#i'm not sure if i'm coming down with something or it's just . [vague gestures] the agonies

[iliveinyourceiling65]

RTC incorrect quotes

part two :) fun fact, this was supposed to be part one but the formatting kept being weird so I posted the other part first. Please tell me if the formatting is still weird and I’ll try to fix it before I post the next part :)

Ocean: Let's just agree to both say we're sorry on the count of three.  Ocean: One... two... three.  Noel : ...  Ocean: ...  Ocean: See, now I'm just disappointed in both of us.

Ricky: Ocean won’t come out of their room! Noel: Just tell her I said something. Ricky: Like what? Noel: Anything factually incorrect. Ricky, shrugging: If you say so. Ocean, arriving moments later: Did you just say the sun is a PLANET?

Constance : What are you getting Mischa for the holidays?  Noel: I don't know. It's kind of hard buying a gift for your partner when they already got everything they could've ever wanted when they married you. So I'm not sure yet.  Ocean: I'm getting Mischa a divorce lawyer.

Ricky: *hiding something in his coat* I think we should adopt another kid!  Jane Doe: No. Ricky: Why not?  Jane Doe: Because when you say “kid”, you mean “cat”, and we already have fourteen of those.  Ricky: *unzips coat* fifteen Ocean: The best person I know is myself.

Mischa, very tired: Can I sleep in your bed?  Noel: *half asleep* Mischa, this is a queen-sized bed. That means it’s for *gestures vaguely to himself* the Queen.

Noel: If I say I love you, will you say it back? Mischa: Yes.  Noel: I love you.  Mischa: It back.  *Later*  Ocean: Why is Noel crying face-down on the floor?

[sugurau]

i'll be online ... soon [sweats]

[complicit-rot]

i haven't been this social & talkative in Years someone drag me out back

[knightjpg]

Brick by Brick

And like a dog who's learned a new trick Simon rings your bell the next day. Wasn't happy with how he left it, and wasn't that faucet leaking? He's got plenty of spare wood in his shed, don't you worry. What's that about the boiler making a weird noise? He'll take a look at it, might have something for the draft in the hallway too. Pay him? What are you talking about, he does stuff like this for fun. Don't sweat it, love. Just hand him that wrench.

tags: construction worker simon/neighbour reader

part 1 | part 2

Summer is the worst time of year for construction work outside. Up early before the birds are awake to try and beat the heat, arriving on site at six or earlier with bleary eyes and creaky joints from the day before. It means coming home at four or five with lots of day left to get through yet without the will or energy to do anything beside shower, eat, watch some telly, and sleep. 

The pay is good and it beats sitting in a cramped office all day, but when Simon gets home with aching knees and the thrum of a headache at the back of his skull it's hard to remember why on Earth he chose the career he's in. He's drenched in sweat, large dark patches adorning his pits and back. 

It's one of those days where very little can make him stray from his commute straight to home to collapse into his big falling-apart chair, but today it's not really up to him. A large moving truck blocks his driveway. The faded company logo against dirty white overtakes the entire view of his windshield, though Simon can see the back doors are still swung open. No one to attend to it, though. 

Simon noticed the FOR SALE! sign had gone, of course. Remembers feeling vaguely pleased, even, that the home next to his wouldn't be empty anymore, because he of all people knows exactly how quickly places can fall apart without anyone tending to it. But right now all he feels is tired, and hot, and really fucking annoyed. Just when he's clicked his belt loose to get out of the car and see if the dolt belonging to the truck is anywhere to be found, voices carry from the open front door. 

“...last. I'm afraid it's a little heavy, though, so maybe we should get the boxes out first?” 

And out steps the sweetest little thing he's ever seen. Hair tied up, tight little top, and shorts that give him ample view of your legs.  

Maybe summer's not so bad after all. 

You're talking to a bloke wearing a uniform that matches the moving truck and who looks flushed in the face from exertion. As soon as you clock Simon's car, though, you stop mid-sentence in surprise, and then quickly walk to him, brows furrowed apologetically. 

“Oh, I'm so sorry—you're trying to get past us, aren't you?” Simon gives you a nod, and you turn back to the mover. “Would you mind moving the truck up a little? I don't want it to be in the way.” 

There's precious little parking space ahead, so Simon rolls down his window and calls out to you, “Jus’ backing up a few yards s’fine.” He gestures to his driveway so you know that's where he's headed, and you flash him a smile and a thumbs-up in understanding. 

The truck is moved, Simon parks his car, and you pull another heavy-looking box from the cube. You never reach your new doorstep with it; Simon steps in and lifts it from your hands. You blink up at him, lashes fluttering sweetly with surprise. “Oh—are you sure? It's heavy...!” 

One corner of Simon's mouth tugs up. Tired as he is it weighs next to nothing, and he can't resist holding it with one arm, holding out the other. 

“Can take ‘nother if you need.” 

You laugh and assure him this is quite enough, then jog back to the truck while Simon pushes past the half-open door to his new neighbour's home. 

It's a mess, of course. Piles of boxes, scattered furniture, rolled-up carpets. Simon puts the box down in the living room, then saunters back outside to lift another from your hands. He does the same with the couch; the mover is struggling and Simon doesn't trust him not to let it fall and crash. And you're such a little thing. Just doesn't feel right, watching you rush around and struggle without stepping in. 

With Simon's help it's quick work. The mover thanks Simon before driving off, but he's not really listening. There's much more important things to pay attention to. 

You're pretty. Cheeks flushed from exertion, breathing hard, flyaway hairs from your ponytail sticking up in odd directions. Simon has to suppress the urge to smooth them away. 

"Thanks so much for the help,” you tell him earnestly. “I'm sorry we were in the way—we thought we'd have a little more time before people started coming home from work.” 

“S’alright,” Simon says. It's nearing evening, now, the sky above you glowing in pale pink and oranges hues. The little smatter of trees across from you rustles with a gust of summer wind.  

You introduce yourself and insist on giving Simon your number “in case there's ever anything you need.” Simon's more concerned about a young woman living all on her own but takes your number all the same, watching your pretty little fingers tap it in on his phone. 

“I mostly work from home, but I'm very quiet and boring,” you tell him with a smile. “You don't have to worry about noise.” 

For some reason that isn't the selling point it should be. When Simon stands inside his hallway, house empty and dark and quiet, he wishes he still lived in a shitty apartment with thin walls on the bad side of Manchester. Maybe then he'd hear your footsteps, or better yet, your voice. Instead the only thing waiting for him at home is silence. Heavy and thick, where he's ripped away from sweet sunshine and plunged underwater. 

-

Simon is halfway to falling asleep on the couch when the bell rings. He groans, drags a hand over his face, and glances up at the TV. The football match is still going. The camera pans over a cheering crowd, their cries distant and quiet. 

He mutes the thing entirely and heaves himself up to open the door. Swear to God, if this is the fucking salesman again... 

“Hi there.” 

You give Simon a little finger wave, your other hand cradling a round oven dish. When you shift on your feet the protective foil on top rustles noisily. 

You look a little more put together than you did yesterday—rested, showered, fed. Just as pretty. 

Although, speaking of fed... 

“Alright?” Simon asks, eyes on the oven pan. He's only catching a faint whiff of something, but whatever it is smells really fucking good. His stomach reminds him that the only thing in his fridge are a couple cans of beer.  

You nod and lift the dish with a shy little grin. “Yeah. Um. I wanted to say thanks again, for yesterday. And I wanted to test out my oven, so...” 

You hold the dish out for him to take. Simon's fingers brush yours, large meaty paws easily twice the size of your own. When he peels back the foil you add, “Shepherd's pie. I thought about cookies, but I wasn't sure if you'd like those.” 

The scent hits him, then, rich and hearty and buttery smooth. The dish is still a little warm. 

Fuck. When was the last time he ate something homemade? 

“No, I'll eat anything,” he says, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious. He hasn't showered yet. Must look a nightmare. Does he stink? “Thanks.” 

Your whole face lights up, and Simon's neck feels hot. He averts his eyes to avoid your gaze and pretends to inspect the pie instead. Jesus, what is he, twelve? “I'm glad. I'll leave you to it, then.” 

D’you want to come in for a drink?  

It's on the tip of his tongue, but he can't get the words out quite right and gives you a brusque nod, watching you walk back to your own home before closing his door all the way. 

He eats at his kitchen table and finishes the whole thing in one go. Chases bits of flakey crust with his finger, licks up every leftover crumb. The meat is tender and juicy and for a while after the only things he smells is golden-brown potatoes seasoned with rosemary. 

He mourns it when it's gone, of course. Has half a mind to go over right now and ask if your cooking is for hire—Simon can't remember the last time he felt satisfied. When he ate not just for the sake of fuel or convenience but because someone wanted him to have something nice, something special. Is it special? Is he special? Are you going around the neighbourhood handing out cookies and pies to just anyone? 

Simon's sigh is loud in the silence and sticks to the kitchen walls. 

The pre-made frozen meals are fine, of course. Empty plastic containers fill up the rubbish bin. They're easy and cheap and most days Simon's glad just to have something warm in his stomach.  

And yet. 

The next day Simon stands at your door at six in the evening sharp, holding the clean dish in his hands. You invite him in for a cup of tea, because unlike him you have good manners, and you sheepishly apologise for the stacks of boxes everywhere. 

“S’alright,” Simon says, carefully manoeuvring around a large pile of books. “I don't mind.” 

And he doesn't, though he does feel like a bull in a china shop. Large and much too coarse for the little tea cup you hand him while the kettle whistles on the stove. 

“I'm afraid I don't have much to go with it,” you say with a flutter of your hands. “Do you like ginger snaps? I think I've got a pack somewhere.” 

You don't wait for his answer and pry open one of the cupboards. First come the ginger snaps, then the box of Earl Grey, which you hold up to him with a triumphant smile. “Unpacked the important stuff first.” 

Simon frowns and jerks his chin to the cupboard. “S’it stuck?” 

“Oh—yeah. They all are.” You give the wood a little knock. “It'll take me some time to get to fixing everything. The house went for a good price, but only ‘cause it needs some love.” You give him a rueful smile and get up, wiping your hands on your thighs. “I'm not all that handy, so I'll have to take it bit by bit.” 

Simon rises before you finish your sentence. "Let me see.” 

“Oh, no, it's okay. It's not a big deal, really—” 

Simon crouches down, slowly, to spare his knees, and tests the hinges. The wood is rotten in certain places, the hinges old and rusted. Rather than fixing it up it should be replaced entirely. You really better had gotten this place for good money, because this will take more than a bit of elbow grease to repair. He prods at the hinges, tuts, and looks up at you. 

“Ready to fall apart, this one. You said they're all like this?” 

You nod, worry creasing your brow. “I—yes. Well, the kitchen is. The bathroom seems alright. Is it worse than I thought?” 

“Might be. You have anyone look at this?” 

You shake your head. “I'm starting to feel silly about it now, but I was going to look up how to do it myself.” 

Simon straightens. “I'll go get my kit.” 

-

It's not as bad as he feared. Two cabinets need tearing down completely, but the others are worth saving. Simon warns you the repair job will fuck the wood, but you tell him it's no problem; you'll paint over it anyway. 

You feed him tea and ginger snaps while he works, asking him several times if he wouldn't like a break, hasn't he done a lot already? You feel terrible about having him work on his day off. Didn't he say he worked construction? He must be so tired, poor man. You insist he stay for dinner. “You've been so helpful—it's the least I could do.” 

Simon takes a breather to watch you cook. Chicken, pasta, summer salad. The sun sinks lower and hits you straight on from the kitchen window, painting the edges of you a dazed red-gold. An angel's halo. 

“You big on reading, then?” 

You turn down the heat and put a lid over the pan to join him at the table. Simon's eyeing the many books strewn about on top of boxes that say “pans” and “kitchen supplies”. Le Morte D’Arthur. Histories of the Kings of Britain. Beowulf. There's even one that prompts a vague, long-forgotten memory from his school days— The Canterbury Tales.  

“I am. Always have been.” You nod to the books. “I teach at university—medieval literature. But I'm working on my own research on the side.” 

Simon lets out a low whistle. His pretty bird is a clever one. Smarter than him, that's for sure. He might be big and strong but he's got bricks for brains. 

That's what his dad always used to say, anyway—that he's stupid. Those always were his kinder moments. 

“That explains all the books y’got.” 

“There sure are a lot of them, aren't there? I swear moving really makes you realise just how much stuff you own...” You shake your head. “I'll have to get a bigger bookcase.” 

“Think it's impressive.” 

Your eyes crinkle with a smile. “Not as impressive as knowing how to fix my cabinets! I don't know how I would've managed by myself.” You hop up from your seat to check the food, then ask over your shoulder, “Is that something you do a lot for work, too? Carpentry and the like?” 

Simon shakes his head. “We do the heavy lifting. Clearing a place out, laying the foundation. Johnny—my coworker, he's mostly on machinery. Kyle does transport and plumbing. I do the heavier handiwork.” 

You hum and start plating the food while asking him more questions. Is the pay good? Is his boss fair? Are his coworkers nice? 

Price's fairly strict is what he is, Simon answers, and you laugh again. He likes that. Likes that he gets you to do that. 

He wolfs down a plate of his pasta and devours the chicken. It's fragrant, roasted with lemon and thyme, bursts between his teeth. He tells you more about Johnny, that he's a cocky bastard who likes playing with electricity way too much, but that he's also a loyal friend. That he's a hard worker—that all of them are. 

When his plate is empty and he's eyeing what's left in the pans you push them closer without saying anything, and prompt him to tell you about that time a plumbing line exploded and Kyle got soaked from tip to toe in disgusting gunk. He smelt like sewage water for weeks. 

Simon doesn't even realise how much he's talked until his throat starts feeling rougher than usual. You make it easy somehow. If he'd thought you would look down on him because of your own job he needn't have worried. You're not at all like what he imagines when he thinks of professors, none of the stuffy superiority complex he's used to weathering when people find out all he does all day is chafe his fingers on hard cement.  

Maybe you're just good at faking it, but he doubts it. The sparkle in your eyes when you listen to him so intently has to be real. 

You send him home with a warm thanks and dessert, and Simon feels something in his chest lurch when you peer up at him through your lashes in the doorway, smiling and sweet. Can't remember the last time he went out for dates. Can't remember having the time or energy for it. 

And like a dog who's learned a new trick Simon rings your bell the next day. Wasn't happy with how he left it, and wasn't that faucet leaking? He's got plenty of spare wood in his shed, don't you worry. What's that about the boiler making a weird noise? He'll take a look at it, might have something for the draft in the hallway too. 

Pay him? What are you talking about, he does stuff like this for fun. Don't sweat it, love. Just hand him that wrench. 

There are days when it's hard, of course. Simon is only human, and spending days and days on sizzling hard concrete would wring anyone dry. The project is coming along nicely, but at the height of summer there's plenty of times when even the promise of your smile isn't enough to keep him from falling asleep on his couch—often on an empty stomach. 

But during the weekends he rings your bell dutifully. Six o’clock becomes something sacred in his mind, sweet relief after praying on his knees for hours smoothing out cement. It gets to the point where he turns down Friday drinks with the guys more than once because he's got something to go home for now, his pretty little bird that's never once mentioned a boyfriend of any kind. 

“You really should let me pay you.” 

Simon gives you a look before pushing his large shoulders further into the cabinet under the bathroom sink. “Should be the one payin’ you. I know I'm doubling your grocery bill.” 

He eats more at your place than his own these days. It gives him incentive to rush through a shower, dress like something resembling a human, then wait at your doorstep to be let in. Wagging tail and everything. 

Your cheeks darken and you duck your head. “No, um... It makes me happy. To see you eat my cooking, I mean,” you confess a little shyly. “I feel like I'm the one getting everything out of this. I hope I'm not keeping you from—from spending time at home, or with your family.” 

“S’just me, love.” Simon pauses, pretends to inspect the pipes. “Less you don't want me coming ‘round anymore.” 

“No, no,” you say hastily. “No, I like—I like the company. Really.” Your voice softens. “And I'm not just saying that because I appreciate the help.” 

Simon exhales, shifts a little to accommodate the strain in his boxers, and holds his hand out for the screwdriver. 

[heich0e]

"are you like... into that?"

you tear your eyes away from the screen a few seconds after rintarou says it, too rapt by what's unfolding in the movie scene to look away too soon.

"what do you mean?" you ask, glancing over to the other end of the sofa where he's seated. he's slumped down in the corner of the sofa, nestled right into the valley between the cushions where he always sits—which has resulted in a permanent sort of vaguely rintarou-shaped indentation that you hide using throw pillows when company comes over.

he's watching you very intently from his side of the sofa, too intently almost. you'd thought you'd felt his eyes on you while you were watching the movie, but you aren't exactly sure how long he's been staring, and now it leaves you wondering what exactly he's up to.

rintarou nods towards the television on the other side of the room, you look back at the screen once more and see the male lead still at the centre of the scene. he'd just gotten into a fight—shirtless, glistening with perspiration, and a strangely erotic trickle of blood trailing down his philtrum. you swallow a little as you become engrossed in the movie again, forgetting momentarily that you were ever asked a question at all.

"so?"

your eyes snap back to rintarou—who's still focused only on you, but with a slightly more disapproving look this time.

"what?" you ask him, a bit huffily. you're still not even sure what he'd been asking you in the first place.

"you've been ogling that guy since he got the shit kicked out of him," rintarou says pointedly, lifting a hand and gesturing towards the television. "you into that or something?"

there's something kind of accusatory in his tone.

"wha—hu—no," you stumble over your words in your haste to defend yourself. "i've told you i'm not into hardcore stuff. and that would constitute like... doctorate level BDSM."

rintarou's lips purse slightly. "do you think that guy's hot?"

"i mean... yeah," you answer after contemplating it for a moment. "i didn't really think so before but he's kinda sexy in this scene."

"he just got the shit kicked out of him," the boy at the other end of the sofa responds flatly.

"so you've pointed out," you answer. you turn back to the screen, watching as the battered male lead winds a roll of bandages around his ribs, then drags his knuckles roughly across his lips to clear away some of the blood that clings to them. your tongue peeks out to moisten your own unconsciously. "don't you think there's something kind of hot about a guy with a bit of blood on him?"

"is this a trick question?"

you look back at rintarou again, and find him still fixated on you rather than the film. he's pouting a bit, and it kind of makes you want to laugh. instead, you push yourself up from your own little nest at the opposite end of the sofa, crawling down towards him.

"rintarou, are you jealous because i called the bloody guy sexy?" you ask him as you pause at his side, resting back on your haunches.

he nibbles on the inside of his cheek—a habit he's had as long as you've known him—and for the first time in possibly the entire 54 minutes this movie has been playing, he averts his eyes from you.

"...no."

you do laugh then, swinging one leg over his lap to perch yourself atop him.

"you're being silly," you say to him as you balance yourself with your hands on his shoulders. his own come slithering up to settle at your waist, and his grip is a little tighter than you expect. he's still sulking though, refusing to look at you.

there's a loud crash in the film playing on the screen behind you, but you don't turn to look at it—you doubt that would help the situation at hand very much.

"rin," you coax him, making your voice as sweet as possible.

he doesn't look at you, but he does seem to bite the inside of his cheek a little harder now.

you dip down close to him, your mouth hovering over his and your eyes level. "rin-ta-rou."

he finally looks at you, his lips parting in surprise at your sudden nearness. you're so close that your mouths brush slightly thanks to that subtle movement, and he leans into the warmth of your lips to kiss you properly after getting such a small taste of it.

rintarou pulls away after one long, deep kiss, slouching back into the sofa again—but this time pulling you down with him into his little him-shaped indentation—holding you tightly to his chest as he gets you both comfortable. you let him maneuver you however he wants to, placating him with your docility to make him feel better, and keeping any comment about his jealousy to yourself—at least for now.

the two of you eventually find a comfortable way to rest, entwined together on his end of the sofa but both with a clear view to the screen to resume your spectating of the movie.

"what's so hot about a guy with a nosebleed anyway? i used to get them all the time when i was a kid," rintarou mumbles bitterly after a few moments, and you feel the words reverberate through his chest as you rest with your head upon it.

you laugh lightly, and your boyfriend's arms tighten around your waist.

he pipes up again after a few moments more pass in the film.

"you don't want me to start fighting or anything, do you?" he asks you skeptically.

you've effectively lost track of the movie's plot now, but you don't really care that much.

"no, rintarou, i don't want you to start fighting," you reply, patting his chest reassuringly. "you'd get your ass kicked anyway."

"well, apparently you're into that," he mutters.

"will you be quiet and just watch the movie, nosebleed boy?"

(a week later, rintarou sends you a photo from practice—having gracefully taken one of motoya's receives to the face—with an angry red welt on his cheek, blood dripping from his nose, and an obnoxious smirk on his lips. unfortunately, you are kinda into that.)

[ddejavvu]

don't mind me i'm just thinking about how Eddie Munson would SO pretend to be someone you know if you come up to him in a store or so and whisper to him how this guy has been creeping you out for ages 'n he would take to his role so well 😭 i need to shift dimensions I need to be with this guy

i'd commit unspeakable horrors to be his girlfriend

--

You almost feel bad practically tackling the man from behind. All he was doing was grabbing a can of soup off of the shelf, and you made him your impromptu best friend.

He lurches forward at the contact, and turns to look at you with fire in his eyes. You're absolutely certain he's going to scold you, but he sizes you up at his eyes soften slightly. He raises one eyebrow, a silent 'what the fuck do you want?' and you ramble breathlessly.

"Please pretend you're my friend," You whisper, the squeaky wheels of the cart you're dreading the owner of coming towards you down the aisle, "He's following me and I don't know what to do."

He doesn't even blink. His face doesn't shift in the slightest, and for a quick moment you're unsure whether he heard you at all. But his arm curls around your own, and he spins you to face the soups.

"-so I was thinking chicken and stars, but R2-D2 absolutely kills as a noodle," He drawls, ringed fingers gesturing vaguely at each can that he names, "'S whatever you want, babe."

You hear your supermarket stalker's wheels squeak to a stop at the end of the aisle, and you don't dare turn to see his face. You'd prefer never to see it again, a reminder of the lewd comment he'd made in the produce section about melons.

"Star Wars," You decide, plucking the can off of the shelf and handing it to him, "Uh, thank you."

"Now we need," He squints at his list, tongue poking out of his mouth and sticking to his upper lip, "Ritz crackers, and chicken for tomorrow night."

He mimes looking for the crackers, noticing the man standing at the end of the aisle, waiting.

"Oh, sorry," He lifts the back wheels of the cart with the handle, scooting it sideways so that the man can pass, though you both know he doesn't want to, "Were we in your way? Go ahead, we're gonna be here for a while."

The man stares at you, you can feel it. But your new best friend sets a hand gently, politely on the small of your back, leading you around him and sandwiching you between the aisle and him. He holds the list out in front of you, "Babe, can you tell what that says? Can't even read my own writing," He laughs good-naturedly, "I think it says 'blueberries'?"

"Or blub errands," You try deciphering his messy scrawl, weight lifting from your shoulders as the man finally decides to move, crossing your path and bumping the wheel of your new cart as he does.

"Definitely blub errands," The boy beside you snickers, glancing at the reflective panel of the aisle beside him to watch for when the man finally turns a corner, "Some nice improv, babe."

You're not sure why he's still using the nickname, the man is out of earshot. But you're too relieved to care, physically relaxing as your shoulders slump.

"Oh my god," You let out a much bigger breath than you intend to, almost dizzying yourself, "Thank you so much. I just- he was always there and I didn't know what to do! I'm sorry I almost knocked you over," You turn sheepish, eyeing his ankle that you're fairly certain he'd twisted in the meetup, "Are you okay?"

"You're fine," He waves off your apology, rolling the ankle in question with a cheeky grin, "I'm tough."

"You look it," You eye him up and down, a silver chain dangling from his belt that's almost covered by a leather jacket, "Do you have, like, a really big tattoo of a heart with a knife through it on your arm? Bonus points if it says mom."

He laughs incredulously, shrugging the shoulder of his jacket off to prove you wrong, "Uh, no, but thanks for the idea."

You let out a laugh, something that seems impossible considering how scared you just were, but one that comes naturally. The boy you'd found seems to be the type you'd go for both in and out of a life-threatening scenario, and you're starting to wonder if you'll get this lucky with any real relationships you're in.

"Well, listen," He stuffs the list in his pocket, a scrap of the paper sticking out, "I've only got a few more things. If you want, we can check out together," He motions towards the hand-held basket you're holding, "'Cause I don't think that guy's gone. I'd offer you a ride home," He reaches a hand up to scratch aimlessly at the nape of his neck, "But I drive a van, and I think me asking you to get into it would be creepier than anything that guy did."

"It's okay!" You assure him, a light laugh escaping you at his earnestness, "I'm sure I'll be fine driving home. But seriously, thank you," You smile at him, clutching the handles of your basket tighter in an effort not to hug him, "I really appreciate this."

"Anytime, babe." There's that nickname again, paired with the grin you'd seen before, "Now come walk with me, you're helping me find the blub errands."

[steveseddie]

love is stored in a can of hairspray

rating: t | cw: none apply | word count: 3,189

tags: eddie munson has a crush on steve harrington, eddie munson is a sweetheart, steve has a bad hair week and eddie comes to the rescue, fluff, soft boys, first kiss, getting together

for the @steddielovemonth prompt “love is going out of your way to do something you know will make them happy” by @forgottenkanji

a/n: i'm a day late for this one but in my defense i had a wedding yesterday and it was a crazy day! enjoy!

click here to read on ao3

***

There’s a reason why Steve Harrington was dubbed “The Hair” of Hawkins.

In all the years Eddie has known Steve or known of Steve, he’s never seen him have a bad hair day.

It doesn’t matter if it’s rainy or sunny, if he’s wearing a Scoops Ahoy sailor hat or if he’s walking down the halls of Hawkins High or if he’s fighting Demobats in the Upside Down after taking a dive in Lover’s Lake, Steve Harrington’s hair always looked great. Eddie doesn’t know how he does it. Well. He kinda does ‘cause Henderson is a blabbermouth who let Steve’s secret about the Farrah Fawcett hairspray slip one time, but Eddie still doesn’t understand how Steve always makes his hair look like that. He thinks there’s got to be magic involved, a deal with the devil so that Steve’s hair never looks bad.

That is until today.

Eddie arrives at the Wheeler residence and announces himself by ringing the bell three times just to be annoying. He waits for someone to come open the door for him, and in the meantime, crouches down to tie his Converse. The door opens while Eddie is still on the floor and the first thing he sees is a pristine pair of white Nikes that he could recognize anywhere.

“Well, well, well,” he says, tightening the laces and springing to his feet. “If it isn’t my favorite guy in all of Hawkins, I didn’t know you’d be- Jesus H. Christ, dude! What happened to your hair?” He blurts out the last part when his eyes land on Steve’s head. Or the thick untidy mass where his perfect hair should be, with strands matted on his forehead above his furrowed brow.

“Fuck you, man,” Steve grumbles and crosses his arms over his chest.

Eddie feels a little bad, but his mouth-to-brain already leaves so much to be desired around Steve on a good day-

Not that Steve looks bad. Eddie is convinced that he couldn’t look bad if he tried, but right now he certainly doesn’t look like The Hair of Hawkins.

“Sorry, it’s just-” He waves vaguely at Steve’s head. “What’s up with that?”

Steve groans loudly. “A bunch of my products are sold out at every fucking store in Hawkins,” he explains for what seems to be not for the first time today. “Been meaning to drive to the next town over to get them, but I’ve been picking up so many extra shifts at Family Video that I haven’t had the time.”

Eddie nods. Steve told him he was trying to save up money to move out of his parents’ house, but it was slow going, so he started working more shifts recently to speed up the process. He’s been seeing less of Steve because of that, which Eddie hates, but he understands the urge to get out of that house.

“That sucks, man.”

Steve pouts, pink bottom lip jutting out. “Tell me about it, I look-” he gestures at his head and trails off with a huff.

“It’s not that bad,” Eddie says, but Steve raises an eyebrow at him.

“Wheeler asked if a hamster died on my head,” he deadpans.

Fucking Wheeler. He’s gonna make him regret it during tonight’s campaign.

“Please, those kids wouldn’t know a good haircut if it bit them in the ass,” Eddie says, and Steve smiles a little. “Sure, it’s- different. Not what we’re all used to, but you still look-” Handsome, hot, beautiful. “You still look good, Harrington.”

Steve’s cheeks pink up slightly. “Thanks, Munson, but I don’t feel good, I don’t know. It’s just hair and it’s stupid, but I feel off.” He groans in frustration. “Whatever, I’ll just have to wait two weeks and then-”

“Two weeks?”

“That’s when I finally get a day off.”

Eddie blows out a puff of air. “Jesus, Steve.”

“Apartments aren’t cheap, man,” Steve says with a shrug. “But I think Keith might make me manager by the end of the month. That would bump up my pay a bit, I just have to, you know, show him I can do it.”

“You got this, Stevie,” Eddie says, patting Steve’s cheek. “No one rewinds and restocks like you do.”

Steve rolls his eyes, but his lips twitch up into a smile.

“If you two are done, we have a campaign to start!” Dustin says, appearing behind Steve and giving them both an exasperated look.

They exchange one themselves at Dustin’s tone, which they agree that he still needs to get in check.

“Yeah, yeah, we’re coming,” Steve says and Eddie tries not to jump in excitement when he realizes Steve is staying instead of just dropping off the kiddos. He’s been hanging around more and more during Hellfire meetings recently, even if he still doesn’t want to play. Eddie can’t complain about the last part, he likes just having him there.

He steps inside and Steve closes the door.

Dustin stares at Steve’s head.

“Quit staring, Henderson!” Steve protests and Dustin holds his hands up in defense.

“Sorry, sorry, it’s just bad, dude.”

These fucking kids.

Eddie whacks Dustin upside the head. “Just for that, I’m making you roll with disadvantage for every attack you make tonight .”

Dustin’s eyes bulge out. “What! That’s not fair!” He protests loudly as they walk towards the basement.

Eddie suspects that Steve doesn’t know necessarily what that means, but he still gives him a grateful smile.

***

Eddie stares at the bag of hair products in his passenger seat.

He’s always been a whatever shampoo Wayne picks up from the store kind of guy, he’s never really spent money on hair products. Until now. And they’re not even for him.

He just spent a stupid amount of money on them, mostly because, even if he remembers how some of the bottles and hairspray cans Steve uses look like from using his bathroom when he stays over, he wasn’t sure which are the ones that Steve needs. So he bought a bunch of them.

In that moment, he wasn’t thinking about the money or how it might look to Steve that he knew what hair products he uses or that he drove to another town to get them. He was only thinking about Steve’s defeated look every time someone stared at his hair or commented on it, how he self-consciously tried to fix it at work every time a customer came in, how when they hung out at his house he would hide his hair under the hood of a sweater.

But now, parked in front of Steve’s house an hour before their movie night, Eddie does think about what he did- and he seriously considers leaving the bag on Steve’s doorstep and fleeing. It’s too much. It’s too ‘I have a big crush on you and I want you to be happy so bad that I drove to another town and raided the Hair and Beauty section at a store just so you can stop walking around looking like a kicked puppy’.

But at the same time, he did this so he could see Steve smile and it would be a shame to miss it. He just hopes that Steve is too distracted by having his beloved hair products that he won’t think too hard about what Eddie did, or what it might mean.

With a short prayer to whoever’s listening so that Steve doesn’t figure out his crush today and rejects him, Eddie grabs the bag and walks up the driveway.

He knocks on the door before he can talk himself out of it, and bounces from foot to foot while he waits, hiding the bag behind him.

Steve opens the door and when he sees Eddie his eyebrows shoot up in his face, disappearing behind the few hairs that hang over his forehead. Over the last week, Steve experimented with other products, and while he managed to make his hair look a little less like something died up there, it’s still not the same. “Eddie?”

“Hey, Stevie.”

He checks his watch. “You’re early. Actually no, you’re always late so being on time is early for you, you’re like, really fucking early.”

Eddie snorts. “First of all, I’m never late, I arrive precisely when I have to.” Steve rolls his eyes. “But today I’m really fucking early, as you so eloquently put it, because I had to do some shopping first and then I drove straight here. In fact, I come bearing gifts,” he says, hands shaking a little with anticipation.

Steve eyes him curiously. “For the kids?”

“For you, my King,” Eddie says, finally allowing Steve to see the bag and presenting it to him in the most dramatic way. Hinging at the waist, holding the bag over his head, the works.

“Eddie, what are you- wait, is that- oh.” Steve goes silent when realization hits and Eddie starts spiraling. He tries to make light of it. “I humbly present to you the magic potions for your characteristic luscious hair, your Majesty.”

But when he glances up at Steve through his lashes, he looks like he’s close to crying. For a moment, he worries that he fucked up- bought all the wrong hairsprays and shampoos and now Steve is mad at him-

But then Steve is grabbing Eddie’s shoulders and yanking him up for a hug where the bag ends up squished between them.

“Christ, Eddie, thank you,” he says against his shoulder, and Eddie feels a sense of accomplishment wash over him, as well as butterflies flying in his stomach from Steve holding him like this.

One of Eddie’s arms wraps around Steve’s waist. “I don’t know if I got all the right ones ‘cause I have shit memory, but I recognized some of the bottles from your bathroom and the lady at the store helped me find your famous Farrah Fawcett spray-”

He trails off when Steve squeezes him tighter. “I can’t believe you’d do this,” he murmurs, almost to himself, but Eddie hears it anyway.

“I had some shopping to do,” Eddie says casually, but it’s like Steve is squeezing the words out of him with his arms because he keeps talking. “And you’ve been walking around with your head low and those sad puppy eyes all week, and I couldn’t take it anymore.”

Steve pulls back and Eddie braces himself for Steve calling him out for overstepping or something, but instead he looks shyly at Eddie.

“I know it’s stupid like, it’s just hair and it shouldn’t matter that much, but it’s just- it’s important to me. I might not like “the Hair” thing but I am like, proud of my hair and this week I just haven’t felt like myself and people keep making comments and-” He shakes his head, a few rebellious strands falling on his forehead. “Anyway just, this means a lot, Eds, thank you.”

“Of course, Steve,” Eddie says with a smile. They stare at each other for a little too long, and Eddie starts fidgeting. “Now aren’t you happy that I got here so early? Gives you just enough time to get through your hair routine before everyone else gets here.”

Steve chuckles. “You don’t mind waiting while I fix this?” He gestures at his head, and Eddie shakes his.

“I can entertain myself just fine,” Eddie says, stepping inside when Steve sweeps his arm over the entrance.

“Okay, I’ll be back soon.”

Eddie grins. “Yeah, go doll up for me, sweetheart,” he teases and hears the way Steve’s breath catches, his eyes widening slightly and his cheeks tinting pink.

Then Steve moves in and places a quick kiss on Eddie’s cheek. “Thanks again, Eds,” he says and then he’s running upstairs.

Eddie stands there for at least ten minutes, red in the face, before he can make himself move.

***

Steve still hasn’t come downstairs by the time the doorbell rings so Eddie answers it.

Dustin is at the head of the arriving party and he raises an eyebrow at him when he sees him. “You’re on time,” he says, perplexed.

“And you’re a butthead,” Eddie replies and the other kids snigger behind Dustin. “Are you gonna come in or what?”

With an eye roll that is pure Steve, Dustin walks in followed by Wheeler, Sinclair and Max, and finally Robin and Nancy, who drove them all there.

Buckley narrows his eyes at him as she walks in. “Why are you on time?” She asks. “Unless you got here early so you and Steve could hang out alooone?” The way she says “alone” makes Eddie flush, which doesn’t help deny what she’s implying, even if it isn’t true.

Luckily, at that moment, Steve comes down the stairs and everyone’s attention turns to him.

“Dude, you got rid of the dead hamster finally!” Mike says and Max flicks him in the ear. Eddie smirks, that’s why she’s his favorite.

“He’s back!” Dustin cheers as soon as Steve’s hair is visible. Eddie smiles at the familiar look, but mostly at the way Steve smiles and holds himself, the slouch and the sad puppy eyes gone.

“There’s my handsome best friend,” Robin hoots and Nancy puts her thumb and index finger in her mouth and lets out an impressive whistle.

“Okay, okay,” Steve says, waving off their compliments and reactions as he reaches the ground floor. “Yes, the hair is back, we can move on now. There are movies to watch.”

He starts to usher them in the direction of the living room to get their movie night started now that they’re all here.

“Dude, I thought it would be two weeks before you could buy your hair things,” Lucas says, looking at Steve over his shoulder.

Steve freezes, his eyes darting to Eddie before he just shrugs at Sinclair, who probably doesn’t care that much about it because he just accepts that as a reasonable answer and follows the others to the couch.

The same can’t be said about Buckley.

“How did you get your hair products, Steve? ‘Cause I know you didn’t have them yesterday and you were working all day today.”

Their eyes meet again and Eddie gives a small shrug. They both know Buckley won’t drop it until she knows the truth.

“Eddie got them for me,” Steve says, mouth curling up in a smile that he directs at Eddie.

Buckley’s head snaps in his direction too, but she’s smirking, her eyes sparkling. “Oh did he?”

“Uh, yeah, I did.”

“You drove to another town, spent time and money on gas, and then spent more money just to get Steve his hair products?”

“Yup,” he says, popping the ‘p’, trying to be casual, but he can feel the heat on his cheeks.

“How generous of you,” she says but it sounds a lot like, ‘I see you and your big gay crush on my best friend’.

Eddie’s eyes dart to Steve. With their platonic bond it sometimes feels like they can read each other’s minds and Eddie wonders if Steve can see what she sees. He flushes brighter at the thought.

“Come on, Nance, let’s get started with the popcorn,” she says, hooking her arm with Nancy’s and dragging her away, leaving Steve and Eddie alone in the hallway.

“I’m sorry about her,” Steve says with a light chuckle. “And listen I can pay you- for the gas and for the products.”

Eddie shakes his head. “You don’t have to, I told you, they’re gifts.”

Steve ducks his head shyly and a strand of hair falls on his forehead with the movement. On impulse, Eddie reaches out to tuck it back into place. There, now Steve’s hair is perfectly styled again. He smiles. “Besides, it was worth it.”

“Oh.” Steve licks his lips a little nervously and Eddie can’t help but track the movement with his eyes. “You- you must really like my hair,” he whispers, eyes wide and expectant.

Eddie considers taking the out, making some joke about having always admired “the Hair” or something like that, but he finds that he doesn’t want to. Not with Steve looking at him like he would like hearing the truth.

So, Eddie takes a deep breath and hopes that he’s reading this right.

“I do, I really like it, but it’s not just that. You could walk around with a hamster on your head or get a buzz cut like El, and I’d still like it. I just. I like you.”

A slow grin appears on Steve’s face. “You really think I would look good with a buzz cut?”

A nervous laugh tumbles over Eddie’s lips. “Out of everything I said that’s what you-”

Steve shakes his head, cupping Eddie’s jaw with one hand and effectively shutting him up. “No, I- I like you too, Eddie.”

He sighs in relief. “Oh, thank God.”

And then, he grabs a handful of Steve’s shirt and pulls him towards him, crashing their lips together.

The moment they touch, Eddie lets out a low whine before he remembers that the kiddos are in the next room and Buckley and Wheeler could walk out of the kitchen any minute. So he tries to keep it down as he licks into Steve’s mouth, even if Steve kissing back just as passionately should be enough to drag more noises out of him.

It’s not until Eddie’s hands start moving from his shoulder to his neck on the way to his hair that Steve stops him, his fingers grabbing a hold of Eddie’s wrist and pulling away just enough to speak against Eddie’s lips.

Eddie chases after Steve’s mouth with another whine.

“Jesus,” Steve gasps. “We probably should- If this week proved anything is that out friends are overly invested in my hair so they’ll notice if you mess it up with your hands.” Eddie makes a disgruntled sound. Steve’s fingers catch one of Eddie’s curls, twirling it around it. “But if you want, after everyone leaves you can stay and I can, you know, pay you back for this.” He gestures at his hair.

Eddie’s brain must be melting out of his ears from kissing Steve because he dumbly says, “I told you that you don’t have to-” before he understands the meaning behind the words when he sees Steve’s smirk. “Oh. Yeah. I can think of a few ways you can do that.”

The way he waggles his eyebrows makes Steve giggle adorably, but before Eddie can kiss him about it, Robin pops her head out of the kitchen, making them jump.

“If you two are done giggling like teenagers, come help with the popcorn before the actual teenagers start a riot.”

“Aye, Captain Buckley,” Eddie says with a two-fingered salute. This time Steve muffles his giggle behind his hand.

With the other, he grabs hold of Eddie’s and starts dragging him to the kitchen. The whole time, Eddie feels like he’s floating.

He’s happy he made the trip, he’s happy he got Steve his hair products, he’s happy his hair are back to normal.

And he’s even more happy that he gets to mess it up later when he kisses Steve again after everyone leaves.

[imgae-insertshockedgasps-16]

okay i've seen a few Just Some Guy!danny aus and they've consumed my brain so here you go, it's under the cut, you're welcome and thank you (ps it also combines part of a prompty type thing i saw the other day, props if you know it)

Danny was not entirely sure how he got here.

He was just walking along, bopping to some great interdimensional tunes, eating his tuna fish sandwich - with ectoplasm and pickles, of course - when KABLOW there's this big ole tightie-whities-on-the-outside wearing guy.

Now, Danny's not great at keeping up with the times, but he's pretty sure this is that Superman dude.

Said SuperDude was staring at his headphones and making vague "hey take them out pls so can converse" gestures, so naturally Danny pops the Interdimensional Walkman out of his chest to pause his wicked music, and then puts the whole kit and kaboodle back behind his rib cage.

"What's up? Did you need help or something? I mean, I'm pretty solidly retired but I guess if it's super important I can-"

SuperGuy abruptly stopped staring and started speaking, "Uh- no, no, thank you. Although I'm sure you could be helpful if I did need you! But, ah, well, was that a Walkman?"

Ohhhhh, Danny totally gets it now.

"Oh, dude, I gotchu. You want me to hook you up, right? Don't even worry about it, I know a guy who'll give you one a these babies for free! You're Kryptonian, right? Yeah, I totally get it, you wanna listen to some music from your home planet, no problemo my newly-minted friend, give me, like, ten seconds-"

And so Danny tore open a neat little portal and stuck his head through it, asking Technus to pretty please give him another Interdimensional Walkman, no he didn't even break this one-! He ran into a Kryptonian who heard him rockin out and wanted to know where he got the beats, and he'd told them that he could hook them up! C'mon Technus, you can't let them down! They're all lonely! They want to learn about their culture!

-----------------------------------------

Clark has no idea what's happening.

He had been searching for this ear-splitting, headache-inducing noise, and had come across a guy dancing down the sidewalk.

Not unusual, right?

Except that the terrible noise was coming from this man's - kid's?? He can't quite tell how old he is - headphones!

Of course, he didn't want to be rude, so he politely gestured for the man to remove the headphones. The man then proceeded to reach into his chest and pull out some kind of - Walkman?? Do people still use Walkmans?

Clark was naturally concerned, so he activated a spot of x-ray vision, just to see what's going on in there, and was promptly horrified.

This man was using his chest cavity as a storage compartment!

Two wallets, a key ring, a lunch box, some sort of odd thermos, bits and bobs of random parts and tools were all tangled around - and occasionally in - this guy's organs!

Suddenly, Clark realized that he'd been staring for a while, and the man was now talking. Something about coming out of retirement to help, oh dear, Ma would knock him around the head if he kept being so rude, "Uh- no, no, thank you. Although I'm sure you could be helpful if I did need you! But, ah, well, was that a Walkman?"

And now he was speaking rapidly, something about music from Krypton? Clark's pretty sure that not a whole lot survived the explosion, and he'd be pretty surprised if this guy just happened to have-

A vaguely Lazarus colored portal??

What in the world-

-----------------------------------------

"Thanks Technus! You're the best! I owe you one non evil scheme related favour!"

Danny zips up the portal and turns around, fiddling with the tapes and Walkman in his hands as he goes.

"Here you go! I wasn't entirely sure what genre you'd want, I don't really listen to a whole lot of Kryptonian stuff to be honest, it's usually too heavy on the vocal for me- not that vocals aren't great! But I want a whole band experience, yaknow? I'm not really looking for individual singers. Anyway, I just had him go for a couple songs of each major genre, but if you want something different you can totally-"

"Wait, hold on, you're telling me that there's Kryptonian music on those tapes? Playable by that Walkman?"

"Uh, well, yeah. Isn't that why you tracked me down? And, technically, I mean, they're ectoplasmic tapes and an Interdimensional Walkman, so. Hey, did you know that kryptonite is actually super-condensed ectoplasm? And since it's filled with the anguish and suffering and fear and whatnot of your entire home planet dying, it only negatively affects your species! Pretty cool right? Oh, shit, was that insensitive, I really didn't mean to be, I just thought that maybe you'd want to- ACK!"

Danny was not expecting SuperMuscles to get so close. He thrust out the IW and tapes and dropped them into SuperFellow's hands, "Listen, I gotta run. I'm supposed to be at a o-chem study group right now and they're totally gonna be pissed. Hit me up if you want a different tape."

And the proceeded to run in the opposite direction, duck into an alley and turn invisible, and fly over to the cafe his study group was in.

"Listen, I know I'm late but you'll never believe why-"

[f1byjessie]

HE LIKES MY AMERICAN SMILE ━━ OP81.

love is a wild ride, and logan sargeant's sister is about to find this out the hard way.

( oscar piastri x sargeant!reader )

━━ part three.

“Are you sure this is gonna work?” You look down at the post. The photos, carefully taken a few nights ago while getting ready for a dinner gala you’d been brought along to as Sophia’s plus one, are pretty. She and you had scrolled and sorted and scrolled and sorted some more trying to pick the perfect ones, and then you’d written and rewritten the caption more times than you could count before finally settling on something vague but faintly implicit.

You study it for a moment longer, then look back up to your friend.

She smirks. “Trust me. It'll work. I got an ex-boyfriend to come crawling back begging for another chance by making him think I was already moving on.”

“It just seems… mean,” you murmur, frowning. You want Oscar to like you— you want it a lot— but you're not sure if this is the way you want to go about it. “Isn’t this just manipulating him?”

Sophia sighs and falls back onto the bed beside you. She gives you a look, gestures down to your phone, and then curls around your shoulder so she can peer down at the screen. “It’s not a soft launch. There’s no guy. The caption doesn’t mention anyone. If he gets the impression that you’re with someone else, then that’s on him.”

You trust her, of course, but this is Oscar. You’ve known him for years. He’s your brother’s best friend, and for the longest time, he was the closest thing you had to a best friend too. As twins, anything Logan did you tended to do with him— soccer, swimming, biking. You even had shared birthday parties growing up. Karting was the first real thing he’d done on his own, but even then you’d always been close by, and that meant you’d always been close by to Oscar too.

Like she can sense your continued hesitation, Sophia speaks up again. “If you post that, and he doesn’t react, then that’s that. You don’t have to do it again.”

“I just— I don’t know.” You worry your lip between your teeth. “I just don’t think it’s the type of thing that he’d go for. He’s, you know, polite like that, I guess? If he thought I was taken, or moving on, or something, then he’d respect that and wouldn’t bother me.”

The silence hangs in the room. She’s still leaning against you, one hand rubbing your shoulder comfortingly and the other hugging you into her. When you stand, she lets you go easily, watching as you begin to pace the length of your bedroom, phone clenched tightly in your hands.

When you finally come to a halt in the corner farthest from the bed, you turn and meet her gaze shyly, “What if he stops ‘maybe’ having feelings for me because he thinks I'm taken? Or, what if he thinks I’m not interested and so he doesn’t ever bring it up?”

“Then you take one for the team and you tell him,” she shrugs. “Woman up and admit that the entire time you were out in that fancy dress of yours with those roses, you’d wished it was him who had gotten them for you and you’d wanted it to be him you were getting dressed up for.”

You look back down to your phone.

You’ve never done this before— boys, at least. The chase. Europe hadn’t been a very easy place to live— not with a schedule that made keeping friends virtually impossible, let alone a boyfriend. When you moved back to the United States, you were focused more on your career, prioritizing yourself over anything else.

You’d been single for so long that you hadn’t been in any hurry to change things, but now the lack of experience is making you nervous. Apart from movies and books and the borderline horror stories Sophia has told you about her own disastrous love life, you don’t know the first thing about dating.

“Y/N, is this about Oscar or something else?”

You look up, still biting at your lip. “What if we break up and I’ve ruined a friendship?”

Sophia raises an eyebrow, “Is he the kind of guy that would throw away a friendship because things didn’t work out?”

“I don’t know! That’s the problem! I wanna say no, that he’d be totally fine and we would be able to pretend like nothing happened and go back to how we were before it all, but I can’t,” you cross the room and lower yourself onto the bed again. “Context matters too. What if it’s a really messy breakup and we can never look at each other the same? What if he does something so unforgivable that it ruins his friendship with my brother? Logan worked hard to make friends and this first season was rough for him. He’s the only American driver on the grid, and they weren’t exactly welcoming. But Oscar was there for him and I would never forgive myself if I did something to ruin that.”

“What could Oscar do that would be so unforgivable it would ruin a friendship?”

You fall back onto the mattress. “I don’t know that either! Realistically he wouldn’t do anything because that’s just who he is— he’s like the nicest most genuinely sweet guy I’ve ever met. But I’m not a fortune teller! I can’t look into the future and know that he won’t get tired of me and go find some other girl, or, I don’t know.”

You can feel tears burning at the back of your eyes and wipe at them harshly.

Sophia notices and lays down beside you, pulling you into her side again. She runs her fingers through your hair and lets you compose yourself a bit more before she speaks up again. When she does, it’s— “You’re so afraid of the worst-case scenario that you aren’t even letting yourself take the chance. Sometimes you just gotta leap before you look and believe that you’ll land on solid ground.”

“I hate when you get philosophical on me,” you murmur, a soft laugh slipping past your lips.

She sits back up and rolls her eyes, but there’s a gentle smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Puh-lease. As if you’d ever get anything done without my wizened words of advice.”

You sniffle and wipe the last remnants of tears from your eyes, then sit up with her and look back down at your phone. The unfinished post still stares back up at you.

“What if I just—” you delete the caption for the umpteenth time and let your fingers dance across the screen, “—say this instead?”

Sophia leans over your shoulder, reads the new caption, pauses, and purses her lips. She reads it again, hums, and then breaks out into a grin. An incredulous laugh slips out and she turns to you with shining eyes. “You’re a damn genius! I knew you were worried over nothing. You just gotta stop getting into your head so much.”

INSTAGRAM.

liked by logansargeant, landonorris, and 12,827 others

yourusername honey, i’m still free. take a chance on me.

view all 7,631 comments

user WHAT???

user IS THIS A SOFT LAUNCH???

↳ user she’s literally saying she’s still free?? why would she say that if this is a soft launch?? 😭😭

logansargeant should’ve taken me with you 😒

↳ yourusername logie we both know you hate black tie events

user girl idk how you can do it i’d be spilling out of that dress with one wrong turn

user THE ROSES?? THE BABY’S BREATH?? I’M SO NORMAL ABOUT THIS

landonorris slay girl queen boss

↳ yourusername lando… what…

↳ landonorris i’m in my supportive era 😌💅 you should try it sometime

user i NEED to know where that dress is from omg

user oh to be a young rich and beautiful socialite

user not to be delulu but there’s a surprising lack of op81 in these comments 👀

INSTAGRAM.

liked by landonorris, mclaren, and 429,868 others

oscarpiastri it’s summer somewhere right?

view all 1,021 comments

landonorris hm this caption seems familiar 🤨 i wonder what it could be referencing 🤔

user GOOD LUCK IN 2024 OSCAR 🧡🧡🧡

user wishing this were me rn

user i’m too delulu for this rn 😭

↳ user i’m waiting for y/n to show up in these comments

↳ user did they have a fight or smth??? they haven’t commented on each other’s last few posts

user gosh that’s the dream rn

When you answer the unknown number, on your way back to your room with a tub of ice cream and a plan to eat away your disappointment at the failure of Sophia’s plan, the last thing you expect is to hear Lando Norris of all people on the other end. There’s no greeting, no introduction, just an immediate— “Yeah, so, I’m gonna need you to fill me in on the sitch.”

For a brief moment, all you can do is stand there in the hallway with your phone pressed to your ear, wondering if this is real. You’ve had maybe a few brief conversations with Lando throughout your various visits to the paddock across the season, and though he was very nice and polite, and all of your interactions were friendly, you wouldn’t exactly call yourself friends. Certainly not “swap numbers and call one another” type of friends, either. Your most recent socializing has been strictly confined to the comment sections of Instagram posts.

“Hello? Y/N?”

You clear your throat, “Sorry. What?”

“The sitch? Situation? That’s an American slang word, I thought you knew that.” He says it so matter-of-factly. As if that’s the only thing you could be even remotely confused about in this whole interaction.

“No,” you answer, shaking your head as if it’ll somehow straighten out the spinning of your mind. “I know what the word means, Lando. I’m just wondering why you of all people are calling me right now? How’d you even get my number?”

You can hear music and voices on the other end of the line, muffled and distant, and then a door opens and closes and the extra noise is gone. Lando takes a deep breath and sighs, “If you must know, I got it from Alex, who got it from Lily, who got it from you. So, you know, transitive property means technically I got it from you, too.”

“I’m gonna choose to ignore how wrong all of that is,” you mutter, pinching the bridge of your nose as you continue down the hall and eventually slip into your room, shutting the door quietly behind you.

You do recall giving your number to Lily, and the two of you have shared a few messages since the end of the season— mostly typical check-ins and catching up with the happenings of your individual lives. Occasionally she sends you recipes she thinks you’d like, and you do the same. You knew she’d given it to Alex because she’d asked you first if that was okay, and all Alex had sent was a brief well-wishes when Williams had confirmed Logan’s re-signing, accompanied by a short message that Lily was looking forward to seeing you in the paddock again.

Ignoring all of that, however, you focus on the matter at hand. “Why are you calling? Isn’t it crazy late in Monaco right now?”

He hums. “I’m the slightest bit tipsy, but I cannot take it anymore. If I see one more caption with underlying subtext like this is a forbidden romance in a period drama I am going to, quite frankly, lose my mind. I need you to explain to me what in the fuck is going on between you and Oscar.”

You pause, and then you groan. “Oh my God.”

“Yes, ‘oh my God’ indeed. Now please explain.”

You heave a sigh, because you know he isn’t going to drop this, but you also know that if anyone could help you more than Sophia, it’s probably Lando. He’s Oscar’s teammate, and at the very least, if you can’t talk to Logan, you can talk to the only other person who probably knows him just as well.

“It’s a long story,” you mumble, curling up in your bed.

He makes a sound, like a scoff. “Okay? I have plenty of time.”

So you start from the beginning. Between spoonfuls of chocolate ice cream, you detail how it all started because of a message of condolence, how that had led to a rendezvous for drinks, and how that had led even further to him kissing you in the car as he’d dropped you off at your hotel.

He’s silent up until you mention that Oscar hadn’t acknowledged the kiss at all afterward, and then he makes an affronted noise and mutters something under his breath about stupid guys and heads in asses.

You admit that part of it was your own fault, that you hadn’t attempted to communicate either because you’d been afraid of the reaction and potentially the rejection, but that you’d been kicking yourself ever since for missing out on being able to talk face to face about things when you’d had the chance.

It all culminates in you explaining your current situation, and you tell him about your talk with Sophia and then your friend’s self-proclaimed mastermind plan, which had failed spectacularly when Oscar hadn’t even seen the post.

When you’re finished, there’s a moment of silence before he bursts into laughter.

You flush red in embarrassment and hug the tub of ice cream closer to your chest, feeling miserable and ashamed, but also like you deserve it all anyway. The tub isn’t freezing cold anymore, but the chill still seeps in through your shirt faintly, and it’s comforting against the heated blush.

“Sorry,” he says when his cackling has died down to chuckles. “I’m sorry. I’m not laughing at you. I actually do want to help. I genuinely can’t take one more post with a caption that’s all thinly veiled pining.”

You pause, fiddle with your spoon for a moment, and then hesitantly ask— “Do you know if he likes me?”

Lando goes quiet, and then he hums and admits that he doesn’t. “But,” he adds quickly, “just because I don’t have total confirmation doesn’t mean it isn’t basically obvious. Not to toot my own horn or anything, but I know Oscar.”

You sigh, “But how are you going to help? You can’t just ask.”

“I don’t need to,” he answers, like you’re crazy for thinking he’d do something like that. “I’ve got a plan.”

Great. You run a hand down your face and try to stay optimistic. Another plan.

━━ tags: @f1-is-lovely-33 @chasing-liberosis @405rry

━━ a/n: a bit more writing heavy this part, and a bit longer because of it, but i'm proud of how it turned out! we're finally getting somewhere, and now we've got lando joining the team. genuinely had so much fun writing him, so i'm excited to feature him in future parts!

[hufflepuffwritingstuff2]

Forced Vacation- Part 1

Hero collapsed on the couch, not even bothering to change out of their suit. They were just drifting off when they heard the latch to their window click, then the window opening. Hero groaned. They were so tired, why did they have to deal with a break-in?

They willed themselves to move; they opened their eyes and saw a shadow looming over them. Before they could react, something sharp pierced their thigh. Hero cried out, glaring up at Villain.

“What was that for!?”

“Shh, go back to sleep,” Villain whispered.

“I most certainly will not!” Hero shouted, “I- I… I...mm…”

Hero blinked in an effort to clear their blurry vision. Villain got off of them and started looking around Hero's apartment. Hero rolled off the couch and crashed to the floor with a thud.

“Villain!” Hero slurred, “get back here!”

“Which way to your bedroom?” Villain asked, ignoring them.

“I'm not telling you!”

“Fair enough, I'll find it myself, it's not like you live in a mansion… I should really fix that.”

Villain hummed to themselves while Hero pathetically crawled after them. Villain started going through Hero's dresser, pulling out various garments like- swimwear!?

“Did you just come here to steal my wardrobe?” Hero mumbled.

“Oh please,” Villain scoffed, “who would want these? I have half a mind to call the fashion police. Hm, we'll just pick you up some things along the way.”

Hero was finding it increasingly difficult to focus. Villain stalked over to them, crouching down to inspect them.

“You're not out yet?” Villain asked, tilting their head.

“No,” Hero bit out, “I'm…not…”

Hero's eyes fluttered shut as they collapsed on their side. They distantly felt Villain scoop them up in a bridal carry, then there was nothing.

…

Hero stirred to a pressure in their ears. Their eyelids slowly lifted and they saw Villain sitting opposite them, reading a book.

“Morning,” Villain drawled, turning a page, “or afternoon. I don't keep track of the time zones up here.”

Up here? Hero ‘s head swiveled to the side. They looked out a small, round window and saw fluffy white clouds and a blue sky. Their eyes went wide. They turned back to Villain, and sprang to their feet. Well, they tried to, but something kept them in place.

“That's for your own safety,” Villain said, gesturing vaguely to the various straps pulled taut across Hero's body, “and my peace of mind.”

“Safety!? A seatbelt is safety, Villain! This is- what even is all this!? Why am I on a plane, why am I strapped down, why did you kidnap me!?”

Villain snapped their fingers, and a henchman brought over a glass of water with a straw. They held it to Hero's lips. Hero then realized how dry their mouth was, and reluctantly drank against their better judgment.

“That's drugged,” Villain said nonchalantly.

Hero froze, having already swallowed most of the water. Villain finally looked up from their book and laughed.

“Oh, your face~,” Villain cackled, “too cute! It's just spring water, Hero, with a little bit of lemon.”

Hero visibly relaxed.

“As for your other questions,” Villain continued, “I know you, Hero, and I know when you're overdoing it. As such, I've decided its in your best interest as my nemesis to arrange a vacation for you; well, for both of us, but mostly you. We're going to a tropical island far away from any cities , criminals, or corrupt justice systems.”

“Villain!” Hero protested.

“Hero!” Villain replied with a smirk.

“I can't go on vacation! I have way too much to do! I-” Hero struggled some more in the restraints “-Let me out!”

“Those are there to make sure you don't try anything reckless,” Villain stated, “so calm down, and enjoy the flight.”

A henchman pushed a button, and a TV lowered down from the ceiling. They put a remote control in Hero's hand, then nodded to Villain.

“You will let me know if you get motion sickness, won't you?” Villain asked, picking their book up again.

“UGH!”

...

When they landed, Villain set their book down and reached in their belt pocket for something. They produced another syringe.

“Oh come on!” Hero whined.

“It's not that bad,” Villain argued, “just a small pinch, look-"

Villain injected the contents into Hero's leg. Hero stifled a yelp. Two henchmen came and unstrapped Hero from their seat. Hero immediately stood, only to lurch forward. Villain caught them easily.

“Falling for me? You flatter me,” Villain teased.

“Get off,” Hero said, “I appreciate the concern, but you can't just kidnap people whenever you feel like it!”

“Of course I can, I'm doing it right now, aren't I?”

Villain lifted Hero up into their arms, walking them off the plane. Hero fought to stay awake. Villain deposited them in a luxury car, climbing in next to them. Hero dozed off a moment later.

Part 2

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@electrons2006

[irisintheafterglow]

don't even know, i'm talkin' nonsense

summary: on his way back from a patrol shift, your boss gets hit with a mystery quirk that affects his speech. you're the only one in the office who can help him (pro!bakugo x you).

wc: 2k

cw/tags: swearing cuz bakugo's here and he's angry, miscommunication-based comedy, idiot(s) in love, coworkers to lovers, a little bit of angst/comfort but it's just for the plot yk

note: i'm not sure where the concept of this came from; i was just listening to sabrina carpenter and was like,,,, hey i can use this. so have this! hope you like it :))

likes, reblogs, and replies are appreciated <3

“Okay, go over it one more time for me. I think I’ve got it,” you reassure him, only to be met with a skeptical glare. “I’m serious; I think I understand it, even though it took forever.” You tap the whiteboard of the meeting room with the red marker in your hand, slightly tired from scribbling down as much as you could comprehend from your boss’ vague gestures. He exhales deeply, dragging a hand down his face, and gives you an impatient look. “Ready when you are."

“Fucking hell, I can’t believe this is happening to me.”

“I didn’t understand a word of what you just said,” you remind him and he shoots you a withering glare that doesn’t deter you in the slightest. “And don’t try to write it, since that clearly didn’t work.” You glance at the scribbled mess of letters scratched onto a yellow notepad of paper, Bakugo’s first attempt to communicate that something was off when speech was not working.

“I fucking know that! You don’t think I can’t remember that you have no idea what I’m fucking saying?” You blink at him, desperately biting your tongue to avoid bursting out laughing. Even though Bakugo had been hit with a quirk that was creating some very entertaining moments in an otherwise bland office job, he could still make his palms crackle dangerously in warning. “Remind me to fire you when I get out of this.” You can’t control your laughter that time and you let a snort slip from your throat, wincing when his scathing eyes stare menacingly into you. 

“Sorry, I am so sorry,” you laugh quietly, attempting to subtly wipe a tear from your eye. “It’s just that…that time it was a dolphin.” You scrunch your face to avoid laughing again and try so hard that it makes your stomach hurt. Your boss continues to stand there, absolutely mortified, while you add another animal to the list of sounds that have come out of his mouth. Since he re-entered the office after a seemingly normal patrol shift, the noises of a bear, horse, mouse, tiger, monkey, a bird you couldn’t identify, and now a dolphin had exited his mouth in place of his scratchy voice. You thought it was a sneeze, the first time the bear roar had echoed through the office, but were equally perplexed when you asked him to sign a form and the only answer you received was high-pitched squeaking. 

“There’s no fucking way,” he’d muttered under his breath when you first explained to him what you thought was happening. It became all too real as his face paled when you played what your phone recorded as his “voice,” which only came out as the insistent hoots of a monkey. He was used to receiving weird looks on the street, especially when civilians realized that they were walking next to one of the top Pros in the country, but it dawned on him that they may have not heard his usual voice when he barked at them to move. “And you’re the only one in the office right now?” 

“I have no idea what you’re saying,” you inform him carefully. “But, if you’re wondering if anyone else is here to help you, there’s not.” You can only imagine what kind of colorful expletives he yelled by the unrelenting scream of bird noises that left his mouth. “And I was about to leave, so if you want me to stay and help–” 

“I don’t need your fucking help.”

“Oh, great. You’re a horse now,” you deadpan, understanding from his facial expressions alone what he was trying to communicate. “Well, if you don’t need my help, have fun explaining to the guys why you sound like you swallowed a zoo.” Your boss’ face turns bright red at the idea of showing up to dinner with his old classmates in his current state. He fires off a single, precise shot at the rubber door stop before you can exit the meeting room, effectively locking you in there with him until you sort out how to fix him. “So, you do want my help?” You turn to look at him with a knowingly innocent smirk, delighted to find him seething in place but reluctantly nodding. “What’s the magic word?” A single horse neigh echoes through the meeting room and you head to the whiteboard. “Alright, let’s get to work.”

You spent the next hour and a half playing a ridiculous game of charades with Bakugo after the alarming discovery that anything he tried to write would become illegible scribbles. You figured that it was just an effect of the Quirk itself, which seemed to give the user the ability to communicate with different animals without being understood by humans. If an eavesdropper managed to figure out what they were saying, the words would become unreadable on the page for further secrecy. Despite inconveniencing your boss and preventing you from leaving the office on time, it did serve as an important tool in the Quirk-stealing weapons trade you’d been investigating. The only issue now was to figure out where Bakugo was hit. 

“So, you’re walking down 25th.” A nod. “And make a right on Pine?” His palm hits his forehead in frustration. “No, no, not right. A left, towards 24th.” Another nod. “And that-that alley, by the coffee shop with the good strawberry milk teas?” More aggressive nodding. “That’s where you got hit? With the dart?” He slams his hand on the desk, nodding furiously. You stare at him, slightly in disbelief as you pull out a rolling chair and slump into it. “How the hell did you get pulled into that alley?” 

“Someone was screaming for help and I’m a hero so I go help them, I don’t fucking know.”

“Dolphin again,” you smirk and he rolls his eyes. “But, really. You don’t ever go that route since it’s too out of the way from where your patrol ends. What were you doing on that side of town?” He pauses, his mouth drawn into a tight line and his eyebrows drawn as he searches for an explanation in his brain. Truth be told, he had no idea what possessed him to take that route back to the office. All he could recall were snapshots, little Polaroids of information that, if he pieced them together, made a relatively cohesive explanation. He’d snapped at you unfairly, a common snap of his temper, but the hurt on your face affected him more than he was willing to admit. Something bothered him about your tense expression and it continued to bother him when he was out of the office and kicking villains into the dirt. It seemed like instinct was the only reason why he headed in the direction of the cafe with the strawberry milk he knew you liked. “Well?”  

He blinks at you once, twice, and then stands abruptly and swings open the door. You watch him through the room’s tall windows as he enters his private office briefly and exits with a cardboard drink holder. A minute later, a plastic cup with the taut seal unbroken is unceremoniously set in front of you, along with a large straw to suck up the extra strawberry bits he knew you always ordered. 

“What is this?”

“What does it look like, idiot?”

“I know it looks like a drink, but why did you get it for me?” His eyes widen with the idea that you could understand him again, but you’re quick to shut him down. “And no, I can’t understand you yet. Right now, you’re a tiger.” You half expect him to launch the other drink, something brown sugar looking, at the wall; instead, he pulls out the chair next to you and stabs his straw into the plastic, gesturing for you to do the same. You obey hesitantly, eyeing him curiously as he avoids your questioning expression. “Thank you.” He huffs, something you’ve learned is the only response he gives to gratitude. “You really didn’t need to do this.”

“I hurt your fucking feelings, of course I needed to.” You’re staring at him again, you and your pretty eyes and kind smile and uncanny ability to withstand even his most fiery temper tantrums. He’d discovered his feelings for you months ago and it was like a speed bump was put in front of him every time you were near, always making him trip or say something stupid. Bakugo was never known to be good with his words or his feelings, but you made him feel so warm inside that he’d be a fool to deny what it was. “I guess it’s good that you can’t understand me right now because I can vent about how stupid you make me feel.” You hum, a fond glint catching in your eye. 

“That’s a new one. You’re a chicken right now.” You laugh and he can feel his forehead get airy, like he’d chugged three sojus. What he felt was sweeter, though, without the bitter taste that always followed alcohol. To him, you were pure light. 

“Makes sense, ‘cause I’m too much of a dumbass to tell you how much I care about you. Fuckin’ idiot.” 

“You sure have a lot to say, boss. Go on and let me pretend I’m on a poultry farm.” You take another sip of your drink and close your eyes, appreciating his unexpected gift. “A much needed vacation, in my opinion.”

“There you go again with your stupid sarcasm and your stupid laugh. You’re insufferable, you know that? Always making me run around in circles because I don’t know what I’m fucking doing around you.” You raise your eyebrows melodramatically and nod at him slowly, still having no idea what he’s trying to communicate. “You’re lucky you’re pretty because if you were anyone else, I’d fucking deck them right now.” Your attention shoots to him but gives no indication that you comprehended what he just said, so he goes on. “I wanna take you out to dinner sometime, but I think I’m a little too proud to admit how much I like you. Fucking hell, you don’t know what you do to me.” 

“Hey, boss?”

“The fuck do you want?”

“The Quirk wore off,” you breathe, in complete shock from what he just unknowingly confessed to you. You’d be less surprised if he’d told you that he murdered his way up to the top three. “You started speaking normally when you said,” you pause to try to slow your racing pulse in your ears, “that I was pretty.” You sneak a look at him out of the corner of your eye to find him bright red and mirroring your wide-eyed expression. “I guess the effects wore off pretty fast?” 

“Yep,” he forces out. “Must have.”

“You really think I’m pretty?”

“It’s why I got you the fucking drink, stupid,” he mumbles, still examining the shiny wood of the table. “Didn’t want you to be sad.” An idea pops into your head and you shrug, leaning nonchalantly back into your chair. You can feel his eyes watching you, reading your body language.

“I know something that would make me less sad.” 

“Oh, yeah? What’s that?” You shrug and let the corner of your mouth turn up, brushing a stray blonde hair from his face. You didn’t think it was possible to turn such a deep shade of pink and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t amused by how miserable he looked. 

“Take me out to dinner,” you reply, chuckling at the way his nostrils flare. “Repeat all the stuff you said while you were speaking zookeeper. Beside the love confession, of course. I understood that pretty well.” 

“God, you’re ridiculous,” he mutters, grabbing your hand and dragging you out of the office. “Next time I get you that strawberry milk, you’ll be there with me. Then we’ll both have that stupid quirk.” 

“Mmm, great. We can both tell each other how much we like each other while speaking dolphin.”

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

[nian-7]

You like me?

They can't believe you have a crush on them out of everyone.

Sakura & Nirei x gn!reader

-> fluff, no cw -> tags: @fyodoro

a/n: i'm still getting used to the windbreaker boys and these two are the easiest for me to write as of now. plus they fit the concept well imo... excuse if they are ooc still though

Sakura

Hanging around in Furin territory meant you were bound to run into the guys who protected the town fiercely and what you hadn't expected was to run into the one you just happened to be particularly fond of.. Sakura had always had a cute charm to him that made you smile whenever he was around. Maybe it was his cute face or the fact that if you gave him a compliment, he'd turn beet red.

But happening to run into him while he was sitting on the curb eating a steamed bun was not on your afternoon agenda. He looked over at you when you stopped and looked down at him.

" Nice to see you, Sakura, " You greeted with a wave. He gulped down the last of his bun and waved back.

" Yeah, nice to see you too... " He mumbled, scooting over to create room on the curb, silently offering to to sit next to him. " What're you doing? " He looked up at you, shoving his hands in his pockets when you didn't take the hint to sit down with him.

" I was just going to buy something from the store, " You tapped your chin, " I was actually going to buy something for you so good thing I found you! " You smiled, gesturing with your hand to a store that was further down the block. " If you just stay here, I'll be back real quick! I promise! "

He nodded, cheeks flushing a light pink when you said you were getting something for him. " R-Right... I'll be here, no big deal... "

A few minutes later, you returned with a small bag in hand. Plopping down beside him, you placed the plastic bag between your legs and sifted through it for a moment before pulling out a cute, wrapped heart box.

" This is for you! " You handed it to him, his face exploding with a red color as he stared at you, shocked. " It was kinda hard to find cause it's not Valentines Day yet but I got lucky and found some chocolates that happened to be in a heart shaped box! "

" W-Wh-What?! " He stuttered out, staring at the box. " For me?! Why?? " He asked, confused.

" Hm? Cause I think you're cute! "

" But- for someone like me? " He confirmed, vaguely gesturing to his appearance. You placed your hand on his knee, pushing the chocolate his way again.

" I assure you that I like you, Sakura. "

Nirei

" Hey, Nirei? " You turned to look at him eating the steamed bun you both had bought. Now, sitting on the curb, it felt like the best chance you were going to get. You were confident this time! And it was just the two of you for once.

" Mhfm? " He looked over at you, his mouth filled with the steamed bun.

" I like you. " He froze, lifting his head to look at you, eyes wide and cheeks glowing red. It felt like all the air had gotten sucked out of him as he stared at you, almost shocked that you had just said something like that.

" Wh- What?! You- You're-?? " He coughed out, as he had just began to swallow the bun. His mind felt like it was going a million miles a minute as it short circuited. Did you really just say that you liked him or was he imagining it? You had a concerned expression on your face, leaning closer to him to make sure if he was okay.

" You okay, Nirei? " You asked, a hand on your shoulder as you examined his reddening face. Did it suddenly feel really warm or was it just him? He wasn't sure as he blankly stared your way, the words not coming out of his mouth.

" I- You- Are- Are you sure?! " He managed to blurt out, turning his body towards you now as he finally got a grip on himself again, bouncing his knee slightly.

" What do you mean?? " You tilted your head, confused by his question. 'Are you sure?' Of course you're sure! You couldn't help but fall in love with his puppy like demeanor so what was there not to be sure about!

" Like- Like are you sure you like me? " He stuttered out. " Cause- cause... someone like Sakura or Suo is way cooler than I am, right? So- Are you super.. super sure? " He gestured around to the imaginary Sakura and Suo to make his point. " I- I just wanna make sure! I like- like like you too so! I'm just making sure! "

You couldn't help but laugh. That's what he was hung up on? " Of course, I like you, Nirei. Why would I say that otherwise? "

[mollyrolls]

hey cupid! ☆ iwaizumi h. x reader

3. 1-0 Iwaizumi

warnings: kys jokes, language, angst

prev. / mlist. / next

Iwaizumi had known Bokuto would be nervous. He had made allowances for it throughout the day, working in time for minor panics.

He had thought by the time they made it to the restaurant the nerves would have settled. But it seems that all that work was for naught.

Bokuto's wringing his hands and muttering under his breath, stealing glances at the door sporadically. 

Iwaizumi looks at him knowingly before leaning back in his chair. It's subtle, but the swing of his arm around Bokuto's shoulders cages them in. He makes his presence known in his actions rather than words. He’s never been good at that part.

And Bokuto gets that.

"Thank you for being here. I don't know what I'd do without you."

A simple squeeze. “What can I say. I'm the greatest."

Bokuto laughs hoarsely, still coming down to Earth. Iwaizumi stays.

A beat or two passes, and finally Bokuto lets out a rough exhale. "Ok. I'm ok. How are you feeling?”

He thinks for a moment. “I’m fine. Hungry.”

Bokuto seems disappointed by that response. “I mean about your date. Are you not at least a little bit excited?”

He shrugs. “What happens happens. I’m here for you.”

“Always the romantic Iwa. No wonder girls are head over heels for you.”

His hand goes to his chest. “Ouch, Bokuto! That’s a low blow.”

A grin cracks over Bokuto’s face. “Well, I mean it's not my fault tha-”

But the sentence falls off his lips as he looks over Iwaizumi’s shoulder. The other two have finally arrived, and he hears Bokuto’s throat clearing, willing oxygen back into his lungs. 

Iwaizumi vaguely recognizes Akaashi from old pictures, but he’s never seen her before.

There’s no denying that the girl Akaashi brought is pretty. Her smile at the hostess who points them to the table, the color of her dress and how it compliments her skin, the way she carries herself; it’s alluring. 

Her eyes settle and just slightly examine him. He doesn’t know what she saw, but what he does know is the twist in his chest that comes when she averts her gaze and whispers something to Akaashi.

The boy laughs at her comment, and Hajime notices Bokuto’s throat clear again, and his hands nervously wiping on his pants.

Hm.

Once the pair reaches the table, pleasantries are passed. He thinks of it one second too late, and before he can pull her chair out she’s already sitting, smoothing her dress out around her.

He curses himself, knowing he should have been more prepared for that. He can’t help that he was distracted. 

Next to him, Bokuto and Akaashi are caught in a thick tension, neither one quite sure how to greet the other. He pauses, unsure of how to help, and looks at her to gauge her response.

Her reaction is not what he expected. She wears a small, private smile and watches the moment continue. It seems like she has no intention of stopping it, whereas Iwaizumi wants nothing more than to intervene before it becomes uncomfortable.

As if she can hear his internal debate, she looks up at him. He gestures to them silently, asking if he should do something. She shakes her head no.

Hm.

He chooses to sit down, maybe scraping his chair a little louder than he otherwise might. It’s enough to break the two from their gaze. As they sit she exhales with a roll of her eyes, as if interrupting a painful moment was a crime. 

He returns her expression with a smile, not quite challenging her but enough to stand his ground.

“I’m glad you guys invited us,” Bokuto’s voice cuts through their staring contest. “How do you know each other?”

She startles, before smiling and looking over at her friend. “We vaguely knew each other in high school but then trauma bonded over an English class last year.”

“What? I can’t believe I didn’t know you before, I thought I knew everyone at school!” Bokuto laments, but she dismisses it with a wave.

They chat on, and her voice is nice in Hajime’s ears. He finds himself surprised at her demeanor, not nearly the soft-spoken girl he had assumed. He likes it.

Engaged by his thoughts, he doesn’t notice Bokuto calling him. 

“I’m trying to introduce you man, cmon!”

Hajime grins almost sheepishly, embarrassed that he got caught. Bokuto leans on him, then turns to her. “This is Iwaizumi Hajime.” 

She grins. “So I’ve heard.”

“Oh, you've heard about me?” The notion makes him laugh because surely anything she’s heard has come from Oikawa. So, nothing good.

“No. Just heard.”

His eyebrows pinch. She keeps smiling, with seemingly no malicious intent behind her words.

“Well, I haven’t heard about you. What are you majoring in?”

“Ugh, I’m undeclared. Probably will end up with a literature degree of some kind, but I really don’t want to.”

She twirls around her glass, lost in her own thoughts at the idea of that future. Hajime feels the need to repair something.

“If you want, you can always join the kinesiology program. It’s small but rewarding, and we always need new people.”

She smirks. “Do you always use dates as recruitment opportunities?”

Iwaizumi balks, not realizing he made such a faux pas. His reaction makes her grin wider. He feels like everything just got turned upside down.

“Ignore her, she thinks that kind of thing is funny.”

Akaashi interrupts, looking at her pointedly. She pouts at him for ruining her fun. 

“Oh, Iwa does too! He always tells me to kill myself.” Bokuto replies, with more enthusiasm than one should have when saying something like that.

Iwaizumi wants everything to stop for a second.

“She does too. I think it was the last thing in our texts, actually.” Akaashi replies, fishing out his phone to check. She leans over and snatches it away, embarrassment creeping up her neck.

“Um, anyway,” she swallows nervously, desperately trying to get the conversation away from that topic.

“Do you guys know what you’re going to order?” 

She must have just asked the first thing that came to mind, since they’re at a nabe restaurant. Obviously, they were going to get the same thing.

So, he laughs. He figured she was making a joke. When she stares at him with murderous intent in her eyes, he's not sure why.

Then when her expression doesn't falter, he wonders if she’s testing him again. “What? Were you not joking?”

“I don’t know what you're talking about.”

She seems genuinely confused. Hajime guesses she wasn't doing a bit after all.

“We’re having nabemono, why would you order anything else?” He didn't mean for it to be condescending, but she certainly takes it that way.

With a cross of her arms, she bites back hard. “I’m vegetarian."

“How was I supposed to know that?”

“I didn't say you were.”

“Then why are you mad?”

“Because you just laughed at me for no reason, and then started fighting with me over, I guess nothing?”

“Okay. Sorry.” Iwaizuimi chooses to disengage from the conversation before it gets any worse than it is. He thought that they had their dry senses of humor in common, but maybe he's being too brash.

She scoffs under her breath and Iwaizumi can make out the muttered ‘unbelievable’ as she faces Akaashi. 

He doesn’t know what just shifted, but the tension between them is no longer playful.

It seems like the universe decided to pull an opposite day on Iwaizumi. He thought the goal of this night was to let Bokuto and Akaashi talk one-on-one, but she seems to vehemently disagree. Every time a topic comes up, she jumps on it and won’t let it go.

He keeps motioning at her to leave them alone, but she’s either really blind or ignoring him. Eventually, he taps her on her wrist to get her attention.

It backfires.

Jerking around at the sudden contact, she yanks her hand away. “What?”

“I’m just trying to talk to you.” He says, not entirely a lie. 

She glances to the side pointedly, silently communicating something Iwaizumi does not pick up on. When he looks blankly back at her, waiting for clarification, she just returns to the conversation with a huff.

He wants to pass it off as just another odd exchange, but she seems hell-bent on fighting with him and ignoring everything he’s saying.

He can’t think of anything he’s done to deserve this treatment, but it's sitting with him the wrong way. 

Sure, sometimes people don't hit it off immediately, but Iwaizumi has never felt this level of hostility from someone right after meeting them.

And just to rub salt in the wound, she turns and whispers to Akaashi again. They share another private moment, alienating him and Bo on the other side. He feels his blood start to boil.

“Something funny?”

Fine. Maybe he shouldn’t have said that. Sue him.

But after weaseling her way under his skin, pressing every button he didn't even know he had, and ruining Bokuto's chances of a good night, he wasn't going to let it slide anymore.

She bristles like an angry cat at the call-out.

“Nothing that concerns you, Iwaizumi.”

She uses his name as if it were a bad thing, a dirty word. 

The tension between them is mounting to an insurmountable degree and when Iwaizumi is about to retort, Bokuto and Akaashi laugh.

Like he said. Opposite day.

She’s chattering on with Bokuto and Akaashi about some movie that’s coming out. There are soft murmurs and jokes passed over quiet bites, and it feels for a moment that things are going the way they’re supposed to. 

Akaashi seems the most invested in the discussion, and when he talks, Bokuto listens. It's nice. It’s how it should be. 

Hajime notices how she quietly slips out of the conversation, and right as he’s about to thank her for leaving the date to their date, she glares at him.

Like he was the one in the wrong.

“What problem could you possibly have now?” His temper is growing short and he doesn't have the energy for more sideways glances.

She glances back and forth, but Bokuto is keeping Akaashi animated. They’re not paying attention to anyone else. 

“I don’t have any problems,” she mutters back, “but you clearly do.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“God, I don’t know. There’s some barge pole up your ass keeping you from having a good time, and you’re sucking the life out of the conversation by constantly staying silent. Not to mention you keep staring at me like I just killed your puppy. What are those if not problems?”

Their voices are starting to raise just slightly, enough to make Bokuto and Akaashi pause their conversation. She smiles sweetly at Iwaizumi and rejoins them. Of course.

For the rest of the night, he just nods and listens to the three of them talk, hands gripping his thighs as a way to take out some of the tension she instills in him.

By the time the check is paid, Iwaizumi is relishing in the fact that he’ll never have to see her again. But since she’s so good at getting under his skin, she can’t resist doing it one more time.

When they’re all walking out, she grabs onto his elbow and holds him back.

Pulling away from her touch, Iwa tries to glare at her.

He does not get a response.

In fact, she is not even looking at him. Her eyes are glued in front of her.

Bokuto and Akaashi are walking towards the doors, staggered significantly. They both try and make moves to meet up with the other, but visibly hold themselves back.

Iwaizumi can feel the despair starting to bubble around Bokuto, from wanting something so much but being unsure how to get it.

He looks down at her again and she looks distraught, probably in realization of what she’s done. 

Selfishly, he can't resist one more jab.

“Are you satisfied?” “Okay, what is wrong with you?”

They both speak at the same time and are completely thrown by the other’s question. Iwaizumi can answer first.

“Nothing is wrong with me, I’m just pissed that my friend just had a terrible date because you would not stop talking through it. So, are you satisfied?”

Her jaw drops. And as if he would expect anything less at this point, her response is outrage. 

“I cannot believe you just said that." Her laugh is bitter, heartless. "I did not talk through the whole thing, I was being a part of the conversation. You should try it sometime.”

“I wouldn’t call dictating every other sentence as just ‘part of the conversation’. You didn’t let Bokuto and Akaashi have a moment alone to have their date.”

He bites out the last words, hoping she can finally understand what she did.

“I absolutely did! In fact, I remember you being the reason their conversation got cut short because you decided to get on me for something I didn’t fucking do.” 

“Yes, you fucking did.”

Iwaizumi can feel himself being mean, but can’t make himself stop. She makes him lose all his self-control.

“I asked you what your problem is because you were making fun of me and Bokuto directly in front of us. I thought we left giggling and secrets behind in middle school.” 

Her demeanor cracks for just a moment, revealing a small weakness, but it's gone just as quickly. He pushes on.

“All the little whispers and glances? Just because you’re not saying things out loud doesn't mean we’re dumb enough not to notice it.”

“I don’t know what kind of sick game you're playing with this, dangling Akaashi in front of Bo and then monopolizing all of his time, but saying you're here to help them is ridiculous. You might as well date Akaashi at this rate.” 

That seemed to have pushed her over some edge. There is nothing but fury in her eyes and she forces him to take the brunt of her wrath. He’s unimpressed.  

“You are ridiculous.”

Her words are full of malice, hands curling into fists.

“You think leaving these two men, who are clearly nervous wrecks, sitting alone with no one guiding the conversation is the way to go? How can you not see that your stupid idea would be driving them further apart?”

“You don't know that they wouldn’t find things to talk about because you didn’t let them speak.” 

Hajime notices momentarily how close they are to one another. He’s practically on top of her, but he can't move away because she would certainly take it as a sign of defeat. 

And like hell he’s letting her win this.

She’s about to retort when her phone buzzes. There’s a moment of hesitation as she chooses whether or not to check it, but her curiosity wins out.

1-0, Iwaizumi.

Her ire is suddenly replaced with something indiscernible. She turns on her heel, quickly grabbing her things.

“Whenever you’re done throwing whatever pity party is happening right here,” she calls out behind her, “You should sort your own shit out and realize you're not a martyr.”

She stops right in front of him and bores into his eyes.

“You fucked up too tonight, so don’t take it out on me because you don’t know how to be helpful.”

With that, she brushes past him without a second glance.

Iwaizumi is hot on her trail, refusing to let that be the last word of the night. As he calls out to her, she pushes open the door. He’s so focused that he doesn’t notice her abruptly stop, staring out into the road.

Just dodging a collision, he skates around her and turns to see what she’s seeing.

Bokuto and Akaashi are mirror images, looking down at the road, hands stuffed in pockets. Hearing the doors open, they twist their heads up, a silent plea. 

Her moves are instinctual, coming up beside Akaashi with a worried glance. 

They speak in hushed tones but Iwaizumi stoutly ignores her, moving over to grab Bokuto’s shoulder.

“Everything okay?” He mutters, and Bokuto makes a strained sound. He makes no signs of elaborating.

After a moment she faces them again, a smile painted on that doesn’t quite meet the eyes. 

“Thanks for dinner guys, it was nice. We’ll see you soon, okay?” 

Her tone makes it clear that it is not a question. Bokuto and Iwaizumi both nod, not sure of anything else to say.

She doesn’t bother looking at him but waves to Bokuto, and she and Akaashi turn and disappear into the night. Hajime pretends not to notice the small strokes she’s making along Akaashi’s arm, trying to soothe him. 

Once they are out of sight Bokuto lets out a sigh, somewhat pained and somewhat relieved.

“Do you wanna drink?”

prev. / mlist. / next

taglist: open! fill out here

@chemiru, @whosmarjj, @seroh, @skrunkly-soaked-rat

[krisdreaming]

Baby Fever

Pairing: Miya Atsumu x f!reader

WC: 1.2k

Summary: Osamu and his wife just had a baby. Now Atsumu sees them everywhere.

A/N: This kind of took a very different direction than I was originally planning and tbh, I kinda hate it now, but I spent over two hours writing it, so I'm gonna roll with it anyway. Maybe when I re-read it in the morning, I'll hate it less 😅

There's a term for it. Atsumu isn't sure what it is, but he knows that as soon as you're exposed to something new, you start noticing it around you more and more. That must be why, ever since Osamu's son was born, he's been seeing babies everywhere. They're at the grocery store. They're at the park. Suddenly, half of his teammates have been expanding their families like it's some kind of competition.

Suffice to say, Atsumu has seen more than his share of babies over the past few weeks. Sure, they're cute, or whatever. When a baby smiles at you, you can't help but smile back. When they grab onto your finger, you let them hold it for as long as they want. When they engage you in a staring contest across the grocery store aisle, you only put up a little bit of a fight before giving them the satisfaction of winning, flashing a sheepish smile at their mom or dad as you turn the corner.

The sight of the little monsters has started to trigger a strange twinge in Atsumu's middle, which he chalks up to the fact that he's an uncle now. There's a brand new member of his family, and he's really happy for Osamu and his wife. Seeing the babies everywhere reminds him of that. That's all it is.

See, the two of you had talked about this. You aren't ready for kids right now. He's in the prime of his volleyball career, and you love your job. You're both happy as just the two of you, spending your free time together doing the things you enjoy and getting a full eight hours of sleep each night. Having a baby would change everything. Your last discussion on the topic, right after Osamu and his wife had shared their pregnancy with the two of you, had ended on that exact note. He's pretty confident that's still how you feel. He's relatively confident that's still how he feels, too.

Of course, the longer it goes on, the harder it is to explain away. He watches Osamu doting on his son, snuggling him close and kissing his cheeks and smiling bigger than Atsumu's ever seen before. He knows his brother is tired, but he doesn't seem to care. He watches the way he looks at his wife, and the way both of them look at their son, and it softens something inside him. He sees you cradling your nephew close, cooing down at him with a soft smile, and his heart turns over in his chest.

Finally, one day, he comes to Osamu with a question.

"What's it like?" Osamu is wiping down the counter at Onigiri Miya, clearly trying to disguise his surprise and mild consternation at seeing his brother show up out of the blue, five minutes before closing time.

"What's what like?" He grunts, scrubbing at a ground-in glob of rice.

"Y'know," Atsumu gestures vaguely, "Being a dad."

"Ah," Osamu hums, grasping that quickly what this is all about. "It's incredible. I mean, don't get me wrong," He chuckles, "It ain't easy. It's way worse than whatever ya try to imagine based off a' everybody's helpful advice," He lifts his hands in air quotes. "But somehow, it's also worth it, in a way ya never could've imagined it would be. The way ya feel every time ya look at 'em - ya can't even put it into words."

Atsumu isn't sure how he's supposed to respond to that, so he just nods. Osamu smiles, looking him up and down with a too-critical eye. "Any special reason yer asking?"

"No," Atsumu says with a quick shake of his head, "Just curious, 's all."

Osamu nods, not saying another word, but the smirk on his face is more than enough to make Atsumu want to knock it clean off. Osamu's answer is exactly what he'd been afraid of.

It comes to a head one sunny Saturday afternoon when the two of you meet up with Osamu and his wife and son to visit a festival. The afternoon is starting to wind down when Osamu unceremoniously dumps the baby into Atsumu's arms. "Hey, mind watching him while we go to the bathroom quick?"

"Ah, sure," Atsumu says to his brother's already-retreating back. You poke at the baby's irresistibly pudgy cheeks, giggling along with him when your attentions illicit a bout of laughter.

"Oh my, what a sweetheart!" The elderly woman seems to appear out of nowhere, something Osamu is constantly describing but which Atsumu hasn't experienced until this moment. "Such a happy baby," She grins. "How old is he?" She looks expectantly at you, and after you gather your wits, you answer her.

The woman nods knowingly, as if she'd predicted as much. "Are you having a fun day with Mommy and Daddy?" She asks next in a goofy voice, completely oblivious to the way Atsumu chokes on the breath he'd just been inhaling and you shoot him a wide-eyed glance.

"Ah, well, actually-" You stammer out, at the same time Atsumu blurts, "We're not his parents."

"I see," She says good-naturedly, "Well even so, he looks very happy with you." With that, she goes on her merry way, and you and Atsumu share a bewildered look. Osamu and his wife return from the bathroom, and neither of you mentions the awkward encounter. It doesn't come up until later that evening, when the two of you are lying in bed.

"That was really somethin' today, huh?" Atsumu asks, trying to ignore the fact that his stomach is suddenly in knots.

"The old lady?" You chuckle weakly. "Yeah, 'Samu's right, they really don't have any shame, do they?"

"Yeah," Atsumu says, then takes a deep breath. "Do ya think, maybe, it's time to have that conversation again?"

You're silent for a few moments, and he can't quite place the emotions that cross your face. He doesn't have to explain which conversation he means.

"Maybe," You finally agree in a low voice. "Are you saying that your decision might be different this time?" It could be his imagination, but Atsumu almost thinks that you look hopeful.

"Maybe," He says carefully. "Would yours?"

"Maybe," You echo him, but there's a smile playing at the corners of your mouth.

"There would be a lot of changes," He says softly, fingertips tracing aimless shapes up and down your arm.

"Maybe we're ready for those changes," You murmur back, catching his hand in yours and letting him twine your fingers together.

He brings your hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to the back of it. "As long as I've got you, I think I might be."

"Me too," You say, leaning in slightly to nudge the tip of your nose against his. When he kisses you, he hopes the pressure of his lips can convey even the things he can't put into words. He can't imagine living this life with anyone else.

[luveline]

hi jade!!! i was wondering if i could request a bassist!remus x roadie!reader fic in which they spend time together on their day off from touring? maybe reader is totally surprised that he even asked her?

hi gorgeous!! modern au, fem 1k

cw vague adult theme, mdni 

"There you are," Remus says, as though he's said it a hundred times before, and he'll say it a hundred times again. "I've been looking for you." 

As a roadie (merchandising, mostly), there's no reason for Remus to know who you are, nor care, but he seems to like you anyhow. And there's nowhere for you to hang out in your downtime beside hotel lobby's or your literal assigned seat in the minivan, so here you are, in your pyjamas, laying on a random lobby couch with a book smushed to your chest. 

"What?" you ask, wiping the sleep from your eyes. 

"I've been looking for you. You weren't in your room." 

"I share my room with three other girls, one who has sleep apnea." The muscles in your back sing like plucked strings as you sit up. "It's quieter here… You're looking for me?" 

"Mm. Come on. We'll go get a late dinner." 

"I'm in my pyjamas." 

Remus gestures down at himself. "I thought you might be." 

He's dressed down too. Every roadie has their thing —it's hard, learning so many names at once, and eventually people begin to typecast one another as their most defining feature. Yours, to your indifference, seems to have become your more comfortable clothing choices. You're not gross, everything's clean, but is everything acceptable attire for going out into the world? 

"No one will even notice they're pyjamas," he assumes you, holding out his hand expectantly. "They look like jogging bottoms." 

"Remus, they're lavender." 

He pulls your hand toward his chest, encouraging you to stand. "They're nice." 

He ferries you out of the hotel, and you thank your lucky stars you wore your converse rather than the hotel slippers. He's clearly thought about this, offering you a hoodie (your size, clearly swiped from the merchandise van, 'marauders' written in jagged lettering across your shoulders like bat wings) as he explains the details of your trip. 

"First we'll get dinner. Then see a film in the cinema, if you want to? They have the new Exorcist." 

"I love horror." 

"I know." He nods to himself. "And then I have to buy you fresh donuts. James says they're the only way to eat them." 

"You don't have to buy me anything." 

"Sorry, I should say it differently. I'd love to buy you fresh donuts. If that's what you want to do." 

You peek at him from the corner of your eye. "I would've stayed in the lobby if I didn't want to come out with you." 

"In that case," he murmurs, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. 

This is worse than flirting. It feels like an initiation, or a turned tide. You smile at him from under his arm and he visibly pauses, falters, before his own smile hooks and he walks forward with a little more purpose. 

The day moves on as promised. You eat a quick dinner at a mid range restaurant before he takes you to the cinema, where he insists he doesn't want any popcorn but eats half of yours anyways. Then he takes you for donuts, and the entire time, you're thinking, what does he want from me? If Remus wanted sex he could fuck a groupie. Half the techs would crawl into bed with him if he asked. Maybe he's just gentlemanly? 

But why would he wanna fuck you? Ignoring any self-esteem issues, you're in cuffed bottoms and bare-faced, and he has no reason to believe you'd be any good in bed. 

He might want something slower, he decides. It's easier to believe when he asks if he can hold your hand on the walk home. 

"What?" you ask, sure you heard him wrong. 

"Can I?" he says, offering you his palm. 

It's different from his pulling earlier. You give him your hand and he squeezes his fingers between yours slowly, as though savouring the feeling.

You shake your head. "Was this…" 

Remus waits for you to finish. It's hard to ask under the weight of his gaze, happy but with that air of knowing you can't quite crack. He always seems so put together, even when he's asking for things, like any answer you give is one he's prepared for. 

"Was this a date?" you force out. 

"That depends. Did it go well?" 

"I would've said yes, if you asked me." 

Remus leans in like he's telling a secret, his voice hushed to match. "I know," he says gently, the tiniest hint of smugness threaded in the slight scratch of his voice. "That's mostly why I didn't ask." 

"Mostly?" 

"I couldn't face rejection. Not from you." His eyes light with an emotion you can't name. "But if you still want to reject me, I'll cope. It might be good for me, actually, it'll give me some material. Nothing makes for better music than losing a pretty girl." 

You fluster at his wording. "I would've worn something nice," you say apologetically. "If I'd known. I would've made an effort to look nice." 

"You always look nice. You think I'm put off by your pyjamas?" 

"Stop," you mumble, mortification creeping in. I can't believe I just went on a date with a rockstar in my pyjamas. 

"It's cute. You're cute, I love that you can fall asleep anywhere–" 

"Stop!" 

Remus laughs and pulls you that last inch into his side, elbow to elbow, hip to hip. "I can't. Teasing you is half the fun. It's why I haven't mentioned the powdered sugar on your lip." 

You sigh and turn your face away from him, wiping your lip with your sleeve. "You always do this." 

"Don't wipe it off, I'll get it. It'll taste sweet." 

You take your hand out of his. "Did you want this to be a date? I'll change my mind." 

He's kinder after that, and when he rubs your shoulder like he knows you need it, you almost pass out. 

[acewithapaintbrush]

A gift for @emthimofnight who's Sonadow fankid Stellar has stolen my heart. Inspired by this comic and my firm believe that Sonic is a little shit who would definitely hold something like that over Shadows head forever

🦔🦔🦔🦔🦔🦔🦔🦔🦔🦔🦔🦔

“Should I… leave?”

Stellar jerks her head around and stops rummaging through the cupboards. She doubts she'll find the shoes she is looking for anyway. They had grown a bit tight the last time she'd worn them and her Papa had given her a suspicious side eye when she'd still refused to get rid of them. 

He hates clutter. Says her Dad is messy enough for all three of them. 

And anyway! The shoes are pretty much immediately forgotten the moment her friend's words reach Stellar’s ears. 

“Why?” she asks. “I thought we'd spent the day together?”

Camellia only spares her a quick glance before she looks away again. She is wringing her hands the way she does when she is nervous about something. Stellar wonders what could have caused that and follows her gaze. She tilts her head with a frown. All she can see are her parents being… well. Her parents. 

“I mean,” Cam gestures helplessly at the other couple, keeping her voice low. “This is obviously a bad time.”

Stellar joins her side and keeps looking between her friend and her parents. She has no clue what has gotten into Cam. 

Across the room her Dad crosses his arms behind his head and taps one foot up and down. His grin is playful, much like Stellar’s own when she is in the mood to tease but his voice has an edge to it. 

“You know I'm right, Shads! Just admit it!”

Her Papa scoffs and crosses his arms in front of his chest, a perfect imperfect mirror of his partner. Sometimes Stellar marvels at the fact that two hedgehogs can be so similar and so different at the same time. 

“You? Being right? Haven't seen any pigs fly lately.”

“Oh. That comeback was almost witty. Have you been practicing?”

Ah. They are arguing. Again. Or maybe still? She vaguely remembers a friendly conversation over breakfast about an old mission or something slowly turning into a heated debate about who took down more Badniks. Are they still on about that? 

She sighs. Seems like it's going to be one of those days, huh? Stellar ignores her parents and smirks at her flustered friend. She is so uptight sometimes. Kinda cute. 

“They are just squabbling. Don't tell me your parents never do that.”

Cam blinks, surprised, before she sniffs a little, nose in the air and all. “My parents never argue. Certainly not in front of guests.”

“Yeah, sure. The hedgehog with the giant hammer and temper issues and the literal cat with fire powers never argue.” Before Camellia can swipe at her arm Stellar continues “And anyway, you are not a guest, you are practically family.”

Her friend's face is suddenly as red as a tomato and she turns away to delicately cough into her hand. Stellar raises an eyebrow. Cam is acting super weird today. 

Her parents have kept arguing meanwhile. It's pretty much just white noise to their daughter after all these years. Stellar tunes back in just in time to hear Papa insult Dad’s memory which has obviously suffered from too many hits during fights. 

And Stellar knows that glint that enters her Dad's eyes, the way his smirk grows deceptively soft. She can do nothing but groan and slap a hand against her forehead as the blue hedgehog sighs and saunters over to the mantelpiece. She has seen this song and dance one too many times to think she can stop what's coming next. 

He picks up one of her baby pictures and presses it against his chest. “Maybe you are right. Maybe my memory isn't as good as it used to be.”

Stellar is as always reluctantly impressed with the way her Dad is able to put so much emotion into utter bullshit. He sounds like he is on the verge of crying and Stella can hear Cam gasp softly in dismay.

Maybe they should have left after all. 

“The memories begin to fade,” he laments and are those tears in the corners of his eyes? Ugh. “But you know what memory will never fade? My most precious one?”

Papa grits his teeth. She thinks it might take all his strength to not jump across the room and do something he might (a very slight might) regret. 

“How Stellar called me Dada first.”

It's a favorite story of his and he pulls it out every time Papa annoys him or he feels like he is losing an argument. 

And her Papa is smart and strong and level headed and cool. But he is also super bad at hiding how much that ‘betrayal’ still eats at him. 

“You are never letting this go, are you? You are pathetic!”

“Pot meet kettle. And why should I? One of her precious first milestones and it was all for moi!”

“I taught her how to walk.”

“And I taught her how to ride a bicycle, which is even more difficult.”

“I taught her how to swim, something you actually need for survival.”

“Oh yeah, if you call throwing her into the deep end and telling her ‘to figure it out’ teaching.”

“That's not how it happened!” Papa turns to Stellar proving once and for all that both are aware of their audience and don't care. They probably enjoy embarrassing her in front of her friend, the sadists. “That didn't happen!” 

She rolls her eyes. “I know, Papa.”

“Oh right!” Dad cuts in, outraged. “That was me! Your beloved husband!” 

“We are not married.”

“For good reason!”

Stellar does her best to ignore the two of them. Camellia still looks bewildered but there is a reluctant smile blossoming on her face, as if she can't help but be amused despite the awkwardness. 

“Now I know where you get it from.”

Stellar gasps and clutches her chest. “How dare you!” She pauses and her pretend outrage turns a bit more genuine. “Wait! What do you mean? Get what?”

Cam has the audacity to snicker at her and it is not a beautiful sound to Stellar’s ears, nope, not at all! “Oh. You know.”

She doesn't. She totally doesn't. 

She is about to demand some answers when the expression on Cam’s face stops her cold. She turns back to her parents and… oh no. 

Why is she even surprised anymore?

Papa has crossed the distance and has the back of Dad's neck in a tight grip. He is growling and flashing his teeth. 

“I think it's time for you to shut your mouth.”

Dad just leers and leans closer, pressing his chest against the other hedgehog, tangling his hand in black and red quills. 

“Why don't you make me?”

Stellar grabs Camellia’s hand and pulls her out of the room as fast as she can. 

“Oh-Kay. That's our cue to go. Go go go! Don't look back!”

“Wait what? Why? Shouldn't we stop them? What if they hurt-?”

“Nope! You do not want to get between them right now.” She shudders and quickens her steps. “Trust me!”

There is the sound of a muffled crash behind her, like two bodies falling to the floor, her Papa saying something triumphant, her Dad laughing. 

Stellar loves her parents. But God! They can be so embarrassing!

**********

They are the worst, I love them! This was supposed to be really short and grew into this... Hope you like it❤️