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ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ⭑.ᐟ𝓱𝓮𝓵𝓵𝓸 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝔀𝓮𝓵𝓬𝓸𝓶𝓮 ꨄ︎

۶ৎ vee, 20s, she/her ۶ৎ MDNI ۶ৎ requests are now open !!

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀၇୧ pls check carrd for rules 𓈒

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ♡𝅼 masterlist ʚଓ

© 2025 @xoqox. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. any form of plagiarism, copying, or translation is prohibited ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤdividers by @cursed-carmine 𖹭 𖹭

[xoqox]

・┆✦ʚ ​ꜱʜᴇ ɢᴏᴛ ᴀ(-)ᴡᴀʏ​ ɞ✦ ┆・

𖹭.ᐟ Chapter 14 ── distance

𓍼cw: angst 𓍼a/n: hi hi everyone, really sorry for the long delay (again). long story short, i ended up having a surgery and needed some time to recover, still am tbh, but i really want to keep this going so i can't promise how soon the next chapter will come. i promise i'm trying my best to keep it up!! thank you for all the support and lovely messages, hope you enjoy this one<3

masterlist || prev chapter || next chapter (coming soon)

By the time Osamu got back to Osaka, exhaustion had settled deep in his bones, but sleep felt impossibly far away. The drive home passed in a blur of highway lights and unanswered thoughts. He barely remembered getting through the front door of his apartment. His keys landed somewhere on the kitchen counter, his shoes were kicked off near the entrance, and before he knew it, he was standing in the middle of his living room, staring blankly at nothing.

His phone buzzed in his pocket.

Atsumu.

Osamu already knew what the message would say before he opened it.

tsumu: your truth

His thumb hovered over the keyboard for a moment before he typed back a simple no.

The response came almost immediately.

tsumu: why?

Osamu's eyes lingered on the word longer than necessary.

Why?

Because he didn't know where to begin. Because every explanation sounded like an excuse. Because he'd spent the last four years avoiding conversations that should have happened, and now suddenly there were too many things left unsaid.

With a sigh, he tossed his phone onto the coffee table and collapsed onto the couch. The cushions sank beneath his weight as he leaned back and rubbed a hand over his face. The apartment was silent except for the distant hum of traffic outside the window.

He closed his eyes.

Instantly, the bar came rushing back.

The conversation, the argument, Rin's voice, his own.

Then the moment everything changed.

The realization that someone had heard them.

That you had heard them.

No matter how many times he replayed it, he couldn't remember exactly what expression you were wearing. It was already slipping away from him. What remained was the feeling you had left behind—a sick, twisting weight in his chest.

Osamu groaned and sat up, dragging both hands down his face.

He'd spent years convincing himself the past belonged in the past. There had never been a reason to tell you. If you didn't ask, maybe it didn't matter.

Now all he could think about was how easily that illusion had fallen apart.

His gaze drifted toward the phone lying abandoned on the coffee table.

For hours, he'd been telling himself he needed time. Time to think, to figure out what to say. Time to find the right words.

The truth was that there were no right words.

There probably never had been.

Before he could talk himself out of it again, he reached for the phone and opened your chat.

The cursor blinked expectantly.

For once, he didn't hesitate.

I'm sorry.

Two words.

Pathetically insufficient for everything that had happened, but the most honest thing he had.

He pressed send.

Not delivered.

Osamu frowned.

He tried again.

Failed.

For a long moment, he simply sat with the screen glowing in his hand, unwilling to acknowledge what was right in front of him.

Then it clicked.

You had blocked him.

A bitter laugh escaped him as he let his head fall back against the couch.

And for the first time since you had walked out of that bar, Osamu was forced to confront the possibility that there might never be another chance to explain.

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TAGLIST!! @itz-phantomz @randomhumans-blog @sorrynotsorrh @reidsworld @nishinoyaismycutie @princessbrittnicole @softtashoney @lovley212 @captain-shittykawa @angelsleepinggurl @wakashudou @hiqhkey @riiceandsoup @spooky-cupid @asxprse @sugacor3 @bakauwu @soda-taro @scarredbytheworld

[xoqox]

just finished the archon quest, boi the people were NAWT kidding, it took me 4.5 hours 😭

[xoqox]

・┆✦ʚ ​ꜱʜᴇ ɢᴏᴛ ᴀ(-)ᴡᴀʏ​ ɞ✦ ┆・

𖹭.ᐟ Chapter 13 ── my shirt

𓍼cw: alcohol mention, heavy angst 𓍼wc: 2k

masterlist || prev chapter || next chapter

“Oi boss! Bring in another round!” Atsumu waves at the barman, already tipsy enough to be raising his voice more than your ears can take after today's match.

“Where does he find the energy...?” Your question is more rhetorical than a genuine one.

Suna, on your right, shrugs his shoulders, “He always gets like that after a good win... ”

You turn to him, leaning back on your chair with your arms crossed, “It was a good match. You guys played amazingly too!”

“That's what I've been saying!” Komori exclaims, “Don't mind him, he almost never gets this pissy after a loss. Dunno what happened today.”

You raise your brow as you turn back to Suna “Is that so?” you ask with a small smirk on your lips, “Care to enlighten us?”

Suna smirks, his half lidded eyes looking at yours. He leans forward, until his lips are a mere inch away from your ear, “Is it so bad I wanted to show off a little, princess?”

You feel your cheeks getting hotter, definitely not from the alcohol in your system. Just when you're about to say something, your eyes fall upon the entrance.

Osamu scans the room, clearly just stepping inside. Your friends make it more than easy to find where you sit.

But his eyes don't follow Bokuto's or Hinata's loud laughs, or his twin yelling for another round of drinks already.

They find yours.

His shoulders relax the second his eyes land on you.

You smile softly as you raise your hand and wave for him to come over.

“’Bout time ya got here!” Atsumu hollers.

When he reaches the table, the only seat available is the one right next to you. Suna's hand drops from the back of your chair, but his arm stays close, his presence warm and steady at your side.

“Hey,” Osamu says directly to you, even though everyone else is greeting him.

Your breath stumbles. “Hi,” you manage, your voice lighter than you intend.

He pulls the chair out, glances at how you and Suna are positioned just for a second, and sits down beside you. Close enough that your knees touch under the table.

The noise of the group swells back around you like a wave. Yet you only feel two things:

Suna beside you.

And Osamu, now on your other side.

And suddenly, the table feels a whole lot smaller.

“Sup?” Suna nods towards Osamu as he settles beside you.

Osamu simply nods in return.

You clear your throat. “So... I think I'll get another one...” you say as you tap on your empty glass. “What will you get?”

“I dunno... whiskey?” Osamu replies as he leans forward, propping his forearms on the table.

“Whiskey?” Atsumu repeats from across the table, scandalized. “At least pretend ya came here ta celebrate.”

Osamu doesn't even look at him. “I am celebratin'. Just not with whatever sugar bomb ya've been chuggin'.”

“Oi—”

“Relax,” you cut in before Atsumu can launch into another rant. You glance at the barman and raise two fingers. “One whiskey. And... I'll get the same as before.”

“Make that two,” Suna adds smoothly, lifting his nearly empty glass in the air.

You glance at him. “Since when do you drink whiskey?”

He shrugs. “Since it seemed like a good idea.”

Osamu's fingers tap once against the table. “Didn't know ya needed inspiration.”

Suna finally turns his head, slow and lazy. “Didn't know it was copyrighted.”

Across the table, Bokuto is arguing with Hinata about who screamed louder during match point. Komori is hyping both of them up. Atsumu is still offended about the sugar bomb comment.

The server sets the drinks down.

Osamu's glass lands first, then Suna's.

You reach for yours, but both of them move at the same time. Suna slides it closer to you with two fingers, Osamu steadying it before it tips.

Their hands brush.

Pause.

Separate.

Neither of them acknowledge it.

You take a sip, trying to swallow the tension with it.

“So,” Osamu says lightly, eyes on you but voice pitched just enough for Suna to hear too, “ya were cheerin’ pretty loud today.”

Heat creeps up your neck. “I always cheer.”

“Mhm.” Suna leans back, arm stretching along the back of your chair again. “She does.”

Osamu glances at the arm, then back at your face. “Didn't know ya were still into volleyball like that.”

“She's not,” Suna replies before you can. “She's just supportive.”

You look at him. “I can speak for myself.”

Suna's lips twitch. “I know.”

Osamu hums into his drink. “Support's important.”

“Very,” Suna agrees easily.

You exhale slowly. “Okay, what is happening right now?”

“Nothing,” they both say at the same time.

Much to Sakusa's dismay, Atsumu returns with a tray of shots before you can interrogate further. “Aight, enough flirting or fighting or whatever this is. We're celebratin'!”

“We're not flirting...” you mutter.

Suna raises an eyebrow. “Wasn't aware we were fighting either.”

Osamu reaches for one of the shot glasses and slides one in front of you. “Easy, she taps out after two.”

You stare at him. “I do not.”

Suna leans closer, his shoulder brushing yours. “She doesn't.”

Their eyes meet over your head.

You grab the shot before either of them can say another word. “On three,” you say firmly.

The table counts down loudly. Glasses clink. The alcohol burns down your throat.

You cough, laughing with everyone else, pretending your heart isn't beating too fast.

“I’m gonna run to the bathroom,” you say, sliding out of your chair.

“Don't fall in,” Atsumu calls.

“Shut up,” you mutter, disappearing toward the hallway near the back.

The second you're gone, something shifts.

Osamu doesn't look at Suna at first. He just swirls the last of his whiskey.

“You kept it.”

Suna raises a brow. “Kept what?”

“My shirt,” Osamu says, “the one I gave ya Rin, the one Yn was wearin' at the match today.”

Suna doesn't pretend not to understand. “Oh, that...”

“Yeah, that...” The ice in Osamu's glass clinks when he sets it down. “I didn't think ya'd parade it around on her like ya got somethin' ta prove.”

Suna's expression goes flat. “Careful.”

Osamu leans back, arms crossed over his chest. “Did ya even wait a full day after the reunion, or were ya already texting her on the train home?”

Suna's eyes sharpen. “It wasn't like that.”

Osamu's mouth twitches, humorless. “Right. Just another meaningless hookup. Ya've had plenty of practice.”

That one lands.

“…You think that's what you were to me?”

Osamu lets out a short, bitter laugh. “Ya tell me. Ya were real good at slippin' out before mornin'.”

Silence.

That hit deeper than it should have.

Suna's voice drops. “You were the one who never asked me to stay.”

Osamu's fingers curl against the table. “That's not—”

“Don't,” Suna cuts in quietly. “Don't rewrite it. You said it was getting complicated.”

“It was.”

“For who?”

“For both of us,” Osamu shoots back.

Suna lets out a quiet laugh. “Funny. Didn't look that complicated when you got a girlfriend a few months later.”

“I told ya that wasn't serious,” Osamu says quickly.

“Yeah?” Suna's voice tightens. “Cause it felt pretty serious when you told me we should stop.”

A heavy silence falls.

“Ya think I didn't take ya seriously?” Osamu asks, jaw tight.

“You didn't,” Suna replies flatly. “You didn't take anything seriously after breaking up with Yn...”

“I was messed up back then,” Osamu says, frustration bleeding through. “I didn't know what the hell I was doin'.”

“Yeah,” Suna says. “I noticed.”

Osamu leans in. “Don't act like you cared that much.”

“You don't get to decide that.” Suna's eyes flash. “And you don't get to act like I stole something you threw away.”

Osamu's chair scrapes slightly against the floor. “I didn't throw her away.”

“No, you just let her go.”

“And you picked up the pieces?”

“If that's what you wanna call it.”

Osamu's voice goes tight again. “Was it?”

The floor creaks faintly beneath your shoe.

Both of them go still.

Suna looks up first. Osamu turns a second later.

Their expressions change at the exact same time.

You don't know how long you've been standing there, but it was long enough to understand.

Your voice comes out smaller than you expect. “What?”

Silence.

No one else at the table seems to have noticed yet. Atsumu is still arguing with Bokuto. Hinata is laughing too loudly.

But the world at your end of the table has gone completely quiet.

Osamu's face drains of color. “Yn—”

You look at Suna instead. He doesn't look away.

“How long?” you ask.

Neither of them answers fast enough.

And that's answer enough.

You shake your head, blinking away your tears. You refuse to let them see you break.

“I... I have to go.” You say sharply, but your voice cracks just enough for the rest to notice. You grab your purse and coat and rush to the exit.

“Yn, wait—” Osamu starts, already pushing his chair back in perfect sync with Suna.

But before either of them can reach you, Atsumu's hand slams down on the table.

“Sit yer asses down.”

It's not loud, not playful.

Osamu freezes. “Tsumu—”

“I said sit.”

There's something in his voice that makes even Suna hesitate.

Atsumu looks at you pushing through the crowd to make it to the door. And for the first time tonight, he looks sober.

“I'll go.”

The air outside hits you like a slap. You don't remember pushing the bar door open. You don't remember crossing the sidewalk. You just know your chest feels tight and your eyes won't stop burning.

Footsteps approach behind you, quick but not frantic.

“Hey.”

Atsumu.

You don't turn around. “Don't,” you say quietly.

He slows when he reaches you, but he doesn't touch you. Just stands beside you on the sidewalk.

“I'm sorry ya had to find out like that...”

Your head snaps toward him. “You knew?”

He exhales through his nose. “Yeah.”

Of course he did.

You look away again, eyes stinging.

“How long?” you ask, but it comes out more tired than angry.

“Not that long,” he says carefully. “A few months, on and off.”

On and off. Like flipping a switch.

“I left...” you whisper. “I left and they—”

Your throat closes.

Atsumu's voice softens. “Hey, hey, hey...” he gently puts his hands on your shoulders. “Listen ta me. Yer gonna go back to the hotel and sleep this through, aight?”

Your chest tightens.

“I can't just...” You shake your head. “I have so many feelings right now I—”

“Yer allowed ta be upset,” Atsumu says immediately. “But yer drunk and standin' out here spiralin' ain't gonna help ya.”

“I hate that I didn't know,” you say with your eyes staring at the floor.

Atsumu nods once. He knows better than try to defend them, not even his brother.

“Want me ta call ya a cab?”

You hesitate for a moment. “...Yeah”

He pulls his phone out immediately. No questions, no comments. He types, confirms, and pockets it again.

“Two minutes.”

You both stand there in silence.

Cars pass. Music thumps faintly behind you. Someone laughs too loudly inside. Right now, it feels like it belongs to another world.

You wrap your arms around yourself.

Atsumu shifts beside you, uncomfortable in a way you've never seen before. “For what it's worth,” he mutters, staring at the street instead of you, “none of 'em ever meant ta hurt ya.”

You don't answer.

The cab pulls up.

Atsumu steps forward first, opening the door for you. You slide in without looking back.

He leans down slightly. “Text me when ya get there.”

You nod. The door shuts, and the car pulls away.

In the side mirror, you see Atsumu still standing on the sidewalk. The bar door opens again behind him.

Two figures step out. You look away before you can see which one moves first.

a/n: Finally, the big reveal! Tbh I don't feel too great with this chapter, but I couldn't delay it any longer TT hope you enjoy<3

likes & (<) reblogs are very much appreciated ♡

TAGLIST!! @itz-phantomz @sorrynotsorrh @reidsworld @nishinoyaismycutie @princessbrittnicole @softtashoney @lovley212 @captain-shittykawa @angelsleepinggurl @wakashudou @hiqhkey @riiceandsoup @spooky-cupid @asxprse @sugacor3 @wolffmaiden @scarredbytheworld (send me asks if you wanna be added<3)

[xoqox]

Happy new year lovies ᰔ

May this year find you healthy and happy and bring you everything you wish for ᰔ

[xoqox]

I was talking with a friend today and I realized that haikyuu severely influenced my taste in men in other animanga 🫣

[xoqox]

・┆✦ʚ ​ꜱʜᴇ ɢᴏᴛ ᴀ(-)ᴡᴀʏ​ ɞ✦ ┆・

𖹭.ᐟ Chapter 12 ── i never said that

𓍼cw: light angst, miscommunication, internal conflict, emotional tension, alcohol mention 𓍼wc: 2.8k

masterlist || prev chapter || next chapter

The crowd outside the arena is already buzzing when you arrive, the sound of chatter and vendors hawking their food bleeding into the warm afternoon air.

Before you even see the familiar head behind the counter, you can see the line for Onigiri Miya's stand. The busiest stall in the row is undoubtedly Osamu's. He's half-bent over the display, sleeves rolled, forearms dusted with rice starch, movements quick and practiced as he wraps and hands out onigiri with a polite smile.

The sight makes your chest squeeze a little.

He doesn't notice you, too busy managing the crowd. You take a step back and retrieve your phone from your pocket rather than navigating through the mayhem.

"Don't let me distract the celebrity chef! I'll sit inside, find me when you're free."

You don't wait for the reply before slipping into the current of people heading for the stadium doors.

By the time you find your seat, the players are warming up, black and golden jerseys on one side, bright yellow on the other. The atmosphere is electric, every cheer vibrating through the stands. You sink into the bench, tucking your jacket on your lap, fingers nervously fiddling with the hem of your shirt.

It's weird. Familiar, yet not quite so much. You used to watch these matches all the time, but never from so far away, never on this kind of scale.

Your heart stumbles when you spot Rin jogging across the court, face focused, his movements sharp but lazy in that way only he could pull off. And then, there's Atsumu on the other side, tossing the ball high before Bokuto snaps it down with practiced precision.

You smile to yourself, looking at your old friends thriving as they do what they love most. If you weren't worried Rin might somehow spot you amidst the sea of people and tease you endlessly afterwards, you could even tear up a little.

The crowd swells as the announcer calls the starting line-ups. The whistle blows. The first set begins.

A soft shuffle beside you makes you glance up. Someone slips into the empty seat next to yours, smelling faintly of rice and fresh air.

Osamu.

He drops down with a quiet exhale, pushing a small paper bag onto your lap without looking at you.

“Didn't wanna make ya wait hungry.”

Your heart stutters. “You didn't have to—”

“'Course I did.”

His tone is soft. Awkward, almost like he meant to sound casual and missed.

For a moment, you both just... sit. Silently watching the players move across the court. The familiarity should make it easy, but it doesn't. Not right away.

“Show off...” he mutters at Atsumu's successful setter's dump.

You huff a laugh. “You always say that.”

“Because he always is.” A tiny smirk tugs at his mouth.

That's enough to break the stiffness. You let out a real laugh this time, and his shoulders relax a fraction.

“Remember when you used to yell that from the benches?” you say.

Osamu snorts. “And ya used ta elbow me every time. ‘Osamu, shut up, they can hear you.’”

“That's not how I sounded!”

“Suuuure.” He smirks harder.

It's stupid and small and warm. The kind of banter that fits too easily.

The kind of banter you haven't shared in years.

Atsumu goes for another sharp dump across the court, only for Suna to block the return with smooth precision. The crowd roars.

Osamu groans. “He's gonna milk that for the rest of the damn season.”

You grin. “I can already imagine his smug face and Atsumu's whining.”

“Please don't,” he mutters, but there's fondness in it. The kind he doesn't even notice leaking out.

As the rally goes on, the old rhythm returns. Quiet commentary, inside jokes resurfacing, soft nudges of shoulders when something funny happens on court. Warmth builds slowly, naturally.

Familiar.

When the set ends, the scoreboard flashing overhead, Osamu lets out a breath. Black Jackals officially taking the lead.

“Break time.” He pushes himself up. “Gotta get back before the line gets murderous with my employee.”

You smile. “Good luck surviving.”

He turns, about to say something, then hesitates.

His eyes drop.

Straight to your shirt.

His expression shifts so fast you almost miss it. Recognition flaring, then confusion, then something tighter.

He goes still.

You follow his gaze. “What? Did I spill something?”

He doesn't answer, just stares.

A beat too long.

“Osamu?” you ask quietly. “You okay?”

He snaps back, a little too quickly. “Yeah. Yeah, m'fine.”

“You sure?”

“Mhm. Just… thought it looked...” His voice fades without finishing his sentence. “Doesn't matter.”

But he won't meet your eyes now.

Before you can question him again, he's already stepping into the aisle, shoulders stiff. “I'll—uh... be back for the next set.”

You watch him disappear into the crowd, unsettled by something you can't name. You look down at your shirt again, trying to find something, anything, that could explain what just happened.

What just happened?

Before you give a second more to yourself to overthink this, your eyes fall upon Rin on the benches.

Damn, he looks good in this jersey.

A towel rests on his face, hiding his eyes as he lies his head back against the wall, legs stretched out. He knows what he's doing. He knows exactly what he's doing.

And you're pretty sure you know why.

A few minutes later, the whistle blows, signaling the start of the second set. You clap your hands along with the rest of the fans.

Until Atsumu does that thing before his serve. You're fighting the urge to burst out laughing at this little ritual of his. But then again, it's kind of cute how he never dropped it ever since high school. Komori counters his serve, seemingly without any difficulty, but you know better.

It's the very first point of the second set, and it's already turning to the first rally. You can tell every single player down there is more than determined to win this.

The ball falls on the Jackal's side of the court; the crowd cheers as Raijin celebrates.

Before the ref whistles for the next serve, you can feel Osamu sitting beside you once more.

“That was fast,” you say as you turn to face him. “Missed a hell of a rally though.”

“'m sure it ain't gonna be the last one...”

You don't fail to notice the change in his tone.

Before you get to ask, your attention shifts back to the court by the whistle.

And the awkward silence surrounds you once more.

Apart from small comments about the match, the previous easy-going banter between you is long gone.

Did I do something wrong?

No... It can't be that... Everything was fine until...

“So...” your internal monologue is cut short by Osamu's voice, “You and Sunarin, huh?”

You feel your heart skipping a beat or two.

“...What?”

You slowly turn to face him, utterly confused. “Where did that come from?” you laugh nervously.

He's wearing his usual, unfazed expression, the one you once could read like an open book.

But you're struggling a lot more to understand what he's thinking right now.

“Had a hunch...” he shrugs. “So it's true?”

“I... No, I mean... We...”

What are you supposed to say to that?

“'m sorry.” Osamu leans forward, elbows resting on his knees as he watches the match. “It's not m'place to ask... Ya don't need ta answer.”

You swallow as your gaze falls on your lap. You can't even answer this question to yourself; what are you supposed to tell him?

“It's... It's not like that...”

Osamu turns towards you. You take a deep breath.

“I honestly don't know what to tell you... But... it's not what it looks like... I think...”

You raise your head, prepared to face the worst-case scenario.

And Osamu smiles.

That soft, small smile you love oh so much.

“It looks like yer happy.” he leans back, arms crossing over his chest, “And... 'm happy for ya...”

Part of your heart melts at his words.

The other drops straight through the floor.

“Are you really?” The words escape your mouth before you can hold them back.

Osamu looks puzzled by your question. “Don't ya want me ta be?”

The crowd roars around you—a block, a whistle, a chant—but it all feels muffled, like someone pressed a pillow over the world.

He asked it casually.

He meant it casually.

But you can tell the answer matters, probably more than it should.

Your throat dries. “Of course I do...”

He exhales softly. “Good,” he murmurs, like it's a word meant only for the space between you two. “'s good.”

You swallow, trying to steady yourself, but the silence between you is different now.

You look back at the court because it's easier than looking at him.

Sakusa's serving, the crowd is on their feet.

And then it hits you.

There's no better time to ask this, and probably there'll never be again.

“How...” Your eyes follow the ball, but your mind is nowhere near the game. “How are you and your girlfriend doing?”

You don't get an answer, but you can't turn to check, or your heart might actually stop.

“My what?”

Worth the risk.

You face Osamu again. His brow is raised in question.

“Your... girlfriend?” you repeat, slower this time. “At the reunion. You mentioned having a girlfriend.”

Osamu blinks. Once. Twice.

There it is, the discomfort. The "oh shit, what did I say" tightness in his shoulders.

“I—” He lets out a small, awkward laugh. “I never said that.”

“Yeah, you did!” You too laugh nervously, nudging his shoulder. “You were talking about something you two did together. I don't remember the whole story, but I swear you said you had a girlfriend.”

He goes quiet. Too quiet.

You watch him sift through his memory, expression tightening in frustration.

“Goddamn it...” he mutters, dragging a hand down his face. “I was wasted outta ma mind that night. I don't remember half o' what came outta ma mouth.”

He finally turns to you fully, shaking his head quickly, seriously. “Might've meant ma ex,” he says, voice lower now, steadier. “But there's no girlfriend. Not now.”

You blink at him, letting his words settle.

“Oh.” It comes out smaller than you intended. “Okay.”

Osamu watches you for a second longer, something unreadable flickering across his face, before he nods once and turns back to the court.

You do the same.

The game is already in motion again, Hinata's serve dropping like a knife. The crowd surges, a roar rising around you, and you let it wash over your racing thoughts.

The silence stretches between you, filled with unasked questions and unspoken answers.

There's nothing tense about it. It just feels like both of you are letting the moment settle wherever it wants to settle.

Eventually, he exhales, leans back in his seat, and says, almost casually, “Tsumu's gonna be insufferable if they win this set.”

You snort. “Like he isn't already?”

“Fair.”

The corner of his mouth lifts. Just a little.

But that's enough.

The next few minutes fall easily back into commentary, quiet remarks about the rally, a shared wince when Komori nearly eats the floor, soft laughs at Bokuto's antics.

You don't talk about feelings again. He doesn't circle back to Suna. You don't circle back to the girlfriend-that-wasn't.

Instead, the rest of the match falls into a gentler rhythm, something familiar enough to breathe in.

Every time a set is about to end, Osamu pushes up from his seat with a quiet, “Be right back,” and disappears into the crowd toward his stall. You always think he might not return.

But he always does.

Right as the next set begins, he slips back into the seat beside you, smelling faintly of rice and fryer oil.

Between plays, you talk about his shop, the new rice cooker, the regulars he pretends not to like but obviously does.

You tell him about your classes, your upcoming assignment, that one professor who won't stop mispronouncing your name.

He listens, really listens.

And you cling to the simplicity of it.

The match moves forward, point by point, loud and bright and distracting in all the right ways.

By the final whistle, you still don't know what any of this means.

The Black Jackals celebrate their victory, the crowd goes crazy as you stand up to cheer with them.

As the crowd begins spilling toward the exits, you and Osamu move with them, the current pushing everyone forward in a slow shuffle.

“Ya don't have ta help,” he tells you once you reach the row of food stalls. He says it like he thinks you'll actually listen.

You roll your eyes and flick his arm. “Shut up and give me something to carry.”

He huffs out a tiny laugh, like he was expecting exactly that answer.

You fall into step beside Osamu without thinking, helping him wipe down counters, pack trays, seal containers. His employee keeps thanking you every few minutes, and each time Osamu mutters a quiet “stop botherin' her” under his breath.

You fold the last tablecloth while Osamu locks the crates into place at the back of the van. When the door clicks shut, he exhales, leaning one hand on the metal.

“That's everything,” he says, brushing his palms on his jeans. “Thanks for the help.”

“Of course,” you answer. “It was fun.”

He gives you a look before glancing at the packed van. Boxes are stacked to the roof. Equipment squeezed into every gap. His employee is already buckled into the passenger seat, rubbing his eyes like he could fall asleep on command.

Osamu turns back to you.

“I'd give ya a ride,” he says, rubbing at the back of his neck, “but... unless ya wanna sit on a rice cooker, I only got space for one.”

You laugh. “It's fine, really. The bus stop isn't far.”

He hesitates, like he wants to argue, like he wants to offer something anyway. He steps closer, voice quieter.

“Text me when ya get back?”

Your throat tightens at the simplicity of it.

“Yeah,” you say. “I will.”

He nods once, slow. Like that answer mattered more than the words themselves.

You start backing up, giving him room to leave. “Go before your employee falls asleep on the dashboard.”

Osamu huffs a laugh, opens the driver's door, then pauses halfway inside. “Yn?”

You blink. “Yeah?”

His eyes flick to your shirt again.

Then he shakes his head. “...Nothin'. Have a safe trip.”

You don't push.

You just wave, turn toward the lot's exit, and feel his gaze on your back until you disappear into the crowd.

On your way back to the hotel, your mind replays everything that went down today. All the cosy and awkward moments, the nostalgia and anxiety, all of it hitting you at once.

To say you feel relief stepping inside your hotel room would be an understatement. You immediately jump into your bed and finally open your buzzing phone that you've been ignoring this whole time.

a/n: Hello, I deeply apologize for the long wait. As I mentioned in my previous posts, I was dealing with some health issues and personal matters that came up, but I'm feeling a bit more motivated to write lately, so here we are!

likes & (<) reblogs are very much appreciated ♡

TAGLIST!! @itz-phantomz @sorrynotsorrh @reidsworld @nishinoyaismycutie @princessbrittnicole @softtashoney @lovley212 @captain-shittykawa @angelsleepinggurl @wakashudou @hiqhkey @riiceandsoup @spooky-cupid @asxprse @sugacor3 @wolffmaiden (send me asks if you wanna be added<3)

[xoqox]

as for my fellow she got a(-)way readers, i'm currently rereading the whole fic to get in the right mood and mind to finish the next chapter, so it might take a while more i'm afraid </3

[xoqox]

Update!

The chapter is turning a lot longer than what I had in mind originally 🥹 I'm not sure whether I should start snipping parts here and there or leave it as it is cause it's been a while since the last chapter.

[xoqox]

ru by chance going to continue w “she got away” ?? :)

Hello! Yes as you saw, I will continue it at some point, just need to get my head back in the game. Sorry for the wait ᰔ

[xoqox]

“Don't Make a Sound”

<𝟑 .ᐟ pairing: oikawa tooru x fem!reader <𝟑 .ᐟ contents: MDNI, smut, timeskip!oikawa, exhibitionism, fingering, praise kink, edging, light cursing, oikawa being a smartass tease <𝟑 .ᐟ wc: 1.2k

masterlist 𖹭.ᐟ dividers by @cafekitsune 𖹭.ᐟ (1) (2) (3)

You should have said no when Iwaizumi texted you.

“Group dinner. Oikawa's in town. Don't be weird.”

He knew.

He always knew.

But you said yes anyway. Maybe because you missed everyone, perhaps because you wanted to prove something to yourself. Like you were over it, like seeing him again wouldn't make your heart clench in that humiliating, familiar way.

You didn't expect Oikawa to sit next to you.

And you certainly didn't expect Oikawa's thigh to brush yours for the third time in ten minutes.

You try to act like you don't notice. But when you finally glance his way, he's already watching you.

His lips quirk up just slightly.

You shift away.

He follows.

He leans closer to whisper in your ear like he's about to say something innocent, a joke maybe. Something light, something forgettable.

“You're quiet,” he whispers, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

You swallow hard, pretending to focus on your drink. “Maybe I just don't have anything to say to you.”

“Is that it?” His voice drops. “Or is it because you've been squirming in that seat since I sat down, sweetheart?”

Your stomach flips.

You clench your thighs under the table, heart pounding in your ears, cheeks heating, but you refuse to let him see you flinch. “You're imagining things.” You mumble as you lean your back to the wall beside you.

Oikawa's hand drops casually beneath the tablecloth, brushing your knee. “Am I?”

His fingers trail slow, deliberate paths up your thigh. Not grabbing, not pushing. Just resting there, light pressure, barely-there touch.

You stiffen and quickly look around.

Across from Oikawa, Iwaizumi is mid-story about a practice injury. To his right, Hanamaki is laughing so hard at something Matsukawa said that he spills a bit of beer on the table. No one notices what Oikawa's doing.

No one notices the way your body has gone rigid in the corner of the booth.

“You're out of your mind,” you hiss, trying to push his hand off. “They'll see.”

“No, they won't.” He tilts his head, his voice maddeningly casual. “I'm being so careful, baby. Don't you trust me?”

“No.”

He chuckles, low and dark. “Fair enough...”

He doesn't budge. “You can tell me to stop. Say the word and I'll behave,” he says with that lilting, too-sweet tone, like he already knows you won't.

You should say it. Instead, you whisper, “Tooru, not here.”

“Oh?” he breathes against your neck. “So somewhere else, then?”

You don't answer.

He grins like it's a win and shifts even closer until his shoulder blocks you from view. You can feel the heat from his palm, now settled firmly between your legs.

Your breath catches.

“Open them for me,” he whispers, and it's not a request. “I want to feel how wet you are.”

You shake your head. “I hate you.”

“You hate how much you want me.”

And maybe you do, because when you inch your knees apart, just enough for him to slip further in, he doesn't laugh. He doesn't gloat. He sighs.

And says, quietly, “That's it.”

Then his fingers slide up the inseam of your underwear, smooth and confident, until he finds that slick, pulsing spot you've been trying to ignore since he sat next to you.

“Fuck,” he breathes, voice low. “You're soaked.”

Your whole body jerks at the touch, thighs tightening again, but his hand is trapped now. Too close, too intimate.

Too much.

“Tooru...” you hiss through clenched teeth.

“I told you,” he whispers, his fingers now slipping under your panties, pressing slow circles over your clit. “Just say the word.”

But you don't.

Because your hips just rolled toward him on instinct.

Because your breathing is getting uneven.

Because your nails are digging into the booth just to ground yourself.

Oikawa takes that as permission.

Two digits pressed flat begin to move in lazy, precise strokes. Not enough to make you cum, but just enough to drive you insane.

You turn your head toward his shoulder, jaw slack, desperate to stay quiet.

He watches you with hooded eyes. “You're trying so hard to stay still...” he murmurs. “I can feel how much you're enjoying this.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, biting your lip hard.

He moves down, slowly, dragging the pad of his middle finger right through your folds until he's teasing your entrance.

Testing.

You don't realize your hips have slightly lifted until he gives a quiet, triumphant hum.

“Oh, baby...” he croons, low enough that only you hear, “you want it that bad?”

You can't nod, can't speak. You feel dizzy with it, from the heat pooling in your gut, the noise of your friends just feet away, and Oikawa's hand buried between your thighs, coaxing you to unravel without a sound.

He slides one finger in.

You grip the table.

He's slow with it, deliberate. Curling just enough. Crooking upward as he pumps in, out, in again. The heel of his palm is still pressing firm circles against your clit.

It's obscene. Unfair.

And it's working far too well.

You're close already. You can feel the tremble starting in your legs, feel the tightening in your core.

Oikawa leans in, brushing his lips against your ear. “If you cum, they'll hear you.”

You want to curse him. Slap him. Fuck him.

Instead, you let out the tiniest whimper into your clenched fist, hips rocking helplessly into his touch.

He adds a second finger.

You bite your lip hard enough to taste blood. The table shifts slightly with your movement. You pray no one notices.

“Good girl,” he whispers. “You're doing so good for me, baby.”

And it's the praise that does it. The sharp twist of pleasure-laced shame. Your toes curl. Your legs start to shake.

But just as you start to tip over the edge—

He pulls his hand away.

You suck in a gasp. Your whole body jolts with the loss of contact, thighs twitching around nothing.

“You—what the fuck—”

Oikawa licks the fingers he just used on you.

Tastes you. Eyes rolling back shut.

Then looks at you with faux-innocent eyes and says, “Impatient, aren't we?”

You look at him, furious.

He laughs softly, then reaches under the table and presses your thighs together, crossing your legs for you, as if to trap the aching heat between them.

“That'll help,” he whispers. “Be patient, pretty. You'll get what you want, promise.”

Across the booth, someone calls his name, asking about a serve from his last match. Oikawa answers without missing a beat, grinning, throwing his arm casually around the back of the booth.

As if he didn't just ruin you under the table.

You sit there, jaw tight, skin flushed, thighs pressed together, desperately trying to breathe.

He shoots you a side glance. Smirks.

You mouth, fuck you.

He leans in and whispers, “You will.”

Bonus!

You can't even remember how you made it out of the restaurant without tripping. You're wet, flushed, pulse still racing.

And the second you're outside and alone, Oikawa presses you up against the wall of the alley beside the building, hand wrapped around your waist, mouth crashing against yours.

He kisses like he owns you.

Like he earned it.

Tongue slick, breath heavy, he growls into your ear, “You think you can just glare at me like that all night and get away with it?”

“You started it...” You grab his collar, yanking him closer, lips barely parting between gasps. “You're such an asshole.”

“Yeah?” he mutters, hitching your leg up around his waist, rutting against you through his jeans. “Bet your pretty little pussy still wants me.”

You moan into his mouth.

“Say it,” he demands.

Your voice is wrecked. “I want you.”

He kisses you again, and you're sure that this time, he won't stop.

[xoqox]

as for my fellow she got a(-)way readers, i'm currently rereading the whole fic to get in the right mood and mind to finish the next chapter, so it might take a while more i'm afraid </3

[xoqox]

Long time no see! I've been in and out of hospitals a lot since I was last active here and still am to an extent, but no worries! I am doing okay and slowly trying to get out of my writer's block. I'm working on some new stuff and hopefully will post soon!

[xoqox]

Hello everyone, I've been at the hospital for the past couple days so I might not post much this week. I'll try to have something ready by the weekend but no promises.

[xoqox]

hi so I ended up having surgery and had to disappear for a while, I'll try to get back to writing soon!

[xoqox]

Hello everyone, I've been at the hospital for the past couple days so I might not post much this week. I'll try to have something ready by the weekend but no promises.

[xoqox]

more coworker murasakibara plss 🥺🤲 i loved it

I'm really glad you liked it! It's already on the way no worries 😌

[xoqox]

・┆✦ʚ ​ꜱʜᴇ ɢᴏᴛ ᴀ(-)ᴡᴀʏ​ ɞ✦ ┆・

𖹭.ᐟ Chapter 11 ── a place in my heart

𓍼cw: light cursing, osamu lowkey spiraling

masterlist || prev chapter || next chapter

a/n: things are gonna get reallll messy in the upcoming chapters and i'm so so excited!! hope you're enjoying the series so far everyone, thank you for all the nice comments and messages, they really help me stay motivated<3

likes & (<) reblogs are very much appreciated ♡

TAGLIST!! @itz-phantomz @sorrynotsorrh @reidsworld @nishinoyaismycutie @princessbrittnicole @softtashoney @lovley212 @captain-shittykawa @angelsleepinggurl @wakashudou @hiqhkey @riiceandsoup @spooky-cupid @asxprse @sugacor3 @wolffmaiden (send me asks if you wanna be added<3)

[xoqox]

with every new update, all i see are suna girlies begging for suna endgame, and here i am, a poor little samu girly, PRAYING the two of them will just TALK ALREADY 😭😭😭

Honestly, sometimes I'm afraid I messed up and made this very Suna sided 😭 but don't worry, I gotcha girl, next chapter is more about osamu 👀