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tellmealovestory · 4 years ago

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Cake

Summary: The wedding plans continue as you and Bucky try to decide on a cake flavor.

Notes: It’s been awhile and I’m a little rusty. Part of Something More.

Warnings: Food mentions obviously, but other than that none.

“Bucky!” You laughed, nudging his knee beneath the table. “You’re supposed to share that.”

Mouth full with red velvet cake and cream cheese frosting didn’t stop him from answering. “Maybe you should eat it faster.”

“It’s not a competition.”

“You sure about that?” A goofy grin on his face, a dab of white frosting stuck to the corner of his mouth and you couldn’t believe this was the man child you were about to spend the rest of your life with.

You couldn’t wait.

Lightly swatting his hand away from the sliver of a sample he had left you with you scooped the red velvet cake onto your fork, popping it into your mouth and chewing thoughtfully as you tried to figure out if you liked it more or less than the previous sample; a simple vanilla bean cake that had left your mouth watering when you paired it with the best buttercream frosting you had ever tasted.

Without waiting for you or Ava, your expert baker to explain the next sample he dived into the next piece, a carrot cake paired with the same cream cheese frosting you were giving serious consideration to marrying if your marriage with Bucky didn't work out.

“Yes I’m sure,” you laughed, answering his question. “We’re supposed to be taking our time and keeping track of what we like and don’t like.” You gestured down to the small spiral notebook that rested between your elbows. Two neat columns with a pros and cons list for each of the samples you were working your way through.

So far the only thing written down was a note of no written in Bucky’s messy handwriting next to the mint chocolate chip cake. And next to that in an even sloppier scrawl were the words tastes like toothpaste.

It hadn’t of course, but no matter how much you had tried to convince him of it the mint chocolate cake was out.

“Hard to keep track when all you’re doing is eating the frosting,” he teased, leaning back into the chair, a self satisfied smirk on his face before he thought to add, “Carrot cakes a no.”

Ignoring him you took a sip of water before trying it. Warm spices burst onto your tongue reminding you of autumn days with him by your side and when you bit into a plump raisin you knew that this cake had serious potential of being the one. Closing your eyes for a second you let the spices dance on your tongue as you cut off another sliver.

Carrot cake at a wedding was a polarizing option, but you were willing to take that chance with this piece. It was that good.

“I’m eating more than just the frosting,” you retorted once you swallowed your second bite of cake. It was mostly true.

When you had first started the first bites you had taken were of the frosting, but in your mind it was the best part of the dessert. Whipped frostings, American buttercream, cream cheese, ganache, you weren’t picky. You had always been that way, anytime you went out with Bucky and split a dessert you always dove into the frosting first while he worked his way through the filling. But this wasn't just any dessert, this was your wedding cake, a day you had been thinking about non stop since he had proposed to you on that random Tuesday night. And once you had bit into one of Ava's creations you had been unable to stop eating the cake, each sample somehow better than the last.

“I think the carrot cake has potential and with the cream cheese frosting it could be a hi-,” you started, words getting cut off with a laugh when you turned to Bucky who was shaking his head no, an exaggerated frown on his face.

“Baby, no,” he whined as he set his fork down on the plate with a soft clink. “Nobody likes raisins.”

Parting your lips to interject that you liked raisins, he beat you to it, “‘Cept you. You really wanna serve our friends and family a cake full of raisins?”

Ava interjected, a woman with the patience of a saint when it came to dealing with you and your varied tastes said, "We can omit the raisins. Some people choose to fill it with pineapple and walnuts." Pushing her glasses up her small nose she glanced between you searching for a compromise that would please not only both of you, but also your wedding guests. She was good at her job and as her words sank in you wondered how much extra you'd have to pay her to have her come over and settle your movie night disputes.

At the mention of juicy pineapples and the added crunch of walnuts in an already delicious cake your mouth watered, but Bucky was quick to shut that suggestion down too.

“Nut allergies.”

"You're not allergic to nuts. What about the pineapple at least?"

"What about our guests? No.”

Chewing on your lower lip you knew that he was right, something you weren't thrilled about telling him, but you also knew that it was possible to still have it without adding the nuts or pineapple or even raisins that he was set against.

You had never thought that trying to find a cake for the wedding would be so complicated. Not only did you have to think about yours and Bucky's likes and dislikes, but you also had to take into account potential food allergies of your guests as well as trying to find something that would please the majority if not everyone.

Ava jotted down a quick note and cleared her throat sensing that the carrot cake was a no go even if you weren't ready to give up. Pointing down to the next sample and explaining what it was you half listened, grabbing your pen and in big letters that took up a quarter of the page you wrote yes next to the carrot cake.

“For someone who said they didn’t care about the wedding planning you sure have a lot of opinions, Bucky.”

He chuckled, the tone low and meant only for you he murmured, “What can I say. Picking out a cake is a lot more interesting than choosing silverware and thinking up wedding favors.” Leaning over he pressed his sugar coated lips to the side of our head in a kiss that was as sweet as the frosting you had been inhaling all afternoon.

The last sample lined up was a confetti cake bursting with the bright colors of greens, reds, pinks, oranges, yellows and blues. The small rectangle that sat on the plate made you feel happy just looking at, not even Bucky's amused expression, smirk curling up those stupidly plump lips of his or the memory of the way he had teased you when you first suggested this, asking if this was for your wedding or tenth birthday party could dampen your spirits. Eagerly diving into the piece your eyes closed in bliss and immediately you knew. This was the one.

And even better was the way that Bucky was nodding his head as he swallowed his bite. Finally you thought, a piece that you both had managed to agree on.

Ava beamed a smile at you seeming to know that after an hour of tasting and years in the business the difficult part of her job was almost over. Shuffling through a pile of papers and photographs she slid over a few glossy photos showing the same cake you were eating in different iterations. Naked with minimal frosting, coated in rainbow sprinkles, fondant flowers cascading down the side even one covered in a thick layer of fondant topped with two macarons on top.

"It's not bad," Bucky settled on, popping the last few crumbs into his mouth.

"Could this be the one?" Ava asked, pen poised over her pad, ready to finalize the details.

Licking the frosting from your lips you turned your attention to Bucky. A silent conversation was had, a perk to having known each other most of your lives.

Mentally you went over one more time the samples you had indulged in.

The carrot cake and mint chocolate chip cake were out despite your best attempts at getting him to change his mind. The vanilla bean cake had been simple, but delicious, an instant crowd pleaser as had the red velvet cake, one that had been so moist it had melted as soon as it touched your tongue, much like the double chocolate cake. And there had been the last one and so far your personal favorite, the confetti cake.

The silent conversation stretched on, Ava sat still, pen still poised above her pad before clearing her throat and suggesting, "Of course you don't have to decide today, but the sooner the better."

A shrug of your shoulders as you left the decision up to Bucky.

"We've decided." Mischief danced in his eyes and curled his lips up into a smirk that screamed trouble. “The cream cheese frosting.”

“Excellent choice,” Ava praised, “Which cake are we pairing this with?”

Turning that mischievous look in your direction and with a straight face nonetheless he managed to say, “No cake. Just the frosting.”

Whatever you had thought he was going to say it wasn’t that. Ava had the decency to look bewildered, glancing between you, the poor woman’s expression growing more confused the longer it took you to find your thoughts.

“Bucky!” You spat out, hand slapping his shoulder. Choking back a laugh and willing your face to stop burning you tried to find the words to apologize on behalf of this man child.

For a beat that felt more like an eternity nobody said anything.

“That not what we agreed on?” Bucky asked, his question caused your face to warm to temperatures that rivaled that of hot lava. Beneath the table you kicked at his ankles while thinking of the numerous ways you were going to get him back for this as soon as you left.

“I’m so sorry. That is not what we agreed on.”

Ava was still flustered, but trying her best to appear professional.

“Possible to get extra frosting on the cake?” Bucky asked and for a brief second he seemed to be taking this more seriously.

A quick nod of her head and she jotted it down, underlining it twice. “We can do that, of course it will be extra.”

“The more frosting the better. Wanna make sure there’s plenty when I feed you that first piece.” His mischievous smirk widened into a full blown smile and this time you didn’t hold back.

“James!” You tried to glare at him, but it faltered when that stupid, beautiful, man child turned his smile on you. “We talked about this and you are not shoving cake in my face.”

“We’ll see.”

For a second that felt more like an eternity your surroundings faded into the background when your gaze locked on his.

No longer could you hear the hustle and bustle of the bakery. No pans clanging as they slid in or out of ovens, no voices rising and falling, no bell jingling overhead as customers streamed in. Nor could you smell the sugar of frosting or the sweetness of the cake samples, no richness of freshly baked bread. Nor could you hear the sound of Ava’s pen tapping against her notepad in rhythmic short bursts.

All you could hear was the steady in and out of Bucky’s breath next to you, the low timbre of his voice when he murmured, “Sweetheart.” All you could see were those sparkling blue eyes of his as they searched yours. All you could feel was the gentleness of his touch when his fingers stroked across your still scorching cheek.

No longer was it you, Bucky and Ava sitting in a back room in a bakery in Brooklyn discussing cake options.

For a few blissful, brief seconds it was just you and Bucky, lost in one others gazes.

All too soon though you were being hurtled back to reality when Ava cleared her throat for the second time that day, breaking you both out of your trances. A knowing look rested on her face, one that you had come to recognize as the same one Natasha and Steve and both of your parents used to shine down on you when your stares lasted a little too long for just friends. A look that seemed to say they had never seen two people more meant for each other.

“Have you decided on a cake?” She asked in a not unkind way.

You got the feeling she was ready to be rid of you both and when Bucky’s hand searched out yours beneath the table, the light touch sending a thrill through you you couldn’t help but feel ready to leave and get him alone.

Another glance in his direction, another silent conversation.

Out of the samples you had tried there were only two you had been able to agree on whole heartedly. They’d not only be crowd pleasers, but you also wouldn’t have to worry about food allergies with them either.

The first was the confetti cake. Vanilla bursting with bright pops of color it had been light and airy, reminding you of his mom’s homemade cakes and all the hours you had spent sitting on their kitchen counters licking the spatulas clean of the batter and watching with rapt attention as she frosted the cake, always giving you the first slice much to Bucky’s annoyance. Paired with a thin layer of vanilla buttercream that Ava had mentioned would pair perfectly with champagne you had been sold after one bite. Even better was that he had seemed to enjoy it as much as you had.

The second had been a double chocolate cake smothered in ganache and that Ava said usually came sprinkled with chocolate shavings on top, every chocolate lovers dream she had said. It had melted on your tongue after the first bite and you swore you had never tasted a chocolate so rich before.

“We have,” Bucky said slowly and for the first time today taking it seriously. “We’ll do the chocolate cake.”

“Perfect!” Ava gushed, jotting it down as she bobbed her head.

As her and Bucky talked amongst themselves finalizing details and asking follow up questions you leaned against his side, mentally crossing another thing off on your wedding to do list as the date grew ever closer.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fluff #my writing

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muffindaddystyles · 4 years ago

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HARRY'S 27th !!!

Author's Note: Tooth rotting fluffy blurb 'cause it's my baby's birthday. I love him so much uwu.

He was swarmed with reverent loving kisses doting from his relaxed temple down where the centre of his sentiments and the luminosity of love resides in for you – his heart. His taffy mouth blew raspberries against her cheeks in effort to wake up as she gives him generous cuddles wrapped around him like one of his fuzziest warmest blankets. They day hasn't even started and he's already feeling so loved by his lovie.

"Happy birthday, honey!" She whispers squeal with excitement flickering in her eyes as she nuzzled her cheeks under his chin peppering lil soft kisses, "Thank you m'love you're such a pleased gift to wake up to." He giggles squishing her tight against his solid chest.

"C'mon up up! Made brekkie for you!" She exclaims sponging a tender kiss to his plush lips trying to lug him off from bed tugging him from wrists, "alright alright lil penguin." He tries to pick up his limbs with same vibrancy she's expecting from him.

She makes him sit fetching plates from the kitchen and Harry heart might burst into confetti. The love he has for her scattering all over around as he awes looking at the heart shaped pancakes with hearty eyes made from chocolate syrup. I'm her utter thrill she rips it off with a fork hovering it over his mouth, "hmm. Pet yummiest pancakes 've had in me life." He praises her when she feeds him tilting her chin and kissing her lips softly.

"Thank you. Wanted your birthday to be best -- wanted to celebrate you." If her propaganda is to make him cry she's already succeeding at it. He shifts her into his lap crooning sweet nothings and thankful kisses into the cave of her neck, "It's already the best with ye' in my arms baby." He sighs chewing feeding her some and she gulps quickly interjecting.

"I've a surprise for you!" She flutters her fingertips from the dollop of his cheeks down this throat, "You didn't have to." He shakes his head with a intact grin eyes still puffy from sleep.

"Yes I do. I love you baby!" She smothers him in loud kisses cause the affection is spilling from the brim of her heart and the roles have been reversed so beautifully since Harry's the one being this gooey for her all the time.

"Can I open 'em now?" He chuckles trying not to tumble as she's covering his eyes with her palms to keep from ruining the surprise. She was ecastic padding towards him with bags and boxes of gifts but when he tried to unwrap them after emotional gazes and smiley faces of "'m s' lucky to have you pet." "You didn't have to . ." She jumped on her bum almost shouting at him not to unwrap them at the moment cause another surprise is waiting for him in afternoon, kissing him sheepishly after that.

Harry gasps awestruck. Eyes total heart shaped and candy mouth babbling like a goldfish. He laces his fingers with her pulling her closer to him to kiss her head as she smiles in victory, "The weather was too pretty today -- knew it's your birthday." She giggles pressing her lips to his chest.

She has set-up a small picnic in their garden. With a cake she was baking and adorning with frosting whole previous night, fruits and wine, different breads and fruity drinks of pinks and orange.

Grass lush with white roses and pink bearths surrounding them with a wooden fence infront of them that has nothing but vast rich land full of trees behind it. There are cotton wet clouds in the marble blue sky and sun that winks at them time to time. It's perfect.

"I love it lil penguin. Love you." He breathes out happily leading her to sit down with him. Her cnoodled between his warm embrace and she hands him gifts to unwrap. He take out tissues from the bag and glances at her gleefully picking up the gloves made of sheer sage satin fabric, "'s just your hands looks s' pretty in them." She clutches at the hem of his shirt making him grin that wide it suckles dimples deep into his cheeks.

Then the matte lilac box that has flimsy hearts painted at it's borders with his name in between, "Painted those for you." She mumbles shyly and he cups her cheeks leaving everything to whisper into her mouth, "you're s' contagious not to love you." When he opens it up with same gentleness he holds for her it reveals a pink silk top with his initials embroidered on the vedge of it's pocket along with a lil flower.

"Froggy helped me choose the silk you like the most 'n . . 'n guided me sewing it." She calls Harris froggy. "Gonna wear it all day and every day." He giggles fumbling with her bottom pink lip.

"Last one then . . ." She squeaks handing him the tinsy bag and when he shoves his hand a card comes into his grasp. He reads the contents on it and sighs ever so loud full of happiness. It's an invitation to a dulcimer playing get together, where old people from certain cultures gather to play their folk tunes.

"Can take Mitch maybe Harry with ya." She says nervously and he watches with glittery eyes tracing the edges of card, "I'll take you. Would ya like to go on a date with me miss y/n?" He smirks playing with her fingers and she bobs her head.

"Let's cut this cake 'm starvin'." He rubs his hands together to show his eagerness and she laughs out aloud, "wait wait lemme put a candle." She pushes him away putting a single candle and litting it up.

"Make a wish baby!!" She claps her hand closer to her chest leaning against his shoulder with cheshire grin. He closes his eyes blowing it and she smothers him in kissing holding his face from side. He looks at her confused when she hands him a wine glass scooping up cake in it with it, "do it. It's fun!!" She giggles and he shakes his head doing the same clanking the rims together.

"Here goes to me 27th full of love and smiles." His accent deeply british with cheeks rosy from the light zephyr.

They fed eachother, her head in his lap listening to the vinyl recorder playing a french melody. He cackles loudly when a squirrel steals the crumb of her blue berries and kisses her pout gazing the little creature accompanying him in his cute lil birthday party. They are slightly tipsy, maybe Harry thinks but the fuzziness and clinginess that's tickling his tummy proves it right.

He just couldn't resist kissing her and lovin' her. Praising her. Thanking her. Staring the candy shaped clouds. He couldn't want anything else. Just him and her. In their little bubble of adoration.

#harry birthday #harry fluff #cute harry #harry styles blurb #harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #hsh #fluff #harry smut #harry angst #harry styles smut #dom harry

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lovecolibri · 2 years ago

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#and I just think if you keep praising a show for feeding you crumbs and telling everyone to shut up and be grateful for what you get

#then the show will just....keep doing the literal least amount possible just because they can

Lolll if I could reblog this 1000 times I would 💯 ppl should start demand BETTER from showrunners. It is not a crime to criticize a show for narrative plot holes!

Remember when Buck/Chim never had a follow up convo after the punch? Yeah, we need those resolutions on screen

Look, I get that shows are never going to be able to please everyone! It's just NOT possible and I think it takes some guts to stick to the story you want to tell. But also, these people are not writing fanfic for free and then getting ragged on. They are being paid to tell a story that people will tune in to see. And sometimes, something will come up with a plotline or actor chemistry that no one was expecting! You hear published authors talk about it all the time that this is where the story wanted to go, and I had other plans, but this was what needed to happen to stay true to the story and characters. (or they admit they had to go back and change something because there wasn't a way to get the resolution they wanted so to change the outcome, they had to change the set up.) But there are a lot of showrunners who are more interested in checking things off their "this is the drama/storylines I want to do" list without taking any of the characters into account and forcing them into fitting the story instead of allowing the characters to drive the plots. And that's what gets to me, is that they can have solid gold in their hands, that they themselves made, and be like, "well I didn't think of it that way first, so now I'm not gonna do it!" like they're 5. And once they know something is happening, some would rather wreck their show/movie/storytelling/characters, rather than continue doing something the audience picked up on that they maybe didn't realize they were doing. (Or, like some media obsessed with spoiler culture does, change everything because people guessed a "twist" from the clues they were given which is...actually the point?!?!)

But to me it's worse when people try to justify it because then the creators KNOW they can get away with it being shitty and people are SO starved for representation and for being right about a thing this time, that they will accept the absolute bare minimum because it's better than nothing. More diversity and representation all around, all the time, always.

Also, this show in particular has been super bad about having things happen on screen because the showrunner clearly thinks those things are not important (see, the two major scenes her boss said she had to include in 4x14 that she didn't think were needed) and has said herself that she struggles to write plots and fill a whole episode. (RIP to the "there isn't enough time to show everything" folks, turns out she just doesn't think things are important to show OR talk about, and adds filler because she doesn't know what else to do!)

#my sweet nonnie friends #yes this was about 911 #but also about RNM #and about so many other things #clearing out my inbox

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tonystarkissist · 3 years ago

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“Didn’t know where else to go”/ Revenge - Villainous July

Part 11 of “Oh Sweet Child, The Things I’d Do for You...”

Summary: Tony's out of his element. He’s ignorant to many things in relation to offering someone else comfort, but closure and vengeance is one thing he’s damn good at.

Rating: Teen (For language and Thematic Material)

Warning: Self-loathing and lack of care for life, mentions of abuse, and slightly graphic dialogue towards the end (maybe too graphic, but I got caught up in the moment; sue me).

Word Count: 4.5k

Previous Chapter ~ Masterlist ~ Read on Ao3 ~ Next Chapter

Peter’s there for days, maybe weeks, he couldn’t keep track at this point. He’s glad he had the foresight to warn Ned of his absence. His friend would definitely be the leading cause behind filing a missing persons report, because he knows Beck wouldn’t do it, content to mooch off of CPS as long as possible. And Peter really didn’t need anyone out looking for him. He didn’t even want to think about the turmoil and stress that would ensue. He didn’t want to deal with it. Ever.

He just wanted to lie here on this couch forever, stare at the fire crackling in the fireplace and watch the orange light bleed through the darkness of Mr. Stark’s home. It reminded him of that night he’d followed Mr. Stark here… he missed him. Still.

He wasn’t afraid to admit it anymore at all; not even ashamed. He missed him. And he felt so incredibly guilty for turning the man’s world entirely upside down. If Peter hadn’t acted so carelessly none of this would be happening. Tony wouldn’t be on the run, Beck wouldn’t have found out about Spider-Man, and Peter wouldn’t be slowly starving to death, lying here on Stark’s couch, the licks of flames dancing up from the fire cradling him in a hypnotic trance.

There was food in the kitchen, he knew there was, but just the thought of food made him sick, and he knew if he did try to stand he wouldn’t have a chance at making it that far before passing out.

He’d long since accepted the fact that he’d die at a young age due to his vigilante hobby, but he must admit he never expected it to happen this young, especially not since Mr. Stark started showing up every moment he needed him. He hadn’t failed him once… until now. Now that Peter needs him… he’s not here. He stares down at the shattered face of the watch he’s been clutching in his hand since he arrived. Mr. Stark wasn’t coming back, and that was something Peter would have to accept. How could he come back, with all these people looking for him? It’d be impossible and probably the stupidest decision the man could make. But of course Peter’s still clinging to that childish hope that he’d see him again. Preferably before he wastes away here on this very couch.

Though at this rate, it didn’t seem like that was likely to happen. He didn’t even feel the pangs of hunger anymore, and he could feel his body slowly shutting down. It felt almost like a relief to be ridded of that constant ache in his stomach.

He’s been living off of that one school lunch meal for a week, and Peter could feel the definition of his bones when he ran a shaky hand over his ribs, or along his shoulder and arms. It wasn’t healthy by any means, but what did he care? There would be no “long run” to worry about, just the next couple of days before he peacefully slipped off to sleep into a gentle void of nothingness. And if this is what those last couple of days felt like… then he had nothing left to worry about.

He drifted off, muscles and body aching from lying in the same position he had been for days. He had nice dreams, most consisting of finally being with Aunt May again, and his parents. They were waiting for him when he arrived and he was so, so happy to see them, it brought tears to his eyes. He didn’t know why he hadn’t thought of doing this before. No one but Ned would’ve missed him… and Ned would get over it-- will get over it.

Something draws him out of his dream just before he falls too far, and at first he thought it was the usual convulsing of his stomach urging him to vomit up some bile, or perhaps the heat of a fever and a throbbing headache, but it was none of those.

Instead, it was a soft, light pressure against the side of his face. A small, calloused pad of warmth slowly stroking along his cheek, beneath his eye. It made his nose tickle, and his nostrils flared in response to the touch. His ears slowly cue in, and he’s hit with a sudden cacophony of noise. From the light sound of traffic several blocks down, and the small crackling of the dimming fire in the fireplace, all the way to the soft words belonging to a voice all too familiar, yet entirely unidentifiable.

“Pete?” The voice cracks with anxious distress. “C’mon Pete, wake up.”

Then there’s a gentle hand on his shoulder, and all feelings along his skin and limbs begin to return. He’s being shaken back and forth, head lolling from side to side, but his groggy mind confuses it with… he didn’t know what it was. He just knows that everything feels numb and sensitive all at the same time.

The warm embrace against the side of his face disappears, and something scratchy and pokey is pressed gently against his lips, urging them to part. “C’mon Pete,” the voice begs again.

His tongue felt heavy and thick, weighed down by congealed saliva, but the pressure broke past the barrier of his lips despite it. He still couldn’t force himself to open his eyes.

The potent taste of salt hits his tongue and it sends a sudden shock through his whole system, like it finally realized it was in the waking world. The groggy convulsion alerts the voice of his slight awareness and now his body is manhandled into a sitting position. Even though his eyes are beginning to peek open he has no strength left in his limbs to try and fight the external force. He’s leant up against a warm cushion-y surface, a heavy weight settling over his shoulders as the culprit for the salt is pushed past his lips once more.

He bites down slowly, crumbs falling off at the corners of his mouth and the voice from earlier is quick to praise him.

“Good job, kiddo. C’mon, just a little more.” The taste sits heavy in his mouth and it slowly grows soggy atop his tongue, which urges him to swallow it. And, it seemed that the moment it slid down his throat, his body remembered all that it was missing and he was hit with a sharp pang in his abdomen, and he’s quick to take another bite.

His head lolls to the side, the cracker pushed back against his mouth, and his forehead pressed against something warm, engulfing him with a strong whiff of aftershave and alcohol. And slowly he’s able to piece together the warm shape he’s pressed against: an arm around his shoulders, a solid body sitting beside him, and the sharp outline of a jaw propped atop his head. Meaning the warmth bringing life back to his frozen nose and face must be the neck and shoulder.

His mind can only conjure one person to picture with him in this scenario. However unrealistic it was.

“ ‘ny?” Most of it’s a groan, but it must’ve been articulate enough for the voice to understand, and he’s instantly blanketed in more warmth and praise, pulled even closer to the warm body.

“Yes! It’s me. It’s Tony, kid.” The jaw resting on his head moves slightly in a way he couldn’t fully discern, and it’s followed by a soft but strong protrusion pressing against the top of his head, warm air passing over his scalp in short spurts before the jaw returns to its place.

It makes Peter smile. He’s not entirely sure why yet, but the warmth that blooms across his chest enlivens him in a way he never thought he’d experience ever again.

He eats more crackers, and he sips water through a straw regularly pressed to his lips as well. He doesn’t know how many he eats or how much he drinks, but soon enough the feelings begin to slowly bleed back, urging life back into his limbs and his brain. His stomach wasn’t very happy, but that didn’t come as a surprise to him

“You feeling better kiddo? That’s almost the whole pack.” A heavy hand is pressed to his face, then migrates up to pet his hair. “I don’t know what’s good to feed ya when you’re like this. You gotta help me out here.”

“Mm,” Peter groans. He knows it's unhelpful, but his belly felt stuffed and now all he could think about was how cold he was. The penthouse was warm and cozy, but it seemed ever since he arrived, Peter still couldn’t shake that chill that had settled in his bones. The thought alone made him shiver.

“Are you still thirsty?” The voice sounded nervous. “Yeah, you’re probably still thirsty. Lemme go get some more water.” The body begins to move away, which meant so was the warmth.

A strong tremble travels along Peter’s body with nervous anticipation, the muscles in his fingers spasming to grip at the person desperately before they could leave him alone.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” A strong hand grabs his fingers, gripping them gently between their larger ones. “You with me? You okay?”

“Mm,” Peter replies unhelpfully once more. He may not be able to reason or ruminate just yet, but he does know that he’s cold. He grabs the fingers around his and holds on tight, searching out warmth once more by diving his head back towards the warm cushion-y barrier from before and rooting himself there.

“Okay, okay.” The arm around his shoulders moves to rub warmth into his other arm, encircling him completely in the embrace. “Why’d you do this to yourself, Pete?” The voice whispers, a palpable despair in their tone. “You scared me.”

“Mm,” Peter hummed, eyelids pulsing open and closed with a firm determination to remain awake. His vision was blurred with soft orange light and the hard blackness of shadows. A sight he’s come to find as quite familiar and ironically comforting.

He feels better this time when he is pulled to sleep. Not so much on the brink of death anymore, but he feels he’s still teetering precariously close to that cliff. Though despite the nonsense the thought made, he knew the voice and the warmth would hold on tightly, and they wouldn’t let him fall.

***

He wakes up, warm and comfy in a nice big bed. He rolls onto his side with a groan, stomach screaming with hunger, and he lifts a hand to rub his fingers over his burning eyes. His entire body felt like it’d been wrung through a trash compactor. And he didn’t know how he ended up in a bed… He opened his eyes and looked around the room, then cursed under his breath. He was in Tony’s bed. In all the time he’s stayed hidden away in this penthouse, he’d stayed on that damned couch. He didn’t know what had occured last night to result in him crawling his way into this room.

His muscles felt weak and very unsteady, but he forced himself out of bed anyway. He needed to get out of that room, he needed to get back to the couch. He struggled opening the door, and he clutched at the wall as he stumbled and tripped his way back towards the main room. It didn’t even occur to him to question the light bleeding down the hall via the opened curtains scattering around the place. This morning wasn’t making any sense anyway, it didn’t matter.

He was a little more than halfway there when he collapsed, his left leg giving out first, tripping up his balance and toppling him to the wooden floor. He lands with a heavy bang, and he winces at the dull throb that resulted in his side.

“Peter?!” Loud footsteps follow the exclamation, and Peter’s entire body seizes with shock.

Was that??

It was.

Tony appears from around the corner seconds later, crouching in front of him with bulging plastic bags draped from his arms, hands reaching out towards him to help him off the ground.

“What in the world are you doing out of bed, kid? I told you to stay put.” And before Peter could even put up a protest, he was being lifted into the air and led back down the hall the way he came, back into Tony’s room.

It was like he’d just returned from the dentist, cotton stuffed in his mouth, tongue paralyzed, and brain conjuring weird loop-de-loops because he was still high on the pain meds. Because Mr. Stark was here. Carrying him.

If he wasn’t so startled and shocked by the man’s sudden appearance, he’d surely be mortified, but all he could do was stare dubiously at the side of his face as they walked. Then he was being lowered gently back into the bed, and as soon as Tony released him he dropped the bags from his arms and they hit the floor with muted thumps. Giving the man the freeness to meticulously tuck the sheets and cover back over Peter’s frailing body.

Any semblance of flesh had withered off his bones, thanks to his recent lack of appetite.

There was a harsh line molded between Tony’s brows as he messed anxiously with the sheets, and then turned his fixations towards the bags he’d just dropped. Peter didn’t speak a word during the entire ordeal, still unsure if this was just some weird dream or not.

“I picked up some stuff from the convenient store down the block. This’ll do much better than those Saltines from last night.” He lifts up the bottle of red gatorade to show, cracks open the lid, then plops a little bendy straw into the opening. “I would’ve gotten the ones with the sippy cup caps, y’know,” he rambled, sitting down on the mattress beside him and holding the straw up to his lips with shaky fingers, “but this was all they had. I’m assuming your favorite color is red, but I got all the other colors too.” Just as Peter takes a tentative sip, Tony pulls it back looking as if he was in the midst of a panic. “Damn, I should’ve asked you what flavor you wanted. Do you want blue instead? I can get the blue one,” Tony bends down so quickly it almost gives Peter whiplash, hand and head disappearing beside the bed, the rustling of plastic bags sounding during the frantic search. Then Tony sits up to brandish the blue gatorade,offering it towards him instead. “Or I've got green… and the white one.”

They stare at each other for several moments, and Peter’s not entirely sure what Tony expects him to say, so he settles with something simple.

“I-I like red.”

The straw is back at his lips and Tony’s nodding a little too feverishly. “Yeah, yeah, see I knew that.”

Peter sips on the drink, Tony watches him, and that little worried crease between his eyebrows doesn’t go away.

When he’s finished, he pulls away from the straw and leans back against the pillow, finally feeling a bit refreshed. Just as Tony begins to insist he drink more, Peter asks his question. “What are you doin’ here?”

Tony scoffs at him, an offended frown coming over his face. “This is my house. I should be the one asking you that question.”

And really, that was a good point. Peter didn’t know why he was here either. He drops his gaze to stare at his lap. He didn’t mean to worry the man, or get in his way… he just wanted someplace warm to stay.

“‘M sorry.” He mumbled softly, a heaviness overcoming his eyes with the pressure building behind them.

“Shit, kid, I didn’t mean-- I didn’t mean it like that.” Tony’s hot palm presses against the side of his neck, thumb dipping under his chin to force his gaze back up. “I’m just worried ‘bout you. I came home and found you on my couch, passed out and-and small as a twig, pale, and I didn’t know what to do.”

Peter leans into the touch without thought, absorbing the tender affection like he was starved for it.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” Peter whispers, tears finally beginning to fall from his eyes. The thumb tucked beneath his chin quickly moves to soothe over his cheeks, brushing the fallen tears away. It forces a smile from Peter, a bittersweet, desperate smile, formed with quivering lips.

Tony rips his hand away, suddenly and violently, like he’d only just realized what he was doing, stumbling away from the edge of the bed. He shook out the hand that’d been against Peter’s cheek like it had been infected with an abhorrent substance, and the man turned his back to Peter, other hand lifting to run through his hair while he cursed under his breath.

He avoids Peter’s eyes when he does turn back around. He points towards the gatorade sitting on the bedside table and clears his throat before delivering his instructions. “Drink all of that. I’ll be back soon.”

He shuffles from the room, grabbing one of the plastic bags on his way, and Peter can hear his distant mutterings under his breath as he leaves the room. It left an odd sense of emptiness in him, and he turned to look at the small bottle of red gatorade.

He didn’t reach for it, opting to watch the door. Awaiting Tony’s return.

Tony reappeared after several minutes, looking much less perturbed than when he had left. He came bearing soup and he set it down beside the empty bottle. He kept his distance this time though. The worried line between his brows were gone, taking upon an unperturbed expresion… simply gesturing with his head towards the steaming bowl.

He pulls up a chair, and when Peter still hadn’t made a move for the soup and Tony remained under his unyielding stare. After several more moments, and Peter had yet to move, Tony reached over to place the bowl gently in his lap. It wasn’t full by any means, so Peter didn’t worry about it spilling.

“Peter, you have to eat,” he nods down towards the bowl again. “And while you eat, I want you to tell me everything that happened while I was gone. Everything that got you to this point.” He waves his finger in a circular motion in gesture to his body, fixing Peter with a stern look, and Peter drops his head shyly.

“Can-can I eat first?”

“Sure.”

Peter eats as slow as possible under Tony’s watchful eye. Sadly, however, there was only a finite amount of soup and when Peter was finished, Tony was ready to talk, taking the bowl from his hands and putting it to the side.

“Alright, kid, spill.” Tony had his serious frown on; the same one Peter remembered he wore during the couple lectures he gave in the past. “No skimping on details.”

Peter turns his gaze away from him, skin prickling with anxiety. “My foster dad found out I was Spider-Man… an-and he thought I was working for you. I just… it made him really angry and I just wanted to get away! So, I came to look for you, but you weren’t here and I thought you were never coming back…”

He’s bowing his head to hide his tears, meaning he didn’t realize Tony had gotten out of his chair until he was settling beside him on the bed, and Peter’s head snapped up to look at him when he felt the matress dip. The man sat right beside him, shoulder pressing up against his, and the worry line making a reappearance.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have left you like that.”

“I-I’m not your responsibility,” Peter argues, “you shouldn’t feel sorry. I’m the one that screwed everything up and ruined your life.” He felt the trembling in his lips begin once more and he turns his head to hide it. “Everything that’s happened… to you… to me. It’s all my fault.”

Strong fingers grab his chin and force his gaze back, and Tony’s glaring down at him. “No, none of this is your fault.”

“Are you stupid?!” Peter bites, cheeks heating up with both frustration and embarrassment. He shakes off Tony’s grip on his chin. “You told me to stay away from those weapons, but I didn’t listen! And then I end up getting into trouble, and you felt the need to come rescue me!” He grips his hair, pulling at the curls in frustration and turning back to his lap as he continues to ramble. “And-and it’s my fault that I left my suit on my floor before bed. So it’s my fault when Beck found them,” he turns his gaze back up to Tony, tears now flowing freely from his eyes, “and it’s my fault that I didn’t fight back. I’m Spider-Man… it’s-it’s, he should have no power over me and-and he only has it because I’m scared.”

Tony’s grip is softer this time when he grabs his chin.

“Hey,” he soothes, lifting his other hand to wipe away the tears, “don’t you ever blame yourself for this. You’re a kid, I’m an adult, and it’s my job to keep you safe.” His gaze turns steely, and Peter feels his grip tighten slightly on his chin. “I just need to know one thing Peter… did he hurt you?”

The silence and the immediate influx of tears was apparently enough confirmation for the man, and he instantly releases Peter, a tight growl rumbling through his chest as he pushes himself off the bed. Peter sees the orange flareup appearing above the man’s collar, climbing up the veins of his neck. He knew well enough to know Tony’s intentions.

“No,” he chokes, diving after the man. He grabs a strong fistful of his shirt before he could get too far, and Tony turns to look down at him, his blue eyes vivid as ever. “Please don’t…”

“Peter,” Tony growls, a tight rumbling passing through him. “He’s not getting away with this. He’s not getting away with laying his hands on you.”

“Please…” Peter begged desperately. “Please don’t kill him… Please.” He’s crying in earnest now, and Tony takes pity.

He grabs Peter’s hand, gently prying it from his clothes to hold firmly in his palm. “Pete.”

“Please don’t leave,” Peter tries.

He couldn’t stand the thought of being responsible for Beck’s death, because then the world’s point would be proven. Spider-Man was just as bad as Iron Man. Any notion of ‘hero’ was dead.

He knows Tony will kill him. He can see it in his eyes. The rage.

“Please don’t leave me.”

“Peter…” Peter’s tempted to label the sound that emits from the man as a soft whine as Tony slowly sits himself back on the mattress, never releasing his hold of Peter’s hand.

“Stay.” He tugs Tony closer. If he was close enough to hold onto, Peter could keep him from leaving.

“Okay, okay,” Tony relents, scooting back up beside him. Peter doesn’t risk doing anything more than pressing his shoulder against him. The touch was enough to draw him comfort for the moment. Just enough to lull him back into a peaceful sleep.

***

Beck’s seething, fisting the red cloth in his hand. Peter was gone… and he was in deep shit. There was no way CPS wouldn’t investigate him after this. He stares at the undecorated Christmas Tree standing lifelessly in the corner as he downs another swig from his bottle. He grimaces. He didn’t usually go immediately for the hard liquor, but the week had been particularly difficult for him. After his Boss found out about Tony Stark being alive… it had been chaotic. And it never failed to construct a headache waiting just for him at the end of the day.

There were two sharp knocks at the door, and he flinched in surprise, eyes darting to the clock hung on the wall. 10:48. Who the hell was at his door so late at night?

Before he even had a chance to stand from his easy chair, his door blew in.

He leaped from the chair, dropping everything in his hands during his frantic stumble. The bottle shattered on the floor, and the suit soaked up the spilt liquid. He shouted in surprise and stared at the man standing in his doorway.

“S-Stark?”

The man in question steps past the threshold, onto the fallen door. His eyes glowed, his entire body illuminated like he was under the light of a strong fire. He doesn’t say anything, but Beck thinks he knows why he was here.

Beck slowly moves himself away from the room, backpedaling as quickly as possible, tripping over his own drunken steps. Stark moves closer.

“Hey, Stark. What are- what are you doin’ here?”

“I think you know.” His voice was gravelly and strained, and Beck shuddered.

“I-I really don’t,” he lies. He crashes into the decorative table set up at the beginning of the hall. A potted plant and several books crashing to the floor.

Stark steps closer, chin dipping to his chest which only highlights his sharp, shining glare, his head tilting only slightly to the side.

“I reeally think you do.”

Beck falls to the ground.

And as Tony begins to gain on him, he starts his rambling. “Whatever that kid told you was a total lie, I swear. He makes up all kinds of stories! I’ve been nothing but hospitable--” Tony grabs him by the throat, lifting him clean off the ground with nothing more than his human arm. Then he squeezes, bringing their faces close as Beck chokes desperately around his hand.

“It’s too late,” he whispers into his face, voice calm and soothing, “I remember you… how much trouble you were back in the day.” A dangerous grin flitted over Stark’s face. “Nothing you say will get you out of this. I’m going to make you feel every bit of pain my kid suffered at your hands. In fact, if it wasn’t for that kid, I’d slit you open and splash around like a child playing in a puddle, and string your guts around that tree like decorative garlands. You best be glad I’m a man of my word...”

***

When Peter blinks awake, his head is lying on the pillow, blankets pulled up around his shoulders and Tony sat beside him. Head thrown back against the headboard, mouth open, snoring, and a discarded tablet hanging loosely in his grip atop his lap.

Peter smiles, snuggling further into the pillow and pulling the blankets tight around him.

He didn’t think to pay any mind to the small splatter of red on the cuffs of his shirt.

Next Chapter

@multiverse-irondad-july

#Villainous July 2021 #VillainousJuly2021 #villain tony stark #extremis tony stark #dark tony stark #protective tony stark #insecure tony stark #fluff #hurt/comfort #hurt peter parker #sad peter parker #irondad #protective dad mode #villain appreciation

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elisajdb · 4 years ago

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GoChi Week 2021: A Fulfilled Life: Part Two

GoChi Week 2021

A Fulfilled Life

Day Two Prompt: Romantic @gochi-week

Goku added another log of wood to the dying fire. The flames grew twice its size from the thick log. Goku hoped that will be enough. It was the last one. He could go out and get more firewood but he promised to stay here and watch Celia. When Goku made a promise, he kept it.

Celia laid nearby on a futon wrapped in a blanket. Her sudden coughing had Goku rushing to her side. “Are you all right? Do you need anything?”

Celia cleared her hoarse throat. “You’re so kind. If I were well, I would cook you a meal. Seeing you eat, always makes me happy. You’re so adorable.”

“Adorable?”

“It means kind; you make people feel good. No one has reacted the way you have to my cooking.” Celia’s sickly smile was tender. “You eat every morsel and you’re always hungry for more. You’re special.”

Goku was used to being called names. Most were of criticism. Very rare he received praised for being himself and he received a lot from Celia. Celia was a kind woman. She fed him yummy meals and mended his clothes. When she fell ill, Goku did all he could to accommodate her. Goku never got sick but saw it happen to Master Roshi, Krillin and Lunch but Celia appeared sicker. Last night she was burning up and this morning she woke with chills and couldn’t move from her futon. If something wasn’t done soon, she’ll die and Goku didn’t want that to happen to a kind woman like Celia.

The cabin door burst open. A man in a bearskin coat, matching hat, knitted scarf and gloves walked in. He had a large sack over his right shoulder and logs of wood under his left arm. He kicked the door shut to keep the cold air out.

“How’s Celia, Goku?”

Goku took the logs of wood from the burly, bearded man. He stacked them by the fireplace. “Still sick. She looks really bad, Silas.”

Silas set down his sack and removed his hat and scarf as he approached Celia. Goku stared at the two confused. Celia was ill but the way Celia and Silas smiled at each other reminded Goku of those weird movies blue-haired Lunch loved to watch. She always cried watching them. Silas touched Celia’s forehead with his gloved hand. “You’re burning up again. Sorry I took so long to get back to you.”

Goku saw Celia wrap her sweaty hands around Silas’s gloved one. Celia didn’t allow any direct touching in fear she will spread her sickness to him and Silas. “You’re here now, Silas.”

“I have the medicine to cure you. I’ll make it now.” Silas grabbed his heavy bag and carried it to the kitchen. “I’ll need your help, Goku.” Silas placed the bag on the table. Goku climbed onto the seat and stood on it to peer inside the bag Silas opened.

A foul stench latched itself onto Goku’s nose. He covered his nose with his hands to protect himself but the strong scent penetrated his hands. “Yuck! What stinks?”

Silas pulled out a variety of green and color plants and wet, squishy dark red organs. “This is medicine for Celia, Goku. These plants are medicinal herbs: yellow root, echinacea, elderberry, hyssop, lemongrass and catnip. This squishy flesh is liver from bear and boar. It’s all around these mountains. It’s better than the chemical medicines used in the big cities.”

The foul stench made Goku’s head hurt. “It stinks!”

Silas grabbed a mortar and pestle. “It does. City medicines don’t have a stench. Chemicals are used to drown the smell. It makes their medicine less effective.” Silas placed the yellow root in the mortar. He began mashing it with the pestle. “Watch and learn, Goku. You may have to use this to cure someone you love one day.”

Goku wiped the sweat off his forehead. He did everything from memory: mashed the plants he collected in the mortar and pestle until they were fine crumbs, drained the blood from the bear and boar liver and boil for an hour; transfer the livers in another pot and boil again for another hour with the crushed herbs.

While that cooked, Goku made chicken soup from a recipe in the cooking books ChiChi sometimes used. He mentally thanked ChiChi for showing him to use appliances and kitchen utensils a year ago when Gohan was a newborn and she needed extra help around the house. The soup was finished an hour before the medicine was ready. Goku spent that time cleaning the kitchen. It was a mess with dirt and animal blood on the floor and table. The counter was covered with messy bowls and stains of food. If ChiChi saw this mess, she’ll kill him. Grabbing a soapy towel, Goku started his big clean. He occasionally looked up to check on Gohan in the other room.

The two-year-old sat on the sofa, clutching his stuffed rabbit engrossed with the talking animals on TV. He was wide awake. After Goku fed Gohan breakfast, he placed Gohan in a carrier and attached him on his back. He’ll take it to his grave he gathered herbs and killed wild animals while Gohan napped on his back. It was either take Gohan with him or leave him unattended at home while ChiChi slept. ChiChi was so ill she couldn’t get out of bed so Goku made a hasty decision. It was all for ChiChi’s health but Goku knew ChiChi wouldn’t see it that way if she knew the truth.

Goku finished mopping the floor when the timer on the stove beeped. Goku turned off the shrilled sound. He raised the lid off the pot. “Ugh!” he groaned. The scent was putrid. “Guess it’s ready.”

Goku filled a mug of the smelly brew. Remembering Silas’ final instructions, he sprinkled cinnamon and stirred to mute the foul scent. Now it was time for the final test. Goku blew on the mug. His lips touched the top of the mug but before he could taste the liquid contents, Goku pulled back.

“Argh!” The cinnamon didn’t help at all! “It still smells like dookie!”

Pinching his nose, Goku sipped the liquid and quickly spat it out. Still bitter and foul; exactly as it should be.

Goku heard ChiChi coughing heavily as he entered their bedroom. He cautiously walked in carrying a tray with a bowl of soup and a mug with a saucer plate covering it. “ChiChi, I got something for you.”

ChiChi groaned as she pulled the covers off her face. She felt as if she was hit by a truck. Her body ached, her head throbbed and her throat was sore. ChiChi sat up and pushed her messy hair back. She thought she was delirious. Goku held a tray of food. Was this for her? “Did you cook?”

Goku placed the tray on the nightstand. “Just medicine and soup.” Goku handed ChiChi the mug.

“Medicine?” ChiChi noticed the mug had a saucer plate over it. She lifted the saucer, “Why is this…. Ugh!” ChiChi closed it. “It’s ghastly. What is this?”

“Medicine. Drink it. It stinks but it will make you better. I promise.”

ChiChi removed the saucer and immediately recoiled. “Urrgh! How do you know it will make me better?” ChiChi sipped and pulled back. She shuddered as some of the liquid went down her throat. “I taste yellow root and lemongrass. Ugh. This smells like a dead animal.”

Goku knew ChiChi would throw the mug back at him if she knew liver from boar and bear helped created this concoction. “Fresh stuff and herbs I picked outside. When I trained for the 22nd tournament, I met Silas and Celia. They live in the mountains south of Yunzabit Heights. I got the recipe from them.”

“Who are Silas and Celia?”

“A married couple. I was living outside when Silas found me hunting dinner. It was winter and he didn’t think it was right for a kid to be living outside. I told him I can take care of myself but he insisted and invited me to his home for a meal. I stayed with them for a month before I moved on. Grandpa taught me some things, too, but I forgot. Silas showed me what plants to pick, what to eat and how to create herbs to season any meat I hunt. When Celia got sick, he made medicine with plants and stuff around his home.”

ChiChi looked skeptically at the mug. “Did it work?”

“Yeah,” Goku nodded. “It stinks but Celia was better the next day. She’s a nice lady. She made a lot of yummy food for me and fixed my clothes whenever I tore them. I think she was really nice to me because she and Silas didn’t have kids.”

ChiChi stared at the putrid liquid. After hearing that story, there was no way she could reject this. She pinched her nose and drunk the hot, smelly liquid in four gulps. She made a gagging sound as she handed the empty mug to Goku. “I hope it works.” She rubbed her throat. The aftertaste was horrific!

“Time for the good stuff,” Goku said as he handed ChiChi the soup.

This pleasing smell of the hot soup made ChiChi’s mouth water. “Is this my reward for drinking the stinky medicine?”

“Yup. Silas did this for Celia, too.”

“And you’re doing this for me,” she whispered. For several moments, ChiChi stared at the soup.

When she tasted it, Goku saw tears roll down ChiChi’s cheeks. “What?” he panicked. “Is it bad? Did I put too much salt?”

“No. Nothing’s wrong,” ChiChi sniffed. “This is so sweet. I didn’t know you were a romantic, Goku.”

“Romantic?” Goku knew that word. It always tied with flowers and doing nice gestures. Romantic didn’t tie to medicine and food. “I just made medicine and soup.”

“You did,” ChiChi cried, “but it’s more than that. You remembered something years ago to take care of me.”

“Yeah?” Goku drawled slowly still not seeing what he did as romantic. It was practical. ChiChi’s sick and Goku thought of some medicine he felt will cure her. How was that romantic?

ChiChi stirred the hot soup with a spoon before taking a bite. “Mmm,” she moaned. This was so good and what she needed to wash down the nasty medicine! “Delicious. This is the best soup I’ve ever tasted!”

“It is?” Goku tasted it. It was okay but not as good as the soup ChiChi makes. Maybe this cold weakened ChiChi’s sense of taste.

ChiChi wasn’t sure if the medicine was working but her mood was lifting at the wonderful gesture of her sweet and romantic husband. “Where’s Gohan? Did you feed him this wonderful soup, too?”

“Not the soup but Gohan’s already eaten breakfast and lunch. He’s watching TV now.”

ChiChi groaned. Gohan was only allowed an hour of TV time a day and she knew Goku broke that rule. “Did you put Gohan in front of the TV all day?”

“Yeah,” Goku knew ChiChi would be upset with that, “but he’s watching those educational videos. I had to distract him while I made your medicine and soup.”

“Okay.” ChiChi accepted that excuse. After this sweet gesture from her husband, ChiChi couldn’t be mad at Goku today.

Goku kept ChiChi company until she finished her meal. When he left, the concoction of the medicine finally got to her. She fell asleep at three in the afternoon and didn’t awaken until thirteen hours later.

Her throat wasn’t sore; her nose wasn’t stuffy, her body didn’t ache. She didn’t feel sick at all.

The medicine worked.

For the first time in two days, ChiChi got out of bed. She felt great! She was so happy to be strong enough to cook and clean again for her family, and after the way Goku took care of her, ChiChi wanted to give him a big meal and later tonight, show her thanks in her own personal way.

However, with Goku running the house these last two days, ChiChi knew she had a big task on her hands. Her house. Her kitchen. How much of a mess did Goku leave for her?

To ChiChi’s surprise, the kitchen was spotless. The floor was mopped clean. There were no food stains on the table, counter or refrigerator. All the dishes were put away in their correct spots. ChiChi was impressed. Goku was never this clean. The few times Goku cooked, ChiChi was left to clean the tsunami mess he left behind.

ChiChi went to the living room next. This was Goku’s bedroom for the last two days. When she became ill, ChiChi kicked Goku out of their bedroom. She didn’t want to risk him getting sick. If she and Goku were sick, who will care for Gohan? The television was off but the lamplight was still on. This room wasn’t as neat as the kitchen but ChiChi’s heart melted as she understood why. Goku slept on the sofa with Gohan on his chest. Her baby’s tiny hands clutched Goku’s shirt as he peacefully slept. An opened baby book was sprawled over Goku’s face and papers were on the floor. ChiChi knelt and picked up the papers. They were folded like a card. ChiChi opened one. Her eyes watered at the words inside.

‘Get well soon, Mommy!’ With it, was a crude drawing of their happy family. Gohan could write some letters but they weren’t completely legible and he couldn’t form words yet. Goku’s education was limited but he did know how to read and write basic words and he wrote the following notes on the makeshift card.

Mommy always takes care of Daddy and me.

She gives good baths and makes yummy food.

When Mommy is sick, Daddy takes over.

Because Daddy loves Mommy like Silas loves Celia.

ChiChi clutched the card to her chest and softly wept.

Oh, Goku. You are a romantic.

#Gochiweek #Gochi week #gochiweek2021 #Goku #ChiChi #GoChi #fanfic #Day Two Prompt #Romantic #ssj4 goku

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beerecordings · 4 years ago

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hey!!! i'd love to see more with the favored puppet au, that's always been one of my favorite concepts. maybe at a point where chase feels apathy in the face of anti, his caretaker, being a bad person? or something from before, when anti decided chase was worrying him and he didn't want to play the games anymore? :'D ty ty

Favored Puppet AU (Chase): After stalking, haunting, and toying with Chase for years, Anti eventually realized it was no longer fun to play with him while his suffering was so high. Instead, Anti kidnapped Chase and keeps him away from the world as its companion. Chase has learned to be alright with that. The human world, after all, was never very kind to him.

Triggers for heavy discussions of Chase’s past suicide attempts and depression and Chase trying to cut himself again, though he doesn’t succeed. Also might be considered soft!Anti, though Chase is the only one it’s soft for.

Florence I decided to combine that first prompt (Chase feeling apathy when Anti’s being awful) with another prompt so you will see that later! for this one I decided to do that moment where Anti decided he didn’t want to play games anymore. thank you for sending them my dude!! also this is my first time writing for this au so the mythology is really experimental but I just tried to do something new with Anti :) it’s very inhuman and doesn’t really understand Chase, but it decides it wants him, so...

It sits on top of his refrigerator and watches him have his first meal of the day, a depression snack at nine at night compromised almost entirely of the last crumbs in an old bag of Cheetos. The skinny little human creature – though Anti’s seen him staring at his shirtless torso in the mirror enough times to know he’s only growing more dissatisfied with his softening stomach and arms – throws his head back and dumps the rest of the crisps into his mouth, getting orange dust all over his unkempt beard. Anti giggles at the sight of him. Clown boy with his Cheeto dust and the bags under his eyes. Little human thing. Too small and silly even to be able to die. Goofy, stupid human. Slouching, miserable child.

But if there is one thing Anti enjoys about the human, it is his fierce, hateful courage. At first, the laughter in the edges of his hearing sent chills up the boy’s spine and made him turn around with wild eyes, spitting and gnashing his blunt mortal teeth, but now, after months of being haunted, he does nothing except turn around and glare.

Anti is invisible on his refrigerator, but the human – what is his name? Charles, Casey, something – he still tries to find it. He has eyes made to burn, blue as flame, though, to be perfectly fair, fire can be as much a source of life as the bitter weapon Casey makes with his gaze now.

He used to be warm. Anti remembers. He would stutter when the girl came to see him and he carried those little chips with him, rubbing them in his pocket when he passed the liquor store, and his children were all he thought about. But he’s changed. Anti watched it happen. For whatever reason, the girl stopped bringing the children by at all, and at some point the pain of it must have overwhelmed the man, and Anti watched him embrace old habits with a ferocity only describable as self-harm. After his second suicide attempt – that was the only time Anti let Casey see it, standing over him and staring at the crimson of his blood in the bathtub while the man screamed for it to kill him already, shrieking in despair as Anti picked up his phone from the bathroom counter and dialed 911, giggling at the thought of just how powerful his despair would be when he woke up in the hospital – he removed his children from the background of that phone and replaced it with a stock image of the ocean provided to him by Apple’s recommendation.

The light slid out of his eyes at some point. Anti was there. It watched the whole thing.

It enjoyed the whole thing. Mostly.

“Fucking kill me, then, bitch,” hisses Casey, slinking through his own kitchen like he’s being hunted. He is. “Playing games with me, always, well, I’m tired of playing, you know that, I’m tired… fucking kill me then, not afraid of you, not afraid…”

This is also true. Anti’s pretty sure the only reason he moved back to America was to make sure none of his friends would be in the way of the creature who haunts him finally finishing the job. And to stop them from telling him “you need to get help, you’re talking to the voices in your head and seeing things, it’s not real, you need to see a specialist” in an endless carousel of concern and – as Casey always perceived it – condescension.

“Fucking kill me!” he screams, slamming his hand down on his counter. He shatters a pile of unwashed dishes on accident and blood comes pooling up hot and coppery in the lines of his palm, but Casey doesn’t even look down, doesn’t even flinch, just keeps staring straight forward with fire eyes as wild as a horse’s.

But Anti’s bored with him. It hops down from the fridge and wanders through the apartment, whistling. In the kitchen, it hears the man howling as the whistling returns to torment him, the monster’s singing following him for hours and hours every day, never letting him sleep.

Anti used to think it was really funny, that something as simple as a whistled lullaby could make the man shatter in half and sob like his heart was broken open in his hands.

But honestly?

It’s less fun these days.

“Music, music, music,” rants the human in the kitchen, slamming his palm down again and again, cutting open his palm again, again. There’s banging on the walls and muffled yelling. The neighbors are sick of his screaming. He’ll be evicted soon, Anti reckons. Humans used to travel in packs, making it harder to pick them off, but these days ones like Casey often find themselves alone, and no one is around to stand up for him. “I’ll make you stop, I’ll make you shut up, shut up, shut up….”

Anti lets the human sprint past it and retreat to his bedroom, crawling under the bed and taking his laptop with him. He puts on big earphones and presses them hard against his ears, and he rocks himself as his music plays, turned up to one hundred on his computer, mumbling to himself, laughing sometimes, if Anti listens closely enough.

Anti crouches down to look at him. It hums to itself and touches Casey’s face, and he shrivels in on himself and whimpers, but he does not fight or push it away. Not anymore.

He used to be so much more fun before he started to crumble instead of break.

And yet, Anti has not killed him.

It does not know why.

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

When bored – these days, it often is – Anti likes to wander through the other apartments that surround its own. Watching the human sleep can only be entertaining for so long, even if it does like to hear his sleepy, thick breathing and see his peaceful, dopey face, and it’s nice to just roam sometimes. Anyway, the people nearby can be interesting, though Anti doesn’t mess with them the way it does Casey. No one else has ever been that entertaining.

A young couple lives to their right, newly-married with a little rat of a dog they call Barkley. Anti’s human likes most dogs, but he grew tired a long time ago of the shrieking yips through the walls. Anti itself doesn’t mind it so much. One more thing to annoy the human on his slow road to madness.

“Who’s the best boy in the world?”

It passes by their door and hears them cooing and praising the yelping thing. “Are you a good boy, Barkley? Who’s my good little boy? Yes, you are! Yes, you are!”

Barkley has been sick for a few days and their fussing over him has been endless as they clean the nasty little animal up after every time it vomits, carefully feeding it vet-recommended dog food and plenty of healthy human snacks whenever Barkley shows an interest. How anyone could care to look after a creature so pathetic and useless is well beyond Anti, but it thinks it’s funny, really. Humans will bow down to pet the lowest of creatures.

I am not like that, it thinks to itself, drifting through the door, invisible. It is important for me to not be like that.

Anti had never had an interest in pets before this year, but, increasingly, it likes to come over and watch them look after Barkley. Constantly it reminds itself – I am not like that. It is important for me to not be like that.

But it doesn’t understand why this is important or why it should not be like that. Truthfully, it has never been skilled with its own emotions. It does as it pleases and what makes it happy makes it happy. If there is depth to that, it isn’t interested.

“Okay, Barkley baby, mommy and daddy are going to go for a walk and be right back in a few.”

“Aww, poor baby, we know. You wanna come on our walk and see all the other puppies along the way, but you can’t go while your belly’s all grumpy!”

“Yeah, little Barkley can’t come today, but mommy and daddy will be right back.”

“Mommy and daddy will be right back, we promise.”

They shower the dog in pets and belly rubs as they baby-talk their way towards the door, blowing it kisses as they head out and lock the door behind them.

“Do you think we should check on this guy here who’s so loud sometime?”

“What, that Chase guy? Are you kidding me? What a creep. He’s so fucking loud. We’re going to have to complain to the landlord again. Guy’s out of his mind.”

Ah, yes, Chase, that’s his name. Slipping into their apartment like a ghost, Anti laughs at the human fickleness and leans down to tweak the little dog’s tail, making it yelp in alarm and start running in circles around the apartment. It giggles and spends some time chasing it and leading it around with its chew toys and such. It likes the way it can make the dog do anything. It likes the cute little dog even if it is such a disgusting, purposeless, stupid little animal. It coos and picks the puppy up, tickling its skinny little ribs and rubbing between its ears.

“Stupid puppy,” it manages to say, in its painful, broken voice. Human language has always been difficult for it, but it prides itself on understanding it well. One day maybe it will speak it clearly too, though for now it knows it would sound like a struggling, glitching machine to a real human. “Stupid baby doggy.”

Faint laughter reaches its sharp ears and it quiets, setting the dog back down. For a moment, only silence, and it crouches in the living room with its black eyes boring into the universe, motionless.

Then it hears raucous laughter as the window in the back of the apartment is pried open and a pair of much, much more pathetic creatures than itself or even this little dog crash their way into the couple’s home. It straightens up, shaking its head, and heads back towards the back room, where a baby’s nursery is beginning to develop. Above the cradle, a pair of imps stop short, staring at Anti as they hover, startled, in mid-air.

Wearing its human’s form, it puts its hands on its hips and waits for them to speak.

They begin to laugh again, loud and boisterous, spit flying out of the one’s mouth while the second’s eyes bulge with hilarity.

“A fairy in California?” The imp rolls in circles in the air, shrieking with laughter. “Who would have thought?”

“Little far from home, Mr. Potatohead,” quips the second, floating up to the ceiling, sneering and sticking out its little purple tongue. Anti’s mouth curls distastefully. “Why don’t you go back to your hunts and your parades, your highness?”

“How’d it get here without getting stuck behind all that running water?”

“Careful, pure-blood, this spoon looks like it might be made out of iron!”

They dissolve into maniacal impling laughter, rocking through the air, shape-shifting in the limited ways they can to make themselves look uglier. If it were the sort of fairy who gave a fuck, Anti supposes it would feel disrespected, but it doesn’t much care. They’re little annoyances who have clearly mistaken it for a much less powerful creature than it really is. They break the monotony for a moment. It’ll kill them in a second. Anti supposes they just came here to make trouble. Imps love break into human homes and stealing their food or making their milk go rotten. They may well have been the ones who made Barkley sick, just to watch the humans take care of the dumb little thing for their entertainment. They’re common in this part of the city because the mountains are close, and imps are snuffling, stupid little creatures of the earth.

“Ew, what’s that?” squawks the first imp, floating closer to it. “Do you smell it?”

“Yuck. His majesty stinks like a human.”

“Just like a fairy to keep a pet.”

“Aw, do you have a widdle human to look after?”

“Maybe we should pay a visit to your stinky little human.”

“Yeah, maybe it needs some company.”

“Some friends.”

“Someone to play a couple fun games with.”

“And then we can find out what it is that made Tinkerbell here go all soft in the middle, like a rotten – ”

But they never get to find out exactly what rotted thing Anti resembles. It snatches the imp out of the air in one snapping motion like the bite of a snake and crushes its body between its fingers, its eyes turning black as the juices run down its wrist.

In its fear, the other imp does not even scream. Its eyes bulge in alarm and it scrambles for the window, but it never makes it. Barkley yelps in victory, chasing his own tail around as Anti’s teeth come down around the meaty little imp and tear it to pieces, silencing the both of the little monsters, leaving nothing behind.

It’ll be picking that out of its teeth for a week, it muses, wandering back out of the apartment and towards its own. But that’s what they get for talking about Chase like that.

It’s odd, though, how it makes it pause and think. That is something other spirits do sometimes, isn’t it? Take a human and keep it as a pet.

The couple with the dog are returning from their walk, holding slushies and each other’s hands.

“Barkley!” they coo, greeting their excited dog at the door. “Are you a good boy? Oh, why are you shaking, baby boy? What a silly little puppy you are. Who’s a cutie? Are you a good boy? You just want a big hug, huh, you just want to be looked after. Mwah, mwah.”

It’s kind of a cute dog, in the end.

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

It liked the way Chase looked up at it, that one day it allowed him to see it.

It liked the way his eyes changed. He was not afraid – Chase is a creature of courage and despair, and these, in Anti’s experience, are both flowers from the same root – but he was distressed. Anti would say that this was because the form he takes is such a disturbingly odd impression of a human that it scared the human, but, truthfully, he thinks he saw a sort of awe in Chase’s eyes that day as well.

He loves fiction. This is one thing it learned about Chase early on. He does not have a reputation for intelligence but he does love his fantasy escapism, or he did back when he still had the energy for things like interests and hobbies. He liked Gravity Falls and Doctor Who and anything with sci-fi or dragons and he would get stuck at bookstores every now and then just walking through the YA section and wishing he was still young enough to enjoy them as much as he used to. In the old days, human storytellers were vital parts of their social structure. Anti thinks Chase would have been a storyteller, in his own way, if this were a few hundred years ago. Maybe he would be happier then.

It does not know when it began wondering about Chase’s happiness. Do not ask it.

The point is that Anti liked the way Chase looked up at it, that one day it allowed him to see it, that day he tried to kill himself.

“No,” he shook his head as Anti took his phone and called for an ambulance. “No.”

But his eyes were looking at something beyond life and death, something he had only read about in books, and Anti did not understand it.

It thinks, now, that Chase was looking at something he had longed for when he was younger. But Anti does not know what. There are fairytales about prophetic heroes and novels about chosen ones and tv shows where fantastical creatures whisk people away on great adventures, but Anti is not a fantasy. Anti is a nightmare. This is something Chase has always known, and Anti has always known, and there should be no misunderstanding between them.

But it liked the way Chase looked at him, that one time it allowed him to see it. That’s all. That’s all it’s saying. It doesn’t mean anything. It is not like that. It’s important that it’s not like that.

Anti touches the human’s face. He has fallen asleep beneath his bed, and his breathing is clear and deep, rhythmic as the song of a bird.

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

Chase sleeps for fourteen hours and then gets up to make a Cup-o’-Noodles. Beef flavored. It’s the only thing left in the pantry except half a jar of strawberry jam and some milk he was too drunk to put in the fridge a couple days ago, spoiled completely by now. Even the cheap rum he’s been buying is out on the table beside the stove. He hasn’t bothered to get dressed and he cuts a pathetically small figure standing over the stove in nothing but some gym shorts and rolled-up Christmas socks because everything else needs to be washed.

Anti roams the apartment, humming distantly and checking up on things. It deletes an unread message on Chase’s phone from contact name “Marv” and waters the succulent Chase picked up on an impulse last week. It’s so funny to it how attached the human can get to things, and so quick too. He once found a bee on the windowsill, brought it sugar water, and looked after it for several hours before letting it outside. The human put on his loudest comedy show afterwards to try and keep himself cheerful, but he’d ended up crying about halfway through, and Anti couldn’t tell if it was related to the bee or not. He’s always crying. He didn’t always used to be crying. He used to be less deep in his despair and much more fun to play with.

Anti shakes the thoughts off and decides to prove that Chase is still fun to play games with. There’s nothing deep about their relationship, Chase just happens to be entertaining. That’s the only reason it followed him all the way from Ireland. It floats towards the kitchen, silent and invisible. It’ll give him a quick scare, not enough to put him off his dinner, just enough to remind him he should still be fighting. Anti shape-shifts cleanly into a small boy with black hair and deep onyx eyes and goes to stand behind Chase, silent and still, staring up at the child’s father as he stirs the noodles in silence.

“I know you’re behind me,” he says after a moment. “Looking like Hunter.”

Anti startles and shivers back into invisibility, drawing away. Chase turns blearily to see that it’s gone and he laughs, deep and hollow.

“Yeah,” he mumbles, stumbling a little as he tilts back his rum. Anti knows he’s already drunk from the calmness in his tired voice. “Used to your tricks by now. You been getting to know me, I know. I been getting to know you too.”

He snorts to himself and leans back against the stove, seeming to forget his noodles. He squints blearily around the room, rubbing at his eyes. He hasn’t put his contacts in since the last time he tried to kill himself. Wanted to make sure he cut the veins, but after he survived that night, it didn’t much matter if he could see or not.

“I think I can sort of tell when you’re close, most of the time,” he adds. Anti sits at the dining table across the room, frowning. “Like… I can feel you. Or something. See you, maybe. I think you make things… a different color. Does that make sense?”

He points sluggishly towards the dining table and then shrugs, letting his hand drop again.

“Doesn’t matter, I guess.”

His pot is boiling over. The water will burn his hands in a moment, resting as they are against the edge of the stove. Chase laughs to himself again, shaking his head, and throws back the rum for so long that he’s panting when he’s done with the drink.

“Funny,” he says. “Would have almost liked for you to be there. As Hunter, I mean. See my baby one more time. My baby. Hunter, my son…”

His eyes trail far away. Anti doesn’t think he’s looking at anything at all. There’s nothing left for him to look at.

Water cascades across the stove, boiling. Chase whimpers as it hits his hands, but he doesn’t pull away.

Something yanks him back.

He stumbles away from the stovetop. Drunk, he can’t keep his balance, and he goes crashing to the ground, falling on his back and dropping his bottle, which shatters into pieces of glass and a small flood of rum across the kitchen floor. Chase gasps, grabbing at his bruised elbow, staring around for a sight of the monster that has haunted him for so long.

The pot of noodles goes spinning off its stovetop onto the other side of the stove and stops boiling after a moment, quieting the kitchen. The knob on the oven flicks to ‘off’ and the red light disappears from the stovetop, leaving it dark and silent.

Chase closes his eyes.

Anti stares at him and it knows, in the moment, that the human was not lying.

He can sense it.

He can tell it’s there.

“Why,” croaks Chase. “Did you call 911 that night?”

Anti steps back from him. His movement shifts glass on the floor with a faint clinking noise.

“Was this what you wanted?” Chase whispers. “Just to see me live like this a little while longer? Just to make sure I couldn’t get away that easy? Was killing myself too good for you? Are you ever going to actually finish me off?”

He is crying. He is always crying.

This isn’t fun anymore, Anti realizes. It isn’t funny.

And honestly –

Honestly…

Honestly, it doesn’t know why it called 911.

“I think that’s what I’ve actually been waiting for,” laughs Chase, sobbing as tears run down his reddened cheeks. “Fuck. Not even staying alive waiting for it, that’s not what I mean, I mean… like I haven’t killed myself because I’ve been waiting for you to do it.”

He throws his head back and cries and laughs and hugs himself with his burned hands and scarred wrists, his whole body shuddering with the tears.

“But you won’t,” he sobs into the darkness, as Anti’s presence draws away from him and the sun fades. “You won’t. Will you? No one will give me any mercy. No one wants me to have any fucking peace. So tired… You won’t…”

Anti retreats to his room.

It doesn’t want to face him right now.

He doesn’t want to face him right now.

Chase cries in the kitchen for a long time, until his whole body feels tired and numb and drained. He doesn’t clean up the glass. He doesn’t clean up the rum. He doesn’t clean up the water. He would probably have slept right there on the wooden floor of his kitchen, but the doorbell rings.

Too drunk to put himself together, he staggers to the door and throws it open to the cold, red-eyed and stumbling like a zombie.

“Uh,” says the delivery kid, fixing her alarmed expression after a moment. “Here’s your food, sir.”

Chase is too confused even to question. Almost dazed by it, he takes the bag of take-out carefully from her hands, thanks her in a mumble, and shuts the door behind him.

KFC.

Did he order this?

No, he was making ramen before he made a mess of it. But it’s what he always gets. Chicken tenders and mashed potatoes and a couple extra biscuits for the next morning.

In his bedroom, Anti closes out of the delivery app and drops his phone onto the bed, deleting one more message from Marv before it drifts past Chase and goes wandering, thinking, roaming, lost.

It’s not like that… it’s important that it’s not. It’s not like that.

Zayn and Mary are walking Barkley. Anti watches the happy little dog go yipping and dancing in the space between them, happy and safe and recovering, cared for by his masters.

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

The apartment fills with soft light in the evenings. White and gold from the weary sun. When it hits the horizon, the gold pirouettes and falls apart into a dozen different watercolors across the long shoulders of the sky. Pouring patiently through the windows, like syrup from the bark of a great dark tree.

Anti sits beside Chase’s bed and watches him sleep, playing slowly with his hair.

It likes Chase’s hair. It always has. Soft and dark but sometimes golden in the sunlight, and ever-so-slightly curly, so you can wrap it around your finger if you’re gentle, and make it spring back again afterwards.

Anti wants to kill something. It doesn’t know what. A human, probably, but not Chase. Chase, Chase, Chase. It had forgotten how much it likes that name.

You like a lot of things about him, it lets itself realize. When did that happen? When the fuck did that happen? One day you’re making him having a repeated dream where he’s carefully cut into pieces and eaten alive by a sentient crocodile because he always got scared of the one in Peter Pan when he was a child and the next you’re thinking about how soft his hair is. It makes Anti laugh, for a moment, but it thinks it feels… sad. It doesn’t know why.

Chase wakes up and it drifts back into invisibility, leaving him to sit up and look around. Check his phone for the time and stare at the floor for a while. Today he is groggy, but not sad, which strikes Anti as odd. Most days he is groggy and sad. Sad groggy stupid human. Anti’s sad groggy stupid hurting human. It sighs and spins lazily in the air, watching Chase push himself up on his feet, his eyes dead and weary.

Someone slams on their door and Chase groans, rubbing at his forehead. He’s hungover again.

“Brody!” The slamming insists. Chase stutters out a breath, slightly frightened, and totters to the door, pulling it open.

It’s his landlord. Anti’s lips curl up in a snarl. A mean, stupid man, stupider than Chase, even, and he looks angry.

And he starts to shout at Chase, and Anti does not like it. It doesn’t interfere, but it doesn’t like it either, and it knows Chase will do nothing. He stands there shirtless in his Christmas socks and stares at his landlord like he can’t believe any of this is real – not because it’s rare for him to be in trouble, just because his life is an alley puddle full of cigarettes and bathing rats and he’s most likely dissociating – and just nods when he’s told to get his act together and pipe the fuck down before he gets kicked out.

“Yes,” says Chase. “Okay.”

The landlord leaves.

Chase shuts the door behind him and looks directly at Anti, invisible on the ceiling above him.

“Jokes on him,” he says dully. “He’ll have to be the one to clean my blood out of the bathtub.”

Anti blinks. Chase pauses, letting his head rest against the cool wall for a moment before he pushes himself back up and wanders back towards his bedroom.

“What you will do?” asks Anti.

Chase startles so hard he slams into the wall of the hallway, whirling around to look at him. Unnerved by his response, Anti scowls and backs away again.

“Sorry, did you just talk to me?” asks Chase. “It’s a dream, then? Or did you talk to me in real life? Or am I really losing it finally? I mean, worse than I have already.”

Anti grumbles to itself and gets up in the fan, making the blades spin slowly, sulking. Can’t even talk to the human without him freaking out.

“Must still be drunk,” mumbles Chase, retreating back to his room.

Anti gets up and follows him.

“What, are you worried?” snaps Chase, digging under the bed, and Anti grins at the heat he’s showing again. That’s more like it. “Haunt me for, what, eight months and now you’re worried? I know you’re there, asshole.”

Anti lets him hear it giggling. Chase rolls his eyes and then he gives a short laugh, shaking his head.

Anti feels pleased, it thinks. Chase turns to look at him. He can’t see him, but he knows it’s there. Anti likes that.

“You really are a monster,” says Chase softly, smiling at it.

And then Anti sees, in his hand, the little tin where he keeps his razor blades.

Anti’s mouth falls in a frown.

Chase looks up into the sunset. Orange and gold, tonight. Flowing over his hair and into his eyes, making them alight. Fire eyes. Fire Chase.

“I hated you for a long time,” says Chase. “But you’re either a monster or the part of my brain that really wants to hurt me, so I guess either way I shouldn’t blame you for being what you are.”

He stands up, straighter than he has in a long time, still fixated on that sunset.

“I… I’ll miss…”

Anti stares at him, waiting, but Chase never finishes his sentence. After a long moment, he turns and takes his phone off of his bed. A slow, shaky breath escapes him.

He always takes his calls between the hallway and the living room so he can pace. Anti knows. Anti knows everything about him. Anti knows things about him he doesn’t know about himself. Anti likes things about him he doesn’t like about himself.

The human steps into the hallway and opens his contacts, carefully picking a name he hasn’t picked in long months, and he closes his eyes, and he waits.

But no one answers. Chase lets out a soft, miserable laugh, gripping the phone in both hands.

“Ah, damn… ha. Sorry, Schneep, I was really hoping you’d pick up.”

He circles quietly in the hallway, running his hands through his hair, his eyes closed and that phone held up to his ear, trying to breathe even instead of weeping.

“Look, man, um. I know we fell apart. Honestly, I really needed you, and you were just too busy for me, and that stung, it did. Maybe it was selfish, but I just… I needed you, Schneep. And I felt like all you cared about was the research, and…”

He rubs his face, brushing away tears. Anti stands at the end of the hall, staring.

“Well, I didn’t call you to accuse you of anything. I just wanted you to know that, um, even though we both hurt each other… I always loved you, man. And I don’t got the courage to call Jacks or Marv, okay, but I love them too. I love them too. And I’m sorry. Cause I was a coward for running away from them, and… maybe you needed me even more than I needed you, and I couldn’t even see it. So I just want you to know: you were my best friend. And I’m really sorry I couldn’t pull you out of your head and that I couldn’t help, or didn’t try hard enough, or just that I wasn’t what you needed. And I…”

Anti sees Chase close his eyes and breathe.

“And I hope I’m not one more person you spend the rest of your life wishing you could have saved,” he whispers. “It’s not your fault, Henrik. I love you. Good night, buddy. Maybe someday – ”

The voicemail beeps. End of recording.

Chase lets out a hurting breath and sets his phone down. His eyes are fixed on the rising sunlit moon, past his window.

“Maybe someday I’ll see you again,” he says.

He goes into the bathroom and crawls into the tub.

And Anti – Anti is paralyzed in the hallway, staring at him, invisible.

But Chase can sense it. Chase can sense him. He looks back at him, his face – fuck, so familiar now, like Anti knows every line of it, every shadow – and says nothing.

Something in Anti cries out against it.

Don’t let him do this. Don’t let him do this.

But another part – oh, another part recognizes what has happened. It has grown attached to this human despite all odds, despite everything. And attachments are dangerous and stupid and useless, just like this little mortal curled up in his white bathtub, holding a razor, staring at it. This is Anti’s chance to let Chase break the attachment. This is its chance to stop this before it goes too far. Before it actually does decide that it likes Chase, that it wants him, that it should keep him, that he loves him in his own fucked-up way.

So it steps back.

It won’t stop Chase.

Let him go. Let him go. It’s better this way. He was just supposed to be entertainment. There was never supposed to be an attachment. So now Chase can die and Anti can leave and they can go their separate ways, and everything in Anti’s life will return to normal. It will go back to Ireland and find something new to do, someone new to torment. And everything will be okay.

It doesn’t stop Chase.

But Chase –

Chase –

“No,” he whispers to himself, gripping the blade. “Please.”

Chase can’t bring himself to do it.

“No!” he screams, lashing himself once, but it hurts and he hates it and he wants it to stop and it’s not like the other times he’s tried to kill himself, not at all. There’s no numbness. There’s no comfort.

He doesn’t want to die.

“Please!” he howls, gripping his own wrists. “Please!”

He’s begging himself. End it. Finish it. Stop it, let me go.

He’s begging the universe. No more. No more, please.

He’s begging Anti.

He’s begging Anti with everything he has.

He turns his eyes to it and he’s screaming, and there’s blood on his wrists, and the glowing moon is like the eye of a god staring down at them, and Anti is illuminated in its light, visible in the shape of a man, visible in a shape like Chase’s, and Chase is begging him –

“Don’t make me live like this any longer!”

Anti turns and flees.

Chase is howling like a shot dog, holding his own shoulders, unable to kill himself, because he doesn’t want to die, he doesn’t want to die, he doesn’t want Henrik to get that voicemail, he doesn’t want to never see the sun again, he doesn’t want to go, he isn’t ready, but he can’t live like this any longer, and he’s never felt more hopeless in his life, and he still doesn’t want to die, he doesn’t want to die, he doesn’t want to die.

Don’t make me live like this any longer.

Why can’t he end it?

He’s so drunk and so tired and he thought he wanted to die, he really thought he did. No, no, not… oh, he needs somebody, he needs something, he needs something to change. Henrik. He wants Henrik, wants Jackie, wants Marv. He’s staggering to his feet, trying to get up, trying to get back to his phone –

He slips in his Christmas socks and in his own blood, and he crashes down hard in his bathtub, and lies still.

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

“Oh, no, oh, fuck,” Anti hears him whimpering as he comes awake. “How much did I fucking have? Stupid, stupid…”

It stands in the hallway, pacing, its eyes set on the ground. It is determined now. It has decided.

“Oh, shit! Oh.” There’s a nervous laugh from Chase as he notices the shallow cut on his arm. “Oh, wow, I… I must have tried to… but I didn’t! I didn’t, wow…”

There’s an awe in his voice that hasn’t been there for a long time.

Is it… pride?

“I didn’t kill myself,” Anti hears him whispering. “I didn’t… didn’t kill myself. Or I just passed out before I could, but either way, pretty impressive for a fucking idiot like me.”

Anti retreats back to his room and begins to pack the human’s things up, taking only what’s immediately necessary. It doesn’t care about the personal effects, but there are some things they will need – some clothes, his hygiene products, shoes, medicine. He places the succulent gently on top and zips it into place as an added present.

It can hear Chase wandering around the house, apparently dazed by his own survival, or maybe just still drunk from the night before. Anti shuts his phone down remotely and doesn’t let it turn back on when Chase scrabbles at the power button, mumbling about his friends back in England. Anti doesn’t know where the sudden interest in them after months of deleting pictures and ignoring calls has come from, but it doesn’t care.

Here are the facts, in its mind:

Chase survived last night.

It has grown attached to him.

Because he did not kill himself, it can’t escape the fact that it’s grown… fond of the human.

The human survived one night, but Anti has watched him through a great deal of ups and downs, and it knows that Chase will be suicidal again soon enough, and then he might not survive.

Anti does not want to watch him die.

And so the conclusion it came to last night, watching over the boy as he lay in that tub, gently curling his hair between its fingers, was this –

Chase will be its, and Chase will not die.

It has a great satisfaction with this plan now, more than it thought possible. After months of boredom, finally, finally! Something that makes it excited again, something that makes it feel – well – happy!

Chase is still playing with his phone. Anti steps back into the hallway and sees him frowning down at it, pressing on the power button a few times in a row, looking unhappy.

“Did I call him, or…? Need to tell him I’m okay or he’ll – ahh!”

Chase screams aloud at the sight of Anti standing in the hallway with his backpack on. Anti frowns as he goes tumbling to the floor in his alarm, groaning from the whiplash in an already concussed head.

“You’re – you’re showing yourself to me?” gasps Chase, scrambling away. “What’s – are you going to kill me? What’s going on? Hey, stay away!”

But Anti is moving forward, a smile already on its face. This is perfect! This is perfect! It could howl! It could shout! The man is looking at it again, just like he did that night he tried to kill himself, the night that Anti saved his life, and there is the change in his eyes, the recognition, and Anti feels seen and known and in control all over again, and everything is good, everything is perfect.

“What are you doing?” demands Chase, his hands reaching out to protect himself. A fighter, yes, just like Anti always saw. Small and weak and mortal and foolish, yes, but also courageous, courageous, always something special about him. Anti always knew. It grabs Chase’s wrist and pulls him to his feet, humming to itself, singing the old lullaby it always used to haunt him with.

“No, stop, I hate that!” screams Chase, trying to cover his ears, trying to yank away from him. “Stop it, let me go!”

He’s such a pretty little human, even if he is built so scrawny. Anti likes his dark hair and his fire eyes and his soft stomach and even his stupid tattoos, just because they’re his and he’s so goofy, silly human creature. It’s all familiar to him now. The boredom that it thought it was feeling all this time it now sees was a secret fear of the truth that it was becoming attached to him. But last night woke it up to the realization that it did not want to see the boy die and it’s so pleased that he decided to live. In a way, the human was deciding to stay with it! Everything is good. It wrangles Chase’s other wrist and begins to drag him towards the door, unbothered by the sound of his shouting, which is little more than white noise to Anti after so long spent following Chase.

“No, no! Help me, someone help!” he cries.

Someone pounds on the walls of the apartment. A muffled “can you shut the fuck up for once in your life?” makes its way through the plaster. Chase sobs, tearing at Anti’s hands, his eyes wild and desperate. Anti keeps humming.

It will set him up somewhere just as good as this stupid little apartment. Better even. Bigger and less worn. And it will teach Chase to take better care of it too, so he doesn’t make such a mess like he always does. It will give him things he hasn’t even realized he wants yet. It will give him his little succulent back and he will take care of it. Humans need things to take care of or they get very sad and they die sometimes – that’s the thing about humans, they can get so sad they can die, and it’s no longer fun for Anti to watch, so it will get Chase things to take care of instead. What do humans like to take care of? Cows? Hamsters? Potatoes? Whatever he wants.

It takes Chase’s keys and drags him out to his car, opening the door and letting all of Chase’s trash litter onto the street. Its foot crunches on garbage as it pushes its human inside, chirping politely at him when he struggles and gently blocking him from escaping, keeping him pressed inside the car. When Chase tries to lunge forward past it, Anti shoves him against the glass and makes him yelp, clutching at its aching head. Whoops! It pulls back quickly and pats his cheek, checking the bruise and patting Chase’s head. It will take some time to learn the boundaries for touching the human, but it will learn. It keeps him carefully inside until the human has gone breathless and shaky and realizes he can’t get out right now. Satisfied, Anti gets into the car beside him and starts the engine.

Oh, no, wait. One more thing it wants to do.

Anti sets Chase’s apartment on fire, whistling its song to itself as it disables the alarms and leaves a few rags beginning to spread the fire from the oven to the counters. Fuck that landlord who yelled at him. Now the other humans will probably think he died in the fire or something and not come looking for him. Not that they could find him if they tried. Anti leaves the apartment smoking and gets back into the car, chirping and purring to itself, too excited to care that it’s acting like a youngling on its first Samhain.

The human stares at the road as they begin to move, shell-shocked and trembling. Eventually his eyes flicker over to Anti, and it can see that he isn’t sure if he should be angry or terrified or just numb to all of this, numb to everything.

Numb is what he settles on. Numb and a little weepy, anyway. Anti coos and reaches out to touch the human’s neck, rubbing warmly at his soft skin.

Chase curls in on himself, shirtless and shivering in the seat of his own car, kidnapped and alone, and he begins to cry very softly.

There’s blood on his arm. He’s tired. He’s hungover. He’s still struggling with the desire to die despite surviving the night before. He thinks he left Henrik a weird voicemail. The monster that’s been haunting him for years has just appeared in the flesh and thrown him out of his apartment. He doesn’t know what’s happening. He just wants everything to stop.

He just wants this to stop.

The monster repeats its cooing noise at his side, still petting at his neck and throat. Chase shudders and cries, rocking himself gently in the seat, wishing for his headphones. Anti turns on both the heat and the radio. A top-twenties station comes on and plays music familiar to Chase’s ears, and they drive, and they drive, and he begins to go quiet and still, sniffling to himself, hugging his shoulders. Feeling the monster petting him like an animal.

“Okay,” whispers a warbled voice when Chase has finally begun to calm down, and he looks up in shock to see the monster speaking, or trying to. He’d never known it to speak at all – only to watch him, and laugh, and whistle or hum, playing tricks on him or mimicking him in the corner of his vision. They’d never spoken.

“Okay,” it repeats, touching his hair. “Okay.”

Chase swallows and says nothing.

Anti pulls over after a couple hours of driving and hands Chase the backpack, helping him pull out the clothes and put shoes and a shirt on. It leads him inside a gas station and lets him use his bathroom and wash his face, staying beside him the whole time. Chase doesn’t try to protest or call for help. He does not know why.

Anti leads him carefully through the aisles of the gas station, a big truck stop station with rows and rows of snacks and toys and clothes and knick-knacks like phone charges for cars and California-themed snow-globes. It seems interested in everything, but in an amused way, like it’s laughing at everything, and Chase is supposed to be laughing with it.

He doesn’t know what to do. Anti’s arm is around his shoulder.

The monster buys something with Chase’s credit card while Chase shakes beneath his arm and tries to figure out what’s happening, though his brain seems to be shutting down from being so overwhelmed and he really just wants a drink. Anti pulls him back towards the car and this time, he clambers in without protest, sitting down in the passenger seat and buckling in.

Anti sits down beside him and offers him the bag from the gas station. Chase blinks and looks over, taking the bag numbly from its hands.

There are nuts for protein and three bottles of water. Chips and a breakfast sandwich and jerky and chocolate and a small, stuffed lion with the name “Lionel” in its ear.

Anti starts the car again. They drive.

“What are you?” asks Chase in a whisper.

The monster glances over at him and touches his face, stroking a finger down his cheek, down his beard, and, in that struggling, glitching, inhuman voice, it tells him:

“Anti. And you are mine. No more scares. No more slow dying. I look after you. Human. Chase. Mine.”

The monster who’s been haunting him for months wants to keep him as a pet.

The desert is rolling past Chase’s window. Lionel sits patiently on his lap. The radio plays something inane and catchy. Anti is touching his hand.

“Mine,” it says again. “Okay, Chase. It’s okay.”

Chase closes his eyes, and, leaning back against the headrest of the car, he lets himself drift into sleep.

#chase brody #antisepticeye #cutting tw #suicide tw #extreme distress tw #bee writes #2020 prompts #favored puppet #florenceisfalling

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bound-writings · 5 years ago

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hello there, glad to see another writing blog for this fandom! i hope you don't mind me requesting something? my request is kou and yashiro ( separately ) cooking with their s/o, if that isn't too much?

omg yes,, i love them so much,, i hope you likes these!! *sobs at how cute they are*

Kou And Yashiro Cooking With S/O

Kou,, he just wants to show off his amazing cooking skills,,, and hear you praise him,, (he is just babey,,) You never expected someone like Kou to be so good at cooking, after all, he is quite rowdy and loud-mouthed. But he is literally Gordon Ramsay but very smol, blushy, and patient when he’s in the kitchen. Cooking with Kou is always very lighthearted and fun. It’s usually in school or at his house (but he very much prefers his house because you can stay the night for cuddles) and he’s always down for what you want to make. Sweets? Sure, he’s great at those! Maybe an actual meal like sushi? Of course he’ll teach you! Donuts? Yes, that’s his specialty!

If you ever get the slightest bit injured, even if it’s just a little nick by the knife, he is running up the stairs into the bathroom for the first aid kit, making a huge fuss. Whenever you get hurt Kou can never keep his cool, even if it has nothing to do with him. So sometimes the cooking date turns out into a “let me baby and take care of you” date. Oh yes - the COOKINGS DATES!! Cooking dates are always Kou’s favorite times because he likes to show off his expertise in the subject, and impress you by showing how good his food is. Kou doesn’t even realize it but half of the time he somehow ends up behind you, one hand around yours, helping you beat the batter (or whatever y'all are making) and the other wrapped around your waist, while he murmurs how to correctly cook it. It’s best not to say anything if you want these moments to last, because the moment you mention it he’ll jump back 10 feet and apologize over and over again.

He talks a lot during cooking!! He doesn’t like the silence and prefers to fill it with your sweet voice. Whether it’s ranting about Hanako or complaining about his final exams coming up, there’s bound to be happiness with a delicious aroma in the atmosphere. If you’re Teru-level bad at cooking, he’ll make sure to never let you in the kitchen or just let you sit at the table all the time, his eyes on you all the time. If you’re the kind of person who just eats microwave food all the time, he’ll 100% teach you how to make some actual good healthy food and share his recipes with you!! Cue Kou making bentos for you every day with your favorite foods in it-

After you guys are finished cooking, it’s likely that you taste test the food, and that’s where the supreme cuteness and fluff ensues,, cue you trying to feed Kou the food and Kou going all tsundere and blushy and gently demands you should try it first,, but of course you feed him anyway. And this boy blushes so hard and weakly gives a thumb ups as he tries to recover from how cute you are… Even more bonus points if you wipe the crumbs off his face and this boy literally faints,,

You guys cuddle a lot after while Kou tries to recollect his thoughts,, he is babey,, and loves you a lot,, 🥺🥺🥺

This little daikon babey,, she literally cried of happiness when you invited her to a cooking date,, literally she thinks you fell out of the sky wearing shining armor on a white horse and came to save her from being single for the rest of her life. Apparently Yashiro is actually pretty good at cooking considering she can make donuts so y’all would actually have a pretty good time! She LOVES cooking with you. It always takes her mind off her troubles and just de-stresses her; being with you never fails to make her happy. Frequently while you guys are cooking, she rants a lot about how Hanako gets on her nerves and stuff like that, often leading to her furiously stirring the batter or whatever y’all is cooking. So,,, do y’all remember the thing Kou did when he cooked with her?? If you come up behind her and hold her while showing her how to do it the correct way, she will literally faint,, I’m not kidding,, she will become redder than a tomato and probably just collapse in your arms. (You have to postpone the cooking for a while until she recuperates and comes back to Earth.)

If you’re Teru-level bad at cooking she will genuinely kind of be scared about the mess you made. Once she left you alone in the kitchen for less than a minute and it nearly caught fire. Let’s just say she now never leaves you alone in there. But hearing you praise her at her cooking skills makes her feel so much more confident,, will most likely surprise you with your favorite sweet or something and literally cry when you accept and eat it. Once she realizes you actually like her food she will go out of her way to make you food as much as possible (she just wants all of your love..) If you’re better than her in cooking she’ll definitely have these sparkles in her eyes!! And be like,, “(s/o),, you’re so cool,, love you bb 🥺🥺.”

If you feed her afterward she will definitely not say no,, will be all blushy about it and be like “aha, (s/o) you don’t have too…” but she LOVES it and encourages it but tries to do it discreetly. Her fantasies run wild y’all,, she’s dreamed of this day for years I tell you..

She is just so cute and babey,, what else can I say,, guys please love her…🥺🥺(I have literally watched the episode with her and Kou cooking together so many times-)

#tbhk x reader #toilet bound hanako kun #tbhk #jshk #jshk x reader #jibaku shounen hanako kun #kou minamoto #kou minamoto x reader #yashiro nene #yashiro nene x reader #kou x reader #yashiro x reader #toilet bound hanako kun x reader #jibaku shounen hanako kun x reader

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lvllns · 4 years ago

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otp tag!

oh holy shit this was a whole thing. i was tagged by @rosebarsoap, @solasan, @impossible-rat-babies, and i’m sure others but my activity feed is a disaster i’m sorry if i missed u. thank y’all for the tags!!

pretty sure everyone has been tagged at this point? i can’t keep track anymore, my brain is mush. if you wanna do this, you’re tagged now!

DISAGREEMENTS. Who is more likely to raise their voice?: Neither of them. At most, they get a hard edge to their voice or speak in clipped tones. It's always about risks being taken.

Who threatens to leave but never actually does?: NEITHER OF THEM. There is no way Sparrow or Mason would ever do that.

Who actually keeps their word and leaves?: NOBODY LEAVES.

Who trashes the house?: Who the fuck? NEITHER OF THEM!

Do either of them get physical?: NO.

How often do they argue/disagree?: Very, very, very, rarely. It's always about, like, one of them just fuckin doing something and getting injured or being put in danger and the other panicking about it. Or the two of them ignoring the other one telling them to save somebody else and instead saving each other. LISTEN.

Who is the first to apologize?: They both do, like in the middle of whatever they're talking about. It's always like "I'm sorry but I'd do it again" and the other person just "I know and I love you but I think you shaved 5 years off my life."

SEX. Who is on top? Who is on bottom?: This changes every single time.

Any kinks?: Sparrow is with a vampire. You get one guess. A lot of it is Sparrow.......uh, learning things about themself as this goes so like. They discover they're into choking when Mason puts his hand on their neck one time. Ya know. Absolutely into praise as well.

Who has the strangest desires?: I don't know that either of them really want anything considered strange??? I mean, Sparrow wants him to bite them but I feel like Mason would be onboard so.

Who’s dominant in bed?: Mason probably more often than Sparrow, though it definitely flip flops depending. I feel like once Sparrow is more confident, they'd be more up for taking the lead.

Is head ever in the equation?: Of fucking course it is.

If so, who is better at performing it?: Mason for sure.

Ever had sex in public?: They fucked in a haunted house at a carnival.

Who moans the most?: They're both pretty quiet I think, each of them takes great pride in making the other get vocal. A lot of like, soft moans and grunts and whispers.

Who leaves the most marks?: Mason on Sparrow, bc his whack ass healing makes it impossible for Sparrow to leave marks on him, even though they try.

Who is the more experienced of the two?: Mason for sure. Sparrow hasn't........had a lot of experience.

Do they ‘fuck’ or ‘make love’?: They make love baby. Even when it gets rougher, it’s never really fucking. Well, okay, wait, maybe they fucked in the haunted house....that’s not exactly.....an environment conducive to love making.

How long do they usually last?: A...av....average? I don't know enough about sex for this section.

Rough or soft?: Soft most of the time.

Is protection used?: Like 99% of the time, yeah.

Does it ever get boring?: Lol no. Mason is Mason and Sparrow is always up for an adventure or a challenge.

Where is the strangest place they’d have sex?: THEY. FUCKED. IN. A. HAUNTED. HOUSE. AT. A. CARNIVAL.

Where did they not have sex?: I mean they probably wouldn't fuck, like, in a gas station bathroom?

FAMILY. Do they plan on having children/or have children?: This is so complicated and requires it's own post tbh. Currently, no kids and no plans for kids but it's.......yeah, it's just complicated.

If so, how many children do they want/have?: See above.

AFFECTION. Who likes to cuddle?: Oh they both do, Sparrow initiates it more though.

Who gets naughty in the most inappropriate of places?: Fucking, both of them. Handsy mother fuckers.

Who struggles to keep their hands to themself?: BOTH OF THEM. Early in a relationship, Mason more often, but once Sparrow is comfortable? All bets are off, sorry. Don't go into the library ever.

How long can they cuddle until one becomes uncomfortable?: There is no becoming uncomfortable, they both just pass out. Or Sparrow falls asleep and Mason is legally unable to move, it's like cat rules.

What is their favourite non-sexual activity?: Mason will sit and braid Sparrow's hair while they read. Sparrow likes to just sit with Mason, like leaning on each other, watching a show or talking. Just, they really just like to exist together. Also, fucking off into the woods to go camping.

Where is their favourite place to cuddle?: Literally anywhere, Sparrow is not picky and both of them are so tactile, who gives a shit.

SLEEPING. Who snores?: Neither of them.

If both do, who snores the loudest?: Listen.

Do they share a bed or sleep separately?: Oh they share a bed for sure. If they sleep together, do they cozy up together or lay far apart?: Sparrow clings to Mason like an octopus.

What do they wear to bed?: Nothing, they both sleep naked.

Are either of them insomniacs?: Nah. Sparrow runs fine on like 4-6 hours of sleep though.

Can sleeping pills be found by the bedside?: Nope.

Do they wrap their limbs around each other or just lay side by side?: Sparrow likes to wrap themself around Mason but sometimes they will just lay side by side and like, hold hands.

Who wakes up with bed hair?: They both do, Sparrow's is probably worse considering it's long and slightly wavy.

Who wakes up first?: Surprisingly, Sparrow! Only because Mason will fall asleep after they've been asleep for some time already so they wake up before he does.

Who prepares breakfast in bed for the other?: Sparrow is too worried about crumbs in the bed bothering Mason to even think about eating in bed.

What is their favourite sleeping position?: Mason flat on his back, Sparrow with a leg slung over his hip, arm across his chest and their head smashed against whatever part of him is nearest.

Do they set an alarm each night?: Yeah.

Who has nightmares?: They both do, though I think Sparrow is the only one who remembers them after they wake. Mason, luckily, forgets his dreams.

Can a television be found in their bedroom?: Nope, laptops can though.

Who has ridiculous dreams?: Again, both. Again, Mason forgets them while Sparrow remembers.

Who sprawls out and takes up most of the bed?: MASON. He just spreads out and Sparrow tucks themself against him, it works fine really.

Who makes the bed?: Mason most often because Sparrow tends to get sidetracked and forget.

What time is bed time?: When Sparrow next passes out is up to the Gods. Mason just crashes whenever he finally feels tired.

Any routines/rituals before bed?: They'll watch an episode or two of a show. Sparrow will meditate. Mason often tries to break their focus.

Who’s the grumpiest when they wake up?: Probably Mason? Sparrow is an annoying morning person.

WORK. Who is the busiest?: Oh they both are. Maybe Sparrow slightly more because of the whole, working for the PD and the Agency thing.

Who rakes in the highest income?: I feel like it ends up pretty even eventually?

Are any of them unemployed?: Nah.

Who takes the most sick days?: I guess Sparrow would, though it's very rare. Mason can't get sick, bastard.

What are their jobs?: Sparrow is a detective and agency liaison. Mason is a specialist agent for the Agency.

Who sucks up to their boss?: I don't think either of them do? Sparrow is polite with the Captain but he's nice enough. They definitely don't suck up to Adam or Rebecca or whomstever is in charge of them at the Agency.

Who is more likely to turn up late to work?: Neither of them. Sparrow has Anxiety so they're always at least 10 minutes early.

Who stresses the most?: SPARROW.

Do they enjoy or despise their careers/occupations?: Mason enjoys what he does for sure. Sparrow.......never wanted to be doing this. At all. They definitely aren't thrilled but they do like it, it's just......not what they wanted.

Are they financially stable?: Oh yeah.

HOME. Who does the washing?: Even trade off I think.

Who takes out the trash?: Sparrow.

Who does the ironing?: Neither of them lmao

Who does the cooking?: Sparrow! Mason likes to sit on the counter and talk while they cook.

Who is more likely to burn the house down just trying?: Mason lmao

Who is messier?: Even split again. Sparrow will set something down, get sidetracked, and then that book stays on the counter for five days until Mason is like "Bird you forgot your book." It's less.....intentionally messy and more just....brain going sideways.

Who leaves the toilet roll empty?: Neither of them.

Who leaves their dirty clothes on the floor?: BOTH OF THEM. There is a HAMPER and they both just throw their clothes on the ground like HEATHENS.

Who forgets to flush the toilet?: Fucking NEITHER OF THEM.

Who loses the car keys when it comes time to go somewhere?: Nope, absolutely never happens. Sparrow's anxiety kicks in and overrides the ADHD and the keys are always in sight.

Who answers the telephone?: If it's not a work call for Sparrow, then Mason.

Who mows the lawn?: Currently, neither of them bc there is no lawn lmao.

Who does the vacuuming?: Sparrow.

Who does the groceries?: Both together because they like doing it together. Mason enjoys putting random shit in the cart and seeing if Sparrow notices.

Who takes the longest to shower?: dasjgnd they're both very quick about showers, so neither?

Who spends the most time in the bathroom?: Sparrow I guess. They're both very much like, there's no real routine. They just fiddle with their hair and go.

MISCELLANEOUS. Is money a problem?: Nah.

How many cars do they own?: Just Sparrow's ol' reliable right now.

What’s their song?: We Love Like Vampires by Sparks the Rescue. Me & You by Honne.

Do they live in the city or in the country?: Country for sure. Both of them like the quiet.

Do they own their home or do they rent?: Right now, Sparrow rents their apartment.

Do they enjoy their surroundings?: I think so, yeah. Sparrow wishes they weren't still in Wayhaven sometimes but it's fine.

What do they do when they’re away from each other?: Whatever needs to be done? There isn't like something specific they have to do if they're apart, they just go on with their day.

Where did they first meet?: Formally, Sparrow's office when Rebecca introduced the entire team.

Who spends the most money when out shopping?: Gods, both of them?

Who’s more likely to flash their assets?: Mason, I guess.

Any mental issues?: Sparrow is a whole Mess honestly, anxiety, ADHD, PTSD, etc. etc.

Who finds it amusing when the other trips over?: Both of them, bastards that they are.

Who’s terrified of bugs?: Eh, neither of them.

Who kills the spiders around the house?: NOBODY. Sparrow scoops them up and puts them outside.

Do they have any fears for their future?: The inevitable "Sparrow is going to die, Mason is an immortal vampire" obviously.

Their favourite place?: Somewhere in the woods together.

Who’s more likely to surprise the other with a fancy dinner?: Mason, since, you know, he doesn't really enjoy eating food.

Who pays the bills?: They both do.

Who’s the tallest?: Mason by like 6 inches.

Who’s more likely to just randomly hop into the shower with the other?: Mason, though Sparrow will too. He just does it more often.

Who wanders around in their underwear?: Oh they both do.

Who sings the loudest when singing along to the radio?: Sparrow, though it's rare they do.

What do they tease each other about?: Mason likes to good naturedly tease Sparrow about their bookish nature. Sparrow will squish his cheeks when he glares and grin at him.

Who is more likely to cringe at the other’s fashion sense at times?: MASON. Oh Gods, Sparrow is....listen, if they aren't dressed professionally for work or going out, they're a hot mess. I'm talking like bright green hoodie, neon yellow leggings, hot pink running shoes. Like a Lisa Frank folder exploded on a human being.

Who crushed first?: Mason. It took Sparrow a bit to be like "oh it's more than thinking his face is just nice, okay."

Any alcohol or substance related problems?: Nah, Sparrow doesn't drink.

Who is more likely to stumble home, drunk, at 3am?: Neither of them, considering the above and Mason's vampire biology.

Who swears the most?: Oh they both do. Sparrow looks sweet but they..........listen. They have the mouth of a sailor tbh. You get the two of them in a room together and let them talk and it's a mess of swearing.

#caiti.txt #long post #c: sparrow kingston #mason x sparrow #SURE HOPE THAT READ MORE WORKS #holy shit this was a whole thing wow it took me....a few days lmao

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hashoterhatov · 4 years ago

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No place like home | אין מקום כמו הבית

You're engaged to Eitan, and thus Yona will teach you her ways in the kitchen, because after all, you're going to be a Konfino.

Eitan Konfino X Female Reader

A huff of laughter left your lips as Eitan threw a peanut in the air and rather ungracefully caught it in his mouth, several crumbs of peanut shells scattered all over his shirt. You sat snuggled against his side, legs pulled up onto the sofa, your father-in-law sitting a little away, his feet put up on the coffee table.

“You better clean that up.” Yizhar grumpily complained to his youngest son, grabbing the handheld vacuum cleaner from the floor and proceeding to clean up the crumbs on his own chest before handing it to Eti.

“Of course, dad.” he replied with a nearly unnoticeable roll of his eyes, but he didn’t start cleaning himself of the residue left by your midday snacks before feeding you another one - you didn’t particularly like peanuts, but you ate them anyway.

“(Y/n)?” Yona called from the kitchen, causing you to look up.

“Yes?” you quizzed, but there was no answer.

“Go look what she wants.” Eitan said to you before pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. You arose and stretched your arms before heading to the kitchen. Eti’s hand reached out to playfully slap your ass, but a raised eyebrow from his father halted him in his tracks, causing him to recoil and crack open another nut.

You entered the kitchen and found Yona with an apron around her waist, another one held out for you to take. The table and counter were filled with fresh produce, ready to be handled.

“What can I do for you?” you asked her, stepping a bit further into the kitchen. She wiggled the apron from left to right, smiling a little as a few brown curls fell in front of her eyes. “Take it.”

You did as she asked, curious about what she was up to. After tying it around your waist, she gestured to the sink. “Wash your hands.”

“Okay.” you said with an amused hum, heading to the tap to run your hands under lukewarm water before drying them on a tea towel.

“Since you and Eti are going to get married soon,” she began, “It is time that you learn how to cook Shakshu-Konfino!”

Your heart jumped in your chest. “Really?” you asked in slight disbelief, “You are willing to share your secret recipe with me?” Tears appeared in the corners of your eyes at the idea - Yona’s Shakshuka was heavenly.

“Of course, (Y/n)!” your future mother-in-law told you, “After all, it’s important that it stays in the family.”

She winked at you and it made your body warm with the knowledge that she really saw you as her own daughter, the one she never had, and she soon handed you a knife to start working on the tomatoes.

“Tomatoes, a whole bunch of them.” she told you. “Don’t be afraid to do it off the cuff. One tomato more or less never made a difference. Well, it does, but the more, the better. However, it’s the spices you need to be careful with! Too many will spoil it, too little will make it bland.”

Yona went to dice two onions and tossed them into a large bowl. As soon as you had finished chopping a whole bunch of the red, unskinned fruits, you put them in as well.

“Really good. Now, yellow bell peppers, four cloves of garlic, two hot chili peppers, and the spices. Why don’t you chop the peppers while I go prepare the garlic.” You took two hot chili peppers and looked at Yona from the corner of your eye for a second before grabbing a third one. A smirk tugged at the corner of her lips. “See, you are going to be a Konfino after all.” she praised softly.

Cooking together made it light work, and soon, Yona was already heating up the pan with a dash of olive oil, spreading it around to cover it evenly. She placed it back upon the stove so you could take it, and she threw in half of the vegetable mix of what you had chopped up alongside half of the garlic.

Within mere seconds, the kitchen was filled with the delicious scent of grilling veggies, enriched by the many flavours mixed in. You shuffled a spatula around the frying pan to keep the food from burning, and after a while, Yona tossed in the rest of the garlic as well as a can of chopped tomatoes in sauce.

Stirring it through, you watched as she took a bunch of herbs, sprinkling them into the pan with generous amounts. “Cumin,” she said, “Salt, pepper, some sweet paprika.”

“Got it.” you said, “And what else?”

Yona smiled at you before reaching into one of the kitchen cabinets. “The secret ingredient is… A dash of this .”

She showed you a tiny glass jar on which was scribbled the date on which it had been made.

“My homemade baharat . I should teach you to make it someday. It will change your Shakshuka game for the rest of your life!”

You nodded, smiling. “I’d love to learn from you.”

“Good.” she replied, tapping a small amount of the mixture into the pan. “Now stir thoroughly.”

Yona was a good teacher - not that you were a terrible student - in just twenty minutes, a steaming pan of shakshuka was nearly ready to be served.

“Now for the eggs. Make a small hole into the Shakshuka with the spatula and I will drop them in.”

She cracked twelve eggs into the sauce. “Now we just let them poach for a bit and it will be perfect.”

“(Y/n)...” you suddenly heard Eitan’s voice from the threshold and you turned around to find him smiling with a twinkle in his eye reserved only for you. “You’re making Shakshu-Konfino.” he softly mused.

“I am.” you replied, approaching him, your hands starting to undo your apron. “After all, I’m going to be a Konfino.”

His smile grew and he reached for your cheek to tuck some hair behind your ear “At least one of my boys is settling down.” Yizhar said with feigned exaggeration, hoisting himself out of his chair before walking to the kitchen.

“Meyron is married.” Eti commented, but Yizhar let out a scoff.

“Yes, with some woman from America who we have never met, even after all these years. We never would’ve known it either if it weren’t for Danny and you telling us.”

“Well,” Yona breathed with a smile, “At least we will have grandchildren living close to home this time!”

“And I will be able to make them Shakshu-Konfino.” you said with a wide grin, and Eti opened his mouth to reply when the front door opened and Danny announced his arrival.

“I’m home!” the cop exclaimed, “What is that wonderful smell?”

He placed his hands on his hips as he joined the little gathering on the kitchen’s threshold.

“Hey there Danny!” Yona greeted happily, pushing herself through the small gap in between you and Eitan to kiss her middle child on the cheeks.

“How was work today?” “Busy as always, mom.” he started to explain, and you retreated into the kitchen to see how the eggs were doing, Eitan following you suit.

“That smells really good.” Eitan told you, wrapping his arms around you from behind before kissing the top of your head lovingly. “And the Shakshuka, too.”

A blush spread over your cheeks and you let out a light laugh. “Oh, stop that.”

“I keep wondering why I’ve ever deserved you. I’m so lucky to have you.”

Your heart climbed into your throat and you smiled, tearing your eyes away from the eggs in order to look at him.

“Well,” you began, “I think I’m the lucky one to have you. ”

“(Y/n), don’t-” “No, Eti, really.” He showed you a boyish smile and you cherished it, for it wasn’t every day that you made him blush like a teenager with his head in the clouds. Still, whenever he was with you, he certainly felt light-headed and all the worries in the world seemed to fade away.

“I can’t wait to marry you.” he murmured. “Me neither.” was your response before standing on your tip-toes to press your lips to his. He cradled his fingers around your face and tilted up your head, and you allowed his mouth to claim yours, his tongue just slipping over your bottom lip, requesting entrance.

“Is that Shakshuka?” Danny announced his approach and Eitan pulled back right away, giving you an apologetic look. You shrugged - it wasn’t like he could help it.

“ Shalom Eti, Shalom (Y/n).”

“Good to see you, Danny.” you greeted him, kissing his cheeks before he turned to your fiancé in order to give him a hug.

“Been a while.” he commented. “Too long,” Eti added, ruffling his older brother’s hair, which made for a funny scene - after all, Eitan stood several heads above Danny.

A head of brown curls popped around the corner. “Boys, why don’t you lay the table?”

Yona ushered her sons out of the kitchen and walked towards you to look upon the eggs. “Perfect.”

Within a minute, the table was laid and it was time to start eating. Carefully, you carried the frying pan to the dinner table.

“That looks delicious, (Y/n)!” Yizhar praised, shifting in his seat.

You placed it in the middle and sat down next to Eitan, his hand immediately resting on your thigh, lovingly so, with a tinge of possessiveness. He had every right to do so, and it warmed your skin through your trousers.

“Thank you,” you told Yizhar, “I learned from the best.” Yona gleamed with joy. “Let’s see if it tastes as good as we know it.” Danny jested, reaching over to the pan to dip some bread into the mixture. The poached eggs were perfectly runny and pride filled your chest.

In pleasant silence, you all ate from the dish for a while before Yizhar spoke up. “(Y/n),” he began, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “For many years, Yona has made me the most delicious Shakshuka in all of Israel. And I’ve made it for her in return, which she always loves…”

“ Almost always, Yizhar.” she corrected, and for a second, a rare smile spread over his lips.

“Which she almost always loves,” he resumed, “And I still believe that there is no Shakshuka better than Shakshu-Konfino in this world… This… ”

He pointed at the food on his plate, nodding. “ This is Shakshu-Konfino. You are a true Konfino, (Y/n), and I can taste it in every bite.”

“Look at that, (Y/n).” Danny spoke, amusement lingering in his voice “Our father is becoming sappy because of you. His age is making him soft!”

“Oh, shut up Danny!” Yizhar exclaimed over the laugh the rest of you let out.

Eitan leaned down, pressing a kiss onto your temple. “I’m proud of you, baby.” You smiled contently, leaning into his touch.

Looking out over the table, you looked with fond eyes upon the people you could call family in all ways but by law - and you soon would be able to do so.

You wouldn’t change it for the world.

Never before had you felt more at home than in that very moment.

#hashoter hatov #eitan konfino #danny konfino

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justkimberley · 5 years ago

Text

On Time is Late

Word Count: 2642

Sequel to You’re Not Jonah

Summary: Cyrus and TJ go on the date that Cyrus owes TJ for jumping on his back at the airport. They find out they have a lot more in common than they thought. Cyrus can't help but share the good news with his friends.

Ao3 Link: x

Cyrus had been staring at himself in the mirror for ten minutes, trying to figure out what it was that didn’t look quite right about him. He had his coffee date with TJ today, the one that he owed TJ for jumping on his back at the airport (he thought TJ was Jonah, okay? He was still embarrassed about it), and he wanted to look perfect. His shirt was buttoned up properly, his jeans weren’t the ones that were too short, nothing was stained, and his hair looked like it always did, so he really couldn’t figure out what was wrong.

Cyrus was startled out of his contemplative daze by the sound of his phone ringing. He dashed to his bed to pick it up, relieved when he saw that Buffy was the one calling him.

“Hey Cyrus, you ready for your date with Mr. ‘so strong with pretty eyes’?” she asked, mocking him for the way he had talked about TJ at Jonah’s welcome home party a couple nights ago. Cyrus felt himself turn red.

“Hey, don’t hold that over me… and if you ever meet him please don’t tell him I said that!” Cyrus rushed out quickly, eyes widening as he remembered that TJ and Buffy had known of each other in high school, “I wasn’t… I didn’t have all my faculties with me when I said that okay?”

“Cyrus, the only thing that would have been messing with your ‘faculties’ would have been the enormous amounts of sugar that you had to stay awake. Face it, you wanted us to know how cute you thought TJ was,” Buffy said teasingly.

Cyrus bit his lip, “Okay, fine. But seriously, please don’t tell him!”

Buffy let out a soft laugh, “Yeah, yeah. Okay, I won’t tell him. You still haven’t answered my question yet, are you ready for your date?”

Cyrus looked at himself in the mirror again, “I think so… but I keep feeling like I’m missing something, or like something looks wrong. Here, I’ll send you a picture, tell me what I’m missing,” Cyrus quickly snapped a picture and sent it to Buffy.

He heard the sound of the vibration as Buffy got his text before she started quietly chuckling, “Cyrus, you forgot to put on your watch, and possibly your glasses, but I can’t tell if you’re wearing your contacts or not in this picture,” she said fondly. Cyrus could almost see her shaking her head in his mind.

“Oh! Okay! Yes, you’re right, that is what I’m forgetting, thank you so much! This is why you’re the best,” Cyrus kept babbling praise to Buffy over speakerphone as he rushed around his room stuffing his glasses on his face and carefully strapping his watch on. He looked at himself in the mirror again, “Oh thank goodness… I look right now!” he mumbled to himself, forgetting that Buffy was there for a brief moment before hearing her cackling over the speaker, “Forget I said that,” he said quickly, turning red as her laughter rang throughout the room.

Buffy took a deep breath, calming herself, “Cyrus, I’m sure you look great. Now, you better get going soon, or you’re going to be late!” she said, making Cyrus glance at his watch to find out that she was correct.

“Thank you so much Buffy, you’re the best. I’ll talk to all of you later and let you know how the date went. Okay, bye, love you!” he said, grabbing his phone and rushing out his door and down the stairs. He barely heard the ‘bye, love you too,’ in response from her as he ran out the front door to his car, hopping in before he realized he had left his wallet inside. Quietly cursing himself, he ran back in to get it before finally leaving on the way to the coffee shop.

____________

TJ had made extra sure to get to the coffee shop on time. He had gotten Siri to read the text with the time to him like ten times to make sure he got the time right and he had set like twenty alarms. He had only barely gotten to know Cyrus at the airport and through their text conversations, but he already knew that he really liked Cyrus, and he really didn’t want to mess this up.

As it turned out, TJ got there early, which was almost as bad for his nerves as being late. Logically, he knew that Cyrus wouldn’t be there for at least another fifteen minutes, but his brain would not stop telling him that Cyrus didn’t actually like him and that he was going to get stood up. TJ decided to get himself a chai tea latte to calm himself down while he waited, mindlessly scrolling through his InstaPic feed to pass the time and distract himself. As the time for their date drew nearer, TJ started flinching and looking up at the door every time it opened, instinctively searching for Cyrus. Finally, five minutes before the time their date was supposed to start, the door blew open and, with the warm air from outside, came Cyrus.

____________

Cyrus rushed through the door five minutes before their date was supposed to start, feeling anxious about being late (okay he wasn’t late, but he always liked to be at least ten minutes early for things, so it felt late), he quickly scanned the café, looking for a place to sit down when he saw TJ, sitting at a table for two, already looking at him with pink cheeks and wide eyes. Cyrus smiled excitedly at TJ and made his way towards him, giving a little wave as he moved through the tables. TJ smiled and waved back at Cyrus, looking a little dazed. Cyrus finally reached the table and pulled the chair back, dropping haphazardly into his seat before looking at TJ, “Hi!” he said excitedly, still smiling wide.

TJ seemed to snap out of whatever daze he had been in, eyes suddenly focusing on Cyrus, “Hi! How are you on this fine day?” TJ asked, grinning.

“You know, it started off pretty good, but it’s better, now that I’m here with you,” Cyrus flirted (look, just because Cyrus didn’t have a lot of experience being flirty didn’t mean he couldn’t be). TJ’s cheeks turned red again and he smiled shyly, looking down at his hands. Cyrus followed his gaze down and realized that TJ was already holding a drink in his hands, “Wait! You already bought yourself a drink? I’m supposed to be the one buying you a drink! That was the whole premise for this date! I buy you a drink to make up for jumping on your back,” Cyrus jokingly reminds TJ.

TJ laughed at Cyrus’ joke, “Sorry Cyrus,” he said smiling, only looking slightly remorseful. Cyrus was reminded of how much he loved the way TJ said his name, “But, if it makes you feel any better, you can buy me my next drink, this ones all done now anyway,” he said, shaking the empty cup to prove it.

Cyrus let out a dramatic sigh, “Fine, I suppose that will work. How long have you been here anyway for you to have finished a hot drink already… actually wait, it’s summer, why did you order a hot drink in the first place?” Cyrus asked.

TJ blushed at Cyrus’ questions, “It’s kind of embarrassing,” TJ said, rubbing the back of his head.

Cyrus laughed at that, “TJ,” Cyrus looked at him with a deadpan expression, “We literally met because I jumped on you. I don’t think it can get more embarrassing than that,” he finished giving TJ a pointed look.

TJ looked down before taking a deep breath, “I’ve been here for about twenty minutes, and I ordered a chai tea latte to calm myself down because I was really nervous that you wouldn’t come, and I know we only just met but I really like you,” he rushed out, staring at the table.

Cyrus put his hand on TJ’s and watched as TJ looked up at him through his eye lashes, “I really like you too. I’m glad that this worked out,” Cyrus said sincerely, looking into TJ’s beautiful green eyes, “And I’m also glad that we have the same kind of policy around when to show up for things. I felt like I was late being five minutes early!” Cyrus added, hearing TJ start laughing and joining in.

“Well, you know what they say,” TJ said, grinning widely, “Early is on time, on time is late, and late means you’re fired!”

Cyrus joined him, giggling, “So, now that we’ve cleared all that up, I’ve realised that I still haven’t ordered anything, and I’m starting to get thirsty. So, what can I get for you, seeing as I’m supposed to be the one paying for this date,” he said, standing up and looking at TJ.

“I would like… a vanilla iced coffee and a blueberry macadamia nut muffin,” TJ said determinedly.

“It would be my pleasure,” Cyrus replied in a terrible British accent before making his way up to the counter and placing their order, hearing TJ chuckle as he walked away.

____________

The ice had long since melted in their drinks and all of the crumbs from their muffins had been cleaned up, but they were still talking and getting to know each other. It was fun to find out how intertwined their lives really were, without even knowing each other. They discovered that they had been in the same band in elementary school (Cyrus had played flute while TJ was in percussion), obviously they had both seen Buffy play basketball, TJ used to work for Bowie at the Red Rooster and, the craziest coincidence of all, they had gone to the same playschool, but Cyrus had been in the morning program while TJ had been in the afternoon. They had been so close to knowing each other on so many occasions.

Eventually they stopped reminiscing the past and started to talk about what they were doing now. TJ had spent his last year at the University of New Mexico in Albuquerque on a basketball scholarship while studying early childhood development. Cyrus had spent his last year at Columbia University in New York studying psychology.

“Wow, psychology? That must be interesting. What got you started in that?” TJ asked genuinely, looking impressed.

Cyrus snorted, causing TJ to look at him with confusion, “I have four psychiatrist parents,” Cyrus stated with a deadpan expression on his face. TJ’s eyes widened, a bewildered expression replacing his confusion, “My mom and dad were both psychiatrists, then they got divorced and married to new psychiatrists. Well… actually, Todd’s a lifestyle coach, but potato potahto,” Cyrus rambled out. He watched as TJ tried to figure out what to say to that, very used to the shock that often followed him telling people about his parents.

“Wow, so… your parents really have a type huh?” TJ asked, eyes glittering with mirth.

Cyrus chuckled, “Yeah… but, as for it being interesting…” Cyrus started and leaned close to TJ, “I actually hate it so much. I’m so bored all the time. I’m actually transferring to the University of Utah in the fall to study film. I just… haven’t told my parents yet,” Cyrus finished, restoring the space between him and TJ again.

TJ’s face lit up with a large grin, “I’m transferring to the U of U this fall too! I loved studying in New Mexico, don’t get me wrong, but I realized that I wanted to be an elementary school teacher, and I like the program in Utah better. I can’t believe it, we’re going to be at the same school in the fall!” TJ said excitedly.

Cyrus felt a grin spread widely over his face, “It will be nice having someone I know there,” he said, tapping his hand on TJ’s excitedly.

TJ’s face suddenly flashed a nervous look, biting his lip as he turned his hand up to grab Cyrus’, “And… if we’re both there,” he started glancing towards Cyrus before looking down at their hands again, “We can continue seeing each other like this? Because we don’t have to worry about the whole… long distance thing?” TJ asked, looking nervously into Cyrus’ eyes.

Cyrus looked at TJ and smiled widely, “That sounds perfect to me!” he said, TJ let out a sigh of relief and relaxed his shoulders, “And… I know that it’s kind of cheesy, or lame, to say this but… I already feel like I’ve known you forever. Even though it’s just been one official date. I’d really like to see where this goes, so I’m glad we don’t have to put a time limit on anything yet,”

TJ looked at Cyrus with a soft smile, “I feel the same way too,”

Cyrus returned the smile before launching into another story about his crazy childhood, triggered by the sight of a lady running from a bee outside the window behind TJ.

____________

Cyrus burst into Buffy’s house, stopping briefly to say hello to Mr. and Mrs. Driscoll before heading straight to the basement where Buffy, Marty, Jonah, and Andi were already congregated, having an intense game of Mario Kart (Andi was actually the best out of all of the people playing, much to Buffy and Marty’s annoyance). Cyrus quietly sat on the couch and waited for them to notice him until the race finished, Andi pulling into first with Buffy following milliseconds behind in second (Marty pulled in next at third and Jonah was the last, in seventh).

Cyrus sat quietly, practically vibrating excitedly as he waited for them to notice him. Buffy turned to Andi, about to complain, when she saw Cyrus and her eyes lit up, “Cyrus! How was your date?” she asked in a singsong voice.

Cyrus watched as all his friends turned to face him, matching excited expressions taking over their faces, “Well…” Cyrus started slowly, enjoying having all of the attention for once, and making his friends squirm a little, “It was so good. We had so much fun. He’s so pretty and nice and he likes me just as much as I like him and he’s cheesy like me and just ahhh. It was so good,” he rambled out, smiling widely.

“I’m so happy for you dude,” Jonah said, smiling at him and patting him on the shoulder, “Just putting it out there, I was the first person to call it, you guys are going to get married,” he finished smugly, unaware of Cyrus gaping like a fish beside him.

“Uh- I- Jonah!” Cyrus spluttered, feeling his cheeks heat up, “We’ve only been on one date, you can’t say that!” he said, pushing Jonah lightly.

“I know what I saw,” Jonah shrugged, looking much too happy with himself.

Marty and Buffy grinned at each other conspirationally, “I don’t know Cyrus, with how much you already like him, I think you’ll even be able to make long distance work in the fall,” Buffy said, taking way too much joy from his flustered state.

Cyrus blushed, “Well, actually… we wouldn’t be long distance in the fall because he transferred to the University of Utah too,” Cyrus mumbled out.

Cyrus watched as Andi’s eyes popped out of her head, “The Universe!” she said, imitating Bowie.

“The Universe!” they all repeated, giggling at everyone’s different Bowie impressions.

“But seriously Cy, I’m so happy for you, we’re so happy for you,” Andi added sincerely, the others nodding along.

Cyrus smiled to himself, “I’m happy for me too,” he said, blushing down at his lap.

And even though the following ‘awwww’s’ and dog pile of friends on top of him were a little embarrassing (and squishy), it was worth it, because he was happy. Happier than he had been in a long time.

Notes:

Hi, how are ya? I’m back and not dead yet. I had a super busy summer, and 2nd year is kind of kicking my butt, but I still have a whole bunch of fic ideas I want to post so, keep an eye out for that. Please reblog to share, I hope you liked it!

#tyrus #andi mack #mywriting #fanfic #tj kippen #cyrus goodman #tyrus fanfic #fluff #mypost #coffee shop date

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