How Id Flirt/meet? My Hq Selfships Different Au (lwk Still Similar Ngl..): Pt.1

lwk just made that new writing acc so i can post abt atsumu f1 au

@stockholm1996

kaiser gives me pretentious filmbro, and everytime u watch smth of his choosing, ur sleeping with ur face pressed against his shoulder in ten minutes top. he only huffs out a little laugh, pulling you closer.

FRUITFUL.

summary: in the winters of the cold and barren, you are the forbidden fruit that ryomen sukuna revolves around— a refreshingly crisp beauty. but even all winter fruits die, and he’s willing to prevent that demise to ever come to you.

cw: angst no comfort, slight fluff, mentions of death and loss of loved ones, heian era sukuna, slow burn w no happy ending, short chapters, inconsistent updates, tba

STAGES OF WINTER— first snow fall — your village is one that prides itself on the lasting fruits of winter. but what will you do if this winter bears no fruit, and the consequence is flames engulfing the entirety of your home. and who exactly is ryomen sukuna ..? ripe through the core — you’re the the only survivor of the fire. now, the beast of the forest has taken you in his hold, and you are beyond loathing. despite being adamant on escaping him, you can’t help but be drawn and care for a dying garden, specifically, a dying apple tree. undermine — so what if you’re taking care of a damned, dying tree ? it’s not like he’s going to help you with it. no, never expect that. ever. instinct — there’s someone else. someone else that had survived the fire from all those months ago. and now, something is coming and ryomen is willing to stop it come to you with all the power he possesses. time (passage of) — ryomen does not feel anything more than greed, gluttony, and bloodshed. so why, as he holds your limp body, does he feel his heart finally soften. why is it only now that he comes to his final conclusion about you.

tag list: open

hey girl

OMG HI??$?!

hinata would love this 😞 or osamu ngl maybe sakusa..

ntp: @dearru @kissunday @wordsofelie

. . . .

this is so funny because i REEK of jasmine and vanilla (<- as told by my peers). [link.]

Console him.

Nagi's never been the type to cry. Never has he ever been vulnerable enough to truly cry around you or with you present.

At least, that's what you've always thought: that being vulnerable, and crying, around a person means openly, heavily tearing up.

Sobbing, bawling, yelling, shouting, you name it. Strong feelings equal strong, or even stronger, reactions out of a person.

Not his way, no.

The silence you've been laying together in feels comfortably quiet as he lets you take him into your arms.

You can hear his soft breathing when he heavily rests his head against your chest; it's so weak that it lulls you to close your eyes, as he does.

He rubs his cheek against you, as if he wants to dig deeper into your embrace, to hear more of your heartbeat, to hear and feel that you are there with him. For him.

When he does, and when you feel his warm tears dampen your skin, you realize he is being vulnerable with you.

It's just in a much gentler way than the one you have learned.

a/n: jjk 236 all over again with the new blue lock chapter... </3

navigation : midnight records! the moonlight album! the jjk album!

BEFORE SUNRISE ft. Zen'in Toji

synopsis : tokyo, may 1995. she doesn’t want to go home. he doesn’t have one. what starts as a strange encounter becomes a night of wandering until sunrise. and sometimes, one night is enough to remember someone forever.

contains : before sunrise au. soft angst. fluff. right person wrong time. strangers to almost lovers.

warnings : mentions of alcohol/smoking. language. themes of transience and loneliness. mentions of family trauma. suggestivity.

table of content!

✷ CHAPTER ONE. / 8:00 PM - Last Train

✷ CHAPTER TWO. / 9:00 PM - Strangers With Names

✷ CHAPTER THREE. / 10:00 PM - A Toast To Bad Ideas

✷ CHAPTER FOUR. / 11:00 PM - You Ever Let Go ?

✷ CHAPTER FIVE. / 12:30 AM - Someone Else's Party

✷ CHAPTER SIX. / 2:00 AM - Swing Set Ghosts

✷ CHAPTER SEVEN. / 3:00 AM - Nothing After This

✷ CHAPTER EIGHT. / 4:30 AM - First Light

2025 © NANASRKIVES. / do not copy, repost, edit, plagiarize, or translate any of my works on any platforms, including ai.

TAGLIST (OPEN). / @ayatakanosstuff @buckcherried @andysteve1311 @arwawawa2 @itsmeaudrieee

it hasn't been long since rin rejected you. actually, it's been precisely two hours, twenty five minutes and... thirteen, fourteen, fifteen seconds. yes, he's been counting.

a silent sigh leaves his lips as his arm falls limp against his bed. he's checked his watch too many times, and now it feels like time is running slow. usually he wouldn't mind but... with you being his last prominent memory, he doesn't enjoy the bitter taste in his mouth. thirty-one, thirty-two, thirty-three seconds... and...

he finally breaks his gaze away from the ceiling, sitting up with his head hung.

maybe it was a mistake.

no, isn't it weird to say he started liking you after he saw you cry? the tears brimming in your eyes, the obvious cracks in your voice, and the smile you tried to put on... all because of him. he should be guilty, if anything, yet there's an overriding sensation in his heart. one that he shouldn't be experiencing.

it's not a big deal. his feelings will fade soon enough.

soon.

i want focaccia

— atsumu miya ⋮ 03 / 13 / 25. ❝ 𝓕𝑬𝑬𝑳𝑰𝑵𝑮𝑺 ❞

content warnings ⨾ assassin!reader. death. conspiracy to kill. assassin!coach kurosu. fake names. bad parenting. feelings of being trapped. word count ⨾ 1.2K ❪ 1,286 ❫

From the ripe age of nine, you were trained to feel nothing. 

“You don’t have time for feelings,” your mother would bark at you, fists raised in front of her. “You are cold, you are organized,” she would grunt, pinning you to the ground for the nth time that evening. “Feel nothing, lose nothing,” she would say, voice demanding and even. Even when she would work you like a dog, spar with you day and night, she always remained composed.

She felt nothing. She was cold, she was organized. She didn’t have anything to lose. Not even her own daughter. She trusted one person; herself.

When she died, the organization she worked for, The Cage, held a funeral for her. You, a fourteen year old with nowhere to go, were taken in by the head of The Cage, Kurosu. He’d worked with your mother for years, trained her when she was your age.

He taught you to feel nothing.

“Feelings are useless,” he would say, rolling his eyes at you. “They only lead to disappointment,” he would grunt, kicking your legs out from beneath you. “They are useless.”

Even when faced with the worst situation possible, he remained composed. Calm, collected, organized. Even when put in the utmost dangerous positions—calm, collected, composed.

By the time you turned twenty, you were the same. Emotionless, calm, organized. You never let your feelings get in the way. Feelings were pointless, weren’t they? They were distracting and disappointing. What was the point? No feelings, nothing to lose—the perfect hit man.

Until him.

Golden hair, brown eyes that one could look into for hours upon hours, a carefree smile. While you were trained to feel nothing, attraction was one you could never get over. 

You stare at him through the scope attached to your gun, finger resting over the trigger, your breaths even and your hands steady. Next to him, an identical boy sits. Different hair, but the same smile, same eyes. You take a deep breath and train your gun back on the blonde boy. For a brief moment, you wish your life was like his. Simple, easy—carefree.

A crackle comes in on your comm and you flinch—something you haven’t done in awhile.

“Is it done?” They ask. You don’t know who it is, you never do. It’s someone different every time. Last week it was an older woman, this week a young man. “Six, is it done?”

You clear your throat and bring your hand to your ear, pressing a button. “No,” you say bluntly. “You do your job, I’ll do mine. I’ll contact you after the fact.” You click the button again and rip the earpiece out, throwing it to the side. You’re sick of them anyway.

With a deep breath, you look through the scope again. You wonder what his childhood was like. Public pools, sleepovers with friends, sports. His mother probably kissed his forehead before he left for school. You wonder why someone would want him dead.

You wonder what it’s like to have a brother—a twin brother, no less. You wonder how his twin will react when he gets shot in the head right in front of him. Would he go on to live his life in honor of his brother? Would the pain be too much for him to bear? And his mother?

His mother. A wonderful woman, probably. Much nicer than your own. Floral sundresses and freshly baked cinnamon rolls. Homemade lemonade and perfectly curled hair. She would be devastated by her son's death.

You take your fave away from the scope and take a deep breath. Your elbows hurt, your core hurts. The wind is off.

Yeah. The wind is off.

You glance over at your earpiece and pick it up, clicking the button. “Wind is blowing the wrong way. Can’t get a clean shot. I’m packing up.” You don’t hear what they say; you don’t care.

You push yourself up on your knees with a huff. Without your scope, you can’t see the blonde boy clearly anymore. He’s just a blob of beige. Maybe this is for the better. You don’t need the money—your mother had left a fortune in her passing. You’ll make Seven take the job. At least then you won’t have to deal with the guilt you feel.

Feelings. Stupid, distracting, disappointing. You pack your gun away and hike it over your shoulder. This isn’t your problem anymore, you decide. You pull out your burner and type a number in. Kurosu answers in three rings.

“Is it done?”

“Give it to Seven,” you state simply. “I’m off my game. Getting sick, probably. Wind was off direction, couldn’t get a clear hit.”

He sighs, then clicks his tongue. “Fine.” He hangs up.

Something you’ll admit to yourself; you hate this line of work. What else are you supposed to do, though? Work at a grocery store? A daycare? The thought almost makes you laugh.You, working somewhere domestic? Please. You don’t even know how to function with actual people. All of your colleagues kill people for a living.

Your joints ache as you make your way down the stairs of the building. You drop your gun in the bathroom, where someone will pick it up later, then walk out the building. The wind on your face feels different than it did when you were on the roof.

People walk the streets, going about their normal lives. None of them know you were about to kill someone. None of them know how many people you have killed.

A mother with her daughter. An old couple walking their dog. A little boy and his friends playing in a puddle.

You walk down the street, nowhere in mind. The wind picks up, you shiver and wrap your arms around yourself.

“You’re gonna freeze out here without a jacket, pretty lady.”

You freeze for a moment, unsure if he’s talking to you, then you turn and all the breath leaves your lungs. Atsumu Miya—your target from moments earlier. How did he get down here so fast?

“What?”

He laughs, giving you a sheepish smile. “I said you’re gonna freeze.”

He has an odd accent, something you’ve heard before but can’t place. You watch him shrug off his jacket and hold it out to you. “Here. I don’t need it.”

You blink a couple times, then look down at the jacket. Tan skin, strong forearms. You’re not sure why, but you take it from him and pull it over your shoulders. It’s warm, soft. It smells like expensive cologne.

“Thanks,” you mumble, sticking your hands in the pockets. “You.. shouldn’t trust strange people. What if I steal your jacket?”

He shrugs. “Keep it. I have others.” He pauses, then smirks. “What’s your name?”

Your name. For the past ten years, you’ve been called Six, part of a class of twenty kids. You don’t have an identity. You don’t have a name. You don’t have anything, nothing.

“Lina,” you lie, averting your gaze. “And yours?

“Miya. Uh, Atsumu,” he corrects, shaking his head. “You can call me Atsumu.”

“Atsumu,” you repeat. It feels foreign in your tongue. Sour, like a lemon squeezed on a swollen taste bud. You rub your fingers together inside the pocket, a nervous habit you picked up as a young child. “Listen, Atsumu, I have to go, but-“

“Give me your number!” He exclaims, cutting you off. He laughs nervously and takes a deep breath. “If you want, I mean.”

“I don’t have a phone,” you blurt. Another lie. That’s all you do, isn’t it? Your whole life. “I really have to go.” You turn and walk away from him, ignoring the calls of Lina that follow you. 

Feelings. Stupid. Distracting.