#purposely gives them pink and blue cars yay

[cup1d-kpd]

and they never played game of life again 😔

is it obvious i didnt feel like actually drawing the board

[angryinternetduck]

Key

hello!!! this is my submission for the @1dffchallenges​​ quarantine challenge. here’s 4.3k words of fluff on you and Harry in an established relationship, quarantining together in his cafe. featuring Valentine’s Day lattes in March, neon green crocs, and a proposal or two.  

A smile curved your lips involuntarily as you walked into the cafe, breathing in the rich scent of coffee and sighing in the warm air. You shrugged off your coat, folding it over your arm and hovering around the edge of the cafe for a moment. 

It was just after lunch and the rush was fading. You tried to look nonchalant, letting your gaze drift over the various paintings on the wall, but your eyes kept darting to the cute barista behind the counter. 

His name tag said Harry, and his dark curls were hidden under a black cap. Your stomach fluttered every time he met your gaze. You’d been in there countless times, but you swore your heart rushed more each time he looked at you. 

Once he finally finished his last order and the line had disappeared, you walked over. He grinned, leaning over the counter. “Well, hello, there,” he greeted you. “Hello,” you said back, smiling up at him coyly. 

“What can I getcha?” he asked, and you hummed, looking at the menu behind him. “How about… hm. How about, surprise me?” He raised a brow, shifting forward, and said, “How about… a kiss?” He pursed his lips and closed his eyes, making kissy noises. 

You giggled, shaking your head but kissing him anyway. “This friendly to all of your customers, are you?” you asked, walking around the counter. “Only the ones I date,” Harry replied, starting on your latte.

“Yeah?” you said. “And how many is that?” 

Harry winked. “Don’t worry, love, you’re my favorite.” 

“You flatter me,” you laughed, hopping up on the counter and swinging your legs. Kissing you again as he walked past to grab something next to you, Harry said, “My soul purpose in life,” and you snickered. “What a sad fate.” 

Harry shrugged, nudging your leg. “I’ve learned to enjoy it.”

“Impressive,” you said, taking the cup as he handed it to you. “A Valentine’s Day Latte,” he said, and you frowned. “It’s March, H.” He smirked. “And?” You laughed, and took a sip, and he raised a brow. “Yay or nay?” You tilted your head from side to side, taking another sip before nodding your head. “Yay,” you decided, and he pumped his fist. “Success!” 

“Very Valentiney,” you laughed, and he shrugged, leaning back on the counter behind him. “That was the intention,” he told you. You peered into the glass, watching the rose petals float around in the pink colored coffee. “And pink,” you added. 

“Got something against pink, hm?” 

“Of course not!” you exclaimed. “Only makes it better!” 

Harry grinned. “Wicked.” 

There was a beat of silence, and you sighed, your smile fading a bit as you swung your legs. “So I just came from Niall’s…” Harry nodded and crossed his arms across his chest. “Right. How’s the pub doing, then?” he asked, and you shrugged. “Eh. He was telling me about closing for COVID.” 

Harry bit his lip, looking at the ground. “Right… I’ve been thinking about that…” 

“The website’s up, right?” you asked. 

“Yeah, but… I don’t think…” He sighed, shaking his head. 

“We could do deliveries,” you said, cracking a smile. “Get a few bikes.” 

“Get a tandem,” Harry replied. “Go together.” 

You shrugged. “Or I could ride on your shoulders.” 

“Do it on a unicycle. Charge extra for entertainment.” 

“And get a monkey. Make it worth their money.” 

Harry laughed, shaking his head again and putting his head in his hands. “I don’t know. I don’t know what we’re going to do.” You sighed, reaching out and squeezing his shoulder. “We’ll be alright.” 

He shrugged, putting his hand on top of yours and squeezing back. “Yeah.” 

***

To be completely honest, you were nervous. 

It was a few days later, and the cafe was (temporarily) closed, and Harry had sent you a text. Cafe in ten, it had said, and that was it. You saw Harry on the counter through the glass walls as you walked towards the cafe, hunched over his phone. The sign was flipped to Closed on the door, but it was unlocked, so you walked in.

“Hey,” you said, and he looked up with a grin. 

“Hey!” he said. 

You raised a brow, watching him hop up excitedly and shove his hands in his pockets. 

“Right,” he went on, looking a little more nervous than you felt as he walked over to you and grabbed your hands. “Right,” he said again, “well, I have a question.” You laughed, nervously, and said, “You’re worrying me, H.” 

He bit his lip, holding back a smile. He stepped back, and shoved his hands in his pockets again, and then pulled something out. It was a little black box, and your heart stopped when you realized what it was. 

A ring box. 

And then, he got down on one knee, and your hand flew to your mouth as you stepped backwards. You loved him - of course you did - but you’d barely been dating a few months. You hadn’t even moved in together. It was way too soon for this. 

You began, “Harry -” but he cut you off, saying your name quietly as a smile tugged at his lips. “Will you make me the happiest man on earth…” He opened the box, so slowly, and despite yourself, you were curious about the ring he picked, and then - 

Your heart dropped back down to your chest from your throat. 

It was a key. 

You caught your breath, laughing in surprise as you buried your face in your hands. 

“... and quarantine with me?” 

“You fucking bastard,” you laughed, catching your breath and shaking your head. “I was getting ready to reject you, you fucking moron!” Harry smiled, so smug, and raised a brow. “And? Is it still a rejection?” 

“Of course not,” you breathed, still giggling as he stood up and you wrapped him in a hug. “Of course I’ll quarantine with you, idiot.” Harry laughed, kissing you gently but murmuring, “Somehow the insults don’t seem like a good beginning.” 

“Jesus Christ, we’ll kill each other,” you said with a grin. 

“And live happily ever after as ghosts.” 

“Whoever takes over the cafe will be haunted out of their minds.” 

Harry smirked. “Damn right.” 

***

Harry pouted, leaning into you. “One more.” 

“You said that ten minutes ago.” 

“But it’s so… hard,” Harry whined, kissing you again. 

You smirked. “Hard, huh?” 

“You’re not making this any easier,” Harry mumbled, glaring at your outstretched hand but then groaning and pulling himself up when you just walked away. “You’re a bloody tease,” he complained, following you down the steps. 

“And you’re bloody lazy.” 

“Maybe we should camp out in the cafe,” Harry said. “‘s empty anyway.” 

“Yeah, right,” you replied as you reached your car. “Neither of us could handle that - you look like you helped Frankenstein reanimate his monster with that posture, and sleeping on the ground would not help.” 

Harry scoffed, swatting at your shoulder as you grabbed a box. “If my back’s that bad, maybe I shouldn’t be carrying your entire apartment in a box, hm? Ever think about that?” He grabbed a box anyway, and you laughed, kicking the door open for him with your foot. 

“It’s a sign of how much you love, me, H, and it is not my entire apartment.” 

“Might as well be,” Harry grumbled, huffing exaggeratedly as you reached the top of the stairs. Living directly above the cafe was incredibly convenient, you were learning, in all times except moving. Then the two flights of stairs were just torturous. 

Despite that, you’d made your way through almost all of your belongings - which really wasn’t that much, Harry was just being dramatic - and only had a few more boxes to go. If you’d keep moving, it’d probably take less than an hour, but… 

“We deserve a break,” Harry declared, plopping down on the sofa again. 

“H, we just -” 

“Pretty please?” Harry said, giving you puppy dog eyes. 

“It’s gonna take -” 

“Pleeasse?” 

Finally you sighed, curling up next to him. “I can’t believe this is happening,” you murmured after a second, and he shrugged, kissing your forehead. “I can.” You smiled, looking up at him, and said, “Yeah.” 

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, and he kissed you. You sighed, leaning into him. “Maybe we can get the rest of them tomorrow,” you mumbled, kissing him back. You shifted around to settle on his lap, and you felt him grin against your lips. 

“Your first good idea of the day,” he said happily. 

***

It only took a few days to fall into a routine. 

It wasn’t a very productive routine, but it was a routine nonetheless. 

Mornings were leisurely, spent in bed whispering nonsense under the covers or sharing lazy kisses. Lunches were ordered or made in the kitchen, fumbling over recipes and making a mess. Nights were the most action of the day, which was mostly just popcorn fights and giggly somersault competitions around the floor in front of the TV. 

You probably made it through every single show of interest on Netflix, plus every single romantic comedy on the face of the earth. TV show reactions varied. Sometimes they’d keep you quiet, entranced in the worlds they created, and other times they were too ridiculous and far fetched to be believed and the dialogue would get lost in your laughter. Rom-coms tended to be a mix of gushing tears and snickered comments under your breaths. 

You made competitions out of memorization, attempting to recreate the sword fights in the Princess Bride with chopsticks as you danced around his apartment and singing over each other as you rapped lines from Hamilton. 

So really, you thought, listening to Harry snore with a smile, overall, not too bad. 

***

“Pink walls,” you said, “with green trim and orange polka dots.” 

Harry shook his head. “All green. Plus mustard yellow.” 

“And orange polka dots.” 

“Pink polka dots.” 

“Fine. And blue stripes.” 

Harry snickered, leaning forward off the back wall of the cafe and propping his chin on his fist. “We’ll give them a headache so they’ll get coffee just to stop the pain.” You nodded. “That’s the plan,” you agreed, and Harry raised a brow, turning his head to look at you. “The plan, hm? I thought that was just your atrocious eye for color.” 

You scoffed. “You’re one to talk, mister neon green crocs.” 

“That was one time.” 

“One time too many.” 

Harry sighed, shaking his head. “I’d paint the whole place that same shade of neon green just for something to do.” You bit your lip, then stood up, dusting your hands on your pants. “Let’s… let’s dance.” 

Harry just stared at you.

“C’mon,” you said, a smile growing on your lips as you held out your hand. 

More staring. 

“Harry,” you whined, giving him puppy dog eyes. “Please?” 

“We don’t have music,” he said. 

“We have our phones!” 

“Mine’s dead.” 

You grinned, pulling yours out of your pocket. “Mine’s not. We can slow dance to… uhhh… to Etta James.” Harry groaned, leaning back against the wall. “I have no energy. We should sleep.” 

“It’s eleven.” 

Harry laughed. “Yeah,” he said, “it’s eleven.” 

“C’mon, old man,” you replied, plugging your phone in and starting a song. 

I Wanna Dance with Somebody started playing, and you held out your hands as you sang to him, “Clock strikes… upon the hour… and the sun begins to fade!” Harry laughed again, sliding down to the floor and watching as you pranced around the empty cafe. 

“This is hardly Etta James, love.”

“Well, I’m hardly slow dancing by myself…” You raised a brow, holding out your hand again. “Unless…?” Harry grinned, shaking his head. “Oh, no,” he said, “I’m quite enjoying the show. I’d hate for you to stop on my account…”

He finally got up when the chorus hit, and you squealed in excitement. You pulled him around with you, laughing when he attempted a few moves and then encouraging him when he pouted at your mockery. 

You saw him biting back a smile, and you couldn’t help but kiss him when he spun you around and dipped you low as the song ended. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” Harry said, grinning against your lips. 

You grinned right back, pressing closer. “And what a wonderful way to go.” 

“You know,” Harry began after a beat, “after all that dancing -” 

“- it was one song -” 

“- I don’t know if I can walk back up all those steps.” 

You smirked, leaning into him and sliding kisses against his jawline. “You know… the one place we haven’t quite broken in yet…” Harry laughed. “Hardly sanitary, what you’re implying, you know…” 

“We’re good cleaners,” you murmured. 

His fingers slid your sleeve off your shoulder. “And we do need something to do…” 

“Really doesn’t make any sense to go back upstairs,” you whispered. 

“No sense,” Harry agreed with a grin. “None at all.” 

***

“What if,” Harry mumbled the next morning, waking you up with soft kisses against your cheeks, “I left you… to go be a part… of the next Frankenstein remake...” You giggled, nosing into his shoulder. “Is it really that bad?” He pouted at you miserably. “Worse.”

You grinned, rolling over. “What’s the assistant guy’s name?” you asked. “Igor?” 

“No idea,” Harry sighed. “We gotta watch that movie again.”

“Maybe you’ll find out when you audition for the part.” 

There was a beat of silence, and then Harry groaned as he sat up and cracked his back. 

“You sound like an eighty year old,” you laughed. 

“I’ll take that as a compliment, thank you very much.” 

“At least there’s coffee right there,” you said, sitting up and grabbing Harry’s discarded shirt as he pulled on his boxers. “And food…” Harry yawned, stretching his arms towards the ceiling. “We should learn French,” he said as he opened the mini fridge under the counter. 

“French, huh?” 

“Or Italian.” 

You shrugged. “Or Spanish.” 

“Or Spanish,” Harry agreed, cracking an egg into a bowl. “Or Arabic.” 

“Mandarin.” 

“Gaelic.” 

“Czech.” 

“Russian.” 

“Urdu.” 

Harry smiled, whisking the eggs. “All of ‘em.” 

“We’ve got time.” 

“Wanna help out, lazy bum?” Harry asked, spraying a pan with oil with a teasing smile on his lips. “Or should I do all of this myself?” You grinned, replying, “It’s good practice for your role as an assistant,” but standing up and popping bread in the toaster anyway. 

“Think Frankenstein ate eggs?” 

“Wonder if he had chickens,” you said. 

Harry grimaced. “Probably had a few zombie ones.” 

“Think their eggs taste better or worse?” 

“Oh, better, definitely - they’re just green,” Harry said seriously, and you laughed as you slid the toast out of the toaster and onto a plate “Want some zombie eggs and ham, Sir Sam?” you asked, grabbing utensils. 

“But I don’t like zombie eggs and ham,” Harry said with a pout, coming around to sit next to you at the counter. You raised a brow, crunching on some toast. “What happened to ‘better,’ huh?” 

“Right, well, that’s my opinion,” Harry replied as he scooped some eggs. “I’m sure Sir Sam -” He frowned, pausing. “Wait, ‘sir’? He’s not a… he’s a knight?” You snorted, shaking your head. “I have no idea, babe.”

Harry tsked, giving you a disappointed look. “You should really be more knowledgeable about the classics,” he chastised. You raised a brow. “Classics, huh?” Harry grinned, nodding enthusiastically. “Absolutely.” 

You smiled despite yourself, nudging his shoulder. “Okay, Dr. Seuss, whatever you say.” 

***

You woke up in front of the TV, yawning as you sat up. 

The end credits of some movie were rolling on screen. It was a film, all in French, that you had, apparently, fallen asleep in front of. Harry was asleep too, curled behind you on the couch. 

The two of you had been going through movies in foreign languages for the past few weeks, and they hadn’t actually been that bad. A few of them were mildly interesting, a few downright boring, and a few, like this one, so tiresome that you’d both fallen asleep about halfway through. 

You started cleaning up, grabbing the empty popcorn bowl from the coffee table and walking into the kitchen to slide it onto the counter. When you walked back in, remote in hand to shut off the TV, Harry was awake and yawning. 

“Riveting film, hm?” he mumbled, rubbing at his eyes. 

“Oui, oui,” you agreed, sitting down next to him again. “What time is it?” Harry asked, fumbling for his phone. You glanced at the clock, beating him to it, and said, “Ten. We should do something.” 

“Let’s go to France,” Harry suggested, stretching out on the couch. “Buy some wine.” 

“Or a vineyard.” 

“Or both.” 

You sighed, laying back against him and watching the ceiling fan. “Imagine quarantining in France. Or Italy, or something. On a vineyard.” Harry nodded. “Would certainly be easier to learn another language, yeah?” 

“We’d be drunk half the time,” you mused. 

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” 

You smiled, and you turned to look at him in the dim lighting. “Can you imagine? Frolicking around all day in our two hundred acres, half drunk?” Harry smiled back, shifting you slightly so he could sit up next to you. “Sounds like heaven.” 

“I don’t know about the two hundred acres part,” you murmured, leaning in to kiss him, “but we could certainly do the half drunk part…” Harry shook his head, grinning against your lips. “Sorry, love, I don’t do anything half arsed.” 

“Oh, my mistake,” you giggled, kissing him once more before standing up. 

“Don’t bother with the glasses,” Harry called once you were in the kitchen. 

“What are we, barbarians?” you laughed, and Harry shook his head. “No, darling, just incredibly lazy. Don’t feel like washing dishes…” You came back in, handing him the bottle of wine, and then looked around, biting your lip. 

Harry took a sip, watching you, and then grumbled, “Oh, no.” You smiled, glancing at him inquisitively. “What’s wrong?” Harry sighed, looking at the wine mournfully. “You have your thinking face on,” he sighed, “which means we’re going to do something, and this bottle will be woefully full by the end of the night.”

“You’re too dramatic for your own good,” you laughed.

Harry looked up, smiling again. “And you’re not nearly dramatic enough.”

“We make a good pair.” 

“That we do,” Harry agreed, standing up as he stretched his arms towards the ceiling. There was a beat of silence, and then Harry raised a brow, nudging your leg. “C’mon, then, out with it, what’s the idea?” 

You grinned at him. “Cookies,” you declared. 

“Cookies?” Harry echoed skeptically. 

“Cookies.” 

“Too far away,” Harry said conclusively, plopping back onto the couch.

“On the contrary!” you exclaimed, pulling him back up. “We’ll make them ourselves,” you said, and then laughed at the expression of horror on Harry’s face. “My dear rose petal,” he said, holding your hand gently in his, “my gorgeous honey pot. We are not making cookies.” 

You scoffed. “Why not?” 

Harry pouted, holding up the wine. “Because relaxation.” 

“How about… relaxation… and cookies?” you asked, taking the wine bottle from him. He gasped indignantly and reached for it, and you giggled, backing up into the kitchen as he followed you. 

“You clever minx,” Harry mumbled once you finally stopped, leaning into you and pressing kisses against your lips with a grin. After a second, you pulled away, smiling when he chased after you. “Cookies?” you asked, giving him your best puppy dog eyes. 

Harry sighed dramatically. “Cookies,” he relented. 

You shouted in victory and started rooting through the cabinets. Your favorite song came on after a moment, and Harry winked at you, coming around to help grab supplies. The two of you shouted along to the lyrics, spilling things as you measured and poured and scooped. 

It was a game of theft once the dough was mixed, stealing pinches while his back was turned and playfully slapping his hand when you caught him doing the same. Thankfully, you still had a decent sized batch when you slid the tray into the oven. 

Then you both stumbled back into the other room, and collapsed onto the couch. “We should have put wine in the cookies,” you murmured into Harry’s shoulder. Harry snickered, and then said, “That’s a grape idea…” 

You blinked. “What?” 

Harry giggled, nudging you. “Grape? Like, great? Because - wine?” 

“Jesus fucking -” 

Harry cut you off with a kiss, and you laughed despite yourself, leaning into him and letting yourself get carried away. His hands drifted, shifting you onto his lap, and your hands slid into his hair, messing with the curls at the nape of his neck. 

It could have been seconds, or maybe hours, before you came up for air, breathless and red cheeked and way too hot and bothered for just a simple make out session. “You’re being a bit mean,” Harry whispered, and you raised a brow. “Am I, now?” 

Harry nodded, feathering kisses down your jawline and behind your ear. “Too many clothes. ‘s quite rude, actually.” You giggled, leaning into him, slipping your hands out of your sweater, and then frowned. 

Was something… burning?

“Shit!” you exclaimed, jumping off of him, and Harry gasped, reaching after you. You pulled yourself together, sprinting to the kitchen, shouting, “The fucking - the cookies!” Harry groaned, walking in after you. 

They were burnt. 

Well and truly burnt. 

Harry came and stood next to you, gazing at the charred lumps of dough with a deep frown. “Fucking cock block,” he muttered, and you looked up at him, and then burst out laughing. 

After a second, he sighed, wrapping his arms around you. “This went well, didn’t it?” he said. “Oh, wonderfully,” you agreed, and you shut the oven door. “Say, Styles,” you said, turning to face him, “ever heard of Postmates?” 

“Why, no, I haven’t!” Harry replied with a grin. “You’ll have to show me!” 

You nodded, pulling out your phone. “I guess I will!” 

***

Between a few more cookie-baking-attempts, even more cookie deliveries, a couple more foreign-language films, twice that amount of romantic comedies, and even one or two morning jogs, quarantine dragged on as quickly as it probably could. Neither of you were sure how long it was going to last, nobody was, but you were constantly reminded of how happy you were Harry had asked you to quarantine with you all those months ago. 

In fact, you were being reminded of it at this very instant, because you’d woken up to an empty bed and a sticky note signed by Harry with only the words, In the cafe, scrawled in green ink. A bit nervous, you got up, and got ready, and then headed down the steps. 

The deja vu was unreal - he was sitting on the counter, hunched over his phone, swinging his legs. “H?” you said softly, and the deja vu continued. He jumped up, hands shoving into his pockets, a stupid grin on his face. “Hey,” he said. 

“Hi,” you said back. “What’s up?” 

“I, er - I wanted to ask you something,” he said, and you grinned, coming around to stand in front of him. “You’re making me nervous,” you replied, and he bit his lip, fiddling with his pocket again. 

“Right,” he said, holding back a smile. “Right, well, quarantine has been fun, yeah?” 

You raised a brow. Slowly, you agreed, “Yeah…” 

“Well, I, erm - I was just thinking…” He ran a hand through his hair and cleared his throat. “I was just thinking that I wouldn’t mind quarantining with you my entire life.” You laughed a bit. “I dunno about that,” you joked, and he flushed, shaking his head. 

“I mean - I mean, of course not - obviously, the pandemic, I just - I meant -” 

“Harry,” you interrupted softly. 

“Sorry,” he murmured, smiling again. “Well, I have a question.” 

“So you keep saying.” 

He laughed, finally pulling his hand out of his pocket. But somehow, you almost weren’t surprised when it was a ring box. You grinned, glancing at it and then back at Harry but keeping quiet as he knelt down on one knee. 

“You know,” he said, and all you could think was how much he was dragging this out, “they say you’re supposed to get down on one knee because of some old Norse tradition. Apparently, getting married is like taking an arrow to the knee and, erm - and, well, you know, falling onto one knee...” He dropped down to both knees, and you raised an eyebrow. “... but I’m getting down on both, because I’ve fallen… completely… for you.” 

Before you could roll your eyes, he opened the box. 

And this time, there was a ring inside. 

“Oh my god,” you breathed. 

“Well?” 

“I thought - I don’t - this is like - but I thought -” 

Harry laughed, leaning forward. “Christ, the suspense is killing me, woman!” 

“Yes!” you gasped, letting him slide the ring onto your finger. “Shit, Harry, yes! Yes, of course!” He stood up, kissing you deeply, and you laughed against his lips. “Jesus, I thought… I don’t know what I thought - I just -” 

Harry cut you off with a grin. “Shush,” he murmured. 

You giggled, kissing him again, and then pulled back, letting your forehead rest against his. “Harry?” you said softly. He smiled, stealing one more kiss, and then said, “Yeah?” You grinned. “That Norse mythology thing isn’t true,” you whispered. 

“Bloody hell,” Harry groaned, laughing as he stepped away and shook his head. 

“Hey,” you said, pulling his back. “Hey, hey…” 

He shook his head again, still grinning. “Yeah?” 

“I love you,” you said. 

Harry sighed, rolling his eyes and mocking nonchalance. He nudged your shoulder, kissed you, smiled. “I mean… I guess I love you, too… Even if the legend isn’t true… I don’t know if I’ve fallen completely for you, though…” 

“Oh, shut up!” 

Harry smiled, and kissed you. “If you insist.”

***

and there you have it!!! really hope you enjoyed! and if you did, a reblog or some feedback would be very much appreciated. thanks for reading! 

masterlist | ask 

[hellolittleogre]

Dusting off the archives

Since I like a lot of other fanfic writers are spending this time aggressively staring at different WIPs and NOT WRITING I thought I would dust off various WIPs which have stalled through the years. These are to a large extent morgue files, they will probably never be finished fic. I thought I’d share what I have written, plus synopsis or outline if I have it. I feel like they are like rings in the core of a glacier and different trends and tropes can be read in them. Some of them are also incredibly embarrassing.

Under the Cut: Avengers kid fic

Fandom: The Avengers

Paring: Clint Barton/ Phil Coulson 

Working Title: Uhhhhh.....Superspy Daddies  (not brilliant I admit)

Year written: 2012 (god help us all)

Synopsis: Clint meets Tasha when she ‘s a wee spy child and decides to adopt her. After a few years on the run they are caught up by SHIELD and recruited. There is something mysterious going on and they are assigned an alias as a family, with two dads and Natasha. Enter spy shenanigans and fake marriage and falling in love. Yay! Everything is safe and nothing hurts.

                                                       **

Natasha was seven when she met Clint. She can still remember the impact when she hit him, how she had launched herself into his body and sent them both tumbling.  They had ended up on the floor. Natasha with her knife to his throat and Clint with an arrow in his hand the point just pressing against her ribs.

It should have been easy, a clean-cut job of getting into the house, making the target and getting out again but something had been wrong, men positioned in places they shouldn’t and suddenly hostiles everywhere and a blond man with a bow taking out people with unerring accuracy.

She remembers the surprise in his face, how open it was.

“But you are just a child,” he had said in astonished and slightly accented Russian. It made her want to smile because she hadn’t been a child for a long time now.

“I am Black Widow,” she said simply, when she had planned to say nothing at all. The man stared at her.

“Ok, so, I’m going to lower my hand now, nice and easy, like this yeah?” The arrow was slowly removed from her ribs. “We have about ten minutes before my backup gets here so listen. You can kill me and go on doing what you are doing or I can get you out of here, somewhere safe and you can either come with me or go your way, but you don’t have to do this anymore.”

He is, possibly, the first person she can remember who has offered her something without asking anything of her. The idea intrigued her, that somebody could do something for you without wanting anything in return, that there could be actions without purpose or gain.

“You are not a pervert, are you?” She knows about those, they are easy, all soft words and soft hands right up to the point where they are not but then usually it is already too late. He actually laughed at that, a soft huff of air as if she had said something honestly funny.

“No, no perverts here m’am. Nobody but us chickens.” She does not understand that, it had been nobody but them and maybe a handful of dead men, no chickens at all. She frowns at him.

He sighed. “I’m Clint.”

She thought about it, the sharp edge of her knife resting against his throat, but. He has offered to do something for her without asking anything in return. He could have killed her but he didn’t. And he doesn’t want her to kill anyone, he doesn’t seem to want her to do anything. Maybe she can trust him.

“I’m Black Widow,” she says again. She doesn’t have to trust him much, or for long.

In the end they had gotten out through the air ducts. Crawled out a couple of yards behind the perimeter and Clint had then calmly walked her through the tail end of the increasingly panicked ranks of the mission, even snagging his own jacket and bow case from the back of a van. He had draped the jacked around her shoulders and pushed her lightly in the back. “Just keep your head down and walk, nice and easy.”

Natasha had to admire the audacity of it, she is not sure anymore but she believes at one point he even nodded to somebody he knew before getting her into the night. Quietly slipping away.

They go through Europe first, down through Ukraine and Romania to Serbia, Croatia and finally Italy. Clint makes Natasha cut her hair in the bathroom of a gas station. Says that maybe a man and a young boy might draw less attention. Hands her the scissors with an: I ain’t going to touch you, kiddo and closes the door. Her hair is now short and jagged and fiery red and she likes it. It takes her three months before she finally tells Clint her name is actually Natalia Romanova and he grins at her, delighted. “I’m Hawkeye,” he says.

Slowly as Natalia learns to trust him she tells Clint about the Red Room. She has a hard time remembering anything before that but she remembers training, learning and the experiments. 

They had been together for nearly a month when Clint accidentally cuts himself. Its straight across his palm and deep and painful as fuck.  Clint tries to stem the blood flow with a shirt and cursing under his breath. Natasha is strangely unperturbed, as if she can’t understand why he is making a fuss.

“Its not so bad, you just put band aid on it and it’s gone in the morning,” she says, shrugging her shoulders. Clint takes it that she meant, it will be gone in a sort of, it will still be there but at least it wont bother you fashion. As it turns out she means it quite literally.

The next night as they make camp she gives his bandage a suspicious look but says nothing. Clint is cleaning the wound with some water heated on the fire, it stings like a bitch but looks like it will heal nicely, looking up he sees Natasha across the fire, her face is white and her eyes are like saucers. Then she is by his side, prodding and poking at his hand with ungentle fingers.

“You are still hurt, why are you still hurt, why hasn’t it healed? Are you ill, what is wrong with you?” She is as animated as he has ever seen her, shaken up and honestly confused and terrified. It takes a while to calm her down to explain that when ordinary people get hurt it takes weeks and weeks for them to heal, and this is normal and it doesn’t mean that Clint is sick or dying. It is perhaps the first time Natasha lets on that she really cares. It is also the point when Clint realises how truly different she is, and the extent of those experiments. She takes out his knife and makes a shallow cut across the back of her hand and lets him watch as it fades into pink nothingness in a couple of hours.

In Croatia, Dubrovnik, Clint takes her to the beach, all blue water and fishing boats bobbing on the waves. It's the first time she has seen the sea. The water is so clear you can make out all the little fishes darting after each other along the shallows. After only half a day in the sun her skin was so burnt her back broke out in blisters and the heatstroke made her throw up on the bus back to the room they’re renting. Clint pets her hair and nods to the large woman across the aisle, who has been making sympathetic noises and has given them a plastic bag.

“Red hair, can’t stand the sun, any of them. Her mother was just the same, God rest her soul, always so sensitive.” The woman clucks in distress and finds a cough sweet in the horrifying depths of her handbag. Natalia swears she can still feel the taste of it in her nose even after she has thrown up twice.

 All she could do was lie on her stomach in their tiny room with an ice clamp wrapped in a wet towel on her back. She doesn’t cry in pain but she considers it, the possibility. There would be nobody here to punish her for it now. Cling gave her purple and yellow ice lollies, the first she’s ever had, until her mouth was skinned and raw from them. She peels afterwards and sits in the bathroom and gets Clint to peel strips of skin off her back showing her the longest ones. 

“This is so gross,” he tells her after he’s managed to peel a strip of skin all the way from her shoulder down to the small of her back. The new skin underneath the flaking was pink and tender and dotted with tiny freckles. It’s the closest to fun she has had in years.

Clint has never taken care of anyone in his life, not himself and much less anyone else. Things such as regular meals, bedtimes and food which is not pizza is pretty much new and foreign country to him.  It took him about a year to figure out that Natalia needed to go to school, because he could teach her English just fine (except maybe not words like corium and discombobulate) and some maths, as long as it had to do with geometry and seriously, he has been briefed on so many cities that they are probably good for geography for a while, but the rest of it? He has no idea. 

They stayed in Naples for six months, long enough for Clint to work out a way to get into the US and for Natalia to lose her accented English and learn a quite impressive smattering of Italian. Then, they are found. The same car stands parked on their street three days in a row, inconspicuously nestled under a great chestnut tree and Clint calmly tells Natasha to grab the overnight bag in the hall and they walk past is slowly and calmly, looking straight ahead like they were just heading for the park to enjoy the afternoon sunshine. The agents are Russian and in the end it turns ugly, they barely get away and leave corpses on their trail. They get on a plane to America a month ahead of schedule and it is a far too narrow escape. It’s only after this, after their narrow escape to relative safety that Natalia begins to have nightmares.

“Clint?”

“Yeah”

“Can you tell me a story?”

This is the third time the same night Natasha has woken from nightmares and Clint has resigned to sleeping on the floor by her bed instead of going back to his own. He has a lumpy pillow wedged under his head (in fact, he suspects it to be Natasha’s stuffed bear, Phillipov).

“A story, what about?”

There is a silence; it is long enough that he would have suspected that she had dropped off but for her calculated breathing. She is thinking about something, not sure how to phrase it.

“Angela has stories,” she says at last. Angela is Tasha’s friend from school, one of the few she has made. “I mean, her mom tells her stories about her, when she was little, what she said, when she was bad, you know. Could you, could you tell a story about me? When I was little?”

And Clint opens his mouth to say he can’t do that, he never knew her when she was little and lived in a facility where they trained her and filled her blood with god only knows what and then realises that’s not the point. Natasha knows this, but she wants a story. Not a lie, a story, about herself, when she was little, what she might have done. Clint exhales deeply and tries to think.

“Do you remember when we lived in Italy, in Naples? In that tiny apartment and your roll out bed?  Well, a couple of years before that we lived for a while in Rome, but you were so little, only four, you can’t possibly remember. We lived, you and me then, in this small apartment outside of Rome. The kitchen was tiny, but it had this huge fridge-freezer unit, this monster from the fifties in avocado green with a door thick like the safe to a bank vault and the freezer on top of it. It was like a fridge for a large Italian family with a grandma and a fat uncle with a moustache and not just for the two of us. Now it was summer and that apartment was always hot and you wanted gelato but I wouldn’t give you any because it was just before dinner and you couldn’t reach the freezer by yourself. So you had this trick of wedging a kitchen chair against the fridge, on its back legs and then climb up onto the back of the chair so you could open the freezer.”

Clint could actually see it before him, this small, determined version of Natasha, dragging the chair across the room and her bare feet soft against the linoleum floor.

“It used to make me so mad, y’know. You could fall down and split your skull, knock your teeth out, anything. And I caught you this one time, balanced on the chair with your head in the freezer and I got so mad and I yelled at you, and I said: You are driving me nuts, you’ve got to stop doing this. Do you want me to go crazy?”

And you said, without even looking away from the ice cream box: I don’t want you to go crazy. I want ice cream.”

There is silence and then Natasha laughs, it’s just a puff of amusement, there and gone again but its genuine. After a while he reaches up a hand and feels Nat stick her little paw in his. It is soft and slightly sticky, squeezing around his for a moment before she settles down.

“That’s a good story,” she says sleepily and after a while she falls asleep.  Clint is not so lucky but at least there are no more nightmares for tonight. After this she wants a lot of them, Clint tells her about fishing trips, about that time in the Natural History Museum when she thought she was lost in the room with all the gorillas, when Clint was standing right  next to her all the time.

Clint sweats the whole ten hour flight to America. Tasha curls up in her seat and pretends to sleep the whole way, the air hostess giving her a colouring book and nearly subconsciously petting her hair. There is just something about the short curls that people seem helpless to resist.

In the end it is only bad luck that Shield found them. A lot of bad luck at the same time but only chance in the end. Anyway that’s what Clint claims, Agent Coulson maintains that luck had nothing to do with it and it was the result of several years of hard work on his part and if anything it was lucky that Shield found them first and not the Russians. 

They have been living in the US for years now, slowly drifting across the north and the mid west, Clint picking up work where he can find it. They always have emergency bags packed but it was a while since they’ve had to use them. 

It was nearly five years since Clint found Natasha, or she found him, four years of Clint jumping from job to job and Nat from school to school but lately the time between moves become longer and longer. Clint had a job he actually likes, working as a bit of everything in a school for deaf kids. Natasha has friends to sit with her at the lunch table, has started playing soccer, and it turns out she is menace on the grass. They feel safe, five years have gone by and nothing has been seen or heard and maybe it has made them complacent. Maybe its just nice to belong somewhere. Tasha has friends on her soccer team and comes home grass stained and happy. She’s hit a growth spurt and reminds Clint of a foal with long gangly limbs.

It starts with a parent teacher visit, just a stupid mistake. It's Tasha’s homeroom teacher who gives Clint a considering look and remarks that he looks a bit young to have a daughter her age. And that’s all it takes to get the ball rolling, somebody looking just a little extra at the adoption papers and suddenly there is a social worker outside the door. Clint and Tasha are professional liars and it comes to nothing in the end but the notice is already logged into the system, leaving a minute paper trail for people who know where to look. And then Clint had gotten ill with the flu, enough to just not pay attention the nondescript car parked on their street for two days in a row. They are unprepared for it when Clint, kept awake by coughing, spots the stealthy movement on the street and there is no time, no time for anything other than getting out. The rain is pouring down and Tasha is still in her pyjamas, shoes held in one hand. As it turns out the location of their backup storage is compromised and Clint barely makes it out with one bag, containing a change for Natasha and barely enough cash to make it out of town. They don’t try to go to the second one, where Clint’s bow and arrows are stored. It hurts, that bow is as much a part of Clint as his arm, but if it is undetected they can come back for it and if it has been found it is not worth trying to get it back.  They make their way north on foot and hitchhike, avoiding gas stations and bus stops, suddenly nothing feels safe anymore, everywhere is strange and threatening. Clint’s flu had gotten worse and developed into a deep rattling cough that won’t let go and claws at his chest with dull teeth. There was no time to rest and the constant chill of their travel had made it into pneumonia.

They end up in a motel, where everything within the range of the little electric heater is stuffy and fever-hot and everything outside of it cold and damp. Clint lies propped up on the two slim pillows, Natasha is sitting at the foot of the bed, cleaning out her gear, her face cool and efficient. They both know Clint can’t go much further without rest and proper care, they both know they can't turn to a hospital and there is not enough money for any under the table dealings, even if they had the contacts in this part of the country.

It's only logical that she should go on alone, she has a much better chance to get away. How she is going to make it in the long run neither of them mentions.

“You have a quarter?” she asks “I just wanted something from the vending machine.”

Clint nods towards his bags and when she comes back she packs everything in her bag neatly, all her gear cleaned, three knives on her, one in her sleeve, one in her shoe and one at the small of her back. She puts the blankets over Clint. Go to sleep, she tells him. When he wakes up Tasha is curled up next to him and Shield breaks down the door.

They are being debriefed by Hill and Coulson, and a team of junior agents, even Fury is there, scowling behind the eye patch. Howard and Tony Stark is their target, it is just a scouting mission, there has been some untoward suspected HYDRA activity in Stark Industries.

The pale manila folder lands with a dull sound in front of Clint. It contains, in addition to information on the targets, the cover stories for the job.  Natasha squints down at the pages.

“I will be Clint’s adopted daughter and we are living with his brother, my uncle Phil?” Coulson, first name Agent, inclines his head slightly.

 “We felt it was best your handler was with you on site,” he says mildly.

Natasha gives him a slanted eyebrow of disbelief and snorts into her folder “yah, because a grown single man living with his brother and a young girl is not weird, at all,” she says in Russian and rolls her eyes at Clint. He tries not to laugh and hopes not too many at the table can understand. Judging by the twitch in Fury’s eye, he should be so lucky.

Just before the elevator closes Hill shows up and smacks a new folder into his chest.

“Your updated covers,” she explains, “ as I understood there were complaints about the last ones.” She gives Nat a nasty look. Clint opens the folder and starts scanning the content. There are papers, degrees even, official adoption papers and also…

“Hang on, we are married now? How is that better??”

They arrived back at the house at five in the morning, Clint practically carrying a half asleep Natasha and Phil felt so tired as if he was moving through molasses. He managed to change his clothes and brush his teeth before sitting down on the sofa and completely running out of energy. Mechanically turning on the tv and finding antiques roadshow on and just sitting there with the flickering light over him.

After a while Barton came down and slumped beside him, head leaning back and his eyes closed. 

“She’s brushed her teeth and she’s in bed now, I think actually asleep.  I hope to hell there will be no nightmares because I don’t know if I have the energy to even get out of this couch.”

“I’ll get it,”Phil says even though he feels like his spine has been boiled to the consistency of a wet noodle and all he wants to do is sleep for a week. Clint makes an exhausted noise beside him and slumps back against the couch, after a little while his head tips over onto Phil’s shoulder. He can feel the soft hair against his jaw and neck. Clint’s breath skates moist and warm over his neck and collarbone. It’s the best thing he has felt in ages and parts of him wishes he really could lean over and cover Clint’s mouth with his own and pull him close. Instead he leans back, promising himself it will only be for a second and then he promptly falls asleep.

Clint wakes up with the most awful crick in the neck. He is still on the sofa, squashed onto his side and his face plastered to Phil’s shoulder. He might even have drooled a bit on his t-shirt. At some point during the night they had managed to wedge themselves into the sofa, Phil mostly on his back and Clint, well, mostly on top of him. He tries to move his legs and find them stuck under something. Something turns out to be Nattie, curled up like a ball at the end of the sofa and her head pillowed on what might be Phil’s hip. Everything hurts like a motherfucker. Its not the discomfort that’s woken him though, it was the soft sound of the front door. Peeling his face slowly from Phil’s shoulder he raises his head to find Steve, Tony and Pepper awkwardly standing in the doorway staring at their slightly inappropriate family re-enactment of the Gordian Knot.

“Sorry Mr C,” Pepper says “the door was open.”

He really, really hopes he had the sense to take off the leather suit before he fell asleep last night.

[365daysofsasuhina]

[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day Two Hundred: Follow the ___ ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata ] [ SasuHina, vulgarity ] [ Verse: Best Years of Your Life] [ AO3 Link ]

“So, are you ready?”

Looking up from her tablet as Sasuke slides into the seat opposite her, Hinata blinks, hand half reaching for her tea. “...ready for...what, exactly?”

“I thought we were going furniture shopping today. Remember?”

Another blink...and then she perks up. “...oh! I totally forgot! I’m sorry, I’ve just been so scatterbrained as of late -”

“It’s fine,” Sasuke assures her with a wave of a hand. “It’s just getting a little old eating breakfast at a folding table with plastic lawn chairs.”

The Hyūga goes a pretty shade of pink. “I...I know, I just…”

“I’m teasing you, Hina.”

“...you’re mean.”

“You’re just more adaptable than me. It’s been driving me nuts since day one, but you hardly seem to notice.”

Shoulders lift in a shrug. “...I guess I don’t. So long as it functions, I don’t really mind what something looks like.”

“Which is weird, because your bedroom back home was done up really cute.”

“W-well…” A glance aside. “That was...different. I was there for my whole life. And it was my space. This is our space.”

At that, Sasuke’s mouth slowly curls into a grin. “...yeah. Guess it is, huh?”

Suddenly bashful, Hinata’s face ducks, smiling. “...mhm…”

“Which means,” he goes on, “that we should put a little money and elbow grease into prettying it up, huh?”

“...you’re right. Let me just finish my breakfast, and we can go.”

“Sounds good.”

As Hinata sips her coffee, Sasuke starts gathering up what they’ll need: primarily a list of what all they’ve decided to add or replace, his wallet, car keys...and a flyer that came in the mail for some new store with decently-priced furniture.

Perfect.

Shepherding his fiance into the car, he makes his way into the denser part of the city, GPS telling him what turns to take when.

“So...most of this is going to be things we put together, right?” Hinata asks as they walk toward the doors.

“I think so, yeah. Cheaper that way. Someday we’ll have big fancy couches and tables and...whatever. But for right now, we’ll hit up the basics so it looks like decent folk are living there, huh?”

Hinata snickers into a hand, following him in.

“All right, so…” Sasuke whips out the list. “We need...a new kitchen table.”

“Mhm.”

“At least two chairs.”

“I still think we should do four.”

“Yeah, I agree. Four chairs. And...a table for the living room. So far the couches are holding up okay.”

“Maybe we could see if they have, um...those covers? That go over the couch?”

“...a good idea,” Sasuke amends, scribbling that down. “That means we’ll have to pick a color…”

“Why not just something close to what we have?”

“...Hinata, one is hunter green, and the other is administrative carpet blue,” Sasuke counters dryly.

“...you have a point.”

They look for the covers first, pleased to find a matched set in a pretty beige. “Think those will fit?” he asks, holding one up.

“I think so…? I could always try adjusting them.”

“All right, I’ll take your word for it.”

Nearby they find a coffee table at a decent price: a pale wood that, oddly enough, matches the covers they found.

“...I think they did that on purpose.”

“I wouldn’t doubt it.”

Then...to the kitchen department.

“Oh Sasuke, look!”

Glancing up from a display, he follows Hinata’s pointing hand.

“Isn’t it cute?”

It’s something called a breakfast nook, according to the accompanying sign. There’s a table, L-shaped seat, and a bench that sits along the other side.

“See? It’ll fit right in the corner! I bet that way, we’ll use a little less space!”

Sasuke gives his chin a thoughtful rub. She does have a point. “...I guess that makes sense. Doesn’t look too hard to put together. And technically it could probably seat five, which is better than the four we planned for.”

Looking almost starry eyed, Hinata gives her best puppy dog look. “Can we get it?”

“...all right, all right. It’s a good compromise.”

“Yay!”

Adding the (rather large) box to their flatbed cart, they take their current round of purchases to the counter, Sasuke at the ready with the coupons from the flyer. A savings of over fifty bucks later, they pack their spoils into the back of the car, and head for home.

And now...comes the tricky part.

Hauling everything into the little house, they start by trying out the couch covers. Tucking and tugging, they manage to get it looking...rather nice.

“...it’s all going to move the second someone sits on it,” Sasuke observes, making Hinata jerk in realization.

“...well, yeah...but until then, it looks nice…?”

He just snorts.

The coffee table is next. Laying out all the pieces and checking them against the instructions, Hinata confirms they have everything listed in the handbook. “Actually...we’ve got a few spare screws.”

“That’s going in the random stuff drawer. You never know when they might come in handy.”

Hinata takes charge of the booklet, carefully calling out each step and watching with eagle eyes as Sasuke obeys. Somehow, they make it through with minimal mishaps (they get two pieces mixed around, but thankfully it only took a few screws being removed and redone to remedy).

Standing it along the newly-clothed couches, Sasuke takes a step back and observes. “...I think...it looks good.”

“Mhm! I’ll have to get some coasters so nothing leaves a mark on it.”

“Good plan.”

They then take a break for lunch, reminiscing about how it should be their last meal with the folding table.

“I guess we can always use this stuff if we have, like...a party or something,” Hinata notes.

Sasuke perks a brow. “...are we the sort to have parties?”

“...well, it could happen.”

“...uh huh.”

With full bellies, they then turn to tackle the last beast. Tape cut and box flawed open, they stare at the contents.

“...that’s a lot of pieces,” Hinata murmurs.

“Mhm. Okay, let’s see if everything is here.” Taking out the parts and checking their sticker labels, Sasuke watches as Hinata crosses them off her list.

“...um…”

“What?”

“There isn’t another D-2?”

“...uh…” Shuffling some styrofoam, he checks the bottom of the now-empty box. “...nope.”

“Aw, s-shoot…” Nibbling the cap of her pen, Hinata says, “That’s the other leg of the bench.”

“...well, we’ll skip that for now. I’ll go in after work tomorrow and see if they can get me a spare.”

“Okay.”

The missing piece, however...is a bit of an omen.

Trying to tug open one of the bags of screws, Sasuke’s hands slip as the plastic suddenly gives way, and the pieces go scattering all over the kitchen. Blinking, he looks to Hinata, who stares back.

“...well, shit.”

Ten minutes are spent gathering them back up, ending up having to get a yardstick to fish out those that flew under the fridge and oven.

That alone puts Sasuke into the beginnings of a bad mood.

“Okay, so then that connects into E-4…”

“...E-4?”

“Mhm,” Hinata hums, staring at the book.

“...that doesn’t look right.”

“Well, that’s what it s-says.”

Holding the pieces together, Sasuke’s brows furrow. “...no.”

“...no?”

“No!”

“...but we have to follow the -?”

“Does that look right to you?”

Blinking, Hinata shuffles over to take a peek. After a moment of consideration...she snorts.

“...what?!”

“Sasuke…”

Fuming, he waits for her to stop giggling.

“It...it’s upside down,” she manages to say, pointing.

Brow furrowing, he looks back...blinks...then turns it over.

A perfect fit.

Scowling, his patience frays as Hinata giggles again, collapsing against him. “...I’m gonna holler. This is the most obnoxious thing I’ve ever had to do in my life.”

Taking a breath after her laughing fit, Hinata looks up to him. “...want to take a break?”

“No. I want to get this done, so we can stop worrying about it.”

“I’m not worrying about it.”

“This nook thing was your idea,” he reminds her, shooting her a look that just makes her snort again.

“I know...I’m sorry.”

“Hn…”

“Will you forgive me when we finish it?”

“...I guess we’ll find out.”

By some grace, they manage to finish the table and the longer seat, propping them up in the corner of the kitchen Hinata had envisioned.

...it fits perfectly.

“...all right. I’ll get a spare part tomorrow. And then...we’re never doing this again,” Sasuke mutters, jostling as Hinata leans against him.

“Sasuke…”

“...hm?”

Giving a sheepish, amused smile, she offers, “...I love you.”

“Tch...you’re lucky I love you too. If anyone else tried to get me to do this, I’d’ve shoved them in the box and tossed them in the dumpster.” As she breaks into another giggle fit, he stubbornly fights a smile.

“That’s fair. How about we go out for dinner, okay? I think we better wait to use this until your temper cools.”

“...yeah. I agree.”

                                                             .oOo.

     Well...this is super random, but I had a LOT of fun writing it xD I think most of us know the pain and anguish that is putting together furniture that comes in a box. Oddly enough, I have one I've been putting off for like...a month. Whoops. Maybe tomorrow...?      I can see Sasuke as being That Guy that starts out calm...but just...starts getting more and more frustrated. Hinata, on the other hand...just laughs things off. Which makes for a rather interesting combo, haha!      Aaanyway...oof, two hundred days. And so far, with just one late day. None skipped. HOLY cow. And that's with several other projects running concurrently! I won't lie, some nights I feel pretty burnt out, but...overall this has been one heck of a ride. We're past the halfway point, and to our second of three hundred piece milestones. Part of me is eager for it to be over, and the rest I know will be sad when it is, but! For now, we keep on truckin'!      Thanks, as always, for reading <3

[tracies-tales]

Joy Ride

“Arin!”

Arin jumped when the door to the recording studio was thrown open, controller flying from his hand as he yelped, “Fuck!”

Dan snorted and began to laugh, as he hadn’t meant to scare Arin that badly. He leaned over to set his hands on his knees, wheezing as Arin pouted at him.

Arin set a hand on his chest to feel his heart rate and said, “I’m trying to make this fucking system work. I don’t need you gallivanting around throwing doors open and shit.” He began to laugh as his reprimanding drew to a close due to Dan’s contagious laughter.

Dan giggled as he straightened up, “Sorry, man. I just have exciting news!”

Arin raised a brow, “Oh do you?”

“Yeah, come on. I’ve gotta show you something,” Dan grinned.

Arin glanced behind himself at the television where there was a frozen menu screen which had thus far refused to cooperate with him. “I could use a break,” he admitted and stood. 

Dan clapped rapidly, taking Arin’s hand as soon as he was close enough. He began jumping in place, saying, “Yay! Come on come on!” as he tugged Arin’s arm to get him to follow.

“Jeesh man, don’t worry,” Arin said, entertained by the way Dan’s hair bounced around while also admiring that Dan was wearing his leather jacket, “I’m right on your ass.”

“The best place to be,” Dan said as he pulled Arin out of the Grump office and towards the front door. He hadn’t stopped smiling since Arin agreed to follow him, standing proudly in front of the door. He set a hand on the knob, putting on his best announcer voice, “Arin Hanson, are you prepared to feast your eyes?”

“I’m dying of anticipation,” Arin replied flatly.

Dan rolled his eyes and said, “Behold!” loudly, throwing the door ajar.

Arin’s eyes took a moment to adjust to the sunlight, blinking a few times to speed up the process. He had to blink again when he realized what he was meant to be looking at. Dan clasped his hands in front of his chest, looking like a child at Christmas. He squealed, “Isn’t it beautiful?”

A shining blue motorcycle was parked in their driveway. Arin stared at it as he brushed past Dan and out the door, asking, “You know how to ride motorcycles?” It was a gorgeous bike, though Arin knew jack shit about what model it was.

Dan nodded and skipped after him, “I had one ages ago but traded it in for a car. I’ve been thinking of getting one again now that I have a proper income; I’ve kinda missed the feel of the wind in my hair, you know?” he threw an arm over Arin’s shoulders.

Arin shrugged, “I mean, sure. I wouldn’t know.”

Dan raised a brow at him, “You’ve never ridden one?”

“They’ve never really been my thing.”

Dan smiled broadly, “You have to let me take you for a ride, dude.”

“Oh,” Arin set a hand on his neck, “I don’t know...”

“It’s fun, I promise! I need to go buy a helmet to go with it, anyway. I just got too excited to show you, so I dropped by here, first.”

Arin was nervous but didn’t want to ruin Dan’s good mood by refusing to go. He said, “I guess it’s a good experience to have.”

Dan pat Arin’s back firmly, “Yeah, there you go!” He kissed Arin’s cheek and threw his leg over the bike, patting the spot behind him. “Hop on.”

Arin steeled himself and awkwardly clambered onto the bike behind Dan, asking, “So...I just hold onto you? There’s not like...seat belt straps or anything?”

Dan chuckled, “You really have never ridden one of these puppies,” before he turned the key, revving the engine.

Arin clutched Dan’s torso, “I’ve ridden other things.”

“I know you have,” Dan smirked over his shoulder. “Trust me. We’ll take it nice and easy until you’re used to it. Also, you might want to tie your hair back.”

Arin nodded and pulled his hair into a ponytail as instructed, saying, “Okay...ready.”

Dan smiled reassuringly, the expression turning a bit more devious once he’d turned his head to face forward. He backed out of the driveway, easing the bike into a casual driving speed for the neighborhood road. Arin was still clinging to him like a magnet, which Dan found endearing. As promised, he took it slow, noticing Arin’s grip loosening bit by bit. He said, “Not too bad, is it?” as he stopped at an intersection which would turn them onto a highway.

Arin said, “Yeah, it’s not as bad as I thought.”

“I’m glad,” Dan chirped, making sure the light was green before saying, “now hang on.”

“Wha-” Arin barely managed to respond before the motorcycle revved and they lurched forward, Dan kicking the bike into high speeds as they entered traffic. Arin immediately doubled his grip on Dan, who started laughing as they sped up. “Holy shit oh my God,” Arin said with his face half buried in Dan’s shoulder. The pavement zipping by inches from their feet held a certain thrill for Dan, though he was sure Arin wouldn’t say the same.

“It’s alright,” Dan shouted reassuringly, trying to stay in one lane and not swerving through the cars due to the lack of helmets. After only a few miles, he could feel Arin shaking like a small dog. Dan took pity, waiting for a turn he knew of off the highway onto a back road. They went up a tall hill where the traffic thinned out drastically, and Dan slowed the bike so they could ride smoothly. Dan’s hair was whipping out behind him into Arin’s face, which made Arin have to poke his head around Dan’s shoulder to see. When he realized they were no longer in what he deemed a perilous situation, he began to relax again. 

Arin took a moment to look around, admiring the view of the distant city from their position on a higher-altitude cliff side. There was a neighborhood below them, houses filling the space around the outskirts of the city. The lights in the buildings were twinkling in the setting sun, joined by the red and white lights of tiny cars on the streets. 

“I know a good lookout spot,” Dan said, able to speak a little quieter now without the din of other traffic.

“Sounds great,” Arin replied curtly, holding onto Dan for dear life in case he decided to speed up again.

They buzzed along the road, only seeing other cars here and there. Arin winced every time they passed one. Dan grinned fondly and slowed down as they approached the lookout point. He hit the brakes when they were at a good spot, setting his foot down and immediately reaching a hand behind him to set on Arin’s shoulder. “How was that?”

Arin brushed some of Dan’s wild hair out of his face, “It was...something.”

Dan giggled, “Sorry. I shouldn’t have done that to you, first time passenger and all.”

“It’s alright. It was kinda like a roller coaster, only you know, no safety bar except the sucker in front of you who has equally no protection.”

“I think it went well,” Dan said with pride.

Arin shrugged, “We could have bashed our skulls open, so there’s that.”

“Relax, Big Cat,” Dan smiled, kicking the brake stand down. “We really will go get helmets after this. But I wanted to watch the sunset, first.”

“Yeah, just you, me, and this new metal deathtrap,” Arin smirked.

Dan’s expression fell a little, “Was it really that bad?”

“No, no,” Arin quickly amended. “I was--it was fine. I just didn’t know what to expect, you know?”

“Guess not,” Dan said, turning to look out over the landscape.

Arin tucked his arms around Dan’s waist and set his chin on Dan’s shoulder, letting the curly hair tickle his nose. “It wasn’t bad. I’m just a pussy, I guess.”

Dan snorted, “Nah, lots of people don’t like motorcycles, man.”

“I mean...I think I could get used to it.”

“Really?” Dan perked back up.

“Sure, if joy rides mean that much to you. It was fun, laughing in the face of death.”

Dan hummed and nodded in agreement, “Mm, nothing quite like telling death to fuck off.”

“It’s the greatest,” Arin made a thumbs up, snuggling his head into Dan’s neck. Dan hummed lowly and tilted his head to the side, giving Arin room to kiss his jaw. 

A giggle escaped Dan’s mouth as he was tickled by Arin’s mustache, fakely whining, “Aaarin,” and gently batting at his face.

Arin made an evil laugh into Dan’s neck and made a series of “nom” sounds as he placed kisses along his skin, rubbing a hand up under the side of Dan’s shirt to rub his stomach.

Dan cringed his neck towards his shoulder with a smile, trying to close the gap to deny Arin further access. Arin relented, settling for hugging him again as he turned back towards the setting sun. Dan leaned back into his arms, softly saying, “I’m glad you gave it a chance.”

“You kidding? Wouldn’t have missed it,” Arin said, placing a kiss on Dan’s cheek from behind. Dan grinned and set a hand on Arin’s knee, using the other to cover Arin’s hand which was still on Dan’s stomach. Their fingers laced together as the sky faded into brilliant shades of oranges and pinks, the night sky remaining orange from the city haze even after the sun had sunk below the horizon.

“Hey Arin,” Dan said, turning to look over his shoulder.

“Mhm?” Arin hummed.

“I love you,” Dan’s eyes crinkled up into a smile.

Arin grinned and gave Dan a brief kiss before responding, “I love you, too. Now let’s plummet down this cliff face to the helmet store.”

“You got it,” Dan said, setting both hands on the handles and making the engine roar to life.

Arin winced and clung to him, “Maybe actually let’s not, let’s take a road.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah I’m thinking that might be better.”

“If you insist,” Dan said, peeling out of the lookout and back down the road. Arin forced himself not to hide his face in Dan’s back this time. He had to admit, Dan was rocking his new biker aesthetic.

disclaimer: helmets save lives kids, i didn’t have them wear helmets for the sole purpose of dan’s hair whipping arin in the face for funsies :3

[dinoalexander]

The Semi Quotable 2017 Part 5

“applebee’s is literally begging to give away their food.” – Christine Teigen

“In the car w/husband, I offered $20 and a blowjob immediately if he could guess the official title. He did not win.” – @SteelyDanRather on the title announcement for Solo: A Star Wars Story

“280 tweets look like serial killer manifestos” – Scott Aukerman

“Dick Versace had two goals in 1989: guide the Pacers to the playoffs and beat Ricky Steamboat as many times as possible.” – Super 70’s Sports

“It’s D-Day and (Robert) Mueller secured the beaches before noon. Run Nazis.” – Mark Frost on the indictment of Michael Flynn

“The Rebellion is reborn today. The war is just beginning. And I will not be the last Jedi.” – Luke Skywalker

"The answer is either ass, boobs, or dick." -Jordan

"For the sake of salvaging whats left of the positions dignity for President of the United States...can someone in his staff please for the love of God delete Trumps twitter account? Its now gone from one of the most prestigious positions to "worlds most cringe worthy Twitter handle" in less than 6 months." -Steve

"Plague!!!!!!" -Block

"Donald Trump deals in bullshit the way a bovine fertilizer salesman deals in...well, bullshit." -C

"Sometimes you're the Galactic Empire, sometimes you're the Rebel Alliance." -Heather

"Leave it to us to make 'The Little Mermaid' SUPER awkward." -Q

"Ted Cruz...trippin'?" -Molly B

""Live your life in such a way that Donald Trump tweets mean things about you" -David K

"I remember reading so many posts immediately after the election from people who were absolutely terrified of what was going to happen once Trump was sworn in and Republicans controlled both houses of Congress. As evidenced by the fiasco that's unfolding with the health care bill, it should be clear that you folks had nothing to worry about. Even if they had some sort of nefarious purpose they were trying to carry out in their agenda, it seems as though these guys couldn't find their ass with both hands and a GPS." -Tim

“Well then get your shit together, get it all together and put it in a back pack, all your shit, so it's together. And if you gotta take it some where, take it somewhere, you know, take it to the shit store and sell it, or put it in the shit museum. I don't care what you do, you just gotta get it together. Get. Your shit. Together.” -Morty Smith (Justin Roiland)

"Alright, I'm now willing to admit there is a downside to everyone wearing yoga pants in public: I can't tell which of the adults milling about at the gym are here for adult gymnastics and which are just waiting to pick up their kids." -Pam

“Byron Allen’s got me all confused.” -me whenever “Happy” plays on the radio.

"A teacher in the school is selling Girl Scout cookies. The teacher got my order. In related news, someone's daughter is going to Camp Sugarbush this summer. Also in related news, after I eat these cookies, my nickname will be Sugarbush." -Klauss

“Like THAT’s safe!” -Michael, on Quisla’s... erm, safe.

"I used to eat a lot of natural foods until I learned that people die of natural causes." -Rammson

"Donald Trump doesn't understand climate change because he lives in perpetual shade." -Laura

"A close friend referred to this before and after as Exponential Degredation. He said it and he's not taking it back." -The Perfesser

"This would be the equivalent of opening up a Cracker Jack box looking for the prize and seeing it in the bottom ox a box filled with sludge. There's some cool things but do you really want to go through the sludge?" -Gordon, on "Hip Hop Squares"

"You're not minimalist. You're broke." -some guy

"Okay, so we have watermelons.... why aren't there earthmelons or airmelons or firemelons? What happened to the rest of the elemelons?" -Emily Ann

“Thanks for making me confused about my sexuality, Adam Driver. You talented douche.” -Laura

"Unicorn Frappuccinos are what happens when you try and make too much of a good thing for profit. Its the answer to a question nobody asked. It's a Bar Rescue gone horribly wrong." -C

"(As Craig Ferguson) Now he used to be a wrestler and now he's going into politics. Now the two are highly different of course. One involves people with larger than life personalities who make grandiose claims and attack their opponents constantly and the other involves spandex tights." -Brian

"Dang it, PWC! Where were you in November? We could have had Emma Stone as President!" -Clint

“Feelings are real, but they are not reality.” -Dan Harmon

"It's like you've inherited a baby alligator. He was cute for awhile and now he's a big alligator who's threatening to destroy everything but still hangs around you and calls you daddy." -Gordon

"If one of those interchangeable Kardashian chicks dressed as a stewardess interrupted Sean Spicer's press conference by handing him a Pepsi, we as a nation could begin the healing process." -Kevin

"Opened Emma's recital costume and IT WAS COVERED IN GLITTER AND NOW I AM COVERED IN GLITTER AND EVERYTHING I OWN IS COVERED IN GLITTER OMG WHYYYYYYYYYYYY" -Molly B

"It's not terrible, but you can see terrible from where we're standing." -Q

"WHERE ARE MY PANTS!!!" -Michael

"Ladies and gentlemen, my sister, the one-woman Greek chorus." -C

"I have designated February 14 as 'Catch Pokémon, Not Feelings Day'." -J-Ho Boy-Type

"Because that's what ABC thought. This party needs more Lucy Hale." -C

"If I were Samsung I would make my keynote address one sentence. "Samsung galaxy S8… This one won't light itself on fire"." -Brian

"We are not going to let another demon monster take hold and grown and run wild. We are going to nip this problem in the bud. WE ARE GOING TO KILL HITLER AS A BABY!" -Q

"To quote the great Panamanian philosopher Roberto Durán, 'No más'." -C

"I broke my banana." -Q, re: an actual banana.

"Los Angeles has two football teams, two baseball teams, two basketball teams, and two hockey teams, but no curling teams?" -Kevin

"I have to wait for the Luther breakdown to finish!" -C

“Ugh. I really wish I had something cool to say.” -Johnny Yong Bosch

"Less Donald Trump! More techno music!" -bus random to a Bop It!

"Someone told me that being verified on Twitter “really doesn’t do anything” but that person is 1) wrong and 2) head of a social media dept." -Cory

"How did you know Carolina was going to beat Duke?" -Q

"Quisla... its U.N. motherfucking C. They handle shit. Consider this shit handled." -C

"my most-recent counseling appointment had me reaching the following conclusion: i fully acknowledge that i am a jackass, and my attempts at keeping myself from being a jackass has stifled what people like in me as a consequence of not wanting others to think badly of me. so what am i to do? just be a jackass and shoulder the consequences no matter when and where it happens? not entirely -- if i am to have my moments of jackassery, i will make better efforts to steer those spells towards being a jackass for the right reasons. sometimes it takes a jackass christian speaking up when someone claims to be a christian but whose words and actions are far from the basic command of 'love one another.' sometimes fighting for the weak and powerless means being a jackass towards the mighty and powerful. sometimes only an absolute jackass would punch a nazi in the face. i'm josh eldridge. i am a jackass. i hope this admission doesn't effect our friendship." -Josh

“Kylo Ren is like a sullen, resentful jungle gym.” -Laura

"I'm going to make a screwdriver because it's cold as shit outside." -Shelly

“I’m Regis Philbin! Welcome to night 24 of Who Wants To Get Impregnated?” -Jordan

"I just can't girl right." -Shannon

"Our long national pasttime is over." -Jessica, on overlong baseball games

"You may have a problem if the Target cashier recognizes you, knows you by name, and asks if everything was good because you didn't come in on your 'normal' day. Yay! I'm a regular!" -Aryn

"I read my bed all the time! It's a Serta!" -Kitty Carrion

"Does Baby Jojo need a binky?" -C

"I sense a great migraine in the Force...as if millions of white people were trying to get woke at the same time." -Laura

"Well the inauguration is over, finally after two years we can all get back to normal and... *boots up facebook* ...and I'm going to stay off Facebook until January of 2021, cheers 🙂" -Brian

"What fruit is the state of Georgia famous for? ... Todd Chrisley." -C, at quiz night

"So, apparently as an instructor, referring to the start of a new semester as "hazing" is frowned upon." -Heather

“2017 in a nutshell: You see “Mario Batalli :(“ as a Facebook status and you say to yourself, “Dead or pervert?”” -Adam

"Fun fact: staying sane is hard." -Jordan

"If I performed my job with the same razor-sharp precision with which meteorologists perform theirs:

Boss: Is this the data you promised me three weeks ago? Because it looks like completely wrong information.

Me: Yeah, but, as you can see, I've color-coded it in lovely hues of blue, purple and pink where I thought it would make it look nice.

Boss: Yep. Looks great! Keep up the good work.

I am clearly in the wrong profession." -Molly B

"😂😂😂 if I was meant to behave, I wouldn't have been born so good at misbehaving 😛" -Emily Ann

"Seen on a group page tonight:

Everything Kirk Cameron touches turns to patriarchy." -Shrub

"In other news, 30 oz of ribeye can be converted to 0 if you just believe in yourself." -Justin S

"Bacteria gets me so hard." -Jordan

"Oh REALLY..." -Q, reaching for Jordan's pants

"Who here loves animals but hates that Sarah Maclachlan commercial?" -Sweet Tea Shakespeare guy

“Hey... I run them miles. I’m slow as fuck, but I run them miles.” -C

"Trying to stay positive in a world full of assholes is like trying to shovel hot jello from a wheel barrow using a pitch fork with only one prong!" -Sheila

"If there's one thing I learned in college, it's: never underestimate the power of an icy, cold shower beer. Thanks guys!" -Dahlia

"No, no, no. I can't have penises all over my car tonight. Tomorrow night, maybe, but no penises tonight." -Nicole W

"Maybe for Lent Trump should just give up." -George Takei

"She wanted someone to take the pickle, so I did." -C

"Too... many... JOKES!" -Brian

"Saw the Barca result. Ah, so that is why folks riot." -Steve P

“I can’t have weird Chico. I live with him.” -Q

"Yay sports! Spoooooooorts!" -Milana Vayntrub

"You're at a bar. Playing bar trivia. Against an IQA ranked quizzer and his sister who would also be IQA ranked if she made the trip to Raleigh with me that morning. We are naturally expressive people within our family. That comes from being the children of Carlos and Olivia Alexander. We laugh together, we love together, we cook, fight, and emote together. And when we win, we emote like hell. If you don't like it when we win, next time bring smarter friends. Until then, get the fuck over it." -the son of Carlos & Olivia Alexander.

"This is my face when I find out some epically old karma has been served." -Shannon

Okay, one more oughta do it.