#this is why i so often stick to exclusively black. if my clothes are gonna be mistaken for anything id want it to be

[sapienthouse]

being told i look xmasy because im wearing red... T_T

[feralaot]

random scouts hcs!

I did a post like this for the warriors my beloved (here) and people seemed to like it so here's one for the scouts :) had some input from @afrival for this one luv u

no warnings I think

eren

if he had twitter he would have a vaporwave bart simpson profile picture and tweet lil peep lyrics. also uses way too many hashtags

he's scared of snakes and hates armin's ball python

his eyes are probably crusty as hell and mikasa has to wipe em for him because he won't

when he's losing an argument he goes "ooh you wanna kiss me so bad" and it always escalates things but he doesn't stop

almost exclusively wears american eagle

"what's a pronoun".mp3

uses the 💯 emoji in every other text message he sends

armin

sends his friends pictures of cats cuddling/hanging out and says "me n you <3"

genuinely can't stand when people have dirt under their fingernails. he gets so mad at eren bc his nails are dirty asf and armin forces him to clean them

he calls himself sexy a lot (e.g. "that was really sexy of me")

chews on bottle caps then is like hmm why do my teeth hurt

he hates feet. toes look weird to him. nobody in his house is allowed to take their socks off

unironically uses faces like ^-^ and :3

acne :(

mikasa

she's really bad at giving advice. don't go to her for help she'll literally be like "that's tough"

probably has like 4 instagram accounts made just to follow eren

solid black profile picture and no bio

maybe now and then she'll put a my chemical romance quote on her story but that's about it, she doesn't respond to dms or anything

doesn't wash that damn scarf so it's probably stinky

sticks staples, pins, etc through the tips of her fingers for no reason other than she likes freaking people out

probably hisses at people

jean

the only possible relationship dynamic somebody can have with him is rivals to lovers

very short social fuse and has to stay home for several days after public events bc it's just exhausting

he's an introvert adopted by extroverts (connie and sasha) and has to deal with their shenanigans. truly the mom figure between the three of them

marco has to listen to him ranting about connie and sasha's foolery and doesn't have much advice to offer bc he doesn't know either

for a long time he only knew "straight" and "gay" and when he found out about the concept of bisexuality his mind almost imploded

he sighs and yawns a lot and doesn't even realize he does it. people always think he's either annoyed or tired

probably dresses like a diet e-boy. crewneck king

connie

the kind of kid in your high school gym class that wears mismatching neon clothes. bonus points if it's nike

also the most likely to start a food fight for funsies

he doesn't yell often because his voice cracks when he does and it's embarrassing

sasha and him hate cafeteria food so he always brings an ungodly amount of food in his backpack instead to share with sasha. connie's backpack is 90% food

unironically says things like "pogchamp" and "rad"

he works at zumiez and probably lives there. always rocking their latest drip

jumps up and slaps exit signs

sasha

randomly breaks into song (usually disney songs) and connie will automatically duet

manages to fall asleep in any situation. on buses, while watching movies, sometimes even mid conversation if she's zoned out enough

tried to take armin fishing one time but he almost cried because he felt so bad about it

at least reiner will fish with her though. the himbos always come through

her instagram is all pictures of fish she caught and now and then there's an awkward candid pic of niccolo

stayed overnight in a walmart one time and got away and brags about it but she won't admit it was an accident. panicked and spent the night eating snacks off the shelves to "survive"

while she's talking her voice slowly gets louder and louder and she doesn't realize it until people tell her to stop yelling

historia

pulls people by the ears to bring them down to her level

also kicks people in the shins a lot, if she's arguing with someone they'll usually keep their distance to avoid getting shin kicked

loves climbing on ymir's back and just being carried around like the little creature she is

posts inspirational quotes on her story

would definitely be a cheerleader in high school. nobody would guess a prep like her is dating some grunge girl w a pretty much opposite personality

she always has bandaids with her for some reason. if someone gets scraped she'll whip out a bandaid immediately. her friends call her "mom" sometimes

hates grilled cheese so god damn much. can't stand it

ymir

"damn I don't remember asking".mp3

is always the first one to comment on historia's instagram posts. her comments range from "beautiful my queen!!!" to "damn ma yo ass fat"

she always called reiner gay as a joke then he came out as gay and for a while she thought it was her fault

her and reiner have wlw and mlm solidarity, they're bffs for that matter

if someone tells her that her music is too loud she'll say "huh?" and turn it up

similarly if someone scolds her for something she'll go "hm? repeat that, I'm a little deaf in this ear"

"bro stfu you always tell me you're gonna fire me for being late"

levi

really really hates cooking pasta because straining the water is for some reason more difficult than it should be

"do not underestimate me, bitches"

always refuses to get his hair cut at places in shopping centers. especially walmart great clips

makes monkey noises when he sees something he likes. he started doing this as a joke to mock zeke but it evolved and now he can't stop doing it randomly

will not hesitate to knock someone on their ass if they're talking shit

coffee makes him jittery so he drinks tea instead but won't admit to anyone that he lowkey also has a redbull addiction

hange calls him a catboy but he doesn't know what that means so he's always like "yeah" bc he thinks it means he's a cat person

hange

buys levi shoes from the kids section and doesnt tell him bc he likes them anyway

such a millennial, they say shit like "doggo" and "adulting"

"for practical reasons I don't exist. do not perceive me"

probably wants to marry mothman

levi has had to scold them on several different occasions for bringing live animals into the house

legally isn't allowed to cook bc they can and they will blow something up

goes on tipsy rants almost nightly

erwin

white skechers king

hosts barbecues in those white skechers. he talks shit about people with nile and pyxis like a bunch of gossiping middle aged fath- wait

his profile pictures on social media are probably pictures of himself taken from awkward angles with an empty expression. it's always posted like six times as well

when levi is getting Out Of Hand he'll pick him up from under the arms and carry him away like "okay, that's enough" and levi kicks around but can't escape

rubs his hands together a lot like a fly. nobody knows why he does it. what are you scheming

falls asleep on couches while watching sports games

[swinging his keys around his finger] "let's rock and roll"

[dreamonhunters]

give me one last kiss while we’re far too young to die

tw // blood, guns, mafia dynamics, character injury

mafia au race & romeo for @heytheywascoronas​ ! happy birthday luce, i hope you have an amazing day ♡

read it here on ao3!

Suddenly, he’s awake.

There’s a burn in his lungs, the type you get from being deprived of oxygen just a little too long. Romeo gasps for air, one hand clutching at his chest and the other balled into a tight fist by his side. He can still taste gunpowder. Blunt fingernails dig into his bloodied palm. It’s almost grounding. Not enough to offset the pain, however.

His eyes take a few moments to refocus. Above him, a few clouds crawl lazily across a cornflower blue sky. It’s too bright. Romeo squints. Everything seemed a little hazy round the edges, not quite real. That makes his head hurt.

A tacky red liquid coats his hands, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what that is. The tip of his tongue swipes over his swollen bottom lip. Drying blood cakes the sensitive flesh, broken and sore. There’s a metallic taste that fills his mouth. Floods his senses for just a moment. His nose throbs.

At least he’s alive, Romeo thinks to himself. That’s definitely a positive.

“Romeo,” a feeble voice calls. It should’ve been a question, but the inflection to suggest that much is completely absent. It’s a voice brimming with the pain Romeo feels lancing through his own body.

“Tha’s me,” he manages, turning his head in the direction of the voice. Fuck, he sounds rough. He’s barely said a sentence, and already he can feel the way vocalising makes his throat burn. His cheek scratches against the concrete, but the pain barely registers. He’s got bigger issues right now. “You good, Tony?”

The boy in question, Tony, simply groans again. No, he’s not good. Romeo saw him go down. The horrible sound of a bullet pinging off the wall, and Tony dodges narrowly, and then there’s someone kicking him in the stomach. A wave of nausea hits Romeo. He’s powerless. Tony’s arm is yanked sharply backwards, and Romeo hears the sickening crack. That’s a sound he won’t forget.

Now he lays a few feet away from Romeo, curled in on himself. Just slightly out of reach. There’s an almost ghostly pallor to his skin. The sole source of his bleeding seems to be a deep gash high up on his cheekbone. The blood caking his hair and clothing isn’t his own. A dark bruise forming above his left eyebrow. Shoulder twisted at an unnatural angle.

It takes Romeo a several minutes to sit up properly. Well, maybe it’s minutes. His sense of time is a little warped right now. However long it takes to let the nausea die down enough to allow movement. Aching muscles scream in protest as he pushes himself up, elbows shoved beneath him to support his bodyweight. Spits out a mixture of blood and saliva, unable to get rid of that smoky taste that makes his teeth hurt, makes his gums burn. The ache in his chest returns promptly, earning a hiss of pain from Romeo.

“We fucked up, didn’t we?”

It’s not a question, but he asks it like one anyway. Maybe Tony will entertain him. Months of begging and pleading and bargaining can’t end like this. Romeo doesn’t make mistakes, not anymore. Neither does Tony. Neither does Jack.

“Shut your stupid mouth,” Tony snaps, although the usual venomous sting in his tone is missing. It’s actually a little weak. Probably too much effort right now.

They’re not friends, not by any stretch of the imagination. Partners, in a business sense exclusively. He likes to think they’re getting somewhere. Volatility is Tony’s middle name, however, and that makes it rather difficult to gauge where he stands. Romeo isn’t sure how Tony defines the word ‘friendship’, anyway.

Romeo rolls his eyes anyway, face screwing up when he’s reminded of the pain in his chest. Broken ribs, easily. When he pulls his shirt up to inspect the damage, there’s black and blue blooming across his flesh already. Ouch.

Vaguely, there’s the memory of taking a crowbar to the chest. Feels distant, almost like he watched it happen to somebody else. It’s a little jarring to consider this happened to him. Suddenly the bruises don’t feel all that strange. A few broken ribs is a small price to pay.

“You want some help?” he asked, letting the thin fabric drop back down.

Tony shakes his head defiantly, of course he does. He’ll die before he accepts Romeo’s assistance.

So Romeo doesn’t make it optional. He takes a few deep breaths and forces himself up, teeth gritting. The taste of blood is stronger now, and it’s almost dizzying. He stumbles, grasps for something to keep him upright, leans against the wall heavily. The pain is nauseating. Just that small movement has a thin sheen of sweat covering his forehead, mixing with the blood and sticking to his skin uncomfortably.

“Idiota,” he hisses, glaring sharply at Tony. The blond is motionless, hair matted with blood and sweat and dirt. “You shoulda kept your mouth shut.”

“Oh, this is my problem now?” Tony shoots back, eyes narrowing. There’s an edge of ice in his voice, a familiar one. Romeo knows that tone all too well.

Any other time, he wouldn’t push it. Arguing with Tony is pointless and stupid and gets neither of them anywhere, but there’s an anger flaring up in Romeo’s chest that’s more than a little difficult to force back down.

“If you let me do my job, we’d be outta here, and not bleeding to death in the fucking dirt.” Romeo seethes. “I was doing the talking, Tony. This shit is basic.”

“Badly,” the blond retorts. “You needed me to cover because you couldn’t get your fuckin’ words out properly.”

“I was doing just fine.”

Tony doesn’t bother responding, grunting unintelligibly instead.

Does he really blame Tony? No. The guilt is overwhelming, actually, because Romeo knows it’s on him. He shouldn’t push it further.

“This is why Jack doesn’t fucking trust you.”

Tony’s expression darkens immediately, eyes flashing dangerously. Romeo regrets it already.

“Jack trusts me a whole lot more than you. Because he knows you might just run off the second he lets you out.”

Romeo opens his mouth, ready to shoot off some spiteful retort, but he catches himself. He doesn’t hate Tony anymore. They’re not rivals, they’re not friends, but they’re somewhere between those two points.

He relents, kneeling down beside Tony. It’s such a simple movement, and yet every contraction of his muscles is fucking agony. He bites down on the inside of his cheek. Hard. The taste of blood is there again, but for a completely different reason now. Sharp pieces of gravel dig into his knees.

“Just let me help you,” he requests. Tony grunts, but he doesn’t bother trying to fight it this time.

“I don’t need your help,” he spits. At this point, that suggestion is almost laughable. If Romeo liked him any less, he’d maybe laugh.

“I think you’ll find you do,” Romeo defends easily, placing one hand on Tony’s shoulder. It’s a feather-light touch, barely there, but it’s a reminder. Tony can work out what that means for himself.

He scowls at Romeo, eyes dark. Juxtaposes their brightness. They’d be so pretty if he smiled more often, although Romeo never voices those thoughts. Tony would murder him the moment he opened his mouth. Such angelic features, constantly contorted with rage and irritation. Jarring.

Tony doesn’t verbally respond again, although he hisses in pain when he slowly tries to stretch out his aching limbs. Honestly, the silence is nice. Unusual.

There’s the silent acknowledgment between them that, had this happened months prior, Tony would be left for dead. Romeo would leave without a second glance. Tony holds this flawed ideology of needing help equalling weakness, and Romeo could never quite fathom why.

But now he feels responsibility. Guilt tugs at him, sour. It weighs heavy on his shoulders. The anger dies away, still smouldering somewhere deep within him, but now it’s easy to ignore. He watches the way blood trickle down the side of Tony’s face with an almost sick fascination. It’s mesmerising, the way it soaks into the fine creases and stains his skin crimson.

Romeo is slow to accept his own faults. Doesn’t like to be the one at fault. It’s a vice he's always known about, but his ego has a tendency to get in the way of any real self-improvement there. He has many virtues, anyway, and he’ll say it with that trademark bright smile. But no, it’s not really Tony’s fault. If he’s completely truthful, their failure is more indicative of their joint weaknesses. Romeo is too quick to react, pushes too hard for little gain. Tony is abrasive and snappy, immediately rubbing people up the wrong way. It’s really no wonder why Jack didn’t want them out in the field just yet.

“Jack’s gonna kill us,” Tony murmurs. Speak of the devil. He sounds agitated, maybe. Difficult to tell when he’s speaking through gritted teeth, biting down hard in an attempt to suppress his groans of pain. “He’s gonna fuckin’ murder me.”

Romeo shakes his head, and maybe there’s just a little hint of introspectiveness there. “It’s not just your fault, Tony, I’m sorry. I fucked up, y’know?”

Of course, Tony argues back. His voice reminds Romeo of glass crunching beneath his feet. Scratchy. “You’re the one who said it. I fucked up. Jack wanted me to prove myself. All this did was prove I couldn’t do it.”

“Yeah, well, can’t do much about that now,” Romeo concludes. He’s too tired to fight.

Acknowledging failure makes Romeo’s skin crawl, the sudden urge to scratch becoming almost overwhelming. Mistakes like this are for other people. Rookies. It’s been a long time since he was last considered a rookie.

He sets about his work in silence. The rush of blood in his ears serves as a nice way to tune out his thoughts. White noise. His stomach roils as he moves, nausea threatening to render him useless for a little while longer. Tony lays limp beneath his fingertips, letting Romeo do what he must. There’s still a scowl twisting his face up. The fight died from his eyes moments before.

Fortunately, nothing looks too bad. The shoulder is nasty. It’s not career-ending. Now Romeo’s good, but he’s not that good. Wouldn’t dare to try resetting that on his own. It’s a job for someone else, someone a lot more qualified. That gash on Tony’s cheek is slowly scabbing over. Romeo winces, secondhand pain. Someone is gonna rip that back open to clean it later. Everything else seems like superficial damage.

“Can you sit up?” he asks, taking one of Tony’s hands in his own. It’s calloused and sticky with blood. The warmth is oddly familiar. Again, Tony doesn’t dignify that with anything more than a grunt. Shoves his good arm back, wincing at the jolt in his bad one. Uses his elbows to gain a little leverage. It’s not quite sitting up, but it’s a start.

Romeo chews at his lip. By now the taste of copper in his mouth is practically second nature. He’s guilty. It gnaws at his stomach and he hates the way it burns. “Better than nothing,” he muses quietly, rocking back to rest his weight on his haunches. Tony pulls his hand away. The muscles in Romeo’s legs throb.

“You got any smart ideas to get us outta here?” Tony snarks, and Romeo doesn’t miss the bite in his voice. Clearly, he’s feeling a little better already. It’s not got that malicious ring to it, though. Not like usual. He could put money on Tony being more pissed at himself than Romeo.

“Pick-up point isn’t far away,” he muses, using his hand to shield his eyes from the bright sun overhead. “If you can walk that far, we—“

“I can.”

Tony doesn’t wait for Romeo to argue, and he doesn’t ask for help. Instead, he uses his good arm to push him up, just enough to sit. Even then, he’s panting, slightly breathless. Romeo doesn’t miss the way he winces.

“Let me carry you,” Romeo suggests.

The blond’s face twists into an ugly scowl. “No.”

He sighs, lips pressing into a tight line. “So you gonna walk? ‘Cause it’s not gonna be the shortest walk.”

Tony’s answer isn’t so immediate this time. He’s thinking about it, considering his options. Romeo can tell by the way his eyes cloud with an uncharacteristic thoughtfulness. Tony always tends to shoot first, ask questions later.

Finally, he answers. “Fine. But I swear to God, if you tell anyone about this,” Tony snarls, weakly jabbing a finger at Romeo’s chest. “I swear I’ll kill you myself.”

Romeo just shrugs. They both know the only person he talks to is Tony. He has nobody to tell, even if he wanted to. Telling people would only bring about questions, and Romeo feels far too guilty to answer those. Or think about them. Even something as simple as reporting to Jack would be a struggle.

Silently, he shifts, one arm scooping underneath Tony’s legs and the other supporting his back. Avoids his bad shoulder. They both know Romeo isn’t strong enough to manage this, but at least he can walk. He stumbles to his feet, sways a little, fingernails digging into Tony’s flesh. Not enough to hurt, but more than enough to feel.

“Careful,” Tony mutters. It’s the most concern Romeo’s ever heard in his voice. Almost unsettling.

He manages to straighten up, though, remaining still for just long enough to catch his balance. Tony is long and lanky, but he’s also light. The height difference makes it a little awkward, but Romeo’s too determined and too proud to forfeit now. Can’t. He’s made enough mistakes to get them both to this point.

“I’m good,” he assures, adjusting his grip on Tony’s lithe body. For just a second, their eyes meet, and Romeo swears he’ll never see a prettier shade of blue than the colour of Tony’s eyes. Blond curls frame his face, tangled and stained with blood. That trademark scowl has melted away, and it’s one of the rare occasions where Romeo sees his face completely relaxed. He looks up at Romeo with something akin to childlike innocence.

If he were somebody else, and they were in a different time, Romeo might call him beautiful.

He pushes that thought down. Locks it away for another time, preferably when he’s alone, not staring into Tony’s crystalline eyes. Starts walking, instead, because pain is a surefire way to distract him from his own internal monologue.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers. If Tony wasn’t listening closely, he’d miss it. Romeo’s eyes are fixed firmly on the horizon. Barely audible above the incessant background noise of cars and people and city life. Even on the outskirts, it’s noisy.

“Shut up,” Tony mutters. “This ain’t your fault.”

For Tony to admit fault so easily is wrong. Leaves a strange taste in Romeo’s mouth, and it’s not the taste of blood.

“Maybe if I did my job properly, we wouldn’t be like this, y’know?” Romeo persists, although there’s a lightness to his tone. Jovial, maybe. Doesn’t want to get too serious, not when he’s holding Tony’s broken body in his arms and trying to ignore the way his knees threaten to buckle with every step.

“I said shut up,” Tony warns. There’s a brief flash of irritation in his eyes, but it’s gone before Romeo truly registers it. “I jumped down your fuckin’ throat. Didn’t give you enough chance.”

“And I could’ve reacted better,” is Romeo’s immediate response. “Seriously, Tony, this isn’t your damn fault. An’ when we report to Jack, I swear if you don’t keep your mouth shut—“

Tony scoffs. “Why? So Jack can refuse you fieldwork for the next three years? Because he will.”

“I don’t really care,” Romeo lies.

Being refused fieldwork is getting off lightly. Jack doesn’t make mistakes.

“Yeah, you do.” Tony informs. “‘Cause you’re the one who spent fuckin’ months trying to get us this job, an’ then I went and fucked it up.”

Romeo lets out a small sigh through his nose. “It’s not even that bad.”

“You gonna tell Jack that? ‘It’s not even that bad, Tony just fucked up everything you asked’?” he snarls. “That’ll go down well. I’m sure he’ll love that.”

“Why the fuck do you want me to blame you so bad?” Romeo asks. The irritation melts away, replaced with nothing but a genuine curiosity. “You’re his favourite. You could say anything, an’ he’d probably believe it.”

Tony huffs, turns his face away. He’s staring at nothing.

“Because it’s weird when you get hurt. When Jack screams at you, I don’t…” he trails off, shaking his head. “Forget it.”

“To—“

“I said forget it.”

And like that, Romeo drops it. Has to, because Tony has made it pretty damn clear he’s not talking about this anymore.

“Just let me take the fall for this one, okay?” Tony asks, and now his voice is softer. There’s a finely veiled edge of authority, and Romeo has to laugh. Tony barely outranks him, and he’s only ever seen them as equal in that regard.

“No,” Romeo murmurs. Soft, but not without the urgency of a demand. “This ain’t your battle, Tony...”

“I was here, wasn’t I?” he scowls. “I’ll do what I fuckin’ please.”

“What if we don’t blame anyone, and let Jack decide who’s guilty?”

Because they both know it’ll be Romeo. Jack thinks highly of Tony, always has. He’s the favourite. Romeo doesn’t have to take the fall to be blamed, and he came to terms with that a while ago.

“What if he kicks you out?” Tony asks, voice real quiet. Finally betrays the terror running through his head. It’s a much more realistic expectation.

“Then I pack my shit and go,” Romeo answers. There’s a rueful smile on his face. The only way he’ll be leaving is with a bullet through his brain. Ditched in an unmarked grave somewhere. No need to do any packing. “Wasn’t cut out for a place like this, clearly.”

“You can’t—“ he begins, but those words seem to catch in his throat. Can’t say what he wants to. Tony never loses his words like that.

“That’s up to Jack. His call.”

“You can’t just back down like that, asshole! What happened to not goin’ down without a fuckin’ fight?” Tony demands. He’s not covering the upset in his voice well.

“Jack would just have me killed, Tony.”

Those words are heavy. They hang in the air unpleasantly. Romeo isn’t wrong, and he’s pretty sure that’s what makes that sentence so disquieting.

“I wouldn’t let him,” Tony mutters defiantly. It’s a pathetic suggestion, because Tony doesn’t control Jack, nobody does, and even his status as favourite wouldn’t hold much weight there.

Romeo sighs, holds Tony a little tighter.

“No point getting worked up ‘bout what he might say,” Romeo points out. They’re close now, he can see the getaway vehicle across the street. The outskirts of town are quiet. The gun on Romeo’s hip has most people looking the opposite way anyway, golden metal glinting in the light.

Tony meets his eyes again, and there’s an undeniable anxiety there. There’s tension in his jaw. “Let me take the fall,” he demands.

“I can’t do that, Tony,” he sighs.

“Please.”

“No. Let’s not argue, Tony, yeah?”

Tony is quiet. There’s another voice now, and suddenly the weight of another person is lifted from Romeo’s arms. He blinks. A dark-haired woman is talking, commenting on their injuries, asking questions. He can’t focus for long enough to answer. An overwhelming exhaustion hits him, and he slides into the backseat without a fight. Tony is beside him a few moments later. There’s that familiar hum of an engine beneath him, and Romeo swears he could pass out here and now.

Tony doesn’t speak again until they’re in the back of the car, fingertips brushing against each others’. He’s still tense, particularly in the face, although he can’t hold much tension in his bad shoulder. Romeo is less so, because he’s already come to terms with what could happen. He’ll do what it takes to keep Tony out of harm’s way. That kid’s been through enough.

“Don’t go,” Tony whispers. Only Romeo could possibly have picked that up. Their driver doesn’t even flinch.

“I’m not goin’ anywhere,” Romeo assures. He’s lying, and they both know it, but it’s a bittersweet reassurance.

His eyes flicker to the outside, and suddenly Romeo isn’t Romeo anymore. He has a freedom he never had, snatched away from him as a child, crushed by the crippling need for money. It’s another time, another world, and it’s one his fingertips brush over occasionally. The way his brush against the rough skin of Tony’s hands. Just out of reach. Something he can never have.

Something he will never have.

[russiansunflower3]

Iwaoi #10

“I’m so hungry, I could eat a- Stop looking at me like that in public.”

Read on AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/10082501

-

Once a year, the Oikawa family and the Iwaizumi family went out for a meal together.

‘A meal’.

More like a restaurant crawl. They started at one end of the market street, and then zig-zagged across the street to each and every eatery the families agreed on, eating little bits and pieces from each place before moving on.

Currently, they were at the 6th restaurant. Oikawa was demolishing a full plate of Yakitori, and Iwaizumi was ordering another serving. It would be his third. He’d had about three helpings in each place so far, and their parents laughed and blamed it on them being teenagers after an intense practice session.

Little did they know their sons ate this much on a regular basis. Oikawa because he was unfairly able to eat what he wanted and never gain weight, Iwaizumi because he worked off just as much as he gained. He had a little bit more pudge than Oikawa, but nothing too noticeable unless he wore skintight clothes.

Cheekily, Oikawa leans over and pokes that little bit of pudge.

“Iwa-chan, you’re going to have to do laps tomorrow~.” Iwaizumi smacks his hand away, and gestures to the yakitori sticks that have been licked clean.

“I’m dragging you with me.”

“Wha-!? No way! I haven’t eaten nearly as much as you!”

“Not yet, you haven’t, but we still have three restaurants to go and you always go crazy at the last stop.”

“That’s because it’s a dessert restaurant, Iwa-chan! A dessert restaurant!” Iwaizumi snorts with a laugh and subtly leans against Oikawa.

“Yeah, I heard you the first time.”

“I’m going to get the bubblegum sundae. And the smarties cookie. And the strawberry waffles. And-”

“Easy on there! Finish what you’re eating now first!” Oikawa smirks as he looks at Iwaizumi with a suspiciously soft yet sly expression.

“I know you’ll get the sicilian lemon crepe.”

“… I like crepes, okay.” Oikawa bursts out laughing and shakes his head before turning back to the last of his skewers. Iwaizumi’s nose scrunches up with adoration as he notices the sauce spread all up Oikawa’s cheek. Honestly, he’s such a messy eater.

He’s momentarily distracted by his own food arriving, and starts to eat as fast as possible. They’ll be moving to the next restaurant soon, and he really wants to finish this Okonomiyaki. Takeru helps, Iwaizumi letting the child try some and ending up giving him about a quarter because he likes it.

Unbeknownst to Iwaizumi, Oikawa is watching him with the sappiest expression anyone could imagine. Watching Iwaizumi with children is adorable. No, it’s captivating Endearing, attractive, and charming, Iwaizumi caring for children is an experience. Oikawa is glad that this view is exclusive to him, and the girls at school aren’t here to witness.

As much as Oikawa agrees Iwaizumi deserves a fanclub, he knows that constantly being fawned over would make Iwaizumi self-conscious and grumpy. He was surprisingly shy when it came to being admired.

“Alright, let’s get a move on!” Oikawa’s mother leads the group out of the restaurant and onwards, until they reach their final destination.

Dezāto.

A restaurant entirely for desserts. The Holy Grail of their annual food trail.

Oikawa’s mouth waters, and he can see how Iwaizumi flexes his hands impatiently, waiting for one of their parents to give the go-ahead.

“You brats ready?” There’s a challenging glint in Iwaizumi’s mother’s eyes, and all Oikawa can think is “Like mother, like son.”. This is the exact reason why he misses his mother giving the signal to go, Iwaizumi, Takeru, his big sister, and their parents, all racing to be the first one in the door. Oikawa squawks at his missed opportunity and sprints forwards. They all know one of the Iwaizumi’s will be first, but it’s still fun to race.

As the prophecy foretold, Iwaizumi Hajime is the first to reach the doors, throwing Oikawa a cocky smirk as he skids to a halt just before crashing into the wall.

“You had a head start.”

“Did not.”

“You did.”

“Well maybe if you’d been listening for once, you would have heard auntie shout go.” Oikawa scoffs, not wanting to tell Iwaizumi the reason he had missed the signal was because he was too busy thinking about Iwaizumi.

“Let’s just get food. I want one of everything.”

“No.”

“Not actually one of everything! You know what I mean!” Iwaizumi chuckles, a warm and - dare Oikawa say - cute sound that sends heat to the tips of his ears as their hands brush together affectionately.

“I bet I can eat more than you.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Totally.”

“Iwaizumi Hajime, I am going to eat more than you even if it kills me.”

“I’ll miss you, but my eardrums sure won’t~.”

“Uh, rude!” Oikawa sticks his tongue out and Iwaizumi teasingly pinches it. He’s in good humour - relaxed and comfortable. The family is seated at a group table and giving menu’s, not that Oikawa needs one. He has the whole menu memorised.

“I’m going up first, does anyone want me to order drinks with my food?” A cacophony of drink orders follow, but Oikawa picks out every individual one. He slips away from the table and Takeru follows after him, since he always picks out the same one item.

“It’s noisy here, Uncle Tooru.”

“Well, it is a popular place.”

“You’re noisy too.”

“… You’re such a brat when Nee-san isn’t around.” Takeru grins and flashes Oikawa a peace sign, a taste of his own medicine.

“Oi, cheeky, I saw that.” Takeru is picked up from behind and squeals with a giggle as Iwaizumi scoops the kid onto his shoulders. Oikawa laughs, although it softens into a gooey smile as the corners of his eyes crease.

“Iwa-chan, did you decide what to order?”

“Yeah.”

“… Well?”

“Uh..” Iwaizumi blushes slightly, and with the hand that isn’t holding onto Takeru, scratches his cheek sheepishly.

“The birthday platter…”

“The what?!

“The birthday platter…” Oikawa’s eyes widen and he’s taken aback for a moment.

“The birthday platter?! Hajime, that serves 15 people!”

“I- I wasn’t going to eat it on my own! I thought we could share!”

“… Okay, fair enough.” Takeru snickers slyly.

“So you’re gonna both eat enough for seven people with one left over?”

“Well, someone is getting better at maths.”

“Oikawa, don’t sneer. And Takeru, don’t be snarky. We’ll eat as much as we can and let the rest of you take what you want.” Oikawa rolls his eyes, but then it’s his turn to order and he reels off a list of desserts and drinks, at the perfect speed for the staff member to follow. Maybe he’s been here too often.

“- and an American Cream Soda.” He pays via card, stepping aside for Iwaizumi to do the same, although Iwaizumi’s order is… Slightly… Shorter.

“Birthday platter, hot fudge sundae, sicilian lemon crepe, and a strawberry milkshake, please.”

“And a White Choc Waffle, please!” Takeru waves his pocket money in Iwaizumi’s face as the highschooler laughs and nods at the staff as permission to add it on. He doesn’t take the money from Takeru though, so Oikawa will be sure to sneak him repayment later. Once they’ve both paid, they return to their table.

“So they bring it to us?”

“Yup. That’s why we gave them our table number.” Takeru’s eyes sparkle.

“That’s so cool, I wanna come here all the time!” Before he gets too excited, Oikawa’s older sister draws his attention away with a colouring book and some crayons. He might be ‘too old’ for them, but nobody’s going to judge since Oikawa and Iwaizumi take one too. The table falls quiet, until…

“Birthday platter?” Iwaizumi raises his hand to indicate the platter is his, and it’s slid onto the table in front of him. It’s huge, and he definitely feels embarrassed with his family - and Oikawa’s family by extension - looking at him in various levels of amazement and bewilderment.

“… Do you really think you can eat all that?”

“I’m sharing with Oika- with Tooru.” Oikawa’s mother and father nod in unison as if that explains everything, even as more food is brought out to the table. Oikawa, of course, has half his bubblegum sundae around his mouth, but Iwaizumi rubs it off with a handkerchief. Both of them are oblivious to the way their parents look at each other, like they’re already planning a wedding.

Half an hour and 4 squabbles later, every dish is clean. Anything an individual couldn’t finish alone went straight to Oikawa or Iwaizumi, who were eating right up until the very end. Iwaizumi stopped with a groan when Takeru offered the last few mouthfuls of his waffle, full to the brim. Thanks to a certain uncle, however, Takeru didn’t have to worry about leaving anything uneaten.

Nothing was left. Barely a crumb on the table. Nothing short of devoured. Oikawa went as far as to sweep his finger around the edge of his crepe plate, making sure he had all the chocolate sauce. As if that wasn’t enough, he looked longingly at the desserts the table next to them had just received.

“Oikawa, no.” He pouted, but listened to Iwaizumi as their parents discussed going to a bar for drinks whilst they digested. Probably not the best idea, but it was only a once-yearly thing.

Takeru’s mother - Oikawa’s older sister - looked devastated at having to miss another year. She loved her son, yes, but she never got to have a night out anymore. Not being old enough to drink by Japanese law, Iwaizumi interjected with a soft cough.

“We’ll take Takeru home, if you want to go with them Nee-san.”

“Oh Hajime, you’re a blessing!” He blushed at the praise, turning to hide his face bashfully in Oikawa’s shoulder as the adults cooed over his reaction. Oikawa raised his hand to hold Iwaizumi’s head to his shoulder, ruffling his thick, black hair affectionately.

“Come on, Iwa-chan! I want to get home and catch the last of the marathon on TV!”

“What kind of marathon?”

“Cooking shows.” Iwaizumi groaned at the thought of more food, but it was always amusing to watch the failures of top chefs in the country, especially when they were being lectured by THE top chef of the country.

The walk home was brisk, Takeru holding one of each of their hands to keep him from falling behind as he kept yawning. A full belly always made him sleepy. By the time they got to the house, Takeru was rubbing at his eyes to try and stay awake. Oikawa gently steered him towards the stairs.

“Go and take a nap, you can borrow my bed. We’ll wake you up when Nee-san comes home.”

“Promise?”

“Pinky promise.” They hooked their little fingers together and then Takeru crawled up the stairs to go sleep in his uncle’s room. Iwaizumi wore a crooked, warm smile when Oikawa looked back at him.

“…What?”

“You’re gonna be a good dad, one day.” It was Oikawa’s turn to blush, and he nervously chuckled as he came over to Iwaizumi’s side and sat next to him on the sofa, turning the TV on.

“You will too. I’ll be the fun one though! You can be the stern one!” Iwaizumi softly glares at him, dropping his head onto Oikawa’s shoulder as if he was going to headbutt him but decided to be soft instead.

Ten minutes. Ten minutes is all it takes for Oikawa to break the silence, as they watch the chef cook up some Poulet de Provencal.

“Let’s go shopping.”

“Wh-what?”

“Shopping. Let’s go! The little corner shop has everything I need, let’s go!”

“What about-?”

“Takeru’ll be fine, we’re only gonna be 5 minutes, tops!” Iwaizumi sighs and sits up to let Oikawa jump to his feet, dragging Iwaizumi towards the door as he groans in protest, though does nothing really to stop it. Shoes on feet and jacket wrapped around them, they venture out into the sunset.

“So why are we going to the shop?”

“Because I want to buy something.” Iwaizumi sighs, taking that as an excuse and falls into step next to Oikawa, their shoulders brushing. They get to the little corner shop, and Iwaizumi wanders off towards the magazines. He’s browsing through the latest Your Puppy issue when Oikawa approaches him with a basket full of food. He reaches for the sweets on the stand next to the magazines.

“I’m so hungry, I could eat a- Stop looking at me like that in public.” Iwaizumi’s jaw drops low, head tilted downwards so his chin touches his chest, eyes wide and eyebrows almost joining his hairline.

“You- You’re hungry?”

“… Yeah?”

“Hungry?!”

“Yes, Iwa-chan, we have established this.” Iwaizumi stumbles over his words as Oikawa coolly raises an eyebrow as if to question his manner. When Iwaizumi does get his words out, it’s about three octaves too high.

“How?!”

“Well, the digestive system is quite simple. Once the food gets through-”

“No, I mean! How are you still hungry after everything we’ve eaten?! We had a seven portion dessert not even an hour ago! You had more on top of that! And that was only dessert!”

“When you put it that way…” Oikawa think for a moment then shrugs. He grabs another packet of sweets and flits around to the counter, leaving Iwaizumi gaping at his back. He shakes his head, and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Tapeworms. The idiot has to have tapeworms. How- Just how-?” His rambling continues until Oikawa loops their arms together, shopping bags split between them, and they walk back to watch the rest of the cooking show.

Oikawa, somehow, polishes off a whole can of pineapple.