#weekly prompt event

[morningstarwrites]

for Hazbin Summer week on twitter!

day 6 prompt: water gun fight 🔫

[genderthings]

Pride Things Weekly Themes

Each week of June has a theme for you to play with, to break the mold and subvert the expectations!

Week 1 - AUs

Anything goes as long as it's queer! Base your AUs in queer culture and media, or give a gay twist to your favorite romcom! Examples: drag performers AU, Twilight but it's T4T, But I'm a Cheerleader AU

Week 2 - Gender

Explore, express, serve! Clothing, hair, make up, tattoos, surgeries, social situations. Any aspect of gender you can think of. Examples: androgyny, enjoying feminine/masculine activities, binding

Week 3 - Fairytales

Break the cis/heteronormative prophecies! Make your favorite fairytale queer, or make your own! Examples: The Little Merman, Shrek but the princess turns into a prince at night, True Love's Kiss from the maid

Week 4 - Out of the box

The main focus are unconventional relationships - polyamory, queerplatonic, beards, lavender marriages, ace/aro relationships and more! But if you want to focus on other underrepresented queer topics, go for it! Examples: polycule, my partner's Dom, I don't do sex but my girlfriend has a buddy for that

The 29th and 30th of June are for catching up if you didn't make it in time for one of the theme weeks!

You can sign up for the Pride Things Mini Bingo until May 31st.

ASK | COLLECTION | ARCHIVE | STEVIE WEEK 2025

[spopfandomevents]

It's time once again for the...

🌞 Summer SPOPtacular 👙

Weekly prompts running through June, July and August, as well as some alternate prompts for anyone not feeling the heat.

Here's how it works...

Do as many or as few prompts as you wish. If you want to skip around, go for it! Interpret them however you want too, even if that's in an abstract way. No stress, no pressure, the point is just to give us inspiration for fun ideas to keep the SPOP love going throughout the summer.

All fanworks welcome! You can post fanart, fanfic, video edits, drabbles, headcanons, simple sketches or even update an existing fanfic or other work if new chapter fits the prompt. Just make sure adult or triggering content is tagged and posted correctly.

Saying that again to make sure you see it: ❗yes, you can participate by adding a new chapter to an already posted WIP so long as it fits the prompt! ❗

Post use the tag Summer SPOPtacular on Tumblr or AO3, SummerSPOPtacular on other platforms. I'll be reblogging things as I notice them on a schedule unknowable.

2025 Summer SPOPtacular Prompts List

Week of June 1 - High Seas Adventure

Week of June 8 - Gardening

Week of June 15 - Roasting Marshmallows

Week of June 22 - Beach Volleyball

Week of June 29 - Loud and Proud

Week of July 6 - Pool Party

Week of July 13 - Road Trip

Week of July 20 - Polka Dot Bikini

Week of July 27 - Too Damn Hot

Week of August 3 - Sleep-away Camp

Week of August 10 - Thunderstorm

Week of August 17 - Sand and Surf

Week of August 24 - Summer Nights

Week of August 31 - Fireflies

We've also got a few alternate prompts you can substitute for any of the ones above:

Day Off

Cuddling

Game Night

Skinny Dipping

Friendly Competition

Seasonal Beverage

Questions? Askbox is open!

[year-of-whump-tropes]

Month 1, Week 1 Prompts

Monthly theme: Living Weapon Whump

Weekly theme: Dehumanization

Day 1:

Weapon name/number/designation

What was your first experience with whump?

Day 2:

Skill presentation

“Keep your dog on a leash”

Day 3:

Treated like an object

What kind of living weapon whumpee most appeals to you?

Day 4:

Transported as cargo

“It’s not like it’s a person”

Day 5:

Assessment

What kind of dehumanization do you find most fun as a trope?

Day 6:

Self-dehumanization

“Just leave it.”

Day 7:

Maintenance

Not being acknowledged

[localcanadiancreature62]

Hello Billford nation. What's this you ask?. Well i decided to make a lil event thing for the man triangle relations since Fiddauthor has Fiddauthorweek2024 and Fiddlestan has Fiddlestantober. I'm hosting a BillfordWeek2024 which means that you can make writing and art entries based on the prompts i gave out. Event starts on Oct 28 aka in three days.

• RULES •

= @ me and put the tag #BillfordWeek2024 when you make your entry.

= Only writing and art entries are allowed. Which means only drabbles fics fanart fully rendered pieces and the like can be included in the event.

= Deadline is Nov 25. Any entries made after then are disqualified,although you can keep your art/writing i'll still appreciate it.

= Have fun and don't police people for whatever they do with the prompt. Pls.

= Nsfw works are allowed. Do with this what you will. I am an enabler.

@aria-greenhoodie @wind-tail @cecilscribbles y'alls seem to be the type of people to like these kinda things,so i implore you to either join or spread the word. Also pspspsps @nico-the-overlord @agothorn look.

Comment if you want to join or are interested in seeing the event. I don't want my work to be a waste.

[a-gay-bloodmage]

Day 26: Isn’t It Improper?

(Josephine Montilyet x Semiha Silva-Adaar)

Now that she’s fought for Josephine’s hand and won, sealed the Breach, lost her arm, and disbanded the Inquisition—listed in no particular order of importance, of course—Semiha Silva-Adaar can’t help but wonder if she can do anything to properly endear herself to the Montilyet family.

Written for the @loveofdragonage event!

Rating: Explicit

Read on Archive of Our Own Here!

[weekly-star-wars-prompts]

Poll for our next poll event…

(special thanks to the endlessly clever @tlmtwelve for these suggestions 🫶)

[dadfuckerfest]

hi! will there be any upcoming dad-fucky events for 2025?

Hey there! Our summer fest will be back this summer (around July, probably), as well as the holiday fest in December. But if you have any ideas for other events, please feel free to share them :)

[fruitsbasketmondays]

Week 13 Prompt: Decades Later

See our pinned post for all event information.

And we've almost made it! The last Fruits Basket Monday of the summer! We hope you've enjoyed participating as much as we've enjoyed seeing what you've made!

As a reminder, all our prompts are completely optional. You can participate whether you use our prompts or not!

The prompt for week 13 is Decades Later.

Here are some ideas on how you might fill this prompt:

you could focus on the characters as grandparents,

you could imagine their last New Year together before someone dies,

you could write about something else that might happen decades after canon,

...or you could create something that doesn't use our prompt!

Thanks for coming along on the journey with us! Keep an eye out for a participant survey in the next few weeks.

[shortfictionweeklychallenge]

SFWC Blast from the Past!

This week’s Blast from the Past prompt:

Current Events–Events in the larger fictional world shape your character’s little slice of it, whether they want it to or not. What things are in the news for your character? What do they hear about on the Holonet or from the town crier, read about in the paper or posted on boards? How do these events affect them? Are they concerned about current events or blissfully unaware of anything outside their immediate experience? Maybe your character is the one making headlines. Write about it!

[saturnsorbits]

… Hi <3

I’ve missed you guys.

[oldmanffucker]

thinking about artist Archie and Frenchie both pulling random fluxus/grapefruit prompts and doing them together. Then it becoming a weekly Revenge artist exercise.

Fluxus (experimental art movement) and Grapefruit (book by Yoko Ono that embodied Fluxus) - basically ‘event scores’ or prompts for (often) performance art. They were often absurd, often ephemeral or esoteric or inevitable. Examples:

(tape piece iii and walking piece from Grapefruit by Yoko Ono George Brecht. Games and Puzzles (Name Kit) from Fluxkit. 1965, Fluxus Edition announced 1965 Page from Fluxus 1, containing ‘Flux Napkin’. 1964, Fluxus Edition announced 1966) (God I’m crying reading Grapefruit now. Being a pisces is hard work but someone’s gotta do it [PDF])

but anyway I can perfectly imagine Archie’s smile and laugh and body language while they do some of the sillier prompts, and Frenchie’s little smirk. It’s the smirk of pyramid scheme and authentic planks. The events that ask for silence, they do with permanent little smiles channeling the silliest and most earnest intentionality that you can’t NOT look at it and not be soppy about it.

Fluxus isn’t just prompts or events, it’s a whole movement. It’s about accessibility of art, it’s about making art constantly, it’s about being anti-art, it’s about subverting the capitalist ideas of art. But to me it’s a beautiful exercise in opening yourself to the vastness of art. Everything is and can be art, from the sound of silence to the crushing of stones to the using of a napkin to taking a walk with someone. It’s down to intention, it’s down to openness, It’s down to earnestness and curiosity. It’s down to being receptive and most importantly PLAYFULNESS. It’s about letting art be low stakes and letting art into every moment of your life. It’s about embodying art.

Plus, Izzy would love this bc that sub loves to follow a direction. Man is lost in subspace watching the stars and turning on and off his headlights and walking in someone else’s footsteps.

(If all of those examples sounded insane and esoteric, here are more links to Fluxus things. First publication (poetry! Music! Vehicles! John Cage! Yoko Ono! Nam June Paik!) ‘An Anthology of Chance Operations’, and archive of fluxus artbooks: fluxus 1, fluxkit, and flux year box 2)

Even more emotional thinking abt how in college, in his really intense performance art and physical exertion phase, Izzy loved Fluxus and the idea of art being that and following directions and experiencing something new from it.

Then he gets to know the crew eventually, And finds out they do this. And oh, he’s taken aback. Launched back to being 19, to grieving his sister and transitioning and experiencing lack of bodily autonomy and finding refuge in performance art. And fondness bubbles up so hot and acrid he has to step outside. After that he’s part of the weekly events. He and the crew relish the events that take the most time, like the walking piece. The crew is fascinated by his earnestness and tenacity when so often before they only saw perfection and persnicketiness.

[originally posted as a twt thread]

[milkyberryjsk]

euehehdixhhihohohnebd....

[year-of-whump-tropes]

Month 4, Week 4 prompts

Monthly theme: Magic whump

Weekly theme: Magic with a price

Day 1:

Healing with a cost

“I have to…”

Day 2:

Magical contract(s)

"I'll be okay."

Day 3:

Loss of control

What example of power with a price in fiction do you find most compelling?

Day 4:

Ritual gone badly

"Come on, talk to me!"

Day 5:

Magic that draws from the user’s body

What’s your favorite kind of self-whump for a whumpee to go through?

Day 6:

Whumpee pushing themself too far

"It's killing you!"

Day 7:

Magic that causes a loss of the user’s humanity

“You can’t keep doing this.”

[genderthings]

VOTING RESULTS

It's going to take me a while to make a nice graphic but the pride month themes will be:

AUs - But they have to be queer! put the characters in your favorite romcom, but make it gay! Unless it is already gay, of course. Or a Drag Race AU, perhaps?

Gender - Explore, express, serve! Clothing, hair, make up, tattoos, surgeries, social situations. Any aspect of gender you can think of.

Fairytales Reimagined - "No man or woman can defeat me!" "Well, I'm in luck then." Break the cis/heteronormative prophecies! Make your favorite fairytale queer!

Out of the box relationships - Polyamory, queerplatonic, beards, lavender marriages, ace/aro relationships and more!

Send an ask if you're not sure about anything and remember you can still sign up for bingo!

Vote for your favorite! The four with the most votes will be used in June as weekly themes.

Thanks to those who sent in their ideas!

ASK | COLLECTION | ARCHIVE | STOBIN AT WORK | STEVIE WEEK | PRIDE THINGS BINGO

[seiwas]

you're the reason (i got a weakness) | miya atsumu

wc: 2.9k

summary: it’s not that atsumu doesn't like you dressing up like this—in fact, he loves it. just not when you're fighting. not when he can't even call you "baby".

contains: post-timeskip atsumu, arguments and atsumu feeling really sorry, flashbacks, uses the nickname “baby” & “my love”, reader is described as “pretty” and wears heels, hurt/comfort.

a/n: atsumu isn’t a sucky boyfriend he just gets carried away sometimes. song inspo: can you blame me? - kehlani, lucky daye.

part of the in's and out's new year/birthday event | request prompt: making yourself look good to feel good (your partner has something to say to you)

sponsored by @itskilau and @tasoyoru for the @ficsforgaza initiative. please check it out and support if you can!

“Bab—”

Atsumu lingers by your bathroom door, eyes drooping lower and sadder than they ever have. The steam makes the bleached strands of his hair cling to his forehead, his thick eyebrows now damp and flattened. 

You sigh, the big, heavy, and deep kind, shoulders dropping as you clasp the lock of your necklace.

He stares. 

That’s his job. You always ask him to do it the moment you step out of the shower. 

His lip trembles, eyes watery.

“Not now, Atsumu.”

You walk past him as you adjust the towel around your chest, your arm brushing against his. It’s a small thing, a sensation ingrained so deeply into the past two years you’ve been together, but he feels it like it’s the first time you ever touched him—and in a way, it is. Since yesterday, at least. 

The silence that trails after you is so deafeningly still, he thinks he can hear his heart breaking. 

“Atsumu,” your voice rings. 

Who the hell is “Atsumu”? 

He’s not supposed to be “Atsumu” to you. He’s “Tsum.” He’s “baby.” He’s “my love.”

Anything but “Atsumu.”

When you close the door of your walk-in closet to change, the metaphorical volleyball of hope floating right into the palm of his hand misses and drops straight to the floor. 

It started with volleyball, as all things with Atsumu do. 

You’d met him at the rise of his career, just a few years of him being pro. You were friends first, but if you ask anyone around Atsumu, they’d tell you you were never just a friend to him; he’d invited you to all his games and practice matches, spent a bit more time in the locker rooms before going out for dinner with you and the rest of the team. 

Osamu has the receipts of all the extra orders of onigiri Atsumu started adding to his regular weekly subscription since meeting you. 

Your first ‘date’ was Atsumu treading the very fine line between teaching you how to play volleyball and teaching himself self-control. Keeping an eye on the ball is hard enough, what more when he has to resist staring at you in very cute volleyball shorts too? 

As MSBY’s success skyrocketed, so did Atsumu’s—brand deals left and right, solo work trips during off seasons, commercials; the whole thing. When Atsumu wasn’t training, he was either traveling  or attending events and photoshoots. Always on-the-go. Moving. 

And he knew you understood, knew you knew him and his tendencies to overwork; knew him, and his habit of getting stuck inside his own world. You’d driven to late practices with bento boxes to share, and you’d packed his gym bag more than a few times, brought in extra clothes without him having to say a word.

You’ve managed his lifestyle better than anyone could.

But, Atsumu has a bad habit of promising more than he should, of serving white lies just as easily as he does volleyballs behind the service line. 

“Won’t take long, baby. Swear it,” he holds on to the wall by your door, slipping his feet inside his dress shoes. “Pick ya up at 6:00?” 

He’d winked at you then, kissed you between your eyebrows and nose before sneaking one more right at that spot underneath your ear.

What he’d give to be able to do that right now. 

“Okay,” you giggle, swatting his chest as you nod, “better hurry then, you might be late.” 

When Atsumu remembers that moment, the way you’d agreed so doubtlessly, he hates himself even more. You trusted him, have trusted him so wholeheartedly this entire time, so maybe you’re right—

“Would it hurt for you to just be honest?” 

—Atsumu has no excuse standing you up on the date he promised you weeks ago all because he lost track of time in some brand event, listening to a potential collaboration on volleyball shoes. Atsumu has no excuse agreeing to “some drinks” right after just to meet the executives of the company. 

There are meetings for those things, ones that can be scheduled and agreed upon. Ones that don’t compromise or add on to the already long list of missed dates with you. 

“I know you’re busy and I understand,” you sigh, turning the knob of the kitchen stove as you heat up the kettle, “you know I do.” 

He stands before you a quarter past 11:00 p.m., cologne long faded and the smell of alcohol spilled on his sleeve. The kitchen island stands like a net on the court, the ball being sent over to his side. 

“Baby, I—”

He passes it back.

You turn from the stove, face fresh and hair tied into a messy low bun as you look at him—how could he have ever stood this–you–up?

You take the ball, “Can I finish what I have to say first?” 

He nods. The kettle begins whizzing.

“I’m happy and so, so proud that you have all these opportunities,” you reach for the cupboard above head to grab a mug. The box of tea bags sits to your right, a mix of Lemon Balm and Chamomile that Atsumu swears keeps his anxieties at bay during the night. “But at least tell me if you can’t make it.” 

You tear open a tea packet, dangling it inside the mug. The kettle whistles, and he feels the onset of a spike. 

“Please don’t keep my hopes up every time.” 

You turn back towards the stove, turning the burner off as you pour in the steaming water inside the mug. 

“Baby, I swear, they just–they started talkin’ ‘bout these shoes, ‘n I thought t’was cool, ‘n the execs–they said the execs’d be there in the afterparty, and—” he breathes, “won’t happen next time, baby. ‘M so—” 

“Can I really believe you next time?”

You approach the kitchen island slowly, holding the piping hot mug carefully as you set it down in front of him. 

Atsumu stood you up on your date, and you still made him tea. 

You hold his stare for a brief moment before you walk away, sadness and disappointment all-in-one.

It is now that Atsumu knows, he’s fucked up.

The ball lands on his side of the court. 

And so, he’s spent this entire day trying to make it up to you—breakfast in the morning, right before training (which he absolutely tanked because all he could think about was how sad you looked the night before); flowers that he brought home after lunch time, just to find the apartment empty. It’s only after a full text thread and three missed calls to your phone that he finally gets a response.

“Nail appointment. Going out tonight,” is your reply (using speech-to-text too, he suspects, with how formal it sounds). 

Which is fine and dandy to him; you should do everything that makes you feel better after he practically took you for granted. It’s just—he hasn’t even said sorry yet, can’t even call you “baby”, can’t even touch you even though he really, really, really wants to. 

And now, with you closing the door on him while you’re changing—there’s nothing else he can do, really, but to walk away and give you some space. 

He shifts his feet, dragging them lightly against the wooden floors of your bedroom.

The moment he hears the door of your walk-in closet slide open, he hurriedly sits down on the edge of your bed, acting as if he wasn’t just anxiously pacing, waiting for you to come out. 

He feels like shit, if he’s being honest—like how he does when he misses a serve; if not, worse. 

You look good. Make-up done to only emphasize the features he loves (which is your entire face, really), and your outfit perfectly accentuating the dips and curves of your body. 

He follows you as you exit the room, tailing after you like a lost puppy. When you stop by your entryway, all he can do is watch as you bend down to put on the straps of your heels. And it sucks, because if you weren’t fighting, Atsumu would be right by your feet, crouched low so that you wouldn’t have to. 

It’s pathetic and a little helpless of him to just stand and stare in the middle of your living room. He should say something at least, but, you just look so good, and his throat feels dry; his heart all achy and stomach twisty. 

He doesn’t want to be away from you. 

And it’s not that he doesn’t like you going out looking like this—he loves it. But as soon as you step out the door with a soft “don’t wait up for me” mumbled from your glossed lips, Atsumu can only taste bitter regret at the fact that he wishes he were coming with you. 

He couldn’t even give you a goodbye kiss. 

The blond groans, pulling at his hair as he rests his elbows down on the kitchen counter. 

“Don’t wait up for me,” you said. As if he can even sleep without you around. 

.

.

.

The hours go by but they feel like days. Atsumu’s done every possible thing he can do in this apartment and it still hasn’t breached 11:00 p.m.. He’s cleaned down the kitchen (twice!) and arranged the food inside the fridge like those ‘stock up my fridge with me’ tiktoks he’s seen on Sakusa’s phone. The clothes on his side of the closet have been arranged by color and length, with all the ones in his dresser refolded, Marie Kondo style. He’s also pretty sure he’s scrubbed the bathroom down enough that you can probably see your reflection on the tiles of the damn thing. The laundry baskets for both your clothes are now empty, and he’s changed the bedsheets too and—

He’s still restless. The numbers on the clock taunt him, moving up agonizingly slowly. He can’t stop looking at the time, itching for you to come home. 

Atsumu is sorry, so so so incredibly so, because you’re right―he hasn’t been fair to you at all, and he needs you to know that he knows it, too. 

His eyes go over the clock again, only a minute having passed since the last time he checked it. 

Is this how you felt? Every time you waited for him to come home for a date he promised you? 

He squeezes his eyes; it hurts him just thinking about it. 

That’s it, he decides, grabbing his phone and wallet as he walks out the door. 

. 

.

.

Atsumu doesn’t check your location often (maybe only a few times). It’s not a trust thing, he swears; it’s just for when he wants to make sure you’re somewhere safe, or in a place he can reach you should you need him there. 

And, you clearly don’t need him right now, but, Atsumu is a little selfish, he admits. 

Sitting at home with all his regret feels worse than seeking you out to beg for your forgiveness, whether you want him to or not. 

He’s barely dressed for the venue as he steps inside the bar, a pair of sweatpants and a white t-shirt with those fashionable Birkenstock clogs on. A few people seem to recognize him, tilting their heads and murmuring among themselves as he walks through door, but none of them approach him, thankfully, except for a server asking if he needs assistance. 

His eyes scan the tables first, searching for any semblance of the outfit he’d seen you leave in earlier. The dim lights make it increasingly difficult for him to look for your properly as he squints his eyes some more, narrowing his vision to the people at the front bar this time. It’s after the fourth person he dismisses that he feels himself getting desperate, nearly turning towards the server beside him to ask for help.

Until he spots you—tucked in the corner of the front bar, sitting on the barstool with your legs crossed as you swirl around your drink. 

You look bored, and a little sad, chin resting in your hand as you lean your elbow on the table. 

He frowns, thanking the server on the side as he makes his way to you slowly. You barely notice him as you bring out your phone, tapping on the screen as you stare at it almost longingly―a photo of you and him some time ago after one of his games. He knows it well, can still remember that day so clearly: when he became a PR nightmare because he couldn’t help but announce your relationship by kissing you in front of everybody. 

It makes his chest hurt. 

Then, you swipe it open, and he’s close enough now to be able to catch a glimpse of what’s on your screen: your text thread with him, his last message being, “Did you make it safely?” 

(You pout, eyes pricking with tears. You didn’t reply to him then because you weren’t ready to fully talk to him yet, still upset and disappointed. 

It was easy to make yourself feel better by dressing up and stepping out of the apartment earlier, the promise of good drinks and good company awaiting your arrival; you couldn’t think about how you felt if you were busying yourself with others. But now that all of those feelings have died down and most of your friends have started chatting up other people they’ve found, it’s beginning to hit you all at once just how much you still prefer Atsumu’s company more than anything else.

Your fingers hover over your text box, typing and deleting. Typing and deleting.) 

He’s two stools away from you now, and he can barely contain it―

“Baby,” his voice trembles, unsteady. 

Recognition fills you as you turn to the sound, half-confused at whether you’re hearing things; whether―

(“Tsum,” you mutter, eyes catching a pair of familiar warm brown staring back at you. His bottom lip quivers, the embodiment of a dam starting to crack, vibrating.

Your emotions are a mess, your breath on hold as you feel tears welling up in your lashline too. You still feel upset, still a little sad, and a tiny bit disappointed, but what coats them all is a sense of relief because—)

―he’s here, standing in front of you like he just rolled out of the house with barely enough time to get dressed (which, you’re sure is exactly how things went), and you’re sliding off the bar stool in the prettiest outfit, looking like the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. 

“‘M so sorry,” he breathes out, stepping closer as he grabs your hand, “Don’t ever wanna make y’feel like that again.” His knee gives way as he starts sinking to the floor, “I won’t do that anymore―” 

“Tsum,” you try to call his attention.

He’ll beg for your forgiveness whether you like it or not. 

(The interaction is causing nearby tables to look, murmurs and whispers in your periphery as you catch vague sentences here and there. He still is a public figure, after all.) 

But Atsumu is unaware, looking at you and you alone as he pleads, “No, please hear me out first. I promise I’ll tell ‘em they can speak ‘ta―” 

“Tsum,” you squeeze his hand, whispering more firmly as you try to pull him up. 

“Baby, please. Gimme the chance ‘ta show ya that I―”

(You look around and notice even more eyes on the two of you, fond looks on their faces as they prepare their phones for what seems like something momentous. Then it hits you, how this looks―)

“Tsum, please stand up,” you tug at his hand strongly, urging him to stand. His eyebrows furrow as he obliges, only comprehending why when you explain it to him softly, “people were starting to think you were about to propose.” 

He pauses for a moment, a slight, “Oh,” as he ponders on it. “Well, if that’s what’ll prove it t’ya, then—” 

You roll your eyes, the corners of your lips curling slightly as you hit his shin with your foot and squeeze his hand again, “Don’t joke about things like that.” 

Well, it’s not the first time it’s crossed his mind, if he’s being honest. 

He sighs, sitting on the stool beside you as he rubs his thumb over your hand again, bringing it close to his lips to kiss softly. 

“‘M really sorry, baby,” he mumbles against your skin before moving your hand over his heart. “Don’t ever want ya feelin’ like this again.” 

“I know,” you give him a small smile, patting down some of the strands of his hair that stick out, “you didn’t have to come out here though, you know. I was about to go home soon, anyway.” 

“Can ya blame me? Seein’ ya off like that?” he grips your hand tighter as his voice softens. “Y’re too pretty to be sad,” he plays with your fingers, intertwining them with his.

You hit his shin again, feeling shy. You always do when Atsumu likes to sweet-talk you. 

“Do ya forgive me?” he asks after some time, as you take the last few sips of your drink. 

You hum, looking him in the eyes as you nod, pouting, “I don’t like being mad at you, you know.” He lights up, beaming, but you add on, “We still have to talk about it properly, though. Later, when we get back.” 

He nods in agreement, holding your hand as you slide off the barstool, guiding you out of the bar and into the car. 

. 

.

.

(You both do talk about it properly, and the next time Atsumu promises you a date, he blocks it out of all of his calendars, sending the date to his manager even, just to be extra sure.) 

a/n: this has been such a long time coming, i'm sorry to those who waited! i hope you enjoyed even though this simmered with me for way too long 😭 i love writing atsumu a little lovesick but i also think he deserves someone who is equally as in deep as he is 🥺

thank you notes: to 🍧 anon for helping me figure out "what would make you mad at atsumu?" and to @ceroseis and @mieiri for always listening to my shenanigans pre-writing!

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡