#as always pls reblog and whatnot i appreciate it and i like reading tags teehee

[thefactsofthematter]

43 for sprace but race said that

43: “YOU DID WHAT?”

y’all ready for some fluff??? i’m absolutely loving this little au and i hope you do too!! no content warnings here, just pure sweetness and stupidity 🤩

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It's a Saturday afternoon in the middle of July, it's gorgeous outside, and Racetrack Higgins is stuck in his bedroom, doing homework.

He's not sure how long he's been staring at the same page of his textbook, his eyes unfocused and not really reading anything anymore, when he hears the door of the apartment swing open. His roommates went out a couple of hours ago to go enjoy the beautiful day, like any other sane people who opted not to take an unbearably hard summer course would do— they must finally be back now.

"Hi Race!"

There's really no need for Spot to shout, as their place truly isn't that big, but the man seems to only have two volume settings— silent and stoic, or obnoxiously loud. It's kind of hilarious.

"Hi Spot!" Race calls right back, silently thanking all that's holy for the interruption and excuse to leave his desk for a bit. He stands up to head out to the living room, and his whole back cracks. He's clearly been sitting too long. "What's up, dude!?"

"You gotta come see this, bro!" Spot continues. "Me and Olivia got matching tattoos!"

Immediately, Race's brow furrows in some mixture of amusement and confusion.

"Wait, you did what?"

When he turns the corner, there stand his two roommates— or rather, one sits happily in a baby carrier, strapped to the chest of the other, because she's only ten months old and not very good at standing yet. They're a very cool pair, in their matching sunglasses and tank tops, and they're both grinning like absolute devils. It's adorable.

"Lookit," Spot beams, holding up Olivia’s chubby little arm to show the temporary tattoo of a sparkly purple unicorn that's been applied to her bicep. He's got the very same one shimmering on his cheek, as his face is one of the only parts of his body not covered in real tattoos. "We're twinning!"

Race can't help but laugh.

"You are. Where'd you get those?"

"There was this street fair thing going on a few blocks down, some booth was giving away all these little stickers and tattoos and stuff," Spot replies, toeing his shoes off and dropping his diaper bag by the door. He pulls something from his back pocket. "We got you one too— Livy didn't want you to feel left out." He passes the square of paper into Olivia’s tiny fist. "Here, give it to Racer, baby."

Race walks over to grab it from her, and she giggles and blows a raspberry at him.

"What did your daddy do to you, Liv?" he teases, crouching down to coo at her. "Pretty soon you're gonna be all inked up, just like him!"

She babbles and reaches out for him.

"Can you hang out with her for a minute?" Spot asks, carefully unclipping the carrier to take her out. "I need to give her a bottle and put her down for a nap, but I gotta piss first."

"Of course. I'm always down to hang out with this little princess." Race takes the baby, making all kinds of silly faces at her to distract her as Spot walks away. He bounces her gently in his arms and wanders over to the kitchen. "Where should I put my tattoo? What do you think, Olive?"

He opens the fridge to grab a pre-mixed bottle— Spot usually keeps a few on hand— and gives it a good shake. Olivia has gotten picky lately and only likes cold formula, rather than warmed or room-temperature, so he passes it straight to her and she's happy to go to town on it.

"Man, you were hungry," he chuckles. "Look at you go. You're drinking like your daddy doing a keg stand— did you know he was a party animal? Believe it or not, your dad used to be cool."

Spot is still cool, Race supposes, but it's fun to pick on him; he obviously doesn't go out as much as he used to, even though he's finally legal now, because he's a little busy looking after a tiny human most of the time. In fact, it's incredibly cool that Spot balances part-time school, part-time work, and full-time single fatherhood so gracefully at only twenty-one, because Race is rather sure he'd have some kind of stress-induced mental breakdown every other week if he were in Spot's shoes.

Actually, Spot is kind of the coolest person alive, if you really think about it.

And Race does think about it... a lot.

Not in a weird way, because he's been best friends with Spot for over three years, ever since they were randomly assigned roommates in their freshman dorm, and he's also seventy percent sure Spot is straight— but, like, he probably admires the guy a little more than would be considered normal for your best pal.

"Now, about this tattoo, huh?" He changes the topic from his own overthinking, keeping Olivia cradled in one arm as he rummages around for some paper towel with his free hand. "There's no chance I'm putting it on my face. What if I match with you and put it on my arm?"

Race doesn't have nearly as many tattoos as Spot, just a few doodles all around his arms and chest, and he's currently shirtless because it's hot as balls in his bedroom, so he could really stick the sparkly unicorn practically anywhere. He wets the paper towel in the sink and uses it to press the little square of paper to the bicep of the arm that he's holding Olivia with.

It's just as he's peeling the paper off to reveal his new ink that Spot emerges from his bathroom break.

"Aren't you two just the cutest?"

Race grins.

"I know, I'm pretty adorable. I guess she's okay too."

Spot rolls his eyes. He looks totally exhausted but incredibly content, which has basically been his default ever since Olivia came into the picture. He never complains about his situation, though it surely isn't easy— he just keeps trucking along and doing his best, rarely even asking for help.

"Dumbass," he laughs. "Thanks for feeding her, though. She was getting super fussy while we were out— I think the heat was a little much."

"I'll go put her down when she's done eating," Race offers. "You look beat. Just chill for a bit, I've got her."

Spot leans against the counter, rubs his hands over his face, and lets out a deep, tired sigh. He clearly needed this little break.

"Fuck. Thank you. You're amazing."

Race rocks Olivia gently— she's settled right down, looking very comfy and sleepy. He truly didn't think he was good with kids until this little angel came along; he's apparently got some kind of magic touch, because she's always perfectly calm for him.

"No problem, bro. I'm always happy to help."

Spot sets to work on making himself something to eat, so Race just paces around until it looks like Olivia’s about done with the bottle, her eyes starting to fall shut.

"Alrighty. Time for a nap, little dude." He sets the bottle in the sink and heads off to Spot's bedroom to lay her in her cot. He carefully wiggles her into her sleep sack, pops a pacifier in her mouth, switches on the white noise speaker, and draws the curtains. "Have a good sleep, Livy. I love you."

He gently shuts the door behind him— he knows she sleeps like a rock, but he still gets paranoid about being too loud— and when he steps back into the living room, Spot is unabashedly staring at him from where he’s settled himself on the couch.

"Dude," Spot says, after a second, "I think I might be in love with you."

Race stops short. His heart skips a beat.

"What?" He shakes his head. "I mean... awesome. Sick. That's great. But, like... what?"

Spot laughs a little to himself, with that stupid sparkly unicorn still shimmering on his cheek.

"I can’t believe I just realized it. You’re just, like, the best person ever— you’re hot, and you’re smart, and you take such good care of Liv, and I’m so into you… is that weird?”

Race blinks.

“No, not that weird.” He sits down next to Spot on the couch. “I don’t think so, at least. It’s chill.”

“I just told you I’m in love with you,” Spot laughs, “and all you can say is it’s chill? What does that even mean?”

Now, for someone who talks an awful lot, Race is terrible with words. He’s got absolutely no clue what to say, so he simply pulls Spot in for a kiss.

“Does that answer your question?” he asks, after a few seconds.

Spot rolls his eyes.

“You are so fucking stupid.”

But he kisses Race again, so he can’t possibly be that annoyed.

Race smiles into it— everything about Spot’s kiss is perfect, and he can’t help but think that this is exactly how their weird little family was meant to be.