notes ; i wanted to take this opportunity to write for one of south korea’s most infamous eras ( and a royal au for tsumie )
before you read ->
*jorigae or 조리개 = a braised dish made of fish, meat, or vegetables
*wangbi or 왕비 = refers to the current wife of the king
*wang or 왕 = the current king in power
*jeonha or 전하 = a common way to refer to their “your majesty”
*gongju or 공주 = the current princess ( daughter of the king )
*sabu-nim or 사부님 = a teacher/master
*seonbi or 선비 = a scholar
*swenne or 쇤네 = a humble way for a servant to refer to someone of higher status than himself
no, this could not possibly be happening. yet the person sitting in front of your eyes made your head spin like mad.
atsumu miya, now serving as a sabu-nim* of the eastern palace where you resided. it hadn’t been easy, especially when all eyes were on you, the gongju* with the crown prince busying himself in the eastern palace where the wangbi* lives.
but alone here ? with this incompetent man as your tutor whose ego far surpassed that of his intelligence. surely the wang* had to be mistaken ?
immediately you turned on your heel, brows fitting tightly together with frustration.
“wait a minute princess, gimme a second to explain myself.”
“you have nothing to explain, i’ve warned you before not to step a foot in this palace while i’m attending.” you hissed, not daring to glance behind you with fear you’d snap right there and easily make a decision you’d regret forever.
because there was no way the gods had it in, as if they knew you had been stuffing the erupting feelings of affection for the sabu-nim* down for what felt to be centuries.
bursting the doors to the kings quarters, you silenced your bubbling anger at once, knowing full well the power this man held was and would forever be unmatched.
“jeonha*, i would like to be informed before you elect a sabu-nim* for my studies.” you dropped to your knees, not daring to meet that cold stare. a harsh silence stretched between the two.
“.. do you really expect such low decision of the servant surveying my daughters education to be made ? the man that will be aiding you in your royal studies is a seonbi* after all. nothing less than what is necessary for the palace. do not make me waste my breath, i trust you know the proper response.” every consonant he spoke left your ears ringing, fists clenched hard on the ground below you.
“yes, of course your honor, thank you for clearing the misunderstanding.” you rose to your feet quietly, padding towards the teaching house used for studying the books stacked nearby in the library.
taking a seat, you were poured tea, chamomile actually—to calm you’re frenzied mind. well, apparently it was supposed to do so until that exact headache of a person arrived through the sliding doors.
“get out.” you seethed, head staring down at your script.
“let me say something at least.” he leaned against the doorway, lip held between his teeth—glancing around at the lavish surroundings before taking a starting breath.
“i know you hate me with all yer heart but seriously, i don’t have much of a choice, your words are as good as mine, so i’m assuming that’s not much from yer face right now.” that smirk, you were done for.
“was that supposed to be an insult ?” he held his hands up innocently with a mocking face, nevertheless guilty.
“just sayin’ we aren’t any use, so just put up with it princess. anyways, it can’t be that bad.” he plopped down loudly in front of you, boisterously pouring himself a cup only to chuckle lowly and become still—arm flitting to rest his cheek on top.
“i can call you swenne*~”
“GET OUT.”
“alrightalright but seriously, your first lesson starts tomorrow.” he sighed heavily, although still smiling all the way till the door closed.
-
the next morning he arrived simply moments later than you did, placing a plentiful amount of books on the table.
“you ready swenn-i mean princess ?” and it seemed as soon as those words were spoken, weeks passed in a matter of seconds.
you were both lovestruck fools, currently laughing in the midst of the spring field surrounded by various hues of flowers. enamored by everything he had to offer, the sabu-nim* you once acted so bitterly towards now making you laugh constantly.
“i’m amazed that you managed to land a position in the royal palace when you’re such a big oaf.” the blonde, rolled over from beside you, now hovering on top of you, you’re breath catching in your throat.
“well isn’t this a compromising position swenne*, and just to let you know this big oaf is more intelligent than you think.” he practically purred at your flustered face.
“you’re still a big oaf though.” you covered your face with your hands in embarrassment, giggling.
“i might just have to shut you up then.” his muscular hands coming to rest comfortably on your jaw, as if they were meant to be there. he was so close. all these weeks of pining and such for someone you were forbidden being anything more than teacher and student to, extremely compromising.
“can i ? just this once princess.” he tilted his head, breath smelling of the familiar jorigae* you’d shared earlier that day. you could feel the his warmth fanning your lips. nothing like you’ve ever experienced before, maybe that was why it was so enticing after all. you didn’t need to answer, your arms snaking around his neck to pull him in, connecting so gently it almost felt false.
“you taste like it.” he laughed, wrinkles forming around his eyes happily, pulling away ever so slightly.
“what ? jorigae* ? that’s rude.” you frowned from beneath him, earning another laugh.
“no, chamomile. y’know you two are alike in ways swenne.* fascinating and strange on the outside but cute and sweet on the inside.”
“shut up-“ you covered your face again, face breaking into a smile as he pried your hands away defiantly.
“see ! told you ! you’re a cutie pie.”
“that’s not the correct way to address your superior sabu-nim*.” you corrected, lifting your brows and trying so hard not to burst into a fit of giggles once more.
pairing: atsumu x f!reader word count, genre: 1.7k words, angst. warnings: none summary: who holds on to a silly, childhood promise? apparently, atsumu does but he realizes there’s more than one way to keep his end of the promise.
“You’re the only one I want to get married to!”
The little boy laughs, his hands ruffling the already messy hair of the little girl. “Is that right?”
She eagerly nods, her smile shining as bright as the sun. “Mommy always says when I grow up I should be with the one who makes me the happiest in the world.”
“I feel the happiest with you. So,” She pulls his right hand and hooks her small pinkie with his. “I want to be with you forever. It’s a promise.”
He looks at her with softness in his eyes, and though he knows that no one could tell what the future holds, he keeps his finger linked with hers.
a/n: i hope you enjoy the second part of the remixed storm chaser. part i can be found here.
Miya Atsumu has a reputation of being relentless in hunting down what he wants.
So even though Kita frowns and Osamu blows up his phone with angry texts, he makes the hour-long drive through sleepy villages and rice paddies and bamboo groves back to her family’s home.
He does not linger overlong at her front door, does not even muster up the courage to try the window to her room - he knows it’s been latched shut and will not open, no matter how much he grovels. He simply kneels by the door, leaving bunches of wildflowers, paper wrapped packages of mochi and letters written in the light of insomnia and bitter desperation.
I’m sorry, he writes, again and again, at the top of each and every letter. I’m sorry for running. I’m sorry I wasn’t fair to you, he scribbles, regretting the nights spent convincing himself that he’s too young, it’s too much to ask, even as he dreams of childlike laughter and playful banter.
I’m sorry I forgot how much I loved you.
He refuses to lose hope when his flowers wilt from being left out in the sun, when the packages of mochi returned with a polite note thanking Kita’s grandmother for her kindness, not even when his letters are shredded to ribbons. He stays until his agent calls with demands that he present himself back in Osaka before the season starts, and with a heavy heart, he packs his bags and bids Kita goodbye.
warnings/tags: childhood friends to lovers, reader has a male ex
word count: 0.8k
“the world’s full of good things,” atsumu tells you, eight years-old and grubby-cheeked, “like volleyball.”
you frown, and the action displaces some of the tears gathering in the corners of your eyes, “but i don’t like volleyball.”
“there’s onigiri,” osamu says, squatting and offering a hand, “and don’t ya like popsicles?” you eye his hand warily, grudgingly allowing him to pull you up.
“c’mon, let’s go already,” atsumu whines, “baa-chan said she’d cook dinner.” he barely spares your scraped knees a glance. “stop crying, brat.”
you scrunch your nose up in annoyance, and osamu’s hold on your arm tightens a fraction - like he knows you’re about to launch yourself at his brother. “you’re a brat,” you settle for saying childishly, sticking out your tongue for good measure.
atsumu rolls his eyes. “whatever,” he grumbles, kicking huffily at the ground.
a/n:thestorm chaser remix as promised, but can be read as a standalone. wherein miya atsumu learns that it’s futile to run from his fate.
(pt. ii to follow soon.)
“‘Samu - don’t ya know how to knock on the door like a decent human being? Wait what the f- ”
Crack.
He regrets ever giving Osamu the key to his apartment when he’s grabbed by the scruff of his neck and greeted with a fist to the face. “What the fuckwas that for”, Atsumu yelps, cradling his jaw, violet marks blooming on his skin. “I didn’t steal yer shit this time, so what’s your fuckin’ problem - “
“Ya fucking bastard. Did ya know - did’ya know she was pregnant?” Osamu demands breathlessly, fist clenched by his side.
For a split second Atsumu is sorely tempted to tease his twin, taunt him, ask who she is, but the fury blazing in Osamu’s eyes urges him on the side of cautiousness so he nods once.
– in which second year inarizaki student miya atsumu wants to make a girl jealous. you were his best bet at doing just that.
a/n: omg?? part three?? already?? its been a wild ride. big big thank you’d to lay, leaf, and isa for the beta reads. yall really made my night. another quick thank you to all the people reading this lil idea of mine, it means more than i could ever express. youre all lovely.
genre: fluff. its fluff.
warnings: atsumu expresses a lil bit of insecurity but hes not very deep about it.
word count: 2376
enjoy!!
“Chamomile? I don’t want you to be too tired though.”
“Do you have any cranberry? I like putting a lot of sugar in it so it just tastes like juice.” Atsumu’s flirtatious nature wore down to its bare essentials: wide smiles, nonsensical behavior, and base levelgoodness.
“I don’t think that’s,” you paused, wondering how this all happened. Wondering why he was in your home, sitting at a kitchen table, tapping his fingers insistently on the wooden tabletop. Wondering how the last fifteen minutes even came to be. “Sure, okay.”
After your proposal, he wiped his face and followed you, speaking at length on anything that came into his head. He was very spontaneous by nature, and would go on a small tangent about anything, even between deeper topics.
“Samu’s always been slightly better than me. Whether with people or at volleyball or whatever. He just wins. Maybe it made me subconsciously think I’m worse.” He dragged behind you roughly three steps, holding your hand like a lifeline as you guided him away. Even with all the acting, both of you realized how much small touches really meant. Both of you grew to need more contact than you were getting.
“I’m really sorry about that Tsu-”
“Hey!”
“What?”
“Ya were just gonna call me Tsumu.”
“Huh?” He jogged up closer to you, still keeping his right hand firmly in your left, tapping his fingers excitedly on your knuckles.
“Tsumu” he whispered to himself, a smile creeping to his lips. He didn’t seem broken up about it anymore; you walked the rest of the way in comforting silence, save for the five minutes he was stopped by a stray cat.
He crouched down to be at eye level with the creature, staring into its piercing yellow eyes with all the focus he coils muster. Both sets of golden irises slitted in what looked to be a profession of power. Atsumu was having a staring contest with a stray cat.
After two minutes, he won. Blinking and shouting, “shit, Y/N! Why’d you make me do that?”
“Excuse me?” He shot up, rubbing his eyes with his fists, hoping tears would drip back into them and soothe the pain. You giggled slightly, watching him suffer but still beat an animal in a battle of pure strength. This was the guy, huh.
“Hey! Don’t laugh! That’s the product of years of practice!” He tapped your shoulder with kind malice, making you grab it and scoff. The acting abilities of both of you became impeccable over these last few months.
“Practice?” You were properly laughing at him now, loud chuckles falling from your lips as he pouted like a baby trying to get what he wants.
“Yeah! Like with Samu! Sometimes even with Omi-omi from across the gym. Did that a few times at camp.”
“Did he know you-”
“Yes! As a matter of fact he did!”
“He probably thought you were just being-”
“Hey!” Your fingers were interlocked again, almost like magnets back together without a second thought, and he pushed his shoulder into yours, tossing you a few inches in the opposite direction. Neither of your smiles could be tampered with, and the faint giggles falling from your mouths echoed on the concrete below.
The walk home proved two things lingering in your mind. You had feelings for Miya Atsumu and Miya Atsumu was definitely not a playboy.
“I keep the tea bags in so it’s way more potent. Do you have cranberry juice?” When you showed Atsumu all of the mugs you had, he became transfixed on a pale blue and yellow one with ducks on it. When you lifted the mug to show him the small ceramic duck sitting at the bottom, his face beamed. When you poured the water over the tea bag in the aforementioned mug, he grabbed four packets of sugar that sat on your kitchen table.
“So you just wanted juice?”
“No; the juice is too bitter, it needs sugar anyway.” He sipped calmly, a matter of fact look plastered on his face as the steam blurred his features. “Yeah this ain’t potent enough.” He looked vaguely disgusted at your tea making abilities.
“You let it set for thirty seconds, Miya,” a sigh punctuated your sentence, eliciting a scoff from the man across from you.
“Back to Miya I see,” an eye roll punctuated his.
“‘Tsumu.”
He smiled brightly. The kind of smile that lives in your brain far after the moment passes. The kind of smile you think about late into the night when you recount potential things to be grateful for. The kind of smile that makes you fall in love with even the most insufferable of people.
Disgusting.
“But this tastes too much like tea,” he grabbed another few packets of sweetener and positioned his hands to rip them open in one fell swoop, all before you reached over and slapped at his hand, forcing him to drop the bad decision he was about to make.
“I have juice.”
“Can I have some?” but you were already pouring it into his little rubber duckie mug.
You both sipped between bouts of light conversation, one of you losing energy by the second and the other gaining. He’d crash soon, thankfully.
The atmosphere was nothing short of soft. The pale yellow glow of a lamp in the corner of the room gave everything a lived in feel that fluorescent lights always manage to diminish. Those lights reflected off of everything, making the wood and the neutral accents feel golden. No matter the temperature, there was a consistent heat about the space. He looked more attractive than you’d ever seen him; hair still damp from a quick shower after the game earlier, eyes threatening to close from intense jumping, clothes comfortable enough to sleep in draping across his incredibly toned- watch it, Y/N.
He looked to be at home, but he had a way of always looking to be at home. There was no space that fully accepted Atsumu, but he always forced them to, with one action or another. He’d waltz into a gym with his cocksure smile and people would groan, but by the end of the match he’d get all of their respect. He was magical like that.
Intensity waved off of him like some pheromone, dripping from his every inch and forcing people to either rise to his level or cower away in fear. His circle was small, but they were loyal. They all wanted to be on his level.
“Oh, Atsumu. I never actually asked,” your hands were in two pale green rubber gloves, a mug in one hand and a soap-laden sponge in the other. He stood next to you, rinsing out the other mug and drying it with a towel. “Why Hisakawa?”
“Oh,” he was focussed on his hands, intently drying the bottom of the mug, “she dated me a while ago and hurt me bad. I thought I could make her jealous enough to want me back.”
“Women don’t really work like that,” a breathy laugh laced your words as you turned to look at him.
“She does, it’s annoying.”
“Hmm.” He was frowning now, gripping the mug tightly.
“I don’t know what was so great about her,” he laughed a bit while deep in thought, pushing everything he was doing to a slow stop, “maybe it’s ‘cause she was like you.”
And all you could do was giggle, hoping he couldn’t read the uncomfortable feeling behind it all. He has to know what he just did, right?
Then it began to rain. Buckets and buckets of lukewarm water dripped on the floor outside, creating cascades down the street. Small droplets pelted the ceiling like the insistent taping of anxious fingers, and both of you continued washing the mugs.
If there were two deities on either of your shoulders, one with good intentions and one with bad, they’d be arguing. The only agreeable point was, though, that he can’t go home in this weather! What if he gets sick? Practically hell on earth.
Six seconds passed. Well, technically it was six seconds, but it felt like millenia. He dried the duck mug, making a little noise of approval when he rubbed along its head, and looked back at you, eyes pleading before anything left his mouth.
“I don’t wanna go out in that rain, sugar.” He managed to never cross the set boundaries. He only ever called you sugar and any cuter variation of it.
“I didn’t really want you to either, if I’m being honest.” You looked a bit worried, which excited him to no end.
“Awww ya care about me? That’s so sweet of ya, bear!” Scratch that, he also called you bear. It was excused when he claimed it’s just short for sugarbear! You let me call you that one! Damn his charisma.
“I don’t want you sick before nationals, idiot.” You smiled and pushed past him, waltzing into the living room.
The warm lighting followed you two into the other room, and you kept that up with some full-bodied pop-rock music. A record player sat in the corner, comfortable among the mahogany and cardboard sleeves. The album you chose scratched and skipped, but the small pops of dust as the needle spun were enough to fill the space with comfort. Atsumu put a sizable dip in the brown and red paisley-adorned fabric of the center couch, laying his legs to point at the opposite arm from the one his back was resting against. Once again, his ability to be at home anywhere was given new life. “Do you want to watch something? We can-”
You turned around to look at him once again, noticing the way his head sunk into the back of the couch, eyes shut, mouth open. He passed out in a matter of seconds.
“Oh.” There were three options. One, waking him up and letting him sleep somewhere else, even though that’d probably be the couch anyway. Two, leaving him here, in the same position, but he could get a crick in his neck by morning. Three–the worst option–waking him up and letting him sleep in your bed, among your stuffed animals and in your space where you definitely don’t have the hoodie he gave you draped over a chair because you wear it to bed every night.
But he is a volleyball player and he would complain about being hurt for all of the next day. So. Bed it is? Shit.
“Atsumu?” you tapped on his shoulder, allowing his eyes to steadily open. He swatted you away. “Hey, you can sleep in my bed instead. Come on.” you grabbed his hand in yours and brought him to his feet. He stumbled after you into the bathroom as you forced him to brush the heinous amounts of sugar out of his teeth. He complied politely, but not without a tad bit of pushback,
“Ya sound like Omi!”
“Oh no! He cares about you too! Just do it ‘Tsumu.”
He proceeded to walk into your room and sit on the edge of your bed for a fraction of a second before falling down on his back and closing his eyes. He shuffled around for a while, getting comfortable in the new scents and fabrics, but eventually his movements stilled. Finally, somebliss.
You quietly changed into comfier clothes back in the bathroom and padded your way back, settling down next to your boyfriend-. No. Pseudo boyfriend. At best.
He was soft and warm and comfortable; curling your body up against his felt like a dream, but you didn’t want to push his boundaries.
“Sweet dreams, Tsumu. Thanks for being here. I like you a little bit.”
He hadn’t lost consciousness yet. He was glad your eyes were closed when he cracked a genuine smile.
Of the two Miya twins, Atsumu was the early riser. Osamu would sell his soul for Atsumu to stop waking up at five in the morning, but sadly no one is willing to make the exchange. His alarm plays loud bass riffs, expertly muddled with layers of overdrive, and somehow it shoots him right into consciousness. He clamers about on the upper bunk, jumping down the ladder like some sort of intensely trained gorilla, as Osamu would say, and with the power of one thousand suns.
You were not aware of this fact.
Disgruntled noises of anger spilled from your lips as the music started and Atsumu practically hopped up, using the incoming sunrise to his advantage when navigating your room. You learned later that the rain stopped about an hour before, but the sky was still a sheet of grey clouds. He found the light switch and turned it on, allowing piercing white light to break your retinas far earlier than usual.
“Mornin!” Atsumu’s smile was brighter than all of it put together.
“It’s too early,” you drew out the last syllable, picking up and dropping your head in defeat.
“Fine, ya can go back to sleep. I should probably make my way home though, ya know, for school.” Ah yes, the only pro of sending him home last night. It was only Wednesday.
“I’ll see you later, ‘Tsumu.” You shut your eyes and immediately passed out again, waking up to your own soothing indie music an hour later.
A normal morning routine came and went, and you were back to acting. Well, was it even acting anymore? Maybe not from you, but the situation itself was unclear. He was an enigma, that Atsumu Miya.
He locked your fingers with his at the first possible moment. He winked at Suna and shot a quick glance to where your hands met, making sure the other boy knew what was going on. He made sure he could rub it in. Suna just scoffed in response.
You leaned in a bit closer to whisper a “have a good day, pseudo boyfriend” in his ear.
As you parted ways, your hands lingered together as they always would. The second they dropped, he grabbed your face and kissed you. Atsumu was a fan of frequent public displays of affection, this was established months ago, but there was something different this time.
– in which second year inarizaki student miya atsumu wants to make a girl jealous. you were his best bet at doing just that.
a/n: part two!!! big thanks to isa, nona, and leaf for betaing this one <3. this is the longest continuous piece ive ever written (usually my work caps out around 700), and im lowkey sorta proud of it? it think it sets things up well for the end :)
genre: fluff, beginning into the hurt/comfort, fake dating
warnings: light swearing, but i think thats it this round
word count: 2158
enjoy!
You supposed it wasn’t that bad. He was sweet–well. Was he?
Atsumu Miya, strange man. Maybe it was his Libra sun, maybe that was thing that made him so damn compelling. He wouldn’t let anyone hate him fully, no matter how much they loathed and despised his entire being. They’d see his intensity and his insanity and how good those things made him at everything. Their own jealousy would override any appreciation they could have for him. If anyone had the choice, they’d hate him without a second thought, but he would never let that happen. He was charismatic like that.
He’d send you a good morning text laced with sarcastic heart emojis and pseudo passion. He’d lock your fingers with his at the first possible moment. He’d wink at Suna and shoot a quick glance to where your hands met, making sure the other boy knew what was going on. Making sure he could rub it in. Suna would just scoff in response.
Atsumu was very eccentric, to say the least. He was filled to the brim with strange claims and nonsense sentences that meant nothing to anyone who would care enough to decode them. He spoke in a language only one would be able to understand after spending your whole life with him. He texted just how he spoke; everything could be read in his voice, without even hearing it.
Mornin sweetcheeks ;)
We talked about this, Miya. No pet names in private.
Awww Y/N! Thats no fun :( is there anythin i can call ya?
My name, Atsumu.
:(((
But what if i wanted ta call yaaaaaa
Hmmmmmmm
Doll? Sweetie? A nickname??? Can i make up a nickname????
I’d rather you didn’t.
Sugar?
You sound like an old woman
Thats not a no, sugarplum
Yeah okay, whatever.
Yer so prickly
You’re insufferable
Meet me in the courtyard
My pleasure~
And he always would. He’d spot you standing next to the fountain and jog up to you, smiling brightly. His eye contact would be intense and passionate and unwavering without a second thought. He’d hold his hand out for you to grab and the acting for today would begin.
“Aww, ‘Tsumu! Stop it!” You made sure to have blush applied all across your cheeks and nose today, and every day before and after. An artificial sort of heat made it all the more convincing, especially if your goal was to act like an embarrassed and giddy little schoolgirl.
“Stop what, sugar? Thinkin’ yer beautiful?” He chuckled in the way only Atsumu was able to chuckle. It was filled with the most fake sincerity a chuckle could be; it sounded more real than any fake laugh you’d ever heard. It fooled even you more than once, but the look in his eyes always disproved the nagging potentials in the back of your brain. It’s fake, Y/N. He doesn’t think all that.
You simply pushed into his shoulder in response to the best of your ability, tossing his upper body slightly but not enough to change his composure. A small, fiendish smile was shot his way. “Nice one, Atsumu.”
Deep down, it was incredibly apparent that everything was a game to Atsumu. He knew what he was playing, as well as all of the rules. He knew what he was meant to do. He knew what would get a rise out of you. He knew, somehow, every way to make you feel like someone was deeply infatuated with you, despite the truth behind the matter. He knew you began to think he liked you.
The night all of this began, you called Atsumu. It was a quick phone call, complete with the sounds of purple gel pen scrawling across dotted paper and two teen boys bickering about how uncomfortable you would be with certain things. It was an hour of lunacy, really, but all of the heavy sighs got somewhere in the end.
“What if we give each other letters? That could be cute and obvious.” A pen was pressed to your lips, tapping consistently against the softer skin. Purple ink, with only about two hundred words left in it.
“Are ya comin’ to my games in my jersey or not.” Behind him, you could make out Osamu say some snarky ‘why would she want to?’ preceding a thud and a grunt.
“Of course,” a large sigh escaped your lips, “I’ll try my best to.”
“Good. I gotta prove to that Omi-omi I can get a girl.” Another snarky comment was added by Osamu.
“Why do you have to prove yourself to so many people, Atsumu?” He ignored the question.
“I like the letters idea.”
A stack of light pink stationary found its home on your desk from then on, the height diminishing by mere millimeters each day. Sometimes they’d say things like, “Nice ass, Miya” with doodles of little flowers on the corners. Sometimes they’d be well thought out observations on something he did in a practice game you were asked to watch. Sometimes they’d simply tell him that you were proud of him. What’s the harm in variety?
His were, well, vastly different. Most notable were his dissertations on how much his brother pissed him off. Second to that were his academic essays on why Suna Rintaro was a, in his words, “little baby who needs to get some damn passion for god’s sake!” And finally, his light compliments. He was a very observant guy, despite it all, and there was something deeply endearing about the way he, and his chicken-scratch handwriting, told you about something little he noticed. It started with the little heart you drew on your right pointer finger while dazing off in class, and continued with changes in nail color and if he liked your socks. It was easier to say he was just observant, but over time Osamu heard differently.
Not that any of that mattered to you. Not that it was anything at all. It’s all fake, it’s not like you want him to like you. With his dreamy- intense caramel eyes that look like the warm setting sun. Or his unrelenting sweet energy that felt like a warm hug after years apart.
Stop it, Y/N. That’s not what we’re here for. Just spiting Hisakawa. And, you supposed, whoever that “Omi-omi” was. And Suna too? At one point? It was all very vague.
Why do you have to prove yourself to so many people, Atsumu?
In addition to the letters, there were public displays of affection. According to Atsumu, because he was known to be very affectionate, he needed to be that way with you. It was a requirement from the
“Rules of datin’ Miya Atsumu. Number one: frequent P-D-A.”
“Why can’t I just be the exception?”
“No one’ll be convinced otherwise, sugar.” He managed to win that argument, and it was more than just being touch-starved that let him do so. He’s a very convincing man. “I’ll jus’ give ya a mornin’ hug. Plus the hand holdin’. Plus maybe a few kisses here and there? Have ya been kissed before?”
“Yes, Atsumu.” You managed to pack in a sigh and a flirtatious lilt.
“Good.”
Atsumu was a good kisser. It was practically a fact of life at around day four. He’d grab your hand in the morning and lean in for a small, chaste peck. That same routine would happen roughly three times a day. Nothing deeper than that though, so maybe you weren’t yet able to gauge it. His lips were soft like he took care of them; sometimes they tingled of menthol chapstick. He always tasted minty, for what you were able to taste. But it was all for show. It didn’t matter if he tasted good.
You never really knew how important volleyball was to him until you began going to games. Sitting in the stands of the Fall Preliminaries and watching as Inarizaki racked up points, far faster and with more vigor than you ever thought they could. You didn’t know, until that moment, what it meant to be one of the top teams in the nation.
Fall came and went, taking all of its warm color schemes and pleasant temperatures with it. A far more bleak energy was brought over the world as a whole, and suddenly it was time for Atsumu to leave for a training camp. His absence, be it only for five days, was slightly jarring. Your hand felt empty without his in it, and the occasional tingle of your lips without his on them was unmistakable. They say distance makes the heart grow fonder; maybe that meant distance makes you realize how much fondness was already festering.
The pride you felt towards him should have been an early indicator. The way you looked at him through rose-tinted lenses within minutes of making the decision to ‘date’ him should have told some sort of story. Inarizaki had a practice game a few days before Spring Nationals; you studied for a few exams in the stands.
“Y/N! Didya see that?” He stared up you, excitement beaming from him. He must’ve done something cool.
“No, I’m sorry ‘Tsumu! Do it again for me, kay?” Acting out of your normal attitude made this whole thing seem more real to the onlooker. It was easier to look like you were in a relationship when you acted like it was all a romantic comedy.
“You heard the girl, ‘Samu!”
It happened so fast. Osamu set the ball in the air, and suddenly it was pushed back down to the floor.
“What the hell was that?” Your eyes bugged out of your head, surprised incredibly by his ability to play more than one position incredibly well.
“It’s a quick attack! Copied it from that Tobio-kun from trainin camp and his little middle blocker.”
“Fuck, man” you were still trying to stabilize your breath, figuring out what the hell just happened before your eyes.
He just smiled. He smiled the bright, intense smile he shows the whole world. A short blow of a whistle preceded a much longer one, and Atsumu’s smile somehow became even larger. That same smile made your heart flutter and soar, but he could never know that. It was all fake.
Atsumu offered to walk you home that night. You stood between Atsumu and Osamu, with Suna on the other side. One of them was speaking passionately about the coming national tournament, while the other three either listened intently or ignored everything. Even after an intense game, Atsumu still brimmed with energy. He was incredible like that.
“I’m so excited to do that quick in Tokyo. We’re gonna smoke those private school brats this year, I can feel it.” The blonde’s voice was soft but intense.
“That ‘Omi-omi’ guy?”
“Sakusa Kiyoomi.” Suna interjected, sighing loudly at his friend’s rivalry with this unknown person.
“He’s the ace for the school that always ends up beatin’ us every year. Itachiyama.” Osamu’s voice was solemn; he was tired.
“And we’re gonna crush em to bits, right?”
“Yeah, ‘Tsumu.”
“I hope Tobio-kun sees us do that quick too, ‘Samu. His goody-two-shoes ass needs ta be put in his place.”
“You’re insane,” Osamu glanced to Atsumu once, then back forward, smirking, “but yeah, we’re gonna win.”
“Don’t be so sure, Karasuno had to beat Shiratorizawa to get there,” Suna scoffed.
“We’re gonna win.” Atsumu’s voice didn’t waver. He was so deeply sure.
“Why do you need to prove yourself to so many people, Atsumu?”
“Huh?” Osamu and Suna walked ahead of you two, picking up their pace to give the lovebirds some space–they both knew it was fake, though.
“You’re always trying to prove yourself. Why is that?” Your question was completely out of a place of curiosity. No malice intended.
He stopped completely, turning towards you and digging deep into your eyes. His eyebrows furrowed and his eyes slanted. He didn’t know. “What?”
“Like with Sakusa and ‘Tobio’, why do you need to prove to them that you’re good” You paused for a second to stare deeper into his bewildered eyes. “We already know you’re good. You’re the best setter in the nation.”
There wasn’t really any explanation to what happened next, but Atsumu began crying. It was quiet and slow, a single tear falling down his cheek, but the fact that it happened at all was all the shock it needed to have. Maybe he wasn’t used to praise. “I don-” he choked slightly, “I don’t know.”
He seemed more empty than usual; all the happiness of the past few hours left his body in one fell swoop. Your arms wrapped around his waist quickly and seamlessly; you pressed your head into his body. After a second, he returned the hug. He held you there, in the middle of a sidewalk, holding back tears. Suna and Osamu were well out of sight by now.
Sakusa pulls on his jersey and begins working at the laces of his shoes. “How would whatwork?”
Gesturing vaguely, Atsumu continues, “Ya’ know—sex n’ stuff. I mean, you’re a big guy, you’d have to be pretty careful with her.”
Sakusa gives pause, stilling, before he turns to Atsumu, wholly displeased. “Are you seriously asking me this?”
“’M just wonderin’, in case it ever actually happens.” He shrugs, a grin tugging at his mouth.
The subtle taunt is caught by Sakusa who’s expression twists in irritation. Because since Atsumu discovered Sakusa’s little crush on you, he took every opportunity to tease the latter when he could. Including directly before a match when Atsumu knew you’d be watching from somewhere within the crowd.
“I’m not talking about this with you,” Sakusa says, rising from the bench.
He remembers, briefly, how this all began. How Atsumu had invited the team to his brother’s restaurant, and you’d been there too, engaged in conversation with Osamu as the team sat at a separate table.
Sakusa had been caught staring, and he wished he hadn’t.
“Ya’ lookin’ at somethin’?” Atsumu asked, leaning over to speak quietly, his stare moving from Sakusa to you.
“Why do you care?”
It was the wrong response, Sakusa understands this in hindsight, one that warranted suspicion from Atsumu until the realization happened upon him. Sakusa, consequently, found out that you were Osamu’s friend.
“His best friend, actually,” Atsumu said, almost pleased with himself. “If you’re interested, I’d be more than willin’ to talk to her for ya’.”
Sakusa had been readying to tell him to stop when Atsumu continued.
“But fair warnin’, 'Samu doesn’t like to share all too much.”
As if he’d heard, Osamu caught Sakusa’s eye, unconsciously reinforcing Atsumu’s statement with an expression that could only be described as protective,even when you kept speaking to Osamu, unaware of the unsettling exchange.
Now, Sakusa steps onto the court, hoping the drive of the match will take his mind elsewhere.
