#oikawa tooru x reader

[cottonlemonade]

When your husband’s knee got worse again, you didn’t hesitate to push him towards physiotherapy. Oikawa might huff and puff at the idea of adding “useless” training to his already packed schedule, but he did enjoy you fussing over him - almost as much as you coming along to the gym.

While he endured various stretches and bends and holds under his therapist’s constant instructions, Tooru opted to distract himself with a much more welcome sight, blending out the ever-persisting encouragement from the man next to him.

To offer your husband something to focus on other than the dull throbbing pain that he was usually so good at ignoring, you made sure your own little workout always brought you close to his current exercise. He greatly enjoyed watching you work up a sweat, bopping your head to your shared playlist, your tight gym outfit showing off all the plush curves and rolls he never stopped worshipping. Once he finished up his sessions he would always miraculously appear by your side to hit on you as if you’d never met.

[mattsundaes]

THE ICARUS TO YOUR CERTAINTY.

oikawa tooru x f!reader — 18+, 4k, friends to lovers, angst with a happy ending, seijoh 4 cameos, fingering, oral (f!receiving), unprotected p in v, multiple orgasms

a/n: dedicated to my beloved @mojogojocasahouse<3

“Heard you needed a ride.”

Iwaizumi’s voice is gruff when he comes up to stand beside the barstool you’re currently perched atop, your fingers idly stirring the dregs of your glass with a tiny red straw. His shoulder brushes yours, and you can feel a lick of the outdoor chill seep from his jacket onto your bare shoulder.

Somewhere nearby, you hear the distinct sound of Makki and Mattsun’s laughter. 

“Is he with you?”

Turning your head to the side, you meet Iwaizumi’s gaze as he replies evenly,  “You know he is.”

Sighing, you toss a few bills onto the bartop before sliding from your seat, the feeling of the tacky vinyl tugging at your skirt wholly unpleasant on the way down. Your boots and ankles disagree when you land, meeting the floor at an odd angle, and you inhale sharply as you prepare for pain—only to feel an arm catch you at your waist instead.

Logically, it should belong to Iwaiumi, since he’s still standing beside you.  

But the familiar smell that invades your senses is all him.

All Tooru.

“Careful—”

His light, concerned tone is ice in your veins. 

“Thanks,” you cut Oikawa off, barely sparing him a glance before shrugging out of his steadying grip and heading for the door, where Mattsun and Makki absorb you between them, arms criss-crossing over your shoulders.

“We were told that we’re rescuing you from a bad date,” Mattsun says conspiratorially.  

Rubbing a hand over your face, you groan, following his lead as he tugs you and Makki through the doorway to the street outside at an odd angle so as not to break their joint hold on you. You immediately feel yourself start to shiver at the sudden drop in temperature. 

“Bad doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

Makki snorts, “See, this is what happens when you bail on hanging with us.”

You don’t bother mentioning the real reason you bailed, because he’s back. 

“You’re all brutes,” the last voice you want to hear interrupts as the three of you come to a stop in front of Iwaizumi’s car, tone laced annoyance not directed at you. 

Oikawa steps into your line of sight, holding out his jacket and gesturing to the amount of skin you’ve currently got exposed to the elements (to be fair, it was somewhat warmer out when you left your apartment earlier.)

“We were keeping her warm,” Makki says defensively, but Oikawa just rolls his eyes, hand remaining outstretched.

You take the jacket, if only because you’re well aware Iwaizumi’s not above manhandling each and every one of you into the car if you’re going to have a standoff on the sidewalk. You’re loath to admit that the heavy outer layer, laced with Oikawa’s lingering body heat, feels far better than the cold breeze that’s rustling his soft, brown hair. 

And because Matsukawa’s a fucking traitor, you find yourself squished between Oikawa and Makki in the backseat. You hope he can feel you glaring at the back of his head. 

Iwaizumi’s eyes find yours in the rearview when you look away from Matsukawa, his expression inscrutable, and the engine rumbles to life.

The ride back to your apartment is quiet, save for the occasional sound of a video playing on Makki’s phone and Mattsun toying with the radio dial. That, and the dull roar of blood rushing in your ears as you willingly (though that’s debatable) sit beside Oikawa Tooru for the first time in over a year. 

Oikawa’s thigh sits flush with your own, and despite the fact that you’re in virtually the same position on the other side with Hanamaki, it’s wholly different. 

Different in a way that leaves your throat dry each time his knee jostles yours when the car passes over a pothole.

Different in a way that has your stupid heart rattling insistently against the trellis of your ribcage with every second that passes.

You try to focus on the sharp spearmint of the gum that Iwaizumi’s chewing, or the sweet, artificial strawberry scent of the lollipop Makki’s clicking against his teeth. But all you can smell are the familiar notes of Oikawa’s cologne. 

It used to be your favorite smell, once upon a foolish time. 

Now it just makes you feel sick.  

When Iwaizumi pulls into the parking lot of your apartment building, Oikawa’s quick to pop open his door to let you out before Hanamaki can. Except when the door thuds closed, he’s still standing on the other side of it. 

Iwaizumi’s window rolls down, and he frowns. “What’re you doing, Shittykawa?”

“You live a block away. I’ll walk,” Oikawa waves them off.

You know that if you really wanted him to, Iwaizumi would get out of the car and shove Oikawa into the backseat. When your eyes meet his, the expression on his face asks just that. But you shake your head—because you’ll have to get this over with eventually, after all. 

You’ve been finding reasons to avoid Oikawa ever since he got back to Japan three weeks ago. 

“Thanks for the ride, Iwa.”

Mattsun gives you a salute from the front seat while Makki yelps as Iwaizumi smacks the hand currently snaking its way toward the radio knob. You stand there for a moment watching the red glow of his tail lights disappear down the street.

When you finally turn on your heel to head inside, Oikawa silently falls into step beside you. And if it were a year ago, the foot of space that lingers between your shoulder and his would feel strangely cavernous. 

Right now, it just feels suffocating.

He stands on the opposite side of the elevator when you step inside, looking soft and rumpled in an old Aoba Johsai hoodie with uncharacteristically mussed hair—as if he’s spent the better part of the night running a hand through it. There’s a furrow between his brow, one that reminds you of his look of deep concentration on the court. 

But there are no sleek hardwood floors here, no bright fluorescent lights. No crowd. No ball clutched in his hand.

No winners or losers.

It’s just you and Tooru and the hum of the elevator shaft. 

(You and Tooru and all of the ghosts that still linger between.)

It’s only once your front door slips shut with a resounding click that you finally address him, your eyes trained firmly on the wall as you remain standing in your entryway with your back to him, his jacket tossed on the hook.

“What do you want, Oikawa?”

It’s funny—how you’re not even looking at him, but you can still feel him flinch from your use of his surname.

He inhales slowly, like he’s still not quite sure of the answer himself just yet. 

And in that moment, it’s just past dawn on a late August morning, and you’re reaching out to smooth the wrinkle in your best friend’s brow while he sleeps beside you in your bed, the warmth of his breath curling against your palm. 

His eyes open, dark brown distilled into golden honey in the gentle morning light that seeps through the gauzy curtains fluttering in a light breeze. 

Tooru laces your fingers with his, kisses the inside of your wrist. Your stomach flips.

In that moment, you’re beneath him again. A bird sings. Iwaizumi, Matsukawa, and Hanamaki are fast asleep in the living room. And Oikawa would still be there, too, if whatever it is that the two of you have been skirting around for years didn’t find you pressed up against your fridge in the middle of the night, his palms at your waist, your fingers in his hair. A glass of water forgotten on the countertop. 

(Tooru’s still cupping your face, kissing you breathless, easing a knee between your legs. Still slipping a hand beneath your shirt, his tongue past the seam of your lips. Still tugging your panties aside and easing into you deep and slow—)

It’s rare to find Oikawa Tooru without words, so you continue, fueled by over a year’s worth of anger and hurt rising to the surface inside of you like a cresting wave.

“You’re so fucking selfish, you know that?”

“I know.”

His voice sounds rough, lacking its usual charm. You refuse to turn around and look at him, to give him the satisfaction of seeing the way your face screws up when you say the next part. 

“If you regretted it that much, you could have just talked to me. I would have gotten over it, and we could have still been friends. Instead, you fucked off halfway across the world to some training camp that I had to find out about from Iwaizumi.” Your voice breaks on the last few words.

You don’t bother adding how he decided to continue traveling after that, how he hasn’t been home in over a year. He’s well aware. 

“I didn’t—I never regretted it.”

Your eyes sting with unshed tears. “You never even called—”

The warmth of his body finds yours as he steps closer and leans a palm against the wall in front of your face. His voice wavers when he replies, “Because I didn’t know what to say.”

You stare at his long, thin fingers. “I don’t know, how about, ‘Hey, sorry that I acted like a jealous asshole the entire time you dated your ex boyfriend, fucked you two weeks after he broke up with you, and then ghosted you like we haven’t been friends for half of our lives.’” 

“I—”

“Or ‘Sorry I forgot you don’t do one-night-stands like I do.’”

“That’s not—”

“Or ‘Sorry for the pity fuck, let’s pretend it never—’”

Oikawa’s forehead falls against your shoulder, and his hair tickles your bare skin as he inhales sharply. “It wasn’t a pity fuck.”

“Then what was it, Tooru?” you ask, none of your usual softness curving around the vowels. It’s sharp, venomous. 

His fingers curl against the wall’s dark green paint.

“Everything,” he gasps, quiet and strained. 

Your teeth sink into your cheek, and confusion blooms hot and heavy in your gut. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’ve spent my entire life feeling like I can figure everything and everyone out. I’ve always known what I need to do in every situation.” His voice quiets, like loose, shifting gravel. “And I’ve never felt less in control than I did that night.”

His hand slips down an inch, and he continues, “You—I’ve never known how to be good enough for you.”

You feel dizzy, unmoored. “What?”

“Being with you feels like—” his voice cracks, and he laughs weakly, “It feels like freefalling. It’s always felt like that. And when we finally…I just wanted you so bad…but after…I was fucking terrified when I realized that for the first time in my life, I had no clue what to do. How to be what you deserved.”

You press your own palm to the wall, if only to steady yourself. “I didn’t think…that you meant for any of it to happen.”

Oikawa looks at you like you’ve been missing the point all along. “It was all I could think about.”

You’re torn somewhere between the knowledge that it all meant something—and the reality that he still left anyway.

“But why didn’t I get to be the one to decide what I deserved?”

He’s quiet for several beats before he replies, “Because Iwa-chan caught me coming out of your room that morning. And I’ve never seen him look so genuinely angry at me before. He reamed me out later, said I was taking advantage of you after your breakup, called me a selfish piece of shit.”

“Are you trying to blame this on him?”

You finally turn around, and you’ve never seen Oikawa Tooru look so stricken. He avoids your gaze, drags a hand through his air, looks up at the ceiling. “No. I just…that conversation made me realize that I was the last thing you needed after getting out of a two-year relationship. I felt like I had some…claim on you. It was wrong.”

He lets his hand fall back to his side. His words leave you feeling hot all over. You think you feel a shiver wrack down your spine. 

“So you thought leaving without a single goddamn word was what I needed?”

Oikawa looks at you then, defeated. “I wasn’t even planning on going to that training camp, that’s why you never knew about it in the first place. But then I panicked. I knew that if we talked about what happened, you’d find some way to make me out to be anything but the bad guy. You’d change my mind. And then I would have probably ended up hurting you. I thought a few months away would clear my head.”

You quietly scoff, “You hurt me anyway. And you were gone for over a year.”

“I know. But you seemed happy after a while.” He wraps one of his hoodie strings around his finger; the coil falls limp as soon as he lets go of it. 

“Not that you’d know. You never texted, never called.”

He cringes. “I asked Iwa-chan.”

“I figured you were off dating models,” you huff.

He laughs, but the sound is more self-deprecating than anything else, and shakes his head, smiling at you sadly. “There was never…no. The coach at my first training camp referred me to some connections he had in other countries. You had just started seeing someone new, and I realized I still wasn’t over you when Iwa told me, so I thought it would be better if I kept travelling a little longer.”

Your nose scrunches up at the memory of that fling. “That guy was awful. It didn’t last long.”

He looks down at his shoes, the corner of his mouth quirking upward. “I heard Mattsun almost punched him.”

“Tooru.”

There’s something earnest in his eyes when he looks up at you. “Yeah?”

“You’re an idiot. And an asshole.”

He inhales slowly, nodding. “I’m well aware.”

“Why did you want to talk to me tonight?”

“Because I wanted to tell you that I left because I was afraid of fucking up, not because I didn’t want you. Not because you did anything wrong. You deserve to hear that from me.”

“And what if I don’t want to forgive you?” You try to sound more confident than you feel. 

He shrugs. “That’s my cross to bear, not yours. I don’t expect you to.”

“Are you over it now? Do you expect us to go back to being friends eventually?”

A laugh escapes his lips, one that’s full of disbelief. “What do you want me to say?”

Fight for this.

“The truth.”

He takes a step closer. “You want me to tell you having you once fucked me up, and I haven’t been able to look at anyone else without thinking of you? That I spent a year trying to dig up every part of myself thousands and thousands of miles away and all I could find were pieces of you scattered in every corner? That I did it all wrong? That I know I will never, ever deserve you—“

“Tooru…”

“That I loved you then, and I still love you now?”

His forehead leans against your own. His hands find your waist. He touches you like he’s waiting for you to shove him away, waiting to catch fire. Waiting for all of this to go up in flames once and for all. “Tell me to leave.”

You should. 

“No.”

But you can’t. 

“Tell me to leave, because all I wanted to do when I saw you when we got to the bar was kiss you. And that’s all I want to do right now. I’m still a selfish bastard.”

Because you know him. And you know he means it, every last word. 

Your fingers catch in the fabric of his sweatshirt. You think of all the times you’ve stolen it from him and worn it yourself. “Maybe I like that you’re a selfish bastard. I’ve known you since we were teenagers, you know.”

“You’re supposed to kick me out and make me grovel. You should be more angry with me.”

The hand that’s been slowly trailing up his chest slides up to cup his cheek before your fingers thread their way into his hair. You watch the way he softens beneath your touch. “Being angry at you when you do dumb shit is Iwa’s job. I’m tired of being angry.” 

He blinks. “I feel like this is a test, and I’m failing horribly.”

You shrug, and there are thousands and thousands of days and minutes and seconds that settle into the weight of your shared gaze. “Because I’ve never known you to be someone to give up, to walk away. I’ve never known you to lose a game that you were made to win, Tooru.”

Because it’s always been Tooru for you. 

And you’re tired of pretending you don’t love him. 

(Tired of pretending anyone else could ever hope to come close.)

In the heavy darkness of your kitchen on sticky, hot, late August night, it was Tooru who kissed you first. 

But this time, it’s your mouth that finds his. 

Tooru’s kiss tastes like the nostalgia of summer afternoons spent laughing on your backs on his living room carpet. Like the velvety petals of the flowers he always handed to you on the walk to school on the first day of spring. 

Like the heat of his eyes meeting yours across the room at a crowded university party, even when you were leaning into someone else. 

Like the way his voice curls around your name over the phone, where even the static seems to bend to the lilting warmth of his will. 

Like brief moments of your fingers tangled together on boardwalks and beaches and rainy days and in the backseats of cars long past. 

Like every golden-spun thread of love that you’ve known in your life. 

Like a home for your heart, once he doesn’t realize he’s already built. 

“I don’t want you to forgive me this easily,” he gasps into the kiss, even as he’s pulling you closer, arms wrapped around you tight. 

You think his arms could swallow you whole, think his lips could devour you. (You think you’d let him.) 

The two of you stumble past the living room, down the hallway toward your bedroom. He collapses backward on your bed, legs buckling at the knee, the mattress groaning in protest. 

“I didn’t say I forgive you yet,” you tell him as you climb atop him.

Tooru’s hands find your hips, and the way his palms curve against them feels like a kiss in and of itself. He smiles at you, and between one breath and the next, gravity tilts as you suddenly find yourself on your back.

He stares down at you, eyes alight with determination as his lips slot over yours in a deep, slow kiss that leaves you arching upward into his touch. Your lips part as his tongue slips over the seam, and he deepens the kiss, one hand tracing the hinge of your jaw. 

When Tooru pulls away, his mouth trails down your neck, along your collarbones, down your chest.

“I’m prepared to grovel,” he murmurs into your navel, fingers teasing the waistband of your skirt. He nips at your hipbone, strokes the inside of your thigh with his thumb.

Your toes curl. 

“Show me.”

—

Tooru takes his time with you. 

With your thighs spread wide and your skirt rucked up and your panties conveniently lost somewhere in the vicinity of one of his pockets, he works you open on his fingers first. 

If it were anyone else, you might feel self-conscious about the slick arousal that’s already dripping onto the sheets between your legs, about how easily he works in the first finger to the last knuckle (about the desperate moan that shivers out of you).

But it’s Tooru.  

Tooru, who inhales sharply as soon as the pads of his fingers make contact with your soaked panties, who groans when he gets them off and runs those same fingers through your glistening slit with something akin to reverence. 

Who leans in and kisses you, hot and wet and messy as he adds a second finger, voice rough while he tells you how pretty you look like this.

He strokes your swollen, aching clit with this thumb and slowly fucks his fingers into you until you’re bucking into his touch, slick coating your inner thighs, his name a broken plea on your lips. 

—and you’ve hardly come down from your climax when his mouth finds purchase against the heat of your cunt next, tongue slipping into your tight hole and stroking and licking and lapping and fucking.  

Tooru grasps your thighs, ruts his own hips down into the mattress, groans into your pussy about how many times he’s thought about this, how many times he’s fucked his own fist to the thought of tasting you. The coil of pleasure in your gut is a maddeningly tight bowstring beneath his grasp as he rocks you back and forth over the ledge of another orgasm, huffing out a laugh when you whine in frustration, burying your fingers in his hair.

You arch your hips into his face, humping the slippery friction of his wet, messy lips, and Tooru hums, stuffing two fingers back inside of you as he sucks on your clit until tears prick at the corners of your eyes as the pleasure building in your veins explodes.

And overstimulation be damned, the sight of Tooru’s erection tented at the front of his pants is too much when he rolls over onto his back, cheeks pink, chest heaving, chin shiny with your release. You bat away the heel of the palm currently pressed down over his shaft, revelling in the way he gasps as you tug down his pants and boxers and wrap your fingers around his bare cock.

The moan that leaves Tooru’s mouth when you ease down onto him leaves you breathless, heart a thrumming frequency in your chest as he easily stretches you right open to the hilt, cock slipping through your soaked, dripping walls.

Running a hand over his face, his hips cant upward as he breathes out, “I’m not going to last long.”

You smile down at him, grinding down into his abdomen, clenching down on his shaft just to see the way he gasps before you start moving up and down. “I thought athletes had stamina,” you tease.

Tooru pulls himself into a sitting position, arms wrapping around you as you find yourself nestled in the cradle of his hips. His mouth slots over yours as he begins to fuck up into you, hips rocking in a steady rhythm. “Stamina isn’t in the room with us right now, sweetheart. Not when the last time I had sex was right here in this bed.”

True to his word, it doesn’t take long for Tooru to spill between your bodies, ropes of cum painting your abdomen and inner things until his cock is left flushed and spent.

And later, when you’re curled up on the couch in his sweatshirt, head pillowed in his lap, his fingers in your hair, his own still damp from the shower, you both laugh when he lifts up his vibrating phone to see Iwaizumi’s name flash across the screen.

“You’re on speaker phone, Iwa-chan,” Tooru tells him, setting the phone down on the couch cushion.

“Do I need to come strangle him?” Iwaizumi asks. 

“Not yet, but you can come bring us food!” you reply.

“Do I look like Uber Eats to you?” he grouses.

“I mean…” Tooru trails off.

Mattsun and Makki start chanting something about pizza in the background. 

“YOU ALL HAVE YOUR OWN GODDAMN CARS!” Iwaizumi growls in exasperation, and the line goes dead as he hangs up.

Your phone lights up with a text from Matsukawa immediately after.

dw he’s already putting on his shoes

Tooru smirks when you show him the message, his fingers trailing beneath his sweatshirt, finding only bare skin beneath the fabric as he makes his way up your chest. 

“How much more grovelling do you think I have time to do before they get here?”

[writer-freak]

Oikawa loves watching your reactions

Oikawa's biggest turn-on is seeing your different reactions. He’ll hold your face in his hand, thumb brushing over your lips or jaw, not just to kiss you but to study you. Every twitch, every flutter of your lashes, every gasp, he watches like it’s game footage, and he's looking for your weak spots.

He lives for the way your expression shifts when he changes pace, one second slow and deep, dragging unholy sounds out of you, the next suddenly fast and overwhelming, just to see your breath catch and your eyes roll into the back of your head.

He can't help grinning knowing he can ruin you with just a shift of rhythm and a look in your eyes. He just loves the fact that he’s the one making you have all these different reactions, watching you fall apart under his touch and knowing it’s all because of him.

A/n: Just something small, I'm still very uninspired but tried to bring something onto the page

[thicchaikyuuboys]

WHEN THEY CANCEL PLANS OVER TEXT | SMAU! Oikawa Tōru x Reader | pt. 2

Summary: “you need to figure out what your priorities are because right now, you’re close to losing what you claim to be your entire world. And I’m not talking about volleyball.”

WHEN THEY CANCEL PLANS OVER TEXT | SMAU! Miya Atsumu x Reader | Pt. 5

★ OIKAWA TOORU

AUTHOR’S NOTE

I am so sorry for this being split into two parts. It’s super inconvenient but I still hope you all enjoyed this. I had a lot of fun writing this one actually. I love writing dialogue that feels real, raw, and emotional like this.

[g0thbat]

OIKAWA TOORU WITH A SECRETLY SMART GIRLFRIEND !!

Oikawa Tooru had always been good at reading people. It was part of what made him a phenomenal setter, his ability to predict, to observe, to know what someone was thinking before they even spoke it aloud. He prided himself on understanding others. But when it came to you, his usually sharp instincts dulled into soft oblivion because you had him completely fooled. Or at least, that was the game you played.

You giggled at his jokes like you did not know they were predictable. You tilted your head and asked him to explain his homework like it was the first time you had ever heard the words photosynthesis or quadratic equation. You always looked wide-eyed and confused when he spoke quickly, and he would patiently slow down, hand waving through the air as he tried to explain things in simpler terms. You would nod along sweetly, batting your lashes, asking questions that only made his ego stretch wider. He adored teaching you. He thought it made him look cool. You let him think it.

What Oikawa didn’t know was that you had already finished the assignment days ago. That your handwriting in the class notes was the neatest because the teacher often asked you to make copies for the others. That the reason you smiled when he explained things was not because you were amazed, but because he was so cute when he was passionate, leaning forward and talking with his hands like the whole world depended on your understanding of chemistry or volleyball tactics.

You were smart. Painfully smart. Strategic, perceptive, and quietly competitive. But you also knew boys like Oikawa. You saw the way he carried pressure in his shoulders and tried to make up for his insecurities with charm. You saw how people expected brilliance from him all the time, how he was always performing, on the court, in the classroom, even in the hallways. So you let yourself be soft in front of him. You gave him space to feel like he was impressive. It was never out of malice. You just loved the way his eyes sparkled when he got to explain something to you. The way he ruffled your hair after tutoring you like he was proud of you for trying. The way he grinned so wide when you clapped for him at games, as if your praise mattered more than anyone else’s.

Sometimes you dropped hints. A too-accurate answer you brushed off as a guess. A casually profound observation in class that you laughed off afterward. And sometimes Oikawa would squint at you, something flickering behind his eyes like he was almost catching on. But then you would lean your chin on his shoulder and ask him what a theorem was again, and he would melt. Just like always.

He once told you he thought you were the sweetest girl he had ever met. You smiled and thanked him, even though your thoughts were already miles ahead, figuring out how you might suggest something to help him without bruising his pride. He never noticed. And you never told him. Because to Oikawa Tooru, you were soft and slow and a little bit clueless. And to you, he was brilliant and warm and desperately in need of someone who would love him without making him feel like he had to be perfect. So you played your part, let him take the lead, and kept your secrets tucked behind your smile.

[haikyuuusimp]

𝓙𝓾𝓼𝓽 𝓐𝓷𝓸𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻 𝓑𝓻𝓲𝓭𝓮

Prince Oikawa Tooru x reader x knight Iwaizumi Hajime

Part1 Part2 Part3

You obviously asked for your own chambers.

Your chambers were grand — suffocatingly so. Velvet drapes, gold-threaded pillows, and a bathtub large enough to drown in. Everything was perfect — perfectly empty.

Your best friend had helped you undress, laughing as she kicked off your shoes before flopping onto the silken cushions like it was just another sleepover.

“So,” she said, dragging out the word. “First day of being a royal trophy wife. Feeling sexy yet?”

You rolled your eyes. “Not even a little.”

“Thought so.” She propped herself up on her elbows. “But seriously. What’s the plan, boss lady?”

You sat at your vanity, staring at your reflection for a long moment. Not the girl your mother made up. Not the bride they all clapped for. You.

“I want access to the records room,” you said. “Royal archives. The restricted one.”

Your best friend whistled. “Ooh. We’re committing treason now? Day one? Bold.”

“I want to know what happened to my father,” you said quietly. “And what they’re hiding.”

“Alright,” she said, sitting up properly now, eyes sharpening. “Then I’ll distract whoever needs distracting.”

You turned to her, lips quirking. “Even if it’s that knight with the dimples?”

She grinned. “Especially if it’s the one with the dimples.”

“She asked for her own chambers.”

Oikawa’s voice was tight, the wine untouched in his hand. He wasn’t angry. Not quite. But something colder.

Iwaizumi leaned against the window frame, arms crossed. His jaw ticked.

“And?” he said, voice low.

“She’s my fiancée, Hajime.”

“You didn’t want a fiancée.”

Oikawa shot him a look. “That’s not the point.”

“Yes,” Iwaizumi said, finally looking at him. “It is.”

They fell into silence — the kind that crackled with things left unsaid. Outside, the sky was darkening, clouds thick with rain. Inside, the tension was thicker.

“She didn’t even hesitate,” Oikawa said, pacing now. “Just smiled. and told she’d prefer her own space. Like it was her choice.”

Iwaizumi’s brow lifted. “You’re angry she didn’t want to share your bed?”

Oikawa turned on him. “I’m angry she isn’t afraid.”

That silenced Iwaizumi. For a second, only the wind outside filled the room.

“She’s not like the others,” Oikawa said more quietly now. “She’s not simpering. Not starry-eyed. She’s watching.”

“Good,” Iwaizumi said. “You need someone who sees through your performance.”

Oikawa gave a sharp laugh. “You mean like you?”

Iwaizumi didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

They stood like that — two sides of a bond forged in years of stolen nights and silent wars. Iwaizumi had always been Oikawa’s anchor, the one who knew the man beneath the crown. But you? You weren’t meant to become a third variable.

And yet.

“She spoke to my mother,” Oikawa said at last.

Iwaizumi’s expression shifted. “She never speaks.”

“She did today. And she smiled.”

That drew Iwaizumi off the wall.

“She smiled?”

“A real one. Like she remembered something warm.”

Iwaizumi narrowed his eyes. “What did they talk about?”

“I don’t know.” Oikawa’s jaw clenched. “But it made her look at me like she knew something. Like she saw me. Not the version I give the court.”

“She’s smart. Controlled. I can’t tell what she wants.”

“Maybe she doesn’t want you,” Iwaizumi said plainly.

Oikawa flinched — just a little.

The halls of Aros Castle were quieter at night. Thick stone and velvet tapestries swallowed most sounds — except the right ones.

You weren’t looking for it. You didn’t need to hear it.

But you did.

A door left slightly ajar. A breathless laugh. A low groan. A voice you now legally belonged to — gasping another man’s name like a secret prayer.

Iwaizumi.

You paused mid-step.

No guards in this wing. No servants. Just silence — broken only by the rhythm of bodies colliding, and the heady intimacy of a love that had nothing to do with you.

You stood there a moment.

Listened.

Then smiled — not cruelly, not sadly. Just… amused. A little impressed.

Bold, you thought, moving on. But not surprising.

They found you the next morning in the gardens — dressed too casually for a queen, hands dusted with soil, sleeves pushed up to your elbows as you inspected a dead rose bush with narrowed eyes.

“Did you sleep well?” Oikawa asked smoothly, walking beside Iwaizumi like they hadn’t just broken every rule of royal decency twelve hours ago.

You didn’t turn. “Perfectly,” you said.

A beat of silence. You felt it — the tension behind you. Like two predators waiting for a trap to spring.

“i missed you,” Oikawa tried again, voice honey-slick. Testing the waters. “You never came to the east wing.”

“I was tired.” You straightened, finally looking at them. “And I assumed your bed was… occupied.”

Iwaizumi froze. Oikawa blinked.

You smiled.

“I heard you,” you said simply.

Stillness.

Oikawa opened his mouth.

“I don’t mind,” you interrupted, still pleasant. “Truly. I wasn’t under the impression this union was built on love. We all knew what it was. And what it wasn’t.”

You dusted off your hands and stepped past them.

“But,” you added lightly, “doing it on our wedding night? That was a bold choice. Not very smart… but bold.”

And don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone. But you should at least be careful.

And then you were gone.

Just that same unbothered grace — a woman who didn’t need to beg for their loyalty or affection. And somehow, that made them want to give it.

[chimielie]

“what’s the wi-fi password?” you ask tooru. more accurately, you ask tooru’s back, because he’s busy turning on the tv and setting the channel to JSPORTS.

“oh, your name,” he says, “and then 13.”

you snort at his predictability. your name is kind of sweet, though, you remember watching it with him as teenagers, the tears running down his face and his thick denials that he totally wasn’t crying at the end.

Incorrect password for “Oikawifi.” your screen reads.

“it didn’t work,” you say, leaning over the back of the couch and stretching your arm out towards him. he’s standing about a foot from the screen with his left hand on his hip and the remote in the other, looking vaguely reminiscent of a father trying to navigate technology.

“dumb-dumb,” he turns to you, “did you forget how to spell your own name?”

“eh?” you say. “your name?”

“no, your name,” he says your forename then, and you color brilliantly, or at least it feels like it, your face hot, suddenly unable to look at him head-on. “and then 13. like—“

“josé blanco, i know,” you roll your eyes fondly, a defense against whatever this reveals about him. “you’re gonna get hacked.”

“no way, blanco will protect me,” he says. “and you. you’d protect me, wouldn’t you? since i put your name as my password and all?”

“uh-huh,” you say, distracted as your phone accepts the password combo. “hey, is your bank account password my name too?”

[literatooru]

╭───────── .𐔌՞. .՞𐦯.. ─╮

ωє мα∂є ιт

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ ραιяιηg⟢oikawa tōru x gn!reader

╰─ ..𐔌՞. .՞𐦯. ─────────╯

⊹ ࣪ ˖⟢✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

It’s always amazing to see him on the court—Oikawa Tōru has always had a strong presence, but nothing compares to when he’s playing. Right there, with the way his face breaks out into a grin when his team scores thanks to one of his perfect tosses, he simply… shines. But the best part is when, after each score, he looks at you, almost like he wants to make sure he spends every single accomplishment of his—however small or big it may be—with you. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

You’ve never missed one of his games, no matter the situation. Whether there was a thunderstorm outside, or you were sick, or had an appointment you definitely should not miss; you were always there, screaming at the top of your lungs to show your support. It makes him smile so much that his cheeks always hurt afterwards, but he absolutely adores it.

This time is no different. Here you are, on the bleachers, hollering and clapping and jumping the way you always do. Tōru sets the ball, his teammate spikes, and they score, and your screams increase in volume until you feel an itch at the back of your throat that signifies you'll most definitely have trouble speaking tomorrow.

He celebrates with his team for a second, but it doesn’t take too long for his eyes to roam over the crowd until they find and meet yours, and he gives you one of those smiles he saves specifically for you. He takes his right hand to the left side of his chest and gives three soft, small pats on it. ‘I love you,’ it means.

You grin, probably looking like the lovestruck idiot you are, and tap your lips with the tips of your fingers exactly three times. ‘I love you, too,’ is what it says.

His smile widens, and one of his teammates has to shove him lightly for Oikawa to focus on the game once more. It’s exciting, the whole match has you holding your breath and on the edge of your seat, but you have the utmost trust that he’s going to lead them to victory.

And, just like you expected, he does. It felt like a battle for their lives, but eventually the last point is theirs, and the roaring crowd makes you shrink in your seat with a laugh. This time, Tōru doesn’t even pay attention to his team. The second the whistle is blown, his eyes search for you. When he finds you once more, he makes his way toward you, and he doesn’t break the contact for a single second. You shove everyone aside as you also make your way to him, and you start running at the same time he does. It doesn’t take you too long to reach him and jump into his arms.

“Oh my God!” you squeal, wrapping your arms around his neck. He picks you up with ease, his cheery laugh ringing in your ear while he spins you around with so much joy he feels he might actually burst.

He sets you down after a moment, looks into your eyes, and, for a second, he’s completely lost. But also… he’s completely found. Because he realizes right then and there, that he’s been wasting precious time.

“Marry me,” he breathes out, just like that.

It just makes sense. Once you walked into his life, there was no going back. Oikawa Tōru found his place in the world when he found you, and he’d be an idiot if he didn’t make sure to keep you by his side until the day he died, as dramatic as that might sound.

“What?” you whisper, sure that you heard wrong.

“Marry me,” he repeats, this time a little louder so you can hear him over the cheering crowd. “Please. It’s you. It’s always been you, and it’ll always be you. So… Marry me.”

He’s panting, but he’s not so sure the game’s the reason. That’s just what you do to him. He feels a little dizzy when you smile at him with tears welling up in your eyes, and you throw yourself into his open arms. 

“Yes! Yes, yes, yes!” you scream. He’s not sure what he would’ve done if you had said no, but he knows one thing; he would’ve waited for you. Always. “I’m so—” you’re interrupted by your own watery laugh, and he chuckles softly, cupping your cheeks with gentle hands and wiping the couple tears that have managed to escape your eyes. “I’m so proud of you. You made it.”

Proud is actually an understatement. After everything that happened, all those times he doubted himself and felt like giving up, all the hard work he put into it even after people underestimated him… he made it.

“We made it,” he corrects you. “I’d be nowhere without you. I owe everything to you.”

Your cheeks sting from smiling so much, but you can’t bring yourself to care. This is the most memorable night of your entire life, and you just can’t wait for the many more to come.

Oikawa Tōru thinks he’s pretty great, but he’s one hundred percent sure that’s only because he has you by his side.

[datekuchi]

lemon tea with oikawa!

prompt

lemon tea: what are mornings like with them?

mornings with oikawa can be slow and fast paced

when oikawa has practices, he usually wakes up pretty early

depending on if you had work that day or not, you probably wake up the same time as him

you get ready together in the bathroom, half-asleep, passing each other the toothpaste, and oikawa will try to sneak in a few kisses while you do your skincare/makeup

it’s oikawa's ritual that he needs a kiss before leaving for practice, says it’s for “good luck”

sometimes he’ll act like he’s forgotten something just to run back in for one more

but when oikawa has free days?

you two will be buried under blankets well past noon

he’ll drape an arm over you dramatically if you even shift to get up

"mmm y/nnn. where are you going..." oikawa whines

"tooru, it's literally 1pm. we need to get up"

"waaaaahh i dont want to. its not everyday i get to cuddle with my lovely wife."

he’ll pull you back in and nuzzle his face into your neck, muttering how warm you are and how he’s never moving again

you always cave eventually. i mean, how can you not? when he’s being so clingy and soft?

[riddlesrose]

highschool tooru oikawa who promises he'll always be by your side, through thick and thin. the two of you carve out your initials on an old tree trunk like some cheesy romcom in a secret spot you found only days before. he's elated when you tell him on graduation day that you've been accepted to the same college he'll be going to the following school year.

college tooru who plays for the japan national team. he's having a blast with old and new friends and old rivals, and you in the stands, cheering him on as the games go on. there are nights when you sneak into his dorm, or he into yours, where you stay up way later than you should, getting to know each other over and over again.

pro volleyball player tooru who moves to argentina despite his promises. through sadness and a tear or two he swears he'll come back as often as he can, but you know it'll be hard during his seasons. six months in, you end up making a surprise visit during his playoff games. he catches sight of you in the stands like college and is filled with mixed emotions because he's going to have to refund the plan ticket that leaves tomorrow. after the games, which they won, he drops to one knee in the middle of the floor in the heat of the moment, asking you to make him the happiest player on the court.

fiancé tooru who proposes properly when the two of you are back home a week later, like he planned. he takes you to the secluded spot you found back in highschool, it's decorated and dimly lit. after some reminiscing and wine he slips the wedding band over your finger again, and no, he's not crying. you are. when he returns to argentina, you go with him this time. (he wears his ring on a chain around his neck, tucked into his shirt during games even though he knows he's not supposed to. but he can't help it, you're his lucky charm.)

masterlist

[lunaviee]

bros the type of boyfriend to go on a shopping spree behind your back and buy you hundreds, maybe even thousands, of dollars worth of stuff all because of one thing;

“what the hell- why’d you buy all this??”

“well because i yelled at you when i shouldn’t have 2 months ago”

“..i got over that like 2 days after it happened..”

“but i didnt, this is my apology”

“you’ve apologized a million times ever since it happened what do you mean-”

REO., rin, sae, ISAGI, kaiser, itadori, GOJO, oikawa, ATSUMU, suna, CHUUYA. , tecchou, rafayel, + your fav(s)!

ohh ummm hey guyssss…..erm i’m not really back but i had this half assed thought so here u go!!

[yukkiji]

miss second place

oikawa tooru is always first — in volleyball, in school, and in everyone’s hearts. she’s second, but fiercely competitive and determined to keep up. their rivalry is electric, but beneath the teasing and tension, something deeper stirs.

haikyuu masterlist. leave a little stardust on my ko-fi

starring. oikawa tooru x fem!reader ft. seijoh 4

genre: fluff, romance, slowburn, academic rivals to lovers

wc: 8.9k

author's note: i'll consider this as one of my personal faves since academic rivals is one of my favorite tropes and this was so longggg but i hope you guys will enjoy it <333

the clock flashes 7:48 p.m. in angry red digits—mocking, almost. this is well past the hour anyone with a shred of sanity would still be in school, let alone buried under a mountain of paperwork.

the student council room glows in soft lamplight, golden and too calm for the storm in your head. folders are splayed out in organized chaos, pages fluttering as you scrawl in tight, no-nonsense lines. your pen moves like a weapon.

then—like clockwork, or a curse—the door slides open.

"still slaving away, miss second place?"

oikawa tooru’s voice cuts through the quiet, smooth and irritating, like expensive cologne hiding something rotten underneath. you don’t have to look to know the exact smirk on his face. you can feel it.

your pen freezes.

"get out, tooru."

he doesn’t. of course he doesn’t. he sinks into the seat across from you like he owns the place, his seijoh jacket barely hanging off one shoulder, hair damp and tousled just right—like some overachieving drama prince straight from practice. even now, a faint sheen of sweat clings to his neck in a way that makes you want to look away and stare all at once.

you hate him. you really do.

"this room is for student council members only," you snap, eyes still on your paper.

"good thing i’m special." he props his chin on one hand, lashes fluttering in mock innocence. "joint authority, remember? besides, aren’t you tired of playing president all alone? i came to keep you company."

you finally glance up, and yes—there it is. that grin. the one that says he knows exactly how far under your skin he is.

"you’re not helping. and your definition of 'company' feels more like pest control."

"then it’s working." he leans forward, voice dropping just enough to make your pulse twitch. "wouldn’t want you to collapse from overwork before i get the chance to beat you on next week’s midterms."

you don’t hesitate—you grab the nearest piece of scrap paper, crumple it, and peg it at his annoyingly symmetrical face. it hits him square on the cheek, and he jerks back with a dramatic flinch like you’ve stabbed him.

"get out, pretty boy, or i’m telling hajime you’re still here after hours."

that gets a reaction. he presses a hand to his chest like you’ve wounded him deeply—emotionally, theatrically.

"that hurts, prez," he says, lips curling into a mock pout. "using my best friend against me? i thought we had something special."

"we do. it’s called mutual disdain."

he grins wider, as if that’s exactly what he wanted you to say. "funny. that’s my favorite love language."

as if on cue, your phone buzzes on the desk. you glance down, thumb flicking the screen open.

iwaizumi hajime: please tell me oikawa didn’t sneak into the council room again also tell him to shower before he starts flirting, he smells like gym socks and ego

your brow twitches.

"speak of the devil," you mutter, holding the screen up so oikawa can see. "your handler says it’s bedtime."

oikawa squints at the message, then gasps—actual, audible gasp.

"rude. gym socks?" he whines, sniffing his sleeve like that’ll help his case. "i smell like victory. and maybe just a hint of mango body wash."

"you smell like someone who thinks cologne is a substitute for personality."

"you wound me again." he sprawls back in the chair like he’s auditioning for a tragic romance. "first the paper attack, now this? one day, you’ll admit you’re obsessed with me, and i’ll pretend to be surprised."

"when hell freezes over."

"can’t wait, miss number two."

he winks, and it takes everything in you not to launch a stapler this time.

she remembered the first time he called her number two.

she was six, standing next to the gold-framed board of top test scores in the elementary school hallway. his name was at the top—bold, smug, infuriating. hers was right beneath.

oikawa had turned to her with a dazzling smile and said, "you’re pretty smart, number two."

so she’d kicked him in the shin.

he cried. she got detention. balance, briefly, was restored.

but he kept calling her that. every year, every test, every time she pushed herself just a little harder—he was always a step ahead, always grinning like he knew. like it was some private joke only he was in on.

and now here he was, still grinning across a student council desk stacked with forms and expectations, like he hadn’t haunted her entire academic life.

"still holding onto that nickname, prez?"

his voice yanked her back to the present.

you glare.

"you mean the one that got you kicked in the leg? yeah, fond memories."

"worth it," he says, leaning back like he’s proud of the scar you definitely didn’t leave. "you gave yourself a villain origin story, and i got a fan for life."

"delusional. impressive, but delusional."

"comes with the genius territory."

you chuck another crumpled paper at his head. he dodges—barely—and laughs like he’s won anyway.

you hate that sound.

you really hate how much you don’t.

it wasn’t always like this. or maybe it always was.

another memory surfaces before you can stop it—middle school, kitagawa daiichi, the golden age of bad haircuts and worse attitudes.

he’d just been named volleyball captain. you’d just topped the midterms for the first time in years. for once, your name was above his on the results board. you still remembered the silence when he walked up to check the list, eyebrows raised.

"look at that," he’d said, mock-shocked. "the earth’s off its axis."

you’d smirked. "guess it was bound to happen. number one fits me better anyway."

he opened his mouth to fire back, but before he could, iwaizumi’s firm voice cut through the tension.

"enough, tooru." iwaizumi stepped between you two, arms crossed, eyes sharp. "you’ve been going at this since elementary school. if you don’t stop, i’m telling coach to bench you."

oikawa scowled, but iwaizumi’s stare didn’t waver.

you exchanged a brief look with iwaizumi—part gratitude, part shared exhaustion.

oikawa sighed dramatically, but the edge in his eyes softened just a fraction. then he looked at you—really looked at you—and smiled, slow and unreadable.

"wear it while you can," he said quietly.

you’d thought about that moment more than you’d admit. not just the words, but the way he’d said them. like it wasn’t war anymore—like it was something closer, messier.

but of course, at the finals of your third year, oikawa was number one again—snatching the top spot effortlessly and infuriatingly like it was always meant to be his.

.and the rivalry didn’t stop there.

it followed you into high school like a shadow you couldn’t shake. he went all in on volleyball with iwaizumi at his side, carving out his name on the court with that same relentless brilliance that always kept him just one step ahead.

and you? you went for student council. naturally. there were fewer scoreboards, but the stakes were still high-recommendations, university prospects, the unspoken war for who would stand tallest by the end of it all.

by third year, the stage was set.

he was the captain of the seijoh volleyball team. you were the student council president.

two crowns. two thrones.

two people still acting like the world might stop turning if the other one ever admitted defeat.

and yet, somehow, despite all the years and fights and thrown stationery, oikawa tooru kept finding excuses to wander into your territory.

like now—his jacket slung over one shoulder, hair tousled from practice, that smug glint in his eyes making itself comfortable across the desk from you.

"you’re really going to keep pretending i don’t make your evenings more exciting?" he stretches like a cat, obnoxiously casual. "i bet the paperwork misses me when i’m gone."

you give him a flat look. "i bet your team does too. shouldn’t you be terrorizing first-years or something?"

"they’re fine." he leans in, eyes dancing. "besides, this is way more fun. watching you pretend you don’t enjoy the company."

you toss another crumpled paper at his head. he doesn’t even flinch this time.

and still—he doesn’t leave.

"you know," oikawa says, tapping his fingers against your desk, "you’ve never denied having a crush on me. statistically speaking, silence is admissi—"

the door slides open.

"knew it."

iwaizumi stands there with a look that could flatten a first-year.

"my gut told me you weren’t home yet and i was right." he steps fully into the room, arms crossed. "why am i not surprised you’re harassing the student council president after hours again?"

"harassing?" oikawa gasps, clutching his imaginary pearls. "i was keeping her company! she's lonely—"

iwaizumi walks over and grabs him by the collar.

"no, she’s busy. you’re the lonely one."

"rude!" oikawa protests, letting himself get hauled up like a sack of potatoes. "at least let me say goodbye!"

iwaizumi ignores him completely, nods politely in your direction.

"sorry. won’t happen again."

you raise an eyebrow.

"it will."

iwaizumi sighs. "yeah. i know."

oikawa, being physically dragged out of the room like some overgrown cat, turns his head with a grin and calls out:

"goodnight, number two~!"

you chuck a pen at the closing door. it bounces harmlessly off the frame.

you don’t miss the way your lips twitch—just barely—before you shake your head and dive back into your paperwork.

oikawa trudged down the hallway, iwaizumi’s grip still firm on his collar.

"you really don’t know when to quit, do you?" iwaizumi muttered, voice low but steady.

oikawa shrugged, flashing that trademark grin. "where’s the fun in quitting? besides, she was actually... tolerating me tonight."

iwaizumi scoffed. "tolerating you is the bare minimum. you’re lucky she didn’t throw a stapler."

oikawa laughed, the sound easy and unguarded. "true. i’ll take it as a win."

they slowed near the exit. iwaizumi glanced over, eyebrows raised.

"you’re really still hung up on her, huh?"

oikawa’s grin faltered just a bit, eyes darkening with something more complicated. "yeah."

iwaizumi shook his head, a rare softness in his voice. "just don’t mess it up, crappykawa."

oikawa smirked again but said nothing, letting the silence stretch between them as they stepped out into the cool night.

the next afternoon, you stood just outside the gym doors, clipboard in hand, trying to look casual but failing spectacularly. you needed to watch their practice—study their form, their movements, everything—so you could finalize the program for the upcoming school festival. it wasn’t like you wanted an excuse to see oikawa again, but if you did, this was as good as any.

oikawa was in the center of the court, barking orders with that usual mix of charm and command. iwaizumi was by his side, steady as ever.

the moment oikawa spotted you by the bleachers, his whole aura shifted—like a dog finally spotting its owner after a long day. his usual confident grin softened into something warmer, and his eyes locked onto you with unmistakable recognition.

iwaizumi, noticing this change, let out a long, exasperated sigh. he glanced sideways at oikawa, who was already weaving through the players and heading straight toward you without a second thought.

iwaizumi muttered under his breath: "here we go again."

“oi, miss number two, you’re here to watch me?” oikawa called out with a cheeky grin as he closed the distance.

you rolled your eyes, crossing your arms. “tooru, where’s the form? i’ve told you so many times to get it to me for the festival.”

he scratched the back of his neck, flashing a sheepish smile. “well, you see... i haven’t finished it yet?”

your patience snapped. “are you serious, tooru? i reminded you all last week.”

he held up his hands in mock surrender. “i’ll give it to you personally—later. or tomorrow.”

you narrowed your eyes. “that’s exactly what i’m trying to avoid. i don’t want to deal with you more than i have to.”

“promise, i’ll give it to you.” oikawa said, his grin softening just enough to sound sincere.

you let out a long sigh, feeling like you’d run out of options. it took every ounce of patience not to strangle seijoh’s volleyball captain right here in front of his teammates.

“i’m dead serious, tooru.” you warned, eyes locking with his. “this is the last time i’m asking.”

“not gonna stay to see my greatness?” he teased, voice dripping with mock confidence as you reached the door, already turning to leave.

“heck no,” you shot back without missing a beat, pushing the door open with a smirk.

as you stepped out of the gym, the cool air hit your face, a welcome relief from the noisy chaos inside. just behind you, iwaizumi barely held back a grin as he grabbed a volleyball and flung it straight at oikawa.

“stupid,” he snapped, voice low but amused, “you already finished the form last week.”

oikawa caught the ball with an exaggerated wince, clutching his chest dramatically. “that hurts, iwa-chan,” he said, voice thick with mock offense. “and besides, it’s kind of cute to see her reaction.”

iwaizumi rolled his eyes, grabbing another ball and launching it at him without hesitation. “yeah, well, quit wasting time and give it to her already.”

oikawa dodged the second ball with a laugh, shaking his head. “fine, fine. next time, i swear.”

iwaizumi’s glare softened just a little as he watched his friend, then glanced after you, who was already walking away, clipboard pressed to your chest.

from the sidelines, hanamaki and matsukawa leaned casually against the gym wall, arms crossed, watching the whole scene unfold with amused grins.

hanamaki nudged matsukawa, smirking. “so this is what it feels like to watch a romcom with a slow burn,” he said, eyes following oikawa’s playful dodges and iwaizumi’s half-exasperated throws.

matsukawa chuckled, shaking his head. “yeah, all the teasing, the back-and-forth… i swear, if they had a soundtrack right now, it’d be some dramatic love theme playing nonstop.”

hanamaki laughed softly. “and you just know they’re both secretly enjoying every second of it, even if they’d never admit it.”

matsukawa’s grin widened. “at this rate, the whole school’s waiting for them to actually drop the act and say what’s really going on.”

they shared a glance, silent agreement passing between them, like two longtime spectators watching a match far more interesting than any volleyball game on the court.

“slow burn or not,” hanamaki said with a sigh, “this is definitely one for the books.”

as dusk settled over the school, the student council room lay bathed in the soft glow of fading daylight. the usual hum of activity had long since faded, replaced by a stillness that felt almost sacred. papers were strewn across the desk, pens resting where they had been abandoned. and there, slumped over the wood, you were fast asleep—exhaustion having finally claimed you.

outside the sliding door, oikawa stood quietly, the folded form clutched carefully in his hands. the room was unusually silent, heavier than usual, and for a moment he hesitated. but then, with slow deliberate steps, he pushed the door open, careful not to disturb the fragile quiet.

he found you exactly as he’d expected—head resting on your folded arms, chest rising and falling in steady, tired rhythm. something softened in his usually mischievous grin. without a word, he shrugged off his seijoh jacket and gently draped it over your shoulders. the fabric settled warmly around you, a quiet shield against the chill of the evening.

unseen by oikawa, hanamaki and matsukawa lingered just beyond the doorframe, having followed him silently. hanamaki’s eyes widened in surprise as he whispered, “did you just see that? tooru put his jacket on her.”

matsukawa nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. “he’s got layers, huh? who knew?”

before they could say more, iwaizumi appeared, arms crossed and wearing his trademark disapproving glare. “cut it out, you two. give them some space,” he ordered, tugging them gently away.

back inside, oikawa carefully placed the folded form on the desk beside you. he lingered a moment longer, eyes tracing the peaceful lines of your face. then, with a faint, almost shy smile, he quietly stepped out, sliding the door softly behind him.

the sound of the door clicking shut stirred you from your sleep. you blinked blearily, the room still dim but quiet once again. then, a soft warmth caught your attention—a weight across your shoulders that wasn’t there before.

you lifted your hands, fingers brushing against the familiar fabric of oikawa’s jacket wrapped gently around you. a slow smile spread over your tired face, the silent gesture lingering in your mind as you reached out to the neatly folded papers beside you.

the rivalry, the teasing, the endless back-and-forth—it all melted away in that moment, replaced by something quieter, something real.

and for once, you let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, the hardest battles led to the sweetest victories.

midterms season finally arrived—the unavoidable trial before the school festival’s bright chaos. you barely remembered what a full night’s sleep felt like, caught between finalizing festival preparations and cramming for exams. exhaustion clung to you like a shadow, but beneath it all, a quiet confidence simmered.

this time, you told yourself, it would be different.

you were pumped, ready to finally see your name soaring above oikawa’s on the class rankings—a victory long overdue. every sleepless night, every rushed note had been worth it. today, you thought, today would be the day the score finally tipped in your favor.

well, that was what you thought.

now, here you were—standing in front of the cold, unforgiving bulletin board, eyes scanning the list you’d been waiting for. your heart sank the moment you saw it: your name, again, just below oikawa’s.

but what stung the most wasn’t that you’d lost—no, it was the margin. one point.

one. single. damn. point.

a flush of frustration and disbelief rushed through you, hot and sharp. you had pushed yourself harder than ever this time. late nights, skipped meals, endless revisions—all for this? to fall short by a fraction that felt like a cruel joke?

you clenched your fists, the bitterness bubbling beneath the surface. how did he do it again? how did he always manage to stay one step ahead, grinning like he owned the game?

the weight of the rivalry pressed down on you heavier than ever. and in that moment, the silent promise you’d made years ago—to beat him, no matter what—felt more urgent, more necessary, than ever.

fuck.

from behind you, the murmur of students drifted over—mostly girls, their voices bright with excitement and praise.

“oikawa’s number one again! no surprise there.” “he’s amazing, isn’t he?” “i heard he stayed up all night studying for this!”

their words stung sharper than you expected, a chorus of admiration that only deepened the ache of coming in second—again.

you forced yourself to breathe, to steady the storm inside. but the familiar voice cutting through the noise was unmistakable.

“hey, number two,” oikawa’s teasing drawl came from just behind you, his grin smug as ever.

and just like that, the tension that had been building snapped into something sharper, more combustible.

“don’t talk to me, oikawa,” you said sharply, your voice low but slicing through the chatter like a razor.

without waiting for a reply, you turned on your heel and strode away, each step heavy with the weight of frustration and bitter disappointment. behind you, oikawa stood frozen for a moment, his usual cocky smirk fading into a flicker of confusion.

hanamaki appeared beside him, arms crossed and wearing an amused yet knowing grin. “i guess the prez finally broke down, huh?” he said quietly, nudging oikawa with an elbow.

oikawa ran a hand through his tousled hair, his grin slowly returning but tinged with something softer, almost reluctant.

“yeah,” he admitted, voice low. “maybe this time, it’s not just a game to her.”

just then, iwaizumi and matsukawa joined the group, having caught up after following the scene. iwaizumi’s usual stern gaze softened as he looked at his two friends.

“you’ve been pushing her for years, tooru,” iwaizumi said, arms crossed, voice steady. “maybe now she’s finally pushing back.”

matsukawa nodded, a small smile on his lips. “she’s tougher than she looks. and she’s not someone you just toy with.”

oikawa’s eyes flickered back toward the direction you’d gone, narrowing thoughtfully. “for me, it’s never been just a game. it’s how i make sure she always notices me.”

hanamaki shook his head with a chuckle. “you’ve been poking the bear for so long, tooru. you might finally find out what happens when she fights back.”

iwaizumi added, “you might want to be ready for that. she’s not the same girl you knew in middle school.”

there was a pause before hanamaki nudged oikawa again, a teasing grin on his face. “because you should’ve just told her what you really felt, tooru.”

oikawa’s gaze lingered on your retreating figure, a mixture of admiration, respect, and something almost like awe settling into his eyes. “i don’t know if i’m ready for that,” he confessed quietly.

but even as he said it, the weight of the rivalry hung heavy in the air—an unspoken truth between them all. a fragile line between competition, irritation… and something far more complicated.

instead of heading to practice like he usually did, oikawa found himself walking toward the student council room, a strange pull guiding his steps. the hallway was quiet, the usual buzz of activity replaced by an unfamiliar stillness. when he pushed open the door, you weren’t there.

he frowned, then glanced at the small window near the ceiling. without hesitation, he made his way up the stairs to the rooftop—because he knew you.

he knew that when the weight of everything got too much, this was where you’d retreat. where you could breathe, away from deadlines, expectations, and the constant pressure to be perfect.

when he reached the rooftop, he found you sitting alone, legs drawn up to your chest, eyes staring off into the distance like you were somewhere far away.

for a moment, oikawa just watched, the usual confident grin replaced by something softer—almost protective. he wasn’t sure if you wanted company, but he wasn’t about to leave you here alone. not today.

“leave me alone, oikawa,” you said without looking up, but you knew it was him.

he froze, a flicker of surprise crossing his face—because you usually called him tooru, not by his last name.

the shift in tone, the distance in your voice—it hit him harder than he expected. for once, he wasn’t sure how to break through the wall you’d put up.

“are you—”

he barely got the words out before you cut him off, sharper this time.

“i said leave me alone, tooru.”

you finally looked up at him then, eyes tired, voice strained—not angry, but worn down, like something in you had finally snapped under the pressure.

and oikawa—he wasn’t used to that tone from you. not the teasing, not the competitive spark. just… exhaustion. disappointment.

for a second, he looked like he wanted to say something else, but the words died in his throat.

you stared at him, and something in your chest cracked open—because he was just standing there, still looking at you like you were supposed to be fine. like you could keep doing this. like you hadn’t been breaking little by little.

“you know what’s worse than losing to you?” you said, voice trembling at the edges. “it’s how easy you make it look. like you don’t even try. like you don’t lose sleep. like you’re not terrified of not being enough.”

oikawa blinked, stunned silent.

you looked away, laughing bitterly. “you walk around like everything falls into place for you. and maybe it does, maybe it always will—but i have to fight for every little thing. i have to be perfect or it's not enough. i have to keep up or i’m a disappointment.”

your hands curled tightly into fists.

“so yeah. maybe i get annoyed when you call me number two. maybe i’m tired of always coming in second to you. maybe i’m just—” you swallowed hard, voice dropping, “—tired. of being not enough.”

you didn’t mention the way your parents' voices echoed in your head when you saw the results. you didn’t say how silence at home cut deeper than any scolding. you didn’t say how that one point wasn’t just a number—it was everything they’d use to remind you you weren’t quite there yet.

you just sat there, all of it pressing down on your shoulders like stone, unable to look at him anymore. afraid that if you did, the whole damn dam would burst.

“so tooru,” you muttered, each word sharper than the last, “if you’re just going to stand there to make fun of me…”

your voice cracked, but you pushed through it, jaw clenched as you finished, “just leave me alone.”

you didn’t even have the strength to look at him as the words left your mouth.

oikawa stood there, frozen. every instinct in him screamed to pull you into a hug, to tell you he wasn’t here to tease you, that he never meant to push you this far.

but he knew better.

this wasn’t the moment for that—not when you were breaking, not when the weight you carried wasn’t his to fix.

so, for once, oikawa tooru said nothing.

he stepped back.

and left.

the days leading up to the festival were unusually quiet. for once, no one barged into the council room with a smug grin and half-finished forms. no teasing voice echoing down the halls, no smug remarks about “miss number two.”

just silence.

just… peace.

and it was unbearable.

at first, it was a relief—you had time to breathe, to focus, to finalize the logistics of the festival without anyone pestering you. but the silence kept stretching. and it started to feel less like peace and more like absence.

you hadn’t seen oikawa since that day on the rooftop. no smirks, no casual visits, no fake apologies to buy himself more time on deadlines. he wasn’t even showing up to drop off paperwork anymore. it was always iwaizumi now. and while you appreciated iwaizumi’s quiet efficiency, the lack of chaos—the lack of him—gnawed at you.

and maybe, just maybe, you regretted it.

not the part where you said what you felt. but the part where you pushed him away like it was all his fault. because deep down, you knew it wasn’t.

you were tired. you were under pressure. and he’d just happened to be standing too close when everything finally boiled over.

so now the silence didn’t feel like peace anymore. it felt like distance. and maybe, just maybe… that hurt more.

on the other hand, oikawa wasn’t doing much better.

he tried—god, he really did. he showed up to practice on time, yelled at his team to run blocking drills again and again, even flashed his usual smile at underclassmen when they passed by the gym. but it was hollow, all of it. like watching a performance after the actor forgot his lines.

he hadn’t seen you since the rooftop and he hated how much he noticed.

every time he walked past the student council room, his eyes would flicker to the door, just in case. every time someone mentioned the festival, he half-expected your voice to cut in and scold him about paperwork, about deadlines, about how he was being irresponsible again.

but it never came and the silence started to echo.

his teammates were the first to catch on.

“you’ve been setting like a demon,” matsukawa groaned after taking a ball straight to the chest. “and not in a cool, cinematic way. in a ‘tooru’s got trauma’ kind of way.”

“did you two fight?” hanamaki asked, handing him a water bottle like he was ready to stage an intervention. “or did she finally punch you in the ego like we always hoped?”

oikawa didn’t answer. he just took the water bottle and drained half of it in one go, muttering something about increasing practice intensity.

but they weren’t wrong.

he was more irritable, more tightly wound. the usual charm that masked his stress was cracking around the edges.

iwaizumi, always the most observant, cornered him after practice. they sat on the bench outside the gym, the sun just beginning to dip into the horizon.

“you want to see her, don’t you?”

oikawa didn’t look up. he just ran a hand through his hair, messing it up more than usual. “of course i do. but…” he exhaled slowly, voice quieter, “she told me to leave her alone. and she meant it. i know she did.”

iwaizumi studied him for a moment before replying. “you’re not as good at backing off as you think.”

“yeah, well,” oikawa muttered, giving a weak smile, “turns out i’m even worse at staying away.”

silence settled between them for a few moments.

“you think i’m an idiot, don’t you?”

“always have,” iwaizumi said dryly. “but this time, it’s not because you’re stupid. it’s because you think not showing up is what she needs, when what she probably needed was for you to just be real with her.”

oikawa looked over, eyes flickering with something sharp.

“you think i don’t want to be real with her?” he said, frustrated. “you think i haven’t wanted to tell her everything since—” he cut himself off, biting the inside of his cheek. “but i never know how. with her, it’s always been this game. this rivalry. it’s the only way i knew how to stay close.”

matsukawa, who had wandered over quietly behind them, chimed in, “you could’ve just told her what you really felt, tooru.”

hanamaki followed soon after, tossing a towel at his captain. “maybe if you stopped flirting with sarcasm and actually said something genuine for once, you wouldn’t look like a kicked puppy every time someone says her name.”

“shut up,” oikawa grumbled, but the towel stayed draped on his lap, unmoved.

he leaned back on the bench, staring up at the sky as it deepened from orange to dusky purple.

“i screwed it up, didn’t i?” he said softly.

iwaizumi didn’t say no. instead, he stood up, clapped a hand on oikawa’s shoulder, and said, “not yet. but if you keep doing nothing, you will.”

and with that, the rest of the team walked back into the gym, leaving oikawa alone with his thoughts, a half-empty water bottle, and the hollow ache of wanting someone who asked him to leave.

two days before the festival, the student council room buzzed with low conversation and rustling papers. you were buried in a stack of checklists when the door slid open with a quiet thunk.

“knock knock,” iwaizumi said, holding a folder in one hand and a slightly apologetic look in the other.

you looked up, immediately straightening in your seat. “hey, hajime.”

“here’s the paperwork for the volleyball booth,” he said, placing it gently on your desk. “updated layout, activity proposal, and the final sign-ups. all signed and stamped.”

you blinked. “he actually finished it?”

iwaizumi nodded, then hesitated. “yeah. he did. few days ago, actually. i’ve just been delivering it.”

your hand paused mid-reach over the papers, fingers hovering. “…oh.”

for a few seconds, the room was too quiet.

then, because you couldn’t help yourself, you asked—softly, almost too casually,

“how’s… oikawa doing?”

iwaizumi looked at you for a moment, unreadable. not judging, not surprised. just watching.

“same as usual on the outside,” he said finally. “but quieter. doesn’t talk as much unless it’s volleyball. hasn’t been teasing the first years. or us. which is how we know something’s off.”

you nodded, lips pressed into a line.

“he hasn’t come by.”

“he’s giving you space,” iwaizumi said. then, after a beat: “and it’s killing him.”

your eyes dropped back to the folder. the clean signatures. the neat organization. it wasn’t like oikawa to be so tidy. it wasn’t like him to be distant, either.

and even though some part of you still felt the sting from midterms, another part—a bigger part—missed the way he filled the room with noise.

you cleared your throat. “thanks for the update.”

iwaizumi nodded, already heading for the door.

but just before he left, he paused, looked back, and said, “if you’re still mad, that’s fine. but if you’re not… maybe let him know.”

you looked down at the folder on your desk, running your fingers along its edges, thoughts swirling like an untamed storm. hajime was halfway to the door when you called out quietly—almost too quietly.

"iwa."

he stopped, glancing back over his shoulder.

you swallowed, eyes still fixed on the paper. "i'm not… really mad at him."

the words felt heavy, like they’d been sitting on your chest for days.

"i was frustrated. overwhelmed. with everything. the festival, midterms, and…" you exhaled, shutting your eyes for a moment. "it wasn’t about him. not really. i just… took it out on him. and i hate that i did."

iwaizumi stepped back into the room, closing the door with a soft click behind him. he didn’t say anything at first—just stood there, arms crossed, looking at you with that quiet, grounded calm he always carried.

"he knows," he said simply.

your eyes flicked up to meet his. "what?"

"tooru. he knows it wasn’t really about him," iwaizumi said, walking closer. "he gets it. probably more than he lets on. you think he doesn't notice when someone’s under pressure? he does. especially when it’s you."

you let out a shaky breath, blinking faster now. “he must think i hate him.”

iwaizumi’s lips curled into the faintest smirk. “he’d let you kick him in the shin and still ask if you wanted his last milk bread. you think he’s scared of you being angry?”

“…i did kick him once,” you muttered.

“he still brings it up,” iwaizumi said dryly, a trace of amusement in his voice. “point is, he’s not mad either. he’s just waiting. giving you time. because, you know…” he paused, shrugging a little. “he cares.”

you sat back in your chair, heart squeezing at that.

you weren’t ready to face tooru yet—not completely. but knowing he understood, knowing he was waiting…

it softened something in you.

"thanks, hajime."

iwaizumi nodded, then turned for the door again.

this time, before stepping out, he added without looking back, “just don’t take too long. he’s unbearable when he’s love-sick.”

you blinked. “love-sick? impossible. this is oikawa tooru we’re talking about.”

iwaizumi let out a soft snort. “yeah, well. apparently it’s a condition reserved exclusively for you.”

your breath caught just a little at that. but iwaizumi didn’t linger—he slid the door open and stepped out, leaving you with a folder full of finalized volleyball booth forms, a heart that beat a little too loud in your chest, and the ghost of a smirk on your lips.

when the next day arrived, it was your job to make sure everything was in place—from the booths to the decorations, from the schedules to the last-minute details. the entire school buzzed with energy, but you moved through the halls with a sharp, watchful eye, checking and double-checking every corner of aoba johsai.

you stopped in front of the classroom assigned to the volleyball club. their booth was set up like a cozy cafe, the sweet scent of cakes and fresh breads wafting through the door. colorful signs and neatly arranged pastries made it look inviting—and, knowing oikawa, probably perfectly planned to attract as many visitors as possible.

“iwa, i’ll be ba—” oikawa’s voice stopped abruptly as the door swung open and he caught sight of you standing there.

his usual confident grin flickered for a moment, replaced by something softer, something unreadable.

you met his eyes without hesitation, your clipboard lowered by your side as the buzz of the festival preparations faded into the background—just for a moment.

“hi prez, iwa’s inside if you want to check the booth,” oikawa called over his shoulder, already halfway out the door.

before you could say anything, he was practically sprinting down the hall, leaving a faint trail of his usual confident energy behind him—but this time, tinged with something like nervous excitement.

from the side, you caught the familiar voices of his teammates chuckling.

“he’s hopeless,” hanamaki muttered, shaking his head.

“always running away when it counts,” matsukawa added with a grin.

iwaizumi just sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “that’s tooru for you.”

you stepped into the classroom, taking in the cozy setup. the tables were neatly arranged with trays of cakes and breads, decorated with colorful signs and cute little details that only oikawa could come up with. the volleyball club members were bustling quietly, making final adjustments and sharing quick smiles.

everything was in place—ready for the festival.

you let out a small breath of relief. it wasn’t perfect, but it was theirs, and that was enough for now.

as you scanned the menu, your eyes caught a particular cake that hadn’t been on the original list they’d given you.

“hey, haji,” you called softly, “did you add a new cake to the menu?”

iwaizumi glanced over your shoulder, a knowing smile tugging at his lips. “oh, the strawberry cheesecake? that was tooru’s last-minute addition. said he knew you liked it.”

you couldn’t suppress a small smile, a mix of annoyance, flattery, and something softer swirling inside you.

“everything looks good. i’ll swing by again tomorrow to check on things. good luck,” you said, patting iwaizumi’s shoulder before turning to leave.

unbeknownst to you, oikawa had been quietly lurking in the back, slipping in through the other door just in time to catch your entire conversation. his eyes sparkled with a mixture of mischief and something more vulnerable.

just then, hanamaki and matsukawa appeared around the corner, grinning as they noticed oikawa caught off guard.

“look at captain,” hanamaki teased, nudging matsukawa. “caught red-handed.”

matsukawa laughed softly. “he’s hopeless, but you gotta admit, it’s kind of sweet.”

iwaizumi shook his head, a smirk on his face. “yeah, and now he’s stuck with us watching his every move.”

oikawa shot them all a playful glare but couldn’t hide the small smile creeping onto his face. beneath the teasing, there was an unspoken hope—that maybe, just maybe, she noticed the little things after all.

the day of the festival came with bright skies, loud chatter, and students from different schools pouring in through the gates. the energy was high, the booths alive with color and movement. everything was in place and no major disasters were happening—no missing materials, no last-minute emergencies, no clubs on the brink of combustion. for once, things were smooth.

you could actually breathe.

you allowed yourself to think—just for today—this might actually be a success.

as promised, you made your way to the volleyball team’s booth. it was buzzing with activity, a line stretching outside the classroom door. inside, the scent of fresh bread and sugar hung in the air, warm and inviting. students sat at desks turned café tables, enjoying cakes, drinks, and breads with cute handwritten menus propped up in front of them.

when it was finally your turn, you scanned the menu only to frown slightly.

“strawberry cheesecake’s sold out already?” you asked.

hanamaki, who was manning the small counter for now, gave you a cheeky grin. “sold out in the first hour. some girl bought two whole slices just because tooru made it.”

you rolled your eyes. of course.

“fine. i’ll just get the milk bread,” you muttered, fishing out your ticket stub to pay.

before hanamaki could ring it up, oikawa appeared from behind the divider with a tray. “make that one milk bread,” he said, carefully placing the warm pastry down, “and one iced choco.”

you blinked. “i didn’t order a drink.”

“but you like it with milk bread,” oikawa said with a soft grin. “iced choco, three cubes of ice, no whip, no syrup—just the way you like it.”

your lips parted slightly in surprise, caught off guard by the memory he held onto so casually. before you could speak, he added, “on the house. it’s festival day, after all.”

from the side, matsukawa leaned toward hanamaki and whispered, loud enough for you both to hear, “and the captain strikes again with his signature move—attention to detail.”

hanamaki fake-gasped. “devastating. truly swoon-worthy.”

oikawa shot them both a glare, but his gaze flicked back to you, a little more unsure now. “i mean, only if… you want it.”

you stared at the tray for a moment. then, with a soft sigh, you took it from his hands.

“thanks… tooru.”

and just like that, his smile returned—easy, bright, and just a little shy around the edges.

when the night had long fallen over aoba johsai, the warmth of the festival fading into the cool hush of a late autumn breeze. students gathered around the bonfire in the courtyard below, laughing, dancing, soaking in the final moments of what would be their last school festival. you should’ve been down there too, smiling with them, celebrating a job well done.

but instead, you were on the rooftop—your usual place of quiet, a little peace above the noise. it had been your biggest undertaking as student council president, and now that it was done, the adrenaline had left you all at once. the silence wrapped around your shoulders like a blanket. you let it.

the door creaked open behind you.

you didn’t even need to look.

“oh. you’re here,” oikawa’s voice broke the stillness, a little softer than usual.

you turned slightly, surprised to see him holding a white pastry box, tied with a neat ribbon—turquoise, like your school color.

“i come bearing gifts,” he said with an awkward little smile. “not to bribe you. well… maybe a little.”

he handed it over. curious, you undid the ribbon and opened the lid.

a whole strawberry cheesecake. not a slice. not a portion. a full, homemade cake.

“you made this?” you blinked, brows raised.

“kind of.” he rubbed the back of his neck, eyes darting away for a second. “i had help. but most of it’s me. i remembered you liked it, so…”

you stared at the cake, then back at him. your lips tugged into a small, exasperated smile. “you’re unbelievable.”

he gave a tiny, nervous laugh, stepping beside you to look out over the bonfire-lit courtyard. for a moment, you both just stood there, watching the flicker of the crowd below. no teasing. no snark.

then he spoke again—quieter this time. “i wanted to tell you something.”

you turned your head slightly, his profile silhouetted by the soft lights coming from below.

“this might sound… stupid, and honestly, i probably should’ve said it sooner,” he muttered. “but i like you.”

you froze.

his voice didn’t waver—but it was gentler than you'd ever heard it.

“i’ve liked you for a while now. probably since you started beating me in rankings,” he added, with a short, self-deprecating chuckle. “you’re smart. and annoying. and really, really good at making me want to try harder.”

you didn’t speak. you couldn’t. the words landed somewhere deep in your chest.

“i’m not asking for anything. i know you’ve got a lot going on,” he said quickly. “but i just… i didn’t want to end high school without telling you. no pressure. take your time, or don’t say anything. i’ll be okay.”

you looked at him, really looked at him—his stupidly pretty eyes, the nervous line of his jaw, the way his hand gripped the railing like it was keeping him steady.

and for the first time in weeks, your heart wasn’t tangled in frustration.

it was warm. uncertain, but warm.

“okay,” you whispered.

you didn’t need to say anything else.

he smiled, and it was softer than any expression you’d ever seen on him.

maybe it wasn’t the beginning of something.

but maybe, just maybe, it could be.

oikawa’s confession stuck with you for weeks.

he didn’t bring it up again—not once. he didn’t push, didn’t pry, didn’t even hint. he went back to being his usual self: annoying, dramatic, always flashing you that ridiculous grin whenever you passed by. and yet… somehow it felt different now. like there was a second meaning hidden under his usual antics. a quiet kind of hope he carried behind every smirk and every stolen glance.

but his presence started to thin.

with the spring qualifiers looming closer, the third-years of the volleyball team were drowning in practice. late nights, early mornings, extra laps, countless drills. it felt like the whole team moved like a single heartbeat—driven and relentless. tooru, especially, seemed to be running on nothing but sheer will and obsession. and just like that, he became harder and harder to catch.

then the match against karasuno happened.

the result hit like a brick to the chest. aoba johsai lost. after everything—they lost. and with that, their journey as third-years was over.

you didn’t go to the game.

you wanted to, but duties piled up and the nerves clawed too sharp in your stomach. but when the final score came in, when you saw the hushed disappointment written across the school’s group chat, the ache bloomed deep in your chest. not because they lost—because you knew how hard they worked. especially him.

so you went to the gym that evening, hours after the game had ended.

it was dimly lit, with only a few lights turned on above the court. you stepped inside quietly, heart hammering in your chest.

the third-years were still there.

iwaizumi sat on the bench, towel around his neck, staring blankly ahead. matsukawa was on the floor, lying on his back with an arm covering his face. hanamaki was tossing a volleyball up and down without really looking at it. sawauchi and yuda were leaning against the wall in silence. shido sat by the door, legs stretched out and eyes shut like he was trying to block the world out.

and oikawa was in the center of the court, kneeling beside a ball, head bowed. still.

none of them noticed you right away.

not until your footsteps echoed.

iwaizumi looked up first. "hey," he said, voice hoarse.

"thought i’d check in," you said gently, eyes sweeping over them. "i figured you’d all still be here."

matsukawa let out a dry chuckle. “we don’t know what else to do.”

hanamaki offered you a half-hearted smile. “hey prez. sorry you had to see us like this.”

you shook your head, walking slowly across the court. “no. you don’t have to apologize. you all did your best.”

oikawa hadn’t moved.

your eyes landed on him, and something in your chest twisted.

“tooru,” you said softly.

his head lifted slightly at your voice, eyes dull with exhaustion and something heavier. pain, maybe. disappointment. loss.

you knelt in front of him, lowering yourself to his level.

“you played great,” you murmured. “all of you did.”

he shook his head, voice barely audible. “it wasn’t enough.”

you reached out and gently placed your hand over his, squeezing. “it mattered. to all of us. to me.”

he looked at you then, really looked at you, and for a moment the weight in his eyes cracked just a little.

“you came,” he whispered.

“of course i did.”

from the bench, hanamaki cleared his throat. “i swear to god if you cry, i’m leaving.”

“shut up,” oikawa muttered, his voice cracking anyway.

matsukawa smirked. “don’t act tough, we’ve all cried already.”

iwaizumi stood up, tossing his towel over his shoulder. “c’mon. let’s go get something to eat. my treat. we’re not dying here in this gym.”

as the others got up slowly, gathering their bags and their broken spirits, oikawa remained where he was for a second longer.

as the gym slowly emptied, one by one, the third-years dragged their bags over tired shoulders and shuffled toward the exit. the sharp echo of footsteps and the soft scrape of shoes against polished floorboards filled the space before fading into the distant hum of the overhead lights.

iwaizumi gave you a subtle nod as he passed, the kind that said take care of him, a quiet trust passed between you without words.

hanamaki and matsukawa lingered by the door for a moment, exchanging glances full of knowing amusement and concern. hanamaki smirked and whispered something to matsukawa, who snorted softly. you caught the words—rom-com timing—and it made you smile despite the heaviness hanging in the air.

sawauchi, shido, and yuda trailed after them, their footsteps gentle and respectful, fading down the hallway until it was just you and oikawa left in the cavernous gym.

he hadn’t moved from the center of the court. the dim lighting cast long shadows over his hunched frame, kneeling on the hardwood with one hand curled lightly around a scuffed volleyball as if it were the only anchor keeping him grounded.

his back was tense, shoulders tight as if carrying the weight of disappointment itself. his gaze was fixed on the floor, lips pressed into a thin, strained line that barely contained everything he wasn’t saying.

you crouched beside him again, this time closer—close enough to feel the slight tremor in his breath, the faint pulse of his wrist beneath your fingertips.

“tooru,” you said softly, barely louder than the quiet hum of the empty gym.

he didn’t look up. didn’t even flinch.

“i know this isn’t what you wanted,” you whispered, voice steady but tender. “and i know how much you gave—how much you always give.”

his fingers twitched. slow and uncertain, you reached out, letting your hand cover his. the warmth of your skin was a small lifeline in the vast silence.

“you don’t have to smile right now. you don’t have to pretend it doesn’t hurt—not with me.”

his breath hitched slightly. “it’s just—i tried so hard. i really tried.”

you squeezed his hand, slow and reassuring. “i know.”

his voice cracked like a fragile thread. “i wanted to make it. for us. for iwa-chan. for the team. for—”

“for you,” you finished gently, your voice catching with the weight of the moment. “and you did. you made something incredible.”

finally, his eyes met yours.

they were rimmed red, eyelashes heavy with unshed tears, raw and vulnerable in a way you’d never seen from him before. his face was a map of heartache and stubborn pride, and your chest tightened as empathy and something deeper welled up inside you.

“i lost.”

“you didn’t,” you whispered, leaning in just a little, so close you could feel the warmth of his breath. “you gave everything. that’s not losing, tooru.”

his breath hitched again, eyes searching yours, desperate for some kind of truth to hold onto. and for once, he didn’t have a witty comeback or a sharp retort—just silence.

and so you closed the distance.

your lips pressed to his—soft, tentative, trembling slightly with all the words you hadn’t spoken, all the feelings you’d kept locked away. for a heartbeat, he froze, caught off guard by the gentle weight of your kiss.

then he melted into it, his hand lifting to cup the back of your neck, fingers threading into the strands of your hair like he never wanted to let go.

the gym around you faded—no cheers, no confetti, no grand finale. just the quiet, steady rhythm of two hearts finding each other in the dark.

when you pulled away, his eyes were wide, shimmering with emotion, lips parted slightly as if tasting the moment again.

you smiled faintly, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead.

“no pressure, right?”

a soft, raw laugh escaped him. “right.”

“good,” you murmured. “but next time, let me cheer for you before the game.”

“deal,” he breathed, voice thick with something like hope.

and this time, he leaned in first.

bonus scene.

hidden just outside the gym door, hanamaki, matsukawa, and iwaizumi leaned casually against the wall, trying to keep their expressions neutral—but the amusement and relief were obvious in their eyes.

hanamaki was the first to break the silence, letting out a low, impressed whistle. “finally. about time those two stopped dancing around each other like it’s some kind of complicated volleyball drill.”

matsukawa chuckled, nudging iwaizumi with a grin. “guess that means we can officially retire from matchmaking duty, huh?”

iwaizumi gave a tired but genuine smile, rubbing the back of his neck. “yeah, i can finally live in peace… at least until the next disaster.”

hanamaki smirked knowingly. “don’t get too comfortable, hajime. now that they’re official, you’re basically their go-to therapist for all the drama.”

matsukawa laughed, crossing his arms. “and oikawa? he’s probably gonna come back swinging with ten times the teasing. no way he’s letting this slide quietly.”

iwaizumi sighed dramatically, shaking his head. “i’m doomed.”

they shared a look, the quiet camaraderie between them filling the space. then, breaking through the muffled sounds from inside the gym, came your sharp, amused voice.

“hey! i can hear you, you know!”

hanamaki’s grin faltered for a moment. “oh, busted.”

matsukawa laughed openly. “guess we weren’t as stealthy as we thought.”

iwaizumi threw his hands up, chuckling. “and here i thought i was done with the chaos.”

the three exchanged a glance, laughter bubbling between them as the gym’s silence returned. footsteps echoed softly inside, and through it all hung the unmistakable warmth of something finally falling into place—something worth waiting for.

[makkir0ll]

thinking about co-star!oikawa who you’re filming a rom com with. it’s fun, flirty, and the two of you have a good dynamic with each other whether that be on set or behind the scenes.

especially behind the scenes because the two of you are in a secret (not so secret) relationship. the whole hair and makeup crew has pretty much picked up on it. the makeup artists who have to re-do your makeup after the two of you are "practicing lines" in each other's trailer. they have to cover up hickey on your neck when you claim it's just a burn from the curling iron the hairstylist used. your hair in an up-do for this specific scene you're filming.

but what get's everyone caught up on your not so secret relationship is when the two of you have to film the steamy makeout scene in the movie that occurs when the two characters finally kiss each other. oikawa keeps "messing up" the kiss. going in for the kiss too early or too late, not making it perfect. so this leads to you having to re-do the scene fifteen times, and in between each time you're getting your makeup retouched up and you see him smirking and winking at you from across the room.

(during press tour, he's asked what his favorite scene to film was and he says the kiss. this stirs the pot for sure and the two of you are now trending on twitter with tweets such as - "oikawa tooru and l/n f/n dating confirmed? watch this clip")

[fushiguruuzzzz]

req by @lizbix for 700 event

OIKAWA who is “just a friend”

OIKAWA who dedicates every serve (even the ones he misses) to you with a wink and a cocky grin, throwing in a “just because you’re special to me,” on occasion, but it’s all strictly platonic. yep.

OIKAWA who tosses his volleyball jacket over your shoulders when you’re cold, and just before you can see the gentle fondness in his eyes, he brushes it off with a “just displaying my kindness. thank me with a kiss later, mhm?”

OIKAWA who only smiles when you hit him in return, but really just wishes you’d take him seriously.

OIKAWA who is always staring at you when his fangirls try to get his attention — he doesn’t even realize it, but they sure do.

OIKAWA who sniggers to himself every time he’s asked if you two are a thing, because in his mind, you kind of are. he won’t deny what he believes to be true. if he’s right, he’s right.

OIKAWA who always manages to somehow slip into your house, and you often find him sprawled out in your bed, snoring like he’s in hibernation.

OIKAWA who smirks lazily as you let out a deep sigh and crawl in beside him, wrapping his arms around you and ignoring your excuse of “I’m tired” and “it’s obvious you won’t move anyway.”

OIKAWA who is just a friend, but you’re curled up under the covers with him and sinking into his warm embrace, soft skin brushing over his as his heat seeps into you.

maybe OIKAWA is just a friend, but as he presses his face into the crook of your neck and mumbles something that sounds scarily similar to “I love you,” it doesn’t feel like it. not like you mind.

OIKAWA who denies any hints at his sleepy confession profusely, telling you it must’ve been a dream — a fantasy of yours that you’d gotten caught up in that day. he says he doesn’t blame you, he gets it a lot.

OIKAWA who only admits that he did, in fact, tell you he loved you back then three years later. he figured it was a good time, because now you’re curled up in bed once again, except the covers are not yours. they’re his too; property of the home you’d created not long after graduation.

OIKAWA who stares at the back of your head, stunned, when all you responded with was a smile and an “I know.”

OIKAWA who feels really dumb afterwards, but he figures it’s alright, since he ended up at his planned destination all the same. he’s still mad he lost so much time, though.

I cannot write for oikawa I think. please don’t attack me for this.

gen tags: @sh0ot1ngst4r @azinniyaa @kashee-h @bubybubsters @lizbix @mayyhaps @adoresia @gumims @cinnamxnangel @aldebrana

[lostazuree]

WELL HELLO THERE!!

Really nice to meet you btw!

I wanted to ask for some hq smut. Short thingsies or hc are ok for me! I want the Wedding night, like, no brutal fucking, genuinly making love to fem reader.

I really really want Oikawa n Tsukishima and if you feel like him too, i would love Sakusa too

THANK U SM OMFG 🫶😭

⚝₊˚𖦹౨ৎ— Wedding Night.ᐟ ♡

⚝ Haikyuu!! Boys x Reader!

ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ: Wedding night love making! -NSFW, Praise, soft smut, fluff-ish, penetration, light cussing.

ꜰᴇᴀᴛᴜʀɪɴɢ: Oikawa Tooru, Tsukishima Kei, Iwaizumi Hajime, Kuroo Tetsurou, Miya Atsumu, Kageyama Tobio .ᐟ

𖦹 ᴏɪᴋᴀᴡᴀ ᴛᴏᴏʀᴜ .ᐟ

This man was beaming the whole day, wider than ever before, too quiet, like one wrong word and he might wake up to an empty bed for the end of his dream. He was a giddy schoolgirl when he saw you in that dress, wanting to cry when you walked down the aisle. He couldn't wait for these guests to leave, so he could have you to himself.

When you both reached the room, he lifted you up and twirled you around, grinning in not the usual charming way, but a more genuine, boyish way as he whispered, "God, finally, finally. I can't breathe!" He settled you down on his bed, laying you down while his lips were latched to yours, he mumbled in a few praises about how good you looked, how lucky he is to get to call you his wife now as you both giggled over things previously unsaid, and how he's now acting all sappy. He lied you down on the bed, unzipping your dress.

"You looked so, so stunning tonight, I forgot I was even there, angel." He hummed, looking at you with a faint smile as he took a moment to admire you, hands trailing down every inch like he's been dreaming of this for too long, in that moment, I believe he'd want to drop his teasing & cocky persona for the moment, (Do not get used to it) He's thanking to whatever supreme deity there is above, because this is his greatest win in life.

He makes it his goal to make this as good as possible, to pour his soul about just how much he loves you, in ways his words would fail to express, he wants to show you just how much. Leaving faint lovebites on your neck he's sure to get swatted for in the morning, his mouth trailing low, and hands even lower. "Tell me to stop when it gets too much.", oh, sweetheart. He's practically fawning over you, eyes darting everywhere as he pulls your thighs apart, tip sliding against your entrance, soon lowering himself into you, slowly, like he wants you to feel every inch of him, giving you time to breathe. "Y'know, I really lucked out in highschool." He hummed in your ear, voice laced with something you couldn't pin down. He was enjoying this, these little ministrations were getting to him. Praises, praises, & praises as he's cupping your breast, lightly pinching the nipple while your eyes roll back. He's just giddy, slow yet deep thrusts delving into you while his hands caress you and hold you down, your hands tangling in strands of his hair, tugging him closer, his cock hitting your spots repeatedly, unhurriedly, hands pinning yours to the bed when he picks up a steadier pace, while he's kissing you over and over again till you fall apart on his hands, "T-..Toru..", absolutely thrives on sounds. "On it." Doesn't give you a chance to complain as he pushes himself deeper, not rough, just slow. His thrusts soon falter when you two near, eventually releasing. Will hold you and cuddle you to sleep afterwards, whispering in your ear how he's once again that lovesick second year who fell for you. He plops down on the bed breathlessly beside you. "I promise to love you and cherish you whole heartedly, forever, even if death do us part, and I'd love you now and forever, until the next life I get to share with you." No way did this idiot just recite his vows again after ...sex?! "Toru, you fuckin' dumbass.", "Just makin' sure, wifey." and he chuckled, for this is what he wants to wake up to everyday, for you are the win for everytime he lost in his life. -And honestly, you wouldn't have it any other way.

𖦹 ᴛꜱᴜᴋɪꜱʜɪᴍᴀ ᴋᴇɪ .ᐟ

He really didn't care that it was his day as well. It was yours. He really couldn't care less about the wedding guests, if he'd be asked to recall his favourite parts of the wedding, there won't be a single face other than yours in his head.

The whole ceremony, he looked nowhere but you. And finally when the 'lousy guests' as he says, were gone, he couldn't wait to get you. He's smiling, watching you twirl around in your dress, showing off how pretty you looked. "Of course you did, I picked that dress." He looks at you with such a fond little smile, grabbing you by the hand as he pulls you on the bed with him, pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead. "You looked jaw-dropping." he included while you loosened his tie, exchanging a few snarky remarks about how you just can't get your hands off him.

But soon, he's the one who can't get his hands off you. Pushing your dress off your shoulders, he's visibly taken aback by the view, audibly swallowing as he whispers in, a few praises that sound foreign to his own ears. He's not a man of many words, but he'll gladly fill your ears with praises if he gets his fill of you. Leaning in, he kisses your lips, before those kisses trail down your neck, to your chest, like he's trying to engrave every inch to his brain through his lips. You hummed something about him taking credit as usual, hands tangling in his hair, and he smirked. He lays you flat against the bed as you two bicker about how your life turned out here from your highschool days, giggles and chuckles turning into moans, gasps and whimpers as he's into you, pulling out- not all the way before going back in, slow, considerate. "Back then I never knew why you stuck around, but I guess, now you're stuck around, forever.", "Willingly. Ring off or on." you muttered out breathlessly with a smile. And he gives you such a childish, sheepish even, grin. "I suppose that's right, You never stopped being cheesy." He leaned in to kiss you before you could make any sounds of protest at his reply, his kiss deep and passionate like he's been meaning to pour confessions worth a decade into it. He retains his pace, slow, deep thrusts into your aching cunt, holding your thighs stable in his hands when he feels your body shaking, walls clenching around his length, he bites his lip, letting out a shaky exhale as he kisses your forehead.

"Mhm..you're doing such a good job, darling." His voice is so uncharacteristically soft, like he's trying to reassure both you and himself that it's happening really happening, his eyes never leaving yours. And after a while, his pace and rhythm falters, he grunts, tilting your head up as he presses another kiss to your forehead while you both come undone. He holds you in his arms, hands running through your hair as he whispers some breathless promises that you both are too hazy to remember, "You've no idea how much I've dreamt of this, Mrs. Tsukishima." and that comment doesn't just make you giddy, but also him.

𖦹 ɪᴡᴀɪᴢᴜᴍɪ ʜᴀᴊɪᴍᴇ .ᐟ

It's one of those rare times you've never seen him in a rush, one of those times where he's patient, happy, like he's genuinely filming this whole day in his head, filming you in his head, because he knows he'll never live this day again.

He stayed back, waving those guests off, making you wonder whether if this was even the same man before he scooped you up in his arms, carrying you to the room with the widest grin you've seen on him. "God, you look so pretty, I can't take my eyes off of you." He chuckled, crashing his lips with yours as he set you down on the bed.

"Hard to believe I bagged a wife, one as pretty as you, love." He rested his forehead against you as you began to loosen his tie, his hands slowly, carefully undressing you like he's unwrapping a present, which is true, after all, you are kind of one, to him. He took a moment to admire you, his calloused hands hovering over your skin hesitantly before you pulled him closer and he got the message. His hands now roaming over your body like he's analyzing a court, his eyes focused, but soft, his lips dragging themselves from your lips to your neck as he bit down, leaving marks on places he'd be very proud of, later. He's so sappy as he positions himself between your thighs, the faintest tint of pink on his cheeks as his tip rubs against your folds. This is the softest you've ever seen him aside from the day he dropped juice over himself while confessing to you back in highschool. He's looking at you the whole time, gouging your reaction as he pushes inside you, slowly. His eyes are so wide and dreamy, panting softly before he buries his face in your neck, his rhythm never faltering. "You've made me the happiest man alive, baby. I'll make sure I return the favor. Everyday." and you can't help but giggle at his giddy behaviour, It's hard to believe he's the same Iwaizumi, who's now a blushing, sappy mess while he's rolling his hips against yours, hand clenching the headboard, veins rippling in his arms from just how tight his grip is. But all of that just makes you fall in love with him more, after all, what's a better feeling than being confessed love to, over and over again while you're struggling to think straight from just how big his cock is?

His pace doesn't falter too quick, it's his goal to get you to orgasm, but you know he's close when he's grunting a little more, the veins on his dick twitching as he's panting. Eventually, after you've both been milked dry, he plops down on the bed, pulls you on his chest, his big arms circling you whole as you whisper, "Haji, baby, I love you too." and he grins, hands caressing your hair, until his sappy mode turns back on. "You make my days far more bearable. Thank you, darling.", he's blushing the entire time, praying you don't see him so flustered because he doesn't even know why he is. But he knows, he wants to stay like this for the rest of his life.

𖦹 ᴋᴜʀᴏᴏ ᴛᴇᴛꜱᴜʀᴏᴜ .ᐟ

He's so uncharacteristic, donned up in a suit and blushing like a maiden when you stood infront of him at the altar, hands unstable and fingers fidgeting, his mind was reeling with words unsaid, grinning at you like he did for the first time he laid his eyes on you.

"I'm still mentally not here, it's unfair how beautiful you looked." He smiled, cupping your face as he joked, in order to retain some semblance of his breaking composure, he could frankly cry from just thinking that he's married now, that too, to the person of his dreams. He pushed himself off the wall, placing a chaste kiss to your lips, which soon turned deeper, more passionate as he lifted you up in his arms and placed you on the bed, climbing over you with the widest grin you've seen on him. Not the cocky grin you're used to, but more like a lovestruck expression you see on kids when they get a crush. Boyish, unfiltered. His hands travel across you body, undressing you slowly, his breath hitching when you undid his buttons. He slid the dress off you, his eyes trailing, eyeing you up and down appreciatively.

"You're gawking like a damn virgin, Tetsu." You teased him, he chuckled as he lied you down impatiently, his touch leaving trails of heat in their wake. "I can't help it. You're too, too pretty for your own good." he kissed your cheek, hands cupping your soft mounds as he squeezed them, hands spreading your plush thighs. "And hey, I'm allowed to gawk at what's mine." He mused, whispering in your ear, hands caressing your thighs softly, like he's mapping them inch by inch with his hands before he parts them, positioning himself in between, his tip pressed right against your entrance. "Push me away when you feel like.", he reassures you before his cock slides inside your pussy, slow, deliberate, stretching you out while your nails dig into his shoulder, clawing at his chest. He looks at you, eyes locked on the your face, both to check how you're feeling, and admire it. "Y'know...you kinda blessed me before the priest did." He grinned, sheepish at his cheesy jokes, which, sure, sound insufferably corny, but are sincere. He holds you down, lavishing you with kisses, hickies as he tells you just how proud he is, how incredibly lucky he must've been that he's at this point in life. You don't know which point though- the relationship or the current ongoing sex, but you were fine by both.

He continued his thrusts and sheepish praises, his hands occasionally caressing your body so it wouldn't be too aching for you, your moans and gasps making his eyes roll back, his breathing heavy and ragged when your fingers tangled in locks of his hair, he leaned over and pressed a kiss to your lips when he felt your pussy clenching around him more desperately. You were close, so was he. Still, he rode you through your orgasm, and took a moment to admire how you looked beneath him. "You're the hardest, yet the best thing I ever had to win over, but I'll do it all over again. In every life." He whispered against your neck, arms trapping you in his embrace as you two bantered about his cheesy antics. He looked at you and thought to himself, about just how blissful his mornings are going to be, starting from tonight.

𖦹 ᴍɪʏᴀ ᴀᴛꜱᴜᴍᴜ .ᐟ

Atsumu was a self-assured, confident man, until your wedding day. He was freaking out, all emotional and hyper when he saw you, dolled up for him in a white dress, and when you stood infront of him at the altar, he'd already shed a few tears from just how enchanting you looked, from how you were now gonna be his.

You had to calm his brain down, because oh boy, was he a teary-eyed, giggling mess who couldn't stop hugging you with those big arms of his, refusing to let you go. "Jesus, 'm god. 'tis real, yer' real!" his eyes were shining, hair fallen over them. He had the silliest grin on his face, it was like his hands had a mind of their own, ad he just couldn't bring himself to stop kissing you. After a long smooch-session, he plopped down on the bed and pulled you over himself, his calloused yet careful fingers brushing strands of your hair away, so he could meet your eyes. "Yer' m' wife now, can ya believe that? Hell, I can't!" and you two giggled over a few things that lead to one another.

Soon, he flipped you over, his mellow eyes scanning your face while you fiddled with his tie and buttons, sliding his shirt off, letting your hands roam over his broad, built figure. He hummed in content, pushing your own dress down as he left feather-light, hot kisses over your body. Neck, chest, collarbone, stomach, just wherever his lips could land. "Yer' so, so pretty, I wonder how I landed ya." He whispered, his tongue soon circling your nipple and his fingertips drawing patterns across your thighs. "..'Tsumu-", you croaked out, and thankfully, he took the signal. His hands now parted your thighs to a good distance, positioning himself between your legs as he wrapped them around his waist. "Sweetheart, hold on tight, 'kay?" He whispered in your ear as his cock made contact with your glistening folds, his fingers twirling strands of your hair around them, the other hand holding the head board.

And with those words, he finally lowered himself inside your entrance, bit by bit, savoring the moment as you clung to him, a sputtered string of incoherent praises leaving his lips at how good you felt, how desperately your hands tried to hold onto his sturdy shoulders when he picked up his place, though by only a notch. His hands caressed whatever part of your skin they landed on, soothing you while you arched into his touch. Not long after, you were spent. And he once again cradled you in his arms. "Baby, yer' gonna marry me, right?" he whispered, and you looked at him incredulously, "..'Tsumu, we just got married, today." and he was quick to retort with a wide, enamored yet sheepish grin, "Again, for good measure." and at that, he knew he fumbled so many things, but today, he made a decision worth a blissful lifetime.

𖦹 ᴋᴀɢᴇʏᴀᴍᴀ ᴛᴏʙɪᴏ .ᐟ

The ever quiet, maybe even stoic and aloof individual is so, so close to his breaking point, he can't focus on anything else aside from how angelic you look, so much so, that he almost forgets that he's the one marrying you, and he's not here to watch.

He isn't quite at all, giggling and blushing like a dopey, intoxicated teen who had his first taste of alcohol. His hands are unable to keep themselves off you as he backs you against a wall, peppering your face in kisses, "It's impossible for me to convey just how much I waited for this.." He trails off as he locks his gaze with yours, leaving a fluttering kiss to your lips. "..for you." He continues sheepishly as he scoops you up in his arms, cradling you against his chest, whispering sweet nothings like a prayer as he sets you down on the bed. His hands slowly tugging out your accessories and the laces of your dress, letting it fall apart as he stared at you with wide eyes.

"Oh, god, wake me up. Wake me up." He mumbled under his breath as his hands finally made contact with your body, his touch light and reverent. "You're awake, Kags." you couldn't help but tease him at his flustered reaction, and he just frowned at you, cheeks still tinted with a faint pink as he narrowed his eyes at you, clicking his tongue in faux annoyance, "I know that.", but his frown softened when you chuckled, pulling him over you, his fingers brushing strands of your hair away from your face. "I really must have done something praise-worthy that I ended up with you.", he whispered meekly while you continued teasing him that you too, didn't know how you fell for this brooding introvert. "Oh please. Shut up." He grumbled as he pushed your legs apart, feeling the skin with his fingers while his teeth grazed over your neck and chest, leaving streaks of faint red wherever they touched.

He took a few deep breaths as he lined up his cock against your dripping cunt, taking a moment to look at you, before he slowly pushed himself in, waiting for you to adjust to him. "You look so pretty like this." He whispered in your ear, his cock throbbing as you moan next to his ears. But really, he's been doing a fairly well job keeping his cool as he resumes his thrusting. His hand holds your thigh to steady you, the other under your waist as you arch your back. He's close, really close, but so are you. So after a euphoric orgasm from you two, he pulls you close to him, he's silent, his hands caressing your body before he let's out a whisper which sounds like he's holding tears, "Thank you, love."

A/N: I hope my blatant favouritism for a particular character in this wasn't too obvious, lmao.

Sorry if it's toooo long, I just poured my heart and soul into this. (๑•﹏•)

(Couldn't include Sakusa because I have slight trouble writing for him)

Thank you for reading!

Likes and Reblogs, and your opinions, would be highly appreciated! 🎀

[teddybeartoji]

18+ mdni; gn!reader

oikawa fucking your throat while iwaizumi is in the room next door...

his hand is on the back of your head, keeping you from bumping into the bathroom cupboard every time he bottoms out. his pubes tickle your nose and you gag around his cock, making him to bite down on his lip in order to muffle the loud groan that's forcing its way up his throat.

he doesn't pull out.

he strokes your cheek with his free hand instead, a sick smile playing on his lips as he stares down at you. "y'have to be quiet, baby... or iwa is going to hear you, okay?"

beads of sweat form above his brows, his cheeks are dusted pink and his voice is raspier than ever and it's easy to forget the ache in your knees when you get to see him unraveling like this in front of you.

his hair is a mess, too – just before coming in here, he had his head on your lap, quietly purring as you played with his soft curls. iwaizumi was sat at the other end of the couch, his eyes glued on the tv screen where the movie oikawa himself had chosen.

you think this was his plan all along – to pick a film his friend would love so he could toy with you instead.

iwaizumi didn't notice the way oikawa kept kneading your thighs as he laid there on top of you, how his fingers inched further between your legs with every breath he took. iwaizumi didn't notice the way oikawa kept squirming, or the way he kept trying to readjust his pants.

(or at least, you think iwaizumi missed it all.)

you tried to make him stop, your body burning from his teasing touch. glancing over at iwaizumi, you were glad to never meet his gaze – like a statue he was, eyes set forward as if was built that way. maybe he really did just like the film so much..

oikawa knows that's not the case.

he knows the film is the last thing on iwaizumi's mind right now.

he has seen the way he looks at you sometimes, how iwaizumi flushes a pretty shade of dark pink whenever he happens to see you bending over. or when you sit a little too close to him by accident – oikawa doesn't mind, he can tell you're not doing it on purpose. it's not like iwaizumi is doing any of it on purpose either; the way he screws his eyes shut after catching himself staring at you while your boyfriend, his best friend, is in the same room. he feels bad, he feels awful about having these thoughts. these filthy ideas.

but he really can't help it.

oikawa isn't making it any easier for him either; he's constantly all over you and while iwaizumi knows that he is very touchy, the eye-contact oikawa makes with him as he's pressing a kiss just below your jaw cannot be anything other than him trying to push iwaizumi's buttons.

he hates how much hotter your reactions make the whole thing, too. the way your eyes meet his for a mere second before shying away. oikawa can only laugh to himself as you try to shove him off of you, knowing full well that if you really wanted him to stop, you'd tell him. you want the attention as much as oikawa does and it shows.

and oikawa is more than excited to give his best friend a deeper look into your relationship.

so, here he is now – balls pressed against your chin as you drool and slobber all over his dick. he knows that iwaizumi is listening, he can see the shadow from beneath the door. and that's turning him on even more.

oikawa cradles your jaw before giving his hips one more thrust, his blown wide eyes twinkling at the sight of your rolling back inside your head at the feeling of having your mouth so full. of having him so far deep your throat.

you hold back another gag as spit dribbles from the corners of your lips and it's making a big fucking mess – it's all over your chin and your neck, and your soft plush thighs. the shorts you're wearing are doing almost nothing to cover you up and with the way you're down on your knees right now, they seem to have disappeared entirely under the hem of your oversized shirt.

it's fucking hot.

oikawa watches the sticky liquid trickle between your legs and he can't but be proud of how big of a mess he's making in his friend's bathroom. he knows for a fact that iwaizumi's listening to you two right now, his ear probably pressed against the wooden door as he tries to memorize every sound that you make. every gag, every splutter of drool. oikawa wonders whether he's touching himself too, is he rubbing his bulge over his sweats or is he still trying to act normal. is he still trying to convince himself that he isn't a dirty fucking pervert, who's currently collecting masturbation material by creeping on his best friend and his beloved while they're having fun?

you tap on his thigh with a shaky hand and he pulls away in a second, his dick springing up and slapping against his tummy at the same time you take a desperate breath in. he chuckles at your ruined state.

the tears brimming at your lashline make you look like an angel and oikawa can't tear his eyes off of you. there's a shine to your swollen lips; it's a mixture of your own drool and his precum – his favourite.

you're still trying to catch your breath when you look up at him; his fingers are wrapped around his length, his fist meeting his full balls with every strong stroke he makes and this look, the layer of pleasure that's painted onto his pretty face is something you wish to burn into your memory forever.

when your eyes meet, oikawa gives you a darling smile before lunging at you, hunching over in order to smash his lips against yours in a sloppy kiss. keeping a steady pace on his cock, he grabs at your face as if he's afraid you'll fade away – he moans into your mouth, the salty residue on your tongue making his dick twitch in his hand.

the slick sounds of oikawa pumping himself and him trying to eat your face reverberate through the room andn suddenly you remember where you are.

your eyes grow big as you try to push at oikawa's chest.

"w– wait.. "

he grins while nipping at your jaw. "what's wrong, baby?"

his teeth brush over your pulse point and he doesn't waste a second before sinking them into your skin and sucking until he's rewarded you with the most gorgeous masterpiece in the world. all the best for his lover.

"haji– hajime's here... "

"no, it's just me, baby." a wave of goosebumps runs over your body when you feel him licking the fresh mark on your neck. "your boyfriend, tooru. remember?"

he laughs at his own joke, his head resting against yours as he pushes himself back up. oh, and how he wants to drop back down when he sees the glare you're giving him. "tough crowd, hm?"

oikawa coos at your scrunched up brows while brushing a finger over your pouty lips. "aw, don't worry, he's in the other room, okay? you're being so good for me, all quiet and pretty. my angel."

it's hard not to believe his sickly sweet words, the love in his eyes smoothing every pain and worry in your body with ease. you don't say anything else when he steps closer again, now replacing the finger on your lips with his sticky tip instead. "yeah?"

he cocks an eyebrow and you give him a nod. the corners of his lips stretch wider as he pumps his cock right above your face. "say 'aaaaaah' for me, baby."

this cocky side of him is something you've never been able to resist. it looks good on him. his own lips part alongside with yours when you present your mouth to him again and he doesn't even try to hold back the pornographic moan that spills from him at the feeling of your warm tongue sliding against the underside of his cock.

but while you're distracted by the heavenly sound of your boyfriend's overwhelming pleasure, you miss the creak of the bathroom door.

oikawa's eyes meet iwaizumi's ashamed ones through the slightest crack but neither of them make any effort to look away. oikawa is more than happy to finally see his best friend crumble and iwaizumi is mortified.

but he can't.

he can't move. he can't close the door. he can't stop staring.

oikawa's eyes fall down to your screwed shut ones, pride blooming in his chest when your nose touches his trimmed pubic hairs. head still shoved against the cupboard, he's the one in full control – your mouth is his, your body a perfect doll for him to play with. and he loves it.

you swallow around him and he lets out yet another heavenly moan. his hand is back on your cheek, his warm palm engulfing the side of your face in reassurance that while he's got the reigns, it's all done with love. your eyes crack open just as another few tears drop and oikawa's hips pick up the pace. he adores it when you hold his gaze; he thinks it's the most romantic thing in the world and so whenever you do it while taking him in your mouth, he just loses it.

quickly, he places his free hand behind your head again and then he's fucking your mouth like it's the only things he knows. back and forth, his cock slides in and out your tight, warm throat; the sounds that come from the act are just outright sinful, they're something a person could only hear in his dreams and oikawa doesn't know what he did to deserve a sweetheart like you.

it doesn't take a lot for him to sense his nearing orgasm, his body going rigid, tensing up as the knot in his lower tummy tightens and tightens.

iwaizumi is still there. oikawa doesn't need to look at him to know it.

from the corner of his eye he can see movement – so he is finally giving in. iwaizumi is stroking himself through the material of his sweats, his cock painfully hard as he watches oikawa fuck your mouth. he has never seen anything like this; maybe in some videos, sure, but seeing it with his own two eyes is completely different.

the sounds. the sweat. the drool.

the eye-contact you have with oikawa. the way he's holding you.

the fact that he hasn't told iwaizumi to 'fuck off' yet. the fact that he clearly wants him there, that he wants him to see this.

his own precum is starting to leak through his pants and it's embarrassing. but there's no stopping now. not when oikawa's hips are starting to stutter, not when you're starting to guide him to yourself by sinking your nails into the back of his thighs.

oikawa gives you second long breaks but you're handling it so well that iwaizumi begins to wonder how much you let him do this. would you ever let him—

he shakes his head to get rid of the thought, the idea of actually doing anything with you weighing heavily on his heart. and if sensing his inner turmoil, oikawa's raspy voice breaks him out from his head.

"fuck.. you- you'd like it if he did hear you, right?"

iwaizumi's eyes almost pop out of their sockets, his lips parting as panic flood his veins. based on the look on oikawa's face, he assumes that you don't agree with him – he's staring at you with that grin of his, the infuriating one, and iwaizumi prepares for him to pull out, so you can finally see what he's been doing. so you can see what kind of a man he really is.

but oikawa doesn't pull away, bottoming out instead. he takes a moment as if he's waiting for your answer – and when he gets one, the very same he knew would be the truth, his lips stretch even wider.

he doesn't need you to say it when he can read your body better than any other language in the world.

he sees the way your thighs press together. he feels your nails digging into his thighs harder than ever before. he knows his right.

like always.

"yeah... that's what i thought."

iwaizumi thinks he might pass out. his hands shake and the air he's breathing doesn't seem good enough – he's trying his best to not start panting like a dog but you not disagreeing with oikawa is a lot. you want him to hear? you want him to be a part of this?

you want.. him?

"want haji to see you like this, hm? want him to see how well you take me down your throat?"

iwaizumi thinks he might die actually.

oikawa chuckles when you blink up at him with tears in your eyes and coos at you when he takes his dick out of your mouth and you still don't say no. "my little star, yeah?"

you show him your tongue and he groan at the way you give yourself to him. he bottoms for the last time of the night, his messy balls pressed flushed against your drool-covered chin as you struggle to keep your eyes on him. "in— fuck— inside?"

humming around his cock, you give him the last push and then he's already spilling his seed down your hungry throat. you gag around him again, the feeling of cum suddenly flooding your mouth a bit too much. with a hand in your head, oikawa pulls away and watches you swallow as much of him as you can. the rest of it spills out from the corners of your lips and trickles down your chin and neck, successfully mixing with every other type of bodily fluid that's already coating your skin.

and then you give him a smile.

oikawa feels like his knees are going to give out as he throws his head back with a dramatic moan. "ohhh.... "

"what?"

his head snaps back to its place, his eyes finding yours in an instant while you slap a hand over your mouth.

your voice. it's almost completely gone, reduced down to a bare rasp by his relentless thrusts and his need to always give it his all, no matter what he's doing.

a sudden flash of shyness takes over, the tone coming from your mouth sounding so unfamiliar that it's almost impossible for you to accept that it is, in fact, yours. but when oikawa kneels down in front of you, his both hands now on your cheeks and when his heart filled eyes find yours, the feelings disappears.

he presses his lips against your forehead and you feel the fondness spread all over your body. "i love you so much, did you know that?"

his cheeks are still pink and despite the fact that just a minute ago, he was fucking your throat like it was his own personal fleshlight, he looks awfully cute with that bashful smile on his face.

oikawa nudges his nose against yours when you don't speak up again, only nodding your head with a tired smile.

"so cute."

the slap against his chest forces another burst of giggles out of your boyfriend but you're not mad. you do love him afterall. he pulls you into his chest and lets you rest for a minute before tugging you up and helping you clean yourself up.

iwaizumi is gone.

oikawa can only imagine the way his best friend is now shamefully changing out of his ruined sweats, the images of you and oikawa now forever engrained into his brain.

after oikawa carries you back to the couch, he snickers at iwaizumi and his fresh pair of pants. but that's all. nobody says anything – iwaizumi doesn't inquire about why you left him all alone and you don't ask about the flush on his cheeks.

oikawa is the only one that is sitting proudly between the two people he loves the most. his fingers dance over the sensitive skin of iwaizumi's nape while his other hand rests on your shoulder, holding you to him as you slowly doze off into your dreamland.

he's very happy about the progress you've all made today.