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fulokis · 4 years ago

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Fulokis WandaVision Rewrite- Chapter 2

Wanda furrowed her brow at her brother, "This is Vision, my husband. I swear you two have met before."

Peter processed what to say, "It's all a blur, honestly probably a side effect of being dead. Hey is that a Nintendo Entertainment system?"

"You and your games." Wanda said letting the subject of her brothers death go for the moment.

"You and your sitcoms." Peter shot back from inside the fridge. Grabbing a Capri Sun he speed over to the pantry and grabbed a chocodile, before heading back to the entry way to examine Vision.

"You never told me your brother had powers too." Vision said uncomfortably stepping to the side after Peter poked his face. "Or that he had died."

"Yes well..." Wanda said trying to figure out what to say.

"It runs in the family." Peter offered up still examining Vision.

"What no it doesn't." Wanda said furrowing her brow "Since when has it run in the family?"

"I believe what your brother is trying to say Wanda, is that it has something to do with genetics, rather than chance."

"Bingo!" Peter said.

"Shhhh." Wanda scolded, "If you wake up the kids I swear I will kill you."

"Kids?" Peter asked "First I'm an Uncle?! And second you had kids with the toaster over here?"

Vision frowned and Wanda shook her head, "Just try to be quiet okay?"

Peter chuckled, "You say that as if I'm not capable of being quiet."

"Vis can I talk to you for a minute?" Wanda asked half dragging the sinth into the kitchen.

"Are you okay Wanda?"

"Yeah yeah I'm fine why wouldn't I be?"

"Wanda you said I had met your brother, and that your brother had died. Neither of which I was aware of until now."

"Ohh I see. Yeah you two have met, it was quick. Literally he just ran past you. And about the whole death thing don't listen to him he's being dramatic."

"Wanda I find generally that people aren't dramatic about death." Vision said with visible confusion.

"He..." Wanda started, "We were six, and at school and well he choked on a potato because he was eating too fast. He was quiet at school I'm not sure why, but um the teacher wouldn't listen to me until he passed out. And the teacher went over to check on him... and his heart had stoped. The teacher started to try and revive him, and I don't know why but I went over to him and held his hand through it. He's fine but it left both of us shaken up."

"Oh I see." Vision said "Wanda do humans often claim premature death when they have no pulse?"

"Sometimes yes." Wanda said. "Look Pietro is probably going to need to sleep on the couch, he lives pretty far from here."

"Don't worry darling your family is my family." Vision said embracing Wanda and giving her a kiss on the forehead.

"You know this house reminds me of home!" Peter shouted from the living room.

Wanda sighed looking up at Vision. "I suppose I should go talk to him."

Vision smiled "Ill leave you two to catch up." He said before moving out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

Wanda walked over to the living room and sat down in the chair next to the couch. "So..."

Peter smiled "Do you still have that little thing mom gave you? The one with the other half that she game to me?"

Wanda smiled and laughed slightly, "Yeah I do. I'm assuming you lost yours?"

"Nah, it's in a safe place." Peter said. "At least I think, honestly don't remember exactly where I put it."

"Of course you don't. Although I'm sure you remember where you put moms special rock."

"In the cookie jar." Peter said smiling at the idea "No robber was ever going to look in that ugly old thing."

"Ugly? Dad would kill you if he ever heard you say that." Peter froze for a second, he knew he had something important to tell someone or say or something. Something about his father. "Pietro?"

"Sorry I guess I just haven't thought about them in a while." Peter said watching as Wanda got up.

"I'll make some hot chocolate." She said humming to herself a familiar tune.

"Thanks." Peter said standing up and walking into the kitchen to throw away his trash. "It's nice here. This town, your home, your family."

"Yeah I lucked out." Wanda said staring into the microwave.

"Yeah you did. I'm actually a little surprised."

"How so?"

"Well you settled down, you have a family. You don't have to worry about the world. You always wanted it, but I knew that you were terrified you wouldn't get it."

"Is it a bad thing?"

"No." Peter shook his head "No not at all. I think mom and dad would both be proud of you. They would've loved to meet your kids."

"Pietro you haven't even met my kids."

"Aw come on sis, you worried I won't like them?"

"No I'm worried they won't like you. There's a difference."

"Eh they'll like their old uncle P." Peter said and Wanda laughed. "But I'm being serious mom and dad would've loved them."

"Here." Wanda said handing Peter the hot chocolate mug to him.

Peter took a sip "You added a bit of cinnamon."

"Yeah just the way mom liked it." Wanda said, "Of course I'm not good with a stove in the way she was."

"It still tastes good." Peter said taking another sip, "So Uh how did you and toaster meet?"

"You really don't remember?" Wanda asked.

"Like I said it's a blur, although it's probably for the best."

"Yeah... for the best." Wanda said.

"I know that look." Peter said. "You're going to go watch a sitcom aren't you?"

"Maybe." Wanda replied setting the mug of hot chocolate she had made for herself on a coaster in the living room.

Peter followed her out to the living room walking over to the bookshelf in the corner. On the bookshelf sat a lonely chess piece. Peter picked up the black queen, running a finger along the piece. He stopped, he could remember something about the piece in his hand.

"She's lucky you know." Wanda said.

"What?" Peter asked sure for a second he heard a mans voice saying the words.

"She's lucky." Wanda said walking over, "Dad tried to teach you but you never had the patience."

"How is she lucky?" Peter asked.

"She's like us, unusual. We have powers like she does, and yet she's still not the most powerful piece on the board. She's always treated like she's second best, so she's lucky for anyone who is like her." Wanda explained.

Peter took a sharp breath, a memory came back to him almost as if he was reliving it. Through the fog in his mind he could remember. Him lounging on a couch Ororo sitting curled up in the sun on the other side of the couch reading a book. On an adjacent couch Jean was leaning on Scott having a hushed conversation with him. Jubilee and Kurt were sitting on the floor looking at a game of Life spread at their feet.

Peter had headphones in, but he didn't have any music playing. He knew that everyone else just figured he did and they let him be to take his 'nap'.

"Check." Charles said.

"Check mate." Erik replied placing a piece down.

"No it's not." Charles replied.

"Yes it is."

Charles sat and examined the board for a second "Fine you win this one my friend."

"You seem distracted today Charles."

"Distracted me? Never."

"Gah!" Kurt yelled in surprise accidentally teleporting into the table the two older mutants were using for their chess game. Peter startled at the loud noise and looked down to see a chess piece roll towards the couch. "Sorry Professor."

"Not to worry Kurt, we were done anyway." Charles said, "What startled you?"

Kurt started to explain to the professor what had happened. Peter tuned out the conversation sitting up and stretching. He bent down and picked up the piece that had rolled near the couch.

"She's lucky you know." Erik said watching the young mutant as he got up from the couch.

Peter nearly froze, he couldn't believe that Erik was talking to him. "What do you mean?"

"She's like us, powerful but always treated beneath those who have not evolved to a higher purpose. Always serving in the shadows of the less evolved."

Peter looked at the man slightly confused, "Has she brought you any luck?"

"A couple times yes." Erik replied, "She brought me family when I needed it."

"Oh." Peter replied, "Uh here." He said reaching out to give it to the man.

"Keep it." Erik said, nodding to Peters leg "You look like you could use a little luck."

"Heh luck, I don't need it." Peter said, "After all I did break you out of the pentagon without it. The legs just a little fluke that's all."

"Peter that's not something you need to boast about." Charles said handing Erik a a couple of renegade chess pieces.

Erik took the pieces from Charles and put them back with his set. Peter attempted to give the queen back to Erik. "Keep it, Ill get it back from you the next time I visit."

"Next Tuesday then?" Charles asked.

"Next Tuesday." Erik confirmed walking out of the room.

Peter waited until the man was out of earshot, "Why wouldn't he take it?" Peter asked Charles.

"Erik is a mystery that few can solve Peter."

"Haven't you professor?" Peter asked.

"Oh believe me I've tried." Charles said. "Best not to worry about it."

Peter looked down at the chess piece in his hand, he knew he was going to keep it close for the weekend. He had to keep it safe, if not for him but his father.

"Pietro?" Peter heard through his thoughts.

"What?" He asked still holding the chess piece.

"Are you okay?" Wanda asked touching his shoulder.

"Yeah, I just miss them ya know." Peter said mulling over the memory that he just seemingly formed.

Wanda nodded and gave him a hug. Peter went to place the queen back on the shelf but Wanda stopped him closing his hand around it. "Keep it, you could use some luck."

Peter wanted to protest but Wanda had already wandered off heading up the stairs. Peter walked over and sat down on the couch turning the piece over in his hands. Something wasn't right, or at least something didn't feel right. Peter sighed knowing he would have to mull over his thoughts later. Setting both his mug and the queen on the table he lie down on the couch and closed his eyes attempting to get some sleep.

The dreams he had were unsettling. He'd dreamt many times of death and dying, and yet these felt too real. Peter felt the pain, pain that shouldn't have been there. He'd been shot, he knew that in fact he was sure of that. And yet in his dream he nearly had his skull crushed while something pulled him towards the ground. What was even more unsettling was the man from his memory seemed to be the one trying to kill him.

Peter startled awake the last image of a man with a helmet, staring directly at him. He looked around the room to get his bearings. Wanda's husband sat in the chair next to the couch, reading the mornings newspaper. Peter turned his head slightly to read the headline on the paper.

"Restless night?" Vision asked.

"What?" Peter asked, "Oh yeah. Nightmares. Come to think of it do you get them?"

"Nightmares?" Vision pondered, "No I don't think so. Although I do get some unsavory images occasionally during my rest period."

Peter sat up, "Must be simple to be a machine. No reason to have fake memories."

"My memory has fallacies, although much less so than a human." Vision said paying much more attention to his newspaper than Peter.

"Mutant." Peter mumbled under his breath out of habit.

"What was that?" Vision asked.

"What? Nothing. I didn't say anything. It's you. You must be hearing things."

"I process audio input." Vision corrected looking up from his paper at the ten year old coming down the stairs. "Billy! Come say hello to your uncle Pietro."

Peter looked at the kid, "Uncle P is fine."

Billy walked down the stairs slowly and came to sit on the opposite side of the couch closer to his father, clutching closer to the blanket he'd wrapped around himself. "He takes after Wanda."

Peter smiled and nodded at Vision, "Hey."

"Mom said you were very far away." Billy said.

"Peter smiled mischievously, "She wasn't wrong about me being far away, I mean I do live pretty far away..."

"Woah your hair is cool!" A kid shouted running down the stairs.

"Hey, Tommy what have we told you about running in the house?" Vision reprimanded.

The boy ignored his father and jumped on the couch right next to Peter "Can I touch it?"

Peter made a weird face, "I guess." He replied.

"Aww I thought it would feel cool too." Tommy said, "Who are you? Why are you here? Are you a secret agent?"

"That's Uncle P Tommy." Billy said.

"Woah!" Tommy yelled.

"Tommy what have we told you about yelling!" Wanda said coming down the stairs.

"But mom..."

"Listen to your mother kid." Peter said.

"See your Uncle knows what he's talking about."

"Do you listen to her Uncle P?" Billy asked.

Peter smiled and got up and sped towards Wanda, letting her stop him with her magic much to her resignation. "Nope." Peter said with a grin watching as the kids faces lit up with surprise. Wanda gave him a playful slap on the shoulder at his response, "But you should listen to her, she gives some good advice."

"That's better." Wanda said as the phone rang. Wanda sighed and picked it up, "Hello?... oh no...hold on... vis can you handle it?" Wanda asked nodding at the fact that Tommy had stolen his brothers blanket and started using it as a cape. "... what were you saying?... is there anything I can do?... are you sure?... okay feel better."

"What is it?" Peter asked.

"Vis Hon, Agnes can't babysit for us, she's come down with the flu."

"Rats, if only there were someone we could get to watch the kids." Vision said winking towards Peter.

"No, I am not letting..." Wanda started.

"Awwww." Billy said, "But mom I want to hang out with Uncle P."

"Please!?" Tommy asked.

Wanda frowned, "Oh I don't know. Vision what do you think?"

"I think that's an excellent idea. The kids get to hang out with their Uncle, you and I get to spend some time to ourselves. And Agnes doesn't have to worry too much about the kids. It's a Win-Win-Win situation dear."

"I'm still not sure." Wanda said.

"Don't sweat it Sis, nothing I can't handle." Peter said showing off his muddles for the twins.

"Please mom please??" Both boys pleaded.

Wanda sighed "Alright fine, but only because I'm outvoted."

"Yay!" Both twins shouted.

"But and this is a big but, you have to behave yourselves." Wanda said, "No T.V. After 9 and no desert after dinner you hear me?"

"Yes of course we hear you mom." Billy said, "Can we watch T.V. Until you go?"

"Yes you may." Wanda said, "Pietro can I talk to you?"

"Yeah." Peter said following his sister into the kitchen. "What's up?"

"Are you sure you're up for this?" Wanda asked watching as Vision helped the boys with the T.V.

Peter snorted, "Oh come on sis, how bad can they really be? Cause I've died and come back, not much can be worse."

"Pietro that's what I'm worried about. You sure you don't want to rest, or take it easy?"

Peter placed a hand on Wanda's shoulder "My dear sister I've never once in my life taken it easy, and there's no way in my afterlife life I'm going to take it easy either."

Wanda smiled and shook her head, "You're still awful at jokes."

"Aw come on you know I'm better at practical jokes." Peter said pulling his sister into a hug. "But my point is I'll be fine and your kids will be fine, I won't let anything happen to them I promise."

"Thank you." Wanda said, "I'll do the same for you if you ever have kids."

"I know Wanda, I know." Peter said, his mind slipping back to the memory of the chess piece and the dream he had experienced the previous night. Something was wrong here he could feel it, something about the town, about Wanda's husband, about Agnes. They felt fake in a way, almost as if they weren't meant to be there. He felt uneasy most of the time, especially as he tried to parse out what was actually real and what was fake. One thing he knew for sure, Wanda and her kids were real. And he'd be damned if he let anything happen to them.

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#quicksilver #dadneto #erik lehnsherr #charles xavier #wanda maximoff #peter maximoff #pietro maximoff #billy maximoff #tommy maximoff #the vision #agnes #xmen #x-men #ralph bohner #agatha harkness #vision #fanfic

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xiaomomowrites · 4 years ago

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zhongli, come down

Genshin Impact | TartaLi/ZhongChi

Summary: “When I’m with you, I feel happy,” his eyes are fixated on the ceiling as he speaks. Childe, on the other hand, can’t look anywhere but at him. And although he speaks of his happiness, there are deep waves of sorrow rolling off of him. Zhongli’s makeup had washed off when he took a steaming shower, leaving Tartaglia to see the dark circles under his eyes and the faint wrinkles underneath. The light in his eyes had dulled without the bold presence of his usual red eyeliner, and it seemed as though his face appeared more sunken in when the light hit him at a certain angle.

Childe’s heart pangs in his chest. Sometimes, his husband really looks his age.

Or, Zhongli and Childe visit Snezhnaya, but there’s a certain adeptus on Zhongli’s mind.

Find it on Ao3!

WARNING: this fic contains mentions of death/minor character death. Read at your own risk!

This part takes place between act V and act VI, which is still in the works~

A/N: I had meant to get this out earlier, but I live in Texas so we’ve been having sporadic power outages for the past three or four days. I had spotty connection and it was freezing in my house so this ended up a little delayed! Plus, act VI really just doesn’t wanna be written :( I want it to be perfect before I post it though, I don’t wanna give y’all mediocre Tartali food lol. But I hope you all enjoy, I’ll be adding a little message at the end if you’re interested, so stay tuned. -u.n.

Zhongli felt another full-body shiver rack through him when the wind whistled by again ruthlessly. Archaic divinity and equity aside, he wanted nothing more but to spit and curse the harsh ice beneath his feet. He had all but lost feeling in his fingers and toes as he stood still in the snow, waiting for Childe to finish grabbing them coffee. The Harbinger had offered the drink out of the kindness of his heart when he had seen how badly Zhongli was shivering, as if they hadn’t come here together before. Zhongli accepted the coffee with enthusiasm, knowing it makes Childe happy when he accepts his gifts.

He found himself at the doorstep of Snezhnaya with Childe, visiting his family for the year as they did each November. Unfortunately, November through February seemed to be the harshest that the winters got. The weather would breach zero degrees and drop past negative ten, the wind would lash furiously past parkas and scarves and mittens and kiss bare skin. And Zhongli, in all his divine beauty, would miss the warm summer nights of Liyue so much that he needed to remind himself of how much he loved his husband just to agree to get on the train with him.

Childe, his darling ginger, simply hummed alongside him and tucked Zhongli’s arm beneath his own to keep him from slipping on the ice. His time in Liyue had not shaken his immunity to the cold at all. His other hand sipped at the warm coffee encapsulated in green cardboard, humming a happy noise from the back of his throat. Even if it was a one time occurrence years ago that ended with minor bruising along the ex-Archon’s back, Childe never let him live the moment down and swore to hold onto him every second they found themselves in his hometown. Zhongli had insisted that he need not pace himself just to walk alongside an old man like him, but he had just pinched his cheeks, kissed his nose, and reminded him that he wasn’t that old.

“You’ve got that sexy rich-middle-aged-man thing going on for you. Except, all your money comes from me, and you’re actually six thousand years old,” Tartaglia had told him then, beaming up at him so brightly it made Zhongli blink.

Soon enough, Zhongli finds himself at his in-law’s residence. He takes a deep breath, preparing for the onslaught of Childe’s siblings enthusiasm, and waits for Childe to knock. The Harbinger grins at his anticipation and raps his knuckles against the comforting wood. Not even a beat later and the oak swings open, revealing Teucer, Tonia, and Anthon. They’ve all gotten so big since he last saw them, watching them grow fills the ex-Archon with pride. Zhongli finds himself smiling, squeezing Childe’s hand partially because he’s overwhelmed with joy, and also so he doesn’t slip and fall on his ass too hard when he’s tackled.

Seconds later he finds himself with an armful of red headed siblings. He stumbles, but thankfully Childe’s there to steady him upright. Zhongli squeezes his hand again in thanks.

“Mr. Zhongli!” One of them screeches in his ear, “You’re back! Do you have any presents for us?”

“Mr. Zhongli!” Another one yells, “did you bring me a new book?”

Luckily, Tartaglia’s mother begins barking at her children to reign them back inside and to ‘leave the nice man alone’, so that he has time to readjust and step inside the warmth of their cozy abode. Zhongli smiles, cheeks red and ears redder, and bows as deep as he can.

“Thank you for having me,” the honey-like voice glides against the wooden walls like it belongs there, “it is a pleasure to see you all again.”

“Oh stop,” his mother-in-law gushes, “we’ve seen you every year for years now, honey, drop the formalities!” she waves him off while pulling her own son into a bone crushing hug. “And it’s good to see you too, hun.”

“Hi mom,” Childe responds sheepishly, careful not to squeeze her too hard, lest her back start cracking again. He raises a hand to cradle the back of her head with a fondness reserved only for her. “Where’s dad?”

The question hangs above their heads heavily. A beat of silence passes before she smiles warily and squeezes her son’s cheeks. “He’s at the fireplace, Ajax.”

Childe nods, and eyes the urn sitting high above the crackling fireplace. It’s a beautiful marble urn that Tartaglia paid for in full, with a single ruby gem nestled right beside his father’s name. Even in this state, his father has the largest presence in the house. It is a presence even Zhongli can acknowledge and respect. The thought pushes Zhongli to squeeze his hand and mutter, “Go?”

Tartaglia nods, and swallows hard. Zhongli urges him forward carefully with a gloved hand against the small of his back. His mother watches him go along with sullen and somber eyes. And it is only when Childe is stationed in front of the fire, a single gloved hand covering his mouth, when Zhongli breaks the silence.

“So,” Zhongli begins, turning to his in-law. “The last time we spoke, you promised me a recipe for that delicious meal you served us last year. Were you able to hold up your end of the contract?”

The red-headed woman beams up at him and grabs at his hands. Her hands are so small, so soft and delicate, Zhongli wishes nothing more but to protect this family with his life. And well, that makes two of them.

“Of course, dear,” she says excitedly, “come with me.”

The next hour or so consisted of Zhongli patiently waiting in the kitchen while his mother-in-law bustled around, excitedly explaining the process of dough rolling, frying, meat filling, and then frying again. Zhongli watched with fascination, always one to appreciate cultures from all around the world. He hummed and nodded in confirmation every once in a while when she would turn to him, asking him if he understood, and he smiled.

Tartaglia came padding into the kitchen later, eyes slightly red and puffy, and Zhongli didn’t need to ask if something was wrong to understand what was going on. He knew all too well of his feelings of conflict toward his father in the past. Now that the man himself was gone, Zhongli could only imagine the things Childe was feeling at the moment.

Zhongli never exactly had a family to grieve, anyway. As far as he knew, all the family he had was in this very house alone.

And Xiao, the voice in his head whispered, snapping him out of his reverie. Zhongli blinked the voice away. Now was not the time.

“Talking behind my back, Xiansheng?” Childe teases, coming up behind him to snake his arms around his waist. “That’s not very husband-like of you, you know.”

“Yes, yes,” Zhongli played along, “your mother and I were just discussing how unruly you are in the morning, and how you leave wet towels on the floor after you shower. Truly a horrendous habit, Tartaglia.”

The ginger pouts over his shoulder and leans in to bite his cheek, reveling in the way Zhongli squeezes one eye shut in a faux flinch. He quickly kisses the flesh he sunk his teeth into and settles back against his husband.

“Smells good, mom.”

“It always smells good, Ajax,” she tuts, waving her spoon in his face, “what do you think of your mother, huh?”

“Why am I being attacked,” Tartaglia pouts, the end of the sentence lilting upward in a whine. Zhongli clicks his tongue at his behavior and pats his head reassuringly.

“The food will be ready soon,” he reassures, “besides, she was just telling me all about a soup that I must try my hand at next year.”

Tartaglia groans dramatically and leans all his weight against Zhongli in response.

—

Night falls, and Childe finds himself lighting the fireplace in the room they stay in upstairs, letting the flames embrace the room in an auburn glow. His siblings are tucked in and finally quiet after Zhongli’s endless stories of Liyue. His mother had turned in an hour earlier after smothering the two in kisses, and the couple had stayed in the kitchen for a bit sipping wine and conversing in the moonlight. After downing a good amount and feeling a light buzz through their systems, they called it a night and headed upstairs, pinkies linked as always.

But Zhongli was off during the entire conversation. It may have seemed like he was himself to an outsider, but Tartaglia knew better. He knew when his husband was somewhere else. He had seen it too many times before.

So later, when Zhongli finds himself sitting on their windowsill rather melancholic, watching the snow fall, Childe regards him with a careful stare. The ex-Archon eyes the way the snow falls so tenderly yet so purposefully, as if they all held a secret that even an ancient being like him didn’t understand. He shivers at the cold that seeps in through the windows and kisses his fingertips where they meet the glass, and cradles his hand back to his chest slowly.

“Zhongli,” Childe calls. The said man turns from the window, eyes bright and oddly wet. Oh, Childe knows that look. “C’mere,” he beckons. Zhongli obeys and pads over to where his husband is situated on their bed. He crawls onto the mattress next to him and slumps against the headboard, still deep in his thoughts.

The Harbinger looks at him with concern and squirms over to where Zhongli sits. He uses his chest as a pillow, wrapping his arms around a lithe waist and tucking his nose in the crook of his neck. He breathes deeply the mature scent of silk flowers and feels his heart thump happily in his chest. Childe stays quiet for a moment, and allows himself to focus on the rise and fall of his sturdy chest. Zhongli runs the length of his palm up and down Tartaglia’s side as he ponders.

Childe decides to break the silence before he falls asleep. “What’s wrong?” he asks quietly, voice barely above a whisper. Zhongli’s hand comes up to his hair and scratches at his scalp the way he knows Childe likes it.

“Nothing. I am just… thinking.” His voice trails off pensively.

“Hmm. As usual,” he hums, “what about?” Childe prods gently, knowing there’s a fifty-fifty chance his husband will indulge him.

He’s quiet for a moment. Far too quiet. Childe wonders if he should drop the subject.

“Xiao, actually,” he says suddenly. “I am thinking of Xiao.”

“Xiao,” Childe parrots, confused as to why the legendary adeptus lingers in his beloved’s head at a time like this.

Zhongli sighs, and his shoulders hunch forward, eyebrows furrowing in mild discomfort. “Whenever I am with you, I cannot help but think of him.”

Childe’s eyebrows shoot up to his forehead. “Elaborate?” He’s only mildly offended, but he jests nonetheless in an attempt to lighten the atmosphere.

Zhongli chuckles and pushes a thumb between Childe’s frown. “Not like that. You know there’s no one in my heart except you. Besides, he’s like… family to me. I simply care deeply for his well being.”

Childe offers a wry smile. He knows, he’s just teasing. “So what’s wrong?”

“When I’m with you, I feel happy,” his eyes are fixated on the ceiling as he speaks. Childe, on the other hand, can’t look anywhere but at him. And although he speaks of his happiness, there are deep waves of sorrow rolling off of him. Zhongli’s makeup had washed off when he took a steaming shower, leaving Tartaglia to see the dark circles under his eyes and the faint wrinkles underneath. The light in his eyes had dulled without the bold presence of his usual red eyeliner, and it seemed as though his face appeared more sunken in when the light hit him at a certain angle.

Childe’s heart pangs in his chest. Sometimes, his husband really looks his age.

“When I’m with you, I forget all my troubles. My burdens are made lighter simply by your presence. I forget what it felt like to be a part of the Archon War, or what it was like having so much blood on my hands. When I’m with you, I forget all of that. And I am happy.” Zhongli’s tone of voice certainly does not match the topic he speaks of.

Still, Childe gulps. The ex-Archon can be too sappy for his own good, he might have a heart attack.

“Xiao, on the other hand, carries burdens almost heavier than mine,” he speaks as if it were an irrefutable fact. Although Childe wants to protest, he allows him to continue. “Millennia of suffering. Centuries of torture. Generations worth of karma building up on his plate. And he has no one he can turn to to help him forget; no one to help him bear it. Xiao is… alone.” His voice cracks pathetically.

Ah.

The wind turns colder. There’s a chill that goes through the room, and it seeps into Childe’s bones. The Harbinger’s eyes dart to the fireplace, almost accusing it of not doing its job. He’s mildly aware of the new presence outside of the window that reeks of karma and a heavy heart. The tidal waves of grief and remorse spill into the room, and Tartaglia almost wants to wave a hand in front of his face to waft the energy away. Nevertheless, Childe dismisses it knowing that it is harmless, and turns all of his attention on his partner.

“What about that traveler,” Childe offers, “Xiao seems to be fixated on him.”

Zhongli shakes his head. “Young Traveler is far too free spirited for that, and Xiao is the type to only give his heart when he is certain that the source is stable and everlasting.”

Childe nods in understanding. He’s the same way, after all. “He was right to give his heart to you.”

“And yet I betrayed him, did I not?” Zhongli asks.

Childe frowns once again. He wills his voice to not sound too accusing when he asks, “In what way?”

Zhongli waves his free hand in the air, trying his best to convey the emotions that had been eating at him all evening.

“I am here, parading away with my husband while he still watches over Liyue per my request. Even though our contract ended, he still persists. He still fights the demons of the gods I slayed myself. He still is trapped by the shackles of Liyue, cleaning up my mess, worshipping my name, while I lay here wondering if I want coffee or tea when the sun rises.”

His voice wavers. Childe’s heart tugs. The Harbinger shuffles closer and squeezes him tighter.

“I can’t help but feel as though I am responsible for his suffering. I am the one who summoned him, am I not? The fierce Yakshas… oh how truly amazing they were,” Zhongli rambles, fingers tightening their hold on Childe. “And now they are all…”

“Zhongli.” He cuts him off sternly. The man in question shakes out his reverie, glassy amber eyes meeting cerulean. Childe brings a hand to his cheek to caress the sinfully soft skin there. The ginger leans in, pressing his forehead against his temple and pleads.

“Stop,” he whispers, and then his hand finds purchase on his husband’s neck. “Stop.”

“I am not worthy of it any longer, Ajax,” Zhongli’s voice warbles, “all I want is for Young Xiao to rest and finally find peace. I no longer want him to have nightmares, asleep or not. I want to be the one to be rid of his burdens. I want him to be happy, Ajax, I want—“

“No,” Childe interrupts again, “there is nothing you can do, my love. And I’m so sorry you feel that way. I truly am. But his suffering has nothing to do with you anymore. Xiao looks up to you—“

“But he shouldn’t.”

“Xiao looks up to you,” he persists, “for a reason. He adores you, okay? No matter what you do. No matter what you say. No matter how you look. Even if you’re skin and bone and wrinkly with gray hair, Xiao would still admire you. Your strength has withstood the test of time, and so has his loyalty to you.” He brushes a stray hair from Zhongli’s face and continues.

“You were the one that saved him. Have you ever thought of that, old man? You saved him and named him. I mean, if someone were to pull me out of the abyss and give me a hug for god’s sake, I probably would have turned out different,” Zhongli’s eyes soften even more, but Childe refuses to make this about him. He thumps a fist against Zhongli’s chest in mock petulance. “Xiao respects you because you deserve it. It is as simple as that.”

Zhongli is quiet, pondering, so Tartaglia takes that as an invitation to continue.

“You have served your time bearing your burdens. You have saved souls and you have killed your own share of demons, and you fought to get where you are now. You deserve a break, Zhongli. And you don’t need to feel guilty that someone out there hasn’t been liberated of their own issues. You of all people understand Xiao’s strength. Probably more than Xiao himself, right? So have faith in him, Xiansheng. And know that you don’t have to carry the burden of freedom on your own. Burdens are meant to be shared, and I’m your husband, remember?”

“Oh, how could I forget,” Zhongli chuckles as he jests. His voice still warbles, but Tartaglia will take what he can get. Childe pinches his cheek playfully.

“Sooo,” Childe trails off, running a finger down the length of Zhongli’s pale neck. “With that being said, I think you should enjoy the time you have now, with me, instead of reminiscing about the past.”

Zhongli nods.

“After all, I won’t be here forever-”

“Do not.” Zhongli interrupts, looking away. His chest stops fluctuating, and it takes a moment for Childe to realize he was holding his breath. And just like that, his defensive wall is back up again. Tartaglia looks at him with wide eyes. Obviously he had struck a chord he hadn’t meant to. The grip Zhongli had around the back of his neck tightened like he meant to keep him close to his chest forever; greedy, selfish hands continue to grasp at the back of his shirt.

“Oh,” Tartaglia breathes, “I’m sorry, I was just joking.”

“I know,” Zhongli all but whimpers, “but my brain doesn’t exactly register those kinds of things as jokes.”

Tartaglia nods, unsure of what else to say. So, he ditches the thought of saying anything, and lifts a deft finger to tilt Zhongli’s face back to him. He abandons his words and leans in instead. He captures his God’s lips with his own and presses close, desperate to show him that he’s there. Tartaglia’s alive and well and very much in love, and he’s there. He’s not going anywhere; he wouldn’t even dare to think about going anywhere. Their marriage was more than a contract, it was a covenant. The vows that were sworn on that night kept them glued together, and only ‘til death do they part.

Well, until Ajax’s death, at least.

The thought makes Tartaglia’s head pound, and he shakes the thoughts away with determination.

“I’m here,” he reassures anyway when they part, kiss-bruised lips brush against his cheek as he speaks. “Let me prove it to you.”

Zhongli nods wordlessly, cupping Childe’s face with one hand and dragging the Harbinger onto his lap with the other. They press against each other, nice and close, so that one would not be able to decipher where one began and the other ended.

“I love you,” Tartaglia confesses into the dark, breathless. Zhongli drags him impossibly closer.

Xiao takes that as his cue to leave, the wind chill harsh and no longer gentle as he vanishes into thin air.

A/N: Okayy I’m gonna get a little serious in the end notes hehe so if you wanna skip out on that, thank you so much for reading! And I hope you have a wonderful week :) find me on twitter @/xiaoscribbles and AO3 @/unironicallynapping

I wanted to write this because I’ve been on my own journey to recovery lately. My family suffered many losses in 2020 and since then, I had been struggling to get back on path and find a healthy mindset. But there’s a passage that I read in a book I’ve been reading that covers the guilt we sometimes feel when we recover, knowing and know that there’s someone out there who is suffering, too. The guilt can become unbearable, but it doesn’t need to be felt. You can take your feelings of guilt and turn it into something good. You can enjoy the life of recovery you’re living while still being there for those who need it. You can show someone you love them while also reveling in the happiness that you deserve. You don’t need to feel like you don’t deserve it just because you recovered, and someone else hasn’t. Everyone is on their own path, so rejoice in the fact that you’ve made it to your own happiness!

I hope this fic/message spoke to some of you. It’s a really important message to me, and I just wanted to share :)

#genshin impact #genshin impact fanfiction #zhongli #childe #xiao #tartaglia #character study #domestic bliss #childe x zhongli #rex lapis #tartali #chili #zhongchi

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ericsonclan · 4 years ago

Text

A Mysterious Bundle

Summary: Louis and Marlon return from a quest with a mysterious acquisition.

Word Count: 5833

Read on AO3:

“Maisy Mason, you get your ass down from that rigging right now!” Clementine scowled up at her eldest child, her hand on her hip.

Maisy peered down from amongst the ropes, smiling innocently. “What is it, Mama?”

Did you or did you not fill Zachariah’s hammock with potato peels last night?”

“Uncle Omar said to get rid of them-”

“Not in a hammock he didn’t! Now you get down here right this instant!”

Maisy was loath to do so but soon scurried down, little whimpers and sobs escaping her lips as she approached her mother.

“No crocodile tears, today. You know that won’t work with me like it does with your father. Now hold on to my other pant leg while I decide what to do with you,”

Maisy obliged, ignoring the curious gaze of her two year old brother Lee Kenny as he clung to his mother’s right pant leg for support in standing up.

Clementine’s eyes scanned the ship, looking for some task to assign her daughter as punishment. Over by the cartography room, Aasim was still picking potato peels off his five year old son’s back. Ruby was steering the ship, her daughter Savannah sleeping peacefully in the sling on her back and Willy was up in the crows nest with Allison. Violet and Prisha were heading off somewhere hand in hand. Clementine called out. “Vi, where you two heading?”

Violet turned around. “Nowhere really. Just scraping barnacles off the side of Ol’ Kickass.”

Perfect. “I have a volunteer who’ll join you!”

“Nooooo, Mom, anything but that!” Maisy begged, looking up at her mother with pleading eyes. “Barnacle duty is soooo boring!”

“That’s why it’s your punishment. Now scoot!” Clementine nudged her daughter forward and Maisy trudged off in dejection, walking beneath Violet and Prisha’s joined hands to the edge of the ship.

“Mama?” Lee Kenny wiggled round, tugging at Clementine’s pant leg.

“What is it, baby?”

“Poopoo,”

Clementine sighed and picked her son up. Her peg leg clacked against the wooden planks of the ship as she carried him over toward the head. Potty training was a process, especially at sea. Eventually Lee Kenny would be able to go on his own though and she’d be able to say goodbye to the poopy diapers and soiled pants stage of her life. That day couldn’t come soon enough.

Once Lee Kenny was done on the potty, Clementine decided to take a break from his walking practice and opted to carry her son on her hip, humming a soft tune to him as she looked out at the open sea. She’d expect Louis and Marlon home by now. They’d said something about a potential bounty and left early this morning. Surely if there was anything to find they would have succeeded by now. Clementine was about to give up her search when she heard a sharp whistle overhead.

“The captain and first mate off the port bow!” Willy declared, his spyglass pointed to the south. Clementine looked off in the same direction, squinting. She could only make out a speck, but that must be them. Clementine hurried over to the entrance below decks. “Sophie! Louis and Marlon are almost back!”

A clattering could be heard from the sleeping quarters before Sophie shot out, her son Raylan barreling underfoot and her daughter Marley on her shoulders. Sophie emerged above decks with a joyous laugh. “Finally!” I was going stir crazy on kiddo duty,” Her hair stuck out at odd angles, filled with all sort of ribbons and knickknacks Marley had decided to decorate it with.

“Dad’s back!” Raylan exclaimed, racing over to watch his return.

“Not so close to the edge, Raylan! Remember what happened last time!” Sophie warned. She and Clementine shared a sympathetic, frazzled glance before walking over to join him.

Eventually the boat arrived. As soon as Marlon reached the deck he swept his wife and children up in a hug, pressing kisses to all their faces and chuckling as his children peppered him with questions. Rosie and Sophie’s monkey Eight who’d tagged along on the adventure as well, were right behind him. Rosie slobbered all over Raylan’s face in greeting then got on her hind legs in attempt to reach Marley who reached down towards her with a laugh. Eight scrambled off of Rosie’s back and climbed up Sophie’s leg till he reached Marley and could give the toddler a hug.

Louis was a bit slower in his climb. He seemed to be holding some sort of parcel to his chest carefully as though he feared he would break it. As he emerged on deck, he smiled warmly over at his wife and son. “We’re back! Did you miss us?”

“Daddyyyy!” Lee Kenny wriggled in his mother’s arms, signaling he wanted down. As soon as his feet hit the floor he waddled over as fast as he could to his father, clinging happily to his pant leg.

Louis beamed down at his son. “Look who’s gotten so good at walking! Great job, kiddo!”

“Is that the bounty?” Clementine asked, nodding to the bundle Louis held.

“Not quite. The bounty turned out to be a no go but we found something else that we had to bring back with us,” The look in Louis’ eyes was uncertain but hopeful.

Clementine raised an eyebrow. “And what exactly is that?”

Louis lowered the bundle in his arms enough so Clementine could see what lay inside. There slept a baby with dark brown skin and a full head of hair.

Clementine looked up in shock. “Whose baby is this?”

“Well, considering that she had nobody when we found her, I guess she’s ours,”

“She?”

“Her name is Juliet,” Louis smiled down at the baby in his arms, clearly already smitten.

“Back up. Tell me exactly what happened that led to you bringing a baby back onboard. Start from the beginning,”

Louis and Marlon shared a look. Louis cleared his throat then began. “Well, I guess you could say it all started this morning when we headed out for that bounty mission off the coast of Bluff’s Point…”

---

“So what exactly did the description of the quest say again?” Marlon asked as he rowed out toward Crab Isle.

Louis paused his rowing to fish the pamphlet out of his pocket. “Wanted: hunters to acquire crab meat from the famous Gurlinder crabs of Crab Isle. Will pay top dollar for the real deal,”

“So it’s an exotic meal quest. We’ve done those before. I wonder what makes the crabs so expensive,”

“Rarity probably,” Louis shrugged. “It’s not the most exciting quest we’ve ever taken on, but with so many mouths to feed on Ol’ Kickass we don’t have the luxury to be picky anymore. Besides, whatever crabs we don’t sell we can cook up ourselves,”

“How do we know we’re grabbing a Gurlinder crab and not just a regular crab?”

Louis squinted. “Well, according to the description, Gurlinder crabs have yellow top halves, red bottom halves and blue arms. That sounds pretty distinctive to me,”

Rosie barked in agreement. Louis grinned and reached out to give her some pats before rejoining the rowing effort. Eight was asleep upon Marlon’s shoulder, his tail curled against the pirate’s chest. Clearly the monkey had deemed the voyage too boring and was waiting for their arrival.

“We getting close?” Marlon asked, glancing behind him.

“Yep! The island’s finally in sight,” Louis looked toward the island, its heavy forests the only visible thing at the moment. “I’d say another half hour of rowing and we’ll get there,”

Once they had reached the island and successfully pulled the rowboat ashore, the tiny crew set out in search of the famed crabs. Rosie got to work at once, her nose to the ground as she started the hunt. Eight found some crabs almost immediately but they weren’t the right ones; the monkey chased the tiny hermit crabs to and fro along the shore, eager to grasp their shiny shells. Louis and Marlon kept their eyes peeled but were having no luck.

“Think we have to dig for them?” Marlon stuck the toe of his boot in the sand, overturning a small pile.

“Hmmm, the quest flyer doesn’t have anything on the crabs’ habitat or how to locate them,” Louis squinted as if the secret was hidden somewhere between the lines on the page. “You’d think the people that post these would give a bit more detail,”

“Eh, rich folk never think of those things. They just pay the servants to figure details out,” Marlon glanced Louis’ way. “Except for you, of course,”

“A reformed rich boy,” Louis winked. His eyes widened though as they flitted across the sand. “Woah, did you see that? I think it was one of them!”

“Where?” Marlon spun around, doing a 360 in search of the crab.

“Right over that dune. It disappeared behind it and- there it is again! It’s huge!”

The crab was indeed massive, the size of a dinner platter. The captain and his first mate ran after it, Rosie and Eight in tow.

“That must be why they’re so valuable – the size!” Marlon exclaimed as they ran. “A crab that big could feed a whole family!”

“Imagine cracking into one of its claws! It’d be like eating a whole leg of lamb!” Louis’ breath came in little puffs as he sprinted across the beach to claim their prize. “Shit, I think it spotted us! You take right, I’ll take left. We’ll cut it off before it reaches the woods!”

Marlon nodded and followed suit. The pair split off, each hoping to capture the crab that was making a beeline toward the dense forest. It would be a close call, but they could make it. The two men circled back towards each other, ready to meet in the middle to nab the crab.

Just as they were almost upon it though, a deep rumble issued from the forest. The sand on the beach shifted as the ground shook and both men froze, leaving the crab to run off into the woods unimpeded. Both men shared a look.

“What the hell was that?” Marlon asked.

Before he could speak further, they had their answer. A massive claw shot out from between the branches of the trees, followed by a leg that matched the size of the trunks around it. A second later, beady eyes could be seen atop the massive disk that formed the body. This was it: a true Gurlinder crab.

“What the shit,” Louis breathed, frozen in fear. Then his survival instincts kicked in. “What the shit!” Both pirates turned tail and sprinted back towards the boat. Rosie ran ahead of them, barking like crazy while Eight finally looked up from his pursuit of the hermit crabs and joined the crew in running for their lives. The rowboat was all the way on the other end of the beach. Would they make it?

They would not. The giant crab came barreling onto the beach, blocking their way and snapping its claws in the air menacingly. Louis and Marlon stopped dead in their tracks, sharing a look. Their swords would have little to no effect against the crab’s bony exterior. Even Marlon’s gun might not be enough and they couldn’t risk the sound drawing in more of these behemoths. Their only choices were to run, but would they go forward or back?

“We gotta reach the boat!” Marlon declared before surging forward. His valiant effort was met with immediate retaliation. The crab lowered its massive claw, reaching out towards the blond pirate who barely dove to the ground in time.

“Marlon!” Louis leapt forward to help his friend to his feet.

At this point the crab seemed truly pissed. Lifting its leg, it brought it down as though intending to impale to pirates. Both men rolled out of the way just in time. Moving forward wasn’t an option after all. They’d have to seek shelter. Running along the shoreline, their eyes searched for any sort of hiding place.

“Do we risk the woods?” Louis asked breathlessly, running as fast as he could.

“And risk coming across more of these things?” Marlon shook his head. “We need something else!” He turned his head to look out at the ocean. Nothing at all. All that was left was the beach, but that only held sand. At the end of the shore though, by the reef… “There!” Marlon pointed to a rock formation by the water. “The crevice between those two rocks – it can’t reach us there!”

The crab was gaining on them. They had to hurry. Giving it their all, Marlon and Louis sprinted toward the rocks. Rosie reached them first, Eight clinging to her back. She barked worriedly, waiting for them to catch up. The pair didn’t even slow down as they reached the rocks. Marlon shot through the opening first, followed by Rosie and Eight and Louis right behind. Louis let out a yelp as he ran, tumbling and rolling in the sand right as he cleared the crevice. They all looked back to see the crab’s claw jammed in the crevice, still trying its best to reach them.

“It jabbed my ass,” Louis whimpered, his face still in the sand. Marlon walked over and helped his friend to his feet. They took a moment to look at the crab’s struggle and reassure themselves that it couldn’t break through. They were safe… for now. Turning round, they began to make their way down the new stretch of beach that was open to them.

“So what now?” Marlon sighed, looking out to the sea. “If we’re not back in the next few hours, everybody’s gonna panic,”

“Then we find another way home. We’ll comb the beach for supplies and if that doesn’t work, we’ll face the forest. Lash a raft together from logs or something,”

“And what will we fell trees with? My cutlass? Your rapier?”

“Maybe we can find fallen logs,” Louis offered. His face fell almost immediately though. “We’ll figure something out. Let’s just see what we come across,”

The island was massive. After twenty minutes of walking, the group had only circled the first bend. There were no fallen logs or other building materials in sight upon the beach. They’d soon have to turn to the forest and risk facing more crabs. That was when Louis spotted something. “Hey, you see that or am I just crazy?”

Marlon glanced over and his face immediately brightened. “Holy shit, it’s a boat!” A pale blue rowboat lay nestled upon the edge of the water, moored on a sand dune. They sprinted toward it only for their hearts to almost immediately falter. The boat was wrecked. The back half had been totally decimated, pieces torn and crushed irreparably. This was more than a patch job could fix. Perhaps it was another Gurlinder crab’s doing. Marlon still examined the exterior of the boat, hoping against hope that the boat was somehow salvageable. Meanwhile Louis began searching inside the boat for usable supplies. Rosie hopped inside, sniffing everything thoroughly. There didn’t seem to be much. A crumpled sail that was completely ruined lay in tattered pieces across the base of the boat. Piles of seaweed and sand had worked their way in with the rising tide. This ship looked to be recently abandoned. Or perhaps it had washed upon shore, its passengers, lost to the sea.

Rosie sniffed at one particular part of the sail with interest. Coming over, Louis pulled back the fabric to reveal a lumpy blanket underneath. Perhaps there was food there? Louis leaned forward to examine the blanket more closely and let out a gasp.

“What’s wrong?” Marlon asked, his hand immediately upon his saber.

Louis took the blanket in his arms and stared at it in awe. Gently, he pushed back a corner to reveal what lay inside: a baby. Louis cautiously pressed a hand to its forehead. “Still alive, just sleeping,”

Marlon came over to examine the baby. “How long has it been alone? We need to get it food, water at least!”

“The flask by my hip. Open it,”

“Lou, alcohol is not gonna do this baby any-”

“It’s full of water, OK? I just pretend there’s alcohol in there to look tough!”

Marlon gave Louis a look that told him he would take that secret to his grave then got the flask out and held it to the baby’s lips. Pushing them open just slightly, he let the water spill slowly into the baby’s mouth.

The infant woke immediately, letting out a strained cry. Louis laid the babe over his shoulder, patting its back softly. “Hey, hey. It’s ok. We’re here. You’re gonna be ok,”

Marlon looked round for any other signs of life. Nothing. Whoever the baby’s parents or guardians were, they had likely perished at sea. No one would leave a child unguarded in the open like this. As Louis bounced the baby and tried to calm it, he circled the boat, looking for anything that might tell them where it had come from. There was nothing more except the name of the boat painted in pink, faded lettering. Juliet.

Louis bounced the baby for a few seconds longer before the smell hit him, one that had been buried deep within the folds of the blanket. “Marlon, see if you can find a clean portion of that sail and cut it off. We’re gonna need to do a diaper change,”

A few minutes later with the use of a length of weathered sail and some leaves scavenged at the outskirts of the forest for cleanup, the baby had a new diaper. Louis picked up the baby once more, wrapping the blanket round its tiny arms and legs. “We should name her Juliet,”

“Juliet? After the boat? What about finding her parents or relatives?” Marlon looked at his friend with concern.

“We’re leagues off from the coast, at least a hundred miles from any port or town. Whatever family she had in that boat is gone. Maybe it’s strange to name her after the boat we found her in, but it’s the only part of her past we know,” Louis watched the baby with care, stroking a damp lock away from her forehead,”

“Well, if we want her past to have a future to it, we’ll need to find a way to get off this island. And Juliet’s a no go,”

“Back to our boat then?” Louis met Marlon’s eyes. “Do we have any other choice?”

“No. I guess we don’t,”

“Then we head back,”

The two men walked side by side, Rosie to Marlon’s right and Eight scampering along the shore to Louis’ left playing with leaves and other odds and ends. Juliet still cried intermittently, wriggling within Louis’ arms. Most of the water he offered her got spit up on her dress but at least a few drops got in so Louis kept trying. The forest was silent, eerily so. Perhaps the Gurlinder crab they’d run into had been one of the last of its kind. They could only pray that was the case.

“What’s Clem going to think when you bring a baby home?” Marlon asked, glancing over at Louis.

Louis was silent for a moment, deep in thought. “I don’t know. It feels the same as when we found her and AJ though: stranded, helpless. If Clem was here instead of me, I figure she’d do the same thing. That’s what Ericson Pirates have always done: taken in the outcasts and give them a home,”

“So you’re planning to keep her then?”

Louis looked down at the baby in his arms. Juliet had settled a bit and was gnawing hungrily on his finger. “I can’t make that decision without Clem. But I can’t help feeling like we were meant to find her. Maisy’s been asking for a little sister, y’know,”

“Clem laughed when she said that,”

“True… but can anyone say no to a face like this?” Louis held out Juliet who had started to happily gurgle as she clung to his finger.

Marlon smiled down. “Hell, if Clem feels overwhelmed, Soph and I can take a turn with her. Ruby loves babies too. Everyone will pitch in,”

“Just like we have for all of the kids,” Louis beamed down at Juliet, trying to get her to smile. “You hear that, Juliet? You’re gonna have a whole pirate family!”

As they began to round the corner of the beach, the forest ceased to be silent. They could hear rumblings from deep within as well as noises ahead. Both men drew their swords.

“It sounds like a lot of them,” Marlon noted, his eyes scanning the treeline.

“We couldn’t even handle one,”

“Then we’ll have to hope we can sneak around them,” As they rounded the corner, Marlon and Louis were prepared for the worst.

It was even worse than they imagined. The beach that only 20 minutes ago was completely clear was now crawling with Gurlinder crabs. The massive beasts along the sand, intermingling and waving their claws at each other. There had to be dozens of them.

“What the shit is going on?” Louis whispered. He tucked his coat further around Juliet protectively.

“Mating season? That’s the only reason I can think of,” Marlon watched the crabs cautiously. “If that’s the case, they’ll be way more focused on each other than us. That first one was probably pissed we messed with a baby crab. If we leave them alone, maybe they won’t even notice us,”

“That’s all we can hope for. Keep Rosie and Eight close,”

They headed out in a line, Marlon leading the way with Rosie behind him and Eight on her back. Louis took up the rear, rocking Juliet softly in hopes that she would stay quiet till they reached safety. Skirting the treeline, they walked along the edge of the beach, trying to keep out of the crabs’ way. Marlon’s hunch seemed to be right. The crabs shifted from side to side, waving their claws in rhythmic motions at each other. They must be trying to attract mates.

Their progress was going as smoothly as could be expected. Occasionally they’d have to freeze and wait for a crab to lumber on by or scurry out the way as a new crab exited the forest. Overall though, the Gurlinder crabs seemed utterly unaware of them, focused entirely on their courtship dances. Marlon felt himself breathing a sigh of relief. Rosie was staying nearby to protect the baby and Eight was happily chewing on the gold ducat Marlon had given. Juliet seemed to have fallen asleep as well. They just needed a few more minutes to reach the crevice and they’d be in the clear.

All of a sudden, Marlon felt a pressure from behind. Before he could turn round, he was yanked into the air by his collar. “Woahhh, shit!”

“Marlon!” Louis watched in horror as his best friend was lifted up on the end of a Gurlinder crab’s claw. Drawing his sword, Louis ran forward and began to whack the nearest leg of the creature. “Give him back! Drop him!” Rosie joined in the struggle, biting angrily at the crab leg again and again while Eight screamed in outrage and threw pebbles. The crab hardly seemed to notice them, instead drawing Marlon closer to its beady eyes and gazing at him in curiosity.

Marlon wriggled wildly, brandishing his cutlass in an effort to scare the beast off. “Fuck, I think it wants to eat me!”

“Maybe it’s just mistaken you for another crab!” Louis offered, trying to jab his sword into the joints of the beast to no avail. “After all, you’re yellow on top just like them!”

“You mean my hair?”

“Yeah, exactly!”

“So then it wants to mate with me?!” Marlon looked at the crab with fear, struggling even more to escape.

“Or maybe it thinks you’re a baby cause you’re so tiny!”

“Nu uh, fuck this!” Sheathing his scabbard, Marlon pulled out a dagger. Cutting through the collar of his shirt, he sawed at the material till it snapped and sent him plummeting to the ground where he tucked and rolled with a grunt before rising to find the crab still staring at him. It was not pleased to see him go. Taking steps forward, the crab began to pursue Marlon, almost crushing its attackers underfoot in the process. Letting out a frightened cry, Marlon ran away.

“Keep aiming for the rocks, Marlon!” Louis shouted, sprinting behind the pursuing crab. Juliet had been awakened by all the commotion and started to cry again, causing Rosie to bark in concern. All the noise drew the attention of the other crabs, who began to move toward them, curious as to what was going on. Louis swore under his breath, barely skirting a curious claw that was reaching his way. “Go between their legs, Mar! It can’t follow you there!”

Everything was chaos. Marlon frantically weaved between the enormous deadly legs of others crabs in an attempt to escape his pursuer but nothing seemed to work. The Gurlinder crab was still only seconds behind him. Meanwhile Louis tried to keep up with a baby in tow and make sure Rosie and Eight didn’t get caught up in fighting all the crabs that came their way. At one point when it looked as thought Eight was about to start climbing one of the legs Louis scooped the monkey up his hat and kept running with the furry stowaway tucked beneath his right arm, the baby cradled in his left.

Finally, the crevice was only a few yards away. Marlon dove for it headfirst, narrowly avoiding being nabbed once more by his captor’s claw. Letting out a frantic swear, Louis slid underneath the crab as it blocked the passageway, kicking up sand and seaweed as he scrambled after his friend. Moments later, all five members of the castaway crew emerged safely onto the other side of the beach, a beach that was still as bare as they had first found it.

“Thank fuck!” Louis gasped, taking a moment to catch his breath before removing Juliet from the folds of his coat and working to comfort her. Marlon knelt down, examining Rosie and Eight to make sure they hadn’t received any serious injuries. Once it was clear that everyone was alright, they continued to move forward, heading for their abandoned boat.

“We’re almost home,” Marlon said with a smile as he brushed the sand out of his hair.

“Yep! Almost back and no worse for the wear! Isn’t that right, Juliet?” Louis cooed at the baby in his arms who seemed entranced by the way his dreads swayed as he walked.

“Now all that’s left is to find the boat and… shit,” Marlon froze in his tracks. A second later he was running forward. “Shit shit shit!”

Louis soon saw what the issue was. The first Gurlinder crab they’d run into hadn’t left this beach after all. Instead it had made its way over to their rowboat and was now poking at it with interest. If they lost that boat, they were trapped. Louis sprinted afterwards, humming a shanty under his breath in an effort to keep Juliet calm. “There once was a ship that put to sea, the name of the ship was the Billy of Tea…”

They were still a great distance from the boat. The giant crab snapped at the edges of the boat with interest, drawing it out of the sand and up into its claws.

“Hey asshat, that’s not yours!” Marlon shouted angrily, his ponytail blowing in the wind as he ran. Louis tucked Juliet back into his coat, shielding her ears from the language. As they reached the crab, they all ran to the opposite side of the rowboat and grabbed onto the end of it. They wouldn’t be able to defeat the crab. They’d have to wrestle the boat from her grasp and get out to the sea before she could give chase. Marlon pulled with all his might, Louis using his spare arm to try to aid in the struggle.

The crab was unimpressed by their show of force. It glanced down at them with annoyance before lifting the boat higher. Both men gasped as they were lifted off of their feet. Rosie was barking like mad below them, trying again and again to bite through the crab’s outer armor and save her fellow pirates, but it was no use. Eight meanwhile had got ahold of one of the ropes dangling from the rowboat and climbed inside the boat to scold the crab face to face.

“You fucker! Give us back our boat!” Marlon growled. Drawing out his pistol, he fired a shot straight at the crab. The bullet bounced off like it was nothing.

“The eyes! Aim for the eyes!” Louis cried, his focus entirely on not dropping Juliet while they were shaked to and fro.

Dropping back to the ground, Marlon pulled a new bullet from his pouch and began reloading his gun. He couldn’t afford to miss again. Aiming the newly reloaded flintlock, he closed one eye, hoping his aim would be true.

A second before he fired though, the Gurlinder crab suddenly changed its mind. Opening its claws, it suddenly dropped the rowboat to the ground. Louis fell hard to the ground, his legs crumbling beneath him as he fell on his back in an effort to protect Juliet. Immediately he struggled to his feet though, letting out a pained moan as he and Marlon both leapt into the boat and pushed it down to the water. Rosie was right beside them, leaping into the boat beside Eight who shook his fists threateningly at the retreating crab.

“Are you hurt? Is Juliet okay?” Marlon asked as he got the oars sorted and began paddling out to sea.

“She’s alright, just shaken is all,” Louis rocked her back and forth, trying to quiet her cries. “Do you need me to row? I could try setting Juliet beside me or-”

“I’ll manage! You focus on her!” Marlon put all of his strength into rowing the boat out to the open sea.

Louis glanced behind them. “Why do you think it gave up? It was totally whopping our asses back there,”

“Beats me. Good riddance,”

“It just keeps heading toward the forest. Maybe it went to look for its baby? Wait…” Louis gasped. “There’s another crab!”

Sure enough, another crab had emerged from the forest and joined the first in a courtship dance. It looked as though the pirates’ enemy wasn’t the only crab to get lost on its way to the mating grounds.

“Awww, they’re sort of cute together!” Louis smiled at the joint dance.

“From a distance maybe. We’re never going back there again,” Marlon grumbled, putting extra force into his strokes.

“I mean, at the end of the day I guess the crabs were just trying to live their lives. Look at them, it’s like they’re kissing! Oh, wait, now they’re-” Louis flushed, quickly looking away and shielding Juliet’s eyes. “Yep, definitely not a place to visit again,”

“I can go for a bit longer then I’ll need a break. You willing to give me a turn holding the baby?”

“Of course! Uncle Marlon’s gonna take a turn holding you, ok, Juliet?” Louis smiled down at the baby who looked quite tired from all of the recent excitement. “You just rest. We’ll be home soon,”

---

“…And that’s the story of how we found Juliet!” Louis finished with a grin.

The rest of the Ericson Pirates who had all gathered round to hear the tale all began talking at once. The noise woke Juliet who started crying again, her wail broken and frail. Immediately Clementine stepped forward, gently taking her from Louis and rocking her in her arms. “She needs another diaper change, one with a real diaper this time. Also she must be starving. Ruby, are the supplies still in the crate under your hammock?”

“That’s right,” Ruby responded, stepping forward and taking Lee Kenny’s hand. “Y’all go ahead, we have things covered up here,”

While the others took care of things above deck, Clementine and Louis headed below deck to the sleeping quarters. Clementine sat down in the nearest hammock, directing Louis to grab a fresh diaper and some powdered milk from Ruby’s trunk. Once Louis returned with the needed supplies, the two worked together to change Juliet, laying her in Clementine’s lap while Louis kept her head stable and tried to keep her arms and legs out of the soupy mess that was her makeshift sail diaper.

“There was so family round there at all?” Clementine asked, her eyes focus on her work.

Louis shook his head. “None at all. It looked to have been abandoned for a few days. I’m surprised the boat made it to shore or even stayed there at all. Another day and it may have washed back out to sea,”

“She’s so skinny,” The concern in Clementine’s voice was clear. Working quickly, she hummed a little tune to the baby as she changed her, the same shanty Louis had sung back on the island. Soon the baby was changed and the impromptu messy diaper set aside. Clementine readjusted her grip on Juliet, nestling her in her arms. “The last bottle broke awhile back. Do you have your flask with you?”

“Well, it’s-”

“I know it’s water, Lou. I swiped it a while back to get a drink. Not surprised, just disappointed there wasn’t anything stronger around,”

Louis grinned knowingly up at his wife. “I’ll treat you to whatever your heart desires at the next tavern we visit,”

“I’m holding you to that. Now pour a bit of the powder into the flask and shake it up,”

Louis followed Clementine’s directions, turning the remaining water into a frothy white liquid. Clementine took the flask and raised it to the baby’s lips. This time Juliet drank more eagerly, gulping down the milk substitute noisily.

“We’ll need to stop in the nearest port town and get some more powdered milk and supplies. We weren’t expecting a baby again anytime soon,”

Louis listened for anger or annoyance in his wife’s words but there wasn’t any; she was only stating facts. Looking up at her, he could see the same fondness in her eyes as she looked down at Juliet that he had felt when he first held her.

Clementine caught him looking and a soft smile crossed her lips. “She’s beautiful,”

“She certainly is. The best bounty we’ve ever come across,”

The room was quiet now, the only sounds being the soft creaking of the ship and Juliet as she eagerly suckled the flask. Louis and Clementine watched her in silence, lost in the simple beauty of the moment. They both knew what was yet unspoken. They had found another daughter to call their own.

#twdg #twdg clementine #twdg louis #twdg marlon #twdg sophie #twdg prisha #twdg violet #twdg maisy #twdg lee kenny #twdg juliet #twdg rosie #twdg eight #louis marlon brotp #clouis #twdg marlie #twdg privet

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musesofolive · 4 years ago

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For the soft asks!!! @scars-in-the-starlight

Torin: cuddling in a blanket fort (because insomia)

Isla: patching up a wound

Waterdad: He finds her wearing his clothes, (like she steals his shirt and uses it as a blanket)

Earth mom: having their hair brushed by your muse.

Rowan: Reading a book together

Yeah, you got just a bunch of lil ficlets. I couldn’t help myself lol. And this is a little later down the line when she’s more comfortable with them and knows how to sign.

Blanket fort with Torin:

Torin yawned as he sat up at Lyra’s prodding. He was growing used to it with her constant nightmares, but it still took him a couple moments to really wake up. “Hey, shrimp. Can’t sleep?” He asked, already knowing the answer as he gave a stretch. Seeing her nod, he gave a sympathetic smile.

She looked a little apologetic now, hunched over herself as she looked at the floor. He put a hand on her shoulder in comfort. “Don’t look so sad, I don’t mind staying up a bit longer. Besides, the knight in shining armor has to protect the princess at all times, right?” His tone was joking, other hand tickling her side lightly. He laughed as she giggled, stepping to the side to escape him. Then, an idea struck him and he hummed, a playful glint appearing in his emerald eyes. “And seeing as you are a princess, you should have a castle fitting of your status.”

Lyra looked at him, a little confused as he stood up from the bed, grabbing his blankets and pillows off it. “Come on, we’re going to build you a castle,” he announced. He marched out of the room with her trailing behind him, still looking lost as they went down to the living room.

From there, Torin sat her down and explained that he was making a blanket fort for the two of them. It took a few minutes for him to push the chairs in the right position and to set the blankets up so they wouldn’t fall. But soon enough, it was complete, and Torin opened the entry way for Lyra to step inside with a grin. The inside was very cozy, lined with blankets and pillows.

He crawled in once she looked comfortable, having to adjust himself for his large frame to fit properly. “There, no one will dare get you now! Safely protected by your knight and a castle.” He seemed very satisfied with himself as he pulled the little girl close to him. She clutched onto him tightly, resting her head right above where his heart was, and started purring as he ran his hands through her hair.

Isla healing a wound:

Isla’s ear twitched hearing a pained gasp behind her, and she turned around from where she was in the garden. Behind her was Lyra, who was clutching her hand tightly as small droplets of blood welled on her hand. Immediately, the older elf was at her side, kneeling down next to her as she looked at her hand. “What happened?” She asked, signing the question with her hands as well. While the child was getting better with signing, Isla found it helped better her understanding seeing someone else sign as well.

Touched the roses, sharp, cut, Lyra signed a bit shakily. Her eyes were misting over slightly.

The Earthbound furrowed her brows in concern. “You’re gonna be alright. Can you let me see your hand? I need to check if you have any thorns.” She explained, still signing to go with her words. The little girl extended her palm to her and she focused on it, looking over the purple, starlit skin for any black spots. She found a couple, pointing them out to her. “We need to get those out to heal it. It’s going to sting a little though.” She told her gently, already digging through her mind for the healing spell her mother taught her.

Lyra nodded in understanding, flinching slightly as Isla worked to remove the thorns.

When she had disposed of them carefully, she moved onto creating a small rune, green and luminous and as big as the child’s palm. “Curatio,” she spoke the word gently, touching her palm to Lyra’s. She held it there, letting the magic mend the skin. When she removed it, the injuries were gone. “There, all better. Ah, wait, to remove all the pain…” Isla trailed off, bringing the Startouch’s palm to her lips and giving it a light kiss. “A kiss to make the pain go away, an ancient Earthblood technique.” She laughed, her hands moving to Lyra’s shoulders. “Are you okay?”

The child nodded, a small smile on her face.

Isla returned the smile. “Good, now how about I show you some flowers that won’t hurt you?”

Bruinen finding her with his clothes:

Bruinen scratched his head, confusion taking over his face. He had been looking for his blue satin jacket. While it wasn’t typical for Tidebounds to wear layered clothing, as too much material would slow them down in the water, he usually wore it for formal occasions. And considering he was going to an annual meeting with some other merchants tomorrow...he kind of needed it. But, no matter where he looked, he just couldn’t seem to find it.

He closed the doors to his closet with a sigh. “Elskan mín,” he called out, turning to his wife who was mending some clothing on their bed. “Have you seen my jacket? The blue satin one, it seems to be missing, and I can’t find it for the life of me…”

“Is that so? That is very strange, I’m sure it’ll turn up though.” She responded, tone even with just the smallest hint of mischief to it.

He had been married to her long enough to pick up on that mischief. “You know something I don’t know. What is it? Did Torin spill something on it while he was doing laundry?” He raised a nonexistent eyebrow as he came closer to her, smiling in confusion seeing her amused expression.

“Oh, no, it’s fine. Why don’t you check on Lyra? Last I saw, she was in your study, and already missing you, the poor thing.” She tutted, a smile on her face as she paused in her mending to look up at her husband.

Taking that as a clue, Bruinen nodded. “I suppose I’ll be doing that.” Kissing her on the forehead tenderly, he stepped out the door, travelling down the hallway and opening the door to his study.

He peered around, walking in when he couldn’t find the Startouch child. He paused when he found her, curled up on his chair and sleeping soundly, his blue satin jacket wrapped around her like a blanket. His heart melted at the sight, walking around his desk to reach her. He hadn’t realized she was going to miss him so much, he would only be gone a couple days. Shaking his head good naturedly, he picked her up, careful not to wake her, and settled her back down on his lap when he sat on the chair. She curled up to him instantly, clutching onto both the jacket and his shirt tightly.

Bruinen thought his heart was going to burst at how cute the scene was. Petting her hair, he let out a sigh. “You can keep the jacket, my little Lyra. I can always find another…” he murmured. The elf was really going to have to hasten home after that meeting was over with.

Aerin brushing her hair:

Aerin winced as the cold air from outside blew through the window, and she closed it to block it out. The winds had really picked up today it seemed, it was making the whole house creak by how strong it was.

Her eyes flicked to the door hearing it slam open, and not much later, Torin waltzed in, holding Lyra. The Startouch girl’s hair was a mess, the silver strands tangled, and there appeared to be twigs and leaves stuck in there as well. Surprise and amusement overtook her face as she came closer, leaning against the doorway. “Had a bit too much fun out there in the trees, did we?” She asked, lightly laughing seeing Torin’s sheepish expression.

“We thought it was fine...until that last gust knocked her out of the tree.” He explained, rubbing the back of his neck once he set Lyra down.

Her eyes were wild and bright. It was fun, she signed happily.

Aerin knelt down with a smile. “Well, I’m glad you had fun, dear. I don’t know if the same can be said for your hair though.” Her wooden fingers ghosted over the knots lightly, before standing up. “Come with me, I believe Isla has a brush in her room we can use to sort that out.” She started walking up the stairs, making a stop in Isla’s room to grab the brush before going to Lyra’s room and having the child sit down on her bed.

Aerin sat behind her, pulling out the twigs and leaves from her hair carefully before brushing, only to stop seeing Lyra flinch. Hurts, she explained.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’ll be extra gentle this time.” She promised her, starting again. There was no flinching this time around, and she continued, watching the bristles smooth out the strands. There was silence for a little, before the Earthblood began singing quietly. It was one of the songs played at the celebration they had last month, still stuck in her mind with its catchy lyrics and tune. She continued singing softly, getting lost in her task. She didn’t stop at brushing though. When the strands of silver had been smoothed out, her fingers glided through her hair, separating them in chunks, and then leaving delicate braids in them. When she was satisfied, she stopped singing and removed her hands from Lyra’s head.

The child started when she stopped, having dozed during the relaxing process. Thank you, she signed, her hands still a little sluggish.

She smiled, turning Lyra around and kissing her on the forehead before bringing her into a hug. “Think nothing of it, my bright star.”

Rowan reading with her:

Rowan’s brow wrinkled as they looked over the papers in front of them. There had been an error in the data they had been working on, the paper said they received ten tons of silk, instead of one, and the number mistranslation was seriously messing with their calculations. A groan rose from their throat, another all nighter was definitely in their future.

They were brought out of their thoughts upon feeling a small hand on their leg, and they looked over to see Lyra with an apprehensive look on her face.

They smiled at her, as much as they could with their incoming headache anyways. “What did you need?” They asked softly.

She lifted a book up in their view before placing it down. Trying to read, but I don’t know some of the words, she told them. Her eyes looked at how tensed their posture was and the papers scattered about their desk, and she hunched over herself slightly. Not a good time?

“No, no,” they reassured her with a shake of their head. “I probably need the break. Maybe coming back to it will help actually. Thank you for helping me.” Their smile became a bit less forced seeing her own smile. They took the book in their hands, studying it. It was a new one for her, and a little above her reading level, it was no wonder she was having trouble understanding some words. “This is a good one,” they commented before standing up. “So, where do you want to read?”

She took their hand, leading them to the couch in the living room, and they chuckled as they sat down on it, getting comfy before helping Lyra into their lap. “Point out the words, I’ll help you understand them.” They hummed lightly, watching her starry hands open the book.

The two spent an hour going over the words she had already read but didn’t know. Then, three more hours of reading the story aloud with her, pausing whenever she made a sign that she didn’t know the word. They loved watching her reactions to the story, and the way her eyes grew bright when she guessed a word right.

The story had just come to an end, when Lyra slumped against them, fast asleep. They were a bit surprised at the sudden occurrence, before smiling softly, closing the book and setting it aside. They could spend another hour or so like this, it was worth it, anyways.

#asks answered #scars in the starlight #the Comerde Family #Bruinen #Isla #Rowan #Torin #Aerin #Water-Earth fam au #fluff

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goliath-de-senfina-sango · 5 years ago

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Local Teenager has Trippy Dream and Realizations About Family Importance, Family of Local Geniuses not Aware of how Genius they Are, Deceased Poacher not very Smart, Attacks Local Ghost Hunters, Local Family Discusses the Importance of Failsafes

Voices, vaguely familiar and carrying warmth called out to him. They called his name, the sound distant and irrelevant, so small it is lost to the hearts of stars singing deep beneath the soil. Lost to the blooming nebulas staining the dark sky with color, miles upon miles of light and rivers of fire and the promise of something new. Danny can almost hear the words and language they speak; something so close, so distant, something he has never known -- but they ring with such magnificent, terrible truth that he thinks, maybe he has always known them. Maybe they have always lived inside him, alongside the bones. These melodies, these words, that burn with such ferocious clarity that if he just spoke them aloud then the far would become near and he could reach out and pluck the stars from the sky and cradle them in his hands.

Danny woke up in his bed, surrounded by the warm press of his friends. The music of his dreams fading to the farthest and darkest reaches of his mind and leaving Danny grasping at nothing for them. So instead of the music he could barely hear the faintest notes of, Danny focused on his friends. His ears had grown so capable that with some focus he could hear even their heartbeats, and at the moment he was glad. His friends’ pulses were a reassuring sound, as much as the feeling of them pressed against his body and breathing right next to him on either side - reassurance that they were truly there.

Slipping between the rhythmic dances of their ever vibrating molecules, Danny got out of the bed and landed on his feet near silently. A glance at the clock told him it was 7:10 AM and Danny was beyond glad that it was Saturday. Holding in a yawn, he walked straight to the bathroom, did his routine, and headed downstairs in just his binder and boxers, as everyone in the household had seen him in already.

Or so he thought. There was a woman in a purple suit with a tie and curly hair sitting in one of the chairs in his living room, holding up an electronic recorder. And his parents and sister were on the couch, everyone fully dressed. And staring at him. In his underwear. Considering he just let loose a string of swears therein, he hoped the lady didn’t speak Mandarin.

Three minutes later Danny came down in a purple shirt bearing the FMA logo on it and some sweat pants. “Uh, hi?”

“Danny, I told you about this interview already,” Jazz said through grit teeth. “This is Souda Ayodele from Genius magazine.” A quick look on the second layer of everything showed that her aura was one of angry beige bees.

Danny turned to stare at the reporter. “Hi there.” Ms. Ayodele waved back, and Danny walked past the entire event to the kitchen. “Eggs, or Cereal?” Danny hummed, before catching his mother’s voice pointing out that her focus was ghost hunting. “Oh, this will be hilarious.” Grabbing cereal, a bowl, and milk, Danny used his intangibility to speed up getting everything together and grabbing a spoon. He was on the couch in time to hear Jazz claim that ghost hunting was a hobby.

“What they’re really involved in is inventing.” Jazz smiled, trying to steer the conversation to somewhere safe and normal.

“True, we do invent a majority of the time. I’ve personally worked on improving the power sources for all of our things around Fentonworks. Though, we do mechanical engineering as well,” Mom said as Danny ate his cereal.

Dad pulled out one of their holographic projectors and hit the button to let it float. “I have a full inventory of our inventions right here actually! For instance-”

“Dr. Fenton” Ayodele said, clearly having been here long enough to know that if she didn’t just interrupt then Dad would keep talking. “Pardon the interruption, but is that...device, um...floating?"

Dad and Mom blinked, looking at each other. Even Danny and Jazz cocked their heads at the question. Their parents had been toying around with hover engines for years, what was the big deal about that?

"Well, yes," Mom began. "That's a patented Fenton Gravity Inverter."

"And...how much can your...um, Gravity Inverter lift?" The reporter asked again.

"Approximately one metric ton, depending on the model." Dad shrugged. "But the Gravity Inverter is only a small part of the FentonWorks itinerary, such-”

"I'm sorry, but just to confirm: your laboratory has successfully created a device which can lift a ton of weight into the air without the energy requirements being prohibitive?" The reporter asked finally.

"Yes," Mom explained slowly as if talking to a child. "It's a relatively simplistic application of physics. Both Danny and Jazz, our children, have been building them for us for years while my husband and I focused on more advanced applications of our research. The Gravity Inverter is, quite literally, 'kids stuff.' In fact, I think Danny built the model that we eventually decided on using for the Fenton Holoprojector."

“A waste of an afternoon since I coulda been working on my paints,” Danny muttered around his cereal.

Ayodele turned to the kids fully. “Mr. and Ms. Fenton, is what your parents saying true?"

Danny shrugged, clearing his throat as he nodded. "Ah, sure. I mean, those things are pretty easy, I could almost build one in my sleep nowadays. I’m even using one for a side project I’m doing with a friend. They're not like Physics Cancelers or anything, right Jazz?"

"I guess they're pretty easy," Jazz shrugged, uncomfortable with being the center of attention. "Mom and dad only ask us to work with the safe stuff anyway. None of this is too complicated." Jazz turned to her parents, "If you're using the Model II that Danny built for the Projector, why did you want me to put together a Model VI last week?”

Mom smiled, "Oh, that's for the Specter Speeder, sweetie. We'll be showing that off a little later. At any rate, though, we would like to get on with the demonstration now. Jack, honey, if you would?"

“Rightio Mads!” Dad pulled out a remote from his pocket and a projection of an oblong, missile-like object coated in shiny metal and streamlined with a flaming F decal on both sides. The projection spun in the air at Dad’s press of a button.

"The Fenton Ghost Zone Probe," Mom began, “When finished, will be launched into the Ghost Portal and take numerous measurements including temperature, ecto-thermography, radiospectronomy, and more...of course, this will include video and audio data!"

“Did you say… Ghost Portal?” The woman looked remarkably uneased by the implications of there being a ghost portal, which was understandable. Danny wasn’t a fan of the fact himself. Just realizing how easily he slid through matter without even a second thought had Danny shuddering.

“Yup! We can’t exactly show ya that one just yet,” Dad said with a sigh. “We didn’t prepare for a presentation proper. We can, however, describe to you exactly how it works!”

And so Dad did just that and Danny tuned him out, eating his cereal since he’d heard this all before about six times. Instead, he focused on the look of mounting horror on Jazz’s face and counted the seconds before she interrupted Dad again.

“The portal isn’t what we’re here to talk about, Dad!” Wow, a full 36 seconds. Danny was impressed. “Can we talk about your work in energy? A self-regenerating energy source?”

“Ectoplasm, Jazz.” Danny pointed with his spoon. “They’re converting some of the nuclear batteries to use reactions with ectoplasm instead of the usual stuff.”

“Nuclear… batteries?” The poor reporter looked so lost and Danny had to wonder why. Did he say something about ghosts? Well beyond ectoplasm but everyone knew ghosts were made of ectoplasm. “Do the two of you work at a nuclear facility?”

“No?” Mom frowned. “We have nuclear batteries in our ghost hunting technology.”

“The entire facility is powered by a reactor under the labs.” Danny rolled his eyes. “And solar panels on the roof and a backup geothermal generator. Actually, all of our windows are solar panels too. I’m pretty sure Mom and Dad are just looking for ways to replicate those effects with ectoplasm?”

“Like we told you, Danny, it’s far more efficient in storage and output of energy than any material we’ve found on earth or any other dimension.”

“I know Mom, I just… I dunno, expected something new?” Danny shrugged and slurped up the milk from his now-empty bowl, relishing in Jazz’s glare. “Well, I’m gonna be upstairs having fun.” It was then that Danny spotted Tucker and Sam on the stairs, Sam in her black jeans and a Dumpty Humpty shirt she left last time she stayed over and Tucker in a button-up of Danny’s. “Guys, c’mon, ignore the interview we’ve got funner stuff to do.”

“That’s not a word, Danny.” Sam rolled her eyes. “This explains why English teachers hate you.”

“Oh please,” Danny chuckled as he headed into the kitchen, waiting for Sam and Tucker to grab their breakfast. “The teachers love me. Lancer’s just a pain.”

“Dude,” Tucker said as he grabbed a bag of bacon bits like they were chips and started eating. “You guys have nuclear reactors in your house?”

“Well not in this house specifically but yeah,” Danny shrugged. “Did you think we were on the city’s power grid or something?”

“Actually honey we’re supplying power to the whole town,” Mom called out, displaying that all mothers were supernatural entities that could hear anything.

“Huh. Well, there ya go.” Danny shrugged and headed to and up the stairs. Sam and Tucker soon followed, Sam holding a bowl full of fruit. “Did you put that there yesterday?”

“Yes, you need healthier food in this house, Danny - also why am I only just learning that you guys power the entire town?” Sam was scowling at him, and Danny wasn’t sure what he’d done this time.

“Because I only just found out?”

“What did you mean by This house, Danny?” Tucker sat on Danny’s bed while Sam got into his desk chair. “Do you guys have more than one house?”

“Yeah, FentonWorks is the entire block.” Judging by his friends’ expressions, Danny hadn’t told them this. “I guess it never came up?” Danny held up a game disc. “Did you think I built our HorrorStations in my room?” Danny slid the disc into the hand made console, grabbed his controller, and sat next to Tucker.

Before Tucker could respond, Danny felt a chill run up his spine, into his lungs and past his lips and he looked around on the second realm, but he was too late. The robot Sam had described appeared, right behind Danny, arm aimed point-blank at him. A net shot out and tangled around Danny’s body, throwing him off the bed and into his own console. In seconds, all three of them were bound in blue nets. “Hello, Ghost Child.”

“Who are you?” Danny arched a brow. He needed a moment to pull that power of brilliant, life granting stars into his muscles. If he transformed inside the house for a fight his parents would not only notice but come up and see his ghost form instead of him.

“I am Skulker,” the robot said, holding up a holographic projection of a cage filled with green abominations unto all gods Danny could think of. “A collector of things rare and unique. And you, ghost child, are that and more.” Skulker laughed, far more dramatically than he deserved to, and took a step, Danny’s rocket cracking and shattering into pieces.

“That’s my fucking rocket!” Green fire filled Danny’s veins and he tore the net off of himself, rising to put some dents in the robot. But when he reached into himself proper, that ice-cold void, heatless and full of lights that no other human being could ever claim to see, he was burned and staggered backward. “I built that! Just like this!” The Wrist Ray™ struck Skulker in the chest, burning a hole in him, and Danny felt that fire drain out of him into the weapon.

Sam and Tucker behind him used their own wrist rays to cut through the nets, and Sam’s shot from her crouch on the ground sailed over Skulker’s ducking head, leaving a dent in Danny’s wall. Skulker hit a button on his wrist and the nets began to snap and crackle. Danny reached out and snatched Tucker away before he could get zapped, and kicked the net away from Sam’s feet. He let go just fast enough that neither of them felt the shocks when they raced up into his body and forced his every muscle to tense up - nerves ablaze with screams that he couldn’t make.

Tucker raised his Wrist Ray ™ but Skulker shot it off of his wrist and he yelped. “Holy shit!”

“Come now, ghost boy, I expected this to be far more of a challenge. And yet here you are, easily cowed by the merest targeting of your little friends?” Skulker’s words barely reached Danny’s ears. All he could hear was the rushing of his blood and pain. Just as the current died down, Danny’s vision blacked out when Sam’s Wrist Ray shot missed the netting itself and hit his foot instead.

The door opened with a bang. “GET THE HELL AWAY FROM MY SON!” BOOM Skulker was blasted back by Dad’s bazooka into the wall, and Danny’s vision slowly returned to him. “Jasmine, take your brother to the infirmary! Kids, get out of here!”

Skulker launched a net at Dad but Mom came to the rescue with her own cannon fire. It struck Skulker right in the net launcher and ripped off a piece of paneling on his arm. With a snarl, Skulker took in his surroundings and reached down to grab something purple, before fading from sight and quickly vacating Danny’s range of extra senses.

And soon that didn’t matter because Danny was being rushed down to the infirmary and he could hear Sam and Tucker telling his parents what had happened, ignoring the reporter entirely. Letting out a cough, Danny turned to Jazz and flashed a grin. It felt more like a grimace. “Hey, I stopped them from embarrassing you in that interview right?”

“You’re a disaster, little brother.” Jazz took a breath and carded a hand through his hair like she always did when he was hurt. “We’re gonna get you better, and when you’re better you’re gonna explain to me what the hell you were thinking.”

“Sure thing, Spazz.” Danny chuckled and sighed. “I think I need a nap.”

Danny reaches out, eyes transfixed on the distant hearts of stars. One whisper is all it needs. He could do it. He can. If he could just shape the cold clay of his lips.

Danny opened his eyes to the sight of Jazz, Tucker, Sam and his Mom all sitting around the infirmary and doing things. Sam was looking through one of her scrapbooks while Tucker did something on one of his PDAs - didn’t Skulker fly off with the other one? Jazz was reading a book about trauma and Mom was checking something on a holographic display. Everything was unnervingly quiet, and for a moment Danny considered going back to sleep. Rare and unique. Enough of a freak that some ghost would come hunting me down just to say to the rest of the Underworld ‘hey look, I caught the weirdo!’ regardless of who got in his way or what I have to say about it. Horologium, with how I rip apart ghosts that piss me off bad enough, I might as well be one of the weird Things that he was showing off in his little hologram.

Instead of dwelling on how his very fucked up existence that shouldn’t have been was putting his family in danger now, he sat up. His muscles were sore and stiff, and he let out a pained groan from the action, but Danny was at least relieved that he could move at all. “Okay, remind me never to touch another live wire again.” He saw his friends wince and shrugged before wincing again himself.

“Danny! Oh, honey don’t try to move too much, alright?” Mom came to his side in the blink of an eye, checking him over for any signs of electrical burns. “Oh Danny, baby, are you alright?”

“I’m about as sore as Zephyrus was about Hyacinthus, but I think I’ll be alright. Though, I’d love to never have to deal with that again.” Danny let out a sigh and laid his head back. I’d also love to be done with this getting better thing. What was it that Mom and Dad said about ectoplasm? It can absorb electromagnetic energy? Danny closed his eyes and reached out for the dangling threads of buzzing whines in the lights and sockets, pulling it into himself clumsily. He bit back a yelp and felt his arm practically convulse when the electricity went the wrong way. Note to self, don’t try that in human form again. Human bodies are complicated.

“Flex your muscles slowly and methodically, Danny,” Tucker said. “Gotta get your blood flowing. And check for nerve damage, cause electricity is horrible for the body. Speaking of, thank you for pulling us out of those nets."

Sam came over and held out a hand, looking slightly unsure as to what she wanted to do. "Gods, I'm so sorry for shooting you in the foot."

Danny laughed, ignoring the pain of tensing muscles because that was the last thing anyone needed to apologize for as far as Danny was concerned. "You got the net off yourself by blasting it so you blasted the net on my foot, it's cool. Though, if we end up netted again, please just grab something non-conductive to knock the net away."

"There will be no Next Time, pumpkin. The anti-ghost defense grid is up and running and no nasty ghost robot is getting in here to target you."

"Thanks, Mom." Danny let out a sigh and felt something uncurl in relief. He was safe at home, at the very least. "So Jazz, I think I owe you a thought process."

"That is correct, Second."

"Well, False Maturity, I was thinking, 'that button has something to do with those nets. If I get them away from Sam and Tuck, he can't hurt them with them.' And so I tried doin that."

"My boy the hero!" Dad came barreling into the room and immediately scooped Danny up into a hug. "Gave us all a scare! That ecto scum will think twice before trying to attack FentonWorks now!"

“I’ve been told… lungs are important.” Danny hugged back anyway of course, he wasn’t going to leave this hug ever.

“Mom, Dad,” Jazz piped up. “The things that come out of the portal are clearly dangerous. One attacked Danny in his room! Why haven’t we shut down the portal yet?” The squeeze of Dad’s hug got uncomfortably tighter.

“We’ve tried, Jazzerincess, can’t get the darn thing to turn off.” Danny felt his blood run even colder.

“What?” Mom sighed and ran a hand over her face. “We unplugged it, cut all the power from the portal but it seems to be self-sustaining. All we can do is block it up with those blast doors.”

For several moments there was silence while everyone digested that they had no solid way of keeping the ghosts out of their world. And I'm the one who opened the door in the first place.

Sam cleared her throat. "Drs. Fenton? I know who the ghost is. He told us during his monologing he died putting down the last female purple back gorilla in a hunt. Name’s Hunter Grosvenor.” Sam sneered around the name as though it were the most disgusting piece of meat she'd had to swallow in her life.

Danny covered his mouth with his hand, curling his fingers into a fist slowly. Blowing air into it, he resisted the urge to growl. Tucker glared at the sky, daring Skulker to appear so he could dismantle him personally. “I’ve not felt so incredibly violent in a while. I need videogames-"

"Actually," Tucker interrupted with a sigh. "Your Horrorstation broke in all the fighting. The scrap heap also stole my PDA."

"First he gives my best friend a burn on her stomach, then he breaks my models and now my videogames? When I next see Skulker, I'm going to burn a hole through his faceplate." Danny groaned, laying his head back. "Can I get a moment with Sam and Tuck?"

"Of course, son." Dad set him down and ruffled his hair, more gentle with Danny than he ever remembered him being. The air around Dad was vaguely orangish and Danny let the tiniest bit of ectoplasm reach his eyes. The orange air around his dad, probably an aura, was tinged with echoes of sour fear and boiling anger that had Danny ready to crawl out of his skin, grab a gun and hunt Skulker down himself. "You kids go on and do that research project of yours! Mads and I will hunt down that putrid undead creep and rip it apart on a molecular level!"

Danny had never felt so conflicted about something his Dad had said. On one hand, I'd love for him to destroy Skulker. On the other, the dehumanizing way he says it is disturbing as all hell.

Just as the Fenton Adults left the room, Dad turned around with a big grin. "By the way Danny, I'm proud of you for looking out for your friends like that."

A wave of something brilliant and blue and love pride relief joy slammed into Danny and filled him from the inside out. And as the door closed, Danny flexed his fingers and rolled his joints. Danny stood up and stretched. "Holy shit guys, I think that Dad just healed me up a bit."

"Sweet. Think he can spread that around or is that a You thing?" Tucker looked ready to take notes since Danny didn't have his notebook on him.

Danny closed his eyes and focused, gently pulling that cool void up and letting it fill his eyes and ears and every nerve on his body. He opened his eyes and Danny saw the world bathed in that extreme indigo-like color that seemed to come off of every person he looked at. Looking closer, he noticed faint blue strings leading from him to his Dad and Mom and Jazz upstairs and a silver string leading to Tucker and Sam each. Reaching out to grasp the one that he just knew belonged to Jazz Danny was floored by so potent and blended a mix of positivity, concern, and manic energy that he had to stumble back into the bed. "Danny?"

"Just a me thing. Definitely. I can see these… strings, connecting me to you guys and my family. Like spider threads. But like, made of emotions?" He rubbed his temples and hummed. "Ectoplasm is psychoreactive so maybe it's like, a connection between us made semi tangible to my ghost because of how much ectoplasm is normally around here? You guys definitely got hit by ectoplasm in spades when the portal activated, so that explains why I can see it linking me to you guys too…"

"Hey. Science boy." Sam nudged his hip with her foot and Danny arched a brow at her. "Save the theories for later. We need a game plan to deal with the guy as soon as possible. Grovsner was a very efficient hunter if a sadistic bastard.”

Danny sighed and nodded, sitting back down. “Well, what do we know about him?” Tucker began tapping away at his PDA, eyes moving quickly.

“I know that you’re probably not gonna find anything on the internet. I had done a report on his barbaric treatment toward animals for an extra credit project and when I looked back for them, on all the same sites as before. Nothing.” Sam groaned. “But, I do remember what it was he typically did on a hunt for a protected species. He had hunting dogs, laid all kinds of traps, the works. I’m not sure what kind of things ectoplasm can do to a net besides making it gooier, but being able to phase into walls and crawl spaces where you usually go to is something he’s definitely going to take advantage of.”

“So my locker is probably gonna be rigged to explode, I have to worry about hell hounds, and he has nets that might fall on me on the way to the library or just to like, GameStop.” Danny leaned back, closing his eyes. “That sounds fun.”

"You assume there are hell hounds," Tucker snorted.

"Of course there are."

"Because you so want there to be ghost dogs."

"Tucker. Imagine it. A dog that doesn't poop, just cuddles up with you and gives you infinite love."

"Don't all dogs go to Heaven, Danny?"

"I have strong evidence that there is no such thing as Heaven just like. A door down. Literally past that wall over there."

"Fair enough." Tucker sighed and laid his head back. Then he sat straight up with a grin. "You know what's a great way of being harder to trap?"

"Intelligence?"

"Mobility, Sam. If we finish those hoverboards we should be able to avoid most of his land traps!" Danny and Tucker beamed at each other and high fived each other.

"I'm good to go on that! Sam, wanna learn how to-"

"You guys can have your geek things, Danny, I'm heading upstairs to make use of all your handhelds." Sam smiled and held her hands up, walking to the stairs. "Scream if you need me."

"Same to you!" Danny grinned and headed to the door that lead to the main lab.

“You know how your gravity inverter™ works better than I do so I’m gonna work on like, an AI. No, Danny don’t give me that look, it’s just for navigation, it isn’t self improving or anything like that. I just want something to help me not crash into things when flying.”

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edream93 · 6 years ago

Note

“Be more careful next time. I don’t want to bandage you up again.” Willet if you want!

Another Anon also asked: “You heard me. Take. It. Off.” -　with Willet?I’m sorry this took so long to get back to. This has literally been in my draft folder for ages. Hope you enjoy!

“You heard me,” Violet leaned back in her chair with an annoyed sigh. “Take. It. Off.”

Dash groaned as he shifted in his chair, weakly trying to reach back to where his zipper was at the back of neck only to realize that Edna didn’t put a zipper on this new costume. He paused to look up pityingly at Violet, a pout that made him look much younger than his twenty-one years and reminded Violet of old missions where they would be too tired to do much of anything other than lay in the middle of the living room, usually covered in dust and smelling of smoke.

Feeling pity for the oldest of her brothers, Violet tapped the the large “D” with a lighting bolt through it on his chest - his first personal insignia. A beeping sound was heard before the suit expanded to a ridiculous size, allowing Dash to easily shrug out of it. Once his top half was off, a slowly bleeding cut on his side as well as the darkening bruises that seemed to cover him was revealed.

“Yeah…this totally looks like you won,” Violet sarcastically drawled, pulling out her first aid kit and beginning to rummage through it for the needed supplies. Her hands had long ago learned to not shake when treating her brother but that still didn’t stop the protective swell that clutched her heart every time she saw him hurt.

Dash rolled his eyes, biting his lip when Violet poked the cut on his side just a little too firmly. “Trust me,” the speedster grinned through the pain, “the other guy looks worst.”

Violet hummed though chose to not say anything further as she continued to clean his cut. Once the cut was clean and she could see his body quickly beginning to stitch himself back together. Being a Super had its benefits when you got hurt. Being a speedster Super sped things up infinitely quicker.

“You know,” she began, placing a large bandage over the cut that she knew would be pointless within two hours. “You could have done this yourself.”

Dash shrugged, shifting in his chair so slightly that anyone else would have just thought he was adjusting himself but the carton of leftover Chinese food he now held indicated he had rummaged through her refrigerator in less than the time it took her to blink.

“Could have,” he said around a mouthful of cold fried rice. “But I was in the neighborhood-”

“You mean three cities over,” Violet frowned.

“As I was saying, I was in the neighborhood and I figured, ‘Hey! I need to take care of these wounds and I haven’t hung out with Vi in a while so…why not?’”

Violet placed a bandage on the cut of Dash’s cheek before getting up, again, moreso out of sisterly care than the already healing cut needing it. “There, that’s all I can do for you until you heal up yourself. Be more careful next time. I don’t want to bandage you up again,” she sighed looking down at him. “Now, why are you here, Dash? Did mom and dad put you up to this?”

Before Dash could answer, a rummaging sound was heard at the door, bringing Violet’s attention away from her brother and to the young man with a well known cowlick entering her apartment with bags of groceries, Wilbur Robinson, her roommate.

Violet only had a second to glance back at the cheshire grin on her brother’s face, the only warning of his actual goal of coming here. It was reflexes from living with a family full of Supers that allowed Violet to put up a force field keeping Dash confined to her room but to also make the room look empty from Wilbur’s perspective, a skill that had taken years of practice to accomplish.

“Hey Vi, I hope you’re ready for the Robinson Family Spaghetti dinner!” Wilbur grinned, placing the bags down before glancing up at her a big grin on his face. He frowned suddenly though, taking in the tense way she held herself and how she kept her hands behind her back. “Something wrong?”

“Nope!” Violet chirped a little too quickly. “Nothing’s wrong. Everything is peachy. Just peachy.”

Wilbur looked at her suspiciously. “Right,” he drawled out, not seeming convinced at all. He squinted his eyes at her before gasping. “Is that blood?” he asked voice filled with concern at the blood on the side of her shirt.

“Uh…nosebleed!” Violet said quickly. “Couldn’t grab a tissue in time so just used my shirt. The air in here is a little bit dry. Oh! Is that spaghetti? Want some help?”

Attention brought back to his original task, Wilbur went into an excited tale about how he was finally granted permission to the Robinson family spaghetti dinner recipe.

Violet took a moment to look over her shoulder, a half formed plan of how to get her injured costumed brother out without Wilbur noticing. She held back a groan when she released her shield to see that Dash was gone, the window to her tenth floor apartment open.

He wouldn’t.

It would be reckless. It would be irresponsible. It would be…

There was a knock on their apartment door to the tune of “shave and a haircut”.

…something that Dash would totally do, Violet thought with a groan.

“Got it!” Wilbur called out, temporarily giving up his search for the humidifier and opening the door to reveal Dash. Grinning and still in costume.

That’s it. She was going to kill her brother and become a super villain.

“Hello random citizen, I’m here to see my totally normal girlfriend, Violet. Who I am in love with…And not related to at all,” Dash puffed out his chest and spoke in a voice that was nowhere near what it usually sounded like.

Violet could only watch as Wilbur said nothing before looking over his shoulder at her and loudly whispering, “Vi, why is your brother pretending to be your boyfriend?”

Dash nearly fell over. “Wait. Wh-what? He knows?” his voice became more shrill with every word before pushing Wilbur back quickly and closing the door, looking frantically around as if there was a hidden camera. “How does he know, Vi?”

Violet sighed, as Wilbur gave her a smug look, throwing his arm over her much taller costumed brother’s shoulders and pulling him towards the kitchen. “That is an excellent question, Dash, or is it the Dash in costume? Never mind. Hey! Do you like spaghetti? The Robinson family is known for the best spaghetti around!”

Rolling her eyes, Violet followed two of some of the most important men in her life into the kitchen. This was definitely not how she wanted to break it to her family that she was roommates/possibly something more with a vigilante.

#willet #violet parr #wilbur robinson #dash parr #the incredibles #Meet the Robinsons #violet parr x wilbur robinson #edream93 fanfic #edream93 answers #edream93 fanfiction #sorry this took so long

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namariea · 7 years ago

Text

Hello, Neighbor | VI

Since moving in you have compiled a comprehensive list on your mysterious neighbor across the way.

Do Kyungsoo, otherwise known as Asian Bobby Flay and apparently Bruno Mars’ protégé.

Pairing: Kyungsoo x Reader

Words: 2.7 k

Genre: Fluff

Previous: I II III IV V

Pushing open the door to your apartment, you crossed the threshold with a tired sigh.

You had stayed late again after work. Thankfully it was straight-forward and did not require you to make any phone calls to other agencies, but that did not stop you from internally cussing out all of head office with language that would have made a sailor proud.

Two hours of overtime and a 45-minute commute later, you finally returned to your beloved hovel of a sanctuary where you can finally kick back, relax, and forget all of your worr-

Why is my sock wet.

Confused, you fumbled against the wall searching for the switch and once the lights came on, you immediately came to two conclusions.

Conclusion number one: Your right sock was indeed wet.

Conclusion number two: Not only was your sock wet, but your entire main hallway was covered in water.

Fabulous.

Following the stream of water, you ended up squatting in front of your bathroom sink, specifically staring at the cabinet under your sink, where a steady stream of water was flowing from the cracks.

Amazing.

“I’m sorry but maintenance is already out on a call. I’m afraid there won’t be another availability until the morning”

Perfection.

“Is there….anything you can do? Surely there has to be someone who can come in, my apartment is flooding” you stressed, looking at the water with growing concern. You heard the sounds of typing and clicking, then after a few moments of silence the voice came back.

“You can contact a local plumber, however we can only cover the cost of repairs done by our maintenance staff, so you will have to pay it on your own if that is what you choose to do”

You cheap motherfu-

“I’ll figure something out, thank you for your time.” not bothering to wait for a reply on the other line you ended the call, dropping your cell phone onto the counter with a huff.

“What good is a 24-hour maintenance service if you have to wait 9 hours to get help” you groaned as you looked at pot under your sink slowing filling up with water.

Already gone through all of your towels, you were running out of absorbent materials to use, lest you crack open your closet. Sending a scared look to your closet, you picked up your phone once more, unlocking it and beginning your search for local plumbers to call. Just as you were going to press dial on a service that was the closest to your apartment complex you hesitated as you remembered something very important.

Plumbers cost money.

And you had limited money.

Thus, spending money was not really an option.

If only there was a more cost effective, convenient option...

Hmm.

"'Sup, loser."

You blinked as your brother shoved something large and oddly soft into your arms. Looking down, you took in the rounded face of the stuffed animal. You could have sworn you've seen it before. Had you seen this online somewhere?

"Mira and I went to the fair yesterday and she saw this at one of the vendors. She said it reminded her of Mimi, only skinnier" he explained as he walked around you, hauling his utility bag towards the bathroom.

Ah.

Meow.

Following your brother to the bathroom and having him confirm that, yes, he could indeed fix your leaking sink – thank you Baby Jesus - you left him to his devices and made your way to the kitchen to start making dinner. The wonderful thing about the relationship you had with your brother was that the two of you never talked about money. Any favors were always paid back in the form of food.

And nothing says thanks for fixing my sink like five cheese lasagna.

Placing the giant cat plushie on the counter for moral support, you set out on preparing the ingredients. Swaying to the music playing from the speakers you hummed as you worked. You were by no means a good cook, much to your dear mother's dismay. It was just not something you were ever interested in, you were much more interested in the eating rather than the preparing.

However, if living alone has taught you anything it was that starvation was a true possibility and that no matter how loyal of a customer you were to the ramen place down the street they were never going to give you a discount. Therefore it left you with no choice but to begin your amateur cooking career.

Days since kitchen incident: 2

After a close call with the smoke detector and a half-burnt lasagna later, you set to work on putting your culinary masterpiece on the table. Your brother emerged not long after and you both tucked into the Michelin star meal you prepared.

While you ate the two of you caught up about life. Since moving out it was a rarity that the two of you saw each other, so it was nice to finally hang out and talk like you used to. Secretly you were glad that you and your brother grew up to be close, having known people who aren't as friendly with their siblings. You can't even begin to count the number of times he has been there for you, as a shoulder to cry on when the stress of school was getting to you, as an open ear for you to when life was just a pile of turds. He was always around to give advice and encourage you to do your best, even when you didn't think you could. More than your brother, he was your best friend and you didn't know what you would do without his snarky ass on speed dial.

Not like you would ever admit that to him though.

Can't let the man know you're going soft.

“So how is living on your own? Wanting to pack up and move back to mom and dad’s yet?”

“Every day. I consider it every. day.”

“Ahh it can’t be that bad, this is a nice place and it seems like a younger neighborhood, meet any neighbors yet?”

You almost choked on your wine at the question, mind reeling.

“Oh…uh, not really” you coughed, trying to act nonchalant. The last thing you needed was your brother interrogating the poor guy “I’ve just been busy with work and stuff, haven’t really been able to meet any of them yet…” trailing off you began to think about your budding friendship with your neighbor.

Once dinner was done your brother retreated back to the bathroom and you finished cleaning up. As you were putting away the dishes he emerged with a victorious look on his face.

"Well now that that is done," he started, making his way back towards the kitchen, "anything else that requires free labor?"

"Oh hush," you said, sweeping a critical eye across the kitchen "now that I think about it the ice dispenser has been furiously projecting ice cubes whenever I try to use it....but then again, I like how it keeps my reflexes sharp."

"Always on your toes, I like your style."

"Speaking of sharp reflexes, how do you feel about having your ass handed to you at some Mario Kart?"

"Oh, poor child" your brother rolled up the cuffs of his sleeves as he took a seat on your couch, "it's so great that you have dreams, but as your older brother it is my duty to crush them."

With a sleepy yawn, the sound of soft footfalls resonated through the apartment as you entered your kitchen, not bothering to turn on the lights. The morning sun was peeking through the slit in the curtains, dimly illuminating the room and providing enough light to accomplish your mission. You busied yourself with preparing a much-needed caffeinated beverage, and a content sigh passed through you once the fragrant aroma started to fill the room.

Equipped with an arsenal to start the day, you walked over to the curtains and slowly pulled them back to reveal two things.

A sleeping cat, and a wall of black curtains.

Taking a long, contemplative sip from your mug, your eyes narrowed on the latter of the two, a frown forming on your face.

You begin to replay the last week in your head, more specifically your interactions with the owner of said closed curtains.

A tired sigh escaped you as you gazed at the rising sun, eyes squinting in silent contempt. You were by no means a morning person, however there was no mistaking that the silence of the morning was a welcome sight, especially since you were about to join the chaos of rush hour.

It was in that moment of contemplation that black curtains were pulled back, revealing a familiar face.

Speaking of welcomed sights.

“Good morning neighbor” taking a sip from your mug, you offered a friendly wave to the man across from you.

He seemed taken aback by your presence, not anticipating you to be standing right there. He was wearing a fitted black sweater, which you immediately concluded looked very nice on him, and you thanked whatever higher power that his hair was unstyled, and instead hung around his face.

He looked like he wanted to say something but was stopped when a white blob jumped up on the windowsill and made itself known. He instead offered you an odd smile, and before you could question the oddity he beat you to it.

“Good morning” with a curt nod in your direction, he then abruptly turned around and disappeared into his apartment, leaving you bewildered in his wake.

That was strange, you thought.

Humming a tune as you walked into the living room, fiddling with your phone as you browsed through the daily headlines.

Tabloids. Tabloids. Conspiracy Theory. Tabloids.

With an uninterested swipe, you began to read about how the moon doesn’t actually exist and is actually a hologram designed by NASA. Riveting stuff. Five paragraphs and a link to the Flat Earthers Association later, a movement out of the corner of your eye caught your attention. Turning you, saw the silhouette of your neighbour walking past the window come into view.

Catching his eye, you gave him a friendly smile and wave, opening your mouth to greet the man.

Only to have it caught in your throat, as you were given the same curt nod, and then the man scampered away, coat in hand as he swung it on with his back turned to you. He appeared to be in a hurry.

Maybe later, then.

Hopping on one foot, you slipped on your kitten heels, stumbling into your living room and picked up your keys from the coffee table. Jostling them in your hands, out of habit you cast a glance towards the window. No sign of your elusive neighbor.

God, I’m starting to look like a creep

Your shame was short lived, however, when you noticed the dark fabric across the way.

Checking your watch you frowned, however that frown soon turned into panic as you realized you were most definitely going to be late this time.

Shit.

Now, this may be a bit of a reach....and it is totally possible that you are simply imagining things...

But you are almost certain you are being avoided.

To be fair, the main reason you came to this conclusion was due to the fact that you had done the same thing not two weeks ago, but that is not important right now..

It was very much apparent that he was going through some measures to avoid you. It would seem as though subtlety was not his strong suit.

As you were getting ready in your bedroom you would often head the faint sounds of Mimi pawing at the window, followed by a very familiar voice. However, once you pulled back the curtains you were met with closed black curtains and a shifty looking cat.

You needed a second opinion.

"Ghosted. You are being ghosted. "

"Woman, I am not being ghosted, how many times-"

"Well then clearly something happened" Seulgi deadpanned from across the table "did something happen when you guys were talking? Something other than the awkward nerdy sexual tension of course"

"Kim I will end you I swear-"

"Well it's true! If it was going as well as you said it did, you clearly must have said something"

Leaning back in your chair, you glanced around the break room pensively.

The thought did cross your mind more than once, but he was usually just as engaged as you were. At the thought of your neighbour, you could not help the smile that slipped onto your face. Thinking of his melodic voice, how his eye lit up when he laughed and his adorable heart shaped smile-

“Ohnonono, oi cut it out with those googoo eyes” furiously snapping her fingers in front of your face, Seulgi gave you a pointed look.

“You know he could just be busy with work and your worrying over nothing” she pointed out, and you frowed.

“It just seems like it’s something more than that” you said, tilting your head back and staring at the ceiling.

“It just seems like he is going out of his way to not see me, you know? Which makes absolutely no sense, you would think having an hour long debate about pineapple on pizza-”

“Wait, which side were you on?”

“I happen to enjoy a Hawaiian pizza”

“You are the devil incarnate”

“That was more or less his point of view as well. But I think I was this close to bringing him to the light” you said, making a gesture with your fingers, ignoring the scoff from across the table “I was preparing a pretty good pitch, but then my sink decided to do a sick impression of the Bellagio fountains and flooded my bathroom. If it weren’t for my brother fixing it I would have been living in waterworld. I don’t even want to think about what would have happened if it ruined the hardwood, cause im broke as shi-”

“Woahwoahwoah hold up” raising a hand, Seulgi looked at you with wide eyes “What did you just say?”

Blinking at your friend, you furrowed your eyebrows “The Bellagio fountains? The ones in Las Vegas? Bruno Mars did a bit where he rode around on a jet ski in it?”

“No not the damn fountains, idiot, before that. You’re brother was over at your apartment?” she asked, and you groaned at her overly eager expression.

“How many times have I told you, my brother if out of your league, Kang-”

“That’s not what I meant. Also, excuse you, I’m a solid 10” she deadpanned, and you snorted “I mean your brother was over at your house. Did he see him? Now hear me out-“ she quickly added, seeing your confused expression change to an exasperated one.

“What if he thought your brother was...yknow” she made a gesture in the air “That would explain so much. He thought you were hanging out with your boyfriend, not knowing it was actually your brother, and then he backs off because he thinks you’re taken and feels like a fool”

The two of you just stared at each other, Seulgi looking like she had discovered the eighth wonder of the world, and you looking like she had grown a second head.

You were the one to break your staring contest, shaking your head in bewilderment.

“And you said I was the lame one for watching soap operas” you muttered

Leaning back in her chair, you could practically see the gears in her head turning, her expression looking more and more determined.

“It literally explains everything though, why didn’t I see this before” suddenly she lets out a loud laugh.

Arms crossed, you watched the cackling woman as she began muttering to herself about ‘being better than TV’. Frowning, you replayed her words in your head over and over, not denying that the timing of it all was coincidental. Still.

“Even if you don’t agree with it, you can't deny the timing of it all is too much of a coincidence” she stated, voicing your exact thoughts.

Taking advantage of your silence she pushed on, “Well there is only one thing that we can do now”

“We?”

“Time to test the theory.”

You immediately regret asking for a second opinion.

#muse: kyungsoo #length: chaptered #kyungsoo imagine #kyungsoo fanfic #d.o kyungsoo #exo fanfiction #exo imagine

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malfoydormiensnunquamtitillandus · 7 years ago

Text

Granger’s Sister Final (reader x Draco Malfoy)

previously:

“Please…” Harry pleaded, “just please allow us to explain when you are ready.” You listened before putting your coat on, the letters into its pocket and walking out the door misty eyed. The whole scenery looked like a complete blur and you stumbled for a while before losing balance and crashing on your knees on the grass, crying your heart out. You cried at the thought of having been betrayed by the one person you trusted blindly, at the thought of Draco reaching out to you and thinking that you are shutting him out.

You held the letters closer to your chest and every bit of your body hurt while you cried loudly once again. How were you supposed to feel? How were you supposed to handle or cope with it? Your shop had been closed for about a week and the phone downstairs kept ringing, but you… you were so overwhelmed by the sadness that you had started to feel as if you were fading away. You sometimes caught yourself staring at the white wall… and in those moments you ceased to exist. One particular day, the phone rang as if it had no intention to ever stop. It rang so much that the tiring sound started dragging you back into reality forcefully.

You stood up from the bed, head feeling like it was about to burst at any moment and took shaking steps towards the door that lead downstairs when it suddenly stopped. You sought support from the door-frame and waited, but it did not ring again. You sighed the frustration away and looked over to the empty pack of pain killers on your desk groaning. The pain kept on getting stronger and just as you reached for the drawer to look for something to ease it, the phone rang again. The sound felt like a dagger being turned into the back of your head and you screamed rushing down the stairs.

“Hello, you have reached Y/N’s Flowfé, this is Y/N. How may I be of service?” You whined quietly, trying to hide and temperate the anger and pain in your voice. There was no reply, just the sound of someone breathing slowly into the phone. It sounded an awful lot like crying and it made your heart clench. “Uhm, hello?” You repeated, but this time the answer that came was the repetitive tune of an ended call.

You sat behind the bar for a while, head rested on top of your crossed arms with the sun warming you up slowly. You looked out on the street for a while at the people walking their dogs and you contemplated getting a pet, but who were you kidding? The timing was awful. Just as the thoughts begun swiping your pain away, the phone rang again and just as you were about to pull it out of the wall, you decided to take the call instead.

“Hi…” A familiar voice rang from the other end when you finally picked up the speaker.

“Was that you just now…? Calling maniacally for the past hour?” You answered briskly.

“I just needed to make sure that you are alright.” She answered in a high pitch voice and you knew she was crying.

“I have gotten a terrible headache that you are partially responsible for…” You replied blankly, in a very plain voice.

“This is the first time I am calling.” Hermione said sweetly and you could somehow hear the chuckle on her lips. You were not mad at her anymore...

“Hermione… I think… that I might be ready to listen.” She sobbed loudly at your words, letting out a sigh of relief.

“Can I come over?” She asked shyly and you hummed a positive answer. “We will get ready.” She answered immediately, hanging up the phone.

For the first time in a week, you found the strength to stand long enough to take a shower. You washed your bruised body – not physically, but your insides were still burning in pain. You fixed the paleness in your face with some blush and tied your hair messily before walking down into the store, wearing a white t-shirt, ripped mom-jeans and sneakers – the most comfortable clothes you could find and sat at a table, waiting.

While pacing, you made yourself a coffee and a tea, but Hermione seemed to be running late. The sun was setting slowly, casting long shadows on the café floor with the big windows allowing the whole place to be filled by crimson light. You were resting your eyes when the bell chimed somewhere in the background, somewhere that began to feel far away.

“We’re closed.” You said loudly expecting to hear the doorbell ring again as the person made its way out. They did not. You finally looked up, an irritated expression written across your face until your eyes met a pair of glowing brown eyes.

She dared not speak and for the first time that week you remembered Anastasia, the little homeless girl that you used to feed. For the first time, you realized how for a week she did not have the safety of the three meals that you provided for her.

“Hi, love…” You whispered teary-eyed, walking past the counter and sitting in front of her. She smiled when you caressed her hair. “I am so sorry, darling…”

“You’ve been away.” She spoke softly, sounding worried.

“I… yeah… sort of. Are you hungry?” She smiled and shook her head animatedly.

“He took care of me.” She answered excitedly, taking a seat at a table near the window.

“Your dad?” You inquired curiously, walking towards the counter to look for a bag of cupcakes you had around.

“No… there was a man who came here last week. He was looking for you, but I told him that you were away.” She answered waiting patiently for her treat.

“What man?” You asked puzzled, placing 2 chocolate croissants in front of her before sitting across the table. She began munching on them hastily.

“He came every day… and he brought me food.” She answered, flashing an innocent smile your way. She noticed the frown you had put on as you looked blankly out the window and turned worried once more. “Sorry…” She whimpered in a high pitched voice.

“No!” You laughed carelessly, shifting your gaze towards her and smiling reassuringly. “You did nothing wrong, sweetheart. I was just pondering on who it might have been.” You explained, biting your lip.

“He had really blond hair…” She said turning serious and taking another bite. “Oh, there he is!” She exclaimed pointing out the window, your gaze following the direction that her finger indicated. Your heart stopped when your eyes finally met his, nine years later. You stood up so abruptly that you startled your companion, your whole body shivering uncontrollably. You had been waiting for that moment for the past 9 years… so how come you were not ready for it? What were you going to say… or do? You followed his silhouette as he crossed the street towards your store, breathless.

“Can I watch TV?” Anastasia’s high voice asked just like it always did.

“Yeah…” You answered absent mindedly, turning to face her, but your eyes somehow looked through her small body as she dashed upstairs. The doorbell chimed, accompanying the sound of footsteps running up the stairs.

“I am aware that this might be a bad time... ” Your head shot up at the hearing of the voice that had not left your mind for one second ever since you had gotten your memories back. There they were: the icy eyes that had haunted your every dream, the blonde hair and the same sweet voice. “I was afraid you’d closed down this place for good...” You felt that with the crying spree you had had those past days, shedding another tear would dehydrate you to the point where you would physically turn into a raisin. So you held back the tears and simply looked at him longingly.

“D...” Your mouth that had only been accustomed to making inarticulate sounds for days on end had trouble speaking and aside from that… you still had no idea about what to say.

Despite your efforts, your eyes became watery again and his did too. He tried to be stronger and looked away for a second, rubbing his eyes like a child. You took a hesitant step to the side and moved slowly past a chair. Were you allowed to touch him? The memories were so fresh in your mind that it all seemed only days away; the feelings in your heart unchanged. But it had been years – 9 years to be more precise. What was he feeling for you?

“Would you like anything to drink?” You asked politely, unable to think of anything else to say.

“Coffee…” He mumbled sitting at the table you had just sat at. “Will you sit with me?” He asked in a whisper.

He was sipping on his coffee while you poured yourself some wine – rosé like the vanilla sky outside. How you wished time stopped right then… allowing you to be caught up in that moment forever – and that was what it felt like, had it not been for the people passing by at a fast pace and the ticking of a clock somewhere in the distance to serve as a reminder of what was real.

You looked at him while he looked out the window, his eyes fixed on something in the distance, neither of you speaking… both of you caught up in a silence broke only by the ticking of the clock. You felt happy and sad at the same time. Sad for all the time you had lost, for all the years and all the letters he had not received an answer too.

“Draco…” You cooed and he jumped off his chair, looking at you incredulously, as if having seen a ghost.

“How…” He whimpered dumbfounded. You looked back at him misty eyed and stood from the table. “How did you… you know me…?” You nodded and his eyes began shimmering in the soft orange light and you swore his eyes looked the setting sun reflecting in the water of a calm pond. And it all looked so vivid that you swore that if you looked hard enough, a fish might even jump out of there. He took a few steps towards you and you reached for him shyly.

Touching him again felt electric. You caressed his arm slowly, inviting him closer to you and then slid your arm around his torso as he wrapped his around you, hugging you tightly. He kissed the top of your head lovingly, holding you closer to him and letting you listen to his heartbeat again. He had missed you and you could have not even begun to wonder what torture loving and remembering you for all those years had been. You felt it all now – the heartbreak and loneliness and you wanted to hold him tighter and tighter until all the pieces were fit back together. There was no mistaking it, nothing had changed. He lowered his hands slowly until he was not holding you anymore, but rather holding on to you.

“Y/N…” He whimpered as if having just remembered that nine years had passed since it had all been that simple. “I… did terrible things.” He spoke softly, falling at your feet and holding on to you like a child. You caressed his hair gently as a few tears you apparently still had to shed ran soundless down your cheek. You wiped them off with the palm of your hand and knelt in front of him, your cold hands holding his pale face so that now you could look into his eyes once more.

“You could tell me every terrible thing you ever did… and watch me love you anyway.” You whispered in his ear as he rested his forehead on your shoulder, trying not to cry. “I am so tired of all the things wrong with my life, Draco. And now you are here and this… is honestly the only thing that matters, because you are all I want.” He sobbed loudly and you held him a little tighter.

“I am so broken… so messed up.” He cooed in between sobs, making you smile sadly.

“Then I want all the pieces of you.” His hands slid around your torso and held you back, as he kissed your neck softly, innocently.

“I obliviated you.” He answered, making your blood freeze, because hearing the word coming out of his mouth brought back flashbacks of the haunting dream you kept having of him.

“Obliviate.” The blonde hair, the porcelain skin and the icy eyes that made your insides stir… he was standing right in front of you. You looked deeply into his eyes and he looked desperate, lost and so broken that everything else faded into the background and the sudden urge to scream faded into a vague whisper.

“People were going to come after me…” You spoke most than not to yourself, causing him to twitch in horror. “But it is safe to know you now, is it not?”

“But a memory charm is unbreakable… so how…?” He asked looking at the ground, to ashamed to look you into the eyes, too fascinated to not ask. You looked up at the ceiling when it all finally fell into place, laughing at how ironic fate proved to be.

“You cannot erase what has already been erased.” You explained, laughing at the dark humor of your twisted life. You had nearly gone mad finding out that your sister had robbed you of your memory… had you known she had in fact saved them all.

Then, by some kind of divine intervention, the doorbell chimed and a very pregnant Hermione walked through the door, holding Ron’s hand for support. Not physical, but emotional. You burst into tears – tears you had no idea you still had to shed – and ran to embrace your sister: an insufferable know-it-all, a person who was so right that even when she was wrong she somehow ended still doing the right thing. You hugged her so tightly and you both cried on each other’s shoulder as if the whole world had now faded somewhere far into the background.

“I am so sorry, Herminie.” You cried as she held you tighter.

For the first time in forever, Hermione was sat across the table from Draco Malfoy with no urge to claw his eyes out of his eye-sockets. For the first time he was humble. He was ashamed and doubtful as you held his hand. He had no idea how to speak or what he was supposed to say – not even to you, let alone to them.

“I remember everything as if it happened yesterday.” Your calm voice filled the silence, making everyone shift their attention to you. “Are you lost?” You imitated Draco’s cocky voice and you finally got to hear his laugh and see his precious smile. Your hand squeezed his tighter, lovingly.

“I was not before I got lost into your eyes.” He replied, looking deeply into your eyes, allowing you to see that it was all still there; the infatuation, the… love.

“Oh my God!” Hermione laughed loudly. “You really went for it, did you not?” She asked, kicking you lightly under the table.

“It made him so uncomfortable.” You answered slightly ashamed of the cheekiness of your younger self.

“It wasn’t that I did not like it, but you had only been the third person to call me handsome: after my mother and Pansy.” He explained and you faked a gag in perfect synchronization with Hermione at the hearing of the latter mentioned name, making everyone laugh.

As Hermione and Ron went behind the bar to unpack the food they had brought, hoping to have a family dinner and make up for the lost time, Draco placed his head on your shoulder gently and you kissed his head lovingly. It all felt days away. He looked up at you and you smiled… you were so in love with him it was surreal.

“I never stopped seeing you…” He whispered, looking worriedly towards the bar to observe if anyone else was hearing your conversation and when he made sure they weren’t, he added, giving you goose-bumps. “… into the mirror of Erised.”

In the end, it had all come down to that: fate. It was fate that decided when it was the right time to fall… apart and finally that it was time to fall back into place, back in love. It must have been fate meeting him, you thought; you could have not explained it otherwise. Pursuing him was a choice, but falling in love with him had been beyond your control.

It had been nine long and tiring years, for he went to sleep every night as if having been awake that whole time. He liked to lie on your chest and hold you when he slept and he spoke an awful lot in his sleep. Sometimes they were nightmares and he yelled horrifying screams, but other nights he would speak about you – the most beautiful things. And then one night, as you lied awake by his side, he sighed deeply and you caressed his hair gently, soothingly, like you always did.

“I belong to you,” he cooed, making you smile like a fool… even escape a suppressed laugh. “I’ve belonged to you since the beginning,” he added, making you frown, because it suddenly made too much sense for him to be sleep-talking. That was when you looked his way, to notice his grey eyes staring deeply into yours. “… since before I even knew I did.” You kissed him softly and cuddled closer to him.

“What’s gotten into you?” You asked, looking at his fingers playing with something and when he placed it on your finger, you finally realized what it was.

“Just some dream I had…” He answered casually, turning over and making you slap his back playfully. “Goodnight Mrs. Malfoy.” You laughed, kissing his bare back and looking back at your finger, your eyes widening suddenly.

“Wait… did you just ask me to marry you?”

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silverfootstepswrites · 7 years ago

Text

title Wire summary It’s all about the balance pairing itasaku, tobisaku, hot messes

A droplet of water. The sharp plink of it hitting the tile. Tobirama exhaled. He ran his palm along the back of his neck. Kneading his fingers into his shoulder.

He sucked in a long breath, head lolling back.

“You could have called, you know,” he suddenly said. His voice echoing and harsh along the walls of the bathroom.

“I know,” Sakura replied. She let the glass door shut behind her. Her heels clicked as she took a few steps forward, arms folded across her chest. Tobirama glanced her over.

“Don’t get up. I’m not staying long,” Sakura said.

He nodded. He ran his hands through his hair. Wiped the water from his eyes. He draped his arm over the edge of the tub as he waited for her to speak.

"I need you to do me a favor."

Tobirama grunted.

"....A big favor," Hashirama emphasized.

Tobirama's eyes narrowed. He picked up the phone, including the plastic body. The cord wrapped around his arm as he turned to look out the window.

"What kind of favor?" he demanded. And Hashirama chuckled.

"There it is. Just come to the karaoke bar in East Point," Hashirama insisted. "The one in the basement," he added. And then the call ended with a click.

Grumbling under his breath, Tobirama still hopped off the counter. He pulled on one of his cleaner wifebeaters and a leather jacket over it. Cigarette between his teeth, he took the elevator down to the lobby. Nodded at the concierge, who was already on the phone to call for his car.

The drive to East Point from his apartment was quick. He barely had time to cycle through three songs on the radio by the time he found parking. Stomped down the concrete steps, into the karaoke bar. Where it didn't matter if he was smoking because the smoke machines were spewing out haze anyway. And the blinking pink and green lights hurt his head.

Tobirama made his way to the back. The guards at the door let him in without complaint.

"Big brother, do you have any idea how many shitty karaoke bars there are in East Point?" complained Tobirama as soon as he walked in.

"And yet you came right away," quipped Hashirama in return. Smiling from his perch on the corner of the big wooden desk. Tobirama glared. And then he noticed a girl sitting in the leather chair. It looked like she was wearing Hashirama's blazer over her shoulders. She was skinny, with those big, wild eyes of a street dog. The kind that wandered out of the dump to bare its missing teeth.

Tobirama's eyes flickered from her to Hashirama.

"This is Jing-Mei," Hashirama introduced her. He reached over to take her hand. She yanked it back, but not before Tobirama saw the blood staining every inch of her palm.

"Sorry, sorry," chuckled Hashirama, ruffling her hair. The girl scowled, not saying anything.

"This is my dai dai. We can trust him," Hashirama went on. At that, the girl lifted her chin. She shot another suspicious glare at Tobirama before she stared Hashirama in the face.

"Dai dai?" she repeated. "Like... little brother?" she said the last words in English. Her Cantonese was smooth enough, but there was something off about it. Like one key on a piano that was just slightly out of tune.

"Yeah. My real little brother. Same mom and dad," Hashirama answered, patting her head again. She didn't shake him off.

"Anyway, Tobirama, little Jing-Mei here needs a place to stay," Hashirama went on.

"So? Have her stay with you. What's the point of having that bigass house if you're not going to use it?" Tobirama suggested.

"My wife is a good woman. But I'm sure even she would object to having a karaoke hostess live with us," replied Hashirama. And then he looked at Jing-Mei again. "No offense."

"Nah, s'fine. You're not wrong," sighed the girl. She sounded exhausted.

And when his older brother looked at him again, Tobirama made a face.

"No," he said before he heard the question.

"It would be for a month. Max," insisted Hashirama.

"You got a job, don't you? You don't have a place to stay?" he asked the girl. To his surprise, she didn't flinch away from his gaze. She glared right back. Eyes gleaming like a broken beer bottle catching the sunlight.

"I was living with my boyfriend. He's dead now," she enunciated. Each sound piercing. She looked like she had more to say, but then she looked up at Hashirama. Her mouth shut again.

"Little Jing-Mei here was Broken Fang's girlfriend. I say 'was' because he was just killed by the Suns a few hours ago," Hashirama explained. Jing-Mei looked away. Her bloody hands clenching together in her lap.

Tobirama squinted as he thought. He pulled his cigarette out of his mouth. Exhaling a plume of smoke up toward the old plaster ceiling.

"Broken Fang?" he repeated. Trying to place the name. And then his eyes widened.

"Ah, that little lan yeung? Shame. He was kind of funny when he wasn't being a pain in my ass," Tobirama mused. He didn't miss the way that the girl glared at him.

"Of course, I had her go tell Fatboy Huang everything. Didn't want the blame falling on us, especially since you've been fighting with their boys recently," Hashirama went on. He pinned his brother with a pointed look. Tobirama shrugged.

"Fuckers have been cocky. Times Square is mine and they've been trying to edge their way in," grunted Tobirama. Still, Hashirama pinned him with his eyes for a moment longer before he moved on.

"Anyway, Jing-Mei's been living with Broken Fang. And since he's dead, I've decided to keep an eye on her until she can get back on her feet. So let her crash on your sofa. She doesn't need you to feed her or chauffeur her. Right?" Hashirama went on. As he spoke, he met the girl's eyes. And she nodded.

Tobirama ground his teeth. Sighing and glaring, he rubbed the back of his neck. But he really couldn't budge against his older brother.

"Fine," he grunted.

The brothers discussed a few more things before Tobirama headed out. The little karaoke hostess hot on his heels. He caught the way she waved at Hashirama before the door closed behind her. And Hashirama waved back, smiling.

"He's married."

"I know that," she grumbled in return. And Tobirama was surprised that she had even heard him over all the blasting music and voices.

He felt a little tug on the back of his jacket. Glanced back and found her pinching the hem between two of her fingers. Even as the drunk people stumbling around jostled her, she didn't let go. He didn't say anything to her as he kept walking.

"I've only got two rules," Tobirama told her as they walked into his apartment later.

"Don't go in my room and don't touch my shit," he told her. As he spoke, he pointed to the closed door. He then pointed to the black sofa in the living room.

"Sleep there. Your bathroom's there," Tobirama pointed to each thing as he spoke. Running his hands through his hair, he glanced her over. At her skinned knees and the purple bruise blooming on the side of her neck.

And he didn't want to know.

"Clean yourself up," he ordered. And he slipped into his room to sleep.

He heard the faucets squeak a little while later. The water splashed across the tiles. And for some reason, he also expected to hear her sobbing. That's what he hated about women. They were so quick to shed tears. To weep over any little thing.

Instead, all he heard was her damp feet padding across the floor. She flicked the light switch. And then the apartment fell silent. Just the hum of the dehumidifier running in the background.

Tobirama woke late in the morning. Found her on the sofa, curled up in Hashirama's blazer. And he felt like a dick for not realizing how cold it was out in the living room. He grabbed an extra blanket from the linen closet and tossed it over her. When he passed by later to brush his teeth, she had wrapped it around herself. Snoozing on like a steamed bun.

He left her a key on the coffee table. Met up with a dealer in a basketball court to collect his money. And when the dealer came up short, wet his knuckles with a little blood.

By the time he was done with work for the day, it was a little past 1 in the morning. He opened his apartment door a little more carefully than he normally would have. But the sofa was empty. The blanket he had given her folded neatly on one end. The only trace of her presence was the purse she had carried in the night before.

Tossing back a few whiskeys, he fell asleep still in his clothes. Only stirring when he heard the front door open. Her heels tapping in the foyer. But when she slipped those off, her footfalls were soft. He could hear her draw closer. She paused in the doorway. He could hear her breathe out a soft sigh. And after a moment, she closed the door to his room. The draft brought in the smell of perfume and beer that clung to her.

Tobirama listened to her shower. Only when she shut off all the lights and settled onto the sofa did he fall back asleep too.

Hashirama hadn't been lying. She never asked for anything. Never touched the booze in his liquor cabinet. He didn't even see the girl often. And when he did, usually she was sleeping. Barely visible in the blanket and her tangled hair.

What he did notice was that she started to bring back shopping bags with her. Expensive brands in thick paper bags filled with tissue paper. And she kept them in the corner of the living room, in the space between the sofa and the armchair. Out of sight.

It wasn't really in his nature to pry. After all, the girl didn't ask him any stupid questions. And he thought it fair to return the gesture. But he found himself thinking about those clothes stuffed into that corner during the day.

So after some thinking, he cleared some space in the hall closet. Left her a note on the coffee table that it was hers now. She never wrote anything back. But when Tobirama peeked into the hall closet a few days later, he found that she had filled it up with her clothes.

He ran into her at a karaoke bar in Wan Chai one night. More precisely, Tobirama spotted her across the room. Sitting in the lap of what looked like a businessman. And from the number of girls crowded around him, he looked to be a generous spender.

"How's she doing?" asked Hashirama. Tobirama refocused his gaze on him. Of course, his brother had chosen this spot to meet on purpose.

"It's like living with a cat. Fine, I guess," replied Tobirama. Whether she was there or not, it didn't make much of a difference to him. Hashirama nodded.

"Go get her for me. I have to talk to her about something," Hashirama requested. Tobirama shoved out of his seat. The look in his brother's eyes wasn't something he felt like arguing with right now.

Tobirama crossed the room. Hands in the pockets of his jacket. As he neared the crowded booth, some of the hostesses eyed him. Their eyes prowling. Looking over his coat and jewelry, searching for name brands. But the businessman didn't notice him. Chortling as his plump hand rubbed up and down Jing-Mei's back.

She laughed too, glitter on her cheeks and shoulders. When she opened her eyes, they met his gaze. Her smile weakened but didn't fade.

"I need to borrow you," Tobirama stated. It was only then that the man noticed him.

"Hey, she's a little busy right now. Why don't you fuck off," he slurred. The girls all giggled around him.

Tobirama took a deep breath. This was a halfway decent place. He didn't particularly feel like splattering this guy's brains across the wall.

"Is that how you talk to 24K?" Tobirama said instead. But the drunk man belched in his face. Waving a hand at him.

"That's what every halfwit and his mother is saying these days. I'm 24K, 24K. You got any proof, pok gaai?" the man guffawed. Tobirama met Jing-Mei's eyes. She stared back, expression flat. Like she was challenging him.

Tobirama felt something in him snap.

"Proof? Yeah, I might have something like that," he replied. He whipped his gun out, jamming it into the man's mouth. The girls shrieked, leaping from the booth and scattering in every direction. Jing-Mei stayed put, her eyes suddenly gleaming. She let out a long sigh.

"Baby, I've got to go. Call me next time you're here, okay?" Jing-Mei said. She pecked the businessman on the cheek. Like she couldn't see him sniveling and drooling around the barrel of the gun.

She held her hand out to Tobirama. Eyes narrowing until he pulled his gun free from the man's mouth. He grimaced at the strings of saliva hanging from it. Wiping it clean on the front of the man's jacket, he stuck it back in his pocket before taking Sakura's hand. She wrapped herself around his arm.

"Put your hand on my ass," she whispered into his ear.

"What."

"Just do it!" she hissed, tugging harder. She was a skinny little thing. And he supposed that some men were into that. But there was also something in her gaze. Something steely and vaguely dangerous. Letting out a sigh, he did as he was told.

As they walked back to Hashirama, she whispered in his ear again.

"I'm just a hostess. It looks suspicious for a gangster to be talking to me unless it's for this," she murmured. And before he could ask what she meant, they arrived at the table. She released his arm to plant a kiss on Hashirama's cheek.

"You're going to get me in trouble with my wife," chuckled Hashirama as she sat next to him. Tobirama sat across from them.

"Got your hooks into another one, huh?" Hashirama asked, looking her up and down. Tobirama looked at her too. At the diamonds glittering in her ears and the matching choker. She gave a mischievous smile.

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," the girl replied, nearly beaming. And then she reached into her top to pull out a scrap of paper.

"I didn't manage to hear the whole conversation. Sorry," she said, pushing it across the table to Hashirama. Her long pink nails gleamed in the bar's pulsating lights.

Hashirama unfolded the paper, squinting at the scrawled characters in glittering purple ink.

"Heroin? Do you have any idea which dealer they could be talking about?" Hashirama queried.

Jing-Mei adjusted the thin straps of her top. The shimmering gold fabric didn't look particularly comfortable. Forearms up on the table, she leaned in closer to both of them.

"There's a regular here. He's not one of mine, but I see him around a lot. The girls say that he's called York Ng. He's a short guy, shaved head. And he has this tattoo of a skull right here," Jing-Mei told them, pointing to the left side of her throat.

"I thought Four-Eyes Ngai was the bigger dealer around here," Tobirama interjected. Hashirama nodded. The girl shook her head, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Rumor is that Four-Eyes turned informant for the HKPD. So someone made him disappear. I don't know if that's true, but I do know that he's not around anymore," she told them. Hashirama put his elbow up on the table, hand splayed across the lower half of his face as he thought. His eyes darted from the girl to his younger brother.

"Alright. I need you to deliver this message for me. To the usual number," Hashirama instructed. He took a business card out of his pocket and slid it across the table to her. She picked it up. On the front were his name and the name of his trading company in gold letters. But on the back was a message. Numbers and random words written in blue ink. She nodded, slipping it into her bra.

Hashirama stayed to buy her a drink. Some fruity thing with an absurdly big slice of pineapple wedged onto the rim of the glass. As he got to his feet, she stood too.

"You still going to Sifu Might?" Hashirama asked as he pulled on his coat. The girl nodded. She flexed her right arm to reveal the beginnings of some lean muscle on her bicep.

"Three times a week."

"Good. Keep at it," he said. And he reached out to pet the top of her head with his gloved hand. A call lit up the green screen of his Nokia. He raised his hand before he answered, making his way toward the exit. Tobirama moved to follow his older brother out. But the girl met his eyes. She suddenly smiled.

"Don't look at me like that. You don't have to feel sorry for me," she told him.

Tobirama didn't know how to respond to that. He simply nodded before he left too. The pop music still ringing in his ears as he stepped out onto the street.

She was out of his apartment by the end of the month, as promised. She didn't even tell him when she was leaving. But one night, he returned home to find his key and a bottle of expensive whiskey sitting on the coffee table. Her clothes were gone from the hall closet, and even the cosmetics cluttering the counter were gone too.

But as the months went on, he started to see her more and more. At first, she was running small errands. Eavesdropping on conversations in the clubs she worked at. And when she put on a dumb face and told everyone that she was from Japan in broken Cantonese, lips loosened.

Hashirama had bought her a little one-bedroom place in East Point. Right in the heart of the Chrysanthemum Gang's territory.

The first officer's meeting she attended, she slunk into the smoky room, wary. Like the first time he had met her. As her gaze flitted around the room, at the leering mouths and hungry expressions, she met his eyes.

And Tobirama let out an audible sigh before he lifted his chin a little. He let her sit on the arm of his chair.

"You want one?" he asked, quietly. Holding out his box of cigarettes. She wrinkled her nose.

"I don't smoke," she answered.

"You mind if I smoke?" Sakura asked. She already had her lighter out, cigarette in her mouth. Tobirama said nothing.

So she lit it.

“I think Fai Tsai is working with the yakuza,” she declared.

Tobirama raised an eyebrow.

“Ok.”

“While I’m in Tokyo, I need you to keep an eye on his activities here. I’m spread thin as is. I can’t really spare my men to do the job right now,” Sakura went on. She waved her cigarette as she spoke. Only her red mouth visible through that haze.

“And what will I get in return?” asked Tobirama.

The silence that fell over them was ghastly. Almost as piercing as her eyes. Broken shards of glass glittering in the sand. One droplet of water wobbled from the faucet. Falling with a hollow plop into the bath.

When she smiled, it was worse.

“You don’t need to ask that. We’re 24K, brother. There’s no way I wouldn’t reward you richly,” Sakura assured him. She took a few more steps forward. Crouching in front of the tub.

She ran her fingers through his hair, raking it out of his eyes again. And then, pulling the cigarette from her mouth, she placed it between his lips instead.

“I’ll be in touch, Tobirama.”

#eastern suns #writing #itasaku #triad!sakura x yakuza!itachi #tobisaku #triad!au

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a-tired-bitch · 8 years ago

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You Should Know Better Pt.15

23 Parts: I - II - III - IV - V - VI - VII - VIII - IX - X - XI - XII - XIII - XIV - XV - XVI - XVII - XVIII - XIX - XX - XXI - XXII - XXIII

MASTER LIST

YSKB MASTER LIST

Summary: Relaxing at a bar, Joe and Dustin shoot the shit until an unexpected bar-goer arrives.

POV: Josephine

Characters: Joe Merriweather, Dustin Ayers (Indented), Claire Merriweather (Indented Italics), and everyone’s favorite dog, Duke

Word Count: 2800ish

Author’s Note: I present you with everyone's new favorite character, Claire Merriweather. This also takes place a day after the last chapter.

Quote: “For fucks sake, I should have known better.”

Tuesday night rolled around and the low humming of people chatting away along with the clinking of bottles and mugs filtered throughout the busy bar.

Working Monday’s and Wednesday’s as a professor and Thursday’s through Sunday’s as an officer, the only real time Joe had the chance to blow off some steam and attempt to relax was on Tuesday’s. However, it still wasn’t enough - both professions began to weigh down on him.

Leaning forward, Joe's forearms rested against the cool, smooth surface of the wooden bar, his eyes focused on the droplets of condensation that raced down his mug while his ears tuned in and out of the ramblings of Dustin.

“I’m telling you, Josephine, by the time I get to be your age, I’m either going to be one of those cops that eat donuts all day and has one of those cliche mustaches, whose had five hernias and three slipped disks or I’m going to turn in my twenty years, retire, and then teach at a local college because I have nothing better to do with my time like a certain someone I know.” Smirking and side-eying his friend, he gripped his beer bottle, bringing it to his lips and taking a swig from it.

Bringing his mug to his lips, Joe paused, lifting a brow as he turned to look at his friend. “Did you seriously just call me ‘Josephine’?”

Swallowing, Dustin proudly shook his head. “Out of all the things I just said, you picked up on that?” He asked, his tone playful. “But you’re damn right, I sure did.”

“No, out of all the things you just said, I picked up on the most important detail.” Finally sipping from the mug, Joe placed it back down, a satisfying 'ah’ coming from him after swallowing.

“You know,” Dustin shook a finger at him “you can be a real dick sometimes.”

Joe grinned, shrugging his shoulders. “It’s one of my hidden talents.” Staring into the mirror behind the bar, Joe watched as Dustin stared right back at him, his head shaking, a smile resting on the younger man's face.

Swiveling around, Dustin rested a forearm on the bar while his hand clutched his bottle, resting the container on his thigh. “How’s your office doing?”

Pretending to be confused, Joe furrowed his brow, his eyes resting on the mug before him. “What do you mean how is my office?”

“When I surprised you yesterday with coffee and donuts because I am such a good friend, there was this musty odor in there. If you ask me, smelled like sex.” A smug smirk claimed Dustin’s lips before disappearing as he drank from his bottle.

It was almost as if his heart dropped into his stomach after hearing what Dustin had to say. In all honesty, Dustin wasn’t wrong about the smell, but of course, Joe wasn’t willing to admit to the source of the smell. After all, Dustin was under the impression that Joe was 'banging the mom’ of his student and Joe planned on keeping that impression alive…for now at least.

Joe brought the mug back to his lips, swallowing more of the cold liquid than he expected to - he needed a moment to calm down after Dustin’s comment.

“Smelt like sex?” He questioned, shaking his head. “Because I’m totally having sex in my office, but shit, wait, hold on, who would I be sticking my dick in? My fellow colleagues because that’s the only plausible choice,” his tone sarcastic as can be even though he was lying through his teeth.

Roughly slapping his shoulder, Dustin burst out in laughter. “Calm down, pal, I’m just busting your balls. No need to get all pissy.” Quieting down, his eyes wandered around the establishment, scanning the occupants. “I mean, it isn’t the only plausible choice. Merriweather could be banging a female student or you could get with the daughter and the mother, but, that’s kinda weird.”

With eyes boring into Dustin, Joe bit down on his cheek, slightly annoyed by all the banter.

Pulling his sights away from the seated crowd, Dustin locked eyes with Joe, his aura suddenly changing. He had much experience with this certain look and he knew he was walking a thin line now. “Or, you know, you could be banging no one at all. You’re not that stupid. You wouldn’t have sex with anyone in your office anyways.”

“There you go, Dustin, thinking with your head and not your ass. I’m very proud of you, son.” Joe joked, glad the issue was slowly blowing over.

Time slowly passed and Joe was on his second mug while Dustin blew threw another two bottles. Joe was due to lecture the following day while Dustin had the day off, allowing for his partner to drink more since he knew Joe would sober enough to drive the both of them home.

“I’m liking the whole black on black on black combo on you,” Dustin looked over Joe. “You sure look different in a leather jacket and jeans as opposed to your ironed button up and slacks” Flagging down the bartender, he motioned for some shots. “Keep ‘em coming too.”

Astonished by his stupidity, Joe glanced in his direction. “The fuck you mean? Our uniforms are black…on black…on black.”

Watching as the bartender placed the amber filled glasses before Dustin, Joe shook his head. “You downing those on your own or am I supposed to help?”

Narrowing his eyes, the blond-haired man ran a hand along his cheek. “You’ve got a point. They are black, but you get what I mean.” Downing the last few sips of his beer, he turned his attention to the shots. “Well, you’re driving and have to fill those brains with your precious knowledge tomorrow, so, I don’t expect you to keep up with the young guns, but one, maybe two couldn’t hurt since you can usually hold your alcohol.”

Sucking on his teeth, it only took a second for Joe to come to his decision - there was no denying that Joe was a fan of alcohol when the chance presented itself. “You’re lucky it’s a Tuesday night and not a Monday night because you know from experience that I’d drink you under the table.”

Pulling a shot towards their bodies, the two men, in harmony, lifted the glasses and downed the amber liquid, repeating the process once more.

“Now, as a man who attempts to uphold the laws of the land, I’m going to have to strongly advise you that you stop drinking now.” Cocking his head back, Dustin swiveled around in his chair, a chain of laughter cascading out of his mouth. He stared at the door that was slowly being opened, two brunettes and a blonde walked through the door. Shaking his head out, his eyes widened as he focused on the blonde. “Oh fuck,” he whispered under his breath, quickly swiveling back around and lowering his head. “And as a man who is your dearest friend, I highly and I mean highly suggest that you don’t turn around and that we leave.”

Sliding the empty glasses away, Joe glanced at Dustin, confused by his comments and his posture - it was like he was trying to hide from someone.

“What do you mean?” He questioned, looking into the mirror, scanning the people behind him only to find no one of interest.

“Last time I checked, I don’t have a stuttering problem.” Dustin quickly glanced over his shoulder, watching the women chat amongst themselves. “Don’t look to your left.”

Confused, yet interested by the strange situation, Joe straightened in his stool. “Why? Who’s here?” Taking the responsibility to answer the question on his own, Joe turned to his left, his eyes scanning the bodies until they landed on the person Dustin was more than likely speaking about.

Freezing, Joe watched the woman who he had once called his wife, mingle with her friends. He looked her over, his eyes resting on a ring that claimed the finger he had once claimed with his own. His eyes lingered for just a moment before she turned in his direction. “Oh shit,” he muttered, tearing his sights away from the woman and turning back around.

“You dumbass,” Dustin scolded, slapping the back of his head. “Told you not to look over there you.”

Glaring at Dustin, Joe began to grind his teeth, his eyes looking away and at the mirror in his sights.

It was obvious Claire had noticed him, it was apparent since Joe watched in the mirror as she made her way towards him - his body tensing as she inched closer and closer.

“Joesph Derek Merriweather.” Claire’s hand glided up his back until it rested on his shoulder. “Surprised to see you here.” Standing between the two seated men, Claire glanced at Dustin. “Nice to see you, Dustin, it’s been a while,” her right hand coming up to pat the man’s shoulder.

Joe winced at Claire’s touch. “Claire,” he whispered, his eyes opening once her hand rested on his shoulder. “By the ring on your finger, guessing you moved on fairly quickly. Hate to say it, but I kind of feel sorry for the bastard that gave it to you.”

Removing her hand from Dustin and placing both of them on each of Joe’s shoulders, she leaned into his ear. “Don’t feel sorry for yourself, Joe. You and I are still married.”

In that exact moment, all the air from Joe’s lungs escaped, it was as if someone decked him right in the ribs. He couldn’t move, he was frozen. He couldn’t speak, he was at a loss for words. He couldn’t blink, his eyes were locked on his reflection in the mirror.

When she leaned away from him, his frozen trance came undone. “Wait, what?” You and I signed the papers a week ago. What the fuck do you mean we’re still married. I swear to fucking god, Claire, if you —.”

“Don’t even start with the false threats, Joe, I’m far too used to them.” Walking to the empty stool next to him, she took a seat. “But just because we signed them in the presence of each other, doesn’t mean the procedure is completed. We’re still married,” she air quoted ‘married’ “until I turn in the papers and the papers are finalized.” She shook her head, false disappointment radiating from her. “Should have been smarter, husband. Should have taken the responsibility of turning them in yourself.”

Covering his face with his hands, Joe slowly shook his head. He couldn’t believe that situation and what she had done. Hopefully, although he lacked any hope in Claire, this was all some sadistic joke she was playing. Sadly, he knew firsthand how much of a conniving, yet clever woman she could be, but this was a whole different level.

“Claire, please, oh, please, tell me that you’re busting my balls right,” his plea was muffled as he slowly moved his hands down his face.

Taking a moment to gather his thoughts, he straightened up, turning to face the blonde. “Look, I know I don’t have much trust in you after everything, but I entrust you to turn those papers in,” he leaned in closer to her, “no, actually, I’m telling you to turn those fucking papers in by the end of this goddamn month. In a few weeks, they will turn void.”

Smiling, Claire snaked her hand down, resting it on his thigh.

He quickly glanced down at her hand. “Isn’t that what got you in trouble with me? Placing your hands on me?” He gripped her hand, tossing it up on the bar. “Don’t touch me.” He warned.

Ignoring what he had to say, Claire spoke. “I thought you said you were always three steps ahead of people in thirty different directions, but look at that, looks like you’re three steps behind me in only one direction.” Leaning forward, she grabbed one of the shot glasses. “Not as clever as you portray yourself to be.” She smiled, her icy blue eyes locking with his warm hazel ones. “I’ll be seeing you around, my dear husband.” She added, downing the shot, and standing up, pausing before walking away. “And wait, isn’t that what got you in trouble with me? Drinking?” She said almost mockingly as she walked away.

Watching her strut away for a second, Joe slowly turned back around, a shocked and open-mounted Dustin coming into view.

“Ho-ly shit.” Dustin whispered, a shaky and fake laugh accompanying his response. “What the fuck just happened?” He asked, his eyes still staring at the bar - it was as if he was scared to look up.

Without a single word, Joe reached over, grabbing the three refilled shot glasses.

Downing one, he grabbed the next. Down two, he grabbed the last. Downing the last shot, he grabbed his mug, finishing the rest of the beer. It all happened in a matter of seconds.

“Whoa, pal, take it easy.” Dustin placed a hand on Joe’s shoulder, shaking him slightly. “After all that, in a few minutes, you’ll be in no shape to drive. You know, the quicker you drink, the faster the effects come.”

Joe sat there silently, his face covered by a hand, his eyes closed. Not only on the outside was he fuming, but within, his blood was boiling by the unexpected news.

Digging into his jacket pocket, he searched for his keys, tossing them onto the counter. “Drive,” he muttered to Dustin.

Abruptly taking to his feet, the stool nearly collided with the ground. “Let’s go,” Joe commanded. As he walked away, his eyes locked onto Claire’s until he pulled the doors open and walked outside.

After a 'fuck’, 'shit’, and 'bitch’ filled ride home, the two men finally pulled into the driveway.

Helping a disheveled and belligerent Joe out of the Jeep and up the front door, Dustin followed behind the man, ensuring that if he were to stumble over his feet or fall, he would be able to catch him.

Taking a second to make sure Joe was steady on his feet, Dustin walked around, unlocking the front door and motioning for him to get inside. “You poor bastard,” he muttered, receiving a stern look from Joe.

As barking filled the house, Dustin calmed Duke. “Calm down, super dog. Dusty boy is here taking care you of daddy because your mommy dropped a bombshell on him at the bar.”

“I swear, I’ll drop a fucking bombshell on her if she doesn’t fucking turn in those god damn motherfucking papers.” Joe drunkenly babbled as he cautiously entered his own house, using the walls to keep his balance.

“Yeah, okay, I’m sure you will. Just take it easy bud.” Entering behind his drunken friend, Dustin kneed away a playful and rowdy Duke. “You take it easy too, you runt. I don’t mind getting scratched up, but I’d rather get scratched by a woman than a dog. Full offense, Duke.”

Ignoring the two lovebirds, Joe continued on his way towards the hallway that led to the master bedroom. “Duke, leave him alone, let’s go to bed,” Joe commanded, his speech slurred.

Joe paused to turn and face Dustin one last time. “You can take the couch and spend the night or do whatever, but if you leave, lock the house up. You know where the key is,” he instructed.

“Aren’t you supposed to offer the guest your bed?” Dustin joked, before walking away and over to the fridge. “I’m kidding.”

Joe zoned out for a moment, his sights latching onto the wall beside him. It wasn’t until the slamming of the fridge that Joe looked away, shaking the cobwebs out, and nibbling on his lower lip.

Turning into the hallway, Joe stopped, his eyes scanning over the pictures that littered the wall. It didn’t take long until his eyes rested on the wedding picture. After a moment, he pulled the frame from the wall, throwing it onto the floor, watching as glass spreading across the wood.

The clash forced Dustin to peek into the hallway, a 'fuck’ echoing throughout the silent house.

Clenching his jaw, Joe stepped over the mess, glass crunching under the weight of his body as he entered his room.

Stripping off his jacket, kicking off his boots, and unbuckling his pants, he fell into bed, a groan coming from his lips as he pulled Duke into his body. “For fuck sakes,” He whispered into the fur of his dog. “I should have known better.”

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lonelyandgone · 8 years ago

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Previous Chapters: Teaser/Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 2

Unexpected – Chapter 3

His mom has, he believes, six different faces. He’s grown used to them through the years. Well-tuned at reading them. Maybe damn near perfect at it. He considers it a gift.

There are your normal, happy and sad faces. There’s worried and angry. Then there are his favorites. Her “straighten your ass up before I do it for you” face, which, perhaps, he’s seen far too many times in his lifetime. And there is the one he’s seeing right now. The one that has been resting upon her for the past thirty minutes. Her “I’m skeptical as fuck” face.

He called it that to her once. When he was 16 years old and he asked her if he could borrow her car so he could go to his friend Lauren James’s house to study. She had looked at him, her eyes narrowed, her face a shade darker than her normal shade. Study, she had said as she planted her hands firmly on her hips and tilted her head to the side. His stomach had turned, tightening into what felt like a knot when he uttered a not so convincing yes. When those eyes narrowed on him even more, he had thrown his hands up in the air and found himself spewing words like “you don’t trust me” and “it’s just studying” before he added “why are you looking at me like you are skeptical as fuck.”

His mouth had clamped shut the moment those idiotic words escaped his lips and he spent the rest of the evening and the next two weeks grounded to his room. He knew long before that, though he had apparently had temporary amnesia that night, and he’s known every day since then that Lisa Evans was no fool. She knew every trick in the book. She knew her kid’s personalities, their ways of doing things, to a tee. She could see every emotion, every intent, every action in the faces around her regardless of what was being said or done. She was a reader. She is a reader.

And right now, she’s reading him like a novel she can’t put down.

The strangest part though, this morning he found that same look staring back at him in his bathroom mirror. It was there last night too. When he went back to his condo after kissing Taylor and then asking her to join him here today. He had looked at himself with skepticism, as his brain questioned his actions. He had wondered why he kissed her. Why he had stopped that elevator when he did. And then he looked at the man in the mirror, the man whose face was clouded with skepticism, and he asked one more question. . . . why did she kiss him back?

But then he walked away from the mirror. He pushed the questions out of his mind. And he drove to her hotel to pick her up and bring her here.

He had walked into the room, into his family’s normal Fenway Park box, a little less than an hour ago. He had expected the reaction, the mouths to fall, the eyes to widen, when those closest to him saw the woman who entered at his side. It was his nephew, Miles, who spoke first. “Taylor Swift,” he had said, his voice dancing, his entire body indicative of the surprise and excitement he was experiencing.

Miles’s younger sister, Stella, would be the first to react. Instead of remaining frozen, which the others in the room seemed to be, she had run full force toward them, crashing into Taylor’s body and wrapping her arms around her slender legs. Taylor had laughed, leaning down and peeling her away from her only to encompass his niece in her arms. It was adorably beautiful and he couldn’t stop the smile that formed naturally on his face.

It didn’t take long for his family to find their voices, and their manners, again. Each one welcoming Taylor, giving her bear hugs or firm hand shakes. He had noticed, he couldn’t help but, that each of their eyes was a mirror to those of the kids. He had inherited his mother’s vast skill of reading faces and while their voices were calm and composed, their faces were full of awe and . . . . . well, amusement.

He would see similar expressions when Jeremy arrived a couple of minutes later, daughter Ava in tow. Jeremy had glanced at him, then to Taylor and back to him before he punched his hand out toward the blonde. “Jeremy,” he said before Taylor added the “Renner.”

“Nice to meet you,” she beamed, reaching her other hand in to encompass his in a firm shake. When Jeremy’s gaze returned to his, he could see the questions written all over. Questions he is sure are on the tips of the tongues of everyone in the room over the age of ten.

When he did his best to explain, telling them about running into Taylor in Paris and then again at the hospital the day before, he could tell most were sufficed. When he added that he had told her she needed to discover Boston and Fenway Park is quintessential Boston, they were sufficed even more. But his mother . . . . . his wise beyond words mother, she simply narrowed her eyes on him before she slipped her arm around Taylor’s shoulder and took her to the window, talking to her as they looked down upon the historic field.

Within minutes, the atmosphere in the room would change. Gone were the confused glares and rehearsed words. Stella and Ava had drug Taylor away from his mom, each rambling incoherently as they vied for her attention. From his position nearest Jeremy, he could hear them go on and on about their favorite Disney Channel shows, each also telling her about their different trips to Walt Disney World in explicit and animated detail. His sisters, Carly and Shanna, had each took their own turn talking to the newcomer, though he didn’t hear what they were saying. He could tell though from the looks on each of their faces that the conversations were easy and effortless, much like his own with her. It was something that made him happy, though he isn’t sure exactly why.

Throughout it all, without even as much as a glance, he could feel his mom’s face . . . . that face . . . on him.

“How long have you been a Red Sox fan?” Taylor’s voice hums and he turns to see her taking a seat next to him.

He cackles sarcastically. “I was born here. It’s in my blood. So, I’ve been a fan pretty much since I was in the womb.”

She smiles and then moves her view to look straight ahead. It’s the bottom of the third inning. The Sox currently down 1 to nothing to those other Sox, the Chicago ones. Jose Quintana is on the mound pitching to Dustin Pedroia. Taylor moves forward in her seat just as the Quintana’s pitch hits Pedroia’s bat, a loud smack thundering through the stadium, followed instantly by another loud thunder, this one of the fans cheering.

He reacts immediately, it is, after all, in his blood, his eyes following the ball through the outfield and over the right field wall. The box erupts and Chris throws his hands in the air, mimicking the action of every other inhabitant, minus Taylor and the kids. “Yes,” he exclaims, “home run. Tie game.” He high fives his dad behind him and then Jeremy to his left.

Taylor is laughing and clapping but hasn’t budged from her seat. “You don’t watch baseball,” he asks, his voice glistening and reeking of a hint of sarcasm.

She shakes her head, her lips slipping into a sheepish grin. “Not really. I’ve obviously seen games on TV before. My dad watches it sometimes. He’s a Rays fan. But I’ve never actually sat for more than five minutes and watched a game.”

His curiosity and his eyebrow peaked, he sits back down in the chair beside of her. “So this is your first game?”

“Yep,” she admits, looking almost guilty.

“Well, then I’m glad I brought you because I can’t think of anywhere else you would get the best first game experience than Fenway.”

“Why is that,” she asks and he glances at her, surprised. Or at least, he feigns surprise.

“Are you kidding?” When she shakes her head again, he continues on. “Fenway Park is the most famous ballpark in the world. I’m not even saying that because I’m a Bo Sox fan or because I’m from here, it’s the honest truth.”

“What about Yankee Stadium,” she interjects, a gleam of mischief in her eyes and he realizes that, at the very least, she knows a little more about baseball than she is letting on.

“Don’t say that word here. For real. Using the Y word in Boston can get you hurt or harassed at a minimum. And I’d rather your first game experience be remembered fondly, not because someone went Boston on you.”

She raises her eyebrows to him, a slight smile lifting her cheeks. He can see her amusement in the glimmer in eyes. “Went Boston on me?”

“Nevermind,” he boasts, “Anyway. . . . Fenway Park. Built in 1912. Oldest ballpark in the majors. It’s small, as you can see, but it’s mighty. That there,” he says, pointing to the left field wall, “is the green monster. Everyone who knows anything about baseball knows the green monster. Knows Fenway. Knows the Red Sox. Eight-time world series champs. Home of some of the greats like Ted Williams, Dwight Evans, Cy Young, Pedro Martinez and, more recently, David Ortiz. I could literally go on all day.”

“I can tell,” she laughs.

“You are inside history right here,” he croaks and then leans to his right, placing his shoulder just to the side of hers, “and since this is your first baseball experience, you have to do it the right way. Scott . . . ” He turns his head, looking over his shoulder at his brother standing near one of the tables, a beer perched in his hand. “The lady here has never been to a baseball game period. Not just a Red Sox game. So we need to be good baseball hostesses and make sure she gets the whole shebang. She needs,” he laughs, holding his hands out around him as if he’s making an important announcement, “a Fenway Frank.”

“Coming up,” Scott chirps, nodding as a smile encompasses his face.

“What is a Fenway Frank,” Taylor asks, narrowing those vibrant blues on him.

He smiles, pointing toward the crowd outside of the window. “What a good 90% of those people are eating right now. It’s another Boston favorite and not to mention a baseball staple. A hot dog. Relish, onion, spicy brown mustard. You can alter it but that’s the best combo.”

When she squinches her nose, laughter pours from the depths of his belly. “It sounds awful.”

“You will love it. Trust me.” He winks and for a second, he believes he sees a gentle shade of pink swell in her cheeks but she quickly turns her gaze back to the game and away from his view.

Scott arrives a couple minutes later, two Fenway Franks teetering in one hand with two bottles of Sam Adams dangling precariously on his fingertips in the other. “You ready for Boston’s finest,” Chris asks as he takes the goods from his brother, virtually tossing one dog to Taylor before handing her a beer.

With her gaze back on him, she places a knowing grin on her face and tilts her head. “I thought the cannoli from last night were Boston’s finest?”

“Well I’m from Boston so obviously we have more than one thing that can be deemed as its finest.” His response is immediate, and not quite what he is meaning to say, but there his words nonetheless. When his view spans over her, he has no doubt of the shades of pink that tint her cheeks this time.

He’s cursing himself, shaking his head at his words, when he sees her lift her head, winking at him before she places the hot dog to her lips and takes a bite. He watches as she chews and he smirks when he sees a smile slowly take form on her lips. She takes a drink of the beer before she speaks. “It sounds awful . . . . but it tastes good.”

“I’m going to make you love Boston,” he chuckles before he takes a bite of his own frank.

She grins, biting at her bottom lip, and then leans forward. He doesn’t know what she’s doing, but when he feels the delicate skin of her thumb at the side of his mouth, his body inadvertently quivers, his chest tightens. She swipes along his skin, no doubt feeling his reaction, and her smiles drops slightly, her expression turning nervous and rushed.

“I’m sorry,” she mutters, “you had mustard on your mouth.”

He can feel her anxiety, her tension, in her words and in the stiffening of her body.

“Thank you,” he slaps at her arm playfully, hoping to lighten the moment, lessen her nerves. “I need to make sure I continue to look like one of Boston’s finest and mustard certainly detracts from that.”

His joke softens her and he feels his chest tighten once more when he sees the gentle smile tug at her lips again. That’s more like it, he thinks. That’s absolutely more like it.

He spends the fourth inning explaining the ins and outs of the game to Taylor, finding Jeremy joining in at times as they discuss positions, plays and why pitchers sometimes spit on their hands. She listens intently, just as she has before, moving her eyes around the field as she takes in their words, as she processes the information in her head.

By the top of the fifth, she seems well versed in the game, giving her own play by play, glancing at Chris and Jeremy for approval each time. “You catch on quick,” his dad pipes in from his seat three down from Taylor, “I’m impressed.” She smiles and offers a sincere “thank you.”

Seconds later, she excuses herself and he watches her as she heads off toward the private restroom in the far left corner.

He knows what will happen next. Knows the questions that will no doubt come from someone, pretty much anyone, in his party. When he moves in his seat, positioning himself toward the game, he discovers who will get first dibs at him. Jeremy. “So, Taylor Swift,” he says, his eyes wide and full of delight.

“Please don’t go Lisa Evans on me,” Chris pleads amusingly, running his hand down his face as he leans back in his seat.

Jeremy hearty laugh fills the room and prompts his own brief chuckle. “Yeah, I’ve noticed Momma Evans’s skeptical eyes on you and Taylor all day.”

He shrugs, trying his best to return his attention, and Jeremy’s, to the game but knowing that the likelihood of that happening is slim to none. “I fully anticipate an interrogation whenever she gets me alone,” Chris sighs, knowing the truth of his statement.

Jeremy nods, “How about I give you a mini one now.”

Chris groans, expressing his displeasure but knowing that arguing against Jeremy’s questions will be useless. “We’re friends. That’s all,” he spills, placing his hands in front of him as a crutch to what he says, “We spent some time talking in Paris, some more time talking yesterday after the hospital visit. She’s nice. Interesting. I enjoy talking to her and thought I’d talk to her some more today. Nothing wrong with talking.”

He can feel Jeremy’s eyes on him, feels as if he is studying him, and then he sees his longtime friend pierce his lips together. “Nothing at all wrong with that. She’s cool. It looks like everyone has enjoyed having her here. I know Ava has told me about a zillion times that she’s been hanging out with Taylor,” he feigns excitement, waving his hands in front of him like his daughter has, “I can’t breathe, Swift.”

Chris glances to his right. “Yeah I think Ava and Stella are in a competition to see who can hug on her the most.”

Jeremy chuckles, taking a pull of his beer as he leans back in the chair and throws one leg over the other. “Ava will win that battle. She’s a little huggy monster.” A few seconds pass, and Chris settles back into the game, hoping beyond hope that Jeremy has as well.

He hasn’t, his words soft this time, but still coming. “So what’s the deal with her and Hiddleston?”

Shrugging one shoulder and keeping his eyes locked on the field, Chris takes his own drink of beer and then clears his throat. He narrows his eyes on the field. “Not together but she’s still in love with him. Apparently he’s not responding to her when she tries to contact him. I don’t know. It’s not my business.”

Without looking his way, he can see Jeremy contemplating his words, sees him nodding his head as he does. “Tom Hiddleston is a lucky bastard. Having a woman like that pining over him.” When Chris doesn’t respond, he hears Jeremy laugh. “Think I could sway her?”

“What,” he says, the word sounding far more cutting than he intended it to.

Jeremy shrugs, raising his eyebrows in surprise or skepticism, which he isn’t sure. “You said they weren’t together. No harm in seeing if I could redirect her pining. I am single and I have eyes. And that woman,” he says, leaning to Chris as he nods toward the door Taylor slipped into minutes before, “she’s pretty fine. And . . . . you said yourself that she’s fun to talk to. I would have been ok with just the fine but being more than that is an added bonus.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Chris spews, a forced laugh storming from his stomach and through his lungs. He can feel his stomach clench until he tells himself to stop. The last thing he should care about, he thinks, is who is or is not flirting with Taylor. Jenny is the only one he should care about in that regard.

Jenny.

He can feel Jeremy’s gaze still on him. “Why? Do you want to flirt with her?”

“Of course not,” he says, finally bringing his eyes to his friend, “but she’s the ex-girlfriend of our friend and I just told you she’s still in love with him.”

When Jeremy’s eyes fall behind him, he knows Taylor is near so he allows the conversation to fall. Luckily for him, Jeremy does as well. What his friend doesn’t do is not flirt. Spending much of the next inning throwing subtle flirtatious comments toward Taylor, all the while glancing at Chris. Chris doesn’t play into his game. Keeping his gaze on the field, cheering on the Sox when needed, and trying his best to ignore Jeremy’s words and Taylor’s polite responses.

When the sixth inning ends and the first notes of Sweet Caroline start to play, everyone in the room rises to their feet. Everyone, that is, except Taylor, who looks around, her eyes narrow with confusion. “What’s going on,” she asks, looking up to him as he stands beside of her.

He reaches down, offering his hand to her, and she takes it without hesitation. He pulls her beside of him, the words to the song now being sung loudly around them and throughout the stadium. “Seventh inning stretch,” he says, his voice nearly a yell amongst the noise, “another Boston tradition. Sweet Caroline is always played and you’ll be booted from the ballpark if you don’t sing along.”

He’s kidding with the last part and he can tell by her expression that she knows it. But she moves her amused gaze to the field, looking around it at everyone swaying and swinging. “I love it,” she says just before she surprises him, stepping into him and sliding her hand around his waist until it rests at his side. She clutches strongly there. On impulse, and clearly without thinking, he places his own arm around her shoulders. She leads their sway, teases his voice to join hers and soon, everyone around them are joined the same way, with their arms and their voices linked to the words of Sweet Caroline.

When the park booms with cheers as the song ends, Taylor turns her body slightly toward him, her arm not moving. He looks down at her for a few seconds, noting the velvety look on her face, how she is charmed with this experience, with this ballpark and his Red Sox. “This is fun,” she says and he slips his arm off of her shoulder, moving his hand to his head and removing his cap. When he plops it down on her head, her smile widens.

“Now you’re a true Sox fan,” he laughs.

She straightens the cap on her head and from the corner of his eye, he sees his mother’s gentle, and completely questioning, smile. He shrugs it off.

Mookie Betts hits a go ahead home run in the 8th and, this time, Taylor jumps and cheers along with the rest of his family and friends as he does. By the 9th, his sisters have drawn Taylor back to them. They sit perched near the window, Shanna and Carly occasionally glancing toward him and smiling. He knows what is going on. Knows they are telling stories about him, likely ones he would never want told. But he knows there is probably more taking place too. He can’t forget that his sisters too learned from the master. So, Taylor, likely without having any hint, is being read. Her expression analyzed. Her words about him, or anyone really, being silently picked apart and interpreted. They’ve probably asked about Paris. About the hospital visit. And likely, he fears, about Tom.

With Taylor occupied by his sisters, his mom finds her way to him.

“Don’t start,” he says, beating her to the punch before she even sits. Beside him, Jeremy snickers. He takes a long draw from his beer.

“Start what?” She feigns innocence.

Chris throws a hand up, gesturing toward the women sitting at the window. “We’re just friends. Don’t make me regret inviting her here.”

His mother, his all-knowing, all loving, mother, simply winks. “You wouldn’t regret it no matter what I say.” And then, she glares. Not just any glare. A mothers glare. It makes him fidget. “I like her. She’s delightful,” Lisa continues, “You should never regret going anywhere with a delightful woman.”

And then, she says it . . . her eyes gleaming, skepticism written all over her face. “You found any answers to your Jenny problem yet?”

He closes his eyes, his head shaking, and gives her a firm, “No.”

“Hmmm….,” is all she responds, prompting more snickering from his friend at his side.

They both stop, thankfully he thinks, when Taylor gets up from her seat with his sisters and makes her way back to him.

“Sit here,” his mother utters, rising from the chair she has occupied. She turns to face Taylor, her smile widening. “By the way, that hat looks perfect on you.”

His eyes fall shut, his jaw clenching. God love his mom and her subtly.

When the game ends a short time later, he tells Taylor they will wait a few minutes before they leave. Let the crowds die down, let the experience still simmer.

She thanks him, as she does his family, and tells everyone what an amazing time she has had. His heart grows warm at the smiles that abound around the room.

By the time his mother takes a seat near them again, both Stella and Ava have taken up residence on Taylor’s lap, both barely awake, their heads resting on her chest. Miles and Ethan play near her feet, tossing a baseball back and forth between them.

“Are you leaving Boston soon,” his mom asks, her voice prompting Taylor’s attention to her.

“Tomorrow,” she responds, “I was supposed to leave today, actually yesterday . . . but the storms grounded my plane last night and when Chris mentioned coming to this game today and asked if I wanted to join you all, I couldn’t turn him down.”

“I’m glad you didn’t,” Lisa smiles, her eyes moving ever so quickly to Chris before placing them back on Taylor.

“I’ll fly to Watch Hill tomorrow. I have a house there on the beach.”

“The beach,” Miles chimes in, eavesdropping on the conversation, “I want to go to the beach.”

He watches Taylor smile, her face warm and genuine. “Then you should join me there sometime. I have a pool and a big inflatable slide. And I can make a mean s’more.”

Miles’s face lights up when Taylor winks at him and he sees his mother nod slowly. Taylor turns to him then, lowering her chin, “Really. I’d love to have you all visit one day.”

“They will hold you too that,” Chris laughs.

When she turns back to Miles and Ethan, both enthusiastically watching her from their perches on the floor, she giggles. “I hope they do.”

His mom pulls her back into conversation a few seconds later, keeping her there until his sister announces that it’s getting late so it’s time to head home. As the group gets up to leave, Taylor offers hugs all around, wrapping his niece, nephews and Ava into bear hugs and placing kisses on each of their temples.

“Where’s my kiss,” Jeremy asks playfully as he steps in to her and she pulls his head in, brushing her lips against his temple as well.

Chris meanwhile, stands back, shaking his head until Jeremy notices and shrugs his shoulders animatedly. “You can’t blame a guy for trying.”

He nods, stuffing his hands into his pockets, his laughter spilling over. “Yes you can.”

Tapping down his hat lower on her head, he leads her out of the box, down an elevator and through a near empty corridor in route to his car. Night has set in, the warmth of a summer evening tickling upon his skin and immediately causing it to feel dewy. He loves that feeling. He always has. It’s Boston and baseball to him. It’s home.

He opens the car door, allows her to take a seat, and then closes the door behind her before he heads to the other side and slips in behind the wheel. With his hands planted firmly upon it, he turns to her, “Are you hungry? That Fenway Frank didn’t do it for me.”

Her lips slip up into a grin and she nods softly. “Yeah.”

“The restaurants nearby will be crowded with people from the game. We can head out a few miles and see what we find. I know a few places that have private dining rooms or won’t be as busy . . . .”

“Why don’t I cook for you,” she says, her words catching him off guard, “I mean if you want. You’ve been so amazing to me the past couple of days so I owe you this time. And I know my way around a kitchen pretty well.”

He eyes her momentarily and then shrugs. “I have some stuff at my place. You are welcome to use it . . . . if you don’t mind going there.”

“I don’t mind,” she whispers, her smile never slipping.

It takes them 35 minutes to navigate through traffic, park and take the elevator to his condo. It takes her about the same amount of time to toss his hat and her purse onto his couch and then pilfer through his kitchen, perching tomatoes, onions, garlic and pasta, along with a few other ingredients, in her arms and then on the counter before she starts cooking.

He attempts to help her. He does. But he finds himself catching her eyes every time their hands touch or their arms tap against the other, both of them laughing uncomfortably when they do. When it happens again, she closes her eyes, placing her hands down on the counter briefly before she places her gaze on him and she points to the chair on the opposite side of her.

“You,” she laughs, noticeably forced, “sit. No more helping.” No more touching, he tells himself.

It doesn’t take long before the naturality of their conversation resumes, until he finds himself watching her laugh as she cuts, stirs, simmers and tastes. She tells him, again, how much she loved the game. Asks him questions about some parts of the game she is unsure of. She tells him about going to a NBA game and also to an NHL game and he feigns being shot when she tells him she had predicted the Falcons to win the last Super Bowl.

She makes a dish she calls Pasta ala Taylor, and he devours it. She grins sheepishly when he tells her it could rival anything he’s eaten at Mamma Mia’s or even at his own mom’s house but makes her promise never to mention that to her. Scouts honor, she giggles as she crosses her heart with her finger.

Her eyes move about the house and she tells him how much she likes it, how she enjoys its simplicity and the openness of it. And as she nurses the wine he selected, she mentions how it’s her favorite and she’s surprised that he picked that bottle. I’m glad I did, he tells her.

When their meal ends, they find themselves in the same positions they were in the previous night. Both resting back in their chairs, wine glasses perched within their fingertips, their conversation overflowing.

“Really Chris, I enjoyed today. Your family is amazing. Even after spending just a few hours with them, I can see how close you all are. It’s how families should be.” She stops momentarily, looking down at the wine on the table, “And I loved the enthusiasm. Not just for the game, but for each other, for the kids. Even for the hot dogs and beer. You don’t see it as much anymore and I don’t know why.”

He lifts his shoulders, smiling at her words. “We’ve always been that way. We love each other, even when we say we hate each other. We joke and pick on each other and sometimes we fight but we always have each other’s back. I know that at the end of the day, any day, I always have them to fall back on. My mom especially. She’s the nucleaus that we all revolve around. Our rock.”

The smile that slips onto her lips is the most genuine he believes he has ever seen. “That’s how my mom is. She’s my best friend. She knows me better than I know myself. When I looked at your mom, I was reminded so much of mine.”

He kicks his leg over his knee, his back fully against the chair. He watches her for a few silent seconds. Her gentle face. Her easy expression.

“My mom thinks there is something going on between us,” he says, shaking his head.

She bites at her bottom lip, nodding as she chuckles. “I think everyone in that room thinks something is going on between us.”

He laughs but the expression feels off. It feels out of place. Like it’s forced. Like it’s a cover. He’s not completely sure why.

“Anyway, I’m sorry for Jeremy,” he quips, changing the subject.

Taylor sips from her glass before she smiles. “I like him. He’s very real . . . very open. I like that. And I love the way he dotes on his daughter. You can take one look and him and tell that Ava is the only woman he needs in his life.”

“He would’ve been ok to let you in too,” he laughs, hating the way his stomach clenches with even the words. Hating that he continues to say words that he wishes he did not.

“He was joking. I know that.” She sips on her wine again and when she brings her glass down, he can see the change in her face. She waits a few seconds, before she raises those vibrant eyes him. “Why have you been so nice to me? Even from the start, you were nice. I didn’t expect that.” She takes a deep breath, allowing it to slip from her pierced lips. “I’m sure you’ve heard everything that’s been said about me recently.”

He allows her words to soak in, allows his mind to go back to the articles he’s seen, the headlines on tabloids in the grocery store, the reports on TV. “Let me tell you a story,” he starts, resting further back in his chair and planting his eyes on her, “My mom told me when I was 11 years old and came home with a fat lip, courtesy of my so-called friend Brad Cooper, that not everyone has a pure heart. She had suspected Brad of being fake from the beginning, I had seen it all over her skeptical and cynical face. But I had talked him up, told her how awesome he was and all these cool things he did. And then, when he convinced me to bring him four Nintendo games to school one day and then proceeded to punch me in the lip and call me a sucker, she sat me down at the kitchen table and explained to me her theory on people. She said everyone has good in them but not everyone knows how to be good. You have to watch people, listen to them, study them, and then you will see who are the good guys and who are the bad guys.” He chuckles, shaking his head as he recalls her words. “Remember, she was talking to an 11 year old. She also said that a person’s eyes don’t lie. So, I took her advice to heart and ever since then, when I meet someone, I do as she said. I watch, I listen, I study and I read their eyes. And it didn’t take me long to realize you were genuine and your heart, pure. Granted, I had figured as such. I know Tom well, Taylor. I know he is a good man so I knew there must be something good within you for him to fall in love with you.”

She smiles softly, her eyes falling. “Well I don’t believe he does anymore.”

Breathing heavy, he takes another drink of his wine and then places the glass on his knee, holding it there. “I’d be hard pressed to believe that he doesn’t.”

The depths of those blue eyes fall on him again, twisting a knot in his stomach. “I’ve been thinking about that. I did last night.” After he kissed her, he thinks. She raises her eyes toward the ceiling. “Wondering. . . . When is it too much. Now. Two weeks or two months from now. Never? When do I take the fall, throw in the towel? When do I admit that I fought for his love but I lost? Is there a point where I can soften the blow, limit the pain, and give up?”

“Do you want to give up,” he asks, his words sifting gently in the air.

She shrugs. “I don’t know. I just feel . . . . . like an idiot. I picture myself as this old fisherman. He keeps throwing his lure out there, waiting for a bite, but getting none. But still, he just keeps throwing it back out there. When does he just realize that he’s not going to get a bite and pack up and go home?”

“Taylor, I don’t have an answer for you,” he sighs, wishing beyond reason that he did.

She smiles softly, knowingly. “I know. I just wonder if I’m burdening my heart too much, if I’m burdening his life. I just know that I can’t fight forever for something I have no idea that I’ll ever get back. My heart, my soul, can’t take that.”

Bringing his glass to his lips, he takes a long, slow draw. He closes his eyes as he feels it settle in his stomach, the hint of alcohol clouding his senses. “Your fisherman. Maybe he’s just scared. Maybe he’s so used to that river that he’s too tired and too scared, to move to another one. The uncertainty of another river could scare him more than not knowing if he’ll ever get a bite in the one he’s used to, the one he’s loved going to. But eventually he’ll get stronger and he’ll realize that he deserves fish just as much as the next guy. So he’ll move to another river. When he’s ready.”

“Maybe,” she whispers before she tips her glass up, gulping down the last drink and then placing the glass back on the table, “you know, we are horrible fishermen.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “It’s looking that way. Yet we keep tossing that lure, don’t we?” With his own glass in his hands, he swirls the liquid around, his eyes focused on it. He doesn’t take a drink. “I called Jenny last night.” After I kissed you, he leaves out. After I felt guilty, he also omits.

He can see the surprise in her eyes, hears it when she speaks, “How did it go?”

With a half shrug, he shakes his head. “It didn’t really. She said she was busy. In a meeting. She asked me to call her back today.”

“Have you,” she asks.

He licks his bottom lip. “No.”

She doesn’t ask why but under her breathe, he hears her say, “A nibble.”

She waits a few moments, letting their words settle between them, and then she glances behind her, toward the door at the side of his living room. “Do you have a balcony?”

“Yes,” he answers.

Standing, she grabs her glass and reaches it towards him. “Top me off and then take me to see it.”

Doing as she asks, he fills her glass with wine, then his, and steps in front of her, leading the way to the door.

When she steps outside, he sees her smile brighten. The city spans like a glistening picture in front of them and for a second, he wonders if she’s thinking of Paris. If she does, she doesn’t say so.

He joins her view, realizing that the is the first time he’s even been on his own balcony in a while. He had forgotten how beautiful it was. How soothing. How relaxing. He takes a drink of wine, closing his eyes briefly as it, again, clouds his brain.

“Do you know what I miss,” she asks a few seconds later.

He’s not positively sure what she’s talking about so he shakes his head. “What?”

“The feeling,” she sighs, her gaze still on his beloved city before her, “the way he felt beside of me. How my pulse would race when he touched me. How I felt safe in his arms. I miss the feeling. The pheromones. The chemical reaction.”

“If that’s what you want, you should have taken Jeremy up on his offer.” His words are said in jest but he can’t help but regret them once he places them in the open. And when she doesn’t respond, he regrets them even more.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” he murmurs, glancing at her frozen figure a few feet away.

“No, it’s quite alright. I get what you mean. But that would be a different river.” She snickers and he feels a sense of relief wash over him.

Turning around, he rests his rear on the railing of the balcony. His gaze glosses over her. She’s beautiful. There is no denying that. There never has been. But as the light of the moon frames her face, he believes her to be even more beautiful. It’s a thought he curses himself for having. So much so that he pulls his eyes away, placing them almost nervously upon the door into his condo.

“Your leaving tomorrow,” he asks, keeping his eyes focused away from her.

“Yeah. I’m already a couple days behind schedule. Not that I mind. I’ve enjoyed the delay.” He smiles softly at her words, lowering his head. “But Watch Hill awaits. And I meant what I said about bringing your family there.”

“They would like that.”

From the corner of his eye, he sees her lips pull into a grin. “I would too.”

He feels a smirk on his face, a glint in his eyes. “You know though,” he scoffs, angling his head to glare at her, “I won’t wear an I love TS shirt.”

And there’s the laugh. The one that sounds like a melody to him. With her glass teetering between her fingers, she raises both hands up, surrendering to his words. “That was all him though I’m sure many would love to blame me. But if you’d like, I can make sure there is an I love JS shirt available.”

His blue eyes land on her, his smirk widening. “That won’t be necessary.”

“C’mon,” she hisses, her laughter echoing all around them, “that would be the ultimate tossing out of the lure.”

“Ok, but if I wear that, then you do the same for Tom,” he challenges. When he sees her scrunch her nose, shaking her head, his laughter booms.

Their amusement settles between them and he places his free hand on the railing of the balcony. “I like this. Laughing. Talking. It’s easy and natural. I don’t recall it being this way with anyone else.”

For a split second, he considers how she will take his words but when he sees her delicate grin, the thought slips from his mind. “I agree,” she whispers, her voice still melodic and happy and then she winks. “I’m pleased to have officially met you, Captain America.”

With her words, he reaches his hand out, “Pleased to have officially met you too, Ms. Swift.”

She’s giggling, cackling really, her head thrown back, when she takes his hand. And there it is. Again. A touch. A moment. A sensation. He had felt it last night. He had felt it, but not admitted to it, in Paris. He felt it earlier today at the game, with her arms around his waist. He’s felt it every time his skin has brushed hers since. And Jesus, he just felt it again. And he knows she felt it too. Because she jerks her hand away and runs a nervous hand through her hair.

“We need to stop doing that,” she whispers, her words aching with anxiety, “stop touching or getting wrapped up or whatever we’re doing. I don’t know if I’ll be able to pull away the next time.”

His breath hitches at her words. It’s a reaction he can’t stop. He shakes his head, searching for words, a word, any word, to say. All he can find is “Yeah” before he clears his throat and tilts his head, “It’s probably just the wine anyway.”

Her smile softens as she hears him. “Yeah. Probably.”

She excuses herself a few seconds later, telling him she needs to go to the restroom. He remains on the balcony, his mind raging with thoughts, his body searing with unexplained and unpredicted emotions. What the hell is he doing, he thinks? Is he lonely? Maybe. Is he in need of human, female, contact? Perhaps. But fuck, what is he doing?

He’s in love with Jenny. She, with Tom. There is no denying that. But he also can’t deny that something happens, what he has no clue, whenever he touches Taylor. Something happens.

He rubs his hand down his face, hoping to find some sort of clarity from the action. As expected, he doesn’t.

With one long slow drink, he finishes his wine and then places the glass on the table near him. He slides the door open and he’s greeted by the darkness of his living room, illuminated ever so faintly by the light seeping from his kitchen. Three steps in, he hears water running and he turns his gaze in the direction it’s coming from.

The kitchen.

His eyes narrow as he walks toward the room, finding Taylor pressed against the edge of his counter, one hand moving in circles around a plate perched in her other hand. “What are you doing,” he asks, watching as her body reacts to his sudden words. Stiffening.

She doesn’t move, keeping her eyes steady on the dishes in front of her. “Cleaning up. It would be rude of me to leave this mess for you since I’m the one who made it.”

“I have a dishwasher,” he says, trying to find a laugh, a chuckle, a . . . . something, but he doesn’t.

“That’s ok,” she chimes, placing a clean plate in the right side of his sink before she plunges her hands into the sudsy water in the left and retrieves a pan. “I enjoy the normalcy of washing dishes. It helps me think. Helps me clear my head.”

He takes three long strides across the room, stopping a foot or so away from her and grabbing a dishtowel from the counter. “I can do it,” she says sharply, “really, it’s not a problem.”

“I can help,” he starts before she interrupts him.

“No . . . really, I can do it.”

She reaches for the towel in his hand, attempts to remove it from him. All she does though is cause, again, a sensation, a jolt, when her hand inadvertently crosses his. As if she’s touched an open flame, she pulls it away and plunges it back into the water.

“Is washing dishes really helping,” he pries, his voice ripping through them, increasing the ever-present tension.

“Helping what?” Her voice is telling. She knows.

When he tosses the dishtowel back on the counter and turns around, he catches a glimpse of her closing her eyes, clutching them shut. He takes a step away but she reaches behind her, her wet hand grasping on his arm. That’s all it takes. That simple little contact.

He turns on his heels, his movement thoughtless and quick, and spins her around, pulling her to him. Her eyes flutter and then shut again as soon as she’s near him. Reaching down, he grabs her other wrist, pulling both hands up until they rest between them. He can feel his shirt start to dampen but beyond that, he can feel her. The rapid rise and fall of her chest. Her hot breath tickling his chin and neck. He leans into her, resting his forehead on hers.

It’s a moment. Their moment. A mind blowing, punch you in the gut, romance novel worth moment. It’s electric and damn he knows she is feeling it to.

He pulls her wrists, wrapping her arms around him as he presses into her and mimics the action. “Chris,” is all she mutters as her eyes fly open and his lips find hers in a ravenous kiss. It’s scorching. Searing. The heat from their bodies, the intensity of their actions, burning between them like a fire.

He’s not being rational. Damn, he knows that. He’s not thinking of consequences, not thinking of how this moment, their moment, could hurt others. All he can think of is Taylor. Of how she feels. How she tastes. How he wants . . . . more.

He can feel her tepid resistance, keeping her lips closed but when he presses his hands on the small of her back and draws her closer to him, she relaxes, falls really, into his kiss. She accepts them hungrily. Readily. Willingly. Feeling her on him, wanting him, meeting his kisses time after time, evokes from him things he hasn’t felt in a long time. He responds by kissing her harder, fiercer, drawing her breath into his as if it’s the last breath he himself will ever have.

He can’t fucking get enough.

His senses swirl, clouding his brain, twisting his stomach. His heart pounds wildly as his hands roam and discover, feeling every inch of her that he can, tangling into her hair, pressing her more and more into him. Damn, she feels so amazing. This feels so amazing.

She quivers when his tongue darks into her mouth. “Chris,” she utters again against him. The sound of his name off of her lips engaging him even more. When his arms move again, he lifts her, placing her ass on the counter as his mouth continues his exploration of her skin. He can feel her shake against him, can feel every emotion his touch is generating in her body. It fuels him. Drives him. Sends him into an unstoppable frenzy.

He catches her breath in his mouth when his lips find hers again. She purrs, the sound sending a shrill through his body. Cupping her face in his hands, he moves his mouth to her neck, working there for a few seconds as he feels her press her chest tightly to him.

“What are we doing,” she says breathlessly, pulling her head back only long enough to look into his eyes before she finds his mouth again.

“Chemical reaction,” he whispers and then grasps his hands on the bottom of her shirt, ripping it up over her head and discarding of it on the floor. He pushes himself into the counter, in between her legs. His mouth finds the delicate skin on her neck, biting and nipping at it as his fingers work at the clasp of her bra. When it flicks open, he pulls it off, revealing her supple breasts to him for the first time.

“Fuck, Taylor,” he mutters just before his lips envelope her nipples. He suckles, his teeth grazing the skin there every few seconds. He hears her purr, sees her throw her head back when he raises his eyes just enough to see her face.

He’s working on her other breast when he feels her tugging at his shirt so he steps back long enough for her to slip it over his head before he finds her breasts again, this time licking, flicking his tongue out over the hardened nipples.

Her hands are clawing at his jeans. “You first,” he says, pulling her hands away and then his own finding the button of her jean capris. She lifts her ass off of his counter so he can tug them and her white lacy panties down her legs and onto the floor. He eyes her briefly, his body responding instantly to the view of this woman, naked and ready for him.

Leaning forward, her hands find the waist of his jeans again and he meets them there, helping her unbutton before he pushes them and his briefs down and kicks them away. Her arms immediately go around his neck, pulling him into her, catching his lips and then wrapping her legs around his torso. He feels her heat instantly.

Part of his head screams at him to take her to his bed, ravage her there, but he knows he can’t wait that long. He needs her here. He needs her now.

His arms encompass her waist, maneuvering her on the counter until she barely rests there. She moves with him, her body shaking with the same need, her mind knowing exactly what he is doing. When her legs wrap firmly around him, her center aligning with his hard and ready dick, he thrusts. Hard. So hard it bucks her body up, her breasts bouncing. She tightens her arms around his back.

They’re at a place of no return now. And he doesn’t want to return. He’s powerless against this . . . whatever this is. The emotions being elicited. The need being evoked.

The nuclear reaction.

He pounds into her again and she rocks her body to meet him with every single movement. It’s hard and soft. Fast and slow. Her mouth is against his, moaning and purring. Her sounds making him harder, making him want her more, want to hear her more.

He increases his speed and she moves her hips to intensify the friction. This time it is Chris who is moaning. A deep, throaty moan that echoes through his kitchen. He dips his head, finds her breast again. Sucking. Licking. Clenching his arms so tight around her torso. Pounding into her. Over and over and over. She’s wet, slick with her desire for him. And she’s hot. Insanely hot. He can feel her nerves pulsating, awakening against him. It pierces every nerve in him.

Her fingers scrape down his back as she clings to him, her mouth finding the crook of his neck, kissing there before she kisses a line to his shoulder. She bites him and he bucks into her, eliciting a long and breathy moan. He drives into her harder. And harder. Until he feels her release, feels her cum drenching him. It drives him to his edge and he feels his dick pulsate inside of her as he pants.

“Fuck,” he says, his voice raw and broken. He allows himself to finish in her, his damp forehead pressed to hers, removing himself from her once the nerves stop twitching between them. He steps into the counter, placing her rear fully upon it again. Neither seem to remember how to breathe.

“Chemical reaction,” she whispers a few seconds later, causing him to cough out a ragged breath as he places another kiss on her shoulder.

They catch their breaths, regulate their breathing, holding each other, she still on the counter, he between her legs directly in front of her. She places her head onto his, aiming her gaze down. Her fingers pad softly along the tattoo on his collarbone. Leaning down, she kisses it.

“We keep getting wrapped up,” she whispers when she raises her head, placing it back on his. “And you still need to take me back to the hotel.”

“Do you want to go back to the hotel,” he presses, his voice still ragged and raw. He doesn’t move from her.

Against him, she shakes her head. “No.”

“Then don’t,” he says just as he tightens his arms around her waist and pulls her off the counter. Her lips find his when he does.

“Show me your bedroom,” she whispers, tangling her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck.

He does as she pleases. And they please each other again, tossing bedsheets aside as they taste and tease each other. Her lips on his length. His tongue inside of her. He smiles when he makes her cum. Again. And his senses tingle in overdrive when she does the same for him. They move together for an hour more, until both collapse with exhaustion and fall into sleep.

He awakens the next morning with the brilliant Boston sun beaming directly into his eyes. Shit, he mumbles to himself before he rubs his hands down his face, noting the soreness and exhaustion in his body as he moves. A smirk lights up his face when he remembers why.

Chemical reactions. Nuclear fucking reactions. ��With Taylor.

He rolls over, anticipating finding the woman responsible for his fatigue, but instead finding a single piece of paper. As he reads it, he notices for the first time that his shower is running. “Borrowing your water,” it says, a simple smiley face after her words. It makes him smile.

He’s considering joining her, considering yet another mind-blowing reaction, when her phone starts to ring from the living room. He glances to the room and then to the bathroom.

“Taylor, your phone,” he says, noting the hoarseness in his voice as he tries to speak.

The water continues as does the phone so he reluctantly pushes himself up and slips from the bed. His body feels as if it creaks. “Taylor . . . .,” he yells again, his voice muffled by the screeching ring.

He figures it’s Brandon. Likely panicked with worry at her not returning last night. He would assume it’s probably his tenth call, a half dozen texts likely there as well.

But as he grabs the phone from the table and turns to make his way back to the bedroom, he notices for the first time the name that appears on the screen.

His eyes fall shut and he shakes his head.

Tom.

#taylor swift fanfiction #chris evans fanfiction #lonely and gone #unexpected #chapter 3

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