#posb

[citharoedus-c]

Nacheban - “We try to hide our feelings with silence but we forget that our eyes speak. ”

[thatesqcrush]

With Jasmine Romero. Princess of South Beach - season 2 recording.

[shokoism]

posb ch 3

𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 ©️ 𝘬𝘶𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘸𝘰

𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯'𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘱.𝘰.𝘴 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴.

(You can not believe yourself.)

”I don’t think this is a good idea, Miya.” 

“We’re dating now. Calling me Miya isn’t a good look.” 

You sigh, dragging your hand over your face. “I don’t think dating, fake or not, is a good idea. Everyone will freak.” 

“That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?” 

“If I wanted to completely humiliate him I’d have done it by now, don’t you think?” 

(Osamu can not believe you. You’re you, and you’re thinking about backing out over Atsumu’s image after a year of being dragged along at arms length to events like a rental girlfriend?) (His brother was an idiot.)

“Better you than him?” 

You tighten your grip on your phone, a proxy for glaring at Osamu for his (rude) honesty. “I just don’t think publicly fucking over a popular athlete by rebounding with his identical twin will end well for me. There’s better ways for me to get back at him.”

”Like?”

You sigh. “I can think of a couple.” 

“Spitball ‘em with me.” 

“No.” 

“Exactly.” (Osamu wracks his brain. There has to be a way to coax you to play along. His meathead brother’d never his lesson otherwise.) “You’re blowin’ this up into some big media event. S’not like anyone’s live blogging the dating history of Onigiri Miya’s owner.” 

If you’re being completely transparent, your sudden hesitancy has very little to do with sympathy for Atsumu (who, all things considered, deserved exactly the type of treatment you’d outlined) and more to do with your general distrust of the Miyas. Osamu had taken an entire year to extend this single act of kindness your way after gladly spectating your own public humiliation. He’s definitely using you for something, and you’re just not sure you’ll be able to use him back enough to make dating him worthwhile. (Fake dating, he’d remind you, not like that’d make it any less annoying.)

“What’s in it for you anyways?” 

“Honestly?” 

“As much as you’re capable of being.” 

(He’ll let your smart ass comment go because he’s trying to be convincing, dammit.)

”’Tsumu’s always been a pain in the ass. Girls like him sure, but only the ones that think they know him, and never the ones that actually do. Hell, nobody thought you’d stick around half as long as you did—we had a whole betting pool going but we gave up after you kept showin’ up to post games.”

”Who won?” 

“Doesn’t matter.” 

(Sure it did. You’ll ask around.)

”And what’s that got to do with me?”

”Well clearly you like him for some fuckin’ reason, and he likes you, even though he’s an idiot that has no idea what to do about it. He’ll grow up real fast when he sees me in front of all of his friends with everything he lost out on.” 

You’re tempted to hang the phone up then and there. 

“So what, I’m supposed to ‘heal’ your emotionally stunted brother after being chained to him for a year? For free? I don’t like him that much.”

(He doesn’t have to see you to know that you’re lying.) (Or how close you are to really calling this whole thing off.)

“And,” he drawls, his tone bordering cocky as he pulls out his trump card, “instead of looking like a scrub that clung onto her pro athlete boyfriend only to get washed out by another hotter courtside girlfriend, you’ll be the one moving on and driving him up the wall.” 

Osamu’s finally said something that matters to you. (You were not another body in ’Tsumu’s lineup of pretty girls to fuck and show off to the fans. You’d make sure he couldn’t move on until you really did.) (Dating around while ‘occupied’ would be tricky, but ‘Samu was also just another civilian.)

(And the thought of Atsumu moving on in days like you were just another hookup makes you sick. Like, more than you’d care to admit.) 

“This is still a bad idea,” you grumble.

“I’ve had worse,” Osamu quips back, pleased with himself.

/

You have to agree with Osamu. Fake dating definitely wasn’t his worst idea, at least not compared to dragging you along to the very same bar that the MSBY Black Jackals just so happened to frequent at exactly the same time as your date, and without so much as a warning. (You think you might actually hurl.)

"You're the worst," you hiss, pinching him.

"You wouldn't have showed up if I'd warned ya."

"Yeah, obviously."

Osamu grabs your elbow, a semblance of a comforting gesture. (He's probably having the time of his life.) "C'mon, we gotta break the news to him somehow."

"Preferably without springing any surprises on me too, I'd thought."

"That's no fun."

You roll your eyes. (With the way your heart's racing—as if you were scared of Atsumu—you're bound to trip over yourself in front of him.) "I need a moment."

"Don't be too long," he hums, leaning forward to press a kiss to your cheek. You shudder and make a beeline for the bathroom.

(This was a bad idea.) 

You stare at your reflection, eye to eye. You're young, and pretty, and single. Who cares about what either of the Miyas have to say about you? Osamu'd talked you into this to torture you just as much as his own brother, and you'd fallen for his excuses in a moment of weakness. You needed to move on.

The sharp knock on the door makes you jump. "Occupied." You groan when another equally impatient knock follows. "It's occupied."

"Lemme in."

You groan even louder. You don't have to, not technically, but Atsumu gets what Atsumu wants and you know he'll wait outside the door for as long as it takes to confront you. (At least in the bathroom you can enjoy some measure of privacy.) You steady yourself with a deep breath before quietly turning the lock on the door. 

He barges in without a moment to spare.

“That’s cute. You and ‘Samu teaming up against me now?”

You cross your arms. “I am trying to enjoy my night.” 

“All you’re ‘trying’ to do is show up and ruin mine.” His expression hardens. (You’re struck by how unfriendly he looks.) “Get outta here.”

Any lingering affection for your ex crumbles away at his disgusted tone. “Go pick on your brother if you’re looking for a fight.”

”I can multitask.”

“You’re so clever,” you simper mockingly.

”What are you doing?” This heated question is even more surprising than the cool anger from just before. “You’re the one who dumped me. Move on.” 

“I am.” 

“Move on with someone else.”

”Because I need your blessing before going out with a grown man who can make his own decisions?”

”Because he’s my fuckin’ twin,” he finally hisses, “and I want you to leave him outta this.”

The accusations lacing his words hurt, not because he’d chosen them to hurt you but especially because he hadn’t. Forget Osamu—you’re reminded full force of why you’d dumped Atsumu in the first place. (He'd always made you feel so much smaller—no—so much less than him.) (Not everything is about you, you want to scream.)

“Then why don’t you go bully your poor fucking twin who asked me out? Is your head actually so far up your own ass that you couldn’t even notice him chasing after me right in front of you?” (You're technically lying, but you’re hellbent on hurting him as much as he’d hurt you.) “Other people’s lives don’t revolve around you no matter how hard you try to make everyone your side kick. Leave yourself out of this.” 

“Is this a joke? You two can’t stand each other!”

”And you thought I could stand you up until a couple days ago, so I'd say you don’t know shit ‘Tsumu.”

“Get out of my face.”

“Get out of my fucking bathroom.”

(Atsumu slams the door shut behind him.) 

/

You stalk across the dimly lit room, making a show of cutting through the crowd before grabbing your (fake) boyfriend by the collar of his shirt. 

“What?” 

“D’you want to kiss me?”

Osamu grins. “What’s with the change of heart?”

”You’ve got all of five seconds to impress me,” you huff, tugging him closer.

He leans over to meet you halfway, slotting his lips over yours gently. (You’re surprised. He hadn't struck you as the gentle type.) You rock back against your heels and he follows, bending over to deepen the kiss. (His nails are digging through your top. You don't need to check to know there's crescents debossed into you.) (You don't like that.)

You don't bother to check for Atsumu when you pull away—the deviant smile tilting Osamu's lips up to the left tells you all you need to know.

"You're still a despicable person," you muse aloud, but there's no bite behind your bark. (And a good kisser.) 

"Great minds think alike."

(He thinks so too.)

[thatesqcrush]

source

[shokoism]

𝗽𝗼𝘀𝗯 𝗺𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁

𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 ©️ 𝘬𝘶𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘸𝘰

𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯'𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘱.𝘰.𝘴 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴.

this fic is crossposted on quotev/ao3/wattpad, so feel free to follow along in whatever format you'd prefer!

ch 1

ch 2

ch 3

[shokoism]

posb ch 2

𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 ©️ 𝘬𝘶𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘸𝘰

𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯'𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘱.𝘰.𝘴 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴.

Tomorrow comes too quickly. 

"You're cooked."

Osamu can't tell if he's being ignored or if his dimwit brother's really too busy chasing balls to hear him. 

"What're you talking about?"

(Ignored it was.)

"She's going to dump you." Osamu watches his twin closely through half-lidded eyes and notes the way his jaw clenches with a hint of amusement. He warms up flawlessly, concentration unbroken and motions fluid, save for the tensing of that little, itty bitty muscle. (His tell.) "She told me."

"She's lying."

"Keep tellin' yourself that and you'll eventually convince yourself too." 

"Shut up. She doesn't even like you. She's just playin' mind games like always because she's pissed about last weekend." Osamu keeps staring dully. (Man was ‘Tsumu full of shit.) "Sure I kinda fucked up but I'm under a lotta stress, and I can't be mean to fans or I'll be the jerk, 'cause they can't help being' excited. And you know they’ve been touchy since high school.”

"What, did ya cheat or something?"

"No way!" Atsumu finally tears himself away from his workout long enough to look Osamu straight in the eye. "What d'ya think I am, stupid?" 

“Think?” 

(The abandoned volleyball bounces loudly across the court before rolling to a stop against the gym wall.) 

“I’m busy, ‘kay? It’s not like I’m ignoring her.” 

“You’re full of shit.” 

Atsumu looks angry, which is surprising because there’s nobody to be mad at for this news except himself. (He doesunderstand accountability.) “She could’ve come and talked to me instead of goin’ around braggin’ to you about how she’ll get back at me.” 

“Like it’d have gotten through your thick skull.” 

“Whose side are you on?!” 

(Osamu’s tempted to sock him.) “I should be askin' you that, seeing how you're so hellbent on screwing things up yourself."

"Butt out 'Samu."

"She didn't even realize she told me. She's bein' serious this time."

"Did she accidentally tell you why she's so pissed too, since she's so serious?" His tone's a classic mix of taunting and so self-assured that it actually pisses Osamu off. He doesn't know much about your relationship—the two of you are on frigid terms at best, and 'Tsumu rarely if ever mentioned you in casual conversation—but watching the way his brother manhandled you made everyone uncomfortable. 

He gets up from the stands. 

"I tried to warn ya."

(He was always cleaning up after his messes.) (He sees no reason why this would be any different.)

/

His brother texts him a string of expletives around midday, while Osamu's wiping off his counters. He replies with a single question mark, as though he doesn't know what he'd meant. Atsumu doesn't text him again.

/

Osamu'd be nervous if he was the type to be, he thinks. (He hadn't seen 'Tsumu but he knows him, and he knows he'd kill 'im if he knew you were perched uncomfortably at his dining table.)

"Didn't think you'd show up." 

"Me neither." (He'd forgotten how mean you could look.) Underneath the sharp jet black stroke of your eyeliner was a sharper, colder look in your eyes, fixed straight onto him. (You're nothing like Atsumu's type.) "But I thought you'd snitch to Atsumu too, so I guess we're even."

He shrugs his shoulders. (It's not lying if he keeps his mouth shut.) "Ramen's almost done."

"I'm not here for dinner," you shoot back, eager to get this day over with and finally curl up in bed for the weekend. "What'd you call me over for?"

"Your loss then. I'm a great cook." 

He is, but you're not hungry. "I'm single, not free to wait around 'til you decide to fill me in on whatever was so important that it couldn't be handled over text." (You regret coming over after how nauseous Atsumu's chilled reaction to your declaration—'Let's break up'—had left you. You hadn't expected him to beg you to stay, but you'd stuck around with him for a year. Almost two.) (He's gotten more emotional about overcooked barbecue.)

(Osamu looks just like him.)

He gets right to the point. (The whiplash is dizzying.)

"You really wanna stick it to that asshole?"

You narrow your eyes, suspicious, but lean in curiously. (The Miyas may fight tooth and nail most days but they were still blood and you can't imagine either betraying the other, especially not for a no-name ex-girlfriend like yourself.) (You'll still hear him out. Osamu's much less predictable.) "And if I do?"

Osamu grins. "Go out with me. He'll go apeshit."

You gag, moving back against your seat as far as possible. "As if. You're so not my type."

"C'mon, we're literally identical twins. Biologically speaking you're already attracted to me."

"Biologically speaking both you and your brother are a real bunch of pigs. I'm done dating Miyas for now and forever, thank you very much."

He chuckles, clapping his hands together. "Relax—s'not like I’m actually asking you out. Atsumu just has to think we're dating."

You’re still unconvinced. "He'd never buy it. He's dense, but he’s not a complete idiot. Who'd believe that we're into each other?” You pause and tack on a halfhearted, “No offense."

"I'm being serious." 

"Do I look like I'm joking?" You scoff, in complete disbelief. "We date, and then what? Atsumu realizes he's actually been madly in love with me all along and quits making his agent text me his itinerary so he can drag me along to his events without having to lift a finger? I'm sure he'll see me with you and remember how to be a boyfriend instead of a fucking PR machine."

"Fake date."

"My bad," you sneer. 

"Who cares if he does?"

"How exactly are we sticking it to him otherwise?" (This was a bad idea.) (Favor or not, you and Osamu are not friends. He'd ignored you on good days, and the evening you'd dumped his brother was far from that.) (Had it been a bad day for his brother? You couldn't tell.) (You wish you could erase the memory of his clipped tone—'Your call'—out of the grooves of your brain.) 

Osamu can't read your frozen expression when he reminds you, "It'll piss him off."

"Come again?"

He's more confident when he speaks this time. "He'll lose it. 'Tsumu hates sharing."

You don't have to complain about how dehumanizing that kind of language is out loud. (You broke up with Atsumu for that exact reason, after all.) "This is sick."

"What?"

"You're him," you spit out, and those two words mean so many different things all at once. (How could you stomach looking at him when you saw Osamu? How would you ever get over Atsumu? Why would he offer this like he cared, when you knew he didn't?) 

The familiar territory is amusing. "Far from it, I think. Doesn't matter though. You and I both know I'm right about this."

(For once, he actually is.)

"This is really sick," you repeat, but you're already losing your conviction. (Atsumu'd hung up on you like you had donesomething wrong. He hadn't even asked why.) ("Let's break up.") ("Your call.") ("I want to break up.") (And he'd given you what you'd wanted.)

You know it'd be healthier to walk away and move on and let yourself heal. (You can't kid yourself. Nobody who prioritized health would've hung onto Atsumu for as long as you had.) You can't bring yourself to care.

"Go out with me?"

(You swallow past the lump in your throat, impulse flooding through you, and nod.)

"Maybe."

(Maybe isn't no, which practically makes it yes.) Osamu nods back, content.

"Deal."

[shokoism]

posb ch 1

𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 ©️ 𝘬𝘶𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘸𝘰

𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯'𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘱.𝘰.𝘴 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴.

You figure that you must be addicted to the attention. (It could be worse, you think. Vanity never killed anyone.) And you really are okay with that, most of the time anyways. You like getting dressed up and preening in front of an audience. You love the way it feels to be stared at, whether out of awe or envy or adoration or whatever else the fuck they feel when they catch a glimpse of you. 

But sometimes, as in times like right now, you hate it. 

You hate yourself for staying with Atsumu even though he's horrible, and the only possible (sane) reason you could've endured this for so long was an addiction to the microdoses of fame that dating a famous athlete brought you. (Half-dating.) (Like you could call him your boyfriend in front of friends or in Instagram captions, but not while he fucked you or things got awkward.)

He's probably off chugging beer or competing in some macho man drinking game while you're expected to sit at his booth and look pretty and wait around to finally be graced with his presence for a mere five minutes of the night. It'd been fine the first five hundred fucking times it'd happened at the MSBY post-game parties, but eventually the novelty of your presence had worn off and you'd blended into the background with the furniture. You're as much a fixture at these events as one of the barstools.

You're not a fucking barstool. 

(What are you doing here?)

You've thought of breaking things off with him before, but mostly during fights that left you dizzy with anger. You're impulsive, sure, but even you know better than to break off this (admittedly mutually beneficial) arrangement over a simple argument. You'd needed to make sure you'd lose more by staying than by leaving first.

You swirl your half-empty drink, half-heartedly noting the chipped polish on your middle finger. (You needed a touch up.) You were losing.

It'd be funny to dump him right here and right now in front of his entire team and their livestream audience tuned in to see whatever brilliantly stupid antics the victors were getting up to. He'd hate it. (And by extension, hate you.) (Therein lies the problem, of course.)

You'd never admit this out loud—you've barely admitted it to yourself, for fuck's sake—but you think you love Atsumu, in your own twisted way. You've never been a flowery person—you can count the times you've said 'I love you' out loud to him on your hands, and pet names are out of the question entirely—but the thought of seeing him with another trophy girlfriend makes you so mad that the glass in your hand nearly shatters. (You set it down. The last thing you need tonight is stitches.)

Love is cheap though, and no amount of it is worth being used as a decoration when you know you deserve so much better.

(For starters, a boyfriend that didn't treat you like an accessory.)

You won't dump him in front of his team, not tonight. (Tomorrow, you resolve. You type the reminder into your phone next to the alarm to take your vitamins.) (This will be way better for you than vitamins.)

"Don't you look real pretty tonight?"

(You lock your phone, slamming it face down against your half-bare thigh hard enough to sting.)

"I know."

"It's never a 'thank you' with you, huh?" Osamu makes himself comfortable in the seat across from yours. You wish he wouldn't, but you've lived through this exact scene enough times to know asking isn't worth your breath. (The Miyas do what they want.)

You smile sweetly. "You're welcome."

"You and Atsumu deserve each other," he shoots back, sans the smile. (For what it's worth, you drop your own.) 

"Why don't you go bother him then?" 

He grins now, looking so much like his brother that you're tempted to hurl the rest of your drink at him. "You just look so sad all alone. Figured you needed the company to cheer you up. Pretty girls should smile on Friday nights."

"You're a real asshole."

"Don't shoot the messenger." He chuckles, grabbing your drink and polishing it off with a giant gulp. "He really likes you, you know."

You wave in front of your face disgustedly, piecing together his patronizing words of comfort through his belching. (You're not sure what's grosser, the fruity fumes or that he felt the need to convince you that you were a catch. As if you didn't know.) (You were losing.) "Even twin telepathy has its limits, Miya. Butt out."

"I'm right."

"You always think you're right."

"Because I am." 

"Don't you know that your piece of shit brother only keeps me around for appearances, like some sort of Barbie to show off to his alpha male fans and teammates, or do I have to spell it out for you?" (You have to make a conscious effort to unlock your jaw.) (You're so fucking tense.) "Or do you already know, and just think this shit is funny?"

Osamu's upper lip curls into a sneer. "Don't talk about my piece of shit brother like that again." You quirk an eyebrow upwards. He leans in close enough to drown you in the stench of the alcohol he's downed. (Not that you're any better off yourself.) "He's still my problem."

(A shiver traces down your back.)

"Teach him some basic manners and I'll consider it."

"Quit it."

You roll your eyes, carefully crossing one leg over the other. (He always watches so closely. Not in a creepy way, but you notice because Atsumu never sees anything. They're like night and day.) "Or?"

"Or what?"

"That's what I'm asking." You groan. Osamu holds his liquor well—he's always way drunker than he looks—but he's a nightmare once he reaches his limit. You move to call Atsumu (because it'd be a cold day in Hell before you babysit a man-child for free, let alone one you don't even like), but Osamu swats the phone out of your reach.

"What're you gonna do about it?" 

"I told you to mind your business."

"Are you just gonna keep mopin' about Atsumu being a shitty boyfriend forever? 'Cause that's real fucking boring." You grimace, and he shrugs his shoulders. "I'm just bein' honest."

"You're literally the last person I'd ask for fair, unbiased advice about anything, and also Atsumu's twin brother if I remember correctly." You grab your phone again and stand to leave. "Tell him I went home early." 

"How're you getting there?"

"A cab charged to his card."

He laughs, loudly enough to draw attention from some of the other guests (who you glare at until they pretend to stop eavesdropping). "Is that your plan? You're just gonna cling to him until his money dries up? Lame. Real fuckin' boring." 

Your face burns up, and you hiss when you speak. "I'm going to let this slide once, because you're blacked out and I'll never see your stupid fucking face again after I dump your brother, but you do not get to talk to me like that." You don't care that the cab is 10 minutes away—you're getting out of here now. You'll figure out the dumping part tomorrow.

(You can't figure out which Miya you're more annoyed with.)

Osamu curses under his breath. You'd been pissed with Atsumu for a long time, sure, but damn were you pent up tonight. (He can't say that he's surprised. 'Tsumu's not exactly a romantic.)

Atsumu claps his brother on the back, hard enough to knock him off his seat. "Where the fuck've you been?" He's grinning that wide, shit-eating grin of his that comes out when he's feeling real good.

"What's it to ya?"

(He can be screwed tomorrow. Osamu'll let him have tonight.)

[jun-qin-sg]

#POSB Run for Kids Virture Run. Yeap, finally the medal is here! https://www.instagram.com/p/CXvkOg5vFA0/?utm_medium=tumblr