Help why do all the tumblrs I follow all lokwey know/ moots of each other đđ
Once, we were all aimless wanderers who walked the earth, not knowing what was missing in our lives.
Then came Haikyuu!! With hot men and hotter women. And with that came the land of fanfiction where we (or at least, me) met our lord and savior @showhay.
Her discord server united us as one and from there came light.
Soft tagging @blockcat-safari, @jackdraw-spwrite, @cityofangeisislying, @audioeidolon, @venusplantt, @bardicc-inspo and @voidindite in case they would like to play along :)
(Feel free to jump in if this looks fun and I forgot to tag you!)
tĆru has planned on bumping into you since 3 weeks ago.
w/c: 1.3k ,, happy birthday to my beloved
thereâs a frequency to the squeak oikawaâs sneakers made against the damp tile outside the convenience store, and usually, it was accompanied by the sound of three different underclassmen trying to crawl into the sewer to escape his serve practice.
today, however, it was accompanied by the catastrophic velocity of your shoulder connecting directly with his ribs.
it wasnât even a grand collision. you had been attempting to balance a soft-serve cone, a chocolate-flavored drink, and the fading remains of your own dignity after standing in line for twenty minutes behind a man arguing about coupon expiration dates. oikawa had simply stepped out from behind the rack of sports drinks like a gorgeous, knee-padded jump-scare.
the ice cream took the brunt of the impact, smearing a pale pink, tragic streak straight down the front of his pristine turquoise warm-up jacket.
for half a second, the universe held its breath. somewhere in the distance, a crow probably lost its wings.
oikawa didnât even wince at the cold. he looked down at his chest, then up at you, his hazel eyes opening wide with the fake, theatrical horror of a victorian maiden being told her favorite corset maker had succumbed to scurvy.
he grabbed his chest, staggering backward three steps until his spine hit the glass door of the ice display with a soft, dramatic thud.
âunprovoked physical assault,â he gasped, placing a palm flat against his forehead as if he were about to faint into a pile of pre-packaged melon bread. âa targeted strike to the vitals. iâm bleeding strawberry dairy. iâm dying, right here between the red bean buns and the cheap umbrellas⊠i guess the only way to make up for it ..is buying me dinner.â
you froze, holding the sad, empty wafer cone like a broken tiny trumpet. âyou stepped into my way on purpose. you saw me coming from six yards away.â
âfalse! libelous! i was minding my own business, nourishing my soul with electrolyte water, when a feral tornado wearing a very pretty cardigan destroyed my favourite jacket,â he declared, though he was already using two fingers to delicately scoop a dollop of soft-serve off his zipper andâwithout an ounce of shameâlick it off his thumb. âmy legal counsel advises me that a bowl of warm ramen and twenty minutes of your undivided attention is the absolute minimum out-of-court settlement.â
âyou donât have legal counsel, oikawa. you have iwaizumi, and if i call him right now, heâll hit you with a volleyball until you apologize to my ice cream.â
oikawaâs smile flickered into something dangerously sweet, the kind of grin that usually meant he was about to set a ball so perfectly it would make a high school boy cry in the locker room later. he leaned down, bringing his face down into your personal space until you could smell the faint scent of mint shampoo and desperation.
he was so ridiculously, inconveniently beautiful that it felt like a personal insult to every other human face on the planet. his eyelashes were long enough to sweep the floor, and he was looking at you with the intensity of an orange cat staring at an open tin of tuna.
âiwa-chan isnât here,â he whispered, his voice dropping into that smooth, honey-coated register he used when he wanted something so badly his teeth ached. âitâs just you. and my ruined jacket. and a very hungry, deeply traumatized setter who happens to know a place around the corner that serves those little fried dumplings you like.â
your brain did a small, complicated somersault. âhow do you know what kind of dumplings i like?â
oikawa just blinked his big, bright eyes, totally unbothered by the fact that he was confessing to high-level surveillance. âi have eyes. excellent eyes. i notice things. like how you always buy the pork ones on tuesdays, and how you look like you want to marry the chef every time you eat them.â
âthatâs horrifying.â
âitâs attentive!â he corrected instantly, reaching out to gently, agonizingly slowly take the sad, empty waffle cone out of your hand and toss it into the nearby trash bin. his fingers brushed against your wrist on the way back down, lingering just long enough for you to feel the sudden, absurd heat of his skin. âcome on. my ribs are bruised. my spirit is broken. if you donât feed me, iâm going to follow you home and lay on your porch like a wet dog.â
âyou wouldnât.â
âtry me,â he beamed, offering his elbow with the grand, sweeping gesture of a prince inviting a duchess to a royal ball, despite the big glob of pink cream still glistening on his chest. âi have no shame when it comes to getting what i want.â
five minutes later, you were sitting across from him in a cramped, steam-filled booth at the back of a tiny noodle shop. the air smelled of rich pork broth, garlic, and the damp wool of oikawaâs discarded jacket, which was currently folded neatly on the vinyl seat beside him.
he was watching you. not in a normal, polite âweâre having a conversationâ way, but in the way an astronomer might stare if a brand new planet suddenly materialized inside their living room. his chin was propped in his palm, his cheek squished up slightly, making his lips pout out in a way that made you want to hurl your chopstick case at his forehead just to save yourself from cardiac arrest.
âstop that,â you muttered, stirring the scallions into your bowl.
âstop what?â he asked, his voice dripping with complete, unvarnished innocence.
âstaring at me like iâm a giant milk bread.â
âi canât help it,â oikawa sighed, the sound so heavy and dramatic it fluttered the napkin in the holder between you. he reached across the small table, his big, calloused hand creeping over the formica until his fingertips hovered over yours. âyouâre sitting right there. in the light. eating noodles. do you have any idea how long iâve been trying to orchestrate this exact moment without looking like a complete freak?â
âyou failed at the ânot looking like a freakâ part,â you pointed out, though you didnât pull your hand away when his fingers finally closed around yours.
his hand was huge, warm, and slightly rough from hours of hitting leather against floorboards, but the way he held your fingers was so impossibly soft, like he was worried if he squeezed too hard youâd turn into a cloud of smoke and blow out the door.
âdetails, details,â he murmured, his gaze dropping to your mouth for a fraction of a second before darting back up to your eyes. the playful, mischievous mask he usually wore was slipping around the edges, revealing the raw, glowing heat underneath. âall that matters is that youâre here. with me. not with the guys from the track team, not with that guy from your literature class who keeps trying to loan you his highlightersââ
âyou know about the highlighter guy?â
ââi know everything,â he whispered, a little breathlessly, his thumb sliding over the back of your knuckles in a smooth, rhythmic circle that made your pulse do a stupid, fluttery tap-dance in your throat. âi know iâve spent the last three weeks almost tripping over my own feet every time you walk past the gymnasium. i know my serve went into the net twice yesterday because you stopped to tie your shoe near the entrance. iâm suffering, genuinely. my volleyball career is in jeopardy because of your face.â
you let out a soft, helpless laugh, the sound bubbling up before you could stop it. âyouâre the most dramatic human being alive.â
âiâm a man in crisis!â oikawa insisted, though the bright, pink flush spreading across the tips of his ears betrayed him entirely. he pulled your hand an inch closer to his chest, pressing his palm flat against his ribs so you could feel the absurd, frantic badump-badump-badump of his heart hammering behind his ribs. âlook at what youâre doing to my resting heart rate. my trainer is going to execute me.â
the heat of him radiated straight through your skin. it was ridiculous, really, how someone so tall, so ridiculously skilled, and so agonizingly popular could look at you like you held the keys to the entire universe in your pocket.
he leaned across the narrow table, his eyes shining with luminous adoration that made your stomach flip completely upside down.
âso,â he said softly, his thumb still tracing tiny, helpless patterns against your wrist, âsince iâve officially surrendered my dignity, are you going to let me walk you home after this? or do i need to fake another tragic injury?â
you smiled, leaning in just a tiny bit closer to match him. âdepends. are you going to buy me another soft-serve to replace the one you assassinated?â
oikawaâs face lit up so bright it felt like someone had flipped a breaker switch inside the dim little restaurant. âiâll buy you ten. iâll steal it from the store.â
âplease donât commit grand theft dairy.â
âanything for you,â he beamed, squeezing your hand tightly, utterly content to sit there in the steam, holding your fingers like they were the greatest trophy heâd ever won.
n: i love him so much, you guys have to understand. this is the last one, happy birthday to the love of my life!
tĆru has a skincare routine dedicated for you.
w/c: 1.3k ,, i luv my birthday boy sm
the camera rattles violently as itâs dropped onto a marble counter, the frame spinning until it settles on a perfectly symmetrical, mildly frantic face. oikawa doesnât do things by halves, which is precisely why heâs currently staring into the lens with the intensity of a man who has witnessed the birth of the universe and found it lacking compared to the person currently taking a nap in his living room.
âwelcome back, beautiful people, and welcome to the only routine that matters,â he whispers, leaning so close to the microphone that his breathing sounds like a wind tunnel. âtoday weâre discussing the absolute pinnacle of dermatology. the cosmic event. the holy grail. this is âhow to glow like y/n saw you today.ââ
he jerks back, throwing his hands in the air like a game show host who has completely lost his script. his brown hair is held back by a ridiculously fluffy white headband with cat earsâa piece of merchandise he stole from your closet three months ago and has refused to return on legal grounds of âbut look how cute i am, my love.â
ânow, some of you in the comments have been saying, âoikawa-san, your skin looks so radiant, did you get a chemical peel?ââ he mimics a high-pitched voice, waving a manicured finger at the screen. âwrong. absolute garbage. a chemical peel wishes it had the cellular-regenerating power of y/n looking at me for three uninterrupted seconds while i hold the door open for her. but since we cannot clone herâthank god, because the world would literally collapse from structural perfectionâiâm going to teach you how to fake the absolute euphoria of being perceived by the love of my life.â
he slaps his palms together, the sound echoing off the bathroom tiles.
âstep one: hydration. and i do not mean simply drinking your silly little water from your silly little reusable bottles.â he reaches off-camera and drags a massive, industrial-sized tub of gel moisturizer into view, dropping it with a heavy thud. âyour skin needs to be wetter than the amazon rainforest after a monsoon. it needs to look like you just emerged from a mystical lake to deliver a prophecy. why? because when y/n walks through that front door, my face must reflect her beauty back at her like a pristine, polished mirror.â
with an absurdly dramatic flourish, he scoops out a handful of the clear gel. he massages his cheeks with the frantic energy of a baker kneading dough during a rush hour shift.
âyou have to understand the science behind this,â oikawa says, his voice muffled as he pushes his nose upward with his palms. âwhen y/n looks at me, my blood pressure spikes to levels that should technically interest medical professionals. my heart does a complete gymnastics routine inside my ribs. that natural flush? it requires preparation. if iâm dry, iâll crack under the weight of her presence. last week, she wore that sage green sweaterâyou guys know the one, the oversized knitted one that makes y/n look like a precious moss ballâand she walked into the kitchen and said, âhey, tĆru, can you pass the peanut butter?ââ
he stops moving entirely. his hands remain glued to his cheeks, squishing his face into a diamond shape, his eyes wide and completely glazed over with an emotion so deep it borders on a spiritual awakening.
âi forgot how to use my legs,â he confesses to the camera, deadpan and entirely serious. âi stood there like a glitching NPC for a full minute. the peanut butter was right in front of me. i could have died right there, and i would have been happy. my ghost would have just stayed in the kitchen, hovering over the crunchy Jif, completely at peace. so, yes, you need the gel. apply it until you look like a glazed donut left out in the sun.â
the video cuts abruptly, a harsh jump-scrape revealing oikawa now holding a jade roller like itâs a lethal weapon.
âstep two: structural definition. we need to contour the jawline. we need the face to be sharp enough to slice through the tension of waiting for a text back.â he begins vigorously rolling the cold stone against his jaw, his teeth clattering slightly from the force. ây/n has this habit. this devastating, malicious habit where she reaches up and just... rests her thumb right here on my cheekbone when sheâs sleepy. itâs a hazard. my soul leaves my body through my ears every single time. if my facial structure isnât properly drained of lymphatic fluid, how am i supposed to provide the optimal resting surface for her hand? think about it. be strategic.â
he drops the roller into the sink with a loud clatter and leans in again, his expression dropping into something fiercely devoted.
âiâm a man driven by necessity,â he murmurs, his eyes locked onto the lens. âyesterday, we were sitting on the couch doing absolutely nothing. she was reading some book, and i was supposed to be studying video footage of our next opponents. but instead, i spent forty-five minutes tracking the exact trajectory of sunlight across her eyelashes. she caught me. she looked up, blinked those incredible eyes, and just smiled. a tiny, private little smile just for me. do you know what that does to a person? it rewrites your DNA. i went from a premier setter to a puddle of lukewarm soup in a fraction of a second. i had to go into the hallway and do ten jumping jacks just to remember how to breathe.â
from somewhere down the hall, your muffled, incredibly amused voice cuts through the bathroom door. âtĆru? are you yelling at the mirror again?â
oikawa freezes. his entire posture shifts, the loud, theatrical internet personality melting away in a millisecond to reveal something so soft and desperate itâs almost embarrassing. his eyes light up like a stadium during a night game.
âiâm making a tutorial, sweetheart!â he shouts back, his voice instantly pitching up an octave into pure, unadulterated sweetness. âiâll be out in two minutes! do you want the fluffy blanket? i can bring you the fluffy blanket!â
âi have the blanket, just donât knock over the mouthwash this time!â you call back, a clear laugh underlying your words.
oikawa turns back to the camera, his face completely flushed a brilliant, undeniable pink that no amount of cosmetic product could ever replicate. he looks like he just won a gold medal, a lottery, and a lifetime supply of milk bread all at once.
âyou hear that?â he whispers, his hands shaking slightly as he grabs a bottle of facial mist. âthat is the voice of an angel. that laugh could cure diseases. it could break world peace. if you arenât shaking to your very core when your partner speaks to you, are you even living? absolutely not.â
he holds the misting bottle at armâs length and aggressively sprays his face, closing his eyes as a cloud of rosewater settles over his skin.
âfinal step: locking it in. when she inevitably kisses my cheek laterâbecause i will be begging for it on my knees if necessaryâi cannot have my skincare transferring onto her beautiful nose. she smells like vanilla and laundry detergent, and i wonât corrupt that purity with my pore-tightening serum.â
he fans himself with a piece of cardboard he pulls from nowhere, his skin glistening under the bathroom lights, bright and entirely luminous. but the real glow isnât coming from the creams or the rollers; itâs radiating from the helpless joy vibrating through his entire frame.
âthere you have it,â oikawa says, his voice dropping into a rare, genuinely warm tone as he reaches out to turn off the recording. âthe secrets out. look this good, and maybe youâll get a head pat. iâm going to go let her use my chest as a pillow now because my presence has been requested, and iâm nothing if not a obedient servant to the monarch.â
he winks, a classic, flashy influencer gesture, but before the screen cuts to black, the camera tilts down, capturing him practically tripping over his own feet as he sprints toward the bathroom door to get back to you.
n: this is what i do at home so iâm barely active, he teaches me skincare. i also injured my arm so bad, i can barely move it.
tĆru buys binoculars just to stare at you.
w/c: 1.3k ,, happy birthday to my pretty boy!
âyou can actually feel the shift when oikawa narrows his focus onto a new target. itâs this deeply unsettling, singular frequency he operates onâa mix of precision and quiet obsession that makes you realize he wonât stop until he gets exactly what he wants, no matter what it takes.
usually, that frantic cosmic energy is reserved for volleyballs, serving routines, or meticulously styling his hair so that it looks artfully windblown while standing completely still indoors. today, however, that entire reserves-tank of absolute, unhinged devotion is aimed directly across a distance of approximately twenty-four inches.
specifically, through a pair of heavy-duty, matte-black hunting binoculars.
the click-clack of chalk against the blackboard is the only sound in the classroom, aside from the faint, rhythmic sound of oikawa adjusting the central focus wheel of a pair of high-powered optics calibrated for spotting birds at half a mile.
you can feel the phantom heat of his intense gaze burning through the plastic lenses. you try to concentrate on the quadratic formula stretched across the board, but it is physically impossible to ignore the fact that the most popular boy in school is leaning sideways in his desk, elbows propped up on his textbook, holding an enormous pair of field glasses directly in front of his face.
he isnât even trying to hide it. his elbows are planted right on the wooden grain, his shoulders trembling slightly with the sheer physical effort of holding the heavy leather-strapped monster steady.
you slowly turn your head.
the two huge glass lenses stare back at you. reflected in the dark green anti-glare coating are tiny, warped reflections of your own utterly baffled face. behind the glass, his eyes are hilariously magnified, turned into huge, luminous hazel globes shining with the pure, unadulterated zeal of a victorian naturalist who just discovered a brand-new species of shiny beetle.
âoikawa,â you whisper, keeping your voice low so the math teacher doesnât turn around and chuck an eraser at both your heads. âwhat are you doing?â
oikawa doesnât lower the apparatus. he doesnât even blink. his thumb twitches on the focus knob, making a sharp *click*.
âshh,â he murmurs back, his voice low and vibrating with a level of reverence usually reserved for sacred religious relics or national monuments. âdonât move. the lighting right now is doing something supernatural to your eyelashes.â
âwe are literally sitting in the second row,â you point out, leaning slightly away from the dual black cylinders hovering two feet from your forehead. âyou are closer to me than you are to your own pencil case.â
âdistance is a myth propagated by people with weak eyesight,â he declares with absolute conviction, adjusting the diopter ring. âi need to appreciate the details.â
you stare at him, a sudden, helpless wheeze escaping your throat. âthe details?â
âthe details,â he repeats solemnly. a brilliant, dazzling smile spreads across the bottom half of his faceâthe only part not obscured by rubber-coated glass. âfor instance, did you know you have three tiny freckles on your cheek that form an almost perfect isosceles triangle? i couldnât verify the exact angle from two feet away with the naked eye. now i can. itâs revolutionary. my soul is currently expanding.â
his devotion isnât just dramatic; itâs a full-blown atmospheric event. he looks like a man who has successfully mapped the surface of the moon using a cardboard tube and sheer willpower. he is so thoroughly down bad, so utterly lost in the sauce, that his brain has completely bypassed the normal social protocols of human interaction and landed squarely in the realm of affectionate madness.
âyou are going to get those confiscated,â you say, though a sudden, uncontrollable warmth blooms right in the center of your chest. itâs stupid how hard your heart is thumping against your ribs over a guy holding field gear in fourth period.
âlet them try,â oikawa whispers, his voice dipping into that soft, breathless register he uses whenever heâs looking at you like you personally hung every star in the milky way. âi will hide them in my locker. i will hide them in iwa-chanâs gym bag. iâll make a random guy named berto hide them in a prefecture far far away. i will memorize every millimeter of your face until i can draw it from memory in the dark.â
he finally lowers the binoculars, letting them rest against his chest where they hang heavy against his yellow uniform vest.
without the lenses exaggerating his features, his actual eyes are so intensely soft it almost hurts to look at them directly. the ridiculousness of the binoculars vanishes, replaced by that terrifyingly genuine, unabashed softness that always makes your stomach do a complete gymnastics routine.
âbesides,â he continues, his fingers lightly brushing against the edge of your desk, his pinky reaching out to timidly hook around yours under the cover of your standing notebook. âyour eyes are really pretty today. like, stupidly pretty. itâs actually rude how pretty you are while mr. watanabe is talking about polynomials.â
âyouâre completely insane,â you murmur, your cheeks burning hot enough to fry an egg. but your fingers wrap around his pinky anyway, pulling his hand a tiny bit closer.
oikawaâs entire face lights up like a pinball machine scoring a high score. the soft grin that spreads across his lips is so real, so entirely devoid of his usual flashy charm, that it leaves you completely breathless. he squeezes your finger back, his thumb rubbing small, frantic circles against your skin.
âiâm not insane, iâm just observant,â he whispers back, leaning in just a fraction closer, his breath warm against your cheek. âthereâs a difference. an insane person wouldnât notice the way your nose crinkles when youâre trying not to laugh at me.â
âiâm always trying not to laugh at you.â
âgood,â he beams, his hazel eyes sparkling with an affection so bright it feels almost unfair. âkeep doing it. laugh at me forever. iâll bring a telescope tomorrow so i can see your reaction from the back row.â
âif you bring a telescope to school, iâm telling iwaizumi.â
oikawa gasps, a look of genuine betrayal crossing his features, though his grip on your pinky never slacks for even a millisecond. âyou wouldnât dare invoke the beast. thatâs playing dirty.â
âtry me, captain.â
he stares at you for a long second, his bottom lip pouting out in a dramatic show of defeat, before he melts into another stupidly tender smile. he lifts your trapped hand up just an inch, resting his chin on his free palm as he looks at you like youâre the absolute center of his universe.
âfine,â he sighs, his tone dripping with a helpless, melty warmth that settles deep in your bones. âno telescope. but the binoculars stay in my bag.â
you roll your eyes, but the grin tugging at your lips gives you away completely. you turn back toward the blackboard, your fingers still securely tangled with his, feeling the steady, rapid thrum of his pulse beneath his skinâa constant, hilarious reminder of just how deeply, delightfully in love he is with you.
n: i need to write for him more, heâs not characterized enuf
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