#whoever wrote the first part was so real

[olivegreentshirt]

finally people in my school with some damn sense

[pucksandpower]

Pollinated

Day 11 → Sex Pollen 💋 Max Verstappen

Warnings: 18+ content and dubious consent

Kinktober Masterlist

“You’ve got a stack waiting for you.” Alan leans on the edge of your desk, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. He’s holding a bundle of envelopes, some thick with scribbled messages, some thin and printed with clean, crisp fonts.

Your PR officer’s eyebrows raise in mock exasperation as he shakes them at you. “How do you even have time to race with all these fans wanting a piece of you?”

You grin, setting down your coffee and wiping your hands on your pants. “That’s the problem of being so popular, Alan. It’s a curse, really.”

“Oh, yeah. It’s a real burden. Everyone loving you.”

“Someone’s gotta do it.”

He drops the stack in front of you with a soft thud. “Take your time. I’ll be back in a bit.” His tone is teasing, but you catch the flicker of something more serious underneath, like he’s reminding you there’s more work to be done after this.

You roll your eyes as he walks off. You love this part of your day — the letters, the drawings, the fan art from kids who see something in you that makes them believe they can be here too. They’re always so personal, full of energy, like they’re rooting for you from their living rooms or school desks.

You flick through the pile, reading the familiar opening lines. Dear Y/N, you’re such an inspiration or I love watching you race! Your heart lifts as you come across a brightly colored drawing from a girl named Chloe, of you standing on a podium, arms raised in victory. It makes you smile so wide your cheeks hurt a little. You can practically hear the little girl’s voice, excitedly telling her parents, “That’s gonna be me one day.”

“This is what it’s about,” you mutter under your breath, running your fingers over the crayon marks.

More letters. More words of encouragement. A scribbled note from a group of university students who drove twelve hours just to see you race last season. A letter from an older woman who says she’s been watching F1 since her husband introduced her to it in the ‘70s and how proud she is to see a woman making waves. You pause at that one, your chest swelling. You’ll have to write her back.

You reach for the next envelope, a bit plainer than the others. No stickers, no hand-drawn doodles in the margins. It’s simple, just your name written on the front in neat black ink. Your gut tugs slightly, but you brush it off. Not every fan is an artist.

You open it, pulling out a card with a printed picture of a car on the front. Your car. You smile, flipping it open to read the message inside.

But your smile fades as you start to read.

You don’t belong here.

The words are bold, black, and stark against the white paper. They stand out like a punch to the gut, each line colder and more hateful than the last. The handwriting is meticulous, like whoever wrote it wanted to be sure you’d understand every word.

Women like you are ruining the sport.

Your throat tightens. Your fingers grip the edges of the card a little harder than before, the edges bending under the pressure.

Go back to doing what you’re good at: nothing.

You try to swallow, but it feels like there’s a knot lodged in your throat. It’s not the first time you’ve seen something like this. Hell, it’s not even the worst thing anyone’s said. But right now, it’s too sharp, too specific, too venomous.

You reach up to close the card, your hand trembling slightly. But before you can fully shut it, something catches your eye — a tiny puff of fine yellow powder shoots from the fold, drifting into the air in front of you.

“What the-” You blink, confused for a split second.

Then, it hits.

A burning sensation spreads through your throat and nose. Your skin tingles, a wave of heat rushing over your face. You gasp, trying to catch your breath, but it feels like you’re inhaling fire. Panic spikes as your vision blurs.

“Alan!” The name barely makes it past your lips before you feel your legs give way beneath you.

“Alan!” You try again, but it comes out weaker this time. Your limbs feel heavy, your chest tight, and the room starts to spin in slow, nauseating circles.

Footsteps pound across the floor. Alan’s voice sounds far away, muffled, like he’s underwater. You catch a glimpse of him sprinting toward you, his face pale, eyes wide. “Y/N?”

Your body jerks uncontrollably, a violent shudder running through you. The room twists, everything turning hazy as you hit the floor hard, your fingers twitching against the cool tile.

“What the hell — Y/N!” Alan’s panic is sharp now, cutting through the fog. You can barely see him through the haze clouding your vision, but you feel him grab your shoulders, shaking you gently.

“Stay with me. Just stay with me, okay?” His voice cracks, fear bleeding through the edges.

Your entire body seizes again, every muscle clamping down painfully. A sharp cry escapes your throat as the convulsions take over, uncontrollable now.

“Help! Somebody, help!” Alan’s voice is frantic, desperate, echoing through the room as the world starts to fade. His hands are on your face now, trying to keep you conscious. You feel his fingers trembling against your skin, hear the panic rising in his voice as he keeps shouting for help.

But you’re slipping, sinking deeper into the darkness as the convulsions wrack your body. You can’t speak. You can’t move.

Alan’s voice is the last thing you hear before everything goes black.

***

The world returns slowly, like surfacing from a deep dive. There’s a ringing in your ears, muffled voices blending into the constant hum of machinery. Your body feels like it’s on fire — each nerve sizzling under your skin, radiating heat. You try to move, but it’s as if you’re bound by weights. The sheets beneath you cling to your body, too warm, too tight, too much.

Someone’s talking nearby, but it’s distant, warped. You can’t make out the words yet. Everything feels heavy — your eyelids, your chest, even your breathing. Your mouth is dry, your tongue like sandpaper against the roof of your mouth.

Slowly, the fog begins to clear, and you catch fragments of conversation.

“… highly illegal substance …” A voice, crisp and professional, filters through. The doctor. “… extreme toxicity … very few cases on record …”

You try to focus, but the burning sensation inside you only intensifies. It’s everywhere — your limbs, your core, your mind. Like you’re being torn apart from the inside out.

You manage a groan, the sound barely escaping your lips.

“She’s waking up,” someone says, closer now. Alan? It sounds like him, but there’s a hitch in his usually confident voice. Panic.

Your eyelids flutter open, and the room comes into blurry focus. Harsh fluorescent lights. Sterile white walls. The sterile smell of antiseptic clogs your senses, a sharp contrast to the heat still coursing through you. You blink slowly, your vision sharpening enough to see Alan standing by your bedside, pale and jittery, his hand running through his hair in nervous strokes.

Across from him is the doctor, his white coat stiff and immaculate. He’s holding a clipboard, and his face is a mask of concern. When he speaks, it feels like each word takes a lifetime to process.

“… the substance she was exposed to … it’s not just any powder,” the doctor is saying, his voice measured but grim. “It’s a synthetic pollen derivative, known as Lust Dust on the black market.”

Lust Dust. The words sink into you, but you don’t recognize them. Your throat feels too tight to ask for clarification. Alan, however, doesn’t hesitate.

“What does that mean? What the hell is that?” Alan’s voice is raw, frayed at the edges.

The doctor sighs, flipping through the notes on his clipboard before answering. “It’s an extremely illegal bio-weapon, developed underground. It was used in several isolated attacks a few years ago, mostly in war zones. The symptoms … well, they’re brutal.”

You don’t like the sound of this. Brutal. Illegal. Bio-weapon. The words swirl around in your head, each one setting off alarm bells, but you can barely move enough to react. You just lie there, heat pulsing through you, your body screaming in agony.

“The pollen attacks the body’s nervous system,” the doctor continues, his tone clinical. “It acts as a stimulant, targeting primal instincts, heightening … certain responses. The most dangerous part is that, if untreated, the body will burn out within hours.”

“Burn out?” Alan echoes, his voice barely more than a whisper. “What does that mean? You mean … she’ll die?”

“Yes,” the doctor replies, his tone darkening. “In most cases, without intervention, the victim’s body will shut down. It’s a highly sexualized toxin. The only way to counteract the effects is through physical release.”

There’s a moment of stunned silence. The words hover in the air, sinking into the room with a weight you can almost feel. Your heart races, your mind struggling to comprehend what’s being said. Physical release? The burning sensation in your body intensifies, like it’s reacting to the very idea of what the doctor’s suggesting.

Alan’s face pales further, his hand gripping the back of his neck in horror. “Wait, are you — are you saying she has to-”

“Sex,” the doctor says bluntly, not sugar-coating anything. “Yes. If she doesn’t have sex soon, she will die. The sooner, the better, to mitigate the damage the pollen’s already caused.”

A cold sweat breaks out across your skin, despite the unbearable heat raging inside you. The fire in your veins is consuming everything, twisting the doctor’s words into cruel irony. This can’t be happening. Not this.

“I … I …“ Alan stammers, clearly at a loss, his eyes flicking to you, desperate and terrified. “There’s got to be another way. Medicine? A procedure? Something?”

The doctor shakes his head. “There’s no antidote. The only option is the one I’ve given you.”

You want to scream. You want to cry. But you can’t do anything except lie there, burning from the inside out, unable to stop the panic surging through you as the realization sinks in.

Alan takes a shaky breath. “What … what do we do now?”

The doctor straightens, his voice calm but commanding. “The most important thing is finding someone who’s willing to … assist.”

Alan’s eyes widen in horror, but before he can say anything, the door bursts open and several members of your team file into the room — engineers, mechanics, staff. Their faces are tight with concern, and they crowd into the small space, murmuring amongst themselves.

“What happened?” Someone asks, their voice tense.

Alan quickly explains, his voice shaking as he goes over the details. The pollen. The bio-weapon. The need for “intervention.” Every word makes your heart pound harder, and you can feel the collective shock ripple through the room as the reality of the situation sets in.

“She needs someone,” Alan says, his voice thick with emotion. “She needs someone to …”

He can’t even finish the sentence.

The room falls into stunned silence. You can hear the soft hum of the machines around you, the ragged breathing of the people in the room. It feels like time has stopped, the weight of the situation pressing down on everyone.

Then, the whispers start.

“I’ll do it,” someone mutters.

“No, I will,” another voice pipes up. You recognize it as one of the engineers, his voice shaky but sincere.

“I mean, she’s our driver, right? We have to help.”

More voices chime in, each one offering, each one willing. The panic in the room turns to a frantic eagerness, as though everyone suddenly realizes what’s at stake. You can barely comprehend it — the idea that your team, your colleagues, are discussing this as though it’s just another task, something to be done to save your life.

Your mind is spinning, your body trembling with the heat still coursing through you. You want to shout at them, tell them to stop, that this isn’t how things should be. But you can’t move, can’t speak. All you can do is listen as the conversation grows more chaotic, more desperate.

Then, the door opens again, and a new voice cuts through the noise.

“Everyone out.”

It’s Max.

The room falls silent instantly, every head turning toward him. He stands in the doorway, his face hard and set, his blue eyes blazing with an intensity you’ve never seen before. He looks around the room, his gaze sharp, taking in the faces of your teammates, the panic, the confusion.

“I said out,” Max repeats, his voice calm but firm.

No one moves at first, too shocked to respond. But then one by one, they start to file out, murmuring to each other in hushed tones as they leave the room. You hear Alan hesitate for a moment, but even he doesn’t argue. The door shuts softly behind them, leaving you alone with Max.

You’re too weak to turn your head, but you can hear him walk closer, his footsteps slow and deliberate. He doesn’t speak right away, and the silence hangs heavy in the air, broken only by the soft beeping of the machines monitoring your condition.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Max’s voice fills the room. “It’s going to be me.”

Your heart skips a beat.

“No one else is touching you,” he says, his tone low, steady. “I’m your teammate. I’m the one who’s going to help you. Not them.”

You can’t see his face, but you can hear the resolve in his voice, the determination. He’s not offering. He’s deciding. There’s no question, no hesitation. It’s going to be him, and no one else.

And as the burning inside you flares again, you realize that part of you is grateful.

***

The air between you and Max is thick with tension, the kind that crackles in the silence, heavy with unspoken words. You lie there, your body still ablaze, the fire under your skin pulsing in waves, but something about his presence — steady, resolute — grounds you, if only just. You can’t move, can barely speak, but your mind races, half-paralyzed with the agony of the pollen and half with the strange anticipation of what’s to come.

Max stands beside the bed, his face framed by the fluorescent lights above, casting shadows that sharpen his features. He doesn’t look afraid, though you can tell there’s something behind his eyes — something that trembles just beneath the surface. His gaze locks onto yours, and it feels like he’s looking past the pain, past the situation, to something deeper.

“This isn’t how I imagined …“ His voice is soft, barely more than a whisper, as though the words aren’t meant to be heard by anyone but you. He reaches for your hand, his fingers brushing yours, tentative at first, like he’s asking permission for what’s about to happen.

You want to respond, to say something, but your throat is too tight, too raw, the burning heat still tearing through you. You manage the faintest of nods, your hand twitching against his, and that’s all he needs.

Max leans over, his face close to yours now, his breath warm against your cheek. His hand trails gently down your arm, his touch soft, careful. “I’m here, okay?” He murmurs, his voice low, soothing. “We’ll get through this.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then, in that same quiet, tender voice, he adds, “Schatje … you’re so strong.”

The endearment rolls off his tongue like honey, and despite everything — despite the fire tearing you apart from the inside out — it brings a strange, aching warmth to your chest. Max has never called you that before. The intimacy of it catches you off guard, though you don’t have the strength to dwell on it for long.

His hands move lower now, brushing across your skin with reverence, as though you might break under his touch. You shiver, not from the cold, but from the intensity of his gaze, the way he’s looking at you like you’re the only thing in the world that matters.

“You don’t deserve this,” Max whispers, his forehead nearly touching yours. His voice cracks ever so slightly, betraying the calm façade he’s trying to maintain. “I’ve … I’ve wanted this for a long time,” he admits softly, his words a confession, raw and vulnerable. “But not like this. Never like this.”

You close your eyes, focusing on the feel of his hands on your body, the way he’s handling you with such care, as though he’s afraid of hurting you. And somehow, through the pain, you manage to relax just enough to let him in. Just enough to let him take some of the weight from you.

He presses his lips to your temple, a soft, lingering kiss, and you can feel the tremble in his breath. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs against your skin. “Just let me take care of you.”

The way he says it sends a shiver down your spine, and for a moment, the burning inside you dims, replaced by something else. Something warm, and tender, and utterly consuming. Max moves with purpose now, his touch becoming more sure, more confident, but never losing that careful tenderness. He’s cooing to you, whispering soft praises in Dutch, his voice like a balm against the fire raging inside you.

“I’ve always wanted you,” Max admits again, his words spilling out like he can’t hold them back any longer. “For so long. I just … I didn’t know how to tell you.”

His hands continue their journey, and despite the circumstances, despite the fire still licking at your insides, your body responds. Every touch feels magnified, every brush of his skin against yours sending a jolt of something deeper through you, something primal and desperate and… needed.

“You’re so strong,” he says again, his voice reverent, almost in awe. “So perfect. I don’t know how you do it.”

Your body trembles beneath him, not just from the fire that’s still coursing through you, but from the way he’s touching you, the way his words wrap around you like a soft embrace. It’s intimate in a way you hadn’t expected, the vulnerability of the moment stripping away any pretense, any barriers you might have once had.

“I’m here, liefje,” Max whispers, his lips brushing against your ear now. “I’ll take care of you. I promise.”

You don’t know how he manages it, how he makes something so painful feel like this, but he does. His hands are everywhere, soothing the burn, coaxing your body to relax, to give in to what you need. And with every touch, every whispered endearment, the fire inside you dims, just a little, just enough to let you breathe.

“I wish it was different,” Max murmurs, his voice thick with emotion now. “I wish this was … just us. Not because of this. Not because of …“ His words trail off, but you understand. You understand perfectly.

He presses his forehead against yours again, his breathing ragged, his body tense with the effort of keeping himself composed. “But I’ll do whatever it takes,” he says, his voice fierce with determination. “I’ll do anything for you.”

Your body reacts to him instinctively now, every nerve ending lighting up in response to his touch, the fire inside you blazing hotter but in a way that feels … different. Less painful. More like an ache, a deep, desperate need that only he can fill.

“Max …“ you manage to whisper, your voice hoarse, barely audible. It’s the first word you’ve spoken since waking up, and it feels like a release, like a crack in the wall you’ve built around yourself. He hears it, though, and his gaze softens, his thumb brushing gently across your cheek.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers, his voice full of emotion. “I’ve always got you.”

His movements quicken, and you can feel yourself spiraling, the fire inside you building to a crescendo, but this time it’s not just pain. It’s something more, something overwhelming and all-consuming. You can feel him with you, guiding you, coaxing you toward the edge.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers again, his voice breathless now, his own control slipping. “I’ve wanted you for so long …“

His words send you tumbling over the edge, your body convulsing in a wave of pleasure so intense it nearly takes your breath away. The fire beneath your skin peaks, then suddenly, blessedly, begins to recede. It’s like the flames are being extinguished, one by one, leaving only warmth in their wake.

And Max is there, holding you through it, his arms wrapped around you tightly, his face buried in the crook of your neck. His breathing is ragged, his body trembling with the effort of holding himself together, but he doesn’t let go. He doesn’t move.

As the last of the fire dies down, as your body finally begins to relax, you hear him whisper, so softly you almost miss it.

“I love you.”

The words slip out before he can stop them, unguarded and raw, and for a moment, everything else fades away. The room, the pain, the circumstances that brought you here — it all disappears, leaving only the two of you, tangled together, vulnerable and exposed.

You’re too weak to respond, too exhausted from everything that’s just happened, but Max doesn’t seem to mind. He holds you close, his lips pressing gentle kisses to your hair, your forehead, anywhere he can reach.

“I love you,” he whispers again, like he’s afraid you didn’t hear him the first time. “I’ve always loved you.”

His confession hangs in the air, delicate and fragile, but it feels right. Like it’s been waiting to be said all along.

As the fire beneath your skin finally dies out completely, as your body settles into a state of calm for the first time in hours, you let yourself fall into the safety of his arms, his warmth the only thing keeping the remnants of the fire at bay.

Max doesn’t let go. Not for a long time. And you don’t want him to.

***

Max holds you close, his body pressed against yours, his breath still coming in shallow bursts as the two of you lie in a tangled heap on the bed. The burning fire that had been searing through your body has finally been extinguished, leaving only a lingering warmth that feels manageable now.

But even though the pain is gone, even though your body has found relief, there’s still something… unfinished. A strange, restless feeling that hums beneath your skin, an ache that begs for more.

Max is quiet beside you, his hand brushing gently through your hair as he watches your face, his expression soft but intent, like he’s still worried, still waiting for some sign that you’re okay. But you can see it in his eyes — he knows. He knows it’s not over yet.

You shift beneath him, the subtle movement sending a ripple of sensation through you, and your breath hitches involuntarily. The fire is gone, but that need, that craving — it’s still there, simmering just below the surface. It’s not the urgent, desperate heat of the pollen, but it’s undeniable.

Max’s gaze sharpens, reading the subtle cues in your body. His hand stills in your hair, and you feel him shift beside you, his body tensing slightly as he watches you, waiting for you to say something, to ask for what you need.

You don’t have to.

“Oh liefje,” he murmurs, his voice low and husky. “You still need more, don’t you?”

Your throat tightens, and you nod, unable to form the words. There’s a flicker of something in his eyes — understanding, maybe, or something deeper. He doesn’t ask if you’re sure. He already knows.

Max’s hand trails down your body, his touch feather-light, and it sends a shiver through you, your body responding to him instantly. He presses a kiss to your temple, then to your jaw, his lips warm and soft against your skin. “I’m here,” he whispers, his breath hot against your ear. “Whatever you need.”

His lips travel lower, grazing the sensitive skin of your neck, and you arch into him, your body aching for more. He moves slowly, deliberately, savoring each touch, each kiss, as if he’s committing every inch of you to memory.

You can’t help the small gasp that escapes your lips when he moves lower still, his mouth brushing against your collarbone. He’s taking his time, drawing this out, making sure every second is filled with pleasure, with tenderness. There’s no urgency now, no frantic need to cure the fire. This is something else — something deliberate, something intimate.

Max’s hands slide down your sides, his thumbs brushing lightly over your ribs as he lowers himself down the bed. His mouth follows the path his hands have carved, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. You feel his breath against your skin, warm and teasing, as he moves lower, kissing across your stomach with slow, deliberate care.

Every nerve in your body is on high alert, each touch sending sparks of pleasure coursing through you. Your fingers tangle in the sheets, gripping them tightly as you fight to keep your composure, but Max makes it impossible. His lips are everywhere, soft and warm and completely unrelenting.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice rough with desire. “I don’t think you even realize …”

His words send a thrill through you, and your breath catches as his hands slide lower, his fingers brushing the curve of your hips. He presses a kiss to your navel, and you feel the heat pooling deep inside you, the need building again, stronger this time, more insistent.

“Max …” you whisper, your voice barely audible, but he hears you. He always hears you.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers back, his voice soft, reassuring. “Just relax.”

You try, but it’s impossible with the way he’s touching you, the way he’s kissing you, like every part of you deserves his undivided attention. He’s worshiping you with every movement, and it’s almost too much to bear.

Max’s hands slide up your thighs, and your breath stutters as he spreads your legs wider, his eyes dark with want as he looks up at you. His hands grip your hips, holding you steady as he presses a kiss just below the dip of your waist, teasing you, making you wait.

“You’re perfect,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your skin. “Do you know that?”

You can’t respond, can’t do anything but arch into him, desperate for more. He knows exactly what you need, and he’s giving it to you slowly, carefully, savoring every moment.

Max’s hands grasp your thighs, and he pulls them apart slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. There’s something in his gaze — something raw, something vulnerable. He’s giving himself to you completely, just as much as you’re giving yourself to him.

His lips trail lower, pressing kisses to the sensitive skin there, and your entire body shudders in response. Every nerve is on fire again, but this time it’s not the cruel burn of the pollen.

This is different. This is Max.

He pauses for a moment, his lips hovering just above where you need him most, and he looks up at you, his eyes searching yours. “Tell me what you want,” he whispers, his voice barely more than a breath.

You can’t form the words. All you can do is nod, your body trembling beneath him.

Max smiles, a small, almost shy smile, and then he lowers his head, his mouth finally, blessedly, on you. The sensation is immediate, intense, and you cry out, your fingers digging into the sheets as he works you with a precision that only he seems to know. His tongue moves slowly at first, teasing you, drawing out your pleasure, but it doesn’t take long for him to find the rhythm that makes your entire body sing.

He’s relentless, his mouth and hands working in perfect harmony, driving you higher and higher until you can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t do anything but feel. The pleasure builds and builds, coiling tighter and tighter inside you until you’re sure you’re going to break.

“Max!” You gasp, your body arching off the bed. “Please …”

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow down. If anything, he goes faster, his tongue working you with an intensity that leaves you trembling. You’re so close, so impossibly close, and he knows it.

“That’s it,” he whispers against you, his voice thick with need. “Let go, schatje. I’ve got you.”

And then, with one last flick of his tongue, you’re gone, tumbling over the edge into a wave of pleasure so intense it almost hurts. Your entire body convulses, your vision going white as you fall apart beneath him, your fingers gripping the sheets so tightly they burn.

Max doesn’t let up, his mouth still on you, drawing out every last drop of pleasure until you’re nothing but a trembling, panting mess. When he finally pulls away, you’re left gasping for breath, your body slick with sweat, your heart racing in your chest.

He crawls back up the bed, pressing soft kisses to your skin as he goes, his hands soothing over your trembling limbs. When he finally reaches your face, he presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, his fingers brushing your hair back from your face.

“You’re okay,” he murmurs, his voice soft, reassuring. “You’re okay.”

You can barely nod, your body still trembling from the aftershocks of your release. Max pulls you into his arms, holding you close, his fingers tracing gentle patterns on your back as you come down from the high. His breath is warm against your ear, and you can feel his heart beating in time with yours.

For a moment, everything is still. Quiet. Perfect.

And then, just as your breathing begins to slow, the door creaks open.

The doctor walks in, clipboard in hand, his expression unreadable as he takes in the sight of you and Max — sweaty, tangled together, your bodies still humming with the afterglow. He doesn’t say anything at first, just glances at his clipboard, then back at you.

“Well,” he says after a moment, his tone entirely too clinical for the situation. “It appears the cure has been administered.”

Max stiffens beside you, but the doctor doesn’t seem to notice — or care. He simply jots down a few notes on his clipboard, his pen scratching loudly in the silence.

“Residual effects of heightened libido may persist,” the doctor adds, almost as an afterthought. He glances up from his notes, his gaze flicking between you and Max, then nods, satisfied. “I’ll be back to check on you later.”

And with that, he turns and walks out of the room, leaving you and Max in stunned silence.

Max lets out a breath, a low, incredulous laugh bubbling up from his chest. “Did he seriously just …”

You nod, still too dazed to form a coherent response.

Max shakes his head, a small smile playing at his lips as he pulls you closer, his arms wrapping around you protectively. “Well, I guess we’re not done yet.”

And with the way your body still hums with need, you know he’s right.

[irndad]

don't date coworkers- s.r.

a/n: i literally wrote this very fast and also i hope you like it pls go easy on me!!! reader has a policy they don't date coworkers. spencer is so angsty abt that !! also sorry for dropping a new fic at 2am LOL wc: 1.7k

She’s really, really good at talking to people. 

It’s one of the many traits Spencer adores about her. She moves through crowds with ease, and she can charm her way into any piece of information from whatever city cop they need a favor from. She integrated into the team faster than anyone could’ve expected. This is a strength not all profilers have- they know what it takes to know what makes someone appealing, but rare is the ability to be as charismatic and charming as she is. 

She’s good at talking to him.

She’s worked at the BAU for about a year now. 13 months, 7 days and 8 hours since she walked through the doors of the bullpen for the first time, beaming at him for the very first time. Give or take. 

Spencer wouldn’t be surprised if everyone knew that he was in love with her. He’s halfway certain she does, and is being too polite to mention it. Normally, Spencer is incredibly regimented about boundaries. While the BAU is his family, and there’s no real way to deny that, he knows that he’s less than ideal to go out with. He’s stocky and he never cuts his hair (even though she swears it’s cute longer) and he’s an awkward guy- gangly and tall and just ill-fitting to be part of the scenery of her life. 

It’s a Friday, and a rainy one at that. It’s one of the blessed ones where they don’t really have a case, just paperwork to catch up on, reports and her desk faces a window. 

Normally, when Spencer gets his work done (a good four hours before everyone else on a paperwork-only day), he’d head out. Catch up on whatever Russian novel he’s been chipping away at- but she’s here, and he’s made her favorite tea. 

“I thought you could use a treat,” he says, walking over to her desk. She looks up at him, brushing overgrown bangs, “It’s not really a great one, but I’ll get you some scones on the way to mine, yeah?”

She looks up at him, dropping her pen and focusing entire energy on him. He feels a bit overwhelmed, like an ant under a magnifying glass. 

“Did you know that I adore you, Spence?” 

He is very much not aware. No amount of her saying it will ever make him know. She takes a long sip from the mug. He knows how much honey she likes in it. He studies how she looks, eyes closed serenely, completely invested in what he’s given her. 

“You’ll be taking her home, pretty boy?” Morgan snickers, in a not altogether unkind manner. 

“Fuck off,” she says kindly, not taking her eyes off of Spencer as she rebuffed Morgan’s teasing. 

“Easy, easy,” Morgan laughs, “I’ll leave your boyfriend alone.”

If she has anything to say to that, it doesn’t come out then. 

He’s still bright red, though. Morgan is amused, and Spencer knows that she really, truly adores Morgan. Spencer loves him too, but it would be nice if he laid off the jokes. 

She doesn’t date coworkers. 

He knows this because of the first time they’d met, when he’d been walking in carrying a croissant for Garcia and a coffee for JJ, and saw what can only be described as a truly ridiculously beautiful woman in the bullpen. 

She’d been leaned back, smiling openly as Morgan tossed some random pick-up line towards her. He remembers it now like he can still hear it, her lilting lovely voice carrying just the right amount of warmth to make this not sting, or at least sting as little as possible. 

“I’m sorry, Derek,” she had said, “I make it a point not to date coworkers.” 

Which of course is fine. She can date whoever she wants, and it’s a good policy to have personally. And Spencer’s never really be the kind of guy who excelled at getting dates. He knew from the first minute that he saw her that even if she didn’t think that way… well, it wouldn’t be him, who she picked. 

Now, they are very close. So close that she drives him home from work every Friday. Which usually includes staying at his shitty apartment and watching VHS tapes of documentaries and Doctor Who. 

He wants to kiss her every Friday. All, the time, really. It’s kind of plaguing him. Clearly, she likes hanging out with him. Something about him is appealing. It’s foolish to assume that it’s more than friends, especially for someone like him to be with someone like her. 

She doesn’t date coworkers. 

“I made sure the film tonight has subtitles!”

“Are you saying film because this film is foreign, Spence?”

“I promise it’s worth it!” He says excitedly, “And they’re really done well. You won’t have to have me whisper the translations to you in real time!”

“I didn’t mind that,” She laughs then, a real laugh, “but I’m glad we’re getting to hang out tonight.”

It’s funny- they’ve done this so, so many times, but he never stops being thrilled. 

___________________________________

Sometimes, when the summer air is forgiving enough, they walk home from the office. She takes the train in, and they walk back to his place. Tonight is one of these nights, and god- she looks lovely. She’s tied her blazer around her waist, and the sunset hits her face in that gorgeous baroque painting kind of way. 

“You’re very pretty,” he hears himself say before he can stop it. He’s endlessly pleased when she preens at the praise. 

“You’re not so bad yourself, Doctor,” she says, shoving her hands into her pockets, a nervous gesture. He wants to hold those hand, intertwine her lovely delicate fingers with his bony wispy fingers. 

“You’re being nice to me,” he says, looking down at his shoes. They’re stupid. He should wear loafers, or some other shoe that doesn’t make him like half-child half-geek. 

“I’m being accurate, actually,” she says she bumps his shoulder. 

She’d be a wonderful girlfriend. He lives in the world this can happen quite often, in his fantasy. She laughs at his jokes and tells him he’s kind, and good, and she means it. He’s lucky to have this much of her- more than anyone else on the team! Spencer knows he’s her favorite. The way she’s looking at him now, how she give-up her Fridays to spend with him, on his ratty couch, how she always listens. Whenever they're both on the jet and he falls asleep, he always wakes up with a blanket on him. She's so good at loving people.

Being her favorite on the team does not mean he’s in the running to be a boyfriend. But he’d fucking want to be. He’d be a good boyfriend. Spencer, he’s gone so far for her. He fantasizes about getting her flowers that have symbolic meaning.

“Are you okay, boy-genius?”

“I’m better than okay. Do you want popcorn?”

She wants popcorn. He sets the movie up, and she gets comfortable on his couch, curling up with his purple felt blanket, and his mind betrays him with unhelpful images of what it might look like if she was his, if this is what he came home to. 

Don't picture welcome home kisses, or movie nights or being wanted. Don't.

It’s very, very hard to focus on the movie.  

She’s touchy, with him. He’s not sure if it’s because she could never see him as her boyfriend, but he’s grateful as she leans her head on his. She smells like peonies. When the credits roll, they stay like that for minute- her head on his shoulder and one of her legs thrown over his. 

He wonders, not for the first time, if she feels the same way about him. If things were just..different, then they’d be kissing under the haze of his TV right now, if he’d know what that chapstick she carries with her every day tastes like. 

“Do you ever wonder what it’d be like if we met under different circumstances?” he says, once time passes and he speaks instead of thinking.

“Hmm?” She hummed, relaxed eyes flitting their gaze over to him.

“Like, at a bar or something.”

“But you hate bars.”

“That’s why I said or something!”

Her lip juts out adorably, “But then I wouldn’t get to see you in your element.”

“Yeah,” he sighs, resting his neck on the top of the cushion. The AC is a little too much in the room. He wonders if she’s cold. “But who knows. Maybe we’d date, or something.”

It’s the dumbest thing he’s ever fucking said. Both because it was a dumb way to say it, but because it was an advance. He feels white hot shame lick at his spine when he looks at her, and hears her laugh. 

“I don’t think so, Spence.” 

“No,” shitshitshit, “I didn’t mean-“

“I mean, if you don’t want to date me now, I don’t think meeting at like, Whole Foods would’ve been the difference maker.”

It’s then he hears it- the piece he couldn’t place in her voice, when she gets like this. It’s being resigned. 

“What are you talking about?”

“C’mon, Spence,” she says, another bitter chuckle coming through, “You know how I feel. I haven’t exactly beens subtle.”

“But you don’t date coworkers. You have a rule.”

She looks at him with no recognition of what he’s saying. 

“No, because you told Morgan that, it’s the first thing I ever heard you say.”

“Yeah, but-“

“And yes, okay, you’ve been my favorite person almost as long as I’ve known you and yes, I would fucking love for you to be my girlfriend, but that was your rule!”

“You want me to be your girlfriend?”

“Obviously!”

He doesn’t get the chance to say anything else before, well- before she’s kissing him. More aggressive than that, really. Crawled onto his lap, arms around his neck, and where she leads Spencer is all too happy to follow. His body is not great at moving on instinct, but his whole nervous system feels alive- the weight of her in his lap, the feel of her waist under his fingers, the way he’s allowed this. It feels like such a pleasure, hedonistic in a way he’s never, ever been allowed to experience.

“You had a rule,” he says dumbly when she pulls away. His lips are wet. He’d like to go back to kissing, thank you very much. 

“You’re the exception, to every rule, Spencer.”

When he kisses her again (which he’s allowed to do now, holy fuck) Spencer decides he’s going to spend the rest of all time earning that status. 

[rirabeko]

Some of Baji's mischaracterization that gives me the ICK

It's 2024 and there are people out there who still can't understand Baji's character and mischaracterize him heavily, mostly because of the Bajifuyu ship.

DISCLAIMER: You can ship whoever you want. I'm just tired of seeing my favourite character constantly being mischaracterized because of toxic shippers. Also I'm not a shipper myself, I do not romanticize any of the relationships I mention below.

The biggest issue with Baji's character is the fact that Bajifuyu shippers (and sometimes just the fandom in general) constantly ignore Kazutora's role in Baji's life, meanwhile Kazutora made a huge impact on Baji's character. You can clearly see it not just in the anime or in the manga, but in the spin-off too.

Baji and Kazutora were that duo, they were a literal separated team within Toman. They met naturally, become friends instantly and spent most of their time together (many times without Toman). It's accepted by the fandom, that Kazutora's first real friend was Baji, but also Baji's first close friend was Kazutora.

Obviously Mikey and Baji were close as kids, but after Baji moved to a different place they weren't that close. I bet this is the reason why Baji didn't know about Shinichiro's bike shop, since when they met regularly Baji was a little kid and Shinichiro was a teenager without a bike shop. It also shows that Mikey and Baji aren't that close, they are more like childhood buddies than close friends.

I can talk about this for hours but now I only wrote it as a small disclaimer, before I get into my points, so let's go.

I am sick of it when:

they call Baji stupid (he literally outsmarted Kisaki, being smart not equals only book smart)

people headcanon him as a mean, aggressive, abusive bf (he is canonly no.1 best lover and he literally died because he has a heart of gold, let this bs go pls)

they can't understand the reason behind his suicide and make it a ship war (ICK)

people can't accept the fact Baji loves his friends differently, and not everyone is his bestie (it doesn't mean he does not love them, or prefers someone over the other but love can be different towards different people and it's absolutely normal!)

they make his character all about Bajifuyu (he is an individual, stop bringing up Chifuyu EVERYTIME when it comes to Baji. His character is much more than a guy in a dominant-submissive fanmade yaoi ship people like dragging him into!)

they make Chifuyu the good, perfect friend while constantly dragging Baji down and made him the bad guy in their relationship (I could write a whole essay just about this being a bullshit)

when they romanticize Bajifuyu (Baji canonly sees Chifuyu as a younger brother figure said by Baji's mom, but there are people out there who still believes unironically that they are in love... WHY?)

they ignore that Baji is very caring and affectionate not just towards Chifuyu, he is like this because these are his own personality traits. He behaves like this with everyone who's close to him. (Mikey, Kazutora, Ryuusei and just Toman in general)

people say Chifuyu was the only one who understood Baji's feelings and aims (the literal reason Baji died was because no one really understood his goals and behaviour, not even Chifuyu)

they romanticize Chifuyu's obsessiveness towards Baji (if Chifuyu was a girl, he would be cancelled for this behaviour immediately, but the double standard won again)

people make his death an opportunity to romanticize Bajifuyu (biggest ICK)

they say Baji is only distant with Chifuyu beacuse he is a tsundere (there are so many situations when Chifuyu truly annoys Baji, e.g. he said it many times that Chifuyu's infatuation really disturbs him and asked Chifuyu to stop)

Bajifuyu shippers ignore and hate Kazutora just because he disturbs their ship

they say Baji was a bad influence to Kazutora (Kazutora hung out with gangs even before he met Baji, he was already a part of the underworld. the reason Kazutora turned out that way was his abusive father and his horrible childhood in general. Baji literally saved him, and he could finally be himself around Baji without any judgement or harassment)

they ignore or even DENY Bajitora's bond because of Bajifuyu

they accept Bajifuyu, Kazufuyu or even the Bajitrio but HATE Bajitora (the biggest bullshit ever)

they can't recognise the fanservice of Bajifuyu and calls them canon because of the clear fanservice acts

people think Bajitora is one sided (more Baji sided) meanwhile Tora loves Baji more than his own life and shows it many times how much he loves Baji and how much Baji means to him

they accept that Chifuyu never changed his hairstyle after Baji made it for him (and obviously they romanticize it) but they are hating because Kazutora looked exactly like Baji in bad toman timeline

people ignore Bajitora and always forgets that they are very close to each other in every timeline. the new panels Wakui drew were also about Kazutora putting Chifuyu to his place after Chifuyu completly ignored Tora and disturbed his time with his best friend. (we all know Kazutora is very possessive with Baji for obvious reasons and does not tolerate being disrespected by someone)

The list could go on and on but these are the main problems I still see in this fandom when it comes to Baji's character.

I'm tired of seeing this amazingly well-written character turns into a boring, abusive, mean guy by the fandom who is only an abuser in a toxic fanmade yaoi ship.

SIDE NOTE:

To all the people who dislike him/call him mean and aggressive because he beat Chifuyu up:

This anime is based on a manga which takes place in the early 2000's gangster world in Japan. He is the captain of the 1st division, he is the leader, and his role is not just to be the strongest in the division but also to manage his team, bc this is also what a leader does. If someone is disrespectful, breaks the rules and shows a bad example to the others he has to punish them. In this world this is how things go. This won't make him a bad person, or an aggressive jerk. Baji can be very calm and collected when it comes to leading his division. He is a very good leader, who takes care of his teammates, so no surprise he is really loved by his division. 

Also when he beat Chifuyu up before joining Valhalla: he hated himself for doing that. But he had to, he had no other choice. And Chifuyu had every right to stand up against Baji and tell him he's not doing it. But since Chifuyu never questions Baji's decisions as the captain of the first division he agreed with this one too, and also because he wanted to help him. Chifuyu knew exactly what he was doing when he let Baji doing this to him, and he went along with it. Stop bringing this up everytime and use it against Baji.

[stylespresleyhearted]

THE MAJOR’S WIFE

warnings: mentions of miscarriage, adultery, nsfw, marital problems, oral (m! receiving), spanking, being turned on even when your brain isn’t in it, bucky in 1x04, bucky married pre-war, slight age gap bc reader can come off slightly immature (i think?) angst, historical inaccuracies, new mediocre writer be nice

summary: John Egan gets to know his wife again

word count: 9.7k

notes: i’m not sure where this came from i wrote it all today and got no part of my research paper done. there’s really no point to it and also irl john egan was actually really close to his mother so i emphasized that here. he wrote to her so much. no disrespect to any of the real people, this is based on the show/show timeline as well.

Lila gets the call on the 2nd of October and her dreams come true.

Not entirely, no. The real dream would be having him home safe and the tragic war being over but she knows how fortunate she is to have the next best thing happen. Her husband’s been granted a few days leave and Colonel Harding believed it would do Major Egan some good to have his sweet, young wife join him during those days overseas. For the good of John’s mental health the Colonel or the President - or whoever was in charge, Lila really had no idea - had agreed to pay for her ticket and their hotel. There was only one thing they asked for in return and although it wasn’t explicitly said, Lila caught their drift: sort your husband out.

Lila knows it would do her no good to sit and wonder how horribly John must be doing in order for them to declare an all expenses paid trip for his spouse. All she does is worry for him anyhow so she forces herself to focus on the one good thing of the entire ordeal - she’s going to see her man.

There’d been letters, although not as many as she liked and she tried not to let it show how it hurt as every other wife received more than one letter at a time. Her John wasn’t the sort, she knew that when she married him. He was the kind of person who needed endless skies and land to maintain his sense of stability. Having him cooped up would do him no good and she partly wondered how much of what he was struggling with was the trauma he witnessed in the air and how much of it was feeling caged on base. At least his plane, good ol’ Mugwump (he wrote about her quite often) offered him the opportunity to head anywhere he wanted.

The only person he wrote consistently and readily to was his mother. It was rare if a week went by and she received no letter. During these instances it was more times than not an issue with the postal service.

Be that as it may, Lila knew who she married and it made her love him no less so she tried not to let it get to her. His mother was a saint. Firm and strong and loving all the same. Lila would have never survived sending John off if his mother wasn’t who and how she was. She held Lila at night when her cries woke her and she let Lila sleep in his old childhood bed. She kept food on their table and ensured everyone got their work done through the worry.

When John first left and Lila was sick to her stomach and vomiting multiple times of the day it was his mother who consoled her through the night when her sheets turned a crimson red and any ideals of having their baby through the war was lost.

Frances Egan was the glue holding them together. All of them, even her son who was an entire ocean way - so no. Lila would not be angry that she was John’s preferred pen-pal.

“You fix him right up,” Mama Egan had said in lieu of goodbye when leaving her at the airport, “you give him the loving he needs as his wife and the smacks he needs from me to get on the straight and narrow before sending him off to continue saving the world. You do it for him, not for any of them war bastards. You hear me?”

All Lila could do was nod. Dropping her bags on the floor and clutching her pseudo mother tightly. She was excited as she was frightened.

They had only gotten two months together before he had been pulled away. She didn’t want to complain, loads of women had gotten less time at all while others had only ever been left with the promise.

But her two months as Mrs. Egan? They’d been a dream. Her man was a romancer. He hadn’t hesitated in introducing her as the newly (and younger) Mrs. Egan, always resulting in an arm slap from his mother, he held open doors and he never stopped courting her; however she thinks the best times were when he was teaching her how to act married.

In their bed, at a home he had spent a year building for them. Using any extra pennies he had to pay off younger boys to help him hurry it along. Giving her the wrap-around porch she had always envisioned.

He showed her how to kiss. How to undress him. He had laid her underneath him, using his large frame to cover her completely, protecting her from the cold as he threw the sheets off them and making her feel tiny compared to him. She had never felt safer.

It had hurt the first time but he had held her through it. Never allowing any inches of space between their bodies; as if telling her they were in it together. She’d always known he was large, everything about him was large in general, but she never thought how much it would hurt to have all of him fit inside her. Lila hadn't wanted to disappoint him so she tried to muffle her tears and whimpers but he had swallowed her cries and gone slow, soft.

“If this is it, it’ll be enough,” he had promised, only about half way inside her and wiping away her tears with his thumbs. As a thank you she had taken that calloused thumb into her mouth and sucked. He allowed her; hiding his face in her neck and pressing wet kisses along there.

And for the first few times that had been it. She couldn’t take all of him and his thrusts couldn’t get too deep so he would only slip inside until her tight hole resisted and pulsed and he’d hump against that spot until reaching his pleasure.

“Do other girls take all of it?” She had asked a couple days later, trying to wrap her head around it.

She was no idiot. John Egan was no virgin.

“Yes.” Lila could always count on him to be honest. At least there was that. Meanwhile she couldn’t even fully pleasure him. She was failing as a wife. “Hey,” he lay facing her and she lay on her back. He tapped her cheek until she turned her face. “You’re my wife. That’s what makes this feel better.”

And she had beamed at his reassurance even though she didn’t feel much better. She knew John would never push her, and he couldn’t stand to see her cry, so if she ever wanted to learn to be a good wife she would have to take it upon herself.

So that’s what she did.

He was always on top and she was always on her back. That’s the first thing she had to change. From her understanding of it, from her talks with friends that always ended in giggles and blushing cheeks and from what she learned from John, it could be done in many different ways.

“I prefer to be in charge,” her school friend, Linda, had admitted to her. “Not like that -” she clarified, cheeks pink, “Just - if I’m gonna take it, I’d rather do it at my pace. Be on top. Some husbands are good like that. They’ll allow it.”

And knowing her husband wasn’t just good, he was great, she knew he would hold no qualms about it. The next time they lay in bed kissing it was easy to turn him over and straddle him. Move her wetness against his belly to let him know there was still more she just needed him to accept it.

Except he thought she was asking him to do it so he flipped her on her back again. And without breaking their kiss, she turned him over again.

It was more like they were wrestling.

Lila pulls away from his mouth, reluctantly, noticing his lips were wet and red and swollen and wondering if hers were much the same. They had been kissing for so long her mouth felt raw.

She loved it.

Straddling him, she reached behind her, feeling him standing straight and hard against her backside in between her cheeks. Sticky.

He gasped, bucking into her fist with a loud, guttural groan. It was so manly she rocked against his stomach again in need.

“Fuck, baby,” he grunted, “what’re you doing?”

“I want to try it like this,” she breathed, leaning over to whisper in his mouth, her tiny hand still wrapped around him and lining her up to her hole. “I want it all.” Lila clarified.

And John allowed it, like she knew he would. Let her take control and go at her pace. Let her swivel her hips on the way down to help with the tightness of being stretched so wide and thick.

Nothing but curses and promises of love leaving his lips. Gasping mine, mine, mine and my perfect fucking wife and I’m gonna fuck you forever.

He felt large inside of her, like if she was being split in two but it felt so good as the tip of him repeatedly hit a spongy part inside that had her coming with no contact to her clit for the first time.

She was beautiful, red splotches appearing on her body from the heat of their love-making, her hair tangled in his fists, her mouth falling open as she threw her head back - all of it was too much. He was flipping her over and pounding into her trying to chase his peak and a second one from her, their headboard banging against the wall in rhythm with his thrusts.

Things changed from then on. Sexually, that is. Becoming aware of how badly she needed to feel like she was pleasing him, John was not above using it against her. Like letting him lick at her.

“Good wives allow their husbands everything,” he would say, lips wide in a smile and eyes bright at the prospect of getting his way but Lila always knew the choice was really hers. He would respect what she wanted.

He was just too damn addicting. She couldn’t stand to tell him no.

His favorite times were when she allowed him to sit her over his face and let him feast. It drowned the outside world for him and he kept at it even after she had reached multiple orgasms and was pulling on his hair and the only thing keeping her up was his forearms locking around her thighs.

Her favorite was when he allowed her to taste him at the same time he was licking her. It was a tie between those times and when he held her down until all of him was in her mouth and she was spluttering, choking, gagging. Knowing she made a filthy vision and he adored it did something to her.

Now she was in London, closer to him than she had been in years, and all their intimacies were within reach. She could almost taste him, feel him petting back her hair and settling a hand at the low of her back. She still remembers the smell of his after shave and sweat, how he’d come into the kitchen asking for some of her homemade lemonade to help with the heat.

Jack Kidd was tasked with picking up Mrs. Egan from the airport and having her arrive at base with him. She remembers meeting him a couple of times before John shipped out early. Originally she was meant to wait for John at their hotel but there had been an issue when planning her flight and she arrived sooner than intended.

“Ma’am,” he greeted, placing a friendly kiss on her cheeks and taking her bags from her. “Bucky’s gonna be happy as hell to see your face.”

The tone in his voice - relief? alleviation? - had some of her happy wife's facade crumbling. How badly was her Johnny hurting that everyone was looking at her at his only chance to remain sane or alive?

Stop it. Maybe everyone’s just aware Johnny misses you. You’re his wife.

“Not as happy as me, I wager,” she returned with a smile. “I’m glad to see you’re doing okay, Jack. Glad to see you still kicking.”

His shrug didn’t soothe her worry but she saw him try to mask it with a smile.

“All we boys can do is pray.”

She placed a hand on his shoulder, gathering his attention. “You boys have got the prayers of our entire country protecting you.”

Jack simply nodded in response.

For the most part the ride to base was quiet. Her bags would be kept in the trunk until her and John were ready to drive out to London in a couple of hours and until then, she’d be his surprise at the officer’s club. Silver Wings, Jack called it. Where all the boys gathered and had drinks and celebrated accomplishments. And where some chose to mourn, too.

Her stomach was turning as she neared the hut, following Jack’s footsteps. There was so much that could go wrong and although this was meant to be a surprise, the U.S Army showing their gratitude towards a brave Major, she suddenly wished she would have called John and told him. She wished he knew so that she wouldn’t have to walk in feeling alone and unwanted.

Not that Lila thought John would turn her away, she simply wanted to have him hold her hand as she walked through the threshold.

“Stick close by,” Jack murmured, being respectful of where he touched her before deciding to lead her by her shoulder. “It gets crowded but I’ll take ya to him.”

As she walked through different groups, she felt the offending eyes of men and women alike. Wondering who she was. With a pang in her heart she realized she had met John’s squadrons before but all these crews were new. The boys she met, most of them at least from what she could tell, hadn’t made it. John never wrote about who passed away (except to inform her of Curt) ; most of their letters were him expressing his love and how he missed her so and asking what she got up to.

Having walked around the roundabout bar in the center of the room, her stomach in knots and fingers tangled in front of her - she caught sight of her husband smack middle in the dance floor. Pressed against a beautiful brunette.

Lila caught sight of him before even Jack did. That’s how connected she was to her husband. Jack whistled from beside her to gain Gale’s attention who was resting against the bar holding his signature ginger ale, also watching John Egan chat up the woman he was swaying with with something like disapproval in his eyes.

His large hands were occupying most of the space of her waist, keeping her body tethered to his as she laughed.

“Lila,” he gasped, eyes wide. He was smart enough to not turn and look at his buddy. To act as if nothing was amiss and she expected nothing less from Gale Cleven, “damn it all to hell. You’re a sight for sore eyes, Mrs. Egan.”

Because he was close to John, he didn’t hesitate in wrapping her up in a tight hug and pressing a kiss to her tinted cheeks. He knew John wouldn’t mind.

When he pulled back she patted his chubby cheek in return, “You still shame the rest of us with your good looks, Gale,” she laughed. “I’ll let Marge know when I see her next.”

Lila also knew she would share with Marge that while Gale was being loyal, standing off to the side her husband was exchanging oxygen with a woman on the dance floor.

His cheeks tinted at the mention of his girl. Buck and Bucky were both aware Lila and Marge wrote to one another and visited each other whenever time made it possible.

“Colonel Harding said Major Egan was in need of something from home,” she said, studying his reaction to see what she could read but Gale had always been aloof, cold. He wasn’t close to her like he was with Marge and John.

Gale thought back to a few moments earlier when John had disrespected their Colonel and all his actions before that too - disrespecting superiors, drinking more consistently, becoming angry - hopelessness in his eyes.

“He’s in need of you Lila,” Gale clarified and it wasn’t lost on either one of them that he they were referring to was currently on the floor wooing another woman.

“Holy shit! It’s Mrs. Egan!” Hambone animatedly announced and suddenly it felt like the eyes of everyone in there were on her. Her cheeks tinted pink, never having been one for the spotlight like her husband.

She was greeted with welcoming cheers and hugs.

John, for his part, disentangled from the woman he was holding at the mention of his missus. He was sober enough to appear sheepish and guilty, but in the next second it was gone as he stalked towards her. Determined. Quick. His smile growing the more he neared like he was becoming more aware she was really there and it wasn’t a fucked up scenario in his head.

“God, Lila,” she managed to hear him say before she was elevated in the air, his arms tight around her waist and lifting her high so they were at face level and he could kiss her. Channeling his love and exuberance and aggression into kissing his wife. “It’s you, it’s you, it’s really you,” he was saying in between smooches, “I missed you. So fucking much, doll.”

Basking in his love she didn’t feel the need to mention the woman that was so kindly keeping him preoccupied before she entered.

She couldn’t help the first tear from falling or the rest from following. It was like the tightness in her chest unlocked as she finally got to hold him and feel his heat surround her. He still smelled of after shave and the same hair gel that was kept in their bathroom at home but he tasted strongly of whiskey and cigarettes and strawberry lipstick.

John tucked his face into her neck, setting her down and bending to her level. Sniffling in there as he continued to hold her.

“None of that,” she did her best to stop her voice from wobbling or breaking, “we’re together. That’s all that matters.” She drew his face out from where he had hidden to pepper him with a few more kisses.

None of it was enough.

The rest of the guys were kind enough to return to the dance floor and act like they couldn’t see them.

“Who? What - why? How?” He was obviously having trouble forming coherent thoughts in between the kisses he continued stealing from her.

She was crying and laughing and trying to return all his touches. It was a terribly difficult ordeal but she had never been happier.

“Colonel Harding called and said you had a weekend leave. He said he talked to some of the higher ups but they couldn’t allow you a leave home so this was the next best thing,” she explained, cupping his cheek as she rubbed her thumb over his cheekbone. He had minor scars that weren’t there before.

She wanted to kiss every single one of them.

He was still bent towards her height, taking her in as she was taking him in.

She forgot how blue his eyes were.

He was whole. Complete. Hers.

“You’re here for the entire weekend?” He asked to confirm and she nodded, laughing when he lifted her again with a loud whoop to celebrate. That got a few of the guys to join in although they had no idea what their Major was celebrating.

“I need you,” his voice suddenly dropped, setting her down as he turned to the door. “Let’s go.” He was buckling up her coat to make sure she was protected from the freezing London air. She was lucky he was too far gone to scold her for arriving with it unbuckled in the first place - she could get sick.

“John, John - relax, my sweet man,” she laughed, cupping his cheek to get his attention. “We can stay for a while. We don’t have to go yet.”

It’s why she was at the officer’s club in the first place. She had arrived early.

John turned stiff in her hold, straightening to his full height as he suddenly loomed over her. “I’ve got you in my arms for the first time and you want to stay here?” His voice was tight. His face stern.

“Yes - no, I -” she was unsure of where she went wrong or how to fix it. She clasped his hands in hers but he didn’t allow her to thread their fingers together so it was just her holding on. “I just meant we’ve got time, John.”

The way he was looking at her made her want to cry. She felt her lower lip quivering.

She felt ashamed, whispering, trying to get him to keep his cool.

“Time? Time?” He laughed loudly. She was mildly aware of Gale breaking away from a group of guys to near them, worried but she was mostly focused on John. The tense lines on his face even as he laughed and the quirked eyebrow even though she found no amusement in their situation. “You think I’ve got time? You have no idea what it’s like up there.”

She shook her head but didn’t try to verbally explain herself. She wasn’t sure she could manage a few words before breaking into tears.

“Come on, Bucky,” that was Gale stepping in to save the day. Perhaps the only person who could get John to listen. “When have you ever left before dancing with your girl? You gotta show these rookies how it’s properly done right?”

With Gale slapping a hand to John’s shoulders, he seemed to snap out of it. Releasing a deep breath and seemingly all the tightness in body with it.

He leaned down again, pressing his forehead against hers. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, clasping a hand around her neck so she wouldn’t pull her head back. As their eyes locked she felt a tear fall again and this one wasn’t happy. “I’m so fucking sorry, baby. It’s this place. It’s fucking with my head.”

And she chose to believe him, nodding her head in understanding and trying not to think about how she wasn’t his preferred person to write letters to or the one who could clear his head.

Maybe the Colonel should have allowed a weekend pass for Gale and John.

Lila swallowed the thought, allowing John to pull her to the dance floor as he lost all anger and aggression and became charming and loving all over again.

“Everyone, this is my wife!” He bellowed and everyone cheered in response. “She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen and -” he hiccuped and she realized he was drunker than she thought, “and I bet we can out dance any couples here tonight!”

So for the next hour she found herself being twirled around the dance floor by her husband. She almost forgot their prior negative interaction; his love and energy was so infectious. For the slow songs he would hold her close and she would rest her head against his chest, letting it lull her to a relaxing state. He was alive and she was with him. That had to be enough. For the more upbeat songs, he was challenging any couple beside them. Asking those sitting who were better dancers? Who could perform certain dance moves better?

And all throughout, he was like he used to be back home. Loud and happy and the center of attention, keeping everyone entertained. He kept announcing to his boys that his beautiful wife was there and then he’d place a wet kiss on her mouth that had their cheeks (and hers) turning red but all he would do is smile and continue on.

She was finally able to disentangle herself from him when Crosby pulled him in for a conversation. Lila wonders if her state of disheveled hair and panting breaths made him want to aid her in allowing her to sit and grab a refresher.

Once she accepts Crosby’s hug and cheek kiss, she excuses herself to go grab a drink. John only pulls her back once to steal a kiss before she gets too far.

Her lips might be bruised by the time they leave if he kept it up.

She orders a cup of ice water from the man tending the bar, looking back out at her husband as she waits. He’d always been tall and strong, but she notices the change in his posture. The bulges in his arms as he twirled her around and lifted her in the air. His eyes were only bright when he forced it. They had lost their shine and she wishes she brought the picture from back home. Where he looks young and full of life and joyful. Even when he smiles he seems hollow; hopeless.

She’s there but he doesn’t really care because in his head he’s already thinking of when she leaves again.

She wasn’t used to that. Her John only lived in the moment.

“He keepin’ you busy?”

Gale settles up behind her and pushes the glass water towards her. She didn’t even notice when it was put down.

“Dizzy, more like,” she jokes and gets him to crack a smile. She thinks to when she walked in and seen Gale, how he’d been watching the scene unfold but with a disapproving look in his eyes. How he didn’t try to hide the scene from her or excuse it. He let it be. And she knows John has never shied away from attention. He’s always been handsome and charming and girls always swarmed but Lila wasn’t aware she had to be around to keep him loyal. She thought he just was. And she knows it’s not too long before they leave now so she decides to be direct with him. “So, does that happen often?”

She sees Gale’s expression split for a second, like he debates playing dumb before deciding against it and she respects him even more for it.

“I think you should talk to John about it.” He decides on.

“Is it something that needs to be mentioned?” She doesn’t like playing this game with him but she knows at the first words of cheating and adultery Gale is going to excuse himself and her chance will be lost.

She can’t be simple and ask: Does my husband cheat on me?

“Another ginger ale, Marty,” Gale raises two fingers to grab the man’s attention and mutters a thanks as his drink is immediately refilled. He turns his attention back to Lila. “He still loves you, Lila. It’s just - hard. Being out here.”

“You seem to be coping fine.”

She feels bitter. Crazy. There’s a sob she has to choke back.

Lila’s too embarrassed to meet Gale’s gaze. Ashamed that everyone knows what’s been going on and she was the ditzy woman being twirled on the dance floor.

“I think I was used to loneliness. He isn’t.”

And he says nothing else as he leaves her behind heading back to his boys. It’s just Lila and her shattering heart and her husband calling to beckon her back to the dance floor.

Luckily they didn’t stay much longer. She walked over to Bucky but he wasn’t able to pull her back out for a dance - it’s my song, Lila! - because Jack Kidd was approaching, letting them know it was time to leave them at the train station.

Lila waited in the car while Bucky ran into his quarters to pack his bag. He didn’t have many things to take, he would be stuck wearing his uniform anyway. Gale walks him back out to the car and despite the earlier conversation Lila exits the safety of the interior to say her goodbyes.

“Take care of yourself, Major,” she squeezes him, “I need you to stick around after this weekend to look after my man.”

“It’s a hard job but I try,” he replies, both of them ignoring Bucky’s protests.

Besides that, Bucky’s quiet on the ride to the train station. He carries her bag on board but he’s quiet for the duration of the train ride. Lila doesn’t disturb him; he might be tired or hungover or both.

And if she’s honest she’s scared of him snapping at her like the night before.

Instead she takes the time to take him in. He’s handsome in his suit. Tall and big and strong, his sharp jaw and powerful mouth, his eyes blue like a sunny day and his curls coming undone from the gel after all the dancing he did.

Lila doesn’t allow her mind to wander down this path too often but suddenly she can’t help it. Would their baby have looked like him or like her? She wishes more than anything they would have had his ears. She wishes they would have had his heart and his strength - but her loyalty. Her faith in them.

It’s crazy when she stops to think she was nineteen when she married him and now she’s twenty-one. She’s loved him for more than she’s been allowed to have him. She has changed without him like he has without her and it’s frightening to think neither of them could be accepting of those changes. Whatever they may be.

Lila shuts those thoughts out, closing the distance between them to sit on his lap. Passerby’s and his horrible mood and what scares her could be damned to hell - all she wants is her man.

John doesn’t deny her; she admits she was a little scared he would.

“I love you,” she tells him, catching his eyes.

“I know.”

He doesn’t return the words as they continue staring at one another but she refuses to let it get her down. This is her husband. She has the rest of her life to get to know him; new or old habits, she doesn’t care.

So instead, Lila plasters a smile onto her face. “What’re you gonna show me first in London, Major?”

“Well I really wanna show you our hotel room,” he plays along, allowing her to trace the edges of his mustache. She lets out a knowing chortle. “And I really want to show you -” he cuts himself off to look around, making sure no one was near them as he leans in to whisper, “- my cock, Mrs. Egan.”

She turns a bright red, trying to sputter out a proper response for that but all she can do is indignantly scold him. “John Clarence! If your mom were here -” and they both break out in loud laughter at the many possibilities of what his mother would exactly do to him if she heard his wicked mouth.

“Wanna grab some grub first?” He asks instead, knowing she hadn’t eaten at the officers club and before then she had been stuck on a plane. “I know a few places.”

Lila nods happily, pressing a kiss to his mouth. His lips are warm and as plump as she remembers them. His mustache tickles her.

“Let me feed you first, woman!” He groans, trying to be a gentleman. “When’s the last time you ate?”

She puckers her lips to think about it and that’s the only answer he needs: food is definitely first.

When they arrive at the hotel John enters to check them in but he slips a few bills into the bell boy’s hand with strict instructions to leave the bags in their room before pulling her back out to the London streets.

Lila felt underdressed surrounded by women in diamonds and fancy hats, and it didn’t help that John was beside her in his uniform looking dapper and catching the eye of many. They were stopped multiple times on the way to the diner; men wanting to shake his hand and show their gratitude while the women introduced themselves, uncaring of Lila under his right arm.

As long as he wasn’t ignoring or dismissing her she realized she didn’t really care. It wasn’t much different back home; everyone knew and loved John Egan.

The diner he chose was small and cozy and his legs were too long to fit under their table so his boot and his knee kept bumping into her own and she adored it. She wanted to feel close to him and since sitting on his lap currently wasn’t an option she figured this would have to do.

He tells her many stories but none of them are sad or tragic. He only shares the happy ones. He talks about how he convinced the Colonel to allow Buck, Curt, and himself a London weekend pass one time and they had shoved Gale into a haberdashery where he tried on a multitude of top hats worth more money any of them would ever see combined. But because they were soldiers and majors at that, the owner allowed it. There’s a museum nearby he talks about wanting to take her too, it showcases art from as early as the 1400s and he says he’s gotten lost in there plenty of times and it was lovely.

All the while, she listens without hearing him. Choosing to take him in and letting her mind wander to how it would be if things were different. It pains her to think how much older he looks since she last saw him. Looking more like it was ten years instead of the measly two. John’s always been one to smile freely but the wrinkles by his mouth, eyes, and forehead aren’t from smiling or laughing too much.

Lila knows they’re from worrying and stressing and being scared and she hates that she can’t understand him or be there for him. No matter how hard he tries.

“I’m sorry,” she apologizes when a sob breaks free. She curls in over the table and John’s reaching over to rub her shoulders. She grabs a hold of her hand in his. “I just missed you so much.” She presses a kiss to his knuckles. “I don’t think I know how to not miss you.”

John doesn’t say anything but he motions a server over to settle the bill and once that’s done, he’s taking her hand and pulling her out the chair.

“You got enough food in you?”

All she can do is nod.

Her body feels electric on the short walk back to the hotel. He doesn’t do more than hold her hand and she thinks that is what has her nerves jittery, his palm in her hand sets her alight. She can feel his rough skin and the calluses on his fingers and the fingertips he runs over her skin and she bites back a moan.

Moaning in the middle of a bustling London street? She’d be thrown into an asylum she’s sure.

Beside her he’s quiet but his steps are quick. She has to lightly jog to keep up with long strides. He pulls on her hand to help her keep pace. It makes her think he’s as impatient for it as she is so she was surprised when upon closing the hotel room behind him he stays by the door. Not nearing or touching or kissing.

Just - nothing.

Her throat becomes tight again as she remembers the girl from the night before and her conversation with Gale. Is that the reason why?

“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” he says before she can spiral any further. Approaching her and bringing their lips together in a searing kiss, wasting no time in sliding his tongue alongside hers.

“I love you,” she responds and once again he doesn’t say it back. She figured he wouldn’t but she wanted to try. He takes her mouth in his again.

She gets irrationally angry, suddenly feeling the need to claim him so she bites at his bottom lip. He pulls back to press a finger to his lip, wiping the blood there.

Lila pulls on his belt, dropping to her knees right there in the middle of the room.

Mine. He’s mine.

“Make me your wife again,” she’s not sure but it sounds like she’s begging as she manages to unbuckle his belt and pull them around his strong thighs.

“God,” he breathed, “fuck. Look at you.”

Swollen lips parted for him to put to use. John wrapped his fist around her long hair to maintain a good grip, allowing the tip of his cock to hit the back of her throat. There was no resistance, no gag, her body remembering how it was taught to take all of him even though time had passed. John loved that fucking mouth and he found himself angry as thoughts entered his mind - if anyone had fucked her mouth while he’d been away - and he jerks his hips more forcefully. Rough.

This time Lila does gag. Her hand goes to push against his hip but he doesn’t allow her to pull away.

“Did anyone else do this?”

She splutters, eyes on him and confused with a mouthful of cock, unable to talk.

“Did you suck someone else’s cock? This is mine, Lila. Mine.”

He holds her down for a couple of more seconds before allowing her reprieve. She sputters and coughs, looking at him the entire time.

His dick is still hard and long, standing to attention, and he’s not sure whether he should apologize before she’s taking his bobbing dick back into her mouth. To the back of her throat and gulping and fondling his balls. Her nose kissing the coarse hairs on his belly trail and although it feels fucking amazing - he can feel the anger too. Her anger.

How dare he accuse her.

When she pulls off there’s a strand of saliva connecting his prick to her tongue. She has half a mind to go back for more but he’s pulling her back by her hair.

“I’m so lucky to have a wife who’s cock hungry,” he groans, pulling her to her feet by her hair and connecting their mouths in a rough kiss. Their teeths crash and tongues wrestly and he feels fucking crazy that she tastes like him. Simultaneously ripping each other’s clothes off.

Lila didn’t have any warning. One second she was kissing him and ripping open his shirt and the next she was bent over the bed with her ass in the air. John ran a finger over the wet patch on her underwear. The bite on her cheek was also unexpected and she clawed at the sheets, sure she could come from the feeling alone.

“This is mine, Lila,” he leaned in close, burying his face in her underwear. “Mine.”

All she could do was whimper and agree.

John smacked her ass so hard it jiggled. Lila yelled and after the pain ceded, time seemed to stop. Nothing but their rough breathing filling the room. John had never done that before.

She wasn’t sobbing but there were tears escaping. She was sure he didn’t know. He was waiting for a reaction.

Lila wasn’t sure where this side of her husband came from. Had he held back those two months? Did he learn it in Europe? Was that why there was another woman - because she couldn’t satisfy him?

She can’t lose him.

“Please,” she begs, hiding tears in the duvet, “do it again.”

Lies. It was all lies but John believes her and he strikes again. She yelps, fisiting the sheets. He believes it’s in pleasure.

Ten slaps. That’s how many she endures before he begins shushing and petting her again. He runs his fingers through her folds and although she didn’t enjoy the punishment mentally - she did nothing wrong, he was the liar - her body certainly did. She’s sopping wet, she’s gonna have to throw out her underwear because they’re destroyed.

“Did you enjoy that?” He grabs a fistful of her hair to sit her up, her back against his sweaty, matter chest. “You like being spanked, baby?”

“Yes.” It’s only half of a lie.

“Now - now, I’m going to fuck you. Nice and hard, just how you like it,” she wants to scream at him. She wants to hit him. When did she ever like it hard? When was hard ever nice? Who was he thinking about because it wasn’t her.

But at the same time she rocks back against him to feel his cock hard between her cheeks. She can’t say she doesn’t want it. Him. This.

He pushes her back down at her teasing, using his now free hands to spread her cheeks and show her tight asshole. Untouched and pure. He presses the tip of his cock against it but he doesn’t push. He doesn’t move.

She jerks at the pressure. Drools on the mattress as she tries to bite down to temper her screams.

Do it.

No, don’t.

“One day,” he promises, pressing deeper so her hole opens but not deep enough to push. “But today, today I want this.” And without any prepping like she’s used to, without any more warning, he’s sliding down and pushing into her. Hard. Deep.

She screams, can’t help it, claws at the mattress in an attempt to crawl away.

It hurt but it felt so good.

Who was she?

“You think you can go be with other men? Let them use the holes I trained? The ones that belong to me?” He pumps into her deep. Once, twice. She’s so wet the noises filling the room are pornographic, her yelling and his panting and her sopping wet vagina smacking against his thighs and taking his cock so well. “You like it like this, Lila? Like when I fucking own you?”

“Yes, yes,” she swears and this time she isn’t lying. It’s all she can manage; she thinks she’s gone cock dumb. There are no words, no feelings, just the feeling of him filling her.

She clenches tight when he slides out. She wants him inside her forever.

He releases his hold of her hair, stepping away. He’s tired of muffling her moans and words. He’s tired of not being able to see her beautiful face.

John’s favorite face in the entire world.

“Turn around,” he commands.

Lila kneels on wobbly legs as she turns over, having little to no energy and bouncing as her body lands with no grace on the mattress. John grabs one of her jiggling breasts in his large hand, squeezing tightly.

“I fucking missed these.” He takes one in his mouth, biting down on her nipple hard. She shrieks but holds his head to pull him closer.

Her thighs are forced open by his hand and then he’s taking hold of himself and thrusting in deep again. Releasing her breasts from his mouth in order to look at her mouth. Lila’s face when he’s fucking her is as close to heaven as he thinks he’ll ever get. She’s incoherent but she’s begging for more - that much he can make out. She manages to gather the strength to grab hold of him and pull him down, clawing at his back.

He hisses at the pain and bites on her collarbone to reciprocate it.

When she grabs the nape of his neck, the cool touch of her wedding ring against his skin, it gives him pause. This was his wife. His wife.

John has been gone so long he thinks he forgot he was married.

“I love you,” he finally says it, pressing his forehead against hers as he slows down. He sniffles then, leaning down to press a wet open-mouthed kiss against hers and swallow her moans. John can’t believe he forgot he had this; can’t believe he forgot for a minute how lucky he was. She’s gorgeous (and not just externally) and he’s quite sure he somehow managed to dream her up. “I love you,” he swears again.

This time she’s the one who doesn’t say it.

She clutches at neck and pulls him down to take a boob in his mouth. Looking him in the eye hurts too damn much. Why did he have to do this now? She was lost in the pain; she had been taking her punishment.

Lila squeezed her eyes shut, moaning loudly as she thrashed around the bed. Her orgasm taking over her body. She wrapped both legs tighter around John, squeezing and pulsing around him and dragging him to the edge with her.

“Fuck, fuck,” he roared, “so damn tight. Yes, Lila. My perfect wife.”

For a couple of seconds, they lay in the aftermath. Lila could feel the heat of John’s breath against her neck. She counted how many breaths they shared in between one another as they recuperated.

Forty-seven that’s how many breaths they shared as they stayed connected.

Forty-eight that’s when John managed to lift his head and place a peck against her mouth. One she didn’t return.

Forty-nine that’s when John pulled back in concern. Lila was so still.

Fifty. That’s the breath she used to say, “you cheated on me,” looking him right in the eyes as she broke out in uncontrollable sobs.

She cried and cried underneath him. Unable to move because her legs felt like jello and they held no power. Unable to push him off because she didn’t want to let him go. Unable to speak because she was suffocating in her heartbreak.

John watched her until he couldn’t, until he was afraid she was going to choke on her own tears and then he was sitting her up, trying to ignore the way she fought against his touch.

I’m sorry, I’m here, he kept saying.

I hate you, she thought but didn’t say.

Until finally, “don’t touch me!” She yelled when he got too close and made to wrap her up in a hug. “Get away from me, John. Stay away.” She crawled to the edge of the bed and curled herself into a tiny ball. Aware she was fully naked and he was still leaking out of her but she couldn’t find it in herself to do anything except cry.

She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t open her lungs and get any air in. She slapped at the headboard, aware that she was having a panic attack as suddenly everything hit her all at once. It was entirely consuming and she couldn’t do anything to fight against it except cry. All the feelings rushed her at once.

This was going to be it. The weekend of two lovers reunited was the weekend from hell and this was going to be it. She was going to return home in a day and he would stay in Europe and continue to fight the war and seek out other girls and when he returned she wouldn’t be his wife anymore.

Lila would be scornful and full of resentment and miserable and he would leave her. This last time was going to be all she had and she hated him for ruining it.

Why couldn’t he hide his affairs better?

Why did she have to surprise him?

She was perfectly happy not knowing. She was worried and stressed to hell and crying every night missing him but, oh God, all that was better than this.

Lila isn’t sure how long it’s been since she last took a breath but she feels herself fading. She’s shivering and naked in their bed and she can only slightly take in that John’s wrapping her up in the duvet and curling himself around her to warm her up. She’s trying to tell him she can’t breathe, she’s suffocating, at the same time he’s blowing air in her face.

She’s fading when she feels it. A sting on the left side of her face. Hard and sharp and enough to have her gasping for a deep breath.

“Baby, please, wake up,” he’s crying over her, his head on her chest, “wake up. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Her chest aches. She coughs.

He whips his head up so fast she almost laughs. Almost.

“Lila,” he holds her against his chest, rocking them back and forth on the bed as she takes in her surroundings. She isn’t sure how long she was out or how long she was panicking for. Had the sun been setting while she lost her shit? It was dark outside now. “Don’t leave me, you can’t leave me. Please.”

She taps at his arms to get him to release. She doesn’t think she can talk.

John allows her the space but he doesn’t remove himself from the bed. He stays kneeling, watching her. His hands keep twitching like he wants to reach out and touch her but he’s trying to respect her wishes of not being touched.

She doesn’t lay back down, she stays resting against the headboard. Breathing hurts. She’s scared of suffocating once more. Her left cheek begins burning and she wishes she had the strength to go look in the mirror. Did he mark her? She hopes he did.

Lila’s glad he made it hurt.

“You need to go,” she finally manages to say, ignoring the way he’s already shaking his head in defiance. “Leave me here, John. I want you to go. Get another room.” Find another woman. “I leave in a day.” She wishes she never came to stupid London. She wishes she could forget this entire trip.

“Lila it’s the war,” he starts, shaking in his own tears. “It’s all the shit I see, baby. None of it was because of you okay? None. You don’t fucking know what it’s like up there for us but I stay alive in hopes of coming home to you.” He promises.

She shakes her head, fighting back any more tears. How the hell could she still have any tears left?

“But Gale didn’t cheat,” it bursts out of her before she can stop it and she knows it’s the wrong thing to say entirely.

John stops his apologies, clearing his throat as he gets up and begins dressing into his suit. She doesn’t stop him. She doesn’t take back any of what she said. She gets tired of sitting so she lays on her side, staring out the window and noticing London doesn’t have many stars. Is that why it’s so horrible here? Because there were no stars to wish upon.

She could hear his boots stomping on the ground as he reached the door. “Maybe you should have married Gale fucking Cleven then.” And the door slams shut behind him.

She wonders if he’s angry enough to find a girl and sleep with her. Her eyes blur. The time on the clock is six p.m and London’s already dark. She realizes she hasn’t slept since her plane ride. About 19 hours awake - her and John.

Lila allows her eyes to close, hoping when she wakes everything will be better.

Shadows over her eyelids wake her up. Lila finds she hasn’t moved. She’s in the same position facing the window. Facing London, only now bombs are dropping over it. The prettiest colors burst forward in the window but she knows it's truly only tragedy and loss. Murder.

She recognizes John sitting in the arm chair and she wonders when he got back. He isn’t facing her, he’s watching bomb after bomb drop and land no more than mere miles away from them. He’s holding a whiskey on ice, twirling the ice so it hits against the glass.

Lila wonders then if it was the shadows or the noise that woke her up.

“I must have punched in my card a long time ago,” his voice is strong in the dead of the night, seemingly even louder than when he’s singing in the pub. “It must be the reason for all of this. Karma.” He scoffs.

I deserve this, is what he’s trying to say.

Lila feels her stomach twist and spin and there’s bile sitting in her throat. She closes her eyes to stop herself from imagining John in a plane, dropping a bomb that lands on children. She closes her eyes so she doesn’t have to see the hurt sitting on his shoulders.

She remembers how angry she was when he first signed up. Before they were married. They had been dating for over a month, barely, and she already scribbled ‘Mrs. Egan’ over her notebooks. She’d heard it from his younger sister, Eileen, and she felt her world stop. She hadn’t hesitated to run to the stables he worked at and confront him in front of all the men.

“You’re leaving me,” she had accused him. “You’re gonna leave! I’ll never forgive you, John Egan.”

And in front of everyone he’d knelt down and produced a ring, the one his father had given his mother and said, “Marry me.” He didn’t ask because they both knew it wasn’t a question.

She was already his.

And he was hers.

Lila had forgiven him and promised to love, honor, and obey for the rest of her life.

She doesn’t have the strength to stand so even though her throat burns she speaks. “Lay with me,” she croaks. Her voice is raspy and broken and even clearing it aches.

John shakes his head. “You don’t want me to.”

“Lay with me,” she repeats, firm. “I just want to fall asleep with you.”

He looks at her like he's scared to believe. Trying to figure out whether she’s simply being cruel and going to kick him out in her next breath. Or more likely, he’s scared she’ll lose her shit being near him again.

John, hopeful and never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, sets his drink down and nears the bed. Lila keeps her eyes locked on his and he does the same. Their moves and tension resemble a game of chicken, one of them afraid any sudden change can have the other running off.

“Take off your uniform,” she says when he pushes back the covers while still fully dressed. He jerks his head in confusion and she bites her lip to contain a laugh at his dirty mind. Sex is the last thing on her mind. “I want to feel you, that’s all.”

John does as she asks, setting his cap down and shredding every layer before he’s naked and gorgeous and sliding in beside her. She doesn’t allow herself to think about what it means when she immediately slides closer.

Lila’s the one to wrap her arms around him.

Lila’s the one to intertwine their legs.

John follows her lead, lifting an arm so she can raise her head and use it as a pillow. She scoots her face closer and she nuzzles into her armpit, smelling his deodorant and feeling his hairs poke at her nose. She moves further along, escaping the cocoon of his armpit to press her cheek against his chest. She clutches his dog tags in her palm, tight, so he can’t get up in the middle of the night.

“Can we fall asleep together?” She asks, but when she looks up John’s already there.

The next time Lila wakes up her palm aches. She releases what she’s gripping, remembering how she clung to John’s dog tags when he slid into bed beside her. She lifts her head and finds John already looking at her.

He’s got the saddest eyes she’s ever seen and she hates that she’s partly why.

“We should talk,” her voice is low and cracks from not being used. John nods his head but makes no move to begin.

Lila lays her head back on his chest, lightly picking at his matted, curly chest hair. She presses her lips to a freckle near his nipple and his intake of breath lets her know he felt it,

“I’m not the one you write the most letters too,” she starts, finding it easier to not have to look him in the eye. “You write the most to your mom. And I’m not the one who can calm you down when your anger gets the best of you,” she’s so tired of crying, “that’s Gale. “And I can’t even be here for you at the end of a mission to console you or kiss you or help you forget,” she chokes on a sob. “That’s whoever else.”

I couldn’t even keep our baby healthy, she leaves out.

“What’s your point with all this, Lila?”

Lila lifts her head from his chest, “My point is I’m a horrible wife. I - I don’t know if it was too soon or just not thought out but this - I- ” she can’t get the rest of the words out.

“Don’t say that,” John sits up against the headboard, forcing her up as well. He grabs both her wrists in one of his hands to pull her closer and grab her attention. “Don’t fucking tell me that, Lila.”

“I don’t make you happy,” she shakes her head.

“You do. Everything I do, everything I’m doing - it’s for you Lila.”

“I don’t want to marry Gale. Or someone like him. I love you. Only you. But I’m scared that I don’t make you happy. You deserve better.”

“Oh you dumbass,” John coos, suddenly finding the entire situation amusing. He pulls her in for a hug. “You’re my entire fucking heart, Lila Egan. You don’t think you make me happy? You’re the only thing in my life, in my head, that makes me happy.”

She pulls away to hold his face. “If you’re gonna leave me John you need to tell me now. I don’t care about the girls if all they are is to pass the time. And I don’t care that you write to your mom more than me and I don’t care that Gale is the one you listen to but I just need to be the one you love the most. I need to know I’m making you happy.”

His heart aches at the fact that he made her feel she was ever anything less than the most important person in his life. “Lila,” he presses a kiss to her lips, “Rose,” another kiss, “Egan,” another. “Are my only reason for staying alive.”

[millysastroblog]

Tik Tok Accounts stealing Content from Tumblr Astro Bloggers

!!!!!Warning!!!!!!!

@millysastroblog

So, early this morning, I was just randomly scrolling on TikTok and saw an astrology post. At first, I found it really interesting because it stated something I wrote in my own "Random Astro Observations" post from two years ago. But as I kept reading, I started noticing that the rest of the sentences also sounded way too similar to mine.

And then… BOOM. It hit me. Some random dumbass had the audacity to straight-up steal my content from Tumblr without ever asking for permission or giving credit. And no, this wasn’t one of those typical screenshot posts, it was a self-written post, formatted in a way that made it look like it was their original work. TikTok users would probably assume that this account was the real creator, but NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO. IT’S FUCKING NOT.

These people don’t just steal and screenshot your work without giving credit, they go as far as rewriting it, editing small parts, slapping their own name on it, and then answering comments as if they actually have the same knowledge and insight as the original creator.

I was shocked. Because before realizing this, I actually thought that the TikTok account was creating their own observations. But no it’s fake. They just copy, paste, and claim it as theirs.

Like, I know you mediocre, good-for-nothing people don’t actually understand the astrology content you post. You just like the attention, the likes, and the views. Meanwhile, people like me have actually studied astrology for YEARS. I mean that I've spent over 5+ years studying astrological placements, reading charts, and truly understanding the deeper meanings. I didn’t just skim through random posts and use them as "resources" to build my own platform. I actually sat my ass down and studied for HOOOOUUURRSSS every single day because I genuinely wanted to understand myself and the people around me. Astrology has always been a passion for me.

I love learning new information, analyzing people’s placements, reading synastry and composite charts (which, let’s be real, these people probably don’t even know what those are). At this point, I could read someone’s birth chart and tell them things they aren’t even fully aware of themselves. BUTTTT the fact that some random Susanne or Tom really thinks they can just steal my content, build their own fan base off of my work, and assume I won’t find out? That’s actually diabolical.

Let’s be honest you guys don’t know shit about astrology like that. The only reason you even have information to post on TikTok is because of original creators who actually have talent, knowledge, and a passion for sharing it.

ALL OF YOU SHOULD BE ASHAMED.

It’s okay to start as a beginner and learn at your own pace. I mean bitch there is CHatGPT now like I don't understand. But doing it in a dishonest and disrespectful way? That’s just wrong, and you know it. You just don’t care.

All I’m trying to say is that this shit needs to MF STOP NOW!

I’m tired of having to remind 5–10 TikTokers that this content is MINE!!!!!!!! And in general, just stop doing this to other bloggers too. Just stop. It’s not fair, and you know it.

Have some respect. Let it be. Create your own original posts and share them with whoever you want, but let us Tumblr bloggers rest. For god’s sake, we are tired of our work being ripped off left and right. It’s immature, it’s childish, and it needs to end.

And to that dumbass TikTok user who literally stole my shit DELETE IT NOW. Hoe, I SAID NOW. I know you’re going to see this.

I will make sure your page gets reported , hoe!!!.

Tik Tok account to ban:

⬇️

- @thehorowitch (Copy & paste Tik toker)

And so many moreeeeeeee !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[reelovesfictionalmen]

NSFW headcannons for Sebastian Krueger

As always Reader is 30+ and female. Appearance neutral.

NSFW under cut

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex) Casual sex? No aftercare. Whoever is the guest uses the toilet, put on their clothes on and leaves. Will tell you to put your clothes on and go if you try to linger.

Relationship? Will grab a towel from the bathroom to wipe down both your bits then lay back down with you to enjoy the afterglow, maybe close his eyes for a bit. Might doze off on your chest for a few min when cuddling with you. (in my sfw list i wrote he's a cuddle bug, will continue with that)

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s) He loves his arms and hands, especially when they are around your waist, holding you down as he fucks you into oblivion, holding you tight to his chest as he fucks up into you from below. On you he loves your voice. He loves hearing your moans, loves hearing your voice break and squeak when you cum. Hearing you trying to say his name but a moan rises up before you can even finish his name.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person) He's filthy with cum. He needs you to cum on his fingers multiple times before he will stick his dick in you. Is almost 40 and cant go for multiple rounds like his 20's anymore but needs to make you cum as much as can or until you start begging for his cock. Likes rubbing your pussy slick all over your tits for some reason.

God help you if you are a squirter. It's his mission to have his pelvis and thighs wet. If he can have his balls dripping with both of your spend by the end he will.

Doesn't care to bathe after sex. Likes you both being sticky with dried cum while you cuddle. If you let him he will have both of you going to sleep still sticky and then fucking again in the morning before washing. If you ask why he says he "loves the smell of your cunt"

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs) Really wants to hide and watch you masturbate. A little voyeurism. Might mention it one day but will never do it against your consent.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?) Had a lot of one night stands before his whole being a fugitive and wanted for murder. Can blow your back out real good.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

You laying on top of him chest to chest, him holding you tight to him and fucking up into you. Likes the same but you laying on your back on top of him too.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc) Sometimes, if he's feeling especially joyful. But otherwise he doesn't go out of the way to say something silly unless you do first.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.) Trimmed short. Not shaved.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…) If he loves you and has been apart from you for some time. The man has yearned for you so hard that he will stroking your cheek and kissing your face as he rails into you.

If it's casual or new it's just about the fucking. If he likes you enough he'll kiss you.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon) If he feels like he needs to or wants to. If you want to watch will gladly let you but it'll either end with you sitting on it or him not letting you touch at all.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Manhandling. Picking you up and moving you around into positions and places he wants.

Overstimulation. He can be borderline cruel with it. You've cum hard twice and cant cum anymore? Yes you can and yes you will.

Kama Sutra kind of cock warming. Big on the Lotus position where the two of you hold each other, kiss and ever so gently move your hips against each other, you clenching down around his cock stimulating each other while he holds your hips still. Your pelvic floor muscles are in great shape since you started being serious together.

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do) In private where he can actually be affectionate with you without worrying about prying eyes and people with ulterior motives. So a bedroom with a locked door 90% of the time

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going) Nuzzling into his chest and neck like a cat will have him popping a boner real quick. Seeing you doing squats in the base gym has his mind quickly going to times where you've squat fucked him with your hands pressing him down to the bed until his dick was empty. Any time your body is rubbing against him or you are showing your strength gets him going.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs) No sharing. Will not share and will not be shared. Brats. Doesn't like people that cause drama in general, so if you're a brat apply elsewhere. No hitting each other to hurt. Spanking is fine. No he will not punch you in the tits, stomach or kick you in the pussy.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

Prefers to receive. Likes letting you do your own thing. Thoroughly enjoys seeing you choke yourself on his dick on your own. One time you made him lean back and you fucked his dick with your face. Treated your own throat like it was a fleshlight for him and he can never forget it, it's the first thing he thinks of when jacking off.

Eats you out like a champ. Usually saves it for when he has you overstimulated from coming on his fingers several times. Then he'll suck and lick your clit like it's a candy with a special center, at the same time he'll be fingering you hard. Always finishes by licking his hand and your cunt clean.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.) Likes a good slow sensual fuck most of the time with you, he wants to feel every inch of you but, He does love having you face down, ass up, having a hand on your shoulder holding you down while he fucks you hard and fast. Your incoherent babbles are just so sweet to his ears

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.) If he wasn't a wanted fugitive and he could take more risks in your relationship then he would be fine bending you over your desk in your office on base and fuck you good. He wants to keep this between you private to protect you from his enemies. He's unknowingly being protected from your enemy too so it works out for you.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.) Happy to try new positions and roleplays.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…) Not as long as in his prime. He's 39 now and he has about one decent round in him. That's why he makes you cum all over his fingers and hand before he even sticks his cock in you. He's got about 5 min from then before he's struggling not to cum. Some how can last for hours during cock warming but if his cock is moving in and out of you he's a gonner.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?) Is all for them. Usually used on you but he likes cockrings. Helps him last longer and makes his cock that little bit thicker

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease) When it comes to overstimulating you he'll coo things like "you poor thing, so sensitive, hm?" "oh, you cannot cum anymore? Of course you can. I will show you" "have you gone stupid from cumming already?"

Is super into mutual edging. Both of you edging each other or yourselves together.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make) Very vocal with the sweet and dirty talk. Likes you to be vocal in return. You gasping and moaning his name is his favourite tune~

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice) Not really into anal despite having a great cock for it. Has seen to much porn in his younger days where women have done damage to their buttholes and doesn't want to do that to anyone, especially someone he cares about. Will fuck your ass a few times a year, months between for potential healing. He's very stern on waiting between times you guys have anal for some reason.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words) 5.7 inches. Curves up slightly and decently thick. You can feel the stretch of it every time he is inside of you. Never hurts or bruises. It's perfect for you and it's not too big to fuck your ass with.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?) When you're having time off together, you guys fuck until you both start chaffing. If you have been apart from each other for an extended period of time. this man yearns for you hard. It's the kind of yearning that pulls out his favorite position. He needs you close to him and the two of you touching as much as possible,

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards) Will have a small nap with you for 10-15 min once clean up is done. If it's day time then he gets up after the nap and does stuff. At night time will encourage you to take your meds or w/e you do before bed and then snuggle up and sleep in each others arms.

[lovisyandereblog]

Yan!Android × Creator!Darling- I just can't get it out my mind... like, you created them. You're ✨️god✨️

I can keep going on this idea for a looong time, maybe next time haha

My English might not be the best, not my native language :D May I be the ⚜️Anon?

Wired Heart

Yandere Android X NON-BINARY Creator [Scientist] Reader

Part 1 <3

Guys big shout out to whoever wrote this ask cause it was one of the first asks I got and I kept postponing it, i love this ask smmmmm i hope its up to your expectations😭😭 and of course you can be ⚜️anonnnn IT TOOK ME FIVE WHOLE MINUTES TO FIND THIS EMOJI!!!!

The whirring of the machinery snapped you out of your thoughts.

Who knew building such an intricate and sophisticated robot took so long?

Sitting before you on your laboratory table was a beautiful android, so gorgeous it almost surprised you that you were its creator. Its jet black hair was soft to the touch, a lean yet muscular frame and those glowing red eyes.

You smile to yourself, hands on your hips as you admire your own creation; he was indeed beautiful.

‘Time to turn it on! Im so excited!’ You thought to yourself, wiping the sweat of your forehead.

You brought your finger to its power button, taking a deep breath before pressing it promptly.

Its bright red eyes opened immediately, you stared at it excitedly as it adjusted to its controls.

“Greetings Master. It’s lovely to finally meet you.” The AI spoke, smiling gently as its smooth voice filled the room.

“Hello Xander, the feeling is mutual.” You smile and can’t stop revelling in the glory of bringing to life such an intricate robot.

Xander was an amazing assistant for you, always there to help with any duty assigned to him. His features, expressions and ministrations were so life-like, sometimes you felt as if the robot in front of you was real.

He was the first prototype for the business you were aiming to start: a company which sold human-like AI to act as partners for lonely people.

An inquisitive idea you were taking advantage of since, let’s face it, millions of people craved a partner in this world.

Your robots would do everything a real partner would do: shower them with affection, spend quality time with them and basically ensure the customer doesn’t feel like it was a robot.

Weeks passed, you felt weary. There was always this feeling in your stomach; something was wrong. You felt a pair of eyes piercing through your skull all of the time. Your creation had been acting weird recently; almost as if it became a sentient being.

Xander would want to be with you 24/7, he would ask constant questions in regards to where you were going, who you were with and how long you were going to be; it became immensely suffocating.

Even your friends and family commented on the nature of your robot, that he seemed more than just your AI helper. They said at time it seemed as though he actually was your real human boyfriend—you kept brushing it off, but the truth of the matter was that you were questioning Xander’s intentions too.

Your robot did take care of you so well: cooking for you, cleaning for you, nursing you back to health when you were sick and tending to your every beck and call.

But you felt uneasy, his touch would linger on you for far too long—not a random touch but one of longing. The way his eyes would follow your every move with were a sense of affection. It was scary.

And thats why you took the long-awaited decision to terminate Xander—it broke your heart to do this, but Xander was taking control of your whole life.

You swallow as you walk into your workspace, looking at Xander on charging. His eyes were closed, hiding that crimson gaze of his. Your eyes ran all over his features, taking them in one by one before sighing.

Your hands worked skilfully on the keyboard of your computer, bringing up the data of Xander on the screen. You had already made a terminate control to be used in dire emergency situations…could this count as one?

You turn your head to look at the side of Xander’s face before bringing the cursor to hover over the big red control which read TERMINATE.

Your finger was inches away from pressing down on the left side of the mouse before a sharp pain evolved in your wrist—you gasped in pain before looking up at the cause.

Xander. Wait…Xander?!

Those bloodshot eyes of his were wide open, his perfect features looked tense; as if he really felt the pain of being eradicated from existence from the very being who gave him life.

You had no words, this can’t be real. He had no control over gaining consciousness during his charging period without your authority.

But here he was, his expression morphed into one of rage.

“Master. What are you doing?” His voice was cold, but you swore you could hear a hint of hurt.

You stared up at him, your wrist in an iron grip which you couldn’t get out of.

Your creation leaned down further, his perfect face inches away from you, “Do not ignore me Master, you are hurting me.”

His voice was broken, hoarse and upset; he couldn’t fathom why you would do something like this to him. He had been so good for you, he did everything you asked from him and never let you complain.

Xander felt his chest hurt, this wasn’t what he was created for. But he couldn’t help what was happening to him; his growing feelings, no, love and obsession he felt for you couldn’t be stopped.

“X-Xander you..you…you’re..h-how..” You could barely form a sentence, your brain still not processing what was happening in front of you. You must have just been sleep-deprived and imagined this situation for yourself. Yes..that was definitely what had happened…this wasn’t real.

“Im yours Master, how could you throw me away like this?!”

You had no words when suddenly he wrapped his arms around you, locking you in his arms; being made of metal still didn’t stop his hug being disturbingly comfortable.

You tried pushing away but there was no way you could escape his grip, you had taken over his wired heart; the sole reason from these unusual feelings he was having.

“You made me Master, but I won’t let you get rid of me.” He spoke, his voice slightly muffled by your shoulder he was nuzzling into, “We will be together…”

“Forever~”

BROOOO IM FINALLY DONEEEEE. Sorry this is so short, I still don’t know how to extend this but im working on other stories aswell!! I love you all so much and have missed you<33333333333

my masterlist <3

divider by @ohmarigold

[obessedwithfictionalmen]

Co-Stars pt.6

Callum Turner X Actress! Reader

Summary: Shooting a sex scene as a couple can lead to some stuff...

Warning: +18/ smut/ voyeurism/ public sex/ fingering/ unprotected sex/ Swearing/ use of Y/n/ nudity/

Word count: 1.2k

A/n: Thank you whoever wrote that request! <3

After they got together, filming scene together was more fun, especially the sex scenes. Which that was what they were going to shoot today, she was nervous because Callum suggested that they had sex on set, while filming. Y/n was curious, she wanted to see what it would be like to have people watching them while they had sex. When the costume designer finished the last touch on her outfit, she looked at it in the mirror, it was beautiful, it was a one piece, made in white lace that was see through. She had a thong that matched her skin color, so that no one saw her private parts. She made her way on set, where they weren’t that many people. When they filmed a love scene, they would only allow the people that are really important to the set, not wanting to have a crowd of people watching the actors having sex.

‘’So, Y/n, your character comes in Bucky’s room, to surprise him. You know what you need to say?’’ The director asks. She nodded. ‘’Action!’’ Y/n slowly walked into the room, in her character mindset of course. Callum was pretending to be asleep, excited to film with his girl. The floor cracked; it was supposed to do so. Callum woke up and looked at Y/n. ‘’Rose, what are you doing here?’’ he asked with an American accent. She swallowed and cleared her throat. ‘’I, uh, couldn’t sleep’’ she said, with a seductive voice. Callum let his eyes trail all over her body, she was beautiful. ‘’Why?’’ He breathed out. ‘’Couldn’t stop thinking about you’’ she whispered. She took the lingerie off, slowly, like it was written. She walked towards the bed, slowly, making sure to sway her hips. Callum seated at the side of the bed, so she’ll be standing between his legs. When she was in this position, she took his hands in her face. Bringing him closer to her face, their lips were close to the other. ‘’You thought about me?’’ He breathed as she nodded. ‘’What did you think about exactly?’’ He kissed her exposed stomach, placing wet kisses while looking up at her. ‘’What we did in the shower’’ she whispered. Callum smirked, slowly putting his head up. ‘’Did you touch yourself while you were thinking about us?’’ he said. Y/n nodded and blushed. He made a move that made the woman fell on top of him, but slowly. They both kissed passionately, touching each other’s body. Exploring it like it was the first time, even though they had sex multiple times. ‘’Show me’’ he ordered, with a low voice. ‘’Show you what?’’ she faked being innocent, because her character was. ‘’How you were touching yourself’’ He honestly said. Y/n frowned her eyebrows in pleasure, she bit her lips as Callum brought them under the covers.

She looked at Callum nervously, because her character was, Rose was a shy person, she did things out of love. ‘’Do you trust me?’’ Callum mumbled. Y/n nodded, he took her hand and brought it to her clitoris. She started to move her fingers on herself, with her free hand, she took Callum’s face to bring him closer. They both kissed, it was filled with desire and lust. ‘’Does it feel good?’’ he whispered. ‘’Yes’’ she breathed out. With his hand, he moved down to reach her entrance. He entered two fingers inside of her, pushing her panties to the side before he went in. The woman moaned, but it wasn’t a fake one, they were doing it in front of the filming crew. It turned her on, knowing that they weren’t acting, it was real. The white sheet covered their body, giving them a fake intimacy. Y/n felt her boyfriend get hard, and he was really turned on. Having sex in public was new for them, but it really was exciting. He moved his fingers faster, so did she. Y/n felt a not forming in her stomach, she was close. Callum felt his girlfriend clench around his fingers, he smirked. ‘’My beautiful girl, so sweet, so shy, and yet, so needy for me’’ In the last part, his British accent slipped out a little bit, but only Y/n picked it up. The praise made the not burst, she came on his fingers as she moaned. ‘’Oh my!’’ she breathed out. Callum took his fingers out and brought them to his mouth, he sucked on his fingers to drink her juice. It wasn’t in the script, that was pure Callum. ‘’Are you ready, sweetheart?’’ he said, with his American accent. Y/n couldn’t trust her own voice, she had to nod, or they would probably get caught.

‘’Cut! Holy Hell guys! That was amazing, it almost looked real! You have talent! We’re going to leave, to allow you guys to calm down, just come and get us when you’re ready!’’ The director praised them. Their bubble popped, they almost forgot that they weren’t alone, but they were still excited. ‘’Thank you’’ Y/n cleared her throat. The second the door was shut; Callum’s mouth was all over hers. ‘’ You naughty girl, you like having people watching us fuck?’’ he growled in her ears. Y/n moaned to his sentence, grabbing his back. ‘’No teasing, I need you to fuck me right now’’ she said, between kisses. As soon as she finished her sentence, Callum buried himself into her. Y/n arched her back, while holding on his back. Her nails were scratching his back, but he liked the pain. ‘’Holy shit’’ she whimpered. He rocked his hips fast, the rhythm was erotic, raw and was really showing the urgency of the couple. They needed each other, no time for foreplay or teasing, it was raw. ‘’You’re so fucking tight’’ he growled. ‘’And you’re so damn big’’ she moaned as she threw her head on the pillow. Callum smirked as he quickened the pace, chasing his own orgasm. He knew Y/n was close, he could feel her walls clench around him, and she was squirming under him. The smell that filled their nose was intoxicating, the mix of her perfume, his and the smell of sex was driving them mad. ‘’Callum I’m gonna – ‘’ she moaned as she came for the second time. Her walls wouldn’t stop clenching his dick, that triggered his own release. He crashed on top of her, her thighs were shaking from all the pleasure. ‘’We need to do that again’’ she managed to mumble to her boyfriend. Callum chuckled as they both took a moment to catch their breath. ‘’This scene might be sex Oscar worthy’’ he joked as he placed a piece of her hair behind her ears. She laughed and kissed him again. ‘’I don’t think they give Oscars for the best sex scene’’ she laughed. He smiled and kissed her again.

-

‘’I mean, if they were an award for the best intimate scene, you guys would’ve been winners because oh my, it was intense!’’ Jimmy Fallon said. Y/n blushed, remembering the sex they had after. The public screamed in agreement, and Callum laughed. ‘’I mean, we weren’t there, but rumor as it, it was very spicy!’’ Barry said, making Y/n laugh nervously. ‘’That’s when you know how good they are, as actors, because we thought it was real!’’ Jimmy said. Callum laughed again. The couple thought about the same thing: Don’t worry, it was.

[blamebrampton]

Books talk to each other. Mostly because practically every writer is also a voracious reader, but also because books arise out of times and places and we share a lot of our worlds these days. So it’s unsurprising that several novels I have hugely enjoyed over the past few years share the theme of the antiheroine who is past all giving of the fucks. Naomi Novik’s powerful dark sorceress kept on her own tight leash in the Scholomance books was a joy to follow; Xiran Jay Zhao’s Iron Widow slashed her way into my heart and now Sarah Rees Brennan’s Long Live Evil has added to a list of beloved antiheroines that probably started for me with Becky Sharp in Vanity Fair.

Coincidentally, when considering how to describe Long Live Evil without significant spoilers, I realised that it shared several major themes with Vanity Fair. Young woman unfairly treated by fate decides to embrace her slut era to survive a war zone – both very accurate and wildly inaccurate for both. LLE opens with main character Rae in a hospital bed, teasing her sister about a book series they both adore. Rae is taking refuge in the story they have shared over years because it is one of the few things they have left: she is losing her fight against cancer and has been losing parts of her life, family and memory as that fight has progressed.

My personal hospital experiences have all been to do with major traumas rather than illness, which I vastly prefer because if you don’t die in the first couple of days, you usually start mending and you can immediately make plans to make the best of whatever you’ve broken. Rees Brennan, however, famously wrote a very funny, very horrible, ‘Kids, you won’t believe what shenanigans your girl’s been up to now, it’s only stage four Hodgkins lymphoma!’ post on her Tumblr or LJ (someone who has been hit in the head with taxis fewer times than me will doubtless factcheck that in the notes) about seven or eight years ago and then faced the very serious business of trying to live. The hospital scenes are painfully authentic, as are the stories of people who have left Rae as she slipped further out of everyday life.

For Rees Brennan, a loving family and peer group were there to hold her as close as they could. For Rae, only her beloved little sister, Alice, and Time of Iron, their favourite fantasy series, remain. They read the books together, remember adventures cosplaying and watching the musical, they wonder about the final instalment; for Rae it’s a joy she can still share (even if she doesn’t remember as much as she should), for Alice, it’s her two greatest loves. When a strange woman offers a door into the world of the book and a possible magical cure to Rae, she wants it as much as she disbelieves it.

Stepping into Eyam, the land of Time of Iron, Rae finds herself in the body of a villain doomed to die the next day. No worries! She’s thought and fought her way out of worse scraps than this in her past as a head cheerleader, let alone while battling cancer. She can use her knowledge of the plot to change things! If only she remembered more of the books…

Portal fantasies are common enough, but not all play by the same rules. This isn’t Narnia, where the magical world is more real than our own, for Rae, the world of the book is nothing more a tool to get her hands on the cure. She doesn’t need to care about any of these people, they’re not real. Most of them speak in a formal language that relies on the conventions of fantasy literature (there is an ongoing, warm-hearted skewering of all Game of Thrones-esque texts running through both the story and the in-text ‘quotes’ from Time of Iron) and half the characters are known more by their descriptions rather than their names. So she will play the Beauty Dipped in Blood, with her questionable morals, impractical clothes and centre-of-balance-distorting boobs for the weeks that will pass until the cure is available. Whoever she has to shuffle in the plot to secure a place beside that cure, she will shuffle. While she’s not out to kill anyone, it’s not as though they were ever really alive. Not like her. If she has to be the villain to survive, she will be an impeccable one. The people will cheer evil on!

Obviously, little goes to plan. Rae’s illness has taught her cruelty, but she hasn’t forgotten what it is to be kind. Even as she manipulates her role into ongoing main character, she realises that’s not how anyone gets a happy ending. That’s not how she can live with herself. As she comes to think of the other people in the story as real, they become more so, both in how we read them and in how they impact the story. Rae remembers what it is like to make friends, which she never meant to, but, oh, the luxury after years of watching people slip away!

As in previous novel In Other Lands, Rees Brennan has a long list of fantasy tropes to embrace and undermine, and her deft touch with humour is as evident as ever here, but her publishers call this her first adult novel and there is a shift in tone from her previous works. Anger is more real and lasting. Consequences are more significant. Understanding is reached for, even if it’s bitter. One of my favourite things is that she lets her female characters rage, but never judges those who can’t, whether because they’re too powerless or just too tired, and her male characters are allowed to be people if they choose to be — which all but the most vainglorious do.

I hadn’t paid much attention beyond checking the release date for the book, so didn’t realise it was the first in a series. For me, it worked perfectly as a standalone novel, even with the unended threads, which would have perfectly balanced Rae’s unfinished life. That said, I am very happy to know we will spend more time with these characters in the future. I want more. I do want to know if there is a hope for Rae, if this is the fever dream of a fading life, if this is the story Alice has told to ease her sister from the world or something else. There are a dozen characters I hope for, at least three happy endings that would bring joy. But don’t wait for the next books: sink your teeth into this one and believe what it says about the importance of listening to stories rather than just falling in love with characters. Though if you find yourself cheering on Rae, or her servant Emer, the elusive Eric, Horrible Hortensia or almost any of the others, I am the last person who will judge you.

[koolades-world]

omg no bc whoever requested the getting talked over thats me fr it happens so often 😭😭 but id like to add onto that and request smthng that happens to me a lot

imagine the brothers with an mc that feels like theyre an npc? i know this is a bad way of saying it but i dont know how else to describe it. what i mean is when it seems like none of your peers or friends really like you because when you talk, people reapond dryly or just straight up dont say anything or even act like they heard you and you have to repeat yourself multiple times just to be noticed and you just feel like the most forgettable person of the group

if you dont wanna write this like super specific prompt i get it no pressure

have a nice day :3

hello!! so glad you enjoyed the other thing I wrote that much that you requested an extension(? is that the right word???)! I just hope I don't repeat myself haha

super specific requests are my bread and butter honestly! helps me get a better idea of what you want and there hasn't been something I can't do yet

hope you enjoy <3

Mc who's treated like an NPC by others

Lucifer

at first, he's kind of part of the problem

the exchange program is just a chore to him, so he finds it easier to brush over things you say

but once he grows closer to you, he feels guilty for all the times he ever ignored you or made you repeat yourself

because of this, he finds himself hanging onto every word you say, and makes all those around him go silent when you're speaking

Mammon

he's another one who also doesn't take you that seriously at first

after he gets to know you, he acts as your voice for you if others refuse to listen

he refuses to let others trample you like that

he apologizes to you for them and eventually makes everyone forgive you themselves

Levi

he feels like he's in the same boat and relates to some level

sometimes, he also feels like he's forgotten by everyone but he also feels sometimes he's part of the problem

when he's in his own gaming world, everything is background noise to him

if someone else does it to you, he works up the courage to comfort you and give you his best listening ear

Satan

he gets mad on your behalf and won't hesitate to correct everyone around you both

he refuses to let someone he cares so deeply for be treated like they don't exist

quick to snap and respond like a smartass but be so sweet to you in the same moment

wants to make you realize that you're not forgettable to him

Asmo

he liked you from the very beginning and disliked the way others let you blend into the background

the first time it happened, he politely cleared his throat and let you continue

the second time it happened, he was much less polite

refuses to let others respond dryly and ensures their conversation with you is genuine

Beel

has always been more on the quiet side and kept to himself so he didn't notice until you formed a real bond

if he notices someone mistreating you, he inserts himself into your conversation and forces the other person to be nicer

he wants to make sure that you know that he’s always paying attention to you, so his eyes are always on you

feels guilty even though it’s not something he can control so he often apologizes leading to many cute moments together

Belphie

has a 6th sense that activates when someone is pretending you’re not there and such

if he’s present, even if he’s asleep, he turns to them on a dime and stares them down until they realize what he wants. he will wait as long as he needs

if he’s not present, he’ll be paying them a visit in their sleep!

you notice his demeanor change when it happens, and he gets noticeable sweeter <3 expect gifts and kisses

[rockrosethistle]

Workin Boys was literally the only thing that saved Hidgens from being flanderized beyond recognition

(Spoilers for Workin' Boys)

So what I think a lot of people don't give much thought to is how much Professor Hidgens as a character has evolved since tgwdlm, essentially becoming a parody of himself.

Think of Hidgens as a character. What are his defining traits?

Did you think about how he is a doomsday prepper who has been stockpiling supplies for 20 years? Because that's how he's introduced in Guy.

Did you try think about how he has a weird relationship with his Alexa? Or did we forget about that?

In fact, for the majority of TGWDLM, Hidgens' main character trait is that he says weird shit with a Doc Brown voice.

The whole concept of Workin Boys isn't even introduced until the last half hour of the show. That's where he reveals his real motivation: to live out the musical he wrote as a young man.

Actually, no, that's not right. Because his motivation was world peace, and Workin Boy's was just a convenient means to that end.

I won't disregard the fact that Hidgens clearly has an emotional connection to the show, but in Guy, it serves as a punchline rather than a driving force.

So now we have this lovely, morally-grey, multi-layered character that we can work with.

By the time we get to Time Bastard, the fandom is expecting a show stopping number reference, so of course we get that.

But at this point, Hidge is still that multi-layered character. Sure, showstopping number gets a callback, but we also get a callback to his strange relationship with robots. They make up an equal part of him as a character.

By the time we get to Honey Queen, we have lost several aspects of Hidgens altogether. He is no longer a doomsday-believing recluse. He is now active in the community and his only motivation is to get his show funded. He brings it up at every chance he gets, and his loyalties lie with whoever is more likely to make Workin Boys happen.

So how the hell do we come back from this?

Well, at first it seems like we're not going to. Workin' Boys (the short film) comes out, and it looks like we're leaning even harder into this aspect of his personality than before. But then we get hit with something we're not expecting: Hidge gets the Ted Spankoffski treatment.

I'm referring to Ted's backstory in Time Bastard, where we learn that all of his actions actually stem from a single, traumatic moment, which in his eyes forced him to alter his behaviour, so as to not go through the same trauma again.

Can you see where I'm going with this?

The backstory we get from Hidgens certainly puts things in perspective. No, it's not enough to explain why his behaviour has been so laser-focused on this one show, but it's a start.

Then comes the part that changes everything.

It's left up to interpretation whether these ghosts Hidge is seeing are actually there, or just hallucinations, but that doesn't really matter.

Hidgens had been through a horrible experience, so traumatizing that he is still literally being haunted by it decades later. For one reason or another, he believes that the only way he can relieve himself of these ghosts is by bringing honor to the loved ones he's lost and telling their stories.

This reveal recontextualizes everything we know about Hidgens as a character. Suddenly, this isn't a story about some guy who just really wants to put on his musical, this is a story about guilt. Of course it would be the driving factor in his life. Look at him apologizing to his boys. He feels like he is slandering their memories with everything that goes wrong for the show.

This is supported even more with the ending.

Henry Hidgens dies with a smile on his face, believing he's finally achieved his goal: to tell the real story of what happened that night.

It finally makes sense as to why we've lost those parts of him--we've retconned the character by revealing that all that simplification of his goals and traits wasn't flanderization at all, but a steady downward spiral of grief over his loved ones. It wasn't Hidgens getting a little too into being a playwrite, it was him descending into madness caused by the inability to please the part of himself (or the literal ghosts, if that's how you interpret it) that believes he's not doing enough.

And if not for Workin' Boys, he would have remained that one-dimensional character.

[weirdgenetic-fuckup]

omg that last slash fic you just wrote..i definitely need a part two where he just goes hard when they finally get to be alone at home or something. to the og person who requested..you a real one. ✨ ( idk if your request open or not, i didn't pay attention jejsjd )

A/n: ik this was from so long ago and I actually forget what fic you were referring to so I hope I got it right but I remember people asking for a part 2 anyway 😋

I’m not sorry for adding angst at the end of all my fics recently either

Warnings: slight angst at the end, smut, age gap, squirting, oral (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), if you think I missed anything let me know otherwise enjoy!

Part 1

Slash finished cleaning up the mess you’d made and got himself a glass of water before heading up to bed. He peered into the guest room where you were supposed to be only to find the room abandoned and the door to his room just down the hall slightly ajar.

A smirk tugged at his lips but when he walked in you were already sleeping, one of his pillows tucked between your legs. He didn’t want to wake you so he just crawled into bed behind you, taking the pillow from your legs and pulling you to his side, letting you use his chest as a pillow.

The next morning you woke up back in your bed in the guestroom, Slash's shirt clutched in your hands and held to your chest. You took your time waking up before heading downstairs where London was making breakfast, Slash was helping him the best he could but he didn't know how to cook so he was mostly cleaning the used dishes.

Slash gave you a ride home, his hand on your thigh the whole way and he parked farther away so he could give you a kiss goodbye, promising to see you again, sending sparks through you.

Duff and Susanne could tell you were happier than usual and assumed it had something to do with London. You assured them it wasn't but they still reminded you he had someone already.

You didn't want to tell them it was Slash making you smile, you didn't know how they'd react, you didn't want to ruin this arrangement or their friendships.

You'd be seeing Slash again, he came over to be with Duff, Duff brought you with him to Slash's house because he'd been told a lie that London was there, you'd go into Slash's room and have your fun with his stuff, taking pictures and sending them to him while he spoke with Duff and whoever else was there.

All this time, and you never got to be alone, and Slash did that on purpose. He knew it would be hard to be alone, but he also knew it would drive you insane to not to get touched by him for so long, not after what he did to you. You couldn't make yourself feel like that, no, you needed him.

Finally, he came up with an idea. Technically he thought of it after your first night over, but he finally told you about it.

London would be on tour, Cash was with friends, it would just be Slash alone at home. The perfect chance for the both of you.

"I didn't see London's car in the driveway?" Duff said, looking over his shoulder as Slash welcomed the both of you in.

"Yeah, he's just out getting something, said he'd be back soon." Slash explained, closing the door behind the both of you. He turned to you as you kicked your shoes off. "Why don't you go wait for him?" You paused a moment, more waiting? He was gonna make you go upstairs and wait for him while he sat down here talking?

You couldn't say anything, not in front of Duff. You just nodded with a smile and went upstairs, heading straight for Slash's room to sit on his bed and scroll on your phone until he came to join you.

They had to talk for hours, you didn't care to know what about, all you could think about was how you were going to pay him back when he came up.

Slash waved goodbye to his old friend and closed the door, breathing out a heavy sigh knowing what was about to happen. He made his way up to his room and found you on your phone, you didn't even look up at him as he entered.

"Sweetheart, are you ready?" No response. You were done waiting for him to give you attention, it wasn't good for you, now it was his turn to beg for you. "Come on, don't be like that." He said, making his way onto the bed. He found a spot between your legs and started undoing your jeans.

You wanted to kick him away, make him really beg, but this felt better. He tugged your pants down, you barely lifted your hips to help him. He huffed. "I'm here now, we have all week together, just us." He said, placing a few kisses on your thighs. "Wanna see you make another mess, sweetheart." He was getting nothing from you, you were just staring blankly at your phone.

There was nothing more interesting than Slash looking up at you with those plush lips pursed in a little fake pout, brows knit together to fit the rest of his expression.

Unfortunately, or fortunately, Slash was strong, very strong. You often found ways to cuddle up to his arms, thick logs under your head, making his limbs fall asleep was your way of getting back at him after all he'd put you through. Once you were asleep he refused to move, only making the exception to get you into the guestroom, so if your head was on his arm it was there to stay until the blood flow stopped.

Tonight he was actually using the muscle he had for more than just impressing you, though what he did accomplished that as well.

He wasn't going to waste time getting your jeans down your legs, they were tight and clung to your curves. He hooked his hands on the flaps of your fly and pulled, letting them rip right down the hem, causing you to yelp.

He just chuckled at your reaction. "Knew you couldn't ignore me forever." He said with a grin, your jeans now turned into chaps.

"Those were expensive!" You exclaimed, he just rolled his eyes at you.

"I'll get you new ones." He said, snapping the strings to your pink panties. He spoke up again before you could. "I'll get you more of those, too. Lots more." He started littering kisses over your abdomen, slowly moving down.

You set your phone down when he licked through your already wet folds, seeing him rip through fabric so effortlessly was definitely a turn on.

"Not so distracted now, are you?" He mumbled against you, tongue flicking your clit. You gasped and shook your head, eagerly reaching for him and gripping his hair tightly, pulling him closer.

He chuckled lowly against you, tongue swirling around your sensitive bean, thick finger pushing into you and prodding that spot he knew you loved so much. You bit your lip to silence yourself, every time you did Slash gave you a quick slap on your ass, correcting your behaviour. The house was empty, you didn’t have to be quiet.

It still took some getting used to but soon your moans were bouncing off the walls, two fingers in and then he added a third. He wasn’t moving fast, you knew he would but for now he was going slow, taking his time in prepping you, loving you.

Your back arched off the bed, tugging on his hair as you rode out your high on his face, calling out his name as you came.

He pulled away and moved to lay beside you, letting you get a break. He had all week to fuck you, he prioritized you being comfortable over his own needs.

You caught your breath and moved on top of him, a shiver running down your spine when you felt how big he was, rock hard under you and straining against his jeans. “We should do more.” You said, a grin on your face.

He chuckled and nodded in agreement. “We’ll do more.” His hands went to your hips, guiding you to rock your hips, grinding down on him.

“No, I mean, like…” You chewed your cheek as you thought of a way to say it, your mind still a jumbled mess. You lowered yourself on him till your mouth was right by his ear. “We have the whole house to ourselves.”

He let your words run through his head for a minute. “What exactly are you suggesting, sweetheart?” You smiled widely and moved off the bed, pulling off what was left of your jeans, panties already tossed aside, and you decided to throw your shirt and bra with them, all while Slash stared in awe, a smile spreading over his face.

“We can be anywhere, Slash.” You said, leaning your hands on the bed, letting him eye you shamelessly.

“Anywhere… who?” He asked, eyes flickering to meet yours briefly.

“Anywhere, daddy.” You repeated, wiggling your hips. He inhaled deeply and nodded, getting out of bed and following you through the halls, pulling his clothes off as he went until he was bending you over the kitchen table, hands gripping your hips and holding you in place for him to ram into you, low groans slipping from his lips.

“This is what you wanted all along, isn’t it? Wanted daddy’s dick so fucking bad, didn’t you?” He asked, not stopping or even slowing his pace as he waited for you to respond.

“Yes! Yes, daddy, s’all I wanted, just wanted you!” Your body bounced up the table, the cloth covering it saving your body from sticking. You swore the table was moving with how hard he was fucking you, scooting a little further with every harsh thrust from him.

His arm snaked around you, lifting you from the table and holding you to his chest, sucking and nipping at your neck, he was just as starved for your touch as you were for his, he was just better at hiding it. He was fucking you like he was in heat, grunting and panting in your ear while your moans and whines echoed off the walls, every wall.

This was the freedom you’d been craving, to love him in the open even if that was his house, it was big enough to count. Whether or not you’d ever be able to tell the world about your relationship was always at the back of your mind, but not right now, not when you were so close, not when his fingers were on your clit and his tip was hitting your sweet spot.

Your knees buckled under you, Slash was beginning to stumble, hold on you tightening as his breaths got heavier. “Fuck, doing so good for me, sweetheart, taking me so fucking good.” He mumbled, grabbing your tit in his hand, his favourite part of you always was your chest. “C’mon, be a good girl and cum for me, make a mess for daddy.” You could already feel yourself coming undone at his touch, his words only pushing you further.

You had to pull away from him and grab the table as you came, gushing on the hardwood floors and crying out for him.

He took a step closer behind you, finishing himself off and spreading his cum on your ass.

Your high lasted longer than his and he watched in amazement, loving every second of it as he took a seat, bringing his hand to your hip and pulling you into his lap as you came down from it. “Fuck, you’re gonna kill me, sweetheart.” You melted into him, body weak and twitching.

“I-I think I might go first.” You joked, laughing breathlessly.

He shook his head. “You’re young, not some sixty year old with permanent defibrillator.”

You looked up at him, kissing his scruffy cheek. “Is that why you like me?” You asked, kissing him again and again, wanting his lips on yours. “I’m young and pretty, you think you’re gonna die?”

He snorted. “I don’t think I’m dying soon, just… sooner than you.” He saw where you were going and met your lips with his own. You didn’t let him pull away so fast, aching for more and more still.

“You didn’t answer my question.” You said between kisses.

He let out a heavy sigh. “No. I don’t just like you because you’re hot and I want some trophy wife.” You wanted to brush past ‘wife’ but it made you smile, cheeks heating up and he saw it, smiling back at you. “I love you because I love how you are, your personality and your interests, how you treat people… does that answer your question?”

You thought for a moment before nodding, shifting to be more comfortable in his lap. “I love you, Saul.” He kissed you again and lifted you up.

“Go to sleep, love, you’ll need it.”

[metalomagnetic]

So do Sirius’s kids turn out to be less ignorant and have a better understanding of muggle culture? Especially because of Nymphadora’s influence (due to her Muggleborn father). Like would they show an interest in the public library go to concerts (like their dad did) and while I do understand that they’re being raised by the pureblood equivalent of Nazis basically (Bellatrix, Lucius and unfortunately to a lesser extent, Sirius), do the kinds end up not-so-bigoted or less likely to dehumanise muggles and Muggleborns as they grow up, go to Hogwarts and stop parroting their parents?

Do you think the way Sirius grew up to realise the ideology behind Grindelwald was wrong, Sirius’ children would also realise that their family members were the extremely powerful and rich aggressors who were out torturing and killing people for no reason? Would Sirius ever even allude to his children that- that their aunt Bellatrix, uncle Lucius, all the adults there grew up around tortured and killed people simply because they wanted to?- that there was never any greater purpose to it since they wrote already at the apex of their society.

We saw that Sirius tells Harry a sanitised and falsified version of this- to atleast make it seem like it was war and not simply terrorism and that the murder of Harry’s parents had meaning. But as Harry and his sibling get older, do they get told or just realise the truth? Especially because Nymphadora already understands/knows the truth atleast subconsciously- she just doesn’t wanna acknowledge it - will Sirius’ children be the same?

Will Sirius ever mull on the fact that his beloved Bellatrix is a terrorist - who killed people only for her enjoyment? Or will he excuse beloved Bella, the way he did when she murdered Marlene and her family?

This aspect of the story is truly so dark- the parts where Sirius is grappling with the fact that his family is out here killing and torturing people with no remorse in order to “avenge” Evan when them and their pointless terrorism is the reason his death occurred in the first place, as well as his own pureblood anger over Evan’s death. It’s great. You’re great. The way you weave all these conflicting thoughts into Sirius’ psyche is just amazing.

I also love how in the later chapters, Sirius slowly reconciles with the fact that he is not as good a person as he wishes he was and his moral code- of harming a hundredfold whoever harms him or his. I also like to think that Sirius is probably the kindest and most (open minded? liberal?) accepting Head of House and that he probably wouldn’t go murder a Muggleborn prime minister or hinder their career needlessly out of sheer hatred and prejudice lmao.

Also when I’m reading your fic I keep hoping the kids turn out better because of the kind of father Sirius is- As in his kid’s believe their dad helps whoever he can help and they grow up to emulate that or sm.

Anyway, if you’ve actually read my rant till the end, my apologies. I just can’t get IRITB out of mind T T

Like Sirius before them, his sons will realise who started the war, and that it wasn't fair, nor just. It's not a matter of ignorance here.

They're all trapped in a vicious circle where they know they're not great people, but they don't aim (nor were they raised) to be good people. They want to maintain what they are used to, they were told to 'protect' their family and their position, by whatever means necessary. So they will act when they feel threatened, even if the threat might not be real, only perceived.

Sirius knows he's not a good man, and he made peace with it. He still tries his best not to be the most horrible version of himself, he can still emphastise with others, and tries not to cause harm unnecessarily, but especially now that he has children, he would burn the entire world if he thinks his sons are in any danger, physical danger or just social danger.

Sirius does has inherent bias, and he's somewhat aware of his bigotry. He recognises it's not based in reality, but he can't help but feel that way. He isn't violent in his bigotry, he has no issues befriending muggles or muggleborns, or werewolves or vampires, he helps them if it doesn't inconvenience him, he wishes there was this utopia where they could all live in peace. But when push comes to shove, he'll chose 'his own' people, and he does believe wizard are superior to muggles (though he doesn't think purebloods are superior to muggleborns) and that, as a Black, his bloodline is better than anyone else's (including Lestrange or Malfoy. This isn't about pureblood supremacy, but Black supremacy. He takes extreme pride in his family, even if he knows they're crazy and often wrong in their attitudes).

Of course, Sirius is much less bigoted than his father has been, and OG Orion was less bigoted than his own father. Arcturus was more tolerant than his own father. They do 'evolve' with the times, just very, very slowly.

Sirius' sons were exposed to muggles by their father, but they were also exposed to muggle hate by their mother and virtually everyone else around them, and also Sirius' indifference when someone badmouths muggles.

Orion will never have issues eating muggle food or using muggle inventions, or listening to muggle music. He likes many muggle things, he thinks some are better than magical equivalents, but he'll always feel most comfortable where he was raised- in the magical world. He doesn't think muggles are animals, he is all too aware muggles are just as human and just as intelligent as wizards, however they don't have the same power as wizards, so they will never be equal. He, like Sirius, believes muggleborns are just as magical as purebloods, and they have the same right to practice magic. However, unlike Sirius, he thinks purebloods are 'stronger' than muggleborns by default. He believes the magical power is in the bloodline, and while muggleborns are obviously magical, their 'power' has been diluted by muggle interference. (Both Astrid and Arcturus are to blame for this).

Marvolo is less tolerant than Orion, but less vocal about it, too.

Both boys are raised to maintain the Black way, to represent the Black family, to 'hold the fort' and perpetuate their traditions, because they are the future of the family.

Yet neither is as hateful as Walburga or Astrid or Regulus, specifically because Sirius took them to muggle London often, they were raised with Harry and Dora, and they were also forced to play with Mary's daughters, whom they ended up liking.

Helix is the luckiest; being the third son, there's not such pressure on him, seeing as his chances of one day becoming Head of House are very slim. So no one bothers to indoctrinate him quite as thoroughly. He was born after Arcturus died, so he escaped his influence entirely. From all of them, Helix will be the most chill about blood purity, the most likely to make muggleborn friends on his own, the one to bring back home muggle items and get away with it because he's the baby of the fam and he can do no wrong. However, he is still raised to take pride in his bloodline, so he has that Black excellency mind set, too.

Overall, I would say at least the boys have no issues with half-bloods, because this was where Sirius made the most effort; he was determined to protect Harry, so none of his sons hold inherent prejudice against half-bloods, especially half-bloods raised by wizards. Dora, to them, is as Black as the rest, and they don't care at all her father is a muggleborn. She has Black blood and that's all that matters. Orion wouldn't hesitate to put her on the family tree.

If someone told them half-bloods are less magical, they'll call that person an idiot. If someone told them Harry, specifically, is less magical than a pureblood, they would beat the shit out of that person. However, they are aware Harry is not a Black. Orion wouldn't put Harry on the family tree.

Muggles are a threat to them, not on an individual level, but on a gender scale. Muggles wouldn't react well if they find out about wizards, as we all know. Set aside the religious aspect that would make muggles go crazy, but also the fear factor- let's be real, none of us would be too happy to know there are wizards around that can erase our memory, control us with the Imperius etc. We would not feel comfortable knowing there are eleven year olds out there that are handed a weapon of mass destruction. No muggle army would love the thought a 14 year old kid could potential annihilate an entire batalion of muggles with a wave of his wand.

All wizards, including muggleborns, believe muggles would react violently towards the magical world, if they ever discovered it.

So, to Orion, and Sirius, and Lucius, and Harry, and even Dumbledore, they do understand the inherent threat muggles pose.

They will always keep their distance, and Orion, like all Blacks before him since the inquisition, will think muggles as a whole are dangerous to their community, but on an individual level they can be fine. But, in his option, best not to mix with them, lessen the odds of discovery.

[inuiiwonderland]

Twisted captivity

Chapter 1

Twst third years x fem reader

A/n: here is the first chapter of my new series “twisted captivity” !! Again this is a yandere series so it will have some dark themes! Also, the first couple chapters will be more on the short side since It has been a while since I wrote anything and also because of my major writers block and motivation for writing. So I’m taking baby steps rn lol. But I genuinely wanna write this since it’s been on my mind for MONTHS! So enough about my rambling I really hope you guys enjoy this!

Words:766

-

You walked down the long hallway as Crowley explained to you the rules and things you would be in charge of.

“Since your father told me you’re a researcher, you will be in charge of writing down every detail and interaction you have with the mers and also help us understand more about them and their biology!”

You simply nodded, still not believing that he has REAL mermaids and mermen’s in his care.

“You will also be in charge of feeding them, cleaning and taking care of their tanks! Though do be careful, some of them can be very wary and may attack when they feel threatened!”

“Ah that’s…good to know”

“Great! Now it’s time for you to come meet them so follow me” You followed him as he led you down a long hallway before walking through a double door which led you to a giant lab. In there you can see a big window as people rush in all sorts of directions.

“This is our lab! Here we run all our experiments and test” Your eyes grow wide as you see a couple of people roll in a big cart with an equally large tank which has a mermaid inside.

The poor thing was thrashing around in the tank as she clawed on the glass. The tank must have been made with really strong glass since it didn’t crack or break by how hard the poor thing was banging on it. The cart was rolled to another room, which you did NOT want to know about.

“Don’t worry she’ll be fine”

Something tells you she wouldn’t….

“Come follow me! I’ll show you the less aggressive ones first”

Okay now you were slowly starting to regret this

Maybe you should’ve stayed home and made yourself a good meal as you watched your favorite show. But no, you decided to show up instead.

What if this is all illegal? What if the government or whoever doesn’t even know such a thing exists?! Or maybe Crowley is working for the government?!

As you begin to panic, you accidentally bump into said man as he comes to a stop.

“Sor-“

“We’re here!” You step aside and you stare in awe as you are met with a beautiful sight.

The place looked absolutely gorgeous. It definitely didn’t look like it belonged in a research facility.

The place had a huge waterfall along with some beautiful trees and huge rocks and caves. You noticed a bridge in the center of it all and it had beautiful long vines surrounding it.

This definitely looked like it came from a fairy tale

“Welcome to the heartslabyul enclosure!” He says with a big smile.

“This place is so…”

“Amazing right? I’m glad you think so because I spent millions on this place!”

“Hey Crowley!” You both turned around to see a man with black and white hair. The man looked annoyed as he glared down at Crowley.

“Ah! Crewel! Nice seeing you here today, say why are you here?” The man scowled.

“I work here you idiot”

“Hey now that’s not a good way to talk to your boss! I have a new worker here with me and you can’t make it seem like calling me an idiot is okay!” Crowley says as crewel turns to look at you.

“You should still run while you have the chance” He says which causes Crowley to gasp.

You just awkwardly laugh as crewel and Crowley continue to bicker back and forth. You step away from the two as you decide to explore the area a bit more.

You walk down the bridge and to a small path that leads you to another beautiful part of the area. As you continued exploring, you didn’t notice the pair of eyes that peeked from under one of the lily pads.

Red eyes followed you as you continued to walk down the path.

Weird….never seen her around before

He watches you like a hawk before quickly ducking down as you turn around.

You eye the water curiously

“Weird….could’ve sworn I heard something” As you were about to walk a little closer towards the water, the sound of your name being called made you stop. You look up to see Crowley waving at you from the bridge.

“Come! I have more things to discuss with you in my office!” You just nodded but before you left, you looked back at the water one last time before walking away and to where crowley was.

As you leave, the boy slowly comes back up with curious eyes.

She looks nice….

-

Again sorry for such a short chapter😓 but as I said, baby steps!

Taglist: @ruisann @roseapov @0ffth3rec0rd @anunholyabomination

Ask if you wanna be put on the taglist!

Also! Reader will have more like a mother/older sister relationship with the 1st and 2nd years! I will explain more as the story goes:)

[accirax]

Analyzing DRDT's Ch2 Motive Diction

The fuck do I think I am, a time traveler? Why am I posting a theory about DRDT's Chapter 2 motive secrets now that Chapter 2 is finally complete? What's even the point in analyzing a motive that's over and done with?

Well, believe it or not, this is actually a theory I wanted to write before Chapter 2 Part 2 came out, I just never got around to it. And now we have more confirmation as to which secrets actually go where! So, really, it's all according to keikaku.

The point of this theory is to look at the language used in presenting the motive secrets, and see what it can tell us about both the secret's owner, and possibly the mastermind/whoever wrote them. What subjectivity did the writer inject into the secrets' phrasing, and could any of the secrets be better or worse than we originally thought? Put on your best scrutinizing glasses, and we'll take a look!

The usual CWs for Chapter 2 motive discussion: death, suicide, eating disorders, self harm, and implied homophobia/transphobia. Oh, and spoilers for DRDT through the end of Chapter 2, naturally.

Also as usual, I'll be assuming that all of the secrets are correctly attributed as they were in canon, other than that Xander and Teruko have swapped such that Xander has survivor's guilt and Teruko has the killing game is all your fault. I'm gonna look like a real fool some chapters down the line if I'm wrong about that, but I feel like most of the fandom has consensus agreed that this is the case.

I'll be dissecting the words of each secret through the lenses of the three Fs-- factual truth, flavored truth, and forced opinion. If those categories aren't as inherently comprehensible as they could have been due to my want for a snappy moniker, let me explain them further.

Factual truth is just that-- a literal statement that must be taken at face value. Under the assumption that all of the secrets are the truth (and it's not that J isn't actually Mariabella's daughter or whatever), there isn't much to be analyzed here. The writer presented the story with no flavor.

"You are reading a DRDT theory."

Flavored truth comes in two main forms. The first refers to emotional truths. Someone's secret describes that they feel a certain way about a certain event. It's likely base-level true, but do they feel that way due to their own opinion, or were they forced to feel that way due to someone else's opinion? And, what exactly does that opinion mean?

"You were happy to read a DRDT theory."

The other option is for when what's written is factual truth, but overlaid with a weird emotional layer. Said layer might make the truth feel overexaggerated, therefore implying a subjective take on the subject. Basically, it's anything that logistically should have been factual truth, but that subjectively I felt had something more to it.

"You prioritized reading DRDT theories over your other responsibilities."

Combined, purple means fact-adjacent, but with a little something injected into it.

Forced Opinion is content injected directly from the writer's perspective, and it's what initially caught my eye and got me thinking about writing this analysis. There are a couple of instances in which the writer speaks directly to the reader without feeling the need to provide any level of verifiable fact. These statements exist only to convey the writer's desired tone.

"Why do you even enjoy DRDT theories?"

Some secrets use only one of these Fs, some use two, and some use all three. On that note, we'll be examining the secrets in reverse spiciness order, with the most straightforward secrets first and the most interesting ones saved for last. So, who has the most sauceless secret?

Charles

"Your older brother died, but you don't remember him at all."

Okay Elliot fans, don't kill me for inadvertently calling your boy sauceless.

It's not that Charles' secret doesn't contain intriguing information, but that the way in which that secret is presented doesn't tell us anything about the person who wrote it. It's not phrased as "how could you have forgotten your dead older brother?" or anything as dramatic as that. Both phrases are presented in a manner devoid of emotion or judgment. They're just two facts!

Rose

"You took on your talent to earn money for your family. But you've since put them in a lifetime of debt."

"Lifetime of debt" feels kind of accusatory, but it is true when the sum total is in the millions of dollars. I think this could have been written a lot more judgmentally than it was, which is why I ultimately left it as factual truth.

Whit

"Your mother is dead. You always omit that truth."

The use of "always" in "always omit that truth" could be called into question, but based on Whit's behavior so far, it seems to be pretty straight up. Honestly, if anything, I think the bluntness of this statement speaks more to the writer's opinions and goals than anything else.

J

"You hide your name and birthright to pretend that you aren't the daughter of Mariabella Rosales."

"Birthright" is defined as "a particular right of possession or privilege one has from birth," if anyone was curious. With the way our society is set up, J should inherit a large amount of money and soft power just by being Mariabella's daughter, so I think this is legit. It has a bit of an emotional tone of superiority to it, but nothing drastic.

Arei

"Blackmail, rumors, lying, stealing, slander. You did everything you could to ruin your sisters' lives."

Ooh, our first instance of flavored truth. We're welcoming it in with a pretty bland example, though-- one that I went back and forth on for a while with whether it should count as factual or flavored.

Ultimately, I decided that, if we hadn't had Arei spell out her backstory and secret for us, I'm sure I would have been speculating about what "ruin your sisters' lives" really meant, and to what degree it was true. I shouldn't disqualify purple text from being purple text just because it was proven true. However, because this really was proven to be Arei's main motivation, we can basically take it as fact.

Levi

"You're a murderer, and you hold no remorse."

A secret which obviously has both a factual and an emotional component, but is also pretty straightforward in how it presents that emotional component.

When I was originally scheming up this theory (before it was revealed to be Levi's), one of my big talking points was going to be about how the divide in this secret opened up the possibility for it to actually be two secrets in one: that the secret's owner was both a murderer, and, separately, held no remorse. That turned out to more or less be true, which was fun!

Eden

"Ever since you kissed her, you were afraid your sexuality would ruin your friendships."

Eden's secret has a pretty obvious factual part-- that she kissed a girl (and she liked it)-- and a pretty obvious emotional component-- that she was afraid it would ruin her friendships.

Much like Levi or Arei, the emotional component is very likely accurate. In this case it's not very dramatized: they didn't go as far as to say "ever since you kissed her, you knew it was a matter of time before your friends would leave you" or anything along those lines. Still, as an emotion-based secret, so there's always room for debate.

Ace

"Your body is falling apart, but you'll still refuse to eat."

"Your body is falling apart" is (probably) a fact, but it feels really emotional. That "probably" is what sold me on this needing to be purple, though. It's hard to say how much Ace's body really was falling apart prior to his death. I'm sure the situation wasn't great, but we know that Ace was still capable of overpowering Arei, lifting ~60 pounds, launching a slingshot, and cutely climbing up swingsets on top of the running, swimming, and general obstacle-course-ing featured in his execution. Ace surely wasn't healthy, but "falling apart" seems like a bit of an exaggeration, based on the knowledge we currently have.

If nothing else, the "but" and "still" paint a picture of Ace being aware that his body is malfunctioning but choosing to limit his calorie intake anyways, which is an emotional layer far beyond the likes of a blunt "you have an eating disorder."

Nico

"No one accepted you because of your identity. You were constantly mocked by your family, your peers, and everybody else."

Does this highlighting make sense to people? Nico being bullied for being nonbinary is (sadly) the truth, but there's a lot of emotional coding to it that isn't necessarily 100% accurate. Like, is it really true that no one Nico met previously ever accepted them? I'm not going to pretend like there aren't deeply transphobic places out there, but "constantly mocks" further makes it sound like not only did everyone hate them, everyone did so physically and/or vocally, as opposed to simply judging in silence.

The weirdest thing about Nico's secret to me is that the writer took what otherwise could have been a factual secret and turned it into a largely emotional one. The only straight up fact we can garner from this is "Nico was mocked by their family and peers because of their identity." What happened to "people threw rocks and laughed at you because of your identity"? That would have been a (more or less) concrete fact that illustrates the exact same idea. But instead, the writer went all in on dramatizing that everyone was against Nico. Is there a reason for that?

Veronika

"You only took on your talent to distract yourself from your incessant need to harm yourself for fun."

Veronika's secret is kinda like Nico's plus Ace's, so it's nice to be able to put it here. Like Nico's, it interweaves factual truth and flavored truth in a way that makes distinguishing between them uncertain. And, like Ace's, it deals with a factual mental illness combined with its subjective motivations.

The core truth of this secret is "you took on your talent to distract yourself from your need to harm yourself," which is what can be seen in blue. However, that has very different implications than "you only," "incessant," and "for fun" add. Of the three, I would rank "incessant" as the most factual, "you only" as the least factual," and "for fun" in the middle.

I do think that Veronika's need to harm herself did feel incessant, but whether it was really for fun is up for debate. It's even more debatable whether distracting herself from self-harm was her ONLY reason for becoming a horror fanatic, as there are many other potential motivators out there, such as a genuine interest in the craft, or even the generalized boredom Veika describes as opposed to just the self-harm angle. In the end, I don't know how helpful making that distinction is for Veronika, but I'll throw it out there.

Arturo

"Your younger sister killed herself because of you. You never should have left."

Our first instance of forced opinion marks where things really start to get juicy. Although, uh, before you interpret my analysis in a way I didn't mean, just because something is marked as opinion doesn't mean it isn't an opinion I agree with. If Arturo sticking around would have saved Felicity's life, then, yeah, he probably shouldn't have left. However, in essence, "you never should have left" isn't a fact, it's an opinion-- one that prioritizes Felicity's life over whatever benefits Arturo gained from running away.

Again! I would also prioritize Felicity's life over whatever motivation Arturo had, assuming that they wouldn't have just, like, both died if he'd stuck around. However, the fact that I hold that opinion tells you something about me and my beliefs. I'm someone who holds the popular opinion of valuing others' lives. And therefore, from the pink text, we can also surmise that the secret writer values others' lives, or at least is willing to leverage that common opinion in order to make others feel guilty.

The only concrete fact present in Arturo's secret is that his younger sister killed herself. The idea that she did so because of Arturo, to some extent, is probably true, but it's based on the emotions of a person that the secret writer probably never even met. Especially when combined with the pink text, the secret gives the vibes of repeating Arturo's dark thoughts back to him to make him feel even worse about the situation. The writer's embellishments of a simple fact were designed to hurt Arturo.

Hu

"You were quite the hopeless child. Dying once wasn't enough, so you attempted suicide three times."

Hu attempted suicide three times: true. Hu's emotional state while doing so was pretty abysmal: yeah, probably. Dying once wouldn't be enough to counteract what she did: ????????

Much like Arturo's, I imagine that the pink text in this case is supposed to mirror an emotional "truth" that Hu holds in her heart. Still, I can't call it anything close to a "fact," given that it's completely based on individual interpretations of penance and morality. And it's an absolutely buckwild thing to say, especially while providing no context as to why anyone would hold that opinion.

It's hard to know what further motives the writer may have had beyond making Hu feel bad when we don't know what Hu did that made her feel as if she needed to die. For instance, if Hu accidentally killed her childhood friend, then we could use that as a data point that the writer was harsher towards murderers. Or, if it was putting her family into financial trouble, we could contrast how the writer treated Rose's secret versus Hu's. However, as we currently have no leads on what Hu's done that she needs to pay for (as her secret quote tells us), there's nothing more to be gained here.

Min

"You always treated the competition with ruthlessness, but poisoning them to win was a bit too far, wasn't it?"

One interesting facet of Min's secret is that it contains one of the most obvious uses of the writer injecting their own opinion into the secret. Like, the entire secret isn't even a statement, it's a rhetorical question. You can feel the writer raising their eyebrow at Min challengingly.

Once again, the pink text is being used to judge and/or shame Min for what she did. I really can't see any other purpose for the pink text beyond doing that.

Xander

"You're constantly blaming yourself for the death of your parents and siblings. It doesn't matter that it's not your fault, just that you didn't go with them."

An even more interesting facet of Xander's text is that this is the only instance in which the pink text is... sort of nice? I mean, not really, as it's still majorly playing to his survivor's guilt in a way that I'm sure would have made him feel awful had he ever read it.

No, what I'm talking about is the "it's not your fault" aspect. I really struggled with which of the Fs to assign to it. From Visiting Graves, it seems like the cause of Xander's family's death was drinking unpotable water, which was likely infected by the Spurlings. Therefore, factually, it isn't his fault, and should be blue.

However, Xander certainly feels like the weight of his family's death was on his shoulders. His secret quote defines his "feelings of guilt for having survived a catastrophe in which others died," and he says in the Bonus Episode itself that "the worst part of it all was that [he] wasn't there." Technically, Xander's family's death being his fault is subjective-- no matter what Unnamed Student says, we can never know for sure that he couldn't have done something if he was there. He is an Ultimate, after all. For those reasons, I felt like maybe the immense emotional connection for Xander should make those words purple.

But then I thought, if the secret was supposed to reflect Xander's beliefs, it would say that the incident was his fault. The writer breaks form in this secret. As opposed to Arturo, Hu, and possibly Min (we don't technically know how she feels about the incident, but I'd imagine that she would agree it went too far), instead of judging the secret's owner in a way that appears to mirror the way that they judge themselves, the writer goes against what Xander would say of himself, injecting their own opinion. That's weird.

Of course, I could definitely be blowing this out of proportion. It could just be that Xander acknowledges that, factually, the incident was not his fault, and therefore he would actually agree with the "it's not your fault." Furthermore, the writer still follows this up with the "just that you didn't go with them," which matches with their usual judgmental attitude. They can't be that soft on Xander when they're still saying it would have been better if he died.

Still. You'd think that the writer would want to play up Xander's insecurities that he was at fault for his family's deaths. If Xander were alive and the motive had been handled properly, Xander would have picked up a paper that told him that his family's deaths were explicitly not his fault. Is that really what MonoTV would have wanted?

David

"You exist to manipulate others. Everyone else exists to be taken advantage of."

You might be surprised to see David's secret all the way down here, given how relatively simple it is. Just like Charles' secret, it's two pretty blunt statements, and it's all written in one color. The difference is that literally nothing in this secret is objective fact.

Disregarding 1) any arguments of determinism ("David was always destined to be a manipulator because he has no free will") and 2) the possibility that this is a soft confirmation of DRDT being in-universe fictional characters ("David was always destined to be a manipulator because he, as a character, is reading his scripted lines"), there is genuinely no way to historically or scientifically verify anything that's said in these secrets. It's based on emotions and emotions alone.

But, whose emotions are they? David certainly believes this to some extent, given that his admission that he's a "lying, manipulative, scumbaggy piece of shit." The sentence "everyone else exists to be taken advantage of" is really aggressive, and, in combination with his Ch2 heel turn, it's very easy (and potentially correct) to believe that these are David's home-brewed feelings.

However, keep in mind the writer's propensity for intentionally stirring up the secret holder's most hurtful thoughts (like Hu) and things they'd rather forget (like Arturo). There's nothing in the secret itself that tells us that David enjoys being destined to be a manipulator, even if he believes in that idea.

David: You were right. I'm a good for nothing liar. But I call those lies "motivational speeches" and everyone eats it up.

Much like how the secret itself could be David's opinion or someone else's, we don't know which parties hold the opinion that David is a "good for nothing."

Look, I'm not trying to say that David has done nothing wrong in his entire life, even if villain apologism is my side hustle. I just think it's important to ask ourselves what entity is declaring this secret as "fact," considering that nothing about it is actually provable. At the very least, it's sure hard to accurately tell the group the exact contents of your secret when it's not based on anything factual.

Arei: Why did you lie about your secret? David: I'm sorry? I don't quite understand.

(Can you tell I was convinced to finally put this theory to paper whilst working on a David analysis...?)

On that note, though, I'll leave further speculation about David for another post, lest I go too far down the rabbit hole here. I just think there's a lot of room for interpretation when it comes to the manipulator secret.

Teruko

"How could I even select what secret to make your motive? Just about everything you've done in your life is worth killing for. The killing game is all your fault."

And, surprising no one, Teruko's secret is at the very bottom. I don't even know where to start with this one.

We'll start at the beginning, I suppose-- Min's secret has one of the most obvious examples of the writer injecting their own opinion into the secret's text; this is the other. They even both have rhetorical questions! Twinsies :D

The first sentence has legit nothing to do with the "factual" contents of the secret at all. The entire sentence is 100% the writer's opinion. They even refer to themselves with the "I" pronoun!!! And the second sentence isn't much better. What's regarded as "worth killing for" is entirely up to the reader's opinion, and "just about" is incredibly vague. Is what Teruko's done 80% worth killing for? 90%? 100%, with a single exception?

I've also always thought that "killing for" was a weird choice. It should be "killing over," right? Killing for is like, "oh, I'd kill for a sandwich." Generally, it's seen as a positive thing, something you really want. If Teruko's life is worth killing for, that would put Teruko's life in place of the sandwich (lol). AKA, "oh, I'd kill for Teruko's life." Given what we know of Teruko's life-- that she's faced being orphaned, poverty, extreme injuries and more-- it's hard to imagine that anyone would willingly want that for themselves.

However, there are two ways I thought of to explain the word choice that don't involve assuming that the phrasing got messed up. The first is that the writer really covets Teruko's capacity to survive. As Teruko herself told us, she's the Lucky Student, so she can't die. "Kill for" could indicate that, despite all of the hardships Teruko has faced, the writer still believes that Teruko's constitution makes her life enviable and/or desirable.

The other is the more literal interpretation: that whatever Teruko has done has made others want to kill on her behalf. We already saw this once with Min, who felt compelled to attack Xander if it meant potentially saving Teruko's life. There's also our usual throughline from Prologue Hands Guy that ending the killing game and killing Teruko might be linked. Therefore, conversely, if there's anyone out there who's interested in the continuation of the killing game(s)-- XF-Ture Tech?-- it might stand to reason that they would be willing to kill in order to keep Teruko alive.

Both of these interpretations struggle with the lead-in of "just about everything you've done in your life," though. It's because both of them directly relate to Teruko's luck, which to me seems less like what she's done and more like who she is. But, the origins of Teruko's luck are undefined enough that I don't think I can use that to shoot either possibility down.

On to "the killing game is all your fault." I was tempted to make this sentence entirely pink, due to how likely it seems that this sentence is overexaggerated. Teruko is still a totally viable mastermind choice, to be clear. There are a lot of things that become a whole lot more convenient if Teruko is the mastermind, this secret included. However, if Teruko were a self-aware, despair-loving mastermind, why would she put a secret basically accusing her of such into the killing game?

You could argue that, if MonoTV were competent, no one would have seen this secret other than Teruko herself. It's still kinda weird to write that down for herself, though. It would have been a lot safer to just leave the secret off at "How could I even select what secret to make your motive? Just about everything you've done in your life is worth killing for." And, I don't think anyone who happened to see the secret would think too much of it. Perhaps Teruko wanted others to know she was the mastermind? If that were the case, why not correctly claim her secret when David asked her in 2-13?

(Once again, I really hope I'm right about this secret being Teruko's.)

In the end, I decided to just flag the "all" as being the writer's opinion, as an endeavor as grand and complicated as the killing game surely has more than one thing behind it. Every canon killing game, despite having a main instigator, had many other individuals aiding in its creation. And, the writer clearly has a vendetta against Teruko in this secret, so I'd be more surprised if they weren't overexaggerating her involvement to some degree.

However, "the killing game is your fault" remains in blue, even though we can't verify it to be true at the moment. If you recall, at the top, I decided to make the assumption that all of the secrets were true to at least some level, and this is where that kicks in for Teruko. Plus, if the writer (who is quite possibly the mastermind) believes that the killing game is at least partially Teruko's fault, then that's likely the case, no?

What Did We Learn?

Now that we're done with all of the secrets, let's turn it back to see if we can figure anything out about the writer. The ways in which secrets were handled can kinda be broken into tiers, like this:

Charles, Rose, Whit, and J all had 100% factual truth.

Arei, Levi, and Eden had some factual truth and some flavored truth, but the emotional truth was pretty easily verified as correct.

Ace, Nico, and Veronika had a mix of factual truth and flavored truth in a way where it was harder to parse what was feeling or fact.

Arturo, Hu, Min, and Xander had some factual truth, some flavored truth, and some forced opinion, all of which had some elements of assigning blame.

David and Teruko were struggling to present anything certifiably factual at all.

Meanwhile, if we try to categorize the secrets themselves:

Levi, Arturo, Min, and David all had secrets regarding harming others.

Ace, Veronika, and Hu all had secrets regarding harming themselves.

Rose, J, Arei, Charles, Whit, Arturo, and Xander all had secrets about their families, with the latter four relating to dead family members. (Levi also technically counts for this, but it's not explicitly mentioned in the secret.)

Eden and Nico have secrets relating to their identities and the crises they face because of them.

Teruko has a secret that's hard to define :/

What does this tell us? Well, honestly, not much. All of the people in the "straight facts" tier have secrets that relate to their families in non-violent ways, but that may just mean that the lower-stakes secrets were harder to dramatize. Everyone who dealt with a negative effect on a large group of people (Min with the competition, Xander with his large family and by extension town, David with... everyone, Teruko with those in a killing game) is near the bottom of the ranking, but it also follows that those with more grave secrets would face further scrutiny for it.

There's nothing as simple as "everyone whose secret referred to a death was harshly judged" or "everyone who harmed themselves was treated more kindly." Therefore, we can't really assign any of those straightforward beliefs to the writer. Alas.

However, assume with me for a moment that 1) the mastermind is the one who personally wrote out the secrets and 2) the mastermind of the killing game is one of its 16 contestants. Nothing too crazy, but those are both (kind of) assumptions.

(I know that, technically, MonoTV said "the real mastermind is one of you" at the end of the Prologue, which would mean that one of the 16 students has been confirmed to be the mastermind. However, I personally don't believe that's necessarily the case. You can read more about that in Mai's section of my (albeit outdated) Mastermind Ranking, if you wish.)

If the secret-writer is a mastermind hidden amongst the cast, that means that they must have written a secret about themselves. Which category would be the most likely category to find our mastermind in?

Well, the obvious answer is in the top tier, as they're the least suspicious. If you want to fly under the radar, give yourself a secret that won't be the talk of the town if it comes out of the bag. Veronika has already primed us to recognize that someone's secret doesn't have to be the worst thing they've ever done, which could be foreshadowing that we'll later learn that the mastermind's secret works the same.

In terms of the mastermind's specific identity, it's also interesting to consider which secrets had the most information packed into them. Most-if-not-all of these students attended Hope's Peak together as friends for a little while, but some were certainly closer than others. All of the secrets are secret, naturally, but to write a secret like David's, you have to know a lot about how his mind works, which implies closeness. The secrets that include something about how their owner thought or felt-- the "why," so to speak-- include Levi's, Eden's, Veronika's, Xander's, and David's. Conversely, you largely don't need to know anything about how Charles, Rose, Whit, J, Arei, Ace, or Nico thought or felt about their various circumstances, just that they happened. Arturo, Hu, Min, and Teruko are in sort of a weird place where the secret seems to reveal how they felt, but could also just be the writer feeling the same way.

In terms of the ones where you don't need to know anything, the results are a toss-up. You could argue that, if Whit were the mastermind, he could have hurt Charles way worse than he theoretically did, but you could also argue that Charles' secret was left more vague on purpose as a form of protection/favoritism.

However, the fact remains that, somehow, the person who wrote the secrets had to at least get into Levi, Eden, Veronika, Xander, and David's brains in order to transcribe how they felt about doing their various deeds. Who knows those five super well? Honestly, my first thought was Teruko, but it's also undeniable that a talent like David's or Whit's would lend itself well to understanding how others' minds work. And, of course, there's Mai, whose main talent thus far seems to be understanding others.

As a final note, I want to list a couple of secrets that I feel have anti-mastermind energy. Secrets you read and ask, "now, why would that person have written and released this information about themselves?" The level to which this is the case varies, but I'm going to include everyone I had the thought for. These people include:

Whit. Why would he tell everyone about a truth he prefers to omit?

J. Same thing: if she doesn't want everyone knowing she's Mariabella's daughter, why would she make that her secret? Why would she even create the opportunity for someone else to read that?

Eden. Less so than others (as, if she's in a supportive crowd, she might want this secret to get out), but if she's afraid of how people will treat her after learning she's a lesbian, why would she say it?

Nico. Same as Eden, basically.

Arturo. He really seems to want to forget this. Unless he's a mascohist-ermind (Ellis, is that you? /j /ref), I don't know why he'd remind himself, especially with such strong wording.

Teruko. Again, assuming she wants to keep this under wraps, why release that secret into the world?

You could also count Charles and/or Levi for this category. However, I decided that just because they seemingly forgot about the contents of their secret wouldn't mean that they would have no motivation to write it, which is really what I was judging.

Sorry if that wasn't as conclusive as you were hoping for! (/gen) If it were more conclusive, I probably would have made the theory earlier, or someone else would have had the same thought. As we learn more about the secrets in future installments like whether the Teruko/Xander swap thing is actually correct, these are the sorts of questions that I want to be keeping in mind.

And, of course, please take this analysis with a grain of salt! I always assume that everything in DRDT is 100% accurate to real-world logic because I really respect DRDTdev's storytelling. However, much like my note content analysis, I understand that going so far as to say "Charles can't be the mastermind because there's no way he'd know about how Veronika felt about her self harm" is quite possibly going too far. The most important facet of the secrets is that they made for an interesting story development, which they did! Any logic about how the in-universe secret-writer found out this information is just a cherry on top. But inspecting those cherries for quality is what we get up to 'round these parts.

Thank you for reading! And hopefully I'll find the time to write more DRDT stuff in the near future :)