#as “so bland he's tempted to throw salt on himself” and “all he could do is lay around and wait for death” (<-paraphrasing)

[tea-cat-arts]

Shen Yuan getting transported into pidw isn't "the system punishing him for being a lazy internet hater," but instead representative of "step 1 of the creative process: getting so mad at something you decide to go write your own fucking book" in this essay I will

[vennilavee]

to build a home - ch 4

memory misplaced

TBAH masterlist

Pairing: levi x reader (attack on titan)

Summary: a modern au where you and levi both work for the Survey Corps, a non-profit organization with a mission to help the youth of the Underground District.

chapter summary: reader goes through a bad break up. takes place about 4 years before the present story

Warnings: cursing, alcohol, drama, reader sleeps around lol

Word Count: 3838

Levi walks past your empty office, a morsel of curiosity wiggling its way into his mind. You’ve been gone for three days and it was an abrupt absence. You hardly ever take days off without letting everyone know.  He wonders if you’re sick or something. But you were fine on Monday… So what is it?

At least Erwin of all people has to know, as your direct boss. But Levi stays out of it, shifting his eyes to the interns who are furiously typing away on their laptops at their cubicles. He takes a sip of his hot tea and heads into his own office, putting thoughts of you to the back of his mind.

Levi doesn’t see you until the following week and when you finally do return, you come back as if you hadn’t been mysteriously gone for four days. He says nothing when he passes you in the hallway going to his office, only offering you a small nod of acknowledgement.

Your lips might be impeccably painted, blazer pristine and lashes curled, but Levi sees nothing but pain sitting in the planes of your pretty face. 

You don’t offer a smile back as you normally would. You don’t have it in you to break the lines of your lips to do so.

Concentration doesn’t come easy to you that day. You’re uncomfortable, out of your element. Maybe you should’ve stayed home. But you’ve been home for the better part of a week. You’re lucky that Erwin is your friend and that he allowed you this much time to wallow.

You’re uncomfortable in your own skin. You subconsciously itch your wrist with sharp nails. 

You’re single. It sounds foreign to you, considering you’d been in a relationship with your now ex-girlfriend for a little over a year. You stare at your fingers, at the absence of any of the jewelry she had gifted to you over the last few months.

You thought it was the real deal. And then it wasn’t. Something inside of you lurches when you glance at the photo of both of you near your monitor. With shaky hands and shaky breaths, you manage to peel the photo out of the frame. You don’t want to look at it but you don’t have the heart to throw it away. You tuck it into your backpack, hoping it gets crumpled without your intervention.

And she had broken up with you. The worst part was you hadn’t even seen it coming. Not even a month ago, you were talking about moving in together. 

You sigh, trying to avoid the inevitable spiral of despair. You can’t tiptoe down that dangerous path, not when you have a mountain of work to catch up on.

***

You keep to yourself mostly over the next few weeks at work. Levi comes to wonder when you’ll barge into his office without permission, as you usually do. He doesn’t see you with Hange in her office, scolding her about her habits or giggling over gossip. 

Your door is closed, and Levi can’t think of the last time he’s ever seen your office with it’s door closed. Levi was tempted to knock on your door but he can’t even tell if you’re inside. He hears the faint noise of typing. And then he hears a frustrated sniffle.

Levi steps away, not wanting to hear something that he shouldn’t. He hears you curse under your breath before he swiftly walks back to his office, pretending he was never there.

Leaning back in your office chair, you sigh heavily as iciness seems to fill your bloodstream slowly but surely. Has the ceiling always looked like that? So awfully bland and commonplace? Dull and dismal? Like you? Is that why she left?

Is that why she left?

You nearly scoff at yourself. Look at you, dictating your own self-worth over the actions and reactions of the person you love. Or loved. Love? Present tense? Can those intense feelings dissipate so quickly? What bothers you even more is that you didn’t even see it coming.

How could you not see it coming? How could you be so delusional to think that everything was fine, when apparently, it wasn’t?

How could she allow you the false sense of security? How could you allow yourself the false sense of security?

But maybe you had missed the signs. Were there any signs?

Maybe people just fall out of love. At least, that’s what she had said to you. That it didn’t feel the same. It’s not you, it’s me. 

Who were you to argue with that? You’ll refuse to beg, refuse to beg for an explanation, refuse to beg for her love. Even if she had plunged her anchor of a hand into your stupid, foolish heart and squeezed until you couldn’t breathe… You would never beg.

You swallow the ache in your lungs and bury it in the pit of your stomach, make yourself a cup of coffee and get to work.

A month. Then two. Then four. And suddenly, it’s six months later.

You’re walking into work on this bright, beautiful Monday morning. Birds are chirping, the sun is high in the sky and there’s even a light breeze in the air.

You’re coming off of a weekend long bender, complete with a throbbing headache and the taste of cotton in your mouth. Your reflexes are delayed and the sun burns red in your retinas despite your sunglasses. You hope Levi doesn’t catch the wrinkles on your collar and on your shirt. You don’t think you can handle his sharp tongue and scathing look. Not today.

You had barely gotten ready to leave for work on time this morning. It had taken far too long to kick your guest out of bed.

Your guest from the night before. You barely remember her name, you only remember the scent of her sweet, vanilla perfume. You recall it being almost too sweet. 

The thought makes you gag. 

Yeah. You’re dealing with the break up really well.

You set your backpack down in your office and head to the break room to make yourself some coffee. Of course, Levi is already there with his teacup. 

“Sunglasses inside? You look like an asshole,” Levi greets you, raising his teacup in acknowledgement.

“Thanks. You’re a dick,” You mutter, putting your coffee beans into the coffee machine and taking the creamer from the fridge.

“You look like shit.”

“You done yet?” You shoot him a scathing glare. Not that he’d be able to tell.

It would be almost comical, if you didn’t show up like this more and more over the last few months. He knows Hange and Erwin are worried, not wanting to set you off by confronting you about your behavior. Hell, he’s worried, too. That you’re hurting in a way you don’t even realize. That you need to heal in a way that might feel foreign and uncomfortable to you.

A hand brushes over your shoulder as he exits the breakroom, a wordless but welcome comfort. Your shoulders relax at his fleeting touch and you stir your coffee absently.

It had been a pure coincidence. It had been a stroke of fate, a laughable atrocity. That’s the only explanation, for why your ex-girlfriend is staring you in the face with another woman from across the club.

Mike, Hange, Levi and Erwin had asked if you’d like to join them at a club on Friday to end the week. At first, you had declined. And then changed your mind because you realized that you missed your friends terribly. You can’t recall the last time you had seen their faces for more than a few minutes outside of work.

You had even invited them to your apartment to have drinks beforehand- 

Your speakers are charged, the apartment freshly cleaned, and alcohol recently stocked in anticipation for company coming over. 

You wonder what Levi will think of your cleaning.

One by one they arrive, first Levi and Erwin, ever so punctual. Then Mike, with Nanaba. And last, but not least, Hange. About thirty minutes after all of them. You’re all already one drink into the evening and you eagerly give Hange a mix of her favorite cocktail.

You see Levi peering around your apartment in mild curiosity, and you can’t help but tease him.

“What? You impressed that someone can clean better than you?”

“No,” Levi rolls his eyes, but you see the twitch in his lips.

“It’s alright, Levi. You can admit it.”

“I’d rather choke on my own tongue, thanks.”

“Now that’s a sight I’d pay to see.”

You wink at him and walk away for a minute, when Hange calls your name to take a shot with her. It’s tequila, and it burns in the best way. Only Hange can get you to agree to tequila. As you walk away, Levi watches the curve of your hips, the glistening tan of your skin, the way your heels and your jeans make your legs look endless. 

He’s not immune to you. You’re pretty, but more than that, you’re funny and brilliant and caring. He thinks your ex-girlfriend is an idiot for letting you go, if anyone was to ask for his opinion. As your friend, of course.

Levi takes a hearty gulp of his drink, vaguely realizing how strong you had made it. Apparently, you were heavy handed with your pour.

Suddenly, his neck feels hot when he watches you lick your hand with salt and throw your head back to take your shot of tequila. The junction of your neck is accentuated by the necklace you’re wearing- it’s tight and inviting around your neck. And then the slight wince on your face, before thrusting a lime slice into your mouth.

He rolls his eyes at the thoughts floating through his mind before turning his gaze away and observing your apartment. It’s warm, littered with pieces and parts of you. A few frames hang on the walls, a painting above your couch. A mahogany bookcase to the right, next to your corner of plants. Your bookcase has clearly worn out books in it, some dog eared and some not. But you also have some trinkets on the shelves- a snowglobe, a small royal blue box with a golden ribbon on it and a little pink succulent in a painted clay pot.

There’s a light coating of dust on some of the shelves, but he’ll keep that to himself for a bit.

It seems like forever ago that you were in the comfort of your own apartment with your friends. You’re frozen in place, and it seems like she is, too. The woman on her arm glances at you, then at her, and then back at you before shaking her head and walking away.

You hardly notice. Because you only see your ex-girlfriend, in this crowded sea of people. And you feel almost nothing. Except for hurt, sadness, and the anger that follows. You have a million words to say to her and twice as many questions, except your tongue feels like lead in your mouth. 

The bass thumps through your veins as a coldness washes over you.

Was there anything even left to say?

No. You decide there isn’t. You’ve already come to terms with the fact that closure isn’t always what you need it to be.

Before she can get a word in edgewise, you turn your back on her and head back to your friends at your table. Levi notices that your lips are pulled into a grim line and that your shoulders are tense. But you say nothing, instead only offering to buy another round of shots for everyone. And then another. And just another.

Soon enough, your arms are wrapped around Hange’s waist as you both sip on matching drinks. A lazy, drunken grin is plastered on your face and you’re nearly swaying on your feet as you and Hange both sing along to the song playing through the club speakers.

Levi can feel a headache brewing. He usually hates places like this for the most part. But it’s not so bad, he thinks. Maybe because despite the crowd, the noise, the dirtiness of bodies close to each other… He still feels like he’s in his own bubble with Hange, Mike, Erwin, Nanaba and you. 

As quickly as your smile had floated across your face, dripping in drunkenness, it sours. Levi follows your line of vision and sees a woman who looks familiar. He can’t quite place it, and it takes him a few seconds to realize that it’s your ex-girlfriend. She’s currently walking towards you with a determined look in her eyes.

Conversely, your dark eyes have turned icy and you’ve recollected yourself quickly. Levi doesn’t know anything about your previous relationship. All he knows is that it was an unexpected break-up.

“Can we talk?” An unfamiliar voice asks and your eyes narrow. 

Levi thinks that he would hate to be on the receiving end of that stare.

“No. I have nothing to say,” You say coldly. You flinch when she tries to reach out to you. Levi doesn’t miss the way your hand tightens around your drink.

Should you grant her the dignity of the closure she needs? Are you mature enough to do that? You want to hurt her the same way she hurt you, and you’re not above admitting that. 

Despite the alcohol coursing through your system, you’ve never felt so clear headed before.

“Seriously? That’s a surprise,” She scoffs and Levi can see steam coming out of your ears.

“Are you kidding me,” You laugh mirthlessly, “You given’ me attitude? You are giving me attitude?”

“I’m just asking if you wanted to talk-”

“I wanted to talk six fucking months ago!” You hiss and step away from the table to face her. And so that your friends don’t need to hear you airing out your dirty laundry. 

Your eyes are wild, rage and hurt and poison flooding into them through an already broken dam. 

“Fine,” You shrug, once you find a relatively quiet place away from people, “Let’s talk. What could you possibly want to say to me?”

Your heart aches, in that familiar way that makes you want to twist your limbs together and never leave the safety of the four walls of your home. And yet, you are here. About to have a very belated conversation with your ex-girlfriend. You want to say a million things to her, you want to spit steel into her heart, the same way she did with you. You want to show her the poison that has curled in your blood and left a bitter taste in your mouth that leaves you choking most nights.

She can have a taste of your angry mouth when all she’s known from you is your softened, sweet lips.

She opens her mouth first, but you beat her to the punch-

“I cannot fucking believe that after six months of you not taking my calls or answering my texts or anything- the only fuckin’ reason that we’re discussing anything is because of a happy coincidence,” You seethe, pointing an accusing finger at her.

“You just- you just fucking left! And verbatim, you said ‘it’s not you, it’s me’! So it was just me, when we were talking about moving in together? It was just me when I told you I loved you? When I told you that we could work through anything, it was just me?!

“I can’t believe you, and I can’t- I can’t explain to you what it’s like. To be completely blindsided by someone who you thought was your other half. Only for them to say that the last year and a half just isn’t what they wanted. And for you to already have determined that this wasn’t worth salvaging- god, you are so- fucking- full of it!”

Your voice is loud, attracting several onlookers but you don’t notice. You feel like you’re in a pit of hell and that you’re about to be swallowed by flames. Tears of frustration, anger and hurt are dotting your eyes and you hate it. You hate that you’ve become this way, afraid to show vulnerability to anyone who might care about you.

“I deserved better! You know that right? You didn’t deserve me.”

She looks stunned into speechlessness and you want to turn away and turn your back on her. But you stay planted on the spot, subconsciously waiting for some semblance of regret or remorse.

You catch a flicker of it but it passes, and you wonder how you could have loved a person this much and still have known nothing about them.

“I’m sorry I ended things the way I did. I didn’t want to hurt you,” She begins and you don’t interrupt, “And I know it was selfish of me, the way I didn’t communicate with you what I wanted and needed. And led you on. I should’ve gone about it differently. And for that, I’m sorry.”

The roaring fire in your belly is slowly fading and suddenly, you’re exhausted. Your shoulders slump and you offer her a small smile.

“Did you love me? When we were together?” You ask quietly, and somehow she hears you through the chaos of the club. 

You know she did. You just need to hear it from her.

“Yes, of course I did,” She murmurs, “I still care about you. I want the best for you, I really mean that. And the best for you isn’t me.”

“Likewise,” You reply and find it in yourself to wrap your arms around her for one last hug.

You expel the final death of the relationship into the air with a cathartic breath. Despite the buildup of hurt, anger, betrayal and loss from the last few months, you feel nothing but relief. You are free from the invisible cage of closure, and you finally feel your wings spreading once more.

How can it be that just a five minute interaction can put your mind at ease so quickly? You had expected lingering resentment, or lingering something… And yet, all you feel is relief. That you were able to say what you had to say. 

It still boggles your mind that even though it’s been six months since the relationship ended, all you needed to fully move on was a five minute confrontation. Maybe you were mostly there anyway, though. 

Maybe time does heal all wounds.

Either way, all you know is that you’re suddenly very emotionally exhausted and you’re certain it shows on your face.

Hange looks like she wants to ask you what that was all about but she keeps her mouth shut, offering you the remainder of your drink. You give her a wan smile and finish the rest of it before rubbing your temples.

“You know what. I think I’m going to head out,” You finally say, fastening your clutch tightly under your arm, “Gettin’ tired.”

You appreciate their looks of concern but honestly, you just want to wash your face, put on comfortable clothes, bury yourself under your covers and maybe cry a little.

“I’ll leave with you,” Levi says after a few seconds, “I hate this place anyways.”

Yes. He tells himself that that’s why he’s quick to leave. A small grin graces your face before you give hugs to everyone in the group and slink away to the coat check. Levi follows you out of the club to wait for a cab and you both stand in silence.

“I can get a cab home by myself,” You finally say, turning to face him.

“Okay,” Levi shrugs, “I don’t know where you live anyways.”

“Stohess district,” You reply, but your voice is far away as you turn to glance around the street, “Hey, do you want to grab food? It’s on me.”

Your dark eyes are wide, pleading and slick with loneliness. You don’t want to be left alone with your thoughts just yet. You can barely handle yourself on a good day, let alone right now.

“Sure,” Levi says. He’s not particularly hungry but he’ll entertain you anyways.

“There’s a great ramen place around here…” You say, brushing shoulders with him to lead the way.

You feel as if you’re moving on auto-pilot. Maybe you should’ve just gone home. But you don’t want to be home. You don’t want to be alone, not tonight. You’ll prolong the inevitable for just a little longer. You can’t handle being alone right now. Not yet. 

Levi sits on the opposite side of you in the booth. There are several people at the restaurant but it’s relatively quiet, besides the bustle of the late night. You both sit in silence, but it’s not uncomfortable. At this angle, Levi can see signs and lines of fatigue on your face. But you still smile at him in that brilliant and disarming way, as if you hadn’t had a confrontation that had been in the works for months.

“Good, right?” You mumble, after another slurp of your ramen.

“Yeah. Tastes fresh,” Levi replies.

“It is.”

Another beat of silence.

“Thanks. For leaving the club with me. And coming with me to get food. Sorry I’m so- that I’m like this,” You murmur, looking into your ramen and continuing to eat. As if you hadn’t just apologized for your very existence.

It incenses Levi and he can’t bite his tongue.

“Who made you like that?” Levi asks casually.

“Who made me like what?” You ask with a raised eyebrow, setting your chopsticks in the bowl.

“Made you feel like you had to apologize for being yourself.”

Your eyes are wide and lips parted in surprise, “I d-don’t-”

“You don’t need to apologize for wanting company after what I’m sure was an incredibly taxing encounter with your ex-girlfriend,” Levi says bluntly, meeting your startled eyes.

You avert your gaze immediately, unable to hold his penetrating stare.

“O-Okay, Levi,” You breathe.

And you continue to eat your ramen.

“You’re not very good at pretending,” Levi observes dryly, “So don’t. Especially around your friends.”

The statement brings tears to your eyes and a dry lump to your throat. This man, who you’ve barely been a real friend to in the last few months, can read you like a book. Lately, the few times you’re reminded that you have people in your life who love you wholly and unabashedly, it brings waves of emotions you haven’t felt in a while to the forefront of your heart.

“If you’re going to cry, don’t get it in your ramen,” Levi says, voice uncharacteristically soft.

It pulls a watery noise, halfway in between a laugh and a sob, out of you. You both eat in silence, with some occasional quips thrown in between, until Levi pulls his card out to give to the waiter before you can. He moves with the speed and grace of an angel.

He’s an angel with steely eyes, dark hair and a tender heart. You’re certain of it.

tags: @simpingmaize​

[crushingonrazz]

Merry Christmas Kit

I’m so glad to have been able to get to know you. I am constantly in awe of your pure talent when it comes to writing, and it is amazing being able to see that process. You are absolutely an inspiration to me, and I really hope that this can in any way compare to the magic you weave with your own characters! Merry Christmas, Kit!

When Edge steps out of the basement in SwapFell, crossing their lawn and glancing up, the first thing he sees is Slim. He’s standing on the front porch, hands gripping onto the railing, staring down at the snow below him. When the crunch of Edge’s approaching footsteps reach him, he twitches, then looks up.

Edge already knows what has happened by the shattered emotion the other allows into his eyelights.

He walks up the front steps, pausing at the top and glancing his alternate over. He does not appear physically injured, but his knuckles are bruised, fingers trembling. Edge sucks in a breath, lets it out.

“Is he still gone?”

A violent, jerky shake of the other’s head. Edge lifts his chin. “The runt is visiting Taleverse. Feel free to join him.”

It’s a command, not an offer. Slim is more than aware of that, and Edge knows it. Still, he hesitates, glancing back at the front door for a split second. It’s the same song and dance every time, so Edge waits patiently for the same outcome as always. A moment more of fidgeting, and then Slim is turning around, avoiding eye contact as he crosses the lawn to the basement Edge has just exited. He knows not to abandon his brother in this state. But who can be trusted to protect him more than Edge?

When Slim has disappeared around the corner, Edge doesn’t bother with knocking. Instead, he pushes the door open on creaky hinges, kicking off his boots with a clatter just inside. Glancing into the living room, it’s not difficult to spot Razz.

He’s seated on the floor, arms wrapped around his legs as he stares at nothing. His back is to the wall, pressed back against the surface as though to protect against attacks from behind. Almost definitely to protect against attacks from behind. When he hears Edge enter, his eyelights shift, staring at him blankly as he approaches. His right eye is swollen with green magic, his body’s attempt to cure the injury. Edge puts two and two together, allowing himself a moment of surprise that Slim was not dust when he found him. It’s not often that attacking Razz is a crime that goes unpunished.  

When Edge feels no surge of protective energy from the smaller skeleton, he lowers himself to sit next to Razz, joining him in staring into the mess of the living room. There’s a couch cushion in the middle of the floor, oddly mismatched with the cushions that actually belong on the only piece of furniture in the room.

“Who am I?” Edge asks, voice flat.

“Edge.” The answer is immediate, but the voice is too quiet.

“How old are you?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Edge glances down, but Razz isn’t even smiling. The joke was bland, exhausted. It sounded as though it had been wrung out of the other, a tired attempt to diffuse the awkwardness in an oft-repeated situation.

“Have you gotten a chance to try the kettle yet?”

Razz shakes his head, refusing to look up and meet Edge’s eyes even as confusion flashes across his face. The next question would normally be more difficult than that. The next question would normally be about his LV. The break from routine set Razz’s fingers tapping where they rested on his legs, and Edge grins.

“Undyne loaned me some of Alphys’s sleep-assistance tea. Seeing as I do not require assistance with something I rarely partake in--” He grins at the irritated glance he receives for the lofty language. “--I brought it with me. Consider it a gift.” Razz makes no move to take it, and Edge makes no move to bring it out of his pocket. “While she was visiting, she taught me a new recipe.”That earns him eye contact, half a scoff, and almost a smile.

Razz’s eyes drop again. Edge doesn’t stop.

“I will never understand your affinity for Mexican food. Italian is so much more refined. Did you know that when you boil pasta, you’re supposed to put so much salt in the water that it would taste like the ocean? I would not suggest drinking boiling water, but that is what I’ve heard. And all it requires is a pot, unlike your portitas.”

“Tortillas.”

“Precisely! I did not have to purchase a latino press to create my dishes. It is clearly the superior category.”

Razz snickers, turning his face so that the side of his head lays against his arms. He’s watching Edge with tired eyelights, the normal bravado all but demolished in the face of his own guilt. Edge doesn’t like that look in his eyes. Razz is supposed to be all confidence, all hands on his hips and yelling out nonsensical challenges. Razz is supposed to be proud. But reality doesn’t care what Razz is supposed to be, and right now reality is screaming that he’s broken.

“I suppose the one thing we can agree on is the magnificence of a certain vegetable.” Razz lifts his head in confusion, and Edge throws an arm out to the side. “Tomatoes!”

There’s a very long pause. Edge keeps his arm aloft, ignoring the strain in favor of scooting slightly closer to where the other sits.

“Tomatoes aren’t vegetables.”

“Of course they’re vegetables!”

Razz narrows his eyes, but there’s a smile playing on the edge of his mouth. “We’ve talked about this. Tomatoes are a fruit.”

“I think that you’ll find that your lies will not tempt me.”

“Edge, they’re literally fruit. Scientifically speaking, they’re classified as fruit. They have seeds and they develop in the base of the flower--”

“Lies!”

“--and people only say they’re vegetables when they’re speaking in terms of cooking because they’re typically used in savory dishes!”

Somehow, Edge’s arm has ended up around Razz’s shoulder, tugging his body to be tucked into his side. Razz is trembling. It’s so light that it’s impossible to see, but Fell can feel it, pressed together as they are.

“My dear, you are arguing semantics. It will simply never compare to my real-world wisdom.”

Razz’s left arm is wrapped around Edge’s waist, his right hand digging its claws into his own knee. Edge ignores it, letting the arm not holding onto Razz drop to his lap.

“Tomatoes, whether they are vegetables or not, are quite good. You must admit to that.” He feels Razz nod against his side. There’s a hitch of breath beside him, and he moves his hand to stroke up and down the other’s humerus. “Despite our differences in preparation. I, of course, prefer them cooked. Preferably pulverized into a sauce, but they are also quite delicious chopped, thrown in with some oil and spices, perhaps some mozzerella…”

Razz draws his arm away from Edge’s waist, burying his face in his hands as he continues to sob. Edge falls silent for a moment, lending his presence and continuing the soothing stroking. The words are on the tip of his tongue. It wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t Slim’s either. Slim had been acting in defense, Razz had been acting out of his own control. He was getting better. He was improving.

He was getting better.

“I know how much you enjoy tomatoes on your own dishes,” he says quietly. Distraction. Encouragement could come when the fear had passed. “I will admit that uncooked tomatoes pair well with the dishes you prefer. However, I will never be convinced that an avocado is acceptable in any context. Did you know I once caught Blue eating an avocado directly out of its shell with a spoon?” He shuddered in exaggerated disgust, and Razz choked out a laugh next to him.

Edge glanced down, taking in the other’s lidded eyes, the exhaustion pulling at every feature. He tightened his grip around his shoulders.

“And don’t even get me started on that atrocity you call a salad. Tacos do not belong anywhere near a salad!”

Trust may be hard to come by in a world like this, but Razz deserved, for once, to feel like he might be safe.

[sunfalldown]

December 26th

I’m reaaally late... as per usual. I’m sorry for the delayal, I ended up needing an extention because of some difficulties while writing this, but at least I finished it!!!

Anyway! This is my @voltron-ss gift for @hells-will-88 who asked for something shippy and for an AU. And they like Polydins. I’ll write Polydins if I’m given the chance. Hope you enjoy it!

I won’t ask for forgiveness for my Portal reference. Keep that in mind.

Title: December 26th Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender Pairing: Keith/Lance/Shiro Rating: G Word Count: 2425 Brief tags: Domestic AU, Christmas Fluff, Going on a Date, Aged-up Characters

Summary: Shiro went out with Lance to get some groceries but he realizes he forgot to pick up a cake. But there's no problem, Keith and Lance are willing to help. Spoiler alert: The cake is a lie.

Read this under the cut or in AO3!

There was a mug of coffee on the nightstand and a book in his hands. Keith had been like this for some good two hours and only the need for more coffee had interrupted his session. Yesterday Keith had received this novel as a christmas gift and thought he was all over sci-fi, it wasn't a bad idea to give it a try. And god did Keith love this novel. From the very beginning with dorky kids swimming in a community pool to this current part where the protagonists were meeting again after a year of being away, it had been delightful. It had been a while since he wanted to cry with a novel.

He was exactly in the second-to-last page of it when he heard the rustle of keys and the apartment's door flew open and thought Keith knew it was a bit rude not to go and say hello, he had to finish it before he was dragged into some kind of Lance antic.

“We're home,” said Shiro.

“And we brought brownies!” Lance announced.

'Brownies' Keith thought, a bit tempted. But, no, he had dedicated some good hours of his life to this novel and for all that was sacred in this world he was going to finish it.

It was a scene at the desert. Both kids were stargazing in the middle of the desert and one of them had said that he had had enough of all of this, of their friendship, because he couldn't hold back his emotions anymore and it was becoming more and more painful for him, and the main character/narrator was almost watching his entire life flow in front of his eyes as he considered how horrible it would be to not have the other boy in his life, and the moment Keith thought he was finally going to say something...

“Keeeeeeeith!!!” Lance came into the bedroom. “The brownieeeeeees!!!”

“Shut up Lance I'm in the middle of heavy drama.”

“But they're going to get cold!” Lance insisted as he came forward to drag Keith by the arm.

Keith made a gesture towards his mug and looked at Lance right into his eyes. “I swear to god Lance, I'll throw you hot coffee in the face if you don't let me finish.”

Lance backed up in the moment and raised his hands in a gesture of resignation.

“Fine, fine, finish your book. But don't blame me if I eat all of your brownies!”

The moment that Lance was out of the room, Keith focused back on the book. The scene, effectively, had a bit of dialogue and a kiss. And another kiss. And they laughed and resolved their tension. Keith had awaited for a while for a kiss but, at that moment, he couldn't feel the excitement he, at first, had portrayed he would feel. Reading it felt a bit bland.

“Goddamnit Lance, you ruined the moment!” Keith yelled as he stood up, threw the book on the bed and went to the kitchen.

Shiro and Lance were sitting at the small table they used to eat dinner, Keith's seat still free, with a couple of cups with milk and a plate with brownies on the center of the table. There were a fair amount of pieces, just enough for it to be impossible for Lance to eat them all in the time Keith decided to finish his book.

“Oh, goodness gracious, we're blessed with a strange visitor!” Lance laughs.

“Shut up, you ruined the mood of the end of my book,” Keith said, sitting down and picking a brownie from the center.

“Did you like it?” Shiro asked.

“Yeah, I loved it. Thanks for the gift.”

“Aw c'mon! Now you're going to say that you didn't like my gift,” Lance pouted.

Shiro, Keith and Lance had spent christmas with Lance's family. They had had dinner, a couple of drinks, they played a bit with the youngest kids and they had exchanged gifts. Keith had received the novel from Shiro, a nice christmas sweater from Lance's grandma, a spaceship lego model from one of Lance's siblings that loved Keith and, from Lance, Keith had received a framed photograph of Lance, Shiro and himself together. Keith couldn't even remember when Lance took that photo.

But it had been nice. It was a cute photo of them, sitting on their sofa, just smiling and cuddling. It's not like Keith had disliked it, not at all. But it also wasn't like he was about to admit that in Lance's face.

“I'm not not going to say that I didn't not like your gift,” Keith declared instead, laughing internally as Lance's facial expression shifted in confusion.

“Okay, that's enough,” Shiro cut them off. “Lance, remind me again, did we buy everything we needed?”

“Yep! Everything.” Lance raised his hand and started counting with his fingers. “We got some steak, rice, onions, garlic, eggs, salt and pepper for tomorrow's lunch. We also bought the sponge and the dish soap, the toiler paper and a new mug for you. Oh, and these brownies.”

“And the cake?” Shiro asked.

“The cake?” Lance seemed a bit shocked. “You didn't list a cake.”

“I... did not?” Shiro looked inside of his pocket and took out a piece of paper. There was a list of goodies written on it. “Fuck.”

“What's the matter?” Keith asked.

“I... I asked a patisserie to bake a special cake for my cousin, and I should have gone there today to get it, but I forgot. Fuck.”

“Hey, it's okay,” Lance reassured Shiro. “Keith can go with you to get the cake and there'll be no problem!”

“Why are you offering me?” Keith asked.

“Because I already went out and you know I don't like the cold, so you'll go with Shiro.”

“You can both come with me,” Shiro suggested. “We go outside for dinner, we walk through the city to the patisserie, we get the cake and then we come back here. I'll pay, since I'm the one who's dragging you guys around.”

Keith and Lance looked at each other for a second before nodding to each other. It sounded like a nice plan. Keith liked the idea of going out for dinner and Lance could resist the cold for a bit more. It wasn't like it was snowing outside.

It was, in fact, snowing outside when they went out of their apartment and Lance stood crooked with a lot of coats and sweaters over him, cursing the winter for its cold temperatures and any deity out there that thought that snow was an enjoyable thing. Lance hated the cold weather. He wasn't going to go back into the apartment because Keith was there, and Lance could resist anything better than Keith could, but that didn't mean he would ignore his spite and stand straight, or get his hands out of his pockets.

They all walked through the streets covered in a thin blanket of snow, Shiro and Keith shielding each of Lance's sides from the cold breeze, as Keith periodically reminded Shiro the fact that they were going out for dinner and for a cake, and that, ideally, nothing else should be done. Lance also asked from time to time if there was anything else that Shiro could have possibly forgotten, but Shiro kept saying that there wasn't anything else to do.

Shiro had a lot of issues with memory. He could be reliable, trustworthy and a great leader, but he usually needed people around him that could help him remind important stuff because he, by himself, was unable to. Everyone that knew Shiro well enough also knew that it wasn't his fault. His brain had endured a lot, from a couple of childhood traumas to an actual car accident, so he was physically unable to remember key stuff by himself. Keith and Lance knew that too, so they would always lend a hand when Shiro needed to run an errand, so Shiro wouldn't forget what his intention was.

That's what any good boyfriend would do, right? They didn't mind helping Shiro.

As they walked, Keith and Lance noticed that they had already passed the burgers place that they usually ate at, or the chinese restaurant that was where they went when they felt a bit fancier than hamburgers. And, now that they thought about it, had Shiro specified where he wanted to go?

“Shiro,” Keith asked. “Do you remember where are we going?”

“Oh yeah,” Shiro said.

“Are you sure?” Lance asked. “We don't even know where we're going.”

“Don't worry guys, it's a nice place.”

Keith and Lance were a bit doubtful, but... Shiro seemed confident enough, so, they decided on trusting him. Either way, if he forgot what place he wanted to go, they could always go for chinese food.

And before they noticed, they were in front of “The Veil,” a restaurant so fancy that neither Keith or Lance had ever considered even laying their eyes upon it.

“Uhm, Shiro...” Lance started. “We're... not, going to eat here, right?”

“Is there a problem?” Shiro asked, a bit of concern growing on his expression.

“Uhh, well...” Keith started. “For instance, we're not dressed up for the occasion?”

“I asked for a private room for us three, so you don't have to worry about people judging our clothes or anything.”

“But,” Lance continued. “Don't you need a reservation?”

“Yes you do. And I have one.”

“What about the money? This place must cost a fortune.”

“I've been saving up to treat you guys a dinner here.”

Keith was gaping. Lance still couldn't believe what was happening right in front of him.

“Can we get in already?” Shiro asked. “Or would you prefer going somewhere else?”

Of course Keith and Lance wanted to go in! Shiro evidently had done a lot, and all by himself, to bring them there. They were not going to turn it down!

They entered the main hall of the restaurant, which was gigantic, and there were many people sitting down, chatting and enjoying their meals, all of them dressed in shirt, cloth pants, dresses and shoes that could cost a whole kidney. Keith felt really out of place; he was wearing cargo boots and a simple red sweater under his poofy jacket. Lance wasn't that better either; he was wearing a blue shirt with matching sweater, which was a plus, but the jeans killed the entire vibe.

Shiro spoke to a man with a book in front of him, probably the one in charge of reservations, and after confirming that Shiro, effectively, had made his own, the three of them were guided to one of the private rooms. It was a room with carved wood decorating the walls, a small window that allowed you to see the outside, a small table in the center and three seats ready to go.

These rooms were a bit harder to get, since most people wanted a private dinner, so, to get one, you had to make a reservation at least with one month of anticipation.

“Just how much did you go through to get this room?” Keith asked.

“Not too much, actually,” Shiro laughed. “I called this place last christmas and they said the room was available for today, so I took it.”

“You reserved this place a year ago?!” Both Keith and Lance felt their jaws falling to the floor.

Shiro... Shiro remembered a reservation he had made a year ago? How did he manage to remember it? It was true that Shiro would write things down in papers for him to remember, like making a list for the supermarket or pointing out in an agenda that he had to go to a meeting a certain day, but, the fact that he had remembered something that Keith and Lance themselves would have forgotten easily was just so... amazing...

Without saying anything else, the three of them sat down, the waiter brought the menus for everyone and, after asking for something to drink, they were left alone. Keith and Lance started reading the menu and while Lance was trying to pick one of the many fancy things this place offered, Keith was trying really hard to imagine what all these things could look and taste like. Some of these things sounded like spaghetti, but what was the “al pesto” sauce?

“You know, guys,” Shiro started, and both Keith and Lance lowered their menus. “I don't know if I've ever told you this but, when I was little, I never celebrated christmas the way I do with you two.”

Keith and Lance looked at each other, and Keith said “I don't recall you telling us how you celebrated christmas before.”

“Really?” Shiro seemed both surprised and relieved. “Well, it's like that. Christmas, for me, wasn't a family day as a child. It was a romantic day for my parents to celebrate. Dad would usually take mom on a fancy dinner like this.”

Lance tried to portray small Shiro with his parents as they had a romantic night while Shiro watched movies at home. Lance couldn't quite portray himself in that kind of tradition. He loved to spend time with his family exchanging gifts and making the youngest kids believe in Santa. But Shiro didn't seem to be sad about remembering that. So, did he...

“So, you wanted to share christmas with us in that way?” Lance asked, his face starting to heat up.

“That was my dream. At least once, to have a date with you guys on christmas.”

Shiro smiled. It was a tender smile, so loving and endearing it made Lance feel warmth in the pit of his belly even though he had been freezing just a while ago, and it made Keith feel like he wanted to hide somewhere because the emotions were too much to handle.

Lance reached out with his hand to hold Shiro's, pulled it towards himself and planted a kiss on the dorso. Similarly, Keith stood up for a second to plant a kiss on Shiro's cheek. Shiro could feel all his body warming up just as his partners did.

“That may be the sweetest thing I've ever heard you say, you know?” Lance said with his teasing voice.

“Sometimes you're so embarrassing,” Keith teased Shiro too.

“Hey guys,” Shiro's face was as red as a cherry. “C'mon, I worked hard on not forgetting this!”

“We know,” Keith reassured.

“And we love you so much for it,” Lance finished the idea.

Shiro felt like his face couldn't ever feel hotter.