Number 1 Gives Saiwa @sahrberrii

okay i just finished reading this and might i say im already addicted this is so beautiful like nana i love u this is how i pictured him so well and me and him and omgomgogm

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.

✷ masterlist — chapter two

✷ CHAPTER ONE. / 8:00 PM - Last Train

You left work late. Again.

One of the speakers had blown and you stayed back after close, rewinding the same ten seconds of a scratched L’Arc-en-Ciel CD until the bassline stopped rattling. It didn’t. You gave up.

The street was already leaning toward night when you stepped out, city lights blinking like they were pretending to care. You didn’t check the time. You knew if you looked, you’d start running. And running meant you still gave a shit.

So of course, you ran.

Boots not meant for sprinting. Shoulder bag slipping down your arm every five seconds. You cut through two alleys, jaywalked across an empty intersection, and whispered “sorry” to a taxi that almost hit you, though you weren’t. The wind hit your face like a reminder that you didn’t put on powder before you left. You’d gone a little heavy on the mascara this morning and now it was probably smudged. Fine, whatever.

The station came into view like a mirage of bad timing. You took the stairs two at a time. Your breath caught somewhere just behind your ribs, and right as your foot hit the platform — the train doors slid shut. You didn’t even get the satisfaction of a dramatic noise. They just clicked. Indifferent. Clinical. The train pulled away from the platform as you watched it go, hands on your hips, chest rising too fast, trying to look like you hadn’t just sprinted six blocks and lost.

Cool.

You tried to make your breath quieter. You tried not to look like someone who still cared about missing things. But your legs were buzzing and the strap of your bag had carved a mark across your shoulder and honestly, the worst part was that you ran at all. You could’ve left five minutes earlier. You could’ve not cared. But you ran. Because sometimes, even when you’ve got nothing urgent to get home to — you just want to get there first.

And now you weren’t there. You were here. Sweating slightly under your collar, trying to look normal under the flat glow of station lights. You pulled your coat tighter. Not because you were cold. Just because you needed to do something with your hands.

You decide to lean back against the wall to avoid looking awkward longer. Your shoulder bag tugs at your arm, heavy with too many little things — a mazzy star cassette tape you didn’t put back in its case, half a sandwich you forgot to eat, a receipt you didn’t throw out because it felt like proof of something. You pretend to check the next train time. It's thirty-two minutes. Which is just long enough to feel like a punishment.

The vending machine glows from across the platform — garish in a way nothing ever is during the day. You walk toward it. Not because you’re thirsty. Just because it's something to do that isn’t standing still and thinking about how out of breath you still are. You press the first button you see. A can thunks into the tray like it’s mildly annoyed with you. You open it without looking and take a sip. Lukewarm. Bitter. Tastes like shit and regret. It makes sense. You're not sure what else you expected.

You bring the can up again and catch movement out of the corner of your eye. Not movement, really — just presence. Someone standing across the platform, maybe six paces off. Leaning against a concrete column like he’s been there the whole time. Like he was built into the structure. You didn’t see him when you got here. Or maybe you did, and your body was too busy trying not to collapse in front of a closing train door to register it.

He’s tall. Really tall. Black jacket a little too heavy for the weather, dark jeans that are not too large but not too tight. Cigarette between his fingers, not smoked so much as held. You can’t see his eyes from here, but you feel them. Not in a creepy way. Like he’s not looking at you. But he’s not not looking, either.

He doesn’t shift. Doesn’t even seem bored. Just stands there like someone who doesn’t feel the need to fill silence. Or maybe someone who’s too used to it to bother anymore.

You glance away. Sip again. Grimace. The coffee still tastes like shit.

You wonder what he’s waiting for. If he’s waiting. If he even missed a train or if this is just where he ended up tonight. You think about saying something. Then think better of it. You haven’t had enough sleep this week to make decent small talk. You haven’t had a full conversation in three days that wasn’t about a refund, a release date, or which side of the sleeve is supposed to face out on a display rack.

Besides, he looks like the kind of man who doesn’t answer questions. Not because he’s mysterious, but because he doesn’t see the point.

You exhale through your nose and shift your weight again, not because you’re uncomfortable — just because standing still makes you feel too obvious. You glance over one more time. He hasn’t moved. You don’t know what makes you finally speak. Maybe boredom. Maybe impulse. Whatever it is, the words come out before you think them through. “You always look this constipated?” It comes out low, flat, not even trying to be funny. Just something to toss into the space so it doesn’t keep swallowing you whole.

He doesn’t flinch. Just shifts his gaze slightly, enough to let you know he heard. His face doesn’t change much — except for the smallest twitch near the corner of his mouth, like something pulled tight out of habit is deciding whether or not to let go. “You always talk this much to strangers?” he asks, tone dry, almost bored. Just matter-of-fact.

You shrug, turning your attention back to the can in your hand like it might give you an excuse not to answer. “Only the ones who stare. And see me lose.” You walk back toward the bench without looking at him. You sit, cross your legs and sip the coffee again just to make your mouth stop moving. Still disgusting. Still better than being alone with your thoughts.

He doesn’t come closer but he doesn’t leave either.

“You always smoke that slow?” you ask, watching the red tip of the cigarette hover near his fingers. “Only when I’m not in a hurry.”

“Well shit, guess I ruined your vibe.”

Still nothing. Or maybe silence is just how he answers when he doesn’t feel like lying. You don’t push. But you don’t stop too. “I thought I had more time,” you say, like that’s something normal to admit to a stranger. You keep your eyes on the machines across the track. “I didn’t, apparently.”

He flicks ash without looking at you. “Can’t tell if you’re making conversation or confessing something.” You smile, faintly. “Why not both?” That’s the first time he really looks at you. Not long or searching. Like something about the way you say it doesn’t match what he expected. You sit with that. The station hums in the background. One of the lights overhead buzzes like it’s threatening to die.

“You live around here?” he asks after a beat. It’s not casual, but it isn’t probing either. You don’t look at him when you answer. Just tilt your head, eyes still on the vending machine like it might give you an exit. “Far enough to miss the train. Close enough to pretend I didn’t mean to catch it.”

Another pause. Then you add, softer, because it’s true, and you’re too tired to lie about small things: “Not that I was rushing to get home.” He doesn’t react. But that doesn’t surprise you. He’s got the kind of face that probably doesn’t shift for much. You wonder if that’s something he learned, or if it just grew that way.

You lean back against the bench, feeling the cold press of metal through your coat. The coffee can’s almost empty, and you can’t decide if you’re disappointed or relieved. “It's not that I hate it,” you say, mostly to yourself. “The place is fine. Small. My first appartment.” You swirl the can once before setting it on the ground by your feet. “But sometimes it feels like the walls get closer when I close the door behind me.”

He doesn’t say anything. You weren’t expecting him to. That might be part of the reason you said it. It’s easier to speak when the other person doesn’t try to fill in the blanks. He drops what’s left of his cigarette and crushes it under his boot with a slow, clean scrape. Doesn’t rush the motion. Doesn’t say anything for a while after.

Then: “Let’s walk.”

Just like that. Not a question. Not a command. Just a line drawn across the platform, and you’re the one who has to decide whether to cross it. You look at him. For the first time, fully. And he meets it — not challenging, not inviting. Waiting, like he’s already on the other side of the choice.

You cross your arms, weight shifting to one leg. “You could be a serial killer.” He nods, like that’s reasonable. “I could.” There’s something about the way he says it that doesn’t feel dangerous. He's ridiculously honest. Which is maybe worse.

You look toward the exit, then back at him. “You’re not gonna smile and say ‘I’m not that kind of guy’?”

“No.”

You let out a breath. Not quite a laugh. “Points for consistency.” He doesn’t move, doesn’t gesture for you to follow. He just starts walking. Like the night was already his and you’re just deciding whether or not to step into it.

And for a few seconds, you stay still. You think about your apartment. About the cold floor, the quiet, the leftover curry you didn’t finish last night. You think about how the silence there doesn’t even echo — it just lands. You should stay. You should wait for the next train. You should go home. But you don’t want to go home. So you move.

The doors hiss shut behind you. You step into air that’s cooler than it felt five minutes ago. City air, late air — the kind that smells like warm metal and leftover ramen and just enough night to make you feel like maybe something’s still possible.

You stand there for a second. On the curb. He’s a few feet ahead of you, not looking back, hands in his pockets. He doesn’t ask if you’re coming. He already knows.

You shift your weight. The vending machine buzz follows you out. A cat darts across the street and disappears between buildings like it’s got somewhere more urgent to be. You glance toward him, then forward again. “If I end up in a missing person’s case,” you say, mostly to the sidewalk, “I really hope they use a decent photo.”

He doesn’t turn, but you catch it — the ghost of something near his mouth. Not a smile. Just a suggestion of one. “Guess that depends on what gets you reported missing.” You shake your head, drag your hands deeper into your coat pockets. “You’re really not big on comfort, are you?”

“I don’t sell anything I can’t afford.”

That gets a small exhale out of you. Not a laugh. But enough to loosen the knot in your chest. You both stay still for a minute. Not walking yet. Not really standing, either. Then, without looking at him, you ask: “So, we just gonna walk until sunrise?”

His voice doesn’t shift when he answers. “Unless you’ve got somewhere better to be.” You don’t but you don’t say that. You just stay where you are. The street humming somewhere behind your left shoulder. The sky half-closed. A taxi slows but doesn’t stop. And the night — strange, quiet, almost patient — lets you be undecided.

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 @angelkiyo @stargazsblog @seren-dipitt @loverofthingsnsuch

will you be the mattia to my kairi

Omg i thought you’d never ask 🤭

doesnt my job understand i have a blooming fanfiction writing career to work on

sometimes I feel genuinely overwhelmed by the love I have for shoyo hinata

𝚌𝚛𝚊𝚠𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞

pairing: husband!katsuki bakugou x gn!reader

warnings: cursing, light angst (if you squint), hurt/comfort, emotional argument, established relationship

notes: the start of the katsuki fics for his bday aka toke letting the drafts free 💋

516 | your first argument as a married couple is entirely different and yet somehow still completely the same

Katsuki doesn't let either of you go to bed upset. After an argument, you storm back into your shared bedroom at 11 PM, fully expecting him to be asleep, but he’s not. He’s there, sitting against the headboard, the dim glow of the bedside lamp casting warm shadows over the hard lines of his body. His chin rests against his hand, fingers pressed into his check like they’re the only thing keeping him wake. His crimson eyes find yours, tired and unreadable, lingering on you in a way that sends a shiver down your spine. 

“Finally ready to talk?” he asks, voice low and rough, as though he hasn’t spoken in hours. As if your name’s been sitting on the edge of his throat all night, waiting for the moment you’d come back.

You swallow hard, shoulders tense. You want to be angry still, want to cling to the pride that made you storm away in the first place. But the way he looks at you, baggy-eyed, distant, but not cruel. It breaks down whatever resentment you had left and for a fleeting moment you think it is unfair.

“I didn’t think you’d still be awake,” you say softly, eyes darting away like you’re ashamed, like part of you wanted him to chase after you when you stormed out of this room hours before.

He exhales through his nose, shifting just slightly. “Of course I am. What kinda man do you think I am?”

The words hit you like a punch to the chest. Not because they’re harsh, but because they’re honest. Blunt. Him.

You move slowly, like your body’s still unsure, and he watches you the whole time. Never pushing, never rushing, just waiting. And when you finally cross the room and sit on the edge of the bed, you feel the tension in his frame start to ease.

“I hate fighting with you,” you whisper, more to yourself than him. Arms reflexively wrapped round your frame.

“I hate fighting with you,” he says immediately, voice thick with something that makes your throat tighten. You feel. the bed shift and his heat radiated behind you. “But I’ll do it if it means we get better. If it means we don’t let this shit sit between us like poison.”

His hands brush your elbow first. A reminder. He rubs at your skin and something inside you aches. Your smaller hands find his without thinking, fingers brushing together. He grips you gently, just enough to let you know he’s still here, still yours, no matter what.

You don’t apologize with words. Not yet. You both will…. eventually. But for now, in the quiet of your shared bedroom, under the soft glow of the lamp and the quiet buzz of forgiveness hanging in the air, you let him pull you close.

He presses his forehead to yours, breath warm against your lips. Crimson eyes hidden.

“No goin’ to bed mad, remember?” he murmurs. “That was the deal.”

And you nod. Because when it comes to love, his love, it’s not about being right.

It’s about coming back.

Always.

( a collection of drunken confessions dialogue prompts. adjust phrasing as necessary.) feel free to make edits to better suit your muse, but please don’t edit or add on to the original post <3 if you like, please consider supporting me through tips

(mix of silly, emotional, messy, sweet, and chaotic)

"you ever think maybe we were meant to meet... like, cosmically?"

"i shouldn't say this... but i've been in love with you for forever."

"shhh. don’t tell anyone i said this but... you’re my favorite person."

"you’re so pretty. it’s actually unfair. i’m mad at you now."

"i miss you. even when you're here, i miss you."

"if you asked me right now, i’d run away with you."

"i told myself i wouldn’t cry and now look at me—i'm soggy."

"can i tell you a secret? no one knows this. not even me."

"i don't want to go home. it’s not warm there like you are."

"you smell like safety. that’s weird, right?"

"you always leave the party too early. stay longer this time. stay with me."

"i don't like them. i never did. i only said yes to make you jealous."

"you were my first love. not that you needed to know that."

"you always knew me better than anyone. it’s scary sometimes."

"every time you smile at someone else i feel sick. it’s pathetic, i know."

"i think you're the only person who's ever actually seen me."

"you promised me you’d stay. why did you lie?"

"remember when we used to dream together? god, we were so young."

"don’t laugh but... i wrote poems about you. they were bad."

"you’re everything to me. but it’s fine. you don’t have to feel the same."

"your hands are so warm. i could live here, holding you."

"you were my favorite chapter. i keep rereading you."

"i’m not drunk. okay i am. but the feelings? those are real."

"i wish i was braver when it counted."

"it’s you. it’s always been you."

"do you think we missed our chance?"

"they don’t deserve you. but i was too scared to try to be someone who did."

"stop looking at me like that. i’ll fall in love all over again."

"you said you didn’t want anything serious... but i did. i wanted you."

"i’m scared. and it’s not the booze—it’s the idea of losing you."

"i tell everyone i’m over you but then you look at me and i fall apart."

"you were the only one who stayed when everything else fell apart."

"if i tell you i love you, will you leave? please don’t."

"the world feels quieter when you're near. like everything makes sense."

"you taste like trouble and i’d still kiss you again."

"god, i hate you. i hate how much i still love you."

"every version of me has wanted every version of you."

"you were my home. i didn’t realize until i lost the key."

"don’t leave yet. just one more moment like this. please."

"i think i messed up. i picked everyone else before you."

"if i asked you to kiss me, would you?"

"remember when you held my hand like you meant it?"

"you’re my what-if. and it kills me."

"can we just stay like this? pretend it’s still us?"

"i forgive you. even though it still hurts."

"i lied. when i said i didn’t care. i always did."

"you look so good right now. it's annoying. stop it."

"you make the world feel a little less heavy."

"i saved every text. is that weird?"

"i love you. even if i forget this in the morning, i mean it right now."

me n oliver :0

…plushies [link to the ‘picrew’] (feel free to rb w ur own !!)

@sirhamburrger

@stockholm1996 @dearru

Blue Lock Fanart Icons

KUROO TETSUROU doesn’t get it.

you’re around all the time—at school, after school, walking home. you're his neighbor. he sees you practically every day. so why does it feel like he misses you?

and not just a little. like... really misses you. the kind that sits in his chest and doesn’t let up. but calling it “missing you” doesn’t feel right.

one late night, he spirals down a google rabbit hole and finds the word: ‘longing’. that’s it. it’s not just about seeing you. it’s about the way you make things feel okay without even trying. the way he wants more than just friendship, more than what you already give him without realizing.

so, in a moment of zero forethought, he calls you. after three rings, you pick up.

“hello?”

“y/n, i think i’m in love with you.”

there’s a beat of silence, then a soft laugh. “you’re real funny.”

“i’m not joking,” he says. “i’ve been sitting with this for weeks. i miss you, even when i’m with you. and i don’t know what that says about me, but i needed to tell you.”

the silence stretches. regret starts creeping in.

“…forget i said anything. that was—”

“kuroo,” you cut in, “you’re such an idiot. i love you too.”

after yet another beat of silence, he speaks up again.

“can i see you?” he asks, like his mouth’s moving faster than his brain can keep up.

“try not to wake anybody up.” you reply with a soft smile.

© 𝐒𝟔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓 | please do not edit, translate or plagiarize my work ! dividers belong to @.cafekitsune

@fushiguruuzzzz this is for you 💕💗💖💞💓💘💝

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