#and after he dumped a shovel full of sand in his mouth he looked at me with a look of confusion and almost betrayal and said “Maddie help” | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cno-inbminor · 4 years

Text

immergo

a/n: i recently watched haikyuu and i’m absolutely hooked. to help get it out of my system in time for final papers and assignments, i’m procrastinating by writing this out. hope you enjoy!

featuring: oikawa tooru x fem!reader & some OC’s + iwaizumi

genre: best friends to lovers!au, angst, fluff, slooow burn, some cliches to make people suffer

summary: tooru is as constant as the stars and as real as the earth beneath your feet, yet even for you, he still manages to slip away. and when it’s all too late, only then does he attempt to come back.

word count: 21.9k (this is a monster)

playlist: i wanted to try making one so here's a playlist on spotify: immergo

edit: now crossposted onto AO3 here!

You are five years old when you first meet him.

He’s got a terrible bowl cut and sand particles smudged on his cheek. A plastic, ocean blue shovel is dug deep into the sand before being lifted up with a load, then precariously dumped into a matching bucket. A teetering sandcastle threatens to fully collapse, yet somehow still sporting a little plastic yellow umbrella that some other kids might’ve left behind. You’re clutching your mother’s hand, a clenched fist brought up to your mouth to hide the trembling of your lips from the nervousness of approaching new people. The sandbox is a part of the playground, but you want to be there alone. You want to be in your own little world, too terrified to face the unknowns, but after the last two weeks of coming by, this boy is always in the sandbox.

Your mother somehow convinces you that you can make new friends. ‘But don’t boys have cooties?’ you ponder. There’s only a week left until kindergarten starts, and your mother thinks it would be nice to try to meet someone so you’ll at least have some semblance of familiarity. Just when you think you’re brave enough, you almost yelp in renewed fear when another boy comes into the scene and plops down next to the other boy, his own pair of a bucket and shovel dyed a bright, firetruck red, and is ready to start digging up sand. You watch him eye the falling castle, grumbling something to the other boy before attempting to patch it and stand it back up. The other boy stares at him with wide eyes and an open mouth before morphing his face into a childish, happy grin. And immediately, you think, ‘Oh wow, I like his smile.’

Not only is it bright and wide, but there’s a certain feeling of gentleness. None of this is eloquently elaborated in your brain, but there’s a comfort that settles into your mind. That smile is what causes you to (though still hesitantly) let go of your mother’s hand and slowly wobble to the sand box, pause, before you step up and over the wooden border. The two boys have ceased their castle-building duties to stare at you, who’s now sitting in the sand and looking towards anything but them. Your head scrambles to remind yourself on how to say hello, and it must’ve done something correctly because before they can ask questions, you quietly ask, “Can I play with you guys?”

Both boys look toward each other, giving a look, before the boy with the red bucket shrugs and says, “Okay. As long as you don’t mess up my castle.”

Bowl-cut tyke flicks sand at him, causing him to splutter and yell in protest. “Don’t be so mean, Hajime!” Bowl-cut scolds before turning back to you with that earlier grin. “I’m Oikawa Tooru and he’s Iwaizumi Hajime. Wanna help me with my castle?”

And ever since you moved to this new city until now, your mother has never seen your eyes so bright.

You are ten years old when Oikawa, with a better hairstyle, receives his first love confession of sorts (because you’re ten).

It takes until fifth grade for you to be finally in a class with both him and Iwaizumi. Other years either had one or neither of them, but you were still able to reconvene during recess. The three of you are attached at the hips during those 30 minutes, either running around in a game of tag, swinging as fast as you could across the monkey bars, or seeing who could swing the highest.

On days when the swings are particularly busy, the three of you would take turns pushing each other, trading off once one of you had your fill. “Higher!” Oikawa would always yell happily, his voice blending in with the rest of the screams and laughs in the playground. With your own laughs leaving your lips as you attempt to push the swing, Iwaizumi would instead yell back at him, “Use your own legs, idiot! That’s what they’re for!” To which Oikawa would whine, but eyes would still crinkle in childish delight as he approached the sky.

But Oikawa notices a lot of things, more than the average fifth grader does. Then again, it isn’t hard to spot the group of giggling girls under a tree’s shade nearby, evidently gazing at him in wonder and affection. He feels his heart soar at the attention and in turn, pumps his legs even harder, almost reaching perpendicular height to the ground. Oikawa admits that he is a bit of a show-off, he wants to be the best, and without warning, releases his hands from the chains and jumps off from the swing.

Both you and Iwaizumi gape at him with a mixture of horror and awe. If you could put this moment in slow motion, you would see Oikawa suspended in mid-air, yet somehow seeming to soar like a bird. His jacket flows behind him as his arms lift up to give a sense of balance, legs stretching out to get ready to meet the ground. You wonder what the expression on his face is like, yet the terror manifests itself into your shriek of his name, pitch and tone overpowering a similar call from Iwaizumi. But Oikawa is Oikawa and he lands on both feet, knees bent and almost touching the ground before straightening back up. You’re about to start running towards him, feet already moving, until you stop because he’s twisting himself towards you and Iwaizumi, V-sign held up and that same, big grin he always has. The sun casts a halo around him and you can’t bring yourself to look away. Your feet stay rooted on the mulch and you watch as Iwaizumi stomps over to punch Oikawa in the arm, yelling about how he could’ve broken his legs and who would he play volleyball with then, leaving you to spot the aforementioned fangirls huddled like they’re coming up with a grand plan.

At first, you think nothing of it. It isn’t until after school as the three of you are walking towards the entrance when you wish you were more perceptive like Oikawa. One of the girls from under the tree has gone up to him, quickly bowing while introducing herself, grabs one of his hands to slap a folded piece of paper into it, and almost sprints away. Oikawa doesn’t have a chance to say anything, but he can only give himself a few seconds to register what just happened and unfold the ripped notebook paper. Inside in pretty cursive is an email address (because none of you have cellphones yet), which causes Oikawa to put on a shit-eating grin. He just basically received a love note, a confession, and his ego has just been fed a meal fit for a king.

He brags and boasts the whole way home, causing a permanent frown to settle on Iwaizumi’s face from pure irritation, and you find yourself only able to stay quiet, pondering and contemplating what this small nasty feeling inside your chest could be.

Oikawa and Iwaizumi are fourteen years old, nearly fifteen, when you receive your first love confession, which ends up being a little more refined than a hastily torn piece of notebook paper possessing an email address.

Their afternoons and early evenings are occupied by volleyball. While you had been at Lil Tykes from the ages of 6 to 10, mainly due to a massive fear of missing out and wanting to spend more time with your new best friends then, you didn’t have as much talent as those two and decided to pursue other interests. Iwaizumi and Oikawa had protested vehemently when you broke the news to them one evening over dinner at the setter's house, their mouths full of rice and chicken curry yet somehow still managing to speak over the food. Oikawa’s mother had seen you shrink further and further into your chair before slamming her hand on the table, causing the two boys to startle and cease their yelling.

“Respect (y/n)’s interests! I did not raise you,” she spoke pointedly, directing a finger at her now ashamed son, “to be so rude. If she doesn’t want to play volleyball anymore, then she doesn’t have to. She doesn’t need to keep doing something she doesn’t want to do just because you two said so. Now, both of you apologize to (y/n) and finish your dinner.”

“Yes, mother,” and “Yes, auntie,” both quietly left their lips. You wanted to hug the woman right then and there, tears nearly forming and spilling over at the fact that she was on your side. The two boys had put their spoons down and waited for a few seconds before Iwaizumi finally spoke.

“I’m sorry I got mad at you. We’re just gonna miss you a lot,” he apologized, tone sad and soft. Oikawa was still chewing on his bottom lip when Iwaizumi elbowed him to say something. “Apologize, you idiot,” he hissed.

“Ow! I know, geez. I’m sorry, too. Mom’s right, I should respect what you want to do. We’re gonna miss seeing you, like this meanie said,” Oikawa jabbing a thumb in the direction of his male best friend. Their eyes are still downcast until you let out a small giggle.

“Apologies accepted, you dummies.”

You still found time after your new art classes to go watch them play volleyball with either Iwazumi’s or Oikawa’s mother picking you all up and heading home. The three of you still lived near each other, and the two boys were happy that they could still see you somehow. Lil Tykes after school evolved into official middle school volleyball practice, yet you were still commonly found in the bleachers finishing homework or doodling in a sketchbook, patiently waiting for your two best friends to go home with you.

A teammate by the name of Wakeda had taken notice of you, had seen your interactions with the best players on their team. He had seen how nice you were with your classmates, yet still unafraid to give Oikawa and Iwaizumi shit for the smallest things. Your aura is pleasant and raw in a genuine sense, only fueling his budding, burning crush on you. He decided he wanted to be confident and bold, hoping that you would give him a chance.

The Friday afternoon starts off like any other -- Iwaizumi and Oikawa head off to volleyball practice with a greeting and a wave, receiving one from you in return as you make your way towards the math club. The art classes from late elementary school only served to show that you only possessed some mild talent for drawing and painting, but not enough for you to continue paying money for classes. The passion and drive didn’t exist for you there, not like it does with Iwaizumi and Oikawa in volleyball, and it only became something that you enjoyed in your leisure time. Instead, you eventually find yourself balancing math club and chess club -- math is on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday afternoons while chess is on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons, but they never run as late as volleyball practice.

As tiring as math club can be sometimes, you usually somehow still find the energy to finish the bulk of your homework before heading home. When you walk through the bleachers and settle into your normal seat, the team spots you and gives you a casual wave. You smile and wave back, setting your stuff down before you clamber towards the edge of the rail and look down to spot the manager. On time, she looks up and greets you with a matching smile, ones that you return. The team is coincidentally taking a quick water break, giving Oikawa and Iwaizumi enough time to quickly chat with you from below (and escape their coach for a hot second).

“How was math club?” Iwaizumi calls out. Oikawa subtly observes you as you shrug. To both him and Hajime, the mental exhaustion is evident on your face and figure, yet they always find themselves asking, waiting, watching.

“It was okay,” you respond, fighting back a yawn. “Practice competition round was a bit brutal. How’s practice?” You quickly digress, noticing Oikawa was about to jump in and ask for some details.

“This crappy guy over here keeps pushing himself too much. You know, the usual,” Iwaizumi speaks before, once again, Oikawa can say anything. The latter turns to him and lets out an indignant “Hey!” before quickly attempting to defend himself.

“Iwa-chan is being mean, I’m not--”

“All right, let’s get back to work! Everybody back on the court!” The coach yells and Oikawa can only drop his shoulders and sigh, slightly trudging back into the bounds of the court outline. You stare after him worriedly -- both he (mainly out of stubbornness) and Iwaizumi (mainly out of friendship and loyalty) had been pulling late extra practice sessions and the dark eye circles were starting to become more and more noticeable. As if he could tell what you were probably thinking, he turns back and gives a thumbs up with a grin, tongue slightly poking out. You can only roll your eyes at his antics, returning to your seat in the bleachers and pulling out your science homework.

The minutes tick by as the sun slowly begins to set, rays streaming through the windows of the gym in a harsh blood orange. The coach takes a look at his watch before blowing his whistle, signalling the end of practice. The sound of volleyballs hitting skin abruptly stops, except for one last jump-serve that Oikawa sneaks in. The coach berates him loudly, only causing Oikawa to sheepishly smile and rub the back of his neck. All the players bow and announce their thanks before moving to complete their respective clean-up duties. By this time, you gather your stuff and make your way towards the ground floor. Even if your best friends were going to do some extra practice, it’s better for you to sit at their level against the wall.

The sound of sneakers squeaking against the floor increases in volume as you approach the court. But before you can make your way towards Iwaizumi and Oikawa on the other side of the net, Wakeda calls out your name. You turn towards the left to see him pick up a volleyball not far from you, and Wakeda is counting his lucky stars that he was provided with an excuse to be near you.

“Aoki-san,” you greet him by his last name. “How was practice?”

“It was good, but Coach really worked us to the bone today,” he nervously replies, hands subtly clenching the volleyball in his hands. “I was wondering if I could speak with you for a second? In private?”

Your eyes widen in surprise. You’ve never really had much interaction with him outside of volleyball practice, and even then it was very limited to pleasantries. Perhaps it’s about Iwaizumi and Oikawa running themselves to the ground, and nothing to do with you. “Sure,” you agree, looking around before gesturing towards the door of the gym. “We can talk out here, if you’d like.” Wakeda quickly nods and follows you. At this time, the other boys have retreated towards the locker room except for one. One who narrows his eyes at the retreating backs of two people making their way out of the gym.

He puts the last ball in the ball cart, ignoring his friend’s confused look as he jogs towards the entrance of the gym and leans against the wall out of sight. He knows it's wrong to eavesdrop, but he just has to know about what could be unfolding.

The two of you are only a few feet away from the open door and you can only look perplexed as Wakeda begins to look more and more bashful, stumbling over words and anxiously tossing the ball side to side between his hands.

“Is everything okay?” You ask worriedly, trying to maintain eye contact until you can because he’s looking straight down towards the ground. Your heart pounds in your chest as you start to fathom what might be happening.

“I’m sorry, I just -- I like you. I think you’re really nice and cool, and I would like it if I could take you out on a date.”

You’re stunned into silence. Never has anyone expressed any semblance of romantic interest in you, nor has anyone confessed. You’ve never been in this position and the first thing your brain starts to unravel is the puzzle of how to turn someone down. It’s not that going on a date with Wakeda would be terrible -- you just don’t know enough about him. You don’t want to bring his hopes up, but you don’t want to bring him down either.

On the other side of the wood, the boy’s eyebrows are furrowed. His arms are crossed and a foot is perched against the wall, legs making the shape of the number four. His eyes are burning holes into the window across from him and he can’t figure out why a feeling of protectiveness is washing over him. But what he can’t figure out even more is why his mind is instantly screaming, “Please say no please say no please say no don’t say yes don’t leave us don’t leave me--”

“I’m sorry,” he hears, ears straining to catch your voice as you softly apologize. You watch as Wakeda’s shoulders slump and the volleyball is finally kept still between his hands. You gently put a hand on his upper arm. “I can tell you’re a nice guy, but I don’t feel that way about you. I’m sorry.”

Wakeda lets out a long breath before mustering up his best smile for you. “It’s okay, I was kind of expecting it." A hand reaches up to run a hand through his hair in embarrassment and he’s trying to think of what to say next. Be bold, be confident, his inner self reminds him as he stands tall again. Wakeda puts up the cheekiest smile you’ve seen on him so far. “But I’ll be waiting, if you ever change your mind.”

The statement only makes you smile first and then chuckle. Wakeda basks in the sound for as long as he can before he shyly joins you. The laughter isn’t meant to demean him in any way, but it’s the only reaction you can feel yourself make. It’s all so foreign to you, but you’re glad that your first interaction like this is with someone as kind as him. You trust Oikawa’s teammates.

“Thank you though, it must’ve taken a lot of courage to do this. To be honest, this has never happened to me before and I just don’t know what to say,” you ramble a little, now wondering if you’ve said too much. Wakeda begins to look a little more comfortable before making his way back to the gym with you following.

“Would it be cheesy to say I’m glad I was the first?”

“Absolutely. In fact, I know now that I’m never changing my mind.”

“Hey, that’s not fair!” Wakeda exclaims, only causing you to laugh. “You gotta leave some room for chance so--”

“Oi, Wakeda,” you hear a familiar voice call out. Your eyes spot Oikawa slowly making his way from the other side of the gym, walking towards you two with a hand in a pocket and another hand in the air, waving. But it’s perplexing because his chest is heaving like he just sprinted his fastest around the court. “Is that the last ball?”

“Ah, yes, sorry senpai!” Wakeda apologizes before tossing the ball into Oikawa’s awaiting hand. It quickly gets thrown into the ball cart. When you two are standing right in front of him, your friend pats Wakeda on the shoulder. “Go ahead and clean up, you deserve a break,” he says before smiling. It’s a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes or even match his eyes. His chestnut orbs have another emotion burning in them, far from the light they would usually glint when paired with a genuine grin. Wakeda quickly lets out a “see you around” and you wave back at him. Once the boy has disappeared into the locker room, you direct your attention back to Oikawa. That earlier fire in his eyes has dimmed a little, but you want to know what it is and why it’s there.

A word barely leaves your tongue when strong arms hug you to a sturdy chest. They intertwine around your shoulders, the squeeze becoming more and more constricting. Your chest tightens and you’re not sure if it’s your heartbeat or his that you’re feeling beat against your chest. In a movement of instinct, you hesitantly wrap your own arms around Oikawa, hand linking to hold onto your own wrist behind his back. Your face is pressed into his shoulder, your nose catching the lingering scent of his deodorant mixed with his sweat. His chin is perched over your shoulder momentarily before he buries his face in the crook of your neck, causing you to stiffen.

It’s not that Oikawa has never hugged you before. There have been plenty of hugs with the two boys over the last nine years, but something is different about this one. There’s an underlying intention hidden in the muscles of Oikawa’s arms, hidden in the way that he breathes in your scent. Something heavy is unspoken as a sense of intimacy falls over the two of you like a soft blanket. You can only gently grasp the back of his jersey, his grip somehow tightening even more, and finally find your voice to speak.

“Tooru,” you murmur, fighting the sensation of your heart caught in your throat. Very rarely do you ever say his name in that tone, one so gentle and full of friendly affection (but did he want it to be just friendly?), so caring and drowned in empathy. “Is everything okay?” You continue and ask. He’s trying to tell you something. He’s trying to scream it through his mind, hoping it’ll somehow miraculously meet yours. But even he doesn’t understand what’s drawing him to do this. All he knows is that as soon as Wakeda was out of sight, he needed you here in his arms. The non-verbal pleas of worry and want from earlier have substantially settled, now morphing into thoughts of “It’s okay, she’s here, she isn’t leaving us, she isn’t leaving me--”. It must be the stress from wanting to become the best, from the stress of Kageyama Tobio’s looming ascent to the top, from the general stress of classes. It must be those. It couldn’t be anything else.

“Everything’s fine,” he replies into your neck, sound muffled but just as quiet as yours had been. You can only feel your heart sink at how strained those words came out. Everything was clearly not fine. Your hands unlink and move to his waist, putting some force into your palms to try to separate from him so you can see his face. But Oikawa quickly protests a soft “no”, once again pulling you as close to him as possible with an arm around your waist and the other soon joining. He can’t handle distance from you right now, some budding anxiety from your attempts at separation quickly subdued as you’re pressed fully against his chest again. “Just give me this moment,” he thinks and pleads to some unknown force.

“I’m just...stressed,” he says before letting out a long breath and disentangling himself from you. But he doesn’t move far, the tips of both of your sneakers just centimeters apart from touching. He straightens his back and lifts his head to momentarily look into your eyes, your own face slightly tilted upwards to meet his gaze. But before you can decipher the emotions in his eyes, his head tilts down to lean his forehead against yours. Though his eyes are closed, yours are still open in muted astonishment. If the hug wasn’t very new, then this action was definitely new. The tip of his nose barely grazes yours, causing your breath to hitch, once again feeling your heart stuck in your throat. You struggle to breathe, especially when his lips are so close to yours. Somehow your thoughts drift to thinking of what would happen if you elevated your feet just a little bit, what would it feel like if your lips softly met his--

“There’s a lot going on,” he interrupts your (silly, silly) thoughts. “I keep getting reminded of how I’m not good enough, and maybe I never will be. But I want to be the best, you know?” For how tall Oikawa is, you’ve never heard him sound so small before. Your eyes can’t help but flutter closed as you relish in the sound of his voice. You try to understand what he’s feeling, the frustration, the stress, the insecurity.

“I hate knowing there’s someone better out there. I hate that there’s someone out there, right here, who’s got the pure talent and prodigal level that I don’t have because I keep getting reminded of how I’m not the one who has it. It’s just not fair, (y/n), do you understand?”

“But I know you’re here for me. And Iwaizumi. I know you believe in me and in us. You're right here with us. You always are,” he continues before you can affirm and acknowledge him. His fingers ghost over your skin, up from your wrists, to your elbows, then your shoulders, lastly lingering at the sides of your neck. Goosebumps break out in the wake of his tender trail and you fight the urge to shiver. You so badly want to open your eyes and drink in this moment of vulnerability from Oikawa, but you’re afraid that you’ll do something rash, something you’ll regret. You’re then given all the more reason to keep your eyes shut when his hands gently cradle your face, his thumbs on your cheeks, the other fingers softly splayed down your neck. He inhales sharply, then daring to slant his head down just the slightest distance, your noses firmly touching now. Your heart is now thrashing wildly against your ribcage -- you have no grasp on what is happening.

“Promise me you’ll never leave us, (y/n),” he implores, raw desperation laced and building in his voice. You can’t help but recognize the tears uncontrollably forming behind your eyelids. Nothing else around you matters -- it’s only you and Oikawa in this impenetrable bubble that you two have created. You’re too far in now, sinking and drowning into this body of water that is him, entangled and rooted in this web that he’s so quickly and craftily woven. He could ask anything of you and you would do it in the blink of an eye. How he made you feel this way in just a few minutes, from the door of the gym to the embrace of his arms, is completely beyond you, but you can’t seem to find the complaints within you. ‘How cruel of him,’ you despondently think, still unable to find it in yourself to be mad. ‘How wicked of him.’

But then Oikawa deals the final blow with a shaky breath. He lays out his last trap, one that you can’t escape. It’s the final straw, the last pull into a heartbreaking world that you will never be able to escape from for as far into the future as you can see; desperation, yearning, beseeching.

“Promise that you’ll never leave me.”

Nothing, nothing, can stop you from whispering what he so deeply desires to hear, fall delicately off your tongue.

“I promise.”

And his lips crash onto yours.

You and Iwaizumi are fifteen years old when Oikawa falls to his lowest.

The kiss was a one-time thing. It had lasted no more than a few seconds when the sound of the locker room door swinging open had you two jumping apart and turning away from each other. Oikawa found it easier than you did to compose himself, though internally he was berating his actions. What was it that made him do such a thing? What was it that pushed him to cross the line he never thought he’d cross? What was it that made him want to spin back around and continue what he had started?

“Iwa-chan!” He had hollered across the building, waving over said male who had smartly refrained from changing his clothes. “Help with some tosses? Serves?”

“You’re ridiculous,” Iwaizumi had muttered under his breath, grunting his affirmation loud enough. But in his peripheral, he had spotted your figure hunched over your things on the bench, had squinted at the way you seemed to be shaking, shivering. He had noticed the look, almost a glare, that Oikawa had directed towards Wakeda before imperceptibly shaking his head to focus on the extra task.

And it wasn’t until weeks later that Oikawa breached the subject during a walk home, sans you because you had late night practice with the math club to prepare for some upcoming Olympiad competition. You were insistent through text that they didn't wait for you and that one of your teammates would help walk you home. Oikawa argued quite relentlessly against it until you threatened to block him from the group chat (though it wasn’t the first time you threatened such a thing) and Iwaizumi decided to take his phone away.

While much wasn’t being said, mainly both preoccupied with their popsicles that they had stopped at a convenience store for, Oikawa broke the silence.

“I kissed (y/n).”

Iwaizumi nearly choked on his popsicle, spluttering and struggling to find the right words to say. Yet the best he could come up with was, “So are you two...dating?”

“No.”

“What the fuck? Why are you telling me this?”

“Because we’re best friends, Iwa-chan. I didn’t know when to tell you though, thought you’d get mad at me,” Oikawa said, pouting childishly.

“So...well, you can tell me what happened before it later. But what happened after? And when did this even happen?”

“Everything just went back to normal. We never spoke about it. And it happened a few weeks ago in the gym after practice.”

“But why?”

“Hmm…” Oikawa had pondered for a few seconds and then shrugged. “Not sure. I was just really stressed, and I was scared that she’d leave us.”

“Us? How am I included in this? And where’d you even come up with that thought?”

“Because it’s always been us three, and it’s always gonna be us. We can’t be apart.”

“We’re eventually going to be apart, you know. It’s not likely that we’re all going to end up in the same city.”

“No,” Oikawa spoke obstinately, hands harshly crushing the wrapper around the now empty popsicle stick. “That’s not going to happen. We’re going to stick together wherever we go. We’ll play for the national team and (y/n) will find a job in Tokyo. We’re always going to be near each other. That’s how it’ll be. That’s how it’s supposed to be.”

Iwaizumi had nothing to say about that, except for, “We’ll see.”

In the month or so to the blossoming age of fifteen, things don’t change very much. Oikawa becomes more physically affectionate with you and Iwaizumi. You try not to notice how often and how casually Oikawa tends to sling an arm over your shoulders. He does the same with Iwaizumi, though the latter is more likely to shrug it off in mock annoyance and causes Oikawa to lament about lost friendships. But even if physical distance has shortened, Oikawa begins to dig a mental wall between you two. His face becomes more hardened during practice, rarely ever putting up an earnest smile with his teammates. The late-night practices run even later, each serve hitting harder, each toss against the wall getting stronger. The nights when you leave him on his own slowly increase in frequency, going back home with only Iwaizumi. The third leg of the triangle missing feels so adulterated, so wrong. Oikawa is digging himself towards a hell that he won’t be able to return from, but how can you lift him back up? How can you dig your heels into the earth and pull him back out?

“I’m trying my best,” Iwaizumi attempts to comfort you one night. He sees how often you turn back to look at Oikawa as the two of you reluctantly move to leave the gym. Practice had been rough on him, getting switched out with Kageyama Tobio. You had watched his defeated body collapse onto the bench, and there was nothing more that you wanted to do than to run down and snap him out of whatever mental spiral he had created. One serve after another slams into the ground, his figure hunched and panting yet pushing itself to the limits.

“He’s going to kill himself at this rate,” you whisper morosely, turning back to peer at the dark sky. “Is there nothing we can do?”

“You know there’s no one more stubborn than that idiot. He’d have to pass out for you to drag him out of here.”

“Please teach me how to serve!” A young male voice calls out. Both of you pivot on your feet to see the source, eyes focusing on the scene of Kageyama Tobio requesting a seemingly simple task from a senpai.

But you can only watch as Oikawa’s eyes lose any semblance of emotion, instead only darkening with what seems like rage entering his body. He begins to tremble, and Iwaizumi must’ve seen something shift because no sooner than that does he bolt at top speed towards the unsuspecting pair. You can only watch in horror, shell-shocked, as Oikawa begins to forcibly swing his right arm, the back of his hand aiming straight for Tobio’s right cheek.

A horrible screech unearths from your throat in the form of a piercing “NO!” and slices through the air, just as Iwaizumi is able to stop Oikawa’s assault on the poor unsuspecting underclassman. You’ve never seen him so uncontrolled, so ready to intentionally commit an act of violence against an innocent person. Your ears pulse with your heartbeat, barely registering Iwaizumi apologizing to Tobio and giving Oikawa the lecture of his life.

The latter is reminded of the purpose of having a team, is scolded for having been so selfish in his pursuit for excellence. You start sprinting over when Iwaizumi headbutts Oikawa in the nose for his insolence, tossing your bag down as it only decreases your speed. You don’t care for the trouble of cleaning out blood stains from towels when you begin to clean his face, his eyes still furious and full of anguish but somewhat softened when he sees your tears. He continues to let Iwaizumi teach him a lesson while you pinch the bridge of his nose and tilt his head back. Like handling a doll, you have to lift his arm so he can keep the towel in place himself. You then scurry off to find the first-aid kit, leaving Oikawa to fend for himself. Only a couple of minutes later, the three of you are sitting on the ground and you’re dabbing ointment on the emerging bruise right in the middle of Iwaizumi’s forehead. Iwaizumi is a little calmer now, though he’s still verbally punishing Oikawa for even thinking of purposefully hurting a teammate.

Oikawa thinks the three of you are all fine and okay. He’d be ridiculously thickheaded if he wasn’t able to catch onto how quiet you are on the walk home, how instead of walking between him and Iwaizumi, you’re now on the opposite end. There’s a tug at his heartstrings when he plays with the idea that you’re attempting to put distance between you and him, but he refuses to believe it. His actions were a momentary lapse in terrible, awful judgment, and you had forgiven him. Why else would you have tried to help with his nosebleed? There’s no way you’d let something like this drive a rift in the trio.

There’s just no way.

“You’ve been avoiding him, haven’t you?”

There are times when you forget that Iwaizumi can be just as perceptive as Oikawa. For the last two weeks, you would, more often than not, avoid them during lunch. You attempt to show up at their volleyball practice as late as possible, saying that your club activities went longer than usual to prepare for upcoming competitions. You still walk on the opposite side from Oikawa on the way home and only give the bare minimum answers to any of his questions, leaving very little room to continue conversation. The atmosphere is heavy and awkward, tension so thick that Iwaizumi would need a chainsaw to cut through it.

This time you’re on the roof of the school. It’s cliché, so cliché, but the weather was too hard to ignore. Mostly cloudy with a slight wind, the perfect temperature without feeling too hot or too cold. You loved being outside during these days, and you had weaved as fast as possible through the emerging crowd of third years, up the stairs, and onto your personal sanctuary. Your bento is half-eaten when Iwaizumi makes his presence known. You should’ve seen this coming.

“He’s worried about you, y’know?”

“I know.”

“He misses you.”

“I know.”

“...he wants to know if you’re avoiding him because of that incident.”

“...which one?”

“The kiss.”

You whip your head in his direction, giving Iwaizumi an incredulous and affronted look. Instinctively, Iwaizumi throws his hands up, signaling that you shouldn’t shoot the messenger. God, Oikawa could be such a clueless buffoon sometimes. You scoff and nearly snort. Iwaizumi looks about ready to tear his hair out.

“So the great king thinks that I’m avoiding him over something that we haven’t talked about that happened a few months ago?”

Iwaizumi can’t find the words when you slam your bento box down on the ground, chopsticks thrown haphazardly on top and almost rolling off the edges. Iwaizumi catches them as you stand up in anger and begin to pace in front of him.

“Who does he think he is? He’s got a decent following of fangirls to help stroke his ego, and I’m sure some of them are more than willing to worship the ground he walks on. His teammates practically idolize him -- sans you -- but he thinks I’m losing sleep over some kiss we had months ago? It would make much more sense if this had been a couple of weeks after that, but we’re talking months right now! How is it," you stop in your stride, bottom lip beginning to tremble as you look down at Iwaizumi. "How is it that he’s one of my best friends who’s known me for almost 10 years, a genius in his own way, but still can’t tell that I’m avoiding him because I’m scared of him?”

This time, Iwaizumi is confused.

“You’re scared of Oikawa?” He asks, trying to confirm what he just heard.

You let out a long breath, forcing yourself to simmer down and keep a cool head. Part of you feels guilty, yet another part feels justified for your actions. You were only protecting yourself; it was only natural.

“I’ve never seen him like that,” you begin, gingerly sitting back down next to him. The comfort of your best friend that you’ve been denying yourself of is granted as you rest your head on his shoulder. You link an arm around his as well as you begin to curl into a familiar position. Iwaizumi only naturally rests his head on top of yours, hands folded in his lap and legs stretched out.

“I’ve never seen him look so angry, even when that one kid in second grade tried to make fun of you. Or even when someone took the shit talking too far at an official game last year. But he was ready, Iwa-kun. He was ready to displace Tobio out of sheer anger and spite. I know he knows better now. I’ve seen how much better he meshes with you all on the court and attempts to bring the best out of everyone. But it’s hard to look at him sometimes and forget what he was then. What if he gets mad like that at us one day? What if he tries to hit you?”

What if he tries to hit me? is left unsaid, but they ring loud and clear in both of your heads.

“The idiot knows that I could take him down in a fight if it ever came to it. And since it’s apparently not obvious, I’m just letting you know that Shittykawa would rather throw himself off a cliff before ever laying a finger on you like that.”

“But how can you guarantee that?” You argue back, lifting your head up to look him square in the eyes. You want to see if the same hesitancy is reflected in his orbs, the same uncertainty that had been slowly building up in you as an ugly beast. Instead, his eyes are steady and full of promise, never straying from yours as he ends the debate.

“You can trust me. And if I’m wrong, I promise I’ll do anything to make up for it, though the chances are very, very low. They’re practically non-existent.”

And if Iwaizumi says so, well…then it probably is so.

“...I trust you then,” you comply, your head leaning down to rest on his shoulder again. “You better be right.”

“I know I am.”

Silence.

“If you’re not going to eat the rest of your bento, you should give it to him. He’d be happy to see you.”

A few sighs later, a couple of stretches, some steps down the stairs, you find yourself stuck at the door of their classroom. You can see him with his jacket on, head buried in his arms on his desk and turned towards the windows. Iwaizumi gives you an encouraging pat on the shoulder and you release a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Somehow you find yourself demurely sitting in the empty desk chair in front of him, hands clutching your bento box and chopsticks. Iwaizumi stands by you and watches as you quietly gulp.

“Tooru, wake up.”

Oikawa thinks he’s dreaming. More often than not, you had plagued his visions in sleep, often ending with you attempting to wake him up, but it had been spoken by his mother. He would be disappointed that it wasn’t you by his bedside trying to goad him out from under the sheets.

“Tooru, wake up. I have food.”

This is different. His eyes are bleary and caked with exhaustion, vision catching the light that peaks from under his elbows. Her voice is so close -- he has to give in and just look. Oikawa lifts his head and stares in front of him. He blinks once, then twice, then multiple times, and you’re still there. This is not a dream, he concludes. This is too good to be a dream.

You watch him warily as he attempts to gather his bearings. In the meantime, you open your bento and grab the last onigiri. When Oikawa begins to form the sounds for your name, you quickly stuff the rice ball into his mouth, causing him to give a muffled protest and use one hand to prevent the food from dropping. You watch with muted delight as everything begins to hit him all at once: the food in his mouth, you in front of him with a close-lipped smile, Iwaizumi leaning on the desk next to you two, the sunlight beaming through the windows.

His eyes slightly water, choosing wisely to not say anything for now. Oikawa dutily finishes the rice ball before you place the bento in front of him with chopsticks neatly arranged to the right of it. His hands shoot out to cover yours before they leave the bento, squeezing gently as he looks at you with apologetic puppy eyes. You can’t stop your smile from widening, and only then does Oikawa happily let go, thank the food, and begin to chow down with a gusto that had been missing for the last week.

Things are going to be okay. Unless that group of fangirls seething at you over in the corner is an indication of something otherwise.

You turn sixteen when Oikawa gets his first, real girlfriend.

It’s your first year at Aoba Johsai and Oikawa has captured the hearts of many people from around the area, be it still from middle school, or even some of the upperclassmen. Those who are engrossed in school volleyball were surprised to hear that he didn’t matriculate into Shiratorizawa. And because Oikawa keeps most everyone at arm’s length, only very few people know the reason why. It wasn’t that he was good enough to get in, that’s for sure -- it had mainly been him refusing to “serve” Ushijima. The Herculean boy can criticize his choices all he wants, but Oikawa will never step down from his pedestal willingly.

What no one knows besides Oikawa himself is that Ushijima was only 70% of the reason. The other 30%? He was not going to be the one that separates the trio. What a hypocrite he would be if he had left after having so passionately convinced Iwaizumi that the three of you would always be with each other.

Little do the two boys know that you had seriously considered going to Shiratorizawa. They knew how smart you were as you consistently placed in the top 5 of your class throughout middle school. What they didn’t catch onto was also how well you did in math club and chess club -- to be fair, they knew you excelled, they just weren’t sure of the details. Inquiries about your competitions were always answered in team format: we did well or we placed pretty high. The same existed for chess competitions -- you weren’t a national champion by any means, but you were still somewhat recognized. But again, the same answers were given: we all did well. Math club and chess club never had the public presence that other clubs did. Very few cared, and much less was said.

Before Oikawa pointed out how disgusted he was by the idea of going to Shiratorizawa, you had studied for their entrance exams in your spare time. You didn’t play any sports, so those scholarships were out of the question. It’d all have to be based on merit and you were ready to prove yourself. You had gotten past the first two rounds of exams without them knowing, and your nights only became longer and longer as the material increased in difficulty. But then the two boys talked about going to Aoba Johsai together since they were invited anyways, and not long after, you found yourself at the entrance of the testing center with Oikawa and Iwaizumi on either side, putting Shiratorizawa to the back of your mind.

Things are more brutal in high school. Subjects are more difficult, classes take more time, after-school activities often extend past the sunset. There are physically not enough hours in a day to spend nearly the amount of time you used to have with Oikawa and Iwaizumi. The fangirls increase, Iwaizumi’s irritation becomes more exaggerated, and Oikawa becomes too nice on the fan-service.

He’s the triple threat: smart, kind, an amazing volleyball player. You and Iwaizumi can only roll your eyes as he plasters on his fakest grin for the crowd of girls huddling around him, demanding his attention. A part of him is thankful that so many seem to admire him. As much as he won’t return the affection, he welcomes the non-stop stroking of his ego. It does wonders at keeping his insecurities at bay, even if he knows that everything is superficial and surface level. They think they know him, but only a handful of people truly understand his personality.

So when Oikawa announces on the train home that he’s taking a girl out on a date, you and Iwaizumi can only passively nod, thinking that nothing will come of it. Then the second date happens, the third, the fourth, and then the stamp of the label between the two.

“I have a girlfriend now, guys!”

“Like actually? Sounds fake to me,” Iwaizumi scoffs, Oikawa taking offense.

“You wound me, Iwa-chan! What do you take me for, a heartless player?”

“Somewhat,” you jokingly supply, eyes still trained on your notes from your biology class. You don’t need to physically see him to know that he’s pouting and threatening to stick his tongue out at you. “Who’s the poor girl?” You ask, not really expecting much.

“She’s in your class, actually. Tachi Misaki?”

Your eyes stop registering any of the text that you’ve written. How did you miss that? How did you miss the fact that the girl he’d been dating was sitting only two rows away from you?

“Well,” you reply, clearing your throat. “All I can say is that you’re shooting above your level.”

“Hey! I’m not that bad, plus she’s really smart and pretty. She seems kinda low maintenance, pretty chill. Makes pretty good cookies. You think I could get her to learn how to make milk bread? But only if she has time.”

A heavy sigh leaves you as you stick a pencil between the pages and snap the notebook shut. Iwaizumi looks deep in thought before asking, “You think you’ll be able to handle her?”

“I mean, I’ve been going out on dates with her up ‘til now. She seemed fine and said she knew how busy my training schedule was. Like I said, she’s chill. Doubt she’s ever going to be super clingy or anything like that.”

By this time, you’ve all arrived at Oikawa’s house. He waves goodbye as he enters the front door, leaving Iwaizumi to walk you home.

“I give it three months, max,” you tell him. It’s mean, but you know Oikawa. He’ll be the most caring boyfriend in the beginning, but then he’ll get too comfortable, too complacent. He’ll unknowingly rely on the other person to comply with his needs rather than continuing to compromise to meet theirs. It’s only a matter of time before Misaki realizes that.

“I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt...maybe he’ll finally wake up, y’know. He’ll have an excuse to stop putting in extra practice or do something other than watching Shiratorizawa matches ‘til 2AM.”

At that, you cast a disbelieving look at him, his eyes catching yours. It isn’t long until you’re both failing to keep your laughter in. Oikawa Tooru? Ditching the opportunity for extra practice? Over his dead body.

Your estimation comes to fruition when Oikawa lightly dunks his forehead to lay on top of yours during the train ride home. The three of you had been standing near a pole, your own arm linked around it for some balance as you review and scribble some extra things into your notes from class. Oikawa is hanging on by a handle while Iwaizumi is grasping the part of the pole above your head.

“Misaki-chan broke up with me,” he spoke, loud enough for Iwaizumi to hear as well.

“Did she say why?” You ask, unable to move your head as you stare at the flap of his jacket.

“Becauseimtooobsessedwithvolleyball,” he mutters quickly.

“Say that again? And louder?” Iwaizumi teases.

Sigh. Straighten. “Because I’m too obsessed with volleyball,” he repeats a little bit louder, looking slightly ashamed and embarrassed that he, the great king of the court, the sole subject of so many girls’ affection, was ultimately dumped. The other part of the embarrassment masked the guilt he felt inside, having taken advantage of Misaki’s affections for him. Your eyes meet Iwaizumi’s, knowing that the conversation from months ago wasn’t said for naught. The sad, inevitable truth was there, and someone had to say it.

“It’s okay, Oikawa,” Iwaizumi nagged, patting the bachelor’s back. “You gotta make compromises, too.”

“But she knew! And we went on dates. That’s compromises, right?” Oikawa bemoaned, stubborn and petulant as ever. “It’s not like she wasn’t warned…”

“How many times did you guys go on a date?” You ask, attempting to get him to see reason. You know that the truth is there. He’s just fighting against full acceptance.

“Mmm, three times. No, four.”

“Three times in three months? Jesus Christ,” you mutter under your breath. “Okay okay, um, what’d you guys do on the dates?”

“(Y/n)-chan, are you jealous? You wanna go on a date with me?” He teases, a pointer finger poking your cheek. You squint at him before (gently) slapping the back of his head, causing him to rub the area out of mock pain.

“Ya, do you want to die?” You threaten. “I will throw you off this train if I have to.”

“Can I help?”

“Iwa-chan! Why are you on her side?? Shit, I need new friends.”

“Good riddance.”

“Stoooppp!”

From then on, Oikawa swears off girlfriends in high school. Everyone is too busy, and no one is going to understand him and be okay with what he does. Volleyball is his passion and dream, why is that so hard to get through people’s heads?

(But he knows that as much as he protests, he couldn’t give Misaki what she wanted. He wanted to make it work, he really did.)

The horde of fangirls only grows over the years. He’d rather hold a torch for no one than to try again. Nothing mattered more than a victory against Shiratorizawa and moving on to nationals. The fangirls’ affection would make up for any lack of a love life and Iwaizumi can only shake his head as a trail of hopeful hearts are left in the setter’s wake.

There are times when Oikawa is incredibly thankful for you, that at least he has some sort of close female companion that’s not his sister or mother. Even if you’re busier than ever, you still make time for him and Iwaizumi, whether it be attending their late practices or making sure that they finish their homework over the weekends. They can’t play if they’re failing classes.

(Y/n)’s personality is what he wants in a girlfriend, Oikawa realizes one night. Someone chill, someone understanding of his lifestyle, someone who goes out of their way to spend time with him. Someone he feels a connection with no matter the distance, someone he wouldn’t hesitate to go to if they needed him, someone who would always, always be there--

But he can’t possibly date you. Why risk losing you when he already has you within his grasp? There’s no need to worry about making time or planning for dates, no need to worry about coming up with a gift for White Day (as if he already doesn’t). There’s no need to worry about you leaving him now when his ugly, petty side manifests from time to time because you’ve seen it all. You would never leave him, he reaffirms to himself. You will always be by his side no matter where he is. He can always count on you to be in the bleachers during games, front and center, with the rest of the school cheer crowd. He can always count on you to lend him a shoulder, to pick up the phone at 4AM when he’s woken up anxious with thoughts going at a million a mile, to hand him two slices of milk bread on the weekends from their favorite bakery, to keep him in line with Iwaizumi.

Why risk voiding himself of all that, of so many memories, just to pursue the chance for some more intimacy?

And as Oikawa’s fingers hover over his lips, his mind reeling with flashbacks on how that kiss with you felt even two years later, the last thing he registers before succumbing to the nothingness of sleep is the painful tightening of his chest.

Oikawa is seventeen when he is reminded of how easy it is for him to lose you.

The three of you are sitting on a checkered blanket on top of a hill that overlooks the nearby area. A plastic bag holds a mix of canned beers and hard ciders, some empty and others waiting to be consumed. You’re taking it a little farther than you usually do, typically sipping one through the night. Yet you’re on your third and the two boys can only look at you with slight concern.

Your finals were particularly difficult -- part of you had still been recovering from the vicarious loss against Shiratorizawa, knowing how hard your two friends had taken it. It had only caused Oikawa and Iwaizumi to spend even more time in the gym after practice, a ferocity and drive in their muscles that you had never observed before. The amount of time and energy it took from you to forcibly change and drag them away from the court was substantial. Sleepless nights were dedicated to thinking of ways on how to lift them back up from whatever mental hell they created for themselves. In a sense, those nights paid off, but not without a price.

The alcohol tingles through your bloodstream and seems to slow everything down. You’re not drunk, but you don’t think you could appreciate the scenery before you as much as you are now if you were completely sober. Oikawa is going on about the constellations in the night sky, Iwaizumi teasing him relentlessly, and you can’t bother to fight the lazy smile that stretches across your face. Would you still have these nights with them if you had gone to Shiratorizawa?

“Did you know,” you softly interrupt them, unable to keep the secret any longer. It’s been two years, surely it couldn’t hurt. “Did you know...that I would’ve gone to Shiratorizawa if it hadn’t been for you two?”

The sound of cicadas has nothing on the sudden pounding of Oikawa’s heartbeat. Iwaizumi has an equally flabbergasted look on his face, searching your own as you pull up your knees and rest your chin on top of them. The lack of a verbal response only makes you chuckle, reaching down to grab your can and take another sip.

“Evidently it didn’t happen,” you drawl and then giggle. “Be-because I’m obviously at Seijou--”

“That’s not funny,” Oikawa interjects, voice hard and stern. “That’s not funny, you don’t get to say that and expect us to laugh it off. Why the fuck didn’t you tell us?”

“Why does it matter so much?” You mumble, suddenly desiring for the earth to open up and swallow you whole. “I clearly didn’t go, okay? Jesus--”

“No!” The setter yells, his face morphed by rage. “You were going to leave us? Why would that ever get into your brain, I mean, did we do something? Did we do something to push you to do something like that?”

“Hey, dude, calm down--”

“Don’t you get it, Iwa-chan? She was going to leave us and go to fucking Shiratorizawa of all places! She--”

“I thought you guys were going to accept their invite, okay?!” You interject, exasperated and frustrated. Evidently, you made a mistake in bringing this up now. “I didn’t realize how much you guys hated Ushijima’s guts and immediately changed plans once Aoba Johsai was on your agenda. So just stop, alright? It was two years ago and nothing’s gonna change.”

Oikawa pauses and attempts to reign in his anger. Why hadn’t you talked about it with them at the time? Why can’t he stop thinking about you donned in their maroon and white uniform, sitting casually in the bleachers of the gym, and instead of waiting for him and Iwaizumi, you’re waiting for Ushijima? Why can’t he stop thinking about how wrong that image looks, how much he’d like to be there and snatch you away because you’re his, you can’t abandon him--

“I’m sorry,” you apologize so mousily. Oikawa glances and sees the glisten of unshed tears, immediately relaxing and feeling guilty for being so hot-headed. It was the alcohol, for sure, he rationalizes before he turns to face you, scooching as close as possible to you. You’re still sitting in a fetal position as he slides one arm behind your waist and another wedges between your stomach and thighs. He buries his head into the crook of your neck. Your body welcomes the familiar heat and continues to relax as Iwaizumi lays his head on your shoulder. Instead of tears of sadness, you can only bask in the realization of how lucky you are two have these two doofuses in your life. The tears spill over as you sniffle, overcome with emotions that could only be so pronounced under the influence of alcohol.

“I’m so fucking lucky to have you guys,” you blubber. Oikawa’s grip tightens for a second as a tacit return of affection. “And I promised, didn’t I? I promised that I’d never leave you two, so you’re stuck with me. I wouldn’t wanna leave, even if you made me try.”

That’s right, Oikawa remembers. You promised -- and you would never go back on your word.

Oikawa is eighteen years old when he begins to truly understand the extent of your selflessness and how much of a selfish monster he can be when it comes to you.

It’s the night of their loss against Karasuno High, their last chance at defeating Shiratorizawa now gone and irreversible. Though tears had been shed towards his teammates, an overwhelming amount of gratitude and pride to have gone down fighting their hardest, the regret was eating at the two boys like nothing else.

Oikawa’s mother is working late -- you met them at the doorstep when they returned from the team dinner, saying nothing but holding up a bag of their favorite desserts. Minutes later, the three of you are a tangled and cuddled mess with the television quietly airing some old rerun of a child’s cartoon. It’s only when the boys’ cries have dwindled down into occasional sniffling do you dare to speak.

“I’m so proud of you two,” you begin but already feel yourself choke up again. “You did nothing but your best. I know how much this meant to you guys, but this isn’t the end. Time doesn’t stop here and you’re gonna go on to be even better players in uni. So don’t give up, okay?” You ask, hands squeezing whoever’s arm or arms you might be holding on to.

“Don’t give up when there’s so much left to fight for.”

They know you’re right. You’re always right in times like these.

Iwaizumi leaves about an hour later, eyes brighter and a small shit-eating grin on his face after about 13 brutal rounds of Uno. He won the majority of them, thankful that there was something to distract him for now. Oikawa promises to walk you home soon since it’s so late, earning a glare that could only mean “You fucking better, you shithead” and waving him off. Such a worry-wart. But when the front door clicks closed, the silence takes over once again.

Oikawa stands from the couch and stretches, gives a few twists before turning to look back at you. You’re curled up with your phone in hand, probably scrolling through social media or catching up on the news. “Hey,” he calls for you attention and holds out a hand. Don’t do this, he tells himself. “There’s something in my room that I need to return to you. Come with me?” Only delight fills his veins when you nod and set your phone down on the couch before sliding your hand into his. They stay linked as he leads you to his room, only separating when he lets go and you take refuge on this edge of his neatly-made bed.

As childish as he can be, you forget how tidy Oikawa is with his room. The books on his shelf are meticulously arranged by last name, photo frames strategically and aesthetically placed in empty spaces. His writing utensils are carefully arranged in a row on the side of his desk, and his drawer looks much of the same. Stapler, tape, sticky notes and tabs are all methodically placed, somehow speaking true to his leadership abilities.

Your observations are cut short when Oikawa sits down next to you with a book in hand, one that you had lent him months ago. To be honest, you completely forgot that he had it and you make it known to him.

“But did you like it?”

He nods with a small smile, yet his eyes are staring at the wall with a faraway look. He’s contemplating something, drawing plans in his brain, and after a couple of glances towards you, Oikawa gives in.

Much like that Friday afternoon four years ago, he leans his forehead on yours. A wave of deja-vu crashes over you as you’re once again plummeted into the dark ocean of his eyes. He keeps his gaze steady, searching for any kind of resistance. He needs something that only you can give him.

“You don’t have to say yes,” he whispers. You can feel a shiver crawl up your spine at the heaviness in his voice. “But I don’t know who else to ask. I don’t know why I can’t think of anyone but you.

“So can I please kiss you?”

What?

“But why?” You ask, the confusion so obvious in two words. Oikawa can only sigh to himself before carefully maneuvering you to straddle him, facing no objection from you. It’s just a kiss, he thinks to himself. It’s just a kiss that he wants with no strings attached to help with the emotional turmoil that only you could begin to understand. Your heartbeat feels like you’ve been swimming against the current for hours, your body betraying you as you let him bring one of your hands to his cheek. His eyes flutter closed and he languidly nuzzles into your palm, lips placing the softest, most intimate kiss there.

“I don’t know,” he breathes. Your heart aches and aches. “I swear that all I do know is that it can only be you. Please, please let me have this.”

And you can’t help but nod.

Unlike last time, Oikawa doesn’t surge forward. He instead bides his time, lips only barely ghosting over yours as he holds onto your waist. The contact becomes progressively fuller, more purposeful, as he completely slants his mouth over yours. In response, your fingers tangle themselves in the strands at the base of his neck and he finds himself drawing you closer to him, arms now completely wound around your waist.

This is a sin, he has to remind himself. This is a sin that only benefits him -- he is taking, he is stealing, he is feeding on an elixir at the cost of your soul. But his desires only overpower his guilt because as devilish as he may be, the sin feels like heaven. A paradise made by you created solely for him.

He catches your bottom lip between his teeth before gently sucking, eliciting the most delicate moan from your throat. The sound only flips a switch in his head as he applies more pressure, desperate to hear it again. Mine, he thinks as he begins to litter kisses down your neck, teeth catching skin to leave marks on you. Mine, he screams to himself as his hands peek under the edge of your shirt, skin on skin.

“Tooru--” you pant, trying to lean back and gather your thoughts. This is too much to handle. If you’re not careful, you’ll unlock the only thing that you swore you’d take to your grave, the three words that could ruin everything.

“I’m sorry,” he gasps before diving in for another quick kiss. “I’m not asking for sex. I just need you,” he confesses, pecks littered between his words. Oh, how you wish this were under different circumstances. How you wish that you could utter those three words without a care in the world and know that they’ll be reciprocated. Your lips meet his again and it feels like the earth has stopped on its axis.

Both of you are unaware of the amount of time that passes. Fervent kisses slowly diminish to a languid pace until it comes to a complete stop. Oikawa can only lean his forehead against yours, eyes hooded and chest heaving with you in a similar state. Neither of you have enough energy to find the right words. His arms only draw you into his chest and he can’t help but marvel at how perfect of a fit you are for him.

“I should probably head home,” you whisper. Being the man-child that he is, he shakes his head vehemently and momentarily refuses to let you escape his embrace.

“Do you have to?” He tiredly grumbles, reluctantly loosening his grip with a sigh as you slide off his lap. You nod and bend forward to give him one last kiss, the separation causing him to whine. You make your way towards his body-length mirror, attempting to smooth out the wrinkles and fix your hair. Oikawa hugs you from behind, his limbs wrapping around your shoulders.

“We’re okay, right?”

You nod. Don’t we have to be?

And that’s when Oikawa Tooru begins to slip through your fingers.

It’s a combined effort, really. Everybody’s trying to wrap things up, all the big competitions are jam packed into the last remaining weekends, and making room for last-minute college entrance exams. If people weren’t already at their wit’s end, then you can barely fathom the amount of anxiety and stress coursing through the halls of the school.

You use this to your advantage, finding yourself unable to go home with the boys, unable to visit them on the weekends, unable to respond to text messages frequently. You begin to learn to look past Oikawa rather than at him, not bothering to spare a second glance when he’s caught in the hallways by a group of infatuated admirers. You fail to see the way his eyes follow your passing figure or how he slows his pace when walking by your classroom, hoping to get a glimpse of you. You fail to see the disappointment on his face when your spot in the bleachers is empty. So he falters, redirects, and lets the distance increase.

The only time you reconvene with the two is after the graduation ceremony. Your mother would kill you if you left without a picture of you and your best friends, and clearly their mothers are thinking the same thing. Outside in the courtyard, the women spot each other, your mother almost dragging you behind her. They’re trying to find their respective sons, though it doesn’t take long because the sudden clambering and screaming of girls can only serve a few purposes. Oikawa and Iwaizumi are craning their heads before they’re able to finally spot the frantic waving from their mothers.

Soon, they’re in front of you, both individually giving a hug. “Congratulations,” you tell them with as much happiness as possible. It’s not like this will be the last time you’ll see them -- you’re all attending the same university. They thank you and return the festivities. It’s hard to miss how your hug with Oikawa lasts a little bit longer than normal, even more so when his hands trail down your arms before slyly slipping a small object into your hand. As you unfurl your fist, a shiny circular object is gleaning back at you. You spot a stray thread from his jacket and it hits you -- the devilish fox has given you his second button. You’d like to pretend to be unaffected, not wanting to give him the satisfaction.

“And if I don’t accept?” You challenge. For a second, Oikawa is genuinely taken aback. It’s obvious he didn’t expect you to consider rejecting the button and stumbles over his attempts to come up with a comeback. When he spots you fighting to contain your laughter, his embarrassment only pushes him to lightly shove your shoulder.

“For being my best female friend,” he elaborates. You deserve an award for containing the pain and bearing through it, pretending that his words don’t faze you in any ways. Iwaizumi only shakes his head at his friend’s idiocy -- what is he thinking?

“Oh I’m sorry,” you apologize in a mocking tone, pretending to bow. “Should I be groveling at your feet now like the other girls back there? Oh great king?”

“Why yes, I am indeed the great king--”

Smack. “You’re such an idiot,” Iwaizumi reprimands. The recipient of the hit pretends to bawl, resuming his childish antics once again.

That’s how high school ends, with two aching hearts and three families of laughter, all making way for the start of university.

Oikawa somehow makes it possible to balance his love life, volleyball, and his business major. Both he and Iwaizumi blend in nicely with the university team as your words from before ring in their brains. They could and are becoming better players -- high school suddenly seems so casual compared to the stakes at the university level. Teammates are constantly being scouted and the two begin to strive for the national team. Despite the fact that they barely see you anymore, Oikawa still dreams of his ideal future: he and Iwaizumi playing for Japan in Tokyo, with you having a job there and supporting them in the stands.

Sometimes he’s able to spot you on campus -- the building for the pharmacy program that you’re enrolled in is relatively far from the business building. Most times you’re walking with your classmates, giggling at something or engaged in a heated discussion. He thinks about how beautiful you look in your white coat with your hair tied back, your face donned with some makeup for the natural look and a pair of dainty earrings. Part of him boils in jealousy whenever there’s a male acting particularly close with you, but he knows he has no right to think that way. The thoughts only fuel him during volleyball practice, which seems to satisfy his coach.

It’s easy for him to like someone, he figures out two years in. It’s easy for him to get to know someone and pick up on their quirks. As a social butterfly, it’s not difficult for him to get along with his partner, but when it comes to developing deeper feelings...it just doesn’t happen. He wants so badly to reciprocate, especially considering how much effort some of his past partners have put in. But something stops him every time -- unwillingly, he’s become a master at letting people down easy, that he’s truly sorry he can’t reciprocate their love. On the other hand, Iwaizumi is pretty successful in his current relationship, going strong for the last year and a half. Oikawa seeks his advice at the club one night, keeping an eye out to see if there’s anyone he'd be willing to take home (not that he ever does).

At this point, Iwaizumi wonders how he’s still friends with him. Yes, he’s fiercely loyal and has been by Oikawa’s side since the beginning, but if the guy was going to do nothing but continue his descent into idiocy, there was very little he could do for him. (Y/n) had the same problem as Oikawa except you figured it out much, much faster.

“You idiot, you’re in love with another person.”

“...say what now?”

“That’s all it is. You’re in love with someone else. That’s why you feel like you can’t say it back when a different person tells you they love you.”

“If I was in love with someone else, wouldn’t I know?”

Yeah. Oikawa Tooru is a big, bumbling, messy pile of denial.

“You know what,” Iwaizumi sighs, setting his drink down before paying the tab. “You’re right. You’re in love with yourself.” Oikawa knows that he’s joking. Nothing could be farther from the truth -- he’s always dedicated himself to the happiness of others. That’s the role of him as a setter and captain: to bring out the best of his teammates’ abilities, but he can only do that if he’s at his best as well. His eyes cast another look into the dancing crowd. He downs his drink as someone catches his attention, also moving to pay his tab.

“Tell your girlfriend I said hi!”

Iwaizumi only gives him a lazy wave as he makes his way to the entrance. Oikawa is sliding his way onto the dance floor and when Iwaizumi spots who he’s wormed next to, he hopes that one day, Oikawa will really open his eyes.

Because he’s always going for girls who look wildly similar to you.

It’s hard to have an undefeated season. Some losses are harder than others and during the first two years, you, sweet, sweet (y/n), always managed to find him.

He needed you most on those rare days. Even after weeks of limited texting and quick passings on campus, there was a level of comfort that solely existed by being with you. He would attempt to joke and tease with you to put up a facade, but when you would lead him to his couch and leave your arms open, the veil would drop as he cried into your shoulder. He would then pick up his terrible, terrible habit of giving into sin (as long as he wasn’t dating anyone), selfishly knowing that you would never say no. He’ll ask you if this is okay, and you always say yes. The two of you never cross the line of anything more than making out, yet the kisses become less lust-ridden and more tender over time, laced with something much more meaningful.

(And with each time, it becomes harder and harder to refrain yourself from confessing.)

Oikawa reveled in being able to sigh against your lips, stealing your breaths from your lungs and even convincing you to stay the night. There were mornings when he truly felt that there was nothing better than waking up with his arm around your waist. He could squeeze you to his chest and wish for this all day. Sometimes, you woke up earlier than him and silently admired how peaceful he looked compared to the haggardness just hours before. With his hair so delicately splayed across his forehead, the ends curling up to defy gravity, a tiny scar dusting his right cheek, you would be painfully reminded of just how much you love him.

The last time you woke up next to him, you thought to yourself, “I can’t do this anymore.”

In the beginning of the third year, you fight every cell in your body to not go to him. Instead, you call him up and ask how he’s doing -- he doesn’t question it, doesn’t demand that you come see him. If there’s something preventing you from visiting him, he won’t ask about it. Even only a call brings him the warmth that he usually craved from you, though he knows nothing can satisfy him like your physical presence. The routine continues, volleyball practice becomes longer, and Oikawa thinks he’s finally getting used to this. This is the farthest you’ll distance yourself from him. There’s no way that you’d ever be more than a train ride away.

“are you guys free for coffee this weekend?” The text reads in the group chat. (Y/n) knows they don’t have a game, one of the rare breaks they get. Oikawa and Iwaizumi have the same schedules, so when Iwaizumi texts back “yh, where at?”, it’s for both of them.

“our favorite cafe restaurant by the bookstore okay? 1pm? my treat?”

“sounds good. see you then.”

“see you guys xx”

They think nothing of it -- it’s just a rare moment that everyone is free and able to catch up. Both dress up in their best casual streetwear, Oikawa even donning the glasses that you like so much. He’s nearly buzzing with excitement at finally being able to talk with you and have you within arm’s distance. Everything is normal when they walk into the cafe, spotting you in the corner booth. You’re quick to match their grins and give them both hugs, watching in delight as their eyes take in the milk bread, agedashi tofu, and a few other shareable dishes. They’re starting to think this is a bit of an apology meal for not having seen them in forever. It’s nice that whenever the three of you are together, there’s no awkwardness and everything seems to be back to normal.

Like how it’s supposed to be. But all good things must come to an end, right?

“It’s so nice being here with you two,” you laugh as you lean back against the vinyl leather. “I’m glad we could do this.”

“We need to do this more often,” Iwaizumi agrees. “We don’t have as many classes since we’re juniors now. Practice is still always the same so we should have more time to meet up. What about you?”

“Same here. Actually,” you pause, hesitant and scrambling for words. You’ve even rehearsed what you’re about to tell them, yet everything has been forgotten.

“I’m...I’m applying to doctoral programs in America.”

The boys look like two deer caught in the headlights. Oikawa is immediately filled with a sense of dread and fear -- his worst nightmare is slowly transforming into reality, unearthing its ugly head. A train ride is one thing, but a 13 hour plane ride? Time differences? A whole different country on the other side of the world?

“That’s...wow. That’s um,” Iwaizumi clears his throat. “That’s a big move. Why did you decide on America? I thought you wanted to start working after?”

“I’m enjoying pharmaceutical research more than I ever thought I would. We just actually got back from an international conference a few weeks ago -- there were so many interesting topics and studies being done. And...I thought it’d be nice to travel somewhere, you know. Have a change of pace.”

And you’re not completely lying. You’ve never really been outside of Japan before. Part of you wants to travel and see more of the world, especially after the conference in Berlin. Famous structures and streets that had been mere images on your computer or phone screen were suddenly physically before your eyes. You wanted to gain a better grasp of what it could offer and what you’ve been missing out on.

The other part of you felt stuck here. You needed an excuse to end the never-ending cycle that was Oikawa. It was an infinite loop of running to him, falling into his arms, attempting to put an obstacle on the bridge between you two, but then crossing over it to fall back into his arms again. You were never close to being free of him, not that you wanted to, but you wanted to know who you could be almost nearly without him. You wouldn’t be you if you were completely void of Oikawa Tooru. He would always have a part of your heart and be a part of your soul, no matter what.

“When would you leave?” Oikawa timidly asks, his gaze directed towards the crumbs on his plate.

“I’m actually on track to graduate by the end of this academic year. If I find a research group that wants me and is willing to provide me with adequate funding...I’d probably leave pretty soon after graduation. Y’know, get settled, meet my group, and...yeah.”

Silence ensues as the two boys figure out what to say. Your leg is bouncing restlessly beneath the table, fingers quietly tapping the side of your cup. Iwaizumi seems to be taking it pretty well, but Oikawa...you can’t tell.

All emotion is wiped from his face. He’s choosing to pierce holes in the wall by your head and his arms are crossed in front of his chest. He’s trying so hard to be mature about this and be happy for you, yet all he can register is the fact that you’re leaving. You’re leaving them, you’re leaving him, you’ll be gone forever and you’ll never come back, you’re going to find new friends, a new partner, a new bed that belongs to someone else to fall asleep in, oh how wretched--

“We’re gonna miss you,” Oikawa says, voice barely any louder than the tranquil music playing over the speakers. You feel like you’ve been transported back to when you were ten and breaking the news of quitting volleyball, hearing the same four words spoken in a very similar manner. Your heart settles and softens, you relax and reach over the table to grab one of their hands in each of yours. Iwaizumi doesn’t hesitate to give a friendly squeeze while Oikawa’s grip is only limp at best. But after a few seconds, it tightens and tightens until you understand the message: please don’t go.

“We’ve spent our whole lives together. I’ve told you two this before and I’ll say it again -- I’m so lucky that I have you guys. Part of me is able to do this because I know you’ve always got my back and I know that’s not going to change, even when I’m halfway across the world. So keep in touch? Please?”

“Of course,” Iwaizumi reaffirms and Oikawa nods. You express your thanks and retract your hands, trying to ignore the way that Oikawa’s fingers linger for as long as they can without being too obvious. The three of you eventually leave, bidding goodbye to your waitress and cashier, and continue to amble down the streets. Time always flies when you’re with them, conversation never truly ending. Eventually Iwaizumi has to leave to meet his girlfriend for dinner and Oikawa, being the gentleman that he always is, ensures that he’ll bring you home safe and sound. As the two of you wave goodbye and watch him disappear into the crowd, Oikawa offers his arm to you. He sees the pleasant surprise on your face and can’t help the smile on his own as you wrap your hand around the crook of his elbow.

The two of you continue to chat -- you fill him in on all the little details of your life that he had missed. In return, he does the same, eliciting so many different emotions from you. The pain in your heart increases when you realize just exactly how far away you’ve been from him. You choose to ignore that he’s taking the long way to your apartment, relishing in this rare time you have with him. Oikawa is the only person to make you feel like there truly wasn’t enough time in the world to spend with the one you love.

This must be what it’s like to date you, he realizes. Your hand is still wrapped around his arm, even when the limb became tired and settled for tucking his hand into his jacket pockets. He drinks in every laugh, every scoff, every grin, every gasp of surprise. Very few things bring him greater satisfaction than the way your eyes sparkle when he buys one of your favorite snacks off a food cart or when he points out something that reminds him of you. He never wants you to let go -- all he wants now is to collapse into your bed and wake up with his arm around your waist once again.

Before he knows it, they’re in front of your door, fiddling with your keys. He leans against the wall by your door as you locate the right one, but you hesitate.

“This was really fun. Thanks for basically spending your whole day with me.”

“I wouldn’t trade it for the world,” he replies, unable to stop the words from flowing out of his mouth. “It’s been a while since we’ve hung out like this.”

“Yeah, it has been.”

Silence.

“I guess I’ll see you around?” He asks with eyes full of hope. You’d have to be blind to not notice them, yet you would still be able to tell by the tone of his voice.

“Of course,” you reply with a small smile. “Until you get sick of me.”

Oikawa scoffs, but puts on a sincere face as he quips back, “Never.”

In all the years that you’ve been friends with him, nothing has ever sent blood rushing to your cheeks so fast. Your heartbeat quickens at an alarming rate and it doesn’t help as he begins to lean down, getting closer and closer to your face.

At the last second, he dips his head to the right and places a soft, lingering kiss on your cheek. Before you can blink twice, he’s already walking backwards with the cheekiest grin on his face, a cute little wave towards you. He then turns on his heels and makes his way to the elevator with a bit of a skip in his step.

You don’t even remember unlocking your door and toeing off your shoes. Your entire body feels like lead, yet also buzzing with excitement. And as you’re collapsed on your bed, staring at the ceiling, all your brain can comprehend and tell you is that Oikawa Tooru is truly the bane of your existence.

Oikawa does his best to stay true to his word.

Even with fewer classes, there’s always something that he needs to finish: that project, this homework assignment, extra practice -- sometimes, he wishes he hadn’t been in uni. Or at least picked a different major. When he can, he tries to visit you on nights, sometimes sheepishly empty-handed, other times holding a bag of your favorite pastries. “Are you trying to fatten me up?” You joke one night before biting into your favorite flavor of macaron. “More to hold and hug,” he teases back, causing you to give him a light whack on his arm.

He’s there when you nervously submit all your applications. He’s there when you receive offers to interview. He’s there when you get your first official acceptance. And of course, he’s there when you make your final decision. There’s no hesitation when you jump into his arms after submitting your confirmation of acceptance to University of California – San Francisco, though he wishes you could be there forever. Weeks begin to roll by, much quicker than he’d like. The usual cheery and joyful chattiness of when he usually visits evolves into comfortable silence, both of you settling for watching some space documentary on Netflix most nights. Oikawa hates how the inevitable is slowly creeping up his spine and more often than not, he’s torn between wanting to either just rip the Bandaid off or try to stop time.

The approaching reality of you physically leaving him starts to take its true form when you ask him to tag along on the hunt for suitcases. You want to get at least one of those large suitcases that have to be checked in to try to bring as much stuff as possible. The whole time, Oikawa is half numb, though he tries his best to give his honest opinions on the suitcases you consider. He knows what a big step this is as he watches you eagerly pay for your final selection. However, nothing hits him harder than when he comes into your apartment a week before your graduation and there’s a wide array of empty, mismatched cardboard boxes in every room.

To drive the stake in even further, the recently purchased suitcase lies wide open in your bedroom with some stray objects already neatly tucked in. Yet the one that catches his eye is a picture frame placed in a bubble wrap sleeve. It holds the physical memory of you, him, and Iwaizumi at your high school graduation, each person with their own bouquet of congratulatory flowers. There’s a reason you have this specific shot framed out of all the ones between the parents combined; reason being the fact that Oikawa isn’t looking at the camera lens, but rather looking at you.

His eyes glinted with pride and care in that picture, a certain softness in his posture. The picture has always sat demurely in a back corner of your desk. However, some friends or recent classmates that have been in your room have taken note of it, excitedly asking you, “Is this your boyfriend??” It’s more painful when you have to tell them he’s not, only just a very close childhood friend. A very close childhood friend that you’ve kissed multiple times and will always give your heart to, but you leave that part unsaid. .

Oikawa spends the night with you, taking much longer than usual to fall asleep. You’ve already passed out next to him, mouth slightly agape and hands curled up near your face. Quietly, he adjusts his weight onto his elbow, leaning his cheek into his hand. His other hand gently tucks the strands of hair that have fallen over your face behind your ear. To him, you look nothing short of angelic. He hates that he’s only able to spend time like this with you as the clock is ticking -- he wishes that he made more of an effort to meet and see you during your first two years. Perhaps he wouldn’t feel so anxious at the thought of you leaving. Perhaps the two of you would’ve established something that would guarantee your return.

At this thought, Iwaizumi’s words ring in his head.

You’re in love with someone else, that’s why you feel like you can’t say it back when a different person tells you they love you.

They continue to ring as he finally falls asleep. They ring as he only wakes up hours later, settling on trying to quickly whip up breakfast for you. They’re loudest when you quietly pad up to him and rest your chin over his shoulder, nearly scaring the shit out of him. Even then, his body can’t help but relax from the feeling of your body pressed against his back.

Even as he prepares for his finals, you’re in love with someone else.

Even in the midst of presenting a final project for class, you’re in love with someone else.

All the way up until he’s parked in a seat, arms cradling a bouquet of your favorite flowers, tucked between Iwaizumi and your mother at your graduation ceremony, you’re in love with someone else.

And when he’s cheering his loudest for you as you cross the stage, pausing to shake the university’s president’s hand and receive your diploma, his heart finally settles on the unshakeable truth that he probably knew all along.

I’m so fucking in love with (y/n).

“I’m so fucked,” he mutters to himself, but not quiet enough because Iwaizumi catches it.

“What’d you do, shithead?” He leans in to ask so your mother doesn’t hear. Oikawa only shakes his head, his leg subconsciously beginning to bounce anxiously. Iwaizumi takes a look at the leg, then a look at his face, and when he catches how Oikawa’s eyes follow you happily ambling off the stage, the realization hits him like a ton of bricks. After years and years of living in pure oblivion, Oikawa has finally understood just how much he loves you.

“God, you have such shit timing, you dickhead,” Iwaizumi groans, fingers pinching and massaging the bridge of his nose.

“What did he do?” His girlfriend on his other side asks. He leans over to briefly kiss her cheek, murmuring a “I’ll tell you later,” in her ear before turning back to his best friend.

Oikawa feels like a nervous schoolboy with the way his face is construed, his hands grasping the flower stems like it’s his lifeline. He begins to think about how he should confess to you – should it be during a candlelit dinner? On the roof of your apartment under the stars? Should he take you to a park or by the beach? A million more scenarios run through his head as the rest of the graduation ceremony proceeds. He stands in a daze as the students begin to file out, the families in the stands soon following suit. His body stiffly stands to follow your family and creaks like a rusty robot, absolutely unprepared to face you with his new revelation. The only thing that brings him out of his head is when Iwaizumi yanks him back by the collar of his shirt, practically choking him in the process. His throat coughs and fights for oxygen as he rubs at his neck, watching your mother disappear into the crows before turning to Iwaizumi with a pitiful and defeated look.

“What the hell was that for, Iwa-chan? Why—”

“You are not telling her right now, you hear me?” Iwaizumi threatens in a hushed voice.

“But—”

“She’s leaving. In a week. To America. Do I have to spell it out for you?”

“Can’t that be for her to decide? She can turn me down, but I need to tell her!” Oikawa cries out as the three of them do their best to stay out of other people’s way, pressing themselves to their seats as much as possible. People are casting them either curious or nasty looks for being obstacles in an increasingly heated argument, but they could also care less.

Iwaizumi narrows his eyes at him, then stabs a finger to his chest. “What you want, what you need…it’s always been that way for you when it comes to her. Have you ever stopped to consider what she wants?”

“Of course I have, what do you take me for?!”

“What do I take you for?! I take you for an idiot who spent years taking advantage of her!” Iwaizumi drives his point by jabbing the finger on his chest again. “I take you for an idiot who knew that she could never say no to you and you still used her whenever it was convenient! You think you’ve been such a martyr—”

“I didn’t do that! I—”

“Then prove it,” Iwaizumi hisses. “Prove to us that you genuinely care about what she needs. You know what she needs right now? She needs us, her friends, to go out there, find her, and congratulate her with flowers. Then, we’re gonna go to our favorite place with her family and celebrate her. Today’s about her and her achievements. We’re gonna be happy for her because that’s what she needs today. That’s what she deserves.”

Most of the crowd have trickled towards the lobby by now, leaving the three of them with a few student workers running around to pick up trash and stray programs in preparation for the next ceremony. Iwaizumi sighs, seeking comfort in the way that his girlfriend slides her hand into his. Everything that he had been holding in is now out in the open.

“You think you can do that, Tooru?” He asks in a calmer voice.

“…yeah.”

Oikawa tries his best to keep his feelings at bay. They threaten to spill when your eyes drink in the bouquet he’s brought for you, a pure smile of delight as you lean in to catch a whiff of your favorite flowers. It’s even harder when you give him a friendly peck on the cheek, quickly moving to give Iwaizumi and his girlfriend hugs. He can’t stop sneaking glances your way during lunch, watching how happy you seem to be as you verbally recall the last three years. His mind does its best to stay involved in the conversation, yet it doesn’t cease to drift towards Iwaizumi’s words. It’s heart-wrenching because everything he said was true – he had knowingly taken advantage of your lack of resistance, had knowingly acknowledged that he was committing a certain sin in life, driven by greed and desire. He knew years ago that he could never get enough of you and would never be able to.

“…your plans after this?” He hears your mother ask you, her voice reminding him to be an active participant in this chat.

“I kind of just want to go home and get out of this dress, probably start up my packing again. I had to put that on hold with finals and everything.”

“We can come help you if you want.”

“It’s okay, Mom. I might even take a nap first.”

“You can take a nap while I help you pack,” Oikawa interjects without a thought. He just wants more time with you. You look skeptical and he puts on an affronted expression. “I’m a really neat and organized packer, thank you very much. You think I’m some poor slob who can’t properly fold a shirt?”

“It’s exactly what I think.”

“Hey, don’t be so mean! I’ll prove it.”

“Fine,” you say with a smirk widening. “But I’m kicking you out if it isn’t up to my standards.”

“Yes ma’am!” He replies like a soldier, comically saluting with two fingers. Iwaizumi shoots him his best warning glare as the table resumes chatting.

About an hour later, the two of you are walking side-by-side in the direction of your apartment. The pace is slow with your heels on, especially as they become more and more painful. Eventually, you let out a big huff and stop in your path to slip off your heels, picking them up by the straps and letting them hang off your fingers. Your gown, stole, and chords are draped over your other arm, the other hand holding onto the cap and flowers. Oikawa watches as you sigh happily and wiggle your toes before you continue the trek barefoot. He’s terrified that you’ll get a staph infection and stops you.

Without saying anything, he takes the graduation gown from your arm and fits it over you, thankful that the bottom of it nearly reaches your ankles. Your arms have a mind of their own as they slip into the sleeves. He crouches for bit and fiddles a little bit before pulling your zipper up, then takes your cap and fits it onto your head. Before you can question his actions, he sweeps around to lift you up in his arms bridal style, causing you to yelp at the sudden motion. One of your arms is already swung around his neck, the other just trying to make sure your heels, chords, and stole don’t drop. Oikawa adjusts his grip a little, then looks down at you.

“You okay?”

You’re incredibly flustered, saying nothing but giving a few nods. He gently smiles before bringing you closer to his chest. Eventually, you place everything into your lap, leaving your other arm free to lie over the flowers on your stomach. You have an internal battle with yourself on whether you should link your free limb around his neck or not – do you want to come off as clingy? Would Oikawa mind? Would it make him uncomfortable? You soon decide, fuck it. You just graduated, you deserve to be pampered a little bit, even if it means treating yourself to indulging in one of your longtime fantasies with the man you secretly love.

Even though your face is already pretty close to his, by wrapping both arms around him, you’re practically nuzzling into the side of his neck. He smells faintly of the cologne that you gifted him last year for his birthday. It brings you fond memories of your life with him so far, how even through all the pain of unrequited love, every second has been absolutely worth it.

“Thank you,” you murmur and tighten your grasp. “For everything. For being my best friend, for always being there for me.”

“You don’t need to thank me, silly,” he replies affectionately. “You know we love you, right?”

“I know. I just wanted to make sure that you knew how much I appreciate it, that’s all.”

“…I’m so proud of you, (y/n). Look at you, finishing in 3 years and going to California for your PhD. Maybe I should’ve tried harder to convince you to stay in Japan, but I know you wouldn’t have been as happy. Is it too late to still try to persuade you?”

You unwind an arm to smack his chest lightly, playfully scolding him as you fully hold onto him again.

“Don’t even think about it. Of course it’s too late.”

“Well, then there’s no harm in still trying, right?”

“Tooru!”

“Okay, okay, fine~.”

Once you’re home, you grab random articles of clothing from your closet before heading into the bathroom to change. Oikawa offers to find a vase for the bouquet during this time, your ears hearing the clinking of glass and the snipping of stems. You didn’t realize you had grabbed Oikawa’s spare jersey he had given you the summer before your first year of university, only noticing after you begin to fit it over your head. The flush in your cheeks is subtle as you slip on a pair of pajama shorts, a giddy feeling filling your chest.

When you step out of the bathroom and towards the kitchen, Oikawa’s back is facing you as he continues to arrange the flowers. Something about the scene feels comfortably domestic, as if Oikawa just returned home from work and decided to surprise you with a little gift, insisting that he put it together for you. You’re almost expecting him to give you a kiss on the cheek before saying, “I’m home, dear.”

In the midst of your thoughts, Oikawa is satisfied with his work, grabbing the vase and turning with the intent to let you see his work. He startles when he sees you leaning against the wall and staring at him, yet his heart fails to calm once he realizes you’re in his jersey. Part of you suddenly feels shy with the way he can’t stop admiring you, yet another part is filled with newfound confidence. Your feet softly pad towards him, relishing in the fact that you can render the great Oikawa Tooru speechless. He lets you take the vase from him, still frozen in his spot as you gently place a kiss on the corner of his lips. If he were more composed and more cognizant of his actions, he would have taken you up in his arms and kissed you for real. You take the vase from his fingers and place it on your dining table, appreciating the delicate hue of the petals. It’s a shame that you’ll have to get rid of them soon since you’re leaving in a week.

“Come on, Tooru. Time for you to show me how good your shirt-folding skills are!”

Progress in packing is slow as the two of you talk and laugh, the sound of The Good Place quietly playing on Netflix from the small TV in your room softly filling the room. Eventually, Oikawa refuses any of your help, practically ordering you to stay in your bed and leave it to him. In the familiar warmth of your comforter, you fight to stay awake as exhaustion from the morning events creeps through your body. Before long, you’re taking a last look at Oikawa’s side profile sitting on your floor next to a pile of unfolded clothes and falling asleep soon after. It takes a few minutes for him to realize that you haven’t said anything in a while, only chuckling to himself when he sees you slipped away to the dreamworld.

For the next hour or so, he folds and packs your clothes in silence. The pile dwindles and shrinks until there’s none left, though there’s still some in your closet that you’ll be wearing over the next week. You’re still asleep on your side – he can’t find it in himself to wake you, instead doing his best to climb over you and sit on the empty side of the bed without jostling you. Just as he finds a comfortable half-lying, half-sitting position against a pillow and the headboard, you unconsciously do a full 180-degree turn and snuggle closer to him. One of your legs twists around his, your arm slinging over his waist.

Oikawa’s heart almost wants to fly out of his chest. Had it really been over a little more than a year since you last slept next to him? Was this going to be the last time that he’d experience this?

Was this going to be his last chance?

He must’ve nodded off in the end. Your voice speaks to him in his subconscious, softly calling out his name. His body is curled up on the side where you were sleeping, arms stretched out as he finally wills his eyes to open. His vision is blurry and heavily veiled with sleep, needing a few blinks to register that you’re bent over with your face very close to his. He wants to be wakened like this every day, to the sound of your voice rather than an obnoxious alarm tone from his phone. With all the strength he can muster, his arm reaches out to grab one of your wrists and gingerly pulls you towards him. You giggle as you snuggle into the little space you have, his arms hugging you tightly to ensure you don’t fall over the edge.

“Five more minutes,” he pleads, nuzzling into your hair. “Or we can go back to sleep, I don’t mind…”

“Tooru, we need to eat dinner though.”

“But I have you,” he mumbles without thought, clearly saying whatever first comes to his mind.

“That doesn’t make any sense though.”

“It makes all the sense in the world, silly (y/n)…come on, let’s sleep some more…”

“Even if there’s fresh omurice waiting to be eaten?”

“Mmm…did you make it?”

“Yes, I did.”

Oikawa sighs again before moving his hand from your back to rub his eyes. “Well, we can’t let your hard work go to waste then, right?”

“Not at all.”

You disentangle yourself and ignore how your body aches to lay with him again. Your hands take one of his own in your grasp, pulling him from the bed and towards the dining table where a fresh plate of omurice awaits them. Oikawa doesn’t forget his manners, pulling out a chair and indicating for you to sit in it. Like a true gentleman, he’s cognizant of how he pushes the chair back in to meet your sitting position, ensuring that you’re comfortable before moving to his own seat. The two of you say your thanks quickly before digging in.

Dinner is a quiet ordeal besides the occasional laughter. He tries to play footsies with you underneath the table, having full advantage with his longer legs. You threaten to flick rice at him if he keeps at it, but as time passes by, it’s clear your words hold no weight. Light banter continues when you bring the plates to the sink, refusing any offers of help from him. He settles for having an arm around your shoulders, leaning some of his body weight onto you. His eyes watch you with love and fascination as he berates himself for not figuring it out earlier. Things would have been different, and life would have been much better.

“I don’t want you to leave,” he murmurs, tone solemn and heavy as you begin to dry off the dishes.

“I know. But I’ll be back in a few years, you know?”

“A few years sounds like forever though.”

“It’ll be over before you know it, Tooru.”

“I know, but…”

“But what?”

He’s still searching for words when you’ve put the last plate in the drying rack, folding the towel neatly on the counter. You turn to face him directly, causing his arm to slide off your shoulders. He delicately grasps your hands with his and plays with your fingers, eyes focused on them and unable to meet your own. Iwaizumi’s warning voice blares through his head – why, why did he always have to be so selfish when it comes to you? Why did he always give in?

“Tooru, what—”

“I love you, (y/n).”

He’s gone and done it now. His eyes are ablaze with passion as they attempt to convey the depth of his feelings, boring straight into your own shocked gaze. He means it more than anything right now. You have to understand that he’s serious, that he doesn’t mean this in a platonic sense. Without a doubt, he would do anything for you. Could you see that in him?

He begins to panic when you slowly detach your hands, your expression hardening before you turn to occupy yourself with something else. You search for something before heading towards your living room and start packing the decorations into a cardboard box that’s cradled against your hip.

“(Y/n), please—”

“You don’t mean it,” you bite out and somewhat harshly smack a book into the box. “You’re only saying it because—”

“I’m not saying it just because you’re leaving, I swear,” he vows, following you as you pack away more things. “Just look at me—”

“How could you?!” You say accusingly, slamming your box onto the floor and whipping around to look at him. Oikawa isn’t entirely surprised by the tears streaming down your face, yet his heart still breaks at the sight.

“(Y/n), I—”

“What were you expecting?” You ask hoarsely, throat choked with tears. “Did you expect me to just accept it and run into your arms?! We’re going to be on opposite sides of the world for at least four years, and you wanted to start something with me a week before I leave?”

“I can’t lose you!” Oikawa cries out. He watches you collapse into your couch, head buried in your hands to control your sobs. He follows and sits as close as possible in front of you on the floor, reaching up to remove your hands from your face. “I can’t lose you more than I already have,” he whispers dismally, thumbs wiping tears from your cheeks. Out of fatigue, he places his cheek on your knees, eyes closing as you lay your hand on top of his head.

“Tooru, you—”

“I’ve been in love with you for years,” he interrupts, striving to get you to see how much this is for him. “I never knew what it was until recently, but you have to know by now that I would do anything for you. You can call me up at 4 in the morning, ask me for my umbrella even when I’m 20 minutes away. You could even ask me to drop volleyball, and I’d do it. Just to make you happy.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you depressingly chastise as your fingers give in and demurely run through his hair. “I would never ask you to give up volleyball, and even if I did, you’d resent me til the day we die. Hell, you’d resent me in your grave for all I know.”

“You’d still be my everything.”

At his words, you choke out another sob. This had been everything you were dreaming of, except Oikawa’s timing was just so off. You would have to spend the first four years of your relationship without him, and long distance wouldn’t be easy. Even though he would do everything to make it work, you’d worry about burdening him when he has so much he wants to live for. Wouldn’t it affect his playing? His studies? Would he eventually get tired of waiting for you and leave?

“Do you know what you’re getting yourself into?” You sniffle.

“The chance of a lifetime, that’s what I’m getting into,” he quickly replies. He turns to rest his chin where his cheek originally on, facing you with eyes of zero hesitation. His expression softens when he senses the doubt in your face and reaches up to remove your hands from his hair, grasping them softly and placing them on your thighs. “I’ve already wasted years not being with you, and I don’t intend to lose another second. So please, please give me this chance.”

Your head is dizzy with all this information. You need time, you need clarity. You need to think this out before diving in, no matter how much you want to comply right now.

“Let me think about it, ok?” You weakly propose. “This has happened all so fast and I just need some time to think it over. This is really big for us, and I just wanna make sure we’re doing the right thing.”

“I’ll wait forever if I have to,” he agrees, then ghosting his lips over your knuckles.

“You can’t see me until we’re at the airport though,” you add in, causing him to whine in objection. “I’ll give you my answer then. It’s just a week.”

“Can I still call you?”

“Of course, you big wuss,” you tease.

“Hey, I just confessed my feelings here, cut me some slack!” He cries, pouting afterwards. You somehow still have the energy to giggle at his antics, happy that some things never change.

“You need to leave soon, Tooru.”

“No,” he objects and wraps his arms around your legs. “I don’t wanna.”

“Tooru—”

“Only if you kiss me before I leave.”

You let out a sigh, yet still smiling. “Deal.”

He removes himself and gets out of the way, stretching as he stands when you push yourself off the couch. Even for the short distance from the living room to the door, Oikawa insists on holding your hand. He grabs every second he can with you, still holding on when he’s slipping his shoes on.

“I’m waiting for my kiss,” he says with a lilt in his voice. His eyes are shining and expectant, causing you to roll your own playfully. For the first time in 21 years, you’ll be kissing Oikawa with no feelings hidden, no motives unsaid.

He meets you halfway, softly cradling your cheek with his free hand. His lips against yours bring a wave of nostalgia – god, how you both missed this, the feeling of being able to lose yourself in another person. How you both missed forming that bubble again where nothing mattered but the two of you being there together. You can’t help but think about how much you’re going to miss this in America, how it’ll be months, years, before you can ever fall into Oikawa’s arms again.

Oikawa wants nothing more than to toe his shoes off and have you jump into his arms. He wants nothing more than to carry you to your room and show exactly how much he loves you, but it’s not in your wishes. Don’t be selfish, he reminds himself. You asked for time and space to think about your future with him – if he wants to make this work, thinking of solely his own desires needs to stop here. He must prove to you that it’ll be worth it, that there’s no reason to lose any more time than you’ve already lost.

“I’m sorry I made you wait,” he apologizes quietly.

“It’s okay. But consider this week as punishment, if you’d like.”

He pouts. “I really can’t come see you?”

You give a small grin, a pointer finger moving to tap his nose. “Nope.”

With that, he sighs begins to walk out the door, but not before stealing another peck. The action only makes you laugh and playfully push him over the door threshold, waving as he walks backwards with a pout. You don’t close the door until he’s turned the corner, nearly collapsing against it once the deadbolt is locked in place. Everything hits you all at once again, leaving you reeling and almost gasping for air. Your heart won’t cease its rapid pace, though it seems to come to a full halt when your phone chimes with a text message from him.

“Good night, (y/n). I love you.”

Yes, it’s amazing how lucky you are.

Without fail, Oikawa texts and calls you every day. He never fails to remind you that he loves you. Twice, he orders delivery to your door because he knows you need to pack your kitchen. A man who buys you food as a surprise and seems to always know what you’re in the mood for? It’s as if the universe is telling you to hurry up and marry this guy.

And Oikawa, trying to be the responsible person that he is, doesn’t see you until they’re sending you off at the airport. Your parents had offered to pick him and Iwaizumi up from his place, especially since it was a little early in the morning. A taxi drops you and your suitcases off at the gate. You hadn’t spotted them when you got in and made a move to go ahead and check your bags in. After you had finished dropping them off, you had turned around to wait outside of the check-in area and spotted the four of them chatting while waiting for you. Even with it being so early in the morning, you can’t help but break out into a smile at seeing them, speeding up your pace as much as you can with the carry-on suitcase lugging behind you.

“Thank you, guys, for coming all this way,” you express your gratitude while embracing Iwaizumi and Oikawa.

“What kind of shitty friends would we be if we didn’t?” Iwaizumi asks as you move to hug your parents. Your mother keeps an arm around you at the end, already fighting her tears.

“Mom…”

“Do you have everything you need?” She interjects, voice choking up. “Phone? Wallet? Passport? Boarding pass? New SIM card? Emergency cash?”

“They’re all here,” you say, pointing to the locations of each item. “I’m gonna be okay, mom.”

“Don’t hesitate to call us if you need anything, ok?” Your father reminds you. “We’re only a call or text away.”

“I know. I’ll try to make it home on the holidays or something, but if not, I’ll be back in a few years at least.”

“What if you end up meeting someone and want to stay in America with them?” Your mother sniffles, dabbing at her eyes with a napkin.

“Well,” you hesitate, casting a quick look towards Oikawa. When his gaze meets yours, you begin to feel more confident about the answer that you settled on yesterday. You know he’s anxious to find out what you’ve decided. “I’m sure that’s not going to happen. Can I have a minute with Tooru please? Alone?”

Your mother’s eyes widen in realization before she’s quick to shoo off your father and Iwaizumi. Once they’re out of earshot, Oikawa looks at you expectantly.

“Do I get my answer today?” He inquires, removing his hand from his jacket pocket to hold one of yours. You take the initiative to interlace your fingers with his, giving a tight squeeze.

“Mmm,” you hum while fishing out your phone with your free hand. Oikawa watches anxiously as you tap and scroll through something, breath baited as your eyes seem to light up at finding what you need. You turn the screen to him and ask, “Does that answer your question?”

At first, he’s confused. Oikawa sees a contact page open and automatically notices it’s his number. It’s not until his vision drifts back to the top of the page where his name usually was. In the past, it had been “crappykawa” with a smiling emoji, but to his delight, it now reads “the boyfriendTM”.

His excitement prompts him to lift you from the waist and spin you around in a few circles. You shriek and shake with laughter as your arms instinctively wrap around his neck to hold on, your eyes closed tightly until he puts you down. Even then, he doesn’t detach himself from you and leans down to kiss you sweetly, never wanting to let up. It doesn’t matter that you’re leaving him in the next few minutes – he’d rather have this than nothing at all.

Minutes later and after more teary goodbyes, you walk through the line towards security. The four of them watch as you exchange pleasantries and answer questions by the guard checking your boarding pass and passport. Once you’ve been cleared, you turn around once more to give a final wave, before disappearing behind the gray walls. After you pass security and find somewhere to eat a quick breakfast, you check your phone. There’s a Snapchat from Oikawa that you immediately move to open. It’s a selfie taken at an angle where his phone would’ve been in his lap. He has his characteristic pout on his face and the caption reads, “i already miss you, my love.”

And at that moment, you know, you can feel it with every ounce of your being, that everything is going to be okay.

(epilogue)

Months after you moved to California, Oikawa received his invite to play for a professional volleyball team in Argentina. He consulted his closest friend, you, his coaches, and they all agreed on one thing: he’d be stupid to turn it down.

It wasn’t the Japan national team, but it was definitely an opportunity of a lifetime. He greatly admired the national Argentine team as a child, and that admiration never wavered. On the plus side, it would make the long-distance relationship easier with you, as the time difference would be cut significantly.

The relationship experienced its ups and downs. Some main recurring themes of contention involved his tendency to overwork himself and your frequent late nights in the lab, as well as your disregard for your physical and mental health during times of high stress. They were issues born out of love and care, and they were worked on to help each other improve. You’d always livestream his volleyball matches and he would attempt to stay up with you on a video call if you were in the lab or up late studying, reminding you to drink water and eat something nutritious.

Oikawa found time to visit you during rare extended breaks in the off-season. He’d always make sure that you two would video call Iwaizumi together, wearing a shit-eating grin when Iwaizumi would pick up the call and roll his eyes. In return, you saved up and visited him in Argentina, though only able to stay up to a week at most. The new life was a little difficult and strange, but he made it work. He loved his teammates, he loved you, he loved volleyball, and he couldn’t ask for more.

You finished your doctorate in four years, just as you had predicted. You already had a job lined up before graduation at an academic hospital in Tokyo, allowing you to practice pharmacy and continue research. Not only that, Iwaizumi also earned a position in the top volleyball team in Japan, leaving Oikawa to be ecstatic. His personal dream from so many years ago was finally coming together – the three of you together in the same city, and him and Iwaizumi on the same superior team, even if it meant playing with Kageyama Tobio and Ushijima Wakatoshi. But he’d get used to it eventually.

When you first returned to Tokyo, you were happy to see that not much had changed. Oikawa had another couple of years in Argentina before he would return to Japan and join Iwaizumi on the team. A few weeks in, you were already enjoying your job immensely – the only thing missing was your boyfriend.

A year has passed, and you are currently sitting at home in front of the TV with a mug in your hands. You’re dressed down in your comfiest sweatpants and Tooru’s jersey from university days. A white gold chain holding a simple silver ring hangs daintily around your neck as a token and symbol of a promise. You check your phone and frown a little – Tooru hadn’t texted or called you all day, though he did mention he would be busy with preparing for an upcoming practice match. You’re now worried that Tooru’s overworking himself again, holding the device now to send a quick text reminder to take breaks and stretch afterwards.

You toss your phone to the side and try to focus on the humorous game show, picking up on how ridiculous some of the antics were. American game shows had nothing on the ones here in Japan.

Someone rings your doorbell. At first, you think it’s the postman dropping off a package you had been expecting and make no move towards the door. But the doorbell is rung once again, leaving you to hesitantly approach the entrance. You peek through the spyhole and spot a young man outside, hat slipped on backwards, glasses perched on his nose, and hands stuffed into his pants pockets. He’s looking away from you and has suitcases around him, but you can recognize that side profile from anywhere. Could it be?

You fumble with the lock and throw open the door as your heart threatens to beat out of its chest. The young man finally looks up at you and you gasp as tears spring forward to your eyes.

Oikawa Tooru is standing right in front of you with the most beautiful smile on his face that you have ever seen.

He’s ready to catch you when you squeal and run into his arms, dissolving into laughter as you blubber into his neck and attempt to make sense of what’s happening. Tooru spins you around a few times for good measure, relishing in the comfort of your body against his. It had been too long since he last held you, and luckily, he’d never have to wait that long ever again.

His invite came as a phone call not too long ago, personally from the coach of the team that Iwaizumi had joined. They were willing to wait for him if he wanted another year in Argentina as he had originally planned, but Tooru decided that it was time to come back. He had buzzed with excitement as he planned out his great return, wanting so badly to surprise you. It’d go down in the book as one of the best reveals of a major life change for the two of you, and he wanted it to be perfect.

“How—what—when—I have so many questions!” You stammer, hands reaching for his face to make sure that this is real. Tooru leans into your palm, eyes catching the glisten of the promise ring that he had gifted you two years ago. He was a little worried that it wouldn’t be noticeable enough (“I need people out there to understand that you’re spoken for!” “What are you, a prince of the medieval days?”), but he did appreciate how beautiful it looked when you wore it as such. The happiness he feels right now is more than he could have ever imagined, especially now when he can finally look into your eyes and say the words that he’s been yearning to speak for years to you —

”I’m home, (y/n).”

fin.

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kariachi · 3 years

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Oh look, another ‘Mike on Osmos V’ fic. We learn some Ossy bathroom things while relishing his suffering.

This was completely uncalled for. Had he been too familiar than was polite when Levin was visiting? Yes. Had he been curt and moody against all instruction by his elders? Yes. Had he gotten into a tussle with his cousins in the middle of a tunnel after Disya teased him over the whole ‘Levin coming out to check on him’ situation? Yes. But that didn’t mean he deserved this.

Mike grit his teeth as he shuffled unwillingly down the clan dens’ waste tunnel, muttering curses under his breath aimed at anyone he could think of. The tunnel wasn’t large, dug out so that a fullbred Osmosian moving quadrupedally could comfortably haul the cart Mike was pushing up and down it, which left him hunched over the damn thing. Already he could see just how much of a bitch the whole situation was going to be when it was filled and vowed to himself he would take more trips with an emptier cart.

“Bet fucking Adwaita isn’t having to do anything like this,” he growled as the scent from down the tunnel got stronger. The light from the richellu got brighter as well the deeper down he went, and it said something about how accustomed he was becoming to the planet that when one of the spider-like creatures took advantage of his slowing even further for a corner to climb onto his back he did no more than huff and reach back to gently stroke it’s shining thorax. “The company leaves much to be desired too.” It showed no sign of taking offense to the statement.

At the end of the tunnel was a large cavern, more than big enough for even his tallest cousins to stretch and work. The ceiling was mostly a mass of light, covered with richellu and their webs, excepting a hole in the center. Directly beneath it, all the clan’s shit from the past week, having been shoved down holes in each bathroom to end up piled there. The entire place smelled exactly as one would expect, the only real relief coming from the presence of a shovel against the mouth of the cavern.

Even a species that could and did form themselves into any tool they needed had no desire to go picking up their own feces if there were other options.

Griping at volume to his skittery companions, Mike shoved the cart inside, snatched up the shovel, and got to work. He wasn’t normally made to do this, in fact had never been made to do this, mostly out of pity. His clanmates in the dens were all entirely or mostly Osmosian, with all the powers that came with the blood, and could manipulate themselves enough to deaden their sense of smell. Mike hadn’t inherited that chunk of the powerset, was far enough removed to have hardly inherited anything, and so he normally was kept away from this particular job. But no, not this week. This week he suffered.

Once the cart was half full- he refused to fill it any higher when he was going to spend the trip back up hunched over it- he replaced the shovel and began the trek back up to the surface. The tunnel entrance lay just inside the opening to the clan dens themselves, and Mike grabbed his cloak from where he’d left it just inside. From there it was out into the wind and sand, down the long path to the waste field to dump the load. Local wildlife, plantlife, and the wind would handle it all from there.

All together the job took far more trips than he would’ve preferred. Though ideally that number would have been zero. And it still wasn’t done when he finished shoveling and carting. No, then he had to check the tiling on the floor and lower walls of the cavern, alongside its ceiling, for damage, not that he had the power to fix any he came across. Thankfully it wasn’t much, the cavern being well maintained and emptied regularly. There’d been horror stories about packs and clans that only cleaned the caverns out monthly, and who knew what could happen in that time. Sapient life could evolve in that time, in a poorly maintained shit chamber. But they only had some scratches in the tile from the shovel. They would still need to be fixed, in case they became a haven for disease, but that wasn’t Mike’s problem. Maybe he’d get lucky and Disya would get the repair job. As it was, he thanked Keal there weren’t any loose tiles or fallen bits of ceiling for him to haul back up again with the cart, beginning the long trip to return it to its alcove near the entrance and freedom from this awful chore.

He swore he was going to throw himself into the crop pond, then lay out under the suns until he stopped smelling like this.

#fanfic #osmosians #this entire series is just 'break the haughty: manual labor edition'#den arrest

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umbry-fic · 3 years

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Beaches! And Dolphins! (And Arsonists!)

Summary:

Colette: Misella, come play at the beach with me! Misella: I appreciate the invitation, but I must decline. Misella: I have been informed that I am 'not the beach type'. Colette: What? But... the beach is so much fun!

Colette, Lloyd, Arche and Genis spend an afternoon at the beach. Shenanigans ensue.

Fandom: Tales of Symphonia, Tales of Crestoria Characters: Colette Brunel, Lloyd Irving, Arche Klein, Genis Sage, Raine Sage, Misella Relationships: Colette Brunel/Lloyd Irving, Colette Brunel & Lloyd Irving & Arche Klein & Genis Sage Rating: G Word Count: 4789 Mirror Link: AO3 Original Post Date: 20/07/2021

Notes+Warnings: A fun fic based on Colette's Crestoria summer alt. (Don't take this too seriously!) Arche and Genis are both wearing their Asteria summer alts.

Slight spoiler warning for a design change in Crestoria chapter 8. No spoilers for Lloyd's side story.

Credits to @likes-words-and-shrimp for inspiring the conversation at the start. Happy summer! ♥

~~~

“Oh god.” Arche spat out a mouthful of pineapple juice, fumbling and nearly dropping the glass she was holding, tiny umbrella and all, into the sand. She coughed into her free hand, desperately trying not to enter a wheezing fit. She had not expected to witness this today.

“Genis already warned me, but… Really, what possessed you to choose this?!” Arche asked in disbelief.

Genis and Colette, in Arche’s humble opinion, both looked adorable - Genis in swimming trunks and a pair of kitten flip-flops; Colette in a swimsuit dress, golden hair tied into a messy ponytail, and equipped with cute accessories that only added to her charm.

Then there was Lloyd. Who was wearing the loudest Hawaiin print shirt she had ever seen, paired with… shorts that were secured with a belt? These were the weirdest clothing choices she had ever seen. Who wore a belt when they were going to the beach?

Lloyd was very red and very noticeable, sticking out like a sore thumb on the beach.

At least he had made a sensible decision when it came to his footwear - he was wearing sandals. If he had chosen to wear covered shoes to the beach, Arche may have needed to bury Lloyd on the spot for his crimes.

Lloyd scowled, clearly not appreciating Arche’s gaping expression or Genis snickering behind her. His childhood friend had a hand on Arche’s shoulder, and it was the only thing keeping him from collapsing in laughter.

“It’s my favourite colour!” Lloyd protested, crossing his arms and glaring away into the distance. “Besides, how much more ridiculous is it than your silly hat, Arche?”

“Excuse me?” Arche retorted, straightening up in indignation. She adjusted the hat in question, which was not a hat at all. “This is a sun visor! Can’t you see it’s made of plastic? It’s a fashion statement. A fashion statement. And a practical one at that, because my sensitive skin needs protection! It’s miles better than your shirt!”

Arche glared back in full force, fire raging in her eyes. Despite her being a full three heads shorter than Lloyd, she appeared threatening enough to make Lloyd take a hurried step back.

“Alright, alright!” Lloyd conceded, holding his hands up in surrender. “Don’t murder me.”

“I told you this was a horrible choice yesterday, Lloyd,” Genis gasped between snickers, bending down with his hands on his knees. His sides were in pain. “Anyone would have known that this was a horrible choice. Anyone except you! You should have been there when he tried it on, Arche.”

Genis had done more than just tell Lloyd. Upon seeing Lloyd step out of the dressing room, Genis had groaned and buried his head in his hands. For an entire hour. Colette had tried to get him to raise his head with wonderful motivational quotes like “You can do it!”, but ultimately failed to knock Genis out of his stupor.

“Honestly, I’m thanking my lucky stars that I already owned mine,” Arche replied drily. And her two-piece swimsuit was cute too! A win. “I was spared seeing this disaster unfold live.”

“I think it looks nice,” Colette spoke up, butting into the conversation with a sunny smile. “Red looks good on Lloyd. It’s like… How do I explain it… His colour?”

“See? All of you just have no sense of taste!” Lloyd said triumphantly, blushing a little as he scratched the back of his head, grinning from Colette’s compliment.

“I’d say love is blind. But you’re both blind,” Arche commented, shaking her head and patting Genis on the back. “Come on, Genis, let’s go get started on a sandcastle before these two idiots derail this whole day.”

Colette stared after the retreating back of her two friends, Arche holding her drink high above her head and Genis still letting out a final few peals of laughter. She turned back to Lloyd, blinking in confusion. “Love…?”

“JUST - Think nothing of it!” Lloyd blurted out, blushing harder until his face resembled his shirt. All in all, too much red. “They don’t mean anything by it! Shall we get going too? We only have until Professor Raine picks us up to enjoy the beach.”

“Alright!”

Colette still wanted to know what was up, but chose to drop the line of questioning in favour of getting started with this day of fun. Neither she, nor Lloyd, nor Genis, had ever been to the beach. How could they, having been confined to the limits of a single village for their whole lives?

This was her chance to experience the sparkling waters and pristine sands that every child was supposed to know and experience at least once. All with shining eyes, a ton of energy, and the company of her friends! Arche had promised to act as their guide to all things beach-related, boasting about her expertise in this rather strange area.

It was going to be great, and she couldn’t wait!

Colette spotted a familiar figure in the corner of her vision, standing some distance away on the golden sands. Was that…?

“I see Misella!” Colette chirped, jumping up and down on the balls of her feet in excitement from spotting her new friend. She hoped she could get to know her better - that was a favourite pastime of hers. “I’m going to go say hi!”

“The girl you met last night at the inn? Have fun! I’ll be waiting with...” Lloyd trailed off as he realised that Colette had already taken off, leaving nothing but a cloud of fine sand in her wake. “Ah, she’s gone…” he muttered, smiling fondly. “Just like her.”

Lloyd turned, following the footprints Arche and Genis had left behind. Might as well get started on learning some beach activities! Then he could help Colette ease into them.

He wanted to make this day as amazing for her as possible.

~~~

“Misella!” Colette called out, practically lunging at the other girl’s back in excitement. Misella, rightfully startled, turned around just in time for Colette to grab onto her hands instead of sending Misella face-first into the sand.

Hm? How strange, Colette thought. Misella was still wearing gloves.

Maybe her hands were sensitive to sand…? That was the only reason Colette could think of. Or maybe it was just a fashion thing! Arche would know. She’d ask her later.

“Oh. It’s just you, Colette.” Misella blinked, releasing the tension from her hunched shoulders.

“Sorry for startling you.” Colette giggled. “I’m glad you ended up coming to the beach! You said you wouldn’t last night...”

“Ah, Kanata wanted to come. He said this was a famous beach and it would be a shame if we didn’t visit it,” Misella replied with a gentle smile, her gaze drifting to a boy with blond hair, who was wearing a plain pair of swimming trunks and was busy lugging a bucket from the direction of the waterfront. Kanata’s hand was bandaged - was he injured? Oh, Colette hoped he’d get better soon!

“And… the rest of my acquaintances,” Misella continued, tone shifting from adoring to carefully neutral as her gaze slid further right.

Acquaintances? What a strange way of putting friends!

Colette followed Misella’s gaze... And had to pause to process what she was seeing.

A man with black hair stood next to a lady with light brown hair, both slaving away with shovels in hand. The man wore a Hawaiian shirt over a pair of swimming trunks, the shirt even more eye-catching than Lloyd’s, and unbuttoned to reveal a strange symbol on his stomach. The lady wore a two-piece swimsuit, together with a sun hat made from straw and a pair of dark sunglasses that fully obscured any view of her eyes.

But what Colette was more interested in was where the two were dumping the sand they were so determined to dig up. All of it, weight and all, was going onto a third person who was so obscured by the pile of sand covering them that only their head of silver hair was visible, together with two flailing arms.

And was that screaming?

“Don’t be worried, Colette. This is an activity known as burying someone in sand. It’s a tradition at the beach, and Aegis volunteered,” Misella said in a deadpan tone. “Yuna and Vicious are just helping him.”

“I… I see.”

“Your swimsuit is very cute,” Misella commented, turning so that she blocked the concerning view behind her. She pointed out the white petals nestled securely in Colette’s hair. “And the flower is very beautiful. Is it a lily? I must admit I’m not too knowledgeable on flower species...”

“Oh, thank you so much! Lloyd picked it out for me, and it is a lily! At least, I think so,” Colette replied, any thoughts about the person in the sand already forgotten. Her happy smile only grew wider as she recalled how Lloyd had gifted the lily to her on the way to the beach.

Lloyd had been shifting from foot to foot, unable to look her in the eye as he had offered her the freshly-picked flower, the petals still wet from the morning rain. She hadn’t understood why he had been feeling so nervous, but hadn’t wanted to probe him on it. She had, however, accepted the lily in the blink of an eye, letting him place it in her hair, his fingers brushing against the tip of her ear for a brief moment and making her shiver. Her heart was filled with warm happiness from his actions. She intended to cherish the flower for as long as she could, for it was a gift from Lloyd, and all gifts from Lloyd were precious treasures.

“Like my brightblaze…” Misella muttered to herself, fingers cupping the precious flower that continued to sit in her hair, no matter her outfit or agenda for the day. It would never leave.

“Yours is really pretty as well! So is your swimsuit. It’s elegant,” Colette said eagerly, wanting to return the compliment. Misella’s two-piece swimsuit with a skirt truly fit her!

“Thank you, Colette. And did you get yours from the same place as us? This…” Misella asked, fingers reaching out and brushing the inflatable float that snugly hugged Colette’s arm. The float didn’t resemble any normal ring float - it was shaped like Lloyd, complete with his large smile, spiky hair and red Hawaiian shirt. It was adorable, and Colette absolutely loved it. She would be keeping it forever, even if she never went to the beach again! Lloyd had said much the same about his float, who looked just like her, down to the exact outfit she was wearing right now.

Besides, who said she wasn’t allowed to wear the float even outside of the beach? She wasn’t opposed to proudly wearing it every day, no matter what anyone said to her.

“I see that you have a similar float.” Colette giggled, gently poking the Kanata-shaped float on Misella’s right arm, which complemented the one she could faintly see on Kanata’s arm. “Did the friendly man at the swimwear shop offer to make you a pair as he did with me and Lloyd?”

“The short man with the accent?”

“The very same! He was so nice.”

Colette clasped her hands together, hoping she’d be able to see that friendly man with the bushy beard again. She wanted to thank him one more time for the generous gift - the pair of floats had been completely free of charge, and the details were perfectly done!

She also wanted to just spend some time with him. He seemed like an interesting person, and Lloyd seemed to like him too.

“Ah, Colette,” Misella said, breaking Colette out of her train of thought. “Kanata is calling for me.”

“Oh! Then I won’t keep you any longer.”

“Sorry for cutting our conversation short…”

“Don’t worry about it.” Colette waved Misella’s worries away. “We can always keep talking in the inn tonight. My friends and I aren't going to be leaving till tomorrow. I hope you have a good time! I’ll be joining my friends now.”

“You too, Colette! Have a fun time!” Misella waved goodbye, yelling after Colette’s retreating back.

Colette really was doing a lot of running around today.

She hoped she wouldn’t trip and ruin something…

~~~

“Sorry about the sandcastle. I lost us the competition...” Colette sighed. She crouched and dipped her hand down, letting the incoming waves wash away the granules sticking to it. That wouldn’t be enough to rid her of all the sand clinging to her from her plunge through the sandcastle, but nothing was likely to do that except a dip in the ocean.

Neither would the water wash away the frustrated frown on her face.

“Don’t worry about it,” Lloyd said, his gaze drawn to her, as it always was - watching the sea foam part around her hand; the sea flinging droplets into the air around her. “I’m just glad you’re not hurt. And what mattered was that we had a lot of fun, right?”

“Right!” Colette stood up, her frown fading away. Rivulets of water flowed down her arm and dripped from her fingertips. “I had a ton of fun!” She turned to face the azure waves, taking a step closer. Sunlight rippled on their surface, forming diamonds of pure gold that danced in merriment. “The waters here really are beautiful. They might be the most beautiful thing I’ve seen. Apart from Pasca’s clearing, that is. Thanks for suggesting we come here, Lloyd.”

Lloyd walked further out so he was standing next to Colette, feeling the waves lap at his ankles and submerge his bare feet, his sandals having been abandoned in the protection of Arche and Genis.

The sea wasn’t anywhere close to the most beautiful thing here.

“Anything to make that smile return,” he muttered.

No, that title belonged to the girl standing next to him. Her ponytail swayed in the slight breeze that teased his shoulders, her dress fluttering around her thighs, the metal around her neck glinting golden under the sunlight. Her arms were outstretched to feel the sea spray, her head tipped back in bliss. And on her face was the smile he always wanted to put there, bright and happy and content.

He couldn’t tear his gaze away.

“Lloyd? Earth to Lloyd?”

Lloyd snapped out of his daze to find Colette waving her hand in his face, a pout on her face and her hand on her waist.

“You can’t just stare at me and go silent, you know,” Colette grumbled.

“Sorry. I… I was, um...” Lloyd scrambled to return to his senses, wondering what he could even say without exposing just how deeply he had tumbled into love. Just being this close to her made his heart sing, not to mention how her current outfit turned her cuteness up to eleven and made functioning normally for him nigh impossible. All the ribbons…

He’d choked on his spit when Colette had walked out of the dressing room, hardly able to believe his eyes. Genis had spent the entirety of yesterday night reminding him of this, and Lloyd knew Genis would never let him forget.

A sudden clicking sound emanated from near their feet, interrupting his awkward attempt at an explanation. Boy, was he glad for the distraction.

“Oh!” Colette squealed in delight, crouching once again to peer at the snout that now poked out of the waters - one belonging to a grey dolphin with shining, curious eyes. “Hello there! Come to say hi?”

So the clicking sound had been the dolphin’s cry! He’d have to thank the dolphin later for saving his hide.

Colette laughed, the sound as refreshing as the sea spray, as the dolphin bumped its snout into her open palm. “You’re a playful one, aren’t you?” she whispered, patting its rubbery head. “Hm, I think I’ll name you Tim. Do you like the name?”

The dolphin proceeded to swim one rapid round, seemingly expressing its joy. It leapt into the air before diving back into the water, the slap of its tail spraying the both of them with a faceful of salt.

“I think it likes it,” Lloyd said. He couldn’t help but smile - even as he blinked seawater out of his eyes - content to watch Colette play with the dolphin. Naming the dolphins was so inherently... Colette.

That was when a second dolphin appeared, emitting equally enthusiastic cries as it joined the first. The two swam around each other happily, squeaking and clicking, with what appeared to be smiles on both of their faces that revealed rows of teeth.

“I think Tim and Robert are friends!” Colette exclaimed, clapping her hands together. She had come up with a second name on the spot. Impressive. “How sweet.”

“They’re… They’re coming back,” Lloyd noted in surprise, staring at the two rapidly approaching dolphins gliding through the ocean. The two sea creatures came to an abrupt stop before him and Colette, both clicking out an unknown message.

“I wonder what it is they want,” Colette mused, reaching out a gentle hand to stroke Robert’s fin. Only to be met with enthusiastic clicking, Tim bobbing its head up-and-down in what Lloyd interpreted as a nod.

“Huh.” This was probably going to sound dumb, but it was the only thing that came to Lloyd’s mind. “I… I think they want us to ride them?”

As if they could comprehend what Lloyd was saying, the two dolphins burst out into a cacophony of cries, shocking even Colette.

“I think you hit the nail on the head!” Colette kicked off her sandals, the two shoes landing on a haphazard pile on the sand, before grabbing his right hand in both of hers. She did it with no hesitation at all, the warmth of her hands seeping into his. He didn’t know how she did it, but he never wanted her to stop.

“Come on! This will be so much fun!” she cried, tugging him along, the bracelet around her right wrist jangling. She was the brightest thing before him, brighter even than the sun, her smile lighting up his chest with fireworks.

He would follow her anywhere. Anywhere in the whole wide world.

“Let’s not keep Tim and Robert waiting!”

~~~

“I wish you would have told us about the dolphins,” Arche grumbled, sitting up on the beach towel that formed her seat and hugging her knees to her chest. Genis was squatting next to her, continuing to work on the turtle sandcastle that had won the pair the spontaneously-held sandcastle competition. And rightfully so, considering how intricate the design was - complete with grooves on the shell and accurately shaped flippers.

Colette wondered how the turtle continued to stand on such a narrow base, however. Shouldn’t it have collapsed by now? Sand wasn’t this stable, was it? How did Genis do it?

“Sorry,” she apologised, plopping down under the shade of the umbrella that the two half-elves had commandeered. Her legs were still slightly shaky from the thrill of the past half-hour. “I was too engrossed and forgot entirely.”

It had been so much fun to navigate the seas on the back of an energetic dolphin with Lloyd by her side, catching the waves and speeding along the currents, feeling the sea breeze kiss her face. The cries of the dolphins and Lloyd’s laughter had filled her ears, his delighted smile carved into her memory. He’d even challenged her to a race, one that had ended in a draw as both Tim and Robert reached the shore at the same time. She and Lloyd had stumbled back onto the sand at that moment, her head spinning from all the tight turns they’d made. His arms had steadied her, as Lloyd always did, as she had turned and waved goodbye to the dolphins before they sped away.

“I’ll definitely tell you next time!” Colette promised. Arche and Genis should get to know the magical experience as well. And she would love to do it again.

Maybe she’d get to see Tim and Robert again! That would be great.

Genis not-so-discreetly elbowed Arche in the side, raising three fingers into the air and shaking his head.

“Ah, you’re right, Genis. Never mind, Colette, it’s alright. I’m actually somewhat glad.” Arche nodded sagely, having understood Genis’ symbolism perfectly. She flopped back down onto the towel, resting her head on her crossed arms. “I would have died so young from third-wheeling.”

“What does that even mean?” Colette asked, half-ready to place her hands on Arche’s shoulders and shake the answers out of her friend. It was bad enough that Arche and Genis seemed to be sharing an inside joke, but they also kept using these mysterious terms that Colette couldn’t wrap her head around! Even Lloyd seemed to be in on it.

“Don’t mind them!” Lloyd hurriedly interjected, slipping his feet into his sandals. Was he… blushing again?

What was happening?!!

Colette pouted. Fine. She’d drop it for now. But she’d find out one day, she swore.

“So. Shall we play a game of volleyball?” Arche asked. “Our sandcastle competition fell apart from the beginning, and…” Arche reached blindly into a backpack that the half-elf had magically procured out of somewhere, for Colette did not remember her bringing it to the beach. Arche triumphantly pulled out a colourful beach ball, all without budging from her lazy position. “...it’s the perfect use for this!”

“Sure. You’re on,” Lloyd replied, grinning. “I bet me and Colette can beat you any day.”

“And you two are automatically on the same team.” Arche finally sat up, raising one eyebrow before dropping it immediately. “Why am I even surprised? Anyway, you sure you want to make that bet?”

Genis sighed, setting down his shovel. He was not looking forward to all the physical exertion, but he knew he’d get dragged into it whether or not he agreed. Might as well indulge his friends. “Don’t try to be cocky, Arche. Lloyd may be the dumbest idiot in the world, but he is strong.”

“Oh, you’re right…”

“Yeah! See? I’d beat you - Wait, Genis!” Lloyd shouted, having finally processed that his friend had insulted him.

Colette paid no mind to the childish jabs her two childhood friends were busy exchanging. Rather, she was deep in thought about how to make the upcoming volleyball game more fun. Genis would get tired fairly quickly, and she’d rather let him rest instead of forcing himself to continue. But that would make the teams unbalanced, and who knew how long Arche and Lloyd could continue playing for?

The solution…

Ah!

“Can I invite Misella and her friends?” Colette perked up, raising her arm like she was answering one of Professor Raine’s questions. She’d come up with a brilliant idea, and she wanted to share it! “Since they’re here at the beach, they might as well join in the fun!”

“I mean… I don’t see why not?” Arche shrugged.

“The more the merrier!” Lloyd agreed.

“Okay then, I’m off!” Colette scrambled to her feet, quickly brushing down her bare legs. “I’ll bring them back here.”

Colette sprinted towards where she remembered Misella was, becoming nothing more than a blur of yellow and red that zoomed past other people. She spotted a familiar head of pink hair and adjusted her path.

Misella was standing with her back to Colette, her arms crossed across her chest. The person who had been in the process of being buried was now fully covered with a massive mound of sand, arms laying slack as if in resignation.

As Colette neared the group of five, the sound of enraged shouting reached her ears. Oh no, was there some argument going on?

All Colette could make out was the word “bazongas”. She had no clue what that meant, for she had never heard it before. Perhaps it was some mysterious creature, befitting of such a unique name. She’d just ask Professor Raine later!

What Colette did know was the chain of unfortunate events that unfolded within the next few minutes. It was such a short time, and yet it was packed to the brim with frantic activity, seeming to stretch into eternity.

Colette spotted Misella raise her arm, a bird of flame coming to life and rearing its head gloriously. She absent-mindedly registered in a small section of her mind that the phoenix was gorgeous, elegant and regal. A perfect match for someone like Misella.

The rest of her mind was focused on all-consuming worry.

Lloyd, Genis and Arche tended to get into arguments a lot. They were always playful, however, never malicious in nature. And they most certainly did not stray into full-on fights with intent to injure. At most, Genis would hit Lloyd lightly in the shoulder, while Arche hit a little harder by slapping the same spot.

Friends shouldn’t hurt one another! She staunchly believed in that! So whatever disagreement Misella and her friends had gotten into, they should resolve it peacefully. Not with red-hot flames!

“Mise - Ah!” Colette was interrupted mid-shout as her foot caught on… absolutely nothing. There was nothing in the sand - not a pebble, not a fragment of a seashell, not a handle of a stray, forgotten shovel. She had tripped over thin air.

The mystery of how Colette had fallen, while intriguing, was not the most important thing.

Rather, it was the immediate consequence of her fall, as it usually was.

Misella, too wrapped up in yelling at Vicious, didn’t hear Colette’s approach at all. The others took notice of the girl flailing her arms in warning far too late, identical expressions of alarm crossing their faces as they stepped forward in a futile attempt to stop the inevitable collision.

“Now burn - Eek!” Misella let out a surprised squeak of her own as Colette’s outstretched arms slammed into Misella’s back, sending them both careening towards the sand.

Unfortunately, this was also the moment wherein Misella released her scorching flames.

And you can guess how that ended.

~~~

“First of all. Lloyd, what are you wearing?” Raine groaned, dragging a tired hand down her face. As the responsible, and only, adult of the group, it had fallen to her to retrieve the frolicking children from the beach before the day got too late, and shepherd them back to the inn. Otherwise, they wouldn’t be leaving this town on time. Or ever.

If Raine was to be truly responsible, she should have been supervising them the entire time. After all, there was no telling what consequences Arche’s shenanigans would usher in, nor the problems that Lloyd’s stupidity could cause, nor the calamities that Colette could trip her way into. Genis, bless her little brother’s poor soul, would try his best, but he was nowhere near intimidating enough to get a handle on all three of them.

But there was no way anyone was going to convince her to spend her afternoon at the beach, passing each second petrified by terror and staring at the slowly approaching waters, waiting for the ocean to swallow her whole. She still wanted to let Lloyd, Colette and Genis experience the beach, however. Colette, especially, had been deprived of a childhood for far too long.

So Raine had happily traipsed off to the library for a few hours of quality reading, convinced that even these trio of troublemakers (and Genis tagging along) couldn’t get into that much trouble in such a short time.

And she’d come back to this mess.

“Is this really relevant, Professor? And why does everyone feel the need to bring this up?”

“Because it’s appalling! I taught you better than this!”

Genis and Arche, sitting on a nearby stone wall and observing the proceedings with identical deadpan expressions, let out a synchronised snicker. Though they quickly shut up when Raine glared at them. They did value their lives.

“That’s NOT the point, Professor! Don’t we have more pressing issues to deal with?”

"Then to get to the point… Colette," Raine forced through gritted teeth, the last word pointed. These kids were really something…

"Yes, Professor Raine?" Colette laughed in a higher pitch than usual, clasping her hands behind her back as sweat ran down her brow. Both because of nerves, and because of... Well... The situation behind her.

It was really, really hot. Not to mention the group of five arguing close-by, the boy who had finally managed to extricate himself from the sand desperately patting at his originally silver hair, which now had blackened tips. It might also have been… significantly shorter than it used to be, and certainly more jagged.

Raine sighed, brow furrowing in exasperation. She could feel the beginnings of a pounding headache.

"I left the four of you for three hours. Why is the beach on fire?"

#tales of symphonia #fanfiction #one shot #tales of crestoria #colette brunel #lloyd irving #genis sage #raine sage #arche klein #misella #colloyd #colette's crestoria summer alt

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writing-the-end · 4 years

Text

WS Chapter 52- Dragon’s Nest

Previous Chapter

Masterpost

Yinz better be seeing this around 2015 wednesday, lets hope this whole scheduling thing, cause I aint pullin out my laptop in the middle of an AJR concert we’re already planning weird ass shit for our car.One more cute chapter before endgame! I’m so excited for you all to finally see what we’ve been hinting at for months!

Also can you tell that i really like thunderstorms and associate dragons with lightning?

Red belongs to @theguardiansofredland

Ecto belongs to @cooler-cactus-block

“Avon, Jessie caught a silverfish again.” Ecto holds the dragonet up, limbs dangling in the air as she snaps her ivory dagger teeth into the bug. They’ve set up a small camp, more permanent than any of their other night encampments. A little home sheltering them from the elements, mostly built by Red. He’s a good builder, the home including a small flower garden and layered roofing. He had limited materials, but it’s still rustic and cute.

“I thought she grew out of chasing those when I showed her how to swim?” Red questions, trying to pull the spiky bug out of the baby’s mouth. But before he can grab it, Jessie swallows.

“Once she gets big enough, she’ll stop chasing them.” Avon waves it off, plucking Jessie free. She clambers onto Avon’s shoulder, small claws gripping into the leather pauldron to hold on. “Jessie, wouldn’t you rather have some rabbit?”

The baby chirps and flaps her wings, but never truly attempts to take off. She wiggles her tail, ears pricking up and listening to the forest around her. Listening for food. Ecto tugs on Jessie’s wing, the thin black membrane still soft and new. “When will she learn to fly? I thought she’d learn by now.”

“We should teach her!” Red picks a flower, offering the poppy to Jessie. The dragonet snaps at the flower, before lightly pawing the petals. She takes a delicate hold of the gift from Red, curling up on Avon’s shoulder and watching the flower between her paws. “How...how do you teach a dragon to fly?”

“For me, it was years of trial and error. And jumping off roofs.” Avon shivers as she remembers her tumbles.

“Isn’t being underwater just like flying?” Ecto questions.

“That’s space, and no.” Avon picks up sticks, crafting a campfire to make their lunch. They’ve been working hard on setting up defenses, figuring out a plan. First, they’ll prepare the grounds for the upcoming final fight. Mapping out bottlenecks, traps, and places where the wanderer’s affinities can shine through. After, they’ll gather their army. “Maybe I can take her flying with me on patrol one day.”

“Or I can stack up a cactus pillar, and she can jump and learn to glide!” Ecto’s eyes glimmer at the chance to build another monolith.

“We can focus on teaching her after we survive this. We need to get back to work- it’s going to storm later.” Avon tosses cooked porkchops to her friends. “How’re the sand traps going, Ecto?”

“It feels good to have grains stuck under my nails again.” She grins, pulling off her boot and dumping half the desert out of her shoe.

“Couldn’t you just use a shovel?” Red questions, tilting his head. Wouldn’t it take longer for Ecto to use her hands, even with the time spent making shovels.

“Why would I waste time on a shovel when my hands work just as well?” Ecto laughs, biting into her meal. Red and Avon chuckle, shaking their heads. Of course, what an Ecto response. Ecto’s logic is sound, if a bit strange. But they love her weird, wacky, wonderful ideas. “I’ve been collecting cacti to put at the bottom of the pitfalls. If the hellspawns survive the drop, the cactus will definitely take care of them.”

Avon nods, giving a bite of the cooked meat to the snappy mouth at her neck, feeling Jessie’s wings flutter in her hair. But Red is less excited about the news. She knows that the hellspawns won’t hesitate to kill them. That they’d show no mercy. But Red just isn’t the killing type. She’s not a fighter like Ecto and Avon. They tried talking to them, and their kindness was only met with violence.

But maybe actions speak louder than words? “Do we have to kill them? Can’t we just...I dunno, stop them?”

Avon grimaces, setting Jessie on the ground. “We talked about this before, Red…”

“I know,” Red turns his head away, watching the rolling storm clouds build over the ocean in the distance. “I just want everyone to be happy. You don’t think there’s any way we can show them that being open and accepting would change their mind?”

“I don’t think they can be shown that. They're too far gone.” Ecto sets her hand on Red’s shoulder, trying to comfort the crestfallen kipling. “They’re our enemies.”

“You and Avon were enemies. You two always tussled when we first met. What changed that?” Avon and Ecto look at each other, jaws slack. “You two got to know each other. Opened up, and were kind. Can’t we at least try to show them that? Maybe not with words, but maybe...if we don’t kill them, just defeat them and show them how great difference is, we can make things better for everyone.”

Red watches both their faces. Avon bites her lip, the twinge of revenge still in her eyes. She wants to get justice for Jeane’s death. But Red’s point was compelling. Ecto was stern in her gaze, but she spoke up first. “Why don’t we compromise… we’ll try to defeat them, try to show them kindness. I won’t make the traps deadly- if they choose not to fight, if they see sense and find kindness like you hope, we can help them. But… some may be beyond talking to. They won’t agree no matter what.”

“That… I think that’s a good idea.” Red nods. He’s taking the unusual path this time, that Ecto usually takes. But he’s too empathetic. Maybe scaring the hellspawns, beating them and then opening up to them like Ecto and Avon did will lead to decreased tensions. He saw doubt in Nova’s eyes, pause in Endo’s voice. There is a chance to redeem them. But he knows that an endless cycle of battle, like the tides berating the shore, will only follow all out war.

The wanderers go back to work, despite the angry storm clouds creeping up on them. Pools of water appear across the landscape, small chests full of food, potions, and armor hidden among the grass, and simple traps are set up by Ecto and Red. Avon hovers above, taking notes on a map between her work digging trenches and barriers.

Each wanderer takes turns caring for Jessie. If there’s one thing the three have discovered, it’s that Jessie inherited her mother’s proclivity towards blankets. Stealing sheets from their beds, Avon’s cloak while it’s tossed aside, or even Ecto’s scarves from right off her neck, Jessie will drag the massive fabric between her legs, hobbling into a little nest built in the corner of the cabin and burying herself until it’s just chitters and chirps and a peek of glowing purple eyes to find the infant. Her wings flap and flutter, never truly taking her off the ground. But sometimes she gets close, especially when Ecto tosses her in the air, only to catch her on the way down, or while mimicking Avon’s wings.

Jessie may not have Jeane, but she does have the wanderers. Red, and all his cooking and babysitting skills. Ecto, wild one that is intent on seeing Jessie fly and teach her survival. And Avon, the closest thing to another dragon she has. Sometimes, her chitters almost sound like draconic words. But it’s still baby talk. She busies herself playing with just about anything, whether it’s hunting rabbits and silverfish, or swimming in the pools that Red has constructed.

The work, preparing the field and babysitting the rambunctious dragonet, is only interrupted by the storm. A heavy downpour of rain sends the wanderers and baby dragon under the safety of the awning before the cabin. Red sits, quite proud of his work keeping them dry. Jessie curls up beside Avon, watching her first rainshower with pricked ears and curious eyes. Her wings flutter, spreading out as a few drops fall on her wings.

Lightning streaks across the sky, tendrils of energy reaching out, before sky connects to ground and a flashing channel of light careens from the roiling clouds to the field below. Before the lightning has dissipated, the thunder sweeps across the terrain. A loud snapping crash, of air suddenly expanding and contracting at the heat of the lightning. Colliding and crushing, sweeping into the empty air with the scent of fresh ozone.

Even for the wanderers, who enjoy nature's light show, the thunder rocks their bodies. But it’s Jessie’s first storm, her first thunder clap. Her ears flatten against her head, eyes wide and staring in the direction of the bolt. She scrabbles back, hiding beneath the safety of Avon's wing.

She's shaking. Red presses his lips together, before scooting to Avon’s side. Ecto offers a hand, luring Jessie from her hiding spot. Jessie settles into Ecto’s lap, shaking like a leaf as Red attempts to calm her down. "I know, storms can be scary. They're so strong, so wild. I used to be afraid of storms too. I hated how loud they were.

"But when I met Selene, she told me how incredible lightning really is." Red leans close to Jessie, and all of them settle in for another story woven by him. "She showed me how to see the beauty in the danger, respect the strength. Nature's own fireworks. We'd sit and watch the storms together, and I learned to love the sound of thunder. Bringing energy to the world."

Avon smiles, leaning back. Watching another forking stretch claw along the sky. It doesn't find ground, and fades to a soft rumble. "There was a book I read once, from the stronghold. Alchemists and sorcerers believe that lightning is the key to life. The spark that started all this. A catalyst to every living thing, ever villager and dragon, cactus and guardian."

"So lightning is like our mother." Ecto breathes, eyes following the flash channel. "Everything started with one lightning bolt."

Thunder crashes, rumbling against their bones and shaking the trees. But Jessie isn't scared this time. She crawls out of Ecto's lap, away from the pets and comfort. Grey wings stay tucked close, far from being caught by the wild wind. Her tail drags against the grass, looping around her as she sits. With a tilt of the head, Jessie gazes at the lightning storm. Watches with curious, nervous eyes as lightning ignites a tree. The rain extinguished it.

And when the thunder rolls along, Jessie feels the excitement of life that the wanderers share.

#wandering stars #ecto #avon #red #minecraft #mineblr #minesona #mcsona #minecraft persona #writing #baby dragons

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kenmasleftpinky · 4 years

Text

Eraser, My Hero

My Hero, Eraser pt. 1

Dadzawa x OC

Midoriya Izuku x OC

Bakugou Katsuki x (platonic) OC

A/N: Welcome to the first part of Eraser, My Hero. This is also an Izuku love story, but we are focusing on my original character Ace’s development, and who’s quirk will be revealed in the coming chapters! Enjoy :)

(p.s The Italics are Third Person POV)

Growing up with a villainous quirk is almost the same as being quirkless; there is relentless bullying to the point of isolating yourself from others. That’s how I met Izuku Midoriya, the most precious person to me. He has been everything, my solace, only friend, and rational reasoning for many years and I have done my best to protect him when he couldn’t protect himself, even when it meant that I’d end up taking the beatings for him.

He has done nothing but been the absolute light of my life, and for that I owe him everything. There have been times where the bullying and harsh treatments have gotten me to the edge, but I always had Izuku to bring me back and for that I, again,owe him everything.

We became friends shortly after it was discovered that he was quirkless, his obsession with becoming a hero never dampened even when he heard that he was quirkless. His even further obsession with All Might, the number one hero that everyone looked up to, was even more off putting to the adults due to his ‘disability’ but that never made him stop working and hoping to become his idol one day.

The day in question started off with Kaachan or, as everyone else called him, Bakugou having a go at him.He was showing off his quirk, explosion, and made sure that Izuku was the perfect test dummy.

“Stupid Deku” growled Bakugou as Izuku laid on the ground covered in soot, burns, and bruises from the most recent bullying attempt that Bakugo gave him.

He grinned at the laughing of his peers from behind him as they all stared down at the whimpering Izuku, his big green eyes filled to the brim with tears and snot running down from his nose.

It was after school, the playground near their houses empty save for the few souls who refused to confront the explosive boy as it most likely would end in their suffering. However, the few spread out kids watched as a girl stood up from the sandbox and made her way over. A few of them tried to warn her to stay back, but all she gave them was a small smile and a wink before she continued to make her way over to the group of boys near the entrance of the playground.

Her lips fell in a frown as she gazed upon the scene she was approaching, and as she walked up to the small green haired boy she couldn’t help but wince at not only the condition of his clothes and the bruises on his body, but at the amount of pain behind those beautiful green eyes.

I grinned at the memory, remembering that the first thing that I noticed about Izuku was his green eyes, those pure innocent eyes that I have grown to love so much more over time, at the time coated in the pain that he felt in his heart.

The girl smiled down at the injured boy as she stood in front of him, blocking his view of Bakugou and the rest of his posse. He looked up at her slowly and grinned as his eyes met her big brown ones. Anyone at the scene could have seen that she was a foreigner with her tanned skin, and curly hair tied up in two curly puffs that stuck out on the sides of her head, with two white strands braided back to meet her bubble hair ties. Her big brown eyes, to Izuku, looked like they held all the happiness in the world in them and he couldn’t help but feel safe in her presence.

Her offered hand was beyond soft and felt comfortable in his as she helped him off the ground, and he could only stare in amazement as she dusted off his clothes and used a handkerchief to wipe the snot, soot, and the long gone tears off his face, careful to avoid the bruises that were still tender on his face.

As she took care of him, and he was lost in the world that was her eyes, Bakugou felt annoyed that not only was that damned Deku being helped by a foreigner but also at the fact that he was completely ignored. He continued to hurl insults at the two but his words fell on deaf ears. Bakugou Katsuki was not one who liked to be ignored and he definitely did not want to lose the reputation he had, so he sent an explosion from his palms towards the two children.

The whole park went silent when a wall of black mass blocked the two kids from the blast. This black mass seemed to move like water, but the accompanying whispers that seemed to multiply the longer it stayed let everyone in the area who saw know that it was alive and moving. The mass fell and splashed to the ground and soaked into the ground without a trace.

After the mass fell and disappeared, the foreign girl turned to Bakugou, to finally give him the attention he wanted. The sneers that had been exploding from his lips seemed to get stuck in his throat as the wide brown eyes the once captivated Izuku, drew him in as well.

“You’re a real jerk, you know that? We’re not even supposed to be using our quirks in public. You’re lucky you didn’t get caught, boom boom boy.” said the foreign girl, her Japanese having a slight accent. She stared up at him with disapproving eyes.

Bakugou was taken aback. No one has ever called him out before, and this little brown girl wasn’t going to get away with it. He opened his mouth to scream more insults at her, but as he did,

“Katsuki! Get your ass over here it's time to go” yelled a blonde woman with short hair from the front of the park where they were all standing. His eyes lit up as he saw his mother and threw him a smile before tilting her head, motioning for him to come to her.

He glared at the two kids in front of him, let out a tch, and made his way over to his ‘old hag’ and left the park with the promise of revenge in his mind.

The rest of the posse dispersed as their leader left, making sure to sneer at the two kids that were left standing there as they made their way to the group of parents who seemingly just arrived to pick up their own gremlins.

The green haired boy let out the breath he didn’t know he was holding since his savior decided to back talk Kaachan. As he turned to the girl that captured every bit of his attention not only a few moments ago, he was surprised to see tear filled eyes, trembling lips, and red cheeks. He was even more shocked when she grabbed the collar of his shirt and started shaking him like a rag doll.

“WAH THAT WAS SO SCARY GREEN BEAN! I ALMOST DIED FIVE TIMES WHILE TRYING TO TALK TO HIM” she squealed as tears ran down her cheeks. She continued to shake the life out of him until she saw his soul leaving his now motionless body.

“WAHH DON’T DIE YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO BE MY NEW FRIEND” as she tried to catch his soul before it went too far.

When they both finally calmed down, and Izuku was returned his soul, she grabbed his hands and led him to the sandbox where she was playing before approaching the bullying scene.

She plopped her bum on the sand and motioned for him to sit beside her, bringing her pail, shovel, and dump truck from her side, to in between them for them to play.

And that’s what they did for hours, simply played in the sand with matching red blotches on their cheeks as they enjoyed the presence of their new friend. But all good things must come to an end, and soon a green haired woman was standing near the front of the park, calling for Izuku. He stood and sent her a small smile, saddened by the fact that he had to leave his companion so early.

Both kids stood, and he helped her shake the sand off her toys and clothes before she in turn did the same for his clothes. They approached the short woman, and her eyes seemed to sparkle as she laid her eyes on the little girl that stood almost shyly beside her son. His grinned widened as he approached his mother, his hand locked tightly with his friends as he practically dragged her across the park to his mother.

“Mom! Mom! Look at my new friend!” yelled the small boy as he stood in front of his mother and slightly pushed the now red and sweating girl in front of him. Said girl's lips trembled as she mustered up a smile and bowed slightly to the green haired woman. In response, Inko practically squished the girl against her chest as she squealed at how adorable the little girl was.

At this point, the two females made a connection that no one could get in between, both positively attached to the other. Inko loved the adorable foreign girl, and the tiny child was absolutely in love with the hugs that this woman gave.

As they separated, another woman came and the little girl wiggled out of Inko’s grasp and ran full speed towards her, barreling her into a quick hug before dragging her over to the mother and son duo.

The mothers talked animatedly as the kids just stood in front of each other, staring at the other with eyes filled with happiness at the thought of their new found friendship. The mothers looked at their kids, realizing how weirdly adorable they were, and soon pulled them apart and went on their own ways with the promise of a play date fresh in their minds. Before pulling away from each other the girl gasped and turned around yelling, “Hey green bean!”

Izuku turned and flushed at her brightly smiling face with the backdrop of the sunset behind her and her frantically waving hand. “My name is Ace! What’s yours?” her yelling continued and with a deep breath he yelled back with his hand waving at the same rate as hers,

“My name is Midoriya Izuku!” and as her mother continued to pull her away, she yelled one last thing as she rounded the corner,

“It’s nice to meet you! Lets play again!” and all she was able to see was his nod before she continued to be in step with her giggling mother who stared down at her daughter with mischievous eyes.

“My dear, it seems that you have finally made a friend” her mother chimed as their hands swung in tandem with their steps. Ace looked up at her mother and furrowed her brows before saying,

“No mama, he’s my soulmate not my friend” Ace said innocently and giggled as she escaped her now frantic mothers grasp and skipped down the street with her mother calling from not too far behind her with ‘its too soon’ and that her ‘little princess can’t have a soulmate before she can read’.

That is how I met Izuku, and how we began our journey to become the number one heroes.

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theeasternempress · 4 years

Text

Baby’s First Word

Part Eleven of the Baby’s First Series

Summary - Din takes his son back to the beach and while they’re there, Din’s son does something that takes his father’s breath away.

Just as a heads up, this is the second-to-last part in this series.

AO3

As soon as Din’s son had woken up this morning, he dashed down to the hull to beg to go back outside. He was in the new clothes his father had bought him during the last trip to the market since his usual robe was still soaked from their beach day yesterday. It was odd to see the child in a shirt and pants that actually fit him, but Din was happy to get him out of his old clothes.

Lost in his thoughts, Din didn’t notice his son shuffling over to him until he sat himself on Din’s boot and wrapped his arms around his ankle. Looking down at his boy, his son pointed to the door and babbled as if begging to return to the beach.

Din bent over to pick him up and said, “We can go back to the beach today after you’ve had your breakfast. I also want to see if I can find some stores to buy you some toys to play with.” The child cooed happily and waddled over to a spot on the floor so he could be fed. The child ate his breakfast in rapid time, clearly excited to go back to the beach.

“I’m going to be buying you some more toys today, so let’s leave your mythosaur toy here, okay?” Din asked. The child nodded and giddily ran over to the door. Din brought his son’s bassinet down and placed his son in it before lowering the ramp. The child let out a whoop of joy while clapping his hands enthusiastically. If his son enjoyed the beach this much, Din would have a hard time leaving Paraan because he knew his son would miss the beach.

Din started walking in the same direction as yesterday, but began walking down a different path once he could see buildings in the distance. The dirt path eventually morphed into a wooden boardwalk with stores on one side and a view of the ocean on the other. While Din observed the stores to see which ones would have the items he was interested in, his son gazed out of his bassinet at the ocean.

Nothing caught Din’s eye until a vendor exclaimed, “Excuse me sir, would you be interested in buying your child some ice cream?”

Din stopped and turned in the direction of the voice and found an old man staring at him from an open window in his shop. The voice had grabbed the attention of Din’s son, who was now curiously staring at the ice cream vendor.

“How much?” Din asked after noticing his son’s interest in the vendor.

“Five credits,” the man responded, “And I recommend a small vanilla for a child of that age. Anything more than that would be too much for his palate.”

Din handed over the credits in exchange for a small cup of vanilla ice cream and a spoon. Din found a bench overlooking the ocean where he could sit and feed his child the treat.

“I thought you might like this because you liked the candy Cara bought you so much, but it’s okay if you don’t,” Din told his boy. The child eagerly opened his mouth to be fed, only interested in the food and clearly not caring about anything his father had just said. Din scooped some of the ice cream onto the spoon and placed it in his child’s mouth. Instantly, his son’s eyes lit up and he giggled. As Din was filling up the spoon again, the child reached out his hands in an attempt to grab the spoon from his father. Din smiled and shook his head before placing the spoon in his son’s hand and letting him feed himself. Ice cream was smearing across his child’s face as he fed himself, but he didn’t seem to care as he gobbled up his treat.

Once the ice cream cup was empty and Din had cleaned his son’s face, they continued walking along the boardwalk. The ice cream must have put the child in a food coma because when Din looked at him, he was sound asleep in his bassinet. To allow him to sleep better, Din closed the bassinet softly.

As his son slept, Din managed to buy him a plastic bucket and shovel, swimsuit, and frog-shaped floaties. As Din prepared to change the child into his swimsuit, he woke up and began to giggle as if he understood that he was going to get to go back in the water. The child was cooperative about getting into his swimsuit because he wanted to go swimming so badly and once he was dressed, he smiled brightly at his father and clapped his hands.

Once they were close to the water, Din took off his boots and socks and rolled up his pants so he wouldn’t get his clothes wet. When he turned around, his son was biting his frog floaties and trying to eat them as if they were the live frogs he enjoyed so much.

“Those aren’t for eating,” Din said as he took the floatie from his child’s mouth, “They’re supposed to help you float in the water.” His boy looked disappointed for a moment, but perked up his father began to help him put on the floaties. After several minutes of fumbling with the straps, Din managed to get his son in his floaties.

“It’ll be easier for you to swim and play in these, but you still have to be careful and stay close to me,” Din told his son. The child jumped up and down and flapped his arms, signaling to Din that he understood and was ready to swim. Din let his son toddle into the ocean and wrapped his hand around one of the straps on the floatie so he could keep a good grip on his son.

The child shuddered at the cool water, but he continued to wander into the water until it reached his neck and he began to float. Even though it seemed deep to his son, the water only went up to the middle of Din’s calf. The child splashed around joyfully, giggling and playing without a care in the world. Still gripping a floatie strap, Din began to drag his son in circles through the water. The child kicked his feet and laughed as he enjoyed being pulled through the waves.

After being pulled through the ocean for a few minutes, the child babbled and lifted his arms to show he wanted to be picked up. Din did so and then the baby eagerly pointed back to the water. Thinking he understood what he wanted, Din asked, “Do you want me to toss you into the ocean?” The child clapped his hands happily and nodded.

Din was slightly worried that his son would get swept away, but he reluctantly began to play the game his child loved so dearly. Instead of tossing him as he usually did, Din simply dropped his baby into the water. The child landed in the water and it splashed him in the face, but he still squealed in delight. Din was careful with their game and made sure the child didn’t float very far. His son didn’t seem to mind that his father was holding back because he was just happy to be in the water.

Eventually, the child decided he wanted to take a break from the ocean and play in the sand. Din brought him the bucket and shovel he had bought earlier, but the child ditched the shovel to instead use his hands to scoop sand into the bucket. Din kneeled down in the sand and began to dump sand in the bucket as well, which earned him a bright smile from his son.

Once the bucket was full of sand, the child patted it down until it was smooth. Giggling, Din’s son leaned back and abruptly pushed the bucket forward so it spilled all over his father’s lap. The sight of his father covered in sand caused the child to erupt with laughter and his father to sigh.

Din brushed the sand from his lap and sighed, “You’re lucky you’re cute.” The child continued to giggle until Din handed him the shovel to play around with. The child enjoyed digging for shells yesterday, so Din figured he would want to do the same thing again today. His son seemed to understand the message Din was trying to send as he began to dig. Unfortunately for his child, the child-sized toy was still too big for him and he had to wrap both his hands around the shovel’s handle. The sight of his son using all of his might to dig the smallest hole made Din laugh quietly. Hyperfocused on his activity, the child didn’t notice his father’s laughter.

Din stayed to the side, letting his son dig around and saying, “Very nice,” or, “Good job,” whenever he happily revealed a new shell. Within an hour, the child had dug a stack of about twenty shells that Din could tell would become a prized possession of his son.

Pleased with the work he had done, the child discarded the shovel in his hand to crawl over to his father and climb into his lap, facing Din. The child reached forward to rest his hand on his father’s armor and clear as day, Din heard his child exclaim, “Da!” Din was shocked speechless at his son’s first word, especially because it was referring to him.

“W-what did you just say?” Din asked after finally finding his voice. His son patted his father’s chest and repeated, “Da!” Heart filled with love and joy, Din scooped his boy up and held him tight to his chest. For Din, there were no words to describe how grateful he was to have his son at his side. With everything his son provided for him, Din saw no need for anyone else to be at his side. Din was sure that no other person in the galaxy could give him as much happiness as his son did. As long as he always had his little boy, Din knew he would be happy.

Din’s son pushed himself off his father’s chest and exclaimed, “Dada!” Din smiled, stroking his son’s hand, and replied, “Yeah, I’m your dada. Your dada loves you so much. I am happiest when I’m with you and I promise that I’m going to spend the rest of my life taking care of you. When you’re with me, I swear that you will always be safe, happy, and loved. You will always be my priority; you come before everything and everyone. No one else will ever take your place in my life and I will hold you in my heart until the day I die.”

The child responded to Din’s words by placing his hand on his father’s helmet and giggling, “Dadada!” Din’s cheeks hurt from how much he was smiling, but he couldn’t resist grabbing his son’s hand to slip it under his helmet and press a kiss to his palm. The child made a noise of surprise, confused at the new sensation, but a moment later he was beaming up at his father as he snuggled himself in his arms.

With Din’s knowledge that his son loved him, he could only hope that the wonderful memories of today would be etched into his memory until the end of time.

#The Mandalorian #Mandalorian #Baby Yoda #Din Djarin #Fluff #Beach day #Din loves his baby boy #Baby yoda loves his dad #Baby's First series #my writing

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inter-bellum · 4 years

Text

You deserve to be happy

Song: There for you - Martin Garrix + Troye Sivan (!) I will follow you into the dark - Death cab for cutie (Covered by YUNGBLUD and Halsey)

So, this fanfic is inspired on this post (you have no idea how long it took me to have a link that included all the reblogs). Of course I got a little very carried away and it turned 4 pages long. Oh well, I hope it lives up to your expectations, @princess-of-fandom!! The quote at the end is part of this post by @dylanholyhellobrien. With all the credits given, enjoy!! (if you feel like the improper credits were given, be sure to dm me, I don’t mind at)

PS: I don’t have ao3 hence why I post it here. If you want to post it anywere, ao3 or fanfiction.net, on behalf of me, you can, but please give the proper credits and message me so that I can check it out :)

Unedited (I tried my best, but English isn’t my native language.)

The contours of the trees that lined the horizon finally regained shape under the guidance of the first sun rays. In the dead of the night, the huts, tents and trees had blotched together with the sky to assemble ill-proportioned shadows that made Thomas’s heartbeats rise to feverish heights.

The hammock wobbled as he swung his legs over the edge to find solid ground. He steadied himself against the stripped bark of the pole and counted his breaths until they were calm and measured.

“Beautiful, huh?” Minho said when he noticed Thomas’ gaze on the horizon. His face finally started to lose the last traces WCKD’s experiment. The light in his eyes has returned in full force and gone was the ghostly white sheen on his cheeks.

Thomas didn’t share the sentiment. “It’s too alike.”

Minho sighed. “But it will never be the same.” There was one thing that still seemed in WCKD’s possession; the fire that lingered in his friend’s voice, the kind that used to deliver his characteristic snarky comments tirelessly. Or perhaps it wasn’t WCKD that took it.

They watched as the sun climbed higher and higher and other immunes starting to appear from their tents. A couple people Thomas had befriended during the course of the first few weeks greeted them as they strolled by.

“You’re hungry?” Minho, who still by his side, jerked his chin over to where Frypan was preparing what seemed to be a thick soup. Just when Thomas was about to say no, hunger hit him like a punch in the gut.

“Yeah, sure.” He ignored the relieved look his friend shot him.

The familiar sound of pots and pans scraping against the metal of spoon and knife like tools reached them, Frypan looked up and tossed them a wave.

“Saved something for you, shanks.”

A bowl with soup was thrust into his hands. Thomas brought it to his lips, avoiding the chipped edges. It tasted like wet ashes in his mouth, something frequent when it came to food, but it was better than nothing. He smiled and nodded at Fry before wiping his mouth.

After breakfast, he and Minho headed to fields. As one of the first things to establish, it started to become larger day by day.

Soon, it will be bigger than the gardens in the Glade.

That was like another punch in the gut. Thomas staggered on his feet. The only thing that kept him spiraling down to the ground was the smooth weight of the necklace. It was all he had. Whenever his heart would be choked by grief, unable to beat any longer, Thomas’d swear the necklace started beating instead, reminding him of his friend’s wishes. You deserve to be happy.

“Are you okay?” Minho’s face swam into focus. Thomas managed to respond with a shaky nod.

“Yeah... yeah, don’t worry ‘bout me. I’m... fine.” The last word needed to be wrenched of his tongue but he was glad that his voice didn’t crack. To strengthen his reassurance, Thomas grabbed a shovel and set to work.

The day gliding by, like a boat on the peaceful water. Large campfires were howling their scorching anguish to the night sky as people gathered around them. Thomas watched as the workers started to leave the fields, collecting the shovels in various bins of all shapes and sizes that stood near the entrances.

One of the boys who had worked alongside him walked past him. Upon noting that Thomas was still rooted in the same spot, he freed himself from the group.

“We’re roundin’ up, Tommy.”

Tommy. The moment he closed his eyes, he was back in the maze-like realms of his mind. Where memories piled up on top of memories to create the walls and ivy sealing them away from focus. Now they were moving, and the ivy was tearing like wet paper.

Tommy

“Don’t!” Thomas lurched forward to grab the boy’s shirt, nearly lifting him off his feet. “Don’t,” he repeated. “Don’t ever call me that, only he could!”

Thomas felt himself being janked away by someone. Other people entered from the side of his blurred vision, crowding him and the other boy. He lowered his eyes to the ground. A hand clamped around his shoulder for the second time this day.

“Allright, slim it everyone.” Minho’s voice topped that of the other’s as he stood besides Thomas, with his hand still on his back. The murmur remained among the immunes as their gaze drifted from Thomas to the shell-shocked boy, whose eyes already harboured a faint understanding.

“Okay.” Minho muttered once the crowd had settled down. Thomas could feel his friend’s gaze tracing the edges of his face. “Thomas, what happened, man?”

“He…” Thomas struggled to catch his breath. “He called me Tommy.”

“He… what?” Minho blinked stupidly. Like… Like he has forgotten who’d always say that.

Thomas had already turned around, shrugging his way through the crowd, ignoring Minho’s calls. The blurry remnants of unshed tears dotted his vision as he stumbled down the path. The soft earth underneath his feet turned into the fine sand of the beach. Large waves were smashed against the sides of the ship while others reached the shore, dumping their foamy residue in the sand before retreating again.

He pursued his trek along the beach. Looking back over his shoulder, he could see the smoke of fire trying to reach for the moon until they were shattered and dispersed by the wind. The sound of laughter was drowned out by that of the waves as Thomas neared a large rock formation. Amidst the asymmetrical blocks of grey sat a black, rounded stone with a name notched into it. Upon coming closer you could see delicate leaves carved underneath the name.

Thomas didn’t know when he stopped visiting Newt, but now that he was here, it felt like coming home to an empty house. He sank to his knees while soft sobs wretched themselves past his lips.

Instead of saying something to the boy sleeping beneath the stone, Thomas settled on shifting the sand through his fingers, gathering the grains in small piles besides the grave. Thomas watched the tide change.

“Thought you’d be here.” Minho took his place next to Thomas.

“Sorry, I just… I just lost my shit when-”

Minho cut him off. “Don’t worry ‘bout it. Clyde’s not mad.”

Absence of either of their voices left the silence to be filled by the sound of waves and screams of seagulls.

“Is this a closed meeting or can we join?” Brenda’s voice filled the silence. She, Gally and Frypan were standing behind them, holding a bottle of what seemed to be the drink Gally used to make back in the Glade.

As an answer, Thomas scooted to one side to make room and together they formed a semi circle around Newt’s grave. The silence was filled by the waves once more while they passed the bottle from hand to hand until it was empty.

“Do you remember, Gally? When we snuck into Fry’s pantry to steal some jam and using it to dye Newt’s hair?” Minho suddenly asked.

Between a couple snorts of laughter Gally managed to muster a nod.

“So it was you?” Frypan gave both of them an incredulous look. Thomas could laughter bubbling from his lips.

“Why did I never hear of this story?”

Gally shrugged. “Newt can be pretty scary when he places a knife on your throat in the middle of the night…” The grumpy faced blond shuddered.

“At least he got the jam out.” Fry muttered.

“Not completely, though,” Thomas could feel a grin making its way on his face. “I remember when coming up in the box, Newt’s hair had this pink shine.”

Each story or memory that came afterwards earned round of loud laughter. Brenda, at some point, went back to the camp to get some more drinks and the laughter went on.

You deserve to be happy. Maybe, just maybe, that wasn’t as far away as Thomas thought.

“If there is a reason why I’m still alive when everyone who loves me has died, I’m willing to wait for it.”

#fanfiction #fanfic #the maze runner #the scorch trials #the death cure #tmr #tmr newt #tmr thomas #tmr frypan #tmr gally #tmr brenda #tmr fanfic #this took sooooo long #but im reasonable pleased #i think

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paperficwriter · 5 years

Text

The Boy and the Seawolf

A Mumarou story for @anonymousedward! In which Mumen (Rider) meets a certain protective sea spirit.

Dirty Paper warning for, well, tentacle sex. There it is. I said it. Cut is for length AND content.

“Stay to the public beaches, my little Mumen. We do not go to the cove.”

The small boy stands with his pail and shovel, staring at where he can see the land dip further in. The waves hit the cliffs surrounding it, but there’s an easy path they could take, either around and down or straight in on the shoreline, when the tide is out. He points this out, because he is a clever boy, and he loves to explore.

His grandmother smiles and strokes his messy brown hair back from the glasses that make his eyes look huge. One day the rest of his face will catch up but for now, his gaze is so painfully earnest that she can’t help but stoop down and kiss his forehead.

“This is not a matter of ‘can we,’ my child. This we ‘should not’ do.”

He wants to know why.

“Because that place belongs to the Seawolf.”

Patiently, the small boy tells his grandmother that wolves don’t live in the sea. He proceeds to explain all the places that wolves do live, until she laughs.

“This is a Seawolf, Mumen. A guardian beast of the ocean. They say that once he was fully a spirit, but when humans began to live near the water, he let the strongest man join with him, become one with him. Even today, it is considered very good fortune if you see one.”

The boy tugs her hand in reply. This only seems to make him more intent to go to the cove, if that is the case (which he still doubts, but…)

“No, Mumen. Now, he rules from there in seclusion. You’ll find no fish we can eat there. Only jellyfish, stingrays and occasionally sharks, all which he uses to deter passersby. Just like you.”

The boy shivers. Jellyfish. It’s the only thing that he is actually afraid of, when he visits her by the shore. Ever since one stung him when he was a toddler, sneaking up on him in the shallows and barely brushing him with its bright red body.

It’s easy enough to convince him to come to the main beach by the boardwalk after that, but he never forgets the cove. He always looks, craning his head around from his bicycle, hoping to catch a glimpse of something; fin, fluke, flipper, or maybe something else.

He doesn’t see anything.

And he doesn’t know that something is looking back at him.

---

“Okay, steady on, you can do this.”

Mumen rode his bike down the shoreline in the dark, the large, sloshing cooler balanced on his handlebars threatening to overturn at every bend. He had thought that if he waited to do this admittedly very silly thing until nightfall, maybe he could avoid getting caught, but tonight there were several clambakes happening on the beach that had attracted the attention of locals and tourists alike. Lights had been strung along the piers, and people were milling around, stargazing, drinking beers.

He had been invited but declined.

“Come on, Mumen! Something like this will cheer you up. Get you out of that house for a while,” his grandmother’s neighbor insisted.

That house. He liked that house. He had always liked that house, the way it smelled like the ocean even when you had washed it all off, all the blankets and pillows the only things that had been kept smelling like floral laundry detergent, clean of the remnants due to regular washes. “No, thank you,” he replied with a friendly smile. “I still have some work to do.”

Maybe he was doing this errand for her too, now that he thought about it.

When he came up to the cove, he almost turned around. Not because he faintly recalled something that his grandmother had told him about a local cryptid of some kind that lived there, but because huge signs had been erected since he was a child. Dramatic bold lettering screamed at him about riptides and the fact that there were no lifeguards posted past this point, and there were icons of fins and crashing waves.

“Perfect,” he said to himself. All of that meant no one else would be there either.

He rode his bike as far as the boardwalk would take him, and then he dismounted, beginning to walk it into the cove. The temperature dropped significantly, and when he followed the sandy shore further in, along the cliff and into the enclosed area, he was most surprised by the silence of the area, a still quiet that made him feel like he was actually the first person here in a very long time.

Turning on the headlamp of his bike once he was out of sight only confirmed his suspicions. There wasn’t a single sign of another footprint in the sand.

“Okay. Let’s get you guys home.”

Mumen felt a little bad as he dragged the cooler into the shallows, the cold water lapping at his ankle and making him dance a little as he got used to it. He was sure that although the fishmonger was happy enough about all the money he gave him for the twenty-some lobsters, the fishermen and other customers wouldn’t be at all.

But what was he supposed to do? Walk past the tank at the market and leave them there?

He picked up the first one and so, so carefully removed the rubber bands from around its formidable claws. When he put it down he walked a small distance to the right, then did the same thing again. And again. And again. Sweat dripped down his face, and for a second he stopped to slap some of the cold water on his face, licking the salty drops from his lips. Now, his legs and arms were beginning to ache as he dragged the cooler, but dumping all the lobsters out didn’t seem right. What if they were territorial?

When he suddenly heard a substantial splash up ahead of him, Mumen froze. In the yellow light across the surface, cast by the moon and his headlamp, he couldn’t see anything in the inky depths, but he was still only in the water up to his calves. No, not even his calves. More like his upper ankles. So it wasn’t like anything could get at him. Right?

It wasn’t the first time Mumen was wrong, but never, ever this wrong. Never so wrong that he would have dreamt he might suddenly feel powerful limbs wrapping around his legs and pull them out from under him. Even though there was no way he would have seen them in the dark, he couldn’t see past the cloudy sand and water blinding him, rushing up his nose. His glasses...where were his glasses?! Was he going to drown?

And then...hands. Hoisting him up, pulling him from the water, pulling his whole body from the water until he could feel air on his feet.

“What are you doing here?” a cold voice asked.

Mumen tried to respond, or at least to start, but he choked, sputtering out water from his lungs and onto his chest. He tried to scrub at his eyes, to clear the salt out of them.

“You shouldn’t be here!”

“I’m sorry! I was...was…” Another mouthful of water from his burning throat. He had been taken by surprise, and he didn’t even realize he had breathed so much in…

“Taking things that don’t belong to you!” It sounded so angry, insistent, and he was shook a bit. Now, he could see clearer, and Mumen could make out a pale face, light hair - white? Silver? - and bared teeth.

“No! I was putting them back!” He held up his wrist, where he had been placing all the rubber bands. “See?!”

At that, he was dropped back into the water. It wasn’t much deeper here, so he winced when his butt hit the sandy bottom. His hand hit something sharp, and when he touched it, he could feel where the skin had torn. The salty sting confirmed he was bleeding, but when he stood up to try to get out of the water, there was still...something...around his legs. “Help! I’m stuck!”

“You just wait!” The voice was farther away now, back near the shallows, and Mumen could hear him muttering as he searched around and picked up one of the lobsters. Now, he could just see him - or his back at least - muscular and bright, reflecting the light like metal. He could only make him out from the waist up, though; he was clearly kneeling in the water…

When he turned his face back around, Mumen gasped softly. Was this what people meant when they talked about someone or something being terrifyingly beautiful? Because the man was definitely still angry, full of fury, but also...Mumen had never seen someone so gorgeous in his life. “Who are you?” he asked, and the...things...that were around his legs moved away. “I’m...my name is Mumen.”

“Garou,” the man replied, approaching him again. All of his hair was that bright silver, and Mumen wondered what it would look like dry. Maybe white? What color were his eyes? It wasn’t light enough to tell. “You’re not supposed to be here. Nobody is supposed to be here.”

“I...didn’t want to get caught on the beach.” Something rough brushed his thigh, and Mumen jumped. “What was that?!”

Garou said something quietly again, and this time Mumen thought it clear he was not talking to him. He did directly answer him with a grin that made him shudder. “I brought some of my brothers to handle you, if you gave me trouble.” A straight fin broke the surface, coming just close enough for Mumen to see striped patterns along the back of the large body.

“You were going to get a shark to eat me?!” Mumen was entering into a realm of hysterics, waving his hands. “Are you insane?!”

The other man chuckled and came closer, grabbing his hand from the air. “I love how the thought I could get a shark to attack you on command is somehow harder to believe than everything else happening. Including that I could will it not to eat you.” Mumen tried to tug his hand away. “Let me see.”

“It hurts.”

“Yes, it’s bleeding.” Garou said it like Mumen must be stupid. He stared down at his hand in the water, stroking his fingers over the cut. “I’m not doing this because it hurts. You’re making them uncomfortable.”

One of the sharks caused a splash as it came by, circling them. Yes, this was definitely several sharks, because this one was more reddish. And bigger. “Yeah, I know the feeling!”

“They won’t hurt you. I’ve told them not to.” Garou brought one of his own fingers to his lips and bit down until a drop of what Mumen assumed was blood began to seep from the spot. He had to assume, because it was a dark purple, like ink. Garou started to rub it into the wound.

“Ow! And ew! That’s...there are so many things wrong with this!” Things that included someone who could supposedly talk to sharks, and who looked human but certainly didn’t act like it, and who was now putting his mouth directly onto the cut, sucking at it, mingling their blood together.

A jolt of something rather lewd travelled down his body, and he stared at his thin lips until he asked, “Why did you come back here?”

Mumen blinked. Did he know him? Did they know each other? “What do you mean? How did you--”

“You used to come close to the cove, on that...thing you ride on.” Garou nodded at the bike. “It always looked like you were going to approach, but then you would go. Every year. And then...you stopped.”

“I…” Why was he blushing? Why did he feel so put on the spot. “I used to visit my grandmother. She lived at the house on the hill, overlooking the lighthouse.”

“Why did you come back here?” Garou was glaring at him, still rubbing insistently at the mark between mouthing it. It hurt less now, which also made it feel more scandalous when Garou licked it. “I like when humans leave. I like when there are less of you.”

“Yeah, well, it evens out, because she died, okay?”

As Garou’s fingers stilled, Mumen felt a little sick. It was the first time that he had come out and said that, to anyone. Most people here at the shore knew, so they would offer apologies. And anyone else, he would say that he had a family emergency. Why? Why not just say it? Clearly this was why.

“I’m sorry.” Mumen glanced up at Garou, at his face. It hadn’t exactly gotten softer, but he didn’t seem as angry, as seemingly put out by all this. “I haven’t been here long, so far as my people go, but...she always believed in us.”

“You knew her?”

“I had seen her. And heard the stories she told. She told you too, I know.”

Seawolf. It came back to him suddenly. “Even I couldn’t remember that...how do you?”

Garou let go of him. When Mumen took his hand out of the water, he could just see a pale pink line across a third of him palm, but other than that, there was no sign of the cut. “My memory is much better than yours,” he said, smirking.

“Hey, you there!”

Both of them looked up the shoreline when they heard the voices calling out from the sand. Flashlights were bouncing back and forth, held by a pair of what Mumen thought were probably cops. Before he could think to reply, Garou shot forward to the shallows, taking out the last few lobsters. “Help me with them!” he hissed in the dark, and they both scrambled to remove the rest of the rubber bands.

“Out of the water!” one of the two yelled, and there was a sound of sand being kicked as they ran closer. Garou reached down into the water and emerged with something small in his hand. He threw it, and the light on the bike shattered.

“Hey! That was mine! What are you--” Garou grabbed him up in his arms, and Mumen felt his cheeks going red yet again. His chest was so firm, so secure, but at his waist, it was very, very different. Like the flesh changed there...

“Take a deep breath.”

“What--” He barely got in even a small breath before they were under the water again. Suddenly, they weren’t simply floating but shooting through the current in the dark. It was so fast, so full of bubbles and rushing water that Mumen couldn’t even tell what direction they were going in. It reminded him of being in a slide at a water park.

He did. He did, even in spite of how he was pretty sure he was losing his mind, because Garou’s voice was in his mind. In fact, he was clawing at his torso now, because he needed to breathe. It had been only a few seconds probably, but his lungs were aching. Where was the surface?! Where were they?! How far...how deep...how...

<Mumen!>

It was too much. As the water invaded his nostrils, filling up his chest, everything around them went bright white with pain, then finally hazy and dark.

---

And then...he was waking up. Something was touching his mouth, pressing against it, and there wasn’t a good opportunity to really know what it was before what felt like a pint of water shot up his nose and mouth.

He opened his eyes though, and...Garou. He was hovering over him. It was lighter around them, shimmering like the inside of an aquarium. His eyes were gold. How would he ever have guessed?

Sitting up to cough, he said, “You saved me…”

“Technically I drowned you first, but...sure. Also, I think these belong to you.” Garou handed Mumen his glasses, and he breathed a sigh of relief. When he put them back on, Garou smiled a little, his eyes no longer as severe as they were in the surf, and Mumen had a chance to look around.

They were in a cave, now, like an underground shore. The ground was a mosaic of turquoise and sapphire stones, and the sand was the softest Mumen had ever felt. “Where are we?”

“Under the cove. I had to swim pretty far down to get to the cave. I'm glad you just breathed in a mouthful of water and didn't get all weird with the pressure.” He trailed off when he noticed Mumen staring below his waist. “What?”

From about an inch below his belly and down, Garou… wasn't human. He was deep, rich purple and black, slightly opalescent, and where there should have been legs were…

Tentacles. Eight of them. Long and spread out across the ground but powerful, not limp like he had seen octopi at the market when they were left on the ice to stay fresh. In fact, as he watched him there, Garou straightened and sort of sat on top of them.

Suddenly, he remembered the feeling of being held in the water, like something was surrounding his legs and…

“Oh my God.”

“I know, I’m a vision to behold. You may bask in my might.”

Then, Mumen noticed something more immediate to be concerned about. “Oh my God! I’m naked! What did you do with my clothes?!”

Garou made a light ‘tch’ and gestured at a large rock behind them where the clothes were spread across it. “Even I know that if humans sit around in soaked clothing they’ll get sick.” He said it like he was surprised Mumen hadn’t come to this very logical outcome as well.

Doing his best to cover himself, Mumen closed his eyes for a moment to breathe. Why was he taking this so easily? Why wasn’t he more afraid? Why did it seem like Garou wasn’t going to actually hurt him? What was --

“Stop thinking so hard.” Mumen opened his eyes and jerked when he saw Garou right in front of him. “And so loudly. Obviously you need a distraction from your grief, and I am grateful for the way you saved my people. What more do you need?”

“How did you know --” Garou was coming closer, and his tentacles were wrapping lazily around his legs. He didn’t pull away, only breathed a little harder as they moved up a bit, around his calves, leaving neat little round sucker marks behind them.

“We’re bound now. By blood.” He held up the tiny prick on his finger, then pointed at Mumen’s hand. “I could tell that you were truly a hero - well, the little ones told me that too - and it let me talk to you too. Should have maybe mentioned that before the whole trying-to-breathe-water situation.”

Mumen stared up into his gold eyes for a moment, then down at the tentacles. They had stopped just above his knees. “Can I...touch them?”

“No,” Garou said sarcastically, then rolled his eyes. “Of course you can.”

“You’re really sarcastic for a...spirit of the sea or whatever.”

“I’m part human, too. And I watch the humans, listen to them on their boats. You learn a lot when people can just say whatever they want.” One of the tentacles moved up, curling into Mumen’s palm. He wasn’t sure why, but Mumen thought it would be rough or scaly, but it was surprisingly soft, the purple flesh almost plush in a slick way. He immediately thought of putting his hands on rays in touch tanks as a child.

“You’re not gonna, like...lay eggs in me, are you?”

Garou blinked slowly, like this was honestly the most ridiculous question he had ever heard. “That’s not how any of this works.”

Mumen licked his lips. He wasn’t unaffected by the feeling of the soft arms surrounding him so close to his groin, no matter how nervous he still was. “And you’re not going to eat me afterward? Or!” he quickly added, “Feed me to sharks! Or anything else!”

Garou kissed him then, instead. He thought his mouth might taste like ocean water or the shore, but it just mingled with his, warm and wet and hot. He didn’t waste any time adding his tongue in, long and rubbing, touching his teeth, the top of his mouth, everywhere he could get to. Garou pulled him forward and laid him down on the ground.

When Mumen opened his eyes again, it looked like Garou was hovering over him. Mumen went to put his arms around him but quickly found that he couldn’t, his whole body covered with flexing, exploring tentacles. They squeezed his arms, his middle, and around his waist and legs, like he was something to take apart and put back together.

“Take a breath,” Garou laughed softly, his hands cupping his cheeks. “If I wanted to do something to you, I wouldn’t have protected you or brought you back here.”

“I’m not afraid.” It was only a half-lie, because what he meant was that he wasn’t as afraid as he was turned on. One of the tentacles moved to play with his nipple, and Mumen dropped his head back, moaning.

“Hmm, interesting…” The tips of two purple arms moved to flick and toy with his chest, and Mumen squirmed. He felt like some kind of animal caught in a trap, unable to escape, and under any other circumstance that would terrify him. But here? Now?

“Ahh!” Mumen glanced down to see one of the limbs wrap around his cock, rubbing it up and down. “Oh god, oh god…”

“How do humans handle having a tentacle so small and...not dextrous at all?” A tendril flicked under the curve of his head, and Mumen could swear he saw stars. When Garou licked his face, Mumen realized then how warm his cheeks had grown. “It’s just hard and-- oh!”

He came suddenly, spurting, the strange otherness of having a tentacle being what was squeezing him too arousing to actually hold back. White drops of fluid stood out against the dark of Garou’s lower body, and he smiled, licking his lips. “I can taste it, you know,” he shared, kissing him again, hard and deep, making a vibrating noise through it as he shifted, sitting Mumen up, arms over his head to stretch him.

“Where is your…?”

Garou slipped one of his tentacles past his lips and onto his tongue, sliding it in and out between his front teeth and the top of his throat. Mumen shuddered, letting out a muted, muffled moan against it. “See? I can use mine for many things. Yours, you either use it or…” Mumen sucked hard as Garou once again gave it a squeeze. “You just take what you get, huh?”

“Mmm…”

“I think you like that, though. Well, I kind of know you do.”

Mumen flushed at that. If he had had any idea that Garou taking care of his hand would lead to him having such a firm idea of his proclivities, he might have reconsidered letting him. But this was so good...so good…

Garou delved a bit deeper into his throat, and Mumen tried to relax. He squirmed in his hold, feeling the tentacles tighten and touch all over him, stroking even at places like his armpits, his navel, the small of his back...places Mumen never thought would make him light up with arousal and yet somehow managed to do so.

He nearly choked when a particularly curious tip found the line of nerves running from his hole to his cock. “Aha! That's an interesting spot...you reacted strongly to that…” Garou did it again, slower, dragging the textured flesh across his taint.

“Mm!!” Mumen's chest heaved, eyes watering slightly from the way Garou's cock was pressing now in his throat.

“I didn't realize how tight it would be in there,” Garou murmured, pressing his torso in close, his fingers touching either side of the line of his neck. Mumen could feel his digits around his tentacle cock, curious, interested...and it should have been frightening. It should have made him panic, but…

All he wanted was to make him come. To even them up so maybe - maybe - Garou would be more of a mess like he was.

But the moment he considered that, Garou looked at him, amusement in his gaze. Although his cheeks were rosy, a shudder running through him, he straightened a little. “Do you really want to challenge me in stamina, little human?”

Okay. Mumen could work with someone who took a challenge like that.

Although he did not have the use of his hands to add to it, Mumen set to the task of sucking on Garou with even more vigor. After all, he didn't taste fishy or odd; really it was the texture that was the oddest. Smooth and slightly slippery, the suckers at the end small enough that he could slip his tongue in a circle around them without getting them stuck.

“Mmm...fuck…” Garou's curses sounded alien, like he was trying them out for the first time. Bolder than a child but less confident than someone who had said such words for years. “Mumen…”

“Mmmph…” Tipping his head forward, he let more of Garou in his throat again, having gotten used to it.

“I...I...ah!” Garou came suddenly, and, sure, Mumen hadn't exactly been with many men (mostly having only experimented with his childhood friend Saitama when they went to the same University together) but this was not at all how it was before. Garou came not only forcefully but plentifully and although Mumen swallowed as much as he could, quite a bit of the fluid messily fell down his face and chest.

He coughed, and immediately Garou pulled back, and for a moment, though they remained around him, the tentacles felt more like...a full-bodied hug than the sexual adventure it had been only a moment before. Garou licked up the remaining mess, kissing Mumen again. “You are very, very good at that…” he said in a throaty voice that was more growl than purr.

“Thanks,” Mumen croaked, clearing his throat as much as he could. Then, he watched as Garou lifted his hands and cupped them in front of his face, water magically gathering there. It was the crispest, coolest drink that he had ever had. Or was it because it followed the strangest thing he had ever put in his mouth? He wasn’t sure.

Garou attacked him with his mouth again, a mouth that was human in all the right ways, with soft lips and just-sharp-enough teeth. He bit and pulled at Mumen’s bottom lip, and when Mumen gasped and opened his eyes - they were closed so much of the time, trying to surround himself in the surreal, carnal dance he was taking place in, letting his nerves and flesh do the looking - he saw those slits of gold: a little mischievous, intrigued, and full of lust.

“Fuck me,” Mumen pled. “Please fuck me...Garou…”

“Is that what you want, human? Already?” He panted the words, just far enough from contact with him to reply. Long nails rake down his sides, toy with his ass.

There’s that tentacle again, rubbing, pressing. It’s like he’s riding on it, and then -- “Ah!” He wasn’t sure how he could describe the sensation. It was sort of like a shock? A vibrating shiver? “What...what was that?”

“It’s how I feel where I am through the water. I send it out, it bounces back, I can see what’s even in the darkest depths.”

“E- ahh, echolocation?” Garou did it again, and he could feel it travel all the way up to the tip of him. He struggled a bit in Garou’s arms, but the seawolf seemed more than intent to have his way.

“Whatever you want to call it.” Garou was tonguing his chest in broad strokes, probably to lick up the thin, viscous spunk that had dripped there. “Your body tastes amazing, by the way...gods, I’ve had a lot of humans but…” Garou laughed when Mumen pouted behind his glasses. “I was just kidding!”

“Do you bring many here?” he asked, seriously, then added, not wanting to ruin the moment or make Garou back off. “Because...I couldn’t blame them. You’re beautiful and amazing and...and...I’ve never been with anyone like you.”

Garou seemed amused by his confession more than anything, his hands going down to grab his waist and pull him in, rubbing him against what would have been his crotch. Mumen moaned at the soft flesh against his hard, sensitive cock. “No, no I do not. Most people heed the warnings, you know. Read the signs. Stay away from beasts like me.”

“You’re - mm, right there, yes, please - you’re not a beast. You’re…” Mumen trailed off, because he didn’t actually know what to say, as much as he wanted to say something. So he didn’t say anything; instead, he pulled out of Garou’s limbs, a cacophony of suckers popping following the movement, and initiated his own kiss, wrapping his arms around his neck and climbing more firmly into his lap. “You’re something I like, and that can’t be but so beastly.”

Smiling, Garou held him close, shaking his head as the tentacles that had been on his biceps and wrists took more to his legs, spreading them. “Something you like,” he purred in his ear. “I’ll take that.”

Mumen let out a deep, loud moan as Garou’s still-slick cock slipped into and around his hole. It wasn’t a definitive thrust to enter, but rather a feel, as though it were getting its bearings. It curled around and made that same, intense vibration, and Mumen sank his fingertips into Garou’s shoulders. “Oh God…”

“I like how warm you are inside,” he whispered, and another jolt made him clench. “It’s a challenge making room for myself...don’t worry, I won’t go too far.” He chuckled. “Just enough that you’ll like it.”

“Garou...fuck, Garou…” He nosed under his ear, sucking on the pale flesh there, the muscles. “Please...harder…”

He entered in more, still worming his way in, and just when Mumen thought he would stop, he hit the deepest end of him, nearly making him scream when he sent another wave into it.

“There...that’s what I want.” Garou pulled him back by the hair, devouring his face, sucking on his tongue in a way that made Mumen’s toes curl. When he did the same thrust and shock once more, he tried to bring his legs together with a whine. “Mumen…”

“I...I’m not going to be able to hold out!”

“I think you can.” Every time his canines scraped his chin, Mumen thought he might faint. “I want you to come with me. Don’t you?”

It was embarrassing how he whimpered. “Depends on how long you can go…” He gasped as the tentacles shifted for another angle that Garou pummeled vigorously, making it apparent that whether he said five minutes or five hours really wasn’t going to matter. “I-if I come, will you keep going?” he huffed out with each movement.

“Obviously!” Garou grinned, looking much more wolfish. His hair had started drying more, and it stuck up in two ‘ears.’ God, that was cute. He was so interesting…

Garou kept pumping, and when Mumen came again, it didn’t matter that it technically hadn’t been that long because he milked him with bump after bump on his prostate, twisting and making it throb. His orgasm made it so his whole body shook and jerked, dripping onto the blue stone floor.

He figured maybe that the way he went rigid would urge Garou with him, to join him.

It didn’t.

“Ooh…” Mumen moaned, suddenly so sensitive and aching that he got a little teary-eyed from it. “G-Garou...please…”

“Please?” Garou laughed. “Again?”

It was a bit like blacking out, then, because Garou picked up his pace, so fast and hard that the sounds of it echoed in the cave. The seawolf grabbed him up with his entire body, squeezing him, leaving circular bruises all over as he spilled out again, the hot mess leaking between and down his legs.

Mumen twitched, coming dry, and when it finally eased off like a fire being put out, he was in the water, being touched with such tenderness that he thought he might melt into it, float like seafoam that would fall apart once the moment ended. Garou’s voice was soft in his ear. “Okay?”

He opened up an eye and smirked. “We’re bonded, right? You tell me.”

Garou grinned and tugged him against his chest.

---

After that, there was only one person who could get him to leave the house, the one he moved into the next week.

And it wasn’t any of the neighbors.

#my paperfics #one punch man #mumarou #mumen rider #garou #dirty paper #tentacles

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