Hi mystars! I had this idea and just meshed my old idea to crossover Haikyuu and F1, this is mostly about Kageyama and with tje f1 drivers in the end.
No specifics but Face Claim: Kimura Tatsunari for reference
Request is open
for any F1 drivers, can do F2, F3, Indy, Motogp but I need to check them out before doing them so I actually know them. No smut cause I can't write smut to save my life.
Soulmates, Trauma, Suzuka
Uncle!Kamui Kobayashi x Nephew!Kageyama Tobio (Haikyuu) x Rejected!Soulmates!IwaOi x Platonic!Soulmates! George Russel, Lando Norris, Alex Albon x Platonic!Soulmate!OC!Gian Manalo
-From aiming to continue his grandfather's legacy in volleyball to aiming a home race win in suzuka which the last mjapanese to ever do so is his uncle Kamui Kobayashi, Trauma might have made him abandon Volleyball, but racing brought the spark back.
“Tobio, hold the wheel tighter. Like this.”
Kamui crouched beside the tiny kart, his hands guiding his nephew’s small fingers into place on the steering wheel.
Kageyama, helmet slipping slightly to one side, nodded furiously even though his nerves made his stomach twist.
“What if I crash?” His voice came out muffled through the helmet.
Kamui laughed, a light, easy sound that carried over the buzz of engines around them. “Then you get up, dust yourself off, and try again. That’s racing. And volleyball too, you know.”
“Volleyball like grandpa?” Kageyama tilted his head, confused.
“Every sport is the same. You fall, you stand up, you learn.” Kamui tapped the top of the helmet. “Now go. Show me how brave you are.”
The kart jolted forward, nearly stalling before it picked up speed. Kageyama gripped the wheel like his life depended on it. The track stretched out ahead, wide and endless, and for a moment he forgot his fear. He turned clumsily, the kart wobbling through the curve, but when he reached the straight line, the rush of air against his suit made him laugh out loud.
When he pulled back in, Kamui was waiting, clapping his hands. “See? I told you. You’re a natural!”
Kageyama yanked off the helmet, hair plastered to his forehead. “I went so fast!”
“Not that fast,” Kamui teased, but his grin was proud. He lifted Kageyama onto his shoulders as if he had just won a race. “One day, you’ll be even faster than me.”
Sometimes other drivers came to watch. Once, a tall blonde German bent down to shake Kageyama’s hand. “A promising talent Kobayashi. You drive well, little one.”
Kageyama blinked up at him, eyes wide. “Uncle, who is he?”
Kamui chuckled. “ His name is Sebastian Vettel, we compete sometimes.”
The boy held onto those words.
Even if he did not fully understand, he felt the weight of them in his chest.
Years passed, and the visits to the track grew fewer.
Middle school came with harder classes and stricter schedules.
His grandfather began to watch him closely, encouraging him to practice volleyball more seriously.
“Focus, Tobio. This sport can carry you far,” his grandfather would say, setting a hand on his shoulder after practice.
Kageyama nodded every time, because he wanted to make his grandfather proud.
He pushed harder, training until his body ached, spending evenings in the gym instead of at the track.
The smell of fuel and the thrill of speed faded, replaced by the echo of balls against wooden floors.
Yet sometimes, late at night, he would scroll through videos on his phone.
He would find clips of races, of Kamui behind the wheel, of the drivers he once met shaking hands with crowds.
His chest tightened as he whispered to himself, “I want to drive again.”
But the next morning, the whistle of a volleyball coach snapped him back, and he threw himself into the game. Volleyball was his present.
Karting was his past. Still, somewhere deep inside, he carried the memory of his uncle’s voice, warm and steady.
“You fall, you stand up, you learn.”
And every time he served, every time he set, Kageyama remembered that.
The scent of antiseptic clung to the air, sharp and cold like the winter that lingered outside the hospital walls.
Kageyama Tobio sat in silence, fingers clenched so tightly around the fabric of his sweatpants that his knuckles had turned white.
The rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor had once been a small comfort, a reminder that his grandfather was still fighting. But now, It’s gone.
Flatline.
The sound was quiet, but it tore through Tobio like a spiker through the wall of blockers.
He didn’t cry. He didn’t scream.
He didn’t say a word when the nurses gently urged him to leave the room. He just stood, the weight of everything sinking into his chest like stones in deep water.
His grandfather had always believed in him.
He always watched his games.
Always said, "Y'know Tobio... If you get really, reeeally good, you'll get to play lots more games. The best players get to play lots and lots of volleyball. If you get really good... I promise you... somebody who's even better will come along and find you." Without him, the world lost color.
Back on the court, Tobio became sharper.
Quieter.
Angrier.
He trained harder than ever, demanded perfection, pushed his teammates past their limits. But the sets he sent flying were no longer invitations, they were commands. Orders.
They started calling him the Tyrant King.
Not to his face.
Never to his face. But he heard the whispers.
Felt the glares.
Even his best friends had begun to keep their distance.
And during practice one day, it all came to a head.
“Don’t even think about coming to Seijoh. You’re not welcome there.” said Oikawa when they were alone in the hallway.
The silence that followed was deafening.
He didn’t understand why his senpais, the one he idolized, are the same people who would reject their soulmate bond.
It all came crashing down during the championship.
The moment the ball left his fingers, Kageyama could already tell, no one was there to receive it.
No one was looking.
No one was waiting.
His breath hitched.
His hands trembled.
The crowd roared, but it was distant, muffled.
Like he was underwater.
Kageyama didn’t move.
Didn’t speak.
Just stared at his hands like they were foreign things.
At home, his parents had just returned after years of being away.
They had not seen the boy they left behind slowly unravel, and when they finally did, it struck them like a blow.
Their son was not the eager child who once wore his grandfather’s encouragement like armor.
He was tired, withdrawn, and broken.
One night, his mother spoke softly to his father in the kitchen. “He can’t stay like this. Volleyball was supposed to give him a future, not destroy him.”
His father sighed, looking toward the closed door of Tobio’s room. “He needs something that will remind him of who he is. Not the King of the Court, not a replacement for anyone else. Just Tobio.”
That was when the idea came.
The next week, Kamui stood at the doorstep, hands in his pockets, his usual easy grin fading when he saw his nephew’s hollow expression.
“Tobio,” he said gently, crouching down to meet his eyes. “How about you come stay with me for a while?”
Kageyama blinked, confusion flickering in his gaze. “Stay with you? Why?”
“Because you used to love being at the track,” Kamui replied. His voice was warm, but steady. “I remember the way your face lit up when you drove, even if it was only a few laps. You don’t have to choose volleyball or racing forever right now. You just need something that makes you feel alive again.”
“I… I don’t know.” Kageyama’s voice cracked, shame pulling at his throat. “I’m not good enough. I tried so hard, and everyone still left me.”
Kamui reached out, placing a hand on his shoulder. “That’s not true. You’re good enough, Tobio. Volleyball doesn’t get to decide your worth. Neither does anyone else. You’re more than one game, more than one nickname.”
For the first time in months, the boy’s eyes shimmered with something other than anger or grief. He whispered, almost like a secret, “I miss it. The karts. The sound. Going fast.”
“Then come back,” Kamui said simply. His grin returned, a spark of mischief glinting in his eyes. “I’ll teach you properly this time. And I won’t ever leave you behind.”
That night, Kageyama packed his bag. Volleyball had broken him, but maybe, just maybe, the track with his uncle could help put him back together.
Back at the track, Kageyama slipped into the kart.
His hands trembled as he adjusted his gloves, but the moment the engine came alive beneath him, the nerves shifted into something else.
It was not fear. It was the familiar rush he had missed for years. The vibrations rattled through his body, and as he pressed the pedal, the world blurred.
Corners came and went, the tires squealed, and the wind clawed at his suit. On the sidelines, Kamui clapped and shouted encouragement, his voice cutting through the roar.
When Tobio finally pulled back in, helmet tucked under his arm, Kamui’s grin was wide. “You haven’t lost it. It’s like you never left.” He let the words hang for a moment before his expression softened. “But if you’re serious about this, we need to take the next step. My Le Mans season is starting, and I can’t always be here. You’ll need a manager, someone who can push your career forward while I’m racing.”
Kageyama looked down at the kart, his chest rising and falling as though he had just finished a long rally on the court. “I want it,” he said, voice steady despite the storm inside him. “I want to race.”
The manager they found for him was sharp-suited and precise, sunglasses perched on his head even indoors.
He studied Kageyama with a critical gaze, circling him like a scout measuring potential. “Kageyama, is it? I’ve seen the tapes. You’ve got raw talent. But raw doesn’t win championships.” He leaned closer, his voice low and uncompromising. “Do you want to take this seriously?”
“Yes.” Tobio’s reply was immediate. He did not flinch, did not stutter.
The man smiled thinly, satisfied. “Then we start in junior formula. It’s a ladder, boy. You climb or you fall. Nothing in between.”
The words dug into him like nails. Volleyball had once been the same, unforgiving and merciless.
He thought of the nickname that had haunted him, King of the Court, teammates turning their backs, of rejection from those he wanted to stand beside most. His fists tightened, his jaw locked. “I’ll climb,” he said.
The years that followed were brutal.
Junior formula stripped him down and rebuilt him in equal measure.
There were days when the car spun out before the first corner, leaving him in the gravel, fists pounding the wheel in frustration.
Nights when he sat alone in the garage long after the team had gone home, staring at his helmet as if it carried all his failures.
There were races where he crossed the line dead last, shame biting at his heels.
Yet there were also flashes of brilliance: the first podium, the taste of champagne burning his throat, the roar of a crowd chanting his name, not in mockery, but in celebration.
Through every high and every crushing low, Kamui called. “Did you learn something?” he would ask.
“Yes,” Tobio would answer, even when his voice was hoarse with anger.
“Then it’s not a loss,” his uncle always replied.
By the time he was twenty-two, the tide began to shift.
A Formula 2 weekend ended with his car in first place, the checkered flag waving above him.
He lifted the trophy high, cameras flashing from every direction.
Reporters shoved microphones at him, questions flying faster than he could answer.
His manager leaned in close, his words sharp but laced with satisfaction. “F1 teams are watching now. Keep going.”
That night, Kageyama sat alone in his room, phone in hand, replaying a video of Kamui battling at Le Mans.
He whispered to himself as though speaking the words would anchor them in reality. “One more step.”
The call came two years later.
His phone buzzed, and on the other end was a voice he had only ever imagined hearing. A team principal, calm and direct. “Kageyama, we’d like you to test for us.”
His chest tightened, fingers gripping the phone until his knuckles whitened. “Yes, sir,” he breathed.
When he told Kamui, his uncle only smiled, pride shining in his eyes. “Remember, Tobio. Racing doesn’t erase your past. It adds to it. Volleyball taught you pain. Let that fuel you. Drive faster because of it.”
And so, at 24, Tobio Kageyama stood on the starting grid of his first Formula 1 race.
The crowd was deafening, the engines a symphony of chaos, but inside the cockpit there was only silence and the sound of his own heartbeat.
The visor hid his face, but the fire in his eyes burned brighter than ever.
The lights above flickered red, holding the world in suspended tension, and then they vanished into green.
The car launched forward, tires screaming against asphalt.
In that moment, he was no longer just the boy haunted by volleyball courts, no longer only Kamui Kobayashi’s nephew.
He was Kageyama Tobio, a Formula 1 driver, finally racing toward the future that had once felt so far out of reach.
The morning air at Suzuka carried the sharp scent of fuel and hot asphalt.
Banners of red and white fluttered against the grandstands, the crowd already buzzing long before the engines had roared to life.
For the first time in years, the Toyota logo gleamed on the pit garages, the marque returning to Formula 1 with a young driver at the center of its gamble.
Tobio Kageyama stepped out of the team truck, helmet bag slung over his shoulder, expression carved into stone.
This was his home race.
Last year’s Suzuka debut still burned in his memory, a blur of mistakes, a crash, and headlines that had labeled him “Rookie crashed in his homerace” He had replayed every corner of that race a thousand times in his mind.
This time, there would be no slip, no wasted chance.
The paddock swarmed with people: journalists angling for interviews, engineers darting between garages, and guests from every corner of the sporting world.
Kageyama ignored them all, eyes fixed ahead. He moved with the single-minded focus of someone who had only one goal: redemption.
He wants to make his uncle proud and take that podium, last podium was his uncle, he wants to make history.
He barely noticed the group of tall figures weaving their way through the crowd, their jackets marked with Olympic logos.
They were being shown around by a Toyota liaison, pausing to take photos near the pit wall.
One of them, a man with familiar sharp eyes and a smile that had once been both mentor and torment, froze mid-step.
“Kageyama?”
The voice cut through the noise of the paddock like a blade.
Kageyama stopped. He turned his head slowly, the name echoing in his mind like a memory he had buried deep.
There, a few steps away, stood two men he had not seen since middle school.
Oikawa Tooru, posture confident as ever, and beside him Iwaizumi Hajime, steady and watchful.
Their team jackets bore the colors of Japan’s Olympic volleyball squad.
For a long heartbeat, Kageyama stared at them without a flicker of recognition.
The years had changed them, sharpened their faces, broadened their shoulders.
They were strangers draped in memories, and in Kageyama’s mind, those memories were filled with rejection and the sting of words that had cut him down.
The silence stretched.
The crowd moved around them, unaware that a collision of past and present had just taken place.
Oikawa’s smile faltered as he searched Kageyama’s eyes. “You really don’t remember us, do you?”
Kageyama adjusted the strap of his helmet bag, gaze steady but unreadable. He opened his mouth, his voice low and even.
“No. I don’t.”
And then he turned, walking toward the Toyota garage, the sound of his racing boots fading into the hum of engines starting up.
The past had called his name, but Kageyama was no longer a boy on the volleyball court.
He was a Formula 1 driver, and Suzuka awaited his redemption.
Back in their third year of high school, Oikawa and Iwaizumi had expected to see him again.
Kageyama had been a prodigy, the type of player who could turn the tide of a game with a single set.
They thought he would land in one of the powerhouse schools, maybe Shiratorizawa or Aoba Johsai itself.
There was no question in their minds that he would be on the court, standing across from them, challenging them like he always had.
But when tournaments began, his name never appeared on any roster.
They searched for him in brackets, in match reports, even in whispers exchanged by coaches.
Nothing. No sightings, no rumors, no stories.
It was as if he had vanished the moment they turned their backs on him.
Iwaizumi would glance at Oikawa sometimes, both of them too proud to voice what gnawed at their chests.
“He’ll show up eventually,” Oikawa once muttered, though his voice lacked conviction. But the months pass, and Kageyama’s shadow never crossed a volleyball court again.
By the game with Shiratorizawa, the regret had settled in.
The words they had thrown at him in middle school replayed in quiet moments.
“We don’t need a third.”
“You’re too much.”
What had felt like a defense of their bond now tasted bitter, because they had driven him away. And when Nationals came, there was still no sign of him. Even the crowd, packed with rising stars and hopefuls, carried no trace of Tobio Kageyama.
Years later, the regret had dulled but never disappeared.
They had told themselves he was probably playing in some small team, or maybe he had quit volleyball altogether.
Still, the not knowing haunted them.
Then came Suzuka.
Oikawa and Iwaizumi walked through the F1 paddock as Olympic athlete and an athletic trainer on tour, curious and excited, until they saw him.
Not in a jersey, not with a ball in his hands, but in a racing suit emblazoned with Toyota’s colors.
Tobio Kageyama, standing among some of the greatest drivers in the world.
They froze.
He looked taller, sharper, his presence commanding even when he stood silent.
Reporters swarmed him, and he greeted them with polite smiles.
Other drivers clapped him on the back, and his grin was genuine, warm in a way they had never seen from him in middle school.
But when his eyes turned to them, all warmth vanished.
There was no recognition, no flicker of the boy who had once looked at them as teammates, rivals, and maybe something more.
His gaze passed over them like they were strangers in a crowd.
Oikawa felt the breath catch in his throat.
Iwaizumi’s fists clenched at his sides.
They had spent years regretting their rejection, but nothing could have prepared them for this moment.
Watching him smile at everyone but them, only to meet their eyes with an emptiness that cut deeper than any words ever had.
For the first time, they realized the full weight of what they had done.
They hadn’t just pushed Kageyama away from the team.
They had lost him entirely.
The Suzuka paddock buzzed with anticipation, the air thick with tension and excitement. Reporters hovered at every corner, cameras flashing whenever a driver appeared.
Yet inside Toyota’s hospitality suite, the atmosphere was surprisingly light.
Kageyama leaned against the wall, arms crossed, listening as laughter filled the room. Gian Manalo, his teammate and the first Filipino driver in Formula 1, was animatedly telling a story about a disastrous attempt to cook adobo for the mechanics.
The 2019 rookies Alex Albon, George Russell, and Lando Norris howled with laughter, chiming in with their own tales of rookie mistakes.
“You should’ve seen me in Austria,” George said between chuckles. “Missed the pit box by about two meters. My engineer still hasn’t forgiven me.”
“Two meters?” Lando smirked. “That’s generous. Looked like you were trying to park in the hospitality tent.”
Kageyama allowed a small smile, rare but genuine. Gian noticed and nudged him. “See? Even Tobio’s laughing. That means it was properly funny.”
Alex leaned forward, grinning. “Oi, Kageyama, any embarrassing rookie stories you’re hiding?”
He shook his head. “None that I’ll tell you.”
The room erupted again.
For a moment, the pressure of Suzuka lifted, and they were just young men who had chosen a brutal sport but found a family within it.
When race day arrived, Suzuka’s stands were packed to bursting.
Red and white flags rippled across the sea of fans.
Kageyama climbed into his car, visor down, blocking out everything but the circuit ahead.
The lights went out, engines screamed, and the battle began.
Every lap was a test of precision.
Gian fought hard behind him, defending positions with fearless grit.
The others all pushed their limits too, proving why they belonged in the sport.
For Kageyama, every corner at Suzuka was redemption, a rewriting of the painful memories from the year before.
When the checkered flag fell, he crossed the line first.
The crowd erupted, Suzuka roaring with the sound of his victory.
Moments later, Gian surged across in third, securing Toyota a double podium on their home soil.
The podium ceremony was a blur of champagne spray, cheers, and the Japanese anthem rising over the circuit.
Kageyama closed his eyes for a moment, letting the sound wash over him.
He had done it.
Not just for himself, but for Toyota, for Kamui, and for the boy who had once stood lost between volleyball courts and kart tracks.
Down in the media pen, Oikawa and Iwaizumi stood among the crowd of spectators allowed in with special passes.
Their eyes followed every movement as Kageyama and Gian approached the microphones, helmets in hand, still dripping from the champagne.
A reporter leaned in, smiling. “Kageyama, how does it feel to take your first Suzuka win with your platonic soulmate and teammate Gian in P3?”
The word made Oikawa flinch. Platonic soulmate.
A Romantic Soulmate once a word they had rejected, a romantic bond with Kageyama they had thrown away.
Kageyama glanced at Gian, who smirked proudly, and then faced the cameras.
His voice was steady, calm, but filled with conviction.
“It feels… right. Gian’s not just my teammate, he’s my brother. Winning here at home with him on the podium too means everything. And it’s not just him. My other platonic soulmates Alex, George, and Lando, they’ve been with me through every struggle, every late-night talk, every moment when I thought I couldn’t do this. We push each other, we support each other. That’s what soulmates are supposed to do.”
The rookies grinned from the sidelines, clapping him on the back, while Gian threw an arm around his shoulders.
Oikawa and Iwaizumi watched in silence.
The cheers of the crowd were deafening, but in their ears, only Kageyama’s words echoed.
He had found his platonic soulmates, his family, his team. And none of it included them.
For the first time, they understood: they hadn’t just lost him.
He had built an entirely new world without them one where he was happier, stronger, and untouchable.
Here's Kimura Tatsunari as Kageyama Tobio in the Live Stage of Haikyuu
Wanted to put artwork here of F1 kageyama but idk the artist idk where to mention them so no artwork just search Kageyama F1 in pintrest it'll show him as Ferrari Kageyama.
this is so random, but when I was 15/16, the only Haikyuu fics I read were those IwaOiKage soulmate AUs, where they always rejected Kageyama and decided to be a couple just by themselves. And they were always unfinished too, so they never even got together in most cases. All that hurt and no comfort. Anyways, they will always remain in my heart <3
coach mizoguchi invites kageyama to train in aoba johsai for a week. oikawa makes it everyone's problem.
3k. iwaoikage. fluff.
also on ao3.
Oikawa threatens to file a restraining order against Kageyama within the first hour.
"You cannot," Iwaizumi tells him seriously. "Sue a sixteen year old. That's a sixteen year old."
"And why not?" Oikawa scoffs, gesturing wildly to the long line of people rushing to meet Kageyama by the gates. "He's already causing this much public misconduct! He's already bringing so much — much — noise pollution!"
"You can't sue someone over noise pollution," Iwaizumi arches right back at him. "And even if you could, sue the students. Kageyama looks like he'd rather swallow rocks than be at the receiving end of so much attention."
And that, really, was how Kageyama appeared to them fresh off Takeda's drop-off minivan: shoulders hunched awkwardly inward, height shrunken down an entire feet, eyes nervously darting everywhere and nowhere but at the hundred of curious glances towards him and the select fewer bunch who braved enough to go up to ask for a picture. He looked like a fish out of water, else a crow snapped out of its wings. Even his color palette didn't fit Aoba Johsai and made him look more like a juxtaposition: it's clean pavements with just the barest hints of sakura petals dusting the sidewalk this late in May, the mint green and white colorway uniforms a dark contrast to his brooding midnight black, the tall industrial buildings divorced from the shabbiness of what he was accustomed to in the ‘burbs of Miyagi.
Something that did fit Kageyama, however, were the two seniors waiting for him by the entrance.
"Oi!" Iwaizumi whistles to the crowd as they start to draw nearer. "Is this the Seijoh hospitality you're taught? Nothing to see here now!"
They were getting Kageyama for the week. Coach Mizoguchi made a strong case for seeing the potential in him during their practice match a few weeks ago and extended an invite for him to train with the team, in lieu of his rejecting their offer to enroll. Oikawa vehemently opposed the idea and made it everyone's problem as soon as they announced it, trying to rally the first years to his cause to no such success: Kunimi didn't even dignify him with a response. Kindaichi surprisingly was all for it and was more than excited to play with a former classmate again. Even Iwaizumi was clearing out a vacant locker not even a half hour into the announcement. Oikawa threatened them again with suicide runs, and again as predicted, to no such delusions of success.
Mizoguchi not only assigns them to essentially be his glorified babysitters for the week, but also forced them to be his designated tour guides.
"Some tour guide," scoffs Oikawa hotly, shoving his hands in his pockets as they try to drown out the screaming fangirls. "Like Tobio wasn't staking out our school long before the practice match."
Iwaizumi eyes him knowingly. "Like you didn't stop Kyotani from reporting him even after you found out."
"Shut up!" hisses Oikawa, ignoring him as they speed-walked faster to the gates. "Let's just get this over with!"
Iwaizumi acts—really, entrusts—himself as Kageyama's bodyguard to get him out from the onslaught of the crowd. Oikawa pretends he doesn't magic the first half hour of their tour to just coincidentally match the schedule Kageyama has clutched against him, with the room numbers just magically matching up the buildings and centers and rooms they just so happened to drop by into. Iwaizumi faints a cough to hide his amusement. Kageyama thanks them profusely when they drop him off at his first class and Oikawa huffs all the way to his, doing a piss poor job of hiding his own spreading grin.
*ੈ✩
Kageyama is decidedly the hottest new thing in the school by third period.
He's the hottest new thing because Oikawa is the present hottest thing. And when word got around that magnanimous setter and charming senior Oikawa had, in fact, a protege of his own that was the closest to ever resemble his likeness: it goes without saying Kageyama had his own fair share of adorers trailing after him not even a full day in.
"Would you look at that?" Oikawa leers from where they were perched some lockers over, eyeing the mob of girls shoving papers or handkerchiefs in Kageyama's flushed face for a signature. "He enjoys all the attention!"
“Sure,” Iwaizumi rolls his eyes. Unlike Oikawa who uses school equipment more as props, he actually shoves some things into his locker. "If that's what your definition of enjoyment is.”
Oikawa ignores him. "I mean just look at him!" he casts an offensive finger towards Kageyama's reddening ears and glassy eyes and general awkward demeanor. "If he really didn't enjoy all the attention, he would've scowled and threatened them by now! You know Tobio has a mean glare!"
"I know Kageyama is famously as socially awkward as a domesticated python," Iwaizumi points out, bringing out Oikawa’s books out of his locker himself. "He makes Kyotani look like a gracious host. That’s saying something.”
"He does his best," offers Oikawa, weakly and distractedly.
"His best being a smile that comes out as a grimace," points out Iwaizumi.
"And who taught him that?" Oikawa rounds on him this time. "I was all smiles in middle school! You were the one glaring and fussing and hissing at everyone all the time!"
"You guys," Mattsun cuts in when he reaches the tail end of their conversation, looking back and forth between them with a peeved expression on his face. "You guys aren't seriously trying to stake claim over which of you Kageyama got his broodingness from, aren't you?"
"Shut up, Mattsun," Oikawa and Iwaizumi snap at the same time.
"And plus," Makki piles on, leaning over one of the lockers. "If it was a competition of who got who, there's no clear winner. The kid has Iwaizumi's frown and Oikawa's pout. No DNA testing needed."
"SHUT UP, MAKKI."
*ੈ✩
"He breathes the same as me."
Iwaizumi groans into his bento box. "It's breathing," he says drily. "How can anyone do it differently."
Oikawa glares over at the lunch table Kageyama was huddled in a few rows ahead of them, still within their direct eyesight, with Kunimi and Kindaichi at his side. They were all awkwardly trying to make conversation and it would have been pitiful if it weren't actually surprisingly annoyingly adorable, in Oikawa's misshapen words. "I don't know," he relents. "But I can just tell it's the same."
"Your serving, yes," Makki admits, flicking a chickpea at him. "Your tosses and spikes and jumps, also yes. But breathing? Good lord."
Mattsun makes a face at the growing crowd over Kageyama. "Think one of you should go over there and do something about that?" he gestures to Kageyama's tomato expression growing sour by the second. "I don't think Karasuno has fan clubs like we do."
"If Tobio can't even handle a few girls," Oikawa grits out. "Then he doesn't deserve to even be here."
"Yes," Makki nods along, serious and contemplative. "Because knowing how to handle fame is exactly the pinnacle of what makes for a good volleyball player. The more you know, boys."
Oikawa throws peanuts at him. "Shut up!" he hisses. "I bet you Tobio is enjoying all the attention right now!"
Iwaizumi looks over in concern. "Actually," he decides, already making to stand up. "I think he's about a second away from crying. You want me to do something about it or should you?"
Both of them end up scaring the flock of girls away. Makki and Mattsun discreetly exchange high-fives and maybe even pass around a bill or two to each other.
*ੈ✩
"He's kinda cute actually."
They're somewhere at the school’s rock garden, the volleyball team on rotation for clean-up duty. Kindaichi is off parading Kageyama around some of his teammates, proudly presenting him as a former classmate and one of the few first years who actually rivaled him in height. It was all going remarkably pleasant until Kyotani showed up early for once, until he looked Kageyama up and down the way a prey would to it's dinner, and mistakenly announced his unsolicited opinion in front of Kageyama's possibly neurotic and overinvolved uncles twice removed.
“Cute?” Iwaizumi's eyes slant with mistrust, a warning look in them. "He's underage."
Kyotani looks at him weirdly. "I'm underage, too," he says slowly. "We're all underage."
"Yes, but—" Iwaizumi starts. "Kageyama is—" he tries again. "He's — not like that. Yet. He doesn't understand—"
"Oh good lord," Makki actually gushes. "The kid has Iwaizumi stuttering. Actually stuttering. Just how much is Coach paying you to look after this kid?"
"It's free labor!" Oikawa cries out, knee-deep in the weeds and projecting some of his frustration out on some poor rose beds. "We're getting paid dust to aid and abet a rival team member! He's lost the plot completely!"
"Yahaba, come here quick and take a picture of Iwa stuttering," Makki orders. "And Oikawa, shut up. We saw you guys talking to the kid's teachers for the week to put in a good word for him. And shut up again, Shittykawa, because Kunimi has you on video talking up the lunch lady to give Kagayema more potatoes and an extra box of milk yoghurt for lunch."
Oikawa’s spears fall to the floor with a thud. Iwaizumi’s hands full of bait by the koi fish pond still their movements.
Mattsun delivers the final blow. "Face it," he says. "You guys are just as bad as his Karasuno senpais. Even worse, I imagine. I don't think even they hover as much as you guys do."
Oikawa regains his composure first. "We do not," he croaks out, "hover."
"No, of course not," chides Makki. "Iwaizumi is just magically there at the end of his every class to deposit him to and from classes and Oikawa just so happens to know his entire schedule, top to bottom.”
"We did the same for Kunimi and Kindaichi when they first enrolled," argues Iwaizumi.
"And how did that turn out?" recalls Mattsun.
"They banned us from the first year floors," Iwaizumi waves them off. "But listen, Kageyama's different, he's—"
"Just a direct copy paste from Oikawa?" challenges Mattsun. "Oh, believe us, we know."
"If Oikawa wasn't crying woe about it every half hour," starts Makki. "All you have to do is look at the kid and he's a dead ringer for both of you guys."
*ੈ✩
Kageyama messes up a practice serve in one of their training sessions and instantly looks like a call-out away from bawling his eyes out.
"Don't mind, don't mind!" encourages Mattsun, clapping his hands together. "Happens to everyone, rookie!"
Kageyama has the classic Iwa Pout in place as he frowns down at his shoes, glaring at a spot on the floor. Iwaizumi comes up to offer a water bottle to his temple. "It's fine, Kageyama," he says gently. "It really does happen even to the best of us. Even Oikawa."
Kageyama doesn't reply. He's been known to go nonverbal at the slightest inconvenience and something about that tugs at Iwaizumi's heart strings, because he had thought Karasuno would have divorced that out of him by now, but through no fault of anyone's especially Kageyama’s: maybe they still weren't at that point yet. Iwaizumi can't be the one to get them there—but he can do what he can for now.
"How's the week treating you so far?"
Kageyama blinks his disorientation away. "Fine," he uncaps the bottle. "It's — you have a big school."
"Bigger than it looks," agrees Iwaizumi. "Did you know Kunimi and Kindaichi got lost on their first day? Their homeroom teacher had to call me and Oikawa to bail them out of the forest."
“The Aobayama forest?” Kageyama’s eyes widen a fraction. "They went up the hill?"
Iwaizumi fights a laugh. "Apparently Kindaichi thought Aoba Johsai literally meant the castle on the hill or nearest to the blue sky," he reiterates. "Kunimi just went along with it. You know how he gets."
The disdain on Kageyama's face morphs into incredulousness, and maybe even a little bit of familiarity. "Idiots."
This time Iwaizumi lets the laugh slip out of him. "Yes," he agrees. "Yes, they were. Still are."
"Makki-senpai and Mattsun-senpai are nice," Kageyama adds, once the weight in the room settled into something less confrontational. "They got me onigiri the other day."
"Fish pollock?" asks Iwaizumi.
Kageyama looks surprised. "Yes," he says. "From Bonta Bonta Yodobashi."
Iwaizumi nods like it doesn't surprise him. "Oikawa told them it was your favorite from the city," he says. "Makki lives close to the subway line and it's easy access for him. Oikawa made him buy a bunch when Coach confirmed you were coming."
"Oh," Kageyama says, and then: "I see,” and then: “Thank you.”
*ੈ✩
Takeda is late in picking him up.
Oikawa is getting antsy but takes a painstakingly great effort not to show it.
Iwaizumi, however, is not the same. "Is he always at least thirty minutes late?" he glances at his watch, after pacing back and forth, after typing out a furious thinly veiled threat to the Karasuno third years. "I thought you crows had a good sense of time, bird watchers and all that."
"That's not—" stammers Kageyama. "We're not actually—"
"Mattsun," Oikawa snaps his fingers towards their retreating backs when he spots them by the exit. "What time is the last bus again?"
“For Izumi-Chuo?” Mattsun looks up at the wind, trying to remember the posted schedule from memory. "Like an hour from now?"
"And how long did Takeda-san say he was running late for?" Oikawa faces Kageyama, irritation etched at his face. “When he called you last?”
Kageyama blanches. "At least two," he winces, glancing around at everyone. "I’m sorry. H-He really is never late — just that Ukai-sensei needed help with —"
"Excuses," Iwaizumi cuts him off, before turning to face Oikawa who looked just as apprehensive. "We walking him or not?"
Oikawa doesn’t even take a beat to consider. “Tobio,” he starts. "You still live by that park in the neighborhood right?"
*ੈ✩
The walk is, for once, free of the usual death threats.
Iwaizumi points out a few things that have changed over the neighborhood since they all made it into highschool, with the occasional callbacks to how Kitagawa Daichii did things in this way or that and has Kageyama had a chance to visit his alma mater in recent weeks? Kageyama is as polite as ever, using the right amount of words and inflecting his sentences just so that it still sounds exactly like the timid, reserved, just slightly taller version of him they were talking to now.
Otherwise everything else was the same about him: the lack of a lazy drawl in his speech, his habit of using honorifics nevermind they've both snapped at him to drop it at least five times now, the almost instinctive way he fell back to let them lead the road nevermind he knew the path to his house better than probably anyone.
Well.
Mostly everyone.
"Is that oji-san who sells dorayaki still living in front of you guys?" asks Iwaizumi when they round a corner. “The one with the—”
“Eyepatch,” finishes Oikawa, nodding at a sign to be careful of train rails up ahead. “Lost it fishing or something. He changes the story every time you ask.”
"Uh," Kageyama shifts in his shoes. "Yes. Yes, I think so."
"Oikawa's sister always liked their bread," comments Iwaizumi, then adds more as an afterthought, "I wonder if we'll make it in time for last order?"
"Probably not," Oikawa pipes up. "Remember what he told us last time we walked Tobio home after he got that knee injury?”
Iwaizumi’s face tinges amused at the memory. “He threatened to skin us alive and feed our innards to Lake Kawaguchi if Kageyama comes back home bruised under our care again.”
Kageyama, in turn, flushes. “He’s just — old,” he says. “He says things sometimes.”
“Good things,” agrees Iwaizumi.
“Important things,” also agrees Oikawa.
Kageyama doesn’t know what to reply to any of that, so he doesn’t. Instead he lets them both trickle their footsteps forward again, both their shoulders and backs and hands in pockets to him such a familiar sight: the daylight streaking golden in Oikawa’s hair as he turns to share another fond memory with Iwaizumi, the call of the wind in Iwaizumi’s voice as he just as gently recalls the shared memory. Kageyama remembered feeling like he’d always been stepping into private conversations they were having with the world, but remembers more, why the picture of their backs to him and the steady pitter patter of their footsteps is a grounding—if not sobering—sight.
Until Oikawa chooses to reel him back in again.
"Tobio,” Oikawa starts, hesitantly. "You’re okay? In — in. Karasuno?"
Kageyama fights not to still his steps at the question. "Yes," he starts nodding, slowly at first, until something irons inside of him and his shoulders straighten. "Yes. They're good to me."
Something about that, however, makes Oikawa and Iwaizumi pause in their steps. "Ah," Iwaizumi recovers fast, he always did. "That's — that's good."
"Really good," Oikawa this time, then, who always needed a minute on things but refused to never get the last word. "You’re—" he stops. "You seem—" he tries, pauses, and tries again to search for the words before landing on: "Happy…—with them?"
"Happy," parrots Kageyama. "Happy?"
"You smile on the court now," comments Oikawa. "I don't think I've seen you do that since that first time you filled in for me. When my knee gave out."
Kageyama instantly pales. "I wasn't smiling," he explains. "I just. My face does that when it's nervous…— I don't know, I—”
"Gotcha," Iwaizumi ghosts a smile of his own in understanding. "It's okay, Kageyama. You don't need to have all the answers now."
Oikawa coughs. "Or ever," he says. "Sometimes it's okay to just allow yourself to be confused. I think — um — I think Karasuno is a good place for you to be confused."
They get to Kageyama's house just when the sun is shy of setting, golden hues of sunlight tapering down into midnight blue on the horizon. Miwa tries to get them to stay for tea to Kageyama's and Oikawa's absolute horror. But it’s with of all people Iwaizumi putting his foot down and swearing on his life he'll always make himself available to walk Kageyama home. Kageyama doesn't know what he's more horrified to find out: that Iwaizumi is absolutely serious or that Oikawa isn't even batting an eyelash at his declaration.
*ੈ✩
Oikawa: just got him home •⩊•
Daichi: Thank you. Sorry again.
Oikawa: btw if an unknown caller rings takeda-san tomorrow morning or starts spamming his messages and emails or something just tell him to ignore it
Daichi: ?
Oikawa: that's just iwa-chan
we're teaching him boundaries
but he's a work in progress
Daichi: ??
Oikawa: ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡
*ੈ✩
"I don't believe it," Suga gushes a week after, when Kageyama is safely tucked back into crow colors and shabby gym walls. "They brought him back in one piece. Kageyama is actually alive, alive."
Daichi doesn't bother hiding his grin. "You really think Oikawa and Iwaizumi were going to deliver him in anything but perfect condition?" he says. "They were the ones who insisted on letting us his progress. Even Ukai-sensei was getting annoyed at the hourly updates."
"To be fair," Suga starts. "We did also threaten them to."
"And to be fair on Seijoh," Daichi argues. "They threatened to sue us for childhood neglect if Takeda was late on picking him up one more time."
Suga makes a face. "Are they.." he says slowly. "Could they actually be worse than us?"
Daichi takes note of Kageyama's full bento box care of Makki's early morning run to beat the onigiri lines, his proud smirk at the top grades he got after a week of tutoring under Mattsun, and most damningly: the ever-more-present way his face morphed into a weird concoction of Iwaizumi's masculine features and Oikawa's skittish and annoying pretty boy looks even more. Even more so than he already did.
"I think," Daichi starts carefully. "We're the best thing for Kageyama and they know it. Doesn’t mean they won’t do their damnest to one-up us though.”
So this idea came from recently reading a few soulmate au about IwaOiKage, KuniKinKage and IwaOiKinKuniKage.
Something that they share is that at some point at least one of them rejects Kageyama due to the King of the Court thing or jealousy but this troupe gets a bit tiring.
So what if, Oikawa realized Kageyama was also his and Iwaizumi's soulmate when he almost hit him and choose to take a step back and try to thin logically? Instead of rejecting Kageyama and dragging Iwaizumi to do the same, he took the time to think and realize his thoughts did not make sense so he wrote a letter for Kageyama were he apologized for his actions and asked him to not directly interact with him for some time as Oikawa wished to not hurt him or almost hurt him again and had Iwaizumi give it to Kageyama? Oikawa goes to therapy and the only contact he has with Kageyama during this time is exchanging texts with him while he allows Iwaizumi to freely interact with Kageyama as it is Oikaw's problem who stops him from treating Kageyama right and Iwaizumi has his own free will
But Oikawa never really tells Kageyama and Iwaizumi about being soulmates(not because he did not want but because he forgot about as he considered his behaviour much more worrying then informing them of that).
So when KinKuniKage find out that they are soulmates, none of them think they have two more and become very close as they supposedly must have been in canon or even more.
But as Kageyama starts to suddenly change in their second year, KinKuni does not force Kageyama to talk to them about what is worrying him but they show they are always there until he opens up about his sister being in Tokyo and his grandpa being sick so Kageyama is alone at home and is the only person who visits his grandpa in the hospital.
KinKuni decide to ask their parents to stay with Kageyama(which while reluctant, they accept after hearing what was going on as long as the trio stay sometimes at Kin and Kuni's family houses) and go with him to the hospital so even when Kazuyo dies during Kageyama's third year, he does not become a tyrant(he goes somewhat mute when it comes to others but no tyrant) and has Kunimi and Kindaichi to help him grieve.
Iwaizumi and Oikaw when they hear about Kazuyo's death from KinKuni, they also offer comfort which is also a good time as Oikawa's therapist allowed him to slowly start interacting with Kageyama in person.
When it comes to choosing a school, Kageyama decides to not go to Seijoh as while he would love to have more time with Oikawa and Iwaizumi, he wanted to extende his wings so he tried to join Shiratorizawa which wasn't successful so he ended up joining Karasuno with KinKuni following him(just because I'm curious on how things would go if KinKuni also were part of Karasuno).
It was on the summer before their first year, that Oikawa revealed about Kageyama also being his and Iwaizumi's soulmate which lead to the five of them discovering they were some of the rare people with a five people poly bond.
How this all would affect anything else in canon is up to the writer as it is others ships and what type of soulmate au this is.
Chapter 1: The Start of the End
Iwaizumi Hajime/Kageyama Tobio/Oikawa Tooru
Word Count: 404
Kageyama Tobio was born on the winter solstice.
The day when night overtakes the day. The day when light yields to darkness.
Perhaps it was a sign of the darkness that would reign over Kageyama Tobio's life.
