#trying to figure out which one gets a turn this week...

[lovetrouble123]

Kindergarten Crush (pt3–finale)

Synopsis: After the events in the slums, Damian takes it upon himself to make sure Y/N’s okay…also Bruce finds out his son has a crush

TW: r*pe mentioned, Bruce actually trying to be a good father

A/N: last part bby🥳…guys I have the urge to upload my Gerard Way fic on here (again)…also that Dick Grayson fic idea I had (iykyk) I’m going to rewrite so no clue when that will see the light of day! Anyway, enjoy!!

Masterlist

part 2

ִֶָ. ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ ʚଓ་༘࿐

She stopped coming around.

She stopped coming outside.

She stopped asking questions.

She stopped eating with him.

She stopped showed up to school.

The day after Damian—or Robin—saved Y/N from that alleyway, the girl was noticeably missing from school. She was absent, and Damian knew why. He knew why she hadn’t shown up to school, and figured it was because her parents thought it was safer for her to stay home.

But by the following week and she still wasn’t around? There was a problem.

He knew that Y/N had gone through a traumatic experience, but she was ignoring Damian’s calls and texts—ignoring the world.

Damian stood in the kitchen of Wayne Manor preparing a small ‘get well soon’ meal for Y/N. It was childish, but wasn’t this what most people did for those who were ill? Get well soon cards or whatever?

A wooden cutting board sat in front of him with an assortment of different types of fruits. Damian held a cutting knife in hand as he carefully and preferentially cut up the fruits. His sixth scent was going off like crazy behind him, and it was beginning to become harder and harder to ignore.

“You two suck at stealth, by the way.” Damian announced, picking up a handful of strawberries and tossing them into the container to his left.

“I told you that you were talking too loud, Steph,” Tim said he as lightly shoved the blonde.

“Sorry for thinking what Damian’s doing is cute.” Stephanie huffed as she and Tim emerged from behind the corner and into the kitchen. “Who’s the meal for?”

“None of your business,” Damian bluntly said.

“Oh come on, it’s clearly for somebody if you’re going out of your way to do something kind for someone,” Stephanie suggests with a smile. “Unless this is all poisonous and you’re going to kill someone.”

“It’s not poisonous.”

“Then you’re genuinely doing something nice? Aw! That’s so sweet Damian!” Stephanie continued with a bright smile, “who’s the lucky girl~?”

Damian flushed but glared up at the blonde, “shut your mouth.”

“I think Jason said her name was Y/N,” Tim finally said.

Damian quickly spun around and moved over in front of Tim, pointing the knife directly at him. “Keep talking and I will gut you.”

“Wait, Jason was being serious?” Stephenie speaks up behind Damian. “I kinda thought he made that up just to mess with him.”

“Control your girlfriend, Drake.” Damian demanded, his voice full of venom.

“We’re not dating anymore.” Tim reminded, “now can you drop the knife? I’d hate to tell Bruce that your tendencies are coming back.”

Damian kept the knife pointed at his slightly older brother’s chest before he grumbled and pulled away. “How many people did Todd tell?”

“The whole Batfam group chat,” Stephanie informed. “Well, at least the one with us siblings.”

“That bastard,” Damian muttered under his breath as he walked back over to the counter and set his knife down. “Do either of you know where I can find Todd? I swore to help him stop reprod—.”

“—What’s so bad about liking someone?” Tim asked.

“I didn’t say that there was—.”

“—Yeah, but according to Dick and Jason, you’ve been dancing around the main issue.” Stephanie adds, “the ‘issue’ being named ‘Y/N.’”

“Are you two here to pester me or are you here with a purpose?” Damian finally huffed out, turning to glare at the two slightly older teens.

“Both.” Tim answered, which earned a death glare from Damian.

“What he means to say is that we wanna know what’s going on,” Stephanie corrects. “The three of us are closest in age, and we just wanna help out in any way possible.”

Damian’s eyes narrowed, “what do you gain from helping me?”

“Entertainment and possible blackmail material,” Tim admits before Stephanie elbows him in the side.

“He means to say seeing you happy and with a girlfriend,” Stephanie corrects again. “…and maybe blackmail material,” she shrugs. “Nights still young.”

God, why did every single family member of his have to be so annoying? Haven’t they ever heard of private business? Private affairs?

“There’s nothing going on between me and Y/N,” Damian said. “And there never will.”

“So then, what’s up with the care package?” Stephanie asks, pointing at the basket filled with snacks.

Damian turned back toward the fruit and grabbed a peach from his selection of fruits. He placed the peach on the cutting board and grabbed the knife and began to slice up the sweet peach. “Y/N has been absent from school for about a week now—.”

“—And you’re worried about her,” Tim concludes.

Damian stayed quiet, already knowing that the older teens heard his answer without even replying. But he continued, “the night I was with Todd…I—Robin saved Y/N from being raped…I suppose that I am…worried.”

The atmosphere in the lavish kitchen shifted into a heavy silence.

“I have tried to contact her many times since I saved her from that alleyway,” Damian adds. “But she is constantly ignoring me, as if she wants to isolate herself.”

“Have you tried going to her place?” Stephanie asked, “like physically going over there?”

Damian shook his head and collected the peach slices and set them in another container. He grabbed the lid and placed it on top before grabbing the closed container and placing it into the basket. “No, I have not. But tonight I will go over there and hand deliver this basket to her—well, Robin will.” Damian shut the basket and turns to face Tim and Stephanie, “she still has my cloak. It’s a perfect excuse.”

“Does Y/N know you’re Robin?” Tim asked.

“Of course not.” Damian says, “that’s an idiotic question.”

“While this is all really cute and adorable, how are you going to explain Robin just randomly showing up with a care package?” Stephanie interjects.

Damian’s mind blanked. He was the more intelligent and reasonable one in the family, and yet, being so caught up in the moment, he hadn’t realized how weird it would be to show up outside her window with a basket of fruit with no explanation.

“I’ll think of something.”

•••

Damian was surprised by the lack of security around Y/N’s house. He expected there to be security cameras, security guards—literally anything because Y/N’s father worked in the government. And yet there was nothing but a simple and quaint house that lived on the outskirts of Gotham.

It was easy for Damian to slip past the gate and climb up toward Y/N’s window. He knew that the this window was her’s based on the curtain color—a soft baby pink. He gave a soft knock at her window, silently praying that he wouldn’t startle the girl inside.

It took a few moments, but the curtains slid apart to reveal Y/N wearing an oversized white shirt that reached her knees. Damian tried not to flush at her appearance, silently telling himself that he was Robin and not Damian in the moment. But he snapped out of his childish thoughts when he noticed the dark rings under her eyes, and the way she held herself. She looked exhausted, tired, and her mannerism showed that.

Damian half expected Y/N to scream, but instead, she silently unlocked the window and slid it open. Damian slipped inside and his boots landed on her plush carpet without a sound. Y/N looked up at him, “Robin?”

“I came to retrieve my cloak,” Damian stated. “I would like it back.”

Y/N silently nodded and shuffled over to her bed which was covered in a variety of stuffed animals. This was the second time Damian had ever been to Y/N’s house, though the first time inside her bedroom. He glanced around and took in how it all screamed ‘Y/N.’

It was cute and so very her.

She grabbed the black and yellow cloak from off her bed and shuffled back toward Damian. “Here,” she said as she passed it to him. “I’ve been sleeping with it,” she admits. “After what happened it’s…the only thing that’s brought me any comfort.”

Oh.

Oh.

Y/N had been sleeping with his cape ever since she returned home that night wearing nothing but her undergarments. She had been sleeping with his cape for comfort. She was seeking out his comfort.

Damian’s mind temporarily wandered and conjured up images of Y/N clutching and crying into his cape. How many times had she inhaled his scent and found it comforting enough to ease her mind and put her to sleep?

“No, you can keep it.” Damian finally said, taking a step back from the girl. “I have plenty more…if I had known it would bring you comfort, I wouldn’t have come by to retrieve it. My apologies.”

“A-Are you sure?” Y/N stuttered out.

“Positive.” Damian assured, “as I said, I have multiple.” His eyes shifted over to the phone that laid on her bedside table as her phone lit up, reminding him of all the missed phone calls and messages…all the times he tried to reach out.

“You should reply to your messages.” Damian suggests as he looks over at the girl before walking over and grabbing the phone from off the charger. He held the device in his hands and carried it over to her, “there are people that care about you, Y/N. I would suggest telling them you’re okay…talking to those who you trust.”

Damian slipped her phone into her hands, but she didn’t dare look at it. “How can I talk to anyone when it all feels so new still? H-How can I tell anyone what happened w-without sounding like I’m b-begging for attention?”

He didn’t know why he did it. But Damian reached out and gently brushed a strand of her hair behind her ear before replying, “it’s not attention seeking if you’re asking for help, Y/N.”

•••

“Alfred made this whole fruit basket?” Y/N asked, peering inside like it would hold something dangerous.

“Yes, Pennyworth went over board on my lunch today,” Damian said. “I suppose that there is enough here for the two of us.”

What are you doing?! Damian’s mind screamed at him. You know damn well that you were the one who made this basket for her! Why aren’t you telling her?!

“I didn’t realize you liked blackberries,” Y/N pointed out.

“Yes, they’re quite good.” Damian agreed, though he knew deep down that they were one of his least favorite fruits and the only reason he included them in the basket was because they were Y/N’s favorite.

“Can I have them?” Y/N asked, “I forgot my lunch again.”

Damian’s eyes narrowed a little, sensing that the reason she ‘forgot her lunch’ on her first day back was because she couldn’t bring herself to eat anything heavier than a grape.

“Please, have all of it.” Damian said, “I had a big breakfast this morning.”

“Oh okay,” Y/N hummed as she slid the basket into her direction and opened up the blackberry container. “شكرًا لك.”

Damian’s mind blanked as he looked at the girl who sat beside him, “what did you say?”

“I said thank you in Arabic…I-I think,” Y/N said as she scratched her cheek. “Did I say it right?”

Damian tried to hold back a smile, but with the way she asked him if she got her words correct on top of the way she second guessed herself?

“Yes, you said it correctly.”

Y/N smiled, “good. I’m glad.”

Damian softly smiled in return before he looked away. It seemed that after her visit with Robin last night, Y/N’s spirits were lifted. It pleased him to know that his words were enough to bring her back to school, and enough to make her like her old self again.

“Hey Damian, can I tell you something?”

Damian looked back at Y/N and nodded, “anything.”

“I’m sorry for not replying to your texts and calls…a few weeks ago I was almost—,” she paused. “A few weeks ago I got saved by Robin and the Red Hood near Crime Alley. My parents and I were shaken up by the whole ordeal and I just—.”

“—You do not have to say anything else. I understand, Y/N.” Damian subconsciously shifted closer to her, “I am just glad you are safe.”

“Me too. I-I don’t really know what I would have done if Robin hadn’t have saved me,” Y/N shyly said. “I owe him my life.”

“I’m sure that you being alive is more than enough, حبيبي.”

•••

“There’s no way you actually called her that!” Dick exclaimed, “you actually called her that?!”

“I think it’s sweet,” Barbara said. “Young love.”

Dick continued to laugh as if Damian had told the funniest joke ever. But the boy only scowled and glared at his older brother and his brother’s girlfriend. The three of them were down in the Batcave with Dick visiting from Blüdhaven to spend time with Barbara. He was dressed in his Nightwing attire as Damian was dressed in his Robin.

“Dick, you can’t say anything. You’ve done similar things before,” Barbara reminds. “You’re the only guy I know who tries to flirt with me mid mission.”

“Yeah, but that’s different, Babs. We’re together, and Damian is just—,” Dick stifles a laugh. “—out here calling people ‘my love’ like she’s already his!”

Damian’s fingers twitched as his body instinctively wanted to reach for the dagger he kept in his shoe, but his mind told him that he wasn’t allowed to kill Dick…yet.

“Damian, ignore him. I think what you’re doing is sweet,” Barbara assured. “Steph said you made her a fruit basket, did that all work out?”

“Yes, she ate it today.” Damian nodded.

“A fruit basket too?!”

Barbara rolled her eyes, “anything else?”

“She said she met Robin���told me she felt indebted to him.” Damian shrugged, “I told her that her being alive was enough.” Damian then flushed, “and she said ‘thank you’ to me in Arabic.”

Barbara smiled, “that’s adorable.”

“I suppose so.”

“Any more plans for Operation: Making Y/N Love Damian?” A familiar voice echoed through the cave as they all turned to see Stephanie walking in. “I heard the story.” She walked up to Damian and put her hands in a fist bump and held it out to Damian, “smooth.”

Damian looked at her hand and then back up at Stephanie before he crossed his arms and looked away. “No. And how long were you listening?”

“Since the beginning.” Stephanie said, pulling her hand away and setting her hands on her hips. “Who’s the stealthy one now?”

“I can’t believe the little demon has a crush on somebody!” Dick continued, “I never thought I’d live to see the day.”

Damian’s eyes narrowed but he couldn’t help but smirk, “and who wants to bet that if I got with her, my relationship would last longer than yours?”

Dick froze, his smile dropping. Meanwhile, Stephanie slapped a hand over her mouth to stifle her laughs while Barbara silently watched her boyfriend.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dick finally asked.

“Just pointing out that you have commitment issues and that me, a fourteen year old, would be able to outlast your current relationship,” Damian sneers. “Unless Drake does with his boyfriend.”

“You don’t have to bring Tim and Bernard into this.”

“No, but it shows anyone can hold down a relationship better than you,” Damian bluntly said, still smirking.

Dick looked over at Barbara, “Babs, tell him he’s wrong. Tell him that I don’t have commitment issues and that my relationships are healthy!”

“Yeah, I’m staying out of this one,” Barbara says.

“Babs! No!” Dick dramatically whines.

“If you’ll be at this for a while, I’ll go make some popcorn,” Stephanie announces.

“Why are we all ganging up on me?!” Dick exclaims, “what did I do?!”

“Exist.” Damian explains, his smirk faded, now serious.

“All of you being down here is rather suspicious,” a deep voice calls out as everyone turns to see Bruce stalking over to them. “Do I have reason to believe that you are plotting something?”

“No father—.”

“—Damian’s got a girlfriend!”

Damian quickly whipped his head in Dick’s direction with narrowed eyes. “She’s not my girlfriend, Grayson!”

“You made her a fruit basket and called her ‘my love!’” Dick continued, “that‘a practically a sign that you two are dating!”

Damian quickly grabbed the dagger from his shoe and went to attack Dick, but Bruce quickly grabbed his son’s wrists which prevented him from going any further.

“Damian, what did we say about the dagger?” Bruce asked his son.

“Not to have it,” Damian replied. “But father, one little hit on Grayson and I shall get rid of it—.”

Bruce grabbed the dagger from Damian and tossed it on the ground, kicking it away with his shoe. He then let go of Damian’s wrist as the teenage boy glared up at his father.

“We’ll talk about this later, Damian.” Bruce stated as he walked over to the Batcomputer. “But for now, we have work to do.”

•••

“Damian, stay behind.” Bruce called, silently dismissing the other kids out of the Batcave. “We have something to discuss.”

Damian’s eyes narrowed in slight annoyance as he watched the others leave the damp cave. Damian just wanted to head to bed and cuddle up with Titus and Alfred the cat. But it seemed like his unfinished conversation with his father was now coming back around.

“Father?”

“Earlier Dick mentioned that you liked a girl,” Bruce began. “Is this true?”

Damian nodded, finding no reason to lie to his father. “Yes father, it is.”

Bruce raised a brow, “who is this girl?”

“A girl from my school, father.” Damian replied, “her name is Y/N L/N.”

Bruce nodded in response, committing the name to memory. “Tell me about her.”

“What is there to say, father? She is just…a girl I like,” Damian shrugs. He wasn’t sure why he was feeling so shy about talking about his crush, it must have been because he was talking to his father about something as pathetic as love.

“I finally understand why you’ve been acting so distracted recently during patrol, sparring and why you’ve been sneaking off so much,” Bruce admits.

“Yes she is…quite distracting I suppose,” Damian agrees.

“Damian, how much do you like this Y/N girl?” Bruce asked his son.

How was Damian to put into words how much he adored Y/N? No amount of words could possibly explain how much he loved Y/N, and how deep his infatuation was for her.

“Lots, father.” Damian finally said, “so much that words cannot describe.”

Bruce wouldn’t admit it, but he found it refreshing to see his son obsessing over something other than missions and training. It was refreshing to see how in love he was with this Y/N girl, even if he never explicitly expressed his feelings.

“Then you should tell her,” Bruce suggests.

“And put her life in danger?” Damian crossed his arms, “I will have to pass.”

“Damian,” Bruce placed a hand on his son’s shoulder. “If you like her that much, I would tell her how you feel. You’re fourteen, live a little and act your age.”

“Father,” Damian frowned. “I am an assassin. My mother and grandfather would disown me if they saw me now…some lovesick fool for a girl.”

Bruce knew he wasn’t the world’s best father, and honestly, he was barely a father. But it wasn’t like Damian, or his other children, chose the life they were born into. They were forced into and expected to live it, so maybe that was why Bruce felt more sympathetic this time around.

“Do you think you’ll hurt her?” Bruce finally asked.

Damian hesitated to respond, and for once, really thought and considered Bruce’s words.

Was he scared that he’d hurt Y/N? He never considered the idea. He always assumed that how he felt was wrong and incorrect, that everyone but him was allowed to love. He never wanted to love another until Y/N came around, and for once, he wanted to love.

Damian was a trained assassin, a killer. He would never intend on harming Y/N, but what if he did one day on accident? One bad day and what if he killed again?

“I don’t know,” Damian slowly admitted. “I never truly thought about it before.”

“Damian, if you’re worried about hurting her, and if she means so much to you, then tell her.” Bruce stated.

“What if it goes wrong though?” Damian asked, his worries slipping through.

“Then it will hurt for a little,” Bruce says as he removes his hand from Damian’s shoulder. “But you are only fourteen…you’re allowed to play around. Live a little Damian…now go shower and head to bed.”

“Yes father,” Damian nodded as he turned to head out of the Batcave only to stumble upon Dick who had been silently watching from around the corner.

Damian turned and glared up at Dick, “what?”

“I didn’t realize you liked this girl like that,” Dick admitted. “I figured she was just your way of gaslighting yourself into being normal cuz of society.”

“Are you suggesting I would be dumb enough to gaslight myself into having feelings for someone to fit in?” Damian asked, walking past Dick and up the steps of the Batcave.

Dick follows close behind. “A little, yeah. I mean, you’re fourteen…figured you realized that you were seeking validation from other people to fit in. You’re not exactly normal.”

“None of us are,” Damian replies. “We’re vigilantes.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t realize this whole thing—the ‘issue’ was you being scared that you’d kill her.” Dick says, “but Damian, you have more control than you think. I’m sorry for earlier…”

“Are you apologizing?”

“I am.”

“…fine. Apology accepted, Grayson.”

“So, how are you planning on asking her out?” Dick asks as the two reach the top of the staircase and enter the ground level of Wayne Manor. “I’ve got ideas if you—.”

“I don’t require your assistance, Grayson.” Damian said before pausing, “actually…can you do me a favor?”

•••

Y/N entered Gotham Academy dreading her school day. She had stayed up the majority of the night wrapped up in Robin’s cloak as if it were a blanket, all while studying for her Arabic test. Ever since she had been rescued by Robin, she had begun to study the language more, though she wasn’t quite sure why.

She wasn’t fluent, not by a long shot, but she could at least understand and have a basic conversation. What would Damian think if she could have a conversation with him in his native language? Would he be proud of her or would he find her considerate?

She approached her locker and input the combination. She opened the door to her metal locker as she saw a neatly folded letter resting on a blue box on one of her shelves.

She grabbed the letter and opened it up to read a letter in beautiful and elegant handwriting:

Dear Y/N,

It is childish of me to tell you this, but I have been learning to come to terms with it. I like you as more than an acquaintance, and as more than a friend. Please accept these Oreos as a gift from me. I do not need thanks in return.

-yours truly, Damian

[dissolved-g1rl]

Could you maybe write a little thing about Vergil and Reader sharing one brain cell and ending up having Irish twins (a mom has two children who were born 12 months or less apart). Specifically them trying to introduce the new baby (you can pick the gender) to an almost 1 year old Nero. If you want to use that idea.

Please and thank you ☺️

little things

God forbid a man misses his wife. It had been one night, one night where Vergil had been particularly needy had resulted in yet another baby. Nero himself is still a baby, in the middle of his tenth month when you decide to pop. It was a a stressful moment for Vergil, rounding you up alongside your go bag, all while also wrangling Nero and his go bag, good thing he had the foresight to add the other carseat a week prior.

The two of them toddle inside your hospital room, Vergil is grasping Nero’s little hand, helping him walk. He’s got the hang of it pretty well, but Vergil wants to make sure he doesn’t go crazy and unplug anything. “Mommy!” You sit up hearing Nero’s little voice, adjusting the little swaddle in your arms. “Hi my loves.” You say soft and sweet, Nero looks too cute in his “I’m the big brother” shirt, it’s a little cheesy, but you love it. “Hi, doing okay?” Vergil sets Nero on top of the bed, taking off his little velcro sneakers so he doesn’t stomp around on the sheets. “‘M okay, the nurse brought me lunch.” You hum, he dips forward, stealing a kiss, you smile at him. “We ate before we left, lunch time for everyone I guess.” Vergil combs his fingers through Neros hair, he tilts his head back because its funny to look at his dad from upside down. It’s also fun when his dad dips down, rubbing their noses together, he breaks out into a heap of giggles which makes the baby stir.

You lightly rock the baby, and he’s soothed back to sleep, Nero turns his head, almost knocking his head against Vergils. He’s interested in the little mewls of his little brother. Nero pants like a puppy as he cuddles up next you, you can feel his little fingers digging into your arm as he tries to get a glimpse of the baby. “Wanna see your little brother?” You ask softly, unsure if he understands what you mean, he nods, a look of determination crosses his face, and he looks a hell of a lot like Vergil for a few moments. You adjust the baby in your arms, letting Nero have a good peek at his little brothers face. He stands up, leaning on you to look over. “Baby.” He murmurs, like he himself is not also a baby, “Yeah, a baby, your baby brother.” Vergil hums, trying to encourage him into verbalizing. “My baby.” Nero mumbles and you give Vergil a look, you’re a cocktail of postpartum hormones, and it’s just too sweet. Vergil understands and scoops up the baby from your arms, still letting Nero look at his brother’s little sleeping face. He pokes his brother’s face with his grubby little fingers, and luckily the baby doesn’t stir, “Careful Nero.” Vergils reminds, he’s a little on edge, it was less then an hour ago when the boy was smashing his toy cars together. “Can I have a cuddle Nero? Can you cuddle mom?” You ask noticing Vergils nerves, and like the sweetheart he is Nero flops on top of you, his white hair tickling the underside of your jaw. You rub his back, and he sprawls on top of you while Vergil stands to the side rocking the baby back and forth.

“My baby?” Nero asks curiously, you figure it’s his way of figuring out when he’ll get a turn with the baby again.

You laugh softly, kissing his little hand, “‘S dad’s turn right now, then it can be yours again.” You murmur softly, he copies your tone whispering back to you “Dad’s baby.” You laugh and nod.

Vergil smiles at the scene, taking sneaky whiffs of fresh baby smell. It seems like it was so long ago that Nero still had that smell. Two is enough for him, especially with the two babies being so close in age. He’s happy that Nero seems to be so fond of the baby, but no one is gonna replace his first born. It’s obvious with the way you let Nero sprawl out on you, that you think the same as he does.

dividers by @strangergraphics

a/n: fun fact i am an irish twin

[colouredbyd]

Double Edged Sword

mafia!stucky x fem!reader ✰ 3.4k

synopsis: in which you, caught between a long day and your two mafia leader boyfriends, grow restless and anxious when they don’t come home—until at last they return, and everything quiets down.

warnings: tension, anxiety, vulnerability, overthinking, mafia themes, reader is in college, mentions of blood, mild injury.

a/n: this is my first ever stucky post ;) i know it's not much, but i wanted this to be a little intro to their universe!!

You step out of your final lecture just as the sun begins to dip behind the skyline, casting long golden streaks across the university’s polished steps. 

The November wind cuts sharp through your coat as you pull it tighter, your fingers still chilled from the classroom’s aggressive air conditioning. 

You glance at your phone instinctively, half-expecting a message from Bucky or Steve. There’s nothing. Not a single text. Not even a location share ping.

That’s the first sign.

Natasha is already leaning against the black SUV parked across the street, arms crossed, aviators shielding her eyes though the sun is nearly gone. She looks casual, but you know better. 

She straightens when she sees you, opening the passenger door before you can reach for it yourself.

“You’re late,” she says, the corner of her mouth twitching.

You slip into the seat. “Professor ran over the lecture.”

She shuts the door behind you and rounds the car. By the time she’s in the driver’s seat, you’ve buckled in and pulled your phone out again. Still nothing.

“Where are we going?” you ask.

Natasha starts the engine. “Thought we’d stop by that new bookshop on Fifth. The one with the floor-to-ceiling windows. You mentioned you wanted that new edition of The Secret History.”

You glance at her, studying her expression. She’s calm and unbothered, a little too smooth for your liking.

“I did,” you say slowly, “but that was two weeks ago.”

She flicks on the turn signal. “Yeah, well, it’s in stock now. First editions go fast. Figured we’d get it while we can.”

You pull out your phone without thinking, thumb already hovering over Steve’s name. You hesitate, but only for a second, then press the call button and lift it to your ear.

It rings once.

Twice.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Steve answers on the third ring, and just hearing his voice floods your chest with a sharp kind of relief. 

He sounds a little breathless and tired. The background is loud—shouting, maybe, and the crackle of static, something slamming shut. Metal against metal.

You sit up straighter. “Where are you?”

He lowers his voice instantly. “Everything okay? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” you say quickly. “I just… I hadn’t heard from you or Bucky, and Nat’s not updating me.”

There’s a pause. The sound in the background shifts—someone yells something unintelligible, and he covers the receiver for a second. When he speaks again, it’s softer. 

“I’m sorry, baby. Today got away from us. How were your classes?”

You blink, surprised by the tenderness in his tone despite everything clearly happening around him. “Fine. Long and really boring.”

“Did you eat?”

“I had coffee.”

“Not what I asked.”

You glance out the window. “No, not really.”

He exhales. “Alright. I need you to do something for me, okay?”

“Yeah?”

“Take my card from the foyer drawer, go shopping. Get yourself lunch, a book, anything you want, sweet girl.”

“I don’t want to go shopping, Steve. I want to see you.”

“I know, I know, sweetheart. We’re trying. We’ll be home as soon as we can.”

You hear Bucky’s voice in the background, too muffled to understand. Steve covers the speaker again, mutters something low, then returns.

“You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m not bleeding out in an alley, if that’s what you’re asking.” You scoff.

He chuckles, and the sound soothes you. “I hate being away from you this long.”

“Then come home.”

“We will. I promise.”

“Tell Bucky I miss him.”

“I will. And I’ll text when we’re on our way, alright?”

“Okay.”

“Be safe, baby. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

You end the call slowly, reluctant to pull the phone away, as if his voice might cling a little longer if you’re gentle enough.

Natasha raises an eyebrow as you slip the phone back into your bag.

“Feel better?”

“Not really.”

You press your palm flat over your thigh, grounding yourself. 

“Come on. Let’s go in. Breathe. Buy a book. Let them deal with whatever the hell’s going on without you hovering over their shoulders.”

You unbuckle slowly. “I’m not hovering. I’m their partner. I’m allowed to worry.”

She gives a small, sad smile. “That’s exactly why they didn’t want you knowing.”

The bell above the door chimes softly as you step into the store. It smells like cedarwood and fresh print—overwhelmingly peaceful. 

You trail your fingers along the spines, half-listening as Natasha murmurs something about limited copies. 

Your thoughts are already three floors up, in your shared penthouse, imagining an empty living room, an untouched decanter of scotch, the quiet absence of their presence.

You leave with the book and two iced matchas.

“Let’s go shopping,” Natasha tries again once you’re back in the SUV, her voice light.

“No,” you murmur. “I want to go home.”

She watches you carefully. “You’ll just worry more there.”

“I’m already worrying,” you murmur, gaze fixed on the window. “At least let me do it in our home.”

Natasha exhales through her nose—soft, resigned—but she doesn’t argue. The SUV rolls forward, tires humming over polished asphalt, the city flickering past in neon fragments.

Neither of you speaks again.

You clutch your book tighter in your lap, thumb grazing the edge of the cover, and try not to glance at your phone again.

When the car finally pulls into the private garage beneath the building, Natasha parks without a word. You both step into the elevator. 

You lean against the mirrored wall, arms folded tight across your chest, the strap of your bag biting into your shoulder. Your reflection stares back at you—tired eyes, tight mouth, skin drawn a little too thin.

It should feel like you're going home.

But right now, all it feels like is waiting.

Nat stands beside you, typing something quickly on her phone. You’re not nosy by nature, not really, but right now it’s taking everything in you not to grab it from her hands and check who she’s messaging.

The doors open with a soft chime. You step inside. The place is pristine. No discarded jackets on the couch, no half-drunk glasses on the marble island, no faint hum of music playing from the speakers the way Bucky always sets it.

Just silence.

You drop your bag by the door, kicking off your shoes as Natasha follows you in.

“Want something to eat?” she offers lightly. “I can order from that Thai place you like.”

You walk to the kitchen and open the fridge even though you know it won’t change anything. 

“No,” you say finally. “I’m good.”

Natasha sets her sunglasses on the counter, watching you. “You sure?”

You turn to her, arms folded. “ Yeah, don’t worry Nat, I,ll just go sleep it off.”

She shifts her weight. “Alright, sugar. I’m here if you need anything.”

You end up curled on the couch in one of Bucky’s hoodies. 

You stay like that for hours. At some point, Natasha brings you a grilled cheese and some tomato soup. You eat half out of guilt. She doesn’t hover. She just slips a soft blanket over your legs.

You're asleep before midnight, curled on the couch in Bucky’s hoodie, one sleeve slipping off your shoulder. 

The only light left on is the lamp in the corner, casting everything in a sleepy gold haze. Your phone rests beneath your hand, screen dark. No calls. No messages.

Then—

A hand brushes your cheek. 

“Sweetheart,” a voice murmurs, low and warm, almost singing the word. “Hey, baby, it’s us.”

Your brow twitches, lips parting as sleep clings to you like fog.

“There she is,” another voice croons, soft and smiling. “Hi, pretty girl. You missed us, didn’t you?”

You stir, breath catching. Their scent hits first—leather, smoke, something metallic and familiar. Then a thumb brushing under your eye. Knuckles ghosting over your jaw. Your lashes flutter open.

Steve is crouched beside the couch, his hand still on your face, eyes filled with something warm and wrecked. Bucky leans over you from behind, his arm already sliding beneath your shoulders.

“There you are,” Bucky murmurs against your hair. “We’re home.”

Another kiss—softer this time. Your name spoken gently. You open your eyes.

Steve is crouched in front of you, his hands resting gently on your thighs. His blue eyes flicker with exhaustion, but they’re soft. You turn your head—and there’s Bucky, sitting beside you on the couch, his face half-shadowed, his fingers tucked beneath your jaw.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Bucky says softly, brushing a thumb across your cheek.

Your gaze locks on the cut just above his brow. Small. Red. Dried now but angry looking. Your stomach flips.

“What happened,” you breathe.

He tries to smile. “It’s nothing.”

You sit up abruptly, pushing off the blanket, your phone nearly sliding off your lap.

Your fingers immediately reach for Bucky’s face, brushing just beneath the thin cut on his temple.

“That’s not nothing,” you murmur, voice rough from sleep but tight with concern. “Buck, you’re bleeding.”

Bucky catches your wrist in his hand, holding it against his cheek. “Hey, hey. I’m okay, doll. It’s nothing, just a scratch.”

Steve slides onto the couch beside you, his palm settling between your shoulder blades in a slow, steady motion. “It looks worse than it is. I swear. He’s fine.”

You glance between the two of them, heart aching with relief and the kind of tired panic that’s had nowhere to land all day. “I waited,” you whisper. “All day. I called and I texted, and I didn’t know—God, I didn’t know if you were even—” Your breath stumbles. “And then your location was off. I didn’t know what to think.”

Steve leans in, pressing a kiss to your temple, voice thick with guilt. “We’re so sorry, sweetheart. I know. I know it was too long.”

“You should’ve told me something,” you say, quieter now, barely a breath.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” Bucky murmurs, his thumb tracing over the back of your hand. “If I’d had five seconds to call, I would’ve. But we’re here now. We’re home.”

You nod slowly, but your face crumples a little as your shoulders fall, the weight of the day finally letting go now that they’re here.

Steve pulls you gently into his chest, wrapping his arms around you like a shield. “You must be exhausted. You didn’t have to carry that worry alone.”

“I just missed you,” you murmur into his shirt. “I didn’t know what to do with all the silence.”

Bucky wraps himself around your other side, curling a hand at the back of your neck. “You don’t have to do anything, baby. Not anymore. We’ve got you.”

Steve leans forward, pressing a kiss to your shoulder, slow and deliberate. “I’m sorry, baby. We both are. We didn’t mean to go dark on you like that.”

Bucky shifts closer, pulling you into his chest without asking. His arms wrap around your waist, and you sink into him like instinct.

“I hate this part,” you murmur into his shirt. “I hate the not knowing. I hate how normal it is for you.”

“I hate it too,” he says into your hair.

Steve sits beside you on the other side, sandwiching you between the two of them. His hand finds your thigh, grounding. “We’re building something, sweetheart. You’re a part of it. We just need you safe while we do it.”

“I don’t want to be just safe,” you say, lifting your head. “I want to be part of it. Even if it’s just knowing what’s going on. Not being kept in the dark like some little secret.”

Steve leans in, pressing his forehead to yours. “You’re not a secret. We just want you safe, yeah? Away from all this trouble.”

You go quiet.

Bucky kisses the crown of your head. “Next time, you get a call, a real one.”

“I want a timestamp too,” you mumble.

Steve huffs a quiet laugh. “Deal.”

You lean into Bucky’s chest again, wrapping an arm around his waist and reaching out blindly for Steve’s hand, pulling it into your lap. Both of them are warm. 

Bucky rests his chin on your head. “Did you even eat today?”

You sigh. “Half a grilled cheese. Natasha made me.”

“Atta girl,” Steve mutters, brushing a knuckle under your eye. “You okay now?”

You nod, but it’s small.

“I just missed you,” you whisper.

“We missed you more,” Bucky says, kissing your hair again. “More than you know.”

The three of you sit there in silence for a moment, held in the weightless stillness that only comes after a storm. The kind where everything is finally, if briefly, whole again.

You reach up and touch the edge of Bucky’s cut once more. “Still mad at you.”

“Deserved,” he says. “Make it up to you in the morning.”

Steve smirks. “We’ll both make it up to you.”

Your smile is tired. But it’s real this time.

“Good,” you say. “Because I’m going to be impossible about it.”

Steve slips his arms under your legs and back, lifting you gently from the couch as though you weigh nothing at all. 

You let out a small gasp, half-asleep and completely disoriented, your cheek still smushed into Bucky’s chest until Steve pulls you against his own.

“Hey—” you mumble, eyes fluttering open. “What are you doing?”

“Taking you to bed,” Steve murmurs. “Unless you’d prefer to keep drooling on Bucky’s shirt.”

“Was not,” you grumble, but the laugh slips out anyway, your head dropping against Steve’s shoulder. “You’re both so dramatic.”

Steve carries you through the penthouse’s dark halls with practiced ease, the low hum of the city far below muffled by floor-to-ceiling glass. 

The bedroom door’s already open—Bucky must’ve gone ahead, and you catch a glimpse of him in the ensuite mirror, standing shirtless in front of the sink, dabbing at his temple with a cotton pad and a bottle of antiseptic.

Steve lowers you onto the bed like he’s setting down something precious. The silk sheets are cool against your legs, and the scent of cedar and clean linen makes your muscles relax on instinct.

You’re already in bed by the time Bucky emerges from the bathroom, dabbing a fresh bandage against the cut on his temple.\

Steve’s on the edge of the bed, sleeves rolled to his forearms, phone to his ear.

“Yeah, two orders of the basil stir fry… extra chili. Pad thai, shrimp. And dumplings—yeah, the chicken ones,” he says, pausing. “No, not steamed. Fried. Thanks.”

He ends the call and glances over his shoulder. “Food’s on the way.”

“Finally,” you mutter, tucking the comforter higher around your waist. 

Steve raises an eyebrow. “I told you to take my card and go eat something.”

“I did. Matcha counts.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

Bucky drops onto the bed beside you with a low grunt, shoulder brushing yours. “We’ll feed you in twenty. Then we’re putting you to bed for real.”

“I’m literally already in bed.”

Steve climbs in on your other side, settling against the headboard. “Then we’re putting food in you before you fall asleep in it.”

You roll your eyes but lean into him anyway, head resting on his chest. “You’re both bossy.”

“We’re both worried, doll,” Bucky says, taking the throw pillow from behind you and propping it beneath your back. “It’s allowed.”

You glance over at him, eyes soft. “Is your head okay?”

He gives you a lopsided shrug. “Tender, but fine. Nothing worth the look you gave me earlier. You’d think I lost a limb.”

“You came home with blood on your face. What look was I supposed to give you?”

“A hot one,” he deadpans. “Like oh no, my dangerous mafia boyfriend got in a scuffle and now I must kiss it better immediately.”

“You’re both morons,” you murmur, but your smile betrays you.

Steve threads his fingers through yours, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. “How was university?”

You exhale slowly, letting the weight of the day start to drain from your limbs. “Long. Had back-to-back lectures. One of my professors went on a forty-minute tangent about medieval agrarian economies.”

Bucky laughs under his breath. “Sounds riveting.”

“Oh, it was a thrill ride.”

Steve’s arm curls behind your back as he leans in, pressing a kiss to your cheek, lingering like he doesn’t want to leave. “What’s the plan tomorrow?”

“Just one morning class,” you say, yawning into his chest. “I was thinking of going out after. Clara and I might hit that little boutique in Midtown. Clothes and makeup shopping, mostly. I haven’t seen her in forever.”q

“You’re using my card,” Steve says, no room for argument in his tone.

“Steve—”

“No, listen. Go wherever you want. Buy what you want. Lunch, shoes, ten of those weird candles you like. I don’t care. You deserve it.”

Bucky adds, “And keep Nat close. We’ll be home, but I’ll feel better knowing she’s with you.”

You roll your eyes but don’t argue. Not because you’re defeated—because you know it comes from love. From the same place that makes Steve order your favorite food without asking and Bucky memorize your class schedule better than you do.

The room dims to a hush. The city flickers outside the windows, blurred through the high glass, all movement and light below. But up here, the world is still.

You tuck your legs across Bucky’s lap, rest your head on Steve’s shoulder, and for the first time all day, you let your guard down. 

You tell them about your lectures, the obnoxious boy who argued with the professor, how the campus café is still out of oat milk. Nothing important, but they listen like it matters.

Steve reaches over, adjusting the blanket over your legs with careful fingers, like he’s still anchoring himself to the moment. 

His voice comes low, a little rough around the edges. “You ever get tired of this?”

You glance up at him, blinking slowly. “This?”

“This life. The way things feel normal for five minutes and then everything tilts again.”

You stare at him for a moment, letting his words settle.

Your voice is soft when you answer. “Sometimes. Not because I want out, just… because I forget how to breathe when I don’t know where you are. When I don’t know if you’re coming back through that door.”

Bucky shifts beside you, one hand sliding along your calf again, grounding. “But you stay.”

“I do.” You nod. “Because at the end of it all… when the world goes quiet again, I still get this. I get you both.”

Bucky’s voice is gentle, quieter than usual. “And you don’t resent us for it?”

You meet his eyes. “No, never. I resent the silence and the fear. But not you. Never you.”

Steve lets out a slow breath, like he’s been holding it for hours. “It’s not fair, sometimes. That we get to come home to you after giving you so little to hold onto all day.”

You squeeze his hand. “You came home. That’s what matters.”

Bucky brushes a strand of hair from your cheek, his thumb lingering at your jaw. “You’re too good for this world.”

You shake your head, a tired smile tugging at your lips. “I’m just stupid in love.”

Steve laughs softly, his forehead resting against yours for a beat. “Yeah. We know the feeling.”

The words hang between you, not dramatic, not a declaration—just the truth, simple and solid.

And that truth carries weight.

Because loving men like them means living at the edge of a knife. It means learning to hold fear and devotion in the same breath, to steady your hands even when your heart races.

It’s a double-edged sword, always has been.

One edge leaves you raw. It slices through your days with the sharpness of silence and waiting and wondering. It carves worry into your bones. It teaches you how to read between texts that never come and doorways they don't walk through until the night is half gone.

But the other edge cuts cleaner.

It’s in the way they hold you when they come back. The way Steve rests his forehead against yours like he needs your pulse to slow his own. The way Bucky’s hands never stop moving across your skin, as if reassuring himself you're still there. 

It’s in the comfort. In the weight of their bodies pressing against yours, anchoring you to the present. The way they make the world quiet—not because it stops—but because they stand between you and the noise.

And as you curl between them that night, laughter still caught somewhere in your chest, heart still bruised from the hours you spent alone—you realize you wouldn’t trade the blade for anything.

[trippinsorrows]

dreamland: trick or treat

authors note: not sure where the idea for this came from, nor did i expect it to be this long, but here we are. there are some callback moments to 'the school projects' oneshot, but it's not germane, in the event you haven't read that one.

warnings: none, outside of roman being on the verge of a nervous breakdown from dealing with his 5011 children.

word count: 6k (and some change)

He knew it was a bad idea.

Roman just knew it was a bad idea. Knew that he should have pushed back more. Should have helped his kind, wonderful, beautiful, sexy, fine ass but sometimes naive wife understand why in the many ideas she’s had since they’ve been together, this has to be one of the worst. If not thee worst.

But, also….he knows it’s not like they have very many options.

Neither himself nor Solana have ever been big on leaving the kids alone when they’re not feeling well, especially when they’re babies.

And at barely three, Koa and Kai fall under all of the listed categories.

Kai was the first one to come down with a nasty cold, his twin brother following shortly after. Something both parents already knew to expect having experienced the ease at which sickness passes between twin children. What they weren’t entirely expecting, however, was Solana to also contract said cold from their babies. Not entirely, at least, as it was “her” turn to tend to them, given the two parents often alternate who is the primary caretaker of their ill kids while the other caters to the non-sick kids.

At the time, Roman questioned if he’d been given the short-end of the stick, because of course, this all kicked off a little under two weeks before Halloween. That meant he was in charge helping the children prepare, namely helping them figure out costumes.

And not that Solana, again, his amazing, too good for him and these damn kids, wife didn’t think to start preparing ahead of time. No, she’d helped all the kids pick out costumes before even Thanksgiving rolled around.

But, of course, only his children would change their minds at the last minute. Everyone except Leya.

He swears when all is said and done she’ll be the one to inherit everything.

Lina, Tama, and Aria all wanting to get new costumes, no longer wanting to dress as what they’d chosen before. That meant he had to take them shopping to try to find the new characters they’d decided they wanted to be because their mission in life it seems is to stress him the fuck out with these things.

Or, to kill him.

He’s still undecided.

Roman spent six hours driving them all over town, helping them track down this headpiece and that princess dress. Sat in the art room trying to help them modify certain things, because off the rack and just right would be too good.

Endured the horror of watching various makeup tutorials on YouTube trying to nail down face paint, all things completely out of his league. Hence why his artistic daughter, Leya, had to help out at some points. A small part of him wishing he’d taken up Solana’s suggestion to have Rhea come over and assist, as she had last year with costumes and makeup.

He declined.

That girl will not turn any of his children into satanic cult members.

He just…..did what he could.

But, even with all of that stress, nothing could have prepared him for when the night finally arrived. Because a part of him thought, naively probably, that Solana would be better by then. That she would be coming with them, as she always did, as they both took the kids trick or treating.

He was wrong.

So….so wrong.

Not only was she still not up to it, but his baby boys were still not entirely out the woods.

That only meant one thing.

Alone.

He would have to take the kids trick or treating alone.

Hence the moment he knew this was going to be a shit show of a night.

And as with most of his projections, he was right.

Roman never really realized just how crucial and how much of a difference it makes to have another adult present trying to watch and manage four children, all under the age of 10. Especially his kids.

Though, truth be told, it’s not entirely awful at first.

They’re mostly well behaved as he drives them to the neighborhood he and Solana always take the children to for one of their favorite holidays.

As the massive compound he’d built for his forever growing family sits pretty isolated, traveling to a different neighborhood is a requirement. Not his favorite. He’d much prefer to just buy the kids a bunch of candy, pop in a movie, and call it a night.

But, that’s neither here nor there.

“Ya’ll know the rules,” he reminded, glancing at the four of them through the rearview mirror. “Stay close to me. I don’t care what friend you see or costume you want to look at up close. Don’t wander off. You hear me?”

A chorus of “yes, sir’s” that are the closest thing he gets to agreement from them, because if there’s one thing the kids are usually good with, it's not playing around with safety.

They know that that’s where the line is drawn.

Roman parks near one of the houses closest to entrance of the gated community, uncaring of whose house it is, of course.

And, the minute the car is in park, the shenanigans begin. Tama, the first one out of his seat, trying to unlock the door. Having met the height requirements, he's no longer in a booster seat. Thus, his helping Lina get out of hers. Aria kicking her feet in hers, eager and ready to be released. Leya is the only one to sit patiently and quietly, waiting for Roman to take her out. Unlike the rest of his unruly ass children.

“Remember what I said,” he calls out once all the children are freed, feet on the ground, ready to get to it.

Not that they’re listening to him. Leya, probably, but she always listens.

If only her siblings could do the same.

Naturally, Roman is most horrified at the amount of children present. He’s not sure if it’s because having Solana with him to talk to helps distract him from just how many little bodies are present for this night, but it seems like every damn kid in the city has decided to make this neighborhood their first or only stop for the night.

Roman’s scowl remains present as he ignores the little people that occasionally brush against him and the parents who fail to teach their children the importance of social fucking distancing.

It’s really the way that Leya stays beside him as they move between houses, her hand in his, that sort of helps to keep him grounded. The only time she moves away is when the kids approach porches and houses to collect candy.

He’s half expecting Aria to be in his arms the whole night, as she was last year. Feet hardly hitting pavement as she preferred for him to hold her, Solana with her candy bucket, handling the collection of candy.

Not this year.

This year, his youngest daughter, seems eager for any and all to get a full view of her selected costume. Princess. Some Disney princess. Beatrice or something like that. Aria decked from head to toe in a yellow gown, diamond tiara, matching shoes, and a diamond necklace.

Excessive, to some people, for his five year-old to be wearing thousands of dollars in jewelry. If only he gave two shits what anyone thought.

“I’m a princess!” Is her introduction to almost every set of parents, grandparents, and others who, for some reason, choose to participate in this damn nightmare of a holiday. Lord knows if he and Solana actually had neighbors at the compound, he would keep damn near every light off outside to keep any and all away.

But, unlike her potentially obvious introduction, Lina and Tama are less about the explanations and more about the collection.

Understandable, given even Roman, with his lack of knowledge regarding most things entertainment and pop culture, knows and can pinpoint and identify.

Lina’s two toned wig, blue and red on top of blonde, borderline white hair. Pale, almost clown-like face paints. The matching outfit that consists of shorts, a shirt, and a biker themed jacket. The bat in her hand that Solana told him to not let her bring for fear of safety concerns but he ultimately decided against.

Tama’s black padded costume, the mask, and pointed ears.

Anyone with vision could see Harley Quinn and Batman.

Thus, they need no introductions.

The first thing happening after “trick or treat” leaves their mouth is the extending of their arms as they await candy Solana and Roman will certainly have to hide to keep their sugar craving children from eating it all.

Leya, in her insanely appropriate and fitting white angel costume—halo included—is usually right behind the non-twins, patiently and kindly waiting for her turn to retrieve candy.

It’s the song and the dance for the night, Roman often having to call out various commands.

“Stop getting so close to the street.”

“How much more candy do ya’ll need?”

“No, you cannot go talk to them. Ya’ll don’t even know them.”

“Well, you better hold it. I told ya’ll to use the bathroom before we left.”

“Ya’ll ain’t ready to go home yet?”

As the night passes, Roman works hard to maintain his composure, though being surrounded by loud ass, rambunctious children that he didn’t create makes it infinitely difficult. Solana’s occasional check-in texts receiving simple, one to three word responses. He’ll be sure to give her the full story whenever they escape this minor filled hell.

And, Roman damn sure ignores the mostly mocking texts from his brother and cousin. The fuckers already aware of the fact that Roman is deeply regretting any and all decisions leading up to this nightmare of an evening.

The family approaches another house, Lina and Tama rushing up the steps, Leya holding Aria’s hand as they walk calmly behind, when all of a sudden, a rush of stale smelling wind that makes Roman’s scowl deepens.

A reaction that only intensifies following what happens next.

Two little boys, probably around 7 or 8, rush past the other kids, but it’s not those kids Roman cares about. It’s the fact that they’re rushing, brushing, and shoving Leya and Aria that has him fuming.

Has his fist forming at his side as both his girls fall to the pavement, Leya frowning, and Aria calling out a passioned, angry “hey!” after the little fuckers.

“Son of a—” Roman stops himself, moving to his girls, checking up on them first and helping them back to their first. That’s the first order of business. However, before he can redirect his focus to handling the second part, it appears he’s beaten to it.

Both Lina and Tama are turned around, looking down from the top of the porch steps, and their matching scowls—similar to Roman’s—clearly prove they either saw or are aware of what just happened.

And, they’re the farthest thing from happy.

Lina is the first to move, turning and looking at the boys, dressed in some weird ass robot looking costume. “Hey!” Her loud shout collects the attention of several kids and parents. “Don’t touch my sisters!”

“Yeah!” Tama echoes, the two of them pushing the boys away from the front door where a blonde woman frowns at the scene unfolding. Similar expressions as Lina and Tama take it a step—or several—further.

Roman sees the moment Tama lifts his arm, fist flying and aiming at one of the boys. The moment Lina lifts her bat and swings it in the other boy’s direction. Their acts of retaliation sending the boys toppling down the steps and earning horrified, shocked gasps and sounds.

Roman keeps his hand on both Aria and Leya’s shoulder, uncaring of the boys groaning in pain, two adults coming forward to tend to them, one of them that unnamed blonde woman.

“What the hell!”

The scowl on the Tribal Chief’s face is replaced with a small smirk as two of his oldest kids come down the steps, taking Leya and Aria’s hand, leading them back up the porch as they help themselves to candy, filling their baskets as well as Leya and Aria’s baskets. Completely unbothered.

“What the fuck is wrong with them?” An angered question, Roman turning to one of the parents, or whomever, a male with a receding hairline and a height that starts with a 5.

Pathetic.

Roman’s demeanor is as stoic and even as his tone. “You wanna end up on the ground with your kid?” A calm question with the promise of everything but, the other man swallowing, eyes wide with a wise amount of fear. “Then, I suggest you shut the fuck up.”

Words the man heeds to, sulking shoulders as he turns his attention back to the boys, one of which is holding onto his side with a grimace of pain, the other with his hand over his nose, blood seeping through.

Roman remains unbothered.

He simply reaches for his kids who come down the steps, Lina skipping happily while swinging her bat. Roman already know she’s good, so it’s Tama he checks on, asking, “your fist alright?”

Tama nods, giving a thumbs up, going right back to discussing with his siblings the candy he scored. Roman chuckles, making a mental note to check out his hand when they get home and his son is out of costume.

One thing he and Solana have always noticed about the terrible non-twins is that they, like Roman, have high pain tolerances. Those two could have limbs hanging off and still walk it off, ready to move onto the next thing.

Nothing fazes them.

Despite the scene caused at some random person’s house, the kids continue to stride on without a care in the world, Roman keeping an even closer eye on his youngest girls.

Clearly, his oldest two are good and fine.

At the next house, the kids retrieving their candy, Roman feels a presence near him. Looking down, he’s met with wide green eyes surrounded by an eye mask. One look reveals it’s a little boy in a Robin costume. Around the same age as Lina and/or Tama. His presence and close proximity instantly irritating the Tribal Chief.

“You’re really big,” he observes, voice filled with all the childhood wonder. “What are you dressed up as?”

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Roman dons one of the OTC hoodies Solana had made for him, jeans, and Jordan’s. He’s dressed as a father who clearly loves his kids to sacrifice his mental wellbeing just for a few hours of their enjoyment.

But, that seems not like the best response. Not like his actual one is any better, though.

“A mafia kingpin that kills people who annoy him for asking too many fucking questions.”

Even Roman and all his stubbornness can acknowledge that’s probably not the best thing to say to a young kid, but in his weak defense, he’s been out here a little over an hour with his children. It’s late, he’s surrounded by kids, and he doesn’t have his wife. These are all the ingredients for a disastrous recipe.

Kid can just get some therapy later in life or something.

Except, instead of being met with a horrified expression, he encounters the exact opposite.

“That’s so cool!”

The roles are reversed, and Roman is the one who’s slightly disturbed. His scowl deepened. The fuck is wrong with this kid? “What—”

“How do you kill people?” The kid asks with all the curiosity and calmness, as if inquiring about Roman’s favorite color. “Guns? Knives? Machete?”

Roman says nothing, still annoyed by being spoken to but mostly disturbed by the line of questioning this conversation has taken.

Thankfully, it’s a short-lived conversation.

A woman, psycho Billy’s mother, Roman would assume, comes rushing over offering a nervous smile while moving her arms around the young boy, ushering him away. Roman can vaguely overhear her lecturing him about talking to strangers.

Lady, I think him talking to strangers should be the least of your worries.

Perhaps that therapy should come sooner rather than later.

Onto the next house, Roman has just responded to Solana’s latest text asking if they’re having “fun,” something that he offers a simple ‘yes’ to. Surely, his wife must know that nothing about this whole thing is fun. It’s torture. Nothing but pure torture that only her sitting on his face once she’s all better will somewhat ease the discomfort from.

But, they can have that discussion later.

Once more, he waits, lingering near the sidewalk as the kids continue to fill their baskets with way too much candy for any one kid, when yet another unwanted distraction.

Not a child. Worse.

A soccer mom. One that Roman actually recognizes from Lina’s team.

Fucking hell.

“Mr. Reigns,” she smiles, the act revealing the crow’s line near her eyes. “What a pleasant surprise.”

Roman says absolutely nothing.

She clears her throat, adjusting her bang and then her top. It’s only then Roman briefly takes notice of her costume. Not from admiration or anything of the sort. More disgust. She’s dressed as Selena. Her purple bodysuit with cutouts near the chest, an outfit worn by the late singer at her infamous and last concert at the Houston Astrodome. An iconic look. A look being put to shame by a clearly botched body. Hips awkwardly wide, stick thin legs, no thighs, an ass that matches none of it, and a set of hard looking fake tits to top it all off. It’s unappealing in every sort of way, especially when Roman thinks about his wife. How Solana, ironically, wore the same costume last year for Halloween, beautifully filling it out in every sort of way Pilates Penny probably thinks she’s filling it out.

Not even fucking close.

“Where are your kids?”

Taking too damn long to get some goddamn candy.

Still, Roman says nothing, his ability to ignore unparalleled.

Another awkward clearing of her throat as the botched bitch has the audacity to move closure. Roman’s nose turns up at the smell of her cheap ass perfume. Shit is nauseating. Almost as much as the glimpse he catches through excellent peripheral vision of her trying to shove them hard ass tits in his face.

All the while with that Jared’s Jewelry looking ass wedding ring on her finger.

The audacity.

Finally irritated enough to break his silence, Roman doesn’t stutter nor does he hesitate as he, in only the way he can do, puts Botox Beth in her place. “You keep trying to shove those fake ass tits of yours in my face, acting like I actually give a fuck about them or you.” Her eyes widening in horror and instant shame only further encourage his abrasive scolding. “The only woman I have interest in and care about is my wife whose body doesn’t look like a failed science experiment from a piss poor plastic surgeon.” A beat. “And unlike your stiff ass shit, both her breast and ass move like water when I’m fucking her, something I do a lot, hence our kids you were asking about.” There’s never been a more mortified expression than the one from the woman beside him. “So fuck off, lady.”

And without a single word of protest, argument, agreement, whatever, she turns on her heel, tail in between her legs and does just that.

She fucks off.

Onto the next house, Roman has to stop himself from chiding Aria from her singing. Something she tends to do a lot of, regardless of where they are. The car, the bathtub, school, in the middle of a movie. If she’s not singing, she’s talking.

He still doesn't know just how in the hell he and Solana made such a talkative ass child when neither of them are remotely close to that.

Roman also notices how Leya, something she’s done all night, continues to try to separate her candies within her pumpkin basket. A bit of a losing task given the amount of candy and the shape of the basket, but he leaves her be, already knowing it’s part of her OCD. One of the symptoms that doesn’t cause any harm, thus not needing a comment or correction.

A yawn from Aria, however, most definitely snags his attention. In the best sort of way. She’s getting tired, thus an out that will allow him to escape this hell of a night.

“Alright, ya’ll, not much longer. It’s getting late.” Not a lie, either. Any other time, Roman would be helping his wife get the kids ready for bed, another sort of madness, but one that doesn’t involve so many damn people, thus a preferred sort of chaos.

As they walk up the steps of the next house, Roman eases right back into his routine of watching them while also being mindful of surroundings. Except, there’s an almost familiar voice that disturbs this routine.

“John!” He drags his focus over to the elderly couple sitting in matching rocking chairs on the porch. “Look! It’s that nice single father and his kids that we met at Target a few weeks ago!”

Roman shuts his eyes.

You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.

Of all the fucking houses, they just had to go to this one.

The wife stands from the chair, leaned over, gaze traveling over his four children. “Would you look at all of you? Just precious little angels.”

And playing up the role of angelic children, Tama and Lina lift their baskets with plastered on big smiles. “Trick or treat!”

The old man shakes his head, a genuine grin on his aged face. “Aren’t you all well-mannered?”

Yeah, for everyone except me.

Roman pushes past his discomfort to move a bit closer to the porch, unsure why he feels the need to clarify and set the record straight for perfect strangers.

“Look, I told you both before, I’m not a single father.” Just saying it aloud sounds weird. There is not him and their kids without Solana. “Their mom is home. She’s just sick.”

A horrified gasp from the old lady who looks like she’s a couple more months away from the grave. “Addiction?” Roman’s eyes widen slightly. What the fuck? She shakes her head, hand over her heart. “It’s ruining so many families.”

John, the old man, continues with unnecessary sadness as his wife starts to fill the kids’ baskets. “To think, she found her way back home only to still be struggling with that terrible disease.”

“She’s not—” Pinching the bridge of his nose, trying his best not to snap or commit murder, Roman tries a different route. “Lina. Tama. Would you please tell these people about your mom?”

Of the four of his present kids, they’d 100% be the ones to clear shit up. Aria is too young, and Leya far too shy. And one thing about Lina and Tama, like their baby sister, but unlike Leya, talking is never an issue.

Except Roman forgot how clever his two older kids are, how these two just live to stress him the fuck out, because of course, he’s met with nothing but performative sighs, frowns, and heads bowing.

“Our mommy is sick,” Lina says in the saddest yet fake ass voice he’s ever heard from his eight-year-old.

And naturally, her partner in crime backs her up, offering an equally sad. “We hope she feels better soon.”

But, while Roman is contemplating leaving their asses with these misinformed old people, the couple in question are just shattered.

“She absolutely will, you sweet babies.” Betty White’s big sister wags her aged finger. “We’ll be sure to lift her up in prayer at church Sunday.” Clearly moved and touched by their story, she motions to the basket. “You all take as much candy as you want, okay?” All the words needed to be heard as three of the four kids go to grabbing and stuffing, Leya the only one content with what’s already been retrieved.

Roman looks away, biting back the lecture he wants to give his lying ass children. At least until they’re away from the house, the couple saying something about praying fervently.

“Why the hell would ya’ll tell them people that?”

Snickering from the mischievous duo, Lina being the one to smartly point out, “we didn’t lie, daddy. Mommy is sick.”

Roman is convinced at this point these children will be the death of him one day, and his smart ass eight year-old daughter and her equally mischievous little brother are at the top of the suspect list.

Roman stands with his hands on his hips. “Yeah, but she’s not a damn drug addict.”

“What’s a drug addict?” Tama questions, counting all his full size candy bars.

Samaria yawns, asking with a mixture of curiosity and tiredness, “is that what mommy is?”

“No, Aria, that’s not what—” Once more, Roman has to stop himself. His blood pressure has to be through the damn roof at this point. “You know what, it’s time to go home.”

Some protest, not as much as there could be, mostly because he knows even the kids have to recognize the weight of their almost overflowing buckets is just another sign that it’s indeed time to call it a night.

Leya simply nods in agreement, while Aria reaches her bucket to him, soon lifting her arms, indicating that she wants to be held.

“But, we didn’t hit all the houses!” Is Lina’s final attempt to bargain.

“I’ll buy you all some more candy tomorrow,” Roman mutters, feeling Aria lay her head on his shoulder as he supports her little body with one arm, his other hand holding her bucket of candy.

Naturally, Roman’s hustler of a son can’t accept this deal without first negotiating. “Full size?”

This boy….

“Yes,” he agrees, seeing Tama and Lina high five. “Now, come on.”

With the promise of more candy none of them really need given how much they obtained tonight, the kids follow him back to the vehicle. Conversations among them as he works to get them all seated and buckled. Aria, even though clearly sleepy, continuing to sing, though lightly.

What she’s singing a mystery. He swears she just be making shit up sometimes.

There’s a request to stop for pizza that Roman shoots down immediately, because it’s almost 9pm, and the last thing any of these kids need is some damn pizza.

He’ll get it for them tomorrow.

“Keep your voices down. Your brothers are probably sleep,” Roman advises once they return home, and he’s working to get them out the car. Last he heard from Solana, his babies were sleep, and given Koa and Kai tend to be a bit sensitive to noise, the last thing he wants is to wake them up. Even more, like himself, they’re irritable as hell when prematurely awoken.

The kids technically listen to his directive, their voices low, but the stomps of their feet as they rush up the stairs is anything but.

However, he decides to pick his battles wisely, not correcting them, already knowing why they’re in such a rush.

Roman quietly follows behind as the kids all run towards his bedroom, Lina being the one to open the door, spilling in with heightened enthusiasm.

“Mommy!”

Walking into the room, Roman watches the kids surround the bed where a clearly sleepy Solana sits up with a warm smile.

She’s still in the thin sleeved, baby pink pajama gown he left her in. Hair concealed by her black bonnet, wiping at her slightly puffy eyes, the crinkle of her nose a sign of sniffling buried under the excited voices of the kids.

“My babies,” she greets, reaching for them as they create a sort of circle around her, Aria climbing onto the bed to hug Solana who makes a sound, eyes briefly shutting. “I missed you guys.”

“We missed you, too, mommy,” Leya murmurs, some of the few words he’s heard from her all night. It pulls a small smile to his face. The older she gets, the more he’s noticed she’s starting to talk. Something he appreciates more than anything. Because as much as he enjoys the silence, the sound of his little girl’s voice, so soft and sweet, will always be the exception.

“We got you lots of candy,” Tama shares, little hands dipping in his bucket to pull out a Hershey’s Almond Chocolate bar, offering said candy. “Your favorite!”

Solana’s smile deepens, “thank you, babies.” A small set of coughs as Roman briefly considers telling the kids they shouldn’t be that close to her but deciding against it, as he already knows they won’t care nor would they probably listen. Not to mention that nine times out of ten, a cold is probably in their near future. With so many young kids, it’s not uncommon for sickness to get passed around like hot potato. “You’re all so sweet.”

Aria, sitting on the bed with her legs crossed, reaches her little hand into her bucket of candy, pulling out a Snickers bar. “We got candy for you, too, daddy!”

It’s then that the rest of the kids all pull out several Snickers bars making him aware that they all seemed to have made sure to collect their parents favorite candies.

A small chuckle, the Tribal Chief realizing that’s why they were so intent on collecting as much candy as they could. To make sure they got enough for himself and Solana, too.

Huh.

“You all were good for your daddy, right?” Solana’s question is met with interrupted eye contact and only Leya answering, nodding her head.

“They were…..the usual,” Roman answers, his wife meeting his eyes, her smile shifting to something close to a smirk. She already knows what that means.

“Hmm.” Solana makes a sound, reaching to caress Lina’s hair as she rips off her wig. “Baby….why do you have that bat?”

It’s only then that Roman clears his throat, feeling his wife’s didn’t we talk about not letting her take that with her stare on him as he redirects the kids. “Ya’ll go downstairs and start dividing your candy, while I get your baths ready.”

Something he’s not necessarily looking forward to, given how chaotic that can be. His hope though is that they’ll be too tired out to give him a hard time.

Hopefully.

Hugs and kisses from Solana, something they refuse to depart without, before Roman is left alone with his wife.

He sits on the side of her bed, hand reaching to her forehead. “How you feeling?”

She shrugs, hand reaching to grab his as he drops it, pleased to see that she at least no longer has a fever. “Medicine is helping, but the boys are doing better, so that’s all that matters.” A knowing smile, followed by an almost amused, “you know they’re all going to get sick, right?”

Roman chuckles. “Yeah…but we’re not there yet, so let’s enjoy it now.” He looks around the room, realizing Dulce’s bed is empty. “Where is she?”

“Sleeping in the living room. Well….she was.” Because they both know that with the kids no doubt surrounding the dining room table, trading and sectioning off candy, Dulce is either lounging in her bed, wondering why the kids are so damn loud or sitting near Leya, waiting to see if someone will give her some food.

There’s no in-between.

“You want me to help you get them down?”

“Naw.” Roman shakes his head, stroking her cheek, leaning over to kiss her forehead. “I just want you to rest.”

Solana rolls her pretty eyes. “Have you met our children?”

“Yes, unfortunately.”

“Roman,” she chides, lightly slapping him on the chest. “Be serious….” Her smile dims, replaced with a hint of a frown. “How bad did they stress you out?”

It’s an easy answer. “Baby, you better not ask me to give you no more damn kids.” Her smile returns, Solana clearly amused at his misery. “That shit was fucking terrible. All them children that aren’t ours, annoying ass people—”

“Ro, you act like we don’t take them every year.”

“Yeah, but I usually have you with me.”

Solana rolls her eyes, rolling her thumb over his knuckles. “I told you to take someone with you to help you out.”

“I didn’t need help. I just needed you.”

There’s something about that that statement that makes her heart flutter. “Well….” She brings his hand to her mouth, pressing a kiss. “God willing, I’ll be able to go with you all next year. Koa and Kai, too.”

At that, Roman’s eyes widen. “You wanna take all six of them trick or treating?”

Solana pouts. “We can’t leave our baby boys out.”

“I’ll stay home with them,” he offers, quickly. Solana rolls her eyes. “Baby, you know they’re like me and don’t like people anyway.”

Solana doesn’t say anything, cause she knows he’s not wrong. Even as toddlers, when they were still babies even, it became pretty obvious they took after his disposition when it comes to socialization.

They hate it.

They love being held by their parents, tolerate interactions with their siblings, and scowl with almost anyone else.

It’s mostly why the short-lived idea of having someone stay with them, before Solana got sick, while she and Roman took the kids out, was shelved. Because Koa and Kai don’t necessarily play well with others.

At all.

Solana leans back in bed after another brief coughing session. “You should start getting them ready for bed. They shouldn’t give you much trouble, since I’m sure they’re tired from tonight.”

“Shit, if they’re not. I am.” Roman mutters, standing up and blowing out a breath. “I’ll come check on you once they’re all in the tub.”

Solana nods, saying nothing, allowing Roman to move onto his next task for the night.

Thankfully, his wife, though he shouldn’t be entirely surprised, is correct. As Aria is clearly more tired than her siblings, along with her being the only one of them that still needs a parent to handle her bath time, he gets her cleaned and in bed first. She’s almost out the minute her head hits the pillow, only wanting a kiss and hug goodnight from him before she’s off in slumber land.

The OG’s grab their own pajamas and bath caddy, simply needing Roman to run the water for them, before they’re good to go. It started out with just Lina and Leya transitioning to bathing themselves, but Tama, naturally, didn’t like his big sisters doing something he couldn’t. So, before Roman and Solana knew it, he was asking to bathe himself, too.

If only his was a little….smoother than his sister’s.

Solana, feeling wrong letting Roman handle everything by himself, has just finished checking on her youngest babies, pleased to see them fast asleep. This is only after, however, going downstairs and hiding the candy that the kids separated, trying to make things a little easier on her husband.

She’s in the boy’s wing of the house, turning the corner just in time to see Roman’s head in the door of Tama’s bathroom.

“Boy, why is the water on?” She bites down on her bottom lip, imagining her oldest son explaining himself. “It’s cold? Well, if you hadn’t spent 20 minutes playing with all those damn toys, it wouldn’t be cold anymore.” A giggle topples out at the sound of Tama defending himself, Roman interrupting, “fine, keep it on, but I’m telling you right now, Tamasa, if you flood my damn bathroom again, you’re staying up and helping me get all that water up. And, I’m not letting you use a mop to clean it, either.”

Solana shakes her head, a giggle upgrading into light laughter. The interactions between Roman and the kids, especially him and Tama, will never fail to be hilarious.

Something tells her of all the children, even Lina, Tamasa will be the one to stress Roman out the most.

“Baby, what are you doing up?”

She brings her focus back to Roman who walks up to her, hands on her hips as he tugs her into him.

“Just trying to help you out.”

He shakes his head, frowning, “I got it—”

“You sure?” Her brow lifts, chin jutted to the bathroom. “Seems a little….tense.”

Roman scowls. “You know how that boy is. Just stubborn for no fucking reason.”

Solana makes a sound. “Wonder where he gets that from.”

“Your side of the family, clearly.”

She opens her mouth, ready to point out the ridiculousness of such a statement given who he is, but Solana opts against it. He’s already had a long ass night.

No need to make him aware of the fact that Tama, and Lina for that matter, are nothing but mini versions of himself.

Determined, headstrong, and stubborn.

How he doesn’t see and/or recognize that is beyond her, but that’s a conversation for a different day.

She sniffles, Roman’s big hands on the small of her back, his mouth pressed into the top of her head. “Go get back in bed….please?”

Agreement that only stems from the fact that she knows he can handle the rest of bedtime shenanigans as well as the fact it probably stresses him out even more to know she’s walking around instead of laid up in bed somewhere.

“Okay,” she agrees. Roman moves his hand to tap the side of her ass, mumbling a quiet, “thank you.” She presses her lips together, murmuring, “I love you.”

An easy reciprocated thing. “I love you too, baby.”

Solana’s smile remains on her face, a strong sense of appreciation and happiness filling and overwhelming her. She loves her family more than anything.

But, the smile is soon interrupted, dimmed at the sound of Roman’s voice that travels from the wing of the house that she was standing in not even minutes earlier.

“Tamasa! Didn’t I tell you not to flood my damn bathroom?”

[noxsspace]

Don’t Be a Stranger

Chapter Four - Through Distance

chap. summary: joel leaves for a week-long work trip

chap. tags: flirting, slow burn, joel is difficult with feelings, and gets nervous around her but he tries!!

a/n: sorry it took so long for this chapter to come out. i’ve been injured, sick, busy and just burnt out, but we are so kinda back!!

chap. list: chap. 1 , chap. 2, chap. 3

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/65384158/chapters/169289920

———

The first day without seeing him show up in your shop is somewhat difficult, as you had nothing to really look forward to. You kept yourself busy with sketching in your notebook during slow hours, writing out a couple of ideas to put into better words on your computer, and took a couple of small pastries for lunch. Your coworkers knew something was up when you seemed less interested in drama than usual, and they figured it out quickly and decided to tease you about it every other minute to where you just rolled your eyes and brushed them off.

“Your man not comin’ in today?” Your coworker Al asked. You cursed silently, embarrassment creeping through your head while you thought of all the times you surely looked stupid. Like a woman head over heels for someone out of her league. At least, that’s what it felt like.

You turned to give him a menacing look, your eyes burning into his skull, every intent to make him forget he ever saw anything.

“Not my man, just a really nice friend.”

Laughter erupted, but it wasn’t harmful. His words never hurt. Al waved you off while he turned the other direction, mumbling something you chose to ignore.

You sighed. You loved your coworkers. You really did.

Sometimes.

They were like family, they always looked out for you and were always ready to give you bad advice or tease you about anything and everything. Al had commented on how you acted around him, how you seemed desperate to be the one at the counter to catch him when he arrives. He brought up how different you were compared to your ex, but that wound was deep and you could only try to forget it to keep your sanity.

The rest of the day went on peacefully. You cleaned up a bit and told your coworkers you were heading off, in which Al said “tell him we say hi,” and you walked out the door without another word.

———

Once you made it to your apartment, you pulled out your phone, seeing if there were any messages. You sighed, feeling yourself sink into the couch with a twang of disappointment when you saw your inbox was empty.

You weren’t sure when he’d call, or even message for that matter, but you couldn’t help but think about what he might be up to, and you wanted to hear about his day.

You shook your head. You had to be patient, you didn’t want to come off as obsessive. He said he’d call, you would just have to wait for the ring.

In the meantime, you stood and decided to clean up a bit before making yourself dinner. You slid a CD into the player and got to work, humming along to the song while you vacuumed up the dark floors. Soon enough, you’d bring out the mop. You mentally checked off a list of things to clean while you waited.

Despite a long day at work, you found peace in continuous exercise, where you could always keep your hands busy and your mind at ease with whatever project you were working on. The mindless tasks helped you feel productive. The guitar was another one of the few hobbies that kept you busy yet satisfied, and you thought about picking it up later tonight after you cleaned.

Minutes passed and you found yourself lost in the music playing through the player without another thought, and before you knew it, your apartment was clean.

Next was dinner. Another task to check off. You opened the fridge and it creaked a bit, something you’d kept forgetting to check. You pulled out slices of turkey, a couple containers of dressing, and then bread from the cupboard next to the fridge.

A turkey sandwich was a godsend. Easy, efficient, and delicious. Kept your energy up, helping you stave off potential hunger later on.

You made the sandwich and sat back on the couch, satisfied.

Pausing for a moment, you glanced at your phone on the coffee table, and picked it up, finding that there were no messages.

You took a second, biting the skin of lip before you made your decision.

Fuck it.

You opened the keyboard and began to type a message to send to him, just writing out a simple hello and how—

Your phone lit up, his name flashing on the screen with a light chime, buzzing in your hand.

He said he’d call.

And he kept his word.

Your phone didn’t shut off, his name was flashing and you couldn’t figure out what to do next, your mind was scrambling to force you to take action, to answer the phone.

You glanced at the clock, and realized that he’d probably just got off work, it was a little after six.

You felt stupid. Of course, he was busy. Not everyone had the hours you did.

You took a deep breath and accepted the call, putting the phone up to your ear.

“Hello?”

“Hey, just got off work,” Joel said.

You smiled to yourself, mentally kicking yourself in the shin.

“Good to hear you, how was your day?”

You could hear him sigh on the other end. “Oh, yknow,” he sounded exhausted. “Tiring, wishin’ I was home right now.”

You nodded, though remembered he couldn’t see that. “Sounds like it, glad it’s over.”

“Enough about me, how was your day, darlin’?”

The name made your heart flutter, but you tried to keep calm. You mimicked his sigh, though making it more dramatic, and you could, practically hear him smile. “Ohhh yknow,” you couldn’t help but laugh a bit. “Tiring, glad I’m home right now.”

The change of words had him hum in acknowledgment. “Glad you are too.”

”Store isn’t the same without you,” you said, thinking back on the long, dull day.

“Well, few more days, I’ll be home ‘for you know it,” he said, as if you weren’t counting down the days.

“True,” you said, sitting back on the couch. “How’s Sarah been doing?”

“She’s good, heard she’s not givin’ Tommy any trouble, which is nice, but also expected nothing less,” he said.

You hummed. “Tommy?”

“Ah, sorry, Tommy’s my little brother.”

”You have a brother?” you exclaimed, incredulous. You could hear Joel laugh on the other line. You learn something new about him almost every time he opened his mouth, and wished the phone call would never end.

”Forgot to mention, he’s the one watchin’ Sarah.”

”What else have you forgot to mention?” You asked through your grin.

”Now, what would be the fun in tellin’ you everythin’ right now?” He questioned, his tone light.

You sighed. “You’re right, should just wait ‘til we see each other again.”

”Should wait til we’re at a table sittin’ pretty,” he joked.

”Oh?” You felt your stomach flip, curious of his next words.

He made a humming sound on the other end, the only form of acknowledgment to his words.

”Said too much now you’re shy?” You tease.

”Not shy, just lettin’ my mind wander.” He answered, but the tone of his voice said otherwise.

You gave him grace and changed the subject, talking about the people you saw today and the pastries you made. You couldn’t tell if you were boring him or if he was interested, but the small hum in acknowledgement every now and then kept you going, his voice low and deep, almost throwing you off your track a couple of times.

“I’ll make you both some fresh pastries for the day you return.”

“Mighty kind of you,” he replied, and you felt the words vibrate through your skin, feeling warmth as if he was with you. He seemed sleepy, and so comfortable.

The silence between the lines let you listen to any bit of movement he was doing, the slight noise of his breathing. You felt at peace. You leaned your head back and closed your eyes, head feeling heavy.

“You alright?” You heard Joel ask. Something in his tone seemed more serious than previously, and you felt caught off guard, too vulnerable. The calm eased your heart but feeling so exposed just through the phone made your eyes water, and for practically no reason at all.

“Yeah,” you said suddenly, hoping he wouldn’t notice the catch in your voice. “Yeah, I’m good.”

He didn’t say anything right away, almost as if he was processing it. “You can tell me if anythin’s on your mind,” he then said, a bit quiet. “Don’t matter what it is.”

You felt your eyes blur with tears, though you didn’t blink, refusing to let them fall. It was so stupid. You were comfortable, the least anxious you’d ever felt around anyone you didn’t know well, and you were crying. You inhaled deeply, as if that would help pull the tears back in.

“I’m alright, Joel,” you said, your voice coming out more like a sigh than a firm statement. “Just tired, I think.”

“Well, I’m here if you need anything,” he said, his way of saying it’ll be okay.

“Thank you, you’re a good…” you felt yourself trail off. Friend? Surely, that’s what he was, right now at least. Right? It not like you were going out at the moment, but you wished you were. You truly wished he’d ask you right now, though he was miles away.

“Friend,” you then said. “A great friend.”

No words came out of his mouth, just the small “mhm” that reaffirmed your question. You waited a beat.

“Anytime.”

———

Friends.

The call had ended, and he was sitting on the couch of the hotel room his job paid for, leg crossed over the other with his head resting against his hand.

He could tell something was off, and he couldn’t help but worry a bit.

He stood, setting his phone down on the table and walked over to his bed. Pulling the covers back, he got beneath the blankets and rested his head on the pillow, thoughts swirling in his head while he tried to pick and choose which to focus on.

They were all about her.

He wondered if something happened while he was away, if something was bothering her snd she couldn’t say. It bothered him. Surely she wanted him to call, maybe he caught her at a bad time.

He winced in pain after realizing he’d bit his cheek, and then learned over to the side table to grab his phone. He flipped it open pulled up the messaging app, ready to type something—but nothing came to mind. Or, rather, too much came to mind. Everything he wanted to say he could send it right now, but the thought of her not responding or finding his intentions strange held him back.

He pulled apart the conversation and put it back together again. He still had a few days before he’d return home. There must be something he could do to help, but it was difficult without knowing the issue.

Friends.

His hand came up to cover his eyes while he squeezed them shut, that word consistently keeping him from falling asleep.

They were friends. It seemed strange to call whatever you both had that but he hadn’t asked her out, hell, he had left for the work trip the day after giving her his number. It was only expected.

But it still ate away at him a little bit each time he thought of it.

———

The next day, you were off to work, trudging along with music in your ears trying to make it to the weekend.

To when he returned.

You settled in the shop and got yourself a small breakfast, though you weren’t really hungry, it was just something to keep yourself alive for the morning. You readied some pastries and brewed coffee moments before the clock turned to the opening hour, and felt yourself begin to slow down.

Everything felt much harder than it did yesterday, and you weren’t entirely sure why.

When it was time to open the shop, you hurriedly unlocked the door, but was startled by a familiar face and someone alongside her.

You opened the door for them and were greeted with a big hug.

“Sarah!” You exclaimed, her arms tight around you with a small hello and giggle. You looked up to the man beside her, though had a sneaking suspicion of who it could be. His features were undeniably close to Joel’s, though his hair was light and his eyes were young and full of wonder. “And, I’m sorry, who are you?”

He laughed. “Tommy,” he greeted, and you smiled. He shook your hand gently, and you watched his eyes flicker over to Sarah, who was enthusiastically rushing toward the display of fresh pastries.

Tommy Miller.

Joels brother.

Sarah urged Tommy to look at the specials you had set out earlier, and you mentally noted how similar him and Joel were. Their mannerisms, the accent, the small smile. You wondered if Tommy looked up to Joel, if he ever wanted to be like him when he became older, and you felt warm. Their family bond must be strong, Sarah treats him almost just as she would Joel.

“Sarah told me all about this place, said we had to visit.” Tommy said, giving the place a look around. He stepped over to some artwork you had put up a year or so back.

You laughed. “Oh, is that right?” You looked at Sarah who nodded enthusiastically before leaning closer to you, pulling your arm gently for you to bend down and listen.

“Joel’s not in town to gawk over you,” she said quietly, Tommy’s attention focused elsewhere.

You smiled a bit and patted her shoulder. “Yeah, told me he was going on a work trip, that right?”

Sarah nodded, arms crossed. You smiled and then spoke.

“Must make it easier for you to manage, hm?”

Sarah sighed and rolled her eyes.

“You have no idea.”

You laughed while she caught up with Tommy, quick words of “uncle Tommy, you have to try this one!” or “can we get this one too?” while pointing at each and every desert to try.

Your heart swelled, hearing Sarah talk about her family, about Joel. She acts bossy in a way that’s caring, and sarcastic just like her Dad, though it must come from the whole Miller family because Tommy was giving her shit just a couple seconds ago.

After you rang them up for a few cakes, you got Tommy a cup of coffee, and he thanked you.

“Woah!” Sarah exclaimed, pointing at the decor on the wall—an abstract picture of a cat that was painted with pastel colors, the shape and outline more intricate with other detail more so than the rest of the picture.

“Who made that?” Sarah turned to you and asked.

“I did,” you smiled, and her jaw dropped wider.

“Ah, wait here,” you then said, rushing back to your notebook where you kept the rest of your ideas and drawing drafts.

You tore out a recent page of another sketch to be put onto canvas; stacks of mugs with an animal in each one, the background shaded and a large pot of coffee sitting next to the mugs.

“Here,” you gave it to Sarah, who took it with a huge smile.

“This is so cool!” She showed her uncle, who whistled to show he was impressed.

“Damn, you’re a real good artist,” he said, eyes wide while they traced over the artwork.

“I certainly try,” you said.

Tommy then turned to Sarah, handing her the bag of containers that held their cakes

“Sarah, go out to the car I’ll be there in a minute.”

Sarah raised a brow, suspicious, but did so anyway, leaving Tommy alone with you.

You were about to ask if everything was alright, but his expression showed there was nothing wrong.

“Thank you,” Tommy turned to you, giving you a warm smile.

You nodded. “Anytime!”

“No, I mean,” Tommy glanced at the floor for a second. “With Joel.”

Your eyes widened, unexpected to hear the name.

“What do you mean?” You then asked, curious. You thought of how quickly Joel was to fluster, to tease, and yet to find his words calm all the same.

“I mean, trust me, he’s a good guy, I just ain’t ever seen him so flushed at the damn dinner table at just the mention of someone he’d met,” Tommy laughed a bit.

You felt your face heat, wondering what they’d talked about, wondering if he’s brought you up more than you had with anyone, and it intrigued you. It was certainly something to tease him about later on.

“I suspect he’s been here often, though he must’ve made Sarah swear he hadn’t, can’t get much outta that kid,” he continued.

You felt yourself smile wide.

“Just about every day for the last few weeks.”

“Damn,” Tommy exclaimed. “At this rate—“ he stopped himself, biting his tongue.

You waited expectantly for more, but then he backed away, waving it off.

“Have a nice rest of your day miss.” His laughed to himself and walked out the door, where you waved goodbye.

You felt warmth flood through your chest, keeping you content the rest of your shift.

———

A couple days had passed, and you woke up early. You checked the time, glancing over at the clock on your wall, seeing it was three in the morning. You didn’t have to leave for a while yet, so you grabbed your phone, seeing the pale screen stare back when you opened it.

You sighed.

You and him had sent a couple messages back and forth, and he’d called yesterday, but it was like there was a hole in your chest, and it ached. You hadn’t told him about seeing Tommy and Sarah at your shop, you wanted to keep the feeling to yourself a little while longer, see what else you could notice with the bits and pieces mentioned.

The clicking of letters filled the empty room, and you sent a message.

You: Hey, you up?

Your hands came down next to your sides, hitting the comforter with a soft thud. He surely wouldn’t be up at this hour, and now he’ll probably worry, but you couldn’t focus on anything else, not the cakes you’d be cooking in the morning, not the customers you’d see, or even the fiction you’d scribble down in a daydream. It’s like your mind was trained to think about him and him only, especially at the worst moments.

Your phone lit up, and your heart began to pick up speed.

Joel: Yeah, everything alright?

You typed fast at first, but slowed when you realized how desperate you must look. Sighing, you sent the next message.

You: Can’t sleep

It was only seconds later that your phone buzzed, his name on the screen and you answered.

“Hey,” he said, and his voice sounded worn, raspy.

“I wake you?” You asked, brows knit in worry.

“No,” he quickly assured. “No, I couldn’t sleep either.”

You exhaled.

“Couple more days,” you then reminded him, in which he responded with a smile in his voice.

“Yep,” you could hear him sigh, happily, it seems. “Promise I’ll buy anything and everything you make.”

“Good, worried I’m gonna go out of business without your daily coffee fix.”

He laughed, seemingly adjusting in his bed because you hear a rustle of blankets. He sighs again, more content, somewhat sleepily, and it makes you feel tired.

“Hey, Joel?” You then began, setting the phone on your pillow and turning so you’re on your side.

“Hmm?”

You felt your face warm.

“Thank you,” you mumbled, feeling your eyelids grow heavy.

You could’ve sworn he’d said something else, but you’d already succumb to slumber.

———

Joel returned home. Tommy was waiting with Sarah, who was overjoyed to see her Dad again. She ran to him and jumped, hugging him tight, while Tommy greeted him with a nod. Coming home to Sarah was one of the best feelings, and he often worried she’d grow out of this once she becomes older, so he cherishes every second of it just in case.

“I missed you! I missed you I missed you I missed you,” Sarah exclaimed, making Joel flush with happiness.

“Missed you too, babygirl,” he said, giving her a large smile before placing a kiss at the top of her head.

She quickly began giving him a run-down of the week she’d had, talking about school, her friend Ellie, and the day her and Tommy went to the coffee shop, making him stop in his tracks, eyes flicking straight to his brother.

“Is that right?” He asked her, and watched as Tommy smiled wider.

“Hey, she told me we had to try the cakes,” Tommy held up his hands in defense. “Obsessed, I’ll tell you that much.”

Joel rolled his eyes, forcing down a grin in sight of his brother’s smug face.

Sarah gave her Dad more detail, saying she was there, she made the most delicious breakfast cakes for her and her uncle, how she was apparently responsible for some of the art hanging up in the store. Sarah showed the page she’d been given just a couple days ago, pointing at the intricate detail.

It amazed him. He recalled seeing some art in the shop, but he was certain he’d pay more attention the next time around. He had to see more.

A good part of the afternoon was busied with unpacking. He’d sent a message to her saying he was back home, but no response yet. She’d probably be off work soon, and he could admit he was a bit excited to hear from her.

By the time he glanced at the clock and saw it was three, he decided to head over to the shop, asking Sarah if she’d like to come with. She was more than happy to. At this point, she was used to making an appearance, ordering what she’d like and making conversation with the barista. She really came to adore her, which made Joels heart happy.

They made it down to the shop in less than ten minutes, and he could barely contain the joy on is face when he opened the shop door to see her there, talking with another worker.

She turned when hearing the chime, and her eyes lit up.

To his surprise, she came out from behind the display, and walked over and greeted them, her smile bright enough to fill the room.

She greeted Sarah, who gave her a hug and told her she wanted more of the strawberry cake she’d made her the day before, while also asking if she’d drawn anything else recently.

She told Sarah to check out some of the new cookies she set out earlier. Sarah caught on that it was a way to get time with Joel, but walked to the display regardless, shaking her head with a smile.

“Hi,” she said, and Joel was smiling.

“Hello,” he replied, noticing the bit of makeup around her eyes, the slight tone of her lipstick that brought out the color of her eyes.

“How was your work trip?” She then asked, making conversation.

Conversation, right.

Joel was great with words.

He felt himself staring at her, and she seemed to notice, because she nudged his arm gently with her finger, giving him a look that crossed between disbelief and awe. For what, he couldn’t tell. He was lost, a silent mess.

“Not much to talk about,” he then said, but gave it some thought. “Was really boring, if I’m being honest.”

She nodded with a smile.

“Figured it would be.”

“I want to hear about you,” he then said.

And so, she talked, telling him about the week, about a new recipe she’d been trying out, and he did what he did best; listened. The smile never left his face while he watched her expression change as she talked, he was just happy to hear her in person, to see her talk and to see her move. It reminded him that she truly was real, that this was a possibility, despite the looming voice that told him to go home and never return.

He didn’t want to screw up, he didn’t want her to leave.

So he figured he’d keep his mouth shut.

“—and Sarah has the latest one, but I had another idea I’d put up on the wall by the door,” she continued, pointing to the entrance.

“Whatever you make, it’ll work,” Joel responded. Her art was gorgeous, but he was too shy to ask for a piece himself.

“Oh!” Her mouth parted in shape, and she went back to the register, walking behind display toward the back, where only seconds between them were lost because she was fast coming back, this time with a book in her hands—a sketchbook to be exact.

“I drew this,” she opened the book and pulled out a page, handing it over. “For you.”

It was a butterfly, peacefully perched on a flower. Joel could see the gentleness of it all, of the delicate parts of nature. It was shaded, the background dark with highlights through the wings, and Joel was in awe.

She could tell. His jaw dropped slightly when he took the page to hold, running a finger over the heavily shaded areas while admiring the rest.

“Unless, yknow,” she started. “You don’t like it.”

Joel’s head snapped up quick, his eyes focused while he stuttered.

“No, no,” he said, a smile forming across his face. “It’s gorgeous, I love it.”

She smiled, seemingly silently proud of her work, watching him while he ran a finger over the sketched, completely drawing into the picture.

He then turned quickly, eyes locking with hers in determination.

“I need to ask you somethin’,” Joel then said, expression turned serious, though his hands still gentle with the drawing.

“What is it?” She asked, and he could tell worry was seeping in. He forgot the track of words, the way she’d twist with fear—and quickly urged himself to just get it out, to ask her.

“Um,” he swallowed thickly, glancing at his shoes.

Damn it, Joel, just say it.

“I’d like to ask you to dinner tomorrow,” he started after breathing in deeply. Her long lashes were so prominent, the way her eyes widened and makeup shone under the light. He was so distracted, searching for any disgust or fear on her face, worried he’d overstepped—but her face turned red and her lips upward.

“Doesn’t have to be fancy,” he continued. “Really, whenever you’d like. Your company is what matters.” He felt his hands shake a bit, and inhaled deeply while waiting for her to say something, anything, really.

She smiled sheepishly, nodding.

“I’d love to, Joel.”

[blacktofade]

Gemtho Fortnight Day 13

prompt: Etho finds Gems address/town and starts to stalk her. Gem at first doesn't notice him (he's just another face at the supermarket) but when she sees this stranger at more and more places, she gets kind of paranoid. Things escalate on one of her hikes. (rpf)

cw: rpf, stalking, panic

On Tuesday, there’s a car parked outside Gem’s home when she takes Winnie out for her loop around the block before bed. She wouldn’t normally notice, except it’s directly in front of her driveway, blocking in her car. She’s not too concerned — has no plans to go anywhere for the night, and as soon as she’s back inside from their walk, she’s crawling into bed with a cup of tea and a book.

It’s dark outside — too dark for her to see if there’s anyone inside the vehicle — but as Gem passes the rear bumper, she glances back at the license. It’s a standard plate, not from out of town, and she lets Winnie sniff around a nearby tree for a moment as she opens her phone’s notes and jots it down — JEJ 371.

If she needs to call in a tow truck, she won’t have to creep around it again.

She spares it one last look and tucks her phone back into her pocket.

“C’mon,” she says softly, tugging at Winnie’s leash, starting to walk away.

The sooner they’re done, the sooner she can get back inside.

*

Gem’s self sufficient. She works hard to be able to take care of herself, to not be reliant on her family. But the one thing she can’t do is reach the top shelf at her local Sobeys.

Usually, if there’s no one around to see the indignity, she’ll try her best to climb. But on Wednesday there’s a man at the end of the aisle, who appears to be trying to decide which tin of beans he should buy.

He’s tall, dressed casually, and he doesn’t startle when Gem steps closer.

“Hey,” she says, hoping she doesn't sound too much like a maniac, and he glances down, gaze raking over her as though trying to figure out what she might want from him.

He tips his head in acknowledgement, so she powers through.

“You probably get this all the time, but could you grab that can of tomatoes off the top shelf for me?”

She points across the aisle and his gaze follows her finger.

He exhales, maybe in relief that it’s all she wants from him, and then he moves, grabbing the exact can she needs before handing it over.

Their fingers brush as she takes it — his skin warm, but work-rough — and she offers him an easy smile.

“Thank you,” she tells him. “I need you around whenever I’m here.”

He offers her a strangely breathy laugh and she watches him a moment longer, but he never speaks.

“Have a good day,” she says before turning back to her cart.

As far as social interactions go, it’s not her worst, and when she glances back over her shoulder, he’s watching her, a small smile on his face and something that looks like interest in his eyes.

*

“He’s abandoned us,” Bdubs says on Thursday, so dramatically that Gem can’t help but laugh.

“Who?”

“Who else?” he says, his character pacing. “Etho! He said he’d be online, but he’s not.”

Gem laughs again. “Did you check MCCI?”

“Don’t,” he warns, but there’s humor in his voice. “That’s like kicking me while I’m down.”

“Sorry,” she laughs. “Maybe he overslept.”

“He hasn’t been on all week.”

“Family?” she suggests instead, and Bdubs’ character looks toward the sky.

“No, we’ve been abandoned,” he declares and Gem snorts.

“I’ll let you know if I see him around.”

*

On Friday, Gem goes to the market.

She doesn’t need anything, but ends up buying a punnet of strawberries, a couple of peaches, a bag of clementines, and enough spinach to fuel her current addiction.

It’s busier than normal, maybe now that schools are out for summer, and Gem finds herself getting jostled a few times as she winds her way back toward her car.

She thinks she’s almost free when a young kid, less than ten, darts across her path, tripping her and sending her barreling into a man almost twice her size.

“I’m so sorry,” she apologizes, her free hand shooting out, and the stranger catches her around the waist, stopping her from bouncing off of him to the floor.

She gets a faceful of his deodorant before she can right herself with the man’s help.

“Thank you,” she says when she steps back, finally getting a look at him. “Sorry again.”

But he seems in a hurry, too much to be concerned by the ordeal, because the second she’s back on her feet, he’s turning and heading in the opposite direction.

She watches him go, dazed and confused, but something tickles in the back of her mind as she takes a breath and continues on.

It’s not until she’s halfway home that she realizes she recognizes him.

He was the man from the grocery store a few days prior.

*

Gem’s adjusting Winnie’s harness when another car pulls into the trailhead’s dirt parking lot.

There are two other vehicles there, the occupants already gone, and Gem finds herself watching the new car with casual interest. Her gaze drops briefly to the license plate, and she pauses.

She turns back to Winnie, gesturing for her to sit while she takes a moment to pull out her phone, scrolling through to find her notes.

JEJ 371 — it’s the same car that was outside her house.

Gem doesn’t believe in coincidences, and something sour settles in her stomach.

Without thinking, she unlocks her car again, opening the hatchback.

“In,” she orders Winnie, who’s clearly confused, still expecting to go for a walk.

But Gem’s heart starts to pick up as she hears the sound of a door opening.

“In,” she orders again, and Winnie finally obeys, hopping into Gem’s SUV and whining quietly.

Carefully, she shuts the back, glancing over her shoulder, just in time to see a man climb out of the car behind.

The feeling in her stomach worsens as he catches her gaze.

It’s the stranger from before — from the market, from the grocery store. And now she knows his car was parked directly outside of her house.

She has the strong suspicion that he’s been stalking her, and she needs to leave before she finds out he’s some kind of deranged fan.

She turns away, heading for the driver’s side door. She’ll take Winnie for a walk elsewhere. It doesn’t matter.

“Gem!” a voice calls out behind her and Gem’s hand shakes as she tugs her door open.

She tosses her backpack into the passenger seat, and she’s not sure she’s going to be quick enough as she slides into her seat.

“Hey,” the man says, so much closer now, and when she tries to shut her door, his hand holds it open. “Gem.”

She scrambles blindly for her bag, almost sure she has pepper spray somewhere at the bottom — something her dad had given her way back when, citing an article about polar bears, as though she’d ever have to worry about them where she lives.

“Gem, it’s me,” he says, and despite the panic and fear, she finds herself pausing, staring over at the stranger.

He’s leaning against her door, eyes wide, and it looks as though he’s as terrified as she is.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says. “Don't call the cops.”

She knows that voice, even though it sounds a little different in person.

She breathes heavily, watching him a moment longer.

“Etho?”

He offers her a tentative smile and it has to be the adrenaline, because her eyes start to water, maybe from the relief that she’s not about to be murdered in the backwoods.

“No,” he says. “Don’t cry, Gem.”

His hand shifts from her door, moving to the side of her face, the touch too tender for someone she doesn’t know — not really. But she leans into it, shutting her eyes and trying to focus on catching her breath.

“Why didn’t you just message me?” she asks, and when she opens her eyes again, he drops his hand away.

“I didn’t know what to say.”

“So you thought this was the best way?”

Etho’s weird on a good day, but this — this is beyond anything she could imagine.

She may not be scared of imminent death, but she’s still scared of the fact he’s done this, that he’s flown all this way, that he knows where she lives and has spent days following her, finding ways to be around her.

It’s not sane. She needs to be careful.

“Etho,” she says softly. “Why are you here?”

“I — ” he says, and then pauses, as though to gather his thoughts. “You — ”

He takes a breath, and then suddenly his hand is back on her face and he’s tilting her head as he leans down to kiss her.

Every thought in Gem’s head comes to an abrupt stop, and she makes a gentle noise against Etho’s mouth.

This was a grand romantic gesture, she realizes. Except that Gem didn’t get the memo beforehand and he did it in the worst way possible.

She never even realized this was on the cards.

She’s still not sure how she feels about the whole thing, but she finds herself shifting in her seat, turning enough to be able to kiss him back.

It’s clear he’s relieved at her response, because he breaks away, resting his forehead against hers.

“This was really fucking stupid, Etho,” she whispers. “You’ve got some explaining to do.”

She feels him nod before he pulls back completely, looking at her again.

She stares openly in return, taking him in finally, and she blows out a breath.

“Bdubs is gonna be so mad,” she finds herself saying. “You stood him up.”

“He’ll survive,” Etho promises, and Gem smiles tentatively.

In the back of the car, Winnie barks, startling both of them, and Gem glances at where her head peeks over the rear seats, her tail thudding against the back window.

She exhales and then meets Etho's eyes again.

“You wanna join us for a hike?” she asks. “You can workshop your apology.”

“To you, or Bdubs?” he asks and Gem snorts.

“Both,” she tells him, and as much as she tries to play it off as a joke, it's clear Etho understands.

His expression is serious as he nods and he takes a step back, out of the doorway, holding out one hand to her.

She isn't trembling as badly as before when she reaches for him, but Etho keeps her steady, squeezing her hand gently like a silent thank you.

It's not much, but it's a start.

[dem0nteef]

teef. v's rosary. PLEASE. what do you think he wants it to become, if anything? is he actively working on it, or can he just not let it go yet so the pieces sit in a drawer like a forgotten relic waiting for him to figure it out. tell me things i beg.

speaking of relics... his fascination with reliquaries—does he have a favourite? and is it the skull of saint valentine? (i like to think he once created his own makeshift one for the bones of a beloved bat he befriended, adorned with tiny shards of stained glass he scavenged from an old smashed chapel window that he definitely had nothing to do with.)

anyway, i love your brain. thank you for sharing your glorious haunted creechur thoughts with us 🩷

oh dear. i am so glad you asked. *cracks knuckles* this might deserve some capitalised letters.

.⋆♱⃓ the rosary

I think... at first the rosary just sat there. A lingering memory, or maybe a wound. Unthinkable to get rid of, as things that have been etched into your bones before you could properly name them tend to be.

V had not brought too many items with himself into his new life. Firstly, because he had owned little to begin with. Secondly, because dead bodies weigh heavy and what else would those relics of his old self be if not corpses?

There's no use clinging to the past, he'd try to convince himself but could never truly imagine just throwing the damned thing out.

Perhaps he got it from one of the few mentors that had not completely failed him. Perhaps he brought it back from his first real pilgrimage. Or perhaps it was a gift for his ordination.

Either way, the rosary had stayed. Not entirely unwelcome—which, honestly, made him hate the predicament even more. Just... a comfort-turned-stain.

At first, he left it locked one the desk drawers at his office. That became distracting, like inviting a long-dead relative to a holiday meal. So he transferred it to his private chambers, hid in his bedside table. That felt too close, as if allowing the dead god's eyes to still track him in his sleep.

Eventually, the rosary ended up in a chest of drawers in the corner of his bedroom. Possibly locked. Possibly ignored for the next few months.

He returned to it eventually, in a similar manner one would return to check on some wild animal trapped under their fence. With caution, but not necessarily malice.

By that point, he had seen several people within the Church repurpose relics from their past to no longer hurt and remind but to symbolise the change they had endured. Thus, he started entertaining the possibility of... keeping the rosary. But in an altered form.

At first, he just disassembled it. Not entirely, but detached some parts. Grew frustrated or had no time to continue. Had to leave it in the drawer for the next week or two.

Nonetheless, his mind kept drifting back to it. Not tormented anymore, not quite. More like an artist carefully considering outcomes for their next project. And before he knew it, V found himself collecting tiny scraps from his current life. Still not entirely claimed, still unfolding—but far warmer than anything echoes of the dead god could have ever offered.

Obviously the first thing he did was switch the cross for a grucifix. Possibly one that once belonged to one of the deceased Papas. Sleek, silver.

Then, he set to replace each of the "Our Father" beads. One got exchanged for one of his ghouls' shed scale, catching light like a polished coin. Another, for the tooth of something not quite animal, not quite human that V had found while still trying to find his way around the Ministry grounds. I'll leave the other Our Father beads for y'all to come up with replacements for, if you'd like. I have my ideas but am equally curious about yours.

He didn't replace them all at once. In fact, the rosary remains an ongoing project — nothing mandatory, just a somewhat contemplative act that he returns to every now and then after having found a new trinket or two that could be included in the constellation.

That way, he steadily replaces the austere little stones used to pray to something that refused to answer with individual beads taken from his current life; imperfect but alive, real and, above all else, chosen.

so. that is all for the rosary theory. however, i may offer you a tidbit/world-building note from my own fic. because i've been jotting down gift-giving habits for the main cast and yaaa

.⋆♱⃓ the reliquaries

first of all, i absolutely adore your idea of the little bat reliquary. 🥺💘 it has my heart in a clutch goddammit. stealing it. absolutely pocketing that one. full credit to you, of course, should i ever post anything about it, but i'm just. ahhh. absorbing it into my headcanons about his childhood. and yes, of course he made that one from the scraps of the very same stained glass he had definitely nothing to do with breaking. djmdbdkdndod you said you loved my brain? bruv i love yours.

Oh yeah. The skull of St Valentine places high on that list. He finds the way it seems to always sit crooked to the side endearing, as he does the flowers. The entire arrangement looks like some morbid collage mixed with a vanitas composition straight out of a Baroque still life and he really likes that.

Obviously he really likes the drama and the irony of heavily bejewelled "holy bodies". One of his most favourites are the skeletons of the Waldsassen Basilica.

Saint Apollonia's tooth is a classic! The arrangement is lovely, simple but by no means minimalistic, just the right amount of elegance and decorations.

Another one would be the Arm Reliquary of Charlemagne. It's regal. It's golden. It's pretty. And it has a bone inside. :3

Relics of the Precious Blood! Overall, the reliquaries containing "magical" blood able to liquify. He has a theory that, besides chemistry and science, these "miracles" happen not through the will of god but because the Princes of Hell are just fucking with humans lmao

I know I mentioned V being far less enthusiastic about non-bodypart relics but I think he'd find the Shroud of Thurin quite beautiful. It's on thin fucking ice, though. Would never win against bejewelled skeletons.

He was severely disappointed to find out that there were four "skulls of John the Baptist" displayed all over the world. Can't move past that one. What a fucking scam.

Speaking of relics he dislikes—the head of St Catherine of Siena. Because why. Just why. The woman had had a mortifying enough of a life. He understands the historical context of relic exchange/gifting but that one in particular has always felt too morbid and brutal even for him.

[dreaisgrayte]

That's YOU?! Roommate Satoru x fem!reader

warnings: NSFW, MDNI, masturbation, mentions of taking virginity, pornographic material wc: 1k a/n: I've been swamped in my personal life with too much to even list, but throughout all of that, I've been craving to post something. I want to work on requests again, post little things here and there when I can, and just get back to writing. I've missed it so much. I will hint at a few future projects coming up in...oh I don't know... let's say about 2 months ;)

The internet was a crazy place, especially when you notice your living room sofa in the latest trending Twitter porn video. You were scrolling through to get inspiration for your latest story. What you least expected to be there was a masked man in front of your living room set-up. It was jarring, so much so that you jolted up from your relaxed position – almost choking on your handful of chips. 

There was no doubt about it though, there was your favorite throw blanket and the scratching post your cat had demolished within the first week of its purchase. One question remained…who was this mystery man? He was on his knees, sinewy abdomen leading a delicious trail to his hips, where his thick weeping cock thrusts mercilessly through his fist. Muscled thighs strain against the action. Pretty moans were echoing through the speakers of your laptop. The melody of squelching and grunts makes your face flush – which is a hard thing to do nowadays. 

You’d love to investigate more but you thankfully hear the jingle of your roommates keys. Before he can make his way into your shared apartment you slam the top of your laptop closed and scurry for your phone. It was either act like you were the laziest person alive or allow Satoru the pleasure of knowing you watch porn. 

His fluffy head pops around the door, shutting it behind him with a drawn out sigh. “Jeez, I’m gonna quit that motherfucking…” He glances at you, his voice dropping off. “Why’re you out here?” You want to cry, your phone screen is open to smutty manga. 

“I’m not allowed to enjoy our living room?” Should you mention the potential break-in to Satoru? Then you’d have to admit how you found the video. It’s not the guy hurt anyone… 

He plops his bag in the chair opposite you before flopping down right next to you. “Just curious why you’d be out here reading…” He peers over your shoulder, apparently reading the URL. “The Evil King’s Kinkdom…” He pauses for an excruciatingly long time after reading the title aloud. You click your screen off, heat rising to your cheeks. 

“Hey! Why do you always have to snoop!?” You shove his shoulder, but of course he doesn’t move an inch – just laughing his ass off like usual. 

Satoru is quick with it – grabbing your laptop. “Surely you don’t have anything-” The wet sound of cum being used as lube fills the room. Even your cat, Sir Muffins, sleepily glances over at the pair of you. The man on the screen finishes again, huffing out a whimper. “Y/n…” Satoru’s voice is soft, it kind of scares you. 

“If you’re going to tease me, don’t even think about it. I was just doing some research and-” You’re cut off by a quick glare from your roommate. 

He winces before shutting the laptop. “You weren’t supposed to see that.” He hisses. Weren’t supposed to? What does that even-

Oh. OH. Everything dawns on you like electricity surging through a lightbulb. “That’s YOU?!” You yank the laptop from his hands, opening it again. The man in the video was completely naked, save for a mask covering the majority of his face. His hair was combed back and the lighting made it hard to figure out the color. Despite wearing a mask his long fingers find their way into his mouth as he bites down, trying to muffle his moans. It’s the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen. A steady pulse thrums in between your thighs. 

Satoru shuts the lid with a thump, taking the laptop from you again. He tosses it on the other side of the couch, turning back to you with narrowed eyes – piercing blue filled with frustration, embarrassment… and something darker. His eyes dip down your figure, noting the way your hands are buried between your thighs, breath shallow, lips parted, cheeks flushed. Something in him snaps. “Were you hoping I’d say your name? Hope it’d slip out while I was thinkin’ about the way your pretty mouth would feel around my cock, huh?” 

All you can manage is a hard swallow. Honestly, it was your fault for befriending him all those years ago. You must’ve been crazy to move in with him, let alone let your thoughts run wild whenever he brought a girl home. It’s not like he’d ever glance your way – you were just his nerdy best friend afterall. Yet… here he is saying the kind of thing you’d read in one of the novels on your bookshelf. You swallow hard. Your heart is going haywire, and your thighs ache from how tightly you’ve pressed them together, but your pride won't let you sit there and whimper like some blushing schoolgirl. Not when he’s looking at you like that. “Only if you say it while begging to come inside of me.”

…

…

It’s dead silent in the living room. Until you decide what you said wasn’t enough. “Or maybe after. When your voice is wrecked and your cock’s still twitching. When you can’t even move, but you’re still trying to grind against me because it’s not enough.” Your eyes narrow just slightly, head tilting. “You look like the type who’d say it then.” 

Satoru’s whole body stiffens like you just punched him. He might’ve preferred if you had, because this…this was something else entirely. His cock was throbbing in his pants, the ache to touch you growing stronger with every second that passed. You’d always been a little sister to him, off-limits because he needed a friend. Those barriers he’d put up flutter to the ground as his cock strains… because of you. He lets out a broken laugh, raising a concerned brow. “Holy fuck.” He glances down at your phone. “What the hell have you been reading?” 

Years of friendship and a couple of years of living together had proven you had more self-control than Satoru. You never brought anyone home and from his knowledge – you were a virgin. His throat bobs as his horniness takes over the small parts of his logical brain. How could a virgin…someone with no experience say such a thing to him…and why did it turn him on so much? He moves closer to you, his breath coming out like he’d just sprinted a mile. There’s a crazed hint to the second laugh that leaves his lips. “Say it again.”

[chiptrillino-art]

(ID in ALT text)

Zuko is just playing hard to get

[snailthimbles]

.

[smileyobrien]

FINALLY

[victory-cookies]

god I’m so torn. I have a few things I really buy rn but realistically I don’t think I can afford all of them. So I’m trying to weigh what I should let myself but bc I haven’t bought myself anything nice in a while

[izzy-b-hands]

My doctor messaging me at 12:30 in the morning to tell me she wants to do a telehealth visit abt the side effects I'm having with my new Lamotrigine dose (including worse insomnia than my usual insomnia, as u may have guessed lmao) is. something.

[jensownzoo]

Ran to the library this morning to exchange materials and early-vote in the municipal election. Failed at voting because for some reason they didn't open it up until 11am this time and I had to leave because rain was coming. Ended up caught in the rain on the walk home anyway, but it was okay because I found these:

Three cells of Swiss chard that apparently some gardener didn't want/have room for (plus I brought an umbrella so no biggie). So these will go in one of the earthboxes tomorrow or maybe the next unless we float away.

No other gardening tasks accomplished except for removing another 15 slugs off the bok choy before I left for the library.

I do think I saw some sprouting in the last flat I sowed and put in the cold frame, including some of the natives. I'll check closer when it's not raining.

[fingertipsmp3]

My tv broke lads

[mina-org]

part one - part two (youre here) - part three - part four - part five- six

warning for smut, 141 are panty sniffers! and more yanderery than the last! I have another part written but I just felt like was already dragged a lil so lmk if you want the next part! also not edited bc im lazy

“The birds just not fuckin’ into ya johnny. She never took this long to respond to me.” Simon smirks, truthfully he didn’t really remember but he was fucked off with this entire thing, not only was Johnny after his bird but texting you became a group sport, even the double text.

Simon seethes, usually you would've crawled back to him by now, you'd get drunk and call him sobbing from whatever pub you were at and you'd owe him, rinse and repeat.

At least if you were into Johnny he'd know what you were doing but now your absence started to eat at him, he just wondered your were like a deer fresh out the womb, learning to walk, how would you survive when Simon wasn't there to pick up your the pieces when you inevitably fell apart again.

simon couldnt take them fawning over you anymore so he returned to his bedroom, he had a little secret that he had to keep from those closest to him, your underwear. A collection really.

to start with, they were just tucked in his bag for when he was deployed, he’d push a pair around his cock, satin felt nice but the cream pair with little berries on? they were too cute and so you. He’d pump his cock until they were stick with his cum.

then when he was home more often and you were fucked too dumb to bounce on his cock, neglecting him after hes giving you so many? he'll remember that for next time. and really left him no choice but to scout out your discarded panties, maybe a fresh pair if you packed them, and he'd finish himself off before tugging them up your legs, his cum from earlier still leaking out your pretty pussy. something about you walking home in shame, carrying him with you, a sense of ownership simon loved.

now these panties were all he had, and he wasn't gonna share them. maybe with Johnny, if he was good.

after a week it just wasnt doing it for him anymore, he needed to see his girl but all his texts weren't sending:( and he hadn't seen you at the gym or the pilates class you spent so much money on. almost like your little temper tantrum was serious this time.

okay so it took simon a week or two to turn up begging, well demanding your forgiveness.

or he would've, if you answered the fucking door? after coming over and almost fighting your door guy a few times, he gets the hint, stealth is wealth and all that.

now here he is, staring at you through binoculars, on the rooftop opposite your building, like he's gathering intel or some shit. originally he was gonna keep this to himself, threes a crowd after all but it was chilly on the rooftop and simon is all about efficiency and your safety of course!

thing is, that pesky door man knows who simon is, and its doubtful a stick on moustache and boiler suit is gonna convince him that simon is also the buildings engineer!

through this process they've found out your building has a lot of security issues, nobody even thought about cyber security so when gaz sends out an email with a list of apartment numbers and a time, stating some maintenance was needed, no one bats an eye.

and of course you dont want any awkward conversations, like offering them tea or coffee 50 times while they try to focus but they'd think you rude if you dont and you can't ignore them, thats rude too. so you have to go out and stay out.

so you go shopping, you've been needing more underwear anyway!

soon enough John and gaz are in your apartment, putting up hidden cameras, slipping trackers into the linings of your most worn clothes, rifling through your belongings and testing out your perfume, trying to figure out which one you use daily from the memories of your scent lingering on simon and around the flat.

however gold is struck when they come across your laundry basket! feral is the best fitting word, Johnny will froth at the mouth once they tell him and of course share the bounty of their conquest.

taglist: @skeletonsucker @supernova2205 @wh0re4-alexademi @grr457