Summary: Ron and Kim are young, married, and trying to become domesticated. No more hero work, just college, neighbors, and a new house that is feeling neglected. What could go wrong?

AN: I swear I'm going to update this story regularly. Really. Anyway, first chapter's up. These are one-shots tied together by a common theme, enjoy.

Chapter Quote: Please believe that one single positive dream is more important than a thousand negative realities. Adeline Yen Mah

Disclaimer: I don't own Kim Possible or Oak Street, wherever that is.

Ron stepped out of the overloaded car and shut the door, taking a deep breath of air. "Ahh. Suburbia, where even the air smells manufactured."

Kim slowly got out of the car and stretched. "You'll never get settled in with that attitude. We're starting a new adventure." Her thumb absentmindedly rubbed against the gold wedding band on her ring finger as she looked at their new house.

"Domestication, woo." Ron twirled a finger and grinned.

"Suburbia's nice, the all-American dream." Kim started untying the ropes holding their suitcases to the top of the car. "This seems like a nice neighborhood, too. Oak Street." Ron shrugged, pulling three bags down. Kim grabbed two suitcases and started up the driveway.

Ron stepped back from the neon and looked up and down the block. Half of the houses were identical to their ranch, if not a different color, mounds of dirt and trash were piled everywhere further out, the mailboxes, the yards, and even the family dogs were the exact same. He glanced at his new bride and wondered how she saw it. "It's so… boring, though. And no oaks."

Kim dug into her pocket for the house key. "It's away from our parents." She shoved the key into the lock and twisted the knob. "Far away."

"Oh yeah. Hey wait!" Ron sprinted up the driveway, grabbing Kim by the shoulder and pulling her back just as her right foot lifted to take the first step.

Kim was thrown off balance by the suitcases and tumbled into Ron's arms. "Ron, what are you doing?"

Ron leaned over as she looked up at him and kissed her nose, slipping the suitcases out of her hands. He swept and arm under her legs, wrapping the other around her shoulder. "Carrying you over the threshold, it's tradition."

Kim raised an eyebrow as his leg came up to kick the door open. "What?"

"Bride. Threshold. Tradition."

"You and your traditions."

"They've been good luck so far." He twisted his frame to fit through the doorway and shared a chaste kiss with his wife.

Ron dragged another box across the carpet, muttering curses. "Wedding gifts!"

There was a long pause. "Kitchen, that's still empty!" Followed by a muffled "sort of" from somewhere down the hall. Ron sighed and dragged the box across the linoleum, shoving it against the empty cupboards. "That everything?"

"Yep! 'Cept for everything else!" He chuckled to himself as he stood up, stretching raw back muscles. His nose twitched. "What's that smell?" He sniffed his bicep. "Whoa, not me." Sniff. "Smells like…" Sniff. "Vanilla." He glanced around the kitchen, but there were only stacks of brown boxes labeled, unsurprisingly, 'kitchen.' He shrugged and walked back out through the living room, across the yard, down the driveway, and to the moving truck.

"Hello there."

Ron turned around to find a petite housewife dressed in blouse, apron, and skirt, and her son, dressed in dirt, apparently. "Hi. I'm Ron Stoppable." He extended his hand.

"I'm Amanda, and this is my oldest son, Dusty." Ron swallowed a remark about hygiene as he shook their hands. "Welcome to Oak Street."

"Thanks." Ron scratched the back of his neck. They stood in silence for a few minutes. "…Out of curiosity, why is it called Oak Street?"

Amanda fluffed her blond curls. "What do you mean?"

Ron motioned broadly at the street. "Well, it's just that there aren't any oaks on Oak Street. Or maples on Maple Avenue, or apple trees on Apple Lane. In fact, there aren't any trees around here at all. Just mounds of dirt. Seems silly to have a street named after a tree that isn't around."

Dusty hid a snicker while his mother gaped, evidently lost for words.

"What do we want trees for? Just one more thing to run a car into, I say." A middle aged man, dressed in brown khakis with a white t-shirt covered by a plaid sweater vest, walked up to Amanda, placing his hand on her shoulder. "Trees take up too much room, anyhow. Only time you'll see a tree out here is the garbage day after Christmas. I'm Bob, by the way."

"Ron Stoppable." They shook hands. "Nice to meet you."

"Yes, well, we should let you get back to moving, don't want to upset the Mrs., eh?" Bob elbowed Ron playfully. "Here, have Dusty help you, the young man could use a hard day's work." Bob grabbed Dusty by the shoulder and shoved him forward. "Have fun!"

Ron waved as the couple left, letting out a heavy sigh. He looked at Dusty, trying to figure out what color his hair was, or where his hairline started, for that matter. "How old are you?"

"Twelve, sir."

Ron looked into the truck, scratching his head, he didn't want to make some kid work all day. "So what do you guys do for fun around here?"

"Well, roller blades, skateboards, motor scooters, and mini cars are banned, and we can't play in the street, and all of the driveways are slanted, so we just climb the dirt piles or run around in the half built houses."

"Dirt piles? I would've never guessed." Ron coughed to cover up his chuckle. "Well, here, this box has my game stations, these ones here are my videogames, and that back there is the TV. Get 'em hooked up in the living room, don't block the door, and you can play until supper."


Ron grabbed another box labeled 'kitchen' and trekked back to the house, Dusty in tow. "Maybe I'll get a chance to play you."

Kim stood in the middle of the kitchen, hands on hips, looking around. Ron set the box down on a pile near the door and stood beside her, following suite. "Wow, that vanilla's really strong." He wrinkled his nose.

"Yeah, I can't figure out where it's coming from, but I think it's from something in here." They looked around, "all of these boxes are just dishes and silverware, except for the… oh no."

Ron raised an eyebrow. "'Oh no,' what?" Kim bent over the box labeled wedding gifts and ripped the top off. They both covered their noses as vanilla oozed into the air. "Ah. That kind of 'oh no,' got it." He leaned over the box next to her.

"All of this stuff is ruined." She pulled out the offending bottle of perfume, which had been cracked during the move.

Ron crouched down and pulled out an embroidered pillow, sniffing it before tossing it behind him. "I'm sure it didn't soak all of the way through, and some of this stuff is salvageable." Ron eyed the soaked Hawaiian shirt before pitching it, too. "Or useless. Salvageable or useless."

Kim sat back against the cabinets and sighed, throwing a towel into the growing pile, "we're making a mess of this, aren't we?"

Ron stood up and walked over to her, sliding down the cabinets to sit next to his wife. He took her hand in both of his, running his fingers over her knuckles. "Yep. Although I'm sure after meeting Dusty you'll feel like Mr. Clean himself." He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, hugging her to him.

"Classes start in a week, do you think we'll be moved in by then?" Ron just shrugged. "I miss saving the world."

"Me too, though I'm sure you'll have plenty of opportunities to save me." Kim let out a laugh and leaned into Ron's shoulder. He let his feet slide out across the floor and rested his head against the fake wood. "Welcome to Oak Street."