For as long as the three of them could remember, summer meant long nights on the beach, sun burns, and endless sleepovers. So what happens that makes their summer before they graduate high school so different?
Or
The three’s moms were high school friends and they all ended up getting pregnant at the same time. Although separating and moving to different cities, they kept in touch. Hajime’s mom had inherited a beach house from one of her grandparents. The three use that to meet up over summer. That’s where the next generation trio meets. Oikawa and Hajime live near each other while reader lives in a different city. She can’t help but feel different from the two but never felt the need to bring it up. Although when too much boils over, there has to be a release somewhere. And that release just happens to be over summer.
‼️Idea based from @babycrybecauseitsovr story ‘hush’ (please check it out!!) and lightly from We Were Liars by E. Lockhart‼️
༻𓊈𒆜convenience 𒆜𓊉༺
Sato Reader—
‼️Reader is going to be mixed. Half Japanese and the other will not be specified for all races of readers (does that even make sense?😭 "all race of readers")‼️
Oikawa Tooru (‘Ru)—
Iwaizumi Hajime (Haji’)—
Other characters:
Sato Kaori (Reader’s mom)
Oikawa Miyako (‘Ru’s mom)
Iwaizumi Hikari (Haji’s mom)
✜»✜«✜»✜«✜»✜«✜»✜
Warnings: i don’t think there will be other than small talks of suicide and drug use but I will put warnings for those chapters.
synopsis: As the steady anchor between Oikawa’s ambition and Iwaizumi’s loyalty, you were the center of a trio that felt destined to last forever. However, as volleyball pulled them toward separate horizons, the easy intimacy of your youth eroded into missed calls and the heavy silence of diverging lives. Years later, catching a glimpse of their unfamiliar faces reveals a quiet grief: you didn't lose them to a fight, but to the slow, natural drift of time.
chidhood friends iwaoi and reader
word count: 2.7k
note: english is my 2nd language so im sorry for any grammatical errors. this is not proofed read or beta-ed.
friend 1: hey i saw oikawa's friend!
friend 2: who? which one?
friend 1: Iwaizumi.
friend 2: iwaizumi Hajime? where?
friend 2: @[reader] girl! OMG!
friend 1: [sent a picture]
friend 1: here at the gym im attending
[reader]: that's a rather closed up picture
friend 2: @[reader] what if
friend 2: look at him~ he's so buff now.
[reader]: hmmm
[reader]: i dont know that person
people like to joke that the three of you came in a set.
where one was, the other two were never far behind.
it started young— before volleyball became everything, before grades and expectations and distance became real enough to split people apart. back when scraped knees were the worst pain imaginable, and promises were made under the summer sun felt permanent.
Oikawa was the loud one.
Iwaizumi was the angry one.
and you—-
you were stuck in between, the referee, accomplice, and witness to every ridiculous thing they've done.
the little tag along.
"stop crying, Oikawa, you were barely cut" Iwaizumi grumbleed as he watched Oikawa clutched his wrist and look at his bleeding finger with tears and snot falling off his face.
"i'm bleeding!"
giving him the flattest look, Iwaizumi said "its a paper cut"
"its hurts like a chihuahua's bite!"
you stood up and humored oikawa by patting his head as if to comfort him
"let's treat that wound then Kawa-chan. lets ignore the big tough wolf over there" you said, giving Iwaizumi a playful stinky eye.
Iwaizumi, who stood across the both of with his usual unimpressed expresssion, muttered exasperatedly "you're both annoying"
"and yet" you said with a smile, wrapping a cartoon bandaid around Oikawa's finger, "you keep hanging out with us"
Iwaizumi clicked his tongue, cheeks faintly pink from the summer hear or maybe embarrassment.
"because if i dont, who's gonna stop you idiot from being foolish and dying?!"
Oikawa gasped and clutched his chest "Iwa-chan, was that you version of a love confession—"
"it was a threat"
"it was so heartfelt. we should be together forever!" Oikawa beamed
both of them stared at each other, one have the eyes of determination the other have the eyes that's irked enough to hit someone
for a moment the three of you were engulfed in silence until you launghed so hard you nearly fell backwards.
you swore you saw that scene in a gag show last night.
that was how it always was.
you in the middle.
oikawa clinging dramatically to you shoulder.
iwaizumi pretending he didnt care while staying anyway.
your parents had given up trying to separate the three of you.
sleepovers became normal. homework became group suffering. family dinners blurred together untilyour parents automatically made extra portions because they assume one or both would eventually show up.
sometimes, on nights when the rain was too loud and everyone was too tired to walk home, the three of you would end up half-asleep in your room.
oikawa sprawled like he paid rent
you stealing most of the blanket
and iwaizumi, stubbornly insisting he was "fine on the floor" until your mother forced him to bed too.
you'd wake up tangled together, oikawa snoring like a dying engine (dude sure can snore even when he was a child), and iwaizumi glaring at the ceiling like the world offended him
"you kick in your sleep" he'd grumble.
"and you drool when you sleep" you'd shoot back
"that was oikawa!"
"lies and slander" oikawa would mumble from under the pillow.
middle school came with sharper edges.
oikawa got pettier— prettier.
iwaizumi is getting broader
and people started looking at the three of you differently.
girls whispered when oikawa walked by.
teachers sighed when you, iwaizumi and oikawa bicker in class
"i'm telling your mom" you said, venom in your tone
"you wouldn't!"
"you stole my pudding!"
"you stole my milkbread!" oikawa exclaimed and pause as he wiped his mouth of the remnants of the syrup of the pudding he had 'stolen'
"and its a communal property!" he defended with conviction as if he was in a court hearing.
a court hearing of bickering teens
"wha— it had my name on it!" you took the plastic cup of the pudding and shoved it on his "see that? its said [readeeeer]!"
iwaizumi who's been silent through the entire altercation voiced his thoughts
"stealing is a incurable disease, trashykawa"
"this is betrayal! im surrounded by betrayers!"
people asked you question as if they were entitled to an answer
"so which on do you like"
to which you would roll your eyes and answer:
"neitgher, they're a disaster!"
but maybe that was only half true.
because there were moments.
small ones.
the kind you never notice until much later in life.
like how iwaizumi always walked on the side closest to the road. how he silently hand you his jacket when you complained about being cold.
how he remembered things you mentioned once in passing— you fave drink, the name of the author you likes, your fave season, fave genre.
he never made it obvious.
oikwa was an easy affection. bright and loud and impossible to ignore. he can charm anyone with the right word, right tone, bright smile and his conviction.
he remembers details of you as well. your fave style, the cafe you want to visit, foods your allergic to, subjects your weak at.
he would make a big deal out of them most of the time.
yet, they were the kind of people you only realized you depended on when they were suddenly gone.
maybe that was the problem.
because by high school, everyone was changing,
especially Oikawa.
volleyball became less of a hobby and more of a hunger.
there were longer practices, bigger expectations, sharper tempers.
the easy childhood softness between the three of you started stretching thing
victories made oikawa glow like the sun itself and lossess makes it feel like winter came a little too early.
you cheered from the sidelines, memorized their jersey numbers, and accidentally get dubed as a volleyball fan cause you explain to your girl friends the difference of a setter and a spiker, a normal serve and a floaty.
because, whether you know it or not, loving people means learning the language they speak.
still, somewhere along the way, you stopped being part of that circle. got sidelines and became part of the crowd watching them grow in their own fields.
at first it was small.
"we can't, practice will be running late"
"sorry, coach added extra drills"
"next time?"
"maybe"
next time became the new phrase often shared between the three of you and highschool made it undeniable the next time exists for every denied and cancelled plans.
volleyball wasnt just important. it was everything.
especially for oikawa.
every conversation bent towards it. every mood and hangout depended on it.
every version of the future seemed to begin and end with the court.
iwaizumi followed closed behind— not because he was chasing oikawa, but because he had always been the person standing beside him
and you?
you stayed in the same place as before. trying not to notice how much emptier it was becoming. trying to hold together pieces of a fragile glass that once didnt need effort to put together.
lunches became rushed.
hangouts became rescheduled.
group chats became mostly you asking when everyone is free.
sometimes they answered.
most of the time they dont.
you told yourself not to be dramatic and expand your circle.
it didnt have to be them any longer.
"people grew up. people got busy. this is normal" was something you tell yourself most of the time.
but grief starts long before loss admits itself.
one evening, you sat alone in your room staring at your phone.
your last message in the group chat:
are we still meeting today?
seen.
no reply.
an hour later, oikawa posted a picture from practive.
iwaizumi in the background, sweaty, and as usual looks mildly annoyed and some of their volleyball teammates.
caption: my loyal subjects.
you stared at it longer that you should have.
then locked your phone. then unlocked it again.
then laughed at yourself because what were you even upset about?
they were busy. you knew that. you supported that.
so why did it feel like you were being left behind?
maybe because being understanding and being unhurt were never the same thing?
and they werent even cruel about it. cruel would have been easier.
there was no fight. no betrayal. no dramatic ending.
just slow erosion.
like the tide taking something grain by grain until one day the shoreline looks unfamiliar.
and that silent night, you cried alone under the full moon's light.
"I'm leaving the country" Oikawa sprung it up on their rare sleep over of their third year.
"I'm going to Argentina after graduation" he continued.
Silence engulf your room
"wha—what do you—" before you could even finish your sentence iwaizumi spoke
"I guess the talk you had with coach cleared your head huh?"
"yeah. yeah, it did" he replied, closing his eyes as if recalling a good memory.
and for the first time in a long while your room felt too small for the three of you.
and for the first time you felt alone in the company of people you once hold dear.
its like they live in a different world, and you were an alien hovering.
and for the first time in a long while, since you first met them, you became polite.
for the first time, you had to knock and ask to be let in the world they built without you in mind.
"may i know what this is all about?"
their eyes met, realizing that you practically do not know what they were talking about.
that they had unintentionally left you in the dark.
lo and behold oikawa started chattering away, about how he met his idol Jose Blanco, to how he was practically offered a mentorship.
atleast you were one of the first people he told about this, right?
graduation came like a funeral dressed as celebration.
the three of you posed for the camera one last time. as if to commemorate the closing of a chapter or an ending of a book.
pictures were taken and promises were made when nobody knew how to keep them.
then came his flight
"i'll visit" oikawa said with his puffy eyes.
"bruh, we both know that's impossible. its volleyball over life for you" you said in all seriousness while holding back the tears that was threatening to fall.
"hey! i know work-life balance" he defended himself, pouting.
you and iwaizumi gave him a blank stare and said "yeah right" looking utterly unconvinced by his defense.
"dont forget me when i become internationally famous" he said smugly, as if to inflate his confidence that was shattered by your stares.
"as if your ego would let that happen" iwaizumi slung his arms across oikawa's shoulder and ruffled his head and they both laughed.
all of you laughed
then quiter—
"you'll be okay, right?"
such a stupid question, because what were you supposed to say? 'dont leave and stay here with us?'
let him rot in a town that is not letting him fly?
so instead you offerend him a smile that didnt reach your eyes
"obviously" he engulf both of you in one final hug and said "i will miss both of you. i will miss this. i will miss how easy we folded with each other. i will miss how easy we read each other." he said, his voices cracking.
you just hugged him thighter, because you knew.
this will be it.
this will be the last time you will see him this way.
this will be the last time you will see the semblance of the oikawa you grew up with, because by the time he comeback, by the time he step back in this very airport he will no longer be the oikawa you knew.
And Iwaizumi, he didnt say much. but maybe he also knew the implications, the realization of what time and distance entails for the three of you.
When Oikawa disappeared from sight, the silence did not suffocate you.
ironically, it comforted you. it reminded you of your childhood— where silence between the three of you were easy, comfortable, warm and full of understanding.
maybe that's why you said "you're leaving too, right?" with the gentlest smile you could muster while looking at the direction Oikawa disappeared to.
he stared straight ahead, jaw tight, shoulders tense, like if he let himself breathe too deeply, something inside him might crack.
iwaizumi blinked.
his expression shifted. caught off guard by the certainty of your question.
"when's your flight iwa-chan?"
"what?"
you chuckled and look at his face that is now staring at you as if you grew another head. "you and Kawa-chan's are two side's of the same coin. you're more alike than what you believe y'know"
"that's ridiculous, [reader]" he scoffed yet smiled softly at what you said.
"You're both larger than life. You will always chase excellence in the places that call for you. In that sense, both of you are the same."
he kept looking at you.
too intently.
too honestly.
"is that why you're asking?"
"yes"
for a long time, he said nothing.
the airport lights reflected in the glass around you, making everything feel distant and dissonant yet ironically comforting.
finally, he spoke.
"i thought you'd be the one leaving first"
you frowned, "what?"
"you always looked past here" he said, "past this town. past us"
his voice wasnt accusing. it was as if he was stating a fact.
a fact that shows how much absence affected your friendship cause he no longer knew you. you dont know where he pulled the words he had just uttered. because you thought you cant fly as high as they can.
"you had plans. big ones. you always seem like you would be going somewhere"
he looked away then, like saying this much already cost too much.
once again, silence engulf the both of you until the both of you parted ways.
adulthood came like a thief.
and friendship, as it turns out, was one of the easiest thing to leave behind.
at first, the group chat were filled with text once again.
Oikawa from Argentina with his selfies, complaints, and dramatic declarations of suffering, longing and homesickness
Iwaizumi from California with his random health facts, and random sports questions for Oikawa, random daily life update
and you from Tokyo with you day to day life as the regular smegular colleger girl, in new town, new place, and new people.
then less.
and less
and null.
birthdays became late greetings
then missed calls
then silenced once visited your group chat, like a freind welcoming it back.
the silence stretched so long that reaching out started to feel embarrassing.
like showing up to a house you used to live in and realizing someone else owns it now.
friend 1: hey I saw oikawa's friend!
friend 2: who? which one?
friend 1: Iwaizumi
friend 2: iwaizumi hajime? where?
friend 2: @[reader] girl! omg
friend 2: weren't the three of you friends before?
friend 1: [sent a photo]
[reader]; that's a rather closed up photo
You stare at the image.
Too close.
Too familiar.
Broader shoulders.
Sharper jaw.
A a built that still looks like home if you squint.
friend 2: @[you] what if 👀👀👀
friend 2: look at him~ he’s so buff now
You type:
hmmm
Then:
i don’t know that person
And maybe that’s the cruelest lie you tell. Because you do know him.
You know the boy who sat on your bedroom floor doing homework.
The boy who walked closest to the road without thinking. The boy who knew how you took your coffee before you started drinking coffee.
You know the version of him that existed when your lives still touched.
But adulthood makes strangers out of people who once knew your soul.
And sometimes the grief isn’t that they changed.
It’s that they changed without you.
So no—you don’t know that person.
Not anymore.
You only know the ghosts.
And ghosts, unfortunately,
don’t text back.
A/N: this is my second time posting anything on here! I hope you enjoyed this one, dears! <3
comments mean the most to me!
like comment and reblog dearests!
**Please Note** the reason that some of these fics are tagged medium(?)reader and not medium!reader is simply because I don't really know what else to call it. I am not, under any circumstances, poking fun at mediums or psychics in my writing and I sincerely apologize if it ever comes across this way. I'm basing the readers "abilities" on things I have felt, seen, heard, and experienced myself in real life. If you know of any term that is better suited, let me know
__Oneshots__
Dracula's Castle
Nate Hardy x fem!medium(?)reader
Word Count: 3.4k
Summary: Rather than exploring, you find yourself wrangling the idiots you call your best friends
Villisca Axe Murder House
Nate Hardy x fem!medium(?)reader
Word Count: 5.2k
Summary: You decide to test yourself with the investigation of the gruesome octuple murders. You've yet to decide if that was a horrible idea or not...
__Multi-Parters__
Robert the Doll
Nate Hardy x medium(?)reader
Word Count: 2.6k
Summary: You follow the boys to Key West and visit Robert the Doll
Your Very Own Attachment - Part 2 of Robert the Doll
Nate Hardy x fem!medium(?)reader
Word Count: 1.6k
Summary: You notice things in your home quickly become strange after your return from Key West
Madison Seminary, Pt. 2
Nate Hardy x fem!medium(?)reader
Word Count:
- Part One: 852
- Part Two: ???
Summary: Ahh yes, finally a haunting where the spirits don't hate women
__Requests__
Myrtles Plantation
Nate Hardy x fem!medium(?)reader
Word Count: 4.1k
Type: S&C video !
Chernobyl
Nate Hardy x fem!reader
Word Count: 1.6k
Type: S&C video !
The Art of Distraction
Nate Hardy x fem!reader
Word Count: 2k
Type: spicy !
Disasters to Desires
Nate Hardy x fem!reader
Word Count: 3k
Type: smut !
TAGS: single mom!reader, strangers to friends(?) to strangers to lovers, girl dad!oikawa, side pairing matsuhana, seijoh4 dont fucking play about reader's daughter they do not fucking PLAY, oikawa's characterization is explored via the difference between "oikawa" and "tooru", piece of shit ex husband, mentions of cheating (re: ex husband), dry humping, penetrative sex, "i love you"s unspoken but entirely felt
a/n: i have to admit something. i was a D1 Oikawa Tooru Hater until @ehviepls commissioned this. my little icy heart has melted. this is a problem for me personally.
[commission honee here!]
------------------------------------
Oikawa Tooru changes exactly three times over the course of your life.
Twice, it happens suddenly, like whiplash. Like taking a bucket of ice cold water straight to the face.
On the third, it's gradual — a wave of change settling over you, the realization coming too late.
-----
ONE
-----
He's a fake. That much is clear, even from here.
You stand off to the side of the gym, waiting for Mattsun and Makki to wrap up so you can walk home together. Waving at Iwaizumi when he passes quietly, his gruff "hey" barely making it to you before he's gone.
You'd noticed him years ago, noticed the attention he drew and the joy he derived from receiving it. Noticed the almost tangible glow that surrounds him, the way it grows when he smiles and morphs into something sharp when his mood shifts. You'd noticed, because it's impossible not to.
Oikawa Tooru is impossible not to notice. He manufactures it, you're certain, because he so clearly thrives off of it.
You wonder if that's why he's faking it, that bright persona.
You stare, watching him out of the corner of your eye while Mattsun squirts water in Makki's face and then books it across the gym in your direction. Oikawa's giggling down at a group of girls, blushing like he's embarrassed but obviously enjoying himself.
And then he glances up, attention drawn by the sound of Mattsun's body hitting the floor. Makki's dumping his entire water bottle on the boy. But Oikawa's not watching them.
He's watching you.
You try not to jump. Try not to look away, because you get the odd sense that he likes that, too. You just watch each other, neither wanting to give in.
He grins, eyes twinkling, and he tilts his head in a way that's meant to be affectionate. A hand comes up, his wave casual but intentional. He's the image of angelic purity, greeting you like you're special. Like you mean something to him, despite never having had a single conversation.
It makes your skin crawl. You can feel your stare turning into something horrified.
For a moment, the twinkle in his eye disappears, and the corners of his smile flatten out just a little. Just enough. It sends a chill down your spine.
And then one of the girls tugs on his sleeve, and he's forced to break eye contact, that sharp something reverting back into a bright glow when he redirects his attention. You level your breath and turn back to your friends, finding Mattsun drenched to the bone and Makki looking pleased with himself.
They argue about nothing on the walk home, and you follow quietly, used to their antics after years of it. Years of knowing them, knowing that they bicker because there's something else going on between them that neither of them wants to admit. You let them have this, because, even though you'd rather not interrupt at all, you know they can't handle being alone.
You know them well.
They know you better.
"You think she's ever gonna talk to him?"
"Nah, glaring's enough. She's got him wrapped around her little finger."
You blink, drawn out of your own daydream, only to find the terrible duo grinning down at you evilly.
"What?"
Mattsun scrubs his towel through his hair, the ends still damp. "You know what."
"If I knew, I wouldn't ask," you grumble, hiking your bag high on your shoulder.
Makki throws an arm over your shoulder. "What were ya thinkin' about just now?"
You don't want to tell them. You don't want to talk about chocolate eyes and a sharp edge.
"Thinkin' about how Mattsun ate shit earlier."
It works for a bit, the deflecting. Makki laughs the way he's supposed to and Mattsun gripes the way he's supposed to. But, as Makki is breaking away from the group with no more than a nudge to your shoulder and a lingering gaze on Mattsun, you have the distinct feeling that you're not safe yet.
Matsukawa Issei is known for his silence, and your status as lifelong friend doesn't save you from it.
He stares as you walk. Stares at crosswalks. Stares even when you stare back.
Finally, you crack. "What?! What do you want?!"
He smiles — small and satisfied. "When're you gonna make nice with Oikawa?"
You lift your brows. "Why would I do that?"
"'Cause you're intrigued."
He doesn't say 'Because you like him', which is almost worse. Because it means he's right. He knows you well enough to know the difference.
"I have no reason to talk to him."
"You're interested. That's enough reason."
You roll your eyes. "I'm good, thanks."
He leaves you be after that, just pulling out his phone and texting the rest of the way home.
You should have realized that Mattsun doesn't actually know how to leave things be.
—
The notification doesn't come for a few days. You forget all about the conversation with Mattsun, though it's hard to forget about the topic of conversation himself.
Oikawa starts to appear in places he hadn't been before, not in your three years at Seijoh.
He follows Makki into your shared classroom. Doesn't speak to you, choosing to sit in front of Makki's desk and accost him over volleyball-related things. Doesn't address you, even when the pink-haired boy rises from his seat and crosses the room to you, childish antics played out in your personal space. Doesn't speak your name even when your eyes find his. He just smiles and gives you that charming wave. Wiggles his fingers in greeting and then returns to his phone. You pretend you don't feel him watching you out of the corner of your eye.
He starts to wait in the same hallway you do after practice — for Iwaizumi, of course. He still doesn't speak, but you feel his eyes on your face more than before, and he seems to close the distance between you by a few inches every day. You never grace him with the glance he's looking for, and he never opens his mouth long enough to ask why. Neither of you is willing to address the situation.
He even stands beside you when the larger group gets together at the school gate or during lunch hour. But he always manages to keep his back turned, focused on antagonizing Iwaizumi. And you always manage to focus on Mattsun and Makki, poking fun and watching their antics. The two of you never speak, never acknowledge the brush of elbows or the bump of shoulders.
And then one late afternoon, after several grueling days of avoiding Oikawa Tooru, you finally fail.
You're rushing from your student council meeting that ran over time, jogging down the hall toward the locker bay, already calculating how late you'll be for dinner. You're not watching where you're going, and you're too busy stressing to bother listening for footsteps other than your own.
The turn of a corner leads to your body hitting the floor, another one landing beside you in a crumple of surprise.
"Ow," he whines. "Fuck."
Your head whips up, catching chocolate brown and a sharp edge.
"Oh," you say, at the same time his eyes go wide with shock. You blink. "Hi."
He blinks back, hand still clutching his chin. The top of your head aches. It's not hard to piece together what happened.
"Hi," he mumbles.
There's a moment of nothing, of complete silence. Of just watching each other, with nothing to save either of you from addressing this.
He shifts, blinking again, and the moment is gone.
"Oh, god," he laughs, bright and loud and way too much. "I'm so sorry! I totally knocked you over, didn't I?"
He knows it's your fault. You were the one racing through the halls without care. But he's already on his knees, shuffling around and gathering the books you'd dropped. A quick glance finds his duffel bag a few feet away and a damp towel crumpled beside it.
His head gets in your way, and you see so clearly the water droplets that are dripping off the ends of his hair, his eyelashes. The flush to his skin, cheeks dewy and warm. His eyes find yours, closer than he's ever been. The setting sun peeks through the window and lands, mercilessly, right on his face, casting that golden glow over him like it belongs there.
Damn. He's as pretty as they say he is.
His lips tug up in an innocent grin. "Y/n?"
The sound of your name on his lips shakes you to the core. You shake your head, looking away and taking the books from his hand.
"Thanks," you mutter, clambering to your feet. He must think that this gives him an excuse to stay close, because when he stands, he's still in your space.
"Are you hurt? I'm really sorry," he says, that sugar-sweet lilt in his voice.
You find your face peeling back into a grimace. "Yeah. Thanks. I'll be more careful next time."
You're gone before he can respond, brushing past him in a rush.
—
Your phone dings several hours later, late at night.
[11:09 PM]
tooru followed you!
You stare down at the notification, not sure what to make of it. Not sure how to react.
You eventually choose to follow him back, a quick tap of your finger on the screen.
And then your phone buzzes again.
[11:16 PM]
Unknown Number: hi!! yn, right??
You sigh, already planning Mattsun's funeral.
You: hi oikawa.
Unknown Number: omg howd you know it was me??
You: not hard to guess.
Unknown Number: ??? okay!!!
Unknown Number: im sorry again about earlier today. are you hurt??
Yes. Your head is still aching, and your ass is bruised.
You: no, im good.
You stare at your dry messages and then grit your teeth.
You: are you?
His response is immediate.
Unknown Number: no!!! im okay! thank you for asking
You: okay
You: goodnight.
Unknown Number: wait!!!! thats it???
You: ??
Unknown Number: ….
Unknown Number: uh,,, okay! goodnight!
You want to say it's weird, that you don't understand. But you do. You know what he'd wanted. What you won't give him.
—
He starts to speak to you. You give him the bare minimum, in passing and at the end of practice and even during lunch. He tries hard, so hard the Iwaizumi has to drag him away sometimes and Mattsun has to tell you to 'ease up on the black cat act, he's already suffering'.
But you won't give Oikawa Tooru what he wants. Because you know he's a fake.
Until he's not.
—
Seijoh loses against Karasuno in the Spring semifinals. Your heart hurts for Mattsun and Makki, and Iwaizumi, too. But Oikawa-
Oikawa is in the hall outside the gym, fighting off a horde of girls all echoing their condolences. You pass them, barely meeting his eyes as you disappear around a corner. It's Mattsun you're looking for, though it's Makki's hair you try to spot because he's easier to see in a crowd.
You glance back and forth, unsuccessful. You see Iwaizumi, and he sees you. You share a look, yours speaking of sympathy and his of regret, but it's all you get. Things with him are easy.
The crowd of girls sounds much closer, and you hear Oikawa trying to make excuses.
"I'm really okay, I promise! I should really go find my team-"
The crowd groans, and you back up to the wall to get out of the way. A doorknob digs into your back, and it's easy to see it's a storage closet.
Oikawa comes around the corner, all but running away as he looks over his shoulder. He looks stressed, distraught, hurt. But he's still smiling, that twinkle still there.
You twist the knob.
"Oikawa."
He turns, taking a moment to process that it's you. You just beckon him to the little room. The crowd around the corner gets louder, and you both hear some of the girls wondering if they should follow after him to see how he's really doing.
He slips past you in record time, and you follow, the door shut tight behind you.
He finds the light switch, bathing you both in painful, florescent white.
You stare up at him, and he stares back.
You watch in real time as his face fluctuates between keeping and dropping his smile. Between performing for you and deciding that he doesn't need to.
His lips fall, eyes emptying in time.
Someone else would've given him the privacy to fall.
You don't look away.
You don't speak, and neither does he. He just sighs, lets his eyes fall shut, and crouches next to a mop bucket, head buried in his knees. His skin is still warm and flushed from the effort of the game, and you're reminded of that day by the locker bay. But the easygoing energy — the one from just moments ago — is gone.
In its place is a boy wracked with tension, hands curled into fists until his knuckles go white.
"Fuck," he whispers. "Fuck."
You swallow hard. "I'm sorry about the game." Your voice is hoarse, like you're not used to using it around him.
"I failed," he laughs, the clip of his voice bitter. "I failed them."
You don't think he did — you know he didn't, because you watched the whole match. Watched the match with more attention paid to Oikawa Tooru than you want to admit. But you don't say anything to him, don't convey any feeling to argue against his, because you know it doesn't matter.
Several sets of footsteps barrel past the door, and you both tense. In a panic, you kill the lights.
His sigh is audible, relieved.
You crouch by the door, grateful for the dark and the silence.
"You're good at what you do, y'know," you say quietly.
If he moves, you don't hear it.
"Failures happen. Doesn't mean you weren't meant for this." You're picking at your nails in the dark, wondering if this is helping at all. "Doesn't mean someone else was meant to replace you."
He shifts at that, and you start to understand Oikawa Tooru a little bit better. Start to understand the tension between him and that other setter, the one with the blue eyes and the scowl.
"Doesn't matter, I guess," he finally says, his voice quiet. "I won't be around after graduation to keep an eye on them. I just kind of hoped to get them further than this before I go."
You frown, a little lost. Even after graduation, you know Makki and Mattsun will still be around, working various jobs together while Mattsun puts himself through school. You haven't commented yet on their completely, not-at-all suspicious roommate agreement, but that's only because you'll be gone for college. With Iwaizumi, in fact, in America.
Still, you've heard more than a few times that your two friends plan to haunt the Seijoh VBC grounds as often as possible. It seems Oikawa isn't part of that plan.
"Where will you be?"
He shuffles. "Argentina."
You blink, surprised. "Wow. Far."
He laughs weakly. "America's not far?"
You hadn't realized he was keeping tabs on you.
"Good point." There's not much else to say, so you check your phone for the time. "I think your fanclub's gone." When he makes no move to stand, you try again. "Did your family come watch the match?"
"Yeah," he admits after a long moment. "Part of why I don't wanna go out there."
You don't press. "I could get Iwaizumi?"
He sighs quietly. "Yeah. That'd be good."
You don't say anything else. You just get up and leave.
But as you're searching the crowd for Iwaizumi, you get a text.
You hadn't planned on saving his number. You still don't.
[4:13 PM]
Unknown Number: thanks.
—
He starts to text more. Asking if you and Iwaizumi have developed a friendship yet, given your college plans. Asking how you and Mattsun met, because the man in question won't tell him. Asking if you've noticed the tension between Makki and Mattsun, too, and if you think they're really, truly, that oblivious about it.
He asks you to coffee once, in the time between graduation and both of your departure dates. You go. It's not bad, but it's deeply uncomfortable. You feel examined whenever his eyes find you, and whenever you speak, you can see his gaze dropping to your mouth, like he's worried that he'll miss something hidden, some unspoken set of syllables.
Still, despite the discomfort, you find yourself thinking about that day often, even as you're packing to move worlds away and even as you're saying goodbye to family and friends. You find yourself thinking of him, wishing that there had been more uncomfortable days like it.
You find yourself wishing you'd had more chances to get to know Oikawa Tooru — the real one.
He keeps up a little in college, even with a five-hour time difference. He asks how Iwa is, because the man is terrible at answering texts, and he asks how you're adjusting. You find yourself texting him sometimes when you're lonely, asking about San Juan and the weather and the language barrier. He always seems happy to hear from you.
But eventually, you lose track of each other. He becomes a fleeting thought, only brought about when Iwa mentions him, which isn't often. You know they're still close, because you can hear Iwa yelling over the phone sometimes when you're running to meet up with him, the words 'hang up, fuckass!' echoed regularly. You maintain your friendship with Mattsun — you couldn't get rid of him if you tried — and have to endure his constant pining over Makki — his own roommate, by his own choice, by the way. Makki's no better, calling you late at night and whispering furiously about how good-looking Mattsun is.
Your relationship with Iwaizumi Hajime becomes one that you can only describe as mutual coping. You flock to each other initially, right after moving to America, because you only have each other and because California is a huge culture shock. You help each other get used to life away from home, and then, even after you've made your own friends and found your own peace, you find comfort in the tri-weekly study dates in the back of the cafe you both agreed is the least terrible. You find comfort in his gruff exterior, which hasn't changed a bit since high school. You find comfort in knowing that that old version of Iwaizumi Hajime was real. That he's real.
That's why he's the first to meet your boyfriend. The older guy in your computer science classes, the one who helps you study and who's got some connections with the tech world, where you hope to find your footing. Your boyfriend, who gives you advice and who makes you laugh and who treats you like royalty. Your boyfriend, who you think you're in love with.
You are in love. Even after feeling conflicted about the strange look Iwa gives him upon their introduction, you're in love. Even after Makki calls to check in one night — letting slip that Iwa has a weird feeling about the guy — you're in love.
Even after you move back to Japan with him, even after he becomes a director in the tech company you apply for, even after you're hired and realize he's your direct superior—
—Even after Matsukawa Issei, known for his silence, stands in your bridal room on the day of your wedding, asking — begging to know — if you're sure. Saying it's okay if you're not, that he promises he can find a way to sneak you out—
You're in love.
Even after the positive pregnancy test.
Even after he doesn't seem pleased about it.
Even after he starts staying out late and coming home with perfume on his collar.
You're in love.
You're in love?
—
The divorce is messy.
What's messier is the aftermath. The barely-HR-compliant isolation, the plausibly deniable humiliation tactics. That's leagues messier than the divorce.
It's only after you ask — beg — for a transfer that you realize it's what he'd wanted the whole time. That there's a desk with a name that feels awfully close to the name you'd seen in his phone countless times. That he's been trying to give that desk your job.
That he's going to leave you with one last gift before you go.
"We only have one opening," he says smugly, shrugging like there's nothing he can do about it. "It's far."
"I like far."
"Hope you know Spanish."
"What?"
—
------
TWO
------
"Mom, my love?"
"Yes, Hana, my love?"
"Are we gonna be in Saint Juan forever?"
You smile, combing your fingers through her hair. There's never been a part of you that wished she looked more like her father than like you. You're beyond thankful to the universe that she's a carbon copy of you.
"San Juan, baby."
She's six now. You'd been worried that the divorce would affect her, but her disposition is brighter now that it's just the two of you. Even making the move across the world, she's happier than before.
It makes you feel guilty, knowing you hadn't gotten out of it sooner.
"San Juan, baby," she echoes, kicking her feet in the airplane seat that's too big for her and returning to her book. You smile fondly. Hanako had learned that pet names and terms of endearment are saved for people you love. You're not sure when she'd started doing it herself, but it's simply too loveable to correct.
Correct isn't the right word for it, anyway. If this is how she learns love, then you've done your job. Better she learn this than learn that love is tension and fights, cheating accusations and crying late at night.
Better that she's far from it all, that the two of you can start fresh and learn love all over again.
The flight attendant comes by with drinks and sets a little box of apple juice on Hanako's tray.
"Thank you, my love," the little girl sings, taking her juice with glee. When the flight attendant laughs in surprise, you just smile up at her.
"Think she associates you with food now."
The woman coos and keeps going, and you hear her happily recounting the story to her co-worker a few rows down.
Yes, you think. Maybe a fresh start will give Hanako a chance at a happier, more innocent life.
Maybe you, too.
—
San Juan is hard.
It's hot and unfamiliar, and only a few weeks of Spanish classes online had left you ill-prepared for an entire life abroad. The school system is different, the culture is different, the feeling is different.
You love it.
It's okay that you mess up on how much to pay at grocery stores and restaurants. It's okay that you call your landlord three times the first week you move in because you can't read the labels on the washing machine and you really don't want to mess up your work outfits. It's okay that you're late to work two days in a row because you take the wrong train and end up across town.
It's okay. You're still you, and you still show up when it matters.
You're never late to pick up or drop off Hanako at school. You ask for more scheduled parent-teacher time so you can get used to the school system, so you can learn how to be better. How to be a better mother.
You work your ass off at the company and successfully smother the rumors about you and your ex with new, better information about just you — the new girl. She works hard, they say instead. Her output and quality is some of the best we've seen. Clients love her. And, though you don't mean for this to happen, the rumors slowly change from "what happened between them?" to "I wonder what he did to lose her". You don't mean for it to turn out that way, but you're not mad that it does.
You make a life in San Juan, just you and your girl. The little light that glows with every setting Argentina sun.
That life changes in an instant — not good or bad. Just different. Just familiar.
—
Hanako likes to wander at the grocery store. She knows now that she can't when it's a big store, but one of the little corner shops, where there's a security-camera-faux-mirror on every wall and only four or five aisles spanning the whole thing? You don't mind if she explores, especially because she's a chatterbox and you can hear every word she says from one end of the store to the other.
"Hi, beautiful!" to the clerk.
"Good morning, cuteness!" to the stocker boy.
"Thank you, my love!" to the stranger one aisle over.
"A-Ah," the man says, laughing awkwardly. "Of course, sweetheart. Careful, okay? That's glass."
You brain tugs hard in the direction of that voice, distracting you from your goal of location chicken broth.
The man laughs again. You bend down, still trying to find pollo broth-no, that's definitely not it.
"Hana," you call out, still distracted. "Leave the nice man alone, baby. He's trying to shop."
"Okay, baby," she sings. Her little footsteps come around the corner. "I found the pollo broth, Mama."
Damn carbon copy, that one.
"Oh, yeah?" you say with a smile, turning in your crouch. She walks carefully to you, and you barely take note of the long legs that follow. "You sure it says pollo broth, babe?" You take the jar from her, glancing at the label before your attention is drawn to the man behind her. "'Cause I think it's called-"
Chocolate eyes and a glow that echoes in the setting sun.
Surprise, from both you and him.
His lips part, and he blinks rapidly.
"Caldo," he mumbles. "Caldo de pollo."
You rise slowly, taking him in. "Yeah. Caldo."
The silence between you is palpable. You feel odd, like you should have remembered he'd be here but also like there's no way you could have kept track of him all these years. Like you regret not staying in touch, because there's a pang in your chest that still wishes you'd gotten to know him back then.
Like it's weird that his three best friends were at your wedding and you still don't have his number saved.
"Caldo, baby!"
You both blink and look down at Hana, who's starting to do spins in the aisle while she sings about chicken broth.
Oikawa clears his throat. "She looks just like you. I was wondering why she seemed familiar."
You laugh to yourself. "Thank god for that. Her father's ugly as a brick these days."
The man is insanely handsome, but you're still a little salty. So, what?
Oikawa shifts his weight, eyes flicking to you and then back to your daughter. "I heard you got married. Back in Japan."
He's not asking what you know he's dying to.
What're you doing here?
"Did you hear I got divorced?"
His shock is clear as day, but he doesn't comment on it. He just says-
"How long have you been in town?"
—
It turns out Oikawa Tooru lives just a few blocks from you, on the same street as Hana's school. He mentions it when he walks the two of you home that day, his groceries in one hand and yours in the other.
He doesn't ask you anything personal, and you can't tell if it's because he doesn't want to pry or because he's learned very quickly that Hanako repeats everything she hears like a parrot and he doesn't want to risk anything.
He just leaves you two at your door, passing your groceries over and then patting Hanako on the head.
"See you around, okay?"
"Bye, my love!" she yells, waving after him with both hands. He grins, shaking his head, and mumbles "I'll text you" to you once she's gone inside.
He does exactly that, not even twenty minutes later.
[3:57 PM]
Unknown Number: that little girl is just you but smiling
You beam down at your phone.
You: hey.
You: i smile.
Unknown Number: sources say you and a genuine expression of happiness have never been seen in the same room.
You: haha. funny.
Unknown Number: ive always been funny
Unknown Number: you just didnt like me
You: i liked you just fine
Unknown Number: liar??
You: okay yeah im lying
You: in my defense
You: that charming pretty boy act was offputting
Unknown Number: my charming?? pretty boy?? act??
Unknown Number: you mean my personality?????
You: no. i mean that thing you CALLED a personality
Unknown Number: …. alright fine
You: so you admit it was an act ?
Unknown Number: no.
Unknown Number: but im not all that charming or pretty anymore. if thats of interest to you.
You wholeheartedly disagree with that statement, but you would rather eat glass than tell him that. And that's not the point, anyway.
You: i could be interested
You: would tooru like to grab coffee and catch up?
You: not oikawa though. leave him at home.
Unknown Number: oh good, she has jokes. wonderful.
Unknown Number: should we do lunch instead? somewhere the little bird would like to eat
You press your phone to your chest, overwhelmed by this strange feeling that you haven't felt for a man in a long, long time. Affection. Gratitude.
You: depends on the day.
You: little bird is legally bound to the educational facility until 3pm on weekdays
Unknown Number: school is a prison or whatever the kids say these days
Unknown Number: the bird eats dinner i presume?
You: at 6pm every day, yes. shes well trained.
Unknown Number: how lucky, thats my dinnertime too
Unknown Number: practice ends at 5. tomorrow?
You glance at Hana, watching her eat her midday snack on the couch, fingers sticky as she turns the page of her new book. It's in Spanish, and she can only read four words in the language, but she's enraptured anyway.
"Babycakes?"
"Yes, Mama, my love?" She's still eating and turning pages.
"Do you want to get dinner with Mama and her friend tomorrow?"
She looks up now, eyes wide. "With who? Babycakes from the store?"
You laugh. "Yes, love. The man from the store."
She just nods happily and goes back to her book. "You make friends fast, Mama."
You sigh, watching her and taking photos of her silently. Your phone is full of them, not wanting to miss a single moment of her life.
"He's an old friend of Mama's, actually. "
"Really?" she says, half-listening. "Did you meet in Saint Juan?"
"No," you mumble, standing from the dining table and settling onto the couch beside her. "We met in school, like how you have friends at school."
"Oh, wow," she says, amazed as she looks up at you. "That's a long time, Mama."
Yeah. It's been a long time.
—
The first sign of trouble is that Hanako takes to Oikawa Tooru like he's her new best friend.
It's raining the day you meet him for dinner, and — though you tell her repeatedly not to — she drags him by the hand out into the downpour no less than four times. She stomps around in puddles and spins in circles and yells something that sounds like "Saint Juan rain feels different!".
Oikawa, awkward at first because spinning in the rain is not a habit of his, kind of just watches her with a grin and then eventually crouches to be closer to her level. He waves you off when you beckon him back to the awning where you're hiding. Stays near her, smiling and watching as she runs laps around him. And, when she finally gets dizzy from spinning and starts to fall over, he's quick to scoop her up and continue the game for her, stomping and turning and teaching her how to "catch the Saint Juan rain" on her tongue.
You try not to worry about him or the fact that he sits through the dinner soaking wet, his hair sticking to his face and his shoes squelching every time he shifts. You'd prepared Hana exactly for this moment because you know her — rain boots, rain hat, raincoat with little clouds on it — but Oikawa is a walking time bomb of the flu.
He doesn't even seem to notice, too busy asking Hana about how she likes school and coaching her through some of the Spanish she's struggling to learn, because she's barely been getting by with the help of a teacher's aide and your diligent presence at parent-teacher meetings. He teaches her like it's second nature, almost like he knows you can't quite help and that you're struggling with that fact.
And then, when she starts to get antsy, he quietly calls the waiter over and asks in fluent Argentinian Spanish for a pad of paper and some crayons from the kids' supplies. Hana's drawing the scene outside within a few minutes, only pausing when he calls for her attention.
He's cutting into a minced pork empanada, throwing you a smile when you give him a look, because you know they're small enough to just be bitten into.
"The inside's hot as fu-" He blanches, glancing at the little parrot who repeats everything she hears. "Hot as fire." She starts to sing 'hot as fire, hot as fire', and you have to cover the laugh that's bubbling up when he looks horrified and relieved that he'd corrected himself. He blows carefully on the food, watching for the moment it stops steaming. Then he hands it to her.
"Careful," he says softly. "Con cuidado, pajarito."
"Con parajito," she echoes poorly.
"Close enough."
You bite down another laugh and leave Hanako to her thoughts, asking Oikawa about his time here. The good and the bad come out — his successes, his failures, his friends and his breakups. You find yourself examining him, because the last failure you'd seen had ended with white knuckles and a mop bucket.
But he seems fine.
He takes life in stride, and he doesn't seem upset that the events leading up to this moment hadn't all been perfect.
Lord knows you know a thing or two about imperfections.
You leave the dinner — paid for by him, despite your protests — with Hana in hand and a strange feeling the Oikawa Tooru is going to be more than just a stranger this time.
Maybe it has something to do with the sharp inhale he'd drawn when your daughter had handed him a finished drawing of him holding her in the rain, the word 'babycakes' written messily above his head.
—
You see Oikawa every two days. Sometimes it's him who texts, sometimes it's you. Sometimes it's Hana, asking when she can see Babycakes again.
Ice cream on a warm evening, Oikawa teaching both of you how to order at the little stall by the market, Hana's little hand wrapped up in his.
Lunch on a Saturday, Hanako yelling "hi, Babycakes!" from the bottom step of the CASJ gym, Oikawa's teammates all letting out shocked laughs as Oikawa audibly comments "oh, that's me — gotta go" and jogs down the steps to meet you.
Breakfast the very next day, your two day rule broken easily when Hana asks him with big eyes if she'll see him in the morning. He only swallows and looks at you, and your defeated laugh is all he needs to hear.
It's not like you're particularly opposed to the idea. Multiple nights in a row — every night since that first dinner, in fact — are spent texting him in the dark, long after Hana's gone to sleep.
"I like Hana a lot," he says over the phone one night, after claiming he's too tired to text. "She makes me feel like it's okay to just exist."
Your heart had fluttered then. "I think it's pretty clear she's obsessed with you," you had whispered back. "She asked if you can go to her career day. She didn't even ask me."
He'd laughed wholeheartedly, agreeing with ease and asking you to send him the date and time.
Before you'd hung up, he'd asked a question. You'd been wondering when he would.
"Does her mom like me, too?"
Your face had burned, and you'd sworn the stupid kick of your feet had been audible.
"Goodnight, Tooru."
You'd sworn you could hear him kick his feet, too.
"Night, Y/n. See you tomorrow."
—
The second sign of trouble is Oikawa's response to Hana's father re-entering the picture, so many months later that you'd almost forgotten about him.
It's sudden and unwelcome, and you're entirely unprepared to deal with it.
The only warning you get is the receptionist shoving you back into the elevator the moment you step out, her eyes wide with alarm and the close door button jammed down multiple times.
"What-"
"Sorry!" she squeaks, sending you both down to the lobby again and dragging you to the little convenience store across the street. "Sorry, sorry! But there's a sudden meeting of executives—it usually happens in Buenos Aires, but they moved it this year—I wasn't sure if you heard about—"
You let her drag you around, let her buy you a little can of coffee and a pastry. You let her, because you don't know how to process this.
"So-"
"Yeah," she says, munching on her own pastry distractedly and staring out the window at the company building. "He's here. We all saw him walk in."
You're kind of surprised she's doing all of this. You hadn't been the best at making friends in the last few months — it's been more than a year, really — but you hadn't minded because people were at least very nice on the surface.
You hadn't realized that all those months of working your ass off and a generally positive reputation had actually resulted in people wanting to help you. You'd gotten so used to the Tokyo office, the isolation.
"Okay," you sigh, drinking your coffee gratefully and preparing to see him. "Okay, I got this."
"You got this," she says. She looks ready to throw a punch in your honor. "We all got your back."
Your heart is warm when you get back in the elevator.
You see him the moment you enter the office, out of the corner of your eye. You'll never forget what he looks like, never forget the effect he has on a room.
He's at your desk before you are, a grin on his face.
"Y/n," he says, voice saccharine, and tries to hug you. You try to back away from it and almost fail, if not for the guy in the cubicle next to yours rolling over your ex's foot with his chair.
"Aye, perdon," he says, smiling innocently. "Accident."
"Hi," you say simply, setting up at your desk and then looking up at him. "Safe travels?"
The man looks too pleased to see you, despite the aching foot. "It's so good to see you. Could we talk?"
"About?"
"Let's call it catching up."
It's not a question, and there's not a way out. You can see it in his eyes.
Sighing, you gesture to the empty conference room with the glass walls, where you now know your co-workers will keep an eye on you.
He grimaces. "I was thinking something like a coffee shop."
You stare up at him and gesture to the conference room again.
Walking after him, you realize with relief that his presence doesn't affect you like you thought it would. You're not angry or hurt or anything you had been for so long.
The conversation is short, consisting entirely of him poking at your work life to gauge how unhappy you are. When you don't give him what he wants, he grows frustrated, but he's called back to the meeting of executives before he can push.
You think that'll be it and return to your desk, trying to brush it off. Smiling gratefully at your co-workers, who are all on high alert on your behalf. You really hadn't realized how good things had gotten over the last year.
—
"Leaving already?"
You sigh, stopping short in the lobby.
He's been waiting for you.
"I get off at 2:30," you say plainly, turning to look at him.
He scoffs. "So much for full-time, I guess."
You just smile. "I work from home in the evenings. I have an arrangement."
"Arrangement for what?" he questions. "What do you need to leave at 2:30 for?"
You blink. Blink again. "To pick up my daughter from school."
Your daughter. Remember?
He blinks back. You realize he's forgotten about her.
The anger rises and falls, rises and falls. You push it down.
"Hanako," he says quietly. "Is she adjusting? Does she miss me?"
"Yes and no," you say. He looks pleased with your answer — thinks it means she feels conflicted generally, that she must ask for him — until you clarify. "In that order."
His nostrils flare with annoyance. You smile. "How's what's-her-name? The girl you gave my job and my bed to."
He rolls his eyes. "Fuck, you're dramatic. I didn't come here to fight, Y/n."
You just smile. "What're you getting upset about? It was just a question." You lower your voice, mocking him with those words he used to use on you. "Don't get emotional. It's not good for you."
He clenches his jaw, looks you over. Sees that you're actually doing well. Gets angry.
"I want to see my daughter."
Your smile falls. "Absolutely not."
He laughs. "What're you gonna do, stop me?"
"Yes," you bite. "Remember? You signed your custody away with the divorce."
He doesn't remember and you know it. Because he hadn't cared about that, even though it's the one thing you really had cared about.
He shifts, blocking you when you start to leave. "I can just follow you, y'know. I can find her school and where you live."
You turn away from the doors and march to one of the little sets of armchairs scattered around the lobby. You sit firmly, crossing your legs and staring at him expectantly. He looks shocked.
"What are you doing?" he demands, sitting across from you. "What is this?"
You smile. "Where you gonna follow me if I don't go anywhere?"
He scoffs. "You're being childish." When you don't move, he gestures out the door. "And Hanako? Not worried what'll happen if you don't show up?"
"Nope." You pull out your phone and shift to get comfortable. "You've always been too impatient for my games." Your eyes cut to his. "Isn't that what you said?"
You fully plan to wait him out, no matter how long it takes. But there is one thing you need.
[2:37 PM]
You: please help me
He answers immediately.
Unknown Number: what??
Unknown Number: whats wrong???
He calls. You reject it, pretending to play a game on your phone.
Unknown Number: yn answer me. whats happening??
You: hana gets out at 3
Unknown Number: i know???
You: cant get there in time
You: need help
Unknown Number: leaving practice
You: fuck im sorry
Unknown Number: dont be
Unknown Number: running, should be there in time
Unknown Number: tell me whats going on
You: ex here
You: showed up
You: wont leave until he sees her
Unknown Number: i think the fuck not
Unknown Number: where are you? are you safe???
You: yes
You: with him
Unknown Number: WHAT.
Unknown Number: LET ME COME GET YOU
You: hana!
Unknown Number: I KNOW BUT
Unknown Number: FUCK
Unknown Number: okay it's okay i have a plan
You: ?????????
You don't hear from him again, and you're left staring down at your screen.
"Talking to someone?" your ex says, leaning forward to examine you.
"What?" you say, startled. "No."
Your phone rings.
It's Iwa.
You blink, shocked, and put the phone to your ear. "Hajime?"
Your ex furrows his brow and leans back again, watching.
"Why is fuckass picking up my girl from school?"
You'd told him about reconnecting with Oikawa, of course, but you're certain he's heard more from Tooru himself. It's not surprising that Iwa's kept in the loop every minute of every day.
"Isn't it the middle of the night for you?"
"Your ex is there? Did you kick him in the balls?"
"No, Hajime."
"Do it. Say it's from me. And then do it again and say it's from Issei."
"One more for Makki?"
"Atta girl."
You roll your eyes. "Not happening."
"So, I should tell Makki to cancel all our flights out there?"
"Funny."
"I thought so, too. Did you hear that they finally fucked?"
You gasp. "What? When? How-Wait-" You squint. "What're you doing? You don't gossip."
"Fuckass gave me simple instructions. I'm following them."
You can hear Oikawa's voice now, "keep her on the phone as long as you can" probably yelled into the receiver while he was running to Hana's school.
You glance at your ex. He looks annoyed and bored and every other negative emotion under the sun.
You settle into your seat comfortably. "So, who yold you? Mattsun?"
"You know he did. He can't keep a secret to save his life."
—
It's after 6 when you finally manage to get rid of him, and it's only because the other executives had called a car to the airport and he would miss his flight otherwise. He hadn't said a word to you, and you hadn't even spared him a glance. You'd just kept gossiping with Iwa.
Once he's gone, you breathe heavily and say, "Finally. Fuck."
Hajime's on his morning run, the hours having bled into daylight for him. His breath is easy when he mutters a response.
"Good. Go."
You're flying down the street toward your house, heels in one hand and bag barely staying on your shoulder.
You make it to Hana's school and cut a sharp left, bare feet slapping against the ground but the pain not registering one bit.
You slow just enough to take a breath in front of Oikawa's apartment, not wanting to scare Hana. You knock gently, hearing as a little voice yells "Coming, my love!" from inside.
She's got salsa smeared on her face when she beams up at you. "Hi, Mama!"
Your knees hit the ground, her little body gathered in your arms and your face pressed into her shoulder. You breathe her in, smiling when she hugs you back with sticky hands and the wonderful little giggles you'd missed all day.
You glance over her shoulder at Oikawa, who's still sitting on the floor in his living room, watching you. He looks troubled, but mostly his face is full of relief.
"'m sorry Mama couldn't pick you up today, baby," you mumble. "Work got crazy. It won't happen again, I promise."
Hanako rocks back and forth, fingers playing with the ends of your hair. "That's okay, Mama. Babycakes took me back to the gym with him and did push-ups with me on his back! He did, like, a hundred!"
Oikawa laughs gently, lowering his gaze. "It was twelve. I did twelve."
You stare at him carefully, waiting until his eyes find yours again. Your vision gets warm, blurry.
"That's, like, a hundred, Babycakes," you say, voice shaky.
He's watching you the same way you're watching him.
—
"You shouldn't run around without your shoes," Oikawa says, rubbing an alcohol-soaked cotton ball on the soles of your feet. You've got your legs in his lap, Hana asleep on top of his bed in the other room. "You could have cut yourself on metal or glass. What'do we do if you get tetanus?"
You sigh, resting your head against his couch. "I know. I just got desperate."
"I know," he breathes, and then he watches you. "Nothing happened?" When you shake your head, he pushes. "Promise me."
You smile, holding his gaze. "Nothing happened. I sat in the lobby and talked to Hajime on the phone until he left." You lift your head again, eyes wide. "Did you hear about Mattsun and Makki?"
His eyes go comically wide. "You're joking." When you shake your head, he laughs. "Finally. It's only been 15 years."
"I know," you laugh, and then you pull out your phone.
[9:47 PM]
You: so who bottoms?
The response is instant, like he'd been waiting.
Mattsun: kiss my phat ass
Mattsun: and then eat it
You: okay so… you??
Mattsun: heard fuckass picked up my girl from school
Mattsun: anything you wanna tell me?
You: my girl this, my girl that
You: shes MY GIRL
Mattsun: WE WERE THERE WHEN SHE FLEW OUT YA COOT
Mattsun: THAT FUCKING LOSER DIDNT EVEN SHOW UP
Mattsun: THATS O U R GIRL
You: okay your point is made
You: makki bottoms
Mattsun: thats what i thought
You laugh, about to tell Oikawa what you've been texting about, but your phone buzzes again.
Mattsun: seriously though
Mattsun: youre okay?
You: yes, mattsun
You: promise
Mattsun: fuckass really came through today huh
You: yeah,,, he did,,,, he's been like that for a while
Mattsun: …….. hm.
You just throw your phone on the coffee table and tell Oikawa, "Mattsun bottoms but wants the narrative to be the opposite."
He throws his head back and laughs, and you have to shush him so he doesn't wake Hana up.
—
Career Day at Hana's school comes, and you find yourself, along with dozens of other parents, filing into the school with your kid. Oikawa's right beside you, wearing his CASJ uniform and chatting up any parents who recognize him and want his autograph.
You sit through a morning of hearing about Hana's classmates and their parents, glad that you'd taken the day off work to be here. And then you all eat lunch together, Oikawa cutting her food and blowing on it.
"She's gonna grow up a princess if you keep doing that," you warn him fondly.
He just winks at you and passes Hana a perfectly prepared little lunch plate. "Good."
After lunch, you all return to the classroom and prepare for the afternoon session. Finally, right after hearing about the dangers of tax evasion from an accountant, the teacher claps her hands and stands with a smile.
"Okay, next we have Hanako! Everyone, please clap."
The children all clap their little hands, and you and Oikawa watch fondly as she toddles to the front of the class, her nerves about being the new girl still fresh even a year later.
"Uhm! Hi!" She seems so different than normal, clasping and unclasping her hands as she looks around. "For my career day, uhm-" She looks around some more, and you see one girl in the back give her two thumbs up. It warms your heart and makes you tear up a little, watching your girl grow up.
Hana finds you in the crowd of parents, finds Oikawa next to you in his CASJ uniform. And then her smile comes out, the one she shows for him. The one she'd never shown for anyone but you, not before him.
"For my career day, I have my dad! C'mere, Babycakes!"
----------
THREE
----------
The third sign of trouble is exactly that right there.
Your whole world comes to a screeching halt, the floor falling out from under you.
You feel Oikawa's body jerk next to yours, and a choked noise leaves him.
Your eyes find the teacher's. She looks equally shocked.
Your eyes find the other parents'. They look a mix of shocked and sympathetic, and you know you'll be the talk of the parents' groupchat within the hour.
Your eyes find Oikawa's. He's already looking at you, looking for you. Looking for you to tell him what to do. His face is burning red and radiating heat, and you can't tell if he's embarrassed because he's not her father or if it's because of the implication that he could be.
"Babycakes?"
Chocolate eyes rip away from you, flying straight to her. Because she's waiting, nervous. She needs him.
"Y-Yeah," he chokes. "Yeah, love. Coming."
You see him mask his confusion, his shock. You see that wall come up, and it scares you. It scares you to realize that it's not the same as before, as in high school. The wall he's putting up isn't for him. It's not even for you.
It's for her.
It scares you, because you see the moment your daughter's anxiety fades away. You see it fall to nothing when he puts on that face that you used to hate, and it scares you because you don't hate it anymore. He picks her up and introduces himself to the class, his voice ringing in your ears, and you don't hate it anymore. You see him holding her, that mask of confidence and ease, that twinkle in his eye and that glow that radiates around him like the sun chose him out of everyone in the world.
You see it, and you realize that you love him.
—
The walk home is silent, except for Hana skipping ahead and singing to herself.
—
"Stay," you whisper, catching him by the sleeve when he tries to go. He's standing outside your door, goodbyes with Hana already exchanged before she went inside.
It only takes a single tug on his sleeve for him to give in, and he steps close, invading your personal space briefly as he passes you.
Hana calls out in surprise from the living room.
"Babycakes is staying for dinner," is all you say, casting a look in his direction. He's already staring, cheeks flushed and eyelashes fluttering nervously.
—
It's late.
You're standing in the kitchen, washing dishes and staring down at nothing. You can hear Oikawa in Hanako's room, his voice steady as he reads out a story from one of her many books in Spanish. She's gotten better now, almost fluent, and she's started reading chapter books. He's narrating one of those chapters out loud for her, his Spanish echoing around the apartment in a way that suggests it wants him here.
You want him here.
He eventually comes out, shutting the door silently behind him. You're finishing up in the kitchen.
"Hi," he breathes. You turn, staring up at him for a moment.
"Hi."
He follows you silently to your bedroom, the lights turned off in each room as you go.
Your bedroom light stays off, too, the moonlight more than enough. You're reminded of another moment just like this. It involved a mop bucket.
"Tooru-"
"Y/n-"
You both stop, stare at each other.
He swallows. "I love her." Your heart catches in your chest, and your inhale is audibly and sharp. "I love that little girl, Y/n. She's everything to me."
You can't find your words. You just stare and blink up at him stupidly. "Tooru, I-"
"Wait, please. Just wait," he pleads. "I know that I'm not-that we're not-" He sighs. "But I think about her all the time. I stop at the store and think about what snacks she would like and what foods she hasn't tried yet. And there's a bookstore by the gym that I pass every day, and I always want to stop in and-" He's been pacing, but he stops now, looking at you. Hopeless. "And any time we go abroad for a game, I want to bring her something. I want to bring you something. But I don't, because I don't know if I'm allowed, or if-if you-"
He doesn't finish. You don't need him to.
"Tooru," you say quietly, stepping close. "You're allowed. You're more than allowed. That little girl in there adores you, and I know you see it. She's obsessed with you." Your fingers find the hem of his shirt, curling tight around the fabric. "You heard her today. You know what you are to her."
He swallows. "But… But I'm not-"
You tug, hard. He gasps quietly and shuts his mouth.
"You know what you are to her, Tooru. It's a question of if you want to be." His eyes start to water. You fight back the same urge. "Because I won't have another man walk out on her."
He shakes his head, gentle. "Of course I want to be." He swallows hard, and his fingers hook into your belt loops, drawing you to him. "God, I've been wanting that for months. I've been thinking about it for months."
Your heart is in your throat. "And me?" His breath falters, so you push on. "Do you wanna be?"
His exhale is shaky.
"I want anything you'll give me."
You tug on his shirt again. He gets the message.
His lips are soft and his breath is desperate and his fingers shake on your skin. It feels like everything is moving fast, but there's 10 years behind you, so you're not ashamed to admit that you push him down onto your bed like it physically pains you to wait another minute.
"We have to be quiet," you say against his lips. He just nods, turning you over onto your back and reaching down to unbutton your slacks. They hit the floor somewhere far away, and his shirt goes with them.
But when you think he's going to keep undressing you, he stops. He stops and pins your hands to the bed and just kisses you. Parts your thighs with his knees and settles between your legs and kisses you like he means it.
"Sorry," he mumbles. "If we go too fast, I won't make it." You purse your lips, and he nudges you with a smile. "Don't laugh at me."
"Damn near 30 years old and Oikawa Tooru's got the endurance of a teenager," you tease, wrapping your legs around his waist. "Don't you have a ton of experience?"
He shakes his head. "'s 'cause it's you," he breathes, lips finding yours. "'m gonna be 40 and still acting like this."
You don't want to admit to him that the thought of him at 40 — still in this bed, still in your home — makes your nerves flip and your body sensitive.
His hips roll into yours, the seam of his jeans catching on your underwear, and you twitch underneath him. He grins and does it again, just to see if it was a fluke.
The low whine in the back of your throat tells him it wasn't.
He tortures you like that, rolling his hips and sliding his tongue against your throat. You whimper beneath him and whisper his name, the quiet "please"s only heard when he's had enough. Only then does he loosen his grip on your wrists.
You're on him instantly, knocking him onto his back and straddling his waist. You plant your hands on his chest and roll your hips, taking over. It feels perfect — the slide of his denim against your clit, rough and hard and perfect. And he doesn't seem so unaffected in this position, his head thrown back and his Adam's apple bobbing when he swallows and his biceps straining as he fights to maintain control of himself while you rut on his cock like this.
"Please," he breathes, shaky. "Please, Y/n. No more."
You're out of breath too, your cunt throbbing and aching for more than just this.
You drop your hands to the band of his jeans and pop the button, the drag of the zipper loud in the space between you.
The distance between this moment and you wrapping your hand around his cock is no more than Oikawa clapping his hand over his mouth, eyes rolling back in his head.
You flick your wrist a few times, amazed at his size, as he twitches and struggles under you, his muscles jumping. And then you lift off of him, lining him up with your entrance, and sink down slowly.
"Oh-" The sound escapes you before you can stop it, and suddenly the hand he'd hand on his mouth is now on yours, clamped tight. You do the same for him.
You ride him like this, the two of you making no more noise than loud exhales and the low, muffled moans that don't go beyond this little bubble you've created. You lift up and drop down with as little noise as you can manage, but the few slapping sounds that break through are enough to send his hips thrusting up into you, almost like he can't help it.
When you're close to the edge, your hips falter, and he takes it as his opportunity to roll you over and take control. He flattens himself over you so his face is buried in your neck, and all you can do is wrap your arms around his neck and cling to him.
He fucks you hard, but it's not rough. It's desperate, like he's been waiting. Like he might never get the chance again. Your bed creaks slightly, but you're already so close that you know you won't even last a few more seconds.
He lasts even less.
He shudders against you, stilling suddenly, and then he pulls out of you just in time to come on your skin, your abdomen and thighs covered in him. He does it without a single noise, the sounds he wants to let out bitten back completely and his eyes screwed shut. You shiver at the warmth of it on your sweaty, chilled skin, a blissful smile taking over your features.
He smiles back, his fingers dropping to your clit and rubbing messy circles over it. You gasp, back arching, and he starts to murmur to you, low and loving.
"That's it, beautiful. Let me see you come, hm? Please?"
Your vision starts to go white at the edges, and his name falls from your lips. He breathes out and leans over you to plant his lips on yours.
"Come for me."
It's enough.
—
You don't remember falling asleep.
You don't remember the last time you slept this well.
—
You wake to the sound of Hanako singing in Spanish.
There's someone singing with her.
When you pad out of your bedroom, you find her seated on the kitchen counter, singing along to the kids' station on the little radio in the corner. Oikawa's just beside her, cutting up fruit that you certainly didn't have before. He must have gone to the store and come back before she woke up.
She starts to wriggle in place, and he places a careful hand on her arm.
"You guys are so...in love." Your son said from his place, watching you and Chuuya bake, or attempt to.
Both of you stilled for a moment, glancing back at him. Chuuya's hand still lingered over your wrist as he helped you stir the mixture. You raised a brow at your teenage son. "huh...?"
Your son pulled his gaze away when he saw his father give him a sharp glare. Stuttering his words. "I mean...parents usually stop liking each other after years. You guys are at that age and the biggest fight I've seen you two have was you yelling at dad to keep his hands off you."
Right, parents usually fight, have silent dinners and sleep on the opposite sides of the bed. Your son probably heard his friends talk about their own families and was confused. Years of relationship, having two kids, all the stuff you two went through; nothing changed, you two just fell in love more. Still went to weekly date nights, watched films on the couch cuddling, acted all sappy.
"Is that a bad thing?" Chuuya's hand rested on your waist, turning to your son. You glanced at Chuuya before going back to the recipe. "He's just trying to say we are too perfect compared to other parents."
Chuuya sighed. Putting his chin back onto your shoulder, mumbling. "As if I'm not supposed to be obsessed with you or something."
Your son buried his face in his hands from embarrassment, groaning. "You guys are doing it again!"
Thinking about pre timeskip iwa with shy reader ><
Iwaizumi Hajime who couldnt help but get distracted by how pretty you looked with the sunlight shining onto you just right by the window in class
Iwaizumi Hajime who was surprised when he saw you try out for aoba johsais manager and assumed it was for Oikawa
Iwaizumi Hajime who admired your knowledge on the sport despite not being physically fit for it
Iwaizumi Hajime who sees your efforts to try and get over your shyness by going out of your comfort zone and becoming their teams manager
Iwaizumi Hajime who appreciated your help and kindness towards all of them by often offering them cold drinks and fresh towels after practices as a reward
Iwaizumi Hajime who thinks youre a breath of fresh air after being around his team (oikawa specifically) for so long and having to deal with their shenanigans
Iwaizumi Hajime who finds comfort in your pressence, even if you dont speak out a lot
Iwaizumi Hajime who finds himself wanting to get closer to you and know you more
Iwaizumi Hajime who notices hes gone completely soft for you and gives you special treatment
Iwaizumi Hajime who offers to walk you home whenever its just him and you left after practice and even offers his jacket when it gets cold
Iwaizumi Hajime who feels his cheeks and the tip his ears getting warm at just the thought of you
Iwaizumi Hajime who accepts that he is now completely, undeniably whipped for you
A/n dont like this too much but wanted to write it anyway ! Happy reading ꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡
be like a woman. ⋆˚࿔ i. hajime (f!reader, fluff, wc 344)
"that a new set of earrings?"
your back turns at the sound of your boyfriend's smooth voice reverbrating from the bed. you smile as you draw near, watching how the lamplight bathes hajime's adoration for you in a pretty orange glow.
"mm," you nod as you sink into the edge of the mattress, tilting your head so he can catch a glimpse of the pearly studs. "picked it up while you were away."
hajime reaches out to trace the line of your jaw, keeping your face angled to the right.
"they're pretty," he agrees, his voice a warm rasp.
"will you be around to see me wear them more often?" you whisper, exhaling softly as he runs his hand down your bare back.
hajime hums, playing with the silky straps of your backless party dress. "that depends. do they come with this dress?"
you chuckle. "you like the dress too?"
"i'll adore anything you wear, darling."
you find yourself shying away under his fond gaze. with hajime's never-ending schedule of overseas training camps and international tournaments, precious moments like these have been few and far between.
while your boyfriend sits there and trails his hands down your waist, somehow managing to look the softest in his tough exterior, you start to regret rsvp'ing for your friend's year-end party.
"well? will you be around to see me wear these more often?" you prompt, tearing hajime's gaze away from your slender hips.
"what the lady wants, the lady gets," he responds teasingly, his hands moving to cup your cheeks.
you close your eyes, anticipating his kiss—then your ringtone cuts in, rudely interrupting the moment.
your hands find your phone as hajime begins to absentmindedly press kisses down your neck, and you barely manage to conceal your sighs as your friend informs you that the party's just begun.
some part of you signals your eyes to dart to your heels waiting by the doorframe. though with hajime's longing gaze and wandering hands, you can already tell that you won't be attending the party for a long, long while.
omg i saw that ur back!! i love ur writing so i wanted to send a request ^^
can u write ab keith kogane and reader (you can make this hc or a fic!! whatever u feel fits the most)
i would love to see him crushing on reader, like that phase before the relationship where all he does is deny that he has a crush but cannot stop getting nervous and blushy when being around her?
thx so much!!!<3
keith kogane x (implied) female reader
genre: fluff
a/n: this was a super cute request! it’s been a minute since i’ve written anything voltron-related so hopefully it’s to your liking!! (it is a little rushed lowkey…)
keith kogane absolutely, positively, most certainly does not have a crush on you. that was fact. he never has, and he never will.
he was familiar with you, though. back at the garrison, he recognized you in the hallways and classes that you coincidentally had together. you were a pretty girl, with bright eyes and a fiery passion to become a fighter pilot. it was truly hard not to notice you, but obviously, that didn’t mean he had a crush on you. guys can recognize an attractive girl without it meaning anything, right? and that’s what he was doing.
no one knows about his inner turmoil but himself. keith thinks he’s done a good job of ignoring it—whatever that feeling was in the pit of his chest. he pushes it down, pretending that his pulse doesn’t quicken and his cheeks don’t warm when you’re in his vicinity. it’s embarrassing—how can a girl reduce him into a mushy, blushing mess? it was so unlike him. it’s like you’ve completely rewired keith’s brain, to suddenly make him forget how to act even in such small interactions (like when you greet him with a simple ‘hi’ and then his ‘hi’ back gets stuck in his throat).
for years, he thinks he’s manage to escape the whole bubble of you. he was kicked out, living in his tiny shed, tracking weird frequencies in the area and trying to piece what that meant, more important matters to focus on. occasionally his mind does drift back to you when he lays awake at night, recalling those fleeting moments with you, and his entire body gets hot.
but much to keith’s surprise, you show up with these garrison cadets (claiming to to save shiro, too). he freezes in that moment, staring at you wide-eyed and felt as though he was taken back to his days at the garrison, becoming that awkward boy in an instant.
he doesn’t get an actual moment with you until you’re all launched into space, finding solace in this foreign castle. you looked so different but still so you. taller, older, but still bright-eyed and beautiful just exactly as how keith remembered you.
there’s a part of him does enjoy the way you hug him in your arms, and the gentle, feather-light laugh after you say “i thought you were gone forever! but, gosh, i’m so glad to see you again.”
when you pull back to look up at him, keith does not take note of the way your eyelashes seem to flutter when you blink, and he definitely does not glance down at your lips. as he’s always done before, keith ignores, ignores, ignores the alien feelings you manage to bring out of him, and reminds himself to stop being so tongue-tied in front of you.
because, keith does not have a crush on you. and that was fact.
>> from the moment she’d met him, matsukawa issei had done nothing but make her life a living hell. years of annoying her on a daily basis for the sake of his own entertainment. it’s like there’s no escaping him, even in college. her only saving grace is his best friend – her best friend – who’s stuck in the middle. so after years of watching them fight, makki’s got a plan. a really bad plan. but what happens when they realize they’ve all been hiding something – something that could change the dynamic of the entire group? <<
pairing : matsukawa issei x f!reader x hanamaki takahiro [poly au]
genres : college!au, crack!au, humor, fluff, will def end up being nsfw at some point, enemies to lovers, friends to lovers
warnings : nsfw language and eventually content, marijuana and alchohol, an unprecedented amount of swearing on this blog, the inside of my mind is a chaotic place so i apologize in advance
a/n : this au idea came to me in a fever dream and refuses to back off so here we go
