#its a problem and they NEED TO KNOW its a problem | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cheftsunoda · 3 days ago

Note

someone stop me, i’ve got too many ideas

max x reader x kelly

reader is also the kid of a former f1 driver (maybe Senna or Schumacher) i have absolutely no ideas for a plot, maybe the relationship is exposed while max is streaming idk, love ya

hearts don’t always break in two — mv1 + kelly piquet

smau+blurbs

max verstappen x !schumacher reader x kelly piquet

yn and max have known each other since age 5. they had been there for each others ups and downs and even fell in love. max and yn dated from age 15 to 17 and then the world became too much. yn got busy with her modeling career and max busy with racing. but feelings like theirs don’t just fade. max never stopped loving yn, not even when he fell for kelly. and yn—despite the string of men she tried to lose herself in—never stopped loving max either. as for kelly? she always knew. she saw the way max looked at yn, felt the electricity in the room when they were near. and oddly enough… she didn’t mind. the schumacher girl had a pull of her own—one kelly found impossible to resist.

fc : annie.shr on ig

(a/n) : omg baby you have the best ideas. i literally was so excited to write this one that i dropped everything else i was doing. love you dearly and i am working on your alexandra request as we speak. and highkey i think this is some of my best writing like to date. so i hope you enjoy. put my whole pu$$y into this.

also ik ppl have mixed feelings about kelly but please no hate. she is the mother of max’s child and you do not know her personally. she is a beauty and max is clearly very in love with her so all that matters is he is happy! thank uuu:)

—

gossiproomx

3,090,201 likes.

gossiproomx : in honor of yn schumacher making her return to the paddock this weekend— i am reliving my maxyn phase because they are my faves and will never be forgotten. (i have nothing against kelly— these two were just endgame for me) (still are) (max pls kiss her when you see her. i need it)

—

view 287,090 other comments.

username00 : if max doesn’t spiral the second he sees her, what’s the point.

username0 : these pics raised a whole generation of delusional wattpad girls and i stand by that.

username1 : max looking at yn the way he used to would cure 85% of my problems. the other 15% would be solved if she looked back.

username5 : mick walking around this weekend knowing everyone is watching his sister and max like 👨‍🦯👨‍🦯👨‍🦯

username7 : maxyn was my roman empire and it still is. i think about that pic of them on the floor every single day.

username10 : if max doesn’t fold the second he hears her voice i’m boycotting red bull.

username11 : @/lando film updates pls.

↳ lando : no. fuck you guys. you are never appreciative for what i give. always bitching that its too shaky or not in focus. im doing the lords work just shut up and be grateful

liked by username11 and gossiproomx

↳ gossiproomx : pleaseeee lan. we will be nice.

↳ lando : doubt it. im only filming for myself so i can rewatch it and cry.

liked by username11 and gossiproomx

—

f1gossipgirls

5,100,203 likes.

f1gossipgirls : YN Schumacher has officially made her paddock comeback, arriving alongside her brother Mick. So far, she’s been spotted catching up with Charles Leclerc and Lewis Hamilton in the Ferrari garage, and even seen chatting with Lando Norris and his dad. Notably absent from her rounds? Any proximity to the RedBull garage… Max, blink twice if you’re suffering. We’ll keep you updated as the drama unfolds.

—

view 750,072 other comments.

username00 : “notably absent from the red bull garage” no because my heart hurts.

username0 : kelly better be gripping that man’s hand for dear life rn.

username1 : she looks so beautiful 😭 every time i see her, mick or gina i just want to hug them and pinch their cheeks

username5 : no but like. imagine being max and seeing her laugh with lando. i’d crash the car immediately.

username7 : mick showing up with yn like a protective german golden retriever we love to see it.

redbullracing : i have sent out like 5 brand reps to try and collect her but no one has reported back to me. i love them as much as you do.

liked by f1gossipgirls

↳ username00 : admin you’re so funny pls don’t go bald or lose your job

↳ redbullracing : trying my best💔

liked by username00 and f1gossipgirls

username10 : the way he’s probably just watching her from behind the screen like 😐🧍‍♂️ baby come back

username11 : @/lando wtf are you doing?? you’re supposed to be playing wingman not charming her.

↳ lando : can’t help that the ladies love me 😎

liked by username11 & f1gossipgirls

↳ username11 : if you don’t do something i am hiring an etsy witch. say goodbye to that wdc

↳ lando : OKAY OKAY. ILL FIGURE IT OUT JEEZ.

liked by username11 and f1gossipgirls

—

It felt like every step I took was echoing in my chest. The paddock hadn’t changed much—still buzzing with energy, still filled with the scent of fuel, sunscreen, and over-priced espresso. But somehow, it all felt different this time. Maybe because I wasn’t seventeen anymore, trailing behind Max like his shadow. Maybe because the ghosts of who I used to be were waiting for me around every corner.

Mick walked beside me, hands in his pockets, silent but steady—like he always was. I could feel the tension in his shoulders though. Protective older brother mode had been activated. He’d barely let me breathe since I stepped off the plane yesterday.

“You good?” he asked under his breath as we passed the Haas hospitality unit.

I gave him a small nod. “Yeah. It’s just… weird.”

He looked down at me. “We don’t have to stay long.”

I shook my head. “No. I need to do this.”

And I did. For myself. For the girl who used to dream about these paddock walks and race weekends. For the version of me who had fallen in love here, and the one who had left with a broken heart still beating for someone who wasn’t mine anymore.

The Ferrari garage was the first familiar refuge. Charles spotted us before we even reached the entrance and immediately pulled me into the kind of hug that squeezed the air out of my lungs.

“Finally,” he muttered into my hair. “We missed you.”

“You mean you missed me,” I teased, pulling back.

“No, Lewis did too,” he said, smirking.

Right on cue, Lewis appeared like a vision in head-to-toe Ferrari gear, sunglasses on, arms open.

“Long time, Schumi,” he said warmly, enveloping me in a hug that made me feel eight years old again, watching him battle my dad on the track.

“You two are being nice. Suspiciously nice,” I said with a raised eyebrow as Charles handed me a coffee.

“Because you look like you haven’t slept in a week and we’re trying not to scare you off,” Lewis said softly, his tone shifting. “You okay?”

I wanted to lie. I always did. But something about standing there, surrounded by two people who knew, made it impossible.

“I’m here. That’s… something.”

Charles reached for my hand and gave it a squeeze. “You’re stronger than you think.”

I wasn’t so sure. Because every time someone looked over my shoulder, I felt my body brace—hoping, dreading, needing to see him. But he wasn’t there. And that was worse.

After an hour or so, Mick and I wandered toward the McLaren garage, where we nearly bumped into Lando and his father, Adam.

“YN?” Lando grinned, eyes lighting up like a kid on Christmas. “Holy shit, you’re really here.”

I smiled. “In the flesh.”

He pulled me into a quick hug and stepped back, looking me up and down like he was trying to process it.

“Jesus, Max is gonna—” He stopped himself, glancing at Mick. “Never mind.”

I forced a laugh, but my chest tightened.

Lando’s dad, Adam, stepped forward, all charm and warmth. “You look so much like your mother,” he said with a soft smile. “It’s good to see you again.”

“You too,” I replied, surprised by how sincere I felt.

We chatted for a few minutes—Lando throwing in a few ridiculous jokes, Mick side-eyeing everyone like he was five seconds away from tackling anyone who so much as mentioned Max’s or my Father’s name.

But even with all the friendly faces, the familiar laughter… there was still a hollow ache. Because I hadn’t seen him. Because I wasn’t sure I could handle it when I did. Max Verstappen had always been gravity to me. Even when I tried to fly away. I glanced across the paddock for the hundredth time, my eyes lingering on the empty stretch between the McLaren and Red Bull garages. He wasn’t there. Not yet. But he would be. And when that moment came… I honestly didn’t know whether I’d fall apart—or fall back into him.

—

I thought I’d escaped for the day. Lando and Mick had been playing their roles as protective older brothers- keeping me as far away from Max as possible. I stopped when I noticed a small girl appear next to me.

“Miss Schumacher?”

I turned, instinctively straightening my shoulders. The rep looked young. Nervous. Holding a tablet like a shield.

“I… uh, sorry to bother you,” she stammered. “But… Max asked if you could… come by. Just for a few minutes.”

My heart fell into my stomach.

“Now?” I asked, voice tight.

She nodded. “He said just… you. He didn’t want to cause a scene.”

Lando’s eyes narrowed instantly. “She doesn’t owe him anything—”

“It’s fine,” I cut in, my voice quiet. “I’ll go.”

Lando looked ready to argue, but I gave him a look. One I hoped said—Please don’t make this harder than it already is.

So I followed the Red Bull rep through the maze of motorhomes and hospitality tents, every step heavier than the last. My mind raced with possibilities. What would I say? What would he say? Would Kelly be there? Did he want to apologize? Or worse—say goodbye? We stopped in front of a nondescript meeting room. The rep gestured to the door, then backed away. I hesitated. And then I opened it. It was silent inside. Cool. Dim. Just one chair pulled out at the table. A water bottle. And him. Max. He was standing with his back to me, facing the far wall, like he was afraid if he looked at me too soon, he’d break.

“Max?” I said, voice barely above a whisper.

He turned slowly. And the second our eyes met, it felt like everything inside me cracked open. He looked tired. Not physically—but in that way you only get when you’ve been carrying something for too long. His eyes—still impossibly blue—held something I wasn’t ready for. Relief. Pain. Love.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” he said softly.

“I wasn’t sure I should,” I replied.

Silence settled between us like a storm cloud.

“I didn’t know how to do this,” he admitted, stepping closer. “I thought maybe if I just… saw you. If I could look at you again and remember how to breathe—maybe I could finally say everything I never did.”

My hands curled into fists at my sides. “Then say it.”

He swallowed hard, eyes never leaving mine. “I’m sorry. For letting you go. For not fighting harder. For pretending I could ever love someone else the same way.”

My chest tightened. “You didn’t pretend very well.”

Max’s eyes closed for a second, like the truth physically hurt.

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” he said. “You were modeling in Milan, Paris, New York. You were becoming you, and I didn’t want to be the reason you held back. And then Kelly came into my life, and—”

“You fell in love with her,” I whispered.

“I did,” he said honestly. “But I never stopped loving you.”

A single tear slipped down my cheek before I could stop it. Max stepped forward instinctively, but paused like he didn’t know if he still had the right.

“You were everywhere,” I said. “Every man I dated. Every time I stood in front of a camera and tried to smile. You were always in the room, even when you weren’t. And she knew, didn’t she?”

He nodded. “Kelly’s smarter than I’ll ever be. She never asked me to stop loving you. She just… hoped I could figure it out.”

“And did you?”

“I did the second I saw you again,” he whispered. “I never really stopped being yours, YN.”

The silence between us stretched. Painful. Beautiful. I took a step forward.

“You broke my heart,” I said.

“I know.”

“And I don’t trust you.”

“I don’t blame you.”

“But I still love you.”

He breathed in sharply. Like he’d been holding his breath for years and finally exhaled.

“Then let me try,” he said. “Not to erase the past. Just… to prove I’m worth a future.”

I didn’t answer. But I didn’t leave. And when he finally reached for my hand, I let him. Because maybe love didn’t need to be perfect. Maybe it just needed to survive long enough to come home.

—

I left before he could say anything else. Before I could change my mind. Before my heart betrayed me more than it already had. My fingers trembled as I opened the door and stepped into the sunlight, everything suddenly too loud—too sharp. The weight of Max’s words still clung to my skin like smoke. My chest was tight, lungs refusing to work properly as I wove through the paddock. I shouldn’t have come. I shouldn’t have let him say all those things. And I sure as hell shouldn’t have let myself believe, even for a second, that we could rewrite a story already written in ink. Because Kelly still existed. And she wasn’t a footnote. She was a chapter he chose. Even if he claimed he never stopped loving me—he didn’t stop loving her either. And I couldn’t live with being the person who cracked something that hadn’t even shattered yet. A sob escaped my throat as I ducked behind one of the trailers, pressing my hand to my mouth. I didn’t want anyone to see me like this. Especially not here. Not in this place, where strength was currency and weakness became headlines.

“YN?”

I froze.

And then a beat later—

“YN.”

Mick.

I wiped at my face furiously, turning just as he rounded the corner, worry etched deep into every line of his expression. His gaze swept over me—red eyes, trembling hands, broken posture—and something in him snapped.

“Who do I need to kill?”

I laughed. It was wet, bitter, short-lived.

“No one,” I croaked. “Not yet, anyway.”

He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “What happened? Did someone say something to you? Was it Max?”

I looked away, which told him everything he needed to know.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he muttered, jaw locking. “I told Lando to keep him away. I told him—”

“It wasn’t Lando’s fault. Max asked for me. I thought I could handle it,” I said quietly. “But I was wrong.”

Mick’s expression softened just slightly, but the tension didn’t leave his shoulders. He was vibrating with fury—protective, sharp-edged fury that only brothers were capable of.

“He hurt you again?”

“No,” I whispered. “That’s the worst part. He told me everything I ever wanted to hear.”

Mick blinked. “So…?”

“So I can’t ruin what he has with Kelly. I won’t.”

“Are you serious?” he snapped. “You’re sobbing behind a trailer and he’s walking around with two women’s hearts in his hands. You think you’re the villain in this story?”

“I think I’m the only one trying not to be selfish.”

Mick exhaled hard, dragging a hand through his hair. “You always do that. You put everyone else’s happiness ahead of your own. Even when it kills you.”

“I’d rather break myself than break them,” I said, voice barely audible.

He stared at me for a long moment. “That’s not love, YN. That’s martyrdom.”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. Because maybe I was the villain. Or the coward. Or maybe just the girl who never stopped loving someone she was never supposed to belong to. Mick pulled me into a hug, and for the first time all day, I let myself fall apart in someone else’s arms.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured into my hair. “Even when he doesn’t.”

And I clung to that. Because right now, it was the only truth I had.

—

The house was too quiet. The kind of quiet that made your ears ring. That made your thoughts too loud. I’d been pacing the same living room floor for nearly an hour, hands twisting the hem of one of Mick’s old hoodies I’d stolen years ago. I hadn’t turned on the lights. I didn’t want brightness. I didn’t want clarity. I wanted to disappear into the dark and pretend I didn’t still feel Max’s voice in my bones.

I didn’t mean to call. My fingers just moved. Like muscle memory. The way they always did when everything got too much. The phone only rang once before he picked up.

“Liebling?” Sebastian’s voice cracked something wide open in me.

“Hi,” I said, trying to sound normal.

I failed. I always failed with him. And maybe that’s why I loved him so much.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” he said gently, like he was already sitting next to me with a cup of tea and that soft little crease in his brow.

“I saw Max today,” I whispered.

Silence. And then a soft, steady breath on the other end. “Ah.”

I sat on the couch, pulling my knees to my chest. “He told me he never stopped loving me.”

Sebastian didn’t speak.

“He said… he loves her too. But that he was always mine first. And part of me wanted to believe it so badly. Part of me wanted to run straight into his arms and pretend it would be enough this time. But I couldn’t. I just… couldn’t.”

“I know,” he said softly. “Of course you couldn’t.”

“I wanted to,” I admitted. “God, I wanted to. But she’s good. She’s kind. And I’m not selfish enough to shatter her life just to glue mine back together.”

“YN…” His voice was so heartbreakingly gentle. “You think loving someone that deeply is selfish?”

“I think trying to take him back when he already belongs to someone else would be.”

“You’re not trying to take anything,” he said. “You’re just trying to feel, and that’s not a crime. You’re allowed to want things, even if they hurt.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “What if I’m always the one hurting?”

“You won’t be,” he promised. “Not forever. You are not someone people forget, YN. You’re someone people carry with them—like a compass. Like a melody they can’t get out of their head.”

“Even Max?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Especially Max.”

Tears slipped down my cheeks again. I didn’t even try to wipe them.

“I’m tired, Seb,” I whispered.

“I know you are, Schatz.”

There was a pause. And then, “Your dad would’ve told you to kick Max in the shins and then make him work for it.”

I laughed through the tears, chest aching with the sound. “You’re not wrong.”

“And I’m telling you,” he said firmly now, “that you don’t owe anyone anything. Not even him. You just owe yourself the grace to heal.”

I closed my eyes and let his words sink into me like sunlight on skin.

“I miss you,” I said.

“I miss you too,” he replied. “Now go drink some tea, take a long shower, and text me when you’re safely in bed. Or I will call Mick and ask him to camp out on your floor like you’re twelve again.”

I smiled for the first time in hours. “Fine. Bossy.”

“Only because I love you.”

“I love you too, Seb.”

And when we hung up, I sat in the quiet again. But this time… it didn’t feel so heavy.

—

third person pov

Kelly Piquet wasn’t blind. She had always known that YN Schumacher was more than just a chapter in Max’s life. She wasn’t even a past tense. YN was a pulse. A thread running beneath everything. And today, when Max came back from the Red Bull motorhome quieter than usual—less like a man, more like a ghost—Kelly didn’t need to ask what had happened. She just knew. He didn’t speak when she walked into the room. His shoulders were hunched, fingers interlaced tightly, jaw ticking like he was holding his breath. It was the most unsettled she’d seen him in a long time. She took a seat across from him on the couch, crossed one leg over the other, and tilted her head thoughtfully. No fire. No ice. Just the cool, unreadable stillness that came with already knowing the answer.

“You saw her,” she said softly.

Max glanced up. “Yeah.”

Kelly smiled—small, but not unkind. “And?”

“I told her I never stopped loving her.”

A beat of silence. Kelly nodded like she’d been expecting it. “And she?”

“She left. In tears. Said she didn’t want to ruin what you and I have.”

“Ah,” Kelly hummed. “Very her.”

Max’s brow furrowed. “You’re not… mad?”

Kelly’s laugh was quiet and almost amused. “No, Max. I’m not mad.”

“But I—”

“You love her,” she said plainly. “You have for a long time. You tried to bury it. I tried to ignore it. But it was always there, wasn’t it?”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. Kelly leaned back into the couch, her gaze steady. “I always knew you were hers. Not because you didn’t love me, but because there was a part of you I never had. And I don’t want to be with someone who still belongs to someone else, even if they’re too scared to say it out loud.”

Max swallowed hard, throat tight. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

“Of course you didn’t,” she said with a shrug. “But love doesn’t ask for permission. It just shows up and wrecks the room.”

She stood slowly, graceful as ever, and moved to the window, looking out at the paddock. “You know what I think?” she asked.

He looked at her cautiously. “What?”

“I think you two are too damn stubborn for your own good. She’s busy trying not to hurt me, and you’re busy trying not to hurt anyone, and in the meantime, you’re both bleeding out for no reason.”

He blinked.

Kelly smiled, just a little. “Max. Be honest about what you feel. I’m not walking away over the truth.”

Max blinked, uncertain. “You’re… staying?”

“I didn’t say I’d stay forever,” she replied calmly. “But I’m not going to run just because your heart is messy. People are messy. And I’ve always known part of you belonged to her.”

She walked over and touched his arm—light, controlled, nothing desperate in the gesture.

“I didn’t fall for you expecting neat and easy,” she said. “And I’m not afraid of history, Max. I’m afraid of silence. Of pretending. So don’t lie to me. Don’t lie to yourself.”

Max looked down at her, guilt tightening his features. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“And yet you’re doing it anyway,” Kelly said softly. “Not with YN. But with how long you’ve been pretending she’s not in every room with us.”

He exhaled, almost broken. Kelly’s fingers curled gently around his. “So here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to take a breath. You’re going to stop spiraling. And we’re going to figure this out together. Like grown-ups. Not like the scared kid you were when we started this.”

“You’re okay with me loving her?” Max asked, voice raw.

“Not necessarily,” Kelly said, with a dry smile. “But I’m okay with the truth. Because if there’s any chance you can close that door—with clarity, not confusion—then I want you to do it.”

“And if I can’t?” he whispered.

Kelly’s expression didn’t flicker.

“Then we’ll decide what that means. But not like this. Not in guilt. Not in chaos. We don’t end like that.”

Max stared at her, the weight of everything between them heavier than ever. And yet… her steadiness grounded him.

Kelly leaned in, kissed his cheek, and whispered, “Go to her, Max. But do it with your eyes open. And come back to me with answers. Not ghosts.”

She stepped back, still looking at him like she knew exactly what this meant. Like she’d already done the math. And she wasn’t afraid of the result.

—

your pov

I wasn’t expecting anyone. The day had been long—emotionally draining in that slow, silent kind of way that made your chest ache without reason. I’d finally let myself unwind: hoodie on, hair wet, popcorn in hand, and some random Formula E replay humming in the background just loud enough to distract my brain from wandering back to Max. Always Max. So when the knock came, soft and polite but firm, I froze. No one knocked like that unless they were very sure of what they wanted. I set the popcorn down and padded barefoot to the door, a strange sense of déjà vu tightening in my stomach. I opened it—And there she was. Kelly.

Elegant, poised, unreadable. Standing at my door like she belonged there, like this wasn’t the weirdest, most emotionally charged fever dream of a moment I could imagine.

“Hi,” she said softly. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

She looked perfect, of course. Calm and expensive and untouched by the kind of spiral I’d been living in since I left Max in that room. Meanwhile, I was in yesterday’s sweats and a hoodie with a small tear in the sleeve.

Still, I stepped back. “Um… no. Do you… want to come in?”

“Only if you’re comfortable with that,” she said gently, already scanning the inside of my flat like she was taking mental notes. “I just wanted to talk.”

Something inside me said don’t, but I nodded anyway. “Sure.”

She walked in slowly, like she was floating. There was no tension in her body, no anger. That, somehow, was worse. Kelly didn’t sit. She wandered. Paused at the framed photo of Mick and me as kids. Glanced at the cluttered bookshelf. Her eyes lingered on a little trinket Max had given me when we were seventeen. I felt suddenly exposed. Like I hadn’t cleaned up enough, like I hadn’t guarded enough. Finally, she turned to face me.

“I’ve wanted to meet you properly for a long time,” she said, voice low and even.

I frowned, unsure if I should sit or stand or melt into the floor. “Why now?”

Her smile was small, soft, and far too knowing. “Because now I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”

My stomach dropped.

“I’d rather understand than pretend,” she added.

I looked down, heart thudding uncomfortably. “I never wanted to come between you and Max.”

“I believe you,” Kelly said, stepping closer, her tone kind. Not warm, exactly. But kind. “That’s part of why I’m here.”

I didn’t know what to say. I felt like I was being dissected—but politely. Elegantly.

She studied me for a moment longer. “He’s loved you for a long time. But that doesn’t scare me.”

I blinked. “It doesn’t?”

“No,” she said. “Because love isn’t a contest. It’s a conversation. And I’m not here to fight you, YN.”

She smiled then—soft, almost affectionate.

“I’m here to get to know you.”

I couldn’t stop staring at her. “Why?”

“Because if you’re going to keep holding pieces of the man I love… I’d like to know whose hands they’re in.”

Silence. Then Kelly tilted her head, calm as ever. “Dinner?”

My eyes widened. “Dinner?”

“Just the two of us,” she said, voice velvet-smooth. “Nothing dramatic. I’ll even let you pick the place.”

I didn’t answer right away. I wasn’t sure I could. Because somehow, Kelly Piquet inviting me to dinner was more terrifying than if she had shown up screaming. And yet… I nodded. Because a part of me needed to understand her too. And maybe—just maybe—I wanted to see what game she was playing. If it was a game at all.

—

I thought she might cancel. Some part of me assumed the invitation would vanish like a mirage. That she’d come to her senses and realize sitting down to dinner with her boyfriend’s once upon a time—and possibly still—in love with him ex girlfriend was a terrible idea. But she didn’t cancel. She showed up exactly on time. She wore a silky black blouse and dark-wash jeans that looked like they belonged in a Vogue editorial. Her hair was up in that effortless twist. Her earrings were small but sparkling, and her perfume smelled like money, like memory, like danger. I wore something neutral. Simple. Something I wouldn’t regret.

The restaurant was quiet, tucked into a leafy corner of Monaco with candles on every table and linen napkins that made me feel like I should whisper. We got a corner booth, far from prying eyes. The hostess looked at us like she recognized both our faces, but said nothing. Kelly ordered red wine. I didn’t. We didn’t speak at first. Just sat across from each other, quietly flipping through menus that neither of us were really reading.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” I said finally, forcing my voice not to shake.

Kelly glanced up, amused. “I wasn’t sure about you, either.”

I smiled despite myself. “You’re not what I expected.”

She raised an eyebrow. “What did you expect? Cold? Cruel?”

“Maybe. Or passive-aggressive.”

She chuckled softly. “I’m sure I’ve had my moments.”

Silence again. But it wasn’t tense. Not exactly. It felt like a game of chess, where every word was a move and every glance had weight.

“I meant what I said,” she said quietly, tracing her finger along the stem of her wine glass. “I’m not here to accuse you. I’m here because I wanted to know you.”

I nodded. “And what do you think so far?”

Kelly tilted her head. “You’re beautiful. Smarter than people probably give you credit for. And guarded as hell.”

My breath caught.

She smiled like she’d won something. “Did I lie?”

“No,” I admitted. “I just didn’t expect you to be so…”

“Disarming?” she offered.

“Charming,” I said instead.

We ordered food we wouldn’t finish. We talked more than I expected. She asked about modeling, about growing up with Mick, about my father. And when she listened—really listened—it felt like standing under warm light in a room I didn’t realize had been cold.

“You miss him,” she said gently after I mentioned Michael. “Your father. How he was before.”

I blinked back the sudden sting. “Every day.”

She reached across the table then, without hesitation, and touched my hand. It was a small gesture. But it undid me.

“You don’t have to be brave with me,” she said. “I know what it’s like to lose someone and pretend you’re fine. You don’t have to do that here.”

I didn’t answer. I just let her hold my hand a moment longer than polite. And when I looked up, her expression had softened in a way that made my chest ache. There was something else in her eyes now. Not pity. Not suspicion. Curiosity. Admiration. Want. The shift was subtle—but it was there.

“I thought you hated me,” I whispered.

She laughed under her breath. “I tried. You’re incredibly hard to hate.”

I swallowed, pulse picking up. “You flirt like someone who shouldn’t be flirting.”

She leaned in slightly. “And you blush like someone who’s not sure if they want me to stop.”

My breath hitched. The air between us was suddenly electric—quiet, private, dangerous. I didn’t know what to say. Maybe there wasn’t anything to say.

She let the moment linger, then pulled back with a smile like a secret. “I’m not trying to confuse you, YN.”

“You’re doing it anyway.”

Kelly nodded, her eyes still fixed on mine. “I think I’m confusing myself, too.”

We sat in silence again, but this time it hummed. Like something new was being built from the ruins of something old. At the end of the night, when we stood from the table and the waiter brought the check, she paid without hesitation.

“You didn’t have to do that,” I said, half-laughing.

“I wanted to,” she replied. Then, a pause. “I want a lot of things lately.”

She didn’t elaborate. But as we stepped outside into the cool Monaco air and she walked me to my car, she touched my arm and looked at me with that calm, careful intensity again.

“This isn’t over,” she said softly. “I don’t mean you and Max. I mean… this.”

My throat tightened. “This?”

“You and me.”

Then she smiled, kissed my cheek like it was the most natural thing in the world, and turned on her heel, disappearing into the night like a storm that hadn’t hit yet. And I just stood there, hand pressed to my face, wondering if I’d just walked into a whole new kind of chaos. And if I wanted to.

—

f1gossipgirls

5,031,045 likes.

f1gossipgirls : Well… this was not on our 2025 bingo card. In a twist that no one could’ve predicted, YN Schumacher and Kelly Piquet were spotted having dinner together in Monaco tonight—yes, that Kelly (Max’s current girlfriend) and that YN (his very unforgettable ex). Sources say the two looked remarkably close—smiles, soft touches, deep conversation. No tension, no drama… just chemistry? 👀 If you somehow missed the history— YN and Max were childhood sweethearts turned teenage lovers, and Kelly is his long-term partner now. So what exactly does this dinner mean? We have so many questions. Thoughts? Theories? Prayers? Because we’re not sure the paddock is ready for whatever this is.

—

view 209,552 other comments.

username00 : i wanted drama and instead i’m lowkey shipping them?? like… do i need help?

username0 : sooo does this mean kelly and yn are… 👀 talking? getting along? plotting? falling in love? all of the above?

username1 : not kelly PIQUET joining the yn fanclub?? mother recognized mother. that’s all.

username5 : can someone PLEASE check on max. man probably dropped his Red Bull mid-sip when he saw this

↳ redbullracing : we are on it.

notlando6969 : i just KNOW max is pacing around the kitchen right now like “they’re talking?? about what?? ME???” 🧍🏻‍♂️

↳ username5 : bro stop making burner accounts and go check on your man AND WOMAN.

↳ f1gossipgirls : we know its you lando. cut the shit.

↳ lando : y’all are all so mean.

—

third person pov

Max was sitting on the couch when Kelly walked in—phone still in his hand, screen dimming from the dozens of notifications he hadn’t stopped scrolling through. He didn’t say anything at first. Just looked at her with that quiet, burning confusion he always got when something mattered too much.

Kelly set her purse down gently. “You saw?”

Max blinked once. “Hard to miss when the entire internet is screaming about it.”

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t look guilty. Just… calm. Collected. Like she had expected this. Max stood slowly. “You went to dinner with her.”

“I did.”

His jaw tensed. “Without telling me.”

Kelly took a step closer. “Would you have let me go if I had?”

He didn’t answer. Just stared at her like she was some puzzle he couldn’t figure out. A book in a language he used to know by heart and had forgotten somewhere along the way.

“I just—” Max ran a hand through his hair. “What was that, Kelly? What are you doing?”

She met his eyes, steady. “I’m getting to know her.”

He blinked, breath catching.

“And?” he asked, voice softer, almost a whisper.

Kelly tilted her head, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “I think I like her.”

And then she walked past him—unbothered, barefoot, and humming lightly under her breath as if this was the most natural thing in the world. Leaving Max standing there, stunned and still very, very unsure of what was happening. Or what was coming next.

—

yn_schumacher

liked by kellypiquet, mickschumacher, maxverstappen1 and 9,002,007 others.

yn_schumacher : photo dump w all my faves

tagged : mickschumacher and kellypiquet

—

user has disabled comments on this post.

—

4 weeks later

I don’t know what I expected when Kelly invited me over. I didn’t ask questions. I didn’t overanalyze the way her voice softened when she said, “Just come. I’ll cook.” I didn’t let myself spiral over the fact that Max would be there. I told myself it was just dinner. Casual. Harmless. But nothing about this situation has ever been harmless. Kelly and I had been together nonstop these last few weeks, both of us catching feelings for each other while we were both still tied to him. The elevator ride up to their apartment felt longer than it should’ve. My reflection in the mirrored walls betrayed every emotion I was trying to suppress—hope, nerves, the tight pull of guilt blooming in my chest. Kelly opened the door barefoot, her hair up in a loose bun, wearing one of those effortless silk dresses she somehow always made look regal. She smiled when she saw me—genuine, like she’d been waiting all day.

“Hi,” she said, and I swear to God, it hit me like a wave every single time.

“Hi,” I managed.

The apartment smelled like garlic and lemon and something faintly sweet. Jazz played softly in the background. There were candles on the table. And Max. He was standing by the kitchen counter, sleeves rolled up, drink in hand. Still, still Max. Same unreadable expression, same quiet intensity. His eyes found mine the second I stepped inside, and for a moment, it felt like we were sixteen again, hiding from the world and pretending time wasn’t running out.

“Hey,” he said, and it was soft. Almost unsure.

I nodded. “Hey.”

We sat. We ate. The food was good—of course it was, Kelly was good at everything. She carried the conversation with grace, like she knew we were both choking on everything we weren’t saying. Max barely looked at me. I tried to ignore the way it stung. The night wore on like slow honey. Heavy. Sticky. And then, somewhere between wine and dessert, Kelly stood up. She rested a hand on my shoulder, light and lingering, and turned to Max with that careful, pointed look I was learning meant more than she ever let on.

“I’m going to step out for a bit,” she said. “Max…”

She waited. Waited for him to meet her eyes. Then she glanced at me, smiled almost bittersweet, and said, “I know my feelings for her. You tell her yours.”

And just like that, she walked out. Left me alone with the boy I loved before I even knew what love was. Max stared at the table for a long time. He didn’t speak. Neither did I. The silence between us was loud enough to drown out the music still playing from the speakers. I could feel my pulse in my throat. Finally, he looked up.

“Do you ever think,” he started, voice hoarse, “that maybe we weren’t supposed to end?”

It was a whisper. A fracture in time.

I blinked. “All the time.”

He swallowed hard. “When I saw you again… in the paddock… it felt like I was breathing for the first time in years.”

I could feel tears rising, but I refused to let them fall.

“Then why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because I thought I didn’t deserve to. I have Kelly. I had you. And somehow I lost both.”

He stood slowly, walked around the table, and stopped just short of me. I didn’t move.

“Kelly knows how I feel,” he said, voice low. “She always has. But this… you and her… it’s real, isn’t it?”

I nodded. “I didn’t mean for it to be. I didn’t plan it. But it’s… safe. And warm. And she sees me.”

He stepped closer, so close I could feel the heat radiating off his skin. My breath hitched.

“So did I,” he whispered.

I looked up at him, and for the first time in years, I let myself truly see him. Not the world champion. Not the headlines. Just Max. Just my Max.

“I still do,” he said, eyes searching mine.

And before I could speak, before I could stop it or brace for it—he leaned in. And kissed me. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t cautious. It was everything we had buried. Everything we had swallowed for the sake of time and timing and other people. His hands came up to cradle my face like he was terrified I’d disappear. Like he’d waited years for this one breath, this one second, this one sliver of a chance to rewrite history. I kissed him back. Because I’d never stopped loving him. Because the ache had never left. Because nothing in the world had ever felt more right—or more wrong—and I couldn’t bring myself to care.

When we finally pulled apart, our foreheads rested together, breathing hard, hearts pounding in sync.

“I never stopped,” he whispered. “Not once.”

And neither did I. But I couldn’t say it. Not yet. Because I had feelings for Kelly too.

—

The kiss still lingered on my lips like a bruise. Max hadn’t moved, and neither had I. We stood there, pressed together by years of longing and guilt, by feelings we’d never buried deep enough. Our foreheads still touched, our breathing still uneven, our hands still unsure of what came next. I didn’t know how long we stood there. But the sound of the front door opening was like a needle to a bubble. Max pulled back just enough to look at me—eyes wide, like he’d just remembered Kelly existed. Like we’d both forgotten. And then she walked in.

Her feet padded gently against the floor, the scent of her perfume curling through the air before she even appeared fully in the doorway. Calm, composed, radiant. She looked between us, one hand still on the doorknob, expression unreadable. Max took a step back. My stomach dropped. My mouth opened.

“Kelly—”

She tilted her head, eyes flicking to me. “So… I’m assuming you kissed.”

Neither of us responded. She smiled like it wasn’t a surprise.

“Good.”

That caught me off guard. I blinked. “You’re not mad?”

She walked toward us slowly, like this was all happening exactly as she’d expected. Her coat slid off her shoulders and onto a chair. She crossed the room, graceful and unbothered, until she was standing just a breath away.

“No,” she said simply. “Why would I be?”

I swallowed, heat crawling up my neck. “Because I kissed your boyfriend.”

“My boyfriend,” she repeated gently, “has been in love with you since we met. I was never going to compete with that.”

She turned to Max. “And you…” her voice softened, “you’ve loved her longer than you’ve known what love even was.”

Max didn’t deny it. And I couldn’t breathe.

“But you love him,” I said, voice cracking. “You love him and I—” I hesitated, my chest tightening. “I love him too. But I also think I… I might be falling for you. And I don’t know what to do with that.”

There. It was out. Everything. Kelly stared at me for a long moment. The kind of moment where time felt suspended. Then she laughed. Soft and real. Her whole face lit up.

“Darling,” she said, stepping closer and brushing a strand of hair behind my ear, “that was my plan all along.”

I froze. “What?”

“I invited you to dinner that first night knowing what would happen. I knew Max would see you and remember everything he tried to bury. And I knew I would see you and…” She paused, her fingers lingering on my jaw now, eyes impossibly gentle. “I knew I wouldn’t be able to stop myself.”

I stared at her. “But why?”

She smiled. “Because loving one of you was never enough.”

Max was silent behind me, but I felt his presence like a pulse.

Kelly looked between us. “I love him. And I’m in love with you. And you two—God, the way you look at each other…” She shook her head, her voice a whisper now. “You’re everything I want. Both of you.”

My breath hitched. I looked at Max. He was watching Kelly like she’d just rearranged his entire world. Then his eyes met mine again—so full of emotion it made my knees weak.

“I don’t know how to do this,” I admitted, voice shaking. “But I don’t want to lose either of you.”

Kelly stepped forward, wrapping her arms around me. I melted into her like it was second nature. Max joined us a moment later, one arm around my waist, the other slipping around Kelly’s back. The three of us stood there, tangled together, no longer pretending. Kelly’s voice was the last thing I heard before the tears finally slipped free.

“Then we don’t have to choose. Not anymore.”

—

yn_schumacher

liked by kellypiquet, maxverstappen1, lando & 10,001,203 others.

yn_schumacher : when in mexico or whatever they say.

—

user has disabled comments on this post.

—

maxverstappen1 has added two posts to his story!

seen by yn_schumacher, kellypiquet, mickschumacher and 7,920,115 others.

{caption 1 : beautiful views} {caption 2 : angel}

lando : ?? answer your phone.

↳ maxverstappen1 : no.

↳ lando : oh but you can answer that.

↳ maxverstappen1 : you are lucky i am so blinded by love bc normally i would just threaten to snap you in half.

liked by lando

↳ lando : awwwww have fun maxie

mickschumacher : i have so many words to say and all of them would land me in prison.

↳ maxverstappen1 : you can threaten me when we get back. you can yell all you want.

↳ mickschumacher : looking forward to it.

—

It was early. Not racing weekend early. Just Mexico early. The kind where the sunlight peeked through the gauzy curtains like it was shy, and the only sound was the ocean humming in the distance and the ceiling fan ticking lazily overhead.I was the first one to wake up. Or at least I thought I was, until I shifted and felt Max’s arm tighten around my waist, pulling me back into him with a sleepy groan.

“You’re not allowed to move yet,” he murmured into the back of my neck. “Vacation rule.”

I laughed softly. “What if I have to pee?”

“Hold it,” Kelly’s voice came from the other side of the bed, muffled by a pillow. “Or take me with you.”

I twisted around just enough to look between them. Max’s hair was a mess, falling into his eyes. Kelly had one leg slung dramatically over both of us, her silk sleep shirt barely hanging onto one shoulder. We looked like a tangle of limbs and tangled hearts.

“Okay,” I whispered, smiling, “new rule...no one moves unless it’s for coffee or kisses.”

Kelly rolled over to face me, eyes still half-lidded. “Mmm. I’ll take a kiss.”

I leaned in, pressing a soft one to the corner of her mouth. She smiled lazily, caught my jaw with her hand, and pulled me in for another—longer, warmer. Familiar now, but never dull. Max made a sound somewhere between a growl and a sigh behind me.

“Not fair.”

“Then come here, Verstappen,” Kelly said, still grinning, reaching past me to grab at his face.

He kissed her over my shoulder, then kissed me. We were all laughing through it—quiet and content and stupidly in love. Later, we finally rolled out of bed—only because Kelly threatened to starve if we didn’t. Max cooked breakfast shirtless in the outdoor kitchen, and I swear the man did it just to show off. He burned the eggs slightly, but I didn’t care. He looked happy. So did she. We ate on the patio with our feet propped up on each other’s chairs. I took a picture of Max feeding Kelly a bite of fruit, her sunglasses perched on her head, her mouth open in a fake gasp like she was being spoiled.

“I’m posting this,” I warned.

“You wouldn’t dare,” Kelly teased.

“I absolutely would.”

Later that afternoon, we took a boat out. Max drove it like he was qualifying. Kelly kept yelling at him in a mix of Portuguese and English, her arms flailing wildly, laughing too hard to be mad. I held on for dear life, screaming until Max slowed down just to shut us up with kisses and apologies.

There was a moment—just one—when the sun was setting, and the three of us sat in silence at the front of the boat. Max had his arm draped over my shoulders, Kelly’s head rested on my lap. The sky was painted in impossible shades of gold and coral. And all I could think was:

This is the kind of love you never plan for. The kind that breaks every rule, but fits anyway. The kind you fight for. The kind you stay for.

Kelly looked up at me then, eyes glowing in the sun, and whispered, “You look happy.”

I smiled, fingers brushing through her hair. “I am.”

Max kissed the top of my head. “We all are.”

And for once, it wasn’t complicated. It was just us. Exactly where we were supposed to be.

—

maxverstappen1

liked by yn_schumacher, kellypiquet, lando and 14,754,992 others.

maxverstappen1 : hard launch..? or whatever it's called.

yn, my first love, my angel. i do not deserve your forgiveness or love but somehow you found a way to give me both. i will love you forever.

kelly, i don’t think you’ll ever know what you’ve done for me. you loved me when i didn’t have the words, this — all of this — only exists because of your heart. you gave me space to love her, without ever asking me to stop loving you. and now? i get to love both of you, because you believed in something bigger than fear. thank you for being my home.

tagged : yn_schumacher and kellypiquet

—

view 992,547 other comments.

username00 : “my first love, my angel” I am SOBBING in a grocery store rn someone come get me 😭😭😭

username0 : yn and kelly are so hot together. im gay as hell.

username1 : shoutout to kelly piquet for being the most emotionally mature, quietly powerful woman alive.

liked by yn_schumacher

danielricciardo : poly verstappen era was not on my 2025 bingo card but i respect it deeply

liked by maxverstappen1, yn_schumacher and kellypiquet

lando : Never seen Verstappen this soft. I don’t know whether to hug you or roast you.

liked by maxverstappen1, yn_schumacher and kellypiquet

mickschumacher : Still watching you. But… I’m proud of you. Treat her right. Both of them. Always. 🫡

liked by maxverstappen1, yn_schumacher and kellypiquet

yn_schumacher : love you both forever and always. my angels.

liked by maxverstappen1 and kellypiquet

—

yn_schumacher

liked by kellypiquet, maxverstappen1, mickschumacher and 14,090,020 others.

yn_schumacher : since max decided we are hard launching...

i’ve spent a long time trying to outrun the past. trying to forget the way it felt to lose something that once felt like everything. but then max came back into my life…and kelly walked right in like she’d always been meant to stay. i never thought i’d find peace in something so complicated, but loving both of you has been the easiest thing i’ve ever done. max — you were my first love, and somehow still the one who makes me feel safest. kelly — you saw me, truly saw me, and chose me with such softness i didn’t know what to do with it. thank you for giving me space to come home. thank you for making room for love that doesn’t fit inside the lines. this isn’t traditional. it isn’t simple. but it’s ours. and that makes it everything.

tagged : kellypiquet and maxverstappen1

—

user has limited comment access on this post.

maxverstappen1 : you are my heart, always. thank you for loving me again. thank you for choosing both of us. forever.

liked by yn_schumacher and kellypiquet

kellypiquet : and i’ll never stop loving either of you. you are everything, yn. always have been. always will be. 🤍

liked by yn_schumacher and maxverstappen1

mickschumacher : i always knew max would be a schumacher somehow. sigh. happy for you, sis:)

liked by yn_schumacher and maxverstappen1

lando : can someone PLEASE write this into a Netflix special. i’ll fund it.

liked by yn_schumacher and maxverstappen1

↳ yn_schumacher : ily but i am going to block you.

liked by maxverstappen1 and kellypiquet

—

559 notes · View notes

sunrizef1 · 2 days ago

Text

City Boy

Pairing: Daniel Ricciardo x Fem!Reader

Warnings: none

Authors Note: this gotta be the first time arch mannings been mentioned in a fanfic

Requested: Yes/No

Summary: Who does this city boy think he is? Coming around your home to “play cowboy”?

——

ynln_tx

liked by lnranch archmanning and 2,074 others

ynln_tx back ‘round home 🤘

load comments…

yourfriend looks who’s finally back from slumming it with the city folk downtown

ynln_tx a girl can’t even get a degree these days?

yourfriend2 not when it involves leaving her friends and family to run the business themselves

ynln_tx the degree will help you losers!

user2 this divaaaa

liked by author

yourfriend2 you look cuter here than at those football games

ynln_tx girl…

user3 my fav cowgirl

user4 the city freed you from its grasps

archmanning the city already misses you

ynln_tx thank you!

yourfriend3 get out of here city boy

ynln_tx oh my god

user5 welcome back!

liked by author

yourmom glad you’re home sweetie!

ynln_tx thanks mama!

user6 🐮

liked by author

yourdad there she is! The cows missed you!

ynln_tx and I missed them!

——

danielricciardo added to their story

liked by yourfriend

liked by yourcousin

liked by yourfriend2

——

MESSAGES

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TWITTER

——

MESSAGES

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INSTAGRAM

ynln_tx added to their story

yourfriend liked your story

yourcousin liked your story

user3 liked your story

danielricciardo liked your story

user4 liked your story

user2 liked your story

yourfriend2 liked your story

lando liked your story

——

ynln_tx

liked by worthyyy danielricciardo and 1,214vothers

ynln_tx boots, bugs, and boys who don’t belong

load comments…

yourfriend I look so diva in the first pic

liked by author

user1 scout looks so adorable in that hat

ynln_tx I stole it from some loser

yourfriend2 send me that first pic

danielricciardo this town just got hotter. You’re welcome.

yourcousin slay

liked by author

worthyyy I need to come back and visit sometime

ynln_tx sure do! Get away from those nerds in Missouri

danielricciardo you’ve just fully cropped me out of that third picture… 🤨

user3 girl who took the first picture

yourfriend4 enemies to lovers

yourfriend5 is the guy in the comments the “loser” we’ve been hearing about non-stop

ynln_tx define “loser”

yourfriend5 tall, loud, boot too clean

ynln_tx then yes.

danielricciardo never wearing a hat again

ynln_tx good. It looks better on the dog.

user6 so many hats in one post

user7 touching grass

danielricciardo the bugs liked me better than you.

ynln_tx yeah, well, the bugs have bad taste too

yourfriend7 so much bullying

yourmom I need to thank him for bringing in the groceries!

ynln_tx mama.

danielricciardo no problem maam!

——

ynln_tx added to their story

danielricciardo

They’re really fast :(

ynln_tx

I hope they eat you

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MESSAGES

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TWITTER

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MESSAGES

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INSTAGRAM

danielricciardo added to their story

ynln_tx liked your story

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MESSAGES

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TWITTER

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MESSAGES

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INSTAGRAM

ynln_tx added to their story

yourcousin replied to your story

two hats… I know what you are

——

danielricciardo added to their story

lando replied to your story

oh so we’re soft-launching now???

danielricciardo

not a soft launch

lando

Then whose noticeably smaller boots are those?

danielricciardo

a friends

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MESSAGES

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INSTAGRAM

danielricciardo added to their story

lando replied to your story

oh, Lando! It’s not a soft launch, I’m not in love with the girl who’s ranch I’m staying on who hates me! Even if she looks really hot while doing it!

oh, Lando! I didn’t find it attractive when she told me to “do something useful for once” with my “big strong arms!” That didn’t make me blush at all!

oh, Lando! I only wrapped my arms around her waist because she had tripped on that shovel! I didn’t want her to lean against my chest to get her balance back!

And when I sprayed her with that hose, it was because I hate her! Not because I knew she was going to take her shirt off and ask for my jacket!

And I also totally was not the one to take the picture of her in said jacket that she just posted on her story!

danielricciardo

I, in fact, did not know she was going to take her shirt off

lando

Yeah, but you liked it

danielricciardo

I’m done talking to you

——

ynln_tx added to their story

danielricciardo liked your story

yourcousin replied to your story

yourcousin

I recognize that jacket

It’s the one that a certain city boy was wearing when he pulled up and turned ur life upside down

ynln_tx

sure

yourcousin

you’re not denying itttttt

——

MESSAGES

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INSTAGRAM

ynln_tx

liked by danielricciardo yourmom and 12,987 others

ynln_tx storms, sheds, and stolen kisses ⛈️

load comments…

yourcousin is this not the guy you hated for two months?

ynln_tx I guess he’s not too bad

danielricciardo 😍

yourfriend I told you this would be enemies to lovers

yourcousin2 this is my favorite guy you’ve ever dated

user2 can’t believe you pretended to hate this guy

ynln_tx I was not pretending! (At least for the first few weeks)

yourcousin3 glad you’re keeping him! He’s the only one who knows how to work the grill with your dad

user4 did he ever learn that the horses are meaner in the mornings?

danielricciardo that explains a lot actually

yourmom he’s a lovely fellow!

ynln_tx I know he is, mama

user5 Daniel!! What are you doing here! 😭

user6 wait yall are so cute

user7 my fav cowgirl and cowboy

lando I like you!

ynln_tx thanks….guy!

yourfriend5 you picked a good one

yourfriend6 he’s better than the last one

ynln_tx why is everyone saying things like this

user9 this post is so pretty

yourcousin6 I don’t think i want to ask what that caption means

danielricciardo best thing I ever did was get locked in that shed with you

ynln_tx can’t believe I fell for a man who says “yeehaw” unironically

danielricciardo can’t believe you told me I’m “not supposed to matter this much” before you kissed me

ynln_tx I also remember saying that you look hotter in the pouring rain

danielricciardo I think I can arrange that to happen again… but if I get struck by lightning next time we kiss it’s your fault

——

Tags: @evie-119 @casperlikej @dutifullyannoyingstrawberrie @freyathehuntress

424 notes · View notes

lilpaigeywbb · 2 days ago

Note

okay so i’m thinking likeee paige has like a school girl crush on the new professor so she’s like making excuses to get her help and going to her office hours for stupid questions and like reader can see through it but she plays along and then maybe like paige is in her office because she “needs help” and reader like stands behind her and like does that leaning over the shoulder thing teachers do and like the tension is just so thick that eventually one of them folds and kisses the other and like yeah then they fuck on readers office desk! (hit a blinker everytime i said like…)

anyway thank you!!!

⟡꒰ favorite teacher ꒱⟡

➜ summary: paige finally gets with her hot teacher

➜ warnings: teacher x student, smut

➜ pairing: student!paige x hot teacher reader

➜ authors note: mind you i was BAKED when i wrote this so yea. kind of proofread??? idk i might make a part 2 if that’s what the people want but this one fucking sucks i’m sorry (also @slutzforbueckers this is for u ☝️)

teaching physics at uconn was NOT in your 2025 bingo card, but alas, they needed a professor and they needed one FAST which is how you got here. 29 years old and teaching a bunch of your peers. it was weird, knowing a lot of them probably had crushes on you or were around the same age, but you began to find your way around. you just tried to focus on your work and your teaching which was enough. your class was boring and you didn’t find any of the students that interesting. sure, having the paige bueckers in your class was cool, but you never thought much of it. if anything, the stereotypical athlete ego made you think that paige wouldn’t even respect you.

but you were WAY off.

the minute she watched you waltz through the door, her heart stuttered. she wasn’t sure she’d ever seen someone so beautiful in her life, much less a professor. paige watched you every day. she watched how you moved, how you spoke, how you paced when you were nervous. she was infatuated and knew she had to have you. it started subtle. paige would come up to you after class and say thank you for the lecture or she’d ask a question and speak more than others. this went on for around a month before you realized that maybe she wasn’t so bad after all.

after many lunchtime visits, staying after class, and emailing about questions, paige became more than a student to you. she was YOUR student. she never visited other teachers- hell, she barely even spoke to them which was how you knew she was yours. she only gave this amount of attention to you. it was a thursday when paige wanted more. she decided to go to your office after hours to “ask a question”. she stuffed her textbook and notebook into her bag, threw on a compression shirt, and made her way to your office.

you heard and knock at the door and responded without looking up, “come in!” paige took a deep breath and opened the door, looking at you breathlessly. she was always shocked by your beauty. “ah, paige. its good to see you. do you need help with anything?” you asked, eyes piercing into her own. you couldn’t deny that the way her muscles showed made you a bit squirmy in your twirly chair. “i needed- uh, i just needed some help on problems 12 and 13.” she said softly. you rolled your eyes internally, knowing what she was doing. you knew from the start but this just confirmed it. she wanted to sleep with you.

of course, you didn’t object to the thought but you weren’t gonna make the first move. she had to break if she wanted it. “of course, paige! here- sit down and read it to me so i can help.” you smiled and gestured to the chair on the opposite side of your desk. paige sat and pulled out her books, making something up about ‘not knowing the numbers’. you tried to explain it and watched her pretend to struggle for a while before walking over and placing a hand on the desk in front of her, the other behind her chair. “sorry, i just need a closer look” you murmured, staring at her paper and loving the way her breath hitched. paige nodded and looked straight ahead but then turned, her nose brushing against yours. neither of you moved but your eyes gravitated towards her lips.

of course, she noticed and looked at your lips as well before pressing them to yours firmly. it was a fight for dominance. she was so desperate for you and was trying to stand up so she could pin you against the wall and have her way with you but you were quick. you held her shoulders to keep her in the chair and moved to straddler her lap. “do you think i haven’t noticed you eye-fucking me? the way you ask me so nicely for help?” paige whined, completely dropping her tough act. she wanted you and she wanted you bad. she didn’t care if she had control or not. you began to roll your hips against hers in the chair, eliciting a whine from her pink lips. she squirmed and began to tug your jeans down with ease, tossing them to the side and bringing her fingers to your clothed pussy. looks like she wanted control after all.

she placed her fingers in her lap, facing up. “ride my fingers. please.” she begged, as if it would give her pleasure too. you nodded, wanting to obey the younger girl, and pulled your panties to the side, sinking down on your students fingers. you let out a soft moan but paige? paige let out a loud moan, relishing in how your gorgeously dripping cunt squeezed her finger.s you rolled your hips against her, reminding her that she wanted to be in control so she began to thrust them into you, leaving small marks on your neck as she did so. she curled her fingers, listening to her favorite professors moans.

you began to rock your hips on her again, moaning and whining. she brought her thumb over to graze your clit while she pumped into you. the coil in your stomach was tighter, making you moan and whimper more. paige loved it and just sped up her movements. “fuck, paige… im gonna cum.” you moaned. she whined and nodded, “please- please cum for me” that was when the coil snapped. your hips stuttered against her and she whined, feeling her fingers get coated in you. she pulled them out and licked them clean with a soft sigh. her eyes fluttered open and she looked at you, “i need help, professor. im so wet and i need someone to fix it” she murmured, her voice low and sultry. you got out of her lap and gently moved her so she was sitting on your desk. “it’s okay, honey. you know i can help with anything.”

you pulled down her sweatpants and boxers, admiring them before tossing them to the side. you settled between her legs and guided her toned legs over your shoulder. “you’re so toned, fuck…” you mumbled. no one you knew looked like her and that made you want her more. she whimpered and brought her hands to tug on your hair. “please- mommy, i want it” mommy. you could work with that. it was nice that one of your students not much younger than you worshipped you like that. you instantly ran a stripe up her cunt, making paige moan. she was so proud of herself for being able to get you like this, too. her favorite teacher. “dont stop- just like that.” she whined, holding your head in place with her hands. you smirked against her and slowly slid two fingers in. she swallowed you up just lik you knew she would.

“you’ve been such a good student all semester for mommy… i think you should get a reward for that” you whispered agains the shell of her ear. your lips sucked her clit harder and fingers hit her spongy spot. she whimpered out and tugged your hair, “oh god- right there… please i’m gonna-” “cum. go ahead… be a good girl for me and cum.” paige gasped and whined loudly, gushing around your fingers. you fucked her through it, whispering words of encouragement to her and slowly kissing her hip. you pulled out your fingers and pressed them to her mouth, making her open and suck them. you smiled and whispered, “come back by my office on friday.”

paige nodded pathetically eagerly and she knew it but she didn’t care. she wanted you in every single way so bad and you knew it. just the way she looked at you like you hung the moon was enough of a tell. once her clothes were all on, she leaned in, silently asking for a kiss. you smirked and hummed, allowing your lips to meet hers. she tasted like your lip gloss. paige pulled away and grabbed her things before waving. “bye, professor,” she murmured, looking at you with heart eyes. you smiled and waved back, “bye, paige."

you were gonna have fun with her.

#paige bueckers #dallas wings #wbb #wlw #carol writes #fanfic #paige bueckers smut #paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers x professor #wbb smut #wbb x reader #dallas wings x reader

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hoe4hotchner · 13 hours ago

Note

Hi!! I hope you're doing well! I've been watching wildlife rescue shelters videos all day and that led me to have this idea for a small fic and I immediately thought of you! Okay so imagine reader is dating Hotch and she's working at one of those shelters and so she always sends him cute videos of all the tigers/leopards/lions etc. she's taking care of! And like he'd be so proud of her for doing that job but also low-key scared because she's literally cuddling a giant tiger there (you can also include the other BAU members' reactions!!)

No worries if you don't feel like writing this I just thought it could be fun/cute!

Okay have a nice day/night bye!!!

Wild at heart | [A.H]

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Fem!reader | WC: 0.5k | CW: Mentions of potential danger.

Hotch's phone buzzed on the table with a new message, and despite the never-ending paperwork in front of him, he reached for it immediately.

🐅 From: Y/N

“Look at my new cuddle buddy!! 🥰”

Attached was a video of you lying on the ground, absolutely dwarfed by the massive Siberian tiger curled up beside you. The big cat let out a slow, contented huff as you scratched behind its ears, your laughter ringing out softly. Hotch exhaled sharply, torn between admiration and sheer terror.

Morgan, sitting across from him, raised an eyebrow. “You okay, man? You just made a face.”

Hotch turned the screen toward him. “She sent me another one.”

Morgan leaned in, then burst out laughing. “Oh, hell no. She’s basically using a tiger as a pillow? That’s insane.”

Emily, overhearing, walked over with her coffee. “Wait, let me see.” As soon as she caught a glimpse, her jaw dropped. “That’s either the coolest thing I’ve ever seen or the most reckless. How are you not having a heart attack every time she sends you these?”

“I am,” Hotch admitted, rubbing his temple. “Every single time.” He sighed

JJ peered over his shoulder, shaking her head with a smile. “You have to admit, it’s adorable. She looks so happy.”

“I know.” He did. That was the problem. He couldn't take that away from you.

Rossi strolled by, glancing at the phone. “You do realize that’s a predator, right?”

“Yes, Dave, I’m aware,” Hotch sighed. “But she loves what she does.” And as much as it terrified him, he loved how passionate you were about your job.

Another buzz.

🐅 From: Y/N

“Also, here’s my baby leopard learning how to pounce!!”

The next video showed a clumsy little leopard cub attempting to pounce onto your lap but misjudging the distance, tumbling forward into your arms instead. Your giggles were audible as you scooped it up.

Hotch’s heart clenched.

Penelope appeared out of nowhere. “Oh! Oh! Are we looking at Y/N’s daily ‘How To Give Hotch a Heart Attack’ update?” She squealed.

“Apparently,” he muttered, shaking his head.

Reid, curious at what everyone was watching, peeked at the screen. “Statistically speaking, working closely with large wild cats poses significant risks, even in controlled environments.”

Hotch shot him a flat look. “Thank you, Reid. That helps.”

Morgan chuckled. “What’s the over-under on him showing up at her work in full-on protective detail one of these days?”

“Very funny,” Hotch muttered, but they weren’t entirely wrong. He had considered visiting just to see the safety protocols himself.

Another message.

🐅 From: Y/N

“Love you! Don’t worry, the tigers love me too!! ❤️”

Hotch sighed, shaking his head fondly. He typed out a quick response:

To: Y/N

“I love you too. Please be careful. And tell the tigers they need to share.”

Morgan saw the text and grinned. “Man, you’re whipped.” Hotch didn’t even deny it, cause it was no use trying to pretend not to be in a room full of profilers.

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sirfluffletin · 3 days ago

Text

Forsaken Boyfriend Troupes

Jealous control freak

Two Time, They're not jealous nor possessive of you. They acknowledged that you are your own person with plans, interests, ambitions, etc. They're not a master and you’re not their pet, but Spawn would they try to keep you in their clutches and refuse to let go. You are a gift, for them to cherish and protect. You deserve to make those choices too, even if they disagree with what you pick. Although there is a non-zero chance they will go behind your back anyway and nudge things into its proper direction.

John Doe, has a bit of a possessive streak. It typically shows itself during a bout with the defunct code scrambling his brain or the work of the spectre altering their memories, which usually entails him pulling you away from someone standing too close or throwing another person’s hand off you at it's most harmless and at its worst it comes to blows or even lethal interference. He feels rotten after the fact but at least you're still here, you aren't gone... You're not leaving him.

Serial Cheater

Itrapped, is probably polyamorous, the man has an ego, although for the most part, iTrapped is also a gentleman. He'll let you know what he wants out of your relationship, how long he plans to fancy you, and what to expect from him. Until he becomes neglectful of communication, which can and will lead to more than a few heartbreaks. The icy bitch will not feel sorry either, the most you will get is an half-assed apology text or if you're lucky he'll tell you in person through persed lips and trademark cynism.

Incompetent about anything dealing with children, including their own.

Chance, It's not that he is incompetent- no it's that he lacks spine when it comes to children and he's a firm believer of throwing money at your problems. He'd be really sweet and doting but as soon as the water-works come on he's leaving youband that child's life like expired milk. At least until you get it to calm down.

Total Manchild

Noob

Shedletsky, (to begin, I'd like to say this anecdote was inspired by @just-a-joey 's headcanons on telamons and 1x) Telamon prided himself on being the admin that does whatever, whenever they liked as solitary as a rhinoceros horn as free and turbulent as the weather. I am of the firm belief that Shedletsky also embodies the careless childlike nature found in their counterpart. They abandoned one of their only responsibilities, a product of their creation, and play victim when what they neglected seeks retaliation, whether it was in their hands or not. (Shedletsky is a reincarnation of Telamon in my synapses)

Can't be trusted to do anything guy.

Ringmaster

Guest 666

Mr. Job before family

Builderman, His first love is and will always be his work, He loves you to death don't get him wrong- but he is the boss of Roblox, When all goes to shit, when his admin, moderators, world fails. He has to be the one to go out and fix things. In turn, he will not be home to you for days or weeks, but he always will make time for you.

Noli, he is one of those partners who isn’t around a lot. He’s often wholly consumed by voidstar and spends long days, weeks, rarely months, but it happens while traveling and stealing voidstars like Pokémon cards. He needs to focus. He struggles with prioritizing anything over the voidstar, especially when he’s possessed by the crown. This will be a lifelong struggle for Noli, but it is something he’s willing to make an effort towards correcting and making right when he’s in love.

Elliot, he tries not to make it that way...

The Damsel in Distress

Taph, has a lot of insecurity and defensiveness that come from years of mistreatment and forced self-sufficiency, so he has a very short fuse on his social battery, and self-inflicted isolation comes naturally to them. He wouldn't mean to cut you off or distance you but they need their time and sub-space. Make his plate for him during dinner so he doesn't have to deal with the crowded food table, fix his hood and robes for him so he doesn't look ridiculous in public. Just be his support system, God knows he needs one his coping methods are... Unethical.

Emotionally Unavailable

007n7

Guest 1337

1x1x1x1

Jane Doe

#two time x reader #two time forsaken #forsaken #john doe x reader #john doe forsaken #itrapped x reader #itrapped forsaken #chance forsaken #chance x reader #shedletsky x reader #shedletsky forsaken #builderman forsaken #builderman x reader #taph forsaken #taph x reader #forsaken x y/n #forsaken x you #forsaken x reader

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mulloey · 3 days ago

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First of all, CONGRATULATIONS ON 2K FOLLOWERS🎉✨

It's my first time seeing ur account as I had just scrolling things and find ur recent post

If it's not too much to ask, I would like to request a Seonghwa with prompt 101, 109, 136, 208, 223, 310, 327🥹

in desperate times

royalty + arranged marriage. cnc + overstimulation + breeding. “i’m not done with you” + “i’ve got you”

queen!reader x royal guard!seonghwa

warnings: period-typical misogyny (arranged/forced marriage, allusions to sexual violence and gender discrimination), consensual cheating, reader is not married to seonghwa, reader’s husband is described as being severely/chronically ill and close to death. dom!seonghwa, he’s attentive and gentle although they do partake in light cnc. all warnings typical of the prompts requested.

(this isn’t necessary for the story, but it is mentioned and may be a little confusing for some, so i thought i’d give a brief explanation here. in medieval/early modern europe there was a belief that women could not get pregnant unless they orgasmed themselves. many also believed that it was the ejaculate of *both* parties that created the child. just little tidbit you’ll see in here that i thought i’d better clear up!) there will most likely be some historical inaccuracies, particularly within the dialogue. i do love this era but smut is smut😭💔 enjoy!

—

On a broad scale, you were lucky. Daughter of a king, the jewel of your small kingdom. Pampered and privileged and wanting for nothing.

You even got to marry a king, yourself; on your sixteenth birthday, a few days after you stepped off a ship and into the foreign land that was to be yours.

Your husband was fine. Just fine. Neither cruel nor loving; handsome nor ugly. Not dramatically older than you, either, a mercy your elder sister had not been given—you could have been perfectly happy with him, you thought. Could have made a decent life together.

You could have, were it not for the sickness.

He’d had it since birth; a strange disease with symptoms that seemed ever-changing; coming without warning and fading just as quickly. A cycle on repeat, over and over, with gaps so long you’d dare for a while to think it was finally over, before it returned with a vengeance.

The doctors couldn’t explain it. The priests and the monks and the astrologers didn’t know what to pray for; mere prayers for healing felt inadequate, really, when faced with something so strange. So unstable.

You realised soon, that the instability of this illness, and of your husband’s health by extension, meant the instability of the country, too. An ailing king, constantly toeing the line between life and death, means an ailing country—or it does, at least, without an heir.

You always knew that was your purpose; to breed. To birth. That was the only purpose women of the court could ever really have. And soon enough you realised why they chose you in particular—your family, apparently, was famous across the continent for its fertility. Your mother with her thirteen children—ten surviving, seven boys; your sister with six, all boys, all surviving so far. Your aunts and your cousins and your nieces with constant births and pregnancies and praises for their fruitfulness. A family blessed by God, over and over.

Except for you, somehow. And though admitting it would be treason, everyone knew exactly where the problem lay.

It was him—his illness. Killing his children, your children, before they could live.

Even so, you never thought his desperation would lead you here. That it even could.

The bedroom is quiet; air heavy with something unspoken; the same thing that’s weighed you down since you stepped off the ship the day you arrived to be wed and discovered, quicker than they’d perhaps have liked, exactly what was going on.

“We must do something,” your husband says. “We need an heir.”

“I’ve done everything,” you whisper. “We can try again—”

“No, no.” He cuts you off, waving weakly at you. He looks much weaker lately; frailer, like he’s clinging painfully, stubbornly to life until the moment it’s safe to let go. “I’m not capable, not anymore. You, however…”

You blink. “Me?”

“You are fertile, we both know it. I am not, quite clearly. But perhaps I can be—can appear to be, at least. Enough to have an heir so I can take my rest.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You will get pregnant,” he says, firmly; resolutely. Like your own feelings on the matter are irrelevant. Like he’s already made up his mind. “You must. We will time it to be believable. No one will know but the three of us.”

“Know what?” You ask—in some way, though, you already know.

He sighs, squeezing his eyes shut like he’s flinching. Trying to get an image out of his head that refuses to go. “What do you think of my guard, Seonghwa?”

It’s arranged with frightening efficiency. Within the hour the notice is delivered to the council; the king and queen will take extended break in the mountains, in the small, humble retreat built by his father as a spiritual sanctuary. Only his closest, most elite guard will be present for the protection of both of you—and, God willing, the peace, air and isolation will soothe your husband’s afflictions. Perhaps even for long enough that you may finally return with a strong, healthy child in your belly.

Only you, your husband, and your confessors will know what really happened there—as of course, will Seonghwa.

He rides with the two of you, as he always does; nothing is said of the plan, of course, not where anyone could overhear, but the knowledge of it sits heavy in the air; untouched and unacknowledged.

Which is fine. For someone who’s been raised with piety and modesty as the basis for all you do, it’s honestly preferable. But it doesn’t make the weight of Seonghwa’s gaze on you any easier to bear.

You’ve known him a while now, him being wherever your husband goes, but you’ve scarcely spoken to him; he’s always working, always alert, and seems to take little interest in anything besides that. Certainly not in you.

Now, though, he can’t seem to force his interest onto anything but you, and you’re not quite sure what to do with it. Your husband is a kind man, certainly, and far more respectful of you than you were raised to anticipate—but he’s never been passionate. Never lit a fire in you; never had the energy or ability to.

But with Seonghwa—with this new side of him that’s so suddenly been uncovered—you burn. You burn brighter and more desperately than you ever thought you could.

The servants settle you in once you arrive before scurrying away to their quarters some distance down the hill; they’ll be back tomorrow, three times each day until this is done, to tend to your needs and ensure your husband is in good health. If they have any inkling of what’s about to happen, they’re sensible enough not to show it. No one would believe them, anyway.

“I’m going to sleep,” your husband says, when the last of the servants leave and the door slams shut behind them. “Do as you must with Seonghwa, I know he’ll take good care of you. I trust him with my life.”

“Then so do I.” You kiss him, tenderly, politely, and watch him shuffle down the hall before the bedroom door clicks shut.

Alone in the small drawing room, Seonghwa’s presence behind you has never felt more intimidating. More threatening.

His voice comes low; quiet.

“Turn around.”

It takes you a second to realise who he’s talking to. You’ve never been commanded like that; not since you were a child, at least, and certainly never by a lower class. Still you turn, but your discomfort must be obvious; it makes him smile smally, almost teasing.

“Were you expecting to be asked?” He sounds amused; like he’s holding back a laugh. “Politely requested, perhaps?”

For some reason, you flush a little—though not, you realise, necessarily out of embarrassment. With something else, you think; something new. You try to stare forwards, as you always do; to maintain the poise and posture that’s been drilled into you your entire life. “Perhaps,” you say. It comes out a little snappier than you meant it, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

“You ought to relax,” he says. “There’s no need to be nervous.”

“We’re about to have sex.”

“If you wish.”

“If I wish?” You scoff. “Let’s not kid ourselves, Seonghwa. We don’t have a choice.”

“Yes we do.”

“No. We don’t.”

He sighs, and his expression seems to soften a little. “Come here.”

Another command, spoken as assuredly as if he were speaking to a servant, or to his own wife—and another order you obey without thinking. Slow, small steps, unsure, but still you close the distance.

He looks serious now; severe, any of the amusement of before now absent. “Listen to me.” His voice is quiet, like he’s saying something he knows he shouldn’t; something he’s scared for your husband to overhear.

“This is your chance to say no. If you don’t want this, if you don’t want me, I won’t force you. I’ll tell the king we tried and failed. I’ll say it was my fault. It’s your decision.”

“You’d do that?”

“I would,” he says. “I’m not a monster, madam. I won’t force you nor will I see you punished for refusing me.”

“But it would be refusing my duty,” you say. “Not just refusing you.”

“No.” His voice is firm and unwavering; much closer to the Seonghwa you’ve heard before. But there’s another quality to it too, something new, that you scarcely remember hearing from… Well, any of the men at court, really. Kindness. Empathy. Even pity.

You swallow, then again; suddenly your throat is dry and scratchy and prickly and cannot be relieved and you’re not sure why. Little about your body feels your own right now. Seonghwa notices, it seems; notices your discomfort at least. “Hey,” he whispers. He takes another step towards you, slow, careful. “I know I scare you. I’ve seen how you look at me. But there’s no reason to be afraid, alright? I’ll take care of you, if you’ll have me.”

You’ve been raised never to trust men—lay your life at their feet, just as every woman must do; submit to them as every woman must do, but never trust them. Never believe them. Assume the worst intentions, and you’ll rarely be wrong.

But right now, you realise, you trust him. You believe him; believe his words and his intentions. You believe he’ll take care of you—you want him to take care of you. You want him to fuck you, caution to the wind.

Duty, you tell yourself. This is your duty and nothing more. You’re lucky, this time around, that duty has strong, muscular arms and slender fingers, and a gaze that could burn a hole through a castle wall.

“Okay,” you whisper. “I trust you, Seonghwa. We’ll do this.”

He smiles, pleased, and takes another step towards you. Then, his eyes darken, just enough to notice.

“Look at you,” he breathes. “And you’re all for me. What a treat.”

His words are hushed, a little awed; composure starting to crumble and arousal seeping through the cracks. You see the tension in chest; the lump in his throat as he speaks.

“There’s something you should know,” he says, suddenly. His expression has hardened enough to be a warning on its own. “About how I do things.”

“Okay.”

He nods, pauses for a moment. “I’m not a gentle man, madam,” he tells you. “I never have been. And I’ve been known to get carried away. Lose control, in some sense. But I need you to know you can always stop me.”

“You make it sound like you’re a madman,” you say, half-jokingly. He doesn’t laugh; just bites down on his lip like he’s still trying to hold himself together.

“I can be.”

“Oh.”

“Everyone knows it takes two to make a child. Two people, two orgasms.” You nod; you’d learned that before, heard stories of it from your elder sisters when they’d visited court after their own marriages—stories of endless waves of pleasure, coming down with force for hours until the seed takes. It had scared as much as intrigued you, but you’d never gotten far enough with your husband for it to be much of a consideration.

With Seonghwa, though—well, it’s never been as real as this. At least if the way he speaks of it, serious and determined and struggling to hold back, is any indication; or the way his eyes run across your skin like he wishes he could claim it for good.

“We don’t have as much time as I’d like,” he says, “so we’re going to make the most of it. If you need me to stop, you will say mercy. Unless you say it, we will continue until the seed has taken. Is that clear?”

“Yes,” you say. You don’t know why the thought is so thrilling yet safe at the same time; being completely at his mercy no matter what you say or do—except for one small word that keeps the power safely at your feet.

Mercy. Right now, you want none of it.

”Good,” he says. “Remove your clothes.”

You blink. “Here?”

“Here,” he confirms. “Come now, don’t try to be modest. I’d like to see what I’m working with, madam.”

“Working with,” you scoff, “don’t be so crude, Seonghwa.”

You laugh a little, an attempt to ease the tension in your chest as much as a genuine response, but he doesn’t join in; just stands there staring at you—blankly, firmly, without emotion. “I won’t ask again,” he says. “Take them off.”

Oh. Now that’s a tone you’ve never heard—not even towards the lowliest of servants. It’s not just commanding; not just strict and authoritative and a little scolding, but desirous too. Desperate; fervent. Control cracking like glass.

The way he looks at you as you pull off your clothing makes you realise you actually have very little idea what lies ahead of you—what this man, a familiar presence yet so perpetually distant at the same time, is like, not just as a person but as a lover.

You’re not even certain you can call him that; there’s certainly little in the way of love in his eyes as he stalks towards you like a wolf about to pounce.

“Beautiful,” he mutters. “Perfect. God, you need to be ruined, don’t you?”

You don’t know what he’s saying, really; what that word, whispered like a filthy secret, actually means, but your body reacts to it as though you’ve heard and prayed for it a thousand times before—with hunger. With need. It’s why you find yourself nodding dumbly before he’s even explained. He seems to like that, though; the blind obedience you’ve found yourself offering without even thinking.

“Fuck, you’re a good girl, aren’t you?” He breathes. “I see it.”

“A good girl,” you echo. “Is that what you want me to be?”

He hesitates; thinks on it for a moment. “It’s up to you,” he says finally. “I’ll take what I want either way. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

You say nothing; there’s nothing you really could say, even if you wanted to. He smiles, wider than before. “Admit it,” he whispers. “You crave it.”

“Crave what?”

“To be beneath someone,” he says. “To be a supplicant. Don’t you?”

Your mouth opens, ready to retort—or agree, you’re not quite certain yet—but the words don’t come. They just sit there in your throat like they’re waiting for permission—his permission.

His smile widens a little, as understanding as scheming as hungry. “You don’t have to hide from me,” he whispers. “You can’t hide from me, not here. I can give it to you, you just have to ask for it.”

Your breath stutters. You feel your walls, your mask, begin to crumble. “Give me what?”

“Everything,” he says. “A son, of course; and a nice, thorough fucking like I know you’ve been craving, but that my poor old friend was never able to give you.”

“He fucked me fine,” you say quickly. You’re not sure why you’re so defensive; this is Seonghwa’s best friend, after all; hell, they’re much closer than you could ever be even as his wife. “Perfectly well, actually.”

“Oh I’m sure,” he chuckles. “I’m certain he treated you very well indeed, but that’s not what you want, is it?”

“Is it?”

“No, it’s not. I know exactly what you want, your majesty. You want to be used. To be played with.”

Oh. You do; every second he looks at you like that confirms it further. If it weren’t so arousing it’d probably be pretty embarrassing how easily he reads you; sees through walls you’ve spent your entire life constructing like they’re not even there.

“How do you—”

“Intuition, sweetheart,” he says. “I know your type. Prim and proper and begging to be broken. Will you let me?”

“Let you break me?”

“Yes. Repeatedly.”

“How?”

“How will I break you?” You nod. “I’m going to use you, your majesty. I’m going to make you come, over and over as many times as I see fit, until I’m satisfied my seed will take. Then I’m gonna pump you full of my sons; all day, every day, until your pretty little belly finally swells.”

Fuck. Lord. God, please look away before I fall at this man’s feet like I’m about to pray to him.

You feel your chest tighten, tensing; you nod. “Okay.”

It can’t be more than a few minutes before you find yourself here—clothes ripped off, expensive fabrics and fine jewels strewn around bare, flushed skin as you lie spread out on the floor. Bare back rubbing against the thick carpet; the heat of the fire reflecting against your skin; body immobilised. Held in place by the man hovering above you, touching and teasing and looking at you like he already owns you.

“Please,” you whimper. “Seonghwa, I need—”

“Hush,” he murmurs. His hand moves downwards a little, to the bottom of your tummy, enough pressure to make you pulse with need. Painfully close to where you want it. “I know exactly what you need, your majesty. You’ll get it. But you’ll get it on my terms.”

That’s something you know well enough by now; his terms. Everything with Seonghwa—his touch, his attention, his mercy, is on his terms. You've never felt such thrill or safety in your powerlessness before.

“I’ll do anything,” you whisper.

“I know you will,” he says. “You’ve let me in now, madam—you don’t have a choice. You’ll take what I give you and you’ll enjoy it. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes,” you moan. “Seonghwa, please. Touch me. I can’t—”

“You can,” he smiles. “But you won’t have to, not for much longer. I’ve got you, darling. You’re going to feel so good.”

“Hurry,” you say; desperate. Arousal overflowing like water spilling over the sides. Decorum forgotten; dignity cast aside. You need him, viscerally. Carnally. All else be damned.

“Be patient.” A gentle chastisement, his eyes still sparkling with glee. “Ask me nicely.”

“Ask you to what?”

“To break you,” he says bluntly. “Like you’ve been begging for since you met me.”

You close your eyes, throwing your head back into the plush carpet. “Please, Seonghwa,” you practically sob. “Break me, please. Just…use me.”

“Until you beg me to stop?”

“And beyond.”

He moans, clearly unintentional and the pressure on your stomach increases as he moves his hand downwards towards your heat. “Fuck, you’re perfect.”

His hand cups your pussy, finally; the movement, the small pressure sends shockwaves through your body like a current. He laughs; uses his other hand to pin you down by the waist as he plunges two fingers inside you. You cry out, loud and pained and feverish, but he doesn’t respond; just works you open fervently and methodically. It’s procedural, clinical, clearly nothing more than a means to an end as his need to fuck you himself reached boiling point—but he’s still so careful. So tender, somehow, despite the strength of his arms and movements. Like he somehow knows your body so well he doesn’t even have to be careful.

“You’ll get my cock now,” he says, reaching to pull it from his robe. “And you’ll cum, first time I tell you to, with it pressed up nice and firm against your g-spot. Want that?”

You hesitate for a second, like you’re not sure how to answer but he doesn’t stop; just slaps your face softly enough that it somehow feels tender. “You know what to say if you don’t.”

It hurts going in, of course; you’re not certain how he compares size-wise with your husband, but you never really got to the point of it mattering with him. It was always a chore, for both of you; something to be endured, not enjoyed.

With Seonghwa, it feels like something to be worshipped. When he finally presses in all the way it’s a dizzying feeling; full, stuffed, stretched out yet in some ways the most comfortable you’ve ever been. It feels right; even the stretch; the little bit of pain that the pleasure can’t quite drown out. It feels natural.

You can tell he feels it too; you hear his breath sucked into his chest, feel his grip on your hips tighten as he bottoms out, hips stuttering like he can’t handle it. You know he can, of course; he has to. You both do.

“I’m gonna go slowly,” he says. “For a little while. You want me to speed up, you’ll earn it.”

“How?” You ask; it comes out as more of a moan, or a breathy whine.

“By coming for me,” he says. “You earn my seed, and you earn the effort it takes for me to give it to you. You think I agreed to do this out of duty?”

The movements start slow, just as he promised, but they’re deep and powerful and the restraint he’s still clinging to is evident in each one. His brows are furrowed, gaze locked on you like he’s monitoring your responses; looking for the smallest sign that you’re uncomfortable, that he needs to stop—or that he needs to go harder.

“I don’t do this out of duty,” he continues. His tone is a little biting now; mocking, even, condescending in the most delicious way. “It helps, sure, but that’s not why. Do you know why I did this?”

The first hard, quick thrust makes you choke but still you force the word out, rough and spluttered but out nonetheless. “Why?”

“Because I like making pretty things fall apart on my cock,” he says. “I like to make them shatter. And you’re the prettiest thing I’ve seen in all my years.”

That’s what does it, somehow; the filth of the actual words and the adoring way he says them, like praise or prayer as much as degradation, pushes you just far enough over the edge that you can take yourself the rest of the way. He notices; sees the way your thighs clench around him, walls clinging tighter to his cock as it moves in and out. “You wanna come already?” He asks. “You’re that desperate?”

“Please,” you sob. “Need to.”

“Do it,” he says. “Do it and I’ll fuck you properly. Show you what it’s like to be with a man who knows how to take. Go on, your majesty.”

Of all the things you thought could make you fully come undone, you never imagined it would be the title that’s followed you like a curse since you were first married—here you are, though, entire body convulsing as the pent-up tension and pressure of years without satisfaction falls from you like liquid, squeezing around his cock. It makes him cry out, too, but his resolve is stronger; you can tell he hasn’t come yet nor does he intend to. Where would be the fun in that, you suppose, to a man who’s explicitly said he wants to break you?

“My God,” he curses, hushed. “My god, baby. Covering me. Covering the floor, fuck.”

“Wh—fuck, what happened?” You’re panting, gasping for breath and he’s still fucking you, although the pace has slowed some while he seems to process what’s just happened.

His smile is downright dangerous. Like a predator, victorious but still hungry for more. “You squirted, honey. Like a perfect purebred whore. And you’re going to do it again.”

“I don’t know if I, fuck, if I can.”

“I do,” he says. “And I know you will. More than once, until you earn the right to be bred. Say you understand.”

You nod, biting down on your lip to hold in another cry and he frowns, displeased. A hand, rough, calloused, wraps around your throat with enough pressure to make you dizzy. “I said, say it,” he hisses. “Say you understand.”

“I understand,” you choke. “Please, Seonghwa, I can’t—”

He lets you go, a little alarmed at the way you gasp for breath for a second but it quickly fades. He swallows, grabbing your hips again with both hands and using the leverage to slam himself into you again. “I’m not done with you,” he grunts. “You’re going to take it until I’m satisfied and you don’t have a fucking choice.”

His thumb presses down on your clit, rubbing small, firm circles on the swollen nub and making you hiss in pleasure. You’ve never been touched there before, not really; only small, fleeting brushes as you tried to work yourself open for your husband.

Certainly never like this. Your hips buck, body chasing his touch. His other hand forces you back to the ground with an unsparing grip. “Don't be greedy,” he scolds. “You get what I give you, baby, be patient.”

You groan, half pleasure and half displeasure. You don’t want to be patient. You want more. You want to be greedy; consequences be damned. You want to take—you want him to give.

“More,” you beg—demand, really. He certainly takes it as one.

He pulls his hand away and brings it back down in a sharp slap. You scream, louder than you’ve screamed before—and you cum. Again. From having your clit smacked like a cheap whore. From being treated like someone’s mistress.

“Disgusting,” Seonghwa says, looking down at the mess that coats the rug—and his dick—once again. “Can’t control yourself, can you?” He bucks his hips, then again, so hard it feels like revenge. “You could do with some training. Learn how to obey your betters, hm?”

If Seonghwa’s words somehow aren’t a violation of everything you’ve been taught and raised to believe your entire life, yours certainly are. “Please,” you whisper. “I need it.”

“Good girl,” he smiles. “Can you take more?”

“More what?”

“Orgasms, honey. Did you really think two would be enough? We need a big, strong boy to take the burden off our poor king. That’s at least three, don’t you think?”

“But I can’t.”

The thrusts slow, then stop. He says nothing. Stares at you for a second like he’s waiting for you to say the word—to call for mercy. You don’t.

“It seems like you can,” he says. “Come on, your majesty. We’re going to have a son, whether you like it or not.”

He’s true to his words; two more orgasms are pulled from you with what feels almost like physical force before he finally releases inside you; fills you to the brim with a shout. It’s a dizzying feeling, but after four orgasms you’re barely conscious enough to appreciate it.

You wake up in his arms some time later. You’re in the other bedroom, curled up beneath thick sheets. He’s cradling you like a newborn child with a gaze just as soft.

“How do you feel?” He asks.

“I—” Your voice breaks a little, cracking beneath the weight of everything. Everything you’ve done tonight; everything you’ve discovered and realised and become.

That you can never have this with your husband; this peace, this connection. That if this works, eventually, you may never have to.

The tears are streaming before you can stop them, dampening his chest where you bury your face in it. He pulls you closer, arms tightening around you, but says nothing. Like he was expecting this. Like it was inevitable.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs. “You’re okay.”

Your words are mumbled into his chest, still dazed and half asleep. The tears have stopped now, as quickly as they came. “Do you think it worked?”

“Perhaps,” he replies. “And if it didn’t…”

You sniffle. “If it didn’t?”

“Then I’ll just have to fuck you again,” he says; you hear the smile in his voice. “Over and over until you have enough sons to fill a castle.”

You sigh, nodding sleepily, and let yourself relax again. Let go of your weight and your life and give it all to him, just for the night. Just until he tells you it’s time to go.

Maybe if you weren’t so fucked out and exhausted, you wouldn’t let yourself feel so at home like this; in his arms, strong and protective like your husband was always too ill to be.

And perhaps if Seonghwa weren’t so greedy, he wouldn’t hold you tighter, like he can’t bear to ever let you go, and pretend, just for a moment, that you really do belong to him.

Maybe.

—

#ateez smut #ateez hard hours #ateez x reader #ateez hard thoughts #seonghwa hard thoughts #seonghwa smut #seonghwa hard hours #seonghwa x reader #mulloey writes

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saguette · 2 days ago

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finishing this post off with additional information regarding erics SH that i didnt include previously, realized im too lazy to draw something for it and format it like that so you get a copy paste i sent to my friend; " -with time Eric would eventually learn to romanticize it in the way he appreciates its purposes. for him its both a coping mechanism and a way to fulfill his vampire need for blood through himself and also through other people. He rationalizes that the inability to quit self harm even after the problems that caused him to do so to begin with are gone must be tied with his vampire identity, much like how Sven rationalized the urge to self harm as being a byproduct of his vampire identity. Eric would feel shame but not because he thinks self harm is shameful, its because he knows the wrong person finding out would automatically not take him seriously so his appreciation only shows through his online presence where it's easier to share personal things without feeling actually vulnerable or admitting anything legitimately. Eric is into theatrical vampires who are very fantasy centric which makes him reinforce all the things that make them far from human, one of the main things being vampires cannot bleed and self harm indirectly admits that he does which is one of the main reasons he is secretive about it. Online its much easier to find people who are likeminded and will overlook these plotholes because they make exceptions for themselves aswell. "

#johnny c #my art #jthm art #johnny the homicidal maniac #jthm #eric jthm #i feel sick eric #i feel sick sanguine #jthm sanguine #jthm nny

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kaijutegu · 8 hours ago

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What a handsome Komodo dragon!

Except... what's going on with those labial scales? Something about them looks off. And that row of spikes down the back, Komodos don't have that. And their nostrils aren't so round. Hm. I think I know what's happening here.

I did not realize that this was AI at first glance; I thought it was just a really heavy editing style. I saw the missing central toe, yeah, but Komodos will do that to each other sometimes. The other forefoot, the one with four toes, is positioned in such a way that the fifth toe could be hidden, and the lifted hind foot could be similar.

But if you know Komodo dragon anatomy like I do, the inaccuracies pop up pretty quickly. Still, it's not like it was during the early days of GenAI; what I'm seeing here is that the GenAI image algos are getting better at discerning what part of a picture is a Komodo dragon. Since the inception, GenAI has really struggled to make accurate reptiles. In the beginning, everything was an iguana... even the Komodo dragons.

Over time, the models have been refined, but there are still some pretty obvious anatomy differences- the slit pupils, the mouth shape, the overall definition of the snout...

And they often struggle with the tongue. This isn't what the inside of a lizard's mouth looks like!

There's a lot of talk about how GenAI is bad for the brain- but it seems like most of it is actually about writing. And I think we should be talking more about images, too. Not even just about the stolen training data or the erosion of opportunities for artists, but... what is such easy access to these generated images doing to our ability to perceive what's real versus what isn't?

Every single one of the images I pulled is from a highly popular stock photo site. In case you don't know what a stock photo is, it's a photograph (you can also have stock illustrations and stock footage) that's been licensed to use in different applications. These pictures aren't taken for a specific client; anybody who pays can use them within the terms of the image's license.

But all of these images- they're not photos. They're inaccurate illustrations. I recognize them for what they are because I spend a lot of time looking at lizards, but what if you've got someone writing a quick news story, or designing a science worksheet, or throwing together a museum brochure or a zoo sign? If they don’t know what a Komodo dragon is supposed to look like, they’ll use whatever looks convincing.

Images trigger something deep within us- you know that saying "A picture is worth a thousand words?" We're wired to trust what we see. But the problem here is that genAI doesn't create an image of the thing; it creates what its internal logic says is associated with the subject of the prompt. It all comes down to probability; generative AI makes images by looking at its training data and creating output based on what the data is associated with.

(For more info on how AI "sees" what it does, check out the LENS project, which you can read more about here.)

We don't see things the same way the computers do, and we're willing to trust images more than words. How many stock photos do you think you see each day? It's probably more than you think; after all, the average American sees around 5,000 ads per day. And while those photos are marked as AI generated on the stock sites, they aren't marked as AI generated once someone has licensed them. And if the stock site doesn't have what you need? No problem, just use the AI image generator to fake that photo yourself!

We already have seen political deepfakes and AI generated images used to spread misinformation. Did you see the image of an ICE agent arresting a Doordash worker? That was an AI fake, part of a larger hoax. Some of us are already learning to respond with increased skepticism to important images, because people have an agenda to fake those. But what about the less important images, the background images, the completely mundane images? GenAI seems to be quietly coming for them, and it's something we should be paying attention to, because if we're exposed, constantly and quietly, to generated images and are trained to believe it's photography, we'll be more accepting of the bigger lies when we see them.

I don't really know what the solution is here, other than for people to be aware of the stock image issue, and to stop using stock sites that allow generated images, like Adobe Stock. We can't put the generative AI genie back in the bottle, but we can at least be aware of the damage it's causing. And maybe part of the solution is to look for alternative stock and reference options. Maybe we'll start to see more photographers licensing their images directly, or putting together specialized repositories of images based around a theme or topic that they specialize in. The downside there is that it's less convenient than the stock model where there's thousands and thousands of images on every conceivable topic to choose from. I don't know what genAI is going to do to the traditional stock model, but I'm concerned about what the end results might be and what those results might do to our ability to perceive reality.

Komodo Dragon

#AI #long post

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nik1okrock · 2 days ago

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Sleeping with his best friend | N.RK

Note: this is a request I got yesterday (sorry I'm late)

Warnings: slightly mature content idk I just know it's some kind of smut

Masterlist

— I'm sorry if it might seem bad, I accept critical comments as soon as they're not insults

What could have gone wrong? Nothing. Riki and y/n had slept in the same bed tons of times, her being his best friend made Riki feel like he was sleeping with one of his hyungs. Nothing spicy, nothing that led to lewd things.

But poor Riki didn't know that, when he would wake up, a surprise was waiting for him.

The morning light of a Sunday morning filtered through the black curtains of Riki's room, the smell of man and sweat lingered with that spark of you. The little scent that made him remember you were there, your body heat cuddled to his body, not helping the ache of his dick. You laid on your stomach, half on the mattress, half over Riki's body, a leg over his waist and an arm over his chest, holding him close. He could feel the perfect outline of your breasts, the slightly hardened nipples pressing on his arm. Why would you sleep without a bra even when he was in the same bed as you? For Riki, this was so mean of you.

You slept so peacefully, slightly shifting in your sleep to change position, but this just made Riki go even crazier. He was shamelessly gripping at the base of his dick, hoping the blood would go away. He hated the way his thin sweats felt too tight, like they were touching him too much. Not to mention the fact that there was a darker patch just where his tip had been for the past few hours. He didn't dare to move since he woke up, yet he couldn't bear the uncomfortable feeling, the need to just slide down his palm and bring himself pleasure and relief. He couldn't understand how, even after cumming at least once during the night, he was once again rock hard.

You bucked your hips closer to his leg and there he felt the dampness coming from your core, maybe it was because of discharge or maybe you were having a wet dream… he didn't know. But what he knew was that now he wanted to bury himself deep in his cute best friend's pussy. Yet he would never do so, and it wasn't just because he's a gentleman, but because he knew that you were asexual and traumatized by sex. He remembers clearly the time you would let no male near you but him. Him and just him, not even your father.

Finally he gained the composure to stand up from bed, slowly walking into the dorm's living room just to be greeted by Heeseung, who looked him up and down before smirking, “Got a lil problem there, huh?” He pointed at the wet patch of his pants and Riki just groaned and groaned again when Heeseung took out his phone to call Jay in the other dorm. “Jay, you have no idea!” He snickered, “Riki came in his pants because of Y/n!” He tried to make his friend hang up the call, but Jay was already inside the upper apartment, running to Jake's room to wake him up. “Sup.” Jake's strong Australian accent and still sleepy deep voice made its way in the living room along with its owner. “How bad is it?” The self-proclaimed boner God asked and they all laughed at Jake's sleepy face and morning boner.

Because yes, Jake was apparently the one that got the most morning boners and was the one that took the most to get rid of it. How painful.

“At the point I could just fuck the wall.” “Jerking off no?” Jungwon peeked in from his room. What a bastard, he had been eavesdropping for God knows how much. “With her in bed with me!? Are you crazy!?” Riki looked at the leader with wide eyes and he was about to go to his direction and choke him if he didn't might just cum from walking and… if his dick didn't twitch when he heard your whiny sleepy voice. You sounded so small, almost crying out his name like an abandoned puppy. “Riki? -ki where are you?” His friends looked at the way he froze as you made your way in the living room, stumbling your way in his direction. He took your face in his hands, a fond yet dark look in his eyes as his thumbs caressed your cheeks, gently wiping away a few dried tears. How cute, you have been crying because you didn't find him in bed next to you. “Kiki… why did you leave?” He sighed, your tired look as you clung to him, not helping his situation at all, “I was about to come back, I… I had to drink.” He lied, of course you couldn't know of his little problem.

You dragged him back into his room, falling on the soft mattress, making him kneel between your legs, making you feel his hard on pressing on your thigh earning a soft groan from him. “Baby please don't…” he growled and you looked at him like a confused puppy, not realizing what was happening yet. “What's with the pet name?” “Nothing baby, just…” he made himself more comfortable on top of you, his forehead resting on your collarbone as he slowly started to grind down on you. You didn't push him away, and his breathing got ragged quickly, he just wanted to feel some type of relief. “What are you doing Kiki?” “Please… let me do this I… I need it.” And with a small nod you let him, lacing a leg around his waist just to make him feel you better; what he didn't know was that you probably needed this as much as he did, your small bundle of nerves needed the friction he was giving you just now, maybe you need even more than this.

Your hips snapped into his as your legs clamped around him, it made him lose all of his remaining control.

-------

#engene #enhypen niki #niki x reader #nishimura riki #enhypen x reader #niki nishimura #niki smut #nishimura riki smut #first request #yayyy #i hope you like it #it's not that good

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therobotmonster · 2 days ago

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On that recent Disney Vs Midjourney court thing wrt AI, how strong do you think their case is in a purely legal sense, what do you think MJ's best defenses are, how likely is Disney to win, and how bad would the outcome be if they do win?

Oh sure, ask an easy one.

In a purely legal sense, this case is very questionable.

Scraping as fair use has already been established when it comes to text in legal cases, and infringement is based on publication, not inspiration. There's also the question of if Midjourney would be responsible for their users' creations under safe harbor provisions, or even basic understanding of what an art tool is. Adobe isn't responsible for the many, many illegal images its software is used to make, after all.

The best defense, I would say, is the fair use nature of dataset training and the very nature of transformative work, which is protected, requires the work-to-be-transformed is involved. Disney's basic approach of 'your AI knows who our characters are, so that proves you stole from us' would render fair use impossible.

I don't think its likely for Disney to win, but the problem with civil action is proof isn't needed, just convincing. Bad civil cases happen all the time, and produce case law. Which is what Disney is trying to do here.

If Disney wins, they'll have pulled off a coup of regulatory capture, basically ensuring that large media corporations can replace their staff with robots but that small creators will be limited to underpowered models to compete with them.

Worse, everything that is a 'smoking gun' when it comes to copyright infringement on Midjourney? That's fan art. All that "look how many copyrighted characters they're using-" applies to the frontpage of Deviantart or any given person's Tumblr feed more than to the featured page of Midjourney.

Every single website with user-generated content it chock full of copyright infringement because of fan art and fanfic, and fair use arguments are far harder to pull out for fan-works. The law won't distinguish between a human with a digital art package and a human with an AI art package, and any win Disney makes against MJ is a win against Artstation, Deviantart, Rule34.xxx, AO3, and basically everyone else.

"We get a slice of your cheese if enough of your users post our mouse" is not a rule you want in law.

And the rules won't be enforced by a court 9/10 times. Even if your individual work is plainly fair use, it's not going to matter to whatever image-based version of youtube's copyreich bots gets applied to Artstation and RedBubble to keep the site owners safe.

Even if you're right, you won't have the money to fight.

Heck, Adobe already spies on what you make to report you to the feds if you're doing a naughty, imagine it's internal watchdogs throwing up warnings when it detects you drawing Princess Jasmine and Ariel making out. That may sound nuts, but it's entirely viable.

And that's just one level of possible nightmare. If the judgement is broad enough, it could provide a legal pretext for pursuing copyright lawsuits over style and inspiration. Given how consolidated IP is, this means you're going to have several large cabals that can crush any new work that seems threatening, as there's bound to be something they can draw a connection to.

If you want to see how utterly stupid inspiration=theft is, check out when Harlan Ellison sued James Cameron over Terminator because Cameron was dumb enough to say he was inspired by Demon with a Glass Hand and Soldier from the Outer Limits.

Harlan was wrong on the merits, wrong ethically, and the case shouldn't have been entertained in the first place, but like I said, civil law isn't about facts. Cameron was honest about how two episodes of a show he saw as a kid gave him this completely different idea (the similarities are 'robot that looks like a guy with hand reveal' and 'time traveling soldier goes into a gun store and tries to buy future guns'), and he got unjustly sued for it.

If you ever wonder why writers only talk about their inspirations that are dead, that's why. Anything that strengthens the "what goes in" rather than the "what goes out" approach to IP is good for corps, bad for culture.

#copyleft #copyright #midjourney #AI discourse

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demie90s · 1 day ago

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Run It (Pt.2)

MASTERLIST | MORE | Part 1

Summary: When WNBA stars Dijonai and NaLyssa vacation at your family's Texas ranch. But you handle them soft.

Genre: Slow burn, tension, FFM, sensual, mutual seduction

Warnings: Jealousy, messy emotions, light power play

Word Count ~ 5.1k

Sun ain’t even high yet, but the air’s already thick with that soft heat that means it’ll be a scorcher by noon. You’re out early, boots scuffed from the dust, jeans damp at the knee from leaning in mud where one of the calves got bold and tried to charge your pant leg like it meant somethin’.

Just some cows this morning. Nothing fancy. A little grain, a little check-in. But the calves? Whole different story.

They still figuring it out—big eyes, shaky knees, acting like they discovered the ground yesterday. You’re patient with ‘em, kneelin’ down with your hand out while one noses your palm and the other stares like you invented sunlight.

You’re scratchin’ the old mama cow’s head—Big Ma, thick and tired and moody as hell—when you hear it.

Steps on gravel.

“…Wassup…”

You don’t turn right away. Just drag your hand down the cow’s neck, watching her tail flick.

“…Well good morning to you too,” you say, finally glancin’ over your shoulder. “You know how people greet each other?”

NaLyssa blinks. Hands in her shorts pockets. Shirt already sweat-soaked in the middle of her chest. She looks like she jogged to find you but don’t wanna admit it.

“Dijonai told me y’all talked,” she says, voice neutral.

You nod. Turn fully now, brushing your hands off on your thighs. “And?”

NaLyssa shrugs, eyes narrow but unsure. “About what?”

You cock your head. Step around the calf that tries to follow you like a damn dog.

“Ask her,” you say plain.

NaLyssa’s lips part like she wanna shoot back—but you cut her off before she get the chance.

“And before you say you can’t,” your tone dips, firm but not cruel, “that’s your girl. If you can’t.,,That’s a problem.”

She goes quiet. Shifts her weight like she suddenly remembered her legs. You take your hat off and shake the dust from it, then sigh and rest it back on your head.

“I didn’t tell her nothin’ she ain’t already know,” you say calmly. “She just needed room to say it out loud.”

NaLyssa looks off toward the fence line, jaw flexin’.

“She said you held her,” she mutters finally.

You nod. “She fell asleep.”

Another beat.

“She don’t do that,” NaLyssa admits, softer. “Fall asleep on people.”

You step closer, wiping your palms on your shirt.

“She was tired,” you say. “And she trusted me. Don’t make it more than what it was—unless you want it to be.”

NaLyssa’s jaw tenses again. You can see her workin’ through it, silent and still.

You squint. “You mad at me?”

She shakes her head. “No. I’m mad at me.”

That earns your full attention. You nod once. “Then say that to her.”

The calf bumps your leg again like it wants to be involved. You pat its head absentmindedly. NaLyssa kicks a rock. Doesn’t say anything else.

You let her sit in it. Ain’t your job to fix ‘em. But if they gon’ stand on your land, they best be honest with themselves and each other.

You point toward the barn. “Feed’s still out. If you tryna help, make yourself useful.”

She moves before answering, boots crunchin’ gravel as she heads toward the storage. You watch her for a second.

You and NaLyssa stand quiet for a minute. No cows mooing, no wind pushin’ through—just the kind of silence that carries weight between two people who don’t quite know what to say next. She scratches the back of her neck.

“You eat yet?” you ask, real casual, like you ain’t already know the answer. “Or was I the first stop?”

She looks down at her shoes. “…Nah…I uhh—no, I didn’t eat.”

You hum. Just once. “Mhm. Come on.”

You turn and start walking, not checking to see if she followin’. But she is. You hear the crunch of her boots a few steps behind, trailing you back toward the house with that head-down, shoulders-back energy.

Inside. Kitchen already warm with sunlight, air smellin’ faintly of leftover grease and lavender from your mama’s spray.

You don’t ask what they want. Just fix two plates. You know what’s good. Biscuit. Eggs. Smoked sausage. A couple of slices of tomato for crunch. NaLyssa sits down without a word, fork in hand but eyes not on the food. She lookin’ past you. Toward the stairs.

So you go get Dijonai. She’s still in that same shirt from last night, curled up on top of the guest bed like she barely moved. Her bonnet’s slipped a little, and her eyes squint when you crack the door open.

“Hungry?” you ask. She blinks like she tryna remember where she is.

“I don’t know why I asked,” you say, smirking. “You gotta eat round here. My mama don’t play.”

That earns you a small, sleepy smile. “Yeah… Lyss down there?”

You nod once. “…Come on.”

But you don’t turn right away. You walk backward instead, slow, keepin’ your eyes on hers, hand reaching out. She hesitates before slipping hers into yours—light, tentative. You guide her with patience, step by step out the room. But when you hit the top of the stairs, you stop.

You feel the pause in her steps. The shift in her grip. You look her over, real slow. Readin’ her the way you do spooked horses and stubborn calves.

“…What’s wrong?” you ask quietly. “You look like something—or someone—is bothering you.”

She stiffens. “…Noth—”

“Don’t lie to me,” you say, gentle but firm. “I’m not here to judge. If somethin’s wrong, though… you can talk to me.”

That part? Real soft. Real open. She exhales, eyes flicking to the stairs like maybe she thought this walk down would be easier. But you don’t push.

You lead her the rest of the way down slow. Still holdin’ her hand. Still makin’ space for her to speak when she’s ready. When y’all step into the kitchen, NaLyssa’s already at the table, but not moving.

She sees you. Sees Dijonai. Sees the way your hands are still linked. You nod at her once, like I brought her here, now it’s y’all’s turn.

Dijonai’s hand doesn’t drop. NaLyssa’s gaze doesn’t blink. You just step back and start fixin’ your own plate. Because whatever happens next. It’s up to them.

You eat like normal.

Ain’t no reason not to. Eggs hot, biscuit still steamin’, sausage damn near perfect. You don’t waste good food on bad energy. Tension’s thick, yeah—but you’ve sat through worse. Got siblings. Cousins. You been at tables where folks wouldn’t stop talkin’ and tables like this one, where nobody said a damn thing.

So you chew. Swallow. Keep it movin’. NaLyssa pokes at her biscuit like it offended her. Dijonai ain’t touched her juice. She just sittin’ there, pretty and pouty, eyes low, mind racin’.

You finish first. Wipe your hands on a napkin. Take a slow sip of orange juice, cold and sweet. No one’s said nothin’. You don’t sigh. You don’t scold. You just set your cup down soft and speak like you��re askin’ about the weather.

“What’s wrong with y’all?”

NaLyssa’s fork freezes mid-cut. Dijonai looks up like she forgot you were there. You glance between the two of them, unbothered. Elbows on the table, body leaned back casual.

“I’m just askin’,” you continue, tone light but steady. “’Cause this here? This ain’t about breakfast. And I’m too grown to sit here while y’all act like this ain’t stupid.”

Silence. Dijonai looks at NaLyssa. NaLyssa don’t meet her eyes.

“I mean,” you say, slowly lifting your glass again, “unless y’all fightin’ over who got the better seat on my horse. Which… fair. I do ride real good.”

That earns a twitch. A snort from NaLyssa she tries to hide. Dijonai’s lip quirks like she wanna stay mad but can’t help herself.

You lower your cup, wipe your mouth.

“But if it’s deeper than that… y’all should spit it out. ‘Cause if I gotta keep guessin’? I’ll get gone. And y’all can finish this vacation in silence.”

Still calm. Still no raise in your voice. Just steady pressure, laid out plain.

“I ain’t mad,” you add. “But I ain’t dumb either.”

You sit back. Wait. Your plate’s clean. Your conscience clear. Ball’s in their court now. They been here two days.

Two days.

And in that time you’ve somehow become a trail guide, a stablehand, a cook, and now—a damn therapist. You didn’t ask for the role, but they clearly ain’t gonna figure it out on their own. So here you are. Again.

You glance from one to the other. Dijonai still pickin’ at her food, gaze somewhere way off, fork barely touchin’ her plate. NaLyssa? Just lookin’ at you. Like if she stares hard enough, you’ll say what she can’t.

You give her a look. A real stern one. Like, if you don’t say somethin’ to this girl right now I swear— But she just stares back, lips parted, caught between guilt and fear and pride. She don’t know how to say it.

So—like always—you start it. Again.

You turn to her, amused but tired, one brow raised, voice just loud enough to pull Dijonai back from wherever she’d wandered in her head.

“What’s wrong, NaLyssa?”

Dijonai blinks. “Huh?”

You don’t even turn toward her yet. Eyes still on NaLyssa. You lean your elbow on the table, palm under your chin.

“You been starin’ at me all morning like I’m gon’ do your talkin’ for you. You might as well go on and speak.”

NaLyssa shifts in her chair. Not defensive—just uncomfortable. Like you called her out and she lowkey grateful for it.

“I just…” she starts, then stops. Rubs the back of her neck.

Dijonai sits up straighter now, lookin’ at her. NaLyssa clears her throat.

“I been mad. But not at you,” she says, lookin’ at Dijonai now. “At me. ‘Cause I seen it comin’ and didn’t do nothin’.”

Dijonai frowns. “Seen what comin’?”

NaLyssa glances at you real quick—then back to her. “You fallin’. For her.”

You don’t react. Just sip the last of your juice and set the glass down quiet. Dijonai’s jaw tightens, but she doesn’t deny it. Doesn’t speak either.

NaLyssa continues. “You ain’t say it. But I could tell. How you look at her. How calm you were when you came back last night.” She shakes her head. “I don’t make you feel like that.”

Dijonai’s voice comes soft. “You don’t talk to me like this. Not when it matters.”

You sigh quietly and sit back, arms crossed, watchin’ both of them like a counselor who’s about to clock out and pour a drink.

“I didn’t know how,” NaLyssa admits. “I’m used to playin’ it cool. To not talkin’ about stuff I don’t understand.”

You finally speak again, eyes on your empty plate.

“Well, you here now,” you say. “And y’all gon’ either talk it out or walk away from it. But you ain’t gon’ sit in my kitchen makin’ tension where peace supposed to live.”

NaLyssa looks at you again. Real long. Then turns back to Dijonai.

“I ain’t mad you feel something. I’m mad I didn’t do more before it got that far.”

Dijonai’s eyes go a little glassy. Not cryin’. Just overwhelmed.

You rise from your chair, collect your plate, and pause behind ‘em.

“Figure it out,” you murmur. “I’ll be outside.”

You don’t slam the door. You don’t throw no looks back. You just let the air clear the way it always does after a good storm.

You gave them space.

That’s more than most would’ve done. Fixed them breakfast, cleaned your plate, told the truth, then left ‘em with it. Now you’re out at the stable, movin’ like you got all the time in the world. Sugar snorts as you pour the oats. The other horses stretch and blink slow, lazy in the morning light.

You brush out a mane, wipe down a trough, then sit for a minute—just watchin’ the way light filters through the slats in the wall. You could stay in here forever, really. Stable air always calms you down. Smells like hay and old sweat and muscle. Familiar. Real.

But eventually, you get up, roll your shoulders, and walk the trail behind the house that loops around to your mama’s garden. Tomatoes in the back, greens up front, and a few random-ass herbs she swears she’ll use one day.

You crouch low, brush a hand over the rosemary, and exhale deep. And that’s when you hear her. Boots on soil. Careful steps. You don’t look right away. You already know who it is.

“You sure do love walking up on people…You tryna learn to cook or somethin’?” you ask, fingers still grazing the stems.

NaLyssa chuckles. It’s light. Barely there. “Nah.”

You look up. She’s squintin’ a little in the sun, arms crossed, back against the old garden fence.

“Just came to see where you disappeared to.”

You raise a brow. “Y’all still inside arguin’?”

She shakes her head. “No. We… cooled off.”

You stand slow, wiping your palms on your thighs. “That’s good.”

She stays quiet. You let the silence stretch a little, then nod toward the bench under the fig tree. She follows when you walk over. Y’all sit. Not close—not far.

Just enough.

She exhales hard. “You know, I didn’t think this trip would be… like this.”

You smirk. “What, peaceful?”

She huffs. “No. Messy.”

You stretch your legs out, lean back on your palms. “Y’all the ones brought the mess.”

That earns you a little side-eye. You grin anyway. But then you let your tone drop, easy and soft.

“You know she still loves you, right?”

NaLyssa looks down. Picks at a loose thread on her shorts.

“I know.”

“So what’s got you quiet? What you scared of?”

She swallows. Doesn’t answer. You nod once, like yep, figured. You wait a while, then shift to face her better.

“Look. I know I play cool. But I ain’t blind. Y’all both older than me, yeah, but you petty as hell. I got through to Dijonai ’cause she listened. You? You keep holdin’ back like you waitin’ to get hurt.”

NaLyssa opens her mouth—but you keep goin’.

“I ain’t ask you to pick sides. I ain’t ask you for more than what you got. But you gotta stop actin’ like honesty gon’ break you.”

She sighs heavy, rubs her palm over her face. “I ain’t good at saying shit like that.”

You nod, voice softening. “That’s fine. But you ain’t gotta be tough with me.”

She looks at you. And you hold it. That gaze. That heat.

“I like you, Lyssa. I ain’t pretendin’ I don’t. You ain’t gotta rush toward nothin’. But don’t sit here actin’ like I’m tryna take somethin’ from you. I just want y’all to be real. With each other. With me.”

NaLyssa’s jaw shifts. Then she says, almost shy, “You talk like you older than both of us.”

You grin. “That’s ’cause I’m tired.”

She laughs for real then. Loud. Hands over her face like she ain’t wanna give it up but couldn’t help it. The sun hits her just right. And for once, she don’t look guarded. She just looks light.

You bump her shoulder gently.

“Come on,” you say. “Mama probably got somethin’ else cookin’. You tryna act like you ain’t greedy, but I see it.”

She stands slow. “I am greedy.” You look at her sideways.

“Be greedy out loud then.” And this time?

Later in the day, the tension done eased up a bit. Not all the way gone, but lighter. Easier to breathe. You’d been out checkin’ fences when you realized the heat was creeping—high sun, no wind, the kind that sticks to your back and makes the air taste like dust.

Hotter than you expected.

So you walk back slow, find them on the porch—NaLyssa lounged in the swing, shirt damp with sweat, Dijonai fanning herself with a folded envelope like it’s gonna save her soul.

You squint. “Y’all swim?”

Dijonai blinks. “…I don’t have a—”

“Come on,” you say, already walkin’ toward the trail.

No further explanation. Just trust. You lead them past the barn, down the path cut through wild grass and old oak, until the trees close in and the air shifts—cooler, damper, alive. The sound of runnin’ water gets louder, and just like that, you’re there.

The creek.

Clear, wide, shaded on one end, deep on the other. Smooth rocks you know by name. The best damn spot on the whole land. You been comin’ here since you could walk.

No swimsuits. Waste of time. Out here, nobody care. You toss your shirt and boots to the side, roll your pants down to your briefs, and wade in without a second thought.

“Water feel good,” you call back, glancin’ over your shoulder. “Don’t play scared now.”

Dijonai toein’ off her shoes, mutterin’ about her lashes. “If this water messes up my set I swear to God—”

You smirk and cut your eyes to NaLyssa. She catches it. Now’s your time.

Before Dijonai can finish her sentence, NaLyssa grins, steps up behind her, and scoops her up like it’s nothing.

“Wait—WAIT—LYSSA DON’T YOU DARE—”

Too late.

Squeal echoes through the trees, followed by a splash so big it hits the side bank. You whip around just in time to see them go under—Dijonai kickin’, lashin’ out, NaLyssa laughin’ like it’s the first time she’s breathed right in days.

You swim over to the flat rock in the middle and haul yourself up with a grunt, water glistening on your skin. Sit back, elbows behind you, and watch ‘em in the creek—splashin’, fussin’, flirtin’ in that soft-cussed way couples do when the love still real deep under the heat.

You smile, lean back against the stone, water lapin’ at your legs. Now this—this is how you vacation. No tension. No forced talk. Just sun, cool water, and the two finest women you ever laid eyes on actin’ like they finally remembered how to have fun.

And somewhere in the back of your mind You know they both gon’ end up lookin’ your way again.

But right now You just close your eyes. Let the creek speak. Let the peace hold. And rest in the knowing: They came here as two. But it’s you they keep gravitating toward.

You don’t move. Still on the rock, legs stretched out, head leaned back just enough to catch the light on your cheekbones. Water slick across your skin, drying slow under the shade of the trees. You’ve barely said a word since you climbed up here—just watched ‘em laugh.

And they did laugh. For real.

NaLyssa tackled Dijonai back into the water after she tried to smooth her edges on a flat stone. Dijonai threatened to drown her. They both came up grinning like kids who forgot they had problems. It’s the kind of laughter that don’t ask for permission—just bursts out, loud and alive and whole.

And you just…let it be. Now, after all that splashin’, breathless and dripping, they make their way toward you—like instinct.

NaLyssa plops down on your left, droplets sliding down her arms. Dijonai eases herself onto your right like she suddenly don’t mind bein’ wet anymore. Both lean back on their hands. Real quiet. Real close.

“…Having fun?” you ask, still not lookin’ at ‘em.

“This is nice,” NaLyssa says, chest still rising and falling slow.

You hum in agreement. A soft sound. Eyes still closed.

“…Y’all stare a lot…” you murmur. Dry. Calm. Like you just stating facts.

Neither deny it. But they don’t laugh either. There’s a beat of silence.

“…Thanks,” Dijonai says quietly. “For this.”

You finally open your eyes, blinkin’ into the blue and green all around you.

“No need to thank me,” you say, voice low. “Ain’t do nothin’ special. Just showed y’all where to breathe.”

Birds chirpin’. Wind rustling leaves. Creek water swishing gentle in the bend. And then you feel it. The way Dijonai shifts. The pause in her breath. The change in air.

You turn your head—slow. She’s already lookin’ at you. Not glancin’. Not playin’. Really lookin’.

Studying you like she don’t wanna forget what you look like right now. Not glammed up. Not all sharp words and attitude. Just you, quiet and sure and soaked in soft light.

You meet her eyes. Don’t smile. Don’t flinch.

“…Yes?” you ask. She blinks, once. Like you caught her.

But she doesn’t look away.

NaLyssa doesn’t say a word either. Just stays still beside you—watching. Listening. Dijonai’s voice comes low, thoughtful.

“You really don’t want anything from us?”

You tilt your head slightly. “Did I say that?”

She raises an eyebrow, just a little. You sit up straighter, elbows resting on your knees now, eyes locked on hers.

“I’m attracted to both of y’all,” you say plain. “That ain’t a secret.”

You glance at NaLyssa. “And I respect what y’all already had. Still do.” Then back to Dijonai.

“But no—I’m not chasin’. I’m just here. If you want me? You’ll say it.”

She looks like she’s holdin’ her breath. You give her one more soft blink.

“…Anything else you was wonderin’?”

She don’t answer. She just reaches for your hand. Slowly. Carefully. Lacing her fingers with yours like it’s been waiting to happen. NaLyssa exhales beside you, low and long, like she finally relaxed again.

You let her hold your hand. Let both of them sit there beside you. And smile to yourself.

Because this..this is more than nice. This is the beginning of somethin’ real.

Y’all didn’t rush it.

After the creek, nobody said much. Just let the moment hang. You stayed on that rock until the sun shifted, slow and syrupy, casting long shadows through the trees. The water cooled the heat clinging to your skin, and the breeze started carryin’ that lazy-evening scent—wild grass, pine, and smoke from somebody burnin’ off brush a few acres over.

You dried off as best you could. Shirts half-wet, pants rolled to the knees, Dijonai squeezin’ out her hair with her face turned up to the sky. NaLyssa wrung out her tank top with both hands, watching you the whole time like she still had somethin’ to say and didn’t know how to say it.

You let them walk ahead a bit. Took your time behind ‘em. Watchin’ the sway of hips, the way NaLyssa reached out absentmindedly to brush her fingers against Dijonai’s wrist. Still in sync—even after everything. But it was softer now. Gentler.

You just kept walkin’. Hand in your back pocket. Sun on your face. Calm in your chest. By the time night came down and the stars showed up, the backyard was set up with chairs around the firepit. You kicked it off easy—logs stacked, flames cracklin’, smoke curling up toward the sky.

Dijonai found her way to NaLyssa’s lap again. Wore one of your hoodies like it belonged to her. Legs curled, lashes gone, lip gloss fresh.

NaLyssa’s arms around her waist, fingers movin’ slow across her thigh. You sat across from them, stretched out in a lawn chair, hoodie half-zipped, one knee up. Bottle in your hand, mouth quiet.

They were talkin’. About everything and nothin’. Childhood stories. Pet peeves. Who in the friend group could fight. That kinda talk.

You tossed a twig into the flames and spoke up, smirking. “Still crazy to me. Y’all been here two days actin’ like strangers.”

NaLyssa chuckled, rubbing Dijonai’s hip. “You really not gonna let that go?”

“Nope,” you said casually. “’Cause it ain’t make sense. Could’ve been like this the whole damn time.”

Dijonai smiled slow, head turned toward the fire. “Guess we needed you to shake it loose.”

You met her eyes. That smile on her lips stayed soft, a little lazy now—like she knew what she was doing. Like she liked sittin’ on NaLyssa’s lap and still giving you all the eye contact.

Oh. So that’s the game. Cool. You took a slow sip from the bottle, then stood. Dusting your hands off like the night didn’t just turn real interesting.

You stepped around the fire, slow, deliberate, every movement measured.

Dijonai’s smile faltered just slightly when you stopped in front of her. She looked up—eyes gleamin’, head tilted. NaLyssa sat still beneath her, arms wrapped loose around her hips, brows drawn a little.

You reached out. Held Dijonai’s face real gentle in one hand. Thumb grazing her cheek. Her lips parted like she expected something sweet. You kissed the corner of her mouth. Not full. Not soft. But close enough to burn. Close enough to leave intention.

Then you stepped back, looked right at NaLyssa, and blew her a kiss.

Slow. Mouthed: “Could’ve been like this.”

Petty? Yeah. But fair. You gave ‘em space. Now you giving a little pressure. NaLyssa’s jaw flexed. Dijonai’s smile turned crooked. You backed away, real calm.

“I’m headin’ in,” you said, already turnin’ toward the porch. “Don’t stay out too late.” You didn’t look back.

But if you had you would’ve seen Dijonai lean her head back on NaLyssa’s shoulder, real slow. Would’ve seen NaLyssa watching you disappear like she suddenly had regrets.

You just walked inside. Peaceful. Knowing full well— They could’ve been like this the whole time. Now they know what they missed. And you meant that kiss. Even if it was petty.

Especially because it was.

You wake up slow but early—body warm, breath easy, air drifting through the cracked window smellin’ like the earth is stretchin’ her arms.

It’s the last day.

That bittersweet kind. But around here, the last day don’t mean sadness. It means celebration. It means: go out with a bang. It means: let everybody laugh ‘til their stomach hurts, eat ‘til the button pop off their shorts, and smile so hard their cheeks burn.

You throw on your favorite tee—cut right at the waist—and those baggy jeans that hug just enough. The moment your boots hit the floor, you hear your mama already movin’ in the kitchen, gospel playin’ low on the radio. That’s the signal. Funday activated.

———————————————————————————————-

First stop: Trail Ride

———————————————————————————————-

You lead. Obviously. One hand on Sugar’s reins, the other resting lazy on your thigh, back straight. NaLyssa rides close, a little more confident now. Dijonai’s behind her, sittin’ tall with her hair up and her lashes somehow still flawless.

“She brought her mirror on the horse,” you mutter to NaLyssa, who chuckles.

“Like you didn’t expect that.”

Y’all ride past the ridge, down through the soft-dirt paths framed by trees, wind cool and sweet against your skin. At one point, you glance back and Dijonai is straight up taking pictures of herself in the saddle.

You grin. “Gon’ tag me?”

She rolls her eyes. “You want credit for the background?”

“I am the background.”

———————————————————————————————-

Later: The Cookout

———————————————————————————————-

Grill smokin’. Kids runnin’. Your uncle playin’ dominoes with somebody’s cousin who talk too much. Aunties on the porch talkin’ slick with their fans goin’ wild and their nails sharp.

Dijonai sits on a blanket, thighs crossed, plate in her lap, hair fluffed out now, barefoot and glowing. NaLyssa’s behind the grill at one point, flexin’ with the tongs like she been chefin’ her whole life. Your mama lets her slide with a smirk and a side-eye.

You walk around with a red cup and no stress. People askin’ who them two fine girls are. You just smile.

“They came with me.”

“Ohhh. Came with you or came with you?”

“Mama still outside. Watch your mouth.”

———————————————————————————————-

Later, you catch Dijonai and NaLyssa sitting side by side on the porch swing, quiet. You approach slow, barefoot now, sweat on your brow, whole body humming from the sun and food and joy.

“Y’all good?” you ask.

NaLyssa nods. “Today was perfect.”

Dijonai’s eyes flick to yours. “Didn’t think I’d like it out here this much.”

You lean against the post, arms crossed, squinting out at the yard. “Yeah. Lotta people come out here and think we don’t have nothin’. But really, we just got what we need.”

They both go quiet at that. The fireflies start floatin’ through the dusk. Somebody puts on Frankie Beverly. Kids slow dancin’. An uncle start singin’ off-key and don’t stop even when everybody begs him to.

You step down off the porch, turn back to face them.

“You ridin’ out in the mornin’?”

NaLyssa nods. “Yeah.”

Dijonai, quieter: “You gon’ miss us?”

You blink once. Then grin. “You gon’ miss me?”

They don’t say anything but those smiles? Yeah. They will.

It’s early. Not sunrise-early, but that soft morning where the sky’s still pink at the edges and the dew ain’t even burned off the grass yet.

The bags are in the car. NaLyssa’s double-checking the trunk, quiet and focused. Dijonai’s by the passenger door, one hand on her hip, the other tugging her hoodie sleeve up just a bit like she’s stalling for no reason.

You’re leaned against the porch rail again, arms crossed, hoodie sleeves pushed to your elbows. Calm. Collected. But watchin’. They don’t wanna leave. That’s obvious.

NaLyssa walks back over first, gives you a one-arm hug, pulls back slower than expected. “Thank you. For everything.”

You nod. “Y’all were easy enough.”

She smirks. “Now we were.”

You both chuckle low. But your eyes shift—slide right over to Dijonai, who’s still lingerin’, lips glossy and that same dangerous pretty that got you in trouble in the first place.

She steps closer, slow. Stops just in front of you.

“Sooo…” she says, dragging it out, eyes flicking from your lips to your collarbone. “This was nice.”

You raise a brow. “It was.”

“We should, you know… keep in touch.” She shrugs like it’s casual. Like you can’t see exactly what she doin’.

You tilt your head, smirkin’.

“That your way of askin’ for my number, darlin’?”

Dijonai laughs. Soft but bold. Then she leans in, her voice lower. “It’s my way of tellin’ you I already put it in your phone.”

You blink.

She taps your chest twice with her manicured finger and walks off with a sway, calling over her shoulder, “Check under D! Capital ‘D’ for Don’t Wait.”

NaLyssa snorts and shakes her head, opening the driver’s side door. “She been plottin’.”

You grin, phone already in hand, screen lighting up to a new contact.

“D for Don’t Act Brand New.”

You whisper under your breath, “Oh, she bold…” They get in. Doors close. Engine hums to life. As they pull out the drive, Dijonai rolls the window down, leans halfway out.

“Text me when you miss me!” she yells, voice light, flirty.

You yell back without missing a beat, “That’s a lotta messages, baby!” She whoops, NaLyssa honks once, and just like that—

They’re gone. But the porch still feels warm.

You already smilin’.

@xxsnowxx213 @draculara-vonvamp @kcannon-1436-blog @let-zizi-yap @perksofbeingatrex @soapyonaropey @julieluvspb @non3ofurbusiness @kcannon-1436-blog @kaliblazin @liloandstitchstan @footy-lover264

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reasonablywittyatbest · 8 hours ago

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This post is not about the flaws in the education system and how it needs to be changed. That is a different conversation. This post is about how AI is effecting the here and now, how it's damaging people here and now, and how it it going to cause problems in the very near future.

And hey, you're right, most people don't get an education to learn about books but they do in fact do it to learn skills! Skills they will be expected to know! This is about how it used to be when you cheated you still learned applicable skills! Now they're not learning the same skills which is leaving them helpless!

Sure the education system is flawed and fixing it is the end goal! But you can't ignore the immediate and current issues, you can't dismiss them because they are part of a broken system. Its the only system we currently have.

We work towards the ideal future, yeah, but we cant ignore the very real present!!!

Whenever I think about students using AI, I think about an essay I did in high school. Now see, we were reading The Grapes of Wrath, and I just couldn't do it. I got 25 pages in and my brain refused to read any more. I hated it. And its not like I hate the classics, I loved English class and I loved reading. I had even enjoyed Of Mice and Men, which I had read for fun. For some reason though, I absolutely could NOT read The Grapes of Wrath.

And it turned out I also couldn't watch the movie. I fell asleep in class both days we were watching it.

This, of course, meant I had to cheat on my essay.

And I got an A.

The essay was to compare the book and the movie and discuss the changes and how that affected the story.

Well it turned out Sparknotes had an entire section devoted to comparing and contrasting the book and the movie. Using that, and flipping to pages mentioned in Sparknotes to read sections of the book, I was able to bullshit an A paper.

But see the thing is, that this kind of 'cheating' still takes skills, you still learn things.

I had to know how to find the information I needed, I needed to be able to comprehend what sparknotes was saying and the analysis they did, I needed to know how to USE the information I read there to write an essay, I needed to know how to make sure none of it was marked as plagerized. I had to form an opinion on the sparknotes analysis so I could express my own opinions in the essay.

Was it cheating? Yeah, I didn't read the book or watch the movie. I used Sparknotes. It was a lot less work than if I had read the book and watched the movie and done it all myself.

The thing is though, I still had to use my fucking brain. Being able to bullshit an essay like that is a skill in and of itself that is useful. I exercised important skills, and even if it wasnt the intended way I still learned.

ChatGTP and other AI do not give that experience to people, people have to do nothing and gain nothing from it.

Using AI is absolutely different from other ways students have cheated in the past, and I stand by my opinion that its making students dumber, more helpless, and less capable.

However you feel about higher education, I think its undeniable that students using chatgtp is to their detriment. And by extension a detriment to anyone they work with or anyone who has to rely on them for something.

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doberbutts · 3 days ago

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See the thing is that I do really like fantasy and as a result I am so very aware that fantasy as a genre has been white dudes' playground for a very long time. And as a result even entries that I find incredibly engaging in other ways tend to fall desperately flat in terms of racial diversity, and so I am usually happy to snap up whatever I can get.

But.. it is also quite noticeable, these days, when there are no black people present. I have been (slowly) working my way back through Children of Morta which I very much have been enjoying. And, there sure are people of color in the various NPCs that need rescuing. But the family in itself? Is entirely white.

Now I can forgive it a little when it comes to being a family thing if only because as a mixed race individual I am so very much aware that people will not think about the possibility of a mixed race family unless they are forced to or unless they themselves are mixed race. So the mom, dad, and three children plus the grandma and uncle? Yeah sure fine whatever.

But then we're joined by the uncle's estranged son who is a hulking giant. And then we're joined by a "tribal woman" shortly after. And, you know, I understand hesitating to have either of those be people of color due to then falling into some pretty fraught stereotypes... but then my next thought is that you could have avoided fraught stereotypes being your only POC depictions by simply having the family... be people of color.

This is furthered by the devs stating that the Bergsons have a "non-specific ethnicity". That is all well and good. But why does opting out of stating ethnicity always look so... pale? If you mixed every single person in every single country in the entire world all together, the majority of what you would find are various shades of brown, not white. It is really very few countries that your average person is so specifically a peachy color, and those countries have very specific ethnicities as the dominant group.

This is especially true when other characters are not pale skinned- but they are (largely voiceless, as the unseen Narrator voices all of their lines) NPCs that exist only to either sell you things, be saved from oncoming doom and destruction in the form of various brutal monsters, or enemies in their own way especially in the incredibly sandy and Agrabah-ish levels which is its own problem.

Which means there was an active choice to make the playable good guys only family characters white, when the rest of the world is so varied in color, and when there are enemies who are decidedly less so. And saying that they have "no specific ethnicity" does not fly when ethnicity is clearly depicted elsewhere within the story.

I have to be clear that I do really like this game, and that it is a visually stunning masterpiece with a wonderful story, and I'm enjoying the journey.

But it is something that I notice whenever it comes up, game after game after game. At some point, it gets exhausting. This family could be black, and there would genuinely be no difference in any of these characters. So why make the choice for their non-specific ethnicity to still be a white one? Why continue to make white the default?

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eepy-deebser · 2 days ago

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throwing my 2 cents in rq. I think its also interesting to consider the fact that for both Aimsey & Lukey, the corruption/sculk and the cure being not fully explained to them/being lied to has been a problem before. Lukey (as Lucas) had his research on the cure first doubted, then stolen, and then he was tortured because they still couldn't figure it out. Aimsey was the Keeper's labrat: they agreed to help, yes, but weren't told any of the side effects or consequences.

The fundamental difference in tv brothers / pangi's thinking is trust vs word. Pangi gave his word to Pili, and he's fair for that, especially considering everything. But Aimsey and Lukey trusted Pangi, intrinsically, to keep them in the loop about the research, and he didn't.

Pangi doesn't think he's betrayed them (or their trust) because there weren't any clear conditions set. Aimsey and Lukey assumed that this would be kept on the down-low and on a need-to-know basis.

So: Pangi, in trying to re-establish his bond and trust with Pili/Ace, made a promise. In doing this, and not telling Lukey/Aimsey, he weakened their trust in him– they need all the information in a situation to feel comfortable, and him withholding that info is too similiar to other times they've been screwed over on this exact subject. So now, tv brothers want Pangi to break his promise (fully dissolving any trust with Pili), and on Pangi's POV, it's for nothing! He didn't do anything! But for Aimsey & Lukey Pangi withholding information is immediately breaking an unspoken promise: You won't be like them.

#trsmp #lukeytv #aimsey #pangi #idk this is all so silly silly silly #eepy yaps to the void

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toxicrelief · 3 days ago

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Crawling Back to You

Chapter nineteen

Synopsis: From Rex getting his brains blown out to asking you to dance at an over-exaggerated gala, he has a lot to think about.

Pairing: Rex x F!Reader

Word Count: 6.6k

Chapter: 19/?

Masterlist of all Chapters

TW: Depictions of Violence, Wounds, a Panic Attack, and the Subtlest of References to a Boner (lol)

Note: Sorry for how long it took to get this out, I have been so busy every single day. Sorry the sections are so clumsily put together, I wanted to really show his thought process but its been almost 30k words since the last Rex POV chapter and both you and I would hate reading and writing every little thought

Getting the shit beaten out of you isn’t something that most people can say they are used to. As much as Rex hates to admit it, he has definitely started to get more than a little used to it. It was everyday hero business, another Tuesday, or Wednesday- whatever today is. A punch to the face? Elementary school shit. A bullet wound? He had more than he could count last year. A hand being separated from its limb? Well, that’s a little new… Gunshot to the head? What are the chances?

Seriously.

What are the chances of surviving this?

Rex wasn’t one to beg. Not for anything, and most assuredly not his life. There was a list of things he would be much more likely to beg for first. In the grand scheme of things, why should he care if he died? It’s not like he would live to regret it.

However, at this exact moment, as he rested heavily on his knees, breath coming out in heaves as his eyes trailed over the mutilated corpse belonging to one of Kate’s duplicates, he felt it. Like somehow, he was going to live to regret. Even as the metal pressed heavy against the back of his skull. As he feels the bullet enter the chamber, the click vibrating against him. It was over. He could practically feel the blood moving through his arm to escape from the massive mound of a wound left where his hand used to be. Small splattering sounds filled his hearing, drowned out only by the sound of rushing blood from within the confines of his head. There was no daring escape he could make or last-minute save. He was going to die. And somehow, he would still regret. More than he could think of in the split second before the bullet split through his head. But, that didn’t stop the images from flashing by.

Rex was sure he died, it was the only thought that could wreck through his mind as he gained consciousness. That was until he opened his eyes to see Cecil leaning against the counter in his hospital room.

If you die, and the first thing you see is Cecil Stedman, you definitely didn’t go up. Looking around the room his gaze landed on a metal sheath enclosed around his left arm. It all started to flood back. The fight, Kate, Rae, the feeling of his radius ramming through the skull of that blonde prick.

“Kate and Rae-?”

“Rae is going to be okay.” Cecil responded curtly, his jaw setting tightly.

The lack of mention towards Kate told Rex all he needed to know. He knew when it happened that there was no way she could have survived that. Even for how much they all seemed to escape death. Hell, he was even sure Rae was done for, he could still hear the sickening crack of her bones reverberating off the insides of his skull. He had been done for. Shot in the head. What were the chances?

“Killdeer saved your life. Or at least saved your mind, my guys weren’t sure they were going to be able to return you to-” He gestures at Rex in an unimpressed manner, “to this.” Cecil ended the statement with a firm look; he wasn’t there to coddle him or tell him it would be alright. He was there to tell him how things were going to be. Killdeer had saved Rex, even after everything. In other words, ‘I swear to god if you cause more problems in the team you’ll wish she hadn’t’. Even doped up on whatever painkillers were running through his system he could see Cecil’s hand.

It intrigued Rex that Cecil put this much effort into assuring the newest member’s seat in the Guardians. Or rather, it would intrigue him to look back on later, as he was a little out of it at the time being.

“Why?” His voice crackled with effort, he didn’t expect Cecil to be honest, but he asked nonetheless.

“Why wouldn’t she? Unless you’ve given her reason not to, hm?” Cecil straightened his tie absentmindedly, perhaps a way to occupy his hands. “You did good work, Rex. Stopped something that could have gotten very bad, very quickly. It was honorable.”

The praise pressed numbly to his ears, not something Rex was used to hearing from Cecil, but he still couldn’t find it in him to mentally accept it. This wasn’t a success. It was luck. Had the bullet been lodged a few centimeters to the left or right, they wouldn’t be talking right now. Kate was dead, and he had no idea how Rae was really doing.

“Is she still here?” He asked without thinking.

“She went home. She’ll be here again I’m sure. If you hadn’t noticed she has a knack for healing, this is kind of her area.” Well now he was just being mean. Rex fought to come up with a response but ended up just sinking further into his hospital bed, grunting softly. Cecil pushed himself off of the counter, seemingly ready to evacuate the room, before pausing. His back was still turned away, because of this Rex was unable to make out his expression. “It’s excruciatingly painful, by the way.”

“What is?” Rex asked.

“Healing. She finds it excruciatingly painful, especially when it comes to more serious injuries.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I’m sure you’ll see her around. And I don’t want you to give her any of your usual shit.” The thought hadn’t had the chance to even cross his mind yet. “So, think about that before you try to form another conspiracy against her, yeah?”

“Well, you look like shit. And that’s coming from a guy who looks like this.” Rex gestures to all of himself.

Mark chuckles, “Heard you’re getting a new hand, too.”

“Yeah, lucky me.” Rex pauses for a moment, “How’s Rae?”

“Holding in there.” Mark responds shortly, settling himself on the edge of Rex’s bed.

A few seconds of silence pass between them. Rex runs his fingers absentmindedly over the cool metal encasing his arm, lining over the different ridges in the steel. After Cecil had left Rex had festered for a long while in the kind of person he had been. The kind of person he is.

The kind of person that Cecil feels the need to tell directly not to give the person who saved his life any shit. The kind of person who cheats on his girlfriend multiple times, even after she let him live with her for a year straight. The kind of person who is rightfully never anyone’s first choice for a mission.

He had been a dick. Rex knew he was a dick, often times he let himself relish in it a little. Really just roll in the shit. But, looking back, what had he truly accomplished? Saved a few cities a few times? He hadn’t even done it alone, that credit would have to be divided across multiple different heroes.

It was not enough to be super. A small voice inside his head had whispered it to him for years, but he pushed it down, drowned it out. Told himself he had a right not to be fully accountable for anything. After all the shit he had been through? It’s a miracle he was even still ‘one of the good guys’.

A bullet to the head quickly had that ideation crumpling in on itself. If he had died, no one would remember him for long. And it would be rightfully so.

“You know, when that bullet went through my head, I saw my life flash before my eyes.” He sat up, talking to the back of Mark’s head. “Yeah, that’s always sounded like bullshit to me, too, but…it’s not.” He frowned timidly. “And I didn’t like what I saw. I was such a dick to Kate. To Eve, too. To-” He mutters out your name, running his hand over his face with a groan. “To every woman I’ve ever been with. None of them deserved it. I don’t know why I had to get my brains blown out to see that.”

“What is it about being a superhero, where we go around saving lives, while ruining them at the same time?”

“Aw, Jesus.” Rex sighs, pushing himself up further. “All right, let’s hear it.”

“Hear what?”

“Eh. The reason your face looks all…like that. I don’t know, you know, sad and shit.”

Mark is practically pouting, his eyebrows creased upwards. He sighs before looking away, a hand idly rubbing his knuckles. “I’m not doing too hot in the dating field either.”

“You’re dating that one girl… uh Amber right?”

“I’m actually surprised you know that.” Mark gave him a semi-suspicious look.

“Okay, I can actually listen sometimes, I’m not always clueless.” Rex rolls his eyes, scrunching his nose.

“Yeah, Amber.” He affirms again, “I’m always having to leave her for whatever Cecil needs, or I’m gone for months at a time. I’m flunking out of college; I hardly have time for my best friend-”

“Woah okay, I’m not your therapist, maybe one issue at a time. What are you going to do about Amber?”

Mark lets out a labored breath. “It’s not fair to expect her to wait around, right?” He looks expectantly at Rex, who just stares back before realizing Mark wants a response, and then he just shrugs. “Viltrumites live for hundreds of years. Would it be fair even to waste a few months of her time now, when that could quickly turn to years of her life?”

“That’s assuming you survive your next big fight, Invincible.” Rex snorts, then wipes the smile off of his face at Mark’s scathing look. “Look, having a relationship is difficult even for normal people. And last I checked you’re not. I don’t want to be one of those assholes that tells you ‘if you truly love her, let her go’ or some shit, but,” He pauses. His infatuation with Killdeer was the first thing to spring forward in his mind as he was speaking. She couldn’t stand him; it wasn’t something he could really compare to Mark and Amber. But, in a way, it almost felt like he was disrespecting her by even thinking about her. If he wanted to mend anything between the two of them, he should just leave her alone. He can’t pull some shit like showing up to her apartment tipsy again. “Well, fuck, I guess my point is, do you think that a year from now anything will have changed?”

A beat. “I don’t see how it can…”

“Then maybe that’s your answer right there.”

Mark nods somberly, before slowly turning his gaze back to Rex. “This has been surprisingly insightful…how many painkillers do they have you on?”

“Not enough!” Rex groans, “Shit hurts.”

“Well, thanks, I guess, Rex.” Mark presses his lips together and another small awkward silence passes between them.

“Have you met the newbie?” It was out of the blue, unexpected, even to Rex as he said it.

“Hm?” Mark gave him an odd look. “Shapesmith?”

“No, not him, fuckin’ weirdo. Killdeer. Nurse, healing powers and shit.” He makes a gesture with his hands as if she’s a witch doing voodoo.

“Mmm, no I don’t think so. Why?”

Why had Rex asked? He wasn’t sure. Maybe he just wanted an excuse to talk about her. “Uh, well, I don’t know. You’re talking about Amber and I was trying to think of something equally interesting, you know, for the sake of conversation.”

“And you landed on a new member of the Guardians rather than the fact you’re sitting in a hospital room, with no hand and whatever that is on your head?”

“Okay, first of all, that’s old news, second of all, don’t get sassy with me, I’m missing an arm.”

“I thought that was old news.”

“Don’t push it, Grayson.”

Mark smiles to himself and leans back slightly. “Well, what about them?”

“Ah.” Rex chews on the inside of his cheek. “She’s just, well, she’s been a big topic around the headquarters, I guess.”

“Okay?” Mark raises a brow, cocking his head at Rex.

“Don’t make this fuckin’ weird man-”

“I’m not doing anything-!”

“You’re making me feel weird-!”

“No, I’m not!” Mark laughs, moving to a standing position. “I don’t know what all of this is about, but I bet I can guess.” Rex grumbles in response but doesn’t tell him he’s wrong. “Look man, you’re obviously learning to look back at your actions or- just keep that up. And move slow, or whatever.”

“I made her quit the Guardian’s.” Rex blurted, wincing to himself.

“What?” Mark sighed, his shoulders dropping.

Which led to him sitting back down and Rex spilling completely about everything Mark had missed while he was away. Which Rex realized was a lot now that he was saying it all in quick succession. And none of it was making him look too good.

“Oh.” Mark was looking off into the corner of the room processing. “Well, that’s unique.”

“And on top of all that, Cecil just told me she’s the reason I’m still alive.”

“And I thought me and Amber had issues.”

“Don’t compare this to you and Amber, you and Amber are dating.” Rex groaned.

“This is a lot of drama for two people who aren’t together…You went to her apartment?” Mark squinted at him.

“Ugh.” Rex shrunk further into his bed.

Less than a ten percent chance. He had looked it up the moment Mark left his hospital room. There was a less than ten percent chance that he could have survived a bullet to the brain. It ran over and over in his head as he looked at the magazines Eve had brought for him.

“Oh, hello.” Eve’s voice which hadn’t sounded off for a minute after he told her that Mark and Amber were kaput, snapped him out of his spiraling thoughts.

“Hi, sorry, is this a bad time?”

Already? It’s suddenly a bit harder to breathe, his chest constricting tightly even though he couldn’t quite make her out from where Eve was sitting. Killdeer was visiting. She had come to speak with him. Between Mark, Eve, and this new visitor, Rex was starting to wonder if he wasn’t as big of an asshole as he thought. Obviously, he had done something right if anyone was still giving a semblance of a shit.

“You look like shit.”

Huh. Maybe a little less than a semblance. Regardless, the relief he felt at knowing that she would visit was tremendous, more than he expected.

Twenty bucks my ass. There was no way these were worth even five bucks. He was being conned, he could feel it in every bone of his body. But twenty bucks is nothing in the grand scheme of things if it means she’ll keep visiting. He would pay much, much more.

“Does it feel the same?” She’s running a finger over each of his hands. Her skin trailed almost agonizingly gentle over his.

Fuck yes it felt the same. It felt like fucking fire is what it felt like. Uncomfortable burning traveling up his arms directly to his spine. But he didn’t want her to stop, in fact, he couldn’t think of a single thing he wanted less than that specific tingling in this exact moment. “Uh…Yeah pretty- I’d say pretty similar.” His mouth felt dry, and he couldn’t bring himself to meet her eyes.

She didn’t pull back, her eyes glued to his hands. He could practically feel his heartbeat edging towards racing. Hopefully, she can’t feel it, with all of her weird powers and shit. Cool fingertips brush over his knuckles, causing his hand to clench against his own wishes. He felt oddly shaky; this wasn’t him at all. Whenever he liked someone, he made a move and he made it quickly. What was holding him back? He didn’t want her to leave. To stop visiting. God, he was losing his touch. At one point he had felt like he could have anyone he wanted. He could talk the talk and had never once been turned down. But with her… He just couldn’t seem to wrap his head around truly wanting her. After everything he had put her through, and his own conflicting feelings.

He could still hear Kate in his head, scolding him for trying to sleep with every woman he came across. He felt like he wasn’t good enough, not worthy. It was a new feeling for him.

He’s grown to respect you. And for him, that sucks.

Rex wasn’t sleeping well. Not that he would admit that to anyone. The last thing he needed was some loser telling him he needed to see a fucking shrink. He had made it through life so far perfectly fine on his own…well, minus the whole asshole thing. But he was managing to get better on his own. Right?

He had stumbled through an apology to Killdeer, it wasn’t one of his finest moments, but he knew he needed to do it. She had been drawing away from him. Which part of him thought was for the best. Another, much louder part, wanted her to never leave his bedside. He was surprisingly content. She listened to every stupid story he dawdled on about, and whenever she asked him something he answered or did as she said right away. He didn’t want to give her any reason to remember how much time she had wasted talking with him.

When she had asked to see his new hand again, and then again after that, he was a little taken aback, but he obliged. This proved to be borderline torture. He could feel her. Every touch, every scrape. He had to force his way through thoughts, constantly talking to try distracting from the feeling. She just hummed quietly, full attention on his hand. And thank god for that. Rex had shifted three times now, drawing one of his legs up higher to lift the blanket with it. As determined as he was not to make things weird between them, his body was definitely reacting to her. Another aspect of the torture. This practically felt like foreplay for Pete’s sake.

If he wasn’t kept awake in a purgatory of tossing and turning thinking about her, he was reliving his worst moments in his sleep. At first, it was just the moments before he had been shot. Every detail of the room was imprinted on his subconscious. Then it started to evolve. Other regrets started to push their way forward, sometimes the person behind the gun was an old target of his. Other times he was the one behind the gun, familiar but blurry faces passing by in front of him.

His most recent dream had ended in Killdeer being the one before him. This time it was different. The others had been alive, begging for their lives. She was silent, facing away. The sound of droplets hitting the floor were clear even after he woke up. He said something, something he couldn’t remember. Maybe for her to look at him, stand up, run, do something. But instead, she started slouching forward, the droplets increasing until they sounded like a waterfall. Rushing, pushing, drowning. Blood was filling the room like a flood, pushing up towards his ankles. He couldn’t move, only could watch in horror. It rose steadily, licking up the legs of his suit, warm, unpleasant. Killdeer who was slouched forward on her knees before the gun only slid forward more and more. The crown of her head slowly became lost as the liquid crept higher.

He woke up holding one of the dingy hospital pillows flesh with his chest. Arms wrapped tightly around it, a sheen of sweat covering him head to toe.

One mission. That’s all he needed. Rex needed to be in it all again, he needed to prove to himself and everyone else that he was capable.

All fine and dandy until a behemoth with tentacles was throwing him straight through a metal storage crate. Which hurts a lot, by the way. At first, it felt like adrenaline, completely normal when a giant Davy Jones akin monster is actively trying to murder you. Then it started to get hard to breathe, hard to aim. The last metal disk Rex threw at it flew right over his shoulder, only helpful by the smoke cloud it left. This offered enough cover for him to slide over another crate, pressing his back firmly to the hard green metal.

“Don’t do this. Come on, come on, don’t do this to me.” He held his manufactured hand by the wrist, trying to force away the tremors. He tried to take a deep breath, filling his chest with oxygen, only for it to be forced out with another tremor. “You’ve done this a hundred times-” Probably not the best time to be having a vocal pep talk. He can hear the giant throwing different crates in search of him.

“Fuck-” He shouldn’t be on a solo mission yet. Joy was right, she was worried, and she was right. Not that he would ever admit that in a million years. His breathing continued to come out in labored heaving; it was becoming harder to focus his vision.

He needed to stop this before he lost control. The last thing he needed was to pass out midbattle, he was better than this.

“You did adequate. Very promising, Rex. A good soldier.” No, not him. The last person he wanted to think about was that prick.

Rex shook the memory of Radcliffe from his mind, searching through memories, anything to take his mind off this.

“You did good work, Rex.” No, not Cecil either.

“I do everything you wish you could. And that’s rich coming from a guy called Rex Splode.” Bulletproof. Less helpful.

Rex pushed a hand up under his goggles, gloved fabric blocking his vision. He was getting more lightheaded, it hurt to breathe.

“Seriously, Rex?” Eve.

“Asshole-” “Prick-”- He could only seem to conjure negative interactions, there was such a multitude to choose from-

“Thank you.” It’s softer, barely audible over the other memories. But it’s enough to catch his full attention. Cold grey ceilings, hardly visible through the shadows of headquarters. Bright blue lighting. His fingers thrummed gently against the steel floor, a melody he hadn’t been able to place in years. “For pushing me out of the way earlier.” He glances up to see the crown of her head. She’s staring up, chest rising slowly in shallow breaths.

“You probably would have been fine anyways…You know, injuries and all.”

“Just because I can heal it doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. So still, thank you.”

Rex lets his hand slide down from his eyes, working to take controlled breaths. It’s becoming easier, his hands are still shaking but he doesn’t feel like he’s going to immediately pass out if he stands anymore.

A crash sounds out closer to where he’s sitting, forcing him to stand up. He’s got this. He’s a fucking Guardian. A bullet to the head didn’t even take him out. This won’t be his last fight, and yesterday sure as hell wasn’t the last time he would ever see her. He was sure of that.

“You’re welcome.”

Of course, she didn’t ask him. He just hadn’t expected her to ask Bulletproof of all people. Were they close in some capacity? It doesn’t matter now. The world is traveling by tens of thousands of feet below. A soft snore every few minutes takes him out of the zone, and Rex is tempted to start throwing things at the culprit. He wants to look back, shoot a pointed glare even though Bulletproof isn’t awake to see that. But in doing that he’ll end up looking at her. Something he’s been avoiding doing for at least an hour. He’s actually not sure how long it’s been. It feels like it’s been forever.

The file on their gracious benefactor hung loosely in his hand. Of all people it could have been why did it have to be her? Mune wasn’t even her real name. He doubted that many people still alive knew that though.

A quick glance down revealed that the edges of the file were completely crumpled in his tight grip. So, he disposed of it under the seat in front of him. He’d pick it up later.

He shifted his attention to something else before the unpleasant memories could completely flood back. Jealousy isn’t something entirely foreign to Rex. When he was dating Eve, he constantly would work himself up over every interaction she brought up with another guy. He practically convinced himself, alongside Kate, that Eve was getting with Mark. Another asshole tendency of his that he was working on. The fact that Killdeer had brought up Invincible in a good light several times now wasn’t getting to him. Seriously it wasn’t.

Well, maybe it kind of was.

…

It definitely was, alright? Happy?

Except he knows he has no right to be jealous. The two of them aren’t…well, they’re not anything. Not dating, not- Well he doesn’t know what else, but the point is there’s nothing between him and her.

If he could go back to the night he showed up at her apartment, he wondered if he would have kissed her knowing what he knew now. He had wanted to then, but not in the way he wanted to now. Before he was confused by it, there was attraction, but he never could place quite why. Blamed it on her powers, or even the fact he hadn’t gotten laid in so long. Now it was different. He wanted her. Not just to kiss her, or have some lousy one-night stand. He wanted to be near her, have a true excuse to do things with her now that he was out of the hospital. He wanted to let her trace her touch over his as often as she wanted. He wanted to come back from a mission and sink down onto one of the couches in the rec room next to her while she messaged Cecil about whatever they messaged so much about. He wanted her.

But, he didn’t deserve her. He couldn’t have her. Could he?

“I’m gonna get dressed.” Her voice broke through his thoughts, causing him to jolt slightly.

“Okay.”

“Do you dance, Rex?” A simple, innocent question. One he had known the answer to immediately, of course he didn’t dance. It had never even crossed his mind before tonight. Since the night started, however, it had been near the top of his priorities. Any chance he got between idle small talk he was glancing over at the dance floor, taking mental notes.

Where did the lead put his hands, how did they step, turn, twist? It was overwhelming, but he was determined to get it down-pat. Her question had saved him from having to blunder his way through asking.

And dance they did. The grass was uneven and almost caused Rex to roll an ankle more than once. He felt silly, haphazardly. The hand he had placed on her hip was hard to rip his concentration from. The way he could feel the heat through the silk of her dress, the way she stared at him and followed his lead. In hindsight, if he was so determined to not make things weird maybe he shouldn’t have asked her to dance. Because the only thing he could truly focus on was the way her lips curved around every word, every smile, and every laugh.

“You look…” Don’t cross that line, this is not a casual thing to say. “You look beautiful tonight.” Christ. “By the way.” Once it’s said there is no way to pull the words back in. They hung between the two dancers like fog.

“Don’t tease, I’m not an idiot.” What? He was practically working himself into an aneurism while forcing the words out. And she was just taking it as another one of his jokes. He would have bristled, been upset at how she completely missed his sincerity. How much he had meant it, and how much he had wanted to say it since she first walked into his hospital room. And maybe even before that, but everything before that was far too confusing for him to unravel. Instead of doing any of that, his eyes trailed down her face, the temptation returning once again.

“Tease?” It wasn’t a tease. It was cold, hard fact. He could show her. Show her just how much he meant it, how she makes him feel. Glancing up their eyes meet, he can feel his pulse quicken, burning his veins. A tension falls on the two of them and he has to consciously resist the urge to tighten his grip on her hip.

Her lips parted, to scold, chide, rebuke, something. At least that’s what he expected, but whatever she was going to say died at her lips. Only the sound of the faint music curls around them, providing the smallest semblance of release from the loaded silence that threatened to swallow Rex whole.

He should ask. There’s no way she doesn’t feel it, right? It’s the only thing he can feel, she’s the only thing he can feel. He needs to-

“So, can I get that dance?” Oh, fuck off!

Her hand immediately leaves Rex’s shoulder as she turns to the voice. Some rich-looking asshole, just like every other rich asshole here.

“You said I could have one if you decided to dance, and from the looks of it, you just did.”

Not just did, asshole. Still are. Go away.

“Uh- Yeah, okay, just give me a moment.” He was still holding onto her other hand as she glanced back. Her expression searched his, waiting for…something. But he just stared back, his stomach clenching unpleasantly as she unraveled her grasp from his. As she heads up the stairs she turns back. “Thank you.”

Any possible words die in his throat, he just stares. It’s pathetic. He should joke, quip, something. Say good riddance! I was getting tired of dancing. Even though it would have been a lie. He could have stayed on that grass with you for hours.

A small stretch of silence passes with Rex standing at the bottom of the stairs. He taps his index finger against the thigh of his slacks. Stupid. Just- well it’s just stupid.

Rex walked around the side of the outer wall, the brisk air cutting through his dress shirt. Going back into the ballroom to watch her dance with some other guy was not at the top of his to-do list. Coward. He should have done something, said something. He didn’t even display displeasure at her going off to dance with some other man. He should have-

A glint catches his eye from inside one of the windows, it could have been anything. A guest entering the wrong room looking for the bathroom, a fucking…cat? He doesn’t know, but he gets an uneasy feeling. Continuing forward, he notes on the outside which room it is. A few servers pass him with polite smiles and trays bearing champagne. With the kind of night he’s having, he grabs a glass as they pass. There was another entrance into the house through a door to the kitchen, or a kitchen at least. Several workers sat on another set of stairs leading up to it, smoking cigarettes on their breaks. They paid Rex no mind, easily letting him pass. Once inside he weaved his way past another handful of workers grabbing another glass on his way out, until he was back in the hallway.

Was it four rooms over or five? He quickened his pace, reaching back at his side out of habit to where his various expendables usually were. Of course, he was wearing a different type of suit tonight, so his hand didn’t make contact with anything. A planter resided outside the first door he planned on checking, small decorative rocks laid on top of the soil. Good enough, he grabbed a handful and placed the mostly full champagne glass haphazardly on the rocks, hoping it wouldn’t spill. After a few short strides he is slowly wrapping his hand around the doorknob.

It was nothing, there wasn’t going to be anyone in the room. He was just worked up from whatever weird feelings he was feeling before-

See? Wasn’t that easy?

It’s soft, muffled. Someone had turned on their transmitter.

I have men stationed throughout the house ready to turn this into a blood bath. Get me Mune, alone, in one of the rooms, and we won’t open fire.

Shit. Which line was that coming from? It wasn’t hers, right? His free hand gripped tighter on the rocks within his grasp.

You must know who I am, which means you must know I am not here alone.

His heart sank. Of course it was her. It couldn’t have been Lance or one of his pricks with the bulletproof vests.

Oh, yes.

Rex was already letting go of the handle, ready to sprint into the ballroom.

Then you must know this is futile. You’re bringing guns to a fight where your opponents are atomic bombs. In what world do you get what you want and waltz out of here?

Fuck. The men. The guy said there were men stationed around. Rex saw something in that room. He could have easily seen the reflection of their gear.

I have no intentions of leaving.

Whoever had control of Killdeer’s comms knew his identity. If he went to the ballroom, he’d most likely shoot her, if he had a gun. It would be fucking stupid to try pulling this unarmed. And then he would most likely move on to one of the less super-abled guests. Shit, shit, shit. Why couldn’t he run probabilities like Rudy could?

Shooting me won’t help your case.

So, he has a gun.

It’ll sure hurt though. And eventually, you’ll die, and if not, I’ll have plenty of fun seeing if you can.

Who cares about the safety of the fuckin’ guests, he’s going there, NOW.

How did you-

Static crosses over her words, replaced by the familiar ring of Bulletproof’s, they must be blocking her frequency.

Rex, I see at least one bogey over here. I’m near the west wing. Where are you, man?

Rex stopped mid-sprint, a few feet away from the door he had just been about to investigate. “Fuck- I… I don’t know, this fucking house is nuts.”

Oh, come on! Are you seriously sightseeing right now? You’ve got to be-

“No, I wasn’t fucking sightseeing.” Rex hissed low in response. “I thought I saw something.”

What was it?

“I haven’t checked yet-”

Well fucking get on it! We don’t know how many of these guys there are around.

Rex could hear the music crescendo down the hall, he wasn’t that far, he could follow the music... Instead, he turned back to the door, rolling his shoulders before he walked back up to it, and swung it open.

He could pretend to be another drunk looking for the bathroom, get a leg up on them. It was some kind of sitting room, very dimly lit. Couches with fancy stitching and embroidering were circled around an intricate wooden table. Two men were spread out on in opposite corners, wearing tactical gear similar to Lance’s group before they dressed up.

“Whoops, this isn’t the bathroom-”

One of them is already raising their gun, pointing it directly at him. Not the time, apparently. He charges the rocks, sending them out before him in a controlled explosion. Enough to cause a smoke covering. Now would be an excellent time to have his goggles. Darting behind one of the couches, he tries to listen to where they were after the commotion. Loud boots against the carpet proved to be the only indicator in the already dark room as to where they were located.

One of the men closest to him came up to the couch, Rex couldn’t see where he was but jumped forward at the sound anyways. He collided with the man’s legs, bringing him crashing to the ground, hitting a side table from the sounds of it on the way down. He’s close enough to Rex for him to make out through the slowly clearing smoke that he’s reaching for a knife at his side. Running on pure instinct he pushes the man’s hand up. Forcing the blade into the soft skin under his chin.

Gurgles fill the air around them as the smoke completely dissipates. The other man is standing just a foot or two away, his gun held up. At the sight of his teammate flailing in a pool of his own blood, he hesitates. Enough for Rex to rocket himself up, forcing the gun from the assailant’s grasp. Off balance, they both tumble over the back of one of the couches. Rex fights his way on top, gripping the front of the man’s outfit, then slamming his knuckles into the man’s face. Once, then twice, then a third time, followed by a sickening crack. And for a moment Rex is back in that building, his bloodied arm ramming into the King Lizard’s head. Wiping that snide fuckin’ look off of his face-

A crack, loud and clear. Splitting pain in his side sends him slamming his opposite side into the coffee table. “Fuck!” He draws it out with a shaky inhale. Recovering quickly, he looks up to see a third person entering from the doorway.

She looks around, her eyes locking on the sight of the man now dead and forgotten on the other side of the couch. It’s cool, calculated, her gaze turns back to Rex, and she holds the gun tighter, keeping it trained on him. “Die.”

Well, that’s a comfort. He rolls as fast as he can, another shot embedded in the coffee table behind him. The other guy’s gun is just within his grasp. What are the chances he reaches it in time? His fingertips are brushing against the butt of it, he can hear her moving to where she can aim better.

“Shit-“ He groans, pushing himself up further with his elbow and finally grasping it. He lifted it up just as she was coming into view and-

Hopefully none of this shit was horribly valuable. The blood is never coming out of those cushions.

Rex pushes himself up, sucking air through his teeth as the movement tweaks his fresh wound.

I’ve got two taken down in the west wing.

We took down one near the bedrooms.

Exiting out the door he looked up and down the hall, not sure what he was expecting.

What about Rex? Where’s Rex?

She was okay. The tension in his shoulders lifted briefly as he tried to catch his breath, placing a hand against his side. Another worker was passing by with a platter of drinks headed towards the ballroom.

Does anyone have eyes on Rex?

He panted out each breath, straightening up against the pain blossoming at his side. “What wing is this?”

The worker slows and gives him a confused look which spreads into a knowing smile. “The east wing, sir.” Christ, he think’s your drunk. Rex gives him a tight smile as a gesture of thanks, then waits for the waiter to continue on.

“Got three of those fuckers in the east wing.” He lowers his hand from the comm unit in his ear and lets out a groan, steadying himself against the plant he had grabbed the rocks from. His champagne glass still sitting where he left it.

Author's note: Small change to Rex’s dialogue in the show. Specifically, “to every woman I’ve ever dated” To “every woman I’ve ever been with.” Cause lowkey I head canon that Eve is the only person he’s ever actually dated. Not counting the people he’s slept with. Rex truthers how we feeling tonight?

divider credit: @/ saradika

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#rex splode x reader #enemies to lovers #slow burn #crawling back to you rexfic #no beta we die like rex splode apparently #rex splode #rex sloan #rex sloan x reader #invincible #invincible season 3 #invincible rex splode #invincible fic #invincible x reader #invincible fanfic

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