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kitorin · 3 months

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g.satoru - 1:19 am

"i can't believe you kissed him—"

it's the dead of night when gojo satoru's fuming, acting as a means of prevention to your long awaited (and well deserved) sleep.

you pull your shared blanket, covering the entirety of yourself. "shut up. not now."

satoru rips the blanket off you. "yes, now. don't try to run away from the consequences to your actions."

an effort to pull back the blanket becomes futile, as you decide not to bother. "you're overreacting."

"why him, why not me? majority of his face is forehead and he's built like a rugby ball. he doesn't even look like a man" he inhales sharply. "what about this face isn't perfect?" satoru gestures to it, hair still slightly damp from the late shower and blindfold nowhere to be seen. "this is basically cheating. why would you do this to me? shall i get rid of my bangs so i have a bigger forehead?"

"satoru, he's just a plushie." you pull the white softness of the cinnamoroll plush to your chest, fingers stroking it's fluff.

"lucky bastard..." a curse or two accompanies his words, as he wraps himself in the blanket, as far away from you as possible. "should've been me."

"satoru—"

"i bet my hair's softer."

"why don't you come here and prove that to me then?"

the blanket unfolds to reveal a pouting gojo satoru. "you even called it a he."

cinnamoroll settles on your bed's head rest, somehow balancing with his 'majority forehead face'. satoru shuffles closer to you, closing the distance between you two.

you shrug. "he's my son. my baby."

"i'm your baby."

"he's baby in the sense of an actual, cute baby. you're baby in the sense of an immature grown ass man."

he responds with an eye roll. "wow. okay. plushie's more important than me i see."

another shrug from you, biting down on your lip to swallow a snicker (it wasn't successful).

"love it's just a plushie—"

"i tried to tell you that initially." satoru faces you to pout, but it has no effect on this little squabble of yours, maybe only a giggle or two from you. "he's so cute, c'mon.

without much effort, satoru picks cinnamoroll up, staring, no, glaring at the poor dog. "you can't find someone cute after they stole your lover."

"he's my son. that would make him your son." the observation makes him stick his tongue out. "all i did was kiss him."

"me related to him? no thank you." satoru continues to inspect the plushie from the sky blue, plastic eyes to the swirly tail on its bottom. "i hate him."

"you look the same. white hair, blue eyes."

satoru scoffs, very pretentiously. "that shade of blue is so dull. mine's bright and shiny. therefore prettier."

you lean in closer, not to whisper to him but to the plush. "i guess you'll be fine with having satoru's good night kiss?"

his jaw drops—literally, betrayal scrawled on his features. "you wouldn't."

"learn to get along with our son then."

satoru huffs indignantly, but brings the plushie to his chest, hugging it tightly. "well he's nice to cuddle. and his big head doesn't look so bad anymore."

finally, you reclaim the blanket stolen from you. "we both know you love him as much as i do."

"ew, as if." but he knows very well you're correct.

[he ended up forgetting the goodnight kiss he was fuming about]

taglist (send ask to be added) : @yuzurins , @pokkomi , @chigirizzz

#silly drabble to cope with the angst i'm cooking (happy ending at least BUT STILL)#jjk #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #gojo #gojo satoru #jujustu kaisen #jujutsu gojo #gojo x reader #jjk gojo #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo #satoru gojo x reader #gojo fluff #gojo x you #satoru x reader #fluff #gojou x reader

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an-architect-of-words · 10 months

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We have all spoken at length about how toxic and awful the Greek class is. So here are some sweet moments where they’re actually quite cute:

- Francis putting a blanket over Richard when he falls asleep on the couch

- Charles not ignoring animals in need: rescuing a dog about to be put down and then taking in a stray cat

- Camilla proceeding to be very good to said dog. Then both twins being devastated when it died.

- Bunny writing an “I’m sorry” note to Richard then putting it with a book and mints in his mail box

- Henry taking care of Richard after he almost freezes to death, literally being so gentle and good the whole time. (I get you could argue this was part of the psychotic master plan, but this sequence is still so soft)

- “Forgive me, for all the things I did, but mostly for the ones I did not.“

- The boys being genuinely worried about Camilla when she cut her foot and all freaking out and then helping her and talking so kindly to her

- Bunny getting described as generally very patient and nice to his chihuahua-like girlfriend and calling her “sweetie” and “honey” and wanting eight kids with her, four boys and four girls. (uh, this is before he went crazy)

- Charles and Richard musing about the Greek class all living at the farmhouse together

- Henry winking at Camilla when she did a good job reading

- Bunny genuinely being able to make Henry laugh, like by triple spacing his essay

- Distressed Richard asking Camilla to tell him a story, and her talking about the only memory of her father and how she and Charles, as babies, used to squabble over a tape measurer

- The twins hosting dinner at their apartment every Sunday even though they didn’t have much.

#🥺#I know some of it is illusion #but it’s sweet #the secret history #bunny corcoran #richard papen #donna tartt #henry winter #tsh #francis abernathy #charles macaulay #camilla macaulay #julian morrow

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pixelrhys · 3 months

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Real ones remember my band OCs.

Their birthday is on the 14th.

#squabble dogs #the killer crabs #my ocs ft john hansen #my ocs ft martin hansen #original characters #digital art #artists on tumblr

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pixelrhys-ocs · 1 year

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Character Bio: Janet Wells

Roger’s girlfriend. She seems like an outgoing woman who likes to be the life of the party. Very rebellious and wears a lot of piercings and punkish outfits. In reality, she’s severely emotionally abusive to Roger and keeps him trapped in the relationship for years. She’s very cruel to Mike as she feels threatened by him because he is gay and close to Roger. She is one of the reasons why Roger is insecure about himself, which he never shows to anyone except for Mike years in the future. John and Mike hate her. Dates Roger from 1978 to 1981.

Toyhouse Info and Gallery

#squabble dogs #janet wells #janet wells bio #abuse mention #character bios

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niobiumao3 · 3 months

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Darker tone this, mature themes that, emotions those, look I want Crosshair to come back and instantly there is sibling squabbling. It's on sight. Arguments about the stupidest things possible to argue over given the givens. Then Tech comes back and it's 100 times worse because he's like 'it was no big deal I'm fine' <probably lost an eye or is at least scarred up bad> and suddenly Cross Hunter and Wrecker are all teamed up like the last N days of yelling about who moved my thing never occurred and Tech is all 'I am the only one addressing the real problems, like who led the Empire to Pabu, who was that not-Jedi lady, where is Omega, why do we have a dog now?????' and Echo stands off to the side going 'you GUYS!!!!'

I know, I know, serious business in our star war except I need them to instantly reform into a disaster family while everyone watches in equal amounts of awe and horror. Those moments in Aftermath in the barracks? I need about 4 episodes of just that and only that.

#star wars #the bad batch #spoilers #tbb spoilers #the bad batch spoilers

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augustinewrites · 1 year

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alhaitham used to think that one of the most fascinating aspects of human life was how one chooses a mate.

you’re making it weird. just say lover, the voice at the back of his mind scolds– a voice that sounds eerily similar to kaveh.

but it’s not weird, it’s biology. it’s a selective, compensatory process in which individuals combine scores on several key attributes. such attributes include - but are not limited to - supply and demand, individual circumstance, biology, psychology, religion. it’s an exchange theory of sorts, in which humans pick mates based on who best benefits them. he’d always thought that, should he find ‘a lover,’ it’d be someone like himself.

alhaitham will always be a scholar first and foremost, but every academic thought, fact, and hypothesis disappeared from his mind when he met you. all it took once one glance in your direction and you challenged his every preconceived notion.

you studied under the amurta darshan. he studied under haravatat. you smile and greet every passerby who spares you a glance. he really couldn’t be bothered to lift his nose out of his book. your career in emergency medicine is loud and fast-paced. his job as the scribe (and temporarily the acting grand sage) is largely quiet aside from the occasional research outing or squabble amongst the sages. you voluntarily take extra shifts at the bimarstan all the time, whereas he walks out the akademiya doors at five and never looks back. you like dogs, he prefers cats.

there’s no denying that the two of you are different, and that’s why the outcome rejects his hypothesis. you’re nothing like him and he chose you anyway.

he chose you (even ‘put a ring on it’ as kaveh says) despite the fact that you arrange your books in alphabetical order rather than the dewey decimal system he’s followed since childhood.

which is why he doesn’t understand why you’re suddenly acting like this. if he could swiftly classify your behaviour, it’d be much easier for him to make adjustments to whatever it is he’s doing, but he still hasn’t figured it out.

you’re on the night shift today, which means you’re still asleep as he gets ready for the day. he presses a kiss to your temple, pulling the covers back up around your chin before heading into the kitchen.

kaveh’s already awake too, nursing a mug of coffee as he mulls over the blueprints spread over the dinner table. alhaitham pours himself some coffee, settling into a chair and ignoring his roommate’s protests as he pushes blueprints aside to make room for his mug.

“i was looking at those,” the architect grumbles. “can’t you sit somewhere else?”

alhaitham opens his book, flipping to the page he’d left off on. “it’s my table.”

“that i picked!”

“and i paid for.”

he knows that kaveh can’t argue with that. he smirks, crossing his leg over his knee as kaveh mutters curses, gathering up his blueprints and stomping over to the living room.

when he’s got a good book open, ignoring kaveh’s grumblings is an easy task. his eyes shift toward the clock, and when he sees it’s almost time to head to the akademiya, it’s his turn to grumble.

but then you saunter out of the bedroom, stretching languidly before shuffling over to sit in his lap, pressing various, sleepy kisses to his face. “good morning.”

“ugh,” kaveh scoffs from the couch. “so unbecoming.”

“move out then,” alhaitham suggests, gripping your chin and pulling you in for a proper kiss.

“i can bring you lunch today,” you suggest, hugging him tightly. “or we can go to puspa café and finally have our fortunes read in the coffee grounds!”

“no need,” he tells you. “i’ll just have amani bring me something.”

your face immediately falls, and he doesn’t need to be a scholar to know he’s made some sort of mistake. especially when you slide off his lap, picking up his unfinished cup of coffee and placing it in the sink.

oh it’s so awkward, he hears kaveh say from the living room.

“i wasn’t…” he swallows his protests when you turn around, hands on your hips.

“well, you can just have amani bring you a new one when you get to work.” you turn on your heel, heading off to the bedroom and slamming the shut behind you.

“you handled that terribly,” kaveh informs him. “clearly you’ve never had a woman scream at you with her eyes.”

alhaitham closes his book letting out a breath. “noted.”

after a beat silence, his roommate is the one who sighs, claiming the seat across from him. “alright, i’m going to help you now. because i know that your life has been one grand exercise in romantic self-destruction.”

“romantic self—”

“let me finish. between the job that you have and the one that you somehow got, how often are you home?”

“same hours as always,” he answers easily. just because he had two jobs now did not mean he had to work longer than his standard nine to five.

kaveh shakes his head. “yes, but you always come home too exhausted to do anything, and then she goes to work for the night.”

“that is typically what employed adults who pay rent do.”

he can’t help but chuckle when kaveh rolls his eyes. “okay, smartass. but do yourself a favour and don’t talk about the assistant that obviously has a crush on you. it’s always ‘amani’s this,’ and ‘amani that.’ next time your fiancee offers to bring you lunch, just say yes and absolutely don’t mention that your assistant can bring it to you instead. she’s jealous. you simply have to assure her that she has no reason to be.”

you’re not like that, alhaitham thinks. because he knows you. knows that you’d never be prone to something as cliché as jealousy. and of almani? whose face he couldn’t pick out of a crowd if he tried?

also, kaveh absolutely could not be right. he refused it.

_____

alhaitham’s already at the bimarstan when you arrive, holding two to-go cups of coffee from puspa café. you roll your eyes as your coworkers and patients are whisper amongst themselves, in awe of the akademiya scribe/acting grand sage in their midst.

“you still have approximately ten minutes before your shift,” he tells you. “have coffee with me.”

“i need to get ready,” you huff, speed-walking toward the staff room. “why don’t you drink it with almani instead?”

it’s a low blow, and it’s punctuated by the flash of hurt that flickers across his face. he follows you, though, ignoring the ‘staff only’ sign and shutting the door tightly behind you both.

he opts to stay silent as you put your things away, letting you take the drinks from his hand, “you don’t have to drink it. caffeine intake can affect a person’s fine motor skills. such circumstances are unideal if you’re stitching together a wound or—”

“don’t tell me what to do,” you take the lid off one of the drinks, still glaring at him as you take a sip. “i’m not your assistant.”

if looks could kill, he’d be dead. usually, this is the kind of look you reserve for kaveh when he’s banging around building knick-knacks in the middle of the night.

“i don’t like amani.” alhaitham takes the cup from your hands, placing it on the bench. “i love you, and i don’t say it enough.”

you deflate a little, shaking your head. “no— i— i know. i guess it’s just been a little crazy with everything that’s been going on. you’re the acting grand sage now and you’re busier than ever. i should be more supportive instead of being crazy jealous of—”

“so you were jealous?” damn kaveh.

“well, if i started spending all my time with someone other than you, wouldn’t you be?”

“no,” he answers confidently, reaching out and pulling you in by the waist. “i’m kind of a big deal around here. you certainly can’t do better than me.

“doctor,” one of your medical students interrupts, poking her head into the room. “the general mahamatra is in need of medical attention. he’s asked for you, specifically.”

wait, cyno? asking for you?

this information doesn’t seem to puzzle you the way it does him, and you press a quick kiss to alhaitham’s lips, smiling. “i’ll be right there.”

and if alhaitham hovers a little too closely, shooting daggers over the top of his book while you clean up and stitch the wound on cyno’s unfortunately well-sculpted abdomen, laughing at his every awful joke— you simply smirk, choosing not to say anything.

#alhaitham x reader #alhaitham x y/n #alhaitham fluff #genshin x reader #genshin fluff #genshin drabbles

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gg-pedro · 4 months

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can you hear the music (ch. 1) - joel miller x reader

masterlist

even here, at the end of all things, some things persisted. one thing in particular, throughout all the places you had been. music.

summary: everyone in jackson is trying to distract themselves from something. you teach ellie piano and find yourself trying to help more than one miller settle into their new world.

warnings: post outbreak!joel, jackson!era, platonic!ellie x reader, implied age gap, joel x reader, AFAB!reader, they kiss lolz, smut to come, pining, feelings.

words: 1.8k

a/n: a little sweet, a little bitter, a little self indulgent. I'm planning on this being a series! I hope you enjoy. warning tags only apply to this chapter.

Two knocks. Three. More knocking, hushed squabbling from outside your door. You got up from your seat at the kitchen table, a piling mess of sheet music and scribbled notes.

Opening the door revealed your newest student, Ellie, looking very much like Joel was leading her to the gallows with that scowl on her face.

“Can we just get this over with? I’m fucking hungry.” Ellie pushed past you, shrugging off her coat and kicking off her boots.

“I’m sorry… ‘bout her. She likes doin’ this, I swear. Always comes back talking about it. Just give her some time to warm up to you.”

Joel had this particular look on his face whenever he talked about that little girl. His dark eyes would soften and he’d push a hand through his graying hair, his thoughts seeming like they were somewhere else entirely from his surroundings. The most he ever said to you was about Ellie. Everything you knew about Joel was from Ellie, naturally.

He was from Texas. He was fairly older than you– you didn’t have much experience from when it was before the end of the fucking world. He sounded tightly wound. He could play the guitar, and he’d taught Ellie a few things. Once, she’d said that he only liked piano music if Billy Joel was playing it, whoever that was. That made you laugh.

You gave him a thin smile, crossing your arms over your chest to ward off the draft that was blowing through the open door. “I know. She’s a great kid, I can tell she wants to learn. I think it helps her– you know, keeping busy.”

Joel met your eyes for the first time since the conversation had started, something painful and poignant seeping into his expression.

“Yeah. I think so.” He was quiet for a few seconds before looking straight over you to grab Ellie’s attention. “I’ll be back in an hour. I’m down the street helpin’ Tommy with that old building. Be good,” he warned, before giving you a grateful nod and turning back.

And that was your routine. Joel was usually short with you, a little quiet, a little shy. You thought he was a sweet man– and a painfully attractive one at that. All southern and rough, broad shouldered, puppy-dog eyed. He seemed like he would do anything to keep that girl safe. You were glad the community had someone like him.

You had started teaching Ellie a few weeks after they had settled into Jackson. It was mostly because of Maria’s recommendation, who you were fairly close with. Ellie had hated taking lessons from you more vehemently in the beginning, but the more you worked at it, the more comfortable you saw her get.

“Come on, kid. This is good for your brain,” you would say, beckoning her to sit next to you on the piano bench.

She scoffed, but yet she obliged. “This is dumb. I could be doing something useful. Like shooting guns.”

“Art is as important, Ellie. More important than shooting guns. For you, anyway."

Her fingers tapped gingerly on the keys and she played a scale they had learned the week before. “How would you know? You aren’t even old,” she countered. “How long have you been playing?”

You glanced over at the clock. You two were wasting time, but at least she was talking. “My whole life, give or take. I tried to hold onto it whenever I could. It was my favorite thing in the entire world.”

She nodded, seeming to understand. “That’s cool. I get why Joel likes you.”

You didn’t think Joel was someone who particularly liked you. He didn’t dislike you, clearly, but if he had given any hints, they had been falling on deaf ears. You tried your best to keep your expression neutral. “And why’s that?”

She giggled to herself as she flipped through the pages of her sheet music booklet. “‘Cause you’re both fucking weird.”

You laughed too, punching her gently in the arm. “Fair. Now stop stalling and play me whatever you remember.”

Life was special nowadays. More precious than it ever had been. You would have to cherish moments like these. Loss was all around, and loving always risked the hurt. You were really, really fucking tired of hurting.

Walking back to your home, trudging through the snow, you were tired. Working in Jackson’s small clinic was easy enough, but it was draining. You saw to children mainly, bandaging up wounds and dosing out rations of antibiotics when needed. The kids liked you, the parents liked you, and that was rewarding, but plastering on a smile and a light-hearted tone all day sometimes felt like too fucking much.

So naturally, you were ready to pick a fight when you felt a broad hand consume your shoulder.

You turned around to match the disembodied hand to a face, only to see Joel Miller. He looked tired, more tired than you, and a little sad.

“Sorry, I wasn’t tryin’ to scare you. I saw you, and I…” He paused, looking down at the two sets of footprints that had outlined both of your paths. “Ellie isn’t feeling well. I think it’s best she skips y’alls lesson tomorrow.”

She released the breath she'd been holding. For some reason, he had the tendency to precede the things he said as if he was about to tell you that the world was ending. Again.

“That’s fine, don’t worry about it. Is she alright?”

“Yeah, she’s alright. This whole things a big fuckin’ adjustment, and I… I worry she’ll push herself too much if nobody stops her,” he explained. “She’s been with Maria all day. But yeah, she’ll be okay.”

Ah. He was worried about her. It seemed like he was always worrying about her. “I understand. Can’t imagine what it must be like for her. And you.”

She’ll push herself if nobody stops her. Who stopped Joel? Who looked out for him? His brother, surely, but was it like that? Did those two, hardened and stretched thin, have the time to be concerned about things like that? How long had he just been… going?

You reached a hand out to touch his upper arm, rubbing it a little before pulling away. “You’re a good man, Joel. I really think that, and I hope you know it.”

He laughed a little at that. “I haven't done any good, trust me on that.”

You dropped your gaze and looked away. You knew that everyone here, without a shadow of a doubt, had done things they weren’t proud of. Things they never would’ve done if not at the end of the world.

You were maybe 20 steps from your front door, standing out in the Wyoming cold with him. You tried to meet his eyes before speaking again, but he wouldn’t face you.

“Come in. Please, I insist. Warm up, I just traded for coffee.”

He looked like he was fighting with himself for a few seconds, raising his head and looking off to the side. “Yeah, alright. Why not.”

Joel Miller was sitting in your living room, sipping from a mug so carefully that you’d think he was afraid he’d break it. The fire was lit and casting warm shadows across the dim room. It was endearing. You hadn’t felt like this in a lifetime.

“I couldn’t do it. What you do. Dealing with all those kids,” he said after a long lapse of quiet.

You shrugged, sipping on your own cup. “I love it. I never thought I’d have the chance to play music again, much less teach. It’s not perfect, but it's something,” you said. “Ellie tells me you play guitar.”

Joel rolled his eyes and finally sunk back into his chair instead of hunching over. He groaned a little as he did it, as if he stored all of his tension in his back. “Yeah, used to. I ain’t good at it anymore.”

“But you used to be?” You pried.

He finally looked at you, his eyes infinitely more dark in this light. “Maybe. Don’t think I’d be able to forget how to play even if I tried, so might as well put it to some use.”

You smiled. “I know. Funny how things stick with you. Muscle memory.”

He nodded. “Somethin’ like that.”

And it was true. There were lots of things neither of you would forget how to do, no matter how much time had lapsed in between the before and the now. And sure, most of what you had learned happened after the world had ended, but that was irrelevant. The most important things had always been there. You’d known how to love for your entire life.

His eyes wandered over to the old upright piano situated on the wall in the living room. “Is she any good on that thing?” He asked.

You thought about Ellie, who would curse everytime she slipped on a scale, who would argue fervently about how that squiggly shit on the sheet music could possibly mean anything, who learned faster than any of your other kids.

“She is. She’s impressive. She picked up Old McDonald Had a Farm like that.” You grinned, snapping your fingers for effect.

He smiled thinly, his mind clearly somewhere else. “Explains why she won’t stop humming that shit. Thanks for that, by the way.”

“My pleasure, Joel.” You laughed. “You finished with that?” You gestured to his empty mug.

“Yeah. Hey, I’ll help you.”

You were elbow to elbow with each other at the sink, cleaning out the liquid and the scattered coffee grounds from the bottoms of your respective cups. Joel took yours and placed it on the drying rack, wiping his hands off with the towel you passed to him.

You leaned back against the island as he turned his back to the sink. He was so tall, so rugged, so handsome. His age only added to it. He had a softness around his eyes now, his features slightly obscured by the absence of much light.

“Should probably take off… Thank you. For the drink,” Joel began.

“Don’t thank me, I’d do it anytime. Tell Ellie that I hope she’s feeling better soon.”

He nodded, and he swallowed. He wasn’t making any moves to leave, save for his eyes on the door. They flicked back to you, watching you, scanning you up and down until he finally said,

“You’re gonna kill me, sweetheart, lookin’ at me like that.”

You weren’t really sure of how it all happened, but in an instant your bodies were pressed together with your lower back digging into the dull edge of the island counter, Joel’s lips pressed to yours like he was seeking oxygen.

His free hand felt up your body, and your skin was on fire. A match thrown onto a pool of gasoline. Everything was electric. He kissed you like he’d learned it in another life, back when love was free, when forever was a tangible thing, when strings weren’t attached. You felt it all on your lips and tongue, in the bonfire that was being fanned in your abdomen.

When he stepped back, you pulled him in for more. The opposite reaction to the Earth pulling down on you is you pulling the Earth back up. You tangled your hands in his soft hair, and his dug into the fabric of your jeans on your hips.

You both came up for air after a while, having migrated to the entrance of the kitchen. He had you backed up against the beam of the open doorway, tucking both sides of your hair behind you ear to see your face.

"Shouldn't be doing this," he mumbled, nipping at the warm skin on your neck.

"Maybe not," you conceded. I didn't mean you couldn't want it– what he could give you. You'd all done wrong things. "You could still stay."

"Yeah," he responded, pressing his body against yours and sweeping a hand over to cradle your lower back. "Still could."

Maybe it wasn't a lie. Maybe that glassy, far off look wouldn't be permanent. It could be like this. You could have a reason.

And yeah, maybe Joel knew more than he let on. Some things never really left him.

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shares-a-vest · 1 year

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Inspired by THIS picture of Joe Keery and the possibility that s4 Steve could have had the most glorious blonde highlights. we could have had it aaaaaall.

The bell chimes as Steve bursts through the glass doors of Family Video, bringing in a gust of the hot summer air with him.

"Shut the door!" Robin demands from behind the counter, lunging forward, exasperated because of course, that stupid door is getting stuck on its hinges and not closing properly right in the middle of summer. And Robin had only just managed to regulate the store's temperature after a pair of morons (aka, Mike and Will) had biked away and left it wide open.

Steve nods, looking like his blank, dingus self in his summertime attire: a baby blue polo and navy shorts that are far too short, giving Robin vivid flashbacks to their dorky Scoops uniforms. She looks down and realises he is, in fact, wearing an identical pair of blue sneakers he'd worn slinging ice creams and her mind drifts to what she could fashion in order to resurrect the 'You Suck' board. Between the outfit and his new hairstyle, he sure was regressing back to his peak 1985 lameness.

"Hi!" he announces, doing his silly little dad-jog to the counter.

"Oh my god!" Dustin shrieks, finally looking up from the VHS order catalogue he was 'helping' Robin look through.

The exclaim stirs Eddie, carefully selecting candies he is absolutely, one hundred percent going to pay for.

"Oh," he says, looking at Steve's hair, now almost entirely blonde with shining, fresh highlights. His face stays frozen in an 'o' shape as he practically collapses against the counter and holds on for dear life. Robin snickers, readying herself for some not-so-subtle teasing, but Dustin gets one in first.

"You look like a Ken doll."

Robin cackles, admittedly at her best friend's expense but, sue her. Henderson sure has a way with (bitchy) words.

Steve leans an arm on the counter, conveniently facing Eddie and smirks. "Always so complimentary, Henderson."

"Shut up, it looks good!" comes Max from the comedy aisle where she and Lucas have been standing for way too long.

Robin makes a face, knowing that all these little pocket moniless twerps are only in the store for the (not even all that good) air-conditioning.

Lucas elbows Max, offering a faint, "What the hell?"

"What?" she retorts, folding her arms. "He looks good."

The couple continues squabbling, the only intelligible words being, "he's lame", and, "but he has nice hair".

Steve runs a hand through said hair, likely knowing it's causing a store-spanning reaction because he's just that vain.

"Just got it done," he smiles like he hadn't spent the past week sitting behind the counter and not working while he was looking at hair magazines.

But he also looks like he's really only interested in impressing one very stupid, slack-jawed metalhead dressed head to toe in black despite it being the dog days of summer. Robin narrows her eyes and pokes at Eddie's bare arm in hopes of rebooting him to his annoying factory settings.

"Munson! You are being suspiciously quiet. What's say you?"

"Uhhh," he hums, looking Steve over before settling back on gawking at his goddamn hair.

"Jesus Christ!" Dustin groans, hanging his head in his hands. He gathers up his pen, paper and order catalogue and heads to the back room, continuing to act like he's an actual employee.

Eddie finally closes his mouth and gives a tight-lipped smile and Robin can practically feel Steve fawning over his devil-disguised-as-a-cherub dimples.

"It… It looks... good," Eddie mumbles, stuttering all the way and avoiding eye contact.

Robin snorts, realising the lovesick moron is just going to remain a melting puddle of goo, not worth teasing at all. She pushes off her wheely chair, sending it flying backwards as she heads for the returns trolley sitting abandoned across the store.

She misses Eddie eventually gathering himself up enough to move a step closer and quietly say, "You look pretty".

And all Steve can do is blush with a meek, "Thanks".

#steve is in the midst of his bi-crisis and gets blonde highlights even blonder that his s3 babygirl look #robin loves her himbo bff but finds him and eddie insufferable sometimes #steddie ficlet #steve harrington #steddie #steddie hcs #eddie munson #robin buckley #steddie headcanon #lilys ficlets #👕🧥

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