#like imagine being able to nearly make out the shape by seeing or feeling it

[roxiewyatthb]

sleeping on their right side, still being able to hear their heart, and then resting your hand over their left side so you feel each beat of their heart while you rest

literally THEE safest space in the universe

[aquanutart]

I was talking and I mentioned that I have my old Game Boy and original Pokemon cartridge. I said, "I think they still work."

I was told, "The internal batteries on the Game Boy cartridges have run out. They're all dead."

"Oh," I said, trying not to show how crestfallen I was. I felt like I was losing nerd cred for not knowing that, although I never kept up with that type of info anyway. I'm here for the fantasy and imaginative aspects of games, and tend not to follow the competitive or technical details.

I tried not to feel anything as I went home. If they were real animals, I reminded myself, I would have had to say goodbye long ago.

But like so many other people, Pokemon was my childhood. It was all I thought about and dreamed about, and the closest thing I could imagine to heartbreak was the knowledge that they weren't real. I spent nearly all my time writing longhand self-insert Pokemon fanfiction--far more than I spent actually playing the game. My Pokemon were with me in my imagination wherever I went. I started playing Pokemon Blue when I was 5, and the last time I had played it was probably when I was 9 or 10. I remembered I had turned it on again one more time after that, not to play it, but to look at my childhood Pokemon.

It was during high school, after a move overseas that completely upended my life, and I was struggling with the crushing blow of being taken away from everything I knew and trying to make sense of anything (least of all adolescence) in another language. All I wanted was to go back to childhood and have everything go back to how it was before.

Seeing my Pokemon, just as I'd left them, had comforted me. I had looked at their stats pages, taken photos of them with my digital camera (that I don't even know if I still have), and then turned it off without doing anything.

That was probably 9 or 10 years after the games came out. It had been a long time since then. I had long since taken the AA batteries out of my Game Boy Color and left it untouched. I didn't even have AA batteries anymore.

It had worked then. But now it had been 27 years... I thought about not trying to turn my cartridge back on. As long as I didn't turn it on, I could believe my Pokemon were still there, the way I remembered them.

On my day off, which happened to be Pokemon Day, I googled and read that some people on forums and Reddit were still able to play their original Pokemon games.

Then... it was possible. I went out to buy toothpaste. At the store, I asked where I could find AA batteries.

It was a big thing for me to be able to go to the store and buy things myself. When I moved at age 13, I felt like something went wrong with growing up. It was difficult to follow what people were saying, and people didn't always understand what I said either. I had been introverted even in English, but now I had enough negative experiences that I became afraid and stopped trying to talk to people altogether.

I threw myself into video games and reliving childhood memories. The internet was where I could communicate in my first language and understand. I lived online and didn't interact with the real world. On the internet I felt like I was understood and could find people who shared my interests the way I did, but in the real world it always felt like I could get hurt if anyone knew me.

I realize now that I could have had a better experience overseas if I'd known how to adapt and socialize, but this was not something I knew even in English, and trying to learn in another language made it ten times harder. I'm sorry now for missing out on interactions that I know I could have had, but I just didn't know how. I wouldn't know how until I learned, and it took me a long time to learn.

I grew up online, in the company of others who had trouble fitting in with the real world, even in their own language. Those experiences shaped me, and the friendships I've made and support I've received online are invaluable to me. The internet gave me a way to live, and through it I learned how to interact with others. But in many ways, for many years, it felt like my life was put on hold and I stopped growing up.

Several years ago I moved back, to not far from where I was born, and I was able to work for the first time. I began to interact with people and feel like I had a place in the real world.

After shutting myself away for so many years, every little step I made out in the world felt terrifying. But every little thing I did on my own made me feel like I was living for the first time.

Even something as little as going to the store and buying a pack of batteries.

I was directed to a shelf at the end of an aisle, and found myself looking at a rack of lithium AA batteries. Did they not sell the old kind anymore?

I walked around to the other side and was relieved to find the familiar black and brown Duracell batteries I'd known from my childhood. I felt more confident about putting in a battery that looked the same as I remembered. The smallest pack they sold was an 8-pack for $12.99. I really didn't need 8 batteries. I didn't have any other devices that used them.

I thought, what if I turn it on and it doesn't work and I'll have wasted $12.99?

I also thought we might already have batteries. I might be able to say, "Mom, do we have any batteries?" and she'd pull out two AAs from a drawer somewhere and I'd save my money.

But somehow I felt like part of what was important about this was being an adult and being able to buy my own batteries.

Yet... what if it just ended up making me sad? Was it better not to know?

I went to the checkout with just the toothpaste and stood hesitating at the edge of the checkout line.

If I didn't get the batteries now, and it turned out we didn't have any batteries, I wouldn't try it. I knew I would just put it off until even more time passed, and then... "Are you in line?" someone asked me.

"No," I said, and I turned around and went back to the shelf.

I bought the batteries.

At home, I took out my original Game Boy Color from the drawer where I left it, the one my dad had surprised me with when I was 5 years old and that I had brought overseas and back.

I put the batteries in and turned it on without a cartridge first to make sure the batteries were inserted correctly. The Game Boy logo scrolled across the screen and it made the familiar blinging Game Boy startup noise. I turned it off again, satisfied.

I took out my original Pokemon Blue cartridge, momentarily having to remember which way it went in, and slotted it in.

I turned it on, watched the whole Pokemon Blue intro out of nostalgia, and then pressed START.

My heart leaped for joy.

MY POKEMON!!!! MY POKEMON ARE ALIVE!!! 🥺🥺🥺

My original Pokemon, that were with me in 1998 when I was 5-6 years old, are still with me 27 years later. I want to cry!!! I love the old sprites, I'm SO happy to see them again 😭😭😭 the Pokemon look so little and cheerful at the same time, which I love 🥺🥺🥺 I know there are people with many more hours on their games, who have leveled all their Pokemon to 100. But these are my Pokemon who were with me through my childhood, and I spent many more hours making up stories about them than actually playing the game. I'm so happy to see them again 😭😭😭

All I want is to see my Pokemon. My other Pokemon are in boxes. Now, how do I get to the nearest PC? Where am I?

Oh... Oh. I have to confess something. When I was a kid, I was scared of the dark cave areas, and whenever I got to them, I stopped playing for a while. (I was stuck at Mt. Moon until I was like, 7.) So I never actually beat the game.

And here I am on Victory Road, with the team of Pokemon I was taking to the Elite Four, without an Escape Rope.

The only way for me to see my other Pokemon is... to finally make it through Victory Road, after 27 years?!

[evilminji]

Okay, so maybe it's just me? Projecting my new Tea Phase?

Cause for med reasons, no more energy drinks, only Teeeeeeaaaaa~☆

But honestly? Now that I am an adult and ACTUALLY KNOW HOW TO MAKE IT? Really digging it! Am enjoying the Teas. Mmmmmmm~ leaf broth. I like the fruity ones.

So! IMAGINE~☆ If you will:

Danny. 14 and his parents are LOUD AS FUCK (CRASH BANG SMASH BANG WHIIII-) dispite it being, once again, a school night. This has been going one For Years. That STUPID fucking machine. All God damned hours. Crashes and bangs and powertools. Explosions.

When will it ever end!

He's... he's honestly used it.

Unknowingly? This is is a skill that will come in handy later. Living and functioning while sleep deprived. Healthy? Fuck no. But it's USEFUL. He IS the ten year old downing Monster drinks in the parking lot before school.

It makes him a jittery weirdo. Twitchy. Too much caffeine, not enough sleep, his parents either blew up or TOOK APART the washing machine AGAIN. He... he never stood a chance. It's a miracle the indoor plumbing hasn't been compromised yet... AGAIN.

His blood is more sugar, caffeine, and guarana or whatever those other things in the can are, then actual human blood. He doesn't CARE. He just needs too get decent grades, graduate, and become an astronaut. It's... it's FINE. This is normal. They're FINE.

(If they weren't... someone would have noticed, right? Would have DONE something. Cared. So it HAS to be fine. His family's just weird. It's FINE.)

But THEN...

The Accident.

And his biology CHANGES. Green goo, wrapped vicious and loving, around his very DNA. Like Kintsugi of the body and soul. In green, Green, GREEN. It... it's a lot. Everything changing all at once. Maybe that's why it takes him so long to notice.

Why he thinks "oh, I'm just tired cause I'm running more then usual. Fighting and flying. Doing ghost stuff."

When... when honestly? Some part of him always kinda KNEW. From the very moment he stumbled out of the portal. The aftershocks. The pain. Sam and Tucker crying, scrambling to help him up the stairs. Sam tearing her bag apart looking for her cramps medicine. Because... because pain medication is pain medication.

"It's gonna be okay, Danny. Please. Please god, just take it! I promise it's gonna be okay!"

How do you look your panicked, crying, strongest-person-you-know best friend in the eyes and tell her... you can FEEL it dissolving in your throat. Like the pills were dumped in a human shaped pot of acid. That... that the pain isn't changing... and you... you don't think it's going too.

When you're scared. Might be dying. And you can already tell they think it's their fault. W... when you're all just KIDS. And all you can think is... you can let them know how bad... how bad it hurts...

They'd never be able to live with that knowledge.

Yeah. Yeah, Sam. Thanks. T... The pills helped a lot. He feels better. You really saved the day. He lo... loves you guys so much.

...

.....

He thinks about that moment A LOT. About how much he realized and knew, before the denial kicked in. Before he got so... Tired. Fresh of all that energy. And? You'd think he realize. The mood swings. The irritability. The headaches that disappear the SECOND he goes ghost. That he's in caffeine withdrawal. But? Nope.

He kinda blames the constant ghost attacks for distracting him.

But see... Sam? Doesn't drink tea. Goes against her diet. Tucker was where he GOT his illicit borderline illegal energy drinks. And his sister? Big on flavored sparkling waters. Which are gross to him.

His PARENTS drink a thick tar they insist is coffee. It might be liquid fudge. Zone knows its nearly the same consistency. It's horrifying. No thanks, he wants to LIVE.

It's? Ironically? Mr. Lancer and his constant detentions, that help Danny realize somethings up. Because Mr. Lancer shares. If he makes a cup for himself, he'll make one for you. It's how he was raised. And, yeah, the after school detentions? Those were herbal blends. No caffeine.

But...

But they tasted nice. Were warm. The classroom was quiet and as frustrating as it was? The tea itself? Was always... the one exception to how shit the situation was. So Danny finally broke down and asked about it. Learned Mr. Lancer knew a? Surprisingly LOT about tea. Huh.

Then one day he gets SATURDAY detention. Oh joy!

Bright and early. One of the few times he could be trying, desperately, to be sleeping through his parents cacophony. Catching up on his desperately needed Zzz's. Here he is... getting a handed a new cup of different tea?

Breakfast blend? And a bagel..

N...none hostile breakfast? A quiet space to catch up on his homework? No Dash? Just... just a quiet classroom, some tea, and the sounds on a peaceful morning outside?

......oh.

It's the best time he's had in school in... God, in YEARS. He gets so MUCH done. For once can concentrate. And? Actually, now that he thinks about it? Feels... awake? Or at the very least, not as sleepy. And being a Fenton, whom to the LAST are a genius if eccentric family, it's pretty damn easy to put two and two together.

Tea.

He felt more awake after having Lancer's breakfast blend tea.

He obviously asks about it. Then, after detention is done. Calm packs up. Goes home. Drops his back in his room. Goes ghost. And SHOOTS for the Far Frozen with his phone and an energy drink. Because clearly he's missing something and it's time to ask.

The good doctors of the Frozen are... gently horrified. Clawed hands steeples infront of their mouths as they try to tactfully figure out how to word "Great One, WHAT THE FUCK!?!? Why would you DO THIS TO YOURSELF!?" Because that... is not professional. Breathe. In, out, in, out. We can do this.

They get the most patient and restrained of their elders to... CALMLY, very VERY Calmly, ask some medical questions. Listen. Without judgements! Because they are medical professionals. Who do NOT want to scream, forever, into the void. Certainly not. So Calm! (They are going to BURN THAT CAN IN-)

Which! Huh. Yeah, that explains the constant exhaustion. He was poisoning himself. Kinda. Not so much the GHOST but the human half. Putting to much strain and too much trace chemicals, minerals, and buckets of sugar. General "mmmm :/ Don't Like THAT ™" energy from the Goo causing it too try and constantly burning it all out of existence. Endlessly.

The more he put in, the more there was to burn. The more there was to burn, the more tired he became. The more tired he became... well, the more he put in. It was a slowly lethal starvation cycle. Big Yikes.

The TEA on the other hand? Those are leaves. The good recognizes leaves and water. Other various plants, dried or otherwise. It ignores them as "fine" until they reach a "problematic" threshold, apparently? So... *blank look at the doctor*

*sighs in medical professional*

Tea? Good. Satan Can of Halfa Poison? Bad. Please drink tea.

👍🏻👍🏻👍🏻

And it's like MAGIC. He's suddenly BACK, baby! Ha ha ha! Skulker you fuckin THOUGHT?! Oh it's 2am? Well SUPRISE bitch! He's bright eyed and bushy tailed! His grades are up AND he's beating you like a drum! He has ice breakers for old people discussions now!! The local Tea Shops have NEVER been so well protected.

He actually manages to graduate with not just decent grades? But GOOD ones.

And the second. The INSTANT. He is legally his own man? Has his important paperwork squirrelled away and the go bags safely WELL outside of Amity. It's time. He meets OUTSIDE the house, because he's not an idiot. He's been practicing his Clones and has them ready to grab his parents so he can get out of there alive. Jazz is on video call from Star city.

His parents... suspected. Not at first, but as goofy as they are? They aren't ACTUALLY idiots. They've been watching, going over old research. Trying, failing, to get in touch with the League to have THEIR team test their research. Peer review is critical after all. They... they had been so certain. Are still somewhat certain.

But their research doesn't exactly ACCOUNT for this "halfa" phenomenon. So, there is a very real chance they are missing something. The one thing the DO know? Danny is their son. Stuck in some eternal mortally wounded state or not, he is a hero. And they weren't there for him.

They can't change their beliefs on a dime. But they've clearly missed a great deal. And refuse to fall to academic bias. The very thing that got them LAUGHED AT for decades. Mocked and belittled. This is their life's work. By God they WILL find out the truth.

It's? Better then he could have hoped. Not perfect. But better.

He helps set up safeties and a security check point at the portal. Both sides. He's kinda a big deal these days, mom, dad. Ghost scientists eager to work with them. A whole TEAM under their command. It certain endears ghosts to them a whole lot more. Then?

Copy of the blue prints, go bag turned into normal bags, Danny's off to college.

Bounces from major to major. Nothing really capturing his interest. As he aged, he's need less sleep. Gotten stronger. Grown into his father's height and grandfathers build. Tucker keeps calling him a dorito. Danny retaliates with Ancient Egyptian Cyber/Pharoah Twink allegations. According to SAM they are both dumbasses.

She's not WRONG... but hey D:<

Eventually? A really niche botany seminar run by Pamela Isely catches the attention of Tucker, who forwards it to him n Sam. Nice ™. It's being held in her Murder Park! Cool! Obviously they have to go. So off to Gotham they go. And? When they get there? Sam is APPALLED.

She may HATE landlords as much as the next activist.... but LOOK at all these run down, foreclosed, rotting buildings! Beautiful gothic infrastructure! Those could be businesses or homes! Danny, busy with signing them up, makes the mistake of tuning her out as she rants in fury. She does this some times. Needs to vent. Uh huh, you're very right. You should contact somebody. I agree. Mmmhmmm.

Hey, Sam, Ms. Isely needs your-....

Sam?

Oh FUCK ™.

By the time the Seminar come around? Sam has violently kicked in the door of more then a feel reality offices. Owns QUITE a few buildings. Danny is sweating. She... she's doing the THING again. The "gimme your Ghost Crew, I KNOW you have a highly specific Ghost Crew, don't you DARE lie to me or I take your knee caps, Danny" stare.

>.> Sam you can't keep doin- *stare intensifies* Yes Ma'am. *Pulls out Fenton phone* and so? Here come the renovation crew. The ONLY honest building Crew in all of Gotham. They cut no corners. Can't be threatened. Gangs, villians, and even local government office try to arrange... accidents on the build sites.

Nothing. Nada. In fact, it turns out more dangerous for THEM then this crew of outsiders!

Wtf!

Then? After these two College age weirdos finish Poison Fuckin Ivys HIGHLY SUSPECT biology seminar? Manson fucks off to who knows where! Leaving what HAS to be "the muscle" behind. Cause I mean? Look, at the guy! He's huge! And what does he do?

Goes building to building. Rents them out to low income families. Honest, hard working shop keepers. And? Eventually decides to settle smack dab in the middle of Gotham, in the shadow of Wayne fuckin tower, spitting distance from the Space museum..... and open? A tea shop? The FUCK?

"The Zone".

In a weird shade of green. With little ghosts, wearing crowns, because and I quote "it's funny"? Certainly crazy enough for Gotham. But like, it's loud as FUCK here. Crowded. There are gas attacks and shit. It'll never las-....

It stays untouched for MONTHS.

Sometimes being the ONLY building near it to be untouched. Gas NEVER getting in. The damn place a BUNKER. And? Despite looking like it's two floors? It's three. You enter and your actually on the second floor. No one's even sure where the fuck the guy LIVES, since he never seems to leave.

Not only THAT. But it... it's like one of those old school apothecaries. Big ol bank of drawers. Guy'll mix up your blend for you right as you watch. Tea nuts are actually risking COMING to Gotham to try his stuff. Writing articles. Apparently he has some pretty rare shit in those drawers.

Some UNKNOWN shit, according to one guy on ViewTube.

There's this whole debate on if it's Ultra Super Rare or that means it's just super cheap knock off crap. Some of them he won't make for people, even if they ask. There's a rumor it's for Meta's with specific diets. Or alien blends. But no one can verify that. Cause like?

Anyone who tries to cause trouble?

Can't fucking FIND the place. And if you're already inside? You just... drop. Stone cold unconscious. It's definitely magic but no one knows if it's HIS or Manson's? You know? He won't talk. Gets annoyed when harrased.

Which off course!

Leaves Only ONE gentleman for the job. An elite special forces trained expert. Polite, dignified, enjoyer of fine Teas. Alfred "Why do you chucklefucks keep forgetting I was in the Queens Service and a Registered Badass" Pennyworth.

After all! He DOES have the days shopping to do.

@babbling-babull @the-witchhunter @hdgnj @legitimatesatanspawn @lolottes

[deansdelicate]

I CAN SEE YOU

CHAPTER I: YOU BRUSH PAST ME IN THE HALLWAY

seth rollins x fem!writer+producer reader

word count: [5.3K]

warnings: no use of y/n, mild cursing, talks of anxiety, overall feel good chapter with some slight flirting.

🎧 the soundtrack

summary: Your first day on the main roster wasn't something you ever saw coming, but taking risks is the exact reason why you were there. Still, like walking on new grounds, you find yourself on edge, it a miracle that an encounter with a certain someone leaves you feeling a little at ease with the new beginnings ahead.

The pep in your step felt a little different, and so did the air that belonged to a city you’ve never stepped foot in before—but all of that culminated into nothing when you were thrown in with the sharks not knowing what exactly you were getting yourself into.

The corridors were far more confined than you remembered them being when you were a little kid, and the stares you got were almost gawking. So much different from the admiration that used to fill their orbs when you were a little girl running up and down similar hallways in a different state, different city, different night.

But it’s because you knew they didn’t look at you like that little girl anymore. Nowadays, your entire being was shaped by who your mother and father were, plus the prestigious family name you possessed and the legacy you were expected to carry on.

All of it is foreign, like figuring out how to walk again and this time it’s in a world full of larger-than-life characters that even you cannot seem to fathom quite yet. You grew up around all of it, but you never imagined walking in the shoes of those before you and paving your own way.

A way towards what could be the downfall of your family name or the rise of a new era that started with you.

“The evolution of this company lies within the palm of my hand and—shoot!”

Your footsteps came to an abrupt halt, your body meeting a stiff chest that nearly knocked you to your feet if it weren’t for the quick hands keeping you up by the waistline.

The loose paper scripts fell from your hands, cascading across the concrete floors, losing their orderly place from where you were practicing for what felt like the millionth time.

“Shit! Let me help you, I’m sorry.” A deep voice spoke apologetically, making sure you were standing upright before letting up on his grasp.

The man immediately beat you to it, bending down to gather all the papers, trying his best not to mix them up even more than he already did. Tapping them against the ground to get them in a crisp stack, he rose up and met your eyes.

“Thanks…sorry, it was my fault. I wasn’t paying attention.” You apologized, taking the stack of papers he handed to you.

He shook his head smiling assuringly, “I should’ve been more careful,” he paused for a brief moment, tilting his head at you as if he was trying to place you in his memory.

“Are you new here? I haven’t seen you around before.”

You nodded, smiling widely, trying your best to wash away the first day jitters, “Today’s my first day, actually.”

His lips parted in silent surprise before speaking once more.

“Welcome to the team, my names Seth by the way.” He held out his hand, offering it to you politely.

“Nice to meet you, Seth.” You shook his with a grin on your face.

All of him suddenly hitting you like a ton of bricks, realizing that you should’ve known him the second you two caught eyes.

You had been studying the program closely as a part of your preparation for the venture. Your father making sure you knew every face and every name, not just out of respect but to understand the importance of storytelling—something you were about to be a part of in mere hours as the clocked ticked on.

So you were familiar with Seth Rollins. The mastermind behind the toughest faction of all time, the architect behind his success, the very person who was able to redesign, rebuild, and reclaim it, and most recently the Monday Night Rollins that was taking the world by storm.

You introduced yourself to him, leaving out a very crucial part before you felt your phone buzzing in your back pocket. Quickly you released his hand, apologizing under your breath, pulling it out—the screen flashing with messages from your father wondering where you were.

You looked up at him, tucking your phone away.

“I gotta run. Hope to catch you around, Rollins!” You called out, passing him a simple wave before heading off to where you needed to be.

Seth shrugged, continuing on his way to catering not thinking anything much of the encounter. He was versed around the crew. Camera men, mic operators, stage hands, creative personnel, security—the list went on.

After years of being on the road with the same company, he was acquainted with almost everyone. Granted, he got some names confused here and there, but for the most part he knew the faces that were always around.

You happened to be one of the new ones—a pretty one at that. It wasn’t every day that the company expanded their crew, too accustomed to the people who were well seasoned with the type of show they were producing and the talent they needed to get it out to the fans. But he knew if you were here, then you surely knew what you were doing.

“There you are Mr. Monday Night,” Kofi whistled with a smirk, catching the sight of Seth walking through catering wearing a big ‘ole smile.

“Yeah, yeah,” he waved off, going to make himself a plate of food to get himself energized before the show, “You gonna call me that every time I enter the room?” He barked playfully, tossing a little bit of everything on his plate.

Kofi hummed, pulling out a chair for his friend to sit, “What’s the sense of you naming yourself Monday Night Rollins if I don’t seize the opportunity for a nickname?”

“We could always call you Triple R? Redesign, Rebuild, Reclaim?” Charlotte quipped and everyone shook their heads.

“Paul would have a field day with that one,” Dean snorted with a grunt.

Catering was one of the many communal spaces in every arena. Superstars mingling with others before and in between matches, and a lot of them traveling with others to make work feel more like play outside the ring. While the routine may seemed hectic for some, for people like Seth who had been doing it long before WWE, it was second nature, only this time nicer rental cars and occasional business class flights made it less stressful.

The catering door swung open, a stagehand who looked rather frantic eyed the room.

“Have any of you seen Ms. Levesque?”

Seth furrowed his brows, confused as he and the rest of the room answered ‘no’ while the stagehand sighed, communicating into their earpiece and then disappearing.

Stephanie had stepped down from her co-CEO position months ago after her husband Paul took over and while it wasn’t odd for her to pop in every once in a while, it was even odder that a stagehand of all people was out looking for her.

“Since when did Steph drop the Mrs?” He wondered, looking around at his friends who shrugged carelessly, not paying it any mind.

You raced through the hallways, reading aloud every plaque that hung from the doors until you finally came across the one you had been searching for amidst all the twists and turns of the arena. You turned the knob, pushing your way inside to be greeted with your dad looking up from his laptop and rising from his desk with a smile on his face.

“There you are,” He greeted, walking around to greet you with a hug.

“Hey,” You closed your eyes peacefully, holding him tightly before releasing, “Sorry I got caught up with TJ and Dave.”

You waved the still jumbled scripts in your hand, and he chuckled, nodding his head knowing that’s exactly where you should’ve been after he sent some stage hands to search for you. He could feel your anxiety and he could certainly read it in your face—no matter how much he tried to prepare you and let you process it on your own, he knew it was the normal nerves coming out to play.

“Relax kid, don’t get too in your head over this,” He encouraged you, gently nudging your side with his elbow. “The moment you get out there it’s going to come like second nature.”

You rolled your eyes, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Are you really trying to work in a Ric Flair reference right now?”

He laughed out loud, ruffling the top of your head with a grunt.

“You’re lucky you're my daughter you know that?”

“Oh trust me, I’m aware.”

You hung out in his office, getting the scripts placed back into the correct order, reading it over while your dad typed away responding to important emails he didn’t want to bore you with. It was his duty as a father to not stress you with unnecessary business on your very first day, but sooner than later he’d show you the ropes on what he knew you’d take on flawlessly.

After some time passed, a knock was heard on the door. You and your dad looking up in the direction and he called out a reply summoning them in.

It was Samantha, one of the few people you had met prior to your first day. She was the head of social media, running almost every WWE outlet on the internet. She gladly welcomed you, expressing her excitement for the day she got to make a post about you officially joining the company.

“Hey you, it’s your big day!” She congratulated with an embrace that you were incredibly grateful for.

“I’m so nervous. Promise me you won’t post my promo if I botch it?” You said half jokingly, but the fear was still obvious behind your eyes.

“You’re not going to botch it, trust me. Your dad told me you’ve been rehearsing it like every day.” She insisted, waving off your self doubts.

Paul rose his hands in defense, catching your half hearted glare you shot him.

“You know it by heart, but you also know how to make it feel natural and real, which is the most important part.”

Sam nodded her head in agreement, rubbing your arm up and down encouragingly before you plopped back down on the couch. She made her way towards your dad, holding out the reserved social media phone, linked to all of Triple H’s platforms, and displayed the post for one of their social media uploads.

“Speaking of important, I’m going to send out the tweet about the special announcement from your twitter account then I’ll retweet and quote from the company’s main account,” She explained, watching Paul scan through the text before giving an approving nod.

“Send it out.” He gave his approval and Sam promptly hit post, checking out the numbers already begin to fly through the notification tab just a few seconds later.

She looked over at you, shooting you a thumbs up, “You’re going to break the internet tonight, for all good reasons.”

You said your goodbyes to her, checking the time on your phone realizing that doors would open any minute now and time would surely pass faster than you’d like before it was showtime. Your hair and makeup was already done, needing just a little more of hairspray and a reapplication of lip-gloss.

“I should probably get changed, right?” You looked up at your dad who nodded and did some typing on his phone before standing up and strolling over to where you tried to relax your nerves.

“Go get changed and shake out your bones. I’ll meet you out in the ring, okay?” He spoke gingerly, slinging his arm across your shoulders, giving you a loving shake—the same one he always gave you when you needed the push.

“You sure you don’t want to go over it again?” You stared up at him, eyes wide with fret.

He shook his head, pressing a kiss to the side of your head.

“I don’t want you to psych yourself out. You know it well and how to make it yours…that’s more than enough.”

He sent you on your way, but of course not without a request for your ‘personal assistant’ to follow you along. In actuality, it was his personal assistant, a sweet guy named Eddie who you had met times before—sometimes even the one picking up your phone calls to your dad when he was busy in meetings and talent relation.

“Ms. Levesque, your dress has been pressed and ironed. Would you like to change into it now?”

Eddie spoke with an exaggerated English accent, making you crack a laugh, shaking your head and taking the garment from where he held it out to you.

“The English would throw scones at you, you know?” You looked over at him, unzipping the plastic covering to inspect the dress you had picked out for the occasion.

You went simple, but something that still felt like you. A black sleeveless mock neck fitted dress that fell mid-thigh which you were going to pair with a red heels to signify your debut on Raw. Your mother had helped you pick it out a few weeks back and even left a special note strung around the hanger reading:

“Good luck on your first day, sweetie! Kill it and make her-story! - With love, mom”

Eddie snickered, easing up in your presence thankful that you weren’t so intimidating like your father. But Paul wasn’t all that bad. If anything he was the most decent employer he’d ever had, there just were a lot of expectations when it came to making sure the guy wasn’t under too much stress after his heart surgery.

“The dress totally breaks dress code, by the way. If this were any other company, you’d get a warning for indecency.” Eddie shook his head with a faux unimpressed frown on his face.

“Well by all means, let the slut shaming begin.” You giggled, wiggling your shoulders with a shimmy.

He scoffed begrudgingly, opening the bathroom door for you to head inside while he waited outside the door watching for any onlookers.

Fans had already begun finding their way to their seats while the crew finished setting up all the hard cameras and getting the visual prepped for the new graphics that would be displayed when your theme song hit.

Not only were the fans curious of Triple H’s special announcement, but so were the superstars who were caught off guard when producers went around letting everyone know that they would be up on stage for the broadcast.

Seth finished up in catering, making his way towards the nearest bathroom in order to douse his hair with some water prior to changing into his gear for the night. To his surprise, Triple H’s personal assistant Eddie was standing watch outside the door, prompting him to stop just a few feet away.

“Occupado?” Seth sought, to which Eddie nodded with a tight smile. “A quick outfit change,” He informed the superstar.

Seth assumed it was Paul, getting ready ahead of the big announcement. Lately the company had been on fire with him now in charge, giving all the superstars the work environment and creative freedom that they had been dying for. If it was something as big as a surprise that left talent in the dark, then it must have been legit.

The door pulled open from the inside and you fluffed your hair, striking a silly pose as you leaned against the doorframe. The two men turned their attention to you—Eddie bursting out into laughter, while Seth attempted to stifle his own.

“How do I look—oh! sorry, were you waiting long?” You immediately moved out of the way, an embarrassed red flush coming over your cheeks.

Seth shook his head and smiled, looking you up and down, “Nah, you’re fine. You look good by the way.”

“Thanks,” you smiled shyly, glancing over at Eddie who rose his brow at you, holding his arms out to take your folded clothing you once wore.

“Ready to go?” He asked, and you nodded, smoothing out your dress.

“Ready as ever.” You took a deep breath.

You timidly waved bye to Seth, keeping close to Eddie’s side trying to stay out of everyone’s way who were rushing through the halls trying to get ready for the show. Seth chuckled to himself, still wondering what your role was—editor? personal assistant? Surely, he’d find out soon enough.

“You’re going to do great, sucker-punch,” The country twang belonged to none other than Shawn Michaels who reassured you through the loud crowd roaring past the concrete walls.

He was your godfather and one of your dad’s bestest friends in the entire world who had come all the way to watch your big debut. He had been a constant in your life since you were a baby, and it was nice to have another father figure you could look up to, let alone work with down at NXT before your dad thought you were finally ready for the big leagues.

“I just wanna go over it again,” you took a deep breath rubbing your hands together nervously, and he nodded letting you go through the motions with him, “When I step out I pause for a few seconds then the cameras will follow behind me until I get through gorilla position?”

“Exactly that. The hard camera down the ramp will catch the first sight of you. Pause on your mark for a few seconds and when it feels right meet your dad in the ring.”

It was about the hundredth time you asked someone for clarification on the simple segment, but in your defense you were new to all of this and no matter how much confidence you had, you surely didn’t want to screw it up.

“We’re live in a minute and thirty.” The crew called out, making their final adjustments to their equipment.

Shawn gave you a pat on the knee.

“Trust yourself, you got this.”

You flashed him a nervous smile, nodding your head before he shut the limousine door shut, walking out of camera frame to watch from the sidelines.

“Places people!” You heard the crew shout, a stagehand counting down as the limo slowly began to drive forward just in time.

The superstars were lined up on stage, a mixture of Raw and SmackDown superstars in attendance for the special program. Triple H had kicked off the show, making his entrance through the sea of talent before getting into the ring mic in hand.

“I know all of you are wondering what my special announcement is…” He began, and the fans cheered loudly, chanting “yes!”

Paul nodded his head, pacing around the ring coolly, “WWE has entered a new era. And I am flattered to say that all of you have coined it the Paul Levesque Era, though I find it to be a little unoriginal I might say.” He joked lightly, giving the fans and talent a light-hearted laugh.

“But in all seriousness, my era had begun long ago when I forged NXT and cradled it like a baby until it learned how to walk on its own and give all of you some of the most talented and athletic superstars, some of which are standing on that very stage because of their own destiny to be here.”

He slung his arms over the ropes, jutting his chin out in respect to many of the talent whom he had the honor of working with since the beginning of their careers back in NXT, when no one realized what a monumental period it would be for them.

“Which brings me to my very special announcement. You see, I didn’t get here by not taking risks, by playing it safe and going for the sure plan. No, I got here because I see potential, and I am willing to put my money and reputation on the line to carry out the potential I see and make them stars.”

His words were partly a shoot, all the talent and fans aware of the heat that he had faced in the past from wrestling outlets who scrutinized his choices for prioritizing NXT instead of the main roster at the time.

“But I’ve always seen potential when it comes to one particular person. Someone who I think is not just riskier than me, but always takes the long shot, not for praise or notoriety, but because they know in their heart and soul that they can, and when they do, they will succeed.”

“It’s the kind of trait that is rare. One that few possess in this lifetime, which is why it is imperative to me that this individual gets a shot to show it to you themselves…” He gestured up to the titantron where a camera scurried behind a stretch limousine.

You sat back against the leather, doing your best to keep down the nerves as they rolled the live cameras. The driver came to a smooth stop, placing the vehicle in park before making their way out to open your door, allowing you enough space to stick your foot out first.

There was no turning back now. Everything that you had rehearsed and played over and over again in your head was being worked out on live television for all the fans sitting in attendance to see and more startling, the million watching at home to view.

You breathed in the foreign city air, taking it all in before your heels clicked against the concrete, the feeling of the crew trailing behind your every move. The voice in your head reminded you to keep up with the strides—everything from the talk and the walk, made your character and even now when the fans didn’t know your name or face, they could still understand you meant business just by the way you portrayed yourself.

The closer you got to gorilla, the louder the fans got and the realer it all felt. There was little time for you to acknowledge the crew of producers in gorilla, too busy keeping yourself together as your fingertips swept the curtains to the side and before you know it, your music blasted through the building.

Without needing to be told, the superstars split into halves once more, making way for the mystery woman to hit center mark and there the fans finally got to see who it was. Your name lit up on the big screen — the last name alone evoking ovations that were louder than you imagined you’d ever get.

You smirked, holding back on letting the happiness seep completely through. Making your way towards the ring after pausing for the hard camera, your father walked out towards the apron, holding on a hand for you to take before opening the ropes for you to step through.

He handed you a mic, your music slowly dying giving the fans a chance to settle their cheers so you could speak.

“My, my, my, you sure do know how to make a girl feel extra special on her Raw debut,” You charmed the crowd, looking around the stadium full of fans who were on their feet.

“My father Triple H told me that you all are some of the most electrifying fans in the entire world and I can confidently say that he wasn’t kidding.” You looked over towards your dad, who grinned and clapped for you.

“Now I know my presence may come as a surprise, but I can assure you all that I do not mean to do any harm. In fact, my dad is still the big boss around here, but he did mention needing a little bit of help running the place, and I figured with my history and family name I might as well take a shot and give it a go?”

Again the crowd erupted in cheers, happy to see the legends lineage continuing with a new generation that would surely take after her father’s creative outlook.

“You see, I’ve watched this company thrive and flourish into a league of its own. But I’ve also watched it slip through the cracks and make mistakes that would have never happened under my watch. The evolution of this company lies within the palm of my hands and I will not let the slip-ups of the past come in the way of me fulfilling the prophecy of taking this company to new heights.”

You pointed to the stage, where the superstars looked rather impressed by your words.

“So please join me in ushering in the Levesque Era.” You stared into the hard camera with a broad smile, dropping the mic as your music hit once more.

Your father lifted your arm up, circling around every side of the ring, pointing at you proudly, cherishing the moment. He helped you out of the ring, hooking your arm through his as you two walked up the ramp. A few talents exchanging gracious smiles with you as you brushed past them and headed towards the back.

“Holy shit!” You screeched, finally breaking character and covering your face in elation.

Your dad immediately pulled you into a hug, giving you your first pat on your back with the company. It was safe to say he was way more emotional than you, happiness seeping out in tears of joy, while you still struggled to fathom the paradigm shift of your career.

“Now that’s how you deliver your first promo, sucker-punch.” Shawn snuck up from behind you, pulling you into a proud hug making you laugh.

Gorilla quickly began filling with the superstars, heading backstage before the first match started. A bunch of them stuck around to get a turn to meet you, or as they nicknamed you, the ‘heiress’ which you found comical.

You stuck around for a good chunk of the show, keeping your dad company where he sat at the monitors, now and then turning to you as he showed you a few of the different aspects that he handled on live shows. Surely you would eventually get a thorough rundown of future tasks, but your dad wanted you to focus on being a part of the creative team and main roster.

Towards the ending of the show, you parted ways with your dad saying goodbye to him as he would be staying a few hours after holding some meetings with the crew while you got to get some much needed rest at the hotel.

Strolling down to your office, you were stopped by a blonde woman excited to meet you. You had recognized her immediately—Renee Young who was a backstage interviewer.

“Oh, it’s so nice to meet you!” You bubbled, sticking your hand out to introduce yourself.

She beamed, shaking her head at you with astonishment, “The second you came out, I knew immediately, like, ‘this has to me Paul’s daughter’ and then when you started speaking…” she paused, eyes widening as you giggled, “I was like ‘yeah, this is Paul and Steph’s daughter!’ it comes to you so naturally!”

“Thank you so much, you have no idea what that means to me,” You said thankfully opening your arms and pulling her into a small but mighty hug, “I was honestly so nervous, I’m surprised I didn’t croak out there.”

Renee shook her head, resting a warm hand on your shoulder. “You did amazing, and you’re only going to get better the more you do it.”

You and her chit-chatted for a couple of minutes before a male figure strolled up to her side, slinging his arm around her tenderly. She looked up at him, patting his chest and pointing to you.

“Nice first impression you’re sending to our future boss,” she joked, making you giggle.

He looked at you, realization crossing over his face and he swiftly stuck out a hand towards you.

“Shit, I’m Dean. Sorry m’all sweaty. Just finished a match and all.”

You shook your head, reassuring him as you shook his hand.

“Don’t worry about throwing me off. I personally think the whole wrestler's dress code thing is dumb. I’ve seen your stuff on TV a bunch before…great match by the way.”

“Oh thanks,” He nodded with a grin, happy that you weren’t on the uptight side of the company.

You learned that Dean and Renee had been together for years, tying the knot in secrecy a few years ago at their home in Nevada. Your father had worked closely with them before their debut on the main roster—Dean working in FCW before it became NXT, and Renee starting backstage at developmental before your dad requested to have her brought up to be an addition to the crew.

“Mr. Monday Night!” Renee hollered, looking past you towards the figure who was strolling down the hallway.

You turned your head over your shoulder, smiling at the man who came closer immediately taking notice of you. This time around he was dressed in gear, his match for the night already wrapped, and he was heading to the locker rooms to get changed.

“Hey you,” you grinned, sharing a knowing, playful look with Seth that Renee and Dean couldn’t decipher.

Your eyes twinkled with amusement and his face held a mischievous smile that tugged at the corners of his lips.

“Have I seen you around before?” Seth joked, raising a brow at you suspiciously.

Your shoulders rose with a casual shrug, your hands plopping into your lap as you both burst into laugher, echoing in the halls. There was an ease to you both, the kind that made you forget all about the nervousness that you felt at the beginning of the night when scripts scattered across the same ground you both stood on.

“How was my first day?” You proposed, anticipating what he had to say.

“I’m still recovering after butchering my first encounter with the leading lady herself…” Seth admitted, rubbing at his chest sheepishly, sucking in a sharp breath, “but you killed it…you are a complete natural, Ms. Levesque.” He emphasized your last name with a playful smirk.

You nodded thankfully, before waving your hands in the air a kind of tender scolding at the formalness.

“Please, the only people who call me that are people who are afraid of my dad.”

“Ms. Levesque…”

You turned your head toward the familiar voice. Eddie who stood off to the side with your bags and luggage in hand. The three broke into laughter at his formal address towards you, aware that it was merely out of respect, but perhaps also a touch of intimidation by your father.

“We have a car out back ready to take you back to the hotel. All your belongings are here.” Eddie informed you.

You nodded, smiling gratefully at him for going out of his way to carry out a kind gesture like that. Sure, it was probably at your father’s request, but Eddie knowing you for as long as he did, knew you would refuse any kind of help if he didn’t do it himself.

“It was nice meeting you guys…and you again, Mr. Monday Night.” You twiddled your fingers in a playful wave.

“See you around soon,” Seth chuckled, giving you a warm smile that lingered as you walked away.

You took hold of your bags, Eddie rolling your luggage behind him as he lead you to the parking garage where the driver was waiting.

“You two know each other?” Dean rose his brows, looking closely at his friend.

“Barely. I just ran into her before the show and thought she was on the crew.” Seth explained, his eyes still following you as you walked further down the hall.

“She didn’t introduce herself?” Dean pressed, curiosity evident in his voice.

“She did,” Seth looked over back at the pair, “She just left out her last name.”

“Probably didn’t want to be the center of attention.” Renee suspected with a shrug, turning her attention back to Dean and their plans for the rest of the night.

Seth watched you stop a few feet down the hall to shake hands with a few of the crew and members of creative. Your smile was warm and genuine as you quickly said your thank you’s for their kind words and wished them a goodnight. Finally, you were ushered down another turn, disappearing from his view.

He could get used to having you around. He just wondered if you would get used to being the shiny new star in their world.

💌 reblogs, tags, comments, + likes are greatly appreciated! leave a comment and let me know if want to be added to my taglist!! 💌

a/n: if you made it this far, i hope you liked chapter one of icsy!!! i truly had the best time writing this chapter and i feel like you guys are going to love whats to come! perhaps seth and reader are masterminds to their very core huh? we'll find out soon enough!!!

[eddiernunson]

Really Drives Me Mad | Older!Eddie x Fem!Reader | 18+

Prev Part l Master List |

Word Count: 10k

A SPECIAL HAPPY BIRTHDAY POST. (I’m 28 y’all)

Chapter contains: brief pregnant!reader, babies/kids…this is like a lil collection of blurbs. I have some head canons about each OC I can post if you’d like xoxo

I had ideas about their kids for ages, lol. This crazy lil family is chaotic

Still thank you to @forget-you-morelike-fuck-you and @bebe07011 for without you two this fic wouldn’t nearly be this good

Third trimester is a bitch. I barely have the bandwidth to write lately. I hope you enjoy

Two pink little lines stare back at you as Eddie turns the shower on, completely oblivious to the manic state you’re in.  

He offers you to join him, a temptation you decline with an intense amount of reluctance. You just claim you need your own bed, which was true.  

Eddie missed four weeks of work while you were on your luxe honeymoon, which means he now has several fires to put out. It keeps him busy for the week, making the doctor’s appointments and blood work you do that much easier when he passes right out on his couch at the end of his long days.  

The following week, knowing you're pregnant but not being able to tell him is pure torture. It doesn't help that for some odd reason Eddie seems more lovey, more affectionate. Your first instinct is to chalk it up to your newlywed status, but his affection feels different, the way his arms wrap around you each morning to wake you up, his gentle voice low in your ear. It's driving you up a wall not being able to share your secret with him.  

He seems to consistently have a hard time letting you go to leave for work (not that you’re complaining.) Though eventually you have to practically push him out the door.   

The ultrasound is nearly dull, the implantation in question is only a bundle of cells, but once you get a photo from the tech at the end of the appointment, it’s the very thing you needed to tell Eddie.  

After another early night of falling asleep you empty the face of the fridge, yanking every magnet off as you place the sonogram on the silver surface with a pink heart magnet right at his eye level.

-  

Eddie wakes in the middle of the night, a sudden urge to rise hitting him out of nowhere. His arm tightens around your waist, admiring your pretty face as he kisses your cheek. Your face falters only the littlest bit, twitching your muscles to shake off the tickle of his stubble.   

He finds himself starving, craving something only a feral racoon would also be satisfied with. He rubs his eyes as he walks down the steps. Sometimes he thinks he’s going to see you back in the kitchen chair in the dress and bathing suit, Dylan searching manically for a parking pass as if Eddie has imagined this whole dream scenario. Your love is just too good not to think he’d made it all up at times. He smiles to himself as he turns on the stove light, turning to the fridge for a snack.   

He feels frozen by the blank fridge at first, wondering where all the magnets got to. The black and white image staring him dead in the face suddenly registers, the heart shaped magnet falling to the floor as he rushes to pick it up to make sure his tired eyes aren’t fucking with him. They bulge out of his head when the significance of the photo occurs to him, and the hunger that woke him up seems to vanish.

His long legs take the stairs two and three at a time as he rushes back to you, hurling himself beneath the covers.   

The cold of his arms startles you, a gasp leaving your lips from the shock as you abruptly awoke. “Hmm?”  

“Are you fucking pregnant, sweetheart?” His eyes are unbearably soft, melted pools of milk chocolate staring intently at you.

A burst of sleepy giggles leaves your mouth, turning your body so you don't have to crane your neck. “You got up early.” You comment, weaving your fingers into his curls.   

“Skip the pleasantries, love.” He dismisses, scooping his arms beneath your back. “Are you fucking pregnant?”   

You pull him in for a kiss, your legs wrapping around his hips to pull him down against you. “What’s the sonogram tell you?”    

He chuckles against your lips, his thumbs swaying against your smiling cheeks. “You’re a little shit, you know that?” You nod, absentmindedly playing with his curls. “Fuck, I’m so excited right now, baby.”   

“Really?” You ask him, grinning.   

“I just found out my wife is having my baby. Are you fucking kidding me?” he asks, rutting his hips against yours desperately. “I’m rock hard, sweets.”   

Lucky for you and him, you opted for a pair of tiny panties and a t-shirt to bed, feeling his hardened cock against the thin lace fabric of your panties. Your fingers fumble to his boxers, hurriedly pushing them down his hips. “Then fuck me.”   

Eddie gently pulls the fabric aside, exposing it as his head perfectly brushes against your entrance. “God, my girl is soaked for me, ain’t she?”   

Your thighs tighten around his hips, jaw dropping as he teases you. “Want you, please, Ed.” Your eyes squeeze shut, relishing in the feeling of him pressed against you 

He pushes in, arms wrapping themselves around your torso. “Oh my god you’re having my fucking baby,” Eddie mumbles, face curling into your neck. “Gonna see your stomach all big when you’re carrying my baby, sweets, and you’ll be even hotter than you are now. Which I thought was impossible.”   

No words come to mind, mouth open and gasping at the way he moves in you. The cotton of your shirt is too hot, your hands shakily grabbing at the fabric to take it off. Eddie admires the sight he sees as your piqued nipples fall out of his faded black t-shirt, his eyes glazed over as he stares down at them. A moth drawn to the light, he dives into one, curling his tongue around the nipple with the perfect mix of teeth, pulling little mewls from you.  

“Fuck, we’re gonna be the happiest little family,” he chokes, kissing from your breast up to your neck, his voice filled with emotion.  

“Love you,” you sigh, gasping into his open mouth as his hips hit you harder.  

Eddie smiles, a wicked little grin as his hand curves over the swell of your tummy, thumb petting it gently.  

“Hold on to me, sweetheart. Hold on to your baby daddy,” you grin the line, wonderfully cheesy, but Eddie feels the way you tighten around him. Your arms curl around his back, pulling his body against yours.  

“Eddie, make me cum, please.” 

“Hold on, baby, I’m almost there, hold on,” he stutters, his deep voice starting to falter. His lips bend down to your ear, gasping desperately, bordering on whining. “Fuck– cum with me.”  

His lips wrap around yours, delicately connecting his tongue with yours as his hips stutter a final time, the little moans vibrating against your lips as he fills you up. As you collapse on the bed, sweaty bodies intertwined, he spends the twenty minutes until he falls asleep cooing, whispering in your ear how excited he is.  

You wake up the same way, with rounds two and three before he begrudgingly trudges off to work. 

- 

The sun accounts as a natural alarm clock as Dylan stretches his limbs wide, turning to face his girlfriend. His arm falls over Maya’s form, pulling her in as he starts to wake up. “Morning, Dylan,” she whispers, her pink lips spreading into a smile.  

He pulls her back against his stomach, hiking his legs under hers. “Mornin’.”  

She hums as he kisses the back of her neck, giggling as he takes a deep inhale of her shampoo. “You work today?”  

“No,” Dylan answers, caressing the strip of her exposed skin with his thumb. “I am seeing my dad today.”  

She smirks, turning to face him. “And your stepmom?” Dylan grits his teeth, tickling her stomach until she begs him to stop, hunching over the arm around her. “Okay, I’m sorry!”    

“Mmhm. I’m telling them, did you want to join me?”  

Maya squishes her face, seemingly debating on pros and cons. “I’m gonna pass on that, respectfully.” She can feel the questioning look Dylan gives her. “I have a long shift today, and I am exhausted.”  

“Next time, I’m dragging you with me,” Dylan insists, squeezing with his arms wrapped around her.  

“I’m counting on it.”  

As soon as Dylan opens the door, he listens in, waiting for a sound that never comes. Good, he waited long enough to come. He wanders into the kitchen, meeting his dad drinking orange juice straight from the carton. “Dad?”  

His dad freezes, removing the spout from his mouth, and wipes his face hurriedly. “Hey bud.”  

Dylan raises his eyebrow at him, pointedly glancing to the carton and back to him.  

“Don’t tell my wife.”  

Dylan smirks, rolling his eyes. “Speaking of the devil, where is she?”  

“Upstairs.”  

As if your ears are burning, the two men’s ears pick up the particular sound of someone coming down the stairs. Eddie prays you come downstairs with some clothes on. Your face lights up when you see Dylan, welcoming him into your arms without a second thought. “Dylan!” The familiarity you two share is still new, but wrapping him in a hug is like second nature at this point. “What brings you into this part of the world?”  

You leave the embrace, backing straight into Eddie’s arm. “Actually, I have some news I wanna share with you guys.”  

Eddie’s hand tightens around your arm, he’s mentioned Dylan talking about proposing last month, and this news felt right around the corner. He feigns ignorance, innocently asking, “Oh, what news would that be?”  

Dylan’s cheeks bloom in red, glancing down to his feet sheepishly. You just hoped you wouldn’t have to travel to a destination wedding while largely pregnant. “Uh, we–or, Maya,” he clears his throat, a laugh stuttering through it, “Maya’s pregnant.”  

The first thing you do is glance at your husband, both sporting wide eyes and slacked jaws. To say you’re surprised is a grand understatement.  

“Not the news you were expecting?” Dylan asks, watching the two of you share a silent conversation.  

In sync, the two of you switch back to him, twin smiles on your faces. Dylan had no idea what either of the faces in front of him could possibly mean, and there’s a part of him that wonders if this is happy news for either of you.  

“Um, no, actually,” Eddie barely holds back the sound of laughter in his voice. “That’s, that’s fantastic news, Dyl.” Truly, fantastic news. Eddie has been looking forward to being a biker grandfather since Dylan showed interest in being a father.  

You smirk, leaning into his shoulder. “How far along is she?”  

“Uh, 8 weeks, or so,” Dylan answers, squishing up his face comically.  

“Oh wow, so a week behind me, then,” you say nonchalantly, nodding at Eddie.  

“Wait, what?” Dylan asks, making sure he understood that correctly.  

You giggle, nodding as you sit your head in Eddie’s neck. “Yeah, I’m pregnant too, ironically enough.”  

Eddie leans into your ear, “So you’re gonna be a mom and a grandma in the same year…”  

Your eyes widen. “To think, I was just getting used to the idea of being a mom.” You lean back, meeting your husband’s pretty brown eyes. “Are we sure the kid’s gonna call me grandma?”  

Dylan picks up the conversation right away. “I mean, unless we’re gonna be completely honest with them, it doesn't make sense otherwise. You’re grandpa’s wife, therefore grandma.”  

Am I mom, then, too? You think to yourself, knowing you’ll point it out later. Your stomach rumbles, turning around to the counter to start making a breakfast of sorts. Your eyes hit the open orange juice jug and the lack of cup. “Did you drink straight out of the carton, again, mister?”  

Eddie avoids your eyes, looking at his son. “Hey, I didn’t say anything,” he surrenders, having a seat at the island.  

“How’s Maya been handling the pregnancy so far?” you ask, grabbing a pan from under the cupboards. “Because morning sickness is no joke.” You pause, leaning on the counter. “Not just in the morning, either.”  

“I think it’s some nausea, a bit of acid reflux, but to my knowledge she hasn’t been sick,” Dylan says, taking out his phone to text Maya about the news.  

“Bitch,” you mutter, the tone in your voice clear you’re joking. “We can’t all be so lucky. Eggs?”  

Dylan nods, grinning at the text Maya shoots back. “So dad, you’re gonna have a kid and a grandkid the same age as each other?”  

Eddie shrugs, taking another large sip from the carton. “Since my girl showed up, my life hasn’t been normal, and this just means it will never be normal again.”  

“You’re welcome,” Dylan laughs, rolling his eyes at the exasperated look you shoot at him.  

- 

Dylan’s phone buzzes, glancing at the unknown number as Maya fades in the middle of her sentence. “One minute, babe, I’m expecting a call from the interview I just did last week. Dylan Munson, speaking.”  

“Oh, Dyl-pickle, you sound so big!” Only one person has ever called Dylan that. He gulps, the sound of her voice bringing up old, sore emotions.

“Brooke. W-why are you calling me?”  

“Brooke? C’mon, I’m your mom, sweetheart,” she whines, her voice the sound of nails on a chalkboard.  

“Really, are you?” Dylan asks, getting up from the bed and starting to pace the hallway, his anger already building. “Ok, what college did I go to?” Silence. “What did I major in? What year did I graduate high school? When did I have my first kiss? Who’s my current girlfriend? What’s my best friend’s name? What sort of vehicle do I drive?”  

She doesn’t answer a single question, instead giving stuttered empty answers. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to answer any of that… We haven’t exactly been talking for the last fifteen years.” She says, somewhat accusatory.

Dylan sighs, rubbing his face frustratedly. “What, your phone didn’t work all those years?”  

“As far as I’m concerned, I’m not the only one who had a phone,” she protests, sounding incredibly defensive. 

“Yeah, well, you also weren’t a child for 8 of those years who begged his dad for his mom to come to one thing that was important to him,” Dylan retaliated, angry at her gaslighting. “My dad had your number, always left voicemails inviting you to my soccer games, to award ceremonies, to my birthdays, and you never answered a single call, let alone showed up.”  

“I’m sorry, Dylan, I am, but I was young then, you can’t blame me for wanting a fresh start.” 

“Actually, I can,” Dylan answers, now done with this conversation. “You had eight years to be a mom before I finally gave up on you. You don’t get to pick and choose when to be my mom, now.”    

“I’m sorry that hurt your feelings, Dyl. But I have two boys, and they really want to meet their older brother. Would you come down for lunch one day?”  

He nods, knowing that this sudden need to be a mom again wasn’t going to come for free. “No. I have no interest in being your life. Not since the day I turned 18.”  

“C’mon, Dyl–” 

“No, mom–Brooke. No. Don’t call me again, please. I need to go now.”  

She starts another sentence, but Dylan hangs up on her before he hears it. When he walks into the bedroom he shares with his girlfriend, he crawls into the bed next to her, feeling like the ten year old whose life got torn apart.  

It looks like Brooke still has that uncanny talent for making everything about her.  

- 

Eddie sits in his office, a small room decorated with frames filled with the faces of those he loves and papers strewn around the desk. He’s going over the receipts and payments, and silently regrets not having hired an accountant by now, but he’s far too stubborn to admit it.  

There’s a knock on the door and Eddie looks up in relief. Please, let there be a disgruntled customer to save him from the numbers. “Come on in!”  

Connor, one of the new apprentices he hired only a few months ago comes in, looking timid. The first few months he has a new hire they’re usually shy, and when their self confidence in their ability to do their job kicks in, Eddie truly starts to miss it. “Uh, hey, boss, there’s a client out there who wants to speak to you.”  

Eddie chuckles, leaning back in his chair as he rests his feet on his desk. “Don’t, don’t call me boss. What do they want?” 

Connor screws up his face. “Uh, I forgot to ask.”  

“Always ask, man. Tell them I’ll be right out.”  

“Alright, I’ll tell her.” Eddie sighs in relief, women tend to be more understanding.  

“Hey, send in Joe, will ya?”  

“On it!”  

Joe, a man who’s worked for Eddie for 20 years, older by ten years, walks into the office just a moment later. “What’s up, Ed?”  

“Give the lady a talk, will ya?” Eddie asks, scratching the itch on his right forearm. “Ask her what she wants.” Joe, tall, dark, and quiet, nods and shuts the door.  

He’s back in the office in seconds. The door’s loose knob has barely clicked shut before it’s abruptly opened again. “That fast?”  

Joe shakes his head, his eyes wide with a grimace on his face. “Uh, no, it’s…it’s Brooke.”  

Eddie scrunches his face up. “Brooke, like…Brooke?”  

“Yeah. You want me to–” 

“No it’s okay, I got it,” Eddie insists, a pit forming in the depths of his stomach. He rubs his face tiredly, fully unprepared to deal with this. 

“Dude, you sure?” He asks, having been with Eddie through the divorce.  

“Seriously, I got it. Thanks, man.”  

Eddie gets up from his desk, catching the eyes of his long-time employees on his way to the entrance of the garage. He’s fine. He’ll be fine.  

There she stands, looking around the garage holding her purse with two hands. She’s dressed like one of those Instagram moms, high waisted jeans with a loose blouse tucked in under a long coat. Her eyes land on him, her face lighting up as she exclaims, “Wow, the garage looks great!” 

“Thanks,” Eddie mumbles, sighing. “Is there a particular reason for…”  

Brooke smiles, and Eddie could almost see a genuine human behind the mask. “Um, do you mind if we go into your office?”  

Eddie raises his brows, perplexed. “I really don’t see the necessity for it.”  

“It’s not really a conversation to have in front of the guys, Eds,” Brooke comments, shuffling her feet as she crosses her arms.  

Eddie winces at the nickname she calls him. She really doesn’t know him well enough to call him such anymore. The audacity of it astounds him. “I’m not Eds to you…and my office holds things that are precious to me, that I honestly want to keep out of this conversation.”  

“Like I haven’t already seen pictures of your little wife,” Brooke grimaces, her tone switching from sweet to condescending in a split second, her eyes rolling. “Congrats on that, or whatever.”  

Eddie blinks, too exhausted to argue. “Alright, come on.”  

It's not like Brooke hasn’t been in his office before, Eddie thinks, they were happily married, after all. She looks around at the changes, her eyes seemingly fixated on where photos of Dylan’s previous achievements are proudly displayed. “Wow, he looks just like you,” Brooke mutters, a look on her face that Eddie can’t quite place.  

Eddie assessed the bulletin, Dylan’s graduation, first school dance, the Munsons spending a weekend at the Harrington’s, it certainly spelled out to her what she missed out on.  

He clears his throat, quietly asking for her to continue. “Right, um, I was wondering if you could talk to our son.” 

“Our son?” Eddie asks, barely holding back his laughter. “Last time I checked you said he was my son.”  

Brooke ignores it, faltering in her seat. “I tried calling him last week, but he shut me down.”  

“What do you need me to talk to him about exactly?” Eddie leans against his desk, his hands gripping the edge.

Brooke blinks, tilting her head. “When did you cut your hair?”  

“Irrelevant. What do you need me to talk to him about?” Eddie enunciates, already feeling the exhaustion of her mere soul sucking presence.

“My sons are asking questions about him, and they would like to meet him.” She inhales, as if preparing herself for what she was about to say, “I would love to reconnect with both of you, honestly.” 

Like an anvil, Eddie feels his stomach pull him all the way down into the floor. The silence she’s given him and Dylan for the last fifteen years has been stable, reliable even. The most reliable thing about her. This is turning off the road into a ditch with nothing to instigate it. “What did he say?”  

“Uh, he had no interest in it,” Brooke shrugs, leaning back in her seat.  

Eddie nods, having expected it. “Brooke, those pictures on the wall? My son spent so much time begging me to call and get you to at least one event, one time just to show that you still cared about him.” He pauses, watching her avoid his eyes. “I left dozens of voicemails in your inbox, and I know it was your inbox, because I remember the day it went from Munson to Prescott. I begged you to show up. Just once. The last time I did was for his graduation, but by then I had stopped telling him.”  

“He told our lawyers and the judge he wanted nothing to do with me. Forgive me if I thought he was telling the truth,” Brooke huffs, her voice sounding defensive.  

“He was a child, Brooke!” Eddie deadpans, narrowing his eyes. “A child hurt by his mother’s actions tearing apart his happy family. Staying with the stable parent was probably the more appealing option.” He scratches at the stubble on his face, glancing over to the sonogram sitting on his desk. He’d hoped Brooke hadn’t caught wind of that news, yet. “At first, he was really hurt, but after a while, he just wanted his mom. Who never showed up.” 

“Well, I might be a little late, but doesn’t it count for something that I’m trying, now?” She asks, folding her arms across her chest. 

“I think it counts more that he’s about to be a father and he has no interest in including you in his kid’s life.”  

Her eyes bug right out of her head. “Wait, what?”  

“Mmhm. Seems he’d rather give what was supposed to be your title to someone he’s known for less than a year.” Eddie flickers to the photo of you he has framed, a portrait of you surrounded by the sunset in your wedding dress. “You had eight years, Brooke. Eight. You don’t get to decide to be a parent when it’s convenient for you. I never had that luxury. I had to pick myself and my son up and find a way to get through it emotionally without falling apart at the seams.”  

She seems to start talking, but Eddie is on a roll. “I finally feel like I’m living my life, and not just surviving. If you reached out five years ago, I probably would’ve said yes. I even had a low enough self-esteem to hope it would mean something more…but now I have this woman, this beautiful person who showed me how much she believes I’m worth, showed me how much I am worth. Brooke, no offense, but when I look back on it, especially comparing the two, you treated me like shit.”  

“Uh, okay,” Brooke mutters, holding her hand out. “I did not treat you like shit.”  

“You never stuck up for me with your parents, forced me to do things I was uncomfortable with all the time, gave ‘our’ son’s teachers hell all the time, and, oh yeah, left me for the person you told me not to worry about. So, no I will not be talking to my son. If he comes to the conclusion to reconnect with you, then fine. But I will not be participating.”  

“Wow, you’re being harsh.” Brooke complains, grimacing. “Eddie, I was young. I made a few stupid decisions.”  

“You know, my wife is a bit young. Somehow, she already knows not to act like a stone cold cunt.”  Brooke stutters through an empty response, completely rendered speechless. “I think we’re done here.”  

“I’m not done!”  

“Well, I suggest you be by the time my pregnant wife gets here, because she’s not your biggest fan.” It gives him the utmost satisfaction to start looking through the papers. He glances back up to her expectant expression. “Safe travels back to Boston, hmm?”  

Eddie swears the smile on your face in the photo of you grows, glad the backbone he needed seems to have finally grown. “You’re not going to even–”  

“No. I’m not. I’m done here, Brooke. Give Kevin my condolences, yeah?”  

Brooke nods, reluctantly understanding she wasn’t going to get what she wanted. Eddie had indeed grown the self-confidence she never saw when she was with him. “Condolences?” 

“Yeah, for still being stuck with you. Close the door on your way out.”  

Brooke’s nostrils flare, her jaw locking. She turns around without another word, the slam of the door echoing through the garage as she storms out, every click of her heel enunciated.  

Moments later, Joe pops through the door. “Everything, ok, Ed?”  

Eddie looks up, his dimples pronounced on his face. “Oh just, peachy, Joe. Mind if I take off for the rest of the day?”  

“I would be concerned if you didn’t, man.”  

- 

The ringing of your phone stirs you from your slumber, having passed out on the couch mid snack. An app you downloaded on your phone for the pregnancy said the first trimester would have you feeling quite sleepy, and you didn’t believe it until you find yourself constantly falling asleep during your off days, and exhausted at work when you really shouldn’t be.  

Your sister’s name lights up the screen, and the quick assessment of the movie tells you you’ve been asleep for at least forty-five minutes. “Hey, Viti.”  

“Hey, sis,” she greets, an airy tone in her voice. “Sounds like you just woke up.”  

You haven’t broken the news to your family, yet, waiting to present the information in the form of a present next time you and Eddie make your way over to your parents’ house. “Had an afternoon siesta,” you sigh, watching the movie you’re tempted to restart. The twist of Carlisle’s death just isn’t the same if you don’t build up to it. “What’s up?” 

She sighs, a habit you’re all too familiar with. “Spit it out.”  

“Okay,” she starts, gaining her courage. “Me and Arlo got together the night of your wedding.”  

If you were attempting to get rid of any sense of sleep, it disappeared within a second. The information takes a second to register, eyes darting around the living room filled with wrappers you have yet to throw out. “Harrington?”  

She laughs, probably expecting a much worse answer. “Do you know any other Arlos?”  

“Guess not.” You pet the bangs in your eyes away from your face, trying to remind yourself of the look on your baby sister’s face when she was slow dancing with him. “Ok. How did it happen?” 

“You’re okay with this?” She asks, your heart melting at how little her voice sounds.  

“It was never my choice, Vi,” you answer, using the remote to restart the movie. “If you like him and trust him, then, yeah, I’m okay with it. So how did it happen? Tell me all about it. But if you’ve slept with him, then maybe not all about it,” You chuckle. Viti sighs exasperatedly and you can practically hear her eyes roll through the phone.

“Um, so we were kind of flirting a lot after the family dinner. I thought he was just being nice, but I was willing to be his friend. It got a bit more intense at the wedding, and he asked me to dance…”  

“I saw,” you admit, granted you only saw because Eddie pointed it out to you. “What happened after that?”  

You can hear the smile on her face. “He led me to a hallway, and then we went to the hotel room I was staying in…” She trails off sheepishly. Oh, that's all you need to know.  

“Damn, girl!” you laugh, opting to push away the mental image and simply be your sister's friend right now.  

“We went to dinner last week,” she says, a giggle laced through her sentence. “I really, really like him.”  

It had to be Arlo Harrington. “Then I’m really, really happy for you. Have you told everyone else yet?”  

“You’re the last to know, to be honest. I think Eddie even knows at this point.” You roll your eyes, because of course that’s why he was so peculiar this morning.  

“Just because I don’t necessarily approve of the choice of boy doesn’t mean I won’t be happy for you. Plus, I could get used to him, after all, Steve isn’t so bad.” That’s a damn lie, Steve Harrington has become one of your favorite people. “Tell me you got out of the hotel room before mom and dad discovered you.”  

“We heard them coming down the hall…” she says, giggling. “We were dressed as they were about to come in the door. Luckily, they were both pretty drunk, so they didn’t really catch on to what was happening. Well, until the next morning at brunch, I guess.”  

Note, send a text to your mom asking about what her perspective was, because there’s a chance she knew more than she let on. You think to yourself.

“Anyway, four weeks in Cancun. Spare me the dirty details but tell me all about it,” she giggles, moving the phone away from her face, “shut up, stop, shut up!’ 

“Let me guess. Arlo?”  

A burst of giggles runs through her body and you can hear the smile on her face. “Maybe,”

“You couldn’t wait until you were alone?”  

“She’s not really alone all that much these days,” Arlo’s voice rings out. You can picture the smug smirk on his face.  

“Arlo!” She chides him, and yeah, this might not be so bad, you decide.  

“I’m gonna let you two go,” you offer, dismissing any protests she let out. “Also, without the dirty details there’s not much of the honeymoon to tell. Well, except one thing.”  

“What?” 

“You'll have someone new to meet in seven months!”  

“No way!” 

- 

If there’s one thing you know, it’s Christina Perri’s A Thousand Years is the song for the last credit scene of the Twilight Series. As each character is shown with the corresponding credit, it gets closer and closer to the main cast.  

It might just be the hormones, but this round of credits just seems to hit differently, tears spilling down your cheeks as it gets to the Cullen family. The front door to the house slams shut, announcing the arrival of your husband. Odd, he’s about three hours early.  

The weight of the cushion next to you sinks down with a comforting arm wrapping around your shoulders. Your head falls easily into his embrace, curling into his lap as you sniffle. It’s ridiculous, the irrational reaction that takes over you, but damn do the editors know how to elicit a reaction out of the audience.  

His hand pets your shoulder, kissing your forehead. “You crying at Twilight?”  

You nod, furrowing your eyebrows. “Lose the smug attitude, mister. This is your doing.”  

He laughs under his breath, petting your hair. “Hmm, that’s not how I remember our honeymoon.”  

You tilt your head back to look at his face, fretting at the curls that are starting to resemble closer to a mullet. “Just because I begged for your babies does not mean you had to listen to me.”  

He rolls his eyes, leaning in to place a kiss on your lips that takes the breath out from your lungs. As he backs away, he hums with a peculiar look on his face. “What’s on your mind?” You ask, your brows knitting together.

Eddie sighs, petting the bare skin exposed on your hip. “Minor Brooke update, today.”  

Your brows instinctively rise, feeling every little muscle in your face tense up. “Oh?” 

“Yup. Are you interested?”  

You close your eyes, asking any entity out there listening for a lick of patience. “You piqued my interest. Lay it on me.”  

Eddie can’t beat around the bush, or he would never say it. “She came into my work today.” He pauses, allowing you to absorb the information before continuing. “Requesting that I convince Dylan to…let her back into his life, so to say.” You squint, remembering the few times that Dylan had confessed about his mom to you, always finishing by claiming he wants nothing to do with her and never will.  

“Yeah, good luck with that,” you comment, watching his eyes flicker back and forth between yours.  

“She reached out to him last week and when he refused, I guess the next most logical step was to drive the six hours from Boston and corner me at work.” Your teeth grit, angry at the fucking gall that fills Brooke whatever-the-fuck her last name is. God forbid Steve or Eddie ever accidentally tell you what it is, because the day it comes her inbox will be flooded with just a little piece of your mind, and she'll be lucky if profanities are the worst things you say.

“What are you thinking?” He asks, having watched your face move through the storm of emotions.  

“I was thinking that I fucking hate your ex-wife and if she has no haters then I’m dead,” you answer, dead panning.  

“I love you,” he sighs, tugging you in against his chest. “Are you hungry?”  

You look at the wrappers decorating the mahogany coffee table, “Surprisingly yes.”  

“Lets get a real meal in you, shall we?”  

- 

Eddie is present at every doctor's appointment, every ultrasound, birthing class, and even at 20 weeks, when you were inexplicably spotting, stayed with you throughout the 7 hour wait at the ER. He certainly helped you hide from the embarrassment of the doctor explaining the bleeding seemed to be brought on by intercourse and to start being a bit more careful.  

Only one time does a health care worker mistake Eddie for being your father, a mistake quickly fixed at the death glare he gives her. You don’t know how, as you look nothing alike and he has been doting on you too affectionately to be a dad, but you can’t help teasing him by calling him daddy as soon as she leaves the room. 

Well, that’s a lie.  

There is one other time he’s mistaken for your father, running into the maternity ward and anxiously stating your name to the front desk of labor nurses. The head nurse, a woman bearing silver streaks in her hair, calmly tells him to relax and sit down, only the baby’s father is allowed in the room with patients.  

“Well you better take me to my wife, then,” he deadpans, his eyes harsh enough to shoot daggers if it were physically possible. 

She stutters through her response. “Oh, you-you’re her husband? I’m so sorry I assumed–my mistake, she’s in the third door on the left.”  

He rushes to the door, ignoring her last pleas for forgiveness. He was far too busy focusing on how he knew he shouldn’t have gone into work when he knew you were due to go into labor any day now. He knew he should've told them to ask Joe for the solution, as he was basically acting owner while he was away.  

When he bursts through the door, you’re sat on the bed in the room with Bethany petting your face as you push through a particularly hard contraction.  

He waits and watches anxiously for you to get through it before announcing his arrival. As soon as your eyes land on him he sees your face crumple in relief and your hands reach out for him. “Baby,” you whine, seeking the comfort of his shampoo and cologne.  

“I’m so sorry,” he apologizes, planting a big kiss on the hand that was reached out. “Thank you so much, Bethany, for taking her.”  

She shrugs, dismissing his over exaggerated gratitude. “She’s been a champ. Let me know if you two need anything.”  

Eddie pets your hair, leaning in to plant a gentle kiss on your lips. “How’ve you been, baby?”  

“Only been an hour, and I am so over labor,” you whine, smiling pathetically. “Thanks for coming so fast.”  

Eddie was surprised he didn’t get pulled over, going 90 down the freeway. He turned a 20 minute drive into 8. “Made any progress?” 

“I’m only one centimeter dilated. We could be here for a while.” 

“I’m here every minute,” he says, grabbing a chair to sit by your bed. “I believe in you. We’ll listen to Taylor, listen to a smutty audio book, watch a true crime series, whatever you want, baby.”  

- 

True to his word, he allowed you to blast your Faves Spotify playlist, watched a few episodes of 48 Hours with you, and even sat with you as he let you play with the makeup you had packed in your hospital bag on his face.  

You made him look like a Captain Jack Sparrow, giggling as he animatedly talks in a pirate voice. The best thing about Eddie being there is that he wards off your parents and others who wish to visit you in your labor and acts as your advocate when the nurse is too rough with you and requests a new nurse immediately. Well, and his presence alone puts you at ease, of course.  

It feels like forever, but you’re eight centimeters dilated when a familiar face walks down the hall, passing his father as he carries the millionth cup of ice chips you requested. “Bud! Did someone text you about–” 

“She told me when Bethany was driving her to the hospital, but that’s actually not why we’re here,” Dylan sheepishly admits, his shoulders shrugging up to his ears as a pink blooms across his cheeks.  

“We?” Eddie catches on, blinking. “Is Maya also..?” 

“Yeah, we got here about three hours ago,” he squinted one eye comically, crossing his arms. “She’s about halfway there, now I think.”  

“Wow she’s progressing a lot faster than we did,” Eddie comments, it taking you far more than three hours to get to five centimeters.  

“It would be ironic wouldn’t it, if they had the same birthday?”  

“Irony is one word for it,” Dylan chuckles. “My girlfriend asked for ice chips about eight minutes ago, and she is not patient, so I’m going to get back to it.” 

“Let us know any updates, won’t you?”  

“I bet my kid will be born before yours,” Dylan answers, only somewhat joking. 

“Oh, you’re on, dude.”  

- 

As nurses and the doctor rushes around you, frantically assessing the baby while helping you with the afterbirth, birthing the placenta and ridding the bodily fluids that came out with the infant. Eddie cut the cord, watching carefully as the nurses quickly washed his newborn son off.  

He’s simultaneously whispering sweet nothings against your cheek, how proud he is of you, describing your son’s dark hair, his little mouth opening as the nurse's hand gently washes it. “Did so good, baby, so good, I’m so fucking proud of you.”  

“Is he okay?” You whisper, eyes half open as you stare up at your husband’s brown ones. “J-Josh, is he okay?”  

Eddie knows exactly what you’re asking, making sure his limbs are working, that he looks healthy, that the nurses don’t look too concerned about their results. He can’t help but answer, “He’s perfect.”  

Your favorite nurse, the one who got assigned after Eddie demanded it, brings him over swaddled in a hospital blanket and tucks him into your arms. The hormones and adrenaline overwhelm you as you stare at his face, selfishly grateful he looks just like his father, happily staring at the little button nose.  

“I love you,” when you stare up at your husband, you’re expecting his eyes to also be planted on the newest member of the little family. Instead they’re shiny and planted on you, his expression drenched in pure love.  

“I love you,” you sigh, leaning in for a sweet kiss. “He’s so perfect.”  

“I fucking love you so much.” 

The love fest eventually dies down, all the medical aides surrounding you finishing up and leaving the room as they steal one last glance at the happy little family.  

You’re lost in your own little world when Dylan runs in, seeing the little addition sat on your chest. Eddie looks up to face Dylan dressed in a hospital gown and a hairnet. His face is lit up with the same joy as the room is filled with. “You wanna meet your grandson?”  

Eddie nods, quickly stopped by his wife still lying on the bed sitting in the afterglow. “Go,” you insist, petting at the soft hair on your son. “Say hi for me.”  

He smiles, placing a gentle kiss on your knotted hair, followed by his newborn. “Be right back.”  

On the way over to the emergency surgery room Dylan explains that the umbilical cord ended up twisted around his son’s neck and they took Maya straight into an emergency C-Section. He sat with his girlfriend as they emptied the contents of her abdomen to allow the newest Munson to come into the world.  

Eddie asked several times to make sure it was okay if her father in law, her boyfriend’s father, to go into a room where she is this vulnerable. Dylan insisted that she said it was fine and since Eddie was here for the birth of his son it would be cool for him to meet his grandson, too, within the same half hour.  

Miraculously, after getting in his own scrubs, Eddie wanders in with Dylan as Maya is finished with her stitches. She’s still loopy from the general anesthesia, holding her newborn on her partially covered chest.  

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” Eddie asked, knowing how against visitors you were.  

“Just come say hi to your grandson, Eddie,” Maya chuckles, passing up the newborn. “Meet Jace Edward Munson.”  

“Edward?” Eddie laughs, barely holding the mist that comes to his eyes. “What?”  

Dylan scrunches his nose, tilting his head to face the newborn now in his father’s arms. “You stepped up when she left. You were everything to me. You may have stolen a girlfriend, but that is small beans in the grand scheme of things, you know?”  

“Jace and Josh,” Eddie muses, laughter bubbling up his throat. “God, they even sound like twins.”  

- 

Kayla smooths over the dress she wears, nervously looking around the classroom. Are there enough learning centers set up? Will the children like the home center she put together? Will there be any difficult teachers during her first year?  

 For the first time, she’s on her own, placed in the very class she had spent so long working toward, kindergarten.  

Her little classmates with their parents, usually mothers, wander in with wide eyes, nervously holding onto their sleeves and looking around anxiously. She talks to each little one at a time, welcoming them and offering them many activities to distract them from wanting to stay with their parents.  

One little boy doesn’t need much, or any, peeling off his father as he runs in, his shaggy brown hair rustling in as he bolts straight to the building blocks. His dad walks in right after, carrying his bag dressed in a leather jacket and acid wash jeans.  

“Hi,” he sighs, sounding tired. “That’s Dylan.”  

“M or H?” Kayla asks.  

“M.”  

“Dylan, can you grab your bag from your dad and put it in the cubby?” Dylan runs to grab his bag from his dad, shouting in slight frustration as he’s pulled in for a hug. “Yours will have an M next to your name!”  

He listens, but doesn’t look back as he runs back to the blocks.  

“I’m Eddie,” the father says, holding his hand out. “His mom, Brooke, will pick him up after school, uh, she’s a bit of a hardass, so just beware.”  

Oh, goody. She gives him a strained smile, insisting she’ll be able to handle it.  

Eddie and Dylan end up being one of his favorite pairings for the year. But when Brooke walked in, she knew it became a big deal for something as small as Dylan putting his book in the wrong pocket in his bag.  

Kayla got along great with Eddie, as they turned out to be the same age. They saw one another around the school as Dylan got older, even became someone Dylan could rely on for a maternal figure when his parents ended up divorcing in fifth grade.  

About twenty one years after initially teaching Dylan, she’s a veteran teacher in her own right, having a monopoly over classroom #3 as she continues to be the answer for dozens of individuals when asked their favorite teacher.   

She sits in her lumbar chair that her coworkers raised the money for the previous Christmas as she finally is able to look over her newest class list. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary until she came across 9th and 8th from the last name, two boys with J initials and the last name Munson. She’d been wondering if she would ever have the pleasure of teaching Dylan’s boys, or if he decided to skip town like most of his classmates.  

Their birthday right next to their attendance names indicated they had the same birthdate, so she was safe to assume she would have another set of twins. If they were anything like Dylan, they would be a fun sort of challenge for her, that she was sure of.  

On the first day the following fall, she keeps an eye out for her former student, keeping in mind it could very well be the mother that decides to drop them off.  

As she’s helping a particularly shy child settle into her classroom, she notices a parent helping their kid out of the wind breaker they’re wearing. As soon as the little girl is settled she goes to them welcoming them. She immediately recognizes the parent. “Dylan!”  

“Oh, Miss. Thompson! I didn’t realize you were still teaching!” He sheepishly admits, looking at the plaque now containing her married name.  

“I am just married, now,” she answers, answering him the same way she would a student out of habit. “Now, who do we have here?”  

“I’m Jace,” the little boy answers shyly, brown hair of this father but stark green eyes.  

“Well, Jace, would you mind finding your name at one of the cubbies for me? I think you’re put right next to someone named Josh,” she tells him, watching for any recognition of the other name she thought was his twin.  

“Oh, sweet!” Jace exclaims, running with his Pokémon bag.  

She gets up from her squatting position, her knees far too achy for doing it continually like she still is. “So, there’s another Munson on the class list, would you know anything about that?” 

Dylan chuckles, sighing. “Well, about that–” Dylan is interrupted by a little boy with dark hair hugging him, exclaiming his name. “Hey, Josh, we were just talking about you!”  

Josh laughs, tugging on Dylan’s arm. “Is Jace here?” 

“Yeah, he’s playing with the dinosaurs, if I know him.” 

“Cool!” Josh runs straight off, meeting his supposed relative at the play carpet.  

Kayla turns around in confusion, questioning what just happened.  

As if answering her, in comes another familiar face, holding a bag that looks comically small compared to his tall stature. “Ah, Kayla. I was wondering if you were still here.”  

“Eddie!” She greets him, giving a very frank hug. “I have to admit, I am very confused.” 

“That’s okay, you wouldn’t be the first,” Eddie comments, crossing his arms. “Me and my wife had Josh at the same time Dylan had Jace. They’re assholes, they like to gang up on adults, but don’t let them intimidate you, they can’t with their adults anymore, so they try it on teachers.” 

“Takes a lot more than that to intimidate me,” Kayla answers, looking back at the boys who gained ownership over the carpet with dinosaurs and cars. “I appreciate the warning, though.” She looks back to her old friend, seeing the smile lines on his face, still carrying his son’s things. “I’m happy you found someone, though.”  

“Thanks. His mom will pick him up after school,” Eddie tells her, going to the cubby with his kid’s name on it. “She’s not as bad as Brooke, so there’s no worries, there.”  

“Alright, can’t wait to meet her.”  

Eddie and Dylan share a look, one that Kayla misses as she starts to welcome in a few new classmates.  

- 

The bell rings for lunch for the rest of the elementary school and end of day for the kindergarteners. Mrs. Franklin, or Miss. Thompson, as Dylan knows her, helps all her students with their backpacks and jackets. It’s one thing to manage five-year-olds, it’s another to get them to stop wrestling and help them simultaneously.  

The Munson boys are certainly no help, Josh trying to stick his finger up Jace’s nose, pinning him down on the dirty floor as Jace wiggles underneath him. Kayla wished Josh would stop telling Jace he’s his uncle and he has to listen to him, that way she wouldn’t have to hold back her laughter so hard.  

“Okay, Mr. and Mr. Munson, break it up, your parents will be here any minute now. Get up.” They both switch their glances up to her, eyebrows raised over wide eyes. “Get up.”  

They roll their eyes, Josh reluctantly getting off Jace slowly and helping him up. Slowly but surely, parents start to pick their kids up, both Munsons waiting for their parents anxiously. You wonder in with your youngest, a little three year old by the name of Stevie. She holds onto your pointer and middle finger anxiously, eyes darting around at the unfamiliar noises and faces.  

Your son is seemingly nowhere to be seen, usually seen with his counterpart but you can’t see him around the crowd of parents kneeling with their kids and asking how their day was. The teacher,  someone both Dylan and Eddie insisted is the best in the school, approaches you kindly to ask which kid is yours.  

Before you can even answer Josh runs into you, happily glancing up at you as he wraps his arms around your legs. “Hi, baby,” you greet him, kneeling down as you pet his sweet face.  

You miss the peculiar look Mrs. Franklin, or Kayla as Eddie referred to her as, gives you. Surprised to say the least that the Mrs. Munson she has yet to meet is so young. Her brows furrow even further when Jace notices you, yelling, “Grandma!” as he also runs for a hug.  

“Were you boys nice to Mrs. Franklin today?”  

“Of course!” Josh smiles, and you squint through his bullshit.  

“Well we’re gonna make sure to be nicer or we’re gonna have to lose our tablet privileges, won’t we?”  

You get back up, smiling at their grumbly faces. They never listen to new adults, it was a field day at their first day of preschool. One glance to their teacher’s observant face told you all you needed to know. “Eddie didn’t warn you, he?”  

“No, but they did have a peculiar look on their faces when I mentioned meeting you. Should’ve known better, with those two,” you tilt your head, curious at what she meant. “Seriously, your husband needs to tell you more. I taught Dylan when he was in kindergarten.”  

“Oh!” you exclaim, somewhat surprised. “That’s really cool! Were you surprised to see Eddie wi–” 

“With another kid,” she interrupts, laughing, “yes, I was. I’m happy to see that he found someone else, Brooke, was, well, she was not a nice person.”  

Your eyebrows raise at the mention of your husband’s ex-wife, this being the first person she meets outside Eddie’s inner circle to having even mentioned Brooke. “So, I’ve heard.”  

“Hey mom,” you hear behind you, you shove the owner before you even see him, rolling your eyes.  

It’s very recently become a silly habit of Dylan’s to call you mom, due to your son asking why his brother calls his mom by her real name and not mom like he does. After the best attempt at explaining Dylan has a different mom who is no longer around, Josh is still confused and insists that you still act like his mom, so therefore, are Dylan’s mom. 

It was awkward at first, but now it’s a little inside joke. If you were told when you first got together with Eddie that Dylan would be referring to you as a maternal figure, you probably would’ve hit them on the head for fucking with you.  

“Hey, kiddo,” you tease back, mocking his twisted face expression. “They were apparently giving her a hard time today.”  

“Of course they were. You know we can ask one of you to switch classes, right?” Dylan asks, an aura of authority in his voice.  

Their eyes go wide, even though it was a threat in their preschool room, they have yet to consider this. You didn’t want to resort to threats but with their shenanigans, it's literally one of the only things that will work.  

“C’mon, your dad is making your favorite for dinner,” your shoulder cascades around Josh’s shoulder, telling him to say bye to his nephew and that he’ll see him tomorrow.  

Two years later, Stevie shows up with her dark curls down to her shoulders after her father, giggling as she says hi to the teacher.  

That was the last time Kayla taught one of Eddie Munson’s kids. Or, so she assumed.  

- 

The double doors to the high school flew open, big black boots echoing as the large leather jacket trails behind a slim torso. He takes the immediate left into the office, his presence large, with grey streaks leaking into his roots and an angry look on his face.  

The kind administration lady looks up to his expectant face, the curiosity quickly melting into confounded terror. “Can I help you?” 

“Apparently Stevie Munson is in the office right now?” Better be a damn good reason for peeling me away from one of the only moments I have left alone with my wife, he thinks, eyes observing around the office.  

“Yes, she is, uh, are you her–” 

“Her father, are you going to let me in the office or do I have to let myself in?” 

The surprise that fills her features would be charming if Eddie wasn’t so fucking annoyed. He’s used to the assumption by now, but for the moment he just doesn’t have any patience in his body.  

“You can go right ahead, Mr. Munson,” she peeps out, gesturing to the door marked Principal. Eddie’s not sure why he even asked, or how he had the foresight to ask, first. He’s surprised, honestly.  

The door opens to face the school principal, his daughter and a boy sitting two seats away from her nursing his face with an ice pack. “Mr. Munson, welcome in! Have a seat.”  

“No thanks,” Eddie answers, polite, but curt. He looks at his daughter, “What happened?”  

She opens her mouth to answer but is interrupted by the bald principal, “I didn’t ask you, I asked her. What happened?” He directs his attention back to his daughter.

She smiles at him, the same sweet smile his wife bares. “This guy touched my ass under my skirt, so I punched him in the face.”  

Eddie’s brows raised, teeth gritted as he sends a daggers at the boy he is now aware assaulted his daughter. “I’m sorry?” He asks, now directed to the principal.  

“So she says,” the principal says, eyes widening at how Eddie manages to look murderous. “Granted, even if Mr. Jackson did do that, it’s not a good enough reason to assault him. She will be suspended for two days.”  

Eddie laughs, loudly, shaking his head at the gall, the fucking nerve. This principal is extremely lucky it was him who answered his phone and not you. “Really? My daughter got sexually assaulted and your reaction to her defending herself is suspending her? Are you fucking kidding me?”  

“Mr. Munson, if you could please calm down and have a seat,” he starts, gesturing to the chair, yet again.  

“Oh, I am calm. You don’t want to see me angry,” Eddie answers, the Hulk flashing through his mind. “You deciding to punish her tells me exactly why this little shit felt confident enough to lay his hands on her, to begin with. I just think about all the other girls he’s done this to, too afraid to speak up, I wonder how many times he’s done this with no consequence to feel confident enough to touch under a skirt. What the fuck is this place? No-tolerance bullying policy? Utter bullshit.”  

“Mr. Munson, calm down before I call security–”  

“Don’t make me laugh. Seriously. Don’t.” Eddie sighs, pinching his nose. “If you do suspend her, I will press charges against him and I will sue this fucking school. If you punish him, like you’re supposed to, take him off his team for the season, put him in detention for a month, I don’t care, something with fucking consequences, I won’t. You decide.” 

He looks down at the little shit, whimpering as he still nurses the barely there bruise. “You better hope I don’t hear you doing this shit to any other girl in this school, or you won’t get into any college in the country.” He pauses, opening the office door to an audience. Maybe he was louder than he thought he was. “C’mon Stevie, let’s go get some fucking ice cream.”  

When you heard about how your husband stuck up for your daughter like that, you got on your knees for him in the bathroom. That might’ve cheered him up a bit.  

- 

The sounds are familiar yet foreign when you wake up to the blindingly white room, the chatter in the hallway and some heart monitor beeping. Two people immediately come into focus, Josh, sitting at the end of the bed on his phone, Stevie sitting concerned by your head.  

You moan, sitting up in your bed annoyed at the stark contrast of the back of your eyelids. “What the hell?”  

“Mom!” Josh shouts, getting up and standing on the other side of his sister.  

“Mom,” Stevie runs out of the room, calling for a doctor.  

You look to your son, brows furrowed. “What happened?”  

“You passed out at the grocery store. You fainted and you didn’t wake up until just now.”  

Your brows raise, because you haven’t felt off even the slightest. The dizziness hit you out of nowhere, going from fine to woozy in two seconds and falling flat on your face. “How long ago did that happen?” 

“Like twenty minutes? The ambulance got there pretty quickly,” he admits, turning his head to his sister and the nurse coming in the door. 

“Mrs. Munson! So glad to see you awake. I’ll let the doctor know and he should be able to give your results,” she says, sweet smile as she turns away.  

Stevie’s bottom lip is stuck out, quivering as she grabs the hand containing an IV line. You thought that was a bit much. “Stevie, I’m okay.” 

“Are you sure, because I heard the nurses saying it’s not normal to stay out that long after fainting. What if you’re sick?”  

“I’m okay,” you insist, watching both their worried faces. “Fuck, you called your dad, didn’t you?” 

“Uh, yes! He would’ve killed us if we didn’t!” Josh laughs, leaning back in his chair.  

As if summoned, your husband pokes his head in, his eyes wide as he walks in the room, hands out to you as his long legs take him to the head of the bed. “Fucking Christ.” 

“Hi, baby,” you greet him, leaning into the forehead kiss that he gives you. “I’m okay.” 

“Fainting in the fucking grocery store, fucking hell. My god, baby.” He looks over to his kids, “What tests have they done, so far?” 

“Just a blood test, I think,” Stevie shrugs. 

“They might do an MRI but that could take weeks of waiting.” Josh offers no comfort to his dad despite his best efforts.  

“I’m okay, really.” You insist to all their worried faces. “You didn’t call anyone else, did you?”  

“Uh, we called Dylan,” Josh says, wincing at your annoyed face. “And Jace.”  

“Fuck,” you mutter, intertwining your hand with Eddie’s rough one.  

The doctor doesn’t come as quickly as the nurse promised, but he comes within two hours. “Oh, hello, you have quite the visitors, don’t you?”  

You shrug, rubbing his thumb as it anxiously rubs your hand.  

“We have the results, inconclusively.” The air is tense, every one of the family seemingly expecting terrible news. “Congrats! You’re pregnant.”  

You knew nothing was wrong, but this was not what you were expecting. You’re forty-two, Eddie is nearly seventy. You weren’t even sure he could still get you pregnant. You meet your husband’s eyes, sharing a bewildered smile.  

In the meantime, shouts of disgust from your teenage kids fill the room, standing up with tense shoulders.  

“Gross!” 

“Ew! I didn’t even know you guys still did it! Oh my god! Ew!!!!”  

You bite your lip, shrugging. “Are you wanting to be a father to a newborn at almost 70?”  

Eddie smirks, leaning in for a kiss that makes your kids jeer again. “Bring it on, baby.”  

Steve calls an hour later, concerned for the text his name sake sent him. When Eddie informs him, you’re pregnant, twenty years of karma hits tenfold.  

When Steve and Jocelyn said they were pregnant with Eliza fifteen years after having Dustin, Eddie spent the pregnancy making fun of their oopsie baby. Asking if they knew what protection was, joking how they still had sex, telling them to keep it in their pants, the works.  

Now, Steve was more than happy to return the favor. “A baby at 70, you old bastard? What was that you told me twenty years ago? God, I’m surprised you two still do it, considering how low Eddie’s ball sack must be hanging.”  

“You wish you could see my ball sack, you asshole,” Eddie teases, laughing with you as you sigh. “You’re just jealous I can still keep it up, you geriatric bastard.”  

- 

Five years later, when Eddie and Kayla are older, he wanders into classroom #3 for the last time, holding his third son who ends up being notoriously clingy towards his older father.  

It’s ironic to the both of them how Eddie has a son for both Kayla’s first and last year of teaching, keeping tabs on one another for the duration of forty years.  

Eddie doesn’t say anything, letting Tommy down and dismissing her questioning look. Don’t wanna talk about it.

By the time Tommy is 18, Eddie is too old to give a shit, wondering constantly what Wayne’s opinion will be when he ends up knocking on heaven’s door.  

When you got into your sixties, Eddie was full of gratitude, thankful that you will no longer be confused for one of his kids despite his actual kids all calling you mom. He makes fun of your vision, stealing his reading glasses constantly despite his constant insisting that you get your own pair.  

Despite the smile lines by his lips and his eyes, the sunspots decorating his skin, you still stare up at him like you did when he was forty-seven.  

Your lives were forever intertwined from the moment you saw him, from the moment he saw you. He lies down in your bed next to you for the millionth time, his hand caressing your side, pressing kisses on whiskered lips, it doesn’t occur to you to ever be anything less than woefully in love with him.     

———————-

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[veebeeboo109]

Cleaning up the Timeline

{Getting settled in. Rafayel is...Rafayel}

Read on ao3.

Tags: Reader/L&DS Men, Romance, Maid AU, Eventual Smut. SFW (For now)

Chapter 2: The Artist

It feels weird to unpack. The zipper on your suitcase gets stuck in multiple places, and you can’t help but feel like it’s a sign not to open it. However, Zayne’s quiet assurance gives you the courage to open your bag and pull out what you had managed to scrounge in your haste to leave. 

There’s a dresser in the closet you decide to use, and you grimace at the lack of warm clothes you had grabbed. The only thing useful for winter is the coat that still hangs on your back, which you take off and hang up on one of the many racks. 

The extent of your clothes barely fills two drawers and only a third of one of the racks. Looking at all the empty space in the closet, you wonder how on earth anyone could fill all of it. 

The bathroom was pristine and decorated with white marble tiles that created the shapes of flowers. The vanity was long with plenty of counter space and empty drawers. A basket with extra washcloths sat at one end, coupled with a bottle of greenery, and an unused candle. 

After putting your toiletries away, you turn towards the bathtub. The wide, oval soaking tub is calling your name. Whispering in low tones like a siren in the sea. God, a bath would be divine right now. Soaking away the frost that had collected in your joints. But, with a resolute shake of your head, you push away the siren’s call. You are a housekeeper now. Not a guest. And you’re not going to start off this journey by indulging in nonsense like a bubble bath. 

So, you take a quick shower instead. Turning the water as hot as you can stand it without causing actual harm. Once clean, you stand a little steadier, but the whirlwind of today still feels a little surreal.

With your hair up in a towel, you return to the bedroom and sit down on the plush down comforter. It’s heavenly soft, and you resist the urge to climb into the blankets and take a nap. You’d been sleeping too much already these past months. Sleeping your life away and hiding from reality from beneath your covers. 

Instead, you turn to your phone. Looking up blog posts and articles about being a housekeeper. What was allowed and what wasn’t? What was the median pay? Would you wear a uniform? Oh geez, you imagine Zayne showing up this evening with a frilly black costume in one hand, and you snort in disbelief. 

No, Zayne wouldn’t do that. The roommates however…

Well, that was the issue. Three other men live here, and you know nothing beyond that they’re colleagues of Zayne’s in some way. Whoever had been on the phone in the restaurant sounded like a hot-head, but they’d been able to be soothed by Zayne easily enough. 

Did they work at the hospital? Maybe they were a part of some research team that Zayne was a part of?

For the first time in a long time, the desire to act was strong enough to actually get you to move. You finish drying your hair and make sure you look half-way decent before you hesitantly exit the room. 

No time like the present right? You should introduce yourself sooner rather than later. Hiding away in your room would only lead them to believe you didn’t want to be here, or that you couldn’t handle the job.

 Pah. If you could handle Wanderers, you could handle a couple of men. 

You descend the steps and head to the main living area, not sure whether you want to see someone there or not. When you find it empty, you feel almost disappointed, but quickly push it aside. 

Better see what you were working with. You walk over to the mantle, and with a gentle drag of your fingers, you find a layer of dust. The corners of the room house dust bunnies, and there are smudges of fingerprints on the windows.

Not filthy, but not as pristine as you imagine Zayne likes it. 

You venture to the kitchen, admiring the pretty granite countertops that appeared to have iridescent veins in its grain. The sink is nearly full of dishes, and the gas stove still held a used skillet that had been left by the last person to use it. Once checking to make sure it wasn’t hot, you move it to the sink. 

The fridge is sparse, and its contents are puzzling. There are clear containers with fruit on the bottom shelf, but then a few mason jars of something that could be juice? Bright purple and orange that swirled around when you pick them up. 

The door holds a myriad of drinks. A few bottles of stout beer, cans of boba tea, an almost empty pitcher of orange juice, and some little plastic bottles of ginger shots. 

You close the fridge and sigh. One of the blogs you read mentioned that some housekeepers were in charge of grocery shopping– maybe you are too. Zayne would eat nothing but macarons and hot chocolate if he could, and from what you can see there isn’t  much substance for the others. No vegetables. No meat. 

A quick look in the trash answers that question– filled to the brim and overflowing with take out bags and containers. 

“Can I help you?” A sharp voice hisses and you startle upright, quickly turning red at being caught snooping in the trash. 

A tall man with amethyst colored hair stands at the edge of the kitchen. His arms are crossed, and his eyes glare at you like they might actually cut. 

“Oh! Sorry! I-I’m the new housekeeper!” You say with your hands raised placatingly. You give the man your name and continue, “—Zayne said he would message you about me?”

The tightness in the man’s shoulders eases a bit, but he doesn’t uncross his arms. The sneer on his face turns from deadly to just plain vicious, a step down but not a victory. 

“That was fast.” He replies with a slight tilt to his head. He takes a few steps forward and sizes you up. His eyes shining from the bright light streaming in from the windows. An aurora of colors in his irises that makes your jaw unwittingly drop. “Where’d he find you?”

“He–” You go to answer, but he’s suddenly touching you, and your voice squeaks away. Evaporating from the warmth in his fingers. He grabs your chin with his thumb and forefinger and lifts so you look up at him.

This close, you can see the faint streaks of color on his cheeks. The smudges of what can only be paint just below his eye and next to his mouth. With a glance, you see more evidence of paint on his shirt and arms. 

“I’m his friend.” You manage out, feeling the air thin. “I offered to take the job when he told me he needed help.”

The man clicks his tongue and pulls away, “I see. So… he’s that kind of pervert.”

The serrated edge to his posture softens, and he shifts his weight from one foot to the other. 

You stutter for a moment, taking a step back to put some breathable distance between you. “I’m sorry? It’s not like that.”

“Oh yeah? Well, that’s boring.” He sighs, placing his paint stained hands on his hips. “Did he tell you the rules then?”

“Rules?” You parrot in confusion.

“Yeah, rules.” The man groans, “The studio is mine. Clean it, but don’t touch anything.”

You scoff before you can stop yourself, “How am I supposed to–”

“Stay out of my room, and don’t touch my stuff.” He interrupts, holding up fingers as he lists off the ‘rules’. “If someone shows up looking for me, tell them I don’t live here. And when you go shopping, don’t get the cheap fish. I’ll send you a picture so you don’t mess it up.”

From his pocket, he pulls out his phone and taps it a few times, “Put your number in.”

“Okay…” You mumble as you hesitantly take the phone, seeing a new contact form already pulled up. You enter your name and your number before handing it back.

He glances at it before putting it away, “Good.”

He turns to walk away, but you quickly speak up to stop him, “Wait, what’s your name?”

The man turns, his nebula eyes scrutinizing you like you’d asked him something completely unreasonable. “Rafayel… but you can call me master.”

He struts away, humming softly as you stand in the kitchen– still as a statue. Master? What was wrong with that guy? You sigh and shake your head, letting it slide. Running a hand down the side of your face, you wonder if maybe you’ve bitten off more than you can chew.

You spend the rest of the afternoon exploring the house–  compound is a better word though. There are four floors. The bottom is the garage where you entered, housing a few shiny cars that looked suited for the cover of a magazine. Attached to that is a workshop.

A classic red hotrod is lifted up on a hydraulic lift, and from where you peek in from the doorway, you can smell the gasoline, oil, and grease. Various shelves are filled with hand tools and power tools, and one workbench houses what looks like a toy that has been completely taken apart down to the screws. 

The next floor up is the ground floor. The windows are sparse here, and the atmosphere much less inviting than the floors above. The rooms you peek into are dark, and seem like storage. Rows of tall racks with industrial looking crates lining them. 

One of the rooms is a bedroom, dimly lit with only a single narrow window on the other side. It’s such a contrast to the whites and silver of the living space. This is all black trim and red velvet. Smelling of incense, leather, and bergamot.

You have enough time to wonder if this is some kind of sex dungeon before a sharp caw shocks you into fleeing. You catch sight of a black crow sitting on a perch next to the bed before you quickly retreat, shutting the door with a sharp snap!

The rest of this floor is industrial. More storage. A utility room with a large water boiler and other mechanics for the house. The last room is filled with servers. Tall glass covered towers with blinking lights and sweltering heat. 

Okay, so the bottom floor is weird, but nothing too strange. Besides the sex dungeon. That was weird. You try hard not to think too much about why a bird would be in a sex dungeon as you go to the next floor up. 

The next floor is the living area, and it’s such a sharp contrast to the cement walls and dark floors of the floor below. The windows revealed the still pelting snow and cast everything in an almost blinding light. It’s pretty. It’s modern. But beyond the masterpiece paintings on the wall there isn’t  anything to give away that people live here. 

There are no photos on the wall. The bookshelves are filled with encyclopedia collections and classics. Nothing remarkable. Nothing personal. 

It makes you almost sad. Zayne had said he’d moved last year, and in all that time he hadn’t done anything to make this place his own? Neither did the roommates it seems. Though, you wonder if the paintings were the work of the grumpy roommate you had met earlier. 

Rafayel. The name sounds familiar, but doesn't strike anything concrete in your mind. 

You find the other two bedrooms on this floor, peering in and relieved to find them empty. 

One is clearly Zayne’s– though there isn’t anything obvious that it’s his– you can tell by the smell. The soft scent of mint and mild menthol, undernotes of white pine and fresh rain. You choke a little at the realization you recognize him by smell alone, and quickly shut the door to his dark, meticulously clean room. 

The other bedroom is empty too, but it’s different from Zayne’s in that it smells like soft cotton and teakwood. It’s subtle, and somehow fits with the plain white bedding, and simple furniture. This is the messiest you’d seen any of the rooms, with books stacked and scattered across the floors and side tables. 

The last room on this floor is the gym. A long room that has one wall of windows and the other of mirrors. A diverse set of equipment is set up, from a free weights, treadmill, stationary bike, pull up bar, and pretty much anything else a gym-goer could want. A classic gym that smells too much like sweat with hints of mildew. 

As you enter the third floor, the lasting impression you’re getting is that this place is ridiculous. A compound. Not a house. Too big and too fancy to be cozy and welcoming. It makes you miss your house. The normal sized living room and kitchen. Fighting over space at the counter and only a wall away from the people you love most. 

Nostalgia stings sharper lately, and your chest aches. The idea of taking a nap arises in your mind, but you manage to deny it because you’re not done with your exploration.

Your bedroom is closest to the stairwell, and the other you can hear movement inside so you don’t dare open it. Likely Rafayel’s room, if you have to guess. 

Further down the hall you find a small kitchen with a spiral staircase, which, when you follow it, leads up onto a wide rooftop terrace. The snow keeps you from exploring– something for another day. 

The last area is the dreaded studio, and you feel your stomach drop when you open the door. Canvases in various states of being painted litter every surface, some leaning against rolling work tables and others sat against the windows. A large, wall-sized piece is partially covered with sheer linen, and a tall ladder sits in front of it. 

The floor is filthy. Splattered paint and crumpled up papers covering nearly every visible surface. Good god, no wonder the other housekeepers quit.

“What are you doing?” That voice is back, but whispering. 

You jump again and nearly headbutt Rafayel who was leaning over you, peeking into the art studio behind you. 

“Hey!” He shouts, “Watch it.”

“Don’t scare me like that!” You squawk, wrinkling your nose at him.

“You looked like a thief, peeking in like that.” Rafayel teases, a smirk appearing on his stupidly pretty face, “You want to come in?”

“It looks like a disaster zone.” You say as Rafayel pushes the door open and nods for you to enter. 

“It's my creative zone.” He argues back, maneuvering over the various litter on the floor with practised ease. You don’t dare enter past the first few feet in front of the door. “The last maid kept moving my stuff and then I couldn’t find it. So, don’t do that.”

You scoff in bitter amusement, “How on earth am I supposed to clean this without moving anything?”

Rafayel hums and shrugs, “Sorry cutie, seems like a you problem.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes, “Yeah, it seems like it.”

“Hey, come here.” He beckons you over to a worktable,

 Reluctantly, you tip-toe over the scattered, discarded sketch pages and various litter to stand next to him. He uses a thin metal spatula to mix some paint on the glass surface, scooping up dobs of other colors he had blobbed out along the edge. 

With a scrape, he picks up a large dollop of paint he was mixing, and holds it up, “What do you think? Is this red, or orange?”

Your brow creases in confusion as Rafayel offers you the painting spatula. Denying your knee-jerk reaction to sigh, you instead decide to indulge this bizarre individual. They say creatives are odd, and maybe that was it. Rafayel is certainly a character…

The paint he mixed resembles the sky at sunset. A deep burnt color that toes the line between orange and red. There is almost a pearl to the paint, catching the light with tiny flecks of sparkle as his wrist shifts. Like flames, flickering and jumping like it’s alive.

“Um…” You begin, feeling like you were suddenly taking a pop quiz, “It could be either. I guess it depends on who you ask.”

“I’m asking you.” He replies smoothly, his voice taking on a warmth you hadn’t heard from him yet.

Gently, you take the palette knife and lift it high to the light. Then you shift to hold it so a warm colored painting is behind it. A painting of red flowers in an endless rolling meadow, “Well, if I hold it here….it’s orange. For sure.”

Then you turn and mean to hold it up to the window, but find yourself facing Rafayel instead. You hold up the glob of paint up towards his violet hair, a bit stunned to see the flecks of blue there. “But if I hold it here…it’s red.”

Rafayel’s eyes are something to behold. A color you’d never seen before– a mixture of the night sky and iridescent magenta. Playful but intriguing. His lashes are long and dark, shadowing the indigo in the top of his iris. 

With a soft exhale, he smiles and takes the palette knife from your hands. “That’s interesting. But not very helpful.”

You swallow the spark of embarrassment, “Oh, sorry.”

“My manager wants me to come out with some series of paints to sell. I have to come up with colors for the set. I can’t really call this one ‘orange over here, and red over here’.” He chuckles softly and goes back to mixing. 

“Why not something like burnt orange? Or just red-orange? They name crayons red-orange all the time.” You say with a small smile.

“Ugh, if only.” Rafayel whines with a sigh, “But no, ‘It needs to be more meaningful than that’. He tells me.” Rafayel lifts his voice into a higher tone to mock whoever had told him that. 

“Then… name it something ridiculous,” You watch as he expertly continues to mix colors. His hands move effortlessly to spread the thick paint across the palette. “Name it like…yearning or something. Like they do with perfumes.”

“You think yearning is orange?” Rafayel scoffs. “No, yearning is definitely purple. Or…maybe mauve?”

“What’s orange then?” You cross your arms and scan the room, surprised by the variety of paintings here. There’s several of the ocean– from depictions of serene, cerulean horizons, to churning grey stormy seas. 

“Orange is…” Rafayel hums as he thinks.

“Surprise?” You offer, “It’s always a bright color. It’s used to grab attention a lot.”

Rafayel shakes his head, “Do you paint?”

You’re surprised by the question and quickly shake your head, “Oh no, not at all. I just like colors.”

Rafayel pauses in mixing and looks at you with a laugh, “You just like colors?”

You turn at the remark, the teasing in his eyes a bit too much for today, “Maybe.” You say defensively. “I’m going to go wait for Zayne to get back. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Aw, c’mon cutie. It’s alright. I like colors too.” You can hear the laugh in Rafayel’s voice. 

You maneuver through the mess back towards the hall and grimace as you remember you’ll have to figure out how to clean this disaster. 

After escaping the art studio, you take a deep breath. At the very least it seems like Rafayel likes you a little bit, so maybe this won’t be so bad?

<- Previous Next->

(Proofreading Edits: 4/25/2025)

[what-if-i-like-my-mechs-older]

Thankfully he hadn't been reprimanded too badly, more of a stern warning than anything.

Maybe it was because he'd come back without struggling and on his own accord.

However Soundwave had come up behind him like looming shadow, as if waiting for orders to curbstomp him.

He'd turned around and looked him optic to visor, reaching for his front window door carefully, considering the mechs body language said I will choke you if you try anything.

"They insisted I make you one to, you will probably destroy it or throw it in the trash, but as you're into music I made you a glass musical note, it's one of the most complicated to play from where I come from, though I would imagine you would be able to recreate it just fine. "

All rage had slipped from the Decepticon as he reached out and gently held the delicate item, this note didn't even exist on Cybertron, but yes he could read it and how it should sound.

"At least before you smelt it, let them see you have it."

Orion smiled flicking him on the mask.

Soundwave nearly snapped back said mask just to bite his fingers, but no, no he wouldn't do that, no matter how tempting.

"You will refrain from doing that autobot, or I will be forced to pull at your finnals."

Optimus, shut the door window on his chest abruptly.

"Don't theaten me with a good time, Con."

Soundwave this time didn't rise to the occasion, took his gift, and stomped off.

"Do I not get something from your escapade?"

Megatron retorted, hand on hip as the other was held out expectantly.

Orion took his hand and posed two Megatron's black fingers into a V shape.

"Not tonight but perhaps you'd like a special wake up call? To apologise for not bringing you something back Lord Megatron."

"What are you implying with this....pose?"

Orion leaned in and trailed his glossed between the V shape and it clicked exactly what he meant.

Well someone hadn't done what he was suggesting in a long time , he wouldn't say no.

But from Orion's wording he was going to have to wait until tomorrow and didn't feel like being teased with something he couldn't have right now.

He used the same hand Orion was so lewdly demonstrating on and grabbed his face making those pretty lips pucker.

"Stop being a tease, Pax or I will insist you stay the night with me and damn who ever your date is for tonight."

Orion just smiled his ear finals twitching.

"Glad to know you find me so desirable."

Megatron rolled his optics and smiled, the expression simply said 'what am I going to do with you.'

"Go on ,go Autobot, get that sand out of your joints, you better come to me in the morning with that promise."

Orion nodded , when he was released he placed a kiss on Megatron's cheek and went off.

He wasn't going to touch where those lips had been, nope, not at....and he did it any way.

"Hopeless Autobot, one would think he's starting to like it here."

Now you know the Welcome Back Orion had gotten when returning with the Casseticons.

But let's get back to the after of that.

As water cascaded down over his form, Skywarp had decided to stick around and help clean him out.

They sat there under the showers in Primes room, the seeker worked diligently to clean sand from between the autobots joints.

"Ya know, when you talked about those blossom shower things, you made me think of Vos, how it would be as the seasons changed, can you imagine deep Ruby cracked trees, the sun of Cybertron causing fractured light to dance over pathways and buildings..."

Orion found himself listening eagerly, they had nothing like that on his Cybertron, he could hear it in Skywarps voice , how much he missed it, the longing to see it once again.

"Do you have any pictures , any way I could see them?"

Skywarp was scrubbing at the tires by Orions ankles and shook his head.

"Nah, if my place is still standing, that's where any personal effects are, I do know the trees there are shattered, nothing but jagged stumps now, no more coloured leaves on them, just ruins."

"Leaves? You have organic matter on Cybertron?"

Optimus moved in closer.

Skywarp wanted to tell him more, that genuine curiosity in those blue optics, finals twitching as he waited for more.

"Cybernetic matter, nanotechnology that was programmed to go through cycles, forming leaves or flowers throughout the year. Humans are weird they have this stuff called gold leaf and put it on their food."

"It really does sound...wonderful, were there other colour trees or did it depend on the chemical saturation of the area?"

Skywarp leaned in , staring at him, looking for any sign that he was expecting him to try and escape by making him let his guard down, his emp field reaching out to touch Orions and earning an unexpected giggle.

"Stop poking at me like that, when you do it, it's ticklish...unless that's your intent?"

Sky huffed and opened Orions chest, poking at the interior, it was very different compared to his cockpit.

"Must he annoying when people leave garbage under the seats."

"You have no idea, there was this guy called Fanzone, he could not get on with technology, always broke in his hands or malfunctioned, one time he spilt his fresh hot coffee and while trying to clean it up this thing called a meatball sub slips from my dash board, very unpleasant."

Skywarp had no idea what any of that stuff was but he could sense from the Autobot it something icky , even for him.

"I'll have to let this dry before I can hoover up the sand in the finer areas...for now...would you like to hard-line? I can show you the area I used to live that way."

"Sure why not."

Skywarp's jaw hung open at how casually Prime had accepted that invite.

"What no, 'you're a Con , I could never trust you, how dare you even suggest such a thing?'"

Orion looked him over , hand to his cheek.

"Hmm maybe if you were Soundwave , but being telepathic he could prod in my mind when ever he wants, you could be deceiving me, but I'm choosing to trust you , don't give me a reason not to."

Sky's wings fluttered nodding, Primus finally someone to show his old lavish home to, someone that actually wanted to see it!

Previous piece

Next

First piece /aka the very beginning where this all started

[serendark]

Source illustrations by @ancharan: • https://ancharan.tumblr.com/post/773860555406655488/theyre-cuties-and-i-think-they-should-kiss • https://ancharan.tumblr.com/post/767336447230492672/this-was-a-really-fun-stream-thank-u-all-for I traced their artwork for personal practice, and they gave me permission to post it when I asked. (Thank you so much for that!)

Me yapping about my thoughts and process under the cut

So! I've been practicing drawing Ford recently, and figuring out how exactly I want to draw him. Lots of artists approach his features or character in many varying ways, and over time I've come across some that really feel like the perfect Ford for me, like those are the Fords that I wish I could draw and want to strive towards being able to on my own.

I think the ideal in my head is this blob of vibes that does not look like any one artist, and I'm getting closer to being able to see it manifest in my own style the more I practice.

Naturally, ancharan's Fords have left a strong impact on me! I really like how they handle facial anatomy in general and also how they make use of it for strong emoting and expressiveness. Their Fords feel so unique, yet also so very like Ford, and it's just amazing!

My goal isn't to be able to imitate ancharan's art style, nor is it to draw Ford exactly how they do. I wanted to figure out what it was that I found so appealing about their Fords, and then I wanted to figure out what I can learn from that as I continue to iterate and practice my own. What is it about my depictions of him that I feel like need work, what are things I can improve on? How can I draw him so he feels better to me?

I find myself already feeling pretty happy with what I've learned from ancharan's work, and it was what helped me out with that latest Ford drawing I just posted. It turns out that the major thing I need to work on is, unsurprisingly, facial anatomy, particularly how to set the eyes into the face. Just in general and also for masc adult or older men, which is completely predictable when I've nearly exclusively been drawing anime magical girls for years, haha. (RIP Magia Record.)

For the above drawings, I started off by tracing my construction lines directly onto ancharan's illustrations and copying various details. My main goal with the faces in particular was not to copy their lineart exactly, but to look at where they put things and how, and try to draw it in my own style, I guess? Like, when I'm constructing the face, here's where I'm used to putting the eyes and nose, and then here's where they are in this image, so what does it feel like when I deviate from what I'm used to and try something closer to this? What is the version of an adult male in my head and how I would draw them right now, versus how ancharan depicted that idea here? That kind of thing.

These drawings are clearly extremely close in appearance to ancharan's and that was on purpose, as I did trace or otherwise draw over the top of them. But I do like the differences between my art and theirs despite that. I like a differently shaped jawline for Ford, and I think larger eyes and a larger nose? It feels like their Fords and mine have different faces, even with the copying, and that feels like success to me. I really, really adore how my top image Ford here came out, and I think it's probably the best Ford I've drawn, period.

That brings me to the Ford I posted earlier (not traced, to clarify, nothing else I have posted has been traced). First, I drew the face just off the top of my head, the way I normally do, while trying to think about and consider what I liked about the above Fords and felt like I had learned. My attempt was....idk, it felt uncanny to me, and not at all like Ford as I was imagining him. I'm pretty sure it was due to anatomy and facial proportions issues?

So I took that bad Ford and tried to figure out how to make it, well, "good", based on what it was that I liked so much about my outcome in the top image Ford here.

I ended up with a much better Ford that I felt way happier with (old on left, new on right):

Honestly, it's amazing how big of an impact seemingly small changes can make when it comes to this. Like, these have such similar lines, but they feel SO different from each other, right? Small details also do SO much work here, to an astonishing extent.

I think the Ford I really like on the right also feels pretty different from ancharan's, and doesn't feel exactly like my results from the tracing, either. It's the most "me" that a Ford I've drawn has ever felt, I believe, and I'm pretty stoked about that. I think that feeling also comes from it being closer to that ideal Ford in my head than I've been able to draw before.

There's a lot I still need to practice and improve, and eventually I want to draw different facial expressions and angles (I am filled with fear). I am glad for the progress I've made though, and thankful for other artists in the community whose work has been inspiring for me and also just fun to see in general.

I'm deeply appreciative of ancharan for letting me post these! I feel like these drawings are such obvious copies of their artwork to where I didn't feel comfortable calling the drawings my own original artwork, and I didn't want to post them publicly without permission.

I am happy to be able to share them here. Thanks again, ancharan! Go check out their artwork!! Their whole gallery is awesome! There's also this cool espresso machine AU☕ that may be of interest...

If this post is incoherent, it's because I haven't slept yet whoops

[obae-me]

A Winter Weekend- FT. The Dateables

Happy holidays everyone! And happy new year! Thank you for waiting for this late little post. I'm feeling much better, and technically I finished this before it hit midnight my time, so it counts! Stay warm and stay healthy this new year! (Also I didn't comb through this as thoroughly as I usually do, so sorry for any mistakes!)

“I thought you said this was a little winter cabin.” You raised an eyebrow, tilting your head up and down as you observed the building.

Diavolo pursed his lips, confused at your question. “It is,” he stated while grinning, puffing out his chest a little as he took a deep breath in of the crisp winter air. He seemed to be thriving being let loose from the castle and RAD. This peace was well deserved. The prince had been holed up in his office doing paperwork for probably three days straight just to be able to have a little bit of a vacation. It had gotten to the point where even Lucifer and Barbatos were almost concerned with the amount of work he was doing. A sight to behold indeed.

The snow was falling softly today, just enough to engulf the world in that perfect veil of white. The ground was pillowy beneath your feet, the visible breath billowing from your lips swirling into the sky, disturbing the flakes around you and making them dance down to the earth. A few others were taking in the view as well as they trudged through the snow to stand beside you.

A very amused hum was heard as Solomon strutted up to your side, adjusting the strap of a large duffel bag across his shoulders. A knowing side glance was cast at you. “And what a grand ‘little cabin’ it is.”

Before you sat a pristine and modern looking wooden chalet, clean stone pathing working it’s way up to the small steps leading up to the door. Lights were dripping from every frame and railing, twinkling in a magical way. It was about three stories high, with an L shaped pool near the side, properly positioned so you could look out over the mountain. Steam rolled up from the surface of the water. Seemed it was fully heated.

Rich people… If this was a homely winter cabin, you were curious to see what the prince might consider a shed.

A gloved hand gingerly brushed some snowflakes from off your head, trailing down your hair before taking your luggage from you. Barbatos walked in front of all the guests, gesturing for you all to follow. “If you’ll come with me, everything has been prepared for you all.”

You, Solomon, Simeon, and Diavolo all headed inside behind the butler. A pleasant warmth washed over you all as you took refuge from the cold. The scent of freshly baked goods and spices filled the air as a tingling sensation ran through the back of your head. Garlands, wreathes, LEDS, candles, anything one might imagine as winter decor coated the spaces, but not enough to make it feel cluttered. The building simply felt…full, in the best of ways. Comfort. Nostalgia. Somehow these demons managed to harness the essence of the holidays.

Diavolo was positively beside himself with joy. Freed from the shackles of responsibility, surrounded by what some down here might consider a more human aesthetic, he beamed brightener than the lights around him. “It’s been centuries since I’ve been up here. It feels wonderful to have a change of pace for a while, wouldn’t you all agree?”

“I can’t imagine a more magical place to spend the winter.” Simeon’s eyes were shining, shutting the door behind you all as he came up to you and took your coat.

“Let me handle the courtesy.” Barbatos took two steps closer, his hand wrapping around the other sleeve of your outerwear.

The angel grinned with a little chuckle. “I don’t mind. Besides, Diavolo already told you, this is your vacation too. Relax a little.” They both stared at each other with pleasant smiles, neither of them backing away, both of them making you feel like quite the unwrapped gift as they nearly tore you out of your coat.

When you had heard of this idea, you had been glad to be invited along. Desperate even. It wasn’t everyday you had the opportunity to go somewhere without the brothers. And while you adored them dearly, you knew it would be nice to have a switch in scenery. To feel like you could have a breath on your own at least. Not have to worry about breaking up any fights…Besides, you would all be back before the official holiday to spend time with everyone, so you didn’t feel like you were leaving them behind. But… perhaps you had been too overzealous in imagining you’d get complete peace… You were ten minutes in now and already were having two otherworldly beings hissing over your coat. To the public eye, it didn’t seem like they were having a confrontation, but you knew these men well enough to know they were sparring and sparking behind the polite words. They were no better than the brothers… And these were considered the calmer of the bunch… and now here they were. Bickering over your attention like spoiled fanboys.

Despite nearly being pulled in half, you thanked both of them and tapped the snow off your shoes, taking off the boots and setting them in the walkway before heading into the living space. An enormous U-shaped couch was settled in front of a cozy modern fireplace, fully controllable with a few buttons, a flat-screen television mounted on the wall just above it. A rounded wooden chandelier was hung from wooden rafters, the lights coming from fake candles lined along the rim. One of the side walls was covered in windows, allowing a beautiful view of the snow-covered mountainside. You could just imagine coming down in the morning, a hot beverage in hand while you curled up in the corner of the couch… Getting sucked into hell was perhaps one of the better things to happen to you.

While you were lost in thought, a set of arms came up from behind you and wrapped around your waist. You chuckled, leaning into the warm body as their chin rested on your head.

Diavolo sighed heavily, nearly slumping on you with his full body, just keeping enough of his own weight on his feet to keep from crushing you entirely. He was exhausted. He needed this time away more than anyone. You could only hope he would be able to fully enjoy himself without the added pressures of his princedom. “I’m so happy you accepted my invitation,” he muttered.

“Accepting the invite was the easy part.” Leaning back into him, you chuckled to yourself. “Keeping seven people from climbing into my suitcase when my back was turned was the harder task.”

He almost snorted a little at that but kept quiet. It had been difficult not bringing them along, you knew that. But you were glad he was keeping things smaller. Although you still didn’t quite consider this quaint… “You’ll have to tell me everything humans do for the winter holiday.” He gave you a little squeeze before walking up to the windows, staring down at the snow-covered trees. “We could do it all! Sledding, snowball fights, snow…stuff.” It was hard to tell if his lack of knowledge on the topic was due to him being a demon or due to him being a sheltered blue-blood. Probably both. He turned back to you, a curious look on his face. “What’s the difference between a snowman and a snow-angel? Do you have any snow-demons?”

“A snowman is when you roll snow up into different balls and stack them. Then you can decorate them. A snow angel is when you lie down and wave your arms and legs to…” The jumping jacks you were trying to do couldn’t quite translate like you were hoping. With a grin, you grabbed his hand and pulled him back towards the front door. Simeon and Barbatos were still having a deep discussion over the intricacies of coat-taking when you barged back in, taking your coat and boots back and dragging the prince out the door, leaving the two confused. From inside, you could hear Solomon gladly making fun of them both as they were all shut out.

Letting go of Diavolo’s hand, you stepped away from him, testing the deepness and comfort levels of the snow before letting gravity do the rest. Your body hit the ground with a gentle cushioned thud. Shouting your name, the demon panicked, sprinting to your side just as you started moving your arms and legs back and forth, side to side, to make a snow-angel. He sighed first, relieved, and you couldn’t help but feel a bit proud of the fact that the Prince of demons would be so genuinely worried over your wellbeing. Diavolo tilted his head at you as you carefully rolled out of the imprint, staggering backwards. His hand came to your waist to steady you, lightly chuckling as he brushed the snow off the back of your head. “So, this is a snow-angel?”

“Yeah. You got the wings and the dress…robe…thing.”

“I see.” His face was filled with an endearing amusement, taking in the sight genuinely with a nod. “I can envision it. And a snowman?”

Under your instruction, you both rolled up a few snowballs, stacking them on top of one another till a decently sized snowman was made, just about your height. “Then you can dress him up, use branches for hands, let your artistic mind guide you.” You observed the base of your snowman rather proudly.

“And, what about a snow-demon?”

Your face frowned a bit. “We don’t really have snow-demons.”

Instead of being sad about it, the prince just nodded. “Not surprising. Humans consider this time of year to be more holy after all.”

After a moment of thought, you had a little idea. Bending down, you scooped some snow into your hands and worked to make a cone shape in your palms. You set it on the snowman’s head and quickly made another one, doing the same thing. Then you took two steps back, grinning up at Diavolo with a gestured hand. “Ta-Da. A snow-demon.” The only thing you had done was add two lopsided ‘horns’ that looked more like cat-ears, but it caused Diavolo to erupt in joyful howling.

“I guess that means humans and demons are not so different then. I like the thought of that!” His words were warm as he spoke, suddenly moving about in quick steps, rolling up another few balls and creating a newborn snowman right next to the snow-demon. With his finger, he drew in a smiling face. “Happy side by side. Just like it should be.” Diavolo came back up to you, pulling you into a hug, keeping you close to his chest, both of you staring at the snow-beings. His hand came to your face, still nice and warm despite him having worked in the snow with no gloves. Caressing your cheek, he kissed your forehead. Then he used the same finger to trace the outlines of your eyes and lips, creating a smile on your own face. “There we go… I hope you will be just as happy at my side, as they are together.” His head nodded towards the snow-couple.

“Dia… Of course I will be… And don’t worry, I won’t melt away.”

You could feel the playful rumble in his chest. “That’s good… You might freeze though if we’re not careful. Perhaps we should head back inside. We can have a late breakfast to start the day. There is so much I cannot wait to do with you…”

“Forgive me for my behavior earlier,” Barbatos whispered, giving you a small squeeze before turning you around, using the back of his hand to touch the cold and reddened spots of your cheeks. “It is no excuse for being so uncouth, but… it is my secret desire to treat you to a perfect snowy sojourn.”

It never failed to amuse you to see just what the demon considered ‘rude’. You could definitely envision him to be the type to take off his glove and use it to smack someone and consider that a full on brawl. Jokes aside, you could tell he was stressed. There was nothing more unnerving than worrying if you were relaxing efficiently enough. He was quite like Lucifer in that regard, sometimes treating self-care and rest like it was another task to accomplish on their busy lists. His eyes seemed to dart around more than usual, his steps less punctual. He was unraveling, not unwinding, and for all the wrong reasons. You’d known it would be a daunting task to try to keep him from fretting over Diavolo the whole time, but you’d forgotten how much he could fuss over you. What was it Mammon liked to say? You can take Barbatos out of the butler, but you can’t take the butler out of Barbatos? A silly saying that seemed to make no sense at all and yet you understood completely.

“Simeon was partially right, you know.” You let that phrase settle in just long enough to annoy him for a second before explaining yourself. “Diavolo told you to relax too. It was an order as far as I’m aware.” The demon opened his mouth to try to combat your statement, but you cut him off before he could say anything. “I don’t need a royal treatment. I just want to have a good time with you. We can be as casual as we want to be and it will still be amazing.” An idea sparked in your head, a very similar train to the one you’d just had earlier. “Here, let’s start right now.” You took his hand and led him over to the couch. His hands instinctively reached out to tweak the cushions. After his perfectionism was sated, you forcibly nestled him into the corner of the couch. It was rather funny how lanky he looked there for a moment, crossing and uncrossing his legs like he’d never been on a couch before. You snagged a woven throw blanket off a nearby ottoman and threw it onto him. It draped over his head, messing up his hair ever so slightly as he worked to properly fold it over his lap.

Score.

Before he had the chance to even think it- although something in the gleam of his eye suggested he was allowing you to do so- you used your own fingers to fix the few stray strands. The tips of your fingernails brushed against his scalp, and for a moment- the briefest of moments- you almost swore you heard some sort of purr. It was elating getting to do something even as simple as this to someone who hardly ever had a thread out of place much less a hair. He must’ve known you’d do something like this and allowed you to mildly dishevel him on purpose. Ah well. A win was a win.

You heard something of a hum before he spoke. “Alright, now what?”

“Now…” You grinned, finding the remote to the television before sitting by his side. You slid yourself under the cover, curling your legs up, handing him the device. “You pick something to watch and we cuddle in front of the fire while doing something mindless for once. Why don’t you put on that one baking show you like? I can’t wait to hear you grumble about improper measuring cups again.” Schooching even closer to him, you weren’t content till he was fully leaning against the cushions, surrounded on all sides by warmth.

“I do not grumble.” Barbatos looked around himself as if he were worried about being caught like this, but not particularly minding it once he started to get adjusted to it. When he figured you would not dispute his claim, he did what you recommended and flicked the television onto The Great Banished Bake Off. Hopefully he wouldn’t get too riled up over the episodes, although he did look rather cute when he was irritated. Maybe you enjoyed pushing his buttons too much…

Rather than watching the show, you spent most of your time watching him, waiting to catch those specific clues that let you know he was enjoying himself. He would nod at the show here and there, tutting to himself and making off-handed comments about how things should be done differently. In other words, grumbling. Whilst he appeared to be distracted, and committed enough to not move for the next few minutes, you leaned into his shoulder. Then that’s when you felt it. Tiny little movements. Small changes, his body shifting to make it more comfortable to rest against. Eventually, his torso had turned enough to have your head directly against his chest.

His arms supported your body, clasped together by your hip. “You’re not wrong. This kind of activity seems to have its merits.”

“Oh? Good enough for your ‘snowy sojurn’?”

More than hearing it, you felt the deep rise and fall of his chest with a refreshing breath. “Planned or not, grand or casual, anything I do with you is perfect. No second of time is a waste.”

A human-like type of warmth enveloped you just long enough to put you at ease. Then the traitor struck. Two ice-cold hands snaked around the back of your neck, causing every nerve in you to jump. You squealed and shrugged the demon-in-mortal-clothing off of you, hearing that familiar and infuriatingly adorable impish giggle echo behind your head.

“Solomon! You—“

“Careful,” he warned, controlling his laughter enough to speak, his imaginary horns fading away as his collected smile stretched back over his face. He pointed back over his shoulder before curling his hand near the side of his mouth to funnel his whisper towards you. “There’s an angel present.”

“Oo, you’re so gonna get it later,” you muttered, forcing a frown to stay on your face despite how light-hearted your chest felt. “Besides, it’s just Simeon.”

“Hm.” His face went a bit flat. “You’re right. It’s Barbatos you’d need to worry about, unless you want another lecture on,” his words suddenly droned rather mockingly, “‘maintaining dignity in the presence of royalty’.”

“I’ll pass.” As you scoffed, Solomon came close for another embrace, his smile genuinely falling when you pushed him back with a palm to his forehead. Looked like quite the kicked puppy. “And I’ll pass on those frozen fingers of yours.” You moved past the living room and traversed the vacation home to learn its layout, admiring the simple intricacies of the winter lodge, listening to him continue to pad behind you.

He could’ve used magic or any other sort of cards he kept up his sleeve to get you to stop or turn around, but in moments like these he never seemed to. Around you he seemed less like a mythical sorcerer and more just like… Solomon. “Oh come now, you’re not going to punish me for being cold, are you?” He tried to dance around you, leaping forward to block the stairs only for you to walk past and purposefully circle the lower floor again.

“I’m not your personal heater.”

“Is that how you treat your beloved mentor? Leave me to freeze?” Either he’d been spending too much time with the brothers, or aside from his profession as a sorcerer, he’d somehow managed to find the time to master acting, because the voice that pricked up behind you finally made you stop. The guilt was intentional, you knew that, like those infomercials depicting sad animals or children to get you to donate something. Regardless of knowing this, you turned, giving him a sterner look despite treating this thing more like a game rather than a grudge. He smiled once he got to see your face, brushing his hands together and letting you get a better look at them. They were a strange sort of pale, the tips turning indigo. At this stage, they were more than just freezing, they were probably numb. And yet, instead of fixing the problem before it got dangerous, this moron was chasing you around and demanding your attention.

You stepped closer to him and lifted up his hands, holding them in your own, gently massaging his palms and fingers with your fingertips. You addressed him with a sigh so chagrined, you would’ve made Lucifer proud. “Your title is Solomon the Wise. You should have the better sense to wear a magical little thing called gloves.”

He chuckled at you, but you could see the softness form in his face as you traced the lines in his hands and tried to get the blood back into those extremities. “You’re right. I should be used to Devildom winters by now. I must’ve simply forgotten them in my excitement.”

“You’re acting like a child at their first amusement park.” Finally, you allowed the irritated facade to fade, chuckling.

All the sudden, he almost seemed a bit embarrassed, that smirk of his toned down to a curl more innocent. “But it is the first time I’m doing something like this. This is a little bit different than other trips where everyone has come along or this is different than us spending time together in the human world. This is… you and me, somewhere where work doesn’t have to be involved.” His hands warmer than they were before, his fingers found themselves slipping between yours, hands entangled. “I don’t have to just be your mentor or the Wise Human Sorcerer, and you don’t have to be just my apprentice or the famous royally-appointed Devilsitter. Maybe this is more like… a couple’s trip.”

His words nearly sounded pleading, and for the first time since the trip had been announced, you got to see just how much he was internally begging for something like this. Of course he’d had his fun prodding the brothers and riling them up, telling them all how much fun you’d have without them. But aside from his jokes and his teasing, he was so… giddy to be here. So much so that he forgot his gloves and now he was here swinging both your arms back and forth, his thumb rubbing over the back of your hand. For all that he had lived through and all that he knew…this was nearly a brand new experience for him.

Your heart swelled. Although, you felt you deserved a tease of your own. “You’re rather cute when you’re confused,” you whispered.

He was only caught off guard for a second, hiding his flustered blush by pulling you into his arms. “You are always there to teach me there’s still so much I have yet to experience… And you’re always there to warm up my hands.”

You were swept up in a soft hug that spun you several times around the room, a tune wistfully echoing from the mouth of the angel who was practically chirping. In the end, his small spat with Barbatos- if it could even be called that- wasn’t strong enough to quell the joy inside him. The spirit on high was in high spirits it would seem.

“Isn’t this wonderful?” Simeon asked, stopping his little dance with you around the living room to take in the view from outside the windows. Upon closer inspection, one of those windows seemed to actually be a glass sliding door leading the way to a wrap-around balcony outside. Letting go of you, the angel strutted forward, throwing the door open, apparently unaffected by the cold. At least Diavolo didn’t seem to have to worry about a heating bill here… Simeon stretched like he’d been cramped for a long time, muttering something Celestial under his breath in awe before leaning against the railing.

While Mr. Cold-Shoulders might be able to combat the weather with little more than a pull-over and scarf, you were not the same. No matter how acclimated to the cold you felt you may or may not have been, nothing seemed to hit quite as strongly as Devildom temperatures. Warmth still flooded out from the heat of the cabin, but to keep the rest of you warm, you latched yourself against Simeon’s back, peeking at the world outside from behind his arms.

The angel looked back over his shoulder at you, his eyes wrinkling in compassion. “I’m glad I eventually decided to come out here,” he mentioned. Right, he’d nearly passed up this opportunity, worried for a while about leaving Luke alone with the brothers. For a good portion of time, you’d convinced yourself that he wouldn’t allow himself to go. In the end, he came to the conclusion that it would be good for the little angel to have a little lesson in independence. And if anything, Luke would be the one trying to keep most of the demons responsible, not the other way around.

“I’m glad you came too. You work so hard behind the scenes and take such little credit…”

His hands found yours around him, giving them a reassuring squeeze, telling you in his own way that he didn’t think of it like that. Although, even if he got fulfillment and accomplishment from caring after the others, you knew this would be good for him too. A respite for himself. Let him catch up on the works and hobbies he had been leaving behind lately. Even now, there was a twinkle of inspiration in his eyes, the twitch of a writer’s hand. “Write a little something,” you suggested.

“W-what?” He actually stammered, almost laughing at his own surprise. “Right now?”

“I mean, only if you want to. You just look like you’re itching almost.” You pressed a gentle kiss to the back of his shoulder, feeling him shudder.

“I guess I am feeling inspired…” After his whisper, he took in a deep breath, speaking slow, letting the thoughts come to him naturally. “Ivory clouds in winter skies. The icicles keep twinkling. I search the palette for your eyes. And so I press on thinking. When Father Frost has gone to sleep and his kingdom melts away, will you still be right by my side? Am I where you will stay? Two doves, close perched, adoration in their breast. Two wings, like two words. My Love. You are my nest.”

Some sort of emotion caught in your throat as you listened to his heart pound in his chest. After a moment of silence, you cleared your throat. “Wow. Have you thought of writing a book?” You teased, trying to joke away the sappiness to keep your feelings from getting the better of you.

“Really, you think so?” He turned his body away from the railing, holding you closer to him. “I don’t know. Something like that seems well out of my purview,” Simeon smirked a bit. He swayed you and him gently back and forth once more. “To tell you the truth, my biggest inspiration isn’t the scenery. It’s you.”

Once more, adoration tugged in your chest. Struggling to find your own words to say, you simply smiled and perhaps stammered more than you intended to. “I bet the view doesn’t hurt though.”

He lightly chuckled at that. “No, not at all. I don’t think it would be as breathtaking though if you weren’t here with me.”

“Simeon, please.”

The rocking stopped, a little bit of fear seeping into his face, afraid he’d crossed a line somewhere. “What is it? Did I say something wrong?”

Quickly, you shook your head, tilting your head back with a small groan. “No, no, it’s not that. I promise. It’s just…I can’t say things as pretty as you can…and your little lines are so nice they make me want to cry.”

He sighed in relief when he realized he’d done no offense. “If you don’t want them, I’ll stop.”

“No! I love them.” You met his eyes and then wrapped your arms around his neck. “I just wish I could express how much I love you as nicely as you can for me.”

“Is that all?… Listen.” The side of his hand cradled your face. “You don’t need to write poetry for me to know you care. I can see it in your eyes. I can feel it. A simple ‘I love you’ means more to me than you will ever know. It doesn’t need to be wrapped in gifts or hidden amongst colorful prose. If its coming from you, it’s the most wonderful thing in the world. Trust me.”

[harrywavycurly]

Eddie’s Wish Part 2: How’d You Get in Here?

Masterlist: here

Tag List: @miss-celestial-being @edsforehead @starrywhitenight @mrsjellymunson @5sosjay @emma77645 @akiratoro420 @elegantkoalapaper @squidscottjeans @mikromoon @daddysmodifiedprincess2 @niallerlover8022 @twilightsfairie @pausmoon

A/N: I am so happy y’all enjoy this idea of Eddie and his Person and wanted more🥹✨

Eddie lets out a groan as he falls backwards onto his bed, the activities of the day causing him to feel particularly exhausted so he closes his eyes as his hands go behind his head. You smile as you quietly take a seat next to him at the end of his bed and place your hand on his knee ever so gently. Eddie thinks he’s just imagining the feeling of a hand on his leg so he just lets out a sigh as he begins to relax.

“You know one day you won’t be able to work on cars for ten hours straight…it’s horrible on your body.” Eddie’s eyes snap open as you give his knee a little squeeze before he quickly sits up and turns his head so he’s staring at you with wide eyes. “Why are you always looking at me like that? Aren’t we past the shocked stage of all this? It’s been two days.” You drop your hand from his knee as he stands up and heads for his bedroom door checking to make sure he locked it when he came in earlier.

“How did you even get in here? Why are you here?” His eyebrow is raised as he looks from the door back to you making you roll your eyes as you stand up.

“I’m here because you seemed upset or…maybe tired I’m not sure I just know you’re not happy so ta da…I’m here! Also I just…showed up. I didn’t want to open the door considering you’re the only one who can see me right now…I didn’t want Wayne thinking your house is super haunted or something.” Eddie just continues to stare at you making you let out a frustrated groan as you walk across his room and grab his door handle instantly making it unlock as you swing his bedroom door open and then slam it closed. “Better?” Eddie just takes a step backwards with his hands in the air.

“I get it geeze…no need for the dramatics….you can sense that I’m not happy? That’s…odd…uh so you said you appeared out of thin air so Wayne doesn’t think my house is super haunted? Does that mean…it’s kinda haunted?” You look around his room and stop when your eyes land on the doors to his closet.

“I wouldn’t go in your closet past midnight but yeah other than that…it’s normal.” You explain while you go back to your spot on the end of his bed. Eddie looks at his closet doors and then back at you with a look that you know means he wants more of an explanation. “You have evil dust bunnies.” You add as you close your eyes as you lay down on the bed and place your hands on your stomach in an attempt to get comfortable, the lumps in the mattress making it nearly impossible. “Where’s Mr. Wig-”

“How the fuck do you know about him?” You don’t even need to open your eyes to know Eddie is glaring at you, it’s the harshness of his tone that tells you everything you need to know.

“You think I just happen to know everything about you…from the weirdly shaped birthmark on your lower back and exactly how long it took to potty train you…three weeks and four days…which from what I can tell is normal-ish…but you assume I don’t know about Mr. Wiggles the stuffed turtle that you’ve had since you were five?” Your eyes are still closed as you slowly reach over and slide your hand underneath one of Eddie’s pillows, you feel around and smile when your hand comes in contact with something soft.

“Don’t touch him with your…weird imaginary hands.” You open your eyes as you feel the stuffed turtle being ripped out of your grasp. “Also how’d you learn all this about me? Did they just plug a thumb drive into your brain that has all my deep dark…personal information?” You laugh at the thought of someone plugging something into your brain, because of course Eddie assumes you’re a robot something you know stems from the fact he recently discovered the Terminator movies.

“No Edward I wasn’t just plugged into a computer so I can download all your nitty gritty freaky information okay? I just…know it…as soon as I got assigned to you I just…instantly knew everything about you so you’d feel…understood by someone.” You try your best to explain it to him but honestly you’re not even fully sure how it all works, you just know three days ago you got told his name and location and now you’re here and know everything there is to know about him.

“So…uh you said you’d be with me until I die…are you always going to look…like that?” You sit up so you can rise an eyebrow at him as his eyes not so subtlety look you up and down.

“What’s wrong with how I look? I think I blend in just fine in…uhm…Harkins? No…that’s not it…oh oh Hawkins? That can’t be it…what kinda weird name is that for a town…anyway I think I look good so if you have an issue you’ll just have to exchange me.” Eddie watches in amusement as you half talk to yourself and half talk to him. But when you’re done and look at him with a slight glare he knows you’re serious about not wanting to change how you look.

“It’s Hawkins and that’s not what I meant I…mean are you always going to look like a twenty something while I’m over here getting older?” You know he’s nervous about asking the question, the way he’s biting his bottom lip and the hand that isn’t holding Mr. Wiggles is rubbing at the back of his neck.

“Oh that’s up to you….if you don’t want me to age then you just have to tell me and I’ll stay this way forever…it’ll be creepy and you’ll totally look like a perv…but if it’s what you want then it’s..fine.” Eddie’s cheeks turn a light shade of pink as you stand up and walk over to him. “That’s still only if you decide to keep me.” You take Mr. Wiggles from him and gently place him on top of Eddie’s pillow.

“Yeah about that…if I did…want to exchange you what’s the protocol? If I’m not happy with your replacement can I just get you back?” You know he’s just asking questions to help get a better understanding of how this whole thing works but you can tell by the way his voice went slightly higher when he mentioned getting you back that this was another question he was a little nervous to ask.

“Well to exchange me it’s super easy you just say…I don’t want you…but once I’m gone I’m gone you can’t just ask for me back because I’ll already be with someone else…we do try our best to have a very quick turnaround time from the time the wish was made to when someone actually shows up…I also won’t remember you…at all.” You turn so you’re facing him and you instantly feel your eyebrows furrow as you see a look of almost pain take over his face.

“What-”

“Shut up and come here.” Before he can put up any kind of fight you’re wrapping your arms around his shoulders and pulling him into a tight hug. “You don’t have to worry Eddie…even if it’s not me you’ll still have someone who understands you.” Eddie doesn’t say anything as he slowly lets his arms wrap around your middle. “I know that’s all you really want.” Eddie feels himself relax as you give him a little reassuring squeeze, you know this is a lot for him still but you also know he’s slowly starting to let his guard down because you’re exactly what he wished for he just doesn’t know how to accept it quite yet.

[holdinbacksecrets]

Cuddling with vernon

Spending casual time with him, watching movies and eating ice cream. When you get ice cream near your lips, he'd kiss it saying "cute" It's all so sweet and lovely. Holding you, being the big spoon, playing with your fingers and hair. Kissing you hands, cheeks, nose, neck, ETC. ETC. :(

It's just so simple yet so cute

:( i love hansol so much, and he’s so boyfriend to me, but in a different way… maybe it’s all the weird in him yet he’s also so wise and i appreciate his perspective so this all just aids the boyfriend energy and the comfort that cuddling would bring

he’s definitely someone i imagine doing lots of ‘spending time in the same room doing different things’ bc he just wants to soak up as much of you as possible, and he’ll eventually push away whatever he’s been working on and capture your attention through a soft touch or call of your name. maybe he motions to your room or the balcony if the weather is lovely, and sinking into his arms is an unbeatable experience. you can feel any pressure on your bones release. anxiety in your mind is softened. your heart warms.

maybe you continue to exist in the same silence as before, just closer. maybe random thoughts are shared, interrupting the quiet peace in gentle waves. perhaps you talk for hours now, recharged by your solo activities.

his fingers card through your hair. your hand is on his chest, a leg between his own. the ceiling fan creats a rhythm that would certainly lull you to sleep if you weren’t so engaged by hansol’s words.

kisses meet your forehead. an i love you fills your ears. he tells you a story—shares a memory that isn’t in your catalogue from years ago, from those early days when you were still figuring each other out.

it’s always a strange sensation that embraces you when a loved one shares a past experience of you, coming to know about the way you’re left in another’s life, the way your energy, your smile, your gaze feels to someone else—the way it’s often different from what you imagine: oh, that’s the shape of my imprint.

he tells you about the vacation he took to see his family two weeks after your fifth date, and he talked to his sister about you in the kitchen. she’s a better cook than him, but he helped by cutting veggies and measuring ingredients. her entire face lit up as he told her about you. about the skirt you wore with oxfords and a university sweatshirt—your mom’s with fading letters and a distressed collar. about the tea you ordered but waited for twenty minutes to drink because lukewarm is better than a burnt tongue. he told her about the sun’s glow on your skin and his surprise to see your eyes stay wide open even when the brightness found them. he wondered how long it’s taken you to do such a thing—be able to handle it. he called you that night and packed a t shirt he wanted you to have and a cd too, one kept from middle school. you whispered on the phone. it’s something you’ve only done with him when the telephone rings at night. he asked you why, and you said something about a tree outside your window—staying quiet for it or else it’ll call on the wind to make its branches bang your glass. that was the moment he knew.

you peer up at him through long lashes, hazel eyes holding love and surprise and a sprinkling of awe for the man who’s nearly beneath you. he’s about to be as hands guide you to straddle his waist. hansol hums like he doesn’t understand your expression, but he does. he just wants you to say it, wants you to look at him like this for the rest of the afternoon while tracing the lines on his face.

what your heart is doing, the way it’s swelled, is sweeter than moonlight. the wanting is all over you. the wanting to know every other thing he’s kept with him. wanting to share moments your mind clutches and unravel memories, realize which are shared or only known by one. you find yourself wondering if this will be a forever routine. hopefully

[yun-jinz]

TODOROKI DRABBLE: Confession

ᝰ𓂃Tags: Fluff, gn! Reader

⤷Navigation

Note: Thank you for 500 likes.!! ♡

🪼 – When it came to romance, Todoroki couldn't exactly say he was experienced. This being due to his only romance knowledge coming from manga and the internet. But one thing he knew for sure was that he liked you.

🪼 – When Todoroki first began questioning his feelings towards you, he thought it was just coming from a place of admiration. But after many long talks with ochako and izuku, he came to realize his feelings were much deeper than that.

🪼 – It started with small lingering glances between the two of you. Which somehow resulted in you and him becoming close enough to share your numbers. Todoroki first began questioning his feelings when he caught himself smiling at your random texts. Updating him about what you ate for brastfast, homework, and honestly anything that came to mind that gave you an excuse to text him.

🪼 – But knowing him, you didn't really expect him to feel the same way as you. Considering hasn't ever been in a relationship, or brought up any girls to you. Eventually you had just learned to supress how you felt. which is why when you found a note bottom of your school bag asking you to meet him outside the dorms after class, your haw physically fell to the floor. I mean it the envelope was closed neatly with aheart-shapedd sticker for heavens sake. You tried to look back into the classroom to catch him, but somehow, he had snuck past you. You had no choice but to head to the dorms to see what he had to say.

🪼 – you found yourself waiting patiently outside of the dorms, practically shaking with anticipation. We're your dreams really going to be realized? Will you finally be able to experience teenage love? It was almost like you couldn't shut your brain off. Maybe he used the heart-shaped sticker because he ran out of normal stickers. Maybe the heart next to where he signed his name was from him dropping the pen on the page, somehow forming a heart shape. All of these thoughts immediately went away when you realized shoto was now standing directly in front of you, probably wondering why you were staring into space biting your nails like a psycho.

🪼 – "You asked to see me." — It was almost like you had to force the words out of you. Just the sight of him, for some reason, was now making you nervous. Which was an unfamiliar feeling for you. Knowing he might feel the same way as you has completely altered the way you see him.

🪼 – "I have something I need to tell you," He said with a finality in his voice. "It's important." The way he spoke so confidently made you wonder if you've been overreacting this whole time. You swallowed somewhat audibly and eventually forced the words from your throat. "What is it?" You couldn't keep yourself from fidgeting with your now sweaty hands. Your negative, anxiety inducing thoughts were now appearing in your head yet again, when you felt a hand now touching holding yours. You raised your head to find Todoroki giving you a comforting look while holding both of your hands in his. The warmth of his skin on yours was comforting enough on its own.

🪼 – Shoto took a step closer to you, dangerously close. The tension between the two of you was suffocating. He took a deep breath in before replying.

🪼 – "I need you to know that I've grown to care for you." Shoto was now making direct eye contact with you, his eyes soft and caring. By now, you'd forgotten how to breathe. Was this really happening? Is this a dream? "From the very moment I met you, I knew it was you. My every thought is consumed by you." Shotos' cheeks have now flushed a faint shade of red. It's so faint that normally you wouldn't have noticed, but you just can't keep yourself from studying his expression. "Shoto," you spoke in a low yet audible tone. "I can't imagine my life without you in it."

🪼 – He had now somehow stepped even closer to you, nearly closing the gap completely. Making the large height difference evident now more than ever. "That makes two of us." Shoto brought his hand to your face, cupping your cheek. You melted into his touch, feeling the warmth of his palm against your skin, his thumb gently caressing your face. Eventually, shoto closed the distance between you two, his lips lingering over yours. You could feel his breath against yours. His eyes moved from your lips to meet yours.

🪼 – "No pressure or anything." You blurted out, earning a chuckle from him. His arms snaked around your waist, pulling you closer, if that was even possible. Your lips hover inches from each other before they just barely brush against each other. Your lips softly pressed against each other. His lips were softer than anything you could have ever imagined. It felt like you were floating. It was sweet. Effortlessly sweet.

[snowflake-of-destruction]

Going to try to get in the habit of posting Work in Progress Wednesdays...which will mean that I'm writing every week. Let's start with an excerpt from the upcoming Aim Ammam (your soon to be classic trope of immediately post-Sinsmas pregnancy test mix up fic) where the Mammonopolli finally comes out at Blitz's Sinsmas party.

"Shut up, Mox. Nobody likes an 'I told you so,'" Blitzø grumbled even though the shorter imp had made no such statement.. "Now are we going to play Mammonopolli or not? I have an empire to assemble."

There were various noises of assent. Stolas wasn't tracking every word, but even he had noted that there had been at least three previous declarations that games were starting, so it seemed overdue. A long, thin gift box was opened and a cute little map with drawings of Greed was unpacked alongside multiple decks of cards, a village's worth of charming little plastic houses, and some amusingly shaped iron figures that ranged from clowns to bags of gold to buckets of fried chicken. There were also stacks of money in a riotous rainbow of colors.

"Oh no! Put that back!" Stolas fretted, restraining himself from slapping the bills from Russ's hands as he took them from the box. Blitzø and Loona didn't seem nearly as distressed as he felt they should have been. They had so very little money, Stolas was discovering. These stacks had to be all of it, and now Blitzø's savings were being distributed by Loona's friend, who held onto far more than he should, claiming to be a banker--which seemed a vile lie since Stolas was sure the young man had previously claimed to work at a Radiohacks in Pentagram City.  How frustratingly like Blitzø to use this "board game" box to hold his money instead of a bank, and Stolas was sure he had no investments either. "Stop! I understand it's Sinsmas and you must all celebrate Greed, but that's not your money!"

Stolas had fallen victim to the delusion that every eye in a room was trained on him and every mouth either whispering or laughing at his expense before. In this particular situation, however, he did not believe he was imagining things.

“Stolas, babe.” The endearment was said so gently that it circled right back around to stinging like derision. Blitzø was treating him like he’d break again, because he was just such a hopeless basket case. “Have you ever played Mammonopolli before?”

Stolas found himself flushing and he wasn’t sure what for. There was more at stake here than the game. Russ was the one who should feel embarrassed for stealing Blitzø’s money. He had no reason for shame. “Well, no,” he admitted, voice dropping and threatening to give out on the second word. “But I assumed that I would be able to catch onto the rules…”

“The money’s fake.” Blitzø explained, patiently and without judgment. He pressed a few of the bills Russ had tossed Stolas’s way into his talons. “See? Crinkle it up a bit. It’s thin, right? And have you ever seen pink solbucks?”

Stolas wasn’t very accustomed to cash, but he nodded along with Blitzø’s question, acknowledging, not agreeing. No such thing as pink solbucks. Noted. He practiced his deep breathing. It was easy to match breaths to the tempo of Blitzø’s speech. The imp was speaking slowly, using the same tones he did when he attempted to talk Stolas out of his panic attacks. It only felt a bit patronizing.

“Look at the pictures. Mammon in different funny hats. It’s supposed to be funny.” Blitzø continued.

“So the money is fake. What is the little treasure map for? Are the dice for telling fortunes?” Stolas endeavored to ask intelligent questions to make up for his outburst. Judging from the unrestrained laughter of Loona’s female friend, he fell a bit short. Everyone else except Blitzø stayed silent though, as if they were pretending they weren’t being forced to listen to the inane prattling of a man severely divorced from reality.

“Stolas, I really don’t want to offend you, so, like, don’t take this the wrong way…” Blitzø qualifying statements he had yet to make was always a magnificently bad sign. “But have you played any board game…ever?”

“My servants often made up games to keep me occupied when I was a child whenever I claimed I was bored.” Stolas wanted to reclaim the words as they left his beak. He knew this wasn’t the Bored Game that Blitzø was talking about. “This was before I discovered books of course.”

Loyal, lovely Loona was the one to snort audibly now. Dear that she was, she tried her best to disguise it as a cough.

[bejeweledblondie]

Just Like My Babcha

Sobiesław “Gromsko” Kościuszko x F! Reader

Summary: Y/N comes from a Polish-American family & learned from the best at making homemade pierogi catching the attention of a familiar Polish operator

A/N: I’m not from Poland I myself have polish ancestry & my own Babcha came from Poland but she never taught me unfortunately so if there’s any mistranslations I apologize in advance. For anyone who doesn’t know a pierogi is like a potato dumpling, but it can be filled with cabbage & other food

Warnings: potential mistranslations, traditional gender roles, thoughts of impregnating

Y/N’s hips swayed side to side to the song that was coming out of the nearby speaker. She used the back of her hand to brush some of her hair out of her face, & got flour on her cheek in the process. It was Easter, & she was making pierogi to celebrate the holiday. She was feeling a little homesick being far away from her family, & called her mother asking for the recipe. The smell of the dough was bringing back nostalgic memories of going to the grand Orthodox Church & coming home for a early lunch. Her babcha would help her little delicate hands pinch the edges to hold the cabbage & potatoes.

She was so focused on cutting the dough properly & to proportion that she didn’t even notice the shadow she was starting to acquire. Sobesław was returning from a mass at the local Orthodox Church when he was pleasantly surprised by the smell of pierogi’s cooking. He walked into the conjoined kitchen & living room area of the apartment he lived in. He was surprised to see their Human Resources Secretary standing there. She was also so kind to him, & was actually able to pronounce his name correctly. He was in utter shock when she was able to pronounce it on the first try.

He leaned up against the doorway as he watched her hum to herself while she started to fill each pierogi. This was a sight he could get used to. Growing up in a very traditional Catholic Polish household had instilled very traditional values. A vision of her with a small baby bump glowing from pregnancy making pierogi’s & other food played in his head. She was absolutely beautiful. Being a civilian, let alone a woman on a military base had to have been intimidating for her. Every time he’d walk into the office she worked out of her head would always been down, failing to make eye contact. Her shyness always intrigued him. He couldn’t imagine someone so stunning want to hide their face all the time.

Her delicate hands started to fold & pinch the pierogis creating the half moon shape. It took one accidental bump into the side of a table for him to gain her attention. A small gasp escaped her lips at the sound & a slew of polish curses rang out of his. A scarlet blush appeared on his cheeks as he tried to cough it off. She looked and smiled at him.

“Oh Sobiesław you startled me,” She started. “I’m assuming you got a good waft of the pierogis I already have cooking.” A small smirk danced on her lips.

“Tak (yes).” He replied. “Just wanted to know if you needed any help. My babcha, she used to make them with me.”

“That’s where I learned too.” She replied enthusiastically. “Well come in! Just make sure you wash up.” He walked into the kitchen & washed his hands in the sink. Once he finished drying them off he stood right beside her. “Hands.” She instructed. He held out his hands and she placed some flour in the them. Rubbing his hands together he spread the flour & got to work.

As he started to put some of the cabbage into the dough, he couldn’t help but notice how petite she was. The pierogis looked significantly larger in her delicate hands than his. She smiled up at him & he nearly melted into the floor right there.

“I can see our Babcha’s had very similar techniques.” She said. “How long have you been cooking them?”

“Ever since I was able to walk.” He replied. “My Babcha wanted me to know so I could pass down the recipe.”

“Mine too.” She replied smiling & continued to fill & pinch the pierogis. “Seems like they’d be close.” He could’ve dropped to one knee right there. She always had a reputation of being so kind, but she truly was an angel. It wasn’t very often that his teammates asked much about his life or his family. It was refreshing & comforting to talk to her about his life back home.

“How does a woman like you wind up in a place like this?” He asked. “You’re an anioł (angel).” She smiled at his compliment. Her life wasn’t the best back home, & the civilian sector of defense contracting provided her with a way out. Good benefits & there would always be work.

“I needed to get out. Home wasn’t the best environment for me to be in.” She replied somewhat solemnly. “Since I have personal health issues I wasn’t qualified for military service but I found employment in the civilian sector.”

A feeling of sadness washed over him. He couldn’t imagine someone as kind & beautiful having to experience something so tragic. It only triggered the instinct to protect & take care of her more. Once the pierogis were cooking away, she started to set the table for the two of them. Beautiful hand painted Polish pottery littered the table. Intricate blue & red floral designs created a kaleidoscope of colors that stood out on the white table cloth.

Sobesław admired her attention to detail even if it was just the two of them. He too was feeling homesick for his country, but seeing all the traditional Polish decor around him made him feel right at home. A timer went off alerting them the last batch of pierogis were done. Sobesław went to take the pierogis off of the pan & Y/N’s hand came down smacking it.

“You go sit down,” She ordered. “I’ll take care of it.” In pure shock he slowly made his way to the table & plopped himself down into a chair. Not long after she started to bring out the tray of pierogis. Soon followed challah bread, kielbasa (sausage), & potatoes.

“Kochanie (my darling) how do you plan for us to eat all of this?” He asked. Her heart fluttered at the term of endearment. She really did cook a meal for a family of ten.

“We’ll manage,” She replied as she poured him a glass of wine. “I’m sure some others will see the leftovers in the fridge. But don’t eat too much there’s still dessert.” She walked back into the kitchen to grab the opłatek (communion wafer) for grace. As she was walking back out she caught Sobesław almost taking a huge bite out of a pierogi.

“Tsk tsk, we still have to say grace!” She stated. A small blush crept onto his face, he had forgotten. She walked up to him handing the opłatek to him for him to break off a piece. Then she place a small kiss to his forehead. She walked to her place setting & sat down. A small prayer was said & they both each ate their piece of the opłatek. “Now you can dig in.” She teased.

He immediately started to pick up the pierogi he cut earlier. A small moan escaped his lips as the pierogi touched his tongue. He started to hear wedding bells the more he ate.

“I’m assuming it’s good.” She laughed. He nodded still speechless from the food that was in his mouth.

“They’re just like my babcha’s.” He replied after he swallowed. She smiled at the complimented & started to cut into her own food. “What are you doing next Friday?” He asked.

“Nothing.” She replied.

“I want to returned the favor, let me take you out.” He stated very bluntly.

“Sure! It’s a date.” She replied & started to eat the food in front of her. His heart leaped, & he couldn’t wait to tell his babcha he found the girl he was going to marry.

[bustybounty]

A cosplayer orders a replica of Samus’ zero suit (the cosplay classic) from a rather underground tailor. Few have heard of them, yet all the reviews are downright obsessive in their praise for their work.

She finally gets what they were talking about when she slips it on and turns into the spitting image of the bounty hunter herself, even down to the long silky golden locks, luscious plump lips, and the extreme hourglass shape that makes it damn near impossible to move.

Rana has gotten home, and she's ready to try on the zero suit that tailor made for her. It looked so realistic, something like a carbon copy of everything she imagined it to be like if they took the game and made it real...

She'd finally be able to cosplay her favorite character, and maybe even head to a convention once she felt comfortable wearing it! But first, she needed to know why it was considered such a high quality product - why everything that tailor made was rated 5 stars, yet still having his store so...underground, per se.

She started putting the suit on, feet first, the legs, the arms, the hands, and then pulled the zipper on its back slowly but surely. Though as she did that last step, it felt as if her hand was slipping...was the zipper shrinking? Wait...she couldn't feel any zipper. But the suit WAS fully on. What was going on? "Huh? How am I supposed to take it off if the zipper is gone--wait what's happening?!"

As she was looking behind herself, she sees that the hair that only extended as far as her shoulders was increasing in length. It was flowing beautifully across her back, turning into a different shade...blonde?

Something she could also see from looking behind herself was that her butt was looking a little...larger? No, she shook her head and closed her eyes, slapping her face. "What is...Oh...my...gosh." She looked down and saw her chest covering her field of view enough to not allow her to even see her feet anymore.

The suit's sock like covering of the feet transformed into high heel boots as well, which only made her look taller - after all, she was putting on inches in height too, not just in bust and hip size!

"I'm...growing...like her! This will be the perfect cosplay...but this must be some kind of hallucination...there's no way...these breasts, this butt..." She said, groping herself, bouncing her hefty tits up and down, then smacking her booty, realizing she was still growing vertically and more voluptuous. As she talked, her voice seemed a bit different too, mostly because of the sudden change from her thin lips to these big, plump, luscious, bimbo lips that were really akin to Samus's own...

She tried to hold herself on high heels, but she was not used to them, and with the amount of new weight on her body, she rapidly fell on her knees. Her gigantic boobs touched the floor in front of her, and her extremely thick thighs and butt touched the floor behind her. They were still growing across the ground too, and the extending legs, the swelling curves, the increasing height up until she was 6'3 made her head stand taller even though she wasn't moving in that position. She was still on her knees.

"How do I...how do I even get up though?? And if there's no zipper anymore...this suit doesn't even FEEL that tight...it feels natural...like glue to my skin, like it's part of me almost... oh god my hair is so pretty like hers...I can throw out the wig I was planning on using for the cosplay...I can't believe this is all...ME...Was this why that tailor had such crazed reviews? I mean...I did tell him I wanted to look like my idol, for a cosplay...I didn't think he'd make it THIS realistic..."

Moving around, trying to drag herself to her feet, she staggered, barely being able to waddle. She was done growing, but her curves nearly touched the ground even in that state. This size was completely unmatched on Earth...at least naturally. "How am I going to move...I hate it, but I LOVE it, the way I chose such a curvaceous idol to cosplay... damn...how does she do it??" It was clear Nara still remained conscious of who she was, and still had some traits that made it clear she had been transformed to look as much like Samus as possible, but this wasn't a 1 to 1.

As was made obvious by a deep, unintentionally sultry voice coming from behind her. She wasn't as alone as she thought.

"You simply don't have the genes, the training or athleticism to handle that size. You don't look bad though." The voice came from...none other than Samus Aran?? She was right there! She was real! She was even more beautiful in person! And despite being just as big as Nara, she easily carried her weight around, circling around Nara's helpless body with fast walking in her heels!

"S-Samus??? I must really be dreaming..." Nara could only mutter those words out of pure shock.

The plump bimbo lips of the blonde bounty hunter formed a smirk as she assured Nara it was no dream. "It isn't a dream. I just don't like showing myself in person to most. Though you are a dedicated fan." She got in front of Nara, and pressed her gigantic tits against hers as they stared eye to eye. Nara blushed deeply, Samus handled this with confidence. "The zero suit you have on...it's impressive for the technology of this planet. I'm not from Earth as you know, the places I grew up in had far more advanced tech. Something that isn't easy to replicate. So your zero suit isn't like mine, it doesn't have compression modules, anti gravity systems, and...I got carried away. What I meant to say is, THERE is a way to remove it without a zipper. I can do it with mine just with a thought, but yours might be harder to remove...until you find out...you'll have to learn how to be like me."

Samus said, she didn't even worry that others could actually confuse her for the 'real' Samus as most people thought she was just a fictional character, and those that didn't knew she didn't have this much of a hard time with her curves. "I must go now." Samus did a backflip, her enormous curves wobbling dramatically as what she did seemed completely impossible, and in the blink of an eye, she was gone.

"I...wow...okay...Nara...focus...walk to your phone, you have a tailor to praise...and maybe you need to look at obscure forums for girls with obscene curves too... I get her genes and training are different but seeing her do a backflip with so much weight strapped on her chest and back, as if they were weightless, especially now that I'm EXPERIENCING it first hand...ahhh...I really really love her so much...If she hadn't left so early...maybe I'd...have gotten the courage...to ask...for a...steamier encounter...heh...hehe..." She blushed and stopped thinking, the arousal of the whole situation finally hitting her mind full force, no longer being delayed like before.

I wonder if it is a coincidence or how the person who asked this knows I love Samus so much too. Maybe they just saw one of my posts about her in the past or maybe they know me...Either way, hope you all enjoy a much longer read <3

[pomplalamoose]

nsfw Dilf!Luke headcanons

🌹modern day AU🌹

A/N: I looove how these three asks share a common theme, so I decided to make one big post instead of three smaller ones to have all that sexy Dilf!Luke content in one place👀

Also I feel like I haven't posted in forever, I used to have so much time for writing :(

⭐ Dilf!Luke seeing you dressed up for the first time

• it doesn't matter at what point of your relationship you are, whether you are already a couple or only met recently

• Luke is stricken with awe, his mind wiped completely blank

• the only difference here is in how he acts

• in no way will he allow you, or anyone at that, to see what your appearance does to him if you're nothing more than his child's friend

• it just wouldn't be proper and he doesn't want to make you uncomfortable

• instead his impassive gaze will take in your outfit in a matter of seconds before casually sweeping away as if nothing out of the ordinary was going on

• possibly, if he's feeling a little risky, you'll receive a curt nod in acknowledgement of your presence

• though he'll then excuse himself abruptly, leaving you behind confused and maybe a bit hurt

• how ridiculous you feel to have dressed in such a way now!

• doesn't he think you pretty?

• oh but he does

• despite a short glance being all he allowed himself, the picture of you couldn't be burnt into his memory any more clearly

• you're so beautiful it nearly causes him physical pain, so moved is he by the sight of you

• was that really you he saw standing there?

• it might as well could've been an angel

• the need to take a look at you again is overwhelming, though first he'll have to find his courage to do so

• he will have to catch his breath, requires time to rebuild his composure and to gather his wits before daring to face you again

• he doesn't trust himself, doesn't believe he'll be able to refrain from leering at you like the perverted old man he is

• though once you're in a relationship and he sees you dressed up for the first time he'll do so unapologetically and without holding back, shamelessly undressing you with his eyes until you allow him to do more

• he'll take his time too, not caring if it will make you late to whatever event you're invited to

• stand right there opposite the window, against the backdrop of the white wall, so he can better take you in, will you?

• yes, just like that

• the lighting really flatters your skin

• give it a twirl, he wants to see every angle

• oh aren't you pretty?

• he'll sit down then, legs spread casually, letting his hot gaze travel over your body, lets it linger, until you're flushed red and squirming in embarrassment

• imagine his lazy grin

• imagine him slowly leaning forward, elbows propped up on his knee, his voice slightly rougher than before when he speaks

• do a pose for him, you know which one

• the one you did for that picture he took of you, the one he likes so much

• you can do that for him, can't you?

• throw him a kiss

• there you go

• play with your hair, give him a smile

• now, don't be so shy, there's no need

• you possess a beauty beyond compare, unlike anything he has ever seen before

• which lipstick are you wearing?

• is it the one he bought for you? The long lasting, kiss proof one?

• come, sit next to him and prove it

• you know, now that he thinks about it, you wouldn't mind staying here with him for a little while longer, wouldn't you?

⭐ Dilf!Luke's thoughts on boobs

• no matter their shape and size, Luke is and forever remains a boob man, no matter the universe

• his poker face may be spectacular, unreadable most of the time, but not even he can keep his eyes from widening, cannot refrain from blushing when he gets a good look at your cleavage

• before you're in a relationship with him I imagine him acting very similarly to the way he did seeing you dressed up for the first time

• however I don't think he'd always manage to slip away as inconspicuously as he did then

• most likely that's because he'd only notice the lower cut once you're sitting down together for dinner or while he's driving you home, making it impossible for him to leave the situation

• after all a lot remains hidden under a winter coat and a slightly too big shirt might look perfectly normal at first glance until it doesn't

• maybe you're leaning over the table to reach for a plate

• maybe you're offering to take his used dishes to the kitchen

• maybe you dropped something and are hastily trying to pick it up, to clean away your mess

• maybe the car's seatbelt got slightly tangled in your top, causing it to sit even more revealingly than it normally would

• either way, Luke grows hard instantly

• you already were are a constant in all of his dirty dreams before but unbelievably so they just got a whole lot more exciting

• he can't help it, can't help wondering how they'd feel like in his hands

• not when they look this soft and inviting

• not when they're just made to be fondled and caressed by him

• maybe you'd even let him scatter kisses and gentle bites all over their silky expanse

• maybe you'd allow him to play with your nipples?

• his eyes are prone to roll to the back of his head from just imagining it

• in no way will Dilf!Luke ever beat the allegations of being horny for you like a teenager

• not before he's dating you and certainly not after

• in fact quite the contrary is the case

• lust overcomes him easily when he sees your top closely hugging your figure, framing your cleavage and collar bones

• you better believe he's going to live out all of the countless fantasies he collected over the years without ever tiring of them

• not even when time is short is he able to resist

• don't worry though, there's no need to fully undress

• just let him bare your breasts so he can watch them bounce while he fucks you hard and fast on the sofa, before sending you on your way with a gentle slap to the back of your ass

⭐ Dilf!Luke in bed headcanons

• in one of my other posts (I think it was the fluffy Dilf!Luke hc's one) I already touched on this topic briefly, you can take a look here, though of course I'd love to go into more detail

• Luke likes to takes his sweet time with you

• not necessarily because he's a tease but because he thinks you deserve it

• he does enjoy the occasional quickie a lot, yes, but only if it's something you're into as well and if you've already been dating for a good amount of time

• so especially at the beginning of your relationship, when he's still a little unsure whether you actually desire him, his approaches will be nearly shy and always over the top gentle

• he's afraid you'll feel pressured into sleeping with him, something he wants to avoid at all cost

• his foreplay is thorough as he makes sure to check if you're still into it every few minutes

• you could be covered in sweat from head to toe, muscles helplessly shaking as he talks you through your third orgasm, and he'd still go "oh do you like that, sweetheart?" actually meaning it

• this requires much patience on his part though, patience he does not really possess

• despite his age his libido is as high as his sexual fantasies are active, so he often sees the need to take off a certain edge before allowing himself to take you to bed

• it's nothing that requires anything spectacular either, a few rough pumps under the shower usually do the trick

• you see, it has been a while since he last had sex and he's adorably nervous

• he wants to make you feel good above all else, so what if his performance has suffered over the years?

• what if you're faking your pleasure in order to not hurt his feelings?

• so exploring your body to memorize every little twitch you give in response is extremely important to him

• he doesn't care if he's rock hard and straining uncomfortably against his pants

• he will go as long as he needs to until you're begging him to finally fill you up

• (not that he minds, giving oral and fingering you open in front of a mirror are some of his favorite things to do)