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[serotorin]

adult life is crazy because you can be going through the most devastating and heartbreaking things while still having to go to work and do the laundry and grocery shopping

[serotorin]

[serotorin]

[serotorin]

[serotorin]

reblogs are appreciated!! feel free to share why in the tags too! i am curious 🧐

[serotorin]

[serotorin]

Reposted from my Bluesky acc.

[serotorin]

whoever invented cozy in bed was a genius. and whoever invented getting up should be burnt at the stake

[serotorin]

[serotorin]

plum

790

things borrowed and things given

for @iwahji. iwaizumi x f!reader, not canon compliant (iwaizumi goes to university with makki, mattsun, and reader).

“What the hell is that?” Hanamaki asks about two seconds after you sit down. 

His spoon clatters against the edge of his bowl, sending droplets of broth all across the table and somehow, on your left cheek. You, somehow unperturbed, simply wrinkle your nose and dab at the wetness with a napkin from the stack you’d piled on your tray. 

“You don’t like the taro buns?” you ask, ripping open the paper wrapping of your chopsticks. 

“No,” he says, not even bothering to swallow his mouthful of noodles. “‘m talking about what you’re wearing.” 

You blink. Two more pairs of eyes are suddenly on you and one frowns. 

“It’s just a hoodie,” you say, but you know there’s no reasoning your way out of this; he’s already sensed blood.

“Yeah,” he says primly, “but it’s not your hoodie.” 

“I’m borrowing it.”

“From who?” Matsukawa pipes up, feeding into the madness. 

“Just some guy in my study group.” You fold the paper neatly. 

Beside Matsukawa, Iwaizumi remains silent. He looks up, dark eyes meeting yours before he pointedly glances away. There’s a twinge in your chest; something like annoyance but not quite. Something like guilt, but not quite. 

“Some guy on the varsity swim team?” Hanamaki continues to pry. Matsukawa is leaning forward now, hand under his chin as he takes a long, exaggerated sip of his drink. 

“I think he swims,” you shrug. “I mean,” you pull at the loose collar, “it does kind of smell like chlorine.” 

Iwaizumi clicks his tongue, but only you turn to look at him. 

Hanamaki smirks. “Are you guys—?” 

“No.”

“Then why…?”

“We were done late last night,” you sigh, wondering if you’ll even get the chance to finish lunch. 

“It was cold and I was only wearing a tank top so he’d offered because I was going to be walking back to my place.” Not that you truly believe they’ll be satisfied with this explanation.

“You walked home by yourself last night?” Iwaizumi’s abrupt entrance into the conversation is harsher than you think is warranted. 

“It’s like five minutes,” you say, wringing your wrists. The crease between his brow only deepens. 

“Yeah, why didn’t Michael Phelps walk you home?”

Your shoulders drop and the corner of your lips pull into a pout. “I don’t know. I think he was going the other way.”

“Well then maybe he’s not that into her,” Matsukawa reasons like you’re not sitting right there. 

Hanamaki sighs into a mouthful of pudding. “Maybe not.”

The topic quickly gets stale after that and they move onto a spirited discussion about whether or not their Intro to Linguistics prof is in a cult (Hanamaki thinks he is, Matsukawa thinks he’s the one leading the cult), but Iwaizumi remains quiet throughout. 

“Hey,” he says later, when it’s just the two of you. “You’re going to return that right?” 

You blink up at him, fingers pulling at the worn cuff of your borrowed sweater. The Adam’s apple in his throat bobs. 

In the months that you’ve known Iwaizumi, you’ve only known him to mind his own business. This, in contrast with the drama-mongering of Hanamaki and Matsukawa, was something you’d admired immensely about him: there was his business (whatever that was), your business (untouched), and the few friendships that bridged the two, like circles that just barely overlapped. 

But now, as you stand in the empty hallway of a seventy-year old engineering building, with the lights flickering above your heads, you feel him encroaching upon your circle. Mysteriously, it’s less of an intrusion than you’d expect.

“Of course,” you say. “It’s not mine, after all.” You turn over the concept of possession in your head: mine, yours, ours. From the past and present of your friendship, how did the lines begin to get so blurry?

“Good,” he mumbles, eyes cast downward as he plants himself firmly into the territory of your circle. He reaches up to rub at the back of his neck. 

“And the next time you’re going to walk home at night, you should call me,” he says, earnestly. 

“It was only—” 

“It doesn’t matter,” he insists. “I’ll get you, just—just call me, okay?” 

Not Hanamaki. Not Matsukawa. Just him. 

You look up at Iwaizumi. The crease in his brow darkens his stare, but there’s something tender in the way he holds your gaze; something soft that searches for the overlap between the two of you and obfuscates the figurative lines between you. 

“I’ll bring you one of my sweaters too,” he says. “For when you’re cold.” 

You consider possession again. 

“Are you giving it to me to borrow?” 

Iwaizumi leans down. “No, I’ll give it to you for you to keep.”

Mine, yours, ours, and somehow, all of the above. 

[serotorin]

hair by nikki nelms & photography by adrienne raquel

[serotorin]

a_z_e_

[serotorin]

“sorry ‘samu, i hadn’t gotten to those yet,” you sigh, looking at the now folded stacks of his clean laundry you had placed on the bed.

“why are ya apologizing?” he waves you off. he’s working on his socks now, pairing them up one by one. you decide to join them, and he throws a bundle at you. “these are mine anyway. i don’t mind foldin’, baby.”

you can’t help but smile.

“i’m serious though, i was going to do them,”

he shakes his head and snorts. putting the clothes away, he smirks over his shoulder.

“yer my wife, not my ma,” he shuts the dresser one last time, shuffling over to plant a kiss on your head. “we help each other. ya ain’t doin it all alone.”

[serotorin]

🧎‍♀️

[serotorin]

Busan by pillter_

[serotorin]

[serotorin]

Yearning for adventure