Ayatakanosstuff - Iris

me n oliver :0

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

guys i have never nor will i ever play LADS but captain caleb edit popped up on my fyp (lmk if anyone wants the link to that) and stuff abt him keeps showing up, also sylus so i dunno.

who do you think cried at our wedding

kageyama

daichi

ukai

atsumu

shomakris

shoyo

where does sakusa take u guys on ur first date

sakusa took me to those things were you go out to the lake and light up lanterns (tatbilb reference.) i lwk didn’t expect him to set something like this up? nonetheless it was vv cute we were matching colors and it was very intimate

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

❝ SHE’S THE TEAR IN MY HEART ❞ — itoshi sae

tags: smau shot, f!reader, established relationship, fluff, slight crack, pet names, implied engagement in one of them, extremely self indulgent and selfship coded i’m sorry </3 he makes me sick i love him sm — ignore timestamps

boyfriend texts with sae

masterlist

taglist. open (link to form) @saucejar @vellicrose @returntothefae @daisy-room @stellar-headquarters

@whatisnureotypical @haruhi269 @ayatakanosstuff @cyxjz @irethepotato

@mwezieclipze

© inloveinsickness. please do not repost, plagiarise, or translate my work.

@lovesdaya

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.

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)

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.