#its actually insane how i feel about this scene
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berryberrytaeberry · 7 months ago
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The loustat reunion might be the single best piece of televised cinema that I have ever witnessed in my life. To watch this force of a man, of a character, be absolutely torn down to his barest form of vulnerability to ask the estranged love of his life if he hurt himself 50 years ago. Sam Reid the man that you are.
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fluffyartbl0g · 2 years ago
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The one piece reread only makes the hardest moments hit even harder,,,, even when you’re rereading it poorly in portugese
Or AKA, i found out today that HINATA SHOYO reads one piece and I haven’t recovered since
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#one piece#haikyuu#hinata shoyo#roronoa zoro#(kinda)#omfg okay time for my entirely SEPERATE POST IN THE TAGS#i only got into one piece at the end of last year... but ive been in the anime and manga scene for like. my entire life#i cannot understate how WILD it is that I havent noticed how everywhere one piece is....#like once i read it... i started finding it EVERYWHERE#my sister gifted me an issue of shonen jump ages ago cause i liked act age and kimetsu no yaiba chainsaw man promised neverland etc#and it doesnt have like a one piece chapter in it actually (to my disappointment)#but IT DOES HAVE A LIL ADVERTISING SEGMENT AT THE FRONT TALKING ABOUT OKIKU FIGURINES AND OTHER ONE PIECE CRAP#AND IDK IT LITERALLY JUST BLEW MY MIND#ONE PIECE DIDNT EXIST IN MY LIFE BUT.... IT DID????#I HAD ONE PIECE MERCH BEFORE I EVEN BECAME OBSESSED WITH IT??? (hahah if you can consider a tiny segment mentioning okiku op merch XD)#just imagine suddenly being obsessed with a piece of media. and then you look around ur room and U SUDDENLY RECOGNISE A CHARACTER MERCH???#ITS BEEN IN UR ROOM FOR YEARS BUT YOUVE NEVER REALLY EVEN NOTICED IT OR JUST BRUSHED IT OFF WHENEVR U SAW IT#BUT ITS THAT CHARACTER!!!! ITS THAT MEDIA THAT UR MADLY IN LOVE WITH????#also im being 100 percent legit when i say that the sense of comeraderie i feel when someone says theyve ALSO read one piece#is insane#discovering that domics and worthiikids and all these other big youtubers that ive known for years have loved one piece like me?#it makes my heart clench and my eyes water man#ive never felt so connected to the world... one piece really is peak fiction.....#i love one piece's community sm....
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casualavocados · 10 months ago
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What happened to you? [...] None of your business.
KISEKI: DEAR TO ME Ep. 10
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ominous-horse-noises · 1 year ago
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main takeaway from certain fan reactions to the finale is this:
the final scene with ankarna was so meaningful to the bad kids' arcs and how they made peace with being wronged by people they loved, and if all you can focus on is that the rat grinders didn't get much screentime, then you don't love dimension20 and you don't love this world: you want to be playing your own hs themed dnd campaign and you're mad the oc versions of the rat grinders you made up in your head acted ooc. these are not your characters and this is not their story.
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sonknuxadow · 1 year ago
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i think people give elise too much shit for her little outburst at the end of sonic 06 because if i was running a country at 17 and had been repressing my emotions for 10 years straight and one day i got kidnapped like 500 times and ended up befriending the guy who rescued me and while spending time with him i felt like i really got to be myself and have fun for the first time in forever and formed a really meaningful relationship with him only for some weird demon rat thing to show up and kill him right in front of me just to make me cry so the destructive fire god that my dad sealed inside my body would be unleashed and then in order to save the world i had to reset the timeline and forget we ever met i would have become the joker
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shakingparadigm · 1 year ago
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horrendously sick and twisted btw
#IT TEARS ME UP TO THINK ABOUT THE METEOR INCIDENT. I AM GENUINELY TORMENTED BY IT#slipping through his fingers.#it's crazy they were actually crazy for the whole meteor thing whoever thought of it needs to financially compensate NOW#i love you so much ill break every rule if it'd mean you'd be happy with me. run away with me#here i am im setting you free im giving you everything you want. could i be part of that? could i be part of what you want#till slips through ivan's fingers. world has now completely shifted#and he can't even be mad. not properly#because this is why he loves till in the first place. he just cant give up on what he cares about. he'll never stop fighting for it#ivan smiles like. this is why it's you#a lot has been said about the meteor scene already but that doesnt stop me from going insane over it#freedom means nothing if till isn't there with me WHAT IF I SHOOK YOU LIKE A RATTLE BOY#ivan was well off. he was eating at feasts. given fine clothes. groomed clean and celebrated for his achievements#yet he was willing to throw it all away#thinking about how they'd probably live on the streets again. struggle to get by on their own as lost little children#their lives would be closer to the one ivan lived in the slums#except the difference would be till. back then he had nothing. if till ran with him he'd have everything#and yet till turns and runs the other way and ivan follows him because of course he does. theres nothing else he'd rather do#any kind of suffering is worth it as long as its for you#till is stubborn. he's persistent. he can't let go.#well fortunately (or unfortunately) so is ivan. incredibly persistent#so here we go again. back in this prison brushing past one another knowing we almost had it all#I WILL GRAB YOU BY THE BOWLCUT AND WRING YOU AROUND LIKE A JOYSTICK BOY!!!!#YOU MAKE ME ILL!!!! LEAVE ME ALONE!!!!!#alnst#alien stage#alien stage ivan#random ramble sorry i have Feelings
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itissadbutitsmy-artblog · 10 months ago
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truly and literally obsessed with how advtime civilizations see their ancient founders as glowing angels
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seiwas · 2 years ago
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omg i reached the tag limit i’m so sorry op ! but i must !! share !! just how much this fic !!! made me Feel Things !!!!!!
(cont from tag) <- so that line is so witty i snorted while reading it 😭 & this one too: “If looks could kill, Atsumu would’ve been dropped dead ten minutes ago.”
there are so many close calls too!! with how everyone’s dropping hints and implying everything 🤧 they’re really so idiots in love 😭 & atsumu is so whipped and he knows it but isn’t saying it and it’s driving me insane !!!
and !!!! the many passes atsumu gives !! bc he thinks thats what he’s supposed to do !!! the right thing to do !!! give reader space 🤧 but it rlly just prolongs everything 😭 u kept the tension and held it so well 😭😭
“he knows, underneath all the teasing and the bickering and the irritated eyerolls, is your pinky and his, intertwined.” <- i love this line too 😭😭
how atsumu takes care of them when they’re drunk 🤧 & he’s so loverboy w how he’s acting but he still needs aran to lay it down 😭😭 & when reader touches his face !! it’s so tender !! i love that moment 🥺
“The top of the world may be nice, but it is nothing compared to being on the ground next to you.” <- i rlly squealed out loud when i read this 😭
the dancing in the kitchen!! their sticking their tongues out!! their entire dynamic!! i love it so much!! there’s so much comfort and knowing and loving in it 🥺 and they r so goofy and silly w each other it’s so cute 🥺
the tension in the bathroom scene omg i felt siCK 😭 i love how u delved into atsumu’s thought process 😭 the panic !! the fear !!
“(Aren’t you the one who’s always saying he should be more responsible? Doing this is the most responsible thing he could do, isn’t it?)” <- this bit omfg 😭😭 i ached!!! tbh everything u put in the parentheses were just 👌🏼😖 had to stop myself from reading to gather myself omg 😭
“Three words are whispered into the dead of night, and the world tilts on its axis.” <- this and the parallel to one at the end !!! i love it so much 😭
and this “because when Atsumu is upset, it becomes everyone else’s problem.” is so true 😭
and this: “There’s no point being here without you.” my face rlly went 🥺
& the way my heart !!! rlly squeezed !! when reader opened the door to find atsumu there 🥺 and all they did was go on like they weren’t fighting bc the care is still there !!!! 😭 and i’m just aaaaaah
i’m sorry i rlly said so much ant this but i love it so much !!! and u wrote it so so so well op 🥺 i love the way you write !! and tell a story !! and i love the dialogues u come up with and the little details that u slip in that make everything so much richer !!! felt 1000x deeper !! & u’re so talented op!! for writing smth like this 😭 definitely one of my fave atsumu fics to date 😭 thank u so much for writing this aaaaaaahhh!!!
miya atsumu and the chronic lovesick disease
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❛ what am i to you, atsumu? ❜
word count | 12.6k (12,607) genre | fluff, slight angst, friends to lovers, college au ━ gn!reader
the question comes to him one autumn night, surrounded by his friends and the chilly november breeze, asked by, who he assumes to be, just another nobody looking for money: what is it that you desire most, boy? the psychic asks, her saccharine smile forgotten when he looks into the crystal ball and all he ends up seeing is you. alternatively: miya atsumu is not in love. what the hell? who would ever suggest something like that?
➞ warnings | alcohol consumption, mutual pining, denial of feelings!!! lots of it!! and with this denial comes some stupid decisions!!! ➞ warnings | ive actually like never been to the psychic before so if its inaccurate im so sorry ..... it’s not really a big part of the plot though so hopefully u can overlook it 😭
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o. Desire
This is a scam, is Atsumu’s first thought when he takes a seat inside the tent and finds himself face-to-face with a crystal ball.
People like this are dangerous — his twin brother never lets anyone forget it. They take advantage of an individual’s fear of the unknown and they make money off it. It’s genius, because even the strongest people can become weak to something as mundane as self-proclaimed clairvoyants setting base near a college campus.
Atsumu supposes he’s no exception. Even if Bokuto was the one who forced him to do this in the first place.
“Hello,” the woman greets, her hair pinned into a tight bun. “You’re here for a reading?”
“Sure,” Atsumu huffs, shivering when the cold breeze sneaks into the tent. He really should’ve worn a thicker jacket.
When he looks up from the table, the woman gives him a smile. It’s analytical, as if all he needed to do was sit down for her to know everything about him. He fidgets in his seat, growing more uncomfortable under her gaze.
“So,” she says, clasping her hands together and resting them on the table. “What is it that you desire most, boy?”
 “I’m sorry?”
“Your greatest desire,” she repeats patiently.
Atsumu blinks before tilting his head. “Um, I’m not—”
“I’m sure you know,” she says. “Is it strength? Power? Love?”
All colour drains from Atsumu’s face. The psychic smiles wickedly.
Atsumu thinks this may be the end of him. He never liked it when people acted like they knew more about his intentions than he did, and it only took mere minutes before the woman figured him out.
His hand twitches. He would feel a lot better if you were here—
“Ah,” she clicks her tongue, “bingo.”
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i. Strength
After a borderline homicidal game of rock, paper, scissors, Sakusa lands himself a new roommate.
Move-in day comes two weeks later and Atsumu sits in the lobby of the building, waiting for your car to pull into the parking lot.
He notes the time — it’s five minutes past 8:30, making you more than half an hour late — before grumbling under his breath and continuing to scroll through his feed. When Instagram notifies him that he’s all caught up, he exits the app and opens Twitter in hopes that something will be able to entertain him until you show up. He likes some tweets, retweets a few more, and terrorizes Suna before he grows bored at the lack of anything interesting on his timeline.
Another glance at the time. He scowls. It’s only been two minutes.
Atsumu debates asking Sakusa if he knows what’s happened to you. When he opens their message thread, he raises an eyebrow at how unbelievably one-sided their conversations are, but he decides that’s a problem for another day. Your absence is more important to Atsumu than Sakusa’s terrible conversational skills ever will be.
(He’ll bother Sakusa about it later).
He’s about to send a long string of emojis when an incredulous voice reaches his ears.
“Tsumu?”
He looks up and immediately pockets his phone with a grin. “You’re late.”
You adjust the box of donuts in your hands and squint at him as if his smile is as blinding as the sun. “I slept through my alarm. What the hell are you doing here?”
Atsumu gestures to his outfit. “What does it look like?”
You stare blankly.
“Seriously?” he scoffs. “I told you last night I’d help you move in. How’d you forget? Am I that forgettable? You wound me, I—”
“Shut up,” you say, shifting your weight. Atsumu’s eyes flicker to the sticker on the box, and he tries his best not to frown when he notices you’ve written Sakusa’s name in calligraphy with a heart at the end. “Of course I remember you offering to help because I spent my entire night telling you it was fine.”
“You expect me to believe that you can bring all your shit in by yourself? You look like you just rolled out of bed.”
“Thank you, Tsumu, I can always count on you to make me feel like I’ve been shot by Cupid’s arrow,” you quip, brushing past him to get to the elevator, and as if it’s second nature, he follows. “I can’t believe people walk around campus calling you sweet.”
“I never said you looked bad,” he says. “I think the dried drool on your chin is pretty cute, actually.”
“Whatever,” you hurriedly wipe your face. “Speaking of bad, what on Earth are you wearing?”
Atsumu knows full well you’re not complimenting him, but he decides to treat your comment as if you have. He beams, picking at the sweatpants you eye with disgust before walking into the elevator with you.
“It’s my mover outfit!”
“Your mover outfit,” you deadpan. “Disregarding whatever that means — those sweatpants are baggier than Kenma’s eyebags. And they do nothing for your ass.”
He smirks. “You were checking out my ass?”
You avoid eye contact, feigning indifference, but Atsumu’s known you for too long and immediately recognizes your fluster by the way you tug at the hem of your clothing.
“No,” you deny curtly, straightening your posture when the elevator doors open to show Sakusa’s floor. “It’s just hard not to notice when those sweats are ridiculously baggy. Seriously, are you trying to put something in there? I could fit a month’s worth of groceries in those.”
You’re walking swiftly, eager to get to your new apartment and end the conversation. The both of you are well aware that Atsumu’s more than capable of catching up with you, but he hangs back, preferring to watch you babble while he trails behind.
You clutch the donuts closer to your body as words tumble out of your mouth — a list of things that could fit in his sweats, including two jugs of milk and a family size pack of chips — and Atsumu can’t stop the lopsided smile from appearing on his face.
“Maybe a carton of eggs, too,” he suggests.
“Oh, I wouldn’t trust you with eggs,” you say sharply.
“Why not?”
“Are you really asking me that? Last month I lent you my blanket and you gave it back to me with a hole in it.”
“For the last time,” Atsumu begins, quickening so he’s side-by-side with you, “that was Samu’s fault, not mine.”
“…Alright.”
“Y/N,” he whines. “I’m serious! None of that was on me — I even bought you a new blanket! Would Samu have done that? I don’t think so—”
“Actually—”
“The point is,” Atsumu interrupts, throwing you a glare before continuing, “blame Samu. Whenever something bad happens, blame him. That’s what I always do.”
“Spoken like a true, responsible individual.”
“Hey!” he protests. “I’m responsible!”
You open your mouth to deny his claims, but the pout he plasters over his face is enough for you to give in. Too tired to give him something as golden as a verbal agreement, you opt for changing the subject. “Do you think Sakusa will like the donuts?”
Atsumu frowns. “Why does it matter? They’re donuts.”
You grow annoyed at his impertinence. “I want him to like me, you moron.”
His expression sours further. “He’s your friend.”
“And I won a game of rock, paper, scissors, so now I’m his roommate,” you remark. “There’s a difference between being friends with someone and living with them. I mean, would you want to live with Bokuto?”
Atsumu’s answer is swift. “Hell no.”
“Exactly,” you say, “I need us to get along.”
You stop in front of a door and begin searching your pockets for your key. There’s a pinch between your eyebrows, the box trembles as you struggle to balance it with one hand, and your clothes are a mess, but underneath the fluorescent light of the hallway, Atsumu can’t help but think you almost look angelic.
He shakes the thought away, squashes it beneath his foot until the remnants of it have been absorbed by the carpet.
“The last time I saw you this nervous was when you asked out that barista,” he muses.
You dig your hand into the breast pocket of your shirt and huff when you find nothing. “What are you implying?”
Atsumu stares pointedly at the sticker on the box. Your face morphs into one of horror.
“Are you dense?”
“Calligraphy, Y/N. I’ve never seen you write calligraphy in my entire life.”
“I was trying something out!”
“Oh, I’m sure.”
You smack him on the shoulder. “I was being thoughtful,” you grunt, softening when Atsumu winces and rubs the spot where you hit him. “He’s my friend, and that’s all he ever will be.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Really?”
Your eyes leave him for a millisecond, flickering to somewhere else on his face before returning his gaze once more. “Of course,” you say softly, “Besides, I—”
The door swings open.
“You’re loud,” Sakusa deadpans in the doorway. His eyes travel down to the donuts. “Are those for me?”
You hand them over to him. “Yeah, I didn’t know what you liked, so they’re all assorted.”
Sakusa hums in thanks before tilting his head at Atsumu. “Why’re you here?”
“To help them move in,” Atsumu grins, placing a hand on your shoulder and squeezing it. “I know you’re going to the drycleaners, and I couldn’t let Y/N do this all by themselves.”
Sakusa shrugs and turns to go further into the apartment. “Sounds good to me. I’d rather not have to press those nasty elevator buttons multiple times just so I can come down and get your stuff,” he gives you the best apologetic look he can muster. “Have fun, though.”
Before you can go on a tangent about how Sakusa should be more welcoming, Atsumu pipes up, “Yeah, don’t worry! ‘S all in good hands,” he nudges you with his elbow. “Right? Your stuff can’t be that heavy.”
Atsumu, not for the first time and certainly not the last, stands corrected.
Not only is your stuff heavy, but there’s much more than he expected.
With each trip down to the parking lot, his muscles grow strained, and he feels the fatigue threaten to droop his eyelids shut. But, in the corner of his eyes, he sees your persistence to get this over and done with, and Atsumu decides it won’t hurt to push through.
His complaining and wailing can wait until later.
After you place the last box into your new bedroom, you turn to him while wiping the sweat from your forehead. “Thank you,” you say breathlessly.
He goes to tease you, to say that you owe him now, that you’ll be indebted to him for life.
But what comes out of his mouth instead is: “‘Course. Call me whenever you want, and I’ll be there.”
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Atsumu calls it a housewarming gift. Sakusa says there is hardly anything warming about it.
It referring to the group of boys gathered in the living room — your friends on good days, the bane of your existence on all the others — with their limbs strewn about and their soda cans sitting too close to the edge of the coffee table. It’s an odd sight for Sakusa to have this many people over on a Thursday night, but Atsumu insisted, and he caught Sakusa on a good day when he asked if he could hold a movie night at the apartment to celebrate your new accommodations.
You’re sure Sakusa regrets it now. He sits in his armchair with a permanent scowl, swatting Hinata away when the boy reaches to fix the crease between Sakusa’s brows. If looks could kill, Atsumu would’ve been dropped dead ten minutes ago.
He covers his fear with a grin, but out of the corner of his mouth, he says to you, “Help me.”
You snicker. “You’re on your own, dude.”
“I thought I told you to stop calling me that.”
“What? But Bokuto calls you that, too!”
“Yeah, but it’s Bokuto.”
“I have no idea what you mean by that.”
Atsumu only tsks, forcibly ending the conversation by suggesting to the room that they should all play a game to decide who’ll prepare all the popcorn. A chorus of agreements is what he gets in response, along with someone complaining about how he should be spared due to his gruelling volleyball practice, and another person expressing his sympathies for the future loser.
Atsumu prepares the ladder game, and after he’s done, he looks at everyone with fiery hot intensity, an expression similar to one he wears during a match. “Remember,” he declares, “whoever loses can’t complain.”
Luck isn’t on his side tonight.
“What the hell!” he screeches once the reality of his defeat settles in.
Osamu, far too smug for Atsumu’s liking, quips, “I thought you said no complaining.”
The noise that leaves Atsumu’s mouth is something akin to a pathetic but animalistic growl. He goes to protest, even raising his hand to list off reasons why he’s been wronged — someone must’ve cheated, or maybe everyone in this room has a ruthless vendetta against him — but just as the words are about to leave his lips, his eyes land on you.
You challenge him to complain with a look, and he suddenly gets a much better idea.
“Y/N,” he says sweetly, growing pleased at your uneasiness. “As the host of this housewarming party, it’s only fair that you help me, too.”
“What?” you squawk, leaning forward as if you’ve misheard him. “But you were the one who suggested doing all of this! How is it now on me to help—”
“Well, he wouldn’t have done this if it wasn’t for you,” Sakusa muses.
You stare at him in disbelief. “Are you taking his side? What happened to roommate solidarity?”
“You just made that up,” Sakusa replies. “Besides, this thing will go by faster if two people prepare the popcorn, and I don’t think Miya wants anyone else other than you.”
Atsumu shifts uncomfortably at the implication, and he involuntarily commits your surprised expression to memory.
(When he goes to sleep later that night, your surprise is all he sees against the darkness of his eyelids).
“Other than me—?”
“To make the popcorn,” Sakusa drawls matter-of-factly.
You blink. “Right.” You look at Atsumu, and he shrugs dumbly, unsure of how else to react to your sudden change in behaviour.
To him, you have always been easy to read, but right now, he’s not entirely sure if there’s a word for the expression on your face. He yearns to press a hand to your cheek to melt the malaise away, to be rid of it forever so he can see you smiling again.
Something in his chest twists.
“Right!” you repeat, more loudly this time, and startling the rest of your friends. You slap your hands on your lap before standing and grabbing Atsumu’s wrist to pull him away. “I guess I’m helping you make popcorn. You owe me one, Miya.”
Your skin is warmer than usual, threatening to burn him until your fingerprints are marked onto his skin.
(Behind him, Suna stage-whispers, “You are so whipped, Y/N.”)
Your touch disappears the moment you’ve both crossed the threshold into the kitchenette. Atsumu flexes his hand, trying to get rid of an urge in his veins he can’t quite explain.
“Hey,” you say casually, back turned to him as you dig through the cabinets for the popcorn packets. “Did you finish that essay for literature class?”
Atsumu awkwardly clears his throat and begins playing with the settings on the microwave. “The paper?”
“Yes, the paper,” you say. “The one I told you to start two weeks ago so you wouldn’t end up sending a half-assed essay two minutes before the deadline?”
“Why are you talking like you think I didn’t start it yet?”
“Because I know you, Tsumu,” you reply, shutting the cabinet with your elbow and ungracefully dropping the packets onto the counter beside him. “And I lost faith in your ability to listen to me a long time ago.”
“How rude. I always listen to you,” he sticks his nose in the air like a scorned, evil, cartoon antagonist, “I just don’t take all your suggestions. There’s a difference.”
“You make my life so much harder,” you huff, inputting a minute-thirty into the microwave. “I honestly think I lose ten years of my lifespan whenever you tell me you’ve gotten yourself into another dilemma.”
“Don’t be dramatic. I’m sure you only lose, like, three at most.”
“No, it’s definitely ten,” you say. “You worry me too much, Miya.”
The smile on Atsumu’s face, previously smug and confident, softens.
“Seriously, though,” you continue, jabbing a finger into his sternum. “The paper? It’s due tonight.”
He flicks your nose, snorting when you pull a face. “I sent it in this morning.”
“Seriously?”
“Hey! Don’t act so shocked!”
“Well, this is, like, the first time you’ve ever done something even remotely responsible, so—”
“I thought we both agreed I’m a generally responsible person.”
Your silence is enough of a response.
Atsumu gasps just as the microwave beeps, allowing you to ignore his stunned expression in order to begin preparing another bag of kernels.
“Give me one reason—”
“The blanket—”
“—that isn’t the blanket,” he says sourly. “That doesn’t count. I told you that was Samu’s fault, not mine.”
“Do you want a list? Because I have one.”
“Are you serious or are you just fucking with me?”
“Osamu and I have a Google Doc.”
Another gasp. You roll your eyes.
“Now you’re in kahoots with my brother? What’s next? Planning my downfall with Suna?”
“I’m sure he’s fine doing that himself without my help.”
He whines, stomping his foot when you only stare back in amusement. “Don’t be so unrepentant, Y/N!”
You dump the contents of the hot popcorn bags into a large bowl for everyone to share. “Unrepentant? Was that the word on your word-of-the-day calendar?”
“Shut up. You know only Kuroo has lame stuff like that,” Atsumu grumbles, throwing the last popcorn packet into the faulty brick of power you and Sakusa call a microwave. “I used it in my essay. Thesauruses are a godsend. It really came in handy when I was writing about the flower symbolism in the book. Y’know what’s even better, though? SparkNotes.”
You tilt your head, studying Atsumu with furrowed eyebrows. “Huh.”
“What d’you mean huh?”
“Nothing,” you say innocently. “I just didn’t think you’d choose that essay topic, that’s all.”
“It was the easiest one,” he states. You hum in agreement, but he can sense you falling into a state of pondering before it even happens, so he lightly pokes your shoulder in hopes it’ll be enough to keep you from drifting too far from his reach. “Why, what did you think I picked?”
He can tell you’re debating what to tell him, letting a few seconds pass before you give in. “I thought you’d do the one that centred more around…” you trail off, clenching and unclenching your jaw, “the love aspect of it all.”
He blinks. “Why?”
Childishly, you retort, “Why not?”
Atsumu licks his lips. “Well, you’re always telling me to write what I know. And I may not know a whole lot about flowers, but I know more about those than, y’know, love.”
Something passes over your face, the same thing he saw when Sakusa said something — implied something — in the living room. “Really?”
“Yeah,” he answers. “I’ve had relationships, sure, but none that made me feel anything like— like that.”
You drum your fingers against the bowl. “None at all?”
“None at all.”
You click your tongue and stare at the microwave. Its buzz has become more prominent in your silence, a mocking hum hanging over the air as you contemplate and Atsumu stares, waiting impatiently for a word to slip past your lips.
But there’s nothing. Instead, the microwave beeps again, indicating that the last of the popcorn is ready.
“That’s good to know,” you say lightly. At least, that’s what you attempt, but you sound different, like a parasite has found solace in your vocal cords and fiddled with everything Atsumu’s familiar with.
“It is?”
“Yeah,” you nod, handing the bowl over to him. Popcorn threatens to spill but Atsumu can’t bring himself to care. “Hey, be careful. What, is it too heavy? Are you too weak to carry it?”
“It’s popcorn,” Atsumu rasps.
You eye him oddly, as if he’s the one whose behaviour should be examined under a microscope. “Don’t spill it everywhere. Sakusa’ll get pissed, and we’re already pushing it with this movie night thing.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“Of course,” you agree. “But if you need me—”
“I know,” he interjects.
Simple promises are often uttered during private moments between you and Atsumu — an oath to be there for the other, to stand by their side no matter what. The words soothe him when they’re said aloud; he knows, underneath all the teasing and the bickering and the irritated eyerolls, is your pinky and his, intertwined.
And despite the voice in his head taunting him about a secret he’s unaware of, he allows the promise to enchant him.
I’ll be there for you.
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“Do you need help?”
Atsumu grunts, adjusting your arm around his neck as he opens the car door. “No, I’m fine.”
“Thanks for picking them up,” Aran says, voice loud above the frat house’s music, “I know you were tired from practice, but—”
“It’s fine. I probably would’ve killed you if you didn’t call me, anyway.”
“Osamu said you’d say that.”
Atsumu expertly brushes off the statement, gently ushering you into the passenger’s seat and putting your seatbelt on with gentle fingers. Behind him, Aran watches the movements with thoughtful eyes and a quirk of his eyebrows.
“The last time they got this drunk was at the fall festival last year,” he muses. “For your sake, I hope it doesn’t happen again.”
“What does that mean?”
“Hm?”
“For your sake,” Atsumu echoes, turning to face Aran once the door’s been shut and he’s made sure you’re sleeping soundlessly with your head resting against the cold window. Atsumu stands pin-straight, his posture contrasting the way Aran stands opposite him, relaxed with his hands stuffed in his pockets. “What’s that mean?”
Aran laughs, like he’s unsure if this is a serious question. “Well, I mean… they’re always asking for you whenever they get drunk like this.”
“I guess so, yeah.”
“That’s why you got here in record time, right?” Off Atsumu’s questioning gaze, Aran continues, “I called you five minutes ago, and your place is a fifteen-minute drive away. And you’re not in your pajamas, even though you said you’d change into them the moment you got home.”
“I was in the area,” Atsumu says weakly.
“Doing what?”
“Getting dinner.”
“Why didn’t you just get something delivered to your apartment?”
“Is it illegal to want to pick up the food myself?”
Aran raises his hands up in defence. “No, it’s not, but it’s also not illegal to say you knew this would happen,” he shrugs. “You knew they’d need you Atsumu, so you came. Nothing to be embarrassed about.”
Before Atsumu can force a response from his throat, Aran has already slipped back into the party, leaving Atsumu alone on the street. With an annoyed huff, he stomps to the driver’s side, muttering irked questions under his breath about what Aran could possibly mean. He opens the door with more aggression than necessary, only softening when he sees you stir underneath the jacket he’s draped over you to keep you warm.
He unlocks his phone when he feels a buzz in his pocket.
[00:30] Atsumu: are you still awake?
[00:48] Sakusa: Yes. Why?
Atsumu knows that your apartment’s farther from here than his, and he’s sure that by the time he arrives, Sakusa won’t answer the door because he’ll grow tired of Atsumu’s lack of response and go to bed.
The decision is made when he takes a right instead of a left, when he pulls into a parking lot that isn’t yours, when he carries your body up the stairwell and into his bed with ease.
Everything else comes as routine. He tucks the blanket under your chin, moves the glass of water so it’s too far for you to accidentally knock over in the morning, and leaves a change of clothes at the foot of the bed.
Atsumu likes routine. He likes the predictability of it all.
A groggy voice stops him from leaving the room.
“Tsumu?”
“Hey,” he whispers, crouching so he’s eye-level with you. “I hope you don’t mind I brought you back here.”
You blink sleepily at him, too inebriated and fatigued to acknowledge his words. “You’re a really good person, y’know,” you say languidly.
He smiles, amused. “Really?”
“Yeah. Thank you for picking me up.”
“It’s nothing,” he murmurs.
“It’s not.”
“I’m sure you would’ve been fine without me. Omi could’ve picked you up, couldn’t he? Samu could’ve, too.”
“I know, but you’re the one who always does,” you respond, nuzzling further into the pillow. “You’ve—you’ve helped me a lot.”
You shakily reach a hand to his face, playing with the strands of hair that fall to his forehead. He relaxes, eyelids growing heavy at the feeling of your featherlike touch against his cool skin.
“You’ve brightened up my life, I think,” your voice is muffled, but it rings in Atsumu’s ears clear as day, almost as loud as his quickening heart rate. “I appreciate you a lot more than you know.”
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ii. Power
He watches with bated breath as the ball cuts through the air while gravity begins to pull Hinata back to Earth. Everything unfolds in slow motion; everything has faded into white noise.
With a slam, the volleyball connects with the ground, and it’s only when he’s pulled into a hug does the reverie shatter. Like being hauled out from underwater, the roars of the crowd flood his ears as Bokuto begins jumping on the balls of his feet and Hinata comes rushing over to them with a triumphant shout.
On the other side of Bokuto, Sakusa smiles, rolling his eyes fondly when Hinata and Bokuto begin making post-game plans to celebrate their victory. Atsumu, on the other hand, is uncharacteristically silent as he searches the bleachers with a cloudy look in his eyes.
He’s snapped out of it once again when Bokuto tugs on his wrist so they can go and listen to what their coach has to say.
Atsumu isn’t a stranger to winning — he used to get drunk on this sort of stuff, the exhilarating rush that shot through his veins after every successful game. He basks in the crowd’s excitement and admiration, because to be fawned over is the closest to love he’s ever been (if he could even call it that), but once the adrenaline cuts him off and he’s left alone in the locker room, it all fizzles out.
Something’s missing at the end of all this. Usually, the void in his chest is insignificant enough for him to brush off. However, today is different.
It’s abnormal for the power of the win to dwindle into nothingness only minutes after the game ends, but the blue moon has risen tonight, and now everything feels weird. The cheers aren’t enough to keep him from searching the gymnasium for a familiar face, and he itches to get to his phone in the locker room when he can’t find who he’s looking for.
“Why do you look like we’ve lost?” Bokuto asks. “C’mon, man! Smile! We just won! Aren’t you happy?”
“Of course I am,” Atsumu grunts.
(But…)
But.
The adrenaline shoots through him again when a voice he knows all too well catches his attention over the noise.
“Hey!” you rush towards them, dishevelled. “Before you get mad, I know I missed the game, I took a nap and slept through it, fuck, I am never going to stay up late playing Fortnite with you again, Tsumu, you’ve ruined my sleep schedule, but—” you huff, trying to catch your breath as you hand Atsumu a bag, “I’m sorry that I didn’t come. Congrats on winning, I heard the shouts from down the street.”
Atsumu smiles and peers into the bag. “What is this?”
“Mochi,” you answer. “A celebratory gift for my favourite setter.”
“I’m the only setter you know.”
“Which is why you’re my favourite.”
Atsumu snorts but hugs the bag to his chest, like it’s his most prized possession and he’d drag it along to the grave with him. “Thank you.”
If someone were to ask Atsumu if he liked the pedestal he’s put on after a match, he’d say yes. Of course he does. He quite likes it on top of the world.
But you match his joyful smile with one of your own and Atsumu finds himself rethinking his answer. “Anytime.”
The top of the world may be nice, but it is nothing compared to being on the ground next to you.
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“You know what they say. With great power comes great responsibility.”
“Would you relax?” Sakusa snarls. “You’re in charge of us for a day. Get your head out of your ass.”
On the floor, Hinata lays like a starfish as he stares up at the ceiling, cheeks tainted a bright pink hue. “I think power’s gotten to your head.”
Atsumu waves him off. “I think this is the best practice we’ve ever had.”
Their captain had to run out five minutes into practice — relationship problems is what he grumbled to Atsumu before leaving him in charge without a second thought, much to the rest of the team’s dismay.
“I hope you’re never put it in charge again,” Bokuto complains before downing the rest of his water.
“Don’t be dramatic—”
“Do you know how gruelling this practice must be for Hinata to be tired?”
“Give us a break,” Hinata pleads, shifting his position so he’s on his knees. “Please. I’ll buy you lunch for the rest of the month if you end our suffering.”
Atsumu pretends to ponder the offer and grows more amused as Hinata begins to twitch nervously. “Okay, fine,” he relents.
Hinata cries with glee, hugging Atsumu’s legs before pushing himself off the floor and rushing out of the gymnasium — whether it’s to refill his water bottle or hide until he’s found, Atsumu may never know. With a snort, Atsumu grabs his own bottle amongst the rest on the bench, promising Bokuto absentmindedly that he’ll go easy on them for the rest of the day.
“I want to have at least a little energy left for the party at Kuroo’s tonight,” Bokuto adds, his smile widening when Atsumu nods in agreement. “See, I knew you’d get it!”
Sakusa takes a seat on the bench. “Are you going to the party, Miya?”
“Yeah, Y/N’s forcing me to come with,” Atsumu says. “How about you?”
Bokuto answers for him. “I’m making him come!” he exclaims. “You’ll have so much fun, Omi, you don’t have to worry.”
Sakusa deadpans, “I’m only staying for five minutes.”
Bokuto waves off his iciness with a flippant hand. “I’ll convince you to stay longer.”
“I really doubt that.”
“Don’t underestimate me!” Bokuto huffs. He turns away from Sakusa before he can continue to argue and focusses on Atsumu. “It’s good that you’re coming too, Tsum-Tsum! Maybe you can finally meet the guy Y/N’s going on a date with.”
Atsumu halts, hand tightening around his bottle. “What?”
“Some guy from their Psychology class asked them out a few days ago,” Bokuto says obliviously. “I think it was the night you picked them up? I don’t know. I think he was nice, though. Y/N probably already told you about it.”
You didn’t.
Atsumu forces a grin on his face. “Right, they did.”
Sakusa studies his expression with pinched eyebrows.
Atsumu’s cheeks hurt for the rest of practice, a consequence of the cheerful façade he’s plastered, but the pain subsides — if only for a moment — when he sees you outside the gymnasium, carrying your favourite boba drink in one hand, and his favourite in the other.
“Hey!” you greet, handing him the drink. “How was practice?”
“Awful,” Hinata mopes with a pout. “Your boyfriend here was running it like the navy.”
You frown. Atsumu blanches. “My boyfriend…?”
“Yeah!” Hinata slaps Atsumu on the back. “Him.”
All colour drains from your face. Your grip on your cup loosens for a split second before tightening it again in panic. You look from Hinata, the picture of innocence, to Atsumu, who only stares back, just as bewildered.
Hinata seems to take the hint as his eyes flicker between the two of you in confusion. “Sorry, I… I overheard Bokuto saying you were going on a date with someone, so I assumed—”
“Date?” you interrupt frantically, arms flapping to deny the words that have recklessly tumbled from Hinata’s mouth. “With who— with Atsumu? He’s not— we’re not— I’m not— we’re—”
“We’re friends,” Atsumu finishes, saving you from your stammering. You look at him gratefully, and he can only offer a weak smile in return. “I don’t know why you’d think we’re dating, Shoyo.”
“Sorry—”
“They’re going on a date with someone else.”
You narrow your eyes. “What do you—?”
“Oh, hey,” Sakusa says as he walks out of the doors. He tugs on the string of his mask to make sure it’s secure before nodding at you. “Did you stop by the grocery store yet?”
Atsumu’s words are long forgotten when realization engulfs your figure at the speed of light. “Oh, no! I took a nap and—”
“You really need to fix your sleep schedule.”
“I’ll have you know I slept four hours last night.”
“…That’s not a good thing.”
“It’s an hour more than usual.”
The genuine concern is evident in Sakusa’s eyes before he rubs his temples with a sigh. “Okay, whatever. Let’s go to the store before we head home, I need to buy more protein powder.”
“Ay, ay, captain.”
“Don’t call me that.”
You snicker then turn to Atsumu with a smile he’d move mountains for. “I’ll see you later, Tsumu?”
“Yeah, sure,” he murmurs. “Don’t take too long to get ready.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” you say, patting his cheek. “Thanks for agreeing to drive me there and back.”
He finds himself involuntarily leaning into your touch. “Don’t mention it.”
Your touch lingers for a second too long before you salute him in goodbye and rush to follow Sakusa to your car. Atsumu watches as your figure gets smaller and smaller, a smile on his face as you glance over your shoulder and stick your tongue out when you catch him staring.
He flips you off and makes sure to stick his tongue out, too, in hopes that it’ll make you laugh loud enough for him to hear.
(He doesn’t notice the mischievous glint in Sakusa’s eyes, nor does he catch his name slipping past Sakusa’s lips).
(But he does notice you tilt your head, lost in thought, before you look at him again, attempting to figure him out despite the distance.
He thinks nothing of it).
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Just after his 9am lecture, someone asks Atsumu out on a date.
She’s nice and easy on the eyes; a little timid, but he supposes that’s just the affect he has on people. Big man on campus is what he’s always referred to as, until they realize that he’s nothing if not a goofball off-court. Still, the girl — Miwa is what she said her name was — doesn’t know that yet, so Atsumu gives her the benefit of the doubt.
And he says yes.
At 11:00, the whole team has caught wind of his evening plans, and Sakusa texts him to tell him he’s an idiot. Atsumu frowns, asks why, but Sakusa doesn’t reply.
At 6:00, an hour before his date, he shows up on your doorstep with a bag of clothes and a tie loose around his neck. His left pant leg is tucked into his sock and the other is haphazardly cuffed; his hair is all over the place, sticking up at the back as the result of a hair-gel disaster.
You stare at him with pinched eyebrows. “What do you need?”
“I’ve got a date,” he explains frantically. “I need your help.”
You hesitantly let him in.
At 6:15 is when the argument occurs. The reason why is something Atsumu can’t recall, only that it was something so small and insignificant that the argument shouldn’t have even happened in the first place. He thinks you may have been in a bad mood before he even arrived, but that doesn’t change the fact that you haven’t talked to him in the past five hours.
Oh, right. And the power goes out at 6:45.
He texts Miwa to cancel, promising to reschedule on a day where they won’t be talking to each other in the dark, but his phone dies before he gets a response. With a shrug, he tosses it onto the coffee table and makes a mental note to charge it as soon as the power comes back on, knowing full well that he’ll forget the reminder the second he makes it.
He should feel more guilty about the fact that he cares more about your absence than his postponed date.
Atsumu stares at your door for far too long before deciding that he’ll apologize to you — for what, he doesn’t know, but apologize first, ask questions later is his motto — once you’ve left your room. He’ll grovel and get on his knees and even humiliate himself if he has to, as long as it gets you to talk to him again, because God knows he’ll never survive this outage by himself.
(Also, you’re his best friend, and — Atsumu has never told anybody this — the last time you gave him the silent treatment, his chest physically hurt from not speaking to you that he vowed to never anger you again).
It’s 11:35, and you still haven’t left your room.
For the past few hours, you’ve been watching Netflix without headphones to torture a bored Atsumu, but the noises stopped about ten minutes ago, meaning your phone must’ve died too, so it’s only a matter of time before you leave your room in hopes of finding something to do.
Atsumu’s almost giddy at the thought.
At 11:50, he makes his move.
He hears the creaking of your door and your socked feet softly padding in the hallway. Atsumu’s always tried going to sleep early so he can hit the gym before it gets too busy the next morning, so you must’ve waited the latest you could bear with the assumption that he had fallen asleep on the couch.
Atsumu tiptoes to the end of the hallway, teeth bright compared to the darkness of the apartment, and his grin only widens when you finally see him.
You blink before scoffing, brushing past him to enter the kitchenette.
“Y/N,” he says, attempting to be stern but it comes off as a whine in his desperation. “Look at me.” You spare him a glance. Atsumu deems that’s good enough. “Listen, I’m sorry.”
He watches you open a cupboard and fill your glass with water. The seconds that pass by are agonizingly slow and Atsumu shifts uncomfortably when the silence drags on.
Finally, you look at him, unamused, and say, “What exactly are you sorry for?”
He purses his lips in thought. “Uh…”
Rolling your eyes, you turn to make your way back to your room.
“Wait! Wait,” Atsumu shouts, rushing over to block the exit. His eyes dart all over the kitchen in hopes the walls will have the answer to your question. You tap your foot impatiently, and it’s only when you go to open your mouth to tell him to move that he blurts out, “I’m sorry for eating the rest of your chocolate cake.”
You look at him incredulously. “That was you?”
“Yeah, I— wait, you’re not mad about that?”
“I am now!” you huff, using an arm to try and shove him out of the way, but he catches your wrist.
“Then I don’t get it!” he groans. “What did I do?”
You give him a once-over. “Well, what didn’t you do?”
“This is about the outfit?”
“You’ve cuffed your slacks, Tsumu. They’re cuffed. No sane person cuffs their slacks.”
He struggles to wrap his head around your response. “You’re mad,” he repeats, then gestures to his outfit confusedly, “about what I’m wearing.”
You seem to realize just how ridiculous it sounds uttered out loud, because you pout. “Not just that.”
“Then what else?”
You stumble over your words before you coherently state, “You’re going on a date.”
He frowns. “Yes.”
“You’re going on a date,” you say again when it’s obvious he’s not catching on to what you mean. When all Atsumu can manage is a perplexed sound, you add frustratedly, “You’re going on a date, which I don’t understand, since Sakusa told me that I didn’t need to worry anymore, but I guess he’s wrong because you came here asking for my help with looking nice on your night out with Miwa and—”
“Wait,” Atsumu interrupts, still puzzled. “What did Sakusa tell you?”
“He told me not to worry.”
“Worry about what?”
That snaps you out of it.
You open and close your mouth like a fish out of water. Then, you cross your arms over your chest, muttering out a response with feigned nonchalance, “Whatever.”
Atsumu protests, “Hey, I—”
“Where were you even going to take her?” you swiftly change the subject, and Atsumu decides that he’ll let it go — that’s what he’s been doing for a while, anyway, and another day really couldn’t hurt, could it?
“Dancing,” he says.
“Dancing?”
“Yes,” he responds, relaxing at the sight of your amusement. “I searched up unique date ideas and Google told me to take her dancing.”
“You should’ve just taken her to dinner,” you say. “Because you can’t dance.”
“That’s not true at all.”
“You were born with two left feet.”
“Quit lying, you’re only saying that because you’re mad at me.”
“I’m only telling you the truth!”
“I’m a good dancer!”
“You really aren’t. I thought that was established two weeks ago when we were playing Just Dance and you knocked over Aran’s vase.”
“That says nothing about my ability to—”
“Yes, it does.”
“I’ll prove it.”
“Yeah, okay, sure.”
“I’m serious,” he says, stretching his hand out for you to take.
You look at his palm and back up at him. “You’re kidding.”
“Not in any way, shape, or form.”
“We don’t even have music—”
“I’ll sing,” he shakes his hand. “C’mon, hurry up, my arm’s getting tired.”
Without a second thought, you interlace your fingers with his as he whisks you around the kitchen, his laugh loud when you yelp at his fast movements. He places his other hand on the small of your back to keep you from slipping on the tile as he leans to whisper into your ear.
“Any song requests?”
“None. You’re an awful singer,” you retort, bristling at the warmth of his breath.
“So, what are you saying? You’d rather waltz in silence?”
“Yes. And I wouldn’t even call this waltzing. We’re just sliding around the kitchen.”
“We’re waltzing,” Atsumu says firmly, daring you to argue. You only sigh, letting him pull you closer as you two clumsily move around the room. He sings your favourite song despite your insistence for him not to, humming the parts he doesn’t know and doing his best to hit every note.
You laugh into his chest, and he makes sure the sound is trapped in his ribcage so he’ll never have to go a day without it.
When the song reaches its end, you place your head on his shoulder, your breath piercing through his blazer and skin. “I’m sorry that I got mad at you,” you whisper despite the quiet, as if making your voice any louder will shatter the atmosphere. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“It’s okay,” he murmurs.
“It’s not, but thanks for trying to make me feel better,” you say timidly. “I guess I just got my hopes up.”
Atsumu tries to get the information out of you again, the very thing that’s been bothering you — and, as a result, him — for weeks. “About what?”
Your fingers tighten around his. “Nothing,” you answer, and if you notice just how much his posture deflates then you say nothing of it. “Can we stay like this for a little while?”
“Yeah, of course,” he says, rubbing circles onto the back of your hand. “We can stay for as long as you want.”
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iii. Love
“You’re gonna get it in my eye!”
“Then stay still!”
“Just promise not to poke me.”
“I’ve already promised five times.”
“Then promise again!”
“Tsumu—” you sigh, slumping your shoulders as you meet his defiant gaze. “I promise I won’t get anything into your eyes or your mouth or your nostrils. Cross my heart and hope to die.”
Atsumu narrows his eyes. “For some reason that doesn’t make me feel much better.”
You groan. “We’ve been over this millions of times—”
“Sue me for thinking you’re still mad at me.”
“I told you—”
“Sakusa got into my head,” he explains for the umpteenth time that evening, “he keeps on saying I’ve done something wrong, but he won’t tell me what, and he keeps looking at me as if I’ve committed a felony. His face keeps me up at night, it’s the reason why I’ve had so many nightmares recently—”
“Sakusa’s being a nuisance. Trust me, you haven’t done anything wrong,” you assure, your voice echoing off the walls of your tiny bathroom. “You have nothing to worry about, so stop acting like I’m trying to kill you with this face mask.”
He stares pointedly at the tub sitting next to you on the sink. “It’s scarily green,” he whispers conspiratorially. “Like, it’s Hulk-green. Nothing should be that green.”
“If you’re implying it’s poisonous, it’s not.”
“That’s what they want you to think.”
“You’re ridiculous,” you grumble, spreading the mask across his cheeks, ignoring his murmured whines about how cold it feels on his skin. “You weren’t acting like this last time.”
“You were using a different face mask last time,” he rebuts. “I liked the other one better than this one.”
“Well, I’ll keep that in mind the next time I go to the store,” you hum. “Maybe I’ll even take you with me, so you can choose the face mask. It’ll save me from your complaining in the future.”
“You love my complaining,” he replies quickly. “But I really should. I’d make your grocery trips so much more fun.”
“You’d get us kick out.”
“Would not!” Atsumu scoffs when you don’t even bother to hide your unconvinced mien and places his hands on either side of the marble countertop, trapping you against him and the sink. “I’ll prove it this weekend.”
You shake your head. “I’m not going this weekend. The fall festival is on Saturday, remember? I’m holding off spending money this week so I can buy a ton of cotton candy without feeling guilty.”
“Really?” he snorts. “You’re not gonna get wasted this year?”
“Definitely not. Last year was a nightmare.”
“You don’t even remember what happened.”
“Exactly,” you say, smoothing out the mask. “And you’re always taking care of me when I’m drunk, it makes me feel bad.”
Despite his proximity, you don’t seem to feel the intensity of his stare. His demeanour has softened in the past five minutes, smiling warmly at the pinch between your brows and the way your lips have twisted into a focussed frown.
This has happened countless times before — on all the other self-care nights, Atsumu finds himself in the four walls of your bathroom, free to admire you all he wants without the company of his friends and their teasing remarks. Though he’d never admit it, he prefers the quiet, because here, the both of you aren’t brushing off comments made about your relationship; here, it’s just you and him, pressed against the bathroom sink, worries left behind on the other side of the door.
Here, it’s so peaceful that Atsumu believes, for a few short moments, that everything will be okay.
“Don’t feel bad,” he says breathily, dreading the moment when you finish and he’s forced to pull away. “I like taking care of you.”
“You’re required to do it because we’re friends.”
“No, I like doing it,” he says again, ingraining the statement into your brain so it’ll stay there forever. “You don’t see me letting Bokuto or Hinata — hell, even Suna, stay over at my apartment and sleep in my bed.”
You pause your movements, eyes flickering to his. “What does that make me then?”
“Huh?”
“Bokuto, Hinata, and Suna are your friends, but you don’t pick them up from parties and let them say the night at your place.”
“Well, that’s cause I can’t be bothered most of the time, since they’re usually going to on-campus parties and my place is so far from—”
“But you picked me up a few nights ago,” you interrupt, and Atsumu is drawn to the determination in your irises more than he wants to admit. “And a couple weeks ago too, I think. You’ve been picking me up before I even moved in with Sakusa, and my old place was thirty minutes away.”
“What are you saying, Y/N?”
“What am I to you, Atsumu?”
He grips the countertop so tightly his knuckles are as white as the marble. His heart drums against his ribcage, so loud in the cavity of his chest that he wonders if you can hear it too.
“You’re my friend.”
“Like Bokuto? Or Hinata, or Su—?”
“No, of course not,” he scoffs. Comparing yourself to them is absurd. “It’s diff— you’re different.”
“Different how?”
Suddenly, everything feels stuffy. Tension floods the room until he’s neck-deep in it and drowning, all while you stare up at him, awaiting an answer.
“I—”
Someone knocks loudly on the door.
“Hey!” Bokuto. “Is someone in here?”
You don’t answer. The ball is in Atsumu’s court.
There’s an answer that lingers in his mind, one that he wants to give you despite the risk that it could destroy everything he’s ever known. But as his hesitation grows, the ring buoy that is Bokuto’s voice becomes more tempting — something to save him from this situation where he’s flailing in hope and what-ifs. Something to save him from your want and his dread and all the other sharp objects that could slice your friendship in two.
(Aren’t you the one who’s always saying he should be more responsible?
Doing this is the most responsible thing he could do, isn’t it?)
“We’ll be right out,” he responds, and just as he replies, you pull away from him in defeat.
Everything in his body tightens.
You turn to wash your hands. Through the mirror, he can see you blink rapidly and clench your jaw.
When he finally goes to exit, Bokuto stands impatiently on the other side. His eyebrows rise when he spots the hairband keeping Atsumu’s blond strands out of his face.
“That’s cute,” Bokuto coos, poking at the heart that sticks out from the material.
“Thanks,” Atsumu says, adjusting the band and letting his fingers brush against the plush heart. “It’s Y/N’s.”
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The sun had set a long time ago.
In its absence is the moon, its light barely sufficient to lead you and Atsumu home — home being his apartment, but you’ve been there so much it might as well be your own. It’s alright, though, he thinks; your arm is interlinked with his, and that’s all he’ll ever need to guide him.
Your hips bump his as you both walk down the sidewalk, the air a melody of your laughs as he retells a childhood story about him and Osamu. You fail to refrain the teasing comments that fall from your lips about how he’s always been a troublemaker, long before you ever met him.
“You’re supposed to be on my side,” he’d said a couple minutes ago. “Since I’m your favourite and everything.”
You smile, and every time you do so, the more he believes that the bathroom incident has been forgotten.
But Atsumu’s not stupid. He senses your discomfort — it’s miniscule, but it’s there, and deep down he knows it’s all because of what happened last night.
Every Tuesday, you wait for his evening lecture to finish before you both walk back to his place to watch a movie. Some nights you leave before the clock strikes ten, most nights you stay over. It’s a routine that’s been implemented since he first met you, and never once has it ever felt tense.
Atsumu itches to fix it.
“Hey,” he pipes up, hoping to avoid any uncomfortable lulls in conversation. “You never told me how your date went.”
“My date?”
“Yeah. Bokuto says some guy from your Psychology class asked you out.”
“What?”
“At the party.”
You crinkle your nose in thought before a light bulb goes off in your head. “Are you talking about Kuroo?”
Atsumu’s eyes may as well bulge out of the sockets with how much they’ve widened. “Kuroo asked you out?”
“No,” you say quickly. “Well, yes. But he didn’t mean it. He only did it to get someone to stop bothering him.”
Atsumu frowns. “Then why did Bokuto say—?”
“Bokuto was drunk,” you snicker. “Plus, you know how much of a lightweight he is, and Hinata just kept on giving him drinks, so you can imagine how that went.”
“Not good, probably.”
“Nope,” you say. “Just imagine everything that could’ve gone wrong then double it.”
“Did he puke on Akaashi?”
“Yeah, and on Kuroo too.”
“See, that’s why I never let him stay the night.”
Your smile wavers and he pinches himself for saying anything in the first place.
“That’s probably the only good idea you’ve ever had,” you eventually say, but your voice is weaker than you intend it to be.
Atsumu can’t find the energy to argue.
He allows himself to be pulled down the street, your footsteps hasty compared to how he tries to drag his feet along the cement. Atsumu assumes you want to get this night over with, to spend only an hour — maybe two — with him before bidding goodbye, and the thought causes an ugly feeling to root itself into the pit of his stomach.
The wind whistles in warning. He should’ve expected something like this.
All good things come to an end is something he’s heard far too many times to count, but Atsumu is nothing if not an optimist, and even so, he never thought a saying such as that could ever apply to his friendship with you. Despite the hardships, the two of you have always pulled through.
But the clouds begin to drift over the moon, hindering its light, and his stomach churns at what’s to come.
Your voice, disguised as a remedy to soothe his unease, carries him forward. “Listen, I think I’ll head home after the movie.”
He blinks. “What?”
“I just want to sleep in my own bed tonight, y’know?”
“You can sleep in mine,” he suggests, his tone bordering on a plea. You always sleep in mine. “I can sleep on the couch.”
“It’s okay, Tsumu,” you reply. “You’re probably tired of seeing me all the time, anyway.”
“I’m not,” he insists.
You give him a tight smile in response.
Atsumu’s always believed he was good with words. His voice has failed him before, sure, and it’s not like it’s a secret that sometimes his carelessness lands him in undesirable situations, but he’s usually so quick on his feet. He knows what to say, and if he doesn’t, he can crank up the charm until everyone in the vicinity begins to suffocate on his charisma.
Miya Atsumu is rarely ever speechless.
But then you started acting different, and suddenly he couldn’t decipher your expressions or predict your every move. You would dance with him in the kitchen and tenderly apply skincare products on his face, but no matter how much he pulled you close, you would drift further away. You’d open up before brushing everything off as if he had nothing to worry about.
It's like you haven’t been paying attention at all. If it involved you, Atsumu would always worry.
The question slips out of his mouth too quickly for him to control. “Are you ever gonna tell me what’s wrong?”
“What?”
He stops walking, and as a result, so do you. “Something’s been bothering you,” he says hoarsely. “And I was waiting it out because I thought you’d tell me, but… I feel like you never will.”
You lick your lips — to stall, he thinks, but doing so only spares you a second. “Do you have any guesses?”
“Huh?”
“You’re not an idiot,” you sigh. “You must have some idea.”
(And, perhaps, maybe a small part of him does. You’re his best friend, and he is yours, and you each earned that title by knowing the other like the moon knows the stars, like the stars know the sky, like the sky knows the sun.
He knows, you know he does. But this is irresponsible. It threatens everything).
“I don’t,” he lies.
“Atsumu,” you exhale, as if he’s entangled in your system, “do you really need me to say it?”
He doesn’t answer. You continue, anyway.
Three words are whispered into the dead of night, and the world tilts on its axis.
This was never part of the routine.
“Maybe I should just go home,” you murmur when he doesn’t speak. His fingers twitch, screaming at him to reach out for you as soon as you pull away. “I’ll see you when I see you.”
“Y/N—”
“Just let me go,” you say — you beg. “Please.”
His body screams, his nerves flare, but the messenger between his spinal cord and his brain fails to relay the message that he should do everything in his power to prevent you from leaving.
“Okay,” he responds. His voice sounds like it hasn’t been in use for years, tainted with defeat.
You turn to leave, and for the first time since you’ve met him, Atsumu doesn’t follow.
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Atsumu’s moody, he has been for a while, and it doesn’t take long for everyone to realize it’s because of you.
Or, more specifically, the absence of you.
You’ve been spending more time by yourself than you have been with anyone else, cooped up in the safety of your bedroom and listening to — according to Sakusa — music that ranges from soft, heartbroken ballads, to hardcore fuck-you anthems. The lack of your presence is strange; you’ve always been a constant in Atsumu’s life, and to live without it leaves a lingering emptiness in his chest.
He'll catch glimpses of you sometimes on campus, and he feels, what he assumes to be, the same emotion people feel when they claim they’ve spotted Bigfoot.
For a moment, everything feels a little more bearable.
But then you disappear, leaving sorrow in your wake, and reality washes over him like an ice-cold bucket of water.
His moping is how he ends up tagging along with Bokuto and Hinata at the fall festival, trailing after them like an upset puppy while they frolic down the streets, gawking at all the stands and taste-testing every snack they come across. The plan was to have them cheer him up, to make him smile even if it’s only for a second, because when Atsumu is upset, it becomes everyone else’s problem.
Hinata offers him some funnel cake and Atsumu absentmindedly murmurs about how it’s your favourite. They all buy friendship bracelets and Atsumu buys one for you too because he knows how much you’d want one. They all clamber onto the carousel and Atsumu wonders if you’d fall off if you rode the horse.
Bokuto and Hinata get tired of it all eventually.
“He’s hopeless,” Bokuto cries when they reunite with Suna and Osamu. “He won’t stop whining.”
Atsumu opts for standing on his toes to look over the crowd in hopes of finding you instead of replying to his friend. His eyes drift first to the ring toss, then to the man selling cotton candy, then to the spinning teacups.
Nothing.
Osamu says something that finally catches his brother’s attention. “Well, Y/N’s not coming,” he waves his phone in the air, which is open on his message thread with you. “Said they were busy.”
Hinata huffs. “They’re only saying that cause Tsumu’s here.”
Bokuto slaps his arm. “Shoyo!”
“What? It’s true!” he exclaims defensively. “You know how they’re always on top of their assignments, I doubt they’re doing anything but watching TV and—”
“Yeah, but still, don’t say that! Isn’t Tsum-Tsum heartbroken enough?”
“I am not heartbroken,” Atsumu snarls.
Suna gives him a look. “Well…”
“I’m not!” he flails, frantically gesturing to himself to show that he’s perfectly fine. “I mean, yeah, am I a little upset? Yes. But heartbroken? You guys are just saying anything at this point, like—”
Osamu interrupts him before he can continue rambling and digging himself into a bigger hole. “What did you even do, anyway?”
The Miya twins are notorious on campus for their bickering, but Atsumu thought that in this situation, at least his own brother would be on his side. “What makes you think this is all my fault?”
Osamu raises an eyebrow, mocking and patronizing. “Well, for one—”
“If anything,” Atsumu continues, hurriedly cutting him off, “I should be the one avoiding them. Not that I’d want to, I’d never want to, obviously, but if we were getting technical then they should be the one worrying about me and not the other way around.”
Hinata speaks, mouth full of the last of his funnel cake. “Who says they don’t worry about you?”
“I— wait, what?”
“They’re always asking me and Shoyo about how you’re doing,” Bokuto chirps. “How screwed up could things be that you won’t talk to each other?”
Atsumu inhales, and he feels the world begin to collapse into him. Unsure of what to say, unsure of what to think, unsure if it’s fair of him to reach for his phone and hope you’ll answer his calls. He knows why the two of you have found yourselves here, standing on opposite sides of a field of regret and hurt. He knows, that in his attempt to dodge change, he blew something up in the process.
Suna tilts his head in question. “Atsumu. What happened?”
Atsumu exhales. “They told me that—” the words lodge themselves in his throat, unwilling to leave.
But they all understand.
“Huh,” Suna hums. “Didn’t think they had it in them.”
“What did you reply with?” Osamu asks.
Atsumu prepares himself for their rage. “Nothing.”
He’s met with silence. Then, incredulously, Suna asks, “Are you stupid?”
Osamu answers for him. “Chronically so.”
Atsumu doesn’t have the heart to respond to the jab, and the severity of the situation significantly increases.
Hinata bites the inside of his cheek in thought. “I think he’s broken.”
Bokuto leans forward to study Atsumu’s expression as much as he can before the latter waves him off. With a frown, Bokuto steps back and looks around the grounds, hoping to find something that’ll cheer Atsumu up and make tonight not a complete bust.
A tent, flashy and sparkly and enchanting, lures him in.
Osamu looks like he’s about to say something, but before he can utter a word, Bokuto tugs on Atsumu’s sleeve and drags him to the tent, ignoring his protests. “I have an idea,” he says reassuringly, but it does nothing to calm his friend. “Trust me on this.”
Atsumu snatches his arm back and rubs it as if Bokuto’s harmed him. He cranes his neck around to look at the sign just outside the tent, and scowls at the pink and yellow doodles on the chalkboard.
“This is a psychic.”
Bokuto nods vigorously. “Yes.”
“Your idea of cheering me up is having me scammed?”
Bokuto pouts. “You love stuff like this.”
He’s not wrong. If it were any other day, this place would be Atsumu’s first stop. He’d be the one begging people to join him despite the fact that he knows the consequences involve a dent in his bank account, but today, predictions of his future are the last thing on his mind. Today, convincing people to get their fortune read is the least of his desires, because you aren’t trying to convince people with him.
There’s no point being here without you.
Atsumu moves to get out of line.
“Hey, dude,” Bokuto whines and holds onto his arm to keep him in place. “Just give it a try. It can’t hurt, can it?”
“Boku—”
“It’ll be fun!” he says cheerily. “Maybe it’ll give you some insight on how to apologize to Y/N.”
Atsumu wants nothing more than to move — to leave — but Bokuto mastered the art of the puppy dog eyes long before he could talk, and the moment he flashes them Atsumu realizes he has no other choice but to stay.
When he steps into the tent, the atmosphere changes.
He tugs on the sleeves of his windbreaker when the autumn air threatens to pierce his skin, and reluctantly sits down on the chair across from the psychic. She eyes his every move, trying to figure out what type of customer he might be — someone who’s just doing this for fun, or someone who’s going through a rough patch, or someone who needs a stranger to light the path they need to walk down.
Atsumu fidgets in his seat.
“You’re here for a reading?”
A shrug and feigned indifference are what she receives as an answer. “Sure.”
His mask of nonchalance begins to slip when the reading starts, growing restless as he checks the time on his watch and calculating the probability of you still being awake. He glances over his shoulder, praying to whichever deity who’ll listen that Bokuto will come in and drag him out once he’s realized that this is the last thing Atsumu wants.
You are not here, and his body stings whenever the reminder worms its way into his mind.
His uneasiness must amuse the psychic, because when he finally looks back at her, she’s grinning, knotting his stomach in worry.
She asks him a dreadful question, made of nuts and bolts and things that rub salt in the wound of his heart.
What is it that you desire most, boy?
Atsumu freezes, plastering a confused smile on his face. “I’m sorry?”
“I’m sure you know. Is it strength?”
Definitely not, Atsumu wants to say. He’s more than capable enough to lift heavy boxes, he doesn’t have to take multiple trips to move things from point A to point B, he doesn’t struggle carrying his friends’ slump and inebriated bodies into a bed.
Atsumu is strong. He’s proved it during his frequent trips to the gym and by winning arm-wrestling contests. He wears the trait like a badge of honour, a reminder.
He does not need any more physical strength.
He checks his watch and wonders if you’ve brushed your teeth and dragged yourself to bed.
The psychic pushes. “Power?”
Atsumu briefly shakes his head, a movement so miniscule it’s a surprise the woman catches it.
It used to be such a thrill, the popularity that came with his volleyball reign. He used to ride that horse and sit in that throne with pride, he let the excitement course through him and, for a while, let himself believe the squeals that came with victory was interchangeable with love.
But power does not compare. He was foolish to believe nothing could beat the rush that came with the admiration — the shouts of his name in the bleachers, the ever-growing follower count, the people confessing their infatuation whenever they caught him alone.
They do not know who he is underneath the volleyball uniform. They don’t know that he likes to go to the diner after games and order a strawberry milkshake, or that his bottom drawer is filled to the brim with spare clothes for you, or that his favourite nights are spent with you applying a face mask to his skin.
They will never know him as much as you do.
The psychic leans forward. “Love?”
Atsumu clenches his jaw. Yes, would be the short answer, but to say that without an explanation would mean to lie, and he’s never been a good liar. Because Atsumu’s always been loved — not by the crowds or the student body — but by his friends, his family, you.
You gave your heart to him, and he noticed too late that the bleeding organ resided in the palm of his hand, cracked and yearning and brave. And after he realized this, he selfishly craved for more, even though he knew it scared him. He has been in relationships before, but none of them crossed the threshold of what truly mattered — the intimate conversations, the dances in the kitchen at midnight, the confessions murmured under the duvet.
So, perhaps, yes, Atsumu desires love, but the one thing he supposes he wants more is courage.
The psychic smiles. “Ah. Bingo. So—”
“Miya.”
Atsumu whips his head around to find Sakusa standing at the entrance, skillfully ignoring the protests behind him to get in line and wait his turn. Sakusa raises an eyebrow at the situation Atsumu’s found himself in, but saves him from his judgement to state, “Bokuto told me you were in here.”
“Excuse me,” the woman chirps. “We’re in the middle of something.”
“If you think a scam is what’ll solve your problems, then you’re stupider than I thought,” Sakusa says.
Atsumu sighs. “You came here just to tell me that?”
“Well, yeah,” Sakusa shrugs. “There’s a simpler solution to all of this.”
“Okay, well—”
“Talk to them,” Sakusa interrupts, exhausted. “Before they give up.”
Atsumu kisses his teeth, changing his position in his chair so he’s fully facing Sakusa. “Since when were you the type to give advice?”
Sakusa ignores his retort with a shake of his head and a roll of his eyes.
“I have never seen you cower before, Miya,” Sakusa says, and the words are like needles on his skin. “Don’t let the first time you do so be now.”
Atsumu inhales shakily. “I don’t—”
“They got Hinge a few days ago,” Sakusa deadpans. Atsumu stiffens. “Don’t lose to some hack they found on a dating app.”
Atsumu looks from his friend to the clairvoyant before flashing her a sheepish smile and shooting clumsily out of his chair. The words that tumble from his mouth are barely coherent, and the last thing he hears before he exits the tent is Sakusa mumbling moron under his breath.
The journey from the festival to your apartment is a blur. He vaguely recalls running past his friends and returning their questioning shouts with a wave of his hand and getting angry at least two cars who cut him on the road, before he ends up in front of your door, nose tinged red from the cold.
His knocks are insistent.
“I’m coming, God, be patient,” he hears you say before you open the door to see him, and your annoyance is wiped away in seconds.
“Hi,” he says, out of breath from running up three flights of stairs after he got impatient waiting for the elevator. His eyes land on the blanket you’ve wrapped over your shoulders, and his lips quirk up at the familiar pattern. “Didn’t I get you that?”
You tug on the material defensively. “What are you doing here?” you ask. “And what the hell are you wearing? Did you not look at the weather before you left the house? It’s freezing outside, you idiot, you should be wearing a thicker jacket. And your face is so red! And your hands! They’re gonna get all dry if you don’t wear gloves! How many times do I have to tell you to dress for the weather otherwise you’ll get sick and…”
Atsumu rasps, “And?”
You gulp, taking a step back to distance yourself. “And you shouldn’t be here,” you say, sending a knife to his chest. “I thought you were at the festival.”
“That’s why you didn’t come,” he concludes. “Because I was there.”
“Well, what do you expect me to do?” you snap. “I told you I loved you and you looked at me like I was crazy.”
“I didn’t.”
“Whatever,” you bark. “My point still stands. You shouldn’t be here.”
He nods. “I know.”
“Then why are you?”
Eight letters are whispered into the darkness of the entryway, and the world is thrown off-balance.
“I love you,” he says, surprising himself with just how easy the words escape after he lets them, “and I’m so, so sorry.”
Your lips part in surprise. “What?”
“I love you,” he repeats. “And I should’ve told you sooner, but I— I was scared—”
“Then why are you telling me now?”
“I don’t know,” he whispers. “Love conquers all, I guess. My fear included.”
“You came all the way here to tell me that?”
He risks a step towards you and his heart flutters when you don’t move away. “I ran out of a psychic’s tent, too.”
“What?”
“I’ll tell you later,” he murmurs. “That’s not important right now.”
“It sounds pretty important, I mean, you mentioned it and everything.”
“It’s not.”
“What exactly is more important than that?”
“Your forgiveness, actually.”
You huff. “Believe it or not, forgiveness doesn’t come so easily, Atsumu.”
“Can I kiss you, then?” he questions innocently, placing a hand against your cheek. “Will you take that as an apology?”
You still, licking your lips as you try to maintain your defiant stance. “…That won’t work every time you make me mad, you know.”
He tries his best not to smirk. “Is that a yes?”
“I hate you.”
He lets his lips hover over yours, and he’s not sure if the loud heartbeat ringing in his ears is his or yours (or maybe a mixture of both). “Is that yes?” he asks again, searching your eyes for any signs of discomfort.
Your eyes flicker to his mouth and then you mumble, “Yes.”
Atsumu pinches himself before capturing his lips with yours, eager and desperate, to kiss you with enough pent-up want and need to cause you to stumble. He’s gentle in the way he cradles your face, as if the world has found itself in his hands, still beautiful despite how much he’s hurt it.
He’ll make up for hurting you later, but for now he’ll allow himself to be selfish.
I love you, he whispers into your mouth, and you capture the confession with your own and let it live in your beating heart.
I love you, he whispers into your neck as you both stumble into the kitchen, making sure to tattoo the words into your skin so you’ll never forget.
“I love you,” he whispers one last time as the blanket covers you both and he’s sure you’ve lulled to sleep with your ear against his chest and his thumb drawing hearts on your shoulder, “so, so much.”
Slumber takes over you both, blanketing your smiling figures with hope and love.
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© fushisagi, 2023. do not translate or plagiarize my works.
#oh my fucmgoin god#this was so so so so so so good#i had to pause every few paragraphs bc i had those heart constricty squeezy feelings and i just !!!#op u r so talented !!! first of all !!! i love the writing !!!!#it’s so easy to read 😭 easily didn’t feel like 12k at all omg#and the pacing is IMMACULATE 😭 actually perfect omfg 😭😭#and i love how u characterise atsumu !!!!#i love me a friends to lovers esp w atsumu and u did it so so so so so well im crying#i was actually sniffling at the end ????? omfg#and the yearning is so strong with both of them !!!#the tension!!! the things unsaid !!!#and i love how u made everyone so involved too 🥺 their lil friend group is so cute#and the dynamics are perfect !!! 🥺🥺😭😭 literally!!!! it’s so good#the banter between atsumu & reader 😭 its so precious !!! my heart is so full of them !!!!#i also love how it all connects to the start at the end 😭#idt thats an easy thing to do when writing so im rlly just wow in awe#i also !!! love the way its chaptered omg 😭 i love it when writing is structured based on the theme ianskxjd#op u describe scenes so well!!! and feelings!!! and dialogues!!! triple threat literally !!! so good!!!#is the blanket in the end the one tsumu bought for them to replace the blanket he ruined 😭😭😭 cos if it is 😭😭😭 thats perfect placement op#im squeezing my heart at the thought of that !!!#i also love !!! how the confession was omitted until the very end#like the words themselves were censored so that when the time came it’d hit full force 😭😭 and it did 😭😭 my heart was clenCHING#there are so many lines that i love too!!!#im so afraid in gonna go over tag limit omg im sorry im saying so many things 😭#hq!!#atsumu#hurt/comfort#after moving reader in when atsumu is like ‘i’ll be there’ omFg 🤧 so much said in the unspoken im WHEEZING#you also write so wittily op ???? like INSANE#‘atsumu calls it a housewarming gift. sakusa says there is hardly anything warming about it’
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acid-ixx · 5 months ago
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Ohhhhhhhmisggashoosghhh
I love everything about "before the bell rings"
Such masterpiece such peakness oh my goodkdasssdffrddf. Couldnt stop thinking abt it couldnt stop rereading it its ltrly currently 3:11 am rn i wasnt aware of the time all i know was that i was obsessively drawing this man with your story in my mind my god i couldnt stop giggling and blushing n i had to take few breaks n paces in my room to cool off
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HOPE U ARENT TOO WEIRDED OUT
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— related post ! (tw: a bit nsfw, non-con kissing)
OHMYGOD. OHMYGOD!!! user luffyadolover you are the gift that keeps on giving because WHAT THE HELL??? more than five sketches of this feral, horny man and HE'S SO HANDSOME ILYSM FOR THIS!!! i'm actually so down bad i had to stare at the last image for a few minutes because YOU DREW THE ENTIRE SCENE SO WELL.
i love the first image, you drew him so well, the slick-back hair and everything!?!? with him looking all so proud of himself when he chooses something for his spouse that they actually really like, as if he didn't just planned to ignore you or to simply hastily choose whichever looks the fanciest; that was the plan until his brain haywires just witnessing the absolute joy on your face every time he picks something right; imprinting the memory of your smile in his brain to the point he sees it every time he blinks— so now it's become his daily mission after falling for you to traverse each and every shopping site and malls in his batcave to ensure you only get the highest quality of gifts. mind you, he is a very dedicated man, bruce wayne doesn't give up so easily.
AND THE SECOND AND THIRD IMAGES TOO !!! with his mask on, you couldn't really tell just how obsessed he is, due to the blunt face he always has to wear, but the comparison of him without; with the stare that speaks of a million promises all dedicated to honoring and cherishing his beloved spouse. he doesn't need wedding vows when his eyes (always almost unexpressive, unable to fully show the full range of his emotions; vulnerable in the midst of worshipping his sleeping, little deity) already presents what your future life would like with him.
it doesn't matter if you're drooling, or butt-fuck naked. if i say he's remembering every small, incoherent detail about how you sleep, what position you sleep in, even the position you bury your head in the pillow, let that devotion cement in the very crevices of his mind and in every corner of his heart. it wouldn't matter anyways that you're sleeping alone, hugging a pillow (that should've been him) now, because soon, you'd be quickly migrated in his bed, in his arms, and you won't be getting out. he'd be too invested in the smell of your hair, the feel of the pudge in your stomach, and the seams of your clothing rubbing against his thighs to even allow you to let go.
AND GOD, THE SKETCH WHERE HE'S JUST LICKING THE SPIT AND ALL?!? my brain is malfunctioning, i'm going insane. this is my favorite fanart of yours so far, i'm so grateful for your existence because you've graced me 😭 i'm absolutely not going to deny the future accusations of me writing for debauched and absolutely feral and/or horny bruce wayne!!! trust me when i'm telling you that he's not only memorizing exterior parts of you, but bruce promises (it's actually just him justifying his actions) himself that he has to remember what the inside of your mouth feels like to fully and properly kiss you before your wedding date arrives, just to establish how much of an absolutely perfect husband he will be for you.
to make up for all his past mistakes of absolutely ignoring you, to ensure you that it's not you who's the problem— it's him and he has to fix it all. he has to guarantee that you won't even dare look at another man; even if it means watching you every night disguised as the bat, then coming home to the manor (your shared home, soon) by the time the sun breaks out of its sleepy stupor, just to dream about what it'd feel like pinning you willingly and taking you all for himself after your honeymoon— how could a man like him stop dreaming about his beloved spouse? how could he control his hands to stop lingering beneath his utility belt just to touch and pleasure his body the same way he wishes to worship yours?
the answer is: you don't. or rather, you couldn't.
so if you ever feel your lips becoming more and more sore every other night, and notice the trinkets from your desk and even undergarments from your closet now missing... well, you'll soon know who the culprit is...
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a/n: no, i do not tolerate this behavior irl. once again, pls be aware guys that this is a yandere blog (and i've been writing content like this for years) and i'm bound to write more extreme concepts compared to this. the only element that never disappears from this is that i'm writing under the sub-"category" of soft yandere. that doesn't mean it doesn't stray away from the eventual dub-con/non-con.
once again, thank u so much for the dedication to send me so many good fanarts @luffyadolover 😭🥹, although i may not always reply quickly, i appreciate you and all the other fanartists who spend their time drawing inspired by my content. it's truly an honor, and in all my years of writing, you guys are one of the reason why i still continue to write <333
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melosliving · 4 months ago
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im not sure if you did this yet BUT HEAR ME OUTTT, what if reader played in a movie with both aaron and kelvin and they are doing a interview together and they both discreetly see reader fidgeting with her hands and dress and try to secretly stop her and then after the interview is over they talk to her about it because its been going on for a minute…
Let me cook girl 😎 thanks for your request baby ❤️❤️
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aaron pierre n kelvin harrison jr x actress!reader
you’re a nervous little thing…
warnings : dissociation
Press days are nothing new. You’ve done this a hundred times before—same routine, different city. Bright lights, velvet chairs, a round of staged laughs and knowing glances. Kelvin cracking jokes, Aaron making effortless comebacks, you sitting between them, playing the perfect balance to their chaos. It’s familiar. Easy.
But today, something feels off.
You’re aware of the cameras, the energy of the room, the way your dress sits against your skin—but it all feels distant, like you’re watching from somewhere outside yourself. Your hands won’t stay still, fingers brushing over the fabric of your dress, tapping against your knee, pressing against your rings. The voices around you sound far away, the world slightly out of sync.
Then you feel something. Aaron shifts beside you, the movement so small it’s barely noticeable, but suddenly his knee is pressed lightly against yours. But it his his hand that makes you aware of what you were doing. He doesn’t look at you, doesn’t make a show of it, just lets the warmth of his hand seep into you like an anchor.
A beat later, Kelvin exhales through his nose, almost like a sigh, and leans back in his chair, arms resting on the armrests—but one of them, the one closest to you, brushes against your own. The weight is barely there, just the slightest pressure of skin against skin, but it’s intentional.
You breathe in slowly, focusing on that—on them. On the way their presence feels steady, how they’ve closed in around you just enough to remind you that you’re not drifting alone.
“You good?” Kelvin’s voice is low, casual enough that no one else would catch the concern tucked beneath it.
You nod, just once. He doesn’t push. Neither does Aaron. But they don’t move away either.
The interviewer shifts in her seat, oblivious. “So, let’s talk about the chemistry between you three, because it’s insane in this film,” she says, laughing. “Was that something you had to work on, or was it natural?”
Aaron tilts his head slightly, smirking. “I mean, that’s all her. I think she is what makes us look and feel so real.” He nods in your direction. “She makes it easy.”
Kelvin hums in agreement. “Yeah, don’t let her fool you. She’s got people thinking we were actually in love out here.”
You huff a small laugh, trying to shake the fog in your head. “You two were just as bad.”
Aaron turns toward Kelvin with a knowing look. “I did catch you staring a few times.”
Kelvin scoffs. “Excuse You, you were the one looking at my mouth every other scene.”
Aaron raises a brow. “Because you wouldn’t stop licking your lips.” Kelvin gestures toward you. “Well, she kept whispering in my ear, so how was I supposed to focus?”
You blink at him. “That was literally in the script.”
Aaron exhales dramatically. “Didn’t have to say it like that, though.” Kelvin hums. “Yeah, some of those lines felt… personal.”
You shake your head, a small smile tugging at your lips. “You two are ridiculous.”
Aaron grins, shifting slightly so his elbow just barely nudges against yours. “And yet, you keep coming back.”
Kelvin leans in, voice dropping just enough that only you can hear. “You okay now?” You nod again. “Yeah. Thanks.”
Kelvin holds your gaze for a second longer before leaning back. Aaron doesn’t say anything, just taps his fingers lightly against your knee once—brief, barely noticeable—before returning his hand to his lap.
The conversation moves on, but the weight in your chest feels a little lighter. The moment the cameras stop rolling, Kelvin turns to you.
“You been doing that a lot lately,” he says, voice quieter now, more serious. Aaron is watching you too, brow slightly furrowed. “Spacing out like that.”
You hesitate, fingers grazing over the rings on your hand again. “It’s nothing. Just happens sometimes.”
Kelvin tilts his head. “You telling us that, or yourself?” You sigh, pressing your lips together. “Both ? I’m fine.”
Aaron doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t push. Instead, he reaches out, smoothing the fabric of your sleeve, his touch light, absentminded. “You don’t have to go through it alone, you know.”
Kelvin exhales, shaking his head. “Yeah. Next time, just tap one of us or somethin’. Let us bring you back.”
You glance between them, their expressions soft, steady, patient. You nod. “Yeah.”
Aaron studies you for a second longer before giving a small, satisfied nod. Then, because he can’t not do it, he smirks. “Or, you know, you could just sit next to me all the time. Let me hold your hand before you start floating off somewhere.”
Kelvin scoffs. “Here he go.”
Aaron shrugs. “I’m just sayin’, I’m right here—”
Kelvin rolls his eyes. “And I’m right here. Not you trying to steal my shine,”
Aaron smirks, leaning in slightly. “Yeah, but she likes me better.” Kelvin huffs out a laugh, then turns to you, expression playful. “Is that true?”
You shake your head, smiling despite yourself. “I’m literally leaving.”
Kelvin grins. “Nah, we’re takin’ you to get food first.” Aaron hums. “Yeah, you definitely need to eat.”
You sigh, but there’s no real protest. “Fine.”
By the time you check your phone, Twitter is already spiraling.
“Kelvin and Aaron subtly closing in around her when she started dissociating… I need a moment.”
“No one’s talking about how Aaron just naturally reached for her hand without even looking? Hello???”
“Kelvin whispering ‘you okay now?’ with that serious look??? SIR, PLEASE.”
“They’re so soft with her but still manage to be the most unserious men alive. It’s unfair.”
@ melosliving 2025
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ofswordsandpens · 2 years ago
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actually I also wanna talk about the part where Percy convinces Bob to kill Hyperion because even though Percy never says anything outright sinister, the way he handles the entire situation with such cool ease, playing on Bob’s emotions... its so insane???
Because Annabeth’s reaction to the three of them encountering Hyperion reforming is: “oh this is bad we need to get out of here” She knows if Bob remembers himself, that it's not going to play out well for Percy and her. She also thinks about how they're being pursued and don't have a lot of time. Her solution to the problem, seemingly, is to leave.
But Percy's solution is to work the situation to his advantage. He re-affirms Bob's loyalty to him:
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Percy then re-establishes Bob's moral code: "Some monsters are good. Some are bad. This Titan is bad. He tried to kill me and a lot of people. He's not good like you are."
And it ends with Percy leaving the choice of whatever to do with Hyperion to Bob but of course, is it really what Bob chose to do? Bob decides to kill Hyperion. It's not what he may have done, if Percy hadn't intervened. But it's exactly what Percy was oh-so-sweetly leading Bob to do.
And listen, I'm not claiming that it was exactly morally bankrupt of Percy to take advantage of a once-evil titan who could get him and his girlfriend through hell in one piece. Percy, Annabeth, they manipulate monsters and enemies all the time. Annabeth ended the previous book with manipulating Arachne into weaving her own web. So it's not exactly like she's against using manipulative tactics, in theory.
But Bob, at this point, is not just some monster. He is so painfully sincere in his belief in Percy and their friendship, so yes, it does feel a bit sinister whenever Percy uses Bob... and he really uses Bob.
And I think what makes the scene so unsettling, it isn't just that Percy manipulated Bob, its how well Percy manipulated him. He manipulates Bob so well that Percy doesn't even have to kill Hyperion... because Bob does it for him. He manipulates Bob so well, that Annabeth couldn't tell if Percy was purposefully trying to manipulate the situation. (Newsflash, he most definitely was). Like holy shit.
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celuere · 1 month ago
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hii!!!🩷 i must say this, i've been following your blog since your first ever fic and i'm so so in love with all of them!!! can i please please request a soft smut scene of pregnant reader with arle? reader is just shy about her body and your future dad!arle taking care of her wife is just so 😚😚🤤 thank you and please take care of yourself!!🩷 absolutely adoring your fics!!!
pairing: Arlecchino x pregnant!reader
cw: transfem!arlecchino, fluff, pregnant sex, slight lactation kink, just arle being a sucker for her wife in general
I’m so pathetic for Arlecchino taking care of pregnant wifey, giving me heavy baby fever fr
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„There, there… take your time, my love…“, a warm hand sneaked around your own, fingers interlacing as the other one gently guided you by the hip over her lap. Specifically, over her throbbing dick. The leaking cockhead dripping with the proof of her obvious arousal and Arlecchino never had to pull herself together so bad as she did now.
But you were pregnant. And it was you who needed some desperate relief. The libido during your pregnancy kept itself always at a pretty low level- only until recently. It started around two weeks ago with innocent things.
Helping you put your shoes on? You were down. Carrying you up the stairs to your bedroom if your feet hurt? You were down. Gently rubbing the tummy oil over your baby belly after a long day while she tells you about her day? You. Were. Down.
And you thought you went insane in the last two days. You couldn’t even look at her merely talking to one of her agents without wanting to mount her, is this what a heat feels like?
Originally you expected her to decline, maybe even scold you for it to even think about intimacy when you were carrying her child underneath your heart.
Yet, she put her paperwork aside onto the nightstand in an instant.
And now you were already slowly lowering yourself on her cock, prior to having her position you correctly because navigating became a little difficult with a pregnancy belly at the end of its second trimester.
Archons if it weren‘t for her dignity, Arlecchino would have busted a good load already by the time you merely passed her tip. You were so welcoming around her, like home. Only noticing how rapidly her chest rose and sunk back, the Knave was gripping onto her self-restraint with all her might.
„O-oh goodness… P-Peru… a-and you truly like what you‘re seeing…? Y-You don’t have to pretend, r-really…“, an insult would’ve been less offensive to her. To her you looked like a prodigy of beauty, as if Celestia had played favorites when you were created.
„What… a nonsense. You only get more beautiful with each passing day for me, ma cherie… especially with that beautiful belly of yours…”, a hot shiver travelled down your spine as her hand from your hip moved over to the obvious tummy, now rubbing soothing circles with her thumb over your skin. It still baffles her to this day that you‘re actually pregnant- that this is her child you are nurturing inside there. And she was eternally grateful for it. For you.
And you looked so incredibly beautiful to her. A certain glow started to surround you ever since you got wind of the news. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it but it made her want to marry you all over again.
Maybe she just will.
„A-Arle… p-please don’t give me heartattack l-like this…“, you squeezed the cursed hand that was still intertwined with your own, trying to maintain a pace that won’t tire you out immediately but was also satisfying enough for you was harder than you originally imagined. Your swollen breasts only idly moving with your gentle pace, but the embarrassment could’ve been straight from the deepest pits of hell itself when you felt them release the warm milk stored inside them. An annoying occurrence you started noticing with the begin of your libido torture two weeks ago.
„G-god I’m sorry- P-Peruere I am so sorry-”, your voice was faltering every two syllables as you tried to compose the humiliation flooding your body. This was another level of torture.
„Shhhh… this is nothing to apologize for, my flower.“, and she had her lips wrapped around your leaking nipple in no time. Her tongue gliding over the sensitive bud as if she were savoring a gourmet meal. At least you tasted like one to her.
Well. This might be just more fuel to your libido-situation.
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sir--cumference · 6 months ago
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Its dawning on me how completely unhinged jayce and viktor's arcs were in s2. Like i was fully chilling feeling confident we'd get some friends to enemies shit, some nasty fights, maybe a last minute reconciliation and acknowledgement that nothing will ever be the same. I was like riot would never make them canon theyre too cowardly to make men kiss
Now im just like.... Jayce brings Viktor back to life with the thing he promised to destroy bc its evil? Ok word love it. Viktor leaves him for saving his life and breaking his promise? Hot. Viktor becomes jesus, healing shimmer leprosy? Turns into a hivemind? Uses other peoples bodies to be like "hiii jayce! Look what i did! :D Come say hi i missed u!"?? Jayce shows up all dirty and rugged with ptsd from wherever he was and just KILLS HIM with no explanation? We find out Jayce was in the future where everyone is a fucked up broken cunty robot husk? He meets future jesus viktor who is lonely bc he turned everyone cunty and robotic? Jayce promises him to murder him? BUT Viktor's brought back by singed using werewolf vanders blood and creates his giant hivemind of fabulous porcelain gaybots? He uses one to dance around and choke Jayce out and climb him like a koala on a eucalyptus tree all the while begging him to join the hive mind? All in front of Jayce's (ex?) Gf? I cannot help but stan. He cries in the astral plane when jayce says no i will not become part of your robot fungus network? Viktor becomes 8 or 9 feet tall, long metal face split in half plus creepy mask PLUS giant glowing third arm claw thing and confronts jayce and is just happily spewing nonsense about how he solved all of humanitys problems in a strangely cheerful horrifying slavik robot voice? Jayce is like please stop youre insane, all pouty, and Viktor just starts to fly and chokes him again? Two choking scenes?? Okay. Jayce finds himself in the same position as his metal husk self from the future and surrenders to Viktor immediately and the second he sees normal human viktor in the astral plane hes like "your imperfections make you BEAUTIFUL"? ekko knocks viktor on the head with a time travel device, breaks his face, and now Viktor's like oh shit maybe i actually kind of fucked up? Jayce tells him he saw him in the future and future vik told him life without Jayce is "fields of dreamless solitude"? They astral hug and Jayce gives him the stone magic Viktor gave him as a child and is like lets hold hands and disintegrate and save the universe together? They explode in a flash of bisexual lighting while touching foreheads????
Nothing about this made sense and i ate up every second. Truly a new standard for queer representation. We dont want kisses we want a nonsensical fever dream. I want to feel like i rode a roller coaster backwards and then someone threw a drink in my face and lit me on fire. Fuck me i guess? (Positive)
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rosenclaws · 8 months ago
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Hi!!! I love your writing so much <3<3
I was wondering if you had any thoughts about taking Leopold's virginity? Because I saw you mention that you think he might be a virgin :))
HI YES I HAVE MANY THOUGHTS!!
This is with an afab!reader who is not a virgin in mind but no pronouns are used.
warnings: MINORS DNI!! oral (m and f receiving), soft sex, leo being a bit of a switch/sub
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Leopold’s first time headcanons
Okay so Leo is a virgin but because he’s a prude or because there isn’t anyone who wants to sleep with him. I mean damn the first scene of the movie is girls basically fawning over him lol. I think he views sexual intimacy as something that needs to be cherished.
It should be something romantic. A true, deep connection between two people who have given their hearts to each other and Leo has never felt that way until you.
When it comes to Leo’s first time I think there's a lot of lead up. Like a nice dinner and a bath together maybeee. Candles, I mean the whole thing.
Its slow and sweet and a little awkward but the kind of awkward that makes the two of you laugh in each others arms.
You 100% suck him off to start. I mean he’s gorgeous, so pretty and handsome that he deserves to get his dick sucked u know what I’m saying.
He doesn’t know what to do with his hands at all. Like he doesn’t know if he should touch you, touch himself. They keep moving. First they’re gripping the sheets, then they’re above his head clenching into fists, and finally you guide his hands to the sides of your head. Winking as you pick up your pace.
He also is a little loud. He tries at first to suppress his noises but he can't help it. His moans are heavenly. So desperate. He whimpers too btw. Like 100% that is a man who whimpers.
He doesn’t last long. Look Leopold is no stranger to. Getting himself off but this is unlike anything he’s ever felt before. So warm and wet and your hands are on his thighs and its a sensory overload that he can’t help but come hard in your mouth.
Even though it's his first time he really really wants to go down on you. He wants to make you feel good so badly. To make you moan because of him.
He's a little hesitant at first, not sure what to do but after some coaxing he dives right in. At first you think he's a dirty fucking liar about never doing this before because holy shit he is filthy without even trying.
Sloppy and wet and needy as hell as he buries his face in your cunt. He listens eagerly to all your instructions. What you like, what you don't like. He plans on studying you until he remembers every little thing that drives you insane.
HE LOVES TO BE CALLED A GOOD BOY!! I WILL DIE ON THIS HILL. He has a praise kink too. Loves to talk about how wonderful you are, how good you taste, how lucky he is. Oh my god call him a good boy and tug on his hair and he's a fucking goner.
"Such a good boy, so pretty."
He loves eating pussy btw. Like he's can't help himself and slowly humps the bed as he feels himself start to get hard again. He could live between your thighs.
Anyways when it comes to actually having sex you ride him for the first time. Wanting to give him nothing but pleasure. He watches with wide eyes as you sink down on his cock. He needs a second to just process it all. His arms wrapped around you, face buried in your chest as he slowly rolls his hips.
It's slow for the first time. You just riding him nice and slow as you whisper sweet things into his ear. He can't stop telling you how much he loves you. How happy he is. He can't get enough of you, especially when you moan his name. (He's def whimpering again)
After a little bit he'd switch positions to be on top. Missionary but he's got one leg hooked on his shoulder. His hips move slow but get harder with every thrust. Your nails dig into his back with every thrust and it turns him on a little more.
He's kissing every bit of skin he can while he's making love. He loves your neck. The whole experience is just overwhelming to him. It's amazing and wonderful but overwhelming. Every one of his senses are being overloaded with you and he can't get enough.
He makes sure you finish before he does of course. Asking you in a desperate tone what you need and how he can do it for you. Begging you to finish because he's going to explode soon.
"Please, please my love. Tell me what to do. Need to feel you."
When he finishes he (reluctantly) comes on your stomach, rolling over onto his back for a minute. He needs to catch his breath, a smile on his face that won't go away. He just feels completely blissed out.
When you try to move he stops you, wanting you to stay comfortable as he goes to get a towel to clean you up. Kissing every inch of you as he does so. Thanking you for this and telling you how much he loves you. He just can't help himself.
He falls asleep pretty quickly after. Holding you close in his arms as the exhaustion takes over.
It's a pretty soft and sweet first time, fueled by love. Leopold is gentle and kind and I think this is the perfect time to for him to show that in a more intimate setting.
Anyways I am obsessed with Leopold he deserves the world okay ty!!!
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lapdogchase · 4 months ago
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fascinated and distressed by chase's disordered relationship with sexuality + his emotions abt his own trauma & abuse
thru the beginning of the show he doesn't even realize he's hot despite being objectively attractive. when he finds out he's hot he then realizes people pretend to be interested in him as a person in order to have sex with him and gets super upset about it
he starts having a bunch of meaningless sex as a coping mechanism when cameron leaves him. and also a lot of other times. whenever something bad happens, basically, he starts going out with a bunch of women, just to feel something, presumably
^to the extent where hes known within the hospital as a slut. and has had sex with an insane amount of nurses. as well as presumably women who are not at his place of work.
he says doing this made him hate himself so he stopped. it's the b-plot for an episode and then he's back having meaningless sex again by the end of the episode
even his coworkers know this about him. and have called it out, masters even says she thinks he doesn't respect women bc, in her words, he's with a different one every few days or maybe he finds comfort in meaningless relationships
goes back to having meaningless sex within weeks of getting stabbed. which is really bad for wound healing reasons too. genuinely it seems like such compulsive behavior for him considering he keeps doing it even when its objectively not only a bad idea but actively dangerous
house even directly says he's "a serial slut" because he's "terrified of intimacy." incredibly accurate assessment
his relationship with his sexuality reads so heavily as someone who thinks they're not good for anything else
see also: dissociation & avoidance
we know he has a lot of trauma especially in childhood- he never really gets into it let alone into how he Feels about it but what we know is already bad & that's just the stuff he's okay with sharing with his coworkers or patients
in general he's very avoidant of his own trauma- when he gets stabbed he says he "can't change what happened, can only make better choices from here" as if it was his own fault, and refuses thru the whole episode to acknowledge that being traumatized by this would be a really normal reaction that he is definitely having. instead he just blames himself
also, he dissociates from traumatic things that happen to him - says "there was a stabbing" rather than "i was stabbed" for instance
when he's talking abt his childhood trauma he does it in a very similar way - he talks about it very bluntly and doesn't ever get into how he actually feels about it.
see also: dr. fawn response
general passive willingness to go along with anything- when cameron says they should have sex in s3 he's surprised and then he just kinda goes along with it. not bc he didn't want to bc he obviously did, but he's just generally very much someone who does whatever other people want him to do. i feel like he and cameron both tend to seek validation thru sex in an unhealthy way that i'm still gnawing on like a dog with a bone i have to go rewatch s3 to really articulate it though
he has a sort of desperation for praise and approval especially from anyone he views as an authority figure. he does whatever authority figures tell him out of this idea that it'll bring him approval and therefore safety
like no matter what house does or says to him he doesn't argue or retaliate or anything. even when house punches him he collapses on the ground in pain and then just keeps talking about the patient like nothing happened.
the scene in 3.10 after house punches him where he's in the ddx room and house walks in and throws the file at him and chase is startled and tries to pretend he's not. and he looks up with this huge fuck ass bruise on his jaw swallows heavily and pretends not to be upset. and house asks if he got that looked at as if he wasn't the one to give it to him and chase just swallows and says he's fine. dr fawn response :(
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hollowed-theory-hall · 3 months ago
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Of all the disturbing things that happened to Harry, I think the graveyard scene really takes it. It's horrific on so many different levels, and everytime I read it, something new sticks out to me. The last time, it was the death eaters laughing at Harry. A bunch of grown men laughing at one of the darkest wizards torturing and mocking a fourteen year old. Like it's actually insane, whether they were trying to appease Voldemort or were really entertained by the whole thing.
I know! I feel the same way about that scene. It's really no wonder Harry was as traumatized as he was in OotP (honestly, he's incredibly resilient, all things considered). The graveyard was awful. And their laughing is some of the worst of it:
The Death Eaters were laughing again. Voldemort’s lipless mouth was smiling. Harry did not bow. He was not going to let Voldemort play with him before killing him . . . he was not going to give him that satisfaction. . . . “I said, bow,” Voldemort said, raising his wand — and Harry felt his spine curve as though a huge, invisible hand were bending him ruthlessly forward, and the Death Eaters laughed harder than ever.
(GoF, Ch34)
Especially when you read Harry's thoughts about the Cruciatus and how he wants to die so it will end and they laugh:
“Crucio!” It was pain beyond anything Harry had ever experienced; his very bones were on fire; his head was surely splitting along his scar; his eyes were rolling madly in his head; he wanted it to end . . . to black out . . . to die . . . And then it was gone. He was hanging limply in the ropes binding him to the headstone of Voldemort’s father, looking up into those bright red eyes through a kind of mist. The night was ringing with the sound of the Death Eaters’ laughter.
(GoF, Ch33)
But the part that stuck out to me the most last time I read it was this moment:
he had been hit again by the Cruciatus Curse. The pain was so intense, so all-consuming, that he no longer knew where he was. . . . White-hot knives were piercing every inch of his skin, his head was surely going to burst with pain, he was screaming more loudly than he’d ever screamed in his life — And then it stopped. Harry rolled over and scrambled to his feet; he was shaking as uncontrollably as Wormtail had done when his hand had been cut off; he staggered sideways into the wall of watching Death Eaters, and they pushed him away, back toward Voldemort.
(GoF, Ch34)
Not only are the DE laughing at him, but they pushed a pained, shaking, and stumbling 14-year-old kid back into the circle to be tortured again!
Harry was stumbling over himself, barely getting onto his feet, and they pushed him down again and laughed. A bunch of grown-ass men. It's disgusting and horrifying. Like, them pushing Harry back towards Voldemort when he's barely walking and shaking all over disgusts me. That is so vile.
I think a good chunk of them seem to be 100% going along with Voldemort of their own free will and not just for his favor (though, I think that is part of it). After all, they did stuff like that on their own volition earlier in the book:
The floating people were suddenly illuminated as they passed over a burning tent and Harry recognized one of them: Mr. Roberts, the campsite manager. The other three looked as though they might be his wife and children. One of the marchers below flipped Mrs. Roberts upside down with his wand; her nightdress fell down to reveal voluminous drawers and she struggled to cover herself up as the crowd below her screeched and hooted with glee. “That’s sick,” Ron muttered, watching the smallest Muggle child, who had begun to spin like a top, sixty feet above the ground, his head flopping limply from side to side. “That is really sick. . . .”
(GoF, Ch9)
I really hope these DE didn't get to escape Azkaban for a second time after the second war (the ones that survived it, that is).
GoF has always been my favorite in the series and its darkest moments are part of why. Sure, there are horrific moments in the later books, but the shock of the graveyard scene is unparalleled for me in this series in the kind of horror it hits. Nothing later hits quite the same when it comes to the helplessness of it. To how Harry is certain he is going to die, that this is it. Unlike when he walks to his death in DH, in GoF, he wants to live so badly but he doesn't think he will — it's not a noble sacrifice, it's a child grasping at a chance to survive. And unlike at the end of OotP, he is completely and utterly alone. In the DoM, the Order and Dumbledore were right behind him and before they arrived he had friends with him, but in the graveyard, there was no one — just Harry against 30 Death Eaters and Voldemort. No one was coming for him, no one was coming to save him, Cedric just died, he was alone, and the only dueling spell he knew was Expelliarmus. It's horrifying and heartbreaking and it hits.
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