#oikawaaaa

i'm sure oikawa has talked to your stuffed toys at least once in your relationship

"are these all your stuffed toys?"

"yes, they are," you say, sitting on the edge of the covered mattress, allowing yourself to sink into the quilt. "i've had them since i was young. like, really really young."

"like all-i-do-is-slobber-young? that kind of young?"

"i guess so?"

"well, that's not too young, is that? sounds like you yesterday-"

"shut up, tooru!"

"okay," he concedes, still laughing to himself. he peers at the stuffed toys dutifully aligned at the headboard of your bed. he spots animals of cotton and sees dolls dressed in small wool clothes; and when you're talking to him, and he's half-listening (whoops) he can spy a few pieces of soft fabric cover the rounded lumps and edges and corners of other toys.

"it's so weird being in your childhood bedroom," he says once you finish your sentence. "who knew that you'd have the sense of taste like that in decoration? no wonder your taste in music pales compared to mine."

you dig your elbow into his upper arm and he moans dramatically.

"hey, y/n, my arm isn't yours to dig into!"

"you better apologize," you respond, feigning annoyance. "what you said can be punishable by law."

"can't plead against the truth in court," he mutters in his breath. "well, should i apologize to you? or to your stuffed friends here?"

"all of them. you just insulted their monarch."

he picks up a stuffed elephant, blue and gray at the seams.

"what's their name? and do they know me?"

"that's such a weird question. i think their name is Ellie."

"Well, Ellie, I sure am sorry for offending your monarch. I'm sorry for saying something that's at least 70% truthful."

"You're so bad at apologizing."

"They don't even have my merch, though! How do I know they'd be entranced when I apologize to them? I'm not just anyone!"

"sounds like you buy your own merch," you reply.

"maybe i do," he sighs, picking up the next one. you watch as the wool sheep dips and dunks and sinks under his fingers. "what's their name?"

"it doesn't have a name."

"right. i think we've decided that whenever you and i have children, I'm in charge of name-calling. wouldn't want you calling our child anything other than Tooruisawesome because you can't decide on anything."

"go right ahead, Mr. Username Generator," you chuckle. "make it worthwhile, though."

he stares at the animal intently, pressing it between both of his palms, and he seems more serious and solemn as he fingers your stuffed animal's coat, thinking to himself.

"What are you doing?"

"I don't know how to say this. You've slept with them, right?"

"Yeah, they keep me really nice and warm when I was younger. Why?"

A CAMPFIRE DATE w/ OIKAWA built with love for the awkward and timid @aquenchedsoul​. Comfort and goeey warmth. Enjoy your dream holidate!

FEATURED DATE SONG: BEST PART by H.E.R. FT. DANIEL CAESAR

"Have you brought everything I told you, Y/N-chan?" Tooru asked you. You two were walking hand in hand. Excitement was evident through the spring in both of your steps. That's all because he told you he had a surprise for you at the place you're going to. 

You assured him. "Yep, no need to worry. I got the marshmallows and the cute reindeer socks you've been pointing out at Uniqlo." 

general headcanon but

oikawa just loves your kisses - each and every single kind - the sad ones, the enthusiastic kinds, the passionate types, and those that are purely casual. he loves it when you kiss him first, since it just makes him special in a "i got kissed today!" way, even if it sounds cheesy and corny and anything but the kitchen sink.

it's just something that makes him feel wanted. terribly needed. exceptionally loved. undeniably appreciated. thinking that there's something he did that made you stand up and reach your mouth to his skin - the utter focus - makes him tremble inside.

pecking him in the morning - something of a routine for the two of you - makes his lips shiver invitingly, since it tells him that you've grown so accustomed to his presence around you that you'd and can reach out to him whenever and wherever. sure, you do pass the coffee, and pat him gently on the back, and say encouraging words that'll make him cry and underestimate himself less, but smelling a faint whiff of your perfume/cologne before the texture of your lips is something he'd love to experience again and again.

reluctantly but surely kissing him after a fight, slowly and sensually on the mouth that underestimated and insulted and scowled and spat and sniggered time and time again shows forgiveness (for the both of you). maybe you're hurt, but covering your lips with his might bandage the wounds you two have. lips like plaster on skin - firm and unrelenting, but supple enough for comfort. you're silencing any "i don't deserve you" and "don't leave me"s that could've possibly snuck and squeezed their way out - despite himself, you still want and need him, and he does, too.

this is Oikawa during the day. this is him inside his volleyball jersey; this is him under the sun, where his hair is the color and hue and shade of plump chocolate and dark wood and thick soil.

and if you look closely, and peer very hard at the group of young men laughing and giggling and chortling at each other, as they are very happy - they won a luxurious trophy from one tournament - you will see him, right there, in the middle. next to iwaizumi.

you don't see him? well, look at where my finger is pointing at.

there he is, in the bluish-greenish uniform, kneeling on the hard waxed floor. this is him, smattered and pressed and squeezed against the sweaty chests and soggy sides and clammy shoulders of his teammates as he turns in front of the camera to show a very wide and very nearly enthusiastic grin.

Oikawa during the day is a man of terribly short and teasing words. he does not spit insults or swallow things he would've liked to say if he had the chance; he sneers and scowls instead, like a quietly ill-tempered child, and sniggers. his laughter skitters and titters, like small critters; each peal of merriment crawls and inches and pokes under the skin like minuscule legs and wings and other ghastly and repulsive things like that.

but oikawa during the day is not repulsive. he's joyful, and a bit of a jerk sometimes, but still pretty enjoyable to hang around.

"i have absolutely no idea what to wear," you start, frowning at the two dresses limp upon your bed. "I'd take the teal one, but I'm not sure it would go with everything else I had in mind."

"you should take the blue one," Oikawa offers. "it always brought out this really shimmery side of you. i always see your eyes sparkle in that."

"does it really? I mean, it would look good with these boots I'm thinking of wearing...but thanks for the suggestion. I'll think of it."

You and Oikawa know each other very well. Certainly more than the two of you would ever be able to admit—but you have spent and chattered and argued and whispered and tittered and gossiped with the man longer than anything utterly lengthy you could possibly think of—nearly very long enough for you to detect and suspect the smallest and slightest and sneakiest change in the way he acts, talks, and speaks.

And so has he, with you, but he rarely talks about it like you do; in fact, he’d absolutely love and appreciate not telling it to you, but reminding you with his hands and limbs instead—yes, that is what I think. He doesn’t boast, or talk about it to others, but keeps it to himself. He certainly does love hearing you wonder in amazement about how he knows when you’ve been sad, or you’re trying your very best to hide something from him. It’s no use confronting him about it—he simply shrugs and goes, “It was dumb luck, y/n!” when you ask him how he knew that you were upset with your friend.

“It’s nothing special.”

Maybe he’s smiling and giggling at the thought that you’re so befuddled and bamboozled and breathless at how someone—who isn’t a romantic partner—knows you so well. But you don’t press it, and neither does he, as he’s perfectly fine and happily content and certainly ok with leaving your relationship as it is—breezy, light, and fruitful. Nothing too serious. He is also totally fine with waiting for you, though, in case you change your mind.

“You know, y/n, my door is always open. Well, it could be ajar to some, but I think it’s pretty wide for you.”

And wide his door certainly was when you’d come upset and crying and frustrated to him: if it was a Monday, and he was feeling particularly calm, he’d summon water to boil for tea—to calm you down and help you rest. I reckon he also makes your fingers hug and curve around the porcelain, to feel the warmth of the cup, although the heat of his fingers is a jolly good feeling too.

Or maybe it’s a Tuesday, and he’s just come back from practice, but he gladly squeaks and squelches and squeezes the sole of his sneakers back to the gym, you by his side, where he hopes you release your anger by hitting some balls. Sometimes you hit him too, by accident, but it’s nothing to him; he doesn’t mind it at all. he never really does.

And when Wednesday comes, and you're feeling terribly tired from the night before - studying late at night is fantastically horrible when it drags on for too long - he'll instruct you how to massage your aching and sore shoulders. maybe it's hard getting all the little finger movements right since fingering and touching and prodding the muscle can be troublesome, so he'll rub your aching joints for you.

"No, not like that! Use your fingers. It has to be all nice and soft there so that it doesn't bother you too much. We wouldn't want that, would we?"

he rolls his eye when you sigh in pleasure. but he rubs and brushes and strokes a bit more, grinding your skin under a lovely warm bit of friction and delightful heat.

.now i know i should be writing something else, but just - imagine what mornings would be with Oikawa - every single hour before noon with him, just like how it's indicated by the hands on a clock. going to run with him and him exaggerating your tired sighs with dramatic and weirdly melodious gasps and moans and cries for air, each step on crisp grass pushing a whine out of him as he slows at your pace.

he's next to you, and his hurried breaths keep drawing your eye to him - his eyes are squeezed shut in desperation, and you almost have it in you to wince and flinch at his heavy, labored breath, but you know he's just echoing your tired panting for fun. you grimace in annoyance.

"tooru, maybe i don't run well, but that doesn't mean you should make fun of me."

"well-" he starts - "you're going-" another pant - "so slow!" - cue another exaggerated whine for good measure. "y/n, remember when I told you that I'd chase you down the ends of the Earth? nevermind about that. you run so slow, I may as well walk."

you respond by kicking him in the shins as best as you can. "at least I'm running, and I haven't given up...yet."

he stops abruptly and looks at you with sudden surprise, enough air knocked out of his lungs to prevent him from exhaling another one of his inflated sighs. "you're giving up? why, we're only halfway!"

"give me a reason to continue," you reply smugly. "and no, saying 'i'll motivate you!' is not a reason - that's what you always say."

"well, who else would I run in the mornings with? you're a great partner to run with!"

"save that for someone else," you retort. "you could do so much better."

"wait, y/n, wait-"

you start to leave, but he grips at you, clutching at the fabric of your shirt and almost shredding your skin by the force of contact. with you anchored in between his fingers, he goes to wrap his arms around you, and even though your skin erupts into goosebumps by the sudden warmth, you ease yourself against his body. he's reaching for you earnestly - pressing his cheek against yours to the point that the flesh almost drips from the top of your face, and his fingers sear around your waist, leaving your shirt to sift nothing but his warmth.

"you can't leave me, y/n! please. it's something we've always done together, you and I-"

you open your mouth to speak as he presses his palms against your cheeks, squeezing a small, startled yelp from you. "I mean, I promised that I'd stay with you forever, right? and you did too!"

"definitely," you manage.

"so we'll start with running! we'll run together! I can't be alone," he adds for emphasis, grinning amongst sweat and heavy breathing. "therefore, by that right," he starts, grabbing you by the hand, "we should try to spend mornings together. that entails running too," he quickly adds.

"does pillow talk count?"

"sure, whatever you'd like. just as long as you're with me."