#torta frita | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dira333 · 11 months ago

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Away from home - Oikawa x reader

Follower Celebration Request

A/N: Since I had quite some trouble characterizing him, I'd appreciate it if you told me how well I've managed

Your last roommate had been less difficult.

Granted, he’d only been on the lease for a month before he moved out again, and even then, you barely saw him.

But this guy is different. He’s been overly charming during the interview, to the point that it made you suspicious. Who flirts that much over a simple room? Especially when it had already been clear that he got it?

Oikawa Tooru is tall, good-looking, and aware of it. He’s also your roommate of one day and is already going on your nerves.

“The laundry.” You’re standing in the doorway to his room, laundry basket heavy on your hip. “You need to put it away when it’s done or I can’t use the washer.”

“Oh, I was going to do-” Tooru scrambles up from his bed where he’d been watching something on his laptop, his ridiculously floppy hair bouncing as he moves. He’s like a walking shampoo ad.

“Yeah, now.” You put the laundry basket down. “And I need it in half an hour when my load is done.”

“Sure thing, honeycup.”

“Don’t call me that.”

You had wondered, for about half a minute, how he was dealing with the culture shock that was Argentina. It had been tough for you, coming from America, but it had to be worse for him. You still remember how he blushed when you casually used his first name - like you were used to doing - before realizing that that’s not really a thing in Japan.

Was he as homesick as you? Did he miss familiar sights, the simple things like being able to get your favorite brand of chocolate in the nearby store instead of having to find a specialty shop and paying an arm and a leg for it?

You wanted to ask, kind of, until you walked back to his room thirty minutes later only to find your laundry basket still filled with wet clothing.

“Are you serious?” You ask. He looks up from his laptop, brows furrowed.

“What?” He asks.

“The laundry. I told you I need the basket.”

“I was going to-”

You grab the basket, lift it up, and turn it over, watching with a sick kind of satisfaction as it drops heavily on his bed - and partly on him too.

“I’m not your mom.” You remind him and storm out of his room before you can lose your temper even more.

A week later you’ve learned a few things about Tooru.

One, he needs longer in the bathroom than you. Especially in the mornings when you really have to pee.

Two, he has the worst diet you’ve ever seen and you lived with your diabetic grandfather until you moved here. How can he survive on coffee and Tortas Fritas and still look like someone cut him from marble a few hours ago?

Three, he never seems to sleep. Twice you’ve got up in the wee hours of the morning because your bladder insisted on it, only to find him up, watching sports on his laptop like a maniac.

Four, he owns at least five pairs of Alien-themed loungewear. That you know because he keeps forgetting to put his laundry away.

Which brings you to the fifth thing you’ve learned about him. He never, ever, ever puts his laundry away.

It’s a miracle he even knows how to start a washing cycle. But as soon as he presses the button he seems to forget that the machine even exists until you put the laundry basket in his room and insist that he hangs his clothes to dry. When you come back around and find that he hasn’t done that, you can either hang it up yourself to avoid the smell or nag him until he does it. Which in turn will lead to you nagging him about taking down the dry clothes. You suspect he just picks them from the clothes line whenever he needs to wear them, entirely foregoing his closet.

And you should be above this. He’s your roommate, not your friend. He’s a stranger and not part of your family. He’s not even a child, even though he acts like one. So even if you’re studying pediatric medicine, that does not mean you have to throw yourself in front of every man-toddler who seems to need your help.

But he does. And you cannot make yourself stop caring.

“Listen up, Buttercup.” You start the moment the door clicks shut behind him.

“Oh?” He asks, voice hopeful. The smile slips from his lips the moment he sees you.

Your hair is pushed away from your face thanks to the most ridiculous headband you own - it has two plush black crows sown onto both sides instead of cat ears because your little brother had both a sowing and a crow phase at the same time. You hold your spatula like a sword and point it at him.

“We’re cooking today.”

“I don’t need-”

“You cannot live by Tortas Fritas any longer.” You declare. “My medical degree will not allow it.”

“You don’t have a medical degree yet.”

“And you’re not Karch Kiraly but you sure act like him.”

That makes him perk up. “You know Karch Kiraly?”

“Who doesn’t?” You throw an apron at him. “Get dressed.”

“Do I have to?”

“Do you want to ruin your clothes?”

He makes a face like he’s hurting. “It’s just… it has crows on it.”

“Yes, my brother made it. You can use your own apron if you cannot handle some cute crows.”

The hurt look intensifies but he wraps it around his body, fiddles with the strings.

“You’re hopeless.” You step behind him and tie it closed, making sure to pull it extra tight as punishment for last week's actions.

“Do you have any allergies? Sensory issues?”

“I don’t like slimy food.”

“Well, you’re in luck, we’re not making slime today.”

Tooru is, surprisingly enough, not a fool in the kitchen. He knows how to cut vegetables without hurting himself and he manages not to burn anything.

But he talks. A lot.

His English is as good as your Japanese is rusty. His accent is kinda cute, but you choose to ignore that. His Spanish is downright criminal and you have to remind yourself of his awful laundry behaviors to keep from swooning every time he points at something and names it in Spanish.

“You’re very adamant.” You point out. “Your Spanish is good, you could probably slack off a day or two.”

The look he gives you has you shivering.

“Why should I slack off?” He asks. “What do I gain from that? Do you know how hard it is to get rid of your accent?”

There’s an intensity to his voice that makes you take a step back only to bump into the table behind you.

He stops, freezes, and for some inexplicable reason - ducks his head.

You stand there for a second, speechless and confused until he seems to realize that whatever he was waiting for isn’t coming. When he straightens up again, sadness washes over his face and you know that look - it’s Homesickness.

“Who are you missing right now?”

“Iwa-chan.” He turns around to flip the frittata. “He’s my best friend.”

“Did he ruffle your hair?” You ask, “Is that why you ducked your head?”

“No.” He laughs, still not facing you. It must be easier for him to be open like this when he’s not looking at you. “He’d throw Volleyballs at my head when I was misbehaving. I’m sorry, by the way. I didn’t want to scare you.”

“Like you could scare me.” You joke, trying to downplay the effect he really had on you.

“Oh, I can be scary when I want to be, don’t you try me.” He turns this time, but the smile on his face ruins the joke. You like him more when he’s honest instead of charming.

“So that Iwa-chan.” You move to plate the food. “He’s your mom? Mom-Friend? Did he also make sure you did your laundry and went to bed early and ate healthy?”

It’s more meant as a joke than a real question and you falter when you realize that you hit the nail on the head.

Tooru seems to fold under your question.

“Yes.” He pouts. “I thought… Well…” He grips the edge of the sink, stares out the window instead of facing you. “The team I play for offers housing. I had a nice apartment all to myself.”

“But you need the reinforcement of a second person to actually get your life together?”

“Yeah.” He doesn’t even sound ashamed about it.

You step forward, as close to him as you dare. When he turns, you level him with a glare, stick your pointer finger into his ridiculous buff chest.

“You listen to me, you little shit. I am not your mother and I am not your Iwa-chan. I will not run after you and remind you to eat and take a shit and go to sleep. You are more than capable of doing it yourself.”

He opens his mouth to answer but you’re not done yet.

“If I catch you with another Tortas Fritas this month, I’ll whoop your ass.”

Tooru smiles so bright you can see a dimple forming. “Is that a promise?”

“Eat.” You turn away before he can see how flustered that comment made you.

Two days later you find him in the kitchen, making a ridiculous show of it as if he’s there to film an ad for an apron instead of cooking.

He’s bought an apron for himself. Something told you he wanted to buy an alien-themed one but couldn’t find one.

Should you tell him that Godzilla isn’t an alien? He seems pretty happy about the little guy destroying cities on the flimsy fabric.

It’s been a rough day for you. Both your period and your work studies have you rubbed raw. You want to crawl into bed, not think about the boy that came in today, the one who reminds you too much of your little brother.

“Hey, am I doing this right?” Tooru calls after you as you make your way to your bedroom to unload your stuff.

“For sure.” You croak out, half turned to look at him.

There’s something in his smile that makes it look wobbly. Not for the first time you wonder if he’s just as homesick as you are. You drop your bag on the floor in front of your bedroom door and walk back to the kitchen.

“What are you making?”

“Curry.” He waves his spoon around like he’s a magician instead of a cook. “My mother’s recipe.”

“Oh, I don’t think I’ve ever tried Japanese Curry. Can I try?”

“Of course.” Tooru grins proudly. “I made enough for both of us. And there will be leftovers.”

“That’s neat. What’s the special ingredient?”

“No special ingredient. It’s a basic recipe, I can teach you if you want.”

“Yeah, I’d like that.” You lean against the sink, surprised when he pulls something from the fridge.

“Iced coffee. Thought you might like one when you get home.”

“You’re a godsend.” You groan and take the first sip. You’re not sure what’s more effective at waking you up, the caffeine or the coolness of the drink against the heat of all of Argentina.

“You shouldn’t drink that much coffee.” He points out when you’re halfway done with the drink.

“You shouldn’t tell me what to do.”

“You could sleep more.”

“I will when you do it too.”

He looks up, a grin on his face that speaks of danger. “Deal.”

“What?”

“Bedtime for both of us. Does ten sound okay?”

“You’ll never be able to get to bed at ten. Don’t you have to bingewatch sports for five hours at night to feel complete?”

“Ouch. I’m just doing research.”

“Mhm, or you have a fetish.”

He laughs at that, loud and carefree. You like him like this.

“Tell me about your mom.” It sounds a little too harsh, but he doesn’t seem to mind that you’re demanding instead of asking.

He looks different when he speaks of his family. Younger and taller, both at the same time. Like he allows himself to be vulnerable and grows above himself through that.

You wonder how he could ever think that his fake smile could work on women when his real smile is this attractive.

Days turn into weeks, into months.

Tooru is now the crowned king of the kitchen - after a few too many cooking battles that you’ve all sorely lost. It’s not that he doesn’t know how to cook, he just needs a reason to do so. He jokes it’s the smile on your face when you eat, but you don’t want to believe that.

It holds too many implications to believe it.

In turn, you’ve taken up all laundry duties. It’s a good system and you don’t have to nag him anymore. If he doesn’t put his dirty laundry out on Tuesdays, he will go without clean clothes for another week. Enforcing that rule has already gotten you plenty of pictures to use for blackmail, your favorite the one of him in a bright pink jumpsuit he was supposed to bring a friend. Pink suits his flustered face.

Iwa-chan is coming today. He’d told you about it weeks in advance when his friend booked the flight.Tooru has been like a headless chicken ever since and you’re happy for him, you really are, but there’s also a pang of jealousy. Why can’t your family take the time to visit you?

You know why, but it still hurts that you’re going to have to watch him be happy, pushed to the side in favor of his new friend.

“Hey.” He stops by your door, throws himself into a ridiculous pose like he always does and grins when you can’t help but roll your eyes. “I’m leaving in five minutes. Are you ready?”

You furrow your brows. “Ready for what? I told you you have to clean the apartment, he’s your guest.”

“No, to come with me, silly. I can’t go into the madness of an airport alone! What if someone recognizes me?”

“Well, they might do as a favor and kidnap you.” You joke and watch him pout. It’s ridiculous how cute that makes him look.

“Take that back.” Tooru whines and you laugh. “Never.

“Take that back!” He repeats, taking one step, then two, only to drop himself on you.

You shriek in surprise at the sudden weight, try to wiggle away but his face is so close, grinning from ear to ear, his eyes full of light.

You don’t really know who moved closer first. You, him, both of you?

But your lips meet and your eyes close and it’s just him and you and your joined breath and the softness of his lips, his weight on you and your hands in his ridiculous fluffy hair.

You don’t speak for a while, don’t need too. Exploring this is more important.

Eventually he pulls away to press his temple against yours, to squint into his eyes.

“You like me?” He asks, voice uncharacterally shy.

“I hate you.” You tease and move for his lips again. He pouts.

“Don’t tell anyone.” You whisper against his lips. “Okay? Don’t tell, Tooru.”

“Just Iwa-chan.” He whispers back, caught in the feeling of it. “He’ll be able to guess it anyway."

You giggle against his lips, kiss him again, once, twice, until you can feel yourself getting lost in it again. But there’s a thought nibbling at the edge of your brain now and it gets louder.

“Tooru?” You ask when you pull back again. “Shouldn’t we leave for the airport?”

His eyes widen comically as he whips his head around to look at your alarm clock.

“Shit! He’s going to be so mad!”

Iwa-chan is a monument of muscle, a building of a man. He’s not that tall, at least not taller than Tooru, but he’s impressive in his sturdiness, arms folded in front of his chest as he glowers at Tooru.

Tooru seems totally unimpressed by that, even as you drag your feet, a little scared of his friend.

“Iwa-chaaaan!” He sings, drapes himself over his friend's shoulder. “I missed you!”

“Clearly you didn’t! You’re half an hour late!”

“It’s not my fault.” Tooru smiles coyly, pulling you close by the hand he’d been holding since you exited his car. “Can you blame me? I got distracted by beauty!”

“I…” You stumble. “I’m sorry. This time it really is my fault. But I kicked his ass on the way here.”

Iwa-chan’s lips quirk up into a hint of a smile.

“Good. I’ll leave the rest of the ass-kicking to you.”

You salute him, which has Tooru whining like a child and begging for mercy.

You pull at his ear, just enough to tease him.

“Come on.” You tell him. “You need to show Iwa-chan how well you cleaned your apartment.”

Tagging anyone who helped me - it was much appreciated:

@alienaiver @misfit-megumi @missalienqueen @amecchii @notsochillnerd @ur-local-simp @krishnaabhistha @fuzztacular

Hope I didn't forget anyone. If I did, forgive me!

my Kofi if you want to tip me

#my writing #Oikawa x reader #Oikawa fluff #oikawa tooru #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu imagines

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