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flat earther — Oikawa Tooru

cried like a baby (coming home from the bar) — Sakusa Kiyoomi

loving you — Miya Atsumu

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© 2026 All Rights Reserved. All works belong to @amorinn; do not plagiarize, repost, and/or translate my work onto any other platform without permission. Characters do not belong to me unless otherwise stated. Blog theme inspired by Spotify.

[amorinn]

Question how do we feel about poly yumeships

[amorinn]

— favorite conspiracy

"I remember, I believed you were something more than mortal, and you were in love with me"

💿 Flat Earther, Maisie Peters

a/n: surprise!! after a two year hiatus, of course my return had to be my favorite character and genre. thank you to @ae-de and @chlosology for beta reading this for me ♡

♫ angst, oikawa x gn!reader, wc: 1.1k

"What's your favorite conspiracy?"

A soft giggle bubbles through your lips and you glance up at him. You're on his bed together, propped up against pillows just enough to comfortably view the TV. His arm keeps you pressed up against his side, hand lazily making circles on your bare skin, sending shivers up your spine. Neither of you have made a move to choose what to watch, too comfortable in the silence now broken by his silly question.

"I don't think I have one."

He hums at your response, head nodding softly as he thinks. You stare, admiring the way the last rays of sunset catch in his eyes, the only time of day that can make the dark flecks in them really stand out. You giggle again at the level of seriousness he's dedicating to this one silly question, and he finally glances back at you.

"What?" the corners of his eyes crinkle as he smiles back at you playfully. "Mine's aliens."

"Aliens?" you raise an eyebrow. "Like, that they're real or not real?"

"They're real,” he responds quickly, then leans in to kiss your temple.

Oikawa Tooru loves you in a way that makes you forget about everything else.

He's the voice that chases away the anxious thoughts clouding your mind, the soft cotton of his shirt like a salve against your skin after a long day. Sticky hands in summer and numb fingers in winter, intertwined nonetheless like a lock, his lips against yours an unspoken promise that he will always be your Oikawa Tooru.

“My favorite conspiracy is…”

You blame the airplane for taking him from you.

The sky is a brilliant blue when he leaves, the same color he now represents, and it helps you feel a bit less lonely, but bitterness still chokes you up as you watch his disappearing back, and you wish you had it in you to beg him to stay.

You blame his team and the food and the sun that keeps him trapped oceans from you. You hate how even when he comes home, Argentina doesn't let him go. He makes you his but you cannot make him yours, nails digging into his sunburnt back as the bed rocks dangerously back and forth, staring up at freckles that didn't used to be there. He asks why you stare, smiling obliviously at the way you despair at his beauty; a beauty that you can feel is slowly slipping further from your grasp, yet you can't do anything but smile back.

“It's just for one year,” he had promised you. And then it was two, but now you're going on three, and you wonder if you're a fool for believing there will ever be an end to his promises.

He's more myth than man and you're his faithful believer, chanting his name like a prayer through the phone, in his bed, to anyone who stops to listen. But it's tiring, worshipping a man who exists more in memory than by your side, and as the months stack up and your youth passes by, the devastating truth settles in your bones that he's never going to come. The sky is not blue for Argentina's Oikawa Tooru, and you cannot keep searching for signs of him everywhere you go.

There's no warning from the universe when it happens.

He's home for vacation, the setting sun washing the whole street gold and bringing out those beloved flecks in his eyes. Just moments ago, you had been chattering while on a lovely stroll around your neighborhood, not really paying attention to your surroundings. You're almost in front of your home when it happens, a subtle act on his part that makes your stomach churn. It's numbing, the way his presence a few feet from you somehow feels further than when he's halfway across the world as you stare dumbfounded down at the hand he's just dropped.

It only takes him a couple seconds to notice you're not next to him, eyebrows furrowing in confusion as he turns to look at you. “What's up?” he asks, and you realize you can't hold it back anymore.

“You split the pole,” you whisper dumbly.

“What?” He steps forward to take your hand again, but you flinch away.

“When are you coming back to stay?” The forbidden question tumbles from your lips in a helpless whisper. His arm falls limply to his side, and you hesitate to look at him, still daring to hope that he won't say what you've suspected for a while now.

He's shocked, and your insides twist and turn as you watch the series of emotions that flits by his face like a shadow. The confusion, the panic, the guilt. It's a moment you both share in the breath before he speaks, when you both realize what the other has been holding in, and that there would be no coming back from this. No more lying to yourselves or each other.

It terrifies you, and you almost beg him to forget what you just said.

“I'm not,” he murmurs and he looks away, like he's ashamed, like he's sorry, like he can't bear to face you anymore.

It's all over after that; body heaving as you break down entirely, the echo of his words drowning out anything he says after. You feel his warm hands around your shoulders guiding you into your yard, but you're too wrapped up in the pain to care whether anyone saw you or not.

“Why?”

“You know why,” he says quietly. “I don't have any place here anymore.”

“What about me?” you sob, eyes flitting up to meet his gaze. There's deep sorrow etched in his eyes, but it's not fair how steady they still seem even as you fall apart before him. “Is being by my side not your place?”

“y/n, please,” he pleads, shaking his head, desperation creeping into his voice. Please don't do this. Please don't say that.

“Please,” you repeat, ears ringing. “Are we not in love?”

A silence stretches for what feels like an eternity and despair crashes over you as he stares at you guiltily.

“I love you,” he finally whispers, but the tears in his eyes don't mean anything anymore. You search his eyes for a glimmer, a reflection of the spark that you thought you once had, but the only thing that haunts them is defeat and heartbreaking truth.

“I'm sorry.”

Oikawa Tooru loves you in a way that makes you wish he had never loved you at all, and that you would always be his home was nothing short of your favorite conspiracy.

© 2026 All Rights Reserved. All works belong to @/amorinn; do not plagiarize, repost, and/or translate my work onto any other platform. Characters do not belong to me unless otherwise stated.

join the taglist ♡

[seishiroes]

hello!! theres this thought pissing off shoyo and him making you sit on his cock for awhile and not letting you have any relieve but then if you push the button right he will give up and start to pamper you with praises and ofc amazing droolingly good making lov eheh🤤 if youre not uncomfy with ths feel free to not answer this, hope you have a good day!! also love love love your osamu fic !!

brazil timeskip!shoyo reallllly needs to lock in and watch a match to learn the strategy, but his pretty girl’s a bit too needy to keep her waiting…

minors dni, basically cockwarming for a bit with no release (can’t move til his game is over), oral f!receiving, missionary, creampie, praise (cute names)

a/n: thank you so much beloved nonnie…this is hot and also i’m so happy you liked the osamu fic because it was my first time writing like that. i hope this sort of does it justice :3

hinata shoyo had locked in on his volleyball strategy since he’d made it to brazil. the tropical weather, the beaches, and all the strategy he’d been learning to better his craft was just a portion of his day. the rest of his day consisted of two things.

a) spending time with his favorite person in the world, exploring and satisfying you however you needed

b) watching the matches of his highschool teammates, and other experienced professionals to ensure when he made it back to japan, he’d be unstoppable.

both of those priorities collided on your couch tonight, your plush lips pulled between your teeth as you straddled shoyo’s lap. you gently shifted your hips against him, watching his hands tense at his sides as he tried to look beyond you at the tv.

“shoyo” you mumbled into his ear, shifting your hips just enough to feel him shudder beneath you. “i know you have to watch….but what about me?”

“after the game, i promise.” he said, firm and calloused hands moving to steady your waist. “we can do anything you want after.

his eyes were trained on the plays in front of you, his mouth falling open when one of the players landed a cross court shot so nasty, even the commentator screamed.

he looked so good right now. his red hair was tousled and lightened from the brazil sun, his skin tanned and bronzed from time spent outside. you wanted to taste the salt on his skin.

you wanted him so bad.

you pressed against the bulge in his shorts almost involuntarily at that point.

he winced, hands shaking before his eyes snapped, determined, onto yours.

“that impatient, huh? he nearly laughed, shifting you off of his lap. “fine. we’ll do this halfway.”

before you could even ask what that meant, he moved to tug down the waistband of his shorts, hard cock springing free. your eyes widened as he dragged you in again, mouth dragging down your neck while his hands tugged at the shorts you were wearing.

“shoyo?” you asked, half whimper and half question, feeling him position you in his lap right over him. “shoyo what—“

you gasped as he slid you down onto him, bottoming out with a gentle groan of his own. you felt so full, the shock and the desire coursing through your system in equal measure.

“good,” he gritted out. “now stay still.”

“what?” you whimpered, every slight shift of him to see or breath sending you clenching around him. “shoyo please.”

“you’re doing so good already,” he said, grinning at a clean set. “wow. they’ve gotten a lot better.”

you nodded, doing your best to be fair. shoyo loved volleyball, loved it enough to move and learn from different places in the world. you had to at least try.

but fuck, it was hard. you shifted your hips against him just a bit, stifling the gasps rising in your throat at the friction. it was just a bit, not even close to enough, but it made your head spin.

right in the last few minutes of the game, he shifted enough to hit a spot that had you gasping, your fingers anchoring onto his shoulder.

“shoyo please,” you whimpered into his ear, feeling yourself clench around him, “i can’t anymore.”

he inhaled sharply, hands scrambling for the remote to shut off the TV before his lips, soft and plush met your own. he pulled you flush against him, thrusting up into you shallowly enough for moans to spill out of your mouth.

“so good for me,” he mumbled against your lips, hips angling to hit a spot that had you whining. “you were so patient. thank you baby.”

“shoyo,” was all you could even manage, feeling him flip you so your back was against the cushions. slowly he rolled his hips into yours, wrapping your thighs around his waist.

“fuck,” he groaned. “i have to taste you.”

“what?” you asked, missing the warmth of him filling you when he pulled out. “but—“

“you can have all of me, i promise.” he said, lips hot against your neck. his hands gently went to your chest, warm and gentle as he dropped down to your sternum, leaving hot open mouthed kisses against your skin.

he sucked gently at your thighs, mouth hot and insistent the higher he went. he scraped the skin of your sensitive inner thigh with his teeth just enough to have you bucking your hips, his smirk warm against your skin.

shoyo lapped at you like a man starved, mouth slow and insistent, rolling your clit and sucking so hard you think you ascended. he moaned sloppily into your folds, each whimper of his name leading to a fierce vibration through you. he pressed himself against the couch for any release, moaning into you as you fell apart over his tongue.

you gasped, trying to catch your breath before shoyo slid between your thighs, cock twitching at your warmth. he thrust in slowly, feeling your velvet walls suck him and groaned into your ears.

“you deserve everything,” he said, hands interlacing with your own. “you support my dreams. you’re always there for me. you even waited for me today. i love you.”

he snapped his hips into yours more insistently, swallowing your moans with his mouth. you arched towards him, his fingers coming down to play with your clit.

“i love you,” he nearly whined. “i lo— fuck — i love you.”

“shoyo,” you whimpered, another roll of your clit between his fingers sending a wave of sharp pleasure through you. “i’m so close.”

“come baby,” he groaned, snapping even harder. “come all over me. you’re so good for me. so sweet. so perfect. come.”

you had no time to prepare before a sharp moan of his name escaped your lips, your vision blurring as your hips arched towards him. your thighs shook in his hands, fingers clutching his even tighter as you clenched around him.

he thrusted twice more before moaning your name, spilling into you warmly.

you felt him twitch as you finally came down, wiping the hair from his face.

“hi” you smiled.

“hi,” he grinned.

© seishiroes — do not copy, translate, repost, or feed my works into AI

[seishiroes]

Heyyyyyy q here

Omg lovemaking with osamu or semi right. It’s y’all’s first time together and he’s so gentle and tender w you until you get him to snap. Bonus points if he teases you🤤🤤🤤

my beloved q, you are so so so right...now imagine this

minors DNI, reader first time, oral f!receiving, like two second handjob, p in v, missionary, creampie

a/n: my first time writing something like this, i will try to learn and grow but i hope you osamu lovers enjoy

osamu miya is the more sensible twin…most of the time. when he’s not arguing with atsumu, everything he does is measured. methodical. he knows just how much rice to put into an onigiri to make it delicious, and he knows just how much to fluster you to turn you into a mess.

osamu hovers on top of you, the solid expanse of his chest hot to the touch. his calloused fingers skim down your shoulders, as if to worship the softness of your skin. "yer first time?" he mumbles gently, kissing the shell of your ear with a reverence you didn't know was possible. "i promise i'll make this good for ya.' yer safe with me." the best thing you can do is nod as he moves to gently move the strap of your bra aside, his lips trailing the sensitive skin of your shoulders. he trails his lips slowly, oh so slowly up to your neck, brushing your pulse enough to make you shiver. his free hand moved to your thigh, rubbing circles into the soft skin. you'd done nothing and you were already shaking.

"i wanna try somethin' you might like," osamu smirked against your skin, finger coming up to touch your chest over the lace. "can i?" "yes," you shiver out. osamu's hands move gently to the waistband of your shorts, waiting for your nod before tugging them down. he nearly groans at the sight of your panties, already soaked without him touching you. he intended to give you a night to remember. osamu left open mouthed kisses, hot and slow against your stomach, tracing a heart onto your thigh with his tongue and sucking at the soft skin. he could feel your legs shake around him, feeling your hands knot gently in his hair. "samu," you whispered almost breathlessly, "what are you—?" "trust me," he smiled, tugging down your underwear and throwing it across the room. you were entirely bare now, face heating up over how exposed you were. osamu however, knew he was in paradise. his kisses slowly inched up your thighs, closer and closer until— the first lick of his tongue was nothing short of heavenly. you shuddered out a gasp of his name, fingers tangling into his hair as he dragged you closer to his mouth by the hips. you trembled, hips arching into the warmth of his mouth, which was at this moment, treating you like a five star dessert. "samu," you shuddered out, gasping again and letting out moans that were beyond anything you'd ever been able to do to yourself. the pleasure was practically endless, your vision blurring and the knot in your core tightening and tightening until you practically melted all over his tongue. osamu smirked against your thigh, licking a gentle stripe before coming up to kiss you again. you could taste yourself on his lips and couldn't even care less. you wanted more of it. more of him. "god, yer so pretty when you cum? ya' know that?" he whispers, his breath raspier. "how do ya' expect me to last when you sound like that?" "samu," you say, looking into his beautiful eyes, dark with lust at the moment. "samu i want you inside." his brows rose, preparing to protest before you gently skimmed the waistband of his boxers, moving to tug them off. every part of osamu miya was perfect. you reached for him gently, stroking him with a feather-light touch that had him pressing into your palm, his breath shuddering as you gently moved your hand up and down the shaft. "god," he cursed, gritting his teeth, "baby i can't." you smiled, moving to tug him into a kiss. his tongue swiped across the seam of your lips, finding yours while he gently spread your thighs apart. his fingers traced gently at your inner thighs, your legs trembling against his palms before he finally moved between them. "i'll go slow," he mumbled against your lips, a hand moving to interlace with yours. "tell me if anythin' hurts at all. okay? i promise i'll try to be gentle." "i'll tell you," you exhale, feeling the gentle stretch of him as he slid in. you've never felt this before, never felt so loved while osamu's hands tightened against yours. "fuck." he groaned. "fuck you're so tight." he seated himself a little deeper, kissing your forehead when you winced. "are you okay?" he asked. you nodded. "you can move."

he did, gently moving deeper and stopping until he was finally buried up to the hilt. you'd never felt this full before — nothing your fingers or vibrator could ever do would ever compare to this. samu's eyes were shut, his breaths shaky. "god yer just suckin' me in." he nearly whimpered, "i'll go when yer ready." "you can move," you mumble, looking up into his eyes. "i love you." "i love ya' so much," he said, pulling out his hips and thrusting into you and oh—oh god— you finally understood why people were so obsessed with this. the pleasure sparked hot and insistent in your core, and samu seemed more wrecked than you'd ever seen him. he shivered as he thrust back in, your gentle gasp sending a moan of his own into your ear. "yer so...." he gasped out, drawing back his hips to plunge into you again. "fuck, you feel so good." "samu," you whimpered, arching your hips up to meet him. each drag of him against your walls had pleasure sparking behind your eyes. "please. more. more." "don't say that," he gritted out, "don't say that." his hips snapped into yours harder, a moan bursting from your lips. samu's eyes widened, his fingers tightening ever so slightly against your interlaced fingers. "fuck," he cursed, snapping into you harder yet again, only to hear a broken sigh of his name tumble from your lips. "fuck. i love ya'. i love ya' so much."

the sweet osamu miya of your dreams was suddenly replaced by a man who wanted nothing more than to make you cry out his name. he drove into you in steady thrusts, hands reaching to your clit to rub gentle circles while his mouth sucked eagerly at your neck. he tilted your hips upward enough to thrust at a part of you you didn't even know exist, groaning when you moaned his name desperately. you could feel yourself approaching the edge, clenching around him tight enough for his hips to stutter against your own. "samu," you whimpered, "samu i'm so close." "come with me," he groaned, "yer so good for me. so perfect. yer' all mine. come." you could feel yourself slipping, each thrust bringing you closer and closer until you felt yourself yelp his name. you'd never felt a release like this before, clenching down around him while he groaned into you, spilling warm and hot into your walls. you whimpered at the feel of him, his grip tight around your waist. you both shuddered, giggling when you both came down. "how was that?" he smiled, kissing your forehead. "yer a drug. i don't know how i'm going to resist ya'," "perfect," you smiled. "so what is that thing... aftercare?" osamu shook his head amusedly. "we can take a shower, and then i make ya' food. how does that sound?” "just right," you smile, giggling when osamu leans down to kiss your nose.

© seishiroes — do not copy, translate, repost, or feed my works into AI

[amorinn]

— favorite conspiracy

"I remember, I believed you were something more than mortal, and you were in love with me"

💿 Flat Earther, Maisie Peters

a/n: surprise!! after a two year hiatus, of course my return had to be my favorite character and genre. thank you to @ae-de and @chlosology for beta reading this for me ♡

♫ angst, oikawa x gn!reader, wc: 1.1k

"What's your favorite conspiracy?"

A soft giggle bubbles through your lips and you glance up at him. You're on his bed together, propped up against pillows just enough to comfortably view the TV. His arm keeps you pressed up against his side, hand lazily making circles on your bare skin, sending shivers up your spine. Neither of you have made a move to choose what to watch, too comfortable in the silence now broken by his silly question.

"I don't think I have one."

He hums at your response, head nodding softly as he thinks. You stare, admiring the way the last rays of sunset catch in his eyes, the only time of day that can make the dark flecks in them really stand out. You giggle again at the level of seriousness he's dedicating to this one silly question, and he finally glances back at you.

"What?" the corners of his eyes crinkle as he smiles back at you playfully. "Mine's aliens."

"Aliens?" you raise an eyebrow. "Like, that they're real or not real?"

"They're real,” he responds quickly, then leans in to kiss your temple.

Oikawa Tooru loves you in a way that makes you forget about everything else.

He's the voice that chases away the anxious thoughts clouding your mind, the soft cotton of his shirt like a salve against your skin after a long day. Sticky hands in summer and numb fingers in winter, intertwined nonetheless like a lock, his lips against yours an unspoken promise that he will always be your Oikawa Tooru.

“My favorite conspiracy is…”

You blame the airplane for taking him from you.

The sky is a brilliant blue when he leaves, the same color he now represents, and it helps you feel a bit less lonely, but bitterness still chokes you up as you watch his disappearing back, and you wish you had it in you to beg him to stay.

You blame his team and the food and the sun that keeps him trapped oceans from you. You hate how even when he comes home, Argentina doesn't let him go. He makes you his but you cannot make him yours, nails digging into his sunburnt back as the bed rocks dangerously back and forth, staring up at freckles that didn't used to be there. He asks why you stare, smiling obliviously at the way you despair at his beauty; a beauty that you can feel is slowly slipping further from your grasp, yet you can't do anything but smile back.

“It's just for one year,” he had promised you. And then it was two, but now you're going on three, and you wonder if you're a fool for believing there will ever be an end to his promises.

He's more myth than man and you're his faithful believer, chanting his name like a prayer through the phone, in his bed, to anyone who stops to listen. But it's tiring, worshipping a man who exists more in memory than by your side, and as the months stack up and your youth passes by, the devastating truth settles in your bones that he's never going to come. The sky is not blue for Argentina's Oikawa Tooru, and you cannot keep searching for signs of him everywhere you go.

There's no warning from the universe when it happens.

He's home for vacation, the setting sun washing the whole street gold and bringing out those beloved flecks in his eyes. Just moments ago, you had been chattering while on a lovely stroll around your neighborhood, not really paying attention to your surroundings. You're almost in front of your home when it happens, a subtle act on his part that makes your stomach churn. It's numbing, the way his presence a few feet from you somehow feels further than when he's halfway across the world as you stare dumbfounded down at the hand he's just dropped.

It only takes him a couple seconds to notice you're not next to him, eyebrows furrowing in confusion as he turns to look at you. “What's up?” he asks, and you realize you can't hold it back anymore.

“You split the pole,” you whisper dumbly.

“What?” He steps forward to take your hand again, but you flinch away.

“When are you coming back to stay?” The forbidden question tumbles from your lips in a helpless whisper. His arm falls limply to his side, and you hesitate to look at him, still daring to hope that he won't say what you've suspected for a while now.

He's shocked, and your insides twist and turn as you watch the series of emotions that flits by his face like a shadow. The confusion, the panic, the guilt. It's a moment you both share in the breath before he speaks, when you both realize what the other has been holding in, and that there would be no coming back from this. No more lying to yourselves or each other.

It terrifies you, and you almost beg him to forget what you just said.

“I'm not,” he murmurs and he looks away, like he's ashamed, like he's sorry, like he can't bear to face you anymore.

It's all over after that; body heaving as you break down entirely, the echo of his words drowning out anything he says after. You feel his warm hands around your shoulders guiding you into your yard, but you're too wrapped up in the pain to care whether anyone saw you or not.

“Why?”

“You know why,” he says quietly. “I don't have any place here anymore.”

“What about me?” you sob, eyes flitting up to meet his gaze. There's deep sorrow etched in his eyes, but it's not fair how steady they still seem even as you fall apart before him. “Is being by my side not your place?”

“y/n, please,” he pleads, shaking his head, desperation creeping into his voice. Please don't do this. Please don't say that.

“Please,” you repeat, ears ringing. “Are we not in love?”

A silence stretches for what feels like an eternity and despair crashes over you as he stares at you guiltily.

“I love you,” he finally whispers, but the tears in his eyes don't mean anything anymore. You search his eyes for a glimmer, a reflection of the spark that you thought you once had, but the only thing that haunts them is defeat and heartbreaking truth.

“I'm sorry.”

Oikawa Tooru loves you in a way that makes you wish he had never loved you at all, and that you would always be his home was nothing short of your favorite conspiracy.

© 2026 All Rights Reserved. All works belong to @/amorinn; do not plagiarize, repost, and/or translate my work onto any other platform. Characters do not belong to me unless otherwise stated.

join the taglist ♡

[amorinn]

— favorite conspiracy

"I remember, I believed you were something more than mortal, and you were in love with me"

💿 Flat Earther, Maisie Peters

a/n: surprise!! after a two year hiatus, of course my return had to be my favorite character and genre. thank you to @ae-de and @chlosology for beta reading this for me ♡

♫ angst, oikawa x gn!reader, wc: 1.1k

"What's your favorite conspiracy?"

A soft giggle bubbles through your lips and you glance up at him. You're on his bed together, propped up against pillows just enough to comfortably view the TV. His arm keeps you pressed up against his side, hand lazily making circles on your bare skin, sending shivers up your spine. Neither of you have made a move to choose what to watch, too comfortable in the silence now broken by his silly question.

"I don't think I have one."

He hums at your response, head nodding softly as he thinks. You stare, admiring the way the last rays of sunset catch in his eyes, the only time of day that can make the dark flecks in them really stand out. You giggle again at the level of seriousness he's dedicating to this one silly question, and he finally glances back at you.

"What?" the corners of his eyes crinkle as he smiles back at you playfully. "Mine's aliens."

"Aliens?" you raise an eyebrow. "Like, that they're real or not real?"

"They're real,” he responds quickly, then leans in to kiss your temple.

Oikawa Tooru loves you in a way that makes you forget about everything else.

He's the voice that chases away the anxious thoughts clouding your mind, the soft cotton of his shirt like a salve against your skin after a long day. Sticky hands in summer and numb fingers in winter, intertwined nonetheless like a lock, his lips against yours an unspoken promise that he will always be your Oikawa Tooru.

“My favorite conspiracy is…”

You blame the airplane for taking him from you.

The sky is a brilliant blue when he leaves, the same color he now represents, and it helps you feel a bit less lonely, but bitterness still chokes you up as you watch his disappearing back, and you wish you had it in you to beg him to stay.

You blame his team and the food and the sun that keeps him trapped oceans from you. You hate how even when he comes home, Argentina doesn't let him go. He makes you his but you cannot make him yours, nails digging into his sunburnt back as the bed rocks dangerously back and forth, staring up at freckles that didn't used to be there. He asks why you stare, smiling obliviously at the way you despair at his beauty; a beauty that you can feel is slowly slipping further from your grasp, yet you can't do anything but smile back.

“It's just for one year,” he had promised you. And then it was two, but now you're going on three, and you wonder if you're a fool for believing there will ever be an end to his promises.

He's more myth than man and you're his faithful believer, chanting his name like a prayer through the phone, in his bed, to anyone who stops to listen. But it's tiring, worshipping a man who exists more in memory than by your side, and as the months stack up and your youth passes by, the devastating truth settles in your bones that he's never going to come. The sky is not blue for Argentina's Oikawa Tooru, and you cannot keep searching for signs of him everywhere you go.

There's no warning from the universe when it happens.

He's home for vacation, the setting sun washing the whole street gold and bringing out those beloved flecks in his eyes. Just moments ago, you had been chattering while on a lovely stroll around your neighborhood, not really paying attention to your surroundings. You're almost in front of your home when it happens, a subtle act on his part that makes your stomach churn. It's numbing, the way his presence a few feet from you somehow feels further than when he's halfway across the world as you stare dumbfounded down at the hand he's just dropped.

It only takes him a couple seconds to notice you're not next to him, eyebrows furrowing in confusion as he turns to look at you. “What's up?” he asks, and you realize you can't hold it back anymore.

“You split the pole,” you whisper dumbly.

“What?” He steps forward to take your hand again, but you flinch away.

“When are you coming back to stay?” The forbidden question tumbles from your lips in a helpless whisper. His arm falls limply to his side, and you hesitate to look at him, still daring to hope that he won't say what you've suspected for a while now.

He's shocked, and your insides twist and turn as you watch the series of emotions that flits by his face like a shadow. The confusion, the panic, the guilt. It's a moment you both share in the breath before he speaks, when you both realize what the other has been holding in, and that there would be no coming back from this. No more lying to yourselves or each other.

It terrifies you, and you almost beg him to forget what you just said.

“I'm not,” he murmurs and he looks away, like he's ashamed, like he's sorry, like he can't bear to face you anymore.

It's all over after that; body heaving as you break down entirely, the echo of his words drowning out anything he says after. You feel his warm hands around your shoulders guiding you into your yard, but you're too wrapped up in the pain to care whether anyone saw you or not.

“Why?”

“You know why,” he says quietly. “I don't have any place here anymore.”

“What about me?” you sob, eyes flitting up to meet his gaze. There's deep sorrow etched in his eyes, but it's not fair how steady they still seem even as you fall apart before him. “Is being by my side not your place?”

“y/n, please,” he pleads, shaking his head, desperation creeping into his voice. Please don't do this. Please don't say that.

“Please,” you repeat, ears ringing. “Are we not in love?”

A silence stretches for what feels like an eternity and despair crashes over you as he stares at you guiltily.

“I love you,” he finally whispers, but the tears in his eyes don't mean anything anymore. You search his eyes for a glimmer, a reflection of the spark that you thought you once had, but the only thing that haunts them is defeat and heartbreaking truth.

“I'm sorry.”

Oikawa Tooru loves you in a way that makes you wish he had never loved you at all, and that you would always be his home was nothing short of your favorite conspiracy.

© 2026 All Rights Reserved. All works belong to @/amorinn; do not plagiarize, repost, and/or translate my work onto any other platform. Characters do not belong to me unless otherwise stated.

join the taglist ♡

[amorinn]

Thinking about the one kagehina au I had a long time ago where Hinata dies and it's just Kageyama dealing with the grief

[amorinn]

— favorite conspiracy

"I remember, I believed you were something more than mortal, and you were in love with me"

💿 Flat Earther, Maisie Peters

a/n: surprise!! after a two year hiatus, of course my return had to be my favorite character and genre. thank you to @ae-de and @chlosology for beta reading this for me ♡

♫ angst, oikawa x gn!reader, wc: 1.1k

"What's your favorite conspiracy?"

A soft giggle bubbles through your lips and you glance up at him. You're on his bed together, propped up against pillows just enough to comfortably view the TV. His arm keeps you pressed up against his side, hand lazily making circles on your bare skin, sending shivers up your spine. Neither of you have made a move to choose what to watch, too comfortable in the silence now broken by his silly question.

"I don't think I have one."

He hums at your response, head nodding softly as he thinks. You stare, admiring the way the last rays of sunset catch in his eyes, the only time of day that can make the dark flecks in them really stand out. You giggle again at the level of seriousness he's dedicating to this one silly question, and he finally glances back at you.

"What?" the corners of his eyes crinkle as he smiles back at you playfully. "Mine's aliens."

"Aliens?" you raise an eyebrow. "Like, that they're real or not real?"

"They're real,” he responds quickly, then leans in to kiss your temple.

Oikawa Tooru loves you in a way that makes you forget about everything else.

He's the voice that chases away the anxious thoughts clouding your mind, the soft cotton of his shirt like a salve against your skin after a long day. Sticky hands in summer and numb fingers in winter, intertwined nonetheless like a lock, his lips against yours an unspoken promise that he will always be your Oikawa Tooru.

“My favorite conspiracy is…”

You blame the airplane for taking him from you.

The sky is a brilliant blue when he leaves, the same color he now represents, and it helps you feel a bit less lonely, but bitterness still chokes you up as you watch his disappearing back, and you wish you had it in you to beg him to stay.

You blame his team and the food and the sun that keeps him trapped oceans from you. You hate how even when he comes home, Argentina doesn't let him go. He makes you his but you cannot make him yours, nails digging into his sunburnt back as the bed rocks dangerously back and forth, staring up at freckles that didn't used to be there. He asks why you stare, smiling obliviously at the way you despair at his beauty; a beauty that you can feel is slowly slipping further from your grasp, yet you can't do anything but smile back.

“It's just for one year,” he had promised you. And then it was two, but now you're going on three, and you wonder if you're a fool for believing there will ever be an end to his promises.

He's more myth than man and you're his faithful believer, chanting his name like a prayer through the phone, in his bed, to anyone who stops to listen. But it's tiring, worshipping a man who exists more in memory than by your side, and as the months stack up and your youth passes by, the devastating truth settles in your bones that he's never going to come. The sky is not blue for Argentina's Oikawa Tooru, and you cannot keep searching for signs of him everywhere you go.

There's no warning from the universe when it happens.

He's home for vacation, the setting sun washing the whole street gold and bringing out those beloved flecks in his eyes. Just moments ago, you had been chattering while on a lovely stroll around your neighborhood, not really paying attention to your surroundings. You're almost in front of your home when it happens, a subtle act on his part that makes your stomach churn. It's numbing, the way his presence a few feet from you somehow feels further than when he's halfway across the world as you stare dumbfounded down at the hand he's just dropped.

It only takes him a couple seconds to notice you're not next to him, eyebrows furrowing in confusion as he turns to look at you. “What's up?” he asks, and you realize you can't hold it back anymore.

“You split the pole,” you whisper dumbly.

“What?” He steps forward to take your hand again, but you flinch away.

“When are you coming back to stay?” The forbidden question tumbles from your lips in a helpless whisper. His arm falls limply to his side, and you hesitate to look at him, still daring to hope that he won't say what you've suspected for a while now.

He's shocked, and your insides twist and turn as you watch the series of emotions that flits by his face like a shadow. The confusion, the panic, the guilt. It's a moment you both share in the breath before he speaks, when you both realize what the other has been holding in, and that there would be no coming back from this. No more lying to yourselves or each other.

It terrifies you, and you almost beg him to forget what you just said.

“I'm not,” he murmurs and he looks away, like he's ashamed, like he's sorry, like he can't bear to face you anymore.

It's all over after that; body heaving as you break down entirely, the echo of his words drowning out anything he says after. You feel his warm hands around your shoulders guiding you into your yard, but you're too wrapped up in the pain to care whether anyone saw you or not.

“Why?”

“You know why,” he says quietly. “I don't have any place here anymore.”

“What about me?” you sob, eyes flitting up to meet his gaze. There's deep sorrow etched in his eyes, but it's not fair how steady they still seem even as you fall apart before him. “Is being by my side not your place?”

“y/n, please,” he pleads, shaking his head, desperation creeping into his voice. Please don't do this. Please don't say that.

“Please,” you repeat, ears ringing. “Are we not in love?”

A silence stretches for what feels like an eternity and despair crashes over you as he stares at you guiltily.

“I love you,” he finally whispers, but the tears in his eyes don't mean anything anymore. You search his eyes for a glimmer, a reflection of the spark that you thought you once had, but the only thing that haunts them is defeat and heartbreaking truth.

“I'm sorry.”

Oikawa Tooru loves you in a way that makes you wish he had never loved you at all, and that you would always be his home was nothing short of your favorite conspiracy.

© 2026 All Rights Reserved. All works belong to @/amorinn; do not plagiarize, repost, and/or translate my work onto any other platform. Characters do not belong to me unless otherwise stated.

join the taglist ♡

[amorinn]

Princess Kageyama Tobio ok that's it send tweet

[amorinn]

— favorite conspiracy

"I remember, I believed you were something more than mortal, and you were in love with me"

💿 Flat Earther, Maisie Peters

a/n: surprise!! after a two year hiatus, of course my return had to be my favorite character and genre. thank you to @ae-de and @chlosology for beta reading this for me ♡

♫ angst, oikawa x gn!reader, wc: 1.1k

"What's your favorite conspiracy?"

A soft giggle bubbles through your lips and you glance up at him. You're on his bed together, propped up against pillows just enough to comfortably view the TV. His arm keeps you pressed up against his side, hand lazily making circles on your bare skin, sending shivers up your spine. Neither of you have made a move to choose what to watch, too comfortable in the silence now broken by his silly question.

"I don't think I have one."

He hums at your response, head nodding softly as he thinks. You stare, admiring the way the last rays of sunset catch in his eyes, the only time of day that can make the dark flecks in them really stand out. You giggle again at the level of seriousness he's dedicating to this one silly question, and he finally glances back at you.

"What?" the corners of his eyes crinkle as he smiles back at you playfully. "Mine's aliens."

"Aliens?" you raise an eyebrow. "Like, that they're real or not real?"

"They're real,” he responds quickly, then leans in to kiss your temple.

Oikawa Tooru loves you in a way that makes you forget about everything else.

He's the voice that chases away the anxious thoughts clouding your mind, the soft cotton of his shirt like a salve against your skin after a long day. Sticky hands in summer and numb fingers in winter, intertwined nonetheless like a lock, his lips against yours an unspoken promise that he will always be your Oikawa Tooru.

“My favorite conspiracy is…”

You blame the airplane for taking him from you.

The sky is a brilliant blue when he leaves, the same color he now represents, and it helps you feel a bit less lonely, but bitterness still chokes you up as you watch his disappearing back, and you wish you had it in you to beg him to stay.

You blame his team and the food and the sun that keeps him trapped oceans from you. You hate how even when he comes home, Argentina doesn't let him go. He makes you his but you cannot make him yours, nails digging into his sunburnt back as the bed rocks dangerously back and forth, staring up at freckles that didn't used to be there. He asks why you stare, smiling obliviously at the way you despair at his beauty; a beauty that you can feel is slowly slipping further from your grasp, yet you can't do anything but smile back.

“It's just for one year,” he had promised you. And then it was two, but now you're going on three, and you wonder if you're a fool for believing there will ever be an end to his promises.

He's more myth than man and you're his faithful believer, chanting his name like a prayer through the phone, in his bed, to anyone who stops to listen. But it's tiring, worshipping a man who exists more in memory than by your side, and as the months stack up and your youth passes by, the devastating truth settles in your bones that he's never going to come. The sky is not blue for Argentina's Oikawa Tooru, and you cannot keep searching for signs of him everywhere you go.

There's no warning from the universe when it happens.

He's home for vacation, the setting sun washing the whole street gold and bringing out those beloved flecks in his eyes. Just moments ago, you had been chattering while on a lovely stroll around your neighborhood, not really paying attention to your surroundings. You're almost in front of your home when it happens, a subtle act on his part that makes your stomach churn. It's numbing, the way his presence a few feet from you somehow feels further than when he's halfway across the world as you stare dumbfounded down at the hand he's just dropped.

It only takes him a couple seconds to notice you're not next to him, eyebrows furrowing in confusion as he turns to look at you. “What's up?” he asks, and you realize you can't hold it back anymore.

“You split the pole,” you whisper dumbly.

“What?” He steps forward to take your hand again, but you flinch away.

“When are you coming back to stay?” The forbidden question tumbles from your lips in a helpless whisper. His arm falls limply to his side, and you hesitate to look at him, still daring to hope that he won't say what you've suspected for a while now.

He's shocked, and your insides twist and turn as you watch the series of emotions that flits by his face like a shadow. The confusion, the panic, the guilt. It's a moment you both share in the breath before he speaks, when you both realize what the other has been holding in, and that there would be no coming back from this. No more lying to yourselves or each other.

It terrifies you, and you almost beg him to forget what you just said.

“I'm not,” he murmurs and he looks away, like he's ashamed, like he's sorry, like he can't bear to face you anymore.

It's all over after that; body heaving as you break down entirely, the echo of his words drowning out anything he says after. You feel his warm hands around your shoulders guiding you into your yard, but you're too wrapped up in the pain to care whether anyone saw you or not.

“Why?”

“You know why,” he says quietly. “I don't have any place here anymore.”

“What about me?” you sob, eyes flitting up to meet his gaze. There's deep sorrow etched in his eyes, but it's not fair how steady they still seem even as you fall apart before him. “Is being by my side not your place?”

“y/n, please,” he pleads, shaking his head, desperation creeping into his voice. Please don't do this. Please don't say that.

“Please,” you repeat, ears ringing. “Are we not in love?”

A silence stretches for what feels like an eternity and despair crashes over you as he stares at you guiltily.

“I love you,” he finally whispers, but the tears in his eyes don't mean anything anymore. You search his eyes for a glimmer, a reflection of the spark that you thought you once had, but the only thing that haunts them is defeat and heartbreaking truth.

“I'm sorry.”

Oikawa Tooru loves you in a way that makes you wish he had never loved you at all, and that you would always be his home was nothing short of your favorite conspiracy.

© 2026 All Rights Reserved. All works belong to @/amorinn; do not plagiarize, repost, and/or translate my work onto any other platform. Characters do not belong to me unless otherwise stated.

join the taglist ♡

[sodaneko]

the strangled "fuck, i missed you" between desperate kisses and with their forehead pressed against yours as you watch together how every inch of them disappears inside of you

[avil-bluebird]

I remember my hand was literally shaking... and I felt like such an idiot haha.

The first time I drew Hoshina, it felt... different.

I think the first time you draw a character you really love, everything suddenly feels much more important. 💜

I kept zooming in to check every tiny detail (I was sooo obsessed), wondering if the expression looked right, if the proportions actually felt like him.

Hoshina's hair was definitely the hardest part. I swear it took me forever to figure out how his hair was supposed to flow XD ...closely followed by the Defense Force uniform...

Let's just say I wanted the uniform to do him justice. 😂

Looking back now, I still have a soft spot for this drawing.

Please tell me I wasn't the only one who got this nervous drawing their own comfort character for the first time 🫣

[xiinsuke]

I'm Just Annoying You!

Oikawa Tooru x Reader

Oikawa has an obvious crush on you but he swears he's just teasing.

Wc: 2.2k ~ friends to lovers ~ jealousy ~ confession ~ timeskip arc

On the first day of you becoming Aoba Johsai’s manager, you learnt how painful it was to get hit by a volleyball.

Just as you were handing out water bottles to the players who finished their serving practice,

THWACK!

A volleyball flew off course and smacked you square in the face.

The gym fell silent.

The ball bounced away as you stood frozen, the pain hadn’t settled in yet.

"OW?!"

"OH MY GOSH!"

A brown-haired boy sprinted across the court, panic written all over his face.

"I'm so sorry! Are you okay? I swear that wasn't supposed to-"

You rubbed your nose before looking up at him.

"…That hurt!"

There was a brief pause.

His lips twitched.

Then he burst into laughter.

"PFFT- I'm sorry! I swear I am! It's just…"

He pointed at your completely dumbfounded expression.

"Your face! I'm sorry, but your expression right now is so funny!"

"Stop laughing!!"

"I'm trying!" he wheezed.

"I really am- but I can't!"

He said while laughing hysterically.

Just then, a loud smack echoed through the gym.

Iwaizumi had just hit Oikawa on the back of the head.

"APOLOGISE PROPERLY, IDIOT!"

"I AM apologising?!"

"YOU AREN’T!”

Oikawa rubbed the back of his head with a dramatic pout before bowing properly.

"…I'm really sorry."

From that day on, Oikawa discovered your reactions were the funniest thing he'd ever seen while you discovered he was the most annoying person you'd ever met.

The next practice, he decided to test the waters.

As you organised the water bottles, he quietly reached over and slipped your pen off the clipboard.

“Where’s my pen…?” You muttered while looking around.

Oikawa held it up innocently.

“Looking for this?”

You stared at him.

“…Give it back.”

“What if I don’t?”

“I’ll tell Iwaizumi.”

“Iwa-chan would never betray me!”

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped.

“Pfft…You’re so annoying.”

He handed your pen back with a grin.

That was all Oikawa needed to know. You didn’t mind it.

So, the teasing continued.

He’d flick your forehead whenever he walked past, steal your pens just to hand them back a minute later, call your name only to smile when you looked over.

Every time, you’d complain but there’d be the hint of a smile on your face.

Eventually, you started teasing him back.

His towel would mysteriously disappear before practice, you’d poke fun at him whenever he stopped to fix his hair, and if he missed a serve you’d tease him.

“WOAH! WHAT A GREAT SERVE!”

Oikawa would gasp in mock offense every single time.

Before long, it turned into an unspoken competition. Every practice came with some new way for both Oikawa and you to get on each other’s nerves . One day after you finished locking up the gym,

“Boo!”

You jumped.

“OIKAWA!”

He burst out laughing.

“You should’ve seen your face!”

Without hesitation, you smacked his arm.

“IDIOT!!”

Still laughing, he fell into step beside you.

The walk home was filled with the same teasing as always.

Before either of you realised it, teasing each other had become the highlight of your day.

Somewhere between after school practices, shared walks home and countless teasing matches, you two became really good friends.

Towards the end of the first year, the jealousy came.

The school's infamous playboy had stopped by your desk with his usual charming smile.

"Hey, L/N."

You looked up.

I've been meaning to ask… Are you free this weekend?"

From across the classroom, Oikawa glanced over.

"Why’s he talking to Y/N..?"

Without another thought, Oikawa got to his feet and wandered over.

He greeted the other boy with a polite smile.

"Sorry, can I borrow her for a second?"

The boy shrugged.

"Sure."

Oikawa turned to you.

"Coach wanted the managers to help sort the equipment after school, remember?"

"Oh! You’re right. Thanks for reminding me!"

By the time you looked back, the boy had already walked away.

"… I guess he left."

Oikawa watched him disappear into the hallway.

"I was just making sure she doesn’t get tricked?!"

Iwaizumi sighed.

"Sure, Shittykawa…"

The teasing from the team only got worse after that.

"Oikawa likes L/N."

"I do not?!"

"You absolutely do."

"I absolutely don't."

Fed up, Oikawa folded his arms.

"Fine! I'll stop annoying her!"

Hanamaki raised an eyebrow.

"Pfft. Good luck."

That lasted until you walked past him.

Without thinking, he flicked your forehead.

"…Ow?!"

Oikawa blinked, realising what he had just done.

"Oh…I wasn't supposed to do that."

Hanamaki laughed and looked over to Iwaizumi.

"See? Told ya."

Meanwhile, Iwaizumi had developed a new problem.

Somehow, every conversation became about you.

"Y/N smiled today."

"She laughed at my joke."

"She said my serve looked good!"

Iwaizumi sighed.

"I thought you were just annoying her."

"I am!"

Hanamaki and Matsukawa burst into laughter.

"You're exhausting…" Iwaizumi muttered.

Second year arrived before any of you realized it.

The teasing still stayed but somehow… it changed?

You didn't notice it at first, neither did Oikawa.

He still steals your items, flicks your forehead, and calls you annoying whenever you beat him racing to the gym.

But now…

Without saying anything, he'd brush a stray leaf out of your hair, somehow remember every exam you had, and appear beside you to carry the heavier equipment before you could even reach for it.

Even his teasing became more romantic. Whenever someone pointed it out, he would get overly defensive.

One morning, he casually handed you your favorite grape drink.

"I accidentally bought two."

You looked at him.

"…You hate grapes."

"…People change."

Iwaizumi nearly choked on his water.

"You bought that because L/N likes it."

"I did not."

"You literally don't even like grapes."

"I felt adventurous."

"You've never been adventurous with food."

"…I'm expanding my horizons."

You laughed.

"Pfft. I appreciate the sacrifice."

Oikawa looked strangely pleased by that.

The rest of second year passed much the same. The teasing never stopped, but neither did the little things.

Oikawa still claimed he was "just annoying you," but by then, everyone else could see there was more to it.

Third year had only just begun when you sent a text to the Aoba Johsai Volleyball group chat saying you had a fever.

Oikawa stared at the message a second longer before slipping his phone back into his pocket, his smile faltering.

Practice felt off.

It was quieter than usual. Only the sounds of volleyballs being slammed and shoes squeaking against the floor could be heard.

Usually, Oikawa would have been making a fuss about how you were showing favouritism by not handing him a towel first or teasing you about something by now but he was quieter than usual.

Sure, he still wore his usual bright smile and captained the team like always, offering advice and encouragement whenever someone needed it.

But Iwaizumi could tell something was off.

Oikawa told himself it was only because there wasn't anyone around to tease today.

Definitely not because you weren't there.

During a water break, he wandered over to Iwaizumi.

"Iwa-chan~ Didya know Y/N-chan said she has a fever?"

Iwaizumi took a sip of his water.

"Yeah. She said it in the group chat.”

"I hope she's actually resting."

"She probably is."

"I reminded her in the group chat to take her medicine."

"…I saw."

"And to drink more water."

"Mhm…"

"And not to worry about practice."

"I know."

Hanamaki wandered over, towel slung over his shoulder.

"You've been talking about L/N all practice."

Oikawa blinked.

"…Have I?"

"You mentioned her before warm-ups, during serves and just now."

"Geez! Can’t a captain show concern for his team manager?! I was just worried!"

Matsukawa walked over after hearing the commotion.

"You also remembered she has a chemistry test next week." He said, chiming in.

“So what?!”

Matsukawa pointed at the unopened drink beside Oikawa.

"You even bought her favorite drink again. What about us? Why don't you ever buy us drinks?"

Oikawa immediately snatched it and took a large gulp.

"T-That's because I like it too! She just keeps stealing it from me!"

Iwaizumi raised an eyebrow.

"You've hated grape since middle school."

"Can’t a man change his taste?!"

"And somehow you always know when she skips lunch."

Oikawa pouted and frowned.

"…What exactly are you guys trying to say?"

The three of them exchanged a look.

Iwaizumi folded his arms.

"Shittykawa, you've spent this entire water break talking about L/N."

"…I have?"

Hanamaki nodded.

"You've talked more about her than volleyball today."

A long silence followed.

For the first time in years, Oikawa actually thought about it.

The volleyball, the stealing of pens, walking you home, the grape drink, waiting outside your classroom and remembering every little thing mentioned you with embarrassing detail.

None of it had ever felt unusual until now.

"It's pretty obvious you like her."

Iwaizumi said while letting out a sigh.

"…Oh."

Oikawa froze, his eyes slowly widening.

"I like…Y/N."

The gym fell silent.

"Took you long enough." Matsukawa smiled.

"We've known since second year." Hanamaki laughed.

"You just realized?!" Iwaizumi deadpanned.

Oikawa stared blankly at the floor, his face burning red.

"…I-I need to leave."

"Practice isn't over, Shittykawa."

"I know!"

"Coach is gonna kill you."

"Tell him something came up!"

Before anyone could stop him, Oikawa turned on his heel and hurried out of the gym.

The doors slammed shut behind him.

Iwaizumi sighed.

"About time he realised…"

The next few days were… strange?

The moment Oikawa saw you in the hallway, he would turn around and sprint away.

If you waved, he would pretend he didn't see you.

If you entered the gym, he would make sure you two were at opposite ends of the court at all times.

The forehead flicks, sarcastic comments and constant teasing were all gone along with the boy who somehow always found a reason to stand beside you.

You frowned as you watched him do a total 180 when he realised where you were standing.

"Um…Did I do something wrong?"

"You didn't."

Iwaizumi answered, not looking up from tying his shoes.

"Then why is he acting like this?"

"Shittykawa’s just being an idiot."

A week later, Coach called Oikawa back to discuss captain duties after practice while everyone else went home.

You stayed behind to finish putting away equipment before locking up.

By the time you left, the sun was beginning to set.

A familiar figure walked a short distance ahead.

"Oikawa!"

His shoulders stiffened as he kept walking.

You frowned.

"OIKAWA!"

He started walking faster.

"…Seriously?"

You hurried after him until you stepped in front of him, forcing him to stop.

He immediately looked anywhere but at you.

“Oh! Hi…”

“Hi?!”

Oikawa gulped after realising he couldn’t get out of this conversation.

"You've been avoiding me."

"WHAT! I haven't…. What are you talking about…?”

He said unconvincingly, eyes darting everywhere.

"You literally have??”

"I've just been… um… busy."

"You literally walked away from me yesterday AND ignored me when I waved."

"…Coincidence."

“Coincidence my ass!”

You sighed.

"Did I do something wrong? Just tell me."

His head snapped up immediately.

"WHAT?! NO!!"

"Then why won't you even look at me?"

A long pause followed.

"…Because I can't."

"Huh?"

He rubbed the back of his neck, his cheeks turning pink.

"It’s just…! I realised something and now every time I look at you…”

He groaned, dragging both hands over his face.

"This is so embarrassing…!!"

"Oikawa, what are you talking about?"

"I had this whole speech planned."

"A speech??"

"Yeah, I even practiced it! It sounded a lot cooler in my head but now…”

Despite yourself, you laughed.

“Well?”

“Don’t rush me!”

He took a deep breath.

“…I can’t do this.”

He turned as if he was about to walk away.

“Oikawa!”

He stopped in his tracks.

“…I only realised it last week.”

“Realised what??” You frowned.

He squeezed his eyes shut.

“That… I like you.”

Silence.

“I didn’t know before, okay?! Then everyone pointed it out, and now I can’t stop thinking about it!”

He buried his face in his hands.

“I’ve been trying to avoid you because every time I see you, I remember I like you and then I panic!”

“You really are an idiot, Shittykawa… You could’ve just told me that from the start!”

Oikawa slowly looked up, realising what you just said.

Years later, you sat in the stands waiting for Oikawa to finish practice in Argentina.

The moment Oikawa spotted you, his face lit up.

He waved so enthusiastically that one of his teammates laughed and teased him.

The second practice ended, he jogged over.

"How long have you been here?"

"Mmm… I think I arrived around ten minutes ago."

"Missed me?"

You looked at him for a moment before smiling.

"You know…"

"Hm?”

"You’re still as annoying as you were in Aoba Johsai."

Oikawa grinned and laced his fingers with yours.

"And yet you married me anyway."

You rolled your eyes.

"I guess I got used to you."

Oikawa couldn’t help but laugh.

Some things had changed.

You graduated, got married and even moved across the world together.

But one thing never changed: the fact that Oikawa Tooru was still just as annoying.

You wouldn’t have it any other way.

Also on Ao3 & TikTok

[mysterystarz]

You cannot just drop that visual and NOT elaborate on it…

And yes! I did take a look at your card

-kita anon🤍

ft: suna rintaro and taking pictures of your dates instead of confessing and/or defining your relationship...at least...at first

ps. @huhyeni (i remembered to tag you for suna hehe) @brooksviolin @mimi-sunny @karnevil

suna rintaro always carried two cameras with him every time the two of you went out.

one of them was the camera that lived in his pocket and also connected him to the stupidity of the miya twins, arguing yet again about who was the hotter one. the other one was a digital camera that he brought only when he came out with you. it lived in his left palm, ready at a minute's notice if he ever saw something worth snapping a picture of.

for the longest time in your not quite friendship, but not quite romance either relationship, you’d never entirely cracked the code to what counted as important enough to photograph. there were only a few categories that you could really think of.

option one was a fight between the twins, or anyone for that matter, over something rintaro considered wholly stupid and entirely memeable. option two was anything remotely funny looking. he once took a picture of a sports poster because it was so clearly photoshopped.

those were the only two instances you could say for sure. the other character — the unknown variable, showed up on your “dates.”

“what was that?” you asked, turning around to see the telltale flash of the digital camera behind you. suna looked at the image, nodding to himself before his green-gray eyes met yours.

“a picture,” he shrugged, “what else?”

“but what of?” you pried, doing your best to peak over at the screen. he palmed the camera instantly, holding it just out of reach.

“don’t worry about it.” he said, walking over to the next aisle in the grocery store. “you like a specific kind of popcorn right? let’s grab it. i don’t want you hangry during a movie.”

it always was that way. the two of you would go out on your adventures, frequent but mundane, and you’d always catch him taking pictures. one of the soda you made at 3 am at the gas station. one of the figurine you found at the mall that you swore looked like him. pictures of the swings where the two of you would go to speak your mind.

did he think you looked funny? was he collecting evidence of your travels? rintaro was mysterious by omission, more than aura. you could ask him many things, but it was rare that he’d give you a full answer.

and somehow….you still loved him. your treacherous heart. stuck in limbo in a situationship you so desperately wanted to change.

your phone rang at 11 pm, rintaro’s contact flashing across your screen. you waited for a moment, not wanting to seem too eager before you finally picked up.

“hello?” you asked, waiting to hear his voice over the line.”

“hi.” he said, his voice a bit rougher than usual. “are you free?”

“why do you ask?” you said, feeling your pulse spike in your chest. it was always this way. a few words from him over the phone had your legs turning into putty.

“i…want to show you something.”

you paused. “okay,” you said, probably against your better judgement.

he exhaled, almost exhaustedly. “be ready in five.”

“that’s quicker than usual.” you murmured.

“this can’t wait.” he said finally, hanging up the line.

the entire time you dressed, your head spun with ideas. was he planning to cut off your friendship? was he going to move away? did he commit a crime?

you walked outside when you saw the headlights of his car, stepping into the passenger side with all the practice of a million undefined dates.

“you look nice,” he smiled. SMILED. he tilted his head in appreciation before turning back to the steering wheel. “thanks for coming on such short notice.”

“you’re being nice.” was all you could spit out, “are you an alien.”

he blinked in awe of your imagination, his telltale sigh escaping his lips. “leave it up to be weird. only you would think a compliment means i’m an alien.”

he chuckled quietly and dryly, pulling out of your driveway and to wherever it is he wanted to go.

the two of you reached a secluded field, the sky starry and rich above you. you fell still for a moment, reaching to trace the constellations with your fingers.

“where did you find this place?” you muttered. he joined you at the top of his car, reclining back to see your view.

“i found it.” he shrugged. “so. the reason i brought you here isn’t just stargazing.”

you turned your gaze back to him, finding a slightly nervous expression on his face for the first time in what seemed like forever.

“then?” you asked, only to have him pass his digital camera over to you.

“you’ve been wanting to see them.” he said. “go through the photos.”

almost tenderly, you touched the button to power on the camera, clicking the arrows to go through the sd cards contents. you’d thought you’d find dumb pictures of your adventures….but instead you found….you.

pictures of your head tilted back in laughter. pictures of you swearing that figuring was him and trying to prove it in the mirror. a picture of both your hands on movie night, just a pinky apart from touching.

“rin?” you asked almost breathlessly, turning to find his eyes fixed on you.

“i’ve been taking pictures of our dates for a while.” he admitted. “i wanted to keep them.”

“that’s nice.” you said, shifting uncomfortably.

“i wanted to keep them because i was wondering if you wanted to make it official.”

your eyes widened.

“what?”

he smirked ever so slightly, reaching to touch your fingers.

“i want to date for real.”

© all content belongs to mysterystarz 2026. please do not copy my works onto any other website/platform (including but not limited to tiktok, instagram, wattpad, ao3, or any AI chatbot)

so whatcha think ;) ?

[amorinn]

Amore nation we are back in business 😛😛😛

[amorinn]

— favorite conspiracy

"I remember, I believed you were something more than mortal, and you were in love with me"

💿 Flat Earther, Maisie Peters

a/n: surprise!! after a two year hiatus, of course my return had to be my favorite character and genre. thank you to @ae-de and @chlosology for beta reading this for me ♡

♫ angst, oikawa x gn!reader, wc: 1.1k

"What's your favorite conspiracy?"

A soft giggle bubbles through your lips and you glance up at him. You're on his bed together, propped up against pillows just enough to comfortably view the TV. His arm keeps you pressed up against his side, hand lazily making circles on your bare skin, sending shivers up your spine. Neither of you have made a move to choose what to watch, too comfortable in the silence now broken by his silly question.

"I don't think I have one."

He hums at your response, head nodding softly as he thinks. You stare, admiring the way the last rays of sunset catch in his eyes, the only time of day that can make the dark flecks in them really stand out. You giggle again at the level of seriousness he's dedicating to this one silly question, and he finally glances back at you.

"What?" the corners of his eyes crinkle as he smiles back at you playfully. "Mine's aliens."

"Aliens?" you raise an eyebrow. "Like, that they're real or not real?"

"They're real,” he responds quickly, then leans in to kiss your temple.

Oikawa Tooru loves you in a way that makes you forget about everything else.

He's the voice that chases away the anxious thoughts clouding your mind, the soft cotton of his shirt like a salve against your skin after a long day. Sticky hands in summer and numb fingers in winter, intertwined nonetheless like a lock, his lips against yours an unspoken promise that he will always be your Oikawa Tooru.

“My favorite conspiracy is…”

You blame the airplane for taking him from you.

The sky is a brilliant blue when he leaves, the same color he now represents, and it helps you feel a bit less lonely, but bitterness still chokes you up as you watch his disappearing back, and you wish you had it in you to beg him to stay.

You blame his team and the food and the sun that keeps him trapped oceans from you. You hate how even when he comes home, Argentina doesn't let him go. He makes you his but you cannot make him yours, nails digging into his sunburnt back as the bed rocks dangerously back and forth, staring up at freckles that didn't used to be there. He asks why you stare, smiling obliviously at the way you despair at his beauty; a beauty that you can feel is slowly slipping further from your grasp, yet you can't do anything but smile back.

“It's just for one year,” he had promised you. And then it was two, but now you're going on three, and you wonder if you're a fool for believing there will ever be an end to his promises.

He's more myth than man and you're his faithful believer, chanting his name like a prayer through the phone, in his bed, to anyone who stops to listen. But it's tiring, worshipping a man who exists more in memory than by your side, and as the months stack up and your youth passes by, the devastating truth settles in your bones that he's never going to come. The sky is not blue for Argentina's Oikawa Tooru, and you cannot keep searching for signs of him everywhere you go.

There's no warning from the universe when it happens.

He's home for vacation, the setting sun washing the whole street gold and bringing out those beloved flecks in his eyes. Just moments ago, you had been chattering while on a lovely stroll around your neighborhood, not really paying attention to your surroundings. You're almost in front of your home when it happens, a subtle act on his part that makes your stomach churn. It's numbing, the way his presence a few feet from you somehow feels further than when he's halfway across the world as you stare dumbfounded down at the hand he's just dropped.

It only takes him a couple seconds to notice you're not next to him, eyebrows furrowing in confusion as he turns to look at you. “What's up?” he asks, and you realize you can't hold it back anymore.

“You split the pole,” you whisper dumbly.

“What?” He steps forward to take your hand again, but you flinch away.

“When are you coming back to stay?” The forbidden question tumbles from your lips in a helpless whisper. His arm falls limply to his side, and you hesitate to look at him, still daring to hope that he won't say what you've suspected for a while now.

He's shocked, and your insides twist and turn as you watch the series of emotions that flits by his face like a shadow. The confusion, the panic, the guilt. It's a moment you both share in the breath before he speaks, when you both realize what the other has been holding in, and that there would be no coming back from this. No more lying to yourselves or each other.

It terrifies you, and you almost beg him to forget what you just said.

“I'm not,” he murmurs and he looks away, like he's ashamed, like he's sorry, like he can't bear to face you anymore.

It's all over after that; body heaving as you break down entirely, the echo of his words drowning out anything he says after. You feel his warm hands around your shoulders guiding you into your yard, but you're too wrapped up in the pain to care whether anyone saw you or not.

“Why?”

“You know why,” he says quietly. “I don't have any place here anymore.”

“What about me?” you sob, eyes flitting up to meet his gaze. There's deep sorrow etched in his eyes, but it's not fair how steady they still seem even as you fall apart before him. “Is being by my side not your place?”

“y/n, please,” he pleads, shaking his head, desperation creeping into his voice. Please don't do this. Please don't say that.

“Please,” you repeat, ears ringing. “Are we not in love?”

A silence stretches for what feels like an eternity and despair crashes over you as he stares at you guiltily.

“I love you,” he finally whispers, but the tears in his eyes don't mean anything anymore. You search his eyes for a glimmer, a reflection of the spark that you thought you once had, but the only thing that haunts them is defeat and heartbreaking truth.

“I'm sorry.”

Oikawa Tooru loves you in a way that makes you wish he had never loved you at all, and that you would always be his home was nothing short of your favorite conspiracy.

© 2026 All Rights Reserved. All works belong to @/amorinn; do not plagiarize, repost, and/or translate my work onto any other platform. Characters do not belong to me unless otherwise stated.

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