#i will not be tagging this as anything else for now <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[explorevenus]

fit for duty ♡ wolf hybrids!chreon/puppy hybrid!f!reader

nsfw (18+) - minors. dni or i will call ur mom. and also the cops

word count: 6.1 k

tags/warnings: wolf hybrid chris, wolf hybrid leon, chreon being sneaky/manipulative together, puppy/mutt hybrid reader, cringefail reader, pet names, brief daddy kink mention, abuse of power, drugging (kinda), reader gets forced into heat, breeding, multiple orgasms, belly bulge, vaginal double penetration, knotting

description: you used to be the government's best tracking hybrid, until a chemical agent fried your sense of smell. chris and leon find a better use for you than the battlefield.

a/n: as commissioned by my darling kennykins <3 @dollfacefantasy happy valentine's day >:)) :Kyle:

divider by @strangergraphics

my masterlist ♡

my ao3 ♡

fic under the cut, thanks so much for reading and i hope u enjoy ;w;

-venus ♡

"Poor thing," Chris observed with a heavy sigh, tilting his head to look at Leon as they stood at one end of the track, watching you bumble your way through your training course on two left feet. "She was not built for active duty."

Leon's ear twitched with mild amusement, the wiry grey fur losing its contrast by the day against his dark blond head of hair-- he almost could've sworn that worrying about you was aging him quicker. "Not even slightly," he agreed, "I'm gonna lose my shit if they try to send her out there."

Typically Chris would have discouraged Leon from losing his shit, but even he couldn't argue with that sentiment. Arms crossed, they continued to stand back and watch, trying not to let the pity show on their faces.

You were once the U.S. government's most prized and expensive sniffer dog, a hybrid born of the most ideal combination of breeds for the job. You were highly effective and devastatingly accurate, lent out to the FBI, CIA, DEA, DHS, DSO, so many acronyms you lost count, tracking down bombs and drugs and cadavers and counterfeit currency, and anything else under the sun that left a minuscule scent behind.

Until eight months ago, when you were victimized in an ambush attack involving an aerosol respiratory agent that absolutely fried your sense of smell. No expense was spared trying to get you good and recovered, but it soon became obvious that the damage was irreversible. Without any other kind of training, that revelation just rendered you the country's most costly, sentient paperweight. That's where Chris and Leon came in.

By all metrics-- and whether they liked it or not-- Chris Redfield and Leon Kennedy were the poster children of their field in the hybrid program. Their canine genetics weren't distilled from domestic breeds, but instead from wolves. Unmatched in their strength, agility, and stamina, their tracking abilities second-to-none now that you were out of the game…

If anyone would be capable of training you from a soft puppy into a tactical canine, it would be Chris and Leon, and yet here you were, just a few weeks from graduating basic and barely meeting your marks.

You weren't particularly fast, you weren't very strong, and you were so used to relying on scent to guide you that you had a hard time gaining awareness of your surroundings outside of the ground beneath your non-functioning nose. They did everything they could, they really tried your best with you, but you really, really just weren't cut out for this. It was downright painful to sit here and watch you flounder.

As you finally reached the end of your training course several minutes behind your peers, Chris and Leon shared a pitiful, fed-up, communicative look; whatever it might take, they weren’t letting you flounder anymore.

If Chris and Leon had learned anything over their years of service to the government, it would be the value of good relations in high places, the value of a single strategic phone call, the value of being owed favors. Of course both men usually preferred to go about things the right way, but when the right way wasn’t working, what else were they to do but carve an alternative path of their own?

You weren’t just any little whelp, after all, you were more than worth the effort. They’d grown dangerously fond of you over the course of your time together. You were so earnest and sweet, so pretty and kind and so very lost, like a fallen angel. Looking after you became an unbreakable habit, and it awakened something in them that they hadn’t felt since they were… well, your age.

You awakened in them the urge to protect, the urge to claim, the urge to compete for the right to pin you down and mark you up with their teeth, the urge to retire, to build a home for you, and to spend the rest of their days breeding you up with litters to fill every room.

The urge to keep you all to themselves.

It wasn’t their fault that you smelled so good. Hell, it wasn’t even your fault. In your condition, you didn’t know. You were oblivious to how rich your own scent became during your heat, and you didn’t seem to react to the heady musk of their ruts, either. Maybe if your nose actually worked, you’d have long since caught on to their increasingly unprofessional interest in you, but for better or for worse, you appeared to be clueless as always.

That, and your painfully poor performance today, worked well to their advantage. Chris took out his phone as you trudged off into the locker room, and one call was all it took.

One call, and your career as a field agent was finished. You had been swiftly and quietly reassigned before you even got out of the shower.

"Hey," Chris caught your attention as soon as you stepped out of the locker room, arms crossed casually over his beefy chest even as his sudden appearance caused you to jump a little. Both him and Leon were leaning against either side of the doorway just waiting for you to come out, like two hunks in some cheesy movie. "C'mon, let's go get some dinner. We need to talk to you."

If it weren't for how calmly he spoke, the mere words 'we need to talk to you' would have sent your ears flat against your head and your tail between your legs, but as your eyes cast between the two of them in curiosity, you realized their expressions were less disappointed than you expected, given your performance today. They almost looked mischievous.

"Okay, sure… dinner sounds good," You reluctantly agreed, scrutinizing them now.

Leon reached out to take your athletic bag for you without even asking. Chris draped his arm around you and pulled you into his side while the three of you walked, his hand spanning across the entire width of your lower back to guide you. Their tails were swinging wide enough to brush with yours, and each other's.

Oh, they were definitely up to something.

“Why are you guys being weird?” You asked bluntly, nudging Leon with your elbow. If you were going to get either one of them to crack, it would more likely be Leon. “Am I in trouble or something? Look, I know my times were shit today, but I was honestly trying, and I swear I’m gonna get it eventually—“

“Relax,” Leon interjected, pinching your butt just to watch you jump. “You’re not in trouble, pup. Take a deep breath, or you’re gonna pop a blood vessel.”

Rolling your eyes, you took a deep breath and kept walking. “You didn’t answer my question all the way,” you huffed dramatically.

“I said we wanted to talk to you, didn’t I?” Chris spoke up, raising a brow at you in that subtle look of near-disapproval that almost always straightened you out immediately. “We’re gonna take you home, we’re gonna have some dinner, and we’re gonna talk. Just be patient.”

Just be patient. Hmph. That was a tall ask for you and they knew it, but you conceded anyway for fear of pushing their buttons. Despite your outwardly playful demeanor, you weren’t feeling great about yourself in the wake of today’s results. 

Plummeting from the height of your profession due to circumstances outside your control, deemed irreparably broken after several weeks in and out of experimental surgeries, training your ass off for months just to continue to fail and fail and fail… You were getting exhausted, your optimism was wearing paper thin, and these days it was starting to feel like the only people who believed in you, let alone cared about you, were Chris and Leon. You appreciated them deeply of course, but at this point, something had to give.

Something had to give, or, like Leon said, you’d pop a blood vessel.

Chris and Leon’s shared apartment, thankfully, was something of a sanctuary for you. You always felt protected and cared for within these walls, and the only thing you didn’t like about it was that you couldn’t smell anything, but that wasn’t their fault.

The pair all but ordered you to relax on the couch while they convened in the kitchen to make dinner, and as you sank lazily into the cushions, you wished you could bury your nose into the navy blue fleece thrown over the arm and breathe in their scent, or even the faintest hint of detergent, cologne, sweat, something. Sure, thousands of people live completely normal lives with no sense of smell, but how many of them were canine hybrids like you? Scent wasn’t just your career, it was your compass in so many aspects of your life.

Scent was what told you if you could trust someone. Scent was what told you if a building was safe. Scent was what told you when you were home. There was so much more to it than just wishing you could fully taste certain flavors again, or catch a fresh autumn breeze, or enjoy a fragrant candle. You felt completely detached from the world as you were genetically engineered to experience it.

“Alright, pumpkin, dinner’s just about ready. Come set the table,” Leon poked his head out from the kitchen, the low vibration of his voice working like a charm to soothe the tides of your anxious mind.  You could practically already hear him ratting you out to Chris for being too hard on yourself— a big no-no— and that was more than enough to redirect your train of thought for now.

So you popped up from the couch with a nod and followed in his footsteps, thoughtfully setting the table with silverware, plates, and water glasses, humming a little tune to yourself while you worked. It was your adorable mannerisms like this that made Chris and Leon love you so much in the first place. You couldn’t be any more precious if you tried.

Unless you were to be waddling around the house with a bellyful of puppies, of course, but they were working on that. All in due time.

Dinner was relatively simple, but hearty, a hot bowl of soup with crusty slices of bread to go with it, sure to replenish all you’d lost after a long day of physical exertion. With your back turned while you set the table, it didn’t require much sleight of hand for Chris to stir a little something extra into your portion to help the process along, just a few supplements to promote fertility and prepare you for what was to come.

Both men joined you in the dining room to serve the meal, and now that you were all sat, the air in the room went immediately tense as you stared at them in anticipation.

The dining room was quiet aside from the faint sound of the TV in the other room, and the dull clicking of silverware. It would have been peaceful if you weren’t so eager to hear what they wanted to talk to you about. Sitting here wondering made you feel like you were going to explode.

“C’mon, pup, eat,” Chris ordered gently, nodding to the bowl in front of you. “You had a very busy day today.”

Stubbornly, you groaned, picking up your spoon to take a few bites. It’s not that you weren’t hungry, of course, you were just anxious, and they knew that. Your mannerisms were almost laughably simple to read, which made them feel a bit bad, but hey, they couldn’t just let you leave your dinner going cold. It was made special just for you.

“You’re killing me,” you whined, scooping up a bite of soup with your bread nonetheless, always with the dramatics. 

Leon chuckled at your display, ears flicking with amusement, and while Chris was usually the one to call the shots, the blond chose to step in and offer you a compromise. “Three more bites and we’ll talk, okay? And no cheating, I mean real bites.”

That seemed to work, and you nodded, albeit with a bit of grumbling at his pulling the plug on any potential cheating before you even had a chance to try to get away with it. The two wolves shared a silent look of understanding while your attention was captured by the meal in front of you, and once you were finished with those three agreed upon bites, it was Chris who accepted the responsibility of starting the conversation.

“You’re not such a big fan of field work, are you, sweetheart?” He asked, tone delicate so as not to freak you out— you weren’t in trouble, far from it. “All the shooting and fighting and running around?”

Looking down at the table, your ears laid low, you gave a half-shrug and mumbled, “I don’t mind the running around part.”

Both men cracked a little smile at this, their own ears flicking with amusement.

“Of course you don’t mind that part, silly baby,” Leon teased, “but, honey, the rest of it… it makes you miserable, doesn’t it?”

You didn’t respond for a beat, gaze still fixed down at the table while you tried to gather the right words, idly stirring your spoon through your bowl just to fidget. The last thing you wanted to do was disappoint them. They’d put so much work into preparing you for this final evaluation, so much time and effort into helping you learn the ins and outs of field operation, and you didn’t want to just give up.

But they saw the conflict raging in you and they knew what you were thinking, and it wasn’t fair, not to you, not at all.

“Hey… it’s okay if you don’t like it, puppy. No one’s mad at you, no one’s disappointed, no one’s in trouble,” Chris reassured you, reaching across the table to gently tilt your chin up with one curled knuckle. “That’s actually why we wanted to talk.”

Heat crept up the column of your neck as you met his eyes, recognizing the kindness and care in them, feeling him disarm you in real time. What you didn’t know was just how carefully Chris was trying to phrase this, that Leon was squeezing the meat of his thigh under the table to ground him and encourage him.

It was much harder to navigate breaking the news to you than they forethought.

“Listen, sweetheart, me and Leon and some of the higher-ups have been thinking that field operation might not be a good fit for you,” he continued delicately, the pad of his thumb swiping gently back and forth, caressing the curve of your jaw. “We were… informed today that you’ve been reassigned.”

Chris did feel rather guilty in the back of his mind for phrasing it that way, like it wasn’t their idea in the first place, but they were in too deep to turn back now, and he was already getting a little bricked up thinking about fucking you after dinner. He’d beg for your forgiveness later if he had to.

Your expression went through a series of emotions— first shock, then guilt, then questioning— and for as reassuring as Chris and Leon were being right now, it was hard not to feel utterly lost again. As far as you knew, reassignment meant you’d probably never see them again, just like the team you used to work with before you were injured. To be taken away from Chris and Leon as a result of your own failure to perform would kill you.

“D-Does that mean I won’t get to be with you anymore?” You asked hesitantly, voice weak and quiet due to your thinking you already knew the answer.

And that’s where Leon stepped in.

“Actually, pup, it means the opposite,” he interjected, all too happy to be the one to give you the good news part of this. “You get to be with us all the time now, and we get to take care of you forever. No more training, no more guns, no more worrying for your life or for ours. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

Your breath hitched and your brows pinched together in sudden confusion, that deep sense of grief and devastation that was preparing to descend upon you just… halting for a moment, paused in the tunnel of your throat.

It did sound nice, but it sounded too nice, like there was more to it that they weren’t telling you, another shoe left yet to drop, and surely there had to be. You’d been branded a sunk cost enough times to know that the government didn’t like to fund things it wouldn’t be seeing a return on, and you were far too young to retire, so what was the deal?

Reading the look on your face with impressive accuracy, Chris couldn’t stand to watch any longer as you sat there clearly fearing the worst, so he chose to speak plainly.

“They’re thinking we’d make some good, healthy litters together, sweet girl,” he said, reaching across the table to squeeze your hand. “That’s a nice idea, isn’t it? Settling down, havin’ our pups…”

Consciously or not, your ears perked up halfway at this, flicking with interest. You wished you could say you hadn’t really put any thought into something like this before, but come on, that would be a lie. You liked Chris and Leon a lot, they were so sweet to you, and so very handsome— it was only natural that you’d dream girlishly from time to time about playing house with them, what your babies might look like, what Chris and Leon might be like as fathers…

And how big their cocks are, and how amazing it would feel to take them both at once…

Now wasn’t the time to be dreaming, however, with both of them watching so closely for your reaction. You nearly let a drop of drool slip past your lips before you snapped out of it, hand flying up to wipe your mouth. Smooth.

A smug look of knowing washed over Leon’s features, his fingers drumming on the table to coax your attention on him, his sharp left canine bared in a lopsided smirk. “Oh, you really like that idea, don’t you, little one?” He drawled, reaching across the table to nudge your hand away so he could swipe the pad of his thumb along your plush bottom lip, tempted to dip it in and make you suck on it, but he wanted to get you squirming a little more first.

“L-Leon—”

“Don’t lie to me… you like it a lot, baby, I can see it on your face,” he cut you off, intent upon not letting you deny it. “You were never built to be out there fighting and risking your life, were you, pup? You were never ‘sposed to be put in danger like that, our poor, precious girl… It’s no wonder it didn’t work out for you, huh? You didn’t do anything wrong, you just knew deep down that you were always meant to be a mommy…”

Your wide eyes darted up to look at Chris as if you were begging him to step in without being able to form the actual words, a timid whine making its way out instead, but unfortunately for you, he wasn’t interested in cutting you a break. Why would he? Leon had made such good progress.

“Leon’s right, you know… you smell so fertile, I’ll bet we could get at least two pups out of you on your very first litter…”

“Just two?” Leon puffed, “I’m shooting for three.”

“Yeah, right, old man, all you’re shooting is blanks,” Chris countered with a playful growl, turning to nip at Leon’s nose with his teeth, the movement allowing him a decent moment of cover to readjust his pants under the table. Just as soon, though, he made no effort to conceal the path his hand took from his own lap to the crotch of Leon’s jeans, palming his partner’s stiffening sex through the denim.

Leon’s head tilted back with an airy groan and his tail beat dumbly against the frame of his chair, hips bucking up slightly. Your jaw was stuck open now and you shifted in your seat, the movement bringing your attention to just how slick you were, standard issue cotton growing sticky and warm beneath your athletic leggings.

Dinner sat long forgotten on the table in front of you, but that didn’t mean you weren’t affected by what Chris gave you. To witness this would have flustered you regardless, but right now you were flushed red and practically dripping— with every passing moment, you were losing your ability to think straight, almost like you were going into heat. Swiping your hair away from your face with shaking hands, your lips parted for oxygen, drinking in slow, shallow breaths in an attempt to regain control of yourself, but every lungful of air you breathed was teeming with their pheromones. You were only getting dizzier.

And they were loving every second of it. Grinning slyly as he continued to knead Leon through his jeans, Chris couldn’t help himself, “You’re lookin’ a little flushed there, puppy. Maybe you should go lay down.”

Your eyes locked with his, and within what felt like only a single moment, Leon was up from his chair and circling the table to tug you out of yours. Before you could fully register the movement, let alone respond to it, he was tossing you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing and carrying you deeper into the apartment.

“Chris!” You yelped out of habit, but once again, the older wolf had no interest in lending you a hand. He was following right along with you both, and once you crossed the threshold into the bedroom, he shut the door behind you all with a decisive click.

Leon tossed you down upon the center of the bed less than gracefully, immediately caging you in so he could bury his face into your throat, breathing you in with desperation between needy kisses and possessive bites. Positioning himself at the head of the bed just above you, Chris guided your head up to rest in his lap as Leon’s attention crept lower and lower down your body, until his strong nose was pressed to your navel.

Heaven, Leon thought to himself, this must be what heaven is like.

Your scent was peppery and sweet, creamy with fertility. His hands balled up into fists clutching the fabric of your shirt and he tore it off of you without a second thought. Encouraged by the revealed expanse of bare skin— and your failure to protest— your leggings were similarly ripped apart directly thereafter. Without missing a beat, Leon grabbed you at the thighs and spread your legs so he could situate himself between them, head ducking forward to huff wantonly at the sodden fabric of your undies, tongue darting out to taste them.

Reaching down to flick him in the forehead, Chris scolded him playfully, “You plan on coming up for air anytime soon, or am I gonna have to make you?”

Leon responded with a humorless grunt, clearly just as lost in the throes of hormonal lustfulness as you were. Nonetheless, he acquiesced, nipping at the crotch of your panties with his teeth before sitting up to his haunches and countering, “We gotta make sure she’s prepared first. Don’t wanna break her on your knot.”

You tensed a bit upon hearing this, but Chris quickly shushed you, scratching behind your ears reassuringly. “We’re not gonna break you, honey.”

He scooped you up beneath your arms to pull you up into more of a sitting position in his lap, and only now did you notice he’d already undressed. While you were busy ogling every rippling inch of his tanned skin, Leon was stripping too, the temperature in the room rising exponentially. Try as they might to remain cool, Chris and Leon were panting just as much as you were.

You could feel the weight of Chris’ stiff cock pressed up against your lower back, making you whine and squirm to get closer, intoxicated by the idea of sitting on it. But you knew Leon was right— you had no hope of taking even one knot comfortably without more preparation, no matter how wet you were.

“F-Fingers, fingers, please,” you all but babbled, taking it upon yourself to shimmy your panties down to mid-thigh. You were desperate for something thick and warm to claim the empty space between your walls, a void that felt like it was only carving deeper into the pit of you.

From the start of your very first cycle, the doctors were always timely with your monthly inhibitor— it didn’t negate the symptoms associated with going into heat entirely, but it absolutely did dampen them. You’d never felt your heat with such intensity before, and that was by careful design— a pinch of cinnamon among the additives to your meal was all it took to counteract your inhibitor, which was nearing the end of its four-week lifespan anyway.

Maybe Chris and Leon would even luck out and, moving forward, you’d subconsciously associate the intensity of your heat with them.

“Shh, shh, alright, baby,” Chris cooed in your ear as he worked in tandem with Leon to tug your panties off the rest of the way. His massive palm then sank down between your legs, fingers spreading apart your slippery folds, and with a subtle nod to Leon over your head, he added in a sultry murmur, “Let’s get you good and taken care of.”

Leon was on you in a second, prints pressing deep into your hips as he rutted into the mattress and lapped at your sweetness, tail swinging back and forth in a haphazard pendulum of dumb weight. Through the incomprehensible horny fog that hung over his head, Leon was determined to commit the taste of you to memory so that he could discover how it might change once you were finally pregnant.

Sucking your clit between his lips with a low moan, Leon took advantage of your surprise to push his index finger past your tight little hole, his other hand keeping your hips steady so you wouldn’t accidentally hurt yourself when you bucked. A sharp whine pushed up from your throat but it wasn’t one of displeasure. Far from it. You were clenching around him like you were trying to suck him in, and what kind of gentleman would he be if he didn’t oblige?

“Mm, there you go, good girl,” he groaned, flattening his tongue on you to lick a broad stripe from your hole to your puffy clit. “Takin’ daddy’s fingers like a fuckin’ dream…”

“Yeah, you are,” Chris agreed without hesitation, gently stroking the boundaries of your cunt in a soothing motion that spread you open wider, allowing Leon to sneak a second finger in with the first. “Gonna take our knots with no problem at all, aren’t you, pretty girl? ‘Til you’re all fucked full…” 

The way you squirmed and twitched in Chris’ lap only worked more blood to his dick, but thankfully he was a much more patient man than Leon, whose hand was plunging in and out of you at a measured but shaky pace. You were dripping like a faucet and kicking your legs out over his shoulders, clutching the portion of grey-blond hair between his wiry ears in a white-knuckled fist.

Leon only unlatched from your cunt to breathe, dragging in a series of heavy breaths before his teeth sank deep into the plush, creamy flesh at the inside of your right thigh, marking you. The sting of it was quickly followed by Chris’ own claim bite where your tender neck met your left shoulder.

The sharp sensation rushed through you and forced goosebumps to rise along your skin, head falling back against Chris’ chest as you whined and convulsed around Leon’s fingers, tumbling over the cusp of an intense and unexpected orgasm. But it didn’t dampen that heat in you, it didn’t offer any relief— if anything, as the tides began to calm, you were only left wanting more. More and more and more, want turning quickly to need.

As Leon withdrew his slick fingers from you, your head was spinning, upper half falling forward as you braced yourself on your elbows, spine sloping down to the mattress in a languid arch to present yourself to Chris. You could feel the cool air of the room chilling the arousal that leaked out from between your soft lips, hole pulsing and squeezing around the mere idea of his length.

“Please, please, please,” you whimpered, tail curled up to the base and wagging timidly side-to-side, like it was just beckoning him to sink into you. “Gimme pups, gimme pups, please—”

You couldn’t see his expression, but Chris was sweating, caressing your hip with one hand while the other tugged at his aching cock, already sticky and leaking down his clenched knuckles. “Fuck, baby,” he groaned, “look at that pretty pussy… you showin’ off?”

Nodding dumbly into the bedding, you felt Leon’s hand come forward to card through your hair, making your eyes flutter comfortably shut. He was stroking himself too, every pump of his hand signified by a subtle schlicking sound of his own pre marrying together with the mess you’d made on his fingers.

Chris started with two fingers first. His were just a little bit shorter than Leon’s, but much thicker, stretching you out more. It was just so adorable, the way you gasped and mewled and rutted back into him while he carefully scissored your hole further open. The anticipation that vibrated through you only ramped up their own.

“You’re gonna look so pretty knotted up, aren’t you?” Leon smiled down at your flushed form. “And even prettier with a bellyful of puppies…”

You drew in a breath to respond but didn’t have much of a chance before Chris replaced his fingers with the heavy head of his cock, each and every rigid inch sliding in without resistance. As his hips rutted forward to become flush with your bottom, the air was punched from your lungs and expressed in a needy cry. Heat bloomed through your middle as he went still for a short moment, but you didn’t need still, you needed babies.

So you shifted beneath him and began to fuck yourself on Chris’ dick, working up to a fervent pace where every twitch of your thighs felt like lightning, but it didn’t stop you. It thrust you forward. All your mushy little brain could think to do right now was fuck and fuck and fuck until you couldn’t move anymore, until you couldn’t even keep your eyes open. Lucky for you, that was the only outcome that would stop them, too.

Chris gripped you at the waist to hold you steady so he could truly start pounding into you, losing himself in your silky cunt. You were squeezing him so perfectly and he couldn’t look away, pupils blown open wide as he watched you suck him in deep, dripping creamy white along the length of his shaft.

“You’re perfect, pup, just… j-just perfect,” he rumbled in your ear, leaning over your back to kiss and nip at your throat between gasps for breath. “Perfect little puppy, such a good girl… swear I could fuck you forever…”

Losing his patience by the minute, Leon had to stop touching himself just to keep from blowing his load early, but he was throbbing with the need to penetrate you. He could already imagine how good you must feel just by the look on Chris’ face.

“C-Chris, Chris… fuck, I’m… gonna fuckin’ bust,” he shuddered, “please…”

And Chris could tell by the look on Leon’s face that he wasn’t joking. His meaty hands printed into your skin with the effort it took for him to slow down, one hand sliding up the length of your spine to tug you up by the back of your neck like a little baby whelp.

“Think you can handle that right now, princess?” He asked in a breathy whisper, lips ghosting along the curve of your slack jaw.

Once more, you were nodding like a bobble-head, bleary eyes catching between the sight of Leon’s cock, and the sight of Chris’ hammering up beneath the soft skin of your belly. You didn’t have much capacity to wonder if you could handle them both right now, because you just so desperately wanted to anyway.

“Alright, then,” he replied in something of an affectionately patronizing tone, like he didn’t fully believe you, but he gestured for Leon to join you regardless.

Leon scrambled forward on his knees, spreading your legs open as wide as they could comfortably rest so that he had a good, clear path to you. Hooking one leg over Chris’ hip until you were upright and sandwiched between them at the head of the bed, Leon ground himself up against you, carefully angling his tip until it caught on your hole. All three of you buckled at the feeling, your breath caught in your throat and tears leaking down your chin as Leon bucked up into you, tongue lapping at every stray teardrop in a series of stilted, needy puppy kisses.

The gruff wolf was all but whimpering and whining against your skin until his head fell back in pleasure, teeth gnashing at his own lip just to maintain focus while Chris gradually approached his earlier pace, if not a bit shaky now with the added friction of Leon’s firm, swollen sex dragging back and forth alongside his own. They could feel every little dip and ridge of one another, every throb of each other’s veins, and while they knew they had a long night ahead of them in terms of helping you through your heat, they were getting dangerously close already.

In the midst of everything, you were pretty sure you came twice more just in the time it took Leon to push into you too, and your body wasn’t giving you any signs of stopping soon. You were wetter than ever and twice as incoherent, babbling complete and utter nonsense into the hot, heavy air just to cope.

“Oh, sweetheart, you’re so cute like this,” Chris growled against the crown of your head, trying his best to hold off for as long as he could, but it was all just too much— balls drawing up tight, he grunted, “You ready?”

All it took was the first semblance of please making its way past your lips for him to lose it, holding you down firmly in his lap. Rope after rope of his cum flooded into you, finally sating some of that burning emptiness you felt. You went all but limp between their firm bodies, shivering and twitching and crying in ecstasy, in relief, yet another wave of near-overwhelming rapture licking over exposed nerves. 

And then his knot began to swell. You jerked in surprise at first, but he just shushed you, nuzzling against the nape of your neck while he continued to hold you still. The weight of your clenching walls and the slickness of Chris’ spend sent Leon over the edge too, while you were distracted, and with two baseball-sized knots expanding to fill any and all empty space in your poor little cunt, you quickly realized you wouldn’t be moving anytime soon.

“O-Oh, ow,” you wept, trying to squirm a bit, but they wouldn’t let you.

They were mindful to check that you were okay, of course, because as much as it would have killed them to risk wasting any cum that could otherwise be getting you pregnant, they weren’t going to keep you knotted tonight unless you really wanted them to— this was presumably your first time, and would be considered a lot for anyone’s first time.

But you just clung to them. Any little adjustment they made was met with your grabbing hands pulling them close again, and a quiet, tearful whine. Splaying his hand out, Leon delicately rubbed your tummy to help you relax while Chris kissed you all over and massaged some of the tension from your trembling thighs, bucking gently up into you just to hear you squeak.

“You did so good, puppy,” Chris mused, “gonna make such a pretty mama.”

“Mhm, so good, and so pretty,” Leon was eager to agree, already chubbing up again at the mere thought of your belly beginning to bloom where his hand laid now. “Fuck active duty, you’re staying right here.”

[00valentina-writes00]

please please put the self harm fic back up, it was really good, and as someone who’s struggled before, it brought me some comfort. i really wish people just didn’t interact with things they don’t like, it’s appropriately tagged, and it’s not hurting anyone. i genuinely didn’t see anything wrong with it

You know what. Yeah I will. Here you go mamas <3

♡♥︎Grayson and Sevika catching you in a self harm relapse♥︎♡ (reuploaded)

Warnings: self-harm, mental health struggles, depression, angst, cutting, blood, sensitive topics

Disclaimer: This post isn’t meant to offend anyone (I already deleted it once), and I don’t recommend reading it if you’re not in a good place/can’t handle it. I wrote this because some people find comfort in reading things like this, and just because you don’t want to read it doesn’t mean you have to ruin it for everyone. Please just don’t interact/read the post if you don’t like it. For those who do read it and find comfort in it, I hope things get better for you. It sucks being in a place where you mind is your worst enemy, and my heart goes out to all of you.

♡Grayson♡

The weight of the silence in the house feels like a tangible thing—thick and suffocating. You’re sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor, not really seeing anything. The quiet hum of the air purifier and the faint creaking of the old floorboards are the only sounds breaking the stillness.

It’s hard to pinpoint when the darkness started creeping back in, but it’s here, and it feels heavier than ever. There’s a weight on your chest, as if something is sitting there, pressing you down until you can’t breathe.

You feel it—how the world looks like it’s slipping through your fingers, how you can’t keep your head above water. The struggle is so exhausting. You can feel the tears building, the tightness in your throat as they fight to spill over, but you swallow them down. You can’t burden her with it.

Not now. Not when she’s already dealing with so much.

Grayson’s voice echoes in your mind, the soft yet firm way she always tells you, “If you need anything, you just ask. Don’t shut me out.” But asking for help feels impossible when it feels like you’re crumbling from the inside out. You know she means it when she says it, and you know that deep down, she’ll always be there for you. She has been.

But she’s been working late recently. You know the weight of her job—how demanding it is. How much responsibility she carries on her shoulders, always so composed, so calm. She’s always the one who carries others, the one who stays steady when everything else feels like it’s about to fall apart.

And yet, here you are, falling apart in the silence of your own mind.

You press your hand to your arm, feeling the familiar pull of that dark urge. It’s like a quiet whisper, promising you release, promising relief. You know it won’t fix anything—it never does. But for just a moment, the thought of it feels comforting. Control, a semblance of control, over a mind that is spiraling.

The sharp sting of a blade against skin is an old friend, one that promises to quiet the storm in your head, if only for a little while.

You grab the razor blade from the drawer by the bedside table, your hand shaking as you press the cool metal against your skin.

The moment it cuts into you, it’s like the world finally exhales. The pain is sharp, but it’s also grounding. It’s familiar. The blood wells up beneath the surface, the warmth of it seeping through your fingers as you press harder. The relief is fleeting but enough to keep you from drowning, at least for a little while.

You exhale shakily, closing your eyes as the tears finally come, hot and uncontrollable.

It doesn’t matter how many times you tell yourself you’re better than this. It doesn’t matter how many promises you’ve made to Grayson that you’re okay. You’re not. You never are, and right now, the world is too loud, too chaotic, and all you want is for it to stop.

When you hear the door creak open, your heart skips a beat. Grayson’s home.

You panic for a moment, suddenly aware of the blood on your fingers, the rawness of your own skin. You want to hide it, to pull away from her, to bury it and pretend that everything is fine.

But it’s too late. She’s already stepped into the room.

Her gaze locks onto you immediately, and you see the shift in her expression—a flicker of concern, followed by something else, something darker. Her eyes move to your hand, still clutched around the razor, then slowly trail up to your face, where the tears are still streaming down.

“Baby…” Her voice is low, filled with a quiet kind of devastation. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. The words are trapped somewhere deep inside, stuck behind the lump in your throat. Grayson is across the room in an instant, her long strides making quick work of the distance.

She kneels down in front of you, gently taking your hand with the blade in it, pulling it away from your skin, and tossing it onto the bedside table. She holds you, and it feels like the weight of the world has shifted, the tension in your chest finally starting to ease. Her arms wrap around you, pulling you to her, as she presses her face into your hair, murmuring soft words of comfort that you can barely hear over the rush of blood in your ears.

You close your eyes and let yourself sink into her, the warmth of her body and the scent of her cologne grounding you in a way nothing else does. Her arms tighten around you as she pulls you closer, as if trying to protect you from the storm inside your own mind.

“You don’t have to hide this from me,” Grayson says, her voice a mixture of pain and resolve. “I can’t help you if you don’t let me in.”

You can hear the underlying frustration in her tone, the helplessness that has started to creep in. She’s used to being in control, used to being the one who takes care of everyone else. But right now, she can’t fix this. She can’t make it go away. And that hurts her, you can see it in the way her brow furrows, in the way her hand gently caresses your arm as she inspects the damage.

Her fingertips brush against the cuts on your skin, and you flinch, not from pain, but from the guilt that rises in your chest. You can see it in her eyes—she’s not angry. She’s not disappointed. But she’s scared, and that’s almost worse than anything else.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, the words tasting bitter on your tongue. “I just… I didn’t want to bother you with this. You have enough on your plate.”

Grayson’s grip tightens around you, pulling you closer, her voice soft but unwavering. “You’re never a bother. You’re my wife, and I love you. You’re never a burden.”

You bury your face into her shoulder, the tears coming faster now, as everything you’ve been holding inside comes crashing to the surface. The guilt, the shame, the weight of it all—everything that you’ve kept hidden from her, from yourself, spills out in a flood of emotion that feels impossible to stop.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” you choke out, your voice barely above a whisper. “I just… I can’t stop. I can’t stop it. It’s too much, Grayson.”

“I know,” she murmurs, her hands gently smoothing over your back, offering comfort in the only way she knows how. “I know, baby. I’m here. You don’t have to do this alone.”

Her words are like a balm to the rawness inside you, but the emptiness lingers. You feel lost, adrift in the dark waters of your own mind, and nothing seems to anchor you. Not even Grayson, though you know she’d do anything to keep you safe.

But you don’t know how to be safe anymore. You don’t know how to feel okay when everything inside you feels broken.

Grayson doesn’t say anything for a while, just holding you tightly, letting you cry, letting the storm rage inside you until there’s nothing left to say.

You eventually feel her fingers gently tracing over your arms, inspecting the cuts more carefully now. The gentle touch sends a shiver through your body, and you can’t help but wince, both from the pain of your wounds and the fear that she’ll look at you with disgust.

But when you look up, her face is soft, her eyes filled with nothing but love and concern. There’s no judgment in her gaze, only a quiet understanding that cuts through the fog in your mind.

“You’re not broken,” she whispers, her voice thick with emotion. “You’re not broken. You’re just hurting. And I’m here. We’re going to get through this together.”

Her words sink in, the weight of them settling on your heart like a gentle, steadying force.

You don’t have to fix yourself. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not ever.

Grayson will help you piece yourself back together, just as she always has.

♡Sevika♡

The quiet hum of the city’s underbelly surrounds you, but all you can hear is the pulse of your own heartbeat, the rhythmic rush of blood beneath your skin. Your breathing is shallow, erratic, barely keeping pace with the thoughts that whirl through your head, drowning everything in a familiar numbness. Every inch of you feels heavy—like the weight of the world is bearing down on your chest, leaving you gasping for air.

You’ve been here before. Staring down at your own hands, watching them tremble as they hold a blade. The same blade you’ve used countless times to try to carve out the pain, to silence the screams in your head. You think you’re past this—think that maybe you’ve come far enough, healed enough, but the reality is… you never really can outrun the shadows that lurk behind you.

Sevika’s voice still lingers in your mind, distant yet comforting. The low, gravelly tone that usually manages to settle your nerves is nowhere to be found. She’s been busy, off with Silco’s business. There’s always something. Something that pulls her away from you, and each time, the void in your chest grows a little larger. The silence between you two stretches thinner, and you start to wonder if you’re just another weight—something she has to carry, but doesn’t truly need. Maybe you were just a brief moment of comfort for her, something to fill the empty space in her own broken heart.

It’s pathetic, you think.

Your gaze flickers to the blade in your hand—sharp, gleaming, a perfect reflection of everything you’ve been trying to avoid. With a shaky breath, you press it to the skin of your arm, not sure what to expect, but desperate for release.

The first slice is almost too easy, like the blade already knows where to go, knows exactly how to break you. You hiss, biting back a gasp. The rush of blood that spills out is both soothing and terrifying, pooling around your wrist and dripping onto the floor. It feels like you’ve just cracked open a dam, and there’s no stopping the flood.

But you can’t stop. You need to feel it. The rush. The pain. The way it takes everything away, leaves you empty but somehow full at the same time. It’s familiar, comforting, like a twisted lover.

But this time, it’s different.

The bleeding doesn’t stop.

Your breath catches, the room beginning to spin as the crimson liquid flows freely, quicker than you can manage. Your vision blurs as the pulse of panic rushes through you. You try to hold pressure, but it doesn’t work. You try to stop it, but it’s like the blood has a mind of its own, pouring faster than you can keep up.

Why won’t it stop?

The panic sets in, clawing at your chest, a grip of cold fear tightening around your ribs. You try to move, to find something to hold against the wound, but your hands are trembling too violently, your fingers slick with blood. The room feels smaller, darker, and all at once, you feel the walls closing in. Every breath is a struggle, and every thought feels like a weight you can’t bear.

And then—footsteps.

Sevika.

Her voice, low and dangerous, cuts through the haze of panic. “What the hell is going on here?”

You don’t have time to answer before she’s in front of you, her eyes narrowing as she takes in the sight of you, the blood dripping from your arm, the panic in your eyes. You want to say something, to apologize, but the words are tangled in your throat, a mass of guilt and shame. Her presence, usually so reassuring, now feels like an inescapable force, suffocating you with its intensity.

She doesn’t need to speak, her gaze enough to make you shrink back. But she doesn’t leave. She’s here. And that alone is enough to send a wave of emotion crashing over you—relief mixed with guilt, pain, and that overwhelming, gnawing feeling of needing something you can’t quite define.

You open your mouth to say something—anything—but it’s like your body betrays you, unable to form a coherent thought.

Sevika’s gaze shifts to the blade in your hand, and for a moment, there’s nothing but silence between you two. Her jaw tightens, and her lips press into a thin line. But then her hands move, strong and steady, like the storm in her eyes isn’t enough to tear her apart. She takes your wrist with a force that makes you flinch, her fingers like iron bands around your arm, yet there’s no malice in her touch. Only a quiet fury—one that’s familiar to her, but so unlike you.

She doesn’t shout. She doesn’t ask you why. Instead, she moves quickly, her voice calm but filled with that hard edge of discipline. “Give me the fucking blade.”

You hesitate, feeling the cold, sharp steel pressing against your skin. For a moment, you wonder if this is it—if she’s finally tired of you. If this is where the weight of your brokenness makes her snap.

But instead of anger, you see something different in her eyes. Something sharp and raw. Something that looks like pain.

You don’t argue as she pries the blade from your trembling fingers. Her gaze never leaves you as she takes it, her lips pressed into a hard line. You can’t tell if she’s angry or worried, but you feel like you’re drowning in her gaze. In the silence between you two, the blood that still flows from your arm, the tightness in your chest, the burning shame—you feel it all. The weight of your struggle is too much for one person to bear, even if that person is Sevika.

She’s too quiet, too still, for too long. And you can’t take it.

“I—I’m sorry,” you whisper, your voice cracked and fragile. “I didn’t mean to… to make you worry. I didn’t know what else to do.”

Sevika doesn’t respond right away, her face unreadable as she carefully presses a cloth against the wound, trying to stop the bleeding. The way her fingers move so methodically, the precision of her touch—it makes you feel like you’re falling apart even more.

“You didn’t want to make me worry?” she says, her voice quieter than usual, a soft growl of frustration in her words. “Then why the hell are you doing this to yourself?”

You shake your head, biting back the tears that threaten to spill over. You don’t have an answer. You never really did. It’s always been a struggle, hasn’t it? One that you fight alone, because nobody could possibly understand. Not her. Not anyone.

But Sevika doesn’t need answers. She doesn’t need you to explain yourself, not right now. All she needs is to fix this. To stop you from bleeding out.

When she’s sure the bleeding has slowed, Sevika pulls you close, her strong arms wrapping around you. It’s the first time in what feels like forever that she’s not pushing you away. She holds you tightly, her breath steady against your ear, and for a moment, you forget about the cuts on your skin, the mess you’ve made of yourself, the guilt that weighs you down.

She doesn’t say anything for a long time. Her grip tightens around you, the warmth of her body seeping into yours. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, she speaks, her voice low and rough.

“Don’t do this again.”

You nod, feeling a sob rise in your chest. You want to tell her you’ll be okay, that you won’t fall back into the darkness. But you don’t know if you can promise that. And for the first time in a long while, you let the tears fall, not because you’re weak, but because you don’t have to hide from her anymore.

Sevika’s not going anywhere. She never has been, not really. Even if she can’t fix everything, even if she doesn’t have all the answers—she’s here.

[honeysorwell]

all of it (all of you) 

Pairing: Melissa Schemmenti x hairdresser!fem Reader

Synopsis of the story + Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10

Link on AO3

Chapter 2

Tag list: @janeyseymour @italianaidiota @chloeelou02x (and if you want to be tagged too just let me know.)

Warning: there is a line for people who want to kiss Mel's burn hand, and I'm the first in it.

Words: 5,7k

The comments and compliments I received for this work caught me completely unprepared. Guys, thank you all very much for embracing my work with such affection.

Enjoy!

Fifteen people in the last twenty days.

Fifteen people have complimented Melissa's hair in the last twenty days.

In theory, everything was done the same as usual, but by someone else's hands. However, the universe decided to make the redhead feel even more guilty about everything that happened on her last visit to the salon.

First, it was Barb. The older woman touched Melissa's red hair tenderly in the teacher's breakroom, without any apprehension or concern about the second-grade teacher's reaction, and complimented the way it was colored, saying it looked brighter than before.

But it quickly escalated into something more significant.

Ava asked if she did anything differently, and the principal did so while telling a flattering joke asking where her Roger Rabbit was, which even made Barbara laugh softly. Next, it was Janine and Jacob who also complimented her hair, with a shy Gregory by their side who just nodded.

Then more and more parents of students joined the complementary wave of affection towards her. And then Melissa was hearing compliments from Abbott’s new stocker and vending machine operator, a handsome man with hair that was too long for her taste named Julian who now shares the heavy workload of the truck with Gary (causing the bald man with the mustache to blush before he softly agrees with his new co-worker).

Then there are a few random teenagers, grocery store clerks, who stop her to tell her she looks hot, quickly finishing the sentence with a “respectfully” before Melissa even has time to respond to them.

Normally Melissa would love all of this attention, and in another scenario, the compliments would have encouraged her to go out after work on some random Friday night looking for someone brave enough to try something more than a compliment. But this time the Italian woman felt her heart clench and her mind race a thousand miles an hour as she thought about the hairdresser who did that job every time someone complimented her.

So she actively swallows her pride and visits the Riverfront Roots Salon once again. Melissa would truly rather die than apologize or admit she was wrong. She memorized this from her family and she carries this learning throughout her life, but even someone like the redhead needs to admit that nothing can be applied in life without at least one exception.

That's why Melissa makes this visit to the salon on a Tuesday, after the school day is over since the darkness of the night could allow a little more privacy between her and Y/N.

As she parks her car in front of Riverfront Roots, the redhead convinces herself that it doesn't hurt to make sure that only the minimum number of people witness this display of vulnerability coming from a Schimmenti as she watches what seems to be the last customers of the night saying goodbye to the receptionist before leaving.

What will she say?

She has no idea.

But everything goes down the drain when the redhead's idea goes wrong. So when she returns home at night, unable to even talk to the hairdresser to replace the image of discomfort written on Y/N's face from her memory with an apology, Melissa decides to call her confidant and arrange to meet her the following weekend, using the next few days to gather courage and ask for advice from the one who never failed to give her the best of them whenever the teacher needed it.

“Oh, Melissa. How are you, dear? Don't get me wrong, cuz I figured I'd get your call, just not exactly as an invitation for coffee...”, Andrea's voice rings out as Melissa enters her favorite coffee shop, sounding happier than the last time the teacher saw her, and the redhead imagines that this is the result of the free time resting that the Italian woman must now have in abundance thanks to her retirement.

“What? Can't I invite my friend for coffee and ask her how her days are going without the sound of the hairdryer making her deaf?”, her voice sounds playful above all, which makes the answer she receives from Andrea come along with a laugh.

“Of course you can, silly girl!”

And so they talk for several hours, drinking coffee after coffee and hardly caring about how electric their bodies will be after ingesting so much caffeine while sharing pieces of their current lives. At first, it is strange to look at the woman in front of them and not see their own face next to that one, sharing a reflection in the mirror, but it is fine and the two women quickly get used to the new arrangement.

“Of course, you knew I would miss you,” Melissa says with a laugh, chewing gently on one of the best butter cookies she has ever eaten after taking another sip of her particularly hot coffee.

“Oh, I knew that. But, that’s not exactly what turned on the light bulb in my head,” the older woman says with an air of wisdom that only someone who has ever lived in the world enough to know too much can have, and after taking another sip of her coffee, she continued, “You see... Y/N called me a few weeks ago asking for permission to pass on the mix recipe I developed for you to another hairdresser... So, even though she didn't give me any details, I figured something had... happened.”

Melissa felt that the blood under the skin of her face was truly burning with shame.

The redhead thought about swallowing the coffee in her cup in one go, hoping it would burn her tongue with how hot the liquid was, and thus be able to escape from answering what Andrea clearly wanted to know.

She knew she was cornered and had been caught, with no intelligent way to escape. Shame and guilt mixed together, creating a bitter taste in the teacher's mouth even with the memory of the cookie so fresh on her tongue.

But, Melissa's usual response to these situations, loud and ready for a fight, doesn't happen here. Not with Andrea. Never with Andrea.

“What a big mouth... Jezz...”, is how the teacher responds, mumbling as she looks away from her friend in front of her.

“Something tells me yours is too.”

“I just... I was angry, okay?”, for the first time the redhead is honest even in the midst of murmurs, “And she’s different, and she kept talking so I... I freaked out and said what I shouldn’t have.”

Andrea remains silent, just observing the discomfort of the one in front of her with affection and understanding, and it’s this look that makes Melissa continue to speak.

“I know I crossed the line... But she did too!”, the words come out of the teacher’s mouth accusingly before she shares the whole story with Andrea, who smiles and shows surprise at every bit of her student’s encounter with Melissa shared with her, especially with the scissors.

“And what do you want to do now? I even know other hairdressers, but–”

“No! I just... I don't know exactly how I should apologize... Don't get me wrong, I don't want to apologize, but I really know I need to.”, honesty and vulnerability continue their journey between Melissa's mind and tongue as she speaks, “I stopped by her salon but they didn't even let me see her, they just gave me a paper with how many grams of each dye I need for my whole head and sent me away. But since you told me she was your pupil... Well...I thought that maybe...”

“Oh... I see.”, Andrea's voice has the most suggestive tone Melissa has heard in years, and thanks to the look the older woman gives her, full of knowledge, the redhead's cheeks blush.

“Please Andrea, it's not like that.”, the sentence escapes her lips just as her neck also begins to blush, with a speed that would be justified if Melissa were being tortured, trying to prove her innocence of a crime that the teacher definitely did not commit. But maybe she thought about it.

Or if she had enjoyed many generous sips of her coffee, even though she knew how hot it was.

“I didn’t say anything, dear. I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Andrea can sense Melissa’s embarrassment, so she diverts her attention to the bigger picture, even though her knowing smile never leaves her lips, “Look… You know you’re a good cook, and you’ve gotten your fair share of favors that way. Maybe it’s worth trying your luck.”

After that, the subject goes back to where it was before, and the teacher actually tries to focus on Andrea saying that she’ll be spending next summer in Europe, but Melissa’s mind starts working in a completely different way. She silently goes over (in her memory) the most beloved dishes from the cookbook she inherited from her grandmother while listening to Andrea talk about how it would be a pleasure to have Melissa over if she decides to run away from her family for the upcoming holidays. And when they pay the bill for the coffee, Melissa knows what to do.

“And Melissa… Cut off an inch when you get the chance, my dear. It's getting a little.. uneven.”, this is the end of Andrea's farewell to the redhead after a tight hug and a sweet kiss on the forehead, but the words are said in a maternal tone, of genuine care for the teacher that makes Melissa, even without thinking, respond to the older woman with just an affirmative nod and a loving smile.

And, as she doesn't want to think about what happened when someone else suggested the same thing, at least not now, Melissa goes home with only that feeling in her chest.

When the moon took over the sky that night, Melissa was lying under the covers of her bed, staring at the ceiling of her room and completely giving up on falling asleep, while her mind went over and over her conversation with Andrea. The older woman was right, as always.

She could cook something for Y/N.

Cooking has always been her passion since she was little, and that was one of the things that made the redhead and her grandmother even closer. The fact that Melissa was very good at it only helped her cause of being her grandmother's favorite.

Most of the time the redhead cooks as a thank you, rather than an apology, but the change is small. And so, the fact that the idea of ​​cooking to apologize has not left Melissa's mind honestly shocked her.

Most of her guys are just people from all over Philadelphia who work in different places and when they hear about how good her food is, they actively choose to seek her out, willingly offering services (sometimes illicit) that the redhead might be interested in in the long run in order to have the opportunity to taste her seasoning, thus forming an alliance.

It's impossible not to take advantage of this after a few years.

Finding out and memorizing what her most skillful guys' favorite dishes are. Doubling or even tripling the size of recipes that were previously made for only ten people, making her thanks become something shared with more and more potential “guys” (thus increasing the number of guys offering their services to her) so often that the redhead has forgotten how to cook for just two people in the last twenty years.

Cooking is a gift that, unlike her job as a teacher, the redhead didn't have to choose. It was flowing through her veins.

Melissa knows that this is one of the simplest ways to get what she wants. And maybe that's what made her block this possibility until now.

There was a voice inside her head, not the part inflated by her ego for always getting what she wants thanks to how good her food is and how everyone who knows about her talent wants to appreciate it, but the insecure and confused one that whispers in a soft voice that Melissa wants to manipulate Y/N.

And for the first time in a while, she’s not bragging about doing it. In fact, she doesn’t want to do it.

For some reason that Melissa still doesn’t know but keeps scratching her insides, she wants to earn Y/N’s apology, not demand it with her food.

And it doesn’t help that it’s been a long time since Melissa apologized to anyone.

Knowing that she won’t be able to sleep anytime soon and taking advantage of the fact that tomorrow will be Sunday, the second and third-grade teacher gets out of bed and goes to the kitchen, wondering what she should cook.

It’s already the middle of the night, and she has a lot of grading to do for her students’ tests tomorrow, but Melissa knows she won’t be able to concentrate if she doesn’t do that first.

Wrapped in a dark blue robe and hoping that Jacob won’t come to check why she is up so late at night, the teacher carefully opens the refrigerator and checks the ingredients she has and the ones she bought the last time she went to the farmer’s market.

Orange juice... Half a bottle of wine... Milk... Eggs... Fresh mascarpone?

When her eyes focus on the sweet cream-colored cheese, a train of thoughts runs through her head. Melissa knows less than little about her new hairdresser – which is her fault, really – but who doesn't like a sweet treat after a long day of work?

The redhead has dark chocolate in the pantry. Coffee is always a must in a teacher's house. And her cousin gave her a cocoa powder so rich and velvety last Christmas that it could melt in her fingers.

So tiramisu it is.

It was a simple yet sophisticated dessert, full of layers of flavors and textures that the redhead hoped would be enough to convey the care and effort she had put into the dessert. And that would certainly be worth more than a few words, right?

When Melissa goes back to bed, she knows that this is a good idea, and, bathed in this certainty, the redhead can finally see herself falling asleep as she climbs back to bed.

"Perfect," is the word Melissa whispers softly to herself, as she finally gets the thing that was preventing her from sleeping off her chest.

The next morning, the redhead took a quick shower and went downstairs, deciding to organize everything she would need to grade her little eagles' work on the dining room table before taking a deep breath and heading to the kitchen.

She hadn't made homemade Savoiardi in years, always using the ones from the Italian bakery that sold her favorite cannolis. But today was different. Today, cooking would make her put her feelings in order, perhaps even directing her mind to a light that would clear her ideas for what the teacher should say when giving the dessert to Y/N the next morning.

The redhead begins to separate the ingredients she will need to bake the cookies quickly, already deciding that it would be smart to have the necessary ingredients on the kitchen counter even before she finishes making her coffee. Anticipating the company she will have when she hears the sound of lazy footsteps coming from the stairs, Melissa fills one more cup than she would if she were alone with the dark liquid and begins to grab her frying pan to put it in the stove and prepare what she's going to eat.

"Good morning Mel-Mel!", Jacob sounds as he enters the kitchen, hoarse and sleepy, leaning softly against the kitchen counter and observing the ingredients that are displayed there.

"Morning Jacob. There's coffee ready.", Melissa answers softly, pointing to the coffee cup next to hers, still full and steaming, waiting for the younger teacher.

"Thank you.", the smile Jacob gives her is initially full of gratitude, but quickly turns to curiosity when he continues, "Oh... what are you cooking?"

The teacher isn't sure what exactly this question refers to, but considering how curiously he was looking at her ingredients just a minute ago, Melissa gives Jacob two simple answers.

"Eggs, and then baking."

"That's cool. Let me finish this, you already made me coffee.", Jacob says as he gently takes the spoon from the redhead's hand, then grabs four eggs from the fridge and takes her place in front of the stove.

After he moved in with Melissa and this new and sweet idea of ​​friendship was born between the two teachers, what had previously been just a few cooking lessons here and there turned into an intensive course. But the younger teacher loved every second of it. Jacob learned so much about everyday food living with the redhead and even managed to succeed at it, making moments like that more and more natural in the Italian woman's kitchen.

Taking advantage of the softness of her replacement in front of the stove, the redhead begins to gently check if everything she needs to bake is there until Jacob's voice sounds again.

"Did you know that astronauts can bake bread in some space stations?", the man says the words with childish excitement, but still with his eyes attentive to the eggs he is stirring gently on the stove, exactly as the redhead instructed him weeks ago, "Wouldn't it be nice to eat warm bread while you watch the earth from afar?"

"First, I'm not baking bread. But yes, it does sound good to them, kid.” Melissa’s response is simple and sweet, not irritated like she usually would be when she hears silly things like that at work.

They ate breakfast in comfortable silence. Melissa knew Jacob was going on a date that Sunday, so from the moment she woke up to the moment she heard Jacob singing in the upstairs shower before he began to get properly dressed for the lunch he would share with Avi, the paramedic at the local Philadelphia fire station, everything was going according to the plan the teacher had until she started baking.

Melissa tried to focus on the methodical rhythm of her task. Crack the egg, pour the white into a jar, pour the yolks into the mixer bowl, and repeat. But her mind insisted on going back to what she had done a few weeks ago. The words she had said to Y/N were sharp and thoughtless, but what weighed on her like a stone in her stomach was the change in the hairdresser’s expression. "She may have already forgotten...", Melissa muttered to herself, trying to calm her mind. But she knew it wasn't true.

She knew Janine didn't mean to say that she was a bad teacher when Courtney was transferred to her class, not really. It was just the younger teacher's ego and naivety, both screaming and destroying Janine's judgment for having been actively chosen.

But Melissa also couldn't deny that her mouth turned bitter the moment she heard her colleague's words, even if they were whispered.

She would never say it out loud, not even to Barb, but that first night, after hearing that unexpected insult, the younger teacher's words remained too vivid in the redhead's mind when the lights in her room went out and she had to go to sleep.

Maybe I'm not a bad teacher. Maybe you are.

She really didn't deserve that.

The memory flashed through Melissa's brain so quickly that the teacher even lost her rhythm as she added more ingredients to her mixture, but she recovered enough to start beating the egg whites. However, the continuous noise of the mixer only made her remember how much she had thought about it, lying in her bed watching the sun rise through her window when she woke up before her alarm clock.

A bad teacher.

Sighing, Melissa thinks about how much it took for her to understand what was going on in the mind of the younger teacher back then, and then turns off the mixer and begins to mix its contents with the few that were missing.

As she spread the molds she would need on top of her table and, with the experience and speed of a chef, the redhead put the freshly mixed dough she had in her hands in a pastry bag and continued without even blinking as she remembered that little clash in Abbott.

When Janine got upset about being described as an inexperienced teacher in the teachers break room, the redhead hadn't even blink, and that was why she started teasing the younger woman.

Because, to the redhead, it was obvious that she was a more experienced teacher.

If Melissa, a teacher with over twenty years of experience, wasn't more experienced than a teacher with only three, then Melissa was doing something very wrong not only with her life but also with the lives of the children she taught. The fact that the two woman had different times to prepare and perfect themselves to where they were now, both in the same place (teaching Abbott Elementary as second-grade teachers at the same time), had nothing to do with Janine's qualities as a teacher.

Eventually, she managed to explain this to the younger teacher.

"Thank God.", was the muttered thought that Melissa let slip between her lips as she put her Savoiardi in the oven after sprinkling them with her mixture of sugar and cornstarch, automatically starting the timer.

Melissa forgave Janine because she knew she didn't mean it with all her heart. The younger teacher was foolish but not cruel. She couldn't be cruel even if she tried.

Melissa knew. But Melissa knew this because she knew Janine.

The problem was that... Y/N didn't know Melissa.

So what the hell was she going to do if the hairdresser didn't accept her apology?

And so it was over. Her mind was just taking away the possibility of a peaceful morning for Melissa. Because not even her grandmother's collection of favorite Italian songs would be fair competition for what was starting to form in the redhead's mind.

The redhead isn't someone who has a problem with someone she barely knows not liking her. Melissa sometimes even triumphs over this idea of ​​being disliked by people close to her, so someone she doesn't know should simply mean nothing.

When Uncle Archie says she's his least favorite in the family, it doesn't mean anything. It's an honor, really, and the words of her mother's brother would never keep her awake at night. And he is family.

Now among people she knows, Schimmenti loves the idea of ​​being seen as unreachable, distant and unsociable. But there is something about that hairdresser...

With a huff, Melissa simply grabbed a cloth within her reach and began to clean the counter of her sink, ignoring the insistent sound of the timer that finally went off, still lost in all these thoughts.

Maybe it's because the hairdresser really didn't deserve those words... Maybe it's because the poor woman was just doing her job... Maybe it's because the hairdresser is connected to Andrea... Or maybe...

When the smell of sugar began to intensify, Melissa finally realized that the time had passed. With a start, the redhead opened the oven, letting out a wave of heat so intense that it made her eyes water. The teacher hurriedly pulled one of the baking sheets out of the oven, her bare fingers touching the hot metal before she realized her mistake.

"FUCK!" she groaned loudly, backing away quickly, knocking the tray onto the counter. One of the cookies fell to the floor with a dry, crunchy sound, while her instinct forced her to hold her hand against her chest, her eyes watering.

The burning heat pinked up her palm like an immediate punishment, and defeated Melissa finally turned on the kitchen faucet, placing her red hand there.

"MELISSA??" Jacob's shrill voice sounded faster than she imagined. And more desperate too.

For a moment, the older teacher stood there, staring at the cookie on the floor and feeling the buzzing in her throbbing skin as she felt the flow of water. The pain was real, but it served only as a reflection of something greater: guilt.

“I’M FINE, JACOB!” the redhead yells back at her roommate, even though she knows that from the sounds she hears upstairs, he must be desperately putting on the first piece of clothing he can find and then coming to check on her.

By the time he appears in the kitchen, as out of breath as Janine had been running around in her early years as a teacher, the pain has already subsided. But the younger teacher doesn’t care about that, or the fact that Melissa honestly tells him that she used to get burned all the time when she was younger and that heat tolerance is in every Italian woman’s blood, as he gently rubs some burn ointment from his personal first aid kit onto her burned fingertips.

After repeating what she imagines to be a thousand times that she is fine and perfectly capable of being alone, Jacob finally leaves her alone and goes on his date, giving Melissa the space she needs to sit at the kitchen table. She doesn't want to sound insane, but the savoiardi, perfectly shaped but with some slightly over-brown, seemed to judge her silently.

With a fork and using her non-dominant hand, Melissa tried to transfer all the cookies she baked to a covered container as soon as they cooled and went to her living room.

Finishing the corrections of her students' tests with her non-dominant hand takes longer than she imagines, taking up most of her morning and afternoon. But at least she is back in the kitchen when Jacob returns from his meeting, with flushed cheeks, swollen lips, a sweet smile and lost eyes as he asks her if her fingers still hurt.

She softly denies it, with a smile on her face and thankful for Jacob's concern written in his eyes. He understands even the words she doesn't say, and she is also thankful for that as she grates some of the dark chocolate she will need to finish her recipe the next day and puts it in a covered container.

On Monday morning, Melissa gets up ready early.

If asked, she would say that she set her alarm to wake her an hour and a half earlier, but the reality is that her nerves did the job without the help of technology.

Calmly, Melissa took the mascarpone from her refrigerator and began to make the cream that would bring the entire recipe to life. She beats the egg whites with the egg yolk, and uses the mixer to first mix the sugar, then the mascarpone and finally the carefully beaten egg whites.

When everything was ready, the redhead took a deep breath and, next to the precious dish she had chosen, arranged on her counter the Savoiardi cookies made the day before, the grated chocolate, the mascarpone cream and began to assemble the dessert. She dipped the cookies in a little room temperature coffee, one by one, taking care to make sure they were just the right amount of wet so that she could arrange them on the bottom of that precious glass dish, creating an even base and trying to ignore how much she wished the hairdresser could see the care she put into it.

When Jacob finally came downstairs, she was already spreading the fourth layer of the mascarpone cream, smoothing it with a spatula to ensure that each part of the dessert was perfect. When she finished, the redhead noticed that it was exactly ten minutes before the time she and the younger teacher left the house every day, so the redhead took her time sprinkling cocoa powder on top delicately, as if she were drawing an invisible message to Y/N.

Forgive me. I'm sorry.

Melissa wasn't sure.

But what she knows for sure is that Jacob is practically melting with curiosity in his passenger seat as he holds the dessert in his lap.

The Italian woman wanted to rest the tray on her back seat, as she always does when she needs to take something important to school. But he asks so genuinely to carry it that Melissa doesn't have the heart to tell him to take the bus that day. Especially after his ointment worked wonders by almost completely healing the burn on her hand.

At least not inside the car, since she takes the tray from the younger teacher's hand and is the one responsible for putting it in the refrigerator in the teacher's break room.

"Oh. This is a...”, Janine's voice is uncertain as she inspects the tray that prevents her from storing her sandwich on the common refrigerator shelf, already stretching her fingers to get a better look at what it was.

“It's mine. Do you have a problem with it?”, Melissa says rudely just so that there are no additional questions, but, as usual, Janine doesn't get the hint.

“That's beautiful. But can I—”, Janine starts again only to be interrupted.

“It's not yours. So don't touch it.”

After that, a heavy silence takes over the break room for a few moments.

“She spent the whole day yesterday making it... and she even got burned and then she was putting it together this morning.”, the youngest man in the room mumbles to his friend, not as quietly as he imagines he did since everyone in the room hears Jacob's words even with the news on the television.

“Did she give you a piece?” Janine mumbles back to Jacob, now curious. He shakes his head at the younger woman, purposely leaving out the fact that Melissa left a fair amount of the cream she used for that tiramisu in a small bowl, next to some of the homemade cookies just for him this morning. And that’s why Jacob gets a slap on the arm from the redhead along with an irritated look as he passes her on his way to the coffee maker to refill the dark liquid in his cup. Finally, intrigued by the younger man’s groan of pain, Barbara looks at the refrigerator that Janine still has open, trying unsuccessfully to put her lunch inside, and sees the reason for everyone’s commotion. A big tiramisu. But she also sees something that no one else does.

Something that cannot be questioned is that, out of everyone there, Barbara knows Melissa like no one else and is able to figure her out without even trying. And, with a small look at the glass dish in question, she had already figured her friend out.

That was one of a set of five glass dishes that Barbara Howard had heard about and only seen from a distance. Before her third year of marriage, the redhead's ex-mother-in-law, who was battling lung cancer although she still refused to give up smoking, distributed her most precious possessions to her family. And among them was that set that had been desired by all the women in Joe's family for many years.

As expected, four of the dishes were divided among Mary Alice's four daughters, but, surprising the redhead in a way she never imagined possible, Melissa was given the last one of the set, much to the despair of Joe's older brother's wife. Melissa's ex-husband's mother told the teacher that her talent for cooking would give a better destination for the last piece, unlike the idiotic fight that the sisters would probably start over the unequal number of the set.

Even after the divorce, the heartwarming gift was never claimed by Joe.

So Barbara knew that the tiramisu in question, taking up a huge space in the refrigerator of the teachers' break room on the first floor of Abbott Elementary, was not like any other.

"Girlfriend?" Barbara says softly to get the redhead's attention, speaking again only when Melissa's green eyes are looking directly into her dark ones, "Don't get involved in anything dangerous, please."

"I won't..." Melissa's voice no longer has the bite it had when she spoke to the other teachers, "I swear! It's just... an apology."

"For Joe?", the first-grade teacher knows she might be pushing, but she can't help but ask.

"No!", it's almost a scream, the redhead's tone of voice sounds scared and indignant, but it calms the teacher next to her.

And that, for now, is enough.

At the end of the day, with the tiramisu neatly packed and in her passenger seat, Melissa got into her car and drove to the salon where Y/N worked. The teacher's heart was beating fast as she parked and walked to the entrance, holding the dessert tightly even though her hands were sweaty. As she entered, the sound of scissors and the buzz of conversation seemed to fade in her mind. Her eyes searched for Y/N, who was distracted by a client and she didn't know if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

The last time she tried to talk to the hairdresser, Melissa gave her name right at the entrance and the receptionist automatically started searching through her notes for the note addressed to her, but now the redhead knew better.

"My name is not important. Just say that someone really wants to talk to her."

"Y/N!" the receptionist shouts the hairdresser's name loudly, using her vocal cords without any remorse, "There's a redhead who wants to talk to you."

“Is she hot?”, the sound of Y/N’s voice rings out from a distance to Melissa amidst a laugh, at the same time that her rhythmic footsteps echo on the floor of the salon, as if the hairdresser wasn’t exactly running, but in a kind of hurry and curiosity to know what was waiting for her at the reception.

When the Brazilian woman turns the glass corridor and finally appears in front of the redhead, with a soft smile on her face, Melissa can’t help but think that Y/N is even more beautiful than the first time she saw her.

But that smile doesn’t last long because, the moment the hairdresser’s eyes meet Melissa’s green ones, Y/N’s soft face turns into a frown as she asks harshly:

“Oh. You. What do you want?”

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

I Just Wanted To Play

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~400

Warnings: implied smut

Summary: You and Spencer return from an afternoon of paintballing. Your mother is less than thrilled when she sees what he did to you.

Square Filled: "I just want to play." for @mfbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are greatly appreciated <3

x

It’s a peaceful afternoon in the Y/N household. Your mom got up early and enjoyed her coffee on the wrap-around porch in the cool spring sun, she read every bit of the newspaper, and she even did a bit of the crossword puzzle that came with the paper. She’s retired so she doesn’t have any plans besides sitting at home, watching her shows, and enjoying time alone. You moved back in with her once rent got too high, but she loves having you back with her.

She’s at the kitchen island going through the many coupons that came in a booklet when the front door slams open. She jumps from the sudden noise but calms when she hears both your and Spencer’s voices.

She loves Spencer, don’t get her wrong. She loves that you love spending time with him. She doesn’t love what his job entails. You work in a corporate building as a social media manager. He works in the FBI with dangerous criminals. She admires what he does. She admires that he is able to bring down people who inflict harm on others, but she doesn’t want you around it.

She’d been around it since your father was in the FBI. He died on the job several decades ago, and now she hates you being around anything that involves danger. Still, she’s not going to tell you who you can and can’t hang out with, but she’ll definitely frown upon you dating Spencer or anyone else in the field.

You know she’s like this because she loves you. If you do end up dating someone in the field, you know she’ll eventually learn to accept it. Your mother looks up when you come storming into the kitchen covered in paintball splotches.

“How was paintballing?” she asks.

“Come on, it was a joke,” Spencer says, following after you.

Funnily enough, he doesn’t have as much paint on him as you do.

“I’m mad at you,” you glare.

“Why? I just wanted to play.”

“Because when we went paintball shooting, I said to avoid my face. What’s the first thing you do?” You pull your collar down to expose the purple splotch on your neck. “You shoot me in the fucking neck.”

“Spencer, you have to be careful with her,” your mom sighs. “She’s fragile.”

“Sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“Go take a shower before you repaint my entire kitchen.”

You wait until your mom has left before turning to Spencer with a mischievous grin.

“Do you think she bought it?”

“Yeah, it was convincing. I liked it.”

You grab Spencer’s shirt and pull him into you. He sides one hand into your hair, grips it, and tugs your head back to control the kiss.

“If you’re quiet, we can shower together so I can mark your pretty little neck up some more.”

You shove him away from you and run from him, giggling when you hear his footsteps coming after you.

x

Want to be tagged? Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[bookworrm1999]

How Far Away? Part 7

Caleb x Mc

Tags: unplanned pregnancy, presumed death, depression, miscommunication, miscarriage scare

Summary: Mc and Caleb fight right before he goes on a long mission into space. Caleb ends up MIA while Mc finds out she's pregnant. She struggles to deal with the grief while Caleb is fighting for his life to make it back home to her.

AO3

Part 1| Part 2| Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7|

Caleb awoke to a very dry mouth and a pounding head.

It felt like a really nasty hangover and he had had plenty of those back in flight school. His memory was hazy for the moment so he wondered how much he had drank to feel like this.

He stretched his arm out and met the cool metal of some sort of rail.

What is this? He blearily opened his eyes and focused on his surroundings. A window with ugly green curtains, a wall full of cabinets and drawers, a small sink, a patterned curtain in front of the door, then the machines.

The pain in his arm made him hiss as he moved the wrong way. There was a needle and a tube in his arm, he followed it up to a bag full of liquid dripping down the tube.

Oh, it’s a hospital. Now it’s coming back to him, the shouting, the frantic energy of nurses and doctors trying to keep his heart beating.

He knew this hospital, it was Willow Medical Center in Skyhaven. How did he end up here?

The worst hangover he’d ever felt and it was no wonder. A few weeks of constant evol use on low food and not drinking as much water as he should have.

A recipe for disaster but he was here, he was alive.

It was dark from what he could see through the curtains drawn over the window. Other than the pounding in his head and dry mouth, he was otherwise uninjured.

His crew had actually gotten him safely out of the deepspace tunnel.

A warm feeling in his chest made him cough in embarrassment.

They had somehow gotten him out of the Fleet’s clutches, away from Ever’s influence to a safe place.

All that effort he had expended in getting them home must have left them feeling indebted to him.

He was very grateful for it, if he had been left to Ever’s clutches. They would’ve fixed his chip and taken advantage of his weakened state to upgrade him even more. Sinking their slimy fingers even more into whatever individuality he had left.

He’d worked so hard to fight the chip, it was at 50% integrity now and going down without a fight wasn’t an option.

His crew deserved something in return as thanks but he’d have to think on that more.

Where was his stuff? Only dressed in a hospital gown without a stitch of anything else, Caleb felt very exposed.

Oh there’s his stuff, a neat pile on the side table. His phone off to the side of his clothes.

Caleb really wanted to see her face, even if it was through a picture. Cell phones glitched weirdly in the deepspace tunnel, so he usually relied on his memory and the hidden photo in his pocket to keep her with him.

Then a nurse came bustling in, keeping the light low, he could see a clock behind the curtain she had just pulled aside.

2 am, well, not the worst time to be alive.

The nurse noticed he was up, looking a little shocked before recovering.

“Hello Colonel, how are you feeling?”

He grimaced

“My head has a band playing inside it and I really need some water.”

“Well, I can go and get water for you right now, I’ll send a note to the doctor to put in an order for some pain medication too. Okay?”

“Right.”

“I actually came in to grab some blood for labs, we need to make sure all of your levels are normal now.”

“Go ahead.”

She quickly took out her butterfly needle along with a few vials, sanitizing his arm and quickly drawing blood out.

Snapping her gloves off, she asked

“Anything else I can get you?”

“Can I have my phone from that table?”

“Oh sure, here you go!”

After handing Caleb his phone, she went back out into the hallway. Hopefully to return with water and something for this headache.

There was a universal charging cord attached to the hospital bed for his convenience. Plugging it in, it only took a minute to boot back up.

He saw the day, the fact that it was still a few days shy of his original return date made him a bit relieved.

That is, until he saw the slew of messages from her.

100’s of them, his phone kept going off and it felt like it was going buzz its way out of his grip.

What in the world?

Caleb was very concerned now, she almost never sent him this many. Not while he was gone and couldn’t respond.

Very worried at this point, he opened the earliest message.

Watching it left him in a daze, her bright smile seared into his mind as she had proudly proclaimed that you were pregnant.

Pregnant with his baby?!

He sat in astonishment for just a minute before it really hit him.

Caleb was going to be a father!

He eagerly opened each message after that.

All her cute little complaints about being sick, wanting food but not being able to eat it, her pants not fitting.

The weight loss did indeed worry him but he was reassured just seeing the way she struggled to wear pants now.

Hearing about stealing his clothes made him a bit feral to be honest but also stoked his male pride.

Then Caleb got to the point where she showed him the newest ultrasound, the little bean had little arms and legs now.

He stared at the image for a long while, the heartbeat of his child, his little baby, in the background.

All the joy came to a halt as the love of his life’s crying face came into view.

He had been pronounced MIA and presumed dead?

Oh no.

He noticed the background was now only showing her at his house in all the videos after that, her eyes hollow, her face limp, only the thought of their baby keeping her going.

He clenched his fist, the one that could punch through walls to get to you.

Caleb desperately wanted to call her now, but he didn’t want to do it over the phone. Not to mention that it was still the middle of the night.

He played the next few videos, his heart breaking as his love’s decline was put on display for a man that she thought was dead.

The last video though, it was only yesterday that it was sent.

Oh, oh now he wanted to rip the building apart.

Zayne, that sly bastard swooping in as soon as he smelt blood in the water.

Trying to take advantage of a grieving woman.

The confusion, the phone was laid down as he heard faintly, is that blood.

The word blood made his own run cold.

She was hurt? No, something worse as sobs came over the phone.

“Please don’t let me lose you, you’re all I have left of Caleb. Please baby, just stay with me!”

Desperate pleas came over the phone before the camera was back in her face, utterly wrecked as the video ended.

What the hell?

That’s how it ends?

He needed to leave now.

He started to rip the IV out of his arm and the nurse came back in, carrying a packet and a cup of water.

“What are you doing?!”

“I’m leaving!”

“You haven’t been cleared yet!”

“I’m going and you can’t stop me.”

He stood up and towered over her. The nurse shrank a bit before standing firm.

“Why?”

“You don’t need to know.”

“I do if you’re going to leave AMA! You were in bad shape when you first came in. You’re still recovering.”

“She needs me and I’m going!”

“Wait she?”

He grimaces at the slip before spitting

“Yes, she needs me, there’s something wrong happening and I need to be there.”

“Maybe I can help.”

He stared at the small woman before shrugging.

“If you can tell me what hospital she went to, sure.”

“Are you referring to the woman listed as your emergency contact?”

“Yes.” He grits out impatiently.

She goes to the monitor in the corner of the room and looks at few pages before pulling something up.

“You’re in luck, she’s here in the labor and delivery ward.”

“Great, I’m leaving.”

She stops him with a hand to his chest.

“What is it now?” Snarling at the interruption.

“You can go, but in a wheelchair.”

So thus, Caleb is rolled all the way from intensive care all the way to L and D.

She had bandaged his arm up from where he’d ripped the IV out, he hadn’t even noticed it bleeding.

The nurse asks the night nurse working where she is and they’re directed to a room at the end of the hall.

He’s wheeled through the door and there she was.

Sleeping, looking so small and weary even in the dim light.

The nurse whispers

“I’ll have to go back but just hit the call light if you need anything, ok?”

He nods but doesn’t dare disturb the peace of the room with his voice.

But as the nurse leaves, he’s desperate to touch you.

So he pushes the chair forward by the wheels until he’s by her side. Caleb can now see something miraculous.

A baby bump, a true proof of their love.

Were they okay though? There was no one to ask, but he spies a chart at the end of the bed.

Grabbing it eagerly, he reads

‘Patient presented with mild bleeding at 18 weeks of pregnancy. Scans done and slight placental abruption was found. Mildly invasive procedure done to correct issue. Patient to be kept under observation for 24 hours.’

A very short summary of the situation but it was enough.

The baby, their sweet baby, and her were going to be okay.

Shoulders shaking as a few tears escaped his eyes as he laid a gentle hand on their child.

“Hello little one, I’m your daddy. I’m sorry I haven’t been here so far but don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere.”

A slight bump against his hand and he was instantly in love.

Caleb wanted to scoop them both up and never let them go. His two loves in his arms forever.

A slight noise behind him made him turn his head from the beautiful sight.

Zayne.

His gut tightened.

“What are you doing here?” Caleb tried to keep his voice low but the protectiveness came through.

Zayne pushed his glasses up before answering

“They called me here to check on her heart and so that she’d have a member of her care team here. She couldn’t make it all the way down to Akso hospital so her OB told her to go to Skyhaven’s hospital for now.”

What a perfectly reasonable explanation but he’d heard what Zayne had been doing while he was away.

“You sure move fast Dr.Zayne.”

A raised eyebrow was the only response he got.

“She’s not yours.” Caleb made that clear with a growl.

“From what I hear, she wasn’t truly yours either. Scared of commitment, colonel?”

“That will soon be rectified so you can butt out.”

“Fortunately for you, she told me to butt out before you even came home. I have no plans to stay where I’m not wanted.”

“Good.” The baby bumped against Caleb’s hand again, making him smile.

“But if she needs me again, don’t think I won’t come running.”

With that ominous warning given, Zayne turned around and left the room.

Well, at least that’s done. Where does Zayne get off telling him that though?

She was more important than that sly bastard anyway and Caleb settled in to stay with her until she woke up.

He knew he had to take care of Ever somehow, he had been steadily wearing the chips integrity down so that they wouldn’t have hold over him anymore. It seemed that it was time to move the timeline up.

His two babies deserved him at his best and without these shackles.

He could wait for her eyes to open though. They had a lot to talk about after all.

Tags: @moonberry69 @supermyeon22 @tinnyrabbit @gavin3469 @marina27826 @crowleysthings @tabi-callico @midiplier

@his-ocean-emissary @rosalyne08 @xaviers-pookie-bear @tsunamethyst @thejujvtsupost @cherrybeomgyu

@gojosballsack69 @apple-lov3r @dinochocochip @violetpurplez @raiyuxa @nickibunny23 @sh3sa1dwhat @playboygeniusphilanthropist @flwerie @lynnlovesthestars @twilightsmissingfur @kasuumi

[hellfire10005]

-All I Wanna Do-

Worst!Wolverine X Fem!Mutant!OC

TAGS: smut, soft sensual sex, riding, fluff, making out, self care, established relationship, lingerie kink, grinding, teasing, morning sex, if i missed anything please lmk!

Warnings: smut, MDNI, stupid amounts of swearing as usual,

A/N: This is so self indulgent, but I couldn't resist writing about my blorbos for one of my favorite holidays. Also when I say the tags sit in between Phoebe's tits, I am saying this from experience, my Wolverine tags tend to sit right in my cleavage lolol. Thank you @lubdubology and @yxtkiwiyxt for coming up with this challenge !! <33

<3 <3 <3

Rain pattering against the window, oldies playing softly in the background, Phoebe meandered towards her gorgeous green velvet couch, hips swaying as she made her way to the even more gorgeous man seated on said couch.

“Baby, we’ve got the place all to ourselves~” she said in a sing-song voice, perching herself on her boyfriend's lap, straddling his powerful thighs.

“Don’t we always?”

“No, baby, we truly have the place to ourselves,” Logan quirked a brow at her as he gently grasped her wrists in his hands, pressing a kiss to each before placing them on his shoulders. Phoebe leaned in as she explained, “Wade isn’t home, and Althea’s watching the pets tonight.”

“Where the fuck is the mouth then? Sister Margaret’s ?”

“Vanessa’s” She answered with a cheeky grin, the slightest shiver running along her spine as Logan's hands came to rest on her hips, thumb running along her waist. Pressing kisses along Phoebe's throat, making his way up to that spot along her jaw that makes her melt, he asks

“How'd you manage that, baby?” he murmured into her neck, just below her ear, then pulling back to look at the mischievous expression on his girl's face.

“Sent him off about an hour ago with a boombox, a mixtape, and a bouquet of Ness’s favorite flowers along with strict orders not to come home for the next 12-24 hours.”

“Jesus Murphy I love you so much, Phoebs.” Grabbing her face in his hands to pull her in for a kiss, and soon enough she was smiling and giggling into it. The sound going straight to Logan’s guts, fluttering around in his core, and warming his cheeks.

“I love you too, Lo’” She giggles, hands reaching up cradle Logan’s face, lightly scratching her nails along the scruff on his jaw. “Now c’mon, I have a whole night planned.”

Logan responded by kissing her again, pressing affectionate pecks on her lips, murmuring “Five more minutes, baby.” His hands gently holding her wrists, basking in the feel of her soft skin in his grasp.

“Alright,” another airy giggle, “Alright, matou, five more minutes.” she agrees, sliding her hands behind Logan’s neck, and into his hair.

It was definitely more than five minutes.

In fact they ended up having dinner about two hours later than Phoebe had originally planned. Not that she could complain when her legs still felt a little wobbly when she got up from the table, reaching for Logan’s empty plate when he lightly slapped her hand away.

“Uh - uh, pretty girl. You know the rules; you cooked, so ya don’t clean up after.”

“Baby, I was just gonna set them in the sink,”

“Yeah well I got another job for ya,” He said, getting up from the table, lightly smacking her ass as he takes the dishes from her hands, topping it all off with a kiss to her crown. “Go start a bath for us, yeah? Put in some of that stinky shit you like—“

“You mean the epsom salts??”

“Yea that shit. Pull out whatever self-care stuff you bought too, tonight’s all about relaxin’ right?”

Phoebe nodded eagerly, biting her bottom lip in barely contained excitement as she pivoted and made her way into the bathroom.

That’s how the two of them ended up in a steaming hot bath, Logan had let Phoebe go to town doing 'self-care' for the both of them, though truthfully he doesn't mind in the slightest. In fact he enjoys the feeling of his girl's hands running along his beard, rubbing conditioners and serums and whatever the fuck else into it. Shit he doesn't even mind the stinky clay mask she had spread across his cheeks and nose, not when it led to this; Phoebe leaning back against Logan’s chest, her head resting on his shoulder, the hair sticking out of her bun tickling his nose. The way she relaxed against him made it all worth it, fuck she was so relaxed the candles lit all along the counter’s flames were rising and falling in time with her steady breathing. As if they had become attuned to her. Her unconscious display of power amazed Logan in ways he could never fully explain, nor did he think he could ever find the words to.

The shrill dinging of Phoebe's phone alarm shattered the serenity of the moment, Phoebe shooting up to reach over and tap the 'STOP' blaring on her screen. Reaching over to snatch up a washcloth, she turns around to face Logan,

"Alright baby, time to rinse these off and get out."

Everything felt so domestic in the best of ways; the way Phoebe looked wrapped in her towel smoothing lotion onto her legs, how she made Logan sit on the toilet seat so she can towel off his hair, and simply sharing space in the bathroom as they went about their nightly routine. He never thought he would have this again, that someone could be his home again. Fuck, if you had told him two years ago that he would have somewhere to call home and someone waiting for him to get there at the end of everyday, he would’ve called you insane.

“Hey, matou, can you help me with these?” Phoebe calls as she leans out the bathroom door, holding up the silver ball chain sporting Logan’s tags, (the tags she only takes off when showering or swimming). “My nails make putting on jewelry such a bitch sometimes.”

“Comin’ baby.” He huffs out a chuckle under his breath. The last one he’ll ever have apparently as he rounds the corner into the bathroom to find Phoebe in soft, lacey, bubblegum pink lingerie. A cute little bra that barely covered her nipples, showing off her piercings, and made her tits look so good Logan swears his mouth started watering. Paired with the tiny thong, and topped off with a matching garter belt that held up the sheer stockings? His girlfriend might as well have put him in his grave with this ensemble. 

Don’t misunderstand, his girl wears sexy underwear all the time, she has an addiction to buying lingerie that Logan cannot argue with. But she tends to buy things that are more mature, sticking to jewel tones and darker colors. So on the rare occasion that she purchases something on the cutesier side, it drives Logan wild seeing her in soft girly pastels and florals. 

“Well, bel homme ? You gonna just stand there, or are you gonna pick your jaw up off the floor and help me with this damn necklace before I give up on wearing it entirely?” Phoebe snarks up at him, the chain still dangling from one slender finger. Taking it from her, Logan steps behind her as he unclasps the chain, leaning down so his cheek barely brushed hers, looking her reflection in the eye as he says,

“Can you blame me? It’s not my fault my girl looks so fuckin’ good,” His fingers brushing along the back of Phoebe’s neck as he clasps the tags in place, the tags themselves coming to rest right in between her pretty tits. “All this for me, pretty girl?”

Phoebe bites her lip as she slowly nods, trying to clamp down on the smile threatening to spread across her face. She’s been looking forward to this all day, eagerly awaiting Logan’s reaction to her newest set. It’s been insanely difficult trying to keep it hidden from him, he has a tendency to sniff out whatever new underwear she gets before she can ever surprise him with it. The only place she can successfully hide anything from him is at her best friend’s loft, and that’s only because the two of them loathe one another. But ohhh was it worth it to see the downright hungry look on Logan’s face right now, to feel his lips press against her skin so reverently.

No ones ever made her feel like this; like her entire body was on fire, and she couldn’t control it. 

She will never get enough of it.

Excited giggles pouring out of her as Logan scoops her up, marching into the bedroom all while kissing along her neck and face. Even taking a couple seconds to rub his beard into her cheek, making her laugh harder. Soon enough she’s tossed onto the bed, bouncing once before creeping back towards the pillows, Logan not giving her a single second to think as he presses her into the mattress. Kissing her like she was the air he needed to breath, his hands running along her waist, and gripping her hips like they were his lifeline tethering him to this world, this bed. Her hands slid into his hair and pulled, hard, relishing in the groan that it elicited from her boyfriend. Logan was quickly rid of his sweats and boxers in one swift move, eager to feel his pretty girl coming apart underneath him.

She was eager to be taken apart. 

Logan slides his cock between Phoebe's soaking wet slit and her cute lacy pink panties, her wrists pinned above her head, bra cups pulled down, tits out, Logan sucking and teasing them as he makes a mess of both his girl and her cute pink panties

“Fuck you feel so fuckin’ good baby, can’t get enough of this pretty little pussy” He moaned into the crook of her neck, savoring the feel of the soaked lace as he grinds his cock along her weeping slit, the tip hitting her clit so deliciously it had her canting her hips upwards with every thrust forwards.

“F-fuck Lo’ please fuck me, need it so bad,” Manicured nails digging into his shoulders as Phoebe clings to him for dear life, already pent up and desperate for release, “Please, baby” Tears welling in her eyes as she begs so sweetly for him.

“Poor baby, you need daddy’s cock that bad, huh?” Logan teased, his hips slowly ever so slightly as he dangled her over that edge, her eyes screwing shut as she let out a small wave of heat, trying to cool herself down, literally. Trying to be his good girl, knowing full-well that acting bratty won’t get her fucked any sooner.

“Y-yes daddy, please, n-need you to make me cum, please, please,please.” 

And how could Logan resist her sweet pleas? What kind of monster would he be if he didn’t indulge in her every desire?

“Yeah sweet girl? Just need to get fucked huh, just need t’cum on daddy’s cock?” Phoebe nodded vigorously, making Logan chuckle, carefully peeling away every last piece of clothing separating him from fucking her until she’s dumb and pliant in his arms, only able to think about how good he’s giving it to her.

It isn’t long until he’s buried so deep in her that Phoebe can practically feel Logan in her throat. He’s got his face tucked against her shoulder, placing the occasional kiss or bite as he sensually rolled his hips against hers, taking his sweet time unravelling her. Basking in the feel of her tight heat gripping him like a vice, her hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer. Losing themselves in the pleasure as they chased their respective highs, love pouring out of their hearts as freely as the moans leaving their mouths.

Nothing else in this moment could matter more than one another.

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

Her head is tucked into the crook of Logan’s neck, one hand resting on his chest, legs intertwined with his own. Logan looks down to admire her features in the morning light as best he could from this angle without waking his sleeping beauty. He knows he’s said it before, and he’ll probably keep saying it until his dying day, but Phoebe truly is radiant. Her light hair fans out behind her, spilling over his arm as it’s wrapped around her so his hand can rest on her waist, his fingers playing with the material of the shirt she’s wearing. It’s one of many she’s stolen from him, but Logan can’t find it in himself to complain when his girl looks so damn good while absolutely swimming in his clothes. 

Phoebe stirs in her sleep, the hand on his chest sliding down to Logan’s waist to sleepily pull him closer, tucking her face even further into his neck, all while her legs straighten out as she stretches out before relaxing once more. Logan turns his head ever so slightly to place a kiss on her crown, considering trying to get a few more minutes of sleep, at least until he feels Phoebe’s lips press a gentle kiss to the underside of his jaw. He lets out a shaky breath as a tired smile spreads across his face. Jesus Murphy he loves this woman so much it hurts.

“G’morning little darlin’.” His voice low and still a little gravelly from sleep as he pulls Phoebe on top of him, basking in the comforting feel of her weight and warmth on him in what she affectionately calls ‘weighted blanket time’.

“Mornin’ baby,” Phoebe shifts so that her chin is resting on Logan’s chest to look up at him with bleary eyes and a sleepy grin. If asked later, neither of them could tell you how they ended up lazily fucking in the morning light, but they didn’t care. Phoebe was on top of him, legs straddling his lap as she rode him. Not that you could actually call it riding; she was grinding down on his cock, one hand resting on his chest, the other tangled in his hair, her thumb reverently brushing along his jaw, as she leaned forward to capture his lips in kiss after kiss after kiss. Logan’s hands ran along her thighs up to her waist and back down, resting on her hips for a moment before moving down to grip her ass, guiding her to rock back and forth along his length. They were taking their time with each other, basking in the warmth of the morning sun and of one another. This is all he wants to do for the rest of the day, fuck whatever plans they had. Logan’s gonna stay right here, buried deep in his girl’s tight wet cunt and pulling every sweet sound he can from her pretty lips.

💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕

A/N: if you see that I posted this after midnight, no u didn’t.

[losver07]

GUYS WTF WE'RE AT 100 FOLLOWERS

JSJDJSJFKDNCKDKSKXKNC HELP ME WHAT DO I DO

okay okay first of all THANKS???? like omg jdbckdnckfj im kinda freaking out a little bit i wasn't really aware of how many people actually read my shit on here lmao

OKAY! i'm going to do one of those ask things because i think they're really fun and i don't know what else to do if not that! so yeah!

~ · ★ · ~

moots! (you know who you are hehehe)

you can suggest either of these:

🪐 i write something for you! you tell me what, i'll just write a short-ish thing, either fanfic or any other ideas you give me <3 (you can choose english or spanish too!)

🎨 i make you a lil doodle! digital or traditional, idc, a sketchy portrait or a drawing of a fluffy cat or whatever you wish!

🪞 i tell you what piece of art reminds me of you! and i mean paintings, novels, sonnets, films, sculptures, whateverrr

📼 song rec! pretty self-explanatory but you get a song that i am obsessed with and that reminds me of you somehow! this will probably be very unhinged and very funny AND very gay

~ · ★ · ~

literally anyone (moots included in this too, obviously!)

🗝️ i compare you to something very specific (flower types, kinds of clouds, an specific colour, a feeling, etc. literally anything) and probably give you a weird and lowkey poetic explanation for it!

🌻 i answer a question about me! nothing too personal/private of course, but all kinds of random stuff to make me yap are pretty much welcome!

🪶 i answer ANY question about my current fic BUT only with yes/no (i probably won't be able to hold myself back from saying more but technically i cant ok?)

~ · ★ · ~

friendly reminder too that gossip and rants and overall yapping are very welcome in my ask box so of course feel free to say anything to me now or whenever you might need! <3 i probably sound like im joking but i love to give advice to people lmao

okayyyyy (i feel like ive said okay a lot of times in this post) that's it!! again THANK YOU GUYS<3 i love you all really 😭 i'm tagging every one of you here btw you're not getting away with this heheheh

@clearqueensong859 @ineffably-fucked @ciorann @thatoneguyhu @nonage4life @junkiepunkie @aletharaej @samisamousa @outromoony @magicwithclass @possesedanddepressed @somanyquestions-featuringanxiety @nyx-taylors-version @chaserofstars11 @isalikescherriesandblue @ll-until-the-very-end-ll @the-moon-and-stars-4ever @andreainlove @addsalwayssick @whydousernamesevenexist @wisegirl42 @t1cyh @glitchedmoon5 @the-fandoms-onceler @burningchopshopblizzard @sparklingwatermelo @equippedtolove @bloutwo @g-doggs-blog @kikinkapipi @nonsensicalnonsense00 @wolfstarjunkie @innielvrz @ssutton74 @treefairy-28 @siriuslyreggie07 @brnwynkl @mynametheyspeakof @jesssss28 @eczl1pse @actually-dumb-blonde @rocknr0llz @huskyhaven @vintagetee13 @mayaspeaks @clementineashton @dutifullynervouscreation @hawaiianshirttaco64

(gonna reblog with the other half of you now) <333

[irregularcollapse]

Hey, I'm so sorry to hear about how you feel about the mota fandom and what happened to you :/ I meant to send a message earlier but life got in the way. I hope you're feeling better now, and I can only tell you that your fics and writing are some of my favorite in the fandom. Just by reading your stories, I can tell the care that was put into choosing each word to best convey the story and the characters' feelings, and it is really somethinf I admire :) I hope I can be as good a writer as you someday ❤️ And for the mota fandom, I totally get what you and that anon said! If you'll allow me a bit of a rant, to me, the mota fandom is full of well-intentioned people but I found that one of its problems is that, as much as there is enthusiasm, it is going in circles. Many have said it and I've noticed it too, but some have a tendency to jump on other people's ideas without giving credit or even asking if it's okay to expand, and on more than one occasion I found one of my ideas in someone else's inbox just a week after I'd posted it which threw me off posting any kinds of hc or random ideas, I only post full fics now because I'm scared that people will see an idea/au that they like on my blog and decide to expand on it without my consent or even crediting me for the original idea :/ To me that sucks because what I love about creating is the interactions with people, but because of the seldom posting except for full fics I don't get much 😂 And I know I could post snippet or hc, but the overenthusiasm bordering on no fandom manners that I've noticed stops me from doing that. Also, as a writer, it is quite discouraging to see people constantly reccing the same 5/6 fics/authors. Don't get me wrong, those are GREAT fics and authors, but babes, there are over 1,000 works in the clegan tag on ao3, why are we constantly reccing the same fics as in summer 2024. It feels like people only read the fics with the highest hits count, and from an outsider's pov, you'd think there are only 10 writers in the mota fandom 😭 I don't if it's bc the mota fandom is new so there are a lots of people from tiktok/that weren't on tumblr/in fandom before but it truly feels like fandom manners are getting lost, despite the plethora of incredible creators in the mota fandom. So there's this opposition between the enthusiasm over new ideas that seems to die down as soon as a story is posted, except if if it's one of the big fics from the summer. Imo the actual recognition of fics doesn't follow the enthusiasm of ideas and hcs, which is a bit of a shame I think, and to be quite honest, it made me lose my motivation to write for mota bc it just feels like I'll post a fic, it'll get traction for maybe a day or two, and then it'll be forgotten somewhere when people sort ao3 by number of hits or kudos

Anyway that was quite long I'm sorry, you don't have to answer this at all, I just needed to get this off my chest, but I really hope you know that even if it may not feel that way, you are an amazing writer, who clearly loves your stories, the characters and the words you use, and that is translated to the ao3 page <3 You truly are one of the most talented fic writers this fandom has, and I'd support you and your stories in whatever fandom you may be in ❤️

I assure you, anon, that you're not the only person to feel this way! I've had quite a few private conversations with friends and mutuals about really similar experiences and observations, and how disheartened and uncomfortable it's making us feel.

I guess people don't say anything because they don't want to be seen as sowing discord or being mean. I know that there are going to be people who might see this and interpret it as me "fuelling fandom discourse" or "fandom wanking" or "being a cunt" but actually I'm just talking about how we treat creators in online spaces, and the way that people en masse have apparently forgotten that creators in fandoms are people.

I had another anon tell me that someone laid claim to one of their ideas in the tags of their headcanon post, and I don't think you're the only person whose idea has been stolen and passed to another writer. I'm really sorry that's happened to you, and you're so right to not feel like posting anything because of it! This is truly the kind of stuff that makes people not want to participate or put themselves out there. Sometimes it's even writers doing the stealing, blatantly and without credit. It makes me think that a lot of people haven't shared creative spaces before and don't know how to be polite.

I also 100% agree about the fic rec thing. It's really disheartening to see the same fics passed around over and over again, not only from a writer perspective but a reader perspective. Something that seems to have emerged in fandom spaces over the years is deifying certain authors of popular fics - fic authors being treated like celebrities, the concept of a "must-read fic", even people only reading fics and authors that are already seen as popular/successful. I get that some people don't want to spend time scraping ao3 for niche fics, that's super understandable, but that's also why it would be nice to see a bit more adventure and variety in fic rec lists!

There is a low-key competitive feeling which a few people have mentioned to me - the feeling that there are people who want to "win" fandom or be the most popular/most reccd/most recognised writer, or whatever it may be. I just feel like anything that makes people feel like they're better than others is... come si dice... not good. I think it's a shitty way to treat people you're sharing a creative space with, to view them as competition and commodity.

Writing for consumption or writing for audience approval isn't something I've ever done, but I feel like it's cropping up more and more in fandom spaces too - not just MOTA, either. That's sort of a different discussion, but I do feel it's related to the copying/stealing in a way as well.

Now I also have to apologise for this getting too long! I'm glad you got it off your chest, and please feel free to come off anon at any time, because you've got an ally in me (and others too, I assure you). I think that everything you've said here merits consideration from everyone, at the very very least! It's in the interest of pursuing a more inclusive, supportive fandom space.

Thanks heaps as well for saying nice stuff about my writing! I only ever want to tell stories, and to give people something to enjoy that has clearly been created with care and consideration. I write to express things I want to express, and so it means a lot to me when other people see what I'm trying to say and pick up what I'm putting down. Truly madly deeply, my most boundless thanks!!! ♥️♥️♥️

[mscherub]

Clinging for (Emotional) Support

Prefect needs a bit of a break after a stressful day, so they seek out their favorite person…

Reader is gender neutral, referred to as Prefect or Y/N

Warnings!: The Leech Twins… :)

These are just my headcanons!

Tags: Fluff, romantic or platonic (perceive it whichever way you’d like to), hugs and cuddles, comfort

Heartslabyul; Savanaclaw; Octavinelle (you’re here :3), Scarabia; Pomefiore; Ignihyde; Diasomnia(TBD)

Intro:

You’ve had a bad day, well, a worse one than usual, and you feel like you’re on the verge of crashing out. So, you go to one of your favorite people and you cling to them for some emotional support, not doing anything else besides holding on for dear life and nuzzling your face into their chest or shoulder, not providing one bit of information as to why you’re even doing this. But, don’t worry, they care for you a lot, maybe more so than they let on <3

Riddle 🌹:

He doesn’t take to well to it at first

When you come to him looking all stressed out, he’ll obviously offer you some support and offer to talk with him about whatever is bothering you, but when you shake your head and instead wrap your arms around him and burry your face in wherever it can reach, he freezes up

“Prefect! Why are you doing this? Th-this is unacceptable! This is improper!”

He’ll turn bright red, not out of anger but out of embarrassment of the whole situation

He still won’t be totally used to it even when you keep it up, genuinely confused as to why you chose him out of all people and more importantly, keep coming back to him, but he won’t admit to it, it also helps him calm down too when you hold on

On rare occasions when he’s not too busy with other things and you two are in a more secluded place, he’ll hug you back

“Agh- again, Prefect? A little warning next time before you get all handsy with me…are you alright, though? Don’t be stressed, you’re as lovely as a rose, don’t begin to wilt simply because of a setback.”

Trey ♣️:

People rely on him, yes, but you’ve brought it to a whole new level here, like, you’re physically leaning on him now

At first he just laughs out of being surprised, but when he sees you hugging him tighter, your brows furrowed in clear stress, he’ll stop and ask what’s going on

“Hah! What’s this— oh…hey, look at me, are you ok? Do you want a sweet treat?”

He’ll wrap his arms back around you without a second thought, gently rubbing your back as well to add that extra boost of comfort

He has younger siblings so of course he’s well off in a situation like this, basically second nature at this point for him

If he’s baking, he may not have time for you to cling to him like you’d want, so he’ll apologize when he’s done with one of the baked goods and by letting you stick by him as long as you want, but he’ll try and make the time for you always

“Prefect…it’ll be alright. Want a tart? They’re freshly made, as always…anything to help you feel better.”

Cater ♦️:

Heyyy! There you are! Oh…why are you looking at him like that…that’s not good, you don’t look to good, emotionally wise…

As soon as you wrap your arms around him he’ll tense up. He’ll awkwardly look down at you and quirk an eyebrow

He’s no stranger to the emotions of people around him so he can tell something is up fairly quickly with the people close around him

“What’s wrong? Do you need Cay-kun to come to the rescue— no jokes…ok, gotcha. Spill it, Prefect, what’s the matter?”

He’s gentle about it, this type of support he learned from his sisters

He’ll lead you off to a more quieter place and just chill out with you until you either tell him what’s wrong or let go of him

He’ll try and cheer you up with taking pictures with funny filters on, if that doesn’t work, he has other methods. Maybe see what’s the spiciest thing he can eat? If you laugh at him tearing and snotting up from it, it’s worth the pain

“Ahhh, what am I gonna do with you? Wanna see Cay-Kun looking all stupid with this filter? Did you smile finally? Aweee, you’re adorbs, Prefect, smile again for me, I need to celebrate you feeling better with a post on my page!”

Ace ❤️:

He’ll try and push you off at first, he didn’t exactly see your expression so he’ll try and pry your arms off of him, huffing while doing so

Like why are you clinging to him? Hello? Earth to Prefect, get off of him now!

once he realizes there’s something up he’ll stop with trying to push you away and he’ll go quiet, awkwardly standing there and mumbling before he finally asks if something’s up

“Aye! What’s this? Get off of meeeeeee, Prefect, let go, why are you doing this— oh…um…so…are you…ok?”

He’s going to try and tease you at first, it’s an Ace thing, so don’t take it to heart, but if you won’t let up he’ll try and be a little more considerate

He’ll pat your back in an unsure manner, not quite knowing what to do, but when you don’t ease up, he decides maybe it’s best to take some action

If you want to see some magic tricks to cheer you up he’ll do it, but you gotta let go— no? Ok…he can do something else to make you better then

Reassuring words are rare from him, but he cares a lot for you, so he’ll spare a few

“Hey, it’ll be alright. Whatever happened just know I’m always here, even if I may seem like an ass half the time— ok…of course I can be honest about myself from time to time. Oh hushhhhh…I’ve got you, I just want you to be happy, smile again, looks better on you.”

Deuce ♠️:

Cue confused noises coming from him, he won’t exactly question what you’re doing, but he will he going through a whole bunch of different scenarios through his head as to why you are doing this

When he sees you’re not your normal self, the lightbulb will go off in his head and he’ll ask how you’re doing

“Uh…prefect? Are you alright? Talk to me here, what’s up? Are you hurt? No? Answer me here…”

He’ll hug you back, albeit tentatively as hell, but he doesn’t want to do anything wrong and he doesn’t want to do something that’ll upset you more, which him not doing anything might actually upset you more— anyways

He’ll keep talking to you to try and get you to rant about whatever you’re finding particularly stressful at the moment. And no, he totally won’t threaten anybody if that’s the cause of your stress, don’t think like that—

“You sure you’re ok? You’re stressed because…of a person? Prefect, I can handle them— ok, never mind. Sorry…I’ll stay right here, don’t worry. By your side as long as you want me to be. Protecting you as long as you need me to…I’ll stop being cringey…”

Leona 🦁:

Glares at you because you’re in his personal space, like what are you doing?

He can sense something is off though, it’s not that hard to tell when you wrap your arms around him and cling on for dear life like he’s gonna slip away at any moment

He’ll make a small huff and his tail will flick a few times before he asks what’s up

“Herbivore…what’s this for? Never thought you were this bold to be glued to a predator like this…not in a laughing mood, huh? Tell me what’s wrong, then get off me, I’m trying to sleep…”

Sorry not sorry, but everyone knows Leona is a dick most times, just a given fact, but in all honesty, when it comes do you he does care, even though his words sound lacking of it, he only means good

He won’t push you off, he’ll let you stick to him…actually, you know what, why not just stay with him and take a nap? I think it’d better the both of you, and you’d have time to wind down while also being with him

Few words are shared between you, but you have a cuddly lion now, so…there’s that

Win win, no?

“Mmm, no, you don’t have to go…just stay here. I’m not a complete ass, I know when someone needs a little help. Relax…no literally relax you’re moving around too much, Herbivore…”

Ruggie 💰:

Boy is he confused

Honestly, at first, bro thought he was getting robbed by someone, but when he seen it was you, he got all happy and started teasing you like normal

Then when he watches you burry your face into his clothes he knows something is not right. He’s…worried but doesn’t really know how to convey it

“Hey! Oh, prefect! Miss me that much? Shyeheehee!! Hmmm? Heyyy, what’s up with that look? Huh?”

Now he’ll try and cheer you up

His methods are a little quirky, but he’ll offer to buy you something with Leona’s money, let me rephrase, get you both something to snack on with Leona’s money

You can still chill with him, he enjoys it

“Leona’s asleep, I can go snag his wallet and I can score us something at Sam’s shop…I’ll buy the more expensive one this time I guess if it’ll cheer you up…don’t make me use Laugh with Me on you just to see you smile again— Shyeheehee! I’m messing with ya!”

Jack 🐺:

Stiffens up quite quickly. He’ll look down at you and wonder what the hell you’re trying to do but then he’ll realize that you’re not exactly at your best in this moment, he can basically feel it radiating off of you

His ears will flatten against his head, betraying how he feels almost right away.

His words are simple and few, but he does mean well and has good intentions

“What’s wrong? Why are you…so are you ok? No? Ok…can I do something to help?”

He likes to help those he holds close to him, so of course he’ll try and comfort you to the best of his abilities. You want to pet his tail? That may be a little too far—

Fine…he can let you, just this once, but if anyone sees it’s over!

“Prefect…how can I help cheer you up? I don’t think my tail is a great option…it is? I…fine, just this once I guess, if it’ll help cheer you up.”

Azul 🐙:

This is…not what he intended to happen upon seeing you, yea, no…he already has Floyd to worry about now apparently you? Yea…he stiffens up and kinda just stands there, sputtering nonsense, and then trying to push you off of him

He’ll finally take the hint when you just hug him tighter after he fails to get you off. He still won’t calm down that much

Might try and pull the business move on you, especially since you’re in such an emotionally weakened state…he won’t he would

“Prefect! I— what is— no! Hey— you…what…I don’t condone this! You’re…not ok. What do you expect me to do? Wait…actually, why don’t you come back to my office and we can discuss what I could do to assuage your ailments— no then…”

He’s kinda flattered you chose him, but it’s not like he’s really…great at comforting, he’ll try his best. You’ll have to pay him back for it later on your own time

He’ll try and talk to you about it, I don’t really see him trying to touch you or comfort you in any other way. To him, words can go a long way to help someone

“You’re in need, and that’s what our dorm specializes in the best. Can you talk about what is bothering you? I won’t use it against you…I promise. I’m not that bad. Talk to me, it’ll help clear your mind”

(Be careful, blackmail is a good thing to have, he might use whatever you say against you…)

Jade 🫧:

He’ll eerily smile at you at first, he stated he gets overheated easily so…hugs are not really preferred, but he’ll entertain you

He’s not exactly confused, rather intrigued by the whole thing. Why are you clinging to him? Exactly, why him? It’s rather interesting, and almost pathetic in his eyes, but it makes the situation all the more sweet, in his own twisted way

He’ll notice you’re out of it and gently put one hand on the small of your back, that’s the furthest he’ll go

“Oya? Hmmm…fu fu fu, this is quite interesting, no? What is it you need, Prefect? You know the motto of our dorm. I’m willing to assist in whatever you’d need…”

Like I’ve mentioned before…he likes to be relied on. So he kinda likes the situation. He’ll stay with you as long as time permits him. His smile is…far from his normal polite one.

“Prefect? You may talk to me about whatever is troubling you, but I know some humans prefer not to. You can stay by me as long as you need, but just know I may have to get to work soon. For now, however, my time is yours…”

(Y’ALL WHAT DID U EXPECT ME TO SAY, THE TWINS, as much as I love my babies 😭, THEY ARE FAR FROM INNOCENT)

Floyd 🫧:

Oh boy…

Well, here’s the thing, Floyd loves to squeeze people, but the other way around? He doesn’t prefer it…but you are his Shrimpy, so he’ll give you a pass…maybe, depending on his mood

He’ll look at you and laugh. Damn you look almost desperate. He lets you cling to him for a bit before he squeezes you back. Maybe you needed one of his “hugs” anyways…let’s just say he’s in a good mood this time

“Heh! Shrimpy…what are you doing? Oh? You seem sad…don’t be sad Shrimpy~! I can squeeze ya back too! See?”

He’s all over you, hugging, squeezing, nuzzling his face against yours. He’s all giggles, his Shrimpy is squeezing him first. It’s funny! It’s like you’re challenging him or something…

You never fail to cause trouble or stir fun around him, so he’ll stick around for a bit until it gets boring for him. Which in all honesty, it won’t.

Never boring with you around!

“Shrimpy! Aweee, cheer up! I’ll just squeeze ya harder, yea? If it helps ya feel better I will…just don’t squeeze me back too hard, you might hurt me…”

I fear my favoritism for Octavinelle always shines through…<3

Master List

Please don’t steal or copy any of my work! You may, however, reblog if you’d want to!

Pictures belong to Disney Twisted Wonderland but are edited by me :)

[kayla-and-the-moon]

tysmmm for the tag lovely carina, this was so so fun to do, I'm a lil late but hopefully not tm <3 p.s happy valentines day !!!

Last song: our love by curtis harding ft. jazmine sullivan <3

Favorite Color: it changes since i'm indecisive, but at the moment this award def goes to blue, specifically like a powder blue typa vibe <3

Last Book: omg it's been a while since i've picked up anything besides like prescribed reading from school but-- crime and punishment by mister Dostoyevsky (totally worth it, tho it took me ages to get through it 🥲, i read most of it on my trip to visit my brother, thank the lord for long plane rides 🫶)

Last Audiobook: the secret history read by rsl <3 (always revisiting this ab, bcs it's lrl combining my dps obsession and donna ✊)

Last Movie: paddington 2 !!!, aka the best comfort movie in the entire universe, it always makes me sob when aunty lucy finally makes it to london and also hugh grant is a gem in this movie like hello

Last TV Show: the last one i finished was arcane (hell yeah) (i'm in pain) (it was gorgeous)

Sweet/Savory/Spicy: sweet as of recent ! i love spicy though my desi ancestors laugh at my below average spice tolerance :')

Relationship: well i'm so glad you asked 😏 i am *drumroll 🥁* not in one LMAO, should've eaten grapes under my table on nye 🥲

Last Thing I’ve Googled: uquiz ! since my friend and I weren't paying attention in class and really, how important is genetics when you can find out your role in a medieval fairytale

Current Obsession: EPICCCCC, one of my friends got me into it and now i'm an absolute menace, like every song is such a banger, and would you fall in love with me again makes me liquify (penelopEEEEe).

Looking forward to: going to see macbeth nw for my lit class !!!. kinda nerdy but it's my first time watching one so i'm kinda geeking, like what? me? in a theata?

this was so fun, inviting anyone else who wants to do this and np tagging some of my lovely mutuals <333 : @tinidor-theodore, @lilli-why-are-you-here-again

Thanks for the tag @marlowe-zara ! It’s long past due for a tag game update over here.

Last song: Steal the Show by Lauv (honorable mention for the kid getting into real music), Rushmore by Mumford and Sons

Favorite Color: always purple

Last Book: Little Thieves by Margaret Owen, it was a cute modern take on a fairy tale for YA audiences. I enjoyed the in-universe mythology and magic. Currently reading Everyone in my Family Has Killed Someone by Benjamin Stevenson

Last Audiobook: I like this addition as I often listen to books on roadtrips or when printmaking. My latest was The Hobbit read by Andy Serkis: he did such an excellent job on the voices like you would expect. (His Gandalf really made me double check if Ian McClellan had done a guest appearance!)

Last Movie: LotR The Two Towers EE (who even watches the theatrical cuts??) Can you see a theme here? It’s winter, so I’m getting cozy with my comfort fandom. And yes, I started with Fellowship.

Last TV Show: Finally finishing The Good Place

Sweet/Savory/Spicy: I’ve never turned good food down. But am lately very fond of making sourdough discard chocolate chip cookies that have butterfinger baking bits in them. Happy to share the recipe if folks ask.

Relationship: um…still in one?

Last Thing I’ve Googled: I’m over here googling birthday ideas for the kiddo and researching new bathroom cabinets. 😳

Current Obsession: The Fall with Lee Pace and Catinca Untaru. I was finally able to stream this on Mubi in the US and if you’ve never seen it, please pause your doom scrolling and go watch it right now. I sobbed on an airplane. And then immediately watched it again later in the week. And then immediately added all of the set locations to my travel list. I miss Lee Pace: he needs more roles because he’s such an incredible actor.

Looking forward to: using my new bread cloche the next time I make a sourdough loaf, finishing Link’s Awakening finally and reading Democracy in Retrograde to brace myself for the next 4 years.

I’ll tag @windsweptinred @bobbole @elemen @writing-for-life and whoever else wants to share what they’ve been up to lately!

[capricioussun]

The reason i say i have like seven different versions of UF on rotation in my brain is because there are several different Styles of UF that i really like and can never really decide on which I'd consider my Main one, on top of also Lore, which i have a few different ideas for, too.

So like, we have the one i talk abt most often probably, which we'll call AngstFell, because. I'll be honest i love angst and i love doing terrible things to characters. This is the one where they have core issues, supply issues, food shortages, LVlost culling, very complicated and sort of miserable relationships between just about all of the characters. No One is having a good time pretty much, but despite everything, there is still hope...

Then there's how i often mentally refer to it as SillyFell, which is basically just like. If everyone in UT decided to try to be mean and was mostly really bad about it. In this one, things are still generally worse, but having LV is still somewhat uncommon, mostly only guards would have it, and people are generally more sad than they are mean/angry.

And then we have what's probably """closest to canon""" as far as my understanding of it goes, where it's sort of somewhere in between the two prior ones, in that there's definitely still silliness, and their UT selves aren't too far removed from them, but it still can get pretty heavy, and problems aren't as surface level as Silly.

Then we have my """fanon"""fell which is essentially something I've done for most AUs, where i try to imagine circumstances that could possibly, believably (by my own standards and interpretations) make the characters behave more in line with fanon portrayals. This one's way more difficult to summarize since the changes are more character specific, but generally, as far as "seriousness" goes, it falls in a similar place as "Canon"Fell.

And then there's Tale to Fell (v.1) which is essentially based around the idea that UF kind of started as UT, but slowly became UF due to Circumstances like core trouble and slightly different events going down with the humans, both during the war, and with what happened to Chara and Asriel. (End results are similar to "Canon"Fell)

But there's also Tale to Fell (v.2) which is based on the premise of UT slowly becoming UF after Frisk has fallen into the underground due to waaay too many resets and gradual code fuckery. (Opposed to v.1, this is actually a concept I've never seen explored before! Not to say it isn't out there somewhere, but i have a rough draft layout of a potential fic abt it that will...probably never happen bc it would take a lot of commitment lol)

So we have those bad boys, but then there's also differences depending on Lore. Like there's one version i think of sometimes where Papyrus is the older brother, or a version where Gaster didn't make Sans and Papyrus but was actually their adoptive uncle, and another with Gaster Papyrus where, as it goes, the incident that "shattered" Gaster created Papyrus, one where Undyne knew the bros as kids briefly, one where Asgore's just Terrible for like, no real reason, like. There are a lot of ways to think about it!!

And that's not even taking into account all of the Fell based story ideas like the psychonauts one, the one where the bros are gb shifters, one where Papyrus is [redacted], one where there's a zombie like plague outbreak that can only affect monsters with LV, one where Frisk winds up living underground with them all for a Hot Minute, and then of course there's the AUs, like Vesselfell, Horrorfell, Heartfell, Lovefell, Invertedfell, Orangefell, that mysterious one I've been mulling and have not talked about at all with Albatross-

Clearly i am very normal about this 👍

[secriden]

This line. God, this line! It has been eating me up inside for 2 days now, because let's not forget, this line isn't about love, it's about trust. And that has implications that make me want to scream.

It's a direct reference to this moment earlier in the episode:

At the start of this discussion, Style and Fadel still have a kind of playful air about their conversation:

Style: Oh? Not even me? Fadel: You're at 80% at best. I feel like you're hiding something from me in the 20%.

In this exchange, though, there's a sense that Fadel is issuing a challenge, like there's something specific which Style can do to gain Fadel's full trust. And while Style knows there are things he cannot (yet) reveal to Fadel, I think a part of him is determined to be as honest as he can be, which is why he issues a challenge of his own by asking for more specificity:

Style: What do I have to do to gain your complete trust?

Part of this question is a simultaneously inquisitive and deflective - What (and why) do you think I'm hiding (something) from you? - but there's also a moment after Style finishes speaking where he stills and goes quiet that feels... genuine, weighty. Or, as @airenyah has pointed out in her meta on Style in episode 4, the "grounded[ness]" in Style's demeanour is a signal that Style means what he's saying in the moment. Maybe about his own desire to be worthy of Fadel's trust, maybe about how he genuinely does want this relationship to be real in whatever way that matters to Fadel.

I think Fadel sensed that too, because the moment looses all the lightheartedness it had before. Fadel pauses, and then gets a look on his face that just... breaks my heart. There's a sombreness there, like he knows he's going to have to say something that makes him sad. Fadel looks away, and then down, before he seems to steel himself and says:

Fadel: It'll never happen. No matter how much you love someone, I just don't believe that you can completely lay yourself bare in front of them.

Fadel says this like it's fact. Like what he's expressing is something foundational and true and irrefutable. It's not even about his doubt in Style's honesty, because this statement has no qualifiers or conditions put on it to connect it to Style. Rather this is what Fadel fundamentally believes about relationships and trust: he finds the very concept of being fully known and still accepted an impossibility.

Sure, maybe this is because of the falling out (or betrayal or disappearance) associated with the former lover; but I also think it might be because Fadel is acutely aware not only that he's hiding a rather big and dark secret (not to mince words, but: actual literal premeditated murder), but also about what it implies about Fadel. Because being able to kill another human, coldly and clinically and without remorse, takes a certain type of person. Because, yes, Fadel has lived through an absolutely harrowing and traumatising event (his parents' murder), but it's also undeniable that it changed him. Because there's something about Fadel that twisted dark and which he never quite got back. There's an anger, a hurt that colours every moment of his life; that enables him to look a man in the eyes, smile politely, and pull a trigger.

And at this point in their relationship, Fadel's understanding of Style is that he's... well, kind of innocent. Especially in comparison to Fadel and Bison, and even Kant.

Style, who easily reveals facts about his life which Fadel already knows (winning a car tuning competition), making Fadel doubt his own instincts about Style hiding secrets. Style, who also reveals the things Fadel doesn't know, like the tender and secret pain of a mother lost to cancer (which, now that I think about it, Fadel may also know) and his worries about a father who "lost his bearings for a bit" (which he probably doesn't). Style, who tries to comfort Fadel in his own loss by offering a safe space and a sympathetic ear.

Style, who doesn't just see Fadel for his tragedy, but is asking to be given the chance to accept all of Fadel as a person. Style, who not only wants but has the capacity, to be the only person Fadel needs to rely on. Style who, despite the sea of differences between them, understands Fadel on a level that is so very foundational.

I'm going to slightly segue and mention something that may not resonate with everyone, but really hit me in the gut this episode: because I lost my father when I was 16 after he battled cancer for 2 painful years. And this revelation about Style has totally shifted and coloured everything Style has done in a new light for me. Because not only does this totally explain Style's sometimes almost stubbornly childish demeanour (it's common in adults who've had to 'grow up' too early), but also why Style shows seemingly random flashes of insight and maturity when they are most crucial. Notably, Style has this almost instinctive sense of when he needs to back off a sore point with Fadel that I couldn't quite put my finger on until this episode.

I've seen a few jokes about Style's awkward subject change, but I've actually got a friend who I hold very dear to my heart who was one of the only people to give me a sense of normalcy and comfort when my dad was on his last few days and then at his funeral. And part of that was the instinctive way she would know when I needed to just. Not be a grieving daughter for a few minutes. To get a small respite from the overwhelming hopelessness and sense of impending loss. To get a moment to breathe and gather my strength, because knowing I was never going to see my dad again, or hear his voice, or hold his hand was tearing me apart back then. Sometimes she'd talk to me about college drama, sometimes she'd introduce a new kpop video to me, sometimes she'd just ask me what I wanted to eat and take me to go have a meal with her. And sometimes there really just isn't anything else to say other than "I'm sorry." Nothing you say - nothing you can say - is going to ever, ever make this grief go away, and in most cases, it was better when people (especially those who couldn't really understand) didn't try.

And I think if you look at Fadel very closely, there's a moment of genuine surprise (Fadel wasn't expecting the subject change at all) and then... something that looks like fondness mixed with exhausted relief. Because I don't think Fadel was ready to talk about his parents yet. This was honesty he wasn't ready to give Style, mostly prompted because Style himself had willingly been so vulnerable that a part of Fadel wanted to reciprocate. But further down that path lies not only his darkest memories, but also the connection to the part of his life he is not willing to share with Style yet. So this subject change is a relief, it's a blessing, but it's also Style knowing when he shouldn't push any further with Fadel's fragile heart.

Which brings me back to how well the episode's theme of trust (both deserved and undeserved) was woven in this episode. This is true on multiple levels and characters but I'm not even going to attempt to touch Kant in this post because... Lord, that is beyond me at the moment. Someone else needs to do that, pretty please, so I can reblog it and scream.

It starts, somewhat unexpectedly, with Fadel asking for entrance into the intimate spaces of Style's life.

So, this episode was not about Fadel's fear of his own feelings, desires, or even affection for Style - that appears to be fully addressed in episode 4. I think that's why we see Fadel be so physically affectionate and indulgent of Style in this episode. He's come to terms with his lust for Style's body (hence his comfort in initiating sex), he's accepted Style as his boyfriend and so can enjoy Style's playful teasing (still reluctantly, but Fadel is still an introvert even if he's mostly enjoying Style's rambunctious nature), and give into Style's (and Bison's and Kant's) cajoling with relatively little fuss.

He's even comfortable toying with the edges of revealing his darker and more sinister side by reminding Style implicitly about how violent Fadel has the potential to be. Recall that Fadel knows Style knows some of his capacity for violence; he just doesn't know how very thoroughly Style is aware of the full scale of this truth. It does help that Style evidences no actual fear and, in fact, looks positively euphoric. Like, buddy, pal, dearest one... please control yourself.

And yet something very, very telling is the way the show makes it a point to depict Fadel very deliberately getting drunk during the double date. Even before the date has started, Fadel looks to be about half a beer in and we see him constantly drinking, drinking, drinking during the whole date. From the conversation about trust he has with Style while Kant and Bison are being off key and adorable about it, to after Kant leaves and Bison gets worried. And we've seen Fadel cope with emotional and mental distress with alcohol before, so we know that Fadel is internally fighting some kind of very intense battle even as he is also very clearly enjoying moments with Style on this date (most notably when they're dancing by the bowling lanes and when Style asks him to go home with him).

So here's my take: rather than being about love, this is about Fadel fighting to hold onto his own philosophy on relationships and trust. Because as much as I do believe Fadel believes he's telling the truth when he tells Style that 100% trust is "impossible", I think it's clear that's not what he wants.

What he wants is to finish this last job so that the only thing he can't be honest about with Style will finally stop being a factor in his life. What he wants is to fully and completely reciprocate the openness Style seems to be giving Fadel. What he wants is to switch off his brain and let his heart lead for once, to stop fighting a battle he has no desire to win anymore, only he can't. Trust (not love) is Fadel's final frontier, and one which he can't quite give up in spite of himself.

Which is why I think Fadel intentionally gets himself drunk here. Because he wants to let his guard down around Style. He wants to open himself fully, he wants to "lay himself bare" for Style, he wants Style to know the full truth and accept him anyway - and he gets so close, but can't quite get there - because he doesn't know that Style already has.

When Style says this, Fadel thinks it's empty words, not knowing that Style has long passed the bar Fadel thinks is insurmountable. And just like Style was able to offer safety and reassurance to the vulnerability Fadel was showing in episode 4, Style instinctively gets to the core of Fadel's darkest fears again:

Style: One day, I'll be your 100%.

This isn't (just) a promise that Style will wear Fadel's stubbornness down, or that Style will be worthy of Fadel's 100% (which, already, has me in tears, ngl). Beyond that, this is Style promising Fadel isn't ruined for this; that it isn't too late, that whatever hurts and wounds Fadel has can be made whole again. That the kind of honest and all-encompassing and unconditional trust which Fadel says is impossible can, in fact, be his. That Fadel still has the capacity to trust and be trusted the way he so desperately, painfully longs for.

I know a lot of people have said Style in this episode is writing cheques he has no ability to honour, but I think it's more layered than that. Because in a very significant and profound way, Style is wholly deserving of Fadel's trust. Because in all the ways that Fadel has ever known he should want, Style actually IS worthy of his trust. Style knows the truth Fadel is hiding, knows what this man is capable of, knows the danger of being in his arms, knows the likely nonexistent future Fadel has to offer him -- and wants him anyway. Style is a man who would stare into Fadel’s darkness and reach out first. Strip away the complication of Kant being blackmailed and dragging Style into his mission, and Style is literally perfect for Fadel. He is exactly what Fadel wants (and possibly has wanted for a very long time). He is, in fact, exactly what Fadel needs to ever experience anything beyond the shadow of a life he's had so far.

But oh, the cruel narrative means that Style is also, simultaneously, painfully undeserving of Fadel's trust; and this is something Style is very much aware of. I think that's why he's trying so very hard to be worthy in all the other ways he can be. Style's awareness of what Fadel is hiding enables Style to (counterintuitively) be completely honest about his feelings for and about Fadel even as he cannot reveal his motivations. So he gives Fadel as much honesty as he can: offers the vulnerability of his own pain and hurts; the comfort of his true understanding and acceptance.

And just as Fadel's vulnerability in the abandoned factory was met with Style choosing a form of physical connection that prioritised Fadel's pleasure (it's made very clear that Style is jerking Fadel off and that all his focus in that moment was on Fadel, not his own pleasure), so too is this moment met with Style very intentionally choosing to worship Fadel's body with all the tenderness and genuine emotional weight that Style wanted Fadel to have in their first time in the storeroom.

Because, crucially, this was Style giving Fadel the chance to lay himself at least physically bare. This is the closest either of them can get to full honesty with the secrets they both are keeping. It's why Style tries so very hard to show the care and adoration and genuine feelings he has for Fadel. Why he makes sure that the vulnerability of Fadel getting himself as drunk and as relaxed and as trusting as Fadel can allow himself to be is tied only to gentleness and tenderness and pleasure.

Because Style actually knows that Fadel can't (and shouldn't) trust him in the way Fadel truly wishes to.

And as much as I believe that Style genuinely means this from the bottom of his heart, the horrifying full truth is that it is Style that has the metaphorical knife hovering over Fadel's chest. He is the one with the capacity to actually give Fadel a new scar that would truly matter. He is, in fact, the only one Fadel wants to fully trust -- and this, along with Style's compromised heart, makes it so that the circumstances will doom them both.

[jasontoddsmommyissues]

To be honest, I would let Cassandra Nova do unspeakable things to me.

[luck-of-the-drawings]

[<==PREV PAGES] [NEXT PAGE==>(not out yet.wait a year.or maybe more.imagine.]

saw alot of comments on prev pages; saying 'i HATE that mean teacher! im gonna FIGHT HIM!!' & i LOVE the energy!! it WOULD be nice. to have that catharsis. but the story of young tidestrider is Not one of catharsis. it is a story of being so small and so special and sucking so bad.

[kaiserouo]

sometimes its weird to think of ordis as ordan karris

[dandelion-roots]

[ID: a digital drawing of sandra lynn and sklonda from fantasy high. sklonda is sitting on sandra lynn's chest in her underwear and caressing sandra lynn's face. sandra lynn is naked and holding sklonda's thighs. neither woman's face is visible as they're looking at each other. the background is pink and says, how did you get infected? End ID]