#nines is not allowed to drive anymore

[poorlydrawnandroids]

…

Unfortunately they did not get burgers for Hank, but Connor at least learned a valuable lesson. I guess Nines suffers from Amelia Bedelia Syndrome.

———

Hi guys, this is actually a comic I drew and basically finished 11 months ago. And it’s been just about then since I’ve last really opened my iPad and did any drawing. There’s a ton of half-completed works on there and they’re pretty cute, so I’ll try to post them as I get the motivation. My therapist says posting to this blog will probably improve my mental health and he’s right but >:3c

So yeah! Let’s see what I can toss out this year, wooo!!

[simp4konig]

"You drive me crazy."

Obsessed! Nikto x Reader

Word count: 2472

Nikto's POV! Sporadic uses of "Y/N" — otherwise, reader is referred as "You".

To say that Nikto is obsessed with you would be an understatement 😵‍💫...

Nikto's psychological state gradually deteriorates as you read!

Google Translate Russian lmao 💀,, please forgive any errors! 😟

Edit: Realising that this fic is darker than my usual works. Warning my readers for darker content!

Edit 2: Added the appropriate "dark content" tags. <3

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I'm crazy: I don't think I needed to say, yes?

I know it. We know it. Everyone else knows it.

I've lost my mind long ago. We're losing it as we speak. I've lost myself long ago and I have not known what to do with ourselves.

Of course, not all was lost. I was cleared for service. I can approach situations without hesitation or uncertainty — but most importantly, kill methodically.

All I need are targets. Just give me targets. Nothing else matters. Nobody.

But I found you. I found you. And you found us. Although there was nothing to find, you found us.

How? It's a mystery. An enigma. An unsolvable puzzle.

My name is Igor. Igor Vasilyevich Yurievich.

Игорь. Igor. I—gor. Two syllables. Four letters, in English. A not so common name in Russia, according to the statistics: in 1991 — the year of my birth — approximately 37 baby boys born were named as such. In 2021, only 17 baby boys born were named Igor. I would assume the number declines each year — maybe less than a dozen Igors were christened this year. Or a single digit. Nine. Eight. Seven. Or even less than five.

October 13, 1991 was my exact date of birth. I was born in Novgorod, when Russia was still the Soviet Union. I had parents. A sister…

…Yet that means nothing to me.

Igor Vasilyevich Yurievich? That is foreign. That is not anyone that I know of. I am Nikto. I am no one. Nobody to know, yet somebody that I know of. Not this… Igor. I am nobody. Никто.

When the voices are quiet, that's when I can silently mourn the man that I once was.

Though, can you mourn someone whom you don't know? Can you mourn the faceless person in the casket, whose face is unrecognisable? Can you mourn at a funeral that no one attended, and hadn't taken process?

I'm crazy: I don't think I needed to repeat it, yes?

I knew it. We knew it. Everyone else knew it.

But you didn't. You. You.

You… remind me of someone.

They're dead now.

They were just a target. Too bad I can't remember who they were.

But you're not. You're more than a target.

You treated me with kindness when everyone avoided me like the bubonic plague. A Black Death following the death of the former Igor Vasilyevich Yurievich and the black, black blackness lingering — a reminder. But not anything that allows us to remember, or reminds us of who we once were.

I don't remember anything. I don't remember anyone. Photographs of my family before the torture are irrelevant. Documents stamping my existence could just as easily make us inexistent. Nobody exists any more aside from Nikto.

A cacophony of voices has infiltrated my brain. Our brain. We will never be me anymore. We are who we are now.

I am a broken man. I hear the voices of many men, who won't let me sleep, won't leave me be, won't give me peace. I was one of those men. Maybe all of the men are me?

But if all of them are me, and I am all of them, then who are we? What are we?

Then again… who I am is nothing. What I are is everything. What we are — crazy.

The pieces of the puzzle aren't fully there. Surely you must have been aware, my treasure?

You were doing your due diligence to arrange the puzzle pieces, so meticulously and with dedication, devoting hours of your time and wishing for the finished product to be cohesive, but you won't find that within us. How unfortunate.

Some of the pieces are missing. Some of them don't even fit. What you're left with is an incomplete picture — one which will never be completed.

No matter. You can be the missing puzzle piece, yes?

My fellow operatives named me Никто — “Nikto”, meaning “Nobody” or “No-one” in Russian — for… what did they say? My “uncanny ability to replicate other people and hide [my] true identity”? Ironic — seeing as replicating an identity is not the same as claiming your own, and being an individual. Having an actual identity, as opposed to being forced to think that being nobody can suffice.

Funny. I was apparently religious before all of this.

Have you heard of Orthodox Christianity? It's a branch of Christianity most often practised in Eastern Europe, in case you weren't aware. Orthodox Christians believe that Jesus redeemed humanity by sacrificing himself through crucifixion — unlike Catholics, who believe that Jesus sacrificing himself through crucifixion was all in an effort to redeem humanity.

Perhaps I was an altar boy in my childhood. Or wore a cross around my neck. Maybe I was devoted, and prayed in the morning, before a meal for grace, in the night, before a mission for mercy, during a mission out of desperation, and after a mission as gratitude.

Such bullshit.

Obviously, God doesn't exist — not in the ethereal, omniscient sense.

Oh no.

The God is You. You are my God.

Just like with Orthodox Christianity, and the salvation of humanity after the sacrifice of Jesus, your presence, your mere existence, was salvation. You brought redemption unto us.

Of course, following my torture, God became an abstract concept. How could the Holy Father abandon me? How could my prayers after the tortue be so wilfully ignored? Why would he actively play a passive role in my damnation, as I'm burned, as I'm beaten, as I'm bruised, abused, cut, and mutilated?

No one was born a sinner. Not even me, this nobody. So what kind of retribution was this — a disfigured face, ruined body, and voices which infiltrated my psyche, words equivalent to the evil of the Antichrist?

But You? You made it worthwhile. Your kindness. Compassion. Charity. It was all worthwhile. Even to gaze at You from afar.

Well.

For the most part.

We have repented for our sins: stealing Your dirty laundry, Your hairbrush, Your t-shirts, and other trinkets which we deem Holy Relics; using Your lip balm without permission, You none the wiser; committing sinful acts in the comfort of your own bedroom, only for You to return, oblivious. We apologise for that nagging paranoia, demanding You to turn around, to catch a glimpse of the eyes staring at You, but You not noticing us when we were camouflaged in the shadows. For stalking You and learning Your schedule. For hacking into all of Your devices and acquiring every little piece of information available from Your digital footprints.

But, You forgive us, yes?

Don't look so horrified, dushka. We left no trace, yes? No evidence. You said You have forgiven all of our transgressions. Think of this as a confession, nothing more. Besides, we never tampered with You belongings. They're all still with us. Just like you will.

You are our oxygen. Without You, we can't breathe. Our lungs suffocate without Your natural scent to fill them, to keep us alive. Our eyes go blind with time without the sight of Your face, Your body. We can't hear anything other than Your voice — our ears tune out any frequencies and wavelengths that don't leave those pretty little lips, yet wage civil war amongst ourselves, spitting curses that cut like knives and pierce like bullets. And Your lips. And Your eyes. And Your eyebrows, hair, hands, neck, God — everything.

You won't abandon us, yes? You wouldn't abandon us, would you, мое сокровище? You are our treasure. I treasure you — all of us do: your pretty little lips, that speak in the softest of tones to us; those eyes that stare in slight fright, yet crinkle in as genuine of a smile as you can manage; those eyebrows that furrow over your bright eyes in the subtlest of frowns, in sorrow or frustration, maybe vexation — and that's just your face. What about your hair? Your hands? Your neck? Your body? What is there not to treasure?

Боже мой, Bozhe moy, my God. Oh God, it's as if an angel has descended and granted us salvation, a merciful deity absolving us of our sins and cleansing our soul. And both the angel and deity are You — working in perfect sync, so benevolent and forgiving, taking pity on a creature so pitiful, so ruined, so unfixable.

We can't remember what some of those was.

Those puzzle pieces, of course.

Zakhaev’s torture stole some of the pieces to the jigsaw, and the puzzle won't ever be solved. We ourselves interrogate, torture, eliminate, kill. Sometimes we dissociate. Other times I am completely in control. Yet all the time, we are committing sins, sins, sins.

And You forgive them. Forgive us.

Every prayer is us praying for you, to you, about you. And each one concludes with your sacred name, whispered in hushed tones as the syllables are too precious to utter out loud.

Poor, poor thing. You probably didn't even know what you were signing up for, did you? You probably intended to be charitable. Sympathetic. And you were, sweet one.

But you were naive to have assumed that we wouldn't become possessive of you like an unwanted stay mutt of its only bone. So innocent — perhaps stupid — but we like to think that you were misguided in your intentions, yet guided by some God.

An ignorant God? If You're the God to worship, then are You an ignorant one? An innocent, naive, and unconditionally loving one? Yet, one that, despite Their obliviousness, can knowingly soothe with a simple string of words? With a caress?

What an oxymoron. It suits You. I wouldn't have it any other way.

Aw. Are those tears, dushka? Let's wipe them, hmm? Kiss it better, yes? You will like our lips on you.

Don't scream. Don't hurt those vocal cords. We like the sound of your voice. We want you to talk.

There there, little one. You look beautiful when you cry, but you look most beautiful when you're smiling. Smile, hm? Do it for us. Your Nikto.

You don't have to be afraid, you know. Don't be afraid, krasotka. We love you.

Here, put your hand on our chest. Feel how our heart is beating? It beats only for you.

Our abdomen, our stomach. You feel how toned that is, yes? You feel the muscle?

What about our biceps? The strength in our forearms? They're all for you. We're all yours, yours yours yours.

Our blood looks good on you, dushka. The blood really accentuates your nails. But please, stop. Stop.

You don't have to scratch us, or scream. You know that none of that will change anything. You know that we will love you, even if you tell us you hate us. It's too late.

Get used to touching us, yes? What's left of us, anyways. Yes, our body won't be the most appealing, or the handsomest, but it's all for you. Every inch. All for you — just like how you are all ours.

You're ours, just as much as we belong to you. You could stab us with a knife and we'd smile. You could shoot us with a gun point-blank in the head and we'd thank you. What an honour it would be to live with you by your side, or die by your side. We're a dead man either way. Your dead man. Your Nikto.

You underestimated my capacity for violence. Or were perhaps too naive to understand it.

That's okay. Put your hand on my face. Just like that. See? Nothing to fear. It's just us. Your Nikto.

I can feel it shaking. Why do you shake so much, hm? Don't be afraid. There's nothing to be afraid of. You should know there's nothing to be afraid of. After all, you were fearless when it came to speaking to me, and weren't afraid to reach out to us. Surely you don't want to abandon us now?

That's too bad. You won't abandon us. We won't let you.

I'm crazy: I don't think I need to repeat it, yes?

I know it. We know it. Everyone else knows it.

You drive me crazy.

You drive me crazy.

You drive me crazy.

So crazy.

So, so crazy.

I am already crazy yes but it is You who drives me to insanity do You know that? Why do You deny? Do not deny us this yes? Yes You do know that it is You who makes me mad beyond return of course You do You've always known it and You know it now little one You're just pretending feigning ignorance with surprise in Your eyes. Why pretend that it was all a pretense? Your kindness? Your sympathy? Your company? It was not pretense to us no it was everything. Everything we could have hoped for prayed for and lived for.

You drive me crazy.

You drive me crazy.

You drive me crazy.

So crazy.

So, so crazy, baby.

Craaazyyy. Crazy crazy crazy!

You have made us the craziest we have ever been from the moment we met Your eyes and will be forever driven crazier with Your around from the day You die. And that won't be anytime now, my treasure. We will treasure You, take care of You, keep You safe. You will want for nothing, we can assure You — nothing, nobody, no one. Only Nikto. Nobody will ever look at You, as their eyeballs will be gouged out for having the audacity to spare a glance at the pinnacle of perfection. And nobody will ever want You, nobody will taint that precious skin with unworthy fingers, as anyone who tries will have them broken have their bones crushed to dust their skin muscles and tendons ripped to ribbons until there is no body left.

Nobody will ever look at You. Only Nikto. Us. Forever, and ever, and ever and ever and ever we will have our eyes on You until our retinas dissolve and our pupils can no longer absorb light and we become blind and crippled, crying, crying crying crying for You, crying only for You. You crying out for us until Your voice is hoarse from moaning, until our name becomes a prayer just as much as Yours is to us.

We love You. Think of nobody. Only Nikto. Only of Nikto. Only for and against Nikto. We will live for You. We do already, do you understand? We're yours. Yours. Yours yours yours yours yours yours to have yours to hit yours to scratch with those nails yours to scream at yours yours yours yours yours. Yours. Yours! Yours!

Yours!

Y/N.

I'm crazy: I don't think I needed to say, yes?

I know it. We know it. Everyone else knows it. You should have known it.

And if you didn't know it, then You will know it.

Because You drive me crazy.

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A/Ns

Really really really Really REALLY had doubts about posting this and thought that no one would like it. I felt inspired and happy and proud of myself when I was almost finished but it took me days to conclude the work since I was second-guessing whether or not I should post this after all. Kind of embarrassed, in all honesty, but I decided to post it in the end since I quite like it. :'>

I just wanted to highlight your, @//connorsui, lovely, lovely words when you reblogged my last Nikto post 😭😭😭💘💘💘. To receive not only some compliments, but your thoughts on my headcanons AND analysis *AND* your evaluation of my post was so, SO heartwarming to wake up to in the morning 🥹🥹🥹💓💓💓, especially when it was so long!!! Like, what?!! 😢😢😢😢😢😿😿😿😿😿😭😭😭😭😭💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💖💖💖💖💖✨✨✨✨✨

Thank you so so so SO much for your positive feedback !!! I've read it over four times by now. O really appreciated and still appreciate it. ☺️💞🫶💖✨✨💕💕

(I also want to kiss Nikto's scarred face ☹️☹️☹️ just wordless acts of intimacy where words aren't necessary and just to show the man some affection, regardless of how he looks 😟💝 need that ugly traumatised Russian man SO BAD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 😭😭😭😭😭😭)

Inspiration for this gained from:

thisvvv song!!! and Chapter 7 in Metro 2035 lol,, when Artyom was drunk and disorientated I thought it was written really REALLY well and I wanted to incorporate his meaningless drivel into this.

Nikto's voicelines and his various voices/sporadic changes in character

the Fandom Wiki

my own headcanons lol 😋

From fluff this whatever the fuck this is!!!!!!!!!! Hope you enjoyed 💗💗

[livwritesstuff]

Today was a bittersweet day – the last day of the three-month parental leave Steve had taken when their daughter Robbie was born before he headed back to his counseling job.

Eddie knows that Steve is feeling torn a few different ways about going back to work.

On the one hand, Steve loves his job, and he’d worked his ass off earning his doctorate so he could be a trauma therapist just like he’d planned. Kids had also been a part of his plan, obviously, but as more of an in addition to type of way, rather than instead of when it came to his career. Eddie knows this, and he knows that Steve is excited to go back, to reconnect with his patients after three months apart.

Eddie also knows that their kids are everything to Steve in a way his job will never be (duh), and Eddie had seen the way Steve refused to ignore the gravity of today – the last day he doesn’t have to share his time with anything other than their daughters.

Steve had been emotional about going back to work in a similar way the first time around with Moe, and he’d called home about eight or nine times during his first day back in the office, asking how things were going and if he’d missed anything. Now, Moe is two-and-a-half (and some change, if they’re being technical), and Robbie just hit the three-month mark a few days ago. This time, Steve had done his best to split his time between their two daughters, and it’s not all that different from their normal day-to-day, honestly, just…something heavier in the air, maybe.

Now, Moe’s all fresh and clean from her bath, her bangs slicked back with the rest of her damp hair (Steve had put on a whole show of planting kisses all over her forehead and saying, “is this where you’ve been hiding your brilliant brain from us?” which always sends Moe into giggling hysterics), and Steve’s got her all bundled up in a big fluffy towel, snuggling her close with one arm as he balances Robbie on his chest with the other, all of them piled into a rocking chair while Eddie sits stretched out on Robbie’s rug.

“I’m probably not gonna be home when you wake up tomorrow morning,” Steve tells Moe, and it’s not the first time he’s brought up this particular subject today, but, y’know…toddlers. Really gotta nail in the point sometimes with toddlers, “‘Cause I’m going back to work, so I have to leave early to drive into Boston.”

“Why do you hafta drive to Boston?” Moe asked.

“Because that’s where my office is. Remember a few weeks ago when we visited my office?”

“Yeah and they met Robbie.”

“That’s right,” Steve nodded, “Everyone I work with met Robbie. I got to take a break from work when Robbie was born, and now it’s time for me to go back.”

Moe’s eyebrows are furrowed.

“But…I don’t want you to go.”

“I know, bug,” he tells her, “I miss you and Robbie and Daddy like crazy when I’m not home with you.”

“So why don’t you take more break?”

“I sorta took all the break I’m allowed to, sweet pea. It’s time for me to go back to work.”

Eddie looks at Moe, sees the cogs turning in her little brain as she tries to figure out a way to convince her dad to stay home with her.

“But what if you just don’t work anymore?”

It’s a good question, Eddie knows, and she’s not the only one asking it.

Not too long after Robbie’s arrival, when Max and El had come to visit and meet the new baby, Max had privately asked Eddie if he thought Steve might throw in the towel on the whole career thing this time around. Again, it’s a fair question for anybody who really knows Steve, anybody who sees how much he loves their kids and how much he loves being a dad, even if Eddie knows the answer is no. Still, it’s a close no.

Steve hums sympathetically, “Maybe someday, but I like my job. I get to help people, and I worked hard in school to be able to do that. Someday you might decide you want to have a job where you do more school and get special degrees.”

“Like what kinds of jobs?”

“Like a doctor or a lawyer, or maybe you want to work in a lab and do research on something. It’s a big world, Moe, and you can do whatever you set your mind to."

"I want to be an astronaut," Moe tells them.

"Well, there you go."

"Or I wanna be a cookie."

"Oh-" Steve's eyebrows furrow as Eddie starts to laugh. "Alright..."

"That's my girl," Eddie says, "Astronaut or pastry. I like it."

[sommerbueckers]

another part two pillow talk PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE

𝐏𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐓𝐚𝐥𝐤²

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✰ 𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲 𝐢𝐧𝐯𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐠𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐥𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞

✰ 𝐰𝐜 :: 𝟐.𝟖𝐤

✰ 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐜𝐮𝐭𝐞 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟 𝐜𝐮𝐬 𝐢 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢 𝐝𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐭𝐭

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THE DRAGO FAMILY LAKE house was beautiful; the outside appeared like an abnormally large log cabin while the inside had been completely modernized from corner to corner.

Mrs Drago groaned, "I've never seen this much dust in my life."

"You say that every year," Catherine laughed, looking at her mom.

"Every year is dustier than the last."

As Mr and Mrs Drago set their bags down and headed into the kitchen, Catherine looked expectantly to Paige, "C'mon."

She led her upstairs, allowing Paige to stare in awe at every new area she saw until they reached their shared bedroom. There was a large bed in the middle of the room, the mattress covered in baby pink sheets with teddy bears scattered on them. Full length windows made up an entire wall, looking out to the incredible backyard.

The walls were decorated in framed pictures of Catherine when se was younger. Pictures of her in a kiddy pool with goggles around her head, pictures of her holding ice cream with what looked to be a young Zane and Sasha. There were also some that had been taken in the last few years, in a bikini on a boat, by a fire beside Noella, holding a black '8' ball over her face at what looked to be a party.

The room was like a glimpse into Catherine's past, Paige could watch her grow up just by looking at the walls. Paige smiled at a picture of a young Catherine, curls wild and untamed, in the driver seat of a Jeep with her tongue out. She had to have been about eight or nine.

"That was my uncle's Jeep, I used to pretend to drive it when he'd come up to visit," she heard the girl explain, and Paige turned to see her lying on her stomach with her chin in her hands.

Paige set the picture down and slowly approached Catherine on the bed. "He doesn't come to visit anymore?" she asked.

"He does, just not as often. I don't have to pretend to drive it now though, he actually lets me drive it around now."

"Must be fun," Paige used her hands to push Catherine's hair out of her face, then she trailed her fingers down and pulled out the girl's bottom lip. "You like to drive?"

Catherine nodded silently, put in a trance by the way Paige was completely towering over her. The presence of Paige felt overwhelming, yet mesmerizing, as if she commanded the very air around them. Catherine's gaze was fixed upward, challengingly holding the blonde's eyes. In that moment, words seemed unnecessary; the intensity between them spoke volumes.

"What about riding, huh? You like to ride Cat?"

Paige trailed her thumb across the girl's lip once more, only this time, she let it push past them and slipped her finger in. Catherine sucked gently, swirling her finger around the tip. Paige was spellbound with the way Catherine's plump lips looked around her finger, she imagined what they would look like around something much thicker.

Catherine rose up on her knees, slowly taking Paige's hand from her mouth and dragging it down her body. She tilted her head back when Paige's fingers came in contact with her clit through her shorts, it didn't take a genius to realize that she wasn't wearing any panties. Paige's own arousal grew at the thought of how easily she had access to Catherine, how easily Catherine had given her access.

Her hands wrapped around Paige's neck and she pulled her close, moaning softly into her ear.

"Want you to fuck me."

Paige pushed her down onto the bed, drawing out a yelp from Catherine when her back hit the mattress. The blonde began to unbutton her shorts, Catherine following suit as she untied the string to hers. Before either girl could get any further, a knock sounded at the door.

Catherine rubbed her hands over her face, releasing a frustrating sigh before saying, "Come in!."

Her mother's face appeared, a large smile plastered across it as she entered the room. "Hi girls," she said before turning to Catherine, "your father and I are gonna go to the grocery store to get some things for the fridge and for dinner, if you two wanna come and pick some things out you're welcome to."

A silent conversation was held between the girls before Catherine answered for the both of them, "No, just get some snacks and stuff. Some fruit too."

"Will do," Phoebe nodded, giving Paige a friendly smile before exiting the room and closing the door behind her.

They waited until they could no longer hear the woman's footsteps nearby, the pair holding in their laughter as best as they could.

"You still turned on?" Paige finally asked.

Catherine laughed, "Shut up and get over here."

BEING WITH CATHERINE'S FAMILY wasn't awkward to Paige — at least not while the curly head was around. The young teen stood in the kitchen, helping her mother cook dinner. They were making Ravioli pasta, a dish Paige always made from a can rather than from scratch. As Paige watched Catherine move around the kitchen with her mother, there was a warmth in the air that she couldn't quite put into words. Catherine, with her curls bouncing lightly as she moved, seemed completely at ease. She smiled at her mother, laughing softly at some inside joke they shared as they chopped vegetables and tended to the simmering pot on the stove. The scene was domestic and tender, a side of Catherine that Paige hadn't seen before. It was a simple, everyday task—cooking dinner with family—but to Paige, it was something else entirely.

Catherine’s hands moved with a practiced grace, chopping, stirring, seasoning—all under the gentle guidance of her mother. There was a harmony between them that Paige found mesmerizing. It was as if they were in sync, understanding each other without the need for words. Paige could see how much Catherine respected and adored her mother, and it made her heart swell. This was Catherine in her element, surrounded by the people she loved, doing something that was second nature to her.

As Paige watched Catherine move around the kitchen with her mother, there was a warmth in the air that she couldn't quite put into words. Catherine, with her curls bouncing lightly as she moved, seemed completely at ease. She smiled at her mother, laughing softly at some inside joke they shared as they chopped vegetables and tended to the simmering pot on the stove. The scene was domestic and tender, a side of Catherine that Paige hadn't seen before. It was a simple, everyday task—cooking dinner with family—but to Paige, it was something else entirely.

Catherine’s hands moved with a practiced grace, chopping, stirring, seasoning—all under the gentle guidance of her mother. There was a harmony between them that Paige found mesmerizing. It was as if they were in sync, understanding each other without the need for words. Paige could see how much Catherine respected and adored her mother, and it made her heart swell. This was Catherine in her element, surrounded by the people she loved, doing something that was second nature to her.

Paige felt a pang of longing, not just for Catherine, but for this sense of belonging, of being part of something so warm and loving. She realized then that her feelings for Catherine were deepening. It wasn’t just Catherine’s beauty or her sharp wit that drew Paige in—it was moments like these, seeing Catherine’s gentler side, her connection to her family, and the care she put into the small, everyday things.

The way Catherine laughed with her mother, the way she focused intently on getting the seasoning just right, and the way she nudged Paige playfully with her elbow when she caught her staring—all of it made Paige's chest tighten with affection. She wasn’t just falling for Catherine’s looks or charm; she was falling for the person Catherine was when no one was watching, the person who cared deeply and loved fiercely.

"Paige honey, would you like some wine?"

Paige perked up at the sound of Phoebe Drago's voice, smooth and suave. The woman was dressed in a large black sweater, jeans coating her legs even with the thickness that lingered in the summer air. She didn't seem to be bothered by it, only rolling them up when she had begun cooking.

Paige quirked an eyebrow at the question, glancing at Catherine who stood smiling with her hands on her hips.

"Sure," the blonde nodded unsurely.

Catherine retrieved three wine glasses from one of the cabinets, opening a fresh bottle of Brachetto d'Acqui and filling them slightly over what her mother considered an appropriate amount.

"Catherine!" the woman exclaimed, gently hitting her shoulder. "C'est trop pour elle." It's too much for her.

"Non, c'est bon," No, it's okay. Catherine waved her off, placing the glass in front of Paige. "Is that good for you?"

"Yeah, it's cool," she shrugged cooly.

Paige had rarely even tasted wine, let alone finished an entire glass. She imagined how her mother might react if she could see her now. Catherine swirled her wine thoughtfully, then lifted the glass to her lips. As she took a delicate sip, she closed her eyes in pleasure, letting out a contented hum.

Paige couldn't take her eyes off of her, watching how her tongue darted across her lips, and how her cheeks took on a light shade of red when their eyes met. Paige's eyes roamed over Catherine, drinking in every detail with fascination. She admired the way Catherine’s lips curled around the wine glass, how the light played off her flushed cheeks. She shifted her gaze subtly, mindful not to be too obvious, trying to blend her curiosity with a veneer of polite restraint. 

"So Paige," Phoebe asked, breaking the silence, "do you enjoy cooking?"

Paige hesitated, a sheepish smile playing on her lips. "Well, I've never really cooked much, unless you count instant ramen or something like that," she said, scratching the back of her neck with a chuckle.

Phoebe's smile was warm and encouraging. "Would you like to learn?"

Paige’s eyes brightened. "I’d love to," she replied, nodding enthusiastically. Though cooking had never been her passion, the prospect of stepping away from the stool and moving closer to Catherine made the idea irresistibly appealing.

"You can help me cut the dough," Catherine suggested, extending a pizza cutter. "Then we're gonna roll it so it gets kinda thin, and that's when you put the cheese filling in."

Paige was beaming down at her, a dazed look in her eyes. She should've been embarrassed when Catherine caught, and she would've if the shorter girl hadn't been giving her the same look. Those stunning brown eyes, framed by the longest eyelashes Paige had ever seen, were staring right back at her.

"That dough isn't going to cut itself girls."

When the cooking had finally finished, Phoebe turned off the stove, her movements deliberate as she retrieved her oven mitts from a drawer. "Catherine," the woman called, grabbing four plates out of the cabinet and setting them down in a stack on the counter. The curly head didn't answer. "Catherine," she called again, and still no answer. When she finally looked up, she noticed her daughter completely immersed in a conversation with Paige.

She noticed the not-so-subtle glances between them, the way their eyes met and held just a moment too long, the subtle smiles they shared over the simmering pots. She saw how Paige’s eyes would drift toward Catherine, lingering on her as if she were the only person in the room. Catherine, in turn, would catch those glances and respond with a shy smile or a soft blush, a quiet but unmistakable acknowledgment of something between them.

Phoebe observed all of this with the practiced eye of a mother who had seen these signs before. The gentle laughter they shared, the way their shoulders brushed as they moved around the kitchen.

With that, she looked to Catherine and said in a warm but firm tone, "Catherine, could you go help your father set the table, please?" The request was casual, but the underlying message was clear: she had noticed.

Catherine blinked, slightly caught off guard by her mother’s request. She wasn’t usually the one asked to set the table—that was something her father typically handled. She hesitated for a moment, her gaze flicking to Paige, who was still standing by the counter. There was a brief flash of surprise in her eyes, but she quickly masked it with a small smile.

"Sure," Catherine replied, her voice calm, though there was a hint of hesitation beneath her tone. She grabbed the stack of plates off the counter, reaching for the silverware in the drawer before carrying it out to the patio.

As Catherine left the kitchen, Paige felt a subtle shift in the atmosphere. The easy warmth she’d felt moments ago was replaced by a slight tension that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Her muscles tightened, and she found herself suddenly aware of the quiet hum of the room, the ticking of the clock on the wall seeming louder than before.

Phoebe moved to clean up a bit, but there was a certain stillness in her posture, a deliberate calm that only added to Paige’s unease. Paige tried to focus on something else, but the lingering tension nagged at her, making her feel slightly out of place. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something unspoken was hanging in the air, just out of reach, but she had no idea what it was or why it made her heart beat just a little faster.

"You know..." Phoebe started, her voice unnaturally calm. "The first time that Catherine told me she'd be staying after school to watch her friend's basketball game, I thought there was no way in hell." She let out a breathless laugh before she continued. "Catherine's never been interested in sports. So, me being a mother, I just assumed she had a crush on some stupid little boy. She asked a second time, and a third, and a fourth. And when the fifth time came around, I started to think, 'What about this boy is so special that he is getting Catherine to do something that her father and I have been trying to get her to do for years?' And so I came to a game to see for myself, and then I noticed, there were no boys!" the woman was still smiling, but Paige wasn't sure how genuine it was.

"I couldn't possibly think of one thing that the two of you would've had in common, not one. Your styles are different, your interests are different, your friends are different..."

As Phoebe’s words hung in the air, Paige felt her heart rate spike, a cold wave of panic washing over her. Her mind raced, scrambling for some kind of defense, some way to explain herself, but the more Phoebe spoke, the more certain Paige became that she had figured everything out. The calm tone, the way Phoebe listed their differences with almost clinical precision—it all felt like a carefully crafted interrogation. Paige could feel her palms start to sweat, her throat tightening as if the truth was stuck there, threatening to escape.

She forced a smile, but it felt weak, barely holding together the rising tide of anxiety that threatened to spill over. All she could think was how desperately she wished Catherine would walk in, flash that confident smile, and somehow smooth over the growing tension. If Catherine were here, Paige was sure she could defuse the situation with just a few words, turning the conversation in a safer direction. But Catherine wasn’t here, and Paige was left alone, trapped under Phoebe’s knowing gaze, feeling more exposed with every passing second.

"But there actually is one thing that you guys have in common, and do you know what that is Paige?"

Paige swallowed hard, her mind racing as she tried to anticipate where Phoebe was going with this. She forced herself to meet Phoebe’s gaze, even as her stomach twisted into knots.

"I—uh, I’m not sure," Paige stammered, her voice wavering slightly despite her best efforts to stay calm. She could feel the blood pounding in her ears, every muscle in her body tensed as she braced herself for whatever was coming next.

"When you look at each other, you have that same little glint in your eye that she does. It's so obvious a blind man could see it from a mile away. Like you two are the only ones in the room, like your ears only respond to each other's voices. You're not very good at hiding it."

Paige hesitated, unsure of what she could do or say to save herself, to save Catherine. In truth, there was nothing that could be done, and the blonde soon came to that defeating realization. "Are you mad?" Her eyes searched Phoebe’s face for any sign of approval or disapproval. Phoebe's expression was unwavering for a moment, the urge to cry slowly building inside of Paige. That was until the ends of Phoebe's lips curled upward, a smile breaking out onto her face.

"Not at all."

___________________________________________________________

[redroomreflections]

Sign The Papers

Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Not Easily Broken Universe - Masterlist

When R asked for a divorce

It starts out as a conversation you don’t want to have. Right here in the kitchen. The very same kitchen you’ve grown together in. This kitchen has seen a lot of things. Love, sex, hate, kids, messes, family gatherings, family fights. This house has seen even more.

You approach the island, leaning against the counter for support, as Natasha mentions the kids lunch for the next morning. She talks about how she has a mission coming up soon and it’s only an hour drive away so the kids can stay with Wanda and Vision if you need. She then talks about plans for Valentine’s Day and you’re only half listening to this time. You think about how none of that sounds appealing to you. None of it sounds okay. You’re not okay.

How could Natasha just ignore everything that’s been going on? How could she just move forward as if the divide between you wasn’t much bigger than you thought? You almost feel guilty for your feelings. Almost. Then you think about the sleepless nights, the fact that you haven’t really slept here, and how much you argue. It’s not right to live like this. It’s not right.

You see Natasha look at you expectantly. Had she been saying something? Oh, right. Valentine’s Day.

“Y/n?” She questions.

“I want a divorce.” You speak lowly. Unsure of yourself. You can hear the sound of a pin drop and you’re unsure if Natasha even heard you. Her face is blank. Confused. So you say it again. “I want a divorce.” Before you lose the courage you reach beside you into your suitcase. You grab the stack of papers pushing them across the counter toward Natasha. She glances down at them quickly before looking back at you. A piece of her armor cracks as she realizes you’re serious. “I am…unhappy. I-I don’t think we’re compatible anymore, Natasha. I don’t want to drag this on any more between us. I just-“ you didn’t expect the tears to prick your eyes. You practiced this speech over and over again. How come this didn’t feel any better?

“You’re kidding ?” Natasha shakes her head. “You have to be. We-we were fine. We’re fine right ?” Natasha rounds the counter and she reaches out to touch you but you flinch away. “I don’t want that. You don’t want that. Divorce? Y/n…”

“Nat, please…” You plead with her. “At some point, we have to let each other go.”

“And if I say no?” Natasha bites. “If I refuse? Nine years of marriage, eleven years together just down the drain?”

You don’t respond this time. You swallow thickly as your tongue feels even bigger in your mouth.

“I want to do this as cleanly as possible,” you begin again. “I don’t want the house or the cars or anything. Especially not your money, um, I do, want shared custody of the kids. I hope that’s something we can agree on.”

“So just like that, we’re done? I don’t even get a say?” Natasha clenches her jaw. A move to keep from crying.

“No,” You nod. “We aren’t good for each other anymore. We aren’t making each other happy. I met with my lawyer today and-“

Natasha inhales sharply. This was really happening.

“I’m not signing.” She refuses to grab the papers before you can pick them up again. She rips them into tiny shreds allowing the papers to fall from her hands and land on the floor in a million pieces. “I’m not. I’m going to go to bed. I’m going to wake up next to you just like always. Because you’re going to come to bed too. Then we get the kids ready and I kiss you goodbye. Just like always.”

“Nat” You reach out for her and it’s her turn to pull away.

“No, we said our vows!” She cries. “We said them and you’re just going to throw them away?” She looks at you with such anger. Such disgust. Pity? “For better or for worse.”

“This is worse, Natasha.” You say with a frustrated sigh.

[tiredmetalenthusiast]

A Date With Joyous News! John Price x F!reader

This is for @glitterypirateduck John Price writing challenge! Wanted to try doing a longer fic. Scenarios used were 7. ‘Date Night’ and 8. A confession or secret is made, revealed, or discovered’

Warnings: Alcohol consumption, mention of pregnancy, implied NSFW.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The day had started off as a soft morning, slowly waking up to John’s arms wrapped firmly around you and softly snoring. When you both had finally woken up and gotten out of bed he brought up the plans he had for the day.

”How about a night out today, Love?” You giggled and leaned into his shoulder. “John, we're married, you don’t have to try and win me over anymore.” He kissed the top of your head and breathed in your scent, “Well I’m going to anyway. I’m taking you on a date tonight, be ready by 7pm sweetheart.” “Where are we going tonight?” “It’s a surprise.” You nodded and kissed his cheek before the two of you went off to do your daily tasks, excited for the date later on.

6:45pm:

John stood at the mirror trimming his beard to look presentable, from the corner of his eye he spots you in the bathroom. Dressed to the nines and looking just as ravishing as when you both got married. Red dress fitting you in all the right places, makeup dark and seductive, the dark red lipstick doing things to him. “Are you ready to go luv?” You peeked from behind the door and nodded, walking out of the bathroom to grab your heels and purse. He holds out his arm and you take it giggling, as he leads you to the front door of the flat and to the car, letting your arm go to open the door for you. After you had gotten in he went to his own side and the drive to the date began.

Your eyes lit up as you saw the restaurant John had pulled up to. “Really? You got a reservation?!” “I did luv. You’ve mentioned wanting to go here for some time. Let’s go.” He gets out and walks around to your side, opening the door and helping you out. The Maître D’ greets you both upon entrance.

The young man seems nervous, glancing at John before speaking, “How can I help you both today?” “Reservation for 2, Under John Price.” The young man, Sam, checks the list before motioning for the two of you to follow. “This way please. Your table is ready.” Following Sam towards the back of the restaurant, he stops at a table and allows you and John to seat yourselves before handing over two menus. John watches you as you gaze around the restaurant in amazement. 

“The decor is so beautiful! How far ahead did you have to book?” “A few months, but seeing you happy is worth it.” The waitress came, took both of your orders, and went on her way. Dinner came and went, conversation was had, but John had noticed your lack of wine, deciding not to comment.

After dinner the drive home was spent discussing the food and how amazing the service was. “The lemon chicken pasta with alfredo was so good! The sauce was so smooth and had a nice flavor to it! How was your steak? It looked juicy.” “The steak was delicious sweetheart. The meat was tender and well cooked.” John smiled as he watched you beam brightly and gush over the food again, particularly dessert.

Once home you took off your heels with a pleased sigh, groaning low in relief. As you went about your routine to get ready for bed you noticed John standing by the door, shoulder leaning against it as he watched you slip out of your dress. “How about a movie before bed?” “That sounds lovely John.” He leaves to pick out a movie and you head to take off your makeup and change into pjs. Once dressed and noticing that John was changed as well, wearing those sinful gray sweatpants you loved so much and no shirt. You sat with him under the blanket and cuddled into his side, he wrapped his arm around your shoulders and you turned his head to give him a kiss, tasting the whiskey he had for dinner. “I love you so much John.” He kisses you back, hand wrapping around the back of your head to hold you there, “I love you too, so much luv.” You smile wider and watch the movie.

Halfway through he brings up the wine, it's your favorite thing to have when you guys go on dinner dates. “Didn’t feel up to the wine tonight?” You stop mid laugh and turn to face him. “Thought I wouldn’t notice? What’s wrong?” “John?” “Yes luv?” “Do you remember when you came back last month? And we had that wonderful, earth shattering sex?” “I do. Dream about it when I’m away. Did something happen? I didn’t hurt you did I?” “No! No nothing like that. Uhm…I just…” “Darling if I did something wrong please let know. I could never live with myself if-…” “John, I'm pregnant!”

He was absolutely stunned into silence. “Pardon?” “I-I mean I’m only a month along but-!” “I’m gonna be a dad? You’re really pregnant?” You nodded nervously, tears starting to well up in the corners of your eyes. “Who else knows?” “I tried calling you but Gaz had answered the phone, saying you were on the line with Kate. Told Gaz all about it.” Price thought for a moment. “Ah guess that would explain his sudden excitement that day.” He hugged you close and kissed you passionately. “So I’m gonna be an actual dad then?” “Baby you’re already an actual dad.” You snickered. “The boys don’t count.” 

You both laughed, falling back onto the cushions to celebrate the wonderful news with a night of steamy passion.

[kinglivv]

Leaving Her

Kate Stewart x g!n reader

Summary: When you and Kate’s relationship gets rocky, you run away with the Doctor. Four months later, your run in with the Toymaker forces you to confront each other.

Warnings: None

A/N: because not enough attention is paid to the fact that kate uses guns now ALL the time

You find her outside, smoking.

“I thought you’d quit.” You state.

“Yeah well,” she taps away the ash, “we all have our vices.”

You don’t really want to be out here on the helipad with Kate. It’s raining for one, and you’d been managing quite successfully to avoid being left alone with her. However, as the adrenaline of day wore off, you found yourself in desperate need to get out of the command room. The walls were closing in and you hadn’t breathed fresh air in 12 hours.

And there she is.

She’s a vision against the London skyline, blonde hair still somehow perfectly neat and brown eyes still longing, threatening to draw you in.

You remind yourself that you hate her.

You stand next to her for a few silent moments, leaving a healthy distance between you as you regard the view over London.

“You didn’t visit,” she says suddenly.

“Why would I?”

“I just thought…” Kate shakes her head, refusing to look and you and taking another puff. She waves a hand exasperatedly, “It was like you were there one day and gone the next.”

“There was a bit more build up to it than that and you bloody well know it,” you snort. “Late at the office every night. Cancelling our anniversary trip. Forgetting my birthday. It may as well been you who upped and disappeared.”

“You’ve seen my work here. You think I can just abandon it?” she snaps, waving to the building behind. The wind whips around you and her words are carried away.

“You have a second in command, Kate,” you snap back, “You’re allowed to delegate. Have an actual life outside your job.” You want to smack your head against a wall. Months apart and here you were, back again having the same argument you’d had a million times before.

“You knew this wasn’t a normal nine to five when you got with me.”

“Yeah but you changed, Kate,” you almost yell. “Look at you. Where’s the woman who used to take me out to dinner every Friday? Where’s the woman who used to drive me out to the countryside to stargaze? You’re a workaholic.”

“You don’t get to come in here and lecture me after running away with her for the last four months.” She spits.

And there it is. Laid bare. How nights sleeping on the sofa, endless arguments and weeks worrying she was having an affair had culminated in you taking up the Doctor’s invite to travel with her. It was her smile, her humour, her energy, her short blonde hair and brown eyes. If you squinted, the Doctor could be anyone you wanted her to be. You’d packed a bag and left not only your Kate but your planet. It felt like no where was far away enough.

And now the Doctor had regenerated, replaced by someone you didn’t quite recognise anymore, and that had only given you more time to think about all you’d left behind.

“The divorce papers arrived, by the way.” she breaks the silence, “Do you want me to sign them?”

That’s another punch to the gut. Distantly, it strikes you that you haven’t been home in so long that you hadn’t checked your mail. You opt not to answer her.

Neither of you say anything for a moment. Voices carry over from inside the command deck, presumably Ibrahim issuing clean-up orders or the Doctor catching up with his old friends. You shiver in the cold of the helipad. Horns honk in the streets below.

“Since when did you use guns?” You ask quietly, because the silence is agony.

It was something that had been bugging you the minute you got off the TARDIS. Kate Lethbridge Stewart, the woman who was supposed to be reforming UNIT, leading with science and not weapons, had been so eager to whip out a side piece the minute there had been any hint of danger. You’d flinched when she’d so breezily ordered her men to open fire, as if it were a well-rehearsed, familiar line. The woman you’d married had abhorred violence.

Her cigarette struggles in the rain, and she curses under her breath, pulling out her lighter. You watch her, really watch her for the first time that day. You notice the deeper crow lines around her eyes, the hair that isn’t as cropped as she usually preferred it.

“It’s practical,” she eventually offers as explanation.

“I seem to remember you saying you dragged UNIT kicking and screaming to get them to put down their guns.”

“UNIT is a military operation. We’ve always used guns.”

“Yeah but I mean you, Kate.” You reply, “That handgun is new.” You glance at it holstered on her hip.

She shifts self-consciously, shrugging so that her blazer falls over it, obscuring it from your view. It’s a nice blazer. New you think, and it suits her very well. You blink, trying not to get distracted by her figure or that strong hand clutching the cigarette.

“The Colonel and I thought it would be wise for me to carry one after the Cyberman siege on our old office.”

“The one you blew up?”

“Yes,” she laughs bitterly.

“Why now?” You argue, “You’ve seen off the Zygons, the Master, Sontarons. Why start carrying a weapon now?”

She twists her wedding ring. She’s still wearing it you realise, and you look down at your naked fingers in unexpected guilt.

“They tried to convert me,” she confesses. “They were this close to managing it and I only just got away. Had me tied to the chair and everything.”

Your breath catches in your throat. You stare at her, this women who you knew inside and out, who you had dedicated the last three years of your life to. This woman who had seen you cry and laugh. This woman who held you in bed at night and this woman who you had run from. You want to reach out to her, to promise her she’s safe.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You ask instead.

“Didn’t know how,” she shrugs. “Kind of worst case scenario, isn’t it? Nothing compares to a cyberman.”

You silently agree with her. Of all the monsters in the universe you’d come across, none could strike fear into you quite like the metallic, robotic Cybermen could. There was nothing more violating than the prospect of having your emotions stripped away and your body turned into fodder.

“I think I started working longer to stop thinking about it,” she adds. “I mean, there was the big clean-up operation afterwards which took a lot of time, and after that I just found it easier to not stop.”

Shame floods your body. All this time she’d been hurting and you’d abandoned her. You can’t help yourself, you slide an arm around her waist, and then another, pressing your front to her back and burying your face into her shoulder. She still fits in your embrace perfectly, and her hand - the one that isn’t clutching the fag like a rubber ring - cautiously reaches to cover yours.

“I’m sorry Kate,” you murmur. “I should’ve known. I shouldn’t have left you.”

“No,” you feel her shake her head, “God I hate you for it but leaving me forced me look at things. I haven’t been good to you. I am a workaholic. And somewhere along the line I stopped being a wife.”

You blink back tears and press a kiss to her jaw.

“Don’t sign the papers,” you whisper.

[rosella35]

Kaleb's Bad Day: Part I

*clears throat* It's been a while, G/T community!

I don't get as much time for writing anymore with my uni degree in its final years, but this is a one-shot I've been working on for an obnoxious amount of time now based on a prompt I got a while back: What if Kaleb, my borrower character, shrunk in class?

To set the scene since the last time I updated Borrowed Courage was in 2022 *sobs*, Kaleb and Brooke live in a world where the borrower race was discovered 10 years ago and unbeknownst to humankind, many borrowers use a drug called "Upsize" to temporarily grow to human size and blend into society. This one-shot is canon but probably won't be added to the main story for timing reasons. It's set roughly 2 months after Brooke first discovered Kaleb's secret identity as a borrower.

Part II will be up tomorrow - I hope you like!

Content warning: contains angst, swearing and nudity (not graphic).

****

“Alright. For the rest of today, I want you to work independently through the exercises in chapter two of your textbooks. I’ll be floating around if anyone has any burning questions.” Mr Bell instructed the class. From his seat at the back of the room, Kaleb gritted his teeth in frustration. On any other day, he would be more than happy to follow his teacher’s instructions; learning about human history was one of the things he’d enrolled in school for in the first place. From a young age, Kaleb had been fascinated with the way the giants that owned the world had came to be that way, while his kind— the borrowers— had spent their lives hidden away in the shadows. Today, though, he was only half paying attention. Kaleb ran his hands through his scruffy brown hair, finding it increasingly difficult to ignore the incessant pounding that seemed to reverberate all the way from his skull to his fingertips.  

Something was off. 

It wasn’t uncommon or him to be getting headaches from going consecutive days using Upsize, the drug that allowed him to attend human school at five feet nine instead of five inches tall. Even so, they hardly ever set in this early in the week, and were never an issue unless he was moving around too much. This one felt different. It had barely set in twenty minutes ago and was already driving him crazy. With a pained sigh, Kaleb tried to preoccupy himself with opening his textbook to the designated chapter. It felt weird to consider, since borrowers didn’t get sick nearly as often as humans did, but… maybe he was coming down with something.  

From the seat adjacent, Brooke Tucker glanced up from her own work to frown across at him. “Are you good?” She whispered, leaning forward with her hand on her chin. 

Kaleb immediately stiffened, surprised she’d even noticed his discomfort. Am I that obvious? “I don’t know.” He said uneasily. “My head is killing me.” 

The human girl’s brow creased in concern, an expression she rarely ever directed at him. If he weren’t so distracted by the pain, Kaleb probably would’ve been flattered. “Could be a migraine.” She suggested, before adding in a lower voice. “Do borrowers even get those?”

“Yes, we get migraines.” He whispered back, rolling his eyes. Since she’d discovered Kaleb’s true identity back in September, the human girl had made it her mission to find every opportunity to tease and mock him about being a borrower. Still, Kaleb couldn’t quite shake the feeling that something about this particular headache felt familiar. No way. That’s impossible. He dismissed, turning back to his textbook. “It’s probably nothing.” He assured her.

That was when he felt it.

BADUMP. 

A sudden wave of pain reverberated through his body, making him sit bolt upright in his desk like he’d just stepped on a live wire. It was a sensation Kaleb knew all-too-well, because he’d experienced it every afternoon after school for the past four years. 

His Upsize was about to wear off. 

“Shit.” He hissed, feeling the colour drain from his face. His mind reeled, struggling to make sense of why this was even happening. It was like one of his worst nightmares come to life. He should’ve had more time. He always had more time. Had Rodney messed up his dose? 

Kaleb ground his teeth together, forcing himself to focus. There was no time to dwell on the ‘why’. He had to get out of sight, and fast. 

BADUMP.

The room spun as he was hit with another rapid full-body ache, and Kaleb almost collapsed out of his chair. He felt himself start to shiver uncontrollably, the primal fear of being seen overwhelming his senses. “Kaleb, what the hell’s going on with you?” Brooke’s voice echoed somewhere beside him. “You’re making a scene.” 

Shit-shit-shit-shit-shit. Kaleb didn’t have to look up to know that the whole class was staring at him, a tingling feeling that sent his borrower instincts to flee into overdrive. He glanced across at Brooke, gazing unblinking into her judgemental grey-green eyes like they were his lifeline. In that moment, he made a decision.

“Why’re you staring at me like that, it’s creeping me—”

“Come with me.” Kaleb blurted out. 

That was all the warning Brooke got before he’d clamped his hand around her wrist and launched out of his seat, dragging her along behind him. 

“Sorry Mr Bell, we’ll be right back!” He announced in a rush of adrenalin, practically stumbling out the classroom door. Brooke, who had been too bewildered to react to their sudden exit, finally came to her senses as they entered the empty hallway. She ripped her hand out of his grasp, ears reddening in second-hand embarrassment from what had just gone down.

“What the fuck was that about?” She hissed, though her expression shifted to concern when he leaned heavily against the wall several paces in front of her, clutching his head. For the first time, Brooke noticed the raw, unsuppressed fear in his eyes.  

“I can explai—” Kaleb started, but broke off with a startled yelp when he felt the shrinking process finally kick in. He could only catch a glimpse of Brooke’s startled expression before the ground rushed towards him and he was swallowed up by his human clothes that were suddenly hundreds of sizes too big. Within the span of a few seconds, he found himself back at his original five-inch-tall height and buried beneath the course folds of his t-shirt, chest heaving from the lingering adrenalin and body frozen in terror as the reality of his situation dawned. 

Brooke, having witnessed the whole thing, did a double take. “What in the—” One second Kaleb had been standing there in front of her, and the next… Her eyes fell to his unoccupied pile of clothes, and she swore, realising what had just happened. 

“Kaleb? Brooke? Is everything okay with you two?” She froze at the sound of Mr Bell’s voice from inside the classroom, his footsteps growing closer and closer.

Panicking, Brooke scrambled to scoop up the bundle of Kaleb’s clothes, quickly locating the squirming figure buried within, and shoved them behind herself. The second he felt her fingers close around him and lift him blindly into the air, Kaleb’s heart leapt into his throat. He shivered involuntarily, the sensation of powerful human hands around his entire frame serving as a stark reminder of how little control he had over their current situation. All he could do was make himself as small as possible in her grip and trust Brooke to handle things with the teacher. 

“Y-Yep!” The human girl said, turning around just as the Mr Bell poked his head out the classroom door. Her hands tightened protectively around Kaleb’s smaller form under the clothes, feeling his tiny heartbeat flutter like a bird’s against her fingers. She cleared her throat awkwardly in attempt to compose herself. “I mean… actually, Kaleb wasn’t feeling well. He went ahead to the nurses office, but would you mind if I go too? J-Just to make sure he’s okay.” 

The teacher gave her a strange look, and Brooke held her breath, waiting for him to notice the bundle of Kaleb’s clothes behind her back and effectively blow her cover story. After a moment though, Mr Bell’s expression softened to concern. “Oh, of course you can.” He said with a nod. “I hope he feels better soon. Don’t worry about missing the rest of the lesson. I’ll email the two of you supplementary work later today.”

She managed a strained smile. “Thank you.” 

The moment he disappeared back inside, Brooke took off down the hall, her mind stalling on what she was supposed to do next. There was no way she could actually take Kaleb to the nurses office without exposing him, and it would be too suspicious if she just up and left the building in the middle of class. She cursed. There was really only one place that would give the two of them some privacy, which made her uncomfortable even thinking about, but Brooke didn’t really have a choice. 

Resigned to her fate, she made beeline for the girl’s bathroom. 

Locking herself inside a cubicle, Brooke let out a relieved sigh. She sat down heavily on the closed seat of the toilet, turning her attention to the bundle of Kaleb’s human clothes in her lap and the tiny muffled voice she could suddenly hear through the fabric. “Can’t breathe—!”

Eyes widening, Brooke loosened her hold around the clothes. It seemed silly now, but in her haste to get to somewhere private, she’d almost forgotten that Kaleb had been with her the whole time, buried underneath the layers of denim and cotton.  She was about to reach in to try and pull him out, when she realised that somewhere amongst the folded material, Kaleb was not only borrower-sized but naked. Face heating up at the thought, Brooke sat back against the toilet and cleared her throat awkwardly. “Okay, you’re safe to come out. We’re alone.” 

Sure enough, it wasn’t long after she’d spoken that Brooke noticed a miniature head of scruffy brown hair poking out through the of one of the t-shirt sleeves as Kaleb revealed himself at last. He blinked rapidly in the harsh fluorescent lighting, scrambling to cover himself with his blanket-like clothes. Without his usual shirt and tan jacket combo, he seemed almost smaller than usual, his bare shoulders slim and pale and his breaths short and fast. Fragile was the first word that came to mind. Intuitively, Brooke knew that compared to humans, borrowers really were fragile and vulnerable, but those were never words she’d associated with Kaleb. Now though, he wasn’t even trying to hide the fact that his entire body trembled like a scared animal in her hands. 

That didn’t stop her from glaring daggers at him. “What the fuck, Kaleb!” She hissed. “You almost gave me a heart attack!” 

Kaleb flinched instinctively, his hazel eyes shooting up to meet her now much larger grey ones. Brooke’s angry expression faltered. Shit. He looked terrified— even more so than the time she’d found him on the apartment roof all those weeks ago. She swallowed, turning away uncomfortably. That look in his eyes… It didn’t suit him at all. 

The two of them didn’t speak for several minutes, awkward silence permeating the cubicle. Kaleb took that time to try and compose himself, his full-body tremors slowly dissipating as he tried to calm his pounding heart. It wasn’t easy to do by any means, but he appreciated Brooke’s patience. Finally finding his voice, he tilted his head to meet her eyes. 

“S-Sorry.” He said, holding the material of his shirt around his nude frame with white knuckled hands. He licked his dry lips. “No one saw… did they?”

Brooke sighed, making a conscious effort to shift to a gentler tone of voice. Now probably wasn’t the time for their usual teasing banter. “No.” She reassured him. “Just me.” 

Kaleb visibly relaxed at that, minuscule shoulders slumping under the thick material of his shirt. “Thank god.” He breathed, almost too quiet for her to make out. So he hadn’t been seen by anyone else in the class. Just knowing that was enough to ease a significant portion of his built up anxiety. With a clearer head, Kaleb finally paused to take in his surroundings, and his jaw immediately dropped when he caught sight of a toilet roll as long as he was tall. “What the—” He exclaimed, looking up at her with an aghast expression. “Is this the girl’s bathroom—?!” 

Brooke held back a snort as his tiny face turned beet red with embarrassment. Much more like the Kaleb she knew. “You didn’t exactly give me much time to think of a better place to go.” She pointed out, sitting up straighter on the toilet seat. “And while we’re on that topic, what the hell happened to you? Isn’t your wonder drug supposed to last the whole day?” 

Kaleb flinched at that and peered down at his smaller form, pathetically dwarfed by the clothes that had fit him perfectly less than ten minutes ago. Already, without the disguise that was his human height, he was starting to feel like the fraud he was; just another borrower trying and failing to carry himself with the same level of confidence and liberty as a human. “I-I don’t know.” He mumbled. “Maybe my uncle messed up the dose.” He wrapped the the fabric of his shirt sleeve tighter around himself, feeling more exposed than ever. “This has never happened to me before.” 

“Clearly.” Brooke said. “If I hadn’t been there to cover for you, you’d’ve been screwed for sure.” 

She felt him shiver at that fact, almost making her regret her choice of words. “You’re right.” Kaleb looked up at her again, his expression earnest. “Thank you, Brooke. Really.” 

Brooke blinked. That was unexpected. She shifted in her seat and looked away, hoping he wouldn’t notice her blush. With their current size difference, that was unlikely. “I-It’s fine.” She said. “So, uh… what now, then? Do you have any more Upsize you can take?” 

Kaleb pursed his lips. “I don’t keep any spare pills at school.” He admitted quietly, shuddering again despite the course fabric around him. “With Upsize, you need to wait at least an hour after shrinking before you can take another dose. It’s supposed to give the medicine a chance to leave your system, kind of like a cool-down period.”

“Right, of course that’s a thing.” Brooke sighed. She tried racking her brain for an alternative solution. “Well then, can someone come get you? Surely Evie would. I bet she’s bored out of her mind back at the apartment without having me to spy on.” 

Instead of laughing at her poor attempt at a joke, Kaleb looked horrified. “I can’t just leave early!” He exclaimed. “I’ll miss maths next period. Mrs Crowley said she’d be giving out final exam tips today!” 

Brooke couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “You’re kidding.” She started, holding back a disbelieving laugh. Looking closer at his tiny, pleading features though, her smile faded. “You’re not kidding.” She deadpanned, groaning. “Come on, Kaleb. How the fuck are you supposed to come to class like this? You don’t even have any clothes!”

Kaleb’s cheeks heated up and he pulled the shirt sleeve a little tighter around himself as he was reminded of his current nudity. “I can get clothes.” He insisted, his usual confident demeanour returning in full force. “I have a spare set in my locker. Climbing gear, too.” 

Brooke would have face palmed herself if her hands weren’t still cupped around his tiny frame. She regarded him quizzically. “Well that’s great, but isn’t your whole thing supposed to be not getting seen by the rest of the class?” 

Kaleb shook his head. “I don’t have to actually come to class. You could just, y’know, let me off into the air vent and I can listen in from there.” He suggested, giving her a clumsy shrug from amongst the bundle of clothes. 

Brooke just stared down at him, completely lost for words. “You’re crazy.” She muttered. “You’re actually fucking crazy. You literally almost shrunk in front of our whole class, and now you want me to just let you go off into the walls so you can catch some stupid exam tips?” 

“Brooke.” 

She didn’t hear him, her voice rising in annoyance as she continued. “And then what? Am I supposed to just stay back and look for you after class, like that’s totally not suspicious at all?!”

“Brooke.” 

“Ugh!” She wanted so badly to bang her head into the cubicle door. “Why do I even get myself into these situations? I swear, ever since I found out about you and your stupid little secret, my life’s been a fucking disaster—!”

“BROOKE!”

She broke off with a start at his exclamation, caught off guard by how loud he’d managed to sound despite his obvious disadvantage in size. Brooke bit her lip, breathing heavily through her nose. She almost jumped when she felt a slight pressure on her thumb. Kaleb had reached out to touch it with his much smaller hand, stroking the digit in attempt to reassure her. “You good?” He asked. 

“Y-Yeah.” Brooke replied weakly, her mouth dry. She didn’t want to say anything but the feeling of his tiny hand on her finger felt so… weird. Kaleb almost never initiated physical contact with her when he was borrower-sized.  

He nodded, meeting her eyes again. “I’m sorry.” He said with obvious embarrassment. “I got a bit ahead of myself there. I guess I just thought you’d want me out of your hair so you could get back to class. If you can help me to my locker, I’ll call Evie to come pick me up, and I’ll just email Mrs Crowley about the exam later.” 

Brooke sighed at his words, a much simpler solution coming to mind that she was probably crazy for even suggesting. “Or you could just come with me.” She pointed out, the corner of her mouth twitching in amusement when he blinked up at her. “What? Did you forget we have the same maths class?” 

“Come… with you?” Kaleb repeated, looking thoroughly unconvinced. “As in, on your person? Where would I even go—?” His broke off, eyes trailing upwards to the chest pocket of her oversized denim jacket at the same time hers did. His face lost several shades of colour, and he shook his head firmly, despite knowing deep down that he might not have any say in the matter. “No way. No way. I’m not gonna sit in your pocket all day like some house pet, Brooke! That’s just… that’s just embarrassing!” 

The human girl smirked down at him. “Well, would it be any more embarrassing than being tiny and naked in the girl’s bathroom?” Her hand inched up to ruffle his hair teasingly. “I mean, unless you’re secretly a pervert?” 

Kaleb swiped at her already retreating digit. “I’m not a pervert!” He snapped, pointing his own diminutive finger up at her accusingly. “You brought me here, not the other way around!”  

“Relax, I’m just messing with you.” She giggled. “You’re always so easy to work up like this.” 

Kaleb bristled. “Yeah, well can you blame me? When I’m like this, there’s five extra feet of you to piss me off!”

“Fair point.” Brooke smirked. “So, what’s it gonna be then?” Her hands edged closer around him, as she impatiently tapped her foot against the tiles. “I can’t just keep sitting on the toilet for the rest of the day.”

Kaleb sighed, turning his gaze downwards in defeat. He had to admit she was right about that. Stalling was only prolonging what they both knew had to come next. “Fine. I’ll come to class with you.” He hesitated. “Just… can we please get my clothes first?” 

Brooke looked at him, shock evident on her face. Did he really believe that she wouldn’t let him get changed? It was humbling to think that with Kaleb like this, without his bag or climbing gear, he was essentially putting his life and his autonomy in her hands. Just knowing that made Brooke soften her voice ever so slightly. “Um, yeah, of course. There’s no way you’re coming with me in the nude. That’s fucked up.” 

Kaleb breathed a sigh of relief at her reassurance, offering a grateful smile. “Okay… Well, in the meantime, could you grab me a piece of toilet paper? To cover up, I mean.” 

Brooke blinked, glancing across at the roll beside her. Hesitantly, she tore off a small strip of toilet paper between her thumb and index finger and handed it down to him. Kaleb took it, ducking under his sleeve for a moment to tie it around his waist like a towel. He looked down at his handiwork, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’ll do.” He muttered to himself, letting the oversized shirt sleeve fall away so that he was standing at his full five-inch height in her cupped hands.  

Despite herself, Brooke almost did a double take when she saw his bare chest for the first time. There was no denying it; Kaleb was ripped. The thought had never occurred to her, but considering his active lifestyle, she really shouldn’t have been as caught off guard as she was. A little more of a tan, and he could’ve belonged in a body building magazine. She tore her eyes away before he caught her staring, but that didn’t stop her cheeks from heating up. 

She coughed. “Right. Ready to go then?”

“That depends.” Kaleb smirked knowingly. There was really no way he could have missed a stare that size. He took a bold step forward in her cupped hands and flexed his muscles tauntingly. “Did you want a closer look?” 

“W-What?”

“Who’s the pervert now, huh?” He teased, throwing the label right back at her.

“Shut up!” In that embarrassment-riddled moment, Brooke reacted in the only way she could think of. She poked Kaleb harshly in the chest. Like always, he staggered backwards with a yelp at the impact, but this time neither of them had taken proper stock of their surroundings. As if in slow-motion, Kaleb tripped over the folded clothing behind him, simultaneously jostling free the poorly secured knot holding up his toilet paper toga. All hope of modesty gone, he fell flat on his back with his legs gracelessly splayed… within full view of the human girl holding him. 

The two of them stared at each other in silent shock for several seconds, and Brooke wished she could bleach her eyeballs. Instead, she opted for the next best course of action.

“AHHHH!”

[spliffymae]

WRITTEN OFF.

synopsis: you know, there’s a reason the famous saying is ��absence makes the heart grow fonder”

⚠️ swearing, mentions of cheating, smut, car sex, the words “cock”, “panties” and “pussy” are used here lmao. minors dni 18+ !

kio’s notes - THIS IS THE FINAL PART. this was also my 100th post 🥹

pts. 1 , 2 , 3 , 4

now playing

⊱ ──────── {.⋅ ♫ ⋅.}──────── ⊰

you were quiet on the drive to your house, toji even worrying about you. the makeup you spent hours on had run from your tears. you didn’t bother wiping it, you just sat with your head against the window and accepted it.

instead of turning to your street, toji continued to drive past. you noticed and sat up. “you missed the turn.” you said softly, looking at the side of your ex’s face. but he didn’t seem to care.

“toji….my house—”

“going to mine.” he mumbled. he knew megumi and rin had long left, and he wanted to reconcile tonight without the pressure of the kids, and the possibility megumi could hear you two.

you took a deep breath, “toji, i agreed for you to drive me home. your house is not my home.”

“(y/n), megumi is sixteen right now. do you know how old he was when you first watched him?…nine. we started dating when he was ten. i proposed to you when he was thirteen, and—.”

“cheated when he was 16.” you added a bitter chuckle, “s’that where you were going with that bit?”

toji couldn’t take it anymore!

as if an instinct, a reflex, he jerked the car off the road and pulled over on the shoulder, startling you. “what the fuck!”

he didn’t say anything. he cut the engine and turned his attention to you, leaning over the cars console to be closer. “i am sick of this! sick of your attitude, of this separation, of this disconnect. you are my wife, (y/n). and we are going to work this out because i cannot lose you, okay? i won’t lose you. i know you want to, i see it when you look at me. yeah, you hate me and want me away, but i see the part of you that craves me, our family back together. so let’s work on it. let me prove i can be who you need me to be, who you want me to be.”

it was quiet. you were processing. toji rarely spoke like this, at most you saw this side of him after sex. this softer side. “(y/n)…” toji put his hand on your thigh, getting your leg to tense up from his touch. you bit back the sob that tried to crawl it’s way out your mouth. you had new tears running down your cheeks, trying your best to blink them away. how his touch was able to bring you to tears, you don’t know. but it was a mix of emotions: happy to feel his warmth back on your body; sad to know you weren’t as over him as you thought; pissed to know he probably touched the other woman like this.

his other hand stretched over to cup your cheek and turn your head to him. you didn’t look at him, you stared at his hand on your thigh. “mama, i’m so sorry.” his voice was shaky, and that made you finally look up to see he had the glossiest of eyes.

he was sober enough to drive—he had driven home in worse conditions then two and a half mugs of beer, but his emotions were all over the place. you always had a way of bringing out his vulnerability. and while usually he would wait ‘til after you two climaxed to relish in his feelings with you, his tears burned his eyes now. you hadn’t seen him cry since rin’s birth, but seeing you this way and knowing he was the cause was cracking his guilt ridden heart.

he pulled your head to him and as your foreheads touched, he realized you were allowing him to touch you. to be closer to you. “i meant when i said i hate you. i want you to feel every burning pain i felt in my heart.” you were angry, your voice was shaky, and you glared at him as if he were the last person you’d want to be with. and quite frankly, he was. “i want to break you the way you broke me.”

toji let out a nervous sigh. he didn’t remove himself from you, though. “and the most annoying thing is i can’t.” you shrugged in defeat, a watery smile on your face. “i can’t bring myself to hurt you that way because no one deserves that. and i know now that i didn’t deserve that.” you sniffled, “i was everything you needed me to be. i gave you everything, fushiguro.”

his thumb swipes at the tear stains on your cheek, gently wiping them away. he gave you a peck on your lips. it was one that turned to two, and then three. he prompted you to kiss him back, but you held your ground.

until he began to lead his kisses from your lips to your jaw. you instinctively tilted your head so he had more space to kiss you. his eyes shone with hope at your action. “you were and you didn’t deserve it, baby. m’so sorry. just…break me back, (y/n). i don’t care, do whatever you gotta do to me so that i can have you back. i need my family back.”

things changed quick. toji grabbed your thigh possessively, earning a whimper from you. a sound he hadn’t heard in months, and one that had his dick twitch in his boxers. his lips left wet kisses along your neck as his hands explored your body. he unbuckled your seatbelt and gripped at your waist, “c’mere, mama. needa feel you again.”

there was a war going on in your body. a war between your mind, heart, and pussy. your mind was against this ordeal, hated how his hands felt on you. but your heart loved it. it melted at his touch and kisses. and your pussy? ol’ girl was dripping for toji, wanting to feel him back inside you again. it has been so long since you last took care of your sexual needs. you weren’t looking for casual flings, and it was difficult to have when you were devoting all your time to being a single mother. alas, it was two to one, and you let the majority win as you kicked off your heels and moved to sit in his lap. your mind would get you back tomorrow, but for now you didn’t care.

“my beautiful wife. missed ya s’much baby.” the fat of your ass was squished in his big palms, his grip earning a hiss from you. he stopped his feverish kisses to nuzzle into the crook of your neck and smell the familiar cinnamon vanilla scent of your body wash and matching lotion. a scent he longed to have back on his clothes.

his hands fiddled with the hem of your dress, fingers dipping in to graze your inner thighs. “toji please.” you pleaded.

“what do you want, ma? you can have anything you want, so tell me.” his finger poked at your clit through your panties and a shiver rolled up your spine.

“you, toji. just gimme you.” you cupped his face, tilting his head up to connect your lips in a kiss. you hadn’t kissed him months, his taste having left your brain.

but nothing about you left toji’s. not the way you would kiss him like it hurt, like you wanted to transfer all your feelings onto him. or the way you bit his bottom lip as you pulled back from him, or the way you would whimper and paw at his aching cock through his pants. he could never forget how desperate you became when turned on; how your hand reached down to the control that would push his seat all the way back and give you better room to straddle him. you had fucked in this car many times, many nights and even days. so all this was like muscle memory for you two.

toji’s hand went under your dress to your panties, to feel the silk material against his fingertips and snarl. “ya wore this f’him, hm? my favorite dress and your good panties…for that pink-haired lil’ fuck?”

he pushed your panties to the side, fingers immediately dipping into your warm pussy to fondle it. it had been so long since he last touched you like this—since he touched anyone. after the separation he took interest in no one other than you, something he kicked himself for not doing that dreadful night.

“i-is this,” you swallowed the lump in your throat as he worked your clit between his index and middle finger. “is this what you did…with her?” you choke out, just as his two fingers pushed into your pussy.

“ah—.” you hissed, grabbing at his shoulder. you couldn’t help to ask, and you knew it’d make him angry…but how could you not? yeah, the woman means nothing to toji, meant nothing to toji in comparison to you.

but what toji failed to realize up until this point was she meant everything to you. she was the one he seeked pleasure in, a comfort he no longer found with you. she was the one that—even if just for a moment, made him forget all about you and his family. so yeah, while toji couldn’t even remember her name, you were haunted, with her in your memory for what felt like eternity.

he stopped his movements and leaned back away from you. his answer to this question would make or break this reunion you two had going on. he could see how your eyes held desperation. practically pleading for him to tell you to your face.

“i told you, she only sucked my dick, baby. i wore a condom too and just fucked her face to get out my frustrations wit’chu s’all. wouldn’t think about fucking someone else. not when i have you. only one i want to be with like that, ‘kay? only one for me.“

and you nodded. you felt slight relief he didn’t have full blown sex. in some twisted way it seemed to ease the pain a bit. but toji knew that it was wrong to downplay what he did that night, but he knew admitting to his infidelity would destroy you. and he refused to do that after he just got you back. so as far as you needed to know, all he did was get head.

you let out a nervous sigh before your hands fiddled with his belt buckle. “don’t wanna wait. just need you to fuck me.” you mumbled as your hand slid into his boxers and gripped his cock. you had forgotten how thick he was, your hand just barely wrapping around him. toji hissed at your touch.

“i need to prep you, baby, you know this. you’ll get hurt.” he tried to stop you as you pulled out his dick but you slapped his hand away. he had lifted his hips and pulled his pants and boxers down a bit so he could be properly free.

you said nothing as a response. no, words weren’t enough to show him how much you didn’t care. you instead looked at the way his dick was against his covered abs. how the thick vein that ran along his shaft was on full display. you took it in in your hands and lowered your head.

toji’s mouth fell open at the globs of saliva you spat directly on the head of his cock. his toes curled at the way you twisted your hand around him, spreading your spit and properly lubing him up. “m’already hurt.” you mumbled more-so to yourself as you fidgeted around and positioned him at your entrance. he knew what you meant, and fuck, did it kill him to hear.

toji stared at you with low eyes, licking the scar on his lip when he felt you glide the mushroom head between your folds. he could hear the noise it made as it slid to your clit, and he bucked up to nudge it, earning a quiet whimper from you.

“c’mon pretty,” he sat up to bury his face in your neck. the smell was intoxicating, and he was slowly kissing and sucking your neck as a means to almost taste it. to taste you. “let me be in my sweet girl again, my beautiful wife.”

there would be moments between you and toji, where the roles seemed to flip for a minute. he normally called the shots in the bedroom but you would get control from time to time. it wouldn’t be for long, but he loved when the moment came. you were so demanding it made him almost consider becoming a switch. almost.

you kept your eyes on him and hand around his neck as you slid down slowly. there was a slight burn felt as you adjusted to his size. your pussy had forgotten just how big he was. it wasn’t a discomfort though. you were grinning through the pain, your tongue gliding across your teeth.

“shit, mama. forgot how much this little cunt loves to squeeze me.” he spoke through gritted teeth. he bit his lip to hold back the moan he wanted to let out as you squeezed the side of his neck.

when he bottomed out, toji’s fist hit his side of the car, “fuck.” he hissed. he bunches up the bottom of your dress, pushing it up to be around your stomach so he could watch your pussy take him in. he let you have your control for about five minutes, but when he sensed you slowing down he reached out to wrap a large hand around your neck.

he pulled you to his lips, the most sloppiest of kisses being shared between the two of you. he began to thrust up into you, his pace fast and creating sounds that filled the car.

“toji—.” you cried, tears pricking the end corners of your eyes as you sucked on your bottom lip. toji had a devilish smirk on his face. “oh my goddd, you feel so good, baby.” you were a breathless mess. his hands had a firm grip on your hips and moved you to match his thrusts.

“take your tits out, mama. need ‘em now.” he panted against your ear, biting your earlobe after. you did as told, pulling down the straps of your dress and pulling it off your breasts, holding one of your titties to his mouth.

“look at em. so fucking fat.” he breathed out with a smile. he knew breastfeeding would make your breasts bigger—hell they were big prior to him knocking you up, but it had been so long since he last saw you like this. the pillowy mounds before him were getting his mouth to water. his tongue dampened his lips before he wrapped them around your nipple with a grunt of satisfaction.

“o-oh my god, tojiii!” you threw your head back, cradling his head in your hold as his tongue flicked your hardened bud. he was like a man starved, forced to go without what he longed for the most. he couldn’t get enough of you. not your taste, definitely not the way you had an almost vice grip on his dick and his heart.

“oh fuck, (y/n). just like that baby.” his voice was muffled against your chest, but from the way he started to get off-beat with his thrusts, you could feel he was close.

“can i come in you, hm? let me remind her how much she missed having me dripping outta her, down your legs? pleaseee, mama. let me fill you back up.” he was begging like a bitch, something you rarely witnessed, but something that never failed to bring you to an earth shattering orgasm.

“ oh shit!—toji m’cummin.” your tits bounced in his face as he randomly placed kissed along your chest and shoulders. he had wrapped his arms around you and leaned back in the seat, taking over fully and delivering the hardest thrusts to your sopping cunt.

you screamed, nails digging into his jaw and mouth opened against his own. you couldn’t kiss him, you couldn’t remember how to. not when he was fucking his permanent place into your pussy.

“feel ya clamping down, love. holding me so good i can’t hold it any longer.” he wasn’t thinking of making you cum first like he usually would, not when he was on the verge of probably the best climax of his life. emotions were high, tension was too. the scene couldn’t be anymore intimate, any more explicit and obscene.

the car windows were fogged up, with only your handprints against it. toji was groaning, mindlessly spitting out profanities as he watched your juices slightly squirt out every time he buried himself in you. “fuck, m’cummin, gonna be so much.” he said with a whine.

“toji!” you cried, “don’t cum in me, please baby.” you were breathless, but the order was heard. toji honestly didn’t know how to feel. you were begging, and the tone was what he wanted, but what you were saying wasn’t.

he was going to say something to you, he was, but then he felt that clench you did around him, and the way your fingernails digged into the nape of his neck. you were whimpering, lips to his as you rode through your orgasm. he quickly pulled out of you, the rough and fast action getting you to flinch, but you had no time to think about it before he was fisting himself to cum on your puffy clit, a carnal groan coming from him as he watched his cum cover you.

nothing but your choked sobs covered with his moans and heavy pants were heard in the car. he grabbed a fistful of your hair and brought you into a surprisingly rough kiss.

“oh fuck.” you had fallen on him once your orgasm passed, lying on him and mindlessly placing small kisses to his neck. he was mumbling incoherently, eyes shut and mind focused on the way you pulsed over his thigh.

“she—she has your prominent features.” he said out of nowhere, the comment getting you to stare at him quizzically.

“hm?”

“rinny. she looks like you because she has your nose and lips, y’r prominent features. her eyes are ‘gumi’s. filled with wonder, curiosity.” he was still trying to catch his breath throughout his words. “been wanting to say that to you for a while now, how much she looks like you two.”

he sighed, “i get…scared that she’ll forget me. forget she has a dad.” his finger was tracing shapes along your thighs, his mouth speaking his bottled up fears to you. you had forgotten just how vulnerable he got after sex. almost as if he was too tired to keep his guard up.

“she knows her daddy, toji. she loves you.” you reassured him, giving his shoulder a reassuring rub.

“do you still love me?” he was so scared for your answer. because what was stopping you from just using him as some fuck toy then dipping out his life for good? after all you did tell him to pull out. he had so much work to do to show you his change, to show you just how bad he wants to change.

“to the point that it hurts.” you said as your finger traced over the scratch marks you left on his shoulder and neck. you were being truthful. loving toji had to be one of the most rewarding pains you’ve ever experienced, right after motherhood. you would give and he would take, but never return. it was like a test; how much more can you endure from this…would you call it a voluntary sacrifice? yeah because that’s what love is, a sacrifice.

you sacrificed your future for toji and megumi, and now for rin. you gave your time, your heart, your body, and your strength. all of you was in the man you lied on. while you listened to the steady beats of his heart, you knew yours matched his pattern—it was your heart he had after all. this was a test on your resilience for loving toji. how much more could you endure because of how you felt about him?

it seemed he would never be the toji you dreamed of. the one that would be vulnerable outside of the bedroom, the one who would open up to you when things get tough instead of running off. the toji you had thought he was, the one who would never hurt you the way he did.

“do you love me?” you looked up at him, watching the way his eyes dropped to meet yours.

“more than life itself.” he kissed your nose, the sentiment making you softly smile. you two stayed connected for a little bit more, the sound of passing cars along the road and the nights wind being the only sound you two needed.

you focused on him, and how he felt under you. how your bodies seemed to mold together, your hearts beat the same. you couldn’t help your mind drifting to earlier though, and thinking about your date, and if you would’ve let it get this far with sukuna if toji didn’t show up.

the person you went on the date with was bad, yeah, but you enjoyed going out. you enjoyed getting to know someone new and start over. it was refreshing. hell, if sukuna played his cards right you might’ve just kissed him tonight. but you’ll never know now that you’ve gone and left with toji.

as if he could read your mind, toji tensed up a bit from under you, “i will be the husband and father you and our kids need me to be, (y/n). i promise.” he spoke into your hair, his hold on you tightening in the slightest. almost like his stamp of confirmation that you had his word.

but you didn’t respond. you had no response.

he knew this one night of passion wasn’t going to make up for what he did. you weren’t just going to forget his wrongdoings like it was nothing. he needed to prove to you he has learned from his mistake. he needs to show you, show megumi and keep his promise to geto; that he is a different man. he was going to work his ass off to get his family back.

and he would spend every second, and exhaust every resource he had until he was back under the same roof as you, as his children, and back to being a prominent figure in your life. he was going to work his ass off to write himself back in your heart, and continue the love story you two started.

if only he knew what you were thinking.

toji still ain’t shit sorry if you were expecting character development 😭

but thank you all again for vibing w this story, i appreciate it.

tags • @mollyville @miyaluv127 @lemmetreatya @tojisfav @aizawa19 @cloudsinthecosmos

[seethesin]

having a one night stand with shane

pairing: Shane McCutcheon x F!Reader

tags/warnings: sexual content, clubbing, fingering, cunnilingus (mdni, 18+)

a/n: don't mind me being 19 years late to this party! i recently finished the l word and goddamn, shane mccutcheon would be a fantastic lay :) hope you enjoy my stream of consciousness headcanon. gif credit

It's Alice that brings the two of you together

She's so tired of you whining over your recent breakup

She can barely get a word in anymore when the two of you hang out

You complain over coffee at the Planet

You bitch when you come over to her apartment

Your constant nagging does not stop for days on end

Finally, she breaks, calling Shane and begging her to come out to the Hit Club to meet you

Alice makes a point to stress that she has a good-looking, recently single friend who simply needs something other than this failed relationship to harp over

Shane, the loyal friend she is, obliges

It's Saturday night and Alice practically drags you out of your one-bedroom to go out with her and Tasha

You can't say no; any reason to support Kit and Helena is enough for you

Even with all your moping, you dress to the nines and go with the duo to the club

The music is good, the drinks are flowing, and finally, a genuine smile is permanently plastered across your face

Shane seems to materialize next to you as soon as you polish down your first drink

Alice is glowing—neither you nor Tasha misses it—as she pulls Shane into a hug before hurrying her over toward you

She rapid fires through introductions, extremely interested in getting you both settled before completely taking off with Tasha

You can't even take the time to appreciate Shane's fitted blazer, dark skinny jeans, long fingers—

Okay, maybe you did have enough time to appreciate her attributes before Alice abandoned you

The thought leaves your head entirely as the gravity of this situation begins to settle

Both you and Shane are left in the middle of the dance floor, stunned as other patrons bounce and bump into you

Shane's the first to recover, offering to buy you a beer which you gladly accept to break the tension

The rest of the night goes without any hiccups

You notice that Shane isn't much of a dancer unless convinced otherwise, and you find yourself taking advantage of that

You sway together and with feigned innocence, you find yourself grinding against her more obviously

Shane seems to get the message and presses you against her chest, allowing your hips to rock against her groin

Her mouth is on your neck and her hands splay across your stomach as the two of you dance

Her touch drives you crazy

From what feels like an amalgamation of all the sexual tension from tonight, the two of you reach the same conclusion at the same time:

"Wanna get out of here?"

Hell yes you do

You find Alice and Tasha on the other side of the club and say your goodbyes

You pretend not to see the couple's sneers as you and Shane leave

Eagerly, you pile into Shane's Jeep so she can take you back home

The two of you are a whirlwind of wet kisses and inquisitive fingers, taking turns stripping and fondling each other

You barely make it to your bedroom, but through sheer willpower alone, the two of you make it to the bedroom

Shane’s fingers are already working on the waistband of your underwear

They’re replaced with two of her fingers sheathed inside of you while the heel of her hand drags circles into your clit

The initial shock of realizing how wet you were for her to jam two fingers into you so easily is replaced with an intense, unwavering pleasure

It continues to build as Shane fucks you and it doesn’t take long for you to forget about your breakup

Perhaps it’s because of how responsive you are, but suddenly she bows her head down, lips ghosting your ear and husks:

“You like that, huh?” while pounding into you

The coil in your stomach snaps and you’re cumming on her hand, babbling that yes, you absolutely love it

Shane lets you ride her fingers as the aftershocks of your orgasm hit

But as soon as you collect yourself, she’s sinking lower, dragging her fingertips down your torso

Her mouth latches onto your pussy: sucking, licking, and kissing every inch of velvety skin she could access

The next wave of orgasms hit sooner than expected, but all you can focus on is canting your hips towards Shane’s mouth

Once you're coherent, you want nothing more than to return the favor

Shane's laughing as she lets you shove her into the mattress, welcoming your curious hands on top of her breasts and your mouth all over her cunt

You feel her thighs clench against your face, holding you steady as you work through her folds

Her fingers are threaded in your hair, yanking you forward as you continue to swirl tight circles on her clit

She lasts a little longer than you and is a little quieter, but she falls apart to her orgasm the same way you did earlier

You kiss once more before hitting the mattress, staring up at the ceiling as you wipe your chin clean

It doesn't take long for Shane to recoup and she wastes no time pulling her clothes on

You follow suit, straightening yourself up before gathering up your outfit pooled on the floor

Before she leaves, she throws you a smirk before saying:

"That was fun; I wouldn't mind doing it again some time"

You agree; you couldn't remember the last time someone made you feel this good

You make sure to let Alice know just how incredible she is the next day for introducing you to Shane

Alice, however, realizes the grave mistake she's made in orchestrating last night

Now, you have someone new to prattle on about: Shane McCutcheon

[not-that-syndrigast]

The Kimi Antonelli strategy

With Lewis Hamilton leaving Mercedes and the silly season being in full force all year long, one name has become big like no other; freshly eighteen year old Kimi Antonelli. After Toto Wolff, Mercedes team has practically admitted Antonelli would fill the second Mercedes seat next year, there are quite a few questions and talks around him. Why not put him in the Williams for a season? What does Mercedes see in him? And most importantly; What is their plan for the future?

Let's start out with the easiest one; Why not put him in the Williams first? 

A lot of people forget that Williams is not the junior Mercedes team, but their own independent team. While most Mercedes drivers have come from Williams, that is mere coincidence. Unlike Red Bull with Vcarb, Mercedes and Williams don’t work together besides the engine. To compare, let me explain Red Bull GmbHs strategy; both teams get funded from the same company, Red Bull GmbH, which results in the two teams being incredibly close. Oracle Red Bull racing, the ‘real’ team is supposed to bring in championships and wins, while Vcarb is supposed to be a midfield team to figure out future talents for the first team. The upside of this is, that even if Vcarb does not win and does not perform, they still get funded, as long as they work as a junior team, but that's a problem for another time. Williams does not get funded by Mercedes and does not profit by Mercedes winning, they are not one brand and Mercedes most likely does not want them as a junior team in the case of Antonelli;

First of all, the Williams car is bad. Even an experienced driver like Albon, who showed he can drive for podiums and probably even wins in a good car, has to scrape for points. This weekend in Zandvoort, the car seemed to be better. Only for him to get disqualified because it's illegal. I think my point is pretty obvious here. Currently, Williams are rumored to be thinking about replacing Sargeant and since the Williams has no open seats for Antonelli next year, with Sainz in the second seat, some people think Antonelli should get the last nine races as experience for next year in the Mercedes, but Toto Wolff has clearly stated that would not happen. 

As mentioned, the Williams car is bad, so he would not get as much experience as one would expect but even worse, his confidence would be destroyed and people would only see him place 20th because nothing else is possible in the car and fault Antonelli. Furthermore, Mercedes has a clear strategy with Antonelli which would not be allowed anymore; they try to give him experience in F1 cars, by letting him test old Mercedes cars in many testing days. It’s one of the strategies that are claimed to have helped Piastri get as good as he is right now, with not as much experience in grand prixs but many in testing. If Antonelli would compete now, though, he would not be able to test these older Mercedes cars anymore. Last but not least, he still drives in F2 and Mercedes and Toto Wolff most likely want to avoid ruining his confidence by throwing him in a car he is not used to. 

To the next question; What does Mercedes see in him?

A lot of people are confused; Antonelli is only seventh in the F2 standings and is being beaten by other drivers who are also rookies. I’ve talked about it before; F2 is not as fair as people think it to be. Antonelli has one of the most prestigious junior careers, sadly many of those categories are pretty new, so it's not comparable with F1 drivers, but if you compare him to other current F2 and F3 drivers, he has the most titles by winning a bunch of different series, like the italian F4 and ADAC F4, in the same year and also the motorsport games F4 cup and although i still do not quite understand what exactly that is, he did win with a broken wrist, which is a feat in itself. He also won the formula regional middle east championship and FRECA. The whole point is, he did all of that in two years, was a rookie in quite a few of these categories and would have most likely won F3 by a margin. He is one of the most promising young drivers and all of these things still exclude the extensive private testing Mercedes has made him do. Only considering that he has made multiple, I'm convinced his times are good. His results may not seem as bright in F2, but you need to keep in mind that Mercedes themselves are aware of the engine problems in F2 and can evaluate a good driver far better than any fan.

Last but not least; What is their plan for the future?

Some people still think Antonelli is too young and Mercedes should take another driver for a year, let Antonelli do a second season in F2 and give him more experience, but that would be most likely a waste of a seat for a full year. If you compare Sargeant and Piastri, the last two rookies that have made it to F1, you’ll see that even though Piastri has done what's now FRECA, F3 and F2 in three years, he doesn’t lack as much as experience as Sargeant does, because as mentioned multiple times, Piastri did testing in old F1 cars and got put into an F1 seat. No matter how many years drivers do in lower categories, they will need a bit of adjustment time and my guess is for Mercedes that they want to get Antonelli adjusted to the car in ‘25 so that they can focus on the championship in ‘26. 

I think the situation around Antonelli is quite interesting and I hope that by bringing him in, Mercedes will start the trend again of trusting young drivers even in good cars. In recent years, most young drivers had to go through midfield teams before even getting the chance in a good car, but with the cost cap, many midfield teams don’t want to dare getting young drivers anymore that are more expensive.

But I would really like to hear what others think of Mercedes' strategy; will they be able to get him good as quickly as it was managed with Piastri? Or will his situation turn out closer to Sargeants? As always, I'd love comments on the matter.

[mariacallous]

Even Israel’s friends overseas often have trouble understanding its conduct in the Israel-Hamas war and its ancillary conflicts with Hezbollah, Iran, and the Houthis. While some may be forgiving about the high numbers of civilian casualties as an inevitable part of urban warfare, it is harder for many to swallow Israel’s reluctance to allow enough humanitarian aid to reach Gaza or its seeming indifference to the massive collateral deaths involved in rescuing hostages and targeting Hamas leaders. Many are mystified by Israel’s willingness to risk what could be a devastating war with Lebanon’s Hezbollah or Iran. The back-to-back assassinations at the end of July of senior Hezbollah commander Fuad Shukr and Hamas political leader Ismail Haniyeh were unusual displays of state violence by the standards of any government, much less one that regards itself as a liberal democracy.

Israel has traditionally taken an aggressive military stance toward its enemies. But in the 10 months since the outbreak of the war in Gaza it has become more lethal than ever—killing some 40,000 people in Gaza alone. Israel’s harshest critics assert that its purpose is to destroy the last vestiges of Palestinian nationalism—or worse, to commit genocide against Palestinians. But the real explanation for the change is more complicated.

The aim of Israel’s ultra-nationalist right is, in fact, to make life unbearable for Palestinians in Gaza and the West Bank. However, only a small minority of Israelis hold such extreme views, and the far-right ministers who echo them have little or no say over war policy. Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu has been careful to keep that under his personal control with a handful of like-minded officials.

Where the extreme right does have an impact—and mostly an indirect one—is on humanitarian issues. Far-right leaders don’t have so much a war strategy as a desire to see Palestinians suffer and for the war to go on. Anxious to ensure that the extreme right remains in the governing coalition, Netanyahu has bent to their will by taking a tough line on cease-fire negotiations and has only enabled sufficient humanitarian aid to reach Gaza when international pressure left him no choice. As Finance Minister Bezalel Smotrich, the leader of the rightist Religious Zionist Party, told a conference of rightists on Aug. 5, he would have no problem allowing the people of Gaza to starve. “We bring in aid because there is no choice,” he explained by way of an apology to his audience.

National Security Minister Itamar Ben-Gvir has allowed inhumane conditions at the Sde Teiman detention facility for Palestinians arrested in the war to fester by refusing to move inmates to the civilian facilities under his control. He called nine soldiers suspected of sexually abusing a prisoner at Sde Teiman “our best heroes” and may have told police to back off when rightist extremists tried to block their arrest by military police last month.

To a degree, a desire for punishment and revenge is shared by the troops in Gaza, including the vast majority who have no use for the extreme right. The atrocities of Oct. 7, which remain very much alive in the Israeli consciousness, have inevitably left many soldiers at best indifferent to Palestinian suffering and at worst out for revenge. The military advocate general, Maj. Gen. Yifat Tomer-Yerushalmi, said in June that she was investigating some 70 cases of alleged wrongdoing, and that is only the tip of the iceberg.

Some observers contend that Israelis have become more violent, or at least more tolerant of violence. Certainly, among extremist settlers violence toward Palestinians has grown and is regarded as a legitimate tool to further their political ends. But even among settlers, they represent a small minority. Overall, the rate of violent crime in Israel is low by developed-country standards and until last year had been falling.

In all events, the actions of soldiers on the ground in Gaza don’t explain what is clearly a change in Israeli policy at the top. Here, the decisions made by Israel’s political and military leaders to order assassinations, bomb the Houthi-controlled port of Hodeidah at a cost of 80 Yemeni lives for one Israeli, or risk war with Iran reflect a new realpolitik.

In the wake of their momentous victory in the 1967 Arab-Israeli War, Israelis had gradually come to feel that their country’s existence was no longer imperiled. It was a gradual process that developed as one Arab country after another either reached peace agreements with Israel and acknowledged its existence (Egypt, Jordan, the United Arab Emirates, Bahrain, and Morocco) or lost the capability to mount a war (Syria). Normalization with Saudi Arabia looked to be on the horizon. The rise of the high-tech economy, growing foreign investment, and two decades of buoyant economic growth that turned Israel into a powerful and prosperous economy seemed to confirm that. The talk turned into how to “contain” the Palestinian conversation because no solution was needed.

This Weltanschauung had practical effects. From the early 1990s, defense spending as a share of gross domestic product declined. Of the three pillars of its defense strategy—victory in war, deterrence, and intelligence—Israel abandoned the first, allowed the second to erode, and therefore became overly reliant on the third. From the 1980s, Israel’s wars with unconventional forces never ended in decisive victory. With that, Israel’s ability to deter its enemies waned, as evidenced by Hamas’s willingness to repeatedly go to war with Israel from 2008 on. In place of decisive victory and effective deterrence, Israel came to rely more and more on defensive measures—walls, fences, and high-tech early-warning systems.

Israel paid a steep price for these policies on Oct. 7. Even if it quickly turned back the Hamas attack, Iran and its proxies appreciated the magnitude of the intelligence and organizational failure. Hezbollah began attacks over Israel’s northern border just a day later and the Houthis were soon firing missiles and drones at Red Sea shipping and Israel itself. In April, Iran crossed a red line in its long-running conflict with Israel by staging for the first time a direct missile and drone attack rather than using proxies.

The “total victory” that Netanyahu promises is unlikely to ever be achieved against Hamas, much less against Hezbollah or Iran. Restoring Israel’s deterrent ability is a more realistic goal, but not a painless one. Facing non-state actors with an ideological commitment to ending Israel’s existence, it is not enough to demonstrate effective defensive capabilities. It requires a willingness to strike out even in response to relatively small provocations and to go on the offensive.

For policymakers and public opinion in the United States and Europe, Israel’s recent actions seem dangerous and disproportionate, and there is no denying they risk sparking a regional war. But Israel doesn’t have very good choices. Despite its image as an always-triumphant military power, it is worthwhile remembering that Israel is a small country in terms of population, geography, and economy. It cannot afford to be taken by surprise, fight long wars, or maintain a heightened defense posture indefinitely. Israel now fully appreciates that for every new friend it has in the region, it has an implacable enemy. The Middle East remains a tough place.

The ordinary Israeli isn’t party to the calculations behind restoring deterrence. Public opinion nevertheless backs the country’s newly aggressive stance for more existential reasons.

The Hamas attack of Oct. 7 did not pose a fundamental threat to Israel, but its psychological impact was profound. For Israelis, the images of terrorists engaged in an orgy of murder, rape, and kidnapping were a tangible reminder that the threat to Israel’s existence was not idle talk by its enemies and that the consequences of even a brief moment of failure to secure the country’s borders would be severe. The months of pummeling of the country’s north by Hezbollah rockets, drones, and anti-tank missiles and the Iranian missile barrage in April have given Israelis a taste of how the end may come.

Yossi Klein Halevi captured the new national mood in a recent Wall Street Journal op-ed: “Even as we maintain the pretense of daily life, a part of us is permanently alert. We tell ourselves that we’re steady and joke about the apocalypse, because that’s the Israeli way. But during one recent sleepless night, I literally jumped when a passing motorcycle sounded like an explosion.”

Opinion surveys bear that out. An Israel Democracy Institute poll found that those expressing optimism about the future of Israel’s national security had dropped from close to 47 percent in November 2023, when the war in Gaza appeared to be going well, to 31 percent in June. Another recent survey by the Institute for National Security Studies showed that just a quarter of Israelis have a high or very high sense of personal security.

Israel faces a unique threat among nations at war or threatened with it. Russian President Vladimir Putin and Chinese President Xi Jinping would like to erase Ukraine and Taiwan, respectively, from the map, but neither wants to destroy or expel the Ukrainian or Taiwanese people. Not that life would likely be pleasant under their rule, but the Ukrainians or Taiwanese would be allowed to remain in their homes and live their lives, albeit as Russian and Chinese citizens. These are (or will be) wars of empire and conquest. Israel faces the threat of existence. For a time, Israelis thought otherwise—they no longer do.

[angelinterviews]

IDC WHO YOU VOTED FOR. READ THIS.

With the elections in America, I've seen countless kids expressing that they're thinking about ending it. They're afraid, frightened of what may come of their future - they think this is the only way out. I'm not American, but I'm a girl above all, and I have been in their situation. When I was nine, I started having suicidal thoughts. When I was eleven, I got my first therapist. At twelve, I was admitted to my first mental hospital. Many years later, this suicidal part of me has faded away because of all the medications I take nowadays. Instead, I now suffer from the side-effects I caused. I used to automutilate - one day, a cut got infected. I now suffer from an autoimmune disease called graves' disease. I have severe tremors, extremely weak muscles, heart palpitations, and suffer from nausea daily. I've had every eating disorder there is. Because of this, I developed Diabetes type 2. Adding onto the fatigue symptoms of both of these diseases, I also have chronic fatigue. I am miserable, barely mobile, and cry when I have to do the smallest things. I have no immune system - I'm sick every other day, and no medicines seem to help anymore. My lifelong dream was to become a mother - because of my eating disorders, I am unable to have children of my own. I'm extremely cold 24/7 and currently can't walk because of my sore muscles. I haven't done a thing, yet I'm in so much pain. These children should be protected. They shouldn't fucking end their lives or live with depression for years because of one fucking criminal. My heart aches, I wish I could start a campaign to show these kids we're here. It does get better. Just don't allow it to get worse while you try. I'm not even eligible to drive a car yet, but I'm already in excruciating pain that I have to live with until the end of my days. Teach your kids about healthy alternatives and please, for the love of God, think of your family. Your siblings could be planning something, your fucking nieces and nephews could be planning something. Check up with the fucking kids, don't let anybody fall down the same rabbithole I did.

[onthepyre]

Hi June! No.1 for the prompt meme if you feel inspired? 💖

hi calli!! thanks for dropping in <3 this is kind of loosely the "dirtiest white boy in america" period but honestly. fuck if i know. it's sad though

send me a number and ill write something angsty

1 - keeping things from the other to spare their feelings

Sometimes Dad had to bail, Mickey knew. When they were little kids, not smart enough to keep their traps shut, he and Mandy got dragged along, lying in the backseat, her head in his lap. Perks of being the youngest two, Mickey guesses. Seeing Indiana before they turned six. By the time Mom was gone, they were told to keep their heads down and wait it out while Dad fucked off to who-knows-where. It sucked, but it sucked less than having him home. It was tolerable.

When the pigs started sniffing around the Alibi, Dad got itchy. They were just around to "ask questions," but the proximity was enough. He had a bag packed in ten minutes, four loaded handguns tucked under dirty underwear and ratty cutoffs. It was damn near a rampage, but Mickey didn't have the sixth sense his siblings did that told them to get the fuck out of dodge. He didn't even realize the depth of shit he was in until Dad pitched a backpack at him and asked what the fuck he was standing around with his thumb up his ass for.

Arguing was useless. If he ran now, Mickey would be dead when Dad inevitably made it back to Chicago. So he took the backpack and stuffed it with a change of clothes and a handful of knives and cash, tucking his busted flip phone into a wad of underwear. In case he needed it, Mickey told himself. So he could contact Mandy if they were gonna be gone long. Not Ian.

That's what he told himself, at least, but when they were halfway to Dad's buddy's cabin in Minnesota and it slipped out that he was wanted for eight counts of trafficking, when Mickey's throat started to burn, he knew.

A nine hour drive meant sitting next to Dad all night. When they finally, finally made it, got out to stretch their legs deep in the woods, it set in. Mickey was very firmly stuck here, at least for the coming days, nobody to keep him company but Dad and the fucking raccoons.

Just about as soon as they set foot in the cabin, Dad was snoring. Mickey wasn't about to take his chances in the same room, only four feet of space between the twin beds. He crept to the bathroom, locked the door, propped a stepstool against it for good measure. He texted Mandy first, short and to the point: sos in mn.

Then there was the problem of Ian. He had, at best, one message to make sure he'd leave him alone. There was no telling how long it would take Mandy to figure out how the fuck to get him out of this three-room shithole, assuming he wasn't cursed to die in it. Mickey couldn't say nothing. Ian would get antsy, go looking for him. Say something he shouldn't. But he couldn't tell him what was actually happening, either, because he couldn't give Ian that false hope. Couldn't let him stay attached, pine, worry, wait for something that wasn't going to come.

He had to let him get over it like a normal heartbreak. Ian could cry for a week and then find some other South Side street rat to fuck instead, a thought that had Mickey gnawing on his bottom lip to distract from the pit in his stomach. Yeah. That was what he had to do.

cant c u anymore, he wrote. dont txt.

Mickey deleted both messages as soon as they went through. He allowed himself ten seconds to let it sink in. Knuckles pressed into his eyes, sitting on the toilet lit bent double, he sniffled once. Then, after a few shuddering breaths, he opened the door, and thank fuck, Dad was still snoring.

[cyberllfe]

600 - Shag me - RK900

hi, anon. bet you thought I'd forgotten about you, hmm? oh, no. here's your nines. 600 words, dom!nines, rated E. want a turn? prompt me.

Air is forced from your lungs when your back hits the wall.

You don’t care. Every thought in your dazed mind is of Nines’ mouth and its hot path along your jaw, your neck, lips soft, tongue probing, and teeth—

A gasp escapes you when he nips at your skin and you tighten your legs around his waist and claw at his shoulders so he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t make a sound, but you feel the shape of his lips change against your skin; you’re sure he’s smirking at you as you lose control.

“Nines…”

When you exhale, your breath is shaky. He only nips at your neck in place of an answer.

“Please…”

Devious lips still on you, Nines’ breath brushes your skin, warm and ticklish, and you shiver a little as he slides a hand up your thigh to adjust how you sit against him. All at once you have a new reason to gasp, pressing so close to where you want him as he rocks back and forth.

“Say that again.”

“Pl—ah—”

Sharp teeth graze the sensitive slope of your neck and he presses his hips into yours, short-circuiting your effort to speak. The words you’d intended, the ones he wanted, lost in a choked gasp.

“I can’t hear you.”

“Nines,” you whine, nails digging into his scalp, “plea—”

Long fingers wrap around your neck and squeeze, cutting you off again. Nines’ face swims in front of you, eyes burning into yours, with the faintest twitch of his lips; he’s enjoying this, making you compliant and then complicating your obedience for his pleasure.

It’s infuriating to be so close and continually denied, to want and be prevented from asking. When Nines lowers his lips to yours, it’s to taunt you again, a faint kiss bestowed by a curved smile, just another way to stop you speaking. Same as ever he knows what you want, he just wants you mindless and desperate for him first.

You breathe in moans while he grinds his cock against your pulsing entrance, snatching all the oxygen he allows, faint tears in your eyes from the exertion and the time spent on the dizzying edge of pleasure. Even Nines isn’t quiet anymore: he murmurs honeyed humiliations in your ear, says your attempts to please are pathetic, but you look so pretty when you try. His laugh reverberates in his chest when you try to speak again and you feel almost suffocated by his presence, everywhere except where you need him most.

It’s when he pulls away and you lose the hard press of him against your swollen clit that you dig your fingers into his skin, creating white patches where you apply pressure, and beg him to fuck you. The words flee from your mouth in a half-coherent mess of frustration and desire, arms and legs pulling with laughable human strength to keep his naked form to you, dreading the moment he denies you again.

He doesn’t.

Instead, he presses into you fluidly, leaning close to watch you take him, murmuring soft encouragement. His thrusts send your ears buzzing, the new friction incredible after your wait. When he asks you a question you nod and he laughs again, peppering your hot skin with delicate kisses as he drives into you harder, pushing you closer until you’re pleading for permission to come.

Nines doesn’t give it until you’re screaming for him. Strong, inhuman arms hold you as you shake and spiral. He marks you from the inside, soothing you with gentle hands and words you listen for and miss—all except one.

“Mine.”

[idontunderstandchemistry]

Uncomfortable - Tim Drake (1/3)

Summary: [...] "Are you saying you are afraid of me?" "I wouldn't say afraid" Dick said, trying to sound casual "It's just the way you've been talking about everything these days. It makes everyone feel..." "Uncomfortable?" Tim asked, with a bitter grin, finally turning towards Dick "The probable consequences of what you all say and do to me make you uncomfortable, Dick?" [...] Extremely hurt Tim Drake living out of coffee and spite.

Wordcount: 1.5K

Content Warnings: Angst; suicide idealization, mentions of self harm, etc.

Notes: Finally dropping this here, posted the first chapter on Ao3 a couple days ago. Hope you guys enjoy it! Reblogs and likes are very much appreciated ❣️

Part 2 - Part 3

CHAPTER 1 - COFFEE.

Red Robin stared at the screen with sleepy eyes. He'd already found the solution to this case half an hour ago, but pretending he didn't was the only way to avoid being requested at the post patrol circus going on upstairs.

It was always like this, at least it has been since he came back to live in the mansion. There was the patrol, and after, Alfred would prepare a table with many treats for the family to eat while he patched them up. 

What a perfect, happy family, bonding after some quality time kicking criminal ass.

A herd of hypocrites.

Two of them tried to kill him and most of them didn't seem to give a single fuck about the matter.

But what was he expecting, anyway? He was the unwanted child. He crawled his way into this family when Bruce was too vulnerable to deny it, grieving, he was Jason's replacement, after all. The only reason why he was still allowed among the bats of Gotham was his hypercompetence. Or perhaps it was because of how dangerous it would be for them all if he decided to play for the  other team.

If you didn't fear the man who at the age of nine deduced the identity of the world's best detective, you were a fool. Yeah Bruce was a bad, emotionally distant parental figure, but he was no fool, and Tim had to give him the credit for that.

— Drake — Robin said.

Tim felt the ferrous taste of blood filling his mouth. The demon. He pretended not to hear. He wanted nothing with this damn child. This Demoniac being that had tried to kill him multiple times in the last few years. The kid who had never done anything to deserve being Robin, the title for whom Tim has worked so hard for years.

— Alfred asked if you plan on joining the rest of the family anytime soon — The little boy said with his entitled filled tone. Fucking psychopath.

— I am working — Red Robin simply said.

— You're not fooling anyone, Drake — He said, stepping closer to his brother — Staring at a screen isn't working.

— You say like you know anything about working — Tim answered, after a deep sigh — Please, leave me alone. Tell them whatever you want, say that I threatened you with a knife, that I pushed you towards a wall, whatever you want. Just leave me alone.

— You say like they would believe it.

Damian said nothing else, simply left without any other response from Tim, that sighed deeply and continued staring at the screen.

His eyes felt heavier.

“Funny” thing about feeling down: usually, the brain cannot understand the emotional distress and the body intentionally does things to justificate that distress to its brain. 

Some people cut themselves – Tim couldn't do that, Alfred would ask too many questions –; others refused to eat – Tim tried it, but it didn't really fit his lifestyle –; some people drank 'til they tripped and fall — He could do this, but the posterior headaches weren't worth it, even though this is Gotham City and he could easily find a place that sells alcohol to minors – ; some people over exercised until they couldn't stand anymore, hoping the soreness of their muscles would be enough to feel like their pain is valid; some people took dangerous car drives or tried to equilibrate themselves on the edges of rooftops – These were Dick's things –; some people numb themselves with smoke on his lungs – Tim could do this, but refused. This was Jason's thing, and he didn't want to have anything in common with Jason.

So, to try to justify his pain to himself, Tim never slept. Well, of course he slept, he had to, but he always avoided it. This was his way of self punishment. He could almost hear his brain.

“What do you mean your emotions are shit? No, this is not a good reason for all this distress. Here, have a unusual way of self harm and then I'll consider if it is enough or not”

Tim hasn't really slept in the last four days, not more than an hour or two. There were occasional long blinks, but whenever Alfred decided to try to drug his coffee – His best ally in his attempts of making the pain make sense – and sent him to his bedroom, he would only stare at the ceiling. Tim already had it memorised. Then he would close his eyes when he could hear footsteps approaching his door and pretend to be asleep until whoever Alfred sent to spy on him finally left.

A solitary life, it was, but he didn't mind. Since his childhood, loneliness was mostly everything Timothy Jackson Drake knew. His most loyal companion.

— Hey, buddy — Nightwing's voice echoed in Tim's ears.

Fucking traitor. 

The man with the kind smile that was responsible for half of the mud in which Tim found himself stuck. The man who took away from Tim the only thing that kept him standing, the only thing that mattered for him in a long time. This was the Dick Grayson, the “good fella”, Bruce's golden child, “The clearer version of what Batman was meant to be”. Dick Fucking Grayson.

Again, Tim pretended not to hear.

— Dames said you were still working. Don't you think it is time for a break?

— I'm not tired — Tim said, though Dick wasn't dumb enough to believe it. Anyone that looked into Tim's face would see how fucking tired he was. Deep and dark eyebags, hollowed expressions in his eyes, cheeks slightly inwards like the corpse of a very thin woman. Dick sighed.

— I know, but B misses you. We all miss you. And we are worried.

— There's nothing to worry about — Tim said, simply.

Dick sighed again and pulled his chair closer to Tim.

Fuck . He had to lecture Tim right now, of course. He simply couldn't deny the urge of being the reasonable��older brother, the inspirational hero, the right one, the mediator of the family.

— Let's be honest, Little Wing...

— Don't call me little wing.

— Tim, we are worried about you — Dick said, Tim never looked at his face, he knew he wouldn't be able to stop himself from rolling his eyes if he did. He couldn't stand Dick Grayson's hypocrite smile and kind eyes anymore. He could barely stand his voice — What you said today during patrol... That joke....

— Joke? — Tim asked, furrowing his brows. He didn't remember telling a joke.

— You know, buddy. That one about the metro-narrows bridge.

Oh . That.

It wasn't a joke. More likely a loud thought.

Tim remembered that. He said that if Damian called him “unworthy” again, he would simply throw himself from the top of metro-narrows bridge, towards the cars. 

Tim has been "telling these jokes" for weeks now.

— Even Dames stepped back. Everyone did, actually. The family...

— Are you saying you are afraid of me?

— I wouldn't say afraid — Dick said, trying to sound casual — It's just the way you've been talking about everything these days. It makes everyone feel...

— Uncomfortable? — Tim asked, with a bitter grin, finally turning towards Dick. He could see the surprise in his brother's eyes. Or was it something else? Tim's guts were absolutely soaked in rage now — The probable consequences of what you all say and do to me make you uncomfortable, Dick? You can't bear the guilt? Or you're just worried your Robin will have to deal with the responsibility of the death of his predecessor?

Dick said nothing. Just sighed. Dick Grayson knew the battles he couldn't win. Dick put a mug in front of Tim. His favourite mug, filled with the dark liquid in which Tim loved to drown himself.

— We can talk later — The elder said — Jason made you coffee. He said you wouldn't want to have a break. Guess he knows you better than the rest of us.

— The perks of trying to slit someone's throat — Tim said completely out of spite, just to see Dick flinch in discomfort.

— Just drink before it gets cold, okay?

Dick left and Tim decided to not make another comment.

Red Robin stared at the mug in front of him, wondering if Jason poured poison into the liquid or Alfred poured the sleep drugs. Either way, there was no chance Tim would let it get into his system. He turned off the screen and grabbed the mug, walking towards his bedroom. In his room already, Tim locked the door and poured the coffee into his bathroom sink.

After taking a shower – He wasn't that bad that he would deny himself a simple shower, although he doubted it would take long to reach this point – He verified all the hidden spots in his room. Behind the curtains, his closet, under his bed. After making sure Jason wasn't there hidden with a knife, he slid between his sheets, soft and smooth.

Red Robin stared at the ceiling of the room where some years ago, lived Timothy Jackson Drake.