#athletic trainer iwaizumi

[iwaoiness]

Finally, Japan wins against Argentina in the Olympics and Iwaizumi, after the euphoria and joining in the collective hug with the whole team, approaches the net and passes under it, smiling when he sees Oikawa with a pout and his arms crossed.

"This game doesn't count," he mutters, but hugs Hajime tightly when he wraps his arms around him, his big hand warm against his back, between his shoulder blades.

"You played an amazing match" Iwaizumi swears, voice low and deep, just for Oikawa to hear.

And Oikawa believes him. He absolutely believes him. They played a good match, they were better (much, much better than against USA), but they weren't the six strongest. And that's fine. Because the world doesn't end. The world keeps turning, volleyball keeps existing, matches keep being played, opportunities keep coming, Hajime always stays.

"Make sure to avenge me against the USA, Iwa-chan."

Hajime chuckles, lifting his head to meet Oikawa's eyes. Oikawa smiles, soft and affectionate, only slightly tired but not defeated. And that's all Iwaizumi wants in the world.

He gives Oikawa a squeeze around the waist.

"And you, babe, make sure to avenge me against Germany."

...

JUST WAIT UNTIL I HAVE TIME THIS WEEK TO IMPROVE THIS DRABBLE BECAUSE IM STILL SCREAMING SINCE THE MATCH ENDED

[todorokis-girl]

Healing together - Iwazumi Hajime x f!reader

Iwazumi is late one night, his girlfriend has to work through some fear from a previous relationship.

masterlist

Hajime Iwaizumi walked through the front door of his apartment, shoulders heavy with the fatigue of a long day. The soft click of the door shutting behind him felt like the closing of a chapter—an echo of every late night he'd spent at the gym, guiding athletes through rigorous routines and injuries. His passion for his job as an athletic trainer drove him to stay late often, but tonight, a twinge of guilt gnawed at his gut.

"Y/N? I'm home," he called, kicking off his shoes and setting his bag down. The apartment was dimly lit, a warm glow emanating from the living room where he knew she'd be. The silence that met him was unusual. Normally, Y/N would greet him with a tired smile, no matter how late he came back.

As he walked further into the apartment, he found Y/N curled up on the couch, a blanket wrapped tightly around her. She looked up at him, her eyes wide and filled with a familiar, unsettling mix of relief and anxiety.

"Hey," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Hey," he replied, sitting down beside her. "I'm sorry I'm late. We had a few injuries today that took longer than expected."

She nodded, her gaze dropping to her hands. "I know. It's just… you were later than usual, and I got worried."

Iwaizumi reached out, gently taking her hand in his. "I'm really sorry. I should have called or texted. I didn't mean to make you worry."

Y/N took a deep breath, her fingers curling around his. "It's not just that. I trust you, Hajime, I really do. It's just… my past. Sometimes it creeps up on me, and I can't help but feel anxious when you're not here."

Iwaizumi's heart ached at her words. He knew about her previous relationship, how it had been marred by neglect and emotional turbulence. He had promised himself that he would never be the source of her pain.

"I understand," he said softly, squeezing her hand. "And I want you to know that I'm here for you. Always. I’ll do better at keeping you updated. Your peace of mind means everything to me."

Y/N nodded, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Thank you. I know it's not fair to put this on you, but sometimes it's hard to shake off those old fears."

"Hey," he said, lifting her chin gently so their eyes met. "It's not about fairness. It's about us. We’re a team, right? Just like in volleyball, we support each other, on and off the court."

A small smile tugged at her lips, and she leaned into his touch. "Right. We're a team."

He pulled her into a comforting embrace, the warmth of his body seeping into her. They stayed like that for a while, the silence between them filled with unspoken understanding and love.

As they pulled apart, Iwaizumi brushed a strand of hair away from her face. "How about we order some takeout from that 24 hour Chinese and watch a movie? Something light, we can stay in tomorrow"

"Don't you have work tomorrow?"

he smiles and runs a hand through her hair "No, I don't, clocking out late all week drove me over the hours"

Y/N’s smile grew, a real one this time, reaching her eyes. "then yes, I'd like that."

They spent the rest of the evening nestled together on the couch, sharing laughter and quiet moments of contentment. Iwaizumi’s heart swelled with a deep, abiding love for the woman beside him. He knew that healing took time, and he was ready to walk that path with her, step by step.

In the warmth of their home, they found solace in each other, and as the night wore on, the shadows of the past faded, replaced by the promise of a brighter, more secure future. Together, they would face whatever came their way, knowing that they had each other’s backs—always.

[mania-sama]

oikawa always knew what he wanted to be when he grew up. from the moment he saw jose blanco when they were seven years old, he became certain that he would be a professional player. before he was old enough to understand how long it would take or how much energy it would require, oikawa was telling iwaizumi what number jersey he would wear on the national team.

iwaizumi loved volleyball. there was no question about it; he loved the weight against his fingers as he lightly tossed it in the air. he loved the green and brown bruises littering his arms, proving he fought and played well. he loved crouching on the court with five other people, waiting in bated breath to score the next point. he loved the sound the ball made when he spiked it to the ground with enough power to shake the net. he loved springing in the air and diving to the ground.

he loved watching his teammates glow with pride at every point earned, at every win. he loved having support during the hard losses. he loved oikawa, who threw himself so deeply into the sport that it made iwaizumi try that much harder, practice that much longer, want to win that much more.

but, he always knew his love came at a price.

he could see himself playing professionally. he knew that he'd only want to do it if oikawa would be on the court with him. he knew he was only as good as he was when the best high school setter in miyagi brought out his talents. he knew that, at the end of the day, his drive to be an Olympic athlete was crutched by his best friend.

oikawa had developed it alone, separate from iwaizumi. iwaizumi could recognize that, and that was what set them apart.

iwaizumi didn't know what he wanted to be when he grew up. he threw around ideas in his head, every now and then. he knew he couldn't do a corporate job. he'd seen the way men fell asleep in bushes and in shops, never making it home, then waking up again to return to where they worked. it sounded like hell and misery, so he threw it out immediately. he supposed he wouldn't mind traveling the world, but he didn't know where he'd get the funds for that. he didn't care much for history or archaelogy, and those master's and phd's would be what would get him places. he even settled on the military for a time, if he really couldn't figure what he wanted from life by the time he graduated.

then, like dominos, everything began to fall into place. it started like this:

in his third year of middle school, he injured his wrist. he had to see the athletic trainer twice a week, for those were the days the trainer was available to assist the volleyball clubs. his mother was a nurse, so she made sure he kept up with his ice and stretches at home. he cared for himself and the trainer cared for him, coaching him through certain workouts and tracking his progress on a clipboard. he admired the trainer for the first time in his life. not because he was caring for iwaizumi specifically, but because iwaizumi was seeing all of it work. the ice, the workouts, the way his wrist gradually heals until he feels no pain anymore. he found himself curious about the clipboard, though he never asked.

oikawa overworked his ankle and twisted it in their first year of high school. iwaizumi's injury had been minor, but oikawa's was considerably worse. he limped as he walked, and iwaizumi went online and nearly keeled over when the results told him that oikawa would die in the next twenty-four days, that his ankle would never heal properly. mother iwaizumi was far more rational, and their trainer was available four of the five days of the work week, so oikawa was functionally okay. it didn't stop bothering iwaizumi, though. he was by oikawa's side the whole time despite their new friends', matsukawa and hanamaki, teasing. when oikawa allowed him, he examined the twisted ankle, pressing his fingers against the bone, carefully tracing the slightly discolored skin.

he started volunteering at the hospital when he could, though he found he didn't enjoy the atmosphere much. he saw charts, though. he started to get an idea of what was on the paper on the clipboard. that, he enjoyed. he enjoyed seeing patients walk away with grins at good news, and he eavesdropped on nurses and doctors discussing diagnoses he didn't fully understand. his favorites were the ones of athletes, good or bad. shin splints, they said with relief. tendonitis. dislocation. a torn acl, they gasped after coming out of a screaming girl's room.

someone caught wind of his volunteering. during a training camp, a fidgeting player from a different team corners him outside. he asked if iwaizumi had anything, anything, anything at all, though preferably xanax. please, man, he begged. i know you work at a hospital. i'll pay you back. i just- i think somebody stole mine out of my bag a while ago. i can't get through this weekend. hook me up? iwaizumi denied him, told him to get help, told a trusted adult because although he knew it was "uncool" and he was a "snitch", the kid was shaking and knee-deep in drug addiction, and iwaizumi couldn't ignore it no matter how hard he tried. his skin burned from where the guy grabbed him to plead. his tongue was dry from when he tried to gently let him down the first time. his head hurts from the idea betraying his peers, even though he knew they would cover his ass if he had alcohol on him.

they lose to shiratorizawa for the second time in high school, and oikawa tried to get himself another overworked limb. iwaizumi shouted, and shouted, and shouted, and he dragged oikawa out of the gym more nights than not. he sat with him when oikawa was determined to give himself dry-eye from watching volleyball matches all hours of the day. he kept oikawa going.

that addict player died over an overdose over the summer, the news hitting him at the same time as the rest of the miyagi volleyball community. and he started to understand. he understood the way the kid - for though he was older than iwaizumi, he was still just a kid - would react slowly to block the ball, or how he would twitch before his serve. he understood the first time oikawa hurt his ankle, how it had been nothing like iwaizumi’s wrist injury, or how taking xanax during a training camp was nothing like camping out in a basement with a couple of friends and a case of cheap liquor store beer.

on the first full day back to school in their second year, hanamaki pulled iwaizumi aside and said that matsukawa had passed out briefly on the train ride over. iwaizumi didn't know what to do, necessarily, or what it could mean that matsukawa passed out for seemingly no reason, but he decided to keep an eye out. he watched him at practice. watched the way he was slow to block, blinking blearily, swaying on his feet. it could be sleep deprivation, but matsukawa had said he wasn't tired. his second thought was of that player the year prior. he watched, and as much as it pained him, he waited. he waited until they could all get ramen together, because for one reason or another matsukawa found a reason to bail out of after-school food runs. when matsukawa got up to use the bathroom after finishing his food, iwaizuimi waited one, two, three, ten seconds to follow, similarly excusing himself. he listened to matsukawa heave and wretch, and he sat there until matsukawa came out, one hand hastily wiping his mouth. he froze when he saw iwaizumi, and it must've been something on his face, must've been the memory of how he failed to help a kid who was now six feet underground, because matsukawa broke down into tears. i can't stop. i can't, he said. i need to do this to be better at volleyball. i can't gain more weight. it'll bring me down. don't make me stop.

iwaizumi made him do one thing: see the athletic trainer. he got the athletic trainer to give them advice on a diet that would both build muscle and increase their overall health. iwaizumi sent matsukawa on his way with a detailed regimen, but he himself stayed behind with the trainer. he asked, doing his best to remain neutral: which do you think is more important? mental health or physical injuries?

after a while of deliberation, he got received the trainers honest answer. physical injuries. athletes can get severely stressed and disordered after even a minor injury.

iwaizumi nodded. how do i become an athletic trainer?

go to school, the trainer said, smiling. study hard.

taking that to heart, he left. he left with a plan: to go to university, study hard, and write a paper proving that trainer wrong. his paper would be on the psychology behind sports injuries, how its the state of an athelete's mental health that causes injuries. he would then work as an athletic trainer, and he wouldn't let a kid like oikawa overwork themselves, or kids like that player accost underclassmen and overdose, or kids like matsukawa avoid food and expel what little they consumed. because they all wanted one thing. to play better, to be better. and iwaizumi wanted to be there for them, to tell them that a game wasn't worth their lives.

he wanted to be there for the middle school kid with a wrist injury, whos only wish was to keep playing with his best friend.

iwaizumi studied hard. he researched and researched, and he kept volunteering at the hospital even though he hated the smell of sterile rooms and the miserable faces of interns and residents and the floor that housed most of the terminally ill. he shadowed the trainer as they worked with other seijoh clubs when he had the time. he worked, and he cared for oikawa and his various discreet attempts at overworking himself to death.

in his third year of high school, an acceptance letter from the university of california, his top choice of school, arrives at his front door with a full-ride scholarship.

[akaripng]

I think I found one of the best Etsy shops for Haikyuu merch!! I got this ticket and badge for the MSBY Black Jackals vs Schweiden Alders game and I love them sooo much!! The attention to detail is just incredible! Big thank you to @sijopolang the excellent customer service! Plz check out her shop!!

When I get older I’m putting these in a frame with my Bokuto MSBY jersey <3

[robbinsathletics]

Deadlifts are one of the most effective compound exercises for building total-body strength, making them essential for athletic training. This exercise primarily targets the posterior chain (lower back, glutes, hamstrings) but also engages your core, upper back, and grip, making it a powerhouse move for improving power, stability, and functional strength.

Benefits for Athletic Training: Deadlifts enhance explosive power and speed, which translates to better performance in sports that require sprinting, jumping, and quick changes of direction. They also help with injury prevention by strengthening key muscles and improving posture.

How to Do a Deadlift:

Stand with feet hip-width apart, the barbell positioned over the middle of your feet.

Grip the bar just outside your knees, keeping your back straight and chest up.

Push through your heels and extend your hips and knees, pulling the bar up along your shins until you're standing tall.

Reverse the motion by hinging at the hips and lowering the bar with control to the ground.

Aim for 3-4 sets of 5-8 reps, with enough weight to challenge your form without compromising technique. Focus on proper form to avoid injury and maximize gains!

[moonchildilo]

it’s that time of the year again!!🫡

[iabandonedmybois]

bringing this fic back even though it’s been finished for a long time :) happy olympics !!!

Just realized I never posted this on my tumblr! So introducing my newest and longest WIP: an Olympics-centered fic following the OiKage fling and assorted fallout, including a kagehina and iwaoi endgame (slow burn on those tho, we gotta get some sweet oikage smut first). Posted ch.3 today, hoping to update weekly from here on out, until it’s complete. 🥇 

[ywaizvmi]

I DON'T CARE IF YOU'RE GRUMPY, IRRITATED AND HATE PEOPLE. YOU'RE MY SUNSHINE, LOVE AND LIGHT OF MY LIFE, IWA-CHAN!! I LOVE YOU SO MUCHHH!! 🫶

[coolpointsetta]

iwaizumi hajime (47) athletic trainer who publishes award winning research, becoming a pioneer in his field. he goes to conferences and presents said research for thousands of people. there are techniques named after him, he gets to write a textbook. his work is included in dozens of textbooks. he is invited for guest lectures at colleges and universities in nearly every country; including, but not limited to, his alma mater in california.

the topic of said research? knee recovery in athletes and recognizing the signs of the particular injuries before they start, stopping the injuries before they even happen. the goal of said research? to maximize an athlete’s performance and lengthen their career and limit muscle fatigue and surgeries even after they retire.

he is asked many questions about his research, but the one posed most often is why. why would he chose this topic.

“it is simple,” he always says. “i want to help others. this felt like the best way to do it.”

others, he says; he means it of course. he wants to help others and he has, he has helped thousands of athletes across the world. but to those who know him, they know it all ties back to one person.

in all of his published works, oikawa’s data is present. his x-rays and scans and initial prognosis, his routines and procedures and how the exercises made him feel. all of it compared to iwaizumi’s newly developed research and routines. oikawa’s name is omitted for privacy, but everyone knows it.

obviously, iwaizumi needed to gather data from hundreds of participants, but the same images and scans and quotes are all pulled from the same person.

iwaizumi loves his husband to the point of rewriting the story that oikawa would never make it as a professional athlete. watching tooru never give in to the critics was the whole he reason he chose this field in the first place, after all. hajime healed his injury with his own two hands and stood beside him every step of the way. iwaizumi loves him to the point of creation.

because all of it, after all this time, was for oikawa.

[kamisama1kiss]

GUYS PAUSE EVERYTHING YOURE DOING THE TIME-SKIP HAIKYUU IN CONFIRMED TO BE ANIMATED

LETS FUCKING GOOOOOO

23 YEAR OLD HINATA SHOYO IN BRAZIL HERE I COME.

(Don't kill me if it's wrong info-)

[moonschocolate]

iwaizumi hajime (27) athletic trainer save me. save me iwaizumi hajime (27) athletic trainer

[iwaoiness]

When Argentina loses to Japan, Iwaizumi is there, crossing the net to reach Oikawa, who has fallen to his knees, hiding his face in his shirt collar, his shoulders trembling with broken sobs. Hajime wraps his arms around him, and Tooru collapses into the hug. There are no words in Spanish, English, or Japanese that can alleviate the sadness, the failure, and the defeat.

When Japan wins the set needed to advance to the quarter-finals, Oikawa stumbles out of his seat and runs onto the playing area, leaping over the billboard to the surprise of many fans, with a toothy, proud smile. Hajime looks up with teary eyes and lets out a wet laugh, catching Tooru in his arms as he leaps onto him, holding him tightly. There are words, "I'm so, so proud of you, mi vida", "you did it, I love you, I love you, I love you", "the quarter-finals, damn it, I knew you'd make it," soft and sweet, just for Hajime.

When Argentina suffers another defeat, Iwaizumi doesn't let Oikawa sleep in his own room. He drags him to his, and they shower together. Iwaizumi leaves him clothes with the promise that this time Oikawa will return them (which, of course, he doesn't). He applies kinesiotape strips to Oikawa's shoulders and arms, and then they watch their favorite movie on the laptop, cuddled up in the tiny bed. They talk about the movie, laughing at the most absurd scenes. Tooru lies with half his body resting on Hajime's, his head nestled against Hajime's broad chest. Hajime's hand roams through Tooru's hair for a while before wandering down his strong back. As they prepare to sleep, Iwaizumi holds him tightly, kisses his forehead, and whispers there’s no one like you out there, you are the greatest player the world has ever known, this is just another step towards the top, I love you and you are my pride.

When Italy eliminates Japan, Oikawa stands among the Japanese fans, giving a standing ovation to the team. He tries not to cry, fighting the sting in his eyes and the burn in his nose. But when he sees Iwa-chan bow towards the stands with the rest of the team in deep gratitude, when he sees Iwa-chan wiping away his tears with his sleeves, when he sees Hajime comforting a defeated Hinata, Atsumu, and Kageyama with pats on the back and hands in their hair, when he sees Iwa-chan checking to make sure the rest of the players are okay, and then searching the stands for him, giving him a sad smile, Tooru breaks down too. He comes down from the stands, and there is Hajime waiting. They hug, sinking into each other’s arms because there’s nowhere else in the world they’d rather be. Oikawa becomes Iwaizumi’s solid pillar, catching his sobs, sinking his fingers into his hair, and gently rubbing his back.

“Why are you crying so much, Iwa-chan? You're going to get snot all over my shirt!” Tooru teases, though he’s not much better, with teary eyes and a red nose. He lifts his head just to cradle Iwaizumi’s face in his hands, gently brushing his wet cheeks with his thumbs. When Hajime’s eyes meet his, he smiles softly. “It’s okay, my love, it’s all Tobio-chan’s fault. Geez, couldn’t he have paid more attention to the Italians when they were talking during the game?”

Despite himself, Hajime laughs, leaning into Oikawa’s touch, leaving a sweet kiss on the palm of his hand.

“That applies to you too, you know? We beat you, and as far as I remember, Japanese is your native language.”

“I was paying a lot of attention, but you kept covering your faces every time you talked!” he protested childishly.

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes, amused, before sighing and resting his forehead on Oikawa’s shoulder, feeling heavy and exhausted. Tooru kissed his cheek, resting his own against Hajime’s head while hugging him again, feeling the strong arms of the love of his life tighten around his waist.

“I wanted to win so much,” then he whispered, small and weak. “Not just for me, or my parents, or the team, or the country. Also for you. Especially for you. I wanted to share the fucking podium with you, Tooru. To share the medal like you did with me in Tokyo.”

Tooru wants to tear his heart out. He wants to sell his soul to the Olympic committee to redo these Olympics Games and start over. He wants to show that they are the strongest six. He wants Iwa-chan to prove it too. He wants them both to reach the highest peak, to face each other at the top.

He hates losing. He hates the taste of failure, salty and wet. He hates defeat.

But he also understands that this is volleyball too. Two teams separated by a net, bouncing a ball back and forth. The ball isn’t allowed to touch the floor, isn’t allowed to be carried but to be connected. Volleyball is also fun, even in defeat. Because it makes you stronger and because losing doesn’t mean the sport disappears forever.

“You will,” Tooru says, his voice grave, honest, and unwavering. You will because I believe in you. You will because this isn’t the end. You will because we’ll keep playing volleyball. "We will. The next Olympics will be in Los Angeles, and I'm going to kick your ass there, Hajime. I’ll reach the podium first, I’ll share the medal with you again, and it will be the gold.”

Iwaizumi snorts, snuggling into Oikawa’s shoulder for a few more seconds before lifting his head again. He cried again. His eyes are still wet, the skin beneath them red, trails of tears crossing his cheeks. But he smiles, wide and sincere.

“As if I’d let you beat me, babe. I’ll be the one taking you to the podium first.”

“Oho, Iwa-chan, do I smell a bet?” Tooru intertwining his hands behind Hajime’s neck.

“If I reach the podium, the honeymoon will be in Philippines.”

“And if I reach it first, it’ll be in Bali.”

“Deal.”

“Kiss to close the deal?”

“What about the handshake?”

“Bleh, boring!”

Hajime laughs, leaning in to rub his nose against Oikawa’s.

“Thank you,” he whispers against his lips, half-closing his eyes “for everything, Tooru.”

And Oikawa smiles, sweet and completely in love.

“That’s my line.” And with that, they kiss in the middle of the Paris Olympic Stadium.

...

as furudate once said: today you are the defeated, but what will you become tomorrow?

u can find this and me on my ao3 🍉

[todorokis-girl]

Friday nights and Volleyball - Reader x Iwazumi (Part 1)

Y/N thought her Friday night would be a peaceful soak in the tub, a glass of wine, and George Michael crooning in the background. Instead, a call from Suna drags her to the training center to referee the chaos of the Olympic volleyball team. Between old high school connections, ex-boyfriends, and Iwaizumi's pointed questions about her social life, Y/N wonders if she signed up to manage a team or a soap opera.

Masterlist

Time can never mend The careless whispers of a good friend To the heart and mind, ignorance is kind There's no comfort in the truth, pain is all you'll find

The sultry saxophone blended with George Michael’s honeyed voice, filling the bathroom with a tragically romantic ambiance that was hilariously at odds with Y/N’s current predicament. Candles flickered in defiance of the bathroom’s harsh overhead lighting, their scent of lavender and vanilla doing its best to soothe her nerves. She sunk deeper into the clawfoot tub, the warm water lapping at her collarbones like a silent reassurance.

The phone balanced precariously on the edge of the tub, notifications lighting up every few minutes with reminders of things she’d sworn she’d handle tomorrow. A half-full glass of red wine rested nearby, its rich color glowing warmly in the candlelight as Y/N let the music and the wine dull the tension from her long day.

She hummed along to the words, her eyes drifting closed.

To the heart and mind, ignorance is kind There's no comfort in the truth, pain is all you'll find

“God, that’s too real,” she muttered, lifting her glass in a mock toast to no one. This was supposed to be her night off—a rare moment to pamper herself in peace. She’d worked hard to earn it too. As the promoter for the Olympic volleyball team, her days were packed with coordinating events, managing sponsorships, and ensuring the public adored the players just as much as she did.

Players who, incidentally, included some of her former classmates. The irony of it all wasn’t lost on her.

Just as she leaned back, the phone buzzed with a vengeance, its vibration enough to send it teetering dangerously close to the water. She scrambled to grab it, nearly upsetting her wine in the process. Her irritation fizzled when she saw the name flashing across the screen: Rintarō Suna.

She groaned dramatically, already knowing this wouldn’t be good. “Of course it’s you,” she muttered under her breath, before swiping to answer.

“Hello?” she said, trying to sound composed despite the fact she was naked, wet, and decidedly not in the mood for whatever Suna was about to say.

“Y/N.” His voice was calm as ever, carrying that lazy drawl she remembered from high school, but there was an edge to it that made her sit up straighter. “We need you to come to the gym. Now.”

Y/N blinked, glancing at the clock on the wall. “Suna, it’s almost ten. At night. Whatever it is, can’t it wait until morning?”

“Nope.” She could practically hear the smirk in his tone. “It’s an emergency. And by emergency, I mean Bokuto and Kuroo are about two seconds away from calling a press conference to show off their dance moves, and Iwaizumi’s ready to strangle them.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose. “You’re telling me this now?”

“You’re the promoter. It’s literally your job to stop them from embarrassing us on a national level.”

Y/N let out a dramatic sigh, sinking back into the water for one last moment of serenity. “Fine. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

As she ended the call and reluctantly stepped out of the tub, she muttered under her breath, “Careless whispers? More like careless volleyball players.”

Maybe George Michael was onto something after all.

Y/N wrapped herself in a plush towel, half-heartedly glaring at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Her hair clung to her damp skin, and she made no move to fix it, knowing she didn’t have the time. Still, she allowed herself a moment to lament.

“This is my life,” she said to no one in particular, jabbing at her reflection like it was somehow at fault. “It’s Friday night, I’m soaking in a bath, drinking wine, and this is the emergency I get dragged into?”

The muffled notes of Careless Whisper still played in the background, and Y/N couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. “God, George, you’re killing me.”

She tugged on a sweatshirt and a pair of leggings, shoving her feet into sneakers as she grabbed her bag and keys. Her wine sat forgotten on the bathroom counter, the flickering candlelight casting it in a romantic glow she couldn’t care less about right now.

The drive to the training center was blessedly quiet, save for the playlist she didn’t bother changing. The saxophone crooned in the background, almost mocking her.

And I'm never gonna dance again Guilty feet have got no rhythm

Y/N let out a humorless laugh as she pulled into the lot. “Yeah, George, I’m definitely not dancing tonight. I’m babysitting grown men.”

When she pushed through the gym doors, she was met with chaos. Kuroo and Bokuto were indeed in the center of the court, attempting what could only be described as some unholy mix of a tango and freestyle hip-hop. Bokuto, shirtless for reasons unknown, was yelling something about “expressing his soul,” while Kuroo twirled dramatically.

Iwaizumi stood at the sidelines, arms crossed and jaw set. His irritation was palpable, even from a distance. He turned when he saw her, relief flashing across his features.

“Finally,” he muttered as she approached. “Can you do something about this before I lose it?”

Y/N raised a brow, taking in the scene. “What, you don’t think this’ll go over well with sponsors?”

“Y/N,” Iwaizumi said, his voice tight, “if you don’t stop this, I’m letting Bokuto get his hands on your phone and post this to your account.”

She gasped, clutching her bag like it was a shield. “You wouldn’t dare.”

His gaze was unwavering. “Try me.”

Rolling her eyes, Y/N stepped onto the court and clapped her hands together. “Okay, boys, show’s over! If you’ve got enough energy to dance, you’ve got enough energy to hit the weights or run drills.”

Bokuto froze mid-spin, his arms wide. “But Y/N! We were just getting started!”

“I know,” she said with a tight smile. “That’s why it’s time to stop.”

Kuroo, ever the instigator, slung an arm around Bokuto’s shoulders. “Don’t listen to her, Bo. She’s just jealous she wasn’t here to see the full performance.”

Y/N leveled him with a look. “Kuroo, if you post any of this, I will personally make sure you’re the face of every embarrassing meme on the internet.”

He raised his hands in mock surrender, his grin unrepentant. “Message received.”

Satisfied, Y/N turned back to Iwaizumi, who was watching the exchange with a mixture of amusement and exhaustion. “Crisis averted,” she declared.

“For now,” he said. “But we’ve got another hour of practice, and I wouldn’t put it past them to try something else.”

Y/N sighed, already dreading the long night ahead. “Guess I’m sticking around, then.”

As she moved to sit on the bench, she caught Iwaizumi’s gaze lingering on her, his expression softening ever so slightly. “Thanks for coming,” he said, his voice quieter now.

She shrugged, a small smile tugging at her lips. “What can I say? Someone’s gotta keep you guys in line.”

If she noticed the faint pink dusting his cheeks as he turned away, she didn’t mention it. But the warmth spreading through her chest? That was hard to ignore.

Iwaizumi leaned against the bench beside her, arms crossed over his chest as he cast her a sidelong glance. His tone was casual, but his words hit like a well-aimed spike. “You know, it’s Friday night. Shouldn’t you be out with friends or something? You know, not here babysitting a bunch of idiots?”

Y/N let out a laugh, though it came with a sharp edge of bitterness. “Friends? I haven’t had those in years. Not since I got assigned to this team, anyway.”

His brow furrowed, his tone softening slightly. “What are you talking about? You’re one of the most social people I know.”

She gestured around the gym, a wry smile tugging at her lips. “Exactly. My ‘social life’ is right here. Some of my closest friends are on this team—and I use the term friends loosely, considering they’ve roped me into this circus act tonight.” She shot a mock glare at Kuroo and Bokuto, who were still whispering conspiratorially on the other side of the court.

Iwaizumi’s frown deepened. “That’s... kind of sad.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” she said, voice dripping with sarcasm as she leaned back against the bench. “It gets better. Did you know one of those so-called friends is my ex?”

At that, Iwaizumi blinked, clearly caught off guard. “Wait. What?”

She pointed across the gym at Suna, who was now casually leaning against the wall, scrolling through his phone like he had nothing to do with the chaos. “That one. Rintarō Suna. Ex-boyfriend extraordinaire.”

Iwaizumi’s head snapped toward Suna, then back to Y/N. His expression was a mix of disbelief and... something else she couldn’t quite place. “You’re joking.”

“I wish,” she said with a laugh, though her tone held a note of sincerity. “It was a long time ago. High school, when I was still managing the Inarizaki team. Don’t worry—it wasn’t some big, dramatic breakup or anything. Just a classic case of ‘this isn’t working.’”

“Still,” he said, glancing at Suna again like he was seeing him in an entirely new light. “That’s... unexpected.”

Y/N shrugged, swirling the remnants of her wine in her mind. “Eh, it is what it is. He’s still the same Suna, though. Lazy, sarcastic, and somehow always exactly where he shouldn’t be.”

“Like here,” Iwaizumi muttered, his lips quirking into a faint smirk.

“Exactly,” she said, a genuine laugh escaping her this time. “But hey, he’s also one of the few people who hasn’t managed to completely drive me insane. So, I guess that counts for something.”

Iwaizumi studied her for a moment, his gaze softer now. “Still... I feel bad you’re stuck here with us. You deserve more than spending your Friday nights babysitting a bunch of idiots like us.”

She waved him off with a smile. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. You’re not all idiots. Just most of you.”

His smirk widened, but there was a flicker of something in his expression—a quiet admiration that he didn’t voice but couldn’t quite hide.

“And for the record,” Y/N added, her tone turning teasing as she stood, “I wouldn’t call it ‘stuck.’ I chose this job, knowing full well the circus act I was signing up for. You guys might be chaos incarnate, but you’re my chaos.”

Iwaizumi’s eyes lingered on her a moment longer than necessary, and he cleared his throat, straightening up. “Well, I guess we’re lucky to have you.”

“Damn right you are.” She winked at him before turning to yell at Kuroo and Bokuto, who were dangerously close to trying another “routine.”

As she walked away, Iwaizumi couldn’t help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, there was more to her presence here than dedication to the job—or an inability to say no to her old teammates.

[90ekz]

cockwarming iwaizumi on a business call,,, yea.

he’d be so annoying about it, too. yes, it was your idea, but you didn’t expect for him to treat you like you weren’t important :((

and you want to get pounded, absolutely ruined, but the only thing he was giving you were occasional taps to your clit paired with his slight movement inside you every once in a while.

most annoying man ever btw. it didn’t help that he kept muting the phone to reprimand you either.

“stay still. you wanted this, baby. now take it.”

mean ass.

“‘zumi… don’t be so mean t’me.”

iwa wanted nothing more than to fuck you deep, but he had business to finish first. ‘cause he’s always tryna be a working member of society n shit

eventually you just got impatient and rose up on his cock just to slam back down. he barely covered his guttural whine before the man on the other end noticed.

iwaizumi ended up gripping your waist tightly with one of his sizeable hands to keep you in place, while continuing to writing notes with the other.

he smirked into the crook of your neck, cause now you really had no where to move.

iwa just likes to be a lil sadist from time 2 time.

oh, and as soon as he gets off that phone?? he still doesn’t let you move, much to your dismay.

but now he’s free to degrade you and tell you how bad you were :((

“thought you were g’nna be a good girl f’me. you’re making me sad..”

in the end, iwa lets you cum, yea. but not on his dick. he adds some quick strokes to your clit, but only to shut you up.

after all, he still had business to finish.

he knows exactly how unsatisfying it is, but he thinks you deserve it. all you had to do was sit still >:(

[kuroppiii]

   iwa's not drunk ! ᵕ̈         iwaizumi hajime x gn reader ˎˊ˗

⋮⋮ ˒ ₍ᐢ..ᐢ₎ 𖥻 ⿻ : walking back home with    ⋮⋮  hajime after a night out ( he is sooo ⋮⋮  not drunk, by the way )

📋 content      ♡ # 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧 🐮      ♡ # 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘣𝘣𝘭𝘦 🥛      ♡ # 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘵 - 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘱       ♡ # ~400 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴

🧸 directory  ‹ ✩  like what you read ? check out more of my blog !  •ᴗ•

💬 kuroppiii ─ “ ok but whyyyy did i kind of eat this draft up from like 3 years ago tho ”   

“look, you’re,” you thought of how to word it, “a little bit more than tipsy—“

“i am not drunk!” iwaizumi interrupted you. there was a short pause as you resisted letting out a chuckle.

“well i never said that—“

“i am not drunk!” he whined.

“hey, you said it, not me—“

“i’m nottt!” he was practically begging now. you found it funny how this 6-foot-something man was desperately trying to convince you he wasn’t drunk, at the same time latching onto you in order to simply balance as you walked down the sidewalk.

he wrapped his arms around your shoulders, and you placed your hands on his bicep as you walked. 

for a second you thought of how intimidating your hajime must be when he’s working as an athletic trainer during the day—big, strong, blunt.

then compare that to now, where he’s a whiny and bumbling mess. only you got to see him like this, on nights like these.

right now, as you held his swaying figure upright in the street, iwaizume was warm—his whole body was radiating heat onto yours, in fact.

he felt like a weighted blanket shielding you from the breeze that rounded each corner of every high-rise—as if it were trying to find the next thrill of the late night, just as you and hajime were shortly before he became too drunk and out of remission.

you approached a crosswalk. hajime snuggled his face into the crook of your neck and departed one of his arms from your shoulders in order to click the pedestrian crossing button.

or, attempt to. you watched as his hand blindly search and hit every area around the button, but never the button itself. you let out a soft laugh before effectively pressing the button yourself.

hajime’s arm returned to where it once was and he lifted his face from your neck.

you turned and watched as his eyes were closed. you could hear the faint sound of him breathing in and out, trying to get the chilly breeze to help sober himself up. 

his lashes fluttered as he struggled to open his eyes now and then, probably to prevent himself from completely blacking out on you.

you saw the subtle sheen of sweat on his face. it reflected the neon colors of all the streetlights and store signs around the crosswalk.

but even among all those colors, you could still notice the reddish dust on his face from the alcohol. 

he looked breathtaking.

you felt a reddish dust appear on your face, too.

you two stood there, even as you heard the pedestrian crossing sign tick away.

[nishayuro]

A/N: holy shit, brainrot at 4am

Warning: very small suggestiveness, like, half a pinch

GN!Reader

You usually saw Iwaizumi Hajime around Aoba Johsai before with his popular best friend Oikawa, but have never gotten the chance to actually talk to him.

So what a big suprise was it when he arrived at your work place with the coach, saying that he's the newly hired Athletic Trainer for Team Japan.

Your job as the team's physiotherapist made it so that you'd have regular interactions with the man, often times working with him to take care of the team's health and make sure they're in good conditions.

It started with a simple visit to your office to get updates on the team's physical health, then you began watching over their practice even if it wasn't necessary for the time being, then he'd join you for lunch breaks, and then you'd be making bentos for not only yourself, but also for him.

It then went to him escaping to your office when the team gets too chaotic while you help him wrangle the team, and it ended with him asking you out one friday afternoon after one of the newer staff decided to flirt with you in his presence.

If you told your highschool self that you'd be making out with your former schoolmate who is now a fucking hot athletic trainer, you'd laugh at yourself.

But hey, any amount of laughter is worth when you're dating the famous and well loved Japan Team Athletic Trainer, Iwaizumi Hajime.

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