#while also having them in a relationships

[azullumi]

LOSER IN LOVE ? NAH, I’D WIN !!

a guide to being in a relationship with your local chrysos heir, phainon | established relationship, fluff, boyfriend headcanons, phainon is the sweetest ever, this is my coping mechanism after all that angst | wc: 1.2k

note from me — tweaking so bad i wrote this in an hour while waiting for maintenance

Give it up for the world’s greenest flag ever, even the most lustrous and beautiful of grass would be put to shame in front of him. No one will ever be the nameless hero, Phainon of Aedes Elysiae.

You never have to beg nor plead in front of him, he’ll let the world roll on your feet if it needs to. He’ll give you anything that you ask for or even mention in passing; that one vase you think is cool even though it won’t match your furniture? Bought and delivered to your door by yours truly. How about that dumb painting that looks funny but is too expensive? Yeah, he bargained like a professional. You want his door? Sure, go ahead, he doesn’t need that—oh, you were joking?

Sometimes it becomes too much that you have to tell him, “…And no, I don’t need it. I just like seeing it.” Or whatever you could come up with just to stop the gears of his mind from turning.

IS GOOD WITH KIDS !! He’s so well-known in the small community of children for how understanding and amazing he is, how he’s able to easily get along with them (even the grumpest ones), as he is able to catch up with their tricks and games. Other than that, they also know how he’s so in love with you. Like deeply in love with you even the children know it—some of them are disgusted (because cringe, ew, what is love?) and some listen to him talk about you with a sparkle in their eyes.

You didn’t even have to introduce yourself to them, they already know who you are. They know you before you know them, they have seen you despite never having met you. “Mister Phainon said that you have stars in your eyes and that not even the greatest of bards can compare to the melodies of your voice! He also said your hair is—“ The little girl is stopped by the snow-haired man beside you, a nervous chuckle slipping past his lips. Are you embarrassed, ashamed, angry, or none of those things? Nevertheless, he gets a pinch on his cheek as he surrenders, both hands up in the air. Apologies slipped past his lips, compliments smoothly mixed into it: “I’m so sorry, you’re just so lov—OW!”

HORRENDOUS FASHION TASTE, however. You are not Lady Aglaea, but you have the eyes to see and judge the atrocity of combination presented and worn by your lovely boyfriend. “Take it off.” You say, and he blushes like a virgin who’s finally getting it: “W-Wait, we possibly can’t do it, not when there’s people around.” NOT LIKE THAT!! The redness of your face covered by your palms is all he sees. Oh dear, you know he wishes to simply wear all his favorite colors at once, but at this rate, he’ll look like a walking decorative pine tree meant to represent the spirit of holidays.

On the topic of clothes, the two of you match often. Colors, patterns, and everything that you can, and sometimes, it’s not limited to clothes. Bracelets, necklaces that spell out each other’s initials, teleslate charms, wallpapers, and everything. You and him are like pieces of puzzles that are meant to complete each other, because it really is like that. You and Phainon are the embodiment of one another, tangled in the strings, destinies carved by the sun to be together, hearts burned to beat into one.

SPARRING MATCHES AND FRIENDLY COMPETITIONS which always end up giggles and fits of laughter. In play-wrestling, he often lets you win, allowing you to to tackle him to the ground while you grin above him, teasing him of his title and his strength. “Oh, yeah?” Is all he says before your world spins and your positions are now reversed.

Beyond those things, he is the type to serenade you in the kitchen while humming or under the moonlight when the stars are watching. The type to have your date already planned to every detail and only tells you that you just have to show up (he’ll pick you up even). The type to give you your favorite flowers even though you never told him. The type to leave notes all over your home, letting you play into some scavenger hunt game until you end up in his arms, right where you belong. The type to be overly worried and anxious whenever he has to leave, knowing that it could take a long time and he might not see you for days, so he entrusts you into the hands of his trusted friends—“Phainon had asked me to bring this to you, he mentioned you were craving for it.” ; “Snowy asked us to ensure that you’re eating well!” ; “Here, it will help you fall asleep and he says you will need it the most.”

It’s stupid, and it makes you more fearful, and he has to reassure and comfort you through tears when he has come home because it felt like he wasn’t going to. “You made it feel like you’re going to die!” You sob, smacking his chest and he accepts it—your pain, anger, sadness, everything, he’ll take it.

Kisses? Showering you with it always, especially when the both of you are alone. He loves it when you do the same for him too—stain him with the marks of your affection, won’t you? Additionally, he likes to kiss you and interrupt each of your every word until it dissolves on his tongue and you give in to his warmth.

Hands? All over you already. It is for sure that physical touch along with acts of service ranks the highest on his love language chart. Your hands are always intertwined with his, he would always give you pats or ruffle your hair into a mess because he likes to tease you, and he lingers so close to you that your shadows might as well fuse.

On the mention of acts of service, he’s always at the beck and call for you. Think like Ken’s Barbie senses except it’s Phainon (and his ahoge is his antenna). He senses a disturbance in the air? He’s there already; pure exaggeration, but it feels like that often. “I know you can do it but allow me to help you because I want to,” he’ll say to you, a gentle reassurance, after you insisted that you don’t need his assistance and you don’t want to burden him. He likes it when you rely on him but he will still adore you the same if you wish not to.

Jealousy? Who even dares to mess with you, or him?

Nicknames? There’s a lot. Endearing ones, especially. His partner, his lovely sun, his dearest buddy, his comrade, his, his, and only his. Always dear to him.

It’s not hard to find comfort in him, even the mere presence and thought that he’s here, that you’re here, that you have him is enough to ease the tension on your shoulders. He is warm, you are warm in his arms, enveloping yours as if he’s shielding you from all the harm this world will bring to you. It feels as if knowing you is something easy and small for him—understanding the cracks of your skin, mended together by softness, tracing them like constellations, cradling you all the same because it is yours.

He simply adores the smile he gets to put on your face or the laughter that bubbles from your throat. It’s something he’ll never forget, deeply engraved into the corners of his mind, the essence of yourself tainting the edges as if you’ve become a part of his soul.

He’ll never forget and wishes he never had to.

© AZULLUMI. plagiarism of any form and type, stealing, copying, translating, reposting my works on other platforms is NOT permitted.

[thatonegrimm]

Can I request where baby progressively shows his demon appearance more and more to reader while dating cause he’s getting comfortable? You can add the other Saja Boys

Yes, of course! 💖 That’s such a soft and beautiful concept—I love the idea of Baby slowly revealing more of his demon form as he grows comfortable in the relationship.

Little by Little

Summary: Your boyfriend is slowly relaxing his hold over his true form — not all at once, but in quiet moments over time. As trust deepens, you begin to catch more glimpses of his real self: lilac skin, glowing eyes, and the soft vulnerability he never lets anyone else see.

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The first time you see one of his markings, it’s by accident.

You're brushing your teeth, half-asleep in your shared apartment, when Baby walks in without a word. He’s always quiet in the morning—still bleary-eyed, still warm from sleep, the black sleeves of his hoodie pulled over his hands.

But today, something’s different.

He leans over the sink to spit out mouthwash, and when he straightens up, the edge of his collar dips just slightly. You catch it in the mirror, just a glimpse, no more than an inch, of patterned violet spreading along his collarbone. Geometric and jagged, like cracked glass under his skin.

Your toothbrush slows.

The air shifts slightly, as if the room itself holds its breath.

You don’t say anything.

Not because it scares you—it doesn’t. You’ve known what he is for a while now. But you also know him—the way he wraps his jokes around silence, the way he keeps a careful distance from vulnerability unless you’re patient enough to wait him out. Like everything that matters most to him is kept behind a locked door, and you’re still learning the shape of the key.

So instead of asking, you slide a hand into his and squeeze.

He doesn’t say a word, but he doesn’t pull away either. His fingers twitch once before curling around yours, warm and quiet.

Later that morning, you find that hoodie tossed near the laundry basket—half-on, half-off, like he didn’t care how it landed.

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The second time is intentional.

You’re curled on the couch together, legs tangled, a movie playing in the background neither of you are really watching. Your head rests on his chest, his fingers tracing idle patterns on your shoulder, when he shifts and rolls up one sleeve.

You blink.

The skin beneath is no longer the pale peachy tone he wears in public. It’s lilac—soft and smooth, with a shimmer under the light. His forearm is crisscrossed with deep violet markings, the same jagged ones you saw on his collarbone. They trail up past his elbow, disappearing under his shirt.

He doesn’t draw attention to it. Doesn’t say anything. He just lets it be there—visible.

You lift your head to look at him.

“Pretty,” you say simply.

Baby makes a quiet sound, something between a laugh and a breath he forgot to hold. He tries to act nonchalant—tries to look away—but there’s a pink flush creeping up the tips of his ears.

You kiss his arm just once, near the darkest mark.

“I meant it,” you add, resting your cheek against his chest again. “You don’t have to hide things from me.”

He says nothing, but later that night he falls asleep on top of you, full weight, head on your chest, like he trusts you to hold all of him.

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The claws come next.

You’re chopping vegetables in the kitchen when Baby comes up behind you and lazily wraps his arms around your waist. You’re used to the warmth of his hands, the quiet pressure of his chest against your back—but today, you notice something new.

His nails are longer. Sharper. Just enough to prick slightly when he drags them gently along your side.

You pause, glancing down.

His hand rests flat against your stomach—skin still smooth, still lilac, but now tipped in elegant, curved claws. Not monstrous, but definitely inhuman.

He notices you staring and starts to pull back, muscles tense.

You stop him with a hand over his.

“I like them,” you murmur.

He doesn’t respond immediately. You feel the moment where he debates pretending like it didn’t happen. But then—

“I file them down most days.”

His voice is low. Almost embarrassed. Like this tiny part of himself, something natural to him, needs an apology.

You hum. “You don’t have to around me.”

“…I know,” he says, but you feel the way his arms tighten around you, the small exhale against your shoulder. Like maybe he needed to hear it anyway.

When he holds your hand that night, his claws graze your knuckles gently. Purposefully.

You don’t let go.

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Sometimes you wonder what he sees when he looks in the mirror.

Does he only notice the claws, the cracked-glass skin, the glow in his eyes that sets him apart? Does he trace his markings and wonder if he’s too much—or worse, not enough—when he’s just being real?

Because when you look at him all sharp teeth and soft hoodie sleeves, glowing eyes that give too much away—you just see him. Baby. The boy who makes you ramen at 2am when you’re sad. The one who insists on watching horror movies but hides behind you at the jumpscares. The one who gets too hot at night but still clings to you like a second blanket. The one who hums off-key when he thinks you’re asleep. Who asks if you ate, then pretends he wasn’t worried when you say no.

The one who’s learning to let you see him, piece by piece.

And you love every one.

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It’s a late Sunday morning when you finally see his full skin.

You’re sitting on the floor of your bedroom, folding laundry in the soft buzz of summer heat, when Baby walks in shirtless. Not just shirtless—bare-chested, relaxed, no hoodie, no long sleeves, no effort to hide.

Lilac from throat to waist. Cracked-glass markings running down his ribs. Collarbones like amethyst under sunlight.

Your breath catches.

He doesn’t say anything. Just walks over with a pile of socks in his hands and flops down beside you like it’s nothing.

But you can feel the quiet tension under his casual movements. The way he pretends not to be watching your reaction from the corner of his eye.

You lean in and kiss his shoulder.

“Still you,” you whisper. “Always you.”

This time, he doesn’t hide the way his hands shake for a second before he wraps his arms around you. Doesn’t hide when he exhales into your hair and says, raw and real:

“Thanks for waiting.”

You press your face against his neck. His skin is warm. Familiar. Yours.

“I wasn’t waiting,” you whisper back. “I was just walking with you.”

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It becomes routine after that.

Claws click gently against his phone as he texts. You catch him half-shifted in the kitchen, markings crawling up his neck like vines. Sometimes his golden eyes glow when he’s laughing—full and bright and unbothered.

He doesn’t hide anymore.

You still remember the version of him from your first few dates—the hoodie up to his knuckles, that too-cool-for-school shrug, the shadows that followed him when he thought you weren’t looking. This Baby feels lighter. Not different. Just unburdened.

You don’t ask anymore.

He shows you because he wants to now.

And one night, curled up together under a blanket that’s too warm for summer but perfect for hiding in, he tilts your chin up and rests his forehead against yours.

“Hey,” he murmurs.

“Hmm?”

“You—you’re not scared of me, right?”

Your heart tugs.

“Never.”

He nods once. Then slowly, carefully, he pulls off the last barrier: a glamour spell that softened his features. The change is subtle but stunning—his smile sharper, teeth a little longer, eyes glowing gold with slit pupils.

It hits you that this is the first time he’s let you see him like this—unguarded, spell-less, fully himself.

You press your forehead to his, breath warm between you.

“You’re beautiful,” you whisper.

He bites his lip. His claws flex once at your waist. Then, finally, he relaxes—melting into your arms like he was always meant to fit there.

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Little by little, he let you in.

And now, there’s nothing he hides.

Not his markings, not his claws, not the fire in his eyes.

Not his heart, either.

And that’s the part you love most of all.

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M-List

[0scarp1astr1]

Anniversary Tears

જ⁀➴ Desc: || In which your perfect anniversary was long forgotten by your boyfriend and you're tired of being last place in his life. ||

P2

ᯓ★ Featuring: Max Verstappen, Charles Leclerc, Lewis Hamilton, Lando Norris, Carlos Sainz, Fernando Alonso.

ᯓ★ 1x Genre: Angst

ᯓ★ Warning: None

ᯓ★ Requested? No

Author Note: Don't worry guys, I do see your requests in my inbox, and have them drafted. Solo fics take longer than the headcanons, So I am putting more content out there to hold you over. I hope you all enjoy the angst.

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Max Verstappen

When your relationship with Max first took off, it felt perfect. Not only were you a WAG with a loving boyfriend and your own career, but you were also his world—his safe haven outside the sport that constantly demanded his time, energy, and focus. After long days filled with tension, yelling at his team, and pushing for improvements they sometimes refused to acknowledge, you were his anchor. On the verge of breaking, you were the one who held him together.

But slowly, the pressure from his job started to seep into your relationship. Max grew distant, his presence increasingly replaced by postponed dinners and late nights. "Don't wait up," became more common than goodnight kisses. The bed felt colder, and the silence at night felt heavier. Still, you clung to hope. Your anniversary was coming up—it had to mean something to him. He’d always remembered before, right down to the minute. He never missed it. It was always in his phone, always marked with care.

“Don’t worry, liefje,” he said with a soft kiss. “I’ll be home before you know it.” His lips lingered just long enough to convince you he might mean it this time.

You dressed with care that evening—spritzed on the perfume he loved, slipped into the dress that never failed to catch his eye. Dinner was set. A night under the stars, just the two of you. You waited, surrounded by the hum of music, the clink of glasses, the low chatter of couples enjoying each other’s company.

But not yours.

You kept glancing at the door. Then at your phone. Finally, you called him. When he answered, you could hear him talking to someone—Christian, maybe—before he turned his attention to you.

“Sorry, liefje, I was just talking to Christian. What’s up?”

What’s up?

“What do you mean, what’s up?” you snapped, your voice brittle.

His reply was casual, too casual. “Why are you so moody? Are you on your period or something?”

That was the final straw.

“No, Max, I’m not,” you said sharply, your voice tight as you stood from the table, phone pressed to your ear. “Maybe I’m just moody because the man I love can’t even let go of a damn steering wheel for five minutes to be with me. I get it. You love racing. I know your career comes first. But on our anniversary?”

There was a pause, then a panicked, “Shit. I’m sorry! I’ll come right now—”

“Don’t bother, Verstappen.” You cut him off, eyes stinging. “Save your apology. I’m done. I can't keep coming in last place... while you sit there and celebrate every first.”

You hung up. The quiet click of your heels echoed as you walked away, tears slipping down your cheek.

Elsewhere, Max stood frozen, phone in hand, jaw clenched, eyes heavy.

When someone asked what was wrong, all he could manage to say was—

“I screwed up.”

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Charles Leclerc

You always knew Ferrari was Charles’ world. From the time he was a boy, it was his dream, his everything—and you stood by him every step of the way. He was a loving boyfriend, no doubt about that. He just had a habit of forgetting the little things—milk from the store, the eggs, the scented candles you asked for, even the specific dog food that Leo could actually stomach.

But you loved him. Loved him so much, you would sit in silence and come last, over and over again.

You were used to being his priority. Even in crowded rooms or intense conversations, his hand would still find yours—on your thigh, your back, your waist. But lately, that had all changed. Ferrari was struggling, and so was Charles. You saw it in his eyes: the exhaustion, the pressure, the desperate hunger to do better, to fight for pole position, for podiums, for anything. And in the process, you felt like discarded trash—left behind, forgotten.

“I’ll see you tonight,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to his jaw.

He smiled. “Of course. I’ll handle today and be home.”

You assumed he knew. It was on the calendar. In both your phones. You’d dropped hints all week. He couldn’t forget this—your day. The day you two fell in love. The day you made each other yours.

When he walked out the door, your heart had lifted. You cleaned the flat from top to bottom, cooked his favorite meal, lit the candles he loved most, and carefully scattered the rose petals you bought. You dressed for the night you’d both needed. A reconnection. A celebration. A return to each other.

But hours passed.

The food grew cold. Half the candles flickered out. Leo had chewed through most of the petals. You sat in silence, staring at the clock, the night collapsing in on itself like a slow disaster.

Then—finally—you heard his keys.

His voice.

And your heart sparked, a flicker of hope that maybe—just maybe—he’d remembered. Maybe he brought flowers. Maybe he had a surprise. A kiss. An apology. Something.

But when the door opened, your smile died.

Charles stepped in… with one of his engineers.

“I invited him over for dinner,” he said casually, dropping his keys on the counter. He glanced around. “What’s all this?”

Your chest tightened, breath caught in your throat.

“Our dinner,” you said quietly.

He raised a brow. “We planned this?”

You looked away, biting the inside of your cheek.

“I mean… if we did, I must’ve forgotten,” he said, walking toward the table. “Did Leo eat half of whatever this is?” he added, lightly nudging a chewed petal with his foot.

That was it.

You grabbed your keys without a word and walked out. Charles watched you go, confused, glancing at his friend—who only shrugged.

And then his eyes landed on the calendar.

Red marker. A heart. One word.

Anniversary.

His stomach dropped.

“Our anniversary,” he whispered. Panic set in as he fumbled for his phone. He called you instantly.

“Y/N,” he breathed when you answered. “I forgot—I’m so sorry. I’ll make it up to you, I swear. We were just talking strategy all day, and I lost track of time. Please, just come back.”

You sniffled on the other end.

“I’m tired of chasing someone who’s chasing a podium,” you said. “I know it’s your dream, Charles. But am I even part of it?”

He swallowed hard, unable to respond.

“You cross the finish line, but do I even matter?” your voice cracked. “You don’t even know what to say. You can’t, because you don’t care. I ask for your time—and you have none to give. So good luck with Ferrari this year, Charles. Go chase your podium. I’m done chasing you.”

And then the line went dead.

Charles stood frozen, phone still in hand, eyes stinging with guilt and regret. He whispered, more to himself than anyone else, anger and heartbreak swirling in his chest.

“She hates me…”

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Lewis Hamilton

You were in love with a seven-time world champion.

And somehow, despite the millions who adored him, he loved you. He chose to build a life with you—and Roscoe. Nothing could break you two apart. His heart was yours, and yours was his.

He made sacrifices, hard choices in his career, and swore time and again that he'd always try to keep you first. That love—it made you feel like you were flying.

Until you crash-landed. Alone.

Lately, the clock would strike midnight, sometimes even two in the morning, and he still wouldn’t be home. And each late night, each unanswered message, made your chest feel tighter. You told yourself not to complain—he was famous, his life demanding. But still, you wanted time. His time.

“We deserve a trip,” he had said, flashing that smile, the one that always calmed your nerves.

“We do,” you agreed. “Just don’t forget the date. I even canceled vacation plans with the girls—told them I needed time with my future husband.”

He had chuckled and held up his phone. “I’ll spend an hour with the guys and come home early. I still need to pack Roscoe’s stuff, anyway.”

“Responsible,” you teased, kissing his cheek. “Go have your fun.”

And the moment he walked out the door, your heart started dreaming. You imagined quiet mornings with him, waking up tangled in each other, no alarms, no cameras. Just the two of you, off the grid. Long walks. Photos where he called you beautiful. Whispered I love yous between sips of coffee. A version of him that only existed when the world wasn’t watching.

But the clock ticked. Then again. And again.

No message. No call. Nothing.

Just silence—until you opened Instagram.

There he was. Laughing, smiling with the guys. Still out. Like he had no flight. No bags. No anniversary. No you.

He was winning in the race of life—and losing in the one that truly mattered.

He didn’t come home until hours later. Eyes tired, voice light.

“An hour I said—and then Franco dared me to—”

He stopped.

The place was too quiet. Too empty. Roscoe sat by the door, ears perked.

“Y/N?” he called, stepping deeper into the penthouse.

“Babe?”

He walked through each room, heart picking up speed—until his eyes caught the note sitting on the counter.

Lewis,

I waited. But you didn’t come. I told myself maybe you'd run late, maybe you'd rush home, maybe you'd try. But you didn't.

You missed our flight. You missed our anniversary.

So I went without you. I’m on vacation—with the girls I turned down for you.

Don’t call. Just ask yourself why it always ends up like this.

—Y/N

Panic set in. He grabbed his phone and immediately called you.

When you picked up, your voice was quiet, broken by the faint sound of laughter in the background.

“Where did you go?” he asked, breath uneven.

“On vacation,” you said simply. “You missed our flight. You know… for a seven-time world champion, I thought maybe—maybe—you’d lay it to rest just for one day. Or did you forget what this trip was even for? It was our anniversary.”

He sighed, rubbing his forehead. “I’m laying off work as much as I can. You know how demanding it is. I love what I do—”

“Yeah. You love what you do. But do you even love what you have?” your voice cracked. “I’ve spent so much time loving you, accepting that you’re sweet… but never around. At some point, Lewis, you’ll wake up past forty, still chasing podiums, and realize the world kept spinning without you.”

Silence.

“And when all the other drivers are married, in love, settled… you’ll say I miss Y/N. You’ll say you miss us. You’ll wish we had more time. You’ll wish we got married. You’ll wish you treated me like more than a trophy in your case.”

You paused, breath catching.

“But I won’t be there.”

And then you hung up.

Back in Monaco, Lewis stood frozen in the middle of the room, eyes glassy, hands shaking. His phone slipped from his grip, landing with a sharp clatter on the tile.

“Fuck!” he yelled, voice raw, hands in his hair as he stumbled backward.

“How did I mess this up?” he muttered, sinking onto the edge of the bed.

“I lost her…”

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Lando Norris

When you first met Lando, you knew who he was—the party boy. The fast life, the late nights, the grin that could disarm anyone. But behind that chaos was something softer. Something real. A boy with a full heart who crumbled in your arms when the media became too cruel. You held him through breakdowns, through silence, through storms no one else ever saw. He was yours. You were his.

And for a while, it felt like nothing else mattered.

Time with him felt like being the center of the universe. Every moment was electric. He made you feel like you were more than his girlfriend—you were his constant. His peace.

But it shifted.

McLaren started winning, and suddenly, so much more of him belonged to the team. His attention narrowed, his kisses got shorter, his exits quicker. “Love you,” turned into rushed goodbyes and texted emojis. You started waiting—hours—for a message, a call, a sign.

Sometimes, you only got a thumbs-up.

He didn’t feel like your boyfriend anymore. He felt like Lando Norris, the driver. And you? Just another face in the crowd, another voice in his overflowing inbox.

It hurt. Bad.

That’s why you didn’t say anything.

You wanted to see if he’d remember your anniversary. Not because you wanted to punish him—but because part of you needed to know if he still saw you. Not as a fan, not as a placeholder, but as the girl who’s been with him through it all. The one who stayed.

You let the day unfold in silence.

Maybe, just maybe, he’d say no to clubbing. Maybe he’d surprise you. Maybe he’d say no to everyone else and yes to you—for once.

The lamp in the living room was the only light on. You sat on the couch, dressed up. Makeup perfect. Perfume light and familiar. Waiting.

You imagined him swinging through the door, smiling, dressed up, ready to whisk you away like it was year one again.

But hours passed.

Your heels came off first. Then the makeup wipes. Then the dress, now forgotten on the cold floor of your bedroom. By the time the clock struck midnight, you were in pajamas—hope deflated.

Then, voices at the door.

You looked up, heart already heavy.

“He’s drunk,” one of his friends laughed as they helped Lando up the stairs.

His head lolled to the side, eyes half-closed, a goofy, blissed-out grin on his lips.

You opened the door.

“On our anniversary…” you whispered under your breath.

Still, you couldn’t turn him away. You loved him too much for that.

You thanked his friends, then wrapped your arms around him as he leaned all his weight on you. He laughed—slurred and unaware—as you helped him toward the bedroom.

“Norris,” you muttered, sighing. “You forgot what today was.”

He didn’t respond.

You eased him onto his side of the bed, unlaced his shoes, tossing them aside. He collapsed into the pillows with a lazy groan.

“Four years,” you said quietly, watching him.

“Anniversary, you know?” you tried again. “Four years.”

He hummed, eyes shut. “Whatever you say… I don’t care…”

You froze.

And then, with a careless wave of his hand, he mumbled—

“I love you, Luisinha…”

The breath left your body.

Your heart split clean down the middle.

He wasn’t just drunk.

He was drunk and still thinking about her.

Luisinha.

The girl before you. The one you thought he’d moved past. The one he said he didn’t talk to, didn’t think about, didn’t miss.

But that bracelet you’d found a week ago—the one he promised he’d thrown away?

He kept it.

He kept her.

And now, with his defenses down, the truth came out. Maybe the drinking, the clubbing, the partying—it wasn’t about the spotlight. Maybe it was about numbing the space she left behind.

Your eyes welled with tears as you looked at him—peaceful, unaware, dreaming of someone else.

“For once in my life…” your voice shook, barely a whisper, “I thought someone loved me. Sober or not sober.”

You wiped your eyes, hands trembling.

“I’m last place in your mind,” you said, broken. “Always have been.”

You lingered in the doorway for a moment, taking one last look at the boy who promised you everything—but gave you half-truths.

“I hope she makes you happy,” you whispered.

And then you left.

No destination in mind.

Just anywhere that wasn’t there—anywhere you could breathe, away from the lies, away from the ache of trying to be someone’s everything when they’re still mourning someone else.

Back in bed, Lando stirred. Tossed. Snored.

And then, barely audible—

“Luisinha…”

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Carlos Sainz

Carlos was your sweetheart.

Every photo of you two looked like a still from a romantic comedy—sometimes sweet, sometimes goofy, always full of heart. Together, you’d wish fans happy holidays, post silly videos, and make even the quietest moments feel alive. Being his felt like honey: warm, golden, slow-dripping joy.

He loved to show you off. His friends knew your name. His fans knew your face. He spoke of you like you hung the moon.

And for a long time, the weight of that love wasn’t heavy—it was heavenly.

But slowly… that love began to fade. Not disappear, no. Just… retreat.

His smiles became half-hearted. His eyes darted around the room, distracted. Every dinner was cut short. Every date somehow became a double date—someone tagging along, someone stealing his laughter, his attention, his time. And you? Left picking at your food, faking smiles.

He always apologized. Swore he’d change. And you believed him, because when Carlos loved, he loved hard.

“This time, I’ll focus on you. It’s our anniversary, mi amor. I could never forget my special lady,” he teased, pinching your nose, making you laugh in spite of yourself.

“Good. I already have my outfit picked out, Sainz,” you grinned.

“Perfect, I'll meet you tonight, have to do some stuff so I can make time for just this moment and just for you," he said, kissing your forehead. It felt like a promise.

And for a moment—you believed it.

That night, you stood in front of the mirror, beaming. Your dress hugged your body just right, your makeup was soft and glowing. You did a little spin, whispering to yourself, “He’s gonna lose his mind when he sees me.”

You were ready to be his entire world for the night.

But hours passed.

The food on your plate grew cold. The candles flickered lower. And the seat across from you? Still empty.

Your phone finally rang. Your heart lifted, a flicker of hope rushing in. “Carlos?” you answered with a soft smile.

Laughter poured from the other end of the line. Background noise. Music. Clinking glasses.

“You should come to the bar!” he said, voice light and carefree.

Your smile shattered.

The silence on your end stretched, and then—

“Carlos Sainz Vázquez de Castro…” your voice trembled. “Do you really not know what today is?”

He hesitated. “I must’ve forgotten, because… no?”

Your throat tightened. “Our anniversary.”

Silence.

“And I have to say,” you added, voice cracking, “sitting alone at this table—alone—is humiliating.”

He exhaled. “Come to the bar. I’ll make it up to you. I’m sorry—”

“Sorry?” You stood up, voice raising with the weight of every swallowed hurt. “You’re always sorry, Carlos! And then you go and do the same thing again. And again.”

People turned their heads, but you didn’t care anymore.

“I’m tired of being last! I’ve sucked up every ache in my body for you. I’ve swallowed my pride. For what?”

“You know how demanding my career is,” he said quietly.

You laughed bitterly. “Your career? Carlos, other drivers have relationships. They’re not out at a bar on their anniversary night like it’s nothing!”

“I’m not them,” he snapped. “Don’t compare me, corazón.”

You shook your head, heart sinking. “Maybe if you loved me the way they love their partners… I wouldn’t have to.”

Your breath caught in your throat. “Maybe if you just looked at me, for one second, I wouldn’t have to beg to be seen. I made you first in my life, Carlos. First. And all I’ve ever been to you is another face in the crowd. Someone who waits. Someone who blends in behind your friends, your fans, your fame.”

He stayed quiet.

You looked at the phone, your reflection in the black screen, your makeup starting to smudge, your hand trembling.

“We’re done, Carlos,” you said, barely above a whisper. “Done.”

And with that, you hung up.

Back at the bar, Carlos stared at his phone like it had punched him in the gut.

He didn’t even realize he’d stopped breathing.

He slid the phone down on the counter, staring ahead at nothing. His jaw clenched. His throat burned.

One of his friends leaned over, hand on his back.

“You okay, man?”

Carlos didn’t answer at first. Then, slowly, voice cracked and broken, he muttered:

“I just lost the one woman who loved me more than the world…”

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Fernando Alonso

Fernando Alonso Díaz.

Even just his name gave you butterflies. It belonged to the man who made you laugh until your sides ached, who smothered you with kisses every morning despite your sleepy protests. His affection was playful—nose pinches, tight hugs, spontaneous dancing in the kitchen. You were his world. And he was yours.

He once told you that when he was ready to marry again, it would be you. Only you. That you’d be the last woman he’d ever love like this. That one day, he'd put a ring on your finger and call it forever.

For a long time, life with him felt like a promise unfolding. Soft, beautiful, and full of meaning.

But promises, even beautiful ones, can crack under pressure.

The small things started to slip. A missed good morning text. A quick kiss on the cheek without eye contact. Late nights with the same excuse: work. “You know how it goes,” he’d say. “Busy as always.” And suddenly, you weren’t sure if you were his partner… or his afterthought.

Still, you hoped.

You wore the outfit he loved. You tried to spark memories, gently reminding him of the day you became official. He smiled—but his face didn’t light up. “I don’t really remember the date,” he said, brushing it off. “But I remember it felt magical.”

Your fake smile held long enough for you to turn your back.

Then came another goodbye. Another peck on the cheek. Another “work’s calling.”

You stayed home, holding on to hope. Holding on to him.

Evening came. Then night. Your phone buzzed.

Fernando: Don’t wait up. Working late.

That was it. No call. No detail. Just another dismissal, like you didn’t spend the day waiting, hoping he’d come home ready to celebrate you both.

You called him. Your voice trembled, trying to stay steady.

“Fernando,” you said, “I think you should check the date.”

He laughed softly. “Are you drunk, mi vida?”

“No,” you whispered. “Just check.”

There was a pause. Then, casually: “Is it important? I’m heading out with the guys. Engineers are buying.”

Your heart cracked. “Nando, it’s our anniversary.”

Silence. Then a light chuckle. “Ah… I missed it. We’ll fix it tomorrow, yeah? When I’m free.”

You swallowed hard. “Are we ever getting married, Fernando? Or is that just something you say when it’s convenient?”

He sighed. “Why would I stop racing to get married? This is my life. You knew that.”

“I’m not asking you to stop racing.” Your voice shook. “I’m asking if you even see a future with me.”

Another sigh. Dismissive. Cold.

You continued, voice stronger now, pain spilling out. “You remember everything about your career—your wins, the year you debuted, your teammates, your rivals. But you couldn’t remember this. Us. What we built.”

You wiped a tear away. “You’re forty-three, Fernando. I don’t need a perfect family. I don’t even need kids. But marriage… time together… commitment. That’s not too much.”

“I’ll marry when I’m ready,” he replied. “I’m not living a domestic life right now. I have a few more years left in me. You knew that.”

“I did. I knew what I signed up for.” Your tone softened, but the sadness deepened. “But I didn’t sign up to always come second. Or third. Or last. I thought we were in this together. I thought love meant sharing the wins.”

He was quiet. You knew that silence. The kind that said he’s made his choice.

“I’m not trying to change you,” you whispered. “I just wanted a little of your time. A little of your heart when it wasn’t being poured into a car. I wanted our love to matter as much as your next race.”

Then his voice sharpened. “If you hang up, I won’t chase you. I won’t beg. If you hang up, it’s done. So give me a moment—”

Click.

Silence.

The moment you ended the call, something shifted in him.

Fernando sat motionless, the phone still in his hand. The words echoed in his head.

“There is no reason one of us should be winning and the other losing.”

He’d spent his life chasing podiums, building a legacy. But in the quiet that followed your goodbye, he realized something:

The one person who loved him beyond the helmet, the headlines, the trophies—had just walked away.

And he let her.

A single tear slid down his cheek as he placed the phone on the table, the weight of everything he’d lost crashing down on him.

“What have I done…”

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[angelluvsrafe]

rafe struggles to comfort you 002

- request a fic - masterlist - part one -

it had been three weeks since you last saw him. rafe messaged you every day, but you never replied. you had made a few new friends at the beach around a week ago. you had met them a few times.

they were pogues, but they were fun and welcoming. you felt safe with them and they were there for you, a lot more than rafe was.

you had woken up bright and early to go to the beach with the pogues. you found a spot and set up for the day. you and kie were laying on the sand while the boys were in the water.

kiara had fallen asleep a few minutes ago so you also close your eyes. the sound of the waves and inaudible chatter.

“so this is where you’ve been, huh?” a familiar, sharp voice cuts through the serene atmosphere. you look up in the direction of the voice and see rafe. he’s stood over you, staring down at you.

“rafe, i don’t want to talk to you…” you sigh and sit up, brushing the hair away from your face. he scoffs and throws his hands up.

“you’re unbelievable…” he sighs. “you haven’t replied to me in three fucking weeks.”

“yes, because i don’t want to talk to you.” you retort back with an eye roll.

“can we go for a walk or something… i wanna talk to you. i don’t care if the feelings not mutual, i can’t go any longer without speaking to you.” he holds his hand out for you.

you sigh reluctantly and take his hand, standing up. you slip your flip flops on and follow him. he starts walking slowly down the beach.

“so you found some new friends, huh?” he squeezes your hand gently as he speaks. “that why you’ve been ignoring me? have i been replaced?” his face shows a soft smile even though his words feel like a dig.

your heart flutters at the small squeeze, seeing his smile brings back the happy memories of your relationship. you love him, you really do— but the time you spent away from him had you second guessing your happiness.

“i don’t know if i’m the right one for you…” you murmur quietly, looking down at the ground.

“what?” his head snaps towards you, his eyes immediately glaze over with sadness and he automatically pulls you towards him— his steps come to a halt.

“i just don’t think im happy in the relationship, rafe…” you sigh, your heart pangs at the sight of his sad expression. he shakes his head and turns to you, taking your face into his big hands.

“no… you’re happy- you are.” his baby blue eyes look straight into yours, as if the more he looked at you, the more he could convince you that the relationship was good for you. “you’re a happy girl, baby…” he rambles, his eyes flickering between each of your eyes.

“i’m sick of just focusing on the highs… the bad outweighs the good and i’m sick of it rafe, i’m done.” you blurt out with a shaky voice, your bottom lip trembling as your eyes glaze over with salty tears.

“what? are those pogues putting words in your mouth? this isn’t like you, sweetheart.” he replies adamantly, his hands dropping from your face and never breaking eye contact with you.

“no. they’re not putting words in my mouth. i can speak for myself and that’s exactly what i’m doing.” you correct him firmly, repressing your tears. you’re not about to cry infront of him again.

“so that’s it? you’re just leaving me?” he throws his hands up and steps back, scoffing.

“i don’t know rafe. i don’t know what to do.” you sigh, rubbing your hands over your face. “i love you… but i can’t live like this.” you shake your head, looking up at him after you pull your hands away from your face.

“i love you… i love you so much. please don’t end it like this.” he steps forward, wrapping his arms around you.

you want to fight it, you want to stay strong and stand your ground. yet your body can’t resist him and you immediately relax into his chest. his head drops down and his cheek rests against the top of your head as your tears flow down your face.

his shirt becomes more and more soaked by your tears. but neither of you care. you’ve missed his arms.

“you can’t push me away when i need you and then expect me to comfort you when you need me…” you tell him, your voice coming out whinier than you intended due to the tears.

“i won’t push you away ever again…” he shakes his head, pressing a firm kiss to your forehead. “i swear on my life, baby” he murmurs, yet his voice is firm.

“i don’t know what to do, rafe…” you sniffle. you want so badly to believe that he can change and treat you better, yet it seems so impossible with a guy like rafe.

“come to my house… just for the night.” he grabs your shoulder, giving it a small squeeze. his eyes search yours, trying to figure out what you’re feeling.

he just wants a straightforward answer and you’re not giving him one.

“i don’t think that’s a good idea rafe.” you shake your head and he huffs, pulling you closer to him.

“please, sweetheart…” he pleads, his voice barely above a whisper. his nose brushes against yours and your heart flutters.

“no. you’re just doing this to try and change me mind. i’m not stupid.” you snap, finally finding the courage to step away from him. “were done rafe… i can’t live like that. it’s miserable.” you sigh, feeling the tears prick in your eyes yet again.

“please… if you need a break, we’ll take a break. but i don’t wanna lose you. you’re too special to me.” his voice trembles as he tries to grab your arm again. you shake your head and pull away from him.

“fine, whatever. just- leave me alone…” you tell him, he reluctantly nods. “i’ll talk to you when im ready…” you add before starting to walk away, back to the spot you were at.

“yeah… i love you, baby…” he croaks out as his hand slips of of yours soft skin. his heart aches as he watches you walk away.

— ·˚ ༘ a/n - sorry for the long wait. i hate this so much omg >:(

[rhymeswithchronic]

I think this is less of a problem from the consumers and more the creators. A lot of stories just don’t have a lot of good female characters to pick from, and the ones that they do have typically done have as much development as the males.

One of the best examples of this is Kingdom Hearts. Of course all my favorite characters are male but it’s because almost every original female character is one dimensional, stereotyped, and/or actively forgotten about because of their minimal impact on the plot.

Larxene can be summarized as a snobby mean girl.

Kairi (especially egregious) constantly has opportunities to do something plot important that doesn’t involve her being a damsel in distress or a mcguffin and every single time they decide to ignore her in favor of Riku (hence why Soriku is so popular as opposed to Sokai. Every time something that would develop Sora and Kairi as a relationship pops up, they drop the ball and give that development to Sora and Riku).

Aqua is more interesting but she is still very much a mom character archetype. She gets a bit of a bonus for being both a mom character but also a badass. Her voice work does not give her any favors.

Namine is SUPPOSED to be blank and emotionless compared to Kairi but somehow has more personality while still kind of defaulting into a damsel in distress. Love you Namine you deserve more love

Xion is probably the best, most interesting female character of them all, and she’s ALSO supposed to be blank and emotionless since she’s literally just a puppet. I think that Xion and Namine prove that they should start purposely creating female characters with the idea that they have no personality because they end up better than the rest somehow

Sora’s mother is still an open topic because he NEVER mentions her, despite knowing full well that she was alive when he left. She’s nameless, faceless, and irrelevant.

And yes, I know that more character traits can be placed on these characters but compare them to the far more thought out male characters. There is exactly 1 female in Organization XXIII, unless you count Xion but even she’s number XXIV, not part of the main 13.

Sorry I just wanted an excuse to rant about the bad female characters in Kingdom Hearts

For quicker, less detailed rants, there’s probably a maximum of 3 interesting female characters across the whole SuperWhoLock Trinity 🤷🏼‍♀️

i dont really know how to articulate this but its crazy just how many people dont even realize they dont care about female characters. all their faves are men. they never talk about girls without being led into it. and when you try to point this out to them they try to defend themselves that their faves are just the archetypes they like, despite clearly not caring when that same archetype is a woman. like i feel like at a certain point it is your problem with the common denominator if you cant find a single female character to enjoy

[tokoyamisstuff]

Hwang In-ho x gn Circle Guard! Reader

Why did it take 6 months until the Frontman gave 222's baby to his brother?

just a quick drabble from the top of my head, idk it's 2am leave me alone

"Take off your mask."

A shaky breath escapes your lips while doing as you were told, sweat still dripping from your forehead from earier labour.

Now that the games have ended and the protocol for erasing all evidence has been completed, you assumed it was about time for the usual: One last, passionate moment spent together before you and your superior would part ways for yet another year.

Almost automatically, you fondle with the zipper of your suit, about to present yourself for him like so many times before.

"No" he stops you immediately, raising his hand in a rather appeasing than commanding manner. "Don't."

Before you could even react, the man turned around, fondling with a piece of furniture you didn't recognize despite being invited to his quarters on the regulary.

And then, out of the black box no one would assume was a bassinet, he took the last thing you'd expect to see ever again.

"Is that-"

"Yes, it is" he answers the obvious, beckoning you over while cradling the newborn in his arms with a tenderness you weren't aware he was capable of.

For a while the two of you would remain like this, standing besides each other as you undeservingly watched in awe of this peaceful innocence born in the midst of sin and despair.

In-ho observes intently how your eyes light up when the baby's little fingers wrap around yours, feeling the corners of his mouth etch into a smile he had long since forsaken.

Many questions were burning on your tongue, most of them concerning the child's future, but also about the Frontman himself that remained an enigma to you even after all those years. Because as intimate as your relationship was, it was also strictly physical, and in all other aspects he prefered to keep a 'professional' distance.

"Did you ever want to have children?"

You blink up at him like a deer in the headlights, unsure whether it was a trick question. After all, he was never interested in your thoughts, or feelings in particular.

"I heard you volunteered to feed her" he inquires further, gently wrapping a blanket around the baby after placing it back into the bed.

Sure, you weren't opposed to the idea itself, but with the circumstances your life had developed, you never truly allowed yourself to even consider it.

"I'm a murderer" you state matter-of-factly, facing downwards in a mixture of shame and bewilderment. "I shouldn't involve myself with anyone."

"Same goes for me" he retorts in his usual callous tone, standing so close that the back of your hand barely touches his. "But I was told to deal with the baby as I see fit."

"So...have you decided yet what to do with it?"

The Frontman's features always seemed as much of a mask as the angular black shapes of his attire, although right now a hint of melancholy slipped right through. "I...have someone in mind. But not yet, not while it's still so dependent."

Before you could even think of a possible answer to continue the conversation, you felt his fingers intertwine with yours, eyes still locked on the baby stirring contently in it's sleep.

"You still live alone, right?" You nod. It's not a question, it's a fact. He knows even the most trivial details about your life outside of this job, and unbeknownst to you he's way more involved than he should be.

In-ho remains silent, chooses not to reveal what's going on in the inside, about how the current games reopened old wounds and got him to question simply everything.

"Just a few months" he squeezes your hand ever so slightly, gaze darting between you and the newborn with a fondness that almost startled you. "I need to settle some other things, so...I could use some help caring for the child."

It sounds like he tries to convince only himself, for the power imbalance between you two made that proposition more order than offer anyways.

Still, here was method to his madness, well aware that you both would inevitably taint this symbol of hope shall you get too attached for too long.

In-ho leans to your height, planting a lingering hiss to your temple before resting his forehead against yours. You crack a meek smile, since this brief imitation of normalcry was the first thing worth looking forwards to in an eternity.

"Alright, then let's...try to enjoy this while it lasts."

[femmesport]

Connected - Part 2

warnings: suggestive themes, language wc: 6k an: wow... here are 6k words of an unedited disaster. i know i said this will only be two parts, but i started writing and suddenly i needed a third part. please remember, i love Aubrey and know she is not like this at all - i needed her character to have some anger in her though, so sorry!

The past few weeks have been fun. Azzi and Paige were sneaking around. They were getting to know each other and each other’s body in a way that was so intimate.

All was going well, but it was hard to get to know someone when you could only hang out at certain times and had to sneak about before anyone noticed. The pair was sure that KK, Jana, and Lauren all knew what was going on, but they still chose to keep this between them.

It was late one evening after Azzi’s practice. Lauren had gone out to dinner with a few friends, and Paige had come over. Azzi was sitting up on her bed with her legs out in front of her. Paige was laying down with her head on Azzi’s lap. She had her phone also on Azzi’s leg while she was scrolling.

Azzi had been scrolling through her phone with her other hand running gently through Paige’s hair. She swears that her phone knew she was up to no good. She kept getting TikToks about secret relationships. It made her skin crawl and a feeling of guilt wedged its way between her ribs.

“Do you ever feel guilty?” Azzi asked so softly that Paige was unsure if she heard the words.

“Hm?” Paige hums out against Azzi’s leg.

“Do you ever feel guilty? Like about this?” Azzi spoke up a bit.

Paige paused her scrolling and disconnected herself from Azzi. She sat up and turned to the girl who looked so soft and upset. Paige reached out grabbing Azzi’s cheeks with her thumbs brushing against her face. Azzi nuzzled into the feeling.

“I don’t feel guilty about how I feel. I don’t feel guilty about being with you, that part is natural,” Paige starts, “but, I also don’t love lying to my best friend…that doesn’t feel great.”

Her acknowledgement both soothed and further upset Azzi. She felt so guilty going behind her sister’s back. Not only did her sister not know she liked girls, she didn’t know that she was in her bedroom cuddled up with her best friend who she had done not so friendly things with.

“I think I want to come out to her,” Paige paused at Azzi’s words, “not about us…well not yet. But, I want to tell her I like girls” Azzi whispered out the last part and Paige smiled softly.

She leaned in and kissed Azzi softly, “whatever you want to do. I have your back.”

Azzi looked at Paige and saw the softness that fell over her face and the look of genuine adoration. She couldn’t believe this was real. She couldn’t believe that being with someone could actually feel like this.

Hoping to not let her emotions take over for her, Azzi leaned forward wrapping her arms around Paige and resting her head on her shoulder. She squeezed tightly and Paige chuckled before returning the hug with just as much effort.

Paige began scooting down slightly with Azzi still wrapped up in her arms. Now Paige had been laying down with Azzi laying on her chest. The two held on with a softness for each other that neither had experienced. This type of feeling was big and all consuming.

The two had been laying in this position unmoving with gentle soothing touches for a while when there was a banging on Azzi’s bedroom door.

“You have a minute to separate, get clothes on, and collect yourselves before I come in there. I am in the middle of a crisis here,” Lauren dramatically wails from outside Azzi’s door.

Azzi giggles and rolls off of Paige who was also smiling. The two simply create a bit of space and sit up.

“You can come in,” Azzi calls out.

Lauren bursts in with her hands over her eyes dramatically reaching out to make sure she doesn’t bump into anything, “are you sure we’re good? That wasn’t the full minute.”

Azzi sighs at her antics and Paige just smirks. “Nothing was happening, you are so dramatic.”

Lauren uncovers her eyes and frowns at the two, “you have a gorgeous girl in your bedroom and nothing is happening? Wow, both of us must be fucking losers.” She groans dramatically, throwing herself onto the end of Azzi’s bed.

Azzi flushes but laughs at whatever was happening. Paige’s grin never faded and her eyes shifted back over to Azzi with a soft look. Her eyes always seemed to be on Azzi.

“Alright, are you going to keep being dramatic? Or, are you going to tell me what happened?” Azzi nudges Lauren with her foot and Lauren looks up at Azzi with a glare.

“This is not dramatic, this is serious stuff,” her face was all pouty and it made Azzi laugh more, “seriously…listen, I was at a party last weekend. I was making out with this beautiful girl, right?”

Azzi nods, “the one you’ve been talking about, yeah?” Lauren sits up at the end of her bed crossing her arms.

“Yeah. Well today, we are out to eat with the team and I see her with the basketball team,” she gets out glaring at Paige whose grin grows even further, “and instead of saying actual words, my jaw drops and I ran.”

Azzi can’t hold in the surprised laugh she let out, “you ran?” Lauren groans and reaches out for Azzi’s arm, shaking it dramatically, “dude, you don’t get it, not all of us can get the girl the first time we try.”

Lauren is gesturing vaguely in Paige’s direction.

“Wait, you’re the girl Yanna hasn’t shut up about?” Paige asks with a laugh and Lauren groans more covering her eyes.

“I was mostly not sober last weekend and I was not paying attention” is all she responds to Paige.

“Wait, so you guys are into each other, why is this bad?” Azzi asks Lauren who just uncovers her face with a look of absolute shock and horror.

“I ran away, Azzi,” Lauren says slowly, “like arms flailing and everything.”

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, Yanna was probably so shocked to see you, she didn’t even see you run,” Paige offers and Lauren rolls her eyes.

“I am going to develop this super mysterious and sexy persona,” Lauren decides after a moment and turns to Paige, “and you are going to hype me up. Just tell her I was sick today or something.” 

“Woah, I am not getting involved in this” Paige raises her hands up and Azzi just laughs at the two.

“Yes you are. I deserve to be getting some for putting up with you two,” she points and Paige at least has the decency to flush.

Azzi just crosses her arms, “we are just hanging out.”

Lauren rolls her eyes at her roommate, “really? Okay, then we should hang out and do whatever it is you and Paige do since you seem to be so happy afterwards.” Azzi flushes and looks down.

“Yeah, absolutely not,” Paige shrugs.

“Seriously, I am way too into this girl for my own good. I can’t do this alone,” Lauren just pouts looking at Paige with pathetic puppy dog eyes.

Paige just looks at Azzi who smiles and shrugs. “Fine, I’ll give her your instagram or something.”

Lauren perks up at that and immediately squeals and claps, “oh my God, Paige! You’re the best, thank you so much!” She is leaning forward to hug a fake annoyed Paige.

Paige just laughs and pushes Lauren back slightly, “yeah, yeah. Now if you could leave, I need to make your friend happy after being tortured by you.” She smirks and Azzi is swatting her arm.

Lauren simply smirks and nods, “anything for my new favorite bonus roomie.” She blows a kiss in Azzi’s direction and is out of the room shutting the door behind her.

Paige turns to look at Azzi with a smirk and Azzi has her arms crossed and a pout on her face.

Her dramatic pouting was interrupted when Paige was leaning in to kiss her. She couldn’t keep up the act with Paige pressing breathy kisses down her throat. She just giggled and let it happen.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

It was a few days before Aubrey and Azzi had been able to get together for lunch. Azzi had decided she wanted to tell her sister in a public place. Realistically, she knew her sister wouldn’t care and would support her no matter what, but the anxious part of Azzi had decided that she was less likely to say or do something stupid in public.

They had gone off campus to the cottage café she had been to with Paige. Aubrey had been very impressed that Azzi was able to order without spending thirty minutes looking at the menu. 

“I need to tell you something,” Azzi had said anxiously in a lull that occurred in conversation.

Aubrey looked up and noticed her sister messing with her hands. It was her biggest anxiety give away. Aubrey frowned.

“Is everything okay?” she asked, turning her full attention to her sister.

“Yeah, yeah, everything is fine, I just wanted to tell you something” Azzi looks down avoiding her sister’s eyes.

Her and Paige had practiced what she would say yesterday. Paige reminded her endlessly that her sister would love and support her no matter what. It was also Paige that sent good luck messages before Aubrey was set to pick her up.

“What’s going on, Az?” Aubrey asks with a gentleness in her voice.

“I-” her voice cracked, “I like girls.”

There. It was out. The words were out there and she was unable to take them back. Aubrey was silent for a moment before chuckling with a sigh.

“Azzi, you know that doesn’t matter, right? Like I love you no matter who you love,” Azzi’s eyes go up to meet her sister, “I’m very proud of you, because I know how hard this must have been. I remember when I first started feeling that way, I was scared shitless to tell anyone. At this point only my teammates know I do too, well and now you.”

Azzi’s eyes welled up with tears, “bro, this was supposed to be my moment.” Azzi jokes, reaching out to swat at her sister who just laughed.

“Sorry, I just thought I should put it out there while you were,” she shrugs and laughs and Azzi feels a pressure lifting off her chest that had settled without her knowing.

“Can I be honest?” Aubrey asks and Azzi just nods smiling at her sister.

“I think I might have been able to figure it out,” Azzi pauses at that, “you have always looked at Paige with stars in your eyes. Like ever since we were younger your crush has been so obvious. I am surprised she hasn’t noticed.”

Aubrey laughs and Azzi’s heart drops. Oh my god. Her sister knew? Azzi tries to calm her reaction.

“What?” is all she manages to get out and her sister just smiles gently at her.

“Don’t worry, I won’t like tell her or anything, but Paige would never be rude about it,” Aubrey waves her hand in vague explanation.

“I didn’t- I don’t- what are you talking about?” Azzi sputters out and Aubrey just laughs again.

“Bro, I swear it is not that deep, I don’t care! I mean it is just a little crush. Nothing will happen from it, no offense, I just thought it was funny ‘is all.”

“Nothing will ever happen?” Azzi repeats, stunned.

“Definitely not! I mean you are a little sister to her, and plus, family is family. They’re off limits,” Aubrey explains as if she was breaking the news to her little sister. Before Azzi could open her mouth and get anything else out, the waitress was walking up with their food.

Azzi ate in a stunned silence. She wondered how obvious it had been. She also began to consider the daunting task of telling her sister. 

After lunch with her sister, Aubrey drove back to the dorms and Azzi returned to her room. She had started to learn Paige’s schedule and knew she would be home right now. She needed to see her and explain what had happened.

Azzi: We just got back, you should come up. Be careful to avoid Aubrey in the halls.

Paige: damn correct capitalization and punctuation

Paige: everything good?

Azzi: yeah, sorry.

Paige: i’ll be up in 5

Azzi was sitting on her couch chewing her lip thinking of how messy this was. She was thinking of how messy it was that she was sitting on her couch with her door unlocked waiting for her sister’s best friend to walk in and lock it. All of this was carefully orchestrated so there was less time for her sister to spot her best friend in the hall. Messy.

Azzi hadn’t moved or even flinched when the door opened and then just as quickly shut and locked. Paige spotted Azzi chewing on her lip nervously and made her way quickly over to the couch. She sat down beside Azzi with their thighs pressed together. She put a hand gently on Azzi’s leg.

“Hey, what happened?” Paige asked softly.

“She was supportive,” Azzi started and Paige’s shoulders sagged at that piece of information, “but she also said she kind of figured.”

“Huh?” Paige asked as confusion washed over her features.

Azzi turned to face Paige, “she said she thought I had a crush on you.”

Paige has a growing grin at that, “well duh. I mean who wouldn’t.”

“Paige, she followed it up with saying you won’t make fun of me and it was cool because nothing would happen from it,” Azzi explains and Paige grimaces at that.

“So she is only okay with it because nothing will happen?” Paige asks for clarification. She has gotten really good at reading Azzi’s moods.

“Yeah,” Azzi sighs and leans her body into Paige’s, she needed the comfort of the older girl.

Paige wraps her arms around Azzi and rests her chin on top of Azzi’s head. Her hands were rubbing gently up and down Azzi’s back. Paige had the tendency to remain calm and look for the best in every situation. She knew Azzi had the tendency to have a bit more anxiety but needed time before they went into problem solving mode.

They just sat there for a while. Cuddled up with each other and breathing this moment in. It was the soft moments that Azzi craved in the fast motions of what they had been doing the past few weeks.

After enjoying the moment for longer than she should’ve, Azzi remembered that wallowing was not sustainable. She sighs and sits up looking at Paige and whispers, “Aubrey is going to be so mad at me.”

Paige looks over at Azzi with a soft, sad smile. She reaches up, pushing her hair behind Azzi’s ear.

“Aubrey could never be mad at you. Me on the other hand…” her voice trails off.

Azzi felt her stomach drop in a guilty realization that Paige was probably right. Aubrey would definitely go into defensive older sister mode. She would turn this on Paige, her longest friend. The idea burnt like an acid at the back of Azzi’s throat.

That acid quickly turned into guilt. She was going to ruin her sister’s most cherished friendship over stupid feelings.

“Paige, I don’t want to hurt you, Aubrey, or your relationship,” Azzi’s eyes are welling up with tears.

“Azzi, this is not on you, at all. I have feelings for you and I acted on them knowing where it would get me,” Paige explains softly but firmly, reaching out to brush away the first tear to fall from Azzi’s eyes.

Paige looked between Azzi’s eyes. She tried to convey her feelings and push it through in any way she could. Azzi blinked before looking down softly.

“I know I am probably being dramatic, but she is going to be so upset with us,” Azzi whispers.

“We will get through that,” Paige reminds her and Azzi nods.

The two sit in the silence for a bit longer. Azzi had an early morning training session but a relatively free afternoon. Paige still had a bit before she had to go to her training sessions and practice. 

Normally she would spend the time watching her favorite show or going in early depending on the type of day she was having. Right now, she knew she wanted to stay with Azzi. Her sweet Azzi who was spiraling.

When she finally did detangle their bodies, it was with soft kisses and promises to come back and stay after her practice. Azzi had been really anxious and appreciated that Paige was willing to sit with her through this all. She knew anxiety could be a lot, but she appreciated all the support Paige was giving her.

“I think we are having a team dinner after practice, but I’ll be over afterwards. We can cuddle and watch Love Island” Paige promises before leaning down and kissing Azzi. Azzi smiles up and nods.

As Paige was leaving, she passed a smirking Lauren on the way in. Paige just waved her off and hurried downstairs. Lauren walked to the couch and sat down near Azzi.

“So…I have been texting Yanna” Lauren says with a dreamy look on her eyes.

Azzi sat up and immediately went into supportive friend mode, “tell me all about it.”

“She is seriously so amazing! She is sweet, funny, and arguably the most attractive person I have ever seen,” Lauren has this dreamy look in her eyes.

“She is inviting me to go to the basketball team hangout tonight! You should come” Azzi frowned at that.

“Paige didn’t mention that…she said she was going to come over after practice,” Azzi whispers.

“Oh my god! She was dipping on team hangouts for you!” Lauren squeals and Azzi blushes.

“Listen, it was probably only because I had a rough day, I’ll tell Paige she should go” Azzi is grabbing her phone and typing out a quick text.

“Oh no, what happened?” Lauren’s face quickly became more serious.

Azzi finished up her text to Paige and began retelling the story and bringing up her anxieties about her sister’s reaction to whatever is going on. Lauren smiled softly at her friend’s words and paused. She carefully considered her next words.

“You really care about Paige, huh?” Lauren offers and Azzi scoffs like it is the most obvious thing in the world.

“Well, of course I care. I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t,” Azzi explains.

“Yeah, but like, I didn’t realize it was this deep” Lauren states, “I think you need to consider that how you and Paige are feeling is a lot more serious than what your sister can be expecting. Of course it would be a shock, but she loves you both too much to be truly mad.”

Azzi takes in the words and considers them. Lauren did have a point. Aubrey loved both Azzi and Paige. If she knew that they didn’t plan on letting their relationship interfere with her relationship with them, she had to be supportive, right?

Azzi’s phone buzzed.

Paige: idk would rather be w u tonight

Azzi: hmm… Lauren got the invite and said I could come

Azzi: maybe I could go?

Azzi: you can’t just avoid your team

Paige: i mean i will only go if you are there

Paige: up to you. pls know i am fine staying in tho

Paige: i also want u to know that aubs will be there

Azzi: let’s go!

Azzi looked back up at Lauren who was smirking. It was only then that she realized she had been smiling brightly at her phone. She flushes at being caught and sighs.

“I’ll go tonight, but I am going as your plus one, got it?” Azzi directs at her friend.

“Yes! Of course, my plus one,” Lauren repeats grinning at Azzi, “I’ll have you know, as my plus one it is incredibly important that you look that part.”

“Huh?” Azzi pauses at Lauren’s words.

“Come on. I am trying to impress the girl and I cannot be the only one looking effortless yet sexy, you need to as well,” Lauren explains as if it is the most obvious thing.

“Bro,” Azzi groans, “I can’t, my sister is going to be there.”

“Yeah, but so is Paige,” Lauren smirks, “we can do subtle, effortless, yet still sexy.”

Lauren shrugs and is grabbing Azzi’s hand, pulling her up to head to Lauren’s room. Lauren has the better closet when it comes to trying to attract people. Her clothes have a tendency to be more revealing and lure in people.

Azzi thought it was kind of funny. She was doing so much for a girl she already had. Maybe she was down bad. Maybe.

But still, Azzi let herself be pulled into Lauren’s room. Inside, Lauren began throwing various clothing items at Azzi to try on. They all seemed too formal for a simple team hangout or too casual.

Eventually, after at least an hour, Lauren had handed Azzi an outfit that felt really simple but cute. They had decided on a red halter top and a pair of jean shorts. Lauren mentioned that they would be going out to eat, so Azzi wanted to be comfortable but still cute enough that she was impressing Paige.

Lauren, who wore a similar white halter top but with some low rise baggy jeans, helped Azzi put her hair into a bun with her front curls falling out framing her face. She also insisted on doing light make up, which Azzi thought was overkill, but filled the time nicely.

By the time they were done, Azzi had received a text that her and Aubrey were going to be riding together and they could offer a ride. Azzi smiled at her phone before explaining to Lauren the plan. Lauren nodded and also found herself smiling down at her phone.

“Hey, Paige and Aubrey are ready and heading to her car. You ready?” Azzi asked as Lauren applied the finishing touches of her own make up.

“As I’ll ever be,” she nods and grabs her purse following Azzi out of the apartment and to the parking lot.

They spotted Paige’s car and saw her and Aubrey sat up front. Lauren smirked quickly and followed Azzi to the vehicle. Paige looked up and did a double take at Azzi. Azzi flushed but didn’t skip a step and got into the car.

“Hey!” Aubrey says excitedly turning around to her sister and Lauren, “Yanna is going to be so excited to see you, Lauren. And Azzi, I am so glad Lauren could drag you along, the girls love having you around.”

Lauren snorts, “it took a lot of convincing to get her to come.” Azzi knocks her knee against Lauren’s and smiles back at her sister.

She sees Paige briefly look back in the rearview mirror with a small smirk before driving off.

“I love spending time with you all,” Azzi offers.

Aubrey turns back around to the road and shifts her attention to finding the perfect song on the playlist. Azzi settles into her seat while Lauren and Aubrey’s eyes are trained on their phones.

Every few minutes, Azzi would meet Paige’s eyes subtly in the mirror. She received a soft smile every time. Paige was looking at Azzi like she couldn’t believe she was here. Like she couldn’t believe that Azzi was hers.

The rest of the drive was spent in this same cycle. The two sneaking looks whenever they could and grinning like absolute fools for each other. 

As Paige pulls into a parking spot, she turns her attention to Azzi, “hey, any chance there is my chapstick back there?”

“Uh, I don’t see any,” Azzi says looking around while Lauren and Aubrey get out of the car.

Paige just hums and opens the door at Azzi’s side. She leans her head in as if to look and presses a quick kiss against Azzi.

Azzi flushes and shoves Paige’s chest lightly, “my sister.” Azzi starts with a whisper.

“She thinks I am looking for chapstick,” Paige whispers with a shrug and leans back.

“Hmm, must’ve left it somewhere,” Paige returns to normal volume stepping back.

Azzi chuckles at the girl lightly before stepping out. Paige waits a moment and shuts the door after her. The two follow Lauren and Aubrey, who were in deep conversation, into the restaurant.

They quickly spot the rest of the team in three booths in the corner. They’re being waved over and Azzi quickly joins KK. Paige smiles when she notices a spot across from KK. She pulls Aubrey over while Lauren settles into the open space next to Yanna.

“Azzi, I can’t believe you have left me with your sister for so long,” KK wails dramatically, laying her head on Azzi’s shoulder.

“Aw, you poor baby,” Azzi coos, placing a gentle hand on KK’s cheek. 

“Don’t even play, you love me,” Aubrey sticks her tongue out at KK.

“You make me run sprints, she doesn’t,” KK’s hands wrap gently around Azzi’s arm.

“What can I say? I am everyone’s favorite,” Azzi replies dramatically to her sister.

“No sprints? Compelling argument for the favorite spot,” Paige is smirking at Azzi before turning her attention to Aubrey.

“You’re like legally required to have me as your favorite,” Aubrey snorts, shoving Paige’s shoulder.

Paige smirks and just laughs. Aubrey laughs back and Azzi just looks between the two flushed. Aubrey looks back at Azzi and notices her weird reaction.

“Hey, we can both be favorites,” Aubrey offers with a smile in Azzi’s direction. Azzi knew this was in response to her thinking Azzi was feeling some type of way about Aubrey saying she had to be Paige’s favorite.

Before the conversation could go any further, a young waitress was walking up to their table, “well hello everyone, how are we doing?” Her eyes glance around the table lingering for a moment too long on Paige.

“Good, how are you?” Paige was too polite for her own good, the waitress was smiling at Paige with a flushed face.

Aubrey smirks, nudging Paige who just looks back confused before returning her look to the waitress, “I think we’ll all have water.”

“Great choice,” she is turning to her notebook, writing something down, “and do you know what you would like, or do you need some more time?”

Paige looks around the table and her eyes land on Azzi who looks torn, “uhm, I think we need just a bit more time.”

The waitress just nods before turning around to get their drinks started. Aubrey is back to nudging Paige. 

“Dude, she is into you. She is also really cute, you should get her number.” Aubrey is trying to whisper, but Azzi hears everything and is quickly shoving her face into the menu.

“Nah, not really my type,” Paige just replies, but Azzi can practically hear the smirk on her face.

“So, what are you guys getting, I can’t really decide,” Azzi cuts in. Her voice is far steadier than she feels.

“Oh, uhm I was just thinking about the alfredo,” Aubrey looks back at the menu.

“I was thinking maybe a burger,” KK shrugs looking at her menu.

“Hm, they have a shrimp meal, you might like that. You like shrimp, right?” Paige is looking at her menu.

Azzi looks up at the same time Aubrey does. Aubrey just frowns at Paige.

“Yeah, I do. That sounds good,” Azzi flushes and then closes her menu.

The waitress is back with their drinks and is ready to take their order, Paige just smiles politely up at the waitress before ordering they get around the table until she is at Azzi.

“Uhm, I’ll have the shrimp meal,” Azzi says to the waitress who is smiling politely.

“How about your side?” the waitress asks.

Azzi freezes not knowing what the options were, “oh…uhm. What do you guys have?”

“We have broccoli, mashed potatoes, french fries, green beans, side salads, and fruit,” Azzi felt her eyes on her. Everyone’s eyes were on her.

“Uhm,” she considers pausing.

“Fruit might go well with the shrimp,” Paige offers after a moment of silence.

“Yeah, let’s do the fruit,” Azzi nods before handing the menu to the waitress.

As she walked away, Azzi turned to face Paige and gave her a grateful smile. She then looked up and saw a frown deep on Aubrey’s face. 

“Hey, Paige,” Aubrey begins, “can you help me with something really quick?”

Paige had a confused look on her face but nodded, “uh sure.”

The two were standing up and walking out of the booth. They began talking in hushed voices away from the booth. KK gives Azzi a weird look and Azzi shrugs.

The conversations continued around them as Azzi watched Aubrey and Paige who had made their way outside. She could see Paige with furrowed brows and Aubrey with an irritated look on her face. Azzi was sure this had something to do with Aubrey knowing about Azzi’s crush.

Her chest lurched at the sight of the two having an obvious argument. That wasn’t their thing. Those two often were so calm and collected that it made everyone around them annoyed. To see them arguing, especially knowing it probably centered around her, upset Azzi.

She saw Paige sigh, closing her eyes and turning away. Aubrey just sighed as well and Azzi had to tear her eyes away. She put her attention back on the conversation on the table. Well, she tried.

Her eyes had gone to the table in front of her and a silly conversation KK was having while turned around, but her mind was with her sister and Paige. Clearly this was going to be a bigger issue and the two would need to talk about this with Aubrey sooner rather than later.

The conversation continued around Azzi, but she couldn’t focus until Aubrey and Paige were coming back to the table. They weren’t looking at each other or talking. There was a certain intensity that rattled Azzi.

When they sat down, Aubrey was immediately focused on a conversation behind her. Azzi just looks at Paige who just waves her off. She gave the typical ‘it’s fine’ look. Azzi knew that wasn’t true, but tried to convey that all would be well with just a look.

The waitress walked up carrying a tray of food. She was handing them out quickly before asking if there was anything else they might need. When no one responded, she lingered a moment longer slightly leaning into Paige’s space. 

She eventually sighed when Paige wouldn’t look in her direction. She walked off which seemed to irritate Aubrey more.

“Why won’t you acknowledge her? Or any girl?” Aubrey asked in a tight whisper.

“I told you, Aubrey. I am not interested,” Paige responded in an equally tight whisper.

“I understand, but it would be a lot less confusing for some people if you would show interest in other people,” her eyes were shifting in Azzi’s direction and Azzi flinched at that.

Paige just ignored her and focused on her meal. KK and Azzi’s eyes shifted between the two.

“Awkward,” KK mumbled under her breath.

The rest of the meal was spent in an awkward silence. There was only the occasional sound of silverware scraping against the plates and conversations that carried too loudly to their table.

Azzi hardly ate any of her food. She was too busy stressing over what happened between Aubrey and Paige. As everyone started to finish, the silence became almost unbearable.

It wasn’t until the three of them had made their way back to Paige’s car that anything was said. Azzi was sure it was going to be an awkwardly silent ride when Lauren mentioned heading back with Ayanna.

“What are you doing?” Paige asked Aubrey who went to sit in the back of Paige’s car.

“I’m sitting back here with my sister,” Aubrey snarks back, Paige just lets out a frustrated chuckle.

“Whatever,” she mumbles before getting in the car. Azzi sighs as she follows suit in the back seat.

“Why are you upset with me, Bueckers?” Aubrey is getting out in a frustrated tone.

“You are being ridiculous,” Paige responds simply like Aubrey had asked her what color the sky was.

“No, what is ridiculous is leading people on,” Aubrey’s arms are crossed and she is becoming defensive.

“Bro, you have no idea what you’re talking about. I am not leading anyone on,” Paige lets out in frustration.

“Azzi,” Aubrey turns to Azzi who stills, “how would you feel if you had a crush on someone and then they start doing things to make you think they have feelings? Even if they don’t.”

Azzi’s face is bright red knowing exactly why she was being brought into this. She felt sick.

“Aubrey, stop. This isn’t fair and you know it” Paige’s voice is tight and her hands are gripping the wheel as she glares in the rearview mirror.

“What you are doing isn’t fair!” Aubrey exclaims dropping her hands for emphasis.

“Can you two please stop?” Azzi’s voice comes out small and Aubrey hesitates, “this is ridiculous to argue over.”

Her arms are crossed and she is facing away. She hears Paige sigh and can imagine her ready to let it go.

“Sorry, Azzi. I didn’t mean to upset you. I just want people to know they cannot disrespect you like that,” Aubrey’s hand is on Azzi’s back.

“No one is being disrespectful,” Azzi’s voice is weak, but she turns to face her sister, “I am not sure why you guys are fighting, but you two are best friends.”

“I am not going to be quiet while someone is playing with my little sister’s emotions,” Aubrey’s voice is soft, hoping Paige can’t catch the words.

“She isn’t, at all” Azzi groans and Aubrey frowns at that.

“She is saying and doing what she normally does, she is flirting like it is nothing. That’s not cool when it is you, I don’t want you getting hurt,” Azzi hears the hurt in Aubrey’s voice. She knows it isn’t the right time, but she hardly thinks before the next words slip out of her mouth.

“She isn’t flirting like it is nothing. She is only like this with me,” Azzi groans out.

Aubrey is quick to frown in Paige’s direction with her eyes shifting to carry even more hurt.

“No, Azzi, that is what she wants you to think. She knows how you feel and yet she is still saying and doing everything she is,” Aubrey didn’t say her words in any type of way, yet they still stung, “how would you feel to see her like this with some other girl later tonight?”

“I wouldn’t. She wouldn’t,” Azzi’s frustration is growing and seeping out into the conversation.

“Yes she would!” Aubrey exclaims, “I know you have this little crush on her, but you have no idea this is how she is with any girl.”

Paige had gone silent up front. Azzi could see her face in the mirror and saw the hurt and frustration that was all over her face.

“Would you stop and think before you speak?” Azzi has no idea where her words turned to venom, but here they were, “I do know her, I know her and that she would do anything for me. I know that she wouldn’t look at another girl that way. Not for a while at least. If you would stop and really try to pay attention, you would also see that. You’re so worried to see me getting hurt, that you haven’t stopped and tried to see the love we have for each other.”

Azzi’s chest is heaving and Aubrey’s face stilled with anger crossing all of her features, “the love you have…for each other?”

Shit.

feedback would be appreciated!! tysm <3 -- tea ★’*•.¸♡

[xielalexarte]

HEck yeah it's my field baby (nerd talk coming thru) just adding my 2cents as well

GenerativeAI is generation of a pattern that is found from the tons of images that were used to train it. It's not inherently bad, I think we need to specify that GenAI is NOT a bad tech, it's how some people use it for and source their datasets that's ruining the human art space.

For one, the image databases were likely taken from scraping publicly available art posts with certain criteria, let's say for example, anything tagged with "sketch" in its metadata. These images were likely taken to create a Train set WITHOUT asking for permission from each artist whose artworks were scraped. That's one ethical issue.

Another ethical issue with GenAI is its usage. People (non-artists usually) use these GenAI models to deliberately sell the generated images for profit for very low prices which in turn ruins the art market for everyone. This also makes the non-artist people to undervalue art, turning more to generated images for cheaper and faster pictures to use for whatever projects they have. However a good side coming out from this is that nowadays, anything that has obvious genAI image plastered on it looks just as cheap and unreliable. Really, it's the real time voice changer and face-swaps that we have to worry about more. They are being used to fool the elderly, and need laws to mitigate these problems FAST.

In the end I'm just frustrated over some people not knowing the smaller details aside from "AI Bad", in fact it's just these GenAI models that were specifically made to harm the art community that is bad.

Also analytics AI is just data modelling in a nutshell, you can do it, very easy! The hard part is to create the datasets and clean them to remove biases... and also not everything is ethically sourced as well, it has its own problems. Just like falsification of records, and some data are very old, that the numbers don't apply anymore due to the difference in statuses of things right now that might not have existed back them.

I'd like to add as well Weird AI is like those character AIs you can "date" while in character lmaoooo it gets so unhinged sometimes but genuinely, might create parasocial relationship issues for users who can't separate reality from not (I'm talking those children who use it regularly like they're real friends in my feed, it's a little worrying)

when talking about AI remember the different versions:

Analytical AI, is the one that can detect cancer and save lives

Generative AI is the one that steals art to make it worse, and gives you a wrong answer every time you google something

Weird Al is the one who got his ponysona to canonically have children with a pony from my little pony

[userluhna]

࿔⋆ WARM ANYWAY

namgyu x f!reader

based on those requests

words: 3.9k

warnings: squid game season 3. changed small parts of the plot. english isn’t my first language. mention of drugs. death. squid game violence. complex relationship? mention of blood. angst. bit of comfort? no happy ending blame it on the request.

a/n: tried so hard not to make it cliché asf okay. genuinely curious what you think—because i’m not used to writing namgyu’s character and want to know if i need to change anything guys. not sure how i feel about this one tbh—

enjoy! :(

maybe namgyu was warm when you met him. warmer than anything around you right now. maybe he was warm because it was two summers from now, because it was so hot outside, because he handed you a glass of whatever he was serving and you felt his fingers brush yours as you grabbed it, you felt that he was warmer than the burning air.

because he called you by nicknames so quietly you almost missed it more than once when it was just the two of you, because namgyu always let you put your cold feet under his thighs while he sat across from you on the couch but would always say, “your fucking cold feet,” trying to pull them away just to mess with you but he’d leave them anyway, his hand casually brushing your ankle.

he was warm the way that when you fell asleep on his lap you didn’t feel like you needed a blanket but he always put one over you anyway.

because the first months of your relationship were hard. because doors slammed, because promises broke, because you found him once—just once—after a night where it was too much, shaking, fucking shaking, too hot while he said, “i’m so cold—“ and his lips trembled. you helped him drink water, vomit if he needed. you kneeled next to him in the bathroom. you held his hair. kissed his temple even though he told you to just let him be. “fucking let me, don’t be sweet on me.”

because he told you more than once, “just one last time, i swear—“ before going out and coming back to your apartment around 3 am red-eyed and seeing you half asleep on the couch. “fuck gyu—you can’t just—“ you said that night, crying, and he was too high to fix it.

because it took him months of your silence after that night to realize that maybe—just maybe if he lost you he would lose too much. so he tried. fucking tried to be clean. he wasn’t the kind to ask for help, but maybe this time he did.

because when he knocked on your door months later he looked clean. because maybe you saw it in the way he looked at you. because months after, you felt him lighter, but still warm. so warm.

because namgyu let you sleep at his apartment as long as you needed when you didn’t have enough money to pay rent. because sometimes his eyes lingered on you when you felt anxious about finding a second job, when your leg wouldn’t stop shaking and he just—“you’re okay,” he said as his hand found your knee. “i’ve got you.”

because this time when you cried, he held you tight against him and just—“okay, stain my shirt with your tears—“ so he could hear you laugh, even if just a little.

because he was always touchy with you in private, his hands anywhere—on your waist, your hips, the small of your back, the back of your neck when he teased you, your jaw when he kissed you, your thigh when he needed you closer. because that’s how you knew he was always—always—warm.

and when you woke up the second day of those games you felt cold, like some warmth was missing. like someone was missing because you didn’t plan that. because you didn’t plan to lose your money after some fucking bet. because you didn’t want to be dependent on your boyfriend who was also struggling.

you had kissed him goodnight two days ago—maybe more, maybe less. you kissed slower than usual. and he did too, looking at you longer after it, like he was memorizing you.“don’t look at me like that,” he whispered.

“like what?” your eyes soft, his thumb brushing under your eyes. “like i’m gonna disappear.” you wanted to say, “you almost did.” you wanted to say you were scared, you wanted to say “please don’t.” but instead you kissed him again.

and you just lined up—for a second game or whatever was going on—you wanted to go home. you wanted to hug him even if he said, “yah, slow down,” but he would still hug you back.

they made teams, and you ended up with mostly men—only men. you don’t even know how you ended up there—the only thing you knew was that at some point, some moment, you saw namgyu. and god, oh my—you thought it wasn’t like that. that it wasn’t real—that maybe it was just someone who looked a bit too much like him because of where you were. it could be anything, right? anything to mess with you.

and he didn’t see you. not yet. maybe he did, but if he was high when he did, he wouldn’t even get it. and maybe it was later in the dormitory that you found him again—just there, just talking, just laughing, just—“gyu—“ is all you managed to spill out. and his face, oh his face, you could see the tiny flicker in his eyes, something between worry and not fully realizing what was happening.

“you know her?” the voice cut through—thanos, sitting there. and no one answered because how the fuck is he supposed to say yes when someone could just turn you against him?

and your eyes locked with his for longer than expected. and god, you fought tears so hard your eyes stung. his hand twitched and you saw it because he wanted to reach for you. to fucking feel your skin against his. to give you warmth because you were probably cold. because you were always cold.

but a vote was called—and maybe he voted to stay again and maybe after him, just after him, you voted to leave, your hand reaching for the X trembling. and that’s when maybe it hit him, because you weren’t supposed to be here. and you wanted to leave and he had voted to stay, and he couldn’t look at you. even when you searched his eyes, he couldn’t fucking find yours.

maybe you didn’t find him after—not until the next game, where you don’t even know how you made it through the whole thing. maybe he searched for you, maybe he didn’t. not until the number “two” was called. not until you felt the warmth grabbing your wrist, pulling you so fast it almost hurt. not until he put his whole body against the door when people tried to open it, back to it, facing you.

he didn’t ask if you were okay but you still nodded. his eyes, oh boy, his eyes—they were everywhere on you, every part of you, looking for something—blood, bruises—but the only thing he found was fear. he closed his eyes, his head going back to the door still holding it, saying nothing. you could see the way he swallowed, the way he shook a bit, the way he was sweating.

“baby—“ he called, slow, unsure.

“oh you don’t get to say that,” you spat. because “what the fuck gyu?” you said more to yourself than to him. because it wasn’t for him, it wasn’t for him getting high, it was for you, for him being here, for him having blood on him, it was for you wanting to leave, it was for him voting O.

the door clicked behind him, finally closing. and his whole body just started to relax. not fully, just enough that he didn’t have to put his whole weight on the door.

and his hands slowly, so slowly, reached up to cup your face. he looked at you in the eyes—directly into them.

“shit—what are you doing here?” he whispered, because if he yelled, if he spoke too loud, it would make it real.

“it’s not—“ he breathed out, eyes wide, hands now on your shoulders as he tried to steady himself. and he hugged you. and he was warm. because even like this, he knew. he fucking knew you weren’t supposed to be here. to be covered in half blood. to be standing there.

and maybe he was shaking, maybe he was sweating, maybe his hands weren’t firm on you like they usually were when they grabbed your body—maybe they were shaking. so he laughed, maybe a bit, between the tears he didn’t know where were falling, his head directed to the ceiling, hands on both sides of his head now. “aah fuck—fuck fuck fuck.”

“why are you here?” he scoffed. “why the hell are you here?”and before you could explain, before you could say anything, the doors opened with that soft click. thanos’s voice cut in once more—“namgyu my boy,” as thanos’s arm found namgyu’s shoulder.

“found someone to lock yourself with, huh?”

“shut up,” namgyu spat out, fingers brushing his lips. “what’s her name?” and maybe your lips parted, you were about to say something, you wouldn’t reach for him because you were with people. so many people.

“nah—“ he said. “you let her.”

his voice was firmer. because when it involved other people, namgyu lost his mind sometimes. he had lost his mind especially under drugs or alcohol.

like that one time a man murmured something in your ear a bit too close one night. you didn’t smile at what he said, but the man did. and namgyu found him after and almost kicked his teeth in, shouting: “she’s mine. not yours.“

“what’s her name?” thanos repeated, voice low. and namgyu’s face hardened. he didn’t answer. he never answered. maybe just once, when no one was around and you took the stairs down, he just—“you stay close,” he said, voice low, eyes fixed on you in that way you couldn’t ignore.

because he meant it. and maybe you lost him when everyone rushed out toward the bathrooms. maybe there was screaming. maybe the piggy bank dropped again, and it all started moving too fast. maybe—just maybe—he came back with blood on his shirt, smeared across his cheek, yelling something about an X attacking an O. and maybe all you could do was exhale, just once, shaky—because he was still alive.

still standing. still fucking here. and when you sat down at the edge of the bed, hands resting heavy on your knees, eyes distant—you breathed out, slow. trembling. cold.

namgyu tossed the cross behind him. that’s when he moved toward you. just a little. he sat down beside you—one leg bent, the other folded underneath, like always. and he looked at you. resting his head on his knee.

“he fucking died,” he said finally. “he always treated me like i was stupid.” but you heard it—the break in his voice, the way he swallowed like it hurt. the same way he did when you packed your things that april, two years ago.

“you think you’re better than me?” he’d shouted “go ahead. walk away. i don’t need saving.” and you had walked away.

until months later, when he knocked on your door. sober. or close to it. he’d done everything he could. but this time, you couldn’t walk away. you wouldn’t. so you offered your hand. palm up. resting between you both. not asking—just waiting. because you’d learned patience. learned it during those first months, when he’d show up at your apartment high and twitchy. you learned how to hold him through it. how to wait until the worst parts passed.

so you waited. maybe his fingers twitched. maybe he let out one of those soft, cynical laughs through his nose like—“why are you being sweet on me when i should be the one—” and maybe—just maybe—you felt his warmth for a moment, his fingers hovering just above yours. but he didn’t reach.

“are you okay?” the words sounded dumber out loud than they had in your head. they just… didn’t land. “you’re the one asking that?” he scoffed.

and maybe deep down he knew you always cared more about him than yourself. because you always did. even when he didn’t deserve it. even when he was careless with you.

his eyes didn’t meet yours—he kept fidgeting. rolling his ring around his finger. cracking his knuckles, over and over, even when they stopped making any sound. swaying slightly, front to back.

he flinched when your hand touched his sleeve. but you still said it—soft, more to yourself than to him: “we’re gonna be okay.” he nodded. too fast. once, twice—four times, like he couldn’t stop. biting his thumbnail until it bled. swallowing like his throat was dry.

“namgyu,” you said again, softer this time. “you’re gonna be okay.”

when lights out came, the flickering above never stopped. some girl shouted at you—said she’d slit your throat in your sleep. you snapped back before you even thought. and from across the room, he saw you—already covered in blood, not even knowing whose it was. definitely not his.

he grabbed you by the waist, yanked you out of the middle of it, holding you against his chest as he shoved you both into a dark corner. he didn’t speak right away. not until you pulled away. his thumb brushed behind your ear. wet. not dry. you shook your head before he could say anything. “it’s nothing. doesn’t hurt.”

“shut up. you’re literally bleeding.” he wiped it with his sleeve. then just looked at your face. for what felt like a whole minute. a flicker of fear behind his eyes. “don’t fucking die in there.” before the fourth game, you wandered the edge of the room trying to trade places with someone. tried to convince some of the red players—but no one wanted to be a target.

“come on,” you said to one. “you just have to find the exit.” your eyes flicked to namgyu—he looked lost. kept glancing down at the knife in his hand like he didn’t want it. or like he did want it.

somehow, you made it work. somehow, you ended up red. ended up with him. and even though you had to team up with 333, you stayed close the whole game. even when he spun the knife in his hand like it was a toy. even when he sang quietly under his breath. even when he threw his arm over your shoulders while walking.

“red suits you, baby,” he murmured, mouth too close to your cheek. “oh, fuck off, gyu.” and he laughed—one of those light ones. the kind he only had when he wasn’t scared.

at some point, he killed someone. myunggi did too. two stabs. two players. both passed. but the timer kept going. you hadn’t stabbed anyone. and he almost lost it. “why did you switch?” his voice cracked. “you’re so fucking good at hiding—why would you switch?” two minutes left and he crouched by a blue player slumped against the wall, knife resting near their cheek.

“sleeping so well,” he muttered. “namgyu—come on,” you called out, already moving toward him, myunggi beside you. and that was when it happened. the blue player grabbed the knife. he wasn’t dead. you’d been afraid of that.

namgyu stumbled back, hands up. “hey man,” he laughed, breath sharp. his back hit the wall. the player stepped forward, knife raised. “you don’t wanna do that—” it got violent fast. too fast. the blade was almost at his throat.

you didn’t think. stabbed him—shoulder, first. he screamed. you stabbed again—lower, through the ribs. left the knife there. he managed to turn, slashed across your leg—near the knee. “fucking bitch!” the man screamed.

“ah, man—” namgyu grabbed him by the collar, shoved him back against the wall. your knife—still in the man’s ribs—was pushed deeper as namgyu leaned in. blood gushed out of the man’s mouth.

namgyu smiled. his hands stayed tight on the collar. face inches from the dying man’s. “you don’t get to call her that,” he whispered, eyebrows raised. “understood?” and the man just collapsed. dead. your number was called. you passed. the timer ended. and namgyu stood there, breathing hard. his hands slowly raised to the top of his head.exhaled. slow.

at night it got harder. he’d lost the cross. slipped off somewhere—he was sweating too much, shaking too hard. you gave him your water bottle. you stayed close, even when he told you to leave him alone. even when he apologized. even when he warned you—they’re gonna target you because of me. even then. and when he broke, just a little—just enough—“don’t leave me,” he said, so quiet you almost missed it. and you didn’t. you stayed.

you kissed his forehead when he finally passed out. brushed the damp hair off his skin, wiped the sweat away with the edge of your vest. even when your knee was still bleeding, raw and swollen. even when he noticed and—wordless—took off his own vest to tie it around your leg. he murmured “fuck” under his breath, at least five times while he did it. tightening the knot. hands shaking. and you tried not to limp. tried to walk like the pain didn’t touch you.

when your vote was cast—you still chose X. even with everything. you still voted stay. and when namgyu voted, he picked to leave. fidgeting with his sleeves, pulling at the skin around his fingers. hands running again and again through his hair, like it could calm something. maybe your pinky brushed his. maybe no one saw. maybe it grounded him. maybe it didn’t.

and right before the fifth game started—before anyone crossed—he looked at your leg. at how you limped. and he just… laughed. nervous, thin laughter that didn’t belong in his throat. you laughed too, barely. through wet tears running down your cheeks.

“fuck, is that—” he didn’t finish the sentence. your knee was bleeding again. your foot barely touching the ground. he looked at you like he couldn’t breathe. like everything was caving in.

“it can’t just be like that—” the timer was counting down. people screamed. some had already fallen.

“you gotta try, okay?” his voice broke. “you fucking gotta try.” you smiled. barely. just enough to show him your teeth through the shaking. “it’s okay, baby.”

he shook his head, biting his nails. biting his lip until it split open. he tried to carry you—put your arm around his shoulders, tried to make you move, to jump. the rope was swinging. too fast. his hand trembled where it gripped your waist. “gyu—”

“don’t. don’t—please.” he didn’t look at you. but you felt the way his whole body shook. and then he made you jump. once. twice.

your landing was off. you stumbled—the rope came back too fast. he jumped. but he couldn’t get you to go again. your body slipped. his arms were tight around you just seconds before—and then you were just gone. shoved off in one clean hit. he didn’t scream. didn’t move. just froze. the same arms that held you like they’d never let go—stayed in place, like he hadn’t felt it happen. until the rope hit again. shoved him clean off. same direction. same fall.

maybe the last time you touched him, he was already cold. already trembling under your hands. and maybe—just maybe—right before you were pushed off, right before it ended, he kissed your temple. still holding you. still trying. and whispered—“didn’t know you could be this warm.”

masterlist

tag: @namgyucat @namsgyu @threerxcha @rohjaewonlvr

[papagabu]

Random headcanon time again.

I've said before that I don't like the idea of Sonic being mean to Tails. And by extension, I’m not a fan of the take that Sonic and Tails aren’t like real siblings just because they don’t constantly poke fun at each other. Sibling relationships aren’t a monolith, some siblings are incredibly close, gentle, and supportive with each other. And Sonic and Tails both don't even have a typical sibling relationship in the first place, they found each other. They weren’t born into each other’s lives or forced to grow up together. That kind of connection is inherently different from the typical sibling dynamic, and it doesn’t need to follow the same patterns to be real or meaningful.

There’s also something I mentioned once before that I think still applies. Considering the kind of emotional challenges Tails often struggles with, putting him down even as a joke could be a really bad idea. I’m not trying to infantilize him here, I don't think Tails is weak, and I don’t want this to come across like he can’t handle anything. But I do think there’s a line, and in his case, jokes made at his expense, especially coming from Sonic, could hit a lot harder than people realize. Words can hurt, and when that comes from someone you admire, it tends to hurt even more. Imagine if the person you looked up to, the person you wanted to grow up and be, constantly made fun of you, even in small ways, that can dig deep. It builds up over time. And for someone like Tails, who already struggles with self-worth and doubt, that kind of treatment could lead him to some pretty dark places mentally.

That’s probably a huge part of why Sonic doesn’t treat him that way. Maybe it’s not just about kindness but about learning, learning from early mistakes. I really like the idea that Sonic used to be rougher around the edges early on, and it was Tails who taught him to be more kind and caring. Maybe in the beginning, when they first started traveling together, Sonic would quip at Tails here and there, maybe even snap at him when he got frustrated. Not because he disliked him, but because their bond hadn’t fully formed yet. And Tails, wanting so badly to keep up and be accepted, would probably try to brush it off with a smile. He’d tell himself they were just harmless jokes, that he shouldn’t take them so seriously. But when he'd be alone, those words would echo in his head. He might say things to himself like, “They’re just jokes, I shouldn’t get so worked up over them,” fighting back tears while trying to convince himself it didn’t matter.

And eventually Sonic would notice, he'd see the cracks in Tails’ smile, hear the hesitation in his laugh, or the quiet that followed a jab that was supposed to be funny. Maybe he realized he couldn't get away with his normal behavior with Tails and took a gentler approach when interacting with him from then on.

[roundaboutnow]

oh, my heart 💔

thats such a terrible position to be in. to meet and surpass someone else's standards and for them to still tell you youre not good enough. can you imagine how harmful this was for her, and how hard it was to overcome? because that breaks my heart.

something I've been researching a lot for my classes lately is how racism underlies everything in this country. (which, duh, but learning more about it has been helpful)

for example, do advanced placement classes seem predominantly white to you? thats because they are.

poc students in ap classes often have to work so much harder to prove that they belong in those classes. sometimes, just as Viola Davis described in her interview, they do this by relenting and becoming the perfect white person that the dominant white culture wants them to be- whereas white students just have to show up and keep making good grades, no cultural sacrifices necessary.

and just as Ms. Davis described, we also hear stories about black employees having to prove themselves day after day in white dominated fields, and having to code switch to appeal to white peers.

there was a study, i'll try to find it later, about first generation Mexican Americans and their relationship with their parents, especially regarding differences in opinion about cultural norms. in this sample group, kids raised in America tended to lean towards the dominant American culture while their parents tended to stick to the culture that they had grown up with, leading to friction between the two generations.

you know what that tells me?

POC people are being taught at young ages that they have to conform to white standards to be good enough in this country

this isnt even something we have to study to know is happening. all we have to do is pay attention and listen. i mean, people aren't kidding when they tell us that our cultural norms aren't universal. by assuming that our norms are everyone's norms, we're pushing these standards onto them whether we mean to or not.

tldr: racism isnt just outright hate and discrimination. its also the expectation for others to conform to our standards, which is much more harmful than you might think.

[raventarot]

PICK A CARD READING - Your July 2025

pile 1 pile 2 pile 3

PILE ONE

My dear pile 1 have you been procrastinating? I'm hearing that some of you still have your Christmas tree up, or is Christmas important for you? Are you looking forward for the next Christmas season? Spirit is asking you to slow down.

For some of you, I see you're not getting along with your coworkers, it's like you have to defend yourself from something, do you want to leave your current job? I sense that for someone, your job is so tiring you barely get a break, you'd like to spend time with your loved ones and go on vacations, but your job is holding you back. You might have strong dreams and want to achieve many things, but your job is the only thing you can focus on and you might think you don't have time for anything else.. You're being asked to trust your intuition this month, and to follow what your hearts wants, instead of your mind.

I sense a bad energy around you during the month of july, this could be a toxic friend or toxic lover, they are jealous of you, and you're been asked to stay vigilant and walk away if you see any red flags. This person does not want you to succeed, and is talking bad about you behind your back.

Signs and symbols that might relate to you : Christmas tree, Lost powerbank, lavender, Paris, Easter egg, Heart necklace, archery, cloud watching, German shepherd, going grocery shopping, the letter V. Jupiter dominant, color pink.

A shuffled song you might relate to you : Christmas Tree Farm by Taylor Swift. (ironic how christmas is so relevant in this reading...)

PILE TWO

Friendship is a very important theme for you this month, maybe some of you are going on a trip with your friends, or there's an important invitation from them coming soon. I'm also seeing some of you guys making new friends, this could be related to your career or a new job you're starting.

There's an important offer coming in about creativity, this could be a sudden email or a sudden call you've been waiting for. A wish is coming true for you.

For some of you, you might have a sudden opportunity, this can be a sudden trip or some news related to your job or studies, like an exchange student experience, or a work offer in another city or country. It's showing me that it's far away from where you live now.

There's also love coming in for the month of july, if you're single, you might meet someone that will date in the future, if you're already in a commitment, there will be a new beginning in your relationship, your connection will evolve to the next level, maybe a sudden proposal or even pregnancy.

Signs and symbols that might relate to you : studying abroad, ocean, le sserafim, fish/pisces? birthday week, horses, pyramids/egypt, name Justine or Justin, collarbone pain (this was very specific), 222, watch. the name Peter.

A shuffled song you might relate to you : Think Later by TateMcrae

PILE THREE

I see that in the month of July, lots and unexpected money will be given to you. I also see some success in your career like a sudden promotion, or something you wished about your job is coming true, and it's coming fast. This is something you've been manifesting and obsessing over for a while, if you have your own business or your own shop, expect more clients coming in.

I see something about studies. You could be taking a course this month, maybe about managing finances or something related to money. I also see a gym membership, some if you might think of starting exercising more and this is your sign to go for it, pay for that membership, you won't regret it.

Are some of you in childcare? Or working with children, they're showing me children, Maybe some of you work as teachers or entertainers.

There is a female figure most likely who is jealous of you, i'm hearing a capricorn (sun, moon or rising) that is secretly talking bad behind your back. This person might be pretending to be your friend so they can get things for free (maybe you're giving them free stuff or money) and they're also keeping secrets from you. This is a month of release for you.

Signs and symbols that might relate to you : the moon, SNL, drinking fanta, ski, eating on a terrace, token, new shoes, the letter T, Colombia, NASA, Reading a book/story.

A shuffled song you might relate to you : because I liked a boy by sabrina carpenter.

[martiniluvr]

18+ minors dni

heyyy…how y’all doin…

back after an unexpected (long) hiatus lol hope y’all missed me…anywayz we hit 3k while I was gone so! celebratory brucie post bcus I love u all and it’s my thank u for sticking around 💞

warnings: nsfw alphabet for bruce wayne, so there’s a variety of things under the cut. please proceed with caution 🩷

★・・・★・・・★・・・★

A | Aftercare (what he’s like after sex)

I’ll die on the hill that bruce wayne is a gentleman first and foremost. he’s offering you a hot shower, a cold drink, and one of his fresh-pressed shirts to protect your modesty. and don’t worry—he’s gone in the morning (billionaire business calls), but he’s leaving you a full breakfast spread to wake up to (thanks, alfred).

B | Body part (his favorite body part of his and also his partner’s)

let’s be honest here. bruce knows he looks good. clear blue eyes, jet black hair, chiseled jaw, and a sculpted body…there’s not much about him physically that he can fault, even though he would never say that out loud. and of course, he loves everything about you; that being said, there’s something about a rounded, feminine figure that drives bruce wayne wild. hips, thighs, an ample bust—he loves himself a whole lot of woman.

C | Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

I’ll just say it: mr. wayne is giving you thick, heavy loads every time. he’s saving them for you (see J), and he’s not interested in finishing anywhere except inside you (mouth included here). maybe it’s an intimacy thing, maybe it’s a hint of a breeding kink, or maybe it’s just possessiveness; either way, it’s all for you.

D | Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of his)

billionaire vigilante bruce wayne, who could snap a grown man in half and towers over you even when you’re in six-inch heels, would secretly love to be made to pleasure you for nothing in return. having you sit on his face, using him to get off over and over again, but never once offering him release as his cock twitches against his abdomen; the thought has gotten him through many a tedious charity gala.

E | Experience (how experienced is he? does he know what he’s doing?)

how do I put this delicately? bruce is…well, kind of a whore. after all, you don’t earn billionaire playboy status for no reason. his sexual body count more than makes up for the bodies he hasn’t accumulated thanks to his no-kill rule, so he’s working with a wealth of experience here—and, yes, he knows exactly what he’s doing.

F | Favorite position (this goes without saying)

bruce loves to see you on top, where he can take in the view of your body, your face, and your cunt in one fell swoop; plus, when you start to falter as you orgasm creeps up on you, he can pull you into a bear hug against his chest and pick up the pace as you whine into his neck.

G | Goofy (is he more serious in the moment? is he humorous? etc.)

it should come as no surprise that bruce isn’t the king of levity in bed. sex for a man like him represents one of two things: purely stress relief, or deep and intimate emotional connection. either way, it’s not a laughing matter; he’s taking it—and your pleasure—seriously. and if you know about the batman mantle? you’re in soul-bonding territory with him.

H | Hair (how well groomed is he? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

bruce keeps himself very well-manicured, but you’ll find that manscaping isn’t his main priority between his philanthropy and vigilantism. still, he’s keeping things neat and practical, with a healthy sprinkling of happy trail—a balance between bruce’s polished good looks and the bat’s ruggedness.

I | Intimacy (how is he during the moment? the romantic aspect)

there are two schools of thought here: hookup bruce and relationship bruce. the former is…rather impersonal. now, the latter—the intensity with that bruce wayne is off the charts. he’s romantic in the vampiric soul-bonding sense only found in gothic literature. penetrating gaze, minimal conversation, and unwavering skin-to-skin contact the whole time, like you’ll vanish into thin air if he lets go of you for even a second.

J | Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

perhaps controversial but I don’t think bruce wastes his time with masturbation. all his discipline, training, and mental fortitude puts him above something as instinctive and banal as instant sexual gratification. he’d much rather save his energy for a fulfilling, drawn-out sexual release—and part of that is doing it with you.

K | Kink (one or more of their kinks)

this one is simple. bruce has a size kink. yes, he’s huge, he’s strong, he’s rich—but seeing how he eclipses you when he stands behind you sparks a fire in his lower abdomen unlike much else. the way his massive hands dwarf yours, or how your delicate fingers clutch at his muscular thighs as you take his length in your mouth…it strokes his ego, what can he say?

L | Location (favorite places to do the do)

though his custom-made king sized bed is more than appropriate real estate, bruce can’t get enough of fucking you in the shower. it’s sensual, erotic, and deeply intimate. plus, it gives him an easy excuse to manhandle you however he pleases—“you’re gonna slip, darling. put your legs around me.”

M | Motivation (what turns him on, gets him going)

everything about you can get bruce hard with little to no effort, but he really enjoys seeing you in your form-fitting pencil skirts and high heels for work. maybe it’s how serious and commanding they make you look, or maybe it’s that he knows he gets to peel that little outfit off your body in his office when you visit him on his late nights. whatever the case, he loves catching you on your way to work.

N | No (something he wouldn’t do, turn offs)

he’ll always aim to please, but bruce would be reluctant to inflict pain on you beyond a few pointed spanks. like, he genuinely could not bring himself to harm you in any material way. with his size, skill set, values, and experiences, he would never risk doing anything that might actually hurt or otherwise scare you. now, if you want to rough him up a little…that’s another story.

O | Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

bruce loves to pleasure you and he does it well; he’d never forgo the opportunity to have you gasping and begging for release while his face is buried between your legs. that said, there are few things in the world he thinks about more than your pretty eyes looking up at him as you slide his cock between your lips. between the pleasure and the view, receiving head is the closest someone like him is getting to heaven.

P | Pace (is he fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

bruce wants you to feel every inch of him, so he’s starting off slow—agonisingly so—and building his pace gradually. he’s also not one to rush, meaning he’ll rarely get rough and sloppy. despite appearances, he can be incredibly tender, and he wants to take his time. when he’s about to cum, though, you’ll notice his thrusts getting a little ragged, and his grip a little harsher.

Q | Quickie (his opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

this may be an unpopular opinion, but bruce is seldom going to prefer a quickie over drawn-out, sensual sex. and it’s not because he doesn’t enjoy them; frankly, they just don’t give him the opportunity to appreciate your body the way he’d prefer to. now, if you insisted, he’d be happy to oblige, but you’d almost certainly have to pick things up again later with more time for him to truly feel satisfied.

R | Risk (is he game to experiment? does he take risks? etc.)

I think it’s not far-fetched to assume bruce’s appetite for risk is healthy. you know, on account of the vigilante thing. and the billionaire thing. he’ll try almost anything you ask him to, and I can see a young bruce being very much the experimentalist, though age teaches him restraint. still, fucking you in his office is one of his biggest fantasies, despite how, well, risky it is.

S | Stamina (how many rounds can he go for? how long does he last?)

the limit does not exist. and I really mean that. bruce wayne can last for a long time, and he can go multiple rounds—it’s that goddamn training of the mind and body. the two of you can easily go into the early hours of the morning, even with generous breaks in between; he’s got a lot of pent up desire to be released.

T | Toys (does he own toys? does he use them? on a partner or himself?)

I don’t see him owning toys for himself, but bruce is more than open to buying and using them on you. you’ll never forget your first orgasm from a hitachi wand while he was buried balls-deep in you—all because you mentioned you’d never used one before and were curious to try it. he won’t forget it either; watching you get yourself off like that is an image that stirred…something in him (see D).

U | Unfair (how much he likes to tease)

he’s not going out of his way to drive you crazy—not that it would be hard—because bruce is basically incapable of denying you anything. whatever you want is yours: a handbag, a new dress, a car, an orgasm, literally anything he can give you. now, he does enjoy it when you tease him. a man like him is used to getting whatever he wants, so having a beautiful woman cause him strife…well, it turns him on.

V | Volume (how loud he is, what sounds he makes, etc.)

unsurprisingly, bruce isn’t all that vocal; it’s all gritted teeth and laboured breaths as he tries to maintain composure—after all, he’s supposedly mastered discipline—but despite his best efforts, the feeling of your soft body on his is enough to draw out the odd low, rumbling moan, especially when he’s close to climax.

W | Wild card (a random headcanon)

he couldn’t degrade you even if he tried. bruce wayne only knows how to praise you; “darling”, “princess”, “sweetheart”. when he can tear himself away from the sight of you squirming at his touch, he tells you how beautiful you are, and how incredible you feel. he’s a #tenderlover and I stand by that.

X | X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

bruce is slightly over the 6 inch mark, but girth is where he really shines. every thrust fills you just enough to make your toes curl, and the gentle upward curve of his cock grazes your g-spot each time you rock your hips forward. the tip—a pale pink that matches his lips—is particularly sensitive to your touch.

Y | Yearning (how high is his sex drive?)

incredibly high. bruce wayne could fuck you at any given moment if you only asked. but, he won’t act on his desire arbitrarily. he’s all about self-control and mind over matter; part of his training inherently taught him to contain his base instincts, which includes his sex drive. but let the record show—he will acquiesce if you even slightly suggest you’d like your insides rearranged.

Z | Zzz (how quickly he falls asleep afterwards)

he barely sleeps on a normal day, so bruce is certainly not rolling over and going to bed after ravaging your body. he’ll have a shower—ideally with you—and wait for you to fall asleep by his side before he even considers getting some rest himself. he does sleep eventually, though, and he finds his most restful nights are spent with you draped over his body, breathing softly against his chest.

[bluebnny]

👀 if its okay with you, could I request some smut of Law x reader who had long ago said if he needed he could fool around while they are asleep? Like him coming to bed late and just boom! Suddenly horny seeing his lover sleeping in his bed in his old yellow hoodie.

I am high key feral for this man 🥵

Yellow hoodie

trafalgar law x reader

contents: established relationship. this is written with law’s POV, even though he’s still referred to in the 3rd person. law (drunk) sees reader (drunk) asleep in his hoodie and goes feral. reader wakes up. mostly rough, but with soft moments

warnings: dub-con (drunk sex, somnophilia), rough sex, multiple orgasms (reader), overstimulation, some fear play (law gets aroused when reader is in shock), slight pain in the beginning (reader), unprotected sex – it's mentioned that reader has a safe word, but it isn’t used – reader is mostly GN, but has a vagina

a/n: i had a blast writing this, as I am also high key feral for this man. hope i didn’t go too off the rails. the words just wouldn’t stop. it's long bc i used the beginning for a drunk sex fic i had planned but never finished. also i hope it's ok that reader wakes up. happy reading, i hope you enjoy <3 :D

word count: 2.753

There’s something very soft about Law when he’s drunk. The usual sharp glares smoothed down into something far more tender. His gaze directed only at you. And try as he might – he’s clearly trying his best – he can’t quite stop himself from looking a little love-drunk whenever you’re around.

He’s all slow blinks and ruffled hair, undeniably cute. And that’s exactly how he looks as he enters through the door of your shared bedroom.

It’s Friday, meaning the crew are having a few drinks to wind down from the week. Law always joins them. Not out of free will, of course; he just happens to be the only crew member for whom attendance is mandatory.

Some time ago, the crew had reached an agreement with Law about needing to attend a certain number of social gatherings, including friday drinks, holidays, and birthday celebrations. It even means that Law has to attend his own birthday, much to his dismay.

Law, being the way he is, and dealing with a heap of trauma, tends to shut himself off in his office to drown himself in work. He does so even more when his mental health spirals, making his depressive episodes completely unforeseeable and unmanageable. His friends have found that the most effective method of preventing them is to make sure he has regular social interactions to force his attention onto something else.

Law obviously finds this arrangement stupid, but the effect is undeniable. He will begrudgingly show up at 7 on the dot, have a few drinks, loosen up a little – sometimes going so far as to even smile – and then be tipsy enough to go straight to bed upon returning. It has the added benefit of making him sleep in on Saturdays, much to your delight, as it means morning cuddles.

So, as much as he tries to fight it, the rule stays. It really does do wonders for his mental health, which is apparent from the way he’s standing by the door, a little drunk, and clearly in a good mood.

But his good mood turns into something… else when he sees you. There you are, fast asleep in his bed, huddled up to escape the biting cold of the metal sub. The Polar Tang is submerged, letting very little light into the room, but Law can still make out the top of your head peeking out from under the blanket.

He hadn’t felt it before, too focused on making conversation with the crew. But now that he’s alone with you in the room, with nothing but your soft breathing and the fuzziness in his head, he feels that familiar pull in the pit of his stomach telling him he’s getting aroused.

Just as he’s about to tell himself to wait for morning, he remembers a conversation the two of you had some months ago. You had somehow gotten onto the topic of sex, sharing kinks and personal fantasies. Law distinctly remembers you saying you’d be ok with him doing things in your sleep. He was a little taken aback at the time but suddenly feels himself growing very fond of the idea.

He only stands still for a few more seconds before jumping into action. Eyes never leaving you, he hurries over to the bed as quietly as possible while taking off his clothes. He slides under the covers behind you; very carefully, so as not to wake you. The alcohol is getting to his head a little, but what really gets him riled up is the fact that you’re wearing his old yellow hoodie for extra warmth.

He lets out a quiet “fuck” when he sees it, and feels himself grow painfully hard. You’re not usually a heavy sleeper, but the alcohol must have gotten to you, too, seeing as you would normally wake up from his movements. He still decides to use his devil fruit powers to take off your clothes, though. Just in case. He wants to savour this. Having you completely defenceless under him.

With a flick of Law’s hand, you’re left in nothing but his yellow hoodie, and it’s taking everything in him to remain in control of himself. He gently moves his body closer to yours, willing himself to take his time. Telling himself that it’ll be more than worth it.

When his back is pressed completely to yours, Law wraps his free arm around your front and moves it down to your core. He almost lets out a groan when his fingers are met with wetness; but manages to catch himself just in time.

Law can’t remember the last time he’s been this nervous about something. His heart is hammering so loud he’s afraid you might wake up from the sound alone. But he simply needs to see your reaction to being woken up stuffed full of him. So, although he wants nothing more than to shove himself inside you right now, Law decides to be patient for a moment longer. He skilfully finds your clit and rubs his fingers over it a few times, testing the waters of how far he could go with you like this.

He freezes when you let out a little noise and shift a bit, but it seems his actions aren’t enough to wake you just yet. With this, he decides not to push it further.

Law grabs his cock – throbbing with need, and rock hard – and aligns it with your soaking entrance.

He slides it in. Fast. Before you get the chance to stop him.

When you wake up, he’s already buried deep. Almost down to the base. The sudden intrusion making you clamp down so hard that it’s impossible for him to move any further. You squeak in surprise as you wake up, and the need inside him grows impossibly strong at the way your body jolts in alarm. He lets out a low groan of pleasure, trying not to get too lost in it just yet.

“Shhh, baby. It’s ok, it’s just me.” He shushes you, knowing this is probably quite a shock to you, despite having technically agreed to it beforehand.

“L- Law?” Your voice is a quiet whimper, and he can feel how scared you are. He feels bad for you, but the sound makes his cock twitch, and that’s currently the part of his body that has the most executive power.

“Yes, y/n, it’s me. Can you breathe for me, baby?”

He feels you suck in a shaking breath that you clearly didn’t realize you were holding, and your body relaxes slightly beneath his. He takes this as his opportunity to push himself even further inside your tight heat, making you let out another helpless whine.

His hand moves to your hip, thumb caressing your skin in soothing circles. It has the added benefit of keeping you in place, as he can feel you try to squirm away from the brutal intrusion.

“Go back to sleep, y/n. Let me use you a little, yeah?”

“O- ok.” Your body relaxes a little further into the mattress, but he knows you aren’t sleeping. Just tired, and very disoriented.  

“Fuck, you’re being so good f’me.”

When Law feels you squirming less, he lets go of your hip, burying his large, tattooed hand under the yellow sweatshirt that you’re still wearing. Snaking it around your middle to rest between where your ribs meet the bed, pulling you into him tightly.

Law rocks his hips into yours, slow at first, but quickly starts to thrust a little deeper when he no longer sees any traces of pain or fear on your face.

He keeps kneading your insides to accommodate him. Pushing himself in and out of your tight hole, while watching the look on your face slowly turn from one of utter confusion into pure bliss.

And fuck, he loves it.

There’s something about your expression that completely enraptures him. Your mouth hangs slightly open. Only closing to bite your lower lip when he forces a particularly deep thrust into you. The way your eyes are still a little unfocused from a mix of drowsiness, alcohol, and undeniable pleasure. Your eyebrows – restless – tense every time he bottoms out, easing slightly when he pulls back.

It's adorable.

He could stare at you like this for hours, closely studying every detail and movement of your face. Every subtle change in expression from how his actions affect you. But he’s snapped out of it when you give a high pitched yelp and start gushing around him, shaking in his tight embrace.

Law can only watch in awe as your body tenses beneath his. Reeling from the way your tight pussy spasms around his fat length. As you lose control of your limbs. Of your voice.

Did you really just cum? Already?

It’s only been a few minutes. Law is so taken aback that he almost forgets to keep fucking you through your high. But there isn’t much of an interruption. His hips started moving on autopilot the second he felt you clamping down on his cock.

He recovers quickly.

“Fuck, you like this more than you were letting on.” You can’t see it, as you’re facing away from him, but a devilish smirk spreads across your boyfriend’s face. He hears you let out a little whine, your hand coming up behind you to pathetically push at his hips.

“Aww, you need a break?” He coos, mocking you.

When he sees your tiny, pathetic nod, Law decides to have mercy on you. For now. Although you aren’t using your safe word, he knows this must be a lot for you, and is a little worried you might have forgotten it in the confusion.

So, he compromises by stilling his hips; but doesn’t pull out of you just yet.

“Hey, y/n. You alright?” His voice is still soft, but more serious this time, lightly nudging your head with the arm supporting it. He wants to show you he expects an answer and isn’t just teasing.

You slowly look up at him, and he almost melts from the expression on your face. You’re still glassy-eyed, clearly a little discoordinated, and panting hard. But you nod at his question, and he doesn’t miss the subtle way in which your mouth turns up into a weak – but very pleased – smile.

“Ok, good. Just making sure.” And he starts pressing kisses to your face and neck, partly to reassure you, partly to distract himself from the sudden urge to violently rut into you again. His hand, still under your side, caresses your heaving chest in lazy circles.

It’s only when you let out a satisfied, breathy giggle that he notices his actions. They aren’t purposeful, but your reaction makes him realize that you aren’t the only one who’s completely fucked out. Law is whipped.

He grumbles slightly. It must be the alcohol. He thinks, trying to find any explanation at all for his uncharacteristically lovey state. But he knows damn well it isn’t the alcohol making him grin back at you when you give him a dopey smile.

To compensate, he gives you a hard thrust that he knows must have punched you right in the cervix, judging by how your mouth is ripped open in a silent scream.

“Break’s over.” That’s all the warning you get.

With that, Law starts back up into a brutal pace, even rougher than before. He watches your eyes snap wide open again, and pulls you tighter against his chest. Knowing you’re about to try wriggling free from the overstimulation.

His fingers find your nipple this time, rubbing it in almost soothing motions that contrast greatly with everything else he’s doing to your poor, exhausted body.

Law keeps fucking you like this for a while, simply enjoying the moment through the fuzziness in his head. Both of you are completely delirious from alcohol, pleasure, and in your case, sleep.

The room is filled with sounds; harsh snaps of skin against skin, heavy breathing, blankets rustling, and your exhausted, broken whines drowning it all out. But it doesn’t feel loud to either of you, too lost in the moment to register anything beyond the sensations running wild in your bodies.

When you eventually try pushing away from him again, Law is prepared. Lifting the forearm resting under your head, he traps your neck behind it, forcing your shoulders to press into his chest. He isn’t applying pressure, only doing enough to keep you in place while his other hand roughly grips the soft plush of your belly.

Your back is arching from the pleasure, but unable to move further with your head and hips anchored to Law’s much larger torso.

It doesn’t take long before you start squirming in that specific way that tells Law you’re on the verge of another orgasm. He’s determined to push you over the edge one more time before reaching his own high, which is also fast approaching.

So, as much as he loves resting his hand on your soft stomach, he moves his fingers further down to once again attach themselves to your clit, rubbing it in messy circles.

The effect is immediate.

Although Law has barely touched you, you’re violently coming apart for the second time that night. He keeps snapping his hips into your soft ass, completely entranced at the sight before him. There’s something mesmerizing in how you helplessly writhe and squirm in his hold. Combined with the feeling of you desperately trying to clamp down on his cock that already has you stretched so wide, he knows he isn’t going to last much longer.

Trying to hold on as much as possible, he focuses on continuing his movements on your body, but it’s no use. The sight of your vulnerable form struggling underneath him with agonizing pleasure is simply too much. He sees your eyes roll into the back of your head before closing his own. Letting the high overtake him.

Law’s pace speeds up even faster than before as he tumbles over the edge. He keeps a searing grip on your hip again, keeping you firmly in place as he rides out his high.

It feels like flying and falling at the same time. He is fully aware of every nerve in his body, and at the same time too blissed out to fully register anything that’s happening.

Time seems to stand still. Or maybe it speeds up.

It’s impossible to tell, because his brain is not working like usual. The white-hot pleasure is coursing through his body like fire in his veins, shutting out all common sense. All he can do is to let himself enjoy it.

When he opens his eyes and slows down again – whether it’s been years or mere seconds, he doesn’t know – Law finally feels the exhaustion overtaking him.

His body is heavy against the mattress, and he can feel you trembling beneath him ever so slightly, which is what fully snaps him back to reality.

“Hey, y/n. Baby, are you ok?”

His hand is on your shoulder now, nudging it as gently as he can with the way his body isn’t fully back under his control yet.

“Yeah.” It’s very quiet. So quiet he would have missed it had he not seen your lips move. “I’m good.” You even smile weakly, but he can tell that it’s genuine.

He slumps down on his back in relief, a contented sigh escaping him. “Good. I was afraid it was too much for a sec.” But he can hear your breathing slowly even out, becoming deep and steady. And he knows you must have fallen asleep again.

The tiredness is overcoming him as well, impossible to escape, especially with the sense of profound relaxation that always remains after an intense orgasm. Every cell in his body feels tired, and the remaining fuzziness from the alcohol makes it impossible to resist sinking into the mattress.

…

Law doesn’t know how long he dozed off for. He jolts awake, sitting bolt upright, and looks over to your still sleeping form. He scrambles off the bed and picks you up despite how peaceful you look. He has more important things to worry about.

He doesn’t want to disturb your sleep a second time, but when Law is neither drunk, aroused, or angry, the only thing that remains is pure doctor. He carries you off to the bathroom, all while scolding you, even though he knows you’re too far gone to hear him.

“Y/n. You have to remember to pee after sex!”

thank you for reading!! I really hope you liked it <3<3 sorry the title is so rushed again, i literally always forget to think of one until the last second

(Dividers made by me)

(This is my fic, don't repost or use in any AI training programmes! Reblogs are always appreciated <3) Here are my rules, and my masterlist.

[existentially-confused-crow]

Also condoms, dental dams, and those disposable underwear (that are basically dental dams but more secure for more comfort and less awkwardness) are preventative measures against STDs. Always make sure you and your sex partners are tested for stds and be transparent about it. DON'T use condoms that have been in a wallet or pocket for a while either because the friction can damage them and render them useless

Keep in mind, if your partner cheats on you, you can be given an std from them and not know until you show symptoms. I don't want to make anyone paranoid, but it might also just be good to continue using those protective measures and regular check ups in your relationship. Stay safe and have fun

this might sound stupid but I can’t help but believe that the new wave of “birth control is actually horrible for your body, you need to get off it immediately” misinformation from influencers and the ‘natural cycle tracking’ apps suddenly being advertised is a sneaky underhanded way of causing more unplanned pregnancies that people now cannot abort. now is possibly the worst time ever to turn towards ‘natural family planning’

[deadwizardsoci]

i bet the "till was completely fine with everything ivan did and reciprocates his feelings fully, he was just surprised when he was kissed which is why he reacted the way he did" alnst fans clutched their pearls watching karma (if those fans have any media literacy like at all)

i absolutely love my miscommunication tropes. delicious.

i saw someone say that till started to love-admire mizi because they were friends and had a good bond together while, in contrast, his bond with ivan had always been somewhat of a rollercoaster, and i 100% agree with that. ivans inability of expressing his feelings in a healthy way and tills obvious rebellious nature aswell as impulsivity resulted in useless and meaningless fights. then, all of a sudden they were all buddy buddy and hanging out like friends do. it was all obviously incredibly confusing for till, seeing as he bases and diminishes his feelings on someone from what their general relationship looks like (like we see him doing with mizi). obviously, he wouldn't know how to classify his and ivans bond, because as i said some days there was affection, some days there wasnt. because of ivans lack of social awareness, there were some obviously uncomfortable elements in their time together aswell, even if they werent being hostile with one another at the given moment.

this in no way goes to say ivan is "the bad one". all of his issues, aswell as tills, result from a lack of understanding of basic human emotions and needs. having grown up as literal pets for a species that is nowhere close to relating to their issues (and even if they were, unwilling to get all touchy and vulnerable with them and solely treating them as nothing more than what they see them as— entertainment), they'd certainly have trouble dealing with it when their complex emotions inevitably surface. they live and grow with no validation of their feelings, no instructions, nothing, therefore, how could we blame either one for how their relationship turned out?

i personally think till did reciprocate ivans love, maybe even as fiercely as him, but while he tried showing it and, as seen in karma, quite literally pushed his love down till's throat, till decided to keep the distance because he couldn't understand it, didn't know how to deal with it. this of course also doesn't mean he was fine with being kissed. he still didnt know what his feelings for ivan looked like (he had no time to even process them as they'd been so complicated for so long, and he obviously avoids being vulnerable, even within himself), he was in an extremely sensitive place, grieving mizi and on top of it all was the natural panic and fret of his fight or flight to stay alive in such a situation, where death is looking you straight in the eye.

perhaps it was hard to realise seeing as the music and his lyrics kept going, but till's exhaustion (a natural grieving response) overcame him and he eventually gives up. he knows he could die. he knows he will die. but he is simply too exhausted to continue.

ivan notices, and goes over to him not because he sees an opportunity to get revenge, but to lower his own score so till can win either way. he sacrifices himself for his sake. he goes over and forcefully kisses him, even as till pulls away, he keeps going, making the audience think he wants to hurt him. he goes as far as putting his hands on his neck to give the impression he's being strangled aswell, and in the end, his sacrifice is worth. he's not doing it because he wants to, he's doing it so till can win because he loves him.

also would like to say, for the other side of the fandom thats like "ivan is a monster! he made till uncomfortable and wanted to hurt him because he was rejected!", NO BUDDY. ivan's hands are shaking as he goes on to grab him, he's even pressing on the sides of his neck, not forwardly blocking his airway, and even if you missed all of that, HE QUITE LITERALLY GOES ON TO STARE AT THE SCORE AS HE DOES IT. he braces himself to be shot and PULLS AWAY FROM THE KISS AS TO NOT HURT TILL ASWELL. he lets go the very moment blood spills from his mouth, at peace with the thought that till survives. and yeah, obviously till is grabbing at his own neck after 😭 while not fatal, the discomfort was still there, and mixed with the previous panic, it was much more intense.

then, gazing down at ivans body, he understands what his intention truly was.

in the next round, till avenges ivan by trying his best to beat luka. we can see this from his physical desperation, both in body language and expression

he is also on his mind CONSTANTLY. he is grieving a love he didn't even realise he had until it was too late. he quite literally hallucinates luka as ivan the whole time, finally understanding how he loved him.

wild that i have to make this post. its so clear. everything is SO clear. if you paid slightly more attention you could tell so too 😭😭😭