#I was going to make a caption but then I realized this post speaks for itself

[formulafanfics13]

so reader is dating a driver who's Mr. Steal-ya-girl type. (i cant decide who :3 lando???charles?lewis???) always being playful and flirty with others. reader is uncomfortable , needs assurance but he always brushes it off keeps flirting claims its part of his brand/charm. reader finally gets hurt enough to leave but he thinks she will come back. but what if she's sweeped off by someone else? least suspecting one?(max?osc?) and the ex gets angry confused and confronts reader.

Look Who’s Watching Now - MV1 (LN4)

Masterlist

Summary: Lando was her golden boy. Funny, charming, impossible not to love. Until every wink, every flirty whisper, every photo of him touching someone else became a knife in her chest. When she left, he laughed. She’ll be back. But two months later, she walks into the paddock on Max Verstappen’s arm, smiling like she’s brand new. And Lando? Lando’s about to realize what it feels like to lose.

Warnings: emotional neglect and manipulation from a flirty, self-absorbed ex-boyfriend (Lando), who repeatedly brushes off reader’s discomfort about his constant public flirting. themes of gaslighting, insecurity, and quiet emotional breakdown are present. reader eventually leaves the relationship offscreen and reappears later in a new, emotionally safe dynamic with Max Verstappen. includes strong jealousy, possessive behavior (from Max), toxic ex energy, and confrontation. suggestive content and sexual tension implied, though not explicit. overall tone is emotionally charged, with a shift from vulnerability to power and emotional resolution.

You didn’t slam the door when you left.

You didn’t cry in the hallway or post a breakup playlist or throw anything across the apartment. There were no screaming fights, no cheating, no betrayal worthy of a headline.

Just a long silence. A quiet ache. And a man who stopped listening the second he made you his.

You tried to talk to him. So many times.

“It hurts when you flirt with every girl in the paddock.” “I know it’s part of your image, but it makes me feel like I’m not enough.” “I don’t want to be the girl who waits at home while you’re kissing people’s cheeks in front of cameras.”

He’d always laugh. Ruffle your hair. Pull you in and kiss your forehead like you were a child having a tantrum.

“You know I only want you.” “Come on, baby, don’t be like that.” “It’s just charm. It’s not real.”

But it felt real. When he whispered into another girl’s ear. When he smiled like they were the only person in the room. When he posted stories with his arm around someone else, captioned “my favourite girl today.”

You felt invisible. And when you left, he let you. You think that part might’ve hurt the most.

Two months pass. You go quiet. Stay off social. Travel a little. Try to remember what it’s like to make decisions without factoring in someone else’s ego. You see the headlines. The flirty grid walk. The new model he’s been snapped beside. The way he’s still laughing like nothing ever broke. But you’re not alone. Not anymore.

Because Max Verstappen found you at your worst. At a race you weren’t going to attend. In a hotel bar you weren’t planning to visit. He sat beside you and didn’t speak. Just offered you the other half of his drink and didn’t ask a single question until you were ready to answer.

And when he touched you? It wasn’t possessive. It wasn’t performative. It was real.

You return to the paddock on a Friday morning in Austria. You don’t announce it. You don’t wear anything dramatic. Just jeans and a white tank top and sunglasses pushed into your hair. You’re holding Max’s hand. He keeps it simple, one hand on the small of your back, a nod to the Red Bull staff, a quiet lean into your side when the cameras click too loud.

He doesn’t look smug. He doesn’t look like a man showing off his new girl.

He looks like a man who knows exactly what he’s holding.

You make it three minutes into the paddock before someone whispers, “Is that Max and…?”

You make it ten before someone texts Lando.

You see him before he sees you. He’s laughing with Charles outside the McLaren hospitality. Head tilted back, sunglasses on, arms crossed over his chest in a way that’s meant to draw attention. And then his eyes catch on yours.

His smile falters. He stares.

Then he looks down. At Max’s hand on your waist. At the soft gold bracelet on your wrist that definitely wasn’t there before. At the way Max glances at you before you speak, like you’re the only voice that matters.

He doesn’t say anything. Not right away. Just watches. And you don’t stop walking.

The confrontation comes later. Of course it does. He finds you alone, just outside the media zone. Max is inside doing press. You’re sipping water, sunglasses back on, face unreadable.

Lando’s voice is tighter than usual. “So this is what we’re doing now?”

You don’t flinch. “What?”

“Him?”

You shrug. “He listens.”

He scoffs. “He barely fucking speaks.”

You turn to face him fully. Calm. Collected. Devastating. “Yeah. But when I say something, he hears me.”

Lando goes quiet.

You let it hang. Let the silence stretch between you like a verdict.

“I didn’t think you’d actually leave,” he says eventually. “I thought you just needed space.”

“I needed respect.”

“You think he respects you more than I did?”

“I think he never made me feel small for having feelings.”

That shuts him up. He shakes his head, jaw clenched. “This is insane. You left me for Max fucking Verstappen.”

“No,” you say softly. “I left you because I begged you to see me and you chose your image instead.”

You start to walk past him. But you pause. Just long enough to look him in the eye. “And Max? He’s never once made me beg.”

You find Max leaning against the wall in the hallway, arms crossed, eyes soft when he sees you. He doesn’t ask what happened. Doesn’t need to.

He opens his arms and you walk right into them.

And when he kisses you? You know Lando is still watching. But you don’t care anymore.

Let him watch. Let him learn. You’re not invisible anymore.

[wttcsms]

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖࣪ when they act this way (i know i got 'em) !!

ᝰ.ᐟ kiyoomi sakusa is used to getting what he wants, and what he wants most right now is you. too bad you’re the biggest fucking tease in the world. fine by him, though. because when he gets his hands on you — and he will — you’re going to see what exactly all your thirst traps did for him. ( fem!reader )

pairing kiyoomi sakusa x reader word count 3.6k content contains angry sex/rough sex, overstimulation, semi-public location, pop star!reader, cheeky/bratty to sub!reader 😭, he manhandles you a bit, creampie kinktober masterlist

“What’s his fuckin’ problem?” Atsumu grumbles, tossing his sweaty practice jersey onto one of the benches, mindful of avoiding the bench Sakusa is currently occupying. He takes this extra precaution since he doesn’t want to get yelled at again by Sakusa, who did snap at Atsumu five seconds prior for almost getting his dirty jersey thrown on top of him. 

“Maybe you just stink, ‘Tsumu.” Bokuto’s grinning, but Hinata shakes his head, gesturing for both of his teammates to come closer so he can whisper to them.

“I think Omi’s in a bad mood because he’s mad.” 

“No shit, Ginger!” Atsumu groans. “People who are in bad moods are usually mad. We didn’t need you to spell it out for us.” 

“You didn’t let me finish!” Hinata whisper-shouts. “He’s been looking at [Name] [Surname]’s Instagram since before practice ended.” 

“Who the hell is that?” Atsumu hisses, and Bokuto hits him on the shoulder. 

“Bro! That singer!”

“Yeah, that clears shit up.” Atsumu rolls his eyes, yanking open his locker to find a clean shirt to wear. “Why would Omi be mad at lookin’ at some girl’s Instagram?”

The trio is silent for a moment before a lightbulb practically appears over Bokuto’s head.

“Hey! Maybe she got a boyfriend, and he’s jealous!”

The group ponders this hypothetical. 

“Why would Kiyoomi get jealous, though?” Hinata asks. “It’s not like he’s dating her or anything.”

“Unless they had some weird situationship shit goin’ on.” Atsumu suggests. “Should we ask? Shoyo, go ask him.”

“Why do I have to ask?” 

“Nope. She didn’t post anything with a boyfriend…” Bokuto mumbles, scrolling through your feed. 

“Lemme see.” Atsumu snatches the phone from Bokuto’s hands and lets out a wolf whistle. “She’s hot. No wonder Omi-Omi’s pissed off.” 

“Huh?” Hinata whines. “Let me see, too!”

Atsumu faces the screen towards Hinata. “She’s the type of pretty that makes you mad just ‘cause ya can’t have her.” 

The girl on the screen is you. Posted not even an hour ago but already generating over six hundred thousand likes, Hinata understands what Atsumu means. Your back is turned towards the stage you’re on, but you’re looking back, giving the camera a coy smirk. You’ve got a rhinestone bedazzled microphone in one hand, and you’re wearing the shortest baby-blue minidress in existence; so short, in fact, that because your knees are bent just a bit, the current pose you’re sporting causes the fabric of your dress to rise, giving everyone viewing the image an unfiltered view of the built-in panties of the dress. The caption speaks volumes: too much for you to handle?. 

“You realize I could hear you idiots the whole entire time, right?” Sakusa doesn’t sound very happy, and Atsumu is quick to shove the phone back into Bokuto’s hands. “I’m not in a bad mood, and I’m not mad, and I don’t care about [Name] [Surname].” He grabs his gym bag, making a face at the trio, before storming out of the locker room. 

Sakusa’s upset, and his bad mood only sours more whenever he realizes that his idiotic teammates are more perceptive than he would like. Yes, he was mad at practice the minute he saw your latest post. And why wouldn’t he be? It’s clear that you’re fucking sub-posting him. You would’ve been better off just DM’ing him yourself and asking that stupid question.

Too much for you to handle? 

Fuck you, he thinks bitterly. Before realizing that, yes, that’s exactly what he wants to do to you. 

Everyone knows it, including you, which makes the whole situation even worse. Your mutual friends keep trying to persuade the two of you to finally ease the tension and just get a room, but Sakusa’s always been a touch too prideful. 

The two of you have always been constantly warring with each other; you’ve got the coy, flirty, cocky personality that doesn’t mesh well with his own stoic, cold, perpetually unimpressed one. You always flirt with him, but he’s seen you flirt with everyone — it’s basically your whole brand. It’s precisely what your popstar image is built upon — the fun, flirty idol who’s carefree and the poster girl for no-strings-attached. 

And Sakusa, for what it’s worth, is a very strings-and-all type of man. 

The reason why he won’t pursue you is because you’re the first person to catch him off guard. He can’t get a good read on you. He has no clue what your intentions actually are, and he’s not about to make a fool of himself by asking you if you’re serious when you told him you were.

That stupid fucking party — he knew he shoudn’t have attended. It was another teammate’s birthday, and he was hosting it at his place, and since it wasn’t a nightclub or anything, Sakusa assumed it was safe enough to attend. Too bad he forgot that his teammate was dating some other singer, someone who happens to be one of your friends. 

Everyone there kept pushing the two of you together, and as the night progressed and everyone was getting drunker and drunker, there was intoxicated, slurred commentary on how the two of you just needed to fuck once and get each other out of your systems. 

“It’s true.” Even with heels, you’re still shorter than Sakusa, and you have to get on the tips of your toes to whisper in his ear. “You wanna know the reason why we haven’t had sex yet?” 

“Because I’m not interested.” He tells you flatly. He’s lying, and you know it. 

You pout, your plush bottom lip on display. “It’s because I don’t want you out of my system, and I’m hoping you don’t want to get rid of me either.” 

He snorts, even though his heart jumps at the thought. He wants to tell you to quit playing these games and be serious, but he doesn’t. Instead, he keeps himself guarded. “Like I said. Not interested.” 

“Why won’t you just give in?” You tilt your head. “You scared? Or maybe…” The dress you’re wearing makes your legs look even longer. Every centimeter of bare skin you expose has him spiraling into overdrive. He maintains his facade of nonchalance and looks you in the eyes, looking entirely unimpressed with your antics. “I’m too much for you to handle? Wouldn’t want to go around breaking Japan’s favorite outside hitter, after all.” 

You smile at him, giving a tiny giggle. “Yeah. I think that’s exactly the reason.” 

Sakusa is many things, and you somehow negate everything. He’s blunt; you either leave him speechless or determined to lie to save face. He’s generally unaffected by most people; you get under his skin. He doesn’t like being made out to be a fool; you make him feel like the biggest idiot, and other people know it too. He likes to have everything in his life sorted out properly; you and him have nothing but unfinished business. 

Let it be known that Kiyoomi Sakusa only came to your concert rehearsal purely because he wanted to get closure. When he walked into the stadium, hands in his pockets, watching you dance on the stage, he did not intend for you to immediately halt practice. He did not intend for you to gesture for him to follow you, and he did not intend to be taken backstage. There’s surprisingly less people back here than he thought, and you explain to him that it’s because rehearsal technically starts two hours later. You just wanted to run through it beforehand, to warm up. 

(Sakusa admires that about you; no one ever seems to acknowledge the hard work you put in, and it’s your work ethic, really, that slowly started to endear you to him.) 

Let it be known that Kiyoomi Sakusa had absolutely no intention of fucking you backstage. Because, in his defense, you have a way of making him act entirely out of character.

The constant teasing, the back and forth, your coy smiles and flirtatious remarks that he can never truly decipher. And here you are, standing all pretty in your sparkly minidress, and you just keep taunting him. Even when he’s trying to have a serious conversation with you, all you do is skate around his questions. It’s like your default mode is set to toying with men. 

“Seriously,” he grits his teeth, backing you into one of the walls. You’re completely cornered by him now. It’s easy to forget how much bigger Sakusa truly is. He towers over you, makes you feel like a little kitten backed into an alleyway by a big dog. “You can’t take me seriously for one fucking second?”

His brows are furrowed, and he’s frowning. Somehow, the sight of him angry only gets you more excited. You like Sakusa. You like him much more than you originally anticipated, and this whole cat-and-mouse charade is just that: a charade. Of course you meant it when you kept flirting with him. But you’re not used to being the one who has to chase after someone, and you refuse to give in now. With both of you having too much of an ego to give in, it’s a battle of individual pride now. 

A battle that you think you might lose once you and him both realize that you’re pressing your thighs together to apply some pressure to the growing need between your legs. 

“Are you—?” He lets out a short, sharp laugh. “Fucking slut. You really did want me to fuck you this whole entire time.” He takes another step towards you; there’s no more space for you to back into. You’re already pressed against the wall, and now he’s looming over you, an impossible obstacle to get over. Somehow, you don’t mind being trapped, as long as it’s Kiyoomi Sakusa that’s holding you down. 

“You wish.” You try to sound snarky, but it’s hard when Sakusa is looking down at you like that. Dark eyes, strands of hair hanging down his forehead, a cold, calculating smile on his face as he watches the subtle rise and fall of your chest as you struggle to breathe normally. If you didn’t know any better, you would think he’s capable of hearing how fast your heart is beating. 

“So you don’t want me to fuck you?” It should be illegal for his voice to get this low, to sound this husky. He’s leaning down far enough to where he can whisper this question in your ear, and your breath hitches as you feel thick fingers toying with the waistband of your panties. 

Right now, you are backstage, and your employees and team could be coming in any second now, and you don’t care. You don’t care, because all you care about is the fact that Kiyoomi Sakusa has you pressed against the wall, and his hand is up your dress, and he’s about to make his way into your panties. 

You gasp as you feel two of his fingers press directly against your clit, before traveling downwards and toying with your folds. There’s no actual penetration, just the tantalizing touch of his fingers rubbing against you, gathering up your slick. 

You make a tiny noise, and Sakusa chuckles softly. “You’re so wet, it feels like you want me, though.” The tips of his fingers prod at your entrance, only for him to abruptly remove his hand altogether, leaving your needy hole clenching and grasping at nothing. You whine as he examines his fingers, separating his index and middle fingers, allowing the both of you to watch closely as viscous strands of your juices coat his digits. He shrugs nonchalantly, leaning away from you. “I’ll let you get back to your rehearsal.” 

“No!” You shut your eyes, cheeks burning with a mixture of embarrassment and excitement. You bite down on your lip before opening your eyes, peering up at him through thick lashes. “I-I do want you.” You’re mumbling, but it’s clear Sakusa’s heard you, loud and clear. 

“Sorry, what was that?” 

You’re wet, unsatisfied, and absolutely down bad for Kiyoomi. You’ve wanted him for months now, and he has you right where he wants you: so needy that you’re willing to let him do whatever he wants to you backstage. The thrill of potentially being caught, the excitement of finally just giving in to your desires… 

“I want you, Sakusa. Please.” You beg him, rubbing your thighs together to try and get some sort of friction. “I need you.”

“Yeah, I know.” Sakusa might sound cocky, but there’s something equally needy in his touch. He’s back to pressing you against the wall, leaving practically no space between the two of you. He plants his hand right back into your panties, stroking your folds a few times, gathering the slick only to insert two fingers right where you need him most. He watches your expression, the way you try to tilt your head back, your little moans of pleasure as he starts to thrust his fingers in and out. 

“You could’ve had me sooner if you weren’t busy playing coy all the damn time.” Sakusa frowns, as if the memory of how long you’ve had him chasing after you has suddenly been brought back to his attention. When he says this, he picks up speed, pistoning his digits. You’re getting even wetter now, the lewd sound of him toying with your cunt the only noise in this empty backstage. He’s adding a third finger into the mix, now, and your cunt tries to resist, fails to adapt to the thickness of three of his fingers. 

“Mmph — ‘Kusa, slow — fuck!” You whine out, unable to speak properly as your walls clamp down on his digits. He presses his thumb against your clit, rubbing rough, unforgiving circles on the nub, never slowing down the pace of his fingers, even when you beg him to take it easy. “I’m gonna— I’m gonna cum!” You wail out, legs almost failing you from the force of your orgasm. 

The only thing keeping you upright is Sakusa himself. He wraps an arm around your waist, keeping you steady, but even after watching you fall apart from just his fingers, Sakusa isn’t satisfied. You little brat — you’ve been depriving him of seeing your precious, pretty face you make when you cum, and as a result, you’ve also been depriving yourself of all the pleasure that could’ve been yours, that’s rightfully yours, all because you wanted him to chase after you. 

Well, he’s got you now. 

And he’s going to want to give you both what the two of you have been missing out on, plus interest. 

You’re still recovering from your climax, legs feeling like jelly, vision blurry as you try to blink out the haze of pleasure from your vision, when you feel him shove the fabric of the skirt of your dress into your open mouth. 

“Bite down on this.” He grunts out, and you follow his command as if it’s simply second nature to. “Be a good girl, and keep holding it up, okay?” 

You nod weakly, but it’s easier said than done when you almost let out a gasp as you feel the tip of his cock prodding at your soaked entrance. Your eyes go wide, and he smirks at the sight of the country’s most beloved pop star reduced to nothing but his little slut. Your mouth is shoved with the fabric of your dress, keeping it up so he can continue to admire the sight of your wrecked pussy, still sensitive from when he banged you with his fingers. Your panties are pulled down, a crumpled mess around your ankles, and there’s drool gathering ‘round the corners of your mouth, your lipgloss staining the fabric of your dress. Messy girl. His messy girl.

It’s easy for him to slide into your needy hole, and he hisses when he feels the way your walls clench around his cock, squeezing him. There’s no better feeling, he decides, than the feel of your pretty, needy pussy yielding to him with absolutely no resistance. Even your cunt knows who owns it now. 

A soft whine, muffled by the dress occupying your mouth, slips from your lips. Sakusa’s cock is thick. Thicker than anyone else’s you’ve ever taken. It sinks into your snug cunt with a push forward that you feel entirely unprepared for, even though you’re so wet, it’s easy work for him to make himself at home in your pussy. 

His pace is unforgiving. He gives you no time to adjust, and he doesn’t seem to care about the way your pussy is still recovering from his fingers. He wastes no time in pounding into you, and even he’s panting at the exertion he’s exercising. Some tiny strands of his black curls are stuck on his forehead from the sweat, and you can’t help but think that Sakusa is beautiful, even when he’s scowling and fucking into you with a fervor that feels like he’s treating this like the only time he’s going to fuck you. 

You hope that isn’t true. You knew that the minute you’d get a taste of Sakusa, you’d never want to let him go. 

“Fuck.” He hisses, never slowing down his pace. He’s being rough, almost brutal. It’s like he’s chasing after his own pleasure, forcing you to find your release all on your own. But the thing is, it’s so easy to come apart. It’s so easy to come apart when you think about how this is Sakusa’s cock battering into you, how it’s Sakusa that’s panting and groaning from pleasure, how it’s Sakusa that is making your pussy his. You keep clenching down on his length, making it harder for him to continuously thrust in and out of you. “Fuck.” He repeats. “It’s like you don’t want to let me go.” 

You can’t speak, can’t tell him that it’s the truth, that you want him here forever. 

The echoing sound of the entrance of the building opening and then slamming close has your eyes going wide with fear. Someone has just entered. 

You’re now acutely aware of how loud the noises the two of you are making. The constant wet, slapping noises of his skin against yours, your messy pussy making a mess between your thighs and on his dick, his groans, your weak whimpers. All of it is now suddenly amplified as you listen in fear — and excitement — as footsteps echo around the hall. 

“[Name]?” Someone calls out. Your assistant. Fuck. 

You look up at Sakusa, curious as to why he’s still not stopping, but he only holds a finger to his lips, telling you to be quiet. “I haven’t finished yet.” He whispers into your ear, and you shake your head, panicking. 

“No? You want me to stop?” He buries his cock to the fucking hilt, shoving himself so deeply inside of you, you let out a surprised, pleasured squeal. “I’ll stop if you cum on my cock. For a slut like you, that should be easy.” 

You want to protest, you want to snap back that you are not a slut, but it’s hard to prove him wrong when his words, his cock, only have you tightening around him. He chuckles as he feels the pressure of your pussy clamping down on his dick, and he resumes fucking into you. 

Your hips start to buck needily against his, the pleasure making you feel delirious and reckless. You seem to have ditched all common sense, and as the footsteps continue to echo throughout the building, sounding closer and closer to where the two of you are currently fucking like rabbits in heat, you only succumb to the delirious, delicious heat of pleasure. Legs wrapping around his tight waist, you succumb hopelessly and happily to the pleasure he seems to effortlessly wring out of you, your body needily twisting and pushing against him, needing more of him. Your moan is long and would’ve been drawn out had he not pressed a calloused palm against your mouth. The dress fabric falls from your lips, and your moan is silenced as you stare up at him. He doesn’t look angry, just pleased. 

He’s turned you into such a little fucked out mess that he made you cum on his cock, despite the fact that there is someone else roaming this place, calling out for you. 

If only he got here sooner; then, he could’ve played with you for a bit longer, toy with you the way you’ve been toying with him. You’re lucky that he doesn’t plan on getting caught being balls deep in you, even though the idea of announcing to the world that you’re his gets him off. 

Muffling his own moan of pleasure by biting down on the soft skin between your neck and shoulder, Sakusa finishes deep into your wrecked cunt, letting out ropes and ropes of hot, white spurts of cum. He’s panting, removing his mouth from your skin, licking at the bite he left on your soft skin, as if to apologize. 

Both of your chests are rising and falling, the two of you greedily gulping for more air. He pulls out, a few drops of his cum already leaking out of your cunt. 

“This isn’t over.” He mutters, pulling up your panties, a puddle of his cum starting to pool into the seat of your underwear. He fixes your dress, smooths the fabric, and plants a surprisingly chaste kiss on your spit-slick lips. “Unless this really was a one time thing?” 

“As if this was ever going to be a one time thing.” You’re too tired to roll your eyes, but when he smiles, you find enough energy to smile back. “There’s a backdoor over there that you can leave. No one will see you.” 

“I’ll text you later.” He tells you, straightening his back and walking to the exit you just directed him to. “Like I said, this isn’t over.” 

Everyone on your team is worried when, during rehearsals, you complain that your legs are too sore to do the choreography.

[https-bobreynolds]

for you (page)

pairing: robert ‘bob’ reynolds x enchantress! reader, platonic! yelena belova x bob & reader

summary: yelena showed and made bob download tiktok on his phone, in which his algorithm decides to show him you, and only you.

author’s note: this is a super long flufffff🥹 i was planning to make it short and simple but i got carried away. they’re not dating yet, but everyone in the world knows how much they’re whipped for each other!! also TYSM guys for all the support you guys have been giving for my enchantress! reader fics!! didn’t expect that many people to like it🥺🫶

robert ‘bob’ reynolds never cared for phones.

he used his for mission briefings, weather updates, reply to texts with “K” or thumbs-up emojis. he only has a phone because he has to.

but today, he’s curled up on the living room’s couch, face bathed in the faint glow of tiktok.

yelena’s sprawled on the rug in front of him, snacking on expired takis and kicking her feet, while bob is staring at his screen like it’s alive, like it’s mocking him.

you see, it started with yelena.

she was bored during surveillance. handed him her phone and said, “trust the algorithm. it knows things.”

he shouldn’t have trusted the algorithm.

because now?

now, it only shows you.

you walking through smoke, cloak trailing behind you.

you laughing during sparring drills, eyes bright and magic curling at your fingertips.

you after a mission, hoodie on, sipping coffee, with captions like:

“just give me one chance, y/n, PLEASE”

“SO SPECIAL 2 ME!!”

“i fear no god but her.”

bob watches each one like it’s classified intel. his face is red, his hands sweaty, his soul… not intact.

then one video stops him cold.

you’re mid-fight, sweat-slicked, magic laced across your knuckles, flipping over a hydra agent, cloak swirling behind you.

music: ariana grande - dangerous woman

caption:

“she could kill me and i’d say thank you. 💚💀🫠”

bob drops the phone, stares at the ceiling like it betrayed him. he squeaks.

a grown man. nearly god-tier power. literally the sentry. and he squeakes.

yelena snorts soda through her nose. “you’re down so bad, bob. i’m proud of you.”

and a few hours later, you walk past him in the hallway, post-workout, hair pulled back, water bottle in hand.

“hey, bob.” you say casually.

he looks up like you just summoned him from the astral plane.

“hi,” he says, voice way too high. “i mean. yes. hello. n-normal greeting.”

you squint at him. “you good?”

he tries to nod. it comes out more like a bobblehead glitching in real-time.

you raise an eyebrow. “yelena mess with you again?”

he looks like he’s about to deny it, then freezes, eyes going wide.

behind you, yelena rounds the corner, winks, and holds up bob’s phone.

she presses play.

the sound of ariana grande starts playing again.

you glance over your shoulder just in time to see yourself in slow motion on the screen. you didn’t even know someone filmed that.

yelena let out a mischievous smirk and a quick “have fun!” before throwing his phone at your direction and running away.

you caught it perfectly, seeing yourself on the screen. you ask, very casually, “is that… me?”

bob jumps like he’s been tased.

“oh my- uh- i was just… it’s just yelena sent-“

you blink. “bob.”

“i didn’t- i mean, i didn’t search for them,” he blurts. “the app just kept showing you and then i didn’t want to be rude by not watching-“

you glance at the screen, swiping once.

another thirst trap. this one with the caption:

“she speaks and i forget my own name.”

you grin. “wow. they’re kinda poetic.”

“i know,” he mutters, trying to hide himself behind his hands. “it’s horrible.”

“horrible?” you feign offense. “that’s me! i think i look hot.”

he peeks over his fingers. “y-you are hot. that’s the problem.”

you blink.

then your grin shifts, softens, sharpens. “well. at least now i know you’ve seen my good angles.”

“i’ve seen all your angles,” bob mumbles before realizing what he just said.

he immediately closed his eyes. “oh my god…”

you laugh, genuinely, wickedly.

then, after a pause, “… you want me to make a new one?” you say, voice low and teasing.

he peeked.

you shrug. “you know, just for you. thirst trap. real exclusive.”

bob makes a sound that might’ve been a whimper.

“i’m not strong enough for that,” he says.

you lean in.

close enough for your nose to almost touch his.

“that’s funny,” you whisper, placing his phone in one of his pocket. “i thought you were the strongest one here.”

and then you walk away, barefoot, cereal in hand, hoodie falling off one shoulder.

bob stares after you like you just rewrote the laws of physics.

later that night, bob’s room is dark. only the faint glow of the moon cuts through the blinds.

he’s in bed, hoodie on, blanket up, headphones in.

the phone? balanced on his chest like a glowing curse.

he should be sleeping, meditating, literally anything else.

but instead… he’s scrolling.

your edits. again.

the algorithm has him in a chokehold.

first video: you walking away from an explosion, hair blowing back like a damn shampoo commercial, captioned:

“she’s the reason i believe in God.”

bob snorts through his nose. he tries to scroll past it.

he does not scroll past it.

next one: a slowed-down training clip, enchantress powers blooming from your fingertips in green, but you’re laughing.

just a clip of you laughing.

the caption reads:

“she smiled at me (i made that up in my head but still)”

bob clenches his jaw. scrolls.

another one: you leaning over a map in the command room, eyes sharp, lip caught between your teeth.

the audio is some slowed, sultry track. and the top comment?

“i’m so sorry bob but she’s mine now 💚”

bob actually pauses the video.

squints at the comment.

then stares at the username. “@toecutter2.0”.

“…what kind of name is that?” he mumbles.

scrolls again.

this one’s you mid-fight, arms glowing, spinning through smoke with two men down behind you.

someone added dramatic strings underneath.

the top caption:

“don’t let her near your man. she is the man now.”

he grips the phone like it personally insulted him.

next comment:

“do you think she’d step on me? i’d say thank you😍”

his ears turn red.

and even more:

“the hold she has on me is borderline criminal.😩”

“it’s beating her name in morse code”

“God made her, then panicked because nothing else could compare.”

bob shuts the app.

throws the phone across the bed.

stares at the ceiling, mumbling to himself

“i’m not jealous of… a tiktok comment. i’m not. that’s not rational.”

pause.

“…@toecutter2.0 can catch these hands though.”

next morning. the gym.

you pull yelena aside.

“i need your help.”

yelena doesn’t ask questions. she just starts grinning.

“oh, this is gonna be fun.”

OPERATION: WRECK ROBERT ‘BOB’ REYNOLDS

• use the gym’s natural lighting.

• wear that training outfit bob can never make eye contact with.

• cast just enough magic to make it ✨ cinematic ✨.

• cue slow motion.

• add in earned it by the weeknd

yelena directs like a chaotic spielberg. “now look over your shoulder like you just blew something up. no, slower. yes, that’s it.”

you toss your dagger, spin, and let a ripple of green magic bloom behind you. you slow-walk past the camera like you’re exiting the wreckage of a spaceship you just blew up with your mind.

yelena claps. “i am so proud of this. bob’s going to short-circuit.”

she posts it with the caption:

“made this for the golden retriever upstairs 💛”

“@sentryofficial don’t pass out please”

five minutes later: THUMP from the floor above.

bob is lying on the floor.

not dead.

just… processing.

he’s watched the video eight times. maybe nine.

his phone is face-down now but he can still hear the audio in his soul.

he gets up slowly, like someone recovering from a knockout punch.

he whispers, “okay… okay. she wants war? fine.”

he sets up his phone. angles it on his desk.

stands in front of it.

realizes he has no idea what to do with his hands.

tries to do a slow hoodie pull, gets stuck.

tries to glow just a little, glows too much.

mutters, “too powerful, too much.”

accidentally drops the phone. curses.

trips over his boot.

lands half-off screen, groaning.

somehow… he still posts it.

the final product? 47 seconds of a man trying his hardest and failing gloriously.

caption:

“this was supposed to be cool but i am not built for this. @you i tried.”

you open it and nearly cry from laughing.

your comments:

“10/10 would simp again 💛”

“this wins the internet”

“do it again but make it worse <3”

later, you pass him in the hallway again.

you lean against the wall, casual as ever.

“you know,” you say, “it’s really cute how nervous i make you.”

he looks away, blush blooming on his face. “it’s not just nervous... it’s, like… heart attack-level admiration.”

you grin. “good. you deserve to suffer a little.”

then you tap your phone and show him something new.

it’s a new tiktok.

you in front of the camera, holding up a sign that says,

“@sentryofficial be my for you page irl?”

his jaw drops, pink hues appearing on his cheeks.

“i’m going to explode,” he whispers.

you lean in and say, “good.”

then you wink, and walk away.

behind you, bob clutches the wall.

but he’s smiling.

because it’s you.

and now he knows you’re smiling back.

“w-wait up..!”

tag list:

@lovetoalll @spongelll

[dumbbitchenergy17]

Timeline of Rumors

Pairing: Paul Mescal x Reader [SMAU]

Warnings: sweet moments, laughter giggles, just general fluff

a/n: IGNORE THE FACECLAIM they're placeholders just picture what you like!

SEPT 1, 2023

iampedro'sloyalsubject BRO PEDRO AND Y/N ARE AT THE SAME RENAISSANCE TOUR NIGHT AS ME HOLY SHIT I CAN SEE THEM.

y/n’swife ARE YOU SERIOUS PROOF

joelmillersbitch I’M SO FUCKING JEALOUS ARE YOU SERIOUS!

iampedro'sloyalsubject I knew they mentioned going to the concert but I assumed in New York not fucking LA.

pleasebemywifey/n MY FRIENDS GOT TICKETS FOR THIS NIGHT AND WE SAW THEM COMING IN ALONG WITH SARAH PAULSON AND PAUL MESCAL

paulsoulmate …what. PAUL IS THERE?!?!?

pleasebemywifey/n YES!! I TOTALLY FREAKED SEEING Y/N WITH PAUL

A new video by loyalservantofy/n.

The footage shows two girls dancing to the preshow music dressed in silver beside the barricade. The girl holding the camera's face drops when Pedro Pascal is walking alongside Sarah Paulson from the background for a brief moment.

“PEDRO!” The girl screeches turning the camera so it is facing the walkway gaining the male actor’s attention and he sends a smile their way along with a wave which makes the pair of girls fangirl even more.

“I love you, Sarah!” The other shouts to Sarah who smiles and mouths back, “I love you too!” Their excitement only grows from fangirls of Pedro to a full breakdown when they see the coming behind the pair is Y/n L/n dressed in an outfit inspired by Beyonce’s Dangerously In Love Album Cover followed by Paul Mescal who is dressed in all black the pair talking amongst each other while being guided by security.

“Y/N I LOVE YOU!” The girls screech and the young actress sees them sending them a dazzling smile and blowing multiple kisses.

“You guys look gorgeous!” You shout to them over the music and other fans take videos and flashes of cameras. The girls squeal still in awe that they had this insane interaction with these famous stars.

A new video by pedrobbygurl: Didn’t even realize during the Mute Challenge who was behind us!

In the video during the song ‘Energy,’ the crowd bumps to the music as a girl records herself singing along to the words. In the background are Pedro and Sarah singing swaying to the music and beside them are Paul and Y/n singing to each other, mainly Y/n singing to Paul as he smiles looking down at her.

“Look around everybody go mute!” The crowd instantly goes silent and in the background, Y/n rushes to cover Paul’s mouth a wide grin on her face as the whole stadium waits for Beyonce’s cue.

“Look around it’s me and my crew!” Beyonce sings and the crowd roars and you remove your hand from Paul’s mouth as he starts laughing.

“Big Energy!” You both scream before continuing to dance to the rest of the concert.

PedroPascalMessiah Everyone say thank you to Y/n for making sure Paul didn’t fail the Mute Challenge.

ynlover THANK YOU MY WIFE 🙌🏼

paulmescalbby THANK YOU Y/N! Also, y’all noticing how often Y/n and Paul have been hanging out since they were seen together at the Met Gala?

cassiebeans no totally! Like I don’t want to assume anything especially with Paul so secretive [since the Phoebe drama] and we rarely hear about Y/n’s dating life.

kazmourner SPEAKING FACTS! Like I think they might just be friends because of how close she is with her male co-stars and friends. Like I fully thought she and Freddy Carter were together until he got married to his wife. But I'm down with it they would be super cute together

paulmescalbby Did y'all see how he was looking at her?!?! That doesn’t scream friends. BUT ALSO DAISY AND PAUL MY LOVES

A new story post by theeey/n_l/n

The first story is just a photo that has a selfie of the four of you. Sarah and Paul have regular smiles while posing for the picture, you have a bright smile that even through the photo can show how excited you are to be there and Pedro makes a shocked expression eyes glazed in wonder at the concert not even looking at the camera. The caption on the photo just says in all caps ‘BEYONCÉ BEYONCÉ BEYONCÉ!!’ with everyone in the picture tagged.

The next story is a repost from Sarah’s story, Crazy in Love is playing the camera shows Beyoncé and her backup dancers performing before it pans to Pedro who starts faking crying before screaming into the camera, “I’m fucking dying oh my god!” You can hear Sarah’s laughter behind the phone before it pans to Y/n and Paul behind Pedro dancing singing along to the lyrics.

“Y/n! Paul!” Sarah shouts getting your attention and you turn mouthing the words to the camera as Paul raises his beer to the camera his arm wrapped around your waist. You turn your attention to Pedro grabbing his arm the two of you screaming the lyrics to each other before bursting into laughter then the camera moves back to the stage.

DEC 15, 2024

A new post by y/nownsmysoul: OMG I MET Y/N WHEN VISITING FAMILY IN MALTA AND SHE WAS AN ABSOLUTE ANGEL

The post is a selfie of this girl and Y/n outside a cafe. She was dressed very casually a pair of sunglasses pushing back her hair as the pair smiled at the camera.

The next on the slideshow is the full video interaction of the pair. The camera is mainly pointed at the floor and you can hear a girl mumbling encouragements to herself before the sound of footsteps.

“Excuse…Ms. Y/n. Hi, I’m so sorry to bother you but would you mind getting a photo with me? I understand if not,” Her voice trembles before a sweet voice fills the video.

“Of course so nice meeting you what’s your name?” You ask and the girl lifts the camera using a video to take photos while it still records. Moving your items to one hand allowing you to wrap your arm around her waist.

“It’s Nicole,” She says and Y/n smiles as the camera is raised to show them both, “That’s my sister’s name I love that! Okay, smile.” You say and the two of you do a couple of poses but then your phone rings and the person calling can be shown on the camera. The contact says ‘Paul<3’ and the photo is a never-before-seen picture of Paul drinking a Guinness and getting a foam-stache.

“I gotta run Nicole but it was so nice meeting you! Please tag me in that.” You say and Nicole nods watching you head down the street answering the phone before she turns the camera to face herself a shellshock look on her face.

“Holy shit I just met Y/n.”

y/nownsmysoul LOOKING BACK I DIDN’T EVEN NOTICE WHO CALLED HER.

mescalluver OMG THAT PIC! I just fell to my knees in the middle of the street

y/nmescal ‘Paul<3’ BITCH THEY ARE LOVERS NO DOUBT!

y/nsandpedrosbitch What is she doing in Malta? Is she there for Pedro and Paul?! I NEED ANSWERS 🛐🛐🛐

DEC 19, 2023

A new post by theeey/n_l/n

liked by pascalispunk, bigbreadpedlar, and others

theeey/n_l/n Reunited with my favorite guys

tagged: pascalispunk and bigbreadpedlar

pascalispunk I’m shredding your plane ticket you aren’t going back to NYC

theeey/n_l/n fine by me P as long as you're paying my flight back.

pascalispunk ….no

bigbreadpedlar So glad you came <3

theeey/n_l/n ofc! Had to see you in action.

jospehquinn Betrayed…I thought I was a part of the ‘guys’ Y/n. I thought we had something.

theeey/n_l/n I still love you JOSEPH!

cocoullrich The three musketeers together.

DEC 31, 2023

paulsbitch THEY CONFIRMED HOLY FUCK 😀

y/nwife BRO I FELT MY SOUL SHATTER MY LOVER IS NO LONGER MINE! 😦

joelmillerswife.soulmate I FUCKING KNEW IT SINCE THE MET GALA THEY HAD SHIT BREWING 🥳🥳

HusabandtoY/n.Paul BRO THEY BOTH ARE SO HOT. IDK WHO I’D RATHER BE.

A new post by entertainmentweekly: "Star Wars and Gladiator 2 Stars finally confirms the relationship we’ve all been dying to know. View the article to learn of the full timeline."

A new post by theeey/n_l/n

liked by pascalispunk, bigbreadpedlar, bella ramsey and others

theeey/n_l/n So happy to enter this new year with you. So excited to see what is in our future💕

tagged: bigbreadpedlar

bigbreadpedlar love you mo chroí ❤️

theeey/n_l/n 🥰

pascalispunk I’m so happy for you guys making my old heart sing.

theeey/n_l/n awww i love you P 🫶

pascalispunk ❤️

bellaramsey Stop you two are literally so cute together!

nicoparker I second that ☝🏽

zendaya Absolute cuties

A new post by bigbreadpedlar

liked by theeey/n_l/n, pascalispunk, 19irmcas, and others

bigbreadpedlar: To my favorite person — you made this year feel like magic. Can’t wait for what’s next.

tagged: theeey/n_l/n

theeey/n_l/n I love you, you big sap 💕

bigbreadpedlar I love you more

pascalispunk I’m getting cavities on how sweet you two are.

19irmcas You both are so hot

cocoullrich correct

josephquinn paul you better watch after her that is my unofficial sister!

theeey/n_l/n don’t remember our parents getting married but I love the sentiments

[incloudcity]

could you do will smith x tennis! girlfriend like the US open or something? 😚

unforced error | ws2

requests are open

You find out an hour before the final.

A friend from your academy days — the kind who doesn’t send drama unless it matters — texts you with no warning, just screenshots.

“Thought you should see this. I’m so sorry.”

It’s a string of Instagram stories from a private account. The girl tagged Will in three different clips from a party in SoHo. One: him next to her in a booth. Two: a short video — blurry but unmistakable — of her filming while he’s leaning in close, talking near her ear. Her caption: “Not just good on the ice 😉 #number1draftpick.”

Then the final blow: a mirror selfie in what looks like a hotel room. His hoodie in the background. His duffel bag unmistakable. The caption is just a pink heart.

Your throat closes.

You zoom in. Rewatch. Try to find something — anything — that makes it okay. Maybe he was caught off-guard. Maybe she followed him. But it looks bad. It feels worse.

You don’t even realize your grip on your phone is shaking until your agent walks in.

“You’re on in forty,” they say gently.

You nod. But you don’t look up.

You lose the first set 6–2.

Commentators say nerves. Pressure. Maybe fatigue.

Only you know that your vision blurred on every second serve. That you spent most of the set wondering who he was with last night. Whether he lied. Whether he’s already gone.

But you’re too much of a fighter to let that be your story.

You claw your way back in the second set. Play smarter. Clean up your errors. Every time the ache in your chest rises, you smack it back down with a blistering forehand. And by the time the third set starts, you remember who you are.

You win it in a tiebreak.

The crowd explodes.

You raise your racquet like a machine, not like a woman who just became a US Open champion.

No joy. No roar. No tears.

Because all you can think is: He probably wasn’t even in the stands.

Back in your hotel suite, you're surrounded by noise: congratulations, cameras, post-match treatment. Everyone’s trying to get champagne into your hand. But the only thing you say is:

“Don’t let Will in.”

Your assistant stops. “He’s already here. Downstairs.”

“Then keep him there.”

You don’t want explanations. Not tonight. You don’t want to be gaslit. Or comforted. Or told that maybe it wasn’t what it looked like.

You just want silence.

It’s almost 1 a.m. when the knock comes again.

You think it’s room service — but when you crack the door, it’s him.

Will looks like hell.

Eyes bloodshot. Hoodie half-zipped. One hand clutching his phone like a lifeline.

He doesn’t say anything at first. Just stares at you like he’s not sure you’ll even let him speak.

“I didn’t do it,” he says, voice already breaking. “I swear to God, I didn’t touch her.”

You say nothing.

He steps closer, slow, careful — like you’re the one who might shatter.

“She came to the party with someone on the team. She kept tagging me in her stories — I didn’t even see them until they were already viral. And the hotel picture — she followed me into the lobby and took it while I was leaving. I didn’t even know she got that shot.”

Still, you say nothing. Your arms stay crossed. Your body is a wall.

“She wanted a story,” he pleads. “And I gave her one by accident. But I didn’t cheat. I didn’t lie to you. I swear”

You finally whisper, “Maybe you didn’t cheat. But I still played the biggest match of my life thinking you did. I don’t need this Will.”

You don’t try to hide the bitterness in your tone. Your message is clear, you don’t need him.

His eyes go glassy. Like that truth alone wrecked him more than anything.

“I know,” he says hoarsely. “And that’s what’s killing me.”

He breaks.

“I thought I was gonna lose my fucking mind today. Knowing you were out there — carrying that weight — while I couldn’t do anything. I should’ve caught it sooner. Should’ve shut it down before it even touched you.”

You look away.

“I would never cheat on you,” he says again, louder this time. “Never. You are the only thing in my life that isn’t chaos. That isn’t noise. You’re the part of me that’s real.”

His voice cracks. His hands tremble.

“I love you so much it scares me. And if you don’t look at me the same anymore—if I ruined it—then I don’t know how to come back from that.”

You turn toward him slowly. “You could’ve told me.”

“I didn’t even know until after you were on court,” he chokes out. “My phone was off. I was so focused on you, your match— and then by the time I knew it was too late. I thought giving you space afterwards was protecting you. But I let you think the worst, and that’s on me. All of it’s on me.”

He steps forward. “Please. Don’t shut me out. Don’t let this be the thing that breaks us.”

There’s silence.

Then you take one step. And another. Until you’re pressed against him, arms around his waist, and he folds into you like he’s home again.

He breathes your name like a prayer.

“You’re mine,” he whispers, again and again into your hair. “You’re mine, and I’m yours, and I’m never fucking risking that again.”

This time, you don’t stop the tears.

And neither does he.

[fiakive]

BLINK IF YOU LOVE ME

pair: will smith x f!reader

genre: soft romance, friends-to-lovers, slow burn.

warnings: none (unless you're dangerously prone to blushing from fluff).

summary: you and will have been bestfriends for years. you’ve always admired his gentle way of listening, the way his eyes soften when you speak, and most of all, that slow blink of his like a secret language only you seem to understand. it wasn’t until a casual comment from a friend made you realize maybe those slow blinks meant more than you thought. one brave move changed everything. two years later, at your cousin’s wedding, a bouquet, a blink, and your grandmother’s quiet wisdom made you realize he’s been yours since day one.

fia's note: since this account has unfortunately been shadowbanned again, i’ve created a secondary account called @fia-updates just to make sure you all can still stay in the loop. please don’t feel like you need to follow that account, it’s not meant to be active or personal. it’s strictly for reblogging my latest fics and keeping everyone updated whenever tumblr decides to be annoying. that way, even if my main posts don’t show up on your dash, you can still catch the updates and not miss anything important. thank you so much for sticking around and being patient with me through this mess!

fia’s talks: while finishing this fic, i kept imagining will and reader at their wedding and when reader walks down the aisle, will tries so hard to hold it together, but eventually, the emotion overwhelms him and he bursts into tears out of pure happiness.

join fia’s taglist. | pow-wow box.

The first time someone pointed it out, it wasn’t you.

It was Dani, your bestfriend from college, during a crowded night at a beach bonfire, all of you sipping from cheap drinks and passing around stories and secrets like candy. The fire crackled, and Will was sitting across from you, his eyes were on you like they always were when you were talking.

You didn’t notice, not then. But Dani did.

She nudged you with her shoulder and whispered behind the rim of her plastic cup,

“Have you ever noticed how Will looks at you?”

You blinked. “He’s just listening.”

“No,” she said, dragging the word out like a warning and a tease all at once. “He’s slow-blinking at you.”

You laughed. “What does that even mean?”

“I mean he blinks like a cat, you know when a cats love or trust you they tend to blink in slow mo-tion.” she said dramatically.

“Seriously. You’ll see it now. He does it every time you talk.”

You rolled your eyes. But that night, when you told a dumb story about getting your sleeve stuck in a grocery store freezer, you caught it, the tilt of his head, the softness in his stare, and that blink. Long and unhurried, like he was soaking you in. Like he wasn’t hearing a funny story, but a lullaby.

So you watched. And sure enough, it kept happening.

He did it when you were telling him about the book you just finished. When you described the strawberry place that opened down the road. When you laughed so hard you wheezed. Even when you were silent, just lying next to him in your living room, his gaze would wander and then blink. Like a secret handshake with no hands involved.

Will wasn’t dramatic.

He didn’t shout his feelings from rooftops. He didn’t post long captions or plan flashy gestures. But his quietness? It held weight. His affection lived in the little things like remembering how you take your coffee, tapping your knee twice when he passed by you on the bench, tucking your hair behind your ear with a gentle brush of his fingers. And those blinks those soft, sleepy, utterly devoted blinks became a kind of compass for you.

But for the longest time, you weren’t sure if you were reading too much into it. If maybe this was just a Will thing. Maybe he was just... like that (?).

So one day, unable to let the curiosity go, you asked.

“Do you know you do that thing?”

You said over pancakes, watching him swirl syrup over your plate even though you insisted you didn’t need any.

“What thing?” he said absently.

“That blink thing. When I talk.”

He looked up, eyes half-lidded already, amused.

“What kind of blink?”

“The slow one,” you said, fighting a smile.

“Like you’re a cat. Or a poet. Or like... blink if you love me kinda thing.”

He actually blinked then. Right on cue.

And laughed. “Do I?”

You nodded, but your heart was thudding.

“Yeah. Kind of a lot.”

He looked down, the edge of a grin tugging at his mouth.

“Maybe I just like listening to you.”

You tried to tease him. You tried to laugh it off. But his ears were a little pink, and there was something in his silence that told yo that you weren’t imagining it.

You never had been.

And yet nothing changed. Not for a while.

You kept being 'bestfriends.' You kept denying the glances, the accidental touches, the way he always ended up next to you in a crowded room. Until one rainy night, your nerves snapped and your truth spilled out like thunder.

“Will,” you said, breathless.

“I like you. And not in the we’re so close way. In the I want to kiss you when you smile kind of way.”

He looked at you for a long moment. Blinked, slow and certain.

“I’ve been trying not to screw this up for years,” he said.

“But I’ve always liked you like that.”

And that was it. The start of everything.

Two years later, you stood on the lawn of your cousin’s wedding, your hand wrapped in his, your stomach full of cake and champagne and a happiness that glowed from the inside out.

Will looked unfairly good in a navy suit with no tie, his shirt collar a little undone, a lock of hair falling into his eyes. He hadn’t even done much he never did but something about him just felt like home. Like every soft moment wrapped into a person.

The wedding was beautiful. Will had danced with your baby cousin. He’d taken shots with your dad. He’d carried three chairs at once when it started to rain before the ceremony and earned himself a hundred 'you better marry this one' jokes.

Your family adored him. You adored him.

Still, the two of you hadn’t talked about marriage yet, not seriously. You’d joked. You’d shared quiet glances during wedding vows. But you were young. You were growing. You had time.

That’s what made it funny when, during the bouquet toss, the flowers launched through the air and without even trying you caught them.

Right against your chest. Like fate handed them to you.

There was an audible gasp from the circle. Some applause. Someone whistled. You stood frozen, clutching the white roses like they were radioactive.

Then you turned.

Excitement bloomed across your face as you locked eyes with him across the lawn, your voice bubbling out without thought.

“Will, look!”

You called, holding up the bouquet triumphantly, like you'd just won the lottery instead of caught a cluster of roses. Your cheeks ached from how wide you were smiling.

He looked up from where he’d been leaning casually by the bar, and the second his eyes met yours, that familiar, slow, knowing grin spread across his face.

He didn’t say anything.

Didn’t need to.

He tilted his head, the way he always did when you surprised him in the best way and then... blinked and a gentle nod.

Slow and sweet and so impossibly sure.

Like he already knew what you were about to realize. Like he’d known it all along.

Late that night, you found yourself wandering away from the tent and toward the garden. The fairy lights buzzed overhead. Fireflies floated lazily through the lavender.

You sat on a bench, bouquet still in hand.

Will found you moments later.

“I thought I lost you to the night,” he said, his voice softer than the air around you.

“You always find me,” you whispered.

He sat beside you, one arm curling around your shoulders.

“You caught it.”

“I didn’t even reach for it,” you murmured, still dazed.

“It just... landed.”

“Maybe it was meant for you.”

You leaned your head on his shoulder, eyes fluttering closed.

“You think we’ll get married someday?”

His chest rose slowly. “I hope so. If you’ll have me.”

You lifted your head to look at him, eyes shining.

“I think I already do.”

He smiled. And blinked.

Another slow one. Another promise.

“I’ve been yours since day one, Y/N Y/L/N.” he said.

“Just took me a while to say it.”

Then, just as your heart swelled to its breaking point, footsteps crunched on the gravel path.

Your grandmother appeared, shawl wrapped tight, her eyes twinkling as if she’d been waiting for this exact moment.

She eased herself onto the bench beside you with a satisfied sigh.

“You two look cozy.”

You laughed. “Hey, Nana.”

She glanced at Will, then at the bouquet in your lap, and her smile deepened.

“You know, sweetheart,” she said gently,

“That boy has been blinking at you like that since the day you brought him around.”

You chuckled. “It’s just a Smitty thing he does.”

But she shook her head, eyes sharp with the kind of wisdom only age can bring.

“No, no. Not just anyone gets that kind of blink. It’s not habit. It’s certainty. That boy... he already knew you were his since day one.”

Will looked down, a shy smile forming.

“And when someone older tells you something like that,”

Your grandma added, patting your hand with a knowing squeeze,

“You listen. Because we see what young eyes sometimes miss.”

“I’ve lived a long time,” she continued.

“I’ve seen love in every form. Loud. Quiet. Messy. Shy. But the best kind?” She smiled at you both.

“It’s the kind that shows up in silence. In looks. In the way someone waits for you to finish your thought before they blink.”

You swallowed, your throat thick with something tender.

“That blink? That’s a ‘you’re it for me’ blink.”

You turned to Will again.

He was already looking at you.

Soft smile. Warm eyes.

And yes, another blink.

Slow and true.

Your grandmother smiled knowingly.

“There it is.”

You leaned forward, lips brushing his.

“I’m ready. Whenever you are.”

He kissed your forehead.

“I’ve been ready. Since forever.”

[verstappen-cult]

HOW YOU GET THE GIRL | CL16

— 01. THE BEGINNING

NEXT PART — [ SERIES MASTERLIST ]

summary: in which charles has an embarrassing crush on alex's childhood best friend and everyone meddles. content warnings: faceclaim is taylor hill but you can picture her as you’d like! some cursing. note: hiii i love being a little delulu, so i had to do this. it is also my first time doing a smau for the f1 fandom, so be kind with me! if you see some mistakes please know that english is not my first language and i noticed them once everything was finished, lol. ♡

INSTAGRAM POST

📍MIAMI, FL

Liked by lilycollins, alex_albon and 365,751 others

yourusername unexpected trip. 🧃

view all 4,655 comments

user1 Alex x Y/N content incoming????

user2 they haven't been seen together in a while user3 i don't think they're friends anymore user4 he left a comment lol

alex_albon brownie's the real star in this pic

yourusername forget about pic credits.

user5 she was in greece a couple of days ago, oh to be rich

user6 and pretty user7 and have famous friends user8 and BE famous

williamsracing Thanks for accepting our invitation, we can't wait to have you with us this weekend!

alex_albon YOUR invitation???

user9 we're sleeping in the fact that she's gonna be in the paddock this weekend for the first time

user10 she's living the dream

TWITTER

Y/N’s IMESSAGE

INSTAGRAM POST

Liked by haileybieber, tomholland2013, landonorris and 972,431 others

yourusername i only came here to drink and watch guys in very fast cars.

📸: @alex_albon who i had to physically drag out of his hotel room after free practice was over.

view all 3,865 comments

user11 caption is so real

user12 she's just like us fr

tchalamet call me next time you're in nyc

user13 ARIANA WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE user14 timmy is doing what all of us want to do

haileybieber pretty girl

user15 idk abt u guys but i see lando in the likes 👀

user16 don't read too much into it user17 they’re probable friends user18 i wanna be her

alex_albon i'm so good at taking pics i should dedicate my life to photography

yourusername please stick to driving

user19 i want their friendship :(

ALEX’S IMESSAGE

INSTAGRAM STORIES

Seen by zendaya, charles_leclerc and 287,386 others

there is no cause in calling or messaging alex, you know he will not answer. not when qualy is just an hour away and he needs to be prepared.

you don’t know where you are. you see the main entrance a couple of meters away, but you can’t remember where to go from there. but you also can’t stand all day in a place you don’t know, surrounded by fans and people too eager to notice how lost you look. the best you can do is walk around and find your way back; if you have any luck you’ll find alex’s garage before he has to go out. to wish him luck and punch him in the face.

you send him one last message, promising to make his life a living hell, and put your phone away.

you’re trying to follow the path you remember in your head, when someone comes barreling into you.

“hey!” the person says a little out of breath. “i was just looking for you.”

you take off your sunglasses to get a better look and it dawns on you that you definitely know this person. or at least you’ve seen him countless of times in your tv, sometimes in alex’s instagram stories too.

“charles!” you really don’t know him, this is definitely the first time you are speaking to him, but you’ve never been so happy to see someone you barely know before. “oh my god, you won’t believe what alex did to me.”

“i know,” he says immediately and you furrow your eyebrows. he shows you his phone, as if that will tell you what you need to know, but when you don’t speak, he smiles hesitantly. you don’t know if the blush on his cheeks is because he was running to get to you or if it’s for a whole different reason. “i saw your story and thought maybe i could help you?”

you process his words for a few seconds, until you realize who really is in front of you. “oh my god, charles!” you exclaim a little louder, drawing attention, and you witness how people begin to notice charles’ presence because of that. he looks at you with confusion on his face, race suit hanging low around his waist. “you’re not supposed to be here, you should be in your car.”

charles’ blush deepens. “yeah,” he says, scratching his neck and avoiding your gaze. “but i couldn’t leave a pretty girl here all alone.”

now it’s your turn to blush, cheeks heating up so much that you’re sure everyone around you can see it.

“let’s go, please. i don’t want to be the reason why you’re gonna be scolded for.”

you walk beside him, trying to give him space as he takes selfies with a few fans that have the courage to approach him. however, charles apologizes with a smile when he sees you a couple of meters away and, as you walk side by side, you can’t help but notice heads turning in your direction and whispers of your name and his.

you fall into an easy conversation that ends up sooner than you’d have liked. but you don’t part ways until his number is on your phone and the promise to text him on your lips.

TWITTER

Y/N’s IMESSAGE

INSTAGRAM POST

Liked by charles_leclerc, romeestrijd and 676,823 others

yourusername what an incredible weekend! i got to attend my first GP thanks to @/williamsracing (and alex too, he gets mad if i don’t say he had to do with it) and meet new and amazing people. let’s hope this is not the last. 🏎️🤞🏼

view all 7,665 comments

user20 SHE LOOKED SO BEAUTIFUL

user21 mother is mothering

williamsracing Oh no, thank YOU for accepting our invitation and enjoying with us, even if you got lost for a minute. 💙

yourusername it was all alex’s fault alex_albon NO DON'T LISTEN TO HER, THEY ARE FRAMING ME !!!!

user22 everybody calm down… CHARLES IS IN HER LIKES

user23 so it’s true what everyone’s been saying? they were together on saturday??? user24 idk but there are pics of them walking together user25 not my boyfriend trying to steal my girlfriend

romeestrijd you need to take me w you next time. ❤️‍🔥

yourusername we'll have so much fun! user26 does this mean you're going to the next race?

user27 why do people always assume a driver's dating someone when they like a pic??? u’re acting crazy

user28 like friendships between a man and a woman exists, HELLO !?!?

charles_leclerc thanks for stopping by.

user29 CHARLES WHAT user30 Stopping by where? user31 what do you mean?? i mean what do you- what do you mean??

user32 not Y/N replying to all her friends comments and not charles' 🤣🤣

user33 she's too much for him user34 HE'S too much for her x

note: ups, hello to you again… if you make it here, thank u sm! let me give you a lil kiss on the forehead. btw i’m planning on making this a series, so if you liked it please let me know. and if you want to request something, feel free! comments & reblogs are greatly appreciated. 🫶🏼

[sturniqlo]

CHERRY— M.S

pairing: ex boyfriend!matt x ex girlfriend!reader

summary: matt realizes how much he misses you now that he's seen that you've moved on

cw: mention of break up, guilt, heartbreak, unresolved angst

an: very short one, but it's also one of my favorite songs everr (i also changed up the voice memo to fit the fic better)

fine line marathon

seeing you again after your break up was something matt had never thought about. ever. he thought that, that night was the last time he'd see you and maybe, just maybe you two would run into each other many, many years down the lane and rekindle your love once again.

but when he found out that you had started seeing someone new months after the break up, it devastated him. he tried, he tried so hard to go and put himself out there, but nobody was you.

victor, was the name of the guy you had been seeing. he did a bit of 'research' on said guy by going to your following on instagram and seeing if you followed him. of course you did. as he scrolled through his profile from his account, making sure that he didn't click on anything that made it seem like he was snooping, matt saw that you had started liking victors posts since four months ago.

victor was a very put together guy, something matt wasn't. going through his highlights was the one thing that broke him.

candid, but faceless pictures of you were put in there. small dinner dates, picnics, a picture of you in his parents gallery, something he had found out through his research. matt almost felt guilty that he was never like victor. his parents didn't own an art gallery, fancy dinner dates were a special occasion thing.

matt saw that you're at your at your best, he's selfish and he hates that he's feeling like that.

that night, matt goes home and listens to all the voice memos of the times you were learning to speak french to be able to communicate more with a student exchange girl from france you had befriended. as bittersweet as it, he couldn't help but shed a few tears remembering the great memories you two shared that he'll never get to relive with you.

as he listened, he couldn't help but replay a certain one because he knew exactly what you were saying.

"uh... je m'appelle y/n? j'aime les livres... et la musique. mon co— copian s'appelle matt." matt replays the memory back in his head and could remember the way you looked at him once you had said that. "il est... très gentil. et il est un peu stupide mais drôle. (giggles) je t'aime, matt. was— was that good?" the voice memo had ended with you and matt laughing. the way your laugh trailed off into something quieter, the way you stumbled over the vowels, and the way you would often pause to ask him if what you said was right like he was fluent or something.

you'd both been clueless, but it was the effort that mattered. the way your eyes lit up when the sentence you said sounded right.

and now matt was alone.

now he was just a guy listening to the voice that belonged to the girl that wasn't his anymore.

seeing you with someone new, someone stable who dresses better than him, whose parents threw fancy galas and who probably knew what the inside of a expensive yacht looked like, matt couldn't help but feel like he'd never been enough. not for you. not for what you deserved.

and it wasn't like this victor guy was trying to rub it in— he probably didn't even think about matt once. the posts weren't flashy, weren't romantic captions or public love letters. it was just quiet evidence that you were in his life. that's what killed matt the most.

because he used to have you like. quietly. intimately. not in the showy instagram couple couple kind of way, but in the whispering on late night drives, forehead kisses during grocery runs, "i made you breakfast even though i was running late" kind of way. you'd love each other in the small things, until one day things took a turn.

he should've tried harder. said more. fought for you when you were beginning to slip away. but he hadn't. he'd let you go, thinking maybe if it was meant to be, it would be. that the version of you that he carried around in his chest would always match up to the one out in the world. but you had changed. you had bloomed. and now you were happy— maybe even happier and matt had to part in that.

matt played the voice memo again but skipped it to a certain part.

"je t'aime, matt."

[obvithe-bestsoph]

do kenan yildiz husband cannons

husband hcs.

masterlist requests

wedding planning/day: - he’s extremely hands-on with the planning. he doesn’t leave it all to you. he’s checking menus, reading contracts, making spreadsheets. and when the stress gets overwhelming? he holds your hand and says, “you don’t have to carry this by yourself. we’re doing this together.” - he picks the du'a for the ceremony himself. it’s meaningful. he memorizes it. he says it slowly, with a steadiness that quiets the whole room. there’s not a single dry eye in the crowd. - he fasts the morning of the wedding. not out of superstition, but intention. it’s his way of grounding, keeping his heart clear, making it a day between him and allah, and you.

- he chooses a scent just for that day. a cologne you’ve never smelled before, subtle and deep. he only wears it on anniversaries after that. every time you catch it, it takes you straight back to the moment he whispered “you look like the rest of my life.”

- he doesn’t drink at the wedding and makes sure no one pressures you either. he’s firm but respectful. makes it clear you both chose a different kind of celebration, and anyone who loves you should honor that.

- he pulls you aside for a quiet moment away from the guests. finds a spot outside. tugs you gently by the wrist. says “just five minutes. just you and me.” and you stand there in your wedding clothes, forehead to forehead, blocking out the world.

- he saves a voice memo from that night. after everyone’s gone, while you’re in the car or the hotel, he whispers a message into his phone - “we did it. alhamdulillah. i love her so much.” he doesn’t post it. just saves it. forever.

life as your husband: - he takes household responsibilities seriously. this man does not treat you like his maid. laundry? folded. trash? taken out. dishes? already in the sink before you say anything. he never wants you to feel like marriage means less freedom.

- he supports your dreams like they’re his own. career, travel, school - he asks questions, makes suggestions, and celebrates every win like it’s his. “if you believe in it, i believe in it.” and he backs that up every single time. - he loves when you wear his last name. you don’t have to, but if you do - whether it’s on paper, in a caption, or a glimpse of it on an official document - it melts something in him every single time.

- he protects your reputation like it’s his own. he won’t let people speak on your name. not even lightly. he’s not loud about it - just clear. no one disrespects his wife, even in jokes.

- he makes marriage feel light. not perfect. not always easy. but soft. safe. peaceful. like coming home after a long day and realizing: this man is my favorite place to be. - he watches you while you sleep like a calm little creep (sorry for the wording 😭). not in a weird way. just… in awe. like “how did i end up with this woman?” he tucks a blanket higher or shifts the light away from your eyes and whispers “ya rab, protect her.” - slow dancing in the kitchen becomes a ritual. it’s never planned. it’s never at the “right” time. sometimes it’s late at night, leftovers still warm on the stove. sometimes it’s midday, sunlight cutting through the window while you’re doing dishes. he doesn’t say “let’s dance.” he just reaches for your hand, calm, unhurried, and tugs you gently toward him. one arm wraps around your waist. the other finds your hand, fingers interlaced like it’s second nature. no music, usually. just the hum of the fridge. the soft shuffle of bare feet against tile. the rhythm of your breathing syncing up. he closes his eyes for a second and rests his forehead to yours. you feel it in his grip, not intense, not possessive. just present. and then, always, always under his breath: “i love this part of us.” it doesn’t need to last long. sometimes it’s only thirty seconds before you both laugh and go back to what you were doing. but those thirty seconds feel like sabr, like peace, like the stillest kind of joy.

[noriimura]

namgyu headcannons’’

warnings: dark! namgyu, drugs, thinness, eating problems, addictions, family issues

an: my thoughts on how I see namgyu outside the game, it's okay if our ideas about him may differ. english is not my first language. this is my first post of this kind, so I hope you enjoy it

part 2 is coming soon…

i think he grew up without a father, with a cold, distant mother who didn't need him. he always tried to get her love and attention by doing housework, drawing her pictures with the caption "mommy, I love you" or "mommy, you're the best," then finding the drawings in the trash. he tried to study well at school, achieve heights in the classroom and be better than his classmates, thus receiving the excellent student syndrome. however, as he grew older, he realized that it was useless, his mother would not love him, the imaginary interest that was present only out of a desire to please his mother disappeared altogether. he gave up on his studies, and in high school he periodically skipped school with friends, drinking alcohol and smoking cigarettes one after another. after finishing school somehow and passing the exams with a low score, he gave up on education and decided not to go further to study, he went to work in a nightclub on the advice of his friend who worked there

due to the fact that his mother was often absent from his life, he developed an anxious type of attachment. he is not sure of himself, he is afraid that he will be abandoned, that he can be intrusive, constantly demands confirmation of love, but without saying so directly, he considers it humiliating and shameful even in front of his partner.

speaking of his anxiety, his partner will have a hard time, he is the most anxious partner who will be jealous of every pillar, will constantly write and ask who his partner is with, will constantly suspect infidelity, check the phone for suspicious correspondence and make scandals from scratch.

there is also a theory that namgyu has an avoidant type of attachment, it is difficult for him to get close to people, show his emotions and trust, which is why he does not enter into a relationship in principle, trying to avoid any obligations, responsibilities and the opportunity to get attached, when he wanted to have fun, he met another girl in a club with whom he was rude, animal, dirty sex without any feelings. in the morning, deleting the phone number without giving a chance for something more.

it seems to me that he grew up in a family full of violence and debauchery, even as a child when his mother and father communicated but were not married, his father often came, they drank, smoked and then quarreled, he beat her, they hated each other, he saw it, he grew up in it, he absorbed such an attitude between parents this became one of the reasons for his cruelty and problematic nature, later his mother went into fornication, she began to bring new men to their house, they had fun, had sex, and drank, little namgyu saw all this, he hated her for it, this also became one of the reasons for his consumer attitude towards women.

he does not like to contact people, even though he works in a profession in which communication skills are extremely necessary. he never starts long dialogues with visitors unless they arouse special interest or are beneficial to him. if he is not interested, he shows it with his whole appearance, gaze and actions, he never tries to look interested, which is why he is not very respected at work. if he finds the dialogue not interesting, he will not say a word from himself in an attempt to maintain the dialogue, except for a couple of clear phrases that his work requires of him.

for namgyu, drugs are primarily a way to forget about all his sins, problems, and debts. It is in his hallucinations that he lives happily. before using drugs, he was trying to find himself, something that would save him. he stayed up late at computer clubs, draining money for an extra hour in the game, his hometown club and attempts to forget himself in new acquaintances, alcohol and cigarettes, which to this day help him relax. It was his first time trying drugs with his friends. hallucinogenic trips in which he could stay until morning, complete relaxation and loss of touch with reality, this was what he had been looking for for so long, only this state allowed him to smile and feel in his place.

although namgyu found an outlet in drugs, however, his gambling addiction remained, most likely he would have played some kind of strategic team games in the MOBA genre like dota 2, I'm sure he screams all over the apartment when he is killed or someone else's team demolished their throne.

namgyu prefers sportswear, usually a size or two larger, it seems to me that he would not wear fitted clothes in principle, making a choice towards slightly baggy T-shirts and wide trousers.

I think namgyu would have eating problems, he often has no appetite, which is why he refuses to eat or intentionally does not eat, plus due to drug use and lack of physical activity, the guy has a rather thin build.

he's a misogynist, which is already canon. i think as he gets older, he just gets disillusioned with women. perhaps he liked the girl who rudely and shamefully rejected him and he remembered it forever. Indifferent, strong, wayward and cold women remind him of his mother, which is why he literally wants to kill them so that the metaphorical death of his mother would happen. yes, he won't kill every woman he meets, but passive aggression towards them is clearly present.

edited: part 2

[apollosdaydreams]

meme

Meme 

Cillian Murphy x Reader

Summary: Your husband Cillian, had just finished a new interview for his new movie Oppenheimer. Once he came home he asked you a question that you never thought you would hear him ask. 

Warnings: Suggestive, no smut though

^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^

You were sitting on the couch in the living room You heard the front door open and close,  looking up you saw it was your husband.

“Hey babe.” You said smiling at him and putting your phone down on the couch. 

He took off his shoes. “Hi honey.” he said, once his shoes were off he sat down next to you on the couch, his arm wrapping around you.

“So, how was the interview?” You asked. 

“It went well…” He said. “Though I do have a question to ask you?” He asked.

You sat up thinking his question was going to be something serious. “Yeah, what's up? Is everything ok?” You asked.

Cillian chuckled a bit at your reaction. “Yes honey everything is fine.” He said leaning down to kiss you. “I, just… it's kinda dumb..” He said, scratching the back of his neck nervously. 

“There's no reason to be nervous, what is it?” you asked again. 

“What's a meme?” he asked suddenly.

You didn't say anything back to him, just before he was going to speak again you started to laugh. “Oh, babe, that's the last thing I expected you to ask me.” you said not being able to contain your laughter. When you looked up you saw that your husband was doing the meme everyone was talking about, his disappointed face. Seeing this you laughed even harder. 

“What's so funny?” he pouted. “I know I look funny, but I don't look that funny babe.” He said, crossing his arms over his chest. 

You tried to stop laughing. “Babe you aren't funny looking.” you said, kidding his lips, which seemed to make him happier. “That's just the last thing I expected you to say” You said. 

“Well today in the interview they asked me if I've seen the ‘disappointed Cillian Murphy meme.’” he said in quotations. “But I don't even know what a meme is!” He exclaimed slightly. 

“Ok, just give me a minute.” you said trying to calm yourself down, eventually you were able to stop laughing. “Ok so a meme is usually a picture or a video that then has a caption or phrase, so for example like the disappointed cillian murphy meme.” you began. “Started because in interviews you are always looking disappointed.” you said pulling out your phone to show him the picture. “Do you get it now old man?” you joked.

“Yes I do honey that was actually- hey, that's not nice.” he said, not realizing you called him old at first.

You dramatically put your hand on your chest. “Oh my! How could I ever apologize.” you said laughing. 

Cillian then pushed you down on the couch. “Well I could think of a few things.” He whispered in your ear. 

Blushing hard, “well I'm not complaining.” you said as he picked you up to take you to your shared bedroom.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^

Authors note: sorry for the drought, summer went by fast and now im back to college, i hope to try to post more though!! Hope you enjoyed this fic!!

© 2024 on tumblr apollosdaydreams do not translate/remake/repost my works on any platform without authorized permission.

[bearhaironthechair]

When the Autobots and Decepticons finally came to a tumultuous but circumstantially demanded ceasefire on Earth, Hedwig thought it was about time she met this mini-bot that Blitzwing seemed to have befriended as of recent. Blitzwing wasn't allowed to come along though, since she wanted to be sure she could judge Bumblebee for herself without Blitzwing intervening. Notes: You should be proud @blutratte, you've made my apparent hyper-fixation even more intense following your amazing art by making me realize that I have never drawn Hedwig and Bumblebee together. At least their first "hangout" seems to be going well....

....even if Blitzwing is undoubtably watching them both through binoculars over in the bushes.

The conversation the day prior:

Hedwig does not appreciate Blitzwing doubting her. I gave Hedwig a little red gem on her crown because @blutratte did and I thought it was cute! Much translation appreciations to @rintinningvt! I know it's the case for literally millions of people, but I've always found the ability to speak multiple languages to be such a fascinating human-socialization power move! Also, I have officially drawn Hothead four times in the last two weeks, meaning I'm not legally allowed to draw him again for the next month. Notes in Post: Whoops! Noticed a typo in the German on my own end when I was finishing up the caption and image description! Went ahead and fixed it, sorry about that!

[yummyrevivalfluid]

YoutuberSenku Headcanons

A/n: Some ideas/headcanons to add onto my earlier post.

…

A/n: This idea sparked during my ochem lecture (my ochem professor swapped with another professor two weeks in the course- weird I know) and this professor is REALLY passionate about chemistry. He’s goes into very brief tangents about a mechanism (talk about real-world applications or why it’s so fascinating) but then goes back into what he was teaching. I usually don’t like it when professors do this because sometimes it can get confusing, but I don’t mind it with this professor.  

...

Anyways!

YoutuberSenku is infamous for going into tangents in his videos. For example, if he’s talking about physics, say electromagnetism, he’ll explain what it is but starts segwaying into the importance of it and how it revolutionized the world due to electricity and stuff.

YoutuberSenku realizes he does this and in the video, he’ll say he’ll edit it out but he never does. Instead, he’ll just put a caption in the video where to skip to ignore his nerd rambles.

When YoutuberSenku does start to ramble you can hear the tone shift in his voice. His voice gets a slight octave higher and he starts to scribble some small poorly drawn doodles related to what he’s talking about. The pace he speaks increases, and you can hear when he’s running out of breath.

Since YoutuberSenku often goes into tangents, MechSenku often does an appearance. The video would pause and MechSenku’s avatar would appear and will give a disclaimer of, ‘Don’t try this at home’ because in a matter of seconds will show the chemical mechanism of how methamphetamine is formed.

YoutuberSenku makes nerd jokes in his videos and he’ll laugh at his own jokes. Theres complications made on TikTok of the times he’ll laugh into the mic. Once he made a joke that he found extremely hilarious and you can hear the beginning of him wheezing but then the clip cuts to him back to his voice calm.

YoutuberSenku is also somewhat interactive in his videos despite not livestreaming. Similar to what the Organic Chemistry Tutor does, he’ll explain a topic and then he’ll do an example problem. Then he’ll show another example problem and says, ‘go ahead and pause it and give it a try.’ Sometimes he’ll say, “You would think that because of (something something) you would expect this to happen? Well you’d be wrong and let me tell you why.” And he’ll sound smug when he does.

Let me put another thought in your head!

…VtuberSenku!

[aettuddae]

Karina is under fire for being conservative and right wing

oh yeah, well, about that, here's my opinion, which you may or may not share.

she posted as she usually does sharing with us her daily life, the color of the jacket and the emoji she chose were unfortunate, but it's not more than what she usually does on her posts: she captions it with an emoji that goes with the color of her clothes. (you can literally go check on her instagram, she does it all the time.)

differently to things i've read online: the brand only sells that model in that color, there's no existence of a blue one. and actually, this brand has been very involved with social causes. which doesn't directly relate to karina, but i just wanted to clarify.

she deleted the post right away as she realized how it could have been interpreted. if she posted that to make a statement on her political beliefs, she wouldn't have deleted it.

she came to us personally on bubble and said those were never her intentions and apologized for making mys worry, while sm released an official statement a little after reaffirming she didn't mean it that way and asking for people not to distort the situation.

karina has openly recommended feminists books and authors before, as well as talked about the struggles female idols go through in a misogynistic industry, she too has donated to minorities in need. actions speaks and these things she's done just simply don't align with what the conservative party in korea represents, so i don't have any reason to believe she stands with them other than out of character narratives people have made in social media.

also, the son of a representative of this party made sexual comments about her, so that's another reason i have to believe she would never risk her idol image to post supporting these people.

i do believe she made a mistake that she's grown up enough to have avoided. i can say it was ignorant, but not bad intended.

i love karina and i will always do, that will only change if she ever did something that truly seems cruel, bad intended or inhumane, adjectives she's not. my posture is that this was an ignorant and idiotic mistake, but no more than that. straight up calling her a conservative over something so vague that she undid as fast as she could seems irrational to me.

you can agree with me or not, but this is where i stand. i love her and when i come back to write in this blog, it will still be about her, this always being a place to show love towards her.

i'm sorry if my views in this matter bothers anyone, you're free to stop following me.

[twistedheartsclub]

His Favorite Mistake- Yandere Ex Male X Female Reader

⚠️ CONTENT WARNING — This story contains themes of emotional manipulation, cheating, toxic relationships, possessive obsession, and psychological tension. Features morally gray characters, jealousy, non-graphic sexual scenes, and blurred lines between love, lust, and revenge. Reader discretion is strongly advised.

She begged him once. He left. Now she smiles when he burns.

Aisle Seven

Y/N hadn’t expected to see him again.

Certainly not in the middle of the grocery store, under warm fluorescent lights and soft pop music, while she reached for fresh thyme.

But there he was.

Him.

The man she once loved with every aching part of her.

The man who broke her.

He was pushing a cart. Laughing. A woman clung to his arm—pregnant, glowing, unaware.

Y/N froze.

She could’ve turned. Walked away. Pretended she hadn’t seen him.

But it was too late.

“Y/N?”

His voice hadn’t changed. That effortless charm. That smile she used to melt for.

“Wow, it’s been a while.”

She didn’t speak right away. Just… looked at him.

At the woman.

At her hand on his arm.

At the small swell of her belly.

She blinked once. Then smiled—perfectly.

She looked stunning. A tight sundress hugging her curves, wedges lifting her calves just right, her makeup soft and glowing. In her basket sat fresh herbs, red wine, pasta, garlic—his favorite. The recipe she used to make when he was hers.

“Hi,” she said sweetly, voice smooth as silk.

Something shifted in his expression.

She looks good. Better than I remember.

Who’s she making dinner for?

The woman beside him adjusted her bag. Nervous. Unsure.

“Hi, I’m Elle,” she said, holding out her hand. “I’m his fiancée.”

Y/N smiled even wider. Shook her hand gently.

“Lovely to meet you.”

She didn’t ask questions. Didn’t linger.

“I’m in a bit of a rush. Hope you both have a beautiful day.”

And just like that, she walked away.

But not before catching the flicker in his eyes.

He watched her go.

Like a man who just realized he lost something he should’ve held onto with both hands.

Y/N’s Apartment — 7:42 PM

The apartment smelled like garlic, white wine, and basil.

Y/N stirred the pasta with one hand and scrolled on her phone with the other while her best friends lounged at the kitchen island, sipping rosé and nibbling cheese.

“You’re so domestic lately,” Maris teased, stealing a tomato off the cutting board.

“Yeah,” said Bree. “Like, scary domestic. You’re making fresh pasta now? Who are you feeding like this?”

Y/N smirked and shrugged. “I just wanted comfort food.”

She didn’t say his name.

Not yet.

But it slipped out during dinner. Between bites of the creamy sauce he once moaned over, she said it—

“I saw him today.”

Both girls stopped mid-chew.

“Wait. Him him?” Bree asked.

“Matt?” Maris blinked. “Your Matt?”

Y/N nodded, sipping her wine. Her voice was casual. But her grip on the glass was a little too tight.

“Market aisle seven. With a very pregnant fiancée.”

“Jesus,” Bree muttered. “What did he say?”

“Hi,” Y/N said sweetly. “He looked… surprised. I think I made his brain stop.”

They all laughed, but there was a quiet under it.

A hum of something bitter.

Matt’s Apartment — 8:05 PM

Dinner was plated in front of him.

He hadn’t touched it.

Elle smiled gently, rubbing her belly as she watched TV from the couch.

“Who was that girl earlier?” she asked. “You seemed weird after.”

Matt barely looked up. “No one.”

“She was really pretty.”

Silence.

Elle looked at him.

“Seriously, who was she?”

He exhaled. “Just someone I used to know.”

“Old friend?”

“…something like that.”

He pushed his food away and got up. Walked into the bedroom. Shut the door softly.

Then grabbed his phone.

He searched her name.

Clicked on her profile.

And froze.

Her latest post was from last night. A photo at her apartment—candles glowing, pasta plated beautifully, two friends laughing in the background.

She looked good.

Her lips were glossed. Her dress soft and short. Her eyes glowing in low light.

He stared at the caption.

"Girls’ night in 🍷✨ comfort food, comfort people."

Who’s she cooking for?

She never looked like that with me.

Is someone else touching her now?

Does she even think about me?

He saved the photo.

He didn’t know why.

But he couldn’t stop looking.

Matt hadn’t meant to check her page again.

But it was muscle memory now.

Y/N’s name.

Tap. Scroll. Watch.

The 4:05 a.m. selfie—face flushed, ponytail messy, captioned “beat the sun 🌅”.

The yoga video her friend reposted—tight black leggings, form perfect.

The pic from school—“My students made me cry today 🥹 #teacherlife”.

She was doing good.

No.

She was doing better.

And that made something sour coil in his gut.

He clicked her tagged photos next. Every brunch, every bookstore run, every glass of wine with her girls. He studied the background. The angles. Looking for a shadow of a man. A wrist. A second glass. Anything.

He didn’t find one.

But that didn’t calm him.

It infuriated him.

She cried for me.

She begged on her knees. Her voice shaking. Hands gripping my shirt like she’d die if I walked away.

And I did. I left.

The night before I left, I made love to her.

Slow. Deep. Her whispering “I love you” against his neck like a prayer.

He remembered the way her lip trembled when he said it was over.

How she broke.

And now?

Now she glowed.

Now she thrived.

And something in him… fractured.

He wasn’t sorry.

Not in the normal way.

He was angry.

Angry that she healed. That she smiled. That she lived in a world where he wasn’t necessary.

She was supposed to shatter without me.

Not become something more.

He closed the app.

Sat in silence.

And whispered to himself—

“She was mine.”

His fiancée called from the next room.

He didn’t answer.

He was already planning the next time he’d “accidentally” run into Y/N.

And next time?

He wouldn’t be smiling.

Y/N’s Apartment – 6:47 PM

She stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the sleeves of her satin blouse, smoothing the hem of her skirt.

Her makeup was soft. Hair curled. A warm red lip she hadn’t worn in months.

Her friends buzzed around her, giggling, handing her a glass of wine she barely sipped.

“Come on, Y/N,” Bree said. “This guy is perfect. Handsome, steady job, no weird ex drama, wants marriage and a dog.”

“He’s seriously looking to settle down,” Maris added. “And he’s seen your photos. He asked us if you were single.”

Y/N laughed quietly, shaking her head. “That’s terrifying.”

“It’s called fate, babe.”

And so, at 7:30, she walked into the warm glow of the downtown restaurant. Candlelight. Leather booths. Glasses clinking.

And across the table—Luca.

Tall. Calm. Easy smile.

He asked her questions. Listened. Laughed at her jokes. Held the door open when she got chilly and offered his coat.

It felt… nice.

Easy.

Too easy.

And someone else—somewhere else—was watching.

Matt’s Condo – 8:06 PM

The second she posted the photo—just a plate of pasta, a glass of wine, the blurred edge of a candle—he knew.

She’s on a date.

He stared at the screen, heart thudding.

He refreshed her friend’s story.

There she was.

Laughing.

Her hand near a man’s wrist.

“Who the f*ck is that?”

His knuckles cracked as he gripped the phone.

He didn’t recognize the guy.

Didn’t care.

He paced his kitchen like a caged animal, every breath sharper than the last.

She’s dressed up.

She’s smiling at someone else.

She doesn’t look sad. Doesn’t look like she’s waiting for me.

She looks happy.

That’s what pushed him over.

That’s what made him snap.

He threw the wine glass against the far wall.

It shattered.

He stared at the shards.

“You little liar,” he whispered. “You said you’d always love me.”

Meanwhile — Y/N’s Doorstep – 10:42 PM

The date had ended with a soft goodbye. No kiss. Just a hug, a warm smile, and a “Let’s talk again soon.”

She was halfway through taking off her heels when her phone buzzed.

Unknown Number:

You looked beautiful tonight.

Her blood went cold.

Then another:

But you looked more beautiful crying on my floor.

She dropped her phone.

Her heart pounded.

Outside, a car sat idling at the curb.

Dark. Windows tinted.

She didn’t know it yet…

But Matt had already followed her home.

Y/N’s Apartment – Night Before

Her phone was face down on the kitchen table, untouched.

Her hands shook.

“He followed you home?” Maris whispered.

“Did he see you?” Bree asked, already pulling up a lock change service on her phone.

Y/N nodded, eyes glassy. “He texted me. Said I looked beautiful. And then—he reminded me of the night I broke down for him.”

The silence between them went heavy.

Maris wrapped her arms around her. Bree joined, warm and fierce.

“He doesn’t get to come back now,” Bree said. “He left. That was his choice.”

“You’re not that girl anymore,” Maris added gently. “Don’t let him make you one again.”

The Next Day – 10:12 AM — Bookstore

It was her safe place.

Always had been.

The scent of old pages, quiet piano music overhead, warm sunlight slanting through the windows. She took her time, trailing her fingers along the spines of novels, pretending everything was still okay.

Until she felt it.

That shift in the air.

That presence.

She turned—too late.

Matt was there.

Eyes dark. Hands in his pockets. Blocking the aisle.

“Y/N.”

Her heart slammed into her ribs. “Don’t do this.”

“I needed to see you.”

She stepped back, clutching her bag tighter. “You moved on. You said I love you once too. You burned the love I had for you.”

Her voice cracked.

“You had your chance. Go enjoy your perfect little family with Elle.”

He closed the space between them fast.

Too fast.

She hit the wall behind her with a soft gasp. His hand slammed beside her head. His other hand gripped her hip.

“I didn’t burn it,” he hissed. “You’re still burning.”

She flinched as his face came close—too close.

His eyes dropped to her lips. Her neck. Her dress.

“I still know this body. Every. Inch.”

“Let me go.”

But his hand didn’t move.

His thigh brushed hers.

His voice was low. Breath heavy. “You let him touch you? That soft little boy from your date?”

She shoved his chest.

“You don’t get to ask me that.”

He grabbed her wrists.

Pressed them against the wall.

And kissed her.

Hard. Possessive. Messy. Like he was starving.

She twisted beneath him—but somewhere in it… something broke.

And she kissed him back.

The pressure of his body. The fire in her stomach. Her fingers curling into his shirt. His groan vibrating against her lips.

It was familiar.

It was wrong.

But it felt so good.

When they pulled apart, they were both breathing like they’d run a mile.

Their eyes locked.

Neither of them said a word.

The air between them didn’t cool.

After that kiss—wild and burning—Y/N couldn’t breathe. Matt didn’t give her time to think. His hand was already gripping hers, tugging her toward the exit of the bookstore like he owned her path.

She should have pulled away.

She should have said no.

But her lips were still tingling. Her heart was still racing. And when he opened the passenger door of his sleek black car, she got in.

“This is a mistake,” she whispered as he pulled onto the road.

His hand slid over her thigh. Firm. Hot.

“Then tell me to stop.”

She couldn’t.

In the Car

The city lights passed by in a blur. Her breath hitched every time his thumb stroked soft circles on her bare skin, just beneath the hem of her dress.

“You’re shaking,” he said, glancing sideways.

“This is wrong,” she whispered. “You have a fiancée. A baby.”

“I only see you.”

His voice was low. Raw. Like something inside him had snapped and spilled out.

She swallowed hard.

But she didn’t move his hand.

Y/N’s Apartment — The Door Clicks Closed

The second it shut, her back hit it. His mouth was on hers again, rougher this time. Desperate. His hands roamed down her waist, under the curve of her dress.

She gasped as he lifted her, carrying her toward the bedroom like she weighed nothing.

Her hands gripped his arms—hard, sculpted, familiar. His scent was intoxicating, his mouth moving from her lips to her neck, biting and kissing down to her collarbone.

“I shouldn’t want this,” she breathed.

“But you do.”

What Follows Is Fire

Clothes hit the floor in flashes.

The way he touched her—like he’d never stopped knowing how. His mouth on her breasts, sucking hard, tongue circling until she cried out.

His hands on her thighs, spreading them wide.

Every thrust was punishment and worship.

She arched, her head thrown back, moaning his name like it was pulled from the deepest part of her. Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling as he groaned into her skin.

He didn’t stop.

Not when she whimpered.

Not when her body shook.

He took her again. And again. Until her voice cracked and her body melted against him.

After

They lay tangled in her sheets, skin sticky, hearts pounding.

He pressed soft kisses to her shoulder, his chest rising and falling behind her. One strong arm wrapped around her, his fingertips drawing slow circles into the curve of her arm.

“Why,” she whispered into the dark.

He didn’t answer at first.

Then—

“Because no one else gets to touch you like that.”

“You’re mine, Y/N. You always were.”

Matt’s House — 2:14 AM

He unlocked the door quietly.

Elle was asleep on the couch, one hand resting protectively on her belly, the TV still glowing in the background. A baby onesie ad flickered across the screen.

Matt stood there in the dark, still tasting Y/N on his lips.

His shirt smelled like her. His skin, her perfume. His thoughts? Only her.

He stared at Elle for a long time.

But he didn’t feel guilt.

He felt… annoyed.

She’s not Y/N.

She never was.

Sunday Morning — 9:42 AM

Y/N sat on a sunny patio, sipping coffee with Luca.

She wore a soft yellow blouse and a pair of delicate earrings. Her hair was tied up loose. The same fingers that gripped Matt’s shoulders the night before now toyed with a silver necklace as she smiled.

“You have a really cute laugh,” Luca said, eyes warm.

She laughed again, tipping her head.

“You’re just saying that because I ordered pancakes and a croissant.”

He chuckled. “I respect it.”

She leaned forward a little, her legs crossed, casually gorgeous.

Like nothing had happened.

Like she hadn’t moaned Matt’s name hours ago.

Like she wasn’t still sore from the way he devoured her.

But her smile?

It was real.

Because this was control.

Meanwhile — Matt’s POV

He was still lying in bed.

Staring at the ceiling.

Elle had asked if he wanted to go out for brunch. He said no.

He opened Instagram.

And there she was.

Y/N. At a café. Croissant. Pancakes. A man’s arm in the corner of the frame. Her smile wide.

His jaw clenched.

She doesn’t look wrecked.

She doesn’t even look like she’s thinking about me.

He locked his phone.

And threw it

Sunday Morning — Café Jardin, 10:06 AM

The sun filtered through the patio umbrella, casting soft shadows over Y/N’s table. Her coffee was still hot. The plate in front of her was nearly cleared. She was glowing—fresh from yoga, skin soft and flushed, the barest shimmer of gloss on her lips.

Across from her, Luca smiled with that effortless charm. Warm, polite, well-dressed in a crisp button-down.

He was easy to talk to.

Safe.

“So,” he said between bites of his omelet, “your friends said you were in a pretty serious relationship before?”

Her fingers paused around the coffee cup.

She smiled.

“Yeah… it ended about a year ago.”

“I don’t want to overstep,” he said gently, “but you seem really grounded. Not everyone gets through something like that and still believes in… you know, dating. Love.”

She tilted her head, watching him over the rim of her mug.

“I believe in second chances,” she said sweetly. “But only when someone deserves one.”

He smiled. “Fair.”

She didn’t say his name.

She didn’t need to.

But inside her chest, something tightened—an ache she had no interest in naming.

Time Skip — Monday Evening, 6:42 PM

Y/N’s Yoga Studio — Front Entrance

She pushed open the glass door, mat in one hand, water bottle in the other, ponytail damp from sweat and effort. Her body felt lighter. Her mind clearer.

Until she saw him.

Leaning against the black car parked right outside the studio.

Matt.

Still in a white fitted tee and dark jeans. Forearms crossed. That same chain around his neck. Eyes locked on her like a hunter who’d been waiting hours.

She stopped dead.

“Seriously?”

He said nothing at first. Just pushed off the car and walked straight toward her.

“You’ve been ignoring me.”

“Yeah,” she snapped. “That was on purpose.”

“Get in the car.”

She laughed—dry, disbelieving. “Are you serious right now?”

“Now, Y/N.”

“Why don’t you go home and play daddy?” she hissed. “I’m sure your pregnant fiancée is wondering where you are.”

His jaw tensed. His nostrils flared.

He grabbed her wrist—not roughly, but firmly—and yanked the passenger door open.

“We’re talking. One way or another.”

And before she could fully think, she was in the car.

The door slammed.

He got in. Started the engine. Said nothing.

And she said nothing either.

Until she realized—he was taking the turns toward her place.

Her breath hitched.

She looked at him.

His profile was sharp. Angled. His knuckles white around the wheel.

She hated the way her thighs pressed together. The way her chest rose with every breath. The ache.

“You know what?” she said quietly. “We can talk… over coffee.”

Back at Her Apartment — 7:11 PM

She handed him a mug.

He didn’t say thank you.

They stood in the kitchen, the air thick.

“You don’t get to act like this,” she said finally. “You don’t get to follow me, drag me into your car, show up. You’re engaged—”

“You kissed me back.”

She blinked. “That doesn’t make this right.”

“No,” he said, stepping closer, “but it makes it real.”

His voice had dropped. Dark. Rough. He placed the coffee down slowly.

“You smiled at that guy yesterday like he could give you something I didn’t. But you let me fuck you like no one else ever has.”

Her face flushed. She tried to look away.

He stepped closer.

“What did he get? Pancakes?”

“Matt—”

“I gave you everything. And you’re pretending it didn’t mean anything.”

“Because it shouldn’t mean anything,” she snapped.

“Then why are you shaking right now?”

Silence.

Then—she stepped forward. One hand in his hair. The other pressing against his chest.

And kissed him.

Hard.

Hungry.

Like she needed it.

“Shut up,” she whispered. “Just shut up.”

He grabbed her waist, lifted her off the ground like she weighed nothing, and carried her down the hall.

The Bedroom — A Blur of Heat

She didn’t remember how fast her dress hit the floor.

His mouth was on her neck, her shoulder, her chest. He didn’t undress her gently—he tore through the silence, through her restraint.

She gasped as he bit the skin of her thigh, sucking hard until it bloomed red.

He was rough. Deep. Possessive.

Her hands gripped his hair. Her nails scraped his back.

She moaned his name again.

And again.

And again.

After —

They lay tangled in her sheets, again.

His arm around her waist. His fingers tracing her skin like a ritual.

She was quiet.

Until—

“Why do you keep coming back?”

He didn’t answer right away.

But when he did, it was a whisper.

“Because no one has ever ruined me the way you did.”

It had been a month.

A month of Sunday breakfasts and weekday yoga.

Of late-night messages and secret key turns in the lock.

Y/N was still dating Luca—charming, kind, the kind of man who made her tea when her throat hurt and sent good morning texts with heart emojis.

But she was still fucking Matt.

Hard. Secret. Messy.

Sometimes she hated herself for it. Other nights, she let him ruin her until she couldn’t even speak his name.

She was playing with fire.

But she liked the warmth.

Thursday — 3:14 PM — Boutique Downtown

She didn’t mean to run into Elle.

Y/N was just looking at candles, smiling softly at the scent of vanilla smoke and clean linen when a familiar voice chirped behind her.

“Y/N?”

She turned, slow and sweet.

Elle stood there in soft blue maternity wear, a headband pulling her curls back, shopping bags in one hand and polite curiosity in her smile.

“Oh, hi!” Y/N said with practiced delight. “You look so cute.”

“You too!” Elle smiled, a little too tightly. “You… you used to date Matt, right?”

Y/N blinked once, then laughed, covering her mouth lightly.

“Oh, you didn’t know? That’s funny—yeah. I was the one before you.”

Elle’s smile strained.

“He never really talked about you.”

“No, I imagine he wouldn’t,” Y/N said, voice sugar-slick. “Hard to explain that kind of love to your new girl.”

Elle’s lips parted, unsure if she was being insulted.

“How far along are you?” Y/N asked suddenly, tilting her head. “You’re glowing.”

“Six months.”

“Aw,” Y/N said with a hand to her chest. “So sweet. Pregnancy looks so good on you… I was just saying to my friends the other day how Matt always loved that domestic look.”

Elle blinked.

Y/N smiled wider.

“Anyway, I’m running late. Take care of yourself, Elle. And say hi to Matt for me.”

And just like that, she walked out—heels clicking, perfume lingering.

That Night — Girls’ Dinner

The wine had flowed. The pasta was gone.

Y/N wiped her mouth with a napkin and said it:

“I ran into her today.”

Both Bree and Maris leaned in like wolves.

“Elle?”

“Elle.”

“Did you tell her?”

Y/N grinned. “Oh, I let her connect the dots. Told her she was glowing. Asked about her due date.”

“You bitch,” Bree whispered in awe.

“Queen,” Maris corrected.

Y/N sighed, swirling her wine.

“I can’t do this forever. I told myself once Luca asks me to be his girlfriend… I’ll cut all ties.”

“Do you think you will?” Bree asked gently.

“I have to,” Y/N said. “Because the thing about Matt is… if I don’t leave first, he’ll never let me go.”

That Night — Matt’s Home, 11:03 PM

Elle sat on the edge of the bed, brushing lotion into her belly in slow, distracted circles.

Matt had just come out of the shower, towel around his hips, hair damp.

“You didn’t tell me your ex was that Y/N,” she said softly, like a landmine whispered into the dark.

Matt froze.

“What do you mean?”

“I ran into her today.”

Her voice was calm.

That was worse.

“She was very… polite.”

Matt reached for a shirt without speaking.

“She said you used to love the domestic look. That it looked good on me.”

His jaw clenched.

Elle looked up at him slowly.

“She’s beautiful. Even more than in her pictures.”

“Is there something you want to tell me, Matt?”

Silence.

He met her eyes, cold and unreadable.

“No.”

Elle didn’t argue.

She didn’t cry.

But she turned off the lamp without saying another word.

And Matt lay in bed beside her, staring at the ceiling, thinking of the woman who had just played his fiancée with a smile.

Three Days Later — Friday Night, 7:28 PM

Luca’s Loft — Soft Music, Candlelight

Y/N stood on the balcony, wine glass in hand, city lights sparkling below.

She felt safe here. Steady. Like she could almost have a normal life.

Luca stepped behind her, arms warm as they wrapped around her waist.

“You’ve been glowing lately,” he said against her temple. “I like seeing you like this.”

She leaned into him.

“I like feeling like this.”

He turned her gently.

Held both her hands.

“Y/N…”

“I know we’ve only been seeing each other a short while, but I don’t want to keep playing it casual.”

Her heart picked up.

“I’d like you to be my girlfriend.”

There it was.

The moment.

The promise she made.

She stared at him—kind, beautiful Luca—and smiled.

“Yes,” she whispered. “I’d love that.”

He kissed her.

And she let herself believe it would be enough.

But somewhere inside…

Matt’s name still echoed between her ribs.

Matt didn’t hear it from her.

He saw it on her profile.

A soft photo: Y/N in Luca’s coat, her hand resting gently over his, their fingers laced across a café table. Captioned:

“✨He asked. I said yes.”

A simple sentence.

But to Matt?

It detonated.

He didn’t sleep that night.

Didn’t go home the next one.

And on the third day?

He showed up at her apartment.

Saturday — 6:31 PM

Y/N had just opened the door, keys in hand, when she froze.

Matt.

Standing there. Leaning against the wall outside her apartment, black shirt rolled at the sleeves, eyes burning through her.

She blinked, tried to shut the door, but he caught it—fast. His foot slid between it and the frame.

“We need to talk.”

“I’m on my way out—grocery store,” she said lightly. Her voice was too sweet. Her outfit even sweeter—short skirt, tight top that hugged her waist, made her breasts spill just enough.

He stared.

“Dressed like that for produce?”

She smiled. “Don’t girls in relationships dress cute now?”

His jaw tensed.

“You talked to Elle.”

“She talked to me.”

“What did you say to her?”

“Oh, just that she was glowing. Asked about the baby. That sort of thing.”

Matt stepped inside before she could stop him, his eyes dragging over her body like he wanted to carve her open with just his stare.

“You’re not funny.”

“I’m not yours.”

Wrong words.

Too sharp.

He slammed the door shut behind him.

“So Luca’s yours now? That soft little thing gets to touch what I ruined first?”

She turned, heart pounding.

“This isn’t your life anymore, Matt.”

“Then why do you keep letting me back in?”

She opened her mouth.

But he was already on her.

Hands gripping her waist, lips crashing into hers like punishment. Her back hit the door hard, breath stolen from her lungs.

She kissed him back.

Like fire and denial.

Like maybe this would make it easier to let go.

His hand slid under her skirt, gripping her thigh.

“Matt—” she breathed against his mouth, “—this has to be the last time.”

He didn’t answer.

Because he knew it wasn’t.

And so did she.

Saturday Night — 8:12 PM

The restaurant glittered with crystal chandeliers and hushed elegance. Waiters in black. Tables dressed in white.

And Y/N?

A vision in red.

Her dress hugged her curves like it was painted on—backless, slit high, the neckline dipping just enough to earn stares. Her hair curled in glossy waves. Power-red lips. Cute heels. Confidence in every step.

Luca held her hand as they were guided to their table. He couldn’t stop looking at her.

“You’re the most beautiful woman here,” he whispered as he pulled out her chair.

“I know,” she teased with a wink.

And then—

Matt.

Sitting three tables down.

His head turned when he heard her laugh. He went still.

Elle touched his hand, following his gaze—her smile faltering when she saw Y/N.

They weren’t just in the same place.

They were in the same orbit again.

The Collision

Eventually, someone suggested they say hello. Or maybe Elle couldn’t resist. Or maybe Matt needed a closer look.

The two couples stood face to face between tables.

Y/N smiled.

“Elle. Matt. Fancy seeing you here.”

Elle’s eyes flicked over her outfit, her makeup. The glow.

“You look… different.”

“Healing does that,” Y/N said sweetly. “Luca, this is Elle and Matt.”

Luca offered a charming smile, clearly unaware of the tension crackling beneath the surface.

“Nice to meet you.”

Matt said nothing.

He just stared at Y/N’s mouth.

Later — Restroom Powder Room

Y/N was reapplying her lipstick in the mirror when Elle’s reflection appeared behind her.

“You wore that on purpose.”

Y/N kept her eyes on the mirror.

“Wore what?”

“That dress. That color.”

Y/N capped the lipstick slowly. Turned.

“Wouldn’t be the first time I wore red for Matt.”

Elle flushed.

Y/N stepped closer, eyes amused, voice low.

“Remind me—how did you two meet again?”

Elle blinked.

“We… well, he said he was ending things with you.”

Y/N’s smile sharpened.

“Ah. So he was cheating.”

Elle stiffened. “He said it was over.”

“That’s the funny thing,” Y/N whispered. “You can tell yourself that. You have to. Otherwise, what are you really standing on?”

She took a step toward the door.

Then turned back.

“You’re glowing again, by the way. But this time… I think it’s fear.”

With a smile like a blade, she walked out—heels clicking.

Elle stayed frozen by the sink, throat tight, suddenly unsure of everything.

The dinner was done. Drinks finished. Laughter fading.

Luca stood inside by the register, card in hand, chatting casually with the hostess.

Y/N stepped outside for air, heels clicking on the stone steps, the breeze brushing over her bare shoulders like silk.

And there he was.

Matt.

Waiting.

Eyes dark. Jaw tight.

He didn’t speak—just reached out and grabbed her wrist, pulling her around the corner, out of view from the front entrance.

“You’re really doing this,” he hissed. “Parading around like that in front of me.”

She smiled. Dangerous. Radiant.

“I wasn’t parading. I was glowing. There’s a difference.”

“You talked to Elle like that on purpose.”

“Oh, baby,” she cooed, stepping close. “You still think I accidentally hurt people?”

His breathing was heavier now. She could feel it—his jealousy, his need, his rage wrapped in desire.

“You think he touches you the way I do?”

She leaned in slowly, lips a breath from his.

Her voice? Velvet and venom.

“I’ll think of you…”

“…while he fucks me.”

Matt’s hand twitched at his side like he didn’t know whether to drag her closer or shove her away.

But she was already stepping back.

Right on cue, Luca pushed through the front doors.

“Everything good?” he asked.

Y/N turned, radiant and untouchable.

“Perfect,” she said sweetly. “Just catching a little air.”

Matt stood frozen as she walked away, red dress swaying with every step, her hand sliding into Luca’s effortlessly.

She didn’t look back.

But over her shoulder, she said with a smile:

“You always liked watching me leave.”

Luca opened the car door for her like the gentleman he was.

And Matt?

He stood on the curb, burning from the inside out.

[stranger-theory]

something so funny about Milevens is that they post shit about them from s2 and caption it "soulmates!!" like sure buddy they may have looked like it then but im pretty sure that was before the lying and gaslighting.

i think this is something a lot of Milevens fail to understand. they think that because Mike said he loves her they can go back to posting shit from back then as if they're still at that level. this is something i HATE.

a good plot resolve should play out like this: Mike cant say he loves El because he's afraid she'll realize she doesn't love him. more miscommunication, blah blah blah, but then Mike overcomes this fear and says he loves her. they talk about it and finally go back to being a happy couple!

here's how it actually went: Mike can't say he loves El because he's afraid she'll realize she doesn't love him, they miscommunicate, get separated, reunite. Mike says he loves her. she refuses to talk to him for about two full days and this is explicitly called out by two of the characters.

"Has she talked to you at all?" –Will

"Not much. I mean- a little." –Mike

why would that interaction be included at all if it's not necessary for catching us up on their relationship status? in fact, the reason Will asks this is because the camera pans to Eleven making a face at Mike before walking into another room and shutting the door. he notices that she's acting weird. they're not acting normal, they're not on speaking terms, that plot wasn't resolved. the issue is still relevant. we're supposed to notice.

the ignorance for people to casually assume they're okay now is astounding and shows clear evidence that these people don't even have any idea what's going on. this is basic media literacy and they're not even batting an eye.

this is lightly inspired by @teambyler , i liked his video a lot !