#i hate it when people are in the laundry room when i'm in there

[halfdeadwallfly]

i completely embarrassed myself in front of someone else who was putting their laundry in at the same time as me and now i have to go down and probably run into them again bc our stuff is going to be done at the same time :')

[augustinewrites]

Ooh shit I had the worlds worst thought— Megumi snapping at Fushigojo mom OF ALL PEOPLE in the heat of some kind or argument or bad day or something and blurting out “you’re not my mom” and then just AAAH IT WOULD BE SO SAD ALL FOUR OF THEM WOULD BE HEARTBROKEN AND MEGUMI WOULD BE SO UPSET WITH HIMSELF 😭😭😭🕳️🚶‍♀️

things have been difficult since tsumiki had fallen into a coma.

it's hard not to feel her absence at home. the empty seat at the dining table, the untouched laundry left folded in the hamper. somehow she's everywhere and nowhere, and it hurts.

you and satoru are heartbroken of course, but you can't begin to imagine how megumi feels.

at first he'd been quiet. megumi had always been quiet, but this was different. the two of you used to sit in comfortable silence, content to read quietly in each other's presence. now he shuffles to and from his bedroom barely uttering a word, silence hanging heavy as you try to coax him into staying.

then his grades had started slipping. you weren't awfully concerned. his teachers had been sympathetic enough to exempt him from final exams, and excuse any late or incomplete papers. despite his record of delinquency, he's always gotten high marks.

you could excuse these things. the silence, the grades. he's a little brother missing his big sister, and he's hurting.

but now he was starting to act out.

picking fights at school, talking back to faculty, giving attitude.

you startle where you stand in the kitchen when the front door suddenly slams shut, revealing a grumpy looking megumi. he kicks his shoes off, making a beeline for his room without stopping to greet you.

satoru holds a hand up before you can ask, walking over to the genkan to fix the sneakers.

"what now?" you ask, wiping your hands on your apron when your husband returns, kissing your forehead.

"suspended indefinitely for fighting," he sighs, running a hand through his hair. "he has to write an apology letter to everyone involved, and the headmaster said that next is expulsion."

"he can't keep doing this," you frown. "one of us needs to talk to him."

satoru is quick to touch the tip of his nose. "not it."

you roll your eyes (like megumi would, is that where he got it?) "yeah, it's probably best that you don't. he'd bite your head off."

he leans back against the counter, relieved. "yeah, i'd just— wait. you're doing that reverse psychology stuff on me again!"

feigning cluelessness is easy. "what are you talking about?"

"when you tell me i shouldn't do something and it makes me want to prove myself!"

"not my fault you're an incredibly prideful man."

"and just this once, i'll actually admit that talking to moody teens is not one of my many skills," he says. "this is your territory. you're the only one he might listen to. you've always been his favourite."

deep down, you know that he's right. you're the first one megumi goes to for everything. the first one he comes to with a new bump or scrape. the one whose side of the bed he squeezes into when he has a nightmare. the first one he talks to when he has a fight with a friend, or his sister...

you learned pretty quickly that megumi hated when people fussed over him (it came with his lone wolf tendencies) but he always let you.

so you steel yourself with a deep breath before knocking on his bedroom door.

"megumi?" you call gently. "can i come in?"

you decide to take his muffled response as permission, twisting the knob and slowly pushing the door open.

megumi's sat on the floor with his back pressed against the bed and his knees drawn up to his chest.

you close the door behind you. "thank you for letting me in."

he hums, peeking at you over his knees.

you sit on the floor across from him, rubbing your palms against your thighs. "i know that whatever we're feeling can't compare to how bad you're hurting, but we're worried about you."

"i'm fine."

"you're not, and you can't keep acting out at school."

"okay, i'll stop," he shrugs.

you should stop here. but you know megumi. he's only saying it because he knows that's what you want to hear.

you reach out, gently grasping his hand. "megumi, please. you can't keep this all in anymore. you always talk to me—"

"i don't want to talk about it," he snaps, jerking away from your touch. "can you just leave me alone?"

you flinch a little, surprised by the slight raise in his voice. he's never yelled at you. never snapped at you like that.

you're pushing too much, you realize. he's not ready to talk yet, you have to apologize.

"megumi, i'm—"

"just— just stop!" he shouts, expression stormy. "stop fussing over me, you're not my mom!"

to his credit, megumi looks like he regrets the words immediately, lips already shooting off an apology you can't seem to hear.

it does nothing to soothe the way your chest aches, full of hurt and a touch of betrayal. those words shouldn't hurt you as much as they do. he's right, you're not his mother.

but you don't even get to utter a word before the door swings open, a pissed off looking satoru striding into the room. shit. so he had been listening. "listen here you little shit—"

you stagger to your feet, stepping between your boys. "satoru, don't. don't! he's just upset."

"he can't talk to you like that!"

"let it go," you plead. "fighting is the last thing the three of us should be doing right now, okay?"

the three of you stand there for what seems like a lifetime, letting all the pain, frustration, and heartache fill the quiet apartment.

satoru shoots one last stern look around you before drawing a deep breath and focusing on you. you do the same as his hands come up to cup your cheeks, thumb swiping a stray tear away.

"we're just gonna give you some space, megs."

_____

"he didn't mean it," you remind satoru again that night, when sleep seems to be avoiding the both of you.

"i know. he still hurt your feelings though."

"well, he was right. i'm not his mom."

your husband tuts softly, reaching across the mattress and pulling you into his chest. "so what if you didn't give birth to them? you're something better because you chose them. you chose to love them and raise them when you didn't have to."

"of course i had to. they wouldn't have lasted a week in your care."

"oh? now who's being a little shit? i see where megumi gets his attitude from."

foreheads pressed together, the two of you laugh quietly. you feel light for the first time in weeks. the man holding you close, the boy sulking in his room, and the girl laying in the hospital.

they're your family, and you know they'll always love you as much as you love them.

waking up in the middle of the night to megumi squishing between you both (and satoru actually letting him) is as good a sign as any.

[peachesofteal]

Through Me (The Flood) - secret baby fic Simon Riley / female reader #33 Ghost helps fix up your house or makes repairs - for @glitterypirateduck's Ghost writing challenge

His phone rings again on the following Tuesday morning.

It's been a day and a half, since he's seen you and Orion last. Since he made you promise to call, no matter what, if you needed something. Or if you needed a break, or some company.

Anything. Anything, and he'd be there.

You had tried to push him off a bit, tried to assert your independence, which he appreciates, he values. He likes to know you can take care of yourself and the baby when he's not here. But when he is-

"We're really fine, you know. You don't have to be... available for us, whenever. I mean, like if you have other things. Or people, you don't have to be here all the time. I've been doin' it on my own, and I'm fine. We're fine. I don't want you to feel like you have to-"

His fork clatters to the plate, and your eyes go round as he rises from the chair and steps toward you, firm hand cupping your arm. "I'm here because I wan' to be."

"O-okay, I just don't want you to be here because you think you have to... because you're all the sudden saddled with a kid."

"I'm not here because I feel like 've been saddled with a kid. I'm here because I want to be, because I wanted you the night we made him, and I still do. I want you both." Your mouth drops wide before snapping shut abruptly, warmth rising in your cheeks. You're so cute like this, flustered and nervous, and it reminds him of the night he met you, a sweet little kitten, all alone at the bar. "And you've done more than just a fine job, sweet girl, takin' care of yourself and our baby for me, but when 'm here, it's my job."

So, his phone rings, and it doesn't matter that he's in the middle of spotting Soap at the squat rack.

He drops everything.

"Hi." You're a little out of breath when you open the door, eyes wide and wild, chewing on your lip. Orion is asleep in your arms, blissfully unaware, head lolling on your shoulder, clad only in a diaper.

His head buzzes, still trying to reconcile the truth of this entire thing, the fact that this is his, you and his baby. His.

"What's wrong?" He's massive in your door frame, and ushers you back inside, clicking the lock into place behind him. "What's goin' on?"

"It's... I'm sorry. I shouldn't have called. I just... I don't know how to fix it and you said I could... call, right? So-"

"Hey." His thumb gently presses into the inside of your elbow, and then he squeezes slightly. "It's okay. I want you to call me. What is it?"

"It's the laundry." You blurt, and then freeze, eyes flicking down to see if Ry has woken up. "I broke the washer, and today is the day I do the baby's clothes, but I can't get it to work and... it hates me." He chuckles.

"It doesn't hate you, sweetheart. Let's take a look." This, he can do. Things with his hands, mechanical things, physical puzzles, easy. It's not the first time he'll have fixed an appliance, and it won't be the last.

He takes the machine apart as quickly as possible, pieces laid out exactly where he needs them, washers and screws and everything all accounted for. It's the belt, he discovers rapidly, an easily fixed problem with a new part.

"I'll have to run down the street quick," he tells you, drawing up to his full height and motioning towards the entryway, "but it's a quick fix." You nod, stepping out of the way, small smile on your lips. He promises he'll be right back, that he'll have it done in no time, and you pad along to the door, standing back as he pulls it wide.

"Simon..." you whisper, and he turns, "thank you."

"Of course."

True to his word, he's back before the hour. The low murmur of the TV echoes from the living room, and he gravitates there before returning to his task, driven to lay eyes on both of you, to make sure you're here, you're okay-

and the sight of it stops him in his tracks.

You're asleep on the couch, shirt pulled up and bra unhooked from it's strap. Orion is cradled against your chest, his tiny fingers curled in the flesh of your breast, mouth lax around your nipple. There's a dribble of milk sliding down his cheek, and the sight of it all makes Simon dizzy. He knew you nursed him, but seeing it for the first time fills him with something he's not sure how to reconcile, adding onto the heap of adoration and possession pounding in his heart. It's a different kind of puzzle, the same kind of barbaric instinct and need roaring in his blood, the one that tells him to tuck you away and never let you go.

He stares for a second longer, scratching this moment into his memory as much as he can before he realizes how tired you are. You do a good job of hiding it, smiling and buzzing about, but in the early afternoon light, he can see the exhaustion so clearly, and kicks himself for not noticing sooner.

When Ry starts to fuss, your brow furrows in your sleep, and Simon can't stop himself. "Shh, shhh." He soothes, pulling him free as gently as he can. You twitch, hands searching, and then your head snaps up in a panic, breaths stuttered. "It's okay. I got him, you just closed your eyes, is all. It's alright."

"Sorry." You croak, sitting up and fumbling with your top. "I didn't mean to fall asleep."

"It's okay, mama." He's on his knees in front of the couch, in front of you, and you stare down at him, mystified. "What does he usually do after he eats?"

"Uh... burp? And then he goes down to sleep." You yawn. "A change, if he needs it."

"Alright, 've got it, you go rest. After I put him down, I'll finish the washer."

"Oh, no... I can-"

"I've got him. Nothin' I can't handle." He shifts Orion, supporting his head as he props him up over his shoulder, rubbing his back slowly. He wants to do this, wants you to let him do this, wants you to trust him.

He needs it.

You hesitate. "Are you sure?"

"If I need anythin', I'll wake you." There's a burp cloth on the coffee table, and he places it under Ry's chin. "Huh, lad? If we need mama, we'll get her, right?" You soften, posture relaxing a bit, and then you nod.

"Alright, then."

[disgustingtwitches]

Bad habits that would irk 141

Price- I call people "dude," "man," or the worst one, "bro." It comes so naturally to me that I say it to everyone, and he hates that. He's a captain, a sir, an authority figure. He'd be stern about it,

"I'm not a 'bro'. Watch your mouth before I remind you who I am."

Gaz- I eat the cartilage and marrow out of chicken bones... I was just raised that way. I was told it was good for me and I shouldn't waste any part of the animal. Please don't judge me╥﹏╥ He wouldn't say anything about it, but it would definitely be an ick for him, LMAO. I'd be able to tell because of his face though, the expressive man he is.

Ghost- When I complain without wanting a solution to my problems. Sometimes I just wanna get things off my chest, and God bless him for trying to resolve my issues. But when I say I just wanna complain, he just thinks, "Why bring it up if you don't want me to help you?"

Soap- I leave laundry piles in my room; they are clean; I just don't like putting them away... He's not exactly a clean freak, he just sees everything through,

"C'mon Bonnie, ye'r almost done wi' it. Juist gotta put it away."

[wraithlafitte]

bitchin'

pairing: dean winchester x reader

CONTENT: violence (hunting), SMUT, only one bed~ enemies to lovers (kinda), unprotected p in v (encase before you embrace), hate sex, Dean calls reader "princess" mockingly, manhandling, slapping, spanking, big dick!Dean has all the audacity, dirty talk, degradation, choking, cum eating, brat taming, edging, overstimulation, squirting

word count: 4.7k

To say you were unhappy to be working with Dean Winchester would be putting it lightly. A massive understatement, in fact. But, as luck would have it, you needed backup on a vamp case; and when you called Bobby Singer for help, it turned out that Dean was the only hunter nearby.

Your jaw set uncomfortably as you dialed his number and held the phone to your ear. Asking for help from anyone was hard, but from this man? Practically your mortal enemy? A feeling of shame, or maybe embarrassment, crept into your stomach as you listened to the phone ring.

He's probably just watching it ring, you thought cynically. Who's to say he would pick up at all? Maybe he won't, you hoped.

There was a laundry list of reasons why Dean was the last person you'd want to work with on a case. He was reckless, had no respect for plans, and tended to go in guns blazing without regard for his own life, which meant that you would constantly be saving his ass. And boy, was he a pain in yours.

The cherry on top of the Dean Winchester disaster cake was that he hated your guts. You never really figured out why, but you assumed it was his misogynistic tendency to be completely contrary to any woman he met who didn't fall all over him. God forbid a woman doesn't care about his rugged good looks or roguish bravery!

When he finally picked up, you could practically hear the smirk in his voice, dripping with self-righteousness. "Well, well. What do you want?"

You decided it would be best to cut to the chase and just get it over with. "I'm working a case in Nevada," you said calmly. He would not get you riled up. "Vegas. There's a vamp nest, been snatching homeless people. Tunnel dwellers," you added. "Not that it matters. People are people, vamps are vamps."

"What are you tellin' me for?" Dean asked gruffly. He was gonna make you say it. Of fucking course he was, because he just had to hold it over your head.

"Need backup," you said curtly. "There's at least five of them."

"So what you're sayin' is...." The smugness in his voice was unmistakeable.

"I need your help, you dick."

"Oh do you now."

You huffed, already fed up with him. "Bobby says you're the only hunter he knows nearby. Said you're in Flagstaff."

"Maybe I am," he said vaguely. "Bobby should know not to tell you anything about where I am or recommend me as reinforcements for you."

"He didn't want to, but I made him. Are you coming or not?" you said sharply.

I'll be there by nightfall. Don't wait up," he said teasingly and hung up, leaving you to listen to the tone, steaming.

Why does he have to make everything so difficult?

Rough pounding on the door of your motel room startled you up from your chair at midnight. Dean wasn't even in the room yet, and he was already tormenting you. You went to the door and jerked it open, pinching the bridge of your nose. You could feel the headache coming on.

"Honey, I'm home," Dean said wickedly. He pushed past you into the room, dropping his duffel bags in the middle of the floor. He dropped into the chair you had just vacated and looked up at you with a shit-eating grin.

"Don't make this any harder than it has to be," you warned him, eyes narrowing.

"Hey, I'm just excited to kill some vamps," he said, jabbing a finger towards you.

"Give it up. We both know you would rather be anywhere else."

"True," he conceded. "But let me just bask in the moment real quick."

You roll your eyes and return to your task, packing up your stuff. "Don't get too comfortable. We can't stay here. I was followed earlier."

"Perfect," Dean said sarcastically. "Of course you were."

You turn on him. "It can happen to anyone."

"Sure," he mocked. "So what's the plan, genius?"

Your face hardened. "We take the fight to them."

"Say no more."

The vampire's nest was in an abandoned warehouse (real original) that was a few streets away from one of the tunnels that the homeless had set up camp in. Chain link fence, corrugated metal, broken windows, the whole deal. And of course Dean wouldn't wait to make a game plan, sliding open a side door like nothing bad was waiting to jump him. In a vampire nest. At night.

All you could do was follow him, machete at the ready, and hope that the scuffing of his boots on the concrete floor wouldn't alert any vampires to your presence.

Dean ducked down, holding a fist in the air. You hurried behind him and crouched behind a shelf just in time to miss a patrolling vampire rounding the corner. Without missing a beat, Dean jumped out behind it and chopped it at the neck soundlessly. The body fell to the floor. As much as you hated to admit it, he was good.

You crept in the direction the fang had come from, Dean hot on your heels. He was so close you could hear his leather jacket creaking, smell his cologne, feel him practically breathing down your neck. You shot him a glare over your shoulder, then suddenly you hear voices. You stopped abruptly in your tracks, causing Dean to bump into you. You elbowed him and gave him a look.

Peeking around the doorframe, you saw what appeared to be the vamps' main hangout room. And there were a lot more than five of them, lounging around the walls, circling victims that were hung by their wrists from a beam.

"We can take them," Dean whispered in your ear.

You looked at him in disbelief. "Are you kidding me?" you hissed back. You tried to count the dark shapes in the next room. "There's at least ten in there. There's only two of us."

"We can do it." Without waiting for a reply, Dean busted down the door and started swinging. You had no choice but to follow as the vampires started coming out of their startled stupor and attacking.

Dean cut down two of them easily, their heads rolling on the floor before they knew what hit them. The rest, however, had time to react.

One of the vampires rushed you, just managing to avoid your blade as you swung it. She snarled and leapt towards you. You slashed her across the chest and she howled, clutching her shirt. You took the opportunity and decapitated her.

Someone grabbed you from behind, claw-like nails scratching your neck as it was forced to the side, baring your skin. You stabbed behind you, blade finding purchase, and used the distraction to cut off the fang's head.

Another vamp rushed you from the front. You swung your blade out in defense, but he just grabbed it and ripped it from your hand. Then, as if they could smell your defenselessness, you were suddenly swarmed, vampires clawing at your skin, your clothes, pulling your hair. Several hard punches landed to your gut and your face and the wind was knocked out of you as you fell to the floor, smacking the side of your head into the concrete. You yelped in pain and shock.

A boot pressed into the side of your neck and your vision was suddenly obscured by a heavy-set vampire bearing down on you, grinning. "Not so tough now without your little sword," he sneered, fangs descending. His mouth was smeared with blood and you could smell the tang of iron on his breath. You struggled to breathe as the pressure on your neck increased, your vision getting spotty.

Great, this is how I die....

As if in the distance, you heard Dean shout. The looming face of the vamp was promptly detached from its body, hitting the floor by your head. His body fell on top of yours, his gross bloody neck stump right in your view. The boot left your neck and charged in the direction of Dean's voice.

You struggled to free yourself from beneath the former vamp, ears ringing from your near-suffocation. You could hear the ensuing scuffle, all grunts and wet slices and heavy footfalls, but you had no idea who was winning.

Then, it was silent.

You held your breath instinctively, listening to a lone pair of footsteps approaching you. You found yourself realizing for the first time that you hoped Dean was coming. Better than the alternative.

Sure enough, Dean's hunt-beaten face appeared above you, screwed up with effort as he pushed the large vamp's body off of you. You sat up quickly, surveying the carnage, slapping away the extended helping hand. The shock of your near death experience wore off quickly, but the adrenaline from the fight did not, so your energy turned towards Dean.

"What the fuck, Dean?" you yelled, rising to your feet, wincing from the pain in your sides.

"What do you mean what the fuck?" he returned angrily. "I just saved your goddamn life!"

"After you endangered it!" you shoved him, scowling furiously. "Ten to two are not good odds! We could have fucking died! I almost did!"

"Hazards of the job, sweetheart!"

"There's hazards, and then there's suicide," you replied, fuming.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Don't have to thank me."

"I won't." You shoved him out of your way and made for the door. "Don't you ever fucking do that again."

"Not so fast, princess," Dean called after you. "Hunt's not over."

You froze in your tracks. "What."

"I didn't get all of 'em." You whirled around to face Dean, who was looking uncharacteristically sheepish.

Your voice was dangerously quiet. "What do you mean you didn't get all of them?"

He made an attempt at a self-confident grin. "They saw me ganking their buddies like nobody's business, turned tail and ran. I was more concerned about saving your life than to chase."

You smirked tauntingly. "Oh, you cared about my life?"

Dean just shrugged. "Couldn't just leave you there."

"Whatever." You started walking to the entrance again. "Since you let some get away, I say we get a night's sleep. They'll probably be expecting us to come after them, so they won't hunt again tonight. We can pick up the trail in the morning."

"What do you mean you only have one room left?" Dean asked angrily, slamming his hands down on the motel counter.

The clerk looked at him blankly. "Just what I said."

You were at the cheapest motel you could find in the city that was built on tourism. You and Dean were both short on cash, so it seemed like the best option. It was this or take shelter with the junkies in the tunnels.

"I'm not spending the night in the same room as her!"

You hit his shoulder. "Hey!"

"Like you don't feel the same," Dean said exasperatedly, digging out his wallet. "Next cheapest is still too expensive. I'm basically broke," he whined, rifling through his meager collection of bills.

"What happened to all your credit cards, Mr. Fraud?" you sneered.

Dean glared at you. You glared back. After a few moments, the clerk cleared his throat.

"So, do you want the room or not?"

You dropped your bags just inside the door of the room. "You're fucking kidding me."

Dean pushed past you. "What- oh. Oh my goddd." He ran his hand down his face tiredly.

Staring you in the face was the decidedly lumpy surface of a double bed. One. That fucking clerk could've warned you.

You and Dean slowly looked at each other, then you made a mad dash to claim the bed, shoving each other out of the way, kicking, tackling, until you both lay tangled on the floor, still not in the bed. You had his arm pinned behind his back, but he was pinning you to the floor with his weight.

You jerked on his arm, panting, and he grunted painfully, digging his knee into your side.

"Say.. uncle," you gritted out.

"You first!" Dean rasped.

"No!"

You laid there for a few more seconds, then, almost as if it was painful, Dean asked, "Should we- call it a draw?"

You rolled your eyes and released him. He rolled off of you, getting to his feet. He didn't help you up, of course.

"I'm not sleeping on the floor," he said spitefully.

"Well, neither am I." Your eyes narrowed.

You laid on the bed stiffly, positioned all the way at the edge of the mattress, as far away from Dean as possible. He was doing the same, and the blanket was pulled taut between you as you wordlessly battled over it.

You were steaming. You should have known that everything would go to shit if you called on him. He completely ruined what should have been a one-hour job, endangering your life and letting a few vamps go. He did, technically, save your life though. You were grateful, but you wouldn't tell him that in a million years.

Adrenaline from the hunt and your constant fighting with Dean coursed through your veins, keeping every sense on high alert. Every tug of the sheets from Dean lit a fire under your skin. His weight behind you on the bed filled you with a painful awareness of how touch-starved you truly were. As much as you tried to suppress it, tension began building in your core.

You shifted uncomfortably, squeezing your thighs together. "Ugh," you let out before you could stop yourself.

"Shut up," Dean grumbled through the darkness.

The sound of his voice, rough with tiredness, intensified how extremely horny you felt. You felt your underwear getting damp in spite of your hate for the man.

"God dammit," you said frustratedly, sitting up and swinging your legs over the side of the bed.

"What?" Dean said, throwing the covers back and sitting up too. "Why can't you just let me fucking sleep?"

"Nothing," you snapped, taking a swig from your water bottle. Hydrating would calm you down, surely.

"Yeah, right," he snapped back. "What the fuck is wrong?"

"I'm really fucking horny, Christ!" you blurt, whirling on him.

"If I fuck you, will you stop bitchin'?" Dean demanded, fire and a deadly seriousness in his eyes.

You opened and closed your mouth, stunned.

He just smirked at you. "Is that what it takes to shut you up?"

You stared at him. "Are you serious?"

"You want me so bad, huh." He moved across the bed and settled right behind you, his face in your neck, inches away from your own.

"Shut up," you say, flustered, still trying to keep some semblance of control. But you couldn't deny the arousal pooling in your gut.

"Say the word," Dean said smoothly, breath fanning over your exposed shoulder.

"Fuck," you whispered, cursing what you're about to do. You turned your head and smashed your lips to his.

Dean responded immediately, pulling you backwards and into his lap. He bit at your lips, forcing his tongue inside your mouth. You made an indignant sound, battling him for dominance, teeth clashing in a messy display of pure desire.

Your lips only parted to rip off each other's shirts. You dug your fingernails into Dean's bare shoulders as hard as you could, trying to elicit some kind of reaction from him, which came in the form of a deep groan into your mouth. He broke away, panting, and flung you onto your back on the mattress.

Leering down at you, he placed himself between your legs. "That's how you wanna play, huh princess?"

He yanked your leg up by the knee and slapped the back of your thigh. An involuntary moan escaped your mouth, and Dean chuckled darkly. "Oh, this is gonna be fun."

"Just shut up and fuck me," you whined, hitting his side with your foot.

"Ah-ah," he tutted. "Bad girls don't get what they want."

You sat up and came nose to nose with him. "If you think for one second that I am going to sit here and play submissive for you-"

Dean laced his fingers through the back of your hair and sharply tugged your head back. You moaned in response. A smile slowly grew over his face and he let go abruptly and shoved you back down. Your back barely hit the mattress before he was yanking off your sleep shorts and underwear in one go, tossing them to the far reaches of the room. You gasped as the cool air from the room hit your core, driving home the fact that you were now completely exposed to him.

"Aw, already so wet for me," Dean jeered, running a finger up your slit roughly. You flinched away from the sudden contact, heat spreading to your face.

"Don't flatter yourself," you gasped as he shoved a finger inside you, curling it vigorously, relishing the wet sounds your pussy produced.

Dean palmed himself through his pajama pants, groaning. He closed his eyes briefly, and when he opened them again, he added a second finger inside you, scissoring you open. At least he has the decency to prepare me, you thought.

He yanked his fingers out of you, giving your pussy a quick slap, and you whined at the sudden empty feeling.

"Don't whine," Dean said roughly, getting off the bed and kicking off his pants and boxers. You looked down, unable to help yourself.

You saw where he got all his confidence from. He was big. You practically quivered with anticipation. You loved a good stretch, and you liked it rough, and this was about to be both.

"Like what you see?" Dean mocked, shaking his cock.

"Looks like maybe your confidence isn't completely unwarranted," you admitted dryly. You could feel your combative spirit giving way to lust, but you weren't giving up that easily.

He winked, grabbed your ankles and jerked you to the edge of the bed, your thighs around his waist, your hair fanned out on the blanket behind your head. Dean took hold of your calves and pressed your knees up by your face, leaning over you and pinning you down with his weight again. Only this time, it was way hotter.

"Gonna be good for me?" he asked, voice dripping with mock sweetness.

"In your fucking dreams," you spat.

In one fluid motion, he backed off of you, grabbed you by the waist, and spun you onto your stomach. You squeaked as a heavy hand landed on your ass, much harder than he hit before.

You used your feet, barely touching the floor, to push yourself back towards him, hoping he would get the point and just fuck you already without you having to ask him again.

"So fucking needy," he murmured in your ear. "Use your words, princess."

"Fuck you," you moaned, feeling his cock jerk against your leg.

"Mmm, that's not right," Dean warned, fingers digging into your hips.

You grit your teeth. "Fuck me."

Dean splayed his fingers over your ass cheeks, spreading you open for him, and thrust into you roughly, filling you in one go.

You gasped, feeling his cock throb inside you as your pussy complained against the intrusion and desperately tried to adjust to his size. He groaned as you clenched around him, pulling out slowly and slamming back in.

"Dean," you gasped out. "Don't be such a fucking tease."

"I'll do whatever the fuck I want, princess," Dean growled, his thrusts becoming faster. "You asked for this."

"Technically- you offered," you corrected, eyes screwing shut at the pleasure building inside you with each thrust.

"God, shut- up," Dean griped, punctuating his words with a deep thrust that hit just right, eliciting an embarrassingly loud moan from you.

He just grunted, hips colliding against you, now just chasing his own high. You pressed your face into the bed, clutching the blanket with both fists, fortifying yourself against Dean's relentless pace. His fingers pressed deeply into your hips, carving out a place for him, letting you know you wouldn't be coming away from this encounter unbruised.

"God, you're so fucking tight," Dean rasped, slapping your ass. You moaned in response, unable to think of a witty retort. "Bet it's been a long time since you were fucked, huh?"

When you didn't reply, he slapped your ass again, on the other side, sending fireworks through your core.

"Bet that's why you're so desperate for me," he groaned. "Haven't gotten laid in a while. Bet that's why you're such a bitch, too," he added snarkily.

"Oh, fuck off," you mumbled into the mattress.

Dean pulled out, much to your chagrin, turning you onto your back again. "If you want," he said, eyes glimmering with mischief.

You pouted and whined, hooking your feet around his waist and trying to pull him back. You were rewarded with a sharp slap to your pussy. You cried out from the stimulation.

"Don't whine," he growled, pushing into you again on the last word.

"Sorry," you whispered in spite of yourself, gripping onto his arms as he cages you in with his body.

"What was that?" Dean said, grinning wickedly and thrusting into you sharply.

"Fuck-" you moaned instead, refusing to cooperate.

He wraps his hand around your throat loosely, putting slight pressure just under your jaw. Your eyes widened as he slowly increased the pressure, jeering down at you, still slamming into you at an incredible pace. Your body started to become overwhelmed with all the sensory input and your core tightened.

You knew Dean felt it, because he grimaced. "Gonna come, you little slut?" he taunted, reaching down with his free hand to rub harshly at your clit. A low whine released from the back of your throat.

His grip tightened around your neck to see your reaction. You gasped, straining to get a full breath in, your pussy clenching hard around his cock.

"Such a fucking slut that you're gonna come from being choked out," Dean said through gritted teeth, his thrusts becoming sloppy.

"Fuck- Dean," you choked out, both hands wrapped around his wrist. He eased up on the pressure some (he didn't want to kill you) and your hands moved desperately up his arm, gripping him tightly.

Dean was getting close, you could tell, but the question remained: would he come before you? And if he did, would he still take care of you? Somehow you doubted it. The self-absorbed jackass was probably going to cum inside you and fall asleep, like almost every other man you'd slept with.

Suddenly Dean lurched forward, shoving his face into the space between your neck and shoulder, breathing heavily in your ear. You clenched in surprise (and also because a man getting desperate was one of the hottest things on the planet).

Dean groaned deeply in response and bit down on your shoulder, hard. You cried out, half from pain and half from the surprising pleasure it sent roaring through you, causing your cunt to squeeze down on him tightly. He practically whimpered, detaching from your skin and pulling out, pumping himself a few times before spilling onto your stomach with a moan.

He looked down at the mess he'd made of you, dragging his fingers through his cum. Then he brought those fingers up to your mouth and pressed them against your lips. "Open."

You scowled at him, once again determined to be contrary.

Dean glared back. "Open, or you don't get to come," he said harshly, forcing his fingers between your lips and teeth.

So he was planning to take care of you. Your neediness returned in full force, and you opened your mouth to allow him to shove his fingers deep into your mouth. You gagged as his fingertips hit the back of your throat, the taste of his cum filling your mouth. He pressed down on your tongue and you dutifully sucked on his fingers as he smirked down at the sight.

"Good little slut," Dean said nastily, obviously feeling proud of himself. He started to pull his fingers out and you closed your teeth, scraping his skin as he did. He slapped your cheek lazily once his hand was free. "Swallow it."

You glared, but did as you were told, sticking out your tongue to prove it.

Dean grinned. "Ready for your reward, princess?"

You moaned needily, throwing your head back and bucking your hips up towards him.

"Such a fucking whore," he chastised, bringing his hand to your clit and stroking around it lazily. A pang of arousal shot through you as you quickly approached the edge again. All thoughts of defiance went out the window as you grinded against his hand.

"Please," you whimpered, squirming under his touch.

"Since you asked so nicely," Dean mocked. He stuffed your pussy with three fingers at once, thrusting and curling them inside you. "Fuckin' dripping, princess."

He brought his other hand to your clit, thumbing it in figure eights in time with his fingers. You gasped as your core tightened. His fingers were bringing you so close to the brink and just keeping you there, never increasing the pressure just enough to push you over.

"Fuuuck," you moaned, panting. "Please, Dean! I need- I need-"

"You need what?" he teased. He twisted his fingers up to your g-spot, simultaneously ceasing his movements on your clit to press down on it hard.

"Oh, God!" you cried out, almost hyperventilating. The feeling of your orgasm building up was almost too much to bear. A dry sob wracked your body.

Dean nipped at your chest, gazing up at your contorted face with eyes so innocent looking you could've sworn, for a moment, that this was not a man you hated with your entire being, who was not currently doing the most sinful things to you with his hands.

You whimpered pathetically. "Please," you said in a small voice. "I need to come so bad." Your face flushed with shame as you finally admit what he's done to you, both with your words and body.

"All you had to do was ask," Dean said, sickly sweet. His hands sparked into motion again, redoubling their efforts. You let out a strangled scream as you were brought right back to the precipice, only this time, surely, he's going to let you?

It was like a pot boiling over, overwhelming heat spreading from your core out through your stomach, making your legs shake and your abs tighten. You made another strangled, desperate noise as you grinded down on his hand.

"That's it, princess, fuck yourself on my fingers," Dean goaded.

You struggled to catch your breath, eyes wide. Your face was hot and wet, and you realized numbly that tears were streaming down your face, running into your hair. He started to take his hands away, but your hands chased them, seizing them and bringing them back to your core.

Dean seemed surprised, but more than willing to fuck you past the point of no return. "Fuck, you just can't get enough, huh," he said, sounding mildly impressed. Your body shook as he all but stilled his fingers inside you, just rubbing your clit slowly until it became too much to bear and you pushed him off.

You laid there panting quietly, your body shivering from the aftershocks of one of the most intense orgasms you'd had in a while. For once, it seemed like Dean didn't know what to say.

You closed your eyes for a moment, then suddenly felt his hand on your clit again, rubbing vigorously. Your eyes flew open and you looked down to see Dean's face set in determination. You clutched at his wrist, trying weakly to get him away, knees trying to close around him, but it didn't take long for you to cum again with a shriek, heels digging into the mattress to push yourself away. Your cunt pulsed around nothing, and you felt a gush of arousal leave you. Dean looked delighted.

"I fucking knew it," he said triumphantly, holding up his hand to survey the mess.

"What?" you asked feebly as another shiver ran through your body.

"Knew you'd be so touch-starved I could get you to squirt," Dean explained smugly. He licked some of your arousal off his hand.

You threw your head back onto the bed exasperatedly. "God, I hate you."

"Could've fooled me," he returned, displaying his hand to you and smirking.

dividers once again by @cafekitsune and @saradika-graphics

[amirasainz]

I admit I read everything with baby Sainz in it.🫢 And as I'm on a Lando bender again. (Loving all things Lando) I was wondering if you could write something with Baby Sainz and Lando about how they got into a fight and the whole grid is there for her and being mean to Lando but like the fight was something really little and silly. (Something like Lando not putting his clothes away)

I hope that makes sense.

Oooppp!!!! That make me so happy to know that people enjoy reading my writing. I hope you guys enjoy reading this as well and let me know if you have any requests. I will do my best to write them ASAP

-XoXo

No Part 2!!!

Trouble in paradise

There were two things Lando hated dearly: fish and seeing his girlfriend cry. The first one is pretty self-explanatory. For him, fish tasted horrible and looked disgusting. It had a weird consistency and smelled—oh god, don’t get him started on the smell. The second thing, seeing his girlfriend cry, was because a beautiful girl like her should never have to feel any sadness. Her pretty eyes should never fill with tears, making the window to her soul more obvious than ever. Her perfect lips should never tremble, and her voice should never crack. Amira was made for being happy and carefree.

However, this morning, Lando managed to do the worst thing ever. He made his girl cry. And why? Because he is the biggest idiot on earth. The only thing she asked him yesterday was if he could start doing the laundry. Like the lovesick fool he is, he was more enamored with her presence than actually listening to her words. When she wanted to wear her favorite shirt today, which was in the laundry, Lando had to admit that he didn’t do anything. Maybe it was the current heat, her jet lag, her hunger, or the frustration that he didn’t do the simple task she asked him to do, but all of it was too much. And Amira tried to be brave, she really did. But she couldn’t help but let her frustration and sadness out through her tears. When Lando saw his girlfriend crying in front of him, he wanted nothing more than to cry himself. What kind of monster is he, making his perfect girlfriend cry because he was a lazy idiot?

The others around them immediately realized something was wrong when the couple arrived this morning in the paddock. Usually, Lando would have his arm around her shoulders, their hands intertwined, kissing her shamelessly in front of everyone and whispering sweet nothings in her ear. But today, they arrived with only their pinkies intertwined. Despite having a huge fight about something so silly this morning, the couple couldn’t stand not touching one another. If their unusual entrance wasn’t a huge sign that something was wrong, it was Amira’s behavior. Instead of wearing bright, vibrant colors, the young woman wore a black jacket with sunglasses on. Her blue shirt was the only speck of color in her outfit. If even THAT wasn’t a sign that something was amiss between them, it was on their way to the motorhomes. Instead of leading Amira proudly into his side of the garage, he brought her to the Ferrari garage. There, one could see Lando hugging Amira, whose shoulders shook. Without another word, Amira left a heartbroken Lando inside. One might have thought that something terrible had happened to his family, instead of him forgetting to do the laundry…

The news spread like wildfire that Amira and Lando had a fight because Lando couldn’t be trusted to do a simple task. The drivers and WAGs were furious when they heard about what happened. Carlos even went as far as keeping his sister inside his driver’s room, making her sleep and eat something. While Carlos was busy taking care of his precious sister, Lando had the worst day of his life. EVER.

It all started when he ran into Carmen and George. The couple were busy staring daggers at him while he was on his way to the media pen. Lando was so distracted by their glares that he didn’t see Lewis. He bumped straight into the 8-time world champion, who wasn’t very keen on seeing the young Brit. “Oh, sorry Lewis. I didn’t mean to bump into you,” Lando apologized. Lewis looked him up and down before muttering, “Seems like you never mean to do something.” Before Lando had a chance to ask what he meant, Lewis turned around and walked away.

A confused Lando continued walking to the media pen. During the conference, he was asked about his outfit ( new Quadrant merch) when Max muttered loud enough for the microphones to pick up: “Must be nice to have clothes you can wear because you can rely on your partner.” The atmosphere in the room became strained in a matter of seconds. The reporter awkwardly tried to move on. Lando wasn’t stupid; he knew what this was. This was his punishment for upsetting the paddock princess.

After a 40-minute-long speech from Lily and Kika about how important giving and taking in a healthy relationship was, Fernando calling him “El mayor idiota que ha existido en la tierra,” Charles letting Leo bite him, Lily and Oscar giving him the biggest side-eye ever throughout the day, Yuki “accidentally” pushing him into a wall, and Pierre starting gossip about him, he finally went to Carlos’s driver’s room.

He gently knocked on the door, wishing it would be his girl opening it. Sadly, today was truly not his day, because he was met with the sight of an angry Carlos. Before Lando had the chance to say anything, Carlos brought him closer. He whispered quietly in Lando’s ear: “If Amira wasn’t so damn much in love with you, you would already be under the earth. I know where you live, I know your password, I know your deepest secrets. If you ever, and I mean ever, in your entire life make my sister cry again, it will be the last thing you’ll ever do. ¿He sido claro?” Carlos only let poor Lando go after he swore to never do something stupid like that again. “Good, now you will go inside, apologize to Amira, and buy her a new freaking Birkin bag. Did I make myself clear?” Carlos sternly asked.

Safe to say that Lando did a lot of groveling that day. It took the drivers and WAGs 5 months, 1 week, 28 days, and 17 hours to stop with the “Lando-fuck-up” jokes. And Amira? She never had to wonder about a thing again; they now had a housemaid, Aurelia, who only adored Amira and not Lando.

[f0rlorn]

when he sees me → logan howlett

logan howlett (x-men) x female!reader

notes → in which jean and ororo set you up on a blind date with a wolverine. in honor of deadpool and wolverine throwing me back into my x-men phase full force, i nabbed this from my wattpad. fair warning, it was written in 2021.

i stick with real things, usually facts and figures. when information's in its place i minimize the guessing game. guess what? i don't like guessing games.

you had always been a logical person. opting to plan things out rather than diving right in, so when jean offered to set you up on a blind date, you were hesitant to say yes. you always needed to know when and where things would be going down, and most importantly who would be there with you. this blind date contradicted most, if not all of your morals.

or when i feel things before i know the feelings. how am i supposed to operate when i'm tossed around by fate? like on an unexpected date! with a stranger who might talk too fast. or ask me questions about myself before i've decided that he can ask me questions about myself. he might sit too close! or call the waiter by his first name. or eat oreos but eat the cookie before the cream! but what scares me the most... what scares my the most...

it was clear that you were anxious about this, you were waving your hands around like a maniac, ranting to jean about things that didn't even make sense. "y/n, could you stop moving? i really need to finish up on your hair." jean pleaded, struggling to style your hair. you sighed and slouched in your chair, fiddling your thumbs.

"...what if he hates me?"

what if when he sees me, what if he doesn't like it? what if he runs the other way and i can't hide from it? what happens then? if when he knows me, he's only disappointed? what if i give myself away to only get it given back? i couldn't live with that!

jean turned your chair around so that she could look you in the eyes. "you are a smart and talented girl, y/n. any guy would be lucky to have you. if logan can't see that than he's just stupid." her comment was reassuring. it calmed you down, yes. but you still couldn't stop the nervousness bubbling within you.

"now go get dressed, storm is in the other room picking out an outfit for you." you thanked her and walked out of the bathroom, into your bedroom, where storm was rummaging through a pile of laundry. she smiled and pulled out a blouse for you to wear. she turned towards you and tossed you the shirt.

"the rest is on the bed. i need to go grab one last thing from my room and then you'll be ready to go!" she cheered, excited for you. you had never been much for dating. the few folks you did bring back turned out to be a bunch of douche bags, or had been scared off by some of the other mutants. when jean proposed the idea to the team, they were even more excited than you.

  you pulled off the top you were wearing and threw it in the corner of your room. you took the blouse that ororo gave you and put it on. next you put on the skirt and tucked your shirt into it. storm returned from her room with the item she retrieved. it was a gorgeous necklace with a gold chain and a jewel hanging around it. storm clasped it around your neck. "jean, c'mere!" ororo called for jean to come and see the new and improved you.

  "you look absolutely stunning!" jean praised, her hands on her hips. "let's head on downstairs, we still got some time before we need to get you out the door." jean led the three of you into the kitchen, you starting pacing the room as they sat down at the kitchen island.

  "do i have to do this?" you whined, not at all prepared for what was soon to come.

"there's no point in backing out now! it took me almost an hour to get you ready, you will be going to this date." jean said.                           

"why did i agree to this? i'm perfectly fine here! i'm surrounded with the people i love, i have my dream job... i don't see why i need a new guy in my life. and if life taught me anything, it's that men are garbage." you reasoned, trying to find an excuse not to go.

so i'm just fine inside my shell-shaped mind! this way i get the best view. so that when he sees me, i want him too...

  you were deep in thought, making a list in your head of the pros and cons of going on this date. the truth is, you were actually quite lonely here, and your friends were starting to notice.

   don't you think you're bein' a little, i mean, just a tad-

  ororo started before you cut her off.

  i'm not defensive! i'm simply being cautious. i can't risk reckless dating due to my miscalculating. while a certain suitor stands in line. i've seen in movies, most made for television, you cannot be too careful when it comes to sharing your life. i could end up a miserable wife!

  jean and ororo both gave each other a look. you continued on about how he could be some sort of criminal of psychopath. jean sighed and looked at her watch.

  "y/n, we gotta get going" they got up and ushered you to the car. ororo and jean got in the front seat of ororo's car, and you sat in the back. the entire car ride was filled with you going on and on, with 'what if's' and 'could be's'. there wasn't a single moment where you weren't complaining. jean was starting to think that maybe this wasn't the best idea after all. when you finally arrived at your destination, the three of you got out of the car. they pointed in the direction of the infamous wolverine, pushing you his way. he leaned against his car, lighting a cigar. you walked up to him, a little intimidated.

  "you're logan, yea?" you asked shyly, not really knowing what to do or say.

  "that's me, i'm assuming that makes you y/n." he replied. you nodded awkwardly.

  "shall we head in then?" he asked, looking down at you with raised eyebrows.

"yes, yes we shall." you answered, smiling slightly.

[inkskinned]

it's just that sometimes you have to love a thing including the ways that it inconveniences you like i keep picking dog hair out of my clothes because he steals things from my laundry basket to lay on them while i'm gone and whenever i use my laptop i have to type with my arms in a parabola to make room for his head on my legs and yes it's kind of a far ride to my mom's house but she always remembers to have dairy-free options available just in case i stop at home and nick lives in another timezone so we have to plan our calls carefully to be sure he's available and i'm not in bed and i hate driving and looking for parking but it means i get to visit my friends and i hate doing dishes but i'll do a million if it means i get to throw a dinner party for everybody and i hate being cold but one time we stood outside in the snow for 5 hours waiting for a concert, bundled up and red-nosed

i always apologize about the ways i take up space even when they're medical like at a restaurant i usually have to take the moment to say i really am allergic, sorry, and feel like i am making everyone around me angry and i always apologize when i am too tired to be funny or when i actually really do need to take care of my human body because it feels like i'm making everything about-me and i always apologize for the ways that i become needy; how i get scared when we're high up (and no for real please get down it actually kind of stops being funny) or how i panic if i hear a loud noise i wasn't expecting or how it's been years but there are days when i'm still doing the same shit, still drowning

the trick about relaxing, i think. like the answer to why i couldn't trust the idea anyone actually likes me. was realizing that at some point i am going to be an inconvenience, which means that at some point i need to trust other people want me to take up space. and yes, some people have to take up a lot of space. but. i relish this little gratitude: making room for people and things in my life. i love picking the dog hairs out of my food - it means i get to have a dog. i love answering the phone at 3 in the morning - it means someone is on the other line, and i can help them weave through life. i love the little chores - it means i have something productive to do. so what if you take up space - it means this world gets to have you.

[roosterforme]

Batting Practice Part 27 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Moving in with you and Everett was the most natural thing Bradley could have done. He felt loved and comfortable, and he hoped the two of you felt the same. But it took a night out drinking at the Hard Deck for you to mention some things that Bradley would have preferred you told him when you were sober.

Warnings: Fluff, smut, angst and swearing

Length: 4900 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female single!mom Reader

Check my masterlist for more Top Gun fun! Batting Practice masterlist.

"Do you even own anything?" you asked, looking around Bradley's beige apartment. There was a stack of about ten moving boxes, two tubs of baseball cards, and some laundry baskets of clothing. "This is alarming. I'm marrying a man who doesn't own anything."

Bradley rolled his eyes at you. "I tried to tell you we didn't need Molly and Bob to come help. I could have done this with Everett." He had explained to you that his apartment came fully furnished and he had claimed that he didn't own much. But this was next level.

"Listen, Kitten," he added, wrapping his arms around you while Everett tossed Bradley's baseball caps into one of the laundry baskets. "I haven't really had a home since I was in high school. Barracks and fully furnished apartments were it." Your heart melted as he added, "Thanks for inviting me to live in your home."

"It's about to become yours, too. You can do whatever will make you happy and comfortable."

Just then Molly and Bob showed up, and Bradley's eyes lit up. "Everett!" he shouted. "We're getting a Phillies room!"

"What?" you sputtered, laughing at his excitement. "I didn't say-"

"A Phillies room!" Ev chanted, pumping his fists in the air.

"Shit," you whispered as Molly came up behind you and gave you a hug.

"This is it?" Bob asked, looking around at Bradley's stuff. "You needed my truck for five boxes?"

Bradley shrugged. "I tried to tell her not to bother calling you. Actually," he said, turning toward the refrigerator, "can you help me finish these beers?" He opened four bottles and handed two of them to Bob.

"Ladies?" Bob asked, but you both shook your heads. 

You and Molly dropped down onto the couch together while the three boys messed around in the kitchen, talking about this theoretical Phillies room. She looked a little worried, and you didn't like the way she had been chewing on her fingernails. "What's wrong?" you asked her softly. 

"Nothing," she replied immediately with a smile so fake, you were shocked she even tried it on you.

"Maybe Bob still believes that smile is genuine, but I know better. Tell me what's up."

She sighed and stretched out on your lap. "I'm so tired from work. I don't like the one douchebag doctor who works day shifts. He keeps giving me a hard time."

Your skin started to prickle. "What did he do? Did you tell Bob?"

"Yeah," she groaned, closing her eyes as you rubbed her shoulder. "I told Bob. The doctor just hates me and acts like I'm incompetent. No biggie. I know I do a good job."

It was a fight to calm your breathing down. "You actually save people's lives before the doctor even shows up in the room."

"See? You get it," she mumbled, and then she fell asleep while the guys loaded the Bronco and Bob's truck with Bradley's meager belongings. 

She slept until it was time for Bradley to lock his door one last time, and then she stood to use the bathroom. You popped up and pulled Bob into the completely empty bedroom, but before you could say anything, he was talking.

"Is Molly mad at me?" he asked softly, his eyes sad and searching yours. 

"Oh, Bob," you gasped, reaching for his hand. "I don't think so. But she seems a little stressed out, doesn't she?"

He shrugged helplessly. "She keeps telling me it's because of work, but... I'm afraid she's been so quiet because she's tired of me."

You gasped. "No!" you whispered in a harsh voice. "She loves you!"

But he just looked at the floor and held tight to your hand until Bradley walked in and asked, "Ready to go?" If Bradley thought it was strange that you and Bob were holding hands and that you hugged him so tight he groaned, he didn't say anything.

"You'll tell me if she says anything to you?" Bob asked quietly as you and he followed Bradley out to the living room.

"Of course," you replied. But when Molly came out of the bathroom, she went right for Bob's arms, and they both looked immediately happier. They were fine. They had to be fine.

"Mommy? Can I ride in Bob's truck?" Everett asked, and Bradley looked scandalized.

"I thought you liked the Bronco!" he said, tossing his hands in the air in exasperation. 

"I do, Dad! But I wanted to see the truck, too!" You pressed your lips together as Bradley scooped Everett into his arms and kissed him.

"Okay, but you can't end up liking it as much as the Bronco, alright?" he asked, ushering everyone out of the apartment.

"I won't," Everett promised, and Bradley carried him down the stairs and out to the parking lot. Then he switched Everett's booster seat to the second row of Bob's pickup truck and helped him get buckled. 

When you and he were finally alone in the Bronco, you asked, "Going for dad of the year?"

He looked smug as he kissed you and said, "I'm already Coach of the year and fiancé of the year. I'm going for broke. Plus Bob drives like an elderly person. Ev will be so bored."

You laughed as he pulled out onto the main road and headed toward your house. His house too, now. "I was thinking about... changing my last name when we get married," you told him as he changed lanes.

"Yeah?" he asked, glancing at you with eager eyes as he drove. "Really?"

You groaned. "I still have Danny's last name, so I think I'd like to change it to Bradshaw if that's okay with you."

He reached for your hand immediately. "Hell yes! It's more than okay with me, Kitten! I just didn't want you to think I'd be upset if you didn't."

You wanted to say something about Everett. You really wanted to tell him about Danny and the child support and the fact that the papers had been served. But you just couldn't. Not right now. Because he was parking a little crookedly in the driveway and reaching for you, and you were in his arms and his lips were on yours.

You were moaning with his hand up your shirt and underneath your bra when you heard Bob's truck.

"Told you he drives slow," Bradley grunted. "Could have fucked you real quick before they got here."

You burst into laughter as you climbed out of the Bronco and went to get Everett. When he bounded toward Bradley, you heard him whisper, "It was fun, but not as fun as the Bronco."

Bradley tousled his hair and said, "I knew you wouldn't let me down."

Then you and Molly sat on the porch steps with some cookies while the guys did all the work. 

---------------------------

A few days later, Bradley was waiting next to Bob in their matching Navy Waves uniforms. The first game of their season was about to start, but none of their promised spectators were there yet. "Did Molly get hung up at work?" Bradley asked him, checking the time again on his phone. 

Bob sighed and tipped his head back. "I don't know, Rooster." He looked miserable. "I guess. Maybe."

"Well, did you text her?"

"Yeah. She didn't respond."

Bradley paused for a moment. "Is everything okay?"

"I don't know," Bob sighed, running his hand over his mouth. But then Bradley saw you and Molly running from the parking lot with Everett leading the way.

"There they are!" Bradley said, lightly hitting Bob's arm before he headed toward Everett.

"Bradley! We got stuck in traffic!" Everett said, running into his hug. Bradley, Coach, Dad... he liked it when Everett called him any of those things. 

"We were missing you," Bradley replied, kissing the top of his head as you hustled up next. 

"Good luck!" you told him, kissing him softly as you were out of breath. Then Bradley realized that all three of you were wearing matching white and navy blue shirts. He looked at the back of Molly's as she headed toward Bob, and he noticed that it said Floyd along with the number 30 on it.

When he spun Everett around in his arms, he laughed. "Bradshaw shirts? I love it!" Then you turned for him as well, and he got such a lovely view of your ass in your denim shorts along with his name on your back. He'd be taking all of that clothing off you later.

"Go," you told him, turning back around and pushing him toward the dugout. "The game is about to start!"

Bradley collected Bob from Molly and dragged him down to the field for the game against the Army Rockets. Bob seemed to have perked up a bit, and after the national anthem was played, Bradley took to the pitcher's mound. 

After he struck out the first three batters in a row, he stood there, shocked. "Hell yeah, Bradshaw!" the left fielder said, as they switched to offense. Bradley batted fifth, and the Navy Waves managed to score one run. 

And the whole time, Bradley could hear Everett shouting for him. When he looked up into the stands, you waved to him. Every single time. He could even see the light catch your ring. "Fuck," he groaned, trying to stay focused on the game. But he was so in love with you now. He loved living at your house and using all your cool body washes in the shower. He loved the way you woke him up with kisses in the morning. He loved tucking Everett in at night. He loved making pancakes in your kitchen.

You were the best kind of distraction. As the game progressed, he kept pitching pretty well. By the last inning, The Waves were up by five runs, and even though Bradley was tired, he told the coaches he'd be able to finish the game. 

When he struck out the last batter in the ninth inning, Bradley heard Everett screaming over the rest of the fans. And he made sure to collect one of the game balls to take home.

"Good game!" Bob told him, gathering up his gear as he kept glancing over his shoulder at Molly like he was afraid she was going to vanish. 

"You too. Nice double play," Bradley replied, following him up into the bleachers. 

"I've never felt more patriotic than I do right now," Molly said with a laugh. "A military themed baseball game. Americana at its finest."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Bradley replied with a laugh as he handed the baseball to Everertt. 

Molly rolled her eyes so hard, Bradley feared for her vision. "Really, Bradley? You're the most patriotic thing here." Then she cleared her throat and puffed out her chest and tried to imitate Bradley in a deeper voice. "Hi, I'm Bradley Bradshaw. And I'm in the Navy. And my dad was in the Navy, too." Bradley couldn't contain his laughter, and neither could you and Bob as she continued. "And my mom was red, white and blue striped. And I'm so patriotic, I could only propose on Independence Day. And I'm going to rename my son Everett the Bald Eagle."

Bradley was doubled over in laughter. "You're obnoxious," he told Molly, but she just smirked at him.

"Where's the lie?" she asked, snuggled up against Bob as he laughed too.

Bradley sighed and shook his head. "I'm not going to change Everett's name. At least not to that," he mumbled, following everyone as they made their way to the parking lot. When you wrapped your arm around Bradley's waist, he groaned. "I'm so sore."

"Poor thing," you crooned. "You want a backrub when we get home?"

Home. Bradley was going to drive home. Where he lived with his family.

"Are you offering?" he asked with a grin, but all he got in response was a sassy shrug. He loaded Everett and all of his gear into the Bronco and followed your car home. 

And it's not like he ever meant to take over your job of parenting your son, but Bradley absolutely loved helping with Everett's bedtime routine. So he told you to go relax while he got the bathtub ready. Bradley sat on the bathroom floor against the wall, chatting with Everett about baseball and summer camp. He let Everett ask him a million questions and promised to teach him how to keep baseball statistics.

"You should teach my mom, too," he said. "Since she's really good at math."

"We should get her a stats binder for her birthday."

"We should get her a lot more baseball stuff, because she doesn't really have any."

"Yeah," Bradley agreed. "We wouldn't want her to look ridiculous when we're all decked out in Phillies gear and she's not."

Everett started to drain the tub while Bradley handed him a towel. "Do you think she'll let us paint the extra bedroom red when we make it a Phillies room?"

Bradley winced. "I don't know, kiddo. Let me discuss that one with her."

Bradley followed him into his room and got out some pajamas, but once Everett was changed and tucked in bed, he gasped. "Dad! I left the baseball from your game in my booster seat!"

"I'll go get it," Bradley replied, heart swelling.

"Can you autograph it for me, too?"

A strange emotion took over Bradley's entire body, just like it always did in these moments. He felt like laughing and crying at the same time. "Sure, Ev."

By the time Bradley retrieved the baseball, signed it and came back upstairs, Everett was sound asleep. So he left the ball on the dresser and kissed his forehead.

And then he walked into your bedroom. Well, the one that he shared with you now. And you were sitting in the middle of the bed wearing one of his oversized tee shirts. You had removed your makeup, but you still looked beautiful as you reached for him.

"Pulled out a big win today, Coach. Let me rub your back."

"Somehow I keep winning," he muttered, quickly undressing and tossing his baseball uniform into the hamper. You coaxed him into bed, on his stomach, and Bradley groaned softly as you straddled his lower back and sat on his butt. "Feels good, Kitten."

Your soft laughter filled the room. "I didn't even do anything yet." But your lips met the back of his neck as your hands worked at his stiff right shoulder, and Bradley was melting into the soft bedding.

"Fuck," he grunted as you worked at a knot with your elbow. 

"Does it hurt?" you whispered, taking a break and kissing that spot.

"No," he replied. "Keep going." But you kept going with your kisses instead of your massage. You gently grabbed his biceps and kissed along his spine and back up again until he was panting. "Kitten."

"Hmm?" you hummed against his shoulder blade. Then you licked his salty skin, and Bradley let you pin his wrists in place on either side of his head. You whispered something filthy in his ear. "You're getting me worked up, and you're not even the one doing the touching, Coach. I'm gonna need you to fuck me."

But when he tried to move, you were firm with your hands, so he stayed put, feeling the throb of his erection against the mattress. You licked along his neck and behind his ear, and Bradley had to keep from bucking for relief. He was gritting his teeth against the sensation of your mouth brushing the shell of his ear as you said, "Your back is sexy. How is your back sexy?"

"Baby, please let me fuck you," he begged before you climbed off of him and stayed on all fours. Bradley slipped himself inside you with one quick thrust that had you moaning, and he slipped his fingers around your necklace chain. Very gently, he pulled you closer to him, careful not to harm your little paw print charm. Your back was arched deliciously, and he pushed the tee shirt up to your neck and caressed your tits.

"Bradley," you whined, but he didn't go any faster. Just languid thrusts, his cock brushing every sensitive spot inside you. He watched your pretty pussy take him as he yanked a little more on your necklace. With one hand on your ass, he guided you through a slow buildup to an orgasm that had you moaning his name for a solid two minutes. 

"Oh hell," he growled, spilling himself inside you, eyes closed and head tipped back. He released your necklace, and let you collapse onto your belly. You squealed as he pressed himself on top of you and kissed your upper back. "You're sexy here too, Kitten."

You giggled as he ended up giving you a back massage instead. "Ugh...your hands are so big."

"I pitched a full game, and I only got a two minute massage," he complained.

"Your fault for getting a boner," you replied, clearly enjoying the way he was touching you. 

Eventually Bradley took a shower and pulled on some clean underwear. You were nearly asleep when he climbed into bed, but you said, "I've been thinking about our wedding."

"Go on," he replied, kissing your scrunched up nose. "I'd love to hear more."

You yawned and whispered, "I think you'll like my idea." And then you told Bradley what you wanted to do. And then you said you wanted to do it in the next month or two. And he had you on your back, smothering your face in kisses while you giggled. 

"Wait," he said, pausing his kisses to look at you. "Is that even possible? Can we actually do that?"

You nodded. "I think so. If you know the right people. You wanna do it?"

"Yes, Baby. One hundred percent."

--------------------------

Thunderstorms had rolled in overnight, and you woke up to find Everett in your bed with you and Bradley. It had been quite a while since a storm had sent him into your room, but this one was particularly loud. Everett was curled up in the middle of the bed with Bradley's arm wrapped around him and his head on Bradley's shoulder. They were both sound asleep.

You gasped at how sweet they looked and grabbed your phone to take a picture. And then you checked under the covers to make sure Bradley was wearing underwear. Okay, great. You'd have to remind him to keep doing that. 

As you swiped through a bunch of texts from Molly, you cringed. She had sent them at three in the morning. She wasn't getting enough sleep, trying to transition from overnights to daytime shifts. You knew she needed to take better care of herself. "Oh, Molly," you sighed, climbing out of bed, leaving the boys to sleep a little longer. 

Bob and I are going to that Navy bar tonight. You and my future turd-in-law wanna come?

You snorted as you turned on the coffee maker. Maybe Everett could hang out with Maverick tonight? You'd have to see if that would work. You also needed to make a ton of phone calls at work today. When Bradley and Everett never surfaced, you had to go back upstairs and wake them up for work and summer camp respectively. And then you had to listen to them both bug you about turning the extra bedroom into a Phillies room. 

You just shook your head until they were both starting to whine. "I don't care!" you finally said with a laugh. "Do what you want, but you need to keep the spare bed in there."

Then they rushed out to the Bronco together with just enough time for Bradley to drop Everett off and still make it to North Island on time. You were being outnumbered. You were being overruled. They were teaming up against you. But honestly, you didn't even mind. They could have a Phillies room. Because now that Bradley was living with you, your life already felt less hectic. You felt like you could breathe with the way he did things like take control of bedtime and breakfasts. 

You practically floated into work. You even waved to Frank, with your left hand so hopefully he'd see your ring. Then you got settled at your desk and made a few phone calls. And it turns out, you can have the wedding you want if you just drop the right names. And it was a good thing you saved Jake Seresin's number in your phone. 

While you were desperately trying to finish up one of your projects that was precariously close to becoming overdue, Molly started texting you again. 

ARE YOU GOING TO ANSWER ME?! Bar tonight?

"Chill," you whispered, texting Bradley instead to try to find out if Ev could play with Maverick for a little bit at his hangar. When you left work that afternoon with the reassurance that Bradley would take Everett to hang out with Mav, you went home to get ready to go to the bar. 

It was amazing how you had the time to do your makeup and hair. You even tried on several outfits before settling on your black bodysuit and some denim shorts with sandals. Bradley was definitely going to like this. You just had to make sure he enjoyed it later and not right now, because you could hear his key in the door as you ran down the stairs. 

"I told Molly we'd meet them at the bar in twenty minutes. There's a plate of leftovers in the fridge for you. And I planned our wedding."

Bradley was in his flight suit, frozen just inside the front door with his keys hanging from his hand. "You planned our wedding? And you're wearing your kitten bodysuit?" he asked with a small smile. 

"Mmhmm," you hummed, kissing his cheek and unzipping his flight suit as you pulled him toward the kitchen. "We have a wedding date."

His smile grew. "You gonna tell me when that might be, Kitten?"

"September third."

"Sounds perfect. And you gonna let me play with you and your kitten costume?"

You bit your lip. "You're really just going to be okay with getting married in a few weeks?"

"Of course," he rasped, kissing your neck. "I'm ready."

"Okay, Coach. And if you're really good, I'll put on my ears and whiskers after we get home later. Now eat your dinner."

---------------------------

Bradley had seen you drink before. But he had never seen you drunk before. It was highly entertaining. You and Molly were truly a sight to behold, both wearing skin tight tops and giggling. Even Bob looked like he was enjoying himself more than he had the past couple days as Molly clung to his side and kept tucking her hand up the hem of his shirt. 

"Those sailors keep buying me drinks," you whispered so loudly, Bradley had to laugh. Sure enough, there were some guys at the bar who were buying drinks for all the women, hoping one of them would stick. "I've had like four whiskey sours," you said, holding up three fingers.

"You're so fucking good at math, Kitten," he replied, placing a kiss on the swell of your breast as you wrapped your arms around his neck. 

When you giggled next to his ear, Bradley briefly considered taking you to the bathroom for a quickie. But to his dismay, he saw that Molly and Bob seemed to be on their way back there already. 

"Well scratch that idea," Bradley murmured as you tangled your fingers in his hair. 

"Rooster! Come play pool!" Nat called, and you started to push him toward the pool table. 

"Go play with your friends," you insisted. "I'm going to get another drink and then look for Molly."

"Yeah, I wouldn't do that just yet," Bradley said with a grimace that he was sure just went right over your head. "And don't flirt with too many sailors, Kitten."

"I'm not, Coach," you insisted, patting his abs through his shirt. "But they are just so friendly. They won't let me pay for anything."

Bradley shook his head as you weaved your way back to the bar. He kept an eye on you as Penny served you another whiskey sour, and then he saw Molly and Bob stumbling back as he took a shot at the pool table. Bob's cheeks were flushed, and his hair and glasses were a mess. Bradley had never seen him look happier. Molly kissed Bob and then made a beeline for you, and Bob definitely wasn't the only one watching her walk away.

Bradley was laughing as Bob made his way to the pool table. "They're okay over there with those guys, right?" Bob asked, jerking his finger over his shoulder.

"You afraid Molly's going to ditch you or something?"

"I mean..." he started, adjusting his glasses and fixing his hair. "I didn't give her a ring yet. You're a step ahead of me. So honestly, I'm always a little afraid something like that's gonna happen."

"Bob. Get real, man," Bradley said, chuckling as he watched Nat obliterate him at pool. "She just rocked your world in the bathroom."

He stuttered for quite a while before he managed to say, "Yeah, but look at her. She's gorgeous."

"Give it up, Bob. You're stuck with her now."

"Hi," you said, wrapping your arms around Bradley's waist from behind. You managed to make that one word sound like it had about seven syllables while you laughed. 

"You having fun?" he asked. "Not getting into trouble?"

You were swaying on your feet and laughing. Even Molly wasn't this bad, nursing her glass of wine and whispering something to Bob that was making him blush again. 

"I'm being so good," you promised. "Jake bought me a drink."

"Of course he did," Bradley replied when Jake handed you a beer. "I'm going to have to keep a close eye on you whenever I bring you here. And you might not be allowed to wear this next time." He ran his knuckles along your bodysuit that fit you like a second skin, and you sighed. "The sailors can look, and they can spend their money on you, but they can't touch my Kitten."

"That feels good," you gasped, and Bradley kissed your nose.

"You'll feel even better when I get you home later."

You handed your beer to Bradley and sunk your fingers into his hair, leaving him standing awkwardly with the bottle in one hand and his pool cue in the other. 

"I wish you were Ev's dad," you whispered against his lips. 

He set the cue against a stool and wrapped his arm around you. "Me too, Kitten." Truly, he would love that. But he didn't need it. He already had the two of you which was more than enough. More family than he ever thought he'd get. 

"You'd never force my hand like Danny is," you added softly, looking up at him with unfocused eyes and a soft smile. "Never."

He could feel the goosebumps on his arms as he asked, "What do you mean, Baby?"

"You know," you sighed, rubbing yourself against him. "I'm paying for a lawyer, and what good is it going to do? I can't get Danny's name off Everett's birth certificate. I can't get full custody and parental rights. I can't have anything except child support, which I don't even want, because he's going to be a complete jerk and contest it until I'm ready to scream. And I'll have wasted 

thousands of dollars on nothing when we could have taken a vacation or something."

Bradley was stunned. This was way more information than you'd given him about what was going on. "Kitten, if you want to go on vacation, I'll take you and Ev anywhere you want to go. Or I can pay for your lawyer."

"You sound just like Molly!" you complained, booping him on the nose and squishing his lips together. 

Bradley tried not to laugh as Molly looked up from kissing Bob. "Did you call me?" she asked, and you started laughing hysterically. 

Bradley checked the time and shook his head. As the designated driver, he should probably round the three of you up and get everyone home and pick up Everett on the way. But now you and Molly were both over by the jukebox, dancing with Bob to whatever song was playing, and Bradley just didn't have the heart to break it up yet.

But thirty minutes later, he was carrying you out to the parking lot while Bob and Molly stumbled along as well. And now he was mentally planning a family vacation. Maybe to the mountains over Everett's winter break? Disney World in the spring? He didn't know what the two of you would want to do, but he'd make it happen. Hell, he could even take you and Everett up to Los Angeles for a weekend. Whatever it ended up being, it would be perfect. 

And Bradley would let you know when you were sober that you were by no means finished with the conversation about Danny. 

--------------------------

Coach Daddy Bradley has moved in. And the boys are getting a Phillies room. And they have a wedding date! Thanks to @beyondthesefourwalls and @mak-32

PART 28

Don't forget to check out Bob and Molly in The Curveball!

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[thedomesticanthropologist]

I'm not sure how many people pay attention to this, but Astarions tent area (inside and out) is not just blood splattered and mildly disorganized:

1) Dirty rags, blood and wine spills, rugs and pillows a bit haphazard, no proper bedding inside, empty blood bank jars everywhere, sleeps on a wooden palette rather than a bed roll

But the actual tent (yes I zoomed in and stared heavily at it shdjghfhdj)

It dirty.

It's SPLATTERED with dried mud and dirt, and I also noticed in comparison to his companions his tent is fairly small? And also kinda limp like he didn't wanna bother putting it up.

I bet this man hates putting together and tearing down camp SO MUCH that he just does the bare minimum and then trashes the place anyway. He's not going to voluntarily do laundry, he's not gonna clean the canvas, he's just here to put his shit together in some barely passable way.

And sure the exterior shows how he tries to decorate it in a way that's presentable, but he's decorating with dirty shit he won't scrub 😂

People, myself included to some degree, have chatted about why he is messy trauma wise but honestly I'm coming to the realization that he probably was, even in life, surrounded by servants to some degree.

He gives the air of being from money

I bet this little fool has never in his life had to wash his own clothes or clean a room. Even as a slave, when he was in Cazadors mansion he got trotted between the bunks where he only had minimal space to rest, (and a bunch of siblings he could probably manipulate into washing his socks for him if the servants didn't do it automatically ) and the Boudoir where he was to Look Pretty and Bend Over as requested

He never scrubbed floors in his life

Man's has never once cleaned a toilet

Astarion is living evidence that you can be severely neglected and abused while ALSO being 'spoiled' (in the sense that he never got to develop life skills bc the servants did it for him)

This really ties in with his personality and I think it's a nice touch. Cause what does he focus on keeping clean? HIM. He can do his hair, body washed, clothing IMPECCABLE. Man kept a shirt together for over a century without a single stain on it. But his SPACE ? His THINGS? neglected to the extreme

But yeah anyway, his tent is DIRTY and I'm pretty sure was originally a much more vibrant color too. Zoom in next time you get to camp you'll see what I mean

[ladykailitha]

Of Butterflies and Backstrokes Part 2

Woohoo!!! I'm back with the next chapter of this lovely fic.

Steve and Eddie start circling each other, but they aren't there yet.

Since it's been awhile (three weeks eekk!) I'd go back and read part one again. ;)

Part 1

~

Eddie got home that night, tired and aching from a long day of grunt work. He found he didn’t hate Murray, but he if he had a choice of passing him in a dark alley or turning tail and running the other direction, he would chose the latter every time.

Murray would spend the first week watching over him and helping him when he made mistakes then next week he’d have to do it all on his own.

Eddie worked from eight to four and the pool opened at 9am and closed to the public at 6pm. Then it was given the rich toffs with their personal coaches until eight or nine. But from when they left and until ten, staff was allowed to use the pool for personal time.

The rec center itself opened at 6am for all the people who wanted to work out before before they had to work. The pool used to open then too, but they had to stop doing that. It was without lifeguards and during that time there were huge ass signs that declared no lifeguard on duty. But because some idiot woman left her kids to play in the kiddie pool while she did yoga or some shit and the little shit goblins got into the big pool and one of them almost drowned. If there hadn’t been one of the trainers arriving early to set up for his class, the shit goblin would have died.

So because of one asshole, the public wasn’t allowed to swim in the mornings before the lifeguards were on duty, that left staff able to use it during that time. And oh boy did Eddie abuse the hell out of that on Saturdays. He, of course, double and triple checked with Joyce and Murray that he was considered staff before he did it the first time. But for three hours one day a week, the pool was mostly his.

Sure, every once in awhile he’d see a lifeguard or a trainer come take advantage of the quiet time, but mostly he was alone. He loved it.

In fact he got to know the lifeguards and trainers. Well all but one of them. Robin, Jonathan, and Nancy were all trainers. Vickie, Carol, Nicole, and Tommy were all lifeguards. All but Steve.

Steve didn’t use either of the two Olympic sized pools, but rather stayed in the endless pool, which was in a separate room. Eddie had been tempted to try it, but he’d have to ask someone how to use it and he just didn’t have the guts to.

He decided that lifeguards were snotty know-it-alls, with the exception of Vickie, and all the trainers were the cool kids.

Nancy trained the advanced students, Jonathan trained intermediate, and Robin with Steve trained the beginners. Which apparent had four different classes. Adults, teenagers, eight to twelve year olds, and the baby and toddler class.

During the day, Eddie would watch the swimming classes and he started noticing a strange pattern. Steve never went into the large pools. He would crouch on the sidelines with his little whistle and blow it when he wanted his class to stop. Then Robin would get into the water with them if she wasn’t there already and correct them.

Or they stayed in the kiddie pool if they were young enough.

Murray caught him staring the second week. “See something you like?”

Eddie wrinkled his nose in distaste.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he huffed going back to restocking the towels. They had gone through them faster today than usual. Or what counted as usual to Eddie in his two short weeks.

“Sure you don’t,” Murray said with a sneer. “I’ve seen you watching the pretty lifeguards and trainers.”

“Well, I’m not going to stare at the coaches,” Eddie said, rolling his eyes and moving on to the laundry baskets. “Considering I’m out of here before they even deign to show up.”

Murray barked out a short laugh. “There’s a reason for that.”

Eddie paused what he was doing and straightened up. He turned to look at his supervisor. “Why’s that?”

Murray just shrugged. “Let’s just say coaches and trainers don’t mix well. Like oil and water.”

Well, Eddie thought, that was cryptic as fuck and annoying as hell. But instead of pressing him, he just got back to work. After all they weren’t paying him for this shit and he just needed to get it done.

“What’s Harrington’s deal, anyway?” he murmured as he pushed the laundry cart past Murray.

“Not my story to tell.”

Eddie sighed. Apparently his supervisor was going to dangle a carrot only to yank it way. Story of his life, honestly.

Which was to say it fucking sucked.

~

Steve came out of the men’s dressing room a couple of weeks later to find the new maintenance guy watching them again.

The guy turned away when he got caught and bent over to put something away.

Steve turned to Robin. “Does that guy give you creepy vibes?”

They started walking to the kiddie pool for their first class of the day. Teenagers. God, he hated teenagers. They were only there because their parents made them, they never listened, and one or two of them would end getting into trouble, every god damned time.

“Who, Eddie?” Robin asked, looking over at the guy who had began mopping the endless puddle by the towel dispensary.

“Oh is that his name?” Steve asked, curious.

Robin nodded. “Yeah, he’s actually here doing community service. Got caught dealing and was sentenced to working here for about three months.”

Steve chewed his bottom lip. “Still not beating the creep vibes there, Robs.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she said and threw her head back, laughing. “But no, he’s really nice guy and you’d like him if you actually joined us on Saturdays.” She poked his side for emphasis.

He wiggled and squirmed away fro her. “You know why I can’t.”

She sighed and cocked her head to the side knowingly as she sized him up.

Robin and Steve had actually had the same swim coach growing up, her parents applying to some disadvantaged kids program.

Steve excelled at it while Robin merely enjoyed it. After she graduated from high school she went into linguistics and then learned there aren’t that many jobs for a polyglot. So she became his interpreter at international events like the World Championships and the Olympics.

Especially the Olympics as the primary language is French.

After his accident she got them the job of teaching kids how to swim. Joyce was fine with their little arrangement as she called it and most parents were understanding once they found out why a swim instructor didn’t like deep pools.

There were always those that complained, but Joyce would refund their money and tell them to go elsewhere. First complaint and bam! They were gone. She trusted Steve and that’s all that mattered to her.

“I know, dingus,” she said linking their arms together. “You’ll figure it out eventually.”

“Thanks.”

They got to the pool and found five spotty teenagers waiting for them. Four boys and a girl. One of them, who had gangly limbs and freckles on his arms and face sneered at him.

“What are we doing at the kiddie pool?” he whined the second he saw them. “It’s for like kids.”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “I could toss you in the deep end the main pool and see how well you fair, if you’d like?”

The other kids stared at him in shock, clearly not expecting Steve to bitch back.

“You wouldn’t!” the snotty teen huffed. “You’re not allowed to do that!”

Robin and Steve shared a glance and then Steve just shrugged.

“It’s what we do with the babies and toddlers,” he said, nonchalant, batting his eyelashes innocently. “I mean if it’s good enough for babies, it should be good enough for you, right?”

The kid’s mouth opened and shut without a single word coming out.

“You know,” Robin said dryly, “moving your mouth like a fish doesn’t mean you are one, so I’d close it if I were you.”

He snapped his mouth shut with an audible click and gulped loudly.

Once Steve was satisfied he wasn’t going to say anything else, he started the class.

Then when they in the pool learning how to float, Steve looked up to see Eddie grinning at up him. He blushed and looked away. He didn’t know why his insides suddenly felt like liquid metal had been poured down his esophagus but he knew he liked the feeling.

~

Okay, so maybe Eddie liked how pretty Steve was and how he would take down the Chads and Karens when they threw fits and how Joyce backed him up every time. But he really did try to keep the staring down to a minimum.

Which he absolutely failed at if Joyce’s teasing and Murray’s snide remarks were to go by. Like the only people who hadn’t teased him about it was Hopper and his Wayne. And he figured it was only because they never saw how flustered he got when Steve came around.

The trainers teased him, the lifeguards teased him. His friends teased him. God he wanted to murder Jeff in his sleep sometimes.

“Look, man,” Jeff said, “you’ve got to at least talk to him. Robin even said that he thinks your staring is creepy.”

Eddie let out a pained sigh. “We don’t have breaks at the same time and he never comes into the main pool area if he can help it.”

Jeff scratched his chin. “Maybe he’s afraid of water.”

“Like a swim instructor could be scared of going into the pool,” he scoffed. “He teaches in the kiddie pool and the endless pool, so it can’t be all water.”

Jeff just shrugged.

But the comment wouldn’t let go his brain. It created an itch at the back of his mind every time he saw Steve.

The closest he ever got to the pool was just out of arm’s reach. One time he even caught one of the teen-aged beginners try for him and missed.

Steve got up and walked away and the kid was forced to do pedaling exercises until the class ended. And even then Steve still hadn’t come back from class.

He needed to mop the men’s changing room, so he called out. “Maintenance! Hey anyone in here?”

When Eddie didn’t get a response, he walked right in with mop and bucket. The rec center liked to keep the area as dry as they could even though there were signs everywhere: CAUTION WET FLOOR.

He started by the showers and slowly made his way to the changing rooms, when he got to the last stall he actually found it locked.

Shit.

He hoped he didn’t have to crawl under the gap in the door to reach around and unlock it because little kids were shits. More than once Eddie had seen them lock the door and crawl out, leaving it locked and any appeals to their parents fell on deaf ears.

But as he crouched down to look he could hear the sounds of someone crying softly. He then spotted the soft shoes that a lot of the swim staff wore again, color coded like everything else in this place. White for trainer.

Eddie’s heart sank.

“Hey, Harrington, that you?” he called out gently. All their last names were on the backs of their polos.

There was a sniffle or two before the weak, “Yeah, yeah. Sorry, just give me a minute and I’ll be out of your way.”

The door opened and a very disheveled Steve came out of the stall, head down and shoulders rounded.

“You sick or something?” Eddie asked, tilting his head to get a better look at the man.

Steve let out a bitter laugh. “Yeah you can say that.” He went to the sinks and splashed water on his face couple of times before drying it on a paper towel and throwing it away.

Eddie watched as the trainer exited the changing rooms leaving him with more questions then he had answers.

~

Part 3 Part 4

Tag List: FIVE SLOTS REMAINING

1-@mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @cryptid-system

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @justforthedead89 @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji

5- @anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss

9- @chameleonhair @sadisticaltarts @dreamercec @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @mac-attack19

[vivwritesfics]

This'll Be The Day That I Die

Chapter One - John B's Cousin

JJ didn't think he'd ever see her again. It had been ten years since she left and he'd never stopped hating her for leaving. When she returns he wants nothing to do with her, not until somebody else wants her. That somebody else just so happens to be Rafe Cameron

JJ Maybank X Reader, somewhat Rafe Cameron X Reader

1.7K

Okay so i watched season one when it first came out, never finished season two, but I'm back on my JJ shit with a... series (fuck i can't stop myself from starting series shit)

Chapter Two

When the twinkie pulled up to the Château, something wasn't right. The door was open and laundry was hanging outside to dry. It certainly wasn't the way the Pogues left it.

Pressing his finger to his lips, John B. climbed out of the van. He helped Sarah out and quietly pushed the door shut, while JJ, Kiara and Pope did the same in the back.

They had no kind of weapon, nothing to defend themselves if there really was an attacker. So, John B. did the one thing he could think of and grabbed a rather large stick.

He walked into his own house, defensively standing in front of his friends. He held his finger to his lips once again as they all walked forward.

There were footsteps. John B. raised the stick, ready to swing.

But, he didn't need to swing it. Not when he saw the person who had broken into his house. Well, did it count as breaking in if they had a key of their own? "Y/N?" He called, dropping the stick.

His cousin stood in the kitchen, looking through the cupboards and taken a note of everything they had. Or, rather, everything they needed. She whipped herself around and placed her notebook on the kitchen counter. "John!" She called and walked towards him. "Where the hell is my dad?" She asked and opened her arms.

But John B. was still in some amount of shock. He hadn't seen his cousin in, well, years. Just seven years ago she'd left the Outer Banks to live with her mother after her parents had split up. "What're you doing here?" He asked, still unable to process it.

She just smiled and shrugged her shoulders. But her smile wasn't all there, wasn't quite as wide as John B. expected to see. "Doesn't matter," she mumbled. "Have you seen my dad anywhere?" She asked.

"He, uh, left," John B. answered honestly.

For a second, she was still. The chateau was where she'd been living before she left with her mother, with John B. and his father. They'd been a little family unit back then. She must've known about John B's fathers disappearance, which is why she wasn't asking.

The chateau wasn't the best place for four people to live. That was why she had left in the first place, because there just wasn't enough space for her. "I'm gonna set myself up in my dad's old room," she said and picked her bags up from the floor. "Maybe after you can introduce me to your friends?" She asked, mainly focusing on Sarah.

The other three behind him she recognised. Pope and JJ. Pope who was always one of the smartest people they knew, and JJ. It was hard to forget someone like JJ. He was the epitome of chaos, even when they were ten.

John B. nodded his head. That was usually JJ's room, but it was her home as much as John B's. So what was his was hers.

The room was a state. She didn't know when her father had left, or when big John had disappeared, but the room had definitely been lived in, and recently. She pulled the comforter back from the bed and let out something of a gasp.

"Why the fuck is there a cum stain on the bed?" She cried as she left the room, looking towards John B. and his friends.

JJ Maybank couldn't hide his smirk as he adjusted his hat on his head.

She made quick work of changing the bed, placing the dirtied sheets in the the hamper. When she went to unpack her things, there were already clothes in the drawers. They weren't her fathers, and they weren't big John's. A bunch of shirts with no sleeves.

She placed the unfamiliar clothes into a pile and unpacked her own things. It was easy work, there wasn't a lot that she had. But what she had have was nice, she wasn't exactly going to look like a Pogue.

When she left her room, it was like all of the Pogues were waiting around for her. They sat on the pull out sofa, some of them drinking, some of them sat waiting for her. Actually, JJ was drinking, the rest of them were waiting for her.

As uncomfortable was it was, she walked through to the kitchen and picked up her notebook once again. "I, uh, looked through the cupboards," she said to her cousin, but by the way all of the Pogues were looking at her, she definitely wasn't just speaking to him. "We need a fuckload of groceries. Do you think you can take me in the twinkie?"

"Can't you drive?" JJ piped up for the first time as he lifted his blunt to his lips.

Her eyes locked onto him, levelling him with a glare. "No, JJ. I can't drive," she spat back. "Besides, it's not my van."

"I can take you," Pope said suddenly. "It's no big deal."

She gave Pope a smile and shoved her notebook into the back pocket of her shirts. "Perfect," she said as JJ tossed Pope the keys.

They set out of the chateau, but she could still feel eyes on her. The place she had once known to be her home didn't feel very much like her home anymore.

"I'm surprised you remember us," said Pope as they pulled away from the chateau. "It's been, what, ten years?"

"Almost," she answered, leaning against the window. "I don't think I could properly remember living here without remembering you guys." She let out a breath, watching her old neighbourhood go past. "I don't know who the girl is, though."

Pope gave her a quick glance. "You don't remember Kie?"

She snorted and shook her head. "Not Kie," she mumbled, pulling her notebook from the back pocket of her shorts. "The other girl, who is she?"

"Oh, her. That's Sarah, Sarah Cameron," he answered.

But still, she frowned. "Is that name supposed to mean anything to me?"

Pope let out a laugh. "You don't remember the Cameron's? The richest people on the Island?" He asked and she shook her head. "How about her brother, Rafe?"

"The name rings a bell," she confessed. But still, she couldn't put a face to the name.

They pulled up to the store and she climbed out of the van. "Thanks," she said. "You don't have to come with me."

"I'll wait here," he said and pulled out his phone. But, as she walked away, Pope pushed open the door to the twinkie once more. "I feel so bad for saying this," he called. "But you might wanna get enough food for all of us. Or, at least you, John B. and JJ, since he practically lives there," he said.

She looked back down at her list and nodded her head. As she walked towards the store, she realised something. If JJ had been living in her room, then... that was his cum stain on the bed. A shiver ran down her spine.

***

"Yeah, I remember her," JJ answered as he made himself a sandwich. The bread was mouldy, but he didn't much care. What JJ remembered most was the day that she left, when she disappeared. But that wasn't what John B. had asked, so he kept it short.

She had been a Pogue through and through back then, but she'd changed. JJ hadn't recognised her, not until John B. had said her name. She wouldn't fit in with them, not now.

"She got out," John B. muttered as he stood beside him. "She left the island. Why did she come back?"

JJ shrugged his shoulders. He grabbed his mouldy sandwich, shoved it into his mouth and walked out to the porch. "Just ask her, man," he said and sat down, playing with the lighter he kept in his pockets.

JJ didn't about her. He didn't care about why she had left, didn't care why she was back. Why should be care about her when she was the one that had left?

He watched as the twinkie pulled up in front of the chateau. Pope parked up and she climbed out, sliding open the door to grab the brown paper bags from the back. Pope did the same, carrying the bags she couldn't carry.

"Groceries," she mumbled as she walked past JJ, into the house.

He didn't say anything. Did she really not remember what things were like before she left? Did she really not realise that he wasn't going to speak to her?

She walked past him and dumped her things on the kitchen counter. As soon as she did, John B. helped her to unpack everything, placing it into the cupboards.

As soon as they were done, John B. gave an awkward smile and patted his pockets. He looked around the chateau as she made herself something to eat. "Oh!" He said and strode across the chateau, to where Sarah was sitting. He grabbed a hold of his girlfriend and pulled her to her feet. "This is Sarah, my girlfriend," he said and Sarah sent her a polite wave.

She waved back as she made herself a not mouldy sandwich. The mouldy bread had been tossed in the bin (something that JJ would later protest, even though he really had no reason to).

"I think I'll turn in," she said awkwardly as she took her plate to her room. Kie and Sarah watched her. They tried not to wear the same judgemental expression, but it was the middle of the afternoon, far too early for her to be sleeping

But, as she walked past him, John B grabbed her arm. "Hey, you only just got here," he said and she desperately looked towards her bedroom. "Let us properly welcome you back to the Outer Banks," he said.

"What're you thinking?" She asked, somewhat exasperatedly.

That was where John B. smirked. "Kegger."

"Kegger?" She asked, with a frown.

He nodded. "Kegger."

Permanent Taglist: @urfavnoirette

[static-radio-ao3]

@jegulus-microfic // march 18 // prompt: instrument // words: 758 // part two + part three

“What do you play?” James asks, voice muffled as he is digging through his laundry basket.

“Huh?”

“Instrument, I mean.” James turns to face him. His glasses are halfway down his nose and Regulus’ fingers twitch with the need to adjust them. James is annoyingly handsome. Even in the middle of the night when his hair is tousled and his glasses are smudged and he has baby formula on his ratty college shirt, tan skin glowing under the fluorescent lights of the basement laundry room.

“What do you play? We’ve been talking every night but I don’t even know what instrument you play. I hear you sometimes when I get home.”

“Shit, I'm sorry, I can try to keep it down.”

“No, please, I like it!” Another second of rummaging before James shuts the door to the machine, twists the dial and presses the start button. “It sounds nice. Harry likes it too.”

James checks the volume on the baby monitor again, making sure it is still turned all the way up. When he is sure it didn’t magically turn off in the minute since he checked last, he places it gingerly on the bench in the middle of the room, sitting down next to Regulus.

Their shoulders brush. His arm feels warm where it is pressed against James’, despite the frigid air in the basement.

“Ah, thank you. It's uh— violin. I'm at the conservatory for classical music.”

“You must be really hard-working, then.”

This pleases Regulus, satisfaction burrowing its way into his chest, making him preen a little. People always think he is talented.

Secretly, Regulus hates that word. He has never been talented. No particular skill that stood out — and his parents made sure he knew it.

So yes, Regulus is hard-working. Passionate. Stays up until 3 A.M. to practice, tucked away in the laundry room so he doesn’t wake Sirius in their tiny two-bedroom apartment.

That’s how this whole thing started. Regulus, resident insomniac, slipping out of bed with his violin tucked under his arm. James, still adjusting to the fact that his son is now sleeping through the night, doing chores on the wrong side of midnight.

“I have to be, if I want to be the best,” Regulus says.

“I’ll have to come see you play sometime, then.” James makes it sound like a give. Like it is something he is willing to make time for. Regulus’ heart flutters. Traitor, he whispers at it.

“Do you now?” His teeth tug at the dry skin on his lips, picking at it until he bleeds. Sirius always tells him off for it but it is a nervous habit he has yet to beat.

“Absolutely. If you’ll have me that is.”

A hurried yes almost bursts from him, but he traps it behind his teeth before he can actually say it. He tries to play it cool despite the heat in his face, a teasing tone as he says, “Maybe. Gotta see if you’re worth keeping around first.”

James laughs at that. Regulus thinks it sounds sweeter than his violin ever has.

“I’ll be such a good audience, I swear. I can make a career-switch. Go from sports reporting to music reporting.” Because James works for the local newspaper. Writes sports columns. Takes his son with him to football games, a tiny infant strapped to his chest. The mental image of James at a recital with baby Harry on his hip makes Regulus’ heart flutter again. “Would that be enough proof of my dedication?”

More fluttering. Traitor, traitor, traitor. Regulus pretends to ponder on it for a moment.

“It’ll do. For now.”

James scoffs. Rolls his eyes. “For now, he says.”

It sounds fond.

Neither of them says anything else but Regulus doesn’t mind it. His eyes are trained on the laundry machine with his clothes in it. He watches it spin and spin and spin. Lets himself get hypnotized by the repetitive motion, the quiet humming, James’ even breaths. It’s peaceful.

“Same time tomorrow?” Regulus asks when he has gathered all his laundry, the basket propped against his hip. He doesn’t miss the way James’ eyes droop with his nod. He chuckles softly at the sight. “Get some sleep, James.”

A mumbled, “Sweet dreams” follows him out of the room.

For once, Regulus is eager to fall asleep, only so he can see James again tomorrow.

It is only in the silent halls of the apartment building that he lets himself think that there is no sweeter dream than those moments they share.

[1d1195]

Faking It

Sometimes while I'm listening to music, things just pop into my head about Harry and I have to write it out real fast before I forget. This is just a little random blurb that I’m posting for no reason.

best friend/roommate!reader x famous!Harry

Warnings: sexual tension, sexual wording

Not proofread (written in my drafts on my phone)

Harry is watching her dance her little heart out to whatever is playing in her ears while she aggressively folds the sheets and towels out of the dryer. He can hear the music playing from where he's standing in the kitchen getting a glass of water. They've been best friends for years and since Harry is often on tour, it's nice to have someone keep an eye on his place, water the flowers, and just...be there when he gets home or shoots home during one of his quick breaks.

She's funny and lovely. One of his favorite people. She doesn't mind acting silly around him and doesn't care if he never cleans up when he's home. "I just like when my best friend is here," she says.

"What are y'even listening to?" She turns down the music so she can hear him.

"It's called Little White Lies, it's by this great band. M'sure you've heard of them: One Direction?" She has the most impish smile on her lips.

He stares at her and blinks slowly. He hates when she does this. It's so annoying. But he finds her adorable anyway. It's been a while since he's been home and he likes seeing her in her element. As if he weren't here. He likes that she's comfortable with him. It feels...like home.

But then, since she's his best friend, she has to go and ruin it.

She shrugs. "Y'know, Harry. Bet you would get a nice girlfriend if they knew they didn't have to fake orgasms around you all the time," she winked at him pushing the laundry basket toward the hallway to the bedrooms before she starts in on the second load of clothing.

He doesn't want to know. If he asks, he'll regret it. "What are y'on 'bout?" He tilted his head back. It was one of those conversations he knew he was going to be exhausted by before it even started.

"When she's alone she goes home to a cactus. In a black dress, she's such an actress?" She quoted his own lyrics to him but phrased it as a question. "Such an actress?" She repeated. "Too bad Harry," she tisks. "You even gotta talk about a dildo being a cactus...like one of the rabbit ones,” she giggled.

Harry wonders if he strangles her if they'll question him first. He's a popstar after all. "M'gonna kill you," he says darting toward her around the half kitchen wall to tickle her. She squeals and takes off to the other side of the room, hiding behind the couch.

"Cause you've been telling me, all night with your little white lies."

"Nobody fakes orgasms with me," he grumbled. "Liam and Louis wrote that song."

She smirked. "Sensitive. I don't mean anything by it," she giggles. "Just think it's funny."

"I'll prove it," he says hopping on the couch and reaching over to grab her before she can escape. She squeals at his aggressive hold as he tosses her down (gently) onto the sofa. "Take y'pants off," he orders.

"Harry," she gasps, face blushing. The headphones fall from her ears, her phone drops to the floor.

"Take 'em off," he repeats. "You'll see."

"Harry," she whispers breathlessly. "I was just kidding."

But his eyes are hungry now. He's looking her over if he's just noticing that she's a girl. A beautiful, adorable, pain-in-the-butt, girl. His best friend that he adores with all his heart. "M'not," his voice is low. Her heart hammers erratically against her ribs.

She can't say she hasn't been dreaming of this. She wants this. She doesn't believe she'll have to fake it. But she doesn't want to force him to do it to prove a point. "Harry," she tries again, but her voice is weak. The protest is faint in her voice. "You don't have--"

"Bet y'have t'fake it all the time, hmm?" He's hovering above her. His legs straddling her hips, his arms pinning her shoulders down. She can't move her gaze from his. She's immobile. He drops his mouth to her ear. "Don't you?" He murmurs so lowly it vibrates all through her body. Right to the space between her thighs. “Bet y'dream about me when m'not here. When you're with someone else,” his lips brush the pulse along the side of her neck. He kisses the space at the bottom of her throat. "I dream about you when m’alone,” her brain is spinning to keep up. She was just joking him. He was too brave to admit that. She’s terrified she’s going to mess up. But he’s inhaling her skin like he’s sniffing out a weakness. Her whole body is one weak spot for him. “S'that why y'like it so much?" He mumbles. "S'that why y'like m'song. Because you're an actress for everyone else? You're not gonna be an actress for me, right? You're gonna be a good girl and not tell me any little white lies?" He asks it as a question, but she knows it's a statement.

"Harry," it was her last chance to protest.

“No, love. M’sure,” he promise sensing the question in just the way she uttered his name. Maybe the benefit to being her best friend he knew what she was thinking. Always. “Jus’ say the word, love,” his lips are a breath away. If she inhales too deeply or exhales at all she’ll be kissing Harry Styles. “Do y’want me t’prove it?”

His eyes are so green his skin smells so good. She can’t breathe or move.

“Yes.”

[yourstingrey]

“What are you wearing…?”

Description: you forget about laundry day and are forced with the tough decision of going out in your most embarrassing pajamas set in front of a certain Hermes camp counselor

A/N: I haven't written a fic since uh 2019…? So my writing is a bit rusty but I wanted to try to get back into it so hopefully you all don't think this is too bad😭😭😭 The pajamas are inspired from this OW2 character's outfit but obvi changed for the fic! Anywho if you do like this hopefully it'll inspire me to write even more little fics but thank you for reading if you choose to do so and I hope you're having a wonderful day/evening/night!!

wc:1009

Pairings: Athena!reader x Luke Castellan

Warnings!: fluff pretty much and the reader getting teased

You don't even know how you could have forgotten it was an honest mistake anyone could make but certainly not as embarrassing for everyone else. You had woken up just like any other day yawning not truly ready to get up for the day but at camp half blood unless you're a child of Hypnos sleeping in isn't the smartest.

As you stretch out and then slip your feet into your slippers you finally make that last stumble out of bed. Walking up to my dresser and open up the drawer noticing how barren it is so much so a cartoon mouth might as well fly out. I turned around to march up to my laundry hamper, deciding it better to re-wear something this once than to simply have nothing else until I noticed it was missing from its key spot. 

I looked up to see if any of my siblings were in the room and saw my sister, Bea “Hey uh Bea have you seen my laundry hamper? I can't remember where I put it…” I say to her with sleepy confusion laced into my voice “Oh yeah well it's laundry day and you were sleeping for a while so Annabeth decided to take yours and do it for you!” Bea explained, “So all my clothes are in the wash.” “Oh yeah sorry is that a bad thing I mean I can't say I won't judge you if you wanna be those people who don't bathe or anything..” Bea says with an astute tone to her voice and a clear grimace on her face “Um no no it's fine…” I replied under my breath.

I walked back to my drawer deliberating between just going out in my PJs or trying to squeeze into some old t-shirt from my first years at camp. I think we all know what I picked but I did decide if I'm going to wear my PJs out I can still wear my normal shoes, lacing up my sneakers I head out marching my way to the mess hall. 

I walk quietly the cold crisp camp air biting at my cheeks while I notice the cold I fail to notice the sound of a certain Hermes boy sneaking up on me before he lightly tugged on one of my braids “Woah woah where are you going girl” Luke said as he stepped in front of me.

 “Luke! I hate when you do that my hair takes a while y'know.” Luke irked me to no end yet I couldn't help but enjoy all our tiny arguments. “Hold on. What are you wearing…?”

 I look down at my outfit: a basic white sleep tank but then lavender pajama pants with owls and moons scattered about with a matching cardigan on top. “What are you jealous, Castellan?” “Very you think we can get matching sets, hm?” Luke replied with a smirk evident on his face.

“ Ugh Why have you come to pester me Luke” I huff out at him as I shift under his gaze “Just wanted to know if you’re still gonna come to training later” I almost freeze up a little as though it might be small Luke has usually never asked to see if I'm coming or not it's not like its hard for him to get another sparring partner. 

“Hmm I don't know.. These are my best fighting clothes. I think they actually might let me beat you this time butttt I already promised Annabeth to sneak out into the strawberry fields with her later..” As I say this I start to continue my walk to the mess hall not letting Luke interrupt my stride.

“Hey wait wait tell her you’ll go on a different day!” Luke jogs back over and starts walking with me “I don't know why you’re being so persistent this time you’ve never acted like this before!” I sass back to him “Oh what I just want to spare with my favorite Athena girl” “Well it's not gonna happen you can spare with me tomorrow okay” my voice holding a teasing tone.

I look at him and scrunch my nose at him as if he were the foul smell you would get if you ventured to the stables. But with that pause in my step, Luke took it to his advantage quickly snagging the owl sleeping mask off of my head and holding it up.

“Well, you'll just have to come by if you want this back then hmm little owl.” With him snatching my eye mask and this newly formed nickname my face glowed a light pink you would think I was a daughter of Aphrodite for a second “Wait what-” Luke already cut me off with a quick peck to my cheek stunning me again and starts to strut off before calling over his shoulder “Okay see you later then my little owl!”

I turn to watch him walk for a mere second before knocking some sense into myself and continuing my walk. I know I shouldn't go. I'm a daughter of Athena, I should be smarter than this but maybe Annabeth could wait a day. It's just fruit…  I think I just really need “my sleeping mask” back…

[neuroticboyfriend]

I just saw a post someone made about what they usually do in a day (re: disability) and it really made me feel less alone. I've been really beating myself up for not doing or being enough. So I wanna share what my days are like too.

I wake up anywhere between 9:30am and 3pm, because I can't keep a consistent sleep schedule.

I pray, take my morning meds, and hydrate.

I sit in my room for around 30 minutes to an hour and a half, depending on if I have the wherewithal to leave my room or, if I have somewhere to be.

Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday I have therapy in the afternoon. The ride comes around 11 on Tues/Weds. I miss appointments a lot, and spend around 3 hours at the clinic when I do go.

*I may eat a meal, or have a snack. Maybe not, who knows. I sit on the couch, on my phone/computer. Lately been playing minecraft with a few small creative activities sprinkled in.*

At 4:45pm, every day, I go across the street to work on addiction recovery. I come home around 6:15-6:30pm. Mondays I take a ride with some friends to another place, from around 6:30 to 8:30pm.

Repeat asterisked bullet. Except maybe I watch something with my boyfriend. Maybe I call a few friends, if I didnt already early/for a few days.

Around 7:30-9:00pm I work on my addiction recovery at home.

More lounging on the couch on my computer/etc. Take meds between 10:45pm-12am. Hopefully I can get back to taking them at 9:30.

Fall asleep around 1-3am.

Repeat (+ i bring my cane or rollator, and fidgets, and often earbuds, everywhere i go). I only shower or do laundry when the energy burden is worth not feeling like total crap.

And you know what. That's enough. I'm alive. I'm sober. I may be in a lot of pain, may have a lot of fatigue, may still struggle with depression and mood swings and anxiety, but. That doesn't make a bad person. It just makes me a person - one with disabilties. I am inherently worthy just by virtue of being alive, too.

What you don't see by that list is the kindness I share with my friends. Or the strength it takes to get through the day. Or any of the personal emotional and spiritual moments I have, or any of my dreams. But I see them, the people close to me see them, and they don't want me to hurt or hate myself.

So to hell with what anyone else thinks or has said to me. What matters is that I love, and I am loved, and I always will be. Because there will always be people in this world who see me as a person and love me unconditionally for it. This world is bigger than the people who spread hate.