#slurping all the colors like a slushie

[ajortga]

for i can't help falling in love with you

pairing: vada cavell x fem reader

summary: not only are you new and in almost all of vada's classes, but the more you get to know each other, the more you hang out. she starts to think maybe your friendship is more than what she thought it was, she's feeling something she knows that you shouldn't feel for a friend.

word count: 10.1k+

a/n: this is the longest fic i've ever written, this is fluffy and sweet, spent way too long on it but nonetheless, not regretful!

based off a request! this is for my vada <3ers

-

R transfers, V sees her almost all the time and eventually starts falling for R, V then embarrassingly asks R out for dinner! Just plainly puppy love, literally not much but I find these types of tropes sooo comforting, u can change some up a bit!!

-

It’s loud, bustling, chaotic every single day in the cafeteria.

As soon as the bell rings around the hallways and into the classrooms for lunch break, everyone slams into each other and sprints to the front of the lunch line. Vada even remembers while she walked with Nick some boy tripped in thin air and fell to the floor. She couldn’t help but laugh a little. That was until Nick and her found out he had to get stitches to repair his nose. 

She laughed even harder, she couldn’t help it.

Vada slurped her slushy as she kicked her feet, talking with Nick who was drinking an iced latte.

“In a sense, slurpees are better than coffee. You don’t have to immediately shit diarrhea as soon as you plop on the toilet.”

He agrees, rolling his eyes, “Yeah but who would want slushies every day? They stain your mouth.”

“Well would you rather have a temporary colorful tongue that can be seen as cool, or stay in the bathroom while crying for help?”

It seems like as soon as she said it, Nick gagged as he held his stomach.

“You have 30 seconds before you're going to shit your pants,” she states, looking at him up and down. He wasn’t moving.

“Nick, go!” Vada yelled as she choked on a small giggle, watching Nick run to the bathroom holding his pants up to his sides.

As the baggy clothed brunette watched her best friend race to the bathroom, she clicked her tongue and shook her head. Vada slurped on her red slushy. 

She was waiting for Nick until she noticed someone with a jacket wrapped around a tank top with her headphones on and book in one hand. You. She’s never seen you before and it was almost certain she’s seen everyone at least once before to know their name. She was bored, so she just watched.

You were folding a gum wrapper into a heart while you followed Mia into the girls restroom. Mia was always the one to give student tours when she could. You must’ve been new. But then you came back out without your jacket, holding it in the other hand as she saw Mia’s slushie spilled all over your jacket. She could almost hear how she was apologizing over and over again and you smiled it off, showing her how it was okay and you could clean up when you got home. 

Then she took you back to her friend group, seeing the way your hair went side to side as you walked. Before she could watch you even more, Nick called out her name.

“I just took the biggest shit of my li- what are you looking at?”

She hears him but doesn’t turn his way,still looking a little, “Just someone who I think is new. Mia is giving her a tour.”

Nick said a small “ohhh..” in response, “Well what’s so exciting about that?”

“Mia accidentally spilled the slushie we bought this morning on her jacket by accident.”

“That’s so not cool, she must be cold having to take that off, was she mad?”

“No, she just brushed it off, smiled in a somewhat assuring way, and gave Mia the gum wrapper she folded before Mia took her back to her friend group.”

“Ooh. She’s patient then.”

“Yeah.”

-

After lunch passed, Vada realized you were in almost all her periods, well only the ones she attended. Sometimes she was late from Amelia hogging the bus. You kept to yourself, gave shy smiles as the teachers introduced you.

But as the next day rose she was back at school again.

Her favorite class was her film class, it was like a free period and she got to touch cameras and watch movies at least twice a week.

She sits in the corner of the room, she likes the way she can look out the window and see the sight of the sky while also seeing her own reflection.

FIlm class is oddly comforting, music always plays before the period begins. She places her phone on top of her desk.

So for the third time that day, she sees you walk through, with your backpack hung over one shoulder and the other with a book. She wants to feel surprised, almost strange how you end up in her class, but instead she almost feels a sense of gratefulness. 

She doesn’t want to stare. But her eyes betray her, because in one second her eyes are on you. New students weren’t regular, well in her core classes, sure. But film? Almost never. She watches the way you wait by the teacher’s desk, waiting, unsure, not knowing if you should tap her shoulder or just wait until she notices you. Usually, Vada and Mia would sit together, but sometimes on bad days, they would have to move from talking and laughing too much. So they stuck to sitting diagonally and passing notes in the back of the classroom. Finally, the teacher notices you and the smile she gives you is almost too happy as she rubs your shoulder and stands up.

“Alright everyone,” she quiets down her music, “..usually during film I’d let the music keep rolling, but just for today I’d like you to greet our new student who just transferred here. Her name is Y/N.”

People around the class say awkward hi’s, random waves, some of the girls stare at you and awe, and even some of the well-known guys look at you, eyebrows raised and Vada can almost feel their want for you. 

It makes her roll her eyes in disgust.

You do an awkward wave, wanting to shrink into the floor, a smile tugged at your lips.

“Okay sweetheart, there aren’t many options for seating since this class is more compacted than my others. But you can sit next to Vada.” Ms. Valentina points at Vada, “She’s the one in the very back, the open seat behind Mia.” 

Your eyes almost light up when you notice Mia’s in your class, giving a small nod and trying to squish into the back. 

Mia waves at you, shaking your shoulders to show her excitement as you sit down. Vada can almost smell the sweetness of your shampoo when you sit. It smells like ripe strawberries with the fulfilling scent of roasted marshmallows. She wants to sniff your hair, but you’re already pulling out your notebook from your backpack.

“Hey girl!” Mia whispers, turning around to face you as you smile.

“Hey slurpee stainer,” you joke, your voice is soft, airy, melodic. Not like anything Vada’s ever heard. Sure she’s heard many voices, but yours sounded like a lullaby to shush a baby to sleep if you wanted to.

Mia giggles, slapping your arm, “I said I’m sorryyyy. I’d say I’d take you shopping on the weekends! Don’t use that against me,” she scolds, and that makes you laugh, you cup your mouth to contain the giggles and Vada can hear an adorable squeak come out from it.

“I know, don’t be sorry, I was just joking, I’ll just wash it when I get home,” you whisper.

Before you two could talk again the teacher spoke, “Okay guys, it was a long day yesterday and I was planning on printing out some papers for assignments two days prior, but our school printer broke and the ink on mine is hanging on for dear life.” She pauses, everyone didn’t know where she was going with this, “So I’m just going to roll a movie, you guys can choose but I really don’t have much. You can talk, keep it low and hey, if you’re sitting around Y/N, lighten up the mood and get to know her.”

There were random okays and suggestions. As Ms. Valentina kept reading aloud the names, it was almost certain that Shrek was going to be chosen. For the third time this month. Until she spoke out a new suggestion, and everyone chose La La Land instead.

As she played the movie off the projector, Mia scooted to you.

“Okay, so no pressure, buttt my dad's gone today and I know you said you didn’t have homework. If you don’t want to, it's completely understandable, but me and Vada,” she gestures to the brunette sitting next to you, with her hands clasped together and looking at you with interest, “We sometimes go on pool runs or just drive to the nearest seven eleven. Honestly, it’s whatever. But if you wanna hang, I can give you a ride back home, let you drop off your stuff, and we can get to know each other more at mine. What are you thinking?”

Your lips tug into a thoughtful grin, telling Mia she doesn’t have to because she accidentally spilled her drink on you. But Vada kept staring at you. The blonde glanced at her, she saw her basically staring at your side profile, then back at you before giving her a light leg nudge that you didn’t notice. 

“No no! Don’t feel pressured, just know that” Mia breathes and pats your forearm reassuringly, “..that I think we should hang out more, kay? You don’t know how many people don’t get mad when someone spills something on them. At least you’re someone who's patient as hell.” She makes you laugh as you think again.

“Okay, I’d love that,” you respond, simply. 

“Then it’s set! Just meet us at that broccoli lookin’ tree, kay?”

-

As soon as the bell roars and everyone starts opening the gates like it’s the ones they’ll see in heaven, you squish into the crowd of people and look for this broccoli looking tree Mia was referring to. It didn’t take you long.

The only broccoli looking tree was the only tree that was stranded from all the poofy and leafy looking trees, and you could see her with the other brunette that you sat next to in class. You think her name was Vada. You didn’t want to ask, if you did and Vada wasn’t her name, you might as well crawl into a hole. 

Mia immediately greets you.

Vada kicks at dirt beneath her, smiling a little foolishly, she realizes when she thinks how silly she might look to you. Her silly smile slightly fades to a more soft one to try and not seem weird. Instead you feel like she might feel uncomfortable with you, maybe she’s closed to people she meets at first. You hope that it doesn’t stay that way

“Get in!” The blonde smiles, and you swerve into the backseat as you drive off to the nearest seven eleven.

Mia’s car smells like flowers, you almost feel a little carsick from the leather and floral scent mixed together. You smell something else though, sweet plum and fluffy musk. You think it’s Vada, you can almost smell her shampoo from here.

It’s a little quiet, Mia talks to Vada, you try not to disrupt so you pretend you're looking at the window staring at literally nothing. It’s like the blue-eyed girl can see the way you try to keep to yourself and don’t want to be involved when you don’t think you should. So she bumps the music up.

Vada wants to talk to you. She can feel this urge for her heart to make her mouth open and speak. But for some reason she feels nervous. It’s weird, she’s usually open and starts off with teasing. Why can’t she speak now? Maybe it’s because.. Vada doesn’t even have a reason to know, she just doesn’t know.

“Dude, how is there traffic already to go to a fucking seven-eleven? We literally just left school.” Mia murmurs, tapping her shoes to the music.

Vada turns around, to look at the cars behind her, maybe to check how many are behind her.

That’s what Mia thought, but Vada wondered what you were doing. She's never met someone that tries to be considerate, to be polite and not wanting to interrupt anyone at any time

She notices the way you take the opportunity of the slightly opened window to take a breath of fresh air and let that small crack to let the small breeze blow through your hair. She sees the way you twirl your necklace up and down, side to side, then spin it around your fingers. She notices how you don’t notice her, so you don’t look at her, you look at the sky, the small baby cows, the cars. 

It’s like a pencil is engraving into her mind to write all the details she sees. But she doesn’t know why. 

Your figure slightly leans into the window, closing your eyes to rest. Maybe you’re thinking about Mia and what a good friend she is. Maybe you’re thinking about wanting to get to know her, Vada. Maybe you’re thinking of how long it’ll take for you to blend in into this place. Maybe you’re thinking how your place didn’t have many cows everywhere. Maybe you lived in the snowy mountains, or the coastal shorelines where you could take a dip in cool water every summer morning.

She sees your eyes flutter as the car slowly stops. Her body tenses and turns back to the front, you’re already at seven-eleven. 

“It’s honestly kind of warm outside, I can turn on the AC on this thing if you don’t wanna go,” Mia says, finally turning around to look at you rubbing your eyes.

“No, no, it’s ‘kay, I’ll come, gotta exercise these legs anyway.” You say, opening her door and following suite with Mia and Vada. The small concreted rocks crunching beneath your shoes. 

Mia obviously wants to check out the candy section, but Vada wants another slushy. 

“Hold up, I think they have the candy they didn’t have when I checked the other time. Vadaaa you can just roam with Y/N. I’m not sure if you guys had seven-eleven where you lived.” She peeks into the candy section and with a spin of a corner she’s gone.

Vada stands there, awkwardly. She feels like if anything, you should be the one standing there like that. You stand there, looking at the slushies. Cola, blue raspberry, cherry, mountain dew, honestly you didn’t know if you should get one.

“Do you want to get one?” Vada asks, the first time you really heard her speak.

Your ears perk, turning to face her, “I’m not really a slushy person,” you speak softly, “I’m a little thirsty though.”

Vada smiles at that, “I like the cherry flavor and blue raspberry, but you gotta swirl it a certain way for it to taste the way I really like it, y’know?” She speaks, you nod, noticing her baggy basketball shorts and oversized shirt.

She walks closer, she can smell the same sweetness of your scent. Strawberries and roasted marshmallows. Your scent is oddly comforting, a scent where anyone would hug you longer and never let you go to smell it forever.

She stops before you can process anything, slightly backing away and focusing on the slushy dispenser.

“Okay. So like, I know you’re probably not supposed to do this but I just put my index and middle finger under the dispenser and,” she stops, looking at you, “make sure you wash your hands though,” she laughs. “But if you don’t know what flavor, just lick it off your fingers.”

Vada can almost sense you suppressing your laughter, “Seriously! I don’t give two shits about those security cameras. Honestly we go here so often we could get a free slushy and not pay.” She places her fingers under the dispenser of the cherry blast and presses the button, stopping it and licking it off her fingers.

It’s like she’s teaching you. She likes the way you’re interested and really looks like you want to learn.

“Do you want to try?” The slightly shorter brunette asks, her voice trying not to seem pressuring at all.

You think, looking at her fingers as she wipes it with a random brown napkin and throwing it away in the trash, “Okay,” your smooth voice responds before approaching beside her.

You use your index finger and place it under the blue raspberry one.

“This one?” Vada questions, when you nod she presses softly on the dispense button.

Your giggle from the icy cold makes her feel like the happiness she feels when she makes a small child laugh.

Vada turns to look at you and smiles, taking off her hand off the dispense button and watching you lick your fingers. (they were clean I promise)

“I like this one,” you say, making a small eye contact glance with her.

“Do you want it? I can pay.”

“It’s okay, I’ll see what’s at Mia’s home, I seriously don’t think I can finish the small one alone!”

-

Vada gets to know you more the more Mia invites you. She notices the way you open up, instead of trying to politely look out the window so you don’t disrupt conversations that you aren’t sure what their about, the car is lively,

Loud.

The music is always turned down now, giggles are filled, sometimes there are jokes about classes, teachers, people, the past.

Sometimes there are questions, family, hobbies.

Vada learns you have two siblings, a much younger and much older one, older brother, younger sister.

You like to read and write, play the guitar, bake, you love going on sunsetty and late night drives, it makes her interested in that part.

When you told her, a part of her wanted to tell you, ‘I like late night drives too.’ Maybe she’ll drive you around the freeway on a summer weekend in the future.

She likes the way you include her, how you always include people to make sure they never feel lonely.

She begins to notice the way your smiles aren’t shy anymore, they’re genuine. She can feel the way you’re opening up to her, from the way you look at her in a way she doesn’t remember. You look at her like she feels like she’s the only girl you’re looking at. She sees how your eyes soften in your irises the more you listen to her speak.

-

Vada never thought she’d experience jealousy for the first time in her life.

Sure she’s felt it before, when her fists clench when she had gotten second place when she was younger. It was like an ember. But this time, it was much stronger.

It was during some school event her high school came up with, couples day or what not.

You sat next to Vada and Nick during lunch, Mia with her friend group usually at this time. You were huddled up to Vada, munching on some chips with your hair up. 

“Omph, I think jazz is better than rock honestly,” you say, muffled with chips in your mouth.

“Mmm, reasonable.”

After taking a long refreshing sip of water, you and Vada stand up.

“Nick, me and Y/N are gonna meet up Mia in the hallway, ‘kay? See you weirdo,” Vada walks along with you as you two laugh with each other over random gossip.

As you see Mia in the distance, wanting to wave her over, your friend Liam grabs you by the waist, his hands gentle, flowers in his hand.

You almost jump. You met Liam around the first week of school, he was sweet, gentle-man like. He offered to study with you in the library after school. 

“Y/N, hey,” he says, his voice like syrup. Too sweet for your liking, “Sorry for pulling you away. I just wanted to tell you something.”

You saw how Vada stood on the side, awkwardly, not to mention how she was glaring at Liam.

You turn back to the curled hair blonde in front of you, “That’s ‘kay, what is it?”

Liam hands you the flowers he was holding, leaving you, almost confused, your face heating up.

“Look, I know I didn’t know you for long, but you’re sweet, you know? No one ever has to talk bad about you and to be in this school as a person like that is rare. I kind of, you know, like you. You’re pretty, really smart, and have a personality of gold. I know you don’t really like me, but I’d like to know what you think.”

You stare at the flowers held in your hands, your hands feel clammy. 

“Liam.. This is really sweet. I appreciate.. You know, you thinking of me in that silver lighting. It honestly, in a sense, makes me feel proud. Thanks. I, I think I need some time, I never thought of you as the kind of person I’d be in a relationship with. But maybe with time if we get to know each other.. You know.. Gosh I’m sorry.” Your voice trails off, a tight smile on your lips, seeing the way Liam nodded immediately in understanding. You felt bad. Rejecting the sweetest boy you ever knew in this school, you just never saw him as something more than a brother.

“Don’t be sorry Y/N, that’s okay, I know what you mean, I just wanted to tell you before it got out of hand, but hey, now that I told you, as long as we stay friends that’s okay. That won’t change any friendship right?”

“I promise,” you assure, smiling a little.

Liam nods again, flowers in your hand as he gives your shoulder a gentle squeeze and leans in to kiss your forehead.

He then walks away and you look down at the flowers in hand.

“Okay, that was cheesy as hell,” Vada says, her voice almost annoyed, maybe from waiting to see Liam’s monologue.

“I didn’t even know he felt that way about me.”

Vada rolls her eyes, “Of course you don’t,” you can’t help but feel almost hurt from her words. It’s like she was calling you oblivious, ignorant.

“Why would he even give you flowers? Gosh, he’s going wild for you, you barely even know him. He’s doing too much for someone like you right now,” she scoffed, slightly, not knowing why someone that you haven’t known for a while would give you flowers so early when you didn’t know him that well. But she worded it so wrongly.

Offended, almost wounded, insulted. Did Vada really think you were the kind of person no one would like? Did one of your closest friends find you in a sense, unlovable?

Vada saw the way your figure tensed, your eyes narrowing, before looking like they were about to cry.

Shit. 

God she’s never seen you cry before. Vada felt her heart almost shatter, seeing the way your eyes were beginning to fill with tears. She didn’t mean it in a rude way, god now that she thinks about it, that’s one of the rudest things she could say. 

She didn’t mean it, Vada doesn’t even know why she said it, maybe she just didn’t think Liam was right for you. 

She felt jealousy, and she could feel it herself. Maybe she wanted a sweet guy too.

Or maybe she just wanted you.

“God Y/N, I didn’t mean-” Vada reaches her hand to your shoulder and immediately you shrug it off. 

“You don’t think that I’m lovable enough to truly be loved, is that what it is Vada?” You say, your eyes sharp, “You don’t think I’m capable of deserve someone like Liam? How do you even see me?” You murmur, looking obviously, something Vada never wanted in the first place, in disbelief to even feel a tear slip down to your cheek.

“No, I swear I just-”

The bell had rang, and before she could try to apologize, and run after you, you squeezed into the crowd of people, heading for the class Vada knew was the only one you didn’t have with her.

Mia watched from a distance, seeing how tears poured from your eyes as you pushed through the crowds of people.

-

It’s tense, sort of, when Mia drives to her house.

You’re not talking to Vada, headphones are in, basically screaming that you’re closed off right now. Vada wants to talk to you, but she doesn’t know how to apologize for something she didn’t mean.

You look at the window outside and she feels like this might’ve gone back to stage one, it might take weeks for you to open up again.

But yet again, you’re Y/N, she knows you too well to know that you would never try to ignore her for that long.

Mia has to turn up the music again, something that hasn’t really happened for almost a few months, making small talk with Vada.

When you get to her house, Vada holds the door for you, you don’t look at her, just mumble a small, “thanks.”

“Shoot, sorry guys, if you guys are okay with staying here for half an hour or so, that’d be great. I completely forgot I had to stay after school and drop off one of my friends,” Mia immediately slaps her face, grabbing her bag for dance as she looks back, “Fridge is open if you guys want snacks, remote is in the cabinet under the couch, and all those joints ‘n stuff are in the back. K, love you, see ya,” Mia says, blowing a funny air kiss before shutting the door.

Now it’s awkward, out of all days of course Mia has a practice.

It’s quiet, your headphones are hung around your neck, kicking your feet against the carpet uncomfortably, you don’t know if you want to speak.

“Please, can you talk to me?” Vada pleads, making you almost flinch.

“I’m sorry for what I said today, I swear I didn’t mean it in a mean way towards you. I hope you know me well enough to know I would never mean it, okay? I was just getting a little upset over the fact guys would try asking girls out when they don’t know them that much, you know?.. Um.. Yeah. I guess I got a little overprotective. So I’m sorry. I hate when we don’t talk, it makes me feel like you hate me and stuff.”

You look at her, tugging your bottom lip between your lips, then you breathe, “I don’t hate you Vads. I promise. I just got a little taken aback and I honestly felt a little hurt from your words, especially since I knew you weren’t the kind of person to say those things in a mean manner. I forgive you. I really care about you, it was just weird today. I already felt bad rejecting a sweet boy I met and I wasn’t expecting to have my feelings hurt about it, I know you didn’t mean it.”

“I swear I didn’t, I just didn’t think Liam should’ve asked you so early, I didn’t even think you gave any signs.”

You giggle, making Vada’s shoulders relax from your icy facade beginning to melt, “You sound jealous.”

“Oh, nuh-uh.”

“Mm..” You mutter, not believing her, and making her groan. 

Vada quickly changes the topic, realizing how red her face was. 

“Do you wanna.. Um, go outside? Take a breather for a bit.”

“Okay.”

As you two close the sliding door, Vada sits down next to you, the silence is now comfortable. Her eyes begin to linger on the pack of cigars in front of her.

“I know you’re not the kind to smoke, but do you wanna share a blunt with me?” Vada asks, softly, it’s a question that you know if you say no, she’ll completely get it.

You hesitate, you never smoked before, let alone want to. But you look at Vada’s eyes and your head nods yes.

“Okay.”

You can see the excitement on her face, she makes a small squeal as she begins to roll the blunt, lighting it up with a lighter, you see her brush off some of the dust. 

She places her lips on the cigarette, inhaling softly, before exhaling the smoke and a plethora of smoky fog wafts around you.

Her soft eyebrows raise, her eyes flicking to the blunt and your eyes, offering it to you.

Vada hears you breathe, she can almost feel your breath on her face as you look at the cigarette.

“A little help here?” You ask, voice tiny, shy. 

“Okay baby,” Vada jokes, seeing the way your lips try not to smile, but fail miserably.

Vada scoots closer to you, so you two are huddled up and she takes your hand, “Okay, you always spin your led pencil in class, just hold the blunt similarly.” She feels the warmth of your hand and it makes her breath hitch. She puts the blunt between your index and middle finger, in which you make sure to hold with grip. Vada taps on your thumb, “Up,” her voice instructs, in which you support your thumb to hold it.

“Hey, now you got it!” she pats your shoulder, like a ‘yay’

She leans closer to you, your face is mere inches apart as she gently places the end of the cigarette in your mouth. Immediately the smoke fills your senses and you look at Vada, she coaxes you, “Inhale, not too much.” You inhale, wait for a moment, then exhale. 

“There you go, you’re making me feel like a teacher Y/N,” she clicks her tongue.

She sees the way you exhale through your mouth, and the smoke fades in front of her face, you take another hit, this time you’re full on staring at Vada, with your doe eyes deep into hers. 

The smoke wafts around her again, and when you pass it to her, you lean into her. Hearing how her breath hitches, your body pressed against her.

It goes like that for a while, puff, puff, pass. Where Vada offers the blunt to you, but instead of taking it with your finger, your lips part and your teeth nibble on the cigarette for a moment. 

It’s like a game. She doesn’t know if it’s the humor you’ve grown, or the teasing. The teasing. But the way you make eye contact with her while your lips capture the blunt you two have shared makes her stomach stir.

While you smoke and you feel the ease of tranquility wash over your senses, Vada grabs some munchies, cookies, some donuts Mia bought the other day, and some potato chips.

She can’t see you. But she knows you’re staring at her, she can feel the way she senses she’s being watched. 

You’re there, staring at her, looking down at her baggy clothing, then looking back up while she puts down the snacks. Your cheeks are flushed, you hear the way the music on your phone is beginning to fade, because you’re here, staring at her. 

You think you may have taken too many hits, it’s a different kind of high. You just want to take the potato chips and grow wings. Fly away from this place and go to Italy.

Vada notices, you look spaced out, but you’re staring at her. Not as captivated as you were once before, so she nudges you and you immediately look back up at her. She’s high, she sees a glint in your mesmerizing eyes. A glint that makes her want to pull you closer.

“I feel high,” you state, you don’t notice how you sound till your speech is slurred.

“I think we’ve caught on to that,” Vada laughs, with a roll of her eyes as you snack on potato chips.

“I feel like you're prettyyy Vadss.. Pretty dope and badass,” you say, your fingers showing a peace sign and Vada busts out laughing.

“You have some nasty high that makes you use my kind of slang huh Y/N?”

You’re staring again, except the only difference now is she can tell what kind of stare it is. And this time it makes her feel weird, she can’t put her finger on it.

“Oh yeah, uh huh, yeppers,” you murmur, munching on potato chips and throwing it across the outside couch you sat on, “Can we have a cheese pizza instead with tickling my pickling pickle?..”

Flying. You feel like you’re flying, breathing out and in that smoke. Vada feels like she should be laughing but by the time she feels that she already is.

The cigarette in your hand gets twisted and her footsteps on it, cracking it.

“Think that’s enough for today Y/N, you’re not speaking from the heart.”

“Pickles?”

“No.”

“Dill.”

“No pickles!”

“Yes pickl-No!!!-okay..”

Finally, Vada drags you inside Mia’s house, carrying you to the couch and tossing you on it.

“WeeeEeeEEeEEE,” you’re acting silly. Vada has never seen this care-free, childish side in you. 

“I think you’re gonna need to sleep this high off sleeping beauty.”

“I can’t sleeeeeep.”

“Well you need to sleep,” Vada forces, authority lacing her voice. You make a grumble. 

“Okay fine,” the small cushion on the couch shifts from you moving around so much. Vada watches you in the corner of your eye, finding it a little cute the way you are right now.

She was going to buy some dill pickles while you closed your eyes, but you seemed like you couldn’t, making Vada sigh and approach you.

“Scooch,” her voice rings in your ears, rubbing your hair softly as you make a tired, grumpy sound and scoot a little, your body wrapped into a marshmallowy blanket.

She doesn’t think she would do this, but if she can make you shut up a little bit, and feel your warmth, maybe it’ll be okay. The shorter brunette feels the way you curl into her body and melt like putty. She doesn’t think much of it, what you two are sharing right now.

Vada feels fond, to let you feel safe in her arms, is something she will always cherish.

Her voice hushes you, pressing her lips to your forehead, while you murmur about pickles. The whispers begin to die down, like the ending of a symphony. She cuddles you, you nudge your nose into her chest, “Don’t go Vads..” your voice is barely heard, but she can hear it, “Stay.”

“It’s okay Y/N, I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“Promise?”

“Pinky,” her pinky raises up and interlocks with yours.

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Now sleep angel,” her voice is teasing, but part of it she feels like you’ve grown on her, this childish side that she finds sweet.

You don’t respond, of course you don’t, because as soon as she looks down at you asleep on her chest. And by the time she can even process, Vada is asleep with you.

Mia comes home seeing you two sleep together, taking 5 photos and even having the time to take 2 polaroid pictures of you two wrapped into each other.

“Those two are going to be together soon.”

-

It’s the fourth time you’ve watched Shrek in film class. 4 damn times for 2 months.

Vada is starting to tick, you giggle at it. But she finds Shrek so iconic, she can’t bring herself to hate it. Well for now.

“I fucking feel like I can actually memorize each line by now,” she mutters, it makes you and Mia laugh even harder. 

“Why doesn’t Ms. Valentina choose the movies after that? It’s always just Shrek 1.” 

Vada doesn’t even know by now. 

The lights turn off, the only sunshine you can see is from the warmth of the sun that creeps into the blinds. The best part of having film in this period is that she always has it first on Fridays. Which means when the light switches turn off, it’s the queue where everyone pushes the desks and gets comfy, the desks stay on the side for the rest of the day.

After grunts and small clatter of water bottles falling down from people pushing the desks, everyone crawls to their spot in their own little friend group they have. 

Vada already has the couch in the back of the classroom reserved, she doesn’t give no shits, if she’ll fight for it she will. 

You find it a little funny, since you remember how people stopped trying to fight, she’s persistent. 

She pats the seat next to her and you sit next to her. Mia sits next to you. 

And for the rest of the period you three gossip, curl into each other, and chatter.

-

Once again, at the end of the school day, you, Vada, and Mia are laying together on the couch with several blankets and stuffed animals stacked on top of each other.

“Pass the popcorn please,” you nudge Mia, who’s holding the large popcorn box filled with buttery popcorn (that she kept when she ordered a jumbo sized popcorn box from the movies, that cost 10 damn dollars.) Mia passes it to Vada, which munches on a handful, then hands it to you. Of course with you ending up with some popcorn thrown into your hair.

You happy snack on the popcorn, munching and crunching. Vada and your hands dig into the bottom with the richer buttered popcorn. The brunette’s cheeks feel warm from feeling your hand. Maybe from the blanket. Maybe from the heat of the popcorn. Or maybe something else. 

Mia regrets asking Vada for a movie recommendation. As soon as she sees Vada search up ‘Sh’ on the search bar, she groans, seeing how Vada clicked Shrek. 

For the second, fucking, time, today.

As the movie begins to roll, the blonde whispers, “If I have children, I’m never gonna let them watch this. It’s been playing way more than enough and I am not risking having to play it every morning when I’m older.”

Vada snorts, “I’m going to tell your children that it’s a great movie, so great that they’ll play it morning and night.”

It goes like that for the next 30 minutes, you two are snug, with a fluffy weighted blanket draped over the three of you as the movie continues.

As the forty five minute mark surpasses, Vada is distracted in the movie. She’s seen it 4 times, yet she’s still watching it. She feels a faint pressure press against her shoulder, she brushes it off, she knows that it’s her brain signaling her to stop watching the movie.

She doesn’t.

But as the minutes pass, the pressure stays, if not stronger.

She feels curious, turning her head away from the projector to find you asleep peacefully on her shoulder. Vada’s eyes soften at the sight of your lips parted, gentle breaths blowing on her neck from your lips and the white of the blanket covering your chin. You’re asleep, and it brings her back to you two asleep on each other the other day. But this time it feels different. You two aren’t high.

You were curled up to her, with your legs tucked and faced to the edge of the couch. She’s seen you asleep before, when you were so tired one hung out that Mia lent you your room. Vada only peeked inside to see you asleep and still like a rock. You aren’t the kind to fall asleep easily, let alone snore. But Vada could hear a soft snore fall from your lips.

Vada can’t help it, but she feels a grin trying to form on her face, as you curl up to her, she tucks a hand around your waist to pull you closer. Now your hair is draped all over her shoulders, she sniffs it, nudging her nose to your hair. Your shampoo smells again like strawberries. 

Except this time it smells more intoxicating.

It smells so lightly sweet. But it makes her feel dizzy, her nose to the top of your head, relying on your scent to comfort her. 

You shift lightly, a soft murmur being made as your eyes slightly twitch, but fall asleep just as fast when she takes a strand of hair in her fingertips and curls it. 

As you're asleep and Vada is focused on you, Mia mumbles against her, quiet enough to not wake you. The TV was already loud enough, plus you were all the way in the corner.

“You like Y/N,” she says, and it wasn’t an opinion, it was a rhetorical statement.

Vada slows down with her fingers curling in your hair, turning to face Mia.

She feels a stutter get caught into her throat, “Uh, w-wait what?”

“You like Y/N,” she says again, her blue eyes looking at Vada, searching for an answer. An answer she already knew, she just needed to hear it from her.

“N-no, what? Mia, what makes you think that?”

It sounds stupid to the blonde, a small laugh coming from her, she speaks quieter so you can’t hear her, although you’re knocked off asleep.

“Well, to start off, since she stepped into our film class for the first day, you couldn’t stop staring at her Vads. And when I invited her so we could get to know her better, I’ve never seen you so quiet with someone until you met her. You’re always so open to meeting new people. At first, I thought you were nervous,” Mia laughs, finding it almost unbelievable when she says it out loud, “and never thought the Vada Cavell would be nervous to meet new people. But you look at her like the missing puzzle piece you’ve taken years to find. You look at her like she’s given you the light to your universe.”

Vada wants to roll her eyes, tell Mia how insane she is, she wants to throw her hands in the air. But she doesn’t want to, she doesn’t want to wake you up, she just wants to press her lips to your forehead and tell you that everything is okay when you wake up. 

But it all comes down at her at once. She can’t believe it herself. Well she knew she felt something. The the way she sees things now. Where she’d walk into a library filled with books and think, “Y/N would love it here.” Or when she’d smell the aroma in the air when Amelia and her mother would bake cookies together, and can’t help, but think about you. 

Mia herself has a guitar, and when there are days when you can’t make it, Vada spends two hours as her best friend talks to her to practice. So maybe one day, when she sees you pull out her guitar, she’ll say, “I can play it too.”

And when your pretty eyes already reveal the yearn you feel to hear her play, she’ll play all the songs that she’s practiced while she eagers you to cuddle up to her. Then you’ll realize they are all your favorite songs. Because Vada spent every two hours when you’re not there to practice for you. 

She hears Mia keep speaking, “You bring her up every time you can, okay? You’re reminded of her everywhere you go, and I’ve never seen you or her look at someone the way you do with each other. Remember that day you two first met? The whole car rode to seven eleven, you were staring at her staring at the window.”

“You’re falling for her day by day Vada,” Mia says, and the brunette can see the way Mia begins to smile, “You just don’t notice it until you realize how much she means to you. You used to refuse to take the extra guitar I had, but when you saw the way she played riffs, you took it and played songs that you knew one day you would want to play for her.”

Mia pauses, then speaks again, “You should’ve seen how shattered she was when you grew over protective of her and said some things that came out wrong. You didn’t see the way as soon as she left for 5th period she was going to cry. Come on, and you two fucking fell asleep with each other. It’s like I’m reading the slowest burn wattpad book in reality.”

The shorter girl is still stroking through your hair, as you’re asleep with soft snores coming out of your mouth every once in a while, still trying to process something she knew was true for a long time.

Vada doesn’t want to admit it, but she exhales a breath she didn’t know she was holding, “I don’t know. I just feel really fond of her I guess. She’s grown really special to me and I think she’s someone I never knew I needed in my life. She’s there to you know, listen. Or be open to whatever..” Vada plays with the string of her oversized shorts while letting you nuzzle to her neck. “I guess she’s more important to me than I thought.”

Mia silently squeals, nudging Vada’s shoulder, “You can’t not convince me she likes you too, okay? Now you better fucking confess or I’m going to do a backflip and crack your neck open.”

-

Vada hasn’t felt nervous since she met you, but today she was nervous nervous. She bought sky blue, pink, ivory, and sweet apple tulips. 

It feels so cheesy, but she’s fucking here for it.

She prepares a basket with everything she knows about you, lego flowers, a cow stuffy with some random coquette bow attached to it, (that she may have not asked your older brother what animal you liked.) As soon as she shopped, the cute little cow with the laced bow wrapped around it was calling for her.

She fills the basket with kisses, tears off the most beautiful, raw pieces of poetry, she read and thought of you. She tears the extra copies of the songs she played on the guitar because of you, and adds it as scraps. 

And of course, she adds small fairy lights, then attaches all the photos she has with you. She has never been more thankful for Mia always taking 2 polaroids whenever you take one together, so she can keep one and add it to her memory book.

She’s anxious, picking at her fingers, it’s like when she first experienced the shooting. Except this is a hundred times worse.

Mia drops her off Saturday morning, giving her shoulder a reassuring squeeze, “The worst she can say is no,” and by the way Vada clenches the basket she has for you, Mia quickly adds, “Which is a .00001% chance. Trust me, I’m sure she’ll say yes.”

Vada rolls her eyes, clearly not helping easing her anxiety as she closes the door and approaches your door, knocking softly.

When it’s open, she’s greeted with the sight of a newly awoken you, looking sleepy, but she thinks it makes you even cuter.

You’re wearing the plaid pants she lent you, she remembers you couldn’t stop wearing it because it was so comfy. She let you have her extra fourth pair. She found it funny whenever she saw you waddling around in her oversized clothes.

“Mhh..” You keep rubbing your eyes, a yawn escaping out of you, “Vads it’s 8AM on a Saturday morning, what’s going o-” you finally open your eyes to have a nervous fidgety Vada with tulips, some Valentine's day throwup basket and a heart shaped balloon.

Vada takes a deep breath before pushing the tulips towards your way, “Okay, Y/N, I don’t know what to say. But I wanted to tell you for a while now. I notice the way I bring you up everyday, or how long my gaze lingers when you’re in the same room as me. Or how I find a way to bring our friendship up every second I can. I’ve grown the motivation to do the hobbies I’ve seen you once do. And.. I’m not the person to.. Get nervous when I meet people for the first time. But, you’ve been someone who I feel protective over, and you’re special to me in a way where you’re someone I didn’t ever think I needed in my life. But meeting you has really made you be the highlight of my day. I didn’t think it was possible to feel butterflies, let alone these fluttering sparks when you’re near. Or to realize the feelings I felt when Liam gave you flowers and wanted to ask you out was jealousy. It just feels right to have you with me, here. You’ve really distracted me from all the things I’ve found stressful, and no one has ever been able to do that. I didn’t even think it was possible. I-I don’t even know how, but it was like some invisible string tied us when I met you, but I’m so thankful you’re in my life. And it’s so weird to say this now..” 

Vada pauses, catching her breath and trying not to make eye contact with you, but she can see your cheeks getting rosy. Your hands are full with her flowers. You certainly don’t look awkward like you once did with Liam. More like, overly shy now. You’re blushing. And this time your hands don’t feel clammy. This time, you’re so desperate to feel her hands on your waist and have your hands tucked around her to hug her.

Vada gulps and blurts out almost too quickly to comprehend, “But I like you. Will you go out for dinner with me this Friday night? I get if you don’t feel the same, and I just want you to know I don’t want our friendship to be ruined at all but-”

“Vada, I’d love to go out with you.” You interrupt, wanting her to shut up and kiss you. To do all the sweet things you thought of when you smoked with her, to fly with her and carry her home.

“R-really? You’re not just saying that?”

“No. I think.. I don’t know, I think we’ve grown really really close, in a way where I never had someone that I could rely on so much. I really didn’t think meeting you could, you know, make my day a hundred times better, and I always felt confused with my feelings, you know? In a way where I feel like friends shouldn’t feel the sweet way I think about you?”

“Yeah..” Vada murmurs, “Yeah,” she says, more understanding.

She turns to you, you look like spring. The season, with your hands filled with flowers, your hair perfectly ruffled and your hair curling in your ends. Vada speaks again, “Do you want to give us a try? You know, I just don’t ever want us to not be friends one day because we didn’t work out.”

“Please,” you whisper, and when you say that she immediately pulls you in for a hug. 

This hug is just as comforting as all the other ones she’s given you in the past. But now, the thought of this hug being something more isn’t there anymore. Because it is something more. It makes you bury your nose into her chest.

Mia smiles in the distance, snapping a photo of you two hugging, “Those two love birds, I called it.”

-

Friday night

Here you are, in a black dress you remember you fell in love with when you went shopping. It was a simple dress where your shoulders were exposed, a laced neck and you put on some hoops. 

The dress was not too short, but it stopped a little before your knees. 

And of course, a string tying the prettiest bow on the back of your waist, you didn’t want to admit it, but you felt pretty when you looked at the mirror. 

Your mother dropped you off outside of the restaurant Vada reserved. 

She kisses your cheek goodbye, winking for good luck as you wave and watch her go. Now you kind of regret not bringing a jacket. You should’ve brought the leather one you were thinking about at the last minute, and decided not to.

Your headphones are plugged in, you’re 15 minutes early, and as the minutes tick, you feel colder from the sun beginning to set.

Cologne by beabadoobee is playing, you ruffle your curled hair, till you feel the music abruptly stop and your headphones being wrapped around your neck.

You can hear Vada’s voice, ruffling your hair, “Hi,” she says, not more awkward than you feel right now. You feel her gaze linger on your figure, and suddenly you feel hot, the cold you felt 5 minutes ago was completely gone. 

She rubs your shoulders, and you can tell what you’re wearing just made her fall much more for you.

What she’s wearing is not Vada. Not her basketball shorts and oversized tees. This is Vada, in all black with the lightest makeup, you can still see the freckles you love. Her hair is half up half down, and you brush her bangs to the side.

“Vads,” you breathe, and the way you call her that makes her heart pound ferociously, “You look pretty.”

“I tried my best, how do I look, silly pretty girl?” Vada twirls her dress, making you laugh.

“Like something Vada would never wear, but I love it.”

“You’re the one to talk, all soft and shy girl wearing something that I would definitely not stop staring at this whole evening. It’s perfect. You’re perfect, come on Y/N,” she tugs your wrist slightly, noticing how your wrists are decorated with the bracelets you two made together in the past. It makes her smile while she points at it, “Good decoration choice.”

“Only for the best.”

As you two enter the restaurant, you reach for Vada’s hand, she can see the way you’re searching for her. Like a puppy whining for its mother. She drifts her hand towards you and interlaces it with yours.

The place is dimly lit. The only light is from the sunsetty view and the fairy lights that are hung. 

It’s romantic.

And you feel all blushy, like some teenage girl in a friends to lovers book.

Vada feels the way you grasp onto her hands, your fingertips squeezing, she can already tell you’re nervous, she calms you down with a circle with her thumb on the back of your palm. 

You two sit next to each other, looking at the menu.

It’s getting a little cold, and you shift, “Okay, not to ruin the mood, but I have no clue what in the hell I should get,” Vada laughs, the Y/N humor she knew was clearly showing.

“What about we share some alfredo and their bread? Their bread is so filling and to die for.”

You nod, to go with the flow, “Okay Vads, whatever you think is good must be yummy.”

You two order and spend the time talking, by the next 15 minutes of waiting, you’re cuddled into her, playing with her hair.

“Hey, you’re messing my hair up silly.”

“I like playing with it. It’s very smooth!”

Vada presses her lips to your temple, rubbing your cheeks to make your blush more apparent.

“Stop that.”

“Well I think it’s cute when your face is all pink.”

You make a quiet whine, Vada still smells your toasted marshmallow and strawberry scent. The scent she could never get tired of. The intoxicating sweetness.

A few moments later with cuddles and talks, your food arrives and you share the noodles, digging in. Vada drapes your hair back so it won't fall into the sauce. As you eat and munch, Vada twirls the noodles on her fork and brings it to your lips, looking into your eyes. You look back up at her, feeling tiny as you open your mouth and she feeds you. You feed her back, letting her rub the small speck of sauce on your cheek with her thumb.

“Stop being so shy,” Vada whispers, nudging your nose to hers.

“I’m just nervous, I’ve never done this before,” you whisper back.

“Well, it’s just me, nothings gonna change, I swear, maybe I’ll throw more pillows during pillow fights though,” she jokes, and that makes you nuzzle your nose more to hers.

You press your lips to her cheek and continue snacking on bread rolls and dessert.

-

“The stars are really bright today,” you say, your hand in Vadas as you two are staring at the scene above you, the sunset long gone and replaced with the light from the moon.

“Wellll, I think that just means that we’re amazing for each other, huh?”

“Maybe.”

“Nope, it’s a yes.”

“Yep.”

The heat you felt when you first saw Vada when your date began was gone, you were cold. No doubt did the girl not notice, seeing your slightly trembling figure. She drapes her leather jacket over you as you make a small noise of appreciation, sniffling your nose. The jacket immediately warms you up, you pull it to your shoulders more.

Her soft eyes look down at you, and she sees the way the stars reflect off your eyes, those eyes. She feels lucky to be able to be greeted by them every single day you’re around.

“Thank you for today,” you finally breathe, and Vada boops your nose.

“Well thank you for always being sweet and silly. I wouldn’t trade this moment for anyone else.”

You boop her nose back, sharing a slurpee that of course you got from seven eleven. It brings her deja vu. To remember how you first politely refused on buying a slurpee when you first met Vada. Then beginning to use the trick she taught you to poke your finger under the dispenser and lick your finger. Then buying your own small slurpee. Then to share it with one straw. 

As you two reach her house, she twirls you on the porch and lifts you up, making you squeal and giggle. It’s quiet, comfortable silence as she looks down at your lips. And she knows you want her too. Your legs wrap around her, and you lean and press your lips to hers. 

She feels sparks and a flock of butterflies stirring in your stomach when you’re around, but as she feels your soft, warmth of your lips on hers, she feels fireworks. Electricity shocking her whole body. She hears you make a soft moan of longing, something you wanted for so long. She wanted you for so long too. Her lips press against yours more, feeling your desperateness as she leans more pressure onto you. You taste like sweet strawberries, indulging on the way you make a noise of wanting more more more of her lips as her tongue runs over your bottom lip.

You both pull away, panting, cheeks flushed, your body feels like it’s flaming into oblivion, she grabs your waist tightly, then a small smile forms on both of your faces.

“I’m pretty sure you kiss during like.. Your fourth date.”

“Oh,” Vada says, faking to look sad before cracking up a grin, “Oh well, we’re too in love with each other and we broke that! Too bad, so sad.”

You giggle as she twirls you around and brings you into her room, kissing your neck along the way, she tosses you into the bed and you squeal, kicking your legs as she crawls next to you.

“Come here,” she whispers, you scoot closer to embrace and she wraps her arms around you, switching the fireplace on and playing some music in the background.

She spoons you, but you turn your front to be pressed to her chest, feeling her kisses on your neck and her fingers ghosting along your jawline.

“Pretty girl,” she coos, seeing the way you were a little tired, “Sleepy?”

“Yes.”

You bury your nose into her, her sweet, musky, coconut scent comforts you. The way your scent mixes and it just smells so… Your eyes are fluttering before you can come up with a thought. You stir in Vada’s arms, feeling her arms wrapped around your waist and your limbs tangled together.

“Don’t let go, stay,” you whisper, like you once did before in the past.

“I won’t, pinky promise, I’ll be here baby. Go to sleep, okay?”

You both begin to fall asleep, with polaroids hanging off you wrapped around vines around Vada’s bed. There was one with you two holding slushies and showing off your purple tongues, another one with you two in a group photo, one that Vada loved the most, where you two were cuddling. 

miaa: you owee meee omg u guys r adorable, update me tmmrw vads

Your pinkies interlock and your cuddle up to her. She can see the way your eyes twitch from closing. She knows you’re asleep when she hears your breathing begin to even out. And she definitely knows she’s your comfort, because a soft snore slips out of you no longer than 5 minutes later.

[savorypink]

mickey i have a rather unusual request to make lol my birthday is coming up (it's this friday - very insightful to be born on women's day) and i know i'm going to have a shitty day because i'm going to work all day and i still have to go to uni at night 💀

anyway, i just know that one of the only things that can improve my day is a blurb of al and bling fucking on his motorcycle because they never did it yet (since sweetener is in the late sias era, my dream is to fuck with him on top of that motorcycle) 🥺

happy birthday anon! 🎂💗

the tune of your boots clicking against the asphalt is harmonious. you purposefully elongate the melody, knowing your lover is in earshot to savor each sound as he watches you approach, almost in a dream-like trance. your hips sway like a metronome, the curve-hugging leather of your mini-skirt quietly rustling as you exit the gas station store, a slushie keeping your hand and mouth occupied.

the details of your figure are prominent beneath the leather of your jacket, the silver zipper of your all-black getup glistening under the gas station's lights. your aura dizzies his head; it almost doesn't seem real, even as you stand beside him.

you slurp away at your drink with your head on alex's shoulder, a tender gesture that reminds him that you are—in fact—real. he finishes his cigarette with a long drag before tossing it to the ground and crushing it beneath his boot. alex rests his head against your own, your warmth and the fruity scent of your shampoo are familiar comforts—all real comforts.

"where to next?" you ask.

"wherever you wanna go." he kisses your head, allowing his arm to snake around your middle.

you set your drink on the ground before walking towards the bike. "take me home then." you shove your icy hands into your pocket. "it's freezing."

"you don't think your outfit is to blame for that?" alex grins.

"i was dressing for the occasion," you chuckle, cupping his warm face in your cold hands. your thumbs graze his pale cheeks as color begins to fill them. "don't act like you don't love it."

"oh, i do." he muses, placing both hands on either side of your hips. "i don't have to act either."

"then don't. show me."

alex's fingers linger along your hips before he sits on the motorcycle again, patting the space he made available for you to sit in front of him. once you straddle the bike, you're surprised your skin could get any colder than it is now, your bare skin freezing against the leather saddle. alex sweeps you into a restless kiss when you connect with the seat; the sweet and slightly tart flavor of the cherry slushie you drank suddenly becomes more indulgent when stuck to your tongue. hooking your fingers in the loops of his jeans, you yank him closer, letting his tongue dwell deeper into your mouth, emitting a hungry groan out of his throat.

his hands need to figure out where to begin, and having you seated on the bike doesn't allow much, either. alex fumbles with the zipper of your jacket, breaking the kiss once it's unzipped and your bare chest is in view, your body jewelry shimmering in the moonlight. his kisses are rough along your neck as he kneads your breasts, gently tugging and twisting your piercings.

you moan as you grind your hips into the seat while his hands work you, digging your manicured nails into his leather-clad shoulder, surely leaving marks in his jacket. Alex pulls your skirt up and grins as you shudder, your unclothed core gushing underneath the frigid air.

"no wonder you're cold." he turns on the gopro mounted in the center of the bike's handlebars. "i ought to spank you for that."

he'll save that for the next video.

you dip backward to rest against the cool metal of the gas tank, holding both handlebars to steady yourself. you hiss as alex slides two cold digits into your wet, warm walls, gripping the handles tighter as his nimble fingers pump in and out of you in a delightful rhythm. his thumb flicks at your clit while his fingers continue thrusting; your hips hover over the seat as your bliss intensifies.

your slick dribbles onto the leather of the bike's seat as you needily roll your hips against his fingers, entirely at his mercy. His fingers come out of you with a squelch, and you whine, continuing to roll your hips against the chilly air; you want something.

the clanking of his belt coming undone makes your cunt swell as he teasingly drags the tip of cock between your soaked, warm folds. your grip on the handles becomes vicious as his cock finally slips inside your aching walls, your toes curling in bliss beneath the sole of your boots. your moans and alex's rapid pants are visible in cloudy puffs in the night sky as his hips collide with yours over and over, your breasts bouncing softly with each delicious snap of his hips.

the humming of cars on the side of the road sends your heart into rapid spasms, the headlights of vehicles visible in tiny, glossy specks of your blurred vision. you break into a warm sweat, and your hands grow clammy as alex's thrusts get more desperate and deeper, the coarse hair lying above his cock drumming against your clit, sending small, lovely buzzes throughout the sensitive bud. alex's hands grip either side of your hips, almost hard enough to bruise the silky skin.

"there's no way we're allowed at this gas station anymore," he chuckles. one of his hands leaves your hips to point to the security camera hoisted above the parking lot's brick wall. "look."

as you rise to glimpse at the camera behind you, alex hauls you into his lap, his hands cupping your ass before giving the flesh a harsh spank.

"let's give 'em a show, pretty girl."

your arms snake around his neck as he guides your hips up and down his cock, a familiar warmth brewing in your belly as his tip slams against your g-spot repeatedly. his nails begin to dig into the skin of your hips when you feel his cock spasm inside you, hot droplets of his forthcoming release spilling onto the seat. you harshly bite marks into his neck as your walls close around him for the final time. alex follows in your tracks, holding your hips in place as he spills inside you, your once-frozen body now hot with sweat and the warm, stickiness of his release fuzzing your pounding chest.

as alex pants away in your ear, you notice a figure slowly making its way toward the both of you. you recognize their clothing, the red and yellow colors of the gas station's logo printed along the collar of their shirt. also, are they holding a broom? you tap on alex's shoulders as the figure becomes clearer, swiftly zipping your jacket and hoping your boyfriend sees the growing panic in your eyes.

you feel the bike tilt as alex kicks up the bike stand, the feeling of angry eyes seeping into his sweaty back and his brain finally picking up on your nervous movements. he turns the keys in the ignition, roaring the engine as you two make it out of the parking lot by the skin of your teeth.

your panic washes away in turn of relief as the large wheels of the bike ride smoothly against the road. You smile to yourself and kiss alex’s cheek, your brows raising when you remember that you may be forgetting something.

"wait! my slushie!"

[messysketchyobeyme]

soft spoken

Thirteen/Gender-Neutral Reader

Summary: 

You were always an exception to Thirteen. She wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not.

~

AKA: That awful slushie of yours was a little terrifying to look at, but Thirteen was willing to ignore it if it meant getting to spend more time with you.

Word Count: 1144

—

Thirteen combed her fingers through her hair, brushing out every snag and knot she found. There wasn’t a lot, but it was enough to keep her occupied for a few minutes. She needed it. Although she didn’t hate being an exchange student at RAD, everyone there was so…loud. 

Thirteen was used to the comforting solitary of her cave, so it was a bit of a culture shock to be so up and personal with how chaotic demons, angels, and humans could be. 

She was grateful that Raphael told her about this clearing in the forest. He had said that practically nobody came here, and this was the place he went to whenever he needed to clear his head. 

Thirteen plucked at the blades of grass that pricked her thigh. The vague chirp of a bird echoed behind her. Yeah, she was starting to understand the appeal. The trees swaying in the wind were a calming sight, and it was so serene and quiet here.

A loud slurping noise shot through her ears. 

Well, mostly serene and quiet.

You sat cross-legged next to Thirteen, focused entirely on drinking that slushie you had bought from a random food truck earlier. You were almost finished, judging by another slurp that punctuated the still air. You paused for a second to readjust your straw before going back to sipping on your drink.

Thirteen shook her head. “You’re so weird,” she said.

For the first time since you decided to follow her into the forest, you looked at her. “Look,” you said, taking this moment to stop drinking and fiddle with the straw, “I know that getting all forty-six flavors at once was a little unconventional on my part, but it’s so good, you can’t believe–”

She snickered. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Oh,” you said. It was so flat and lifeless like you were shocked that there was a world where someone wouldn’t be talking about your monstrous slushie. “What did you mean, then?”

“Well, when I first heard about a human who not only managed to break into my cave, nullify my traps, and mess with my candles, I pictured…”

“...Someone with abs?”

Thirteen gave you a look. “No.”

You had the decency to look away. 

“Anyway,” Thirteen continued, “I just didn’t expect you to be so…” She spun her hand in a circle to find the right word. “…so human, I suppose.” She dug her index finger across the dirt, making a fine line all the way from one place to another.

You nodded. "Yeah, I get that a lot. None of the brothers thought I was going to survive this place when I first came here." You grinned, taking a celebratory sip. "And now I'm a powerful sorcerer’s apprentice, baby!" 

"You can do so much better than being his apprentice."

You stared hazily at your cup. "Maybe," you said. You licked your lips, which were colored with a horrifying combination of all of the slushie flavors you had ordered.

“I have half the mind to try out my Little Sophie Sudsy Soaker #2 on you.”

“Would you?”

Thirteen rolled her eyes and went back to what she was talking about before. "I thought about you a lot when I found out about your little escapade. I mean, I was mainly thinking what kind of prick would break into someone's house like that." You gave her a sheepish smile. She had to bite her lip to prevent smiling back. "But I was also thinking about how powerful and–and, I don't know, mystical, you must be to have made it through my entire cave without you or anyone else dying.” Her voice softened. “I thought about what it would be like to meet you countless times: what I'd do or say." After a brief, almost nostalgic pause, she deadpanned, "And then, I did, and you were as plain as you could be."

That earned a chuckle from you. Thirteen seared it to memory. "Were you disappointed?" you asked.

There was a long stretch of silence before she said, "At first, yeah."

You laughed again. It was light and airy, making Thirteen's heart beat just a little bit quicker. Your face stilled as you paused for a moment. You reached out toward her temple.

Thirteen stiffened but didn't move, silently allowing you to touch her. You brushed out a lock of her hair, and electric sparks buzzed wherever your fingers grazed. You tucked her bangs behind her ear and pulled away. Her lips were agape as she stared at you with wide eyes. She tried to say something, but all she managed was a quiet grunt.

"There was a leaf in your hair," you said as you lifted up the offending object in your hand. "Do you want it?"

She shook her head.

You shrugged. "Suit yourself." You let go of the leaf.

A gust of wind blew it across the clearing until it disappeared deep into the woods. Even after it was long gone, Thirteen continued to look at the last place she had seen it. That leaf was so bizarrely fragile to be swept up by nothing except for the wind. 

There was no doubt that someone–or something–would step on it and break that tiny leaf into tiny pieces soon. She wondered how far it would get until it met its untimely demise. Tomorrow? Next week? Or will it soldier on until it finally decomposes into the dirt? A small part of Thirteen thought it was funny how even if that leaf did everything in its power to live, it would still succumb to the end eventually.

Something cold–yet soft–brushed against her cheek.

Thirteen jerked her head to the side and scooted away. When she saw you leaning forward, lips still puckered, she scowled. “What was that for?” she sputtered. She raised her hand to wipe her cheek but couldn’t bring herself to.

“You looked lost in thought,” you said, as though that explained anything, “What were you thinking about?”

“Nothing.” Thirteen was quick to answer. She would rather be eaten by any one of the monsters that resided in the Devildom than admit that she was thinking about a leaf of all things.

“Did I make you uncomfortable?”

She answered even quicker than before, “No.” There was an uncomfortable silence as the air around Thirteen grew hot. She stretched out her legs and looked away. “It’s just that if you’re going to kiss me, you might as well do it right.” Thirteen gingerly combed through the strands of hair you had touched earlier.

The smile you gave Thirteen at that moment was so bright that it might have blinded her if she was looking directly at you. You held your arms out. “Then, what are you waiting for?” you whispered, “Come here.”

Thirteen was more than happy to oblige.

[vix-fics]

Oh Dear... Chapter 2.

Chapter 2 - Experiment 1: Ice Cold!

"Hey, Oh," she said as she took some popcorn from the bowl sitting in Oh's lap. They were watching some "chic flick" movie that Oh seemed insanely engrossed in.

"Your boxes are so colorful!" He exclaimed, "Tell Oh, how do you get those miniature people inside?"

Tip laughed at his question. "They're 'moving pictures'. They're made from recordings."

"Oh...Oh doesn't quite understand - so these tiny people are not real?" He questioned.

"No...I mean, yes, they're real, but they are recorded," she replied. "Oh, I was wondering..."

Oh finally looked up at her, "Can Boov...how are Boov created?" She asked. She was going to ask about the emotions, but she didn't want to know just yet. In fact, she didn't know a whole lot. "I know you told me that you're usually in a baking oven, but..."

"Boov are created-" And from that point on, Oh went on a complete talking spree. She had been so engrossed with what he was saying that they had both actually lost track of time. It was when her mother called that she actually wondered why her mother hadn't been home just yet.

"Tip, honey," she said over the phone, "would you mind if I spent the night at a friend's house? There's some cold pizza in the fridge, and I will have my cell phone on all night in case you get lonely."

"Will you come back tomorrow?" Tip asked her. She looked over the counter to see Oh inspecting the tv again. "Would it be okay if my friend stayed with me tonight?"

"Is your friend a boy?" Her mother asked.

She didn't know how to answer that. "No?" Luckily, her mother didn't hear the question in her voice.

"Alright, then, honey! Stay safe, and make sure you lock everything, okay? I promise to be back in the morning - though it might be a little late," she said.

"Okay!" Tip said enthusiastically. She looked at the wall clock - it was still pretty early. "Catch ya' later, Mom, love you." After she hung up, she immediately went over to the livingroom and watched as Oh tried to work the remote control. "Hey, Oh, you ever have a freezie shake?"

"What's that?"

She wondered if Boov could get headaches. She made up a quick slushie that she put two straws in and walked to the livingroom. She took a small slurp - pretty sure that she didn't want a brain freeze. "Just slurp through the straw."

Oh did it, and after a small slurp, his eyes lit up and he quickly chugged it. He looked up at her, and she just stared, wide-eyed. "H-How did you do that?" She asked.

"It was very cold," he commented, "but very flavorful! Do you have more?"

She laughed and made him another. Unfortunately, on his fifth slushie...he turned a pale blue. He froze in spot and she stared at him. He didn't move for quite some time and she began to worry. When he came to, he shivered and she immediately went to go get a blanket when she realized that he was still an icey blue color. "I guess freezie shakes are bad for Boov."

She laughed as she snuggled into the blanket with him. She his skin was like ice, so she cuddled him closer. Stripes of pink began to flow over his skin and she wondered what it meant.

Experiment number one was a success. "I d-do no-ot think fr-freezie sha-kes like Oh." She laughed.

"That's usually called a brain freeze, but for you, it's a little different. From now on, let's try to keep it down to just one, okay?" He nodded as best he could, wrapping his arms around her waistline and grabbing some of her warmth. He shivered for a while longer before his temperature was finally brought down.

Who knew Boov could drink three slushies back-to-back before getting a brain freeze?

Previous Chapter | ???

[gradykerr]

Enjoy Summer Season Fruity Mock-tails Ideas for Kids

Summer is all about vacations, parties, beach celebrations, and plenty of hydration. Summer out of all countries has got the same characteristics, except the temperature variance. Summer is often a famous time for you to try your hands on new shakes, Mojito, and mock-tails. As in parties you will find people from adult to children are present, it is advisable to keep alcoholic and also non-alcoholic hydrating liquids be there. If you want to impress your kids, make an attempt some fruit versions of mock-tails. Here are some of the finest fruity mock-tails you can look at august for your children. 1. Raspberry Lemonade Slushies: As these drinks contain colors and they are exactly about slurp and no bite, these are generally always more preferable with the kids that chewing on to the actual fruits. This drink is made of all frozen and chilled components of fruit slices. All you need is to get those into crushers in addition to some ice cubes and provide it a mixed crush. Then pour it inside the mason mugs or designer glasses. To sweeten, add honey or syrup to swap it better and make it healthy. If you have stored berries inside the refrigerator, you are halfway over the party already. 2. Watermelon Lemonade: The benefit from watermelon lemonade is that aside from the juice, you are free to make funny cups to the drink. And as children are drawn to the quirky things, as a result them come randomly on the drink parlor. It is the easiest drink ever for almost any summer outdoor or indoor occasion, both for kids as well as the adults also. Fill your hard watermelon cover with citrus, soda, and water. Spain is one of the most useful places to test these summer drink recipes. 3. Apple, elderflower & Mint Sparkle: As apple is definitely an adult fruit, this drink is much better tasted in their adult version- with sparkled wine how the kid's version of soda water. This drink carries a very light taste of apple. But the stench gets stronger for the proportion of water included with it. If you are hosting a bigger party, you will see more water compared to the essence. The elderflower adds more punch to its known taste and takes the apple juice to a new level. It is often a simple juice but is often a party winning one. You can send a gift container packed with watermelons as gifts for a beloved party holder. Fruit basket delivery Spain is a good site to order authentic fruits. 4. Mango Julius Mock-Tail: A juice that includes the kid's favorite fruit in addition to its favorite frozen treats flavor, will there be whatever could keep them at bay. A mango Julius is extremely easy with making the juice with fleshy ripe mangoes and also the sugar within the simplest way. Then to really make it exciting for the kids, you just dunk a scoop filled with their favorite vanilla or chocolate flavor ice cream. This can make them fall for your healthy drink, over and over. Your purpose of keeping them hydrated can get thumbs up. 5. Sangria Mock-Tail: A Sangria mock-tail can be a complete alcohol-free drink that is certainly perfect for that kiddos. It is filled up with kinds of fruits and it can be a very healthy drink. You can have this drink with almost any beverage anytime of the day, but it's great for sunny summer noon, with an outdoor party. Spain is the origin on this special great thing about drink. Any kid likes it due to its tangy-sweety flavor and interesting smell. 6. Strawberry Orange Ginger Fizz: Well, this name is very uncommon. So is its taste. In your strawberry-orange mixed tangy-sweet juice, give a little bit of fuzz by having 1 or 2 fresh squares of gingers. It acts basically since the balance of the sweetness along with the sourness. At a summer weekend brunch party, this drink will win almost every person's heart. The pinch with the ginger is likely to make the drink taste and appear, both refreshing. Though best place to buy alcohol free cocktails online is known all around, the ginger flavor can be an innovative addition from your Spanish people. You can send gift basket Spain to anyone who is arranging the summer drink party. 7. Very Berry Mock-Tail: On this hot summer party, who can ignore a Berri-Licious drink! Berries work most effectively ingredients of fruity mocktails. And it is constructed with pink lemonade; so it is rare and full of flavor. Drinks hydrate one's body by keeping the water-level and thermostat with the body balanced. This drink is a specialized version of berry berries. Drinks and summer walk hand in hand; rather, one makes another better. Also, it may be the savior in the scorching heat of summer. Above are the most useful fruity mock-tails ideas for youngsters come july 1st

[arrowflier]

👀 for an outsider pov headcannon please

Okay last one for tonight, I let this get out of hand lol. The rest will get answered eventually but I'll mix them in with my speedwrites. Speaking of, there will not be a separate speedwrite today since I did so many of these, words are starting to get hard.😂

Tami

Tami loved Ian. She really did, honest. Their first meeting had been less than ideal, sure, but Ian had stepped up as an uncle right away, even when his brother was busy being a bit of an asshole. Ian was great with Fred, and super sweet, and one of the only Gallaghers to talk to her like she was actually one of them. Hell, he even offered to help with whatever she needed, no questions asked, any time.

So yeah, Tami loved Ian. That said, if she were Mickey, she would have murdered that carrot top bastard a long time ago.

"Are you serious right now?" she asked Mickey over drinks on a Friday night. They had met up at a little bar she knew while the Gallaghers dealt with some weird family shit--Ian had tried to get Mickey involved, but he slipped out on the excuse that if Tami wasn't family, neither was he--and an hour later they were several drinks in and ignoring just how tipsy they had gotten.

"Dead serious," Mickey confirmed, slurping a bright red, alcoholic slushie through a straw. Tami had convinced him to try it, but he had picked the color.

"Okay," Tami said, taking a fortifying sip of her own boring beer. "Let me just see if I have this straight. You told Ian you loved him, and he broke up with you."

"Yup."

"And then you went to jail for defending him, and he didn''t even visit," she continued.

"That's right."

"So you broke out and took him on the run, he let you think it was all good, and then he left you alone at the Mexican border." Her voice was getting louder, but she ignored the look she was getting from the next table. It was none of their fucking business.

"Right again," Mickey answered, then waved a hand in the air to catch someone's attention. "Hey, can get another one of these..." he paused, squinted at the glass in his hand. "One of these weird fruity fuckers?"

Tami would have laughed if she wasn't still trying to catch up with Mickey's history.

"Okay, okay," she said. "I get that much. But then you came back for him?"

A nod.

"And you went to jail for him?"

Another nod.

"And then he left you at the altar, and you still took him back?!" she finished, and Mickey just shrugged.

"I mean, yeah?" he said, accepting his new drink with a silly looking grin when it came.

Tami was lost again. And she didn't just think it was the beer.

"Why the fuck did you do that?" she asked. God knows if Lip had pulled half of that shit, she would have kicked his ass and left him in a heartbeat. Less than a heartbeat. Hell, she had almost left him like five times already for things that seemed pathetically minor next to the shit Ian put Mickey through.

"Because," Mickey answered her with a confused frown and a little eyebrow wrinkle. "It's Ian."

She waited for him to say more, but he just started slurping at his girly drink again.

"Uh, so?" she finally asked, and voiced what she was thinking. "No way in hell would I give Lip that many chances." She saw Mickey gearing up to say something, and cut him off.

"And don't even say that you did shit to him, too, cause that's not what we're talking about right now."

Mickey looked at her, then looked down at his drink. He twirled his little straw through the finely crushed ice of his drink, and shrugged.

"Yeah, well. That's cause Lip ain't worth it."

Tami couldn't imagine that anyone was.

"And Ian is?" she prompted, and Mickey smiled down at the table.

"Yeah," he responded without hesitation. "Yeah, Ian is."

Then he took a long sip of his drink until all the color was drained from it, nothing but unflavored ice left in the bottom. Tami watched as he stood and headed to the bar, presumably to get another, and drained her own beer before joining him.

Maybe someday, if she was really lucky, she'd be as crazy in love as those two were.

[ererokii]

I have a fic request!! Sfw jean Xfemale reader.

y/n falls asleep on him, and he wonders why you fell in love with him. Why you need him. And why he needs you. He feels like he’s never deserved you. So why does y/n stay? And maybe the whole fic is just him talking to himself in his head while y/n sleep soundly on his chest. ❤️ love you stuff :3

Thank you! This request was so cute and jean is amazing and Ugh🥺💗 he deserves so much love

Modern AU, slightly unedited

Jean’s hand mindlessly trails up and down the curve of your back through the blanket. He tiredly watches the colors and listens to the TV's sound, not giving thought to the show— his mind is in another place.

Rather than paying attention to the box, he listens to your even breathing, watching your back rise and fall slowly, the slightest of snores escaping your lips.

He wonders if the steady rhythm of his heart is able to keep you sound asleep— in fact, his heart beats for you; it soars just for you.

When you nuzzle the tip of your nose into the crook of his neck, a dopey smile of love graces his face, his eyes fluttering shut as he lets him loose within his mind.

He can’t help but wonder why you agreed to another date three years ago. In his opinion, the first date was terrible. For starters, he was late to your place, leaving you there for approximately 15 minutes.

Then somehow, traffic came out of nowhere, leaving the both of you to be late for the movie you were about to see. Ten minutes after the last ticket was sold, the person in the front told you there were no more seatings, and it happened to be the final showing as well.

At that point, Jean didn’t even have a plan B but decided to be spontaneous about it. He opted to take you out for a nice dinner, not too nice but just enough.

And that ended up failing. Jean’s card ending up declining when it came to paying. They even had to call up the manager to make sure nothing suspicious was going on. He felt terrible that you had to pay; if he knew this would happen, he would have just avoided the restaurant as a whole.

Jean was on his last string of hope and just decided to stop at 7/11 to grab some slushies; nothing could go wrong with that-- luckily, he had a couple of bucks in his wallet.

Cherry and Blue Raspberry; he remembers your order like the back of his hand. When you got your treats, both of you just decided to sit on the curb and slurp away, talking about god knows what, he can’t remember.

But the universe just had to hate him, huh? When it was getting a bit late, he stood up abruptly, the same time you did, and bumped into you, causing you to spill the iced treat all over your shirt.

He knew deep down that he was done for. Instead of getting upset and cursing at him to get out of your life, you just laughed. He was genuinely confused why you were laughing-- did you get sick or something?

When he finally took you home, he dared to ask to see you again after that circus event an hour ago. The shock was an understatement when you agreed to another date.

Jean’s eyes look up at the ceiling, humming softly as he draws random shapes on the blanket. What would have happened if you declined his offer? Would you at least talk to him again? Or would you have blocked him on all social platforms?

To an extent, he felt like he didn’t deserve you. In his eyes, you were on a whole other level than he was. It seemed that you had everything pulled together while he couldn’t even remember where he put his car keys that morning. More or less, sometimes he feels like a burden.

Maybe you could have had someone better, someone on the same level as you. Why do you even stay? Do you love him that much to deal with his childish antics?

But those answers seem to silence his thoughts every time he looks into your eyes. There’s this particular shine when he catches your stare. Your pupils are dilated, small crinkles forming by the corner of your eyes, indicating a smile forming due to happiness.

His arms tighten around you once you shift in his arms; he’s afraid you’ve woken up from his movement, but relief washes over him once you relax.

His lips press against the top of your head, your scent filling a sort of happiness inside of his body. His eyes feel heavier as each second passes, the sounds of the TV being drowned out as he shuts them, his body completely relaxing.

He can worry about that another day.

[httpoiks]

cherry slushie hearts

pairing: hinata shouyou x gn!reader

tags: friends to lovers (?), pining, late night slushee runs

warnings: existentialism 

word count: 908

author’s note: hey everyone! this is a repost from my old account (hajiimes) so if it looks familiar i swear i’m not a plagiarizer!!!!! anyway, it’s not one of my favorites but i’m glad to have some content :D 

masterlist

He looks beautiful, bathed in neon. Dim signs in bright colors rest far above you, highlighting that gas station you’d now become familiar with. There’s a highway nearby and despite the late hour, you can hear what sounds like the piling up of cars. 

He takes a sip of his slushie, lips wrapping around the bright red straw as he slurps up his horrible concoction of an icy treat (honestly, who puts every flavor into one cup?!), a content smile resting upon his face. 

You think you could stay like this forever, on the poorly lit sidewalk outside of a 7-11 underneath a midnight sky. It’s bittersweet, the knowledge that soon he’ll call it a night and you’ll be forced to go home (”We wouldn’t want you to get hurt on your way home, now would we?” He always asks with a teasing smile, moments before linking his arm with yours and leading you back home.). 

Hinata tilts his head over until it falls on your shoulder, his grip tightening on his slushie when his temple makes contact with your sweatshirt. You take a sip of your own slushie and wiggle your shoulder the smallest bit, holding back a laugh. He groans and rests one hand on your shoulder to halt your movements. 

“What’s up with you tonight?” You ask, half-joking. Before he responds, you watch the arm holding his slushie begin to fall, starting to go limp and you reach your own hand and grab his to steady it. Your fingers touch momentarily and you feel your face begin to heat up. Pulling his slushie away, you set it on the sidewalk next to you. He mumbles something quietly into your shoulder and you frown, patting his cheek once. “Speak up for me bud, can’t hear you.”

Hinata shifts so that his cheek is resting on your shoulder instead of his forehead. “‘m tired.” He repeats, closing his eyes halfway. 

“Yeah?” You ask, your gaze fixated upon him. 

“Yeah.” He responds quietly. 

Beneath the dull orange and green of the large 7-11 sign, he looks peaceful. He seems subdued now, leaning into your side. His slushie sits forgotten on the sidewalk, backlit from the fluorescence of the store’s LED ceiling lights. A car pulls into the parking lot, stopping in front of a pump. The driver gets out and begins to fill up their car, leaning back against the car door as they do so. The dim lights emphasize the shadows surrounding you, making everything seem darker than it actually is. You wrap your arm around Hinata, pulling him closer to you. 

You wonder how long you’ll be able to stay like this. Moments like these are precious, every one of them something to be savored – and you do savor them, to an extent. Hinata is usually a ball of energy, a boy full of hyperactivity. He’s always going and going, from the moment he gets up in the morning to the moment he falls asleep. Late nights like these are precious, delicate even, and you cherish every moment you get of them. 

You brush his bangs away from his face with a soft smile, reveling in the serenity of the moment. The driver gets back into their car and leaves. You don’t notice. Your full attention is already taken by the boy on your shoulder, the one you support so entirely. 

It’s getting late, you think. One of the gas station’s employees passes you on the sidewalk, heading in for their night shift. Oh, how you hate to be the bearer of bad news, to be the one to disrupt his serenity, but you must for fear that he may fall asleep upon your shoulder without any hope to rouse him. You nudge him lightly, patting his shoulder. “Hey, bubs, we should go home.” He hums lightly, squeezing his eyes tightly shut. “Seriously, we should go.” 

He sighs and sits up, rubbing his eyes tiredly. He almost looks like a toddler at that moment, groggy after their midday nap. You hold back a laugh. “Mm okay. I’ll walk you home, yeah?”

You laugh like you always do and stand up, stretching your arms. “I say this every time, but you really don’t have to. You’re too tired to make it all the way to my house and then bike home – I’ll be fine.” 

He pouts and joins you in standing, shaking out his left leg in what you assume to be an attempt to wake it up again. “It’s okay, I want to.” 

While you wait for him to stop shaking out his foot, you lean down and pick up the long melted slushies. Hinata holds out his hand for one and you give it to him, grimacing as he takes a long sip of the multi-flavored catastrophe of an iced treat. He gives you a tired smile and steps towards you, linking his arm with yours in an all too familiar fashion. 

He walks you home underneath the expanse of midnight blue, listening as you quietly chatter on about the upcoming university entrance exams. He listens with dull interest, nodding occasionally or humming in agreement whenever you pause to breathe. He sees you to your front door, waving slowly from the sidewalk. 

You don’t mention it to him, but you spend the next morning daydreaming about how he looked underneath those neon signs, the taste of your cherry slushie lingering on your tongue.

[pickalilywrites]

hi everyone!!! here’s the eretra au that a few of you might remember from my wip posts a few months (?) ago! i’m really excited about it, so i hope you guys like it. it’s very loosely based off a kdrama called big, although there aren’t very many similarities. i hope you guys enjoy it :) 

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

My First Love Come Back to Me

Eretra. Big AU. 

I’ll Love You in the Rain or Shine Series: Chapter 1

12788 words. 

Read on Ao3!

Eren stands in the deli section of the grocery store staring down at the premade sandwiches that have, judging by the wilting lettuce and stiff-looking squares of cheese stuffed between dry bread buns, been sitting there all day after being passed over by other customers for more enticing premade meals like the colorful, little sushis in their plastic containers or the burritos so stuffed with filling that beans are practically spilling out of the tortilla wraps meant to contain them. He looks at one particularly sad-looking sandwich. Turkey chunks and droopy lettuce leaves are shoved inside a stale bread loaf. Tomato juice from the poor fruit that was cut to make this depressing sub bleeds out from the bun, dripping onto the plastic wrap that can hardly hold the thing together. A strange assortment of veggies also poke out from the bread - bright yellow bell peppers, chunky strips of carrots, and slices of onions - but they look as though someone has carelessly dropped them into the sandwich because they’re not even evenly dispersed through the sub. It is, Eren thinks, the most wretched sandwich he’d ever laid eyes on. 

It’s a little sad, the fact that Eren is spending so much time picking out something to bring to a family dinner that he would claim, if anyone bothered to ask, to not give a single shit about. And, really, he doesn’t, but it makes him feel slightly better about going to those miserable gatherings if he’s able to bring something he knows his stepmom will hate. Except she’s not really his stepmom. To be more precise, the woman is his father’s first and only wife - the bastard having never married Eren’s mother - and his half-brother’s mother. In all honesty, Eren can completely understand why the woman hates him. He is, after all, a constant reminder of his father’s infidelity. It’s not like Eren likes her either and, with all of the snide comments about his upbringing and disappointing career path (although Eren has no idea why that is any of her business), she hasn’t given Eren any reason to. 

Eren looks down at the sandwich again, leaning towards not getting it. As much as he would love to purchase it and slap it down on the dinner table with a cheerful smile, there are only so many times he can buy disgusting sandwiches for his family dinners. He really outdid himself last time with a self-made sandwich with all sorts of odd ingredients (blue cheese, coriander, tuna, onions, cherry tomatoes, the works) that had no business being slapped between the same two buns. He even remembered not to toast the bread buns. Apparently, the only thing his father’s wife hates more than sandwiches are untoasted sandwiches, but not everyone can afford a $300 panini press like she can. Apparently, any panini press with a smaller price tag can’t be called a real panini press. Eren only half-regretted his decision to bring the disgusting thing to his father’s house an hour later when he sprinted out of the house and biked half a block away to empty the contents of his stomach on the edge of a poor neighbor's sidewalk. No, a normal deli sandwich would be a step down from his previous contribution to family dinner, Eren decides. 

He walks up and down the aisle of the grocery store, taking his time even though he’s already a half-hour late for dinner. (He’s doing them a favor. Nobody in their right mind should be having dinner at five when the sun is still high in the sky.) His green eyes glaze over tubs of soup and plastic bins filled with salad. For a moment, he wonders if he should walk through the shelves of chips on the other side or maybe into the frozen food section so he can haul a tub of melting ice cream to his father’s house, but he wonders if that’s too petty. It’s probably best not to, Eren thinks with a grimace. He doesn’t want to ruin junk food for himself forever. 

In the end, Eren purchases a little tub of potato salad, hoping that it’ll be enough to piss off his Disney-esque sort-of stepmother. It’s not perfect, but he supposes it will do. It’s probably not as grotesque as the stuff he’s brought before, but he likes how simple it is. That woman’s definitely going to be miffed that Eren bought potato salad as if he cared so little that he couldn’t be bothered to spend a few minutes in the kitchen to make the same dish. He’s really going to enjoy seeing the vein on her forehead pulse when she sees him standing at the door with the potato salad. 

Eren thanks the cashier for ringing up his purchase, sliding two dollars into the charity box next to the register, and walks away with his tub of potato salad, whistling as he practically skips out of the grocery store. He hadn’t taken as long as he would have liked; there are still fifteen minutes before six and he had hoped he would burn enough time to arrive at six-thirty, but maybe he can take a roundabout way to his dad’s house, Eren thinks as he drops the tub carelessly into the front basket of his bicycle. He unlocks his bike with a click and pulls it off the bike rack before mounting it and pedaling away. 

Taking the direct route would be too quick. Eren quickly pedals across the road as soon as the road is clear and finds his way to the creek that cuts across the suburbs. It’s the same creek Eren used to play beside when he was a child. He fell in there once trying to catch a frog and his mom scolded him for being so reckless. It’s also the same creek that he frequented during the spring of his sophomore year of highschool when he was assigned to do a bug project, which Eren hated especially when the same project was no longer mandatory after his school cut the science department’s funding the year after. Eren doesn’t think he’s visited the creek ever since he graduated from high school. He blames it on college and summer internships taking up all his time and never really allowing him to return to his youth, but the truth is that Eren wouldn’t have sought out his childhood even if he had the time. 

It’s not that Eren had a terrible childhood. In fact, Eren would say that he had a fairly happy childhood. True, he grew up in a (mostly) single-parent household, but his mother was always patient and attentive to him even though he was a pain the ass about 75 percent of the time. Nothing incredibly significant happened. He didn’t win any awards and he never made the honor roll, but his mother was fine with it as long as he did his best. It was strange, but he got a lot more shit about his grades from his sort-of stepmom than he did from his own mother. He’s not particularly sure what his father thought about it. Eren’s father never said much of anything to defend him, but his father hardly said anything to him at all. It was kind of like not having a father at all, so it wasn’t really that surprising when Eren found a way to avoid his old neighborhood completely after his mother passed away after his senior year of high school. 

Eren hadn’t planned on returning so soon. Actually, he hadn’t planned on returning at all after he had left for college. He only came back the summer after freshman year, but he bummed it at his best friend Armin’s house and only ventured as far as Armin’s front lawn. The following summers he crashed at his ex-boyfriend’s house - an art student-turned-tattoo artist who somehow ended up setting up a shop in the city Eren and Armin grew up in - or Armin’s dorm when they were both working at their internships. Somehow, they ended up landing jobs back in their hometown because evidently the big city did not want them and they were too young and broke to go up against the universe. Maybe another day. 

It’s not that bad. Despite renting an apartment near his neighborhood, Eren hasn’t run into any childhood friends that might still remember all the embarrassing things he did as a teenager. He’s bumped into a few parents at the grocery store that would smile up at him and talk about how nicely he’s grown while reaching up to ruffle his hair. Other than a few childhood friends and the “family” he feels obligated to meet due to the biological bond he unwillingly shares with his father, Eren has successfully avoided most of his past. 

He pedals past his old middle school, zooming past the gates and grimacing as he remembers the less pleasant parts of his past - struggling with algebra, running a mile at seven AM, and the terrible school uniforms they forced on everyone in a strange attempt to boost standardized test scores. He’s happier when he crosses the street and is greeted with the lit-up shops - the convenience store where he’d happily slurp down slushies with Armin after school, the Chinese restaurant that his class would frequent every year for Lunar New Year’s, and the bakery store that always smelled of freshly baked tarts and pies. Eren’s pedaling slows as he approaches the bakery and he inhales deeply, his lungs filling with the scent of buttery baguettes and chocolate tarts. The aroma is so distractingly sweet. His mouth begins to water at just the thought of them, and Eren wonders why he hadn’t bothered stepping foot in the bakery since coming back. He’s about to stop his bike and pop in for a brownie or a lemon bar only to realize that he’s biking far too fast and about to crash into someone. 

“Shit!” Eren’s bike screeches as he swerves out of the way and he crashes into a pole so hard that he can feel his teeth rattle. He topples to the ground with a hard thud, groaning as he rolls over onto his side that didn’t get smashed violently against a pole. When he opens his eyes, he sees stars as well as the face of an old man that he had last seen a decade ago. Eren tries to sit up, but his side is throbbing and he can only clutch at his side, trying his best to suppress a groan so as to not startle the man he had nearly collided with. He gives the man a weak smile. “Hey, Mr. Ral. I haven’t seen you in a while.” 

The old man’s mouth, which was already open to begin with after seeing Eren’s embarrassing bicycle collision, falls open a bit wider. “A-are you … okay?” he asks after a while, squinting a bit as he looks at Eren’s face and tries to place a name to it. Eren doesn’t really blame him for not remembering who he is. It’s been quite a while since they’ve seen each other and Eren has grown up a lot since then.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just a little bump,” Eren says, laughing it off. He manages to sit up and pushes himself off the ground, standing up and brushing off the little pebbles that have managed to stick to his face and clothing. He picks up his bike, leaning it against the pole before turning to the man again. “It’s Eren, by the way.” He pauses, observing Mr. Ral’s expression. When he sees that the man doesn’t recognize him, Eren politely adds, “Eren Kruger. I’m Zeke Jaeger’s younger brother.” 

A spark of recognition finally lights up in the old man’s eyes at the mention of Zeke’s name. Eren’s not going to lie, but it kind of hurts. “Ah, Zeke,” Mr. Ral says fondly. Eren shifts from feeling hurt to feeling slightly jealous. “How could I ever forget him? And you, of course. You two used to play with my dear Petra back in the day.” 

Petra, a name that Eren hasn’t heard in years, and yet hearing it still makes him blush like a young schoolboy. He ducks his head, his hand rubbing at the back of his neck, and he prays that Mr. Ral doesn’t notice the sudden flush of his cheeks. “Yeah, it’s been a while. How is, ah, Petra doing?” he asks. He had meant to ask the question casually, but he stumbles over the words a little too quickly. 

“Petra? She’s well,” Mr. Ral answers with a smile. The corners of his eyes crinkle and his laughter lines deepen. He doesn’t seem to notice how flustered Eren is. “She just started teaching at the same university that Zeke is teaching at.” 

That’s certainly news to Eren. Zeke hadn’t mentioned that at any of the family dinners Eren had attended recently. It could just be because Zeke hadn’t run into her yet or it had simply slipped his mind, but Eren kind of doubts it. If Petra’s father knew, then it’s highly unlikely that Zeke didn’t know. As much as Eren wants to frown, he fights the urge to turn the edges of his mouth downward and gives Mr. Ral a thin but polite smile. “That’s great to hear. What does she teach?” 

“English,” Mr. Ral replies, his chest puffed out proudly. It’s endearing how much he adores his daughter. “She teaches some upper-division classes on creative writing and a few classes for freshmen on critical reading and writing.” 

Eren’s smile is more genuine now, more fond as he listens to Mr. Ral speak about his daughter. “Yeah, that sounds like her. She was always really good with words.” He remembers lazy summer afternoons lying underneath the shade of a tree and pretending he was sleeping so that he could listen to Petra talk to Zeke on the front porch. It wasn’t even that he wanted to eavesdrop. He just liked the sound of her voice. Eren wonders if it’s still as wonderfully soothing and soft as he remembers. 

“And what about you?” Mr. Ral asks, snapping Eren out of his reverie. The old man seems to ask out of polite obligation. It figures that he isn’t really interested in Eren’s life. After all, he hadn’t remembered that Eren existed until five minutes ago. 

“I just graduated a few months ago. I majored in child education,” Eren replies. He looks down feeling slightly embarrassed although he’s not sure why. It feels like a step down from Petra’s accomplishments. His sort-of stepmom would certainly agree. She enjoys rubbing Zeke’s doctorate in Eren’s face whenever she gets the chance. Eren clears his throat and adds, “I’ve been working at Liberio Daycare. It’s near Shiganshina Elementary.” 

It’s unclear whether or not Mr. Ral recognizes the name but he nods and reaches over to give Eren a pat on the arm, a grin on his face as if the old man is actually proud of him. “That’s good! Your parents must be proud.” He doesn’t notice the way Eren flinches and carries on. “It’s good to hear that you’ve been well.” 

“Likewise,” Eren says. His eyes wander towards the bakery. It hadn’t occurred to him to look for Petra before, but now that he knows she’s back in town he can’t imagine doing anything else. He half hopes that she’ll be inside, maybe clearing the display for the night or wiping down the countertops, but all he sees is a girl his age at the register munching on some lavender bars that hadn’t sold. Before he can stop himself, Eren finds himself asking, “Is Petra in?” 

“Petra?” Mr. Ral asks with his eyebrows raised. Maybe it does seem out of the blue that Eren’s asking. Petra was always more Zeke’s friend than Eren’s. Mr. Ral gives Eren an apologetic smile and a shake of his head. “I’m afraid not. She told me she was eating dinner at a friend’s house. I’ll let her know you stopped by. Maybe you two can catch up sometime.” 

Eren shouldn’t feel so disappointed, but he can feel himself deflating at Mr. Ral’s words. He really doubts Petra would want to meet up with him. It’s not as if they were incredibly close before. Still, he gives Mr. Ral a gracious smile and says, “That would be great! I should probably get going. I have to, ah, eat dinner…” His voice trails off and he looks to bike only to find the front basket empty. Eyes straying further, he finds that his tub of potato salad had rolled out of his bike basket and onto the ground where it lay pitifully. Thankfully, the tub hasn’t broken and the potato salad hasn’t spilled out, but somehow the salad looks even more pathetic than it did when Eren purchased it. It’s something Eren would have been happy about fifteen minutes ago, but it’s embarrassing now. Quickly, he goes to pick it up and drop it into his bike basket with the slim hope that Mr. Ral wouldn’t think much about it, but Eren has never been that lucky. 

Mr. Ral must find him pitiful because he asks, “Why don’t you take some dessert home?” He’s already heading back into the bakery, gesturing for Eren to follow him despite Eren’s protests. “If you don’t, they’ll just go to waste. Or into my employee’s stomach, and goodness knows that she’s already eaten enough desserts today already.” 

“Thank you so much, sir,” Eren says, humbly bowing his head. 

“Sasha,” Mr. Ral calls the girl at the register. “Could you ring up a few things for Eren?” 

The girl’s head snaps up at the call of her name, her cheeks filled with pastry and crumbs all over her mouth. “Sure thing,” Sasha says, gulping down the last of her lavender bar and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She walks over to the side, Eren following her on the other side of the counter, and washes her hands hastily. As she wipes her hands dry with the hand towel, she looks at Eren brightly and asks in a chipper voice, “Do you have anything you want in particular?” 

Eren’s eyes scan over the display, but he doesn’t really look at anything in particular. He just wants to get out of this situation as quickly as possible. He’s embarrassed himself quite enough for today. “Just … whatever you’d recommend,” 

“Alright-y,” the girl hums, taking a bag and stuffing it full with little tarts and tea cakes and croissants. Eren looks at her briefly, realizing that he doesn’t recognize her. She must have moved here sometime during the past six years when he wasn’t around. 

As Sasha finishes preparing the bag, Eren walks over to the register and gets ready to pull his wallet out but Mr. Ral walks over, shaking his head. “No need to pay for it,” Mr. Ral says. He reaches over the counter and takes the bag from Sasha, presenting it to Eren with a smile. “Consider it a treat. Really, you’d be doing me a favor just taking it. They would have gone to waste otherwise.” 

“Ah, thank you,” Eren says, his face flushing once more. He takes the bag from Mr. Ral with a small bow of his head. “It was great seeing you again, Mr. Ral.” 

“Likewise,” Mr. Ral says with that same crinkly smile. He walks Eren to the door, watching as Eren packs the desserts alongside his potato salad. “Take good care of yourself, Eren, and tell your brother I said hi.” He waves as Eren assures him he’ll do just that, returning to the shop only once Eren has biked away. 

This is not how the night was supposed to go. Eren was supposed to be wandering around the neighborhood with his potato salad before waltzing into his father’s house an hour late, his sort-of stepmother silently fuming at the dinner table while the family sat and waited for him. He hadn’t planned on bumping into his childhood crush’s father, and he certainly hadn’t planned on looking so incredibly pathetic in front of Mr. Ral. He can only imagine what Mr. Ral will tell Petra when she sees her dad tonight. Maybe something about how he grew up to be such a loser even though his half-brother managed to graduate with a Ph.D. and is now a successful anthropology professor at the local university. It’s not something that usually gets Eren down, but thinking about it now is making him feel especially miserable. 

Eren’s not sure why the thought of Petra knowing how his life is so embarrassing. He hasn’t spoken to her in years, so her opinion of him shouldn’t matter. And even if she did have an opinion of him, he’s sure it wouldn’t be unkind. Petra had always been nice to him even when he was a kid and just being an annoying third wheel to her and Zeke. When his childish admiration of her turned into puppy love and eventually evolved into a full-fledged crush, she never brushed him off or thought him annoying, although there was a chance that she just never noticed. He couldn’t blame her for that when Zeke, honor roll student and valedictorian Zeke, was always standing right in front of her. He wasn’t even surprised when they started dating. It was inevitable. And when they eventually broke up for some reason that Eren still isn’t quite sure about, Eren knew he’d never be able to compare so he never tried to pursue her. It’s not surprising that he and Petra ended up losing touch. 

As much as he would love to blame Zeke for it (and it would be incredibly easy for him to blame Zeke), he can’t. Maybe it’s strange that he doesn’t harbor a deep hatred for his half-brother. Their relationship has all the makings of a classic sibling rivalry - a complicated family history, stark differences in accomplishments, and affections for the same girl - but Eren could never bring himself to hate Zeke. Even if Zeke’s mother liked to hold all of her son’s accomplishments over Eren’s head, Zeke himself never bragged about them. In fact, he was quite humble and would even offer to help his younger half-brother if he was struggling with something in school. Oftentimes he would invite Eren to hang out with his friends even though their age gap made it a little awkward. He even remembered Eren’s favorite snacks and would make sure they were in supply whenever Eren came over to visit. If Zeke’s mother was an evil Disney stepmother come to life, Zeke was that one fairytale sibling that was kind to the tragic main character, so Eren had no choice but to like Zeke. Even when Zeke broke up with Petra and Eren couldn’t understand why, when Zeke told Eren that it “just happened,” Eren kind of left it at that and accepted that because he couldn’t imagine Zeke doing anything wrong. 

Could Eren be classified with an inferiority complex with regards to his brother? Probably, but most siblings can. Eren would have to challenge whether or not someone with inferiority complexes would admire their brother as much as he does, but they might in a weird way. Eren’s sure that he and Zeke’s relationship would still be complicated even if they didn’t have all the weird history with Eren and Zeke’s parents. 

Eren sighs as he flies down a dip in the road, letting gravity carry him down instead of pedaling. He really doesn’t feel like he’s in the right headspace for this family dinner. Usually, he lets all of that woman’s snide comments ricochet, but his armor has grown weak and he can just imagine her landing the right thinly-veiled insult, her words burying into his skin and hitting right where it hurts. For a moment, Eren considers calling the dinner off with an excuse that will be sure to piss his stepmother off — probably something about how he has to restructure his lesson plan for the upcoming week — but he glances down at the potato salad and bag of baked goods in his bike basket and realizes that he really doesn’t want to eat them all by himself. If he’s going to suffer, he might as well make the rest of his family suffer alongside him. And besides, he’s pretty much already at their house anyway. 

His bike slows as he approaches the white-picket fenced house. He takes the potato salad tub and the bag of baked goods before leaving his bike on the driveway, not bothering to chain it to the fence because nobody would want to steal the old thing he bought from a garage sale anyway. The sight of it lying in front of the house instead of properly locked up will be sure to piss off that woman too, which is just an added bonus. With a sigh, Eren marches up the front steps, shifting the food all on one arm so he can ring the doorbell. The familiar chime rings out, muted from behind the wooden door. A muffled voice mumbles something Eren can’t hear, but he already knows that the speaker has nothing good to say about him. 

The door is thrown open and Eren looks down to see his stepmother glowering up at him, blue eyes a raging storm. “You’re late,” she hisses. She doesn’t even give him a greeting; she just stands there in front of him silently fuming. Behind her stands Eren’s father. As expected, he says nothing to defend his son’s tardiness. The man just stands there, uncomfortable as he quietly observes. 

“Sorry, Dina,” Eren says, squeezing past his stepmother who makes an indignant noise. He dangles the food he brought in front of her face, rolling his eyes when she snatches the bag from him only to wrinkle her nose in disgust when she sees the potato salad. “I brought dessert, too. Do you want me to put it somewhere …?” 

Dina snatches the bag of desserts from him too, still huffing. “We have a guest tonight too. Do you know how rude you’re being?” she says, continuing to nag at him even though Eren has stopped listening to her years ago. 

Eren’s father gently grabs Eren by the elbow, subtly ushering him inside to avoid any more conflict but Eren yanks his arm away. 

“Well, maybe if you told me we were having a guest beforehand I would have showed up on time,” Eren snaps. He sounds angry as he says it, but he really does mean it. It’s one thing to be rude to his stepmother, but it’s another thing entirely to be rude to a guest he doesn’t know. He’d at least wait for introductions before deciding whether or not to show any manners. 

Before his stepmother can say anything more, Eren stomps off into the dining room where Zeke and the guest are waiting. He keeps his head down, cheeks burning, as he pulls out his chair - the one furthest from everyone - and slumps down into it. “Sorry, I’m late,” Eren mumbles, still looking down. 

“Eren,” says a deep voice that Eren recognizes as Zeke’s. Hearing the voice of someone other than his stepmother’s makes Eren relax a bit and he rests with his back against his chair, a little more at ease now. He can hear Zeke’s small smile as his half-brother asks, “Aren’t you going to say hi to our guest?” 

“Uh, yeah. Hi,” Eren says. His eyes flicker upward, first at Zeke who sits across from him, and then at the guest. He looks so quickly at first that he doesn’t register exactly who he’s seeing until he does a double-take, his green eyes widening as they take in the woman sitting there. It’s someone he hadn’t expected to see ever again, much less sitting at his family’s dining table, and he’s so surprised that he almost chokes. For a moment, he thinks it might just be a doppelganger, but there’s no mistaking the soft dimples that appear in her cheeks as her lips curl in a smile. “...Petra?” 

“Hi, Eren.” Petra’s voice is still as gentle and soothing as Eren remembers, the sound of it so honey-sweet that he feels his cheeks bloom a soft pink. There’s so much about her that’s different, but there’s so much more that’s the same. Her hair is shorter now, no longer falling right at her shoulder, but curling right under her chin in a short bob. It’s the same shade of ginger it was when he was a kid. If it’s under the right light, it would probably burn a fiery gold. Her doe eyes are the same pretty amber, sweet and dangerously entrancing at the same time. She’s even dressed differently, her button-up blouse and slick gray trousers such a departure from the casual jeans and t-shirts she wore ten years ago when Eren was still in high school. Eren feels horribly underdressed - his ratty university sweatshirt over a thin cotton tee and his ripped jeans are so shabby in comparison - but a glimmer of silver on Petra’s wrist attracts Eren’s attention to the charm bracelet she wears, jangling with charms that Eren remembers her collecting in her high school days, and he feels a little less like he’s meeting a stranger and more like he’s reuniting with an old friend. 

“How are you?” Eren asks shyly, his smile bashful. 

“I’m well,” she answers, and Eren feels himself melting into her voice the same way he did when he was thirteen. When she smiles, her head tilts ever so slightly to the right just the way it did when he first met her and her dimples deepen into her cheeks. “How are you?” 

“Good,” Eren answers because he doesn’t trust himself to string together more than a word or two at a time. He wonders if she realizes how he’s unraveling at the sound of her voice or if she’s as oblivious as she was the last time. 

“I’m glad,” Petra says, and the warm look Petra gives Eren reignites a flame in the pit of his belly that he had thought he extinguished long ago. Her head tilts a little bit more to the side, her eyes twinkling. “I missed you,” Petra tells him, and Eren finds himself in love once more. 

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

There are rules to dealing with your ex-boyfriend after you’ve broken up, Petra knows, but it’s been ten years and she figures that these rules can be bent. So what if the last time she saw Zeke she was broken-hearted, crying in the rain as he turned his back on her? She was younger then, her feelings out of control for someone who didn’t care for her nearly as much as she cared for him. And, sure, maybe it’s terrible that she never received the closure that she deserves, but she can’t hold a grudge against him forever. They work in the same university and cowering behind the nearest trashcan every time they meet doesn’t seem to be a viable option. Petra’s older now and so is Zeke. They’re mature. They can be friends like adults are after they’ve broken up, so the universe should be able to understand her accepting Zeke’s dinner request that evening even if her friends couldn’t. 

She only started to regret her decision when Zeke offered to drive her there after his classes ended - saving gas and the planet, he explained - and she agreed. Although Petra repeatedly told herself that it was a simple family dinner and that such an invitation was extended to Zeke’s other friends on occasion, she found herself sitting impatiently in her office, biting her nails down so close to the quick that her fingers started to bleed. Having to bandage her fingers as she waited did absolutely nothing to soothe her nerves. 

“I don’t see why you’re so nervous,” Levi tells her over the phone. He taught in the mathematics department, but they had met after Petra had nervously stumbled into the wrong building and into his office on her first day at the university. The man has a perpetual scowl on his face, and that very same expression had nearly sent Petra running until she weakly explained that she must have gotten lost and he kindly redirected her to the building her office was located in. She thought that was going to be the end of their interaction until he emailed her shortly after asking if she had gotten to her office alright. Finding him a kindred spirit, he had become her first (and sadly only) companion at the university aside from Zeke. “If you’re friends with him, it shouldn’t be that big of a deal.” 

“Well, it’s just that I haven’t really seen him since we, you know, broke up,” Petra explains, but she doubts that Levi understands. She had told him her history with Zeke a few weeks ago after he asked her why she was so jittery at the faculty luncheon, but he didn’t have much of a reaction. It was sort of nice having someone to talk to that wasn’t as hyperbolically reactive as the rest of her friends, but it was also painfully difficult when Levi didn’t show her any sympathy. 

“You saw him last week when you were at the library to look for reference books,” he reminds her as if it were the same thing. “I don’t know why this dinner has you in a panic. You left me nearly a hundred messages while I was teaching class.” He hadn’t even replied to her texts, the bastard. He had simply left her on read until midnight before sending her a thumbs-up emoji to let her know that he had read her messages, which was not exactly the response Petra was waiting for. 

“This is different!” Petra insists, but she knows Levi will never see it that way. 

“You’re making this a much bigger deal than it needs to be,” Levi says. She can hear him scribbling something on the other end, probably correcting exams for his differential equations classes and marking a poor student’s paper in an abundance of red. “Either cancel or just go to dinner with him. You’ve had family dinners with him even before you guys got together right?” 

“Yeah, but that was back when we were kids,” Petra mumbles, fiddling with the hem of her shirt. 

“Then you’ll be fine,” he tells her. 

“You’re horribly unsympathetic sometimes,” she sighs. 

“If you wanted sympathy, you shouldn’t have called me,” Levi says with a cluck of his tongue, but he chuckles when he hears her groan on the other end. “Really, it’ll be fine. You’re just overthinking it. I’m sure it’ll be fine. And you said the kid will be there, right? His brother, so it’s not as if you’ll be alone with Zeke and his parents.” 

Petra lays with her head on her desk, her phone pressed against her cheek. “Yeah, you’re right,” she mumbles, but her lower lip still sticks out in a pout. The thought of Eren being there, sweet little Eren with his eager puppy eyes and wide smile, does make her feel better if only a little. She probably hasn’t seen him since she broke up with Zeke. She wonders if he’s changed very much. He’d be in college now? Or maybe he graduated. “I haven’t seen him in awhile though. What if he hates me now?” 

“You’re overthinking again,” Levi says. He sighs on the other end. If Petra didn’t know him very well, she would think she was bothering him, but he’s always like this. “Are you going to be okay?” 

“Yes. No. Maybe,” Petra sniffs. She looks sadly at her bandaged fingers and picks at the ends of one of them. “Should I just cancel? Maybe I can tell him I fell down the stairs and had to go to the hospital or something -” Someone knocks at the door and Petra lets out a startled yelp, nearly falling out of her chair because she’s so surprised. When she looks at the door, she sees Zeke’s silhouette against the frosted glass pane. The sight of it makes her want to hide behind her desk. “God, he’s here already!” 

“Too late for you to run then,” Levi says, not even bothering to hide his snickering. He’s such a sadist that Petra doesn’t even know why she’s friends with him sometimes. “Have fun at your absolutely normal dinner with your friend and his family.” Click!

“Asshole,” Petra mutters under her breath before shoving her phone in her bag. There’s another knock at the door — the same long, slow knocks that are a signature of Zeke’s —  and she hastily shouts, “I’ll be right there!” before shoving her papers in her bag and stumbling out of the door, nearly tripping over her own feet in the process. She must look like a mess because Zeke raises an eyebrow at her when she emerges from her office. Petra catches a glimpse of her reflection in the window and winces at her frumpled shirt and the hair falling out of her bun. She mumbles an apology as she pulls the hair ties out of her bun, her hair falling in loose curls around her face. 

“Did I catch you at a bad time?” Zeke asks. 

“No! God, no,” Petra says, inwardly cringing at every word that comes out of her mouth. Even she can tell how awkward her responses sound, a little too quick and desperate. What is she being so anxious for? It’s just dinner with a friend —  an ex-boyfriend, but a friend nonetheless. Petra clears her throat and asks as casually as she can manage, “How are your parents?” 

“Hmm? They’re well, I suppose,” he answers. Everything about him is familiar. He’s grown just a bit taller since Petra last saw him, his shoulders a bit broader and his jawline a bit sharper, but he still wears the same double-bridge glasses and the right corner of his mouth still quirks upward just the slightest bit when he speaks. He even walks the same way, his strides a little too long and quick, and Petra finds that she still has to struggle a bit to keep up. If Zeke notices the same thing about her - how she still wears the same shade of lipstick, how she still has that habit of wrapping her hair around her finger when she’s nervous like she’s doing now, how she bites her lip when she’s not sure what to say next - he doesn’t mention it. “My father’s still working at the hospital with my grandfather. He’s been promoted to director of the orthopedics department.” 

“Oh, congrats!” 

“And you know my mother has been at the hospital now that she doesn’t have to worry about me anymore,” Zeke says. It’s strange how casually he says this, as if he doesn’t remember that the last time he spoke about his mother to Petra was when they were still together. “She really missed being in the OR. Says she’d rather be doing surgeries all day than taking care of me.” 

“It’s nice that she can go back to it.” She nearly stumbles over a step but catches the railing before she can. When she looks up again, Zeke is already on the sidewalk and she hurries after him, a little breathless. “And Eren?” 

“Eren?” Zeke seems a little surprised by the question although Petra doesn’t know why. He leads her to a car - a slick Mercedes with a shining blue exterior and tinted windows that don’t quite match Zeke’s academic profession —  and opens the car doors with a click. 

“Your brother,” she clarifies as Zeke walks over to the driver’s side and slips into the car. She opens the passenger car and slides into the seat beside Zeke, setting her bag down next to her feet. The door swings shut behind her. “He’s coming to the dinner too, right?” 

Zeke turns on the engine and the car comes to life with a pleasant hum. “Most likely,” Zeke says as he checks the side and rearview mirrors before pulling out of the parking space. He even drives the same way, his arm resting on the side with his hand tapping against the door while one hand is on the wheel. Just watching him makes Petra’s chest feel tight. 

“Ah, that’s good. I haven’t seen him in so long,” Petra says. For some reason, knowing that Eren will also be there makes her feel a little more relaxed about the dinner. “Is he still in college? I think he should have graduated by now.” 

“He graduated a little while ago. He’s teaching now. Still on probation, but he says his colleagues like him so he’s not too worried about getting tenure after the probationary period is over.” He slows the car to a stop at an intersection and leans over, fiddling with the radio dial. He sets it to the jazz station and the sound of smooth brass and relaxed percussion fills the car. 

Somehow, driving down the streets with Zeke is far more nostalgic than it ever was when Petra drove on her own. Some nights Petra drove home by herself, and all it ever felt was lonely. Maybe it’s the familiarity of having Zeke beside her like when they were teenagers, driving back home after watching a movie downtown or returning from a basketball game at their high school. 

Petra doesn’t ask any more questions about Zeke’s family. She figures she can catch up with the rest of the Jaegers when she sees them at dinner. Instead, she asks Zeke about his classes and finds that conversation with him comes more easily after she stops stumbling over her words. He tells her a little bit about teaching anthropology (“Far less painful than you think it would be, at least when the kids aren’t just taking it to fulfill their core classes,” he says), his plans for the upcoming week (“It’s midterms, but the students should be fine if they actually look at the study guide.”), and the butterfly exhibit opening up at the museum downtown (“I’m thinking of putting it up as extra credit. Who knows, they might actually look at the other exhibits while they’re wandering around.”). Petra also fills him in on her own life, mumbling about how she still has to make the answer key to her own midterm and expressing interest in the butterfly exhibit Zeke mentions. 

They pull up next to Zeke’s house, the very same one he grew up with. Not much has changed from the outside. The white picket fence is a little worn and the rose bushes have been replaced with peonies. The house is still the same shade of cream, but Petra is sure that the Jaegers had it repainted over the summer like they usually do. She looks up at the second-story window where Zeke’s room should be and vaguely wonders if it’s still his room or if he’s moved out and hasn’t mentioned it yet. 

Walking up the brick steps to the door is a bit surreal. Petra doesn’t realize just how silent she’s been until the chime of the doorbell startles her and Mrs. Jaeger opens the door. As with most of Zeke’s family members, Petra hasn’t seen Mrs. Jaeger since she broke up with Zeke, but she had an amicable relationship with her. She can’t recall Mrs. Jaeger ever being angry, so she’s surprised when Zeke’s mother opens the door with a terrible scowl on her face. 

“Mom, you remember Petra,” Zeke says, moving aside so that Petra can enter first. 

The scowl quickly slips from Mrs. Jaeger’s face, replaced with a smile that Petra is more familiar with. “Petra, of course! I haven’t seen you in ages,” Mrs. Jaeger says, her voice strained. She waves Petra and Zeke in, shutting the door gently behind them. “It’s nice to see you again.” 

“Likewise,” Petra mumbles. She looks at the kitchen doorway where Zeke’s father leans and gives him an awkward wave. The man, just as silent as he was when Petra was young, gives her a polite smile and a nod in acknowledgment. 

“Sorry, we’re a bit late,” Zeke apologizes as he shrugs off his coat. He walks over to the dining room, Petra and his mother trailing behind him. “A student wanted to talk to me and it took a bit longer than I thought it would.” 

“No need to apologize! Eren hasn’t arrived yet anyway. He’ll probably be late. Again.” There’s a harsh tone in Mrs. Jaeger’s voice that Petra hasn't heard before. When she looks up, she sees Zeke’s mother hovering around the table and arranging dishes, the same polite smile on her face as she does so. “Your brother, of course, didn’t bother to send a text to notify us that he’d be late.” 

Petra wonders if Mrs. Jaeger usually speaks about Eren with such disappointment in her voice. Maybe she had always spoken about Eren like this and Petra had never been around to witness it or maybe it’s something that developed while Petra was away. Whatever it is, Zeke and his father seem used to it. Zeke merely shrugs, pulling out his phone to flip through his phone while his mother continues to mutter about how disrespectful her stepson is. Mr. Jaeger continues to stand at the doorway, not bothering to join them at the dining table, his eyes fixed on the carpet. He doesn’t bother to defend his son. 

“Maybe he’s busy,” Petra says, interrupting Mrs. Jaeger mid-rant. She feels rude for speaking while Mrs. Jaeger is talking, but sitting in silence while Zeke’s mother speaks ill of Eren doesn’t feel right either. All eyes are on her now - Mrs. Jaeger a little surprised, Zeke with an eyebrow quirked upward as if in amusement, and his father with a look that’s almost relieved. Petra clears her throat and continues. “He’s a teacher, right? It must be difficult teaching so many children every day — making the lesson plan and everything. Maybe texting slipped his mind. He’ll probably be here soon.” 

God, she hopes Eren will be here soon. Her cheeks are starting to burn bright red and she’s thinking that perhaps speaking up might not have been the best decision. 

“Ah, you’re probably right.” Mrs. Jaeger seems a little more composed now, perhaps remembering that they have company over. She settles down in the chair across from Zeke and flashes a pleasant smile at Petra. “He can be quite forgetful of these things. Of course, you’d never worry your father like this. You’ve always been so responsible.” 

Has talking with Zeke’s mother always been this difficult? Petra’s head is starting to spin, unsure of what response would be appropriate. She feels as if she should defend Eren, but she doesn’t want to make things awkward either. In the end, she smiles awkwardly at Mrs. Jaeger as if accepting the woman’s compliment and reaches out for the glass of water in front of her, raising it to her lips before she can say anything else that she might regret. 

“Dear, come sit next to me,” Mrs. Jaeger calls. She gestures for her husband to join them at the table and Mr. Jaeger stiffly walks over from the doorway before taking a seat at the head of the table. Mrs. Jaeger folds her hands on the table, her gaze still on Petra. “How have you been, Petra? We haven’t heard from you in a while. How long have you been back?” 

The series of questions leave Petra tongue-tied and unsure of how to answer. It’s so strange how casual the Jaegers can be about asking after her, like she hadn’t been such a large part of their lives — or at least Zeke’s life — ten years ago before disappearing completely. As if they didn’t know the real reason she hadn’t kept in touch. She’s not sure if she’ll ever be able to act as oblivious as them. 

“Er, I’ve been back for a while now,” she replies. She bites her lip when she sees the look of surprise on Mrs. Jaeger’s face. When she glances over at Zeke, he doesn’t look back at her. He’s returned his gaze to his phone screen, ignoring her. Nervously, she laughs. “I guess Zeke didn’t tell you, but I’m teaching at the same university he is. A few undergraduate English classes and then a graduate course on nature and romantic poetry.” Petra doesn’t know why she feels a lump at the back of her throat or the sting of tears at the corner of her eyes. She nibbles at her lip again, looking down at her lap so that she doesn’t have to look at Zeke or his family. She doesn’t have a reason to feel hurt or upset. Maybe Zeke was busy and didn’t have the chance to mention it to his parents or maybe it just slipped his mind. It isn’t a big deal. 

“Oh, that must be nice!  Who knew you two would be working together after all these years?” Mrs. Jaeger says. She subtly pushes the cheese plate on the table towards Petra, gesturing for her to take one. 

“Mmm,” Petra says, nodding as if she agrees with Mrs. Jaeger. It’s not as if she’s wrong. Petra certainly didn’t know any of this would happen. She knew some of it would — getting her degree, teaching at a university, eating dinner with Zeke’s parents — she just hadn’t predicted other things like Zeke breaking up with her, not speaking with him for ten years after knowing him her entire life, or having to pretend that she’s okay. 

Petra reaches for a cracker and a spread of raspberry goat cheese and shoves the entire thing in her mouth, hoping that she won’t have to answer any more questions. 

“The university is nice,” Zeke’s father murmurs. It’s the first time he’s spoken all night. The sound of his voice startles Petra, but the other Jaegers don’t seem too surprised. “It’s near the museum too. Very convenient.” 

“Ah, the museum!” Mrs. Jaeger clasps her hands together and looks at Petra expectantly. Petra nearly chokes on her cracker out of nervousness. “Have you been there yet?” 

“Er, not yet,” Petra says hastily, wincing at the pain in her throat. She takes a quick sip of her water to relieve it. “I haven’t really found the time, I guess.” 

“Oh, you should absolutely go!” says Mrs. Jaeger brightly. Petra had never thought Mrs. Jaeger was one to love museums, but there’s probably a lot about the woman that Petra doesn’t know now. All Petra really remembers about the woman is that she stayed at home during the daytime and worked at the hospital at night. She’s bound to have found other ways to occupy her time now that she doesn’t have to worry about Zeke anymore. 

“You sound as if you really enjoy it.” Petra nibbles at another cracker. She feels as if she should smile right now, but she’s not sure if she’s able to. “Are there any exhibits you would recommend?” 

“Oh, they’re all good! The staff especially …,” Mrs. Jaeger gushes, but her voice begins to trail off. Her eyes flicker over to Zeke as if waiting for a sign to proceed, but her son pays no attention to her. He simply reaches over for an almond on the cheese plate and pops it into his mouth. His mother’s smile tightens and she continues, “The butterfly exhibit that’s opening soon should be exquisite!” 

Petra looks from Zeke to Mrs. Jaeger. Aside from Mrs. Jaeger’s forced smile, Petra really can’t tell what’s wrong, so she puts on a false smile of her own and nods. “I know. Zeke was telling me about it on the ride here.” 

There’s a long and awkward silence. Zeke puts no effort in speaking and neither does his father, who still sits and stares at his lap. Only Mrs. Jaeger and Petra seem to be putting in any effort to pick up the conversation, both trying to appear calm as they search for some common ground to work with. Instead, the doorbell rings and Petra swears she hears a sigh of relief escape Mrs. Jaeger’s lips. 

“It seems Eren has finally arrived,” Mrs. Jaeger says, her chair scraping across the floor as she gets up from the table. As she turns to leave, she flashes Petra an apologetic smile. “I’m so sorry you had to wait so long.” Petra is about to tell her that it wasn’t a problem, that she didn’t mind waiting (even if it was a lie), but Zeke’s mother has already disappeared into the next room with Zeke’s father following silently behind her. 

For a moment, Petra wonders if she should try to talk to Zeke so more. It’s not that the quiet bothers her, but she’s never felt comfortable sitting silently next to others unless she was completely comfortable with them. Ten years ago this would have been fine, but now sitting with Zeke beside her without saying a word is making her skin crawl and her throat dry. She glances at him from the corner of her eye, trying to gauge his interest. 

Zeke doesn’t seem to be bothered by the silence at all. He’s still scrolling through his phone, occasionally reaching out to pluck a cracker or another almond from the cheese plate. If he’s fine without any conversation, Petra figures she shouldn’t bother him. She settles down with her back against her chair rather unhappily and tries to occupy herself another way. 

Petra tries not to eavesdrop on the conversation going on in the other room. First, she stares down at the lace tablecloth, gazing at the delicate pattern until the floral designs are burned into her corneas. Mrs. Jaeger’s voice begins to drift into the dining room, her tone just as cold and harsh as it was when she spoke about Eren earlier this evening. Another voice floats into the room as well, a voice like Eren’s but a bit deeper and rougher than Petra remembers. As the two continue to talk, Petra finds herself straining to listen to the conversation, but she can’t quite make out the words. The words exchanged don’t sound incredibly pleasant though. 

“...if you told me we were having a guest beforehand I would have shown up on time,” Eren hisses as he walks into the room. He’s taller than he was when Petra had seen him last — probably as tall as his brother if not taller — but he walks with his head down and doesn’t seem to notice Petra seated at the table even as he pulls out a chair to sit down. Without looking up, Eren mumbles, “Sorry, I’m late.” 

Zeke looks up, his expression amused. “Eren,” he says, setting down his phone for once. He rests his chin in his hand, mouth quirked upward in a smile. “Aren’t you going to say hi to our guest?” 

“Uh, yeah. Hi,” Eren says, mumbling into his lap. His eyes flicker upward, first at Zeke and then Petra, but he doesn’t really register who Petra is until he takes another glance. His eyes are huge like a doe’s. He’s always had big eyes even when he was a child, large and green like gemstones. He’s grown into them more since the last time Petra has seen him, but they’re still enormous, growing wider as he recognizes her. His mouth falls open in surprise. “... Petra?” 

She can feel her lips curling in a smile. “Hi, Eren.” 

Eren smiles back at her, a little nervous but a lot more relaxed than he was when he first arrived. He’s still shy when he smiles, looking up at her before glancing down at his lap again. “How are you?” He sits up straighter in his seat, no longer slouching. 

“I’m well. How are you?” 

“Good,” Eren answers.

“I’m glad. I missed you,” Petra tells him, and she means it. 

His smile is a little wider now and Petra feels the most relaxed than she’s been the entire night. It’s nice to know that, despite everything, at least Eren hasn’t changed and she feels less awkward being at a Jaeger family dinner after ten years of estrangement. 

Mrs. Jaeger puts down a tub of what looks like a potato salad on the table, opening the container with a frown. “At least you didn’t come empty-handed,” she comments wryly. 

Eren winces but doesn’t say anything. 

Petra sits up. “It looks, um, delicious.” It doesn’t. It looks like a pile of mush and not at all like anything edible, but Petra begins to spoon some on her plate anyway out of politeness despite the look of alarm on Eren’s face. “Eren, your brother told me you started teaching recently. Where do you teach?” 

“Just, um, down the street. Not really elementary … it’s a daycare,” he says distractedly as he watches her help herself to his potato salad. Eren hesitates for a moment before taking the spoon from Petra and switching their plates. He does it absentmindedly, almost as if he doesn’t realize what he’s doing until he notices everyone looking at him peculiarly. Flustered, he explains, “It’s not, ah, I don’t think it’s very good. So.” As if to prove his point, he puts a heaping spoonful of it into his mouth, gagging on it as he swallows it down, and scrunches his face up in disgust. 

Mrs. Jaeger looks rather smug as Eren chokes. “I’ll just put this away then,” she says, removing the tub of potato salad from the table. She gestures for Petra to help herself to the other food on the table. “Help yourself to everything else, Petra.” 

“Er, thank you,” Petra says. She does feel bad about not eating the potato salad, but Eren looks pretty relieved. Because she’s talked Zeke’s ear off in the car and doesn’t know how to carry on a conversation with the Jaeger parents, she decides to continue her conversation with Eren. “Daycare seems like it would suit you. I bet you’re great with kids.” 

“I’m alright,” Eren mumbles as he pushes the potatoes back and forth on his plate, but he’s hiding a smile on his face, secretly pleased. He’s never been that good at hiding his emotions, which Petra thinks is an endearing trait. “Teaching at a university is probably harder.” He freezes for a moment and then hurriedly adds, “Your dad told me you work as a professor now. I ran into him before coming here. He mentioned that you taught English …?” 

She doesn’t say anything for a moment, casting a side glance at Zeke. She thought Zeke would have mentioned that they were working at the same university, but maybe it never came up in conversation between the brothers or they just weren’t as close as they were before. Forcing a smile on her face, she nods, “Yeah, I teach English, but I wouldn’t say teaching university is more or less difficult than handling a daycare. They have their own challenges, right?” 

“Yeah,” Eren replies, voice soft. His smile grows wider and, after Petra asks him about what it’s like teaching at the daycare, starts animatedly talking about his students. He seems very endeared towards a young girl named Gabi, a very mischievous but sweet troublemaker, and her companion Falco, a young boy that often has no choice but to be dragged into all of Gabi’s shenanigans. 

Talking to Eren makes the rest of the dinner go by easily. He’s always been easy to talk to even when they were teenagers and she was dating Zeke. Sometimes she would wait at the Jaeger house and talk with Eren while they waited for Zeke to come back from baseball practice. Eren was always so animated when he talked, using his hands and sometimes bouncing up and down his seat when he got excited. He still does that now as he talks about his work at the daycare, listening intently whenever Petra or even Zeke exchange their own stories about teaching. It makes her feel as if the past ten years hadn’t really happened, like Zeke and Eren had been a part of her life the entire time. 

“Oh, I brought dessert,” Eren says brightly. Before Mrs. Jaeger can say anything, he gets up to collect the paper bag on the kitchen counter and plops it on the dining table. He pushes it closer to Petra. “Your dad gave me some while he was closing up his shop.” 

She laughs. “I eat too many of these as it is,” Petra says, but she plucks an almond cookie from the bag. Her teeth sink into the cookie, savoring its subtle nutty flavor on her tongue, and sighs. “Don’t tell my dad. He won’t let me eat anymore when I get home.” 

“Your secret’s safe with me,” Eren grins. 

Petra peers into the bag. “Did he give you any chocolate croissants?” She looks over at Eren. “Those are still your favorites, right?” 

Eren looks surprised. “Ah, yeah,” he replies, blinking. “You remember?” 

“Of course, I remember,” she snorts. She manages to find a pain au chocolat and places it delicately on Eren’s plate. It’s a little smooshed from the ride here, chocolate spilling out of its side, but Eren still looks at it hungrily. “Why wouldn’t I?” 

Zeke leans forward. “I like the lemon bars. Let me know if there are any in there.” 

She laughs and actually does manage to find one, but it’s a lemon-lavender bar. Zeke assures her it’s fine, picking off the little bits of lavender that are on the top of the bar. They eat like that for a moment and Petra feels an overwhelming wave of nostalgia. It’s probably unhealthy to yearn for the past, but Petra wouldn’t mind if things somehow ended up the way they were before. 

When their dishes are scraped clean and the conversations begin to fade away, Zeke pats down the corner of his mouth with a napkin before announcing that they should stop for the night. He has papers to grade tonight, he explains to his parents who nod understandingly. The wooden legs of his chair scrape against the carpet as he gets up from the table and Petra slides out of her own seat, ready to follow him. 

“Ah, Petra,” Zeke says, pausing like he’s just remembered. He looks at her, head tilting slightly. He’s stopped by the door to the living room, his hand resting on the doorframe. “Do you mind calling an Uber to pick you up? I’d drive you home myself but …” 

“I …” Petra blinks, feeling like a deer in headlights. If she looked around, she would see that the rest of the Jaeger family has a similar expression. She’s not sure why she feels so surprised. Maybe it’s because she had expected him to drive her home, but maybe that was too much to ask of him after he had taken the trouble to drive her here in the first place. It’s not even that far of a drive to her house, but it’s probably too cumbersome for Zeke, who’s busy with grading papers and preparing for tomorrow’s lectures. There’s an awful lump in her throat like she had swallowed an egg whole, but Petra forces a smile on her face as she begins, “Sure, let me just call my dad -” 

“I’ll take you home,” a voice says suddenly. Everyone turns to see Eren standing up from his chair. At first glance he looks angry, but Petra blinks again and there’s only concern on his face as he collects his jacket and walks over to Petra. He shrugs it on and smiles down at her, his expression a little apologetic. “Er, you don’t mind riding on a bike, do you?” 

Petra has to lift her head to look at Eren and she wonders when he had gotten so tall. It must have been after she left for college. “No, that’s fine,” she replies numbly, too shocked to really think about it. She shuffles silently after Eren, mumbling a brief “thank you” when he helps her into her coat. 

“It was lovely having you over again, dear,” Mrs. Jaeger says to Petra, a smile pasted on the woman’s face as she saw the two out. She doesn’t say anything about Zeke not offering Petra a ride back. “Do come again sometime.” 

“Of course,” Petra says, although the promise feels empty. She’s not sure if Mrs. Jaeger notices or even cares because the woman shuts the door in her face before Eren and Petra are even out in the driveway. It’s not a cold gesture, but it’s a change from the days when Mrs. Jaeger would wait until Petra was almost out of sight before shutting the door and disappearing into the house. 

Petra shoves her hands into the pockets of her coat and follows Eren down the driveway, watching as he runs to the bike he had carelessly discarded on the ground before entering the house earlier. Embarrassed, Eren hastily picks up the bike, brushing it off and mumbling something about how he had been in too much of a hurry earlier to properly lock up his bike. Petra assures him it’s fine. She’s only half-listening anyway. 

“You can just sit here,” Eren says, patting a padded seat on the back of his bike. He throws a leg over his bike easily and looks at Petra, waiting expectantly. 

She hadn’t objected to the ride home before, but now she looks at Eren’s vehicle of choice skeptically. “Are you sure you’ll be able to pedal with me on it? I’m a whole other person.” Petra hovers beside the bike, but she doesn’t get on. 

“Yeah, it’s fine. It was fine when my boyfriends were riding in the back, and they’re a lot heavier than you,” Eren replies. It takes him a moment to register what he just said and then his face begins to color, cheeks glowing pink even in the dim moonlight. “I mean my ex-boyfriends. I rode around with my ex-girlfriend too, but she was really tiny too. She was …” He probably would have babbled on and on if Petra hadn’t sat down. 

“Your exes?” Petra asks, eyebrow raised. She hadn’t really thought about Eren dating, but it’s funny to think about now. She doesn’t remember if he ever dated anyone when he was in high school. She probably shouldn’t tease, but she can’t resist grinning at the boy and saying, “It looks like you were busy in college.” 

“Not that busy. Just … probably as busy as your average college student,” Eren mumbles under his breath, face still flushed. He gestures at Petra’s hands and then makes a motion around his waist. “You can … around me if, you know, you’re comfortable with it.” 

“Oh, right.” She leans forward and wraps her arms around Eren’s waist and wonders briefly how someone so tall can have such a thin waist. “Do you remember the way to my house?” she asks. 

“Of course,” Eren says. “It’s not that far from here.” 

For some reason, the way Eren answers makes Petra feel warm. Maybe it’s just the heat transfer from resting her cheek on his back. She closes her eyes, feeling the wind rush around her as Eren bikes her back home. 

It feels so comfortable, clinging onto someone so familiar and breathing in Eren’s scent, something like pinewood and a little bit of peppermint. He feels strong too, sturdy like a redwood tree. Petra doesn’t know why she doubted his ability to bike with her additional weight. He’d probably be fine having someone twice her weight in tow. She experimentally gives Eren’s waist a little squeeze. It must have been too sudden of a squeeze because they come to a screeching stop, Petra’s face slamming against Eren’s back and the two of them nearly go flying. 

“Oh, ouch,” Petra says. One arm is still wrapped around Eren’s lithe waist, but she raises a hand to rub her stinging face. “That hurts.” 

“S-sorry!” Eren stammers. He twists around to get a good look at Petra, forehead wrinkling. “I didn’t mean to stop so suddenly I was just … surprised.” He brings his hand down to where Petra’s arm is hooked around his waist, but he snatches his hand away as soon as their skin brushes as if he’s been burned. “Sorry!”

“It’s fine,” Petra assures him. Her nose is throbbing dully, but it’s not bleeding. “It’s my fault anyway. I was just surprised. You’re a lot bigger than you were the last time I saw you.” 

“I’m alright,” Eren says with a shy laugh. He pushes off on the bike and starts for home again, pedaling easily despite Petra’s weight. He doesn’t startle when Petra leans against him again, her cheek rubbing against the cotton of his hoodie. His breath hitches a little when Petra wraps her arms a little tighter around his waist, but it goes unnoticed by her. 

“Were they nice?” she asks. Eren makes a confused noise, and she can’t help but smile. Clarifying, she says, “Your exes. Were they nice?” 

Eren pedals in silence for a while before responding. “Yeah. They were nice.” 

“That’s good.” Petra sighs against his back, not noticing the way he shivers as if he can feel her breath on his skin. “You deserve to date nice people.” 

Petra might have imagined it, but she thinks she hears Eren say something in reply. He says it quietly, though, and the wind carries it away too quickly for her to hear. She straightens her back, lifting her head from where it rests against Eren’s back, but he doesn’t repeat himself and she doesn’t ask. Maybe it’s just one of those things that are meant to be spoken aloud but not heard by anyone. 

They don’t speak much the rest of the way home. Petra figures Eren is having enough trouble biking with two people and holding a conversation would only tire him out more. She just lets herself rest against him, watching as they pass streetlight after streetlight. It probably would have been more convenient to call a Lyft or an Uber, but Petra thinks accepting Eren’s bike ride isn’t bad either. It saved her from having to wait awkwardly for her driver to find the house while Zeke’s parents waited for her to leave. 

She wonders if she should have gone to dinner in the first place. Maybe Zeke had only invited her out of politeness, but she had taken it to mean more than it did. She’s stupid to think that arriving at the Jaeger house meant that things could go back to the way things were. It was noticeably tense in the house. At first, Petra thought it was because of the strained relationship between Mrs. Jaeger and Eren, but now she’s not so sure. It’s not as if Mr. and Mrs. Jaeger had met her with open arms. They hadn’t been hostile, but they were polite in the way that people were polite to house guests and not in the way they would be to a childhood friend of their son. God, she’s so stupid. She should have just declined Zeke’s offer politely and never spoken to him again since he was obviously content with not speaking with her for ten years. 

Burying her face in Eren’s hoodie, Petra gives him another squeeze. Eren doesn’t brake this time. He just lets out a surprised “oh!” and falters for a bit, bike slowing, before picking his pace back up and continuing on their way. 

“We’re almost there,” Eren tells her. As he approaches Petra’s house, the bike begins to slow before stopping completely in front of the driveway. When Petra lifts her head, Eren is looking at her, smiling. “Are you alright?” 

“Yeah,” Petra nods. She gets off the bike and pats down her windswept hair, brushing some stray locks out of her face. She manages to smile back at Eren. “Thanks for the ride back. I hope it wasn’t too out of your way.” 

“It’s fine.” Eren sits at his bike, his smile a little lopsided. He looks as if he’s about to say something, but nothing comes. It’s only when Petra turns around towards her house that he opens his mouth. “Hey, Petra?” 

Petra’s hand rests on the gate of her wooden fence, just about to open it. She looks at Eren, watching as he fidgets with the handle of his bike. “Yeah?” 

“Did Zeke …?” His voice trails off and Eren’s looking everywhere except at her face. He nibbles on his bottom lip and Petra wonders what he’s so nervous about. His expression looks pained as if he’s scared whatever he has to say will hurt her, but Petra’s not sure why it would. After a moment, Eren swallows and forces a smile on his face. “Did Zeke tell you that … I work near your university?” 

“You do?” 

Eren nods. He looks a lot less nervous now, his shoulders relaxed. “Well, it’s not that far by bike.” 

“Really?” Petra hums. “I should come visit you some time then.” 

“Oh, you don’t have to -” 

“Or you could visit me?” she suggests. 

He blinks. “I can?” Eren asks. “Is that really okay?” 

Petra almost laughs. “Of course. Why wouldn’t it be? You should just let me know beforehand if you’re coming,” she tells him. She walks over, pulling her phone out of her purse and handing it to him so he can add his number. “Text me or call me. I might not respond right away because I might have a faculty meeting or a lecture, but I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.” 

“Oh, alright then,” Eren says. He types away on her phone, handing it back to her as soon as he’s finished. He watches with wide green eyes as Petra sends him an emoji — a simple “Hi, Eren! It’s Petra 😊” — and looks back at her with a grin. “I’ll come visit sometime.” 

“That’d be great,” Petra says, and she really means it. “Thanks again for the ride, Eren. I really appreciate it.” 

“It was no problem,” Eren tells her. He waves as walks through the gate and up the steps of her porch. He’s still waving when she opens the door and turns around, his smile a little goofy but cute at the same time. “Have a good night!” 

“You too,” Petra says before shutting the door gently behind her. She takes a peek out the window and sees Eren still on the sidewalk with the bike. He stands there with a pensive look on his face before pushing off his bike and riding off into the night. Petra watches until he’s a tiny speck down the road. When she blinks, he’s gone. 

Petra finds her dad waiting for her in the living room, sleeping because he can’t stay awake for very long after dinner. In his lap sits a half-finished crossword puzzle. Petra smiles affectionately at her father before pressing a soft kiss on the old man’s brow. 

“I’m home,” she whispers as her father begins to stir. 

“Ah, Petra,” says her father. He looks at her, eyes still bleary with sleep, and gives her a drowsy smile. With a hand, he pushes up the glasses that were slipping off his nose during sleep. “Did Zeke drive you home?” 

Her lips press into a thin line. “No. He was busy,” Petra replies, trying to keep her voice as even as possible. “Eren took me home instead.” 

“Eren?” her father repeats, not seeming to remember the name. 

“Zeke’s younger brother,” Petra reminds him. She leans against the back of her father’s armchair as she tries to describe the half-brother. “He was a few years younger than me. Brown hair, big green eyes, kind of gangly.” 

“Oh, Eren,” her father says, nodding. Petra’s not sure if he actually remembers or if he’s just being polite, but then he suddenly says, “I saw him earlier this evening before I was closing up shop. He’s very polite. He’s a nice boy.” 

Petra leans over to rest her head on her father’s shoulder while her arms lay folded on the back of the armchair. She thinks about her ride home, how it could have been cold and miserable and lonely. And maybe her thoughts were all of those things, but the ride wasn’t. She can still feel the warmth Eren emanated from underneath his hoodie, how comforting it was to have someone to hold.

“Yeah. He’s a nice guy,” Petra says softly. 

[lochrannn]

AU_gust: Maybe I’m yours

Read on AO3

prompt no 25: Time Travel

Relationship: Lila Pitts/Diego Hargreeves

Characters: Diego Hargreeves, Lila Pitts

-

“How short notice can you take time off?” Lila asks, leaning back but still holding on to his t-shirt at his sides.

Diego has just walked in through the door and got an armful of over-excited girlfriend and a sloppy kiss with slightly too much teeth. That never bodes well but he also can never bring himself to not wrap his arms around Lila and kiss her right back.

“Uhm, not sure… Why?” he asks, looking down into her brightly shining eyes and at the grin that splits her face with delight.

God, he loves her, but he’s also never not just a little wary of what she’ll come up with next.

“I want to take a road trip with you! I bought a car and everything!” Lila says, almost vibrating with excitement and pulling him back against herself with no trouble, despite their difference in size.

“But…” Diego breathes out a little dazed from her hungry kiss, “I have a car?”

“Sure, sure,” Lila pats him reassuringly on the chest, “but we’ll sell this one when we get to LA and then we fly back. I want to take a road trip, not be stuck in a car for three weeks. Allison says we can stay with her for a couple of nights before heading back!” Then she lets go of him and wanders off towards the kitchen.

“Hold on, Allison?” Diego calls out after her, before stopping and looking off into space for a second trying to catch up. Then he decides to literally catch up and follows Lila into the kitchen.

“You’ve already booked everything, haven’t you?” Diego says, pointing an accusatory finger at her. But he can’t help the amused smirk that makes its way onto his face when Lila gives him an extremely unconvincing, innocent look and says softly, “I don’t know what you mean.”

“When are we leaving?” he asks, crossing his arms.

“Day after tomorrow.”

-

It’s his first real holiday in years.

Or ever, really.

That’s not quite true. Eudora had convinced him to go on a weekend getaway to the coast when their relationship had already been on the rocks for a while. He had been an insufferably moody asshole in his early twenties, only weeks away from getting kicked out of the police academy, and in hindsight, Eudora had tried too hard to be mature and a grown-up, and had put up with so much more of his shit than she should have, trying to make things work.

From his perspective now, as he is in a relationship that, despite the slightly unconventional beginnings, weirdly works, he has finally learned to appreciate that it simply wasn’t enough that he and Eudora had been in love. All things considered they’d just been too mismatched.

Nevertheless, it had been a really lovely holiday and had probably kept them together a couple of months longer than they otherwise would have managed.

“What are you thinking about?” Lila asks and Diego turns around to look at her in the driver’s seat.

She’s already turning to look back out at the road, the sun coming in at a low angle, making her skin shimmer almost golden in the late afternoon light.

For a second it takes his breath away and Lila turns around to look at him again quizzically.

Diego reaches out to take one of her hands off the steering wheel - there hasn’t been a bend in the road in about an hour, he’s sure she’ll be fine with just the one, even if, for a former secret assassin she’s an oddly rule abiding driver - and presses her knuckles against his lips.

“Just that I’m fucking crazy to let you drag me across the country like this!” he says with a smirk.

Lila pulls her hand away without looking, reaches behind his head and rakes her nails across the shorn hair at the back of his neck and says, “You fucking love it though!”

And Diego can’t argue with that.

-

On day five they reach higher altitudes in the West. The sky is an impressively striking shade of blue and Diego could not be more content at the wheel.

They left out early from their hotel and when they stopped at a drugstore in the small town to get some terrible coffee, Lila bought bright purple nail polish that she was going to put on in the car.

Only, she’s decided that the results are too messy while driving, but she is apparently also bored, so right now Lila’s holding on to his right hand on her thigh tightly and delicately applying the color on to his nails.

Diego occasionally looks over at her and can’t stop the fond smile that tugs at his lips when he spots the small wrinkle above her nose that tells him she’s concentrating hard.

Then she looks up at him and asks, “What?” and Diego is just about to answer when she shrieks, “Oh my god, look!” and Diego whips his head around, realizing he hasn’t really been concentrating on the road for a few moments, expecting to be heading straight into the back of some huge 18 wheeler truck, but instead the road ahead is completely empty and he is still going straight in his lane.

“Jesus! What the fuck?” Diego breathes out and glances over at Lila out of the corner of his eye, not actually turning away from the road again. At least she has the decency to look a little guilty.

“Uhm, there was a sign for a gold rush museum town and I maybe got a bit too excited.” Lila replies with an unmistakable pout in her voice.

Diego huffs out a breath, trying to steady his racing heart and then asks as evenly as he can manage, “Next exit or the one after that?”

-

They soon arrive at the collection of wood houses, front porches arranged along a straight dusty street. Apparently the town was built as a set for a western in the fifties and some enterprising businessman bought the whole lot to turn them into a theme park. At least that’s what the brochure they got at the entrance says.

Beyond the fact that at least the facades of the structures look relatively convincing, the only part of the museum town that could be considered in any way even related to a theme park is the gunslingers show that is put on at the top of every hour.

And as that is the main attraction, it seems most people don’t even bother with the museum town itself, so Lila and Diego wander around it, trying to get the creepy animatronics to work and then hide away behind the fake saloon from the few other people who are milling about, to make out like horny teenagers.

 -

At high noon they are sitting together at the top of the bleachers on the outskirts of the museum town where they are apparently about to be treated to a wild and exciting shootout and some of the world's most renowned trick shots. Again, according to the brochure.

The shootout is staged with blanks and Diego gets a little bored but perks up again once the artistic shooting starts. Lila has pressed herself into his side with one elbow resting on his thigh and Diego’s put his arm along the back of the bench to give her more room. She’s mostly concentrating on the fluorescent blue slushie she insisted on buying before the show.

Diego is watching the trick shooters intently and is pretty impressed at their aim. He could easily copy any one of their tricks using his powers, now that he’s worked out how to manipulate the trajectory of bullets as well as knives, but he has to admit, that he probably couldn’t do it without them, even though he had always been an excellent shot.

The star of the show is announced and after he takes his dramatic shots, baffled chatter starts up amongst the crowd because he missed every single one.

Diego frowns and then realizes that Lila has stopped slurping on her drink, going suspiciously quiet, so he moves his mouth close to her ear and whispers, “Stop that! You’re gonna get someone hurt!” but he can’t keep the amusement out of his voice.

Lila leans back and away from him and says with feigned innocence, dark brown eyes big as saucers, “I don’t know what you’re talking about!” before wrapping her lips around her straw and sucking up more of the unnaturally blue slushed ice.

Diego is momentarily distracted by the sight, then he reaches for the plastic cup with one hand, pulling it away from Lila, puts his other hand to the back of her neck and kisses her gently. She tastes of fake raspberry.

Lila practically melts against him, grabbing his t-shirt tightly with both hands and her eyes flutter shut.

There’s an almost painful sensation in his chest, a physical ache that wants him to never let go of her, but Diego nevertheless pulls back ever so slightly and he breathes against her lips, “Marry me.”

He didn’t plan on asking her like this. Heck, he didn’t really plan on asking her at all. Though they have been talking about it, they so far haven’t come to a clear decision, but there is so much certainty in him now that the last thing he would want to do is take back his words.

He hopes Lila knows it's alright if she says no, though.

For another beat Diego thinks she might instead simply pretend like she didn’t hear him but then her hands tighten in his t-shirt even more and she presses not only her lips but her whole body against him so fiercely that he doesn’t have to wait for her to pull away to know what her answer will be.

Nevertheless, it feels like she sets his heart on fire when she mouths along his jaw, bites his earlobe and then whispers Okay into his skin.

[notdeadyet09]

Cherry slushees are the only reason to wake from the dead

Read on AO3 : https://archiveofourown.org/works/27466426

Ship: Valeyne with hints of Wayleska

word count : 3591

Warning: Jerome.... uses a gun at one point and t’s kind of manipulative 

Weekly visits to the graveyard were almost as constant as weekly threats on Bruce’s life. They were tedious and usually not very exciting. The most action anyone could get was if Jerome’s Maniax were trying to cause trouble again. Bruce should have been thankful for the lack of trouble (he wasn’t). After all, as much as he would never admit it, Jerome wasn’t ever boring

It was unusually cold for September, Bruce noted while wrapping his jacket tighter around himself. The cold seeping out of his breath, little vapors. Bruce could faintly remember a time when his mother had called it “the last remembering blood of the dragons”. There were no dragons anymore, no time for playing games of fantasy and fairy tales. Though he wouldn’t be surprised if they showed up again this was Gotham after all.

It would almost make him laugh, dragons flying over the perpetually gray skies, lighting them up with fire. Maybe if there were dragons it would be the reason today felt different. Something being decidedly off. It had started with Bruce missing his alarm. Though it almost seemed a primary to most people Bruce never missed his alarm, whether it be the clock in his head or the phone on his phone, he was always up at 5:30 in the morning. But today he slept in, waking up only when Alfred had come to look for him (Alfred seldom woke up when Bruce did, sighing about old age and needing rest. Bruce could almost agree with him).

So after his entire schedule had been thrown off, he had to deal with the unfortunate circumstances of one Selina Kyle, turning up, high as a kite. It wasn’t often that she smoked but when she did, she went all out. Bruce could surmise that she did most things that way.

After laying her down to sleep and answering a few questions that no one would ask unless you were high as a kite (Bruce had almost burst out laughing when she asked him if he slept upside down, like a bat) and bidding Alfred a warm farewell he’d slipped into the cold Gotham air.

Weekly visits could have seemed risky, the routine of it all making it easy to find him, but in Bruce’s heart, he didn’t care. If nothing else he had to make sure that Jerome was dead. He didn’t see Jerome die. He could only assume what laughter he went out on (if he was laughing). But he did see the body before they put it in a cheap coffin and a small service that only the other twin attended. Bruce certainly didn’t think about how he stood there, hiding behind a tree, listening to the empty words of a hired priest. No, he really didn’t think about that. He also didn’t think about the stab of a bad feeling when he heard about Jerome’s death. The sickly way that tears almost surfaced. Because why wouldn’t they? Jerome was someone that Bruce had never claimed to know well but from a few choice words at the diner, he understood enough

“No one helped me… ever” it was said with almost disbelief, and barely disclosed humor. Though it did mean something to Bruce. What makes someone like Jerome happen. Cause it really wasn’t care and help.

Bruce shook off the thought, reminding himself of what Jerome had done. It was no matter who made him like this, he still did terrible things. Things that kept Bruce up at night. Like spraying Jeremiah. Oh, Jeremiah. Burce almost grimaced at the thought of the man before the gas. A good man. Someone hurt by their own twin brother and left one last trap after it was all over. What would Jeremiah say if he knew who Bruce was reminiscing about?

He didn’t feel like answering that question today, with all of the feelings that went along with it. Why would he be mad? It's not like…. Like anything. It’s nothing Bruce thought as deftly made his way through cleanly cut grass and pale grey headstones.

It was, unfortunately, familiar; the feeling that dropped to the pit of Bruce’s stomach as he froze taking in his surroundings. Something was wrong, terribly fucking wrong. Displaced earth the color of late-night coffee and a shovel lay next to an open grave.

Jerome’s open grave.

Bruce instantly whipped around, almost expecting Jerome’s Maniax to come falling down from the sky like flying monkeys. His breathing becomes sharp but quiet, ears straining to hear anything that might give him a clue. Bruce knew that he should be calling Jim or Alfred or hell, even Jeremiah but something made him digress. Something made him want to stay here and fight. To fight like the dragons that didn’t exist anymore. The incredible itch to fight and win wasn’t something new theta Bruce had expected but it was something that he largely never dealt with. Never dealt with who caused it. Later he could deny the almost giddy feeling of finally something happening. Later maybe he wouldn’t need to. But now he just stood his ground, digging expensive boots into the soft late-night coffee dirt.

Bruce didn’t seem to notice the curling of his fists, the rosey fingertips still numb from the cold, and looked up and the bright gray sky. It was the kind of gray you’d find on harsh winter days, the stark blue’s and harsh whites of snow simulating the city. You’d never see the sun, but it always loomed. Loomed wasn’t the word most people would call the sun, that being reserved for fear and clowns at children’s birthday parties. Bruce thought the word made sense, as Gotham seldom was like everywhere else.

Bruce resided to urge to call out for Jerome’s cult, knowing that they had to be here somewhere, somehow. Calling them out would only make them hide more. It was an aspect the Bruce never got, seeing how taunting Jerome only made it easier to find him. Though it may be because the Maniax were only cheap imitations, not the real thing. Bruce should stop thinking like that shouldn't he, the almost fond smile he got when talking about the late face stapler sleeping back into practiced apathy.

Sighing, Bruce walked over to the grave, crouching down to talk about the cold soil in his fingers. It was fresh, as only dirt used to cover your worst (best) enemy could be. Likely dig less than a day or so. Why hasn't anybody noticed? Maybe there wasn’t anybody left to notice the sickly part of him answered, referring to the king night guard that had always let them in. Bruce happened he wasn’t dead. Strike that, Bruce knew he wasn’t dead. After all, what good was hope if he didn’t know it (that’s all hope’s good for). The shovel was interesting, placed haphazardly on the ground as someone had just thrown it there. Maybe they had. Maybe they were running and hiding, though Bruce doubted that they could run carrying a casket, seeing how it was missing.

Must have been more than one person then. That at least narrowed the list done to basically everyone.

“This is getting nowhere,” Bruce muttered, still rubbing dirt in between his fingers. Only now had it donned on him that he should call Alfred. Even though calling Alfred was likely the first thing that anyone else would have done (either that or they didn’t know the man well enough). But Bruce did, barely bothering to wipe the dirt off of his hands before reaching into his coat. The black coat almost seems to envelop him, like the night sky lacking stars. There weren’t ever any stars in Gotham, cloud cover, and light pollution getting in the way. After all the first time Bruce had seen stars, real stars were in Switzerland. When he was 12. Someone might call it sad, or as the missing dead man would say, absolutely fucking hilarious.

Bruce could see it as funny too, only seeing the stars after the passing of his parents. Passing was such a kind and soft word for murdered in an alley, used by stuffy old people paying their respects (and apparently 19-year-old billionaire vigilantes).

Shuffling around Bruce finally realized something. He left his phone at home. Shit. Shit. Shitshitshitshitshit. Bruce could almost laugh. Of course, this was the day he left his phone at home. It only served as evidence that something had it out for the poor boy, something with a cruel sense of humor.

He did a final pass over, making sure that at least he had some weapons; that being his chain, a Batarang, and what could only be described as the shock pen (a name given by a very high Selina). I was basically a mini taser that was sure to be illegal everywhere but this was Gotham after all.

The silence in the graveyard almost froze like it was waiting for a cue. And cue it did get, in the form of familiar laughter. Jarring, hysterical laughter that Bruce had only heard from one man. Bruce whipped around coming face to face with a smiling man holding a slushie.

Fuck.

“Heya Bruice,” The familiar nickname and the smiling face of Jerome Valeska couldn’t be mistaken for anyone other than a man coming back from the dead. And of course, he’s back. It’d only fit for what fluid rules mortality in Gotham ran on. Because the old lady that had passed away a month ago didn’t get to come back but of course, the psycho clown gets too.

“How?!... How the fuck are you alive,” The words came out shakily, the resolve Bruce had been building after Jerome’s death less steady than he thought. But I suppose seeing a dead man can do that.

“Such language,” Jerome gasped, the words scratchy. He paused coughing once before taking another slurp of the slushie. Where’d he get that and who he had killed to get it Bruce didn't want to know, instead reaching in his coat to pull out a Batarang. But something stopped him.

That being the sharp click of a gun and metal being pointed in his direction. Because why wouldn't Jerome have a gun?

“Whatever you’re going to pull out of that very expensive coat of yours, I suggest you don’t," he was smiling, a sickly kind of smile that was almost fond (bruce almost wondered if Jeremiah got it from him). He was dressed in what Bruce could only assume he was buried in, a cheap tux that lacked any source of flair and panache. Almost like the one he’d been wearing at the gala when Bruce got the little white scar that seems to burn against his neck now.

Surveying what little option he had left, Bruce decided on just sighing and putting his hands up. He’d hoped that Jerome was still a little stiff form y’ know coming back from the dead and that he would be a little easier to take down. One could only hope as Jerome laughed a bitter laugh, eyes trained on Bruce’s face. He was looking for something, whether it be a sign of what Bruce was going to do or just a plain crazy that sent a chill down Bruce's spine.

“How are you here?” The words came out steadier this time, as the surprise of a dead man walking began to diminish. Another day, another psycho clown twin brother of your sort off boyd=friend rising from the grave.

“Well funny story-,” Jerome said scratching the back of his head with the gun. The safety wasn't on “- I woke up, tired and in real need on a slushie and y' know the place on 4th and Baker street sooooo….” he paused, letting false tension build. Still the showman as always.

“You came back from the dead for a goddamn slushie," Bruce interrupted anger and disbelief coating his voice. It was in character though for the red-haired man to take death like it was only a nap between classes at the rich school’s bruce used to attend. It should have frightened him more. A lot more, but Bruce could only focus on the almost giddy smile of a man happy. “Oh, and by the way, how is my little…. Fuck he’s older than me now!” It didn't take a genius to figure out who he talking about.

Nor did it take a genius to see the slight flush on Bruce’s cheeks. Jerome paused slightly, scattered thoughts flashing through his head. Did something happen? Did they happen? It almost made Jerome cringe before he remembered the gas. The little trap for a little brother.

“Your damn trap worked if that’s what you're wondering,” Bruce answered the question unsaid. It could be easily forgotten how good the dark knight was at reading people, years of charity balls and betrayal would do that. But that still didn’t answer the flush. If the cold (was it cold? it’s hard to tell when you’ve been dead) was to blame or something else entirely. Jerome hoped for the cold. He wasn’t ever a liar, or blind, Bruce was cute and interesting, almost more interesting than anyone in Gotham and to think that his brother, infected by the same insanity as Jerome had snatched him up made him sick to his stomach. Though that could be whatever bugs he hadn't thrown up yet.

“Are you blushing over dear old Jeremiah Brucie boy,” Barely contained anger made Bruce freeze. What was Jerome getting at? Though Bruce knew that an answer might only anger him more if it is a true one at that.

“Why should you care, Jerome?” Bruce was overwhelmingly aware of the flush on his face, reconsidering if it would be best to try and fight him now. After all the last time Jerome saw Jeremiah he was still sane (maybe he never was a little voice whispered). It would have been cute if it didn’t mean that Jeremiah had won.

And Jerome never lost, but when he did he was one hell of a sore loser.

“Because I want to know if that bitch went to the cute billionaire before I did,” It was said casually, obviously feigned but still casual. The words took about five seconds to register in Bruce's head before he choked on his own breath.

"You’re not funny Jerome,” He hissed through his teeth, wrapping the coat further around him before asking another question.

“How the hell aren’t you cold,” He pointedly looked down at Jerome’s bare feet, stained blue and covered in dirt. Jerome didn’t answer, instead picking up another slush from the ground. Why hadn’t Bruce seen that?

Again, though it might have just been the shock of a very cold and odd day, it took a few seconds for Bruce to realize what Jerome was offering.

“How do I know that you didn't do something to it,”

“I’ve only been alive for one day and you really I’d kill you like this, with no one watching,” So It was just them. But it did bring back sick remembrance of dead butlers and staples. Of the Carnival where Bruce had bargained for his life and almost ended up taking Jerome's. Bruce nearly shook his head, trying to dislodge frozen memories and focus on what’s in front of him.

“Just give me the goddamn slushee you fuck,”

“The mouth on this kid,” Jerome handed him the plastic cup, only ⅔ full. Bruce pointedly ignored that Jerome had likely drunk from the straw that he would before talking again.

“First of all I’m older than you and second, how exactly are you planning on making my life a living hell this time,” He was tired, and it almost offended Jerome, that someone was taking more of Bruce’s energy then he was. So he did what every good performer does when something isn’t going their way… try to seduce the audience.

“Y’know I was going to shoot you,” a glare was sent his way, form tightening “but I decided no I’m just going to have some fun with my favorite volunteer~,” He purred the last words, relishing in the momentary shock spreading over Bruce’s face. Sadly it was smothered over by priced apathy and feigned emotionless. Jerome knew better, saw the little cracks in the mask Bruce seldom took off.

“But I could always just… try to kill your butler again,” It was a cheap shot, both of them knew that but it worked, as Bruce lunged forward with new fury in his eyes.

Jerome slid left only to be tripped by Bruce’s longer legs (when had he gotten so fucking tall?). The newly found breath was knocked out of him and a punch landed to his face. Familiar pain bloomed, with the slight tearing of skin. It had been sewed on better this time before he was put in the ground. Bruce could see the giddy surprise when he easily took down Jerome, practicing moves against dead men. Getting the gun was easy, one strike to a fragile wrist and it was flying to the other side of somewhere. Jerome’s skin was cold though, even more like Jeremiah. Or maybe Jeremiah's was like Jerome’s. It was uncanny, the familiar of their positions. NO smeared face paint or mirror shards this time. Bruce loomed over Jerome, tired fury burning in his eyes.

Bruce looked older, Jerome noted, remembering the offhand comment Bruce had made. That meant that Bruce had to be 19 at least. Less boyish charm and more hard angles. Still the same smell of rich person perfume. Seriously, if Jerome could count on one thing from the otherwise surprising boy (Jerome still refused to call him a man) it was that the rich floated off of him. “This… feels familiar. I can’t put my finger on it though,” Bruce glared at him again before noting how he stood. Oh.

“Shut up or I will make you shut up,” It should have come out harsh and grim like the “bat growl” Selena had nicknamed it. But instead, it sounded breathless, like this had been the fight he was searching for.

] “I’d like to see that Brucie~” Again with the flirting. Jerome wasn’t even thinking about the knife in his pocket, only focused on the very angry man on top of him.

Bruce found it hard to think as well, acting on instinct. That seemed to happen a lot around Jerome. Case in point smashing his lips against Jerome’s. Fuck.

His lips unsurprisingly were smiling. But they tasted like dirt and ort and cinnamon. Why did they taste like cinnamon? Bruce could hardly compare it to the few kisses he shared with Jeremiah. They were different, Jeremiah being like mint, a lemon, cold and sharp.

Oh, and Jerome was kissing back, like really kissing back. Through giggles and muffled words, Bruce didn’t want him to say. Jerome was like kissing gasoline. Like poison and fire and crescendos in crappy club music. It made Bruce want to laugh.

On the other hand, Jerome Was laughing, kissing someone who felt like the beating sun on burnt skin and ducking your head in ice water. Jerome would swear that something had zapped him every time Bruce moved his lips. But then it ended, Bruce pulling away with wide eyes.

“What the fuck did I just do?” He whispered, not getting up from the familiar position on Jerome. What the fuck indeed. And Jerome was still laughing, before looking up with eyes filled with danger. Danger that Bruce had seen in his own.

“Well I’m pretty sure you just made out with a mur-” he was cut off by bruce’s hands shoving themselves over his mouth. Half tempted to lick them before he looked up and saw the most emotion he’d ever seen on Bruce Wayne’s face.

Shock and a faraway look were the easiest to spot, but the remaining anger and guilt came pouring out of him like oil. His lips were bruised, and his hands shaking. Jerome could watch him like this for hours.

“I’m sorry,” Bruce said sheepishly, lifting his hands from Jerome’s face.

“What’s there to be sorry for darling, except for pulling away,” Jerome on the other hand felt like he was flying. He hadn’t lost after all. And y’ know he got to kiss a very pretty boy who almost killed him once. That seems to let Bruce finally come to what little sense he must have had left and lifted himself off of Jerome.

Only now, after Bruce had gotten up did Jerome notice the cold. It almost made reach to pull Bruce back down. But he didn’t, instead opting to watch the dark-haired man with happy eyes. Bruce wasn’t running like he should have done. He didn’t seem to be doing a lot of things he should be doing today wasn't he? Instead, he just picked up the slush and sat back down next to Jerome.

“So I’m guessing nobody’s going to know about this,” Jerome spoke, breaking what surprisingly wasn’t an awkward silence.

And Bruce was laughing. Laughing quietly but still laughing. Holy shit Jerome was in love. It was sweet and fragile, like a spider’s web but and the same time sharp and harsh. The wonderful paradox that was Bruce Wayne Jerome supposed as he started laughing too. And there they were, a man who repeatedly refuse to stay dead and a man who stubbornly refused to kill, laughing like children in a graveyard.

[ultimatenerd89]

Okay so I make up stupid Aus when listening to music

So. I was listening to Freeze Your Brain from Heathers and I just thought

Danny Phantom au because I'm stupid

Anyway

Veronica as Sam Manson

JD as Danny Fenton

Martha as Tucker

Kurt and Ram as Dash and Kwan

Heather Chandler as Paulina

Heather Duke as Star

Heather McNamera as Valerie

Now, Idk why I thought this because Danny wouldn't hurt a soul and JD wanted to blow up a high school. I only put Heather M. As Valerie because Valerie got kicked out of the A-listers and Heather M. Basically got kicked out of the Heathers.

I'm kinda working as I go because I'm sad and need a distraction but anyway.

Jack and Maddie were working on making a portal to the ghost zone, so they are still obsessed with ghosts. But instead of the portal not working it blows up. Killing Maddie and Jazz. Jazz dying by ectopoisoning (Idk if that's a thing but it is now). So Jack feeling like it was his fault kind of put himself into his work, causing him to travel a lot.

Danny on the other hand didn't die, but he got a lot of ghostly attributes. Meaning his hair has a shine to it almost making it look white. Sometimes his eyes are icy blue, other times they are a radioactive green, sometimes it seems they are both. All depends, no one can tell. He's very quiet no one can hear him walk into a room, and has been almost marked absent often because of this. He can turn himself invisible, just not for long.

When Sam (officially) meets Danny at 7-eleven she's kind of surprised to find him there. Because she could have sworn the store was empty before coming in. But here he was by the slushies slurping away. She couldn't tell what to think because well it's hard to keep eye contact with a guy you can't tell what color eye they have. Or the way his hair seemed almost white as snow. But here he was talking about his troubles to a random girl he just met.

How she got into the A-listers she doesn't know. She just forged a note for them and made a deal that they back off of people for a week, instead they compromised to have her join. So next thing she knew she was an A-lister.

After that all I got his Danny holding up a bottle of cleaner and saying, "All your problems will be gone if you gave her this."

Sam of course says no, so Danny ends up just giving her food poisoning or some crap, I don't really know. I've ran dry on ideas

So God help me this is my brain and this is what I thought idc if others agree or not.

[kalluralove]

How about a fic where the whole team goes to Lance's home town in Cuba, playing on the beach?

Thanks for the fun ask @aquaburst07 ! My apologies for taking so long this cold did a number on me. 

**This follows the action of Season 6 so SPOILERS AHEAD!!!**

This is going to be the third part of the series after “Reforging the Bond” and “Through Your Eyes” There will be one more for a request, but it’s a side quest (a.k.a. 18+!)

Sink or Swim

Keith dug his toes into the dry sand, possibly in the hope he’d take root in his spot on the beach. Even though he grew up surrounded by the stuff, it just wasn’t the same as being here on the shores of Varadero, where the Atlantic joined the Gulf of Mexico. No barrier divided the two, and it would take a massive undertaking to do so.  He mused at how two bodies of water flowed into each other and yet were separate.

Kind of like how things were with Allura. Or had been, at least. He thought they were two bodies flowing into the other as well. The current he had long imagined could not be altered was suddenly cut off by a cursed kiss and harsh words. The dam may have been designed by Lotor but Keith had built it himself.

He was happy they were at least on speaking terms again. Weeks passed and the discomfort had begun to subside, but the ease they’d long shared failed to resurface. Keith suspected Allura had begun to confide in Krolia, possibly because of her short history with the team. For that he was thankful, though, because his mother could advise her without bias. He’d never told his mom about his feelings for the Princess, after all.

And for her part Allura seemed happier. She had jumped at the chance to meet Lance’s family and relax with friends after spending so long working on Earth’s new defense system. In fact, the sound of her laughing and splashing in the water with Romelle, Lance, and Matt, made him think she was sounding a lot more like her old self. That made him incredibly happy, even if it did sting a little.

He chanced a glance their direction and was flustered when he immediately met her gaze. At first he expected her to look away but instead she smiled and waved for him to join them. Nervously he waved back, almost tempted to check over his shoulder to see if Pidge or Hunk were standing behind him.

Nope, he could see them in the distance looking for seashells. And Coran was sunning himself dangerously close to the water’s edge. If that was the case he was the only one left she could be waving to, right?

Just as he was getting his nerve up to join them he felt a gritty foot shove playfully at his back. Confused he let his head loll backwards to see Lance’s sister, Veronica, smiling down at him. She was holding two drinks and had a beach towel tucked under her arm.

“Mind if I join you?” she asked, briefly setting down the drinks to unfurl her blanket before he could even respond.

They’d only been in Cuba for a day and Keith had barely spoken with any of Lance’s siblings, so he wasn’t sure what his sister could possibly want with him. Maybe she’d heard about their contentious relationship, or how her brother viewed them as rivals. She didn’t seem angry though so– despite being annoyed that he was blocked from having fun with Allura– he decided to take the friendly approach.

“Sure, go ahead.”

He wasn’t sure why he’d bothered responding but figured it was still polite to do so. She flashed a bright smile of gratitude, handing one of the slushy drinks to Keith before planting herself next to him. After thanking her for the treat he sat for a while slowly slurping the mix of tropical fruits, wondering to himself why he’d never learned to identify poisons by their taste. Veronica was all of five-foot-two so not a danger physically, at least. He could take her in a knife fight.

“So Keith, how do you like it here?” Her question brought him back to reality, making him feel a bit guilty for making such wild assumptions about her.

“It’s nice. You must like living so close to the beach, huh?” he asked, hoping to keep the conversation to a minimum.

Veronica gave him a quick once-over before responding. “The scenery has gotten a lot nicer, for sure,” she answered with a wink.

Despite his social ineptitude Keith was beginning to suspect she might just be flirting with him. The flushed feeling in his cheeks seemed to confirm this. Granted she was certainly cute; her curly hair and bright eyes and sunny disposition were attractive features for certain. But they were more attractive on Allura, that he couldn’t deny.

Allura, the goddess playing in the surf. Her white hair pulled into a ponytail that bounced adorably as she chased the others with a bucket of water. Her dark skin and gentle curves perfectly complemented by a fiery red bikini. A bikini a top that tied around her neck and back.

Ties that looked dangerously loose and why wasn’t someone telling her to double knot them?

“Hellooooo! Earth to Keith!”

Keith’s eyes blinked instinctively as a manicured hand snapped fingers in his face. He hadn’t even realized that the woman sitting next to him had been trying to get his attention for several seconds. Despite managing to stutter out an apology he knew she wasn’t in a forgiving mood. Her eyes could have pierced a hole in his head as intently as she was glaring at him.

She didn’t break her focus until she noticed his focus had shifted to the distance once again. Glancing over her shoulder she let out a dejected sigh, her head dropping as the realization apparently set in. Then she turned her attention back to Keith, angrily snatching the half-finished drink from his hands.

“Look, I don’t know what your story is,” she started, “but you’re going to walk your ass over there and be honest with that girl.”

“I wha? Wh- who?” he stuttered. If he was hoping to play this off he was failing miserably.

Veronica stood grabbed her towel, shaking it off in his direction. Keith jumped up to protect his face from the blast of sand.

“What the hell?”

“Guess you have to go in the water now, don’t you?” she smirked. “Better hurry, you might miss your chance to come clean.”

Swiftly she turned to walk away, whipping her hair as she sauntered off to the spot where her brothers were hanging out with their families. Pausing for just a moment she looked back in Keith’s direction, winking at him but this time in a way that wasn’t in the least bit suggestive. This time is was like she’d given him the secret to a code he hadn’t yet deciphered.

After a foolhardy attempt to brush himself off he resigned himself to take her advice and jump in the ocean, figuring it would be way more effective than the showers posted near the dunes. He ducked into the waves a few times with the hope the current had done most of the work for him.  As he emerged the last time he just happened to catch a glimpse of red in the corner of his eye. Instinctively his eyes rolled in that direction as red had become an important color to him.

Allura was looking at him, concern coloring her features.

Had she seen everything?

Allura had seen everything.

Well, most of it. She tried to pretend she didn’t see Lance’s super-hot sister approach Keith as the she herself was trying to get his attention. The others didn’t seem to notice her distraction at the sight of the seductress wooing the handsome paladin as he sat alone, far out of earshot.

And she was definitely proud of the fact that she didn’t outwardly cheer when Veronica stormed away, obviously after Keith had rebuffed her advances.

She did feel a bit badly for him having sand rained over his head. On the bright side, she thought, he’s in the water now. Despite the coolness of the day she felt a sudden spike in temperature as she watched the ocean bead around his chiseled form, his muscles accented by the outlines it traced.

“Head’s up!”

Matt’s alert came half-a-tick before the beach ball struck the side of her face. It didn’t really even hurt but for whatever reason she yelped as her hand rushed to cradle her right cheek. Embarrassed she hoped to simply play it off, waving her hand and playfully kicking water in Matt’s direction before chasing after the ball that had been pulled further out to sea.

By the time she reached it the water was much deeper, nearly covering her shoulders. She grabbed the ball, holding it high over her head triumphantly as Lance cheered her on. Or at least that’s what she thought he was doing. It was an obvious misunderstanding.

The wave that crashed over her head was far more powerful than the ones closer to shore. It swept her off her feet as she felt her body being sucked further out. Frantically she tried to gain a foothold as she struggled to keep her head above the surf. A second wave pushed her back down, sending her into a panic.

Suddenly a pair of arms came from behind and wrapped around her waist, pulling her to the surface. She sputtered as her rescuer swam parallel to the shoreline to an area where the waters were much calmer.

Right, Lance had told her about riptides. She’d completely forgotten.

As they came to a stop the grip on her loosened but didn’t let go completely. She could still feel the warmth of his chest against her back, his breathing labored. Something told her that if she turned around she’d be met with a very familiar face. And yet she hesitated to do so for fear her instinct was wrong.

“Allura, are you okay?”

Despite the fact that she’d almost just drowned she couldn’t imagine being more okay. Of all the voices in the universe it was the one she hoped to hear most. Maybe that was because it belonged to the man she’d loved for so long, who as always was the one to save her when she felt she could no longer breathe.

“I’m fine, thank you.”

No, that’s not what she wanted to say. What did she want to say? Words had always flowed so easily between them before, but now they were stuck in her throat and threatened to choke her.

Instead she turned to face him, throwing her arms around his neck and pulling him tightly to her. To her dismay his body went rigid, his arms floating languidly at her sides. Her heart sank as she realized he may not have forgiven her yet. Perhaps he never would.

“Um, Allura,” Keith finally spoke, his voice cracking slightly. “I think you lost something.”

Lost something? Surely he wasn’t concerned about the stupid beach ball. No,he wasn’t looking out, he was looking up. So Allura looked up too, then to her left. Her right. Then over his shoulder.

Oh.

The something was the item that Pidge was trying to flag her down with. The red triangular flags that had been plucked from the ocean. The familiar top that should have been a barrier between their skin. She cursed the red strings that cruelly taunted her as they danced in the breeze.

“Keith?”

“Hmm?”

“Could you please fetch that for me?”

This time it was Keith’s turn to sputter. “Um, sure, I guess.” Finally he lowered his gaze to hers and she could see the pink that was spreading over his cheeks. “Let’s get you a bit closer to shore first, though.”

Allura swam obediently behind him, stopping once she had to crouch significantly to maintain her dignity. She watched Keith drag himself through the foamy waves towards Pidge, awkwardly accepting the offering of Allura’s immodesty with the grace of a child holding a smelly sock. For a moment she thought to be offended, until he made his next move which was towards the beach.

Rage began to boil her blood, the cool water surrounding her hissing steam as it lapped her skin. She watched as he raced for his towel, snatching it up quickly. Forcefully he shook the sand loose and threw it over his shoulder. If he planned to leave her stranded there while he ran off with the–

Ah.

Anger turned to embarrassment as the Princess realized he was headed back to her. Of all people to trust, Keith should always be the first. Well, maybe Coran. But Keith would certainly be next. He’d always been there for her when she needed him, even when she wasn’t willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. That’s the kind of man he’d been since the day they met.

Once he reached her he held out the bikini top rather unceremoniously, waiting for her to grab it. Then Keith unfurled the towel, holding it end to end between his fingers. She realized he was offering her some privacy so she could stand to redress. He even had his eyes shut so tightly his entire face was scrunched up. Even though he looked much older than before he still had a boyish charm to him, she thought.

It took a few minutes of stretching and fumbling and barely getting a bow tied around her neck before Allura resigned herself to ask for assistance. Romelle had helped her put the top on that morning because it was rather difficult to tie a knot behind her own back. Add the difficulty of not getting her hair caught in said tie, the mission became nearly impossible.

So, she stood musing. For Keith to help her he would need to drop the towel. If he did that, she’d have no privacy. However, his shoulders were now much broader, and his chest, well….she was sure it was enough to block the view from the shore. Grabbing the remaining straps and holding them behind her she called Keith’s name to get his attention.

Three times.

The last time she raised her voice as she shot a glance over her shoulder. He looked like he wanted to be anywhere else besides there. The third time she called he jumped and nearly dropped the makeshift privacy curtain.

“Yes, Princess,” he responded stiffly.

“Can you tie this for me, please?”

He cocked his head slightly and blinked back his surprise. “Sure, I guess. I mean, if it’s okay.”

“Of course it’s okay,” she laughed in response. Did he think she would ask if it wasn’t?

“I’ll try not to touch you then,” he promised as he swept her ponytail over her shoulder.

“Don’t try too hard.”

Allura shocked herself with such a response, but Keith? He was even more unsteady than before. She worried that he might fail to tie it properly his hands were shaking so much. Still, she relished the feel of his fingertips as they brushed her skin. Once he finished she asked him to retie the one around her neck and thankfully he complied. Certainly he noticed the raised bumpy flesh on the back of her neck as his hands ghosted across it.

“All set.”

“Oh,” she responded, sounding somewhat disappointed. “Well, I hope you tied them properly. Can’t have that happen again.”

Keith laughed humorlessly at the statement, then cleared his throat. “Those knots will never come undone. You’re safe, Princess.”

Allura spun around wide-eyed upon hearing that. “Never? As in ever?”

“It would take my blade to get you out of that,” he teased, apparently amused at her panicked state.

Two could play at this game, mister.

“Then I suppose I’ll come see you it’s time to get undressed,” she retorted, poking him with her finger to emphasize her point.

To her surprise he simply narrowed his eyes and smiled suggestively.

“Room 111. I’ll be waiting.”

[hijackedhoneybeeez]

What would they do at an amusement park? {Kyouhaba}

oh my goodness okay, thank you for this anon because im in love with this

so. as ive established, i think yahaba would love rollercoasters, while kyoutani doesn’t really mind them. yahaba makes kyoutani go onto every single one they can go on. they end up waiting in line for nearly an hour to go on this crazy looking ride, kyoutani doesn’t whine, not once, but does yell his head off while yahaba laughs next to him when they finally ride the damned thing

they walk around for a while too, just taking in the sights  or weaving through the crowds easily. kyoutani keeps staring at the colorful packages of cotton candy until yahaba figures it out and buys it for him. 

kyoutani makes yahaba get his face painted. he gets a glittery butterfly that has a little dashed line from his cheek to his temple. kyoutani says its cute. yahaba tells him to shut up. 

yahaba takes a LOT of pictures, even with the face paint. kyoutani doesnt even bother smiling in all of them anymore (he does make an effort to make the ugliest face in as many as possible though, yahaba tries stopping him, but his hand gets licked for his troubles)

they are absolute DORKS in the gift shops. they stop by every one, browsing through the merch, weighing their options on which items to buy. they treat it like its the most important thing they will ever do (which isnt really true but this is important shut up)

in the end, kyoutani has an obnoxious amusement park-merch hat on, yahaba has a colorful stuffed snake wrapped around his neck, they’re both slurping down slushies, and its way past night time as they leave the park, but its so worth it

[willgayers]

here r some hanzier headcannons,,,

• they definitely model new clothes for each other when they're shopping

• "do you think this looks good"

• "wait turn around"

• "like this???"

• "yeah. yeah it looks good on you"

• "ok great"

• PIZZA. SUSHI. HAMBURGER. all kinds of chill food

• there's like a whole californian vibe to them tbh

• they both skate and they love going on late night skateboard trips. probably to get in n out

• and then they're gonna eat it at the parking lot and talk shit. laugh. omg. kiss between eating french fries while the sun is setting already and the sky is a pretty shade of blue/lilac and i am CRYING

• they love oversized hoodies and jumpers and they wear ALL colors. except probably white. mike wears white richie doesn't really like white he's so pale it doesn't look great on him

• they own a cat together and his name is ice cube like the rapper

• every time they hang out together with the losers,,, they sometimes daze off to their own private world and they just laugh at their inside jokes ,,, legs or arms somehow tangled together but not in a super pda way just in a cool and casual but i love you- way

• they go to the game hall together

• the other one plays and the other one is... cheering..

• "FINISH HIM!!! FUCKING KILL HIM!!! YEAH!"

• *high five*

• *slurping from their slushies at the same time*

• "ok my turn"

• *gamer switch*

• they're literally best friends and lovers

• mike was kind of an outsider and quiet and stuff but being with richie had really made him blossom

• and now he's out there having prank wars

• "YEAAHHHH SUCK ON THAT TOZIER!!!!" mike shouts and laughs as he films a snapchat video

• richie smirks and he's not even that mad bc his bf is cute so he just smooches him and it's a smiley kiss

• anyway they're not big on pda (other than the cool and casual but i love you- thing) but when they're cooking/watching a movie/folding clothes etc at home they tend to get distracted and it starts with quick pecks but oh well

• they also ALWAYS smile/laugh when they kiss!!!

• they get matching tattoos

• (btw mike could totally rock a smiley piercing)

• sick ass playlists from literally all genres they're driving around ,,,,

• "WITH THE LIGHTS OUT ITS LESS DANGEROUS"

• *5mins*

• "who's gonna drive you home... tonight..."

• *5mins*

• "SHAWTY HAD THEM APPLE BOTTOM JEANS JEANS BOOTS WITH THE FUR-"

• "-WITH THE FUR!!!"

• but yeah anyway in conclusion they're just the coolest boyfriends ever

[hunchbearing]

The Sonic Guys’ Story

“I’m heading to Sonic with TJ, baby. See you later.” 

Peter had said those words to his wife at least twice a day for the last sixteen years. He was forty now, almost old enough for his age to justify the dark circles under his black eyes. Janice had loved him once. They used to sneak up to the roof of Peter’s old apartment building in the moonglow of the steamy summer nights of L.A. They talked about their darkest secrets, their greatest hopes. They made love like animals on those sandpapery shingles so many times, the roof had an oval-shaped section worn bare by their writhings. Janice’s incredible yoga-sculpted ass could have been used to hammer the nails back in, if she’d been so inclined.

But that was long ago, and these days her rear end reminded Peter of a stocking full of cream cheese. A mud baby that never grew grass, save for the few scattered stray hairs. Peter always told her where he was going. He made it a point to announce it to her zombie-like face every single time. He didn’t know why he bothered. A diseased part of his mind hoped that maybe, just once, she would doubt what he said. After all, who goes to Sonic every single day? She might suspect an affair with some eighteen-year-old cheerleader who thinks cum tastes like Cinnabon icing. Yeah, that would stick it to the saggy old hag. But alas, she would always wave it off with a generic mumble. “OK, babe. Have fun.” She wouldn’t even extend him the courtesy to look up from the Lots-o-Slots game on her phone. She thought her husband was just going to Sonic. And she was absolutely right. Their last sexual encounter was a drunken blowjob on Valentine’s Day. Peter’s aunt had died that morning. Janice cooked spaghetti for dinner. After they ate, she took off his pants and told him to sit in the table. When he felt the crumbs of his children’s morning Pop Tarts on his bare cheeks, he had to hold back tears. And like an angel of mercy, his own mind came to his rescue. Erotic images flickered across his psyche. Two dollar happy hour.tomorrow. Vanilla blueberry slushie. Fifty cent corn dogs all day long on Saturday. Just fifty cents! Such sweet savings. Such value. It was his first erection in five months. It was his first orgasm in a year. Janice knew Peter was having an affair. An affair with a woman named Sonic. Her sister Audrey would always make jokes when Peter was gone. “Peter is off with his boyfriend TJ again? They’re going on another one of their Sonic dates?” Janice would always offer a weak smile. If only. If only he were fucking a man. But to do that, you have to be alive. Peter was a corpse. An M&M with no chocolate inside. As for his balding blonde friend TJ, she had her suspicions that he was mentally challenged. The three of them went to a movie together once. While Peter was out in the bathroom, Janice took TJ’s hand, gently ran it up her thigh, and pressed it hard into her matted pubic hair. He giggled like a schoolboy. “That’s squishy!” Peter could have that dunce. Those two spent most of the 21st Century at that Sonic place, eating that repulsive cheap garbage. So many nights, Peter came home with that smell on his clothes. He was like a human onion ring. When the odor started to linger in the sheets, she made him sleep in the living room. Whatever his fascination was with that grease hole, she wanted no part of it. She just wanted someone, anyone, to give her a moment of attention. As for TJ, he was perhaps the only human being who enjoyed Sonic more than Peter. In TJ’s youth, Sonic was his refuge from the constant beatings delivered by his shrill mother. “Why can’t you do math!?” She home schooled him, unwilling to put him in special needs classes. “No son of mine is going to Tard School,” she’d often proclaim. “Why can’t you spell your own name? Your own name! You stupid bastard! You worthless stupid bastard!” After hearing the words “stupid bastard”, TJ knew The Belt was coming. Theodore Joseph Jr., in a desperate attempt to please his mother, started going by TJ around age 11. After all, he could spell TJ. Mother was enraged. The beatings only got worse until finally she punctured his right lung. He was placed into foster care. His new mother, Ms. Gladstone, was a 400 pound chainsmoker from Louisiana. She had no children of her own, and treated TJ with a kindness he hadn’t known before. Her restaurant of choice was Sonic. She ate all her meals there and would take TJ to every single one of them. She’d request her chili on the side, so she could slurp it like morning coffee. At home, they would talk and play games, and she would always give him a quarter when he scraped her feet with her pedicure kit.

But of course, paradise didn’t last.

Mrs. Gladstone choked to death on her favorite sandwich: a bacon cheese toaster topped with tots and coney chunks. It happened right in front of TJ, and after he laughed at the way her face changed color, he realized the gravity of the situation and attempted to resuscitate her with a few punches to her flabby stomach. The courts decided that TJ’s mother, who was now fresh out of rehab, was ready for a second chance at raising him. She regained custody, and resumed the savage beatings. But TJ’s heart was warmed by fond memories of Sonic. His church. His promised land. His universe. He wore Sonic like armor, and it dulled the sting of the large rodeo championship belt buckle. When TJ was 25, his mother died of lung cancer. On the day she began her permanent hospital stay, he was sternly informed that he could not sleep in her bed with her. He was enraged, as was Mother. The altercation that followed was thereafter known as “The Mommy Incident” by the staff. The veteran doctors still occasionally retell the tale in the breakroom to put a scare into the new interns. They were legally obligated to let TJ stay in the hospital, so he was banished to the waiting room. During the many days TJ spent there, he made friends with Peter. Peter’s grandfather had colon cancer. When Peter and TJ would sit in the huge, quiet waiting room, TJ would crack wise about his favorite cartoons on Nickelodeon. Peter’s sides would split in laughter. He was charmed by TJ’s juvenile sense of humor. It wasn’t until weeks later that Peter realized TJ was just flat-out juvenile. Peter stood by TJ’s side at his mother’s funeral. They were the only two people in attendance. The funeral director’s two sons had to fill in as pallbearers. “Pretty heavy for a little bitch,” one of them griped. After it was over, Peter turned to TJ and shrugged, “Wanna get something to eat?” TJ paused. For the past 15 years of his life, he hadn’t tasted anything but ketchup toast and boiled cabbage. TJ wrestled with the concept in his mind. Get? Eat? Peter helpfully chimed in. “There’s this one drive-in place I saw on the way down here. Ever been to Sonic?” TJ’s hapless moronic mouth split into a gaping grin. “Let’s go!” And go they did. TJ was in heaven. As they pulled into the space, he was thrilled by the bright colors on the walls and the sleek chrome trim on the signs. It was like arriving in a city of the future. The carhops rolled around on skates with platters of food. They were like angels on wheels. Looking at the menu, he hardly recognized it from his childhood. There were so many more choices now. Thousands of them, in fact. Milkshakes. Malts. Slushes. Cream slushes. Coneys. Cheese fries. Cheese tots. Chili tots. Hamburgers. Toasters. Chicken strips. French toast sticks. Mozzarella sticks. Breakfast burritos. Onion rings. Not to mention the thousands of possible combinations of flavors you could put in your drinks. Chocolate. Vanilla. Cherry. Blue Raspberry. Lemon. Lime. Orange. As if by magic, he never wet the bed again after that day, and only seldom shit his pants. Right there, TJ decided to go to Sonic every single day of his life until he had tried the entire menu. When Peter pointed out to him that it was impossible, that he could live several lifetimes and never try them all, TJ just smiled and affectionately stroked his Wacky Pack toy. In a few short years, he would have a massive collection stashed in his house. Whenever he needed shelf space for a new toy, he threw some of his mother’s old clown figurines onto the front lawn. With the Wacky Pack kids in his house, Mother’s voice could never get back into his brain. Peter also had an immediate attraction to the place. You drive up and pick your spot. You look at the menu. There’s no pressure to decide, because you press the button when you are ready to order exactly what you want, down to the last detail. He was aroused by the level of control he had. Perhaps it was because he felt he had no control at home. At Sonic, he was God and he ruled with an iron fist. It was even better with TJ. Peter was fascinated with TJ. The big idiot could grate on his nerves a little, but he would be damned if he didn’t find his ignorant innocence charming. He had such a zest for life. At least the parts of life that involved Sonic. It wasn’t long before their weekly trips there became daily. They talked about the food, the drinks, the service. TJ would often make a comment on the meal that bordered on insane, and Peter would try to correct him, then ultimately throw his hands up in defeat. “Popcorn chicken? How do they make the popcorn into chicken?” “What do you mean? It’s not popcorn. It’s chicken.” “Right, but how did they turn this popcorn into chicken?” “They didn’t. It’s just chunks of chicken that you can eat like popcorn. Popcorn chicken.” “Oh, so they just feed a lot of corn to a chicken and then cook the chicken.” Was this what it felt like to love a son? The years flew by. TJ remained a child, and Peter ignored his own children. The strange couple learned everything about Sonic. They became the Encyclopedia Sonnica. If you told them what you were going to eat, they knew exactly what kind of drink you should have with it.

“Bacon cheese toaster? Get a blue coconut slush. Squirt of chocolate, squirt of lemon. Oh, hold the bacon? In that case, orange cream slush, squirt of strawberry, and get some real limes in there, and a cherry. Yeah, they’ll do it. They have to do it for you if you ask.” They knew the names of all the kids in the Wacky Pack; first, last, and even middle names. They had written letters to Sonic’s CEO asking for their backstories, and when their letter was returned, they were disappointed with the flimsy answer.

“The Wacky Pack all live in ‘Wacky Land’? What the hell? That’s not even canon!”

They took it upon themselves to create a detailed universe for the characters - one that actually made sense. Their submission to Sonic Headquarters never received a reply. TJ often dreamed he was in the Wacky Pack, running and playing in a world of jungle gyms and smiling tater tots. They would make their pilgrimage to Oklahoma City and visit Sonic headquarters a few times a year. If a new product was coming out, they knew about it before anyone else. If Sonic announced a new dipping sauce on social media, TJ and Peter had posted about it 5 hours earlier on their own Sonic fan-website, along with a 1000-word critique. TJ baffled Peter in this department. Despite the fact he was illiterate, he could dictate a fast food product review that hit the ear like a Shakespearean sonnet. His words on the honey mustard dip actually made Peter weep. For once, TJ was exceptional at something. His mother’s cigarette burns were fading, both from his skin and from his memory.   As for the carhops who delivered the food to them, their opinions were divided. Several of them affectionately called Peter and T.J. the Dailies, because they always showed up at least once a day. They called them by name, and Peter and T.J. knew their names too. That was the carhops who liked them. The others referred to them as “The Menu Fags”. Peter was “Coney Cunt”, and T.J. was “Tater Tard”. Trixie was their favorite carhop. 20 years old, chubby, a front tooth missing. Hearing their Sonic trivia was always the high point of her day. And Peter would stay up all night researching mind blowing fun facts, just so he could recite them to her the next time she served them. She was impressed with him, for God’s sakes. No way would he let her down. On the rare occasion he made love to his wife, he imagined her with a visor and rollerskates. One night as he crudely thrusted into her, he blurted, “Did you know Sonic was originally called Top Hat? They had to change the name because it was already taken - Unnng!” Janice was taken aback. “What are you talking about?” But by that point, Peter had already climaxed. Even his loads were starting to smell like fry oil. “God, I’d like her to sit on my face,” Peter pined as he spotted Trixie delivering to another spot one afternoon. “But how would you breathe?” T.J. laughed. “God, never mind. I need new friends.” A few minutes later, Trixie showed up with their food. “Hey, guys! I saw you got grape, coconut, and whipped cream in your lemonade. What’s the occasion?” Peter smiled bashfully. “No occasion. It’s just that I got extra onions and ketchup on my coney this time, so I figured it would hit the palate just right if I complemented it with something exotic.” “Interesting! Broadening your horizons, huh? You’re the expert I guess. So what have you got for me today?” Peter coyly raised one eyebrow. “Well, just out of curiosity, do you know what Sonic used to be called?” Trixie’s face brightened. “No way. It used to have a different name?” “Peter wants you to sit on his face!” Peter stared ahead blankly. TJ looked at him with an openmouthed smile. Trixie was frozen. “That’s 24.57,” she finally spoke. Peter didn’t turn his head. “Here’s a fifty. Keep the change.” “Hah! He wants your big fat butt on his face.” They didn’t see Trixie again after that. They tried several locations over the next few weeks, thinking maybe she transferred, but she was nowhere in sight. Peter’s libido officially collapsed. Once their favorite server was gone, they took more and more long-distance trips. They called it “Sonic Surveying”. They took notes. Which place has the freshest fries? The cleanest parking lot? Even better, which locations had menu items that nobody else had? 

During one trip, TJ stuck his head out the window and struck a mailbox. Even though his scalp bled like a fountain, he held a towel to the wound and insisted they press on. His health could wait; he had to know if the El Caldera branch really did leave their corn dogs on one side for too long. Eventually, Sonic took up so much of Peter’s time that he had to quit his job at the water department. He signed up as a customer service rep for the sole reason that he could do it at home. As he sat at the computer, his eyes frequently flitted to his framed photograph he took of his neighborhood Sonic. Trixie was holding a Route 44 Dr. Pepper with blueberry flavoring, waving to the camera. Peter would occasionally run his finger over her breasts. As for TJ, he hadn’t had a real job his entire life. His mother was a wealthy heiress, and when she died he became a wealthy heir. But he had no desires beyond Sonic. The family accountant took care of the bills, and when TJ was home he watched his beloved cartoons with the Wacky Pack arranged all around him, all facing the TV. When women saw him in public in his Gucci sunglasses, they would often saunter over and flirt with him. But his childish attitude drove them away like the stench of a dead dog. Many of the would-be gold diggers assumed Peter was some kind of caretaker to the boy. After all, how could a man look so sullen, so empty, unless he was changing adult diapers 7 days a week? Peter was somewhat aware of their reputation among the Sonic workers. Through the windows, he’d occasionally see the fry cooks snicker and point at him. When he walked inside once to complain about his mozzarella sticks, he overheard one of them call him a “gaylord”. Since then, he often made it a point to mention his wife and kids while he bantered with TJ. “My kids would love these dino-shaped cookies.” “I should get another of these Valentine slushies for my wife.” “Wow. With these half-price root beers, I can get enough for my whole family. And fuck the ol’ wife later, if you know what I’m saying.” TJ never knew “what he was saying”. It wasn’t directed at him, anyway. It was just in case the Sonic twerps were listening. There was never a “moment of epiphany” when it came to Sonic. There wasn’t one specific day when Peter realized the restaurant had consumed his entire identity. It came little by little. The only thing was, he didn’t care. Where else would he be if it weren’t for Sonic? 

Would he be back in his miserable cubicle reading meters 40 hours a week? Wow, sounds great. 

Would he be playing with his kids? Fuck that shit. Those girls never loved him. Even when they were toddlers, they cried when he held them. They rejected his presence like an amputee can reject an arm transplant. He wasn’t their hero. He wasn’t even an authority figure. He was just a stranger in their house who paid the bills and kept their cell phones in working order. 

His wife Janice? She’d never admit it, but she was just as hollow as he was. The fun, smart, challenging, sexy girl he fell in love with in college was as dead as Princess Diana. Buried in the casket of a fat old bitter woman, but dead all the same. Who had the right to say he was wasting his time, anyway? What do other people do? Watch sports? See movies? Play games? Listen to music? Everyone on the planet was killing their time as far as Peter was concerned. Sonic was just his own version of wasting time. Entertaining himself with cheap food as the world spun around. As the faint lines on his face became deep wrinkles. As his hairline faded back like a tide. As his pooch became a pot belly and his teeth rotted. As the french fries under his seats got as hard as wood. As his daughters grew older. As they had their own children. As the world’s countries collapsed into themselves. As the continents collided back into one. As the earth’s water baked into the sky from the heat of the sun. As the galaxy swallowed itself. We’re just killing time, at the speed of sound.