#i was already falling in love with her but this tidbit pushed me over the edge

[mangle-my-mind]

@moonage-xx-daydream​ @silverfactory Lady Grinning Soul lore that I just discovered for myself

Soul singer and educator Claudia Lennear née Claudia Joy Offley. A former Ikette and backing vocalist for various acts and also said to be the inspiration behind Mick Jagger's "Brown Sugar" (along with Marsha Hunt) and David Bowie's "Lady Grinning Soul".

Claudia at Wikipedia and Jungle Room

[chxrrysangel]

Drinking Games

Pairing| Eddie Munson x reader

Warnings | friends to lovers, fluff, mentions of alcohol/drunkeness, love confessions, it’s really cute ok

Author’s note | this is the first thing I’ve published in like 5 months so…gentle please. Also this 100% came to me in a maladaptive daydream…lmao

Sitting around the circle, your body buzzed with excitement and the mixed drinks you had tonight. Robin sat not more than three feet away, acting as the self-appointed dealer. The game of the night had long been forgotten by name, but the rules were rather simple: answer the question or drink. One could hardly mess up something so simple but your friends were always eager to conquer the impossible.

Secrets and juicy tidbits were revealed throughout the night, each of your friends making the hard choices to spill their guts—not that you minded. Eventually, your turn game around again and Robin’s eyes glistened with intrigue. Anxiety lodged itself in your throat, fearful of what horror lies on the card in her hand. She always had this look when up to something, her lips curling up into a frighteningly devious smirk like she knew something you didn’t. She turned towards you, your name dripping off her tongue with a noticeable air of mischief.

“Would you consider the person across from you in the circle to be attractive?” Your heartbeat sounded noisily in your ears, a cold sweat finding its way onto your hot skin. You had no reason to question who was across from you, already knowing the answer.

Eddie.

Edward Munson, your friend—dare you say best friend— who stole your heart the second you met. The two of you became fast friends, quickly falling into an agreeable routine at school. Once graduated, you stayed just as close if not closer. The chemistry between you was undeniable, but you were always “just friends.” Even when you started a little too long at him from across the room or burned with jealousy when he flirted with people at the local bar, he was just your friend. And it killed you.

Tentatively, you lifted your gaze from off the rugged carpet towards the metalhead across from you. Eddie looked at you innocently, not wanting to push you to answer. He was so kind that it was unnerving, how could you not like him? For years, he carried this reputation of a mean rugged guy who’d pulverize anyone who made eye contact. But, he truly was the exact opposite. Eddie could hardly hurt a fly, actually running in the opposite directions of them. The next few seconds were spent deliberating over your response to the challenge.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to say it?

“Yes.” Eddie’s gaze locked with yours as you spoke, his expression nearly unreadable if it weren’t for the hint of surprise in his doe eyes. Robin was satisfied with your answer, choosing to move on to the next person.

At some point during the game, Steve tapped out, choosing to play dealer with Robin. Everything was going smoothly, almost too smoothly. You had opted for water about 20 mins ago, sobering up a little bit. When the circle moved onto Eddie again, Steve picked up a card this time. The ex-jock couldn’t even pretend to hide his smile at the words, excitement clear on his features.

“Eddie, is there any person in this circle that you’d consider kissing.”

You didn’t mean to do it, but the hopeful high schooler buried deep in you couldn’t help but look at him in this moment. His chocolate brown eyes flicked across each person in the circle before landing on you, locking eyes comfortably. His gaze held for just a few beats, almost unclockable to an outsider.

“Yes.” Just as quickly as his gaze landed on you, it moved back over to Steve for approval. The boy leaned in, some other plan brewing in his mind.

“Follow up question. Will you disclose who they are?”

Again Eddie's eyes met yours for a few seconds longer than normal, unwavering in his decision. In any other headspace, you'd be inclined to brush it off and make excuses. But in this moment, your usual instincts felt almost elementary.

“I don't think I have to.”

The rest of the game passed on normally, your mind just barely present enough to answer the questions or take a shot during your turn. Eddie barely spared another glance in your direction, at least that you noticed.

~~~~~

You said your goodbyes to everyone, planning your thankfully short walk back to your place. Safety keychain in hand, you snuggled into your coat and headed out. Between the crunching of your sneakers on the gravel walkway and the howling wind, you could hardly make out the sound of someone shouting a bit ways behind you. You would’ve ignored it altogether if it weren’t for the yelling getting louder, testifying that it wasn’t in your imagination.

A certain curly-haired metalhead made his way towards you, smile bright in the otherwise barely lit street. Even drunk out of his mind, Eddie was gorgeous -- something you almost hated about him. He didn't even try to be hot, he just was.

“Hey. Mind if I -um, walk with you? We live close together anyways.” Not trusting yourself to speak, you moved over on the sidewalk to allot space. The walk home was largely silent, much too in your own head to say much. Eddie made no attempt to stir conversation, which you were grateful for. His usually chatty self was nowhere to be found.

As soon as the sight of your apartment building came into view, you thanked heaven and earth for saving you from this anxiety. You could pretend the night didn’t happen and move on with your life.

“Hey, sweets I’ve uh got a question.” Eddie cleared his throat, which did very little to hide the nerves in his tone. Hesitant, you chewed on your lip for a moment. Eddie’s gaze flickered down to your mouth for a moment, before quickly shooting back up to your eyes.

“Shoot.” The metalhead averted his gaze, something rather atypical for such an extroverted guy. His voice got quiet as well, like he didn’t trust himself to speak. It was endearing.

“Did you mean what you said tonight? About…finding me attractive?” His voice was hopeful, at least that’s what’s it sounded like. But you had to have imagined that.

“Yeah… I did. I have eyes Eddie. We may be friends, but I know handsome when I see it Eds.” Your voice was hesitant, but more honest than you've ever been.

The barely audible comment of “yeah friends.” could be heard from his lips, like he was whispering it to himself. It dawned upon you that the two of you were crossing the line in this moment.

“Eddie, I also have a question.” You had to be brave in this moment, knowing you might never get another chance again for this kind of honesty. His head perked up, curls bouncing and falling into the mess you loved so much around his features. With his full attention, it was now your turn to be nervous.

“Did you mean what you said tonight?” Even in the dimness of the overhead streetlight, Eddie’s entire face burned red with embarrassment. He chuckled in disbelief, shifting his weight with each foot.

“Full disclosure, I was kind of hoping you forgot about that…I was so bold and I don’t know why. But uh yeah I did mean it.” His head dropped into his hands, filled with embarrassment and shame.

With the last few words, something shifted in that moment. Eddie was no longer your goofy, lovable best friend that you secretly pined over. He wasn’t the guy who Robin and Steve damn near had to kill somebody to get you to admit that you liked. He was just a guy, one who admitted not even 2 hours ago that he’d kiss you if given the chance. And he knew that.

With one brave step towards one another, you could feel the heat radiating off his body. Maybe it was the alcohol or just his proximity, but your head felt light.

“Eddie,” you whisper.

“Yeah?” His lips ghost over yours, brushing in a way that makes you feel pathetically needy.

“Can we make good on that wish?”

He hums in response, cradling your face in his hands as he gently presses his lips to yours. He doesn’t rush, savoring the taste of you as if he’d forget. You quickly find harmony in your movements, both hungry with desire but desperate to make the moment last as long as possible. He whimpers in your mouth, needing more than one could give on a public street.

It’s only when your lungs begin to burn with lack of oxygen that you break away. You make no move to back away, encased on his arms like two puzzle pieces fitting together.

“So…”

Your awkwardness breaks the silence, the two of you making eye contact before falling into a much needed laughter fit.

“We’re gonna have to talk about this tomorrow, for sure. Perhaps over breakfast?.” His beloved goofy smile is on display, the signature one you couldn’t make to say no to.

“Are you asking me out on a date Munson?”

“Not yet. But soon. Definitely soon.”

You say goodnight, making headway towards your apartment door before you’re suddenly pulled back. Sandalwood and vanilla engulf your senses, Eddie stopping you from going to sleep. Without warning, he places his hand on the side of your neck and kisses you once more. This one was rather short, but equally sweet.

“Just wanted one for the road.” He winks, bowing like an idiot before walking into the night towards his own place. You smile to yourself as you walk the building’s empty hallways—giddy, lovesick, and still a bit drunk.

[beautifulterriblequeen]

I have a fun new Claudia/DM theory spawned from E1 tidbits yesterday

(yes I got out of bed for this, and it's long, don't judge me):

Claudia has some new dark magic disfigurement, but she also has a walking stick to help with her missing leg. Maybe she has just healed herself, and the disfigurement is from that. But I got a much wilder idea and I gotta write it down or my head will blow, SO:

If Claudia attacks Terry because she isn't healed yet - attacks him for dark magic power to heal herself, using the walking stick he lovingly made for her, no less - then she's finally coming face to face with a big issue that's been hiding in the corner of her eye for a while now.

Claudia sees Terry as "a good elf", and the rest as enemies. But when push comes to shove, she also sees him as young, agile, and alive.

Just like the little deer she lured close with milk fruit.

And Terry is very, very close now.

But she does love him. She really does, as best she can. And it sounds like, in the pain and angst of the moment, she decides that she really is a monster, and that the only way to protect them both - her heart, his body - is for her to leave him.

Yes, if they stick it out, he could conceivably leave her someday, like her family has. But he's shown no sign of that at all. Terry is ride or die! Claudia maybe can't see that from inside her own traumas, though.

And, also likely, she's simply not telling him the monster part. She's very smooth at lying to "innocent" characters she likes about really dark topics. Little white lies aren't just a Moonshadow elf thing. And he'd try to argue her point, when she's made up her mind.

Basically, it's the Claudia version of Rayla leaving Callum in TTM.

Rayla, to Callum: the enemy is too dangerous, stay here

Claudia, to Terry: I'm too dangerous, stay here

SO. Claudia breaks up with Terry and literally walks (hobbles?) away for his safety, and only she knows the full extent of her reasoning why. She's alone and hurting, emotionally and physically, she's self-isolating, she's gonna brood like there's no tomorrow... and without support in that time, she's very prone to unstable influences. We all know Terry helped her with anxiety attacks and etc and generally set a really good mood at their camp.

Now, all of that is gone. She might forget that there is in fact a synonym for cinnamon.

Claudia could fall prey to Aaravos or any other outside entity at this rate - but she could also spiral on her own. Garlaath knows the poor woman's had enough angst to feed off for a lifetime.

Confession: I love Claudia, but I don't get out of bed for her. There's more to this theory. My kind of more.

It's hard to say from outside NYCC whether it's apparent that Claudia's new dark magic disfigurement is from healing herself or not. Maybe she was all healed up already and the attack was about other things - just scaring him, frustration, etc. Maybe she'd partially healed and it wasn't enough to get her foot to reach the ground, and there was nothing else nearby to kill.

But maybe it's "new" as in, it's still left over from the pentapus transformation.

Viren's a careful, calculated spellcaster. He doesn't waste magic, he does as little as possible to get the job done. Perhaps a caution borne from living long enough to want to be there for his kids as they grow, on top of his usual kingdom defense reasons.

But Claudia has grown wings, been half a snake, and then half a pentapus, all in the span of thirty days (not thirty-one, because we don't get the extra day!). That's some Doctor Strange What If material right there. Maybe some bits of those creatures... maybe they stick around in her DNA afterward.

Maybe they become part of her.

Maybe that's what "dark magic leaves a residue in the mage's body" is really about: You can burn snap magic cantrips at will because you've fused your body with a magic creature's essence.

Do you see where this theory leads, though? It does lead to Doctor Strange What If territory.

Here it is, then:

What if every unique monster in Greater Xadia used to be a dark mage?

What if they accidentally build themselves like Dr. Lazarus from that one Doctor Who episode, out of every creature they've ever burnt for power? Each dark mage's final evolution would be unique.

What if, one day, they just... erupt into a new form and have to run away or be attacked by everyone they love? Or what if they hide away in caves and cliffs, in bogs and burrows, because they can start to feel it coming?

Even Kpp'Ar lived alone in a weird house, like Dracula or something. What if Viren was a one-off, the way he was so so careful, the way he covered his stains, so he could serve publicly and keep Katolis safe? The way he married, had kids, tried so hard for normalcy?

What if Viren knows all of this, has always known it, and it helped him turn away from Aaravos at the last moment? If he'd rather die as he is.

When it really matters, Viren doesn't want to hide in the body of another, either. Maybe in that last argument with Aaravos, Viren finally understood where Harrow was coming from. Neither of them wanted to have a ship of Theseus life. For them, the answer to that age old question seems to be No.

I have one more fun twist, darlings.

What if the research Viren was doing for Harrow regarding the famine wasn't on Xadian monsters at all? What if he has a secret book of monstrous dark mages - because of course they're pragmatic enough to dutifully record each other's final downfall, in case someone else needs what they've become for a spell someday?

Maybe his source wasn't any scout report at all, but a horrible passage about a mage who used too much Sun magic and turned themselves into a giant, lumbering Magma Titan who could never go home again lest they set everything they love ablaze.

Yes, I'm still on my "but they looked so depressed out there by the lava river!!" bullshit, and it shall continue! This is at least my 3rd iteration of a Magma Titan backstory. And you'll hear it again lmfao!

I just. Love monsters. A lot.

Alright, there we go. You survived another one of my speculative theories. Good job. Remember to drink water.

[cdyssey]

Elsbeth (1.09) Reactions:

Spoilers beneath the cut!

OH, Arian is the guy who plays Stewy on Succession… haven’t watched Succ yet, but fun!

Ivy and Joe’s bond would be sweet if he wasn’t about to be the next celebrity culprit fjekfjsj

Elsbeth: “It’s kind of eery, isn’t it? She looks so peaceful.” / Kaya: “Dead people usually do.”

oooh, he killed the wrong person. fun twist.

“You doing an interpretive dance or do you have a theory?” Gdjsjsjs, I love how deadpan Kaya is.

“You know, I think I can see someone wanting to kill that woman.” GJDJFJDJD.

“If I wanted to be duplicitous and obstruct justice, I would have stayed a lawyer.” the one liners are so fucking funny tonight. My god

Elsbeth trying to communicate with Wagner via paint swabs, lmao.

Joe’s bar looks so goddamn cool. I would happily have an overpriced drink in there.

Both Elsbeth and Kaya holding the phone, their hands brushing. 🥺 (shut up. I’ll take what crumbs I can get.)

half of these write ups just end up being me salivating over Elsbeth’s wardrobe, but anyway, that red coat 😍

Super enjoying the pacing of this ep’s investigation. feels organic.

whoa, I didn’t know that about bartender rings!!!

Arian/Joe is so charming.

I love watching Elsbeth figure stuff out—like walking on the wet floor and taking a print. It scratches a lovely puzzle solving itch.

Claudia is a great supporting character. Really appreciate how her presence allows us to see Wagner in a more complex light. For him, the bottom line is protecting her.

New Kaya tidbit! She apparently dated a bartender before… who turned out to be a psycho.

LOLOL, elsbeth spitting out the drink the young bartender made.

“Frothy, colorful, but complicated.” yeah, that’s elsbeth.

This moment between Elsbeth and Joe is so real and so good, and it’s another fine example of one of my favorite recurring elements of the show—the way that Elsbeth strives to empathize with the people she’s pursuing.

Not only does she typically understand them, sometimes she even knows exactly where they’re coming from.

“I was so angry. I wanted to hurt that nasty kid. I wanted to do something.” Like, look at this quote! Elsbeth is bright and wonderfully weird, yes, and she has her inner darknesses too. But here’s the crucial thing—not in spite of her brightness but alongside it. It’s such a compelling combination of traits, and it’s a dynamic that the show has explored in incredible ways already.

Re: Joe threatening Elsbeth: One day, I wonder if the show will eventually play with Elsbeth constantly pushing culprits’ boundaries. Hhhhhhgh. What if one of them snaps?

This ruse to trap Joe is a lot, lmao.

“Claudia will kill me if anything happens to you!”

FULLY thought that Wagner was about to get shot. ☠️

“Maybe that’s why I got the job, and you didn’t.” killer line.

“And you can go back to Chicago now.” ELSBETH AND KAYA’S FACES IMMEDIATELY FALLING.

AND, FUCK, WAGNER REQUESTING IT!!! GOD GOD GOD.

FUCK, THAT’S A GOOD AND ANGSTY CLIFFHANGER.

ANDRÉ DE SHIELDS IN THE NEXT EPISODE?!!!?!

this was a fun penultimate episode. arian moayed killed it, and I loved the cliffhanger ending. really sets the stakes for the finale.

[notchesandbullets]

Take it From Your Hot Neighbor Baby (Virgin!Sub!Midoriya x Reader)

Art credit: Heijiu Comics

Requested by anon: OMGGGGGG I love your writing, I was thinking If I can make a request on a smut with my baby Izuku Midoriya. Where he's so beautiful and innocent and the older neighbor next door from him likes him and basically targets him for sex which is the reader of course, and he likes her too. So then she totally doms him and invites him to her house and basically go at it as Izuku's innocent's self can't handle the pleasure the reader gives him!If you could do that I love your writing, If not it's cool!!!

Warnings: slight dumbification, precious bby izuku is 19, everything that happens here is consensual, unprotected sex, pet names, overstimulation, virgin!sub!izuku (mainly), Aged up!AU, filthy smut, dirty talk, cursing.

18+

A/N: Thank you for the request, I hope you like it!! i loved writing this :D (feel free to send me another to write, i’m already almost done with what i suspect is your other one xD)

Words: 4k

You grinned as the shared wall between you and your neighbor shook, signaling that the boy from next door was finally home. 

Midoriya Izuku, a passionate and utterly clueless broccoli-haired boy turned fresh pro-hero, sweet and sensitive, everything you ever wanted in a partner. That, and he was clearly too shy to approach you.

You had been neighbors with him and his mom for forever but only until recently, after his admission into UA did you start to see him in another light besides platonic. And it wasn’t until he graduated that he had completely dominated your interest in another way entirely.

It was no secret that he used to be a scrawny kid but since his high school days, he had bulked up considerably. 

Now, with the body of a tank and a soul bursting with positivity, you were completely hooked.

It really was astonishing to you how he continued to maintain that innocent personality after becoming a pro-hero. No one was that optimistic and oblivious all at the same time. 

You had started out with smaller hints, bringing him food once a week to make sure he was eating properly, taking care of him when he was sick or injured and just too stubborn to admit it and go to the hospital, you name it and you’ve done it.

What was extremely exciting at first to be interacting with him like this dulled the moment you realized this baby was so innocent that all your signals were completely going over his head.

The dumb baby. Your dumb baby.

He was fast approaching 20 but you were willing to bet he hadn’t even gotten laid yet. With the way he walked, it was as if he was still the same kid you had met ten years ago.

Your parents had long since moved out of the apartment, going closer to where your grandparents were since they were getting older and needed to be taken care of. You had politely declined their invitation to go with, asking if you could take over the lease on the place since they would no longer be living here.

As their only child, they had a soft spot for you and let you do as you pleased now that you were old enough to be living on your own. They even helped you out with the rent even though that was entirely unnecessary. 

Your day job paid enough.

An upbeat tune floated throughout your apartment and you danced along to the music in nothing but a thin cami and a pair of scarlet lace panties. Since it was so hot today, you had decided to forgo actual clothes. It was perfect, but you were definitely still sweating. 

Tapping a finger to your chin thoughtfully, you recalled how your adorable and hot neighbor’s mom was out working all day and wouldn’t be back until late. Plus, you knew that he had no hero work today, courtesy of the boy telling you himself via text when you checked up on him earlier this week.

Pulling an oversized t-shirt over your head so that it brushed just below your thong clad ass and fell off of your shoulders, you fluffed your hair, giggling to yourself at your reflection in the mirror. 

Today was the day you would make Midoriya yours. 

Grabbing a few cookies from the kitchen that you had made just last night because you felt like it at that moment, you flung open your front door, knocking on his a second later. 

Hopping in place excitedly, you couldn’t contain your enthusiasm. You hadn’t even bothered to message him that you were coming over, knowing that he would prefer it be a surprise. 

“Izuku!!” You cheered when the door opened, immediately thrusting the plate of cookies out towards him. 

He staggered a couple steps back, unprepared for your sudden attack but rubbed the back of his head with a sheepish smile, emerald eyes shining with gratitude.

Midoriya bowed gratefully. “Thank you, Y/N!!” 

It had taken literally years before he was comfortable calling you by your first name without any honorific attached to the end of it. But it was worth the wait as warmth sparked through your heart and a soft smile adorned your features before it was replaced with a mischievous one.

Bounding up to him, you pressed your chest against his purposefully, making it so that you almost lost your balance. You gasped in mock surprise when he instinctively wrapped his arms around your waist to catch you, relishing in how strong his arms felt around you.

Midoriya stuttered as your boobs were practically smushed against his face by how close you were to him. Were they always that big?!

It wasn’t like he masturbated to you everyday or anything. Definitely not.

He groaned, throwing his head back as your body heat encompassed him. 

Who was he kidding, he jerked off to you every spare second he got. He couldn’t help it though. Your beautiful smile always beckoning him over, those alluring eyes of yours enticing him closer and closer until he felt as though he could combust merely by standing in your presence alone.

Giggling, your teeth sank down into your bottom lip and you batted your eyes at him. A shudder ran down his spine and you bit back a smile at the blush that sat on his freckled cheeks.

“Do you want to come over for a little while?” You asked softly, feigning shyness and you rubbed your thighs together. “I have something I want to show you.”

The action didn’t go unnoticed and Midoriya’s mouth dried as the swell of your breasts peeked up over the low scoop of your shirt when he glanced down. 

“Uh, y-yes?” He uttered, voice shaking with uncertainty as he automatically agreed to what you had asked him without even thinking about it.

You giggled, eyes lighting up in excitement. “Great!!”

He stumbled after you as you dragged him next door to your apartment, losing his balance and falling on the couch as you pushed him inside. 

Your eyes shifted from playful to concern as he landed on his back with an ‘oomph’.

You were quick to cup his face, examining him closely. “Oh no, Izuku, are you alright?” 

“Y-Y/N!!!” He stammered out, face bright red at your proximity.

“Are you alright?” You repeated, uncharacteristically serious and seeing as how you were asking him more than one question, he nodded to both. 

You chuckled, leaning in close. His cheeks burned at your proximity and although you wanted so badly to tease him, you needed to get something straight first.

“You ever been fucked before, baby?” You cooed sweetly and a visible shiver shot down his spine.

He gaped for a moment, not used to you saying something so brazenly but shook his head wordlessly. 

You smiled, your tone taking on a gentle lilt as you sensed his nervousness. “Want me to be your first?”

This time he didn’t hesitate. 

“Yes.” He whispered, barely breathing as he finally confessed what he had been longing for ever since he turned of age. “Want you so bad.”

You didn’t outwardly show it, but your heart skipped a beat at his admission and the butterflies fluttered uncontrollably.

“Yeah?” You bit your lip to contain the wide smile. “Something tells me that you want to be played with, am I right?”

A whine bubbled past his lips and your smile turned wicked. Oh, you were going to have so much fun with him. You wondered how he would look when you played with his nipples, which you sure would be so sensitive it would have him hard in a heartbeat, or how he looked writhing under you when he was about to cum. 

Anticipation thrummed through your veins and you couldn’t believe that after all this time, you finally had the opportunity to give him that kind of pleasure. 

“Such a good boy.” You crooned softly and he audibly keened, stretching towards you desperately as you denied him a kiss. “What’s your safeword, baby?”

Midoriya’s head was spinning and his brain was short-circuiting from how unbelievably close you were to him. The sweet smell of your perfume flooded his senses and he swallowed thickly, very much aware of how little clothes you were wearing. You had yet to touch him and he was already a goner.

“S-Safeword?” He stammered out, his eyes shutting automatically as you threaded your fingers through his hair, a small moan breaking through the weighted silence as you scratched his scalp. 

You observed his every move, every flutter of his lashes as he fell under your spell without even trying to succumb. 

“Mmhm…” You hummed. “A word that you can use at any time and I’ll stop everything.”

A safeword was for both parties but you were fairly sure that you wouldn’t need it, being more experienced than him and aware of your boundaries. But just in case, you whispered that little tidbit of information in his ear so that he wasn’t left out of the loop.

“What if…” Midoriya gulped, restraining himself to keep his hands at his sides no matter how desperately he wanted to kiss you. He wanted to know if they were as soft as they looked. “C-Can’t I just tell you to stop?”

You frowned a tiny bit, not put off by his question but rather how fucked out he looked already. The poor boy was already straining in his pants, the bulge making your mouth water but you kept your head on straight. 

“You can.” You agreed. “If that’s what you want, we can do that.”

He glanced away from you, thinking hard. He wasn’t all innocent. He had watched porn before when dared to by Bakugou after one of the class movie nights at Heights Alliance back when they were at UA, and he was embarrassed how quickly he got attached to the videos that had bondage and overstimulation.

It always looked so enticing. He wanted to know what it felt like to be pinned down and overpowered until pleasure rode on every one of his senses. 

He wanted you to do that to him. 

“W-What about if I just used your name?”

Midoriya cringed as soon as he suggested it and took it back faster than you could react, another idea tumbling out of his mouth in a split second. 

“Black?” He whispered, avoiding eye contact with you. 

Baby boy blinked so nervously, worried you might refuse or reject him for any reason and you took his chin in between your thumb and forefinger, drawing his face close to yours. 

“Alright baby, that’s perfect.” You reassured softly. “Either one of us can use it and then everything stops, okay?”

He nodded, getting more excited as your breath fanned across his lips. 

“Need to hear you say it.” You demanded quietly. 

His green curly hair bounced as he nodded vigorously. “I understand!!”

Midoriya stiffened for a moment in surprise as you finally pressed your lips against his, sealing his first kiss and he swore his heart stopped beating. Then, he melted into putty as you moved your lips skillfully against his, coaxing him to return it with as much lust and passion as you were igniting within him.

You pulled away to lean in close to his ear, trailing a finger up and down his chest playfully.

“Let me take care of you, Izuku~” You cooed, slyly licking the shell of his ear, savoring in the shiver that shot down his spine as a result of your ministrations.

You continued down, planting hot and wet open-mouthed kisses along his jaw as he whined and wriggled beneath you. Trailing down his neck to his collar bones and then his bare chest as you ripped open his shirt in one swift movement, you pinned his wrists above his head.

A protest ripped from his throat at your display of dominance.

“Y-Y/N!! I wanted to—”

“To what?” You questioned smugly.

Midoriya whimpered pathetically and you smirked. 

He blushed, looking away. The boy was built like a bull but was an absolutely softie, innocent pure little bean at heart. He didn’t have what it took to take over. 

“You wanted to touch me?” You asked, laving your tongue around one of his sensitive nipples. “You wanted to be on top?”

His face scrunched up at the strange sensation, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from crying out as you bit down on the tender flesh.

You licked your lips seductively, making a show of your tongue grazing over your teeth as you gazed down at him through hooded eyes. “Do you think you deserve to touch me after being such a bad boy?”

You heard him every night. The walls were thin in the cheap apartment complex you lived in. Too thin. 

“Don’t touch me until I say so.” You ordered.

You heard every wanton moan that bubbled past his pouty lips, such pretty little sounds that you wanted to hear all for yourself. You were jealous of the others in the vicinity that can undoubtedly hear him as well. The only thing that settled your heart at ease was the luscious cries of your name falling from his lips. 

And now, all your neighbors would know just who he belonged to.

Midoriya gulped nervously and you reveled in the adrenaline pumping through your veins at being in control and dominating him. Your shirt rode up as you straddled his hips, and he wriggled beneath you, wanting nothing more than to touch you.

You trailed a finger from his chest all the way to his navel, teasing the waistband of his pants. He whined as you wiggled your ass down to sit comfortably on top of his thighs. Deftly unbuttoning his jeans, your eyes flickered back up to him.

“Oh my, these look so uncomfortable.” You mock pouted, sneakily biting the zipper of his fly and pulling it down. “Do you want me to take them off for you?”

You grinned as he involuntarily bucked his hips up into your feather-light touch, tears collecting at the corner of his eyes in frustration. Slowly pulling down his pants and boxers together, your eyes bugged out as you saw what he was packing.

“Oh…” You mused. “I wasn’t expecting this.”

If you thought he was big, you were dead wrong. This boy was hung as a horse. Well endowed to the max, he was easily packing eight inches and you couldn’t even fit your hands all away around his thick girth. 

You stroked him as best as you could but judging by that guttural groan that erupted from his mouth, you’d say you were doing a pretty good job. 

“Please!!” Midoriya begged, practically sobbing as you teased him and it was like music to your ears. “Please, Y/N, make me feel good!!”

“Yeah,” You whispered, suckling on the vein that ran on the underside of his stiff member. “You want me to make you cum, baby?”

“Yes, please!!” He cried, fisting the fabric of the sofa, remembering your rule not to touch you yet. 

But it was killing him.

The foreplay had made you wet enough to take him and you weren’t keen on waiting another second longer.

Positioning yourself over his leaking head, the tip of his engorged shaft rubbed against your puffy folds as you pushed your thong to the side.

Midoriya’s eyes bulged out of his head as he saw the red lace and he couldn’t stop his hands from shooting to your waist as you threw your shirt up over your head, leaving you in that thin cami that left nothing to the imagination. 

“F-Fuck—” You cursed as you sank down on him, thighs trembling from the effort of taking him. “Izuku, baby, you’re so big.”

He was rock hard and pressing against your inner walls just right. It had been so long since someone had filled you up like this and now that you had him, no one even came close to any of those prior. 

Midoriya was huffing, moaning uncontrollably as the rush of pleasure he got by being encased in your tight heat so quickly. His hands gripped your hips, kneading the flesh of your ass as he started to rock you back and forth in his lap.

You completely ignored the fact that he disobeyed your order. 

“Dumb baby,” You cooed softly. “Does that pussy feel good around your cock? Huh? Tell me.”

“Yes— hhgh, I love it so much, Y/N, you feel so tight, ahh!!” He mewled, unable to think of anything else except how good your cunny felt fluttering around him.

His face was beautifully flushed, unable to tear his gaze off of where his cock had disappeared into you. The sticky wetness smeared against his hip bones made your arousal evident and he was impossibly turned on at the vision in front of him.

You threw your head back as he took over control, gyrating your hips for you before you were even adjusted to his massive length. A breathy moan tumbled out of your lips as his fingers knotted their way into your hair, yanking it back so that your hips canted into him with every thrust. 

“I-Izuku!!” You moaned loudly as he roughly and sporadically pounded into you. 

You squealed as he pulled you down to his chest to get a better angle, all the breath vanishing from your lungs as he planted his heels and fucked up into you so fast that you would’ve fallen off from the force if he wasn’t holding onto you with an iron grip.

“Sorry, Y/N!!” He broke off with a whine and burrowed his face into your neck as you clenched around him, his hips stuttering. “But I’m about to—”

You shrieked as he released inside of you, painting your walls with his thick, milky white cum. Chest heaving, you pushed him down and straightened up, clicking your tongue.

“Such a selfish baby.” You crooned, controlling your breathing enough to put up a confident front. “I didn’t even get to cum yet.”

His eyes widened in horror at not satisfying you first. “Oh, Y/N, I’m so sorry, I didn’t— Gah!!”

His earnest apology was interrupted  as you began bouncing on him again, keen on reaching your high. His spent length twitched inside of you and he whimpered, eyes screwed shut at the pain.

“Y/N!! It… It hurts!!” Midoriya whimpered pitifully, his eyes screwed shut at the overstimulation.

“Aw,” Your smile was sadistic and you threw your ass back into his lap intentionally, causing him to throb within you. “Does it?”

“Yes!!” He cried out. “Fuck, please stop!!”

You pouted sadly, gyrating your hips faster. “But I haven’t even cum yet.”

It was too much. Your words spun with those sinful rocks of your hips was making a lethal mix of pain and pleasure shoot through his system and he whined, pawing at your hips. 

“Y/N, please!!” He begged, unsure what he was begging for at this point. 

It didn’t take long for him to get hard again. You weren’t sure if his short refractory period was a side effect of his power or the fact that he had just lost his virginity to you and wanted you again, but you were definitely going to oblige him either way.

Midoriya arched into your scalding touch as you leaned down to kiss him once again. Your soft lips and the hot cavern of your mouth distracted him as your tongues danced together and he almost forgot about the fact that he was balls-deep inside of you. 

Until you started to move again. 

His cry was muffled as you licked it out of his mouth before pulling away.

Your grin widened and you rocked your hips back and forth at a mind-blowing pace, reducing the blubbering boy beneath you into a whimpering mess.

But your confident façade soon vanished as his hands found purchase on your hips and bucked up wildly. 

The grin slipped off your face and you whimpered, fingers splaying on his bare chest for balance as he went wild, fucking up into you with abandon. 

You could do nothing else other than hold on and pray you wouldn't fall off of him as he took over.

Biting your lip, you desperately tried to regain control. “Izuku—” 

He gritted his teeth, ignoring you and your eyes widened as green lightning started to surround his body. 

Your eyes widened. “Wait—!”

He didn't. 

Your head tipped back and the loudest scream you've ever produced ripped from your throat as he used One for All to completely destroy your pussy. But to your disbelief, he didn’t stop, he didn’t even slow down when you contracted around him.

His hips slammed up into yours at a breaknecking speed and tears blurred your vision as you cried out, sobbing with pleasure as he finally made you cum.

“Y/N, you’re milking my cock so much!!” Midoriya blurted out with a raspy moan as another orgasm spiraled to you and you shrieked, this one hitting harder than the last.  

At some point, you blacked out.

When you came to, Midoriya was hovering over you worriedly, his green eyes glistening with concern as he called your name over and over again.

Sitting up with a groan, you realized that he had laid you down on the couch and covered you with a blanket.

“Y/N?” The boy asked, brushing the hair out of your eyes as he sat down by your side.

You offered him a smile, every bone in your body protesting as you sat up. Midoriya was helping you in a second, ignoring your feeble protests that you could do it yourself. 

The next minute, he played with his fingers awkwardly. 

“Was… Was it good for you?” He asked timidly, blinking his big eyes up at you. 

You cracked a smile at how earnest he was. Cutie. 

“Of course it was.” You murmured, planting a soft kiss on his forehead before staring straight into his eyes. “You know this means you're mine, right?”

Midoriya blinked his doe eyes, mouth parting slightly. “Eh?!”

You smirked. “Yup.”

“Really?!?!” He asked excitedly, leaning forward to stick his face close to yours and you giggled. 

Adorable. Simply adorable.

“Yeah, baby.” You whispered, cupping his face and pecking his freckled cheek. He was so sweet. So pure. 

You couldn’t wait to defile him more. Wait until he was exposed to the world of BDSM.

Licking your lips slyly, you smirked. “You’re all mine.”

Taglist: @katsukis-sad-angel​

[id-rather-be-an-outsider]

Fratboys and Full Rides (TEASER)

Johnny Worthington x monster!reader

“Hey! Party’s over. Why are you still here?” A tall, horned monster asks me. He crosses his arms as he waits for an answer.

I frown when I see him wearing ROR gear. I only remember seeing him for a few seconds when we started cleaning the main room. “I’m just here to hang out with Javier, but I had to go to the bathroom. I helped clean up earlier, if you remember?”

“I’m the leader of the most prestigious fraternity on campus, sweetheart, I don’t have time to memorize every face I see.”

I cringe internally at ‘sweetheart’. “Yea, don’t ever call me that again, thanks. I’m just gonna go find my friend now.” I turn to walk away, but get yanked back by one of my wings. “Hey!”

“Did you hear what I said, charity case? Go home!” He barks, “You’re not permitted in the building without an escort!”

I whip my wing out of his grasp and with one swoop, go from being one and a half feet shorter than him to being two feet taller than him. Wings have their perks in the face of entitled trust fund babies. “Touch my ‘charity case’ ass again and see how quickly you don’t have limbs to monster-handle folks with.” I spit, the embers in the back of my throat already heating up. I can see the smoke billowing out of my nose.

“Woah, woah, what’s going on here?” Javier says, just having walked into the hall and taking the scene in with a healthy amount of shock.

“Your fuckin’ friend here’s finna lose his hands if he keeps up the bullshit, that’s what’s going on!” I hiss.

“Your girlfriend has a mouth on her and is a few more words away from being banished from this frathouse, Rios. Handle her.” He sighs, like my existence is just an annoyance to him.

Javier jumps between the two of us before I can burn the guy’s face off and says, “There are a couple things you need to know about y/n, Worthington. One, her fire melts things, two, she has a temper, and three, she is not my girlfriend. She is an independent person and I can’t exactly ‘handle’ her, but if I’m expected to be able to deescalate things between you two, I can’t have remarks like that made.” He looks at me. “Are you good?”

“Is he good?” I ask, incredulous. “He pulled my wing! And on top of that he was yelling at me for no fucking reason!”

“Okay, and I will talk to him about that later, but right now we need to go, okay?”

I look between Javier and Worthington, the latter wearing a shit-eating grin that says he knows I’m torn. I toss him a glare, then growl, “Fine.” I whip around, flying down the hallway as fast as my wings can carry me. I pause at the door, impatiently tapping my foot while waiting for Javier to catch up. When he reaches me I mutter, “Make sure your stupid fuckin’ rude ass buddy over there knows if he ever treats me like that again I’m gonna ‘handle’ it how I want to. I don’t care if I get expelled man, fuck that shit, I hate when trust fund babies treat scholarship students like we’re worth nothing!”

“Yo yo yo, y/n, slow down, I get it, I get it - I’m on a few scholarships myself. But that’s not gonna solve anything. And you’ll get banished to the human world.” Javier reasons, “The best revenge right now is to not let him see he gets to you. Worthington is my guy, okay? He’s not gonna do that again. He’s not even the type to do that from out of nowhere so something must be up for him to even disrespect you like that. I’m gonna make sure he knows, and I got your back. Okay?” He says, hand on my shoulder while he waits for me to chill out.

I push the doors open as hard as I can, expelling some of my anger with a breath of fire. “Okay.” I say irritably, “But I don’t like him. I hate him. So don’t even try to get us to be friends or any dumb shit like that.”

He laughs. “I won’t, but if you wanna hang out on campus you’re gonna have to be around him without burning the building down. A lot of my time’s spent doing frat activities, so...”

I roll my eyes. “Whatever, Javier.”

“Do you promise not to breathe fire?” He asks.

“If he promises not to be a dick, then sure.”

a/n: I hope you enjoyed this little tidbit! stay tuned for the full story of how the reader navigates college life, making friends and enemies, and falling in love! this story operates alongside the canon of Monsters University, and tries to give an additional peak into the lives of many of the characters you know and love - I only hope I can do them all justice in the end!

[snifflesthemouse]

Harry’s the Problem. His wife is the symptom. He is the real Diana 2.0 Wannabe...

         Since the Oprah interview aired, my whole perspective regarding the spare and his spouse has shifted. It would seem that I’m not alone in my thought process as more and more media outlets start reporting similar stances. Just recently, there was an article suggesting Harry didn’t change; but rather, he is only finally revealing his true self. The more I think about it all, the more I’ve come to the realization #6 is the real culprit behind everything.

         I’m not saying that his wife doesn’t have her own agenda or shares responsibility for her part in all this. Her hands are far from clean. What I am saying is it’s finally time for all of us to consider the cold, hard truth. Harry is his mother’s child. Harry is the bad egg, and his wife is only a side effect of the real problem here.

         Had it not been for the Oprah interview, I would have never put it all together. The problem with oversharing is too much information gets put out in the public. Most assume PR firms would worry about oversaturation in the press, but the real problem comes from personal interviews they cannot control in real-time. Puff pieces can be edited before publishing so facts and statements align; live interviews cannot. Over time, one of two patterns form from this oversaturation. Consistencies, repetitions, and similarities can be found in oversaturated truth-telling. Inconsistencies, changes, and huge differences result from those like Harry who prefer their trousers scorching hot from bursting into flames from deception. When you consistently lie, the only constant is the inconsistencies. 

         Now, those of us who have been following these two already know by now inconsistencies and changing stories should be expected. But the Oprah interview really highlighted some interesting things I had previously missed. The interview with Dax Shephard only solidifies my theories. Up until lately, those two have been together through most everything. Very seldom have we seen Harry alone in an interview or speech. There’s never a time where the missus isn’t popping up. James Corden proved that. Then we have the Oprah interview where she was supposed to be the star of the show. But, that was the moment it all changed. That interview was the moment she became the understudy. 

          Think about it. Who is the one being used in the media lately? Most people would suggest that the impending delivery of child number dos is why the missus is absent. One would then argue the Apple + special with Oprah started production well before the second child was a topic for discussion. The missus is being used less and less on camera or in the media. Everything is all about Harry. Forget about when Harry met Sally; Harry Met Hollywood! 

         Harry is the one doing the interviews, dropping projects, and talking with big Hollywood names. Even their announced Netflix projects are focused on one of Harry’s pre-married concepts. All the wife has going for her is a book that’s only number one in the “Books written by ex-Royals who couldn’t hack it” category. Seriously though, as of this posting the Bench is #2130 on the Amazon Books list, #12 in Children’s Black and African American Story Books, #73 in Children’s Emotions Books, and #167 in Children’s Family Life Books. Being pregnant isn’t a disqualifier for being interviewed. But, apparently being just the wife is.

         So, if it was his wife’s plan from the beginning to marry Harry, get him to abandon his family, move to California, and become a big star with a Prince for a husband, her plans have been ruined. And if you think about what she said in the interview with Oprah, you can actually see the moments she told us all exactly that. She clearly tells Oprah Harry was her direct link and source to the Royal Family and everything she needed to know. She didn’t misspeak or misunderstand a thing; she was telling us that Harry’s next to be markled. In every weird answer or revelation where she gave her versions for why their child(ren) were without title, saying they wed three days before the chapel, or having to cry out to HR since Harry failed to help her while she was so depressed she wanted to kill herself and her unborn child... all of it. It was all just the beginning. It may seem like she is attacking her husband’s family, but Harry’s the real target now.

          In just a couple sentences, she managed to reveal who Harry really was. Harry, of all people, should (and does) know how to navigate the press. Clearly, he failed to not only help her acclimate to Royal life, but it could also even be argued he set her up for failure for the get go. Let me give you an example. When my husband introduced me to his family for the first time, he told me little tidbits of information he found important for me to know. He essentially prepped me for the meeting so things went well. He wanted his family to like me because he loved me. I wanted them to like me because I loved him, too. So, I took to heart everything he told me. Yet, Harry’s wife shared with the world how little Harry cared about that. She credits Fergie with teaching her to curtsey, google for teaching her the National Anthem, and even said Her Majesty made her feel especially welcomed. So how did Harry not do more? If they started seeing one another in the early Summer of 2016, how is it Harry failed to teach or explain anything to her prior to meeting his grandmother, the Queen, when he had months and months of time to do so? How is it he failed his wife so miserably, she didn’t even understand basic UK custom, laws, or protocols? Why might you ask?

         Simply put, Harry is so much like his mother, all he knows is how to play the victim narrative while using the link to the Royal family as a nonstop ATM machine. Many people aren’t honest with themselves when it comes to Diana. She wasn’t the Mother Theresa everyone makes her out to be. Mother Theresa wasn’t a Mother Theresa either, though. Did Diana do some great things? Absolutely. Did she do them only because they were nice or great? Absolutely… not. Diana’s PR team would even have her switch up her charity causes whenever they felt it was getting to martyrdom level. They’d refer to her PR stunts as flavors. Does that sound like an innocent woman?

         Not to me. This whole time we all have seen his wife as the root of all issues, but she’s the side effect. It’s becoming more clear by the day that Harry searched out her. He wanted someone with the basic Hollywood connections that he could capitalize. Someone that seemed so controlling and ambitious it would be easy to believe they were controlling him, too. Of course he knew she would invite all the celebs she did. He probably inspired that guest list. Instead of guiding her in the press and in British society, he leads her to slaughter. He hides behind her repeated gaffes and wokeness to keep on his own mission.

         You see, Harry is obsessed with his brother eventually becoming king, being the “Second Son of Diana” and being the misfit. He is obsessed with his brother and father. They are all he talks about. When you obsess on something like that, it is more revealing than anything you say. Harry’s true motives aren’t protecting his wife and children. His real motive is making a name for himself like his mother did. If he can manage to get some revenge by making the Firm feel some backlash, hey that’s a bonus. 

         While his wife may think in her mind she will be the next Diana 2.0, the truth is we all missed who really will be. Harry is the one wanting to be Diana 2.0. If that’s the case, then that means the much older spouse for whom there are two children with, aka the wife, would be his Charles. Remember, Diana lost her HRH and titles. And we have Harry being very aggressive and pushy, to the point it seems he is trying to get ahead of a Palace announcement of them losing their titles. But it makes sense now.

         They aren’t trying to lose anything, but instead Harry keeps opening his mouth to create pressure in the media. He knows his wife does not want to give those titles back. But if he himself keeps saying outrageous things, then it would put everyone in ultimatum mode. Either Harry will push hard enough that Parliament and the Queen will have enough, or the press will get so critical of the two, Harry will push his wife to agree to returning the titles.

         Harry is following the Diana business model. While in the Royal Family, they both were seen as rock stars who had more star power the the Sovereign, which was an issue. Then, they couldn’t take all the abuse, coldness, and inhumanity, so they bolted for freedom. Instead of putting the past behind them, they use the past to monetize grief and trauma in such a way, they become their own brand. Right now, the trauma being monetized comes from the past, but the problem will soon come when that trauma is tapped out. He will need a source of new pain or victimhood. Enters the wife stage left.

          The wife is a tool. She of course has her own plans and thinks she is the one in control or the genius. She thinks she is the one everyone wants to work with. But it’s becoming clear to her that isn’t the case and she’s been played by her elite buddies. They all want him, not her. They all duped her for him. If I can see it, and I can see her already finger pointing that Harry is the failure here, then she can see it. And that means paradise will soon be lost in those Montecito hills. His wife won’t go down without a serious fight here. I wouldn’t even be surprised if she eventually causes him to lose his special visa. 

         Overall, Harry hides behind his wife like a beard or shield protecting him from the press’s glaring lens. He lets her do and say whatever she thinks is great so he can keep plotting his own plans. He allows her to take the fall, look stupid, pull stunts people can see through, etc. for a reason. He isn’t completely sure he can make it in his new California life. He knows he can’t if he keeps her for too long, but he also knows he needs an exit strategy in case it blows up. So, he pins the press to attack her as the true culprit. If they split and he has to, he can return home and play the victim of her. If they split and he is doing okay in Hollywood, she can be the reason he plays victim to big named people like Oprah and Gayle. 

         I can see it now. An Oprah Special with Harry tonight on Apple +. Something cheesy or corny that is almost plagiarism. Like Narcissus and the Prince or something. Watch. Mark my words. Oprah talking to Harry about surviving the marriage while trying to rescue two small kids, being in the spotlight as a Royal while being gaslit by a narcissistic wife… yes I can see the green screen set up now.

         I know this is difficult to digest, but I do ask you to try. While his wife is not innocent, she clearly is guilty for her own part indeed, his wife isn’t the true problem. The true problem here is a man who has a serious issue with living in the shadow of his future-King father and future-King brother, and his future-King nephew, that he has chosen to use the same exact attack model his own mother used to merch and marginally disrupt the institution that made her a star. Harry and his mother both wanted the entire spotlight, but both knew they could never have it the way they wanted it. So, they wrote their own victimhood narrative.

         And here we are now. Mark my words. Harry will keep pushing until those remaining titles are removed by them forcing the hands of Parliament and the Queen. Or, they’ll push and push in the press so much the outrage and hypocrisy will leave them no other option but to renounce and re-gift those titles and rights to the line of succession. That is what he wants, even if his missus doesn’t. Also make no mistake about it. Harry is the real Diana 2.0 wannabe, not his wife. Keep an eye out. I have this gnawing feeling that soon enough, there will be plenty leaks from the wife about the husband. She won’t go quietly into the Beverly Hills… but neither will he.

[poguestvff]

LIKE A BIG SISTER SHOULD — WHEEZIE CAMERON

in which wheezie cameron finds that blood doesn’t make you family, love and affection does.

taglist | masterlist | 2.5k words | @pogueslandia ,

warning(s): food, she/her pronouns, ward slander, a little sarah slander but that’d include reading between the lines. why’d this make me want to make a series of reader and Wheezie being best friends.

There's always been a heavy feeling of loneliness that rested upon the youngest cameron's shoulders, weighing her down as it seemed to pile over the years. Her siblings were always older, an age gap between them that even if it was shortened by a few years, their worlds would still be two different things. All three of them were in three different stages of life yet somehow it felt like Wheezie wasn't even there at times.

Throughout the entirety of her schooling career so far, everything had somehow been about Rafe and Sarah. Sarah was the perfect one; the paragon who could do no wrong. Even if Sarah tried to disobey, it'd be turned around to be made out as a minute mistake. She'd probably be able to get away with it a second time if she did it a different way. Maybe the same way.

Rafe was quite the opposite. The bastard child who needed a plentiful amount of attention in hopes he can be more like the paragon. With all this attention, his head only grew. It never gave him the space for growth. It minimized the space to stay exactly where he was for years on end.

This left Wheezie to be the ostracized sibling. She wasn't a social butterfly or a poster child like Sarah and she definitely wasn't a loner or the 'damaged goods' child like Rafe. She was just... average. With average grades and an average personality. Just average old Wheezie. She told herself this consistently, watching her father balance his attention between making sure Rafe stayed between the lines he'd drawn for him in a radius such as a dart board and allowing Sarah step out of them, even erasing some of the lines so she could walk on by them without a second thought.

But Wheezie was stuck in that tiny little circle in the middle, the bullseye as if scared to move out of those lines. The one place that was the hardest to pinpoint specifically by her father. But there was one thing Ward Cameron always said correct about his younger daughter. That he wouldn't be able to pin point his little dart of control into the middle of the board because she was misunderstood and misunderstood she was.

Though one person had been able to pick up on every single one of Wheezie's emotions.

Y/n Y/L/N was a pogue who had done tutoring on the side for a little extra money and when John B had recommended Y/n for help with Wheezie's homework, Ward was quick to say okay. He hardly even asked a thing about Y/n, just telling her to help Wheezie pass eighth grade and that was all. It was made very apparent to Y/n that was Wheezie was not as much of a priority to Ward as other things were.

Their first tutoring session, Wheezie was awfully dismissive. She didn't care for any of Y/n's efforts as they sat within the comfort of Wheezie's bedroom. She just wanted the entire hour to be over with the second she'd entered her room but Y/n was insistent, knowing that by the end of the school year she would have something instilled in Wheezie's brain. She just didn't know what that something was yet.

The second time they met, Y/n was more passive aggressive in hopes of breaking down the brick walls Wheezie had stored between her and everyone else in hopes of not disappointing them like the way she thought she'd disappointed her father. Y/n sat her down in her desk chair, swiveling her chair to her as she rested her hands on the younger girls shoulders. "You are going to have a really awkward couple of weeks if you and i don't become friends so no work today. We're playing 20 questions."

That night, Y/n learned a lot about Wheezie Cameron that she never thought she'd learned. Wheezie hated the color purple, she just painted her room that color because Sarah liked that color. Wheezie loved to paint and to draw, it was her favorite activity, she just rarely showed it bevause she hadn't believed in herself. Though, when she showed Y/n the canvas' that were shoved at the back of the closet, Y/n marveled at them. But Y/n's favorite fact, and the same one that almost made her hug Wheezie on the spot, was that she was never taught to swim and Y/n made her a promise that she would teach her.

As the weeks went by, Wheezie waiting anticipatingly for Y/n's beaten down, green ford bronco to pull up on the driveway and she'd leave the house with a giant smile on her face. It’d be early in the morning, a little less than an hour until school started, just like how Wheezie liked. She'd jump in the driver seat, embracing the smell of vanilla from the scented item hanging from the rear view mirror. She’d toss her bag to the back as Y/n would ruffle her hair, just like she had every morning. "And beloved was set in... late 1856!" Wheezie answered excitedly as Y/n drove down the final street towards her school after the two had gotten breakfast together.

"Perfect! You're gonna do so good on your test, Wheeze, I promise." Y/n told her ecstatically as she pulled into a parking space. Just before Wheezie could get out, Y/n held her upper arm just to gain her attention before she got out. "Tell Rose she doesn't have to get you after school. I'll leave school early and you and I are having a girls day. No studying, just me, you and a shit ton of sweets."

Wheezie smiled, she could feel the muscles in her jaw begin to hurt from how wide she had. She tilted her head to the side out of curiosity, eyeing the look of excitement on Y/n's face. "But why?"

Y/n shrugged, adjusting in her seat and fixing her rear view mirror. "Cause, you deserve it. I'm so proud of you, Little W." She told her, looking back towards the girl and seeing her smile slightly drop. "You okay?"

Wheezie couldn't remember a time where she was genuinely told that. Yeah, sure, Ward said it a few times but it'd be in a lousy tone before he'd wave her off, saying he was busy with whatever office work he had to attend to. Sarah may have said it a few times but it was rushed before she'd run after her friends with a quick goodbye to Wheeze, leaving her alone in the sand. It was never sincere. Not in the way Y/n had said it.

She rubbed her hands against her jean clad thighs with a sharp breath before nodding. “Yeah. I've just never really been told that before. Like—Like genuinely." She said, lowly, in hopes Y/n would understand and wouldn't push it.

Y/n had known Wheezie long enough to know her tells and avoiding eye contact was one of the biggest ones. So she didn't indulge further in the conversation, brushing it under the rug but knowing she'd have to go diving back in for that little tidbit later on. Instead she wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her into a tight hug from over the console. "I'll tell you i'm proud of you everyday if i have to." Y/n muttered before kissing the top of her head. "Now go, if you're late to first period, your dad will kill me." And Wheezie was able to leave the car with a smile on her face, already looking forward to the day planned later on.

Y/n was overall consistent, it was one thing Wheezie enjoyed knowing that when she made promises she tried to keep them as best as she could. Sometimes things slipped her mind but Wheezie could recognize that Y/n didn't forget a thing when it came to Wheezie. Like she made sure to engrave bits and pieces of her into her mind like a data chart. But it showed she cared and that was enough for Wheezie.

Y/n cared enough that when she entered her car after school, the smell of her favorite cinnabon's filled the car that made her look in the backseat, seeing a picnic basket. There wasn't a chance, right? You could only get them on the mainland. She turned her body swiftly towards the elder girl who sat with a smirk on her face. "You didn't?"

"I did. Second I left fourth period, got on a ferry just for you to have those overly sweet treats." Y/n said, tapping her nose with a 'boop'! "And I almost got stuck on the mainland because of it so you better enjoy the hell out of them."

"I will, I promise." Wheezie said dramatically as Y/n smiled, pulling out of the parking space to head down to the beach. Wheezie had said she didn't have a bathing suit, not prepared for the outing, though Y/n already said she had ransacked her room for clothes for after. Y/n was the only person allowed in Wheezie Cameron's room without Wheezie being there and the elder girl took pride in it.

As Y/n set up their small area for the few hours, she noticed Wheezie standing just where the water and the sand met. She kicked around the water with clear disinterest causing Y/n to huff, hands on her hips, before tossing off her hoodie to get in. The splash she'd made by pushing herself into the water made Wheezie jump, a laugh falling from the two's lips. "Come on." Y/n said, standing and holding her hands out to Wheezie.

"Y/n/n, I can't swim."

"Y/n/n I can't swim, well, obvi, i know that, little W. But, you have your amazing best friend to keep you afloat. I won't let you go, i swear." Y/n said, holding up her pinky.

"Swear?"

"On my life." She reassured with a trusting smile before Wheezie walked further in. When the water had gotten to her above her waist, it'd freaked her out a bit though Y/n talked her through it, coaxing her further in slowly. Wheezie was kept above the water as Y/n held her hands as the buoyancy was used to their advantage. "See, not as bad as you thought?"

Wheezie shook her head though still nervous. "Not as bad, not my thing though."

"Why don't we try actually swimming? I won't force you if you don't want to and we can get back to shore right now but maybe just try?" She asked as Wheezie had to think about it for a moment. She almost felt guilty, remembing just a few months ago when Sarah had asked her if she could teach her but she refused. Though maybe, just maybe, it was because of Y/n being a bit more trust worthy that Wheezie said yes this time.

It took a while, Wheezie was frightened by letting go even as Y/n would say she was okay. Wheezie would tighten her grip on her shoulders before trying again and again until she eventually got it. She finally was able to keep herself above the water without flailing, recognizing that she was okay. Y/n cheered as she watched, not caring for the stares of others around them. "See, dude? You just have to start applying yourself! You did it!"

"I did it!" Wheezie said as Y/n hugged her, the two laughing before Wheezie screamed making Y/n's laughter die fast. "Something touched me!"

"Wheeze, it was seaweed." Y/n said softly before turning and letting her place her hands on her shoulders. "Yeah let's get you out of here before a jellyfish gets you."

Wheezie widened her eyes. "Jellyfish?"

As the sun had began to set and people had packed up their things and left, Y/n and Wheezie stayed. Wheezie was on her fourth doughy treat, even though Y/n told her to slow down two treats ago. Towels were wrapped around each of their shoulders as they watched the pretty colors fade in to one another, a mixture of pink, blue and orange array of colors combining to make a cotton candy sky. Wheezie watched as Y/n got up, accepting a phone call from Ward, the only phone call she hadn't silenced since they'd left the car.

In the time she'd left, Wheezie took advantage of it to recognize how appreciative she was of all that Y/n was doing for her. She came in as a tutor and, to Wheezie, was to stay as a friend. As family. Wheezie was more then ecstatic to have someone who would be there to rant and rave about the other Cameron's, someone she could trust with her secrets and the contents of her always running brain. Someone who was just there.

"Hey, your father would like us back in thirty so we should leave in ten." She said coming back and sitting beside Wheezie as she caught sight of her face, the lack of the smile that was there previously concerning her. "Tell me what's wrong."

"Nothing, really. Just... I really enjoyed today, Y/n. It really lets me know you're not just here for like... like the money or something."

Y/n let out a scoff. "Are you kidding? I enjoy nothing more than watching you freak out over the existence of jellyfish." She joked as Wheezie pushed her to the side with a laugh. Y/n recovered, letting out a content sigh as she tossed an arm over Wheezie's shoulders. "You're stuck with me now, Wheezes. Can't wait to record you falling at your next soccer game."

Wheezie couldn't help the laugh that slipped past her lips, leaning into Y/n's embrace as her head rested against her clavicle. "And I'll be looking for you in the stands, Y/n/n."

Y/n and Wheezie had both found out something about the other that night. Wheezie found that she didn't want to be like Sarah and she was glad she wasn't like Rafe. She was content with her own little circle on the dart board but maybe she could take a bit after her newest role model. And Y/n found that she was able to instill several things into the youngers mind including To Kill a Mockingbird, Inca Civilizations, and that she now had a true and present big sister to look up to.

[waywardnerd67]

The Towel Drop

Title: The Towel Drop Summary: After seeing videos on social media, Jensen decides to take part in a unique challenge. Paring: Jensen Ackles x Reader Word Count: 1376 Rating: X - Explicit Warnings: Fluff/Smut Square Filled: Jensen Ackles Bingo Card: Tell Me A Story Bingo - @supernatural-jackles​ A/N: None

Check Out: Tell Me A Story Bingo Masterlist

Jensen was sitting in his office killing time waiting for (Y/N) to finish her classes for the day. Currently he was down the Facebook videos rabbit hole. Cute pet videos, phony texts stories, but his favorite were the reaction videos from people walking in on their partners naked. He found himself sitting there for half an hour laughing at them. Then an idea popped into his head.

He walked into their master bathroom stripping off all his clothes. It was hard to believe that almost a year ago he was looking in the mirror as Dean Winchester for the last time. Now, his hair was past his ears. His beard was fully grown in and bushy driving (Y/N) crazy. His body was even forenign to him with a steady diet of protein and veggies along with weightlifting five days a week. As Misha had commented recently he Hulked up.

Turning on the shower, he stepped beneath the scalding water. Allowing the heat to relax his muscles he began his normal routine. Once he was out, Jensen wrapped a towel around his waist slicking his hair back with his hands. He glanced down at his phone seeing her last class of the day should be ending soon. The fluttering in his stomach sent waves of excitement throughout his body.

Jensen walked out of their room and downstairs to (Y/N)’s office. She could hear her laughter coming from behind the door. He was thankful that she had faced her desk towards the door so her students would not have to see if he walked in. Dropping the towel to the floor, he opened the door slowly peeking around the corner. Her eyes were focused on the two monitors filled with the faces of high schoolers.

He stepped inside the doorway placing his hands on his hips. (Y/N) virtual teaching during the pandemic had shown him how much he loved watching her work. For hours, he would listen to her teach about Shakesphere and Beowulf. By the time she would get a break he would be in desperate need of a release carrying her off to their couch and ravishing her.

“Alright, your research papers need to be ten pages, double space, times roman and twelve point font. Make sure you use MLA formatting and citation for your sources. This paper counts as half your final…”

She looked up to see him standing there naked his cock getting harder with each word she spoke. Slowly he wrapped his fingers around himself staring right at her.

She swallowed hard, “Um… this paper counts as half of your final grade. Are there any q-questions?” Her eyes trailed up his body biting her lip.

He could not hear her students due to the headphones covering her ears. Lazily he stroked himself leaning against her door frame. She shook her head, a beautiful smile spreading across her face.

“Yes Marie, that is a perfect subject for this paper. Okay, that is all for today. I will see you guys on Friday.” She finally tore her eyes away from him waving to her monitor before they snapped back up to him, “Jensen Ackles, what in the hell are you doing?”

He shrugged, still running his hand over his hard length, “I thought I would catch your reaction.”

Her laughter filled the room, “Oh my god, you’ve been watching Facebook videos again.”

“May-be.” He watched as she stood walking towards him, her eyes focused on his hand.

“Was my reaction everything you were hoping for?” She licked her bottom lip dragging it beneath her teeth.

He gently squeezed the base of his dick moaning softly, “Depends on what happens next pretty girl.”

A shiver went down his spine as she got on her knees in front of him and parted her lips, “What are you waiting for? I’m dying to taste you.”

He rubbed the tip across her lips before pushing into her mouth. His body trembled, sighing at the sudden warmth and vibration from her moaning around him. Her hands gripped his thighs digging her nails into them as he pulled out of her and pushed back in.

“Fuuuck…” He rolled his head back against his shoulders as she took control, bobbing her head along his length.

Gathering her hair in his hands, Jensen tugged her head back gently, her mouth popping off his cock. She groaned in disappointment, a trail of spit going down her chin.

“Babe… I wasn’t done yet…”

He chuckled, “I need to come inside of you and the way you were sucking me off I was going to make it.”

Jensen picked her wrapping her legs around him and made it as far as the stairs before she wiggled out of his grasp. He watched her remove her clothes quickly flinging them in every direction before kneeling on the stairs. He sucked in a breath as she parted her legs and stuck her perfect ass in the air. Her fingers slipped between her slick folds.

“Need you here, now.” She begged, pushing two fingers inside of her.

Jensen’s head was already spinning from desire watching her needily fingering herself. Placing one hand on the small of her back positioning himself right at her entrance. She tried to push back onto him, but he pulled back loving the growl coming from her.

“Jensen Ackles either fuck me or let me take care of myself!”

Gripping her hips, he inched his cock inside of her. The noises escaping her lips making it damn near impossible for him to keep from fucking her into the stairs like she wanted him too. He wanted her to come completely undone, begging him before giving in to his primal desires.

Each thrust was slow, deliberate and wonderful feeling her tighten around him. He dug his fingers into her hips pulling out of her then sinking back into her snapping his hips against her. Her hands were balled into fists pounding against the stairs.

“Oh god, Jensen please… please fuck me hard. Oh fuck, please Jensen!”

And he did. The sounds of their skin connecting echoed up the stairway. His heart racing in his ears chasing after the release he badly was in need of. (Y/N) moans shaking him to his core as she pushed against every thrust he made.

“Baby, I’m so close… need to feel you come with me.”

He bent over her, reaching his hand around between her legs. His fingers rubbing against her clit as she tightened around his cock screaming his name. That’s all it took for him to fall over the edge pounding into her until he felt her body go limp in his grasp. He pushed in her one last time, shaking as he did.

“Fuck… oh my god… oh my god…” (Y/N) mumbled into the stairs before groaning loudly as he pulled out of her, “Uhh… so empty now.”

Jensen chuckled slumping against the railing, “Shit baby, I don’t think I can walk right now.”

“Me either… I’ll just take a nap right here.” She laid out over the stairs.

Finally, he was able to get himself standing and carried (Y/N) up to their bedroom where they took a nice, long nap. Waking up as the night sky was showing off the stars, they made their way back downstairs for some dinner. (Y/N) went to grab her phone from her office as he ordered some pizza.

“Shit!” She yelled, coming out in a panic, “I forgot I had a staff meeting today. Great.”

Guilt filled his chest, pulling her into his arms, “I’m sorry, that’s my fault for distracting you.”

He felt her sigh before she looked up at him, “Honestly, you probably saved me from an hour of boredom that could have been an email. I’d say being unable to walk for hours and the most amazing orgasm of my life was well worth it.”

He laughed, lifting her up on the counter and kissing her, “Well we have about an hour before the pizza is here. I think I might be in the mood for an appetizer.” He knelt down spreading her legs and diving in.

“Oh god… thank you for this man being in my life.”

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[jungshookz]

EEEK cee imagine grumpy!yn and jimin where jimin falls asleep on the floor in their lil hangout spot bc he stayed up the night before and yn jus secretly admiring jimin’s adorable sleeping face while caressing his hair THEN jimin wakes up when yn leaned in for a kiss on his forehead :3:3:3

➺ pairing; sunshiney!jimin x grumpy!y/n

➺ genre; of course this is fluff!!! fluffier than the clouds that jimin makes y/n look at and tell him what animal she thinks it looks closest to :D (he thinks it looks like a bunny and she thinks it looks like a.,,. idk man that’s literally just a lump) 

➺ wordcount; 1.3k 

➺ p.s. you’ll be able to find this in the teeny tidbits masterlist later on :’) 

(unfortunately i wasn’t able to track down the original maker of this gif but this is where i sourced it from! all credits go to the original creator of course :-))

                                     »»————-　☁️　————-««

“oh my god, do you hear that?” yoongi gasps, placing a hand on your shoulder before holding a finger up in the air, “that’s incredible.”

?

“what are you talking about?” you frown, looking around as well before shrugging his hand off your shoulder, “i don’t hear anything.”

you and namjoon exchange confused glances and he offers you his own shrug before looking over at yoongi for further explanation

“exactly. it’s nothing. it’s… silence.” yoongi whispers, “i haven’t heard it in so long because jimin’s always destroying it with his motormouth-”

oh

okAy

now you see what he’s going on about

“hey, cut it out-” you roll your eyes before shifting your shoulder slightly so that jimin’s head isn’t at a weird angle and that he won’t wake up with a weird kink in his neck, “he was up all night working on a paper and he’s tired.” you murmur, reaching over and pulling your cardigan up so that it covers his chest a little more

“you know, you were way more fun before you started dating jimin.” yoongi scoffs, pursing his lips in disappointment as he leans back against his palms, “when two people are making fun of someone, it’s all fun and games, but when it’s just me doing it alone, i look like an asshole-”

“oh, cry me a river.”

“see?? why can’t you be like that when you’re talking about jimin?? i miss the old y/n.” 

you move to shove yoongi down to the ground but you stop yourself when you realize that you could accidentally wake jimin up prematurely 

poor jimin was up until six this morning working on a dumb twenty-page report for one of his courses - he read his schedule wrong and it turns out that the report was due this tuesday and not next tuesday, and to be honest, he’s really not sure how he even made that mix-up in the first place because he’s usually always on top of things (you were on top of him when he was typing all of this into his phone so that might’ve had something to do with it)

and he normally gets up around seven-ish on a regular basis which means he literally only got an hour of sleep before he had to get up and get ready for the day

you already knew that he had pulled an all-nighter (you even offered to stay up with him and make him coffee if he needed it but you ended up falling asleep around twenty minutes after you’d made your bold offer) so you weren’t too surprised when you looked over halfway through lunch to see that he’d fallen asleep leaning back against the tree with his mouth wide open

yoongi nearly persuaded you into dropping a chunk of dirt into his open mouth but luckily you decided against doing that

and it didn’t look like he was very comfortable which was why you scooted yourself closer to him and gently pushed his head down so that he could rest on your shoulder

but that was an hour and a bit ago and jimin’s still fast asleep

and you’re pretty sure there’s dried drool on your arm but that’s okay

“-you know, it’s like i don’t even know who you are anymore.” yoongi tuts, shaking his head at you, “one minute, you’re happy to roll your eyes and insult jimin to his face, and the next, you’re cozying up to him like his girlfriend and straight-up fawning over him-”

“i- i am his girlfriend, you dolt-”

“i know, but like- well, you know what i mean.” yoongi flicks his wrist to dismiss you before turning his nose up towards the sky, “you get it.”

“i can honestly say i truly don’t, yoongi.”

yes, it’s fairly evident to see that you’ve changed quite a bit since getting together with jimin, but you like to think that you changed for the better!

you don’t wake up with a scowl on your face every morning which is definitely a good sign, right?

and now instead of staying silent during lunch and looking like you want nothing more than to watch the world burn, you actually contribute to conversations with everyone else and genuinely enjoy talking to them as long as jimin’s right there next to you 

of course, you have to admit that you still have a slight issue with PDA (which is why you’ve been moving your shoulder and trying to get jimin to wake up without making it seem like you’re purposely trying to wake him up) but that’s a conversation for another time

the point is, things are good with jimin

things are really, really good with jimin.  

you crane your neck to look back down at your boyfriend again, reaching over to brush some of his hair away from his eyes

his nose twitches slightly and he mutters something under his breath before turning his body towards you and snuggling into your warmth, wrapping his arms around your elbow and squishing his cheek against your shoulder

“cute.” you hum, reminding yourself to suppress your grin of delight so that no one teases you about how squealy you’re being right now 

you find yourself leaning down a little so you can give jimin a kiss on the forehead, your lips lingering against his warm forehead for a second before you pull away and look back to make sure that no one just saw you do that (god forbid anyone see you show even an inkling of affection for your boyfriend!) 

luckily it seems like the late afternoon sun beaming down on you guys is making everyone feel a little lethargic so no one was paying attention to y-

“did you just kiss my forehead?”

you freeze immediately when you hear jimin suddenly speak up and you clear your throat obnoxiously before raising your shoulder so that he gets his head off of it, “what? no. i think you were probably dreaming or something because forehead kissing is-” you chuckle lightly, pulling your legs up slightly and dusting some dirt off your calves, “it’s not something that i… i don’t do things like that, so- no. no, i didn’t kiss any foreheads.”

your eyes widen in surprise when jimin suddenly lies down and flops his head down on your lap, grinning up at you with twinkling eyes as he reaches up to poke the tip of your nose, “you soOoooOo have a crush on me.”

side note: it’s truly baffling to you that jimin never wakes up groggy

he’s always ready to go as soon as his eyes open and it doesn’t make any sense whatsoever

it’s almost like he has an on and an off switch somewhere and if that’s the case you would very much like to find his off switch so you can shut him up before someone else decides to chime in to the conversation 

“we’re- we’re dating, jimin-” you scowl, flicking his hand away from your face before clearing your throat again, “...obviously i have a friggin’ crush on you if we’re in a goddamn relationship-”

“what are you grumbling about over there now, y/n?” namjoon interrupts you from across the circle, glancing up at you and jimin for a split second from behind his screen, “i’m trying to get some work done and i can’t focus with all the secret muttering-”

“y/n has a crush on me.” jimin teases, crossing his arms over his chest before closing his eyes again, “a super FAT crush on me.”

he cracks an eye open just to see your reaction and he’s pleasantly surprised to see that your entire face is basically beet-red from this fun little game he’s playing

what do you have to be so embarrassed about??

you already said yourself that the two of you are dating so it’s an obvious fact that you have feelings for him

he just likes to remind everyone that you, a typically emotionless, cold-hearted robot, have feelings for him!

“oh, we know!” namjoon plays along with a grin, loving that you look like you want nothing more than to curl into a ball and just scream, “you think we didn’t see that forehead kiss?”

“park jimin, you sick... twisted man.” yoongi purses his lips as he shakes his head slowly, “look what you’ve done to her! you’ve ruined her!!” 

🎙️help me help you make your wishes come true (send me a request!)

✨why don’t you explore the rest of the library while you’re here?

💫or perhaps you want something shorter to read?

🌟or something even shorter?

[lightsovermonaco]

His Good Sweater: Chapter 13

Masterlist

Thanks to @acollectionofficsandshit​ for being my bestie and beta reading! This would have never happened without her ❤ Make sure you read Roman Profile, set in the same universe!

Word Count: 6.7k

Recommended song: "Cupid’s Chokehold/Breakfast in America” by Gym Class Heroes

"I have to go."

"Can't you stay five more minutes?"

"I wish."

"Come on, just a few more minutes to cuddle." Pierre flings back the fluffy duvet and holds out a hand. "Please?"

"I have an exam," you say with a sigh but bend to press a kiss to his upturned palm. "I can't skip."

Pierre groans and slings an arm over his eyes. "What am I supposed to do all day?"

"I don't have a sim but I have an old PlayStation you're more than welcome to use. I think I still have one or two games."

"That won't keep me busy."

"I'm sure you'll find something. Just stay out of trouble okay? I'd like to get my security deposit back when I finally move out of this hellhole."

"Okay," Pierre grumbles, sitting up to give you a quick kiss. "What time are you getting back?"

"Four. We can go out to dinner or something." You smooth a hand over his hair, smiling lightly. "Or we can go for a picnic and take a walk through Saint James Park."

"Sounds like a plan." He turns his head to kiss your palm. "I'll be counting down the minutes."

You roll your eyes but your smile contradicts the sass. "I'll be home before you know it. Love you, champion."

"I love you too, mon coeur."

He was endlessly grateful for how easily the two of you had fallen back into each other. When he had shown up at your doorstep he had expected there to be awkward pauses and minutes of tense silence, but there had been blissfully little of either. As the days bleed into each other, your relationship only gets steadier, closer and closer to what it used to be. Maybe it was because you had been the one to break the silence or maybe it was because he had thrown himself into his career into someone's bed- whatever the reason, it didn’t matter. He was simply grateful to be welcomed back into your life. He didn't plan on leaving any time soon.

Pierre allows himself a half hour of lounging in bed before forcing himself to get up and shower. Off weeks were hard; all he wanted to do was rest and recharge but he still had to follow his workout regimen and sleep schedule or he risked falling out of the habit, making it that much harder to get back in the groove come race week.

First order of business: clean the clutter you had shoved in closets and the spare room prior to his arrival the day before. Folding the three baskets of clean laundry took an hour, washing dishes another thirty minutes, and vacuuming the entire flat took twenty. Once the counters are spotless and there isn’t a stray sock to be found, he takes stock of your pantry and notes what staples you were running low on.

Two hours later he trudges back up the three flights of stairs to your apartment, arms laden with reusable bags packed to the gills with food. His legs burn and he's slightly winded from the excursion; at least that could count as his work out for the day.

He's just about to start slicing vegetables for dinner when his phone chimes with a text from his PR agent, Sylvie.

You're supposed to be in an interview now. Where are you?

"Oh shit." He scrambles for his laptop which of course was dead. He manages to plug it in at the dining room table and angle it so the background is mostly neutral, just a band poster framed behind him. He checks his hair before logging into the interview.

"There's the star," the interviewer says, far too chipper to be entirely genuine.

"Sorry, I was having connection issues." He queues up his signature sweetheart smile that gets him out of any squabbles. It works, the woman's irritation melting into a more easy expression.

"Let's just get right into it. Since we're low on time I'll jump right in, if you don't mind."

Pierre leans back. He had an inkling where this was headed. "By all means, please."

"We just saw news of your deal with Christian Horner- if you take seventh in this year's drivers championship, it looks like you're at Red Bull Racing next year. How does that feel after being publicly demoted mid-season in 2019?"

A smirk tugs at Pierre's lips. He had known this exact question was coming. He had debated how to answer it without starting waves and still remaining truthful. If there was one thing he prided himself on, it was his ability to be diplomatic when others may have let their egos get in the way.

"Obviously I'm grateful that Red Bull has recognized the hard work I've been putting in at Alpha Tauri," he starts. "I think I've been able to push the car as far as I can but I still have pace in me, personally. So moving into the Red Bull would let me loose, so to speak, and give me a chance to prove that Red Bull is where I belong."

"Right, you have had quite a spectacular season so far with a race win under your belt and a few podiums for good measure. What do you attribute that success to? Why is it so different now in an Alpha Tauri versus that coveted second Red Bull seat?"

Pierre purses his lips. The answer he was expected to give wasn't one he was willing to voice. Instead he opts for neutral. "I've been able to focus and hone my driving this season. I've found a groove that works for me and with it has come an insane amount of confidence, which is something I struggled with for awhile after going back to Torro Rosso. I think it's really just that I'm finally comfortable in the car and with my team and that makes a huge difference."

"Thank you for that," the journalist says and Pierre nods. "Shifting gears, I have a few questions about your personal life if you don't mind."

This was the part he always dreads. Questions were often prying and he had to subtly skirt around them in a way that offered a satisfying answer without giving away too much. It was an art he liked to think he had perfected over the years but still didn't enjoy.

"As long as you don't mind me staying silent if I don't want to answer."

The woman laughs, the sound sharp and grating. "Of course. Unless I can bribe you into giving me an exclusive."

"Likely not. But you ask the right questions and we'll see."

"You've been seen hanging around a certain London neighborhood lately- that wouldn't have anything to do with you and your lovely lady, would it?"

He had been waiting for that one, too. When the two of you had returned from Red Bull headquarters he had noticed the man taking pictures across the street. He hadn't said anything to you at the time because really, there was no point in getting you worked up when he had a plan to handle it.

The question played right into his hand, in fact. 

Pierre sits forward, folding his hands in front of him. "Actually yes. We recently got back together and if you'll let me, I would like to make a request."

The woman leans back and checks her notes. "Well it's not quite what I had planned but please," she gives a flourish with a hand, "you have the floor."

"I know driver's personal lives are something that a lot of people are interested in and that's great. I don't mind sharing things with my fans or letting them get the inside scoop, but there's some things I would rather be left alone. My relationship is one of them. I know you all took note that she hasn't been around the past couple months and if I'm being honest, it's because of comments and press coverage that invaded her privacy. I think some people forgot she was more than just a name on a screen."

Pen poised to take notes, the interviewer prompts, "You said you had a request?"

He doesn’t stop to assess the damage he had already undoubtedly done. Sylvie was probably already on the phone doing damage control with every news outlet she could get her hands on, if her muted and black square at the bottom of the screen was an indication. 

"All I'm asking is that you leave her alone. If you have questions or comments you have to make, just direct them at me. Don't follow her around asking about me. Don't comment on her posts unless you're capable of being a decent human. Just… let her live her life in peace."

Maybe he was a love sick fool, but honestly he didn't care if he lost some support from fans. If they had such strong opinions on his personal life, he would be better off without them anyway. And his team could cut him and even if he was unable to secure a seat in Formula 1 after next season, he would survive. 

But if he lost you again, he would be broken. It had taken being apart from you for him to realize it and he'd be damned if he was ever disconnected from you like that again.

"That's quite the speech."

Pierre shrugs. "It was. She's the most important thing in my life, right up there with racing.” Now that he had started down the road of truth, he found it impossible to hold his tongue. “I lost her once because people couldn't be bothered to remember that their words have consequences. I won't let it happen again."

"So you see yourself with her for a long time then?" The woman's eyes glitter with the potential of getting an even juicer tidbit from him.

Pierre’s jaw sets, muscles feathering. "That's not something I'm prepared to discuss."

The woman purses her lips and tips her head to the side. There was clearly more she wanted to say. "Well, I have to thank you for what you've given me here. My boss is gonna love the exclusive. I won't push any further. Thanks for your comments, Pierre."

"Thanks for actually being respectful."

“We aren’t all monsters.” The woman shrugs. “I can’t say I haven’t had my moments but I try to be straightforward.”

“Right, yeah. I get that you have a job to do.”

“Anyway. I look forward to seeing what you can do the rest of this season. Good luck.”

He signs off and instantly anxiety washes over him. If she twisted his words he was screwed. Sylvie would be on the phone as soon as the article was printed, no doubt trying to soothe sponsors and investors. She'd give him an earful about being respectful and not poking the bear but he'd tune it out like he always did.

The sooner he got away from Red Bull, the better.

Instead of dwelling on it he busies himself with cooking. It was one of his guilty pleasures. He always requested a full kitchen when he was staying anywhere more than a few days so that if he had the chance to make a home-cooked meal, he had the option. For tonight he had selected his favorite recipe. Parmesan-Cesar chicken wasn't normally something you would ever touch with a ten foot pole but as long as he was making it, Pierre knew you'd at least give it a try.

Music blasting in the background, Pierre sings along quietly as he unpacks the rest of the ingredients and gets to work. He does a little spin between the island and the sink, rinsing the dishes and putting them right in the dishwasher as he uses them. A clean kitchen is the mark of a great chef, his mom had told him, drilling the phrase into him when he was young.

In the middle of cutting potatoes Pierre gets a call. He only has an hour until you're home so he doesn't bother stopping, just puts it on speaker and continues measuring spices.

"Hey Daniel."

"Heard you're in London," Daniel says, Australian accent thick. "And a little birdie told me you and your lady got back together."

"We did," Pierre says, a smile splitting his face. "Finally."

"Thank god, now I don't have to listen to your drunk woe-is-me rambling anymore."

Pierre laughs and sets aside the measuring spoons. "It's not that bad."

"Oh please." Pierre could practically hear the eyes rolling. "The number of times I had to send an uber to a bar after a grand prix is insane. Charles and I should be entitled to financial compensation with the amount of babysitting we've been doing."

"I can handle myself!"

"Not after a martini you can't."

He was right there. "Is there a point to this conversation?"

"Oh right- I'm actually in town today too, got some stuff to shoot for McLaren before we head to Austria for the race next week. You guys wanna come out with us tonight? We're heading to a bar or two."

"I actually had something planned-"

"She already said she's coming!" Dan's girlfriend shouts in the background.

“Well then why even ask me?”

“To be polite,” Daniel offers with a laugh. “We’re meeting at the rooftop bar at the Trafalgar hotel at seven. That give you enough time to do whatever you had planned that’s apparently more important than seeing your best mates?”

“We’ll be there,” Pierre says and hangs up. He finishes seasoning the potatoes and pops them in the oven, finally getting a chance to sit while they cook alongside the main course.

He's on his feet a few minutes later, decluttering the last bits of mess around your flat. It was clear it hadn't had a decent cleaning in quite awhile- hopefully you'd keep it tidy now that the effort had been made. The guys would tease him endlessly if they found out he was acting like a housewife.

You arrive home just as he’s setting the table. “God, it smells amazing in here.”

“Salut, mon amour.” Hands full with hot dishes, he settles for a kiss to your cheek. “I made dinner.”

“And you cleaned,” you observe. “You were a busy boy.”

“Pyry would kill me if he found out I was laying around all day. I had to do something.” 

You hang your backpack on the hook behind the door and take a seat at the table. “Well remind me to thank him again when I see him. This looks delicious.”

Pierre grins over his shoulder at you. “Me or the food?”

You throw your head back and laugh, loud and unrestrained. “The food, you goof.”

Pierre quirks a brow. "Is that the honest answer?"

"Okay, maybe both." 

The meal is filled with your ramblings about your exam and your new hobby- this month it was hiking. You went into detail about all the few trails in the city you’d been on as well as the more challenging ones that dotted the countryside. Pierre just nods along as you talk, already planning on staying up late to learn what he could about the topic so he could be a better conversation partner.

The pair of you work together to tidy the kitchen and put away any leftovers. “Did you bring something semi nice to wear tonight or do we have to make a quick trip to the store?”

“I’ve got some Tauri stuff I can wear. And not just team gear,” he adds when you groan. “You know that cream sweater you love? The one with the logo debossed on the front? I’ve got that.”

“Oh,” you say before biting your lip. Your eyes trail down his frame and back up like you’re imagining it on him. A tingle travels up his spine under your assessing gaze. If you kept that up, neither of you would make it out of the apartment tonight. “My favorite. Yeah, wear that. It’ll be on my floor by the end of the night.”

Pierre places his hands on your waist and grins. “Will it? And what will be on the floor from your closet, hm?”

“Your favorite dress.”

“The orange one?” He realizes half a second too late that you would never know how much he adored that dress from the gala. It had hugged your curves in all the right places and left your back exposed, which would leave him free to trace patterns on your soft skin whenever he pleased. He had missed out on worshipping you in it that night and he wouldn’t mind the opportunity to do so now.

You roll your eyes. “I can’t wear that to a bar.”

“Says who?” Pierre nuzzles his face against your neck, breathing you in. A light undercurrent of sweat from your walk home from classes mingles with the usual bright scent of you, only serving to rile him up further. Never in a million years would he have guessed that a simple scent could do him in, and yet here he was, completely wrapped up in yours. 

“Says me.” You sigh, tipping your head to the side when Pierre’s nose grazes your skin.

His lips follow until he reaches your jaw before he pulls back. “What one are you wearing then?”

“Does it matter?” You cross your arms, the smirk playing on your kissable lips tempting him.

“I have to mentally prepare myself.” And if whatever you chose was too sexy, he would need to get his handsiness out of his system before the pair of you met up with Daniel and his girlfriend. The last thing he needed was to be on the front of some seedy gossip column when his plan was to ease back into it. 

You smile up at him, broad and unrestrained as if knowing your answer would affect him greatly. “The cobalt blue one that makes you stutter.”

The dress in question was just as form fitting as the orange one, but shorter and decidedly more distracting. It fell mid thigh and the spaghetti straps left your shoulders exposed, which coupled with the low back displayed a downright sinful amount of skin. You had worn it at a Torro Rosso event a couple years back and he had scarcely been able to get a full sentence out around you all night. 

“That one’s a close second.” He follows you to your room, leaving you to hunt through the closet while he digs through his suitcase, thankful that he had the foresight to check out of his hotel on the way back from Red Bull and bring his things here.

Because there was no way in hell he was missing a second of being by your side while he was in town. Every moment had to count when he had no idea when he would be able to sleep next to you again, not when the season was nearly over and there were two double headers between now and winter break. When so many variables stood between him and you, he had no problem prioritizing you over a routine workout or a full night’s rest.

Pierre changes into the sweater and a pair of dark skinny jeans well before you emerge from the bathroom. He doesn’t bother responding to Dan’s text that includes an address and reminds him to be on time, instead opting to scroll through his instagram feed. He likes a handful of posts from his fellow drivers, including one of Max actually smiling at something off camera.

“Well?”

Pierre’s head snaps up at the sound of your voice. The phone falls from his hand when he drags his eyes over your body, head to toe and back again. 

Oh, he was so fucked. 

Maybe it was selfish, but with your hair done like that, the barest brush of makeup lining your eyes and in that stunningly blue dress, he didn’t want any other man to have the privilege of laying their eyes on you. 

No, you were all his.

The moment you’re within reach, Pierre places his hands on the back of your thighs, just beneath the curve of your barely covered ass. You chuckle and tap your fingers under his chin. “Close your mouth; you’ll catch flies.”

“Just so you know, if you wear that dress I can’t be held liable for my actions.” Up to and including scaring off anyone that wasn’t Daniel or his girlfriend. No one else deserved to be blessed with your radiance. Hell, he didn’t deserve it, and yet here you stood. 

“We’ll see about that.”

**********

Daniel and his girlfriend had already made their way through a round of drinks by the time you arrive. It wasn’t Pierre’s fault he couldn’t keep his hands off you and wound up getting distracted on the drive over.

"Late as always," she greets, kissing your cheek. "Dan got us here fifteen minutes early because he wanted the table with the best view."

"Like our names wouldn't have gotten us the table if we asked," Pierre says, wrapping Daniel in a one-armed hug before kissing his girl’s cheek in a traditional French greeting. "The view is pretty great though."

You were already leaning on the glass partition, hands curled over the edge and undoubtedly leaving behind fingerprints on the pristine surface, completely unfazed by the fact that the other patrons were staring. You had eyes only for the London skyline and Trafalgar square lit up below. The bar with its white marble tabletops and strict dress code was absolutely not a place that you should be standing on your tiptoes for a better view, but there was no way he could condemn you when your face lit up like that.

Pierre just places a hand on the small of your back and shoots a look at the bartender currently glaring in your direction, daring the smartly dressed man to say anything. He only raises a brow and resumes filling drink orders.

"You guys know how to pick a place," you say, "I could stand here all night."

"Right," Daniel's girlfriend says, rolling her eyes at Pierre who shrugs as if to say what do you want me to do? He was powerless to deny you anything that brought you a semblance of joy; your smile was everything to him. “Love, why don’t you come tell us about uni? You’re the only one of us currently enrolled, and I’m sure the boys would love to hear about all the drama.”

You and Pierre share a secret grin. You shake your head but allow him to guide you back to the cocktail table. “Drama? I’m an engineering major. The closest thing we have to drama is someone grossly miscalculating a structural load.”

Dan shoots Pierre a mischievous grin. “I heard Stroll might be moving next year-”

Both you and Daniel’s girlfriend groan at the same time. “No racing talk when we’re around tonight,” she says. “I’ve heard enough lately.”

“What’s new in the publishing world?” You ask, leaning into Pierre when he wraps an arm around you. He only half listens to her explain the so-called “top secret” project she’s currently working on, instead opting to get drunk on you. 

The light breeze filtering through the surrounding buildings ruffles your hair. You lift a hand absentmindedly to tuck it behind your ear in an attempt to keep it out of your face. Everything you do is amazing to him, snagging his attention even when he should be listening to whatever it was his friends were saying. Your gravity was simply too strong to bother resisting.

“Enough talk,” Daniel’s girlfriend says, waving a hand. “You need a drink, and I want to dance. Let’s go.” Before Pierre can protest, she’s dragging you away to the glass top bar. You throw an apologetic glance over your shoulder and Pierre just winks. He was fine watching you from afar for now.

Pierre’s gaze drops to your perky ass when you lean in to let the bartender know what you want, likely shouting to be heard over the music, your dress riding up a bit with the movement. For having such a strict dress code, this place sure did feel like an upper class club.

You hook your thumb over a shoulder, the bartender’s gaze darting to Pierre before the man nods. The only explanation you offer is a wink, followed by a note on a cocktail napkin and a beer delivered a few minutes later by a server.

This is supposed to be the best beer they have. Just try it.

Leave it to you to constantly push him outside his comfort zone. Pierre tentatively sniffs the foamy glass and shrugs before taking a sip. Not bad, but he still preferred his usual whiskey. 

Setting the glass down, Pierre turns back to Daniel. “Congrats on extending your contract with McLaren by the way. Should give you a decent shot at keeping up with the big boys and landing some serious points.”

“Seems like most of us are moving around, doesn’t it? Sainz to Ferrari, Seb to Aston Martin... The only one with any sort of long term commitment is Max and now me I guess.”

“And Charles,” Pierre adds. “He’s stuck in that red monstrosity for the foreseeable future.”

Daniel laughs, taking a swig from his glass. “And you’re moving too, huh? Austria should be interesting,” Daniel remarks, watching the girls at the bar nursing their own drinks. “What with the news of your new contract breaking and all.”

“Potential contract,” Pierre corrects. “Not for sure yet.”

Daniel scoffs. “Come on mate. You won’t have any problem getting up to seventh by the end of the season. Perez is slipping and the news that his seat is in jeopardy will only help your cause.”

Pierre takes a sip of his amber beer and nods. “I’m sure Perez doesn’t appreciate it, but he’s always been a good sport.” You catch Pierre’s eye and lift your fresh flute of champagne in a mock salute. Dan’s girlfriend drags you out on the dancefloor and immediately spins you. Your laugh is nearly audible, the memory of it fresh in Pierre’s mind as he watches you.

“Mate, have you been listening to a word I’ve said?”

“I’m sorry, what?”

Daniel shakes his head and drains his drink. “I really don’t know how it took you two this long to come together. You’ve been dancing around each other for years but neither of you would admit it.”

“I could say the same about you two.”

Daniel shrugs. “Fair point. At least we got it all worked out in a weekend though.”

Pierre rolls his eyes and shoves his friend’s shoulder. “Whatever. Not all of us can have a perfect love story.” 

The grin Daniel shoots Pierre is pure sunshine. “How long are you planning on waiting before you ask her to marry you?”

“What?” Pierre sputters, nearly choking on air. “Who said anything about marriage?”

“Oh come on,” Dan says, rolling his eyes. “We all know it’s coming eventually.”

Pierre would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about it. But he wasn’t sure if it was the time for a proposal, not when you had just gotten back together. The last thing he wanted to do was go through the pain of losing you again because he was too forward.

“One day at a time,” Pierre says finally, dragging himself back to earth. “I just got her back a few days ago. I don't want to scare her off by proposing just yet.”

“Right. Well you might want to get a ring on that hand sooner rather than later,” Daniel notes, gesturing to the two men who had approached the girls. “How long are we gonna let that go on before we step in?” Neither of you paid the men any attention, instead enjoying each other’s company, but the men’s eyes roaming over your body sets Pierre on edge.

“They can handle themselves,” Pierre remarks, shifting on his feet. The weak attempt at self assurance didn’t do much to negate the red tinting his vision. “They’re fine.”

“Her sharp tongue will hold them at bay,” Daniel says, winking at his girlfriend. “For a while at least.” Props to Daniel for possessing inhuman amounts of restraint, but Pierre’s muscles were coiled and ready to interject at the first sign of trouble. 

He has to pause to remind himself he doesn't own you. You could make your own decisions about who you spoke with and who you entertained as long as he was the one to take you home. He didn't care if you wanted to flirt; he knew it meant nothing and if you got a free drink out if it then so be it. But those were the rules: flirting, no touching. He'd step in if need be if someone took it too far.

But that didn't mean he had to enjoy it.

Pierre watches tight lipped as you politely chat with the man, your body language closed off and dismissive. Pierre hates that you even speak a word to him. He knows it shouldn’t bother him because he trusts you, but the stranger is a wild card. Pierre watches like a hawk as the man inches ever closer, slowly interesting himself into your personal space. He waits for you to take a step back, to grant him that silent permission to come over and insert himself in the conversation and get his hands on you, this proving you weren't on the market.

One of the men shouts something at you over the music and you leer back at him, clearly disgusted at whatever he had said. Whirling on him, you open your mouth, likely to snap out a profanity lined retort, when his hand latches onto your arm.

"Oh, fuck no."

Half a second later, Pierre is stalking across the dance floor, no thoughts other than teaching the asshole a lesson. His hands are already curled into fists, ready to swing if the man hadn't moved by the time he arrived. Tolerating someone hitting on you was one thing, but blatantly ignoring the clear dismissals and laying a hand on you? No way in hell was he standing by and letting that happen.

The resounding crack of your open hand hitting the man’s face has pride swelling in Pierre’s chest. That’s my girl. You’d solved the problem before he’d even arrived. You jab a finger in the man’s face, Daniel’s girlfriend right there with you to back you up.

“Fuck off,” you were saying as Pierre approached, “or do you need to go back to kindergarten and learn to keep your hands to yourself? Maybe next time you’ll think twice before laying a hand on a taken woman- or any woman, for that matter.”

Driving your point home, Pierre slips an arm around your waist and pulls you in until your back is flush to his chest. You crane your neck up, the tense muscles beneath his fingertips and the fury contorting your features confirming just how rattled you are.

The lines creasing your brow are soothed away when you realize who holds you. You open your mouth to say something but Pierre places a hand on your throat, thumb and forefinger framing your jaw as he cuts you off with a kiss, his eyes locked on the guy still standing off to the side holding his cheek. 

You taste like the champagne you’d been sipping all night. It’s the only thought in his head outside of the jealousy licking through his veins like wildfire as he claims you then and there in front of the crowd. Mine, his heart sings. He flexes his fingers, taking advantage of your surprised gasp to slide his tongue against yours. Mine, mine, mine.

Pierre lets you be the one to break away, lips curling in a smug, kiss-swollen smile as you address the men. “In case you still don’t get the picture, I’m not interested. And neither is she.” You jerk your chin, indicating your friend and Daniel, who had indeed followed Pierre and since mirrored his possessive stance, one arm wrapped tightly around his own girlfriend.

The two men reluctantly slink away after mumbling something unintelligible but undoubtedly indecent. It had been a week and a half since he had been on track and he had plenty of pent up aggression to get out. He didn’t normally opt for using someone’s face as a punching back as a stress reliever, but rulers were made to be broken. Your hand splayed on Pierre’s chest is all that stops him from following and asking them to repeat themselves.

“Just let me hit him,” Pierre says, voice far more level and put together than he had expected it to be. “Just one punch. That’s all I would need.” His knuckles smart like he had already connected them to the man’s face. 

“And let you throw away your contract? I don’t think so. The last thing you need is a blurry photo of you knocking someone’s teeth in hitting the front page of every gossip mag in the country. I’m fine, so you can cut the bravado.”

“Yeah, I hear you.” 

“I was wondering how long you were gonna leave us out here,” you say, trying to regain Pierre’s attention. When it doesn’t work, you grasp his stubbled chin and force him to look at you. “I didn’t expect to be stranded for so long.”

The eye contact is what finally calms his racing thoughts. Seeing the trust reflected in your face is enough to have his grip on your waist loosening to allow you to face him. “Someone convinced me you could fend for yourself. And while it seems that’s true, I couldn’t stand it anymore.” 

Your satisfied hum is swallowed by the pounding bass but Pierre feels it rumble in his chest. “Sometimes even a queen needs saving.”

Though his point had long since been proven, Pierre’s hand slides down your back to rest on your ass nonetheless. “I knew you going out looking like this would cause trouble.”

You tip your head to the side, feigning innocence as you press your hips to his. You grin, noticing the hard on that had been bothering him all night. “Looking like what?”

“Drop dead fucking gorgeous,” he says, accentuating his point by sliding his hand up your thigh and under the hem of your dress. “You know I’m tearing this off you the second we get home, right?”

“Why do you think I wore it?”

The sound that escapes him is primal and possessive. The presence of bystanders does nothing to prevent him from palming your ass and kneading the flesh. He presses his lips to your neck and mumbles between kisses, “To torture me.”

You push lightly at his chest, laughing although your eyes dart around the space in search of cameras. Old habits were hard to break. “That may have been part of my motivation. But you’ll have to wait. I haven’t seen Dan in forever and I would actually like to have a conversation with him before we sneak off somewhere.”

At least you knew he wouldn’t be able to wait until you got home to get between your legs. “Fine,” he grumbles, hands settling on your hips. “Only because I love you.”

You beam up at him. “Love you too.”

Arm still slung around your waist, Pierre nods at Daniel and follows the other couple back to the table.

After two more drinks, you and Daniel's girlfriend are singing along to the music in lilting, off key voices, simply enjoying the night air. A stray breeze catches your hair just as you turn to look at Pierre and his heart damn near leaps out of his chest.

To his credit, Pierre’s cheeks are rosy from more than just the charged glances you throw at him as the night wears on. He was on his fourth beer, far more than he usually drank these days, and the buzzing in his head was becoming increasingly hard to ignore. When he has to squint to tell the time on his watch, he figured that was enough.

"I should probably get going mate," Pierre says, turning to Daniel. "Early flight."

Daniel laughs and beacons for the girls. He kisses his girlfriend's cheek when she returns with you in tow. "Are we leaving already?" You pout, and Pierre had half a mind to stay simply have your smile make an encore appearance.

"Car coming," he murmurs, dipping his head to give you a proper kiss. God, you were stunning in that dress- he might not be able to string together words coherently, but he knew that much. 

"Fine." You cross your arms for a split second to convey your feelings on the matter before wrapping your friends in a hug and saying your goodbyes.

Pierre's hand is already on your ass before you're in the uber. Get a few drinks in the boy and he let his guard down. You laugh and pull out of his embrace to usher him into the sleek black suv. If he had been coherent, he probably would have chatted with the driver about the specs of the engine or maybe even racing if he was a fan. Instead the ride is filled with stolen touches and sloppy, wet kisses to your neck.

"I can't wait till we're home," he mumbles. "You're gorgeous. How did I snag you? You're so far out of my league. No way should you be with me."

"I have a thing for guys that go fast in circles on the weekends." 

"Really?" Pierre frowns. "Should I be worried?"

"No. You're the only one I have eyes for." His head is fuzzier than when you left the bar but your laugh breaks through, his stomach flipping at the melody of it. "And we are home."

Pierre blinks, realizing he does indeed stand in your kitchen, with no recollection of climbing the three flights of stairs between the street and your flat. "Oh. When did that happen?"

"After I half dragged you up the stairs." You bend over to undo the straps of your heels, giving him the perfect view. He lets out a whistle that ends in a hiccup.

"Take me to bed, lover," he says in what he thinks is a husky voice. It should be impossible for you to resist.

You roll your eyes and wrap an arm around his middle. "That's the plan. I'll take you to bed, strip you out of that sweater, and you'll be asleep before your head hits the pillow."

"Nnnnnno," he protests, hand sliding down your exposed back to settle at the base of your spine. "I wanna make the most of tonight. I leave tomorrow."

"You don't leave until noon," you point out. "Plenty of time to nurse your hangover and have fun before then, after you drink some water and get some sleep."

"But baby-"

"No buts. Do as I say or I'll send you off tomorrow without a goodbye kiss."

Even in his half drunken state he knew it was a swiss cheese lie, spotted with holes and completely stale. You'd never let him leave without a kiss goodbye because neither of you knew if it would be the last time. He was a race car driver after all, and that came with risks. 

But he sighs anyways and slips off the cream sweater, letting it fall to the floor. At least one of you kept their promises. 

After confirming he was settled into bed, you retreat to the bathroom. His heart aches at the absence, even though you're mere feet away with nothing but a thin door separating the two of you. He registers the sound of the tap turning on and your soft, off key humming of the last song he remembered hearing before getting out of the uber.

"Mon amour," he croons when you re-emerge in a set of silk pajamas. He reaches out his hands for you and you slide under the covers, immediately slotting your body against his. A leg hitches over his hip, tugging him closer until your middles touch.

"Mmm," he mumbles, nuzzling into your neck. "Je t'aime. Tu es l'amour de ma vie et nous vivons d'amour et d'eau fraîche."

"I have no idea what you're saying," you whisper, running your fingers through his hair. "But I like it. Feel free to keep going."

"Tes baisers sont du feu et je fond à ton toucher." He presses his lips to your neck before resuming his mumbled French. "Je pense toujours à toi. Je veux être avec toi pour toujours. Tu as mon cœur et je ne voudrais pas qu'il en soit autrement."

"I like the sound of that." You press a soft, sweet kiss to his forehead. God, that tenderness was why he loved you. That, and your personality, and your eyes, and your… everything. "Dormir, my love. I'll be here to listen to your pretty words in the morning."

The single word of his mother tongue on your lips has him smiling. "Oui, tu le feras. Parce que tu es à moi et je suis à toi."

@seasidetom @flashcal @limp-wrist-max​ @sunshinesewis @lifeofzoemichael @ninuffi @perfectfantasies22 @lamboleglerg @ladyperceval @0forgottenparadise0 @evie-pr @avsensio @ninuffi @lu-morningstar @ggaslyp1 @swiftyhowlz

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[fandom-monium]

I JUST READ KITCHEN CATASTROPHES OMG ITS SOOO CUTE UGH MY HEART SO SOFT CAN YOU PLSSS DO A PART 2? THANK YOU KEEP DOING WHAT YOU DO

AN: thank you, anon! i dont plan to make a sequel to KC. But if i did:

For Valentine’s Day

Summary: In which you throw a wrench in Spencer’s plans: you don’t like Valentine’s Day. “If it’s with you, I guess it’s not so bad.”

WC: 2.9k (whoops)

Tags/Warnings: Spencer Reid x GN!Reader, fluff, cussing, semi anti-valentines day, Spencer tears up but dont worry were there to fix that, established relationships (blegh), Garvez if you squint, post-For the Holidays

Fuck cooking, Spencer thinks one day.

It's an irrational thought. The kind that strikes through his mind in a flash of irritation like a scrape of the knee as he is perusing the internet. Yes, he is using a computer willingly. He has to because he's desperate.

Cooking is stupid. Who really needs it, right?

…

He needs it. God, he needs it so bad.

His need to learn cooking wasn't as incessant until recently. Until you came along.

Spencer is a meticulous person and a romantic if you'd ever met one. Makes sense considering how he grew up, reading the classics and all that. He's read all the gooey literary shit old people write and while he never understood those meanings it all dawned on him one day. Quotes written like 'the stars in their eyes' and 'sunshine glowing off them like a halo', suddenly makes sense once he meets you. Or at least, after coming to know you, months into your newfound friendship.

It's because of this he plans accordingly the weeks leading up to Valentine's day! Because again he's meticulous and a romantic and a genius so he plans every step and makes a back up plan in case A, B, and C fall through.

Is he going overboard? 

… Nah. No way. Not when it comes to you.

But fuck with a capital F, man.

It's your third date. Or what is supposed to be your third date if you would just stop being you for a second.

Then again, he loves you a lot and he wouldn't love you if you weren't, well, you.

Although—pardon his french—what the fuck. 

Spencer knows he needs to learn to cook. You've tried plenty of times to teach him and he loves learning and he especially loves it when you are the teacher (wait, does he have a teacher/student fantasy? Maybe. That’s something he'll look into later. Preferably with you). 

Unfortunately, he's terrible at it.

He's made progress and he knows it's true because you said so but the miniscule progress he's made is. Not. Enough. And it's all your fault! Because he gets so distracted by you during your lessons, like when you put your hands over his to show him proper slicing techniques—holy fuck, he wanted to combust right there—or just watching your deft hands at work, lips and brow scrunched in concentration in that adorable way. And you smell like cooking oil or whatever you're making and you're hot.

He's so into you it physically hurts. Ugh. How is he so lucky? 

You're also the first person he's been this into since Maeve. And everyone knows how well that turned out.

So he tries to dial it down for Valentine’s Day. Morgan told him once he tends to throw himself into everything he does, including love. And when you two got together, he promised the universe he will not fuck this up. He ends up combining Morgan’s advice with Luke’s, trying to be casual like Luke says because apparently you're just as into him as he is of you. 

The thought makes him grin uncontrollably. Luke says it makes him look like a clown but a lovesick clown. A lovefool, Luke hehs.

Spencer doesn’t get the joke, but it does nothing to deter him.

As Luke advised, Spencer does “not” make a dozen back up plans and does “not" plan weeks in advance. Because that wouldn't be casual, would it?

But now the day’s come and as Valentine’s Day turns to Valentine’s Night, Spencer wants to pull his hair, rub his frustratedly stinging eyes but he can't because he's in the middle of work, in the middle of the bullpen, in the middle of his desk and he refuses to be that guy. Not again.

Why does he feel like sobbing? Like a loser? 

Because you don't like Valentine’s Day. No, you abhor it.

It happens in the middle of the work day. It's like he tried to open a door only for a bucket of ice water to be dumped on him and now he looks like a drowned rat. He definitely feels like one.

You're talking with Garcia about her Valentine’s Day plans as you multitask, switching between putting together packets and stacking them aside. Then taking them under the hole-puncher and stapling them together because the BAU isn't all kicking down doors and catching freaks. 

It makes sense that you’re chatting with Garcia during your break. The two of you have become two peas in a pod after you came out of your shell. Now you're inseparable. Only you make Garcia leave her batcave as much as she does now.

Out of sight, he catches tidbits of your conversation when he hears distinctively: Fuck Valentine’s Day.

Okay, you didn't say that verbatim but you might as well have, grimacing as you three hole-punch a packet and his heart. Then a nail on his coffin only it’s with a stapler. 

Thump. Chick.

Spencer winces; there goes your his Valentine’s Day plans. 

It shouldn't sting as much as it does. You've been dating for over a month and Valentine’s Day is definitely not his favorite holiday either. It's not even top 3. And as you rant he can’t help but silently nod in agreement, all the facts straight: yes, it's an eyesore. Yes, it's a capitalistic holiday. Yes, people should do nice things for their significant others no matter the time and not because it's expected on a specific day. Yes, it doesn't compare to Halloween—

The thing is, you two aren't that “couple-y”, at least in a traditional sense. Not like Will and JJ who got a babysitter so they could go out or like Luke and Garcia as they plan to go to a special Valentine’s Day event she wants to check out (she vehemently denies anything going on between them but he doesn't need to be a genius to see the affection they have for one another. Just kiss already, damn).

So yeah, Spencer hoped to spend the romantic holiday with you. For once, he'd have Valentine’s Day plans, aside from exchanging cards with the team and his mother.

But apparently you hate Valentine’s Day! So there goes plan A, B, C, and D!

Spencer feels the tears spring at the corner of his eyes. He sniffs as subtly as he can, raising an open case file to his face. Of all the plans he hadn't thought through this was not one of them. IQ 187, his ass.

He should've known. Or at least ask your thoughts on Valentine’s Day. That was inconsiderate on his part. He blinks back tears, withdrawing into himself despite his hurt because he is a lovefool and only for you. He just wants to impress you, make you happy even if that means canceling your first Valentine’s Day together.

Now if you'll excuse him, he has to call off a few reservations and make some returns. Several actually.

Can you return a dozen donuts in the shape of hearts?

… Yeah, he better ask Emily for the rest of the day off.

—

"Hey Newb, have you seen Spencer? I haven't seen him since his break," You ask, resting your chin in your hand as you squint at another form. Your eyes are beginning to tire. 

Spencer asked you several times over the course of the last week, checking to see if you were free today. You are, so you planned to hang with him after work, but he hasn't returned from his break and he wasn't answering your calls or texts. Not unusual but still odd for your boyfriend (you still can’t believe you get to say that).

Luke sighs, his smooth voice reaching over your shared divider, "You know at some point I'm just not going to respond. You guys can’t call me Newbie forever."

"Keep telling yourself that," You snort without looking up.

Another sigh and you smirk: you win.

"For your information," Luke grumbles, words punctuated with sass, "Doc went home."

You pause. "Home?" He didn't tell you.

"Yeah, probably to get ready for your date."

"Our date?" You frown and stand up, leaning over the divider to see if Luke’s fucking with you.

He isn't. Luke shrugs, humming wistfully as he rests his cheek in his hand, "You should've seen how excited he was, being it your first Valentine's Day and all. I told him to chill out because you'll love whatever it is no matter what but I'm sure he ignored that and planned something spectacular for you guys." Sitting back, he twirls around in his chair.

You grimace, recalling your earlier conversation with Garcia. 

Shit.

"Meanwhile, I have to spend Galentine's Day with Garcia because all the ladies of the BAU are taken and I have nothing better to do—" Luke comes to a full 720, catching the tail end of your coat as you whip it on and make for the door. "—um, excuse you?"

"If Emily asks, I had an emergency!" You manage to call back, throwing open the glass door.

"Okay?"

"Thanks, Newb!"

As the elevator door dings shut with you inside, leg jumping because you have a sneaking suspicion you fucked up, Luke slouches in his chair and grumbles.

He's not a newb. Or a newbie.

—

You rush over to Spencer's, catching your breath as you stumble to his front door. There's shuffling from inside, the faint sound of clanking and crashing and your heart swells because this is the man you’ve fallen for, the first one you've ever felt this way for. Here he is, being all considerate and romantic. And here you are, fucking it up when your relationship’s barely even started.

God, you're an asshole, you berate yourself as you turn the doorknob and push open the door. You're an asshole you're an asshole you’re an asshole—

Then your eyes widen and your jaw goes slack. 

Immediately, you slap a hand over your mouth and nose as your favorite scented candles hit you like someone shoved a bouquet in your face. The description isn't too far off considering there's a lovely bouquet of your favorite flowers still in its wrapping, haphazardly set next to a dozen donuts on the coffee table like no one's business. Its petals are strewn across the floor, a few in tiny piles like they were hastily swept to the side. Red and pink and dark green fill your vision.

Who gutted Cupid and tossed his organs around, holy fu-

"(Your name)?"

Startled, you crane your head to find Spencer, beautiful hair askew and his tie hanging loosely around his neck. His sleeves are pushed up to his elbows as he clutches flowers to his chest. In his other hand, he grips the colored strings of several shiny red and pink balloons in the shape of hearts and—fuck—your heart might actually float up from your chest and into your eyes.

This is your man. Your partner. Your boyfriend.

Your boyfriend panics, fumbling for a second before stuffing the balloons and trimmed flowers back into the room behind him and slamming the door shut. He turns back to you, eyes wide.

"What-what are you doing here?" Spencer stammers, wringing his hands together.

You blink at him, dumbly holding up your phone. "You-uh-you left early and didn't return my calls."

"I'm sorry. I think I left my phone at work," Probably because he left in such a rush, Spencer groans, looking anywhere but you. The petals scattered over his floor are quite pretty in this light. "And I was a bit busy."

"I'm sure you were," You gawk openly at the strings of fairy lights hung around his living room. It's a clash of aesthetics. Spencer always rocked dark academia, but despite how ugly the combination of red and pink decorations with his nature green walls and dark wood is, it leaves his apartment a little brighter, a little cozier, and you love it.

You love everything about this.

But as you take in the ugly beauty of it all, Spencer fidgets at the doorway, mistaking your awe as shock and disgust. Wiping sweaty palms on his trousers, his eyes dart around, trying to focus on something, but every place he lays his eyes on makes him cringe. He catches all the things he couldn't clean up or put away in time. No doubt you do too. All the leftover flower petals, the donuts he can’t return, candles that haven’t blown out because he has the lungs of an 8-year old asthmatic. 

Spencer can't imagine how appalled you are.

And the longer your silence stretches on, the more nervous he gets so he blurts out, "I'm so sorry, (Your Name)!"

Your brow shoots up as he begins to ramble.

"You must hate this. I'll put everything away."

"You really don't have to—" You stop him, and your heart nearly crumbles as Spencer's does when he finally meets your worried gaze. 

His eyes gleam with unshed tears. He swallows, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have—"

"Doc—"

"At least not without asking you—"

"Doctor—"

"I understand if you want to break up—" His voice cracks, as if the idea itself will destroy him (it definitely will). 

"Spencer—" His voice, wobbly and dripping with unnecessary guilt, draws you to him.

"But I want you to know that I—"

With an exasperated sigh, you grab his hand as yours finds the nape of his neck, pulling him into a soft kiss. 

For a second, Spencer doesn't respond because who kisses the person they're about to break up with? Strange, really. But then he kisses you back. His hands remain frozen, unsure of where he stands, but he tilts his head to deepen the kiss. He figures this is a new social cue he has yet to learn. And if this is the last time you kiss him, he'll treasure every second of it, take whatever you'll give him because again he's a lovefool for you. 

And when you pull back, he's too dazed he nearly misses the look you give him. Suddenly, he can’t breathe.

You look at him like he hung the stars instead of cheap fairy lights around his apartment. 

Spencer’s confused. "I-I... Wha—"

"I'm not breaking up with you," You chuckle, and you nearly burst out laughing as genuine puzzlement takes over his face. You tug him behind you, plopping yourselves on his couch. You smile, appreciating the way he organized the cushions and throw-pillows; there's now space for two people to lay down.

You take a breath. "You wanna know why I don't like Valentine’s Day?"

Spencer slouches, though his body is angled towards you so you suppose that's good. He sighs, "Because it's a capitalistic holiday that reinforces the idea of doing the bare minimum…"

He begins listing your reasons, and your eyes soften. Of course he listened and remembered even if you mentioned it offhandedly.

You nod once he finishes. "Yes but before that—and I can't believe I'm telling you this—back when I was a little kid, I didn’t get any Valentines."

Spencer's brow furrows at the newfound information. You continue, "I'd get some from my friends and stuff but that's not what Valentine's Day is about. At least not when you're a kid. When you’re a dumb kid, it’s about couples and romantic shit, and I didn't really have any of that growing up." You purse your lips and glance away, face flushed with embarrassment. It's really not that big a deal, but putting it into words makes the idea seem more intimate and personal.

It takes a moment for your words to sink in as Spencer can't believe his ears. How could you not have been showered with love and affection and presents on Valentines Day? It's like water doesn't make things wet or fire doesn't produce heat; it just doesn't make sense. Because you deserve that much and more.

"So every Valentine's Day, I lowered my expectations and eventually I stopped caring. I'd tell myself those things and I started to believe them," You bite your lip, eyes crinkling as you give Spencer a sheepish smile. "But now I have you."

At that, Spencer returns your smile, letting you take his hand. Any tears he had seem to evaporate instantly.

“So, I'm sorry that I hurt you. I stand by what I said before, Valentine’s Day sucks. But if it’s with you,” Blushing deeply, you play with Spencer's hand, large and veins defined compared to yours, shrugging, “I guess it’s not so bad.”

Spencer’s smile broadens, and he intertwines your fingers together. "So what you’re saying is, you don’t hate this?” He looks around his living room.

You shake your head, unable to stop the grin crossing your lips. “No. In fact, very much the opposite. Honestly, thank you for this, it’s beautiful. I have no words.” You breathe it all in; the candles, the flowers, the— Your nose wrinkles and you snort, “Did you burn something?”

Bashfully looking down, he scratches his chin. “I-uh-tried to make your favorite dishes. Though, I was hoping the candles and flowers would mask it.”

You giggle and pull him into you, snuggling into his side. “That’s okay. I’d much rather have you anyway.”

With Spencer a blushing, stuttering mess in your arms, head resting on your chest, you press a kiss to his hair and conclude; yeah, you don’t like Valentine’s Day. 

But you sure as hell love Spencer more.

—

AN:  FtH status: finished - 7/5. yes 7.

I realize this was not what anon requested but oh well i wrote this at 2 am 

I’m not that anti v day but i stand by the capitalistic aspect.

yes this takes place after For the Holidays.

also included luke bc hes my bro and i honestly think he deserves so much more than what the show gave also garvez ftw

happy post valentine’s day!!

Song: Lovefool by The Cardigans

[demonslayedher]

Rambling about Kimetsu no Yaiba surnames.

So here I am, trying to study, starting with legit topics, digging deeper, I stumble upon this part of an article about the geomancy origins of the very influential "Kimon" (demon gate) when taken into consideration in architecture and ancient city planning, mentioning how disease and disaster was thought to enter the home via the hearth, gate, water well, and toilet and such, so these parts of the home required some deification to counter-act the evil, but it's written LIKE THIS:

And my brain shouts "竈門、竈門炭治郎"

Kamado. KAMADO TANJIRO.

And next thing you I'm back down a fandom theory rabbit hole. Nothing new, I already know the distinct rarity (but real world use) of this surname, as well as the fact that there are a couple Shinto shrines with this relatively rare writing of "hearth" in the name. But still, it makes me appreciate all over again all the very subtle use of lore throughout this manga, a huge reason I'm so obsessed with it.

So while I'm here, I learned this fun tidbit from an article that asked old people with rare surnames how they feel about them being suddenly very prominent (one old Ms. Kamado tried to start watching it but fell asleep), and I learned about the name 栗花落, notoriously difficult to read as "Tsuyuri". Basically, back in the Nara period (well before Muzan would had turned into a demon in Heian times), a dude was romancing a princess with poetry and made a reference to falling chestnut flowers at the start of the rainy season ("tsuyu") and the emperor was like "That's a cool idea, I'm going to grant that as a surname." (Actually, a lot of surnames get their start from emperors granting them.)

Now, we know Kanao chose this name for herself based on choices the girls set before her, including "Kochou" and "Kanzaki", already used by her new housemates. Poor Kanao probably couldn't read and didn't have any knowledge base to properly appreciate such a poetic name, which I'm guessing was a choice Kanae contributed (Shinobu didn't seem to have put as much thought into the choices for first names and probably didn't think much about surnames either, and Aoi was really pushing for her own last name to be chosen). Kanao might have heard explanations, or she might had just thought the kanji looked pretty.

But, what's interesting to me (and reading way too deeply into it) is that Kanao joined them on May 19. While we typically picture "tsuyu", the rainy season, as spanning June/early July-ish, the start of the season is tied to late May, so even in modern-day formal seasonal references in Japanese written correspondence (yes, formal Japanese is a fussy like this), appropriate references in May include a lot of ways of saying "we're heading into the rainy season, so please take care." Furthermore, the scenes we get of the Butterfly Mansion garden (in both the snime and the manga) include prominent hydrangea, a plant that screams "rainy season."

This isn't important whatsoever, but heeeey, it's fun coincidences.

A few other little tidbits and lots of conjecture:

--Tomioka and Agatsuma may also be names with ancient origins handed down from an emperor or two. Tomioka, written in a couple different ways and pretty uncommon (but not super rare) today, miiiiiight imply Giyuu was of relatively comfortable origins, perhaps with ties to the (defunct) warrior class based on his parents' choice of name for him (even toward the end of the samurai era only a couple generations or so before Giyuu was born, there were volunteer samurai squads named "Giyuu-tai" (righteousness/bravery corp). Further evidence of this is that even after their parents died of illness, it doesn't seem the children Tsutako and Giyuu were left particularly hurting for funds. In the "my wife" Agatsuma case, this is also pretty uncommon and I've only come across it pronounced Adzuma/Azuma. Since Zenitsu was abandoned without a name, we can't assume he picked up a rather higher-class sounding name from them. Either some caretaker he had later on chose it for him (possibly even as late a Kuwajima-shihan), or Zenitsu chose it himself (and this totally seems like a name in line with his tastes).

--Kanroji is the name of a temple; there is a pattern of higher class and noble families having surnames shared with temples (often due to ancient financial ties with said temples). There are, in fact, many existing Kanroji temples, and one of them in Wakayama even installed a temporary decorative "Love Pillar" and some subtle cat references and specisl promotions of the temple's preexisting good luck in match-making. Even the train stop nearby changed the sign to a pink and green fade. And yes, I am super disappointed that I had not heard of all this until the temporary promotion was over.

--Murata and all the Demon Slayer Corp extras (swordsmen and Kakushi, not swordsmiths who have metalworking pun-filled names) have extremely commonplace names.

[sillyguyhotline]

17. “How is any of this ok?” with Joe and Sara maybe?

dude im gonna be completely honest i havent written anything in like a month so i think the quality isnt gonna be great but here goes nothing

God, Sara missed the feeling of home.

Every semblance of familiarity and comfort she’d once found in the town she’d grown up in, the house she’d spent her childhood running through, now felt chillingly foreign.

Perhaps it was the heavy burden of knowledge weighing fresh upon her shoulders: ASUNARO’s corruption seemed now to peer slyly around every corner, no matter where she went. She still didn’t know how much of the town had rotted away under its grasp, how much of the town its poison had pervaded… but she was probably better off not knowing.

Whatever was left of Midori, that miserable mix of pulsing blood and electronic emotion, had been ground to bits inside that coffin… but Sara couldn’t ignore the creeping fear that his burning, ever-present gaze would appear out of nowhere and terrorize her again.

But he wouldn’t. The death game was over, and they’d promised they would never hurt her or any of her loved ones again.

Most of the loved ones she still encountered day-to-day, gruesomely blood splattered and sitting like corpses propped up hastily in a corner, would be safe no matter if ASUNARO was fresh on her tail or a thousand miles away. What a cruel price to pay for safety, to never be hurt again.

They still lived on if Sara closed her eyes tight enough, if she listened to the twisting words of the hallucinations and let them convince her she was monstrous. But the second she dared to open her eyes, she knew they’d be dead again. Life worked in terrible ways, and that was all there was to it.

Joe’s house had always been a second home to her, ever since the two of them became friends. Joe was the farthest cry from Sara in terms of social interactions- it had taken at least 3 months for Sara to trust Joe enough to invite him over, but Joe had insisted she hang out at his house the very same day they became friendly enough to exchange more than a sentence with each other.

There was a certain sort of comfort to the warmth of his house, the constant scent of cooking food pervading the air and the little trinkets scattered in every corner. No surface of his house went without decoration, in its silly little way. It was full of pictures, too, some carefully framed and some dangling from the wall by pushpins, but Sara got the sense that none of the photos went unloved. Most of them were occupied by an orange-haired man, often carrying a younger Joe (back when he was still sporting that atrocious crew cut). Sara always assumed it was his dad, but thought it would be impolite to ask… particularly when the weeks stretched on and Sara had yet to meet that mysterious orange-haired man.

Eventually, pictures of Sara began to join the collage on the wall- pictures taken as she butchered yet another pop song during karaoke, or when they went out to get food, or when she mistakenly sat down on a traffic cone during gym (after many protests from Sara, he took that one down). As silly as the pictures were, and as obvious as it was that Joe had waited for the most embarrassing moments to take them, it was sort of sweet in a way.

Joe’s mother was always kind to her, though there was a constant weariness in her eyes that Sara always felt a bit uneasy about questioning. Sometimes she’d let the two of them cook things in the kitchen, but more often than not they’d go up to Joe’s room and screw around in there, with video games or music or the 50 times Joe tried to persuade Sara to climb out the window and sit on the roof with him before she finally agreed.

As rare as it was for Sara to agree to sit on the roof, it was even rarer for Joe to agree to study with her, much to Sara’s chagrin. Joe had always walked a fine line between passing and failing, but Sara had to admit he walked it well. When she did manage to convince him to study, though (usually the day before final exams), they’d sit on the cushy couch in his living room and somehow manage to bother each other as much as possible while feigning concentration.

The couch hadn’t changed after several years- Sara could tell that much the minute she sat down on it and avoided the urge to break eye contact with Joe’s mother. It was still well-worn, a couch that likely should have been replaced at least a decade ago but had never really been disposed of. Loose threads were protruding from the cover, drawn out from years of visitors fidgeting with them.

Sara shifted uncomfortably in her seat, the slight motion making her sink deeper into the couch’s soft cushioning. She’d only spent one minute in the house and was already sweating, whether from the heat of the home or the thousand-yard stare of the woman sitting across from her.

Ryoko was there, too, sitting to Sara’s left and gazing listlessly at the well-trodden carpet beneath her feet. …Ryoko.

Sara cast a hesitant glance around the room, duly noting the photos covering the walls. Not a single one of hers had been taken down, but several more photos had appeared with Joe’s beaming face featuring prominently in them. Joe’s presence was always enough to fill a room even when he wasn’t speaking; it took a lot to fill in the gaps left by his absence.

God, she missed him.

The wind whistled against the window-screen; Sara had memorized the familiar creak of the wooden window frame being lifted up to welcome in the mild autumn air. Sara had always thought of autumn as a beginning- she loved summer as much as any other kid, but as the haze of the weather began to wind down she was quick to grow impatient and look forward to the school year, to being productive again. Joe had always disagreed with her.

“Fall is the literal death of fun,” he’d complained once, walking home with Sara after finishing the first week of school. “Couldn’t they have pushed back the first day of school by, like, another week? You think if we got enough people to sign a petition, they’d give us an extra week of summer?”

“Oh, come on, we both know even if you had an extra week of summer you’d just be complaining a week later,” Sara had teased back.

The death of fun. It certainly felt like that, Sara decided. She’d never feared the looming darkness of fall and winter quite so much before. But now, she supposed, there was no sunshine who’d weather it with her.

“Well… Sara?” Joe’s mother spoke up, voice hoarse with the sound of repressed tears in her throat. Sara recognized the sound all too well.

There was no resentment in the woman’s eyes when Sara made eye contact with her. No anger, no frustration, nor had there been any in her measured motions when she welcomed Sara into the home. It didn’t take any words for Sara to tell that there was no blame to be foisted upon her.

She was still Joe’s best friend.

“I’m sorry to have dragged you out here on such short notice.” The woman’s voice was weak. “I don’t know all the details of what happened, of course. Haven’t heard anything, aside from the little tidbits the police told me when I dropped by the station.”

Sara’s shoulders stiffened at the mention of the police, at the idea of them pleasantly answering her questions as though they weren’t just as complicit in that tragedy as ASUNARO had been.

“And…” the woman glanced down at her hands, toughened from a lifetime of working. “I know something terrible happened to you. The circles under your eyes are darker than midnight, I know it’s so selfish of me to be dragging you out here, but… I haven’t slept a wink for weeks. Been so worried about Joe, and about you too.”

She nodded in the direction of the black-haired girl who hadn’t spoken a word the entire time. “Ryoko’s been worried about the both of you, too. Your parents weren’t answering the door, so she went to me. I hope you’ll forgive the two of us for disturbing you, Sara, but… you have the answers the police won’t give us, don’t you?”

God, her gaze was piercing.

“...Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

It was taking everything in Sara’s power not to look at the vacant seat to her right. If Joe was there, he would have been laughing and lightening the mood, completing the circle that had been left so jarringly empty.

But they wouldn’t have been having this conversation if Joe was there.

Ms. Tazuna nodded slowly. “This means the world to me, Sara. Don’t forget that.”

Sara did her best to muster a smile. “Don’t worry. I won’t.”

The woman gave another nod, eyes defocusing as though even now, she wasn’t quite sure why she was there. “Alright. Alright. Well, then…” She cleared her throat uncomfortably. “Guess I should get right to the point, yeah? Is he… is… how is he…?”

So she still hadn’t quite let go of that little thread of hope, even after seeing Sara return home safe and alive with no best friend in tow. Who was Sara to judge? When hope was the only thing to cling to, it only made sense to cling to it like a lifeline.

Sara twisted her hands, the same old nervous habit she’d had for years, and wondered briefly if she’d picked it up from Ms. Tazuna. How terrible it was, to carry the news that nobody, much less any mother, ever wanted to hear.

“I… I’m sorry, Ms. Tazuna. He didn’t make it out alive.”

Sara hadn’t expected the hush that immediately fell over the room. She’d expected immediate tears, the grieving cry of a mother in pain. Instead, the room became muffled, still as a painting captured in time.

Slowly, Ryoko looked up from her bitten-down fingers, eyes rimmed red already. Ryoko had always been an emotional person, the only person Sara knew who could fluctuate from full-on sobs to cheerful giggles in less than a minute. Sara was so unused to the look that was now filling her eyes- cold, solid misery. As though there were no tears in her eyes left to cry, no more tragedies to bemoan. Just a deep and horrified comprehension of just how many things in her life had gone wrong.

And, slowly, Ms. Tazuna began to cry.

Tears had become so uncomfortable for Sara to bear witness to. Was it selfish of her to look away? It couldn’t be, not when every raw sob reminded her of the art student seeing her first (and certainly not last) death, of the broken sibling openly weeping over apologies gone unspoken, of the unknowing siblings screaming their throats out with pleas for death so the other could survive.

Especially not now. Not when every tear rang in her mind as a reminder of cold tubes piercing her best friend’s chest, of his corpse slumping and falling in a pool of blood, because oh god he wasn’t supposed to have lost so much blood, how was he supposed to live without it, of the clickclickclickclickclicking rising in volume while her attempts to save him grew feebler and feebler.

Her hands were bloodstained, no matter how many times she tried to scrub them clean. Those dreadful hands of hers had failed her, failed Joe, failed the women sobbing openly in front of her.

She swallowed back the apologies that always rose in her throat as Ms. Tazuna rushed to sniffle back her tears.

“I… god, I… he’s really gone?”

Sara couldn’t bear to look her in the eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

“Please… please tell me it was a peaceful death. He didn’t… suffer too much, did he?”

The resounding wave of clicks flooded her mind. “It was as peaceful as I could make it. I… he smiled at me, right before he died. I’d… very much like to think that means he was happy when he died.”

“What happened?” Ryoko’s voice came out rough, the first of it Sara had heard in weeks. “Joe told me, after our date, that he was going to walk you home, and then neither of you showed up at school the next day. And now… it’s been three weeks? And Joe… Joe’s dead? What the hell happened, Sara?”

“God,” Sara mumbled, mesmerizing herself with the twisting motions of her own hands. “I’m not sure if you’d even believe me if I told you. I don’t even know if I believe what happened myself.”

“I’d believe anything.” The sentence was firm. “I just want to know what happened.”

Sara nodded wearily. The familiar weight of her bright orange ponytail was notably missing- the day after she’d escaped, she’d demanded the hairdresser cut her hair short and crisp. She shuddered every time she thought about the ponytail brushing against her neck as she spent each argument screaming and protesting for her life. Even worse was the memory of how carefully Joe had styled her hair, forsaking his usual clumsiness to braid every strand with a remarkable tenderness. She didn’t want to remember any of it- even though, as the locks went cascading to the floor, she was reminded starkly of Keiji’s bleach-stained trauma response.

“For some reason, something to do with the mafia, we were kidnapped. And pulled into a death game. There were twenty of us, including me and Joe. I- I’m not going to get into all the specifics. It’s going to make me sick to my stomach if I do. But… they made us play this sadistic fucking game to narrow down the competition. Based on cards. Joe drew a bad card, and… they executed him.” Something in Sara’s throat tightened as she finished speaking, and she fell silent.

“Just like that?” His mother’s voice came out as a hoarse whisper. “How… how’d they kill him?”

“I’d rather not say.” There came the gushing sound of blood pulsing through the tubes. “He didn’t suffer too long” - she hoped - “but it was a gruesome way to die. I don’t want to think about it, please understand.”

It took a moment for his mother to register the words and nod, face still painted with horror.

“Why… how did the two of you even end up there in the first place?” Ryoko spoke up again. “You said something about the mafia? How the hell are you two connected with the mafia?”

“I don’t know how I am,” Sara responded immediately. “It must be something with my family. I couldn’t control any of this, I swear, but… Joe wasn’t meant to end up there at all.”

Ryoko paused. “He… he wasn’t meant to end up there?”

Sara swallowed back the lump in her throat. “The game… it was something that was being prepared for ages. There weren’t just a few ragtag kidnappers behind it, there was an entire organization. Even the police were involved. They ran AI tests, hundreds if not thousands of them, trying to calculate who’d be the most likely to win. And… when all the numbers came back, the person most likely to win… was me.”

She spread her arms wide, baring her sins and her cruelties to the world, and in that moment felt distinctly like the angel of death Keiji had branded her to be.

“They needed something to drag me down, I guess. Make the odds more balanced. So they dragged Joe into this fucking mess. I guess they thought that him being there would keep me steady enough to make everything fair.” A cold hand, dripping with tendrils of phantom blood, caressed her chin with a lethal grip. “...They were right.”

Ryoko’s gaze had gone cold again. “So Joe died just because you cared about him? What the fuck kind of death sentence is that?”

Sara shook her head numbly.

“Why did it have to be him?” The heartbreak in Ryoko’s voice was clearer than day. “So many people love you, Sara, why did it have to be him? Hell, I’m your best friend too, aren’t I? Why couldn’t it have been me? I’m a much worse person than Joe ever was, I deserved to be in his place way more. Couldn’t they have killed me instead?”

Sara winced at the growing desperation in her best friend’s voice, the raw crack she knew all too well. It should have been me, it should have been me, it should have been me. Sara could have almost fooled herself into seeing a crisp aquamarine when Ryoko’s hair flashed into the light.

“Ryoko… it could have been.”

The girl fell silent.

“They had files on you too. They knew how close we were, they knew how much you meant to me… but Joe was in the wrong place at the wrong time. And they fucking killed him for it.”

Oh, how she wished she could go back to that balmy early-autumn night, see the smile on Joe’s face and listen to his lighthearted laughter again. The desire to keep one’s friend safe had become a crime deserving of a death sentence.

Ryoko’s eyes remained locked to Sara’s, devoid of any dullness. In the look they exchanged was a deep, sinking understanding, one that had nauseated Sara to the core the first time the realization struck her.

It was by no crafty strategy that Joe had died instead of Ryoko, no favoritism biased against the kindest person either of them would ever know. It was a simple, terrible twist of fate. Ryoko could have taken his place had she done something as inconsequential as offering to walk Sara home instead.

But she hadn’t.

It took everything in Sara’s power to avoid wondering what would’ve changed if she had.

“How is any of this okay?” Ryoko broke the silence weakly. “They killed him- they could have killed me, too. He was seventeen. Seventeen. How did anybody let this happen? How did this happen, Sara?”

“I- I don’t know.” Ryoko’s wrath was simmering; even though Sara knew truly that she wasn’t the subject of the anger, she still felt scalded. “I miss him so much, Ryoko. I watched him die, and nothing in my power let me save him. I miss him, Ryoko, I miss him every waking minute of every day. We were supposed to escape together and get out safe and pretend this never happened, but…” the tears were beginning to well up again. She couldn’t bear the thought of breaking down in front of anyone, especially not over him.

“I’m going to go make some coffee,” his mother interrupted suddenly. She’d been noticeably quiet, but the still-fresh streaks of tears painted down her cheeks told the story she didn’t need to vocalize. “Some coffee, and some snacks. And we’ll keep talking from there, alright? Do you guys have your phones?”

The two girls nodded uneasily.

“Please… find any pictures you have of him. I want to make this wall as bright as possible.”

Without any other words, she hurried out of the room, and it fell to silence once more. Outside the window, the cool autumn breeze began to stir the leaves in the air, gusting forward to brush against Sara’s cheek just as the hallucination had done mere minutes ago.

And the Tazuna household began to feel more like home again.

[scarfdyedshadow]

The Unveiling of Ibaraki-Douji’s Character Across FGO (1/2)

I should start with the disclaimer that this isn’t specifically intended to be an analysis of Ibaraki as character, or so to speak an analysis of her narrative arc, character development, and growth over the course of Grand Order. For that, I extremely recommend reading the meta posts of @xenodile​. They are very thoughtful, insightful, and nuanced analyses of her.

This is more or less a consolidation of my thoughts on the reveals made about her character over time, the slow meting out of tidbits about what lies under her surface and what her true basis is. In short, the deciphering of her puzzle. In that regard, this post won’t go into Ibaraki content irrelevant to that, such as the relative low points of her treatment over time.

Ibaraki: “Kuha, kuhahahaha! Woman, woman, woman! Is this the first time you’ve seen something like me? Then engrave it within that body. Cram it in in place of the organs that’ll be devoured by insects after death. Violent like a rampaging beast, terrifying as a god, miserable as an insect! Knowing neither human weakness nor a warriors’ pride, lowly so as to wield one’s rotting arm as a weapon! That is an Oni. One who terrifies humans with all they have, a man-eating demon!”

When we’re first introduced to her in Rashoumon, Ibaraki is an intimidating presence, speaking of the depravity of the oni and how she is the embodiment of it. Right off the bat, there’s something to be said about her being fixated on what an oni is and how she fits the bill, rather than her own individuality.

Ibaraki: “Kuha, kuhahahaha! How nice, how nice!”

Kintoki: “This isn’t nice at all! Your eyes aren’t laughing at all, damn you!”

Ibaraki: “….mu, don’t insult me. I’m not used to laughing. Laughter from the bottom of my heart, huh… I can’t do it like Shuten.”

And only just a bit later, it already becomes clear she’s forcing herself a bit. She’s not used to laughing, to be able to do it fully and genuinely. And again, shortly thereafter, her weakness is called out.

Kintoki: “Can’t you tell? Bah, whatever. Hey General, can you tell her?”

Protagonist: “It’s because you haven’t eaten Shuten.”

Ibaraki: “Y-you human! Don’t say such a cruel thing! Eating Shuten was just a manner of speech! That... like hell I can eat her! I would never injure the Shuten that I respect so much, you fool!”

Kintoki: “See? She’s like that.”

Protagonist: “…a chicken.”

Quite contrary to her initial impression, Ibaraki’s fundamental nature is that of a coward. Certainly she has some capacity for fierceness and fighting, but she doesn’t truly live up to the violent, miserable, and terrifying image she projected at the beginning. And as for why she did that?

IbarakI: [Blushing] “C-can’t help it, this is an Oni’s custom! An Oni must always put on airs! That’s what Mother taught me!”

At this point we learn that the airs she puts on are an ideal she tries to live up to in order to be a proper oni, as taught by her mother. That’s someone that will come up later, but for now we learn from her debut event that Ibaraki feels compelled to hold herself to a particular impression, to appear as a fierce inhuman oni, due to her mother’s teachings.

There’s nothing in particular I want to highlight in her profile and lines, wherein she mostly presents as she does at the beginning of the event, as an imperious and deadly leader of oni. It certainly can be gleaned from her lines though that she puts a particular emphasis on her being an oni as opposed to a human. Throughout her various appearances in this interim period, she continues to insist on being a true and vicious oni while generally in practice being a big dork, though she never truly acknowledges this.

And indeed, throughout all this, her esteemed mother she seems to hold in veneration, perhaps even fear, continues to come up. It’s evident that even if she isn’t physically present, her influence is felt every time Ibaraki pushes herself to be a proper oni, to hold herself to that standard.

And then we get to her mats profile.

Ibaraki isn’t just upholding that image with words and to a mild extent actions, she’s literally pushing her own body to adhere to that particular image. It makes what we’ve known about how she forces herself pale in comparison.

Her personality section, as much as it understates what she went through because this game isn’t the ideal of taking things as seriously as they should be, explicates why she is how she is quite clearly. Her mother of noble birth, devoid of love, literally beat her into the mold of a proper oni. The reason she acts the way she does is because she was forced to every single day act as a proper scion to the oni, assume responsibility as a leader of oni. She was left with no choice but to mutilate her own heart and strive to act as a prideful monster, and she is constantly self-conscious of maintaining that image.

This then would seem to be the final word on how Ibaraki’s character came to be, but there are some additional wrinkles, first alluded to here as well.

Watanabe no Tsuna is a hunter of oni, the man who put an end to her grief stricken rampage and humiliated her by cutting off her arm. It’s only natural that she should hate him and want to kill him. But why then does she feel the conflicting impulse of wanting to talk to him? Why does she feel strong curiosity about him? What is there to be curious about, when he did what any human would do if possible and put a stop to her destructive rampage? Shuten only offers a cryptic answer, and Ibaraki is left with the lingering question.

Dialogue 9 I am an oni from Hell, but from the looks of it, that one's an oni of the present world. I can sense the blood of a high-class god from Shuten Douji, but Ibaraki Douji has a smell similar to mine. ...She must have been a human, originally. (If you have Shuten Douji and Ibaraki Douji)

The sparrow Beni-enma, soon to release in FGO NA, has a line for Ibaraki Douji, and it is a truly absurd place to receive such a major revelation. Ibaraki was not born as an oni, but as a human. It’s a detail that contextualizes why her mother of noble oni stock was so unrelentingly harsh on her, why she was so particular and forceful about making her into a proper oni. Such is doubly necessary to make up for the deficit of having once been human, of being so impure. It contextualizes as well why she didn’t take to that traumatic teaching easily, why she still lapses into a sweets loving coward. Her fundamental nature isn’t quite that of an oni, and that’s why she has to push herself so hard.

But then, how has this not especially come up before? Ibaraki’s basically never alluded to having formerly been a human, something which you would think impossible, even if she has an image she works hard to maintain. Likewise, she seems a certain degree too casual, too unaware, when it comes to what her mother put her through, even if she bears fear and awe.

Of all the places to do it once again, the tail end of Beni-enma’s interlude answers the matter, and once again contextualizes all of Ibaraki as a character prior. She was so thoroughly traumatized, so thoroughly indoctrinated, so thoroughly broken, that she repressed the memories of what she endured. She only remembers it as a distant emotional impression of having to crawl towards an impossible goal, of having to smile even as if she was in agony.

And Shuten maintains that illusion. Ibaraki has always been how she is. She’s never been through anything like that. She’s always been an oni’s oni, the ideal oni everyone wanted, and there’s no need to dwell on anything else.

Ibaraki is able to maintain her current self by burying her trauma deep inside of her, clinging to a reality of a stern but teaching mother that never existed. Of course she’s full of pride. She’s an oni, so she should act like an oni. There’s no need to think about difficult things, or be moved by uncomfortable sentiments.

Of course she doesn’t remember being a human. She had her past torn away from her by what she was forced to become, her memories ripped to shreds by the unsentimental abuse of her so called mother. To acknowledge what came before what she is now would be to undo her entire self.

And Shuten reveals she maintains this lie so that Ibaraki can remain happy. She fears Ibaraki will fall apart if the delusions she clings to are torn away. To simply allow Ibaraki to be carefree and pursue her desires is all she feels she can do.

But why does Tsuna come up? What bearing does he have on Ibaraki’s trauma? He’s nothing more than a sworn enemy that put a stop to her rampage and disgraced her by cutting off her arm. Certainly his presence stirs up some feeling, but it should have no bearing on her past, her pain, what she was and what she forces herself to be. Why does Shuten believe that if Ibaraki were to meet Tsuna, she might break down?

Tale of the Beginning and the End

― And just like that, it was all over. Grisly claw marks, destroyed houses, shattered household belongings. And a single woman nearby, close to the brink of death. I may or may not make it in time. It seems like I was wrong from the start.

I never expected us to come in contact with one another. The last thing I wanted to do was to even look at you. However, as long as you were alive. As long as you were happy. I thought that would be enough. But look, this is the reality.

she's dead / it's your fault she was killed / it's your fault that oni escaped / you must kill her don't avert your gaze / look away i'll carve out those golden locks of hers / you're not done yet decapitate her / kill yourself who should I blame? / no one is to blame

― And just like that, the man ceases his delusional thoughts. Oni are meant to be killed. I will slay her...that's all, nothing else to it. No, think. I have to keep thinking. Even if I die, until I die, even if I become corrupted.

I remember that look in her eyes, like bubbles that floated away and vanished.

Quietly, without a hint of any intense emotion, I stared back at the girl who had fixed her gaze on me. Everyone is a sinner. Oni are sinners, people are sinners, the girl is a sinner, I am a sinner. They are not just sins, but responsibilities as well.

I tightly grasp the hilt of my sword. I have no intention of giving it up to anyone. Having it even be stolen would be absurd. "Slaying that oni, is my duty."

― Tsuna, Tsuna, TSUNAA!

......the oni's claws approach. Something, whatever it is, swells within my trembling heart. I rotate my body, turn my arms, and swing my sword.

The truth of this fight, along with its conclusion, will soon disappear to the passage of time.

No one else can understand, will be able to understand this fight to the death between the two of us.

Watanabe no Tsuna’s profile paints the picture of a man unmoved as he slew countless oni. He is without hatred and without joy. He is akin to a robot.

And yet In his Bond CE this man who is even uncertain he has emotions to begin with, when it comes to Ibaraki, is left questioning everything he is. He is wracked with self loathing, desires even his own death, and condemns himself as a sinner. He berates himself and rages at himself.

He never expected to come into contact with her. The last thing he wanted was to ever see her again. It was enough that she was happy and alive. And yet it had come to this. No one but him can understand the truth of this fight.

The picture is perhaps of having come home to ruination. A doll lays discarded. Why is it that Ibaraki-Douji wishes to talk with a human she has only known as a sworn enemy in a single encounter? Why is that she has such a sheer curiosity about him? Why is it that to meet him again might break down the illusion of what she is? Why is it that the machine of a demon slayer breaks when it comes to encountering her and her alone?

Ibaraki-Douji, despite everything she pushes herself to be, was once human. She had a human family, and a human past. And perhaps that past is not quite as dead as her heart makes it out to be.

[writing-with-olive]

Hello Olive! 👋🏼

I don't know if you're still taking requests but I would love your help ! 🙃

So in multiple POV books, sometimes two scenes from two different POVs happen simultaneously. Usually, it’s much easier to portray this in movies and tv shows by cross-cutting scenes and interspersing them using the ocean's novel formula I think, to create suspens and tension in fight scenes or backstories parallelism.

In a book, my wip for example, I find it much difficult to convey the same feelings and tension in words.

Any tips and/or guidelines plz?

Could you plz add an example of your own creation just to see the result something like a cheat sheet /not that I'm using it, just to understand how I can go through it/?

Thanks in advance!!!

💕

Hey anon!

Quick disclaimer - I write in single pov, so the advice below is based off of what I've seen, and how I would tackle it theoretically if it was something I was thinking of writing something like this. Similarly, because multi-pov is not something I particularly enjoy writing in (personal preference, nothing inherantly wrong with it), and it would probably take me several hours to produce a new work that was of much quality, I'm not going to include my own final example, though there are little tidbits below, as they became relevant. Also, this got long, hence the read more.

Alrighty into the good stuff!

So the first thing to consider is why it seems easier to pull off more rapid pov switches in movies. The main thing is grounding. Oftentimes, movies will put characters in situations where their background is at least somewhat different, and sometimes they'll mess with the music a bit (though not always). This makes it really easy for the audience to place where the characters are in a split second, which in turn means producers don't have to spend a ton of time re-establishing where each person is. This helps to keep tension up.

The thing with books is that we only have words to work off of - no visuals to provide readers with instant grounding. That means if you want to pull it off well, quickly grounding readers every shift is essential.

Parallel backstories are probably going to be a lot trickier to pull off in writing than they are in movies. The reason they work in cinima is that a) like we mentioned before it takes a lot less time to do the whole grounding thing, b) parallels are a lot more aesthetically pleasing when you can see them, but they can come across as repetitive when read, and c) dramatic time shifts like flashbacks are easier to pull off in movies where you can see that characters are visibly younger, but they tend to be disliked by readers, as it tends to disrupt forward momentum.

Intercutting stories with regards to backstory pretty much means you need to be right there with your character to see the backstory unfold. Which means flashbacks.

In some books, flashbacks are a key part of the narrative, especially if it's in a story where time is more fluid. However, if you only have one or two cases where you need to jump back, it has a much greater potential to look lazy. More often than not, it's generally considered a stronger story if you can find a way to intersperse backstory throughout the story.

It also means it's often more interesting to show their backstories, but let the audience come to the conclusion on their own that they're actually kinda parallel, and see how that affects how the characters turn out.

The next thing to consider when maintaining tension is pacing - the pull and push of scenes or even smaller beats that keeps a story dynamic. Even within faster scenes, you have places where you still make your audience wait, or else it'll be over too quick. Slower scenes still need to have some faster bits to maintain forward movement.

Each time you switch povs, you are creating a little bit of waiting time for the "non-active" pov. This is not a guarantee to establish tension, but it does help. To balance it out, make sure what's happening on the page keeps moving. Give your characters time on page to rest sometimes, but largely keep moving forward.

Another thing with pacing for multi-pov is that the longer you bench a certain pov, the longer it takes to get back in their head. So make sure to give all of your pov characters similar page time. They don't have to go in a specific rotation, but they should be balanced.

Some thoughts about making pov shifts that don't disrupt the forward momentum as much:

1 - Establish location before it becomes vital. This is actually something that is key to a lot of action scenes, because nothing breaks tension and immersion like the author saying "oh wait here's this detail that i forgot to tell you until now." Basically, set up the general layout and other necessary details when things are calmer, so the reader has a chance to set up a mental map of the place, and when things are more tense, keep readers spacially grounded by referencing what you've already established.

2 - To make it clear that things are happening at the same time, use references that can pop up in both povs. For example, maybe all the lights go out, or maybe in one scene, a character shoots a gun, and in the next (because pov switch), a character hears a gunshot going off. You're going to want a time, place, and pov reference right away to ground your readers (if you're doing third person, the pov reference could just be saying that person's name), and you're going to want to have a few space and time references as you go through the scene, so that when you do your next pov shift, readers can slot it into the correct chronological spot.

3 - Similarly, make sure that timing matches up. Your audience will notice these things. If two reference points in one pov happen three minutes apart in world, the same reference points have to take three minutes in the other pov too. Something that I HIGHLY suggest is before splitting up your povs, create an outline of what happens from an omnicient point of view, so you can make sure to get characters to the right place in the right amount of time

4 - You don't have to make each character's scene start and stop at the same in world time. This is what makes the aforementioned time references so important. However, if you're going to skip something like a character going from the kitchens to the dungeons because nothing really happens, you have to show that intention before you cut away, or else it's going to take a lot longer to re-establish where a character is.

5 - To keep tension up, mini cliffhangers can work in your favor. Maybe a character gets captured and they're about to discover who his captor is, but then you cut to the other character in a cell, trying to pick the lock before anyone notices.

6 - Remember that in situations like these, your readers will often have a better idea of the overall picture than your characters. If you reveal something in one pov, remember that you don't have to reveal it again in the other, unless it's a means to reveal more necessary information. Going to the example from point 5, maybe in the next scene, the captured character figures out that it's a trap, and that if anyone else walks through the door it will blow up. But the lockpicking one doesn't know that. So she's trying to get there and rescue him. Tension is created both because she has to do it without getting caught, but we as readers would know that if she manages to follow through, it will be devastating. The trick is that the thought shouldn't really cross her mind, because she has no way of knowing it.

7 - Choose your povs with purpose. Does the reader need to know something for the chain of events to keep making sense? Which pov will be privvy to the most knowelege? Does there need to be something ominous (like maybe a body falls past a window), but revealing why that happened would kill some of the suspense? Which pov would reasonably be near the window, but wouldn't be able to see or hear what was happening above? Also consider where it makes sense to bring in povs that haven't been in the spotlight for a little while.

8 - Remember that you can't cut as fast between povs at the same speed you can in movies because of that whole grounding issue. Give each pov at least a full scene to themselves, and sometimes a few so that we can actually see things unfolding, and then switch. If you create things that other povs can reference, even if only in passing, it will still maintain the experience of things happening at the same time.

Hopefully all of this made sense and gives you a better jumping-off point. Happy writing!