city, heavier than the lights. She knew she could not prevent him from proceeding. He had discovered his place in Argentina, where the applause sounded like home, where the team sounded like family. And she was just a memory, a chapter that did not have to be written anymore.

The last time she saw him in Argentina, the farewell was extremely subdued and had a dreamlike quality to it. His eyes were filled with dreams and promises as they met hers, as though he wished to recall everything. The weight of all that was unsaid hung in the air between them.

"I will come back," he promised, taking her hands in a warm clasp. "I will do it. You will see.".

She wished to believe him. She wished to reassure herself that everything would be fine. But her stomach clenched and she felt a foreboding sensation inside of her, one that told her they couldn't stop time. They couldn't stop what was inevitably going to happen.

As the plane took off, she pressed her hand against the window, watching as Argentina grew smaller in the distance. This isn't the end, she told herself. But as weeks gave way to months, and months gave way to weeks, the silence stretched between them and became increasingly difficult to bear. And then there was simply, nothing.

Her eyes were on the screen, but everything was blurry. The city around her was vibrant with life, but her life was motionless, and the song went on. Did I tell you that I miss you?

The question stayed in her mind, the words gentle but piercing. She couldn't help herself. She did miss him. She missed how he used to laugh and how his eyes would light up when he spoke of his future. She missed how she felt when he had faith in them and when he had faith in her.

Yet reality was so much harder than the hope she held onto.

Oikawa had discovered what he was searching for. And it wasn't her.

She finally understood. He was where he wanted to be, where he had always dreamed of being. She couldn't hold him back, couldn't bring him back to their life together, no matter how much she tried. She'd attempted to reach out and leave her arms open, but the distance was too great.

2025 © NANASRKIVES. / do not copy, repost, edit, plagiarize, or translate any of my works on any platforms, including ai.

Gen Taglist (OPEN). / @cherrysurf @arwawawa2 @itsmeaudrieee

[xlettex]

Cosmically Defective || tooru oikawa Cupid AU - Did Someone Call for Cupid?

She’s over it. Dating, love, the whole mess—it’s exhausting, and at this point, kind of humiliating. If love was meant to happen, it would’ve happened by now… right? Enter: a celestial being with a perfect record and the personality of someone who’s never been wrong a day in his life. Tooru Oikawa is a high-performance celestial matchmaker with zero tolerance for human chaos, a long list of rules he claims to follow, and a divine assignment—fix her love life. He’s here to guide her toward “the one.” But the more he interferes, the more things unravel. His wings ache. His form flickers. And the rules he once recited so easily? They start to fall apart—just like him. Rules are what keep the celestial realm from falling apart. Breaking them comes with a price—one the stars won’t forgive.

pairing - tooru oikawa x reader genre - forbidden romance, supernatural romance fantasy, angst rating - 18+ MDNI chapter word count - 7.3k content warning - angst, emotional distress, themes of loss and sacrifice, violence, trauma. see each chapter for specific warnings.

Authors Note: This is a fictional mini-series told in five chapters. It is a work of imagination and does not reflect any real beliefs or accurate depictions of celestial beings, spirits, or mythologies.

The stars decide who you love. But what happens when love defies the stars?

celestial rules <— chapter one —> chapter two

The izakaya is half-empty, lit by warm amber bulbs that swing gently above mismatched tables. The soft clink of glass, the crackle from a nearby grill, the low hum of laughter—it all melts into a kind of cozy static. The kind that settles in your bones. A temporary comfort.

You’re curled into the corner of a booth near the window, nursing your fourth drink. Your hair’s pinned up haphazardly, and the collar of your jacket is shrugged halfway off. Across from you, Kiyoko leans forward with both elbows on the table, swirling her beer absentmindedly, eyes sharp. She’s always been good at reading you—the way you pick at the corner of a napkin when you're holding something in, the way your mouth twists right before telling a story you wish you could forget.

“Okay,” she says, sipping her beer. “What went wrong this time?”

You stare into your glass, hoping it might serve as a lifeline. Then, flatly: “He asked if I’d be a stay-at-home wife to his Twitch career.”

Kiyoko nearly chokes. “You’re joking.”

“I wish I were. He said it with full confidence—presented it like he was offering me the kind of opportunity people write vision boards for.”

“What’s his follower count? Please tell me it’s at least four digits.”

“Six,” you say grimly. “Not thousand, just six.” 

You pause, then add, voice flat: “Then he asked if I’d dye my hair to match his brand. Which is hilarious, because—what brand? He rage-quits Mario Kart and screams into a $20 mic.”

Laughter bursts out of Kiyoko, unfiltered and loud enough to earn a side glance from the table behind. She presses her sleeve to her mouth, eyes gleaming. “You attract a special breed of man.”

“You’re telling me,” you mutter, tipping your glass back.

For a moment, the laughter lingers. Then the warmth ebbs. You glance down at the droplet of beer trailing down your glass, your voice softer now.

“You and Tanaka… you make it look easy.”

Kiyoko’s smile turns wistful. She reaches for the last piece of fried tofu, her tone light. “It’s not easy. But it’s right in the ways that matter.”

You nod slowly, watching the swirl of liquid in your glass. “I want that. Just once. To feel sure about somebody.”

She sets her chopsticks down. Her hand slides across the table and closes around your wrist. Her grip is light but grounding.

“You will,” she says. “The right guy’s out there. Probably confused. Or blind. But he is out there.”

You let out a breath that’s part laugh, part ache. 

“If the universe has a plan for me,” you murmur, “it must’ve lost the file.”

Kiyoko gently squeezes your wrist. “It’s not lost. You’ll find it when the time’s right.”

Neither of you rushes to leave. The food is long gone, and the drinks are almost warm, but you stay seated. When the bill comes, you split it without thinking—the same way you always have. The only kind of love you’ve ever been good at is friendship: the kind that holds you steady while everything else frays.

Outside, the streetlight above the izakaya blinks in and out, wavering between burning out completely or flickering for a little longer. Kiyoko pulls her coat tighter and hugs you hard beneath the buzzing glow, arms squeezing once, firm and sure.

“Text me when you get home, okay?”

You nod. “I will.”

You watch her head in the opposite direction, footsteps quiet on the sidewalk. Then you turn down the street alone, burying your hands into your pockets. Your boots tap softly against the pavement. The air smells of grilled meat, car exhaust, and early spring.

The night is quiet, but not empty. It feels almost as though a presence is watching. Or waiting. You stop and glance over your shoulder, but there’s no one there. Only the empty street. A flickering sign. And that strange, hollow ache in your chest—the one you never quite learned how to name. The one that whispers…

Maybe—just maybe—you’re not the kind of person people—

No. Shut up. Don’t think like that. 

When you get, home you don’t bother turning on the lights. The door clicks shut behind you with a quiet finality. You toss your keys into the bowl by the door, kick off your boots, and peel your jacket off with the kind of practiced exhaustion that doesn’t need words. Your apartment smells faintly of lavender detergent and rotten food you meant to throw out yesterday. 

You thumb out a quick text to Kiyoko: Home safe. I love you. Goodnight.

Then you toss your phone onto the couch and exhale. It’s quiet. Still. Then—

“We need to talk.”

You freeze. The voice is warm, smooth, and entirely out of place. It’s not coming from your phone. Or your head.  You whirl around, heartbeat spiking.

There, leaning against your bookshelf as though he lives there, is a man, glowing faintly at the edges, his whole body seems made of filtered sunlight. Barefoot, dressed in sleek white, an air of casual arrogance radiating off him in waves of heat. There’s a literal light haloing from his skin as if someone left a celestial spotlight on. And behind him, wings, not fully solid. They’re a shimmer of feathered gold flickering in and out, glitching at the edges of reality. 

You do what any sane person would do.

You scream.

And then you launch the nearest pillow at his head. It passes right through him. You throw a candle next. Then the TV remote. Both fizzle straight through his torso.

He sighs. Actually sighs. Like you’re the problem here. “Really? I manifest in full divine shimmer, and this is the welcome I get?”

He brushes imaginary ghost dust off his shoulder, looking vaguely impressed. “I will say—you’ve got great aim.”

You keep backing up, hands raised like that’ll do anything. “What the hell are you?”

He blinks. Slowly. As if the question is somehow offensive to his entire existence. Then he smiles. Slow. Smug. Dangerous in a way you definitely don’t like. “A celestial being, obviously.”

You squint at him. “Celestial being? As in… alien? Angel? Hallucination?”

“Think of me like… Cupid.”

You stare. Then snort. “Cupid has a bow. And a diaper.” A beat. Drier than dust—“And he’s a baby.”

He places a hand over his heart, pretending to be wounded. “Well, I have wings, emotional trauma, and cheekbones that could cut glass. So pick your version.”

You cross your arms, equal parts exhausted and wildly unimpressed. “Do you have a name, or do you just float around being... whatever this is?”

He perks up, visibly pleased, as if you’ve just asked for his autograph. “Tooru Oikawa.” A beat. “Otherwise known as fabulous.”

You give him a deadpan stare. “Why are you here?”

He leans off the bookshelf with the kind of flourish reserved for stage performers and uninvited prophets. “Duh.” He gestures to you as if you should’ve already put the pieces together. “I’m your assigned Cupid.” 

Then, with the world’s most irritating wink—“And clearly, your last hope.”

You stare at him, still rooted in place, trying to decide if this is a dream, a breakdown, or some elaborate prank sponsored by beer. He, meanwhile, stretches like he has all the time in the world.

“Okay,” you say finally, voice tight. “You’ve got thirty seconds to explain what the hell is going on before I call literally anyone.”

Oikawa gasps—actual, theatrical offense. “Rude. You’d summon mortal backup when you’ve got divine expertise in the room?”

You point sharply at him. “Explain.”

“Fine,” he says, straightening his collar. “But I’m doing this my way.”

He snaps his fingers. A scroll unrolls midair in front of you with a flutter of glowing ribbon and excessive fanfare. The parchment glows faintly, gold script pulsing with magical arrogance. At the top:

Romantic Case File 419-A: [REDACTED]                                                   Status: Delayed. Unresponsive to divine nudging. High potential. Emotionally reckless. Slightly combative.

You blink and shoot your eyebrows up. “Slightly?”

He beams. “I was feeling generous.”

You squint at the glowing header. “Wait—why is my name redacted?” You reach out to touch it, but Oikawa snatches it away, clutching it to his chest like it’s top-tier celestial gossip.

“Not important,” he says quickly. “Focus on the content, not the header.”

You narrow your eyes. “That’s extremely suspicious, it’s literally my file.”

“And yet, you’re still listening.” He grins. Then, without addressing it further, he casually scrolls the parchment downward with a flick of his fingers, smoothly shifting the glowing header out of sight and revealing the annotated chaos beneath it.

Before the scroll vanishes, your eyes snag on a particular line scrawled in red ink:         “Candidate #4: ‘Would love to take you home… to his mother.’         Subnote: Emotional codependency and an uncomfortable obsession with his mom’s approval.”

Oikawa doesn’t even look up. “That dinner was tragic. You barely escaped. I cried.”

“You watched it?!”

He waves a hand. “Please. I’ve seen the footage. Painful stuff. I wanted to fast-forward, but professionalism won.”

Before you can object again, he conjures something else—a compact mirror that pulses with celestial light, reminding you of an iPad—but divine. He taps the surface. Clips of your past dates begin to flicker across it—color-coded, timestamped, annotated.

You catch glimpses: a man explaining cryptocurrency over steak. A guy who cried on the second date about his ex’s dog. Another who tried to ‘manifest’ a kiss with a crystal.

Each is labeled helpfully: Misfire. Red Flag Parade. Why God, Why?

Oikawa tilts the mirror toward you dramatically. “Behold. Your romantic history. Tragic, yet statistically fascinating.”

You glare. “Is this your idea of help?”

“Actually,” he says, tapping a final clip, “this is.”  A photo of you appears. Across your forehead flashes in red: OFF-PATH.

“You’re on what we call a delay list,” he explains, circling behind you with the energy of a smug shark. “High potential, low outcome. Your instincts are shot. Your fate line’s tangled. It’s tragic, really. But lucky for you, I’m here.”

“To do what?” you snap.

“Fix it.” He grins, spinning the mirror back toward himself. “Your love life. Your fate. Your general attitude, if there’s time.”

You cross your arms.

“Okay. Crash course,” he says, already launching into his next performance. “Most people meet their person on their own. Fate kicks in. Gut instincts fire. People stumble into ‘the one’ like idiots. It’s cute.”

He snaps again. A new screen appears: two silhouettes converging under a blinking sign labeled: ALIGNMENT ACHIEVED.

“But sometimes,” he continues, circling again, “they get stuck. Burned. Jaded. Guarded. Their timeline derails.” Another tap. Your face again, with a pulsing red warning. “And when that happens, the council sends in a Cupid.” He grimaces. “Usually some rookie with zero tact and way too much glitter.”

He pauses dramatically. Smirks. “Or—when things are really bad—they send in a specialist.”

You blink. “You?”

He places a hand over his chest, striking a pose that resembles an athlete on a podium. “High-performance divine entity. Specialist in difficult cases and emotional damage control.”

“Oh my god.”

“Technically, yes.”

You stare harder. “You’re here to reroute my romantic trajectory.”

“Which,” he says, gesturing broadly, “is currently on fire.”

You open your mouth. He cuts you off with a raised finger. “You’ll thank me later.” And then, smug as ever: “So get used to me—I’m here to fix your love life. Whether you want me to or not.”

Oikawa exhales like this entire encounter has been emotionally taxing for him. He adjusts the cuffs of his celestial coat with unnecessary flair. “Just so you know, I’ve been working on your case for weeks. Subtle nudges. Carefully timed meet-cutes. Emotional windows. You’ve ignored. Every. Single. One.”

He raises an eyebrow as if you failing to fall in love is somehow a personal offense. “So, per protocol ✦ 4.7.1 RA—which you obviously don’t know—I’m allowed to appear in person when fate intervention fails spectacularly.”

He straightens to full height, all smug divinity. “We start tomorrow. Wear an outfit that says ‘emotionally available.”

Wink. Sparkle. Gone.

You’re left standing in the middle of your apartment, blinking at the space he disappeared from. The faint scent of ozone clings to the air. “…What the hell just happened?” 

You spin in a slow circle.                                                                                    No glowing scrolls.                                                                                            No glittery iPad.                                                                                                  No smug-winged lunatic in sight.       

“Glowing dude? Hello?? Come back!” 

“What was his name?" You blink at your ceiling. "Tofu??" You press a hand to your face. “Okay. I need to lie down. I’m clearly drunk.”

You shuffle toward the bedroom, muttering under your breath. “This is definitely beer hallucinations. Sparkles aren’t real. Neither are divine case files.”

Pause.

 “…Did he say we start tomorrow?”

——

Morning light spills into your apartment, creeping through the blinds and landing across the bed in warm, uneven stripes. Your head throbs. The aftertaste of cheap beer and regret clings to your tongue. You groan, rolling over and pulling the blanket higher over your face. You vaguely remember glowing wings. Sarcasm. Throwing a candle at a man made of light.

“Dream,” you mutter, voice gravelly. “Definitely a dream. A deeply unhinged beer-fueled dream about a winged himbo.”

“You know,” a voice replies, far too close and far too awake, “you snore when you sleep. Might make pairing you with someone a little trickier.”

You scream. And then, on instinct, you hurl your pillow at him. It sails through the air and passes straight through his chest.

You sit bolt upright in bed, the blanket still clutched to your chest. There he is. Floating three inches above your floor, defying gravity. Softly glowing. Arms crossed. Smirking.

“YOU’RE REAL?!”

Tofu Oikawa—the so-called celestial being who broke into your apartment last night—gives you a mock-offended look. “Uhh, hello? We met yesterday. You threw, like, five objects at me. Very hostile first impression, by the way.”

"Well, I’m sorry, Tofu, I assumed you were a side effect of being completely wasted.”

He looks personally victimized. “Wow. I manifest in full divine shimmer, and you think I’m a beer dream? And it’s Tooru.”

He spins lazily in the air, his glow pulsing like a smug nightlight. You blink at him through the brightness. It’s too early for this. You’re too hungover for this.

You deadpan. “Yeah, whatever, Tofu.”

He groans dramatically, dragging a hand down his face. “Unbelievable. I’m a divine entity, not a protein substitute.”

“Hang on.” Your eyes narrow. “Were you actually watching me sleep?”

“Technically,” he says without an ounce of shame, “I monitored your vital aura fluctuations overnight. Same thing, different branding.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“I know,” he says, treating it as a compliment. “And you talk in your sleep. Fascinating stuff. Real emotional depth in there.”

You groan and flop back onto the bed. “This is not happening.”

“Oh, it’s very happening.” He drifts closer, peering down at you with the same expression people use when a computer freezes for no reason. “Alive, grumpy, still utterly gorgeous. Good. We can work with this.”

You peek at him through one eye. “Did you just flirt with me?”

“Professionally.”

“Is that even allowed?”

“Not really,” he shrugs, clearly unbothered. “But I’ve always been more of a… flexible interpretation kind of entity.”

You sit up fully, hair a mess, and soul not far behind. “Great. A celestial himbo with boundary issues.”

“And wings!” he chirps, spinning once to flash them at you. They shimmer faintly in the light, glitching at the edges, questioning their own existence.

You stare. “What exactly are we supposed to be doing today?”

He beams. “Rewiring your tragically misaligned love life. Day one of the intervention starts… now.”

You don’t move. “You were serious about that?”

“Serious is such a heavy word,” he muses, floating toward the kitchen. “Instead, let’s say I’m… cosmically committed.”

He starts opening and closing your cabinets. “But first, breakfast. You’ll want something in your system…”

He glances over his shoulder, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“…It’s going to be a lot to digest.”

You mutter under your breath, pulling your blanket off you. “Yesterday was a lot to digest, but that didn’t stop you.”

He glances back with a grin. “What can I say? I love keeping my mortals on their toes.”

You drag yourself to the kitchen like a soldier to war—hoodie sliding off one shoulder, sleep still clinging to your bones, and defeat practically stitched into the seams. A bowl of cereal is already waiting on the counter, milk poured, spoon perfectly placed. Courtesy of Tofu.

You don’t thank him. You just slump into the chair and let the spoon dangle from your fingers in slow, resigned loops. Sunlight slices through the blinds in harsh, uneven bands—sharp enough to aggravate your hangover, but still less offensive than the glow radiating off Oikawa, who floats nearby with all the subtlety of a celestial nuisance on a mission to ruin your morning.

Then Oikawa snaps his fingers with the kind of flair that should come with a warning label. A clipboard materializes midair. It hovers above your cereal, glowing faintly like it thinks highly of itself. Across the top, in bold celestial script:

Romantic Case File 419-A: [Assignment: Impossible] Status: Delayed. Unresponsive to divine nudging. High potential. Emotionally reckless. Slightly combative.

You blink. Then squint harder. “Assignment: Impossible? That’s why it was redacted yesterday. Seriously?”

Oikawa shrugs, unfazed, one leg casually draped over the other, suspended midair in a posture that suggests he's found an armchair in the clouds. “Don’t look at me like that. Everyone on the Delay List gets a name.”

“You could’ve at least sugarcoated the name, you nimrod.”

He beams, genuinely delighted. “You know, I like you. You’re funny.”

You roll your eyes and keep chewing.

He pulls a celestial quill from literal nowhere and makes a dramatic note on the glowing clipboard. “Doesn’t know how to take a compliment.”

“I do too!”

“Sure, sure. And I’m emotionally well-adjusted.”

You jab your spoon at him in a slow-motion warning. He doesn’t flinch. Instead, he starts humming—of course he does—before leaning casually over your kitchen table and tracing glowing lines into the laminate with one finger.

A sigil unfurls beneath his touch, golden light spiraling outward in a ripple, spreading across the table as if drawn from a well of stars. The table flickers as constellations form and dissolve. Symbols circle the edge, turning with the precision of starlit clockwork.

You stare. “What the hell is that?”

He elbows in front of you like he’s shielding nuclear launch codes. “Yeah, okay, no. Per celestial protocol ✧ 2.8.8 HC, you're not authorized to view active divination nodes.”

“If I can’t see it, can you at least tell me what I’m not seeing?”

He sighs, long and dramatic, the kind that suggests your curiosity is physically painful. “Fine. But if the Tribunal comes knocking, I’m blaming your mortal meddling.”

He gestures to the portal. “This is how I find your match.”

Your spoon pauses mid-air. “You say that like it’s Tinder for angels.”

Oikawa tilts his head. “If only. That would be less paperwork.”

You shovel another bite of cereal into your mouth. “You know, you keep referencing these protocols and rules like what you do is some celestial government job. What do these rules even entail?”

He doesn’t even look up. “Because it is. Sort of.”

“You didn’t answer the question.”

“You ask a lot of questions.”

“And you broke into my apartment,” you deadpan.

“Touché.” 

Then, with a sigh so exaggerated it could qualify as performance art—

“Okay, so there are dozens of celestial clauses Cupids have to follow. Most of them are boring. Some of them are terrifying. I’m only going to show you the alignment and attachment clauses—start slow, build trust. You know… the usual foreplay.”

He winks, clearly pleased with himself. Your expression must say it all, because he laughs, low and unbothered.

Then, he snaps again. Another scroll unspools from thin air behind him—twice his height, glowing softly with cosmic authority. The edges curl in the same way old parchment does, yet the center codes glow.

At the top in celestial script:

✦ Celestial Rules: Cupid’s Division For Official Use Only.                                                                                       Compliance is not optional.                                                                    

You stare. “Is this… real?”

“Realer than your last three boyfriends combined.”

You mutter incoherent insults under your breath and lean in to read—but the scroll flutters, flickers—and then fades, glowing text dissolving before you can get past the header.

“What the hell?”

“You thought you’d get full access?” Oikawa says breezily, snapping the scroll halfway closed. “That’s adorable. No, no—you get the sampler platter.”

He scrolls with two fingers, revealing a narrow section. Five lines pulse into view, the rest blocked out by shimmering censor bars.

✦ Clause 4.7.1 — Invisibility Protocol: Perception by Mortals ✦ Clause 4.7.2 — Interpersonal Conduct: Cupids are facilitators of Fate ✦ Clause 4.7.3 — Fate Interference: Emotional Interference Index

“Clause 4.7.3—Fate Interference…” Your head tilts, tone edging into suspicion. “What the hell is the Emotional Interference Index?”

He waves a hand. “E.I.I. Think of it as a divine mood ring. If it spikes, the Council gets nosy. Mine’s a 0.4. Which means I’m practically a monk.”

“Monks don’t flirt like you.”

“They should.”

Your eyes flick further down the list. 

✦ Clause 4.7.4 — Wing Status: Alteration + Degradation ✦ Clause 4.7.5 — Bonds: Approved and Unapproved  ✦ Clause 4.7.6 — Observation Boundaries

“Clause 4.7.6—Observation Boundaries?” You shoot him a look. “That one’s definitely fake. You have no boundaries.”

“It’s real,” he says, grinning. “I’m just very bad at it.”

You roll your eyes. “Of course you are.”

He scrolls back to the header, half-hiding the document again.

“Wait,” you ask. “What other celestial beings are there? Or is it just you flapping around, messing with people's love lives?”

He gasps, “Don’t tell me you thought Cupids were the only ones.”

“I didn’t… until you showed up looking like Sephiroth, only with more unresolved trauma.”

He places a hand on his chest. “Rude.”

“You still didn’t answer the question.”

“Classified.”

“And these rules aren’t?”

Oikawa waves his hand dismissively. “Yeah, well, normally they are. But you already saw your case file, and at this point, what’s a little light rule-breaking between fate-entangled strangers?”

He pauses. Then shrugs.

“Besides, I doubt they’ll erase me for bending a few clauses…”

A beat.

“Probably.”

You raise an eyebrow. “How often do you break the rules?”

He clasps his hands over his heart, unconvincingly aghast. “Excuse me? I am a paragon of restraint.”

Then his smirk slips. Briefly. Only for a second. “…Let’s just say your case got my attention. After I read it, I knew the usual protocol wouldn’t cut it.”

You huff. “That’s not ominous at all.”

He twirls the clipboard with a flourish, checks a box off, and mutters loud enough: “Marked for severe interference potential—cute when annoyed.”

Your glare sharpens. “I heard that.”

He winks. “I meant for you too.”

You glare harder. He only beams brighter. Then, with infuriating cheer, he claps his hands together.

“Right!” he announces. “Cosmic Chemistry Field Test Number One. Time to get dressed.”

You blink at him over your spoon. “What?”

“You have a date today,” he says like it’s the most normal thing in the world. “Well, technically a controlled social encounter with romantic undertones and mild cosmic intervention. Very low-stakes.”

You stare at him. Spoon frozen mid-air. “That’s not a sentence normal people say.”

“And yet,” he says, floating closer, “it’s a sentence I was born to deliver. 

You narrow your eyes. “Do the words ‘coercion’ or ‘emotional entrapment’ mean anything to you?”

He flips upside down with a lazy barrel roll. “Sure. And I’m choosing to ignore both. I need you to trust me—neither of you knows it yet, but this will totally end with a date.”

You squint harder. “I’m starting to hate your never-ending obscurity.”

“We Cupids prefer the term divinely vague. It’s more marketable. Anyways, chop-chop.”

You haul yourself upright, muttering curses under your breath as you shuffle toward the bathroom. Hoodie askew, hair attempting a full mutiny. But halfway there, you hesitate—suspicion prickling up your spine. You glance back over your shoulder at him.

“…Wait. Can you see through things?”

His grin sharpens, all teeth and zero shame. “Only with effort. But don’t worry—I’m very respectful.”

A beat.

 “Unless curiosity wins.”

You whip a towel off the counter and chuck it at him, wishing it were a holy weapon. It sails through his chest in a sad flutter of cotton and lands in a heap on the floor.

“Rude,” he says, all faux indignation. “And here I was, planning not to peek that much.”

The bathroom door slams behind you. Thirty minutes later, your hair’s still damp from the shower, and you’re dressed in the outfit Oikawa insisted on, claiming it "makes your eyes pop" with entirely too much enthusiasm. You’re halfway through brushing your teeth when you catch him, reflected in the mirror behind you, floating in midair and flipping through a glowing scroll like it’s your horoscope and he’s got complaints.

You spit. Rinse. Point your toothbrush at him, imagining it’s a dagger. “Do other people see you, or am I the only one stuck with your heavenly commentary?”

He looks up, chipper. “You’re the only one attuned to my frequency. It’s an elite access tier. Mortals can’t perceive divinity unless we let them.”

You mutter, “So I’m hallucinating. But officially.”

“Divinely hallucinating,” he corrects, smug. “Also, waving dental weapons at celestial beings? Extremely bad luck.”

You glare. “You’re in my mirror.”

“I’m in your fate.”

“Can you be in someone else’s fate for five minutes?”

He winks. “If I could clone myself, I’d be everywhere.”

You slam the cabinet shut. Behind it, his voice floats through the steam. “Hurry up. Your cosmic chemistry test window opens in thirty-seven minutes.”

You pause. “That’s… oddly specific.”

“Time is a construct. So is dating. Let’s just hope you don’t trip over both.”

You rinse, spit, and flick the faucet off harder than necessary. You shove your toothbrush back in the holder. By the time you leave the apartment, your jacket’s zipped halfway, your hair’s doing whatever it wants, and your mood is somewhere between mildly homicidal and cosmically done.

The city’s in that groggy half-awake state—street vendors rolling up their shutters, leashed dogs yanking their humans toward invisible missions, someone already yelling into their phone near a blinking crosswalk. The air smells faintly of roasted chestnuts.

Beside you—hovering upside down without a hint of shame—is Oikawa. His coat flutters with a breeze that doesn’t exist. Legs crossed, arms folded behind his head, expression the picture of cosmic smugness. “So,” he says, voice chipper enough to break glass, “your potential match is nearby. Roughly eighty-three meters. Give or take. Might be a jogger. Might be a guy walking his grandma’s poodle. The metrics are... interpretive.”

You grunt. “Wait—so you don’t even know who he is?”

He twirls in place, shrugging with all the useless grace of someone who’s never been wrong in his life. “I’ve got a profile—personality indicators, emotional resonance, preferred flirting tempo. No headshot, if that’s what you’re after. I’m here for the gentle nudge. A lovingly engineered coincidence.”

You eye him. He barrels forward anyway.

“I’m thinking of a soft run-in. Coffee cart collision. Apologetic glances. Flirtation. Banter. Mild soul recognition. Or—hear me out—umbrella-sharing. Rain’s excellent for drama.”

You don’t respond immediately. Because up ahead, a woman pushes a stroller past you. She glances your way, then quickly away, with the careful neutrality reserved for people talking too animatedly to no one.

You glance at Oikawa. Still upside down. Still glowing faintly, his edges lit as if the sun itself had chosen to backlight him. Then back to the woman. She speeds up. Your stomach sinks. You’ve been talking. Out loud. To the air.

You stop walking. “I look insane.”

He beams. “You look whimsical. Mysterious. Deranged, maybe—but in a hot way.”

You deadpan. “So I’m the woman wandering around the park arguing with herself.”

“Technically,” he says, flipping upright and adjusting his imaginary cuffs, “you’re speaking with a certified celestial operative. But yes. From an outsider’s perspective? Definitely reads as light psychosis.”

As though summoned by irony, a man walks by with a golden retriever, blissfully unaware. His dog, however, halts—ears perked, nose twitching. It stares at Oikawa, tilts its head, then barks once, low and confused. A moment later, it sneezes and lets itself be tugged forward, choosing to leave the mystery unsolved.

You gesture after the dog as it trots off. “Seriously?”

Oikawa shrugs. “Animals have better spiritual reception. Divine frequency makes them twitchy. They don’t know what I am, exactly. Just that I’m not… mundane.”

You squint at him. “So dogs detect your celestial nonsense, but people can’t because they’re not attuned? Like I wasn’t… until last night?”

He gives you the grin professors get when their students finally catch on. “Exactly. Mortals are conditioned not to see what they’re not meant to. Neural redirection. Sensory filtering. Denial. The holy trifecta.”

You let out an exasperated sigh. “Why am I cursed with being the one person who sees the boundary-challenged glitter ghost haunting my love life?”

“First of all, it’s a privilege,” he says, smug. “Second—your love life is such a haunted bumper car course that celestial oversight was practically mandatory.”

You open your mouth. He holds up a finger. “And third, look on the bright side. It could be worse. You’re only tuned to my frequency right now. There are plenty of things out here you’re better off not syncing with.

You stop mid-step. The gravel crunches under your boot. “What does that mean?”

He grins—wide and maddening. “It means don’t worry about it.”

You narrow your eyes. “That’s the exact thing someone says when I should worry about it.”

“I’m one of the less weird ones,” he singsongs, drifting a few feet ahead of you in slow, elegant spirals. “So believe me when I say some frequencies are better left unpicked. You’ve got enough chaos without adding supernatural static.”

You drag a hand down your face.  “Every time you open your mouth, I gain a new anxiety.”

He beams, radiant and deeply unhelpful. “You’re welcome.”

You sigh and start walking again. The wind threads through the trees above, sending a flurry of orange and gold leaves spiraling down. Some drop by your shoes. One cascades down your hair.

Oikawa floats beside you again, graceful as a leaf on the wind. He spins once in a lazy, theatrical turn—arms out like he’s rehearsing for a one-man celestial ballet.

Then—snap.

A shimmering earpiece materializes in front of you, suspended midair. It glows faintly, soft and crystalline, resembling starlight frozen in glass.

You frown at it. “What is it?”

“Celestial comm-link,” he says, delighted with himself. “Only you can hear me. Very discreet. Very high-end. The Council uses these for angelic negotiations and karaoke nights—but today, it’s for your meet-cute.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Why do I feel like this is going to end in emotional carnage?”

“Great,” he says, nudging the device toward your ear. “We can add confidence to the list of things we need to work on.”

You blink at him. “That’s rude.”

He grins wider. “That’s accurate.”

You snatch the earpiece out of the air and slide it in. It’s warm. Not hot—just… present. A frequency tuned only to you. Your pulse evens out without your permission.

“Great,” you mutter. “Now I get to wear a weird-looking Bluetooth device while being emotionally blackmailed by a glowing man in midair.”

“Emotionally nudged,” he corrects, flashing a grin. “Also, it’s invisible. No one sees it but you.”

You sigh again. Louder this time. The wind catches your hair, lifting it in soft waves around your face. Oikawa doesn’t notice. Or if he does, he pretends not to. He hovers beside you, untouchable, unreadable, irritatingly radiant.

“Now,” he hums, tapping something on his invisible clipboard, “let’s ruin your morning. With love.”

Before you can ask what that means, he points to a bench ahead and gestures grandly. “Stand here, Casual. Look approachable.”

You eye him, dubious. “You want me to pose for fate?”

“Exactly. I need you in position.” He floats backward with the exaggerated flair of someone exiting center stage. “Now, get ready. I’m going radio silent.”

And then—he’s gone. You blink at the now-empty sky. 

Then: click.

The earpiece crackles softly in your ear. Oikawa’s voice returns, smooth and far too close to your eardrum.

“Okay. Walk due west. Fifty yards.”

You freeze. Glance up and down the path. “What?”

“Walk straight toward the guy in the baseball cap.”

You exhale slowly. Then move. The sun is too bright, pressing down on your skin—warm and overconfident. A spotlight you never asked for. It forces your eyes into a squint, even as tension coils in your chest. Your heart pounds erratically, louder than the birds, louder than the rustling branches, loud enough to drown out the hiss of steam from the nearby coffee cart.

And then—as if fate’s reading from a script Oikawa personally annotated—you collide with him.

A man in a baseball cap stumbles back a step, hands raised slightly. “Oh! I’m so sorry—I wasn’t paying attention.”

He’s maybe early thirties. Warm smile. Crisp button-down tucked into khakis with precision. The kind of guy who probably owns a label maker, plans corporate retreats, and always returns his grocery cart.

“All good,” you say, blinking. “Neither was I.”

There’s a pause. Then he gestures toward the cart. “Can I get you something? As an apology?”

You hesitate, caught off guard by his earnestness. But then, you offer a small, cautious smile. “Sure.”

You step into line beside him. It’s short. You order a hot latte. He fills the space between you with practiced ease—mentions the weather, how the breeze means spring is finally here, how he’s getting back into running, how work’s been “nonstop lately.” You nod where appropriate. Chime in when expected. Your hands wrap around the warm paper cup. The heat bleeds into your skin, acting as a tether.

“Alright,” Oikawa murmurs in your ear, his tone resembling someone judging a reality show contestant. “He’s a safe choice. Steady job. Clean aura. Bit bland, but we’re aiming for compatibility, not fireworks.”

The man glances over. “So… dogs or cats?”

“Cats.”

He brightens like you’ve passed a test. “Same. I’m more of a cat person myself, honestly.”

“Bold lie,” Oikawa murmurs in your ear. “Man owns three corgis and a guilt-ridden Pinterest board labeled ‘dog dad aesthetic.’”

You press your coffee to your lips to hide the twitch of a smile.

“They’re just… lower maintenance,” he continues. “You know where you stand with cats. Dogs are a little much.”

“He throws birthday parties for his dogs,” Oikawa stage-whispers. “One of them has a TikTok.”

Then—“So… are you seeing anyone right now?”

You blink. “Not at the moment.”

He nods. Slow. Intentional. “Interesting. Me neither.”

“Subtle as a corgi in a trench coat,” Oikawa deadpans. “We love to see it.”

The man shifts, angling toward you like this is the beginning of something. “I’ve always thought dating’s about finding your mirror, you know? Someone who reflects who you are but also makes you better.”

You nod once. Tight. “That’s… one way to look at it.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“Oh no,” Oikawa groans. “Not the TED Talk line. Abort mission. Save yourself.”

You force a smile—polite, practiced—and take another sip. Still too hot.

“It was… nice chatting with you,” you say, stepping back. “But I’m late for a meeting.”

The man blinks. “Oh yeah. Of course. Totally.”

You offer him a small wave and a look that lands between polite and apologetic.

And then you turn. And walk away. Quickly. Coffee gripped too tightly in your hand. The comm-link in your ear is still faintly humming.

And not once—not once—do you look back.

A few steps behind, Oikawa appears again—effortlessly materializing beside you with all the smug serenity of someone who’s never had to live with the consequences of his own advice. He floats lazily, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

“That wasn’t that bad,” Oikawa says.

You don’t answer. You just keep walking. Your steps are sharp. Shoulders locked too tight. The coffee cup in your hand is still hot, but you grip it, daring it to burn something back into place. 

“That,” you say finally, voice low, “was supposed to be my match?”

He sighs—long and theatrical as if your disappointment personally offends him.  “There’s no such thing as a perfect match,” he mutters, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. “It’s more complicated than that.”

He drops to the ground. Feet touching the pavement—an act that seems to have cost him. “Emotional compatibility takes time. Statistical nudging. A little light divine manipulation—oh great, you’re storming off.”

You spin around. “I’m walking. Storming would involve more yelling.”

He tilts his head, almost fondly. “Well, I’m tracking your emotional variance, and your aura just flared, so I stand by my choice of words.”

You don’t respond. Instead, you drop onto the nearest bench, your steam finally having run out. Your usual sarcastic bravado and retorts no longer come to you. Your shoulders curl inward—not small, but worn. Your coffee sits untouched in your lap.

“I’m starting to believe I’ll never find love,” you murmur.

There’s a catch in your voice—subtle, but enough to make him look closer. And when he does, he sees it—the way your hands tremble faintly where they cradle the cup. The shimmer in your lashes. The way your jaw clenches like it’s the only thing keeping everything else from breaking loose.

“I’ve been on so many dates,” you continue, voice fraying, “and had so many failed relationships. At first, I chalked it up to my being difficult. Too picky. Too closed off.”

You suck in a breath. It shakes on the way out.

“But lately, I’ve been thinking maybe I’m…”  A pause. A fracture. The words catch—almost don’t make it out.

You’ve swallowed this before. Bitten it back. Refused to admit it. 

But this time, you don’t.

Then softly—so soft he almost misses it—“…unlovable.” 

A single tear slips down your cheek before you can stop it. You swipe it away, quick and angry, as if it betrayed you. As if it proved something you didn’t want said out loud.

Oikawa doesn’t float this time. He slowly folds his arms and lowers himself to sit beside you, grounded. No sparkles. No arrogance. Almost as if he shed something invisible just to meet you here.

“You’re not unlovable.” His eyes meet yours, and there’s a gentleness in them you haven’t seen before. “You’re just too real for people who only know how to love easy things.”

You don’t look at him. You can’t. Your gaze stays fixed on the steam curling from your coffee cup. You blink hard, trying to will the tears away.

“I don’t even dream about anyone,” you whisper. “I try. I show up. I open myself up, again and again. But it always feels…off. Like there’s something in me that never got wired the right way. Or maybe I’m just not meant for anybody.”

He doesn’t answer right away. He just shifts, turning toward you fully. His hand lifts, then hesitates, uncertain. He doesn’t know if he should touch you. Doesn’t want to startle something already frayed. Then, gently, he brushes beneath your eye, wiping away the next tear before it can fall.

“No,” his voice finally answers, lower now. “It’s not that.”

The silence that follows stretches wide. But it doesn’t feel empty. It feels full of things unsaid. Of breaths you’re both still holding.

The sunlight cuts through the trees above, painting gold into the angles of your face. Your lashes cast soft shadows. Your lips part slightly—not sad. Not angry. Just… still. Your expression is quiet, as if hope has thinned, but hasn’t fully let go.

And for some reason he can’t name, that undoes something in him. He looks at you, not like a case. Not like a file full of fate-points and emotional stats. Just… you.

And there, between one heartbeat and the next—

A flicker. A soft pull. Deep in his wings. A celestial twang, faint and impossible to unfeel. He stiffens. Swallows. Brushes it off.

When his voice returns, it’s slower—open. The words escaped before he could polish them.

“Love isn’t magic,” he says, releasing a breath. “It’s math. Chemistry. Timing. The system calculates compatibility based on what you need… not what you think you want.”

You exhale, the sound edged with defeat. “That’s really depressing.”

“Maybe,” he admits. “But I have a 100% success rate. There is someone out there for you—and we’ll find them.”

A pause.

Then, quieter—slipping out before he can stop it: “Those who never find love… they only have their assigned Cupid to blame.”

You finally glance at him. And this time, really see him.

He’s not glowing. Not grand. Just sitting there beside you, posture slouched with the weight of a past he doesn’t talk about—heavier than he wants to admit.

“You know,” you murmur, “for a divine love expert… you sound like you don’t believe in it at all.”

He flinches. Barely. But you catch it. 

He opens his mouth. Closes it again. An old ache flickers behind his eyes. 

Then—softly, honestly—he says, “Because I don’t.”

It lands quietly. Bare. Like a blade laid down without warning. You wait. Let the silence stretch until he fills it. 

“Cosmic bonds,” he says slowly. “It’s poetic branding. A story we Cupids tell ourselves to make matchmaking feel meaningful. The reality is—you fall for people because the timeline says you’re supposed to. That’s it.”

You don’t interrupt. 

“I used to believe. A long time ago,” he adds, voice barely above a whisper. “But all believing did was break someone I admired. Made him cross a line he couldn’t uncross.”

His gaze drops. “So now I believe in math. Probability. Clean equations.”

You could ask. But you don’t.

Instead, your voice comes softly. Steady. “Huh. I knew there was more to you than glitter and arrogance.”

He glances over, blinking slowly. “What?”

“You’ve spent the last few hours being completely unbearable. Rude. Theatrical. A glowing nightmare. But this…” You gesture vaguely toward him. “This is the first glimpse I’ve had of you. The real you.”

“Tofu.” You hold his gaze. “Not Cupid. Not some cosmic showman.”

He exhales—not in shame, but in release. Somehow, you’ve just peeled a heavy layer off his chest—without even touching him.

“And since I’m apparently ‘Assignment: Impossible’,” you say, lips quirking just slightly, “we’re going to be stuck together for a while—until we find ‘my person.’  So… I’d rather spend that time with the version of you who isn’t trying to impress the sky.”

You look at him. Gentle. Real. “Do you think you can do that for me?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Then—finally—he lets out a small, breathless laugh, surprised by the sound of it. “Is this ‘Tofu’ nickname going to stick?”

You arch a brow. “Really? That’s what you’re focusing on?”

He raises both hands. “Sorry. Force of habit.”

Then—lower. Sincere. “The real Tooru will stick around. Promise.”

You don’t say anything. But you smile. And that’s when it happens.

It’s a pull—sharp and sudden, buried in the bones of his wings. A flare that sparks behind his ribs, short-circuiting the equilibrium written into his wings. His wings shimmer faintly into view, only for a second. The light stutters. Edges blur. Then—gone. As if it never happened. 

You don’t notice. But he does.

It’s nothing, he tells himself. Simply a static mischarge. He stays quiet. Still. Fighting the way his heartbeat stutters. Trying not to look at you—but failing.

Because the way the light kisses your skin. The way your smile still holds a trace of sorrow. The way your hope feels so reluctant, it makes his chest ache…

He forces himself to look away. Not because he wants to, but because—if he stares any longer, he’s afraid he won’t be able to stop.

Far above, on a scroll, a soft red line ticks upward:                                  E.I.I. Level: 0.4 → 1.4

[iwahajii]

breaking the boundaries

dares and unrequited love should never be mixed with alcohol.

tags: fluff, kind of sexy, unrequited, pining, mutual feelings, a tiny bit of angst

It was the stupid, stupid dare. Iwaizumi thinks as he watches you make your way towards the dance floor, right in the middle of the crowd. The flashing lights make it hard to see clearly, but he tried his best to focus his eyes on you.

You don’t have to do it, he tried telling you a while ago but you weren’t listening, already stubborn and tipsy to be your usual rational self.

They were only teasing, the same as they always did with the two of you. He wondered what reason Makki had to push your buttons tonight, more so than he ever did in the past. The culprits, Oikawa and Hanamaki, already scurried away, following right after you in the dance floor. Mattsun who didn’t join in the teasing stayed in the booth with him, drinking and smoking, but Iwaizumi knew that despite his silence, he was just as invested in this dare as the other two. His smirk behind his glass was the only hint Iwaizumi needed to confirm his suspicion.

He was an hour late to your get-together and by the time he arrived, Hanamaki was already drunk, Oikawa not too far behind and you trailing off the other two. Iwaizumi could only sigh as he slid on your booth, taking the empty seat beside you.

“Remember when you confessed to Iwa-chan in high school?” Oikawa blurts out of nowhere and Iwaizumi knew he needed a drink fast.

“Oikawa,” he warns.

You groaned, but Iwaizumi could see you laugh slightly. “Oh god. Please, don’t remind me.”

Oikawa cackles and high-fived Makki.

“That was horrible, wasn’t it?” You asked, turning to Iwaizumi for the first time that night but before he could reply, you continued. “I shouldn’t have done that. Now these idiots won’t let me live it down.”

I shouldn’t have done that.

Iwaizumi felt a twinge in his heart upon hearing those words, but he numbed it down by drinking his glass of rum.

“They’re idiots,” he consoles.

The memory of that time flashed in his mind. It’s scary how vivid he can remember it, how you looked back then, how you said the words he wanted to scream at the world, and how he had to break both of your hearts because he was going to UCLA.

“At least we’re still friends,” you declared. “All’s well that ends well, right?”

You turned to him again, a soft grin on your lips as you bumped your shoulder to his. The brief touch sent a wave of electricity down to his toes, but he couldn’t dwell on it because Makki started running his mouth again.

“Well, if all’s well that ends well, I think you’d be up for a dare,” he mused.

“And what do I get if I win?” You challenge, already caught with his bait.

“Let’s see,” Oikawa hums. “It has to be what you really, really want. How about if… we never talk about your confession to Iwaizumi?”

Iwaizumi watches you pause, clearly surprised at the reward. The memory of that time was like a bane to your existence, used by the trio to tease and blackmail you at times.

“What’s the dare?”

“Nope. You have to say yes first before we tell you what it is,” Makki says.

Iwaizumi opened his mouth to speak, but you beat him to it.

“Deal.”

He turned to look at you, taken aback by your decision. “You don’t have to do this,” he says.

“If it means we can all move forward from my dark history, I’d take it,” you answer. Looking at Oikawa, you asked, “What do I do?”

“I dare you to hook up with someone tonight.”

There was silence for a while and Oikawa spent the whole time looking at you with challenge in his eyes but you weren’t backing down.

“Fine. I’ll do it.”

Iwaizumi wasn’t sure if he heard you right.

“Don’t be stupid,” he tells you but you were already shrugging off your cardigan, revealing the dress you were wearing.

“Here,” Makki says as he slides a shot of vodka in front of you. “So you don’t get scared.” He teased, chuckling as you shot it back.

“I’m no coward,” you haughtily say before standing up and Iwaizumi’s breath gets caught in his throat as he sees your clothes completely for the first time that night.

The only problem with the dress was that it was an inch shy of being indecent and it hugged all the right places and you looked good-hot, gorgeous, amazing, but Iwaizumi had to snap out of it because you were friends.

He was the one who said those words six years ago.

When you asked him to stand so you can get out of the booth, everything in him wanted to protest, wanted to hide you away from everyone so no one can see you in that dress, but he willed himself to stand and make way for you.

He knew then he was fucked.

Iwaizumi feels himself panic when he loses sight of you from the crowd. His panic turns to something… bitter and green as he watches a stranger whisper close to your ear and you laughed.

Fuck.

Forcing his eyes away, he refilled his glass and downed the whole thing before closing his eyes. He could feel the beginnings of a migraine now, could feel the dull, heavy pounding in his head, probably because he’s still adjusting from the difference in time zones.

“If it means anything to you, she rejected me,” he hears Matsukawa say.

Slowly, Iwaizumi opened his eyes to look at his friend. His heart pounded in his chest, a thousand questions flooding his brain but he couldn’t bring himself to ask.

Why? Why are you telling me this? You liked her? How could you?

His last thought made him laugh. Iwaizumi reached for his empty glass, shaking his head as he laughed at himself and how much of a hypocrite he is. Taking a deep breath, he said, “I ran away.”

Matsukawa sighed and leaned back in his seat. “We all know she would’ve waited.”

“I couldn’t do that,” he counters. “I would never make it to UCLA if I accepted her confession back then and she would never forgive me if I stayed.”

It was a confession Iwaizumi never told anyone. He wanted to bring it with him to his grave, his biggest what if and his greatest regret, but it was freeing to say it out loud. He could feel the weight off of his chest lessen now that his secret is shared with one trusted soul.

He thought about how he lived off of your encouragement and support during his stay abroad, finding comfort in your messages despite how seldom they came with how busy you both were. He was worried at first but it didn’t become awkward between the two of you given what happened, probably because of the physical distance.

He wouldn’t have survived if it weren’t for you.

“She’s still in love with you,” Mattsun says.

Iwaizumi watches as Matsukawa raises his middle finger, mocking whoever he was looking at and Iwaizumi follows his line of sight, landing on you and the stranger from before.

Upon seeing Matsukawa flip you off, you threw your head back and laughed.

Iwaizumi watched as your head meets the stranger’s chest and you laughed again at whatever he whispered in your ear. He could see your bodies sway together, moving in unison as the man slides a hand to your waist.

It honestly felt like his heart is being smashed to pieces inside his chest.

Your eyes turn to Iwaizumi, and you held his gaze for a second too long before turning away fast.

Leaning back in his seat, he thought about the what ifs and could haves between the two of you. He loved you. Loves you. Always. What if he accepted your confession, would you survive the long distance? What if he didn’t go to UCLA and went to Tokyo University with you instead, will the two of you be happy? Time was never on his side then, but will it be now? If he risks it all now, will you accept him?

“Shit!”

The loud curse from Matsukawa interrupted his pity party. Raising his head, he turned to see what Matsukawa was looking at and his eyes landed on you arguing with the man you were just dancing with, more like grinding with, he bitterly added, seconds ago.

Iwaizumi bolted out of his seat and walked right into the pool of sweaty bodies faster than you could blink, his eyes never leaving you as you continue to argue with the stranger.

“I told you a million fucking times not to touch me,” he heard you shout just as he reached the circle you were now making in the middle of the dance floor.

The man shook his head, laughing in disbelief. “You were practically begging for me to touch you. You kept on sticking your ass whe-“

Screams erupted at the same time Iwaizumi feels a sharp pain shoot up his arm. He was breathing hard, his body taut as a wire because of the sudden anger raging inside him. Whatever the man was supposed to say, no one will ever know because Iwaizumi broke his nose before he could utter another word. He watched as the man clutched his bleeding nose while groaning pitifully on the floor.

“Fucking idiot!” He heard you say before he felt you pull him, dragging him away before he could contemplate inflicting further physical harm.

As the two of you passed the exit of the club, you were on his face yelling at him. “What the hell were you thinking?! Someone could’ve recognized you!”

He could hear you speak, rambling on and on about how much of an idiot he was but all he could think about was that man’s hands on you and before he could stop himself, pulled you to him and placed his hands on your waist.

At this distance, you’re wrapped up on his cologne and combined with the alcohol, the only thing on your mind is to take it all in, to breathe in his scent and to bask in his touch. His hands were larger, firmer and warmer than the stranger’s hands. And they felt perfect there, on your waist, meant to never touch anyone else’s.

But reality hits you like a truck and you pushed Iwaizumi away.

It was like a punch to his stomach and it left him breathless, reeling from the tangle of emotions he was feeling. He knows he’s scared shitless right now. Scared of letting himself be this vulnerable, scared of the fact that maybe he’s too late but what he doesn’t want to even think about was the possibility of losing you in the aftermath of whatever is going on between you two.

“We need to talk,” he tells you.

He tentatively reached for your arm, afraid that you’d run away again.

When you turned to look at him with red, glassy eyes, Iwaizumi could only take a shaky breath before running a hand through his hair.

Words were flooding his brain in that moment, each word fighting over the other to be said first, but he was like a fish out of water, opening and closing his mouth, unable to get the words out so he let instinct take over and crashed his lips to yours.

The first touch was light, tentative and scared, with his hand cradling your cheek as seconds passed, the two of you stuck in a limbo of unsaid words and restrained emotions. He could feel the knot in his stomach disappear when you didn’t push him away, and feeling a dose of courage fill his veins, pulls you closer with his hand on your back as he angled your face to deepen the kiss.

It was exhilarating and he felt braver, bolder because you were kissing him back with the same energy, the same hunger he felt, your lips matching his every move. He gasped when he felt you tug on his hair, and you used this as an opportunity to slide your tongue in his mouth.

Sweet fucking Jesus, Iwaizumi thought. He could feel the goosebumps in his skin as he trembled at the sensation of your mouth. You are the sweetest thing he ever tasted and the tinge of bitterness he could taste from the alcohol was just as addicting.

Iwaizumi knew this kiss was far from romantic, not at all what he imagined he’d do if he would ever be given the chance to kiss you but it was perfect. It was passionate and desperate, exactly how he feels in that moment, exactly how he feels about you. He never wanted to stop, he wanted time to stop, freezing the two of you in that moment but you jumped away from him when a car horn blasted beside you.

“You getting in or not?” the cab driver yelled from inside the car.

“Fuck,” you cursed under your breath. You were breathing heavily, hair disheveled from the way Iwaizumi was weaving his hand through it during the kiss and you were looking at him with the same heat, the same hunger pooling in his own stomach.

Before you could protest, Iwaizumi pulls you to get inside the car with him following closely. He rattles off his address to the driver as the taxi drives away from the curb.

He watches you fidget in your seat, your hand raised as you bit your nails but he took your hand and entwined your fingers with his to stop you.

There was only silence between the two of you during the car ride but he knew you were as restless as he was, heat prickling under the skin and eager to touch once again.

The two of you dashed inside the building and the elevator doors just closed when Iwaizumi pins you to the wall, his lips crashing into yours once again in another intoxicating kiss. Both of your hands are now buried in his hair, pushing and tugging as you kissed him back. His hands are everywhere, touching and pulling you closer and closer to eradicate any space between you.

Thank heavens there was no one else in the elevator.

As the box slowed to a stop, Iwaizumi practically carried you out as he led the two of you towards his door. It took him four tries to open the door because he was so distracted with you kissing his jaw.

When he got it to open, he drags you inside and kicked it close. Iwaizumi expertly maneuvers the two of you around his house all while keeping you close to him the whole time.

You feel the air whoosh out of your lungs when he throws you on his bed, him quickly chasing your lips once again as he joins you in bed.

There were no thoughts in your head at that point, all your senses zeroed in on him as you bask in the feel of his weight on you, a guttural moan escaping your lips when his hips met yours.

And that’s when Iwaizumi shuddered as alarm bells rang in his head.

This isn’t supposed to happen.

This isn’t how it was supposed to happen.

It’s not as though he had it all planned out with roses and candles nor was he particular with details, but this is wrong. You’re drunk and he’ll be damned if he took advantage of that.

“We should stop.”

“What? Why?” You asked, hands still roaming on his back and he shivered when you kissed his jaw. “It feels good.”

He definitely did not have to hear that. It took all of his willpower to control himself and not kiss you again when your lips are busy leaving trails on his neck. He pushed himself up to look at you, definitely also a mistake because seeing you on his bed, your hair disheveled, cheeks red and lips swollen, something inside him snapped and he mentally debated whether he was a masochist for doing this to himself.

What broke him out of his trance was you suddenly sobbing, face scrunched up as tears streamed down your cheeks.

“Shit. What’s wrong? Are you hurt? Did I hurt you?” He frantically asked.

“You’re an idiot!” you wailed as you sat up, hands furiously rubbing on your cheeks. “I did everything to make you like me and now you don’t even want to touch me because-because I don’t know why! I hate you, you insensitive gorilla!”

Iwaizumi was dumbfounded at your words. He knew you liked him back in high school but he didn’t think you’d keep your feelings for him even after he rejected you. He knew how stupid it was to let the love of his life go but he didn’t want to put the two of you in jeopardy because of his plans.

You were trying to punch him now, your fists clenched but all they were doing was thumped on his chest and even though you were already snotty and tear-stained, his heart still thrashed in his chest, screaming that you are the most beautiful person in the world.

He would’ve kissed you then, except you cut his train of thought with “I think I’m going to be sick” before proceeding to puke all over yourself and into the duvet.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

The next morning, you get woken up by the loud ringing of your phone and you swiped at it, knowing that the familiar tone is dedicated to Oikawa and he probably has some gossip or whatever to be calling you this early in the morning.

Cheers and laughters erupted from the speaker and you squint at the bright screen, finding the trio with shit-eating grins plastered on their faces.

“Shut up,” Iwaizumi groggily mumbles behind you, before pressing the red button and throwing your phone down to the floor.

Deciding to continue sleeping, you closed your eyes and pulled the soft covers up to your chin. The arm on your waist felt warm as it pulled you closer to a solid chest behind you-

Wait.

Behind you?

Arm on your waist?

Iwaizumi?

The scream that left your lungs can probably go down in the history of screams as you scrambled out of bed. You could feel your heart hammering on your chest and when your eyes landed on Iwaizumi’s tan skinned chest, the scream you were about to let out got stuck on your throat. When you met his eyes, he looked bored, grumpy and sleepy all at the same time.

“Hajime?!”

[teddybeartoji]

彡 A MASSIVE PILE OF GUILT

☆. contains: tooru oikawa x gn!reader; this is called angst i think (with comfort), reader plays volleyball and oikawa comforts them after they lost a match, reader talks badly about themselves:( i'm sorry, they swear they're just really really good friends but they're also just fucking stupid wc: 4k

in the blink of an eye the loud screams and cheers transform into a disgusting mix of muffled noises in your ears. the lights are too bright and you feel like you're stuck to the ground; stuck under hundreds pairs of eyes. you can't move, you can't breathe. your arm stings, a painfully clear reminder of your fuckup.

you should've had it, you saw it coming, you had a plan and yet - here you are, watching the colorfol ball hit the wall of the big arena with a quiet thud!. your eye twitches, locked onto the missed oppurtunity in a form a sphere sit metres away from you and your teammates.

because of you.

like a statue; turned into stone, you stand in your awkward position, unable to comprehend that it's over. that it's really over. it feels like everybody is looking at you, cursing you in their own heads. is this what drowning feels like? even if you could open your mouth to try and save yourself with a big breath of air, the stifling stench of losing would surely just make you choke harder.

a palm slaps onto your shoulder and you don't have to look at the person to know who it is – a dejected captain trying to pick up their loved teammates. you can't look at them; how could you? they're trying to cheer you up while you're the sole reason you lost in the first place. they give you a squeeze, a silent plea for you to snap out of it and you comply, not wanting to humiliate them any more.

you did well!

an arm around your shoulder, you're being dragged away from the court and you taste blood – the result of biting into the soft skin of your inner cheek in order to surpress a cry. the lights are too bright and you just want out.

after the handshakes and the formalities are done, your coach gives you all a pep talk. not that it helps but what else is there to say right now. you eat in almost complete silence; the only sounds in your ears being the chewing and the crying.

you've yet to do that. your lip wobbles and your eyes are red but so far, no tears. but you know you will – it'll be the only thing you'll be doing after you've locked yourself away into your room.

good game!

you feel sick. the food in your mouth is starting to taste like vomit and the water isn't helping either. still, you refuse to stop. refuse to raise your eyes from your table to ask whether you can leave. you will sit there as long as the others do and you won't complain. you will eat the food just like the others do and you won't complain. you don't get to do that.

the hugs feel just as suffocating as the eyes. you've never felt this bad in your whole entire life. you feel bad for thinking that the hugs feel suffocating – they're literally trying to comfort you and you're blatantly refusing it. stupid. stupid. stupid.

everyone has their own things they do after a loss. some like to be alone, some like to go for a run, some like to beat the fuck out of a punch bag and some like to do watch a comedy film with their teammates. it's silly; none of them laugh during it anyway. but it helps. you know it does because you've done it with them – not this time though. and they don't pressure you; they're not stupid, they understand how it feels. you need a moment and they will give it to you.

your captain does sit you down for a second before letting you go though, calmly telling you how it wasn't your fault and how you'll get it next time. and it sucks. it sucks that you don't hear it... it sucks that nothing will make this feeling go away. you know it and your captain knows it.

their warm hand resting on your back does soothe the shivers that have been tormenting you ever since you lost the ball. and for the first time since that moment, you crane your neck, raising your heavy head to meet their eyes and now you do feel like crying. the sadness is there, but so is the same warmth, the same adoration one has for their loved ones. nobody is upset with you, nobody blames you. their hand rises from your back and goes up to ruffle your hair as you let your head fall against their chest. "you're okay."

they hold you close as your tears soak their shirt. you hear a loud sigh and you know they're holding back theirs. the shivers are back and you hiccup out a broken i'm sorry, which makes the captain pull away immediately and grab your shoulders.

"don't. it wasn't your fault. it wasn't. you can cry as much as you want but that? you're not allowed to do that." there's a certain determination in their glassy eyes and you have no other choice but to weakly nod your head before letting it fall again.

"by the way, i saw you not eat properly, so i'm keeping an extra eye on you tomorrow morning, okay?" they poke your cheek and you're thankful. "i'm gonna watch the movie with the others but i'm keeping my phone close by, so if you want company at any time, just let me know."

you raise your head back up, desperate to show your appreciation for them and nod again, cracking the world's smallest and saddest smile and they ruffle your hair again before standing up. "you're okay."

they close the door behind them and you take a minute to compose yourself. you can't seem to stop your hands from shaking though and it makes you angry. your now empty room is too quiet and your own reflection in the window is taunting you with an ugly expression. is that really how you look like right now?

you don't wanna know and you don't want to keep looking at it either. so you grab your hoodie and your wallet and make your way to the lobby of the hotel. maybe the reflection in the vending machine won't be so mean.

and it isn't. it's not mean at all. it's the exact opposite actually. from the fact that it's staring at you with rather soft eyes to the fact that it's not your own reflection.

"good game, right?" you scare yourself with your own voice – already so harsh and raspy. it comes out mean and you wince. you tear your eyes from his, focusing on the sweet drink that's locked behind the glass instead.

oikawa is never this quiet and it makes you want to hit him. make a joke. just do it. just do it already. but he doesn't. his steps are quiet as he goes to lean on the vending machine. he's nothing if not observant; he sees your shaky hands pressing the buttons with so much effort; how the lips that are usually pulled into a beautiful grin he loves so much are now wobbling, ready to spill all of your sorrows. your clenched jaw as you try to avoid his gaze for whatever reason.

please, look at me.

the vending machine dings as the mechanics push your drink to you. his eyes are unforgiving and you know he means well. you know he's not gonna make fun of you, he's not gonna tease you – not now. but you still feel ashamed, whether he says the joke or not; the joke has already been made and it's right here, standing in front of a stupid pink vending machine.

your head shakes on it's own, casting shame on yourself on it's own. the drink falls with a loud thud! but before you can kneel down to get it, a hand on your wrist stops you.

his hand is so warm and it's unusual, considering he tends to be cold almost always. he doesn't push you and let's you take a deep breath before you raise your eyes to his.

if his heart wasn't shattered before, it sure is now. your eyes are red and glassy, but mostly tired, so tired. there's no glint in them, dull and sad. his hand slips from your wrist to your palm, intertwining his fingers with yours. "you did well."

your head falls back as you choke out a broken laugh. "oh, fuck off. i don't wanna fucking hear that. it makes me sick." staring at the ceiling, you shake your head again as if to rid of the words from your mind.

oikawa feels useless. he's been in your situation and yet, he can't think of anything good to say. he remembers how much he hated whenever people said that to him after their loss to karosuno. he tries to swallow the lump in his throat; everything he comes up with just makes him feel even more sick. he wants to cry because he doesn't know how to comfort you. how to make it all better.

"do you want me to stay with you?"

that's the best he can come up with. maybe just his presence will be enough when his words clearly aren't. but when you shake your head again, his heart sinks.

"that's alright. let's uh– ... tomorrow, yeah?" bringing your eyes down from the ceiling, you try to give him a reassuring smile that says i'm fine but it obviously doesn't work. you see the hurt in his eyes and you just feel bad. you feel bad for everything. you're upsetting people even off the court. you just can't help it can you?

"i'm good. i just need to be alone right now." you try again, squeezing his hand. his mouth opens but another voice cuts him off.

"oikawa!"

from around the corners emerges an angry looking iwaizumi. "here you fucking are. coach said it's bed time—"

when his eyes travel from his troublesome best friend over to yours, he swallows his words in an instant. you see the remorse wash over his face and you kind of want to laugh. it's all too funny in a fucked up way. "sorry for interrupting. hey, that was a really goo—"

good game!

he stops himself. fuck. what do you say in this situation?

"good game, i know. maybe next time it'll be a great one, hm?" the bitterness just oozes out of you without your consent, making iwaizumi wince. you feel bad.

pulling your hand from oikawa's, you kneel down to finally grab your nearly forgotten drink. "it's okay, really. i know what you mean."

another weak smile. a pathetic one. "see you at breakfast, yeah?"

oikawa shoving iwaizumi is the last thing you see as you're making your way back to your room. your hands still haven't stopped shaking and opening the door is so fucking hard. the key card slips from between your fingers—

breathe... in...

and out...

you kneel down and pick it up in slow motion as you're tunnel visioning on just getting inside the room. you hear the click! and you burst in, slamming the door shut. the ugly reflection is back and it's laughing at you and you can't do it anymore. your knees buckle from under you, hitting the soft carpeted floor as you weep. hunched over, you just look like a big pile of guilt.

clutching at your heart through your shirt, you cry and you cry, taking in raggedy breaths just to let out pathetic little sounds. everything hurts – your knees, your arms, your head, your eyes, your fingers, your legs, your inner cheek. you pretty much crawl to the bathroom, grabbing a handful of tissues before plopping right back down onto the floor. your nose hurts, too.

for almost an hour – you don't move from your spot, rooted and rotting into the carpet. it's pathetic. you think about how the others are watching the movie, shedding tears quietly but together, nonetheless. sick of your own actions, you push yourself up and change your clothes. you even manage to drink some water and wash your face in this half-alive state of being. a+ for effort, huh?

you bury yourself under the blanket, wishing the bed would swallow you whole instead. the tears have returned and you feel the pillow getting wetter and wetter by the second. you don't have it in you to grab another tissue though, letting the feeling of the soaked material remind you of your fuckup.

a floor and a few rooms away, oikawa can't stop pacing around. "but they said they didn't want me to go with them...."

"have you ever considered that people lie, idiot?" a tired iwaizumi replies from underneath his blanket on the bed. "especially in a situation like this. it's not like you were any better, you know."

oikawa just glares at him, although it's very hard for iwaizumi to take him seriously when he's wearing his matching plaid pj set. "but what if they get upset that i didn't listen to them?"

"but don't you wanna go and comfort them?" iwaizumi questions harshly. "don't you wanna be there for them? is your fear of overstepping more important than their well-being right now?"

oikawa thinks of your tired, sad eyes and his fingers twitch. "no."

"obviously, dick. go on, then. you have to be back for breakfast though or i'll punch you." iwaizumi states before turning away from his friend and disappearing completely under the blanket.

"you're so mean, iwa... can you not threathen to punch me every two seconds? i'm trying to be so good." oikawa mutters with a pout, grabbing his phone and his hoodie, ready to be your knight in shining armor. knight in plaid pyjamas more like.

"just go already." his friend grumbles and oikawa gifts him a small bye-bye as he's already halfway out the door. the next thing he knows, he's sprinting through the hallways, thanking himself in his head for making you tell him your room number the second he saw you this morning. he doesn't even take the elevator, instead taking triple steps up the stairs. he's also thanking himself for becoming an athlete.

knock! knock! knock!

dismissing that as just a noise from the room next door, you continue your sniffling but when the knocks repeat in a faster manner, you figure one of your teammates had forgotten their key card. so, ever so slowly you push yourself from the comfort of your bed and head over to the door while trying to wipe the tears from your eyes as to look at least a little bit more composed. you're even ready to crack a joke about them losing the card, desperate to disctract the person behind the door from yourself.

but it's not any of your teammates, nor is it your manager of your coach.

it's your oikawa instead – eyes wide open and slightly panting. "you said you don't want me here but i– fuck, how many steps can be between one floor..." he clutches his hand over his chest, the stupid comment slipping out all on its own.

for a millisecond, for a fraction of time, the corners of your lips turn upward but they fall just as fast back down, leaving you both just standing there, staring at each other.

your eyes look way worse now; way more red, way more tired, way more sad, way more dull than a mere hour ago. he should've come here sooner and he imagines iwaizumi slapping the back of his head for his mistake.

"you said you wanna be alone but i don't care."

his blunt statement catches you a little off-guard, your eyebrows furrowing but oikawa just takes it as a green light. if you didn't want him there, surely you'd tell him that right away but you've been standing here with him for a almost half a minute and nothing.

he takes a step, closing the distance between the two of you. he pushes his glasses up on his nose and fiddles with his own fingers and it's weird again. he's nervous. but this isn't about him – it's about you. whatever he's feeling right now is nothing compared to what you're feeling and he just wants to be here for you.

for a second time today, he watches your bottom lip wobble and your chest rise as you take short sharp breaths. and for a second time today, a pair of eyes feel actually comforting. he's not trying to burn you, he's not trying to take back time and alter your actions. he's merely observing instead of dissecting. he's ready to catch you when you fall.

and you do. it's hard not to when he's standing in front of you and looking at you so fondly. your head falls against his strong chest, hands tucked between your bodies as his firmly wrap around you. he takes another step inside and closes the door behind him with his foot.

he listens to you cry into him, he feels your tears on his shirt and through it, on his skin. your hands grasp onto the material, bunching it up in your fists and he just holds you tighter against him.

"you're gonna win next time, i promise" he murmurs.

but when you just sob out a but i wanted to win this time, his heart aches so bad he thinks he's going to die.

oikawa curses at himself for walking right into that one and this time he swears he feels iwaizumi slap the back of his head for real. but he has no time to pity his poor choice of words when he feels your hands clutching at him just where his heart is.

he whispers a quiet i know and you sniffle again. he starts drawing soothing circles onto your back with his palm and he feels so warm. releasing his shirt from your hold, you snake your hands around his body instead, burrowing your face even more into his chest and you faintly hear him coo. it's the first time ever that he's done it in a genuine way and it's the first time you haven't felt the need to punch him for it.

his hand rests on the back of your head, keeping you in your place as he gently sways the both of you from side to side. "i got you."

after some time, he feels you going slack against him and decides to guide you to the bed. he climbs in with you and safely tucks you into the crook of his neck and lets you cry some more as he whispers it's okay against your temple. he just hopes that he's actually helping, that his words actually have an effect. god, he hopes he's making it at least a bit better for you.

he is. he's doing more than he could ever imagine. the thick goo of guilt and shame seems to be draining out of you when you feel his lips brush against your skin. he just might be washing the it off of you with his quiet praise. his words don't sound condescending nor do they sound fake. he means it when he says that you really did do well.

the tears have dried by now and oikawa can feel your eyelashes fluttering against his neck. the long tiring day is finally catching up to you as your breathing slows. he rests his head on top of yours and presses your body indifinitely closer to his. the tips of his fingers dance across your skin, drawing little circles and hearts as he soaks in the sight of you relaxing against him under the moonlight.

"did..."

your meek voice makes him crane his neck back so he can look at you better, ready to hear out whatever complaint you have, ready to comply to whatever request you have.

"did iwaizumi send you?"

...

"WHAT?" it comes out way louder and in a way higher pitch than he'd intended it to. he immediately clears his throat but his eyebrows are still furrowed. "i wanted to come here, why would you say that..."

he still can't see your face clearly from this angle but the way your body moves, is telling him that this isn't you crying anymore. this is you laughing.

"are you– are you fucking laughing at me right now?" he questions, trying to pry you from his neck to confirm his suspicion. and he's fucking right. when you finally unlatch yourself from his body and roll onto your back, you have the tiniest, smallest smile on your lips and oikawa's mouth falls slack. "i wanted to come! i– i'm a good friend!"

it shouldn't be this funny. it really shouldn't because he is a good friend, isn't he? he's here now, holding you, comforting you; he came to you and you're now making fun of him. but you can't help it, the thought of iwaizumi "lecturing" him is silly in this moment. not that you doubt that he came here only because of that, of course. but knowing him, you just think he probably needed a push to actually do it.

oikawa holds himself up above you, observing the small freckles that adorn your face. your eyes are still red and still tired but... the small little glint is back. the same one that's always there when you make fun of him. or when you laugh.

"i literally ran here and this is how you treat me?"

"you're telling me it took you an hour to run up the stairs? i thought you were a volleyball player, shouldn't your stamina be better–" you poke at his chest (right where his heart is) and he lets out a very loud and a very dramatic gasp. "or did your boyfriend have to convince you to come over and console me?"

oikawa's lips tilt into a smirk, happy to hear you barking at him at last. "first of all, don't ever call him my boyfriend ever again–" he situates himself next to you, so his both hands are free. you should've seen this coming, too. "and second of all, you really oughta treat me better."

before you can taunt him with a good old "or what?", his hands are tickling your sides, fingers dancing along your skin as laughter bubbles up from your throat. you try to fight him off, hands clutching onto his in order to stop his torment but to no avail.

"i am... trying... to be.... a good... friend... and this is... what i get... huh..." he rasps as he continues soaking in the sound of your laughter.

"you're.... always... in it for something... that's not... a... real friend... tooru..." you breathe back with a grin and he stops. he doesn't take his hands off of you though, just resting them on your waist.

"you're spending way too much time with iwaizumi, you're both just so mean to me." he's pouting. oikawa is sitting back on his legs and he's actually pouting.

"am i gonna have to console you now?"

"yes." he deadpans.

...

you push yourself up onto your elbow and lean up to boop his nose. "you're stupid."

"no, you're stupid." he grins back.

he has his ways of getting you out of a slump, he always has. him sitting here on your tiny little bed, pouting and laughing is only merely of them. you couldn't wish for a better friend. his hands feel so warm on you and you're so grateful. sitting up, you slap your hands on his shoulders (which of course, makes him wince in a very over the top way). "thanks for coming, tooru."

he rolls his eyes. "pffft."

...

pfft?

"excuse me?" you glare at him and he decides that you and iwaizumi can never hang out ever again.

"i– i meant– yeah, of course. anything for you." he stutters out as you keep glaring at him. he then leans in closer, so much so that your noses are almost touching. "i'm really proud of you, you know."

heat crawls up from your neck and you feel the tips of your ears warm up, overwhelmed by the sudden genuine praise. but you can't let him have the upper hand. not now, not ever. he'll never let you live it down.

"your breath stinks, you know."

his eyes close with another incredibly dramatic sigh as he rests his forehead against yours but while doing so, he takes notice of your hot skin and the way you giggle, and translates it into your language –

thank you.

[cottonlemonade]

Making Up After A Fight

word count: 756 || avg. reading time: 3 mins.

pairing: post-time skip Oikawa x chubby!Reader

genre: angst with happy ending

warnings: none, just Oikawa being hard on himself and insecure

Oikawa hates fighting as much as you do.

But sometimes it was inevitable. His training schedule had been crazy, the coach had scolded him for putting too much pressure on his bad knee and he was frustrated with himself for delivering, as he thought, disappointing performances on the court lately.

And unfortunately, you were the best girlfriend through all of this. Something he should be happy about, but like many times before it just made him realize that he didn't deserve you.

He couldn't give you the time he wanted. He wished more than anything that you would just tell him how disappointed you were in the relationship and in him, for not being good enough, there enough, doting enough - he hated it. He hated every second, because he knew that when he got to his phone at the end of training, a sweet and loving message would wait for him, saying that you missed him. You would have maybe sent a picture of something cute that reminded you of him during your day or suggested something to do together on his next day off. It was infuriating that you never blamed him for not being the boyfriend he should be.

So it came as no surprise that one night after practice, when he was over at your place, he snapped. He just arrived, took off his shoes and smelled the lovely home cooked meal that was simmering on the stove. You came to greet him, smiling tiredly but genuinely happy to see him and he couldn't take it anymore. He started yelling and gesturing, asking you why you even bothered with him, told you how you weren't right for him, that you made him feel like garbage, turned on his heels, grabbed his shoes and left.

You stood in the doorway of your kitchen, not knowing, not understanding what had just happened but you also knew that he had never yelled at you before. Ever. Sure you'd seen him frustrated and stressed but even then his outbursts were never directed at you. Not like this.

Tears started to fill your eyes. You grabbed your phone, wanting to call him, had already one arm in your jacket to go after him, but decided against it.

The phone in your hand buzzed but it was only a text from your friend asking about your day. You typed a nondescript reply, not wanting them to worry and promised to call tomorrow.

Now only silence filled your apartment. Silence and the taunting smell of an untouched dinner.

You paced a while up and down your living room, throwing tentative glances through your window to see if you could maybe spot him on the dark street below. But nothing.

You started several messages to Tooru but deleted them before hitting send - none of them sounded right.

Not knowing what else to do, you put the now cold dinner into the fridge, took a shower and headed to bed, unable to stop more tears rolling onto the pillow.

You heard the front door unlock at around 1 am, but didn't know if you just imagined it in your half sleep state.

A soft knock came from your bedroom door. You weren’t exactly in the mood to talk, so you stayed quiet. Another soft knock and the door opened slowly. For the longest moment Oikawa just stood in the doorway, looking at your, he assumed, sleeping form.

He sighed, rubbing his eyes and then shrugged off his jacket to sit on the bed. Slowly, carefully, he laid down behind you, moving closer to wrap his arm around your soft waist.

"Are you awake?", he murmured.

You shifted slightly to show him you were.

"I'm really sorry.", he whispered gingerly into the crook of your neck, "You did absolutely nothing wrong, I promise. It's just with the training and my screw ups at the last match and you have been so great about it all and-"

You heard his throat closing up as he nuzzled closer to you, "I really don't know how you put up with it. I'm never around, I never have time to do normal couple stuff, I mess up your sleep schedule and you never complain. I feel horrible."

You finally turn around to face him. "Well, I am mad at you now, if that makes you feel better."

He had to chuckle through his tears and bit his lip, bringing a hand up to cup your cheek. "I love you, darling."

You snuggled into his chest and entwined your fingers with his. "I love you, too."

[keisgirl]

hidden by the crown; oikawa tooru

again might delete!

pairing; campus volleyball star!oikawa x gf!reader

kjdhfksjhfdkjs might turn this into a three part fic where you can choose endings to read. one would be fluffy and one would be angst-

wc; 0.8k

multi masterlist

you sat at a small, worn-out table in the corner of the campus café, staring blankly at the coffee cup in your hands. the warmth seeped through your fingers, but it did little to comfort you. your phone vibrated beside you, lighting up with a familiar name—oikawa tooru. you sighed, pushing it aside as you ignored yet another message from him.

it wasn’t that you didn’t want to talk to him. no, you always wanted to talk to him. but today was different. today, you couldn’t stomach hearing from him, especially when the same thing happened—again. another girl had approached you in the hallway, all smiles and nervousness, asking you if you could help her confess to oikawa. you were used to it by now—being seen as his best friend, his confidante. the girl even mentioned how lucky you were to be so close to him, to be his friend.

you were tired. tired of being the one who knew everything about him, the one who he kissed behind closed doors, but never in public. best friend—that’s all anyone saw when they looked at you. you were the secret, the one he kept tucked away from the spotlight that constantly followed him around. it wasn’t that he didn’t care. he did. you knew it in the way he’d brush his fingers against yours under the table when no one was looking, or how he’d send you texts that no one else would ever get to read.

but still, it hurt.

it hurt every time someone told you how perfect he was, how they wished they had a chance with him. and you—what were you supposed to say? you couldn’t even claim him, couldn’t say that he was yours without blowing everything up. his fans, his image—he always said it wasn’t the right time, that it would cause more trouble than it was worth.

the door to the café opened, and you didn’t need to look up to know it was him. his presence was like gravity, pulling everyone’s attention the moment he walked into a room. you forced yourself to take a sip of your coffee, your throat tightening as you heard the footsteps approach.

“hey,” his familiar voice greeted you softly, sliding into the chair across from you. his hand reached out, gently nudging yours, but you pulled away, setting the cup down on the table with a soft clink.

“what’s wrong?” oikawa’s brows furrowed, his usual cheerful expression dimming as he looked at you. “you’ve been avoiding me all day.”

you exhaled sharply, finally meeting his gaze. “do you ever get tired of it?”

he blinked, caught off guard. “tired of what?”

“tired of this.” you gestured vaguely between the two of you. “of me… being a secret.”

his face softened, guilt flashing in his eyes. “babe, we’ve talked about this…”

“yeah, we have,” you cut him off, voice quieter now, but no less strained. “and i thought i could handle it. but today—god, tooru, another girl asked me to help her confess to you. she was so sweet, and i had to stand there and pretend like it didn’t feel like a punch to the gut.”

he was silent for a moment, his eyes dropping to the table. “i didn’t know it was this bad.”

“well, it is,” you murmured, your heart aching. “i don’t even know why i’m telling you this. nothing’s going to change. you’ll just keep being the volleyball king, and i’ll keep being the girl that no one knows about.”

“stop that,” his voice cracked as he reached for your hand again, this time more firmly, and you let him take it. “don’t say it like that.”

“like what?” you whispered, your vision blurring with unshed tears. “like the truth?”

oikawa’s thumb brushed over the back of your hand, his grip tightening as if he was afraid you’d slip away. “i hate that you feel this way. i don’t want you to feel like you’re less important than anything else in my life. but it’s not that simple—”

“it never is, is it?” you smiled bitterly, pulling your hand away from his once again. “there’s always some excuse, something to justify why you can’t just… admit it.”

he ran a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated. “do you think i like this? do you think it’s easy for me, seeing all these people fawn over me when the only one i care about is sitting right in front of me?”

you stayed quiet, his words not offering the solace you wished they would.

“i know i’ve been selfish,” oikawa said, voice softer now. “but i love you. i’m just… scared.”

you raised an eyebrow, not expecting that. scared? he was never scared of anything—or at least, that’s what everyone thought. confident, cocky oikawa tooru, afraid? of what?

“scared of what, exactly?” you asked, your tone less biting now, genuine curiosity slipping in.

he sighed, leaning forward with his elbows on the table, burying his face in his hands for a moment. when he looked up again, his eyes were tired, his usual spark dimmed. “scared that if i let people know about us, things will change. you know how people can be. i’m afraid they’ll tear us apart, make it impossible for us to just… be.”

“tooru…” you whispered, his vulnerability catching you off guard.

he reached for your hand again, more desperately this time. “i know i’ve been asking you to wait, and it’s not fair. but please, don’t give up on me. don’t give up on us.”

you bit your lip, trying to stop the tears from falling. this was the side of him no one else saw—the boy underneath all the bravado and charm. the boy who was just as scared as you were, but for different reasons.

“i’m not giving up on you,” you finally said, your voice trembling. “i just… i need you to meet me halfway. i can’t keep pretending like this doesn’t hurt.”

he nodded, squeezing your hand tightly. “i’ll do better. i promise. just… don’t walk away from me.”

you took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the conversation settle over you. it wasn’t a perfect solution, but it was something. it was a start.

“okay,” you said softly, allowing your fingers to intertwine with his. “but you can’t keep me in the dark forever, tooru.”

“i know,” he whispered, bringing your hand to his lips. “and i won’t.”

it was a quiet promise, one that would take time to see through. but for now, you’d hold on to it, because despite everything, you loved him. and as long as he was willing to try, so were you.

should i make it two part..

[maeism]

⤿ OIKAWA TOORU ౨ farewell to the moon ৎ

cw : t.oikawa x f!reader, timeskip!oikawa, angst.

word count : 1.09k

“Don't fall asleep,” Oikawa said, his voice soft and warm. 

“I won't,” she lied. The comfort of his shoulder feeling so right under her head, and the quiet and illuminated sky made everything seem like a lullaby only they could hear. The stars seemed to have lined up just for tonight. They created the perfect atmosphere for them to lay as they looked up and let the beauty of the moon swallow them whole. This felt perfect. 

The only problem with perfection is that it is nonexistent. It is true, even though the feeling was perfect, the following events were far from it. 

They both loved the moon. It was their thing. Lay down in the grass, look up, admire, and dream. The moon felt like a constant to them, a secret language. It was always going to be there. Even when one of them wasn't going to be. They always knew the moon was their invisible string.

She doesn't remember when they started doing it—the lay down and look up—. Maybe it was after that power outage in their second year of highschool. The only light available to illuminate them was the shine of the moon. Maybe it was that night they ditched a party and ended up on his roof, sharing a blanket and secrets they would never say out loud in daylight. Maybe it just happened, like all the best things do. Without being planned. Without being announced.

What she does remember was when he said, “The moon will always be ours.” His voice was as delicate as a feather. As if he was afraid of breaking something with his words. And she knew he was right. It didn’t matter if they were happy, heartbroken, fighting or laughing so hard they couldn’t breathe. The moon stayed. And so did they. That is, until they didn’t.

Everything felt bittersweet. His shoulder felt like it was slowly moving away, distancing itself from her. But her mind could be playing tricks on her based on the situation at hand. They both knew it was their last moon. 

He never said it out loud, he didn’t need to. She saw it in the way he held her just a little tighter, in the way his voice shook when he laughed. 

“What time is it in Argentina right now?” She asked, not looking at him. He didn’t answer. He didn’t want to be reminded. 

She swallowed before speaking again. “Will you still look at the moon?”

“Every night,” he finally answered, his head moving slightly to look at her as she kept her head up looking at the sky. She nodded. Maybe because crying didn't feel like an option. Not yet.

She rubbed her arms to keep herself from the cold. When he noticed, he grabbed the corner of the blanket and wrapped it around her. Below it, she could feel as the heat radiated off his skin. They both would give up anything to stay in this moment. Their fingers barely touching, their eyes unconsciously pulling back to each other. If only they could give up everything and stay here. 

A firefly flew right in front of them and they both followed it with their gaze in a synchronized motion. 

“You know, fireflies can't shine forever,” he said, his eyes still following that small light.

“They can't?”

“Just for a few minutes. They shine, then they disappear.” 

She stayed quiet. Not because she didn't know what to say, but because she understood what he meant.

She wanted to say so many things. Ask if he was afraid. If he was also counting the days to their goodbye. If someway, this hurt both of them the same. But she didn't say anything. Because sometimes, silence weighs less than the truth. 

He moved himself a little closer, their shoulders brushing against each other and she started to absorb everything.

The smell in the air, the soft whisper of her thoughts, the sky above, her messy emotions, the delicate sounds of the night, and her hope, becoming more and more fragile.

They didn't say goodbye. They just stayed there, showering in the glow of the moonlight, pretending the sky could keep them together.

They made no promises that night. There was no “I’ll wait for you,” no “This isn’t over.” Only the silence of the grass beneath them, the weight of the moon above, and the quiet truth that something was ending.

And then he left.

In the nights that followed, she returned to the same place. She looked up at the moon and wondered if he did too. But it wasn’t the same anymore. The certainty that he was watching it too had vanished. He once said the moon was theirs. And she believed him. She spent entire nights replaying their story, clinging to the memory, thinking that the silver moon would be enough to keep them connected. An invisible string. Unbreakable. Despite the miles between them.

But what remains now is a mess of emotions. Every time the moon appeared, it was a comfort. A “hello” in the middle of chaos. A refuge. But even that comfort had an end. Because when the moon disappeared, it reminded her that he had too. It reminded her of their goodbye.

He left like the moon. And the cruelest part was that, when the moon rose for her, it was setting for him. A greeting for one, a farewell for the other. They were still watching the same moon. Just not together anymore.

She stopped waiting for the moon to speak. But it did. Every night, in the silence between glowing stars, it whispered all the things he never said. And that silence? It hurt more than any goodbye ever could.

She had searched for him in the sky for so long that she forgot how to look elsewhere. Until one night, she didn’t. And that, in its own quiet way, was the end.

He never told anyone, but when the lights dimmed and the crowds faded, when the ache in his shoulder pulsed louder than the cheers ever could, he still looked for the moon. Not for answers. Not even for her. But to just feel something constant. Familiar. Like the weight of her head on his shoulder, or the way she always knew when to stay quiet.

He wondered if she still looked up too. And if she did, he questioned if she hated him for not saying the one thing that mattered.

But the moon never answered. It was gone. It had already set. He had already set.

[slut4msby]

like you love me. oikawa tooru x reader

+ tags & warnings; slight angst, slight fluff

+ a/n; okok so i have had real bad writers block but heres this its alright but kinda rushed also i have been a little obsessed with the seijoh4 atm so expect more seijoh4 writings :3

"Tooru, do you really have to go?" you question, your gaze fixed on the floor. The thought of looking at your now ex-boyfriend pains you deeply. His presence stings, though you understand it wasn't his intention to hurt you. Both of you acknowledge that parting ways is for the best; he's pursuing his dream across the world, and you want nothing more than to be happy for him. Yet, the struggle to find that happiness within yourself is challenging.

"Y/N, please look at me, darling," Tooru pleads, tilting your chin to meet his gaze. "You know how much this hurts me too."

You do know. There's no denying how Oikawa feels right now, the difficulty he is facing. Maybe even more than you. You're aware that he will carry the weight of your heartbreak on his shoulders, blaming himself, even though you understand it's not his fault. He's simply pursuing the path that brings him joy, the one you've always encouraged him to take. You recognize Oikawa's potential for greatness and don't want to stop him.

"Stop looking at me like that," you retort bitterly, avoiding eye contact.

"Like what?" Oikawa inquires.

"Like you love me, Tooru."

The truth stings.

"But I do love you, N/N-chan."

"I don't want you to love me, Tooru. I want you to forget about me entirely. I don't want to be a lingering memory for you. All I'll do is hold you back. Tooru, I know you can achieve so much without me," you declare, your words accompanied by falling tears.

"Y/N," Tooru murmurs, his voice filled with a mixture of pain and longing.

“Bye Tooru.”

That was the last time you had spoken or even seen Tooru in almost ten years. You couldn’t deny you often thought of him. He was the best lover you have ever had. When you heard the news that Oikawa had started playing for the Argentina team, you couldn’t help but smile. Smile at all the things he could achieve without you, like you never happened. That's what you thought at least. However, it was the complete opposite. Tooru could only ever think of you. No matter how many women he dated or slept with he could only ever think of you.

He missed you.

He missed you like crazy, but he knew he couldn’t reach out. In the last five minutes he saw you, you practically told him you want nothing to do with him. Little did he realise that you eagerly waited for any form of contact from him. As time passed, regret overcame you for those words spoken to Tooru that night, playing like a broken record on your mind.

As you walked down the stadium halls, trailing behind Atsumu who was rambling about some nonsense story in preparation for the Japan vs. Argentina match. You walk past the Argentinian team’s locker room. You pause for a moment, as you catch yourself staring blankly at the door. The intensity of your gaze prompted Atsumu to halt mid-story, looking at you with concern.

“You good, N/N?” he asked

You nod, “yeah, let’s just keep going, Atsumu.”

You and Atsumu keep walking down the stadium halls. However, as you both move forward, you can’t shake off the lingering thoughts of the Argentinian team’s locker room and the memories associated with Tooru. 

As you continue navigating the maze of corridors, you spot a familiar figure walking towards you in conversation with another large muscular man. Your heart skips a beat when you realise it’s Tooru Oikawa. Time seems to freeze as you lock eyes with him.

Atsumu notices your change in attitude and follows your guide. His eyes widened in surprise, staring at the renowned setter. “Well if it ain’t Oikawa…” Atsumu mutters under his breath.

Oikawa doesn’t even acknowledge Atsumu as he takes a step forward towards you. “Y/N,” he says, his voice tainted with a mixture of surprise and longing.

You swallow hard, caught between the rush of emotions and the memories flooding back. “Tooru,” you respond, your voice barely above a whisper. The air becomes charged with unspoken words and unresolved emotions. “We were just getting on our way right, Atsumu?”

“Yeah.” Atsumu responded giving 

“Y/N-san, please just give me a minute.” Oikawa pleads.

“Sorry Tooru, we have somewhere to be…” He could tell you wanted to stay, to see him. He could see it in your face, he heard it in the way you spoke. You were still as beautiful as he remembered. He was still as in love with you as his 18 year old self was. Most people his age were having kids, getting married, and settling down. However, Oikawa couldn’t. He was still in love with his high school sweetheart, the woman who didn’t love him back, or so he thought.

The match progresses with both teams fiercely competing on the court. Your attention is divided between the game and the unresolved emotions stirred up by Oikawa's unexpected presence. As you sit on the bench, feverishly writing in your notebook just like you used to during his high school matches, memories flood back, and your heart feels a mix of nostalgia and anxiety.

Meanwhile, Oikawa can't help but steal glances at you from the court. The years have passed, but the feelings are still alive. Next to you sits his best friend, Hajime Iwaizumi, who senses the tension in the air and knows he needs to address the unresolved issues between you and Oikawa.

As the match reaches its climax, and the crowd roars with excitement, Hajime approaches you discreetly. "Hey, Y/N," he says, turning to you.

"What's up?" you ask, looking up from your notebook.

"Can you meet me outside the physio room after the match?" he requests. "I just need help with something."

"Of course, Hajime," you respond, offering a reassuring smile.

The match concludes, leaving the stadium buzzing with energy. You make your way to the agreed-upon meeting spot outside the physio room. As you approach, you don’t find Hajime standing there, rather Oikawa Tooru.

“Oh sorry, I was looking for Iwaizumi-san…” You mutter. Your gaze falling to the floor similar to the last conversation the two of you held.

“Oh uhm, me too…” Oikawa says nervously, an arm awkwardly scratching his neck. 

“You played well, Oikawa-san.” You plainly state, attempting to ease the discomfort.

"Oikawa-san?" he questions, a hint of hurt in his expression. The formality stings, a stark contrast to the intimacy you once shared.

"I just thought..." you begin, hesitating for a moment. "Things have changed, Tooru. We both have."

“I still love you Y/N-” Tooru blurts out. Immediately turning red. Fuck, fuck, fuck. “I-I didn’t mean to say that.”

Silence.

“I know you said you didn’t want me to love you, and you wanted me to forget and you and tha-” 

Tooru’s speech was cut off by your lips meeting his. The unexpected moment left him confused, but within seconds, the initial confusion turned into a reciprocated kiss. The kiss was filled with a range of emotions. The kiss was like an unspoken language that conveyed the complexity of your shared history and the unresolved feelings lingering between you.

“I love you too, Tooru. And I regret every one of those words that came out of my mouth. I haven’t stopped thinking of you, Tooru. no matter who I tried to replace you with, no one was you, Tooru.”

“Stop looking at me like that.” He giggled.

“Like what, I’m being sincere here!”

“Like you love me, darling~.” He teased as he placed a kiss on your forehead.

“Touché, Tooru. Touché.”

©slut4msby.