#these first days back working during the week have been fantastic

[newtthetranswriter]

Snowball Proposal

Paring: Toru Oikawa x Fem! Reader

Word Count: 2059

Summary: Who would have guessed that their yearly stroll through the park would end so magically.

A/N: Hello everyone, This was written for @piftamere as a part of @/Lale-txt ‘s Haikyuu Secret Santa Event on tumblr. Out of the things Piff asked for I settled on Oikawa with the prompt “if you throw that snowball you’re declaring war”. I hope you enjoy and have a Merry Christmas. Anyways, have a fantastic day and as always remember to hydrate or diedrate

    For as long as she could remember, she and Toru would go out together the week before Christmas. They’d work together to pick out Christmas gifts for their friends and family, before walking through a local park looking at the Christmas lights. It was like their own little tradition and she looked forward to it every year as the weather began to chill and the days got shorter.

   And this year was no different. After spending the first couple of days being back in Japan catching up with friends and family, she and Toru agreed it was time for their yearly shopping trip. They spent hours going from store to store picking out various gifts while just enjoying being in each other's company. 

   As the sky began to darken, the two paused in their shopping to get a warm drink and sit for a few minutes. “Why don’t we split up for a little while and go find gifts for each other?” Toru said as he sat next to Y/n inside the small coffee shop.

   Thinking for a second, Y/n nodded her head. “That sounds like a good idea. We meet back here in what half and hour?” She asked, already thinking of what to buy for the professional setter.

    After a quick agreement and parting kiss, the two went separate ways looking for the perfect gift for their partner. 

    Y/n made her way towards a high end sporting goods store, she was going to get him a new pair of knee pads he had been talking about getting himself for years. After he injured himself in high school, he talked about getting some knee pads that offered him some support so as to not re-injure his knee. Unfortunately he was so focused on playing volleyball for the past few years that he kept forgetting, and as a result he had recently started mentioning that the old injury was starting to flare up. Being the loving girlfriend she is, Y/n decided it was the perfect gift. Both thoughtful and practical.

    After purchasing the gift, Y/n took the last fifteen minutes to pick a couple more small things before heading back to the coffee shop. When she arrived, she noticed that Toru still hadn’t returned. She decided he was probably still looking for a perfect gift, so she ordered a hot chocolate and sat at one of the tables waiting for her boyfriend to return. 

    Another twenty minutes passed before she saw the messy brown hair of the athlete walking into the Coffee shop. Waving him over, Y/n couldn’t help but notice he still had exactly the same number of bags as when they split ways. 

    Raising an eyebrow, she couldn’t help but question him. “So what took so long? I don’t see any new bags with you.” She asked as he sat down at the table.

   Toru laughed before smirking, “I couldn’t exactly walk in here with a bag telling you where I got your gift, now could I? Besides, I just tucked your gift in one of these bags and I’ll hide it when we get home.” He said as if it was the most obvious thing.

   “You have a point. Anyway, should we head home and drop this stuff off before going to look at the lights?” She asked, gesturing to the small pile of bags.

    Nodding in response, Toru stood up grabbing the majority of their shopping bags, before offering his arm to Y/n as she stood up. They quickly made their way out of the mall, loading their bags into the car Toru had insisted on renting, before heading back to Toru’s family home. When they arrived they quickly took the bags of presents up to Toru’s room where they were staying during their visit.

   After setting down the gifts, Toru excused himself from the room saying something about talking to his mom about something. Y/n took the moment of solitude to hide the gifts she had gotten for the brunette. After they were hidden and Toru still hadn’t returned, Y/n began to get ready for their stroll in the park, putting on some warmer clothes as during their shopping trip snow had started to fall and left a blanket over the neighborhood.

   Once she was dressed, she made her way down stairs to figure out what was taking Toru so long to talk to his mom. Reaching the living room, she was greeted by an almost suspicious silence but brushed it off.

   “Do you want to put on some warmer clothes before we head out?” She asked, looking at Toru who just nodded before dashing up the stairs behind her. “Did I interrupt something?” She asked, looking confused by the setter’s unusually quiet behavior.

   Toru’s mom just shook her head. “No dear, he’s just being stupid. It’s nothing to worry about.” She said with a gentle smile on her face. “Would you like some hot chocolate to take with you?” She asked as she walked towards the kitchen.

   Shaking off the confusion, the Y/n returned to the conversation. “No, thank you. Toru and I usually get something to drink from the little cafe by the park after our walk.” She said, waiting patiently for said brunette to return from his old bedroom.

    After a couple minutes of comfortable silence, Toru finally made his way down the stairs. “Alright, are you ready to go, love?” He asked, placing his hand on Y/n’s back. When she nodded in confirmation, Toru couldn’t hide the bright smile that spread across his face. “Great, let’s go. We’ll be back in an hour or so.” He announced, guiding Y/n to the door helping her put on her boots and jacket, before putting on his own.

    Y/n couldn’t help but note the subtle nervousness that rested behind the setter’s eyes as they made their way out of the house. Not wanting to push the brunette, Y/n decided to just let Toru come to her when he was ready to talk about whatever was making him nervous.

    As the evening went on, Y/n noticed that Toru only seemed to get more anxious. His hands felt slightly clammy in hers, he would get lost in thought not noticing that she was speaking to him. It all had started to worry her, but she still decided to give him space to come to her. If it was important he would let her know, right?

   They had been in the park looking at lights for about an hour, when Y/n finally decided that Toru needed to stop holding in whatever was making him nervous. After trying to gently prompt him to start talking by asking him if something was on his mind, and receiving no response, Y/n decided to go with plan b.

   While the brunette's focus was on the lights in front of them, Y/n bent down and grabbed a handful of snow. After packing the snow into a tight ball, Y/n took a couple steps back, before throwing the snow at the back of Toru’s head.

   She watched as the athlete jumped at the impact of the cold ball exploding against his hair; it took everything in her not to laugh at the surprise that spread across his face as he turned to her. As he tried to process what had just happened, Y/n reached back to the ground quickly preparing another snow ball.

   “If you throw that snowball you’re declaring war” Toru said, recognizing the mischief in Y/n’s eyes.

   Readying her arm to throw the snow, Y/n countered the athlete’s statement. “Well then I guess this is war.” As she said the last word, she threw the snowball directly at Toru’s chest, laughing as surprise and anxiety morphed into mock anger and real joy.

   What had started as an attempt to get Toru to talk about his anxieties quickly evolved into a snowball fight between two adults in the middle of the park. For twenty minutes, the two threw snowballs at each other while running through the park, both parties completely forgetting their thoughts prior to icey war that had started. 

   Eventually Y/n began to slow down, not having the same stamina as the professional volleyball player. Taking advantage of the brief pause in Y/n’s assault, Toru took this as his chance to claim victory. Running forward he lifted her off the ground taking her by surprise, chuckling at the slight squeal she released as he spun her around.

   “I win.” He said triumphantly as he set her back on her feet. Looking down at Y/n, he couldn’t hold back the large smile that always graced his face when he looked at her. From the moment they met he had been amazed with her beauty and seeing her now smiling with flecks of snow littering her hair, he knew that his feelings would never change.

   “So what do you want as a prize, oh great Toru Oikawa?” She said, breaking Toru out of his thoughts.

   Laughing at the teasing tone she used, Toru thought for a second. “Marry me.” The words left his mouth before he could stop them, not that he would want to, but that was not how he pictured asking her.

   After a moment, Y/n shook the surprise from her face, opting to laugh. “Are you serious, Toru? You want me to marry you as a reward for beating me in a silly snowball fight?” She asked, trying to cover her nervousness and slight hope that he was in fact being serious.

   “Well yes and no.” He responded. Noticing the even more confused look that spread across Y/n’s face, he decided it was now or never. “Yes I want you to marry me, but not because I won a completely serious snowball fight.” Toru explained, hoping his honesty wasn’t going to scare away the woman he decided he loved more than volleyball.

   Toru watched as Y/n processed what he had said. He couldn’t help but worry that her silence meant he had moved too fast. He was once again pulled from his train of thought by the sound of her voice.

   “Are you being 100% serious right now Toru? Like this isn’t one of your silly jokes right?” She asked looking up at him, hoping to see whether he was telling the truth or not.

   Understanding that she was trying not to get her hopes up, Toru fully committed to go through with his plan. He had wanted to ask her this for months, but first he needed a ring and then he wanted the moment to be perfect. When they had gone separate ways to find gifts for each other, he had stopped to get a ring that had caught his eye when they passed the shop earlier on. And seeing her standing so close to him, Christmas lights shining all around them as snow slowly started to fall again, he knew that there wouldn’t be a moment as perfect as this.

   Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the ring box as he lowered to kneel in front of Y/n. “Y/n Y/l/n, I have wanted to ask you this for months, hell probably even years. You are the most amazing woman any man could ask for. I know I already asked so much of you when I asked you to move to Argentina with me and I can only hope that this isn’t asking too much of you again. Will you marry me?” He asked, looking up at Y/n seeing that her face mirrored his own, both showing nothing but love for the other.

   Not missing a beat, Y/n quickly pulled Toru off the ground, placing a kiss to lips before holding his face in her hands. Her eyes expressing so many happy emotions she couldn’t figure out how to put them into words. She decided on the simplest response, but it clearly did not lack any meaning. “Yes.”

   After placing the ring on her finger, the two shared a deep kiss before walking hand in hand out of the park. Both overjoyed with the turn of events that will forever change the meaning of their yearly stroll through the snow covered park.

(christmas divider by @nectardaddy)

[jonquilyst]

To the guy who got mad at me and said I should “lose my attitude” over a price discrepancy at work today, I hope you come to the realization that maybe the same should be said about yourself.

There was a misunderstanding. I didn’t know that $5.29 was the sale price and not the regular price. I thought the price was supposed to be lower since you asked about it being on sale. So I of course asked if you had a rewards card so we could try to sort this out, but then you got angry and escorted me to the price tag in question, where I realized what was going on and told you the price was correct.

Yes, I was a little firm with you, but that’s because I’m a human being, not a robot. You were raising your voice at me. If you’re gonna be mad to me, then don’t expect sunshine and rainbows in return. Not to mention on your way out you decided to shoot me down over said “attitude” when you could have moved on and kept your mouth shut. Sooo... Maybe you’re the one that needs to chill?

The item in question was a pint of ice cream, btw.

A guy got mad at me over a pint of ice cream.

[camgoloud]

today. i have experienced the HORRORS (opened laptop for morning meeting while seated between boss and coworker; was greeted with ao3 page i forgot to close last night)

[kyri45]

HIIIIII!!! Read through your entire shadowpeach parents au in a day and I'm OBSESSED!!! The latest comics with Red Son and MK were gorgeous, tbh I think the song Fantastic by King Princess is a perfect match for those scenes!

I had a kinda (actually make that very) stressful day so would you have any cute/fluffy headcanons about spicynoodles? Or hints about what to expect in the future? If not no worries I'll read the comic for the tenth time lol

Thx! <3

I was born for this moment *clear throat*, I can't say too much but since this comic wont divulge too much on spicynoodle after the end I might as well.

MK will climb that man whenever he can, even when he's working on a project you can bet your ass he will be clinging on his back like his life depends on him.

Red Son still has some self awareness over his true form and MK is just there everytime to remind him he's beautiful.

Red Son is typically the one who would go on to even write poetries for MK, or start an absurdly long list of complex compliments for him to get flustered and embarassed for. In the meantime MK just needs to call him "cute" and Red Son.exe will stop working.

Red Son tends to work all night someday but you better bet his monkey bf will force him to bed (MK lifting a 6 feet bull boy like he's a bag of chips is an image that have been haunted me for weeks)

The entire fortress knows these two bitches are together, everyone would open the door for MK and guide him to Red Son door, but the fucker will always, ALWAYS, just sneak inside to Red Son room just to give him surprises kissed while he almost burn him alive from the jumpscare.

During winter MK is even MORE clingly bc the man is just a fucking living furnace

N°1 reason why Mamacaque approved him was bc he knew his son would never be cold again

N°1 reason why Wukong DIDN'T approve of him at first was because he was afraid he would accidentally burn MK.

[notlongtolove]

in eternal lines

spencer’s mind—brilliant and boundless—was one of the reasons you fell for him in the first place. but when the deadlines are looming, it takes everything in you not to snap. because while you’re good at literature because you have to be, spencer's great at it because, well, he’s spencer. 

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader (second person, no y/n)

genre: angst, comfort, fluff... i don't know anymore

content: student!reader gets kinda pissy and snappy but she has a 3000 word essay due and a fever so go easy on her. and spencer is spencer, so patient, so kind :'

word count: 5.2k

note: as a literature major this was extremely self-indulgent... i'm sorry. i love lit student reader and i hope you guys do too! also aptly titled after the one and only sonnet 18 because it was the first poem we were given read in uni <3 (reader is basing her essay on george macdonald's 'the princess and the goblin' and isaac watts' 'divine songs' if anyone is curious; but don't read too deeply into her lines about it because i submitted that essay weeks ago and it's been relinquished it from my mind oops)

a line: You’d decided then and there that if you couldn't break the glass ceiling, you'd make a comfortable home just beneath it. Always looking up, never quite breaking through.

When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st: So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, So long lives this, and this gives life to thee. - william shakespeare

You love your boyfriend. Truly, you do. After all, who else would sift through pages of Whitman’s dense poetry with you or debate whether Rossetti was really referencing Eve’s bite of the apple in Goblin Market? Nobody else ever cared enough to try. Spencer’s mind—brilliant and boundless—was one of the reasons you fell for him in the first place.

So yes, you love your boyfriend. But when deadlines are looming, and submission dates are bearing down on you, it takes everything in you not to snap. Because while Spencer can dissect poetry and prose with an ease that seems almost otherworldly, you sometimes feel the weight of comparison pressing on you. You’re good at it too—of course you are, you have to be. You’re pursuing a degree in it forgodsakes. But Spencer? He’s great at it because, well, he’s Spencer.

And while you can hold your own most days, a fair challenger when you come back from a particularly intriguing lecture too layered to dissect by yourself, there are times you feel like you’re running to keep up. Spencer will pull references from texts and obscure sources you haven’t even heard of, leaving you struggling to connect the dots. And that’s just literature. When he dives into his other passions—you don’t even bother to compete. Instead, you resign yourself to the couch, nodding and asking questions during the rare moments you can sort of follow the thread of his thoughts.

Having an IQ of 187 and an eidetic memory does have its perks. Everyone knows that.

Your friends see it too. Like today when one of them stopped by between classes to return an essay you’d been stressing over for days.

“Well, don’t you look fantastic,” she teased, smirking. “Guessing those leftovers weren’t as ‘fine’ as you thought?”

​​“Don’t even start,” you mutter, weakly grabbing the paper from her hands as you lean on the doorframe. You flip through the pages marked in red ink quickly with the little strength you have, eyes scanning briefly through the comments before you’re on to the next page, next page, next page. They’re not what you’re looking for. 

And then you see it. There on the last page, a definite red circle around it: B+. 

You’d expected it of course. B+—your ever-reliable benchmark. It's a mark of consistency you've been forced to be contented with. It wasn’t horrendous. It wasn’t amazing. It was fine. But you’d worked hard on this one. You’d hoped, maybe, for something more. You’d expected it, and yet, you don’t know why you still feel a pinch of disappointment.

“How’d you do?” you ask grimly, fighting the nausea creeping up your throat.

“Same,” she replies nonchalantly, scrolling through her phone.

You nod, trying not to dwell on the fact that she’d seen your grade before you did.

“Oh, you know it’s always the same,” she adds with a wry smile. “Solidly subpar, as per tradition.” 

The phrase stung a little more now than it had when you’d coined it back in your first year. Back when, after a string of middle-of-the-road grades, you’d decided then and there that if you couldn't break the glass ceiling, you'd make a comfortable home just beneath it. Always looking up, never quite breaking through. 

“Whatever, it was only 20% anyway,” she shrugs.

“Yeah…” you reply weakly, though the disappointment still gnaws at you. You can’t quite shake it. Maybe it’s because deep down, you know you do care—no matter how often you tell yourself you’ve accepted the fate of being perpetually average. You still want, so quietly, so desperately, to be something more. You’ve always had a love for literature: the way words flow across a page, imbuing meaning into simple phrases, transforming them into art. You’ve always admired the beauty of it. But passion doesn’t translate to academic brilliance, and appreciation doesn’t equal A grades. It’s a hard truth you’ve come to learn.

“How was class?” you ask, trying to steer your mind away from its current spiral. “We still on Faerie Queene?”

“Mhmm,” she hums, rolling her eyes. “Kristoff’s still rambling on and on about virtue and chastity. Ha. Imagine me living in those times—at the rate I ghost men, I’d be a certified whore.”

“Well, actually, they’d probably get to you first,” Spencer interrupts as he steps out of the bedroom, his tone slipping into that familiar, matter-of-fact cadence. “Virtue and chastity were considered to be absolute truths in the 16th century. A woman’s value was intrinsically tied to her perceived purity, which of course, was a reflection of her family’s honor.” 

If you weren’t so ill, you would’ve laughed at her face—eyes wide, mouth slightly open in disbelief.

“And then there’s the public shaming,” he continues, leaning casually against the doorframe with his hands tucked into his pockets already miles deep into his thoughts. “In fact, the entire allegory of Book III revolves around chastity as a cornerstone of moral virtue. Witch trials in the late 16th and 17th centuries often targeted women who were thought as sexually deviant or independent, framing their ‘sins’ as some sort of evidence that they were consorting with the devil—”

He pauses, glancing between you and your friend. “So yeah… considering all that, if you’d ‘ghosted’ a few men back then, they probably would’ve gone straight to accusations of witchcraft or worse.”

Your friend stares at him, “...Right. Good to know,” she says, blinking slowly.

“But you know, Edmund Spenser intended The Faerie Queene to be a moral guide for young men,” he adds as an afterthought, realizing he’s just indirectly affirmed your friend’s self-deprecating joke. Spencer shifts awkwardly but can’t help himself by continuing, “It was meant to instil chivalric virtues to shape a model English gentleman. So technically, your interpretation is, um, modern at best.”

Her expression—equal parts baffled, impressed, maybe even a little scared—almost makes you forget how sick you feel.

“So…” she says after a pause, “I’m guessing you’re Spencer?”

“I am,” he replies simply.

“Well,” she says, drawing the word out, “It’s nice to finally put a face to the name.” 

Spencer offers a smile, “Likewise.” 

“Anyway… I’m off.” She slings her bag over her shoulder, “Essay’s not gonna write itself. This one’s 30% by the way. God, I hate Kristoff but Burton’s a close second for sure.”

You wince at the reminder, the weight of your unfinished work pressing on you. The brief called for at least three secondary sources, and you’ve barely scratched the surface.

“Feel better soon, sweetie,” she says, offering you a sympathetic look. You manage a weak smile in return.

“Bye Spencer,” she says, her voice taking on a teasing lilt. “Take care of her for me, will ya?”

“Will do,” he says curtly, giving a small wave as you close the door behind her.

A moment later, your phone buzzes. He’s cute, her text reads. Another follows immediately: And basically a walking Wikipedia.

You start typing a response, but another text pops up before you can send it: Don’t dog on us for using ChatGPT now. You huff and click your phone off instead, tossing it aside. 

Therein lies another source of stress. Spencer is always happy to help you untangle a difficult text or interpret a dense poem, but he draws the line when it comes to your academic work. He never interferes directly. You’ve seen it yourself—The first time you handed him your laptop to review an essay, he’d made his comments verbally, pointing at sections on the screen while explaining his critiques in detail, but never actually touching the keyboard. You’d brought it up during an argument once, after a particularly crushing grade. Your frustration had spilled over: You’re smarter. You type faster. Why can’t you just fix it? But Spencer had only responded with something about “academic integrity” and the importance of maintaining the “code of conduct.” The conversation ended there, and after that, you stopped asking. 

Even yesterday, when you managed to scrape together 300 words for a draft, you’d handed your laptop to him, and again, he was careful to keep his boundaries. Too drained to make edits in real-time, you’d expected—maybe hoped—that he might step in more directly. Instead, Spencer quietly switched the document to “suggesting” mode, marking up your draft with precise yet detached annotations, never infiltrating or overstepping your own words. Spencer Reid is and always will be a stickler for rules. You try to hold yourself to the same standard. You steer clear of AI, no matter how tempting it might be. You know better. Well, that and because Spencer would never let it slide. 

But now it’s late and the thought of letting some website churn out polished, perfectly phrased sentences for you in seconds has never felt more tempting. The nausea has faded, leaving behind a fever in its place. Spencer’s in the living room, reading. You’d banished him to the couch—even the faint sound of pages turning, not to mention the speed at which he reads, was enough to derail your already fragile train of thought. You’d felt bad of course; he’d made soup for you earlier, fed it to you and everything. But with this essay worth 30% of your grade and your 300 words barely scratching the surface of the 3,000-word requirement, you don’t have it in you to be oh-so-sweet and ever-so-grateful. Not right now. You’ve nailed down the introduction—a quick overview of historical context, a sweeping statement on the authors’ intents. But now, the real challenge looms: The thesis. And you’re utterly stuck.

This essay argues that…  that…

You groan in frustration, flopping back against the pillows. So much for children’s literature. You’d chosen this class thinking it’d be an easy ride—fairy tales and picture books, how hard could it be? Yet here you are, being tasked with dissecting the significance of form and language. Now, the simple language and pretty pictures are anything but your friend, doing nothing to help further your argument. Your head throbs, your mouth feels like sandpaper, and the brilliant points you’d thought of in last week’s class are nowhere to be found, lost in the haziness of your mind. With a defeated sigh, you peel back the sheets and shuffle out of the bedroom, laptop in hand, every joint aching in protest. Spencer looks up from his book as the rustle of sheets catches his attention. His heart aches slightly when he sees you in the doorway, clutching your laptop and looking every bit as pitiful as you feel. He sets his book to the side. 

“How’s it going, honey?” he asks sympathetically, even though he already knows the answer from the state of you. 

“It’s barely going,” you admit with a yawn, tears prickling at your eyes from the force of it. They only add to your overall air of defeat as you cross the room and crawl into his lap, laptop balanced precariously on the armrest. “Brain’s foggy, can’t think straight,” you murmur in incomplete sentences. 

“Finalized your thesis yet?” he asks again, his voice gentle but patient. You shake your head, sinking deeper into his chest—It’s a silent surrender, as if giving in to the exhaustion and frustration that’s been building up. Spencer notices, brushing your hair gently away from your face, his hand cool against your hot skin. He presses the back of his hand to your forehead. “You’re burning up, hon,” he says softly, voice full of concern. “Why don’t we get you to bed, take a break for tonight, hm? You can work on this tomorrow.”

Tomorrow. The thought of putting everything off feels like both a relief and a burden. The idea of sleep has never seemed more appealing. But then, the thought of letting this drag on for another day—of pushing the finish line even further out of your reach fills you with dread. But you know you’re not in any state to be working on anything right now, let alone something worth 30% of your final grade. You know that you can’t focus, not when your body feels like it’s ready to give up and when your mind can barely hold onto a coherent thought. “Tomorrow, okay?” Spencer prompts again, calm and gentle. You know he’s right, so, despite the gnawing anxiety in the back of your mind, you nod. “Okay.” 

Spencer doesn’t push, just gives you a small, reassuring smile as he stands. Every movement feels like a chore as he guides you back to bed but the warmth of the blankets and the prospect of rest is more than enough motivation. He tucks you in, his touch comforting and steady. You feel like a weight has been lifted, albeit temporarily. Either way, it’s enough for now. You close your eyes, the thought of picking up where you left off tomorrow seeming almost bearable. 

You wake to the sunlight filtering through the curtains. It takes a moment for your brain to adjust to the new day, the stress of yesterday not entirely gone. But as you sit up, stretching slowly, mind less hazy and joints less achy, you feel a renewed determination, a flicker of focus that was nowhere to be found last night. Your mind is still whirling with fragments of ideas, half-formed arguments, and theoretical connections when Spencer strolls in with a cup of something warm for you.

“Tea.” he announces, handing it to you with a small, triumphant smile. “Decaffeinated.”

You frown, rubbing sleep from your eyes. “Need coffee.”

“Studies say caffeinated beverages stimulate the colon,” he counters matter-of-factly.

“Eww,” you groan, wrinkling your nose at him. “Why’d you have to say it like that?” 

“Exactly like that,” he replies without missing a beat, his tone precise and measured. “You’ve just recovered, and everyone knows caffeine is a gastrointestinal irritant.’

You huff, taking the mug from him. “Fine, but if I don’t finish this essay, it’s on you.” Spencer raises an eyebrow, completely unbothered by your protest. “Somehow, I think you’ll survive.”

You grumble under your breath but take a tentative sip of the tea anyway. It’s not what you wanted, but you can’t deny that he’s probably right—he usually is. The warmth seeps through the mug into your hands, grounding you just enough to pull your laptop over from the bedside table. Its practically empty screen blinks back up at you, as though it’s been waiting patiently all night. Hi again. Still here. Still empty. 

Spencer takes a peek at your screen and you can’t help but glare half-heartedly at the mug in his hands. Of course, it’s coffee. He’d get to enjoy caffeine while insisting you couldn’t. Typical.

“So, I was thinking…” you start, deciding to let the injustice slide for now as you scroll through your document.

“Hmm?” He looks up, his gaze meeting yours over the rim of his cup.

“What if I say that MacDonald’s pedagogy was more effective for children because Watts’s text was too directive. That works, right?” You look up, scanning his face for some form of agreement.

“That’s hardly arguable honey,” his words land softly, but you still feel your shoulders sag. “It’s an observation.”

"But—look at the words they use! It's so different. Here, look at the tone," you insist, nudging your laptop toward him. "There has to be something to be said about that, right?"

Spencer leans in, glancing at your screen before looking back at you. His expression is calm, composed, and maddeningly reasonable. "Watts’s text was meant to be read as a textbook. Of course it’s directive. You know that." 

Do you? You think you don't know much at this point. You don’t know what you know, and you don’t know what you don’t know. You groan, dragging your hands down your face as if you could physically scrape the frustration away. Darn you, Isaac Watts. Darn you, pedagogical learning. Darn you, whoever had the audacity to name this course a simple exploration into the history of children’s literature. 

Before you can wallow further, Spencer slides your laptop away. “How about we brush our teeth before crying over educational theories for children in the 18th century?” he suggests, his voice light. You sigh dramatically, dragging yourself to your feet like it’s some Herculean effort. When you shuffle back from the bathroom, hair slightly damp from washing your face, Spencer has taken over your spot on the bed, laptop resting on his legs as he scrolls through some article. He glances up when you flop down beside him with an exaggerated sigh.

"Feel better?" he asks, the faintest trace of a smirk on his lips.

"Not at all," you grumble. You don’t let him know that the brief pause in frustration has given your head just enough space to try again. 

It’s been hours, but you’ve finally narrowed down your thesis. It’s not amazing—far from it—but it’s something. It’s arguable, at least. Spencer’s been relegated back to the living room, his presence a vague hum in the background as you attempt to focus. You’d claimed you worked better in bed, though Spencer’s tried (and failed) to prove with statistics and studies that it’s just a placebo effect, a lie your brain insists on believing.

But right now, none of that matters. You have a thesis and on that note, an essay to begin. Or, at least, the faintest glimmer of one. And that’s when you hit a wall. Again. You sit cross-legged, laptop perched on your knees as you stare at the cursor, blinking like it knows you’re stuck. You wish it would stop judging you. You drag yourself—and your laptop thats become an extension of your body at this point—into the living room like a child seeking comfort. Spencer barely looks up from his article when you slump into the couch next to him.

“What about this?” You straighten your back, determined to sound confident this time, even if you're not sure where you're going with it. “What if I say that MacDonald’s use of fantasy is critical because it creates like, an emotional bridge and that makes it more effective for moral teaching and—”

“Well, yes," he says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Spencer doesn’t even look up from his article. "But that’s kind of a subpoint, honey.”

You stiffen, irritation rising like bile in your throat. “It’s not a subpoint. It’s a point.”

He shifts in his seat, eyes flicking up, finally meeting yours. His tone isn’t dismissive, but it might as well be. “How is that significant? What does it build toward?”

You grit your teeth. “Ugh, you sound like Kristoff.” You mutter, more to yourself than to him. You know it’s not fair to snap, but your patience is paper thin. You can feel the fever creeping back into your skin, and you’re not sure if it's the heat or the mounting pressure, but suddenly everything feels like a little too much. 

“Fine,” you say, swallowing your frustration, trying again. “What if I say that MacDonald’s narrative style is more progressive because it like, engages the reader’s emotions directly? And that’s why Watts’ text feels scarier?”

Spencer pauses. For a moment, you think you’ve finally hit something solid, his eyes narrowing just enough to show he’s intrigued. “And how are you planning to argue that?”

“Well, um… um—I… I don’t know!” You exhale sharply, throwing your hands up in exasperation. You sink back against the cushions, frustration seeping into your bones. “Something about how MacDonald’s vibe is all nice and charming while Watts is all like, ‘learn this or else’. 

“Sure I guess…” Spencer acknowledges, nodding slightly, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “But you’ll need more than vibes and a strong dislike of Watts to support it sweetheart.”

“Gee, thanks,” you say bitterly, rolling your eyes.

He chuckles softly, a sound that’s too calm, too collected, and somehow that makes it worse. He’s not wrong, but you’re still pissed off. You take a breath, steeling yourself for the next round of dissection. “Okay, then what if I say that MacDonald lets kids think for themselves, and Watts... doesn’t. Because of his moral authority and intellectual agency and whatever.”

Spencer’s eyebrows rise, just a fraction, but it’s enough. You feel a flicker of something—relief, maybe? It’s hard to say. His voice has shifted, just slightly, less detached now, more engaged. “You can build on that.”

“Really?” you ask, suddenly more hopeful than you’d like to admit.

“Really,” he confirms, leaning back in his chair. But then he tilts his head and furrows his brows in a way that makes you want to throw your laptop at him. “But you’ll need to define those terms and back it up with examples. Otherwise, it’s just a claim.” Of course. 

“God, you’re making this so much harder than it needs to be!” you snap, the irritation rising in your throat. “I get it, okay? I need examples. But you’re not even letting me work out a point before you just, I don’t know, shit all over it.” Spencer’s eyes widen, and for a second, you almost feel bad for snapping at him. 

“I’m just trying to help,” he says gently, but there's something in the way he says it—just a little too patient—that makes you bristle. You hate how right he always is, how calm he always looks, how much care he always has in his eyes even when you’re acting out. 

“You’re trying to help?” you repeat incredulously, shaking your head. “You’re poking holes in everything!” Even in your feverish haze, you know you’re being cruel—but you just can’t help it. All you can think about is how everything is slipping away, how your thoughts won’t line up, how your head is starting to hurt again. You’re not even sure if you’re angry at him anymore, or just angry at everything else. 

Spencer doesn’t answer right away. He glances at your screen again, a mess of quotes and bulletpoints. “I just want to make sure it’s solid, honey,” he says finally, his tone softer.

You scoff. “Yeah, well, you tore apart whatever solid lead I thought I had after two hours of work in just about five minutes, so thanks for that,” words tumbling out before you can stop them. Spencer’s silence hangs heavy in the air, and for a moment, neither of you speak. “Just… just let me get through this.” 

Spencer sits there for a moment, just enough for you to feel the weight of the tension shift in the room. “I’m not saying you can’t get through it. I just want you to get through it right,” he says carefully, his voice quiet but insistent. “That’s all.” There’s no judgment in his voice, just care.

But the heat, the fever, it’s all swirling inside you, and you can’t hold it together much longer. “Of course you are…” you mutter bitterly, already regretting everything you’ve said. It feels like every step forward just leads you straight into another wall, and you’re just too tired to keep going. It’s not that you want to push him away or that you don’t appreciate his help. You’re just too irritable, too exhausted. You just want the whole damn essay to be done—and you wish you didn’t need his help to make it happen. You want to yell, to throw something, to demand that the world stop spinning long enough for you to catch your breath. But all that comes out is a hollow, defeated sigh. 

You feel like you're drowning and you don’t want to drag him under with you. “I’m just…” You stop yourself, swallowing hard, trying to gather whatever little strength you have left. “I’m just so tired.” 

Spencer looks at you, eyes full of concern, but it doesn’t help. You don’t want sympathy. You want to be better—to be able handle all of this. You want to be able to write this damn essay on goddamn children’s books without falling apart. And it doesn’t help that you’re falling apart in front of Spencer. The same Spencer who can recite verses from Paradise Lost at the drop of a hat. You’d almost burst into tears the last time he did it after it had taken you an entire week just to decipher and analyze a single chapter with any real confidence. You can’t help but feel that pang of inadequacy every time he breezes through something you’ve struggled with, even if he doesn’t mean to make it look so effortless. You hate yourself for it. You can’t find a way to shake the feeling that you’re not doing enough, not good enough. Not for yourself, not for him. You feel the sting of it, it’s pressing on your chest, suffocating.

“I just… just feel like I can’t keep up with any of it.” You don’t say it with any anger, just exhaustion. It’s not even directed at him anymore—it’s just the fact that you feel so stuck, so far behind where you should be, where you so badly want to be. “Like I can’t keep up with you.” 

Oh. Spencer feels his heart sink. He’s always prided himself on being able to read people. He should’ve known better. He’d been so focused on helping, so intent on pushing you to reach the level he knows you’re capable of, the level he knows you want to be at—even if you keep telling yourself you don’t. The fever, the deadlines, the constant pushing—he should’ve known that it was all too much. 

“You don’t have to keep up with me honey, I’m right here with you,” he says, trying to get you to look up at him. You can’t meet his gaze. You feel guilty for snapping, for letting the frustration slip out, but you’re not rational enough right now to pull yourself out from this spiral of self-pity. It’s easier to stay here, in the anger, the frustration, than to face the embarrassment of it all. 

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, his voice tinged with regret. “I didn’t mean to make things harder for you.” Spencer takes your hand, cautiously, testing the waters. He knows you don’t exactly want to be touched right now. He knows it makes you feel coddled. He pauses, waiting for your reaction. When you don’t push him away, he gains the confidence to cradle your face gently. You don’t resist, your tired eyes meeting his, heavy with sadness and Spencer thinks he can actually feel his heart break.

“You’re doing just fine sweetheart. You’re not falling behind. You’re just stressed. And sick.” He knows you’re feeling fragile, like any comfort might smother you so he threads forward lightly. “This essay? You’ll get it done. I promise.” It sounds right, and yet it doesn’t really help. It doesn’t stop the doubt that’s eating at you, the sense that you’re just not measuring up to everything you want to be. You feel like you’re barely treading water, no matter how hard you swim, the shore never gets any closer.

But for now, Spencer’s words are enough to quiet the panic—a buoy in your sea of sadness threatening to pull you under. You cling to it, knowing you’ll have to start swimming again soon. But for this moment, you allow yourself to stop. A beat. A pause. A breath—Just for now.

It’s only the next day that you manage to get the words on the page, not in any smooth, brilliant way, but they’re there. The sentences form, sometimes haltingly, sometimes with more confidence, until the essay is painfully but finally done. Not perfect, but it’s done. Relief washes over you, even as exhaustion lingers. 

The moment you hear the front door open, you practically leap up, laptop in hand, meeting Spencer before he can even take his shoes off. He raises an eyebrow, setting his bag down as you both settle onto the couch. Without a word, you hand over the laptop, nerves bubbling beneath the surface. You wait with bated breath as he begins to scroll, your laborious effort displayed in black and white. The sound of the touchpad clicking feels louder than it should in the quiet room. He asks a few questions, here and there—clarifications, mostly. Questions you answer with ease, surprising even yourself with the confidence in your responses. He nods along, his expression thoughtful, but not critical. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Spencer looks up, eyes bright, a proud smile on his face. “It looks great, honey. You did a really good job.” 

You can’t help the grin that spreads across your face at his praise. “Really?” Spencer leans in, cupping your cheek gently, and presses a soft kiss to your lips. “Really.” When he pulls back, his forehead rests lightly against yours for a moment, his hand still cradling your cheek. “You worked so hard on this,” he murmurs. “So proud of you.”

Your chest tightens, but in a good way, and you can’t stop yourself from leaning forward to kiss him again, this time slower, savoring the comfort he always seems to bring. “Now," he pulls away just enough to smirk, "can I have my bedroom back, or should I just start setting up camp on the couch?” You laugh, rolling your eyes, but it’s full of affection. “Don’t even start.” Spencer chuckles, his arm slipping around your waist as he pulls you closer, the tension of yesterday long forgotten.

When you get your paper back, you flip through the pages, one after the other, looking for the feedback, waiting for the corrections, the marks that tell you where you inevitably went wrong.

Next page. Next page. Next page.

And then, there it is. On the last page, in a definitive red circle, unmistakable: A.

It’s an A. 

A goddamn A.

It doesn’t feel like a one-time fluke, not exactly, but you can’t shake the thought that this might be the only time you break through the glass ceiling you’ve spent so long looking up at. And who knows, maybe you’ll never push past it again. But for now, you allow yourself to relish in this singular moment of triumph. It’s enough. It’s more than enough. 

Because now you know that the other side is real, and that you can get there. But Spencer, the genius, the enigma, who’s always been a step ahead of everyone in everything academic, has always known.

And while everyone knows that an A in an essay that’s only a partial percentage of your overall grade isn’t anything compared to what he’s achieved, nothing compared to the academic milestones he’s already crossed—Still, he’s here, celebrating with you. You can see it in his eyes, even if he knows you’re not one to make a big deal of these kinds of things. His quiet joy is evident in the way he grins that little grin of his, the one that’s only for you. 

So, in summary, in essence, in all the words and ways you could possibly use to phrase a conclusion—You love your boyfriend. Truly, you do. After all, who else would read through your entire syllabus for the semester (frustratingly quickly), just because he knows you understand better when you can talk things out? Who else would patiently stick around, exiled to the couch in their own home, while you’re exhausted, irritable, and buried in deadlines? Nobody else ever cared enough to try. Spencer’s mind—though brilliant and boundless—isn’t the only reason why you fell for him. 

Because when the world feels too heavy, when the never ending lines of poetry and prose become too difficult to untangle by yourself, Spencer’s there reminding you—ever so gently, ever so steadily—that you can make it through, one word at a time.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ hi if you're here! thank you for reading! feel free to like or reblog or comment or reply!

[maemelany]

RACING HEARTS - Part 2: MONACO I

Pairings: Lewis Hamilton x reader 

Summary: You and Lewis have been talking for a few weeks now, and he invited you to the Monaco GP. You can’t deny the attraction anymore. 

Warnings: smut – light but still smut 

Word count: 1.5k 

Series masterlist here

part 3 here

A/N: Part 1 of part 2 (I know it’s a mouthful) is here. It’s shorter, but since it’s divided into two parts, I thought it was okay to share it. I hope you’ll enjoy it. Let me know how you feel about it and if you want to be added to the tag list. 

Love, Mae. 

You were invited to the Cannes Festival. It was your third year attending, but this time, it felt different. 

The first time, you were scared to make a mistake or fail off the steps. The second time around, you were shocked to still be invited. You had more fun, but that feeling of not belonging was still present. This year, you were just having fun. You felt more confident, and you finally accepted that you deserved it. That your hard work was appreciated and that you belonged. 

It was also exciting because Cannes was not your final destination. You spent the first week there, climbing the stairs and attending a few parties for some sponsors, and then you were off to Monte-Carlo. 

You had not stopped talking to Lewis since the Miami race. It happened naturally, and you talked almost every day about anything and everything. 

You mentioned travelling to France for the Cannes Festival, and Lewis did not hesitate to ask if you would have time to come to his race. 

Of course, you said yes. You had to tweak some things in your schedule, but you could not deny to yourself that you were happy to see him again. 

You went from denying that something could happen to hoping something was indeed happening. 

You’d never been to Monte Carlo, so you enjoyed the view from the back of the car. It was night, so the city was shining, and the view did not disappoint. 

Monaco’s nightlife was known all over the world, but witnessing it was something else. It felt like everybody was out, having fun and wearing incredible outfits.  

Suddenly, you did not feel as overdressed as you first thought when you left your last event in Nice without changing to catch a helicopter to Monte-Carlo. 

When the car left you in front of the marina, you weren’t sure where to go. It was just a line of yachts, and you never asked Lewis where you were supposed to meet exactly. 

“Y/n!” 

You turned around, and there he was. You couldn’t help but smile as he approached you. He hugged you, and you embraced it without hesitation. He smelled so good. 

“I’m so glad you came. You look fantastic,” he said when he moved back 

“Thank you. You don’t look too bad yourself.” 

You weren’t lying. Lewis’s style was implacable and today was no exception. He smiled and extended his hand for you to hold it. You took it, your heart skipping another bit. 

“So, you said it was your first time in Monaco, right?” he asked you 

You nodded. “Yep. I never got the chance or the time to stop here. Plus, I don’t know anyone that lives here, and I don’t speak French.” 

“Now you do. I mean, my French is pretty bad, don’t get me wrong, but I’ll show you around.” 

You simply smiled, not sure what to say. Lewis then stopped in front of a beautiful, greyish yacht.

“I don’t know if you have a hotel room reserved, but we have rooms here if you want. I thought we could anchor out at sea for the night, and I’ll show you around the city tomorrow?” 

You thought about it for a few seconds. You did not have a room reserved, and you felt ashamed to admit it. You left Nice in a rush, and you were too busy during the past week to make arrangements. 

Lewis could see that you were spinning your wheels, so he guided you inside. 

“Let me show you around,” he said 

He showed you the yacht's common spaces. You could tell that he was passionate about it as he talked about how fast it could go and the updates they made to improve the boat.

You did not know much about boats, but his enthusiasm was contagious, and you found yourself asking questions. 

As the evening passed, you became more relaxed and even told him a few jokes about weird situations you found yourself in Cannes. 

There were also subtle touches. Lewis’s love language seemed to be physical touch, as he started to touch your arm distractedly as you two talked. 

“Did I tell you how beautiful you look tonight?” he asked you again after a peaceful blank in the conversation. 

You could feel your cheeks getting warm despite the fresh breeze on the upper deck. 

“You did, but I don’t mind you repeating yourself.” 

Lewis smiled.“Well, you look beautiful. And you smell amazing; what is it?” 

You opened your mouth, ready to share your perfume’s name, but he stopped you. “Let me try and guess it.” 

Before you could add something, he got closer. You could hear him breathe as his face got closer to your neck. 

“I’m going to say… there’s bergamot in it?” 

“Nope… try again” you whispered 

He got closer, his lips almost touching your neck now. 

“Vanilla?” 

You chuckled. “How do you go from bergamot to vanilla? They’re like, totally opposite.” 

“Hmm…” he said, now leaving tiny kisses on your neck 

You closed your eyes. It felt good. “Try one more time.” 

You could feel him grinning. You knew he would not guess it, but you didn’t want him to pull away.

“What do I get if I guess it?” he asked. 

Your smile broadened. There was no way he was going to guess it. “Anything you want” 

Lewis froze for a second but did not pull away. “Anything? That’s a big bet.” 

“Something’s telling me I’ll win anyway,” you said, your heart beating faster. 

He kissed your neck one more time; this time, you couldn’t help a small moan to escape your mouth.

“It’s musk. And there’s also a bit of Amber. Spices too” 

It was your turn to freeze. You opened your eyes and pulled away from him. The shock must have been plastered on your face because Lewis burst out laughing. 

“I guess I won,” he said when he calmed down 

 “How did you… you said bergamot first!” you asked, still in shock 

His mischievous smile you were growing to love was on. “How about I get my prize, and then I tell you my secret?” 

You almost forgot about that. You did say he could have anything he wanted if he guessed it right. 

“Okay, what do you want?” 

“How about I show you?” he said. “Come here.” 

The tone of his voice left no room for hesitation. You found yourself getting closer until your knees were touching. He was looking at you; everything you needed to know about how he felt or what he wanted was pretty clear. 

“Stop me if you don’t want it, but I’m about to kiss you. And I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop.” 

You opened your mouth and then closed it. Nobody had ever been so direct to you. 

“I want it,” you whispered. 

He softly touched your face, and you closed your eyes. You could feel his soft touch on your cheek, and then he stopped at your mouth, opening it with two fingers. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered. 

You smiled, but it didn’t last, as you gasped right after. Lewis was kissing your neck again, but this time, it wasn’t soft kisses. You could feel the butterfly migrating to your stomach and then even lower.

“Lewis…” you whispered 

“Hmm?” he said, still giving attention to your neck.

“I…” you wanted more, but you couldn’t say it. Instead, you pushed your hands in his hair, pressing him closer. 

“I won, remember? I’m doing whatever I want, y/n.” 

His hands were everywhere. In your hair, on your face, your breasts. He was teasing you. You wanted him to kiss you. If you were honest with yourself, you wanted more than that. But he was taking his sweet time, working you until you couldn’t stop the moans from escaping your mouth. 

When he pressed your nipples harder, the thin fabric of your dress not posing any blockage, you lost it. You grabbed him closer as you could feel yourself getting closer. 

“Fuck…” he whispered and then made you climb his lap. 

You were still catching your breath when he pulled you up. You were now on his lap, feeling his erection between you. 

“Kiss me,” he said, looking at you. 

You did not hesitate and kissed him. It felt like home. Like you’ve been kissing for ages. It was soft at first but then got more intense as he pressed you closer to him. 

You started to move, straddling his lap as the kiss got deeper. You gasped when he pushed his hand between your thighs, under your dress. Without hesitating, Lewis parted your panties and plunged a finger into you. 

“Oh my god,” you whispered 

“Not him, all me,” he chuckled. “Say it, love.” 

“Lewis,” you moaned his name, gasping against his mouth when he added another finger. 

“That’s it, love, come for me.” 

It felt like it was all you were waiting for, him asking you to come. You curled your toes inside your high heels, squeezed your legs as much as you could and came. 

“Oh my god,” you managed to say in a shaky breath. 

Lewis smiled, softly kissing your temple. You stayed like that for what felt like forever, enjoying the breeze and Lewis caressing your back. 

“I’m taking it you’re staying the night,” he finally said 

You chuckled. You were staying. In fact, you didn’t just stay that night; you stayed the entire week. 

Tag list:

@carelessreadersstuff

[asheepinthenight]

Talon’s End Devlog: October 2024

Happy Halloween and Blessed Samhain to those who celebrate! Somehow, another month has passed, and here we are again! The Hawk short is almost done, but it just wasn't feasible to complete it and have it tested in time for Halloween. It's much shorter than last year's Halloween extra—I just have much less free time this year!

For those of you who only discovered TE recently, I had a pretty major change in my life a few months ago that has resulted in a drop in free time from 1-2 days a week to a few hours (if that!). It's been a positive change for me, but it has hit my writing time pretty hard. I'm still figuring out the best way to balance everything in a way that I'm happy with, but I am still working—TE isn't on hiatus, just a very, VERY slow update schedule! I should have a bug fix update coming next week based on some recent bug reports (thank you!).

Thank you all again for your patience! I posted a short preview from the middle of the werewolf!Hawk extra a couple months ago, but the first few paragraphs (they/them Hawk pronouns, Hawk/MC relationship is romantic) are under the cut:

Hawk's tail thumps the ground as they sit beside you, impatiently waiting for the moon to set. You flip the veggie burgers that you've been grilling, and Hawk responds to the renewed sizzling with a rumbling growl. If you didn't know them, you might have been alarmed, but since you're familiar with the limited vocabulary of Hawk's wolf form, you know that it merely indicates impatient excitement. You scratch behind Hawk's large pointed ears, and their tail thumping increases in enthusiasm.

One would think that spending time with a werewolf during a full moon wouldn't involve mundane things like barbequing a healthy dinner. But these days, with the vampire threat mostly under control, mundane is what full moons usually look like for you. Indeed, one of the primary difficulties you face is that Hawk's vegetarian diet apparently tastes much less satisfying to a wolf palate than a human one, so "dinner" has been relocated to the early morning hours when the full moon finally sets. But judging by the continued low rumbling and the way Hawk is leaning heavily against you, the wait has, as usual, not been a pleasant one. You run your fingers through their thick fur, and golden eyes look up at you plaintively. If you ever called that expression puppy-dog eyes, they'd deny it—but that's exactly what it is. Keeping that thought to yourself, you remove the finished burgers from the grill as the moon continues to sink below the horizon.

Deep in the woods, another member of Hawk's pack begins to howl, and a chorus of werewolf voices follows until Hawk sits up and throws their head back to join in. No matter how many times you've heard it, Hawk's howl still gives you chills. Even with all the strange and fantastical things you've experienced as a vampire hunter, your mate's howl feels otherworldly.

As the pack's howl fades to echoes, the last silver rays of moonlight vanish, and you brace yourself for what's coming next.

[darknights04]

are you still working on the Elijah mikaelson Bridgeton fic?

I'm sorry it took so long 😭😭 Lots of life changes have been occurring. But here it is, a small blurb of what could be the start of a series if you guys like it.

The Social Season

Pairing: Elijah Mikaelson x reader Summary: The Mikaelsons have returned to London for this year's social season. No girl had ever caught Elijah's eye before, until now. Word Count: 2772 Masterlist

London 1814

The London social season had been in full swing by the time the Mikaelsons had returned to the city during one of Lady Danbury’s events. Elijah and his siblings had barely walked through the doors before ruthless mamas began to smooth our their daughter’s dresses while eyeing them from across the room. Elijah was the prize, certainly, but if any woman was to catch a Mikaelson son at all they would consider it a win. Rebekah had also never had a difficulty keeping her dance card full. 

It was well past the first soiree of the season, but it was the first that the Mikaelson siblings had made an appearance at. The marriage-minded missus of the city (and their mamas) always kept a keen eye out for them. While they may not have had the status of the Duke, the Mikaelson family was both well known, respected, and equally as feared. Not even Lady Whistledown dared to write more than their names. 

“Must we return to this god-awful city every year?” Niklaus groaned as the wave of young bachelorettes swarmed towards them. 

“Speak for yourself,” Kol smiled, watching the ladies with a much different expression. “I rather like being adored.” 

“Mikaelsons!” they all heard coming from the opposite direction. Upon inspection they saw none other than Anthony Bridgerton advancing towards them. Rebekah and Elijah turned toward him with bright smiles with Niklaus and Kol tended to the hoard of ladies with empty dance cards. 

“Bridgerton,” Elijah greeted with a smile, meeting his arm in the middle to shake his hand in greeting. 

“You’ve missed a great amount in the short few weeks you’ve been absent this season.” 

“Yes, well, we had some family business to tie up back in the states across the water.” 

“No matter, you are all here now. You must join our family for a promenade sometime soon so I might regale you with all the happenings from the season thus far.” 

“I’m sure we’ll catch up plenty with a reading of the last couple Lady Whistledown issues,” Rebekah remarked with a small chuckle.

“Yes but surely, sister, as you know as well as I Whistledown doesn’t know everything,” Elijah corrected before turning back to Anthony with a smile. “We’ll be glad to join you, Bridgerton. You shall name the day.” 

“Fantastic! Oh and we must not forget the ball my mother is hosting at our estate in the country. You’d all be welcome there as my guests if you so desire.” 

“I would be honored, my lord,” Rebekah said with a smile, bowing her head slightly. It was no secret that she fancied the man. Her whole family could see it. While Rebekah had no intention of being courted or heavens forbid marrying anyone, she could still dream about the life she might live were she able to. The beautiful family that might surround her. The number of children she and the viscount might have been able to have together. But that was nothing more than a fantasy. Precisely the reason that Elijah was hardly ever seen taking any young ladies to the floor. He felt it foolish to fill them with futile hopes of him proposing. Every respectable lady of the ton desired marriage, children, a real family. Something none of the Mikaelsons would be able to provide. 

Nonetheless, the Mikaelsons always appeared before the ton each year during the height of the social season just long enough to maintain appearances. Not to mention, Kol had not found an easier afternoon snack than that of a young lady hoping for a betrothal. They never killed any of the members of the ton, of course. Such a high standing society member would surely be missed. Nothing a bit of the vampires’ own blood and a little compulsion couldn’t resolve.

“You must meet my dear cousin,” Anthony stated after a brief moment. “She’s come to live with us after the passing of her mother, my aunt.” 

Anthony turned as he beckoned you over to them. Elijah sighed as he looked down at his feet, readjudsting his posture to be more proper as he awaited your arrival. When his eyes met yours, however, his reluctance towards the introduction vanished. 

“Mikaelsons,” Anthony continued. “This is my cousin, miss Y/n Ledger.” 

“A pleasure,” you said with a polite smile and a perfect curtsy. 

“The pleasure is mine,” Elijah replied quickly, offering his hand for you to take. Once you softly placed your hand into his, Elijah brought it ever so slowly up to his lips as he touched the softest kiss to your gloved hand; an action that did not go unnoticed by Rebekah, nor the ravenous mamas behind them. Elijah was not one to give more than a curt nod to young ladies introducing themselves. “Lady Ledger-”

“Just miss Ledger,” you corrected. “Lady Ledger was my grandmother.” 

While the response was simple, it answered many of Elijah’s questions. For one, you were not married. If you had been married you would either hold a title as a lady or hold a different last name than your grandmother. Second, your mother was not married. Had your father been a Ledger himself, your mother would hold the title of Lady Ledger, not your grandmother. As that title is still her grandmother’s to hold, your mother hadn’t married a lord to gain the title herself. Thirdly, she must be related to the Bridgertons through the sister of the current vicountesses Bridgerton. 

“Pardon me, Miss Ledger. Would you care to do me the honor of a d-”

“Y/n, surely you must join me for a cool glass of lemonade,” Rebekah interrupted, linking her arm through yours as she dragged you away to the drinks table. 

Elijah stood dumbfounded as you both walked away. Rebakah knew it was improper to interrupt, but after living for 800 years she couldn’t come to care. Elijah watched your expression closely. He expected a protest, or for you to at least look back towards him. There wasn’t a chance you didn’t catch what he wanted to ask you. Any other lady would have jumped at the opportunity to be led to the floor by a Mikaelson. Especially by Elijah, being the eldest for all intents and purposes. 

As soon as the two of you were gone, Elijah was swarmed by the ton much like his brothers were just moments before. Nikalus and Kol could not agree to another single dance, having agreed to partner with a different lady for each one, so naturally the crowd has turned next

‘’ towards both Elijah and Anthony, knowing this was the season the viscount longed to secure a wife. 

Anthony looked towards Elijah with raised eyebrows as he let out a deep sigh before having to face the wolves. 

--- 

As the week went on, Elijah and Rebekah agreed to join the Bridgerton family in a turn about the park in Mayfair. Rebekah loved their family. She envied Violet’s ability to have so many children. A life she longed for herself. Elijah, on the other hand, wanted to know more about you. 

“Bridgertons,” Elijah greeted the family with a nod as they approached. “Miss Ledger,” he said toward you.

“My lord,” you greeted back with a smile and a small bow.

“Would you care for a turnabout the lake?” he offered, holding his arm out for you. 

“Oh,” you said with a slight tone of surprise, looking back at the Bridgerton family. Before you could find the words to accept or deny, Violet spoke up for you. 

“She would love one,” Violet beamed with a nod, pulling you forward to take his arm. 

You chuckled in defeat as you wrapped you arm around his, hand resting on the crook of his elbow. 

The two of you had barely gotten ten feet from the rest of the family before he bagan to bombard you with questions. You didn’t mind, of course. Most most began conversations this way, especially when “interviewing” their potential matches. 

“So I really must ask,” he began. “How is it that you’re not married yet?” 

You chuckled at his question, one of the ones you expected to hear first. “Well, my mother had me out of wedlock. If it wasn’t for or connection to the Bridgertons then I would be labeled a bastard child and thrown out of society entirely. Instead, my mother trained me from a young age so I could have the perfect match. She was determined. Too determined. Her determination ended up turning away a lot of possible suitors.”

As you spoke, you noticed Elijah was genuinely interested in what you had to say. He wasn’t spaced out as you rambled on, he didn’t seem annoyed or simply waiting for you to be finished. He wanted to know about you. About your life.

“As the seasons past, and I got older, everyone began to lose interest. I’ve been officially put ‘on the shelf’ as they would call it, at the ripe age of three and twenty.”

“Yet you still attend events with the rest of the ton?” he questioned. 

“Living with the Bridgertons comes with a surplus of invitations,” you explained with a smile. “And Eloise needs encouragement through her first season.” 

Elijah let out a laugh at that. “I pity any man who tries to tame her.” 

“Not possible,” you rebutted with a laugh of your own. “Eloise is one horse that cannot be tamed.”

As you continued to walk, you noticed many eyes turned to stare at the two of you. 

“And what of you?” you asked him. It was his turn to answer your questions. 

“What of me?” 

“Surely you have your number of available matches. Why have you gone so long without securing one?” 

Elijah chucked while glancing to the floor, watching your feet walk in sync. “In truth I’ve never had the desire to settle down with anyone,” he explained. “It didn’t seem like the type of life I was meant to live.” 

“And now?” you asked. Both of your steps had halted as you turned to face one another, his eyes searching yours as if trying to find the words to answer you. 

“Now…” he began, not truly knowing what his answer was. “Now, I’m not sure what the future holds for me.” 

The two of you stayed in silence you a couple moments longer, stuck searching the others eyes for answers to questions you didn’t know. It wasn’t until you remembered where you were that you tore your eyes from his, clearing your throat.

“We should make our way back,” you said simply. “They’ll be serving tea under the gazebo soon. Would you and your sister care to join us?” 

It was Elijah’s turn tp clear his own throat, facing back towards the path in front of you as he continued to walk.

“Indeed,” he nodded. “That would be quite agreeable.”

After a few moments of silence, you spoke up again. “You must join us in Aubrey Hall next week.”

“Yes, Lord Bridgerton mentioned retiring to the country for a ball his mother is hosting.” 

“He’s invited the Sharma family to join us before the rest of the invited guests arrive, I insist your family do the same.” 

“Are you certain?” he asked with raised eyebrows. “We would not wish to be a burden.”

“It’s no trouble at all,” you assured him. “There is plenty of space and I could use the company while Anthony is busy in his dance of courtship. I shall discuss it with the family upon our return.” 

As the two of you walked back towards the Bridgertons, you felt eyes on you left and right. Both lords and ladys staring at the pair of you with two feelings on their mind. Confusing and envy. 

---

As the Mikaelsons dismounted from their carriage at Aubrey Hall, the entirety of the Bridgerton family was waiting to greet them. 

“Lord Mikaelson,” Violet smiled, greeting him with open arms. 

“Elijah, please,” he corrected, bowing his head slightly towards her. “You’ve invited us to be guests in your home, its only fair that you might call us by our given names. You know my sister, Rebekah,” he continued, motioning towards his siblings. “And might I introduce my brother, Niklaus and Kol.” 

“A pleasure, Lady Bridgerton,” Kol greeted with a bow of his own, followed by Niklaus.

“You have a lovely home,” he spoke up with a warm smile. 

“While you’re here you may think of it as your own,” Violet began before motioning towards the front doors. “Please, we were just about to sit down for tea. The Sharmas should be arriving any moment.”

As the group walked into the house, Elijah’s face lit up with a smile seeing you sitting in the parlor, waiting for everyone else. 

“My lord,” you smiled, standing up to offer a quick curtsy. “I’m pleased you could make it.”

Elijah grabbed your hand before your eyes raised to meet his, bringing it once more up to lightly caress it with his lips. Your breath hitches in your throat as this time, you weren’t wearing your gloves. 

“I wouldn’t miss it,” his said, looking back at you with a smile, you hand staying in his while he looks up at you. 

His eyes held yours for another moment before you heard a throat clear behind you. Elijah turned to see Kol with a sly smirk on his face.

“Ah, yes, miss Ledger allow me to introduce my brothers, Kol and Niklaus.” 

Both men in question smiled warmly as they each gave the the girl a quick bow. 

“Brother,” Elijah continued. “I’d like you both to meet miss Y/n Ledger. Cousin to the Bridgertons.” 

“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” you said with a smile of your own, giving a small curtsy. 

“Miss Ledger,” Niklaus starting, stepping forward to be next to Elijah. “I hear you’re quite the artist. I myself dabble in painting every now and again, I’d love to see your work.” 

Elijah looked towards his brother uneasily. Anyone who overheard him may have taken his comment as a kind remark, but Elijah didn’t miss the calculating grin on his face. He had an agenda. 

“An artist?” Elijah repeated with a slight tone of surprise. He wasn’t sure how his brother came to know this.

“Yes, brother. I’ve done my research,” Klaus answered back simply. 

“Oh,” you began, a bit take off guard by his knowledge of you. “Well I’ve tried my hand at painting every now and again, but Benedict is the true artist of the family. It’s him you’d be wanting to speak with about it.” 

“Miss Ledger I don’t recall ever seeing you on the dance floor,” Kol spoke up next. “You must allow me to lead you sometime. I am, after all, the best dancer in the family.” 

“Perhaps the best male dancer,” Rebekah spoke up, seemingly appearing beside him. “Both of you, stop overwhelming the poor girl.” 

“Oh, I really don’t mind, Lady Mikaelson.”

“Rebekah, please,” she almost scoffed. “Titles make me feel much too old.” 

“I couldn’t possibly-”

“I insist,” she interrupted. “In any case, we are all most comfortable being called by our given names. When one hears the name ‘Mikaelson’ being thrown from across the ballroom we never know for who it is intended for.” 

“Very well, Rebekah. Then you all must call me Y/n. Especially here in the country, away from the rules of London society.” 

“Lord Mikaelson,” Violet could be heard from behind, approaching the small group in the parlor. 

“Again, Elijah really is fine,” he corrected again with a chuckle.

“Elijah,” she repeated, a warm smile on her face. “You really must allow Y/n to take you on a tour of the grounds. I hear you’re quite the reader and my late husband, Edmund, had quite the collection in his library.” 

“But aunt Violet,” you started before Elijah could give an answer. “I told the kitchen staff that I would assist in serving the tea.” 

Violet waved you off. “I shall send down Eloise to help them. You go on and show Elijah your uncle’s library upstairs.” 

“I would love to see it,” Elijah added, urging you with his smile.

“Very well,” you nodded. Elijah help out his arm, motioning for you to go first, following close behind as you led him up to the Bridgerton’s library. 

“Might they be needing a chaperone, Lady Bridgerton?” Rebekah asked her with a sly grin, catching onto Violet’s schemes. 

“I’m not sure as to who you are referring,” she replied with an innocent shrug, turning back to return to the rest of her family. 

[arabellavernierwrites]

pelvic floor relaxation. s.r.

summary : after sex with spencer , you begin experiencing pain , he helps you through it.

word count : 803

warnings : mentions of sex , mentions of pain after sex , discussion of some female anatomy

a/n : hello everyone ! welcome back ! sorry i’ve been gone for a few weeks , i have been taking summer courses and haven’t had much time to write. but i am still accepting requests and would really love for you all to send some in so please ! send some requests i love writing for you ! and for me. this idea randomly came to me this evening and i wanted to write something small about it for you all to read. i am not a doctor , if you are experiencing pain after intercourse i do recommend speaking with a professional (and always pee after sex like i mention here !). take care of yourselves , i’ve missed you guys , it’s lovely to be back. have an amazing wonderful incredible day ! love you guys !

quietly catching your breath, you swung your leg over to the side, tossing yourself onto the bed from straddling spencer’s lap.

his long arms reached out, pulling you in close as you faced him, “how are you feeling?”

“good. you were wonderful, sweetheart. thank you,” you softly tucked his hair behind his ear, tracing your finger down the length of his cheek, “how about you?”

“great,” he blushed, breaking eye contact and smiling to himself, “thank you”.

he placed a gentle kiss on your lips. admiration was evident in his gaze, it practically dripped from his supple skin.

you and spencer were intimate fairly often. of course he had always been fantastic in bed, but when the two of you first met, he was rather inexperienced. it didn’t take you both long to learn what worked for the other, and after a few more times together, he pleased you in ways that men were not often able to do.

how good he was wasn’t the most important thing, though. it was the care, communication, and gentility that mattered most to you. no matter how many times the two of you had sex, he always wanted to make sure you felt safe, comfortable, and satisfied.

the same went for you. you always wanted spencer to feel good, and found ways to care for him during sex that made the experience even more pleasurable for him.

“i’m going to grab us some water, okay?” he stated quietly, caressing his large hand from your shoulder to elbow.

you nodded, a small smile on your face as you got up to go to the bathroom.

the two of you helped each other into some comfortable clothes, spencer a pair of pajamas, you a t-shirt and some underwear. a quick peck was shared before parting again.

you winced, a tight cramp pulling at your lower pelvic area. on occasion, you had experienced some post-coital soreness, but this sensation was different. feeling your muscles constrict, you bent over slightly to see if it would relieve some of the pain.

you brushed it off for a moment, using the restroom and making your way back into the bedroom when you were struck with a wave of it again.

spencer was placing a glass of water on your nightstand when he looked up, a flash of worry striking his face upon seeing you hunched over, holding your lower abdomen and resting against the doorway.

“are you alright, baby?” he asked, rushing over to you.

“i’ve got this weird feeling,” you spoke as he wrapped his arms around you, helping you into the bed, “my muscles keep cramping, it’s like a really tight, pulling sensation”

you placed your head on the pillow, closing your eyes for a second to focus yourself. spencer brushed the hair off of your forehead, taking a seat next to you.

“have you had enough water today?” he asked sincerely, placing a hand on your side.

“of course,” you replied, nodding your head.

“did you workout?” he continued, ready to get to the bottom of your discomfort.

“yesterday, yes. today, no, i didn’t” you responded.

“did you relax your pelvic floor before we had sex?” he questioned.

“spencer!” you couldn’t help but laugh at his interrogation.

“i’m being serious!” he defended, brushing your shirt off of your lower stomach, massaging circles with his thumb, “it’s important to take time to relax your pelvic floor before sexual intercourse. it can help increase vaginal lubrication, as well as increase blood flow for better orgasms, and reduce the risk of muscle straining”.

“what would i do without dr reid telling me what to do about my vaginal issues,” you grinned, shaking your head.

“i’m not telling you what to do! i’m giving you advice based on my readings,” he shrugged his shoulders as you laughed at his readings, because of course he would have his readings, “don’t laugh at my readings”.

“i’m not, you’re just cute,” you teased, “how would i relax my pelvic floor?”

“if you place one hand on your chest, and the other on your stomach, you can breathe in intervals to help it return to it’s resting rate. there are also a series of stretches and different sets of clitoral exercises that i can walk you through next time if you would like,” he rambled, his tender touch never leaving your skin.

“i might have to take you up on that,” you shifted uncomfortably at the feeling in your abdomen.

“but in all seriousness, what can i do for you?” he asked, a genuine look wiping across his face.

“i think an advil will help,” you placed your hand on top of his, ceasing the moving of his thumb, “and a hug and a kiss when you get back”.

a small, well-meaning smirk graced his lips, “deal”.

[marveling-cg]

Red Hair Shanks Has Absolutely Never Had a One Night Stand

Was having a fun chat with @pixiemusing about Shanks. She sent me that fantastic artwork of Buggy waking up to see his own name tattooed on the back of Shanks' arm, which put us both in mind of that hilarious work of Mihawk waking up in Shanks' bed, shocked that somehow he'd been seduced -- again.

(I would link both works here, but after a literal hour of searching I still somehow can't find them with a link to the artist?? If you find them, let me know, I'll add them!)

Which led to speculation that absolutely everyone who sleeps with Shanks wakes up like this: shocked by the experience.

He's a powerful pirate, known for never losing a fight he deigns to accept. Admirals hesitate when he approaches.

But everyone he's slept with is stunned to find they've never had a lover touch them more reverently?? He had tears in his eyes when they climaxed. He laughed at himself while he got them cleaned up. He snuggled himself against them before tucking in for the night. As @pixiemusing said, he Makes Love™ even during a one night stand.

The thing is, though, Red Hair Shanks has never had a one night stand. Not a single one. In fact he's only ever taken 4 people to bed, and he was in love with them all.

Benn Beckman: They meet, and it's immediate fireworks. Benn is quiet, and perpetually bemused by Shanks antics, and overwhelmingly competent in the scrape they get themselves into with a handful pirates antagonizing the little port town they're in. They spend the better part of the next week evading the Marines, while island hopping in a little boat with cabin just big enough for them to fall into bed to fuck and sleep out of the elements.

Everything's an absolute dream until Shanks asks to make the arrangement permanent, "Join my crew. Come with me to Laugh Tale."

Benn puts distance, and clothing, and a sobering cup of coffee between them then. He'll join Shanks' crew, but not as his lover. He's seen enough crews torn apart but distracting romances between Captain and crew members. He won't have it on any crew he's a member of. So Shanks has to make a choice: a life with Beckman at his side, but never again in his bed, or a future where their paths will eventually diverge as the sea calls them to different shores.

Shanks wants Benn, but he needs him more.

Makino: He proposes. Can't help himself. They've been hunting around on Goa and the surrounding islets for a certain devil fruit for the past few weeks, and Shanks had been taken with her since they first made port.

She was kind, considerate, as generous with her laughter as she was with her hospitality, whip smart but never cutting.

He was sure the world believed that he'd seduced her, but the truth is he never would have dared. If she hadn't invited him up to her room after the first week, he would have continued to sigh over her smiles from afar. But she did. And he was a man and a pirate and never turned away good fortune when it came knocking.

He also wasn't the kind of man who would march into a town and sully a good woman's reputation (she laughed and swatted his shoulder when he said as much). Plus it would be an honor of a lifetime to call Makino his wife.

"Under no circumstances, Shanks. I'm not made for the sea, and you'll never be at home on land. I won't have you regret me."

He knows she's right, but it doesn't stop him from crying as they make love again, or in the morning as he dresses to leave. Hell, he's almost grateful to the damn sea king for taking his arm and delaying their departure for another week.

Dracule Mihawk: Shanks does have sense enough to know that they'll never work.

It doesn't stop him from letting the little shaman in the village they've just run a particularly nasty batch of Marines out of continue the marriage rites as the rest of his crew and the village celebrate in drunken revelry.

And it doesn't stop him from spending three days and three nights using every trick his body can muster to convince Mihawk that he'd be worth the trouble.

But it's the same unyielding will that attracted Shanks to Mihawk in the first place that inevitably pulls Mihawk away.

There's no license; they exchanged no vows. There's nothing to annul but the belief in the shaman's heart. But Shanks keeps with him the memory of Mihawk's hesitation before he'd exited. "Until next time, Red."

Buggy: Buggy is like rediscovering a long-lost dream.

He's crotchety and demanding, full of bluster and so much determined hope that Shanks is blinded by it a bit. He's cunning and self-interested, but kind in spite of himself. Still as bull-headed as ever, but it's that very trait that's landed him right back here across Shanks' path, every bit the same grumpy dreamer Shanks had refused to see Laugh Tale without two decades before. He's everything a pirate ought to be.

Getting Buggy to give him the time of day feels like its own little victory. Getting Buggy to give him the time of night feels like a gift he'll spend his life treasuring.

He's learned by now that Shanks giving his heart away has no bearing on whether it'll be accepted or not. But, he's always regretted not risking it all with Buggy all those years ago. He knows he was right -- they weren't ready to find Laugh Tale, not when they were still green and grieving. Now that he's got Buggy here with him, at the end of the world, in the midst of a race with the last remaining emperors of the sea, he wouldn't be the one to walk away, not again.

Maybe -- just maybe -- that would be enough this time.

[rexobiweek]

Announcing 2024 RexObi Fest!

It's that time of year again where we are on the cusp of everyone's favorite season of relaxation! Think past the spring rains toward the sunny beach days and fantastic adventures of summer vacations! Think of meeting the boy cute as can be, bowling in the arcade, making out under the dock, the summer heat and summer nights. Think of the summer lovin’ Rex and Obi-Wan can have during a vacation over the summer and early fall.

Announcing RexObi Fest 2024!

We are a laid-back RexObi event with no minimum requirements for any fanwork created for the event–so long as RexObi is the focus of your fanwork, anything goes!

The 2024 theme for RexObi Fest is vacation!

As always, our prompts have been set for this event. We have 13 word prompts and 6 image prompts to spark your creativity. Content creators will have 8 weeks to work on their creation(s), so you can do as many, or as few, as you want.

Dates to be aware of:

Prompts will be announced the first week in July (between July 1 and July 5)

AO3 Collection will open in mid-August

Posting week is from September 1 through September 7, 2024

Kick back, relax, take a vacation away from life's stress, and find some summer lovin' with Rex and Obi!

please reblog if you’re interested to help spread the word!

@swfandomevents for visibility! Art by the AMAZING @omaano!!!!

[portlandwithyou]

A Digital Fangirl's Journey into the Analog World

It started with a search, three words typed into the eBay search bar. Due South zine.

I began my fandom journey online when high-speed internet was slowly rolling out in the United States. I've never known a time in fandom when a million search results weren't at the tips of my fingers, and yet I've been nostalgic for a more physical relationship with fandom. Thankfully, the @ds30below fest announcement had a week devoted to history. The perfect excuse to dive into zines for the first time.

Due Frisky #2 is a digest-sized, soft-cover zine held together with staples. This baby fits perfectly in your hand for reading anywhere. The photo doesn't do it justice, but the cover is a pretty pinky-red color.

Inside, there is a table of contents, an editor's note, the stories, and, at the back, a short advertisement for more zines from the same press. Included at the end of each full-length story is a black-and-white photograph from the show that is connected to the story's content. This is an F/V zine from January of 1997, although nowhere do they address or even mention Ray K. Perhaps issue one dealt with that?

As for the content itself, there are four stories and one poetry cycle. I'd especially like to highlight the first story, "Perfection" by Khylara, which deals with Ray V's Catholicism in such a beautiful way that I was practically jumping with joy as I read. Unfortunately, my searches have not turned up this fic anywhere online to share! It's such a shame, too; it's so thoughtful.

Speaking of which, although I can find some of the authors online, I haven't found any of the particular fics from the zine available. Mireille, who people may know from their other F/V works, has the first part of a multiple-part series in this zine. Now, the editors warn you of this in the editor's notes, but I had forgotten by the time I got to this story, and frankly, I am climbing the walls wondering what happens next!

I found reading this zine extremely satisfying. It was wonderful to have some fanfic to curl up with during a spring storm while being beholden to a supercomputer in my hand.

I also loved reading stories that were contemporary to the show's actual airing. I found the language to be just ever slightly more formal than fanfic nowadays, but in a way that was not distracting or detracting.

Another thing, as the title might imply, all of the stories feature sex and sexuality as a topic. Obviously, given my track record, that doesn't bother me. But I could see where that would turn some off from reading. There's drama, fluff, and plenty of other emotions throughout the pieces, but at the end of the day, they will be having sex.

Overall, this was a fantastic zine for a beginner. Every piece was wonderful, and I anticipate reading it again many times.

[jmdbjk]

Looking back and forward.

2023 was one for the books.

It is Thursday, Dec. 7 where I am... Friday, Dec. 8 in Korea.

It is the last Friday for Namjoon, Taehyung, Jimin and Jungkook to be civilians. This is their last weekend to spend in their homes, at the company to work, running along the river, doing boxing workouts, ordering delivery food, loving on their dogs, doing the things they've been doing the last over ten years. It will be about 100 days until they get time off and can maybe spend some time back at home.

They are tying up loose ends, getting their shit together, preparing to put their lives on hold.

They will return to us in mid-June 2025.

I've watched their last group live several times after the english subs were up. There were a lot of things I saw and I have a lot of mixed emotions about it all.

None of us know these men, we are observers and all we know is what they choose to show us. Unfortunately, they can't control every single thing and people and the media insist on prying and publishing images and things about them that lead to unconfirmed rumors and misinformation.

In the approximately 38 minutes they shared with us, they conveyed that they are getting ready to go, they seemed in positive spirits. They conveyed that they were still working on things for us (except Jungkook).

They said there was A LOT of content coming, so much... they've NEVER ever reassured us like this before.

They asked fans to NOT show up at the induction site out of respect for the other men and their families also entering the military those days. They explicitly said "we are their face and to do them proud."

During this live, I saw Tae being the fantastically funny guy that he is. Tae was alight with excitement. He was anxious to learn from his fellow soldiers. He is a flower waiting to bloom. And seeing his friendship with Jimin maturing, flourishing, same age friends forever was wonderful.

And Namjoon trying to keep up with the crazy shenanigans of the maknae line. Trying to be the voice of reason: "it'll go by quick, we've left a lot of content. Jin will be back soon. We'll all get strong." But there seemed to be a bit of push and pull between he and Jimin... it was interesting. But he was lighthearted, positive, going into with an open mind. Get in, get out, get back to work.

Jimin, Jimin, Jimin... There was a bit of resignation wrapped up in Jimin's positivity. He wouldn't agree that it would go by fast and he didn't want to show himself with the buzz cut. I wanted to reach through the screen and hold his hand and reassure him we'd be here waiting and that we know it's hard to leave everything right now to do this. This man lives to do work on his passion. He's already had to stop once. Now he has to do it again. I think he is going into his MS kicking and screaming because he does not want to leave his youth behind. It is unfinished.

He said he had been sick. He coughed, sneezed and sniffled the entire live. I hope all of these symptoms have disappeared by Monday/Tuesday. I remember his friend Sungwoon had to delay his enlistment date because he tested positive for covid. Please don't let that happen to any of our four.

During this last group live, I saw a Jungkook that I'd never seen before. His vibe was so in tune to Jimin. I know he's been that way since... 2017? 2018? But this was so in your face I was dumbfounded. Jungkook constantly soothing Jiminie. The things they probably talked about while they were in Japan a few weeks ago, man, to be a fly on the wall.

ALL of those lives he did this past year flashed through my head, how unhinged he was the first few months, falling asleep drunk with the candle, calling out stalkers. ALL those times WE said he was missing Jimin because he was begging him to come eat chicken and drink beer, or come do a boxing workout, or better yet, "let me come over and we can shower together..." No... I meant to say: he can go over to Jimin's and wash up and do a live together. Yes, that's what he said. Beggged him. Tried to use Army as leverage. And all we got was Jimin saying he "can handle it" and "you know how my personality is"...

Jungkook watching all that Jimin content... something happened, some decision was made early in the year. Jungkook embraced it and ran with it.

And to know they are going into the service together, it still has me astonished but it all makes sense now. Y'all... they knew they were going to do this wayyyyyy back, not just in August or September when they applied. Jungkook said back in February (before someone lit a fire under his butt in March to start working on music) that he had to take care of his body for the next year. This has been the plan and Jungkook said "no worries, I got this."

2023 was A LOT.

Jimin, Face: the melodies poured out (as they seem to be free-flowing from him at any given moment) but he had to pry those lyrics out of himself. Jimin achieved a #1 BBHot100. And yes, it appears there were not just one, but TWO of those blasted cakes. I didn't know much about PDogg before Jimin's documentary but now I know how much he supported Jimin during this process.

Yoongi, D-Day: I got to see Yoongi in real life. That weekend flew by for me. One of the best weekends ever. As soon as the concert was over I said out loud, I need to see all seven on that stage. His concert tour filled a void for us. We needed that so bad after last year's gut-wrenching news that there would be no tour. And now he's fulfilling his social service. Let him serve quietly with dignity.

Hobi, Military: after tearfully sending him off, what we hear now is he's cracking the whip, though ever-so empathetically (not to be confused with emphatically) over those new enlistees every day. I need to see his boom chakalaka marching drills. Jimin said when he visited Hobi, he wasn't greeted with his ebullient "Jaman!" but more of a lowkey "oh, you're here."

Jungkook, his solo songs and album: Jungkookie chose to go the route of choosing songs that resonated with him. Over the course of years, Kookie has always shared songs with us. We used to love his song recs and his covers of very poignant songs. He KILLED those songs with his vocals. He did what HE wanted to do. And look how well he did with it, also a #1 BBHot100.

Taehyung, Layover: again, Taehyung did what he wanted to do. Not on his album, but Taehyung singing along with Karen Carpenter was never on my bingo card, ever! (a clip on his Instagram stories where he was singing along to "Close to You")

RM, we kept wondering: why isn't he enlisted yet? Someone had to wrangle the maknae. Not that he ever did that this past year. He cut himself over his left eye and had to get stitches... that's gonna leave a scar. Good thing there are 40 bajillion plastic surgeons in Seoul...

Jin is coming. The Head of Ministry of the Military making the decision that no celeb will be doing anything special, instead they will serve just like regular civilians. Sergeant Kim Seokjin will become civilian Jin of BTS on June 12, 2024.

Their constant looking forward to 2025

Skipping over 2024 for the moment...

BTS has to evolve. They must evolve. They are not going to be a 30 something year old K-pop boy band. Some groups might be stuck but BTS will not stay stagnant, they never have. They have to step forward out of that niche and they have been trying to do that incrementally for a while now. They’ve taken us in baby steps already through chapter 2, and Joon said the REAL chapter 2 will begin when they are back from fulfilling their service.

What will they be like? Will they reinvent themselves? Perhaps, but not overnight. I don’t see any sort of extreme makeover for BTS once they come back together. I do see them addressing more mature topics (as we’ve seen), I do hope we see songwriting from all members.

They don't need to abandon their Korean-ness in order to accomplish this. There is nothing stopping them from being a mainstream artist who just happens to be from Korea and who release songs that are in Korean.

I think the accomplishments that Jungkook achieved will continue to pull BTS out of the K-pop realm and into the main stream Pop music realm. They worked that western market. They got pushback, especially western industry institutions: Billboard and the Grammys. And they learned.

Progress is slow but progress nevertheless. They will cross over to general pop one way or the other. They are not going to stay in the kpop box in the future. Straddle both at the same time. They can do it.

For 2024:

I think comeback/HYYH 10th anniversary reboot is already in the works and has been.

I think PDogg will be working on the songs over the next year. I think they have recorded all this year.

I think when Jin and Hobi get back, they might record their parts. I also am pretty sure we'll see a full-bodied solo effort from Jin and more from Hobi. I think we'll get a ramp up to his discharge with some Hope on the Street content that he recorded before he enlisted.

I think we'll slowly see wheels start turning to get the machine going again much sooner than we imagined.

I think what we see next year will all be primed to pre-promote and whip up the excitement for 2025.

I just feel strongly that Bang PD would NOT have mentioned that specific thing and we would not be hearing the members constantly saying 2025. And especially saying 2025 is not that far in the future and that they are looking forward to the incredible synergy the group will have when they get back together. They've got a lot of work done already. They know already.

They said there is A LOT coming to us.

In about two weeks BTS: Beyond the Star docu-series will begin.

We know we're getting some sort of Jimin and Jungkook traveling content, whether a series or not...I'm leaning toward it being a multi-episode series. Camping? Drinking? Breweries? Beaches? Boating or sailing or both but separate? Fishing? Snow sports? They said it was fun.

We will see activity around all the solo album anniversaries. We still have an RM documentary, a Taehyung documentary and a Jungkook documentary. I bet the latter two will come out towards the end of 2024.

We might have Tae acting, we know he'll be in an IU MV soon.

About aging bangtan ...

Remember when we said this is Bangtan in 20 years?

I joke about it but seriously they are aware that things will be different as they evolve and age as people and as artists.

There are new groups debuting all the time and BTS is aging out of a certain demographic (as they should).

Yoongi saying "cruise with BTS" would be the best case scenario for their future.

I would love to be on that cruise if it ever happens.

[pedal-writes]

Homesick (1)

Summary: What happens when Sam Witwicky's older sister, you, gets wrapped up with the conflict of the autobots and the decepticons coincidentally by visiting your family? Over time, it seems that you and the autobot's leader find out you two have more in common than you initially thought… But it doesn't really mean anything, right?

A/N: Hi everyone! This is gonna be my first actual long fanfic which I'm pretty nervous about (since I always seem to backtrack on the ones I try to write.)

But I recently watched Transformers 2007 and the brainrot is honestly too intense, I had to do something about it so bayverse OP x reader!! It's funny, I've been a transformers fan since 2017 and I've now just got around to watching the movie. I was kinda putting it off since it's not exactly a fan fav among some transformers fans haha. Oh yeah, there are a few scenes from the movie I won't write like the weird bumblebee piss scene and some of the mildly suggestive dialogue considering the other two main characters (besides the reader) are literally like 16 😭. Micheal bay is a freak!!!

Just a heads up, I guess I'm going for a more wattpad-y vibe for this fic considering some of the tropes that I'm using and the fact I'm going directly off of the tf 2007 movie (cause that's like every bayverse op x reader that's on there lolz). Idk Ig I just have a guilty pleasure for corny fics so yeah!!

If y'all want to read this on ao3 or Wattpad, it's in my pinned post :3 Anyways, bye pookies!!

As the moon's reflected light illuminated the dark room, it was quiet besides the occasional shuffling and jolting that came from your sleeping form. Suddenly your eyes shot open. You groaned as you sat up and felt a layer of cold sweat coating your forehead. You shakily got up from the bed and began a walk to the kitchen to get a glass of water. A small creak came from the cabinet and you grabbed a small glass and filled it with tap water, taking a few gulps. After four long years of college, you decided to move away from your hometown and all the way across the country to the east coast. Los Angeles was never your type of city as, in your opinion, it was mainly set up for movie stars and aspiring musicians, not computer scientists. So moving to a completely different city like Philadelphia to pursue your passion sounded like a fantastic idea. But now that you’re here, you’ve felt nothing but homesick.

You’ve always been a family-orientated person, always spending time with your parents and helping Sam, your little brother, with what he needed for school. Although he could be a serious little shit sometimes, the two of you were like peas in a pod, absolute besties! A small smile grows across your face as you think of the times you picked him up from school and took him to the arcade or when you always managed to find tickets to his favorite bands and saw them during the weekends.

A small sigh leaves your lips and you set down your glass on the counter. You walk back into your bedroom and take a look at the calendar hanging on the wall, the month being March. The thought of visiting your family crossed your mind and you could wait a few more months until summer came around but it’s not like you were working at the moment. After you moved, you were working a job as an information security analyst. The pay was definitely above average and it was going alright until an unsavory incident happened with a coworker and you literally couldn’t work there, so you quit.

Alright, I have enough money in my bank account to buy a plane ticket and to sustain me for a few weeks while I’m there. I should probably call mom in the morning and tell her I’m planning on visiting, her and dad will probably be ecstatic. As for Sam…

You opened a drawer on your nightstand and pulled out a piece of jewelry. It was an opal bead necklace you found at the mall one day. It was sort of an impulsive purchase, considering the price, but you thought it would be a nice gift for your little brother because opal was his birthstone after all. You gently placed the necklace back in the drawer and shut it, making your way back to your calendar and writing a few reminders on some of the upcoming days. 

       . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

After all the planning and flying, you were finally back in California. It really was a pain since there somehow weren't any available flights to Los Angeles from Philadelphia so you had to spend the night in an empty airport in Kansas and fly to L.A. in the morning. A yawn falls from your lips as you drive through the familiar neighborhoods leading up to your family's home. You turn on the radio and the latest hit began to play, “Irreplaceable” by Beyonce you thought. It wasn’t really your type of music but it’s Beyonce.

A few minutes passed and you heard your phone ringing. You turned down the radio and grabbed it from the passenger seat, flipping it open and putting it against your ear. “Hello?”

‘Hi honey.’ It was your mom. ‘How far out are you?’

“Oh hi mom. I’m not that far, just give me a few more minutes. You don’t have to call me when you know I'll be there eventually.” You chuckled, gently pressing the brakes as you stopped at a red light.

‘I know, I’m just excited to see you!’ Her voice buzzed excitedly. ‘I’ll be waiting outside for you, see you in a bit.’

“See you in a bit.”

A few moments later the familiar layout of your house came into view and you couldn't help but feel a bit giddy. You saw your mom, Judy, excitedly waving next to the frontdoor, you smiled to yourself. You pulled your car into the driveway and got out of it, Judy pulling you into a tight hug, swaying you from side to side slightly. "I'm so happy to see you, honey!" 

She said sweetly, pulling away while holding both of your hands. "How’s my little genius been?"

Your smile turned into a small frown. "Oh I've been doing... alright for the most part. I had to quit my job recently because of a bad experience I had with a coworker. I’ll tell you about it later but it really sucks, I liked that job." You grimaced slightly at the memories of the not-very-pleasant experience, Judy patting your back in a comforting manner. "Anyway, say, where's dad?" You abruptly changed the subject.

"Oh, your father had to run some errands, but he'll be back soon. He's been so hellbent on making his grass perfect. I think he's starting to go a bit crazy." She said, doing a swirly motion around the side of her head.

You chuckle as you walk back over to your car to retrieve your bag and suitcase. You and Judy walk into the house, an excited mojo greeting you by jumping up and down in that typical chihuahua fashion. "Aw, hi mojo." You cooed, leaning down and petting him near his ears. "I missed you too." Your eyes drifted down to his coller, seeing the jewelry wrapped around his neck.

“Is this your doing, mom?” You laughed.

Judy simply shrugged. “I think it looks cute on him. Oh yeah, Sam's upstairs doing his whole eBay thing, I'm sure he'll tell you all about it when you talk to him." Judy said, walking towards the kitchen and preheating the oven. "Do you need help with your bags?"

"No I'm alright mom, thanks though." You say, walking towards the staircase with your bags in hand.

"Alright honey, make sure to tell Sam I'm making lunch."

"Will do!" You holler from upstairs.

You head towards the rather empty room that used to be yours and set your things down, looking around at the empty walls where posters used to hang and the still neat bed, feeling a little nostalgic. You exit your room and head right to Sam's, ignoring the do not enter sign and opening the door. You see your brother’s hunched over figure messing around on his computer and shake your head, knocking on the door frame to alert him of your presence. Sam jumped, turning around suddenly. "Jesus! You scared the shit outta me. I didn't know you were here yet."

"I can't believe you didn't hear me. Come here, give me a hug dude." You said, spreading your arms in an inviting motion. Sam rolled his eyes and walked over and hugged you. You gave him a small pat on the back and pulled away from him, giving him a small grin. "So how are things? How's school?" You asked.

"It's good, pretty good. I've been trying to get this whole eBay thing running. Oh yeah, and dad made a deal with me and soon I’ll have my own car. I just gotta get an A on this history project coming up." Sam replied, turning around and typing a few more things into his laptop before closing it.

“Wow, that’s awfully generous of him. I’m excited for you though.” You chuckled, leaning against his door frame and crossing your arms. "Anything new with that one girl… What was her name?"

"You mean Mikaela?”

“Yeah Mikaela, The girl you’ve liked since forever and is totally not out of your league.” You said sarcastically.

"What??" Sam exclaimed, whipping his head towards you. "She is not out of my league! She is really gorgeous and stunning in every single way, and she would totally give me a chance. I just gotta… ask her.”

"And when will that be, Casanova?" You laughed.

"Soon! Really really soon. When I get this car next week, and I will get that A, then I’ll have a chance! Any girl loves a guy with a nice car." Sam said, a cocky tone in his voice. 

"Oookay, I hear you... oh yeah! Hold on, I got something for you, give me a second..." You walked into your room and rummaged through your purse, pulling out the necklace. You walk back into Sam’s room and excitedly give him the piece of jewelry. “I found it while I was shopping at the local mall a few months ago. Since Opal is your birthstone, I thought you’d like it. And it’s also not a super girly necklace, you’re welcome by the way.”

Sam took the necklace from your hands and admired the carefully strung together beads in the sunlight of his window, the beads glimmering a variety of colors. “Wow this is really neat. Thank you but y’know, I'm not really much of a jewelry guy." Sam said a bit nervously.

"Oh come on, wear it!" You pat him on the back reassuringly. "Girls love guys who are comfortable with their sexuality, it shows maturity. Besides, you'll look like one of those... surfer guys. You know what I mean? When they wear those small necklaces.”

Sam frowned and gestured to himself. "Do I look like a surfer guy?"

"I’m just trying to be supportive!" You said, making your way out of the room. "By the way, mom's making lunch. Make sure not to get too engrossed in your master plan of getting with Mikaela and actually put some meat on those bones." You commented teasingly.

Sam groaned and waved you off dismissively, sitting down at his desk again. You chuckle and walk into your room, crouching down and pulling a few essentials out of your suitcase. Now that you’re back in Cali, you were excited to see a few of your friends that you’ve been friends with since high-school. Funnily enough, you managed to become friends with the “popular girls” solely because you helped a few of them with their math and science work and now they deemed you besties for life.

Which you didn’t mind honestly.

Most of these girls were rich and actually really nice despite what people stereotype “popular girls” to be. The person that comes to mind is your friend Felicity. She’s probably the one you would call your “top tier bestie”, the girl that constantly came over to your house when you were a teenager (annoying your brother immensely), the girl that called you like every single day you were away to college since you two went to different ones. She was super duper excited when you called her, telling her how you were gonna be in town for a few weeks.

Of course she had plans for you two to go to the spa and then go to the beach and blah blah blah. It would be nice to get out of the house every once in a while to catch up since Sam's gonna be in school most of the time. You put your laptop down on your bed and was about to sit down before you heard your mom yell for you from the kitchen.

“Hey sweetie, can you come down and help me?”

“Oh– Coming Mom!” You quickly got up and left your room, heading downstairs. You couldn’t help but look forward to the next few upcoming weeks, knowing it’ll be the most eventful and actually fun thing you’ve done in months. 

[shewrites444]

ghost [xavier plympton x reader]

[ inspired from ahs 1984, and of course written by me. super cheesy smut fic since i wrote this over a year ago and it has been sitting in my drafts, but why not post it for my ahs lovers. enjoy! ]

word count - 2.4k

[summary: the reader is a counselor at the former camp redwood, now camp meadow, and meets a very friendly, yet also flirtatious ghost during her first night.]

[warnings: dirty talk, oral, unprotected sex]

regardless of how much my mom and i argued, i continued to deny her stupid reasons to not work at camp meadow the summer. the second massacre of 1984 was not even in the current century, so i knew not to overreact about any possible harm coming my way. i loved a good thrill anyway, so maybe some stupid kids pretending to be the night stalker or mr. jingles would be the most enjoyable portion of the long week anyway.

after finally convincing my friend [y/f/n] to come with me, i was felt my decision was for the best. the drive was a few hours long and once we arrived, we were able to meet our fellow counselors and the head counselor, who seemed nice enough, and not very strict whatsoever.

"i'm going to try my hardest to make this week enjoyable for not only the kids, but the counselors as well." miss thompson smiled at us, nodding her head with respect towards the young group. "i know this place has a lot of bad memories, but with a new name, new cabins, and much more, we can make newer, better memories. if you guys have any concerns or questions, please let me know. i'm available anytime."

[y/f/n] nods, then raises her hand, which miss thompson acknowledges immediately. "what about showers? we haven't gone over that yet."

miss thompson told us we had to shower before midnight, to make sure we had hot water the next morning for the kids, in case they needed a bath or anything of the sort.

after taking turns one by one, i was last in line for my shower. i decided to wait until it was dark, so i didn't have any concerns about my friends coming to prank me with stupid, useless scares. they were all tired, cuddled up in their bunks and ready to prepare for the next morning, which would be extremely busy with the amount of kids the head counselor said we were expecting.

i grab my towel and a change of clothes, along with my razor, and made my way towards the showers. i set everything down before stripping off my baggy, light washed jeans and plain black crop top, then turn the water on, waiting until it's hot enough to step into.

i close my eyes, humming quietly to myself as i wet my hair, reaching over to grab the shampoo bottle. i squirt it into my hand, then sigh upon realizing it's all out.

"just fucking fantastic." i scoff, setting the bottle down and just deciding to shave instead. i grab the bar of soap and lather my right leg up, grabbing the razor and sliding it against my skin.

while doing so, i feel a cold gust of wind against my heated, wet skin, looking up with confusion as it suddenly stops. i shake my head, ignoring the situation and going back to my legs. after shaving, i set the razor down and glance to the shower next to me, seeing there was no shampoo in there, either. i really preferred to wash my hair tonight, knowing that it would be funky the next day, since we were expected to take the kids in canoes and swimming.

"looking for this?" i hear a low masculine voice, making me jump and squeak in surprise, turning around to see a blonde boy, dressed in a pair of white khakis and a teal sweatshirt, with a pair of white high-top converse. he had one silver cross earring, which hung on his right ear and shook as he stepped closer, holding a small shampoo bottle in his hand.

i blink numerous times, trying to fathom the fact that the boy was really there. he looked like he belonged in a different universe, or era, to say the least. i step closer and grab it from him, squeezing it in my hands to assure what was happening was actually real. i realize that if this is real, i'm bare ass naked in front of this random guy.

i snatch the towel from the sink, holding it over my body as my cheeks begin to heaten, and not just from the hot water. "who the fuck are you? and why the fuck are you in here while i'm showering?!"

he ran his fingers through his blonde highlights, laughing to himself, as if the situation was amusing. "well, i actually live here. i heard you and your buddies talking about the massacres that took place here earlier today. kinda disappointed you don't recognize me."

i wrap the towel around myself, stepping closer to him, and crossing my arms in complete confusion. "i'm sorry, but i don't think anyone just casually lives at camp meadow. this is like, a summer camp. i don't think it's legal to live here unless you own the camp, and the person who owns this place is a woman. so, i ask again, who are you, and why in the hell should i recognize you?"

"i'm xavier!" he yells in frustration, seeming offended i didn't know this infamous name. "xavier plympton. i was one of the few who were killed here in the '84 massacre. you haven't read up on the conspiracy there's ghosts here? you're looking at one from the 80's." he winks, watching as my eyes widen in shock.

"there's no way." i shake my head, looking at him from head to toe, completely flabbergasted by his unrealistic explanation. "ghosts can't just live here on earth forever, right? i thought you guys would at least go to heaven or hell, or something. not that i believe in that shit, but you'd at least go somewhere other than here."

xavier shrugged, taking a step closer to me, reaching his hand to my bare, wet shoulder. he smiled, sighing as he felt my skin. "i wish i felt like this again. being a ghost sucks sometimes. i feel so empty, so inhuman. i haven't felt someone so warm, so human, in years."

i pull back, pushing his hand off of me. "okay, um, xavier plympton. sorry to disappoint, but you probably won't be feeling this human ever again. now if you'll excuse me, i really need to wash my hair. thank you for the shampoo, but i seriously need you to leave."

he sighed, crossing his arms and lightly tapping his foot in annoyance at my resistance. "come on, [y/n]. i'm the whole reason you can even wash your hair. one more touch please, maybe on your face or something? it makes me feel normal again!" he whines, making a pouty face towards me.

"how do you know my name, weirdo?" i ask, looking at him with annoyance and a bit of confusion. "and no, you can't touch my face. if anything, that's the farthest from feeling normal. that's just being a creep."

xavier walked closer to me, "i do my research. i have nothing else to do around here, so why not eavesdrop on the new counselors before they're here forever like the rest of us, hm?"

my eyes widen as i walk back, hitting the shower water with my back, and feeling the towel begin to get soaked. i gulp, trying to scan him for any potential weapon. "well, if you kill me, then you won't be able to like.. touch my shoulder or whatever.. i thought you wanted to feel what it was like to be human, remember?"

he laughed, reaching to tug the side of the towel, biting his lip and looking up to meet our eyes. "i wouldn't hurt you or let anyone else do so, [y/n]. you're not like everyone else around here. you seem different, like you aren't afraid of a fucking stick breaking when you walk at night like those other pussy counselors. i mean, you came out here at almost midnight and showered all alone, so it's like you were practically begging me to touch more then just your shoulder.."

i blush, crossing my arms to make his fingers break from the fabric, breathing in and out rather heavily, as i felt my stomach turn at his words. "what would ever make you think i'd want you to touch me? maybe that's your brain, just because you've only had ghost pussy for like twenty years."

"maybe, instead, it's because you excite me." xavier snaps back with a flick of his pink tongue. he grabs the towel, slowly pulling it back off of me, then tossing it to the wooden floor. he grabs the shampoo, squirting some into his palm before lathering it up, gesturing for me to turn around. he sinks his fingers into my hair, beginning to wash it with soft, relaxing strokes from his fingertips. i close my eyes, practically melting at his touch and feeling my legs quickly drench with pleasure as he begins to kiss down my wet neck and soon to my bare shoulders.

this goes on for a few minutes, when he then helps to wash the shampoo out of my hair, and turns me back towards him. i watch him strip of his clothing, except for his light blue boxers, which showed off his stiff, hard length, poking directly towards my wet pussy.

i chew my lip, looking down at his length, before locking our lust-filled eyes. he moves closer to press his lips against my cheek, then smiles seductively.

"if i'm going to fuck you, i'd like to do so in a place more, comfortable. for the both of us, of course." he explains, taking my hand and pulling me away from the water. i look to him, raising a brow, and watching as he hands me the towel.

i follow him outside, as he walks towards an empty cabin, several down from the one i was staying in. i let him sit me down on the bed, where i pull the towel off of myself and set it on the dresser. i lay on my back, spreading my legs in his direction as he pulls his boxers down. he looks at me with a grin, chuckling as he walks over to shut my legs, making my sit up with complete confusion.

"thought we were going to have sex, xavier. not play games, right?" i chirp, looking at the blonde as he sticks two fingers in his mouth, then pins me back down, sliding them to my clit, answering my own question. so no sex yet, only some foreplay so far, which was absolutely fine by me.

he came off as a man who wanted to skip the foreplay, but the second he pumped his fingers inside of me, i was thankfully my interpretation was wrong. i gasp, letting out a loud moan as he began to finger me, curling his digits inside of me with each thrust, in and out.

xavier leaned down to latch his lips to my nipple, sucking softly for a minute before pulling his head up. he looks down at me, pleased with my moans, while he reads my lustful expression.

"the minute i saw you walk into this camp, i knew you'd been needing a good dicking, [y/n]. the way you looked at those other counselors when they were introduced to you.. you've been wanting someone inside of you for awhile now, and who better then me, hm?" he talked into my ear, his hot breath against my skin as he worked his magic inside of me. "i could fuck you so hard tonight you'd never wanna leave camp, baby. you'd be begging for my cock from when you wake up to when you go to sleep. i can already feel how good your pussy is, so i may be begging you for the same later.."

i glance up at him, then down to his hand, as he rapidly finger fucks my insides. i'm dripping at his touch, my juices sinking between my ass cheeks and his fingers, visibly noticeable as he pulls out of me, moving his index and middle fingers to my throbbing clit.

as he rubs, i moan loudly, my eyes shut while he motions himself in front of me. he kneels on the bed, using his free hand to line up his length with my pussy. he pushes himself in slowly, as a way to warn me of what's to come. he was big, and it was now very obvious as he had already filled a substantial portion of my insides with not even half his cock. i nod with reassurance, allowing him to push himself into me, so deep his balls were pressing against my folds.

xavier begins to thrust, pulling his hand away from my clit and taking a hold of my own hand, lacing his fingers with mine. he smushes our lips together, the kiss entrancing the both of us as we become one through a sinful, yet so beautifully pleasurable act.

"you feel so good, [y/n]... dead or alive, this is the best pussy i've ever had in my life.. i never want to stop fucking you, baby.." xavier compliments me, giving me a wink as he raises himself back up. he keeps our hands together, thrusting himself inside as he lets out small moans, and continues to speak his sexual, dirty words to me.

he looks down at me, watching as my tits bounce with each one of his rapid, fast-paced movements. "how do you like this cock, sweetheart? so thick and long for you, hmm? you make me hurt with lust, babygirl. you make me want to cum deep inside you."

"please, xavier. please cum inside me.." i moan, nodding as i look up at him, my mouth hung open as he rocks my body in the bed. "that's all i want right now, for you to fill me up so good.. i need you so bad.. i need you to fill my pussy.. fuck.."

"and that i fucking shall." xavier pushes inside of me with one last deep thrust, filling my walls with his warm, thick seed. he pulls out, a small portion of white trailing from his head and to my pussy lips.

i sit up, panting as i pull myself off the bed, leaning down onto my weak, shaking knees. i place my lips on the tip, sucking the excess down my throat. he shivers at my touch, moving one hand to cup my cheek and insist i stand back up.

"maybe tomorrow night you can reward me with head, baby. you've got a big day soon." he pecks my lips, handing me the towel off the floor. "so why don't you go clean up, again, and i'll see you soon."

i smirk, nodding as i wrap the towel around my top. "xavier, please join me. maybe i'll wash your hair this time." i wink, watching him pull his boxers up.

he laughed, shaking his head. "i hate to reject the offer, sweetheart, but i need my beauty sleep, too. go get some sleep, because tomorrow night will be far longer than tonight's."

i turn around, my cheeks burning as i open the cabin door and shut it behind me, walking back to the showers. i couldn't believe i had just let a ghost fuck me, and that ghost being the xavier plympton. maybe i'd have to stick around camp meadow for longer than this week after all.

[ a/n - i did want to mention i will be writing much more in a few weeks - finals and college/work in general has been consuming a lot of my time lately, but i am hoping to find some inspiration for new fics soon! ]

[sukibenders]

consolation

FEATURING: percy jackson x reader

summary: y/n has been cooped up in their cabin for days, only leaving to attend breakfast and lunch at their siblings' insistence. it's not that they mean to, it's just that their art is doing anything but coming together as of late and it's making them doubt their abilities. good thing for them that their fantastic boyfriend is there to save the day!

contents: soft!percy, cute couple moments, possibly some angst in regards to self doubt but mainly fluff in the end, references to passing of time, worried!percy, gn!reader, no stated cabin or godly parent but mentions of siblings, percy referring to you as 'babe'

note" this is my first actual piece of written work on here, and it seemed fitting that it would be pjo related. I'm so nervous about it, so please be kind and give this some love! it's stated that the reader is in an art slump, and that's for the sake of the plot behind this so sorry to all those who aren't interested in the arts or things like that!

You would say that it wasn't a normal occurrence for you to compare yourself to others to anyone who asked, but you yourself knew that that simply wasn't true and, in this moment, were being proved wrong as you stared at the messy array of art supplies circling around you--from crumbled papers of failed sketches to messy rags layered with dried paint. While the mess was contained to your side of your cabin, you were sure that your siblings cautious of just how long that would last.

Your appearance faired no better. Your camp shirt was littered is paint marks from sloppy movements of your hands, the orange holding more life to it than the fresh canvas in front of you. Three had laid crestfallen along the floor, thrown down carelessly during fits of frustration after another failed attempt tallied in your mind. Just when you thought things where going to go smoothly, fate had other plans and took another direction. Maybe this was a sign of the Gods punishing you, but for what? You couldn't figure out.

The more you stared at the blank canvas, at the mess around you, the more dishearted you felt. Your mind wandered to a group of kids that you had seen at the arts and crafts center last week, some Apollo campers you had assumed, albeit bitterly, when your eyes fell on their stunning art pieces making it hard for you to look away. They were so beautiful and held your attention longer than you'd hope to admit outloud. You had desired to master a similar affect with your own piece. That did not seem likely.

"But they did it so perfectly," you muttered to yourself (more like growled), hands gripping your paint brush tightly to the point where you were sure that the wood would snap under the force. "I'm sure they didn't have to go through all this." Your brows furrowed and you were just about to give up when a familiar voice spoke up.

"Man, it looks like a hurricane rolled through here." You looked up and were met with a pair of sea green eyes, of which held a mirth to them that only increased tenfold when they landed on you. "Maybe I should take you to seek shelter, just to be safe."

This caused you to snort. "Haha, very funny. I know that, if ever in a hurricane, to simply call out your name and you'll be there to save me, won't you?"

"Always!" A toothy grin broke out over Percy's face and it was almost enough to draw you back from your creativity haze. But when your eyes drew back to the blank canvas, the sense of dismay returned. Subconsciously, your shoulders sagged in response, but you were none the wiser. Percy, however, being the attentive boyfriend that he was, took notice. "I take it things aren't going as planned?"

You shook your head. "That's an understatement. This is my third attempt so far, and I can't even put paint to the material. At least with the others I could say that."

Percy shifted forward, reaching for one of the lone canvases and studied it with interest. "This one is nice," he said honestly. "Why'd you stop?"

"Because it's bad." You answered simply.

But Percy didn't believe that. "No it's not, you're just being hard on yourself." Like always hung in the air, but it was moreso a thought of your own rather than Percy's himself. The inky haired boy gave you a brief once over, brows furrowed with tinges of worry. "When was the last time you took a break? Stepped outside for something other than going to the dining pavilion?"

You blinked for a moment, attention slightly divided between your boyfriend and the work before you. "Uh, I think it was like...yesterday, one of my siblings dragged me out to the strawberry field with them." Or, at least you thought it was yesterday.

But Percy shook his head. "That was Tuesday, babe, I asked one of your siblings. Today's Friday. We need to get you out of this cabin, doing something other than painting."

Slightly shocked by clarification, you body tensed at the thought of being pulled away from your workstation, especially so prematurely into your journey. If you stopped now, what was to say that you would ever finish? Or that this was possibly your last chance at recreating and if you left now, all that went down the drain.

"I can't." You sighed weakly, hurriedly drifting your eyes to your boyfriend, who you had just discovered, that you hadn't spent much time with at all during this week. "If I don't get this piece right now, I might never-"

Percy raised a brow in response of you cutting yourself off. "You might never what?"

With a frustrated and embarrassed sigh, you explained to him your dilemma and the set backs it had provided you, refraining from looking at him the whole time. A part of you had fear some sort of mockery or lack of understanding that conjured up a simple dismissal without actually helping. You had grown accustomed to that after a few occasions and, while you didn't believe Percy to be like, it still hovered in your mind.

To your surprise, though not really, a pair of strong arms wrapped around you so gently yet fiercely that you felted tethered and set free all the same. Your face subconsciously pressed into Percy's bicep and you inhaled his scent, feeling the burdens of the weight you had placed on yourself slowly slipping away one by one. Faint tears welled in your eyes, but he made no move to comment on them.

"I wished you'd came to me sooner, I could've helped you. While not with anything art related, because it would have ended poorly for the both of us, I could have been here to keep you company and show some support."

A small sound that was a mix between a cry and laugh bubbled from your throat. "I don't think I would have been much fun."

Percy snorted. "Please, we would've had the time of our lives here. You're siblings would have kicked me out and banished me from ever entering." While this drew another laugh from you, it wasn't hard to notice the seriousness enveloping the boy's tone. "I think you need a break, for real this time and with no objections."

"But-"

"This piece, can wait. You can't. So what if some other camper made a cool piece, that doesn't mean anything. It especially doesn't mean you're a bad artist just because you're having trouble recreating it." When you fell silent at his words, he rested his nose against your temple, breathing you in. "You're very talented, and that shouldn't be doubted."

A part of you wanted to argue, to say that he was only telling you that because you were dating, but the more you thought about doing anything other than laying in your boyfriend's arms, the more exhausted you felt. Maybe it was your sudden drop in weight, but Percy had maneuvered you around until you were far from the canvas that had been torturing you for hours and closer to your bed.

"Let's get you some rest, babe." He moved to lay you down when your hand reached out, stopping him. "Babe-"

"I got paint on your shirt." You said simply, eyeing how your, still paint riddled, fingers smeared over your boyfriend's tee from his abs to his side. You had been so wrapped up in savoring his embrace, that you had forgotten about your own mess clinging to your frame.

Rather than wallow in the new stain, Percy reached for a damp, less paint splattered cloth and held it to your face. "It's no big deal, but it will be if you get paint on your sheets. Let's get you cleaned up."

By the time he was finished, you were already dozing off no matter how much you tried to fight. Your body rocked and swayed softly, and the action only made Percy laugh even more. Resting you gently on to your bed, head braced against your pillow, the inky haired boy moved to stand when your hand latched around his wrist.

"Stay," You whispered, eyes hopefully. Even with how busy you made yourself, you had missed him deeply.

"I gotta clean up around here. Wouldn't want you to trip in this mess, now would you?"

This caused you to wave him off. "Ah, well you'll simply just have to take care of me again, which seems like a win if you think about it."

Percy chuckled. "Yeah, it does. And maybe I'm so inclined to be against it." He patted your side. "Move over, babe, I'm coming in."

You cheered softly, doing as told just enough for him to rest his frame an inch away from you before you practically melted into him, arms wrapped around his waist and face tucked under his chin. You could feel Percy's chest rumble in satisfaction before he followed a similar manner. The two of you laid like that for a few minutes before you whispered.

"I'm sorry for not spending time with you these last few days." You apologized. "I was just...so wrapped up in this project and my own thoughts that I lost track of time. It's no excuse, but-"

"It's all right," Percy cut in, shushing you softly as you tried to protest. He was in no mood for you to get worked up, especially over something that was so easily fixed and could be settled even further once you were rested. "I understand, and I'm not uupset. I missed you, for sure, but we'll find a way to spend time together later, once you've had a decent amount of sleep."

You nodded in agreement, a yawn pulling from your lips. "I propose a date, anywhere you'd like and we can do whatever you want. You deserve it."

"I don't think taking care of my partner necessarily guarantees a reward," Percy commented, watching with mirth as you sent an eye roll his way. "But I'll hold you to that deal later. Love you."

"Love you, too."