Where Does Sakusa Take U Guys On Ur First Date

— 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.

replace the extremely clingy with avoiding your calls because i don’t have the energy to talk to u

"I want a loser gf" until I lay in my room all day, have 2 friends, socially awkward and extremely clingy

IRIS LUKE PEARCE IS MYYY BITTCHH BRO MYYY FREAKING MAAANNNNN

that’s all you bbg i dunno where he is from either, i feel so outta touch with video games everyone’s playing…

this is osamu when him and i were no contact

MY HUSBANDDDD

Someone asked for Biceps bow trend timeskip Rin ✨ soo why not 😋

✘ RED THREAD OF FATE ; kirishima eijirou. “i can’t believe i found you again.” / “i knew you would.”

synopsis : people get divorced and ten-year-old best friends move away, abruptly severing all contact. oh, and some people are brought back together by pure, absolute fate. content : no quirks + band AU. profanity. alcohol + drug mention and consumption. 20-yr-old! reader/kirishima. lgbtq+ characters. past substance abuse.

taglist is open - please fill out this form. smau/traditional. specific cw added at the beginning of each chapter. no update schedule. punk kiri, denki, bakugou, mina, dabi, shigaraki, etc.

❪ TRACKLIST ❫

romance ・ 2025 ・ ۝ earier

● 1 Ribs ; prologue by Lorde.

● 2 Tba

● 3 Tba

R!ot Rev!val

kirishima eijirou, lead vocals ; bakugou katsuki, drums ; sero hanta, bass ; mina ashido, keyboard ; denki kaminari, electric guitar.

think: greenday, p!atd in its prime, fall out boy, the all-american rejects, as it is, set it off, fall in reverse, get scared, we the kings, yellowcard.

“The Girls”

y/n l/n, kits and kaboots / uni student ; toga himiko, kits and kaboots ; touya “dabi” todoroki, bartender ; shigaraki tomura, bartender.

think: forcing the boys into face care nights, shared cigarettes on the balcony, loudly singing in crowded cars, platonic cuddling, constant eye rolling.

nothing will ache my heart more than sienna bc it reminds me of me and iwaizumi.

i’m going to need someone to help me out with my jjk ship names and other things PLA

how does shoyo react to u wearing his clothes

first time: his brain breaks LOL. It was after he had come back from playing beach volleyball i was setting up dinner in his one of his many t-shirts that are ridiculous colors since i was doing my laundry and had nothing else to wear. He froze in his tracks after seeing me i was lwk confused and then he stuttered out about me wearing his shirt LMAO

now: he will purposely HIDE my house shirts/clothing so i can wear his he likes sharing his clothes with me it’s funny and vv cute

karasu come and tame this thang rn.