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pinkrelish · 1 year

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𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐬, 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐬.

ex-con!linecook!eddie x fem!reader

✶Steve messed up. He assured you over and over again that you could have the spare bedroom in his apartment, but while you took your time mulling over his offer, someone else moved in: his down-and-out best friend who needed a place to stay. When you show up at Steve's door with little warning due to your job relocating you, he suggests you and Eddie share the bedroom. Nothing wrong with that, right?

Besides the fact Eddie hated you, and in turn, you hated Eddie.✶

NSFW — smut, masturbation, eddie watches porn, dry humping, cumming in pants, reader flashes her bra & wears a pencil skirt, enemies to lovers, forced proximity, there was only one bed(room)

↳ teaser oneshot | [wc: 9.3k] | series tba!

⋅line cook hc from @bewilderedbunny⋅

Steve was a nice guy. Really.

He was your pen pal since meeting at summer camp when you were both eight-years-old. He was sweet, and wrote you back within a week, without fail. He was your first kiss one sweltering afternoon on the dock over the lake; a quick peck when the counselors weren’t looking. He was one of your first contacts in your flip phone, and his picture occupied the first circle when you got a smartphone, after pestering him to meet up with you in Indianapolis, snapping the pic at a crosswalk; a day where your conversations spanned nothing and everything. What was there to talk about when you talked via pencil, pen, markers, emojis, and photos for years, and suddenly forgot the past decade when you encircled your arms around each other?

He was a nice guy throughout all of college. He’d text you during class. You’d text him from states away, falling asleep at your dormroom desk. He worked at his father’s business. You started as an unpaid intern collecting coffee orders, and pulling all-nighters doing spreadsheet grunt work your superiors didn’t deem worthy of their time.

Stevie 🌞: just quit your job and live with me!

Stevie 🌞: I still have that spare bedroom

Stevie 🌞: rent free

Year after year, you always declined. Climbing the ranks at your job was important to you; and one day it paid off. They were relocating you to the Chicago, and if you didn’t take their pitiful relocation package, you’d get a decent advance on your next paycheck (which was dire considering your salary was roughly the same, despite the ever increasing cost of living); and knowing Steve always had that spare furnished bedroom, and most of your belongings could fit into your car (as long as you didn’t need to see out the rear window), it seemed like a done deal.

Until you surprised him.

You: hey! can i move in w you? my jobs relocating me to chicago and i might already be two hours out. sorry i didn’t text sooner. i had to leave my apartment asap. fuck paying for the damage cindy’s doberman did to that place 😬

Stevie 🌞: Lets talk when you get here

Stevie 🌞: I’ll meet you for coffee

Let’s talk? Never a good sign, even when he was smiling at you from over his latte.

————

“My friend needed the spare room, but he’s a good guy, I swear,” he told you.

“He’s just a little rough around the edges,” he told you.

“He’s understanding; I’m sure you two will get along,” he told you.

“He can make space in the closet for your stuff, and one of you can sleep on the couch,” he told you. “Maybe you can alternate! Bed, couch. It's not like I’m charging him rent, so he should be cool with you living with us until you can afford to move out, or whatever. No big deal. I don’t really care when, you know that. No rush.”

Right. Just share the room.

You weren’t present for the conversation; Steve and Eddie were in the bedroom while you stood awkwardly in the living room, but the result of the exchange made quite the first impression.

“I dunno,” Steve’s voice carried, “maybe you could work something out like you get the room Monday through Wednesday, and she gets it Thursday through Saturday. Sunday’s up in the air?”

“Oh, just share the room like I used to, huh?” Eddie asked, alluding to the life he lived several months ago. “Finally got some privacy to breathe around here, and now you’ve invited some chick to live with us without telling me? Actually–no–you invited her to live here. In my room. No heads up.”

Steve’s wince was audible in his heavy sigh. “You work weird hours, you probably won’t even have to interact with her. C’mon, man. She’s been my friend since we were kids, and it’s just until she finds her own place. She’s cool. She’ll sleep on the couch, or whatever if it really bothers you; just like, let her keep her clothes and shit in here, and let her use the computer for work.”

“Whatever, man.”

“Eddie, wait!”

Thunderous footsteps and a seething, “Fuck this,” followed the heightened emotions, and before you could straighten your spine, you were introduced to your new roommate.

His pace faltered, not expecting you to be standing there. The fine wrinkles in the outer corner of his eyes pinched tighter, and his long hair flowed around a faded black snake tattoo on his throat, stretching across the strained tendons it was inked over, reaching the twitching muscle in his jaw from his clenched teeth. It took him a narrow-eyed glance to sum you and your pink luggage up, and place you firmly in the ‘I don’t like you’ category in his mind, and he continued his march.

“Hi! I’m–”

Your outstretched hand went ignored as he passed you.

He shoved on his boots, and slammed the front door behind him, rattling every piece of metal in the apartment. You stared at where he was just standing, vision marked with a black silhouette of the good guy you’d be sharing intimate space with for the next.. however long, and still with your hand out, you swiveled to Steve. “Yeah, he seems nice.”

————

Eddie Munson glared at your very existence. He wore a permanent crease between his brows when you were in his vicinity. Apprehension tensed his muscles when your soft gaze slid from Steve, to him. There was distaste in his frown. He rolled his eyes when you laughed too loud at the TV. His voice was vitriol, words clipped when he had to speak to you. His shoulders hiked to his ears when you entered the kitchen for a glass of water and caught him mid-chew on his peanut butter and jelly sandwich after he got home from work. When it was your turn to sleep in the bed, he made it a point to come home as loud as possible–yanking open the drawers on the dresser, waking the computer to blazing home screen, and leaving the light on when he went to shower across the hallway, pretending he didn’t hear you grumble at him to turn it off.

You wore a sleep mask to bed after that.

And when you slept on the couch, it was the only time he cooked for himself. Scraping pans across the burners, clinking silverware, gathering his hair off his neck and twisting it between his laced fingers, creating a cradle for him to drop his head back and sigh at the ceiling, just loud enough to stir you from your sleep.

You wore earplugs to bed after that.

Eddie Munson made it known you were not welcomed in his territory, and saw your accidental warm smile thrown vaguely in his direction as a threat to his well being.

But as much as he ensured misery every second you had the fortune of spending in his presence, you weren’t so innocent of terrorizing his every waking moment either..

Soon, Monday through Wednesday, and Thursday through Saturday, and a chance at a lazy Sunday were not enough.

————

When Steve was home, he acted as the mediator when it came to you two being at each other’s throats after another vicious stare-off. Currently, Eddie was standing with his arms crossed, leaned against the counter with his cheeks darkened to a fleshy red, and you were pacing the kitchen, wrapped in a bath towel, stating your case to Steve. You argued since most of the hair clogging the drain belonged to Eddie, he should be the one to clean it. And Steve, not knowing how to interpret Eddie’s steely focus on the fridge as if you didn’t exist, nor the fact a woman was dripping wet and yelling at him, he put his hands up in defense.

He edged away from your ire until he was at the cabinet housing a toothpick dispenser, and depressed the mechanism for one to roll out. He snapped it, put his hands behind his back, and shuffled the two ends into his palm, and had you choose one. Eddie kept his gaze averted, but grasped the other.

You held the long end of the toothpick above your head with a smile to rival the kitchen’s daylight bulbs searing into your retinas. You were the winner, and Eddie was the loser who had to clean the bathroom.

This worked swell when Steve was around to mitigate the tension. But when he was on a business trip, or out on a date, the Bed Schedule was a formality at best, and largely ignored at worst.

Meaning, the bets, deals, and favors began.

They started small: Rock, paper, scissors; winner gets dibs on those just-washed sheets. Flip a coin and see who has to rough it in the living room for the next two nights. Draw the shorter toothpick and try not to stab it in Eddie’s eye when he smirked.

But those were childish games. It was the deals and favors that proved more interesting.

“Can you help me punch holes in these?” you asked, voice high and urgent as you rushed to grab your color coded pie charts from the printer and clip them into a presentation binder.

He scoffed from the bedroom doorway, smelling of fryer oil and bacon grease. “What makes you think I want to help you after cooking for assholes all night?”

“Because you’re nice, and you love me.”

“I despise you,” he corrected, crossing his arms tight over his chest. He shifted his weight from foot to foot while you organized the pages, resisting the bait to give him what he wants, but you knew in your heart it was the only way to not be late for work this morning.

“Fine. You can have the bed tonight.”

He stayed put. “Nope. You know I’m working the overnight shift until Thursday.” That way, he slept while you were at work, and you slept while he was at work.

You glanced at the blue dawn creeping in from the window, then red the time on your watch. “Okay, fine, whatever! Have it all next week. I don’t give a fuck, just help me!”

Reveling in his victory, his plush lips stretched into a wide grin, showing too much teeth. He sauntered at his leisure, closing his eyes half-way, and gazing at you down the long slope of his nose. “Good girl, I knew you could do it,” he mocked.

You wanted to strangle him.

–And another time–

“Shut the fuck up for an entire day, and you can have to whole fucking closet,” Eddie snapped after your fifth instance of complaining about your professional office clothes not having available hangers due to him taking them for his old, ratty band tees.

Centering yourself, you brushed the dust off your favorite pants after finding them wadded up on the floor, and whispered, “I hope a rogue knife finds its way into your thumb again tomorrow.”

You swore you saw his hand flex out the corner of your eye, reacting to your curse.

–And the week after that–

You: come help me bring up these groceries

You: elevators broken

You: we can race up the stairs

You: loser washes dishes and takes out the trash

😒dumb: as long as the loser doesn’t cry about it when she sleeps on the couch

You: whatever

😒dumb: i’ll even give you a head start to make it fair

Struck with being that person grinning down at your phone in the stuffy underground parking garage, you gilded your thumbs over the keyboard in a fluttery tease.

You: you just want an excuse to stare at my ass

It took Eddie longer to reply, fumbling with his phone to find the emoji keyboard, only to send–

😒dumb: 🙄

–And the week after that–

“Get a life, you fucking loser,” you yelled from within the metal cylinder of the dryer, bent over on your hands and knees to wrestle your silk blouse free from where it was tangled in a rope of bedsheets, after you told him–explicitly–to never wash it because he’d do it wrong.

He merely watched you struggle from the sidelines, informing you, “You’re the one who asked me to do laundry. Don’t toss your precious, delicate shirts on the bathroom floor if you don’t want them thrown in with everything else. And by the way, I did my part of the deal, so the room is still mine tonight.” As a bonus, he added as he walked away, “Suck my dick, sweetheart.”

Your gums ached from how hard you clenched your teeth. You didn’t leave your blouse on the floor. He did, when he went hunting for his wallet he left in his jeans, and dumped all the clothes out of both baskets, mixing your work clothes with his.

That night, you locked him out of the bedroom. Fuck him.

————

After tireless days of the same back and forth, the juvenile deals and favors were losing their significance. Someone needed to up the ante. And a certain line you two skirted taunted you both, but remained uncrossed until..

————

The hallway leading to your apartment was stale with inactivity. Most people had been home for hours, or were back from bars and crashed on the couch, drooling on their girlfriend’s favorite decorative pillow–the kind with the pom poms. You thought of them with envy. Snoring, dreaming of some blissful shit like sheep hopping a pasture fence. But not you. Your 9 to 5 extended far past those numbers on the clock. It skipped right over them, just like you were skipped over in meetings, being told the extra burden you were taking on was good for the company, and the programs you were learning would be paid in experience. Bullshit. You were tired, and the last thing you needed was some long haired man stubbing his toe on the coffee table to wake you up–morning or night.

But perhaps you were blessed.

You opened the door to near-darkness. Not a lamp, or TV on inside to show someone was home. Not a groan, sigh, or blast of music funneling from a set of oversized headphones. Not a creak of movement from the hallway, or bathroom; surrendering your heartbeat as the loudest feedback.

It appeared you were alone. What a wonderful thing.

The muffled thud of the low pile rug under your heels gave way to silky sweeps of plush carpet welcoming your aching pantyhose-covered feet. Moving further into the apartment, you knew the shapes to avoid in the dim light coming from above the stove, casting the coffee table and scattered stools at the breakfast bar in shadow.

Groggy from exhaustion, you blinked at the spice cabinet door Eddie left open before leaving for his shift. During a conversation with Steve, you let it slip that people who leave the cabinet doors open annoy you, so of course he began leaving one open as a greeting when you came home.

You closed it with your right hand, swinging your laptop bag wildly, and before you could react, the strap caught the top of the glass sugar jar and knocked it over in a wincing crash. Luckily, after peeping one eye open, you assessed nothing broke, but now there was a streak of glittery white dust on the countertop you definitely weren’t going to clean up.

Maybe you could strike a deal with Eddie to wipe it up for you. It was–in a way–his fault, since he left the cabinet door open. If you didn’t need to close it, none of this would’ve happened..

You made a gagging sound.

Since when did your immediate thought process swing to him, and how do you get it to stop? It was bad enough you peeked around the corner into the hallway, praying, praying, praying the bedroom light was off, and feeling your body slump with utter relief when it was. Being on the same planet as him was hell, you didn’t need your private thoughts to linger on him, too.

Mentally dismissing Eddie Munson from your brainspace, you invited yourself into the bedroom. You sought the cushy mattress to cradle your weary body after a long day, and the nest of cozy fleece blankets to swaddle you as you drifted to sleep. Unfortunately, the idiot’s pillow smelled far too much like him; cigarettes and cheap vanilla cologne combined with his hair products, burning your nose like toasted sugar. Despicable. Just the worst. You should exchange it with your own pillow, but you forgot it on the couch, and the couch was so very, very far away..

~~~

Eddie sat crouched in the alleyway outside of Benny’s Diner with a stubby cigarette balanced between his lips, blowing the smoke out in a slow exhale like a roll of fog on a misty morning. Cold emanated from the bricks pricking the expanse of his shoulders, and the night air chilled his damp shirt to his sticky skin, erupting goosebumps along his forearms. Standing around him were the other cooks on break. He didn’t share a common language with them outside of gestures, curse words, and kitchen lingo, but they gathered in a semi-circle as if to include him.

His shift was over. He’d technically clocked out, but he loitered until their vices were stomped under their shoes, and he snuffed his glowing ash on the wall behind him, and followed them inside.

Washing his hands first, he dried them on the towel tucked under the string of his apron tied around his waist, and set up a space on the flat top for him to occupy since the dinner rush had long since died, and the only patrons on the floor were drunks wandering in for greasy hashbrowns. He grabbed the four quart Cambro from the fridge beneath the prep area, and ladled enough batter for two large pancakes. Borrowing a station, he sliced up a ripe banana from the walk-in, and dropped it into a hot pan with a bit of butter, caramelizing them on the range while he waited for the pancakes to be flipped.

The guys behind him read off the few tickets, and carried their conversation from earlier. Eddie caught some of it, learning a few words here or there, but regardless of the language barrier, he knew they were talking about him. They were snickering with their heads together, pointing at the pancakes he was making despite being clocked out.

Eddie spoke with a sneaky grin, “If I make them for her, she’ll leave me the fuck alone on my day off.”

The guys may not have understood entirely what he meant, but his sunny disposition juxtaposed by his wry gaze communicated a universal plight: girls.

One of their hands landed hard between Eddie’s shoulder blades when they doubled over in a belly laugh, and the other one made whip-cracking sounds, calling him the same slang word he called the married cooks. It wasn’t worth it to attempt to correct them that these pancakes were not for his girl, but for his future migraine, so he hummed along with them, and flipped the pancakes with his right hand while tossing the bananas with a swift jerk of his left.

After their gossip, they went back to work, and Eddie grabbed a to-go container, loading it with the two pancakes and sliding the caramelized bananas on top. He brought it to the prep area to drizzle with chocolate sauce, and finished it off with heart-shaped strawberries, a dusting of powdered sugar, and a sprig of mint. He didn’t cut the strawberries that way with ulterior motives, it was just something he did when he had spare time in the morning. Cutting a wedge out of the stemmed top, and slicing them vertical. The customers liked it. It was cute, supposedly. There were no hidden intentions to him taking his time to place them just so around the box; it was merely him taking pride in how he plated his dish.

Clamping the container shut, he untied his apron, changed his shoes, and left out the back entrance, kicking pebbles under the crescent moon, and walking through the front door of the next building over. Gray concrete, a faulty elevator, ugly rugs to feign elegance, and high rise as far as ‘high rise when you live next a bunch of squatty buildings’ went. It was home, and it was blissfully dark inside.

Eddie worked his feet out of his tied-once-and-never-untied street shoes, and dropped his non-slip clogs next to them in a loud clatter.

He breathed. Inhaled deep. Sighed through his nose.

Quiet. Peaceful respite behind his eyelids.

The adrenaline ebbed. The hours of shouting and being shouted at, metal on metal clangs, timer beeps, and mechanical whirr of a ticket being printed out would never cease haunting his mind, but he should stop flinching from the imaginary sounds after a few hours. The pain stretching the length of his back should ease under a hot shower. The throbbing ache in his knees should lessen once he sleeps. The fatigue, like needles driven into his bones, should heal so he could be on his feet for thirteen more hours tomorrow.

Warmth worked its way beyond the calluses creating a barrier in his palm supporting the styrofoam container. Syrupy sweet hot sugar invaded his nostrils from the pancake bribe, battling the stench of his dried sweat and body odor baked into his t-shirt. The tiled entryway beneath his feet woke him out of his daze, and he slid his heavy-lidded gaze to the vacant couch; the comforter was folded, and the pillow was propped up, unslept on.

Briefly he wondered if you went out with your friends after work. But as he approached the kitchen, his dreams were crushed by a single closed cabinet door.

You were home.

You were home, and you weren’t on the couch, nor in the shower.

Eddie allowed his eyes to flutter closed as he hung his head back. In that position, he rolled the disappointment out of his shoulders, and braced them with something new.

Irritation.

Tamping the frustration in the pit of his stomach from bubbling up, he exhaled another calming breath, and opened the fridge, placing the pancakes exactly front and center amongst the fresh produce he was sometimes excited to create with, and sometimes slammed to the bottom of the trash when he was too exhausted and uninspired to do anything with their rotten corpses.

He prepared his expression into one of unbudging indifference. Flat, and unwilling to back down.

And yet, his nose scrunched when he pushed open the bedroom door, and there you were, as predicted, lounging amongst your hideous blankets spilling out from under you as if you were an opulent pearl nestled within an oyster shell.

The resentment built as he assessed your form delicately painted in a red glow from the ugly neon sign in the shape of a lipstick kiss tacked alongside his favorite band posters. He’d only lived with Steve long enough to feel comfortable decorating the blank walls, and you ruined the Rob Halford flow three days into your invasion. Your face was highlighted by the dim blue light of your laptop resting on your stomach, rising and falling with each gentle breath, and you were haloed by the Himalayan salt lamp crowding the nightstand. It’s trendy, you explained.

With vehemence, he flickered the light switch.

You cringed from the bright assault, and clacked your fingers on the keyboard, pretending you weren’t dozing off a second ago. “Can you go away?”

“What’re you doing in here?”

Unimpressed by his tone, you glazed your response in insolence. “What’s it look like I’m doing? I’m minding my own business.” At that, your attitude was solidified, along with how this interaction would go.

Eddie stared at you for a long minute. Not once did you acknowledge him. He watched your eyes dart across the screen, probably watching one of those Youtube videos where girls walked around exciting cities with a camera way too close to their face, and he dragged his gaze downwards, noticing you were still in your work clothes; though, your blouse and skirt were disheveled, and your pantyhose were discarded on the floor, still holding the vague shape of your legs, resembling a flattened rotisserie chicken.

He focused on your eyes again. Bloodshot, rimmed in red with a suggestion of water clinging to the outer corners where your eyelashes met, and sporting a hefty burden of bags beneath them.

“It’s Wednesday,” he reminded you, voice heavy in his chest, but sounding scratchy, and hollow. His throat was shot.

“Mm,” you hummed and glanced at the clock in the corner of your screen, “it’s Thursday, actually.”

White hot anger boiled in his veins, striking his skin like a leather lash. It simmered, popped, sizzled, boiled over. The yelling, the timers, the cacophonous clanging. The ticket machine, the keyboard, the stinging cut on his thumb. Smug fucking brat laying in his bed on his night to have it. It was sudden, it was stark, and it was hatred.

“Make a deal.”

“A deal?”

“A fucking deal,” he repeated. “You know, like we’ve been making?” He stopped himself short of calling you a dirty name, but you must’ve gathered it from his tongue’s hesitation, because you turned your head a few degrees to challenge his temper.

“Oh, lucky for you, there was a two-for-one deal at the store.”

You waved two middle fingers at him, showing a bit of teeth with your crooked grin.

The hatred festered, but not as vicious. The anger was there–oh, the anger was there–but the energy to keep this going hit its peak, and fizzled. There was no sense in reasoning with you. The pancakes in the fridge were for a different occasion, he couldn’t waste them on this, and he was too tired to come up with his own bet, deal, or favor. “Just think of something so we can get this over with,” he nearly begged.

After some consideration, you held your fist out for rock, paper, scissors.

“Where’s the option for a gun in my mouth?”

“Harsh,” you pouted. Instead, you pointed at the 20 sided die on the desk. He inclined his head, shaking it with a slow sort of intention, eyes wide to express his warning to knock it off, and give him a true answer, something to make this worthwhile.

Finding the whole ordeal dull, you returned your attention to your laptop, pressing the white earbud into your ear before unpausing the video.

It took seconds off his life, but you finally spoke again.

“How long were you in prison? Six years? Bet it’s been a while since you’ve seen one of these in the flesh.” Due to your satin cream blouse being unbuttoned at the neck, you dipped your thumb under the collar, and traced the vibrant temptation of your red bra strap in a long, deliberate stroke. You hooked the soft pad of your thumb under the luxury, and brought it out for his viewing pleasure. A moment later, you snapped it to your skin, and went back to typing, not once breaking concentration with your video.

Eddie’s fascination, however, was trained on the dainty crimson gift slipping under the shimmery cream, sliding against the soft slope of your shoulder.

Heat thrummed in his chest. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, sloshing his blood like viscous tidal waves, muting the clacky sound of your keyboard. Anger mixed with something more, something worse. It warmed his cheeks, and reignited the cold sweat prickling his back. It honed his curiosity, sinking every detail of the second tortoiseshell button on your blouse into his mind. Memorizing how the fabric around it went taut, and glinted honey at the height of your breath. Noticing how the bottom of your shirt was wrinkled and pulled slack, but still tucked into your pencil skirt. Remembering how the tight material hugged your thighs when you traipsed around the apartment. Although, the navy blue number was less defined now, fitting looser around your hips.

He didn’t know how long he was fixated by your clothing, until you sighed.

“Not enough for you?”

You asked it with forced casualness, he could tell. Your voice was too even, tone too polite, eyebrows too raised in mock indifference. You were introducing a line that had yet to be crossed. A door which, when opened, would give access to more possibilities than the usual bets, deals, and favors. An enticing offer, and he didn’t deny the nervous flutter of intrigue arousing his blood elsewhere.

But past the line was dangerous territory. Right? That’s where things got muddied, and feelings got involved.

Or maybe not. Because, above all else, he hated you, and you hated him.

This was a deal like any other.

“Maybe this’ll help,” you said, never breaking eyesight from the screen, its colors reflecting in your pupils.

You were the epitome of cool pinching the blouse between your fingers and slotting the buttons through the holes one after the other. Down, down, down to your navel, tugging either side of the shirt open, letting the elegant cream frame the aggressive scarlet.

Eddie was taken off guard.

The bra was more akin to lingerie than he expected. Its cups contained you like a poorly kept secret. Curves of red peonies covered your nipples–hard bud pressing against the center of the flower from the thrill of exploring a new end to your daily arguments. Your areolas peeked from between the petals, where the intricate lacework went see through, granting him a preview to the smooth flesh beneath.

Click clack, click clack, space bar, space bar, space bar, he swore you pressed your arms together to make your breasts rounder. Actually, he didn’t need to second guess. He saw the cusp of cleavage squish before his very eyes.

“Satisfied?” you inquired.

No, he ached.

The voice in his head was so automatic, so sure, he didn’t question it, either.

When he refused to verbalize the things which made him nauseous, his opulent pearl rolled onto her shoulder and lifted the laptop the pillow, turning over onto her stomach to engage with it solely, circling a manicured fingernail over the trackpad, and clicking.

To his surprise, the video on screen wasn’t of the vapid people you watched, but of a troubleshooting guide to the program your company was having you learn in order to teach it to the higher ups next week. (Or so he heard when you told Steve yesterday.) You tabbed out of the video, fixed a property in a column, checked the statistic it was evaluating, and added in an aesthetically pleasing green color before tabbing back.

He couldn’t parse how he felt about you having to do more thankless tasks off the clock, especially when you were clearly tired, but something else stole the last of his fiery anger, and doused his willpower to resist a glance.

Your habit of unzipping your skirt as soon as you walked into the apartment proved evident when you rolled over. The silky polyester lining slipped against your skin, shifting the long zipper from your hip to your backside. The halves parted, showing the end of the cream blouse, and a peek of skin. You adjusted how you laid, rocking your hips back and forth until you sank into the plush blankets, and propped your chin in your palm when you weren’t typing. Small movements working the skirt higher, and higher, bunching the fabric around the fat of your ass. Squirming, and stretching, tugging on your blouse, pulling, pulling, blouse, skirt, blouse, skirt, and then he saw it..

Red.

Delicate, feminine.

Tucked, hidden from anyone’s view but his, were the matching red panties to your bra. Trapped in a valley between thighs and ass, and stretching over the swell of your heat, embellishing the mouth watering desire in opaque lace strained firm against the outline of his treasure.

Eddie swallowed.

“Why’re you still in here?” you asked with a bite of annoyance. “You got to see a girl’s bra for the first time ever, probably. You should be celebrating, throwing yourself a party. In the living room. On the couch.”

The anger had returned like a slap of reality across his cheek. He narrowed his eyes at the back of your head, remembering why he loathed you with every fiber of his being. “I’ve seen a bra before.”

“Pictures don’t count.”

“Whatever, bitch.”

Your body jolted with a snort, and he flung open the door hard enough for it to bounce off the door stop. He heard your infuriating inhale, and slapped the lightswitch off, shutting the door behind him with excessive force before you could ask more demands of him. Gladly, he closed himself out of his own bedroom. The physical barrier under his trembling fist had never felt better, still gripping the knob as if he’d go back in there.

He wouldn’t.

He let go of the chilled metal and stalked down the hall, curbing himself from stomping out his frustration, only to throw himself onto the couch. Stomach burning with hunger, hatred. Chest heaving with rage. Pulse rising in his throat, beating against the ball chain necklace he wore. Breathing so hard, sounding as if he’d ran laps before collapsing onto his bed for the night, crossing his arms to squeeze his biceps, massaging his fingers down the muscle. Occupying himself. Distracting himself.

It wasn’t working.

He was mad.

Furious.

Draping his hand over his eyes, he gave himself a moment to make a decision, and pushed his bangs off his forehead. They stayed in their gravity defying position due to the oil. He needed to shower. He needed to clean himself of this day, and go to sleep. But he couldn’t.

The fever in his veins was too distracting. He needed to take care of it. Get rid of it.

Sitting up, he unfolded the comforter from the end of the couch, and propped the pillow against the armrest to angle his head slightly up, where he could see the hallway.

From his front pocket, he collected his phone and laid it on his stomach while he unbuttoned his pants, pinching the waistband together and pulling the zipper down, sighing through his nose at the relief of the lines he was crossing.

He grasped his phone and brought it close to his face. Cupped in one palm, and using the other hand to tap it twice. A streak of perspiration was left on the screen where he swiped in his passcode, using his index finger to open a private browser and type in a porn site. Any porn site. Whichever variation of the word porn + noun he thought of first. It didn’t matter much to him; that’s not where his preferences lie.

office worker

co-worker

secretary

office worker tight skirt

office worker pov skirt grinding

His brain went stupid for synonyms trying to narrow down his search. He didn’t know exactly what he was looking for, but he knew the ultra HD, professionally lit, fakey acting wasn’t it. He scrolled, and scrolled. Narrowed his search again. Ticked off boxes on the side. Tried broader genres. Went back to the results he was on, and traveled down the rabbit hole a few more pages until, at last, he found what suited him.

The thumbnail appeared promising. Dimly lit, sorta bad quality, and clearly shot at home with a woman whose body type wasn’t far off from what he was hoping for. He even appreciated the visual similarities in the amateur actress’ navy blue skirt, and off-white blouse. As long as he scrolled down a tad to crop out her face, it was perfect. Plus, it was easier to insert himself into the scene that way.

He clicked it, and– ”Jesus Christ,” he turned down the volume as quickly as he could, accidentally pressing down the two buttons on the side that took a screenshot and saved it to his gallery.

The video started a little further into the act than he anticipated.

Such a fucking idiot, Eddie, Jesus Christ. Sitting in thick silence, he waited to see if you’d heard, and once his face calmed of the embarrassed flush stinging his cheeks, he moved on.

Eddie worked his right hand under the comforter, but heeded his boxers as a layer of separation. At the first contact with the parts of him he denied aching for the bane of his existence, he allowed his eyes to flutter closed. Gently, he raked his fingernails down the base of his shaft, and over his balls. He cupped them. Felt their heft. Cradled them and dragged them softly upwards, letting them fall and stretch before repeating the motion, enjoying the tickly sensation of being the first thing he touched. His most sensitive, most susceptible part of himself. Meanly ignoring the other part of him twitching, throbbing, begging to be catered to.

He kept some fraction of his brain alert to the hallway, senses sharpened by the spike of adrenaline, listening out for any sound of you exiting the room. But most of him was focused on hitting the play button, sticking to his decision that he couldn’t wait to do this in the shower. He needed it now.

It started with the woman already in motion. Shot from the guy’s point of view laying on the bed, his obvious hardon pressing through his slacks into her pussy grinding down on him. Her skirt lifted with each motion, showing her black underwear. Not that he was complaining they weren’t red, but he didn’t concentrate on them.

He switched from playing with his balls to gripping his cock. Finally. It buzzed with the rush of pleasure, harder than it had ever been, even in his youth. His fingers hardly met through his boxers, but he encircled them the best he could, and started with fast, desperate, stunted strokes, getting himself to where the guy in the video was in a matter of pent-up seconds, clenching his ass to buck his hips up. Heart pounding. Inhales shaky from the speed at which he took care of his problem, exhales interrupted by muted huffs.

Maybe he should be embarrassed, but it didn’t take him long to feel that encouragement to keep going, keep going, keep going. Where each frantic pump along his length was better than the last. Where each accidental graze of his fingers over the lipped edge of his tip sprinted towards his bliss.

In the video, the woman dipped a finger between her lips and moved her panties aside.

There was a low hum in the back of his throat, engrossed by the wet warmth opposed to his dry fist.

Metal knob turning–door creaking–carpet groaning, step, step, step–

It was a fucking miracle he managed to close out of the window in his panic. His thumb missed it the first two times as fear coated him in a cold sweat, and the phone fell out of his palm, smacking him in the chin as you rounded the corner.

You didn’t spare him the time of day as you walked into the kitchen and got a glass from the cabinet. Didn’t bother looking at him as you stood at the fridge with your hip cocked out, holding the cup under the outer dispenser and depressing the button for ice.

The fridge made a mechanical whirr, and filled your glass. Ker-chunk, ker-chunk, ker-chunk, the ice cubes tinked into the cup for the longest seconds of his life. His hand was frozen mid-tug on his dick, and you were wearing an oversized t-shirt, and nothing else. Truly, it hardly covered your ass. It clung to your hips, brushed the height of your thighs, and suddenly, he was checking how obvious the bulk of the comforter was over his lap, and if it creased when he moved his hand upwards.

Nothing. Not a fold out of place. He could keep it up. Stroke, by stroke, brushing his fingers over the head only, testing his limits to keep discreet while you switched to the other spout on the fridge for water.

Even when you turned to him, he massaged himself over his boxers, soaking the sticky slick beads of precum into the fabric.

“What?”

Your tone didn’t deter him from tracing the underside of his swollen head, caressing the glans with the same sort of sentiment he experienced in the homemade porn between a real couple–all gentle and nice.

He mustered enough brain cells to respond, “What? I’m already sleeping on the couch. Can’t you leave me alone for one night? Or are you that desperate for attention?”

None the wiser, you took a sip from your glass, and folded your other arm across your stomach, making it obvious from the natural sway that you weren’t wearing a bra. Probably weren’t wearing panties either..

Swallowing the ice cold water with a satisfied ‘ah’, you went on your merry way. “Just came to gawk at the bridge troll, is all. Night night!” Your annoying farewell was followed by the creak of the door, and the faint click of it closing.

What a fucking irritating person.

The anger bristled again. Definitely anger. It was there, lurking, when he rubbed at the sore spot on his chin and picked up his phone, unlocking it to stare at the homescreen.

There was no patience within him to find the video. Besides, the sanitized professional thumbnails on the homepage were enough to have him dropping his phone to the cushion crevices beside him, surrendering himself to his imagination. Nothing lived up to the scenarios in his head, anyway.

Before getting ahead of himself, he slid his fingers beneath the elastic waistband, and gripped himself wholly. There was no sense in denying what he wanted: the raw desire of his hand wrapped firmly around his cock, not caring about creating a mess. It could be cleaned up later. He needed this. Now.

He immersed himself in the fantasy.

The visuals took place minutes ago, if he hadn’t backed down. It was based on you refusing to give him the bed, and instead of walking away from your bratty attitude, he lifted his chin, and broadened his chest with a confidence he didn’t possess. Fantasy Eddie had the courage to kneel on the mattress like he belonged there. Your body would dip, rock towards his imposing knees straddling either side of your calves, and in his strongest dreams, he acted out what should’ve happened.

If he had his way, he would begin with your hips. A single strong palm on the curve would have you hiking them up to greet him, and he was a gentleman. As soon as you presented him with the opportunity, he was scrambling to spread your legs so he could dip between them, eager to please. He wanted to know the sensation of coarse red lace scratching across his tongue; it would be a novelty only he would know. His hands would be on your upper thighs, bringing you closer, closer, to where his mouth awaited you. Persuading your face to the sheets. Putting a wicked arch in your back, granting him permission.

He’d angle his mouth to your clothed clit and collect spit to his bottom lip, parting, and lapping his tongue over the pretty thing, suckling it through the fabric. His nose would be to your cunt, inhaling the musky pheromones. Didn’t matter how long you’d been at work, proving yourself to people who would never appreciate you like he did. He cherished every bit of you so much. The heady scent intoxicated him like a drug, the dimples when he smashed the fat of your ass around his face, your silly whine when he pressed kisses up your pretty pussy. The anger was gone. Like that, he adored you. After all, you craved him. And it’d been a long time since he was wanted. It felt nice to not be rejected.

Eddie, Fantasy You gasped when the wet sound of him sucking your clit through your panties grew in fervor. He was drunk on you. Trying hard. Giving more. Licking at the dark patch he created. God, he loved it. He loved the evidence. He could suckle, moan, flatten his tongue like torture and just breathe on you until he fell asleep, waking up to nudge his teeth over the sensitive areas you presented to him. Spending hours getting you to your peak, over and over.

But in reality, he was approaching his end rather quickly.

My turn, sweetheart, he regretfully informed you.

Getting to his knees, he positioned himself behind you. His cock slotted so nicely against you; red lace meeting unzipped gray uniform pants, and he wasted no time stoking the flames from where he left off.

He clapped your cheeks around the hard outline of his cock. His black boxers stretched to their limits to contain him. There was a dark patch at the tip peeking out between your ass, growing with each slow, assertive grind he committed to, fucking himself into the curve of your cunt with ragged breaths. Losing himself. Mouth agape, and eyebrows pinched as his needy head was swallowed when he rocked his hips back, and reappeared with a rough thrust.

Again, it didn’t take long until he needed a break to make himself last longer.

He draped his weight over you as he slid his rough, calloused palms up the backs of your thighs, creating goosebumps along the sensitive flesh on his way to your sorry excuse for skirt. He bunched the pitiful thing to your waist, and reached for the hem of your shirt.

You hummed in approval, pressing against his lap.

It was hard to balance, but you supported him as he yanked your blouse up–sucking in a sharp breath when you moaned, and rutted yourself on his length–and he brushed his fingers along your soft skin in search for the bra clasp, and when he found it, he pulled the band tight. The latch gave. He caught sudden heft in his palm, cupping you and the bra together, massaging lightly until your nipple slotted between the base of two of his fingers, and he applied the gentlest pressure.

Oh fuck, you whined so nicely for him.

They’re extra sensitive after being caged all day, you explained.

Yeah? Does it feel good?

You nodded, cheek smashed against the wrinkled sheets.

He pinched harder.

Saliva gathered at the corner of your lips, spilling in a sticky string as you dragged your head in another nod, heavy-lidded eyes just visible through your lashes, open mouth panting for him.

True satisfaction spread like weightlessness from the pit of anger in his stomach. He wasn’t supposed to be making you feel good, not the person ruining the one place he found peace after six years of paranoia, but here he was, wishing the taste of your pussy lasted longer in his mouth. Here he was, anchoring his forearm alongside yours, gripping the same sheet you gripped while he beared his weight down on you, and pressed kisses to your clothed shoulders.

His other hand was trapped between you and the bed, but each pulse around your nipple was another long stroke on his cock.

The scene had been set. The build up and story line were crafted. Now, he could play.

He worked kisses under your collar, tasting the sheen of sweat at your hairline, leaving trails of spit to cool as he lolled his head on top of yours, resting his forehead amongst your hair, and he put his lips to the shell of your ear, feeling you shiver beneath him.

Do you think you can treat me that way, and get away with it? Fantasy Him asked. Think you can boss me around whenever you want? He punctuated his question with a hard, unexpected thrust, earning a gasp from your pretty mouth.

Turn over. He didn’t command it verbally, but when he took away his hand to smack the side of your ass, and sat back, you were aware of his unstated switch in position.

You laid on your back, legs spread for him. Skirt bunched around your hips, blouse fallen open, except for the one button remaining. He grasped his cock, and stroked himself through his boxers for you. His brows were drawn together in a gentle question, gaze locked onto yours. This was supposed to be about him, but he still asked, Is this okay? Is this what you want?

The source of his anger, his rage, his frustration–all the blame, burdens, and negativity he attributed to a single woman–opened her arms to him, and nodded.

He passed over your pussy to praise kisses to your stomach. Deft fingers working to undo the last button on your blouse, and explore upwards. Wet smacks of his sloppy gifts arched your back the higher he traveled, molding his large hands to your body. Brushing his rough fingers to the junction of your inner thigh and hip, and spreading you open so your pussy swallowed the fabric, wedging the red lace tight to your clit for later. Up, up, his kisses covered you, until he nosed at the underwire of your bra, and lifted it out of the way.

Fuck, Eddie.

You pushed his hair out of his face. The shorter curls fell from the low bun at his nape, and you tucked them behind his ear so you could watch his tongue lap and swirl at your nipple. Your fluttery moans were heaven, as were your tits being shoved in his mouth. You squirmed for him, clamored for him. You wanted him, needed him. Did you care that his hair was greasy? Did you care that dried salt crystals from sweat scratched your fingers when you cradled his jaw? Did you care about his smell from thirteen hours of being in a hot kitchen when you cupped him under the armpits, encouraging him with a buck of your hips to get back to business?

He supposed not, since it was his fantasy.

But just like reality, you were trying to boss him around.

Want me to fuck you, sweetheart?

You could hardly meet his gaze, eyes so heavy with lust you couldn’t keep them open long enough to beg.

He aligned himself, nudging the tip of his cock to your clit, and he savored the experience of watching the bliss wash over you. It took him a beat to realize, but he moaned in response to your moan. Watching you react from where he picked up his head from your chest, memorizing the fake vision of your face losing the usual harsh distaste for him. Your lips were better this way–lush, and making an effort to sound out his name as he drew his hips back–not sneering because you had the displeasure of asking him a question.

Still, he drove forward with haste. Cotton on lace. Layers of separation. Anything else was too intimate for how he wanted to fuck you, rough and fast, caring only about himself and not about your poor neglected clit, swollen and pleading for his soft tongue, only to get rough, unmeasured thrusts. Messy, and unintentional, and denying. Until you made them work for you.

You used the meat of his shoulders as leverage. Digging your fingers in, holding tight as you rocked with him and raised your legs, wrapping them around his ass. The squeeze of your thighs, and pressure built from your locked ankles tipped you into a better position, and now, his entire length was flush to your clit, not simply passing over the top of it.

All of him was touching you, touching you, touching you. Trapping his cock between your stomachs, damp with reignited sweat. Back to rutting against one another at a desperate pace, chasing the tension, the high. The snap of his hips. Your stuttered groans for more. The anger, the hatred. Festering under the surface, bubbling in your insolence. Present in his teeth grazing your throat, nipping at the pulse, kissing, sucking, licking, tasting.

You’re gonna make me cum. Even Fantasy You said it in a lower register, reaching where the molten resentment laid dormant.

He found the same gravelly animosity and warned you, “I’m too close, I’m too close.”

You cradled him tighter, burying your heads in each other’s embrace. Muscles quivering from effort, burning with each grind, tensing under curious hands finding new places to cling to, curves to admire. Until they stayed put.

Nails bit flesh. Strong fingers dug painfully at bone. Mouths fell open. Eyes closed. Writhing flesh on fabric, and flesh, you trembled under him.

I’m–mm, Eddie–I’m cumming–

His thrusts faltered, jerking into short bursts, and his gracious moans went high and tight in his throat, spilling out as he panted, “You make me feel so good, baby. Fucked you so good. I can’t–I’m cumming–fuck–”

Fuck, Eddie–Fuck, Eddie–Fuck, Eddie–

–”Fuck,” he babbled aloud.

The climax took him to the dark apartment. The overwhelming shadows of sleeping in the lonely living room on the flat couch under an extra blanket not yet broken of its factory starch, scratchy on the skin. His muscles were still tensed into him curling in on himself, lifting his aching neck and shoulders off the pillow for a few more pumps of his hand sliding over his slick shaft, spreading the warmth oozing towards his hip, no doubt tangling the curly thatch of hair above the base. In lip-biting silence, he stroked himself, not daring to breathe after he knew he said something out loud from his imagination. He listened. Eyes straining to see the hallway.

His bangs stuck to the heavy sweat on his forehead.

His entire body was heated beyond belief.

Anticipation sat heavy on his tongue.

But as he came down from his peak, nothing happened. He stayed lonely. His heartbeat pounded against the guitar pick sticking to his chest, and that was it. Now his head was cleared of distractions, and he could sleep. The fantasy was a fantasy, and in this reality, he wouldn’t do this again. It was too weird to muddy the multitude of negative feelings he had for you with.. whatever this was.

A release, that’s what this was.

Kicking the blanket off, he swung his legs to the side to sit up, socked feet softened by the plush carpet. He pressed his palm over the sticky substance dripping downward, and soaked it up to the best of his ability. And as his cum hit the fresh air, and his inhale was cut short as he smelled his shirt, he thought about the shower he needed. And he thought about the dark patch on his boxers. And he thought about his clothes in the dresser in the bedroom.

Looking down, he inspected his gray pants, and groaned.

They were ruined.

So, so ruined and obvious as to what he was doing.

There was no way he could go into there and grab new clothes for a shower. The thought of facing you after this, and you seeing him in this pathetic state–and God, if you knew it was because of you, and because he couldn’t control himself–he’d rather die than admit you did this to him.

Fuck.

Couldn’t even go to his own room for some fucking clothes so he could shower after working all day.

Yeah, that confirmed it. He fucking hated you.

Hated you even more when he thought about you sleeping on his mattress, wrapped snug in his bedsheets wearing only a t-shirt with nothing else to cover you, and his dick twitched again for that red lace he knew was discarded in the laundry basket.

“Fuck my life.”

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson #stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie x y/n #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you #linecook!eddie #roommate!eddie #ex-con!eddie

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navybrat817 · 5 months

Note

Can lumberjack Bucky keep me warm? 🥺

He'd love to, nonnie.

A Warm Embrace

Pairing: Lumberjack!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Summary: Bucky teases you as he keeps you warm. Word Count: Over 600 Warnings: Fluff, cuddling, pet names, slight feels (it's me), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?). A/N: Are you lovelies sick of my fluff? Sorry, but Burly and Bambi are sweet.❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You couldn't sleep. Not with how cold you were. The thick blanket tucked around you should've been more than enough to keep you warm, but it didn't stop your teeth from chattering. The howling wind outside sent another shiver down your spine as you tried to burrow yourself deeper into your bed. Maybe you should've thrown another log on the fire.

Better yet, you should've just camped out in front of the fireplace instead of stubbornly going to the bedroom.

“Stupid cold,” you grumbled to yourself, rubbing your face against the pillow when gentle footsteps approached the bed.

Your eyes flew open when the mattress dipped behind you, a warm weight enveloping your back under the blanket before a heavy arm curled around you. “Can hear your teeth chatting from the other room, Bambi,” a deep voice rumbled.

The tremble that rolled through your body had nothing to do with the cold when Bucky rubbed his soft beard against your neck. “I slipped on the ice one time,” you muttered.

He chuckled before he kissed the back of your neck, tracing the path his beard made as you bit your lip. “Yeah, but you tried so hard to stay upright before gravity took you out. Just like Bambi.”

“I’ll have you know that I fell very gracefully,” you said before he turned your body toward him, your heart racing as you came face-to-face with the lumberjack.

Bucky was the captivating sort of handsome, the type that made people stop in their tracks when they caught a glimpse of him. From his lush brown hair to the depths of his intelligent and striking blue eyes, it was like an angel carved him out specifically for you. But what was beautiful about him came from within and shined through the surface.

Even when he teased you.

“I watched the whole thing, darling, and you were about as graceful as a baby deer,” he said, his azure eyes filled with glee when you narrowed yours. “Again, just like Bambi.”

“You know, you’re lucky you’re cute, Burly. And warm,” you said, tearing your gaze away from his pretty eyes to stare at his broad chest. Of course, he walked around the cabin shirtless while you couldn’t stop shaking. How was he so hot? Body and looks wise?

Was it a rule that lumberjacks were sin incarnate clad in packages of plaid shirts and tight pants with sturdy bodies underneath?

“So, you do think I’m cute,” he teased, your stomach flipping as you smiled at his words. Of course, you did. “Come here.”

You buried your face in his chest as his arm tightened around you, molding your body against his as you sought out more of his warmth. He rested his chin on the top of your head as your shaking eventually stopped, his calloused hand roaming along your back with immense care. All you wanted to do minutes ago was sleep, but now he was holding you and pushing a thick thigh between your legs and all you wanted to do was bask in his attention.

Maybe ride his thigh, too.

“You’re right, you know,” he said.

You tried to lean back as much as you could to get a good look at him, but didn’t want any space between the two of you in case you started shivering again. “Right about what?”

He brought his hand to your cheek as his lips curled in a small smile. “I am lucky,” he whispered, helping you tilt your head so he could kiss you, slow and deep.

And lucky for you, your lumberjack would always be by your side.

Because I need another AU, right? SHH. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

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love-takes-work · 1 month

Text

Highlights from the stream:

Here are the anecdotes shared during the epic draw-fest. Nearly all of them have been shared elsewhere at least once, but the new ones for me were about Greg Universe's orientation and the prototypical name for what Steven and Pearl's Fusion was going to be.

Rebecca Sugar loved Peridot's floating fingers and wanted to do all kinds of fun things with them before they would be gone forever. That's why we see her making arrows with them and biting them nervously in the episode right before she loses them.

When selecting clips for promotional use, they tried to be super careful about not picking anything that would show Peridot's real hands before the reveal had been aired. They didn't want a promo to accidentally ruin that surprise.

While doing the show they had an "eye theory" where the three main Gems would always have a different number of eyes showing. Pearl had both her eyes visible; Amethyst usually had one covered; and Garnet had either no eyes showing or three eyes showing.

With Rebecca and Ian's decision to get married and the characters Ruby and Sapphire being based on them, they figured well, of course now they have to get married too. (Though Rebecca and Ian got to do so AFTER their characters did!)

One of Rebecca's "post-Future theories" is that Steven gets a Gibson Hummingbird guitar.

Cookie Cat was originally based off of Cookie Puss, a very strange Carvell ice cream cake. It had a complicated backstory, which was appropriate for working with their own characters' complicated backstory. The branding and packaging of the Cookie Cat is important within the show.

Jeff Liu composed the Cookie Cat theme on a Game Boy and pitched it.

Rebecca has a "theory" regarding how Steven and Connie's faces kind of "fit together" with Connie's face sticking out at the top and Steven's face sticking out at the bottom.

Rebecca used to do a lot of fan comics, and learned a lot about storytelling while practicing with others' worlds and characters. They love when people make things based on these characters.

The original appearance of Rainbow Quartz was inspired by a music video from the Cars that Rebecca loved when they were younger. The Cars are referenced a lot throughout the show because their videos were a huge inspiration to Rebecca.

Lapis is very much based on a character from one of Rebecca's comics from the art school days.

Everybody on the Crew had different ideas of how Steven's head connected to his body and how his hair worked; Rebecca felt that they learned from everyone's various ideas.

If you've heard that Rebecca was against Finn being in a relationship while working on Adventure Time, that is not true. Rebecca worked on lots of the Flame Princess episodes. Finn and Flame Princess were still together when Rebecca left the show (last episode "Simon and Marcy").

Greg Universe's sexuality was never explicitly stated on the show, but Rebecca thinks of him as sexually fluid. Regarding him as bisexual is also completely valid--and appreciated by Rebecca as a bisexual creator who puts lots of their own personal traits into characters and feels that bisexual characters are pretty rare. Greg's gender on the show is pretty solidly established as male, so Ian says he is probably not gender fluid, but Rebecca is fine with alternate headcanons about that too.

Some of the earliest concept art from "Mr. Greg" was everybody in suits. Getting everyone in a suit was a primary agenda.

Everyone also wanted Connie to have a Space Camp outfit in the earliest concepts for her design in the movie.

Rebecca used to love doing signings while doing the show because it was like a chance to come up for air and go back to work energized by knowing how many people were touched by the show.

Rebecca Sugar wanted Pink Diamond to feel a bit influenced/inspired, design-wise, by the work of Iwao Takamoto. Rebecca loved his work in the Hanna-Barbera Alice in Wonderland and on Sleeping Beauty.

Rebecca drew the rough of the poster's art and Danny Hynes did the colors. Rebecca loves that they got to do this poster because they didn't get to do the final Comic Con with any art depicting Future or beyond (the finale of Future coincided with the emergence of Covid, so everything was closed down), so this is their way of "going rogue" and doing it!

An early prototype of a Steven/Pearl Fusion was called Coral. Rebecca said maybe they could share some drawings of this Fusion sometime. Rebecca shared this factoid with the viewers while drawing Rainbow Quartz 2.0, and mentioned that Ian boarded the scenes including their introduction.

Rebecca would often draw Garnet with a huge smile on her face whenever Garnet was the requested character--even before Garnet had made an expression like that on any aired episode. They had to be careful not to drop any Garnet lore before viewers knew what her center was about. For the short period before "Alone Together" had aired that they were doing conventions, some people were getting mysteriously grinning Garnets and not being familiar with that expression, but once the episodes aired, they understood for sure.

Shelby Rabara, Peridot's voice actor, is a professional dancer, and she choreographed the tap-dancing in "Mr. Greg" as well as provided the foot-taps that you actually hear in the show during the dancing.

Rebecca thinks of art and writing as just two different ways of expressing what you mean--they're not exactly as different from each other as most people think.

Everyone on the Crew was so excited about Steven's neck as an older teen. Mainly because figuring out how Steven's head joins to his body was an issue in original SU.

Unfortunately, while it was also kinda nice to see so many people enjoying Rebecca's drawings and commentary, there was a lot of rudeness and obnoxiousness in the chat. I know, I know, it's expected; I too live on the internet. But I'm disappointed to say the chat was full of people demanding Black Diamond, or repeating their own name and what character they want every 3 seconds (like, literally, pasting it over and over again for a long period of time), or harassing them about "weird Ed Edd and Eddy art," or spamming "REBECCA WHAT WAS IN THE CHEST," or wanting constantly for them to say hi to them personally, or repeatedly asking if Rebecca has read Homestuck. Or even writing snotty things like "maybe you should stop drawing and get up and give us a new season." Holy shit. can u not

(I didn't want to get a live-signed one, but I did get one of these to be sketched later! Mine is supposed to get Lion on it. I love Rebecca and the SU crew for bringing us new art and fun discussions in 2024.)

#steven universe #rebecca sugar #su art #myblog

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chvoswxtch · 1 year

Note

i had an idea for matt but idk if it was good but reader who is matt’s neighbor and she always drops stuff off for him like a new first aid kit and food because she knows he’s daredevil and matt has no idea who does it till he catches her one day

like super fluffy

hi nonnie!

I actually LOVED this idea and thought it was super cute, so thank you so much for requesting it! 💘

warning: slight angst, cavity inducing fluff word count: 2.7k

[part two]

care packages

The first time it happened, Matt hadn’t thought much of it. He simply thought he’d placed an order that he had forgotten about, tossed the package containing a first aid kit and other items into his bathroom, and called it a day. Ever since taking down Fisk, the caseload at Nelson and Murdock had nearly quadrupled, and all the remaining crime lords in Hell’s Kitchen were competing for the vacant throne. Needless to say, Matt hadn’t been sleeping more than usual, and if you asked him what day it was, he probably couldn’t even tell you.

But then it happened again. And again. And again. And again.

Every couple of weeks, a new package arrived at Matt’s door, and the contents varied with each box. Some of them contained first aid kits, bottles of ibuprofen, other over the counter medications, ice packs, epsom salts, and various other supplies. Other times there were carefully packaged homemade dishes and freshly baked treats. Foggy and Karen both swore it wasn’t them, and even inspected the packages on Matt’s behalf. There wasn’t ever a note left, or anything written on the boxes, so none of them could figure out where they were coming from. Foggy lit up like a child on Christmas morning every time Matt entered the office with a new batch of goodies, and Matt couldn’t deny how nice it was to have a break from all the takeout. Whoever was leaving the packages was an excellent cook, and an incredibly skilled baker, but not knowing who was leaving the packages or why was driving Matt absolutely insane.

Between both of his hectic lives, he didn’t have much time to investigate where the packages were coming from. He had asked his neighbors on a whim if they had seen anything, but they didn’t have a clue either. On the rare occasion when Matt did have an off day, he camped out on his couch in anticipation, hoping the next care package would arrive while he was home.

But it never did.

Karen had suggested leaving his business card taped to his front door, making the argument that it had his name and phone number on it in case whoever it was felt brave enough to contact him. But Matt was hesitant, because he wasn’t sure if the person leaving the care packages was leaving them for him, or for the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, and the latter made him nervous. He had no idea if they had made the connection, and he didn’t want to make it for them.

For two months, Matt drove himself completely crazy trying to solve the mystery.

By some miracle, or the grace of God, Matt was home at a normal time one Thursday evening. He was in the kitchen loosening his tie and reaching for a beer in the fridge when he smelled it. A familiar scent of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies that had been infused with cinnamon and nutmeg. The exact same chocolate chip cookies that had been left in front of his door four times in the past two months. The ones Foggy had dubbed, “crack cookies”. They were, in his defense, highly addictive.

Matt instantly froze, focusing solely on the sound of light footsteps approaching his door from the side of the hallway by the stairwell. The person’s heartbeat was steady, and they were humming softly to themselves as they bent down to place the package directly in front of Matt’s door. Matt abruptly slammed his fridge shut, racing towards his front door to fling it open like a madman, nearly tearing it off the hinges in the process and earning a shocked gasp from you as you were still knelt in front of his door.

He cocked his head to the side slightly, noting the sharp uptick in rhythm of your heart rate as you stared wide eyed up at him, fingers gripping tightly onto the sides of the container. For a moment, neither of you said anything, until the scent of cortisol creeping into your bloodstream snapped Matt back into focus.

“Are…are you the person that’s been leaving these?”

Letting out a shaky breath, you swallowed thickly as you gave a slight nod of your head.

“I…um…yeah.”

Your voice was timid and quiet as it came out, and there was something familiar about it. There was also something incredibly familiar about your scent, but Matt couldn’t quite place it. Your heart was thundering loudly in Matt’s ears, and he could hear the anxiety in every shuddering breath you took in. As his tongue darted out to quickly wet his lips, he slowly extended his hand out towards you.

“Do you…will you come in?”

Glancing between Matt’s outstretched hand and the dish in your own, you stared up at him silently for a moment. It suddenly occurred to him that his reaction might have made you more tense than the fact that you had been caught, and he pulled his lips into a gentle half smile.

“I’m not upset. I just…want to talk to you, if that’s alright?”

His words seem to put you at ease, and you carefully placed your hand into his own, allowing him to pull you up to your feet. Matt liked how soft your hand felt in his own, and he reluctantly let go to step back to grant you space, gesturing for you to come inside. After closing his door, he followed you cautiously into his living room, tuning all of his senses into you as you turned around to face him while still clutching the dish in your hands. There was something recognizable about you, but Matt for the life of him couldn’t place what it was.

“Um…I guess the obvious first question is…why you’re leaving all these care packages?”

Matt kept his voice even and gentle, not wanting you for a second to think that he was upset. As far as he could tell, you were leaving them with genuine intentions, and while that warmed his heart, he still wanted to know why. He caught the way you trapped your bottom lip between your teeth and tilted your head to stare down at the dish in your hands, taking in a deep, shaky breath before answering.

“Because you saved my life.”

Matt’s lips parted slightly in surprise, cocking his head to the side slightly as he took a step closer towards you and fixed his gaze in your direction with an expression of confusion.

“I…I’m sorry, I don’t think I’ve represented you-”

“You were wearing a different suit.”

Matt’s entire body instantly went rigid. You did know who he was. Panic started to rise in his chest, and his brain wasn’t working fast enough to come up with some kind of lie or excuse to protect his identity.

“I…I don’t…I t-think you must have me confused with someone else-”

“Those men didn’t just want to rob me. They wanted to hurt me. They followed me home from that bar and pulled me into that alley. If you…hadn’t shown up when you did, they probably would’ve killed me, or left me there after they did what they really wanted to. I…I’m honestly not sure which would’ve been worse.”

Matt stilled hearing the way your voice trembled, tasting the fear that built in the corners of your eyes as the memory sent a shiver cascading down your spine. Suddenly it all clicked into place. That’s why he remembered you. He recognized your voice because he remembered hearing your frenzied cries for help from the rooftop. He recalled the scent of you lingering beneath his nose while he held you comfortingly to his chest as you gripped onto his shoulders, begging him not to leave you alone in the dark. After taking care of the men that had attacked you, he’d waited with you until the cops came, doing his best to keep you calm and reassuring you that you were safe.

Your name tumbled from his lips before he could stop himself.

“Y/N.”

He remembers asking for it that night. He remembers repeating it back to you soothingly, enjoying the way it tasted on his tongue while wiping your tears away with his gloved fingers. He remembers the sweet melody of your voice as you thanked him endlessly, and the way you struggled to let go of his hand once the police arrived and he had to disappear into the darkness.

He noted the way your lips tugged into the faintest of smiles as you nodded.

“You remembered.”

Matt had wanted to find you, as himself, to offer you legal representation if you wanted to build a case. But with things being so hectic lately, he never got the chance. Another wave of confusion settled over his features when he took another step forward towards you.

“Wait, but how did you-”

“I live in this building. I saw you on the roof about a week later.”

Matt’s lips parted slightly at your words, giving a slight nod of his head to encourage you to continue.

“I was up there kinda late one night. There was a lunar eclipse that was supposed to be visible at a certain time, and I wanted to see it. I saw you. You disappeared through that door on the roof, and I thought it just went to a stairwell, but none of the stairwells I found led to that same door. I kinda put it together that it only led to your apartment…and it wasn’t that hard to figure out which one was yours from there.”

“So…you didn’t…know that I was-”

“No. I didn’t know who you were, not really. I never saw you again after that. I just…you looked like you were hurt that night. I wanted to do something…something to help you. I felt like I owed you.”

Matt pursed his lips as he shook his head quickly, letting a dry chuckle escape his mouth.

“You don’t owe me anything.”

“I owe you my life.”

Matt paused at the sincerity in your voice, noticing that it came out a lot firmer as you spoke those words. His fingers twitched slightly at his sides as you let out a soft sigh, turning around to place the dish of cookies on his coffee table.

“Look, I’m sorry if I…I freaked you out or anything. I didn’t mean to. I just wanted to do something nice for you since you saved me. I figured you probably go through a lot of first aid kits and don’t have much time to cook with your busy night job.”

Matt chuckled softly as a light smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, placing his hands on his hips as he followed your movements.

“That’s an understatement. Can I…can I ask…why you didn’t say anything? I mean, you never knock or leave a note or anything.”

Nibbling at your bottom lip, you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and shrugged lightly as you fiddled with a ring around your finger.

“I told you, I didn’t wanna freak you out. I’m sure you wear the mask for a reason. I…wanted to respect your privacy. Look, you don’t owe me anything, certainly not an explanation. You don’t have to tell me anything at all, and I would never tell anyone about this, I swear.”

The steady, strong rhythm of your heartbeat had Matt’s chest swelling with gratitude. He knew you were telling the truth.

“I believe you.”

There was a faint smile pulling at your lips as you stared at him, and Matt desperately wanted to know what you saw, and what you were thinking. He didn’t think it was a coincidence someone like you had fallen into his lap. He didn’t believe in coincidences. But he did believe in divine intervention. What were the odds of him saving your life, being your neighbor, and the recipient of your unwavering kindness and genuine understanding?

“I…I’m not a doctor, or a medical professional by any means, but I do know my way around a first aid kit. I’m also a horrible insomniac, so I’m usually awake at ungodly hours throughout the night. If you ever…need…or want any help, I just live a floor down. I’m in 5C.”

“I…thank you. And thank you for all of the care packages.”

“Thank you for saving my life.”

Matt felt his cheeks heat up at the candor in your voice. He didn’t get thanked often for what he did every night, not that the praise was his main motivator, but they were still two words he didn’t hear all that much. The people he took down certainly weren’t thanking him for sending them to prison, and sometimes the people he saved were in too much shock to speak, or he had to take off before he got caught by the cops. But something about the way the gentle inflection of your voice dripped into his ears like honey had warmth spreading throughout his entire body. He took another careful step towards you, extending his hand once again for you to take as his lips parted into a tender smile.

“Matthew. My name is Matthew.”

His heart started to beat a little faster feeling the way your mouth pulled into a smile of your own, reveling in the feeling of your soft hand slipping into his once again, fingers delicately curling around the bottom of his palm.

“It’s nice to meet you, Matthew. Officially.”

Matt keened at the way his name sounded falling from your lips, and he gave your hand a faint squeeze.

“It’s nice to meet you officially as well, Y/N.”

He didn’t miss the way your heart jumped slightly when he repeated your name, or the fact that neither one of you seemed to want to let go of the other’s hand.

“You know, my partner is going to be beyond excited that I’ve finally found the person responsible for those amazing cookies.”

Matt’s chest expanded with pride feeling the rise in temperature across your cheeks, lips parting slightly as your soft giggle hit his ears.

“Nice of you to share, Matthew.”

A wider smile tugged across his lips hearing you say his name again. He lightly stroked his thumb across your knuckle as he shrugged.

“I thought at first one of them was doing it, but neither of them are as good of a cook or a baker. You’re a hit in our office, by the way.”

“I am?”

“They ask me everyday if I’ve gotten a new care package. Obviously the edible ones are their favorite.”

Another soft giggle slipped past your stretched lips, and Matt found himself inching closer to the sound as heat spread down your neck and across your chest.

“They…they know, too?”

“They do.”

“Well, then they’re just as deserving.”

Matt found himself completely in awe of you, wondering how he had managed to find an angel when he walked the path of the Devil.

“Can I…can I take you to dinner? To say thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me-”

“I want to. You’ve provided me with a ton of dinners lately. I’d like to treat you to one.”

Matt angled his head to the side slightly as he listened to your heart’s tempo increase, enjoying the way you delicately tightened your hold on his hand as you took in a shaky breath.

“Well, how can I refuse my savior?”

“You can’t. It’s against the law actually.”

A large grin spread across your mouth at Matt’s playful tone, peering up at him with curiosity.

“Are you a lawyer, Matthew?”

“I am.”

An incredulous giggle escaped your mouth as your brows knit together in the center of your forehead.

“So, wait…lawyer by day, vigilante by night? How does that work, exactly?”

“I’ll let you know when I figure that out.”

Matt chuckled softly as you giggled, resisting the urge to reach his hand up to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear like he had done the first night he met you.

“So, Friday night?”

“You know where to find me.”

“I do, now.”

tags: @yarrystyleeza @little-miss-dilf-lover @neverlandcity @charmedkim @queenofthenoobs @stilldreaming666 @mattymurdock1021 @bubuslutty @messymissy @dark-academia-slut @strawberry1042

#matt murdock #matt murdock x you #matt murdock x y/n #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x female reader #matt murdock x fem!reader #matt murdock x f!reader #matt murdock fic #matt murdock request #daredevil #daredevil fic #daredevil request

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nanowrimo · 10 months

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“Love the fact that you love stories, that you want to tell them, and honor the messy parts of the process."

— Prince Shakur is a radical, multi-medium artist, organizer, and educator whose work centers on deepening black histories through queer, black, and liberatory lens. His journalism and essays have appeared in Teen Vogue, AfroPunk, The Cut, and beyond on the dangerous systemic and personal impacts of the carceral system, demanding complex truths about black political and creative icons, and gender politics in film. His visual work spans two Youtube channels: the award-winning travel and documentary series, Two Woke Minds, a channel dedicated to debunking the black writer/travel life, and a forthcoming short film.

Check out Prince on Twitter, Instagram, Youtube , and Spotify!

Read more camp care packages here!

#nanowrimo #camp nanowrimo #writing #writing advice #by camp counselor #prince shakur #camp care package #camp care packages

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bubbles-for-all-of-us · 8 months

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Pretty like the wind

Previous chapter / Next chapter

a/n chapter seven! Gosh, who would have thought that this would grow into something this big. Idk... writing this story does something to my brain.

warning: kids, mention of past trauma, wing clipping and all the horrors of Illyrian camps, vomiting, I think that's all...

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Azriel was stalling, and he knew it. For the first time in his life, the spymaster just couldn't put the needs of his court first. He tried. Mother knows he tried hard. But every time Azriel even came close to winnowing back to Velaris, he stalled. Waited. The tug pulled him back. The need to stay in the sanctuary held him in a chokehold. Something deep within him kept telling him that if he left on his own, even if it was for a couple of hours - he would not forgive himself. And the consequences - he didn't want to bear them.

"Keep your head up", Azriel articulated in his much lower voice, "Don't tuck your shoulders". One of his hands was pressed to Axel's back, making sure the arch was right. Away from the eyes that hawked between the walls, Azriel had finally ushered Axel out for morning training. The male didn't remember anyone being so happy to wake up before the morning sun. To be out in the chilly morning wind. To train. But Axel didn't even yawn once; he didn't rub his eyes. He was here, and he wasn't going to back down.

"Good job! Just like that", Azriel fueled Axel with praising words. He gave shit to Cassian when they were sparing. But while Cassian and he worked better when they were pissed at each other. The real broody fea raging. Axel was a whole different story. He ran off of Azriel's attentive care. Of him showing up. Of him seeing the boy. "Let them rest", Azriel stated his last order firmly, and Axel, with a couple of sloppy beats with his wings, seized his movements to a halt, panting breathlessly. The leather healed nicely. Way too nice for what it should have been, but that without doubt had something to do with your powers. It had to. That was another itch in Azriel's brain. A summoner? What was that supposed to mean? Sure, he had seen you wield light, heal, and slow heartbeats, but that in one big package didn't shape one solid answer.

"You're okay?", Azriel glanced down at the boy sitting on the fallen tree trunk. The biggest smile spread over Axel's face as he nodded his head. "Do you think I'll get to fly with you eventually?", the boy pointed towards the sky, Azriel's eyes following his movements. The spymaster's heart clenched at that. He hoped that would be possible. He hoped that with solid, strong back muscles and flying lessons, Axel too would bathe in the song of the wind. "We'll do everything we can to make that happen", Azriel threw a smile boy's way, something he found himself doing a lot lately. "Does your back hurt?", "A bit", the boy admitted shyly. Azriel only nodded. "That's a good sign; it means you're doing everything perfectly", and with that alone, all doubt and fear vanished from Axel's eyes. "Come, I'll carry you back", the boy didn't miss the invitation as he leaped into the warmth, snuggling into the male. Azriel held Axel with delicate care, mindful of the sore wings. He continued to run his hand over Axel's scared back. A sickly feeling still crept through him every time he came in contact with it. Azriel could endure the pain of his scars, but seeing Axel bear it as well fueled an anger that had never raged before. So Azriel pulled the boy just a little closer as he continued walking.

"What about this? It's blue", Zofie had been pulling out dresses from her closet all morning long. You had told the kids about the invitation to Velaris. Hoping that they would refuse to go. Make your own choice easy. You hoped you could hide behind their answers so you wouldn't have to make the decision yourself; just the two of them had been over the moon. Eager to go. It was as if Azriel had hung the moon for them, and now, no matter where or what he suggested, they were swooning with happiness.

"It's your favorite", you say, looking up from your seat, pealing your eyes away from the shirt Axel had placed into your hands this morning, practically begging you to fix the hem of it. "You said you'd use it for a special occasion", you continued. Because that dress was more than special. You had made it for Zofie after she had admired that she had never had one. Only clothed in scrappy cloth bags her whole young life. "It is special. We've never gone anywhere", she said firmly, looking down at the deep blue of the tule. "Do they have a big dance floor?", her eyes darted back at you, gleaming. You wanted to tell her that Velaris was like nothing she had ever seen before. She'd find much more than just a breathtaking ballroom, but you tucked that deep within yourself. "I don't know, sweetie. You'll have to ask the spymaster of the night court". The girl tilted her head to the side, "He has a name - Azriel. You know it", she sassed back at you, scrunching her forehead slightly. Because while you pulled back, they ran straight into Azriel's arms. You weren't jealous. Well, a little. You knew you weren't being replaced. You just... You wished you could find strength in yourself to trust once again.

The door to the room swung open after a little knock, and in strolled the two boys. Both still slightly sweaty and... "Oh, this is not okay!", you huffed as you watched them both standing there with their shirts off. "What's all of this about?", you rested your hands on your hips, trying to scowl. There was no doubt that you failed miserably because it was practically impossible to ignore the way Azriel's toned chest looked. Your hands had touched that... You quickly cleared your throat, leaning closer to Axel. "Real soldiers don't wear shirts when they are in the middle of an intense workout", the boy stated so casually that you quickly tilted your eyebrows up, glancing at Azriel, who looked way too mischievous for his own good. That bastard knew what he was doing. But it was the way Axel wore the scars on his back as if they were nothing that tugged at your heart. As if they didn't weigh him down. As if he didn't care if anyone else saw them, and deep down, you knew it was Azriel that you needed to thank.

It was Zofie who washed away the prolonged silence, "We're packing for Velaris", she said, lifting her hands up and showing off her dress which was still wrinkled. Azriel's hopeful eyes darted your way immediately. You two hadn't talked about his promises. About the things he had said. You had been cold toward him. You didn't want to, but his words had struck deep, making your defense walls waver. "Do they have a ballroom?", Zofie chirped, stepping closer to the male, who almost by nature had sunk to one knee so he could be more at Zofie's eye level. "Yeah, they do. I hope you'll save a dance for me", Azriel stated firmly, and Zofie nodded eagerly at his words. Giggling as the shadows swirled around her, turning her hair into a big cloud around her, lifting it from her back as she swirled with them happily.

Azriel's smile faltered. A pain like no other struck him. She was wearing Axel's shirt, no doubt, the loose material falling off the back, as she finally collapsed to the floor, screeching. Yet all Azriel saw were two deep red marks that ran all the way up to her shoulders. He didn't need to see more to know what that meant. He didn't need... Azriel stood up so quickly that his head spun. Turning abruptly, he shot out the door. Images of that night. That torturous night when he and Cas had to pull Rhys away from the lifeless bodies of his mother and sister filled his head. Now clear as a day. The torn-apart flesh in their back. The blood. The broken bones. The gashed. Azriel didn't make it far. He bent just slightly as he leaned against the wall. His breakfast coming right up. He heaved and gagged for what felt like forever. Head pressed against the cold stone as he tried to calm his breathing. Tried to shove the image of the mutilated bodies. Zofie's lifeless... That alone had Azriel hurling all over again.

"Drink", the strong smell coming from the cup was enough to let Azriel know that it was ginger brew. And the warmth of a hand on his shoulder—enough to let him know that you were here. But he was too afraid to move. Any movement threatened to make him heave again; he was convinced of it. "You look pale as a ghost drink, Azriel", you pushed the cup closer to his lips, holding onto his jaw as you tilt the mug up. Azriel manages to take a couple of sips before pushing back. "She's...", he managed to whisper. You closed your eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath, "Wingless? Yes". Azriel let out what seemed to be a superseded whimper, and all you could do was lower your head. You could speak of it only because you've walked with that pain for so long and yet it still clawed at you in moments like this.

"Who?", the tone seemed pure death. "Azriel...", you said in a pleading tone. This man had proven to you more than once now that he was willing to bring hell out for the kids. Yet you still denied it. "Give me a name! Tell me what camp. I will skin him alive", you swiftly moved to cup his face as you shook your head. "Do you remember what you told me about the fact that all they need is love?", you asked, looking into his deep golden orbs. "They need the same from you, Az", the darkness plunged back into its cage. Yet his breathing was still heavy. "This isn't fair", his words spilled through his gritted teeth, his hands pressing onto your hips. His way of grounding himself. "You and I both know that life is cruel", you offered him a sad smile, but he only shook his head. "But", you breathed out, knowing deep down that you needed to say this. "Azriel... She's up there right now, thinking that she has done something bad. That Axel's scars didn't scare you, but her...", and that's enough for Azriel to pull back as he turns around, only a black mist of his shadows left in his track.

And she's there in his arms when you finally make your way up. Splotchy face pressed against his shoulder. Zofie is a tiny girl as it is, but in Azriel's embrace, she almost looks microscopic. His palm covers most of her back. She has a fistful of his shirt in her tiny fists. "You're just as special", you hear Azriel muttering under his breath. Axel inches closer to you, arms wrapping around your leg as he nuzzles into you. You're convinced that the only time this man was brought to his knees was when he was pleading to stay with that female, but in his time here, he kept kneeling in front of the two of them. And it doesn't seem to bug him. It doesn't seem to clash with the cold mask he has built.

It's hard to hear their conversation, but then it's for them alone. And the bits you do hear—"I'm sorry," "You're one of the strongest girls I've met", and endless mutters of "I'll keep you safe" and "You'll never have to be afraid anymore"—are more than enough to make your eyes sting. Because you know that Azriel would not let go of her, or Axel, for that matter. They were logged into his heart. Fully. Permanently. It soothes you that Zofie doesn't understand and doesn't remember the way things had happened. Her father had taken it upon himself to carve her tiny wings out the same day she was born. A poor baby caught an infection. Leaving her slightly sickish and way smaller than she should be for her age. But she still kicked around fearlessly. Determined to not let monsters like that win. You dabbed a tear away from your cheek quickly. Letting the feeling of Axe's soft hair pull you back out.

"Can I fly?", the girl lifted her head from Azriel's shoulder, tiny palms rubbing her eyes. You sucked in a breath. She had never thought about that or asked about it. You want to cut in; try to say something. But Azriel pulled the blanket off the bed before carefully wrapping Zofie in it. "You say a word, and you'll be soaring through the clouds", Azriel says softly, and her eyes spark with anticipation. She glances your way, and you give her a tiny nod. "Then I want to fly", she whispers, and that's enough for Azriel to scoop her up as he moves towards the balcony. Her tiny hands spring out of the blanket as she wraps them around Azriel's neck, and they are airborne. Together.

You find him hours later. Everyone has long gone to bed, but you've spent way too long tossing and turning. The pull in your chest was too unbearable. So, with kisses on both of the kids' foreheads, you let your feet lead the way. And it only hits you that you're standing right in front of his door when it opens and you see his figure. Your body seizes, just like it always does when you're in front of him. Or, well, when he's shirtless.

You lift your haze and say, "I... wanted to check on you. Make sure that it's...", you topple over your words before managing to take a breath in, "Are you okay?". Azriel says nothing; he just steps to the side, a silent invitation. He's nursing a glass of whiskey. He's been off alcohol for most of his time here, so this... This had to reopen deep wounds.

"She was ecstatic. I've never seen her eyes so bright", you try to breathe in that sense of peace in him. "How is this still happening? Rhys has put out clear laws", is all he says in return. You step closer to him, reaching for a glass in his hand, and Azriel gives it up rather easily. "These males run things by their books, and you know it, Az. The sanctuary has a dedicated armed force, and there are missions. We do what we can," you state calmly, but Azriel simply shakes his head. "Come here", he mutters, his hands reaching up for you. "I don't want you going back to these camps", his words are firm as you rest your head against his chest. "You can't boss me around, remember?", you jab at his chest painfully. "Then I'll be going with you", Azriel says, as if it's so self-explanatory. You pull back slightly, shaking your head. "Start by taking us to Velraris, foreign soldier", you murmur, and that's the first time you get to see a smile paint his lips. "While you're in a silk nightgown?", he muses, and you let out a gasp, wrapping your arms around your chest. The reality that your nightgown has been the only thing separating your bodies all this time slowly seeping in, making your cheeks grow crimson. "In your dreams, shadowsinger", you purr back at him.

The next morning is filled with anticipation. Little feet running all around the place, shoving some of the forgotten pieces into the overnight bags. Throughout the breakfast, the conversation lingered around Velaris. As Azriel pulls story after story, the two younglings gasping. The list of places to visit getting longer by the minute. You were happy for them. This chance to explore something new—that child-like thrill—made even the smallest of things seem huge.

"Bacon", Zofie quickly jabbed her finger toward the plate, making Azriel let out a light chuckle. But he makes quick work of assembling the perfect bite before carefully turning the fork towards the girl's mouth. "Good?", he asked, leaning to the side slightly so he would be able to see her face. Zofie just smiled up at him, kicking her little feet happily as she chewed. She was perfectly capable of feeding herself but more than aware that she had Azriel wrapped around her little finger, meaning that one tired look was enough for the spymaster to usher her onto his lap so he could help her eat breakfast.

"You can't carry us three", Axel said as he too cut into the last bits of food on his plate. Azriel lifted a brow in a challenge, "I bet I can". The boy shook his head, "You only have two hands; there's three of us here". The shadowsinger only smirked, "Who knew you were so good at math", Axel let out a gasp before his face grew mischievous. "Will we go one by one?", Zofie asked, turning her head to look up at Azriel. And just as always, he was quick to sense the panic in her voice. The thought of having to be at some place alone while the others came around clearly made her antsy.

"No, we're all going together. I'll winnow us there", Azriel said firmly, followed by an explanation of what that meant. "Will this hurt?", Axel was quick to cut in. "No, you'll hold onto Y/n; I'll hold onto you all,", the spymaster said calmly, knowing well that the first time might feel rather unsettling when you're not so used to the sensation. "Can we get lost?", Zofie's voice was barely audible. Azriel placed a quick kiss on the crown of her head before leaning closer to her, "No", his eyes were fully focused on the little girl, "Because I won't let that happen".

The cool air nibbled at your skin first. Pinching your cheeks and painting them slightly more pink. It was way cooler here, even if the sanctuary was in the mountains. Magic had its perks. Azriel's grip around you loosened as he stepped back, the warmth of him melting away. A part of you wanted to hold onto him for a moment longer. You two still hadn't had a proper conversation about everything. Not that there was anything much to say, but you felt like letting him know that you trusted him.

"Look up at the sky, Zo", Axel practically shrieked with excitement as he softly pulled on Zofie's dress. She carefully peeled her palms away from her eyes. Even with Azriel humming through the quick journey here, her little panic took the best of her. "You can see all the construction", Azriel pointed up at the sky as he rubbed her back softly. "Rhys is a show-off like that", he muttered, mostly for you, and you couldn't help but chuckle lightly. "Perseus...", Zofie motioned with her little finger, making Azriel nod, "That's right, we can find them all later on".

It took you a moment to look around. You haven't been here in... ever. The only time you had come down here was straight to Rhys's office. You haven't been out of the sanctuary since you were first brought in. Except for the camp. An uncomfortable shiver runs down your back. The place Azriel winnowed to felt pretty secluded. The buzz of the sitting seemed further away. The street was brightly lit, with dangling lights and flower beds blooming on every window sill. "This isn't the main house", you muttered. It didn't feel like it. A least, you had no clue how Rhys would fit a study so big in here. Azriel shook his head as he lowered Zofie to the ground. "I wanted you to warm up your feet in Velaris first", he said while shaking his head. "So, we're not meeting everyone tonight?", a wave of relief washed over you. Sure, you were excited and all, but... one can only take so many stimuli at once. And well, for the kids' sake, that was a perfect start. "I wanted you to meet someone first. Someone special", Azriel said softly before stepping closer to the door and knocking gently.

The kids quickly rushed to stand up tall, yet their hands were gripping the sides of their skirts. Putting on their best behavior. So eager to meet someone new. Someone they hadn't seen around the sanctuary. Someone who seemed to be a part of a whole new world. But it's not really what you expected. In all honesty, you didn't even know what you were expecting.

An elderly woman opens the door, the brightest smile on her face as she sees Azriel. Her hands instantly reach to cup his face, and he doesn't pull away. He basks in the softness of her touch for a moment before moving to kiss both of her palms. "My boy", she beames, and you're convinced your heart had stopped working. Or there's a blood vessel that popped, hence the roaring in your ears. No, Azriel brought you to his... "Mother, I want you to meet someone", the spymaster steps to the side to give his mother a clear view of the kids and you.

You wait for her smile to falter, but she only seems to smile brighter. "Oh, dear...", she holds onto Azriel's arm. "Aren't you two adorable", she opens her embrace warmly, and that's all Zofie and Axel need as they rush forward toward the woman. Big eyes observing her as she cups both of their faces. You bite the inside of your cheeks.

"Yours?", the woman says, looking up at her son. Almost a hopeful gleams there as she watches him. "Not by blood", the spymaster says, and he says it so naturally that you nearly feel your legs buck. Convinced your nails are drawing blood from the way you are squeezing your palms. "And this lady, must be the lover?", her soft eyes land on you, knocking the last air out of your lungs. You open your mouth, but Azriel beats you to it: "Not yet, but I'm working on it". The elderly woman hums softly, a knowing look on her face as she glances between the two of you, before turning her eyes back on the kids, "Why don't we head inside, loves? I'm making cinnamon rolls", and the two younglings don't even do a double take at you as they walk toe-in-toe through the arched wooden door.

You turn to Azriel. "You're insane", you whisper, your eyes already full of tears. "No, I'm just trying to make the right choice for the first time", Azriel says calmly, reaching out for you, but you back away. "Azriel, this is...", you breathe out. "Don't back away from me", hurt flashes in his eyes. "I know I made questionable choices", Azriel pleads. "But this feels fucking right... I can't explain it, YN, but it feels as if I was meant to be here, meant to...", he states, almost in slight disbelief himself, "Don't take this from me".

You watch Azriel for a heartbeat. One. Two. Before you just leap forward, crashing your lips against his. And it's way better than you could ever imagine. It's eager and hungry. Messy, but so... right. As if this was something that was meant to happen. Azriel brings you closer as he deepens the kiss. His palms moving straight to your hips, a habit of his by now. You arch into his touch, your body working on its own rhythm when it comes to Azriel. And when you finally pull apart breathlessly, with a slightly rosy cheek, you can't help but smile at him because maybe just maybe. This is your chance to have your person. Your home.

"If I accidentally winnow us to my apartment now...", Azriel muttered breathlessly, making you let out a laugh. "Don't you dare, soldier", you say, pointing your finger at him. "I won't... Just thinking about it...hard", he states through hazy eyes. You shake your head as you brush your fingers across his lips, trying to clean up the smudged marks of your lipstick. "In your dreams," you purr lightly. "Well, I've been dreaming for a while now, love", Azriel reaches to you, resting his forehead against yours before his lips find yours once more.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Taglist: @naturakaashi @hoemadegrace

#azriel x you #azriel x reader #azriel x oc #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar x reader #azriel acotar imagine #azriel acotar #azriel spymaster x reader #acotar x you #acotar x reader #acotar imagine

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ghouljams · 2 months

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Ranger Danger; It's only stalking if they can't see you.

NCR Ranger!Gaz follows his favorite Courier.

Most people out in the Mojave know better than to fuck with couriers. Everyone wants the mail, and no one wants to get blacklisted. You were hired because you were a good shot, and unafraid of the various perils that traversing the wasteland brings. Which is to say: You don't need an escort.

You've tried explaining it to Gaz, tried to make him understand it, but he insists on following you through your route. He's not bad company, but it makes folks nervous having a ranger watching them hand you packages. Honestly if he weren't so easy on the eyes you might have tried harder to lose him. As it stands you just manage to convince him to wait outside of eyesight while you do business. Recently he's started trying a different approach.

"All the way to New California," You clarify with a raised brow.

"All the way doll," Gaz grins, "Easiest package you'll have to deliver, I even defend myself."

You eye him with suspicion. It's a long way to go, an even longer way back. You suppose you could pick up some packages along the way... You shake your head. "Can't afford it," you tell him.

"I can pay," He reminds you, "got plenty of money."

"NCR bills," You click your tongue, "not worth the paper they're printed on."

"Good with my hands," He tries, "better with my mouth."

"Yeah, you're a real smooth talker," you roll your eyes, "Don't need a mechanic, and as previously mentioned I'm takin' care of myself just fine." You pat the pistol at your hip fondly, well oiled and ready for action. Gaz hums, there's something in his eyes that says he wants to correct you, wants to rebuke your assertion, or perhaps clarify his own. He holds his tongue.

He's good company, but not company you're willing to risk your hide over. You've never had anyone watching your back, and to be honest it can be a little unnerving at times. Knowing Gaz is stationed somewhere far off with a rifle trained on you while you pass off bullets to a raider camp doesn't stop your skin from crawling. Like you said, most folks know better than to try and stop the mail from running. Even the raiders that eye you a little too appreciatively, and open doors wider for others to give you the same once over. It's the warning shot that startles you more than the swift smack to your ass when you turn to leave. You're quick to scurry off before the raiders decide that was your idea.

Gaz finds you miles down the road and hours later. His boots are bloody. You don't ask.

His hands are clean, at least, when you hand him a gecko kabob from the fire. You sleep better that night with him on watch, and the distant knowledge that any ill will those raiders may have had is dead. It's good you're such a deeper sleeper with Gaz around. You don't know the pride it inspires, the deep seated warmth in his chest to see the gentle rise and fall of your breathing, to hold his hand by your lips and feel the soft puff.

Maybe it's a little strange, but when you're asleep is the only time he can truly speak freely. The only time he can lean back and palm his cock to the pretty picture you make. He likes looking at your face when he does it, likes to imagine what you'd do if you woke up and saw him. You have to be the densest person in the Mojave not to notice he's got you on a short leash.

He would have you on your back screaming his name. He'd have you drooling in the dirt. He'd have your sweet pussy dripping with his come every time you made a delivery. Maybe having his spend rolling down your thighs would stop you from getting ogled every time you knocked on a raider's door.

"Fuck you 'til you forgot your name," Gaz grunts, "don't need to love me to come on my cock." But it would be better if you did.

#cod x reader #x reader #kyle gaz garrick #kyle gaz x reader #kyle garrick #kyle gaz smut #gaz modern warfare #gaz cod #gaz mw2 #gaz call of duty #gaz garrick #gaz x reader #fallout au #I think my favorite gaz is when he's a little fucked up #he won't touch you but that doesn't mean he won't do stuff near you #very important line in the sand #courier!reader #f!reader

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d4ydream-girl · 5 months

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as a fan of the books i was not expecting so many gods to just appear in this first season. like obvi Dionysus and Ares show up but now we also got Hephestus and in the next ep Hermes directly interacting with the trio. at first i was like why are they here the whole point is that the gods are supposed to be absent... but in a way that's exactly what their earlier appearance is showing.

Hephaestus has time to fucking wander around his rusty amusement park. Hermes has time to gamble and slowly deliver packages (why was he just fucking walking around like can't bro teleport or something??). Ares and Mr D do whatever they want wbk.

the point of showing them earlier is to show what they ARE doing INSTEAD of visiting their kids. like bro is out here moping around his lonely little amusement park while all the demigods at camp fucking hate their godly parent. they have all the time in the world but they just don't care.. they choose to do other shit instead of seeing their LITERAL CHILDREN. it's so painfully obvi to the viewer why Percy hates them all so quick, but the gods just don't realize.

#it's literally pjo show canon that Hermes gambling causes Luke to join Kronos #like if he just took a little time to visit his children this would've all been avoided #seeing them doing random shit really shows how much they just don't care abt their kids #pjo spoilers #pjo disney+#pjo tv show #pjo series #percy jackson and the olympians #pjo season 1 #pjo episode 5 #percy jackson #walker scobell #annabeth chase #leah sava jeffries #grover underwood #aryan simhadri #pjo ares #pjo hephaestus #pjo s1e5

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neoarchipelago · 1 year

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And they were Roommates (part 5)

A/N: MY OH MY. This tag list has grown so much it makes me so happy! Thanks to the anonymous ask, i indulged myself and added a little self care on reader being sick. It honestly comforted me.

Again you are all entirely welcome to send some heacanons, tropes or ideas to add to this.

and yes. You'll have the slowest burn ever.

YOU WANTED TO BE FLUSTERED? HERE YOU GO MWAHAHA

Warnings: some 18+ inuendos, swearing.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

You were exhausted. It had been an awfully long week. To your demise, sickness had entered your ranks. Sergeant McTavish was first. Whaling like a wounded soldier every time he felt a cough erupting. The drama queen had soon infected the others.

"We should have taken him out when I said to."

You had rolled your eyes at Ghost's remark.

Colonel Vargas was second. It had been slightly less complicated. He seemed to handle the flu much better. Gaz, he, had sung the song of his people with Soap, acting as if they've been shot. Though as per Price's comment, they complained far less when they had actually been shot.

Of course they had all nested in the apartment, Ghost highly irritated, asking them to go die somewhere else where they wouldn't bother him.

Being a medic had never been your dream. Yet you had to improvise yourself as a nurse for the week, giving medication and hot beverages to the wounded soldiers, or as you affectionately called them, pussies.

Price had followed, he had acted as if nothing was wrong, the obvious raspiness of his voice betraying him. He had kindly refused your offer to take care of him, but gave in at the warm soup for dinner. Your best patient so far.

Now to your worst patient. Ghost. He had entirely avoided any care package thrown his way, resulting in a lot of bickering to the amusement of the rest of the healing squad.

"Take your fucking meds." You said annoyed.

"Fucking make me." He dared.

You threw him your most annoyed glance.

"I will punch you." You threatened.

"Sure thing gremlin, reach my face first." He answered in the same tone.

You had kindly thrown every pillow in the living room at him, taking the one underneath soap's head, earning a 'hey!' from the agonizing man.

He had still accepted warm beverages, and after a very long fight and a threat to get drunk again, he had taken his meds.

It was finally over. Everyone was on the path of healing. Your duty was done.

Unfortunately for you, on this fine Sunday morning, you woke up with a raging headache and a sore throat.

You had been infected by the zombies. The game was over. You sighed. You had hoped very very strongly that you might escape the plague but the fight had been lost. You groaned as you sat up in bed. The warmth radiating from your body couldn't betray the obvious. You had a fever. You closed your eyes, cursing every baby man in the apartment because, OF COURSE, they were still camping around. Price was the only one who went back home for the night and came back in the morning to babysit his men.

You tried to stand, grabbing the black hoodie laying on your desk chair. You'd be fucking damned if you gave him back his hoodie. And he'd have to deal with you stealing the others too. Throwing it on, you tried to walk out of your room, the men complaining in the living room were being way too noisy for your pounding head. Finally appearing in the doorway the men turned to you.

"Oh god… you got sick." Price said.

The look of annoyance on your face couldn't betray it. You walked to the counter where Ghost was eyeing you carefully. You stared into his eyes.

"Johnny, make some tea." Ghost ordered, not dropping his gaze.

"Copy." Soap said jumping from the couch and jogging to the kitchen.

"Gaz go get some meds" he ordered again. "Copy" Gaz spoke out loud, walking to the front door. You felt your cheeks color.

"I'll go buy some snacks." Alejandro said, walking behind Gaz.

"You should get her to bed." Price said, walking next to soap probably to stop him from burning the kitchen down.

Ghost stood, extending his hand. You sighed before grabbing it, letting him walk you back to your room.

"Get in bed." He ordered.

"Like that? Not even a date first?" You teased dropping to your knees on the mattress.

"Stop taking your fantasies for reality." He snickered.

You let yourself slip under the covers again. He turned on the TV in your room, putting Netflix on.

"Ghost…" you asked, unsure of what you're going to say next.

He turned to you.

"Can… you stay…?" You asked.

"Can you give me back my hoodie?"

"No "

"Fuckin hell…"

So here you were. Cup of warm tea in hand, various snacks dropped around the bed, chocolate, candy, chips, sliced fruit and other things. Ghost laid next to you, slightly sitting against the headboard. Community was playing on the wide screen. It was peaceful. You, laying in bed, with your scary dog of a roommate next to you on the bed, his teammates half laying at the feet of the bed and around the room.

You sighed of content. Price had to run off to get some things done, but he promised to drop by in the evening again. Your eyelids felt heavy, the sickness getting you tired. A large hand came to slowly grab the half empty mug from your hands, putting it down on your night stand. You tried keeping track of the show on TV or the boys commenting or snickering at the jokes, but your eyes were fighting against your will.

It felt comfy. Warm. The man next to you seemed to radiate so much warmth. Your head had slightly fallen to the side, resting on his shoulder. You convinced yourself you'd close your eyes just for a minute. Just… a little… minute…

It felt… good… comfy… against his chest… his arm… around you… maybe… you could… sleep… for a bit…

"Sleep little bunny… we're here." He whispered, finally letting you completely give in to your exhaustion.

You groaned at the sound of someone repeatedly knocking and ringing at the front door. You peeked at the clock on your phone. 6:20 am. Who ? What?

It couldn't be Ghost. He did go for his morning runs, but… maybe he had forgotten his keys?

You got up, finally giving in. The knocking was non stop.

"I'm coming! God! Just a minute!" You yelled.

The pijamas you were wearing didn't help the cold hair from making you shiver as you walked to the front door.

You opened it, trying to focus your brain on what was happening.

"Oh darling! I'm soooo sorry to wake you up but I really need you!"

You stared at the woman in front of you. Sergeant Melisa Gallegos stood there. You had met her in one of the previous missions, you had gotten friendly with her. She was kind and sweet. You sometimes get coffee and gossip with her. That's how you had gotten to know each other. You had learned that she was a single mother of a 3 years old little girl named Amy.

Which was sitting in her mother's arms, eyes fighting to stay open at the obvious early rise she had to go through.

"I need you to babysit."

"What?"

"I am SO sorry to ask you this. I have a big emergency at the base, and her babysitter is on vacation… " she explained.

"But… I… I haven't taken care of a kid in a long time!" You debated.

"You know Amy! She loves you, you did this before." She tried smiling at you.

You stood before her, looking at her shift from one foot to another, and at Amy just begging to fall asleep.

You sighed.

"Oh thank you thank you thank you!!" She said, handing the little girl into your arms.

"Wait!- I-" you tried.

Unfortunately she had already dropped the two little bags in front of the door and ran off.

You looked at the little girl in your arms, not bothered by the change of person. She did know you after all, you had already babysat for her a few times.

"Alright little monkey. Let's go back to bed. It's way too early." You said, pushing the bags inside with your feet and closing the front door.

When Amy had woken up again, it was around 9 am. You were fine by it as it was the normal time you'd wake up. You two had played a bit on the bed, tickling her, and creating stories with the little plushie she dragged around everywhere with her.

After a good laugh you had decided to get up, peeking at your phone. One notification.

"I'm bringing breakfast, just got to pass at the base first. Be there at 10."

Alright. Gave you time to get dressed with Amy and make her a hot chocolate, with the usual tea for you and him. You had walked into the living room, dropping her on the couch softly turning on some cartoons, leaving you to start on the beverages. You heard the front door unlock, Ghost walking in with the usual breakfast.

"I got-"

He glanced at the couch. Freezing on the spot. The staring match in between the toddler and the man in a skull balaclava was almost comical if you weren't so anxious of Amy's reaction at the masked man. You hadn't thought that she might be scared of Ghost.

"Awe you a supew hewo?" She asked, eyes shining with happiness.

Your heart melted on the spot. You smiled at Ghost who suddenly turned to you.

"How the fuck did a kid spawn here?" He asked, confusion clearly visible in his eyes.

You gasped ready to reprimand him from cursing in front of the child.

"Fwuck!"

You both turned to the toddler who had a wide smile on her face.

"No. No. Nonononoo… Amy sweety no.." you freaked out a bit. God Melisa was going to kill you.

You walked to the toddler kneeling in front of her.

"Darling, that's a bad word… only grown ups can use it… alright?" You tried to explain. Throwing a dark look at the man still standing at the doorstep.

"Ok!" She happily conceded.

You smiled.

"Perfect! Do you want to meet the big man?" You asked. She frantically nodded. You picked her up, walking around the couch to stand in front of Ghost who looked almost terrified.

"Amy, this is Lieutenant Riley. You can call him Ghost. He's my roommate… hum, my friend!" You explained.

You turned to ghost who's eyes shifted from the child to you.

"Ghost. This is Amy. She's my friend's kid, and I had to babysit at the last minute. She'll be spending the day with me."

He nodded.

"Why you wwear a mask?" She asked.

He frowned for a second.

"Hmm… it's for my job." He answered.

"Can I touwch it?" She asked, extending her little hand.

Ghost stared at it for a few seconds before looking back at you.

"Hum, sweety, maybe-" you started trying to defuse the situation.

To your shock he stopped closer, lowering his face, letting the little girl touch his mask. His eyes were on you, and yours were glued to his.

What was that funny feeling spreading through you? The burning sensation coursing through you? God..

The little girl giggled. Before letting her hand drop.

She then turned to you.

"Can I watch SpongewBob?" She asked.

You cleared your throat. Looking away embarrassed.

"Of course darling. We'll prepare breakfast."

You turned away, walking back to the couch and sitting her down, leaving her to watch 'SpongewBob' on tv.

You walked to the kitchen Ghost closely following you.

"I'm sorry. I wasn't expecting -" you began in a low voice.

"It's… ok. It was surprising." He whispered back..

God, why was he so close to you? Why were you so HOT?!

"I'm not used to kids." He admitted.

"It's alright. I'm the babysitter. You don't have to stay." You smiled.

"Didn't we have to go grocery shopping?" He reminded you.

You closed your eyes at the sudden realization.

"Oh… fu-.. I mean… yeah… I forgot." You said.

"We can take her. It'll be ok, right?" He asked.

"Why wouldn't it be?" You questioned back.

"I don't know. It's not too cold for her?" He asked.

God can he stop being so FUCKIN cute?! You bit your lip, keeping the wide smile from being too visible and failing miserably.

"She'll be fine."

Breakfast had been, calm. You were thankful that Amy was one of the calmest kid's you knew. She was well behaved, calm, and sweet. She was, unfortunately for Ghost, extremely curious. And again, to his dismay, she had taken a liking to him. She had been fascinated at the way he raised his mask to his nose to eat.

His lips were one of the things you were used to.

To SEE. USED TO SEE.

On another hand, Ghost had seemed very thoughtful during the morning.

He had eclipsed himself for half an hour while you battled with the toddler to get both of you ready to go grocery shopping. She kept questioning everything, sometimes wondering about things that never ever crossed your mind. You found it funny. It was incredibly adorable.

Zipping her little coat, making sure she had her scarf, you received a text from Ghost.

"I'm here."

You walked out of the door, the little girl holding your hand as you were walking down. You made sure to walk down the stairs at her pace, eyes never leaving her, too scared she might fall even though her tiny hand was secured in yours.

You pushed the building's door to the underground parking lot where you immediately saw Ghost, arms crossed over his chest, all dressed in black leaning against his black jeep. Amy squealed as she saw him. Jumping.

You smiled. You walked to him.

"Where did you go?" You asked.

"We were missing something." He said.

"Really? What?" You inquired, confused.

He moved, opening the back door. You blinked. A FUCKING CAR SEAT. You closed your eyes, sighing.

"Thank you… it had completely escaped my mind…" you apologized.

Amy had let go of your hand, skipping her way to Ghost, hands up in the air for him to pick her up and sit her in the back.

Ghost froze. You were quick to make a move but you stopped as he slowly bent forward. You stood there in shock, watching him pick up the child. She was so small in his arms.

Fuck… was this awakening something in you?

He sat her very softly in the car seat, being extremely careful to make sure she wouldn't hit her head. He moved as if Amy was a little porcelain doll. You saw him fidget to buckle her up, again surprising you. The little 'click' was heard, and he pulled a little on the belts, making sure it was safe. Amy was holding her little plushie babbling about whatever new thing she had learned this morning to the soft thing.

Ghost looked back at you, leaning on his arm against the car. As if taking your opinion on his handy work. You bit your lip. And his eyes fell on the movement, forearms flexing.

"Thanks…" you whispered.

"You're welcome." He answered voice deeper than usual. You finally moved, opening the passenger door, he closed the back door making sure Amy didn't have her leg or arm in the way. You sat in the front, Ghost closing your door behind you.

You took a deep breath. Amy seemed to be enjoying herself, not at all weary of her new environment. Ghost took place in the driver's seat, buckling his seatbelt as well. You watched his movements as turned on the vehicle.

"Ghost…" you called.

He looked at you.

"Did you… buy a car seat?" You asked.

"Yes." Was all he said, attention turning back to his task.

You pushed the Shopping cart where Amy had taken place. Ghost followed you as you tried to remember what you needed. The grocery store on the base was a good thing. It avoided having civilians staring at Ghost. At least here, everyone knew who he was. The fact he was with a woman and a child though, that, caused many to stare.

The fact that Amy was a little blond, curly haired girl, that was incredibly close in color to Ghost's eyelashes also made everyone stare.

You tried to focus on the task at hand, Amy and Ghost not caring at all about the rest of the people in the store.

She kept pointing at things, asking Ghost to explain what It was. It made you smile. The way he was willingly letting himself be questioned by the little girl.

"Oh, i forgot…" you mentally cursed yourself.

Ghost looked at you.

"Can.. you stay with her for a few minutes? I'm sorry… I forgot to grab something." You asked with a sorry look..he nodded.

You smiled at him before turning around and walking out of the aisle, hurrying up. As you scanned the new aisle your phone rang. Rummaging through your pocket you grabbed it. It was Amy's mother.

" Hey! How's everything going?" She asked.

"Everything's fine. Your daughter met Liteutenant Ghost Riley." You teased.

"...what?" She asked.

"Yeah, he's my roommate." You spoke, still searching for the damn thing.

"... And… is everything going ok?" She asked with a little worry in her voice.

"Everything is fine…" you sighed " she likes him more than me, and he acts as if she's made of glass." You said.

"Oh! Thank god! I was worried she might be a bit much for him." She chuckled.

"Well he's not used to it, but he's extremely patient with her." You reassured.

"Alright, I might pick her up late… I'm really sorry…"

"It's ok. You owe me though." You teased.

"Ok, fair." She laughed.

You bid your goodbyes, her having to rush back to work, and you worrying about leaving Ghost and Amy alone too long.

You walked back to the aisle you had left him, finding them nowhere. You frowned. You walked around the aisle, suddenly feeling the anxiety coursing through you. What happened? Why aren't they here? You stopped as you turned left into the biscuits section.

You let out a sigh of relief.

"Ghost!" You walked to him. He turned to you not bothered at all by the situation.

"I've been looking for-"

You interrupted yourself as you looked at Amy.

"Ghost. Why does she have a doll?" You asked.

"She asked for it." He replied.

You looked at the cart.

"She also asked for the plush, the Legos and the ponies?" You glared at him.

"Yes." He replied again, as if the situation was completely fine.

"Ghost. You can't buy her that."

"Yes I can."

"No! You can't give her everything she asks for!"

"Yes I can. She asked nicely. She said please." He explained turning back to lean on the cart.

"That's not an excuse!" You scolded.

"It's my money." He concluded.

Amy smiled widely, hugging the box the doll was in.

You stood there mouth slightly open, shocked from the situation.

She had him wrapped around her finger! You rolled your eyes. This was a fight you wouldn't win. You headed for the cashier's, ready to ring up everything. Amy was thrilled with her new toys. Walking back to the car, you dropped the groceries in the trunk, Amy already had her doll out of the box as she had 'asked nicely', and ghost had ripped the box apart to give it to her.

He had let you buckle her up this time. You headed back home. Stopping at MacDonalds on the way home because, once again, 'she had asked nicely'.

"Stop spoiling her Ghost!"

"No."

Ghost parked in the parking lot. You both got out of the car. You opened the back door, looking at the little girl. She had fallen asleep on the way home. She hadn't liked waking up early, and it was almost time for her nap. You stood there for a little while watching her sleep. She was so cute. You didn't want to wake her up.

The breath on your neck made your hair stand, as he whispered in your ear.

"Do you want me to pick her up…"

You held your breath. He was in your back, cornering you, arms on each side, leaning down.

You slowly looked to your left, planting your eyes into his. Time froze. You were so close. You could feel his breath though his balaclava on your lips. He frowned. Eyes shifting to said lips.

"You're always biting your lip…" he noted in a low voice.

Were you? You didn't even realize you were doing it now.

"Does it bother you?" You hushed back.

"It makes them… red." He stated awkwardly.

"Does it?" You asked. Of course it did. You could see his brows furrowing.

"Makes me…want-" he started, almost growling.

You were hanging on to his every word. Heat pouling dangerously deep in your stomach.

"Why does it make whem red?" The little voice made you both separate instantly. Ghost taking a step back.

You cleared your throat, looking at Amy.

"Hum… well… hum… it's… complicated. I'll explain another time, ok?" You tried, clearly blushing.

"Ok!" She smiled.

God. Keeping children was hard.

The day had gone by pretty fast. You ate lunch, Amy napped leaving you and Ghost time to work a bit. You two were acting as if nothing happened. On your part at least you were obviously embarrassed.

After she had woken up, she insisted on playing with her new Legos. You had moved the coffee table to the side so you could play on the carpet with her. Ghost was sitting on the couch, legs spread, reading a report, occasionally looking at you playing with Amy. Once in a while Amy turned to him proudly showing off her constructions.

Each time he praised her with a little, 'that's really nice, you did good', it made your heart flutter.

He was so kind, so gentle with her.

You could feel his gaze on you when you weren't looking. It burnt through you.

After a while you had dinner, and put on a Disney movie for her. You sat on the couch with her on your lap cuddling her new teddy and her old plushie. She rested against you. Ghost joined after finishing his report.

"Move." He asked.

You frowned. He sat next to you, making you lean on him. You blushed.

"Are you really gonna watch Encanto?" You teased.

"You'd rather I go away?" He asked, looking down at you intensely.

You didn't say anything at all.

The more the movie played the more Amy seemed to close her eyes. It was getting pretty late. Around half of the movie she was sound asleep in your arms. You smiled down at her, brushing a little strand of blond hair away from her face.

"Fuck…"

You looked at Ghost meeting his gaze.

"Is everything alright?" You whispered.

He stayed silent.

"Ghost..?" You asked frowning.

"What are you doing?" He asked.

"What.. Do you mean?" You whispered.

"To me…" he finished furrowing his brows in confusion.

You sucked in a breath, but before you could say anything, a knock on the door made you separate. It took a little moment for him to gather himself and get up to open the door. You took a deep breath, trying to calm your racing heart. A few seconds later, Melisa walked in.

"Hey!" She whispered to you, walking to where you sat.

"Hi, how was work? " You hushed back.

"Hell… but we made it… I'm so sorry to have dropped her off like that…" she said, the sincerest sorry look on her face.

"It's alright Melisa. I understand, and I don't mind helping you out. Amy is adorable." You reassured.

She smiled at you, feeling slightly emotional by the look on her face. With the utmost care, you gave her the sleeping toddler.

"I'll help you with the bags." You told her, getting up the couch with her. Looking around at the toys scattered around and then to the new plush she furrowed her brows in confusion.

"Did you buy her all of this?" She asked.

"No. He did." You said pointing at the man leaning behind the kitchen counter.

It was absolutely ridiculous to say that the man, in all black, with a mask made of a human skull, with the most terrifying glance you could fall on, had bought so many toys for a toddler after she had simply said 'please'.

You both walked to the doorstep as she stopped in front of Ghost.

"I'm sorry lieutenant.. I hope she didn't make a fuss. I'm very thankful to you both for keeping her… and for the toys." She said.

"No problem. She's a nice kid." He said.

You smiled at him, he noticed. You grabbed the two little bags and followed Melisa out, walking down the stairs to her car.

"He's pretty nice actually, for a cold blooded killer he is reputed for." She remarked.

"He's still a terrifying man, who sticks up to his reputation by the reports of missions I've seen. He's just… calmer, here." You said.

She had put Amy into her car seat.

"He bought her… a car seat." You said. It sounded more like a thought coming out of your mouth, as if for yourself, it was still something your brain was trying to process.

"He did? Just… for today?" She asked.

"Yeah. We went to the store, and I guess he was worried for her safety, and immediately went out and bought her the car seat." You explained.

Now you remembered how he seemed deep in thoughts during breakfast. He had been thinking about it.

"Well. He seems like a good man." She said softly, closing the back door.

"Yeah.. you're right." You smiled at her. "I trust that this stays in between us." You asked.

"Don't worry. I wouldn't say anything that involves my daughter to anyone. This situation stays knowledge for us only." She assured. You knew that she was extremely worried to have her child on the line. Unfortunately, it's part of the job to earn enemies, and everyone wants to keep their loved one away from it.

Melisa thanked you again as you handed her the bags. You offered to take care of Amy if she ever needed again. After hugging her goodbye, you headed back up to the apartment.

Locking the front door behind you, you walked into the living room where you saw Ghost, holding what now seemed to be his favorite mug, standing behind the counter.

"You look tired. You should head to sleep." He remarked.

He was right. You were tired. Taking care of a child wasn't easy, you were glad for his help. You walked up to him, you saw him stiffen.

"Thank you Ghost. Your help was really appreciated. And I had an amazing day. Amy adored it. So… again, thank you Gh-"

"Simon." He interrupted.

You blinked.

"Wh-what..?" You whispered.

He stepped closer, barely inches away.

"My name. It's Simon." He clarified.

Your mouth opened. Then shut itself again.

Simon.

"(Y/N)." You blurted out.

His eyes flashed something unknown.

"(Y/N).." he whispered, sending a delightful shiver down your spine. Your name, on his lips. Fuck…

"Simon…" you whispered too.

You felt his fingertips rush to your hip, hovering there, too close yet so far. After a second he lowered his hand back to his body.

"You're welcome. It was a good day." He added.

You nodded, smiling at him, trying to hide the obvious way your heart was racing. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you watched him step back, gaining some composure.

"Goodnight (Y/N)." He said.

"Goodnight Simon."

----

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shakespeareanwannabe · 19 days

Text

As You Wish, Chapter 12

Summary: When arriving at Camp Silver Star, Abby Floyd was anticipating a summer of adventure with an ocean separating her from the three people she loved most: her mom, her Uncle Bob and her Aunt Natasha. But after a run in with Charlie Seresin, an extremely familiar looking and irritating camper in a different cabin, her summer plans take a turn that neither girl ever could have expected.

Trigger Warnings: reader's children are described as being blond with green eyes because genetics are wild and Jake's genes are strong, reader is canonically Bob's sister (but biological relation is never discussed), reader goes by Buttercup and is tattooed, drinking, swearing, reference to an accident

32nd Street Naval Station, 12 years ago

The situation was almost eerily familiar. He stood in his crisp khaki uniform, in line with Bob, Natasha and Javy, just like he had that day almost a year ago. The differences were marked, however. Not only was Rooster in line with them, waiting to be tapped out, but his ring now lay on her finger and his babies were growing in her belly.

Three months. They had been gone for three damn months, and that had been three months too long in Jake’s book. Would he be able to feel the babies kicking now? How close were they to coming? Would they remember the sound of his voice? And how had his Buttercup done in his absence? She had been so worried that she wouldn’t be able to handle his deployment so soon, only two weeks married and five months pregnant with twins in a city she didn’t fully feel comfortable with yet.

Communication between the two had been spotty at best; reduced to a handful of phone calls and one lowly Facetime call. He had received three care packages from her though, filled with his favourite snacks, ultrasound photos, and a couple of raunchy photos that had kept him up half the night with the desire to touch her and hear her voice. He thanked god every day that their mission had wrapped up relatively quickly and the aircraft carrier had been able to dock sooner rather than later.

Bob was the first one pulled out of line, tapped out by his mother, who had come to stay with Buttercup for the last two weeks. Then Javy, his sister smiling over at Jake, who waved her off. He would be tapped out by his wife and only by his wife. Nat gave him a mocking salute as she strode off with Yale, and Rooster flashed him a playful middle finger as Mav tapped him on the shoulder.

Finally, finally, he spotted her, waddling slowly through the thinning crowd. She had grown since the last time he saw her, the skin of her belly stretched tight as their babies grew, but still she looked thinner than he thought she would, especially in her face. And she was moving so slowly, both hands resting under her bump as she navigated her way toward him. Jake’s heart raced as he took her in. She was beautiful, of course, but she looked so…tired. Sad.

A spark of joy raced across her face when she locked eyes with him, and he felt a weight lift off his shoulders as she smiled brightly at him and sped up as best she could.

“Hey hotshot,” she whispered, standing toe to toe with him. “Kiss me.”

All it took was her hand tapping his shoulder lightly before he wrapped her in his arms and kissed a sweet kiss to her lips, his hands journeying downward to help share the weight of her belly.

“As you wish, darlin’,” he whispered against her lips. “As you wish.”

Seresin Ranch, Clifton, Texas, Now

The drive back to the ranch had been…awkward, to say the least. Savannah, thankfully, had gone home with her parents, her mother claiming that she would be in touch in a few days, but Jake had never pictured being in his truck with his two daughters and his ex-wife, a rental car packed with their nearest and dearest trailing behind them.

Buttercup had been strangely quiet on the drive to the ranch, her sharp eyes taking in the scenery while her ears no doubt were honed in on the rapid conversation her daughters were having in the back seat. Not that Jake blamed her for her silence. They’d both been taken aback when faced with the blackmail their daughters had laid at their feet. The girls would tell them which girl legally belonged to which parent at the end of their seven-day trip to the ranch, during which they would go on the annual trail ride, swim in the pool, go to one of Javy’s football games, and probably have a backyard bash to celebrate all the birthdays and Christmases they had missed out on.

Jake couldn’t help but swallow down his nerves as he turned down the long driveway that led to the ranch house. The last time he and Buttercup had spent any extended amount of time together, it had ended with tears and a courtroom. He still woke up sometimes in the middle of the night, the sound of the judge’s gavel ringing in his ears and the sight of Buttercup’s gaunt and teary face flickering behind his eyelids. But the girls needed this, and, frankly, Jake thought he and Buttercup needed it too. Time to act like a family, co-parent without an ocean in the way, and, Jake reminded himself, time for both the girls to get to know their future stepmother and for Buttercup to feel secure in allowing another woman near her children.

“I missed it here,” he heard Charlie sigh, his eyes jumping to the rearview mirror to see if he could spot which twin had spoken, but both of their mouths were clamped shut, as though they knew he would try to suss out which one was legally his responsibility.

“It’s pretty…” Buttercup murmured beside him, taking in the fields and the trees that lined the driveway. “I thought you said your grandfather’s ranch was kind of run down?”

Jake felt a smile tug on his lips. She remembered. He’d only mentioned it once or twice, in conversations about how they could manage the holidays when they got married, but she remembered.

“Coyote, Rooster and I fixed it up,” he replied in a smooth voice, pulling his truck up to the side of the farmhouse. “Took a bit, but we got it done, and now it’s a pretty successful working ranch.”

“Tourists can come here too, mom,” one of the girls piped up. “There’s cabins for city people who want a dude ranch experience.”

“Or for people who just want to get away,” the other girl smiled as the truck was shut off.

Jake sighed and stepped out of the truck, watching the SUV full of their friends and family coast up the driveway behind him.

“Alright, Abby, you, Buttercup, your aunt and uncle are all staying in one of the empty dude cabins—”

“No, we’re not,” one of the twins (Charlie, maybe?) glared at him. “I already texted Claudia. She had Luke move the futon into the bedroom. We are staying together.” She linked arms with her twin and they nodded decisively at him.

“And mom isn’t staying in a dude cabin with Uncle Bob and Auntie Nat,” her sister added. “She’s staying in the guest bedroom. In the house. With us.”

“Girls, I don’t think—”

“Please?” they batted their eyes at them. “We just want to know what it feels like for all of us to wake up under the same roof. Like a family.” They pouted, their eyes shining.

Jake groaned as he crouched to meet their eyes, waving a warning finger between them. “This is emotional blackmail, and you both know it.”

They both shrugged. “And we’re okay with that.”

Jake couldn’t tell if he wanted to laugh or hit something. They were definitely his daughters. Only someone with his DNA could come up with a scheme like this. Only someone who grew up with Rooster and Coyote would even think of something like this. And he had no doubt that the two men had something to do with it as well.

“Are you okay with this?” he turned to Buttercup, a gentle look in his eye. She’d been quiet, too quiet, since they’d left the hotel. “If you’re not, we could always ground ‘em for manipulating their parents.”

She smiled weakly at him. “It’s fine. It’ll be fine. It’s only for one week anyway. If we can’t handle one week living under the same roof…” she trailed off with a sigh, and he could read her mind just as well as he always had been able to. They’d planned on living under the same roof for the rest of their lives. They’d planned on growing old together. If they couldn’t handle one week together, then it was just further proof of how badly they had failed their girls.

Before he could doubt himself, he reached out and squeezed her shoulder. “It’ll be okay,” he murmured. “I promise. No asshole-ish, condescending behaviour from me.”

She snorted, the tension between them breaking. “So, you’re saying that you won’t be yourself?”

He pressed a hand to his chest dramatically, gasping and groaning. “You wound me, Buttercup.”

The girls giggled, sharing a look between them before Natasha stomped between them, heading for the house like she owned the place. Jake turned and looked at the SUV in time to watch Javy striding towards his cabin, muttering under his breath and kicking at a weed that was in his way.

“Jesus, what happened there?” he muttered to Buttercup, who shook her head.

Rooster strolled toward them, his hands pressed deeply into his pockets as he shook his head, his usually tan skin pale.

“Rooster?”

He shook his head at them. “I’m surprised they didn’t kill each other, man.”

Buttercup bit her lip, concern spreading across her features as she turned to watch her friend walk into her ex-husband’s house. “What happened? Why are they at each other’s throats? I thought they—”

“Doesn’t matter,” Rooster griped at her, looking at Jake. “I’m goin’ to make dinner.”

Jake nodded before turning to grab the luggage out of the bed of his truck. “Girls, you know where your bedroom is. Buttercup…” he bowed with a flourish. “Right this way and I’ll show you to your room.” She raised a hand to take her luggage from him, but he turned before she could even think. “You know me better than that, Buttercup. C’mon now.” He turned to lead them inside. “Since Phoenix seems to think she can stroll into my home whenever she pleases, you can come with us and I’ll show you to your cabin later, Bob.”

“You do put out quite the spread, Rooster,” Buttercup complimented as she dug into her mushroom risotto. “Everything is delicious.”

Rooster’s grunt had Jake aiming a kick at him under the table. Rooster shot him a sharp look in response, but Phoenix cut off any retort he might have been able to muster.

“What the hell, man? Why couldn’t you cook like this before? You nearly burned down the old apartment trying to make toast one time.”

“Needed something to keep me busy during retirement. And these two idiots would’ve let Charlie and I starve to death if I didn’t step up.”

“Are you self-taught?” Bob questioned, cutting up his baked chicken breast.

He shook his head. “Culinary school. Luckily for me, Uncle Sam was willing to pay my tuition since I was sinking all my money into this place.”

“I thought it was the Seresin Ranch?” Buttercup looked at Jake, who shrugged.

“Been a family ranch for decades. But Rooster and Coyote are equal partners with me. Mostly silent partners, but it was Coyote’s idea to turn the south field into a tourist trap. Ever since, we’ve been doing comfortably for ourselves.”

Buttercup looked around the cozy but elegant dining area. “Looks like more than comfortable to me.”

“Well, you’d know, wouldn’t you, Buttercup?” Jake smiled at her over his wine glass. “New York Times bestseller list? And I heard that you’re not one of those hacks who buys a bunch of copies of your own book just to make that list.”

Buttercup blushed into her rosé. “I’ve done okay for myself.”

“Better than okay,” Phoenix piped up with a reproachful look at her friend. “They’re trying to get her to host a TED Talk about creative writing and literary themes.”

Javy whistled under his breath. “Damn, kid. That’s awesome. What’s holding you back from sayin’ yes?”

Buttercup shifted uncomfortably. “There’s a reason I write under a penname, I suppose. I don’t really want to bring attention to myself. Or to my family.”

Rooster huffed under his breath. “And here I was thinking that it was because you didn’t want Jake to find you when you disappeared.”

Everyone froze, Jake’s laser glare slicing through the frosty air towards his friend.

“I…I…” Buttercup felt her eyes well with tears and she gripped her wine glass so tightly she was afraid that the stem would snap in her hands.

Rooster stood with a screech of his chair against the hardwood. “I’m done,” he muttered. “Enjoy the rest of your dinner.”

Buttercup half rose out of her seat as though to follow him, but Jake’s gentle hand on her arm gave her pause. “Ignore him. He’s got his own crap to work out. It’s not your fault, darlin’.”

She sniffed but nodded. “I…I didn’t mean to disappear. I called you. A bunch of times. But you never answered.”

Jake nodded, the tension remaining thick, the girls watching them warily. “I tried to call you too. Finally got an answer once too. But it was some British guy yelling at me to stop calling him at 3 o’clock in the morning. Figured it was a new man in your life.”

Buttercup shook her head. “It wasn’t. I mean…I’ve been too busy to try to date. But I can see why you thought that. And why you’d stop calling. I guess maybe the court transcribed my number wrong?”

Jake shrugged. “Must be. Tried calling Bob and Phoenix too. But it would only ring once then send me to voicemail.”

Buttercup sighed and glared at her family. “You blocked him?”

Bob shrugged but Phoenix met her eyes. “Yeah, I did. I barely wanted to talk to him when I had to work with him. Why would I want to talk to him when I didn’t have to?”

Jake, Charlie and Abby flinched at the venom in her voice.

“Nat…” Bob murmured under his breath in warning, but it was Javy’s voice that caught her attention.

“Sure, Phoenix, keep blaming us for your problems,” he bit out, eyes on his food. “I guess being angry at the world is easier than being angry at yourself.”

Phoenix slammed her fork down on the table. “Are you saying that getting grounded was my own fault?”

Javy stood, looming over the table. “I would never say that. But we all tried to be there for you when you were forced into retirement. It ain’t our fault that you couldn’t handle it and pushed us all away. Now you’re all alone and you can’t blame anyone but yourself for that.”

Phoenix stood to retort, the hairs on her arms standing at attention, but another screech of a chair stole their attention.

“That is enough,” Buttercup hissed. “My children are present, and they have enough going on without you two having a petty argument. If you need to whine at each other, do it outside. Because they do not need to hear this. Be adults or get out.”

Phoenix blinked at her for a moment before throwing her napkin down and stalking out of the room. A second later the front door slammed shut and everyone flinched.

Javy’s head hung low as he leaned against the table. “I’m gonna go too. Night girlies.” He bent to press kisses to Charlie and Abby’s hair as he passed them and left the room after clapping Jake on the shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” Buttercup whispered to Jake, resettling into her seat. “But that’s not the kind of argument they should be having in front of our kids.”

The girls were indeed picking at their food, skin ashen.

“Don’t worry about it,” he promised, reaching out to squeeze her hand before picking up his fork again. “It’s not the first time Rooster or Javy have been tossed out of here for having a temper. I doubt it’ll be the last.”

Buttercup nodded, clearing her throat. “Girls, why don’t you tell me about this trail ride we’re going on tomorrow? You’re so insistent on going on it, but you haven’t really given me details.”

Charlie smiled brightly. “We leave way before the sun comes up and we get back the next night in time for Uncle Roo’s famous chili. We go all over the ranch, through the forest, up into the hills. Sometimes we see the cattle! And we camp out in tents and eat smores and hot dogs and Dad lets me stay up way late and tells me stories!”

Jake bit his lip to hide his smile. That was definitely his Charlie girl, but he wasn’t going to call her on it. Not when he wanted his girls to stay with him for as long as they could.

“I started the tradition when Charlie was just a baby,” he smiled. “We didn’t have a whole lot of ranch hands back then, so my granddad and I went out to round up the cattle with Rooster and Coyote. Charlie rode with me, strapped to my chest. She came with us every year until we had enough hands to do it on their own. That’s when we decided to move the trail ride to the last week of summer. As a kind of celebration before school starts again.”

Buttercup was smiling softly into her glass. “That sounds wonderful. I’m sure you’ll all have a wonderful time.”

Both girls made a sound of protest, and Jake chuckled. “Oh, c’mon now, Buttercup. You’re not gettin’ away from me that easily. You’re coming too.”

Buttercup bit her lip and looked pleadingly at him. “Jake, you know I can’t ride. And I’m an indoor human, not an outdoor one. I don’t do camping. I hate the outdoors, except for the beach. And I’m way too old to be sleeping on the ground.”

“You rode well when you took me out riding on the beach for my birthday,” he smiled. “And you came to the Daggers camp night, when we all slept out in Mav and Penny’s backyard. And you’re not old. You’re just as young and beautiful as you were the day I met you.”

Buttercup felt her cheeks blaze with heat. “Jake, please?”

The twins leaned forward and jutted their lower lips out. “Please mom?”

“For us?”

Buttercup shuttered her eyes. “No! Please, no more puppy dog eyes!”

Jake leaned in and gave her a similar, pleading look. “C’mon, Buttercup. You can’t say no to all three of us, can you?”

Buttercup groaned when she saw the look on his face. “You’re incorrigible, and their puppy dog face is clearly all your fault.”

The three of them cheered.

“You won’t regret this, I promise,” Jake murmured in her ear before sitting back in his chair and finishing his dinner.

Buttercup arose to the sound of a car door slamming, and thought, for a moment, that she was back in her flat in London. But the bed was unfamiliar and pale blue walls were not the lilac of her own bedroom. The distant sound of a horse whinnying brought back the flood of memories from the day before.

Jake. She was at Jake’s ranch, with her daughters. Both of them. Rooster was there too, and angry as all hell at her. Javy and Natasha were at each others’ throats. Bob was silently stewing out in a cabin somewhere on the property. It all felt like something she would write in one of her books, not live out in her real life.

With a sigh, she rolled out of bed and stretched. The girls had told her that they left for the trail ride before the sun even came up. Well, Charlie had told her, but she didn’t want to call her out and ruin the deal they had made. Jake had been right when he said that they all needed this. They needed to learn how to co-parent, and the girls deserved to spend more time with both them and each other. And part of that would be going on the trail ride as a family.

Slowly, Buttercup dressed in her oldest jeans and a cotton t-shirt, draping the flannel Jake had leant to her over her arm before hoisting the backpack Jake had helped her pack with camping essentials onto her shoulder.

Despite the arguments from the night before, Buttercup had enjoyed her first night on Seresin Ranch. Both her girls were clearly enamored with their father, and their father with them. Though she loved her family dynamic in London, she had to admit that their family meals were few and far between. Bob was flying more and more flights with overnight layovers, and Natasha would be out with friends more often than not. So, it would just be her and Abby around the dinner table. And she loved that, she really did, but she couldn’t help but feel that her daughter felt a little lonely in their small bubble.

Her girl wasn’t the biggest social butterfly (a trait she had undoubtedly inherited from her mother), though Buttercup knew that she had a few solid friends at school. Her girl got good grades, enjoyed her riding at the local arena, and loved spending time with her aunt and uncle when they were available. Still, Buttercup had always wanted to give her daughter a huge network of people she could rely on. Charlie clearly had that on the ranch, and Buttercup wanted to stick around long enough for at least some of those people to adopt Abby as their own as well.

Buttercup treaded softly over the hardwood floor and down the stairs, only stilling when she heard a sweet, feminine voice echoing off the walls.

“I told you, sugar. All is forgiven. I don’t blame you for not talkin’ about your other little girl. It must’ve been so painful for you to even think about her,” the voice simpered.

“I know it’s not ideal, Savannah,” Jake’s voice replied as Buttercup crept closer to the kitchen. “I’m sorry I lied to you. I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to reconsider everything. You planned on becoming a stepmother to one child. Not two.”

Buttercup leaned against the wall next to the kitchen doorway. From her angle, she could see Jake standing in the kitchen, his strong hands resting on Savannah’s hips.

“Oh tush, sugar! It’ll be twice the fun with two little girls runnin’ around here. I’m sorry I fainted. I was just overwhelmed. But it’s not going to happen again. I promise.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to take some time to think about it?”

Buttercup watched as Savannah leaned in and planted a deep kiss on Jake’s lips. Her stomach roiled and Buttercup took a few steps away. She had no reason to feel nauseated at the sight of Jake kissing another girl. He was going to marry this woman. She would be the stepmother to her children. Sure, nobody but Jake seemed particularly keen on Savannah, but the same could be said about Buttercup herself, given Rooster’s reaction to her the night before. Whatever she was feeling, she would have to just get over it. That social network she wanted to build for her daughters would include Savannah, and it was Buttercup’s job as a mother to help build that bridge between them.

“Oh!” Buttercup looked up and found Savannah in the doorway, staring at her. “I’m so sorry, honey. I didn’t realize you were there.”

Buttercup forced a smile onto her face as she tamped down her nausea. “No, no. It’s my fault. Jetlag, you know? I was feeling a little dizzy and had to take a minute to breathe.”

Savannah smiled brightly at her. “Oh, that’s a darn shame. Jakey was tellin’ me that you’re an author?”

Buttercup blinked at the sudden change in topic but nodded. “That’s right.”

Savannah squealed. “That gives me the best idea ever! You should write my vows for me.”

Buttercup fought hard to keep the damper on her nausea as her stomach threatened to roll over. “I’m sorry?”

Savannah’s smile twitched, the sugary sweet smile changing to something predatory and feline for all of a second. “It’ll just sound so much better coming from a professional writer,” she simpered. “All those words of love and commitment, from me to Jakey,” she sighed. “It would be ten times better than whatever I could come up with.”

Buttercup bit the inside of her cheek hard enough to bleed as she smiled faintly at her. “I…will think about it.”

Savannah squealed again. “Ah, just think about how much it would mean to your girls. Havin’ their mother help welcome their new stepmama into their lives. It would be so sweet.”

Buttercup rolled her shoulders and nodded kindly. “Of course. I’ll think about it.” A sliver of an idea formed in Buttercup’s mind as she considered the saccharine woman in front of her. “You know what? While I think about it, why don’t you try to get to know your future stepdaughters more?”

Savannah blinked at her, the too-white smile on her face dimming as she stared at her. “How would you want me to do that?”

Jake stood in front of the four horses he had tacked up that morning. His own horse, Firewall, stood with the majority of the camping equipment stored behind his saddle. Lovebug had saddlebags full of food and water. The other two horses, a sweet chestnut gelding named Starburst and a black mare named Angel, would carry their other bags as well as Abby and Buttercup.

“C’mon you two punks!” he called as Charlie and Abby raced out of the house. “Let’s get a move on! We’re burning daylight!”

“Sorry dad,” Abby panted, moving towards Starburst. “Our bathroom is way too small for two people.”

“Where’s mom?” Charlie patted Lovebug as she stared toward the house.

Almost like she had been cued, Buttercup emerged from the house, dressed in a pair of yoga pants and a tank top.

“That what you’re ridin’ in, darlin’?” Jake called. “I don’t know if that’s the best getup for a trail ride.”

Buttercup shook her head, cradling a cup of coffee between her hands. “I talked to my editor this morning. I have a deadline coming up and owe her a hundred and fifty more pages.”

Jake felt his heart sink as the girls bemoaned the news.

“But mom—”

“—you promised!”

Buttercup smiled softly at them over her mug. “I know, my darlings, and I’m so sorry. But I figured you could use this time well anyway.”

“We already know dad, Mom,” Charlie griped.

“That’s not what I’m talking about, baby,” Buttercup grinned, an almost wicked look on her face. “I thought you could get to know your new stepmother on this trail ride. After all, she’ll be part of the family too.”

Jake’s heart sunk even lower as Savannah strode out of the house, looking like a model for a horse magazine, all dolled up in the latest riding gear.

Abby and Charlie stared at their mother with an unreadable look on their faces as Buttercup winked at them. “Enjoy!”

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