podcast
— who needs the volleyball team’s official broadcast when there’s issei dedicating an entire podcast to documenting your every sneeze, sigh, and sip of cafeteria milk?
matsukawa issei x f!reader
c: fluff fluff fluff fluff fluff fluff
been a mattsun girlie since d1, will jump him 100%
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
there are a lot of alarming things about high school: exams, gym uniforms that never quite dry right after washing, and the way vending machines eat your coins with zero remorse. but the most alarming thing? matsukawa issei’s podcast.
he calls it “y/n watch.”
like some sort of nature documentary. except instead of lions prowling the savanna, it’s you trying to untangle your earbuds in homeroom while matsukawa provides live commentary like he’s david attenborough reborn.
and the worst part? people listen. no—people flock. overnight, “y/n watch” has more listeners than the volleyball team’s official game broadcast. oikawa nearly cries when he sees the analytics.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
matsukawa, to his credit, does not see anything wrong with this. in fact, he’s thriving.
“welcome back to another episode of y/n watch,” he says into his phone mic, sprawled on his bed like this is a legitimate studio. “today’s update: y/n dropped her pen in math class. she didn’t pick it up right away—no, no, she waited exactly four minutes and thirty-two seconds before leaning down. the suspense? unmatched. my heart rate? dangerous.”
he pauses for dramatic effect. “also, she used the pink pen today, not the blue one. shocking. revolutionary. this is what the people tune in for.”
and the people do tune in. matsukawa has no idea how it spread, but now everyone in school is low-key invested in the minute-by-minute chronicles of your life. you’re basically a celebrity without even trying.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
the first time you find out, it’s because hanamaki won’t stop snickering in class.
“what?” you ask, frowning at him.
hanamaki just turns his phone around. the screen flashes the title: “y/n watch ep. 14 — she ate bread??”
bread??
you click play before you can stop yourself, and matsukawa’s voice fills the classroom:
“today, i witnessed greatness. y/n chose bread at the cafeteria. not rice, not noodles, but bread. she sat down, unwrapped it so carefully, like an angel descending from the heavens. then she took the softest bite i’ve ever seen. i almost cried. she is everything. the bread was nothing compared to her.”
your face bursts into flames. “what the—!”
“he’s committed,” hanamaki says, barely holding in his laughter. “dude’s practically a one-man fan club.”
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
you confront matsukawa after school, because how could you not?
he’s leaning against the gym doors, earphones in, scrolling through his phone. casual. calm. as though he isn’t publicly documenting your daily life for the entire school to consume.
“matsukawa,” you hiss, tugging at his sleeve. “what the hell is ‘y/n watch’?”
his mouth curves into the most shameless grin you’ve ever seen. “you listened?”
“of course i listened! it’s literally about me!”
“then you liked it.”
“i—what? no!”
but matsukawa just smirks, pushing his hands into his pockets like you’ve already confirmed his victory. “you wouldn’t have listened if you didn’t care. don’t worry, i only report the truth. raw, unfiltered y/n content. the people deserve it.”
“the people—? matsukawa, this isn’t a democracy!”
“hm. feels more like a monarchy,” he says, tilting his head, eyes glinting with lazy amusement. “and you’re the queen.”
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
the next day, you expect him to stop. you told him off. you were firm. you made your boundaries very clear.
…right?
wrong.
“episode 15,” his voice says the moment you open spotify at lunch. “she confronted me yesterday. i saw fire in her eyes, and honestly? i’d let her yell at me again if it meant being the center of her attention. ten out of ten experience. five stars. would recommend.”
you nearly choke on your juice.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
it becomes impossible to escape “y/n watch.”
you tie your shoelaces? matsukawa uploads an entire five-minute segment about how gracefully you bent down, how you double-knotted them like a responsible genius.
you sneeze in class? boom. instant clip. he titles it “the cutest sound known to mankind (i almost ascended).”
you write your name on the whiteboard during group work? the next episode drops: “her handwriting cured my nearsightedness.”
at first, you’re mortified. how are you supposed to live normally when every mundane thing you do gets immortalized in audio format?
but over time, it… weirdly becomes kind of sweet. ridiculous, yes. humiliating, absolutely. but there’s something about the way matsukawa describes you—like even the littlest details matter. like you’re fascinating just by existing.
and that—well. it’s hard not to feel a little warm inside.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
the volleyball team, however, is less than thrilled.
“mattsun, this is treason!” oikawa wails, holding his head dramatically. “people are skipping my carefully curated match broadcasts to listen to you gush about y/n’s pencil choices?!”
“sounds about right,” hanamaki says.
iwaizumi sighs. “look, man, we’re happy for you or whatever, but maybe dial it down? you’re scaring the first-years.”
“they’ll live,” matsukawa says with a shrug, already typing notes into his phone. “also, y/n laughed in chemistry today. like, full-on giggle. her nose crinkled. i almost dropped my beaker. tune in tonight for the full coverage.”
oikawa actually looks like he might pass out. “crinkled?! this is war.”
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
the true turning point comes on a wednesday.
you’re sitting in the library, trying (failing) to focus on homework, when matsukawa drops into the seat across from you. no preamble, no hesitation, just this looming giant of a boy grinning like a cat who stole all the cream.
“hi,” he says.
you narrow your eyes. “you better not be recording this.”
“not recording,” he promises, holding up both hands. “just… observing.”
“that’s worse!”
but then he leans forward, resting his chin on his palm. his voice drops, softer than you expect.
“seriously though. it’s not just for laughs. i like noticing you. even the small stuff. especially the small stuff.”
your heart stutters.
he’s still smiling, but there’s an earnestness behind it now, one that makes your chest ache. “you’re my favorite part of the day,” he admits, like it’s the simplest truth. “so yeah, i talk about it. maybe too much. but i can’t help it.”
and maybe you should scold him again, tell him how weird it is. maybe you should walk away.
but instead you find yourself biting back a smile, cheeks warm. “…you’re a crazy guy.”
“your crazy guy,” he corrects immediately, eyes gleaming.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
the next episode of “y/n watch” drops that night.
“breaking news,” matsukawa’s voice says. “y/n called me ridiculous. the way she said it? life-changing. she smiled after, too. i’m framing that smile in my memory forever. honestly, i could retire the podcast now—mission accomplished. but i won’t. because every day with her is worth documenting.”
and somehow, some way… you don’t even mind anymore.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
but nothing—and i mean nothing—compares to the day you slip up.
it’s after practice, the gym buzzing with noise, oikawa nagging about rotations while hanamaki tries to balance a volleyball on his head. matsukawa wanders over to where you’re sitting, lazy grin in place, sweat still clinging to his forehead.
“tired?” he asks.
“a little,” you admit.
he hums, dropping onto the bench beside you. “don’t worry. i’ll carry you home if you collapse.”
“you’re ridiculous, mattsun.”
and then—without thinking—you add: “thanks, issei.”
silence.
dead silence.
the ball falls off hanamaki’s head with a thud. oikawa’s jaw drops. iwaizumi straight-up freezes mid-drink.
matsukawa? matsukawa looks like he’s been struck by lightning. eyes wide, breath caught, frozen grin melting into something so stunned it borders on reverence.
“…say that again,” he breathes.
you blink. “what?”
“my name,” he says, voice hoarse. “say it again.”
“issei?”
he puts a hand over his heart like you’ve just fired an arrow through it. “that’s it. i can die happy now. funeral’s tomorrow. bury me with my headphones.”
“oh my god,” you groan, shoving at his shoulder. “you’re so dramatic.”
but he’s already on his feet, turning toward the team. “she called me issei!”
iwaizumi pinches the bridge of his nose. “please, not this.”
“did everyone hear? issei!” matsukawa crows, pointing at himself with both thumbs like he’s just won the olympics. “retire the podcast, boys, i’ve reached peak existence.”
hanamaki claps slowly, solemnly. “congratulations, man. you’re a legend.”
oikawa, meanwhile, looks personally victimized. “she’s never called me by my first name like that—”
“because no one likes you, trashykawa,” iwaizumi mutters.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
later that night, a special episode drops.
“emergency broadcast,” matsukawa says, voice uncharacteristically shaky with excitement. “y/n said my name today. my actual name. issei. i heard it. i lived it. i will never recover. this is bigger than winning nationals. this is bigger than the moon landing. neil armstrong who? it’s all about y/n calling me issei.”
a pause. a deep, shaky inhale.
“if you’re listening to this, know that i’m the luckiest man alive. and yes, the podcast will continue. forever.”
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
a: type of stuff that would never happen irl. someone did moan out my name in school speakers but i don’t think i’ll write about that.
© showhay — don’t copy nor translate without my permission. i do not own any of the photos that i have used. credits to all the rightful owners. (˶ˆᗜˆ˵)
iloveu
