✎. you aren’t happy about your roommate’s party until you meet the attractive guy down the hall.

It’s your first semester living off-campus, and Finn is boundlessly enthusiastic about all things that involve cheap liquor and crowded spaces, even more so now that she roped you into being her roommate after promising to split the cost of furnishing an apartment that’s probably too expensive for two undergrads working part-time, low-pay jobs.

You don’t like parties, really. 

Movies and the social connotations surrounding parties have always made them seem like some monumental proverbial chip in your college experience; the real thing, once the bright-eyed shine of trying something new wears off, is more or less a bunch of random people packed into a room like sardines who abate their social awkwardness with alcohol and loud music.

So, no, you can’t exactly say that you enjoy the thought of Finn’s friends (and everyone she hardly smiles at) cramping up your already tiny apartment—especially when one of them is Miller from one of your business classes, who gives you the creeps. 

And leave it to Finn to invite him, anyway.

✎. you aren’t happy about your roommate’s party until you meet the attractive guy down the hall.

It’s your first semester living off-campus, and Finn is boundlessly enthusiastic about all things that involve cheap liquor and crowded spaces, even more so now that she roped you into being her roommate after promising to split the cost of furnishing an apartment that’s probably too expensive for two undergrads working part-time, low-pay jobs.

You don’t like parties, really. 

Movies and the social connotations surrounding parties have always made them seem like some monumental proverbial chip in your college experience; the real thing, once the bright-eyed shine of trying something new wears off, is more or less a bunch of random people packed into a room like sardines who abate their social awkwardness with alcohol and loud music.

So, no, you can’t exactly say that you enjoy the thought of Finn’s friends (and everyone she hardly smiles at) cramping up your already tiny apartment—especially when one of them is Miller from one of your business classes, who gives you the creeps. 

And leave it to Finn to invite him, anyway.

✎. you aren’t happy about your roommate’s party until you meet the attractive guy down the hall.

It’s your first semester living off-campus, and Finn is boundlessly enthusiastic about all things that involve cheap liquor and crowded spaces, even more so now that she roped you into being her roommate after promising to split the cost of furnishing an apartment that’s probably too expensive for two undergrads working part-time, low-pay jobs.

You don’t like parties, really. 

Movies and the social connotations surrounding parties have always made them seem like some monumental proverbial chip in your college experience; the real thing, once the bright-eyed shine of trying something new wears off, is more or less a bunch of random people packed into a room like sardines who abate their social awkwardness with alcohol and loud music.

So, no, you can’t exactly say that you enjoy the thought of Finn’s friends (and everyone she hardly smiles at) cramping up your already tiny apartment—especially when one of them is Miller from one of your business classes, who gives you the creeps. 

And leave it to Finn to invite him, anyway.

✎. you aren’t happy about your roommate’s party until you meet the attractive guy down the hall.

It’s your first semester living off-campus, and Finn is boundlessly enthusiastic about all things that involve cheap liquor and crowded spaces, even more so now that she roped you into being her roommate after promising to split the cost of furnishing an apartment that’s probably too expensive for two undergrads working part-time, low-pay jobs.

You don’t like parties, really. 

Movies and the social connotations surrounding parties have always made them seem like some monumental proverbial chip in your college experience; the real thing, once the bright-eyed shine of trying something new wears off, is more or less a bunch of random people packed into a room like sardines who abate their social awkwardness with alcohol and loud music.

So, no, you can’t exactly say that you enjoy the thought of Finn’s friends (and everyone she hardly smiles at) cramping up your already tiny apartment—especially when one of them is Miller from one of your business classes, who gives you the creeps. 

And leave it to Finn to invite him, anyway.

cw: suggestive, just iwaizumi being hot in a muscle tee, use of 'baby', sweat, unedited sawry (this is my pure carnal desire for this man)

iwaizumi hasn’t worn a muscle tee in years—

it hangs off him like a singular piece of cloth, haphazardly cut to show off as much skin as possible. slutty, the way mattsun and makki had intended for it to look when they gifted it to him in his third year of college.

which, to be fair, maybe he was one—a slut, that is. whoring himself out completely with those ‘subtle’, ‘lowkey’ thirst trap instagram stories on his fitness account. the way his skin flushed a darker peach after your joint gym days was always borderline inappropriate, the strands of his hair sticking up in what you could easily mistake as sweat-matted sex hair.

iwaizumi’s muscle tee days are well associated with him being the image of absolute sin.

ᥫ᭡。 with a smile.

⟢ pairing: sylus x reader

⟢ synopsis: as devastation rains down on your world, you find sanctuary in the one who loves you most. be it the first time or the last, you will remain at his side for as long as you are able.

⟢ cw: angsty angst, character death, canon universe but not really? blood, injury descriptions, apocalyptic vibes, this is sad

⟢ wc: 1.3k

⟢ a/n: not quite as long as I’d like it to be but I saw one (1) of sylus and mc to die with a smile and I just had to do this :cc

Everything burns. 

The trees. Grass. Buildings. Even the heavens are alight with flame and smoke. 

Your eyes. Your shoulder. Your throat. Your shoulder. Your lungs. Your shoulder.

There’s something protruding from it, through a clean puncture, a pointed limb belonging to a monstrous Wanderer, left behind after it was severed and the creature was slain by your own hand, the sword you once wielded with pride now laying uselessly on the ground. All around you, the battle rages on, screams piercing bloodied skies, the yelling from your comrades swirling into the cacophonous din that surrounds you. If hell exists, then this is what it must look like.

But none of it registers. Not the shouts of your name, or the wailing and screeching from friend and foe alike, not even the deafening gunshots or the singing of steel. All of it is nothing more than white noise in your ears, muffled as though your head is submerged under the sea. And yet, over all of that mess, the beat of your heart is clear as day, pounding disjointedly throughout your body like a drum as you stumble towards a tree that is yet to be touched by the destruction that rages on around you.

kageyama buying new shorts but he orders the 5 inch ones instead of the 7 in

he stands in the mirror, twisting side to side. he looks at his reflection again before turning to you.

“it’s a bit much, right?”

it’s not enough, really. you can’t stop staring. from his toned thighs, standing out more than ever, to the faint tan line exposed for once in these rather short shorts. your eyes land on his rear, and he notices.

“creep.”

“i didn’t say anything!”

“you really didn’t need to,” he runs his hands over the material, and tilts his head. “i don’t think i like them.”

“what-“ the words come tumbling out of your mouth and you sit up taller on the bed. the scrunch of his brow and the small frown on his face make you huff. “why don’t you?”

“it’s just too short, guys don’t wear shorts this-“

“shoyo does.”

“why are you looking?”

you smile, and he rolls his eyes. the blue of his shorts matches his eyes, and you wonder if he did that on purpose. he walks around the room, looks in the mirror, and goes up on his toes, checking his reflection again. his calf muscles flex and you lose your train of thought.

kageyama glances at you and how your eyes have fallen to his legs, and decides he enjoys the attention. he adjusts the shorts a little, pulling on the compression shorts that peek out of the fabric, and relishes in the expression on your face.

“i decided im going to keep them,” he walks towards the dresser, snatching his sweatshirt to throw on.

“what changed your mind?”

he smiles, patting your thigh as he walks in front of you and towards the living room. “they’ve grown on me.”

Nanami - The capability of First-Grade Sorcerer

I LOVE how he is animated here 🧡🧡❤❤❤❤

There has always been an innate need to protect Simon from himself.

These days, he is better at disguising the weighty stress of work and the tough decisions that come with it. He’s not a martyr by any means; you’re sure there are things he’s done he’ll never be able to tell you about, and even though you’ve never grasped the world he lives in when he’s away from home, you want him to know that he doesn’t need to bare it by himself.

It’s a touch to the shoulder when you catch his eyes flitting between the doors and windows. A subtle topic change when the neighbor asks questions that make Simon cagey. Letting him talk about his work life because you think he just needs someone who will listen.

But sometimes it’s harder on days like today.

You notice how hollow his eyes look after he throws his keys into the bowl by the front door. You don’t ask about it, not today, not unless he talks first. Instead, you lightly pull him into your arms, softly swaying back and forth, hoping you can somehow rid him of whatever burden followed him home.

He doesn’t push you away, not that he ever has, and his hands cling to the back of your sleep shirt, unwilling to let you go far.

“Alright, love?” he asks with exhaustion slightly tingeing the edges of his words.

“Just wanted to hug you.” Your fingers slide up into his hair, nails scratching his scalp in a way that makes the tension melt from his shoulders. “I missed you.”

His face drops into the crook of your neck, his nose burying into your hair. “I missed you too,” he mumbles.

You stand like that for a while, telling him everything he missed while he was away, grabbing his hand and dragging it to your stomach with a smile pressed into his temple. Because at that moment, he isn’t a faceless man with secrets for miles long; he’s your husband, and he’s allowed to be human.

There has always been an innate need to protect Simon from himself.

These days, he is better at disguising the weighty stress of work and the tough decisions that come with it. He’s not a martyr by any means; you’re sure there are things he’s done he’ll never be able to tell you about, and even though you’ve never grasped the world he lives in when he’s away from home, you want him to know that he doesn’t need to bare it by himself.

It’s a touch to the shoulder when you catch his eyes flitting between the doors and windows. A subtle topic change when the neighbor asks questions that make Simon cagey. Letting him talk about his work life because you think he just needs someone who will listen.

But sometimes it’s harder on days like today.

You notice how hollow his eyes look after he throws his keys into the bowl by the front door. You don’t ask about it, not today, not unless he talks first. Instead, you lightly pull him into your arms, softly swaying back and forth, hoping you can somehow rid him of whatever burden followed him home.

He doesn’t push you away, not that he ever has, and his hands cling to the back of your sleep shirt, unwilling to let you go far.

“Alright, love?” he asks with exhaustion slightly tingeing the edges of his words.

“Just wanted to hug you.” Your fingers slide up into his hair, nails scratching his scalp in a way that makes the tension melt from his shoulders. “I missed you.”

His face drops into the crook of your neck, his nose burying into your hair. “I missed you too,” he mumbles.

You stand like that for a while, telling him everything he missed while he was away, grabbing his hand and dragging it to your stomach with a smile pressed into his temple. Because at that moment, he isn’t a faceless man with secrets for miles long; he’s your husband, and he’s allowed to be human.

There has always been an innate need to protect Simon from himself.

These days, he is better at disguising the weighty stress of work and the tough decisions that come with it. He’s not a martyr by any means; you’re sure there are things he’s done he’ll never be able to tell you about, and even though you’ve never grasped the world he lives in when he’s away from home, you want him to know that he doesn’t need to bare it by himself.

It’s a touch to the shoulder when you catch his eyes flitting between the doors and windows. A subtle topic change when the neighbor asks questions that make Simon cagey. Letting him talk about his work life because you think he just needs someone who will listen.

But sometimes it’s harder on days like today.

You notice how hollow his eyes look after he throws his keys into the bowl by the front door. You don’t ask about it, not today, not unless he talks first. Instead, you lightly pull him into your arms, softly swaying back and forth, hoping you can somehow rid him of whatever burden followed him home.

He doesn’t push you away, not that he ever has, and his hands cling to the back of your sleep shirt, unwilling to let you go far.

“Alright, love?” he asks with exhaustion slightly tingeing the edges of his words.

“Just wanted to hug you.” Your fingers slide up into his hair, nails scratching his scalp in a way that makes the tension melt from his shoulders. “I missed you.”

His face drops into the crook of your neck, his nose burying into your hair. “I missed you too,” he mumbles.

You stand like that for a while, telling him everything he missed while he was away, grabbing his hand and dragging it to your stomach with a smile pressed into his temple. Because at that moment, he isn’t a faceless man with secrets for miles long; he’s your husband, and he’s allowed to be human.