YES THAT IS U.

wc: 392

cw: alcohol use, smoking

She’s drunk, sitting cross-legged on his bedroom floor. The tips of Atsumu’s knees brush against hers. He has a dying lighter in his hands and a poorly rolled joint between his lips. He doesn’t get it lit until his fifth try. Her head spins.

She watches through half-closed eyes as Atsumu inhales, and then tilts his head back to blow smoke up towards his ceiling. The smell of it combines with his heavy cologne. Watching his hands grounds her.

“Here,” Atsumu says, and he lifts the joint towards her lips. He doesn’t wait for her response before he’s placing it between her lips, holding it delicately with two fingers. She inhales like she was told to, and Atsumu hums. “You look so pretty like that.”

There’s a delay in her head, and she doesn’t hear his words until she’s exhaling through her nose and Atsumu’s hand’s retracted. She feels dizzier than before.

Atsumu doesn’t say things like that to her. He shouldn’t. It makes her throat tighten up and her skin prickles. “Tsumu,” she drunkenly slurs, pulling her knees up to her chest, “don’t say things like that to me.”

“Yeah?” he says, smoke billowing from his mouth as he speaks. “Why not?”

She’s not drunk enough to feel embarrassed. She thinks that maybe she will be in the morning, when she remembers that this is real, and her words hold weight. “Cuz it makes me want to kiss you.”

Atsumu doesn’t say anything for a while. He doesn’t say anything for so long that it makes her think that she made a mistake. Her eyes find the ground, and her cheeks grow hot.

“D’ya mean that?” he asks, voice suddenly lower.

Her eyes flash up to meet his. His eyes seem dark. He clenches his jaw and his Adam’s apple bobbles in his throat as he swallows. “Yeah,” she says lightly, afraid to be any louder than she is.

Atsumu grins, then. Slight and easy, and it makes her stomach flip. “You can kiss me in the morning, then, if you still mean it.”

She sleeps in his bed that night, limbs sprawled out and entangled in his. He keeps an arm over her chest and he snores in her ear. She tosses and turns but he doesn’t let her get an inch. When morning comes, Atsumu doesn’t let her forget.

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Navigation : midnight records! the starlight EP! haikyuu EP!

"WHIPPED FOR YOU" — Iwaizumi Hajime

a/n : ok ok last iwa post maybe but omg i love him anyways i cant believe its the first headcanon but its so much fun content : bossy manager! reader, i love assertive women. iwa is so whipped. fluff.

Iwaizumi Hajime who is completely whipped for his manager.

Iwaizumi Hajime who watches you march across the gym with your arms crossed and that familiar scowl on your face, barking orders without hesitation, calling out every mistake like it's your personal mission to keep the team from falling apart. He hears the grumble in your voice when you scold Oikawa for flirting, the sharpness when you catch Kunimi skipping warm-up stretches, and he knows you’re not angry because you like yelling — you’re angry because you care too much to let them fail. He knows it, even if you never say it.

Iwaizumi Hajime who rolls his eyes every time you throw a towel at his head or shove a water bottle into his chest with a muttered "don't be an idiot Iwa," pretending to be annoyed, pretending you’re just a bossy nuisance he has to deal with. But he drinks every drop without a word, stretches when you remind him to, fixes his tape just because you glare at him over the clipboard, because deep down your voice has become something solid, something steady, something he doesn’t know how to go without anymore.

Iwaizumi Hajime who pretends your constant nagging is exhausting but feels the ache in his chest when you're not around, the way the gym feels too big and too quiet without your sarcasm filling the corners. He misses the sound of your complaints, the thud of your sneakers when you stomp off muttering under your breath, the way you boss them all around like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and maybe it is — maybe you were made to fit here, just as you are, stubborn and too full of heart to ever walk away.

Iwaizumi Hajime who fell for you somewhere between your third lecture about injury prevention and your fiftieth rant about keeping the locker room clean, who doesn’t know how to say it out loud without feeling like an idiot, who just keeps loving you the way he knows how — by standing next to you when the world gets heavy, by carrying your bag without asking, by listening every single time you talk even when he pretends not to.

Iwaizumi Hajime who knows you’re the loudest, bossiest, most stubborn girl to ever crash into his life — and thanks whatever dumb luck brought you here every single day.

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

TAGLIST (OPEN). / @ayatakanosstuff @angelkiyo @honeycrispappletree @itsmeaudrieee @sahrberrii @laaalaaaloooppppsiiieeeee @dazaisfavgf @sahrberrii

ZOMBIE AU SOMBIE AU

tw: brief mentions of violence, guns & death

at your caliber, disarming someone was easy. killing? even easier. both were a product of your training. but now that you're staring down the target you're supposed to eliminate with the bag finally off his head, why can't you pull the trigger? why is it for the first time in years, your hands tremble when it matters the most?

because the one looking back at you, whose forehead rests against the barrel of the gun that he gave you, died years ago. iwaizumi hajime was supposed to be dead, six feet under, years ago, in a mission objective gone wrong. what is he doing here?

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.

hai if u want a moodboard pls send an ask ty

ANNOUNCEMENT

this rest of this month i’ll be talking abt these selfships:

Kuroo shoyo daichi iwaizumi and bakugou

selfships i want to start and confirm:

bokuto and meian also aizawa (pla help me.)

atsumu miya - 320 words.

atsumu knows he’s screwed.

the second you laugh at his joke, fingers brushing his chest as you lean forward, he knows he’s absolutely screwed. later, osamu will tease him for how red he got, but he’ll brush it off with an indignant roll of his eyes.

from that moment on, atsumu’s familiar cockiness melts away in your presence. he stumbles over his words, avoiding eye contact. his jokes fall flat, and yet you still laugh every time. suna tells him you’re way out of his league and atsumu shoves his shoulder playfully, reluctantly and internally agreeing.

some random day after school, to his surprise, you ask him to walk you home. he has practice, but he skips the first half for you. kita is gonna tear him a new one—he can’t find it in himself to care. he shoves his hands in his pockets and stares at the ground as you talk to him, too nervous to meet your eyes.

when the first dribbles of rain hit the ground, he curses. you both make a run for a nearby bus stop, where there’s a roof, and stand there for a quiet moment.

“i love the rain,” you say eventually, letting out a soft sigh.

he glances over at you and the look of absolute wonder leaves a pang of joy in his heart. you look so . . . ethereal. suna was right; you’re so out of his league.

“especially when it’s warm out,” you continue. you reach your hand out, letting the water fill your cupped hand before pouring it. you turn to atsumu with a giggle. “do you like the rain?”

he hesitates, enamored by the look in your eyes. “yeah,” he answers, breathless. and, really, he doesn’t. it’s cold and wet and it sucks. but you like it. and he likes you. and he would stand with you in the rain forever if it meant seeing that look on your face.

OMG HI IRIIISS I WAS SO BUSY LAST FEW DAYS I WANTED TO CHECK IN

HII NENSI i missed you sm. I hope you’re doing good 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️