#or maybe they die before you meet them so then you're stuck with an ingrained need for someone you've never met and never will. you can't

[bitchthefuck1]

one thing about me is that I'm never not gonna be obsessed with soulmates as a horror concept

[n3verending16]

you were good to me - Oikawa Tooru x Reader

So, this is my first ever fanfic! Aah! Writing this was 100% a daunting experience for me, but I largely enjoyed writing it (posting it tho? *rapidly spams space button to align lyrics with the middle* *posts* *formatting is completely off and i have to do it all over again* *screams*). If you have any constructive criticism/ formatting tips, please comment it or send me a message ʕ •́؈•̀ ₎

Not requested, but certainly inspired by all the other oikawa x reader writer-chans out there (and a good friend of mine, yejin if you're reading this ily smkamsjskamssjk)!

caitlin and cindy ily too uwu

Based off "you were good to me"

All credits belong to their rightful owners

………………………………………………………………………………………

Lying, isn't better than silence

"I don't love you anymore."

Oikawa Tooru could feel the bitter aftertaste of his own words to you that night.

Floating, but I feel like I'm dying

One year later, and he still couldn't break off the chains that anchored him down every time he jumped for the ball in a match. He couldn't fly like he used to, the guilt in his gut pressing him down every time he looked towards the stands and you weren't there, cheering for him as you usually did. It was his choice, his fault. And he regretted it, although he wished he didn't.

Still, no matter where I go

At the end of every road

You had always been there for him before, whenever he felt he wasn't good enough. The gentle caress of your fingers through his hair and your soft eyes peering into his own chocolate irises had helped him get over the loss of the match and focus on getting even better than he was. On particularly harsh days, you sang him to sleep, the dulcet tones and lull of your voice relaxing him as he passed into a gentle slumber.

You were good to me

You were good to me, yeah

You had always been understanding of him whenever he ended his practice sessions late. You never asked for his time, knowing his passion for volleyball burned brighter than anything you'd ever seen before, and you wanted to support him. You hugged and congratulated him with a smile on your face when he won, and you comforted him when he lost, but most importantly, you were always there in his life. A constant he could trust, someone he could rely on, someone he could love. He'd been thankful for it. And yet, when he saw the successful application to the Argentinian Volleyball Team, he was hit with the truth. Oikawa was moving to a country on the other side of the world, and things would've gotten so much harder for the both of you. You deserved someone that was so much more than him, someone who would hold you at night, someone who could go on real dates with you, someone who could, and would, put their own time away for you. As much as it hurt him, he knew for your own good, he had to let you go. So he did it the way he hoped would hurt you the least.

I know it's easier to run

After everything I've done

Cut it off. Keep your emotions away from this. This is what's best for them.

"I'm moving to Argentina, and I think it's time I tell you something..."

"I don't love you anymore. We should end things."

You were good to me

Yeah, you were good to me

He still hears your quiet sobs that night sometimes.

…………………………………………………………………………………………

Leaving, isn't better than trying

You'd spent that night lying on the couch, crying to yourself over your boyfriend who'd just walked out on you. What had you done wrong? Were you still not good enough for him? As soon as you had began to stop, reduced to sniffles, images of his silhouetted back as he walked out the front door and the cold glint in his brown eyes as he said the words that broke your heart flashed through your mind made you start bawling all over again. Had everything that had happened between the two of you been a lie? Had your presence in his life not mattered to him as much as his presence in yours?

Growing, but I'm just growing tired

You would've liked to say you were a different person than you had been one year ago. You would've liked to be spiteful and show Oikawa Tooru, international volleyball star, that you had outgrown being lovesick and was now independent and successful, with people who truly loved you. You would've liked to tell yourself that you were so, so much better off without him. But that was a lie, and you were not one to lie to yourself.

Now I'm worried for my soul

And I'm still scared of growing old

You had, honestly, tried to get over him though. You'd made yourself pass out from drunkenness only to wake up the next morning with a pounding headache and the incident more ingrained into your head. You'd busied yourself with cooking, gaming and knitting, and when that hadn't worked, considered a one-night stand from an overly amiable guy you'd just met at the corner café, after deciding against it when one of the girls standing in front of the window outside sent you two a deathly stare. You'd stacked all of his belongings and tried to burn them, until you realised your shaky hands couldn't start the lighter properly.

Even if you had forgotten him for a while, a dull, grey, reprieve from the emotions in your head, it wouldn't have been for long; the memories were everywhere. There was the book he'd accidentally spilt his bubble tea in when you snuck up behind him. There was the somewhat-lopsided drawer, a result of when it got stuck and he'd tried to force it in anyway, ending up in the sides breaking. There was the red christmas mug you'd gotten for him; only to realise he'd given you the exact same one, but green. The small bin in your room was full of milk bread wrappers. Even the study desk in the corner reminded you of days where he would try to draw something cute for you- you'd laughed and told him he had all the time in the world to improve.

You were good to me

You were good to me, yeah

That had clearly been a lie. And yet, you couldn't bring yourself to believe the words he'd said to you before he left a year ago were the truth. You had been sure that your relationship was pure, built from the ground on trust and a mutual understanding of each other- you'd respect his love for volleyball, he'd respect your desire to work harder in your career. Sure, he didn't sound like he was lying, but he was THE Oikawa Tooru- a man who held his confident and flippant façade up to the spotlights, letting the light shine on him however he pleased. You needed to know the truth, and like a burning question at the back of your mind, it never disappeared- before you contacted Iwaizumi Hajime, his best friend and your former close classmate, who told you "It was about time you knew the truth". You were glad to have heard those words.

After having a long conversation with Haji (most of it was you cussing), you wanted to hug Oikawa and punch him at the same time.

One decision led to another and the next day, you were standing on an airplane one year after the breakup with a plane ticket clutched in your hands, and a ticket to the Argentina vs Spain match folded up neatly in your purse.

"Try to let him off easy, yeah? He hasn't been at his best ever since he left you. I think he still regrets it."

………………………………………………………………………………………

And I'm so used to letting go

But I don't wanna be alone

There's noise in the stadium, filled with the audience's cheers and camera shutters going off, but drowned out by the silence in his own head. Oikawa lines the ball up to serve, watching the other team, analysing their positions. "Where should I hit?" he thinks to himself. This is his chance to take another set against Spain. If he misses this one, they will have lost the match 3-1, and it would've been his fault. He can't let that happen. The whistle blows, the ball goes up, and he's doing his jump-serve again, feeling the chains around his feet ready to snap taut like always.

But then amidst the bright lights, among the screaming crowd, he sees a flash of white and teal. Time seems to stop, and he floats in the air.

Was't that his Aoba Johsai volleyball jacket from high school? The one that he'd left behind at your house?

At first, he dismissed it quickly, thinking it was another die-hard fangirl who had one made or maybe even someone from his old team, because no way in hell could you be here right now watching him play when he'd walked out of your life and caused you so much pain and heartbreak one year ago. But then he saw the black purse, with a delicate pink floral pattern and gold highlights. The one he'd gotten for you on your birthday. He meets your wide eyes, your name is on his lips as he stares at your form.

But time moves again. And he grunts as his palm makes contact with the ball, making it fly into the corner and the other team turns and gapes at where surely there was a dent in the ground from the impact. They'd taken back a set, the score was 2-2. His team cheers wildly around him. The commentators rapidly fire off about the service ace- something he hadn't been able to do for a long time.

He's still staring at you in mid-air, but then he falls, meets the ground, his legs give out from under him and everything blurs.

You were good to me

You were good to me, yeah

You stare, lips parted as he collapses, slightly rising from your seat from worry. Had his knee gotten any better from before? Would he still be okay? Surely everything he'd worked for couldn't just end from a fall... but you realised if it did, it would've been your fault. You were, after all, the one who distracted him. Something punches you in the gut as you watch him get up, and he looks at you, the expression on his face one of pure shock and something you can't quite decipher. He keeps his eyes on yours as they shrug on his national sports jacket and carry him off, and you stare into his milky chocolate irises until the doors close behind him. Then you're pushing yourself through the crowd of seated anxious girls to find him again.

God only knows where our fears go

Hearts I've broke, now my tears flow

Oikawa finds himself in the hallway staring at the azure blue sky outside the window as a flock of birds soars past. The medics fuss over him, lifting his mildly sore leg and checking it once, twice, and he absentmindedly nods at their questions. There's a commotion at the door at the end of the hallway and he hears your muffled, strained voice. "No, please! I need to see him... you don't understand..." Eyes widening, he lifts himself up and hobbles over to the door at the end of the hallway, ignoring the protests of the baffled medics and guards. He puts his hand on the handle of the door and pushes, finding you arguing with a guard on the other side of the door. He hears his name from you, your voice giving him comfort. He smiles, albeit a broken one but still, a genuine smile, before he falls, his knee giving out again.

But this time, you're there to catch him.

You'll see that I'm sorry

Cause you were good to me

You were good to me

You hold Tooru as he sobs onto your shoulder. His tears cascade down his face as he clings to you, and he knows he doesn't deserve this, doesn't deserve you. Why had you tried to find him, after he broke your heart a year ago? You realise you're crying too when your vision blurs and all you can sense is the warmth from his skin on yours, his smell filtering the air around you. You take a deep breath in, honey vanilla with slight mint curling into your nose. People awkwardly stand by as they watch the reunion, mindful of the emotions and rawness in the air but also aware of the need to relieve pressure from his leg a bit. Eventually, someone bites the bullet and Oikawa sits down against the wall with you on his right. "You came here from Japan." Tooru hoarsely whispers. "Why?"

Before you could answer, the door opens and his teammate pops his head in, taking note of the people standing uncomfortably around.

"Hey Tooru, are you gonna be able to play?" he speaks in Spanish. He takes sight of you, a girl he's seen somewhere before, sitting next to his friend, and pauses.

"Wait, isn't that the girl on your wallpaper? I thought you said- never mind." He carefully speaks in broken English.

"Anyways, coach says if you're still fine we can send you in." You blink as Tooru puts his arm around you, a pout evident on his face. "I'm pretty sure I'll be able to play (the medic nods along in agreement), just give me a few moments." he answers. His teammate hesitates, nods, and closes the door. Tooru turns his head and rests his head on your shoulder, his fluffy brown hair tickling your neck. You nearly want to cry at what his teammate just told said. "Oh, Tooru..."

"You still haven't answered the question," he tells you. "Iwa-chan must've told you that I left because you deserved more than someone who couldn't be here for you. I don't deserve you, y/n-chan. You deserve to be happy, and... I'm not the one." He tucks away your air behind your ear. "But now that you're here, I can't help but want to be selfish. I want us to be together. I still want you."

You can't help laughing quietly at him, the little pout forming on his face again. "Oh Tooru... you wanted me to be happy. And you thought leaving me so brashly would achieve that? You forgot one very, very important thing." You lean into his shoulder, and play with his calloused fingers.

And now I'm closing every door

Cause I'm sick of wanting more

"If I'm ever to be truly happy..." You tell him, shifting yourself so you're cupping his soft cheeks and looking into his chocolate eyes. "Then you are, absolutely, essential in my life." His heart leaps, soaring at your words. After all that time, you still...

You tut at the dreamlike, adorable expression on his face. "C'mon, Tooru. Don't cry on me now. You've still got a match to win, don't you?" He breaks himself out of his reverie as you lightly pinch his cheeks, and grins ear to ear as you begin to move back to the stands. "Wait, wait." He shrugs his volleyball jacket off his shoulders and hands it to you. "Wear this over that, I want everyone to know you're still mine." You rolls your eyes at his childish request, "Your fangirls are going to kill me, I swear," but comply nevertheless. He's still smiling as he watches his oversized jacket swish around at your mid-thigh as you walk towards the doors. Anything else could come after the match, but for now, this was good enough for him.

You were good to me

You were good to me, yeah

For the rest of that match, for the first time, Oikawa Tooru flies. They do eventually win, 3-2. He's never felt more ecstatic as he pulls you in happily, kissing all over your face and handing you his Most Valuable Player award as you giggle from his childlike antics. The reporters rapidly take note of everything and theres a collective groan from the gaggle of fangirls somewhere, but it's you and him both in your own little world.

Swear I'm different than before

I won't hurt you anymore

Life goes on. You fly back to Japan, with a promise that he would never shut you out again. Sure, you would've preferred it if he was next to you, but you called and messaged each other so frequently that you found you had little to worry about. In rare spaces of time, he flew back to Japan to meet family and friends before spoiling you on dates, decorating your house ("Hey, we need to retake this photo! I'm even better looking now!") or cuddling on the couch together. Every relationship had its downsides, and long-distance relationships were even more a pain, but you were more than ready to take the troubles on if it meant you could still see his smiling face through the messenger call at 1am in the morning.

And you knew this time, he wouldn't stop you from trying.

Cause you were good to me

[otomates-a]

「 @galaxiasus​ sent, 」 “I don’t want you to think you're a bother to me.” larry to ukyo

               A bother, a burden, a mistake. It runs deeper than that, although he knows it’s something no one except for himself could ever truly understand. Death and uncertainty, anxiety and fear : all of those had become a part of him, so deeply ingrained in who he is, he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to recover the parts of him that were lost before that day in the fire. What is he supposed to think of himself, when the very world he lives in has rejected his existence? If the stars can look upon him and all that he is and tell the construct of fate that he is not meant to exist, let alone find happiness, how could he ever expect another person on this planet to see worth in him that the universe itself has said is not there?

               It hurts, to see such kindness directed towards him. He’d thought that Nhil must have simply looked on him with unfathomable pity when he’d decided that his life was worth rewriting destiny for, but that’s all it was. Pity. For a human who did not want to die, for a light that he’d thought too bright to dull. This is always his first assumption, then, when he sees a hand extended towards him. Larry accepts his invitations without complaint, says that he cares for him, maybe that he even loves him  —  but why? Because it would cause him more suffering if he did otherwise? Out of pity? If his pain was so palpable that it could move Gods to feel sorry for him, why wouldn’t it elicit feelings of sympathy from the people around him? What other cause would there be to stay with him, who undoubtedly would make life so much harder for the one who stayed by his side? No one wants to fall in love with someone who is lost. That’s a fact of life, isn’t it?

               He hadn’t noticed until now, that Larry had reached out to rest his hand on top of his own, still clutching the camera in his grip so tightly that his knuckles had lost color. Somewhere between their quiet walk to his apartment and beginning to flip through scenery photos waiting for the tea to boil, his mood had begun to fall. Doubts were constantly eating at him, disrupting what little confidence he had. He’d asked Larry to come with him because he’d wanted to see him. That’s all it was. He didn’t need his help. He didn’t even have anything important to tell him. He’d just wanted him there, because he cares for him. It’s as simple and as complicated as that. And yet, this late at night, he could die, if he isn’t careful. He could’ve pulled him away from something important. His call could’ve simply been annoying. The thought had never crossed his mind when they’d been out and about, not when he’d only been thinking he wanted to see his face. But now, sitting here together in silence save for the soft whistle of the pot... Sometimes he forgets, how blatantly he wears his heart on his sleeve. 

               “  ...  was I making a face?”  He must’ve let those doubts show through. There a million ways Larry could be spending his time right now, and one of them did not have to be here with him. Sitting in the dark, leaning against each other’s shoulders... so close to the holidays, stuck with barely a person, someone who should not even exist, beside him. Someone who had no right to.  “I’m so sorry...”  He gently sets his camera aside, swallowing hard when he feels the other take hold of his hand fully now that it’s free from being otherwise occupied. When their fingers lace together, he’s not entirely sure which one of them is responsible.  “Is it that easy to tell when I’m thinking like that...?”  It’s meant to be asked in a way that’s humorous, but instead, his voice comes out hoarse and unsure. His cheeks have already begun to tint red, though not from embarrassment. Unsurprisingly, the threat of tears are pricking at his eyes. Perhaps actually shocking, they don’t fall.

               “I was just thinking  ...  there are so many ways you could’ve spent today. Being with me for such a long amount of time is dangerous. The longer we’re together, the more likely it is that...”  You’ll see me die. He doesn’t want to say it, so he doesn’t, instead turning his gaze away.  “And it’s not that interesting, right... just tailing me while I’m working? Aha, I feel a little silly getting you to come with me... It’s just, you know... when I thought about you, I thought I... would be happy to see you. Even if we aren’t really doing anything, I still wanted... to be with you?”  Almost instinctively, he tries to put some distance between them, but Larry’s grip on his hand remains strong  ——  in a way that makes him feel as if he’s slightly tugging him back towards him, rather than just trying to hold him there. It makes him startle a little bit and, by accident, he turns to face him and meets his eyes once he does.

               His entire body goes rigid. The color begins to deepen on his cheeks, this time absolutely a product of embarrassment rather than turmoil. Even as he visibly seems to collapse on himself, he doesn’t look away. He doesn’t know why Larry is here. Why he agreed to come, why he stayed with him even though he was just taking photos, why he was okay spending hours talking and holding hands and not doing much else. He doesn’t think there are many people in this world who would waste an entire day for someone just out of pity.

“I don’t want you to think you're a bother to me.”

               Those words hit him, spoken quietly into the silence between them, and his eyes widen, his grip on the other’s hand tightening as if to relieve some of the shock he feels in that moment. A bother, a burden, a mistake : tt runs deeper than that, but the moment he hears him say those words while looking him straight in the eye, his vision blurs beyond comprehension and he’s forced to shut his eyes against the sting of the tears. As warm trails begin to fall down his cheeks, he feels him squeeze his hand and then suddenly, an wrap is wrapping around his back, pulling him flush against the man’s chest. He doesn’t fight it at all, both of his own arms wrapping around his waist as he immediately presses his face into his shoulder, the subtle sniffs as he bites down on his bottom lip the only indication that he’s actually crying now that his face is hidden.

               “How can I not be?”  he murmurs, his voice soft and surprisingly unbroken, though the feeling of fingers now tangling in his hair almost makes it crack. His braid is quickly coming undone  ——  or maybe Larry is purposefully trying to work it out of its plaits, not that he particularly minds either way. It’s soothing, to be held this close to someone, to be the center of their attention like this. Some part of him screams how selfish it is to think that way, but largely, he doesn’t care. The more seconds he lays on top of him like that, the more he starts to relax, until he’s so lost in the feeling of his chest rising and falling beneath him that he doesn’t even hear the final, loud whistle signaling the water is ready off in the kitchen.

               Shifting, he keeps himself tangled in his limbs, but turns his head so that he can look up at his face, cheek now pressed to his shoulder.  “All of the trouble I put you through  ...  even if you don’t hate being with me  ...  why would you ever be happy, to love someone who doesn’t exist?”  His biggest fear, above all else, will always be to burden another’s life. His own suffering, he can handle, no matter how he wishes he could save himself from his own fate. But to cause problems for someone, especially someone whom he loves dearly...  “I’m sorry that I love you,”  he speaks with a self deprecating laugh, barely a whisper and completely hollow, but full of such raw emotion at the same time. He’s conflicted, unsure of what to do. If he really felt that way, he never should’ve pursued this in the first place, nor should he encourage it. And yet he couldn’t stop. He wants to be real. He wants to fall in love and experience passion and make someone else’s heartbeat quicken when they look at him. He doesn’t want to die.  “No  ...  I’m sorry that you have feelings for me  ...  of all people.”

               He wants to say that if he could change things, to make it easier, to say that they never met, anything  ...  he would do it. But that isn’t true. He knows he wouldn’t and he likes to believe that Larry would probably know that, too. He hates himself for not being strong enough to walk away  ...  but he just wants to be happy. That’s all he wants.

               He catches him looking down at him and a small, hesitant, shy smile forms on his lips, because as turbulent as his emotions are, he can’t stop himself from still letting his feelings show through. They’re constantly shifting, with him never able to hold any of it back... but maybe that’s for the best. He thinks, whether he’s supposed to exist or not, whether he’s real or not, to live a cold existence would hurt much more than being as open as he possibly can be. Despite everything, the two of them together, at least, is real. Untangling one of his arms from his waist, he reaches up to push messy strands of long brown hair behind the other’s ear, the soft, beckoning way he regards him in direct contrast with his still-wet eyes.  “You’re staring... A...are you going to kiss me?”  He knows Larry is already leaning in before he even finishes asking.