#and steamed peas from the freezer god knows how long

[wellnesscard]

gotta be one of my best "theres nothing to eat at home" meals by far

[the-lonelybarricade]

Take My Hand, Wreck My Plans - Chapter 2

Summary: Fresh after her third, and final, breakup with Tamlin, Feyre decides a one night stand is exactly what she needs to get him out of her system. Except, her one night stand with a violet-eyed stranger ends up being far more than she bargained for.

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Or; the one where Feysand gets knocked up from a one night stand.

Read on AO3 ・Masterlist・Previous Chapter

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Feyre couldn’t look at her phone. Not without feeling nauseated.

There had been many—countless, Nesta would argue—idiotic, brainless things that Feyre had done in her life. There was the time she’d left her passport locked in a hostel safe and had driven three hours on the motorway before she’d realized. There was the time when she’d snuck one of the bottles of vodka her father used to keep stored in the freezer and decided she’d get away with it by replenishing what was consumed with water, only for their father to discover a frozen bottle the following evening. Or, worst of all, there was the summer she’d given herself bangs.

They were all inconsequential in retrospect, now knowing how each of those little mistakes panned out. But at the time, they had felt world-ending.

And maybe there was a solace to find in how trivial those moments felt in reflection. Like one day in the future, Feyre would look back on herself now and laugh softly, saying, Remember how scared I was? I thought the world was coming down around me, but it was only just a new path forging.

That was a nice idea, except this new path was not solid stone, steady underfoot. Nor was it gravel, rough and uneven, easy to slip and unforgiving beneath a fall. No, this new path was quicksand. There was no standing still; there was no scraping together her bearings. This path decided that she was moving one way or another—either sinking to the bottom, suffocating in her own indecision, or scrambling forward in an attempt to keep her head above the surface.

And maybe there wasn’t a way forward at all. Maybe there was only going down, like she was trapped in a sand dial, feeling the ground shift and fall away, every ticking second measured. It certainly felt like there was glass sealed behind her—she knew there was no going back. There was no undoing the purple eyes and velvet laugh and stupid black dress.

Would she one day laugh about this? Who was to say. She wasn’t laughing now. She was fighting the bile creeping up her throat as she sat on the cool tile of her bathroom floor, glaring at the porcelain bowl because it was better than glaring at her phone. Feyre couldn’t say for certain if it was morning sickness that had triggered her nausea or the text that had woken her up.

Feeling better?

Feyre was running out of excuses. A stomach bug only lasts for so long. It was becoming a matter of time before someone busted down her door and demanded she go to the emergency room.

Yes, she texted back.

The response was immediate. I have the day off. Breakfast at 10?

Sure.

It was an effort to heft herself from the floor. It was more of an effort not to grimace when she saw her reflection in the mirror. She fixed her eyes on the faucet, on her shaking hands cupping the water, scooping it into her face, and then into her mouth to rinse out the bile.

She didn’t look that different, not really. There was no pregnancy bump yet. If anything, she’d lost weight. Nausea could do that, but so could guilt. Six weeks ago, she’d had sex with a stranger, with Rhysand, and now there was a life growing in her stomach.

Google said a baby was roughly the size of a pea at six weeks. If that was true, then the weight of keeping this secret made it the heaviest gods-damned pea in existence.

“Have you told him?” Alis said in greeting as Feyre ambled into the kitchen.

Steam curled from the mug in her hands, carrying the scent of freshly roasted coffee. Feyre resisted the urge to cover her nose.

“No,” she said, evading her roommate in a wide arc.

Alis arched a brow. “Will you tell him?”

The bitter smell was so affronting that Feyre could think of little else. A gag built in her throat, which she did a poor job of hiding by darting for the fridge. It was the empty stomach. She needed to eat something, or she was going to puke again.

Feyre settled for an apple and took a long time chewing before she turned back to Alis. She swallowed. “Eventually.”

“The longer you wait—”

“I know,” Feyre interrupted.

Of course she knew. It was all she’d been thinking about. But how? How did she look him in the eyes and say, I’m pregnant? She couldn’t even do it in the mirror—and she’d tried. There were a thousand versions of the script she was constantly writing and rewriting in her head, all those words swirling until they had become a living creature of mist and shadow. One that loomed over her shoulder at all times of the day. She’d somehow convinced herself it would only become real if she acknowledged it.

Alis said little else. She was the only one who knew, by virtue of being on the other side of the door when Feyre had taken her pregnancy test. Though, Alis wasn’t dense, and it wouldn’t have taken her long to peg the morning nausea, the aversion to certain foods. They didn’t say much about it. Not yet. Alis had only offered her unilateral support and given Feyre time and space to dissect her maelstrom of emotions.

And three days ago, when Feyre decided she was going to keep the baby, Alis had said simply, “Then you need to tell him.”

A firm, unwavering reminder she’d repeated each day since. Feyre clenched her teeth to keep from snapping. She knew that, in her own way, Alis was being kind. Time would only exacerbate the issue. But objectivity did little quell Feyre’s kindling irritation. Words bubbled behind her clenched teeth, building into a pressure that made her want to scream: no-fucking-duh.

She didn’t scream. She politely took her apple and her keys and murmured that she would be back soon. Maybe she could have shut the front door with less force, but at least now she could blame her Archeron temper on her hormones.

Feyre rapped her knuckles over the steering wheel. She was parked outside the cafe, and through the large glass pane at the front, she could spot him sitting inside. His posture seemed relaxed enough, his handsome face angled down towards his phone. A second later, hers pinged from its mount on the dashboard.

I’m here. Are you close?

She met her own eyes in the rearview mirror. Blue, like an overcast sea, their mother had always said, reasoning it was why her eldest and youngest were such forces of nature. There was a swelling storm that Feyre could never escape, because it lived inside her. And now she could feel the tide in her chest retreating from the shore, pulling further and further back, and she knew it would crash if she went inside, that it would swallow them both whole.

Be a big girl, she told herself. Go in there and tell him the truth.

She took a deep inhale. Held it, hoping it could hold back the tide, too.

Then, it was only a matter of unlocking her door. Walking the few steps towards the front entrance. Listening to the pealing bell as she pulled open the door.

“Feyre?”

Blonde hair swam into view. The greeting was so unexpected, so startling, that Feyre released the breath she’d been holding.

Then it all crashed down.

Brows pinched together. “Feyre, are you okay?”

Mor had the sense to keep her voice at a whisper. From the way she glanced over her shoulder towards the man hunched over in the booth, it was clear she had put together who Feyre was here to see.

Tears sprung into Feyre’s vision—not because she was crying, but because she couldn’t breathe. The tide was surging around her, clogging her throat, and she couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t—

Mor grabbed Feyre by the shoulders and pushed them out of the cafe.

The early Autumn was as indecisive as Feyre. Yesterday, she’d been sweating through her t-shirt. Today, the air stung her cheeks. Maybe the weather had seen a kindred spirit, a storm that could never quite find stillness, and decided to take pity. The cold calmed her, embraced her, reminded her where she was. Outside. With Mor. Where there was plenty of open space and fresh air. The blockage in her throat loosened. She took a gasping breath, then another.

“You’re okay,” Mor soothed.

“I’m okay,” Feryre repeated. To assure Mor or herself, she wasn’t certain.

Mor took in Feyre’s strained voice, her flushed cheeks, the nails digging into her palms and gestured towards one of the outdoor tables. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Maybe… maybe a trial run could be a good thing.

Her eyes drifted over Mor’s shoulder to where Tamlin sat waiting at a table inside. If she glanced at her phone, she probably had another text waiting from him. Growing impatient.

“He can wait,” Mor said, not unkindly.

“Yeah,” Feyre rasped. “Talking would be… nice.”

It was a little too cold for the iron chairs, which seared through Feyre’s leggings. But the cold calmed her, and she appreciated the privacy. The lack of sounds and smells.

Mor was ever-patient, waiting for Feyre to speak.

When it was clear that she wouldn’t, Mor said, “How have you been? That was some night out, huh?”

Right. That was the last time she’d seen or spoken to Mor. Feyre had been meaning to respond to her text—Heyy! Fun night? 😏

And the follow-up one a day later. My cousin is asking for your phone number. Is it okay if I share it?

They’d both seem innocent enough and at first, Feyre hadn’t answered because she’d felt a twinge of guilt for not staying long enough to meet Mor’s cousin. Then, because Tamlin had showed up at her door with a bouquet of apologies and she hadn’t known how to explain to her friend that she’d taken him back. Nor how to explain to Tamlin that she’d had a one night stand during their breakup.

Then she’d found out she was pregnant, and she hadn’t said much of anything to anyone.

“Yeah,” Feyre said, numbness growing where her legs pressed to the chair.

“And now you’re back with Tamlin,” Mor said slowly, waiting for Feyre to fill in the gaps.

The iron latticework of the outdoor table was much more interesting.

Mor sounded disappointed as she probed, “You said it was the last time you guys were breaking up.”

Feyre mustered all the cheer she could force into her voice. “It was the last time. We’re not going to break up again.”

She’d felt much more confident about that line when she’d said it three weeks ago to a disapproving Alis. Already, Feyre could feel that creature slither over her shoulder, hissing into her ear. If she turned, its pupils would be slitted into two digital lines that begged her acknowledgment.

“Right,” Mor said. “And yet, you came into this cafe looking like you were about to burst into tears because…?”

“Because I’m pregnant,” Feyre blurted.

And there it was. That creature turned real. She felt it reach through her chest and tug. Suddenly, all of that sea water she’d swallowed a moment ago came rising to the surface, and her body regurgitated the words that had been drowning her.

“It’s not Tamlin’s. It’s… remember the guy I met at the club? The one with the purple eyes? It was supposed to be this stupid, drunken one night stand, only first names—I don’t even have his number, Mor. I have some nameless, mysterious baby daddy, and I haven’t told Tamlin because I know he’s going to be…” she blinked back the sting in her eyes. “He’s going to be so furious with me.”

Mor was gaping. Whatever she’d expected… it clearly hadn’t been that.

Waiting for her friend’s reaction felt like treading water in a deep, bottomless ocean. But at least she wasn’t drowning anymore. At least the creature had receded back into the shadows, and her breathing was shallow but still filling her lungs.

Then Mor’s eyes flickered over Feyre’s shoulder. Her expression morphed into such panic that Feyre whirled, only to be met face to face with those shocking purple eyes so wide that she could only assume he’d heard the whole damn thing.

“Feyre,” Mor croaked from behind.

But Feyre couldn’t tear her eyes away from Rhys. In the time since their one night stand, Feyre convinced herself she’d exaggerated his appearance. Three shots of tequila could make anyone beautiful. But here she was, stone-cold sober, fighting her jaw not to drop at the sight of him.

The same short black hair she tugged beneath her fingers was now slightly wind-swept, some of it falling to his face in endearing curls that she concluded were purposefully arranged. He was wearing a navy sweater with a white collared shirt beneath—infuriatingly put together, where she was still sniffing back tears, dressed in her same paint-stained clothes from yesterday.

She’d prepared scripts for him, too, though she always imagined he was someone she would take years to track down. That she’d have time to prepare what to say to him, how to move forward knowing their lives were irrevocably entwined.

“Feyre,” Mor said again after awkwardly clearing her throat. “Meet my cousin, Rhysand.”

Cousin. The one who wanted her number.

“Oh,” Feyre whispered, so many horrible details clicking into place.

Rhysand mustered enough composure to manage a strained: “It’s great to see you again, Feyre.”

Feyre dropped her head into her hands. “Oh my god.”

A chair scraped against the pavement.

Mor said, “I’ll give you two a moment alone.”

She peaked between her fingers, just enough to watch Mor retreat towards the cafe. Likely playing guard dog to ensure Tamlin didn’t stumble upon them. She heard Rhys walk around the table, his footsteps light, as if he were approaching an animal he didn’t want to startle. Then, a pair of broad hands swam into vision as he gripped the back of Mor’s deserted chair, his brown knuckles paling.

He didn’t sit. She could feel his gaze like a leaden weight, so heavy that she couldn’t gather the strength to raise her head.

“When did you find out?” He asked eventually.

Feyre searched for any accusation in his voice, but it was gentle. She lifted her head, finding that some of his shock had thawed, though his expression was unreadable.

“A week ago,” she said.

“Have you…” He rubbed a hand through his hair. “Do you know what you want to do?”

This is where she braced herself. She knew her voice was creeping towards defensive as she said levelly, “I’m keeping the baby.”

Rhysand swallowed thickly. Nodded. “Okay.”

Okay. That knocked her a bit off guard. The lack of questions, of demand for her justification. She’d been preparing for a fight with Tamlin and felt stranded in the face of such simple, ready acceptance. It had to be a trap.

“It was my decision,” Feyre said, plowing ahead. “So I don’t expect anything from you. You don’t need to be… involved. I have no delusion that we’d ever be some perfect nuclear family. If you want to just walk away, this is your chance.”

“And,” Rhysand broached with such caution that Feyre’s spine straightened, “if I want to be involved… would that be okay with you?”

“We’d need to work something out,” she said, ignoring how her voice cracked. Mor’s family came from money. She could already imagine the legal proceedings, the paperwork, the negotiations over days of the week and alternating Christmases. At least Nesta was a lawyer. “I don’t want to get the courts involved. But if it goes that direction—“

“It won’t need to,” he said. “We can play it by ear, do whatever feels right. I just… I’d like to be involved. Starting now.”

The excruciating weight of that small little pea plummeted in her chest. “Starting now?”

Rhys nodded. “If you need someone to drive you to the appointments, or if you need me to pitch in for baby supplies. I’m… I want to help.”

“I’ll think about it.”

His face fell a little.

If she shut him out completely, a lawyer was guaranteed to come knocking at her door. Feyre added, “It’d be nice to get to know you before anything else.”

“Would you like to grab a coffee together?”

“As friends,” Feyre hedged. “I know we—” An image flashed in her mind of those fingers in her mouth, between her thighs. She tried not to flush. “—you know. But I have a boyfriend now. And I’m not looking for you to be my…”

She searched for a word but found none that quite articulated what, exactly, Rhys would be to her.

Baby daddy?

“I just want us to be friends,” she clarified.

His perfect lips, which had once expertly kissed and licked and teased her, edged into a smile. “Then would you like to grab a coffee together as friends?”

“Yes.” She smiled back and found that the pea in her stomach didn’t feel quite so heavy. “Not today, though. I’m, uh… meeting my boyfriend.”

“And I’m meeting my cousin.”

“Right.” Feyre reached stiffly into her pocket, retrieving her phone. “Why don’t you give me your number, and I’ll text you?”

The iron chair practically sighed in relief as Rhysand released it from his death grip. His motions were stiff, too, she noted, as he punched in his number and handed it back to her a tad too mechanically.

Their fingers brushed as she accepted it back, and she felt for the second time that day like she couldn’t breathe. Their eyes met, held. “You say the word, Feyre darling. Any time, any place, and I’m yours.”

She thought she might have said something back or just stared dumbly at his obscenely beautiful face. She couldn’t remember, and he didn’t say anything else before he nodded his goodbye and chased after Mor.

It took Feyre a long time to find the willpower to follow after him, back into that cafe, and breathlessly apologize to Tamlin for being late. And she pretended she couldn’t feel a pair of violet eyes watching her as she sat across from Tamlin, forcing a smile.

[dem-obscure-imagines]

Stranded - Part 1

Steven Hyde x Reader

Note: I’ve been watching That 70’s Show all day every day for the past three days and we already know how I feel about fics that use time travel/dimension hopping so…Also, we’re pretending Hyde and Jackie aren’t together at this point for…reasons…

Warnings: Drug mention/use (weed; it’s the 70’s), some language

Word Count: 3.3k

When you came around, there was a horrible pounding in your head. Your entire body was sore, pain blossoming every time you tried to move. You groaned. Oh God. Oh no. Everything hurt. And…why did it smell like weed?

“She moved.”

“I see that she moved, dumbass.”

“Do you think she’s okay? Should I get my mom?”

“Not yet. It still smells down here. Don’t want Red calling the cops.”

“I think it’s alright. She’s coming around.”

You groaned again, clutching at the sharp cramp in your abdomen. “Shit.”

“She speaks!”

You heard the sound of someone hitting someone else and one of the strange voices, a boy, groaned.

“Shut up, Kelso.”

“I’m just saying, chick falls from the sky, you don’t really expect her to—”

“Shut UP, Kelso.”

You struggled to sit up and opened your eyes despite the pain in your head. You were surrounded by boys, four of them, all of their eyes locked on you. Two of them were standing behind the couch you were laying on, one was sitting on the chair by your feet, and the other was sitting on a coffee table in front of the couch. From the looks of it, you were in a basement. A basement that smelled incredibly like weed.

“Where…am I?”

 *Eric Forman’s Basement - 20 Minutes Earlier*

“Man, I’m telling you, the government is tooootally hiding aliens in Area 51.” Hyde leaned back in his chair, smoke billowing out in front of him.

Kelso laughed. “Dude, if there were aliens, don’t you think we’d know that by now? One of them would have gotten out.”

“Why, are you an alien?” Eric raised an eyebrow.

“What if I’m an alien and I didn’t even know it?” Kelso murmured, his eyes hyperfocused on the table.

Before he could open his mouth again, there was a bright flash of light outside followed by a loud crash and the sound of all of the car alarms in the neighborhood going off.

“What the hell…?”

The boys all looked at the back door, slowly rising from the table. Kelso was the first outside, followed by Eric and then Fez and Hyde. There was a great big steaming crater in the grass out back, a girl with blue hair laying unconscious in the middle of it.

“Man, I think she fell from the sky.” Eric looked up into the stars as if they held the answer.

“That’s ridiculous.” Hyde shook his head. “No fucking way.”

“She has blue hair!” Fez pointed. He gasped and covered his mouth, his eyes wide. “Maybe she’s an alien…”

“Is she okay?” Eric asked.

“She’s breathing.” Kelso pointed out.

“Maybe we should get her inside.” Fez suggested, looking around for signs of cops. If he got caught with weed, he was sure he’d get sent back to his home country.

“I’ve got her. Move over, dillhole.” Hyde pushed Eric out of his way and rolled up the sleeves of his undershirt, kneeling down in the dirt to scoop her out.

Eric walked back toward the door and opened it, Fez walking in to get things on the couch ready.

“I mean, she’s pretty hot. I think it’s our civil duty to—”

Hyde cut Kelso off with a glare as he carried the unconscious blue-haired girl into the basement.

 *Eric Forman’s Basement – Now*

“Where…am I?” You asked, looking at the boys for answers.

The one that was closest to you, the one sitting on the round table in front of the couch, had neat brown hair parted to the left. He was wearing a flannel and jeans. “You’re in my basement. You were, uh, in my backyard unconscious.”

“How long have I been out?” You asked, trying to sit up, but slumping back against the couch, wincing. You’d definitely bruised something on your way down.

“Twenty minutes.” The one sitting in the folding chair across from you answered. He had curly hair and sideburns, sunglasses, and he was wearing a black band tee over a white shirt. Led Zeppelin, you noted. That and his flared jeans would indicate…

Oh God. Your head was spinning. You looked at the slick silver watch wrapped around your wrist and tapped on the screen. 1978, Point Place, Wisconsin. Holy shit 1978. No wonder everything hurt.

“You okay?”

“What?” You blinked a few times, lost in thought. “I—yeah, I’m…I’ll be okay.”

“You got a name, gorgeous?”

“Y/N. L/N.” You swung your legs over the side of the couch and put your feet flat on the floor. You stood up, but your legs wobbled too much and you wound up against curly-haired sideburns guy’s chest, his arms around you. “Sorry. I’m sorry.”

“Let’s get you back on the couch…” He gently lowered you back down and you took a deep breath. “You okay?”

“Did I have a bag when you found me?” You looked up at curly-haired sideburns guy.

“Uh…”

“I found this after Hyde got you out of the hole.” The tall lanky one with the long brown hair handed you your bag, a silver messenger bag with your things crammed in it.

“Thanks.” Hyde, you noted. Curly-haired sideburns guy was Hyde.

“I’m gonna…get you some water.” The one in the flannel got off the table and walked up the stairs.

You rummaged through your bag until you found what you were looking for: your phone. The only problem, the silver rectangle was sparking, the screen cracked badly and the panel on the back was open, exposing the wires.

“Fuck…” Well, that wasn’t good. Stranded in the 1970’s and you couldn’t even contact a ride home if you wanted to.

“What is that?” asked one of the guys behind the couch, pointing to the device in your hand.

“Walkie-talkie.” You replied quickly. You shouldn’t have taken it out in front of them, but given the circumstances, you figured the TSE would just have to forgive you. “Really high-end walkie-talkie.”

You jammed it back in your bag and slumped back against the couch as flannel guy came back down the stairs. He handed you a glass of water and you drank some down. It helped, a little. You still weren’t really sure what to do, though.

“Could I get some names?” You looked around. “I mean, I did wake up in your basement.”

“That’s fair.” Flannel guy chuckled. “I’m Eric. The long haired idiot over there is Michael, sunglasses is Steven, and that’s Fez.”

“So did you like…fall from the sky?” Michael asked.

“Probably.” You groaned, stretching. Something popped. “Yeah, I definitely fell from the sky.”

“Well in that case…” Fez leaned against the couch, his face very close to yours. “Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?”

“Yeah, it hurt a lot.” You touched your neck and winced. Yeah, that was definitely gonna bruise. “Could I get some ice?”

Steven got off of his chair and walked to the freezer up against the wall. He fished around before handing you a bag of frozen peas. “Here.”

“Thank you.” You held the bag to the spot where your neck met your shoulder.

“Where are you from?” Eric asked, sitting back down on the table.

“Not around here.” You sighed and raked your fingers through your very blue hair. If you’d landed a few decades later, that might have been alright, but you were definitely going to stick out. “My ex dumped me off here. I’m kind of stranded.”

“Well, you can stay here for a while. I’m sure my mom wouldn’t mind.” Eric offered. “I mean, they let Hyde stay here.”

“Welcome to Forman’s, home of orphans and misfits.” Steven—Hyde—chuckled, leaning back against the chair. “We can blow up an air mattress in here.”

“No, Mom might come down to do laundry, I can’t have some random girl out in the open.” Eric looked to you and amended, “No offence.”

“None taken.”

“Then we’ll blow up the air mattress in my room. I don’t care.” Hyde shrugged. “Whatever.”

“Thank you.” You shifted the bag of frozen peas, sighing at the slight bit of relief the cold brought.

“Come on, Fez, let’s get the mattress set up.” Michael started walking back towards the room Hyde was staying in.

Fez winked at you. “Don’t miss me too much.”

“You didn’t really fall from the sky, though, right?” Eric asked, still confused over the whole ordeal.

“My head hurts…” You murmured, avoiding the question.

Shrugging, Eric stood up. “I’m gonna head up to my room.”

“Night.” Hyde nodded. He looked at you for a moment, considering you quietly before saying, “I like your piercings.”

“Oh, uh, thanks.” You reached up to touch one of the studs in your earlobe. “I like your shirt.”

“You like Zeppelin?”

“Hell yeah.” You grinned and so did he.

“I knew I liked you.”

 *Eric Forman’s Kitchen – The Next Morning*

“Y/N, honey, I am so sorry to hear about what happened to you.” Eric’s mom, Kitty, set a plate of pancakes in front of you. “You’re welcome to stay in the basement until we get it figured out.”

“Great.” Eric’s father, Red, grumbled. Hyde had warned you about him. Said he was a bit of a hardass. “More teenagers.”

“Thank you so much, Mr. and Mrs. Forman. I promise I won’t be here long. I’ve just gotta make a few calls and get some things arranged.” You took a bite of fluffy pancakes. “These are amazing, Mrs. Forman. Thank you for breakfast.”

“Of course, dear. It’s about time someone appreciated my cooking.” She shot a look at Red, but he was too preoccupied with his newspaper to notice.

“If it’s not too much trouble, I was wondering if you had any tools. A little screwdriver and some pliers.”

“You need tools?” That got Red’s attention. Hyde’s too. They both sat at attention. “Hear that, Eric? The girl knows how to use tools.”

“I heard.”

“I have some you can borrow. What size do you need?”

“Probably the smallest one. It’s some very fine detail stuff.”

“I’ll get some out of the garage later.” Red folded the newspaper and set it on the table. “You know, the blue hair and piercings had me skeptical, but maybe you’re not so bad. Teach Eric a thing or two while you’re at it.”

“Will do, sir.”

“So where are you from, Y/N?” Kitty asked, smiling.

“Up north. Tiny little town. My ex-boyfriend and I stopped here for gas, and…well, you know the rest.”

“Sounds like a total dillhole.” Hyde shook his head. “You’re better off.”

“Yeah, tell me about it.” You shrugged. “Life is full of adventures. I guess this is just going to be one of mine.”

“Well, if it helps, it’s never boring around here.” Eric said, taking a bite of his pancakes.

You laughed, nodding. “Yeah, that definitely helps.

***

A while later, you were sitting at the little round table in the basement. You had pulled Hyde’s usual chair up to it and were focused intently on the “walkie talkie” in front of you. You were wearing a pair of protective goggles, your work gloves covering your hands.

“What are you doing?” You jumped at the voice behind you, but when you turned to look, it was just Hyde standing there.

“Trying to fix my walkie talkie.”

He thought for a second, looking at the device in front of you. “That doesn’t really look like a walkie talkie.”

“Yeah.” You shrugged, using the pliers to twist some wires together. “It doesn’t.”

“Weird.”

“Yeah.” You screwed the panel onto the back of it and thankfully, it came to life, the screen, though it was cracked, glowing blue as it started up. You exhaled a huge sigh of relief and rested your head on the table for a second. “Oh thank God.”

“Are you sure that’s a—?”

“I’ve gotta make a call. I’m gonna hop outside.”

“Okay. I think the Circle is gonna get started up down here. You want me to roll you a blunt?” He offered. A 1970’s boy offering you his precious weed? You never imagined that happening in your life…

“I’m alright, but thanks. I’ll be back in a bit.”

“Alright.” He nodded, trying not to watch as you walked out the door, but he couldn’t help it. He wasn’t sure why, but there was something about you that was just…different.

You walked into the chilly night air. It had taken you almost all day to get your damn phone working, and you could only hope the temporal chip was working or you’d really be screwed. So, hesitantly tapping on your horrible ex-boyfriend’s contact, you exhaled a long sigh. A few rings later, he picked up.

“Hey.”

“Don’t ‘hey’ me, you fucking asshole! What gives?!”

“What’s this about?”

“You stranded me in the goddamn 1970’s! What the hell is wrong with you?!”

“Listen, sugar, it’s nothing personal—”

“Bullshit, Jaxon! You get back here and take me to the station right now or I’ll get you banished to the fucking middle ages, you hear me?”

“I wouldn’t take that tone of voice with me, little lady. You’re not in any position to be making demands. Maybe I’ll just have to tell the society you deserted…”

“I’ll get you for this! You hear me? You will not get away with this.”

You could just about hear the smirk in his voice when he said, “We’ll see about that.”

The line went dead with a click and when you looked at the screen, there was a message that read: Temporal Chip Corrupted. Take to Repair Station Immediately.

“Fuck…” Tears fogged up your vision and rolled down your cheeks. You couldn’t believe you were crying over that asshole, but you were. You were stuck in the 1970’s and you’d used your only call to talk to the one person in the entire Time Society of Earth that didn’t give a single shit about your wellbeing.

A wave of hopelessness washed over you and you collapsed onto the grass, your phone laying on the ground beside you as you sobbed into the starry night.

“Hey, are you…alright?” You weren’t sure how long Hyde had been standing there, but he was walking towards you, his hands jammed in his pockets and his sunglasses, for once, off of his face.

“No…” You shook your head and sniffled, wiping at your tears with your hands. “I…” You choked on tears. “I’m stuck here.”

“Well hey, we can get you a ride back home. Kelso has a van, Red has a car, we’ll figure it out, okay?”

“It’s not that simple.” You shook your head.

Hyde knelt down on the grass next to you, a soft look on his face, his eyes exposed to you and sparkling in the starlight.

Your heart raced, and you weren’t sure if it was because of the look he was giving you or because he was onto your secret. Maybe a little bit of both.

“Are you…” He started, the wheels turning behind his eyes. “Are you an alien?”

You laughed and shook your head. “No. No I’m not.”

“But…”

“I mean, I guess you were kind of close, though.” You looked at him, weighing your options. It might not be so bad to have someone in on your secret. Then, at least you wouldn’t be alone. “You can’t tell the others, though, alright? The less people that know, the better.”

“I can keep a secret.”

“I’m from the future, Steven.” You whispered. “I didn’t fall from the sky, I got pushed out of a time machine.”

He was quiet, staring at you for a long time. “Well, fuck. That’s not good.”

“Yeah. I mean, eventually someone has to realize I’m gone, but…he could cover up my disappearance really easily. I…” A tear rolled down your cheek and you stared at the grass. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do…”

“You’re gonna stay right here.” He tilted his head, slowly reaching out to tilt your face up so he could look at you. “We’ll take care of you. Help you figure out a way home…”

“Thank you.” You sniffled, smiling finally. Yeah, this wasn’t ideal, but things could be worse. At least you weren’t alone.

“Let’s get you back inside, yeah? It’s cold out here.” Hyde stood and helped you to your feet. His arm settled around your shoulders.

When the two of you got back into the house, the Circle was mostly gathered. Hyde pulled up a chair for you right beside his and you sat down next to him while the boys started smoking. A few puffs in, he patted your thigh, looking over at you.

“I’m gonna get a soda. You want anything?”

You motioned him closer, and he leaned in before you whispered, “Has Pepsi been invented yet?”

He laughed. “Yeah. I’ll get you one.” Hyde walked across the basement and up the stairs, leaving you with the other three.

“You and Hyde are awful cozy.” Kelso smirked. “Don’t tell me he already claimed you.”

“What, is he not this friendly usually?” You laughed.

“He didn’t even give me a chance to impress you with my foreign charm.” Fez pouted, shaking his head. “I was just saying how girls don’t fall out of the sky. Doesn’t that mean I get the one that does?”

“I mean, I don’t know how long I’m gonna be around.” You shrugged. “I don’t do long-distance. I wouldn’t get too attached.”

“Better let him know that before he does.” Eric warned.

You nodded. “Believe me, he already knows.”

Hyde returned a few seconds later, settling in beside you. He set a Pepsi can on the table in front of you and you admired the label, noting how different it looked than the cans you were used to. But when you cracked it open and took a few sips, it tasted just the same as it always did.

You talked to the boys for a while, bullshitting your way out of their questions and absorbing as much as you could about the situation you’d landed in. You had a feeling that blending in wouldn’t be too hard, but that didn’t mean you wouldn’t have to be careful not to blow your cover the rest of the way.

Eventually, Fez and Kelso went home and Eric went upstairs to his room, leaving you and Hyde alone in the basement.

“How far in the future?” He asked. When you said it, you could tell the question had been on his mind all night.

“Pretty far.”

He sighed, chuckling to himself. “That’s what I was afraid of.”

“I’m stationed in 2020 in a space station orbiting earth. Time doesn’t really…pass there. It’s a null area. It’s been 2020 since…well, since I’ve been there.”

“Fifty years? Is that math right?”

“Yeah, just about.” You finished off your Pepsi.

“Damn.”

“Yeah, damn.” You sighed, raking your fingers through your blue hair, the decades standing between you ever-obvious. “I, uh, forgot to ask Kitty for some of Laurie’s old clothes. To sleep in.”

“Oh. Let me grab you one of my shirts. Hang tight.” He walked back into his room and came back with a band shirt and a pair of shorts. “These should work.”

“Thanks, Hyde. Being here isn’t easy, but you’re…you’re making it a bit easier.”

“Well, I’m nothing if not a charmer.” He smirked.

You stood on your toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek before turning to walk into the bathroom and change. When you emerged a few minutes later, he was out on the couch, some show playing on the screen, the volume down low.

“I’m gonna get to bed, I think.”

He turned around to look at you, his voice caught in his throat when he saw you in his clothes. You looked good. Really good. He snapped out of it. “I’ll be in there soon.”

“Night.”

“Goodnight.” Hyde turned back around to face the TV. Maybe it was selfish of him, but he couldn’t help thinking he was lucky you’d been stranded there.

Part 2

[s-horne]

13. National Apple Pie Day

(some circa 2012 avengers-living-together-in-stark-tower fluff for y’all)

Tony padded down the hallway, his toes curling in at the cold. Some distant part of his brain muttered at him for forgetting to put socks on yet again, but he ignored it in favour of getting to the kitchen where the coffee was kept. If he couldn’t sleep, then he might as well keep himself awake with caffeine.

It wasn’t until he had poured himself a mug of steaming coffee into a frankly hideous cup from Clint and taken a long, much-needed sip that Tony realised he wasn’t alone in the kitchen. He let out a startled cry when he saw the other person, throwing his hand up to clutch at his chest as the other held his mug far away from himself in an effort not to douse his bare feet with coffee.

“Good God, Rogers,” Tony said, breathless, when he had recovered a little. “How long have you been there?”

“I did say hello when you walked in,” Steve said, a tiny smile playing around his lips. He was hunched in on himself at the very end of the dining table, his hands curled around a mug that didn’t smell like coffee. On his face was an expression that Tony hated to see, but one that tended to come out when Steve was a little tired or had a lot on his mind. Unfortunately, it was also one that Tony was seeing more and more lately.

The aliens of the world – or not their world, actually, that was kind of the point – weren’t giving them much of a break and as the weather turned colder, Steve’s memories of the ice were flashing up more often. Add in his apparent inability to sleep and it was no wonder that Steve’s smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“Well, you could have said it a little louder,” Tony retorted, peeling himself off the counter and slinking over to the table. He threw himself down onto one of the chairs and made to tuck his legs up underneath himself. Taking another sip of his drink, Tony was too focused on the feeling of the hot liquid warming him from the inside and far too tired to actually coordinate his legs and he caught his knee on the table leg.

He let out a loud curse at the sharp stab of pain and his arm jerked in reaction, spilling hot coffee all over the table. “Oh, shit!”

“Oh my, Tony!”

There was suddenly a wet cloth on Tony’s hand, dabbing at his burnt skin in a soothing, circular motion, and Tony looked up in surprise. He blinked once, twice, a daze falling over him from the lack of sleep and the sharp sting of hot coffee.

“God, only you could do this,” Steve muttered under his breath, though there was definitely a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Yeah, well,” Tony shrugged and waited until Steve lifted his eyes to lock their gazes, “your fault.”

Steve’s smile only grew and he dropped his gaze again, swiping the cloth one last time before throwing it down on the table. “Of course it was. It always is, isn’t it?”

Tony huffed and lifted his now half-empty mug up to his lips when Steve stepped away again, taking a long sip and sighing at the taste. He wriggled his fingers and was pleased to feel that the skin didn’t feel tight or look too red – all thanks to Steve. Of course.

“Thank you,” he said softly, not expecting or waiting for an answer. Tony shifted a little on the chair to shove his toes under his thighs, eyes shifting over to look at Steve. “So, what’s got you up so late? Too many twitter arguments to win? Too many peas under the mattress?”

“Oh.” Steve winced as he flicked the kettle back on and leant against the counter, ankles crossed. “Not your best.”

Tony rolled his eyes and scrubbed his hand over his face. “I know, I know. I need some sleep. But once I’ve gotten that, you better watch out.”

Steve laughed and cracked his knuckles, rolling his head from side to side. “I almost look forward to it.” He stifled a yawn behind his hand and shuffled hesitantly, awkwardly, on the floor. “Hey, you’re not going back to bed any time soon, are you?”

Tony drained his mug and shook his head, scratching his stomach absentmindedly. “Nope. Don’t fancy staring at my ceiling for another three hours. Why? Got a job for me?”

“I do,” Steve replied, turning to grab a teabag when the kettle flicked off with a low whistle. “A top secret one, at that. It needs one of our best guys on it, I’ll have you know.”

Steve filled his mug to the top, twisting to grab Tony’s from him for a refill as well.

“I’m intrigued.”

Steve smiled again, this one a little warmer and it flickered in his eyes with a little more life. “Well, before Sam left for the weekend, he wanted to hone his baking skills. Bucky thought it would be funny for the two of them to cook up an apple pie in my honour. I didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of eating it in front of them, but every time I open the damn fridge it taunts me.”

Tony laughed and reached out his hand to accept his mug back, breathing in the warm steam. “Sounds like my kind of mission. But, the most serious question, ice cream or custard?”

That seemed to stump Steve for a moment and he looked to be deep in thought as he stirred his tea. “Hm. Well, I’m not sure what’s in the freezer ice-cream wise, but I know we have whipped cream. Real stuff as well, not that shit that Clint has.”

“Ugh, I know. That stuff sucks. I’ve tried throwing it out, but he seems to have a standing order for it. I’m pretty sure he has Jarvis wrapped around his finger to help him, the traitor.”

Steve chuckled a little and tapped his spoon on the side of his mug before throwing it in the general direction of the sink. “Alright. Two slices of apple pie with real whipped cream. Sound good?”

Tony took a long sip of his drink, fanning his mouth when it burnt his tongue, and nodded. “And don’t skimp on the slices. I don’t think I ate dinner.”

“Of course you didn't. Well, we have a whole pie in here and I’m not inclined to share it with anyone else.”

“Oh yeah?” Tony looked up and held Steve’s gaze, heart beating wildly in his chest. He was so tired that he almost felt drunk. If what he was about to do next all blew up in his face, then at least he could blame it on that. “What makes me so special then?”

“You’ve got a spark,” Steve said after a beat. “A warmth.”

In an instant, the whole atmosphere changed. There was a weird sort of excitement building, fizzing in the air. He felt like he was floating, as though he was in a dream.

“Oh yeah?”

“Hm. I kind of like it. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like you before.”

Tony lifted his mug to his lips again, still holding Steve’s gaze searchingly. “No,” he said finally, for once not in the mood to make a joke. “I don’t expect you have.”

They stayed there for a long moment before Steve dragged his eyes away as he turned and opened the fridge. He fished out the pie and made short work of finding plates and utensils before starting to carve.

“Gotta say,” he commented absentmindedly as he fiddled with getting the soggy slices onto plates, “I don’t know how this is going to taste.”

Tony cleared his throat, not sure whether he was glad for the subject change or not. “Well, I think I have more faith in Sam than I would Bucky.”

Steve snorted. “Obviously.”

They lapsed into silence again, the only sound a quiet murmur of thanks when Steve handed over a loaded plate. Tony dropped his eyes to the slice of admittedly impressive-looking pie, stabbing a soft piece apple on his fork.

“So,” he started, swiping the fruit through the sheer mountain of cream drowning the dessert, “if I were to ask you out for a real piece of pie, – in a restaurant, you know? The full deal and everything, – what would you say?”

Steve swallowed the mouthful he had just taken and looked over to Tony, face blissfully gentle. “I’m pretty sure I’d say ‘yes’.”