#atsumu series
PLAYBOY - PART TWO
– 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.
“Let’s go back to my place, I’ll make us tea.”
part one ||masterlist||part three
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