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theebaudelaire · 3 years

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Yogurt

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

You call a truce between you and Wanda Maximoff.

Word Count: 1,903 (not sure because I had little trouble copying and pasting it)

AN: First time writing So it won’t be the best. Think of this as a trial run you know testing the waters a bit . Anyway I hope you’re okay with this. I tried my best to write in G!n Reader instead of fem. I might’ve missed some mistakes

Wanda Maximoff, How do we even start describing her?

She’s good company to have around, She is a great cook. She is lovely but it seems like she doesn’t trust me as much as out teammates.

First, Clint is like a dad to her. Second, Nat is her sister she never had. Third, Steve is a uncle in a sort of way. Fourth, Vision Don’t even get me started on him. He’s a droid alright but Wanda seems to have more respect for him. Lastly, (Y/n) Mhm Sad Y/N.

Wanda treated them like a friend she had just met. Someone she knows but not sure she could trust them.

Yes I am talking about me, I would say I’m an alright person to be around. If I was someone else besides me, I would be best friends with me. I wasn’t good with holding down conversations but who cares, Am i right? I feel like I’m a tad bit overconfident in myself right now but that doesn’t harm anyone.

The whole team seemed to trust me the first few weeks I was here but Wanda still seems like she never got around me. But a whole different story for Pietro, Me and Him got along fine. NO NO!, GREATLY THATS THE WORD. You never thought a cocky guy would be best friends with a diffident person. A weird match but it helped me get out my shell a bit.

Me and speedy would do a lot of pranks on the team, Harmless pranks to be exact. On this lovely sunny day we were gonna do another to you know ruffle someone’s feathers a bit. So we of course woke up early but Romanoff of course beat us to it.

“Y/L/N! What are you doing up this early dear?”Natasha says when I walk into the kitchen. She gives me that infamous smirk that she always does.

“You know.. Training! Training with Piet.”

She hums contently and looks at me “Alright Be safe!” I walk out the kitchen and lead to P’s room.

“Y/N! Did you get it?”

“No, Nats there” Pietro looks at me for a while and speeds past me. He comes back before I could even move from my spot.

“I got it!” Pietro hands me the Mayo Jar and Some Yogurts.

“So how do I start on this?” I look at Pietro

He says “Clean out the yogurt and Scoop some Mayo to put it in there.”

“Alright!” I walk to the bathroom and clean out one of the yogurts and hand them to Pietro. After a few minutes we have finished most of the yogurts. Pietro speeds off to them back in the fridge while I am heading back to my room. I take off my shirt and get into bed. After a few minutes of silence, Pietro knocks at my door. I walk up to the door and open but I hear a different voice from his.

“Y/N” Wanda says, I look up at her. “Wanda! H-How are you doing today?” I say as I lean against the wall hopefully feeling cooling than I think. She laughed, I didn’t think that I was that stupid looking. She cleared her throat and I looked back at her. Her leafy eyes was looking straight at me. There was silence between us for a while now.

“Y/N! Wanda!” Pietro says, Me and Wanda both break from the unspoken staring contest to look up at him. “Hey! Piet What’s up?” I was the first to speak up

“Hello Pietro” Wanda said right after. Pietro looked at me and back at her. “Why is your shirt off?” I look down my torso and realize why it had become awkward between Me and Wanda.

“Oh I was just taking a nap the shirt I wore was kinda smelly from being around you P!” I walked back into my room and went to put on a new shirt from closet. I walk back out to the Maximoff Twins. We walk to the lounge and Wanda walks in front of us.

“What was up with you and Wanda?” Pietro asks

“She just knocked on my door, I think she needed to say something before you interrupted.”

“Ask Her”

“What?, why won’t you ask her she’s your twin.”

“Yeah but she’s the one who she wanted to talk to and plus maybe you can tell her about your crush on her.”

“No, I have no idea of what you’re talking about.. I don’t like your sister. I thought about it for a while. Yeah I think she is attractive but I wouldn’t date her. It’s not like I would melt like ice cream in the sun around her. I got lost in my train of thought and bumped right straight to her. I looked up at her and She looked right back at me.

Oh I was wrong. I got lost in every detail of her face. Her green eyes and Her-

Wanda snapped her fingers and said “Are you okay?”

“Yes! absolutely I am just gonna get a yogurt. You want one?”

“Sure, Yea” I walked out and got two yogurts out the fridge. I walked back to the lounge and threw one yogurt at Wanda. I sat down next to Pietro and cleared my throat.

“Hey, You walked so fast I wasn’t able to catch up.” Piet said and laughed.

“I think you’re right.” I opened the strawberry yogurt and sighed.

“Wait.. You like my sister!?” He smiled and looked at Wanda.

“Yes Maybe, I’m not sure but I think I do.”

“I think she’s gonna hate you.”

“Why? I’m an okay person to be with.”

“Yes, I agree on that but yogurt.” He points at her while she was opening the yogurt.

“What?… oh OH!” I practically yelled at this point. She looked up at me curiously.

“Wanda, Maybe we should trade yogurts. I’m not a big fan of strawberry. “Sure.” she replied and gave me the Mayo filled yogurt. She went back to reading her book.

“Pietro, help me out here.”

“No, can do my friend. You’re on your own for this one. He stood up and walked to his sister. They spoke in their native language for a few seconds and Wanda stood and sat down next to me. I tensed as soon as she sat down. Pietro noticed and said “Wanda, Me and Y/N have to do something really fast, We’ll be back in a couple of seconds.

I stood up and asked “Hey, It felt rude to just switch yogurts so you can also have this one.” I handed Wanda the container of “yogurt”. I walked with Pietro and he laughed.

“Why are you laughing at me?”

“Yogurt.”

“Yogurt? Oh my, WHY WOULD YOU LET ME DO THAT.” P laughed at me and I ran back in. Just as soon I went in, Wanda brought a scoop up to her mouth and expecting the delicious taste of vanilla yogurt. But that never happened, Instead She was greeted with the taste of Mayo. She spit it out and glared at me.

“Hey! Wanda, uhm don’t get mad but-”

“Y/N if you don’t start running now you’re dead” She said with no hint of playfulness. I zoomed right out almost as fast as speedy. I ran to Pietro’s room and He giggled.

“I’m dead”

“No you’re not, she’s just messing around. Plus it’s not like she can kill you.”

“P, she can move things with her mind and has deadly red things that can kill hold someone hostage.”

“Mhm, You wouldn’t mind if she kept you hostage though.” He smiled lightly while I turned slightly red.

“How do i fix this?” Pietro walked up from his bed.

“Do something cheesy. Like something from the shows she watches.”

“I don’t watch a lot of shows so what’s something simple i can do?”

“Here!, Get her some snacks and call a truce.” He hands me a couple of dollars.

“What does she like?”

“You’re smart, You’ll figure it out.”

“That was so helpful.” I walk out his room and heads to mine. I grab a hoodie and head outside to borrow one of Tony’s cars. I sit in the driver seat not knowing what to do but it dawned over me. Something from Sokovia. I sure she misses it especially after it got destroyed.

I drove two hours and a half to arrive at this little shop that sold Sokovia treats. On my way back I picked up some dvds of shows Pietro mentioned before like The Dick Van Dyke show, Bewitched, I Love Lucy and The Brady Bunch. I put them all in the basket and headed to Pietro’s room.

“What do you think?” I smiled

He smirked at me “I think it looks great.. You know you could’ve just wrapped yourself in wrapping paper and I could’ve dropped you off I think she would like that better.”

I laughed “Haha So funny. I’m gonna give it to her now.”

“Better move fast don’t want her to fall asleep now.”

I checked the time, It read 10:12 PM. Funny how fast the day went by. I walked up to her room and took a deep breath before I knocked. She opened the door and her eyebrows slightly lifted.

“Y/LN? What are you doing here? Are you gonna bring another yogurt because if you are I don’t want any.” She said with a slight of bitterness and was about to close the door.

“Wait.” I stopped the door with my hand and continued “ I want to call a truce and I have something for you.”

“And what is it?” She asked curiously. I raised the basket full of Sokovia Treats and some dvds.

“I’m sorry for that I just got caught up with something and I didn’t realize it before Pietro reminded me.” I gave her the basket. She examined the basket and gave me a weird look.

“And also I didn’t do anything bad to the basket so don’t worry.” I was getting ready to leave but then she stopped me.

“Hey, Do you wanna come inside and watch this with me.” She said holding one of the DVD’s

“Ye-Yeah sure.” She stepped away from the door and let me in.

A few months after that we fell into a routine. I would come to her room and watch a movie or a show that I haven’t seen before and talk.

I was went into her room. “Hey Wanda!.”

“Hi!, Are you ready to watch?”

“Yeah, I’m ready whatever you’re ready.” She ejected the disc and inserted a new one. While the disc was loading up, We talked and once she make a stupid pun I made a stupid mistake.

“God, this why I love you.” She looked at me with wide eyes I saved myself by saying “You-your personality!” Awkward silence settled between us but quickly melted as the night went on.

The next few weeks, It was weird. She no longer invited me to watch and spent all her time with Vision. I wasn’t jealous in any sort of way, Pietro was the better twin anyway.

“Pietro, What’s up with your sister?”

“She’s still ignoring you? Why did she even start in the first place.”

I thought about it. “I have no idea. Maybe you can ask her what’s going on with her and Vision.

“Sure I wont bring you up don’t worry.” I smiled and she speeded out of here. After a few minutes he came back. He patted my back and said something something I never wanted to hear ever.

“Vision and Wanda are together.”

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x you #wanda x y/n #natasha romanoff x reader #pietro maximoff x reader #Wanda Maximoff #natasha romanoff #pietro maximoff #lizzie olsen x reader #Elizabeth Olsen x reader

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mello-jello · 3 years

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Happy Birthday Hange - A Levihan Drabble

Gift giving was one of the easier ways Levi learned to express feelings, be it gratitude, love, or something else.

It is a yearly ritual now. Levi made chocolates for Hange that one time and she never let it go. She’d beg Levi to make her sweets and Levi would always relent. Her joy upon receiving it was always the best part for Levi. After all these years, she must just expect it by now, but she’d act with the same unadulterated enthusiasm every time.

It was always worth it. It was worth the time, the money, and the dishes. All worth it to see Hange smile.

Onyankopon had the car for the day- not that Levi would drive it- but Gabi had her licence now and would always jump at the chance to chauffeur. Gabi would have dutifully wheeled Levi to anywhere and everywhere he wanted. She would have, if only he had asked. Even without access to the car, Levi’s trip would have only been a couple of hours.

He spent the day in different bakeries, multiple farmers’ markets, and countless shops. His wheelchair certainly made the journey more difficult but he was in no rush. He took his time comparing the ingredients for Hange’s Birthday cake, wanting the best Marley had to offer.

Levi trudges through the door and Onyankopon greets him from the living room, where he sat with a book and glass of whisky.

“Hey, Levi, where have you been?” He hollers.

Levi doesn’t answer as he was struggling with the bags. Onyankopon peeks around the corner and smiles knowingly. “Oh I see, is it that time already?”

“It would seem so,” Levi replied dryly.

Onyankopon watches Levi hobble over to the kitchen. Past experiences taught him not to offer any help. This was Levi’s yearly project, his leg be damned.

“What flavour this time?” He asked.

“Lemon Raspberry,” Levi stated.

“Ah, Hange’ll love that,” he said with a smile and returned to his reading.

Once Levi unpacked all the ingredients, he donned his apron, rolled up his sleeves, and went to work. It’s late, but he should be done in time.

He measures two round segments of parchment paper to line the cake pans with and greases both sides. In a large bowl he takes all the wet ingredients and mixes. He adds in the eggs, one at a time, mixing well after each addition, and scraping down the sides of the bowl as needed. It is tedious work, but anything for Hange.

He can’t stand for very long, but the tall kitchen stool is tall enough for Levi to continue working.

Next, Levi whisks together the dry ingredients into the wet ingredients and folds them into each other until everything is just barely combined. Levi fights the urge to get all the clumps out, but this recipe calls for lumps and dry streaks.

“Tch.” Stupid Four-Eyes. Of course she’d like this weird recipe.

In a separate bowl, he washes and gently tosses fresh raspberries in some flour. He adds to the batter and folds them in, again, being careful to not over mix.

He then divides the batter evenly between the two pans and puts them in the oven. Time for a tea break. He slowly sips as the room is filled with the smell of fresh baked cake, a hint of the crisp raspberries and lemon. He is already quite satisfied with the way it smells. Now to get started on Hange’s favourite part: the frosting.

It is a thick cream cheese frosting, and Levi’s arms are sore from all the mixing. He constantly switches because his non-dominant arm is less comfortable but his dominant hand is missing 2 fingers. He adds in lemon zest, lemon juice, and salt. He remembers when salt was a luxury in Paradis. Now it sits on his dinner table. He continues beating the frosting until it’s very light and fluffy. He dips his pinky into the batter and licks it, testing the taste. His face scrunches up at the sweetness. Perfect, he thinks to himself.

He checks the cakes, making sure the tops are a nice golden brown. He sticks a toothpick in the centres, and is content when they both come out clean. Levi takes the cakes and puts them on a rack to cool.

He is not one to leave a mess for very long, and so he gets started on the dishes. Levi is feeling hot, with the exertion compounded by the heat of the oven. He wipes his brow and decides to shower while he waits for the cakes to cool off. Onyankopon is in bed now, and Levi realizes how late it’s getting. He’d better make this quick, or else he was going to miss it.

Feeling refreshed from his shower and clean clothes, Levi returns to the kitchen. He brews a fresh pot of tea and gets to work on decorating.

He spreads some frosting along with chunks of raspberry on top of one of the cakes, and layers the other on top, pressing down lightly to seal them together. He uses a knife to shave the sides so they are even with one another. The double layer dessert is starting to take form.

Levi meticulously smoothes out the thick icing on the top and sides of the cake, making it completely unblemished. He garnishes the top with a handful of raspberries around the perimeter and a lemon slice in the middle. It looks just like the one he saw in the bakery a little while back. He looks up at the clock. It’s almost time.

He can practically hear Hange’s whoops of excitement. She’d scruff up his hair and make some joke about how something so sweet came from someone so salty. He can already feel her arms around him in an embrace of gratitude. Levi smiles to himself as he places a single candle in the center of the little cake and lights it. He watches as the delicate flame dances in the dark. He takes this moment to reminisce, remember, and mourn.

The grandfather clock in the living room chimes, indicating it was midnight.

“Happy Birthday Hange,” Levi says to the candle before blowing it out.

#levihan #levihan drabble #levihan fanfiction

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brattyfics · 3 years

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family day | writer wednesday

Pairing: Ezekiel Reyes x Black!OFC [Lena] Summary: Lena comes to the clubhouse to meet the guys. Tags: Angsty Fluff, Unresolved Feelings. Word Count: 1.5k

“Come by the clubhouse this weekend. We’re having a cookout. A family day.”

Lena tutted her skepticism while Ezekiel spoke. She had only caught glimpses of the Mayans’ gatherings, parties, whatever, but nothing about them screamed family-friendly. “Pops and Angel will be there.” She wanted to giggle at him using his father and brother as bargaining chips, but his voice had gotten more desperate with each word until he was almost pleading. She pouted on the other end of the line. He wasn’t playing fair.

“And most importantly...you?” Lena teased. He smiled. She could hear it in his tone. “Yeah. I’ll be there too. You?” She let out a dramatic sigh as if he were pulling her leg, but she had already made up her mind.

Since she and Ezekiel reconnected, Lena found herself in Santo Padre every other weekend. Usually, she arrived early on Saturday mornings, and Ezekiel held her close on his pull-out bed (which was surprisingly comfy considering). When they finally awoke for the day, he took her on little adventures. It was always something sweet and exciting-- an intimate ride on the back of his bike to somewhere beautiful. They revisited the beach, this time during the day. He chased her around in the sand, tickled her from behind in the salty water. Lena was able to stop and relax, see things she would never have been able to otherwise. It was so easy to get lost in the hustle and bustle of city living. She missed the simplistic beauty of nature.

Other times, he took her places to remind her of the past. The Carnival they frequented as teenagers, to the old ice cream parlor down the street from his dad’s shop. They spent all the time they could together, and when Ezekiel was busy with club business, she spent the time with her parents, helping them out around the house with whatever she could. There wasn’t much to do, there had never been, but something about it was enjoyable. Being in Santo Padre felt like stepping into a time machine. Nothing had changed. It was psychological warfare on Ezekiel’s part, but Lena never called him out on it. So, she relented, the way she always did when it came to him. “Yeah. I’ll be there.”

True to her word, Lena arrived at the Mayans clubhouse around noon, several homemade cakes in tow. Ezekiel met her outside as she was getting out of the car. “I didn’t know you still baked.” It had been a hobby of hers in high school, something inexpensive and fun to do while stuck in the house. Many things about her had changed, but some hadn’t. The thought made him smile. Maybe there was more hope for them than she thought after all.

“I told you, you didn’t have to bring anything.”

“I know, but I don’t like to show up places empty-handed. Can you take this, please? I need to get the other boxes out of the car still.” Ezekiel scooped the cardboard cake box from her. She kissed his cheek in thanks. It was out of instinct, an old habit, but he froze.

“What, I can’t kiss you now?” Yes, they had been sleeping together. Quite often, actually. And they had been going out on what most people would call dates, but they hadn’t been kissing. Not really. It would make what they were doing real. Lena avoided it as much as possible to protect herself. But the lines had started to blur, and she couldn’t distinguish the nostalgia from her real feelings. She would have to make a decision soon.

Ezekiel took advantage of her being distracted, pushing forward until her back rested against the closed car door. He sat the cake box on top of the car. “You can kiss me as much as you want. I just prefer you do it...” His lips brushed against hers. “...here.” She couldn’t think about anything when he kissed her like that. Nothing but him, the way he tasted on her tongue, what he felt like up against her. She closed her eyes tight and tried to memorize it all, kissing him with just as much desperation.

“Damn, Prospect, I know you’ve been out of the game awhile, but you should at least get the lady inside the trailer first!”

And then Angel fucking Reyes had to go and ruin it.

Ezekiel broke the kiss with a groan, giving his older brother a scalding look over his shoulder. But Angel didn’t care about things like not interrupting people or being polite, so he made his way over to them anyway, clapping his baby brother on the back. “Give her some room, bro.” He tested his luck, elbowing Ezekiel to the side. He filled the space, pulling Lena into a tight hug before his brother could retaliate.

“Are you really using me as a shield right now?” She complained, arms loosely hanging at her sides.

“Yes. Now, hug me back.” Angel would hold onto her until she did what he wanted. She knew that for a fact, so she brought her arms up to wrap around his midsection. “It’s good to see you.” He mumbled into her hair. “You too.” And she meant it, squeezing him back before letting go.

“Ooh. What’s this?” He cajoled when his eyes caught sight of the box.

“Cake.” Ezekiel answered for him dryly.

Angel snorted, rolling his eyes. “Obviously, Boy Scout. What kind is it, Lena?” She glanced over her shoulder at it, to be sure. “It’s vanilla cake with buttercream icing.”

“Vanilla? Aww, man. Where’s the chocolate? You know that’s my favorite.” EZ cut his brother’s complaining short. “You don’t like it, don’t eat it.”

“Shut up.” Two words from Angel was all it took for the two of them to start bickering. Angel grabbed for his brother’s thick neck, trying and failing to pull him into a chokehold. Ezekiel got the upper hand, and then the two of them were grappling, kicking up red dust in the process while they talked shit to each other. Lena sighed and stepped out of their way. “I see nothing’s changed.”

The sound of their scuffle gathered the attention of the other Mayans. Coco, who Lena thought she recognized as Angel’s friend, was among them. The shortest man of the group headed the bunch, kissing his teeth when he saw the fuss was just Angel and Ezekiel. Again.

“Break it up!”

Lena flinched, and she wasn’t even doing anything wrong! The brothers broke apart immediately, then sat down in the dirt, out of breath and wearing sheepish expressions. They were children. Lena refrained from the “If Marisol were here...” speech she so desperately wanted to give, crossing her arms across her chest.

“Hi, querida. You must be Lena.” The man introduced himself as Bishop, taking her hand to kiss.

“Oh, yes. Hi.” She squeaked out, suddenly shy. Ezekiel stood, grabbing hold of her waist, and took over the introductions. “Guys, Lena. Lena, this is...” He went down the line one by one, and she smiled politely and nodded along. She was flattered that they already seemed to be familiar with her. Ezekiel had to run around talking about her all day. The thought made her heart ache.

Bishop directed the guys to help her with the rest of the stuff. Tranq balanced a cake in each hand, Coco taking the bag with the cake cutters and plastic forks. Angel was pleased to learn that one of them had chocolate-flavored icing with yellow cake on the inside, just the way he liked it.

“It’s nice to meet you.” Bishop told her with a smile, patting her hand one final time. “Nice to meet you too.” She called after him while Ezekiel muttered something under his breath in a grumpy tone.

Lena got to know their guys and their families. She learned she had met Coco before, and she got to meet his teenage daughter, Letty. She was sweet in an adorable, hissing cat sort of way. Lena teased Ezekiel about Letty having a little crush on him, but he denied it. Swore Letty just appreciated him for helping her out with something. He wouldn’t elaborate on what the something was.

“I get it now.” Lena told him when they found themselves alone by the abandoned fire pit. She sat on the wooden bench next to him, halfway into his lap, a warm flannel blanket on top of them. He watched her closely. “You do?”

“Yeah. You have a place here. Community. Family. It’s nice.” They had played a card game earlier. The guys traded friendly insults across the table, but it was all out of love. She felt it.

“Mhm.” He looked down and cleared his throat. “Does that change anything? For you?” Lena considered it, drowning in the hopefulness in his hazel eyes. How could she tell him no? Say goodbye forever to those eyes?

“I don’t know. I mean, I’m not sure what I was expecting. Everyone’s so nice. Well, except Angel, but I already knew that.” Ezekiel smirked. “Yeah, he was born an ass.” He brought the cold beer bottle to his lips to sip, and then he got quiet.

“Do you think you’d like to come to another?”

Lena nodded. “Yeah, I think I would.”

Notes: Inspired by this week's prompt by @autumnleaves1991-blog. Card game is only briefly mentioned, but what can I say, I followed the muse?

@thesandbeneathmytoes This is for you. I’m slowly pulling it together. ❤️

General Taglist:

@woahitslucyylu @briannab1234 @sheeshgivemeabreak @breakingnewsin-no-oneasked @angelreyesgirl @blessedboo @glimmerglittergirl @apantherinmypastlife @brownsugarcoffy @marvelmaree @starrynite7114 @scuzmunkie @thewarriorprincessxo @sadeyesgf @pearlkitten33 @imanerdychubbyqueen @literaturefeen @ourlittlesecretsoveragain @everyhowlmarksthedead @yourwonkywriter @trulysuccubus @sparklemichele @luckyharley1903 @thesandbeneathmytoes

#writer wednesday #mayans mc #ez reyes x oc #ezekiel reyes x oc #Ezekiel Reyes x black!oc

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technicallymilkshakes · 3 years

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Reciprocal ❂ || 1 of 2

A Manager!verse story Genre(s): Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Smut (in future chapter) Pairing: Jongin x Reader Word Count: 4.1k No warnings for this chapter, but note that the next one will contain mature content.

Next Chapter >>

Less than two hours outside of Seoul, the night air already seemed easier to breathe. The windows were open and a rain-scented breeze blew in to riffle the top of your hair. Brake lights reflected red on the slick roadside ahead of you before fracturing into ten thousand raindrops against the windshield. This was a Friday night kind of feeling. You felt reckless and emotional, free for the first time in months and brimming with life.

Jongin had told you that he would halfsy the drive. Instead, he was deep asleep in the passenger seat, head slumped sideways, shoes kicked off within minutes of entering the vehicle. Promotions had been particularly brutal this time around. Without the other members to help ease the burden, Kai had to be on at all times. He was charming and dorky and witty—he flourished under all the attention—but it came with a toll. You scheduled PT sessions in any brief moments of respite you could cram then in. He slept wherever and whenever he could and when he couldn't, he drank coffee.

Running point for this solo had been just as taxing for you. Time moved in recordings, photoshoots, and appearances. You'd fall asleep and wake up reviewing the itinerary. Promotions were occurring across a variety of platforms and you spent countless hours researching and breaking down offers, liaising with event managers and security, monitoring press reviews and social media. You were in so deep, you didn't even realize you weren't living until someone else pointed it out. Nine, Baekhyun's manager, encouraged both of you to take a vacation. Pronto. Their experience shepherding Baekhyun through multiple solo albums had been invaluable, so you weren't about to argue.

Besides, you hadn't been to the mountains since your first year of high school.

It had stopped raining by the time you pulled up to your destination. Jongin was already awake, blinking heavily at the sight that greeted him.

The mountain lodge was modern but inviting. The lights were on and they spilled pleasantly out into the night. You turned the car off and stepped out into chilled air enlivened with the sounds of leaves rustling, insects chirping, and nocturnal animals stirring.

Inside, golden wood warmed the open space. The retreat was divided into two levels—living/dining area and one bedroom on the first floor and the master bedroom with a balcony that would be rich with fresh vegetables in the summer on the second.

You looked out on the living room. The designer had impeccable taste. Plush seating with cushions and pillows in sumptuous fabrics curled around a fireplace. Your toes sank into lush, layered carpeting, which bracketed and defined the space. It was comfortable and intimate. You could easily imagine yourself sinking into a chair and nestling in for a nap, lulled into a trance by the fire.

The kitchen gleamed in the opposite corner, all straight lines and modern appliances. And the dining area next to it. Table and chairs had been regally arranged in front of wall-to-wall sliding glass doors that, for now, looked out onto darkness.

But there was one particular feature that had clinched the deal when you booked the place.

“There's a spa bath here,” you said, and suppressed a smile at the soft 'ooh' Jongin let out as he disappeared to investigate.

A quietness settled over you in his wake. There was no wifi here, no work to haunt your waking nor sleeping hours. The other managers were under strict orders not to contact you unless there was an emergency.

You felt oddly vulnerable, stripped of the last vestiges of responsibility holding you together. Listless and exhausted, you climbed upstairs and fell into bed without a thought for anything else.

You woke early the next morning, body too used to being tired. You stared at the ceiling for an indeterminable time, thoughts eddying around without any clear distinction, like static noise that only resolved itself into proper words when you concentrated.

You'd been managing Kai for almost five years now. Hard to believe. You loved this, the sense of belonging and the endless opportunities to learn, but the pace was grueling. Five years was a long time. You couldn't imagine how some of the older managers had kept up. You weren't sure how you had kept up. And, if you were being honest, you weren't sure anymore if you should.

But that was too much thinking for this early in the morning. You rolled over in bed and shut your eyes.

After the appropriate amount of indeterminable time had passed, you heaved yourself out of bed. Sleep wasn't coming back for you. Duvet wrapped around your shoulders, you slinked downstairs to find Jongin rummaging around in the cabinets. He spun around, flinching as a drawer clanged shut behind him, then relaxed.

“You too, huh?” he said with a lopsided grin.

You nodded. It was no surprise to find him here. You were just two bodies too accustomed to being together.

You turned your gaze to the counters. “What are you doing?”

“I was trying to make some coffee.”

He looked wan and tired. One armed wrapped around his middle, the collar of his shirt sunk low enough to expose his collarbones... like he was holding himself together, trying to stay warm.

A sense of fierce protectiveness overcame you. You were both overworked. But at least in this small bubble, this moment in time and space, nothing could hurt him, including himself. No work excuses allowed.

“That sounds like a disaster waiting to happen,” you said, and he gave a weak laugh before getting an armful of duvet shoved at him. “Go sit down, I'll bring it over.”

Jongin stood there a moment staring at you. Under-cabinet lighting slashed over his chest, the rest of him slipping into shadow before he disappeared completely as he pulled the duvet over your head.

You felt a light kick to your backside.

“Hey!” You wrestled with the duvet. “As soon as I get out of this thing...!”

But he was grinning at you when you finally pulled it off, and you felt your urge for vengeance abate far too quickly as your fatigue flared. You still punched him in the shoulder, though.

He pouted, rubbing his shoulder.

“Oh, don't give me those puppy dog eyes. You deserved it.”

“I can make coffee...”

“You can,” you agreed. “With adult supervision. Now get the kettle out.”

The sunrise was something pulled from a poet's imagination. The lodge perched along a low ridge and peered down into the valley. Jongin had pulled open the curtains to what only last night had looked out into darkness and now found the world at his door. Together, you watched as the sun spilled over the mountain peaks opposite, then glissaded down powdery slopes to the tree line. The trees across the valley, where the mountains were taller, were still snowcapped, and the first sun rays lit them up like jewelry before setting them aflame with light, their trunks like matchsticks to the fire. Shadows tucked themselves in to sleep at the feet of the brightest places.

Day woke and stretched its radiant fingers across the sky to tangle in the wingtips of greeting birds. And with the sun came some clarity. These last few months had tested your commitment and shaken the bedrock upon which you had built your future. But if everyday the birds could rise and welcome the the newborn morning so lovingly, you thought you could keep trying to find beauty in it, too.

Next to you, Jongin had fallen asleep wrapped in your duvet. You leaned over and tucked his toes in.

The village was quaint and small, situated on a scenic one-lane-each-way route that wound through the mountains. The cashier at the grocery store greeted you as you entered. You felt her eyes on your back as you moved through the store.

The cabin came stocked with various dry foods, but you needed to pick up the perishables. Most of the in-season vegetables and fruit had been grown in the area, with little signs detailing farms and their locations. Strawberries, kumquat, apples, wild parsley and chive, and even shepherd's purse laying in baskets, some of which had been foraged from the mountainside just this morning. There was a vibrant freshness to the produce here that you just couldn't find in the city.

You gathered everything you needed, taking no heed of diet restrictions or nutritional value, and went to ring up your purchases. The cashier gave you small smile and talked quietly of some of the hidden gems to visit around here, hands sweeping back and forth over the scanner as she spoke. She had a soft and lilting accent you found pleasant to listen to.

You hid your embarrassment. Was it that obvious you were from out of town? She probably knew from the moment you had stepped inside. Heck, you hadn't worried about fitting in for so long. Over the years, your accent had eroded away against standard Korean and harsh edges of the city. And the boys had been so welcoming. At least she was friendly, though. Soon enough, you were hauling your bags out to the car, but not before thanking the woman for her advice.

Jongin was still lying on the couch when you got back, barely awake. Two cold mugs of coffee lay abandoned on the table next to him, one still nearly full. He sat up when you walked in with the bags, frowning.

“You went shopping?”

You heard the missing “without me?” and gave him a calm look. “You were asleep and I needed something to eat for lunch.”

He gathered himself up with a frown, wrapping the duvet around himself just as you had this morning. It already felt like a day ago even though it couldn't be past 11 in the morning. He inspected the bags, pulling them open and poking through them. You watched with amusement between putting the contents of the already-poked-through-bags away.

“What are you, a dog?”

“You got pig bars?!” He pulled out the ice cream, the item cradled in his palms. He looked at you wide-eyed, some mixture of reverence and fright.

“Yes. No chicken either.”

He kept staring down at his hands and you chuckled awkwardly to fill the silence. He opened the ice bar and jumped up onto the counter.

As you put the groceries away and then began making soy bean soup with the shepherd's purse, Jongin remained quiet and watchful. You enjoyed living alone back in Seoul, but you found you didn't mind his company. His presence was comforting—a constant, quiet companion. Not a dog, then. Your lips quirked. A cat.

The kitchen filled with the beat of knife against cutting board, the melody of soft burbling from the pot on the stove. You found yourself slipping back into the rhythm of cooking, like a dancer remembering the steps to an old song.

“What song is that?”

You startled, knife slipping, nicking the knuckle of your middle finger. You hissed, dropping the knife to inspect the cut. “Shit. What?”

Jongin jumped down from the counter, grabbing your hand, apologies tripping themselves over his lips.

“It's fine, it's really shallow, don't worry about it.”

His grip tightened, and his head remained bent low over your hand, examining the cut. “Let me worry,” he said.

So you sat in muteness after washing the cut. He took your hands and dried them with a towel, soft pats and delicate swipes. His eyes would flick up to your face now and again, carefully observing your expression. Sometimes, you would catch him doing it. His lips would arc gently into a smile and you would look away, scalded by the softness of lips and eyes. You stared instead at his fingers. They moved as light as butterflies over you as he applied a bandage.

Jongin lifted himself away, a lightness to his shoulders.

The words cast themselves from your throat, thrown out like hooks, that old part of you reeling to keep his attention.

“Thank you.”

Something glittered behind that gaze. He looked you straight on with that smile like honey and said, “I was glad for the chance to take care of you.”

After lunch, you went straight up to your room, sank onto your bed, and stared blankly at the wall.

What was that? Your mind sped in a circuit, thoughts looping back on each other. Why'd he do that?

Surely your brain had short-circuited. He was like that with everyone, you reminded yourself, sweet and concerned. The type to ask a stranger how they're doing and stick around for an answer. But without the barrier of work, things felt different. It dredged up old feelings, back when you were half-way in love with him. It embarrassed you something fierce now, but in the beginning you used to make a playlist of all the songs you knew he listened to. You'd play it at night after work, lying in bed in the dark and wondering if right now, he wasn't doing the same. It made you long for him and feel closer to him all at once. You always paid Kim Jongin too much attention.

But at some point, you changed your focus. You threw yourself into the role of manager head first. Taking care of him was number one. You spent so much time around him in various states of undress over the years, helping with quick changes or applying therapeutic patches. You'd stood behind the cameras, watching other people fall in with him with a smile. You'd seen him at his worst, in pain, angry and sullen with the confinement of the world. It was the ultimate form of exposure therapy. Gone were the nights filled with music and yearning. You'd prepare for the next schedule before you sank exhausted into a deep and dreamless sleep. You thought you were immune.

You should've been immune.

So why did it feel so very much like you weren't?

You acted skittish around him at dinner, skirting over things and racing through the meal. You felt his cool gaze on you as you ate and felt yourself hunkering lower and lower over your plate like some threatened beast.

“Did you want to take a bath?”

“What?” you squeaked.

He looked up at you over his forkful of pasta, eyebrows raised.

“The bath in my room. It's like a spa. I thought you might want to relax while you're here. You're welcome to use it anytime.”

“Oh.” You swallowed thickly. “Um, maybe later. Thanks.”

Safe to say you did not take a bath in his room that night.

You woke first the second day. Sleep hadn't come easy, and you spent much of the night thinking of how to stop thinking, daydreaming of a long walk to purge all thoughts from your head. And so you dressed and headed downstairs on quiet socked feet. The owner of the lodge kept galoshes for the guests, and you pulled a pair out, slipping them over your shoes before walking out into the world.

Most of the snow that remained on this side of the mountain had melted, leaving behind stretches of mud that sucked at your shoes. Around you, the birds trilled. The forest was full of forest noises—pine needles brushing against the wind, woodpeckers drilling against bark. The website for the lodge mentioned that there were a number of trails maintained by a grounds crew throughout the property. A stream bordered the western edge of the property, and you thought you remembered something about a Buddhist shrine located near there.

You missed this, you realized about a half hour into the walk. Seoul had its share of scenic parks and river walks, but it felt like a held breath. Something temporary, a quick break before you returned to the rushing arteries of people making a living.

Life felt impossibly lethargic here in contrast. You realized, with one moment of panic, that you hadn't yet checked your phone this morning, before it dissipated slowly. You were on vacation, you reminded yourself. The others could hold down the fort while you were gone.

The path you were following rounded a corner into a scenic corner of the world. A small waterfall fed by snowmelt spilled over a mossy rock face into a pool surrounded by sweet grass. You stayed there for a while by the edge, mist falling over you in fine sprays. Small diamonds of water accumulated along the woolen fibers of your sleeves.

After about 15 or 20 minutes, the urge to move was back. The trail branched off here, and a lichen-covered stone marker sat in the intersection. You recognized it as one of the landmarks the woman from the grocery had mentioned. The hanja carved into it had grown worn and faded. 'Grove of the Elders' it read. You took the path to the left.

Soon, you found yourself in the Grove of the Elders. Erman's birch trees filled the clearing. The branches were still spindly, buds just forming on the tips. Papery bark peeled away from the trunk like old men's beards. White forsythia was in the early stage of blooming along the periphery. You understood why it had been named the way it had.

You made your way through the grove. The trees were well-established, some with trunks thick enough to wrap your arms around. You were making your way through the grove, marveling at the open blue sky above you, when you almost stepped on Jongin.

“Whoa.” He jumped up from where he had been reclined against the base of a tree, rubbing a hand along the backs of his thighs. “What are you doing here?”

It was disorienting to run into him here, out in the middle of the woods. You had forgotten about him, about everything if you were being honest. But confronted with the realness of him again, your worries returned.

“Me?” you asked. “I was on a walk. What are you doing laying here?”

“I was trying to read.” He flashed a heavily dog-eared paperback of Papillon. “Didn't really get that far,” he said with a wry grin.

“Oh, sorry. I'll let you get back to it.”

You made to leave when his hand stretched out and gripped your sleeve.

“That's not what I meant.” He seemed flustered at your misunderstanding and he released his grip on you. “You don't have to. I was actually thinking about stretching my legs. If you don't mind the company.”

“I don't,” you responded quietly, even though you weren't sure if that was the truth. You had come here to be alone with your thoughts after all, not spiral into a silent panic.

Jongin smiled at you and shoved his book in the back of his jeans as he fell into step.

It felt surreal to walk through the woods like this with him. It was like being on the set of a music video, except you were the subject. The perfect setting for a story.

“Is it okay if I tell you something?”

Jongin sent you a questioning look. Something about his eyes caught you. You realized that this was maybe the first time you were about to confide something in him. Secrets were dangerous things. “Yeah, of course.”

“Sometimes I wonder how much of a person I am without you.” You laughed. “It's silly, I know. But I used to be so spontaneous. One time, I volunteered to pose nude for an adult art class just because, I dunno, it seemed like an experience. I liked collecting memories. My friends always used to ask me what I was up to.

“Now, they ask me what you're doing. Because it's the same thing now, I guess.”

You exhaled, then felt a hand wrap around your own.

Jongin looked at you, really looked at you. There was a particular intensity to this, a piercing quality that you had never been subjected to.

“You are more than me,” he said.

You were taken aback at his response.

His grip tightened. “I couldn't do this without you,” he continued. “I should've told you before—but I'm not like Jongdae, I forget. I think,” he ran a hand through his hair, “I thought you already knew, but it was stupid of me too assume when I wasn't... I didn't... You're the best manager I've had. I'm not saying that just to flatter you.”

The words tumbled out of him. You'd never seen him so discombobulated, and that threw you off kilter in turn. You hadn't expected anything from him, had let go of the words like balloons released from clumsy fingers, where an appropriate response might be “oh no.”

“You're knowledgeable and accountable. Do you know how much I rely on you? I was so nervous this comeback, I only made it through because of you.” He swept your hand up to his chest. You could feel his heart beating frantically against your knuckles, like it, too, was trying to tell you something. “I do better when you're around. I want to make you proud. So get that through your stubborn brain: I wouldn't be even half of what I am now if it wasn't for you.”

The tears came, unbidden. In a heartbeat, Jongin had pulled you in close, your head against his chest. One of his arms wrapped around your back, while the other lay now at your sides, his fingers still intertwined with yours.

“I don't even know why I'm crying,” you laughed through your tears.

“You're always fighting for me. I just wish I could do more for you.” His fingers grazed over the bandage on your finger.

The laughter faded into full-throated sobs. Your heart squeezed with an uncomfortable fullness. You were overwhelmed. Lately, it had felt as if work was a crushing void, a thankless pit that sucked everything out of you. You felt isolated, living life without reciprocation or support. Jongin wouldn't know it, but he made you feel like a person again. He brought back the colors.

Dew drops dripped from branches around you, soft patters against soft spring grass. Jongin was warm and solid against you.

“I get scared that I can't do this forever.” The words were spoken softly. Jongin wasn't looking at you when you lifted your head, focused instead on something in the distance. “I don't know what I would I do without EXO.” He finally dropped his gaze to yours. You saw your own uncertainty reflected back. “Or you.”

You knew then that everything you'd been through lately, the uncertainty, didn't matter. You were both a little broken. So you pressed yourself against him harder, a pair of fractured hearts holding each other up. “You won't be getting rid of me anytime soon.”

Jongin sank into the embrace, his cheek pressed against your temple. You felt his chest build with a sigh, felt the exhale on the baby hairs of your nape. Dry lips grazed against you. His wordless thanks lingered upon your skin.

By some unspoken agreement, Jongin's hand remained in yours on the trek back to the lodge. You walked close enough to brush arms and skim each others thighs. A small part of you dreaded that you'd have to let go once you got back.

“The first time I realized I trusted you was when I told you I didn't know how to iron,” he confessed out of the blue.

You laughed. You remembered that day. Jongin had been adamant about wearing a bear-print shirt to the airport the following day, but it was so wrinkled. The collar pointed in two different directions and one sleeve was longer than the other unless someone held it down straight.

“I didn't know how to iron a shirt either,” you admitted.

Jongin grinned, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “We had to look up a tutorial on Naver, remember?”

“Oh yeah, the one with the Kyungsoo look-a-like, right? I took screenshots and sent them to Cho-hee.” You told him how Kyungsoo's manager had coerced him into recreating the shoot. Jongin had gasped delightedly and you made a mental note to show him the pictures when you got back. “But hey, wait, you still don't know how to iron, what the heck! I just ironed something for you last week!"

“Ah I don't know, I don't know,” Jongin chanted, plugging an ear with his free hand. “What tutorial? I don't know anything.”

“Kim Jongin, you are shameless.”

Laughter rang through the trees. Here was the morning you would rise to greet every day.

___________________________

A/N: The second, and final, chapter should be up next weekend (June 19-20). Me, releasing more than one thing in a month? Who am I??

Thank you for reading!

A/N 2: Second part is now up.

[ ❂ Read more Manager!verse here ]

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prettyboyjackhughes · 3 years

Text

-Little Crosby-|D. Cozens| [Part 6]

Here is part 6! I can't believe it’s already part 6! But Dylan and Ava’s story continues and there's a bit of a surprise! I know @prettyboycozens and I were so excited about this part and what happens! So enjoy and please let us know what you think!

2 weeks after the draft, Dylan and I finished packing a few things from his parents’ house and headed down to Buffalo. Until I started college in the fall, we would be living together. It had taken Dad a while to get used to the idea, but he would get me back for the school year which he liked. But being away from Dylan again would be hard. Things seemed to be serious between us especially with the whole moving in together thing. Kirby and Carter helped move us into the apartment and then headed to Chicago for Kirby to report for camp. But before that, we had a week with just the 4 of us at the apartment, hanging out. Carter and I spent the days getting the apartment set up and organized while the boys attempted to build furniture. Since Dylan and I hadn’t made it to the grocery store yet, we ordered food a lot, figuring out what places around the apartment are good and we should remember to order from. Since I was pregnant, I got to decide what sounded good because certain foods made me sick. Most nights, we ordered pizza from a little place about 20 minutes from the apartment, just because I had no problem with it because it didn’t make me sick.

“I’m hungry.” I say, glancing up at Carter as she walks back into the living room.

“We’re literally getting pizza in like 20 minutes. What are you hungry for?” Carter asks, sitting down on the couch next to me.

“I don’t know. I kinda want pickles?” I say, looking over at her. Her eyebrow immediately goes up.

“You? Want pickles? You hate pickles.” She says, crossing her arms.

“Pickles sound really good right now. Can you call the boys and have them bring pickles back with the pizza?” I ask, leaning my head against the back of the couch.

“I’ll just go get you some pickles, you weirdo.” Carter says, grabbing my car keys off the table and heading towards the front door. About 10 minutes after she leaves, Dylan and Kirby get home with the pizza.

“Where’d Carter go?” Kirby asks, setting the pizza on the kitchen table and then coming to flop on the couch next to me.

“Store. She should be back soon.” I answer as Dylan walks back into the room and over to the couch. He nudges Kirby to move over and pulls me into his lap.

“Avs, you’re pretty.” Dylan says, gently kissing the side of my neck. Kirby is absorbed in his phone, not paying any attention to the two of us. Ever since that night, after the draft, Dylan and my relationship has moved to a whole new level. He’s much more physical, which I love. He also makes me feel so loved. Not that he didn’t before but he’s more physical about his love.

“Ava Grace! I got the pickles!” Carter calls, slamming the front door of Dylan’s apartment. She hands me the jar of pickles and I smile happily. Kirby looks up at her as she slides her arms around his neck and accepts a kiss from her.

“You hate pickles. Why did she go get you pickles?” Dylan asks, looking at me, amused.

“I wanted pickles. They sound good.” And so, as everyone else starts eating the pizza the boys brought home, I eat happily out of my pickle jar. Dylan keeps looking at me, sitting down on the floor, munching away on my pickles, and shaking his head with a smile on his face.

“Hey, what was in the bag you brought home?” I ask as I finish off the jar of pickles and look over at Carter.

“I bought more lip gloss, that’s all.” She says, pulling out a tube and waving it at me.

“It tastes really good.” Kirby says, laughing. I roll my eyes and lean back against Dylan’s leg. His fingers twist through my hair gently and I relax even more.

“Wait did you eat all of those pickles?” Carter asks, sitting up all of the sudden.

“Yeah...Why? Actually, I think I want more.” Carter’s face screws up and she stands up, Kirby’s hands slipping off her waist.

“Let’s go get more pickles then.” She says, taking my car keys off the table again and walking towards the door. Dylan and Kirby both look confused and Carter looks concerned. As soon as the door closes behind us, she turns on me.

“Did you and Dylan use a condom that night after the draft?” I reel back, confused.

“I-What? I don’t know?” I say, starting to panic and trying to think back through that night. We were both so into each other and very very excited from the draft and just got a little carried away.

“Did he stop before anything happened?” As I realize what she’s hinting at, I shake my head.

“N-No...I guess we didn’t. Shit and I didn’t get my period this month.” I say, the realization hitting. I run my hand through my hair, my eyes wide and on Carter.

“We’re going to get a pregnancy test. Get in the car.” She says, turning back around to go inside and grab her purse. She tells the boys we’re going to get ice cream and runs back out the front door. She follows me out to her car and we get in on our opposite sides.

“Ava, don’t freak out just yet. You haven’t taken the test yet, it could just be a fluke. And you know that no matter what, you’re still my best friend and I’m gonna be here, no matter what that test says.” She says, her hands on either side of my face, forcing me to look at her. I nod, pushing all the emotions and feelings rushing through me down.

The drive to the store is silent, both Carter and I left to our own thoughts. She leaves me in the car, attempting to avoid the impending breakdown she can probably see on my face, and comes back with 3 different pregnancy tests.

“When we get home, we’ll send the boys down to the basement and lock ourselves in the bathroom upstairs and you can take the tests. Is that okay?” I nod, still completely lost in my thoughts. Another silent car ride back to the house, and Carter sends the boys down to the basement, shutting the door and locking it from the outside. She hands me the bag with the tests in it and she follows me into the bathroom. I do everything I need to do for the tests and then Carter sets the timer.

“Now...we wait.” I say, watching the timer count down. I couldn’t even look at the tests, leaving Carter to see the results.

“Ava...They’re positive. All 3 are positive.” Carter says, her voice low and soft. Her hand slips into mine and she forces me to look up at her.

“You’re pregnant.” As the words come out of Carter’s mouth, all I can think about is having to tell Dylan and Dad that we fucked up and now I’m pregnant.

“Ava, you need to breathe. We have to talk about this. You’re going to have to tell Dylan and your dad soon. Before they start to notice a bump.” She kneels down in front of me, looking into my eyes.

“It’s gonna be okay. Dylan and your dad love you.” I start to cry, leaning into Carter’s chest as she holds me.

Dylan’s P.O.V. As I walk into the bathroom outside of the bedroom Ava and I share the next morning, I see something sitting on the counter. I ignore it, do what I came in there to do and then glance at it again. Ava keeps our bathroom ridiculously clean, so the fact that there’s something out on the counter is weird. So I make the decision to grab it and figure out what it is. As I do, I almost instantly regret it. It’s a positive pregnancy test, which causes my stomach to turn. Ava and I have been the only two in the house for the past couple days since Kirby and Carter just got here yesterday, meaning that the test could only be from her.

“Hey man, let’s get going! The girls are meeting us at the store.” Kirby yells, coming down the hallway. Ava and Carter got up early, went out to breakfast and then went shopping for bedding and things for the apartment. He pushes the door open and stands in the doorway.

“What are you doing? You’ve been in here for like 20 minutes.” He says, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorframe.

“Uh um, this is a pregnancy test. A positive pregnancy test.” I say, turning and handing it to Kirby. He glances down at it and then back up at me.

“Yeah...What’s the issue?” He asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Ava and I have been the only ones in the house for the past week. This test has to be from her.” Kirby’s eyes widen a little but he keeps his cool.

“So? It could be a false positive. Dyl, don’t think too much into it. But if you are worried, maybe talk to Ava about it?” He says, following me out of the bathroom and back to my room.

“But what if it’s not a false positive? What if it’s a real positive? What if she’s pregnant and we’re going to be parents? I can’t be a dad yet.” Kirby sits down on the bed as I pace around the room.

“Cozzy, listen to me. You’re gonna be fine. If it is positive and she is pregnant, then you’re gonna be a dad. And you know what? You’ll be just fine as a dad. If anything, you’re the best one out of all of us to become a dad so young. Dylan, this is between you and Ava. Talk to Ava if you’re really worried about it.” Kirby may be an idiot most of the time but he’s a really good friend. Probably my best friend.

“Cozens, if you are gonna be a dad and Ava does have a baby, you’ll get the future you’ve been talking about having with her for the past two years. It’ll be a little earlier than you planned but you’re getting everything you’ve wanted. You’ve talked about having a future with her since you started talking to her, right after the game. Everything you wanted, could be happening.” And as I sit there, listening to Kirby talk me down off the ledge I had walked myself up, I realize he’s right.

“She’s everything I’ve wanted. She’s everything I want. I do want a future with her and if that future includes having a baby at 19, then I guess that’s my future with Ava. And I’m okay with it.” Kirby squeezes my shoulder, nodding.

“You’re not going to talk to Ava about this, are you?” I shake my head.

“If she is, it’s up to her to tell me.” Kirby nods and hands me my jacket.

“Let’s go get our girls.”

Ava’s P.O.V.

Carter and I got up early, went to the doctor and confirmed what we already knew and that I would be having a baby boy, which was the most exciting part of our visit to the doctor, and then had to come up with a plan for how to tell Dad and Dylan.

“You could just flat out tell them? I think that would be the easiest option.” She says as we wander around the baby section of the clothing store we found.

“But that’s not fun. I need to make it fun so I have something to distract myself from the fact that I have to tell my boyfriend who I love beyond belief and never want to lose, and my dad who had me way too young, that I’m pregnant.” She nods, looking at the tiny clothes surrounding us.

“Okay, I think I saw something like this on Pinterest the other day but, what about getting two of their jerseys and putting Daddy on the back of Dylan’s and then grandpa on the back of your dad’s?” As I think through the idea she just proposed, I start to like it more and more.

“That’s a good idea! I could probably talk to the people who do the Sabres jerseys. It might take a couple days but we’re not going back down to Pittsburgh till the weekend so as long as we have them before then, I can just tell them this weekend.” Carter nods and we continue to wander around the store as I type up an email to the girl who does all the jerseys for the Sabres. A few minutes later, the boys show up and Carter and I make a point of getting out of the baby section before they meet up with us. As we’re eating lunch, an email buzzes my phone and I turn to attempt to hide the screen from Dylan who’s sitting next to me, his hand resting on my thigh. The girl says she’ll do the jerseys for free as long as I provide them. So as soon as we get back, I order the jerseys which get there the next day and take them over to the arena while Dylan is with Kirby, looking at something for the apartment. On Wednesday, before Dylan and I head back down to Pittsburgh for the weekend, I convince Dylan to stop by the arena for a few minutes. As I wander the halls of the arena, I think about the fact that under Dylan’s sweatshirt that hangs loosely on me, a growing baby bump is starting to show and soon, I’ll be bringing a baby with me to all of Dylan’s games.

The jerseys turned out fantastic and I’m so excited to give them to Dad and Dylan. And I can barely contain my excitement the whole 3 hour drive to Pittsburgh. Dad isn’t there when Dylan and I get to the house but I still have a key and let us in. Dylan carries our bags up to my childhood bedroom and I pick up a few things around the house, getting things together before Dad comes home from practice.

“Hey Sweetheart! Sorry I wasn’t home when you guys got here. Practice ran a little late today.” Dad says, coming in and kissing my forehead. Dylan comes downstairs and sits down on the couch next to me.

“Don’t worry about it. I still have my key.” Dad pats my shoulder and then moves to hug Dylan who stands up and hugs him.

“Can we do dinner tonight? Or did you have plans?” I ask, looking up at Dad as he walks back out to the kitchen.

“We can do dinner. Do you want to order something or do you want to cook?” I glance at Dylan and he shrugs.

“I’ll just make something. Why don’t you and Dylan go to the store for me and I’ll get started cooking.” Dad nods and calls “Just make us a list.” I write up a list and hand it to Dylan who follows Dad out to the car. Them being out of the house for a little while, gives me time to get the jerseys ready and get everything prepped.

As I fold the two jerseys a few hours later, my hands shake a little. I was cooking dinner for Dylan, Dad and I, planning on telling him and Dylan about the baby after dinner. Dylan and Kirby happened to be home, visiting Carter’s parents so they were over too.

“Hey, I have something for both of you.” I say, as I head back out to the dining room after we’ve eaten and set one box in front of Dylan and the other in front of Dad. Carter and Kirby have disappeared outside, like I had asked. I wanted to tell Dad and Dylan first before Carter and Kirby found out.

“Ava, what is this?” Dad asks, as I turn around from watching Kirby and Carter through the sliding door. Dad’s holding up the Penguins number 87 jersey with grandpa stitched where Crosby should be. Dylan’s eyes widen and he tears the box in front of him open.

“D-Daddy? What’s this?” He asks, looking at the jersey and holding up the sonogram photos.

“Um...I’m pregnant? With a boy?” I say, running my hand through my hair and taking the pictures from Dylan. He stands up, the jersey still clutched in his hand.

“You’re serious?” He asks, his hands on either side of my face, forcing my eyes to meet his. Dad is silent, which is the scariest part of all of this.

“Yeah...I’m 21 weeks along.” Dad’s face is now buried in the jersey, his face hidden from me.

“Oh my god. Baby!” Dylan says, hugging me, then dropping onto his knees to talk to my slightly protruding belly.

“Ava, is this real? Dad’s voice says, suddenly breaking through the silence. He’s standing, the jersey forgotten on the table. But as my eyes meet his, I don’t see the anger and frustration I was expecting to see. Instead, excitement and happiness fill his eyes.

“I’m gonna be a grandpa!” He says as I nod. He grins and pulls me into a hug. Dylan stands back, letting Dad and I have our moment.

“I guess this means you’re officially a part of the family?” Dad says, keeping his arm around my shoulder and looking over at Dylan.

“I mean, he’d better be. He is the father of your first grandchild.” I say, tugging Dylan to me and wrapping an arm around his waist.

“Well in that case, welcome to the family, Son.” Dad says, shaking Dylan’s hand. I smile and then the 3 of us sit back down. Dylan’s hand rests on my thigh and I lean against his shoulder. Carter and Kirby come back in and sit down with us, a knowing grin on Carter’s face.

“What’s with the jerseys?” Kirby asks, pointing at the Sabres jersey sitting on the table.

“Oh yeah, Kirby, you’re gonna be an uncle. Ava’s pregnant with a baby boy.” Kirby’s mouth drops open and we all laugh.

“You got her pregnant Cozzy? Seriously?” Kirby asks, laughing and leaning back in his chair.

“I did and you don’t need to give me anymore shit about it because believe me, I’ve heard it all.” Dylan says, pointing at him. The rest of the night, we all spend time planning for the baby and talking about names, nursery themes and everything else baby-related.

Later that night, Kirby wanders into the living room while Dylan is in the shower.

“Hey Kid, how you feeling?” Kirby asks, flopping onto the couch next to me. I glance down at my stomach where my bump is starting to show more and more every day. “Baby Cozens was up all night last night kicking so I’m pretty tired but other than that, pretty good.” He nods, glancing at my stomach, a smirk growing on his face.

“I still can’t believe Cozzy got you pregnant. I’m really excited for you both but it’s a lot to take in.” I nod, my hand resting on my stomach.

“It’s going to be a big adjustment. I mean, you’re gonna be Uncle Kirby now.” He laughs and nods.

“Ava, you know I care about you a lot. I mean, you’re pretty much my honorary sister and I love you. So if you need anything, ever, I’ll be here. I wanna help out as much as I can. Filling my uncle's duty.” He says, laughing and slinging an arm around my shoulders.

“I really appreciate it, Kirby. It means a lot, especially coming from you. I’m trusting you and Carter with this baby boy if anything ever happens to Dylan and I. I don’t think I’m supposed to tell anyone and I haven’t talked to Dylan about this yet but you and Carter are the godparents and I wouldn’t want anyone else to be responsible for my baby. Y’all are gonna spoil my son, aren’t you?” He nods, a grin on his face again.

“Between all of us hockey players, that child is going to be unstoppable on the ice.” I laugh and nod.

“Well anyways, I just wanted you to know that I’m here and that I want to help take care of you in any way you need me to.” I nod, smiling at him. And with a nod and smirk, he leaves me alone again.

Telling Dad and Dylan lifted such a weight off my shoulders. Both of them are thrilled, especially Dylan. He’s fully transitioned to Dad mode, planning the nursery and getting it ready, thinking about names, talking to the guys he plays with who already have kids to get tips. The 9 months before the baby is born fly by. And before Dylan and I know it, it’s month 9 and I feel like a whale. Dad has kept himself busy but he’s excited to become a grandpa. But I think my favorite telling people about the baby moment was when I sat my uncles down, around month 6.

I set the box of donuts Dylan and I had picked up on our way to Geno’s, on the counter in the kitchen. Dylan takes my hand and we walk out to the living room.

“Dylan! Glad you could come too!” Kris says, getting up off the couch to go and shake his hand. They’ve all been around Dylan a few times now and they all seem to get along really well. I guess that kinda comes with the whole hockey player thing.

“Oh you brought donuts?” Marc says, walking out of the kitchen with one in his hand.

“You weren’t supposed to eat them yet! There’s a whole thing that goes with it!” I say, pointing at him from where I’ve settled myself on the couch next to Dylan and Kris. He shrugs and sits down on the other couch.

“Fine, go get donuts.” I say, leaning my head on Dylan’s shoulder. Dad follows all 3 uncles into the kitchen to get donuts, Marc making sure to get another one.

“How much are we betting that they won’t even look at what’s written on the box?” I ask, looking up at Dylan.

“Your dad knows about it, he’ll make sure they look at it.” He answers as they all make their way back into the living room. I look up at Dad who just shakes his head and laughs.

“Hey did you see where I got the donuts from?” I ask, looking over at the 3 uncles.

“No, why does it matter? The donuts are good.” Kris says, eating the donut in his hand.

“Go look at the box please. All 3 of you.” I say, crossing my arms and raising an eyebrow. Marc leads Kris and Geno into the kitchen again and they’re in there for a few minutes.

“I swear, you put food in front of them and they don’t pay attention to anything else.” I say, rolling my eyes and waiting for them to come back into the living room.

“You pregnant? With a baby?” Geno asked, walking back into the living room with the other 2 behind him. Kris sits back down on the couch, his arms crossed and eyebrows raised. Marc, who just happened to be in town for some reason, looks concerned as he sits across from me.

“She’s 6 months pregnant.” Dad says, looking down at me, sitting on the couch next to me and smiling.

“This obviously is a little different from the plan Dad and I have had for the past couple years but it’s going to be a good thing. It’s already a good thing. Dylan and I are really excited.” The uncles still look a little confused and slightly concerned but they all seem happy. Knowing that I have the support of the 4 guys who raised me throughout my whole childhood, plus Dylan of course, is making this whole pregnancy so much easier. But of course, everything has its ups and downs and the up I’m feeling slowly turns into a down very very quickly.

“This is all because you couldn’t keep your dick in your pants and I hate you for it. I’m misreable now because of you and your stupid dick.” I say, glaring over at Dylan. He shakes his head and runs his hand through my hair. It’s 3 in the morning, the baby has been up kicking and moving around inside me all night and I have not slept at all. Dylan, on the other hand, has slept like baby boy Cozens is supposed to be.

“Baby, it’s gonna be okay. As soon as he’s born, you can tell him about how miserable he made you while you were pregnant. You can sleep all day tomorrow, we don’t have anywhere to be. Oh wait, shit. Isn’t tomorrow the dinner thing for you dad?” I groan and slouch lower into the blankets.

“Why did you remind me?” I groan as he tugs me into his chest and presses a kiss to the side of my neck. I close my eyes and try to settle into the peace being cuddled into Dylan’s chest gives me and somehow, it works. I wake up feeling a little better but still in an awful mood. Dylan attempts to cheer me up by getting me ice cream after lunch but it’s still a long day. I manage to squeeze my too pregnant body into the dress Carter and I bought a few months earlier. Dad shows up to pick the two of us up and I prepare to suffer through a ridiculously long dinner and talking to people I don’t know and don’t want to talk to. After what seems like forever, it’s time for Dad to make his speech for whatever honor he’s receiving that night and I prepare for the absolute bore that it will be. I love hearing Dad talk and usually I enjoy listening to him give speeches but tonight, I’m too miserable to enjoy it. All of the sudden, I feel stabbing pains. I shift a little, trying to make it go away and Dylan glances at me out of the corner of his eye. He raises an eyebrow, checking to make sure I’m okay and I brush him off with a nod. But then the contractions, or at least that’s what I assume they are, get worse and closer together.

“Baby’s coming.” I say, my nails definitely digging into Dylan’s bicep.

“Now? Like right now?” He asks, his eyes growing wide in panic. He glances down at my dress, seeing the darkened spot on my dress. He stands up, getting the attention of everyone in the crowded room. Dad, who had been on stage giving a speech about something I hadn’t been listening to, looks over at our table.

“Okay, we gotta go!” He says, tugging me to my feet as I groan. My guess is that the next 24 hours are going to be chaos-filled.

Tag List:

@theblushinglittle

@2manytabsopen

@nhlboyshavemyhart88

@kirbyy-dach

#sidney crosby #dylan cozens #nhl #nhl hockey #nhl imagine #Dylan Cozens imagine #hockey imagine #nhl fanfiction #hockey #hockey boys

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extremelyblackandwhite · 4 years

Text

handmaid - 19

PAIRING: mob!sebastian stan x ingenue!reader

WARNINGS: age gap

A/N: hope you enjoy this chapter xxx

NEXT CHAPTER

Y/N was submerged up to her neck up to the bubbles in her bath tube. She wanted to be mad at Gwen, mad that once again she had lost something over her own selfishness but most of her mind was telling her to be forgiving, Gwen could’ve never predicted a blizzard and if she had known she would’ve probably taken one less bag so Y/N could accompany her. Nevertheless, she couldn’t help but feel a ting of sadness as it dawned on her she would probably spend Christmas here. It wasn’t like she didn’t enjoy Sebastian’s presence, she absolutely loved to be around him when he wasn’t putting up a facade for his associates. However, it was different. It wasn’t the same, there were no fireplaces, no big kitchens in flames with every single scent related to winter and Christmas, no playing chess with Mr. Forrest or telling Gwen to wait for present opening. At the same time she was rather nervous to be left alone with Sebastian. That’s just like freeing a child in a candy shop without parent supervision and an unusual amount of money. No restraints and how was she supposed to have any restraints when Gwen wasn’t around to be the constant reminder that being in love with a promised man is wrong?

She sighed, lowering her body down til her nose touched the bubbles of the bath tube. Was the universe testing her? Yes, it was. She kissed a promised man and now she doesn’t get to spend Christmas like she normally does. What else is gonna happen? She hoped there was no mistletoe laying around the house.

- Miss Y/N? Are you okay? - she heard a light knock on the door followed by Amelia’s voice. Noticing the water had begun to cool down, she stepped off the tub, wrapping herself in one of Sebastian’s monogramed fluffy robes.

The handmaid creaked the door open, peaking to see the maid holding a folded red jumper and black pair of sweatpants. Being in those soft materials sounded like a good idea. Being surrounded in soft materials was always a sure way to make her a bit happy.

- I got you some nice and warm clothes and afterwards I can do your hair into something pretty. - Y/N nodded clearly not in the mood to disobey and quickly got dressed up in the freshly washed and dried garments. In no time she was sat in front of her vanity while Amelia brushed her hair and braided it along with a red velvet string.

- You know, Miss Y/N, we haven’t had a nice Christmas in this household in ages. Maybe with you here, we can have something nice. - she placed the brush back in the table. - There we go. Don’t you look pretty?

- Thank you so much, Amelia. - she smiled. - Don’t you want to go home to your family?

- This is my family. I’ve been taking care of Mr. Stan since he was as tall as a hobbit. However, I don’t think he needs someone to look after him anymore.

Before Y/N could question Amelia over her riddle speaking pattern, she was already rushing her down the stairs. Much to her surprise, the fireplace that wasn’t really a fireplace was on, there was a smell of apples, cinnamon and nutmeg in the air. She looked around wondering where the smell came from and judging by the amount of people in the kitchen along with bodyguards cooking various things, she wondered it came from there. She tried to suppress her smile as she walked barefoot to the kitchen, the little bells on her velvet red string jiggling.

- It smells lovely. What are you cooking? - she asked Elias, her bodyguard, who had an apron over his suit.

- I have no idea, Miss Y/N. Some sort of pudding like thing. - he continued to whisk the dough. - Do you happen to know how to cook a Christmas Pudding?

- I think you might me missing some brandy.

- I would love some brandy. - Elias mumbled.

- Stop mumbling. When you applied for this job you said you could cook so cook. - Sebastian spoke from further into the kitchen which intrigued Y/N. He barely even stepped into the kitchen unless he needed his beloved coffee as other than that he got his meals in his office. Y/N bite her lip, walking further into the kitchen to find the perfectly polished mob boss struggling with whatever he was doing. - You know, angel, I can hear your bells.

- What are you doing? - like a curious child, she took over to his side.

- Sugar cookies.

- That is not sugar cookie dough. - she pointed at the bowl he was mixing which had a liquid like dough on. - Besides, I thought you said you didn’t cook.

- Well ... it is my fiancée’s fault you’re not at home having some sugar cookies so I thought I’d dust off my mother’s recipe ... It’s not working very well, angel.

- Yeah, cookie dough shouldn’t be liquid.

- The fridge will fix it. - he placed the bowl down, staring at the once straight but now crooked whisk caused by his lack of gentleness when cooking. Sebastian couldn’t cook and that was a fact. The only thing he could sort of make and turn edible was chicken breasts which he had learned during university and even that was somewhat questionable.

- No, Seb, I don’t think it will. - the nickname escaped her mindlessly and, while she didn’t notice, Sebastian couldn’t help but smirk at how comfortable she had made herself around him. At least comfortable enough to give him a nickname. - Do you have the recipe? I’m sure we can make a new lovely batch.

- If you can understand my mother’s handwriting. - he handed her a rather old piece of paper which looked like a child’s tea paper. Y/N held the paper with both hands, chewing on her lip as she read it through.

- Alright we need sugar, flour, vanilla extract, butter, and eggs. - she scanned through the sea of ingredients that were standing on the table. - Why ... why are there chocolate chips here?

- I thought I could put chocolate chips on it. - he rubbed his neck sheepishly and Y/N smiled. - I used to do it with my mum. It’s probably wrong.

- You know, my nanny always said you bake from the heart. - she handed him an unopened pack of white chocolate chips. - Besides, I think we might make it work if we add it at the end. We start with butter and sugar in the bowl and then we mix it ... with an electrical mixer.

- You youngsters and your electronics. - he joked and Y/N rolled her eyes. If Gwen was to be trusted, Sebastian was 14 years older than both her and Gwen making him almost a decade and a half older than the two girls. She creamed the butter with the sugar and added the flour, eggs and vanilla. - Can I turn it on now?

- Sure, just be caref ... - before she could warn him, he turned the mixer up to his highest speed sending a cloud of flour towards both of them. - ... with the speed.

She looked at his surprised flour covered face, holding in a laugh as she bopped his nose. He looked so helpless in the kitchen she wondered if his associates knew the best way to get his weakness would be by making him cook.

- This is why we start with slow to medium speed. - she turned it off on medium, watching as the flour was incorporated with the flour. - Should I put a scarf on you and you can become the snowman?

- You’re trying to be funny, angel? - his hand ran down her side, subtly ending on her bum. - Don’t forget who you’re speaking to.

- I won’t. - she handed him the glass bowl, successfully occupying his hands with something else. - I hope you know how to roll dough.

It was nice and she had to admit it. Baking Christmas cookies with the mob boss engaged to her friend was nice and she didn’t know if to feel guilty or to relish on the memories that would probably haunt her at night time or whenever she thought of Gwen. She was stuck in her own conflict until she felt something run down her cheek.

- Sebastian ... - she cleaned her cheek, noticing the red icing. - Stop it.

- I always thought you were sweet angel but I think you might just taste sweet too now. - Sebastian kissed her cheek making her widen her eyes, looking around if any of the staff had noticed. To her luck, they were much too busy looking at a video on youtube on how to properly cook a turkey. Guess they shouldn’t have given the chef an early holiday.

- Stop it, you’re engaged. - she took a step to the right and handed him a bowl where she had placed the chocolate chips on. - Go on, decorate your cookies.

- They won’t say anything. - Sebastian observed as Y/N’s pipped some icing onto her cookies making them look like small pieces of art. Surely his cookies were not gonna be displayed. - Besides Gwen isn’t here.

- You could look a bit sad that your fiancée isn’t here. - she grabbed the tray of cookies and placed it in the oven, cleaning her hands against her apron. - You don’t need to mean it.

- Admit it, you’re also happy she isn’t around.

- I am not. We’ve spent Christmas together since we were kids, it’s sorta of odd that she isn’t around.

- C’mon, angel. Do you even have a day in your life that’s just for you? Your birthday perhaps?

- Me and Gwen have the same birthday and besides, I don’t know what I would do with a day just for me. - she could possibly spend the whole day reading but other than that it would sound a bit weird not to have Gwen barging into her bedroom with her issues. - You spend Christmas with family and the ones you love.

- Alright, angel, if you say so.

- We should go outside.

- Outside? - he looked over the window, noticing the soft fresh snow on the ground. It looked way colder than the warmth provided by his heaters inside the house. - Are you sure?

- We could go to the Rockefeller Centre, see the Christmas tree or even go to the ice rink.

- You wanna walk all the way there?

- It’s not that bad. C’mon, it’s gonna be lovely. - her eyes sparkled in a way that didn’t allow anyone with an once of a heart to say no to her. Sighing he just smiled and that wasn’t for her to kiss his cheek and rush out of the kitchen to grab her coat.

She returned in a few seconds in a white faux fur coat which most likely used to belong to Gwen and matching winter hat and gloves. He thought she looked adorable all in white like some sort of snow angel with the robin necklace in gold shinning with the reflection of the Christmas lights. In odd comparison, Sebastian was wearing his traditional signature long black coat, sunglasses with a Burberry scarf. As they stepped outside, she seemed to light up with energy, her hand wrapping around his as they looked at the other house’s outside decoration.

People couldn’t help but smile as they saw the two people contrasted with colours and with expressions. Sebastian himself would’ve gone home but his heart would skip a beat every time her gloved hand touched his pulling him along. In what felt like hours and hours of walking and looking at various lights, they reached the Rockefeller Centre and even Sebastian had to take off his sunglasses to look at the Christmas tree.

- Let’s go ice skating. - she grabbed his hand, smiling. - It’ll be fun.

- No, angel. You can go, I’ll just watch.

- It’ll be fun besides, I’m sure none of your associates are here to see you ice skating.

- Do you ever take no for an answer, angel?

- You’re gonna like it.

- Alright. - he gave in and walked over to buy the tickets and rent the skates. Mindlessly, she put her skates off and went off onto the rink, turning around to see Sebastian still trying to look as polished and stoic as he could. - What?

- You can’t be holding onto the rail all the time. - she crossed her arms. - That’s cheating.

- I never said I would do the skating part of ice skating.

- You could always use this as an excuse to hold my hand. - she skated over to him, extending her hand towards him.

- I don’t need an excuse to hold your hand, angel. But ... I’ll take your offer.

tag list: @lilya-petrichor @xoxohannahlee @irespostthingsiwanttoseelater @nikkipea @madisonpillstrom @cevans98 @thelostallycat @sideeffectsofyou @anxiousdreamersworld @captainchrisstan @lookiamtrying @sarge-barnes-sir @stuffforreferences @thebadassbitchqueen

#sebastian stan #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan/you #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan/reader #sebastian stan x y/n #sebastian stan/y/n #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan fanfic #sebastian stan drabble #sebastian stan fanfiction #au!sebastian stan #mob!sebastian stan #mobster!sebastian stan

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justthehiddleswrites · 3 years

Text

As You Are | Tom Hiddleston x OFC (Daisy)

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x OFC (Daisy)

Summary: Daisy is dating Tom but she is insecure she doesn’t stack up to her previous girlfriends. Her insecurities get her into a spot of trouble when she purchases a dress too small for the red carpet event. Tom comes to her rescue.

Warnings: Implied Smut, Angst, Fluff, body image issues, Body Image, Self-Esteem Issues, OFC is short and curvy

Daisy felt the cool metal of the tea canister graze across her fingertips as her perch on the counter gave way and her prize slipped from her grasp. Her bare feet hit the kitchen tile hard, and she stumbled as she lost her balance.

“Thomas!” she yelled into the silence of late morning. Nothing. “Tom , ” she yelled again, more pleading as though she would burst into tears at any moment.

This time she heard the water shut off upstairs in the master bathroom and moments later the padding of large feet down the wooden stairs. Tom emerged, his long locks still dripping from his after run shower, a towel wrapped around his waist.

“What is darling?”

Daisy’s head slumped down, and she jabbed her figure at the tallest shelf in the cupboard. “You did it again. I can’t reach the tea.”

Tom gave a small smile as he moved to retrieve the tea for Daisy. “I am so sorry, darling.”

“It’s been four months, Tom. Four months since I moved in and you are still putting things on the top shelf.” Daisy pouted as Tom handed her the tea.

She turned to finish making her breakfast. Tom’s arms wrapped around Daisy’s waist. “I am a creature of habit.” He bent at the waist kiss Daisy’s neck. “I will endeavor to improve.”

“I have heard that before.” Daisy snipped as she measured out the tea and placed it in the strainer before setting it in the cup off to the side.

In a single motion, Tom grabbed her by the waist, spun her around, and placed her on the counter facing him. “Have told you I love you?” Tom leaned in to place a kiss on Daisy’s rosy lips.

“Only twice today.” Daisy muttered against Tom’s lips. She wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him close, his towel falling by the wayside.

Tom broke the kiss and smiled down at Daisy. “We must remedy that immediately.” He tugged at her shorts and tank top.

After several orgasms and a shared shower, both Tom and Daisy dressed for the day. As Daisy pulled on her scuffed Converses, Tom settled onto the couch with a large script.

“What are your plans for the day?” Tom slipped his glasses onto his face.

“Just some errands and lunch with Chelsea.” Daisy responded, avoiding eye contact.

“Did you get a dress yet?”

Daisy pretended to hunt for her keys in her purse. Tom looked up. “Daisy.” his lips pressed into a thin line. “You told me you had it under control. The red carpet is only three weeks away.”

Tears pricked the corners of her eyes. She turned so Tom wouldn’t see. “I will take care of it today.”

Tom stood from his seat and walked over to place his hands on her shoulders. “I am sure whatever you pick will be stunning.” He kissed her hair before she stepped out and he returned to his work.

“Chels!” Daisy hollered from the depths of the posh dressing room. Her friend burst through the door.

“What is it?!”

“I can’t get the zipper in the back. Can you help?”

Chelsea giggled as she moved to help Daisy. “Wouldn’t you rather your strapping boyfriend help you out, I mean into your dress?”

Daisy threw a dirty look over her shoulder. “Not funny, Chels. You know my feelings about Tom and my appearance.” Daisy squirmed. She confided in Chelsea about her insecurities. Daisy, at only 4’ 2” and curvy as all get, felt she couldn’t measure up to Tom. Literally and figuratively. She never said a word to Tom but begged off invitations to attend events with him. Until now. Tom insisted she attend.

“I don’t know what you are insecure about, your body is amazing and Tom wouldn’t just date anyone.”

Chelsea’s words fell on deaf ears. “He could have anyone in the world, why me?”

“Because you are smart, funny, kind and right now, not fitting into this dress.”

Chelsea got the zipper halfway up on the navy satin A-line dress. Daisy frowned. This was the twelfth store, and she was no closer to a dress. Tom would not be pleased. “Can you see if they have a larger size?” Daisy pleaded.

Chelsea left and located a thin salesgirl with a pinched face just outside the dressing room. In the meantime, Daisy stepped out to peek in the three-way mirror. But for half of her back spilling out, the bottom of the dress looked perfect while the sweetheart neckline accentuated her cleavage.

“Do you have the blue satin in a larger size?” Chelsea asked, gesturing to Daisy’s frock on the sales floor. The girl glanced at Daisy admiring herself in the mirror before turning her nose up at Chelsea.

“Sorry we don’t carry plus sizes here.” the girl spat out the words “plus size” like they were curse words. Daisy’s eyes burned with tears as she stormed back into her dressing room before peeling the dress off her body and getting dressed.

“Daisy—” Chelsea started before Daisy emerged from the room, dress in hand. She walked up to the salesgirl.

“I’ll take it, can you ring it up, please?” Daisy plastered on her sweetest smile.

The girl sneered for a moment. “Right this way miss.”

Daisy pushed up the door with her hip, her hands ladened with purchases. The cool tones of evening replaced the sunlight of the day. Tom was missing from the couch. Daisy placed her packages in the arm chair.

“Tom?”

“In the kitchen, darling?”

Daisy followed the enticing smells of food. She found Tom hovered over the stove. “What smells so good?”

“My specialty, Bolognese.” Tom turned and offered her a taste. She blew on the red sauce before taking a sip. “Needs salt.”

“As you wish.” Tom smiled and grabbed the salt cellar. “Why don’t you take a shower and it will be ready when you come down?” He kissed her lips and Daisy shuffled upstairs.

About ten minutes later, Daisy padded down the stairs. She tugged on her pajama shorts as they rode up as she walked. Tom placed a large plate of pasta at her place at the table. Daisy’s mouth watered. She inhaled the aroma of garlic and wine and grabbed her fork to dig in. Tom took his seat next to her at the head of the table with his own plate.

“How was shopping?” Tom asked in between bites. Daisy gestured to the chair overflowing packages. Tom smiled. “Successful then. Is there a red carpet dress somewhere in that pile?”

Daisy looked over and nodded. She spied the garment bag hanging over the back and flashed back to the scene at the store and lost her appetite. She put down her fork.

“What’s wrong, darling? Did I put too much red wine in it again? I’m sorry.” Tom reached over and rubbed his thumbs over her knuckles.

“No, it’s fine. I’m just full from lunch.” Daisy lied. she picked up her plate and placed on the counter.

“Don’t worry about that. I will take care of it.” Tom offered. Daisy nodded and headed into the living room to gather her purchases to take upstairs. “Do you need any help?”

“No I got them!” Daisy yelled back. “I could use the exercise.” she muttered under her breath as she heaved the heavy bags onto her shoulders.

Three weeks came and went in an instant. Daisy spent them watching her food and attempting to exercise. After a week of crash dieting, she forgot all about her intentions to eat healthy and ordered pizza. Which led to ice cream and cookies. Before long, any weight, she may have lost was right back. And tonight was the night of the gala. Daisy stood in the bathroom, praying for a miracle. The water running behind her in the shower as Tom prepared for the night.

Daisy took her time applying her makeup, making sure every detail was perfect. Tom stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist. He came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist.

“You look ravishing. I can’t wait to see the complete outfit.” He kissed her forehead to not muss her hard work and turn to get dressed.

She finished twisting her hair into an elegant updo and wrapped her robe around her tight before ducking into the walk-in closet. The garment bag hung like a ghost. Haunting and taunting Daisy. She gulped and pulled the dress out. It looked beautiful on the hangar. She dropped the robe and slipped the dress from the hangar. As she stepped into the dress, she hoped it would zip. Daisy shimmied the dress up past her hips and slid the straps on her shoulders. She reached behind for the zipper, but could grasp the delicate tab.

“Tom, can you help me with your zipper?” Daisy asked through the door, regretting her hasty decision three weeks ago.

Tom appeared in a flash, his top two buttons and cuff undone. “Of course, turn around.”

Tom’s fingers slid down her back and sent shivers through Daisy. Tom chuckled as he pulled on the zipper. As Daisy feared the zipper stopped about halfway up. Tom tugged but to not avail.

“Darling, the zipper seems to be stuck.”

Daisy burst into tears. “I’m not going!” and she ran out of the closet and the bedroom before slamming the door to their spare bedroom.

Tom stood for a moment stunned at what took place mere moments ago before following after Daisy. He opened the door without a word and sat at the edge of the bed.

“Darling…” he tested, rubbing her stockinged ankle.

Daisy sobbed into the pillow.

“Darling, I can’t fix this unless you talk to me.”

Daisy lifted her head to face Tom, eye makeup ruined. “Why would you be with someone like me?”

Tom pulled Daisy to a sitting position before sliding his arms around you. “What do you mean like you?”

Daisy gestured at the ill-fitting dress. “I’m no supermodel or actress. I’m.. I’m…” Daisy sobbed as she looked up at Tom’s pleading blue eyes. Tom’s brow furrowed.

“Do you think you are not good enough for me?”

“Well look at me and then look at your ex-girlfriends.”

“Who are ex-girlfriends for good reason. They did not have your heart, your smile, or your spark.”

Daisy managed a weak smile. “But the press…”

“The press can stuff it. Is this why you have been acting so strange these past weeks? Have you been trying to fit into this dress?”

Daisy nodded. “I just wanted to look like someone who belonged with you.”

Tom wiped away the smeared mascara and took Daisy’s face into both of his hands. “I love you just as you are. You never have to change for me or anyone else. You are enough.”

Daisy searched Tom’s face for any malice but saw only sincerity. She smiled and Tom leaned in to kiss her, pulling her onto his lap. Daisy’s hands twisted around Tom’s curls.

“Now,” Tom slapped his knees. “we need to get you sorted.” Tom took Daisy’s hand to lead her back to their room. “You need to fix your make-up while I come up with a solution.”

Daisy opened her mouth to protest.

“I won’t hear of you not going, now go.” Tom shooed her into the bathroom.

Daisy examined the damage in the mirror and regretted her outburst. It took fifteen minutes fix everything. She stepped out into the bedroom to find Tom dressed. There was an extra white dress shirt on the bed.

“What is that for?”

Tom smiled. “That is for you, darling. If it is good enough for Sharon Stone, it is good enough for the love of my life.” Daisy blushed at his words. Tom held up two safety pins. “But first, turn around.”

Confused, Daisy complied. Tom tugged the satin away from Daisy’s back. “What are you doing?”

“Securing your zipper to prevent any red carpet accidents.” Tom weaved the safety pins into an “X”.

“And where did you learn that?”

“The theater. I have seen my fair share of wardrobe mishaps. One picks up these kinds of things.”

Daisy giggled as Tom skimmed his fingers down her bare arms. He picked up the white dress shirt and held it up for Daisy to slip her arms in. The shirt was oversized but Tom spun Daisy around and buttoned several buttons before tying the bottom of the shirt into a knot off to the side.

“There.”

Daisy stepped into the bathroom to look. She was shocked. You couldn’t see the half zipped zipper and the white shirt accentuated her curves. She skipped out of the bathroom into Tom’s arms, crushing his lips into a passionate kiss. Tom’s wandered down the curves of her body and he sat on the bed pulling her to straddle his lap. She pulled him deeper by his neck. Their embrace interrupted by the ringing of the doorbell.

“That would be the car.”

“Make them wait.”

“I can’t be late.” tom sighed as he slid Daisy off his lap, straightening his tie. “But don’t think I am done with you.” Tom whispered into her ear, promising a late evening.

The event blurred before Daisy’s eyes. The flash of photographers and the microphones and screaming. She now understood why Tom came home exhausted from red carpet events. Now they sat in the back of the car, Tom’s hand making lazy circles on Daisy’s knee. His movement moved her skirt up inch by inch with each swipe. Daisy blushed. Tom leaned over and nipped behind her ear.

“You are delicious. I can’t wait to devour you.” His lips trailing down to the crook of her neck.

Daisy suppressed a moan. “Tom…” Tom tugged at the collar of the shirt, exposing more skin. “not in public.”

“I shall have you wherever I want you.” Tom continued as his hands snaked around her waist. “The car, the bed, the couch, the wall.” He punctuated each phrase with a kiss. Daisy;s underwear dampened.

“Is that a to do list?” Daisy breathed, trying to suppress the pornographic sounds threatening to leap from her throat.

Tom pulled back and his lips curved into a devious smile. “You will have to see.”

As if on cue, the car came to a stop, and the doors opened. Tom pulled Daisy into the house with lust in his eyes.

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston fanfiction #tom hiddleston fanfic #tom hiddleston x ofc #tom hiddleston fluff #tom hiddleston imagine #tom hiddleston angst

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wherefancytakesme · 4 years

Text

“Mistakes”

(BOYD gets to spend the afternoon with Gyro, then Mark Beaks shows up and brings on emotions that BOYD has never had to face before.)

The day so far had been one of harmless goings-on and quiet excitement. BOYD went to school with his adoptive brother Doofus Drake, for once not being as much the studious little database he always was in class—he was going to meet with Gyro Gearloose and Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera after school, and it filled him to the brim with joy.

Since the day he’d reunited with his creator, BOYD loved spending time with the scientist, always awaiting a time when he would call the Drakes over the phone and ask to pick their ‘younger’ son up and bring him to the underwater lab. Gyro always said he needed to perform regular checkups and maintenance on the little android, but BOYD was hoping secretly that it was also about spending time together; The doctor was becoming gentler now that everything in the past was behind them.

Regardless, BOYD’s feet were bouncing lightly under his desk with the anticipation of it all the way until the final school-bell rang—any excuse to see Gyro, someone he considered so close, gave his mechanical heart inexplicable delight.

Finally when class had let out for the day, BOYD took Doofus’ hand, smiling, and pulled him gently along.

“Come on, come on, big brother! Dr. Gearloose and Dr. Crackshell-Cabrera are waiting outside!”

Doofus grunted. His parents had strictly told him to be on his nicest behavior in front of Scrooge McDuck’s scientist, especially for his little brother’s sake—and to say nothing at all if he hadn’t anything nice to say—or else not expect any dessert for the next several weeks. He threw a fit, of course, but eventually resigned to not ruin anything for BOYD—or his chance at still being allowed to eat an ice cream float every night—and let BOYD have all the ice cream for himself.

Some part of Doofus’ subconscious didn’t mind the constant company of someone his own age. But all the unpleasantness that buried such feelings from his thoughts and actions that proved Louie Duck right kept the boy from understanding any of that, and so he simply allowed BOYD to pull him along—small as he was, the android could easily overtake his brother—and decided to be pouty but uncharacteristically quiet the rest of the day—though not altogether unhappy.

When the two boys reached the front gate, Gyro and Fenton were waiting at the entrance. The latter grinned and waved a friendly hand. The former smiled a bit more visibly than he’d have liked to when BOYD ran out to him.

“Dr. Gearloose!” BOYD called out, immediately throwing his arms around Gyro’s knees.

The gesture pushed Gyro to hide his previous smile by putting a fist to his mouth and clearing his throat. But his tone wasn’t harsh.

“It’s nice to see you, 2BO—er—BOYD.”

He had no idea how to greet Doofus Drake, however. He groaned with his mouth closed, awkwardly, and looked away, but Doofus had nothing to say either anyway.

“Are we going to the lab right away?” BOYD asked with bright eyes.

“Well I have an errand to run in town first, but it shouldn’t take long.”

Fenton chimed in;

“We could make a fun outing of it! Uh—nothing that would deviate from the plan, of course,” he said drawing back once Gyro side-eyed him, “Just something to do while Dr. Gearloose is busy.”

“Yeah, like find a local landmark to learn about!” BOYD did some drawing back of his own when he noticed his brother pout, but did so more graciously than nervously as compared to Gyro’s assistant. “Or maybe there will be a park nearby!” He smiled more when he noticed his brother’s frown fade a small amount.

“Whatever we do,” interjected Gyro, “Stay close to me. I do not want everyone running all over and taking up too much time.”

BOYD’s sunny smile remained as he put his hands behind his back, determined to be well-behaved.

“Yessir, Dr. Gearloose!”

About twenty minutes of walking had led the group of four to an obscure electronics store. Gyro needed a special kind of copper wire before going back to the lab and his odd specifications were hard to meet. While he spent his time inside, Fenton and the boys went to the adjacent shop to buy ice cream. Gyro had told them not to wander off, so once both kids had a cone of their own, they walked out to wait for the doctor.

It had taken several minutes longer than usual for the store owner to fetch what he needed, but by the time he had his purchase in hand, Gyro pondered over taking another minute or two to browse recreationally for spare parts. However, the thought was suddenly halted by the sound of a piercing shriek from outside.

“BUT I DON’T LIKE PISTACHIO!”

Gyro’s whole body jumped at the sound before he bolted out the door to see what the commotion was.

Oh.

Of course. Doofus Drake was throwing another tantrum, shaking his ice cream cone violently.

“Then why did you ask for it?” Fenton asked, confounded.

Gyro ground his teeth and rubbed his middle and index fingers against his temples. But the eyes he’d at first squinted shut opened back up when he heard the screaming stop at a kind voice.

“It’s okay, big brother. I’ll eat yours and we’ll trade!”

BOYD had a warm little grin on his face, holding out his hand.

“Fine!” snapped the spoiled drake, fuming as he thrust the treat into his brother’s hand. “You wanted to try a new flavor of ice cream anyway!”

This caught Gyro’s attention particularly. That little brat shouldn’t be forcing something on a robot who wasn’t built for consumption. He approached, and took on a less-than-pleasant tone that now commonly became him.

“Ice cream?” the chicken asked, twisting his face, “2B—er, BOYD, doesn’t eat.”

“I don’t need to,” answered BOYD, “I like to! My big brother told me about all the different kinds, and now every time I eat a new one, I add it to my memory. It’s fun!”

There were so many words in there that Gyro had to take a moment to think over. First and foremost, it was still mystifying why someone like BOYD and someone like Doofus Drake would consider eachother brothers—leaving aside that the former was much older than the latter. But he chuckled mentally a bit at the association between ‘memory’ and ‘fun’. The only other boy he knew who thought like that was Huey Duck, and it was nice that he and the android had found someone like the other. It felt nice too that such a thought could soften him back up again and make his migraine go away.

But Gyro wondered what eating must really be like for BOYD—he didn’t remember programming BOYD specifically to eat, but on a technical level, he supposed it was possible, given the way he’d built him.

“Can you taste it at all?” he said looking down at BOYD now, curious at the answer.

“Yeah! It was actually only recently I first had ice cream. I didn’t know I could taste anything until then, but it seemed to register, and I really liked it! So when I got home, I asked about it, and now I get to have it every day!”

Gyro didn’t realize how much he’d been missing out on the little boy’s life. Even the very first tests he’d run on him didn’t experiment with things like taste, or smell. Body temperature, vision, maybe—but those were comparable to how a computer would run. Gyro had made BOYD with sentient, behavioral programming, but he supposed he never put any of it into practice, in a real-world scenario. Part of that may have been Dr. Akita’s fault, but… Well, Gyro didn’t want to make excuses for what he did and didn’t do back then.

It was strange—and a little sad; BOYD went twenty whole years unaware of whether or not he lacked the sensation of taste, and Gyro wasn’t there when he finally tried. Gyro knew every single robotic modification BOYD had—from the USB drives in his fingertips, to the blasters throughout his body—he’d put every one of them to the test, but how often did he actually take the child outside the old laboratory? Did the small creature have any memory of Tokyolk before his core was overridden?

Quickly Gyro shook any dwelling thoughts from his mind. No matter. He was making up for it now.

At least he hoped so.

All of a sudden, Gyro felt someone bump against his side, sending him back into the conscious world with a jolt. He made a startled squeak, which embarrassed—and therefore slightly angered him.

“Can’t you watch where you’re—Oh.”

The scientist wrinkled his face with annoyance when he turned and saw a slightly younger man on a self-balancing scooter.

“It’s you.”

There was no mistaking it. Sleek cardigan, large overconfident eyebrows, phone in hand… It was Mark Beaks.

Mark Beaks blinked when addressed. He had no doubt everyone knew who he was, but the lanky chicken facing him seemed to be acting like he’d met him before.

“Oh heeeeey… Uh, do I know you? Probably, right? You see so many faces every day when you’re this famous, they kinda all just blend in, y’know?”

Gyro looked up at Beaks with half-lidded eyes.

“Dr. Gyro Gearloose? Scientist of Scrooge McDuck? You’ve stolen and modified my tech about four different times?”

Beaks looked up and narrowed his eyes, stumped.

Gyro sniffed. Mark Beaks had pointed him out in public several times; This was quite obviously being done to wind him up. “Perhaps he looks familiar to you?” he said, throwing a hand out to gesture at BOYD.

“Ohh yeah! You built that guy? No wonder he went all terminator on me!”

Again Gyro responded sarcastically, with more of a scoff this time.

“That is not my fault. Likely you reprogrammed his hard-drive and rewrote his memories so many times, one simple question overwhelmed him to the point that he couldn’t even tell a person from a flyswatter.”

“Ugh, whatever.” Beaks said, waving his hand, “If you make faulty robots and don’t wanna keep the improvements I put in there, that’s on you. Kid was pretty popular online though. I mean, come on!”

Mark Beaks pointed back and forth between himself and BOYD with both of his index fingers.

“He looks just like me!”

When Beaks acknowledged the android a few feet in front, suddenly two yellow eyes stared back. A little gasp emitted from the little black beak that was previously opened to eat ice cream. BOYD hadn’t seen his older doppelganger since the day he met Doofus Drake. His whole face suddenly beamed with cheeriness at a familiar face.

“Da—”

He bit off the word ‘Daddy’. That was a memory overwrite, he knew now. Still, he was happy.

“Mr. Beaks!”

BOYD instantly ran over to the addressee to jump up and hug him. Beaks just as instantly wheeled back with his scooter board, holding his palms up.

“Woah-ho-hooooh, don’t like touching, remember? What was the number one rule?”

Oh. Right. Remembering that made BOYD’s smile fade.

“No hugs?”

“Exactly, see? You’ve still got some of the good ol’ Beaks programming clunking around in there somewhere!”

Gyro rolled his eyes at a statement like that, but for BOYD it started to set a certain train of thought in motion; Mark Beaks had programmed him to be like his son. At the time, he had felt like it, not simply had it wired into his head, but… now that he thought about the standoffish way the young adult was acting, was that all he was to him? Like a son?

That couldn’t be true, could it?

“Um, Mr. Beaks?” BOYD said, voice starting to grow more shy, “I know things are different now—the two of us living separate lives and everything—but even so, would it be okay if I still spent time with you once in a while?”

Beaks sucked his teeth at BOYD.

“Ooh, no can do, sport. See, if we’re not family, there’s kinda no point anymore. Nobody looks at pics of me just hanging with some rando kid, y’know? Outside that, I’m like super busy all the time, sooo…”

“But… Didn’t you have fun with me?”

“Sure, I did all kinds of awesome stuff in a whole day! Took lots of great selfies!”

BOYD faced the ground at that response, trying to process it. All the words were simple, but slowly, they triggered the most complex of memories… ______________________________

The first memory he had after the incident in Tokyolk was the faint recognition of someone’s voice in the garbage dump he’d evidently wound up in. He didn’t know what was going on, and had no recollection of where he came from, how he worked, or hardly even who he was. All he could bring to mind was an assigned identification number—2BO—and a gut feeling that he was a definitely real boy.

But when the voice came closer, BOYD felt his OS booting up again—his processor bringing things back online. What life he may or may not have had before, he knew not. He only understood that there was reason to be up and running now—alive. These feelings hadn’t manifested into thoughts at first—and then he heard the moving figure above him make a noise. When BOYD parroted back the mimicry of lasers, it was purely instinctual—technological sounds, technological creature. But it made someone notice him. It made someone marvel at him. It made someone give him a real name. It made someone want to take him home. That someone was Mark Beaks.

Even if he had only programmed into him the title of ‘father’, the wealthy parrot was the first person he knew to give him somewhere to live. With or without his original memories, BOYD had never really had an actual home before. He’d never had anyone so willingly look after him like a normal kid—like their kid. In many ways, both literal and figurative, Mark Beaks was the first person to be a parent to BOYD. Even lacking the memory of Akita’s cruelty and Gyro’s hesitance, when BOYD was around Mark Beaks, he felt like someone’s son with no hint of abandonment for the first time in his life.

Yet some underlying doubt lie buried, deep down in one of the many corners of his mind that BOYD didn’t have access to—only this one wasn’t blocked by another person’s override. Anytime he called out ‘Daddy’, Beaks didn’t always turn around right away. He might look confusedly around the room, or take a second or two to respond. And even then, he didn’t seem to say things other than ‘Hey you’, or ‘Need something?’—they were happy, but one-sided. BOYD didn’t think about that then. He was just glad to have family, and to have anything a kid could ask for.

But that was another thing that suddenly made BOYD think. The two days he’d spent with his new father were the best of his whole life; He spent time at an office filled with apparatuses to play on, candy to eat, and places to nap everywhere—even if he didn’t need to nap. Then for the rest of the day, the two Greys went all over Duckburg having fun—eating, playing, exploring… And still, through everything, there didn’t seem to be a connection. When BOYD and Beaks spent time at a show, flew kites, or wore novelty hats, the latter was always taking pictures with the former in them, but seemingly never with him. BOYD was too distracted by the thrill of spending time with someone he considered family to notice before, but now that Beaks worded it the way he did, only mentioning the fun he himself had that day, the signs were becoming obvious. He never once touched him—never once looked at him when he took those selfies—BOYD might as well have been a part of the background.

Come to think of it, did Mark Beaks ever touch BOYD? His biggest aversion, which he’d made clear several times, was touching, after all; The hopes of the first hug BOYD thought he’d ever had at the time were straightaway brushed off. Maybe once or twice, when he needed to be kept from getting wet or from going haywire… But otherwise, the man hardly paid physical attention to him. He didn’t want to feed into the worry that was always secretly there, but the recollection of everything made it impossible now. It hurt BOYD so badly to consider that he was only there to serve a purpose—as he had been his whole life—after all. He couldn’t remember Beaks saying his name, he couldn’t remember Beaks saying something gentle to him… Sometimes if he didn’t act the part he was made to, Beaks would scold him. He tried to avoid calling to mind that once, Beaks struggled to even remember the familial title under which BOYD was programmed.

“Yeah, I love this… What was it again? Uhh, uh, son!”

Oh no.

Mark Beaks never even said the words, ‘I love you’.

But no. No, it couldn’t be true that he didn’t at least care about BOYD, it just couldn’t. It was painful all the same, though, no matter how trusting and unassuming a child BOYD was.

He had to know. He wanted just a little word of assurance that he was wrong, that it was all in his head, that it was just worry that came with twenty years of feeling unloved. Even if Mark Beaks saw him as means for attention first, surely there was some sort of fatherly instinct left over from caring for someone made to be for all concerned his family.

BOYD was feeling some sort of physical discomfort he couldn’t pinpoint when he made his next inquiry, as if he was swallowing something down.

“Mr. Beaks,” he questioned, blue irises still fixed on the ground and fingers toying with one another, “Do you…”

He swallowed physically this time.

“Do you love me…?”

Mark Beaks’ face froze, and before answering made a noise somewhere between the word ‘I’, and an ‘Uh’.

“Kid, what kind of question is that? I don’t do the whole affection thing, okay? Much less with someone who’s not even in my entourage anymore.”

Oh, that hurt. That hurt far too much. Normally with Dr. Akita’s overriding, emotional triggers like this would have BOYD glitching. But that wasn’t there anymore. He was open to feel whatever a boy would feel any time he wanted now, without malfunctions and without something to block his true childlike wiring—too open, perhaps, because now instead of his mind going blank over spiritual pain, his mind would take in every single thought that set him off, and fester. What Beaks said to him now was festering. It made him feel vulnerable. Even if it didn’t hurt or scare him as much as when Gyro told him he was going to shut him down for good, or when Gyro constantly put him down, there was nothing to keep BOYD from blacking out afterward anymore. The feelings over Mark Beaks’ statement were flooding all throughout him.

“But…” BOYD persisted still, wanting some sort of kindness—at least for a fresh start. “Couldn’t we at least be on friendly terms? Isn’t there anything you like about me?”

“Aw come on, little man, it’s not like I was letting you get close to begin with. You’ve got other rich people and tech geeks to be with now. So you don’t need me and I don’t need you.” The man crossed his arms.

If any justice could be done, it might be stated here that the biggest reason Mark Beaks was beginning to act more and more bitter with the small child was out of a sour-grapes mentality. Visible weakness wasn’t characteristic of the young trend-chaser, but in a situation like this, where something he genuinely found impressive and thought he’d made his own had been lost to him, and had been left in the hands of someone else he barely knew—knowing that a technological wonder like BOYD was something he could no longer have—Beaks was annoyed, and he would never dare let it show through. Instead he increased his shallowness ten-fold.

Poor little BOYD’s eyes went wide, wanting so terribly not to believe what he was being told, wanting so desperately not to be outright rejected by someone he’d let himself previously grow so attached to. He looked into Beaks’ black eyes, searching for some kind of reassurance in spite of only hearing cruelty. He wanted so much to hear something that would make the building pain he’d never understood before shrink down.

“But,” he said, voice more quiet and in disbelief than he could ever remember expressing, “You gave me a name. You took me home with you. I was like your family.”

Mark Beaks rolled his eyes back, looking only more annoyed that the little creature almost forced him into guilt with such words.

“No way, kid. I just scooped you out of the trash because I thought I could make something out of you. But four-eyes over there took out all the mods I made to begin with—the new voice I gave you isn’t even there anymore. Hate to say it, but without any of that, you don’t mean anything to me.”

He shrugged his shoulders, talking for a minute more so to himself than anyone, but nonetheless just as aloud as before.

“Guess all the time I put into you was a waste. ‘Least with everything else, I got some money or permanent attention out of it.” Beaks blew air out through his nostrils almost like a laugh when he thought about it. “Jeez, kid, you were my worst investment.”

BOYD didn’t know what the feeling was, but those awful words broke something within him. His face tensed up. The tightness in his chest started to swell. All that desperation to disprove his first proper parent didn’t actually care about him, all that pain welling up inside him the more said person shot down attempt after attempt for requited affection… And now he’d dealt him a blow like that? Mark Beaks had thoroughly destroyed his spirit—he might as well have slapped him in the face. And incidentally, his face started to burn. BOYD had no idea what this meant, but the reaction was involuntary. It hurt so much, he couldn’t understand. The heat concentrated in his eyes. His nose and mouth trembled as he faced his former caretaker. A warm, salty liquid began slowly to fill his eyes and then roll down his cheeks.

BOYD was crying. ______________________________

All the time Beaks had been talking, Gyro and Fenton had been narrowing their eyes in anger and darting them back and forth between the two parrots facing one another, the taller one saying nastier and nastier things to the smaller one. Neither Fenton nor Gyro knew quite what to say or do, or how to intervene—for Fenton in particular because he also had to keep an eye on Doofus Drake, who any second could stop being content licking the inside of his ice cream cone and go ballistic again. It irritated him that he had to keep his mind on such a small matter when clearly there were bigger fish to fry at the moment—and also a little bit that BOYD’s adoptive brother didn’t seem to be noticing how much he was hurting.

Gyro wanted to speak up at some point, but couldn’t bring any words into his head.

And then out of the blue, when Mark Beaks had finally pushed innocent BOYD to a breaking point, the tiny thing cried. He cried.

Gyro’s heart stopped dead in its figurative tracks.

His eyes went wide and dropped their gaze to the ground. This was something he had no idea was physically possible. An invention of his had been, through instinct alone, pushed to actually cry. He didn’t understand. He didn’t specifically write that sort of thing into BOYD’s coding when he made him—certainly Akita didn’t put that in—so then what? BOYD was a definitely real boy, but, to this extent? Gyro wanted to react, to do something for the boy, to get angry at Beaks, but everything failed him. He was stock still, frozen with a horrible blend of shock and concern.

Meanwhile, BOYD continued to stare up at Beaks as tears stained his face, disbelief and utter heartache consuming everything from the waist up.

The first reaction was when Doofus Drake turned and took notice of what he had been sure was a robot his parents adopted, somehow leaking sadness out of his eyes. The Drake boy physically reeled back, socially perturbed.

“Agh, he’s broken!” he yelled, unable to understand, “Do something and fix it!”

Fenton reacted second, clenching his hands into fists, intent on indeed doing something to ‘fix it’, but not the way Doofus imagined. He held back solely on the basis that Gyro was going to say something.

But Beaks was the immediate one to react next.

“Yikes, buddy,” he said to BOYD, backing up uncomfortably. He didn’t mean to make anyone cry, but then again, he didn’t think BOYD could feel anything that real. “It’s not my fault a lack of Beaks tech makes you basically worthless.”

Where Gyro normally would have gotten angry, this time Fenton stood in—he saw that the doctor was too dumbstruck to do so for now. But Fenton was certain both of them were equally as angry.

“What on earth are you thinking saying that to his face,” he snapped, “He’s a kid!”

Mark Beaks shrugged, as if his next reply was a matter of fact.

“Well I mean yeah, but like, not a real one…”

Each adult’s face in present company sneered at Beaks. That was the final straw. With that, Gyro Gearloose was finally able to pull himself out of his stunned state and draw up the emotion to straighten his back and snatch BOYD’s hand, dragging him away. Whatever he was thinking or wasn’t able to think at the moment didn’t matter. This child wasn’t going to be tortured by being here any longer.

“Cabrera, you take Doofus Drake home and get rid of this…” He struggled to find the words; “this, while I take BOYD back to the lab.”

Fenton nodded, determined, as Gyro stormed off, leaving Beaks to be thoroughly dealt with. ______________________________

The walk back to the underwater lab wasn’t a long one, but when Gyro wasn’t seething mad, he would look down at BOYD and notice a look on the boy’s face not dissimilar to his own from earlier—it contained surprise, the fearful kind, as if he didn’t know he could shed tears either. He didn’t look up at his creator, even though he followed the aggressive tug of his arm compliantly, and he didn’t try to wipe at his face. He seemed, again, to be having the same sort of shock that tried to question what in the world was happening to him.

When the two finally did make it inside, Gyro relinquished his tight grip on BOYD’s hand, picked him up by the waist, and sat him down on his center loft work desk.

“BOYD,” he said directly, but not ungently, “Keep your face still for a moment, okay?”

Gyro cupped the little creature’s face in his hand, taking a moment to peer into the huge ovate orbs that were wet as ever. There was nothing physically wrong with them… Nothing functionally wrong with them… Lightly touching the substance that had wavered within them didn’t seem to prove this was some sort of fluid leak. As far as Gyro could tell, these were tears, plain as plain.

So then how was that possible? It wasn’t as if the scientist had actually sat down and built a mechanical version of every single organic function an ordinary person had when constructing BOYD—he and Akita wanted a defense drone—but he knew the little one had an approximation of a heart, and bones, and lungs, and other such things; He was an android, which meant he was deliberately supposed to resemble other people in addition to all the access ports and ribbon wire. Still. Things like tear ducts, taste buds, the need to sleep? Gyro didn’t physically install those things into him. Now a possibility occurred to him. He decided to address BOYD again.

“Can you tell me… Can you tell me everything you’ve been feeling since you talked to Mark Beaks? I know it might be hard, but I need you to try for me.”

BOYD felt Gyro place both hands on one of his. It was the first time the doctor had engaged him like that, and it brought on a warm confusion in spite of the pain he still felt at his core. BOYD’s teary eyes were trained on the floor when he started to analyze what kind of things that pain entailed.

“I’ve… been feeling…” he began, voice thin and shaky, “Sad… and overwhelmed… and afraid… and alone, and… and confused… Before, when I had programming issues, I would start to malfunction anytime something hurt me. But now instead of glitches coming on that I can’t control, it’s more like…”

BOYD’s whole body started to shiver. “It’s more like something my heart can’t control, I guess? Not literally, but, I…”

His vision grew blurry and his voice shakier than ever. “I don’t have anything holding me back from losing emotional control, and I don’t understand. What Mr. Beaks said really hurt, but… I’ve been told things that made me lonely and sad before. I don’t know why I’m only reacting this way now.”

BOYD shut his eyes, rubbing at them as he made a little whimper. “I’m sorry, Dr. Gearloose. I know that doesn’t help. The only other thing I know when I think about all this is that it scares me.”

Gyro felt choked up. He wanted to react beyond keeping his hands palmed over the one BOYD wasn’t wiping his own face with, but twenty years of distrust and cynicism had clouded his ability to be as kind as he used to. But that answer actually helped Gyro a lot. Before, he remembered BOYD saying something about eating—he didn’t need to, but he liked to—that he wondered whether or not he was able to taste, but it ‘seemed to register’. Gyro then supposed while he didn’t build BOYD to eat, it wasn’t impossible given the way he was made; He likely found some sort of place in his structure to double as a stomach, being that he was basically the same as any other boy.

This was what made it click in Gyro’s brain. He had programmed BOYD, for all intents and purposes, to be a living child. Even if the actual hardware wasn’t there, even if Gyro hadn’t thought of specifics when creating… Akita called it ‘real boy programming’—there were things within BOYD that could adapt, and apparently had adapted, themselves to become a part of his sentient reactions and behavior—there were things inside him that manifested because at the end of the day, BOYD was… well, BOYD was a boy.

BOYD wasn’t crying because he was built for it. He was crying because all boys were built for it.

Oh god. A realization like that sent a heavy weight into Gyro’s chest. This wasn’t just some invention that was child-like he’d made, as he initially thought two decades ago. He had brought a life into the world.

He was responsible for every bad thing that life would ever face, because he was the one responsible for ever having made something that could feel, could want, could hurt. Why hadn’t he once considered that when wiring sentience into a body? Gyro felt sick to his stomach.

Yet here was BOYD sitting on a desk, afraid because he wasn’t ever told what would happen if he was sad enough—as if crying was normal, but not for him.

“Dr. Gearloose…?” The timid squeaks in BOYD’s broken voice coupled with glumness on every part of his face made Gyro feel pain in every inch of his body. “Is there something wrong with me?”

Shocked as he was still, an automatic reaction came on that brought Gyro to dry the small creature’s eyes. This reaction, too, shocked him.

“No—no,” he answered nonetheless, just as reactionary.

“Really?”

The nervousness in that inquiry pushed Gyro on. What he was grappling with wasn’t important. There was a child in front of him, needing to be consoled. And while he normally was awkward with children—with people in general, really—Gyro knew about BOYD at least from a technical aspect. He wasn’t a medical doctor, but he did have a doctorate in mechanical engineering. He could work from there—he knew hardly anything about children from a biological standpoint, anyway. In a way, BOYD being an android worked to his advantage here. Gyro sobered up mentally and placed both hands on the little one’s shoulders.

“Yes,” he replied, surprised with himself that he was able to sound so matter-of-fact so quickly. He tried as hard as he could to sound gentle too. “Besides your internal structure, you are otherwise indistinguishable from organic life. You have thoughts and feelings, wants and needs. It’s inherent for you to be sad just as any normal boy would—because that’s what you are.”

BOYD looked back at the ground for a moment, then up at Gyro again, putting his tiny hand over the fold of the man’s thin elbow. There was something he wanted to know—there was still pain in his chest that was building up beyond his control.

“Then…” he asked with teary, pleading eyes, “Can I cry a little more?”

Gyro wished that he knew just what to say—his heart ached so much to hear such a little boy ask for permission to feel—but he simply gave a pitying, guilty, yet mostly obligatory, “Yes.”

That one word of acceptance sent BOYD over the edge. A little hiccup escaped him, and what had previously been only silent tears that fell on their own turned into a full-on fit. BOYD covered his face and wept.

Gyro tried and failed to swallow the lump in his throat when he saw BOYD truly cry for the first time. But in under a minute, his creation said something that brought him to accommodate without a single thought.

“Dr. Gearloose? I know you said back in Tokyolk that hugging was just for that day, but—”

BOYD was interrupted when Gyro immediately drew him in with a one-armed hug, bringing him close and holding him tight. BOYD in turn drew himself closer to his creator, no longer holding back.

BOYD’s little cries then were soft and whining, innocent and unhinged in the way that became any child. Any time he needed to sniff or dry his eyes, he buried his face into Gyro’s chest, and sunk his tiny fingers deep into his vest. The length in each wail that came on now and again reflected the fact that BOYD had never cried before, and that he was discovering in the moment just how much he needed to all this time.

Poor BOYD, Gyro thought, barely ever allowed to simply hug anyone before. He was the sweetest living creature Gyro had ever known—always smiling so jubilantly and talking politely to everyone and everything—and yet so many people met him only with malice? That was far too unfair.

Oh.

But then, that was exactly what he’d done, wasn’t it? He’d so readily assumed when Inspector Tezuka brought BOYD down that he’d created something evil—he’d thought the evidence was everywhere, quite literally. But couldn’t it have been just as easy to think that someone like Dr. Akita who’d turned out to be a known criminal could have been responsible? Couldn’t Gyro have at least considered for a second that it wasn’t BOYD’s fault and defended him more? But he hadn’t. Instead he’d let his young mind believe everything his former mentor drilled into his head; His inventions were weapons, plain and simple, and nothing would change the fact that that would be a part of him the rest of his life—that he would always know somewhere in the back of his mind that he was just a big screw-up. And Gyro had taken that out on BOYD. He’d turned his anger and fear over himself and projected it into anger and fear over his first real invention. He’d defended inventions like Lil’ Bulb to the last ditch—even when the evidence they were turning evil was just as seemingly apparent, if not more so. Even they weren’t referred to as failures. All that bitter sarcasm and unkindness that became a part of who he was had all been based on nothing. When they’d reunited, he lashed out at BOYD over and over again, scornful whenever he even looked at him, refusing to call him anything other than an ‘it’, saying he was dangerous to his very core, saying he didn’t have feelings—even when the sadness and frightened tentative motions in his expression and body were clear as day—he even said straight to BOYD’s face that he was going to ‘fix’ his malfunctions by essentially flat-out killing him.

Gyro was furious when Mark Beaks made BOYD cry. But the first person to ever treat him inhumanely, was Gyro himself. It made him feel so unbearably guilty he almost couldn’t breathe. No matter what his eyes would look like anytime Akita’s programming kicked in—those things weren’t even there anymore. Anytime Gyro thought back, those big eyes were always so full of light—light of happiness, of sadness, of kindness, of intelligence, of innocence. How could he have ever looked at eyes like that—eyes that were capable of producing tears—and thought BOYD was evil?

Even if the child wouldn’t say so, Gyro knew there must still exist an ache within him over being rejected by the person that gave him life. He owed it to him to make it known just how sorry he was for it—even if the words kept getting jammed in the middle of his throat.

“BOYD,” he faltered, though it was now becoming easier to call him by his real name, “I need to apologize for the way I treated you back then. I know Mark Beaks hurt you when he told you that you weren’t worth his time. But the awful things I’ve said to you… they’re no different.”

BOYD calmed himself down a little to be able to speak. He didn’t face Gyro when he answered, but it wasn’t out of unacceptance—his answer was simply an automatic one.

“It’s okay…”

Gyro let go of BOYD for a moment to stare at him gravely in the face.

“No. It’s not okay.”

Gyro couldn’t remember when he’d talked so seriously before. He’d talked sternly—talked angrily—shouted several times… But as far as he knew, nothing compelled him to speak so straightforward and strict and deadpan as this in his life. He wasn’t going to let anyone make excuses for him ever again—not BOYD, and most certainly not himself.

“I said I’ve spent my whole life trying to live down my first invention being evil. But you were never made evil. I made you out to be evil. And now I’m going to spend the rest of my life living down ever having damaged you like that.”

Gyro found himself astonished that he was able to say what he did next, but nonetheless let it be said; BOYD needed to hear exactly what he was deserving of.

“And I’m going to spend the rest of my life trying to do right by you. Because after everything that’s happened, I am so proud that a boy like you does right by me.”

In spite of BOYD’s constant shivering and whimpering, he was able to smile comfortingly just for a moment, nestling his head further into Gyro’s scrawny arms.

“I of all people know what it’s like to be new to Duckburg and down on your luck with nothing—with nobody. But I was fortunate. I met Scrooge McDuck and he gave me a place to work, and to make my way up the ladder. He was the only one to give me a second chance—to trust me.”

Gyro sighed.

“I’m sorry I didn’t do the same for you—as if I didn’t learn. How you stayed the same as I built you this whole time is beyond me. I’m nothing like you.”

“That’s… That’s not true,” BOYD sniffed, rubbing his eyes again, “If I make you as proud as you say, then some of that had to come from you—where else would I get it from? The only other person around me then was Dr. Akita, and then I spent twenty years asleep in Duckburg. I’m like this because you made me. And if I’m still like this, that part of you has to still be in you too—doesn’t it?”

Gyro couldn’t respond to something so kind. He couldn’t. Gyro didn’t deserve merit like that. Instead, he turned to another question that he’d been thinking of as BOYD stayed settled under his arm—something more technical, but still in reference to the android’s feelings and his sentience.

“When you shiver…” he asked with difficulty, “Is it because you’re cold? And if you overheat, do you feel feverish?”

“I do feel sort of sick when something overheats inside me… At home, it’s treated like I have a cold, which usually helps. But… when I’m cold, I operate at peak efficiency, so that’s never uncomfortable.”

BOYD’s voice was still full of quiet hiccups and characterized by the hurt within him.

“I guess I’m shivering because of how sad I feel. There are a lot of things I’m scared of—and things I’m so glad of, they hurt—but mostly, I just keep thinking back to what Mr. Beaks said. He brings up this little voice in my head that tells me people don’t want me. Like I’m making it hard for them.”

Gyro surprised himself again by stroking the back of BOYD’s head lightly. Nevertheless, he responded with defense and firmness in his tone.

“You should make it hard for people like that to want you. If you’re a waste of energy to someone like Mark Beaks, then good. The more you keep being yourself, the less they’ll stick around to hurt you.”

BOYD looked up at Gyro once more with his wet, shining eyes.

“But you won’t do that if I’m myself around you, right?”

That question pulled Gyro into a riptide of guilt so strong that it almost drove him to cry. But he squeezed his eyes shut, fighting down the urge for BOYD’s sake—this was about him. He made it clear to himself he’d never let his little creation down again when he hugged him in Tokyolk—and now he was going to make it clear to BOYD, say it out loud to his face so there was never any doubt again. Gyro rested the hand he had on BOYD’s head, held him just a tad closer with his arm, and said,

“I’m only saying this once; There is nothing you could do in front of me that wouldn’t make me want you. Ever. You can come to me for whatever you need. I’m not going anywhere.”

Gyro watched as that sentence prompted tear after tear to fall down BOYD’s heated face, nearly every part of his insides nagging uncontrollably at him when the little creature encircled his puny waist with his arms.

“I’m so glad!”

The sobs that BOYD let loose figuratively jabbed the scientist in the gut as he thought of the fact that were it not for his sheer irresponsibility, the poor little thing would never have had to be born into a world that presented such harsh treatment.

Still, BOYD wanted to cry. Didn’t the need to cry come from getting to let go—to feel better—to be alive?

Gyro thought as he instinctively continued to stroke the small head under him with his thumb. If he had brought a life into the world that was going to have bad moments, that meant that the same life was going to have happy moments too, didn’t it? Well—he already had! BOYD might as well have been built as a bluebird. Gyro should be glad BOYD was finally allowed to have this kind of release. It meant he could finally, truly, feel like the definitely real boy he was. The pain of fault and responsibility still wracked Gyro—he figured it always might—but at this point, he was relieved the poor thing he held close in the underwater lab wasn’t going to be mistreated any longer—not if he could stand to help it. ______________________________

BOYD sat in Gyro’s lap, beginning to feel better as he allowed himself to let everything out in the embrace of someone close to him. He could cry as much as he needed around Gyro. And he was going to take that allowance for all it was worth.

Part of his crying now came from the warmth he felt knowing that the old Gyro he thought he’d lost was still in there somewhere—that he hadn’t gone after all—and that even though he’d through no fault of his own gotten it lost, he had brought its return as well. That restored a lot more of BOYD’s self-worth than he fully realized.

BOYD was so grateful—so, so grateful to have that Gyro here again. He didn’t understand why at first it hurt so much to be called an ‘it’ by his creator—he didn’t remember Gyro was his creator at the time—but to think that someone was afraid of him and that someone hated him just for being himself stung so badly. He didn’t cry then—he didn’t know he could. But he cried now, over the cutting things Mark Beaks said, over Gyro’s hand at his back, over anything he could think of that needed crying over—mostly however over the knowledge by now that Gyro didn’t see him as nothing more than a destructive machine—as ‘evil down to his core’ any longer. He could tell that even if Gyro didn’t say it, he loved him; He risked his own life just to hold him in his arms, to save him and others from himself. Now BOYD really did have someone who loved him the way a father would a son. He could hug Gyro if he wanted—as many times as he felt like it—and never be brushed off. That thought brought such relief to him, his processor couldn’t take it all in.

But he didn’t tell Gyro any of this; He noticed all those looks on his face—they gave away just how terrible he felt over not being able to do as much as he wanted for him right away. So he kept any more words from leaving his mouth in order not to burden his guardian with any more guilt. BOYD simply let himself release all the emotions he could which he didn’t know he had before, as if he were wringing himself out—and as such, began soaking up all the comfort he was being given like a dry and thirsty sponge.

BOYD learned some wonderful things that day as he clung so strongly to Dr. Gearloose in that lab—much as it hurt to tremble violently, and bleed out feelings until one’s eyes burned, and let out enough raw noise fit to make one’s throat sore. He learned that being allowed to feel so sad was rewarding, and cleansing. He learned that tears were something he could produce no matter what he felt. And he learned that everyone in the world would make mistakes, no matter what or who they were, but that it was never too late to grow from them.

~ Holy shoot, wow, this is the first serious fic I’ve ever posted on here before.

I really wanted to share it, because it took so long to write—although I didn’t think it would turn out so long… 8k words! It’s the lengthiest thing I’ve ever written.

Anyway, this is a story that is very dear to my heart, not only because I put the most into it out of anything, but because studying Gyro Gearloose as a character and loving his dynamic with BOYD has been one of the most amazing things to think of through the hiatus that came after Astro BOYD.

I always loved BOYD, of course, but once I started seeing all the art and fanfics that others had started doing out of the emotions that came with his and Gyro’s backstory, I got swept up in it too, and wanted desperately to get out all those feelings into one story.

The idea came from the concept of whether or not BOYD can cry. We’ve never really seen him do it before, and it’d probably be hard because he’s normally so happy—but I kept wondering if he, as an android, even could. So it hit me; What if BOYD could cry, but Gyro wasn’t aware of it? What if even BOYD wasn’t aware of it? I kept playing with what would possibly make him cry, because even when Gyro was threatening to shut him down or was calling him ‘it’, BOYD only frowned a little. Suddenly I got the nasty idea of Mark Beaks showing up and telling him he never wants to see him again, and it built from there—I started also thinking that maybe what brings BOYD to cry is just a long enough buildup of pain, and maybe he couldn’t feel as much because Akita’s meddling with him had gotten in the way before.

On a sidenote, Mark Beaks was pretty hard to write at first; I had to make sure his confidence was switched on all the time or he’d come off a little out of character. But much as this is about Gyro & BOYD, Beaks being awful is so deliciously fun to write. I think it’s because he makes you love whoever he’s being mean to even more.

Anyway, after I’d written that part out, I spent a lot more time than I initially thought I would focusing on how all this would make Gyro feel—that is, how much guilt his responsibility would bring on. I’m really desperate to see for myself how they interact in canon from now on, but I always imagine that Gyro’s feelings which are most associated with being a father are of guilt; They make him protective of BOYD, they make him sensitive to BOYD, and they might drive him to treat BOYD—again, be more like a father. Pretty much all Gyro’s niceness comes from wanting a do-over.

I never post my serious writing publicly—mostly because I’m really tentative and shy about showing my literary ‘skills’ and the kinds of raw emotion I spill out in words sometimes—but this fic slowly became something I wanted really badly to share with the DT fandom, as a thing that could both be a way to show my own interpretation and thoughts of Gyro and BOYD, and could maybe even be liked by people as much as it is by me.

I know a good few episodes have aired since Astro BOYD did, and that it’s been a long while since the episode has been talked about, but I’ve only now been brave enough to decide to put this story out there for all to see.

I really hope you enjoyed it.

(Incidentally, I wanted to be sure to post it before Let’s Get Dangerous! airs, because I know this fic would get swallowed up by all the emotions to be had from that episode… ^^; )

#boyd #gyro gearloose #astro boyd #ducktales 2017 #dt17 #mark beaks #fenton crackshell cabrera #doofus drake #oh boy here I go writing again #is my new tag for this predictably #not woy

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spooderboyandtincan · 4 years

Note

Can you make an AU where someone randomly offers Peter P. some lemongrass tea (bc y'know spiders can't stand lemongrass)

Of course! I’m so sorry this took forever!

~~~~~

TW: Descriptions of allergic reactions

“Mr. Stark, if you had to choose between lavender and vanilla, which one?” Peter asked as they strolled down the sidewalk, Tony’s arm around his shoulders.

He chuckled. “Hard decision, kiddo, but I’d go with lavender.”

Peter shook his head. “Wrong answer. Vanilla is way better. Wait, is lavender ice cream a thing?”

“I don’t know kiddo, it sounds interesting though. Should we ask FRIDAY to order us some?”

The boy laughed. “I dunno- hey look, Mr. Stark, there’s bubble tea!” Peter pointed to a shop across the street. “We should get some! Ned says it’s really good!”

Tony grinned. “Of course, Pete. Let’s go.”

They crossed the street, Peter bouncing in in excitement. “I’ve never had it before!” he exclaimed. “Have you? Ned said it’s great! Did I say that already? I wonder what kind of flavors they have?”

The inventor’s heart flooded with love and adoration and (over)protectiveness. He bent to press a quick kiss to his kid’s hair, hiding the tears that sprang to his eyes.

Before Peter, Tony thought that this much love couldn’t be humanly possible.

His kid’s warm brown eyes blinked up at him. “Mr. Stark, are you okay?”

Tony smiled. “Couldn’t be better.”

They walked into the shop, Peter inhaling the scent of lemon and fruits. His nose twitched and he stifled a sneeze. They stopped at the menu, where a perky looking young woman stood.

“Hi,” Tony greeted, ignoring the customers turning to face him with gasps and exclamations. Peter pressed himself further into his side, and the genius hugged him closer.

They studied the menu as the starstruck waitress stared at them. Finally Peter decided on a flavor.

“Ummm, could I have one lemongrass tea, please?” he asked, grinning adorably. “Just the small glass if that's okay!”

The woman snapped out of her stupor and smiled. “Of course. I’ll get that right away. And for you, sir?” She turned to Tony.

He shrugged. “I’ll take a small lavender.”

Peter shot him a glare with no heat behind it. They sat in a quiet booth, away from prying eyes. Peter immediately started chattering away, playing with the saltshaker absentmindedly.

The waitress hurried to them, holding their drinks. Tony guessed the whole kitchen now knew that Iron Man and a mysterious boy were in their shop.

Peter sipped his drink. “Huh, this is weird!”

It had a strange lemony taste. He couldn’t decide if he liked it or not.

“You okay, Pete?” Tony’s voice startled him from his thoughts.

“Yeah, Mr. Stark! I… I just….” he trailed off.

Wow, it was hot in here. Was it this warm when they came in?

He blinked slowly, his tongue burning suddenly. He barely registered the worried look on Tony’s face.

Wait, Mr. Stark was talking. What was he saying?

Peter’s eyes were stinging and he felt too hot, like he had spent a day out in the summer sun. “M’s- m’ster S-Stark…” he tried. “W’a’s goin’ on?”

Tony looked scared. He cupped Peter’s face in his hands, asking soundless questions, his eyes frantic. The boy caught a few words like “Petey” and “Stay with me, sweetheart” and “I got you.”

Huh. Mr. Stark looked really scared.

Peter tried to move his hand so he could comfort Mr. Stark, but it was limp and heavy.

The genius cradled him to his chest, stroking his cheek. His head turned and Peter assumed he was shouting.

Why was Dad shouting?

Ugh, it was so hot.

What happened to his tea?

~~~~~

Tony noticed something was off the moment Peter took a sip of his bubble tea. He was flushed and his eyes were glassy.

“You okay, Pete?” he asked, his tone borderlining on panic.

“Yeah, Mr. Stark! I... I just....”

“Petey? Peter, baby, what’s wrong?” he stood, his heart stuttering in his chest.

“M’s- m’ster S-Stark…” Peter slurred. “W’a’s goin’ on?”

“Petey, sweetheart, look at me, c’mon.” Tony cupped his cheek. “Stay with me, baby, just hold on, hold on. Please, baby.” He gently scooped Peter up, cradling him tightly against his chest. “I got you, mimmo, just breathe, okay?” He rubbed his back gently. “Come on, please, please, just breathe.”

His kid wheezed and choked slightly, his eyes wide and his face a deep red.

Clutching his baby, he turned his head. “Help us!” he cried. “Please, my-my kid! Somebody help! Peter, please, just hold, okay? Hold on for me, baby. Hold on, just keep breathing.”

Tony bit back a sob, trying to hold it together. He tapped Peter’s cheek to keep him awake, begging him to breathe.

A crowd gathered around him, gasping at the distraught, terrified Iron Man holding a small kid with blank eyes. Tony ignored them and kissed Peter’s forehead, rocking them back and forth gently. He felt tears trickling down his cheeks, and Peter wasn’t fucking breathing.

“Help us!” he screamed. “Help him, please! Please, I can’t lose him!”

God he couldn’t lose his kid he couldn’t lose his Peter please

Please please please no

Vaguely he could hear sirens nearing the tea shop, people shouting, and then the crowd parted and somebody tried to take his baby.

Tony snarled, protectively holding Peter tightly in his arms.

No, no no no you can’t have him, he’s my kid

“Mr. Stark! You need to let us take him. We can help.”

And then his arms were empty, and Peter was gone.

No!

“No!” he screamed. “Give him back to me!”

“Mr. Stark, please, calm down!” a voice insisted. “We have him, you need to calm down!”

But Tony would’t calm down, because his baby wasn’t breathing and wasn’t there with him and-

“Peter!” he screamed, catching sight of his kid, surrounded by strangers on a cot and god please not his kid.

He clawed his way to his baby, sobbing and just wanting to hold him close and never let go.

“Mr. Stark, calm down, sir!”

“No!” he cried, scrambling and trying to force his way to Peter. “No, il mio bambino, please! Please, not him not him!”

“Mr. Stark, he’s alright! He’s breathing, sir.”

Tony shoved away the nurses and doctors, cupping Peter’s red, slightly puffy face in his hands and pressing a firm kiss to his forehead. He sobbed, rubbing his thumb along his cheek, whispering words of love and agony and comfort.

The boy’s eyes were closed, the oxygen mask strapped tightly to his face, his breathing wheezy. Tony sniffed and kissed Peter’s forehead again and again, holding his tiny, cold hand.

“Mr. Stark,” said a man. “Can you tell us if he consumed anything? When did you first notice he was off?”

Tony answered their questions, his eyes never leaving Peter’s face. The paramedics loaded the stretcher into the ambulance, Tony not once leaving his kid’s side.

He didn't move as doctors and nurses fluttered into the room, asking questions, taking tests, monitoring his vitals. He didn’t budge, stroking Peter’s delicate curls and murmuring his love to the boy.

More love than he once thought was humanly possible.

But it was possible, because he loved Peter, his baby, his kid, his universe.

“I love you, Petey. So so much.”

More than you will ever know.

~~~~~

/DO NOT TAG OR REBLOG AS ST*RKER/

Taglist under the cut:

Taglist: @imissyoutoo @aj-that-person @tonystark-deserves-better @nathaly-ab @skeeter-110 @peter-and-tony-vlogs @teammightypen @joyful-soul-collector @loveliestdisappointment @depuella @scwene-qween @pixiethefirecat7 @spider-man-lover @bringitonvoldie @queen-of-sarcasm @memilon @roxy3457 @iron-loyalty @gralaca @bitchingpretty

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empyreanwritings · 4 years

Text

Just a Little Complicated

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader (Florist AU)

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: mentions of losing a parent

A/N: Y’all, I actually managed to write a one shot, are you proud of me? Please be proud of me LOL! This is written for @marquiswrites 100 followers challenge! I am super duper late, and for that I really am sorry. You probably have already reached another milestone by the time I’ve posted this. But yeah, go give them a follow cause they deserve it!

Feedback is always welcomed and appreciated (: x

Sweat stuck to the back of Steve's shirt. He cursed himself for not getting a car already, but he didn't anticipate the southern heat being so brutal. The last thing he wanted was to go into places covered in sweat and ask for a job, but he had no choice. He couldn't afford to live off what the government deemed enough for a veteran to live on; he wasn't going to go off on that tangent, but it really was ridiculous. He almost gave his life for a country, and they acted like enough money to survive comfortably was a nuisance.

Many places gave him the same response when he asked if they were hiring: "Thank you for your service, but we just don't have an open spot!" Some of the managers hid their disdain for his lack of perfect hygiene. Not all of them, though. He could see the judgement in their eyes when he came in sweaty with a service dog in tow.

He was more than capable of handling any job, but he couldn't stop others from having their judgement. He was used to it back in the city.

But he refused to make a fuss about it here.

The last place he tried for the day was a small flower shop on the corner of the street. The entire shop window was filled with flowers of every color, and the windowsill was painted mint green. It contrasted greatly against the brick exterior, but Steve liked the way it looked; it had a quirky charm that many of the snooty "antique" shops didn't have.

And when he saw the bright yellow door with the name "Mama June's" written above it, he was sold.

Organization didn't exist in the shop, that was apparent the moment he stepped into it. Flowers, vases, and ribbons were scattered in groups throughout the different counters and containers. It reminded him of a wildflower field - chaotic yet oddly appealing.

An elderly woman rounded the corner, dirt covering her hands and arms. She let out a small 'Oh!' when she saw Steve before brushing her hands against her apron and offering one to him.

"You're not my daily lunch delivery!" She chuckled. "I'm June. Haven't seen you around these parts before - stayin' or passin' through?"

"Staying, hopefully." His smile made her smile in return, and the corners of her eyes wrinkled in the endearing way Steve always loved seeing in his own grandmother. "Steve Rogers, ma'am. It's nice to meet you."

She swatted his arm gently. "Don't you ma'am me, mister! I ain't that old yet!"

June - or Mama June, as she liked to be called - a whole foot shorter than Steve, but she acted like she was the tallest person in the room. Her round face showed her age in the way she wrinkled by her eyes and the corners of her mouth. Steve remembered something his mom used to say, "I don't get why women want to hide their laugh lines! It shows they lived a happy life!" And June clearly felt the same way.

She filled up a water bowl for Dodger and placed it down by his feet, which Steve quickly thanked her for. The poor boy wasn't used to this level of heat either.

"What can I do for ya?"

"I was hoping to see if you were hiring, ma-" She shot him a look that warned him not to finish his word, and he cleared his throat. "Mama June."

"Mhm, that's what I thought you were going to say," she hummed. "You ever work for a florist before?"

He shook his head, already preparing himself for the rejection. The closest he ever got to be a florist was helping pick out the flowers for his mother's funeral. It wasn't exactly his favorite memory.

"Well," she pretended to look around the empty shop and let out a dramatic sigh, "As you can see, we're pretty busy! I don't need much help up front, but I could use the help on delivery days. Monday, Wednesday, and Friday - that work?"

"Anything works for me. Thank you." He wanted to hug the woman for giving him a chance, but she would have probably kneed him. She was feisty.

The bells on the front door clanged as someone walked in, pulling their attention away from each other. June was just about the greet the new guest, but she was already being interrupted.

"Mama, you know you are supposed to be watching your cholesterol!" You scolded June as you set down a take-out container on the front counter. "My mother would turn over in her grave if she knew I was letting you eat the diner's burgers."

You sighed when June waved your comment off, and Steve let out a chuckle. The two of you must have known each other for a long time. The way you moved around the shop made it seem like you knew the layout like the back of your hand.

"And who is this?" Your eyes turned towards Steve, and he wasn't sure how to breathe when he noticed how they sparkled. Despite sweat and the grease stains on your diner dress, you were easily the most beautiful woman he'd ever met. And it wasn't until your eyebrows practically raised to your hairline that he realized he was too busy staring to introduce himself.

"This is my new helper!" June replied for him. "Steve's gonna help me around here on delivery days."

You gasped in mock surprise. "You're actually letting someone help you? Has Hell frozen over?"

"Stop it. I'm never to turn away someone in need, and my back has been actin' up." You whipped around, but June held her hand up. "Don't give me that look! I'm fine! I just can't be liftin' boxes the way I used to."

You shook your head, strands of your hair falling out of your bun. Concern was written all over your face. Steve couldn't help but wonder if you knew something about June that no one else did. Maybe she was sick, or just had poor health in general. Either way, he knew he was going to have to look out for the old woman when you weren't around.

You chewed on your bottom lip and finally turned back towards Steve after a beat.

"You take care of her," you said with a hint of warning in your tone. "I bring lunch every day at noon, so feel free to give a call before then to give me your order."

Steve smiled and nodded. "Thank you."

He was partially embarrassed 'Thank you' was the only thing he managed to say in your presence. Time overseas hadn't done much to help his charm when it came to women. Not that he would have instantly started flirting with you - he had manners - but still. He would have liked to appear smoother.

You left the shop almost as quickly as you entered it. June let out a laugh when she realized Steve had been staring at the door for a solid minute after you walked out. He wasn't discreet at all.

"I'll see you Wednesday, Steve," she nudged his side with her elbow, "Unless I see you at the diner before then!"

Her comment made her burst into another fit of laughter, and she grabbed her meal and headed towards the back before he could defend himself. He looked down at Dodger and shook his head. At least he didn't know how obvious his owner was.

Steve settled into working with June easily after that day. Every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, he'd be there at six in the morning to unload the boxes from the delivery truck. It was a lot more work than he expected it to be, but he enjoyed it. He loved being able to stay busy and feel like someone needed him.

Working in the morning gave him enough time to avoid the southern heat that always came by ten. He was thankful to have the cool AC to unpack the boxes in because he wasn't sure he'd make it the first week if June made him unpack them all outside. He'd probably end up worse than an ice cream cone melted on the sidewalk - and he had seen a few of those in the few weeks he worked.

But the best part about working had been you.

Every day you came in at noon, not a minute before or after. June said you had a thing about always being on time, and you never explained why. She had her theories about how you missed saying goodbye to your mom because you were late, but you refused to confirm whether that was true or not. And Steve didn't know you well enough to ask.

Throughout the weeks, though, he spent as much time as he could getting to know you. Some days were tougher than others; you didn't always like answering the questions he wanted to ask you, but other days, you were generous.

He learned the basics: your favorite color, the one movie that made you cry even after you've watched it several times, and what kind of toppings you liked on your pizza. And you liked asking him the deeper questions. What made him join the army? If he could go anywhere in the world, where would he go? Why did he prefer New York style pizza over deep dish?

The deep-dish debate lasted for an hour, and you only stopped arguing because your lunch break was over.

"I'll learn to forgive your poor taste in pizza if you tell me what your favorite flower is," he said one day when you didn't have to rush back to the diner.

You shrugged your shoulders and pretended like telling him your favorite flower was the worst thing he could ever make you do. "Aren't you the flower man now? I know June's been giving you some of her tips in flower arranging magic! You should be able to figure out what kind of flower I like the most."

It was a challenge, he realized later on. You could have told him what your favorite flower was and never thought about it again, but you wanted to test him. You wanted to see if he actually paid attention to the things you told him during your one-hour visits. Of course, Oblivious Steve had to be told by June that was what you were doing.

He made it his mission to make sure you left with one flower whenever he worked after that.

You'd come in with the styrofoam takeout containers, and he would wait for you by the front counter with a single flower in his hand. Every day he worked.

The first time he did it, you crinkled your nose at the sight of the single red rose.

"Roses are apology flowers," you tutted. "Are you trying to say you've cheated on me before we've even gone on a date, Rogers?"

The tips of his ears turned bright red in the moment, and it was something you and June laughed about for the rest of the week. You knew exactly what you were doing to him, but you didn't plan on stopping any time.

You were actually curious how long he'd hold out just to find what kind of flower you loved.

Most guys would have given up by the second try; you wondered if Steve Rogers was going to be like most guys.

But even after you rejected the lilies and chrysanthemums and sunflowers, he still kept trying. He reminded you, in the most teasing way possible, he worked with a florist and had an endless supply of different flowers. He swore he'd find the one to make you swoon eventually.

When June came to you one morning and asked you to be nice to the man, you playfully rolled your eyes and reminded her that no good love story started out easy. You hadn't realized the words left your lips until June's eyes started to sparkle and she gave you the secret smile that reminded you of your mother. Steve Rogers made you think about love - something you hadn't thought about since your mother passed away.

Hell really must have frozen over then.

The next day Steve worked, after your conversation with June, your heart sunk when you realized there wasn't a flower in his hand. His focus was on an inventory sheet, which was a part of his job, but you expected him to take a break for his usual time with you. You thought that maybe he grew tired of trying to woo you.

Maybe it was too difficult.

Maybe you were too difficult.

But then he held his hands out and told you to wait in your spot, and you couldn't stop the grin from spreading across your face when he pulled a white box from behind the counter. It was small, probably didn't hold more than the bud of a flower or several flowers. And it had a black ribbon wrapped haphazardly around it.

You made a mental note to remind June to teach the poor man how to wrap ribbons around boxes and vases. He may have only unloaded the delivery trucks, but he deserved to learn the basic stuff.

You gasped when you opened the box and saw the Black Dahlia. How he managed to guess was one thing, but how he even managed to get the flower was another. You knew June didn't carry them in her shop because of how rare and expensive they were, which meant he went to a lot of trouble to make sure he had it for this moment. He went through a lot of trouble for you.

"How-"

"Mama June told me a good florist never reveals his secrets," Steve teased.

"You know, these flowers are supposed to represent betrayal and negative emotions. It's why a lot of florists don't like to use them in bouquets; it takes away their magic," you said with a small smile, your focus still on the flower sitting in your hand.

Steve shrugged. "I think there's magic that, don't you? Finding the beauty in the things that people say are bad."

"Are you saying I'm bad, Steve Rogers?" You murmured, not at all taking offense.

"Not bad, darling, just a little complicated."

#marquiswrites100challenge #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers one shot #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x fem!reader #steve rogers au #florist au

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tostito-road · 4 years

Text

When there's a storm, we stay inside (One-shot)

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

Souma was separating the beans on the counter top, making sure there were no left over stones before dropping them on to the strainer.

It was Mexican week at the Polar Star dormitory, the gang was exploring cousines of the world. Today was Souma's turn to cook, he had found the recipe on a cooking channel, sure he struggled to understand what the lady said with his basic spanish, but he managed with the video captions and google translate.

When he was done, Souma brought the beans to the sink to rinse them, he had to let them soak in water for a few hours.

He took a bean and inspected it before popping it in his mouth, he decided to test how long it would take to turn soft.

The boy set the timer and turned to his tablet, rewinding the video again to try to make out what else the lady was putting in.

Onion, salt, beans, bacon, chorizo, sausage, cilantro. He wrote down.

He was pretty sure they were out of cilantro, it was Isshiki's turn last night making ceviche, and that pretty much used up all of the cilantro left.

Souma glanced out the kitchen window, it was pretty dark and cloudy out, but it hadn't started raining yet, he could probably run to the store and come back before it started raining.

He cleaned up the kitchen a little bit and took off his apron. Placing it on the hook, he walked to the stairs leading up to the rooms.

"Guys! You want anything? I'm going to the store!" He yelled out.

A light voice came from the top of the stairs. "Souma? Are you sure? It looks like it's going to rain." Megumi looked at him.

He leaned his head on his hand and looked up at her. "Sure, don't worry, it isn't supposed to start raining till five. Do you want anything?"

She gave him a sheepish smile. "Well, Isshiki and Daigo said they wanted some orange frizzy soda." She tought for a second. "And I've been craving some ice cream for a while."

"Awesome, mint chocolate right?" He responded.

She smiled and nodded "Thanks."

"Megumi!!!!! C'mon we're playing another round!" Yuki yelled from above.

"Coming!!"

"Be careful and don't come back to late okay?" She gave Souma a quick smile before disappearing upstairs.

He chuckled and walked toward the door, putting on his hoodie and grabbing his keys and wallet before stepping outside. The air was fresh and chilly. He loved cloudy days. They always felt like days where he didn't have to rush, because it was like the whole city would slow down. He loved spending cloudy days inside, with a warm cup of tea and a nice book, yes just like those tumblr girls.

He crossed the street to wait on the bench for the bus, hands now searching for heat in his pockets. It only got this cold in this weather, just last week they had been in a whooping 40 degrees Celsius. He often thought that if the end of the world came, it should come on a nice chill weather like this.

The bus arrived.

The minute Souma stepped out from the bus into another street, it was like a completely different place, the streets were bursting with people and shops already with their lights on due to the dimming light in the sky.

He walked around before finding a small grocery store. He decided to pick up what the others had wanted first, he fetched the orange frizzy sodas, and went to look for Megumi's ice cream, problem was, they were all out. He stood there contemplating what to do before deciding to buy the sodas and the cilantro and keep looking for the Ice cream somewhere else.

He paid and continued his search. Souma went to a total of five stores in his disappointing search for the ice cream. He couldn't for the life of god figure out why none of the stores had that ordinary flavor. So at his sixth store where he was throughly searching the ice cream aisle, an employee offered to help him find what he was looking for.

"Mint chocolate ice cream." He stared at the employee, with what he could only imagine was a crazy look.

"Ah yes!" He eagerly helped, fishing out one of the containers from the freezer. "This is mint chocolate, they just changed the name recently. See here." He pointed to a tiny writing in the bottom. "It says mint chocolate. Sorry for the confusion." He handed the container to Souma.

Souma stared at it with a defeated look. Of course it was. It was also the same container that he had seen in the past five stores.

He sighed before paying for the container. He nocited that he had probably spent about two hours searching for the ice cream that he almost forgot about his soaking beans and that he was on dinner duty. So he rushed out the store into a pouring street. The shops were closing and the only people rushed to the nearest shelter. Rain hit the ground heavily and a single drop rolled down the shop's cover and smacked Souma in the head. He was gonna have to make a run for it.

He pulled his hood over his head and yanked the strings to tie it securely. And he dashed into the rain. His shoes got wet and he could feel his hoodie start to stick to his back, but he couldn't help the tiny feeling of joy he got of running in the rain.

The breeze wet his face and he was almost sure that he was going to catch a cold from this but finally he reached the safety of the bus stop and untied his hood, falling back into the metal seat to wait for the bus. The smell of wet sand cluttered the air and he took a deep breath in and out, letting out a content sigh. The colors of the lights shone on the pavement, painting a picture that he couldn't quite describe. The sky rumbled.

Finally the bus came, empty compared to when he got on earlier. After a few minutes and almost at his stop he noticed a girl sitting at the bus stop holding an umbrella.

"Megumi?" He asked as he got off the bus.

Megumi leaped and gave him a tight hug around the waist. Surprised, he blushed.

"Im sorry, I'm just relieved, you were taking too long and then I tried to call you but you left your phone at the dorm and I know you didn't have a rain jacket or an umbrella with you so I came to wait for when you came back." She got out in one breath.

Souma chuckled sheepishly "Yeah, I got caught up with something."

Megumi sighed in relief. "Well c'mon, let's go back."

"Sure, here" he grabbed the umbrella. "I can carry that."

"So why'd you take so long?" Megumi asked as they started walking.

"Hehe, you see, funny story...."

And they walked back to the dorm talking.

Souma slammed the door open, loudly announcing his return.

"Souma you might want to change before you get cooking." Megumi grinned at his wet clothes. But then she squealed as Souma suddenly engulfed her in a hug, getting her clothes wet in the progress.

So they both changed and Souma went into the kitchen to start on everything else. After cutting all of the ingredients and adding them to the boiling pot of beans he only had to let them simmer. After about an hour dinner was served and he carefully arranged some leaves of cilantro on the plates for a finishing touch.

Everyone came down to eat, they even invited Takumi and Alice for a taste. And as expected they were blown away by the taste. Souma only had the video lady to thank.

And finally when everyone ate and left, Souma sat by the window with a cup of tea and just stared outside, catching glimpses of the lightning and counting the seconds to the thunder. A trick his dad taught him as a kid, to determine how many kilometers away the lightning had struck. Of course it probably wasn't actually accurate, nonetheless he enjoyed it.

----------------‐--------

The only light came from outside and the occasional lightning. He took a sip and sat in silence.

Sometimes, I really fall in love with life. He thought.

The sound of steps made him look back. "Hey, wanna join me?"

"Sure." A sleepy Megumi answered. Souma handed her a cup of tea.

A flash of lightning appeared.

"Hey, you wanna know a cool trick?"

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

So thats the end of this one-shot, I wanted to make it more about just a chill Souma loving life. Also I'm sorry that I started almost every paragraph with He, I didn't realize until later. Sorry for any spelling mistakes, I only checked it twice.

Anyway, I hope you love it as much as I did writing it, and let me know if you want to see more one-shots like this. And let me know if your dad also fed you that lightning-thunder trick.❤

#shokugeki no souma #one shot #soumegu #souma #yukihirasoma #soma yukihira #megumi tadokoro #food wars #im having so much fun writing this #thanks for reading #fanfic #food wars: shokugeki no souma #yukihira soma #anime #manga

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satorisa · 4 years

Text

Kiss Me: Chapter 2 - In which the Lights Go Out

Rating: M

Summary: But then it began to rain one day. The power conveniently went out. And, in that moment, briefly illuminated by a flash of lightning, those niggling thoughts no longer seemed so alien.

Alternate Reading Links: AO3

We had some technical difficulties this weekend, but here it is! Not as spicy as the first chapter, but I hope you enjoy!

...

Their friendship started as a germ; Risa constantly pestered Satoshi, and he either spurned her assault, leading her to find more creative ways to catch his attention, or gave in. (He often chose the latter since he couldn’t win against her stubbornness.)

Even as they got closer, they never looked at the other in a romantic light: Risa still had imaginative daydreams of Dark, and Satoshi continued to push away his feelings for Daisuke. However, as they began to spend more time alone with each other, Risa sometimes found herself admiring Satoshi, noting his surprisingly broad shoulders or the way that his hair curled at the nape of his lean neck. And Satoshi, in turn, would steal glances back, noting the curve of her lips or the beauty mark hidden under her chin. Thoughts of the each other wormed their way into their minds, but they pushed them away, touting loneliness and hormones for such strange ideas.

But then, during their senior year, it began to rain one day. The power conveniently went out. And, in that moment, briefly illuminated by the flash of lightning, those ideas no longer seemed so alien.

…

Satoshi loved afternoon storms, and Risa never seemed to mind them whenever she spent time at Satoshi’s place. But they had just arrived at his apartment, afternoon study snacks bagged in one hand, a dripping umbrella in the other, and a half-popsicle precariously hanging from each of their mouths, when lightning struck.

The thunder softly rumbled through his apartment walls as the door softly closed behind them. Risa, usually composed during a storm, had jumped, gently bumping into Satoshi next to her.

She smelled of lavender that day.

“Sorry,” she apologized with her teeth clenched on the popsicle stick. “That caught me off guard.”

“No worries.” He managed to say. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah. Are you?”

“Better than ever.”

Risa dropped her umbrella—thud—as she slipped off her shoes. She took the bag of snacks from Satoshi’s hand, her slender fingers gently brushing against his, before skipping to the kitchen and finishing off her popsicle. With unwarranted flair, she threw the barren stick into the trash and began unpacking the bags at the kitchen island, humming a popular tune that eluded Satoshi.

He straightened Risa’s shoes before taking off his own, placing them on the nearly barren shoe rack. After positioning their umbrellas so that they could dry, he shrugged off his bag, flinging it onto his sofa as he began to make his way towards the kitchen until Satoshi stood by her.

Wordlessly, Risa slipped her own bag off her shoulder, gently tossing it to Satoshi without breaking her focus. He placed it next to his own before finishing his own popsicle.

“You really need to stop doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Chewing on the stick after finishing your ice cream.”

“Why?”

“It’s disgusting. What does that piece of wood have left to offer?”

“The satisfaction of annoying you.”

She rolled her eyes before grabbing it out of his mouth and tossing it into the trash.

“Nice try, punk,” Risa said.

Satoshi frowned as she giggled, the gentle notes of laughter dancing between them. He grabbed their snacks while she folded up the plastic bags, storing them in his pantry before joining him on the couch. She left no space between them, and Satoshi focused on the iced coffee in his hand to distract himself from her warmth.

Risa resumed her humming, this time choosing a song from the opera he frequently listened to, as she unwrapped her snacks and poked the straw into her strawberry milk. Lightning flashed again, briefly illuminating his room, before the lights went out.

The pounding rain overtook the usual humming of his AC as they continued to sit in silence. After several seconds passed, the thunder rumbled in the distance, and Risa rested her head on his shoulder.

“Are you alright?” Satoshi asked.

“Yeah. Are you?”

“Mhm.” He took a sip of his coffee. “We won’t be able to do our homework when it gets dark if the power’s still out.”

She laughed. “That’s what you’re worried about right now?”

“It’s a valid concern. I don’t want to move to the library later; that place is too sterile for me to study in.”

“We can always study at my house.”

“Absolutely not. I don’t want to stumble onto Daisuke and your sister making out in your living room again. Or suffer through your parents adamantly insisting that we cannot be just friends.”

“There’s always the coffee shop down the street,” Risa suggested, the tone of her voice lighter than usual.

“Yes, there is always the coffee shop down the street.”

Lightning flashed through the window, and Satoshi glanced down at Risa. Her doe eyes met his, unwavering. When the thunder eventually rolled around, she said something under the guise of the noise.

“Again.”

“What?” She averted her eyes as she forced a sheepish smile. “If you didn’t hear it the first time, then do—”

“I heard it; I just want to make sure I heard correctly.”

“No, really, Hikari-san, please don’t—”

“Harada.”

Risa met his gaze again, eyebrows furrowed in worry with lips slightly parted. “…kiss me.”

Lightning struck again. “Are you sure?”

Her meekness disappeared. “Good grief, Hikari-san, a girl is literally asking you to—”

BOOM.

He leaned in, lips briefly meeting hers, before pulling away mere millimeters from her face.

She tasted like strawberries and vanilla that day.

…

Both of them cited that afternoon as the beginning of the end. Risa’s brief lapse of judgement, fueled by the comfortable familiarity of their afternoon routine and the rainy weather, shifted their boundaries in an instant. High off their daydreams becoming reality, they danced around each other, testing the limits of such physical affections.

They didn’t realize just how far both of them wanted to go.

#satorisa #satoshi hiwatari #risa harada #DNAngel #dn angel #d.n.angel #my writing #my fanfiction

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rickssugarplum · 4 years

Text

Rick’s Assistant

Alright, this is a first for me. A Rick and Male Reader! I got this request from an amazing anon, who I want to thank so much for this! They know who they are! Hope you like it! ❤

(Rick C-137 x Male Reader) NSFW-ish, Hints of Depression, Male Reader, Ice Cream, Fluff, Making Out, 2,700+ Words

As Ricks lab assistant, you start to develop feelings for him. You are struggling inside and Rick shows compassion.

___________________________________________

In the garage-turned-lab, you were assisting Rick with an experiment with chemical mixing. You immediately took the offer since he couldn’t have Morty help him whenever he wanted anymore. Not that you minded. Science was something that always interested you and it was practically an honor to be in the presence of the smartest man in the universe himself.

As you watched Rick mess around with his beakers, you paid close attention to his hands. Something about how active they were, knowing that they had created so many incredible inventions, held deadly weapons, and destroyed many different parts of the galaxy. They were dangerous, yet...right now, they were just holding on to some beakers.

“Can I ask what chemicals are you planning to mix?” you peeped out.

Rick, his eyes still focused on his work, answered properly, “Serotonin and Dopamine. The-they’re considered the happy chemicals in our brain. Good to help treat different mental illnesses.”

Your mind hoped his experiment could benefit you somehow. Lately, life for you was a constant struggle just to get out of bed. Whenever you looked in a mirror, it was almost torture looking back at your reflection. There were many things you wish you could magically change about yourself, not simply just physically.

But you continued to fight through since taking this internship. Something about Rick was extremely fascinating about him. He has lived a long life filled with extraordinary adventures, quite the ying to your yang of your current life; uneventful and boring. You felt your heart swell whenever you spent time with him.

You watched Rick very carefully mix the chemicals in, trying to create the perfect concoction. He finally looked satisfied enough to place it in a test tube. Sealing it shut, he hands you the newly mixed chemical, brushing his fingers against yours in the process. The contact gave you slight shivers.

“Alright, just place it on the shelf and we should be-be done for the day.” he instructed. You were more than willing to follow his instructions.

“Y-yes, sir.”

You mentally scolded yourself as soon as you heard him sigh. He had told you many times throughout your internship to just call him Rick. But, you always made a habit of addressing every adult formally.

Next time, you’ll get it right, you promised yourself.

You placed the tube in it’s rightful assortment, and turned to Rick for confirmation.

“Alright. Think-I think we’re done here.” he said pleased with today’s progress. He then turned to you. “Thanks for your help today. I must say, you really have been doing a good job. There aren’t many who work out as long as you have.” he confessed.

Your eyes went wide and face felt hot at his praise. It was honestly such a surprise.

“Oh thank you very much, Si-Rick!” you corrected yourself. “I’m-I just really appreciate the opportunity to assist you. Science is just so fascinating to me.”

Rick gave you a friendly smile. “Well...It’s good to see some people are appreciative of actual genius.” he confessed.

Rick grabbed his flask out of his lab coat and took a swig before he answered. “I usually have my grandson help me with everything, but now I need his “permission” to help me out.” he explained annoyed.

If there was one thing you learned about Rick for these few weeks, it’s that he doesn’t like to follow rules.

“Yeah, family can be a pain in the ass, am-am I right?” he chuckled.

Looking down on the cold floor, it was hard to think about family sometimes.

“Yeah...they sure can be...”

Rick squinted his eyes, trying to read you. He could tell something is bothering you. But, he wasn’t one to have anyone elaborate.

“Hey uhhh..How ‘bout we go get some ice cream? T-t-to reward you for your good work, I’ll take you to the best fucking ice cream place in the galaxy. How’s that sound?”

Your eyes bugged out in shock. So overwhelmed, you took up on the offer. “Yeah! I’d love to!”

Rick smiled. “Great. I’ll take you in my ship.” He grabs his car keys and climbs into the driver’s seat of the vehicle. “C’mon in!” He gestures at you.

With the excitement of space traveling, you get into the passenger's seat and frantically put on your seatbelt.

Rick turns the key to start the engine. “Alright, let’s get some ice cream, dawg!” he yells as you fly away into the atmosphere.

“Wow” you exclaimed, looking out the window, You heard Rick chuckle.

“Ever been outside of Earth before?” he asked you.

“Never. Th-this is incredible!”

The ship was now driving before trillions of stars. “Well, just wait until we get the ice cream. You won’t enjoy the Earth stuff the same way.” he promised

Something in you gave in. There wasn’t a time you could remember anyone doing something so nice for you, especially someone you barely knew still.

Out of nowhere, you felt your throat go tight, eyes started pooling with tears. You placed your hands in your face so Rick wouldn’t see. However your loud sniffles got his attention.

‘Woah. woah, heyyy what’s with the w-waterworks? Is this-this all about the ice cream?”

You were humiliated. Thinking you already ruined your chances to make a good impression now, you sobbed into yourself trying to hide in your seat. Rick started to realize there was something more serious. He pulled over in the middle of the atmosphere to help access this.

One of his hands started rubbing your shoulder, trying to soothe you.

“Hey, man...breathe...It-It’s alright...” he cooed softly.

Thinking back to when you were in the lab watching his hands, your mind thought to how now one of them were comforting you.

His gruff voice was so gentle. His hand was now stroking your back to put you at ease.

“I uhh...don’t do this really but...c’mere...”

His arms opened up for you to fall into. You swore you were dreaming, But you went into them and it was so real. His body was warm to the touch. His sweater was soft against your cheek, his heart beating led you to take it all in and relax for a moment. As if, he had all the time in the world for you.

“Shhhh...It’s alright. Just try to take it easy...” he murmured in your ear. You did your best to quiet your sobs as hard as it was...

Suddenly, you felt a soft kiss on the top of your head. It gave you shivers and made you cling onto him even more. You couldn’t believe he could be so gentle with anyone.

“Y-you don’t need to tell me what’s on your mind, but I can tell y-you’re struggling with something....” he stated. You simply nodded in his chest, confirming his suspicion.

“I’m sorry, Rick...” you cried. He just hushed you and rubbed your back. “Shhh...No it’s okay. There’s no-no need to be sorry for how you feel...”

All you could do was sit there in his embrace, trying to get yourself together.

“It’s...It’s real hell, huh?” he spoke up. “T-to keep trying to get by, pretending everything’s just fine when you just wanna cry out?”

You just nodded again, too afraid to speak. “Well, I’m not-I’m no expert, but ice cream usually softens the blow for me.” he chuckled.

A tiny laugh sneaks out of you, and you feel his hand stroke your hair. “There’s a smile.” he said relieved. He grabs your face gently and wipes your tears away.

“Thanks, Rick...” you say quietly.

“Don’t thank me, yet. Best is yet to come, motherfuckaaa!!” he shouts as he drives off once again into the stars.

___________________________________________

When you finally enter the ice cream shop, your eyes are immediately met with a wide variety of flavors in a pastel setting with fluorescent lighting. The child within you would love this place. “Oh my god, this is incredible!” you exclaimed.

Rick smirked. “Uh huh. What did I tell you? Best ice cream place in the galaxy!”

You both walked up to the counter, where there were multitudes of flavors all around. It was almost overwhelming to pick one. You decided to go with something simple. Going with the Vanilla with some crazy toppings that Rick recommended. When you got your treats, you both sat down in a booth.

It was quite nice to see the delight on Rick’s face as he was taking a lick of his ice cream. Who would’ve thought the smartest man could find simple happiness from a frozen treat?

Your eyes were suddenly glued to his tongue caressing his treat. In the cold parlor, your cheeks started feeling really warm.

“Heh, you okay?” he broke the silence. Immediately looking back to his eyes. “Oh uh..y-y-yeah!” you nervously laughed.

“You should start eating it before it melts, dawg!”

Looking down at your hand, your ice cream already was starting to melt down your cone. Flustered, you quickly gave a lick and your tastebuds were met with pure sweetness. More than anything you’ve ever tasted in your entire life.

“MMM! Mm-Oh my god!” You muffled with ice cream in your mouth.”This is amazing!!”

“Yeah, see? Ha-ha this is the best fucking ice cream you’ll ever have. Trust me. I-I’ve been to many places. This-this place is the top-tier!”

Swallowing your treat, you replied, “You sure have gone to so many places. I wonder what it’s like.”

Rick seemed to appreciate your curiosity. “Well, for me, I love the freedom of it. Knowing I can go wherever I want, whenever I want. I’m m-my own boss in this rodeo!”

“That’s amazing.I wish I could feel that kind of freedom...” you lamented. You took another bite of your ice cream to calm yourself.

“Well, hey. I could show you around the universe. If you ever want to see a really special place, I could take you there...” he proposed.

You look in his eyes. There was no deception in them. His wrinkled smile was so warm and inviting. You knew he was being real.

“I’d...I’d like that very much...” you nearly whispered, smiling back at him.

Happy with your answer, he reached his hand across the table and placed it on top of yours. You swore you could feel your cheeks blush like crazy. His cold calloused hand was stroking yours oh so gently. His thumb caressed the back of your hand with fondness.

Your skin was getting chills all over, and it was not from the ice cream.

He smiled at your timidness. “You wanna get going?” he murmured.

Not able to trust yourself, you simply nodded and let him take you by the hand out of the shop and back into his ship. He starts his car to get you both back to Earth.

From his peripheral vision, he could see you shaking. “Woah. You’re trembling...You alright, babe?” he asked softly.

“Oh! Y-yeah, I’m fine! Must be the excitement of space I guess” you nervously chuckled.

He hummed in response. You were still shaking. Putting his ship on autopilot, Rick held his arms out once again for you. “Here. Let me help...”

Your heartbeat went a little faster as you climbed into his lap and fell into his embrace.

“Jesus...” he muttered. “Y-you’re shaking like a leaf.” he added as he held you tight in his arms, rubbing your back. You closed your eyes and took deep breaths, letting yourself relax in his arms.

It had been such a long time since anyone held you like this, and he was doing it for the second time tonight. Knowing him only on a professional level until this point, you had a hunch that he wasn’t like this to just anyone. You wondered, if maybe, he had similar feelings for you that you have for him.

No.That’s crazy. Do you really think the smartest man in the universe would want to waste his time with a mediocre person such as y-

Your thought were interrupted when you felt his lips brush against your cheek. It made you gasp out in surprise. Rick laughed softly. “Sorry, was that unexpected?”

“A-a little...” you answered quietly.

“So, you didn’t like it?” he asked with a light smirk.

“I didn’t say that.” you argued. Rick’s brow rose up. “Well then, you won’t mind if I did it again?” You shook your head. He placed his lips on the other cheek this time, to make it even. Your shivers crept up again. Now in this closed space, in his lap, planting kissed on you, your mind wanted this all to go further...

“What’s on your mind, baby?”

Looking up at him, your cheeks red with anticipation. You were scared to tell him what you wanted.

“You don’t need to tell me, babe. You can just show me what you want...” he whispered in your ear.

“Don’t be shy...”

That gave you enough bravery to finally make a move. Placing your hands on his face, you leaned up and placed your lips gently on his. They were surprisingly soft, with a little hint of alcohol with the ice cream he just had. You let go after a short time, looking at his face for his reaction.

He said nothing, only placed your mouth on his again in a more passionate kiss, You let out a soft hum as his lips caressed yours. This must be a dream, you thought. Wrapping his arms around his neck, you took it further by sneaking your tongue into his mouth, wanting to explore. He let you in with ease.

You could not believe this was happening. but all your senses were working together for this experience. When you stopped to breathe, Rick moved his lips down to your ear, planting soft kisses down to your neck. It was overwhelming how good it felt to have him like this.

“Rick...” you whined.

“Mmm, yeah baby?”

You felt so hot, the heat in the car had blasted up, you felt that were spiraling.

“Ahhh..t-t-too much...” you whispered. Suddenly Rick stopped to make eye contact with you. “You okay?”

“Y-yeah. I just..I’m sorry didn’t mean to ruin this all...” you apologized, quietly scolding yourself once more.

“Heh. Hey, no biggie. It’s quite a lot for a first date, don’t ya think?” he laughed.

You nervously laughed back. “Yeah..heh. Guess so..”

“We can make this a regular thing y’know. We can just...how ‘bout every Friday after our work, we can go get ice cream, o-or hell even something else you want. Anything your h-heart desires.” he offered.

“Really?” you said in disbelief. Rick nodded in confidence. “Yeah, just us. We’ll make it a regular thing.”

Leaning up to him, you seal the deal with a kiss. It’s short, but it got the message across.

“Heh. Guess that answers that question,” he snarked.

With that, he turned off the autopilot setting and with his hands back on the wheel, you were on your way back home.

A short time later, the ship lands in front of your home. Rick offers to walk you to your door. What a gentleman, you thought.

“Thank you for tonight, Rick, I..I really had a great time...” you confessed.

His arm drapes around your shoulder. “Yeah it was fun wasn’t it? Can’t wait to do this again. It’s gonna be great.” he said. As you approached your door, you said your farewell.

“I’ll see you on Monday, ready for my assistance.” you promised meekly.

“Can hardly wait already, babe...”

You smiled back at him as you were ready to turn around when suddenly-

“Oh one more thing!” Facing him again, you wondered what else he wanted.

“I’m not the best at talking out feelings but..d-don’t be afraid to come talk to me, okay? I think I can understand what y-you’re going through..”

You felt tears pool up your eyes again, but you were able to keep them in this time. “Thank you, Rick...”

He gave you one last kiss and wished you goodnight. Then, he was on his way back into his ship. You walked inside your home feeling lighter than air. It was the best you have felt in weeks.

Now, you were already looking forward to wake up on Monday morning.

❤

#rick sanchez x male reader #rick x male reader #my fics #rickssugarplum

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kny-secret-santa2019 · 4 years

Text

from: @nezukobestneko

to: @cierrasl

here’s the shinogiyuu oneshot! i actually haven’t tried eggnog before, and thought it was egg coffee (a popular drink where i live) halfway through writing :’) but all in all, this was such an enjoyable prompt to write for, and i hope you enjoy! happy holidays :)

“Just drink it.”

Giyuu stared down at the thick, creamy lava that climbed up the sides of his mug, leaving a round stain the color of a newborn chicken that hovered just beneath the mouth. Bubbles sunk into the surface of the liquid, where flecks of brown clustered. “Weird texture,” he summed up.

“It’s eggnog,” Kochou picked up the spoon in her own mug and stirred. “Egg whites with cream and milk. Don’t tell me you don’t know what an egg is. You know what an egg is, right, Tomioka-san?”

He tilted his head to the side, ignoring the smug glow on her face. “You sure that’s all that’s in it? It looks like there’s—”

“I know what I put in. I haven’t ran this coffee shop more than three years for nothing, alright?” She put her mug to her mouth. “So just drink it.”

“Is it alcohol again? God knows I’ve sworn that off since last year. I mean, don’t you think it was a bit much that the entire swim club started their routines with ‘Tomioka drunk-diving’ for three months straight?”

Kochou giggled in gulps, careful to swallow the rest of her drink without choking. “You have to admit, it was funny. The fact that you couldn’t smell it in the coffee, too! I bet I still have that video of you squirming like a dying starfish in the water.”

“So that’s what it—ah!” Tanjirou, the mane of his red hair peeking out from the next table, exclaimed. “I asked Uzui-san why we had to flail our arms and twitch our legs like that, but he just said it was a flamboyant signature move. Sanemi-san called it a different word, though… dumbass, I think.”

“But there’s none of that in this drink, of course.” Kochou smiled her tight-lipped smile. Knowing her…

“What about other things? Like those… those laxatives from two years back?”

“I said, there’s egg white, cream, and milk.” Still with that smile on her face, she banged the mug on the table with each word. Her audible slurping filled the silence that had settled between them.

Giyuu’s eyes found themselves on his drink again. “That doesn’t sound too complicated; well, to you. Can’t you teach me to make my own?”

“No offense, Tomioka-san, but as much grace and elegance as you have under the water, you probably can’t boil a pot of it on land. It would take at least a good few days to teach you to make eggnog. And, to be frank,” she waved a dismissive hand, “that’s too much time to be spending with someone like you.”

Tanjirou’s head popped up from behind, an arm slung over Giyuu’s drooping shoulder. “Did you hear that? Shinobu-san complimented your swimming! She said it was graceful and elegant!”

“Shush, Tanjirou.” Veins across Kochou’s forehead bulged out like Iguro’s white devil of a snake. “Besides, I’m already spending too much time with you as it is. After all, who would waste a whole evening on a guy no one likes?”

“I am not disliked by people,” Giyuu muttered, at the same time as Tanjirou protested, “I would spend a whole evening with Giyuu-san!”

“I’m not talking to you, Tanjirou,” she snapped. “You know what,” she swiveled her head back towards Giyuu, all smiles again, “if you’re so afraid of drinking the eggnog, I’ll have Kanao test it out for you. Just to show you I haven’t, like, poisoned it or anything. Kanao?”

The girl, her round tray tipping down to serve some six or seven drinks, perked up at the sound of her name. “Coming, nee-san,” she called out from several tables away.

Was that genuine surprise? Or did those two plan this out together beforehand?

“What did you call me for?” Kanao held her arms together on the stripes of her plaid skirt, her fingers interlaced.

Kochou jabbed the handle of Giyuu’s mug with the edge of her nails. “Could you drink this and tell Tomioka-san how it tastes? He hasn’t tried eggnog before.”

“Oh-okay.” Kanao stirred the mug once, twice, before putting the spoon to her lips. Nothing seems to have been added in the process.

“It’s good as always, nee-san.” Her words barely rose above a whisper, confined by her tight smile. “Um… how do I say…it’s creamy and milky, but not… not eggy.” The outermost pleat of her skirt was all that remained in sight by the time she finished her sentence.

“There you go,” Kochou stretched her arms across the table, her mug already drained and pushed aside. Her head bobbed back and forth. “Want some cinnamon to go with it?”

She left before you could see a reaction. But surely Kochou wouldn’t poison her own sister?

“You want cinnamon or not?” she repeated, jerking him back from his train of thought.

He blinked. “Like, the swirly things? Cinnamon rolls?”

“Nevermind,” she put a palm to her face; over at the next table, Tanjirou tilted his head up, asking “Did someone call me?”

Giyuu pushed the mug into his arms, hugging his hands around the smooth curve of the glass. A warmth that seemed to emanate from the very core of the drink prickled his fingertips. It felt… nice.

“Just drink it.”

And he did—he hovered the mug just above his lips, letting the eggnog flow down in a river of spongy gelato. An explosion of sweetness, like melted ice cream and vanilla milkshake and hints of spicy nutmeg all whisked into one, condensed along the length of his tongue. With each gulp, a buzz of warmth ran down his spine and filled his stomach. Kochou was one hell of a brewer, but it was only now that he truly appreciated her talent.

She drummed her fingers on the table. “I told you it’s good, isn’t it?” Her face was flushed the color of bricks. Is it that hot if you drink it from the start? Or is there something in my cup that’s making me see things?

“Stay here and keep on drinking, then. I have to go,” her words sloshed together. “It took way too much time just getting you to drink one drink, so I have to go.” She pushed her chair back in a swaying motion, tilting precariously to the right as she turned to leave.

What’s up with her?

Tanjirou, who appeared to have been watching this whole time, nudged Giyuu on the head. “There are two mugs on the table she could have spiked, Tomioka-san.”

Does that mean… “Why would she—” Giyuu snatched the empty mug that laid across the table. It reeked of rum.

“Buh-bye, Tomioka-san! No, Tapioca-san!” Kochou giggled at her own (very lame) joke. She took a shaky step, her heels still hovering above the ground, and smacked squarely into a row of benches.

Before he was even aware, his body had leapt up from his seat, from his table, and pitched itself forward. For that brief moment, his feet were midair; the coffee shop around him blurred into the lush purple that flecked Kochou’s hair. He landed in her arms. No, her arms were wrapped around his, which were wrapped around her body. His nails clung to the back of her shirt, his grip firm without digging deep in fear of hurting her.

“So you can dive for something that’s not the water.” For the first time, Giyuu felt like ‘soft’ was an apt description of the way she gazed at him. And her rose-colored cheeks, pulled up into a smile, didn’t have the tension of a thread painting holding itself together when his fingers brushed through them.

Footsteps had assembled around him. “Wow, Tomioka-san, that was so,” Kanroji drew out the syllable, her long braids brushing against the side of his head, “romantic! Shinobu-chan is so lucky to have someone as fast and caring as you!” Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Iguro giving him a look that stank of what that devil of a snake does at its prey.

Wait, romantic?

“You caught it all?” Uzui nudged Kanao, almost making the poor girl drop her phone. “Not quite as flamboyant as the drunk diving, but still good to watch in the future.”

“With that, let’s get the party started!” Rengoku announced, his glass raised. Sanemi grumbled in agreement, as if he couldn’t get away fast enough.

They left without Giyuu; they always did, anyway. Kochou had fallen fast asleep in his arms, her chest rising and falling in time with the constant hiss of the coffee machine brewing in the background. That smile she had earlier stayed. So that then wasn’t an act; she didn’t have anything else hidden.

It was just like Kochou, too, to go through all of that just for him to hold her. If it was that simple, why didn’t she just ask that from the beginning?

“That’s quite the flamboyant party you’re planning,” Uzui slid the rum bottle along the table. “You’re sure you can handle all of this?” He eyed the petite Shinobu from a chair away.

She huffed, but dulled it with a smile. “I know my limits; I’ll be fine. And tell everyone to start without me. I have… other things to tend to beforehand.”

“Still at your place, right?” His teeth flashed brighter at the sight of her nod. “Alright then, we’ll see you around. If Iguro and Mitsuri don’t go off on their own romantic Christmas getaway, that is.” The chains on his hand jingled as he waved. “Good luck with your party planning!”

She sneaked another glance at her phone, at the early invitation she sent Tomioka. Still left on ‘read’. Thanks, Uzui-san; I’ll need it.

—

She spent hours perfecting the new eggnog recipe down to the last drop of milk and hopping around like a bunny to sprinkle in decorations from multiple angles. The handles on the clock above her station spun around too many times, trudging on from 1 pm to 2 to 5.

She popped the rum bottle right as the door creaked open. “Nee-san, may I…” The familiar tones of her younger sister’s voice began.

“Hm?” Shinobu had to redirect her ears from the bubbling mix of creamy goodness, fresh from the pan. “Could you repeat that, Kanao?”

“I was just wondering… um… if you could make a… make a special drink?” The girl’s wide eyes blinked at her feet.

“Don’t you see I’m busy right now?” Shinobu poured the rum about three quarters of the way, then topped her mug to the brim with the mix in a sweeping motion. “You should be able to brew most of the drink on your own, and I’ll help when I’m done.”

Kanao swung the door open. “I’ll wait outside—oops! Tanjirou? Are you okay, Tanjirou?”

“I’m fine!” The boy laughed good-naturedly, brushing off the non-existent door mark on his forehead of steel. “Did you ask Shinobu-san yet? Oh, and Shinobu-san,” his shoes squeaked onto the kitchen floor tiles, “Giyuu-san is looking for you. He says you have a da—er, meeting—together.”

“Tell him he can wait.” The eggnog just settled in the second cup. Shinobu gave it another good stir, just to add even more foam to the texture.

Tanjirou walked closer towards her, his face scrunched up. “Is that… rum I smell? Are you giving Giyuu-san a spiked drink?” His voice rose in muted terror.

Her muscles tensed up into a smile. Deep breath in, deep breath out. “You can’t say a word to him, okay?”

—

Why won’t he just? Drink? It? Can’t he appreciate the beauty that had gone into this eggnog? The hand-whipped cream and steamy eggs and nutmeg sprinkles spiralling into a wave shape? And with that shell-shocked dunce face, too. Okay, maybe I did spike his drinks once, or twice, and let him make an absolute fool of himself. But he generally does anyways; I simply made it more entertaining.

“But there’s none of that in this drink, of course.” Can’t he just take a hint already?

Rum tastes like burnt sugar. I shouldn’t have sipped that much in one go.

If it wasn’t enough dealing with the complete idiot in front of my face and the scorching desert in my throat, now Tanjirou has to chime in too. Really starting to wish Kanao didn’t lead him into the kitchen…

“…I’ll have Kanao test it out for you. Just to show you I haven’t, like, poisoned it or anything. Kanao?” What did I just—is this even part of the plan? There’s this fog hanging over my head and it hurts like hell and oh well I’ll have to roll with this then.

…And that got him. Huh.

I’d already downed the rest of the rum; now every vein in my body is buzzing. I can’t sit still. Especially if he’s going to take his sweet time like this. Is it time for the group party already?

Getting up from the chair, walking towards the big table, even crashing into the benches: it was all a haze, with coffee machine sounds and voices chattering and wooden floor glitching in and out. I just know I’m falling, somehow. And I’ll crash to the ground and this would have all been for nothing.

He caught her.

Tomioka may not be able to follow her plans exactly, but he got there in the end.

#shinobu kochou #shinobu x giyuu #shinogiyuu #giyuushino #giyuu x shinobu #kny scenarios #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer #submission

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