Going To Been Running On Queue For The Next 3 Days Oki Bai.

hi darling, when i get my break today i have updates for you on the buggy love life <3 i love you and hope you have a good day kiss kiss kiss

-love bug 🐞

omg yes i’m so excited

next theme for pomeloblush is gonna be tomatoes btw, if anyone sees any cute tomatoes things send em my way

omg hai... i heard smthing about moodboards....

TANSYPANSYDANDY 𓂃⋆.˚

nostalgia ⸝⸝⸝ morning sun ⸝⸝⸝ lemon water ⸝⸝⸝ Glowing tans ⸝⸝⸝ 2000’s music

☘︎ yellowy green vibes ☘︎

call me a mormon the way i be fucking up this dirty soda..

hey! are you lost? seems like it to me. listen, you just landed in a universe where things are a little different. where japan’s brightest were never meant to be bitten by a radioactive spider… but did anyways. now they’re swinging through the sky, hiding secrets behind sharp eyes and even sharper instincts. the world calls them hero— for the most part— but there’s always gotta be something more! and for better or worse, you’re about to get caught in their webs.

notes: all fics will be social media aus

credit: spider boarders from @/sister-lucifer

Spider Bomb | TBD

pairing: spider-man!katsuki x gn!reader

genre/warnings: childhood friends to lovers, fluff, mentions of injury/blood, cussing, mutual pining

when out late, you get rescued by your city's very own masked hero— spider bomb. it ends with him taking you home, but why does he sound so damn familiar?

Redwing | TBD

pairing: spider-man!keigo x reporter!reader

genre/warnings: mild violence, injuries mentioned, mild jealousy/possessiveness, fluuuuff

when you find a paper webbed to your office window— marked with a number and signed by the elusive redwing— how could you not resist texting him for your own exclusive scoop?

Pyrospider | TBA

pairing: spider-man!touya x roommate!reader

genre/warnings: roommates au, grumpy x sunshine, mutual pining, fluff, angst (if you squint)

most people have to worry about their roommate not doing their chores or paying their half of rent— it seems you are not "most people"

Mind Weaver | TBD

pairing: spider-man!shinso x spider-man!reader

genre/warnings: mild violence, injuries mentioned, cussing/vulgar language, mentions of crime/criminal activity

two spider people find comfort in each other and knowing they're not alone in this world

Rushline | TBD

pairing: spider-man!tenya x classmate!reader

genre/warnings: collage au, mentions of injuries, cussing, slow burn, fluff

you realize early on that your cute classmate is rushline, now he just needs to confess...

Frost Flame | TBD

pairing: spider-man!todoroki x black cat!reader

genre/warnings: enemies to lovers, mild violence, injury's mentioned, criminal activity (from reader), angst (barley) with a happy ending

in a city of secrets and shadows, frost flame and you find yourselves locked in a dangerous game of cat and mouse

Tapeline | TBD

pairing: spider-man!sero x bff!reader

genre/warnings: best friends to lovers, fluff, mild violence, mild injuries, cussing

it wouldn’t be weird that you're crushing on the mysterious tapeline, if it weren’t for the fact that you’re also crushing on your best friend, sero. can one person like two people at the same time?

Deku | TBD

pairing: spider-man!izuku x techie!reader

genre/warnings: mutual pining, fluff, best friends to lovers, reader is izuku’s sidekick kinda, mentions of injuries, cussing

since izuku confessed about being deku, you jumped at the opportunity to be his “guy in the chair”, the only thing you didn’t account for was all the feelings™️

Zapline | TBD

pairing: spider-man!denki x nurse!reader

genre/warnings: fluff, angst (barely), mentions of injuries, mentions of blood, mentions of violence, medical jargon, neighbors au

your neighbor keeps showing up at your doorstep battered and bruised, and as a nurse, it’s hard to ignore his wounds—especially when he’s kinda cute

there's something kinda yuri about being tumblr mutuals

BLUE LOCK LEAKS HEHEHE

why did i just get krissed…TOKE WHAT THE FUCK😭😭😭

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

Miya Twins!

(post time skip-ish, hair is down cuz wet! HC says Osamu and Atsumu still occasionally play together with friends and Tsumu mocks Samu for his rusty skills constantly)

bakugou the king of just watching you like this 👁️ 👁️

mina says something abt him being down so atrociously bad and he goes "fuck you. you don't know what the fuck you're talking about" 👁️ 👁️