domestic life with husband!gyro zeppeli ꒰ ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ
an extract of your life together after the steel ball run
cw: fluff, hurt/comfort
husband!gyro zeppeli who asked for your hand the same day you two finished the race, after four months traveling he was sure that he wanted to spend the rest of his life by your side. You said yes, those four months together were too intense to leave him.
husband!gyro zeppeli who buys a big house by the coast of Italy all to yourselves, the money of the race (at that time) was enough to live a calm life without any worries until the day of your death, so neither of you had to worry about anything else than each other. The wedding was something small and intimate, and after that, you started your life as a married couple.
husband!gyro zeppeli who wakes up before sunrise to take care of the garden where you planted some tomatoes and strawberries together, harvesting a few of them for breakfast. After doing that, he goes back into bed to cuddle with you while you're still asleep, taking his time to admire your calm features and soft breathing.
husband!gyro zeppeli who pretends to be asleep when you wake up, yawning and stretching like he hasn't been admiring you for the past hour. He takes you in his big arms, placing you right on top of him, kissing your face repetitive times even after you complain.
husband!gyro zeppeli who makes breakfast with you, humming an old melody he can't name while he heats up some water for coffee and you cut the tomatoes. He takes your hand and spins you, wrapping his arm around your waist and sitting you on the counter while he feeds you bites of your own toast.
husband!gyro zeppeli who takes a huge umbrella and some towels and goes to the beach with you. That's how you spend your mornings, bathing and tanning in the warm Italian sun, with Gyro spending most of the time in the water. You know better than accompany him, because if you put a feet in the cold water, he's already lifting you and taking you deeper so he can throw you around while he giggles.
husband!gyro zeppeli who gets tanned easily, his skin turns a soft caramel color just after two weeks of going to the beach.
husband!gyro zeppeli who also knows how to sit beside you in the towels, napping quietly or talking in whispers while you tan. He would love to cuddle in the sand, but last time that happened, he had your hand print in your back all summer.
husband!gyro zeppeli who, when you had enough beach, takes you back to your home, sharing a shower together where you wash each other's bodies. He has so much care of your curls, detangling them and applying shampoo exactly how you taught him. You're as careful as him even thought he doesn't really care and somehow always has the most luscious and shiny hair ever.
husband!gyro zeppeli who cooks for you, usually pasta. You both know at some point of your lives you'll have to learn how to cook something else, but you don't even care for that at the moment.
husband!gyro zeppeli who keeps you in his lap while you eat together with a glass of wine, once again feeding each other from the same plate because why bother with different things when you can just share?
husband!gyro zeppeli who tried ditching his job when he came back, he tried talking to his father, saying that he cannot handle that labor and can't find himself confessing his job to you. He can't imagine the look on your face when you realize that your husband is an executioner. But his father insists that it's his duty, that his blood dictates his job and that when his father dies, there has to be someone to take his place.
husband!gyro zeppeli who cries that night in your chest, leaving you confused about his feelings. His shoulders shake as he holds you tighter, you run your fingers through his golden hair, whispering soft questions, but he just buries his face deeper against you, breathing heavy and uneven.
husband!gyro zeppeli who finally pulls back after what feels like forever, his blue eyes all red and glassy under the moonlight coming through the window. He confesses everything right there, voice cracking as the words tumble out. How his family has this duty, how he is supposed to be an executioner, carrying out sentences that make his stomach turn every single time. He keeps repeating that he doesn't like it, that he hates it, that the blood and the finality of it all haunt him even when he is with you in your peaceful little house by the sea.
husband!gyro zeppeli who looks so terrified while he speaks, thinking every word is a risk that could make you pack your things and run. His hands tremble as they cup your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks, memorizing you in case this is the last time. He says he tried to leave it all behind after the race, tried to build this life with you without the shadow of his last name hanging over everything, but his father keeps pulling him back.
husband!gyro zeppeli who breaks down harder when he finishes talking, fresh tears spilling down as he waits for your reaction. He whispers sorry over and over, voice thick with fear that you will see him differently now, that the man who spins you in the kitchen and throws you in the waves could never be loved by someone who knows the truth.
husband!gyro zeppeli who feels your arms wrap around him instead as you tell him that it's okay. You still love him, all of him, you kiss his forehead, his wet cheeks, promising that his job does not define the husband who loves you so openly every single day.
husband!gyro zeppeli who clings to you after that, crying out the rest of his pain while you hold him close. Your words sink into him, easing the knot in his chest until his breathing evens out against your skin. He falls asleep like that, exhausted but lighter, with your fingers still tracing soothing patterns on his back.
husband!gyro zeppeli who wakes up the next morning to you suggesting you both talk to his dad together. His eyes go wide at first, surprised and a little scared, but then he nods, pulling you into his lap right there in bed. He kisses you slow, murmuring that he doesn't know what he did to deserve someone like you.
husband!gyro zeppeli who somehow manages to stand up to his father with you by his side, ditching his job forever and not caring about what he has to say. His father is a little surprised that this is the first time he's heard about his wife.
husband!gyro zeppeli who's now free for all the burden, going back to focusing all the attention on you.
husband!gyro zeppeli and you, who are still in touch with Johnny after the race. You send letters to him ever month, telling him little updates of your quiet life, urging him to come visit you some time.
husband!gyro zeppeli who makes years pass like weeks. Even when wrinkles start to form next to your eyes, he still looks at you like the moment you punched his face in the first stage of the race (the moment that he says he fell in love with you). Even after you start forming a family, heavily pregnant with your first child, he was the most loving husband ever. When that little kid runs around the house, giggling just like him, he runs behind her trying to catch her.
husband!gyro zeppeli who, eventually leaves before you when you're old enough to expect it. Your already married daughter organizes the funeral, your granddaughter cries even more than you. And of course you feel sad, he was the love of your life, the only one, actually. But you have done so much together, all your memories were shared with him. He never left your side, until now, and you know it's not going to take long until you find each other again.
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gyro zeppeli taking care of your wounds after the steel ball run ꒰ ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ
cw: physical intimacy, unresolved feelings, gentlest and softest gyro ever, he took you with him to italy after the race, yearning
When Gyro suggested to come back together to his hometown after the race, you thought he was joking, you didn't expect your race partner the type to continue the friendship you created after these months, but apparently he was. He told you about his nice and big house near the sea where you could spend sometime resting together. You two deserved some rest, not only he was exhausted but you had some severe wounds yet to heal.
After being attacked by a stand, your body ended up filled with burn marks and ugly scars, mostly in your back and legs. Gyro, as the doctor he was, offered himself to help you all the time you needed.
The trip from New York to Naples was long, but you spent most of the time sleeping, nursing your wounds and playing card games, so it went pretty easily. You and Gyro enjoyed each other's company a lot, maybe too much for a man and a woman, but he was kind and even sometimes funny. He envied your strength and endurance, he wanted to see your wounds as soon as possible, but you insisted to wait until being home because it felt highly inappropriate to do it there.
Gyro was right when he told you about the beauty of his country. Crystal clear water, nice rock beaches, tasty food and good wine. The first day he made sure both of you were well fed and clean before showing you your big room right in front of his.
"Would you let me see your wounds now, please?" Gyro said, an obvious worry tone in his voice as you opened your window to let a nice breeze in.
"I'm fine, Gyro, I was able to clean them myself earlier today."
He didn't buy it. Gosh, he knew you, he knows you definitely can't reach certain places in your back and he saw you sleeping in your stomach, wincing from the pain every time you leaned your back onto something.
"I know you're tough, but those burns aren't going to heal right if you keep pretending everything's okay." He crossed his arms over his chest, leaning into your doorframe.
Your heart skipped a beat at the way he said it, soft but firm, you knew he wasn't going to back down. Both of you have been dancing a dance filled with unsaid things, laughs too loud, touches too lingering, moments too quiet. You weren't ready to talk about any of that. Neither was he, you figured.
"Fine," you muttered, your voice quieter than you meant it to be. You walked over to the edge of the big bed in your room and sat down, the mattress dipping under your weight. Your fingers trembled just a little as you grabbed the hem of your shirt. "But don't make it weird, okay?"
Gyro nodded, stepping closer without a word. He pulled up a chair from the corner and set it right behind you, close enough that you could feel the warmth coming off him. You took a deep breath and pulled your shirt up and over your head, letting it drop to the side.
The cool air hit your skin, making the scars and burns tingle. You felt exposed, your cheeks heating up as you wondered if his eyes would wander. But Gyro didn't. Not once. His gaze stayed locked on your back, serious and focused like the doctor he was.
"Alright, easy now," he said gently, his voice soothing as he leaned in. You heard him rummage through the small bag he'd brought, pulling out clean cloths and some ointment that smelled like herbs. "This might sting a bit at first, but I'll go slow. Tell me if it's too much."
His fingers brushed your shoulder first, light as a feather, just to steady you. Then he started cleaning the wounds, wiping away any lingering dirt with warm water from a basin he'd prepared. Every touch was careful, he was afraid of hurting you more than you already were.
"It's healing better than I thought. You're stronger than you give yourself credit for," he whispered, his breath against your neck. "Don't forget to breathe."
You bit your lip, trying not to wince as he dabbed at a particularly bad burn near your spine. The pain was there, sharp but fading under his hands. What hit you harder was how close he was, the way his voice wrapped around you like a promise. You wanted to turn around, to see if his eyes held the same storm you felt inside, but you stayed still. He did too, never letting his hands stray, never making you feel like anything but someone he cared about protecting.
You twitched when his hand drifted to your waist, fingers barely touching it. "Did I hurt you?" he asked immediately, lifting both of his hands from your skin.
You shook your head. "No. It tickled."
You looked over your shoulder at him, both of your huffing a laugh.
"There," Gyro murmured after what felt like forever, smoothing the last bit of ointment over your skin. "All done for now. You should rest like this a bit, let it breathe. I'll check again in the morning if you want."
He pulled back slowly, you could hear him gathering his things. When you glanced over your shoulder, his cheeks were a little flushed, but he met your eyes with that half-smile of his.
You watched as Gyro started to stand up, his chair scraping softly against the wooden floor. Your heart pounded in your chest, louder than the waves outside the window. Before you could stop yourself, you called out, your voice barely above a whisper. "Gyro… wait. Don't go yet."
He froze mid-step, turning back to you immediately. "Yeah?"
You stayed sitting there on the bed, shirt still off, arms wrapped loosely around your front to cover yourself a little. The scars on your back throbbed faintly under the ointment, but it wasn't the pain that made your throat tight.
You swallowed hard, staring down at the floor instead of meeting his gaze. "Do you… do you think someone could still love me after this? I mean, look at me. These ugly scars and burns are not going away. Who would want someone covered in all this mess?"
The words hung there, you hadn't planned to say them out loud, but they spilled out anyway, born from the fear that had been building since the attack. You felt so exposed, not just your skin but your heart too.
Gyro's breath caught in his throat. In his mind, he couldn't believe what he was hearing. The strongest woman he's ever met, one of the few people who survived the hell you went through, you were thinking that of yourself? Everything you do feels like a miracle to him, your strength and they way you smiled through pain... it had all piled up inside him until he thought he might burst from it. He craved you, scars and all, more than he had ever wanted anything
He stepped closer again, dropping back into the chair behind you. His hand hovered for a second before gently resting on your uninjured shoulder.
"Don't talk about yourself like that," he said softly, his voice rough with emotion he was trying to hold back. "Those marks? They're proof of how strong you are. How you kept going when most people would've given up. Anyone who can't see that doesn't deserve you anyway."
He paused, his thumb brushing a tiny circle on your skin without thinking. "And… yeah. Of course someone could love you. Someone already does, maybe."
The words slipped out quieter than he meant, heavy with everything unsaid. He didn't push further, didn't turn you around to face him, but he stayed right there, close enough that you could lean back into him if you wanted.
a/n: i love making gyro a victim of yearning. and this was mildly inspired by the scene between roy and riza of fmab when she shows him the marks on her back
accidentally giving boyfriend!gyro zeppeli a bob cut ꒰ ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ
cw: fluff and crack
"Look at your ends, babe." You hold up a strand of your boyfriend's hair, instead of being soft, it was all tense, defying gravity and staying completely straight.
"What about 'em?" he asks, not really paying attention to you because he's been cutting his nails for the past twenty minutes.
"They're dead."
Gyro looks down at you over his shoulder, lifting one of his eyebrows as he shakes his head. "They're not."
"When was the last time you cut your hair?" You press your lips together, knowing damn well that he hasn't cut his hair in eight months, now his blond mane is almost reaching his waist.
It took him a minute to answer you, he was really trying to remember the last time he went to the hairdresser. "I don't know."
"Exactly. Let me cut your hair."
He snorts as an answer, still concentrating on his nails.
"C'mon! I'll only take the dead parts. You'll look fresher and sexier."
Gyro turns fully toward you now, eyes narrowed. "You're bribing me with the word sexier?"
"Is it working?"
"No."
You grin and scoot until you're basically in his lap. "Please?"
He stares at you for a long second, then sighs the kind of sigh that means he’s already losing. "If you mess it up, I'm never letting you near my head again."
"Deal."
You practically bounce off the couch and drag him toward the bathroom before he can change his mind. You make him sit on the closed toilet lid while you dig through the cabinet for the scissors and a comb.
"Okay, lean forward a little."
You start combing through the long blond strands. They're thick and soft until you get to the ends, which are indeed dry and split. You take the first careful snip. Just a tiny bit. Then another. Then you notice one side is a little longer than the other, so you fix it. Then the other side needs fixing again. Then the back somehow got uneven.
"You're taking forever," Gyro mutters, eyes closed.
"Beauty takes time."
"You've been at this for twenty minutes and I still feel the same weight."
"That’s because I’m being precise."
You're panicking. Every time you try to even one section, another section looks worse. You keep chasing the length around his head, the floor is covered in blond hair, your hands are starting to sweat.
"Almost done," you lie.
You step back to check, the front is okay and the sides are… shorter. The back is shorter still. You try to blend it. You fail. You try again. You fail harder. At some point you realize you've been cutting in a weird U-shape without meaning to.
Gyro shifts. "Why is it so quiet?"
"I’m concentrating."
"You're breathing weird."
"No I'm not."
Your heart is doing something illegal in your chest. You take one more desperate pass at the sides, trying to make everything match and suddenly the length is gone. What used to brush his lower back is now barely grazing his shoulders. A bob. A very uneven, slightly triangular bob.
You freeze.
Gyro must feel the air change because he opens his eyes and tries to look at you in the mirror. "You good?"
"Yup. Super good." Your voice is two octaves higher than normal. "Finishing touches."
You set the scissors down very carefully, then you walk around in front of him, take both his hands and look him dead in the eyes.
"Promise me you won't get mad."
His brows pull together. "What?"
"You have to promise, Gyro!"
He stares at you, squinting his eyes. "I guess I promise."
"Swear on your horse."
"I'm not swearing on Valkyrie."
"Gyro!" You hit his shoulder, starting to get really nervous about this terrible outcome.
"Jesus, fine. I'll swear on Valkyrie that I won't get mad. Happy?"
You nod, still holding his hands, and slowly step aside so he can see the mirror.
There's a long, terrible pause.
Gyro's face goes through the five stages of grieving in barely six seconds. His face expression settles in pure horror, his hands slowly rise to his head, afraid of his own hair
"What… the fuck."
"Remember you promised," you pointed out, covering your mouth with your hands in embarrassment.
"What did you do."
"It was uneven so I fixed it and then it was still uneven so I fixed it again and then it kind of… kept going."
His voice cracks. "You gave me a fucking bob." He turns his head left. Then right. The movement makes the short ends swing in a way his long hair never did. His eyes go shiny. "Oh my god."
"Please, don't cry."
"I look like a mom." A single tear actually slips down his cheek. He wipes it away aggressively, still staring at his reflection without believe that it's him. "I had hair. Beautiful hair. People stopped me on the street for that hair."
"It'll grow back." You're trying your best
He turns to you, face red, eyes wet and points a trembling finger at the scissors still sitting on the sink. "You’re never touching those again. Ever. Do ya hear me?"
"Loud and clear." You nod fast and step a little closer. "You promised you wouldn't get mad."
"I'm not mad. I'm grieving." Another tear falls and he laughs once. "I look like I lost a bet."
You carefully wrap your arms around his waist, resting your cheek on his chest. "You're still hot."
"No."
"I'm serious. The jawline is really popping now."
He sniffs. "Shut up."
"And think about how fast you'll dry after showers."
"I hate you."
"You love me."
"I hate you a little." He leans his head against yours anyway, still staring at the mirror with the expression of a man who just watched his identity get chopped off in real time.
"We'll go to the hairdresser tomorrow. My treat!" You pat his chest, before taking his hand and pulling him towards the bed for the good cuddling session he deserves.
