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damselneedssaving · 1 month ago

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BATBOYS BUT THEY SEE SOMEONE THEY RECOGNISE ON F!STREAMER!READER'S IRL STREAM. FT. WALLY WEST!

★ TAGS: older!damian wayne, older!duke thomas, absolute crack energy, the boys are still majorly obsessed with you, jealousy, death threats, wally—sorry, the flash—flirts with you like there's no tomorrow, your username is just your name

★ A/N: more batboys being super fans of you since you all asked so nicely <3333 you don't need to have read the first part to read this btw!!

★ F!STREAMER!READER MASTERLIST ★

The day starts off normal.

Dick is sifting through the fridge for a snack. Jason is sat at the kitchen island with his elbows propped up and a book in his hands. Both Duke and Tim are sat on the couch, scrolling through their phones with seemingly no thought behind their eyes. And Damian is stabbing into his freshly made pancakes like they've personally wronged him just by existing.

So yeah, a normal day at Wayne Manor.

That is, until, all of their phones chime at once.

Dick, Jason, and Damian all exchange a glance, each with one brow quirked up and the other furrowed down.

Duke and Tim, on the other hand, shoot up from their seats like lightning, hands burning with the answer to the question in their brothers' eyes.

Duke is the first to speak.

"[Name]'s streaming," he says, slow and in a bit of disbelief.

"[Name]'s streaming?" Dick echoes, "But today isn't Friday."

"You would know, wouldn't you, Dickhead?" snorts Jason, the memory of the last time his older brother mixed up the days still fresh on his mind.

"Shut up."

"An IRL stream," Tim cuts through the two eldest's bickering. "Look who I ran into," he quotes slowly and with furrowed brows.

Then he clicks onto the stream, and immediately, all of his brothers rush to his side.

Tim's screen is black—not a hint of colour, or even a speck of your pretty smile, displayed upon its surface. Just the reflection of all the boys staring back at themselves.

The sight makes Tim's jaw tick.

"Why the fuck are you all crowding me?"

Dick shrugs. "You're the first one to click on the stream."

The detective narrows his gaze, lips parting to retort, when he's interrupted by the phone in his hands.

"Is this thing working?" your voice breaks through the screen, and in an instant, all the boys' chests flutter. "Sorry guys, still not used to the whole IRL streaming thing. Can y'all see me?"

Tim's hands move before he can even think.

@/greatestdetective donated $1,000! nope, just a black screen

"Shit. Okay, hang on a second."

A shuffling sound then follows your voice, moments passing by before the screen alights like a flame, and the warmth of your face travels through Tim's phone to bless everyone's eyes.

"How about now?"

@/therealdamianwayne donated $10,000! Perfect, Habibti.

"Huh?" Duke mutters in confusion, turning to the left along with all his brothers.

Damian stands there, phone shamelessly situated in his hands as he stares back at them all with a quirked brow.

"What?" he scoffs. "Did you just expect me to watch my beloved's stream without donating to her? What type of future husband do you take me for?"

"The non-existent type." Tim deadpans, turning back to his phone screen and ignoring the demon head's electric glare.

"—and I'm rambling again, aren't I?" You nervously laugh on the other side of the screen. "Anyway, sorry about the sudden stream, guys. I know I'm not much of an IRL streamer, even less one that doesn't stick to a schedule, but I think today is a special exception."

You grin wide after your words, eyes sparkling with an excitement that has the bats' breaths hitching in their throats, hearts swelling with such love and adoration that it seeps into their eyes and blinds them all for just a split second.

Then you turn the camera, and their vision clears up again.

"Look who I ran into!"

On the other side of the screen, holding a red-gloved-hand up in a peace sign, stands a man.

Red hair exposed at the top of his head, lightning bolts strapped to the sides of his mask, freckles peeking out from just underneath his cowl—to anyone else, the civilian identity of the hero would be unknown. But to the bats, it can't be more obvious.

Dick snatches the phone out of Tim's hands.

"Hey—!"

"Is that Wally?!" shrieks the eldest like a teen girl who just found out her best friend attended a party without her through someone else's Snap story.

Duke squints, lips pulling into a frown. "Seems like it."

Dick lets out another shriek.

"I was in Keystone," your voice sounds from the phone, "and just so happened to come across my favourite Flash!"

Dick stops breathing, despair choking him as his siblings peer over his shoulders just in time to see the way Wally's lips quirk up into a smirk.

"Your favourite Flash, huh?" He winks. Dick chokes. "I'm honoured, doll."

"Doll?" Jason's hair casts a shadow over his eyes. "I'm gonna kill him."

"Thank you for agreeing to be on my stream, Flash," you say, and your voice carries warmth, gratitude, that big smile they can't see because of the camera angle but know is still there anyway. "It really means a lot."

Wally's smirk softens a bit at the edges, and he regards you with the same warmth. "Anything for a beautiful lady such as yourself."

"Grayson," Damian growls through gritted teeth, "Tell West to use that super speed of his and run a hundred thousand miles away from my beloved before I slit his throat."

But he didn't even have to say anything, really, because as soon as Wally started talking to you in that tone, Dick handed the phone back to Tim and pulled his own out, furiously typing on it before hitting that big send button.

On the stream, a phone buzzes in Wally's pocket.

The camera lowers, and your form peeks from the corner of it, a step closer to Wally as you ask in a quiet voice, "Do you need to get that?"

Wally pulls his phone out, glances at it for a brief moment, then stuffs it back in his pocket. "Nah, it's nothin'."

Dick's veins bulge, his own phone starting to shake in his grip. "Did that little shit just leave me on read in front of eighty thousand people?"

As if to further Dick's swelling rage, Wally's smirk broadens.

Boiling beneath his skin, the oldest of all the siblings starts typing again, and Wally's phone buzzes once more.

"Are you sure?" you ask, tone a little wobbly with uncertainty.

Then, Wally West, the little shit, fucking turns his phone off, right then and there. "Yup."

"I'm gonna kill him," Dick mutters.

"Oh okay." You adjust the camera back to its previous position.

"Now, where were we?" Wally grins, and all the boys see the way he looks at the camera, that knowing glance—the piece of crap knows exactly what he's doing. "Something about me being your favourite Flash?"

"How fucking dare he?" Tim mutters, already planning on burying his oldest brother's best friend's reputation in the dirt. Maybe he'll conjure up a scandal, or start a rumor—people usually mindlessly believe those, right?

"Oh yeah!" You perk up, beaming. "Y'know, super speed is actually my favourite super power."

"Favourite super power..." It's Duke's turn to mutter in despair, heart shattering in his eardrums as he all but hugs his sides. "Super speed..."

He's broken out of his little trance, however, at the sound of a new voice coming from the hallway. A new voice that catches everyone's attention.

"Master Damian, where are you heading off to?"

Alfred. And he seems to be looking straight towards the door of the manor.

Everyone's heads whip in the same direction.

There, somehow fully suited up in his Robin armour—hood pulled over his head and all—strides the demon head, one hand curled firmly around the handle of his katana, the other already on the knob of the door.

"To take out the trash."

No one stops him.

Later that day, Dick's phone lights up with a message notification.

'GET YOUR LITTLE DEMON BROTHER AWAY FROM ME'.

Dick leaves it on read.

COMING NEXT -> BATBOYS BUT THEY SEE F!STREAMER!READER PLAYING SMASH OR PASS WITH THEIR HERO PERSONAS WHILE COSPLAYING AS THEM ON STREAM.

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sweetshuga · 3 months ago

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「 𝑷𝒓𝒐𝒗𝒆 ’𝒆𝒎 𝒘𝒓𝒐𝒏𝒈 ✧ 𝑪.𝑺 」

ᯓ 𝑰𝒅𝒆𝒂 𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒅𝒊𝒕 + 𝒑𝒊𝒄𝒔 𝒃𝒚 @malsmind «𝑴𝒂𝒕𝒕 𝑽𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏» ────

𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: 𝑺𝑴𝑼𝑻! ⋆ strangers to something ⋆ dirty talk ⋆ pet names ⋆ pussy eating ⋆ munch!chris ⋆ (kinda) mean!chris ⋆ dom!chris ⋆ fingering ⋆ degradation kink? ⋆ praise kink ⋆ edging? ⋆ squirting + more.

𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝑪𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕: 𝟑 𝒌

𝑨𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓’𝒔 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆: This is a collab with @malsmind (aka my baby momma) It took me 3 business days to write this ’cause I’m so fucking slow like that (ty for being patient Mal, luv uuu).

𝑲𝒆𝒆𝒑 𝑰𝒏 𝑴𝒊𝒏𝒅: English is not my first language!

𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: What happens when Chris actually ends up reading your anonymous confession out loud?

Act 1: Chris is definitely not a munch...

You sat on one of the seats in the third row from the front, nibbling on your bottom lip as you smoothed out your pink t-shirt that had "Certified Munch" written in capital letters on the front. You had incorporated the tee so well in your outfit that no one paid much attention to it—not like they could with all the excitement buzzing in the air.

Your heart thumped against your ribcage in anticipation as you waited for the triplets to appear. The countdown began and everyone went crazy, screaming the numbers as it decreased down to 1.

The cheers were loud when the triplets appeared. Screams of excitement filled the air when they laughed and talked on the microphone, greeting their fans before making themselves comfortable on the sofas.

About 15 minutes in, Chris stood up and brought a briefcase to the table in between the two sofas as Nick and Matt talked about the anonymous confessions from the last tour. Chris handed Nick a few q-cards before walking over to the sofa Matt sat at, handing him half of the remainder of the cards before sitting down beside him.

Nick had the honour to read out the first confession, then it was Chris’ turn.

"It might seem like a hot take and I might be wrong but Chris is definitely not a munch..." As Chris began reading the confession, his brows furrowed, voice getting more quieter with each word as his brain worked to comprehend what he just read out loud.

Your eyes widened slowly when you heard what you wrote being read out loud by none other than Chris himself. You were not expecting him to read yours. You had written the anonymous confession as a joke, thinking they would never read it in front of a whole damn crowd.

The triplets exchanged a glance, confused as to how the card was in there even though they had sorted out which ones to read and which ones to not.

The auditorium filled with giggles from those that understood what it meant and small murmurs from people that weren’t quite getting it.

After a few awkward seconds, Chris burst out laughing, reading the card again as he shook his head in amusement. "Wow... Who even wrote this?" He chuckled, eyes raking the crowd until it landed on you—he knew immediately that it was you.

What gave it away? C’mon now, you were wearing such a bold t-shirt—it’s too much of a coincidence not to be you.

You quickly shook your head no when they asked if you wanted to elaborate. Even though you were the one that wrote such a crude thing, you weren’t ready to confront it or be confronted about it.

Nick and Matt made some jokes here and there before it was Matt’s turn to read out a confession. Chris, however, had an unreadable expression on his face as he looked at the crowd before shifting his attention back to Matt when he started to read the next confession.

Act 2: Meet Chris backstage?

After the show ended, people were getting ready to leave and so were you. That’s when a security guard – you saw when you first entered the stadium – suddenly approached you.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you stood up from your seat with your bag, afraid that you had gotten into trouble from the stunt you pulled with the anonymous confession.

The security guard spoke before you could ask him what was wrong. "Chris asked me to bring you backstage." You froze, blinking rapidly as you muttered out a very confused "what?" making the guy repeat himself.

You couldn’t believe it.

Chris? As in the Christopher Sturniolo asking you to come backstage? Yeah, it had to be a sick joke. But the security guard didn’t look like he was joking and that was messing with your head.

In the end, you followed the security guard backstage, still very much confused and nervous, but now with growing excitement.

As you walked further down a corridor and towards a room labelled "personnel only", the realization that you were indeed meeting Chris was heavy, enough to take your breath away.

As you entered the room, there he was; Chris Sturniolo. Your heart was beating so hard that you could hear it in your ears when he looked up from his phone. A slow smirk plastered on his lips as he stood up from the couch he was sitting on and walked towards you.

The security guard walked out of the room, leaving you two alone in the room. The room felt so small even though it was spacious enough. The air felt thick, enough to make you feel like you were suffocating as you swallowed hard.

"So..." Chris drawled, his head tilting slightly as his eyes crinkled at the corners in amusement. "You’re the one who wrote that munch shit?" He barely hid his amusement, his voice thick with unspent laughter.

You could only nod your head, embarrassed by the sudden unexpected confrontation. Chris’ smirk widened when he took in your nervousness—it only emboldened him.

"What did you mean by that?" He asked on purpose, knowing exactly what you meant but it wouldn’t be so fun to just let it go that easily now would it?

"By what?" You asked back dumbly, your brain short-circuiting as you tried to comprehend the fact that you were talking to Chris. He didn’t even give you a moment to collect yourself as he moved closer, standing so close that you could feel his body heat.

"What did you mean by... not a munch?" His voice was slightly quieter, more intimate as he held eye contact—obviously testing you, wanting to see your reaction.

"You, um, just don’t seem like the type to enjoy giving head...?" Your words came out more as a question, as if you were doubting it yourself. Cursing internally, you let out a barely audible sigh, slightly annoyed by how much you were stammering.

You weren’t usually this nervous or quiet when talking to people, but something about the way he was looking at you; the way he was smirking smugly like he could read your thoughts; the way there was a hint of blatant teasing in his tone—it all left your knees weak.

"Tell me." He began, pausing to make you squirm—which he succeeded in doing. "How do you know if I enjoy eating pussy or not?" He asked bluntly, causing your breath to stutter.

"I don’t know..." You mumbled, feeling wetness pool in your panties from the way he was talking to you. You were getting so damned turned on and Chris wasn’t even doing anything, just asking you a few simple questions.

It was almost laughable how affected you were.

"Well, now I wanna prove to you that I do in fact enjoy it a lot." His smirk widened, knowing damn well what he was doing to you.

He stepped closer until his body touched yours, slowly backing you towards the nearest wall as you blinked rapidly, stumbling slightly as your breath hitched again. "Wha-" The words you tried to say died in your throat before you could say them.

"Jus’ wanna prove you wrong, baby." He said, tilting your face slightly up with his hand and leaning down as if it was the most natural thing in the world. His breath ghosted over your lips, causing them to part subtly.

"Or are you gonna be stubborn and go around spreading bullshit about me when you don’t know shit?" He whispered harshly against your lips and you quickly shook your head no, making him smirk smugly.

"Good girl."

Act 3: Prove ’em wrong

Your head was thrown back in ecstasy, eyes rolling back in your skull as Chris’ mouth devoured your cunt. Your fingers curled in his hair, tugging at the strands as your thighs trembled subtly where it sat on his shoulders.

Chris moaned against your pussy, his fingers digging possessively in the supple flesh of your ass as he pulled you closer to his face.

"So fucking good." He groaned as he pulled back, sitting up. His fingers replaced his mouth, two long digits slowly sliding inside your greedy cunt and curling upwards to rub against that spongy spot that made your eyes roll back involuntarily.

"Here?" He smirked, pressing harder against your sweet spot, eliciting a needy moan from you. "Feels soo good doesn’t it?" He taunted as he started to finger-fuck you, holding your hips down with his free hand to stop you from bucking your hips.

Chris let out an airy chuckle when he heard the desperate noises slipping past your lips. "You’ve to be a little quieter, ma..." He trailed off, his smirk widening as he continued. "Unless you want people to hear what a fucking whore you are."

Your face burned with embarrassment and humiliation, but there was a spark of what seemed like... excitement? The degrading words only succeeded in doubling your pleasure, getting you closer and closer to the edge as you clutched onto the couch cushions for dear life.

"Fuuck, y’hear that?" He groaned, referring to the wet squelches from his fingers ramming into your sopping pussy over and over again. "S’fucking wet... All because of me." He breathed out, trying to hide how much this was affecting him.

He felt your inner muscles flutter around his fingers, your moans growing in both volume and desperation as you got closer to coming undone, but Chris wasn’t done with you yet.

A pathetic whine escaped you when he pulled out his fingers, sucking your juices off of them with a delighted hum. His lips curled at the corners and you knew that he was well aware of what he was doing to you.

"So pretty." He ran his thumb over your swollen, pulsating clit, making you jump slightly from how sensitive you were, a needy whimper tumbling out before you could stop it.

"Such pretty noises," he muttered under his breath, but it was loud enough for you to hear and it sent shivers down your spine. You were sure that Chris felt your body tremble, judging by the way his smirk widened into a smug grin.

"You want more?" He asked, his hands now caressing your thighs as he waited for your reply even though he knew the answer already, but he wanted to hear you say it.

Chris clicked his tongue when you nodded. "Ah-ah, words baby, use your words." You were too far gone to care about how desperate you sounded as you whimpered. "Please, Chris... I need you- your fingers, your mouth- anything, please..."

"Theere you go." He drawled. "Wasn’t so hard now was it?"

His head dipped down again, arms wrapping around your thighs as he pulled you closer to him. His tongue flattened out to lick stripes up your slit before his thumbs spread open your folds. The sight of your glistening pussy made him salivate as he swallowed hard, his tongue darting out to wet his lips.

He leaned in and closed his lips around your clit, sucking gently as his fingers prodded at your entrance before slipping inside again. A whiny sound ripped from your throat as your eyes rolled back briefly before closing shut. You were seeing stars from the suction on your clit from his mouth.

Your increasingly loud moans spurred him on, making him redouble his efforts to push you over the edge.

Your body tensed, thighs trembling slightly as your breath hitched—coming in short gasps. Chris groaned against your pussy when he felt your insides contract around his fingers, pulsing rhythmically all while greedily pulling him in deeper.

"Ch-chris-- I’m gonna—ffuuuck--" Your breath hitched, your mouth opening in a silent scream as your eyes snapped open, landing on the delicious sight between your legs.

A low drawn out moan left your lips when the pressure in your stomach finally burst—white-hot pleasure running through your whole body.

Chris gasped softly when a clear liquid sprayed out, making him recoil back from surprise. He blinked, brain short-circuiting as his fingers stilled inside you before finally realising that you were squirting.

"Fuuck, did you just squirt? That’s so fucking sexy." He groaned as his fingers started to pound into you without waiting for a response, purposely curling up to hit your g-spot in hopes to make you squirt again.

You were so sensitive from orgasming that you could feel your second release approaching terrifyingly quickly. Your eyes widened as you clutched onto his arm—trying to ground yourself from the intense pleasure and also to distract yourself to not cum so quickly.

Chris’ head was in between your thighs before you knew it, eating you out like you were his last fucking meal. Your hips bucked—only to get held down by his free hand. You could only lay there and take it as his mouth and fingers worked you to the edge again.

It was a matter of seconds before you were cumming all over his face—quite literally. He wasn’t surprised this time around, just kept eating you out even as you gushed all over him, lapping up your release like it was his favourite ice cream.

You nearly forgot where you were as you moaned loudly until Chris’ hand left your hip and clamped over your mouth instead, effectively muffling your cries of pleasure.

He kept licking and sucking your sensitive bundle of nerves all while his fingers petted your gummy walls until you were boneless, small whimpers being muffled by his hand.

Chris pulled back to admire the sight of your trembling body, proud of his handiwork. His hand and face were coated in your release and the sight made your stomach do somersaults.

He didn’t even need you to tell him that you were wrong with your anonymous confession—he already knew your answer since your body answered it for him. A satisfied smirk plastered on his lips as he walked over to the small table in the corner of the room to retrieve tissues and wet wipes.

He began cleaning up your inner thighs when he came back, making sure you were clean before cleaning up his face, hand and the couch, from your release, watching with a mischievous gleam in his eyes as you shakily wore your lace panties back on.

"Cute shit you got there." He commented, tossing the used wet wipes and tissues in the trash can. "You into that? Cute lacy sets?" He teased, chuckling softly to himself when you nodded, finding you more and more adorable.

Chris was painfully hard, adjusting himself in his pants as he manspread, trying to relieve the tension. He saw you looking at his lap, making him spread his legs more without even realising it.

"You need... um, help? With that?" You gestured vaguely at his lap, running a hand through your hair as you tried to fix it.

Chris just shook his head with a soft chuckle. "Nah, I’m fine, you jus’ worry about fixing your clothes, can’t go around looking so edible." He grinned, and you couldn’t help a chuckle at his words.

Fuck, how much you loved this man.

As you two sat on the couch – fixing yourselves and drinking water – you suddenly remembered that you had an instant film camera in your bag. You quickly walked over to the table to get it as Chris raised an eyebrow at your enthusiasm.

"Can we take a picture?" You asked as you walked back to the couch where Chris was.

"Now? After I ate you out like my life depended on it?" He teased, but didn’t say no as he stood up, running a hand through his hair to fix it but only succeeded in making it messier instead.

Chris took the camera from you as he pulled you into his side, his arm wrapping around your waist before angling the camera to capture you both.

You smiled for the picture, relaxing against him. A short shuttering sound came from the camera before a small picture slowly slid up from the top. Chris took it when it was fully out, shaking it firmly before he held it still in his hand, watching as the ink slowly darkened.

"Can you write your signature too?" You decided to use the opportunity to ask for his signature as well—which he gladly wrote down on the back. He wrote something else after his signature, but you were too dazed from the whole experience to notice it.

Chris handed you the picture and your camera, his fingers lingering on yours for a beat before he took his hand away, looking away as he cleared his throat.

After a few seconds, he looked back at you again with a friendly smile on his face, but his gaze lingered on your lips like he was longing for it—telling a very different story from the smile he was giving you.

You put the picture and camera in your bag, fixing your t-shirt one last time, not even noticing the way he was looking at you.

"Well..." He paused, looking into your eyes when you looked at him, searching yours with his blue ones. "It was a pleasure to meet you-" Before he could say anything else, his phone rang, breaking the moment between you two.

Chris let out a soft sigh when he saw the caller id.

"Nick’s calling me, probably wondering where I am... I gotta go." He flashed you an apologetic smile. "See you around." He pulled you into a quick hug before walking towards the door.

Chris looked back and waved slightly, flashing you a teasing smirk before he walked out of the room, leaving your heart beating rapidly from the encounter.

See you around, huh?

As you walked out of the stadium a few minutes later, you rummaged through your bag and took out the picture, biting back a wide grin as you looked at it. Your heart skipped a beat when you turned the picture around, seeing a phone number written below Chris’ signature with "Let’s keep in touch :)" written beside it.

No. Fucking. Way.

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motorsportbarbie13 · 4 months ago

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The Yapping Hour is Upon Us - Theo's First Race

Having a child changes Max in a way he never could have predicted.

warnings: none, this is 100% self indulgent fluff. Pairing: max verstappen x podcaster!reader word count: 3.1k words

yourusername posted

459,029 likes liked by maxverstappen1, assistantshannon, jennythenanny, and others yourusername texas will always hold a special place in my heart. last year, we learned i was pregnant for the fourth time with what we hoped was our miracle baby. this year we get to bring that miracle baby to the track with us for the very first time. my entire heart is so full watching this all come full circle. i cannot wait to show theo how amazing his daddy is when he gets in that car. maxverstappen1 my two favorite people here this weekend. i can already tell this is going to a good race <3 user0198 i cannot handle the amount of dad max content we get. user111 max carrying Theo kangaroo style in a baby carrier??? sobbing rn >>>user0019 SERIOUSLY jennythenanny ah! so excited to be with you guys this weekend!!! >>>yourusername theo is so excited to be back with his bestie! >>>jennythenanny eeeee! cannot wait! >>>user020 why is this the cutest exchange i've ever read

“Maybe we should leave Theo here with Jenny today instead? Max says, concern settling into the corners of his eyes.

You look over at him, eyebrow raised, from your seat on the floor of the hotel suite. In front of you, five month old Theo is on his tummy staring up at you with his signature gummy little grin. The three of you were in Texas for the US GP, which was supposed to be Theo’s first time in the paddock but apparently, your husband was having second thoughts.

“What? Why?” You ask, confused.

Max had checked the weather (multiple times) this morning and had declared that it wasn’t going to be too hot for Theo to be out and about. The sun was out and there was a gentle breeze whispering through the trees outside your hotel room. Max was leading the championship for the first time this season and he was starting on pole. COTA was historically a really good track for him and you were confident in his chances at winning. Plus, COTA meant a lot to you. It was right here in this very hotel that you had found out you were pregnant with the little elf that was babbling up at you right now.

Max wrings his hands together, casting a worried glance down at his two favorite people in the world. With how dramatic Theo had come into the world so early, Max had found himself being a little extra protective over him. And you for that matter. He had refused to hear any talk about bringing Theo to the track before this weekend and after seeing all of the crowds at the track yesterday for the practice and sprint qualifying, he was having second thoughts

“There were just so many people and I don’t want him to get lost.”

You chuckle before reaching forward to take Theo in your arms. Standing up, you cross the room to where Max stands and hand him his son. Max instinctively reaches out, cuddling Theo to his chest. Watching Max become a dad over the last five and a half months had been one of the most rewarding things you’d ever been privileged to witness. He had slipped into the dad role so effortlessly it had surprised Max, probably due to his own childhood and difficult past with his father. You weren’t surprised though. You had known the moment that Theo was born that Max had been born to be a father. It really was that simple.

“Baby, he can’t walk. He won’t get lost, I promise he’ll never be out of his sling for more than five minutes.”

“No one holds him other than you and Jenny?”

You blow out a breath, unsurprised at how he’s gone into papa bear mode. You had seen it on his face yesterday during sprint qualifying. He had surveyed the paddock crowds with a deeper than usual frown on his face, making comments whenever he heard an errant cough or someone clear their throat. ‘Cesspool of germs’ was a phrase he used more than once, now that you thought you it.

“Yes, my love. He will stay in the sling with me and Jenny no matter what. I have his ear defenders here too and we’ll keep to hospitality. But I know he’d love to see where daddy works. You know how much the sound of those engines sooth him.”

Max pokes a finger into Theo’s chubby cheek, cooing nonsense at him as Theo giggles back. His mind flickered back to one particularly hard night right after you had brought him home from the hospital during the summer break. Theo had been a bit of a colicky baby back then and the hours between 1 and 3 am were often the worst. He would scream and cry for hours, unable to be soothed back to sleep despite all of his needs being met. This night, in particular, was difficult and you had been on hour four of trying to get him to settle. In a desperate attempt to try something, anything that might work, Max had turned on an old race, but just the ambient sounds of one of his wins from YouTube, without any commentators voices. The sounds of the engines revving had instantly calmed Theo down.

Both you and Max had stood there in your apartment, lights dark with the exception of the glow emanating from the tv in front of you, as Theo had stared unblinkingly at the television, tears still puddled in his little neck folds, but totally quiet and enthralled.

Max’s eyes dart over to yours and you smile, reaching out a hand to touch his elbow. “I know you’re nervous, baby but Theo will be fine. He’s going to have so much fun, and I know once you get to the paddock with him in your arms, you will too.”

He sighs, knowing that you’re right. You usually are when it comes to matters involving Theo. “Okay, but first person to cough on him gets banned from the paddock.”

The Miami sprint race had been your first race all those years ago when Max had swept you off your feet that very first weekend he flew you to him so it seemed fitting that Theo’s first trip to a race was also a sprint race weekend. Max parked the sensible but giant Ford Explorer that he had insisted on driving this weekend in his designated spot before hopping out, telling you not to move.

You giggle to yourself, amused that even after all this time, Max still insisted that you never touched a door handle while he was with you. Even on hectic days like these, you and Theo were always in the front of his mind.

When Max opens your door, his hand immediately finds yours as he helps you out of the tall car. “Are you sure you’re ready for this?” He asks, dropping a kiss onto your forehead before moving to the back seat to get Theo from his carseat.

“I’m so excited to be back, it feels like it’s been forever.”

Which was true. After Theo had been born, he had needed to stay in the NICU for quite a while. Max had nearly missed the race in Spain the weekend after Monaco because he had refused to leave your side. In the end, it had been Daniel that had convinced him that missing Spain would be detrimental to his championship hopes. Max trusted Daniel with his life and knew that his friend, someone who he knew had a good head on his shoulders, wouldn’t give him bad advice. He knew what missing a race would mean to everyone on the team and back at the factory.

He had won the race with a 15 second lead.

Your credentials hang heavy around your neck as you pull the diaper bag out of the back of the car, Theo already nestled securely in Max’s arms. It always made you chuckle, the way Max always seemed to have Theo. You swore whenever he was around, that baby never touched the floor or his crib.

The pressure in your chest squeezes as you watch Max tote his little boy towards the paddock entrance. Both you and Max had made a conscious decision to keep Theo’s face out of your social media, with the exception of very carefully curated images that you and Max tightly controlled so this was the first time Theo would be photographed by anyone but you and Max. You knew the fans, both yours and Max’s, wanted to see Theo and you hoped that bringing him into the paddock despite him being so young was well received and a positive experience.

“Max! Who’ve you got there?” A photographer yells the moment Max scans his badge at the paddock entrance. Several photographers are standing by the gates, waiting on the driver arrivals. Max is dressed in his team kit, of course, and you’ve got your traditional navy blue on, today in the form of a loose maxi dress that would allow you to maneuver while caring for Theo during the race. Even Theo had a Red Bull onesie on with gray shorts pulled on over his chubby little legs.

“The best team mascot in the paddock.” Max jokes, a smile crinkling at the corner of his eyes as he pauses to show off a now giggling Theo.

Your heart catches in your chest when you see the look of pure happiness on your husband’s face. There were few things that brought out a smile that bright on Max and the fact that him showing off your baby to the world was one of those things had your heart hammering in your chest. You watched as Max showed Theo off to several of the photographers and Red Bull staff members, seemingly forgetting all about his hesitations from earlier. Theo loved it too, the sights and smells and sounds were so much for him to take in and he was so content to be in his daddy’s arms just taking it all in.

“Mon petit lion!” A voice rings out as the three of you walk towards Red Bull’s garage. You grin, watching as Charles fusses over Max refusing to give up custody of Theo but eventually relents. “Give me my godson, you heartless man. Keeping the poor little man away from the track for five months! Horrific!”

“He’s a literal infant, Charles.” Max argues, a full on pout popping out of his full bottom lip. You suddenly have to quell the urge to bite it, he looks so handsome.

“Your gorgeous wife told me how much he loves the sound of my Ferrari.” Charles argues back, bouncing Theo up and down, eliciting a peal of giggles tumbling from your baby’s lips.

Max shoots you a glare that has ‘you’re a traitor’ written all over it. All you do is reach up on your toes to peck him on those full lips of his, completely ignoring the annoyed look he still regards you with.

“It was the sound of my Red Bull that calmed him the first time.”

“Keep telling yourself that, Max.” Charles chuckles before handing Theo back to you, giving you a quick peck on the cheek. “I’m so glad you two are here, the paddock ins’t the same without you.”

“Thank you Charles.” You say, cuddling Theo into your shoulder just a little tighter.

As the three of you continue on, your final destination being the garage so Max can check on the car, your pace is just a bit quicker than Max’s. He watches you for just a moment, the way Theo’s chubby arms wrap tightly around your neck as he takes in the buzzing activity of the paddock. His heart squeezes fiercely at the way your hips sway back and forth as you carry his baby on your hip. This was how it was always meant to be: his wife and his child at his side while he worked. He had always pictured this day in a way that always seemed like it would come sometime in the future. That was the strange thing about how life progressed. Suddenly, some day is here and you’re watching your wife cuddle your miracle baby. When Max thinks of that afternoon in London all those years ago when he made his way into the recording studio to be on some silly little podcast, he had no idea that this was where that interview would lead but here he was, every single one of the fantasies he had dared to hope for right in front of him.

You turn back to Max, sensing that he’s fallen quite a bit behind. The look of awe on your husbands face as he watches you has your heart aching. You knew that the past few months had been hard on Max. He hated being away from you, had even tried to float the idea of retiring mid-season. You had flatly refused, saying that everyone in the factory and the garage was counting on him and eventually, he had agreed. But you knew being here was a balm to his lonely heart and you were wildly happy that Theo was finally old enough to accompany Max on this triple header.

But looking at the way his eyes shined with unshed tears as he stands stock still in the middle of the paddock, just staring after what you know is his entire world, you feel something lock into place. Something that you’re going to have to discuss with him later tonight.

“Come on, Maxie.” You call as you hoist Theo up higher on your hip. “You’ve got a meeting with Horner and I don’t want him yelling at me because you’re late.”

Max seems to snap out of the trance he’s in then and chuckles. “Christian is terrified of you, liefje. He’d never yell.”

You shrug, “I suppose you’re right.”

Max slips his fingers into yours before giving them a squeeze. “Come on, let’s introduce the little lion to the garage.”

Max wins the sprint that day, just like the first sprint you watched him win all those years ago. The nostalgia you felt watching him pull up into that first parc ferme spot had something twisting deep in your stomach. It was so satisfying watching Max do what he loved while you held his little boy in your arms.

It was a whirlwind of media after his win and then he was swept off for race debrief before qualifying for the Grand Prix the next day. By the time Theo’s bedtime rolled around, Max was still busy in engineering meetings. You sent him a quick text telling him you were taking Theo back to the hotel to put him down. Max had wanted to tell you to wait, he’d be right there, but he had known this wasn’t true. He knew that it was going to take several more hours to wrap up all his duties on the track so he reluctantly agreed.

This was the part of racing he hated. The late nights, the long flights to every corner of the world except to where it mattered most, the danger that lurked on the track. He hated being away from you, had always hated being away from you. Despite his reservations about you quitting your job all before you had gotten pregnant with Theo, he was glad that you had spent those few years traveling with him. It wasn’t about the fact that you ‘followed him around’ like some publications liked to taunt. It was the fact that Max was able to do what he loved while providing for his family and keep you close at the same time.

But things had shifted when Theo had been born and his priorities had changed. Having you at the track wasn’t an option anymore, not with how little Theo was. And even now, at 5 months old, he knew that this wasn’t sustainable. The options of what to do after this season all played in his head as he got into the car late that night to head back to the hotel. He knew he had a big decision to make, one that had been many years coming.

It’s dark by the time Max fishes the keycard to the hotel room out of his back pocket. You have a two bedroom suite booked this weekend so he’s not worried about waking Theo, although he still holds out a little hope that he might be awake. It’s been hours since Max has seen him and the only thing worse than being away from you for an extended period of time is being away from both of you.

The door whispers open and Max spots you laying down on the couch, staring blankly at the tv in front of you. On the coffee table sits the baby monitor and a bottle of wine.

When you hear the door snick closed, you pick your head up, blinking sleepily towards the door. “You’re home.” You whisper, sitting up so Max can join you on the couch.

He immediately pulls you into his lap, nuzzling deep into your neck. “I’m home.” He breathes, letting your perfume settle over his senses like a warm, familiar blanket.

“I’m so proud of you. Sprint win and P3 for tomorrow.”

“Thank you, schatje. How was your night? How’s the baby?”

You hum softly, your lips finding Max’s in the dark. They’re warm and inviting and everything that sets your soul on fire. You’re fairly certain that you’ll still feel this way when you’re 90 years old kissing Max late at night. “He’s good. Just finished his last bottle of the night, went down like a champ.”

“That’s my boy. I’m sorry I missed bedtime tonight.”

You pull away so you can look at Max’s clear blue eyes. You’re a little surprised to see a bit of sadness sitting in those baby blues you love so much. “It’s okay baby. He did just fine without you.”

Max frowns before pulling you closer. “And that’s what breaks my heart. I don’t want him to grow up without me.”

You chuckle, “Oh, Max. He’s not going to grow up without you. If you really want, you can do the middle of the night feeding. He’ll be up in a few hours anyway.”

Max nods, he usually did those late night feedings anyway. He loved the way the entire world was hushed and asleep. He felt cocooned in the most calming way and those nights where it was just him and Theo were some of his favorite.

Silence stretches out between you. Your heartbeat matches up with Max’s eventually and your eyes get a little heavy with his warmth pressed up against you. You’d missed this kind of calm presence that Max brought to your life. It was always there, of course, but sometimes it was a little further than you liked during the season. Having him here now was so soothing, making you feel like you could conquer anything that came your way.

After a few quiet moments, Max’s deep voice finally breaks the silence.

“I think I’m done after this season, liefje.”

You’d had this conversation countless times over the years, so much so that the words don't even make your heart race anymore. There’s something different in Max’s voice tonight, though. He sounds tired, worked over, resigned. Like the years spent on the road are finally catching up to him and you know, deep in your chest that it’s time.

“I know, Max.” You whisper, dropping your forehead to his before brushing a kiss against his nose. “Come home to us. Theo and I are ready to have you all to ourselves now.”

And that's exactly what happens.

maxverstappen1 posted

5,039,504 likes liked by yourusername, redbullracing, f1, and others maxverstappen1 this sport has been part of my life for most of my time here on earth. i started in karting not long after i started walking. motorsport brought me to the highest of highs and the lowest of lows. 7 championships. the love of my life. my child. this sport has brought me to all of the most important milestones of my life. but all good things must come to an end. i've achieved everything i set out to do all those years ago and my priorities have shifted. at the end of may, i became a father and suddenly that pull to retirement got stronger. @/username knows how many times i threatened to quit mid-season so it wasn't a surprise to her when i came to her after texas and told her it was time. after twelve seasons racing in the pinnacle of motorsport, i'm officially announcing my retirement. to my team, thank you. you have forever shaped who i am. to my wife, i love you. you are all the good things in this world and i am so lucky you chose me to be your husband. to my theo, you changed me in a way no one else has. being your dad is the most important job i've ever had. i can't wait to watch you grow into the person you're destined to become. to my fans, thank you. your devotion means the absolute world to me and i would not have made it to where i am today. thank you, from the bottom of my heart. yourusername theo and i are so so proud of you. welcome home, my love. >>>user9292 *sobbing* charlesleclerc congratulations on a lifetime of acheivments. can't wait to see what you do now, my friend!! lando congrats GOAT. excited to finally not be asked 'how does it feel to lose to max verstappen?' EVER AGAIN >>>charlesleclerc now it'll be 'how does it feel to lose to charles???' >>>lando stfu redbullracing we're not crying, you're crying!!! lewishamilton you will be missed, max. enjoy retirement with that gorgeous family of yours!

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charles-leclerizz · 9 days ago

Text

touch first, talk later

on the runway : max verstappen x fem!reader

inspiration ( warnings ) : smut !! (f + m receiving oral), jealousy, unresolved feelings, possessive energy, ex situationship, bathroom scene,

VIP's in the front row ( taglist ) : MUTUALS GET INSTANT TAGS [@vroomvroomcircuit, @disneyprincemuke, @verstappen-cult, @starkwlkr, @sailing-with-100-ships, @foreveralbon, @ksthegreat]

before the show begins ( synopsis ) :

You left because he never wanted to go public. He just didn’t realise he did, until after you were gone. And now you’re at the same party again. Talking to someone else. And Max is staring like he’s ready to burn it all down.

designer notes : so. apparently I can churn these baby's out at record pace, just know- im sleep deprived. anyhoo, love yall, dont read too fast <33 and wear your seatbelts

The party swirls around you like a golden haze-soft laughter dripping from lacquered lips, heels clicking rhythmically against marble floors, and the murmur of voices blending into a steady hum beneath the bass-heavy music. You feel the warmth of champagne pooling at the bottom of your glass, the sharp bite of citrus lingering on your tongue. The air is thick with expensive perfume and the faint, sharp tang of adrenaline, the kind that always clings to race weekends like a second skin.

You drift through the crowd, a practiced smile in place, a flicker of fake amusement in your eyes when you exchange polite words with familiar faces. Here, everyone is performing- pretending the world outside these sparkling walls doesn’t exist or at least doesn’t matter tonight

Then you see him.

Max.

Across the room, leaning casually against the bar, dark eyes cutting through the noise with a focus so intense it feels almost physical. It’s impossible to look away. It’s like the noise around you dims, just for a moment, narrowed down to that stare.

It’s been months since you left, that night when everything between you unravelled, when you walked away because he wouldn’t say the words you needed, but it feels like no time has passed at all.

You turn your head away, pretending to focus on the conversation at your side, but you know the weight of his stare follows you-unrelenting, accusing, hungry. Your breath catches, heart skipping a beat you don’t want to admit

It’s the weight of his stare, that subtle prickle at the nape of your neck that never quite fades when Max is in the same room. You’d hoped the distance would kill it. That after all this time, he wouldn’t still have this kind of hold on you.

But there he is. Dressed in black, drink untouched in one hand. And you?

You’re smiling at someone else.

The guy - what’s his name, Liam? Lucas? - is charming enough. Handsome in that easy, polished way that doesn't set your nerves on fire. He’s been talking for five minutes straight about his classic car collection. You nod, let him touch your arm, laugh when it’s expected.

But you’re not really listening.

You’re too aware of Max across the room. Of the way his jaw tenses when the guy leans in. Of the way he hasn’t spoken to anyone else. Of the fact that he’s still watching you - shamelessly, openly, like the entire world could burn down and he wouldn’t blink.

The music is loud. The room is full. But none of it seems to matter when he starts walking toward you.

“Hey.”

His voice slices right through the conversation like glass.

You blink. “Hi.”

Lucas-or-Liam frowns. “You two know each other?”

Max doesn’t answer him. Doesn’t even look in his direction. Just says, “We need to talk.”

“No, we don’t,” you say as civil as you could muster.

Max’s nostrils flare. “We do.”

“I’m kind of in the middle of something.”

He glances down at your arm where the other man’s fingers rest too casually. His voice drops. “Didn’t realize you liked posers.”

Lucas-or-Liam looks somewhere between confused and irritated.

“Max.” Your tone sharpens, but he’s already looking at you again, blue eyes locked in on your contemplative expression.

You sigh and turn to Lucas, placing a gentle hand on his forearm. “Give me a minute?”

The man looks confused, but nods. Max is already pulling you away before you finish thanking him.

Before you can regret your decision, Max’s hand tightens on your wrist, firm but not cruel, and he starts dragging you through the crowd. The noise fades behind you, a muffled roar compared to the sudden sharpness of his presence beside you.

You follow, breath shallow, heels clicking against polished floors. He weaves you through bodies and laughter and flashing lights like they barely register past his determined pathway.

Then the bathroom door swings open, and he pulls you inside. The bathroom is glossy and dim, smelling of some fancy cologne and warm wood. He shuts the door behind you and leans against it like he needs to catch his breath.

You stand by the counter, tapping your foot.

“I don’t know what you want from me,” you say finally, breaking the silence

“Why did you leave?”

Your throat tightens. “Because you never wanted to—”

“Don’t,” barely moving, simply shifting his head to look at you, “Don’t say that. I did want to. I just didn’t know how to say it. Or when.”

You search his eyes, looking for the man you thought, knew, you lost. “But you never showed it. Not when it mattered.”

Max steps forward. Just once, “I wanted to go public. You just left before I could figure out how to say it.”

Your brows knit. “You think I waited for nothing?”

“No,” he says. “I think I fucked up. And I want to fix it.”

You stare at him, every cell in your body buzzing. “Say that again.”

“I want to fix it,” he repeats, gentler this time. “You were never just casual. You were never a secret I wanted to keep.”

Your breath catches, and the anger you’ve been holding for months, twists and knits into something rawer. “Then why did you let me go?”

Max’s jaw tightens. And he treads closer, his feet heavy, magnetised to the bathroom floor. "Because I thought you didn’t want to wait for me to figure it out.”

You shake your head, the weight of months in that tiny space suffocating once he reached you, sharing each other's air. “I left because you wouldn’t fight for me.”

He cups your face, thumb tracing the line of your jaw. “I’m fighting now.”

The distance vanishes in an instant, heat crashing between you. His lips find yours-urgent, claiming, desperate-and you give in to the flood of everything you’ve been holding back.

Your back digs into the counter, hard wood punishing through thin fabric, and his hands are already on your waist, fingers splayed like he’s trying to memorize the shape of you all over again.

You kiss him like you’re trying to punish him.

It’s teeth, heat, months of unspoken things.

His hands are in your hair, your thighs, lifting you onto the counter like he never stopped memorizing how to touch you. The kiss is messy and bruising and so full of everything he never said that it feels like drowning.

“Fuck,” he breathes against your mouth. “I missed you.”

“You didn’t act like it.”

“I know.” He groans, trailing kisses down your throat. “Let me make it up to you.”

He sinks to his knees like he’s not even thinking, like gravity just drags him there. His hands push your thighs apart with a roughness that makes your head spin, makes the ache between your legs throb harder.

“You think I forgot how to touch you?” he mutters against your knee, hands sliding beneath your dress. “You think I don’t still dream about this?”

Your breath hitches when his fingers brush against the edge of your panties. “Don’t say things you don’t mean, Max.”

His eyes snap up, dark and blazing. “I mean every fucking word.”

“You’re not going back out there,” he says, voice low, almost hoarse. “Not with him. Not like this.”

You grip the edge of the counter, palms pressing flat against the wood. “And if I was never yours to begin with?”

Max doesn’t even flinch. “You were. You still are.”

And then his mouth is on you. Through the lace first, dragging a slow, wet stripe with his tongue, teasing the fabric just to feel your hips jerk. Then he pulls your panties to the side, and you forget every damn reason you had for staying away.

He eats you out like he’s starving, like it’s punishment for leaving and apology all at once. Like he wants to ruin you for anyone else.

“Oh fuck, Max-”

He groans against you, hands gripping your thighs tighter as your back arches. His tongue works you over with practiced precision - licking, sucking, flicking the spot he knows makes you come undone. He doesn’t let up. Doesn’t let you breathe. Every time you try to close your legs, he just pushes them wider.

“You’re shaking,” he murmurs, lips slick, voice smug and dark. “You missed this too, didn’t you?”

You hate how much you nod. How honest your body is when your mouth won’t speak.

And when you come, it’s sudden and sharp - the kind of orgasm that rips through you and leaves you gasping, trembling, eyes squeezed shut as your fingers twist in his hair.

He doesn’t stop until you push at his shoulders, breathless and overwhelmed.

When he stands again, his mouth is shiny with you, his lips swollen, and his eyes impossibly soft beneath the storm.

“Say it,” he whispers, fingertips stroking your jaw.

Your voice is barely there. Your nails barely dragging against his jaw, “I still want you.”

He leans in close, pressing his forehead to yours.

“I never stopped.”

The air between you feels thick now, buzzing with what just happened - your body still humming, your breathing uneven. Max hasn’t moved far. His hands rest on either side of your hips, grounding you, his forehead still pressed to yours like he’s afraid if he steps back, you’ll disappear again.

You study him in the mirror behind him. Hair tousled. Lips bitten raw. That rare softness in his eyes - the one he always tried to hide when things got too real.

“You, okay?” he asks, voice low and almost shy now. It’s strange, how quickly the fight melted into this. Into something quieter.

You nod, brushing a strand of hair from his brow. “You look wrecked.”

He huffs a breath, half-laugh, half-sigh. “You just ruined me. So… yeah.”

A beat of silence passes. You reach down, fingers trailing the waistband of his trousers.

His breath stutters. You loop your knuckles into his belt loops, spinning around until he's in your position.

“Let me,” you whisper.

He doesn’t stop you - just watches, swallowing hard, like he can’t believe it’s happening. His knuckles go white on the counter when you drop to your knees, slow and deliberate, right where he’d just been moments ago.

Your hands work his belt open, your movements gentle. Intimate. You feel him twitch in your palm, already hard and aching.

“You always looked at me like this,” you murmur, kissing along his length, teasing him the way he teased you earlier. “But you never said anything.”

“I was a coward,” he whispers, eyes fluttering shut as your lips close around him.

He’s warm and heavy on your tongue, and the sound he makes, sharp and broken, makes you want to stay down here forever. You take him slow at first, just letting him feel it, letting you feel it, your fingers curling around the base as your mouth works him over.

“Fuck,” he groans, hand sliding into your hair. Not pulling. Just holding. Like he’s scared you’ll vanish if he lets go.

You glance up at him, eyes meeting his, and he stares like you’ve undone him completely. No ego. No bravado. Just Max, real and flushed and yours, even if only in this moment.

You hollow your cheeks, letting him slide deeper, moaning softly around him until his hips twitch and his hand tightens just slightly.

“Stop,” he rasps, breath hitching. “I’m gonna- ”

You don’t. You want this. You want to make him fall apart, just like he did to you.

And when he comes, it’s with a low groan and your name, broken in half across his tongue. His head tips back, eyes shut, chest rising and falling like he’s been sprinting. You swallow everything, hands smoothing over his thighs as he trembles just slightly.

When you finally stand again, he pulls you into his chest without a word, arms tight around you. There’s no party outside the door. No months of silence. Just this.

Just him.

Just you.

“You’re not leaving again,” he murmurs against your hair.

You don’t answer. Not yet.

But you don’t pull away either. You stay there, tucked into his chest and hold him tighter, re-learning every indent of his heartbeat and every undulation of his breath.

The hallway feels louder than before.

You step out first, fixing your dress, smoothing your hair. Max follows close behind, his hand brushing your back in a way that would feel casual if it weren’t him. If you weren’t both still vibrating with what just happened.

You reach the edge of the room. The party is still in full swing - bodies dancing, glasses clinking, music pulsing. The guy from earlier spots you.

“There you are,” he says, half-smile curling at the ends. “Thought I lost you.”

Max stiffens behind you, but you rest a hand on his wrist. Subtle. Calming.

You offer the guy a polite smile. “Just needed a minute.”

His eyes flick to Max, and then down to where your hand touches his.

He gets it.

He nods once, then turns away.

You exhale.

Max leans in, voice barely above the music. “So… that was new.”

You glance at him, amused. “The bathroom thing? Thought we did that one ages ago”

He rolls his eyes and snakes his hand around your waist, bending down to press his mouth to your ear, “The part where you held my hand in public.”

You roll your eyes, but your fingers find his against your body. “Don’t get cocky.”

He grins - that same crooked, boyish thing that always cracked your resolve, always kept you in bed with him an hour later. “Too late.”

A pause. He tilts his head. “Want to get out of here?”

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sillysnack · 2 years ago

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i feel kind of embarrassed that 2 out of my 4 prsk fics on ao3 are actually saiki kusuo-centric

#crowd exchanges confused glances

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yasministration · 3 days ago

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want you to stay - peter parker

summary: peter is absolutely appalled when he sees you beginning to leave the party when his frat brother yells "if you're not a brother or fucking a brother, get out!" wc: 2.1k+ a/n: new au :))

It was getting late.

Not in the sense that you were tired, but you’d had your fun with your friends, all of whom were ready to leave, and the one person you were here to see kept on disappearing from your sight. You didn’t want to follow Peter around like a clingy situationship, so you focused on making the most of the party with the friends you had come with. But the boy dipped in and out of the house, switching between wrecking havoc with his friends and finding you inside.

Peter had stolen you away from your friends for a dance, pressing you up against him and moving his hips with yours. You had felt his smile against the skin of your neck, pressing the occasional kiss as you sang along to lyrics of the deafening music playing. You had spun in Peter’s hold, slinging your arms over his shoulders. Peter had leaned his head down, his nose brushing against yours, lips hovering over yours. Your breath had hitched then, and Peter had smiled widely, chuckling at your reaction, as though you’d never kissed before.

“Give me a kiss.” He had whispered, and you didn’t know how you heard him over all the noise in the house. Perhaps you had just read his lips and hoped he had said what you wanted to hear. But you pushed yourself up on your toes anyway and kissed him anyway. Peter’s hands came up to cup your cheeks, and just as you pulled tilted your head to deepen the passionate kiss, he had jumped away from you.

Blinking quickly, you took in the sight of one of Peter’s frat brothers, tightly clutching Peter’s shoulders. You hadn’t heard what he had said, but Peter had ducked his face down shyly, a hand trailing down to your waist as his friend continued speaking loudly to him. Peter tugged you closer to him, telling you “I’ll be back!” But he never returned.

Now, you were huddled with your friends in a corner, discussing the plans to return to one of your dorms and debrief the night. Luckily though, you didn’t have to discuss the situation any further, because suddenly, the music cut out and someone clambered on to a coffee table.

“Everybody listen up! If you’re not a brother, or fucking a brother, GET OUT!”

Your friends scoffed, and you could nearly hear the roll of their eyes. “Let’s go.” You told them, nodding towards the door. You took the hand offered to you, following the crowd out of the house. But as you approached the door, a hand curled around the wrist of your free arm, softly pulling to attract your attention.

Peter stood in the midst of the crowd, a confused look on his face. You felt your friends’s eyes on the two of you, exchanging glances behind your back. “Hey, where are you going?” Peter’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, the confusion clear on his face. Clearing your throat, you felt your face heat up at his question. Shrugging, you said “I don’t, we were just-“

“Didn’t you hear what he said?”

“I did, yeah. I just, I didn’t…”

Peter shifted his weight from one foot to the other, removing his hand from around your wrist. He swallowed thickly, throat bobbing. “You don’t want to stay?” Your eyes widened as you realised what this looked like; you escaping his party with your friends and averting all his questions.

“No, I-I mean, do you want me to stay?” You hated yourself for how small you sounded — how you were clearly seeking his approval. Peter smiled, nodding assuredly. “Yeah, I do. I want you to stay.” It was impossible for you not to smile at his words, or to feel insecure anymore. Chewing on your bottle lip, you turned over to face your friends, all of whom were expectantly looking at you.

“Okay, have fun.” One of them said, leading the others outside and ditching you with your… Peter. “Come here.” He mumbled, extending an arm towards you. You pushed past the bodies around you until you were close enough for Peter to wrap a muscular arm around your shoulders. He led you towards the emptying living room, keeping his gaze on you. Peter paused in the hallway, looking past you and towards his frat brothers lounged on the couches.

“Do you want to come up to my room? Or stay down here a little?” Wrapping an arm around Peter’s waist, you followed his gaze, eyes widening as the men in the living room broke into another fit of loud laughter. “Can we go to your room?”

“Yeah, of course baby.” You felt your face heat up at the pet name, letting Peter guide you up the set of familiar stairs. His hands lingered on your waist until the door to his room was shut.

“Thank you for letting me stay.” You said, voice quiet as you sat down in Peter’s bed. Peter followed you, standing in front of you. He cupped your cheek, leaning down to press a soft kiss to the top of your head. “I wouldn’t want you anywhere else.” You attempted to bow your head down to avoid his gaze, but Peter’s hand was slipping to your chin and pushing your head up. When your eyes met his, he smiled, and you couldn’t help the way your lips tugged upwards in response.

“Do you want to take off your makeup? Matt’s girlfriend basically lives here, so he should have some wipes or something.”

“I don’t want to be a bother.” Peter’s hand dropped from your face and he scoffed disapprovingly, instantly turning around and walking out of the room. He left the door wide open behind him, so you saw as he trotted down the stairs, his shoes padding loudly on the wooden floor. You tapped your fingers on the fabric of your skirt, knee beginning to bounce nervously. When Peter returned up the stairs, he was accompanied by someone – tall with a head of thick black hair. He wore a navy blue polo shirt, and guided Peter into the room directly facing the one you were sat in. Matt lingered in the doorway of his bedroom when Peter returned to his own room, carrying a bottle of micellar water and cotton pads.

Matt caught your eye, putting a hand up and waving animatedly. “Hi y/n.” He said, drawing your name out in a sing song voice. “Hi Matt.” Unlike the other frat brothers, you were a little familiar with Matt, who had met you the very first time you’d entered this house. It was against your free will that you had met, but retrospectively, you were thankful for the familiar face. Peter twisted his torso, frowning at his housemate, who travelled across the hallway in a few steps, leaning against the doorway of Peter’s room. “So…” He started, waggling his eyebrows as he nodded towards Peter.

“Matt, go away, she doesn’t feel like talking to anyone.”

“No, that makes me sound so rude, Peter!”

“No, it’s alright, we get it. We’ll all be here tomorrow morning anyway, if you want to meet the others. Or not the others, just Meg. She really wants to meet you.”

“Yeah, okay. I’ll be sure to say hi to Megan if I see her.”

“Oh, she’ll make sure you see her tomorrow.”

“Okay, Matt. That’s enough.” Matt rolled his eyes, slapping a hand on the top of the doorway before walking down the stairs. Peter closed the door gently, moving to sit next to you on the bed. “Is this okay?” He asked, presenting you the items in his hands. “It’s more than okay, Pete. Thank you.”

Peter watched silently as you rubbed the cotton pad across your face, makeup smearing on your face. He leaned forward, dragging the trash can from under his bedside table towards you. You dropped the used cotton pads in the bin, running a hand across your face when it was finally clean. It felt odd for some reason – being so domestic with Peter when you were usually in and out of his room after a hook up, or a date that had never been labeled as one. Standing up slowly, you wobbled on your feet, forgetting about the heels you wore. Peter’s hand shot out, steadying your waist. “I’m going to wash my face, if that’s okay.”

Peter nodded, standing up. He kept his eye on you as you walked into the hallway, entering the bathroom. He walked over to his closet to find you a hoodie and sweatpants. When you returned, face still mildly damp and eyes tired, Peter was quick to wrap you in his arms again. He smiled as you melted against him, cheek pressed against his chest. The touch was nice and warm, and had you leaning into his body. “You tired?”

“M’yeah.” Peter chuckled, chest bubbling against your face. He pulled away slightly, but your arms kept him close to you. “Come on, just to get changed then we can cuddle.”

Cuddle. You barely ever cuddled, unless you were watching a movie, which led to inevitable sex. Peter steered you out of your small top and bra, guiding your face into the hole of his hoodie, followed by your arms into the sleeves. You wiggled out of your skirt, shaking your head when Peter offered you his sweatpants. He chuckled, folding them again. “Do you want some water?”

“Yes please. God, I can already feel the headache coming.”

“You sobered up?”

“Yeah. I didn’t get drunk, I think it’s just the noise. How do you feel?”

“Yeah, good. I didn’t drink much either, so I feel sharp.”

You grinned, accepting the metal bottle of water Peter offered you. It had a capital 'P' on the front, and wasn’t completely full, but you took two big gulps from it anyway, then offered it to Peter. “Sharp? Senses acute, Mr. Parker?”

“Yeah, exactly like that.” His smile disappeared behind the rim of the water bottle, and he took a long sip, sighing loudly in satisfaction when he swallowed. You climbed into Peter’s bed, settling under the covers. Peter undressed from his jeans and t-shirt, leaving them in a pile on the floor before reaching for the sweatpants he had just folded. He followed you into the bed, hands finding the curve of your waist and pulling you flush against his bare chest.

“Thank you for staying.” He whispered. You smiled softly, pushing yourself up on the bed so you could press your lips against his. Peter’s eyes fluttered shut as he relaxed into the kiss, pressing himself harder against you. He stroked his fingers against your cheek as his legs tangled with your bare ones under the sheets.

“I’m happy I did.” You finally said, settling back down on the pillow. Peter sighed, breaking eye contact for a brief moment and opening his mouth, as though to say something, then closing it again. “What’s wrong?”

Peter’s gaze snapped back up, and his mouth dipped open again, though no words came out. He looked around, gathering his thoughts before finally saying “I’ve really been enjoying our time together.” You froze, eyes hardening as you pushed yourself to sit up, the cautious tone Peter was using sending you into a panic. Peter followed your movements, twiddling with his thumbs as he continued, “But I don’t- I think we could, I could enjoy it more if I really understood the nature of our relationship.”

You furrowed your eyebrows, scanning Peter’s posture. His shoulders were slightly hunched, nerves clouding his eyes as he gathered his thoughts. “Pete? I don’t… I don’t understand.”

“Would you like to be my girlfriend? Officially?”

“Oh!” Peter’s chest deflated at your quiet gasp, and he nodded, as though you’d already rejected him. You reached out to place a hand on his thigh, attracting his gaze back up to your face. “Peter, I’d love to.”

“You would?” Peter grinned widely, a relieved sigh leaving him as you nodded, shuffling closer to him on the bed. Peter licked his lips, cupping your cheeks and leaning forward to kiss you quickly. You giggled, launching yourself onto Peter to hug him, arms settling around his waist. Peter laughed, kissing the top of your head and he laid back down on the bed. The room was silent for a long moment, the two of you holding each other lovingly.

“Do you want me to turn off the lights?” He asked quietly, but you shook your head softly. “I’m not really tired anymore.”

“Oh... Do you want to kiss for a little bit?

“Yeah.”

taglist: @dream-alittlebiggerdarling, @dearlizzies, @bxuzi, @rory-cakes, @dlljdhsh, @aouoo, @fandomhoe101

#mcu smut #marvel x reader #marvel smut #tasm peter parker #tasm!peter x reader #tasm!peter x you #peter parker x reader #peter parker smut #peter parker #spidey #spiderman smut #peter parker x you #peter parker fluff #peter parker imagine #yasministration fics #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker x y/n #spiderman #spiderman x reader

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lilliankoo · 4 months ago

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play you like a game, boy || chapter 2.

🗡️ antagonist jungkook x princess reader

trope: "he's mean to everyone but worships the ground you walk on", will absolutely do anything for you, strangers to lovers.

word count: 2.1k

chapter 1 chapter 3

synopsis: he looks like an angel but is a devil- well that's what your kingdom thinks. he is also the blessed leader of tribe "lav"; even a leaf cannot move without his permission but here he was in-front of you on his knees. while the whole tribe bows to him- he only bows to you. now, there are two paths presented to you- marry him & return his love or refuse & watch him conquer your father's kingdom. power is an evil yet a tempting apple-and now its in your hands- are you going to take a bite; taste the sweet poison or will you use it to tempt others? its an evil world with evil options.. do you think you can handle him?

chapter warnings: mention of blood, machete. rituals, mentions of sacrifices, kissing, possessive jungkook, slightly jealous jungkook, simp jungkook, calling the reader “mother”.

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You are confused, and so are your parents. You can tell by the way they both look at you, then at Jungkook.

"Ritual?" your father asks, his voice filled with uncertainty.

Jungkook gives a slight smile, looking around, and you can't quite read the expression on his face. Whatever is going on inside his mind, you're sure it's not good. He sighs and takes a few steps back.

"Here in Lav, we don't believe in marriages. We perform a soul-tying ritual," he says.

The words sound foreign, almost alien to your ears. Your brows furrow instinctively, a wave of confusion washing over you. You’re too scared to look at your parents right now. You glance at Jungkook instead, noticing the way his eyes seem to drink you in—too much adoration, compassion, care... love. Your mother had been right; Jungkook is indeed in love with you.

You gulp, trying to steady your racing heart, and look at your father, standing next to you. He meets your gaze and, without a word, intertwines his hand with yours. You find solace in the familiar gesture. Growing up, you’d always been closer to your father than your mother, but what you don’t notice is the way Jungkook’s jaw clenches, the silent fury in his gaze as he looks at your father.

Jungkook clears his throat, his tone soft but firm as he extends his hand toward you. “Come,” he murmurs.

You hesitate, unsure of what to do. But your father squeezes your hand in reassurance. It’s unspoken, but you understand the message: don’t ruin this. Slowly, you take Jungkook’s hand and follow him up the stairs toward the platform. He leads you to stand in front of two chairs, centered on the stage, while your parents stand by the side with the villagers.

You turn back to glance at them when, suddenly, an elderly man approaches, draping a large mantle made of fur and leather over your shoulders. As he does, he mutters a prayer in a language you don't understand. The mantle is identical to Jungkook's, except for one difference—his mantle bears a tiger’s head perched on top. The sight unsettles you, but you try not to dwell on it.

At the stage with you and Jungkook, besides the old man, stand two women and the man who brought you here earlier. One of the women, dressed in brown leather, steps forward, smiling warmly. She speaks to Jungkook, and he nods. He motions for you to sit. You comply, but the tight corset and heavy mantle make it difficult. You try to fold the dress by your feet, but the corset gives you little room to move.

Without hesitation, Jungkook kneels before you, adjusting your dress with surprising tenderness. A strange, unfamiliar sensation tugs at your chest. As he does so, you notice the shocked expressions of the onlookers—the elderly man’s mouth hangs open, the women exchange bewildered glances, and the crowd murmurs amongst themselves. Your parents stand frozen, your father’s mouth agape while your mother wears a knowing smirk, her eyes gleaming with the unspoken words: “I told you.”

"Is it okay?" Jungkook’s voice pulls you from your trance, and you nod absentmindedly. His smile returns, a faint glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes, before he stands, sitting back in his chair.

As time passes, preparations for the ritual continue. Everything happening around you feels utterly foreign. A man drums in the corner, another blows into a shell-like instrument, and yet another makes guttural, animal-like sounds. It’s all too much for your senses.

A sharp, shrill noise cuts through the chaos, and your eyes are drawn to a pair of goats, tied to a post in the corner. You can’t shake the growing suspicion that they are here to be sacrificed. A chill runs down your spine at the thought.

As you survey the scene, another woman approaches with a bowl. From your sitting position, you can’t see the contents, but when she dips her fingers into the bowl and reaches for your face, you instinctively lean back. She steps back, waiting for Jungkook’s cue.

He exchanges a few words with her in their native language, then turns to you. “You don’t have to be scared. This is just fuller’s earth clay mixed with rosewater and coconut oil. It’s necessary, a vital part of the ritual.”

His voice is calm, almost too sweet, and for a moment, you doubt his intentions. He gestures to the woman, who begins applying the clay to his throat, drawing a half-moon symbol on his forehead and two parallel lines on his jaw. Once she finishes, she turns to you, and again you recoil.

But this time, you have a plan.

“I want you to apply it,” you say softly, a hint of challenge in your voice.

Jungkook’s eyes widened in surprise. The old man, who had draped your mantle, clears his throat and steps forward, perhaps to interject. From what you can gather, Jungkook isn’t supposed to do this. The man speaks, but Jungkook raises a hand, silencing him without even looking in his direction.

With a smile, Jungkook turns to you and nods. The crowd gasps as he cradles your face in his hands, his fingers gently applying the clay, mirroring the symbols on his own face. He tilts your head from side to side, admiring his work, and when his gaze locks with yours, he murmurs, “Pretty.”

Anger rises in you, burning hot. This wasn’t the way you wanted him to act. The ritual, his control, it’s all too much. You feel your jaw clench, your eyes sting with frustration. But you hold it in.

The ritual continues for a while longer, with more strange and uncomfortable actions. You wear a crown-like headband made of peacock feathers, bracelets, threads, and bangles are tied to your wrists, and you’re made to recite several prayers.

Finally, the old man steps forward once more, nodding toward Jungkook.

“The ritual is complete,” the man says. “But one thing remains. To seal it fully, there is still one step left.”

Jungkook turned to you and gently intertwined his hands with yours, making you stand. You both descend the few steps toward the post, but just before you reach it, Jungkook diverts your path toward your parents.

For the first time, your father smiles at you. Your mother, though, looks more relieved than anything. Just as you’re about to embrace them, Jungkook steps in front of you, pulling your father into a hug instead.

“Congratulations,” Jungkook says, his voice sincere.

Your mother echoes the sentiment.

“We would love to have you both stay, but the next ritual is only for the people of Lav,” Jungkook says, his gaze turning to your father. “The carriage is ready.” He gestures toward the vehicle in the distance.

A wave of dread washes over you as your father nods, though he quickly asks if they can speak with you privately. Jungkook denies the request, telling him to say whatever he wants in front of him.

“Take care. May the gods be with you,” your father says softly, caressing your head.

“You’ll be fine here, my baby. Jungkook will keep you safe,” your mother says, her eyes fixed on him.

The weight of their departure hits you like a ton of bricks. Tears slip down your face, and you throw your arms around your parents, desperate not to let go.

“I want to go with you,” you plead, but before your father can respond, Jungkook steps forward.

“You cannot,” he says, his voice low and firm.

Rage flares up inside you, and suddenly everything feels too tight. The mantle, the crown, the bracelets—all feel suffocating. You try to pull at them desperately, your jaw clenched, tears streaming down your face. Jungkook grabs your arms to steady you, forcing you to meet his gaze.

For the first time today, you see the real Jungkook. His brows are furrowed, his jaw clenched, and the love that once seemed to soften him is gone. “You are my woman now,” he breathes, his voice low and serious. “You are the mother of this forest and these people. If you leave, everyone will die—including the forest, the people, and me. We are tied to you.”

His words strike you silent. You stare at him, searching for something—anything—that might explain this. But he says nothing more.

When he lets go of your arms, he rubs them gently as if apologizing.

—------------------------------------------------------

You watch as the carriage pulls away, your parents leaving you behind in this strange village.

“Come,” Jungkook says, his voice gentle now as he takes your hand. You follow him, the energy drained from you.

“This is the last ritual,” Jungkook whispers in your ear. “After this, we will be each other’s forever.”

His words send a shiver through your spine. The thought of living here as his "wife" does not sit well with you.

“What will happen?” you ask quietly, your heart pounding.

Jungkook doesn’t respond immediately. He takes a deep breath and squeezes your hand. “We are going to gift our forest goddess, Devti. This day wouldn’t have been possible without her,” he says.

Before you can ask another question, a woman steps forward with a machete in hand. Your eyes widen in horror. The goats, the sacrifice—it's happening.

The woman’s voice booms through the clearing. “Everyone, the goddess Devti has blessed us once again. She has given our leader, Jeon Jungkook, another gift. For years, this forest has yearned for a mother, and here she is.”

Your mind reels at the mention of “mother.”

"Today, Jeon Jungkook and Y/N became one. Today, Lav and its people got their mother," she finishes, and the crowd erupts in deafening cheers.

“May Devti keep blessing the Lav, protect her people, and may Devti bless our leader Jungkook and mother Y/N with a prosperous future,” the woman concludes.

The crowd chants, “No man can defeat him, for he is blessed by the Devti.”

You are trembling. The weight of the machete in your hand feels too heavy. The goats cry in terror, and for a moment, you wonder if they know what’s coming. You look at Jungkook, but his smile only intensifies your fear.

"Go on," he urges softly. "Give her blood."

You shake your head, your breath quickening. You cannot bring yourself to kill innocent creatures. With trembling hands, you pass the machete back to Jungkook.

"I can't," you whisper. "I can't kill them."

Jungkook’s eyes soften, and he places a gentle hand on your shoulder. "Y/N, my love, this isn’t killing. It’s offering blood to the goddess."

But nothing he says helps. You are suffocating, your mind reeling, when a sudden idea flashes across your mind.

“Jungkook,” you say, your voice shaking but resolute. “Your goddess needs blood, right?”

He nods, sensing your change of tone.

“Well,” you continue, looking directly at him, “I don't want to kill the goats. They're babies, they should be with their mother. But... if she wants blood...” You pause, wiping your tears. “Then give her yours.”

You place your head against his chest, allowing yourself a moment of quiet satisfaction as his eyes widen.

But before he can react, one of the villagers steps forward, his voice protesting.

“That’s against the ritual,” he says.

You don’t give him a chance to finish. You step in front of him and snap, “Do not interfere while I’m speaking to my husband.”

The man immediately bows, a look of fear crossing his face.

Jungkook steps forward, his hand on your back, as he pushes the man away. “Only talk to my wife like that if you want to become one with the fire,” he warns, his voice cold.

You stand there, momentarily taken aback by his response. You suppress a smirk.

In a sudden motion, Jungkook grabs the machete, surprising the crowd when he slides the blade across his palm. Blood drips from his hand as he walks toward the stone statue of the goddess Devti. He wipes the blood over the stone, breathing heavily as the air grows thick with tension.

The crowd stands frozen in place, too afraid to make a sound. The silence is suffocating, and for reasons you cannot explain, you suddenly find yourself walking toward him.

In that moment, something inside you shifts. You grab his face and kiss him.

For a brief second, he is caught off guard, but then his hands find their place around you, pulling you closer. He cradles your jaw with his blood covered hand, he moans into the kiss. You break the kiss, suddenly aware of your surroundings.

Before anything else can happen, the old man steps forward, taking the machete from Jungkook and casting it aside.

He pats Jungkook on the back, his voice booming across the gathering.

“May the goddess approve of this,” he says. “May she bless the mother as she has blessed this village. From this day, till the very end, Mother Y/N and Jeon Jungkook shall be together.”

The crowd erupts in cheers, and your future here begins to solidify.

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next chapter

taglist: @jincapableoflove @voitier @koocreampie @kookxin @mysticprincessstrawberry @imwutim @synamon @withmuchluv-tannie @taekritimin123 let me know if u would like to be added.

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thank you so much for the love on this fic, im happy that you guys are enjoying it :) i have so many more cool ideas, once i finish this series i will start posting them.

#jungkook fic #jungkook recs #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook #jungkook smut #jungkook #jungkook reader #jungkook imagine #jungkook x y/n #yandere jungkook #bts jungkook #jungkook x you #jungkook fic recs #jk fic #jk fic recs #fiction

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aryaryxoxo · 2 months ago

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a boy who was too late #bakugou katsuki x reader, angst

“Ladies and gentlemen, your new Number One Hero!” the announcer's voice thundered through the arena. The spotlight swiveled to the entrance tunnel, illuminating the stage with brilliance.

The audience rose to their feet with anticipation and excitement. Cheers erupted like a tidal wave. Flashing lights from reporters’ cameras dotted the air.

All eyes were on the entrance. They waited.

And waited.

But instead of the explosive presence they expected, a lone figure stepped out—an assistant in a sleek black suit, clutching a microphone. The applause dimmed into murmurs of confusion. The top ten heroes seated on the grand podium exchanged glances.

“Where is he?” “He wouldn’t miss this.” “Typical Bakugou…”

The assistant reached the center of the stage, eyes scanning the crowd. Clearing their throat, they raised the mic.

“I know this isn’t what any of you expected,” the assistant began, voice steady but respectful. “But I am here on behalf of Katsuki Bakugou, who has officially been recognized as your new Number One Hero. ”

…

Katsuki Bakugou stood alone, far from the roaring crowd, far from the flashing lights and empty praises.

The only sound was the rustle of leaves in the cold breeze and the muffled voice of the announcer echoing faintly from the phone in his pocket.

He didn’t care to listen anymore.

This—this—wasn’t how he imagined it.

Not when he was a kid yelling that he’d be the best. Not when he trained until his muscles tore and bones cracked. Not even when he rose in the ranks, surpassing those he once admired.

He had dreamed of standing at the top, instead, he stood in front of a gravestone, hands in his coat pockets, shoulders weighed down not by exhaustion, but by grief.

Carved into the cool marble was a name that meant more to him than any rank ever could.

Your name.

"You idiot," he muttered, barely audible. "I did what you said, I waited for you."

“Bakugou, you better wait for me when you receive the title of Number One Hero, okay?” you said with your usual grin, already reaching across the table to steal his fries without shame.

He glared at you. “Tch—Oi, stop stealing my damn food!”

“You can explode villains but not me, Bakugou. Besides,” you said with a dramatic flick of your hand, “you know how late I get when I need to look good.”

You grinned, playful as always, and popped a fry into your mouth.

He scoffed and turned his head, trying to hide the way the corner of his mouth twitched. “Why can’t you be on time for once?”

“Whaaat, is it wrong to look good when my best friend finally gets what he’s always wanted?”

“Huh… best friend...” Bakugou muttered under his breath, the words tasting bitter on his tongue.

He crouched in front of your grave

“If I hadn’t stopped to take that damn detour... If I’d just been a second faster… maybe—maybe I could’ve stopped it. Maybe I could’ve pulled you out before it happened.”

The image flashed in his mind—your blood, your broken form, the panic that surged through his veins when he saw the aftermath. He had arrived just in time to see the end... but not in time to change it.

He swallowed hard.

“If I wasn’t such a damn coward…” he continued, voice trembling beneath his rage, “maybe I could’ve told you how much you meant to me.”

His hand curled into a fist, knuckles white.

“Not just as a friend. More. Way more.”

The confession hung in the air, heavy and useless. The kind that came too late—too late for you to hear, too late to change anything.

“I waited too long. Thought there’d be time. Thought... you’d always be there.”

A sharp wind cut through the stillness, carrying with it the smell of rain. The clouds overhead began to gather, gray and swollen like his chest.

“I made it to Number One, just like we always said I would,” he whispered. “But it don’t feel like a win. Not without you.”

His fingers brushed over the name on the stone again.

“I’d trade it all just for you to steal my damn fries one more time.”

A raindrop landed on the stone. Then another. The sky mourned with him.

And still, Bakugou stayed there—unmoving, shoulders hunched—not as the Number One Hero, but as a boy who was too late.

...

a/n — i told myself i would not write angst ahahhah but here we are...I'm a sucker for a character who haunts the narrative JASDFNJFAD don't worry the next chapter of I'm fucked, arent I is coming up ehehhehe

Warnings — grammatical errors lol

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wosospacegirl · 2 months ago

Text

meva dona - my wife.

Summary: Y/n and Jana's secret marriage is revealed after an injury, leading to recovery and unexpected wedding plans.

Word count: 2k

Request <3

Masterlist

Y/n and Jana had practically grown up on the same pitches–both La Masia girls through and through.

Y/n debuted for the senior team at just sixteen, a prodigy in the midfield, and Jana joined her the following season. From the start, Y/n was taken under the wings of Alexia, Aitana, and Patri, who saw her as the future of the club.

Alongside them, there was always Ona, Bruna, Vicky and the rest of the La Masia girls, the tight-knit little group that had watched Y/n and Jana go from best friends to something more. Bruna had left Barcelona a few seasons ago, but they were still pretty much in contact.

Jana and Y/n bickered like an old married couple, finishing each other’s sentences. It even became a running joke in the locker room. “If they’re not already married, they might as well be.”

But today, they weren’t in the locker room. They were out on the pitch, facing Atlético Madrid.

The roar of the crowd at the stadium faded into a haunting silence suddenly, just as the ball was stolen from Y/n’s feet.

And then it happened, a tackle came in.

It was sharp, hard, and quick. The impact sent a shock through the girl’s body, alongside a cold rush of pain, and then everything stopped.

Y/n couldn't feel her leg. Her whole leg. Not even pain anymore.

She wanted to feel pain now, wanted to feel something on her shin, on her thigh, but nothing came.

There’s a panic rising in her chest, and her breath became sharp and shallow. Y/n’s vision flickers at the edges, but she was trying to force herself to stay conscious, trying not to let the rising panic take over.

But it didn’t happen.

"Y/n! Y/n!" Jana's voice cut through the pitch, but it was distant, almost muffled. Y/n tried to look up, but it was like her body was betraying her; she had to sink back, unable to keep herself upright.

The moment the medics rushed onto the pitch, Jana was already by her side. Her face was pale with worry, muttering Y/n’s name over and over, her hands trembling as she hovered by the stretcher.

“Ho sento, però no pots pujar a l’ambulància [Sorry, you can’t get in the ambulance.],” one of the medics said to Jana, his voice firm but gentle as another one held Jana’s hand, trying to keep her from getting inside.

“No, I’m going with her,” Jana said instantly.

Then, she felt a warm hand on her upper arm.

A warm hand found Jana’s upper arm.

“Estàs molt nerviosa i podries interferir, nena [You’re very agitated–it could make things more difficult, sweetheart]” Alexia said softly. “Wait with us, we’re following the ambulance, okay?”

Jana's hands trembled as she glanced over at the medics, but her gaze immediately shifted back to Y/n, lying helplessly on the stretcher.

“Però és la meva dona! [But she’s my wife],” Jana blurted out, her voice loud and clear in the tense air.

There’s a moment of stunned silence.

Every head on the pitch turned.

The team froze. Alexia started, mouth slightly open.

“Jana–què?” Alexia asked, her voice low. “What are you saying?”

The medic stood frozen, unsure how to respond, but Jana didn’t give up. She stepped closer, her voice trembling. “Y/n’s my wife. I’m not letting her go without me.”

The medics exchanged an uneasy glance, then one of them nodded. It was protocol–they couldn’t deny a legal family member.

Jana climbed into the ambulance quietly, leaving behind a very stunned—and very confused—Barça squad.

They weren’t sure if she was lying just to get in the ambulance or if it was real.

Y/n and Jana weren’t exactly a secret. They were very open about being together, a kind of it-couple in the Woso world. But married? That was completely new.

‘Weren't they a bit too young for this kind of commitment?’ The thought lingered in Alexia’s mind as she piled as many teammates as she could into her car and followed the ambulance.

Her mind raced. Jana…Y/n…married? She couldn’t wrap her head around it.

She and Jana had been close for years, but even she never suspected anything like this. They’d always had that young love dynamic, yes, but this? It wasn’t just a commitment…it was the commitment. She knew Jana was serious, but this… this was a whole other level.

‘But why hadn’t she told me?’ Alexia’s grip tightened on the steering wheel as she drove, the confusion and the tension grew inside of her.

When they arrived at the hospital, Jana sat silently in the waiting room, tears running down her cheeks.

“Oh, nena,” Alexia whispered, kneeling in front of her. Pina and Patri placed a comforting hand on her back.

“The medics said it looked worse than it is,” Alexia continued. “She was in shock. That’s why she looked so out of it, it’s okay.”

“Yes, it seemed serious, but nothing too dangerous,” Vicky added, her voice soft and a little shaky. “No organs or internal stuff.”

“She’s still in pain,” Jana murmured.

“She’s getting treatment, sí?” Alexia said gently. “It’s a good hospital. She has a long recovery ahead, but she’ll be okay.”

They let Jana cry until her eyes were dry.

Then, after a long silence, Vicky broke it.

“So… are we not going to talk about it?” he asked, her voice casual but curious.

Pina elbowed her in the side, and Vicky jumped, muttering a quick, “Ouch!”

“I’m just saying what everyone’s thinking!” Vicky defended, raising her hands in mock surrender.

Jana looked around at the faces of her teammates, all staring at her with a mixture of surprise, concern, and… expectation.

Her eyes flicked from one to the next, her heart pounding in her chest. The weight of their eyes felt heavy.

Jana sighed.

“Yes, it’s true,” she finally said, her voice soft but steady. She swallowed, her heart beating a little faster, but she didn’t look away from the team. “But I don’t want to talk about it. Not without Y/n.”

There was a pause, thick with anticipation. The room seemed to hold its breath as Jana’s words settled.

“She’s not ready,” Jana said, her voice low, but filled with a quiet intensity. “This wasn’t how we planned to share it with you all. It wasn’t about hiding, but... we needed it to be ours for a little while.”

The team fell into silence once more, but this time it was different. The pressure of their expectations, while still there, but it had softened.

The next three days are a whirlwind of hospital visits and concerned teammates. The moment Y/n was awake, everyone breathed in relief.

Y/n wasn’t in a coma or anything, but the pain meds kept her groggy. She could barely stay awake for more than a few minutes at a time–not surprising, considering she broke two bones in one go.

But as soon as Y/n was out of the danger zone, the questions began.

Jana and Y/n were both surrounded by their teammates, as Jana sat beside her, one hand gently squeezing Y/n’s, the other stroking her fingers.

Y/n weakly squeezed back, a faint smile tugging at her lips.

Alexia was the first. “Okay, so… when did this happen?”

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Vicky pouted. “I’m literally your best friend. I wanted to be maid of honour!”

Pina stands beside Alexia, her face with curiosity. “Did you guys really elope? You didn't even invite us?”

Ona crosses her arms, her expression somewhere between playful and confused. “And you kept it a secret for how long?”

Patri’s brow furrows as she gently presses a hand to Jana’s shoulder. “Why didn’t you tell us, Jana? We’re your family... and Y/n’s too.”

The truth was that they had eloped over the holiday break last month in Greece,it had been a private ceremony, just them and an official. A secret tucked away, far from the cameras.

They hadn’t planned to keep it forever. Just… a little longer. Long enough to enjoy it for themselves, to feel like just wife and wife, not Jana and Y/n, players of Barcelona and Spain.

Jana let out a shaky breath, her fingers still holding onto Y/n’s hand. "It wasn’t supposed to be anyone's business..." She looked at Y/n softly, almost as if she were asking for permission to speak.

Y/n gave a small nod, her head resting against the pillow, eyes fluttering closed.

“I’m sorry. We didn’t mean to hide it from you all... It’s just... it was very sudden and we wanted to keep it in between just us for a while–” Jana said.

“--We’ve been together since we were teenagers, and we’ve always been open about it. This was just… something we wanted to keep private. No media, no pressure. Just us…you know?”

“We didn’t think it was the right time to tell anyone... Especially with everything going on.” Y/n said, still dizzy from the medicine, feeling Jana holding her hand tighter now.

“It happened last month, during break,” Jana chimed in. “We were getting ready for the Champions League. The timing didn’t feel right to tell anyone.”

“We also didn’t want to make it a big deal.” Y/n said, giving them a faint smile; “But... I’m sorry too.”

There’s a heavy silence, the weight of the secret they kept hanging in the air.

“Okay, you two. As cute as it is that you wanted privacy, you’re family. No more hiding things like this. We want to be part of your lives.” Alexia’s voice cuts through the quiet, playful but firm.

The rest of the team nodded in agreement, but there was a teasing edge now.

“But when Y/n’s fully recovered, we want an actual wedding. With all of us there,” Aitana says from the corner of her room, her voice gentle. "You owe us that much."

Y/n laughs, the sound light and relieved, though she winces slightly from the pain in her leg. “Looks like I’ll be walking down the aisle with crutches. Doctor says it’ll be a year until I’m fully recovered.”

“Perfect,” Alexia grinned. “You’ve got one year to plan the best wedding in Barcelona.”

The team didn’t stay mad–not really. But the lectures kept coming. Alexia led the first one. Patri followed.

Then came more emotional blackmail from Vicky and Ona, who pulled the “We’re your family” card again and made Jana cry all over.

The teammates slowly left the room, teasing and laughing, but still showing their concern for the couple. The room eventually grew quiet, as the door clicked for the last time.

Jana sat beside Y/n, her hand gently resting on Y/n’s leg, not enough to hurt. She didn’t say anything for a moment, just let the silence settle between them. Comforting.

“You’re not mad, are you?” Her tone was soft, almost unsure. “That it came out?”

Jana shook her head and leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to Y/n’s forehead. “I’m not mad,” she whispered. “Just… tired. a long day for us. I just…don’t know why we didn’t tell them sooner–it seems so silly now.”

Y/n smiled, taking Jana’s hand in hers, her thumb gently brushing over her fingers. “We had our time,” Y/n said. “Do you want to keep it just in between the team? Or like…make it official? Like the media and all that?”

“We’ll do it when you’re ready,” Jana said, leaning in closer to kiss her softly. “For now, just rest. We have plenty of time to think about how we're gonna deal with it.”

“Just so you know,” Y/n said playfully, “I’ll be the one in recovery, but I won’t be planning this wedding alone.”

“I wouldn’t dream of letting you do it by yourself,” Jana laughed. “You remember when we were fifteen and you said you wanted a teal dress at our wedding?”

“Oh please, like you weren’t the one who wanted to wear boots with your dress! Boots!” Y/n replied, grinning.

“Hey, don’t say that!” Jana protested. “I still want to. It’d be Vogue cover material, I’m telling you.”

“Well, I’m cancelling the wedding right now,” Y/n teased, rolling her eyes dramatically.

a/n: spent part of my afternoon writing this little thing, hope you guys liked it <3

Feedback is very much appreciated <3

#woso fanfic #woso x reader #jana fernandez #jana fernandez fanfic #jana fernández x reader #jana fernández x yn #wlw writing #wlw fanfic

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