Auntie Em

auntie em april 15 2018

Auntie Em

*an Emery & Chris drabble*

By avenger-nerd-mom

Emery pitches in to help her sister-in-law, Carly, when the kids are sick and Carly has plans. Her tutoring with his nephew goes slightly awry.

Warnings: None, Fluff

Word Count: 2141

To find out more about Emery and her life with Chris, begin with their novella, Georgia on My Mind, and follow up with their stories!

His voice is quiet, and she strains to hear him. “When are you coming home, baby? I miss you.”

Emery smiles. “I’ve only been gone two days; I’ll be home Monday.”

“I know, but it feels like it’s been fooor-eveeer.” He whines and stretches the word out.

She wraps her arm around the sleeping little one in her lap. “Good grief, listen to you, moaning like I’ve been gone for months.” She smiles at the other two boys, stretched out on the floor, coloring and playing with race cars.

Chris drops his voice and it vibrates through the phone. “I need you here to make me moan.”

“Oh stop,” she giggles. “Stella’s asleep in my lap.”

“Is she feeling any better?” Her heart flutters at the tender sound of his voice, so full of concern for his niece.

She nods, even though he can’t see her. She gently strokes the little girl’s hair back, checking for signs of a fever. “I think the fever broke a few hours ago. She was running around here with the boys just a bit a go, before she had another coughing fit. They felt so bad for her, they let her watch Frozen without whining.”

“It’s nice to have family close, when you have an emergency,” he hints. “Have you heard from Carly?”

“She’s been checking in every few hours. She can’t be enjoying their romantic get away if she’s worried about a sick kid.” Emery shifts on the love seat, her arm starting to fall asleep under the weight of the sleeping child. “I’ve got it under control. We went to Ethan’s piano lesson this morning, and Miles and I have been studying for his math test. We’ve had a good visit.”

“You sound tired,” he sighs. “Three will do that, but-”

“Which is why, Evans, we’re only having two-”

“I’m not stopping till we have a little girl, with fiery red hair like her mother,” he states.

“You really want two of us in the house?” She smiles. She sighs happily. More of their discussions have turned to family lately, with the Marvel end in sight. She’ll be sad when it’s time to see him hang up the shield, but with his success on Broadway, she looks forward to different opportunities.

“No, I want three of you. Two little girls, just like their mama, and a little boy?” He adds with a question.

At that moment, Miles lifts his head and turns to her and smiles. His boyish grin is so much like his uncle’s, she can’t help but giggle. “Okay, maybe you can twist my arm for three, but no more than that,” she acquiesces.

“It’s not about twisting your arm, kitten, you like it when I twist your-”

“Chris! Shh!” She blushes, quietting him as Miles crawls into her lap.

He holds out his little hand. “Auntie Em, can I talk to Uncle Chris?”

She hands him the phone, holding him close to her side and listening to him chatter with his uncle. Maybe three isn’t a bad number…

***

Standing at the sink, the two women pass the plates off to one another as they wash and dry, leaving things on the counter for the men to put away later.

“Really, Em, you didn’t have to have dinner waiting for us,” Carly repeats, running the cloth around the glass rim to dry it.

Emery feels around in the soapy water. Finding the sink empty, she looks to the counter behind her. “It was no trouble. I miss getting to cook for people. We’ve mostly been eating take out,” she explains. “I think that’s it. Anything else to wash?”

Carly looks around as well, and shakes her head. “Except for the plate with the cheesecake Scott took to the living room, and he can wash that himself.”

Emery nods and releases the plug from the sink, shaking the soap suds from her hands before rinsing them clean. She grabs a dry towel and wipes her hands before beginning to put the plates away in the cabinet.

Carly finishes with the last coffee cup and throws her towel on the counter. “Stop. The boys said they’d do it; leave it.”  She takes a step or two away and clicks the coffee pot on. “Another cup?”

Nodding, Emery continues to put away the plates, ignoring Carly’s glare. “I’m the oldest sister too. That look has no effect on me,” she announces.

With the Evans grin, Carly chuckles and reaches into the fridge for the creamer, setting out her coffee items on the counter. “Thanks again for coming down to watch the kids. I hope it didn’t change your plans.”

Emery waves it off. “Nothing more important than family. With Mom and Shanna both busy, I’m glad I could help out.”

“Not a lot of family close by if you’re in LA,” Carly suggests, taking the pot from it’s stand and pouring two cups.

“Gee, you’re not subtle or anything,” Emery giggles, reaching for her cup and adding a splash of the vanilla creamer.  She grabs two sugar packets and walks to the table. Knowing how the family grapevine works, she decides not to mention Tara is on the search for the perfect family home for them nearby.  After several long discussions, she’d made it clear she wanted them to have their own home in Boston, not one he’d previously shared with girlfriends. Chris had been open to her idea of finding something a little rough around the edges, so they could add their own touches to the home, and truly make it theirs.

Carrying over the plate of cookies, Carly sits in the chair across from her sister-in-law. “We’d love to have you both close. I know you like staying in Savannah, but home for him is here.”

“Carly,” Emery says sternly, “Home for us is wherever the other one is… It’s not a city or a dwelling. It’s here.” She rests her left hand over her heart, the kitchen lighting making her wedding ring gleam. “I know you want us here, but my family feels the same, Carly. Chris and I have to make decisions right for us.”

Carly passes her spoon to Emery, to stir the sugar into her cup. “I know, I didn’t mean… I was just making conversation,” she sheepishly says. “It’s fun you’ve been so close the last few months. It was nice to see you guys at Easter, and for us to have a good excuse to go to New York.”

Emery tilts her head. “It has been nice, and I look forward to coming back in a few weeks to do the training for your school district.”

“What’s his plan after the play ends? It’s been really strange to watch the promo tour stuff, and he’s not a part of it.”

Emery rests back in her seat. “Yea, I hate that too. It doesn’t seem right.” She shrugs. “After the play? I don’t think we have a lot of plans. I’ve only got three workshops scheduled for the summer. I’d like to spend time at the lake house with my family some, get to know Parker’s fiancee a bit better…”

The women chat well into the night, keeping clear of touchy subjects such as children and moving. Whenever Carly tries to push a topic Emery wants to avoid, she tactfully finds a way to shut her down. Eventually she realizes the time, and dismisses herself to bed, with the excuse of an early morning flight.

Carly wanders into the living room as Emery takes the stairs to the second level of the home. She drags her hands slowly over the photos that line the hall. At the top of the steps, she turns and looks down, smiling at the pile of shoes and backpacks by the front door. Scott steps into her line of sight, and waves goodbye, blowing her a kiss before quietly leaving the house. She turns and walks down the hallway, stopping to check in on the boys, fast asleep in their beds.

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In Stella’s room, the little girl clutches a bear to her chest, her thumb in her mouth.  Emery walks in quietly, the light from the closet adding a glow to the room. She pulls the little girls thumb out, tucking the little hand under the girl’s chin instead, pulling the blankets up higher to tuck her in. The tiny cherub sighs peacefully and Emery bends to kiss the top of her head.

Reaching the guest room, she yawns and pulls back the blankets before sitting down to take off her shoes. Pulling her phone from her pocket, she sends a quick message. “I miss you. I’m ready to come home. See you tomorrow.”

The red-head waits a few moments to see if a response will come. With no answer, she rises from the bed, and enters the bath to get ready for a fitful night’s sleep.

***

Wednesday afternoon, she waits on the small couch, still giggling from the text from Carly. She listens to the applause and waits for Chris to come back stage. An image of ‘Bill,’ his character in the play enters her mind.  The crisp blue uniform… The silly moustache… She gets the giggles again and can’t wait to show him the picture. He was crabby before the show, but she knows this will put him in better spirits. That and the box of pizza from John’s, sitting on the coffee table.

“Hey, Emery,” Brian calls out as he walks past the room, not stopping to talk.

“I got pizza!” She yells back.

She smiles when his head pops back in the door. “You’re a saint, a goddess among mere mortals.” He looks down the hall, and nods his head before looking back to her. “You have to be for putting up with this guy.” Brian Tyree Henry claps his large hand on Chris’s shoulder. “You found a good one, man.”

Chris smiles, dropping the officer hat from his costume into the chair and running his hands through his hair. “I’m just lucky she puts up with me,” Chris agrees.

“And I bring pizza,” she smiles, opening the box to the two men.

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“And she brings pizza,” Chris chuckles, leaning over the food to kiss his beautiful wife. He reaches down for a slice and takes a bite, chewing slowly. He sighs. “Pure heaven. If I could just have a beer, it would be damn near perfect.” He collapses on the couch next to her.

“No beer!” Someone calls out as they walk down the hall.

“Damn that promise I made,” he grumbles, taking another bite.

Bryan reaches for a slice and tilts it to Emery. “Thanks, Em, babe. But I really can’t stay. I’m meeting some friends for an actual dinner before we gotta be back for the night show.”

She nods, scratching her hands over Chris’s back absently as he scarfs down a second slice.  “Brunch Friday?”

He nods and mumbles his agreement behind his hand, chewing his food before excusing himself.

“Kitten, I gotta get changed. People are out on the sidewalk and-”

“Chris, I know. I know the routine by now. It’s good. I just knew you’d be hungry,” She shrugs. “Before you go, I want you to see the picture Carly sent me. It’s from Miles’ geometry test he took yesterday.”

Chris cocks his eyebrow, his expression curious as Emery opens her phone and turns the image to him.

“It’s his test paper? I don’t get it?”

“Chris! Look at what he drew!” Emery laughs, pushing the phone closer to him.

Chris begins to laugh. “What the hell?” His laughter is infectious and Emery loses it again. The more he looks at the test page, the more he laughs, to the point of wheezing and clapping his hand over his left pec.

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“Oh, shit! That’s the best thing I’ve ever seen. Text her back and tell her I have never been more proud of my nephew than I am right now! Please tell me he passed?” He laughs again and slaps his knee, rocking back to then wipe an actual tear from his eye.

She pushes on his back, shoving him off the couch. “Go, get changed. They’ll be here to take you out to sign any minute,” she giggles, glad she was able to cheer him up.

He rises, bending to kiss the top of her head. “You just made my day. That was better than the pizza, maybe even better than the sex this morning.”

“Watch it, Mister. Those are fighting words,” Emery laughs, slapping his ass as he walks away. She looks at her phone again and shakes her head in another fit of laughter.  She’ll have to make sure to include drawing lessons in her geometry tutorials next time, to ensure her younger students can draw a proper cylinder.

**Thanks to my IRL for sharing this actual test paper with me this week! As soon as I saw it, I knew it was an ‘Emery story!’

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Click here for the next Emery&Chris story, Late Night

Copyright © 2018  avenger-nerd-mom. All rights reserved. Intellectual property of avenger-nerd-mom

 

Morning After

ET ch 17 Morning After

Educating Thalia

Chapter 17

Collaboration by @avenger-nerd-mom & @devikafernando

AU FICTION

A collaboration involving Professor Hiddleston and Professor Evans- The two are rivals at a posh New England university and have no idea they both have taken interest in the lovely Thalia Bareo. She’s a grad student with interests in language and history; a sassy full-figured Puerto Rican girl from Chicago.  Story updates are posted on Wednesdays and Sundays.

Word count: 3185

Warnings:  Language, Adult Situations, fluff, heavy life discussions

Summary:  Chris learns more about Thalia over a homemade breakfast together.  He finds there’s more to the dark-haired beauty than meets the eye…

Click here for intro to Educating Thalia

He turns her in his arms and clasps his hands over her rounded ass, holding her tight in the locked cage of his beefy arms.  Through the gap in the sheet twisted around her body, his cock fits against her hot pussy, seeking her out again.

“Oh, no.  We’re not going for Four now.  Food.  I’m starving,” she chuckles, pushing hard against his chest.

Her touch has a power over him, but no strength to actually move him.  He smiles and teases.  “Oh, that’s cute you think you could move me!”

He halts when she points to her gym membership card on the dresser and shoves him a bit harder.  Not expecting it, he totters just a bit and throws his head back in laughter as she pulls free of his hold.  Shit, she could probably kick his ass…

Moving to the closet, she gathers clothes and steps towards the doorway, then stops and throws the clothes on the bed.  She rolls her eyes.  “What’s the point? You’ve already seen me naked and didn’t run off…”

If anything it made him want to run closer to her.  He looks around for his clothes but pauses to watch her thoughtfully as she dresses.  He doesn’t want to go home to his empty condo. “Enough of that… you’re a sensual goddess, and I don’t wanna hear any more about that.” He looks to her smartly when she audibly scoffs.

“Don’t roll your eyes at me,” he points.  “I’ll do everything I can to make you believe me.”  He catches a pair of sweatpants she tosses to him and with a shrug, puts them on.  “Hungry, huh?  Last night you said pancakes.  What if I make pancakes while you study?”

Looking up from tying her loose sweats, her jaw momentarily drops.  “You wanna cook for me?”

“It’s mix and water.  It’s not that hard,” he replies, still feeling like a manly man for offering, but pancakes, he can do.

Pulling a superhero t shirt over her head she returns his laughter.  “Mix?  I don’t know what women you’ve been with, but real women make their pancakes from scratch.”  She runs her hand down his chest, straightening out the twisted elastic at his waist and then pulling it back and releasing it with a snap before leaving the room.

“Fuck,” Chris whispers following her out of the bedroom.  “From scratch?”

He watches her gather measuring spoons and a large skillet.  She opens a cabinet door and points to a recipe taped inside.  “It’s easy.  The one my stepmother always uses,” she explains.  “It says ‘vanilla optional.’ It’s not.  Add the vanilla,” Thalia requests.  “Are you sure?  I can make them quick, or even call the diner and pre-order something?”

Washing his hands, Chris grins at her.  “Sit down and study.  I can handle a Sunday morning breakfast.”

He notices her pause as she gathers some books to sit at the kitchen table.  Measuring out the flour and sugar he can feel her eyes on him and knows she’s studying anatomy and not… whatever it is she’s supposed to be studying right now.

“Chris,” her curious voice interrupts him as he dollops the first serving of batter into the warm pan.  “The comment about ‘women you’ve been with?’ I shouldn’t have said that…  I’m really sorry.  I… I just remembered stuff I’ve heard in the faculty workroom…  So?  It was a pretty bad divorce?”

Running his hand over his mouth and down his beard, his eyes sadden, nodding his head.  Scratching his eyebrow, he tells her, “I appreciate your concern, but I really don’t wanna talk about it.  That’s what I have therapy for.”

“Ok.  Fair enough…” She watches as he expertly flips the pancakes, biting her lip.  “You also made the perfect braid… “ she smiles, playing with her now loose tresses..  “A daughter?  How old is she?”

Opening a cabinet and finding the plates, Chris pulls two down and places them on the counter.  Turning, he rests his hip against the counter and smiles brightly.  “Avery is five; she’s my light…  Her mother wouldn’t let me see her last night.  That’s how I ended up drunk in a bar…  The last two times I was supposed to see her, there’s been some lame excuse.”

Turning back, he takes the pancakes off the heat and serves them up on the plates.  Thalia moves her books to the side, and he feels bad she’s not getting any studying accomplished.

When he sets the plate in front of her, she touches his arm.  “I bet you’re a good dad.  Don’t give up.  Your ex will see you’re trying, no matter what your differences are, and she can’t deny the facts.”

Sitting down at the little table with her, his large legs bump against hers and he enjoys her comfort.  “Thank you; I’m trying.  Some days are just easier, you know.”

Looking to a photo on the shelf of an older man, obviously her father, she nods her head and looks back to her plate.  “Yea, I do.”  She cuts up her pancakes and reaches for the syrup, her hand brushing his as he grabs for it at the same time.  “These look amazing.  You did good.”

They enjoy a friendly breakfast.  Chris asks her about the funeral notice and she tells her about her friend and he shares a few stories about Avery.  The speed with which they’ve settled in with one another alarms Chris and he already feels a tug on his conscious, trying to tell himself again she’s a student, and this is so damn wrong.

But he doesn’t really fucking care.

The pancakes were pretty damn good, for a first try, and he’ll remember to add vanilla the next time he makes some, even if he uses a mix.  Clearing away the table, she begins to rise but he stops her.  “No.  Study.  I’m in your way.  I really need to go.”

She smiles sweetly, tilting her head.  “Oh, I don’t know.  It’s kinda nice to have a man around,” she places her empty plate in his outreached hand.  “I mean, you should probably go get dressed, so I’m not distracted, but I’m going to study, really.  Once I get into it, I’ll focus…  You are welcome to stay.”

“I do have some emails I could answer, some papers to grade.  Not all of us have grad students to do that for us,” he comments wryly, placing the dishes in the sink, catching the blush rise on her cheeks.

“Professor Evans,” Thalia announces sternly and with authority, “any faculty member needing assistance simply has to apply in the office of student affairs.  It’s work study and helps keep tuition down for the students like me.  You can request short term help with things like grading tests and papers, or long term assistance if you were working on a large research project for the University.”

“God, please don’t call me ‘Professor.’  I really fuckin’ hate that title.  It sounds so pretentious.  And I try to be anything but that.  ‘Pretty boy.’  That’s a title I could get used to,” he teases.

Her eyes widen as she remembers talking to Jim before leaving the bar last night.  She cringes.  “It was so noisy!  How did you hear that?” she asks incredulously.

“I never reveal my sources,” he taunts, heading to her room to change back into his clothes.

Returning to the kitchen a few minutes later, Chris sits back down and powers up his phone, a question bugging at the back of his mind.  “So what’s the story with Jim, anyway?  He seems very protective of you.”

Looking up from her tablet, she opens a textbook and smiles. “That’s Papa Jim.  He and my dad were in Desert Storm together and have been like brothers ever since… he and his wife were so excited when I was accepted to school here.”  She glances at her scribbled notes and flips to another section of the book, looking over to Chris.  “To save money, they actually helped me establish residency here and I lived with them for about two and a half years, until I felt secure enough to afford an apartment with friends.”

Chris can’t keep his eyes off her.  Her little movements and quirks.  She’s fascinating to watch.  She twists her hair away from her face and ties it in a loose bun, sticking a pencil through the thick knot to hold it in place.  How is that even possible?

“Worst six months of my life, that apartment.  They thought it was party central…  I was so glad to get out of that lease when I went over to study in Europe the first time.”  She shivers at an old memory.  “And a friend stayed here and took over my lease this last summer when I was working on some research in England.”  Looking around the room, it’s like she’s seeing it again for the first time, maybe through his eyes.  “I like it here.  It’s cramped, and full of junk and crap, but it’s mine, ya know?”

His eyes sadden briefly.  He does ‘know’ but hasn’t felt that way in a long time.  He shrugs his shoulders.  “Still working on making my place feel like ‘home.’  To be honest, some nights I feel more comfortable in my office, or falling asleep in one of the bean bags chairs in the library.”

She clears her throat and leans forward over her book, picking up a highlighter to mark a note.  “I remember when my mom left and got a new place.  Hate to tell ya, it’ll probably feel like that for awhile.”

“Thank you for the uplifting sentiment; mind if I just stick my head in the oven now, so I won’t die alone?”

Her shoulders rock with laughter and he watches as once again, she jiggles in a bra that just isn’t the right fit for her.  That would be a situation he would love to remedy for her.  A little lingerie shopping and modeling of styles can always lift the spirits.

“I’m talking too much.  I’m keeping you from your work… But I do have one more question, then I’ll be quiet; I promise.”

Opening another book, she places it on top of the huge volume already displayed on the table.  “Shoot.  I’m an open book.  Whatever you want to know…”

“Well fuck, now it’s two things, cuz I just thought of something else I’m curious about.”

She giggles and gets up from her chair.  Moving to the fridge, she retrieves two water bottles, handing one to him over his shoulder.  “You are the type that asks for one thing, and then always hopes for more, aren’t you?”  She teases in his ear, pushing her body against his before returning to the chair.

He chuckles.  “Yeah, probably.  Like, maybe I’m just hanging around now for the hopes of Four?”  He smiles at the shake of her head and continues.  “Ok, first question.  You’re obviously brilliant.  You’ve studied in Europe; worked on a few archeology digs, and Professor Hiddleston obviously thinks highly of you; he can’t stand the state of the American education system and is always belittling students in meetings. But he tolerates you- you must be wicked smaht,” he grimaces when his old neighborhood accent shines through.  “Honestly, I don’t see how you stand to work with him, but,” he tilts his head, smirking at the scowl on her face.  Her beloved Professor Hiddleston… He might like to give that man shit, but he’s not going to get under her skin by knocking the man she admires… “I get the language and history connection, but still he’s just such an assh-…”  Shaking his head, he stops himself.   “So what do you plan to do with all your knowledge? It’s pretty diverse.”

Chris doesn’t let her know he’s actually been looking over her school records on his phone for the last few minutes.  She’s a fuckin’ genius; and her areas of study as so eclectic.  Linguistics, history, literature…  He’s probably in the presence of one of the smartest women he’s ever met, yet she’s still so clueless about so many things.

“That is a damn good question,” she laughs, tossing her head back and slapping her thigh.  “Can’t really teach high school, can I?  I’d be bored in a week…  I don’t know,” she says thoughtfully.  “I’ve been approached by some of the top museums in the world to work as a curator and continue my archaeological work…  The problem is, I’m passionate about all of it.  If I do that, then I’m stuck in one field.  And I think I’d hate that ‘tied down’ feeling.”

Fuck.  His cock immediately perks up at her turn of phrase and the image that popped in his head.  He drops the water bottle ‘accidently’ and bends to retrieve it, hoping she doesn’t see the expression on his face.  Sitting back up, he can’t stop himself.  “Yeah, you being tied down would be awful.”

The eraser she throws bounces off the table and hits him in the cheek.  They both share in the laughter.

“You.  Just sit over there with your fantasies.  I’m working…”  The blush on her cheeks is endearing and he knows he should leave.  Soon.  “Oh damn.  You had a second thing.  What was it?”

His cheeks now turn pink and he leans forward, resting his arms on the table.  Inhaling deeply, the air is tight through his nose.  “Last night… You said it was ‘taken’ a long time ago.  You don’t mean-?”

“Oh, God no. No. Just some fumbling around in a back seat and not really knowing what the hell he was doing, or I was doing.  It was awful,” she chuckles, “But it’s the story of my life.  ‘I make rash decisions.’  And ‘I don’t know what I’m doing.’”

“I can teach you a few things,” Chris smiles, tapping his finger on the book.

The grin on her face is huge.  “I’m sure you can…  Now.  You promised to be quiet so I can work.  I hope you are a man of your word, Mister Evans.”

The two work in silence, chatting occasionally, well into the afternoon. Chris reads a bit more over her transcripts and finds notes from her research projects posted on some of the school study pages.  She’s an amazing talent and would be an asset to his team in the history department as they get ready to undergo some staff changes.  He contemplates what working with her would be like, but when images of bending her over his desk fill his head, he knows he’s had enough.

Rising from his seat, he cleans up the trash from the snack they’d had and moves to sit on the couch.  He doesn’t want to go home, and she seems in no hurry to make him leave.  Hugging a couch pillow to his chest, it smells like her.  His thoughts run back over the last few hours and he realizes his ex-wife still hasn’t called him back.  Guilt smashes him in the stomach as he realizes he’d totally forgotten his responsibilities the minute a pretty face and deadly curves turned his head…   Punching the pillow, he rolls to his side, preparing to nap when “God Save the Queen” starts to play on her phone.

She quickly answers it and he hears shuffling in the kitchen behind him.  “Hey, how are you?… Just a lazy Sunday.  A friend came over…. Yes, I have friends, you know,” she asserts playfully.

He freezes when he senses her hovering above him and he pretends to be asleep, not wanting her to think he’s listening.  Her hand graces the top of his head gently before she walks away.  When he hears her voice again, it’s muffled and coming from the bedroom.

“Sure, I can.  I’d love to!  What a nice surprise!   What time?  Ok… Anything else?  Yeah… Yes.   Alright.  I’m looking forward to it…. See you then.”

Chris realizes this is his cue to leave.  Fuck.  Thalia said ‘for reasons’ she and her other paramore, for lack of a better word, wish to keep things private.  He quickly prays she’s not dating a married man.  But it’s not his place to judge or ask.  From his spot on the couch, he realizes the apartment shows no signs of a man in her life, and he begins to question her need for privacy.  A sinking feeling sets in, and he sits up to put on his shoes.

The bathroom door closes and he waits anxiously for her to return to the living room.  When the door clicks open he turns to the dark haired beauty with a smile.  “Hey, I hate to do this Thalia, but I got a text from my ex and I can go see Avery for a few hours.  I really need to get going.”

Standing up he admires her lovely full lips as the bottom one pops out in disappointment.  “You have to go?  Well, then I guess it’s a good excuse.  Getting dumped for a younger woman already.  I see how you are.”

Moving into his space, she places her hand on his bicep, stepping closer to him.  Batting her eyelashes, she smiles crookedly.  “No, that’s great.  I’m glad you can see her.”

Her pout is irresistible.  He places his hand under her chin and with a bit of force he rubs his thumb across her tender lips.  “So beautiful…”  Holding her chin in place, he thwarts her physical effort to deny it.  “And I’m going to keep telling you that until you believe it.”  He leans his forehead to hers.  “I left my phone number on one of the post-its on the table earlier when you were deep in thought.  Text me in a bit so I make sure I have your number.”

Sliding his nose against hers, he plants his lips on hers and sucks in her air.  Minty fresh.  Pulling back, he whispers quietly.  “You brushed; not fair,” he complains.

“Sorry. Syrup breath was killing me… And you know,” she sighs, “I was gearing up for Four, but I guess we’ll have to start our count over again another night.”

“Four?”  He cocks his eyebrow pleased by her enthusiasm and stamina.  “I’ll hold you to that promise, babe.”  He remembers her secretive phone call, and moves to extract himself from her arms.

She follows him to the door and tells him she’ll text soon.

Walking down the stairs and across the street, he wonders again what the hell he’s doing.  She’s a student.  Young.  Dating someone else.  His damn Italian jealousy is already getting the best of him…

Reaching for his car keys in his pocket, his phone beeps.  He can’t contain his smile when he reads the message.  “Had a great night. Look up.”

Following directions, he shields his eyes from the sunlight peaking through the gray clouds, the smell of snow in the air.  Standing at her window she waves grandly and he laughs when she flashes him the two most resplendent breasts he’s ever had the pleasure of seeing.

Click here to read Chapter 18 Changes

Copyright © 2017  avenger-nerd-mom.  All rights reserved. Intellectual property of avenger-nerd-mom and devikafernando

 

Mrs. Evans’ Boys

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Mrs. Evans’ Boys

A Mrs. Evans story

*A Chris Evans fan fiction*

By avenger-nerd-mom

Future Chris helps take care when one of the kids is sick and creates a simple solution to a little problem

Warnings: Daddy Chris, fluff, sick kid, breathing treatment

Word count 950

This Mrs. Evans story is told from Chris’s point of view, a change from other stories in the series

Author Note:  I’ve been sick A LOT lately, which accounts for several of my stories lately being about sickness and the healing powers of Mr. Evans.  When I had to get a breathing treatment done, I remembered a family moment from long ago that had slipped my memory…  with author’s license for embellishing a few details, this is really the tale of how my Hubs got Kid to take his breathing treatments.

Through the crack in the door, Chris listens to the cough in the little boy’s chest and it pains him to hear it.  His big Daddy heart just can’t take it when the boys are sick, but he knows it’s even harder on his wife, so he steps up to the plate.

He steps into the room and asks, “Whatchya doin’, Bud?”

He knows she hates that nickname, always telling him the child and the dog cannot have the same nickname.  But it’s too late to get rid of it now.

“Just colorin’, Daddy.  Nonna Lisa brought me a new coloring book this morning.”

“Oh, she did; that was nice, we’ll-”

“Yea, yea, Dad; I already thanked her,” he rolls his blue eyes, already trained well in the art of appreciation from his mother.

Chris holds in his laughter.  “Ok, then.  Hey, son, do you know why your mother sent me up here?”

The little boy throws the covers over his head and snuggles down under the blankets.  “‘Cuz I was bad and it’s time for more medicine.”

Chris’s heart cracks.  He shoves the books to the side and sits on the edge of the bed, setting his package on the floor and pulling back the blanket.  The tiny face staring back at him is like looking through his mother’s old photo albums.  An exact carbon copy of himself at that age.  “You know we don’t say ‘bad.’  You weren’t bad; you just got scared and acted out in a way that’s not okay.”

“Mommy was so mad at me, she was crying,” the tow-headed toddler explains, sitting up and leaning closer to his own personal hero.

Picking the little one up, Chris sets the boy in his lap and wraps the blanket around them both.  “Bud, here’s a secret.  Mommy doesn’t like it when she has to take you to the doctor.  I usually do it, don’t I?”  The little boy nods.  “It makes her sad when she knows you have to get shots and things.  It made her sad today that you didn’t like the breathing treatment.  When you started crying, she was sad with you, not mad at you, and that’s why she was crying too.”

The boy can’t believe what his father says.  His face is incredulous.  “Really?  She wasn’t mad ‘cuz I didn’t wike the medicine?”

Chris chuckles at the use of “wike.”  The little one doesn’t even have a speech impediment but it’s such a part of the family vernacular, he uses it anyway.  Chris kisses the top of his head, and the fever is still raging.  “She was worried about you… I’m worried about you, and your little brother is missing his best friend.  And Dodger is about to go crazy since you can’t run around the yard with him.”

“Daddy, Dodger’s an old man, he doesn’t run and play like he used to,” the boy interjects.

Chris’s heart officially breaks in two.  He chuckles, “Bud, I know, but let’s not say that.  Mommy can’t handle it if I start crying too, and you and Dodger are best buds and the idea… Well. Ok.”

Chris stops himself.  Focus. Kid.  Sick.  Medicine.  Worry about the aging dog later.

Chris changes the subject.   “You know how Mom never lets you watch TV in your room?”  The tired little one snuggles against his chest and tugs on the hairs on his arm.  “Well, this room has TV and I brought you a treat.”

“I don’t wike this room,” he says quietly, coughs shaking his body again.

Rubbing his back, Chris replies.  “I know, Bud, it’s not your room, but you get to stay in the cool guest room for a few days so you don’t get your brother sick.  And I’m gonna stay here with you all night, and I brought a movie you might like.  I watched it with Grandpa Bob when I had to stay home sick when I was a little boy.”  Chris reaches down to the floor, and hands his oldest son the gift bag.

The boy pulls out a movie, Star Wars- Episode IV and a Darth Vader mask- a special one.  Chris took time in the garage to drill a hole through the mask in order to fit the tube for the breathing treatment.  “There’s a guy in the movie and he wears this mask, and he makes a funny breathing sound, just like you do.  And you know since you don’t feel well, you’ve been kinda mean and grumpy?  Well, he is too.  Maybe if he took his breathing treatments, he wouldn’t feel so bad.”

“Daddy, that’s dumb.  Not breathing right doesn’t make you mean.  It just makes me sleepy.  Maybe this guy needs a nap.”

Chris laughs heartily at the child’s logic and the little boy bounces off his lap, falling face first onto the bed and he giggles as his Daddy tickles him, stopping when the coughing takes over.  “Alright, come on.  Sit back up.  Let’s do this.  It only takes five minutes, and then Mommy said we could have ice cream later.”

“Fine.  But I won’t wike it,” the feisty blonde claims as his best friend in the whole world places the Darth Vader mask over his face and gets the treatment ready to administer.

#

Hours later you check back on your boys, and Dodger raises his head as if to say ‘I got this.’ They are sound asleep, curled up next to one another and the Darth Vader mask is on the floor next to the empty ice cream bowls.  Not a peep.  Little one hadn’t fussed once about the breathing treatment when Daddy did it.  Good thing he’s scheduled to be home for the next ten days because you know you can’t do this without him.

Copyright © 2017  avenger-nerd-mom.  All rights reserved. Intellectual property of avenger-nerd-mom

 

In Sickness and In Health

in-sickness-and-health-jan-12-2017

In Sickness and In Health

A Mrs. Evans story

*a Chris Evans fan fic*

By avenger-nerd-mom

A future Chris Evans takes care of his sick wife

Warnings: Language, Fluff

Word count: 1201

This Mrs. Evans story is told from Chris’s point of view, a change from other stories in the series.

**************

Standing in the door way, he watches her stumble across the room, her sleep mask still down over her eyes.  He can see the flush on her skin.  A fever rising that has nothing to do with him. “Just where do you think you’re going?”

She literally jumps before her hand flies up to pull off the mask and she wheezes, “Jesus fuckin’-” cough, cough, cough- “Christ!  Chris!  You scared me!” -cough, cough, cough- “What are you doing here?” She holds her hands to her chest and clears her throat, obviously in pain.

“What do you think I’m doing?  Get back in bed.  I came home to take care of my wife.”  He crosses the room and sits tentatively on the end of the bed.  Setting the paper sack in his hand next to him, he grabs her arm and gently pulls her to him.

She rolls her eyes at him.  “Fuck that.  I’m dying.  I’m not having sex with you,” she laughs between coughs.

“Jesus, is that all I am to you, a fuck toy?”  He smiles.  “I don’t wanna have sex with you.  You smell like Vicks and throat spray.”  He wraps his hands around her and caresses the back of her thighs, resting his face against her belly.  He tries not to inhale too deeply because his statement was no lie.  But he can’t keep his hands off her in her tight tank top and short shorts that barely hold in her ass cheeks.  He’s missed her.  He’s missed this.

She bends and kisses the top of his head, tugging on the long straggly ends on the nape of his neck.  “Seriously,” she whispers trying to catch her breath.  “I wasn’t expecting you for another two weeks.  Why are you here?”

“I turned it over to Mackie.  There’s a reason I have an assistant director I can depend on.  When I heard in your voice last night how sick you really were, I made arrangements to get home as quick as possible.  I’ve been transferring planes for the last 8 hours.  I stocked up on supplies; here, sit.”  He turns her around slowly and spreads his legs so she can rest on his thigh.  Wrapping one arm around her to hold her in place, he forages through the bag on the bed, showing her things he brought.  “I just called it in; the doc said since the kids were sick last week, you probably had it now too, so here’s a Z-pak.”  He tosses it on the bed.  “The cough drops you like; more throat spray; more Vicks.”  With each item, he just throws it on the bed behind him.  “Aspirin, gum, condoms,” he wiggles his eyebrow at her, “and the piece de résistance,” Chris mocks with a french accent, “mashed potatoes.”

Her eyes well with tears.  “You did all this for me?” She takes the small styrofoam container from his hands.

“I did.  I even remembered to bring a spork.”  He pulls the plastic wrapped serving spoon from his back pocket.  He hands it to her, but she doesn’t open it yet.

“Won’t that cut back production on the movie; cost you more money?”  Her voice is choked as she fights back her tears and tries to hold in another coughing fit.

“Fuck the movie.  It’s just a job.  You’re what’s important; you and the kids.  You know that.”  His hands sweep across her face and tucks back her unruly hair before wiping away the tears.  “We’re a team.  This doesn’t work if you’re sick.  You keep it all spinning when I’m away.  I gotta take care of you, so you can take care of everything else.”

She can’t hold her tears in any longer and wraps her arms around his neck, finally letting loose all her stress and frustrations in the tears she cries.  “Oh, babe, I’m so glad you’re home.  I love you so much.  I didn’t know I needed this,” she whispers, coughing again, her breath warm on his neck.

He rubs her back, giving the occasional pat, “It’s okay, baby, I’m here now.  Everything’s gonna be good; let it all out.”

She cries for another moment or two before the coughing overtakes her.  She pulls back and hands him the food and runs to the bathroom.  He chuckles when he hears her blowing her nose.  “Ugh,” she whines.  “I look like shit.  I haven’t seen you in three weeks and this is what you get.” Her voice echoes against the tiles and she shuffles back into the bedroom, falling face first on the bed.  Lifting her head she eyes the clock on the nightstand.  “Oh, shit,” she sneezes loud enough to wake the dead.  And again.  And again before laughing.  “Ah, fuck, I’m a mess.  Honey, can you go get the kids?”

Chris pushes all the items from the store onto the floor and crawls up on his knees beside her and begins to massage her back.  Pushing his palms into her he rotates down her spine in small circular patterns and she quietly moans her approval.  “You still aren’t getting any…  the kids, Chris, someone has to get the kids from school?  And Princess has da-”

Leaning forward, he kisses the back of her thigh gently.  “Shhh… I already took care of that too.”  His hands continue their masterful work and he slowly feels the tension leaving her body.  “Your mom is  getting the kids and they’re all going to stay at that hotel with the indoor waterpark.  Uncle Scott and your sister and kids are going to join them tomorrow to keep everyone entertained until you get better.”

She lifts her weary head to look at him, her eyes slightly hazed from a fever.  “You’re fuckin’ amazing.  You think of everything…  I’m still not having sex with you.”

He chuckles.  “Maybe when you feel better I can stay an extra day or two, and you can thank me appropriately then.”  His hands knead down her thighs and she involuntarily parts her legs for him.  He smiles and shakes his head.  “‘Cause I think you need it as badly as I do.”  His hand slides under her and he pushes against her hot covered mound.  She sighs happily and he smiles to himself.

“Besides, the idea of the numbness caused by the throat spray in your mouth on my cock actually terrifies me.  No thank you; stay away from me.”  His hands brush between her thighs and goosebumps form on her heated flesh.

She softly chuckles and shakes her head.  “Words I never thought I’d hear you say…  Thank you honey; knowing you dropped everything for me means so much.”

“You’re my girl; my world.  I gotta take care of you.  The rest of it would all fall to shit without you.”

He continues rubbing her back and massaging her legs and feet until her quiet wheezes turn to soft snores.  He kisses her cheek tenderly and exits the room thinking on the chores he should begin to make her transition back to health easier.  He decides to start with the pile of laundry outside the boys’ room.  Anything he can do to make his wife happy…  That’s his number one job.

Click here for other Mrs. Evans stories
Copyright © 2017  avenger-nerd-mom.  All rights reserved. Intellectual property of avenger-nerd-mom

Christmas Presents

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Christmas Presents

An Emery & Chris story

*a Chris Evans fan fic*

by avenger-nerd-mom

Chris and Emery have a little discussion about where to keep her Christmas presents in their new Boston home

Warnings: FLUFF

Word Count 1655

January 2019

Leaning in the door frame, arms crossed, he bites the inside of his cheek to keep from saying what he’s thinking.  Any little thing seems to set her off recently, and he’s too tired for another go.  It’s his own damn fault anyway, because he told her to choose any color she wanted.  And the smile on her face is so damn cute, he already knows she’s going to get her way.  Like she always does, and this time, he can’t hold back the laugh at his own thought.

“But kitten, it’s like, Army-khaki brown?  That’s not a color for a nursery; I mean if it’s a little girl don’t we want pink and-”

Emery spins on her heels and the light catches her hair just right, like a halo of flames around her head.  She squints her eyes at him, responding.  “Christopher Robert Evans, don’t you dare finish that sexist remark.” Teacher voice, he thinks, and not the sexy one…  And it’s not khaki, it’s called taupe, and I like it.  It goes perfect with my Christmas presents, perfect for the baby’s room!”

He coughs to bide his time and give her a moment to settle down.  He moves to her and bracing his hands on her forearms, he tugs them away from her rounded hips and pregnant belly and drops them to her sides for a less threatening pose.   “Don’t get defensive with me; I know what that color it’s called. I dated an interior designer, you know…” he winks at her playfully.

Sticking her tongue out at him, she chides him, poking him squarely in his solid chest.  “You don’t have to remind me; I know. You bring it up every time we redecorate, you ass,” she chuckles.  “Keep memories of your ex-girlfriends out of our baby’s bedroom, alright. Or that new accountant we need?  I know just the guy; he also just moved up here from-”

STOP.  Stop.  I can dish it out, but I can’t take it.  No more talk of exes, ever.  I promise.” He puts his hands up in defeat and holds his out for a pinkie swear.  He laughs when she links her tiny finger with his, tugging him to her lips for a quick, chaste kiss.  “But really, babe, this isn’t what I had in mind when I framed these and gave them to you.”

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He stares up at the ‘vintage’ Captain America posters on the wall, in the style of old movie playbills.  When packing his old place in LA, he found lots of memorabilia he knew she would love and cherish, and he had framed these, thinking she would put them in the shared office in their new Boston home.  He never imagined she would plan the design of the baby’s nursery around them, picking out colors from the photos as accents.

“I know, but they’re just so beautiful.  I mean I guess we can move them to the office, or down in the den they’d look nice too.  But I just like the style,” she shrugs her shoulders.  “We don’t have to make a decision today, but-”

Chris sweeps his arm around the room, the cherry wood furniture, shiny and new.  His robust laugh echoes in the room.  “Babe, your ‘nesting’ kicked in.  Everything we picked out and ordered is already delivered and in place.  You’d really agree to changing the room?”  He smiles at the faint blush on her cheeks, drawing attention to her cute freckles.  Damn, she’s gonna get her way- but then the faint smell of fresh paint assaults his nose.  His tone changes. “Wait- who painted?  You aren’t supposed to be painting.”

She gets sheepish and moves to the dresser, folding some of the baby clothes already given to them.  She smiles at the collection of little clothing, many of onsies marked with shields and sayings like ‘My Daddy is a superhero!’

“Emery?  Dammit, please tell me you didn’t paint.  We talked about not doing stupid things while I’m away working.”  Now he’s the one standing in the center of the room, hands on his hips.  He feels the beginning of a headache.  They’d already had one little scare early on in the pregnancy and he was not willing to risk anything.  His tone drops, full of concern. “Babe, you know I can’t lose you; you have to be safe.”

Turning to him, she quietly calms him.  “Relax, babe.  I didn’t do anything.”  Her smile lights up the room when he moves closer and begins folding the the tiny clothes also.  They look so tiny in his strong, firm hands.  “Uncle Scott came and helped, and I haven’t stayed in the house.  I’ve slept at your mom’s.  I don’t wanna spend a night here until we can be in the house together.  He didn’t like the color either; he told me you’d hate it.  But he did have a suggestion if you absolutely hated it.”

“Yea, he’s dated  interior decorators too,” he pauses at her raucous laughter to his joke.  His eyes sweep over the shelves of Captain America bears he’s collected from fans over the years, and army toys from the forties, painted with shields.  Throwing his head back to look up at the ceiling briefly, he has to admit although it wasn’t where he pictured sitting and rocking their child to sleep, it was a beautifully done room.  “What? What’s his idea?”

Shrugging her shoulders, “It’s partly your fault, you know.  Every time I’ve tried to bring up the design, you say ‘after this’ or ‘after that.’”  She tugs his arm and pulls him over to sit on the plush couch under the window.  “I made it this far.  We’re good, honey.”  Placing their hands over her belly she smiles at Chris with his teary eyes.  “We’re gonna be okay.  I just know it.  You gotta start bonding.  You’re gonna be a dad, and meet THIS little one, even if I end up sitting on my ass for weeks…”  Chris wipes away a tear, fortified by his wife’s positivity. “I don’t know if it’s a boy or a girl, and I still don’t wanna know, but I know one thing.  Little One is a fighter.  Just like both of us; strong and hard as nails.  And with a name like Grant Lang Evans?”

Her hopeful question hangs in the air…

“No.  No.  I give in to all your little whims.  Even getting In and Out burgers and shakes at three am when I’ve got jet lag coming back from Singapore.  But no,” laughing and shaking his head, “If it’s a boy, that is not his name.  Do you have any idea how ‘fangirl’ crazy that sounds?”

She giggles, leaning her head against his strong bicep, tracing her fingers over his newest tat under the old ‘Loyalty’ one.  “I do like this tat,” she tells him.  “I wasn’t sure at first…but it’s growing on me…  Jelly bean, it’s tradition in my family for the oldest daughter  to use the middle names of both her grandfathers for the firstborn son.  I can’t help those names also happen to be tied to two of my favorite characters.” She giggles and rolls her eyes.  “But honey, Relax.  It’s not gonna be a boy.  I just feel it.”

Kissing the top of her head, he contentedly sighs.  “Well, then, I guess we better narrow down a girl’s name then, ‘cause you’re always right.”

“Yup!” she giggles, “And life would be so much easier if you would always remember that!”

Her sweet lilt is music to his years and he laughs, jostling her by his side.  “I’ll try to remember that, if you promise me one thing, kitten.”

Stifling a yawn, she giggles, “I don’t promise you anything in advance.  That gets me in trouble every time…”  She pauses at the memory of such a moment, which resulted in their pregnancy.  “What?  What are you trying to sneak?”  Her fingers brush down his arm taking his large hand in hers, brushing her thumb against the padded muscle in his palm.

“Promise me you’ll never lose that sweet Southern accent, no matter how long we live here in ‘yankee territory.’  And stop calling it that, too,” he chuckles.  Tickled by her touch, he gently extracts her hand from hers, moving to tuck his arm around her and pulling the blanket from the back of the couch to wrap her up.  “Nap time?”

“Uh, uh. Once a Southern belle, always a Southern belle…” She yawns, unable to avoid it this time.  “Will you stay here with me?”

“Of course, baby.  Always by your side… Till the end of the line,” he adds, needing a nap himself.

Moments pass in a companionable silence, before he whispers, “Emery? Are you still awake?”

“Hmm?” she hums, the sound of happiness evident in even the simplest noise.

“I still don’t know about the color and posters, but what was Scott’s idea?” His warm breath blows against the wispy curls on her forehead.

She giggles.  “With the brown, he thought giraffes or monkeys?  He doesn’t want to have to paint again.  And he was really glad the furniture was already built.  He had visions of sitting for hours and trying to put it together.  He’s so excited for another little one to love and he-.”

“Yea, we’re not naming the baby Scott either.  He can keep dreaming.”  Chris sighs, resting his head against hers.  “I’m sorry I haven’t been here.  Just three more weeks, babe, and this job’s a wrap…  But it’s good Scott is around when I’m not and it’s-”

“Honey, honey.  Shhh.  I’m really tired.  Can you just ‘Shhh?”

“Whatever you say, boss,” he whispers against her head.  “Tell Scott he won’t have to paint. The bears? The shields?  They look great.”  But he knows before he even finishes his last words that she is sound asleep against his side, her pregnancy zapping her more than they had anticipated.

Click here to read Surprises Ahead

To get to know Emery and Chris better, check out their novella, Georgia on My Mind, that introduces them as a couple, and their collection of short stories.

Copyright © 2016 avenger-nerd-mom.  All rights reserved. Intellectual property of avenger-nerd-mom

Real Life

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Real Life

A Mrs. Evans story

By avenger-nerd-mom

Sometimes things are just a bit too real around the Evans’ household…

Warnings: Language, Adult Situations, Real Life

Word count: 1558

From the blackness he calls out to you.  “Is there something wrong?” he asks, his voice gravelly and gruff from sleep.

You freeze on the spot.  You were trying so hard not to wake him up, fumbling around in the dark room.  An image of the mess left in the kitchen late last night, including the melted ice cream after the soccer game and his rushed trip from the airport to the ballfield flashes through your mind.  “It’s just been a long week.  Go back to sleep; you gotta catch up on time zones.”

You bend to grab the pile of dirty clothes from the floor and exit the room, nearly tripping over the dog as he rushes into the room.  You cringe at the sound of his clanging tags as he jumps up on the bed and Chris fusses for him to get down.  Closing the door behind you, you know damn well that dog is still in the bed.  You ball your hands in a fist, adding ‘wash bed sheets’ to the list of things to do today.  Dammit, he listens worse than the boys do…  ‘No dogs in the beds.’  How is that a difficult thing; it’s been a house rule since you began dating?

You tap on the door of the oldest boy, and grin when he opens it with a warm smile.  “Hey, bud.  Daddy’s really tired and won’t be any help this morning.  I’m gonna start this laundry and be right down.  Can you get the milk poured in your cereal and fix cinnamon toast for your brother?”

He nods in agreement, picking up his soccer shoes and bag he left in the hallway the night before.  He starts to walk away but turns back and wraps his little arms around your waist, mumbling his thanks and morning greetings. Bending to kiss the top of his little blonde head you are so filled with love.

This.  This is why we don’t have nannies.  This is why the maid only comes once a week.  You repeat it like a mantra just to get through the morning.

You want to scream when you reach the upstairs laundry room.  His suitcase exploded.  Dirty clothes everywhere, and from the smell, most of them are covered with spilled shampoo.  The suits that need to be professionally laundered are wadded up in a ball.  Kicking things out of the way, you simply drop the items in your arms.  Raising your eyebrows, you realize it’s not worth any arguments or complaining now.  You reach over and push ‘start.’  The towels can fluff for another 20 minutes while you get the boys ready for school.  Fortunately it’s not your turn to drive carpool this week to day-camp.

At the top of the steps, for a split second you consider sliding down the bannister just to reawaken joy.  But it’s not really an option…  Knowing your luck, you’d fall and bust your head open and there isn’t time for an emergency room visit.  Or a damn tabloid story hinting things aren’t ‘good’ at home anymore for the Evans’s… That thought actually makes you laugh out loud, how wrong paps get stories, and you have a little bounce as you walk down the steps.

It’s not that it’s not good… Sometimes it’s just too real.

Both boys are eating breakfast together, talking about the new kid on their team, sharing stories from last night’s practice.  Sitting at the table with them, you sip on your ice water and a calm fills you.  They both look so much like their father…

The buzz on your phone alerts you that their ride is coming up the drive.  “Grab your bags boys!  Your ride is here.”  The littlest stumbles from his seat and you pick him up, carrying him to the door and covering his sweet face with kisses while he giggles and squeals.

“Wuv you, Moms.”  he calls over his shoulder as he runs to the car, climbing into his seat.  Fighting back tears you wave as one of the older kids in the SUV buckles him in.

Taking a deep breath, you turn to enter the house, picking up the bag of discarded water bottles from last night’s ball game.  Closing the door softly, you lean back against the cold metal, shaking your head at the pile of shoes and coats in the foyer.  Pulling it together, you close your eyes and say a silent prayer.  The list: laundry, obviously, cleaning the breakfast mess and last night’s snack, reorganizing the pantry for groceries tomorrow, bathrooms… sheets.  Dammit, the sheets.

The smell of bacon drifts down the hallway.  Your stomach flips as you walk down the hall to the kitchen.  The boys’ dishes are stacked on the counter, next to a pile of opened mail.  The mess from last night is placed in the waiting dishwasher.

And the sight at the stove is the most beautiful thing you’ve seen in two weeks.  “Damn, you’re sinful,” you whisper.

He turns to smile, his plaid pajama pants hanging low on his hips and your eyes are drawn to his Adonis and the dark dusting of hair across his chest.  The muscles in his arms flex under your watchful eyes, although you can tell it’s not something he’s doing on purpose.  It’s just his body’s natural movement.
“Before you say anything, I’m really sorry about the mess.  That wasn’t fair to do to you, and I’ll take care of it,” he says, reaching back around to turn off the stove and plate up the bacon.

You can’t hold your laughter in.  “Oh, fuck, babe.  I’ve heard that.  Do you have any-”

“Honey. Stop.  I didn’t say I would do it; I said I’ll take care of it.” His tone of voice carries his irritation.  “I called Anita.  She’ll be here in 30 minutes and will take care of everything,” he chuckles.  “Laundry, even the sheets- I already stripped the bed.  She’ll clean it all- bathrooms, dust, vacuum.  You name it; what needs to be done?” He opens the drawer for silverware, closing it with a bump of his hip as he gracefully moves across the kitchen to you.  “Groceries? While you shower, I’ll click the app and everything will be here tomorrow afternoon and then-”

“Shower? Why do I need a shower? I already had one,” you tell him, taking the plate from his hand and sitting it on the table in front of you.

Grabbing the tabasco sauce for his eggs from the fridge, he sits down at the table next to you.  He squints for a minute and takes a drink of his juice, like he’s thinking what to say, but still says the dumb thing anyway.  “Really? You look like shit, babe.  I’m sorry.  But you just look-”

“I look- What? Tired? Overwhelmed? Bored?” you can’t even hide the bitterness in your voice.

“Yea, all of it. Babe, what’s wrong?  You don’t have to be supermom; you can go back to work, we can hire Anita full time, we can get a nanny.  What do you want?”  His fork rattles against the plate.  “Tell me what you want me to do; I’ll do it.  You know you always come first.”

Pushing your plate away, you cover your mouth with your first.  Willing yourself not to say the thing you most need to say.   You planned to wait, but this just seems like a perfect opening.  “I need you.  I need you to be home more.  They’re active little boys and I just can’t keep doing it alone.  Chris, I-”

“Done.  I can do that.  I do have obligations for about three more weeks, but I can call Josh later. We can rearrange my schedule; you and the kids can come stay with me in New York; go stay with your parents; go stay with my mom.  You know, Ma would-”

You push the plate even further away; the smell is killing you and you are trying to hold it together.  “Chris, babe, I’m pregnant.  We’re pregnant.” You chuckle.  “I am tired, I do look like shit, and you have got to get these eggs away from me.”

His face lights up brighter than a Christmas tree and tears well in his eyes.  Standing up, he grabs the plate, setting it on the floor for the dog to destroy the rank evidence.  He kisses the top of your lovely head before dropping to his knees.  Rubbing your belly, he leans in and covers it with kisses.  Placing his hands solidly on your stomach, he cups them and speaks loud and clear, his lips brushing against the soft cotton t-shirt.  “Hello, little baby in there!”

He laughs, wiping away his tears of happiness.  He looks up to you and winks before resuming his first chat with the littlest Evans. “You’re really lucky, cuz you’ve got the most amazing mom and she won’t yell when you leave the laundry on the floor…” You reach down and tug his silky hair, shorter for the project he’s been finishing, caressing the back of his head.  “Your big brothers will teach you all about soccer, and your dad, well he’s kind of a dumb ass, but not so bad.”

“Not so bad at all,” you whisper as he raises up on his knees, pulling you in for a gentle kiss.

Copyright © 2016 avenger-nerd-mom.  All rights reserved. Intellectual property of avenger-nerd-mom

Best Present Ever

best present ever 10 16 2016.jpg

Best Present Ever

An Emery&Chris Story

*a Chris Evans fan fic*

By avenger-nerd-mom

Chris has a break from set in Atlanta and goes to visit Emery, weeks before the wedding

Warnings: language, fluff, competitive nature

Word Count 716

“Dammit, Emery!  Are you that horny?  That’s your fault; you said no sex till the wedding and I intend to make you suffer…  What the hell?” Chris laughs at her third attempt to get him to go to bed, poking her in the ribs.  “Yes, I’m exhausted but I’m fine to cuddle on the couch. What’s the rush?” Complaining, he burrows his face tighter against her boob as they snuggle on the couch.  “I just got here,” he whines.

She wraps her arm around his shoulder, hugging her tired superhero to her little body.  The fall air has a chill in the house, but not enough to start the heater.  He works as her natural furnace, heating her up just by being next to him.  “I just really missed you and I’m excited you’re here… And well, we got our first wedding present in the mail this week.”  She reaches for the remote on the couch beside her and clicks the TV off for the night.  “When I called to personally say thanks, our friend said to go ahead and open it early.  But I can only show you in the bedroom.”

“Damn, what kind of kinky friends do we have?” he murmurs, his voice full of sleep and she can hear the slight wheeze in his chest from his cold he suffered from earlier in the week. With her sabbatical from work, she had been able to join him in the little apartment in Atlanta the studio had rented for them.  He healed quickly and was back on set in no time thanks to her hot soup and tender care.  She would be the first to admit she was enjoying the time off to do what she wanted, and it was nice not to feel stressed with wedding preparations and training for her new job position which would begin in January.

Emery chuckles at his comment about their friends, brushing back his hair, shorter for working on the set.  Her fingers freeze for a moment as they brush against his naked jaw, still not used to him back in stealth mode.  “The best kind.  The kind that really understand us…”

“Ok, now I’m curious,  cause everyone knows I have a wild side, but you still appear to be about as goody two-shoes as they come…  Can I have five more minutes here, snuggled up next to you on the couch? Then I’ll go see this kinky-ass gift we got?”

“I promise, you’ll love it.”

When his soft puffs of air turn to gentle sounds of sleep, she kisses the top of his head and leans her head back against the couch, pulling his favorite Pats blanket over them both and drifts off to sleep herself.

##

In the early morning hours, fully rested he wakes and remembers she had something she wanted to show him in the bedroom.  He gently picks up her sleeping form and carries her into the bedroom.  In the low light glow from the bathroom, he can’t really tell what he’s seeing, so he kicks the door wide open for more light.

He begins to laugh and the rumble through his body shakes her against him and she wakens, his attention focused on the bed.  There’s only one explanation for such a gift.  “Hayley?”

Emery giggles.  “Yea; who else?  She said your love of games and competitive nature should carry into the bedroom as well.”

twister-sheets

Sitting her on the bench at the end of the bed, he pulls off his his boots one at a time, laughing.  “I swear, that may be the best wedding present I’ve ever seen!” His eyes grow dark as Emery removes her sweater and tugs her t-shirt over her head, revealing a pale pink lace bra.  “So I guess naked bed Twister is on?”

“Oh, honey, it’s so on right now!” she giggles, turning to crawl up the bed to reach for the spinner board on the nightstand as he yanks her yoga pants off her ass, playfully smacking her butt.

“But if we’re naked, even if we are on your self-imposed sex ban, are there really any losers to this game?” Chuckling at her cutthroat glare while he slides his sweatpants down his muscular legs, he answers his own question.  “Baby, this is such a win-win!”

Click to the next Emery&Chris story, Last Night

Copyright © 2016 avenger-nerd-mom.  All rights reserved. Intellectual property of avenger-nerd-mom

 

An Unexpected Friendship

an-unexpected-friendship

An Unexpected Friendship

By avenger-nerd-mom

On a flight home to Boston, Chris meets two interesting women, one older and one younger

One-Shot

Warnings: Fluff, Language, Adult situations

Word Count 1430

Exhausted from a week of meetings,  Chris pulls the window shade down and nearly collapses against the wall.  Moments later he is caught between awake and sleep when he feels his seat mates approach. He keeps his head low and does his best to ignore them, pretending to be asleep.

The sound of a small child’s whispers, a jumble of unintelligible sounds is heard as ‘it’ crawls into the space next to him.

“Shhh, Lilly, don’t wake him,” a soft feminine voice whispers, a hint of an accent.

Oh, great, a kid. Chris wishes he’d put in his ear buds as soon as he’d sat down, but it’s too late now.  He’ll have to listen to kid chatter the whole way to Boston, and won’t get any rest.

Mother and child shift and settle themselves.  “Mummy,” the child addresses, as the distinct sound of a tiny British accent fills his ears,  “he’s quite handsome.”

“Shhh, Lilly,” the woman replies, obviously tired from travel and her child’s quips and comments.  “Here chew this gum so your ears don’t pop.”

Chris relaxes as the child seats herself, calm and quiet. He’s sat next to adult passengers who have been more noisy and annoying than this child.  He recognizes that this time maybe he lucked out.

“Mummy, he has a beard.” The child shifts in her seat, kicking her foot against Chris’s leg.  He grits his teeth silently, determined to keep up the pretense that he’s asleep.

“I see that darling.  Shhh… let the poor man rest.  He seems very tired.” She buckles in the child and hands over a beloved toy.  “Now, please, snuggle Dolly and let’s rest.  You want to be alert when we get to Grammie’s.”

Chris finds he struggles to fall asleep now.  The lilt of the little girl’s accent plays tricks on his mind, but eventually he drifts to sleep as the plane reaches flying altitude.

He wakes with a startle when he feels a hand on his cheek, softly playing with his beard.  His eyes pop open to find the little girl standing in her seat next to him, gently touching his face.  His anger swells, but he knows better than to snap at a child.  He sees the worn out woman is sleeping,  but he reaches across and shakes her shoulder.

“Hey,  lady,” he says, his voice gravelly from interrupted slumber.  “Wake up.”

He shakes her again, while the child rests her tiny hand on his broad shoulder. “Dammit,” he mutters. “Wake up.”

“You said a bad word,” the little girl scolds him, her ringlet curls bouncing as she points her finger at him.

You woke me up.  How’d you get out of your seat belt?”

“I wanted to touch your beard.  I loosened it and crawled out.”  Her small grin shows she’s quite proud of herself.

“You sneaky little shi-”

“Sir! Do not swear at my child!”  The young mother mumbles in confusion, anger in her obvious tone with him, waking to find a strange man scolding her child.  “What is going on?!”

“Your kid woke me up, touching my face.  It’s creepy! If you’re gonna travel alone you need to keep an eye on your kid,” Chris informs her gruffly.  “She’s not even buckled up.”

The woman shakes her head, rubbing her eyes and pulling herself up from her slumber.  Looking to her child, she sees that indeed the young girl has escaped. Her tone is exasperated. “Lilly! Why are you out of your seat?”

The little girl’s eyes fill with tears, confused by her mother’s anger.  “I just wanted to know if his beard was soft like daddy’s was before he went to heaven.”

Ah, fuck. Chris pinches the bridge of his nose and runs his hand down, stroking over his beard,  tugging the scruffy ends in thought.  “Shit,” he mumbles. Why me? He rests his head back against the seat and sighs.

Struggling against her mother’s efforts to sit her back down, the little girl taps his arm. “Sir. You said another bad word.”

Seeing the little girl’s eyes fill with tears, he clears his throat, gently rubbing the back of her hand with his thumb. “I did. Sometimes I do that.  It’s not nice and I’m sorry. I think you need to sit back down so you’re safe. “

He looks over to the young woman, a combination of irritation and relief on her face.

“Lilly, right? Let’s get you back in your seat.  Did you need a snack?”

Chris reaches up to the call button before shifting in his seat to help settle the little girl. He smiles as she squirms back into the seat belt she had loosened and crawled out of, all without her mother’s knowledge.

“Yes, I’m Lilly Potter! How did you know?” she asks with wonder.

Before Chris can reply an attendant appears, “Yes, Mr. Evans, how can I help you?”

“Bring us lots of snacks and apple juices please,” he replies with fake warmth, trying to mask his sleepiness, feeling guilty for responding rudely and cursing at a small child. It’s like he can feel his mama smacking him up the backside of his head.

She looks down at the young girl and grins, oblivious to the glare of the child’s mother.  “Yes, sir.  I’ll be right back.”

“We have snacks.  You can’t just go giving food to strange children,” the woman reproaches him.  “She has food allergies,” the woman explains curtly.

“Fine, then when the food gets here you can pick out what she can and can’t have,” his tone holds to his ice as well. Something about this woman is off putting.  Although he feels bad for the fatherless child,  the widowed woman doesn’t garner his sympathy.

It dawns on Chris he’s heard the child’s name before.  “Lilly Potter? Like the book?”

The little girl beams with pride, “Oh, yes! Those were my father’s favorite books and I’m my mummy’s favorite flower!”

Chris tightens the buckle and lowers the tray for their shared snack.  The child continues to chatter away.  Although exhausted, Chris resigns himself to now spending the remainder of the flight as her new best friend. “You have pretty eyes. What’s your name? I’m almost five.”

“I thought you were five! That was my guess! I have a niece who is about your age,” he replies.

He bites back a sinister laugh when the flight attendant bumps the mother in the head as she hands the snacks to him and he arranges them on the tray.  “Mummy?” the child asks, her voice unsure.  She leans to whisper to her mother, who is rubbing the top of her head ruefully, “I don’t think I can eat these.”

The woman sighs, “Oh, Lilly, darling, you can’t.  I’m sorry.  That’s why strangers shouldn’t offer food to children they don’t know,” she says pointedly, so Chris can hear her verbal jab.  “But I have your special crackers in my bag and-”

“But mummy, I want to share my snack with the cute man,” the child whispers loudly.  At the tender age of ‘almost five,’ the child has not developed the skill of whispering yet.  Chris can see the child’s repeated comments about his good looks are grating on the young mother’s nerves.

The woman laughs, “Oh, dear, sweet child!  You will be the end of me!” She drops her voice, hoping only her daughter will hear her scolding.  “You can’t keep talking about his looks.  It isn’t polite.”  Raising her voice again, she continues,  “You can share your crackers!”

Chris acknowledges to himself the sound of her laugh is rather nice.  “Excuse me.  Lilly? I’m sorry you can’t have those snacks.  Ask your mom if you could have the apple I have in my bag instead.”  When the dark haired woman smiles her thanks and nods her head yes, Chris notices her hazel eyes are filled with worry and concern, and mirror his own sleeplessness.

“Lilly, I might like some of your special crackers too,” he says as he swipes the unsatisfactory snacks from the tray into his bag under the seat and pulls out a large ruby red apple. Special crackers probably have no flavor and taste like cardboard. Yea!  The mother places a small packet of crackers on the tray.  Chris leans to the small girl and whispers “Maybe your mom can nap while we snack?  It’s nice to meet you, Lilly.  I’m Chris.”
Copyright © 2016 avenger-nerd-mom.  All rights reserved. Intellectual property of avenger-nerd-mom

Play It Through

play it through aug 20 2016

Play it Through

an Emery & Chris story

* a Chris Evans fan fiction*

by avenger-nerd-mom

Chris shows signs of cold feet and Scott gives him the brotherly advice he needs to hear

Warnings: Language, Pre-wedding jitters, Smoking, cats, anxiety

Word Count 1990

Sitting out near the 9th hole, Chris and Scott continue their chat, their golf game on hold due to the rain. Chris has angled the cart just right so that Scott is getting pelted in the morning shower that popped up unexpectedly.  He smirks each time Scott wipes the rain from his face.

“Dude, have you seen Emery’s list of songs for the DJ?” Scott chuckles, looking over the notes on his phone as part of his duties as ‘Best Man.’

Chris guffaws, shaking his head. “I’m sure it’s some fucked up list. Let me guess? Garth Brooks, Lynyrd Skynyrd, Meghan Trainor, Louis Armstrong?  And to be a brat, I bet she put JT on the list too… Am I right?”

“Man, you two need to be on a newlywed game show,”  Scott laughs, nodding his head to show his older brother he’s a hundred percent correct.  “You know each other so well.  You’d take home all the toasters!”  Scott shakes the rain off his windbreaker, hoping his brother will take the hint and move the cart.  But the rain seems to be matching the older man’s mood, so he rides it out, figuring maybe the storm clouds will loosen his brother’s tongue if he waits long enough.

After several minutes of silence, watching the rain, listening to the far away rumbles of thunder, Scott can’t take it anymore.  “Dude, are you two still arguing?  It’s petty shit. You need to man up and let it go.”

“Pick a topic. Any topic and we are probably arguing about it.  Yes, it’s petty but she should have known.”

“Man. Lighten up. She already explained it was a business dinner with the state director. How was she supposed to know he’d try to make a move in the parking lot?  Or that someone would recognize her and post the damn photos?  At least there was a shot of the guy’s damn bloody nose. She can definitely take care of herself, that’s for damn sure.” Scott whistled his praise.  “She doesn’t need you to swoop in like a superhero and take care of everything.”

“Fuck you, man,” Chris mumbles.

“Shit. That’s what’s bugging you, isn’t it?” Scott asks, finally understanding the cold feet.  “She loves you with her last breath, but you know she could survive without you if it came to it. And you’d fucking curl up and die.  You need her more than she needs you.”

Flinching at his brothers brutal honesty, Chris reaches into the pocket on his golf bag, and takes out a cigarette.  He defiantly lights up under Scott’s watchful eye.

“How long you been sneaking those? I thought you told her you were trying to quit.” Scott can’t keep the accusing tone out of his voice.

“Well quitting sure would have been cheaper than keeping the damn kitten.” He scoffs at the memory of the arrival of the cat.  “No, actually, I shoulda just fixed the damn door when she said it was broken.  Do you have any idea how much a fuckin’ cat costs? Fixed, declawed, litter every week. Cat toys? And I actually like the damn thing!”

Scott laughs, thinking back to the videos Chris has shared during his last two visits to Emery’s Savannah home, different silly antics of the little gray furball.  “Always knew you loved pussy, man,” he jokes, patting his brother on the back, lightening the mood briefly before getting down to serious matters.  “Listen, you know Emery loves you. She’d do anything for you.  It just kinda seems like you’re fighting her.  Like you’re testing her.  Don’t be a dick.  This is not the girl you wanna push away.  You said ‘name a topic.’ What else is bugging you, bro?”

Chris takes another puff on his cigarette, rolling it between his fingers and staring at the orange heated tip before answering.  “She wants to wait to have kids.” His tone drops, thinking about their recent discussion when he was visiting Georgia.  “After our first wedding anniversary.  Man, I’ve waited long enough.  I’m ready for a family with her, like months ago,” he spits out.

Scott turns his head, shaking the rain from his arm again and wiping the side of his face with a towel.  “Chris- I said it before, I’ll say it again. Don’t be a dick. Think about it.  It makes sense. You get her knocked up now,” seeing the pained look on his brother’s face, he changes his tactic.  “That’s not what I meant.  I meant if you guys get pregnant too soon after the wedding, you’re off fulfilling your Marvel contract, and she’s starting a new job and then you’ll have post-production and the press tour. And she’s home alone with her mom, or in Boston with ours.  She doesn’t wanna raise your baby alone. Man, think from your head, not your cock. What she says makes sense.”

Chris stares at his brother.  “Since when did you have so much brotherly wisdom?”

Scott raises his eyebrow and smirks, cocking his head.  “Smart enough to know this isn’t the real shit that’s bugging you.  Man, she doesn’t ask you for a damn thing.  Why are you still fighting her on this?  I mean, think about it.  She’s not like your other girlfriends.  She doesn’t want the limelight. She doesn’t want your money or fame.  She doesn’t ask for fancy trips or jewels.  If this is the one thing she’s ever asked you for, why won’t you give it to her?”

“It’s an out.  It’s like saying we might not work.  I can’t agree to that.  You’re right.  I can’t live without her.  I don’t want her to have a backup plan, god forbid something does go wrong.”

“Jesus fuckin Christ, Chris.  That’s not what she’s saying.  She doesn’t want your money.  She’s set it up so that she only gets what she deserves and nothing more.  She wants to show you and the world she isn’t after your fame. She’s trying to protect you, Chris; looking out for your best interests.  That’s what she does. She’s a mathematician; she knows the numbers.  The prenup is to protect you and what she brings into the marriage.” Scott catches the look Chris is giving him.  “Yes, she and I have talked about it.  She knows I’m the only one that’ll talk sense into you on this one.  And that’s where she’s different too. Other girls you’ve dated would’ve run crying to Mom to try to get you to change your mind.”

Chris nods his head, bitterly and non-verbally agreeing with his brother’s comments about previous women in his life.

“She’s made good investments over the years. She doesn’t want you to take her money if you fuck up.”  He jokes with his brother.

“You think I’m gonna fuck it up?” Chris asks, finally voicing his fear.  He rubs his hand over his face, stroking his beard. A comfort reaction that will be gone in another week or two. Dropping his head in his hands, he leans over the steering wheel of the stilled cart and speaks down to his feet. “I always have before.  Why would this be different?”

Scott stares at his older brother, sitting on the seat next to him, looking like a lost and shattered man. Scott lets the image sink into his brain, never seeing his brother so weakened by love or fear before.  It throws him off; his big brother always being big and strong, his hero long before Marvel made it official.

His voice fills with compassion.  “Dude? Are you serious? Is that what this is about? You really think you’ll have to use it one day?”

Lifting his head, showing his true self to his younger brother, Chris’s eyes well with tears and he quietly nods, unable to speak past the lump in his throat.

Scott puts his arm around his brother’s shoulder, providing comfort.  “Why would this be different? Because it’s Emery.  Not some Hollywood starlet with a cartoon voice; but a real woman. Flesh and blood. Brains and strength. What does Mackie call her? A GRIT?  She can take whatever shit you throw her way and she’ll build you both up, stronger for it.”

Scott pauses for the power of his words to set in. He may not believe Chris can promise an easy life but he knows Emery will wage any battle that comes their way. “If it really scares you so much, give her everything.  Prove to her you’re not gonna let anything happen to your marriage.  You really are ‘till the end of the line.’  But you gotta sign the damn papers. It’s just paper.  It’s the only thing she’s ever asked you for, man.”  Looking out over the wet golf course, the beautifully landscaped greens, he says, “You gotta play it through.  She’s aces and you know it.”

Chris sighs, knowing his brother is right.  Dammit, he hates admitting when Scott is right.

“Bro, I know you could give her anything, but she has never wanted what money can buy.  All she’s ever wanted is you.” He taps the rain from the bill of his ballcap, cursing when it adds a puddle to his already damp pants.  “That makes me question her intelligence some, but you know; she’s cute. I won’t hold it against her if she thinks you hung the stars and moon.  But I’ll kick your ass if you fuck this up now.  She is the best thing that has ever happened to you.  Hell! I’ll marry her myself if I have to, because she was truly built to be an Evans woman.  They’re a rare breed.”

Chris dips his head, acknowledging the strength and heart of the women bearing the Evans name.  There’s no denying Emery can’t hold her own with that group.  He continues to nod his head, lost in thought.  Reaching into his pocket when his phone buzzes three times in a row, he unlocks the screen.  His heart flips when he sees the messages she sent:

engagement photo text

A fourth buzz indicates he has an email to open and everything he ever needs to know about the love Emery has for him is on display on the screen in front of him.

engagement photo

Chris sighs and admits out loud, “She is kind of a kick ass bitch, isn’t she?” His voice fills with awe and love for the tiny little red powerhouse who owns his heart, and soon his last name.

“Jesus, Scott. I’ve been a dick.  I need to call Emery. Now.  She and I have a lot to talk about it.  Can you drive up the clubhouse so I can call her?”

“Of course, bro, not a problem.”

Chris sits, waiting on his younger brother to take the hint.  He doesn’t.  “Dude, you’re already wet.  Get off!  Walk around and I’ll slide over.”

Scott looks up the hill, realizing he’ll still be driving into the direction of the rain, just getting more wet on the way back.  “Remind me never to be your ‘Best Man’ ever again; this part of the job sucks.”

“Shit, man, if I keep my head on right, and you kick me in the ass every now and then when I need it, you only get this one time at Best Man duties. ‘Cause if I fuck it up, I won’t need a prenup, I’ll need a funeral.”

Both brothers share a gut busting laugh in agreement, Scott choking out.  “She is scary for such a little thing.”

“Yeah, but she’s mine,” Chris smiles.  Into the phone, his voice jumps to life.  “Hey, kitten, you busy? I’ve been a real ass and I need to apologize and fix some things…”

****

Author’s Note: To learn more about Emery and Chris’s kitten, Bucky, click the link in the story.

“Engagement photos” were found on Pinterest. I have no idea who the man is in the large photo, but he sure looked like Chris to me!

***********
Copyright © 2016 avenger-nerd-mom.  All rights reserved. Intellectual property of avenger-nerd-mom

Bedroom Politics

from Becca

Bedroom Politics

Emery and Chris share some private opinions in a public forum

Warnings: Language, Adult Situations, Politics

Word Count: 421

“Oh, my God. It’s horrible. I can’t watch.” Emery giggles and hides her face against Chris’s solid chest.

He kisses the top of her head, inhaling the sweet scent of strawberry shampoo. “Look, there you are! You’re so beautiful and poised.”

At the announcer’s voice, she peeks between her fingers. “Coming up after this commercial break, one of Hollywood’s new power couples speaks out on politics in the bedroom.”

“What the fuck?” she sits up, looking at him in horror. “In the bedroom? My mother is watching this?” She swats his arm. “What did you say?!”

“Jesus, kitten, relax. It’s just a soundbite to get attention. I didn’t say anything that would embarrass you.” He pushes an errant curl behind her ear, pulling her back down to him. “Megan was there, she’ll attest to anything I said.”

“Which reminds me; I didn’t really like the press person who helped me that day. If I have to have a personal assistant as part of a ‘power couple,’ I don’t want that one.”

“Done. Maybe you and Megan can meet people next week?”

“Shhh, it’s on,” she says, holding her hand playfully over his mouth.

He can’t hear half the things she said in the interview because she bitched the whole time about how twangy her accent sounded. All he really caught from the interview was a sarcastic but enthusiastic ‘thumbs up’ and the comment she had mumbled under her breath for weeks. “No sane couple should get married in an election year.”

He chuckles at her quip and she laughs at his as well; on camera, he nearly falls out his chair, laughing boisterously, commenting, “Maybe I should have asked more questions before I proposed.”

Wrapping her arms around his neck, she asks, “You really wouldn’t have let that stop you, would you?”

He kisses the tip of her nose. “Nah; we’ll just agree to disagree.”

She brushes his cheek, his beard soft against her hand. “You know it’s not that. Fundamentally I think we agree on the same things. I just don’t like either person claiming they know what’s best.  Too bad moving to Canada isn’t an option.”

He shakes his head. “Helluva a commute for us to work in Georgia, kitten.”

“Chris, is my Southern drawl that noticeable?”

Chuckling, he wraps his arms around her tighter, affecting his own practiced accent to match hers, “Yea, darlin, it is and it’s one of the first things I loved about you.”from Becca.gif

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