#glee against all odds

[doctormaxbankman]

how many times do we need to learn as people that irony and hyperbole can be harmful because 'jokes' aren't easily distinguished from genuine thoughts and feelings until we stop rewarding people for speaking or posting about violence

like even if you're joking/don't actually believe that/think whoever you are insulting is bad/immoral/fictional therefore deserves it - ad hominem attacks always do more harm to the people who share those characteristic then the individual you intend to cause harm to or discredit

[gleesongtournament]

Glee Song Tournament Round 2

[keepingthepeaceinouterspace]

Sorry to everyone but that episode of Nancy Drew is my personality now.

[januaryembrs]

ahhh can I ask for a drabble for sunshine reader x Spence when they're out with the team at a bar or something and reader is obviously a clingy and giggly drunk?

MY BABY'S SWEET AS CAN BE | Spencer Reid x Sunshine!Reader

description: Spencer's girlfriend loves karaoke when she's drunk, but she loves him even more

length: 1k

warnings: literally just fluff

He smiled at her unabashedly as she flitted through the crowd, the top of her head bobbing in between other patrons as she shoved through the sea of bodies, and he heard the odd “Excuse me, oh I’m so sorry, excuse me, Sorry-scuse me,” which let him know the mop of hair with two little bows in it was exactly who he thought it was. 

Not that he’d need to try hard to find her, his eyes hadn’t left her all evening. She had a tendency to get upset if they got parted when she’d had a couple to drink, and he hated the look she got on her face when she welled up and felt sorry for herself. 

She burst out the throng, her eyes quickly scanning across the group, and Emily barely had time to hand her a Frozen Daiquiri before she’d launched herself where Spencer leaned against the bar.

“Honey! Oh, I missed you so much,” She said, immediately homing into his waist, her ear pressing against his chest where his heart beat particularly loudly, because whatever affectionate streak she carried on a day to day basis was dialled to one million when she got like this. 

“Baby, I saw you five minutes ago,” He chuckled, wrapping an arm around her nevertheless and running his large, warm hand down her spine where her backless dress gave him free rein to feel everything. 

She looked up at him with an aghast stare, “You didn’t miss me, too?” 

��Oh, I never said that, now did I?” Spencer asked, his words sweetened with his smile, and adoration stained every single syllable like coffee over clean breath, “Did you have fun?” 

She giggled, leaning to steal a quick kiss, and her hand brushed over his stomach to pinch the soft pouch of fat gently, “I did! Did you see me, I totally outsang Luke,” 

“For the last time; karaoke is not a contest, we’re supposed to be singing together,” Luke said, his forehead sweaty where he’d pushed through the crowd himself trying to keep up with her as she’d bolted off the stage to get back to her spot tucked under Spencer’s arm. 

She stuck her tongue out at him, rolling her eyes when he gave her a more obscene gesture, and turned back to where Spencer had yet to rip his eyes off her, his pupils dopey and wide and full of puppy love as she looked at him. 

“He’s just mad becaus he wanted to sing Beyonce’s part, and I made him be Shakira,” She said on chuckled breath, “But I think our cover of Beautiful Liar could top charts, like, nationally,”

“Ofcourse, I reckon you could go global if we got you a good agent,” He humoured her, and her eyes lit up with glee, bouncing on the balls of her feet to the point he almost spilled his beer. But he didn’t care, he just loved seeing her so happy. 

“Really! Really, really?” She asked, quickly stealing another adoring kiss from his lips like she could only go so long before she needed another one to fuel her words, like she didn’t even realise she was doing it as there was little to no pause in her end of the conversation. 

“Well, sure,” He said, his mouth interrupted when she pecked him again, and he wondered if she genuinely understood they couldn't kiss and talk at the same time with the way she was going, “But, if my sweet girlfriend becomes a popstar sensation overnight, who’s going to be there when I want to do this?” He said, wrapping an arm around her waist, his fingertips caressing the dip of her back, already knowing which moles sat beneath his touch and where, as he gave her a real kiss, one that made her squeak a little and the sound of it forced an even bigger smile out of him. 

He parted from her reluctantly, and he didn’t even care that he usually didn’t like PDA all too much if it meant she would look so content and glowing, her eyes creasing as she sighed with a besotted expression. Spencer never thought he would get so lucky to have anyone look at him like that, never mind someone who he loved with his whole entire being, and everything else left of him. 

“You raise a good point, my genius love,” She said, pressing her burning face into his sternum, her hands still never leaving where they’d buried into his waist, “I guess I’ll put my debut album on hold and stay to kiss you some more,” 

“Will you guys stop being so disgustingly sweet, it’s making my punch taste sour,” Penelope said, even though the team didn’t seem to mind their soppy exchanges. Spencer sometimes seemed like his old self again when he was with her, something boyish and teasing and loving returning back to his rough hands and exhausted expression, and for that the two of them could rip each other's clothes off for all they cared. 

Because they were one of those couples that made everyone else feel lucky to just see that kind of love so close, not envious or repellent, like finding a fawn sleeping on your doorstep. It was rare and pure and warmed everyone right through to their marrow. 

The two of them smiled at one another, and she leaned in to steal a few more kisses from his lips that tasted faintly of beer, only for another song to start playing and she gasped, her mouth dropping in excitement. 

“I love ABBA, we have to sing this song together!” She said, lacing her fingers with his and tugging his stubborn, lithe figure over to the stage, “Please, Spencer, please, please, please,” 

And he gave her exactly what she wanted, because when could he ever say no to a face like that. 

[gloomwitchwrites]

You're having a bad day so they do their own version of Magic Mike for you

ANON! This ask sent me into a fit of giggles. I am so happy to do this. I had a lot of fun putting together some quick writes. I know you've been waiting a while. I hope you have a good laugh out of this, and maybe even giggle and/or kick your feet with glee. I know I did!

Presented in four double drabbles.

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Reader (can be read as gn!reader)

Content & Warnings: swearing, suggestive themes, dancing, singing, striptease, lap dance, brief non-descriptive nudity

Word Count: 800

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John Price

"Everything okay, love?" asks John from the bathroom.

"Just a headache," you reply. "Had a busy day."

"Busy? Or bad?"

He knows you too well.

"Bad," you sigh, propping yourself up on an elbow.

John is no longer in the bathroom. He stands inside the doorway, leaning against the doorframe with one hand.

Freshly showered. Towel hanging on his hips.

"What?" you ask, noticing the smirk on his face.

John lightly pushes off from the doorframe. In a sultry sway, John begins to approach you, both hands reaching as if to undo the towel.

"John?"

He doesn't drop the towel, just teases the undressing. Your face grows hot as he nears. John comes to a stop just in front of you, the towel still perched on his hips.

"Go on," he purrs with a heated stare.

You tug and the towel falls away.

"Plan to fuck away my headache?" you cough out, gaze darting upward, focusing on his face and not what’s behind the towel.

John grabs your forearm, helping you to a seated position. "Not yet." He places one knee beside you on the bed. John holds your chin with thumb and forefinger. "No touching until I say so."

Simon "Ghost" Riley

"I’ve had a bad day," you sigh. “I’m tired.”

Turning your head away from Simon, you glance out the window.

As you exhale, something soft and large lands on your head. You yank it away. It's Simon's shirt. As you turn to address him, something else comes flying in your direction.

With a yelp, you snag it out of the air before it hits you. Simon's jeans. Belt included.

"What—"

Simon stands ramrod straight with arms at his sides in nothing but his boxer briefs and socks.

Perplexed, you fail to form words as Simon starts to saunter over to you. It’s stilted. Odd. The man has no rhythm but clearly all the confidence in the world.

"Oh my God," you murmur, clutching Simon's clothes to your chest, sinking further into the couch.

He's trying. He really is. But all you can focus on is how intense Simon’s face is, and how stiffly he…dances?

"Are you okay?" you ask.

Simon blinks. Frowns. "Yes." He glances down at himself. "Do you not like this?"

Whatever foul mood you were in has vanished, replaced with soft amusement and disbelief.

“Just…cuddle with me on the couch.”

“Clothes off?”

“Clothes off,” you confirm.

John "Soap" MacTavish

"Want to talk about it?"

"Not really," you sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose.

When you glance up, Johnny has a devilish grin on his face.

"What?" you ask cautiously.

Johnny pushes off from the kitchen counter and reaches over his head, removing his shirt. Your mind promptly forgets its previous concern. All it cares about is Johnny's broad chest and muscled stomach.

"What are you doing?" you laugh as Johnny twists the shirt and grabs either end, placing it behind your neck.

"Helping," he coos.

Now in only grey sweatpants, Johnny pushes in. You lean back, a bit startled.

"Helping how?" you giggle.

Johnny rocks his hips, swaying them slightly in a semi-erotic rotation.

"You look ridiculous."

"Maybe,” he agrees. “But you're smiling."

You are. To the point that your cheeks ache.

"I could keep going," he teases, rolling his hips again.

You playfully push at his stomach and Johnny takes that moment to sink down into your lap. "Nope," you laugh. “Absolutely not."

Johnny does an exaggeratingly awful impression of a lap dance. It sends you into a fit of giggles, and he doesn't stop until you're wheezing.

"Better?" he teases.

The bad mood is gone.

"Much."

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

"My brain is static," you groan. Kyle grins and starts to hum. "What are you doing?"

He saunters over to you, the humming turning into singing.

"Is that Pony by Ginuwine?" you laugh, disbelieving.

“Girl, when I break you off,” he continues to sing, removing his shirt, spinning it over his head like a lasso. “I promise that you won't want to get off.”

"Oh my god," you mutter, covering your face, cheeks flaring hot.

You peek through your fingers only for Kyle to toss the shirt at you. It lands above your head.

“If you’re horny, let’s do it,” he sings, reaching for the front of his pants. “Ride it.”

Your mouth is open, staring at Kyle as more of his clothes disappear. He’s in nothing but boxer briefs. Placing his foot on the couch, his hips flex forward, giving you a clear view of what’s beneath the fabric.

"Stop," you giggle, covering your eyes with one hand. The other extends to cover his junk.

Kyle takes your wrist and draws your palm to his chiseled stomach. "How are you feeling now?"

The static is gone, replaced with a soft affection that warms your everywhere.

"I'm better,” you laugh.

taglist:

@glitterypirateduck @km-ffluv @tiredmetalenthusiast @miaraei @cherryofdeath

@ferns-fics @tulipsun-flower @miss-mistinguett @ninman82 @eternallyvenus

@beebeechaos @smileykiddie08 @whisperwispxx @chaostwinsofdestruction @weasleytwins-41

@saoirse06 @unhinged-reader-36 @ravenpoe67 @sageyxbabey @mudisgranapat

@lulurubberduckie @leed-bbg @yawning-grave81 @azkza @nishim

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@itsberrydreemurstuff @cod-z @keiva1000 @littlemisscriesherselftosleep @blackhawkfanatic

@sammysinger04 @kylies-love-letter @dakotakazansky @suhmie @kadeeesworld

@umno-yeah @daemondoll @jackrabbitem @arrozyfrijoles23 @lovely-ateez

@ash-tarte @enarien @gingergirl06 @certainlygay @greeniegreengreen

[yandere-romanticaa]

𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬.

🎀 in the late night of june, you sit beneath a mystic moon. well, rather, you're in a bar, all by your lonesome, pondering on what to order. in your daze, you didn't even see the strange man watching you.

yandere oc! x fem! reader

Despite being late June, the weather could not seem to make up its mind on how it was going to go. For the past few days, the sky kept going back and forth between being a beautiful blue to then suddenly changing to a gloomy grey, the air growing heavy with the threat of a downpour on any unsuspecting pedestrian.

You suppose you were no better than the weather, you figured. Toying with the the menu between your fingers, you noticed how it was filled to the brim with various drinks ranging from alcoholic to non alcoholic, hot or cold drinks, all of which was printed out on a pristine piece of jet black paper.

What to drink , what to drink?

The stress of exams was too much to bear, perhaps you could blame that for being so damn indecisive.

You let out a shiver as you noticed the waitresses cranking up the air conditioning to an insane degree. What was she trying to do, freeze you to death?! How inconsiderate...!

With a huff, you focused your attention back on the menu and came to the rational realization that perhaps it was for the best to get a simple fruit juice. But which kind? The offer was diverse and each flavor would surely satisfy your aching throat.

Just as you were getting ready to call out the waitresses, she seemingly beat you to the punch as she scurried towards you, a mysterious drink in her hand. The crystal glass shimmered softly against the dimly lit bar as the woman placed the drink in front of you, along with a scrunched up piece of paper. It couldn't be a bill as you had not ordered anything yet...

Seeing the confusion swirling in your eyes, the waitresses gave you a wink, beating you once again in terms of speed.

"See that guy in the corner over there?" she asked you, her tone laced with a sort of excitement. You nod, albeit slightly dumbly.

"It's from him!" she chirps happily.

Odd. You could have sworn that seat was not occupied just a few moments ago.

Taking the piece of paper in your hands, you unfold it to reveal neat handwriting, each letter and syllable written gently with a basic blue ink pen. It was a string of numbers, most likely his own phone number. Raising your head towards his direction, you noticed him eyeing you up and down, a boyish grin on his face.

He seemed normal enough, you reckoned. He seemed to be around his mid 20's, average height. He wore basic blue jeans and a cozy looking black t-shirt, which had no print on it. There were little to no accessories on his person other than a string which was hanging around his neck, most likely a necklace but was hidden from your view. Another thing worth taking note of was his phone case, which had a print of the Ghostface mask from the Scream franchise.

Ah, so he was a horror fan. How neat.

Feeling a little bold, you grabbed both your drink and the note and made your way towards him, never once breaking eye contact with the mystery man. Without a word, you shimmied across from him as you placed everything on the wooden table. A strange silence hovered in the air as neither one of you spoke for those few moments, but the man was clearly amused. Something was going on inside his head and he made no attempt to hide it, his light brown eyes basically dancing with pure glee. As if to ease the tension, he lightly smacked his lips and spoke:

"So. How are you on this fine evening?"

His tone was casual, as if he had known you for years, like he was chatting with an old pal back from the good ol' days. His entire demeanor was calm, dare you say friendly even. He raised his glass to his lips, the amber liquid in it swishing away as he took a sip, his gaze still not leaving yours.

"What's wrong? Cat got your tongue?"

You couldn't help but to giggle a little.

"Ah, she speaks! Such delight!"

His tone was sweet like candy, lulling you in to feel safe. It was embarrassing how there was a part of you that actually seemed to be enjoying this encounter, but how could you not?

Life was so stale sometimes, so dull. The most exciting thing that would happen were the occasional outings with friends, all of which you loved dearly but... You craved more. It was unsure what you craved exactly, what you needed to get your heart beating and pulsing, but regardless you needed some excitement.

It was good to change the pace every once in a while.

The evening went on and you came to learn that the name of the mystery man was Will, an engineer student who transferred recently. He liked horror movies, mystery novels, cars and good beer. It was easy to chat and you shared many things with Will, even going as far to express the desire to see him again.

The sentiment was very much mutual.

As closing time was due, you exited the establishment with Will, his hand playfully linked with yours as he talked your ear off all of the fake guts in horror movies. He was so fascinated with the way films handled the production of those fake body parts, gooey blood and potential inducing nightmare fuel.

You made your way down the street together, the darkness of the night sky being slightly broken by the old street lights.

"Y'know..." he trailed off. He was still smiling.

"I always wondered what it would be like to actually kill a person."

It took a few seconds for you to realize just what he exactly said. Stopping dead in your tracks you turned towards Will, a flabbergasted look on your face. You felt the hair at the back of your hair stand up as the wind picked up, the leaves around you going in every direction, a warning of what was potentially to come.

Suddenly, the sound of loud and absurd laughter came bursting out of him, you soon following suit. It was borderline manic as he held your hand in his own, but being so lost in the sweet comfort of earlier you chose to not think about his worrying statement. Most horror enthusiasts were a little quirky anyway, Will was probably like that too.

And just like that, you parted ways for the evening, both parties promising to get in touch as soon as possible.

The walk home was swift as each step made you feel like a silly schoolgirl who just had her first kiss.

It was just so refreshing, like gentle rainy dew on a hot day.

Making your way back home, you fumbled with the keys inside your bag and opened the door with lightning speed. Kicking off your shoes and tossing the purse on the bed, you grabbed your phone and the piece of paper, pondering on the thought of whether you should just save his number or not. You were clearly going to be seeing him for a while, so -

Ding!

The text message was so sudden that you almost threw your phone on the ground. One mini heart attack later, you saw that the string of numbers were the same ones from before, so you quickly opened the message.

"What's your favorite scary movie ;))"

You snorted. He was so cheesy but damn it all if it wasn't cute.

"I like Scream a lot, if that makes you happy :D"

It took him a few minutes to respond.

"Good choice. But, personally, I'd really like to make my own scary movie with you... I could make you the main star."

Oh... Well. You're not sure how to respond to that. You stop and think, only for the sudden feeling of unease to come back. You remain still and try to brainstorm a response, but Will is faster.

"What wrong baby? Did I scare you? :)"

Ah. He's really committing to the part, isn't he? The best thing to do would be to just call him out.

"Haha, very funny Will! And no, you did not scare me, I'm just a slow texter!!!!"

Perhaps it was time to call it a night. It's been a rough week and you were not in the mood for these games. Halfway as you were turning away, your phone suddenly rang. You sharply turned your head back, wondering why Will was calling you so late. Perhaps he didn't get social cues? Your discomfort should have been obvious from the get go, but you still decide to pick up. Parting your lips, you started to talk but a male voice interrupted you instead.

"This isn't Will baby. But I'll be more than happy to make you my Sidney Prescott."

All the air was knocked out of your lungs as your eyes bulged so hard out of your head, threatening to pop like cheap balloons.

He was right. That was not Will's voice. The mystery caller cackled, his voice ringing loudly in your ear, the sound almost too painful for your mind.

"Didn't think you'd actually pick up." he continued. "I kept an eye on you all night, and you didn't even see me! Now that baby, is skill! "

He sounded so proud, like a child who just got a high mark on a test, as if he didn't even see just how wrong this whole situation really was. Mustering up the courage, you spoke up:

"Where's Will?"

Silence. The other line was dead silent but the caller didn't end the line.

You really did not like where this was heading.

"And why would you care where he is?" inquired the man, his voice changing from menacing to serious. Your silence spurred him on, making him more mad.

"You're my girl, even if you don't know it yet. I won't have you sweet talkin' with other men."

You let out a shocked scoff and quickly hung up. You smacked the phone against the table as an audible smack! echoed across the room. Crossing your arms close to your chest, you sprawled across the cozy bed with worry on your mind as the heart in your chest beat like crazy, pumping and pumping sheer adrenaline.

Despite all that, you somehow managed to fall asleep.

You didn't even get to see the last text the creepy caller had sent.

"I'll make you my girl, even if it's the last thing I ever do."

That was not a threat. But rather, a promise.

[endless-ineffabilities]

blue eyes so green (18+)

Ewan Mitchell x reader / Aemond Targaryen x reader

A oneshot where Ewan becomes cross with you for having a sensuous dream... about his character, Aemond.

a/n : yet another Ewan fic to ring in the season premiere! Expect a whole lot of Aemond fics while we're in the thick of the new season. Happy premiere day, my loves!

word count : 1k ▪︎ masterlist

The silver-haired Targaryen emerges from underneath your skirts, his deft fingers buried in the layers of cloth to keep them away from your prized cunny.

His curved lips are left puckered, parted and glistening from the sheen of your juices. He had practically lost his mind when you finally returned from your duties with the Septa, the hours far too long for him to be away from his lady-wife.

So, with only a few raspy words of desire -

You have kept me waiting

All day long I have longed for a taste of you, my wife.

I will make certain that you never wish to be parted from me again.

- he had lifted you atop the desk in his study, haphazardly shoving his heavy leather-bound volumes of histories and philosophies.

And in a haste, he delighted in a sweetness that can only ever be known to him. Just him, because you will only ever be his.

Your cunny is his. Your kisses all his own. Your heart, his possession.

And he is yours. All yours. He will never tire of making this known. "My love," his tone is desperate as he kisses you hungrily, the exquisite rarity of a prince begging, "I am yours to take for tonight, and every night, for as long as I am breathing."

"Oh, Aemond," you croon, tracing his features with your fingertips, "my sweet husband. Is that your fancy way of telling me that you wish to fuck me for eternity?"

He smiles against your skin. He has always loved the pert particularity of his wife's humour.

"Oh, my sweet sweet wife," his hands seek and they find the fastenings of your dress, the keys to his kingdom, "you know me so well."

And long into the night, you ride a dragon.

All throughout the morning, you can count on one hand the times your boyfriend actually spoke to you.

A few rushed, almost incoherent responses are all he seems capable of sharing.

And it is starting to bug you.

"Baby," you reach for Ewan's hand as the two of you peacefully have your Sunday breakfast.

He squeezes your hand in return, at least, but he doesn't fully meet your gaze.

You retract your hand, and for a split second, his hand scrambles to keep a hold of yours on instinct, but he lets it go with a sigh.

You try again, your tone now more demanding, "Alright, Ewan. Tell me what's wrong."

"Nothing's wro - "

"Look at me."

He takes his sweet time in doing so, his blue eyes raking from his plate to the expanse of the dining table, to your arms and finally your face. He takes another deep breath, unfazed by the attitude you're showing him.

"Some dream you had last night, huh, babe?"

"Excuse me?"

"Oh yeah," he tilts his head, with the solemn confidence of someone who thinks he has the upper hand, "you just about woke me up with all your squirming and moaning."

"Oh." It dawns on you just what he is hinting at. Normally you would only recall some odd bits from your dreams, and sometimes they would even be gone from your mind as soon as you wake. But not the one you just had - no.

That one was just too good to forget.

"Baby, come on," a giggle escapes your lips, feeling less heavy now that you know what he is so worked up about.

"It's not funny," he pouts, fighting back a laugh as he can't help but mirror his beloved's glee. He dramatically pushes his plate away, but the annoyance isn't there. "You basically cheated on me," he pretends to complain.

"Do you even know who I dreamt about?" You amble over to where he sits, and his eager arms take you onto his lap. So much for being infuriated at you.

He doesn't answer, shaking his head as he absently caresses your hips.

"You," you clarify, and his eyes shoot up to meet yours, "well... you meaning Aemond. I had a dream about the one-eyed prince."

He shrugs, "I know."

"You... you know?" You try to stand up but his sturdy arms keep you firmly in place. "You know who I was dreaming about, and yet you sulk all morning?"

"So what? I can't deny that I'm still jealous. Aemond would be a pretty fierce competitor for your heart, darling."

"But he's you!" you squeal, lightly punching his chest. He takes your forearm and pulls you closer to press a soft kiss against your cheek.

"I know," he smiles. "I suppose I was just getting way into my thoughts."

"You think?"

"Hmm," he narrows his eyes, his features taking on that cheeky guise he expertly sports so often, "if you were to choose, between myself and Aemond - "

"Oh no," you laugh dryly, prying yourself from his arms and returning to your seat, "I am not playing this game."

"Who do you think would be a superior lover in bed?"

"Ewan - "

"Come on, darling," he prods lightheartedly. "Humour me."

"Well," you say, "why don't you hurry up and finish your breakfast so you can convince me to your side?"

His cheeky sneer disappears at your insinuation, in its place an indicative clenching of his jaw.

A moment passes. You take a delightful sip of your orange juice, satisfied.

Sure enough, you hear his chair scrape loudly as he stands and makes his way to you.

"Fuck breakfast," he rasps. "Time to make your dreams come true, darling."

[writingoddess1125]

Luffy Finally realizes he Loves you!

Pure teeth rotting fluff

Buy me a Ko-Fi

• Was sitting with his crew and talking all about thinks in their past that they enjoyed and brings you up.

• "Oh yeah! Then my best friend (Y/N)! They are back at the village I grew up in and they always supported me! Even gave me the food and boat I uses to leave to start this amazing adventure!"

• He talks about your cooking, how you'd always pack him a lunch. How you smile so much and make sure he was okay, especially when him and his grandfather argued.

• Sanji and the rest of the crew raise an eyebrow at hearing Luffy babble on and on about you

• "Wow, They sound amazing. Gotta meet then one day" Sanji jokes, taking another drag of his cigarette. "They sound like a real beauty"

• Luffy couldn't help but get a very odd feeling st hearing Sanji call then a beauty. Like he got punched but on the inside this time-

• "Yeah, They are pretty I guess. But I like how nice they are, They and Shanks showed me what good people are truly like!"

• Nami giggled at this. She knew attraction like the back of her hand and the way Luffy described you, this was the closest she had ever heard of him even understanding attraction to anyone.

"Luffy, It sounds like you're in love with them?" Nami teased.

• "What! No no they are just.. Wonderful-" He pauses, Thinking over Nami's words. He had always cared about you- a lot! And always having a picture of you being by his side when he became pirate king anyway. You were just always ment to be there, and if it hadn't been for you taking care of your mother he was sure you would have come Sailing with him.

• Usopp laughing also at this as he could practically see the gears starting to turn in his head. "This is golden!" He hollered. Earning Nami smacking the back of his head. "....Am I in love with (Y/N)?..." Luffy pondered- Zoro who had been 'sleeping' against the wall but heard the whole conversation opened a single eye

• "From the sounds of it.. Yes-" Zoro deadpanned, Deciding to return to his nap. Luffy face turning a red color before he gave a loud laugh. Practically bouncing in his seat "If that's the case! Set sail for Foodha Village! I gotta go get (Y/N)!"

• You would be working at your mother's little supply shop, Assisting in restocking some important supplies when you hear a ruckus outside as everyone starts shouting in glee. Stepping out you see a massive ship either a rams head on the front-

• Marveking at it for only a moment before hearing a loud voice that was all to familiar "(YYYY/NNNNN)!!!!"

• Looking to see Luffy, brightly smiling on the ship with a small crew next to him. You couldn't help but smile widely at seeing your childhood friend and crush. Waving at him proudly

• "(Y/N)!! I gotta tell you something!!" Luffy yelled, Not even waiting for the ship to fully dock before he stretched his way to the docks and ran towards you. Much to your horror as he could have fallen into the water

• "L-Luffy you should have waited to do-" However where cut off as Luffy lofted you up with ease and laughed proudly

• "IM IN LOVE WITH YOU (Y/N)!! BECOME A PART OF MY CREW!!"

[gleesongtournament]

Glee Song Tournament Round 1

[ghost-proofbaby]

when you know, you know. (e.m.)

summary: air hockey has never been so romantic.

warnings: it's alluded to that reader is wearing red lipstick. not edited.

pairing: eddie munson x reader

wc: 1.8k+

a/n: a very late valentine's day gift for you all (and eddie). also, the fact i've never written proper mechanic eddie... what a shame.

“Yes!” 

If any of the nearby children flinched, you didn’t notice. You were too wrapped up in your victory, going as far as to partake in a terribly embarrassing dance on your end of the air hockey table as Eddie shakes his head slowly. 

“You definitely cheated,” he deadpans, a twitch of a smile nearly giving him away as he leans down to pick the puck out of the slot below on his end, “There’s no way you’re about to beat me in under five minutes, again.” 

You smile, lips painted red under the lowlights of the arcade as you lean over the table and taunt him, “Or maybe it’s just a skill issue. I wouldn’t keep beating you if you were actually a professional in air hockey like you’d claimed, Munson.” 

Three dates – tonight makes four – and you still hadn’t quite worked out how you’d managed to capture the attention of the boy before you. When he’d originally asked you out to coffee, you’d swallowed down all your excessive excitement just to answer him. The local mechanic that you’d been making heart eyes at every few months when you’d go in for an oil check, the one who hadn’t allowed the others at the shop to oversell you on a damn thing when you’d get your tires rotated. Who always smiled shyly as he’d bring you back your keys.

You’d figured the coffee date would last an hour if you were lucky. The two of you would spend more than five minutes in the same room together, he’d realize how overbearing you were, and that would be the end of it. Ridiculous crush effectively squashed. 

But it hadn’t. 

It had lasted hours, plural. Coffees finished and second lattes nursed until they’d gone cold, the outcome had been the exact opposite of your expectations. Your conversation had flowed effortlessly, common ground and common interests found with ease, and suddenly, Eddie was more than just some cute mechanic for your friends to tease you over. 

The first date had only ended due to his shift at the shop that afternoon. 

The subsequent sushi dinner date, and then the movie night the next week, had also lasted hours. 

“For someone who works on cars, you should be a lot better with your hands,” you poke gentle fun at him as he makes the first hit against the puck this time, far more careful than you had been when serving. 

“Or maybe I’m just determined to keep letting my pretty date win.” 

“And why would you ever do that?” 

Another hit from your mallet, the sharp tapping of your aggressive push ringing out over the sound of nearby machines. You don’t dare to glance in the direction of the ruckus, but you’re pretty sure someone has just won an exciting amount of tickets based on the squeals of glee. 

“I dunno,” Eddie pauses to shrug after he hits the puck once more, his guard dropping. You’re ruthless as you take the opportunity to shoot the puck straight into ‘goal’ on his side of the table. A straight shot, far too easy for your liking, but you still celebrate the victory with another embarrassing dance, “Maybe it’s because I’m into that ridiculous dance they keep doing whenever they score.” 

You immediately stop your little jumps, eyes widening, a rush of embarrassment heating you up from the inside out as Eddie’s eyes stay glued on you. The table powers down as he makes his way around it, feet bringing him right to you. 

You’d always thought Eddie would find you weird, or odd, or unappealing after that coffee date, but the outcome had been better than you could have possibly conceived.

He was an absolute weirdo as well. 

Fondness overtakes his features just like it had on that coffee date when you’d accidentally snorted at one of his jokes, and your heart flutters eagerly. You can’t believe there had been a time you’d only watch him from behind glass, trying to not get caught as you would blatantly stare at him as he’d work on your car. A time when you’d only see his curls up in loose buns rather than framing his face as they were now, a time when you couldn’t even shake his hand due to it being covered in oil. 

That had all only been a month ago, but you already couldn’t imagine your life without Eddie Munson in it. 

“Don’t go shy on me now,” he chuckles as he stops in front of you, smirk deepening the dimples you’d only noticed on your second date with him. He’d been too bashful the first date, ducking whenever his grin would grow too wide on you, biting his tongue on half the flirtatious remarks you wished he would have said. “You won, fair and square, so what’s your prize gonna be, valentine?” 

He also waited until the second date to kiss you. That had nearly killed you. 

“It’s not very fair if you let me win,” you whisper, unable to look away from his eyes. They’re a soft brown, a smooth honey, a nice sight for sore eyes. You kind of like the crinkles beside them, too. Kind of wonder what it would be like to wake up beside him, roll over, and kiss them – all before the sun ever rose. 

He reaches out and gingerly grabs your hand, calloused fingertips brushing your knuckles before he entangles your fingers with his. “Psh, who said I let you win? Maybe I just really suck at air hockey.”

“You just-”

You never get to finish your argument. He’s quick to swoop down, capturing your lips in his. The rudest of interruptions, and it still manages to weaken your knees. 

Each kiss only grows sweeter. And more confident, more sure. The first one had been timid, exchanged on your doorstep with boyish hesitation and meek desperation. But now, several kisses experienced since that night, all apprehension has melted. He lets his lips meld to yours, captures your bottom lip just tightly enough to give it a brief tug when he pulls away. Still soft, ever so sweet, and leaving you wanting for more. 

Four dates. All it took was four dates for him to make you a goner. 

“Now, that wasn’t fair,” you breathe out, betrayed by the smile that you wear. Your chest feels shaken up, impending explosion of mushiness and flowers and hearts and every single cliche the love songs on the radio could squeeze out.

“It was your prize.”

“I never said I wanted a kiss for my prize.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he puts a dramatic hand up to his chest, leaning back so dramatically that your hand instinctively reaches out to loop a finger in his jean pocket to keep him upright, “Would you like me to take it back, my fair maiden?” 

Four dates, and he makes it impossible to not imagine a future of this. Of silly banter, of gentle mornings spent kissing away crows feet, of cutting one another off with the most infuriating of methods. You’re starting to believe you’re just a hopeless romantic, and he’d spotted that from a mile away – he knew every single button to press to have you putty in his hands, and he was taking full advantage of it. 

You giggle, an honest to God giggle, as you say, “Hm, I’m not sure. I heard the return policies on those are a bit wonky.” 

If your friends thought you were insufferable when he was some stranger you just had a crush on, they would be vomiting at the sight of this. 

He leans into your space, close enough to smell his faint cologne and mint on his breath, “Are they? Well, lucky for you, I’m friends with the shop owner. Can definitely accept the return without a receipt. It won’t be a problem, ma’am. I swear it.”

He’s weird. He’s goofier than you could have imagined, snarkier than you could have dreamed, and more romantic than you had yet to uncover. He’s kind of perfect, but you wouldn’t dare say that to his face. Not yet, at least. 

You’re glad you had said yes when he’d asked days prior for you to be his Valentine. And you’re glad he hadn’t gone the boring route, showing up with just chocolates and flowers and calling it a day, but had instead dragged you out to this arcade for a night of adventures as he claimed. 

“And how would one go about returning a kiss, kind sir?” 

He answers wordlessly, bringing up a finger to tap on his lips. He goes as far as pouting them dramatically. 

He wants you to kiss him. 

Lucky for him, you want to kiss him, too. 

Your kiss is more chaste. Teasing as you lift up onto your tippy toes and only press your lips to his for a brief second before falling back. You leave him wanting more – it’s written all over his face, along with a blush that races right over the bridge of his nose. 

He’s cute. He’s cute, and he’s weird, and you really fucking like him. 

“Now that that’s over with,” you have to change the topic, move right along before your heart truly bursts from your chest, “I know what I want my prize to be.” 

He takes a moment to recover, pupils almost resembling hearts as he stares down at you. Eventually he pulls himself from your trance, shaking his head as he asks, “And what would that be?”

You’re the one taking his hand this time. If he gave you the time, you’d like to learn each callous and scar by heart. Trace over them in the middle of night, when it’s just you and him in the darkness beneath your sheets. Memorize the way they feel as he explores every curvature of your body and figure out which of the roughest patches would brush against your most sensitive bits in a way that would make you arch your back right into him. 

The two of you haven’t even discussed if that’s where the night might lead, but you’re sort of hoping the luck in the air doesn’t run out. 

“There’s an awfully pretty ring in the case up at the ticket counter,” you muse, knowing damn well the ring was the ugliest thing either of you had ever seen in your lives, “Think you’ve got the tickets to spare?” 

His hand gives you a squeeze. Something not too tight, something perfectly comfortable. It’s only the fourth date, it’s only the first month – it’s only the beginning. 

“Anything for you, sweetheart,” he says, more earnestly than you’d expected, as he steals another kiss. 

You let him. You have this aching feeling in your chest that you’ll probably let him steal an endless amount from you for the rest of your life. 

When you know, you know. Or whatever the poets say.

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[biting-miguel-ohara]

T-Shirts - Wade Wilson x ftm!Reader

A/N: I had so much fun writing this. I really hope Wade’s personality is in-character. I tried to keep the silly goofy vibes he has along with the pet names, but it’s been a while since I saw a Deadpool movie other than DP&W

Fic is written for this request

CW: Pet names; Reader is called baby boy, baby, and handsome; mentions of stabbing and murder; light fluff; suggestive content; explicit sexual content; smut; this is really just sex with a little bit of buildup; Wade is implied to be physically bigger than Reader; mild implied possession kink; Wade wears lingerie; sloppy kisses; AFAB Reader but their parts are called dick and hole; Reader’s arousal is described as slick; Wade eats the Reader out; overstimulation; multiple orgasms; fingering; PIV sex; unprotected sex; crying during sex; rough sex; Reader bites Wade hard enough to bleed; Wade cums inside Reader; Wade uses his fingers to keep the cum inside; aftercare; implied round two; snuggling

1730 words

“Oh, baby boy!” Wade’s voice rings out as he kicks open the door to your shared apartment.

You look up, smiling. “Hi, Wade.”

He waltzes over to you and plops himself down next to you on the couch. “Whatcha watchin’?”

You gesture at the TV, but can tell he’s only asking to be nice. “Just some show. How was your day?”

“Oh,” he rests his head against your shoulder. “Full of stabbing and murder. The usual.”

You wait, sensing some sort of dramatic pause in his manner.

“And I got us a present!”

You raise an eyebrow. “Oh? What sort of present?”

You know to be a little cautious. Wade’s presents have ranged from a sweet set of guns to a teacup pig you had to return to its owner.

But this time, Wade’s glee seems oddly more enthusiastic than usual. “I bought us matching shirts.”

You laugh. “Matching shirts?”

He nods and leaps up from the couch. He rummages in his bag by the door before plopping back down next to you. “See?”

He holds up the first shirt. “I had to hunt all over town for the shop, but I finally found them today!”

You laugh. You can’t help yourself. It’s not mean laughter, but actual, genuine laughter. You’re touched, in a way.

“Oh, Wade.” You read the shirt aloud. “‘I love my trans boyfriend.’ That’s so sweet!”

“And look at yours!” He holds up the other shirt.

“‘I love my smoking hot boyfriend.’” You nod, grinning at the cheesy decal. “I’m gonna wear it to the next family meeting.”

Wade gasps and clutches his shirt to his chest. “I’ll never be able to focus. Oh, you’re a sneaky one.”

You laugh and reach out to lift up his mask. You kiss his scarred cheek. “How ‘bout I go try it on, hmm? You wear yours… and I’ll wear mine…”

He clearly doesn’t miss the suggestive tone of your voice as he hops right up. “Yup! Let’s do that! I’ll just—“

He practically sprints for the bedroom and you grin. You can hear him banging around against the dresser, probably looking for some cute lingerie or something. You let him do his thing in peace, curious about what he’s gonna come out wearing.

You strip to your boxers and put on the shirt. It hangs big on you, which makes you smirk.

You used to think he just couldn’t remember your size, but now you know better. He does it on purpose, as he likes to pretend it’s his clothes you’re wearing. Some roundabout possession kink or something.

You can’t blame him. Hell, you let him do it. It makes you feel wanted, in some odd way.

You think about that for a moment, as you move to sit on the couch again. You quickly reach the conclusion that it doesn’t really matter, as you wouldn’t be dating Wade without a few quirks of your own.

Like his cute little saying about matching crazy. You don’t know if you match his level of insane, but you definitely match his level of horny.

So when he comes out of the bedroom with a literal bang of the door, you ogle him in amazement. He’s wearing the shirt and the hottest pair of red panties you’ve ever seen. They’re lacy, they’re silky, and they’re practically nonexistent.

Your mouth waters immediately. “I wanna suck you off.”

Wade groans, his cock visibly twitching in the panties. “Baby boy, I want that more than anything. But I made a promise to myself and I intend to keep it.”

You rest your chin on the back of the couch. “What promise?”

He walks over to you, lifting your head and planting one of the sloppiest kisses you’ve ever had right on your lips. You kiss him back with equal fervor, licking into his mouth with glee.

He pulls back from the kiss with a gasp, gazing at you with such adoration it makes your face heat.

“I promised I’d worship you, baby.” He cups your face in his hands, planting a kiss on your forehead. “Worship that sweet dick of yours.”

You can feel yourself get wetter. Can feel the slick soaking through your boxers, making them stick to your legs. “Fuck, Wade.”

“That’s the plan, baby boy.” He grins at you. “I’m gonna eat you out so good you’re seeing stars, and then I’m gonna fuck you till you can’t walk in the morning.”

“Promise?” You’re almost giddy with excitement. You and Wade fuck like rabbits almost every single day, and yet it still gets you excited every time.

“Promise. Now, come here. I wanna give that sweet mouth of yours some love.”

He practically topples over the couch as he leans in to kiss you. And you? You let yourself be squashed by him. Anything to keep his lips on yours and his hands roaming your body.

You moan into the kiss, arching your hips up against his. His hand snakes down to your boxers, stroking over the damp fabric.

“Aww, look at you,” he coos, “So wet for me. I bet you’re absolutely soaking.”

You whimper and press into his touch. His mouth lodges against yours again as his fingers dip below your waistband.

“Oh, fuck,” he groans, as his scarred fingers meet the pool of slick between your legs. He circles your dick, making you gasp and squirm beneath him.

“Wade! Wade, oh my god! Yes, just like that!”

“Yeah?” He nudges a finger against your hole. “Like this?”

You moan. Bucking into his touch, clenching around nothing. “Please, Wade…!”

“Ah, ah, ah,” he pulls his hand away. Bringing it up to his mouth to suck his fingers clean. He groans at the taste. “Fuck, baby. I love you so much right now. All needy and desperate and—“

He cuts himself off, sliding off the couch to kneel between your legs. He grips the damp fabric of your boxers, easily tearing them apart. You whimper, clenching at both the sight and at the breath of air against your dick.

“Oh, damn,” Wade breathes. He reaches out, tracing his fingertips over your slick skin. “Baby boy, I am going to feast on you.”

You grab a couch cushion, already preparing yourself. It always takes you by surprise, though. His first lick against you.

You squeeze the life out of the couch cushion, moaning and gasping as Wade laps at you. He sucks on your dick, groaning as you soak his chin with slick.

“Gonna make you cum on my tongue,” he mutters against you. “Then on my fingers. And then I’ll let you have my dick.”

You whimper. He smirks and goes back to eating you out.

You cum on his tongue twice. Right in a row, unable to help yourself.

When he slides his fingers into your dripping hole, you scream into the couch cushion. He pumps them inside you, curling them just right to hit that sweet spot.

You cum seeing stars. Once, twice again,

Your body is twitchy, wracked with shudders when he finally pulls out his dick. He rubs it against you, coating it thoroughly in your slick and cum.

“You want this, baby?” He coos. “You want my thick cock?”

“Yes!” You bury your face in the couch cushion, mostly to hide the tears building in your eyes. It’s going to be too much. But you need it. You need him. More than anything else on the planet. “Please!”

Wade chuckles and notches the tip of his dick against your hole. “How badly do you want it?”

“So bad!” You rock forward against him, but he grips your hips.

“Oh, no,” he smirks. “Don’t be greedy. You’ll take what I give you, won’t you?”

“Please!” You beg. “Please, Wade, just put it in!”

“Alright, alright. Since you asked so nicely.”

In one fluid movement, he snaps his hips forward, burying himself inside you all the way.

You sob at the stretch, cumming immediately. You’re so sensitive. So achy and needy. Your poor dick so delicious sore.

Wade groans. Loudly. “Fuuuuuck! Keep that up and I won’t be able to last!”

You both know it’s a lie, he can go as long as he wants. But your sex-dumbed brain can only think of one thing. More pleasure.

You fuck yourself on him, arching and rocking your hips against his. He’s so deep inside you, you’re sure you could feel a bump in your stomach if you tried. It’s too much, exhaustion creeping up your spine.

Your movements get sloppy, more like needy grinding than fucking. You’re really crying now, tears flowing freely down your face and staining the cushion in your arms.

“Aww,” Wade coos. “Look at you. I wish I had a camera to take a picture. You’re perfect like this, you know.”

You just moan weakly. Thankfully he seems to get the memo. He grips your hips tightly and begins to fuck you roughly. Harsh, desperate thrusts. Heavy panting and sloppy kisses.

You abandon your cushion in favor of gripping his face as you kiss him.

“Please, please, please,” you beg.

He gasps and groans, fucking harder into you. “Oh, yeah, baby. This is it. You ready for this, handsome?”

You bite his lower lip in response, hard enough to make him bleed.

With a low curse, Wade slams his hips against yours, cumming deep inside you. You moan, slumping back against the couch. You feel full, weak in all the best ways.

He slowly pulls out, stuffing your hole with his fingers to keep his cum from spilling out. “You alright, baby boy?”

You just whine in response. Your limbs feel like lead, your eyelids drooping.

“Yeah, me too.” Wade chuckles. He gently scoops you up, carrying you in his arms. He heads into the bathroom, turning on the tub.

“You did so good,” he coos, pulling off your shirt and setting you in the water. “Was that five or six orgasms?”

You rest your head against his chest, voice slurred and sleepy. “Five, I think…”

“Damn. We’ll get one more next time.” He presses a kiss to your head. “Now sit up for a moment. I wanna get in too.”

You do a lazy round two in the bathtub before passing out on the bed.

Your last thought, all warm and snuggled up with your boyfriend? You wouldn’t trade him for the world.

[toomuchracket]

tiny bikini (office nerd matty x reader smut/fluff)

day 23 of summer75. matty really loves his girlfriend's tits. enjoy <3

the first thing matty hears when he wakes up is the sea, crashing softly outside the apartment. the first thing matty feels when he wakes up is warmth, balmy heat sending the odd bead of sweat rolling across his body, even though he's lying on top of the bedsheets. the first thing matty sees when he wakes up is you, hair splayed out across the pillow like a mermaid, soft body curled into his and pretty face beaming up at him.

the first thing matty does when he wakes up is smile. how could he not, alone on holiday with you and the sea and the sand and the sunshine?

“hi,” you whisper, blinking (adorably) sleepily and melting his heart. “i think we slept in.”

“we did?” matty cranes his neck to look at the alarm clock. half 12 in the afternoon. “fuck me, we really did,” he buries his face into your hair, inhaling the scent of your coconut shampoo and smiling when you giggle. “reckon we needed it, though, after how mental things have been at work.”

“yeah, we've been busy,” you stretch, and matty does his best not to be obvious about the fact he's staring at your boobs. “speaking of - agenda for today?”

“hmm,” he trills his lips, mind racing through a rolodex of potential holiday activities. a gentle breeze brings the sea air into the bedroom with it, and suddenly the answer is clear. “we could go to the beach? only if you want to, that is, we can do something else if not, i actually don't mi-”

“baby,” you gently place your index finger on his lips to shut him up, and a sense of total peace washes over him. “that sounds lovely.”

he kisses your finger, a feeling of pure love bubbling inside him when you laugh and snuggle even further into him. there's complete tranquillity for a moment, nothing but the two of you entwined and the summer day, your lips pressed into his chest and his hand gently skimming the soft skin of your back, stopping when it reaches the base of your spine; after maybe three skims, though, the tranquillity is marred slightly by your voice. “for god's sake, matthew, just put your hand on my arse. i know you want to.”

matty feels his cheeks redden, a smidge of embarrassment at being clocked so quickly flushing through him too. but it dissipates as fast as it comes on when he sees the smile on your face, a smile he matches. “sorry, darling. s'pose it's the art critic in me,” he quips, obliging your request (with unabashed glee). “first thing they tell us is that we shouldn't touch masterpieces, after all.”

he grins - no, cheeses - while you hide your face in his neck with a groan. “oh, babe, that was awful,” you shuffle so you can rest your arms on his hard chest, looking up at him with sparkly eyes and the shy smile you only seem to give him. fuck, you are beautiful, so beautiful that it actually gives matty a little bit of a heartache; worth it, though, to get to look at you. “but i kinda loved it. and you. i love you. a lot.”

“i love you,” matty kisses your nose, heart healing completely at the way you scrunch it cutely in response. “my sweet girl.”

you hum contentedly, pressing your forehead against his. “time to get up?”

“yeah, let's do it.”

admittedly, it does take you both a minute to get out of bed - a series of kisses take priority first, the head-melting breath-taking type of kisses matty dreamed about having with you since quite literally clapping eyes on you at work - but you're up and getting ready within the hour, sipping lattes and eating grapes while you potter around the apartment. another forty-five minutes after that, matty finds himself stood at the end of the bed, waiting for you to leave the bathroom and preoccupying himself with putting extra cartons of sangria in the beach bag. “darling, you almost done?”

“yeah,” your voice gets closer. “not sure if this is the right bikini, though.”

“come on, sweetheart, you know you look good in any…” his voice trails off as he looks at you stepping out into the bedroom. “...thing.”

good is an understatement, actually. the understatement. of the fucking… ever. matty's seen you in swimsuits before, practically fucked the life out of you in your gold leia birthday moment, but this is next level - the shimmery, claret fabric looks gorgeous against your glowing skin, the high cut of the bottoms makes those fucking legs of yours look a million miles long, and the double-strand ties on your thick hips actually make his mouth water, make him want to sink his teeth into you and mark you up.

and that's before he even thinks about your tits.

when he does finally manage to tear his eyes from your lower body, matty momentarily forgets how to breathe. the two triangles of fabric on your chest are doing very little to cover you up, exposing an amount of soft underboob that would have absolutely sent him into cardiac arrest had he seen you like this six months ago. as familiar as he is with your tits, though, matty wonders - as best as he can through the lack of oxygen in his brain - if that's actually hindering his ability to function properly; the sight of the fading heart-shaped hickeys he left on your inner boob last week is sending him even more insane, a reminder that this fucking goddess in a swimsuit before him is actually his to know and hold and love.

the room spins for a nanosecond. when it rights itself, matty feels the mattress below his back, sees your pretty face contorted in worry - when his brain retunes itself a bit more, he can hear you frantically talk. “matty, baby, are you alright? did you faint? oh my god, we need to get you some food. hold on, let me-”

“angel, m'okay,” matty strokes your face, smiling when you visibly relax. “just got a bit lightheaded, is all.”

“why, though, sweetheart?” you shuffle a little, and matty has a momentary flash of mortifying realisation that he's fully got a boner and you're sat square on his lap. in a bikini. fucking hell. “you thirsty?”

technically, yes. “nah.”

your brow furrows. “then why did you swoon like that?

matty giggles at your word choice. “well… same reason anyone swoons, i reckon.”

“what… oh,” your eyes light up, so much that it makes the mortification of the situation worth it. “you got woozy because you… find me so attractive?”

“um,” christ. his cheeks are burning. “yeah.”

your smile widens, and you nod knowingly. “it was my tits, wasn't it?”

he's not quite sure whether to be even more mortified, or touched that you know him so well. regardless, he thinks, he can at least be honest. “it was your tits.”

“d'you wanna fuck them, then?”

for the second time in just over as many minutes, the instinct to breathe completely abandons matty's body - the nonchalance of your question knocks the fucking wind out of him. it also, he notes in some stupid horny autopilot part of his brain, makes his dick practically jump in his shorts, and after a moment or two he becomes vaguely aware of the fact he's nodding in agreement.

he might be too horny to function, but he's not stupid.

you lean forward to kiss him, tracing your tongue around his lips and smiling into him when he whimpers. “let me lie down, babe, yeah?” you murmur. “actually - be a good boy and undo my top for me, first, please.”

the praise shocks matty into movement, and he dutifully unties the halter neck and back string of the bikini top. when the fabric falls off your body, he's barely chucked it out of the way before he's mouthing at your chest, kissing, sucking, biting, licking up the sweetness that seems to radiate from your skin, spurred on by the soft moans tumbling from your lips; by the time he pulls back, guided by your hand in his curls, your chest is glistening wet, and - it has to be said - ripe for fucking.

“god, i love your mouth,” you beam, climbing off your boyfriend with a kiss and lying down. matty takes the hint and moves to get rid of his shorts, getting even more turned on (impossibly so) at the way you bite your lip at the sight of his dick. “fuck, babe, get up here.”

he obliges, cracked whine leaving his lips when you sit forward and lick up the length of him; when you take him into your mouth, the whine becomes a groan, the feeling of your lips and tongue and throat on him almost too much to bear. “shit.”

matty whines again when you laugh around him, the vibrations going right to his brain and chipping away at his sanity. luckily, he thinks at least, you pull off quickly, settling yourself back against the pillows again and pushing your tits together so seductively his knees quake. “well, matthew, what are you waiting for?”

there's no need to ask twice. compelled by something indescribable other than primal, matty takes a tit in each hand to guide himself, and slowly fucks the tight little space between them. “oh- oh my god.”

you beam. “feel good?”

“s'fucking amazing,” a bit more used to the feeling (what would teenage him think if he knew that?!), he speeds up his thrusts, gasping when he finds the perfect tempo to turn his brain to mush. “fuck, darling, thank you.”

“sweet boy,” you coo, hand coming to hold his on your tit; you whimper when he squeezes it, and the sound goes straight to his dick. yeah, he's not lasting long at all. “look so beautiful above me, fucking me like this.”

“you're beautiful.”

“gonna look even better when you cum on my face,” you smirk, tongue flicking out to catch the head of your boyfriend's cock when it nears your lips. the feeling has matty's hips jerking, has him moaning staccato; when you take the head into your mouth properly and suck on it like a lollipop, his thighs start to shake, and he moans so loudly that you hear birds in the trees outside take off en masse. of course, you love it. “you're gonna do that for me soon, aren't you, darling? paint me all pretty, finish your masterpiece?”

he doesn't even have time to warn you that he's going to cum before it happens - as soon as the words leave your lips, matty's finishing all over them, hips stuttering to an eventual stop as he cries your name and cums harder than he thinks he ever has before. you moan his name in reply as he does, sticking your tongue out to catch as much as possible and doing him in even more in the process.

fuck. what a holiday this is turning out to be. and it's only day one.

the thought, along with everything else that just happened, has matty bringing his hands to his face, lightly pushing his palms over his eyes to try and focus a little bit. which, in hindsight, is a really detrimental move - he opens his eyes to see you, smiling and beautiful and covered with his cum, and he can feel his cock twitch. thankfully, you don't seem to notice, too busy gazing up at him so adoringly he's actually feeling self-conscious. “did you enjoy fucking me like that, baby?”

“yeah,” matty breathes. “dreamed about seeing you like this, you know, darling.”

you laugh, and everything is right in the world. “what, my face all messy because of you?”

“exactly,” he smiles. “there's a partner dream to it, and all.”

“there is?” you shuffle onto your elbows, curious. “what happens in that?”

matty hums, moving to settle himself on his stomach on the bed, pretty head inches from your visibly-wet core. “i make you do the same to me.”

[the-californicationist]

The False Alarm

TF141+/Reader TW: gangbang --- MDNI/18+ AO3 Link

Cleaning a long, hard pole was slippery business, and at your fire station, it was a particularly dangerous job. You had to be small enough to fit into the harness, but strong enough to self-belay, shining the gleaming gold rod as you traveled downward, repelling to the floor. 

So, imagine your frustration when you were left to clean by yourself while the rest of the house responded to a three alarm fire. You tried to make quick work of it, but there was a lot of pole to tend to, and you didn’t want to miss a spot. A dirty pole was bad news for everyone who needed to ride it. Safety first. 

It was all going pretty well until you neared the end of your job. You were about to lower yourself to the last section, your feet nearly able to touch the ground when you lost your grip on the rope attached to your harness. The clip liked to jam, so you tried to get it unstuck, but you realized pretty quickly that it was solidly knotted against you. You weren’t going anywhere anytime soon. To make matters worse, you were leaning at an odd angle, having tried to reach down to grab the radio that had been knocked to the ground when you lost the rope. But, it was flung too far, and you quickly discovered that it was way out of your grasp. At this point, you looked like a Christmas ornament, hanging loosely in your harness, swaying slightly around the pole. The only thing to do now was wait.

Luckily, you didn’t have to wait long for help. The three alarm fire had been a false one, and all of the men had returned rambunctious but unharmed. Your boyfriend, Captain John Price, was the first one through every door, and he was the one who discovered you in your trapped state. His eyes lit up in shock, and you heard his gravelly laugh as he approached you. Behind him, Sergeant Johnny MacTavish and his Lieutenant, Simon Riley, began to strip their gear for Gaz, the firehouse quartermaster. They were laughing right along with Price, jeering at you in your trussed up position.

Price spun you around toward him, and you came face to face with his bulging zipper. You were at the perfect height, staring right at his crotch, and he had to bend down to look you in the eye,

“In a bit of a predicament, pretty girl?”

You weren’t sure you liked his tone. It was lurid and suggestive, especially in front of his men. 

“Latch is stuck. I’ve been telling you to replace it.”

“Which one?” He knelt underneath you to fiddle with the harness, “This one?”

He tugged at the rope and moved it between your legs, purposefully shoving it out of alignment. 

“John!” You hissed, feeling the thick rope, as big around as one of his fingers, slip across your cotton pants and into the crease of your pussy, rubbing along your clit mercilessly. 

“Mmm, I kinda like you like this, love. Might have to make you a permanent fixture. What d’you say?”

“Get me down, babe. Please?” You resorted to begging. It didn’t help.

“Oy!” He whistled loudly, “Come look what we caught on the line today, boys.”

All six of the other firefighters sauntered over to you, jeering and laughing. 

“Wee lass is truly stuck?” MacTavish asked.

“Aye, look,” Simon smiled, showing him the latch, “She used the old clamp.”

As he stuck his finger underneath it, it tugged on the rope next to your clit, making you writhe.

Gaz laughed behind them, bending over from his glee,

“Ha! Guess the captain didn’t tell you he bought a new one.”

“Count your blessings, compa,” Vargas grinned, clapping a hand over Price’s shoulder, “Maybe we should leave you two here, hm?”

“I was about to dig into Johnny’s homemade chili, but now I’m hungry for something else,” Alex crossed his arms and shook his head as if in disbelief. 

You tried to look to Price for some guidance. The boys flirted a lot, but it was mostly harmless. This felt… different somehow. There was something predatory in their stares that made your body feel like it was ablaze.  

Price ran a finger along the rope that now stretched between your asscheeks and through the folds of your pussy, biting into your pants. 

“Shouldn’t let such a bloody good opportunity go to waste, huh, lads?” Price’s voice sounded like an invitation, and you felt all the air get sucked out of the room. 

You were parallel to the ground; face down, ass up, right in front of all of them. You were trapped, surrounded by seven enormous men, and all you could see were their legs from their belt buckles to their boots. You knew who they were; you’d been friends for years, after all, but it didn’t feel so friendly now. You felt like their prey. 

You watched Price kneel beneath you. He smiled sweetly at you and whispered,

“You trust me, pretty girl?”

You nodded, and brought your hands up around his neck to kiss him. His mouth melted into yours, sending static tingles of pleasure though the rest of your body. He kept kissing you while his men stood around you, watching like dogs as Price literally dangled their treat in front of them. 

Then, he pulled away, standing up in front of you. You felt his fingers digging under the bottom of your shirt hem, and he tugged off your tee shirt, exposing your body to his team. Your breasts were contained only by a thin cotton bralette, and at this angle, they hung away from you as you swayed in your harness. 

Price took the bra off of you and bent to suckle from your nipples, licking and biting them gently to make you moan with sharp desire. You suddenly felt a hand that wasn’t his on your ass cheek and you gasped. Price chuckled, fondling your breasts with his huge, callused hands, teasing you,

“Are you shy, baby? It’s just MacTavish. You know he gets handsy.”

“Sorry, lass,” you heard the Scot behind you as he squeezed your ass and thighs, pulling them apart from your center, “Couldnae resist. Look good enough to eat.”

“Dig in, Sergeant,” Price offered you up like an appetizer, and tossed Johnny his emergency shears. 

Your eyes went wide, 

“John! My –”

“I’ll buy you another pair, love. Now, let’s give you something else to do with that mouth, why don’t we?”

You felt the cold metal of the blunt shears as Johnny cut across your waistband and down the crease between your legs, letting the shears do the work for him. He knelt to slice around to the front and then pulled your pant legs off of you, leaving you hanging there in nothing but your flimsy thong. 

He situated the rope back into position between your thigh and groin so that it wouldn’t bite into you, and then you felt his mouth. You groaned loudly. You couldn’t help it. It felt like heaven to have him licking and sucking at your tender flesh, writhing his tongue into your already soaking hole. 

“Listen to that sound. So damn pretty,” Price pet you on your cheek and stuck his thumb into your open mouth as you keened, the pleasure building within you like a smoldering blaze. 

You heard his buckle rattle open, and the whine of his zipper led to the quick release of his cock, hard and smooth. He pressed his head to your lips and you kissed it gently, licking around its crown hungrily. Unwilling to waste any time, he pushed into your mouth, rubbing himself deep enough to touch the back of your throat. You listened to his delicious moans and tried to take him in as much as his girth would allow. 

Then, MacTavish added a finger, stretching the walls of your pussy with it ever so gently, and you felt yourself starting to come. You were shocked by it, and it overwhelmed you so suddenly you knew that you were in for a turbulent storm of pleasure. 

“Oh, fuck, tha’s it, love. Come for us,” Price commanded, “Such a good girl.”

Your whole body trembled, unable to press or brace against anything as you hung suspended, and you heard Johnny moaning as he felt you contract with pleasure, listening to the muffled screams he was pulling from you as you were trapped around the captain’s cock. 

Price’s hand fisted your hair, guiding you down, grunting with each thrust. Then, he removed himself, stepping around to the side of you and placing one of your hands on his wet shaft. You started jacking him off, confused until you saw another pair of boots below your face. 

It was Alex.

Price’s hand was still in your hair, and you felt your face being lifted up to view Alex’s long cock. He let it rest against your cheek, its warmth teasing you in a surprisingly comforting way. You used your tongue to lick up and down his generous length. 

Alex moaned, 

“Fuck… No wonder you rush home from work, Captain. Holy shit.”

Price chuckled, releasing your hair so that Alex could do as he pleased with you, 

“She’s bloody brilliant, aye?”

You felt something tugging your body backward, and you knew Johnny had moved beneath you because his mouth was punishing your clit, making you want to come again. You moaned around Alex, making him cry out as well from the feeling. 

Then, you felt the tell-tale prod of someone’s cock nestling itself against your wet hole. Surprised, you tried to pull away from Alex to look behind you. Alex grabbed your head before you did, though and forced your mouth back down,

“Shh, shh, shh. It’s okay, sugar. It’s just Garrick. Lookin’ like he’s gonna die if he doesn’t get to fuck you right this goddamn second. Ain’t that right, Gaz?”

“Fuckin’ right,” Gaz grumbled, feeding himself into you as Johnny ate you out. 

You thought you might die from the pleasure. You came around him as he entered you, forcing him to stop. You were bearing down so hard that you thought you might accidentally wet yourself. You tried to get it under control, riding wave after wave of your orgasm as Johnny sucked your folds and fondled your clit. 

“Tha’s beautiful, lass. Your poor wee cunt doesnae ken what to make of all this, hm?” 

“She’s being such a good girl, Cap. Takin’ me so well,” Gaz crooned, reaching forward to rest his big hands on your hips as he began to thrust in earnest. 

Every time he pushed you forward, you would swallow deeper onto Alex’s cock, and Johnny’s tongue would rush through your folds and across your clit.

Suddenly, your other hand was being given a task to complete. It was Alejandro. He had taken your hand in his and bent to kiss your knuckles, soft and sweet as if you were a princess. Then, he let it rest on top of his uncut cockhead, allowing you to find a similar rhythm for him as you had for Price, rubbing his rod as steadily as you could manage. 

Alex increased his pace, grunting like an animal as he fucked himself into your throat. Price encouraged him,

“Don’t feed it to her, Keller. She wants it in that sweet cunt of hers, don’t you, pretty girl?”

You felt Gaz and Alex pull away from you at the same time, and you gasped, agonized by the hollowness that you were experiencing. Then, a warm hand braced against your ass cheek, squeezing you fiercely, and Alex pressed himself in where Gaz had been steadily putting in the work. 

The new sensation of another man’s cock was incredible, and with Johnny eating you like he was starving, you had no trouble coming with Alex as he pounded himself into you mercilessly. His guttural screams were tantalizing, and you wished you could see his face. 

“Fuck! Oh, my God – Fuck!” Alex grunted through gritted teeth, holding onto your body as tight as he could, filling you full of his come.

As he fell away from you, Gaz replaced him, getting back to his mission dutifully and with renewed vigor, slipping through the other man’s come easily. Johnny moved up your body, kissing your belly, sucking on your skin, finding your nipples as they jiggled while Garrick was fucking himself into you, and you watched someone new come up to your face. 

Simon bent down to kiss you, biting your lip and tasting his friends on your tongue. He licked your neck, sucking on the skin hard enough to leave a bruise. He joined Johnny at your breasts, suckling from the opposite one as the eager sergeant. 

Just as you were being lulled into an orgasmic trance from their ministrations, you felt Gaz shudder. He came breathlessly, gasping out quiet moans and little yeses and pleases and wordless prayers as he started to spill out into you. His cock reached further than Alex’s, and you felt a different sort of fullness as he held himself inside of you, throbbing against your cervix, tickling the entrance to your womb. 

You felt his plump lips leave a trail of kisses along your bare back, and then he pulled away from you, letting his and Alex’s come drip onto the concrete floor below you. 

Simon and Johnny stood, each taking their place at your throat and your pussy, entering you at the same time and letting out similar groans of agonizing pleasure. Johnny was stuffing himself into your cunt, and Simon was dragging his cock down your throat, going much deeper than you had ever taken anyone before. 

MacTavish was almost too thick, and he had to stretch you more than Gaz or Alex. He wasn’t particularly long, but he was curved in just the right way, and you started to scream, muffled by Simon’s dick in your mouth. 

It made Simon wild. He spoke to his sergeant in staccato’d bursts, 

“Fuck, Johnny. Just like that, mate. Makin’ her scream around me. Feels so fuckin’ good.”

“She’s so tight, Si. Shite! I’m gonna come so fast,” MacTavish groaned, pulling your ass cheeks apart as he fucked you, watching your asshole gape open as he did, “God, Cap. How do you last?”

Your captain chuckled darkly, petting your breasts as they swung freely, 

“I fuckin’ don’t, mate.”

Johnny was now sheathed in your pussy to his hilt, grinding into you rather than pounding, almost as if he was massaging your walls from the inside, making you feel so full. His hand found your clit that he’d been punishing, and he used your own fluids to smear lazy circles around and around. 

You could feel your legs begin to shake involuntarily. You tried to stop it, gripping onto Alejandro and Price for dear life in your hands, and crying out around Simon’s cock in your throat for relief. 

All four of the men were noisy now, basking in your rolling pleasure, watching you writhe and tense beneath them. Gaz returned to you, kneeling down to lick your breasts, sucking on them harder than Johnny did, taking more of your flesh into his mouth. 

Gaz looked up at your face, stuffed full of Simon’s cock, and he talked to you even though you couldn’t respond, drool dripping out of the sides of your lips,

“Are you havin’ a good time, babe? You’re so damn pretty. Look at these gorgeous fuckin’ tits.”

The way he was sucking on them was so intense that you felt yourself clench hard around Johnny, hearing him moan. 

He slapped your ass, grunting,

“Fuck! Again. Do it again, lass.”

You tried to oblige, bearing down on him and squeezing with all of your might. 

“Yes, yes, yes, gonna make me come - fuck!”

Johnny grabbed ahold of your harness and threw himself into you at a breakneck pace, the fluids inside of your core splattering you and him as he crushed himself into you. Simon pulled out of you, commanding you,

“That’s right. Scream for it. I wanna hear you.”

You let out a long, trembling whine, and then, 

“Oh, fuuuuckkkkk…”

Johnny ground himself into you again, painting your pussy with his come. There was so much of it that you could feel it now, settling in your belly. 

The sergeant pulled himself out of you with a slick pop, and bent to lick his own come off of your folds. You screamed again, feeling as if you would be shoved into another wild orgasm if he kept it up. But, then, Simon came to your rescue, grumbling, 

“Out of the way, mate.” 

Simon moved into place behind you, grabbing Johnny by his mohawk and shoving him back, and hungrily rubbed his cock through your ass checks, massaging himself. Alejandro took his position at your mouth and used you easily. Simon had done a good job of getting you used to his roughness when he fucked your throat, and his treatment of your cunt was no different. Johnny had been big, but he was a lamb compared to the lion taking you from behind now. 

Simon had pulled your legs around his waist, holding you in place there, and he was eager to fuck you hard. You felt your bones rattle as he slammed his length into you, making the most animalistic sounds as he did so. 

“Tha’s how she likes it, innit, Captain? Like a dirty little slag,” Simon observed, able to feel how your walls fluttered around him, excited and anticipatory.

Price smiled down at you, and you could see his hand leave your breast and search for your ass. He grabbed your ass cheek and pulled it away until your hole was wide open for him, and he used his thick finger to tease you within an inch of your life. You were transported to another dimension of pleasure, and he knew exactly how to turn you on.

“This is how she likes it, Simon. All her pretty holes filled.”

“We can do tha’, can’t we? Proper stuffed.” Simon laughed, understanding what you liked and fully happy to give it to you. 

Price removed his hand and Simon replaced it, spitting into his fingers and rubbing two of them just inside of your asshole, stretching you out. He then put them deeper in and pressed downward, feeling his own cock through the thin membrane between your two holes, groaning in a deeper, darker tone.  

Alejandro got your attention then by holding himself inside of your throat for a three-count, and then a five-count, and then for a period of time when you lost count. You were choking so much that your body was convulsing, and as he ripped his cock from your throat, rivulets of drool fell out of your mouth and onto the concrete. 

“A la chingada! Dame tu boca, mi linda.” Fuck it! Give me your mouth, pretty one. Alejandro lamented, kneeling in front of you and kissing you through your mess of spit and drool. He smiled and stood again, rubbing his wet cock all over the outside of your face, making you sticky with his precome and with your own fluids. 

He gave you just the head of his dick and you swirled your tongue around it, suckling from it like it would feed you, and he cried out in pleasure,

“Fuck! Are you gonna come or not, pendejo? ‘Cause I need to.” 

Simon didn’t answer. He just fucked you even harder. It was as if he had been holding back this entire time. He grabbed your hair and forced your body to arch high into the air, pounding into you with wet, slapping noises and grunting over your screams. You couldn’t continue rubbing Price’s cock, nor were you able to suck Alejandro’s head. You were at Simon’s demonic mercy. 

He came without halting. He fucked you right through his own pleasure, listening to you moan and feeling you bearing down around him, pushing his seed as deep into you as it would go. When he finally let go of your hair and removed himself from you, it felt like he was taking your insides with him. You felt so empty, it made you whine. 

“Shh, shh. I know, love,” Price soothed you, moving to your face to kiss you and lick your neck, “You’re doing so good. You ready for me, hm?”

“I need you so bad, John,” you told him through pleasure-wrought tears. 

“I know, baby. I know. Be a good girl for me.”

You nodded, feeling Alejandro push himself through Simon’s wet spend. It only took a few thrusts for him to coat your walls as well. There was so much come in you, your belly felt swollen. 

Finally, it was the captain’s turn. You and he were alone at the pole, and you felt him cut your rope in one quick slice. He caught you before you fell, holding you to him, knowing you couldn’t stand on your trembling legs. He lifted you up and made you turn to face the group of men who had just finished pleasuring you. They were all in states of undress, panting and laying on the firetruck or on the ground. Simon was jacking off again, as was Alex, thoroughly enjoying the show. 

Price fucked you like this, holding your body in front of him, letting you face his team as he struggled to fit himself into you. You had forgotten how big he was compared to normal men. Your eyes reflected your shock. Encouraged, the men began to stir, despite their exhaustion, nearly every one of them had his cock in his hand. 

You felt yourself come again, no warning this time, and Price let out a long, threatening growl,

“You are so fuckin’ beautiful, love. Did so good for us. Takin’ my men so well. I knew you could do it. Good girl. Such a fuckin’ good girl. My fuckin’ girl. Whose cock do you like best, baby?”

“Yours, John,” you cried out. 

“Whose?” He demanded, shouting at you through gritted teeth.

“Yours! Yours. Yours.” You chanted, feeling him begin to pulse inside of you. 

“Tha’s fuckin’ right.”

Price came in you so much and for so long, you thought you had mistaken what was happening to you. But, it was dripping out of you and onto the floor in little white splatters. 

Keeping his wits about him, Price whistled to Johnny and he came over with a big blanket, helping Price wrap you in it to keep you warm. You couldn’t stop shaking. 

Price smiled, bending down to kiss you as you were wrapped in Johnny’s arms, surrounded by the whole team, 

“Go get some rest, love. Your pole-cleaning duties are on hold… for now.”

[thesunisatangerine]

against all odds (to wait for you is all i can do) – part seven

alexia putellas x photojournalist!reader

warnings: mentions of death/dying

(a/n in the tags) [parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve]

word count: 5k

A dull, stabbing pain throbbed in your right rib and you put a hand over it–you hoped to ease it somehow but it remained–as you replied, “I… I don’t know, Derek. I’m not sure if I’m ready for that.”

The movement didn’t go unnoticed from Derek’s watchful gaze, especially when he was sitting right there beside you on the couch, and his blue eyes shone with the familiar question, ‘Are you okay?’ You answered him silently with a reassuring raise of your brows and a wave of your hand. Seemingly placated for the time being, he put a hand on your shoulder and squeezed gently.

“There’s no pressure. I just thought I’d let you know before I pass it on over to Jersey and before I inform the client she’ll go in place of you. But if you’re interested in just going to watch, we can arrange that, too.” Derek paused, opened his mouth then closed it, and he looked a bit unsure about the words he wanted to say. 

Then he continued, “I… I think it will be good for you.”

The thought of returning back to the field, albeit for sporting coverage, still instilled anxiety in your stomach. Sure you had made enough progress in therapy to pick up a camera again without having a breakdown–you remembered crying out in relief when you did it for the first time after your last photojournalistic coverage–but covering the Olympics with tens of thousands of people present, one of them being Alexia? 

It was painfully obvious that that was something truly out of your depth. You just weren’t ready. 

But the thing was, would Alexia even care if she saw you there? You hadn’t spoken to or seen her in person in, what, fourteen months? What would she even say? What would you say? Considering that you were just a fling, you doubted that Alexia would even recognise you, much less care. The last time you were tempted to search up her name, you burnt yourself when you saw a candid photo of her and another woman. And the fact still stood that–and she said so herself, didn’t she?–you meant nothing to her. 

Another firm refusal was poised on the tip of your tongue when a round of giggles that erupted from the backyard, carefree and full of glee, captured your attention. Through the open sliding door of the living room you found your daughter with her Uncle Robert, head thrown back in a heartfelt laugh at whatever her uncle was telling her with his animated gestures. 

You smiled at the sight, chest immediately feeling full and warm. 

“For the both of you.” Derek added and when you looked back at him, you found his focus directed to where yours was only a moment ago. You regarded the scene again, fiddling with the string on your wrist as you mulled his words over. 

More than a year ago, you couldn’t even fathom imagining that you’d be able to behold a scene such as this. More than a year ago, you almost died–no, you did die–and the months that followed were nothing short of arduous, the first few weeks after you woke up even more so. It was as if the time between then and now existed on its own plane; you remembered it so vividly that sometimes when you sink into the darkest recesses of your mind, it almost felt like you were still there, and this–the now–was an illusion your lamenting mind had conjured to mollify yourself.

This almost felt too good to be real–too tranquil.

And as if awoken by the mere whisper of it, the memories pulled you away from reality and made a spectator out of you as you sank back into the most difficult time in your life. 

-

-

From nothingness came the noises, followed by sensations, gentle in their intrusion at first before they made their presence more pronounced, rousing you finally. 

There was a steady beeping and a gentle, mechanical hum coming from somewhere beside you and as the scope of your hearing widened, muffled footsteps and chattering registered not a moment later. Your mouth was parched but when you tried to swallow, a tightness in your throat prevented you from doing so and you groaned. Then you felt a dull ache along your right side, from the top of your shoulder, to your ribcage, and down to just by the side of your abdomen.

It took considerable effort to lift your eyelids but you managed. You found a grey ceiling to begin with but as your eyes fleeted through the room you were apparently in, you eventually found your mom asleep just beside your bed. She was curled in on herself, bent and tense, knees tucked close to her chin while her arm supported her head as a makeshift pillow against the chair’s arm. Even in her slumber, she didn’t look at peace: her brows were furrowed, the corners of her mouth tilted low, her lower eyelids looked red and raw, cheeks void of their usual carmine tint. From where you were, you could see the lines that had etched themselves on her face as if years had passed since you had last seen her. 

She flinched as if a rough hand had jolted her awake, her eyes weary as she opened them at first. The moment she caught your eye she froze–she didn’t even breathe–before her eyes lit up with tears. Then she was beside you, enveloping your head in her gentle cradle as her tears fell on you, searing against your cold cheeks.

In that moment, you didn’t realise how cold you were until you felt your mom’s tender warmth and the comfort it brought. Emotion bubbled in your throat and you sobbed around the apparatus in your mouth for your mom’s presence. So enraptured were you by her grace that you didn’t even realise that the both of you weren’t alone anymore until a nurse urged your mom to step aside so the doctor could check on you.

You’d been slipping in and out of consciousness for the past twelve hours after waking up from an eleven-day coma, the doctor told you in a gentle manner as she assessed you. Satisfied with what she saw, she turned to your mom and gave her a reassuring smile. She said that your state looked promising, that the likelihood of you slipping back into a coma was slim, but you should expect to sleep more deeply–for more than twelve hours a day–during the next week or so due to the damage in your right lung and your increased brain activity. True enough, just the brief interaction and exposure to the stimulants had taken a decent chunk of your energy, and you were beginning to feel exhausted already. 

The doctor and nurse left shortly after that and your mom stuck by your side. She clung to your hand, her fear that you would disappear if she even let go for a second as apparent as the tears in her eyes. Her grip was crushing you but even if you could tell her, you didn’t have the heart to do it because you saw how much she needed the closeness, the physical contact, how much it brought her relief so you let it be. And if you were being honest, the slight pain grounded you to her presence–to be present in that very moment.

The door of your ward opened again, the movement catching your attention, and in came your brother. His cheeks were red and he was heaving his breaths through his open mouth, blue eyes wide and shining with unshed tears. As his gaze found yours, his mouth closed in a tight line but not before a sob left his lips, chin shaking and brows furrowing which made the tears in his eyes to finally fall. He nearly tripped over his own feet in his haste to get to your side, his arms immediately around your head as he sobbed out apology after apology against your temple. 

Tears welled in your eyes and you longed to grab his face, to put your palms over his ears, and tell him that he had nothing to apologise for. Your heart broke and when you felt the warmth of your mom’s arms around the both of you and felt her own tears against your cheek again, a gravity pressed against your chest as the realisation of what nearly happened finally sank in. 

You wept then as it hit you, sobbing into the arms of the people you cared most about in the world. 

You cried in relief. 

You cried in grief.

And you cried because you were alive to do it.

The next time you woke, a nurse stopped by to take out the ventilator tube from your airway and replaced it with a nasal cannula for your oxygen support. She said that depending on the rate at which your right lung would recuperate, you needed to be on oxygen support for six to eight more weeks.

Your throat felt raw from the extraction but the relief that came from it was very much welcome. You’d been itching to ask your family about what you missed and what exactly happened. There was an empty space in your memory where memories as to how you ended up in the hospital should be–at that point you couldn’t recall anything about the child, the gunfire that wounded you, the dreams; your mind was completely out of the loop. 

And you did just that. 

In response, your mom pursed her lips in a thin line, stern and stubborn as mothers often were when they got protective of their children, before she shook her head firmly. 

“You heard the doctor, hon. You need to rest for now.” 

You tried a couple more times that day, even with Derek, to gain some insight  but your family remained resolute in preventing you from being stressed out. They reminded you that you had plenty of time to put the pieces together. 

Then familiar faces jumped in your mind and the guilt blazed in you, unforgiving. How could you have forgotten about them?

“Derek. Where’s Jones and Gilda?” Tremors made the rawness of your voice all the more apparent, and you stared at you brother in apprehension. The monitor began to beep as it detected your accelerated heartbeat, and your mom was automatically beside you to hold your hand, brushing the hair on your crown to soothe you.

“They’re fine, sis. Breathe.” Derek replied quickly, patting your covered foot over the blanket. “Gilda fractured her wrist and Jones is actually on standby.” 

You sighed, tension immediately leaving your body at the information. You nodded your thanks to your brother for at least putting your mind at ease by telling you that. 

“That’s enough for today.” Your mom said sternly before she pointed at you. “You. Rest. Now. And you, zip it.”

Derek put his hands up, pulling his brows up and the corners of his mouth down in an exaggerated manner, and at that, you laughed. 

Despite your growing impatience over the days that followed, bits and pieces of your memory finally returned to you but not without some help. On one occasion your mom, albeit with a tightness in her voice as if the mere act of speaking about it brought her terrible pain, finally told you what happened after you lost consciousness. 

She recounted what she’d been told by the first doctor that took care of you: how a returning convoy with a paramedic onboard heard the gunshots and managed to get to you on time. Any longer and they wouldn’t have been able to–she stopped to wipe her tears and tried to find her voice again–they wouldn’t have been able to resuscitate you when your heart stopped on the way back to camp. Your right lung had collapsed from the penetrating wound in your chest and, along with the ones in your right abdomen and shoulder, you’d lost a lot of blood already that by the time you were put under surgery, you slipped away again. This time, you very nearly succumbed to your wounds for good, and it was a miracle you came back–that the surgeon said you were lucky to have lived. 

Derek put a comforting arm around your mom as she put her face in her hands, breaking down again. You ached to do the same but weakness still occupied all parts of your body so the only thing you could do was offer your words.

“It’s okay, Mom. I’m still here. I’m not going anywhere.”

She straightened her back and wiped her tears away, seeming to have calmed down now but Derek continued to rub her back with a soothing hand and continued where she left off.

They found your press ID badge and contacted the photojournalism firm you were under. After receiving the news, Derek told your mom who–even though Derek told her to wait so he could go with her–flew herself out on the first plane there. He flew himself the next day after he sorted things out around the firm. 

“If you’re here, who did you leave in charge?” 

“Robert. Don’t worry, he’s fine. I may or may not have told him I’d break up with him if he messed up.”

Your mom gasped at that, scandalised, smacking Derek’s shoulder. “Derek!”

“What? I’m just joking!” Derek asked looking very much like a reprimanded child with his eyes wide in disbelief at being told off. You let out a small laugh, shaking your head at your brother’s antics but you knew that your future brother-in-law was very much capable of keeping the firm afloat. 

“Poor Robert. You’re a menace, you know that right?” 

“He knows it, sis, why do you think he’s with me?” He wagged his brows and you grimaced at the innuendo–the last thing you’d like to think about was your brother’s sex life.  “Anyway, after I landed, Mom and I decided that we should move you to a different hospital. Farther away from the conflict zone. So we took your belongings there and now you’re here. Which reminds me, we have your rolls of film and camera at the hotel.”

At the mention of your camera, images flooded in: the explosions, the guns, the massacre, the blood… and the child. The child! Where was she now? Was she okay? What happened–

“What? What is it?” The sound of Derek’s voice, thick with apprehension, disrupted your thoughts.

“The little girl. I was with a little girl when I got shot. Derek, where is she?” The words gushed out of your mouth. 

“I–I don’t know. They didn’t tell me anything about–”

“Derek, please. You have to find her. She’s probably still in the other hospital. I–Derek, I need to know if she’s alright. Please, Derek–” Tremors wracked through your body and your breathing deepened, quickened, every fiber of muscle rigid with tension as the gruesome scenes from that day played like a movie in your mind–the shadows and all the blood and… the beacon of hope–the future–that shone bright in those young eyes. 

“Honey, listen to me. Breathe. Breathe.” You felt your mom’s warm hand brushing over your forehead before the sounds and the blurry figures in front of you registered in your mind. There was an incessant beeeping noise coming from the monitor and you didn’t realise a nurse had come in to help calm you down as Derek stood by the foot of the bed with his arms crossed, a hand over his mouth as he watched on with glassy eyes.

After the nurse had left and you’d finally calmed down, Derek sat by your side and took your hand in a gentle grip. 

“Okay. I’ll do the best I can.”

You blinked slowly in gratitude and allowed yourself to drift off to another dreamless sleep.

“I think I found her.” Derek’s voice filtered through the room as he entered. You tensed and the instinct to sit up was only dampened by the weakness of your muscles, and the straps and tubes wrapped around you. 

“Where? Where is she?”

“The paramedic who was there that day remembered you so he also recognised who I was looking for, thankfully. She’s still in the same hospital but she’s about to be discharged in a few days because they’re running out of space.” Derek began as he sat by the otherwise unoccupied chair beside you since your mom went back to the hotel to get some rest–you insisted for her to go. “Is this her?”

He pulled out his phone, swiped and tapped for a moment, before he held it out so you could see the screen. There, you found a familiar face and it was like a weight had been lifted from your shoulders to know that the little girl was alive. She looked thinner than how you recalled but the light in those eyes remained.

“What’s her name, do you know? Has she found her family?” 

“Her name is Elisa. And from what I’ve gathered so far, no.”

Your heart ached as another image came to you, this time it was of the unconscious woman next to Elisa when you found her. What was their relation to each other? Were they family? Her sister? Her mother?

You chewed on your lower lip. “Is… is it possible to transfer her to this hospital? Only if she feels comfortable, of course.” 

“Already on it. And I’ve already started asking around for information about her family.” 

“Thank you, Derek.”

“What?”

You stared, not believing the words that just left your brother’s mouth. 

It was a few days after Elisa was moved to the hospital you were in that Derek brought you the news. He was hunched over himself in the chair beside you like a weight was pressed against his shoulders, head in his hands, shaking his head as if he, too, couldn’t believe the words he just told you. 

“They’re dead. All of them.”

And the universe screamed in harmony with the dead’s unheard agony.

During the weeks that followed, your schedule was routine; prosaic.

You were bedridden and sleeping for the most part of your recovery, mainly due to the delicate nature of your injury. You were told it was normal to feel fatigued most of the time and to feel the occasional chest pains but those should go away after enough time had passed. The lightheadedness and breathlessness, though, were a different matter: the damage was irreversible, your breathing now impaired for life, and the risk of experiencing a spontaneous collapsed lung event would forever be with you. 

Your schedule was routine and so with that much time in your hand, you began to write.

Elisa’s therapy was going well, you heard from one of the nurses–as well as it could get for someone who had suffered the loss she had at the tender age of eleven. Physically, she was doing so much better. She’d put on a little weight after being transferred and after a few weeks since her initial arrival, she started visiting you and began hanging out at your ward. 

During this time, the Women’s World Cup just began and you noticed the way Elisa straightened as she sat cross-legged at the foot of your bed, eyes raptly glued on the mounted TV in your room, animated and dynamic in expressing what she felt as the match unfolded before her. That was the exact moment you knew that Elisa loved football with a passion. 

And so a sort of ritual was established, changing your routine and, once again, brought Alexia back into your life as you kept up with Spain’s matches, Elisa’s favorite team. Despite that fact however, you were grateful that Elisa could find reprieve in watching football even for ninety minutes from the ongoing turmoil and her grief. 

 It was Spain against the Netherlands when you asked Elisa a question. She was curled up beside you, eyes peeking through the blanket she’d wrapped around herself while your mom dozed off in the chair, brows pulled tight in concentration as she scanned over the players on screen. Maybe it was one of the universe’s cruel tricks or maybe it was a sign, but her answer caught you off guard and you wondered how a single name could have this much effect on you; how a name could disarm you completely. 

“Who’s your favorite player?”

Without any hesitation and without even taking her eyes off the screen, Elisa replied with enthusiasm, “Alexia Putellas.”

As you watched Spain’s match against Japan with only Derek for company–Elisa had pouted when she found out she couldn’t watch the match live as she needed to go to a therapy session during that time–your brother suddenly exclaimed and pointed at the TV. The noise and the movement startled you, the monitor beeped loudly in response to the spike in your heartbeat.

Derek looked at you abashed, scratching the back of his head as he apologised. “Sorry. But it’s her!”

You looked at the person who he was pointing to: Alexia. You schooled your features and tried to maintain an even tone when you replied. “What about her?”

“She contacted us multiple times asking about you and your work a few days after you left to be here.” 

At his words, you heart quickened and the monitor responded to the rise in the rhythm of your heart accordingly. Derek’s eyes flicked from you, to the monitor, to the TV where Alexia was still being filmed, and then back to you. 

You cleared your throat, cheeks warm which you hoped your brother wouldn’t take notice of. “And what did you say?”

“That you were unavailable, of course.”

A pause.

“Wait, did you two–”

“No.” The sharpness in your voice nearly made you flinch as your firm gaze bored directly into the blue ones of your brother’s, hoping that he would get the message to drop the subject. Derek opened his mouth but closed it almost immediately. Then he sighed, turning his attention back to the game.

It wasn’t until several minites later that Derek spoke again.

“I have a feeling she’s the reason why you left Barcelona early. But I’m not going to ask. I just want you to know that I’m here when you’re ready to talk about it, sis.”

That night, what Derek told you kept you awake. Did Alexia really asked for you–was she missing you? Ever since you left Barcelona, not once did you let yourself give into the temptation but this new knowledge cut the last thread of your will. So you searched up her name but what you saw made you wish you hadn’t.

A photo of Alexia with another woman: Alexia with her sunglasses on, a black leather jacket over her bralette, and high waisted pants; an arm around the other woman’s shoulder who had her lips on Alexia’s neck and had a possessive hand over Alexia’s jaw.  It was recent, you noticed, the article the candid photo belonged to. 

You dropped the phone as your hand shook, and you stared up the ceiling. The lights from the passing cars and the nightlife outside created dancing shadows through the gap in the curtain. Closing you eyes, you felt a tear fall dawn and you stuttered out a breath as you reminded yourself.

She wasn’t yours.

She never was.

Yet still… you ached. 

It wasn’t until the next morning did the dreams–the ones of your family, of your deceased parents, of Alexia–finally returned to you in vivid clarity. And the pain from the night before returned to you twofold. 

Before you knew it, the Women’s World Cup ended with Spain emerging triumphant in the end as they blazed their way through the tournament. In spite of yourself, pride bloomed in your chest at the result knowing how hard these women fought–endured and resisted–in this competition and the fact that they did so while resisting their federation made their accomplishment all the more admirable.

An image of Alexia, weary and exhausted, materialised in your mind. 

You remembered the way she dragged her feet as she entered the door, eyes downcast and hair ruffled, shoulders hunched forward. When she found you standing in the archway, she clung to you without a word and you felt the gravity on her shoulders, the pressure of being who she was–of being La Reina–settled against your bones. That night, the both of you ended up sleeping on the couch, Alexia’s head against your chest, your fingers threading through her hair to soothe her even just for a moment. 

“You’re so strong, Alexia,” you’d whispered, kissing the top of her head. “You’ve carried so much for so long that sometimes it’s easy to forget that you have people on your side in this fight. You’re never alone, Alexia. Please don’t ever forget that.”

And as you watched her with her people on that stage lifting the trophy, the urge to whisper the same words returned to you. Even though you couldn’t, in your mind you did. 

In your mind, the words echoed: I’m so proud of you.

Upon your insistence and with a lot of reassurance, Derek reluctantly agreed to leave you to return back to the firm. You promised you would video call with him every night to appease him so now, you were left with your mom and Elisa’s company to keep. But after being bedridden for nearing two and a half months, finally, you were excited to be moving around even if you were aided with a wheelchair. 

When you began your physiotherapy, you couldn’t walk for no longer than fifteen minutes before you felt lightheaded. But as the weeks passed on and as you pushed yourself a bit more each day, little by little, you built up your tolerance. The next thing you knew, you didn’t have to be put in a wheelchair anymore, a small triumph but a triumph nonetheless.

The moment the doctor medically discharged you was one of the best moments of your life. But instead of going back home with your mom, you stayed behind as you needed to sort out one important thing.

Throughout your recovery, Elisa had been one of the constant in your life. The moment you knew she had no family left, your heart instantly knew what you had to do and the idea of adoption took root in your mind. You sorted out the paperworks, carefully explained to Elisa what you planned to do–that you wanted to be her legal guardian, sister, aunt, or mother; whatever Elisa wished for you to be–and gave her time to decide herself if she wanted to go through with it. 

As you waited for the paperworks and for Elisa’s consent, you supported Elisa through her therapy sessions all the while you busied yourself with being immersed in as much of Elisa’s language and culture as you could out of respect for her family. Elisa was patient with you during the times you couldn’t quite accomodate the phonetics of her language, speaking slowly and enunciating the words multiple times until you got it.

A few months later, you walked through the airport with two passports, Elisa’s hand in yours, heading towards home. The road was not without difficulties, of course, and it took a long time but the fact that you were there was enough.

Even though the conflict abated just before your departure, the tension was very much alive and the cost forever unjustifiable; senseless, a transgression against those that paid for it: the dead and the ever-hungry living. For Elisa, months of therapy had helped–the first time you heard her laugh was truly one of the best moments of your life–but you knew that the wound would never truly heal, the cut too deep that even the sands of time would do little to fill it completely. 

But as you looked into Elisa’s wide eyes, hope filled you as you saw it: that eternal flame that burnt in every person, passed to each other as one life touched another, a bright beacon in what seemed to be a never-ending night made from humanity’s long shadow. 

A guiding light to a better future.

As the plane took to the early morning sky, as the sun peeked through the clouds to paint everything in its soft, golden glow, you made a promise. For as long as you live–for as long as Elisa would let you–you would do everything to preserve that light. 

-

-

“And I don’t know exactly what happened between the two of you, but she still asks for you, you know? Sure, it’s through her agent or through her club’s PR department but it’s still her.”

Derek’s voice pulled you back from your memories. 

Again, you fiddled with the string on your wrist. The more you thought about it, the more your reluctance grew. But when you looked at Elisa with her Barcelona kit, the number eleven and Alexia’s name bold and proud on her back, seamlessly stepping over the ball as her Uncle Robert tried to defend against her before she performed a rainbow flick that had the ball soaring past her defender, you knew then what your decision was going to be. 

It would be good for her. 

Your daughter’s love for football was there before you even met her, and it shook you to your core when you learnt that Alexia was her inspiration. She’d told you she loved football enough to pursue a career in it, a dream that was both hers and her parents–her remaining connection to them–a dream that you would do everything to preserve as long as your daughter wanted to chase it.

“Okay. I’ll do it.” You told Derek as you kept your attention glued to your daughter.

As if sensing your eye, your daughter looked over her shoulder to you, the light of the sinking sun made gold from her hair, and you watched her smile at you, dimples and all. 

You smiled back. 

Yes, that’s right. 

After all, you did make a promise, didn’t you?

[deancasbigbang]

Title: This Impossible Happiness

Author: FriendofCarlotta

Artist: sidewinder

Rating: Explicit

Pairings: Dean/Cas

Length: 50467

Warnings: undefined

Tags: Alternate Universes, Multiple Versions of Dean and Cas, Post-Canon, Canon Compliant, Post The Winchesters 1x13, Second Chances, Getting Together, Getting Back Together, Mutual Pining

Posting Date: October 22, 2024

Summary: In one universe, Dean Winchester is pushing thirty. He’s just danced at his little brother’s wedding, he likes his job at the garage, and he goes on the occasional hunt with friends and family. He’s also desperately lonely for someone to share his life with. One day, he finds a mysterious package outside his door. It contains a news clipping about an urban legend that just might be real, and a book by Professor Castiel Novak, who happens to specialize in that same urban legend. In another universe, Castiel Novak’s roadside motel is slowly dying, its business hollowed out by the interstate system. Dean Winchester, the man who asked him to run away together years ago, is only a painful regret these days. Until the day a mysterious letter Castiel doesn’t remember writing brings Dean back to his doorstep. Out there in the multiverse, a man and an angel look for each other in all the wrong places. In the meantime, they might as well help a few other versions of themselves figure things out.

Excerpt: The motel is where the memory of Castiel’s father is still alive, in the memorabilia stuffed tightly into Carver Edlund’s Chamber of Horrors — the roadside attraction housed in the small building next door to the Scenic View. It’s nothing but a single room stuffed full of objects that belonged to his father, along with a few life-size recreations of monsters from his books. But it still attracts visitors from time to time, thanks to a single billboard on the interstate.    The motel is also where Castiel’s memories of a different man live. And, though Castiel doesn’t like to admit it to himself, those are the memories he clings to the hardest.    The summer Castiel turned twenty-five — nearly five years ago now — a drifter washed up at the Scenic View. He’d been traveling the country doing odd jobs for over a year, and he happened to be a big fan of Carver Edlund’s novels.    Even all these years later, whenever Castiel dusts the display of his father’s old typewriter inside the Chamber of Horrors, he can still hear Dean exclaim over it, his voice bright and sugar-sweet with delight. Whenever Castiel freshens the paint on the monster replicas, he can still see the childlike glee on Dean’s face when Castiel encouraged him to touch the scarred face of Hatchet Man or the Wraith’s wicked spike.    The ghost of Dean’s memory is why Castiel always lingers a little longer than he needs to over the daily cleaning and upkeep of the Chamber of Horrors. It’s also why he saves one of the motel rooms for last — after both the Chamber and all the other rooms have been seen to.    Room 8 was Dean’s room. It was here that the two of them became intimate for the first time, on the fourth night of Dean’s stay. As Castiel approaches the door, he pauses — as he always does — with his hand on the doorknob. He remembers how Dean was still nearly a stranger then. A mysterious being of light and laughter who’d come into Castiel’s drab, dreary life to make him forget all about how he’d left college to care for his father through the long illness that eventually took his life.    Castiel had wanted him so very much. Every time Dean glanced at him from under his eyelashes or made a flirtation so subtle that it could plausibly be denied, Castiel refused to let himself respond, to believe that someone so lovely could ever want him. And yet, Dean must have read Castiel’s yearning in his eyes, because on that fourth night, shy glances and blushing remarks became an arm slung over his shoulder and the tip of a nose, nudging bashfully against Castiel’s stubbled cheek.   It’s pathetic how well Castiel still remembers the details of that night and every night that followed. It’s even more pathetic how, every time Castiel turns the knob of Room 8, he half-hopes to find Dean waiting for him inside, sprawled decadent and freckled atop the covers.

DCBB 2024 Posting Schedule

[koji-haru]

Time Travel AU Part: 6

Lucifer never understood why, but he always felt awkward around Adam. Normally, he'd just brush it off as him not understanding humans well enough, him being an angel and humans being a new creation. However, that expression on his face did not belong to someone who was still ‘pure’. That contemptuous stare, that self-satisfied smirk.

All those other instances where he felt something uncanny about the first man suddenly came crashing down on Lucifer like a bucket of freezing water. Something was definitely wrong with the first man. As if, he knew more than he let on.

Lucifer stopped his frantic back and forth, “Had Adam eaten the forbidden fruit?”

Just the thought itself sent shivers down his spine and along his wings. Since when had Adam eaten the fruit? And how come it hasn't caught anyone's attention? The fact that he remained in the garden despite being as ‘rebellious’ and ‘imperfect’ as him and Lilith. Well, that wasn't fair at all.

He glanced at his beautiful Lilith. She was sitting on a fallen tree taking in the new world they were in now. Their banishment had shaken her up, but her curious nature remained. Sure, they were far from Eden's safety, and dangers lurked everywhere, but he retained his angelic abilities, and he would ensure Lilith's safety. They just had to adapt to the new changes, but that's alright, they were both resilient.

Lucifer sat close to Lilith, pale hands enclosing hers, “Lilith, I think something is wrong with Adam.”

“What do you mean?,” Lilith questioned, perplexed by the sudden statement.

“Remember those times when you felt there was something uncanny about him, but you couldn’t figure out why?”

Lilith nodded. There weren’t too many, but the times there were always left her feeling exposed and unsure of what to do. Sometimes, Adam had that look in his eyes, deep and scrutinizing as if he knew more than he let on. Wait.

“When we were banished from the garden, I turned to look back one last time. And I’m quite sure, the glee in his eyes, the satisfaction in his smile, his demeanor are not of an innocent person’s.”

Realization hit Lilith, “Are you implying that..?”

Lucifer confirmed Lilith, giving her a slight nod, “I think Adam ate the forbidden fruit. I don’t have proof yet, but I’ll find one.”

“How? We were banished from Eden and the evidence lies there.”

“I retained by angelic abilities, if I could just disguise them, then I might be able to slip by.”

Adam could not stay in the garden. Adam didn’t belong in the garden, not anymore. And Lucifer was going to prove it to Heaven.

—---------

Adam felt a sensation. Intrusive. Odd. But not necessarily painful. It was a warm, numbing sensation just below his chest. Something or someone was prodding inside him, gently but with a clear cut precision. He remembered this feeling, all those millennia ago, when he first met Eve. It was odd, to be aware of what was happening this time, but he couldn’t complain, Eve was going to be in the garden soon after all. Although, it was rather surprising, for Lilith to be replaced so soon by the angels. Adam didn’t blame them, he would’ve done the same, maybe even quicker. Still, quite too soon. He remembered having to be alone in the garden for at least a few more weeks, with only the animals for company as the angels, except for Lucifer, weren’t really present in the garden. Well, it didn’t matter. He liked Eve. Eve was good company. She wasn’t antagonistic nor insufferable like Lilith. Eve actually listened and worked with him, not against him.

A few hours later, Adam finally woke up. His back cushioned by the grass, his skin greeted by a warm breeze, his face kissed by gentle sunlight. It was another perfect day in Eden. This time however, he felt both rested and unrested at the same time. The sensation from last night lingered still, clashing with the blanket of comfort that one received from being in the garden. In other words, Adam didn’t feel well. Not sick, just unwell, a little off for today.

Adam let out a sigh. He hadn’t been unwell for a long time. Not since he became an angel in his previous life. He contemplated getting up and making himself something to eat or drink to alleviate the discomfort, like tea or some congee, but then he decided no. Today was going to be an extra lazy day for him. He hadn’t even started the day, and yet, he already felt exhausted, like he never had the energy to begin with. Yeah, today was going to be an extra extra lazy day. Adam was not going to even move, he had decided to just lay there, maybe sleep for a few more hours. It’s not like there was anyone to scold him anyway. Adam closed his eyes again, slowly getting back to sleep.

Just before he could return to sleep, he heard a sound. A fluttering of wings. Six of them in fact. Adam had recently grown familiar with this sound. And while he didn't mind the presence of the owner of those wings, he really wasn't in the mood today to play pretend, with the exception of maybe playing dead.

Michael landed gracefully near Adam. He had visited today to bring him great news. Heaven was in the process of making Adam a new wife, and she should be ready in just a few days. However, instead of the usual greeting he received from Adam, innocent smiles and radiant eyes, he received nothing at all. Not even an acknowledgement. In fact, the first man was still lying on the grass asleep.

Michael moved a little closer, silently peering at Adam. That was odd. Adam was usually up early, full of energy as he explored the garden. Michael inched closer still as he observed Adam’s face.

“He looks rather uncomfortable.” Michael poked at Adam's face. He wasn't sure what to do, but he did hear that humans sometimes get warm when they get ‘sick’. He was just about to place his hand on Adam’s forehead when tired golden eyes finally looked back at him.

Adam opened his eyes to concerned blue eyes, and a face that was a little too close for his liking. He'd have a heart attack right now if he wasn't so tired, so he settled for a mini one, a jolt and widened eyes.

“Do angels have no sense of space?,” Adam frowned, clearly irritated. He had half a mind to push Michael away, but he instead listened to his better judgement and instead turned to his side, ignoring the angel.

“Adam? What's wrong?” Michael tilted his head, confused by the difference in the first man's demeanour. He wasn't normally like this. The Adam he knew was always welcoming and eager, not dismissive.

Adam sighed. He really didn’t have the energy for this, but he had to. Turning his head to look at Michael, he gave a small smile, “Sorry, I'm just really tired today.”

Michael leaned back, sitting on his heels. That made no sense. How could Adam be tired, when he hadn't even begun his day? But then he remembered why he was visiting in the first place.

“Ah, the process must have not been as kind to him as I thought.” He nodded to himself, satisfied with his conclusion.

“Do you need my help for anything?,” he asked Adam.

“Well, since you owe me for ruining my nap…” Adam thought he might as well take advantage. He was craving something warm and easy to eat.

“Well, I haven't eaten anything yet. If you don't mind helping me gather some food…”

—-

Michael placed all the items he gathered for Adam. Bowls of potatoes, carrots, onions, tomatoes, celery, a bucket of water, small rocks called ‘salt’, and ‘peppercorns’, bay leaves, and more that the angel was already struggling to remember what to do with. Adam gave him instructions on what to do, but for once in his existence, Michael was rather unsure how to start. He never had to cook, angels didn't need to eat. Honestly, he was quite surprised with the amount of stuff Adam had already invented in his time in the garden, from musical instruments to tools for cooking.

“He really is God's most perfect creation,” Michael thought to himself as he stared at the task in front of him.

“You can start by making a fire.”

Adam’s voice burst him out of his thoughts. He looked back at the first man, who was lying on his belly watching him.

“Right.”

With a flick of a hand, Michael started a fire and began ‘cooking food’. This was going to take some getting used to.

—-

After a few trial and errors including Adam’s guidance, Michael finally made food, one that was edible anyway.

“Here,” The angel handed a bowl of ‘vegetable soup’ to Adam. His face seemingly stoic, but the subtle twinkling of his pale skin said otherwise.

Adam took the bowl. It looked…off… not inedible, but he wasn't sure if he could call it vegetable soup. He looked back at Michael. The angel was all sparkly and glowy, clearly proud of his work. Adam sighed internally. He was starving. He brought the spoon to his lips.

“Hm. It's actually edible,” Adam turned his gaze back to Michael, an appreciative smile painted on his face. “It's good. Thank you, Michael.”

Michael nodded silently. It was only part of his job to take care of Adam, or at least it was now since Lucifer was banished from the garden. Though, he couldn't help but feel a little proud of himself. His domain was justice, not creation, that was Lucifer’s, but to have created something that Adam liked. Well, that was something be could be proud of. It was nice. He taught Adam something, and in turn he also learned from Adam. Adam was ‘good company’. A nice break from Heaven's usual routine. He supposed he could understand a little as to why Lucifer visited the garden often. Just a little.

—-

[A scene I thought of but didn't know how to include. Probably one of Michael's failed attempts at making soup.]

Adam handed over his bowl to Michael, still more than half full, “Would like to try?”

“Please say yes, I can't eat this anymore.”

Michael blinked at Adam. Did he just offer him his bowl of food? Despite being exhausted and lacking nutrition? How generous. Simply too kind. Truly perfect. However, as an angel, he didn't need to consume for sustenance unlike Adam, so he would have to decline the offer.

“I'm alright Adam, besides you need it more.”

Adam deflated at Michael's answer. He liked eating, but this was just not it.

[Michael may be talented, but cooking really isn't his strongest suit]

Part 5

Part 7