My previous story involved Eighteen and Krillin coming together through the actions of a friend. This time, Eighteen takes matters into her own hands.
For ChestnutFest 2018
Prompt: Friends to Lovers
Rights to Dragonball and related properties are held by their respective owners. No infringement is implied or intended.
The List
By Koinekid
This wasn’t how the evening was supposed to go. Eighteen had a straightforward plan: pull Krillin aside after dinner, sit him on the couch, chase out their roommates, confess her feelings, and celebrate with a kiss.
All went as intended until she told him how she felt. Then, instead of taking her in his arms, he sat rigid, looking confused, and asked the one question she hadn’t prepared to answer: “Why?”
She was ready for, How long?
—As long as I can remember—
Or, How did you hide it?
—It wasn’t easy—
But, Why? Did he want a list?
It took all her courage to speak her heart the first time. How humans did this sort of thing repeatedly was beyond her.
Eighteen wasn’t stupid. She’d watched couples in the mall kissing and holding hands, hers itching to reach out and clutch his but falling short when she lost her nerve. Observation was one thing, acting quite another. She’d never done anything like this, never known anyone she wanted to do this with. It was her dumb luck to fall in love with an idiot who couldn’t see what was right in front of him.
She felt a tirade coming on and could see the next few minutes play out in her mind: she’d lay into him good, then march upstairs, slam her door, and brood for the rest of the night. Maybe the next several nights.
Her eyes fell on his lips, still twisted in confusion. Damn it, she wanted her kiss! She’d worked herself up all day, fantasizing about it. No way would she let him off the hook.
Briefly, she considered leaning across the couch and laying one on him, trusting the movements of her mouth to convey the truth where words had failed her. But Krillin would be too stunned and end up ruining it. Besides, his heart wouldn’t be in it, and that was unacceptable. Their first kiss must be an expression of the love they shared.
Nothing for it, then. She would have to try once again to persuade him using her words.
“Because…” she began.
“What?”
“Because you say my number like it’s a name.” At his perplexed look, she explained: “You asked why I love you, and that’s my answer. When you say Eighteen, it sounds like a name.”
He seemed intrigued. “How do I do that?”
“I don’t know. It’s just different the way you say it.” Sensing he wasn’t convinced, she added, “Did you know I considered choosing a name for myself after I moved in? I even narrowed it down to a handful, but after hearing you say Eighteen a few times, I didn’t need to.”
“I’m sure our friends never meant to—”
“I don’t care what they call me. I care what you call me.”
Krillin smiled—just a little.
Encouraged, she laid a hand on his shoulder. “That’s not the only reason. Shall I continue?”
He nodded.
“You go all out on a meal even though I can’t eat much.”
“It’s just as easy to cook for an extra person.”
“Krillin, please. When I’m here, you grill steak. When I’m away visiting my brother, you make sandwiches and ramen.”
He raised a brow. “How would you know what I cook if you’re gone?”
“The others complain about it for days after I return. Last time I came home a day early, and the old perv fell on his knees and thanked me.”
“Well, you deserve good food.”
“What I deserve is to be treated as badly as I treated you when I first arrived.”
“No, you don’t!”
Eighteen grinned. "So, you admit I treated you poorly."
His eyes widened in panic. "I didn't mean—"
"Krillin, it's okay. I was horrible. You deserved better, and I promise to treat you better in the future."
He grasped the hand on his shoulder. "You already do, and besides you were hurting. I understood then, and I understand now."
"My hurting isn't an excuse."
"Maybe not, but I forgive you."
She winked at him. "Yet another reason to love you."
"I hope you aren't saying all this just to make up for the past."
"Do you think so little of me—that I could mistake a guilty conscience for romantic feelings? In all the time you've known me, have I ever apologized to anyone? For anything?"
Krillin shook his head.
"So, clearly, I'm not declaring my feelings as a way to apologize. I'm apologizing because of how I feel."
"I guess that makes sense."
"Do you need more reasons?" Not waiting for a response, she went on: "Because you move heaven and earth for my tiniest smile. Because you're the one person in my life I can completely trust. Because you allow me to make mistakes and never judge me for them."
"Those are all great qualities for a friend."
"You are my friend. But we can be more." Something occurred to her then that, in all her planning and preparation, she hadn't considered. "You do want to be more, don't you, Krillin?"
"Eighteen..."
Oh, no. He didn't. How could she have been so foolish? How—?
"Of course, I do. I've loved you since...well, for a long time. But..."
Eighteen was so relieved that she nearly missed his explanation. Hearing how ludicrous it sounded, she almost wished she had. "Taking advantage of me?"
"You said it yourself. You trust me, and I don't want to violate that trust by—"
"Being a complete idiot?"
He appeared genuinely hurt by that. "This isn't easy for me, you know."
"Good."
“But—“
"Krillin, I don't need you to save me from myself. I admit I've missed out on a few experiences, but I know my own heart, and my heart is set on you."
His eyes sparkled with unshed tears. Was she finally getting through to him?
"Then how about this for a reason? Because I get weak in the knees when you smile at me."
"Eighteen?"
There, he said it that way.
"Because my breathing shallows and my pulse quickens when you walk around without a shirt." She slid closer until their knees touched. He didn't pull away. "Because whenever I find you napping on the beach, I have to force myself not to pounce on you." She caressed his face, teasing his lower lip with her thumb and causing him to whimper. "Because so often I've dreamed of breaking into your room at night and making you mine." Here goes. She straddled his lap and gazed lovingly into his eyes. His hands moved as if magnetically drawn to rest on her hips. "Because in my heart, I'm your woman already. Because..."
She leaned in and closed her eyes, hovering just centimeters from his lips. She longed to taste his kiss, to plunge her tongue into his mouth, to conquer and claim and be claimed. But the final say had to be his.
With a groan, Krillin made his decision. Their lips met, tearing cries from both their throats. His arms went around her back and pulled her tight against him. He sought to deepen the kiss, and she responded enthusiastically.
When their embrace ended several breathless minutes later, Eighteen lay panting against him. "Now, do you believe me?"
His lips, weary from their workout, managed to quirk into a grin. "You have thoroughly convinced me."
"Good. Now before we take this upstairs and continue behind closed doors...why do you love me?"
"Are you sure you can wait that long?"
She swatted him playfully. "I didn't say I was going to make you mine tonight. Although I can guarantee you, it will be soon."
He chuckled and squeezed her gently. "I just meant that if I listed every reason, we’d be here all night."
"Can't have that. Let's start with the top..."
"The top eighteen?" He wiggled his brows.
She smirked. "I don't recall your corny sense of humor being on my list."
He shrugged. "Number one: you put up with my corny sense of humor. Number two—mmph!"
When they finished their second round of kissing, she grabbed him by the hand and led him upstairs.
"What about the rest of the list?"
"Tomorrow," she said. “Right now, there's a big comfy bed with our names written all over it."
The End
Thanks for reading; reviews and comments are appreciated.
I managed to finish a story for K18 day after all. Tomorrow at 10:30 AM, plan to read A Favor for a Friend, a prequel to my first K18 story, By Any Other.
The stories I’ve posted this week will soon be published in Kame Island Romance, my archive of K18 romance stories published on FFN.
Summary: Yamcha has a plan to force Krillin to make a move on Eighteen. Things don’t go according to plan.
Rights to Dragonball and related properties are held by their respective owners. No infringement is implied or intended.
Worst Laid Plans
By koinekid
Yamcha adjusted his tie in the mirror and shot a dark look at his best friend and roommate. The shapeshifting cat floated over his shoulder, grinning at him.
“It isn’t a date, Puar!”
“Are you dressing up?” the cat asked.
Yamcha sighed. “Well, yes.”
“Is she dressing up?”
“Probably.”
“Are you going to dinner?”
“Yes, Puar, we’re going to dinner. We may even get dessert.”
“To share?”
“No, not to share. Separate forks, separate plates, on separate sides of the table. In separate restaurants if I had my way.”
“How is this not a date?”
“Because neither of us have a shred of romantic interest in the other.”
“Why not? Don’t you think she’s pretty? I think she’s pretty.”
“Gorgeous. One of the most beautiful women on the planet.”
“But you’re not attracted to me?”
“Me? What? Puar, stop that!”
The cat had shapeshifted into a breathtaking blue-eyed blonde wearing a slinky red dress that showed off copious amounts of cleavage. Reaching up, the facsimile of a woman brushed her hair behind her ear in an all too familiar gesture.
“You didn’t answer me,” Eighteen said in Puar’s voice. A moment later Eighteen vanished and the cat reappeared in a poof of smoke. “Are you attracted to her?”
“No way. She’s much too quiet, and when she does speak, she’s pushy, arrogant, sarcastic—”
“You know, you basically described Bulma…except for the quiet part.”
“Shut up, Puar.”
“I’m just saying.”
“Then how about this? Krillin, one of our oldest friends, is head over heels in love with her—whether he’ll admit it or not.”
Puar blinked, then thrust his paws onto his hips. “You big jerk! Why are you dating the woman Krillin loves?”
“It’s not a date!”
<<>>
Her dress was black with long sleeves, an off-the-shoulder neckline, and a skirt that ended just above her knees. It drew attention to all the right places in a subtle, tasteful way that Krillin loved. He should have. Eighteen bought the dress with him in mind.
As she sat in the restaurant across from Yamcha, her thoughts kept returning to the forlorn look in Krillin’s eyes when they left for their so-called date, a look of finality as if, in shutting the door to Kame House, she was shutting the door on his hopes and dreams.
It very nearly broke her heart, and she hadn’t spoken for several minutes into the flight, focusing on the hum of the air car’s engine and desperately holding back tears.
Why hadn’t Krillin spoken up? She’d given him the opportunity, asked him point blank after he complimented her dress, “Is there anything else you want to say to me?”
Tell me to stay with you! her inner voice practically screamed. Krillin only shook his head.
Hope soared a heartbeat later when he placed a hand on her arm. Through her silky sleeve, she could feel his caress and nearly moaned. But he merely said, “Yamcha’s a very lucky man.”
“Thanks.” She jerked her arm away and leaned against the wall, staring into space and waiting for her date to arrive.
The waiter who arrived to take their drinks order wanted to lecture her on proper table manners, she could tell. She also didn’t care. If she wanted to sit with her head propped in her hands, she would. It was an appropriate position when one was both miserable and bored out of her skull.
The restaurant was proving a disappointment. It posted great reviews, and she secretly wanted to dine here for months. But she’d never mentioned it because Krillin would have found a way to make it happen. And she knew he couldn’t afford it.
Even if the restaurant were perfect, it wouldn’t have mattered. Because the wrong person sat across the table. Her date was too tall. He lacked a double row of incense burns to add character to his forehead. And he was nervously chattering like an idiot.
Why did she agree to this stupid plan in the first place? Oh, yeah. ‘Cause the man she wanted refused to make a damn move, and when his idiot friend approached her with a scheme to force a reaction out of her should-be suitor, she had been desperate enough to say yes. Big mistake.
Krillin reacted, all right—by bottling up his emotions and watching her walk away with another man. She wanted to scream or snap the table in half.
The idiot was talking again, probably telling another baseball story she couldn’t care less about. Krillin always held her interest. He would’ve made half a dozen observations about the pretentiousness of the restaurant by now. Not to be cruel, but to make her smile. And her smile would be enough for him. Yamcha seemed offended that she didn’t laugh like an airhead at his lame jokes. Some of Krillin’s jokes were corny, but none were lame. Even when she rolled her eyes, she still had a good time.
She sighed. I miss him.
Had she spoken aloud? She must have because Yamcha stopped rambling. When she stared at him, he laughed and rubbed the back of his head in a nervous gesture that reminded her of Krillin.
“You know,” he said. “I had a hard time convincing Puar this wasn’t a date.”
She crinkled her brow and made the mistake of asking, “Who?”
“Puar, my best friend. He’s a shapeshifting cat.”
She looked at him as if he were a moron. “Like the pig?”
“Oolong? Yeah, they actually went to school together.”
Eighteen turned away, not at all interested in this topic of conversation.
“That’s a lovely dress, Eighteen.”
Who asked you?
“I bet Krillin’s jaw hit the floor when he saw it.”
She turned slightly in Yamcha’s direction. “He told me it was beautiful.”
“That must have been nice to hear.”
She shrugged. “It’s not like it was a revelation. I bought the dress for him.”
“You really love him, huh?”
Warmth flooded her cheeks. “If I did, I wouldn’t tell you before I told him.”
“Fair enough.” Yamcha leaned across the table. “Hey, do you want to get out of here?”
Her brow rose, and a dangerous, threatening expression came over her face. “To do what, exactly?” If he tried to take her to a love hotel, she’d tear out his spine and shove it straight up his—
“N-nothing.” He waved his hands in front of his chest. “I can tell you’re unhappy, and I’m having a poor time myself. No offense. So, how about we bring the evening to a close?”
She nodded. It was the first good idea he’d had all night.
“Still, I promised you dinner, so if you’d rather stay…”
“I don’t have an appetite.”
“Let’s head back then. We’ve probably stayed out long enough to get Krillin good and jealous.”
Eighteen doubted it. On the flight back to the island, she mused that Krillin would let her make her own decisions even if he suffered for them. The thought of Eighteen and Yamcha together could be eating him up inside, and he wouldn’t say a word if he thought his friend could make her happy. It was endearing and infuriating at the same time. As much as she was loathe to admit it, Eighteen wanted a man willing to fight for her. Maybe Krillin just wasn’t that man.
She was so lost in thought that she barely noticed the air car landing on the beach or the change in air pressure as Yamcha opened the door and moved around to the passenger side. She even accepted, without complaint, the hand he offered to help her exit the vehicle.
A tear slid down her face as she contemplated what to say to Krillin. The next moment she felt a thumb wiping that tear away and looked up to see Yamcha staring at her in concern.
<<>>
His touch sent an icy chill through her body, and for the time it took his hand to withdraw, she seriously contemplated killing him.
Unaware of his peril, Yamcha turned to survey the house, while Eighteen remained stock-still, trying to calm herself so she wouldn’t attack him.
“Hey,” he whispered. “Don’t look now, but Krillin is watching us.”
She ignored his warning and was able to make out a silhouette in the kitchen window. It might be Krillin.
“I have an idea to get him motivated if you’re willing to try it.”
At this point, she just wanted the evening to be over. “I guess. What do you have in mind?”
He swallowed hard. “Let me show you.”
<<>>
Yamcha knew he was risking his friendship with Krillin by inviting Eighteen on a date. Even if everything turned out well, his friend might never forgive him. Dare he try this last gambit?
He looked into Eighteen’s questioning face. She was pretty. Puar was right about that. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.
“Just remember, we’re doing this for Krillin.”
<<>>
Her eyes widened as he grabbed her shoulders and leaned in. But the only thing his puckered lips felt was the impact of her fist rendering him unconscious.
<<>>
“Are all your friends perverts?” Eighteen stomped into the kitchen. “Well?”
Krillin shook his head, thoroughly confused. He’d just chased his master upstairs to stop him from spying on Eighteen. “Why do you say that?”
“You saw. That bastard tried to kiss me.”
“Yamcha?” Krillin felt his stomach drop to his feet.
“You know any other bastards I made the mistake of going out with tonight? Why the hell did I think this was a good idea?”
“I can’t believe Yamcha would do that.”’
Eighteen advanced on him. “Are you calling me a liar?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“The moron came at me with his lips puckered up like a fish. What’s your explanation?”
“That does sound pretty damning. You, uh, didn’t actually…” He motioned to his lips. At her glare, he amended, “You didn’t hurt him too bad, did you?”
She crossed her arms. “What do you care?”
“He’s my friend. I don’t want to see him killed.”
“I didn’t kill him, all right. I just knocked him out. Might have broken a few teeth.”
“Eighteen!”
“I’m kidding, but it would have served him right.”
The electric kettle on the counter began to bubble. Krillin had been in the process of making tea. He shut it off and looked at her. She nodded, and he returned with two cups with milk, no sugar, just the way she liked it.
Accepting one gratefully, she joined him at the table. As she sipped, he rubbed her back, and she leaned into the touch.
“So…I guess you won’t be going out with him anymore.”
“What’s it to you?”
He shrugged. “Just curious.”
“Is that all it is—curiosity?”
“What else would it be?”
“I don’t know, Krillin. You tell me.”
The movements of his hand stopped. Their eyes met. He licked his lips. “I care about you, Eighteen, and…”
“Yes?” She set down her tea and leaned closer.
“I…” He bit his lip. “I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
“Damn it, Krillin.” She stood abruptly, knocking over her chair, and stalking to the door.
“Where are you going?”
In truth, she had no idea, but she said, “To check on Yamcha. His air car hasn’t taken off yet.”
Krillin stood. “Good idea. I’ll go with you.”
She waved him off. “No need. We’ll want privacy in case I decide to kiss him.”
“What? Why would you do that?”
“Got to find some way to apologize, and if I did knock out some teeth, no other girls will want to kiss him for a while. Hell, maybe I’ll ask him for another date.” She grasped the doorknob.
“Wait,” Krillin cried. “Don’t go.”
“Why not?”
“Because…” His eyes darted about the room in search of some nonexistent help. As her patience ran out, she started to turn the knob. In a panic, Krillin shouted, “You shouldn’t be with Yamcha! You should be with me!”
“Krillin.” You’re fighting for me. Thank you. She wanted to take him in her arms, but he wasn’t finished.
“Hear me out. I’ve loved you since we met. I know I’m not much to look at, and I’m not some big baseball star, and I’m not loaded with cash. I can only offer you my heart, my devotion, and my promise to love you through this life and the next, and…and...Eighteen?”
Tears streamed down her face, and no one was more surprised by that fact than she. “I never cared about Yamcha.”
“You didn’t?”
“Know why?”
Krillin shook his head.
“Because for all his wealth and fame, he can’t hold a candle to you.” She closed the distance between them and took hold of both his hands, raising them to her lips and kissing them tenderly. “You taught me what it means to care about another person. Do you think I’m going to abandon you because some guy starts flashing cash?”
“Of course not, but attempts to play the kissing bandit aside, Yamcha is a decent guy.”
“But he isn’t you. He isn’t the man I love.”
A smile lit up his face. “The man you—?”
“You heard right: I love you, Krillin. I know I’m materialistic and greedy. I want the best clothes and the finest things. I always will, but I’d trade them all for a life spent with you.”
“Then, why did you go out with him?”
“To make you jealous. I waited for ages for you to make a move, and you never did.”
Krillin hung his head. “I’m sorry. I just couldn’t imagine that you wanted to be with me.”
“Why not?”
He sighed. “Most women don’t want to date a dwarf, Eighteen.”
“You’re not a dwarf, Krillin, and even if you were—”
“It wouldn’t make a difference? It has to every woman I ever showed interest in.”
She took hold of his chin and forced him to look her in the eye. “You didn’t know me before. I kissed you the day we met, or had you forgotten?”
“I’ll never forget that day, but you can’t honestly call that kiss romantic.”
“Romantic, no, but affectionate. I gave you that peck on the cheek because I wanted to. I played it off as intimidation so my brother wouldn’t make fun of me.”
“You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“How’s this for serious? I’ve never kissed a man on the lips. Ne-ver. And I am going to kiss you. Not just once but every day for the rest of our lives together.” She grinned and added, “Even on days I’m mad at you.”
“So, you and Yamcha really never—”
“Wouldn’t even let him hold the door for me.”
Krillin breathed a sigh of relief.
“Does it bother you,” she asked, “the thought of another guy touching me?”
“Of course.”
“Then I guess our plan worked.”
“I suppose.”
Her grin turned into a frown. “I’m sorry for making you feel bad. If you were dating someone else, I’d want to kill her.”
“You never have to worry about that.”
“Not getting down on yourself again, are you?”
“No, just speaking the truth. There’s only one woman in the world for me, and she’s standing right here.”
“Good. Then how about you show this lucky lady how much she means to you?”
“I think that can be arranged.” Then, with one hand on her hip and the other threaded through her silky hair, he drew her mouth to his and spent the next several minutes demonstrating just that.
<<>>
“So let me get this straight,” Yamcha said. “I take her out to dinner, and you end up with the good-night kiss?”
“That’s about the size of it,” Krillin agreed, although good-night make-out session would be more accurate. Eighteen insisted she was a slow learner who would require frequent and thorough demonstrations of her new boyfriend’s affections. The first lesson alone lasted twenty euphoric minutes before Krillin’s conscience compelled him to check on Yamcha. Eighteen didn’t offer to go with him, but she did fetch an icepack from the freezer and wrap it in a dish towel. That was as close to an act of kindness as Yamcha would get from her tonight. As Krillin was leaving, she told him to hurry back. He watched her ascend the stairs and bypass her bedroom in favor of his.
Tempting as it was to leave Yamcha to fend for himself, Krillin could spare five minutes to send him on his way. Seeing him in person, he suspected it would take longer. He winced as Yamcha pressed the ice pack to his swollen cheek. His split lip and black eye didn’t look good either.
“Are you sure you’re okay to drive?” Krillin had found his friend semi-conscious with his head resting on the cool leather seat on the passenger side of his air car.
“I don’t suppose I’d be welcome to crash on the couch?”
Krillin sucked air through his teeth. “Probably not the best idea tonight.”
“I figured. Do you mind if I bunk out in one of the beach chairs?”
“I’ll get you some blankets.”
By the time Krillin returned, Yamcha had settled in. He’d left his jacket and tie inside the car and stripped off his shoes and socks. Krillin sank into the chair beside him and handed over the blankets.
“Thanks.”
Krillin only nodded.
Silence hung over them for a while, neither willing to broach the topic that filled the air between them. When Krilin started to rise, Yamcha blurted, “Are we good? I’d hate to lose our friendship over this.”
Before responding, Krillin took a deep breath. “If I were to be mad at you, I’d have to be mad at Eighteen. And I refuse to do that. I don’t know which of you concocted this plan…”
Yamcha started to raise his hand.
“…and I don’t want to know, but you both agreed to it. It hurt like hell seeing the two of you together, but I don’t know whether I would have worked up the courage to tell her how I feel otherwise. ‘Are we good?’ We will be. Just give it time.”
Yamcha took a moment to absorb Krillin’s words. Then, “Thanks, pal.”
“Sure.”
“And, Krillin, if you want to hit me, it’s okay. I deserve it.”
Krillin broke into a grin. “Nah. My girlfriend hits harder than I do, and she already did a number on you.”
“Girlfriend already? Way to go, man.”
“Heh, yeah. But, now that you mention it…” Krillin scratched his chin. “Eighteen did insist it was my responsibility to stand up for her honor. So…”
Yamcha gulped. “I understand.”
Krillin drew back his fist and lightly tapped his friend on the arm. “If she asks, I flattened you.”
They shared a laugh, grateful to ease the tension between them.
“But it should go without saying,” Krillin added, “that if you ever try to kiss her again—”
“I know. You’ll make good on that threat to punch me.”
“No, I’ll twist off your head like a bottle cap.”
Yamcha blanched. “You—wait—what?”
“Have a good night.” With a final clap on the shoulder, Krillin walked back to the house, whistling a tune and leaving behind a bewildered and slightly nervous friend to ponder the influence his new girlfriend was having over him.
The End.
Thanks for reading; reviews and comments are appreciated
I’ll be posting some of these stories along with some from last year’s ChestnutFest in my anthology series, Kame Island Romance, on FanFiction.Net.
Note: The following story briefly touches on sensitive subject matter. Read at your discretion.
Rights to Dragonball and related properties are held by their respective owners. No infringement is implied or intended.
Not Like All the Others
By Koinekid
“Not all scars are visible…but with time they might fade...”
—José N. Harris
Krillin should have known better than to leave Eighteen alone with Roshi and Oolong. Their living arrangement was still too new—it wasn’t even clear whether they should classify her as a longterm houseguest or a roommate. And boundaries, which would be obvious to anyone who wasn’t a pervert, had yet to be firmly established.
But Yamcha was only in town for the weekend before starting another monthlong road trip with his baseball team, and Krillin was dying to see his friend. He invited Eighteen to join them for karaoke, but displaying her typical aloofness, she turned away without saying a word.
So, he left, but she never left his thoughts as he reminisced with his old friend. Krillin could barely work up the energy to sing more than a few songs. Yamcha understood.
“Worried about Eighteen?”
Krillin nodded sheepishly.
“It’s okay. If I had a pretty girl waiting for me, I wouldn’t stop thinking about her either.”
He denied it, but Yamcha saw right through him and sent him back home, promising they’d meet up when he returned. “And, Krillin,” he offered as a parting shot, “you’d better have some positive news to report, or I just might make a move on her myself.”
They laughed. Krillin knew his friend was joking. Or hoped he was, at least.
So, his spirits were high as he walked through the front door of Kame House. They plummeted when he heard voices coming from upstairs.
“Move out of the way. Let me see.”
“Quiet down, pig. You had your turn.”
“But I didn’t see anything. There’s too much steam.”
Krillin cringed. They wouldn’t, would they?
He approached the stairs with trepidation, praying he wouldn’t find what he already knew he would: his roommates crouched at the bathroom door, jockeying for position in front of the keyhole. The upstairs bathroom was the only room in the house without a modern lock, and now he knew why.
Master, Oolong, come on.
The pig lifted an ancient-looking hand-cranked drill and positioned it against the wall.
“Shh,” Roshi hissed. “She’ll hear.”
“It’s worth the risk.”
Roshi snatched away the drill. “You should have acted earlier if you wanted your own peephole.”
“Krillin would’ve stopped me. You’d think that spoilsport was still a monk the way he refuses to look at her.”
“Oh, he looks. He’s just better at hiding it than you are.”
“You think he made his own peephole?” the pig asked. “His room shares a wall with the bathroom.”
They looked at one another, then at Krillin’s door. “Nah,” they agreed.
“You’re right about that,” came Krillin’s voice behind them. “I’d never stoop so low.”
Oolong gulped, and Roshi tried to strike an authoritative stance. “Respect your elders, boy.”
“Hand over the drill, Master.”
“No, get your own.” The tool, which he forbade Oolong to use mere moments ago, suddenly became a sticking point, and as the two struggled over it, Oolong inched closer to the keyhole.
“Hey, the shower stopped. The steam is starting to clear. I see leg. Glorious leg. Just another second, and I’ll—” He felt a hand grip his shoulder. “Eep.”
Behind him stood Krillin, holding the bent and broken drill in one hand with Roshi nowhere to be seen.
Oolong chuckled nervously. “Guess I’ll be going now.”
“You guessed right.” Krillin propelled the pig harder than necessary toward the stairs. Sighing, he prepared to follow his roommates to the first floor and have the serious talk they frankly should have had before Eighteen moved in. But he stepped on something, lost his footing, and fell headlong into the door. On his way down, he discovered what had tripped him—the drill’s handle, which must have separated from the rest of the tool during his struggle with Roshi. The drill bit lodged itself into the door with a twang, and before he recovered his wits enough to decide what to do about it, the door opened, and a very wet, very pissed Eighteen appeared, clad only in a towel.
<<>>
Pissed wasn’t entirely accurate. When the door opened, she looked merely confused. Myriad emotions then passed through those crystal blue eyes that always took his breath away: hurt, betrayal, sadness, and finally anger and hatred unlike any he had ever seen from her. Krillin felt very small in that moment, and guilty. Not for anything he had done but for what he failed to do—protect her. He wasn’t her boyfriend. Probably he never would be—certainly not after what she thought he had done. But she was a guest in his home, and the safety he owed her as such, he failed to deliver.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured.
“You’re sorry.” Her anger twisted the word into a curse. “I guess that makes it all right, doesn’t it?”
“I know how this looks, but I didn’t—I wouldn’t.”
“Bullshit!”
He scrambled backwards as she advanced on him. But the hallway was narrow, and his back hit the wall almost instantly. She grabbed the front of his shirt, lifted him as if he were a child and slammed him into the wall. The Sheetrock crumbled around him.
“Eighteen, please. I can explain.”
“I don’t need your explanation. I know exactly what you were doing—the same thing all you men do. You’re just like those perverted roommates of yours, just like…” Her eyes compressed briefly, fighting back tears. “At least they’re honest about what they are.”
“But I’m not like that. I would never disrespect you—”
“Liar,” she shrieked, drawing back her fist. As she did, her towel began to slip. Rather than raise his arms to defend himself, he slammed his eyes shut and averted his gaze.
Her grip slackened, and she dropped him in her haste to secure the towel. “Why’d you look away?” she spat. “Isn’t this what you wanted to see?”
“No, well, I mean, not like this.”
“Oh, so you’d rather watch a woman who doesn’t know she’s being watched. Is that what gets you off?”
“Eighteen, please. I wasn’t spying on you. It’s all a huge misunderstanding.”
“You already admitted you want to see me naked. Admit the rest so you can die with a clean conscience.”
His mouth went dry. “I—I admit…”
She cracked her knuckles. “Yeah?”
“I do think about seeing you...naked, but never without your consent.”
“And what makes you think an ugly troll like you could ever get that?”
He shook his head.
“No answer?” Her face contorted in fury. “That’s just as well. Whatever little fantasies you have about me, get over them. You’re no knight in shining armor, and I’m sure as hell no pure and innocent damsel. That old pervert who turned me into a cyborg had his eyes and hands all over me—”
“That doesn’t make it right for me to look. Or for anyone else.”
“You’re just like everyone else!”
“I’m not. I can’t answer for what others have done to you. All I can say is how sorry I am, that I never would have hurt you. And you didn’t deserve it.”
Her hands shot up, and he thought it was all over. But they rose to cover her face. Sobs racked her lithe frame as she sank to the floor.
Krillin pushed to his feet and walked cautiously toward her. “Eighteen?” He placed a hand on her bare shoulder.
When she met his gaze, the fury and hate were gone, and she looked so vulnerable that he nearly wept with her. She reached toward him, and for a heartbeat, it appeared she would accept his comfort. Then, she slapped his hand away and fled for the safety of her room.
He stood motionless, torn between the desire to grant her the privacy she wanted and the ache in his heart that demanded he comfort someone he had come to care for deeply.
Knocking on her door, he called her name. She gave no answer, and he was about to give up when he heard the sound of glass shattering. With no time for debate, he shouldered his way into the locked room, tearing the door from its frame in the process.
Shards of broken glass littered her bed and floor. He found her wet towel discarded in the middle of the carpet. Several dresser drawers had been flung open in haste or frustration. The majority of her clothes were still there, so she hadn’t packed. Most likely, she had paused only long enough to dress before exiting through the window.
Why she felt the need to go through the window without opening it first was anybody’s guess. Probably she needed something to take her anger out on. Better it than me, he supposed.
Still, he couldn’t help but worry and wonder if he’d ever see her again. Eighteen might return for her clothes in the middle of the night without him or his roommates noticing. Worse, she could abandon them altogether and steal what she needed. He’d hate to see that. She’d come so far in such a short amount of time. Returning to a life of crime would be a waste.
“Be safe, Eighteen,” he whispered. “Please come back.”
<<>>
That night Krillin lay in bed pondering the events of the afternoon. He spent the hours following Eighteen’s departure patching the broken window and clearing the glass from her floor and bed. He’d fly to the nearest town tomorrow and buy the materials necessary to replace the window. It wouldn’t be cheap, but he’d pay for it himself. Though he wasn’t entirely to blame for this fiasco, he could’ve handled it better. He’d also pay for the door, which was his fault.
He found time to talk with his roommates as well and made it clear that, if she did return, she was off limits. One peep, one lewd comment, one inappropriate look in her direction, and there would be hell to pay. Threats proved unnecessary, though. The cracked wall in the hallway had shaken them up already.
Sleep was a long time coming, and when it did, he dreamed of her.
Instead of jeans and a long-sleeved tee, dream Eighteen wore a long white dress. Not a wedding gown. This was of a simpler cut. Krillin was there too, an older version of himself with his hair grown out, dressed in shorts and a loose-fitting orange polo. They strolled on the beach. It might have been Kame Island. He couldn’t be sure. And between them, holding onto a hand each, was a little girl with Eighteen’s blonde hair and his dark eyes and noseless face. They were a family—he could tell—and it may have been the happiest dream of his life.
The little girl ran ahead, laughing and calling Papa and Mama to see what she found. As they knelt beside her, she began to happily bang two seashells together. Tap tap tap. Tap tap tap. Tap tap tap.
Krillin’s eyes jerked open. Disappointment set in as the day’s events came crashing back into his consciousness. He desperately tried to recapture the dream. If he concentrated, he could still hear the sound of his daughter tapping those seashells together.
In fact, the tapping grew more insistent, and it no longer sounded like seashells.
He sat up in bed, and his heart skipped a beat when he spotted Eighteen floating outside his window, tapping on the glass.
He threw open the window, but when he started to speak, she placed a finger over her lips and beckoned him to join her outside. Pausing only long enough to slip on a pair of shorts—he already wore boxers and a tee shirt—he followed her into the night.
They flew silently for several minutes. Some dark, morose part of himself wondered if she meant to draw him away to his doom, but that wasn’t her style. If she intended to kill him, she’d do it in broad daylight in front of his friends. Correction, that’s what the old Eighteen would have done if she decided to kill someone. And she was becoming a more distant memory with each passing day.
With little warning, Eighteen stopped, and he nearly collided with her. She raised a brow, and he smiled sheepishly. Nodding toward the island below them, she began her descent. He followed.
The moon was out in full, reflecting like a spotlight off the water of a lagoon. Eighteen removed her boots and socks and rolled up her jeans before wading out into the water. Looking back at Krillin, she extended a hand. They waded for some time in the shallow water, holding hands and enjoying the sounds of the night, the gentle surf lapping the shore, the crickets chirping, the breeze rustling the palm fronds.
Krillin pictured the little girl from his dream. She’d love this place, and his heart ached at the thought that she would never see it.
At last, Eighteen broke the silence. “This is my favorite place to think. It’s nice during the day, but at night…well, you can see for yourself.”
“Thank you for sharing it with me. It’s beautiful.”
“Krillin, you—you can ask ask me out if you want.”
“Do you want me to?”
She nodded, her attempt to hide a blush unsuccessful in the moonlight. “You think I deserve to be treated like any other woman, right? Then, ask me out.”
“W—would you like to go out with me?”
“What would we do?” she asked.
“Anything you want.”
She harrumphed. “You’re the one asking me out. You should have a plan.”
“All right, um…” He racked his brain for an appropriate scenario. “There’s this café a couple of islands over. We could go there to talk, get to know one another better. Then take a walk in the nearby park.”
She appeared to mull it over before her face broke out in a smile she’d been trying to hide. “I accept.” Then she leaned over and pressed her lips to his cheek. It was the sweetest kiss he’d ever received, full of hope and longing, a far cry from the scornful, almost violent kiss she gave him on the highway all those months ago.
Straightening, she chewed her lip.
“Are you all right?”
“Krillin, we—I need to take things slow, so…so that I get used to the idea of a man touching me out of purity. Okay?”
Throughout all of this, they had never released their hold on one another’s hands. He squeezed hers in reassurance. “Okay.”
Relief flooded her face. Had she really thought he’d say no?
“So, what now?” she asked.
He took a deep breath of ocean air before releasing a contented sigh. “It’s a gorgeous night, nice breeze in the air. Would you walk with me on the beach?”
She smiled. “Maybe we’ll find some seashells.”
“Yeah,” he agreed, “wouldn’t that be something?”
The End.
Thanks for reading; reviews and comments are appreciated.
This week I’ll be posting at least four stories. I don’t have anything for today’s prompt, unfortunately, but here’s my posting schedule:
9/13: Sharing food/Anniversary
Carnival Attractions: Krillin and Eighteen visit a carnival on their big day, but what makes the day “big” is a mystery to her.
9/15: First fight/Scars
Not Like All the Others: When Krillin prevents his perverted housemates from spying on Eighteen in the shower, she thinks he’s the one trying to sneak a peek.
(Though splashes of comedy are sprinkled throughout, this is a more serious story that touches on some heavy themes.)
9/16: Jealousy
Worst Laid Plans: Yamcha has a plan to force Krillin to make a move on Eighteen. Things don’t go according to plan.
9/17: Friends to Lovers
The List: When Eighteen confesses her feelings to Krillin, she expects him to be thrilled; she doesn’t expect him to ask, “Why?”
9:18 Free Space
? I have a few scenes/stories partially written. Depending on my schedule, I may be able to finish one and have it ready to post by the 18th.
This year’s Chestnut Fest has been fantastic. A bunch of phenomenal artwork and stories have been produced by and shared with our little community. Thanks to @chestnutisland for hosting and for her tireless efforts to highlight the most endearing pairing in all of fandom. K18 forever.
And now...on with the story.
Could I really let a Chestnut Fest pass without including at least one story set in my By Any Other universe? Of course not.
For Chestnut Fest 2018
Prompt: Free Space
Rights to Dragonball and related properties are held by their respective owners. No infringement is implied or intended.
A Favor for a Friend
A Prequel to By Any Other
By koinekid
No matter how much she glared at him, the pig wouldn’t leave the kitchen. If he were cooking her dinner, she would understand, even applaud his efforts, but Lazuli purposefully scheduled her phone calls between meals so she could have her privacy.
The pig and the old man spent their days watching TV in the living room, occasionally emerging from its cave-like environs to hobble to the bathroom or fill up on snacks and alcohol. But the pig already had his beer in hand. He was just standing there, staring into the refrigerator.
Her brother’s voice came over the phone. “Laz, you still there?”
She grunted, the only response she could offer in front of the pig. When she used her hand to block the receiver, it only piqued his curiosity. She turned away, but the phone cord wasn’t long enough to put any real distance between them.
“Lazuli, hello! Where are you?”
“Quiet!” Her heart thundered in her chest. If her idiot brother’s big mouth revealed her true name to the pig, she’d kill them both. Slowly.
She sent the pig another dirty look, but he only blinked in response. She missed the days when her housemates feared her.
“Why the silent treatment, dear sister? Whatever did I do to offend you?”
Smartass. “Talk to you later,” she growled into the receiver and slammed it into its cradle.
As she stalked off and trudged up the stairs, the pig shrugged and resumed rooting through the fridge.
<<>>
Krillin was returning from another snack run his master guilted him into when he heard one of the loveliest sounds he ever had. It took a moment for him to realize it was Eighteen’s laughter—her genuine laughter, not the derisive chuckle he was familiar with.
Opening the door slowly, he was greeted by the sight of Eighteen with her back to him, practically chattering on the phone, twirling the cord around her finger and looking for all the world like a teenager gossiping with her friend:
“Yeah, the eleven-year-old.”
“He saved both our asses, Seventeen.”
“Of course he could beat up Baldy. So could I. That’s not the point.”
Krillin raised a brow, choosing not to take the jibe personally. At least she wasn’t calling him Shorty anymore.
Abandoning the groceries on the table, he hastened to the living room. Nothing in the bags was perishable, and he already felt guilty for listening in on this much of her conversation. As he slid the door open, the swooshing noise alerted Eighteen, and she turned suddenly.
When they made eye contact, the animation left her face, replaced with her usual mask of indifference. She heaved an angry sigh and appeared ready to hang up the phone.
Sorry, Krillin mouthed and disappeared through the doorway. Before shutting it, he spotted a look of surprise on her face and a slight upturn of the corners of her mouth.
He smiled to himself as he rested a palm against the closed door.
His master’s voice assaulted him immediately: “Did you get the snacks?”
“Hmm? Oh, yeah, they’re in the kitchen, but—”
Oolong hopped off the couch. “I’ll get ‘em.”
“Wait. Eighteen is on the phone in there.”
Krillin positioned himself to block the doors, but Oolong elbowed past him. “So?”
“But—?”
“Where are they?” Oolong asked as he barged into the kitchen.
Sighing, Krillin pointed to the table, hoping the pig would grab the bag and go. Krillin would apologize for the intrusion later, maybe by cooking Eighteen a nice meal. Oolong cooked what Oolong liked, and whenever she spoke up to indicate a fondness for any of his dishes, he struck it from his repertoire out of spite.
The pig emptied the bag onto the table and sorted through the food. “Hey, Roshi? Do you want the chips and dip or the mochi?”
“Did he get the strawberry cookies?”
“No, chocolate.” Oolong looked at Krillin. “Were they out of strawberry?”
Krillin hazarded a glance at Eighteen and cringed. Her dagger-like stare was now directed at him. By pulling him into the conversation, Oolong caused Krillin to be lumped in with his roommates as an inconsiderate lout, and any good will he engendered earlier evaporated.
“Doesn’t matter,” Roshi called. “Just bring everything, and grab a couple of beers while you’re at it.”
Throughout the exchange, Eighteen’s patience grew smaller and smaller. Krillin imagined he could see a vein pulsating in her temple. As Oolong started toward the refrigerator, drawing nearer to her in the process, she barked a few terse words into the phone and hung up. Wheeling about, she stomped up the stairs.
An unintentional smile sprang to Krillin’s lips. Eighteen really did act like a teenager sometimes. The smile vanished when she turned back to look at him.
Great, now she thought he was laughing at her. That’s two things he had to make up for.
Fortunately, he had an idea.
<<>>
Days later, Lazuli stood in her bedroom, packing her belongings. She’d gone downstairs to attempt to call her brother again only to find the pig and the old man playing cards at the table. It was after lunch, another meal she refused to eat with them. Wasn’t hungry—not really—plus, Krillin hadn’t shown up, and she never spent time with the others without him as mediator. She eyed the phone, debating for a few moments before returning to her room. She hadn’t the heart to even stomp up the stairs.
The last time they talked, her brother invited her to move back into his cabin. He was joking, but maybe if she showed up on his doorstep, luggage in hand, they could make a go of it. Even if it didn’t work out, she couldn’t stay here any longer, not with those two popping up every time she turned around.
Was it a crime to want to speak with her brother in peace? She couldn’t even say his name for fear they would overhear.
She stared at her bedroom door, imagining she could see through it to Krillin’s room across the hall. Heaven help her, she was going to miss the little guy.
That was strange. Why couldn’t she wipe the frown off her face?
Stowing her luggage in a “borrowed” capsule, she opened the window. With a deep breath, she levitated and moved toward the sill only to falter when startled by a knock at her door.
She considered not answering, but a thought occurred, and all at once the prospect of telling the person on the other side of the door what she really thought of him became overwhelming. She flung open the door, and...there was Krillin grinning like the Cheshire Cat. Lazuli was at a loss for words.
From behind his back, he produced a shopping bag, which he promptly handed over. Numbly, she took it.
Inside she found a cordless phone, much nicer than the corded model downstairs, a length of cable, a jack, and various other items that hinted at what he had in mind. Her mouth dropped open. “Krillin, what’s all this?”
He scratched the back of his head. “I kind of need a favor.”
“A favor?”
“Yeah—um—did you know that houses have better resale value if they have a second phone line?”
She worked hard to keep the incredulous smile off her face. “Really?”
“Yeah, I was reading up on it. It’s true. Anyway, would it be okay if I installed the second line in your room?”
“My room, huh?”
“It’s directly over the kitchen, so there’s less cable to run.”
Lazuli regarded him a moment, then shrugged. “Whatever. I’m going downstairs for some food. Try to finish by the time I get back.”
With that, she left him to his work and, once he could no longer see her, she allowed that smile to explode onto her face. Not only had Krillin figured out what was distressing her, but he also presented his solution in a way that allowed her to keep her pride.
No way in hell was she leaving now. Not when she had a friend like him.
<<>>
The old man and the pig had vacated the kitchen by the time she entered, but she wouldn’t have minded if they had stayed. She made a sandwich and was about to sit at the table and eat when she reconsidered.
A few minutes later, she returned to her bedroom with two sandwiches on her plate and a couple of cans of lemonade—Krillin preferred them to beer. She set the food on her desk.
“Almost finished,” he said. “I’ll be out of your hair soon.”
True to his word, he had the jack installed and was threading the cable through a freshly drilled hole beneath her carpet in a matter of moments.
While he stood and began gathering the phone packaging and other bits of trash, she claimed one of the sandwiches for herself, popped open one of the cans, and perched on her bed. As he was about to leave, she motioned toward her desk chair. “Sit, eat.”
He complied, shoving the sandwich into his mouth to hide his grin.
“Don’t think this is an open invitation to my room.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he agreed.
They ate in silence. It felt far too comfortable, so Lazuli said the first thing that came to mind: “How did you get along with only one phone all this time?”
Krillin chuckled. “Believe it or not, for the longest time, we didn’t have a phone at all.”
“Oh?” That sounded like a nightmare.
“Yeah, when we were kids, Goku and I saved a rich man’s daughter from kidnappers, and he ran the underseas cable from a nearby island as a thank you.” Krillin leaned in as if imparting a secret. “The girl had a crush on Goku and wanted the phone installed so she could talk to him. He was totally oblivious.”
Lazuli realized she was mirroring Krillin’s posture. This was the first story he ever told her about his childhood, and she wanted to hear more. Some other time, though.
“Is it okay for me to talk about Goku? I know you and your brother didn’t like him too much.”
Were programmed to kill him would be more accurate, but Krillin was kind to phrase it the way he did.
“Are you finished with your sandwich? I’d like to make a call sometime today.”
“Oh, sorry.” He wolfed down the last few bites. “I’ll finish hooking up the phone downstairs, and you should be good to go in five minutes.”
He dropped his empty can into the shopping bag where he’d stored the trash and was about to walk out when she cleared her throat.
“Aren’t you forgetting something.” She pointed at the plate on her desk.
He raised a brow but cheerfully took it. Pausing at the door, he said, “Thanks for the sandwich, Eighteen. It was great.”
She shrugged. “It was turkey, cheese, and bread. No big deal.”
“I know, but still, it was thoughtful.”
Krillin could have said more but, noting the sprinkling of color in her cheeks, decided to let it go. The last thing he wanted was to sabotage what was happening between them...whatever that was.
A few minutes later, he called to her from the foot of the stairs, “Give it a try.”
She pressed the button on the handset and heard a dial tone. Yes! Grinning, she dialed the number, remembering just in time to call back, “It’s good,” before closing the door.
When her brother answered in his usual lackadaisical tone, she said, “Hello…Lapis. It’s me, Lazuli.”
The sound of her own name, and her brother’s, had never been sweeter.
<<>>
As Krillin packed up his tools, Master Roshi ambled into the kitchen. “Missed you at lunch, boy. Might be some leftovers in the fridge.”
Oolong entered, carrying a bowl and stuffing his face with rice and chicken. “Nope. You snooze, you lose.”
“That’s okay. I’m not hungry.” Krillin glanced toward the stairs. “I dined with a friend.”
“Oh, good friend?” Following Krillin’s gaze, Roshi smiled to himself.
Krillin looked thoughtful. “I’m not sure, Master, but I’m starting to think so.”
The End.
Thanks for reading; reviews, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.
You can find the original By Any Other here on tumblr and at FanFiction.Net.
You can also find the in-progress sequel How the Ex-Monk Gained a Brother on tumblr and on FFN.
Rights to Dragonball and related properties are held by their respective owners. No infringement is implied or intended.
Date Night
By koinekid
“How did we get roped into this?” Krillin said.
“Don’t ask me,” his wife replied. “They’re your friends.”
Krillin laughed. Lazuli long ago caved in and accepted the fact that she had become friends (to one degree or another) with most of her former enemies. But whenever one of them annoyed her, that person became “Krillin’s friend” once more. It reminded him of Bulma grousing at Vegeta over “his son’s” behavior, and Krillin could easily imagine Lazuli employing the same tactic should their little one get into mischief.
His fingers suddenly itched to caress his wife’s pregnant belly, but this far along, any pressure to her stomach caused discomfort. He settled for pressing his lips to her temple as she leaned into him.
Seated on the couch with Lazuli in his arms would have been a fine way to spend an evening—if the couch were back home and not in one of the living areas of Capsule Corp with Trunks, Goten, and a little girl they met only an hour before shrieking from room to room in a makeshift game of tag. At least Krillin convinced them to play no-powers to “make it fair” for the girl.
With Lazuli’s due date rapidly approaching, Bulma had persuaded the couple to relocate to Capsule Corp. Eighteen needs to be near the hospital in case there are complications.
Krillin knew Bulma was right—blunt but right. As they discussed her offer, Lazuli confessed she too was nervous. “I wasn’t designed to give birth,” she said, the word twisting into a curse on her lips.
And so, they accepted, grateful for a friend who cared enough to provide a temporary home for them and their unborn child. Bulma also arranged twice-weekly visits to the nearby hospital to meet with specialists flown in at her own expense. So far, the doctors were optimistic, and the relief that flooded Krillin’s heart after every positive report was palpable.
He could never repay Bulma for her kindness. Unfortunately, he made the mistake of telling her that. The glint in her eye should have sent him running.
Thus began his career as Krillin the babysitter. Oh, he’d watched the children of Earth’s Special Forces members before, even taken care of Gohan for months on an alien planet. But Gohan was studious, well-behaved, and respectful. Goten and Trunks were anything but. And Krillin always seemed to get stuck with both of them at once. Bulma called it Parenting 101. Krillin called it boot camp.
At the end of one particularly trying day, as he and Lazuli lay in bed together, she joked, “Are you still sure you want to have a kid?”
“Ours won’t be anything like them, right?”
“I hope not.”
Lazuli spoke not from experience but from the horror stories she heard spending most of her days in the company of Bulma and ChiChi, her self-proclaimed instructors in the art of motherhood.
After recounting the worst of the tales, Lazuli told him in all sincerity, “Krillin, I am so glad I fell in love with a human, because I could not handle a Saiyan child.”
He didn’t tell her, but he thought she could handle just about anything.
The babysitting woes continued for weeks, at last culminating in tonight’s festivities: Bulma’s so-called date night. She had invited every couple in the group—except them. Not that Krillin felt slighted; with Lazuli so close to her due date, a night on the town couldn’t hold a candle to a quiet evening alone. But they were getting neither, and Bulma hadn’t even bothered to ask them to babysit, merely assumed they would.
This time, Lazuli shared his irritation. He could practically see a vein throbbing in her temple as the group departed in a procession of aircars: Naturally, Vegeta and Bulma led the charge, followed by her parents and Yamcha with his new girlfriend (it was her daughter playing with the boys). Even ChiChi tagged along. Krillin felt especially sorry for her “date.”
“Mommy’s little man is taking her out for a night on the town!” she proudly announced when dropping off her youngest son. Her eldest, Gohan, looked intensely uncomfortable.
The kids flying by the open doorway snapped Krillin out of his reverie. So much for no-powers. They were growing rowdier as the evening continued, and Krillin decided it was time to usher Lazuli off to bed. Half-Saiyan children at play were a recipe for disaster around a pregnant woman.
Ironically, the human girl proved the most troublesome to Lazuli that evening. Before he could speak to his wife about going to bed, the girl barreled into the room at full speed and stumbled, splashing the contents of the cup she carried all over Lazuli. She gasped.
Krillin easily checked his anger. He’d experienced far worse indignities babysitting the boys. “Kiddo, you need to be more careful. You spilled water all over Eighteen.” The couch was soaked.
The girl stuck out her tongue and bolted.
“Krillin—”
“Don’t worry, babe. I’ll get a towel.” He rose, but she grabbed his wrist.
“This isn’t water,” she said.
“What is it, juice?”
His wife shook her head.
“Then what?” That’s when he noticed the smile spreading across her face. His eyes widened. “Oh, oh, is it—?”
“Yes, honey. It’s time. The bag’s in the closet, and the numbers are by the phone.”
Krillin took a deep breath. The logistics of bundling into an aircar three rambunctious children and a cyborg wife going into labor seemed daunting, but he willed himself to stay calm. As he retrieved the phone and dialed the hospital, a part of him—a tiny part, mind you—smugly anticipated his next call: the one to Bulma that would bring both date night and his babysitting career to a merciful end.
Rights to Dragonball and other properties are held by their respective owners. No infringement is implied or intended.
If I could be a superhero…
By koinekid
“Krillin, this is stupid.”
“It’s supposed to be fun, babe.”
“Why do I have to ‘dress up’ like a cyborg? I’m already a cyborg.”
“But you don’t look like one.”
“How do cyborgs look?”
“You know, metal arms and glowing eyes and stuff.” He gestured to her current costumed appearance.
Eighteen grumbled, “These contact lenses are uncomfortable.”
“We’ll only stay a little while, and you can take them out once we meet everyone.”
“Fine.” Eighteen tried to cross her arms, but her costume’s bulk prevented her. With a few notable exceptions, said costume didn’t look all that different from her normal attire. Her jeans were black instead of blue, and for her top, she had ripped off and discarded the striped sleeves from one of her old black and white tees. She had also tied back her hair—not in the pony tail she frequently sported while chasing their energetic eight-year-old around the house—but with pins, the goal being to make her look as if she had cut her hair short. She didn’t like it.
By far the most annoying aspect of the costume were the fake cybernetic arms: store-bought gray silicone rubber pieces designed for someone with much thicker arms than her own. They flopped around every time she moved.
And the contacts made her eyes appear black with yellow pupils.
Krillin said she looked great, but he was hardly an unbiased observer: He’d tell her she looked fantastic wearing a sack and be completely genuine while doing so.
To keep their makeshift costumes looking their best, they took an air car, but finding an open area to land in this unfamiliar city proved a challenge. In the end, they had to touch down several blocks away, and now would probably be late.
Krillin rubbed her back as they walked. “I’m sorry you’re uncomfortable, babe, but if we want to break into the superhero biz, we have to network.”
Eighteen sighed, noting in appreciation that he avoided pointing out it was her idea for them to become superheroes in the first place. Now that Marron attended school and Krillin had a few years’ experience as a cop under his belt, Eighteen decided it was time to take his law enforcement career to the next level. To be frank, she also missed fighting alongside him and felt it would bring the two of them closer together as a couple. Since her unthinkably cruel comment at the tournament, they desperately needed it.
She closed her eyes, willing tears not to fall. Krillin said he forgave her, but it would be a long time before she could forgive herself.
“And we network at a costume party while dressed as other heroes?” She spoke more calmly now, deliberately forcing any harshness from her tone.
Krillin shrugged. He wore a frumpy yellow jumpsuit with a white cape and red boots and gloves. “Apparently it’s a big thing among their crowd.”
They were nearing the house hosting the party, and Eighteen wanted to hug him in apology for her bad mood, but those silicone arms were in her way, so she settled for gently teasing him.
“You look funny in a bald cap, husband.” She called him that whenever possible to try and associate the word with positive comments once more.
“Only because you wouldn’t let me shave my head.” His hair started growing back after the tournament, reminding her how attractive it made him.
Matter-of-factly, she stated, “I’m not losing that gorgeous hair of yours because of a costume party.”
He grinned. “Gorgeous, huh?”
She nodded. “Sexy, too.”
“I thought we were fighting.”
“We were. Now we’re making up.”
They reached the door, but before he could ring the bell, she leaned down, grabbing him as best she could in her rubber arms and kissing him hard. He threaded a hand around her neck and pulled her down for more.
One of them must have leaned against the doorbell because it suddenly sounded. Neither of them paid attention until the door opened.
“Huh,” a voice said. “Ever think you’d see the two of us making out, Genos?”
“Not outside of those online fan arts.”
“You visit those sites?” Saitama raised a brow.
“To find and correct those disrespecting you, Teacher.”
Eighteen blinked in surprise. In the doorway stood two of the heroes Krillin told her he most wanted to meet—Saitama, the so called Caped Baldy, and his student, Genos, the Demon Cyborg. She and Krillin had come to the party dressed as them.
And it was like looking in a mirror…sort of, a cracked mirror to be sure, but a mirror nonetheless. Saitama was dressed as a taller version of Krillin—complete with magic-markered moxibustion burns and the traditional orange uniform of the Kamesennin school.
Saitama extended his hand to Krillin. “We’re big fans.”
“Of us?”
“Yeah. Who wouldn’t be? You guys are Earth’s Special Forces.” Saitama pointed to the insignia on his chest. “Is the kanji right? I had to copy it from one of the plush toys, and it might have been a knockoff.”
Eighteen didn’t catch her husband’s response, because she was busy eyeing Genos. His outfit was a mockery of hers: blue jeans and one of the black-and-white long-sleeved tee shirts she had ruined to put together her own costume, except his obscenely large arms stretched the sleeves so far they looked like they might tear at any moment. He also wore a blonde wig that got the length of her hair right but not the style. He didn’t bother wearing contacts to hide his eye color, though. His was a “natural” black with yellow irises.
She was about to ask him a question when she noticed his eyes lower to her chest. Ordinarily she would be put out and balling up her fist ready to strike—or expecting Krillin to do so. So, what if she could defend her own honor? It was her husband’s responsibility! But then Genos spoke.
“You’re a—a woman.”
She planted her hands on her hips. “What gave it away?”
He nodded toward her chest, and she rolled her eyes.
“Teacher,” he said, “You told me I was dressed as the male cyborg.”
“Did I? Must have mixed up the numbers. Hey, you two, come on in. There’s a lot of people itching to meet you. You’re going to fit in around here just fine.”
Before following Krillin and Saitama inside, Eighteen fixed a glare on Genos. Leaning in, she said. “I just want to know one thing.”
Genos shifted subtly into attack mode. “Yeah?”
“Where…did you get that shirt? The stores back home stopped selling them, and I can’t find replacements anywhere.”
“Oh, a—a place downtown.”
“Good,” she said. “Remind me to get the details from you later. For now, I’ll catch up with my husband. It’s going to be a long night.” And with any luck, she thought, an interesting career.
The END
<<>>
Note: I wrote this pretty quickly. Apologies if it isn’t very good and if the OPM characters are OOC (I’m sure they are). I’ve never read or watched OnePunch Man, but since I heard the creator was a DBZ fan, I couldn’t resist writing this as an answer to the AU/Cosplay challenge.
<<>>
Thanks once again, @deadlybeautydbz and @chestnutisland
Rights to Dragonball and related properties are held by their respective owners. No infringement is implied or intended.
Mini-Monk and Cyber-Girl
By koinekid
Krillin couldn’t remember the last time he was so angry with his wife, and the worst part—he couldn’t yell. Before their daughter’s birth, they vowed never to fight in front of her. The few memories Lazuli had of her parents involved them fighting, and she refused to subject her daughter to the same.
So, they eased their bedroom door shut, leaving only a crack, and left Marron to play in the room across the hall—the room that once belonged to her mother—so they could hash out their disagreement in harsh whispers and angry gestures—
“What were you thinking?”
“Why are you even upset?”
“We can’t afford that preschool.”
“They set up a payment plan, and it’s for our daughter’s future.”
“I want Marron to have the best too, but tournaments aren’t paying what they used to.”
“Maybe you should get a real job.”
—The more heated the argument, the louder their whispers became and the less attention they paid to the door until they heard, clear as day, Marron’s tiny voice. “Mama, Papa…”
The guilt in Lazuli’s eyes mirrored his own, and they turned, expecting to find their little girl standing in the doorway, balanced precariously on her toddler’s legs, hurt and accusation in her tear-filled eyes.
But Marron wasn’t there. Silently negotiating a momentary truce, they opened the door and crossed the hall. Marron sat on a rug in the center of the bedroom floor, playing with a pair of plush toys that looked remarkably like her parents, pressing their faces together and giggling. “Mama, Papa, kiss!”
Krillin’s shoulders sagged as the tension drained out of him; his wife too looked relieved. They hadn’t broken their promise.
Watching his daughter at play reminded Krillin of the day he brought those dolls home as a gift, not for Marron, but for Lazuli. He spotted them in a toy store while shopping for Goten’s birthday present. They were part of a special Mr. Satan versus Cell set commemorating the three-year anniversary of the blowhard’s supposed glorious victory. Labeled “Mini-Monk” and “Cyber-Girl,” the dolls were too good to pass up.
He and Lazuli had been officially dating for less than a year and were still in the stage where they would buy tiny gifts for one another all the time. The practice tapered off as they began saving for their wedding, and when they learned she was expecting, the expense of raising a child. Nowadays, most of the tiny gifts—from both of them—went to Marron.
When he returned to the island that day, he found Lazuli on the couch reading. The subtle shift in her posture as he entered the living room told him she sensed his approach. He played at sneaking up behind her, and she let him have his fun.
“I found something interesting at the store today,” he said.
“You went shopping without me? Krillin, we’ve talked about this.”
Chuckling, he gave her a peck on the cheek and dangled Mini-Monk atop her open book.
Her eyes widened, and she couldn’t stop the smile from forming on her face. She snatched the plush away from him and hugged it to her chest. “I hope you realize you’re never getting this back.”
Joining her on the couch, he playfully reached for it. She pressed the plush to her cheek and shook her head.
“That’s fine.” He reached into the toy store bag and withdrew Cyber-Girl. “As long as you let me keep this one.”
She didn’t.
Since then, the dolls held a place of honor on her bedroom shelf, and when her room became Marron’s nursery, the dolls stayed put as a way to assure the little one that her parents were always looking out for her even when she couldn’t see them.
That made Krillin wonder how the toddler had gotten them off the high shelf. But then, Marron had a way of getting what she wanted—most often through manipulating her “Grandpa Roshi.” Or her father, he had to admit, or…
Krillin looked at his wife and whispered, “Did you?”
Lazuli shook her head.
“Then how—?” He started to gesture toward the shelf but found that his wife had slipped her hand into his. He smiled. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gotten upset.”
“No, it’s my fault. I should have talked to you first.”
“We’ll find a way to pay for that preschool. Somehow.”
When Marron noticed her parents’ presence, she stood and wobbled over, carrying the dolls with her. She held them up and once more pressed their faces together. “Mama, Papa, kiss.”
