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fragilecapric0rnn · 1 year

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“it’s okay, i couldn’t sleep anyway” for the prompt thing!! (-patheticgirlsteve)

OKAY SO this prompt is from a prompt list I rb'd in December (wowza!) and I found the writing for this prompt half finished in my WIPs folder today and decided to finish it!

This ficlet is also a look into the in-progress When Harry Met Sally-inspired AU/canon divergence fic. I've been sitting on both that fic and this snippet for far too long and have been itching to share something. So, here's the something!

(something set in the late summer of '98, in a city that doesn't bode well during heat waves)

It’s an unusually hot night in Steve’s apartment.

It's going to be an unusually hot week in the city, actually.

Steve has gotten used to the temperate San Francisco weather in the 11 years he's been a resident. But after 11 years, he's still surprised at the random bursts of heat that creep in during these last few weeks of August. Just in time for him and his students to sit inside the toaster oven that is his classroom during the first week of school.

Thankfully, it's not a school night. The last week of his summer vacation, and he's spent most of the daylight hours dangling half of his body out of the screen-less street-facing window in his apartment, praying a breeze would whip past him. (It didn't).

After an hour of tossing and turning in bed, in nothing but a pair of boxers, the open window providing no relief, the air stale and hot and a bit sticky, he decided to move to the living room, where he will still be suffering, but at least there's a TV out there.

A movie he remembers seeing with Robin in the theater during their Oakland days is playing as soon as he flicks on the TV, reminding him of how long it's been since they've lived together, let alone in that first apartment in Oakland. Freshly 20 and 21, figuring out how to live on their own, thousands of miles from everyone and everything they knew. Figuring out how to deal with the calmness of it all.

Remembers talking about the movie again in '92, and being annoyed with all of his friends (Eddie and Nancy) who thought that Lloyd and Diane broke up in London. Wonders if they're still as cynical about love today as they were back then.

As he's counting the years back in his head, the phone rings, pulling him out of his thoughts.

“Hel-lo?” He answers, remembering that it is 2am in the middle of the word, dragging it into two syllables to make it seem like he's shocked that someone is calling him.

“What the hell are you doing awake at this hour?” Eddie quips, Steve reflexively rolls his eyes, at both the tone of his voice and the question itself.

“How do you know that you didn’t just interrupt my much needed beauty sleep?” He scoffs, flicking his head like he would if Eddie were sitting right here on the couch with him. Eddie must pick up on it, chuckling over the phone, a similar sound to the one he made when he was sitting on this couch hours ago, suffering with Steve in his apartment.

Now there's something twenty-one year old Steve would be shocked to learn. That him and Eddie became friends, at all.

“I can hear the TV.” Steve hums in response, turns the volume down a notch or two. “But, here’s a courtesy ‘I’m sorry’ for the late night call.”

“It’s okay. I couldn’t sleep anyway.” Steve sighs as the slightest breeze rolls through the open window. He's a much better sleeper than twenty-one year old Steve, but due to recent life-changing events and this damn heat-wave, a late-night phone call with Eddie is almost routine at this point

“I miss Evie’s apartment. She had AC.” Eddie says, casually. Steve still doesn't get how he can talk about her so casually. How he can just bring her up like it's nothing. If he even thinks about -

“I still can’t believe you got your heartbroken by a trust fund baby.” He says, cutting off his own thought.

“I’m more heartbroken about that AC unit right now,” still casual, as if he is actually heartbroken about an AC and not a person.

“What’re you watching?” He asks.

“Say Anything.”

“Channel?”

“12.”

The scene where Lloyd is talking to Diane’s father on the prison yard. It makes him think of Eddie on the other line, sitting in his unintentional bachelor pad a few blocks away from his own. The thought must’ve made Eddie’s ears burn.

“That’s not what visitation is actually like, ya know?” His voice is soft.

“Oh yeah?” Steve says, wanting to encourage but not pry.

“Yeah. It’s indoors, at tables, cold and gray. Feels dirty and sterile at the same time.” Eddie says.

“I always thought it happened between a plane of glass, with a telephone on either side of the glass.” Steve offers, giving him an out, a chance to change the subject if he wants to bow out.

“That’s what it’s like in county jail. Prison’s different.” Steve hums again, knows there’s no need to respond with anything else. Steve doesn’t need to ask him how he knows all of this. He knows that Eddie doesn’t expect him to ask. That’s the thing, about old friends, about them, about their whole gang. There are certain things they’ll always know about each other.

His mind drifts to a little Eddie and a younger Wayne, walking into a room just like Eddie had described, going through the motions. It pulls at his chest a little.

“Do you still think they broke up in London?” Steve tests.

“I don’t think they broke up in London?” Eddie says, a tad defensive.

“Yes you do, or you did.” He remembers the conversation, he knows Eddie must remember the conversation.

“When did I say that?”

“In San Diego, we had a whole thing about it, the five of us.” The drunk and loud debate was held stuffed into a diner booth in San Diego. Before you left.

Eddie pauses.

“I did say that, didn’t I?”

“You sure did.”

“Well, to answer your question, no. I don't think so. I think that they’re two weirdos who were meant for each other.” Eddie says, Steve sinks further into the couch, holds the phone up with his shoulder.

“That's exactly what I said then.”

"Well, I think it now."

"Me too." It comes out softer than he expected. Suddenly thankful that this conversation is happening over the phone, so he can scrunch the feeling away from his face, take a deep breath and shake the feeling that just washed over his body.

“I know a thing or two about weirdos who’re meant for each other.” Eddie says playfully, that tone he uses when he's half-joking, but half-serious. Steve feels something bubble in the very depths of his stomach.

“Oh yeah? Who?”

“You and Robin.” Pop. He lets out a deep breath.

“Ha ha.” Steve says, toning up the sarcasm.

“Max and Lucas, Joyce and Jim, the entire gang who’s bonded by the terrors of the 80s and government NDA’s.” Steve’s laugh barks out of him, he can’t hide how surprised he is at these words coming out of Eddie’s mouth.

“What? What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, it’s just…” He trails off, trying to choose his next words carefully. “Not used to you talking about the past. Hasn’t really been your thing.” His mind drifts momentarily to San Diego again. Watching him hail that cab. Running away.

“There's a lotta things that I used to do, or not do.” There’s a pause. Either of them could say something, there’s something dangling in the air between them, between their two phone lines, filling the space between their two apartments. Just as Steve opens his mouth to say something, cut the tension, snatch the feeling out of the air, Eddie beats him to it.

#whms au #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #sen writes #my fic #did this just light a fire under my ass? YES #there's a lot of missing context from this that will be given in the fic don't worry!#i just love a good telephone scene #especially a telephone scene that's loaded with things unsaid!!!#aiaof

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thewritersaddictions · 5 months

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Day Fourteen: Steve Rogers + Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas

Christmas morning was beautiful. Snow glistens on the ground outside. Making all of New York look like a snow globe. Your winter pajamas that were just a bit too big for you hung loosely on your frame. Dragging pants legs as you walked and your arms rolled up to your wrists so you could actually use your hands.

The smell of coffee and fresh cinnamon rolls filled the air when you left your shared bedroom with Steve. The hunk of a man was standing in your kitchen shirtless, wearing only his sweatpants. That's what he gets for being a super soldier. You wrapped your arms around his waist and pressed your cheek into his warm back.

The sound of sizzles caught your attention as you looked over Steves's shoulder to see that he was cooking up eggs and toast popped from the toaster oven. The first words to be spoken were the exact words you heard every morning. "Your coffee is over there," Steve said warmly as he nudged his head toward your steaming cup.

"The parade is already on the TV if you wanna get comfy while I finish breakfast." You hummed as you brought the cup of coffee to your lips, took a deep breath, and sipped the hot liquid.

Once more, you move towards the living room with your pants dragging against the floor, and when you make it to the couch, you tuck your heels under your butt and get comfy as you bump up the volume to the tv before the parade starts.

Steve was there in just a jiffy. Handling two plates filled with eggs, bacon, and toast alongside a cinnamon roll. Your mouth watered at the smell immediately, and you dug in before getting the entire plate in your lap.

The parade started, and you watched with glee as you did each year. Even though you could simply look out your window and see the massive balloons dance on the ground. You'd rather watch it on the TV. A tradition you'd been participating in since you were a little kid.

By the time the parade was over, the sun was high in the sky, and the two of you were still not out of your night clothes. "Should we open gifts now?" Steve asks as he returns from the kitchen to drop off the dirty dishes. Your thoughts for a moment. You had gotten Steve a few things. Living in a New York apartment meant no lawn to take care of, but it did mean that your boyfriend was a builder. He loved putting together stuff and needed a new toolset for his motorcycle sitting in the parking deck below you.

"I think so. We should definitely do it before we have to leave for Stark's party." You say, wadding yourself up in the comfy and warm blanket. The snow starts to fall again, setting a most beautiful backdrop to the afternoon of Christmas. The wrapping paper litters the floor as you get deeper under the tree. Jewlery had been Steve's thing for you this year. A matching necklace to go with your matching earrings. A new set of pajamas. He had laughed when you pulled them out of the box. "A pair that will actually fit you love." He teased.

"So there's just one more gift for the both of us." You muttered as you pulled out a box with your name on it and a box with his name on it. Both names are written in perfect, pristine cursive. "I want to open mine first." Steve rushed to say, "Of course!" This is the one you were waiting for. "I'm sure you're going to like it." You mutter as you watch him tear through the wrapping paper.

"My…" You can hear the hitch in Steve's voice for a moment. You stay silent with a warm smile on your face. "You found my dog tags?" He asks, looking up at you from his position on the floor. "Well, I didn't find them, but Bucky did. Said they had been stashed away in his belongings. Guess he kept them on him all those years." The smile grew on Steve's face as he crawled over to you, hugging you around your waist. You rubbed his hair gently and whispered 'I love yous' into his hair.

It took a moment for the heated moment to die before Steve pushed your gift into your lap. He stayed right there. You pulled back the wrapping paper. Letting you see a small brown box. "This better now be a box in a box." You tease. Steve only shakes his head as he plays with the dog tags in his plan.

It took you a moment to open the box without a proper pair of scissors or a box cutter. And Steve watched with ease. When you pulled the little box out, your heart started to race, and your vision became blurry. When you opened it, you froze.

A diamond ring set with smaller diamonds around it. The tears flew freely down your cheeks, and when you looked up at your boyfriend, he was standing on one knee. "This is a little unconventional, but I hope you say yes. Will you marry me?" You dropped the box onto the couch and jumped into his arms. Kissing his frantically. Muttering quiet 'yes' over and over again into his face,

"Good." His lips are on yours, and it feels like life is breathed into you. "Now put it on my hand." You say, jutting your hand out into his face. He quickly grabs the box as you pluck the rings from the box and slips it onto your finger with even more ease.

"It looks beautiful." You say to him and yourself as you look down at your left hand. "of course it does. It's as beautiful as it's weary." Steve says before grabbing your face and bringing you down for another passionate kiss.

"Aren't you glad you didn't wait till after Starks party!" Steve teases. "Oh, you're damn right. I'm glad I didn't wait. The girls are going to scream when they find out." Still staring down at the sparkling diamond on your hand.

Completed on: 11/22/23

Posted on: 12/14/23

The Old-

Marvel Master List // The Old Master List // Christmas Stories Master List

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aquietwritingcorner · 1 year

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Fandom: TMNT 2003 Word Count: 5058 Author: aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl Rating: K Characters: Donatello, Raphael, Ms. Morrison Warning: NA Summary: Raphael’s been asking Donatello for advice on repairing things. The only problem is, they aren’t the types of items that the turtles own. Curious as to what is going on, Donnie decides that his best course of action is to follow Raph and see what’s going on. He didn’t expect what he found, though. Notes: I know nothing about repairing anything, really. Sorry for any inaccuracies. AO3 || ff.net

_________________________________________

Sanctuary

Something was up with Raphael. That was something Donatello was positive about.

The thing was, it wasn’t something that necessarily would have caught anyone else’s attention. He was still acting pretty much the same. He trained, roughhoused and teased with Mikey, argued—both friendly and not—with Leonardo, sat and watched a little TV with Master Splinter, helped April in her shop, went out to “bust heads” with Casey, and went off on his own, as he was wont to do. He even, as wasn’t unusual, worked side-by-side with and helped Donatello with several of the projects in the garage. If Donnie was going to trust anyone with work on the Battleshell, it was always Raph.

So, as evidenced by the mental list Don was making, no one else would have noticed anything off with Raphael.

But Don did.

It started off small. It started off with Raphael asking him about how to do small things. Things like sealing windows or making sure that a normal door—something that they did, admittedly, lack in the lair—was square and closing well. Donatello didn’t think too much about it. He just assumed that he was helping April with some basic repairs, and that Casey was too slammed at the garage he worked at to help out. And while Donnie had taught his brothers how to do quite a number of things, home repairs like that had never been on the list. They just hadn’t been something that was needed. Basic carpentry, wiring, welding, plumbing, sewing, the sorts of things that generally went into getting homes like theirs livable were what he had focused on teaching them. He even went more in depth with certain things with certain brothers, like automotives with Raphael, forging and metal work with Leonardo, and wiring, coding, and basic tv and kitchen repair with Michelangelo, along with whatever else he could teach the orange banded turtle that would allow him to repair his own things and let Donnie focus on other stuff.

Funny how Mikey had the broadest set of knowledge among his brothers.

Donnie honestly didn’t mind teaching his brother these things. He thought was good… and, selfishly, maybe a bit useful to him… for Raph to learn more about repairing things. He asked from everything from windows and doors, to hot water heaters, to washing machines, to toaster ovens, to ice makers, to gas ovens, to, currently, a heater.

It was the gas oven that really tipped Donatello off. He knew that April’s oven was electric, not gas. In fact, except for the very rich, who thought it was trendy to cook with gas, most people in New York City had electric stoves and ovens. The only other ones who didn’t were either historically accurate buildings, or buildings that were very, very old.

Donatello and Raphael were currently elbow deep in an old heater that one of them had scavenged from some junkyard somewhere. Donnie hadn’t been intending to turn it into a lesson on how to repair heaters, but Raph had been interested when he had seen the old thing, and so Donnie had rolled with it. Although they weren’t exactly cold-blooded, they weren’t exactly warm-blooded either, instead some weird mix of the two thanks to their mutation. Because of that, a little extra heat in the winter was always a welcome thing. They had long ago learned to scavenger for heaters whenever they saw them, just to keep their lair a bit warmer. These days, if they had more than they needed, Don often fixed them up and then gave them to April to sell. She’d give him the money from whatever sells she managed to make on his stuff, which gave them a little money, at least.

“Okay, but this one’s an electric heater, right, Don? How’d it be different from a gas one?”

Don paused in what he was doing and looked over at Raph. “…That is a very specific and somewhat unusual question, Raph, considering we use electric ones.” He saw Raphael tense, and then he looked back down at the heater they were working on, shifting through the innards again. “With all the questions you’ve been asking me lately, I’m starting to wonder if you’re trying to move out.”

He gave his voice a bit of teasing lilt, hoping to put his brother at ease, or at least not to make him too suspicious. It only partially worked, as Raph had a tendency to be suspicious by nature anyway, especially when he was hiding something.

And Don was sure he was hiding something.

“Just thought you’d appreciate the helping hand,” Raph said, turning a bit sulky. It was just an act, though. Donnie could see right through it, although he didn’t let on.

Instead, he gave a rebuttal. “Which would be great,” he said, “if you were actually helping out around the lair with what I’ve been teaching you.” Don turned to look at him more fully. “But we don’t have anything that runs on gas, aside from a camping stove we have just in case, and we don’t have windows and doors to worry about. So, I have to wonder just what this is really about, Raphie.”

He had hoped that the use of the childhood nickname might loosen his brother’s tongue a little, but it didn’t seem to work. Instead, Raphael grew defensive and a bit huffy.

“If yer not gonna teach me, then I’ll figure it out on my own!” his brother snapped, pushing to his feet to quickly to be casual, and too slowly to be called “rocketing.” He turned on his heel and left the garage, heading back down to the lair, and, if Don had to guess, to his punching bag.

Don looked back down at the heater thoughtfully, not at all phased by this reaction. It was one of the possibilities he had accounted for. Honestly, though, he wasn’t too happy with the idea of Raphael, untrained in the ways of natural gas, messing around with anything that used it. He’d hoped to get more of an answer so that maybe he could help out a bit more. But if Raph wasn’t going to give him one, then perhaps Donnie would just have to find it on his own.

He returned to working on the heater, his hands moving almost automatically as he ran through possible scenarios in his mind and made plans for what his next steps would be.

Like most evenings when there was nothing planned, everyone assumed that Donatello would be busy puttering away in his workshop, working on this project or that. There was also good chance that he would be in the garage above, if something up there needed working on. And sometimes, every once in a while, he would go out scavenging alone. Ninety-five percent of the time, someone would go with him, but there were times when he went alone, usually when he was going to look for more of the delicate things that he would need.

While most of the time his brothers didn’t mind going to the junkyards with him, as there was usually plenty to find and enough to keep even Mikey entertained, the trips for specific electronic parts were not particularly enjoyable for his brothers. Mikey would quickly grow bored and fidgety, trying not to accidentally hurt anything useful. Raphael would be somewhat useful, as he had an eye for things that could be useful, but his eyes would glaze over at some point, the components that Don was looking for all starting to look alike to him. Leonardo was probably the most useful, his attention to detail making him pretty effective as far as looking for particular items, but he was also pretty bad at noticing what might potentially be useful.

So. Don usually made those trips alone. Which also made them great cover.

Don emerged from his workshop, duffle bag in hand, slinging it across his chest as he made his way towards the door of the lair. Naturally, this caught the attention of the others, even if they didn’t stop what they were doing. Mikey glanced up from his game of Mario Kart. Leo, although he didn’t pause in his kata practice, did look his way for a moment. Raph, giving his punching bag a good beating, glanced up at him, too.

“Going somewhere, Don?” Leo asked as he continued working through the forms.

“Just need to go get a few things,” he said. “I’m short on some of the wiring I need for this project, and the motherboard I have isn’t in as good of shape as I hoped it would be. I think I can repair it, if I can use pieces from other motherboards, but I’d really rather just find one in better shape.”

Mikey had already turned back to his game, clearly not wanting to be asked to go with Don on his trip. That was fine by Donatello. He didn’t want company tonight.

“Do you want someone to go with you?” Leo asked as he entered the final steps of his kata.

“No, that’s okay,” Don said, waving it off. “Those dumpsters and junkyard are generally safer than the ones we go typically go to, and I’ve got my bo, some shuriken, and my shell cell. Hopefully it won’t take too long, and if I lose track of time, you can always call me.”

Leo had reached the end of his kata now and turned to look at Don. “If you’re sure,” he said.

“I am,” Don responded. “Don’t worry, Leo, I’ll be safe.”

“I know,” Leo said. “But still. Just be careful, alright?”

“As careful as I can while getting the components I need,” Don said, with a wave of his hand as he started back through the door.

Leo pulled a face. “That’s what I’m worried about,” he said, part teasing, part admonishment. “Don’t get too lost in your search!”

“I’ll be fine!” he said with a wave as he headed out the door.

He didn’t miss the look of opportunistic planning that crossed Raphael’s face, no matter how quick his brother was to cover it up and continue punching as if he hadn’t ever thought about doing anything else.

Donatello was, as his brothers would attest, a patient turtle. He was also an observant one and knew his brothers’ habits well. So, after implementing a program on the shell cells that would make it look like he was at the dumpsters he had been claiming on going through, he settled into the garage and waited. It only took one hour and thirty-seven minutes before what he thought was going to happen, happened.

The elevator into the garage came up, opening, and Raphael stepped out. He, as they always did, took a sweep of the garage before moving into it. Don had made sure to hide himself deep in the shadows, to reduce his presence to a minimum. Raphael had always been good at feeling when a threat was near, or when he was being watched. It was part of that protective nature of his. Fortunately, Donnie had always been exceptionally good at staying still and hidden, at making his presence as unobtrusive as possible. That worked in his favor now, as he watched Raphael head over to the workbench, picking up a spare bag on the way, and putting several tools inside of it. Donatello recognized them right away as the same tools he had been using to repair the heater, which was exactly what he had been expecting.

Once he was satisfied with the tools he had gathered, Raphael headed out of the garage. He didn’t take the bike, and he didn’t have the same look on his face that he did when he was getting ready to meet Casey. Don wasn’t sure what it was, but he did know that he was going to find out. Silently, he swung out of his hiding place, stopping only to pick up a couple of more tools. If Raph was going to be working on a gas heater, then there were a couple of things that he was going to need that Don hadn’t had the chance to show him.

Following Raphael was always a tricky game. He moved fast, typically, and sometimes seemingly erratically. You had to stay close to keep an eye on him and not lose where he was going. However, if you got too close, then you risked being seen and confronted, which was the exact opposite of what Donatello wanted tonight.

Fortunately, Don was a turtle of many talents, and that included tracking his brothers in less-conventional ways. Namely, by using the tracking on the shell cell and some night vision googles that had a setting attuned to himself and his brothers.

Don paused on a roof, taking a second to look around. This wasn’t an area that was outside of their usual patrol areas, but it wasn’t one that they went by a lot either. The neighborhoods here generally took care of themselves, to some degree, and didn’t require as much intervention as other parts of the city, although it still wasn’t what most humans would classify as a very “safe” area.

“Where are you going?” Don softly said to himself as he watched the tiny blip that was Raphael move on the screen.

Donatello followed Raphael for about fifteen more minutes, doing his best to make sure that he wasn’t caught. Still, it became easier to follow him when the red-banded turtle narrowed his focus until he was in front of one old apartment building. It looked like it had been built fifty or sixty years ago, maybe longer. The front of it had been updated more than once, it looked, so that obscured the actual age of the building a bit. Raphael stared at it for a moment, quiet and still as he observed the street. Donatello stayed just as quiet and still, knowing that one move could alert his brother to his presence.

Finally, after a few minutes, Raphael made his way across the street, and down to street level in the alley. Not wanting to risk following him just yet, Donnie lowered a pair of goggles over his eyes, zooming in on his brother. To Donatello’s surprise, he knocked on the door and waited. Within just a few moments, the door opened to reveal an elderly lady. She and Raphael seemed to exchange a few words, both of them absolutely at ease. Raphael patted the bag he had, and the older lady clutched a wool shawl closer around her. Then she stepped back, Raphael entered, and the door shut.

Donatello took off his goggles and stared at the spot his brother had been in just a few minutes ago. Normally, he’d just leave after this. Yes, it was odd what Raph was doing, but there didn’t seem to be any harm in it, so he’d just tuck this into the back of his mind, leave it there, and go on about his business. However, with the possibility of a gas heater in the mix, he was a little more hesitant just to let it go. It only took him a moment of deliberation before he decided to head across the street himself. Maybe he could just peek in a window or something.

Carefully, with the ninja training developed over the past sixteen years of his life, Donatello snuck up on the home, careful to stay in the shadows. He could hear his brother’s voice, as well as the older woman’s. It was a bit difficult to make out the words, but everything sounded friendly enough. Moving closer, he kept himself just below the window, hoping to at least hear what was happening, and pick the right time to look in. He heard the clanking of tools being laid out on a floor, and the sound of feet moving about. Raphael seemed to be saying something about a heater, and the woman was saying something about it being trouble and…tea? Donnie wasn’t sure about that part, but it seemed to get the two of them out of the room they were in. Don decided to risk it and peeked up.

The room was empty, which was Don’s first concern. The second was looking at the heater that he could see across the room. It was an older style one, which fit with the time period he estimated this building was constructed during. It was also gas, which, again, fit. But it had Donnie blanching as he looked at it. He had instructed Raph on modern electric heaters. And while Raph was pretty intuitive about a lot of mechanical things, heaters were notoriously tricky things. Adding gas on top of that was also a problem. It also made Don worry about the instruction on the stove and hot water heater, and maybe even the dryer. All of those things could be run on gas as well. He’d need to find a way to get in there and double check the work, just in case, but how was he going to manag—

Before he could even finish the thought, there was a hand on his shoulder, the grip solid and hard enough to bruise, pulling him back and away from the window with enough force to throw him off balance. Of course, Don wasn’t a ninja for nothing, and he twisted, turning as he fell back, using a well-practiced move to break the hold and tumble onto his feet, bo at the ready.

“Donnie?”

Raph’s surprised voice broke the battle-ready tension, and Donnie found himself relaxing from it. He could tell, too, that Raphael, who had before been geared up to fight, had now dropped that stance and was, instead, staring at his brother.

Don straightened up. “Um, hey, Raph,” he said, a bit sheepishly.

Raphael skewered him with a look. “Don. What the shell are ya doing here and why were ya creepin’ around the window?”

“Um…”

Before Don could even try to come up with a reasonable explanation, a new voice—or at least new to Donatello—rang out in the dark.

“Raphael? Dear, what is it? Are you alright?”

Raph immediately turned at it. “Yeah, yeah, it’s all good Ms. M. It’s just—well, it turned out to be one of my brothers.”

“Oh?” Donatello could see the old woman standing at the door, turned towards Raphael. “Well, why don’t you invite him in. It wouldn’t do to leave him outside in the cold.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Raphael said, his voice relaxed and respectful in a way that Donatello didn’t often hear. He shot a look at Donnie that was neither but gestured for him to come in anyway.

It seemed a bit odd to Donnie to just willingly follow Raphael into this random woman’s home, but Don trusted his brother. If there was something dangerous, or even the least bit sketchy, there was no way he’d be willingly leading Donatello into it. Or, at least, he wouldn’t be leading him into it in such a relaxed manner. He was sure he’d get an explanation from Raph soon enough.

He stepped through the door and into what seemed to be a quintessential old woman’s house. The furniture was older, worn, but still cared for. The decorations were a bit dated, but they seemed to be in fairly good condition. There was an older television and radio, and a hutch full of matching dishes.

“Hello, there,” the woman, Ms. M, Donatello assumed, said reaching out a hand towards him. Don had a mild panic as he tried to figure out what to do. “I’m Ms. Morrison. Please, dear, won’t you take my hand? I won’t know where you are until you do. I’m blind, you see.”

Several things clicked at once in Donatello’s head, and he obligingly reached to take Ms. Morrison’s hand. “Oh, yes ma’am,” he said, letting her hold onto him, and wondering what she thought about that. After all, even blind, she had to be able to feel the oddly formed hands and unfamiliar skin. Still, she didn’t seem to blink twice at it, metaphorically speaking. “I’m Donatello.”

“Donatello. What a lovely name. Why don’t you come into the kitchen, Donatello, and tell us what you’re doing here. Raphael, can you fix your brother a cup of tea?” Ms. Morrison said.

“Yes, ma’am,” Raphael said. “I’m kinda interested myself in knowin’ what he’s doin’ here.”

The look he shot Don spoke volumes and Don tried to shoot him a sheepish look back even as Ms. Morrison was leading him into the kitchen. It didn’t seem to help matters any.

Ms. Morrison led him to a table, and Donatello made sure that she was seated before he sat down. Raphael was already at the stove, pouring some hot water into a cup and adding in a tea bag.

“Now, dear, why don’t you tell us what you were doing outside?” Ms. Morrison said.

Don grimaced. “Ah, well, it’s, um… it’s a little complicated,” he began.

“What’s complicated about it?” Raph said, sitting a cup and saucer down in front of Donnie. “Ya followed me here,” he said. “I thought ya were ‘electronics shoppin’.’ Did Leo put ya up to this?”

“Electronics shopping?” Ms. Morrison said. “At this hour?”

“It’s, um, a bit of specialty place I shop in,” Donatello said. “It keeps odd hours for customers like me. And no,” Don said, turning an annoyed gaze on Raphael, “Leo did not put me up to this. He didn’t put me up to anything. As far as everyone else knows, I am ‘electronics shopping’.”

“Then what the—what in the world are ya doin’ here?” Raph said. “Followin’ me and spyin’ on me like… like I’m off getting myself into trouble or somethin’!”

“To be fair, you do get yourself into trouble a lot,” Donatello said without even thinking, “But no, I didn’t think you were getting yourself into that kind of trouble.”

“Then what kind did ya think I was gettin’ into!” Raphael practically exploded.

“Boys!” Ms. Morrison’s voice cut through the tension, and almost immediately, they both backed down. “Raphael,” she chided him. “At least hear your brother out. He might have a perfectly good reason for following you. And Donatello,” Don straightened in his seat. “Go a bit easier on Raphael. I don’t know what kind of trouble you think he’s gotten himself into before, but he’s a good boy, very helpful, and good company to an old woman like myself.”

Don was a little surprised at the defense, but he, like Raphael, responded with a respectful “Yes, ma’am” before continuing with his explanation.

“I followed you because I was concerned,” Donatello explained, his voice going back to a soft, almost apologetic tone as he looked at his tea. “You’ve been asking me a lot of questions about repairing things lately. At first, I thought that you were helping April, one of our friends,” he explained to Ms. Morrison as an aside, “because Casey’s been busy lately, or maybe you were just trying to learn more to help me out, which I appreciate, but I got suspicious when you started asking me about gas appliances. We don’t have any, or if we did, I’ve converted them over to electric at this point, and April doesn’t have any either.” He looked back up at Raph. “The heater today was just confirmation that something was going on, and you left before I could answer your question. Knowing how tricky working with gas can be if you don’t do it right, and not knowing the state of the appliance you were working with, well… I was worried.”

“So, ya followed me,” Raph said flatly.

Donnie raised his chin and looked his brother in the eyes. “I did,” he said. “I didn’t want to intrude if it wasn’t necessary, so I planned to keep my distance. And, provided it wasn’t anything dangerous, I wasn’t going to tell Leo or Mikey. I just wanted to make sure that you were working safely with whatever it was that you were working with. If it was, I was just going to walk away and keep it to myself.” He glanced around the house, and at Ms. Morrison. “For the record, I don’t see a reason to tell them anything even now.”

Donatello saw Raphael relax a little at that, and Don knew that he had made the right call. Whatever this was, it was important to Raphael to keep it his and his alone.

“Ah, I see,” Ms. Morrison said, although her lips turned up a bit at her phrasing, clearly a bit amused. Raphael finally sat down, and Donatello watched as a white cat jumped up on him, clearly comfortable. “You were asking your brother about repairing my things. What a thoughtful boy you are, Raphael. And your brother just wanted to make sure that you were being safe. What I don’t understand is why you didn’t just invite him over to help. I wouldn’t have minded.”

Don blinked, for a moment wondering if he was imagining it, but no, he wasn’t. Raphael was looking embarrassed. “I, uh, I haven’t exactly told anyone about me coming over here so often,” he said. “I… it’s just nice, ya know? Bein’ able to come here and talk ta ya and help out. I just… I wanted to keep that.” He sort of mumbled the last part, but they heard it anyway.

“That’s right,” Ms. Morrison said. “You have four brothers, don’t you? And are being raised by your father. I’d imagine that privacy and things that are just yours are hard to come by.”

Both Donatello and Raphael laughed lightly at that.

“You’re right, Ms. M,” Raph said.

“I don’t think there’s ever been a time when we weren’t in each other’s space or business somehow,” Don said. “And someone has always borrowed someone’s something to do something it wasn’t intended to do.”

“Especially Mikey,” Raphael said.

“Especially Mikey,” Donatello agreed.

Ms. Morrison chuckled at them. “Well, then I’m glad that I was able to give you that space, Raphael. And it seems as if Donatello is willing to let you have it as well.”

“Sure,” Don said. “Like I said, I was just going to walk away, if everything was fine.”

Raph looked at him for a moment, then gently elbowed him in the side. “Well, boy genius?” he said. “Is everythin’ alright?”

Don grinned at him. “Well… not exactly. I brought some more tools with me that might be more useful than the ones that you took.”

Raph’s eyes narrowed. “Wait, just how long were ya watchin’ me?”

Don’s grin turned cheeky. “Long enough to draw up new blueprints in my head for some modifications I want to do to the Battleshell.”

“You are one sneaking tu—teenager, Don.” Raph said, catching himself just before he said “turtle.”

“Of course,” Don rebutted. “You don’t think you’re the only one that sneaks out, do you?”

They both grinned at each other, and Ms. Morrison chuckled.

Raph finished off his tea, and then stood up. “Alright, Brainiac, since yer here, why don’t ya walk me through fixin’ this heater?”

Don smiled at him, a genuine one, and stood as well. “Sure thing, Raph. Ms. Morrison. Would you mind if I give Raphael a hand?”

“Of course not,” she said. “Its good boys like you two that give me hope for the future.”

They walked with Ms. Morrison back to the living room where the heater was located, the cat, who Donnie found out was named Lucy after she crawled on his shell when he and Raph were working, walking with them. Then the two brothers got to work, Raph taking on the main bulk of it while Donnie walked him through the process, teaching as he went. As he expected, Raphael caught on quickly and had an intuitive knowledge about it, his practiced hands in the garage translating over nicely to work like this. It didn’t take them more than an hour to get the heater back up and running and for Raphael to look satisfied with what he had done. Don could have had it fixed in a fraction of the time, sure, but he didn’t mind spending the hour with his brother, helping him learn, and found that Raph’s expression was well worth the extra time.

Afterward, he checked over Raphael’s other work wanting to make sure that anything with gas was properly installed and repaired. Most of it was good work, and Don made sure to let Raph know that. The only “fixes” he really made were more of adjustments that he knew would help in the long run, and those he had learned from experience.

Ms. Morrison fed them some cookies before they left, and thanked the both of them once again, telling Raphael that she looked forward to his next visit, and telling Donatello that she hoped she’d hear from him again at some point.

“Yeah... I might bring him around every once in a while,” Raph said, and Don couldn’t help the warm feeling that grew in him, knowing that Raphael was willing letting him into a sanctuary that he had.

As the two brothers walked away, Raph slung an arm around Donnie’s shoulders. “Ya know… there’s probably still a couple of hours left before Leo tries to call ya to make sure you’re alright. That’d be enough time to get at least a little of your shoppin’ done, won’t it?”

Don turned his head to look at his brother and grinned. “Why, Raphael, are you volunteering to come ‘electronics shopping’ with me?”

Raph’s arm moved up, giving Don a light noogie. “Only for a little bit,” he said. “At least until Fearless can’t stand that both of us are out, even if he’ll let us stay out longer if we’re together.”

“Hm. Pushing Leo to the edge and getting hard to find components. Sounds like a win-win to me,” Donnie said with a grin.

Raph grinned back at him and his not oft seen display of pushing back on Leonardo, and headed up towards the rooftops. Don followed him quickly, and both brothers took off, a little lighter in mind and spirit as they ran alongside each other.

#TMNT #TMNT 2003 #TMNT2k3 #tmnt donatello #tmnt raphael #TMNT fanfic #TMNT fan fiction

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bittersweet--chaos · 2 years

Text

@dolls-horde @dolls-circus I’m done :3

Leto: Is something burning?

Doll: Just my love for you.

Leto: Doll, the toaster is on fire.

✨✨✨✨

Leto: How do I deal with my enemies

Doll: Kill them

Leto: That's a bit extreme, I was hoping for a more passive solution

Doll: Kill them only a little?

✨✨✨✨

Doll: Ohhhh, we each get our own oven?

Leto: ... N-No...

Leto, laughing: How many ovens do you think I have???

Doll, motioning to their kitchen: Three, I thought!

Cam: I see a-

Leto, motioning to one device: This is a microwave.

Doll: Oh, well I-

Leto: Hey wait wait, actually- hang on- *fiddles with the buttons on the microwave*

Leto, amazed: Its got a bake setting

Neph: Ohoho, you learn something new every day!

Pathos: Do we- Do we roshambo for who gets to pick first?

Leto: Now I've just discovered I have more ovens than I thought, we don't have to roshambo nothin!

Leto: I am someone who owns four ovens...

Leto, louder and way too happy: I am someone... who owns FOUR OVENS...

Leto: I didn't know I was so rich with ovens...

Zethus JR., pointing to another appliance: Also the toaster oven! Leto:

Doll: Ohhh, toasty boy! Four- Five ovens!

Leto:

Leto, fucking ECSTATIC: I AM SOMEONE WHO OWNS FIVE OVENS

✨✨✨✨

'Can I copy the homework?'  Leto: I can help you with it!

Neph: Yeah, sure.

Pathos: Bold of you to assume I did the homework.

Cam: lol nope.

Zethus JR.: Wait, we had homework?!?!?!

Doll: *Read 5:55pm*

✨✨✨✨✨

Cam : You are now one day closer to eating your next plate of nachos.

Neph: That's the most hopeful thing I've ever heard.

Pathos : But what if I die tomorrow and never eat any nachos?

Zethus JR.:Then tomorrow is nacho lucky day.

✨✨✨✨

Cam : You know those things will kill you, right?

Neph, pouring another glass of whiskey: That’s the point.

Pathos , smoking a cigarette: We’re trying to speed up the process.

Zethus JR.: *Nods while eating raw cookie dough*

✨✨✨✨

Doll: Self care is actually getting into fights with randoms in dark alleys.

Leto: No, self care is stuff like taking a bubble bath, or putting on a lot of makeup if you like it, or taking a nice warm nap!

Dante: Self care is the burning heat when rage washes over you!! Self care is when you feel the bones crack under your powerful fists!! Self care is the fear in your enemies’ eyes!!!

Zethus SR.: Lmao self care is taking your birthday cake just so I can eat the frosting.

Dante: If you touch my birthday cake I’ll make you eat your hands.

✨✨✨✨

Zethus: Why are your tongues purple

Doll: We had slushies. I had a blue one.

Leto: I had a red one.

Zethus SR: oh

Zethus SR:

Zethus SR: OH

Dante:

Dante: You drank each other's slushie?

✨✨✨✨

Leto: Have you seen a person named 'Doll' around here?

Dante: Ugh, yes. They made a horrible mess of the blood fountain.

Zethus SR.: It looks fine to me?

Leto: IT USED TO BE WATER!!!

✨✨✨✨

Dante: How did none of you hear what I just said?

Doll: I’ve been zoned out for the past two and a half hours.

Leto: I got distracted about halfway through.

Zethus SR.: Ignoring you was a conscious decision.

✨✨✨✨

Doll, about Leto: Apparently we’re getting someone new in the group.

Dante: Are we stealing them?

Zethus SR.: New or used?

Leto: Wonderful responses, both of you.

✨✨✨✨

Zethus SR: Please bring home PURIFIED water with NO minerals added for taste

Doll: We got spring water

Zethus SR: NO.

Dante: with EXTRA minerals

Doll: it's like licking a stalagmite

Zethus SR: DON'T COME HOME.

Dante: Mmmmm cave water

✨✨✨✨

Doll: Dante and I were crossing the street, and this dude drove by and honked at us

Zethus SR: *Sighing* What did Doll do?

Doll: They chased him to the next red light, then reached into his window and...

Dante: Who wants a steering wheel?

✨✨✨✨

Dante: Who thinks I can fit 15 marshmallows in my mouth?

Zethus SR: You’re a hazard to society

Doll: And a coward. DO TWENTY.

✨✨✨✨

Zethus SR: What time is it?

Doll: I don’t know; pass me that saxophone and we’ll find out

Doll: *Plays sax loudly and extremely out of tune*

Dante: WHO THE FUCK IS PLAYING THE SAXOPHONE AT TWO IN THE MORNING

Doll: It’s 2 am

✨✨✨✨

Leto: Doll, keep an eye on Dante today. They're going to say something to the wrong person and get punched.

Doll: Sure, I’d love to see Dante get punched. Leto: Try again.

Doll, sighing: I will stop Dante from getting punched.

✨✨✨✨

Leto: Come on, I wasn’t that drunk last night.

Dante: You were flirting with Doll.

Leto: So what? She’s my wife.

Dante: You asked them if they were single.

Leto:

Dante: And then you cried when they said they weren't.

✨✨✨✨

Doll: Leto and I don’t use pet names.

Dante: I see. Hey, what do bees make

Doll: Honey?

Leto: Yes, dear?

Doll:

Dante: Don't ever lie to my face again.

✨✨✨✨

Dante: Hey, Doll? Can I get some dating advice?

Doll: Just because I’m with Leto doesn’t mean I know how I did it.

✨✨✨✨

Zethus JR: Bad things keep happening to me, like I have bad luck or something.

Kore: Pathos, you don't have bad luck. The reason bad things happen to you is because you're a dumbass.

✨✨✨✨

Pathos: *Walking in to a room* Sorry I’m late... I was... doing things.

*Sounds of running footsteps progressively getting louder*

Zethus JR: *Out of breath* THEY PUSHED ME DOWN THE FUCKIN’ STAIRS.

✨✨✨✨

Pathos: Date someone who will drag you outside at 3am to look at the stars.

Zethus JR: If anyone, and I mean anyone, wakes me up at 3am to go look at the damn sky they will be removed indefinitely from my life

✨✨✨✨

Bambi, tending to Pathos’ wounds: How would you rate your pain?

Pathos: Zero stars. Would NOT recommend.

✨✨✨✨

Leto: How many kids do you have?

Doll: Biologically, emotionally, or legally?

✨✨✨✨

Kore: Zethus and I have the kind of easy chemistry where we finish each other's-

Zethus JR: Sentences.

Kore: Don't interrupt me.

✨✨✨✨

Kore: So what’s for dinner?

Zethus JR, staring at the food they just burnt: Regret.

✨✨✨✨

Bambi: Treat spiders the way you want to be treated.

Pathos: Killed without hesitation.

Bambi: No.

#leto_talks #c!doll💜#pathos💙

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midgardianweasley · 3 years

Text

Teach me

Teach me.

Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: After multiple failures at making breakfast, Natasha decides to teach her girlfriend one of the basics.

Word Count: 1.3k

Have a 3am fic that’s not been proofread at all<3

Message/ask if you’d like to be added to the taglist!

beep! beep! beep!

The fire alarm sounded. Again.

This was the third morning in a row that the irritating high pitched alarm went off, alerting everyone in the compound, and most likely the next town over, that yet again, you were cooking breakfast.

Well, ‘cooking’ was a generous term. It was probably more accurate to say that you were simply attempting to heat food without burning down the entire building where it stands. That said, you quickly grabbed the metal lid abandoned on the side of the counter and threw it onto the pan, containing the flames that were rapidly getting out of hand.

You were only trying to cook some bacon.

“Y/L/NNNN!” You cringed at the all too familiar voice of a certain Stark making his way down the hall.

“I swear to God if you’ve broken my toaster again!” He appeared in the doorway within seconds, still in his pyjamas and his hair tousled. He raised his eyebrows, pointing at the pan you were so innocently standing in front of, expecting an explanation for why he was being woken up yet again by your antics.

“Your toaster is perfectly fine!”

“Well then what have you broken?”

“I haven’t broken anything! It was just a little fire.”

His eyes visibly widened, if his face moved an inch, they would’ve popped out. “A fire?!”

“Well, yeah, but look! it’s fine! I covered it!”

More footsteps jogged up behind a stressed Tony, revealing themselves to be Steve and Natasha, your girlfriend, who knew fine well the reason behind yet another heated discussion. Literally.

“What’s going on?” The supersoldier kitted out in his gym gear asked, completely unknowing of the scene unfolding in front of him.

“What happened, Cap, is that someone is disturbing my beauty sleep.” He glared at you, only partly serious.

“Now c’mon Tony, we all know you’re a beautiful man.” the redhead piped up, giving him a famous Romanoff smirk while giving you a subtle side-eyed wink.

Tony rolled his eyes, looking between you, the pan, Steve and Natasha, and back to you again. You tried to give him the most guilt-free smile you could muster, eyes pleading for him to not throw you into next week.

Your prayers must’ve been answered, a defeated sigh left his lips, turning towards the door to walk out. “Natasha.”

“Yes?”

“Please help your girlfriend and make sure she doesn’t blow herself up.”

She looked amused, clearly using every ounce of her strength to not laugh at the situation at hand as a grown man slumped away back down the hall like an exhausted toddler.

Steve placed a steady hand on Nats shoulder. “I’m going to try and get some more training in before my run with Sam, you got this?”

“I’m sure I can handle this” she turned to see you looking at all the different buttons and dials on the oven, turning and pressing them with a furrowed brow. “I hope.”

Steve chuckled lightly before returning to his gym session, leaving the pair of you alone in the now slightly clouded kitchen.

Natasha walked towards you, you were still completely oblivious to her as you were messing with the oven. You jumped a little as her hands fell to your waist, surprised at the sudden yet firm grip on your body.

Resting her head in the crook of your neck and tugging your body back into hers, moulding perfectly together, she placed small, delicate kisses to your sensitive skin, causing you to quietly giggle at her actions.

“Hi baby” She whispered in between her pecks, a sly smile plastered on her face.

“Hi ‘Tasha”

“Would you care to explain why my darling girl is setting fire to-“ she moved to pull the lid off of the pan, only being met with some form of charred..something. “Uhm, help me out, what is this?”

“It was bacon” You mumbled, embarrassed a little at your failed attempt at breakfast.

Trying to hide her laughter, her head fell back into your neck. She thought she was being clever, but you could feel her body vibrating with suppressed snorts and chuckles, the reaction being contagious as you started to laugh too, your head falling to the side to rest on hers.

After calming down a little, she tapped your waist and pulled back, a frown appearing on your face instantly from the lack of body heat from your girlfriend. Turning to face her, you were ready to protest about how you wanted more hugs, but instead a green fabric was shoved into your hands.

“That’s an apron, darling.”

“I know! but why are you handing me it?” She tied the knot behind her back with ease, hands landing straight on her hips afterwards.

“because the day has finally come.”

“Oh no.”

“Yep. We’re making eggs, i’m teaching you. Apron up.”

_____________________

It had 30 minutes, and you were still attempting to get one omelette served onto the very empty plate beside you. Timing it was one thing, but flipping it was another. To be completely honest, you were surprised you even managed to get to this stage considering the amount of eggs you had to crack to have enough to form an omelette. Or something resembling one.

“Right, just a few more seconds and then we’re going to flip this, okay?”

“Can’t you do it? I’m hopeless.” You huffed, getting frustrated with the repetitiveness of cracking eggs, whisking them, frying them, flipping them and you’d say serving them, but you had no experience of that yet.

“You’re not hopeless, Y/N. You’ve got this, It’s just a flick of the wrist, not a twist of the arm, like this” Natasha stood behind you once more, her fingertips tracing your bare arms lightly before stilling over yours, her back pressed against you and her arms pressed tightly on either side of you.

“I feel like you’re teaching me golf.”

“I mean, yeah, same teaching technique, but don’t swing the spatula.” She gave you a knowing look, warning you to not get any eggs stuck on the ceiling, leaving there no chance in hell to get it back down.

She guided you to move the utensil under the half cooked omelette, shuffling it slightly so there was no part of it stuck to the pan.

“You ready?”

“Nope.”

“Great”

And with one movement, she lifted both of your hands, and nudged them to turn over, ultimately flipping the egg so that you could see how instead of it being black and crumbly, it was a nice toasted brown with some patches of yellow still.

“See? you did it! Not a burnt egg in sight!” She threw her hands up in celebration, the gesture would’ve made you feel silly if you weren’t focusing on her upturned lips and the pride sparkling in her eyes.

“Well, the night is still young.”

“it’s morning my love”

“..You know what I meant.” You slapped her arm teasingly, both of you unable to keep the smiles off of your faces. Within a minute, Natasha had pulled your face to hers, lips dancing against yours in a loving kiss that eventually turned into a makeout when she slipped her tongue past your lips and tangling with yours.

Neither of you had any idea how long you both stood there for, completely entranced by one another, lost in your own little world. Fortunately, you had a lovely indication of how long you’d been kissing for.

beep! beep! beep!

“Y/L/N! ROMANOFF!”

You both hung your heads, foreheads not breaking apart as you did so, bracing yourselves for the famous Tony Stark lecture storming your way.

“You’re taking the fall for this one, Romanoff.”

“If I go down, you’re coming with me.”

“Yeah, right”

She wasn’t lying.

taglist: @natashas-favourite-knives @wandaromanova @eilarch @natashaswifey @lostandsearching @pottahishotasf @d14n4ol @xxromanoffxx @007giu

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mourntheantagonist · 3 years

Note

El goes over to Steve’s to get out of the cabin for a little bit and they have pizza and board games and stuff.. so Steve’s house is a little messy so Steve’s dad comes home earlier then expected he freaks bc he can’t see el here so he goes upstairs and puts her in his room and his dad is pissed at the mess so basically el overhears how much of an ass his dad is :,)

tear my heart in half why don’t you?

ok but seriously, could I have just written a short and sweet ficlet on this gorgeous headcanon? yeah. do I have self control? no.

that is why instead I present to you a 6.3k deep dive

also on ao3

****

It’s just a little thing the two of them have going for them. El hated being left alone in the empty cabin when Hopper was on duty and would often sneak out to the Wheeler’s for some company. Usually it was fine. Mike would let her in through the basement door and she’d always made sure to be back before Hop. Usually hitching a ride on the back of Mike’s bike. It was a pretty perfect system. Hopper never found out and she got to get away from the lonely woods for at least a couple hours.

Until one time they weren’t home and Mike wasn’t answering on the walkie. it was cold out and dark and she wasn’t prepared to make the long walk back to the cabin. But she did anyway. Shivering as she tried to forget that her powers still weren’t working quite right. Trying to forget the fact that she was defenseless.

That’s when Steve had pulled up beside her in the beemer. Headlights bright in her eyes, only recognizing him once the lights went out and she could see him through the windshield.

Steve was safe. One of the few people she was told she could trust, despite Mike showing his own disdain for the guy. But she was told that was only because he dated Nancy, and he didn’t like Jonathan either for that very reason. So she trusted Steve. Felt a wave of relief wash over her when he pulled up beside her from where she was walking on Randolph Way.

He rolled down his window with the crank and stuck his head outside. The quick change from hot to cold biting his nose, making it run.

“It’s past nine, El. What are you doing out here? How did you get out here?”

El shrugged her shoulders. Rubbing her hands against her arms to generate some heat to combat the cold from the Indiana night air. “Walked. Came to see Mike.” She said. The words coming out with a breath that was visualized by a misty cloud as vapor froze.

“He wasn’t home?”

She shook her head. Arms still crossed over her chest, hands now tightly gripping the flannel she stole from Hopper’s closet. A calming mechanism she’d use when she felt like she was in trouble. A way of protecting her palms from her sharp and jagged fingernails because she had a habit of biting them when she was scared, which came more often now that her powers were only functioning at a ten percent capacity.

Steve didn’t have to think for very long before telling her to get in, and that he’d take her home.

He turned the heat up to the highest setting, and pulled out a blanket he had stored underneath his seat. Handed it over to her because he could see her lips had begun to turn to a bluish color. Steve spared her the talk about how she needed to be more careful. He wasn’t her Dad or her babysitter, even though he kind of was at times. But she was just a teenager who wanted to see her boyfriend, he did the same thing when he was her age, and still does it now. He figured he could leave that conversation up to her Dad, even if he suspected it wouldn’t do much to curb said behavior.

Instead they said nothing to each other the whole drive to the cabin, aside from words of direction since he had never navigated the path in the dark before. El never talked much in most situations, so it wasn’t weird.

When he pulled up, he noticed Hopper’s Blazer was unmistakably missing from the premises, and there was no light indicating anyone lived there other than the singular bulb hanging from their front porch that looked to be only days away from burning out. He waited for El to get out of his car and head inside, but she didn’t. She just sat there in his passenger seat with the blanket pulled up high enough so it covered her nose and mouth. Still and unmoving, staring at the front door that was illuminated by the dying light source with a pained expression evident in her light brown eyes.

“Everything okay?” Steve asks, with hesitation clear in the way his voice cracks with a whispered tone. The dead silence of the empty forest creating an unnerving tension that made them both feel like just the sound of a pin dropping to the floor could set something off.

She heaved a sigh, the shakiness clear. “Could you stay? Until Hop gets home?”

She didn’t have to explain it to Steve. Just looking at the Cabin gave him the same feeling that looking at his own house did. Empty and abandoned and lonely. That’s why he was out driving that night. He had no destination other than anywhere but his house. He hated the way the floorboards creaked so loud in the silence and echoed around the house. Didn’t like the way he could hear the sounds of water droplets dripping from the bathroom sink from all the way upstairs. Didn’t like the solitary feeling of it all. Not even a ghostly presence to keep him company. Just him and his thoughts. Never a good combination.

So he agreed. Turning the key and shutting off the car, flipping off the headlights and following her inside. He liked El, and it was much better than going back to his vacant home on the outskirts of Hawkins.

He’d never been inside before. The only times he’d ever come by was to drop off Dustin and the rest of the party when El was still on probation from leaving the Cabin. For those he’d never leave the comfort of his drivers seat.

El flipped on the lights and he was greeted by a sight juxtaposed from the outside’s appearance. The outside looked abandoned. Rusted and worn. Moss growing on the roof, breaks in the wooden steps leading up to the porch, unmanicured ground covered in rotting leaves from the previous Fall. The inside, however, was lively. Sure, it still looked a little run down and had the rustic feel to it, but it looked like a home. Warm and cozy, messy with different books strewn across the floor, clothes hung on the backs of chairs, vinyl records stacked haphazardly next to the turntable. The sink was full of dishes that needed to be done, a laundry basket full of clothes that needed to be folded. It was clear that someone lived here. Like really lived here. Not like his house which was always kept clean and proper. Fancy decorations cluttered the halls, carpets were vacuumed and floors were swept. Steve never got behind on doing his dishes or laundry because there was never much for him to do with it only being the product of one person. And what else was he supposed to do to occupy his time? He preferred the sound of the running water or the rattle of the laundry machine or the loud hum of the vacuum cleaner as it picked up debris over the echoes of his own thoughts. He had to keep it clean anyway because his parents always came home without warning, and always expected the house to look just as pristine as they left it. So the house always looked more like a museum filled with expensive art and less like a home with dirty dishes and crumbs on the floor that indicated proper use.

He felt a warm feeling inside the cabin. Feeling the coziness radiate through him as he sat down on the couch. Rips in the upholstery, beer stained cushions. Comfortable. Like sitting on a cloud.

El was in the kitchen, rummaging through the freezer, he assumed she was just hungry. Maybe she had been expecting to eat at Mike’s house. He always did save her some leftovers just in case. He’d done so for all three hundred fifty two days she was “missing” and continued even after she was found.

He looked through the books that were scattered all over the floor as she did her thing. Noticing books his parents used to read him when he was little. Many of them by Dr. Suess. The Lorax, Green eggs and Ham. Some “I Can Read” books that looked to be well below her level, and several books he didn’t recognize at all like “Alexander the Magical Mouse”. She must have liked that one a lot considering the spine had been creased and torn and the edges were folding in.

He was pulled from his thoughts by the sudden sound of the pop of the toaster oven. Hearing the slight sizzle of whatever had been cooking.

He turned around to see Eleven carrying two plates with Eggos on them. Already coated in butter and syrup, holding one out to him.

“I made you some.” It’s the first thing she’s said since they’d walked through the door. She wasn’t shy, she just didn’t talk a lot, having only ever been allowed to speak if she had something important to say, often going hours or even days without even having anyone to say those things to. It was no wonder she didn’t want to be alone in that cabin.

He took a seat with her at their little table. Big enough for just two people, perfect for just El and Hopper, and perfect for just the two of them now. He could tell the seat he was sitting in was typically the seat Hopper sat at. The table had cigarette burns on only that side, and he knew those didn’t come from El. Her side of the table had clear indication of someone who used a lot of syrup. Dried maple drops stuck to the wood. He dug into his waffles, which looked to have been cooked to perfection. Golden brown with a nice crunch as he cut off a piece with the side of his fork. She looked up at him and smiled before shoving a large bite into her mouth. Nearly half a waffle’s worth. Syrup escaped past her lips as she closed her mouth around the fork, sticking to the outside of her cheeks.

“You got a little.” He gestured to his own cheek, tapping it twice.

She stifled a laugh with her mouth full and wiped away at it with her sleeve.

It was nice seeing her laugh. El had a smile that brightened up a whole room. The one thing about her that not many people had, you know, aside from the whole ‘having powers’ thing, was that she said what she meant, and she meant what she said. You never had to worry about her faking a smile for your benefit, or worry about her lying to you. She was honest even if that sometimes got her into trouble. So when she smiled at him and laughed, he knew she was happy. Happy he was there, and so was he.

Before she stuffed a second bite into her mouth, still chewing the remnants of the first, they could hear the roar of a familiar engine. Headlights beginning to peek through the gaps in the curtains. El didn’t seem nearly as on edge as he was that Hopper was home. Steve was in his house. Uninvited. Okay he was invited by El, but not by Hopper and that’s what mattered more, right?

Steve wasn’t necessarily scared of Hopper per se. But he definitely tried to avoid being on his bad side at all costs.

But hey, it’s not like Steve had done anything wrong. On the contrary. He kind of rescued her, not that she really needed it. She survived months during Hawkins winter out on her own in the woods. But the point was, he should thank him.

At least Hopper should recognize Steve’s beemer out front so when he opens the door to his house Steve’s presence isn’t a total surprise. Like he won’t walk in guns blazing at the intruder who’s in his house with his daughter.

Okay should he be worried?

Luckily for Steve, Hopper walks through the door with his gun securely in his holster and sans a look of rage. More so a look of confusion.

“What are you doing here kid?”

El gives him a pointed look. Almost like she’s trying to use her mind powers on him. Get him to not tell Hopper that she was out by herself after nine at night in the cold… to see her boyfriend.

But here’s the thing. Steve likes El. He really does. But he’s far more terrified of what Hopper might do to him if he lies to his face about Eleven’s whereabouts.

He gives her a look back. An apologetic one.

“She was out wandering in the cold so I brought her back home. Decided to stay until you arrived.” Steve decided to leave out the part about her going to Mike’s house. Figured that’s better left unsaid.

Hopper pursed his lips. Nodding his head with his arms crossed, clearly trying to keep himself from yelling. He’s gotten better about that lately.

El is once again gripping the cloth of the flannel she is wearing tightly. Bowing her head and squeezing her eyes shut tight.

“Why did you go out El?” Hopper asks. His voice was a strained kind of calm. A calm that if you pushed slightly too far could easily go away.

“I don’t like being here alone. Not after everything.”

Oh yeah. Everything.

Everything being Starcourt. Those painful couple of days when she didn’t even know where he was while the rest of the world was falling apart in front of her. Those several hours before he finally emerged from under the Russian base below the mall. Hours without hearing from him, not even a confirmation that he was alive. And no way to confirm it for herself with her powers completely drained. All she could get was a black void. She couldn’t see anything at all.

Steve got a similar feeling. He’d experienced loneliness before. But nothing like when he was trapped in that room with those Russian guards. Beating the ever living shit out of him and no matter what he did or said, it wouldn’t stop until he was completely unconscious. The unconsciousness coming much later than he’d hoped it would. He could still sometimes feel his eye twitch with phantom pains from the damage done that night. He recognized it very distinctly from the memories of previous black eyes he’s received in the somehow two fights he’s lost. He also understands the feeling of dread that she felt when she didn’t know where Hopper was. He had that same feeling with Erica and Dustin. Not knowing whether they made it out alive. Had the same dread with Robin. Feeling her back pressed up against his as they were tied up in chairs and threatened with torture, knowing he was the one who brought her into all of this. Knowing that whatever happens to her is blood on his hands. That point where he had to make a quick decision and slam his car into the side of Billy.

Billy.

Feeling the shockwaves pass through him. His head jerk forward upon impact. Watching as the Camaro burst into flames in a blinding blaze. That moment of not knowing whether or not he survived the crash, not knowing if that was a good or bad thing, and not even having the time to even think about it before he’s piling into the back of the Wheeler’s station wagon and driving away from the mall.

So yeah, Steve got it.

Hopper’s face fell into a frown and he decided not to press the issue further.

“We’ll talk about it later. Finish up your waffles and get ready for bed. I’ll walk Steve out.” Hopper said. Wiping at his nose and taking off his hat and hanging it on the hook by the door.

El finished her waffles rather quickly. She practically inhaled the contents of her plate. Not sparing a moment of time before shoving another piece into her mouth. Messy enough making it clear that the syrup stains on the table were most definitely her doing. Steve finished up his own and promptly followed Hopper out onto the porch after putting his dirtied plate into the sink of dirty dishes.

“Thanks for bringing her home, son. I really appreciate it.”

“It’s no problem, chief.”

“You wanna smoke?” Hopper asks, pulling a pack and lighter out from his shirt pocket and pulling one out, offering it up for Steve to take.

This was definitely weird. Smoking with adults. Hopper nonetheless. Sure he was of age, but that didn’t make it any less weird.

He accepted the cigarette anyway, because it was cold and god he could really use one right about now. He let Hopper light it up for him and he took a long drag, letting the smoke fill his lungs creating a burning sensation he grew to enjoy. It almost functioned as proof that he was a living human being. Feeling as the damage was done to his internal organs, reminder that he was alive. Not lost to the void he felt like he drifted into so often.

“So what are you doing right now? You graduated right?”

“Yup.” Steve replied. Popping the ‘p’. As if basically scraping by the G.P.A. decent enough to walk across that podium was something to celebrate. His father most certainly didn’t think so.

“College?”

And that was the reason why. He couldn’t get an acceptance letter from anywhere. Not even the schools that supposedly accepted everyone and didn’t even send out rejection letters. Steve was living breathing proof that they did.

“No. Working mornings at Family Video.” He tried to say it with at least a little pride. Like, hey, at least he wasn’t a total bum living off his parents dime. At least he was doing something with his life. Even if that something was a dead end job in a dead end town.

“It’s honest work, kid. Good for you. College ain’t for everyone. I most certainly wasn’t cut out for it.” Hopper tightly gripped his shoulder and shook him a bit. In a way that seemed fatherly while also being a way his own father never interacted with him.

And god that statement felt good to hear. That acknowledgment and validation that Steve wasn’t just wasting his life away at that job. Validation for his hard work and attempt at bettering himself. Felt good, especially coming from someone so accomplished as him. Steve could only smile, unable to come up with any worthy response to that.

“So mornings. What’s your availability like in the evenings?”

“Typically free. Sometimes I get called out to cover for the night shift, but that doesn’t happen often. Why?”

Hopper put out his cigarette in the ashtray sitting on the porch ledge.

“Well, it would be nice having someone watch El when I’m patrolling at night. I don’t like leaving her here alone, and now I know she doesn’t like it either. And I’d rather her spend that time with you than Mike.” The way he says the name like it’s a slur almost has Steve laughing.

Okay look. Steve didn’t really tell the whole truth right there. His house isn’t always empty. He’s not always free. But it’s best he didn’t divulge that information to a man with a gun in the middle of the woods.

Instead he said yes. Because he wasn’t her babysitter, but he might as well be.

And he also had no idea how to say no to Hopper. Another thing you wouldn’t want to say to a man with a gun in the middle of the woods.

That was how it started. Hopper randomly calling up his house and calling him over to the cabin. Sometimes just choosing to drop her off at his house instead because he didn’t have the time to circle back. Luckily those times he didn’t have the company of a very recognizable blue Camaro parked in his driveway. And eventually everything became routine. Figuring out the patterns of Hopper’s work schedule so he was better prepared for those surprise visits. Eventually telling Hop to just keep bringing her over to his because it was on the way to the station and safer for the rest of the kids to travel to for the occasional hangouts he begrudgingly chaperoned.

Hopper did eventually catch them red handed. Or more accurately, with his pants down. He didn’t hear the phone ring and it was instead the honk of his horn that pulled the two from their current distraction. No point in trying to hide what they were doing with an elaborate lie as soon as Hopper yelled from outside “Harrington. Hargrove. Pull your damn pants up and get out here!”

They couldn’t be that loud. Could they?

Steve didn’t even want to entertain that thought.

When they did the walk of shame out the front door, heads bowed and arms crossed over themselves, Hopper was standing there with his hands on his hips. A stance that looked almost ridiculous on him, but also struck enough fear in the two of them that it silenced their laughs.

“Sorry.” Is all Steve could say. Unable to even look him in the eyes. Focusing his attention on El who sat in the passenger seat of the Blazer. Looking entirely confused. Good. She should be.

“No. No. My fault. I should have called. Uh, you still up for watching El tonight?” Hopper’s eyes darted between the two boys. They were all very uncomfortable in this current situation, and they were all equally desperate for the conversation to come to an end.

Billy looked over at Steve, both faces matching with the same kind of confusion. Distinctly different confusion than the look that washed over El’s face.

“Uh. Yeah I can go home, he can watch her.” Billy said, already moving his feet to leave.

“You don’t have to go. Hell, it’d be nice having someone who has actually won a fight around her.”

“Hey! I’ve won a fight.” Steve interjects, earning a small chuckle out of Billy.

“I didn’t see it. Doesn’t count.” Steve scoffs at the reply. “Anyway, point is, he can stay if he wants. Just no funny business if you don’t mind.”

Billy and Steve both blush simultaneously and nod their heads a little too aggressively. “Yes sir.” Says Billy.

Hopper tips his hat at the boys who are both just standing there stunned and trying to figure out if they just had a near death experience or not. Not before long El is getting out of the car and Hopper’s pulling out of the driveway and suddenly his house feels 300% fuller.

Billy stays sometimes for her visits now, but they don’t make too much of a habit of it. Still concerned about how the nature of their relationship looks to have a young girl in their presence. It’s wrong and stupid, but most people were nowadays. Despite Hopper’s insistence on being okay with it, they couldn’t put that much trust in people.

Except for maybe El. That girl he would trust with his life. No questions asked.

It took awhile for her to actually get what was going on. Not that they were together in the first place, that part she deduced pretty quickly. It was more so the reason that they were so private about it that she didn’t get. She didn’t get why she couldn’t tell Max or the party or anyone else for that matter. They’d constantly brush it off with an “it’s complicated” because they didn’t find joy in telling this sweet and innocent girl how terrible the world could be. But to El it was perfectly simple. Billy and Steve love each other like El and Mike love each other. Easy, straightforward. When they finally explained it to her, how “stupid people don’t think two men should be able to love each other” they could see the anger clear on her face. Veins popping out on her forehead and a red tint forming beneath the skin on her face. They explained how people might go as far as to hurt them if they found out. Her face only got redder and the clench of her fists only grew tighter.

“Bad people.” She called them.

They would just nod their heads in agreement.

“Does that mean Max and Mike and everyone else are bad people? Because I can’t tell them?”

That was a hard question to answer. A question that they tried to avoid thinking about yet always seemed to be at the back of their minds. Because they might be. And that was scary to think about. Steve liked to think that Dustin wouldn’t look at him any differently, the same with Billy about Max. They thought highly enough of them that they never liked to entertain the thought that they could potentially be “bad people.” But there was always the potential that they could.

Still they answered with a no. Because even if they did end up being “bad people” they weren’t bad people. “I don’t think they are,” Steve started. “But the more people that find out, the higher the chance some really bad people might find out. It’s safer to keep the bubble small. Is that okay?”

El nodded in agreement, and the three of them quickly went back to what they were doing like they didn’t just have a really deep conversation. It was scrabble. Thought it might be a more fun way of teaching El new words instead of just shoving a book into her face. She seemed to enjoy it, and was able to come up with some surprisingly long words. A huge grin popped onto her face when she was able to spell out the word “compromise.”

“Hop taught me that one.”

Eighteen points.

Nobody expected it to be Billy who was trying to pass off made up words.

But for the most time, it was just Steve and El. No party get together’s. No Billy. Just the two of them, pizza delivery, board games and movies. And it was honestly a blast.

Steve never thought it would be so much fun to make a mess like this. Paper plates scattered across the floor along with loose puzzle pieces and an array of VHS tapes strewn in front of the TV so they were easier to look through. Usually when something was out of place, Steve felt an overwhelming need to put it back. To keep things clean, neat, and tidy. That’s how he was raised. Vases dusted, dishes cleaned, laundry folded and put away. But he was behind on laundry and the only reason his sink wasn’t full was because he’d been eating off disposables since El wandered into his every day. Which reminded him. The trash needed to be taken out yesterday.

Usually the chaos would have him losing his mind. Like the way it did when he first snuck into Billy’s bedroom and was met with dozens of beer cans everywhere the eye could see. Hamper piled high with dirty laundry, and that was just what made it into the basket. And god it reeked of smoke and teenage boy. Like the combination of a wrestling mat and a casino. He had actual car parts sitting in his closet that he’d stolen from the junkyard. His room was a junkyard. But he’d never tell him that. Just kindly suggest that perhaps he wipe down some surfaces with disinfecting wipes because there are definitely some eradicated diseases living freely underneath his bed where he could see a large collection of socks. Yeah. He knew what those were.

But this was a mess he could handle. It wasn’t a hotel for rats like Billy’s room was. It was more like how he described Hopper’s cabin. Lived in. Proof that there were people having a good time and living there. Finally getting the living room to live up to its title. When he looked out across the mess of food and games and the fallen down fort they attempted to build, the word home started to feel like an apt word to describe the place. It felt like it was his and not like just some place he slept at night or the place he parked his car and had his paycheck sent to.

He’d be regretting letting it get so messy when he heard the familiar purr of a car outside. Distinctly not the roar of the Camaro or the rumble of the Blazer. No it was the purr of his father’s Buick.

He looked out once again over the mess in his living room.

He was going to be pissed.

El noticed the way his face fell when the sound had echoed outside. And then Steve noticed El.

He couldn’t see her here. She was allowed to be out in public but it was still slow going as far as who she was and how she was the chief's daughter. He didn’t want to take any risks.

“El. I’m going to need you to hide in my room. My Dad can’t see you. He won’t go in there.” Steve’s trying to stay calm so he doesn’t alarm her, but reading people’s emotions is something she’s really good at. Not sure if it’s a feature of her powers or just her, but she can always tell if you’re faking a smile and she can feel the emotions that lurk beneath the surface like an empath. So naturally she started to grow fearful as well.

“What’s going on?” She’s still sitting on the floor but appears to at least be shifting her legs to raise herself up. But it’s like everything is moving through molasses but his father’s footsteps don’t seem to be slowing at all.

“My Dad’s home. Take the back steps upstairs and lock yourself in my room. I promise I won’t be long, okay?”

She nods her head, she can see the urgency in his voice so she takes no time at all before sprinting up the stairs and finding Steve’s bedroom.

When she walks inside she realizes she’s never actually been in there before. Only knowing of its location after seeing Steve walk in and out of it from the base of the stairs. It’s not quite what she was expecting.

It was boring. Flannel wallpaper with a perfectly made bed. Shelves organized containing nothing of significance upon them. It looked like one of those bedrooms she saw in furniture catalogs. Steve wasn’t boring. He had a fun and bright personality. He screamed bright blues and bright reds, not the dull greens, grays, and browns that decorated his room.

Then there was an unexpected noise coming from down the steps. The walls were thin, she could hear everything so clearly.

“What the hell is all of this, Steven?” The voice was low and thunderous. Resonating through the entire house. It kind of reminded her of Hopper’s voice, but the underlying tone was distinctly different. There was a condescension to it that she rarely heard out of him. Almost like he was talking down to him. “You’re expected to keep this house clean, and you can’t even do that? How did I get stuck with such a stupid fuck up for a son?” The swears and insults rolled off his tongue like second nature and it made El’s blood boil.

She pressed her ear to the door to get a clearer picture, Steve talked in a very quiet voice in comparison to the fortissimo of Mr. Harrington’s.

“I was just getting ready to clean it up. I had a couple of friends over and they just left. I didn’t know you’d be home, I’m sorry.”

“I don’t let you live under my roof for you to be throwing parties Steven! You should be spending that time actually making something of yourself so I don’t have to explain to my friends what an embarrassment you’ve become.”

“I work full time Dad!”

“Don’t you raise your voice at me.” Steve had barely even gotten louder. “What? You think a career at Family Video is some kind of achievement?”

El could feel the tension in the room as it fell silent. She wanted to burst from that room and fling him through a wall. Break his arm.

Mouthbreather.

“Your mother will be home in a few hours, she stopped to see a friend. You will have this mess cleaned up before she gets home and you will help her with her luggage. Understand?”

“Understand.” Steve’s voice sounded broken. Cracking with an inconsistent tone.

“I’ll be in my office. Don’t disturb me.”

The only sounds that follow that line are the sounds of shuffling feet and a slam of a door downstairs. She’s startled when she hears the gentle knock against Steve’s bedroom door.

“You can unlock the door now.” He says.

She does so quietly. Slowly turning the lock so not to make sound that Mr. Harrington could potentially hear.

When she gets the door open she’s met with a Steve that she’s never seen before. He’s squeezing the bridge of his nose and his eyes are red and glossy. His cheeks are pink from wiping abrasively against tears that fell upon them.

“I need to get you home, okay? I can um… I can call Hop or someone to stay with you if you need. I’m sorry.”

El just doesn’t know what to say to him. Doesn’t know how to make things better without her powers.

So she just hugs him. Wraps her arms around his waist tight and lets her head rest where it meets his chest. Squeezing gently just waiting for him to return the gesture.

Which he does, albeit, hesitantly and guarded. Barely letting his own hands come in contact with her shoulders. She’s so small, and if he didn’t already know the strength she was capable of he’d be worried he could break her.

“Bad man.” She whispers.

Steve fights off the tears and squeezes her tighter.

“I’m sorry you had to hear that.” Is all he can say.

The two of them quietly sneak out the front door. Steve knows his Dad wouldn’t care if he left so long as he did what he was asked. He’d picked up the mess and took the trash with him on the way out.

The two pile into the Beemer and Steve quickly turns on the music to distract himself from the words rattling around in his head. Letting the sounds of Metallica play over his speakers. Billy was always doing that. Shoving one of the tapes he made for Steve into the stereo when he wasn’t looking.

Look, a successful distraction!

But they barely made it a mile down the road before El was turning the knob to the left and the car quickly fell silent. She doesn’t look over at him when she says it. Just looks out the window at passing trees and street lights. Watching as power lines appear to move like ocean waves. Up and down, up and down. Fiddling with the cuffs of her shirt like she’s fearful of the words that were to come out of her mouth.

“Is your Dad like Papa?”

She wasn’t afraid of the question, but she was afraid of the answer. Steve knew who Papa was. They all did and were explicitly instructed to avoid that topic at all costs. But she was the one bringing him up.

“No he’s not like Papa.”

“But he’s a bad man.” She says matter of factly.

“Sometimes he is. Yes.”

“Is your Dad like Billy’s Dad?”

That one stung a little too sharply. Not at the premise of his father potentially being like that, but the reminder of Billy. That he was still there under that damn roof with that poor excuse of a man. And that he wouldn’t let Steve protect him no matter how hard he tried and how far he pushed.

That was another thing El knew that most people didn’t know. Another secret she was forced to keep. One she chose to keep on her own, recognizing it wouldn’t be fair to share the things she learned from entering into his mind without giving him a choice in the matter.

Steve was sometimes grateful for that. The fact that El respected Billy and showed him nothing but kindness. But so often he’d wish she’d just spill it all to Hopper. Do the thing Steve didn’t have the strength to do himself.

“No. He’s not like Billy’s Dad.”

“But that doesn’t make it okay.” She looks at him this time. Reaching over the center console to place a hand gently on top of one of his outstretched hands that tightly gripped the steering wheel.

He lets a tear fall. “You’re right. It doesn’t.”

The rest of the drive is silent. The only sounds are the purr of the engine and the tires rolling over rough asphalt.

Pulling up to the cabin with El in the passenger seat felt a lot like that first time he took her home. That same painful silence and that same hesitation as they sat in front of the cabin from the comfort of the cabin. Staring out at the porch. The lightbulb that looked almost dead last time now replaced with a brand new one that shined bright and illuminated the whole front of the house.

He was half hoping she would ask for him to stay. Not wanting to go back to that house alone with his Dad. He wanted to go to Billy. Crawl in through his window and curl up next to him in his bed. Make himself feel safe by making Billy feel safe. He’d accept crashing on Hopper’s couch if that was all he could get.

But he knew he couldn’t. Knew he had to get home despite having every reason not to.

“Steve?” She said, grabbing his attention.

“Yeah?”

She opened the car door and stepped out, looking at him intensely through the open door.

“You’re not stupid.”

That right there made him smile much more than her asking him to stay ever would.

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #stranger things #eleven #jim hopper #mandi writes tresh #fanfic

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luminescencefics · 4 years

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you feel like home - part three

He’s smiling then, and Jackson takes that as his cue to continue snuggling Luna into his lap. Ryan’s eyes shift from her new small friend to his father leaning against his doorframe wearing slouchy grey joggers and a graphic t-shirt that shows off his decorated toned arms that she can’t seem to stop looking at.

“Is this our new thing? Meeting up in hallways?” Harry asks, and Ryan can feel the butterflies take flight in her stomach, stretching their wings along her ribcage and floating up through her body, leaving her feeling far too many things all at once.

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***

Luna’s Great Escape

It’s been two days since Ryan last saw Harry in her doorway, and she’s grateful for the rainstorm that’s been plaguing north central London ever since he left her heart racing that afternoon. The rain hasn’t stopped roaring, presumably ruining Jackson’s playtime in the park, allowing Ryan a short period of time to catch her breath.

She’s spent the past two days in a bit of a drunken stupor. After Harry uttered those words to her in the hallway before entering his own flat, Ryan ripped open the parcel and finished her work for the day, sending over her inspections and adjustments to her supervisor in a daze before the clock struck five. Afterward, she tore off her flannel pajama bottoms and shoved them into the depths of her drawer to hopefully never be seen again, traipsing into her bathroom to turn the tub on, a few bottles of Carlsberg nestled tightly under her armpit.

It’s not that Ryan was avoiding her feelings, because she truly didn’t understand them. After two beers, she came to the conclusion that the bubbling in her gut and the warmth on her cheeks, the fluttering of her heart and the pinch in her breath—was all due to the fact that she found Harry annoyingly attractive.

Ryan’s no stranger to attractive men. Her awkwardness practically disappears after a few shots of tequila have settled into her bloodstream, allowing her to hold a conversation with a handsome man without the overwhelming urge to stutter over her words or shift in her heeled boots from nervousness. Most times, in her debilitated state, she’s gotten lucky with a quick shag and a fumbling exit hidden under the darkness of the night. But now, as she sits in her bathtub nursing her fourth beer, a Kiehl’s face mask hardened over her skin, she’s not sure how much alcohol she would need to consume in order to appear seemingly normal in front of Harry.

That was last night. Now, as her hangover starts to settle in, Ryan’s decided that she needs advice. The brutally honest kind that usually fell unapologetically from the lips of her best mate Fiona.

“So let me get this straight, your new neighbor just so happens to be fit as all hell, and you’ve had a handful of conversations with him without making a complete fool of yourself, and you still haven’t shagged him? What am I missing here, Ry?” Fiona’s voice calls out from Ryan’s mobile that’s leaning against her porcelain fruit bowl, the camera angle allowing her to be able to see Fiona while attempting to cook some sort of pasta dish to cure the throbbing in her head.

“Fee, I got fucking rug burn on my knee from tripping over my own bloody feet the first time I met him!” Ryan recalls, the memory causing her head to shake aggressively, trying her hardest to expel it from her brain.

“Well, I did say complete fool,” Fiona retorts, causing Ryan to roll her eyes as she tries her hardest to follow the vodka sauce recipe she found on Pinterest. She’s eyeing the heavy cream she just added to the saucepan, wondering if the color should be pinker.

“I think it’s for the best if I just continue avoiding him for the rest of my life,” Ryan says, opening the box of ziti and throwing it into the boiling pot on the back left burner.

She can hear Fiona laugh over the hiss of the water. “Stop with the dramatics! You’re starting to sound like me.”

Ryan just ignores her friend, stirring the sauce that’s starting to smell. She instantly reaches for the parmesan cheese, adding more aimlessly to change the viscosity into something that doesn’t resemble broth.

“This could be great for you, Ry,” Fiona says through the screen once Ryan’s reappeared in front of her.

“Yeah? Why’s that?” Ryan asks, a bit distracted with the way the saucepan on the hob begins to gurgle inconspicuously.

“Because he’s fit. And he literally lives right next door. This is fantastic news! You can get laid without even leaving your building! Especially during quarantine with the entire city on lockdown!” While Ryan loves her friend, she hates the way Fiona says certain words, her voice level rising with each stressed syllable. She’s speaking so loudly that Ryan thinks back to how Harry referred to hearing Mrs. Bingsley banging about in the kitchen when she used to live in this unit, and immediately Ryan lowers the volume on her mobile, grabbing it from its spot against the fruit bowl and turning into her living room to be as far away from the thin walls as possible.

“I’m not sleeping with him, Fiona. I literally just met him,” Ryan says, sitting on the arm rail of her couch, watching Luna in her periphery continue sleeping soundly against the throw pillows.

“But you want to.”

Ryan stays silent, wondering if that’s what the bubbling and fluttering and pinching of all her insides means. Wondering if all of these feelings can simply be associated to sexual attraction.

“Why don’t you knock on his door and ask for a plunger or something?” Fiona says, breaking the silence. Ryan instantly disagrees, her eyes widening in fear.

“No, that’s a terrible idea! I don’t want him to think I’ve clogged up my fucking toilet,” Ryan shrieks, knowing that move would definitely work on a girl like Fiona—confident, unrelenting, and fearless. But for a girl like Ryan, whose cheeks turn red whenever a boy like Harry even looks in her direction, she knows there’s no way she can handle that.

Fiona sighs. “You’re probably right.”

Before Ryan can respond, the blaring sound of the smoke detector going off from the kitchen interrupts her thoughts. “Shit!” she screeches, jumping up from her seated position and running into the kitchen, her mobile clutched in her fist as she approaches the stovetop. The saucepan with the once pinkish-red sauce has now turned black, the edges burnt to a crisp, smoke rising from the top because Ryan forgot to lower the heat to a simmer. The pot with the pasta has boiled over, water falling onto the burner with a loud fizzle. “Fuck!”

“Christ, Ryan! Only you can burn fucking pasta!” Fiona shouts through her mobile, and Ryan immediately discards the device on the countertop, flicking the burners off. She reaches for the dishtowel near the sink, waving it under the smoke detector to make the incessant noise cease.

“It won’t fucking stop!” Ryan bellows, switching the towel to her left arm. If Harry didn’t hear her before, he definitely heard her now, and the thought is enough to make her wave her arms frantically, praying for the smoke detector to shut off.

“Open the front door, get some airflow in the flat, you twit! Twenty-seven and still can’t cook a bloody meal, it’s a shock how you’ve survived this long on your own—”

Ryan doesn’t stay in the kitchen long enough to hear the rest of Fiona’s comment. Instead, she’s spinning on her heels towards her front door, opening it up partly in hope to get the smell of burnt food out of her flat.

Just as she walks back into the kitchen, the beeping finally stops, and Ryan feels as if she can finally breathe again. Her cheeks are stained red from the exertion of flailing her arms about, the stray hairs from her low ponytail sticking to the nape of her neck uncomfortably. She takes in the state of her kitchen, annoyed with herself that she got too preoccupied with Fiona’s ramblings instead of focusing on cooking her pathetic meal.

“Have you died?” The sound echoes from the countertop where Ryan left her mobile, and for a moment Ryan forgets that Fiona was waiting for her. She saunters over slowly, leaning her mobile on the toaster oven so that she can rest her bent elbows on the countertop, her hands falling over her cheeks in embarrassment.

“Knew I should’ve gone with the boxed mac and cheese,” Ryan mumbles, catching her breath.

Fiona laughs. “I appreciate the attempt, Jamie Oliver. You’ve probably scared Luna half to death, poor thing.”

At the mention of her kitten’s name, Ryan immediately swivels her head around to the living room, eyes falling to the spot on the couch her white British Shorthair was just occupying. But when she looks closer, she realizes that Luna is gone.

She quickly stands up straight, telling Fiona she’ll call her back before ending the FaceTime call, entering the living room to search every nook and cranny for her kitten. Luna’s small body is nowhere near the couch or armchairs, her cat tree is empty, and when Ryan takes a look in her bedroom and finds absolutely nothing, she’s suddenly filled with fear at the fact that her kitten has disappeared.

Before Ryan can have a full-blown meltdown at the loss of her meal and kitten in the span of ten minutes, she hears the faint echo of a meow from the other side of her front door. A tiny giggle follows after, and suddenly Ryan’s head is peering out into the hallway, falling on the sight of Luna laying on the carpet with her tummy up in the air, and Jackson’s small hands rubbing soothing circles in her fur.

“What would your dad say about you leaving the flat without him?” Ryan calls out from her doorframe, watching the way Jackson’s face lights up when he realizes it is her speaking to him.

“Daddy will probably be mad. But I heard the kitty outside when I was playing! I didn’t know you had one!” He’s smiling so wide it causes Ryan to immediately do the same, despite her borderline breakdown a few moments prior. She trots over towards the pair, crouching down in front of them and balancing on the heels of her socked-clad heels, watching the way Luna purrs at Jackson’s soft strokes.

“I do. This is Luna,” Ryan answers, grinning when Jackson begins cooing at the tiny animal.

“Hi Luna, I’m Jackson. You’re so soft.” He’s whispering to her and Ryan isn’t quite sure why, and when Luna suddenly flips over and sits on Jackson’s lap, Ryan feels her heart swell at the sight of two tiny things cuddling up to one another.

The silence is broken by a gruff, frustrated voice. “Jackson! You can’t keep runnin’ off—oh.”

Three pairs of different colored eyes look up at the intrusion, and suddenly Harry’s anger dissipates at the sight of his son holding a cute kitten in his lap. A cute kitten that just so happens to belong to his even cuter neighbor who he seemingly can’t stop thinking about.

Ryan just smiles shyly, swallowing harshly when Harry crosses his arms over his broad chest, his large palms cupping his bulging biceps under the thin material of his shirt. She coughs into her fist, realizing now that she probably should stand up from her crouched position so that she’s no longer staring up at him underneath the cover of her eyelashes.

“Daddy look! Ryan has a kitty!” Jackson squeals, his cheek squished against Luna’s tiny face as he pets behind her ears, causing her whole body to vibrate with a deep purr.

Harry looks between Luna and Ryan, that slow smirk grazing his lips that causes Ryan’s cheeks to burn with a deep blush. “I can see that, Bubs.” His voice is so deep Ryan can feel it settle into her bones, and suddenly she wishes her hair wasn’t tied behind her head in a ponytail so that she could hide her reddened cheeks under the deep brown tendrils.

Before she can speak, a loud whistle from Harry’s flat breaks the silence. His upper body shifts away from the doorframe so that he’s standing straight, arms falling back to his sides as he peers behind the entranceway to ensure that the steam is blowing from the spout of the kettle on the hob.

“Fancy some tea, Ryan?” Harry asks once he’s turned back in her direction.

Ryan quickly stumbles to stand upright, wiping her sweaty palms on her cotton biker shorts. An oversized band tee she stole from her ex-boyfriend swishes with her hasty movements, and she can feel her head shaking before her mouth can say no.

“Uh, I’m okay. Don’t want to impose or anything,” she stutters, the sound of her thick woolen mid-calf socks scuffling against the carpeting with her incessant shuffling due to the influx of nerves that begin creeping up her spine.

“Please, Ryan? I can play with Luna! I’m a great sitter,” Jackson proclaims loudly from his seated position behind her. Once again, Ryan finds herself struggling to say no to her new friend with just one look into his beady green eyes. With nothing but a small smile, Ryan’s nodding in Jackson’s direction, her grin growing larger when he scoops up Luna in his little arms, ducking past his father and entering the flat.

Harry chuckles, holding the door open a bit wider so that Ryan can follow him inside.

She’s watching as he ducks into the kitchen, shutting off the burner so that the whistling kettle can quiet down. Ryan watches Jackson plop Luna on the soft emerald rug, laying on his stomach so that he can observe her every move. After guaranteeing that her kitten is in good hands, Ryan enters the kitchen, settling on one of the dark leather barstools and watching Harry grab two tea mugs from the cabinet above the sink.

As his arm extends to reach the top shelf, Ryan can’t help but take note of the contrast between his right and left arm. His left arm was ornamented with various black etchings, flowing across his skin in a strange way that somehow looked beautiful. When Ryan watches his right arm reach out to grab the tea bags, the untouched skin practically blinding against the harsh overhead lights, she feels her throat suddenly dry up—and she’s left wondering if she should add this to her growing list of symptoms she feels whenever she’s around Harry.

“Sugar? Milk?” Harry asks, his back still to her as he rummages around the drawers to prepare their tea.

“Sure.” She’s distracted by the way his thin t-shirt practically hides nothing, the ebb and flow of his back muscles constricting with each gentle movement he makes as he grasps the sugar from the counter and grips the milk from the fridge.

When he turns to meet her at the kitchen island, he clutches both mugs in one hand, the other holding both the sugar jar and milk carton. Ryan’s forced to look away, her mind completely fogging over at the site.

The sound of the ceramic mugs clinking against the granite counter causes Ryan to look up, smiling softly when he pushes the tea in her direction. Just before her hands can clasp around the handle, she regards the black script tattoo above the crook of his elbow, the words Jackson in lowercase lettering make her breath hitch in her throat.

“How have you been, all right?” Harry asks from across the island, reaching for the milk and adding a generous amount to the murky tea. His eyes are busy focusing on the task at hand, and Ryan can finally feel herself calm down a bit.

“Yeah, been okay. You?” she responds, blowing a bit on her tea before bringing the mug to her lips, swallowing deeply and reveling in the taste of the brew. Harry’s eyebrows arch when he notices that she takes her tea black, but he doesn’t make a comment about it, choosing instead to rest his forearms on the counter, pushing his mug a bit closer towards Ryan’s as he leans against the island, infiltrating her personal space just the tiniest bit.

“Yeah, okay. Bit shit with the weather, though. Jackson’s been going crazy,” he comments, his mouth far too distracting when he licks the spilled over tea on his lower lip. Ryan flicks her head over in Jackson’s direction, thankful that she can look at something other than Harry’s stupidly good-looking face.

Ryan hums in agreement, bringing the tea back to her lips as she swivels back in her stool, her eyes back on Harry’s.

“That cat of yours will give him another reason to talk about you for hours,” Harry says with a grin.

“If it weren’t for his knack of sneaking out of your flat, Luna probably would have ended up on the seventh floor. Guess I owe him a proper thank you,” Ryan counters, smiling at the fact that she made Harry laugh.

“Little shit never listens to me,” Harry says lightly, and Ryan suddenly wonders if he has any help looking after Jackson.

She starts to look around the kitchen for any hints of a feminine touch. The state of his flat is disgustingly clean, and when she observes the fridge to see if there are any photographs of Jackson’s mum, she’s found that there’s nothing but artwork most likely done by the hands of a four-year-old.

When she shifts her head to the other side of the room, where the kitchen flows into the living room, she doesn’t really find anything new. The walls are still filled with records, the instruments are still lining the walls, the couch is still void of throw pillows. Ryan tries to visualize the entranceway, trying her hardest to remember if she noticed any heeled boots or women’s jackets on the coat rack.

She hasn’t known Harry long, barely a month at this point, and in that short period of time she’s never heard him speak about a woman before. Ryan’s not stupid—she knows that both sexes are needed to produce a child—but she’s truly never seen a woman enter or exit Harry’s flat.

Granted, it’s only been a month. And she isn’t really sure if she can call him her friend yet, therefore she feels a bit odd in asking. Ryan’s come to the conclusion that maybe Jackson’s mum is an essential worker, a nurse perhaps, a profession in which she has the luxury of leaving her home to go to work.

“Ryan?” Harry’s oaky voice breaks Ryan out of her headspace, and suddenly she’s blinking in Harry’s direction, embarrassed at the fact that she wasn’t listening to anything he had just said to her in the last few minutes.

“Sorry, what were you saying?” she responds lamely, bringing the mug to her lips with the goal of hiding the lower half of her flushed cheeks.

Harry just laughs, cocking his head to the side to observe her intently. “Doesn’t matter. Lost you for a minute in there.”

“Right. Sorry about that,” Ryan responds, wishing Harry would stop looking at her as if she were the most fascinating creature on the planet.

“Does that happen a lot?” Harry asks quietly, suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to know every little thing about her.

Ryan’s eyes squint in confusion. “Does what happen?”

“That,” Harry starts, taking a sip of his tea without tearing his eyes away from Ryan’s. “You getting lost in your own head.”

Ryan quietly contemplates Harry’s comment, watching the way he watches her with intrigue. As a serial overthinker, Ryan knows that she retreats sometimes, mulling over her words intensely before speaking. Unlike Fiona who blurts every thought that runs through her head, Ryan’s always been more critical, obsessing over every detail before verbalizing. It’s the only thing that helps subdue her social anxiety.

But she’s found that whenever she’s around Harry, she can’t bring herself to think about anything, really. It’s as if her mind is blank, encouraging her to speak what she truly feels, without all the thinking that usually comes along with it.

She’s not quite sure what that all means.

So she just shrugs, sipping softly. “Sometimes, yeah.”

Harry nods before changing the subject, which makes Ryan feel relieved. “So, my quiet, reclusive neighbor is also a cat lady? It’s far too fitting, Ryan.” He’s teasing her a bit and it’s enough to make Ryan giggle, the sound practically causing Harry to splutter his tea over the rim of his mug.

“I’m all about clichés, clearly,” Ryan responds, her eyes zeroing in on the hollow dimples that appear around his mouth whenever he laughs. She finds herself enjoying the sight very much.

“She’s cute,” Harry says, his eyes shifting from Luna to the woman sitting across from him. Ryan assumes he’s talking about her kitten, and she smiles, swiveling around in her chair to watch Jackson giggle whenever Luna’s paws graze his arms. But when she feels Harry’s gaze on her cheek, she’s wondering if he’s talking about something else, too.

“He’s good with her,” Ryan acknowledges, impressed with how gentle Jackson was with Luna. Most toddlers his age were too handsy with her, scaring her off before she even got the chance to get used to them. But Jackson is proving to be a natural, allowing Luna to grow comfortable around him before he started playing with her.

Harry finally looks over to his son, smiling at the sight in the living room. “Yeah, he’s a good kid.”

Ryan turns round to face Harry again. “He really is. Guess he has you to thank for that. And his mum, I suppose.”

Harry’s face suddenly loses its grin, and Ryan’s wondering if she’s said too much. His eyes have lost their shine, and the granite countertop seems to be more interesting than Ryan’s face. Before she can say anything, an apology or some version of one, the computer in the corner of the living room begins to ring loudly, causing Harry to stand upright and peer at the clock on the microwave screen.

“Shit. Forgot I had a four o’clock meeting,” he says quickly, gathering his mug in one hand and crossing the threshold so that he’s entering the living room space. Ryan stands up, frowning down at her half-emptied cup of tea, wondering what blend Harry uses because it’s just that good, and she’s a bit sad to leave it unfinished.

Harry turns around, catching the frown on Ryan’s face. “You can finish it at yours if you’d like,” he offers with a small smile.

“Oh, no it’s okay, I wouldn’t want to—”

“—Ryan,” Harry says, cutting her off and walking towards her so that he’s fully in her line of vision, “It’s fine. ‘S not like I don’t know where you live.” The smirk is back on his face and the blush is back coating Ryan’s cheeks, and suddenly the balance has been restored in their small universe.

Ryan nods, clutching the mug tightly in her hands and side-stepping Harry in order to reach Jackson and Luna on the living room floor. “‘M sorry, champ, but Luna and I have got to go.”

“Really?” Jackson says, tearing his eyes away from Luna and onto the two adults standing in front of him. He’s frowning and Ryan instantly feels bad.

“Yeah, Bubs, daddy’s got work to do. I’m sure you can see Luna again very soon, if Ryan’s okay with it,” Harry says, causing two pairs of green eyes to fall onto her frame.

She nods quickly, crouching down in front of her small friend and grabbing Luna in her unoccupied hand. “Of course, champ. We’ll schedule a playdate.”

Jackson grins enthusiastically, wiggling on the floor with excitement. Before Ryan can respond, Harry appears in front of her, a small smile on his face.

“I’ll see you later, Ryan,” he mutters in a low timbre.

“Bye, Harry. Thanks again for the tea,” she responds, heading towards the doorway in her socks and leaving the confines of his flat, trying her hardest to catch her breath in the silence of the empty hallway.

It’s only once she’s back in her own flat, her sad attempt of dinner disposed of in the bin and in its place an oversized bowl of cereal in one hand, with Harry’s mug in the other, Ryan comes to a startling realization.

Harry’s tea mug was a far better alternative than the fucking plunger.

*** A/N: Hi guys, here’s part three of you feel like home! I hope you enjoyed it. Part four will be posted on Thursday November 19, so feel free to chat with me in the meantime! This was a submission for the 1DFF Quarantine Challenge, which has other amazing writers participating as well, so feel free to check out the page! x

taglist: @stylishmuser @vikki1220 @greatestview @verorax @cronias13 @adoremp3 @ilovegolden @taintedwonder @stepping-into-the-light @onlyphysicallypresent @dontwanttobealone @justsaying20 @elemayox @awomanindeniall @ihearthemcallingforyou @halloweenniall @live-at-the-forum @kakayam @harryinsweatersandbandanas @hopelessly-harry @ficnarry @morethanamelodyy @niallgolden @harryswinterberries @caramello-styles

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #hs #harry styles x ofc #harry styles x reader #harry x ofc #1dff #1dffupdates #fic: home #1dffquarantine

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beware-of-you-98 · 4 years

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Ice Cream (BAU Family Fluff Fic)

BAU fam getting ice cream on a road trip featuring Hotch being a disgruntled dad, Emily being a rebellious little shit, Derek being an annoying big brother, Spencer just existing (seriously, all he wants is a Dilly Bar for god sake!!), Penelope egging them on, JJ being a sweet baby angel and Rossi being the only sane one in this entire fic

ao3 link

Aaron Hotchner loosely grips the wheel of the SUV, briefly looking in his rear view mirror to check on the rest of the team and ensure they're ready for the nearly two hour drive back to the jet (and to make sure they're buckled because, well, it's the dad in him that wants to check.)

Derek sits directly behind him, buckled up and lounging back comfortably in his seat. His earbuds are in, and no doubt his music is on full blast to drown out the rest of the team crammed into the van.

Penelope sits in behind the passenger's seat on her iPad, a set of thick, chunky headphones plugged into the device. She's buckled, immersed in whatever game she must be playing.

Directly behind her in the very back is JJ, who has her chin resting on her palm as she looks out the window even if the van isn't in motion yet.

Buckled.

Spencer sits in the middle at the very back, his long legs stretched out between Derek and Penelope. He has a thick, worn book in his hand, his finger gliding quickly down the pages as he takes in the words. ("Yes, he really can read that fast," Hotch often has to tell skeptics. "Yes, he can really process all that information. No, he's not a robot.") By the speed the young profiler is reading, Hotch knows that he'll be done with that book by the time they make it to the jet.

Buckled.

Sitting just behind Derek is Emily. She leans her head against a pillow she must have somehow smuggled in the back (Hotch also thinks it's entirely possible JJ gave her travel pillow to Emily, but none of that really matters.) The brunette is struggling to keep her eyes open, will probably be out as soon as the van is in motion.

Not buckled.

"Emily, put your seatbelt on," Hotch reminds her patiently.

Emily grumbles, grouchily reaching behind her. "You put your seatbelt on," she mutters, laying her head back down on the pillow.

Hotch let's the comment slide because he hears the click of her belt buckle.

He turns to briefly check on Rossi, whose sitting beside him in the passenger's seat. He's designated himself as the map reader, the large square piece of paper folded out on his lap. (Hotch doesn't really think they need a map because they have a GPS right there but whatever. He'll let Dave do what the hell he wants.)

"Everyone ready to go?"

A chorus of "yes" and affirmative hums (and a disgruntled grumble from Emily) is all the motivation Hotch needs to start up the van and head out for the long trip they have to make back to the jet.

The highway is lit up harshly under the bright, unforgiving Arizona sunlight, heatwaves practically radiating from the asphalt. The air conditioning is on full blast in the van, providing semblance of relief from the harsh and unforgiving heat. The van is sandwiched between the desert landscapes, long, green cacti and orange canyons towering like giants in the sand. Despite the time of day, the flat roads are virtually clear, sparse amount of other vehicles littering the highway.

Spencer looks up from his book after forty-seven minutes of straight reading, using his finger to mark his place. He brings up his other hand, uses the back of it to wipe his eyes as he yawns. He stiffly stretches his limbs, blinking hard as he stares out the bright windshield.

He focuses his attention up ahead on a blue highway guide sign, eyes scanning through the fast food and gas station logos without much thought. His eyes light up, though, when he spots a white square, signature red lip shaped logo stamped in the middle. "Hotch, there's a Dairy Queen at the exit coming up in the next five miles!"

"I saw that," Hotch says with a nod, using a tone much like he would with Jack when his son would bring him something the boy deemed really interesting. It's a tone that suggests the unit chief is listening, but has other things preoccupied on his mind. Probably getting the team to the jet on time.

But Arizona is hot. Unbearably hot. Like, if Spencer didn't consider himself a very logical man of science, he would swear his skin would melt off his bones hot. Even with the air conditioning on full blast, the sun's rays are completely and totally unforgiving and heat up the inside of the van like it's a god damned toaster oven.

A frozen treat from Dairy Queen, honestly, a Dilly Bar, sounded so perfect right now.

Spencer's mouth waters at the thought. "Can we get ice cream?"

"Reid, we're on a schedule," Hotch reminds the young profiler patiently. "We have to be on the jet to go home in a little over an hour and we're making great time."

Spencer can't help but pout a little. "But, Hotch, it's Dairy Queen!"

Derek pops out one of his earbuds. "Did somebody say Dairy Queen? Are we getting ice cream?"

With extreme patience, Hotch replies. "No, Derek, we're not getting ice cream."

"Ice cream?" JJ perks up from the back, lifting her head off her hand.

"I wan' a Blizzard," Emily mumbles with a start, sitting up in her seat and rubbing her eyes with both of her hands.

Hotch sighs, looking at Rossi. "Dave, tell them we can't get ice cream."

Rossi stares down at the map in his hands, flipping it over to read the facts printed on the back about the desert dwelling horned toad. (It shoots blood from its eyes. Gross.) "Why not?"

Hotch scowls, feeling betrayed that the senior profiler wasn't on his side. "Because we have to get to the jet!"

"Actually, if we take a quick five minute ice cream break, get back on the highway and maintain the speed you're going, we would make it back to the jet with ten minutes to spare," Spencer calculates, leaning around to look at the speedometer.

Emily reaches over and ruffles his hair with a sleepy grin. "And that's why we keep you around, wonder boy!"

Penelope slips her headset from her head and hangs it around the back of her neck. "What's going on?"

"Dad's getting us ice cream," Emily fills her in.

"I'm not getting you ice cream!" Hotch declines, sounding a bit more firm. He shoots Emily a glare from the rear view mirror.

She sticks her tongue out at him childishly in response.

Penelope pouts at Hotch's answer. "Why not?"

"Because I said so!"

"Mom, dad won't get us ice cream!" Emily whines in a pathetic tone.

Rossi looks up from his map in surprise when he realizes he is in fact "mom" in this situation. Glancing at the "kids" in the back of the van, he turns to Hotch with a shrug. "You're on your own for this one, Aaron."

"Gee, thanks, Dave," Hotch scowls.

"Wait, now I'm confused," Penelope starts up. "Are we getting ice cream or not?"

"We're not getting ice cream!" Hotch says in a louder tone, trying his best to put on his "chief voice", the one that let's everyone know that what he says goes.

"I just wanted a Dilly Bar," Spencer quietly says, pouting as if Hotch just killed his puppy or something equally as serious occurred.

"A chocolate milkshake sounds so good right now," Derek agrees with a hum. "Come on, Hotch. It's hot as hell out. You're telling me you don't want any ice cream?"

"No."

"I say we take a vote," Emily pipes up rebelliously.

"Emily, no," Hotch says firmly.

Emily ignores him, because of fucking course she does. Pain in the ass. "All in favor of ice cream, say I!"

"Emily Elizabeth Prentiss! Do you realize you are way too old to pull this childish sh—"

"I!" Emily cries out over Hotch's scolding.

"I!" Derek says just as boldly.

"I!" Penelope and Spencer say in softer voices.

JJ stays silent, but shyly raises her hand up in the air.

"Majority rules. We get ice cream," Emily says with a smug smirk.

Rossi raises his hand and draws an invisible checkmark in the air.

Hotch huffs in annoyance.

Unbelievable.

"Unless one of you is bleeding out, we're not stopping," he declares firmly. "And that's not an invitation for you to start, Emily!" he adds, glancing back in the rear view mirror.

Emily frowns, throwing her arms across her chest. "I wasn't even going to do anything!"

"Ooo, princess is in trouble. Princess is in trouble," Derek smirks in a sing song voice.

"Oh, go eat a dick, Derek Morgan!" Emily snaps at him.

His eyes shine gleefully. "Was your nap cut a little too short there, sunshine?"

Emily and Derek continue to bicker, their voices slowly being drowned out by Spencer and Penelope slowly chanting "Dairy Queen! Dairy Queen! Dairy Queen!"

The van screeches to a halt in the middle of the highway.

Emily lurches forward, busting her head off of Derek's seat with an angry cry, Spencer and Penelope nearly choke against their seatbelts, and Derek stumbles, reaching his hands out on the window to steady himself.

JJ has the foresight to brace herself with her palms against the back of Penelope's seat. She leans over Spencer, checking Emily's forehead with a concerned frown.

Emily's breath hitches as her soft fingers brush against her forehead, forgetting for a split second what just happened. JJ's fingers brush against the upper corner of her head, causing her to wince. Ow.

"What the fuck, Hotch?" she starts to demand, holding a hand to her forehead. She closes her mouth immediately, only getting out "Wha-" before she's silenced by Hotch swiveling around in his seat.

The unit chief shoots them a steely glare that even has Derek squirming uncomfortably in his seat.

"All of you, knock it off!" he snaps.

"I didn't do anything," JJ says quietly, eyes wide and innocent.

Hotch ignores her.

"Now, all of you, listen to me!" he continues on in his most stern "dad voice". "We are not stopping for ice cream! If I hear another word about it, we're turning this van around!"

"You made me bust my head!" Emily points out defiantly, pointing to the bruise already starting to form on her head.

"My neck hurts from the seatbelt," Penelope adds with a scowl, rubbing the side of her neck slowly.

"I didn't even do anything!" JJ cries out a bit louder. "Why am I getting yelled at?"

"I'm not sure about the legality of this situation," Spencer points out, rubbing his own neck. "We could be pulled over for being stopped on a highway."

"Enough!" Hotch's voice booms.

The van falls silent again.

"We're not getting ice cream, and that's final!"

They get their ice cream.

Derek happily sips on his chocolate shake, staring in content out the window of the van. Penelope is enjoying her vanilla cone covered in rainbow sprinkles, iPad slotted in the space behind Rossi's seat. In the very back, Emily eats a spoonful of Reese's Blizzard with a satisfied look on her face. JJ quietly but happily eats her own Butterfinger Blizzard. Spencer takes a bite of his Dilly Bar with a satisfying crunch, eyes glowing in delight.

(No one comments when, five minutes later, JJ is eating a Reese's Blizzard and Emily is now enjoying the Butterfinger's Blizzard.)

Hotch bites off the remaining portion of his Buster Bar, cleaning off the wooden stick between his teeth before he throws the trash in a designated garbage bag (thanks, DQ) situated between Rossi and himself. He leans back in his seat with a content sigh, pressing his foot down on the gas. The sun is starting to set and the sky is painted in beautiful colors.

Most importantly, though, the car is finally fucking silent and he can finally focus on getting them all back to the jet in one piece.

He turns to Rossi, frowning when the older man just smirks back at him. "What?"

"Aren't you glad that the kids got their ice cream?" Rossi asks with another smirk, eyes gleaming in amusement.

Hotch scowls, both hands wrapping around the wheel. "Shut up and drink your Orange Julius, Dave."

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notsowrites · 3 years

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all of you, all of me (intertwined)

Some fluffy, soft morning Malex.

(AO3 Link)

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Michael never thought of himself as someone who slept in until he started spending nights at Alex's. More often than not, he'd wake up, pushing away the last dregs of sleep, to find Alex already awake. Occasionally, he was woken up by Alex's attempts to wake him up, usually kisses across his chest, hands running over his skin. Those were some of his favorite mornings.

But the kind that did beat them out were the mornings he woke before Alex. Where he could get those quiet moments to just watch Alex sleep on, unaware. It was in the morning his own mind was less chaotic, where he could lay his head on the pillow next to Alex and not be partially distracted by some other formula or calculation or project he was working on. Those mornings, his brain was focused entirely on the man next to him.

With a light press of his lips to Alex's forehead, Michael carefully extracts himself from the bedsheets, double-checking he hasn't woken Alex up yet, and grabs one of Alex's Air Force hoodies from the closet, pulling it over his head. Of course he could wear something of his own, but Michael gets a little bit of a thrill wearing Alex's clothes, plus he enjoys the look on Alex's face of adoration when he sees, it's always always worth it.

The first thing Michael notices is there's a fresh layer of snow outside. Not enough to cause any huge issues, but enough to cover the ground and become a winter wonderland outside. He's thankful they'd squeezed their vehicles into the garage last night, so now he's free to clear the driveway without going anything in the way.

First, coffee. Michael scoops the grounds into the coffee maker, adding water and letting it percolate. Even if he doesn't make anything else, just having coffee is usually enough to make sure Alex wakes up in a good mood.

Next, it's ingredients, and Michael scours through the fridge, finding eggs, milk, shredded cheese, and onions for omelettes. He immediately sets to work chopping the onion, and heats up a frying pan on the stove, coating the bottom in a thin layer of butter. He finds the bread, and immediately pops two slices into the toaster oven, setting the timer to get them a nice golden brown.

Grabbing a bowl from one of the cupboards, Michael sets about whisking the eggs, and adding the onion and milk to the mix, before gently pouring them into pan. He lets it sit for a moment before adding some cheese, and starts using a spatula to keep the eggs from burning.

Turning the heat off once they're done, he grabs two plates from the cabinet and divvies them up, retrieving the toast, and lightly smearing butter on them so it gets a chance to melt. Lastly, he grabs the two clean coffee mugs sitting on the drying rack from the day before, and fills them about three quarters of the way full, using the rest of the space in the cups for milk.

Everything nestles nicely on a tray he'd made out of some repurposed scrap from the junkyard. The idea had come to him weeks ago, when Alex had taken a day off from work, and Michael had gotten the idea for breakfast in bed, but only afterwards realizing he had to make several trips from the kitchen to the bedroom because Alex didn't own anything that could work as a serving tray.

Alex had rolled his eyes at getting served breakfast in bed, almost grumbling that he was perfectly capable of walking to the kitchen, and Michael had explained it wasn't about not letting Alex do something himself, but about Michael doing something for him for once.

Now, with a bit of help from his own telekinesis, he balances everything on the tray and heads back into the bedroom. It's no surprise to him that Alex is still asleep - on these rare occasion where Alex isn't up with the sun, he can sleep until mid morning. It's been one of the most fascinating things Michael has learned about Alex, though he generally applies that to everything new he learns about Alex. Now, Alex has his face pressed into the pillow beneath him, covers pulled tight around him, and Michael can't help smiling at the sight.

Tray safely perched on the bedside table, Michael leans over and nuzzles against Alex, pushing his nose into Alex's cheek, and pressing in to kiss him. He reaches up, pushing back the hair that's fallen over Alex's eyes, smiling as it rebelliously falls back into place.

With a groan, Alex blinks awake, smiling, and pushing his arms out from under the blankets, wrapping them around Michael and pulling them together. Michael goes, slides over on the bed, and lets Alex pull their bodies together. In his early morning state of not fully awake, Michael lets Alex bury his head in his chest, hair tickling his face as he waits for Alex to fully wake up.

"I smell coffee," is the first thing Alex says, and Michael isn't offended it's not to say good morning to him. Coffee is more important. "Is there coffee?"

He smiles, leaning down and capturing Alex's lips in his own, ignoring the morning breath, and gently pushing Alex back into the pillows as they kiss before pulling away to retrieve the coffee mugs. Alex sputters at the loss of contact with him, but Michael feels him shift to sit up in bed, and happily accepts the coffee mug that Michael holds out to him.

"Mmm," Alex moans after the first sip, opening his eyes and looking straight at Michael. "Morning."

"You slept in."

Alex smiles at him, and his hair is a mess, but Michael loves him so completely, it's more of a privilege that be gets to see Alex like this with his walls down, vulnerable and open.

"Did you make breakfast?" Alex takes another sip of coffee and strains to look around Michael for the breakfast tray.

"I like cooking for you," he replies, shrugging his shoulders.

Alex puts his mug down on the table next to his side of the bed, and leans forward, taking Michael's face in his hands, and pulling them together.

"I like that you like cooking for me." Alex pauses, looking down, and Michael laughs, leaning in and kissing him, knowing he's just realized what sweatshirt Michael is wearing. "You know how much I like when you wear my things," Alex says against Michael's lips.

"How about," he begins, leaning back to pick up the tray, kicking out the extendable legs so it rests evenly on the bed. "We eat first, so nothing gets cold, and then-"

"And then," Alex laughs, shaking his head. "I'm going to have my way with you."

Michael kisses him again, but doesn't start eating right away. Instead, he leans back against the headboard, and watches Alex. If someone had told him years ago, that one day he'd be happy, he'd be able to wake up next to the love of his life, and do something terribly domestic like cook breakfast, he'd have scoffed and said it would never happen. These days, he's glad to prove that wrong.

#roswell new mexico #malex #malex fic #notso writes fanfic #half of this is just michael cooking #i make no apologies #no more keepin score ficlets

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adenei · 3 years

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Finding My Way To You - Chapter 7

AO3 // FFN

Making Things Right

Hermione woke first the next morning, Ron’s arms still wrapped around her torso. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath in, replaying the previous night in her head. Girlfriend. She was his girlfriend now. It was everything she’d been wishing for, and she was determined not to muck it up.

She carefully extricated herself from his arms and got up to make breakfast. Hermione pulled out the bacon and eggs, and placed them on the counter. This couldn’t be so hard, right? She’d seen Mrs. Weasley cook them hundreds of times. I can do this, Hermione thought. She pulled out two pans, and began peeling strips of bacon out of the package and onto the pan. It took a few attempts at cracking the eggs before there were no shells to fish out of the bowl, but she was finally successful. Hermione mixed the eggs together and waited for the butter to heat up in the pan before she poured them in. It was when she popped a few slices of toast in the toaster that she realized things were starting to come together and she couldn’t quite keep up.

“Attempting to make breakfast this morning?” Hermione jumped at Ron’s voice when she turned around and saw him leaning against the entryway.

“Trying not to burn anything is more like it. I think I may be a bit over my head here,” Hermione admitted. “I guess I’m really not good at everything.”

“That’s not true, it just takes practice. Want some help?”

“Would love some,” she accepted his offer gratefully.

Together they worked in tandem, and Ron helped her make sure nothing burned. He flipped the bacon, and directed Hermione on when to start scrambling the eggs. At one point, she felt his arms wrap around her waist as he helped guide her when demonstrating the easiest way to flip bacon to avoid splattering bacon grease. Hermione felt her skin erupt in gooseflesh as shivers climbed up her spine. Did he have any idea what he was doing to her?

When they were seated at the table, eating the breakfast they’d made together, Ron spoke. “So I was thinking…”

“About what?”

“I want to take you out on a proper date today. Kind of like I tried to do yesterday, except you didn’t know.”

“Yesterday was meant to be a date?” Hermione almost dropped her fork at his confession.

“I know, barmy, right?” Ron shook his head.

“N-no, not at all. It was-” Hermione thought back on their trip to the museum and then lunch at the cafe. The flowers made even more sense now that she thought more about it. “It was really sweet. I don’t know how I didn’t notice.”

“So what about a do over, then? We can go back to the museum now that we’re not on a time crunch? And we can try another restaurant if you’d like?”

“That sounds wonderful. Though I was hoping there was one other thing we could do first?”

“Yeah, anything.”

“What do you think about inviting my parents here for dinner? I feel bad about how we ended things last night. I need to make things right with Mum, and I don’t think I can do that at their home.”

Ron waited to make sure she was finished. “Sure. We can find something at the grocer if you’d like? Or we could explore the other restaurants. Whichever you’d like. I know how to make Mum’s Shepherd’s Pie,” he offered.

Hermione’s face lit up. “That sounds perfect! I think there’s a bakery nearby and we could pick something up on our way back for pudding?”

“Sounds like a plan. So, should we get ready for our date, then?” Ron flashed his lopsided grin her way.

“Yes! I’ll write a letter inviting my parents while you’re in the loo? We can drop it off when we head to the museum?” Hermione asked as Ron nodded.

Finally, it felt like they were in sync with each other again.

~o~

The day played out as perfectly as it had yesterday. Hermione was ecstatic to explore more of the museum, and they spent a little longer so that Hermione could finish seeing all of the exhibits she’d missed the day before. They stopped at a different cafe for lunch, and enjoyed eating outside on the patio, watching other tourists and locals rush by on the busy sidewalks.

Ron saw Hermione’s eyes linger over the windows of the bookshop and he laughed. “Didn’t you get your fill yesterday?”

“Well, we were on a time crunch, you know. Do you mind if I go in for a bit?”

Ron shook his head. “I’ll go check the bakery down the street and I’ll meet you back here, okay?” She hugged him in thanks and kissed his cheek before disappearing behind the shop’s doors.

Ron had to remind himself to wipe the smile off his face as he walked to the bakery and picked out an assortment of custard tarts and chocolate cupcakes. He knew what his and Hermione’s favorites were, and he only hoped these would suffice for her parents, whom he knew were not huge sugar fans.

He walked out of the bakery, bag in hand, and stopped outside the florist’s shop before returning to the bookstore. He knew Hermione wouldn’t be close to ready to go, and he wanted to replicate yesterday’s date as closely as possible. The florist was ecstatic to see him again and asked how his ‘girl’ liked the assortment of roses. Ron’s ears turning scarlet was all the telling that the florist needed to know it had been a successful purchase.

“So are you here for red today?” he asked curiously.

“Er, yeah, actually. One red rose, I was thinking. Wrapped with some of that white filler stuff,” Ron said.

“Baby’s breath? Yes, of course! Let me prepare that for you. I’m so glad things worked out. Was a bit worried when I saw you with Mr. Granger yesterday. Glad it’s all sorted.”

“Do you know the Grangers well?” Ron asked curiously.

“Well enough. Hugo loves gardening as a hobby, so he comes in at least once a week to talk shop. He’s a good guy you know. Loves his daughter very much. And by the looks of it, so do you.”

“Er, yeah. You’ll put in a good word for me, I hope?” Ron chuckled.

“As long as you keep endorsing my business,” the florist let out a hearty laugh. “This one’s on the house, though. Now, don’t keep your girl waiting.”

“Are you sure?” Ron said, reaching for his wallet. He needed to give him something.

“Yes, I’m sure. Have a wonderful day, young man!” he beamed at Ron, who thanked him profusely.

By the time Ron made it back to the bookshop, Hermione was sitting on a bench outside waiting for him. “There you are! For a second, I thought you forgot about me,” Hermione joked.

“Never! Sorry it took me so long. I needed to make an extra stop. This is for you,” Ron said, handing her the singular rose.

“Ron, you didn’t have to do th-” she looked up at him when she realized what it was.

“I don’t suppose you need to ask the meaning of this one?” Ron asked through his smile.

“No, not this time,” Hermione answered softly. “Thank you.” She leaned up on her tiptoes to place a hesitant kiss on his lips. It still felt surreal that she could do that now. Kiss him when she wanted.

“Should we stop by the grocer’s before heading back then? We’ll probably need to start dinner soon. It’s already past four.”

“Oh, yes, you’re right! I told my parents six! Let’s go.”

~o~

Ron was pulling the Shepherd’s pie out of the oven as they heard a buzz come from the intercom. “That must be them!” Hermione said. “I’ll go down and meet them. Be right back.”

He watched her leave as he set the hot dish on the center of the table. Ron picked up his wand and used magic to set the table while he waited for them to return. When Hermione walked back in the door with her parents, they all exchanged pleasantries and prepared to eat while dinner was still warm. Her parents had brought a bottle of wine that Hugo opened and poured glasses for everyone.

As they tucked into their meals, Jean looked at her daughter after taking a few bites. “Hermione, when did you learn to cook? You never showed an interest growing up so I wasn’t expecting- This is delicious!”

“I still haven’t really learned how to cook, Mum. Ron did most of the work, and I helped chop the vegetables and peel the potatoes,” Hermione explained.

Mrs. Granger observed her daughter and then Ron for a moment before saying, “Well, it’s very well done.” Her voice wasn’t as stiff as yesterday, but there was still a chill that lingered.

“I have to agree, Ron. This is one of my favorite dishes! It’s been a while since I’ve had one as good as this!” Hugo held up his win glass as he said, “Cheers.”

“Thanks, it’s my Mum’s recipe. I’ve helped her a lot with it, so it’s one of those that’s always in the back of my mind. I was hoping it wasn’t too simple to serve.”

“Not at all, not at all! It’s brilliant,” Hugo said.

An easy quiet fell over the table as they continued their meal. After Hermione took her last bite, Ron noticed her steeling herself to address her parents. “Mum, I’m sorry about last night,” she started.

Mrs. Granger looked up at her daughter. “It’s fine, Hermione, we don’t need to discuss it now.” Ron caught her eyeing him briefly before she continued. “When you come home, we can discuss it more.”

“I-I’m not going home with you and Dad. I’m staying here, with Ron.”

“Hermione, I hardly think-”

“No, Mum. I love you and Dad, but Australia isn’t my home.”

“Well, unless you’ve kept the house in England to yourself, I don’t reckon your home is there, either, is it?” her mother retorted.

“Er, no, I guess not. I’m not sure I know where home is, but it feels the most like home when I’m with Ron.” Hermione’s cheeks tinged a slight pink at her admission.

Her mother stared at her. “Darling, I hardly think you should be trusting that judgement right now.”

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but her father beat her to it. “Jean, I think you’re being a bit unfair.”

“Unfair? Hugo, we’ve been worried sick about our daughter for months, not knowing what happened! Only for her to show up at our doorstep to come bring us home to England, insisting that everything’s safe now! Telling tales of how she dropped out of the Wizarding school we reluctantly allowed her to attend, and finding out she spent the better part of the last year living in a tent with two teenage boys!”

“Who have been my best friends for seven years!”

“And one you’re no doubt sharing a bed with. Don’t think I didn’t notice there’s only one bedroom, young lady!”

Ron felt compelled to say something. He felt that Mrs. Granger’s underlying issues with this were related to him. He needed to talk to her. To set the record straight. She’d never been this cold to him at King’s Cross, or when he’d gone with his Dad to pick up Hermione. He looked to Hugo, who nodded. That was all he needed.

“Mrs. Granger, would you mind taking a walk in the park across the way with me?” Ron asked.

Both women looked taken aback at his question. “Ron, I don’t think-” Hermione started to say.

“Hermione, I think it may actually be a good thing. Jean, you should go,” Hugo intervened. “We’ll take care of the dishes.”

Ron stood up and headed out the door and down the stairs. He didn’t grab his jacket, but the night air was relatively warm, and he had his Weasley sweater on. When Jean met him outside they walked silently across the road and entered the park. Ron hoped that Jean would speak first, so he could get an idea of what was bothering her, but she was tight lipped.

He strengthened his resolve and decided to start the conversation. “Mrs. Granger, I know I messed up-”

“That’s an understatement!” she exclaimed as she cut him off.

“I know, trust me, I know,” he hoped she could sense the pain in his voice. No one knew how much it tore him apart than himself. “I want to make things right, or at least explain, but I can’t do that unless I know what I’ve done wrong in your eyes. There’s not a day where I’m not trying to make it up to her.”

Mrs. Granger huffed in frustration. “I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”

“Then start with the first thing that’s been bothering you, before you knew I left them last winter.”

“You broke her heart in sixth year. She was absolutely miserable when she came home for Christmas. Hermione tried so hard to hide it, but a mother always knows. I was rooting for you! Why do you think Hermione was always able to spend the summers with your family? I knew she was happiest when she was with you. Not your family. You. Do you know how much convincing it took with Hugo? And then you went and broke my only daughter’s heart by choosing her flouncy little roommate.”

“I know. I have no excuses for that.”

“That doesn’t make things better. And then she comes home at the end of term, happy that you’re on speaking terms again, but I could tell there was still something off. She seemed so hollow. Of course, now I know why. She was planning to send us away. You didn’t put her up to it, did you?”

“No!” Ron said angrily. “I didn’t know anything until she showed up at the Burrow a week earlier than expected, sobbing uncontrollably. She never even told me what she’d planned!” Ron said bitterly. He didn’t mean to, but he was still upset she hadn’t enlisted his help.

“You didn’t know?”

“No. I didn’t understand why she did it. Why she couldn’t have talked to you, and convinced you to go. That maybe modifying your memory wasn’t the only option. She was insistent it was the only way, and that it was done. She’s your daughter, I expect you know how stubborn she can be.”

He actually managed a chuckle out of Mrs. Granger. “That’s an understatement.” It didn’t last long, however. “Why did it have to be you three?”

Ron took a moment to think about her words. “To go on the hunt? It didn’t. Technically, it only had to be Harry, but Hermione and I, we talked about years ago. After what happened with the stone, we knew wherever he went, we’d go. He needed us.”

“But you’re teenagers! What could you have possibly done that adults couldn’t?”

Ron couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped his lips. “You sound like my Mum. I know it’s hard to understand, but it had to be Harry. And without Hermione’s booksmarts and ability to gather knowledge, and my understanding of the Magical world, Harry would have been dead long before he even stood a chance. In retrospect, I see that now. Hermione really did what she thought was best to keep you safe. They would have found you and killed you to spite her. She couldn’t bear it. I know how dangerous it was. I lost one of my brothers in the final battle.”

Mrs. Granger took in his words, and knew he was sincere. “I’m sorry, Ron.” She was quiet for a few paces before she continued. “You were supposed to keep her safe. She trusts you to a fault, and I saw that even after you broke her heart. She let you in again, and then you left her.”

“Mrs. Granger, it took me being poisoned in sixth year for us to make up. I know I made a huge mistake in dating Lavender, and it was all over a stupid fight with my sister, and a misunderstanding with Hermione. It blew out of proportion because I let my anger get the best of me, and if I could go back and change it I would.

“As for leaving her on the hunt, I’ll never forgive myself for that. The object we’d collected from the Ministry was evil. I know it may be hard to believe, but it spoke to me. It fed off my insecurities, and told me she and Harry were better off without me. That she desired Harry more than me. I was wearing it when Harry and I got in a row. I wanted to come back as soon as I left. I never stopped trying to get back to them.”

He hoped that she could sense his desperation. That he was telling the truth. When she didn’t respond right away, he felt it pertinent to add, “Hermione doesn’t know about the locket. We haven’t actually talked about its effect on me. She didn’t speak to me for a whole month when I came back. Even then, it took her almost dying for her to forgive me again, I think.”

Ron noticed Jean shudder. “Things weren’t easy, were they?”

“No. She may not tell you this, but we were close to starving some days. There were times when it felt hopeless, but we had each other.”

“Why didn’t she say anything?”

“She doesn’t want you to worry anymore, so it may be best if you keep this between us. You can tell Mr. Granger, too, though if Hermione finds out I told you she may have my head.” Ron smiled.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that. I appreciate your candid explanations, but you have to understand why I’m wary,” Mrs. Granger attempted to explain.

“I know, but when she almost- when she almost died, I lost myself. I couldn’t protect her. I couldn’t take her place. It nearly broke me. It may have taken me longer than I’d like to admit, but I love your daughter, more than anything. And I’ll never stop trying to protect her. I want to make her happy, and I know there are going to be times where I downright piss her off, but that’s what we do. We bicker, we fight, and we make up. I promise I’ll do my best to not hurt her like that ever again.”

They looped back around and walked in silence for a while before Jean finally spoke. “I appreciate everything you’ve told me. I’m sorry for how cold I’ve been, but you have to understand it’s my duty to protect her as best I can.”

“I know.”

“Did she really set canaries on you after you started dating Lavender?”

Ron looked at Mrs. Granger in surprise. “Er, yeah. I’ve got a couple scars on my hands from it. Should’ve known from that, but I was a barmy sixteen year old.”

“I guess perhaps we didn’t teach her quite so well on how to deal with her anger. Has she apologized to you?”

“Er...explicitly?” Ron asked hesitantly.

“I’ll speak to her.” Jean spoke with a finality that Ron didn’t dare question. “You know, it’s supposed to be quite warm the next few days. You two should visit the beach.”

“That’d be nice, but we didn’t exactly pack those sorts of clothes.”

The warm, inviting demeanor he knew from Mrs. Granger had returned. “Don’t worry! I’ll take Hermione out shopping tomorrow. Oh, and there’s a wonderful bistro I think you two would both love. I can get you reservations for tomorrow evening! You can go with Hugo to purchase swim shorts and an outfit for dinner tomorrow. I’ll take Hermione shopping with me.”

Ron couldn’t help but laugh. “Er… may I ask what you’re planning?”

“Now that we’ve cleared the air, and I know your intentions, I’m going to help you sweep my daughter off her feet, of course!”

#romione #hp post war #hp australia #ron x hermione #Ron Weasley #Hermione Granger

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awdasfe · 3 years

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ashintheairlikesnow · 4 years

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i noticed the piggy back picture in the jake and chris moodboard... is there any chance we’ll get a drabble with that happening? 👀

CW: Nothing really. Does sickening fluff need a warning?

Jake makes breakfast on the days he doesn't have class. Well, he makes breakfast on the days he does, too, but that's throwing together premade breakfast sandwiches, assembly-line style - bottom half of English muffin, circles of egg whites already cooked, cheese slices, top half of English muffin, done - and then cooking them all at once in the industrial toaster oven some bakery had donated before he left, for the rescues to reheat as needed when they came straggling downstairs.

On the days he doesn't have class? Jake has fun.

He's the first one up - the rescues sleep weird hours, but they always stay in their rooms until 9 or 10 unless they hear Jake moving around. He has a whole routine now on his shelter-life days.

He sets the music player up on his phone and settles it into the little cradle that connects it to the speakers. He bought those with scholarship money but fuck it, why the fuck not.

He'd be paying student loans for the rest of his natural life, since this didn't count as "public service" according to the government, so why not have one good fucking thing?

Once he finds the playlist he wants - Saturday Night Dancin', like Jake has ever gone out on a Saturday in his life... well, he has, but not lately... He sets it to play and then?

Jake makes pancakes.

There are four rescues now, and Kauri's in some strange asshole's bed or sleeping on a park bench again, Jake doesn't know and he doesn't ask. But he won't be here for breakfast either way.

He pulls down the pancake mix from the shelf and hums along with the music as he stirs in the milk and eggs and bit of melted butter the mix calls for, preheating the big griddle he's laid out across the stove and plugged in. The coffeemaker is hard at work, and the sun is shining, and it's gonna be a good day for him, and for them. He can just tell.

Nobody's going to relapse today. Nobody's going to have flashbacks. Just a normal day.

Once he has the first round of pancakes going, the rest is easy and thoughtless. Pour batter, wait, flip, put on warming plate and slide into the slightly heated oven. Rinse and repeat. Again and again, plates stacked high, and Jake is dancing to the beat of the song - some nights I stay up cashing in my bad luck, some nights I call it a draw - when he hears a shuffle from the doorway and comes to a stop.

He turns just as the final plate of pancakes is set to warm and sees Chris watching him, leaning against the doorway. His narrow face is solemn but his green eyes are bright, and half his strawberry-blond hair is smashed flat against his head while the other half stands nearly straight.

"Hey, man. Good mornin'." Jake grins and turns to hit the stop button on the music as he unplugs the griddle.

"Don't make the music go away," Chris says, softly. "Please. Please, Jake, um, Jake don't, um, don't don't don't turn it off."

Jake can barely hear him over the song - I was never one to believe the hype, save that for the black and white, try twice as hard and I'm half as liked - but he nods and all he does is turn the volume down. "You like this one?"

"Um. Not, not, not really." Chris twists his hand in the shirt he's wearing - one of Jake's, he must have dug it out of his clean clothes pile - and looks down at the floor. His bare legs stick out from the boxer shorts he's wearing, a flash of plaid just showing under the hem of the shirt.

Jake blinks, confused. "Then why-"

"I remember this song."

Jake blinks. "You do?"

Chris nods, swallowing hard. "I, I remember it in the car but I I I don't know why or um, or when, I just, um, I just just remember it. I, I want to."

and some nights, I'm scared you'll forget me again

"Okay, we'll let it play." Jake considers, then leans over and hits the back button to start it over from the beginning. "Wanna dance to it?"

Some nights I stay up, cashing in my bad luck

Chris shakes his head, but when Jake does a little spin - all 6'3" of him, so tall his head seems perilously close to the ceiling fan- he puts a hand up over his mouth to hide a shy smile.

"Well, then..." Jake trails off. Then he brightens back up and turns around, crouching down and lowering his hands, palms bent. "Hop on."

Chris makes a sound from behind him that Jake can't read. "You, you want me to, to to to do what? To, to-"

"Climb on my back, man. I'll do the dancing."

There's a pause, long enough that he thinks maybe Chris isn't up for it, and just as he's ready to straighten back up he feels Chris's arms go around his neck fr behind and catches his knees with his hands, bent at Jake's waist.

Chris sets his chin on Jake's shoulder and he seems nearly fucking weightless as Jake stands up and Chris tightens his arms reflexively, letting out a squeak.

"Don't don't don't let me, let, don't let me fall-"

"I never would," Jake says firmly. He moves over to the counter, swaying his hips, and it'd feel fucking ridiculous with anyone else but with Chris giggling at every movement, Jake feels like maybe this is what being somebody's brother is like.

He pours himself coffee one-handed, Chris nervously squeaking with every shift as he holds him steady with the other, skinny arms tight around his neck but never tight enough to hurt. Flashes of coppery hair in the corner of his eye, Chris's bright white smile - do they whiten their teeth in that fucking hell? - and when Jake sings along with the song, Chris hums it, too, right against his ear.

My heart is breaking for my sister and the con that she called love

His voice is soft, and sweet, just like everything else about him.

but then I look into my nephew's eyes

Jake wonders if he has parents somewhere who miss him still. If they'll ever find them to send Chris, or whoever he actually is, home.

Man, you wouldn't believe the most amazing things that can come from some terrible nights

Jake does a spin with Chris shrieking and holding him so tightly Jake briefly coughs at the pressure against his throat, and both of them are laughing breathlessly when he stops.

"Jake, Jake, hey hey hey, Jake, hey Jake! Jake, too fast!"

"Sorry, buddy, couldn't resist. Won't do it again, I promise." He shifts Chris to get a better hold on him and sighs as the song ends. "Any other songs you remember from before?"

"Um." Chris is quiet, for a second, fingers picking at the fabric on the front of Jake's shirt. His chin is a warm, gentle weight on Jake's shoulder, his large eyes full of perfect trust.

If only Jake felt like he deserved any of it.

"I, I, I remember one song."

"What is it? Is it a dancing song?"

"Dunno. But, but, but it's um, it's..." Chris is grinning again. Jake can just barely see his smile. "It's um. It's... from a lady with something wrapped around her head. I can't remember the name but I remember um I, I, I-... It goes, um..." He hums a few bars, spot-on perfect pitch.

Jake blinks. "Chris, are you singing Lauren Daigle?"

"I, I, I don't know who that is, um, do you you you, I think someone, um, someone listened, to, to that song around me and, and sang it, and-"

"Is it this song?"

Jake's voice is shaky but solid, and he has to pitch the whole song in a lower key. He hasn't even heard this song in forever, it feels like. Weird how he remembers all the words. "There is no distance that cannot be covered over and over, you're not defenseless, I'll be your shelter, I'll be your armor..." He pauses. "Is that it?"

For a second, silence.

"Yeah," Chris breathes. "Can can can you sing some more? Of, of the song?"

Jake clears his throat, shifts Chris again. "Want me to put you down?"

"No," Chris says, softly. That's all. He rests against Jake's back, legs up by his ribs, arms around him.

Jake huffs a bit of silent laughter. "Okay but my voice might be weaker-"

"Don't, don't care." Chris is nearly whispering now. "Just, just just sing, please. Some more. Of, of the song."

Jake looks out the window at the sun rising, the purple and orange sky.

"I will send out an army to find you in the middle of the darkest night, it's true, I will rescue you... I will never stop marching to reach you in the middle of the hardest fight, it's true, I will rescue you..."

Chris hums along with him, and when Jake stops, Chris sings alone in his soft, high-pitched tenor.

"I will rescue you..."

#tw: trauma recovery #trauma recovery whump #chris the strawberry blond romantic #jake the shelter guy #whump #box boy multiverse #box boy universe #box boy #fluff scene but sad music

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yourfriendslimey · 4 years

Text

Clouds of Cream

Pt. 1

Summary- While taking a day to run weekly errands, you take the time to stop at your local cafe where a certain handsome barista happens to work...

Pairing: Mark Tuan x Reader

Genre: Fluff

author’s note: This part is mostly to establish base story, also later parts will contain sexual themes; however, i COULD also produce watered down versions for those of you who enjoy the story but don’t care for those kinds of things. lemme know. Anyways, enjoy <3

WC: 2342

Part. 1- I Never Got Your Name…

Your eyes pried themselves open as the morning sun snuck into your studio apartment. With a heavy arm, you reached over to the tiny bedside table and grabbed your phone. 8:00 a.m…. You groaned, tossed your phone onto the table and pulled the blanket over your face. It was Saturday, your day off work, so you could in theory sleep in. However, you knew if you didn’t get up now then the To-Do list tacked to the cork board above your desk would go unattended. Plus… You thought, sitting up haggardly…I could stop at the café while I’m out…

You had gone to Downtown Brews for the first time a few months ago with a close friend who swore up and down it had THE best coffee. He was right. Now you were all but addicted. The roasts were divine, and the pastries were nothing to scoff at. And often by chance, you were helped by the same barista who, if you dared to say so, was not too hard on the eyes. The barista…You felt guilty not knowing his name by now. Even though you saw him every time you walked through those doors, you never managed to read his nametag. You were always too…distracted.

You let your feet hang off the bed for a few moments while your mind began to wander. As you stood and made your way to your tiny bathroom, you wondered if he even really noticed you. Of course, he recognized your face. You were there all the time. At the counter, he would give a casual smile and in his cool tone say “Hey, y/n, nice to see you again? The usual?” They took names for orders, so yeah, he knew that too. He knew your regular order because it was well... your regular order. But that didn’t mean he really saw you. The café had a lot of regulars, he probably knew a few orders and names by heart. While brushing your teeth you became even more lost in thought… You leaned close the bathroom mirror, analyzing your face. It was still puffy, showing the aftermath of a late night’s sleep. You frowned a little. Maybe he has a girlfriend. Maybe you just weren’t his type. You fed into your dismay while taking a longer than usual shower.

With fresh breath and a newly showered body, you walked to your closet and pulled out a pair of black skinny jeans, an oversized t-shirt with your college mascot on the front, and a grey dad-hat. You might as well be comfortable while running around all day. You grabbed your backpack and tossed in your phone charger, wallet, and keys. You quickly snatched the list from the board and hurried out the front door before the demon that was procrastination could set in.

You groaned as you walked to the end of the hall, anticipating the journey you had to make down the stairs. The elevator was down and had been for months now. The landlord kept telling you someone would be in to fix it next month, but it seemed like next month never came. Instead, you frustratedly stomped down the stairs, each time cursing past you for wanting to live on the third floor.

The building you lived in was nowhere near fancy. But it was home at least. Unlike the buildings uptown, the lobby wasn’t big and beautiful with potted plants and delicate light fixtures. It was more of an extra wide hallway. The walls presented a sickly grey-green on the upper half, the bottom being slowly warping wood paneling. A large portion of the space was dedicated to old metal mailboxes and contained ceiling lights hanging on their last legs; more than half of them flickering or entirely dead. You decided to check your mail later. You never really got anything anyway.

Outside, you were met with a clear sky and smiling summer sun. A warm breeze danced through the branches and the sweet smell of mature flowers blessed your nose. You felt more energized by the perfection of the day and with newfound eagerness, began your walk to the café. You breathed easily, taking in your surroundings. It was around 9:00 a.m. now and most of the city was already awake. Busy men and women walked as fast as their legs could carry them. Some to their respective jobs and others you presumed, to use the day the same as you; going off to clear a long list of errands. The start of summer vacation also meant children with time to kill. Kids ran up and down the sidewalk, getting what you deemed an early start to their day’s mischief. A couple walked hand in hand, giggling and smiling. You could overhear them mention something about grabbing lunch later and maybe seeing a movie. Seeming them happy together sent you into a vivid daydream.

You saw the barista’s warm smile and kind eyes. You confidently sauntered up to the counter, cool as ice. You flashed a cheeky smile that caught him off-guard. “Hey there, what’ll it be?” he said with a fully flushed face. You leaned in real close and looked him in the eyes. With a stolen velvet tongue, you said “A tall, dark, and handsome…”

The cheesiness of the line snapped you out of your trance with a quiet laugh. Before you knew it, you found yourself standing in front of Downtown Brews. It sat gingerly on the corner, beckoning you inside. The coffee cup logo printed on the glass door a sight for sore eyes Through the large window you noticed that almost every seat was full. No big deal since you just wanted to grab something to eat while you walked. You pulled open the door, a small bell jingling overhead. You placed yourself at the end of the line, grateful that it wasn’t too long. The early morning rush had pretty much passed already. You scanned the peaceful scene. Even though it was full, the loudest noises were the clinking of mugs and forks. It was always like this no matter the time of day.

Downtown Brews had that affect on people. The café created a sanctuary away from the loudness of the city. It had a minimalistic look. Plain golden-brown wooden floors, beautifully simple wooden tables and chairs, and small hanging lights that seemed to float in the room. On each table was a centerpiece containing small purple wildflowers in cute white vases that looked like fine china. The walls were mostly windows, save for the left wall that made contact with that of the bookstore next door and the gray brick wall behind the counter. It was decorated with shelves lined with mugs, glasses, and more white vases with various plants and flowers scattered about. You noticed that every week, there was at least one new one. The owner of the place must have had a real love for flora.

You stood for what felt like ages, listening to some poor young intern order complicated coffees and various treats for what seemed to be an entire office. You anxiously switched your weight from one foot to the other, wondering if maybe today you would order something new. And then you saw him. The man who made your face hot and your head cloudy. He was always here when you were, not that you were going to complain about it. He looked so suave in his uniform. The white shirt, black slacks, and black apron on his waist seemed custom made for his slender frame. How could such simple clothes look so good on someone? Your hands felt clammy and your chest went tight. You hated and adored this feeling all at the same time. Taking a few quiet deep breaths, you set your sights back on the menu, busying your mind with deciding about what to order for breakfast.

You studied him as he switched places with another staff member and prepared his customer’s order. The café had a lovely practice. Whoever took your order would also prepare it. This allowed for a more personal experience that resulted in fewer messed up orders. The baristas took turns instinctually; based off who was the least busy.

You gawked at him, transfixed on his form. You watched as he grabbed a few pastries from the glass case in front of him, slid them into a small toaster oven and began fixing the drinks. Every movement was smooth and graceful. He was like an angel. His face was lit up with a precious smile as he handed over the massive order and with a nod chirped “Here you are! You coworkers better say thank you for this. Hope you have a good day.” The intern gave a rushed “Yes, thank you, you too,” and fixed her gaze on the cardboard trays of drinks stacked onto boxes of patisserie. She shuffled away with a sense of urgency you’d never seen.

The barista’s skin was almost glowing. It looked soft and flawless, almost like it had been airbrushed. But it was all too real. You heart began to race as the last person between you and the counter wandered off. You shook your head lightly, trying to snap yourself back to the now.

“Can I help who’s next, please?” the honey voice flooded your ears.

You nearly stumbled up to the register, eyes barely leaving the chalkboard menu hanging above. Even though you weren’t really looking, you could still feel the warmth of his smile. You met his eyes. “Hey y/n. How’s it going? Medium iced coffee with vanilla creamer, three sugars, and cocoa powder on top, right?” You felt the heat rising in your face.

“Hey, uh yeah. I mean, no.” Your voice was almost imprisoned in your throat, impulse taking over.

“Oh, did I get I get it wrong?” he let out a small chuckle and ran a hand through his beautiful hazelnut curls, “Sorry about that, guess I must be a bit tired if I’m forgetting-“

You didn’t mean to, but you cut him off “Not at all. I just wanna switch it up a bit. Today I think I’ll have a medium iced cold brew with sweet cream and caramel this time. And could I also have a cranberry muffin, please?” you smiled shyly, embarrassed knowing that you were obviously flustered.

He smiled wide and clasped his hands together. “Well I see we’re mixingg things up now,” he giggled quietly while punching your order into the automated screen, “Gotta keep me on my toes somehow.” Damn that smile- you took off your backpack and quickly pulled out your wallet. “Is that for here or to go?” He peered up at you, eyes doe-like. “To go, please.” You choked a little and could have sworn you saw a bit of disappointment in his eyes but passed it off. He told you the total and you handed him the cash. “Alrighty, I’ll have everything ready in about ten minutes.” You nodded and gave a small hum as he gave you your change.

You stepped off to the side and let your eyes follow him as he skillfully crafted your drink. His smile was replaced with a stern look as he focused on his task. You wondered if your mouth was watering from the aroma of coffee and hot muffin awaiting you or something else. Suddenly, it hit you that once again you avoided looking at his name tag. You instinctively avoided looking at one part of him too long. As a child mom had taught you it was rude to stare, and that sentiment stuck with you even now. You chastised yourself. It felt as though after you missed it the first time, it felt impolite to check now. But it was ruder to just not know. You always wanted to ask, but avoided it, thinking he would think you were a moron since he clearly has a nametag on. You silently huffed in frustration and made attempts to get a better look. However, you couldn’t get a clear view. If it wasn’t a machine in your way, it was one of the other baristas, or he was simply moving too much or he was turned away from you. Though you couldn’t deny that you enjoyed looking at his back almost as much as his front.

“Y/n, your order’s ready.” His smile had returned as he stepped up to the pickup area.

He held out a small brown paper bag and your drink. “Here you go. Have a good day, and I’ll see you soon.” His face was warm, his smile genuine. You beamed at him and gently took your things Your heart fluttered. Without even thinking, the words flew from your lips. “I’m sorry, I know I come here all the time, but um…” he leaned forward, placing his hands on the counter, “well I don’ actually know your name and i keep forgetting to ask…And it feels rude to not know since you’re such a good server.” He chuckled, raised an eyebrow and smirked. He shook his head lightly and let it drop to the side. “Tsk tsk tsk. And I thought we were friends.” His smile melted your heart. He stood tall and folded is arms.

You apologized again, telling him you knew he had a nametag on but you always forgot to look and began to ramble about feeling nervous to ask and the whole thing. He gently cut you off. “Don’t worry about it. It’s Mark. And now that you know, you better not forget.” He pointed a playfully stern finger at you. The name rang in your head. This man who occupied so much headspace finally had a name. A beautiful one. At least to you. You grinned, “I won’t, I promise. I’ll see you later, Mark.” You turned to leave and as you did, you were certain his smile had grown bigger and his cheeks pinker.

Mark....

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