#which is frustrating to say the least. it's not like I've been there often but I Did contacted a lot of ppl through it

[mjrdm]

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[thingsidrawgohere]

Alright. I'm calling it done before it kills me. This is Second Head. It's an Art Book containing instances of the phrase "second head" in fanfics found on AO3. I'll explain much, MUCH more in the cut.

So when I say 'art book', I mean this is an intrinsic piece. I have no motivations aside from personal amusement and interest in outcome. A lot of money was lost/transmuted into free frustration in this project and I have no claims, obviously. I will prolly be the only person alive to read this.

THAT SAID. I have noticed in my years reading fanfic, there's a few linguistic shibboleths that arise in authors who also have experience in the mines. I think there's not a soul alive who hadn't wandered across a 'ministrations' when reading Narutos oral sexing. There's- Hold on. Here's some pix.

There's an impulse, I think, to in-group even when performing a creative act. A feeling that there are certain ways one Should go about the act, by virtue of seeing it performed that way. Especially so when 'training' at the act is often just Doing. Double Dog Especially when the act is exclusively for oneself with very little oversight. Which is to say, we make what we see and we make what we think we should make. At least, at first.

Now, I've been noticing 'grew a second head' (to insinuate surprise) in fanfic for some time. I've never seen it used Outside of fanfic. (Edit to add: I am not making the argument the phrase is from fanfic. Nor do I Believe it is from fanfic. Jesus Hopping Christ, people. That's not what this project is about.) That may speak to my own bad habits but it got me curious. So a friend and myself downloaded a mirror of AO3 from July of 2024. He did some code- Stuff to scan the mirror for "second head" and of the ~13 million works, ~70k (English) results were returned. That's a rounding error, honestly, but Far FAR more than I expected.

This book is 401 such examples that I personally selected for a variety of reasons. The number itself was arbitrarily chosen. Each page is separate fic, the roughly 300 words around our key phrase.

I don't think repetition or mirroring is a negative thing. I think it's quite charming. Nor do I think it's a sign of a 'bad' artist or 'bad' art. I think it's a signifier of personhood, of belonging, of enthusiasm. Of culture shared and wishing to share. I think it's real sweet. I always smile when I catch a 'grown a second head' in a work.

And it's really fucking funny when it's John Sherlock getting a sloppy toppy. Bless.

Edit: Fixed a very VERY funny error.

Edit: I am not making the argument that the phrase is exclusive to fanfic or, fucking forbid, FROM fanfic. I'm stating this Again because we skim here. Also- If you would like slamdunk my ass by stating the phrase predates the Internet or your GenX parents use it, please use 'sailboat' in your comment so I know you're specifically trying to kill me.

Edit Edit: You know what? Fine. I DO think this phrase came from fandom. I think ENGLISH came from fandom. I think YOU came from fandom. I think EVERYTHING came from fandom. The Sun, the Moon, the Seas- Fandom. Specifically Sonic Mpreg. The second head was Shadow the Hedgehog crowning. Congrats!

[f1fantasys]

uhm so i have an idea where Lando is working out alone to release his emotions, perhaps after a bad day or bad race. but suddenly, you enter the gym, which annoys him because he wanted to be alone right now.

however, as you start working out, he kinda ogling your 🍒 and eventually decides to approach you to talk and that led to the spicy part when he starts touching you and fucked you on one of the bench using you to let out his anger 🫣 tysm!!!

THIS!! I don't feel like I've done this INCREDIBLE request justice. So someone please write a better one and tag me in it! @ccsainzleclerc5516 you would do amazing at this!

POST RACE WORKOUT

Warnings - smut!! need i say more?

2.4 words. IDK why it's so short - feel like i have writers block.

The Monaco weekend was always a fun one. Fun, but extremely busy, especially being a Sky presenter. From the Monday leading up to the weekend you'd been in and out of meetings, events, and not to mention recording and being live on air for several hours a day. But you loved it, and you wouldn't have it any other way.

But now that the race and post-race shows were finally over, you still had a lot of adrenaline and energy to burn, which is why you currently found yourself walking up the stairs to the gym, wearing the tightest tights and a sports bra. It was well past midnight, but, having connections had its perks, so here you were.

You pushed open the door and stopped in your tracks. There was some distant music playing and as your eyes scanned the room you definitely weren't expecting to find Lando Norris who was currently lifting weights, shirtless, might I add. He stopped what he was doing and stood up, eyes shamelessly searching your body, but an annoyed look on his face.

''Uh, hey'' you greeted.

All he did was nod his head.

''You good?'' you couldn't help but ask at the way he was looking at you. You felt you own cheeks heat up as you gawked at his body that was riled with sweat.

''Yeah'' was all he said as he turned around and continued what he was doing.

You of course have had a lot of interaction with Lando - several interviews and social media videos which meant you'd spent quite a lot of time with him. Obviously, he was one hell of hot man, and yes, you looked, but you'd never touch. Your work was too important to get involved with any of the drivers. You'd also noticed him looking more often than not, but you never allowed your mind to go there.

As you stood there for a few minutes you couldn't help but feel bad for the guy. He'd had a shitty race - mclaren had fucked his strategy, once again, and he didn't get the win. So you totally understood why he was in the gym at the time - also trying to get rid of the adrenaline.

You dragged your feet to the treadmill and hopped on, setting a medium pace, trying to focus on something else and not the half naked man across the room.

After about 15 minutes you slowed your pace down a bit, grabbing your towel to wipe the sheet of sweat over your face and arms. As you walked over to do some weights, you looked ahead in the mirror and locked eyes with Lando. He was standing drinking his water, and you watched as his eyes left yours and shamelessly looked your body up and down again. To be fair - you were swearing the skimpiest gym clothes which left nothing to the imagination.

What you didn't know was that Lando had been eye fucking you the full 15 minutes you were running. He had wanted to be alone, let out his frustration, but that changed the minute he realized it was you who walked through the door. He licked his lips as he saw how your tights wrapped around your ass so perfectly, how your boobs were bouncing and threatening to spill out of your bra, how you back muscles flexed as you ran, and how sweat covered your body making you glisten under the lights. Lando had always found you attractive to say the least, and now he was painfully hard by just watching you workout. He wanted nothing more than to walk up to you and rip your clothes off, bend you over, and rail into you.

You tried your best to ignore him and focus on your task, so you sat on the bench and started brench pressing, heavy breaths leaving your mouth.

Suddenly, you saw Lando standing above you, staring down, and his own breathing just as heavy as yours.

Before you could react and say anything, he held onto the weights and pryed it out of your hands.

''Lan-'' you started, but he cut you off.

''Shh'' you said, before walking around and facing you as you sat up. He took a seat in front of you, legs on either side of the bench as yours were.

You swore you heart was beating out of your chest right now. He looked so heavenly. Bright green eyes, curls messy and sticking to his forehead. And not to mention his god-damn beautiful torso. Muscles taught and defined, with sweat dripping down, his own body shining in the lights.

''Eyes up here'' he said, smirking, catching you out for staring.

''Fuck'' you mumbled to yourself, before you looked up at him.

You felt as his hands found your waist and effortlessly slid you closer to him, and now your breaths were mingling, the heat in your body rising.

As you found yourselves in an apparent staring contest, Lando's hands started roaming your body He traced your arms up and down, your shoulders, you back, and your breath hitched as he suddenly slipped them under your sports bra, feeling up your boobs and fondling with them.

You closed your eyes and tried to calm your breathing, but that was impossible with the fact that he was sitting right in front of you and touching you. Now he was rolling your nipples between his fingers, pulling at and tugging them, earning himself a moan from you.

''Lando'' you panted, needing more, almost grinding yourself on the bench.

''I know baby''

The nickname gave you goosebumps, and you couldn't help but open your eyes and smile at him.

Soon after, Lando tore your bra off of you, revealing your perky boobs. He lowered his head and latched his mouth onto your left nipple. Biting and sucking on it before using his tongue to sooth over.

Your hands found his hair and you pulled at his curls, edging him on, begging him some more. ''Lando, please'' you said, grinding down on the bench harder than before.

He lifted his head and crashed his lips to yours. It was eager and messy, tongues clashing and spit sliding down both yours and Lando's chin. He bit on your lower lip and you felt him slide his hands through your tights to grope at your ass. By now you were cupping his face, pulling him impossibly closer. While his one hand stayed on your ass, the other slid round to your front and cupped your cunt.

The action has you arching off the bench, breath increasing ever so much as he slid his fingers through your folds, which were soaking by now - something that didn't go unnoticed by him.

''Already dripping for me, love?'' he asked, voice thick and hoarse with his British accent.

''Uh huh'' was all you managed to say, biting your lips at the feeling of his calloused fingers rough against your clit, which he found rather quickly.

He captured your lips with his as he thrust two fingers through your entrance, the swift movement making you tremble in his arms.

''Ride my fingers y/n'' he said between breaths.

And so you did, you rode his fingers hard and fast, and just as he curled them at just the right time, feeling you soft cushiony spot inside of you, you felt a warmth begin to build in your stomach.

No word spoken and Lando added a third finger, sending you trembling over the edge as you latched onto his shoulder for support to ride you through your orgasm.

He slowed his fingers, eyes never leaving yours, before pulling them out and shamelessly licking them clean of you cum, moaning at the taste.

''Hmm, so fucking delicious'''he said, smirking, as you watched, mouth agape.

''Lando please'' you panted. ''Need to feel you in me'' you said, looking at him with longing eyes.

When you looked at him again, his whole demeanor changed. His eyes became ridiculously darker and the emotion he wore on his face was a mix of sudden anger and frustration.

He didn't say anything. Instead, he man handled you to lay down before he ripped your tights off of you and stood up to free himself of his constraints.

You watched as his hard cock bounced first then stood tall and angry.

''Fuck, he's big'' you thought to yourself as he placed himself between your legs.

Lando leaned down to kiss you as you took him in your hands and pumped him a few times, using your thumb to spread his pre cum around his tip.

The movement had him bucking forward, grunting into your mouth.

He pulled back and looked you in the eyes. ''You sure?'' he asked.

''Please. Please fuck me''

He lined himself up and wasted no time in slamming into you, bottoming out in one thrust.

''Shit'' you gasped. He was definitely the biggest you'd ever had, and the sting was intense. But this was Lando Norris, and you were determined to let him have his way with you.

He finally started moving, setting a pace that had your eyes rolling to the back of your head as your nails dug deep into his skin.

''So fucking tight, fuck y/n''

''Oh, Lando, yes, please, yes'' you cried out, unable to keep your moans at bay.

Lando continued to fuck into you while his mouth found your boobs and sucked hard at them, surely leaving purple bruises for tomorrow.

Within minutes you could feel your walls begin to clench around him, your orgasm approaching fast.

''Fuck, gonna cum Lan-'' you started but before you could finish he pulled out. You whined at him, an annoyed whine which you knew would edge him on further.

He scooped you up with such an ease, and suddenly you were flipped over and on your tummy, Lando sliding into your cunt with force again.

He bunched up your hair and pulled it tight, earning pornographic moans from your mouth straight to his ear.

''Can't win a fucking race but at least I got you begging for me'' he said through bated breaths, finally railing you the way he wanted from when you first walked in.

''Fuck Lando, you won. You won for me'' you moaned. You didn't care what the outcome of the actual race was - in your eyes, he was always a winner.

''Doing so well for me babygirl. That's tight.''

This time your orgasm gave you no warning. Hearing him call you babygirl pushed you over the edge, your body shuddering underneath him and your juices spluttering all over.

You moaned his name as you came, and if anything, he sped up his movements briefly before sliding out of you again.

This time he sat facing the mirror and pulled you up to sit down his lap, facing the mirror as well.

You immediately sank down on his now throbbing dick, setting a harsh pace as his hand snaked its way around you and settled on your throat.

''Want you to watch yourself fuck me'' he roughly whispered in your ear.

You kept your eyes on each other while you rode him, Lando's occasionally dropping down to watch how your boobs bounced up and down with each thrust.

''Fuck'' you hissed as you felt another orgasm approaching.

''Fucking me so good baby, go on. Be my slut'' he urged you to carry on.

Your movements were becoming sloppier, unable to hold yourself up and able to continue to thrust so Lando had to take matters into his own hands.

He was now fucking into you again, but at a relentless pace, clearly chasing his own orgasm as well.

''Together, yeah?'' he asked, his hand sliding down to toy at your clit.

You couldn't hold it in anymore. ''Fuck, Lando, now. I need to cum'' you said, as you felt his cock twitching inside of you.

The room now filled with grunts and moans, swear words flying everywhere as you both reached your climax, juices spilling out of you like the end of the worlds. Lando made sure to empty his load painting your walls white with his warm splutter.

You sank back down on him, letting your weight fall back leaning on him.

You locked eyes in the mirror again, both trying to catch your breaths, sweat dripping down the both of you.

Now that he got his release, Lando couldn't help but feel ashamed at the fact that he used you. Although this was the best sex he'd had in a long time, he felt he needed to apologize, and hope he hadn't fucked up a chance at anything more.

You could feel him softening inside of you, but neither made any attempt to move.

''Lan-''

''Wait. Fuck. I'm sorry if I was too rough'' he said, shyly.

''What?''

''I'm sorry i called you a slut. It was a complement, actually. I just had all this adrenaline from the race. And you were there. And...Fuck, i couldn't help myself'' he was rambling.

''Lando stop.'' you said firmer than you intended to. ''I didn't say I didn't enjoy it. Did I?'' you asked.

He shook his head.

''Really, it was so fucking good, and I'm glad it was me. I'm glad you used me''

''I-What?''

''Yeah, think I needed it as much as you did'' you said.

He wrapped his arms around you holding you tighter.

''Well then I'm glad you walked through the door. Thank you'' he cooed.

You smiled at him and slowly got up, letting him slip out of you, when something dawned on you.

''You ripped my clothes, Lando! literally'' you shrieked, eyes wide and a chuckle filling the air.

He stood up and pecked your lips.

''Well then, you'll just have to come home with me'' he said, smirking, but throwing his t-shirt to you to wear.

As he watching you put it on, he couldn't help but notice the stickiness dripping out of you.

''Fuck'' he mumbled, more to himself.

''What?'' you asked, as you didn't even release he was still watching you.

He didn't say anything, instead he bent down and licked your core, collecting the mixture of both of your cum.

The action had your breath hitching, not expecting it at all. You held onto his head as he did what he did, before he stood back up and let the juice slide out of his mouth and into your, before he kissed you roughly again.

''So fucking hot. Round 2 at mines?'' he asked.

You just smiled and walked to the door, opening it while gesturing him to follow you out.

REMEMBER - requests are open!

[martian-astro10]

Astrology observations- Part 1 (use whole signs)

🍃 Venus in 1st house people have THICK hair (I have Venus in 1st and 3 of my friends have it as well, and we all have really voluminous frizzy/curly hair, that's hard to manage)

🍃 Saturn in 3rd can mean that you'll start college later than your peers ( I have it and my student visa got rejected 3 times😭😭 and by the time I started college, all my friends were already in their third year)

🍃 Saturn in 3rd can also mean that you start dating later than your friends or it could mean that you just aren't THAT interested in casual relationships, you probably want something serious.

🍃 Mars in 1st, if in friendly signs, can mean having a really high sex drive, sexual attraction is very important for you in a relationship. (I have it, Mars in 1st in Aries, and it's true for me, I also have rahu there so I play a lot of sports to control this, like I really exhaust myself to the bone, meditating also helps. hypersexuality is not good, so just make sure that you don't go overboard)

🍃 Moon trine Saturn people are really respectful towards women. They were either raised by a single mother or their mother made the important decisions in the family. I have it but I also know a guy who has this and he's just the sweetest and even though his mom is a sahm and his dad earns, his mom is the more powerful one��, like his dad just earns and gives all the money to his mom. It's really cute.

🍃 Venus square midheaven people were often bullied for their appearance when young, from what I've noticed, and that's why they grow up to become people pleasers, because they don't want to be the "outcast" again. A lot of self esteem issues as well. You guys are the type to wake your partner up in the middle of the night and ask them "do you love me" and then they probably reply with "we've been married for 10 years"

🍃 Neptune square ascendant is that "HOW DO I REALLY LOOK" placement, they're the ones who get really frustrated because they look different in the mirror and camera. (I have this 🥲👍) It sucks, also you guys are obsessed with personality tests

🍃 Venus in 1st house people care a lot about a person's appearance in a relationship, it's not wrong but just make sure that it's not the ONLY thing that you focus on. I also think that it sort of stems from your own insecurity, like you guys think that you aren't attractive so being with a conventionally attractive person makes up for it, IN YOUR MIND, so work on increasing your self confidence

🍃 Moon opposite Venus people want to be affectionate but the fear of getting rejected stops them from doing so. ( I have this and sometimes I get this urge to just hug or kiss someone, like on the cheeks, friend, family, romantic partner, but then I assume that the person won't like it, so i give up. Here's the thing, ASK, this is what I started doing, now whenever I feel like that, i just go- can i kiss you on the cheek, if the person says yes, I do it, and back off if they say no) oppositions and squares are not bad aspects okay, you just need to learn how to deal with them, so yeah, ask people, don't be scared, they won't bite, some of them might, but don't hold yourself back because of them 😘🫂

🍃 Sun square Pluto women, are men scared of you?? (If yes, then, AS THEY FUCKING SHOULD). I have this and i think men find me intimidating (I'm the least intimidating person EVER), but also, I feel like, this makes you kind of unable to deal with men, you always wanna be in control, a lot of trust issues, you also think all men are shit (WHICH THEY ARE) but also you guys need to realise that some men are actually......kinda.....good🤢, almost threw up while writing this, ewwww, actually you know what, keep on having trust issues, BE IN CONTROL

[drowning-in-paragraphs]

PUSH AND PULL

a/n: Hey! Sorry it's been a long time, but rn I have a lot of exams… While I finish them, here's something I've written before.

jude bellingham x gf!reader

warnings: they fight but happy ending! long af

summary: In love, mess is inevitable—especially when you're as stubborn as Jude and you. A fight breaks out, and with it, comes chaos. But instead of facing it like adults, you both become kids again, unable to stop poking at each other and pushing each other's buttons. Whether it's a teasing remark, a too-close-for-comfort touch, or a pointed silence, you both dance around your feelings, caught in the tension of unspoken frustration. However, when the stubborness between you becomes unbearable, one kiss shatters the walls you’ve both carefully built.

The flat was a battlefield of silence. Not the peaceful kind, but the sharp-edged, suffocating kind, where every creak of the floorboards sounded like an accusation. Jude sat sprawled on the couch, legs wide, one hand gripping the remote. The TV played highlights from some old match, but you could tell from the way his eyes lingered on the screen without focus that he wasn’t watching.

You also sat on the couch, cross-legged, your laptop balanced on your thighs. With the television humming faintly in the background, you pretended to be engrossed in your laptop, fingers brushing aimlessly over the keys. Your hair fell over one shoulder, hiding the way you glanced at him every so often, wondering if he would break the silence. He did not. What he did, was catching you once, his dark eyes locking with yours for a brief moment, before you both looked away as if burned.

The tension in the room was suffocating, as if the air itself refused to move. Neither of you dared to take the first step to break the silence, which stretched between you like an invisible wall. The funniest part was that, in a house so vast, the two of you had ended up in the same room, sharing the same couch, barely a few inches apart. It was almost ridiculous. Tho, you didn’t react. Not outwardly, at least. Internally, you rolled your eyes so hard it hurt.

The fight from last night sat heavily between you. It was the kind of argument that left no room for winners, only wounds. You weren’t even sure how it started. He neither. A jab here, a poorly timed comment there, and before you knew it, the words turned sharp, biting into places neither of you wanted exposed. And now, all that was left was this: icy silence and the simmering frustration of two people who loved each other too much to let go but were too proud to make the first move.

Jude turned up the volume on the TV—just a notch higher than necessary. A small, petty move, but you caught it. You gritted your teeth and opened another tab on your laptop, pretending to type while your jaw clenched.

He leaned back, draping an arm casually across the back of the couch, his shirt hitching up just enough to reveal a sliver of skin. A silver of his abs. You noticed—of course, you noticed—but you stubbornly refused to let your gaze linger. He was doing it on purpose, you were sure of it. The smug bastard.

To be fair, you weren’t entirely innocent either. You’d been wandering around the house all day without a bra, and you were well aware of how his eyes occasionally darted toward you before he quickly looked away. It wasn’t overt, nothing you could call him out on, but you could feel his awareness of you, just as you were hyper-aware of him.

In retaliation, you slammed your laptop shut, regardless of the tabs you had open. The noise echoed through the room, over the loud volume of the TV, and for a moment, Jude’s eyes met yours. There was a challenge in his gaze, a slight arch of his eyebrow, but he didn’t say anything. Then, as if nothing, you opened the device again.

After a while, your boyfriend, decided that now the couch was not as comfortable as it was minutes before and went to the kitchen. In there, Jude’s movements were deliberate, exaggerated in a way that felt almost taunting. He opened the fridge with more force than necessary, the door creaking loudly, and lingered there for what felt like forever before finally pulling out a bottle of water. He unscrewed the cap with unnecessary force, the crack of the seal piercing the silence.

“You could’ve done that quieter,” you muttered, not looking up from your screen.

He snorted, the sound low and derisive. “You’ve been so sensitive later.”

Your jaw tightened, but you didn’t respond. Instead, you tapped harder on your keyboard, the clatter of the keys a pointed counter to his earlier disruption. It was petty, childish even, but you couldn’t help yourself. If he was going to be difficult, you could be too. You knew he hated that, and when you turned back, you caught the briefest twitch of his lips, as if he was holding back a smirk.

The audacity of him almost made you snap again.

The minutes dragged on, and the uneasy rhythm of your coexistence continued. Jude eventually moved to the living room, sprawling across the other end of the couch. His long legs stretched out, nudging your thigh as he adjusted his position. It wasn’t accidental—you could tell by the faint smirk that tugged at his lips when you glared at him.

“Can you not?” you snapped, shifting slightly away from him. Honestly, even when you were angry, you still liked the warmth of his contact, but you knew that pulling away would bother him.

“What? I’m just sitting,” he said, his tone infuriatingly casual. But then he moved his leg again, deliberately pressing it against yours, skin against warm skin. This time, you didn’t move, choosing instead to act as if you didn’t notice at all.

“Sitting doesn’t involve invading someone else’s space.”

He didn’t respond, but the smirk on his face only deepened, as if he found your irritation amusing. Leaning further back into the couch, he made himself completely comfortable, clearly unbothered.

You turned your focus back to your laptop, though you weren’t sure why you bothered. It wasn’t like you were getting any actual work done.

When he grabbed the remote and started flipping through channels, the sound of the TV growing louder with each change, you shot him another glare. He didn’t acknowledge it, his gaze fixed on the screen as if he couldn’t feel the weight of your annoyance.

“Are you trying to be obnoxious, or does it just come naturally?” you asked, your voice sharp.

He finally turned to look at you, annoyed, raising an eyebrow. “You’re one to talk.”

The air between you crackled with unspoken tension, but neither of you said anything more. Instead, you both retreated into the silence, your mutual frustration simmering just below the surface.

By early afternoon, the passive-aggressive dance had reached new heights. You were in the kitchen, making yourself a coffee when he got up moments later, brushing past you as he headed to the sink. You could have moved, made it easier for him, but you didn’t. Neither did he. Your shoulders bumped, and you felt a spark of irritation—at him, at yourself, at the situation.

“Excuse me,” he said finally, his tone clipped but low, his breath brushing your temple as he reached over you for a glass. You stepped aside, not because you wanted to but because your pride wouldn’t let you linger there like some lovesick fool.

He filled the glass with water, the sound of it cascading against the sink somehow louder than necessary. His presence so close to you was suffocating, but you refused to move too far. He stood there for a moment with heavy eye contact after taking a sip, leaning against the counter like he was waiting for you to react.

You didn’t.

Instead, you grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl and bit into it, appearing uninterested. You saw him glance at you from the corner of his eye, and for a fleeting second, you thought you saw amusement flicker across his face. It vanished as quickly as it appeared.

The rest of the afternoon passed in much the same way—sharp glances, clipped words, and small actions that seemed designed to provoke the other. When Jude left his empty glass on the coffee table instead of taking it to the sink, you picked it up with exaggerated care, your movements pointedly loud as you placed it in the dishwasher. When you adjusted the thermostat without asking, he changed it back moments later, the beep of the controls echoing like a challenge.

This repeated a few times.

Neither of you said what you really wanted to say. The words hovered in the air, unspoken but undeniable, like a ghost haunting the space between you.

As the night deepened, the tension between you became almost unbearable, thick and suffocating in the dimly lit room. You lay curled up on the bed, your fingers mindlessly scrolling through your phone, the glow of the screen illuminating your face. At the other end of the mattress, Jude sat hunched over his own device, the faint light from his screen carving sharp shadows across his features. His face was drawn tight, his brows furrowed in a way that made the lines of worry and frustration painfully obvious. You couldn’t help but wonder if you looked the same—tired, distant, and weighed down by the silence hanging between you.

You despised this chasm that had grown between you, the quiet hostility that lingered unspoken in the air. The silence wasn’t a comfortable one—it was filled with an unrelenting tension, an undercurrent of anger and hurt that felt alien and wrong. This wasn’t what you had envisioned. It wasn’t what you wanted. You loved him, even now, even through the haze of pain and frustration that churned within you. That love was still there, steady and unwavering, but it felt harder to reach, buried beneath the heavy layers of everything left unsaid.

Jude shifted slightly, his movement breaking the stillness. His fingers brushed against your arm, light as a whisper, a touch so brief it was almost nothing—but it wasn’t nothing. The contact jolted through you, surprising in its warmth and its ability to remind you of what once felt so natural. For a moment, you both froze. The touch lingered, suspended in time, carrying more weight than such a small gesture should. Then, just as suddenly as it had come, he pulled his hand away, retreating back to his side of the bed.

The silence returned, heavier than before.

The bed had grown colder as the hours ticked on, the tension between you and Jude acting like an invisible barrier, keeping you both firmly planted on opposite ends of the mattress. Sleep came to you first, though not peacefully—it was the restless kind, with the occasional shuffle and murmured sigh as your body sought the warmth that your pride kept you from asking for.

Jude stayed awake longer, his phone abandoned on the nightstand. His gaze flickered toward your sleeping form, the soft rise and fall of your shoulders pulling at something deep inside him. Even in sleep, there was a tightness to the set of your jaw, a lingering sign of the frustration that had consumed the day. He wanted to reach out, to smooth the lines away with his thumb, to press a kiss to the crown of your head like he always did when you argued. But the memory of your sharp words, and his own stubbornness, kept him still.

Eventually, exhaustion claimed him, and he drifted off into a restless slumber.

Next morning, the dim light of morning crept through the cracks in the blinds, casting soft stripes across the room. Jude stirred first, his body stiff and warm under the tangled sheets. He blinked, disoriented for a moment, until he became acutely aware of two things: the faint scent of your shampoo and the fact that his arm was draped securely around your waist.

His heart thudded once, heavy and slow, as the realization hit. Sometime during the night, you two had moved closer, the invisible wall of your argument forgotten in sleep. Your back was pressed against his chest, your legs loosely intertwined, his nose buried in the crown of your hair. It felt impossibly natural, like the way you used to fit before the fight. His hold on you was firm but careful, as if even his sleeping self knew you were something precious, something not to let go of.

Jude’s lips twitched into the faintest of smiles before his pride crept in, whispering to him that this was just a fluke. He wasn’t supposed to be happy about this, was he? You were still angry—still caught in the push and pull of your unresolved tension. But damn it, holding you like this felt good. Really good. It felt right. He allowed himself one more selfish second to savor the moment before you stirred.

Your soft murmur pulled him from his thoughts. You shifted slightly, pressing closer to his chest, your body melting into his as if seeking his warmth even in sleep. His heart ached, and a wave of affection so fierce it startled him coursed through his chest. He wanted to kiss you, to tell you he was sorry for the things he said, the things he didn’t say. But pride anchored him in place, so instead, he lay there, pretending he didn’t feel anything at all.

You woke to the steady rhythm of his breathing and the unmistakable weight of his arm around you. For a moment, still caught in the haze of sleep, you sighed contentedly, nestling closer to the warmth behind you. It felt safe, familiar, and so achingly right that it made your chest tighten.

But then, reality crashed in like a bucket of cold water. You froze, eyes flying open, as you realized exactly where you were—and who you were with. The fight, the tension, the stubborn refusal to bridge the gap between you—it all came rushing back, drowning out the soft thrum of happiness that lingered from waking in his arms.

Still, you didn’t move immediately. Instead, you let yourself linger for just a moment longer, feeling the solidness of him behind you, the warmth of his breath against your neck. Your heart ached with love, raw and unrelenting, a stark contrast to the frustration still simmering beneath the surface. How could you feel both so intensely at once?

You wanted to turn around, to meet his gaze and let the love you felt show on your face. But the pride that had fueled your argument held you still. You couldn’t be the first to crack—not after last night. So, you did what you always did: you pushed the feelings down, buried them under a layer of indifference, and carefully shifted away.

You swung your legs out of bed, avoiding Jude’s gaze as you reached for your robe. He remained lounging on his side, his dark eyes tracking your movements.

“Morning,” he mumbled, his voice rough with sleep. It wasn’t quite warm, but it lacked the sharp edge from yesterday.

“Morning,” you replied, fastening the belt of your robe with deliberate nonchalance.

As you padded to the kitchen to start the coffee, Jude followed, his footsteps soft but noticeable. He leaned casually against the counter as you worked, his arms crossed over his chest. The silence between you hung heavy but was no longer suffocating—just thick with the remnants of stubborn pride.

“You’re not going to make me a cup too?” he asked, arching a brow when you filled a single mug. A smirk tugged at his lips.

Yep, that early in the morning.

You turned, lips also twitching. “Last I checked, you have two hands and know where the mugs are.”

That smirk persisted, and for the first time in what felt like forever, it wasn’t mocking—it was teasing. “Wow. So generous this morning.”

You shrugged, raising your mug to your lips. “What can I say? I’m full of surprises.”

Jude shook his head, stepping forward to grab his own cup. You moved to lean against the counter opposite him, your mug cradled in both hands. He stood closer than necessary, the distance between you shrinking inch by inch as the minutes passed.

“You were hogging the blanket last night,” he stated suddenly, breaking the quiet.

You blinked, caught off guard. “Excuse me? I was hogging the blanket? You’re the human furnace who takes up three-quarters of the bed.”

He scoffed, setting his mug down. “Three-quarters? Dramatic much? You sleep like a starfish.”

A laugh escaped before you could stop it—a real, unguarded laugh that felt like a balm to the tension still clinging to the edges of the morning. Jude’s lips quirked into a grin, the kind that softened the sharp lines of his face and made your heart skip despite yourself. You rolled your eyes, trying to maintain some semblance of composure.

The teasing was lighthearted, a refreshing shift from the icy tension of the previous day. But underneath it, the stubbornness remained—a silent promise that neither of you would be the first to openly admit you wanted peace.

Jude leaned against the counter, his coffee in hand, watching you with that maddening smirk. It wasn’t just his expression; it was the way he stood, as if the entire kitchen belonged to him, as if he were perfectly at ease and you were the one who had to figure out how to navigate the unspoken rules of this little game.

“You’re staring,” you pointed out, raising an eyebrow as you sipped your coffee calmly.

He shrugged, utterly unbothered. “Can you blame me? You’re kind of hard to miss.”

“Oh, please,” you retorted, setting your mug down and crossing your arms. “I’m not in the mood for your cheesy one-liners. They are not working.”

“It wasn’t a one-liner. It was an observation,” he replied smoothly, taking a step closer. His dark eyes sparkled with mischief as he added, “And besides, it’s not my fault you look cute when you’re grumpy.”

Your jaw tightened, but the corners of your lips betrayed you, twitching upward for just a moment before you caught yourself. “I know you miss me, but this is not the way of fixing things.”

“Miss you?” he shot back, leaning closer, his proximity making your heart stutter. “I woke up with you cuddling against me so…”

You rolled your eyes and turned away, feigning nonchalance as you began to tidy the already clean counter. “That’s not how... forget it,”

The morning passed in a steady rhythm of petty jabs and fleeting touches that neither of you could resist. When you walked past him to grab something from the pantry, his hand brushed lightly against your lower back—just enough to make your skin tingle. You shot him a look over your shoulder, but he was already looking elsewhere, as if the contact had been incidental. You knew better.

Later, as you stood by the sink rinsing your mug, Jude joined you, crowding your space under the guise of washing his hands. The sink was large enough for both of you, but he leaned in anyway, his arm brushing against yours, his warmth seeping into your skin.

“Do you mind?” you asked, tilting your head to glare at him.

“Not at all,” he replied with a grin, his voice laced with mock innocence.

You huffed, turning to move away, but his hand darted out to catch yours. The suddenness of it made you freeze, and for a moment, you just stared at each other, the air thickening between you. Jude’s thumb brushed against the back of your hand, a simple, unassuming touch that sent shivers racing up your arm.

But just as quickly, he released you, his smirk returning as if to mask the moment of vulnerability. “Don’t trip over your own stubbornness,” he said, stepping back.

You bristled, turning sharply to face him. “Me? Stubborn? That’s rich coming from you.”

The tension that had been simmering all morning suddenly flared, sharp and electric. That was what you both needed. “You’ve been impossible since yesterday,” he shot back, his voice rising just enough to match yours. “I’m not the one slamming laptops shut and stomping around like a child.”

Your eyes narrowed, and you took a step closer, your chest brushing against his as you jabbed a finger at his chest. “And I’m not the one deliberately trying to piss the other off!”

Jude tilted his head, his smirk fading into something darker, more serious. “Oh, you think I’m the one pushing buttons here? Newsflash, love—you’ve been just as bad.”

“Love?” you repeated, your voice dripping with incredulity. “Don’t you dare—”

Before you could finish your sentence, Jude’s hands moved, quick and decisive. One slid to the small of your back, the other cupped your ass firmly, and in one smooth motion, he pulled you against him and lifted you off the ground. A startled gasp escaped your lips, but it was swallowed almost immediately as his mouth crashed against yours.

Finally, you thought to yourself, something you would never say out-loud.

The kiss was hot and demanding, a clash of teeth and tongues that mirrored the intensity of your earlier fight. Jude’s lips moved against yours with a ferocity that left no room for argument, his grip on you possessive and unyielding. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, your hands finding purchase in his neck as you pulled him closer.

For a moment, you forgot everything—the fight, the pride, the stubbornness. All that existed was the heat of his mouth on yours, the solidness of his body pressed against you, and the way his hands gripped you like he never wanted to let go. It was messy and desperate and so painfully raw that it left you breathless.

When he finally pulled back, his lips were red and swollen, his breathing uneven as he stared at you with a mix of frustration and something deeper, something softer. “You argue too much,” he said, his voice rough and low.

You blinked at him, your chest heaving as you tried to process what had just happened. “And you—”

“No no, shhh,” he interrupted, his mouth crashing against yours again. This time, the kiss was slower, more deliberate, but no less intense. It was an apology, a truce, and a declaration all rolled into one.

When he pulled back this time, his hands lingered, one sliding up to cup your cheek while the other stayed firmly at your waist. His thumb brushed lightly across your skin, and the intensity in his gaze made your breath catch. His chest was heaving, just like yours, as if the kiss had stolen the air from both of you.

You stared at him, the heat of his touch grounding you even as your heart raced. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence thick with everything that had just been said without words.

Finally, you broke it, your voice soft but steady. “I’m sorry,” you murmured, meeting his gaze. “For… being difficult. For letting it drag on like this.”

Jude raised a brow, his expression caught somewhere between surprise and amusement. “Oh, so you can apologize,” he teased, though the smirk on his face softened at the edges.

You rolled your eyes, but your lips twitched despite yourself. “Juuude, don’t ruin the moment,” you warned, your tone light.

“I’m not,” he said, his voice gentler now. “Keep going, come on, I want to hear you say how wrong you were.”

Your laugh slipped out before you could stop it, and you swatted lightly at his chest. “Don’t push it.” But then your smile faded, replaced by something softer, more vulnerable. “I really am sorry, baby.”

His teasing faded as he looked at you, the sincerity in your voice settling over him like a balm. “Yeah, well,” he began, his hand sliding from your cheek to the back of your neck, pulling you just a little closer. “I’m sorry too. For being a stubborn ass. And for… picking fights when I should’ve just talked to you.”

You tilted your head slightly, your hands sliding up to rest on his shoulders. “We’re a real pair, aren’t we?”

His thumb traced circles against your hip, his touch impossibly warm. “We’re kind of great, though,” he whispered, his voice almost teasing. “When we’re not driving each other crazy.”

You let out another soft laugh, his breath warm against your lips. “You’re not wrong.”

The air between you shifted, the playfulness giving way to something deeper. Your lips hovered over his, your breaths mingling as the tension built again, electric and magnetic. You kissed him this time, slow but deliberate, pouring every ounce of affection and apology into it. His grip on your waist and ass tightened, pulling you flush against him, and you could feel the way his heartbeat echoed yours, fast and unsteady.

When you finally broke apart, his lips were slightly swollen, his eyes dark and half-lidded as he gazed down at you. “You’re a tease, you know that?” he muttered, his voice husky.

You smirked, the heat still thrumming through your veins. “Only for you.”

“Lucky me,” he murmured, his tone both teasing and sincere. Then, without warning, he bent slightly, sliding his hands down to your thighs and hoisting you up effortlessly. A surprised laugh escaped you, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he carried you out of the kitchen.

“Jude—what are you doing?” you asked, though your tone betrayed more excitement than protest.

“Making up properly,” he replied, his voice low and rough in a way that sent a shiver down your spine. “No more interruptions.”

You didn’t argue. Instead, you leaned into him, your hands threading through his hair as he kissed you again, his lips stealing every thought from your mind. Whatever tension had lingered between you melted away completely, leaving only warmth, laughter, and the undeniable pull of each other.

[killishin]

— ♡ right person at the right time.

PART 01.

pairing: jason todd x reader

category: lots of fluff, angst, he fell first she fell harder kinda trope, sfw

content warning: afab, mention of death (reader's mother), violence here and there.

summary: reader's just a normal citizen of Gotham, scrambling to making ends meet. after a fateful encounter, when he saw the reader kick ass and save a life- he can't get them off his mind. and fate just keeps pulling them together forcing him to do something about it.

a/n: wanted to write for him when i was drawing him last night. the drawing turned to shit so i hope the fic doesn't. I've just recently started reading the comics so if he goes a bit ooc i apologise. happy reading.

wc: 3k

dividers by @cafekitsune

masterlist. fic masterlist. next

"god fucking dammit!"

you pick up your phone from the pavement, which by the way, was wet with puddles. so now your phone might not just have a cracked screen but also stops working for good. your brows furrow in concern as you scrutinize the rather horrible crack in the screen making you groan quietly in frustration.

"why now— ugh-" your attempts in starting the phone become rapid and restless before you shove it in your bag with a sigh.

the week had been a rollercoaster, to say the least. freelancing, internship and part time only pays so much, it was getting harder and harder to make ends meet. you were thankful that your father and step mother had moved out and given you the apartment to yourself, though you still had to pay mortgage.

living in gotham is already tough enough, with criminals and vigilantes crawling left and right. your father had begged you to move elsewhere but you really could not afford that. Alyssa, the step mother, had been pestering your dad to move out of gotham. and so they did, bought a good house on the countryside. you were happy for them, even though you didn't exactly like alyssa, you wouldn't want them to say in gotham.

your dad had offered to help you out, in paying bills and mortgage until you found a decent job that wouldn't make you die from stress. but he was old enough, you wanted him to relax now. live a little.

and you did land a job, not exactly decent in this economy but its enough. you were still scrambling with almost no savings but its okay.

only it doesn't feel so okay right now. adjusting to a new workplace is harder than you thought and its a long distance from your apartment. and its way too dark for a single women in gotham to be walking back home because you trust the metro far less.

there are people still there, of course, but its as if by each passing minute that dread in your stomach increases, as if any one of them might whip out some guns or gut someone with a knife. while you loved the moody clouds, it always made gotham too grim. an extra layer of sinister doom.

you increased your pace, your apartment was still a fifteen minutes walk and it wasn't exactly in a secure neighborhood. not like any neighborhood is secure in gotham. well maybe except those one percent of rich elites , like the wayne who lives in his pretty castle. okay you were a teensy bit petty against rich.

your hands were tightly clutched around your bag on instinct while your eyes were alert as they continously scanned the neighborhood, and you notice a few walking exactly like you. scared. hurried.

"almost there almost there—"

"– wait please help!— wait WAIT GOD PLEASE—"

your feet came to an abrupt stop, grimacing as you didn't dare turn your head to look into that dark alley. of course it had to happen in front of you.

of course you were no selfish, heartless bastard. but you were no vigilante either and you've seen enough news to know that its often the helpers who end up dead with a bullet through their head.

your mother was one of them.

"— please don't‐" RIPPP! "— please no!"

you winced at the scream, the unmistakable sound of clothes ripping had your head taking a sharp turn towards that darkened alley.

whatever. if you die you die.

you took a long shaky breath before hurriedly following that sound and despite the lack of light, you could clearly make out the rather disgusting man holding a pistol over the women's head. her sleeve was torn and you guessed he was manhandling her roughly, assumption true from the way he was gripping her arm.

but the man didn't notice, neither the women. it was understandable for her not to but the man should have, you weren't exactly in his blind spot or even quiet in your steps. but you took that as a blessing as you slowly inched forward, slowly yet steadily.

one thing you were the most grateful to your dad was that he put you in self defense classes since a kid. after your mom's death, he had made it absolutely sure that if, god forbid, you ever found yourself in such a situation, you'd at least have a fair chance of escaping. you believed every damn kid in gotham should know it, but sadly, its a privilege not many can afford.

taking a deep breath you spring into action, not giving your brain a moment to freak out.

your hand tackled his hand with the gun and shoved it upwards, muzzle up, before slamming the side of your palm on his throat. he choked, his eyes widening in surprise as he stumbled back and in that moment you could see his eyes were red and crazed. the fucking asshole was high. not good. not good at all.

even in that pain he pulled the fucking trigger, making your ears ring out. the girl screamed as she fell to the ground, cowering and sobbing as she covered her ears. if you weren't already high on adrenaline you would have done the same— shit maybe your heart did stop for a second.

you land a harsh kick straight to his groin before disarming him, snatching the gun and throwing it far. the man groaned loudly, holding his now broken jewels as he dropped to the ground. so for good measures, you swivel and land a roundhouse kick on his head.

....

for a second its just dead silence as you stand, huffing and puffing as you look down at the man before your eyes dart to the girl, who has quieted down a bit. she was looking at the body with the same expression as you, scared and apprehensive.

...did i kill him? why isn't he moving? please tell me he's just knocked out oh god oh god—

before you could take a shaky step forward, a huge body landed right beside you out of nowhere making you and the girl both shriek like a pterodactyl.

"— shit my ears! hey— calm down." you removed your hands that had wrapped around your head as you peaked through, finally registering the rather robotic voice.

red helmet. leather. 6 foot pure muscle and strength.

"oh thank fuck its you." you whispered as you dropped to your knees, your palm rubbing your face as you sighed in relief. red hood, a vigilante. you're safe. man's late but— shit you're safe. thats all that fucking matters.

the vigilante though, looked between you, the knocked out man and the other women, not really sure what to do. he had seen enough to see how fast you handled the mugger. the sound of a scream pulled his attention quickly in time to see you literally kicking his ass. not many people can handle themselves that good in situations like this. you were fast, quick and calm—

"oh my god oh my god is he dead?! did i kick his neck— did i break it— oh my god oh my god–" you cried out in pure panic as you literally poke the man, as if that would get it to suddenly get up like undertaker.

okay so maybe not calm.

"—look i didn't kill him okay?! i just— why are you so late?!" you rambled on, looking at him as if he's the mugger.

he had a pretty shitty day, this might have annoyed him but instead his lips tugged up in an amused smile, his hands resting on his hip as he simply stared at you for a moment.

"what if something happened?! to me or—" your eyes widened even more as if you just remembered about the girl. unlike you, the girl had calmed down a bit, sniffling as she was picking up her scattered things from the ground.

"oh god are you okay?" you scrambled up to your feet, your legs felt like jelly just like the mess in your head and you almost fell down, if not for his hand steadily holding your arm to stabilise you. his hand felt huge on your arm, you thought the hands that must be calloused from fighting and delivering judgement to criminals might have a harsh grip but it was gentle, careful even.

you flinched upon contact and averted your eyes from that tin helmet, as if those glowing slits were really his eyes. he let go of your arm as you walked to the other girl, brows furrowed in concern despite your panic.

"are you okay? d-did he hurt you?" you asked the girl frantically but she shook her head, smiling gratefully.

"no. thank you so much— for saving me. really—" she took a shaky breath as she held your hand, "i don't know what would have happened to me if you didn't come."

she held on for her own support but it calm the storm inside you too. you smiled back and nodded, "im just glad you're okay." you bit back the guilt that was forming in your heart, you had almost walked away.

the girl thanked you again before walking away hurriedly, shooting an apprehensive glance towards red hood. who wouldn't be intimidated by that?

your eyes stared at the wall for a couple of moments before you sighed, your eyes blinking slowly as your mind processed everything.

"you... were good. you handled that perfectly." the vigilante spoke after an awkward moment of just standing there. he knew first hand how terrifying the streets of gotham are, and how even more terrifying it is to fight back as a mere citizen.

"yeah well thank the adrenalin rush." you retorted as you turned back, and suddenly you were much aware of your surroundings. of him, to be exact. your eyes almost travelled down, checking him out but you averted it to the body lying down, pretending to look at him.

seriously you almost got shot and now you're ogling? is this the red hood effect?

"i get that." he chuckled before crouching down, pressing his fingers against his pulse and registering its there. "and to answer your previous question, yes he's alive. no you didn't kill him."

despite that modulated voice you could hear the amusement in his voice, and for some reason it got on your nerves. the fear and shock was now taking a backseat as your eyes narrowed at him slightly.

"also, apologies for not making it in time. forgot my teleportation powers back home." now that definitely sarcasm. you bet he's— whoever he is— is smirking behind that damn helmet.

you scowled at him, your cheeks heating up in embarrassment. "not accepted. you know i almost got shot?" you scoffed out, no of course you knew he can't be everywhere at all times. vigilantes are humans too but that sarcasm is itching your nerves.

"that body could have been mine."

"i would have made it till then."

you scoffed out a laugh as you rolled your eyes, irked at how sure he sounds, "yeah right. you came a whole minute later after that asshole's ass hit the floor."

you were panicking not a minute ago and now you're sassing him? his lips pulled into a full on grin as he stood up, not missing how you pause and jump back like a cat.

"a second." he corrected.

"like it matters."

"it does."

you released a breath in annoyance before pulling on your bag, you didn't need to do that but you really didn't know what the fuck to do with your hands. "point is, you were late."

"i slowed deliberately because you had it in control." he smoothly countered making your eyes narrowed, you were beginning to distort the rather handsome image of him in your mind to a rotten tomato.

"oh? and what if i didn't?"

"he would be on the ground faster than it took him to pull the trigger."

"are you showing off?"

"hey you asked!"

jason wasn't exactly the most social person, all snark and bite both in the suit and off. yet the few people who genuinly catch his eye, bold enough to challenge him despite the intimidating physique he has— who does pique his interest a bit, he lessens the blows.

and this person right here, had his interest. he didn't even know you, yet there was something about you— maybe the way you slammed your hand on his throat perfectly to choke him— or the way you pull your shit together enough to sass him back.

he'll forget about you in a day or two eventually but he's damn sure you'd hold a place in his memories.

"whatever." you muttered as you looked at the body before shaking your head. its done, in past. you whip out your phone to see the time before remembering it doesn't work anymore. with a curse you shove it back in your pocket.

"i uh— i suppose we just leave that there?" you asked awkwardly as you pointed at it and he almost laughed how cute you looked eyeing the man like he's some horrid smelling garbage.

"don't worry. you should go home." he said as he tipped his head to point out of the alley.

"yeah... yeah— i should." you said quietly as you shoved your hands in your jacket before slowly beginning to walk away. "please don't tell the police i did that. i don't want cops on my door for some shitty routine investigation." you requested, and he had to suppress a snort.

"i promise." he said sarcastically as he crossed his fingers and you nodded, not having the energy to retort a reply. the adrenaline was wearing off.

he noticed the sudden weariness and as if he suddenly remembered the dangers surrounding a women in gotham, he stepped forward.

"hey— you heading home?" he questioned and it came out awfully soft that even his modulated voice couldn't hide.

you paused as you turned back slightly, "uh yeah— its a ten minute walk from here."

"should i walk you home?" why the hell would he say that now?

that warmed your heart, a quiet chuckle spilling out of you. you were bickering like little kids just now but seeing his concern for you made you remember what he is. a vigilante. someone who protects and cares for the people.

"wouldn't people stare if they see a normal women walking around with the red hood?" you asked pointedly, slightly amused by the way his head tilted as if he just realised it. it was tough gauging his expressions due to the helmet but somehow you could guess it right.

he felt like an amateur for suggesting that. seriously what the fuck? "shit— i mean I'll keep an eye till you get home." he corrected, his voice taking a rather grumpy turn now that he sees you taking joy at his stupid mistake.

"isn't that what stalkers do?"

he scoffed, almost smiling at her audacity. but she had a point, he can't even deny. "i doubt I'd even remember your address. saving the city and all." he waves his hand around sarcastically, resting a hand on his hip.

"right, of course." you hummed before waving at him as you begin walking away. "thank you— for uh- protecting me!" you called out as you smiled and walked out the alley.

you had speed walked home, since the moment you left his presence paranoia had almost crippled you. you breathed in relief after you stepped in your apartment, switching on the lights and plopping down on the sofa.

another secret to hide from dad, of course he can't know. he'll drop everything and come back.

you removed your palm from your face as you looked out your balcony, your mind wandering to the vigilante who didn't save you exactly but saved you emotionally from spiralling. right person at the right time.

your cheeks heated up as you remembered him, he was easy on the eyes for sure. even more without the helmet but that mystery would stay a mystery for you. you were a bit giddy from meeting a vigilante— that too red hood. you would have probably danced the fuck out if you weren't so shaken up.

you wonder how he kept an eye on you though, and to seek answers you stood up, walking to the balcony.

jason stood there as he stared at your apartment from the rooftop of the opposite building, a clear view of your apartment from your balcony, something settling in his chest. he shouldn't have stayed for so long, much less stare at you for so long. shit its starting to get creepy. but more than that, what weirds him out is what pull he's feeling in his chest. his mind replays the image of your face, the slant of your nose, the flutter of your lashes, the curve of your lips— how your brows furrowed as you scolded him, how your lips looked extra sweet when smiling.

a short encounter, entertaining at its best yet its sticking to him like a leech.

just as you step out into your balcony he disappears. its nothing he convinces himself, give it a day or two and you'll simply be a distant memory. a blip, insignificant. sure you were cute and dangerously hot when fighting but that was it.

just a really pretty thing.

nothing more.

he's pretty sure he won't even see you again.

.....

won't see you again his ass— what the fuck?

he thinks as he stares at you, standing in the line for a coffee while you scramble in your bag to find your purse, embarrassed because your card declined.

it seems like fate is doing some nasty work pulling him to you.

and with the way his heart is racing, he knows he can't pull away.

reblogs are appreciated :D

[meanbossart]

im so curious-- how well does DUDrow get on with the other companions? I've only seen your art and going off that I feel like: he gets along with Shadowheart, Gale I think he borderline cant stand, and Wyll/Lae'zel/Karlach I have no idea how he'd feel about them but id love to know!

So, funfact, because I was not familiar with these kinds of games at the time I played BG3, I practically stuck with the same exact party the entire playthrough. I distinctly remember swapping Wyll in for Astarion once at the end of act 2 because I thought he NEEDED to be there to find Mizora, and I replaced Gale with Karlach when I went to kill Gortash. Otherwise... It was pretty much always just DU drow, Shadowheart, Astarion and Gale. I did this because they were the characters I liked most, so I wanted to see all they had to offer.

Anyways, I mention this because it reflects how DU drow related to everyone - which is to say that he didn't. He picked his favorites (two because he liked them, one because he has fireball) and didn't get particularly close to anyone else.

BUT, there were definitely notable dynamics!

Lae'zel: She's dead. He killed her night 3 or something. Before that he thought her annoyingly demanding and over the top. I don't think DU drow even remembers her by the end of the game.

Gale: Just to add to your original observation, Gale and DU drow have a little bit of history. Gale tries, for about half of the campaign, to pursue him romantically. DU drow keeps turning him down and is either misinterpreted or ignored, and by the time Gale does give up on him their relationship has completely soured to the point where they are constantly shooting daggers at each other. (this reflects a romance bug I got in my first run, except I didn't realize it was a bug. Either way I think its more interesting storytelling than the intended experience.)

Wyll: DU drow was profoundly frustrated by Wyll every step of the way. He found him to be incredibly naive and a bit delusional in his pursuit for heroism, and could never relate to Wyll's perspective or choices - the few he made for himself, at least. They definitely had the least in common and DU drow avoided interacting with him most of the time.

Halsin: He didn't care for Halsin much. He was vaguely helpful but by the time they got to the shadow-cursed lands DU drow had the impression he'd only been dragged here to help him clear his conscience, which he didn't appreciate. Also, he couldn't bear to have someone in camp be taller than himself. Halsin was left behind in Act 2.

Jaheira: DU drow fucking loves Jaheira. They bickered and borderline insulted each other and had a great time doing it. He can respect anyone who will call him a monster, threaten to murder him in his sleep, and make light fun at him the next day. It helps that she's hot, also.

Minsc: Weird hamster man. Ocasionally rendered him speechless. Puzzling human being.

Karlach: He didn't get Karlach, but he was often amused by her and curious enough to want to hear what she had to say. There was a similar issue here as Wyll's where he just couldn't relate to her enough to have much to discuss, but Karlach at least had an edge to her that made her far better company. They got along pretty well when the topic wasn't serious, but when it came to the problems she actually faced their perspectives shifted significantly. DU drow thought everything could be fixed, that accepting her own demise was a cowardly thing to do - and as they approached the end, and she asked him if he would stay with her when she died, he thought she was weak. I don't know if he ever discusses it with anyone, but he feels guilty about her death to this day and sees it as personal failure.

[presidenttogekiss]

You know, there have been traditionally very few romances, in any media, that compel me. I am not a very romantic person, y'all. I'm the kind of person that plays a videogame and thinks of all the broken number combos I can make.

But I think I finnally understand what is it about this story that compels me so much, and I think this is very nice to know for when I eventually write my own novel (it will happen. One day...)

Number 1: Its a classical example of emerging storyline.

They say that in writing there are two types of writers/stories.

Gardners and Discoverers.

A garden story is one where everything is carefully placed from the start. There is a plan, an outline.

A discovery story is one where the story is more or less carried by the characters. The events happen from what the characters would be more likely to do.

Both of these approaches have their great advantages and disadvantages. But Id argue that in romance, we pretty much ONLY see the first, which leads to its flaws becoming disproportionally visible.

Most romances are made to be carefully planned, with a start, middle and finish.

The issue of that is that you get characters that are mostly collections of tropes meant to fill a dynamic, usually a very steriotypical one.

And what I like about KC2 is that it seems, at least to me, very clearly that Hans is NOT that case. He is very much not intended as a character primarily to be a love interest. He is, but the core of his story still exists even if you dont.

Of course, Vavra says that a Hans romance was always the intention and they simply couldnt do it, but I dont believe that was the case. And THAT'S GOOD, at least to me.

It means that the romance came about from the writers conceiving the arcs for these two characters, in a way that is plot relevant, and after that realizing that a romance between them made total sense given what they had written.

And that led to the amazing stort we have right now.

Number 2: You know, I really love the charcter of Hans in particular. And I specially love the frustration that the character clearly feels:

I've said it before how I find it very telling how the only character that Hans ever shows genuine, and very obvious in that, jealousy is not any of the female love interests, its SAM. And that to me, compared to the other things that he says in the story, is very telling to me about how exactly Hans SEES himself in Henry's life.

Hans sees himself as the Galehaut to Henry's Lancelot, his comrade in arms, his KNIGHT. Of course, he often ends up being the Peach to Henry's Mario hehehe, but that's precisely where his frustration comes from: he wants to be Henry's equal (perhaps the only time in his life he ever WANTED to be someone's equal), not his lord. He wants to go into battle with Henry and save him, which is why he immediatly volunteers to a suicide mission the moment Henry does.

That is the way he chose to conceptualize his love for Henry, because no typical heteronormative narrative he has thought all his love fits. He cant seduce Henry the way he would one of his many flings. It wouldnt work.

That... ressonates with me a lot as a queer man who never saw himself in most romance media. Even most BL media tends to have a very traditional "This is the dominant masculine one" and "This is the feminine submissive one" dynamic that feels very alien to anything I have ever experienced.

It also contextualizes why one of Hans objectives is to essentially go on Crusade with Henry, because of course it is. Its the epitome of the ideal that he has on his head for their ideal life: errant noble knights adventuring around the world, seducing pretty mais together, and being FREE.

Its why I believe the "I want to live a life of adventure" line in Henry's conversation with his parents was made with Hans in mind.

.....

Its basically it. I think that's what compels me in this story so much. Im gonna keep this in mind in the future when I finnaly have time to write hehe.

[mickyschumacher]

Hi!!! I just wanna say that I really love your writings!!! Their so good hehehe!! Can you do one a mick x wolff!reader?? Maybe one where toto sets them up cause he is tired of seeing them make heart eyes at each other and not making a move HHHH. Thank you lovie!!🤍

[SET IT UP!]

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: love at times is shy and oblivious. like you and mick. but sometimes all you need is a father and a plan (with some backups!).

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: 16+? (suggestive), fluff, poor humour as guaranteed, (loosely) based on the movie 'set it up', no sense of a motorhome ♡︎, mention of christian horner :(, possibly cringe, basically childhood friends to lovers trope, reader is lowkey a menace, confessions are made, toto in line for best dad award?, google translated german :0, a mess in general!

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: mick schumacher x wolff!fem!reader, joão felix x reader

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 3k+

𝐀/𝐍: okay so i've been waiting for a good mick plot but nothing was coming to mind but this! this screams mick! thank you so much for your praise. hope i do them justice with this although the plot holes are there!!

𝐏.𝐒: i'm curious on how people envision themselves as wolff, horner, vettle readers, etc. if you're coloured like me, do you pretend to be adopted or from a previous relationship if it isn't specified? 😭 i mean the explanation has to be viable lmao. maybe you just don't imagine?

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

There were certain values a Wolff had. Those that were just innate.

A Wolff, more often than not, was a leader, intelligent, charismatic, good-looking, and embedded with dad jokes. Additionally, when a Wolff wanted something, they would do whatever to get it. They didn't leave any leaf unturned, they made the rounds and the effort.

It didn't make sense. You had all of those values. Yet, every time you joined the Mercedes garage, your father, Toto, found himself questioning everything.

Take now for example. He was in the beloved Mercedes garage, sat next to the best reserve driver he had ever chosen, Mick.

Parents tend to be protective of their children before they're even born. And it only amplifies after they're born. From which strangers you meet, the roads you cross, the seatbelt you have to wear to the clothes you wear, the suspiciously high phone bill and your romantic endeavours. A father's protection for his little girl was a tad bit stronger than this, special in it's own way.

Toto would do anything to protect his children, especially his little girls. And if any guy was making moves on you, right in front of him, the 'dad' side of him was just waiting to come out.

But he could only do that if someone actually made a move on you. Sure there were other guys but the one sat right next to him did nothing but shyly follow you with his blue eyes and blush in your presence.

Mick was seriously frustrating Toto and his wife. The both of them had watched the German boy watch you with heart eyes ever since the both of you had first met at the Schumacher's house for dinner. You were young back then but hell, within five minutes everyone knew that Mick was a lovesick puppy.

Years had gone by with your friendship becoming stronger. Those same years involved Mick and you being stuck to each other as if you were hip-to-hip. You attended all his races and he supported you in all your academic achievements. And oblivious to you, somewhere along the road you had also become as lovesick as he was.

Toto didn't really realise how fed up he was. He didn't want to interfere. In fact, he wanted things between the both of you to happen naturally. But he just had happen to watch the entire hour and forty-five minutes of 'Set It Up' over your shoulder instead of doing his work and he just had to do something... hell, anything.

━━━━━━━━━━━

First things first... Toto couldn't put the both of you in an elevator. At least not yet. You knew each other while the two bosses in 'Set It Up' didn't, so it didn't make much sense. You probably would never even get to the topic of your feelings. Not without a physical icebreaker of sorts.

Toto needed someone and George Russell just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"George, my boy!" Toto chorused, beckoning the British driver towards him. He slung his arm over George's shoulder, bringing him closer to him. "Do you mind doing me a favour?"

George nodded without too much thought. "Yeah sure. What is it?"

"If you see Mick and Y/N go towards an elevator, stop them and tell Y/N that a guy asked for her number, uh, who was that footballer... ah yes, João Félix, him... he did ask her yesterday right?" Toto looked over at George.

"Uh, yeah. Before you dragged her away... listen, Toto, I'm not sure I can do what you asking me to. I thought none of us were going to mess with whatever's going on between them?"

"You're young, George. One day you'll realise what 'desperate times calls for desperate measures' means. So..." Toto trailed off, eagerly looking for an answer before spotting the hesitant expression on the British driver's face. "Can I pay you do the favour?"

George blankly looked at his boss. "I'm on your payroll, Toto. You already pay me. That also sounds like extortion and bribery."

Toto's eye twitched as an exasperated sigh fell from his lips. He stared at George heavily before giving in. "Fine. You'll be out before Lewis for this week's quali."

The corner of George's mouth teetered up, working to a small grin. "Extortion and bribery... it sounds cool," He said with a nonchalant shrug.

Toto shook his head to himself. "You can try and be less British, George. Just because your ancestors colonised doesn't mean you need to take the same behaviour," He patted his shoulder before leaving, feeling George's confused expression bore into the back of his head.

━━━━━━━━━━━

Toto was a great man. But today was one of those days where George really did question him. Part of him was praying that he didn't see you and Mick head to an elevator. The scenario was so specific that well... the probability was low.

There was no way he was going to see it happen. Not even 30 minutes after he had this conversation and he had just grabbed a coffee and was now heading to Alex...

But the peak of that blonde hair and the familiar shine of your signature glasses caught George's eye. Christ.

"How is that possible?" He muttered to himself, eyeing the both of you as you waited for the elevator to go up the Mercedes' motorhome.

First in quali. Come on, George. You got this!

"Hey guys," George greeted the both of you.

You and Mick turned to him and smiled. "Hey George. How's it going? Ready for practice?"

George nodded absentmindedly. "Yeah, yeah. Good, thanks. Uh, I was just wondering about yesterday... João? Since Toto dragged you away before you could do anything but he was just wondering if you would still consider giving him your number."

George pressed his lips, seeing Mick's eyes narrow from his peripheral vision. God how had the both of you not gotten together yet?

"I didn't know João asked you that?" Mick looked at you with questioning eyes.

You blinked, feeling your heart skip a beat slightly. You weren't sure why Mick's interest was to intriguing to you all of a sudden. You pursed your lips, looking to George. "Oh? I didn't know you knew João like that."

"I... don't. It's... Kika! Kika knows him... you know... Portugal things," He laughed awkwardly, giving a helpless shrug.

"Right..." You nodded slowly. "Uh, I don't know. I mean was considering it, I guess."

"You were?" George and Mick spluttered out in unison.

Your eyes widened at their reaction. "I mean, yeah... kinda?" You rubbed the back of your neck sheepishly.

George could see the German driver's head racing a hundred miles per hour. It was time to get out of this mess.

"Okay, well, if you consider it, you could probably DM him on Instagram. Don't ask Kika!" George quickly said. "I mean... you know, she gets very excited to play cupid... anyways, I have to get back to Dudley, but let me know how it goes!"

You and Mick waved goodbye, heading onto the elevator after what felt like forever.

As the doors closed, you looked over at your thought-consumed best friend. "Penny for your thoughts, Mr Schumacher?" You humoured.

Mick briefly smiled before returning to his brooding state. He folded his arms, leaned on the wall of the elevator and stared at you.

Your mouth felt dry and yet you were drowning in your own saliva. There were certain things that weren't healthy for humans: too much sugar, high cholesterol foods, and apparently air-drying your hair. And then there was too much Mick.

The folded arms and his stupid shirt brought your eyes to the muscles you had so desperately been avoiding after Mick had started to work out even more in the past year.

You cleared your throat, trying to think of another topic of discussion.

In your pondering, Mick opened his mouth. "I don't think you should give João your number," He said, bringing his hands to his side, discreetly allowing the fabric of his shorts to soak up his clammy hands.

Your eyes flickered towards his face. You raised brow. "What? Why?" You asked, feeling an uneasy ache gnaw at your chest.

"I..." Mick started, "I mean what if he's a bad guy? You know... I wouldn't want you to get hurt."

Your heart dropped. You felt like an deflating balloon: all blown up, only to be taken down. You mustered a soft smile. "I mean, you can't protect me forever Mick. What are you going to do? Vet the guy on the day of my wedding," You joked.

Mick frowned at your response. The image of you marrying someone that wasn't him was disheartening.

"I won't need to if you get married to someone you know," He shrugged. "You don't know João. You know me."

Oh?

Oh.

You almost did a double-take on your best friend. Did he know what words were falling from his lips. "So what? He's kinda cute. And a five-star FIFA player. I could take the risk. And eventually, I would know him... since that's how relationships work... communication and all," You defended the footballer.

Mick stared at you for a few seconds before blinking out of his short trance. "Right..." He said sharply, pushing himself off of the wall as the elevator opened. He struck out his arm, holding back the door. "You go on. I just remembered I need to talk to Toto."

You flickered your eyes to Mick, trying to read his face. "That's fine, we can go togeth–"

"No," Mick interjected, "it's... it's okay."

Upon the slight widening of your eyes and the startled expression lingering on your face, Mick's innate action was to internally wince. "I'll join you soon. Don't worry. I bring your favourite pastry on the way back, hmm?"

You nodded silently, taking a step out of the elevator and headed towards the lounge with a troubled feeling nagging at your head.

Had you struck a nerve?

━━━━━━━━━━━

Toto couldn't tell what he had done wrong. You and Mick were fine this morning. But after he had told George to push things along between the both of you, a sense of distance radiated off of you.

And George still got out before Lewis for the first quali. Goddamn it.

When Toto raised an eyebrow at you after Mick had slightly brushed you off to talk to Bono, you simply shrugged helplessly.

That night Toto did not get a wink of sleep. Instead, he stared at this hotel ceiling with a twitching eye.

There was nothing he couldn't fix. Whatever was going on between you and Mick right now was just a small bump in the road.

The solution?

A baseball game.

Unfortunately for Toto, baseball wasn't that popular in Brazil. But that didn't mean they didn't do them.

The plan was going perfectly. Toto had offered a 'family day' and gotten you and Mick to join him and Susie to attend a local baseball match between some of university teams. Toto made sure you and Mick were sitting behind him so you had all the privacy you needed. As a dad, he shouldn't be that happy about kiss-cam, let alone bribing the camera operators with the help of Pierre and Kika. But he wanted peace and he was going to get it.

But nothing was easy in life. And Toto could not have predicted this in a million years.

As everyone waited for the game to start, Toto timidly turned his head. He caught the brown eyes of the five-star FIFA player. Giving him a hesitant smile, he averted his own eyes back to the field, cursing himself under his breath. "Scheiße," He muttered through his clenched teeth. Shit.

The tension in the air was thick, to say the least. You sat between João and Mick with blank expression.

João, who was in town for the F1 race, decided to stay back to support a friend in the match. Obviously.

When the footballer on your right extended his hand to Mick, you sucked in a sharp breath. You heavily eyed the firmest handshake you had seen in your life. Letting out a nervous laugh, you sat down before the gesture turned into hardcore glaring.

Still, there was the hope of this kiss-cam.

Toto waited with little patience, hearing João crack jokes in Portuguese that actually made you laugh while Mick took deeper breaths.

It felt like life itself had been poured into Toto once the kiss-cam started on the public. This mattered to him more than whoever was going to win this match.

Toto's face dropped as the camera fell on you.

Your mother pointed at the camera with a gleeful exclamation. Your eyes moved to the screen, widening when you saw yourself and the man next to you.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," Toto exasperated quietly.

You turned your head to the right, meeting the equally shocked brown eyes.

"In what way does he look like 'a blonde boy with the face of the greatest racer in F1 history'?" Toto said into his hands, shaking his head slowly.

Mick looked blankly at you and João on the screen before turning to you. He watched you shake your head softly, smiling awkwardly at the camera as the crowd urged you to kiss.

"Oh mein Gott," You murmured to yourself, eyes darting around in panic. Oh my God.

Suddenly, you felt Mick lean in, his fingers sliding under your chin and resting on your cheek. He turned your head slightly towards him.

Your eyes widened upon meeting his baby blues, feeling unnerving giddiness swarm you. You hoped your face screamed, "What are you doing?!"

All Mick did give a small smile, bringing his lips towards you.

Instinctively, your eyes closed, bracing yourself whatever was about to happen. All you could hope for was that this was all a dream of some sort. Maybe you fell asleep in the car?

You skin flushed at the feel of Mick's soft lips on your cheek. Your eyes fluttered open, feeling him linger for a second longer before pulling back.

What on earth?

You weren't sure if you were breathing as you felt his hand move to your leg, covering your hand and giving it a small squeeze. You moved your eyes to the screen. Mick looked unbothered while the crowd erupted in cheers and boos. You, on the other hand, looked flushed.

And Toto?

The urge to run around with his hands flailing in the air was strong.

This was a home run, for crying out loud!

Whoever said jealousy was a disease... thank you!

━━━━━━━━━━━

"Liebling, du solltest jetzt rauskommen," Your mother said to you through the bathroom stall you had been hiding in for the past five minutes. Darling, you should come out now.

You winced as you banged your head against the wall of the stall. You sighed. "I don't think I can. Do you think you can convince the staff the bring a bed? Maybe some food?"

Your mother snorted. "What are you going to do? Live here?"

"Ja. War das nicht offensichtlich?" You retorted, eyes screwing themselves shut after replaying the kiss in your head for the umpteenth time. Yes. Was that not obvious?

Susie sighed, awkwardly smiling at a woman leaving the bathroom. "Y/N... it's Mick. You can't ignore him forever. How long do you think it will truly take for Mick and your father to storm in here after not seeing you for so long?"

You sighed at your mother's response. She was. As always.

The last thing you needed was a headline on ESPN: Toto Wolff and Mick Schumacher caught barging into a women's bathroom.

Christian would have a field day!

You shuddered at the thought.

Susie's ears perked up at your grumble as you fumbled with the lock of the stall. She sported an amused smile at the blank look you gave her.

Slinging an arm around you, she rubbed your shoulder. "Come on, liebling. You got this."

━━━━━━━━━━━

"Oh thank God!" Toto exclaimed after seeing you and your mother come out of the bathroom. "You took forever!"

You narrowed your eyes at your father, avoiding the lingering eyes of a certain German boy. "Maybe next time you shouldn't feed me a hotdog at a baseball game, right?" You pressed with a raised brow.

"Hmm?" Toto mended his brows before nodding profusely. "Right! Right! Yes... that was my bad. Poor thing... you know, Mick, with Y/N being sick and all, I think you should drop her to the hotel. Me and Susie still have a date to go on!"

You and your mother looked at Toto increduolously.

"We do?"

"You do?"

Toto nodded, grabbing your mother's hand. "Yes! Okay, see you two! Tschüss!" Bye!

With a jaw-dropping expression, you watched your parents leave with a twitching eye.

You heard Mick clear his throat.

Slowly, you turned around with a small smile. Fiddling with your fingers, "So..."

Mick rubbed the back of his neck nervously, a small tinge of pink dancing across his cheeks. "The hotel?" He asked, swinging his keys around the his index finger.

Silently, you both walked out of the stadium and towards the car park.

You furrowed your brows upon seeing the orange and pink laden sky. "What the heck? How is the sun already setting?"

"I mean... you were in there for a long time," Mick shrugged.

The crisp summer evening breeze glided past your flushed skin. Your body winced at the paining silence ensuing between the both of you. You let out a small exhale. "Uh, with the thing before–"

"Yeah?" Mick eagerly turned his body towards you, on edge.

You cleared your throat at the anxious expression Mick sported. "You sighed. "Uh, that was to like... save me, right? Aus Verlegenheit? Danke für das." From embarrassment? Thank you for that.

Mick mended his eyebrows. "Verlegenheit? No. I... that was so you didn't kiss João."

You laughed nervously. "Right! So I didn't have to kiss João."

"No. So you didn't kiss João. There's a difference," Mick pointed out, eyeing your expression carefully.

Your eyes widened at his suddenly soft gaze. You looked up at the sky, hoping the breeze would cool the wave of warmth swirling around you. "That's... that's what I said," You shrugged.

Mick stepped in front of you, forcing you to look at him instead of the sky. "Why do you do that?" Mick asked.

"Do what?" You responded.

"I mean... I–just why do you have such a hard time admitting that I like you?"

You wish you had something to say. Anything. But it was as if the ability to speak had been seized from your throat entirely.

"I mean I know I don't make it obvious. I just thought we had some sort of understanding... you know... the one without words?"

You looked up into his hopeful eyes. Entranced, you leaned in towards him. Your fingers danced across his cheek just the way he had done not so long ago. You watched his eyes close at the feel of your touch, making your heart thud against your chest.

Inching closer, your thumb gently swiped over his lips, feeling his faltering exhale warm the pad of your thumb. "So pretty," You whispered to yourself, eyeing his face.

Mick wasn't sure whether you were talking about him or his lips but he didn't care.

You shuddered, feeling Mick's hand slide around your waist, bringing you closer to him.

Without waiting a second longer, you pressed your lips to his.

Mick's lips were softer than you had imagined, warm to the touch. Your stomach churned upon feeling his fingers skate under the hem of your shirt, rubbing tingling circles on your hot skin.

You hear an unrecognisable breathy gasp fall from your lips. The hair on your body stood straight as goosebumps littered your skin. All because of Mick.

Mick took advantage of the moment, darting his tongue to explore your mouth. He groaned against your lips, pushing your hips even closer to him, feeling the hard outline of his bulge rub against your pelvis.

Fuck.

You were going to combust at this rate.

Mick trembled in your grasp as your hands wandered his taut torso, lingering closely to his v-line.

He pulled away with an indescribable urgency, staring at you with small pants falling from his lips. He held your face with his hand, thumb gliding across your swollen lips. "We can't–" He sighed out, voice hoarse, "No more. Please."

Your thighs clenched at his plea, eyes falling down to his prominent bulge. You were sure he was in a lot of pain right now. The sexual tension between you to had been pent up for years now.

Your tongue darted out, swiping over his thumb briefly before faintly sucking on it. You looked up at Mick. "You're right, we shouldn't," You nonchalantly told him.

Mick's blue eyes danced with a tortured pain, following your tongue carefully. "We... fuck, Y/N," He complained, feeling impossibly tight in his pants.

"We fuck? Direct much?" You teased, removing your lips from his thumb.

Mick stared at you, suppressing the urge to roll his eyes. "I was saying... we should do this properly. Not in some parking lot."

"Why not? Car sex is hot. Just imagine!" You urged, amused by the conflict in Mick's eyes.

Imagine he did.

You and him in his God forbidden Mercedes... him making sure every inch of his car was stained with you...

Mick sucked in a sharp breath. "Nope. Come on. Hotel."

You gasped humorously. "In a hotel? Mick Schumacher! Well I never!"

Before you knew it, Mick had whisked you into his arms and into his car, hoping he was not breaking Brazil's speed limits tonight.

© 𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐘𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑

[ayatakami]

kerosene. ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Synopsis: You and Touya were close childhood friends. However, one day you find out that your mother arranged a Quirk marriage for you.

Pairing: Touya Todoroki x reader, random guy x reader Warnings: Suggestive content, typical MHA violence, abuse, endeavor being Endeavor.

Part one! I have a lot written for this so I'm just going to split them up into readable parts! Be on the lookout for the others!! Also lmk if you want to be on the taglist! <3 Taglist: @jenos-eye-smiles

Y/N followed Touya through the familiar route through his house. The front door to his bedroom. You didn't really understand what was so important that he just *needed* to talk to you today. After a quick word and dinner with his family, you found yourself in his room.

"Come, sit." *He patted the spot on the mattress beside him as he sat on the mattress. You followed, sitting beside him. He was uncharacteristically quiet, seeming a bit red in the face.

"You know...there's been something I've been meaning to talk to you for awhile now." This caught your attention as you straightened up on the bed, facing him. "Yeah? What about?"

He averted his eyes from yours, a faint blush on his cheeks. "It's just...I...wanted to tell you..." He sat, letting out a sigh as he ran his hand through his hair nervously. "You know that I've always-like I've been-". He increasingly became frustrated with himself, not seeming to get the words he wanted to out. You tilt her head at him curiously, your eyebrows furrowing together. It wasn't often you got to see Touya so...highly strung to say the least.

He took a deep breath, trying to calm myself down, the faint pink on his cheeks soon became more apparent and redder. He looked back up at you, with a serious look in his eyes. "The thing, for awhile now I've realized that I" He stopped himself, still trying to find the right words. "That I, I mean I'm just trying to say that-" He was struggling so bad you started to get worried that he was actually having a hard time.

"Touya? Are you having a stroke?" You said seeming a bit more panicked. He groaned and facepalmed. "No, no I'm not having a stroke god damn it. Just. Just give me a second" He took another deep breath, shakingly exhaling. His face was completely red now. He looked you in the eyes once more. "I'm just trying to say that I- I like you!" You sighed a breath of relief yourself. "Oh thank god, I thought you were. And I like you too!" You smiled softly at him, not seeming to get the hint. He looked at you with a dumbstruck expression. "No, no Y/N. I mean I LIKE like you" Then you suddenly realized what he was saying. It was almost like a dream come true. Your childhood best friend, the one who you had a crush on for ages confessed to you about having feelings for you. You found the timing to be bittersweet of the universe, considering that you were supposed to meet your suitor today.

A frown graced your features, which didn't go unnoticed by Touya. "What's wrong?" You sighed deeply. "I like you too Touya...but" You began. "But....?" He felt a heavy weight in his stomach as dread began to fill him. "But...I'm supposed to meet a suitor today.." He went silent, his eyes widening at her words. His mind spun as he tried to process the words. He felt like a freight train hit him. Suitor? Engagement? Arranged marriage?

His gaze focused on the floor. He opened his mouth a few times, trying to find the words to say but he couldn't get any out. After a while, Touya finally spoke. "This...is...unbelievable. The quirk marriage you told me your mom was thinking about?" You nod, your feelings on the matter were quite negative to be honest, as you were secretly in love with Touya.

His mind reeled with a mix of anger and disbelief. "Do you....even know the guy?" He was almost afraid of what you would say. "I've never met him." However, he was definitely not expecting that. He let out a bitter laugh, his head shaking in frustration. "I'm supposed to meet him today." You added. That caught his attention, his cobalt eyes snapping to you. "You're supposed to meet him today?" The same day that he was confessing his feelings to you, you were also supposed to meet up with your suitor. The irony was cruel.

"When...?" He gritted his teeth. Every part of him was hoping that you hadn't met the suitor yet. "After I heard what you wanted to tell me." He sighed his feelings a twisted mix of relief and dread. He was happy that you hadn't met the suitor yet, but on the other hand, he knew sooner or later you would have to. He sat back on the bed, his head resting on his hands.

"This whole situation sucks..." She sat back down beside him, falling down on her back as she stared up at the ceiling. He glanced over at you, before mimicking your actions. You kept your gaze on the ceiling as you were deep in thought. "Maybe...we can prolong it by finding me a better suitor." You offered. Touya's eyes widened a flicker of hope in his gaze. "Are you suggesting what I think you are?" He propped himself up on his elbows, his heart racing as he looked at you.

"That depends...Are you nice enough to save me from a certain doom?" You joked, trying to make the tension in the room lighter. He let out a huff as he got competitive. "Of course I'll save you from a crappy marriage." He sat upright, a new determined look in his eyes. "How sweet of you Touya" You teased and he rolled his eyes, trying to hide a blush that was resurfacing on his face. "Yeah, yeah. Shut up" He tried to play it cool but there was a small smile that tugged at the corner of his lips.

You smiled warmly back at him and he found himself drawn to your smile, captivated by the way it lit up your face. He moved closer to you, putting his hand on your cheek. He decided to voice the anxiety that was on both of your minds. "What if....things don't go our way. And you have to marry that you?" You looked down, your hand resting against his. "I...don't know Touya..." He sighed frustrated, his shoulders slumping. "We'll figure something out...just don't do anything stupid."

Their moment was interrupted by your phone going off. You could already guess it was your mother texting you that the suitor had arrived. "Ah...I guess I have to go home now." Touya's heart sank as you mentioned leaving. He reluctantly let go of your head, his expression of disappointment. "Right..."

"I can be a little late..." You started, as he looked up at you confused. You wrap your arms around his neck, before pressing a loving kiss to his lips. He was caught off guard but quickly melted into it, his arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you closer to him. He returned the kiss fiercely, pouring all of his love and protectiveness into it. As the kiss ended, he pulled back slightly, resting his forehead against yours. They were interrupted once again, this time by your phone ringing.

Touya let out a frustrated sigh, his lips hovering just above yours. The sound of the phone ringing broke the two of you out of the spell you were in as you separated. "I'll walk you home." He stood up, pulling you up with him. "Come on. Let's get you home." You hummed in response, grabbing your bag that was dropped near his bedroom door with your free hand as he intertwined his fingers with your other hand.

The two of you suddenly found yourself outside of your house. There was an unfamiliar car in the driveway, to which you tallied up to being the arranged suitor. Touya's grip on your hand tightened upon seeing the car. Despite trying to remain cool and composed, he couldn't shake the flicker of jealousy and anger that flared inside him. He glanced at you, trying to gauge your reaction.

You looked at the car with a dejected expression, as you squeezed Touya's hand. Something didn't sit right with you. He could practically feel the sadness radiating off of you. Seeing you like this tugged at his heartstrings, and he silently cursed your mother for putting you through this. He didn't want to let you go, but he reluctantly loosened his grip, knowing that he had to. He took a deep breath and spoke in a hushed tone.

"You're going to be okay. Just...be careful. I'll be thinking of you the whole time." However, you still tightly onto his hand, refusing to let go. His heart skipped a beat as you refused to let go of his hand, your grip tight and desperate. He stared down at your connected hands, a surge of emotions coursing through him. He wanted to pull you into his chest and keep you as far away from any suitors as possible, but he didn't dare make a move. Instead, he just squeezed your hand back, his voice low. "You have to go in..."

"Touya.." You softly whispered, as your voice waivered. You didn't want to let go of him. Not after finding out that he's in love with you too. Not when you know you're about to be sent off with some random guy and you probably won't ever see Touya again. His heart ached as he heard the waver in your voice. The mixture of pleading and sorrow in just one syllable of his name. He can see the pain and the turmoil in your eyes that mirrored his own. He gently pulled you closer, the distance between you lessening. However, the two of you quickly separated once you heard the front door to your house open.

Your mother, a well-known socialite, stood at the door with her arms crossed. Touya's jaw tensed as he saw your mother step out of the door. Seeing her cold expression, he could tell she was in no mood for any sort of nonsense. He forced himself to maintain his composure, knowing that he had to keep his cool for your sake. Your mother glared at you, for being late. And for being with Touya of all people. She always went on and on about how he was a bad influence.

She narrowed her eyes at you, before speaking. "I would lecture you, but we have kept the suitor waiting too long. Come. Now." The two of you tensed up at your mother's curt tone. You opened your mouth to speak, to plead for Touya to at least stay, but you quickly closed your mouth knowing she would deny it. You hesitantly released Touya's hand and walked up to the ground door. You kept your gaze on the floor as your eyebrows knotted together in frustration.

[marzipanandminutiae]

Do you have any advice on making a living working in historic preservation? I feel like every opportunity in the field (ex. Local historical societies) is volunteer work, which I do, but I also need money!

:)

:) :) :) :)

I am so sorry but you've hit upon the main employment problem with this field: it is wildly underpaid. Especially if you want to do something with museum content/collections/preservation rather than admin.

The issue is, this system (at least in the US, where I live) started out in the late 19th century being run by people who had a lot of free time and a LOT of money already. Married upper-class women, rich men- often gay, interestingly enough -with academic turns of mind, etc. They didn't need the money, so they built a structure designed to function that way. And for many years a lot of this work continued to be done by volunteers.

Except then people came along with the audacity to want to make a career out of it. Without enough generational wealth to not need payment! Oh no!

So now there are not enough full-time jobs in the field for people who want them, unfortunately. They're out there! But you might have a hell of a time getting into one.

I'd say to look for bigger orgs over small ones, or small orgs in big cities. We love a tiny house museum in the middle of nowhere, but they often have the smallest budgets in a world of small budgets. Also, consider starting out part-time and trying to work your way up (just make sure the org has full-time employees first). Making connections is paramount- I've only had part-time museum jobs so far, but I never got a single one just by applying online. You can, but it helps a lot to have someone say "hey, the Fancyman-Spinsteracademic-Wepromisewe'rereckoningwithslaverynow House is hiring; want me to put in a good word for you?"

Alternately, learn some hands-on preservation skill like carpentry or horology (working with mechanical clocks- PLEASE learn horology if you go this route; all the horologists are 80 and they keep dying) could be a way to get specific talents that historical site museums can't function without and will therefore pay for when the budget allows. In cities with lots of historical architecture that they actually care about preserving- so not NYC, apparently -there are often independent companies that specialize in different aspects thereof. Historical window repair, historical plastering, historical brickwork maintenance, etc. Trying to get hired by one of those is a way to go into preservation without working in museums. Private auction houses or antiques dealers can also be an option, if you're more into the Collections Objects side of things.

I don't mean to make it sound bleak. My eight-year career in museums has been entirely part-time collections/interpretation/admin jobs stitched together, and while I'm sick of the "underpaid and relying on my parents to pay for my insurance" aspect (yes, I freely admit it; I'm a lowkey continuation of the Can't Work In Museums If You Don't Have Family Financial Support tradition and very very lucky to be able to do what I do, and yet even I'M frustrated and tired and over it), it is deeply fulfilling work that I consider highly worthwhile and important. And there ARE avenues to make a decent living in it!

I just want to explain the phenomenon you're seeing and give you realistic expectations.

Best of luck!

[copperbadge]

https://www.wired.com/story/therapy-broken-mental-health-challenges/

I came across this (old) article and it made me think of what you shared about your therapy experience. Would you say your therapy experience worked? It almost feels like you were telling us about how you were A/B testing your way through it.

Yeah, I remember reading that article at some point either before therapy or early on. I don't remember what I thought overall but I do remember being astonished that people expected therapy to help them in six sessions, and that most people report improvement in only 15-20. Not because I think either of those things are unrealistic based on any kind of evidence, but because that's not the expectation I was ever handed when I was in therapy. I was in therapy for nine years as a kid, until I turned eighteen and could legally refuse to go. Not for anything I did, like it wasn't a court order, I was simply put into therapy and wasn't allowed to leave by the adults in my life.

The thing is, because it was mandatory, because at least one of those therapists broke ethical constraints, and because across nine years and three separate therapists nobody caught my ADHD, I have a more complicated relationship to therapy than a lot of people. I still catch myself thinking of things I can't tell my therapist because then she'll have leverage on me. Which is absurd, but it took me a long time to start saying those things to her. I am difficult and private and smart enough to make that a real problem, so it's been a slow process for me.

I also think that article is complicated, because it makes a lot of good points but it also seems at times to confuse therapy itself with the abusive nature of the American healthcare system. So while it's a useful article particularly when it speaks to marginalized peoples' experiences, it may discourage people who could benefit from therapy from doing the work to find a therapist. It's a good article to learn from, but I wouldn't advise people to decide for or against therapy based on it.

(My thoughts on my own therapy under the cut)

I'm still in therapy. It's difficult to measure results. I think I handle interpersonal stress better than I used to, but I haven't been able to find much to help with some of the emotional volatility I experience, and while I've set some good boundaries with family, the process of doing that was and continues to be stressful and upsetting, in some ways harder than simply not having them, so I'm still assessing that. Part of the problem for me is that I don't find cognitive-behavioral therapy useful for what I need, and while I understand there are differences, like 90% of all therapeutic systems boil back down to those techniques. Reality checking, visualizing, physical stimulus responses, mindfulness, as I said once to Therapist, "It's CBT all the way down." I don't respond to many of them and others I was already doing, so *shrug emoji*

At that point, when I realized there was no system that was going to help with my specific problems -- in part because the problems are ADHD related in a way that you can't train your way out of -- we also agreed it was time to try medication. Which felt like a failure, but I know that realistically I looked at the situation as it is, assessed my options, and made an appropriate choice, which is after all what therapy is often about.

So I've been on Clonidine for a couple of weeks. And it's doing fuck-all so far, but it's the lowest dose and there are other options too, so it's an ongoing process.

Outside of frustration with trying to fix problems that I honestly don't think anything but medication will fix, therapy's ok. If nothing else the expectation of it helps me identify actual problems in my life. And like most people I enjoy talking about myself but I also have a lot of struggle around asking for that kind of indulgence from friends, so doing that for an hour in a structured transactional kind of way is easier for me.

Ultimately, there's no real one-size solution that's called "Therapy", so whether or not I have found it useful isn't really material to whether someone else would. Some people use it as maintenance stress-relief, some people need to do deep emotional work, some people are in crisis and need an objective commentator. Sometimes you move from one need to another. Right now I'm in a liminal space because we're trying something new, so it's tough to say. But I'm finding it worth the cost in time, energy, and money, so I'll keep on until I don't anymore.

[love-toxin]

I know, I know, I knoooowwww its been months since you wrote for yandere/babytrapper Charles Xavier but I can't get him off my mind. Pleaseeeeeee, Miss Ellie, tell me what he would be like after he's successfully babytrapped you/how he would act as a father

meoooww I've been looking for a reason to write about charles again hehe <33

I can imagine he'd be tough to shake off, even after you're free of the pregnancy. Charles is smart enough to know you need to be taken care of in a multitude of ways to ensure the baby's health, but he's almost too smart because he regulates everything from the food you eat to the times you go to sleep. He's neurotic; he doesn't want his efforts to go to waste, he doesn't want you to get hurt, and he especially doesn't want his little one succumbing to anything terrible before he has a chance to meet them.

As a result of his powers, which he may allow to flourish more often once you're pregnant, he also dives into research about when babies develop their brains and when conscious thought may come into play, because he wants to see if he can hear his child's voice before they even come out of the womb. Those thoughts of fear or even anger towards him for pressuring you into it don't go unnoticed, however--he has to address those, but his way of doing it isn't exactly...healthy. He mostly spends the pregnancy slowly gaslighting you into believing you wanted it all along. Charles will plant seeds of doubt in your head wherever he can, even to the point of claiming that he couldn't stop hearing you think about having babies with him, and that he took that drastic step because he just thought you were too shy to say it out loud. That you couldn't bear to ask him because you just didn't know how much he wanted it as well. If he has to create thoughts that you think are yours to help convince you, he'll even go that far.

Whether you fall for it or not, the baby's coming either way. When she arrives, a head full of your hair and Charles' baby blues staring up at you, it's hard not to fall in love with your sweet little daughter. Charlie is absolutely mesmerized when he holds her for the first time, his trembling almost too much for him to keep her steady in his arms at first. It's obvious with one look that she's going to be daddy's little princess, and that he's going to spoil her like no little girl has ever been spoiled before.

If he hasn't wrestled you into a marriage by then, the baby is a great way for him to squeeze himself into your life for good. "Our girl needs both her parents, we have to try for her" he feeds you whatever he can think of to get you to say yes, and when you do, the only thing he relents on is whether to have a big wedding or a small one. If it were wholly up to him, he'd throw a massive party and invite everyone he knows to bear witness to your union, but if you want something small or to just sign the papers he'll take what he can get. At the very least, he'll get a nice cake.

But afterwards? When you fall into the routine of parenthood and navigate the turmoil of caring for a newborn baby? Charlie may get less pushy, but he's just as sickeningly intimate as he's always been. He feeds your daughter and changes her without complaint, and takes care of any chores or parts of the routine that you need done without being asked. It's tough not to feel something for him if you haven't before when he looks after the two of you so lovingly, and acts every part of the doting father and caring husband flawlessly. No amount of sleepless nights, colic, or failed soothing could dissuade him from still treating you as gently as a butterfly. No amount of frustration or sleep deprivation could make him take out his anger on you, not when you're the mother of his beautiful child.

That's not taking into account his jealousy, however, because that still runs rampant. Hank is close enough that he trusts him, but seeing Logan or Erik or anyone else around will slowly turn him mad. No, they can't pick up the baby, and no, you don't need any help or offers to babysit--that's what you have a husband for. There's always a threat looming of Charles trying to impregnate you again after a run-in with any male colleagues or friends, he just gets so possessive and moody and it's disgusting how good he is when he's in that state. Add to the fact that you probably have some reservations around intimacy now that your body has gone through so many changes, and it'll be a shock if after those six weeks passes he hasn't accidentally knocked you up again within the year. In fact, he might just try to; after all, keeping you busy with a couple of kids isn't a bad strategy to keep the men away from you, and he's got plenty of rooms to fill in the mansion for every member of his growing family. He's shown you he can be a good father to your child--give him the chance, and he'll prove he can be the perfect family man with the right motivation.

[alilarew23]

if your main focus is on being in the state, you're not in the state

let's say you've decided to manifest a car, a porsche 911 carrera 4s to be specific (yes i am projecting, that badboy already has my name on it), and you've been trying the whole affirm and persist thing for a grip but "nothing is happening" so instead you decide to focus on your state. you ask yourself what the version of you with the porsche would be thinking, feeling, doing--who, when you own this porsche, would you be? you realize you'd probably be thinking something along the lines of, "i fucking love my porsche, this is the dopest car in existence," you'd be feeling like a total baddie, turnin' heads, you would, of course, be driving your porsche everywhere you went, so now, every time your desire comes to mind, you "get into the state." you think your new thoughts. you feel yourself into your imagined car and visualize people driving by in awe of your bad-assery. when you're driving your honda accord, you're telling yourself it's your porsche. you're even believing it! you do this for a couple weeks, and it feels good, persisting in the assumption that your porsche is yours, but then you start to get frustrated. "i've been in the state so consistently! still nothing! why isn't anything happening?" well here's the thing: you're seeing states as a sort of technique, a means of getting something that's not already in your possession. it's not that you're doing something wrong by imagining. it's the intention behind the imagining where you're faltering. think of it this way: if someone came to you in five minutes and said, that porsche is yours, 150 trillion percent, can't tell you how or when but just know it's a done deal and is coming to you right now via the path of least resistance, how would you feel? probably pretty stoked, grateful, relieved to not have to think about manifesting, and, along with those feelings, you'd probably be thinking, "this is so sick. i legit have a porsche coming my way simply because i decided to have a porsche. the law is wild in the best way." if you're a visual person, you'd probably also see some scenes in your mind's eye of you in your porsche bumpin' mac miller drinking your iced latte, if your brain tends toward inner conversations, you might hear your friend say how low key jealous of you they are (but also thrilled because your friends are the most supportive)...but the difference here is this is all a NATURAL BYPRODUCT of you being in the genuine state of the wish fulfilled. by genuine i mean what underlies it is ACTUAL BELIEF that you have already received your manifestation. not in the physical realm--it's fine to know your porsche is yours but still acknowledge it's on its way--but in imagination, it is already written. so, now, as you go about your days, your base state is fulfillment, and yeah, every so often you might "fall out of the state," but you'll quickly recognize you're being goofy, remind yourself the porsche is a given, and boom, you're back in. whereas before, your base state (though you probably weren't even aware of it) was a state of not having the porsche and trying to get it. which--you guessed it!--only manifests more trying. hence your frustration. so do i think it's wrong to focus on your state? goodness, no. we are always in a state. of course we want to embody the state of our fulfilled desires. but check your starting place, and make sure the belief (knowing) of having already received your manifestation is inherent in it. you'll save yourself so much time, energy, and unnecessary mental acrobatics and--a fun bonus!--your porsche will be in your driveway in a jiffy.

as always, love you/believe in you. can't wait to pass you on the highway.

xx, a

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Digital Circus with a Mime Reader, who CAN speak but prefers to use sign language and gestures: they find find Kaufmo in the middle of abstracting and try to calm him down (against their better judgement). It doesn't go well, ending with them locking and closing Kaufmo's door, and running to find Caine... Only to hear the theme song suddenly stop and Jax say something about a "new character" as they approach...

Ough finally some Kaufmo angst-

........

Approaching Kaufmo's door, you stopped in front of it and politely knocked, wanting to check up on him before Caine could summon everybody to perform the Digital Circus' "theme song" musical number.

As of late, your fellow clown hasn't been feeling up to snuff, since apparently nobody was laughing at his jokes anymore...

Although said jokes have all mentioned something about an exit--a way out of the digital realm you've grown quite comfortable living in. But even when he is dead serious, the others are convinced he's only kidding around, pretending to laugh and sometimes asking him if he could joke about something else.

Least to say...it grew frustrating for him.

The only reason he hadn't totally lost it yet was because of you, a mime who has lived in the circus for the past five months and befriended him quickly. Together you've put on many acts: with his wacky props and your invisible techniques, your shows were amusing to all.

That being said, you didn't want your longtime partner to think about any exits too much, as you've lost several friends in the past when they started talking about the same thing.

It happened to Queener, Kinger's beloved wife, and the poor chess piece has been on the brink of abstraction ever since (honestly, it's a miracle he didn't immediately follow her).

Fortunately, he remained stable enough to be around everyone.

As for Kaufmo?

He didn't look so good last night at dinner, and you haven't seen him all morning. Normally he'd be up and about, juggling random things as he walked or approaching you to brainstorm new acts to perform.

Him locking himself away in his room was not normal.

Especially when he knew this musical number was super important to Caine.

After waiting a minute or two, you perked up as he finally answered the door.

At first you smiled in greeting, although that was quick to fade when he only kept it open just a crack--enough for you to barely see his face...

Which bore a terrified expression underneath his runny makeup, making his frown look worse than it actually is. His hat was nowhere to be found, either.

''Are you okay, Kaufmo?" You signed, eyebrows furrowed in worry.

That was your usual way of talking, despite knowing you could very well speak freely. You had no clue if you were proficient in sign language before entering this circus, but regardless it always came in handy, and everybody did their best to communicate with you that way (or at least those with fingers, unlike Zooble or Gangle).

Since your performances usually involved silence and expressive gestures, you didn't see a need to talk often--and that was usually fine with Kaufmo, who'd always chatter with you in sign language right back.

But when he attempted to respond, you swore you both saw his own hands glitching, before he quickly retracted them, clearly frightened.

You, on the other hand, wanted to believe it was just a "digital hallucination".

That's all it was...right?

"I-I'm sorry, [y/n]..haven't been..feeling like myself-f-f lately.." Even his own voice was betraying him, as it sounded distorted, lagging as though he was a slow computer program. "But you believe me, don't you?"

"Believe what?"

"The...the exit, of course! The thing I've been talking about this whole time!! It's real! There IS a way out!! I-I can show you!!"

You blinked, before shaking your head. "Kaufmo, let me in."

"Oh no, I think that's a bad id--wait! Wait!!" Despite his pleas for you to stop, you forced your way into his room, shutting the door behind you so nobody else could intrude or eavesdrop.

The last thing you needed was Caine listening in.

Yet after taking a look around at the state of his quarters--with everything being a complete mess and the word "EXIT" scrawled onto every square inch of the ceiling and walls--you were nothing short of terrified for his mental well-being.

'My god....what has he done..?' You thought to yourself, mortified.

"No, no, no, no!!"

Looking back at Kaufmo, you saw him back up against the wall, holding his face as black glitchy polygons started appearing on his body. He gasped in horror, looking at his hands...and then up at you.

"What's..h-happening to me-e-e?"

Your heart sunk, knowing exactly what was going on.

"You're abstracting.." You whispered, your voice small yet shaken.

"I-I didn't...think I'd be next...it hurts so much! Christ-!!!" He began crying, his makeup oozing as he stared at you with empty, soulless black eyes. One of his arms was already taken over by the glitches, morphing into a large one covered in jagged polygons.

"Make it stop..MAKE IT STOP!!!" He screamed, slumping to the floor.

You were frozen in a state of panic, unsure if you should go get Caine or stay here and try to pull him out of his abstraction.

Either way, you had to do something fast...lest you lose him forever or become infected yourself.

"Just focus on me, pal. I'm here. I'm here." Kneeling down, you grasped his non-glitching hand tightly with both of yours, attempting to guide him through a breathing exercise.

"You'll get through this." You mouthed, but he just shook his head, noticing a single glowing eye forming on the surface of the glitchy flesh.

"Wh-Whatever you do...don't tell Caine, I beg you-u.." He pleaded. "He'll lock me away...a-and I'll be all alone in the dark..I don't wanna be alone.."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you shook your head, and he gazed at you in confusion. "What do you mean "no"? You'd let him throw me into the cellar with the rest of them...?" He started to grow angrier, feeling betrayed. "I thought we were partners!"

"We are partners, Kaufmo. Always will be." You sighed, wishing there was another way to stop this from happening. "But there's nothing more I can do...he needs to know-"

"Fine...maybe things will be better if I'm not around to tell my stupid jokes anymore."

"Kaufmo-"

"Go....run, [y/n]...run-n-n-nnNNNN------"

Immediately after he said that, you let him go right as his other hand quickly became overtaken by the abstraction, almost taking you with it.

You got up and took a step backwards, watching in mute terror as he rapidly grew in size, turning into a massive amalgamation of glitch black polygons. Even more glowy-trippy eyes were popping up in different places, looking in every direction.

Within seconds, Kaufmo no longer resembled the clown you once knew (or a person, in general)....but was instead replaced by a horrific digital beast with a long neck, standing on four legs.

You gulped as every single eye on his body suddenly shifted to stare directly down at you.

'Uh-oh-'

You hastily created an invisible wall just as he lunged at you with a ferocious roar, slamming right into the illusion like a bird smacking into a glass pane.

'He still falls for the oldest trick in the book..oh Kaufmo..'

Although it pained your heart to abandon him like this, he was too far gone to be saved. He didn't even recognize you anymore.

The only thing you could do now was get Caine before he harmed you or anybody else--even if it means you never saw him again. He could very well threaten the entire stability of this world if he got loose.

You quickly ran out of the room just before he could break through the "wall" and go after you, slamming the door shut and locking it tight.

Moments later, you heard him ram into it, the hinges damn near breaking off (but by the grace of cartoon physics, that didn't happen).

You wiped the sweat from your forehead, making a mad dash out of the dormitory section of the tent in a desperate search for Caine.

Unfortunately, you could already hear Bubble's singing in the distance as the gang's musical number routine was already starting:

"Gangle, and Zooble, and Kinger, too~!"

You ran as fast as your legs could possibly carry you. They were already aware of both of your absences, and they chose to go on with the song anyways.

'Jerks..they couldn't at least wait for me?' You huffed. 'Caine never tells us when we're doing these musical ditties-'

By the time you arrived, however, you heard the music abruptly cut out.

You stopped upon seeing your friends tumbled over each other on the floor, with Gangle's comedy mask being broken and Jax picking himself up in annoyance.

"Caine, is this one of your NPCs or is this a new sucker?"

Blinking, you glanced at the new person he was referring to, surprised to see a girl dressed as a red and blue jester.

"........."

Now you couldn't say anything to Caine.

Not right now, at least.

[sophsiaaa]

I've been wanting to make this post for a while so now that I'm on mid-sem break, I will. Let's talk Shigaraki and sex.

NSFW warning??

So, let's get the big question out of the way. Is Shigaraki a virgin?

I think, yes. 100%

However, that is not to say that he is an innocent, oblivious, 'omg what is sex? uwu' baby villain. This guy literally lives in a bar, in a seedy part of the city, and hangs around with criminals. He knows about sex - I daresay he knows quite a bit about it. Besides which, we see in-canon that he has a phone and a PC and access to the internet, so he's hardly sheltered (though, he's definitely sheltered in regard to actual real-life socialisation, but that's another story).

Regardless, I stand by my assertion that he is a virgin.

Exhibit A: Shigaraki is shown very overtly to hate 'basically everything'. Correct me if I'm wrong, but everything encompasses sex/romance/intimacy. His character, especially at the beginning of the story, is prickly, quick-to-frustration, and sort of single-minded. He is driven to complete one narrow goal set by AFO that he believes he wants: to kill All Might. I believe prior to our introduction to Shigaraki, he was much the same, and thus did not seek out sex. Given his hostile and loner-guy nature at the start of the series, I doubt he would have had much in the way of propositions on his occasional solo trip to the mall.

Exhibit B: whilst I have seen it theorised that AFO introduced Shigaraki to sex via getting him a sex worker to 'satisfy his natural urges', personally, I think this theory is unlikely. This is because everything AFO does is to create discomfort and frustration in Shigaraki's life in order to stoke his rage (the guy literally has him wearing dead hands despite the fact that they make Shigaraki simultaneously feel calm and like throwing up). Thus, I doubt AFO would have encouraged Shigaraki to indulge in sexual relief - or any kind of relief - at all. I doubt he would have even explained the birds and the bees and likely pawned that job off onto the doctor or the internet if Shigaraki asked any questions.

So, we've established that Shigaraki's a virgin, and an ultimate hasn't-even-kissed-anyone virgin at that. But does he want to have sex? That big question number 2.

Honestly, I don't think he much cares for it.

It's odd to say given the multitude of what is essentially sex-addict-Shiagraki headcanons out there, but I truly think he doesn't really think about sex. Shigaraki's sex drive is probably quite low. Now, since I'm taking an evidence based approach here, lets go for the obvious evidence that points to him not having much interest in sex and that is the fact that if he was interested in it, Horikoshi would not shy away from showing it. My Hero Academia is not a manga that shies away from the odd bit of fan service or the pervy character. Mineta is - unfortunately - living proof of this. And he's not the only one. Horikoshi writes many of his characters displaying sexual attraction/interest/engagement/awareness at one point or another. So, logically, if Shigaraki was a character who was interested in sex, Horikoshi would show that. Since he doesn't, I can only conclude that sex isn't really a big deal to Shigaraki, or at the very least, not something he thinks about enough for it to show up on-screen.

Now, do I believe that Shigaraki has zero sexual interest? No. I think he's watched porn before, and probably even jerks it every now and then. But do I think he would actively seek out sex? Nah. Honestly, I don't even think he'd go along with sex unless it's with someone he's got a pre-established emotional connection to that's been building for a long time.

Like everything with Shigaraki, I think sex would be intense. By this I mean, he wouldn't be the type to have a casual one-night-stand or a friends-with-benefits fling. If he's in it, his heart's in it. Because he is so angry and destructive, Shiagraki often gets mischaracterised as heartless and deliberately cruel (this is a conversation for a separate post), but in reality, he cares a lot about certain things and puts his all into them. With sex, he would have to care about the who for the what to matter.

In conclusion - Shigaraki's well aware that BDSM doesn't stand for Bible Discussion/Study Meeting, but he's also a virgin loser who would not pin you up against the wall and have his way with you in a dark alley.