#Famous Models

[thimblings]

'if a man could be two places at one time, i'd be with you tomorrow and today, beside you all the way'

[vanteguccir]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤPRADA FW25 * MATT STURNIOLO * INSTAGRAM

SUMMARY　::　where Y/N goes to the Prada FW25 show with the triplets and enjoy Milan with her boyfriend, Matt.

FEATURING　Matt Sturniolo x prada model!reader　REQUESTED?　no.

WARNINGS　::　none.

AUTHOR'S NOTE　::　that is my work, I DON'T authorize any form of plagiarism; copy, "inspiration" or translation! | english isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

liked by sturniolofan1, matthew.sturniolo, ynfan72 and 1,528 others

people Supermodel Y/N L/N spotted today in Milan!

view all 3,065 comments

username wait you're lying??? she's actually there???

username IS SHE GOING TO THE PRADA SHOW OMG PLS

username lmaoooooo i see you hiding in the likes matt

username it’s so cute that he's always following her activities 🥹🥹

username she's so freaking gorgeous how's that possible???

username PRADA GIRL IN MILAN?? SHES SO MOTHER RN

username nah bc how can someone look this good just walking???

username I so hope that she comes back to the runways on prada's next woman's show 😔

username I'm obsessed omg omg omg

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liked by lilamoss, matthew.sturniolo, sturniolo.triplets and 11,628 others

ynsinstagram milano, your queen is here 🇮🇹🤌🏻

tagged: matthew.sturniolo

view all 3,065 comments

username um so like you’re actually perfect

username ughhhhh milan is so beautiful 😭

→ username ikr?? I dream of going there someday

username my jaw dropped but I'm happy about it

matthew.sturniolo love the shirt

→ ynsinstagram really??? it's my face in there 🥺

⤷ matthew.sturniolo actually I was talking about MY face in there

⤷ username I LOVE THEM LMAO 😭😭

username NO WAY, IS THAT REALLY MATT????

→ username OBVIOUSLY ???? the guy follow his girl everywhere 😭

⤷ username it's so crazy to think that he's in Italy right now

username matt flew to MILAN for his girl?? boyfriend of the year award goes to him fr

username you're everything mama, I adore you etc etc, but also like... MATT IS IN MILAN?? AS IN MY CITY???

username THIS IS Y/N'S WORLD AND WE'RE JUST LIVING IN IT

christophersturniolo 🏰🤌🏻🥧😱

→ ynsinstagram I agree, king 🙌🏻

username are nick and chris also there?

→ username I don't think they're (?)

→ username probably... this week is gonna happen the prada FW25 show, maybe she's in Milan to go there? her being the face of prada and all

⤷ username this actually makes super sense

username where Y/N is, fashion is following 🙌🏻

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liked by sturniolo.triplets, ynsinstagram, prada and 8,528 others

matthew.sturniolo this is what happens when you date a supermodel, they make you look cool by association

tagged: ynsinstagram

view all 3,925 comments

username damn god really out here choosing favorites

username he loves her your honour

username matt's milan era is just him third-wheeling Y/N and the camera

→ username FRRR!!! that girl looks amazing in every picture 😭😭

christophersturniolo bro really said I'm a prada boy now

→ ynsinstagram and he's slaying it 💅🏻

username sir, how does it feel to be living half of the world's dream?

→ matthew.sturniolo unreal

username nah bc prada matt is actually gonna break the internet rn

ynsinstagram you're cooler 🫵🏻🤍

→ matthew.sturniolo impossible

username this is the most unexpected collab but I'm OBSESSED

username HE LOOKS SO GOOD IN PRADA LIKE HELLO????

nicolassturniolo how do you pull a supermodel and still look like you can't spell milan?

→ matthew.sturniolo I think you mixed the triplet

⤷ christophersturniolo what's that supposed to mean???

username I'm SO sure that Y/N influenced matt 100% to buy prada stuff

username and now everyone say THANK YOU Y/N 🙏🏻

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liked by sturniolo.triplets, matthew.sturniolo, ynsinstagram and 6,279 others

gettyimages MILAN, ITALY - 19TH JANUARY. The Sturniolo's arrive at the Prada fashion show during Milan Menswear Fall/Winter 2025.

tagged: sturniolo.triplets

view all 3,624 comments

username WHAT THE FUCK

username what do you mean they're aLL IN THAT PRADA SHOW???? am I dreaming?

username omg omg omg omg shut up right now this is EVERYTHING

username PRADA KINGS 🙏🏻🙏🏻

→ username Y/N being their prada queen 🙏🏻

username I'm so so proud of them 😭

username fuck matt is looking amazing in all black 🫦🫦

username WHERE’S Y/N??????

→ matthew.sturniolo that's a good question

⤷ username LMAO 😭 noticed by matt being ironic

username can't wait to see them in the front row

username weren't they in boston just yesterday? 😭😭 things happen so fast omg

username they're the moment guys ✋🏻✋🏻

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liked by matthew.sturniolo, bellahadid, kendalljenner and 17,279 others

ynsinstagram MILANO IS PRADA @/prada

tagged: prada

view all 8,624 comments

username fashion princess is living the dream so happy for her 😭🙏🏻

username mommy- sorry... mommy- sorry... MOTHER

kendalljenner you are GLOWING 😍

→ ynsinstagram love you, ken 🤍

username THE FACE OF PRADA ARRIVES, EVERYONE ELSE CAN GO HOME

prada prettiest

→ ynsinstagram 🖤

username she is literally making the streets of milan her runway rn

username stop, you're making me wish that she comes back to the runways 😭😭

matthew.sturniolo nah bc how does someone look THIS good just stepping out of a car?? unreal

nicolassturniolo stop drooling

username prada is lucky to even exist while Y/N is wearing it tbh

bellahadid it's giving movie from the 50s

→ ynsinstagram STOP I LOVE THIS

username icon of the century

username here, take my whole house if you want

username 💳💳💳

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liked by ynsinstagram, matthew.sturniolo and 3,528 others

prada Y/N L/N and the Sturniolo Triplets attend the Prada FW25 Menswear Show in Milan, at the Fondazione Prada's Deposito.

tagged: ynsinstagram, sturniolo.triplets

view all 665 comments

username nick, chris, and matt are living every fan's dream rn just casually at PRADA with Y/N

→ username idk who I want to be tbh 😫

username ughh they look so powerful wtf

username the fact that prada is literally being carried by THEM rn 😫😫

username Y/N's outfit is literally what dreams are made of

→ username ikr??? so angel coded

username can we talk about how matt's whole outfit is lowkey giving runway vibes?? boyfriend is LEVELING UP

→ username and for that we say THANK YOU Y/N 🙌🏻

username Y/N's accessories alone probably cost more than my whole apartment but like... worth it 😃

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liked by rosiehw, matthew.sturniolo, haileybieber and 14,528 others

ynsinstagram cause i love to love, to love, to love you 🤍

tagged: matthew.sturniolo

view all 7,365 comments

matthew.sturniolo that guy's pretty handsome

→ ynsinstagram very :) and an amazing photographer too

⤷ matthew.sturniolo with a muse like you, I have no doubts

⤷ username PARENTS ARE FLIRTING ‼️

username MY ROMAN EMPIRE

username how can you both be so damn hot?!

username they're the IT couple

username the way she's casually flexing that matt does her cartier for her like we're not all crying rn 😭

username he's so boyfriend material fuck 😭

nicolassturniolo cool pics and all, but where's my invite to the pasta tho?

→ ynsinstagram as if you didn't obligated us to bring some for you

⤷ username LMAO 😭😭 this is so nick coded

username EVERYONE PAUSE

username I want what these bitches have ;(

username she's truly one of the most beautiful women i've ever seen 😭

username omg he was taking pics of her??

→ ynsinstagram yes 😁

→ matthew.sturniolo always!

⤷ username WTF- HIIIII

⤷ username YOU'RE BOTH SO CUTE STOP

username why am I crying in the club rn

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liked by ynsinstagram, nathandoe8, tarayummyy and 12,588 others

matthew.sturniolo pizza in italy just hits different

tagged: ynsinstagram

view all 3,745 comments

username are yall breathing ok??

→ username no, actually going to the hospital rn

username bro went from youtube videos in sweatshirts to prada boy real quick

→ username AND I'M SO HERE FOR ITTTT

→ username don't you dare insult his sweatshirts 😔😔

nicolassturniolo matt driving in italy? 😱😱😱

→ matthew.sturniolo I can actually drive everywhere when I have a license, yk?

⤷ username clocked out 😭

username Y/N give me a chance pls pls pls

username fourth pic is peak boyfriendism 😭

username sooooooo dreamy omg I need this

username luckiest boy on the planet

→ ynsinstagram luckiest girl*

⤷ matthew.sturniolo nah, I win on that note, no one is luckier than me

⤷ username whipped

ynsinstagram 🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕

→ matthew.sturniolo 🍕🍕🍕🍕

⤷ username best conversation ever

username I NEED IT I NEED IT

username matt's prada era AND his soft boyfriend era at the same time???

→ username and we all say THANK YOU Y/N 🙌🏻🙌🏻

tarayummyy every time you post her, my heart grows three sizes ;((( stop being so perfect

→ username we love a supportive bestie 😔

ynsinstagram italy has my heart and so do you, mio amato 🤍

→ matthew.sturniolo I promise I'm keeping it safe here 🖤

⤷ username I'm gonna throw up- THIS IS SO CUTE SHUT THE FUCK UP

username Y/N taking a picture of matt taking a picture of her 🙏🏻🙏🏻

© vanteguccir

[chelseaknoo]

90s Eminem x Victoria secrets model! Reader

Request: Hi, can I ask for a longer story (it can be short too if you prefer)? How about Marshal in the 90s with a Victoria Secret model, paparazzi catches a cute moment between them and Em's friends make fun of them and the fans and media are crazy to see a cute side of him, and then he reminds everyone at an awards show that his cute side is only with his girl...

Note:Sorry I couldn’t make it longer enough I hade to rush it

Marshall Mathers—better known as Eminem—had been your boyfriend for a few months now. The two of you meeting was nothing short of surreal, thanks to Dr. Dre’s matchmaking. Dre had noticed Marshall’s little obsession with you when he caught him flipping through magazines featuring your modeling work—Victoria’s Secret, Playboy, and others. At first, Dre didn’t say much, but when he saw how tongue-tied Marshall got every time your name came up, he decided to take matters into his own hands.

It all started the night Dre surprised Marshall backstage at one of his concerts. You had no idea you were about to meet the man himself, but Dre had convinced you to fly out, promising it’d be worth your while.

---

The room was dimly lit, a sharp contrast to the blinding stage lights that had been in Marshall's face all night. He had just stepped offstage after performing in Detroit, his home turf, with adrenaline still coursing through his veins. Dr. Dre was leaning against the wall of the dressing room, scrolling through his phone casually like he didn’t have a surprise up his sleeve.

“Yo, good set tonight, man,” Dre said, looking up.

“Yeah, thanks,” Marshall replied, wiping his face with a towel and grabbing a water bottle. “Crowd was hype. Detroit never disappoints.”

Dre smirked, tucking his phone away. “So, you remember how you keep talking about that one Victoria’s Secret model you like?”

Marshall froze mid-drink, side-eyeing his mentor. “What are you talkin’ about?”

Dre raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. “Don’t play dumb, Em. I’ve seen your magazines. You’re always like, ‘Man, she’s so fine,’ every time her ad comes on TV. What’s her name? (Y/N)?”

Marshall turned red, scowling. “Yo, why you gotta put me on blast like that? I ain’t sayin’ nothin’.”

“Relax,” Dre chuckled, pushing himself off the wall. “I ain’t clownin’ you… much. Anyway, I might’ve done somethin’.”

“What the hell did you do?” Marshall asked, suspicion lacing his voice as Dre made his way to the door.

Dre opened it slightly and leaned into the hallway, waving someone in. “Yo, come on in!”

Marshall watched in confusion, his brows furrowing. The door swung open wider, and there you were—dressed casually but effortlessly stunning. It was a stark contrast to the glamorous shoots he’d seen you in, but somehow, it made you even more breathtaking.

“Hi,” you greeted with a warm smile, your voice soft but confident.

Marshall’s jaw nearly hit the floor. He blinked several times, convinced this had to be some elaborate prank. “Yo, what—” he stammered, looking between you and Dre. “What is this? Are you serious right now?”

Dre clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Dead serious. Thought I’d help you shoot your shot, man.”

“Wait… what?” Marshall was still processing, running a hand over his buzzed blonde hair.

You stepped closer, extending your hand. “I’m (Y/N). It’s nice to finally meet you, Marshall.”

“Uh… yeah, yeah. Nice to meet you, too,” he said, shaking your hand like he’d forgotten how to function.

Dre leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, grinning like a proud matchmaker. “Told her you were a fan, Em. Turns out, she thinks you’re pretty dope, too.”

Marshall’s head snapped toward Dre. “You told her? Man, what the hell is wrong with you?”

“Relax, man. She’s here, ain’t she?” Dre shrugged, unbothered by the flustered rapper’s reaction.

You laughed softly, the sound instantly easing Marshall’s nerves. “He’s right. I wouldn’t have come if I didn’t want to meet you. I’ve been a fan of your music for a while now.”

“You… have?” Marshall asked, the disbelief evident in his tone.

You nodded. “Absolutely. ‘My Name Is’ is iconic. And your flow? Insane.”

Marshall chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “Damn, that’s crazy. I mean… thanks. I don’t even know what to say right now.”

Dre pushed off the doorframe. “Well, y’all have fun. I’ll leave you to it.” He shot Marshall a knowing look before disappearing into the hallway.

As the door closed behind him, silence settled between you and Marshall. He shifted awkwardly, trying to think of something clever to say but coming up blank.

“So, this is your hometown, huh?” you said, breaking the ice.

“Yeah. Detroit. Born and raised,” he replied, finally managing to meet your eyes.

“It’s cool to see where you’re from,” you said. “You must love performing here.”

“Yeah, it’s different here. The crowd’s wild, but it’s home, y’know?”

You smiled. “That’s awesome. I can tell you’re really passionate about what you do.”

Marshall felt himself relax a little, the initial shock fading. “Yeah, I mean… music’s everything to me. Keeps me sane, y’know?”

You nodded. “I get that. Modeling can be pretty intense, too. It’s nice to have something that keeps you grounded.”

He tilted his head, curiosity piqued. “How’d you get into all that? Modeling and stuff?”

You chuckled. “Kind of by accident, honestly. I got scouted when I was younger, and it just took off from there. But I love it. It’s given me opportunities I never dreamed of.”

Marshall grinned. “Yeah, like meetin’ me, right?”

You laughed, and he felt a surge of confidence.

“Exactly,” you teased.

The two of you spent the next hour talking like old friends, the initial awkwardness replaced by an easy connection. Marshall couldn’t believe Dre had actually pulled this off, but he wasn’t about to question it.

---

Months had passed since that unforgettable night when Dr. Dre introduced you to Marshall. What started as a whirlwind of nerves and uncertainty quickly blossomed into something neither of you could have anticipated. Now, you and Marshall were inseparable—a happy, albeit unconventional, couple.

Tonight, you found yourself seated in a cozy corner of a trendy Detroit restaurant. It was one of Marshall's favorite spots, lowkey and unpretentious. He had invited some of his closest friends, including Proof and Denaun, for dinner. The table was filled with laughter and conversation, everyone relaxed as plates of food were passed around.

Marshall sat beside you, his arm casually draped across the back of your chair, while his other hand toyed absentmindedly with the edge of his napkin.

“Yo, this mac and cheese is fire,” Denaun said, holding up a forkful. “Y’all need to try this.”

Proof leaned forward, squinting at Denaun’s plate. “That ain’t better than my grandma’s recipe, though. Don’t even start.”

Marshall chuckled. “Man, Proof, you’re always hypin’ up your grandma’s cooking. I’m starting to think she don’t even exist.”

“Say that again, and I’ll have her make a plate just so you can eat your words,” Proof shot back, laughing.

While the guys bantered, you were focused on your own plate, cutting a piece of the steak you had ordered. You noticed Marshall glance at your plate, his eyes lingering.

“You want some?” you asked, lifting the fork toward him.

“Nah, I’m good,” he said, but his gaze didn’t leave the steak.

You smirked, leaning closer. “C’mon, try it. It’s good.”

Marshall hesitated, then leaned in and took a bite. “Damn,” he muttered, chewing thoughtfully. “That’s better than mine.”

You giggled, cutting another piece. “Want another bite?”

“Hell yeah,” he said, and you fed him again, much to the amusement of the guys at the table.

“Yo, look at this dude,” Denaun said, pointing his fork at Marshall. “Marshall out here bein’ all soft with his girl. Feeding each other and shit.”

Proof snickered. “Man, I ain’t seen him act like this ever. You got him whipped, (Y/N).”

Marshall rolled his eyes but smirked. “Y’all just mad ‘cause you don’t have someone feedin’ you.”

You laughed, deciding to tease him a little. “Aw, don’t listen to them, babe. They’re just jealous.”

“Damn right,” Proof said with a grin. “But seriously, Marshall, I never thought I’d see the day. You’re out here lookin’ like a Hallmark commercial.”

“Shut up,” Marshall muttered, his cheeks tinged pink.

As the evening went on, the teasing continued. But you didn’t mind—if anything, you found it endearing how Marshall was willing to show a softer side around you, even with his friends present.

After dessert was served, you leaned back in your seat, feeling content. Marshall shifted closer to you, wrapping an arm around your waist. Without warning, he buried his face against your chest, sighing dramatically.

“Oh my god, Marshall,” you said, laughing as you glanced down at him. “What are you doing?”

“Damn, this is comfortable,” he mumbled, his voice muffled against your skin.

The table erupted in laughter.

“Yo, what the hell am I seeing right now?” Denaun said, nearly choking on his drink.

Proof slapped the table, wheezing with laughter. “I can’t! Em, what are you doin’? You look like a baby tryin’ to nap.”

“Man, let me live,” Marshall shot back, though he made no move to lift his head. Instead, he tightened his hold on you, clearly enjoying the position.

You shook your head, your hand instinctively brushing over his short hair. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you love it,” he said smugly, glancing up at you with a smirk before resting his head back down.

“Bro, you really just gon’ let him do that?” Proof asked you, shaking his head.

You laughed, shrugging. “What can I say? He’s comfortable.”

Marshall grinned triumphantly. “See? My girl’s cool with it. Y’all just mad.”

“Man, this is gonna be all over the tabloids if someone sees,” Denaun joked. “Eminem: Rap Legend or Cuddle King?”

Marshall finally lifted his head, flipping him off. “Keep talkin’, and I’ll show y’all who the king is.”

The table dissolved into laughter again, and you couldn’t help but smile. Despite the teasing, the moment felt perfect—a rare glimpse of normalcy and joy in the chaotic life you shared with Marshall.

As the night wound down, Marshall leaned in close, his voice low so only you could hear. “Thanks for puttin’ up with my dumb ass.”

You smiled, brushing your lips against his cheek. “Always.”

And in that moment, surrounded by laughter and love, you realized there was no place you’d rather be.

The next morning, the smell of coffee brewing in the kitchen filled the small house you and Marshall had been calling home for the past few weeks. You were scrolling through a magazine at the kitchen table while he stood at the counter, his back to you as he buttered a piece of toast.

“Man, last night was wild,” Marshall said, his voice groggy from just waking up. “I can’t believe Proof was clownin’ on me the whole time.”

You smirked. “To be fair, you did use me as a pillow in front of everyone. You were asking for it.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, waving a hand dismissively as he turned to face you. “It’s whatever. It ain’t like anyone else saw it.”

Just as he sat down at the table, your phone rang. You glanced at it, frowning. “It’s Dre. You want me to pick it up?”

Marshall shrugged. “Yeah, go ahead.”

You answered. “Hey, Dre. What’s up?”

“Man, tell your boyfriend to check the news,” Dre’s voice came through, half-laughing, half-serious.

Marshall raised an eyebrow, leaning closer to the phone. “What? Why? What’s goin’ on?”

“You tell me, Mr. Loverboy,” Dre shot back. “Turn on your TV.”

Marshall groaned, pushing back his chair to grab the remote. “What the hell is he talkin’ about now?”

You followed him into the living room as he switched on the TV. Almost immediately, a morning entertainment show flashed on screen, and there it was—photos of the two of you from the night before, clear as day.

One image showed you feeding Marshall, both of you smiling like you didn’t have a care in the world. Another showed him resting his head on your chest, looking completely at ease. The segment’s headline read: "Eminem Shows a Softer Side with a Victoria secrets model!"

“Aw, hell no,” Marshall muttered, running a hand down his face.

You tried to stifle a laugh. “It’s kinda cute, though…”

“Cute? Yo, they’re makin’ me look like a damn puppy out here!” Marshall exclaimed, pacing the room.

Dre’s voice crackled through the phone still in your hand. “A puppy? Nah, Em, they’re callin’ you a teddy bear. I’ve been gettin’ calls all morning askin’ if you’re droppin’ a love song next.”

“Yo, Dre, this ain’t funny, man!” Marshall yelled, though his tone betrayed his embarrassment more than anger.

“Oh, it’s hilarious,” Dre said, laughing. “I already know Proof and Denaun are gonna have a field day with this. You better brace yourself.”

Marshall sighed, flopping down on the couch and burying his face in his hands. “Man, this is gonna ruin me. My whole image is shot!”

You sat beside him, patting his shoulder. “Relax, it’s not that bad. People love seeing this side of you. Besides,” you added with a teasing grin, “I think you look adorable in the pictures.”

Marshall groaned. “Not you, too.”

Later that day, Marshall reluctantly went to the studio to work on a new track. As soon as he walked through the door, he was greeted by Proof and Denaun, both holding newspapers with the same pictures plastered on the front.

“Yo! Loverboy’s here!” Proof called out, waving the paper like a trophy.

Marshall scowled. “Man, shut the hell up.”

“You see these, though?” Denaun said, holding up his own copy. “Look at this one right here, Proof. My man’s got his head all up on her chest like it’s a damn hotel pillow.”

“Comfort Suites by Victoria’s Secret,” Proof added, laughing so hard he had to hold his stomach.

Marshall snatched one of the papers from Denaun, glaring at the images. “Y’all are mad annoying, you know that?”

“Aw, don’t be like that,” Proof teased, slinging an arm around Marshall’s shoulder. “We’re just happy to see you happy. Even if it’s funny as hell.”

“Man, y’all act like you’ve never seen someone chill with their girl before,” Marshall shot back, shaking him off.

Dre walked into the room, grinning from ear to ear. “What’s up, Romeo? You finishin’ that ballad yet?”

Marshall groaned loudly. “Not you, too, Dre!”

“Hey, don’t get mad at me,” Dre said, holding up his hands in mock defense. “You brought this on yourself. But for real, Em, the pictures are blowin’ up. Fans love ‘em. They’re sayin’ you’re finally showin’ you’re human.”

“Man, I don’t care what they’re sayin’,” Marshall muttered, slumping into a chair. “This is just dumb.”

Proof sat across from him, shaking his head with a smirk. “You can act all mad about it, but we all know the truth.”

“And what’s that?” Marshall asked, narrowing his eyes.

“That you’re head over heels for (Y/N),” Proof said simply.

Marshall hesitated, his tough exterior softening for just a moment. “Yeah, so what if I am?”

The room went silent for a beat before Denaun laughed. “Man, I knew it! You really are a teddy bear.”

Marshall rolled his eyes, though he couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Whatever, man. Y’all just mad you ain’t got what I got.”

“True,” Proof said, raising his hands. “I can’t even argue with that.”

“Damn right,” Marshall said, leaning back in his chair. “Now, can we stop talkin’ about this and get back to work?”

The teasing continued on and off for the rest of the day, but deep down, Marshall didn’t mind. He had you by his side, and even if the world saw his softer side, he knew it was all worth it.

-

Today, Marshall was being nominated for best rap album.You couldn’t be more proud of him.

The night was electric. The atmosphere at the awards show was electric, filled with flashing cameras and glimmering lights. You and Marshall were seated side by side in the front row, both dressed casually but still looking as stylish as ever. Marshall wore his usual attire: a plain white T-shirt, baggy jeans, and a hoodie, with a signature pair of sneakers completing the look. Even without a suit, he exuded a kind of effortless cool, the same way he did when he first made a name for himself. His confidence, though unspoken, was undeniable.

You couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride every time you looked at him. This was his moment—the culmination of years of hard work, struggles, and sacrifice. You had been by his side through all of it, and seeing him nominated for an award only made your heart swell.

The ceremony was dragging on, filled with different categories and performers, but you were content to just be there with him. You leaned against him slightly, your hand resting on his leg under the table, giving him a reassuring squeeze every now and then. Marshall kept his cool, never showing any signs of nerves, but you knew how much this meant to him.

Finally, they announced the nominees for Best Rap Album, and the room fell into a hush as they prepared to call the winner. Your grip tightened on his hand as the name of the winner was read aloud.

“And the award goes to... Eminem!”

A collective cheer erupted from the audience, and Marshall stood up, the loudest cheer coming from his friends who were seated across the room. He gave a slight nod, his usual smirk playing on his lips as he walked toward the stage. You stayed in your seat for a moment, watching him, your heart racing. This was it.

Marshall accepted the award, his eyes scanning the crowd as he took the microphone, his face flashing that signature mischievous grin.

“Damn, I don’t even know what to say,” he began, his voice casual but carrying through the auditorium. “First of all, I gotta thank the fans. Without y’all, I wouldn’t be standing up here today. You guys keep me going when I feel like giving up, and for that, I’ll always be grateful.”

The audience erupted into applause. You could hear the whispers of excitement from the crowd, the cameras flashing, the whole room hanging on his every word.

Marshall paused, looking down at the award in his hands for a moment, as though soaking it all in.

“I wanna thank my team—Dre and everyone who had my back from the jump,” he continued. “Without you guys, I wouldn’t be here. This is all for you.”

More applause. He had the audience in the palm of his hand, as usual. But then, he glanced toward you, his eyes softening as he caught your gaze from the front row.

“And lastly,” he said, his tone shifting ever so slightly, but you noticed it, “I gotta thank someone special. (Y/N), you’ve been there for me through everything. You’re the one who’s been by my side, even when I didn’t deserve it.”

You blushed at his words, feeling the heat of the moment. The entire room fell silent as Marshall’s gaze never left you. You could see the sincerity in his eyes, the love in his expression, and it made your heart swell.

He cleared his throat, the corners of his mouth quirking up in that playful way of his. “But… I gotta say one thing to everyone out here—my cute side… that’s only for (Y/N),” he said sternly, and for a moment, you thought he was about to drop a punchline.

The room burst into laughter, and you couldn’t help but smile at his playful delivery. But then, there was a moment of silence, and all eyes were on him. The crowd had no idea what to expect next.

“You heard me,” Marshall continued, his tone still light but tinged with the confidence you loved so much. “That soft, cuddly, teddy bear side of me? It only comes out when I’m with her. So, don’t get it twisted, okay?”

The crowd roared with laughter and applause. Some of Marshall’s friends from across the room stood up, cheering loudly. Dre, who had been sitting behind you, raised his glass in your direction with a smirk. “Yo, that’s my boy right there!” he shouted, eliciting even more cheers from the audience.

You couldn’t help but laugh, your heart racing with pride. Marshall was a force of nature, and here he was, in front of thousands of people, being unapologetically himself. The crowd loved it. They loved him.

Marshall flashed a grin, his usual cocky attitude shining through as he held up the award. “But seriously, thanks to everyone who believed in me. This one’s for you, (Y/N),” he said, his eyes softening once more as he looked at you.

You smiled back at him, holding his gaze, feeling your heart swell with affection. He always knew how to make you feel special, even when the spotlight was on him.

The applause continued, but this time, it felt different—more genuine. Marshall had managed to not only win an award but also to share a moment of vulnerability with his fans. They had seen the tough, no-nonsense side of him for years, but tonight, they got a glimpse of the man who was also deeply in love and unapologetically devoted to the one person who understood him.

He stepped away from the mic, raising the trophy in one hand. “Alright, that’s enough outta me,” he said with a smile. “Now let’s get outta here before they start handing out the ‘Best Couple’ award.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his words, and the audience chuckled with you. Marshall had a way of turning even the most sincere moments into something playful.

As he walked off the stage, the audience still clapping and laughing, Marshall turned toward you, his eyes glinting with mischief.

“You good?” he asked, grinning like he hadn’t just turned an awards ceremony into a personal love fest.

“I’m more than good,” you replied, reaching up to pull him down into a kiss.

“Yeah, I’m lucky as hell,” he murmured against your lips, and you could feel the warmth of his words in the way he held you.

your lips curling into a flirtatious smile. "There’s gonna be a second award for you tonight… but it won’t be for your music."

Marshall raised an eyebrow, the playful tension between you two palpable. He leaned in closer, his lips curling into a smirk as he matched your tone. "Oh yeah?" he replied, his voice low and teasing. "What kind of award are we talkin' about here?"

You kept your eyes locked on his, letting the anticipation build. "Well, let’s just say it’ll be more personal," you said with a wink, your hand subtly brushing against his arm. "I think you’ve earned it."

He chuckled softly, a mischievous glint dancing in his eyes. "Damn, you’re bold," he muttered, his lips grazing your ear as he whispered, "I like it."

You could feel his breath on your skin, and the way his body instinctively leaned toward you sent a thrill down your spine. "Just wait, Marshall. Tonight, you’re gonna get a taste of a real reward."

His lips curved into a satisfied grin. "I’m definitely looking forward to it," he murmured, his voice husky with that unmistakable mix of confidence and desire. "You always know how to keep me on my toes."

With that, the two of you shared a quick kiss before heading back to your seat. But you could feel the heat between you both, knowing the night was far from over. As the awards show continued, all you could think about was the "second award" you’d be giving him later.

[girlbloggerinterrupted222]

real

[ezkel]

Sirius is a model with an active twitter account. Remus has a small account that he posts pictures of his pet dogs, padfoot and moony, on.

A picture of padfoot makes its way onto Sirius' feed in the middle of the night, he reposts the picture and then scrolls through Remus' entire account.

Remus wakes up to hundreds of notifications as a portion of Sirius' fanbase obsess over his account.

Sirius ends up keeping up to date with all pictures of remus' dogs. he's drunk one night, telling and showing James the cutest dogs he's ever seen, and decides he needs to contact the account and ask for more pictures.

Remus once again wakes up to his phone buzzing incessantly, only to find out that the Sirius Black has been spamming him begging for more pictures of his pets.

[ryllen]

the cool depiction of older trey showing off his severed finger [prequel]

[atomic-chronoscaph]

The Madame Tussaud's Chambers of Horrors Guillotine model kit - Aurora (1965)

[europesummervibes]

Monica Bellucci ,2000

📸 Gian Paolo Barbieri

[cloudbride]

Wildest dreams

pairing: charlesleclerc x famous!reader , pt2

reader is pierre gasly’s childhood friend , enjoy

pierregasly : idk which was more exhausting, the hike or y/n taking a selfie every five minutes 🤣

yn13:@/pierregasly ITS FOR THE MEMORIES Pez ur gonna thank me 20 yrs later

user110: THE BESTIES ARE BACK 🚨🚨

lewishamilton : no tag ?🧍🏾

liked by author

userr77: miss u on the paddock yn come backk

chalresleclerc: @/pierregasly i thought hiking was our thing no?

Pierregasly: @/charlesleclerc i thought y/n invited you?

yn13:@/charlesleclerc i stole yo man 😘

liked by pierregasly

article—>

The F1 world is in absolute chaos right now as romance rumours surrounding Charles Leclerc spread quicker than his winning races. The latest news?

Rumours have circulated that Charles Leclerc and one of Pierre Gasly's childhood friends model Y/N (who fans previously thought gasly was dating ) were together.

Leclerc just earlier, this week, took the world by storm when he defended the model on Twitter against his own fans can you believe it?

But now they're all shocked as it's revealed that Charles has actually been photographed going out with a different girl altogether !

Fans are now questioning the relationship between y/n and Charles Leclerc, as there have been hints that they hung out before …..—>

Read on for all the exclusive details and more.

————

i randomly thought about this and had to post something haha idk where to go from now but we’ll see

[zalamity]

Angelina Jolie

[chelseaknoo]

hey love, could you please write a eminem x female reader where it takes place in 2001, just a few months after he and kim got divorced. the reader is a victoria secret model (she is like 24) and she and eminem start casually hooking up. it wasn't supposed to be anything serious since they both weren't looking for it. after a while, they start developing feelings but neither of them says anything about it. then the reader finds out she is pregnant with his baby, which obviously changes everything. when she first tells him she is pregnant, he doesn't believe it's his, saying she must have go around or something and it's leads to a fight.

2000s Eminem x Victoria secrets model!reader

caution:sexual content<3

The bar was alive with pulsing energy, music blaring and bodies moving. Marshall leaned against the counter, half-hidden beneath the brim of his cap, jaw tight. He wasn’t in the mood for small talk or smiles tonight, but being here was better than being stuck alone with his thoughts.

He took a slow sip of his drink, eyes scanning the room without interest—until they landed on her. You. You were perched at the far end of the bar, effortlessly magnetic. Your laughter carried through the noise, your smile lighting up the dim space. He tried to look away, but when your eyes met his, a challenge sparked between you.

You cocked your head slightly, amused by his attention. Deciding not to waste a moment, you sauntered over, weaving through the crowd like you owned the place. You stopped in front of him, the faintest smirk playing on your lips.

“Enjoying the view?” you teased.

He leaned back, raising an eyebrow. “You always fish for compliments, or just when it’s this easy?”

You blinked, momentarily thrown off. His tone was sharp, but there was a hint of a smile lurking beneath the surface. Intrigued, you crossed your arms. “Not my fault you’re staring.”

“Yeah?” He took another sip, eyes never leaving yours. “Must be my lucky night.”

You laughed, a low, genuine sound. “Is that your idea of flirting? No wonder you’re standing here alone.”

“Oh, I’m not alone.” He gestured vaguely at the crowd. “I’ve got all these people I don’t care about to keep me company.”

“Charming.” You rolled your eyes but didn’t move away. Something about his attitude was infuriating and intriguing all at once. “So, what’s your excuse tonight?”

“For what? Brooding in the corner?” He tilted his head, a flash of something darker crossing his eyes. “Maybe I like it here. Low expectations, fake smiles. Suits me.”

You studied him for a moment, catching the bitterness beneath the bravado. “You really do like pushing people away, don’t you?”

“Only when they get too close,” he shot back, but there was a glimmer of intrigue in his eyes. He leaned in, voice dropping. “Why? Planning to get close?”

“Depends,” you said, matching his intensity. “You gonna keep being an ass, or are you capable of real conversation?”

He chuckled, a mix of surprise and amusement. “You got guts, I’ll give you that.” For a moment, the mask slipped, and something genuine shone through. “What’s a model doing in a place like this anyway?”

“Looking for a real night.” Your gaze didn’t waver. “Not that you care.”

“Maybe I do.” He set his drink down and stepped closer, the space between you shrinking. His voice softened, but there was a rough edge to it. “Or maybe you’re just another pretty face looking for a story.”

“Maybe.” You smiled, defiant. “And maybe you’re just another angry guy with a chip on his shoulder.”

He paused, then nodded, an almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Touché.”

For a beat, neither of you spoke, tension crackling in the air. Then he broke it. “You wanna get outta here?”

“Is that your idea of an invitation?” you asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Take it or leave it,” he replied, already turning toward the door.

You followed, heart pounding. Whatever this was, it wasn’t ordinary—and that’s exactly what you both needed. No promises, no strings—just two people escaping for a night.

Marshall led you through the back door into the cool night air, the music’s pulse fading into the distance. His house was a short walk away, nestled between the shadows of the city’s skyscrapers. The silence between you was charged, a dance of anticipation that neither of you had the will to break.

Inside, the space was surprisingly neat, a stark contrast to the chaos of the bar. The only light came from a flickering neon sign in the window, casting an eerie glow on his face. You kicked off your heels, the click-clack of them hitting the floor echoing in the quiet. He offered you a seat on the couch, the leather cool against your bare legs.

Marshall took his time getting you a drink, the clink of ice and the soft splash of whiskey punctuating the silence. He handed it to you without looking, his gaze lingering on the way your fingers wrapped around the glass. You took a sip, the fiery liquid doing little to soothe the storm brewing in your stomach.

You set the drink down and met his gaze, the air thick with something unspoken. In a single fluid motion, he closed the gap between you, his hands sliding around your waist, pulling you into him. Your breath hitched, your heart racing as his eyes searched yours for permission. You didn’t need to say a word—your body spoke for you.

Marshall’s lips found yours in a kiss that was as intense as it was unexpected, his touch gentle yet demanding. The taste of whiskey lingered on his tongue as you explored the contours of his mouth, the roughness of his stubble against your skin. You wrapped your arms around his neck, feeling the tension in his muscles, the rapid beat of his heart.

Without breaking the kiss, he lifted you off the couch and carried you to his bedroom, the world outside fading away as the door clicked shut behind you. The room was simple, the bed unmade—a stark reflection of his tumultuous mind. He set you down on the bed, and the softness of the mattress gave way beneath you, the smell of his cologne enveloping you as you fell back.

"Marshall—" You breathed his name, but he silenced you with another kiss, his hands roaming over your body, learning every curve and contour.

"Don't talk," he murmured against your skin. "You're too good at it."

You giggled despite the heat of the moment, pushing him away playfully. "You're an ass, you know that?"

"But you like it." He smirked, his eyes dark and gleaming.

You rolled your eyes, but the truth was, you did. There was something about his brusque demeanor that was oddly refreshing. "Keep telling yourself that."

"I don't need to tell myself anything. Your body's doing all the talking for you." His hand traced the line of your jaw, then down your neck, sending shivers down your spine.

"Is that your usual pick-up line?" You teased, trying to keep your voice light despite the growing heaviness in your chest.

"Don't need lines." He leaned in, his breath hot on your ear. "Just the truth."

You felt a thrill at his words, a delicious blend of excitement and annoyance. "And what's that?"

He whispered, "That you want this as much as I do."

And it was true. The way he held you, the way his eyes searched yours—there was something raw and vulnerable in his touch that you hadn't expected. You reached up, your hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer.

"Prove it," you whispered, your voice a challenge.

Marshall's expression grew more intense, his eyes searching yours. He kissed you again, deeper this time, his hand sliding up your thigh, his thumb tracing circles that made you gasp into his mouth. You could feel the tension in his body, the need, the hunger—and it mirrored your own.

"I'm not playing games," he growled, his teeth grazing your lower lip.

"Neither am I." You met his gaze, unflinching. "But if you want this, you can't just take. You've got to give, too."

He paused, his hand stilling. For a moment, you saw a flicker of doubt in his eyes, but then he leaned back, his fingers tracing your cheek. "Fine," he said, his voice a gruff whisper. "But don't say I didn't warn you."

The next kiss was softer, more tender. He broke it to peel away your dress, revealing the lacy lingerie beneath. "Beautiful," he murmured, his eyes dark with appreciation.

You didn’t bother with his shirt. Instead, you slid your hands under the fabric, feeling the heat of his body and the ripple of his muscles. He groaned, the sound sending a thrill through you, urging you on. You kissed him again, his tongue dancing with yours, as you both fumbled with the buttons of his shirt. When it finally fell open, you ran your hands over his chest, feeling the beat of his heart, the rise and fall of his chest with every breath he took.

Marshall’s hands moved to the back of your bra, deftly unhooking it. He broke the kiss to pull the straps down your arms, leaving your breasts exposed to the cool air. He took one in his hand, his thumb brushing over the peak. You gasped, arching into his touch.

"You're perfect," he murmured, his eyes raking over you.

The words were simple, but the way he said them, like he truly meant them, made your stomach flip. You didn’t feel perfect, not after the day you’d had, but here, with him, you felt alive. You reached down to unbuckle his belt, the sound echoing through the quiet room. He watched you, his eyes never leaving yours, as you unzipped his jeans and slid them down his hips.

He was already hard, the evidence of his desire for you straining against his boxers. You reached down to touch him, feeling the heat and the power of him in your hand. He groaned, his eyes closing for a moment before snapping open again, a silent demand in them.

"Take them off," he said, his voice low and rough.

You smirked, enjoying the power you had over him, and slid his boxers down. He stepped out of them, his erection springing free. You took him in your hand again, stroking gently. He hissed, his eyes going half-lidded with pleasure.

"You're sure you want this?" he asked, his voice thick with desire.

"More than I've ever been," you assured him.

Marshall leaned in to kiss you again, his hand moving between your legs, finding you wet and ready. He stroked you through the fabric of your panties, the pressure building. You moaned into his mouth, your hips rocking against his hand.

You pulled away, panting. "Take these off," you demanded, hooking your thumbs into the waistband.

He smirked, enjoying your urgency. He slid your panties down, taking his time to kiss and nip at your thighs as he did. You kicked them off, eager to feel his bare skin against yours.

Marshall hovered over you, his eyes searching yours one last time. He positioned himself at your entrance, his hand still on your cheek, his thumb stroking your skin. You nodded, your eyes never leaving his.

He pushed into you, slow and steady, filling you completely. You gasped, your nails digging into his back. He paused, giving you a moment to adjust to his size, then began to move, his strokes long and deep.

You wrapped your legs around him, urging him deeper, your hips rising to meet each thrust. The pleasure was intense, a crescendo building inside you. He kissed your neck, his teeth scraping gently against your skin, his breath hot in your ear as he whispered, "You feel so good."

You moaned in response, the words lost in the symphony of sensations. Your hands roamed his back, your nails scoring his skin, urging him on.

Marshall’s pace quickened, his breathing ragged. You could feel him getting closer, his muscles tensing. "Come for me," he murmured.

And you did, the orgasm hitting you like a wave, crashing over you and pulling him under with you. He followed, his body tensing before he released with a guttural groan.

After, he collapsed on top of you, both of you panting and sweaty. The room was still, the only sound the distant hum of the city outside. You stared up at the ceiling, trying to catch your breath.

"You okay?" he asked after a moment, his voice gruff with satisfaction.

You nodded, still trying to catch your breath. "Yeah."

Marshall rolled onto his side, taking you with him so you were both lying face-to-face. His hand trailed down your spine, coming to rest on the curve of your ass. He squeezed gently, and you felt a new thrill run through you.

"Ready for round two?" he asked, his voice a low rumble that you felt in your core.

This pattern became our routine for weeks. We’d hook up, share nights of raw intensity and fleeting vulnerability, only to pull away and go silent afterward. Neither of us reached out; neither of us tried to bridge the gap. It was easier that way, or so we told ourselves. The walls we built kept things uncomplicated, even if the distance stung more than either of us would admit.

Then, one morning, as you prepared for a photoshoot for Victoria’s Secret’s new lingerie collection, a wave of nausea hit you out of nowhere. You tried to shake it off, blaming it on nerves or exhaustion, but your body had other plans. Within minutes, you found yourself rushing to the nearest bathroom, retching until there was nothing left. The sickness didn’t stop there. You steadied yourself against the sink, splashing cold water on your face, willing the dizziness to pass, but the nausea kept clawing at you.

Your team knocked on the door, concerned, but you assured them it was just a bug—something you’d shake off in time for the shoot. Deep down, though, a knot of worry twisted in your stomach. This wasn’t like you. As you tried to gather yourself, your mind raced, unwilling to confront the possibility that lingered at the edges of your thoughts. The routine you and Marshall had built—the one that kept feelings at bay—suddenly felt fragile, as if everything was about to change.

Your team, noticing how pale and unsteady you were, decided to cut you some slack and let you leave the shoot early. They offered sympathetic smiles and reassurances as you gathered your things, insisting you take care of yourself. The drive home was a blur; you couldn’t shake the nausea or the gnawing feeling that something bigger was happening. Once you stepped inside your apartment, the quiet only amplified your racing thoughts.

After pacing the living room for what felt like an eternity, you finally made a decision. You slipped on a hoodie and sunglasses, heading to the nearest pharmacy. Every step felt heavier than the last. Back home, with the pregnancy test in your hand, you locked yourself in the bathroom. The minutes ticked by with excruciating slowness as you waited for the results, your heart pounding in your chest.

When the test finally showed positive, you stared at it, unblinking. The truth hit you like a punch to the gut—you were pregnant. And it wasn’t just anyone’s baby; it was Marshall Mathers’. You sank onto the edge of the bathtub, the implications crashing down on you. This wasn’t what either of you had planned. The casual hookups, the silent stretches of avoidance, the unspoken boundaries—it all seemed to shatter under the weight of this reality. Whatever happened next, everything was about to change.

You decided you needed clarity, so you booked an appointment with your doctor to confirm what you already knew in your heart. Sitting in the sterile, quiet office, you felt a mixture of nerves and dread. When the doctor confirmed you were a few weeks pregnant, it made everything real in a way that no test could. You were carrying Marshall’s baby. You spent the rest of the day processing the news, your mind racing with questions and fears. What would this mean for you? For him? For the strange, fragile connection you both shared?

As days passed, you wrestled with when—or even how—you would tell him. But the longer you waited, the heavier the secret felt. Finally, you decided it was time. That evening, you found yourself standing outside Marshall’s house, nerves taut. The air was chilly, and you wrapped your arms around yourself for warmth. For a long moment, you just stood there, staring at the door, memories of all your past encounters flashing through your mind. Would this be the end of whatever unspoken bond you had? Or the beginning of something neither of you were ready for?

Steeling yourself, you knocked on the door. Each second that passed without an answer felt like an eternity. Just as you were about to reconsider, the door swung open. Marshall stood there, eyes shadowed with curiosity—and something else you couldn’t quite place. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, his usual guarded expression in place.

“Hey,” he said, the word heavy with unspoken questions.

“Hey,” you replied, your voice steady despite the storm of emotions inside. “We need to talk.”

Marshall stepped aside, his eyes narrowing as he took in your expression. Without a word, he led you inside, shutting the door firmly behind you. The air was thick with tension as he gestured toward the couch. You sat down, hands clasped tightly in your lap, feeling the weight of what you were about to say pressing down on your chest.

He stayed standing for a moment, studying you with a mix of impatience and concern. Finally, he moved to sit across from you, elbows resting on his knees, his gaze unrelenting. “Alright,” he said, his voice low and stern. “What’s this about?”

His reaction was instant, almost volcanic. “What?! You can’t be serious! This isn’t happening!” His voice rose, the familiar ferocity of the rapper spilling over, amplifying the tension in the room.

“I am serious, Marshall! I didn’t plan this—” you exclaimed, your heart racing.

“So, what, you think I’m just gonna believe you? You've been with other guys, right?” He paced the room, running a hand through his messy blond hair. “I can’t—no. This isn’t mine. It can’t be mine!”

You think I’m a whore?” your heart pounded as the hurt reverberated through your chest. “You’re the one who can’t commit to anything or anyone since Kim,” you shot back, the defensiveness bitter on your tongue.

“That's not fair! I'm not the one who’s out there in front of all those guys, flaunting myself in lingerie! What do you expect me to think?” he yelled, pacing the small space as if it would somehow help.

“I’m a model, Marshall! It’s my job! But that doesn’t mean I’m sleeping with every guy who looks my way,” you retorted, your own anger boiling over. You rose from your seat, your body instinctively wanting to challenge his accusations, but deep down, you felt the crack forming between you two.

“Then why the hell am I supposed to believe that this baby is mine?” he spat, his eyes narrowing. It was as if the atmosphere thickened with every accusatory word. “You think I don’t know what these kinds of girls do? You think I don’t see what guys have to say about you? Them drooling all over you!”

“Don’t you dare reduce me to a stereotype, Marshall!” you shouted back. “This isn’t about some random guys! I’ve spent months with you, not them! I thought we had something real, but clearly, it was just me!” The vulnerability you felt clashed against the fierce independence you’d cultivated, and the contrast was almost suffocating.

“Maybe you should have thought about that before playing house with me when you had God knows who else around you!” His words sliced through the air, leaving you stunned into silence. The pain of betrayal washed over you, mingling with the looming fear of the unknown.

The tension in the room was suffocating. You could feel it in every taut muscle, every word spoken through clenched teeth. Marshall’s disbelief had shifted into anger, and your patience was wearing thin. Neither of you seemed willing to back down, both too raw and vulnerable to soften the blows.

“So, that’s it?” Marshall spat, rising from the couch abruptly. “You just come in here, drop this on me, and expect me to what—roll over and be okay with it?”

“Of course not!” you shot back, standing too. “But I expected you to at least listen to me without jumping to the worst conclusions.”

“Yeah?” He laughed bitterly, a harsh, hollow sound. “And what am I supposed to think? You show up after weeks, out of nowhere, and tell me you’re pregnant—and I’m just supposed to take your word for it?”

You felt a sharp sting at his words, but you refused to back down. “You know damn well you’re the only one I’ve been with.”

“Do I?” He sneered, stepping closer, eyes blazing. “Or do you think I’m just some idiot who believes every word that comes out of your mouth?”

“Why are you doing this?” you demanded, voice cracking. “Why are you trying to push me away?”

“Maybe because this all feels like a setup!” he shouted, his voice echoing off the walls. “Like some sick game you’re playing!”

“Wow,” you whispered, blinking back tears. “I knew you were scared, but I didn’t think you’d go this far.”

“Don’t put this on me!” His anger flared, and his words came out harsher than he intended. “What, you think I’m supposed to just trust you? You’re a model—you’re used to attention, right? Maybe this is just another way to get it.”

You stared at him, stunned. “Do you even hear yourself right now? That’s not who I am, and you know it.”

He glared at you, the hurt in his eyes masked by cold fury. “Get out.”

“What?”

“I said, get out!” His voice dropped to a dangerous calm, but his words hit like a slap. “I don’t need this. I don’t need you. Go find someone else to play your games with.”

You stood frozen for a moment, disbelief and pain coursing through you. When you didn’t move, he took another step forward, voice dripping with venom. “What part of ‘get out’ didn’t you understand?”

“Fine,” you managed, choking back tears. “If this is how you want it…”

“Yeah, it is,” he said, turning his back to you. “Good luck with whatever story you’re trying to sell.”

With shaking hands, you grabbed your bag and walked to the door, your footsteps heavy. You paused, looking back one last time, hoping to see any sign of the man you thought you knew beneath the rage. But he refused to turn around, his shoulders rigid, a wall between you. Without another word, you walked out, the door closing behind you with a finality that echoed through the empty house.

You arrived at your house late that night, the driveway long and quiet, the grand, empty space feeling cold and foreign. The house was large—too large for one person, too empty without the laughter and conversation you once imagined filling its walls. You barely noticed the soft glow of the lights as you passed through the foyer, your mind consumed with the events of the evening. Marshall’s angry words echoed relentlessly in your mind as you climbed the staircase, your legs heavy, each step feeling like a small betrayal to your own body.

Once in your bedroom, you sank onto the edge of the bed, tears spilling down your face before you even knew what was happening. You tried to steady your breath, but it felt impossible. The pain of it all—the heartbreak, the confusion, the loneliness—was suffocating. Your mind kept replaying his words: *“Get out.”* His cold dismissal. The way he'd accused you, as if you were nothing more than a liar trying to trap him. You hugged your knees to your chest, curling into the quiet darkness of your room, wishing you could make it all go away.

The house, once so full of potential, felt enormous and alien now. Every empty hallway seemed to stretch farther than it should, and the silence was almost deafening. You should’ve been used to it—this house was a reminder of everything you’d worked for, everything you’d built—but tonight, it felt like a cage.

You moved through the spaces, your footsteps echoing through the empty halls. The grand living room with its towering windows, the kitchen with its marble countertops, the sleek, sterile bedrooms you’d never truly filled with warmth—none of it mattered now. You weren’t supposed to be here alone. The thought of raising a child, of carrying this responsibility by yourself, felt like too much. The realization hit hard: You were pregnant. And, somehow, you were going to have to face this alone. The weight of it pressed against your chest, stealing the air from your lungs.

Sitting by the large windows in the living room, you stared out at the dark expanse of the yard. The lights from the city flickered in the distance, but all you could focus on was the reflection of yourself in the glass—small, fragile, and lost. How had everything gotten so complicated? How had something that should’ve been beautiful become a mess of hurt and confusion?

You placed a hand over your stomach, the warmth of your palm the only comfort you had. There was a life growing inside you—his life, your life, their life. But it was yours to protect, and in that moment, as you whispered softly to the quiet house, you realized something: You might be alone in this, but you weren’t giving up.

“I’ll take care of you,” you murmured, the words soft and shaky. “I’ll figure this out. Even if it means doing it on my own.”

The silence in the house lingered, but it wasn’t as suffocating now. You had made a promise—to yourself and to the little one growing inside. Whatever this journey held, you would walk it, even if you had to walk it alone.

Months passed, and as time went on, your pregnancy became impossible to hide. Your belly grew rounder, each day a visible reminder of the life—and turmoil—inside you. The once casual glances of curious strangers transformed into pointed stares, whispers trailing behind you wherever you went. Every time you appeared in public, whether for work commitments or just living your life, the attention was unavoidable.

Interviewers asked about the father with veiled curiosity and prying persistence, hoping to dig up a story that wasn’t theirs to tell. You always deflected, keeping your answers vague, your composure as unwavering as you could manage. But behind the facade, their insinuations cut deep. The tabloids spun stories, headlines screaming speculation about your child’s paternity, painting you as a scandal, a figure of intrigue—and worse. The judgment was relentless, the whispering voices growing louder. To them, your silence was confirmation of every cruel assumption they made: that you were reckless, unworthy.

There were nights when the weight of it all bore down on you like a suffocating blanket. Alone in your large, quiet house, you would sit with your hands on your swollen belly, feeling the movement of life within you and reminding yourself why you endured it all. This wasn’t about anyone else; it was about you and your children. It was about giving them a life worth living, even if you had to stand against the tide of judgment alone.

The months rolled on, and your strength became something of a shield. By the time you reached the end of your pregnancy, you had learned to drown out the noise, to focus solely on what mattered. One quiet evening, under the soft glow of dimmed lights in a hospital room, all the fear, pain, and loneliness gave way to something indescribable. The cries of two newborns pierced the air, and suddenly, the world faded away.

They were perfect—tiny, fragile, and already so loved. Twin boys with the faintest tufts of hair and curious eyes that stole your breath the moment you held them. Tears streamed down your face as you cradled them, their warmth against your chest grounding you in a way nothing else ever had. In that moment, the noise of the outside world disappeared. None of the cruel whispers or speculation mattered anymore. This was your reality now—your beautiful sons, your purpose.

You whispered their names softly, pressing gentle kisses to their foreheads, promising to be everything they would ever need. You knew the road ahead would be difficult; you knew the questions wouldn’t stop. But as you held your boys close, you realized you were ready. Whatever it took, you would protect them, love them fiercely, and give them the life they deserved.

The relentless attention never seemed to let up. Since the birth of your sons, the media frenzy had only intensified. Interviewers clamored for a glimpse of the twins, desperate to capture the first exclusive photo. Paparazzi camped outside your house, their questions growing more invasive by the day. And at the heart of it all was the burning question they wouldn’t stop asking: “Who is the father?” You deflected, you ignored, but each passing day it became more exhausting. Every attempt to protect your sons felt like an uphill battle.

One afternoon, you were at home, cradling your boys against your chest as you nursed them. The room was peaceful, a soft light filtering through the curtains. For a few precious moments, the world fell away, leaving only you and your sons—their small hands grasping, their contented sighs a balm to your weary soul. But that peace shattered with a sudden knock at the door.

Startled, you carefully adjusted, making sure your babies were settled before wrapping yourself in a loose robe. Your heart pounded as you approached the door. Another journalist, perhaps? Another intrusion? You steeled yourself, ready to dismiss whoever it was. But when you opened the door, the words caught in your throat.

“Marshall?”

There he stood, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket, his eyes shadowed and wary. Time seemed to freeze as you took in the sight of him. He looked older, wearier—like he had been fighting his own battles. You couldn’t tell if it had been minutes or seconds before he spoke, his voice low and uncertain.

You stepped back, crossing your arms tightly over your chest. The sight of him there, in the house you had built for yourself and your sons, sent a wave of conflicting emotions crashing through you. Anger, hurt, confusion—all of it boiled over.

“What are you even doing here, Marshall?” you demanded, your voice sharp and laced with bitterness. “Haven’t you done enough?”

He paused in the doorway, eyes flicking around as if trying to take it all in. “Nice to see you too,” he shot back, a hint of defensiveness in his tone. “I thought maybe you’d be a little more… I don’t know… civil?”

You laughed, a hollow, humorless sound. “Civil? Really? You think you can just show up here after months of nothing and expect civility?”

He shifted uncomfortably, jaw tightening. “I know I screwed up, alright? I’m not here to pretend I didn’t. But I needed to come. I needed to see you.”

“Oh, now you need to see me?” You scoffed, feeling the anger bubble up again. “Funny how that works. I was on my own through all of it, Marshall. Every sleepless night, every doctor’s appointment, every time the world wouldn’t stop asking me who the father was.”

His eyes darkened, and he took a step closer. “You think it was easy for me? You think I just walked away without—”

“Yes!” you snapped, cutting him off. “That’s exactly what you did. You left, Marshall. You called me a liar, a whore, and then you told me to get out. Do you have any idea what that did to me?”

He flinched, his expression hardening before it softened with something like guilt. “I know I messed up,” he said, his voice low. “I was angry, confused—”

“Spare me the excuses,” you interrupted, voice trembling. “You don’t get to show up now and act like saying ‘sorry’ will fix it.”

He ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident. “Damn it, I’m not here to play hero, okay? I’m here because I can’t stop thinking about it. About you. About…” His gaze dropped to your stomach, then back up to your eyes. “About them.”

You swallowed hard, the walls you’d built around yourself trembling. “Them?”

“Yeah.” He nodded, his voice softer now, almost hesitant. “The twins. My—our kids. I want… I need to see them.”

Silence hung between you, thick and heavy. Part of you wanted to shut the door in his face, to protect yourself and your boys from any more pain. But another part of you, the one that still remembered the good moments before everything fell apart, wondered if this was a chance you needed to take.

“They’re asleep,” you said, your voice quieter now, the anger giving way to exhaustion.

You led Marshall down the hallway, each step heavy with tension, until you reached the nursery. The room was warm and softly lit, with a serene quiet that only came when your boys were deeply asleep. You paused just inside the doorway, watching as Marshall took in the space—the cribs, the hand-stitched blankets, the tiny toys carefully arranged. His eyes softened, and for a moment, the hardened exterior you’d come to expect seemed to melt away.

You nodded toward the cribs, silently giving him permission. Marshall approached one of the sleeping babies cautiously, as if afraid to disturb the delicate peace. He hesitated for a moment, then reached down, gently cradling his son in his arms. The baby stirred slightly, but Marshall held him close, lifting him to rest on his shoulder with surprising tenderness. His large hands rubbed slow, soothing circles on the tiny back, and the baby settled again, nuzzling into the warmth of his father’s touch.He carefully kissed the baby’s head and layer it back down on the crib.

Marshall turned his gaze back to you, his eyes full of a mix of emotions—regret, hope, and something that felt dangerously close to longing. For a long moment, neither of you spoke, the weight of everything unsaid filling the silence. Then, slowly, he reached out and took your hands in his, his touch gentle but firm. He lifted them to his lips, pressing a tender kiss to each knuckle, his breath warm against your skin.

“I swear,” he murmured, his voice low but unwavering, “I’m not leaving again. I’m here for you. For them. No more running.”

The sincerity in his words made your throat tighten. You wanted to believe him—desperately. But the fear of being hurt again was a barrier you couldn’t ignore. He must have seen the hesitation in your eyes, because his grip on your hands tightened just a little, as if silently urging you to trust him. The room was quiet except for the soft breaths of your sleeping children, the world beyond these walls momentarily forgotten.

Marshall stepped closer, his movements unhurried, giving you every chance to pull away. When you didn’t, he lifted a hand and cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing softly against your skin. The touch sent a shiver down your spine, a mix of old memories and new possibilities. He leaned in, pausing just a breath away, his eyes searching yours for any sign of resistance. When he found none, he closed the distance, his lips meeting yours in a slow, tender kiss.

It wasn’t like before—rushed, fueled by passion without direction. This kiss was different. It was a quiet promise, a tentative step toward something you both knew would be complicated but worth fighting for. You kissed him back, allowing yourself to feel the warmth, the sincerity, even as your mind reminded you to stay cautious. When you finally pulled apart, his forehead rested gently against yours, both of you catching your breath.

“I’m not perfect,” he whispered, his voice raw. “But I want to try. For you. For them.”

You nodded slowly, your hands still entwined. “It won’t be easy.”

“I know,” he said, a hint of a sad smile touching his lips. “But I’m willing to do whatever it takes.”

In that moment, you let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, things could be different. It was only a beginning, but it was a start. And for now, that was enough. <3

[casscainmainly]

Do you remember Cass having any moments where she was like, the way I was treated as a child was not okay and I’m not happy about it? The only thing that comes to my mind is her desire for physical and emotional connections with others. It’s such an interesting juxtaposition between Steph who resents her father and what he did and Cass who still loves her father even after everything he did to her. Like, being isolated for so long seemed to greatly lessen any hard feelings Cass had for her upbringing, and I guess what I’m asking is did she eventually expand her worldview in a way that changed her feelings about her childhood?

This question is sooo interesting. I don't think she ever comes to a full understanding of how abusive her childhood was, but she definitely is aware of some of it:

Batgirl (2000) #50 / #33

Particularly in #33 (the above second panel), when she's asking Cain "who do you think you are?", she's realising the way she was treated was inhumane. She's asking him what gave him the right to do that to her. It's the second most confrontational she ever gets with him.

Steph is absolutely a great contrast to this, but her friendship also allows Cass to process some of her abuse. It's the same for her relationship with Tim:

Batgirl (2000) #28 / #59

In Steph and Cass' convo, Cass is relating to another abuse victim - she's recognising, on some level, that what her dad did to her was abuse. Steph also emphasises that what Cass experienced was worse. Tim, similarly, says that Cass' childhood was 'horrible'; in the next panel, Cass thinks she doesn't know what it's like to have a 'real' father like Tim's. I think having Steph and Tim as counterpoints helps her see David Cain as abusive.

Then there's Batgirl (2008) #6:

The most confrontational Cass has ever gotten with her dad. Cain's characterisation is iffy, but everything Cass says here builds on her development in Batgirl (2000). It's the ultimate moment where she realises everything he took away from her: reading, speaking, play, family, and above all, choices.

She tries to save him immediately after, so I don't think she ever stops loving him (particularly not in New 52, where he tries to save her life and dies). But she does acknowledge what he did to her, and why it was wrong. I just don't think she allows herself to understand the extent of the wrongdoing, because that absolves her of the responsibility of her murder, and she can't grant herself that mercy.

[katsu2ji]

hanta sero w/ pop princess gf!

a/n: you will have to pry sabrina carpenter's short n sweet album from my cold, dead hands and this is the result of that

YOUR BIGGEST FAN

if anyone tells you otherwise, they're lying to you because this man right here? oh you have him down BADDD

he's there at every single concert, whether it be front row or back stage

wears his "i <3 my gf" shirt with PRIDE!!

you wink at him in the crowd and he's giggling and kicking his feet falling to his knees JAKJBABJ

literally brags to all of your guys’ friends that he heard your album and songs first

SOOO many photos of you guys (mainly him, let’s be fr) looking at each other with lovesick expressions

especially on the red carpet—ohmygod you have this man wrapped around your finger it's insane (PLEASE someone tell me they see what i did there—)

speaking of such events!!!

you guys EAT UP the red carpet. every. time.

cause my god does that man look good in a suit.

and your outfits are ALWAYS on point omg!!!

literally you guys are trending on twitter after every single event because y'all are HOT HOT HOT

your hype man while you record!!! at first he was super nervous to be in there, because he didn't want to make you mess up or do something wrong

but now if he's free on the days you go into the studio TRUST he will be there!!!

jokes around that you should let him have adlibs or do backup vocals LMFAO (he's not expecting you to say yes...unless u wanna say yes...)

but in all seriousness: he might know nothing about music, but it's good to have him around when you get frustrated or upset while recording. he helps to remind you that things don't have to be so serious and, at the end of the day, it will come together!!!

now, when you post pictures of yourself, whether they be from official shoots or pics you took yourself, that man is a FIEND.

all up in your comments like "AWOOGA" and "u got a bf??" and "HOTTT" LMFAO HES A MESS

i'm talking comment spamming, story reposts, the whole nine yards

does not gaf if people see him drooling over you!!!! he proudly let's everyone see how obsessed with u he is HE DOES NOT GAF!!!!

he has perfected taking ur pics—he knows all the angles you like, the lighting, everything

he's on the ground fully laying down just to make sure he's getting the perfect angle for you JKASKDFJ

tbh y'all are just the cutest couple ever <33 everyone is either obsessed with you guys or they're mad cause they aren't LOL LOSERS!!!!

katsu2ji © 2024. please don't copy, modify, or do anything of the sort with my work! i work very hard and you simply do not have my permission.

[bklily]

If I have to read another fucking comment about how "marichat is better than ladrien because in the former they can be their true selves with each other" I'm going to commit a federal crime with violent repercussions.

Ladrien is another peak side of the love square and I'm tired of pretending otherwise.

[vadcorvs]

icons female

[dejavuez]

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