"how do they not catch on?" oikawa complains as you guys walk out of the theater. "i mean, clark kent and superman literally look the same. it's like those cliche movies where the nerdy girl takes off her glasses and she's magically ten times prettier."
"i think it's quite realistic," you reply. "nobody expects superman of all people to be a dorky journalist."
you take a look at oikawa, who's sporting his own pair of glasses, and his usually swept back and styled hair is uncharacteristically messy, brown curls covering most of his forehead.
"besides it's not just the glasses, it's how clark presents himself. the tousled hair, the slightly oversized blazer, the awkward demeanor." as you're listing these features, you notice the similarities between the man of steel's alter ego and oikawa. "kinda like yourself right now."
at the last statement, oikawa's frown morphs into his typical self-satisfied smirk. "aww are you calling me superman? am i your hero?"
and there he goes again. you can't stop yourself from rolling your eyes.
"nah, your personality is more like lex luthor. a professional hater."
"hey! that was mean!"
a/n: inspired by the latest superman movie! if you haven't seen it, you're missing out
pairing — oikawa x f!reader [ college au, exes2lovers ]
summary — some would call “releasing your personal betrayal list and name dropping your ex” obsessive, others would call it standing on business. either way, what was meant to be a silly little trend turns into him coming back into your life and sticking around a lot longer than you expected… (though maybe, you don’t mind).
warnings — oikawa has a gf (oc for plot purposes), lots of cursing, (loving) threats against suna, mentions of drinking (both reader and other characters), toxic relationships, (incorrectly) accused cheating (on both oikawa/reader's part), miscommunication, will add as chapters are uploaded.
status — ongoing [ 101025–? ] | taglist CLOSED
authors note — SLOW AND INCONSISTENT UPDATES ! but i love my boy so much i had to do another smau for him <333 also title inspired by twice song but the headers are from le sserafim.
profiles — kita’s babysitting service / blocked by coach
𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈 .ೀ .ᐟ oikawa is a very jealous man and can't stand it when you give attention to anyone other than him
"hajime, that spike in the second set was insane," you gush, beaming at him.
it's completely innocent. you're just a kind person and toru knows that. yet, he still can't seem to shake the deeply-rooted possessiveness for you he holds inside of himself.
toru waits until everyone else has left the locker room before he texts you to come by. you carefully peak around the door, shifting inside.
"toru?" you call out. you soon see that he's standing against the lockers, arms crossed and eyes dark. something heavy and fervid sinks into your stomach, but you attempt to brush it aside. "are you ready to go?"
he steps closer to you without answering, arms extending past your body to reach the door as he clicks the lock. your heart flutters in your chest.
he steps back to look at you, just observing. your breath shakes.
"do you know," he begins his question slowly, "how it makes me feel when you're praising my teammates?"
you cock your head curiously. "what?"
his chuckle almost seems amused. he leans forward, breath grazing your face as he stops mere inches away from it. a hand moves to grip your chin, gently yet possessive, as he straightens his back and lifts you up with him.
"its a shame," he pouts mockingly, "that my baby doesn't notice how jealous her boyfriend can get."
within seconds, he's pinning you against the wall, prying your lips apart with his calloused thumb to slide his tongue into your mouth. you groan as your hands fly up to catch his waist. he's so messy, desperate, as he kisses you greedily.
you can barely breathe when he pulls away, only panting louder as he lifts one of your thighs up around his waist and slips his fingers beneath your panties.
he moans at the feeling of your warmth. "does talking with my teammates make you that wet?" he pesters. "what a greedy little pussy."
"it doesn't!" you gasp. your protest is countered with a hard slap to your clit and you whimper. "fuck!"
"i'm the only one you should be praising," toru hisses, plunging his fingers inside of you to the hilt whilst his thumb circles your swollen clit. "whether at home, on the court, or fucking you dumb." he hums, low and intentional, "if i see you speaking to another man like that again, i'll ruin you."
you're drooling, hands perched on his shoulders for leverage as his fingers curl into you mercilessly. your moans grow louder, chest heaving as you begin to fall apart.
he pulls out of you suddenly, sliding his shorts down his thighs to free himself, then pistons his cock into you without time for adjustment. you choke, nails digging into his skin as he starts off fast and fiery.
"need you coming around my cock," he sucks in his teeth.
your cries are deafening, the filthy, squelching of his thick shaft dragging inside of your inner walls competing with your lewd sounds. "fuck, fuck!" you scream, eyes rolling backwards aggressively as you nearly reach your peak.
"you're gonna fucking come with me," he demands, hand gripping your jaw once again, "got it?"
you nod, clenching around him. his breaths are growing heavy, thrust sloppy, as his legs begin to shake. "jesus- fuck," he growls, stuffing every inch of you full. "gonna fill this pretty little cunt."
"p-please," you whine, "please fill me up, toru!"
he's losing it. "say you're mine," he orders you, "fucking say it."
"i'm yours, baby, all yours!"
"again."
his thick vein brushes against your pleasure point and your throat cracks out a ragged moan. "fuck- i'm yours- mph, oh my god- fuck, toru!" you gasp. "i'm fucking yours!"
"damn right, you are." he breaks, throwing his head back with a strained groan as he releases his hot, milky seed. "fuuuuck," he elongates his blissful thrums, "you're squeezing me, baby," he bites his bottom lip, "needy little thing."
your hot cum drips out of you with an overwhelming flash of white, body squirming uncontrollably against the wall. "god, toru!" you yell, "fuck, it feels so good!"
when you both finally come to a still, the locker room falls silent again with nothing else but the sounds of your panting breaths audible. he presses his forehead against yours and kisses you sweetly.
i'll keep every promise (if it's a promise with you) | oikawa tooru x reader
oikawa tooru has a bad habit of breaking promises and running from his first love.
or: the four times oikawa breaks his promises and the one time he keeps one
( a / n ) - oh my god this is my magnum opus... my baby.. its a little bit of angst and a little bit of fluff and a little slice of life. u go through ages 6 to 28 LMFAO. iwaizumi + you + oikawa were such a fun trio to write for and i hope u guys enjoy !!
gn! reader | 2k words | happy birthday OIKAWA
Oikawa Tooru has a guilty conscience and a bad habit of breaking his promises.
For every promise made and every promise broken, Tooru repents: 200 yen slid in a saisen-bako, a ninety degree bow, two wishes at a shrine. An offering to counter every promise he breaks, ample water to wash away his sins, and apologies written on wood.
( Iwaizumi has made the grand suggestion of: Maybe not breaking your promises? on several occasions, but Tooru can’t help it. )
He’s broken four promises and made eight wishes so far: four on blue Tanzaku and four atop Ema boards, followed with a prayer and an offering if the promise broken was particularly heinous or particularly his fault.
He breaks his first promise at six years old– one made with you and Iwaizumi when the three of you were four and freshly neighbors. It was Tooru’s birthday, and he had promised this:
I swear that I will take us all to the Ryokan before I turn six.
It’s a small promise: one that neither you nor Hajime had expected him to follow through with. But Tooru believed it, and Tooru had tried. He takes every single chore and odd job in the Oikawa household, scraping together a two-year-old Ryokan trust fund with mismatched coins and crumpled bills. He saves his allowances and puts everything in a glass jar next to his bed, and dreams.
Two Julys pass. Oikawa blows out four candles and then five, the jar gets bigger, you start Elementary school, and you and Hajime forget about the Ryokan. And then, on the third July, when Tooru turns six, you and Iwaizumi find Tooru mumbling about a broken promise— courtesy of his failure to take the three of you on an all inclusive trip to that Snow Monkey Ryokan that Iwaizumi wanted to go to.
So he apologizes through prayers at a shrine and two wishes under a red Torii gate. It’s a thirty five stair climb to the neighborhood shrine: Hajime and Tooru race up and you come last, but the view is gorgeous and Tooru feels considerably less guilty.
It is 100 yen for each wish on a colored paper strip. Hajime says they’re called Tanzaku. Hajime drops one coin, Tooru drops four, you drop two. Seven thunks, four wishes.
Tooru gets the honor of tying your tanzaku on bamboo branches as the tallest of your trio, and with it, the honor of reading your wishes.
Iwaizumi’s wish is messy and scrawled on bright red— Tooru tells him to Please work on your handwriting, but it’s legible and all well wishes for volleyball and you and Oikawa and cicadas.
Tooru’s got two wishes— a cyan one and a turquoise one, but he only lets you and Hajime read the cyan one. His cyan one is a little neater than Iwaizumi’s and reads:
Sorry I couldn’t take us to the Monkey Ryokan.
He hangs the red one on his tippy-toes. Cyan next. Hajime cheers a little when Tooru hangs turquoise next to your pink one, and then asks:
“Whaddya need two wishes for anyways?”
He shrugs.
“Guilty conscience, maybe?”
You’re thirteen when Tooru promises that he is going to ask you out in two years. Tooru is not allowed to date until he’s in high school, so he tells you under a blanket of stars that when the two of you are a little older, he will ask you out properly and maybe take you on a date.
He walks you to school every morning. Hajime comes too, but the pink skies before the sun rises are for you and Tooru. Moments before you make it to Iwaizumi’s block are moments that Tooru gives you his scarf, and then his gloves, and when the wind bites at your cheeks too hard his jacket is draped over your shoulders. On rainy days, Tooru holds the umbrella and laughs as your fingers brush and your cheeks flush. Some mornings he brings you toast: and tells you in hushed whispers to eat it before Iwa-Chan sees.
Oikawa and Iwaizumi walk you home after cram school and volleyball practice. Hajime’s house is first— so Iwaizumi bows first, heads back inside first, waves goodnight first. When the door closes and the light turns on, the black sky and twinkling stars are for you and Tooru. He always says Good Night saccharine sweet with a smile like the sun that makes you feel like you really can’t wait to turn fifteen.
Oikawa blows out fourteen candles. The three of you graduate in blue and walk home like usual. Summer passes, another July goes by, Oikawa blows out fifteen candles, and high school starts.
You learn several things in your first year at high school: you really like the student council, Hajime is actually pretty smart, and Tooru is afraid of commitment.
Tooru is popular: he is athletic and tall and the Volleyball Club’s golden first year. He smiles at the girls in his class, he slings arms around their shoulders, he winks when he passes by the student council room, and he preens a little and shines a lot.
Oikawa is fifteen when he goes on his first date with a girl from another school: and when he tells you and Iwaizumi after he gets home, he plays dumb as Hajime gives him a look and takes you home, overhearing Iwaizumi’s apologies and your crestfallen voice as you say something about a promise.
Oikawa’s chest hurts that night so he walks to the shrine with 200 yen in his pocket and a sorry scrawled on two pieces of colored Tanzaku.
Oikawa turns sixteen and goes to the shrine again.
This time, it’s a broken promise with a girl in his class. She was popular– she smelled like cotton candy and reminded Tooru of strawberries and daisies, so when she asked Tooru out, he had said Sure, and he had smiled like she was the sun.
But he’s a bad boyfriend– a terrible boyfriend– because he’s only there when it’s convenient and he ditches her for volleyball practice and maybe sometimes he catches himself thinking about a certain childhood friend when she holds his hand and buys him milk bread at lunch.
She was sweet and she was terribly pretty, but he doesn’t feel anything when she kisses him or when she rests her head on his shoulder.
Iwaizumi asks him what he’s running from after practice one day. Tooru knows Iwaizumi is asking why he is running from you.
Tooru is a little scared of how you make him feel too much. Oikawa likes being in control and Oikawa likes stability, so when he realizes that his heart thumps erratically whenever you’re around and he finds himself all consumed with thoughts of you and a burning desire to please you; he rejects and refrains. And runs.
His girlfriend dumps him after a few months. Tooru says sorry, removes her phone contact, and faintly remembers a promise he made with her four weeks ago.
I swear I’m not in love with someone else.
from: tooru (23:20)
shrine time!!! ٩(◕‿◕｡)۶
from: hajime (23:21)
You broke another promise?? Ur a piece of shit lol
from: tooru (23:22)
iwaaa chan U￣ｰ￣U ur so mean !
from: you (23:24)
bro . don’t tell me it was about ur ex
ur a manwhore !!!!
from: hajime (23:25)
Average Shittykawa moment
from: tooru (23:25)
i can’t help it !! (✿ ♥‿♥)
everyone wants a piece of me !!!
ill pick u guys up and we’ll go to the shrine and ramen after plsss ☆
from: hajime (23:26)
Ur treat?
from: tooru (23:27)
iwa-chan’s treat !! i’m going through a nasty breakup, remember ? \_( ◉ 3 ◉ )_/¯
from: you (23:29)
hajime we know his address we can burn his room down
from: tooru (23:30)
OK FINE my treat! it’s on me!!! everyone say thank you tooru !!!
from: hajime (23:31)
thank you tooooruuu chan (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧
tooru and y/n reacted with: Scared !
from: tooru (23:32)
um please don’t do that ever again
Oikawa’s fourth promise is one to himself and one to Seijoh.
We will make it to Nationals.
He doesn’t leave his room for a week when he breaks it. He’s inconsolable. He says he’s sick: he’s got a bad fever, it’s contagious, he’s bedridden, he’s fine. But the lights are never on in his room, his curtains are always drawn, and you know that Tooru devoted everything for a chance and a dream and a volleyball.
He comes to you first. He’s standing in your doorway and there are bags under his eyes and he says, Hi, and then, I’m fine. He tries for a smile— and then you give him a look, and suddenly he’s in your arms and sobbing.
He cries for two hours. Tooru ugly cries– his chest racks when he sobs and his arms are tight around you and digging into your back. Oikawa Tooru is not weak: but he is not a prodigy.
He falls asleep in your bed with his head in your lap and your hands in his hair, but his eyebrows are furrowed and he’s shifting a lot and he’s probably having a nightmare. You call Hajime before gently shaking Tooru awake.
He blinks up at you— all puffy eyes and tousled hair and swollen cheeks, but he sees you and he softens.
“Wanna go to the shrine?”
Iwaizumi still grumbles the whole way up the thirty five steps, but he’s quiet as Oikawa slips two coins into the saizen-bako. Hajime wraps an arm around your shoulder as the coins rattle in the box and you know he’s upset too— his hands are slightly shaking and he keeps sniffing. Nationals might have been Oikawa’s dream but Iwaizumi was also a dreamer, and sure, Oikawa was going to go, but they were going to go together.
Tooru hangs two Ema boards and for the first time, he bows at the Honden. Two claps. Head down and hands together as he prays. Iwaizumi joins him: and you watch as Oikawa apologizes to him and Hajime shakes his head- because it was Hajime’s promise too.
Oikawa is twenty-eight and on a plane when he finally keeps his first promise.
It’s a small promise: but a promise nonetheless, one that he made before he left for Argentina. He tells you he loves you at the airport but he has his boarding pass in one hand and his passport in the other. And you tell him you love him too, but also that he’s being unfair, and no you won’t go out with him. And Oikawa knew you would say that, but he still finds himself making a promise– a promise you laugh at because Oikawa Tooru never keeps his promises.
If we’re still single in ten years, I’m going to find you, and I’m going to ask you out.
You cry, and Tooru wraps his arms around you and cries too— and then Iwaizumi’s there, and Iwaizumi’s crying, and you don’t know which part of you is Oikawa or Iwaizumi. Oikawa leaves for Argentina with a heavy heart but a hunger for the future.
In the ten years that pass he plays a lot of volleyball. He tans a lot. He learns some Spanish. He tries beach volleyball. And then, he buys a plane ticket on his birthday.
from: y/n (21:12)
happy birthday tooru !! me n hajime r having an honorary drink for u. hope ur having fun in argentina!!! hajime and i say te amo !!!!
from: tooru (21:15)
i’d like a hot sake plssss thank u!!! ( ˙▿˙ )
from: y/n (21:15)
LMFAO. no. me and haji r drinking ASAHI DRRRRRRYYYYYYYY for u
bro also hajime got BUFF wat the hell
hope ur tanning good in argentina
from: tooru (21:16)
well tell BUFF iwa chan that ill be there in 5 and i want a HOT SAKE and also YES i tanned good SO EYES OFF IWAIZUMI
from: y/n (21:17)
?
what?
ur funny lol
…
TOORU?
Tooru is twenty eight and might retire soon. Thirty five stairs is too many to climb and keeping promises is far more fun than breaking them. So he taps your shoulder, hands Iwaizumi your bouquet, and takes your cheeks in his palms to tilt your chin over.
Warnings: fluff, Oikawa Tōru x genderneutral!reader(no use of she, he or they), kinda suggestive, cuddles, dramatic Oikawa and lots of fluff.
Characters: Oikawa Tōru.
A/N: Thank you for the request sugarplum <3.
You should’ve known the second you heard the front door shut—loudly, dramatically, and exactly like someone who wanted it to be known they had entered—that Oikawa was seconds away from performing an entire opera in your living room.
Not even a full second of silence passed before:
“[Name]-chaaaaaaan…”
And there it was. The dying-cat whine.
You didn’t even get the chance to respond before you heard something heavy hit the floor. Probably his bag. Hopefully not his knees. With Oikawa, you truly could not be sure.
You turned from the kitchen doorway just in time for him to stumble into view, forehead pressed to the wall like a tragic, overworked Victorian governess.
“I’m exhausted,” he proclaimed to no one and everyone at once, sliding down the wall until he sat in a pile of limbs and despair. “I’m…I’m done. Cooked. Burnt. Finished. Like overcooked toast. Do you see me? I’m carbohydrates that have known suffering.”
“So practice went long again?” you asked.
“LONG?” He shot you a betrayed look. “[Name], my love, my light, my reason for continuing the mortal struggle—practice was biblical.”
You tried not to laugh.
“You mean…hard?”
“Yeah...I mean Iwa-chan yelled at me so much I think my soul ascended. I’m a ghost now. Boo.”
You crossed your arms, leaning on the doorframe. “You look pretty alive to me.”
“Tragically,” he muttered, flopping onto his back. “I wanted you to gasp and clutch your chest and fall to your knees dramatically, like in the dramas—”
“I’m not playing along with your ghost fantasy.”
He sighed louder.
Honestly, he looked like a man who had been peeled off the court floor. Sweat, messy hair, half-open jacket—every visual indicator of “I have fought for my life today” was present.
You walked over, tapping his knee lightly. “Get up.”
“No.”
“Torū.”
“No.”
“If you don’t get up, I’m not cuddling you.”
He gasped so sharply it was almost impressive.
In seconds—actual seconds—he shot upright, wobbling like a newborn foal, and latched onto your waist with the emotional gravitas of someone reuniting with a lover after war.
“You wouldn’t deny a poor, suffering, incredibly handsome athlete the one thing that brings him joy, would you?”
“I might,” you said, deadpan.
His eyes widened like you’d slapped him. “You’re so cruel to me…”
“You’re overly dramatic.”
“You knew that when you signed up.”
He wasn’t wrong.
He leaned heavily into you, the weight of him warm and pressing in that familiar Oikawa way—like he expected you to hold him up and secretly loved when you did.
“You smell like sweat,” you said.
He made a noise very close to a wounded baby seal. “Don’t bully me…I worked hard.”
You snorted and grabbed his cheeks. “You’re so pathetic.”
“I am pathetic,” he agreed instantly, leaning into your hands like a big, tired cat. “Pathetic and in love and dying… dying for cuddles…”
You rolled your eyes. “Okay, okay. Go shower. Then you get cuddles.”
“Noooo…”
“Oikawa—”
“What if I shower with you?” he said with some of the last scraps of energy he had, wiggling his eyebrows.
“You won’t even survive rinsing your hair right now.”
His shoulders slumped. “True…”
“Shower. I’ll wait in bed.”
That did it.
He zoomed. Like actually zoomed. The shuffle-zombie-gait transformed instantly into someone sprinting toward salvation. He almost face-planted turning the corner.
“DON’T LEAVE ME IF I DIE IN THE SHOWER!” he shouted from the bathroom.
“I’ll try not to!” you yelled back.
Twenty Minutes Later.
You were already curled in bed, lights dim, blankets soft and warm, when he finally reappeared—damp hair, clean clothes, sleep shirt falling off one shoulder. Shoulders loose. Eyes heavy.
This was the Oikawa only you got.
Not the captain.
Not the genius setter.
Not the flashy showman.
Just…your tired boy.
He climbed into bed immediately, dragging himself across the sheets until he could collapse half on top of you like you were the world’s most comfortable pillow.
His arms wrapped around your waist in a slow, lazy squeeze. “I made it…”
“Congrats on basic hygiene.”
“Hush. Praise me.”
You ran your fingers through his damp hair. “Good job, baby.”
He melted so hard you felt him physically deflate.
“Mmm…again.”
“You did so well at practice today.”
He nuzzled into your chest like a cat claiming territory. “Again…”
“You’re so handsome.”
His blush deepening, now running down till his neck.
“You’re so talented.”
His body was crimson—suddenly you felt something on your leg—
“You smell much better now.”
“That one wasn’t praise,” he murmured, though he still accepted it. Groaning
Your fingers carded through his hair, gentle and slow, and you felt his muscles loosen one by one. The kind of exhaustion that only came from pushing himself too far started to give way to warmth, comfort, and something softer.
“You’re warm,” he mumbled, half-asleep already.
“You’re heavy.”
He hummed. “That’s rude.”
“It’s true.”
“I worked very hard today…my bones are tired… my soul is tired…You have to hold me.”
“I am holding you.”
“Hold me more.”
You wrapped both arms around him fully, pulling him in tight.
He let out a tiny sound—soft, relieved, almost childlike.
A sound he’d stab someone for hearing if it wasn’t you.
Outside, the wind brushed the windows. The sheets rustled as he shifted, curling even closer, legs hooking around yours like he never wanted to let go.
“[Name]…?” he whispered, voice small.
“Hm?”
“I know I’m annoying.”
“Extremely.”
“But…I really like coming home to you…”
You felt your heart squeeze.
“And I know I whine a lot.”
“You do.”
“And I know Iwa-chan wants to punch me.”
“He does.”
He exhaled through his nose, smiling sleepily. “But you always make everything feel okay.”
You kissed the top of his head. “Because you’re easy to love, idiot.”
His fingers curled into your shirt.
“I love you,” he mumbled, voice thick with sleep and something warm. “Even when I’m sad.”
“Especially when you’re pathetic,” you corrected.
A tiny laugh—barely there, but real—escaped him before his breathing slowed, even and soft.
You kept stroking his hair until his whole body relaxed fully.
Warm.
Safe.
Yours.
Then, just as he drifted off completely, he whispered one last thing:
“[Name]…If I die in my sleep, tell Iwa-chan he’s ugly…”
You snorted so hard you shook the bed.
“Shut up and sleep, Tōru.”
A final hum.
A squeeze to your waist.
A sleepy smile against your collarbone.
Then your ridiculous, dramatic, endlessly lovable boy fell asleep in your arms—finally quiet, soft in the way only exhaustion and absolute comfort could make him.
And honestly?
You wouldn’t trade it for the world itself.
Hope you liked it.LIKES AND REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED!
Don't steal,copy,edit or use my works in any form without my permission.
the apple didn't just fall near the tree; it started taking notes on how to be just as dramatic. meet oikawa tooru and his three-year-old mini-me, the only person who can out-sass him.
m.list
the sun was spilling through the floor-to-ceiling windows of your house, making everything glow this soft honey color that felt way too calm for a saturday morning. you were leaning against the kitchen counter, sipping your coffee and watching the two most dramatic people in your life have a very serious meeting on the living room rug.
oikawa was sitting cross-legged, still in his messy sleep clothes, looking every bit the professional athlete but with the soft, tired eyes he only ever showed you. tucked right between his knees was mika, who was essentially a carbon copy of him. she had his exact chocolate-brown hair, the same mischievous upturn at the corners of her mouth, and an ego that was already starting to rival his.
"no princess," oikawa said, his voice dropping into that mock-serious tone he used when they were 'working.' he held up a tiny pink hair clip. "the crown goes in the center. we are going for peak elegance today. do you want to be a champion or not mika?
mika let out a huff that sounded suspiciously like a mini-version of oikawa’s dramatic sighs. she patted his knee with a chubby hand. "daddy, i'm the captain. i pick the clips."
oikawa’s jaw dropped, and he looked over at you with a devastated expression. "did you hear that? she’s stage-managing me. she’s three! where did she learn this level of sass?"
"from the mirror, tooru," you laughed, setting your mug down. "she’s literally your twin. you reap what you sow."
he grumbled something about being bullied in his own home just as the doorbell rang. mika scrambled to her feet, her little light-up sneakers clicking against the floor. "uncle hajime!" she squealed, knowing exactly who it was before the door even opened.
iwaizumi stepped inside, looking significantly more awake than oikawa but still carrying that slightly exhausted 'i've dealt with tooru for twenty years' energy. he barely had his shoes off before mika tackled his leg. he didn't even stumble; he just reached down and hoisted her up onto his hip like it was second nature.
"hey, kiddo," he mumbled, a rare, genuine smile breaking through his grumpy exterior. "you being good? or is your dad being a brat?"
"daddy is being slow," mika reported solemnly, pointing a finger at oikawa, who was still pouting on the floor.
"i heard that!" oikawa shouted, finally pushing himself up. he trotted over, immediately trying to fix one of mika’s stray hairs while iwaizumi held her. "and i'm not being slow, i'm being meticulous. there's a difference, iwa-chan, not that you’d know anything about style."
iwaizumi rolled his eyes, looking at you for strength. "i brought the good snacks from the market. since apparently the 'great setter' can't be bothered to grocery shop on game weeks."
"i was busy being a father!" oikawa defended, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you into his side. he leaned down, pressing a quick, sweet kiss to your temple that lingered just long enough to make your heart flutter. "right? tell him i'm the best, most attentive dad in argentina."
you leaned your head back against his shoulder, looking at the way iwaizumi was already letting mika put tiny stickers on his muscular forearm. oikawa’s eyes were bright, full of so much pride and love as he watched them, and he squeezed your hip gently.
"you're okay, i guess," you teased, turning in his arms to face him.
oikawa gasped, clutching his chest. "only okay? after i spent forty minutes negotiating with a toddler about hair accessories? i deserve a medal. or at least another kiss."
he didn't wait for you to agree, leaning in to capture your lips in a soft, lingering kiss that tasted like home. mika’s giggles and iwaizumi’s loud groans of 'get a room, losers' echoed in the background, but oikawa didn't pull away until he had a cheeky grin back on his face. he was exactly where he wanted to be.
the bright sun beams over the hot sand on the beach as you walk side by side with oikawa, bags in hand. you find a spot to set up camp, him laying down a large blanket on the ground as you dig through a tote bag for sunscreen.
“turn around,” you tell him, holding up a spray can of spf.
“i don’t need sunscreen,” he whines. you just roll your eyes and try to contain the smirk on your face.
“i’m not listening to you cry over having to put on aloe vera when you get burnt. turn around.”
he pouts and sends you a last resort puppy eyed look (that doesn’t work) before letting you spread the sunscreen over his bare back. it takes everything in you not to ogle like an idiot over his toned muscles and the way the light from the sun highlights every groove.
“let me do yours,” he says when you’re done, taking the can from your hand and massaging your back with the spray. he kisses your shoulder, now oily with the smell of sunscreen, before running off towards the shore.
you assume he’s going to take a dip in the water, so you just dig through the cooler to set up the lunch you packed for when he returns: watermelon cut into bite sized cubes, sliced sandwiches, ice cold seltzers, and bags of chips. you lay down on the blanket, basking in the comforting warmth from the sun that’s still high in the sky at mid afternoon. you close your eyes as the salty breeze rushes by and tickles your skin.
after a while, you hear the shuffling of sand and a dramatic grunt from oikawa as he takes a seat beside you. his legs are covered in sand, particularly his knees, probably from kneeling on the ground. he grabs a few pieces of watermelon and chucks them in his mouth.
“i have something to show you,” he declares in between bites of fruit, running his fingers through your hair that’s gone wild from the wind and pulling the messy strands out of your face.
you hum as you open your eyes, squinting to adjust to the brightness of the outside. “lead the way.”
he grabs you by the hand and brings you to the place at the shoreline where the sand begins to turn into mud. along the shore are pictures he drew with his fingers. there’s summer themed designs like suns and seashells, but there’s also hearts and a poorly drawn stick figure work of you and him holding hands that makes you have to stifle a laugh. in the center of his masterpiece is a big heart with your initials written inside, a reminder of one of the countless cheesy ways he used to tease you back in high school.
“it’s the story of us,” he smiles, wrapping an arm around your waist.
“the story of us is stick figures and sunshine?”
he laughs, nodding. “yeah, something like that.”
“now i’m in the mood for making a sandcastle. go get the buckets. shovels too.”
“yes ma’am.” he runs off, returning with castle shaped bucket molds and colorful plastic shovels.
you spend the afternoon making creations in the sand and occasionally chasing each other through the water to cool down, laughing through sips of sparkling canned drinks and sunscreen reapplication. you leave your mark on the beach as the sun starts to set, your creations of palaces and stupid looking drawings left behind as you walk home hand in hand with oikawa.
