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vxlentinescookies · 17 hours ago

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Ajax listen,,,,listen to me Ajax-

Self Aware AU, where the cookies come to the player's/reader's world. Pick whichever characters you wanna include, I just need to see this 🙏

→ ❛Part of your world❜

→ Characters ; Longan Dragon Cookie, Burning Spice Cookie, Shadow Milk Cookie, Timekeeper Cookie & Millennial Tree Cookie → Quote ; ❛❛If someone came to you and told you “One day you’ll have those who you love the most in the palm of your hand”, well… you never thought that’d become true, nor that it’d be a metaphor…❜❜ → Genre ; Headcanons/Drabble → A/N ; This took me a whole ass night to make and 2500+ words to finish, I hope you like it /lh

Longan Dragon Cookie

“How quaint… to believe someone like you lives in such a… small place”

Having Longan Dragon in your home was… curious to say the least. Not something you expected, yet here you were, with a dragon looking at you as they squatted in your bedroom.

Longan would be hypercritical of the place you lived, noting things like “This looks cheap” or “Its far too small”

Despite that, Longan would be quite intrigued in your life, wanting to see how you worked or what you did, they’d follow you around when not sitting in your living room and meditating.

Nevertheless, they’re there for a reason, they’re with you for a reason, and they’ll make that reason known very, very soon.

It’d take Longan a few months, but eventually, they would come to sit by your side at the table, not sitting down on a chair but instead, sitting down by your side quite literally. They’d stare at you for long moments before finally leaning their head on your shoulder, the weight catching you off guard as you looked at them.

“... I’ll make sure you live like you deserve one of these days” They’d say, and in that moment, you understood why there had been so many disappearances of delinquents and robbers nearby…

If you’re wondering what they’d do in your world, then…

One of the few favorite activities of Longan was to read, so much so, that you had to request books from the library more often than not, but with the way Longan was reading them… It had just been a few months, and yet this dragon had consumed almost all of your local library’s books. So, when they finished reading most of your books, they’d chose to write them. And they’d write about what they saw, about everything they had seen around them, everything they had seen in this new world, and in some sense, it was intriguing to see how a dragon explored the new world they were in, the little things that werent intriguing to you were greatly important to them, in a way that got you even more intrigued by how they saw you.

“... You want to know how I see you?” They’d ask.

You knew fully well that you shouldnt expect much, after all, this was Longan Dragon we were talking about, they werent a kind dragon, they saw cookies as lesser beings, and humans now by extensions, but as you asked them that question, they’d only smile and pat your head softly.

“You’re the reason Im here… Of course I would think highly of you”

A genuine smile, it made your heart flutter as they spoke, a hand going to cup your chin in it.

“You’re interesting, perhaps, one of the most interesting things I’ve seen in this world.”

Besides writing, they’d follow you around and take note of everything you’d do… And by night, they’d curl by your side, taking most of the bed as they allow you to take rest in their chest, as they allow you to take rest in their breaths while their hands thread on your hair.

Burning Spice Cookie

“How intriguing…! Never would I have expected your home to be so… so… erm…”

Another one who seems to heavily judge your house, but also, another one who appears in your home kneeling because it is so small compared to him.

Either way, he gets eased into the ambient quite easily, his search for entertainment leading him to see through everything and all the world has to offer.

Until he… gets bored, again, because your world isnt as different from his (and in some sense, it is… actually… more boring than his old world…)

So, he moves to the next thing closest to him for entertainment!

“Little one, come here”

He’d call forward to you once, looking at you with dark yet fiery eyes and an everlasting smile, though you knew this once it hid something, after all, despite him coming to your world for x or y reason, it involved you, it always involved you…

“Entertain me” Would be his words once you approached him, his smile becoming only more cryptic as you lifted an eyebrow at his voice. Entertain, him? In what sense or way would you be able to entertain someone akin to a god?

Seeming to sense your doubt, Burning Spice would only come and hold you from your shirt, lifting you up before staring at you and then…

“Hahahah, you should’ve looked at your face, you really are an interesting one!”

If you’re wondering what he’d do in your world, then…

Besides seeking something for entertainment, Burning spice is in some sense able to somewhat pass through the crowd, and by that I mean he can somewhat pass as just a very tall human. Nonetheless, between choosing to hit the gym and sending you pictures, he’ll also follow you around, finding even the most monotonous tasks fairly entertaining if it has you in it. Its a weird combo, being outside with a dude in a hoodie and sweat pants following you around while doing groceries, or being in the metro and getting a fairly nice picture of him flexing for you. Burning spice is a menace…

“Aye, welcome home! I took care of some pesky people while you were gone… It was fun hearing their screams…”

…in far more ways than one.

Either way, you two also share a bed, its not like you have a choice with how clingy he can become when sleeping, pulling you in his arms in a heated hug (in the sense that he literally irradiates heat) while snoring loudly, you’ve gotten complaints from neighbors (if you live in an apartment), but somehow… they’ve… they’ve quieted down recently… However, when you ask Burning Spice, he just laughs it off.

Shadow Milk Cookie

“Woowee, what do we have here, sweetheart?”

Not as judgemental of your home, no, for once someone isnt as focused on where you live but…

He is focused on you, looking at you up and down, before hitting his head on the roof of your room, ouch!

He spends most of the days following you around though, using his magic to stay hidden from most people, so much that people may find you crazy for seeing you talk to… nothing!

Either way, much like the others, he’s there for a reason…

“Why Im here?”

You asked Shadow Milk once, after a good few months, what the jester had come to do in your own home. In fact, it perplexed you so much that when you asked him, the feeling seemed to be shared. It was… intriguing to say the least, but he’d only smile before clasping his hands together and saying in a song-esque tune.

“Becuase you’re sooooooooooo interesting, darlin! Just look at you, how could I NOT come here with you?”

Truth to be told, he saw you as who you really were, in some sense he saw you as someone who didnt fall for lies easily, he saw you as someone who saw beyond that and you were… interesting. You were a shot in the dark, and he just had, to have you near.

“You’re so silly, darlin, sososososo silly” He’d add in, patting your head softly as you only smiled and blushed slightly, even while knowing his smile and gaze hid a million of thoughts, and a million of even more ideas.

If you’re wondering what he’d do in your world, then…

When not reading around in your home, or following you to the library to read some books, he’d be looking over your shoulder, reading every single note, watching every single thing you do, it makes him curious, how someone so quaint has him wrapped around your finger. And yet, he cant help but smile at the idea of being just like that, wrapped around your finger in a sweet loving embrace.

He’d be the most romantic of the bunch, the one that makes it the most prominent that he’s there with you because he likes you, he dosent even hide it fully despite his jester-esque persona, he just cant hide it! So, when you ask him about what he was doing one day in the balcony of your apartment, he’d only turn and smile softly.

“Why, I'm recreating one of your world’s theatre plays!” He’d say, and you make a mental note to go to the theatre more often… “And you’ve come just in time, silly (y/n)! I need someone to play dearest Juliet!”

You add that it is a tragic love story, and he only brushes it off, adding in that “actors are actors, sweetheart, now come in and act!” so you do, and you have a fun time doing a monologue to a bunch of people who stay and watch, before claps fill the air.

And when time comes to bed, he’ll be the first to curl up in your bed, curl like a cat who welcomes you into his arms so sweetly, you feel the scent of milk, lactonic as it is, and for once you feel safe.

Timekeeper Cookie

“Well, look what we have here!”

To find Timekeeper in your home means to have done something either right or wrong. In your case, its right.

They’re very much curious about everything from the things you do on a daily basis to your home and how electronics work.

Still, and much like some others in this list, they become quickly bored about it, choosing to focus on you as main form of entertainment

Still, you can expect certain shenanigans to ensue.

It was late at night when it happened, just as you were playing when a portal opened and dragged you inside of it. You were scared shitless that much is true but, when you saw the person who dragged you in, you simply could sigh in slight annoyance.

“What? Cant I drag my favorite person in for some fun?” They’d say with that ever present smile, Timekeeper chuckling as she smiled widely at you, before noticing… “Oh, right, it is night where you’re from, guess I took you out at the wrong time!”

You huffed and yawned, before sitting up and looking at your phone… Right, it didnt exactly work when in time rifts, but then again that raised the question, why did they bring you here to begin with? As if being presented with the question loud and clear, they’d clear her throat and speak yet again.

“I simply wanted to see you, nothing wrong with that now?” They’d say quite mischievously, picking you up and bringing you into her lap “Go on, lets- Hm?”

You’d fall asleep into her arms as soon as she picked you up, your calm quiet face being shown to her as you were held in her arms. Well, guess fun had to wait.

If you’re wondering what they’d do in your world, then…

Much like the others, they also enjoy reading, however, they focus on reading about engineering and mechanics, more so about the mechanics of your world to see if they’re any different from the ones of her world. To say there isnt much difference is but an understatement, there was a hefty amount of difference counting the technology from the TBD was far more advanced, but, even then, you’d be able to get the timekeeper intrigued by the nature of your world.

“Tell me more about your world, c’mon!” They’d ask one day, floating from a time rift as you cooked dinner.

Unlike the others Timekeeper wasnt keen on staying in one place, still finding comfort in being inside time rifts most of the time, though they still visited you more often than not, more often than other places. Seeing them you’d ask her what she wanted to know, to which she’d hum before saying.

“Anything, I dont really find it entertaining seeing it myself—Explain your world to me yourself, doll!”

So when night comes after a long day chatting, it is you who clings to her softly, as she watches you sleep cozily by her side. She smiles and pats your head, because as much as she’d prefer to fade into a time rift, she knows she cant let you go so easily, no. Not when you finally showed her happiness.

“Interesting, this place is… quite interesting…”

Seeing someone as tall as Millennial Tree in your home is but a piece of the whole puzzle. You are dumbfounded but in some sense, seeing them kneel to greet you is almost laughable.

He’s big, very tall and a gentle giant overall, and it shows when he holds your hand and tells you that your world is interesting to him.

He’s just as curious as everyone else, looking at everything, looking at everyone, he’s curious about you, curious about your world, yet he knows it’d be dangerous to leave on his own.

So, you take him to the forest, planing on leaving him go but…

“I dont want to leave you alone…”

He’d speak with conviction, looking at you as your eyes widened and your face dropped. Just what you feared would happen. He’d hold your hands together, looking at you with some concern before smiling softly, kissing both of your palms.

“I came here for a reason, that much I know, and I know that reason is within you… Allow me to stay by your side, and I’ll do everything in my power to make it worth it.”

You have no power in you to say no, to turn down his offer after his gentle and sweet words, that day you realized that perhaps he did come to your world for a reason, a world so clad in evil and pain…

If you’re wondering what he’d do in your world, then…

When not travelling nor reading, he’s at home with you, cooking or revisiting each place he has gone to to help. He’s become… a sort of Messiah, you cant help it, become public enemy no.1 to some, and a savior to others, it truly depended on who you were asking. Your gaze would follow his as he trailed on a book you both were reading before he’d lean and kiss your forehead, things were… easy, happy with him there… You felt much happier.

“Is something the matter, sapling?” He’d ask, his gentleness carrying over to his voice as he hummed at your words saying it was nothing, but he knew better, still, he wouldnt push. “Are you perhaps tired?”

You pouted slightly before nodding, yes, you were quite tired, but you didnt want to admit to it. Still, he’d nod before moving the book to the side and lifting you into his arms. He’d carry you to your shared bedroom, careful on his way there before setting you on the bed with him, cozily, softly, carrying you to him as he pressed his lips on your forehead and your body to his.

“Sleep well, sunshine” He’d say, brushing hairs off your face before speaking again “Thank you for accepting me into your world…”

Honestly, how could you not at this point? With that thought in your head… You fell asleep.

#🌙;stellar headcanons #🌙;moonlit dreams #⭐; Self Aware AU #longan dragon cookie x reader #burning spice cookie x reader #shadow milk cookie x reader #timekeeper cookie x reader #millennial tree cookie x reader #cookie run x reader #cookie run kingdom x reader #crk x reader #cookie run ovenbreak x reader #crob x reader

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thegreatstoryteller · 2 days ago

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Female to Male Fridays!

The Great Shift: Meeting the Parents

“Are you sure you’re ok with this? We can still head home.” Jenny muttered. Clearly a bit nervous staring down at her boyfriend.

“Babe. It’s been almost a year since the Great Shift. I told you. Just because I’m unshifted, doesn’t mean I don’t want to meet your parents.” Youseff said smiling.

Jen and Youseff had met in their freshman year of college and immediately became close. They joined similar clubs, volunteered at the same food banks, and eventually friendship blossomed into romance one fateful summer night! The couple knew nothing could get between them and the love that they found… and a few years later that included the Great Shift. While Youseff remained unshifted, Jen Shale wasn’t so lucky.

They had agreed to meet at her sorority when the craziness of the Shift happened. Youseff was more than a bit surprised to find a larger older man in his 40s sitting nervously on Jen’s bed waiting for him! Since then many revelations have been shared with the couple. The first was Youseff coming out to his girlfriend as bi! He never had the courage to say it before and didn’t know how to share that part of his life with his girlfriend, but the shift offered a unique chance that worked out well with the couple. Two. Jen realized she was in a sports medicine professor who was quite in shape! He apparently was father to three student athletes on campus… and luckily her feelings for her boyfriend hadn’t wavered from the shift. A fact that they both enjoyed learning the first week of the Great Shift. Eventually the two became more comfortable with each other even buying a pair of matching pajamas!

It took quite some time for the world to get back in order. During that entire time communications were able to be set up with most families. Youseff’s family had many linear shifts, a term used by most of the world when your shift put you into someone very similar to your original body. His dad was a man his own age. His mother was a woman a few years younger than her. The only difference was his younger brother who now keeps telling Youseff to call him the bigger brother when he shifted into a former professional athlete.

Jen’s family… was another story.

“And that brings us to today. Jen. I’m serious. I want to meet them. I know you’ve talked to them, but I haven’t. And when they invited us over for the holidays I thought it’d be the best chance to get to know them.” Youseff said hopefully, placing a hand against Jen’s cheek and training the thick salt and pepper stubble that was ever present no matter how close she shaved.

“I know- I know… but I told you before the shift that they were a bit much… and, well, now since the shift… they are still that! I guess… just… more…” Jen muttered nervously. A feat she seemed to still master despite her new commanding baritone.

“They can’t be that bad.” Youseff said before knocking. And that’s when they heard heavy steps approaching the door.

A handsome muscular man answered the door! He wore long pink dishwashing gloves and an apron! Aside from that he seemed to be wearing nothing else. The small potted flower he held seemed to be thriving!

“You must be Youseff! Jen has told us so much about you! Come in! Come in! I was just washing some dishes and watering the kitchen plants! We’re so glad to meet you. You can call me Margot! I’m Jen’s mother, or rather her second father!” Margot laughed. The man before them had a deep voice and almost a bro like tone. The motherly introduction he gave at odds with his gym bro form.

“You must be hungry! I’ve been making lots of food these days. This young man I became had quite the appetite. And who could blame him. I’ve felt the urge to go to the gym almost every day of the week! Anyway, I just keep blabbering away! Have a mini quiche!” Margot led them to the living room where a small plate of appetizers awaited them.

“Wow, these are amazing Margot!” Youseff said digging in. I always wondered where Jen got her amazing cooking skills from.

“Awww! Jen! You didn’t mention your man was a little charmer.” Margot giggled as Jen blushed.

“Mooom! Stop! You’re embarrassing me!” Jen complained burying her fuzzy face in her large hands. Her mom was always like this. If it wasn’t telling embarrassing stories about Jen, it was finding an excuse to show off her body. Ever since Margot got her new body she had been more than happy to show it off. She would say, “Well this young man clearly wanted to show off his muscles, who am I to cover them up!”. So bouncing around the house in her classic apron was just the way she dressed these days.

“Shush Jen. My little girl will never be too old for a little humor. Just because you have more grays on that head of yours than your father did pre shift, doesn’t mean you can’t laugh a little.” Margot teased.

“Speaking of where is Mr. Shale? Youseff asked.

“Well he’s always in the garage these days. When he got that 20 year old gymnast’s body, he’d become obsessed with the sport! I’ve got some biscuits to take out of the oven. You two should check on him.” Margot offered.

“Anything to get out of this conversation.” Jen groaned pulling Youseff towards the side of their home. As they opened the door to the garage they could see a handsome black man flexing in the mirror, wearing a tight singlet. The chalk on his hands implying a recent gymnastics routine.

“Jen! There’s my little girl turned big man!” Her dad said cutting his flexing short and heading towards Jen. Mr. Shale now was the shortest one in the family at 5’1. With his daughter at 6’0 and his wife at 5’10, the household tended to tower over him. However, he was more than happy with his new body.

“Hey dad, enjoying your gymnastics or whatever?” Jen half heartedly asked.

“Yes I am! I tell ya, being a few decades younger is great! Sure beats my beer belly and sore ankles. A 20 year old body like this is flexible. You can ask your mother if you don’t believe me.” Mr. Shale winked.

“Dad! Oh my gosh! NO! I brought Youseff here! Please don’t gross him out.” Jen screamed.

“Oh so this is the young man that’s caught my daughter’s eye. You can address me as Mr. Shale or sir. DO I make myself clear?” Mr. Shale looked up at Youseff who just nodded. Despite the size difference between them Youseff was clearly intimidated by his dad-like tone.

“Yes sir!”

“Good man. I guess I have you to thank for helping our dear Jen finally get some more manly clothes? For some reason she didn’t want my help with a new wardrobe.” Mr. Shale shook his head disappointed.

“Yeah! We actually had a lot of fun going to the store and finding clothes that fit. The toughest part was finding shoes in her new size.” Youseff conceded.

“Youseff!” Jen blushed. She knew it was true. With her larger feet, she realized just how difficult it was to find footwear that fit. The largest most places went up to was size 15. Her now size 18 feet were tough to find anywhere!

“Sorry babe, but it’s true. Plus you said you had a great time shopping. Like old times, remember? You said that you weren’t sure we’d find a single pair, but when we went to the Big and Tall store, they had a few shoes your size! Even sandals!” Youseff explained.

Jen just shook as her dad applauded Youseff’s resourcefulness!

Before long the family was finally all together to share a meal! Jen’s parents were loving her boyfriend, though he could see that she was clearly embarrassed throughout the whole dinner.

By the time they left Youseff was driving them back to their apartment, where he asked. “Jen? Are you alright? I… I’m guessing that night wasn’t the most pleasant for you?”

Jen just nodded and hugged her boyfriend. Her broad frame embracing him with a tight squeeze. “My parents just take a lot out of me. Before the shift they were overbearing in a different way and now… well now they are always just so comfortable in their new bodies! My mom started going to the gym almost every day with her old book club. Each of them became some kind of fitness influencer. And my dad! He won’t stop telling me how proud he is to have a son now and that I need to start acting more manly. I don’t get how they can be so well adjusted to all this! I… I thought I was getting there. With you… being this kind of man feels easy. Even more exciting at times too.”

“I do love your mustache.” Youseff noted, causing Jen to giggle.

“See. It’s stuff like that. You always make me feel like your partner… and… I guess I need more time before I start feeling like a member of my own family again and not some older hairy guy.” Jen admitted.

Youseff kissed her cheek. “I’m sorry I insisted we meet them so soon. I was so ready to take our relationship further and I was so nervous to meet them. But I forgot to consider how you were feeling about your parents. From now on, we can just focus on us.”

“I like that plan.” Jen smiled kissing back.

“Good. Maybe we can start with a pedicure tomorrow. I know you’ve been itching to try that out with your big new feet.” Youseff teased.

“Ha! These big new feet would love to get a pedicure. Maybe a foot massage later too!” Jen smiled, wiggling her big toes. When she was with Youseff she realized, maybe she could get used to this big body.

#female to male #body swap #gender change #the great shift #great shift

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honeyedfate · 1 day ago

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kiss her you fool | 심재윤

pairing. jake sim x idol!gf!reader

as if accidentally convincing both of your fans on several occasions that you two hate each other wasn’t enough, jake had to go ahead and mumble some sleepily ambiguous words on a weverse live and involve the whole internet. to salvage whatever shreds are left of the plan, you are to attend a baseball game together.

genre. fluff

a/n. the third & last part to loverboy is here!! sorry for the wait i wrote 4 different drafts until i settled on this one lol enjoy!! xx

[ › first part ] [ › second part ]

jake is a chill guy. he’s cool-headed, efficient, steady under pressure, always on the side of healthy optimism. that’s the story he sells to others—and to himself. but deep down, he knows he might be a bit of a fraud. worse, he can feel it.

his hands are drenched in sweat as they clench and unclench inside his pockets, chasing an old gum wrapper around to distract himself. the tag of his shirt pokes at his neck, making him want to barbarically tear off his clothes in front of thousands of baseball fans.

but instead, he dutifully follows you through row upon row of seats and keeps his gaze on the back of your head.

so, yes. jake is a very chill guy.

you keep glancing back at him, the lower half of your face obscured by a black mask. still, he knows you’re flashing him reassuring smiles, and he feels bad for how nervous he is. if he’s not staring at you, his eyes are darting around, scanning his surroundings like one of the baseball players warming up in the field might suddenly climb the walls and come for him.

“i think these are it,” you say, glancing at your tickets before sliding them into your back pocket.

jake wordlessly takes the seat next to you, adjusting his cap to shield as much of his face as possible. he knows it’s futile—staying hidden is the exact opposite of why he’s here, but habits die screaming, or something like that.

his shoulders tense for a split second at the touch of your hand on his thigh, and guilt gnaws at him when you pull away almost instantly. he meets your eyes and musters a smile. not that you can see it beneath his matching mask.

“we can leave any time,” you say in a soft tone, looking at him from under your lashes. “i don’t care what the plan is. if you’re uncomfortable, we can ditch this whole thing and get ramen at cu.”

jake’s heart swells, wanting nothing more than to do exactly that, but he knows it’s his fault you’re in this situation in the first place. well, for the most part. he can’t tell you that, though. he knows you will just dispute it until he starts believing it himself, and that would only prove to him once again that his backbone inevitably snaps in the face of a pretty girl.

no matter that it’s his pretty girl, and he’d do anything for you anyway. breaking his spine included. the fact remains—he ran his mouth on live, so now he’s got to face the consequences.

swallowing the lump in his throat, he shakes his head and threads his fingers through yours, tucking both hands into the pocket of his jacket.

jake grins. “no, this is fun.” you send him a flat look, but he just nods towards the field. “i’ve never been to a baseball game. now we can take it off our bucket list.”

“sure,” you say, sounding wryly amused. “we don’t have a bucket list but at least now we’ve got something to cross off. i’ve also always wanted to be on the kiss cam. guess it’s our lucky day.”

“lucky us,” jake says, his lips curling as he feels your hand squeeze his. he casts a glance around, then leans forward, swiftly pulling both of your masks down with one hand. it’s a brief kiss, just a soft peck that’s a bit inconvenient since both of you are wearing hats, forcing him to tilt his head. but when he pulls back, he sees the way you’re chasing after his lips, eyes still closed, and goes just a little insane.

you look entirely too pretty to leave it at just one kiss. you deserve all the kisses in the world, actually, so he captures your lips again, tasting the cherry gloss he bought you last week because he likes it a little too much. it’s the same one you wore on your first date together.

jake’s lips brush against yours once more, deeper and a bit slower this time as if savouring the moment. you sigh into the kiss and pull back to catch your breath, your lips lingering just above his. your eyes are still closed, but jake doesn’t mind one bit, taking the moment to let his gaze wander over every single feature of yours that he knows by heart. and would you look at that? suddenly, he couldn’t care less that he’s sitting in a huge stadium.

you tear your gaze away from his lopsided grin. “let’s save some of this for later, yeah?” you say, and jake is not ashamed of the groan rumbling in the back of his throat as he hides his face in the crook of your shoulder. how else is a man supposed to act when your lips look so plumb and kissable, and your voice sounds like that? hopeless.

you’re looking at him, a smile tugging at your lips when you notice an older lady a few rows down elbowing the person next to her, gesturing not-so-subtly at the two of you. under your breath, you mumble, “the ahjummas down there are looking at us.”

jake leans back, glancing at them from the corner of his eye before lifting a shoulder in a half-shrug. “can you blame them? we’re not exactly hard to look at.”

“your modesty astonishes me,” you say, sounding unimpressed.

jake raises an eyebrow and leans forward on his knees, a smirk tugging at his lips. “we’d make beautiful babies, and you know it.”

you snort, shaking your head. “that’s what ni-ki said this morning. something about sacrificing himself for his future nephews and nieces because at least he knows they’ll be cute. i’m still not sure what he meant by that.”

jake cocks his head and pokes your side when you playfully mirror him. “he came down this morning when yuki was talking to us in the kitchen,” jake says, shifting in his seat.

he grimaces as he remembers the conversation with jungwon who was basically a zombie at that hour after having to stay up late as a consequence of jake’s faux pas on weverse. “ni-ki said he was going to take care of this for us. i didn’t know what he meant at first, but then sunghoon sent me a screenshot of what ni-ki posted on weverse. it was a selfie of him, facing the other way so his left side was showing.”

“wait, seriously?” your eyebrows shoot up, and jake nods, a small smirk tugging at his lips.

“yep. he called himself a martyr in the group chat. said he was taking one for the team.”

you gasp dramatically, holding a hand to your chest. “a martyr? for us? what’s next, a shrine in the dorm?”

jake laughs, clearly entertained by your idea. “i mean, we could probably arrange one. heeseung’s room is big enough to fit ten.”

you let out a small laugh, shaking your head. “that’s… actually true. but did it work?”

jake bites his lip, glancing at his phone. “i haven’t checked yet, but sunoo sent me a text earlier. apparently, engenes are seeing right through it.”

“what are they saying?” you ask, genuinely curious.

“they’re saying belift gave up ni-ki for damage control,” jake chuckles.

before you can say anything in response, your phone vibrates, the sudden buzz pulling your attention away. you reach for it, ignoring jake’s whiny protests as you untangle your hand from his. “hello?”

jake pouts and scoots closer, pressing his ear against the backside of your phone. you roll your eyes and click the side button to turn the volume up, letting him hear the voice on the other end, your manager’s. “…are you in your seats?”

you hum and nod, nearly knocking jake’s hat off with the movement. “yea, we’re here. we got here a bit early, so there are still a few empty seats. but the game should be starting soon. what’s up? did something happen?”

“well,” your manager says, her tone uncertain, and jake’s heart drops. “about half an hour ago, minjun posted the dance challenge you and jake filmed for their tiktok. it…er, seemed to stir up a bit more of a reaction than we expected…again.”

you exchange a confused glance with jake. nothing about the videos seemed off—he’d double-checked, paranoid he might’ve accidentally done something ridiculous again, like giving you a lap dance or declaring his undying love on camera.

filming those two dance challenges had already been an ordeal. the pr team was relentless, adamant on pushing you and jake to drop as many microscopic hints as possible to suggest something was going on between you two, but it was so painfully awkward that you ended up with enough unusable footage to last a month.

jake had been a giggling mess the entire time, finding it all so silly, like he was on some overly scripted dating show. you, on the other hand, couldn’t stop tripping over your own feet, bumping into him more times than he could count. at least you managed to do it on beat.

regardless, even though filming the final video had been a struggle, it was ready to go. jake had made sure of that.

it was just another dance challenge, he thinks to himself, trying to push aside the unease creeping up. whatever’s going on now, it’s gotta be grey sweater guy’s fault.

“what do you mean?” your voice brings him back, your curiosity clear. “we didn’t do anything…right?”

“well,” your manager says again, clearing her throat. “since we couldn’t really get any dance footage of you acting like, you know, an actual couple—”

jake snorts.

“—minjun ended up keeping the last few seconds of a video when he posted it to the enhypen tiktok page. he didn’t give us a heads-up before doing it.”

your eyes widen as you send a quick look in jake’s way. “is he going to get in trouble?” you say into the phone, and jake pulls a funny face. is that what he was supposed to feel? concern? apparently, he likes the guy even less than he thought.

“that’s the thing,” your manager goes on. “everyone seems to like it?” she sounds quite surprised about it herself, and jake has to strain his neck to make sure he heard correctly.

“everyone?” he echoes in disbelief, and you nudge him when he inches impossibly closer, practically climbing onto your lap.

“what do you mean everyone?” you ask as jake moves back a little. “what were we doing?”

your manager lets out a long sigh, as if hoping you wouldn’t ask. “after you left for the game, minju and some of the others decided to go through the videos again, hoping to find something a bit more exciting. they ended up finding one where you two were dancing really well—everything was clean, no one was falling or laughing, and the chemistry wasn’t too forced.”

she pauses, and you can hear her shifting slightly. “but then, right at the end, you trip over your feet and… well, you kind of just leave the frame.”

jake frowns, meeting your puzzled gaze. you had filmed so many different versions, they have all blended into a nightmarish concoction of blurred memories, making it hard to recall which one she means. “i leave the frame and then what?”

the silence stretches on for a beat, and jake feels a spark of irritation bubbling up at the theatrics. horrified, he starts to wonder if he’s accidentally flashed the whole world and didn’t even realise.

“the entire thing only lasts two seconds, but you stumble, jake rushes after you, and you both end up out of frame—but we can still see part of it because of the mirrors. jake has his arms around you as you both tumble to the floor, laughing.” she says in a matter-of-fact tone, then adds quietly, “minjun removed the music at the end, so you can hear the laughter.”

jake doesn’t even know how to respond. sure, the company can post whatever they want of him, but they usually don’t. there’s an unspoken rule of decency and respect among the team, and he’s at least asked before anything goes up. this? this is just wrong.

he doesn’t realise that you’re voicing his exact thoughts into the phone until a loud cheer ripples through the crowd. a woman he’s seen on tv before appears on the big screen over the baseball field. she’s offering some welcoming words, and jake figures the match must be starting soon.

“—he’s lucky people are receiving it well, but he has to know that it’s not okay to just post that without our knowledge or consent,” you say, your voice tinged with more disappointment than frustration.

“i know, trust me. yuki and i made sure any future genius moves from him go through us—and you two—first. i know you're not mad, just…" she sighs, papers shuffling. “look, almost 80% of the comments are positive, calling you a cute, good-looking couple and all that. the rest are either in denial or upset, but it doesn’t matter. more people are for it than against it, so just enjoy the game. you don’t have to go through with what we discussed if you don’t want to. things are looking good, y/n.”

jake doesn’t pay attention to the rest of the conversation, having heard enough. he leans back, resting a hand on the back of your seat and absentmindedly draws circles onto your skin.

you mutter something into the phone and end the call, melting into jake’s side with a sigh. he coos, pulling you closer, and presses a kiss to the top of your hat while humming. “you know what?” he says quietly.

“what?” your voice is muffled as you rub a hand over your face, looking up at him.

he grins. "at least they’re also calling us a cute and good-looking couple. ni-ki will be a proud uncle to our gorgeous kids.”

you can’t help but laugh, hiding your face in his chest and, at once, jake finds it hard to be bothered by anything happening on the internet or even outside this stadium. he has you in his arms and the rest of the afternoon off to enjoy a baseball game. what concerns could he possibly have?

soon after, the players file out onto the field, and the match begins. both of you end up having a lot more fun than expected, and jake briefly leaves to go grab some food and drinks.

he’s walking back up the stairs, looking for you and not even avoiding eye contact with people around like he did before. right now, he’s just a guy hugging two cups of soda and a pile of snacks to his chest, wandering the rows in search of his girlfriend.

he must look as lost as he feels because someone suddenly taps him on the arm. looking down, he sees the two older women from before. they’re grinning up at him, and jake hesitantly returns the smile, realising a moment too late that they can’t see it due to his mask.

“you’re three rows up, darling,” the woman on the left with the big, blue-framed glasses says, nodding over her shoulder and vaguely gesturing to where you’re sitting. his face lights up when your eyes meet, and you raise a hand to wave at him. he thanks them and makes to walk up the stairs when she stops him, placing a hand on his arm.

a small voice in the back of his head screams ‘stranger danger’ in capital letters at him, but he brushes it aside, trying to figure out what she could possibly want and whether that might be his kidney or one of the napkins he’s holding.

“you have a very beautiful girlfriend,” she says in that ambiguous, sage voice that the elderly have, and he’s caught off guard. not due to the voice, of course, but the mention of you. jake blinks, processing her words before nodding slowly.

“she’s not, erm, i mean, of course, she’s—”

the woman in the green cardigan laughs delightfully, eyes twinkling with amusement. “sweetie, breathe. we’re not the cia. you can talk about your girlfriend. in fact, you should. it keeps you both young.”

jake is too stunned to muster a reply. he eyes them carefully, wondering if this is a weird interaction or if he’s just never talked about you to anyone before. a second later, he realises—he really hasn’t. not to a stranger, not to anyone.

the thought repeats in his head, looping like a broken record. he’s never talked about you to anyone. and yet, it feels like praises about you live right on the tip of his tongue, like they’ve always been there, just waiting for an opening. so he tries it out. “her heart is even more beautiful,” he says shyly, testing the words, rolling them over like he’s trying to get a feel for them. “which is near impossible but she somehow makes it work.”

it feels weird, to be honest. like he’s revealing a well-buried national secret and endangering the country. the two women share a meaningful glance that doesn’t go unnoticed by him. his stomach twists. jake’s gaze flickers toward you, and an overwhelming wave of emotions crashes over him.

it’s more obvious now than ever. jake is stupidly in love with you. so much so that he has made an utter fool of himself time and time again in the name of keeping you a secret. like love could be something silent, something that exists in the shadows without growing restless. like it wouldn’t claw at the walls of his chest, begging to be let out.

he truly did think loving you quietly would make him feel better about everything. safer. less exposed. but now, faced with the weight of his own realisation, he sees how wrong he’d been. what was the point of all that caution if it only made him feel like this—like he’s been holding his breath for months, maybe even years?

now, he’s given the chance to do the complete opposite. and for the first time, he wants to take it. he wants to love you loudly, unapologetically. because it’s what you deserve. because it’s what he wants.

he exhales, glancing back at you. you’re focused on your phone, scrolling through something with a tiny crease between your brows. probably checking the responses to the tiktok, probably making sure minjun hasn’t ruined both your careers. always so careful, so thoughtful.

“she’s… incredible,” he says, the words tumbling out before he can second-guess them. but they feel right, sitting on his tongue like they belong there. he doesn’t need to say more than that. doesn’t need to explain how you always make people feel comfortable, how you remember the smallest details about everyone you meet, how you laugh with your whole body like it’s the first time you’ve ever found something funny.

the women smile knowingly, and jake lets out a soft breath, something inside him settling.

“i’m very lucky.”

“she’s lucky, too,” the green cardigan woman says, her voice warm. “treat each other well, yes? a love like yours is rare. don’t do it the dishonour of keeping it in the shadows.”

jake lets out a small, breathy laugh, caught somewhere between flustered and amused. he ducks his head, rubbing the back of his neck, then nods—not just out of politeness, but because he hears her. really hears her.

the woman gives his arm a gentle pat before turning back to her friend, their conversation shifting elsewhere. jake exhales, then moves, crossing the distance between you in quick strides, taking the steps two at a time.

“should i be jealous?” you greet him with a teasing smile, taking the snacks from his arms.

he snorts. “they were just being nice. said you’re beautiful, by the way, and something about…” he hesitates, eyes flicking toward the field. “well, just… nice things.”

you watch him for a second, noticing the shift in his expression. but you don’t press, just shrugging it off and pulling down one side of your mask to take a bite of your corndog. your gaze drifts back to the cheer team as they work the crowd, the energy in the stadium picking up.

jake tries to focus, eyes darting to the blur of blue as cheerleaders and fans break into coordinated moves. but his mind keeps wandering back to what he’d just been told. normally, he’s not one to easily take anyone’s word as gospel, but this time, he can’t help it. it’s not just that he agrees—it’s the fact that he’s surprised by how much he does.

didn’t he spend all week trying to wrestle with this? he doesn’t want to put his relationship on display for everyone to pick apart—that’s the last thing he wants. but now, sitting here with you by his side in jamsil baseball stadium, he can’t shake the feeling that it doesn’t matter.

he glances at you, completely unaware of his thoughts, and all he sees is his person. someone he never doubts. someone who loves him, and someone he loves in return. does anything else even matter?

occupied by his thoughts, jake doesn’t realise what’s happening around him until the clapping starts. he blinks, surprised, as you turn to face him, bright-eyed and joining in with the crowd. he looks around, confused for a moment, until his gaze lands on the jumbotron. instead of the game, it now shows a couple in the stands, both wearing the rival team’s merch. the man leans in and gives the woman a sweet kiss on the lips. her face turns red, and the crowd erupts in cheers.

it’s the kiss cam, jake realises, and reflexively claps with everyone else as the woman shyly hides her face behind his shoulder. the excitement echoes through the stadium, the chant growing louder.

he can’t help but smile as he watches them, their laughter infectious. “they’re adorable,” you comment, gaze still fixed ahead, oblivious to his smile. jake’s chest tightens, but the feeling isn’t quite discomfort. more like the recognition of something he hadn’t known he’d been longing for. something he now sees clearly.

your mask is hanging off your ear as you absentmindedly sip on your drink, and jake is so glad to see your lips again. it’s like running into an old friend he’s missed. sometimes, it feels like he spends more time missing them than actually getting to kiss them.

he’s about to reply when you suddenly choke, your back straightening in surprise. out of the corner of his eye, he sees people turning their heads, and even though the music is still blasting through the speakers, he’s sure he hears gasps rippling through the crowd.

without thinking, he shifts his attention away from you and glances up at the jumbotron for confirmation—and there it is. the two of you, front and centre, framed in a pink, sparkling heart.

his eyes flick to you as you glance around, your expression a mix of confusion and discomfort. it’s strange to see you so flustered when you’re usually the calm, collected one, especially in situations like this. but here you are, shifting awkwardly under the attention.

a voice from the crowd calls out, “kiss her, you fool!” followed by the sound of cameras clicking as everyone starts pulling out their phones. more voices join in, chanting in unison, and jake can see the tension in your body. you look uncomfortable, clearly not used to this sort of attention, and it’s hard to ignore.

he feels a wave of protectiveness, wanting to ease the situation and make you feel comfortable. seeing you out of your element like this—normally the one who knows how to handle everything—hits him differently. he’s already made up his mind, though.

this whole thing had been part of the plan from the start, and he’s not going to let it stress you out any longer. he wants to kiss you, right here, right now, because it feels right. it’s not about the spectacle, it’s about showing you how much he’s proud to have you by his side.

plus, you have quite literally already told him three times how being on the kiss cam was something you’ve always wanted to do before the game had even begun.

jake huffs a quiet laugh, his body moving on its own as he shifts in his seat. his gaze locks with yours, and he can’t help but grin at the sight of your panicked smile.

“guess we’re famous now?” you quip nervously, trying to make light of the situation. jake tries hard not to laugh, but the sound of it escapes before he can stop it.

he pulls down his mask, the crowd’s excitement swelling around you both.

he leans in, lowering his voice so only you can hear him. “what do you say?” he murmurs, tilting his head slightly. “can i kiss you?”

he can see you thinking it over, your brows furrowing as nervousness peels away and you weigh your options. he already knows what you’ll say, but he still gives you the space to respond.

“we don’t have to do this, jake,” you whisper, the soft tone in your voice trying to make sure he’s comfortable too, even with thousands of eyes on you.

he smiles, the tenderness in your voice unfailingly melting him even more. “we don’t,” he agrees with a small shake of his head. “but i’ve never not wanted to kiss you, and i’m not starting now.”

your lips part slightly, eyes flickering up to his. the shift is almost imperceptible, but you feel it—his sudden insistence, the way he’s making this moment so much more than just a joke. the kiss cam, the crowd, all of it suddenly feels like less of a spectacle and more like something personal. something you didn’t expect but, deep down, have always wanted.

it’s strange, this feeling, and for a second, you almost don’t know what to do with it. the uncertainty that used to cling to you in moments like this is fading, replaced by something that feels surprisingly soft, sure. jake’s not just trying to make a spectacle of you; he’s actually trying to share this with you, to let you know that this is something he wants too.

your heart skips a beat. there’s no need for words, but you’re caught in the moment. a quiet nod is all you can muster, small but certain. “okay.”

his smile spreads before he even realises it. jake leans in, movements slow but purposeful, drawing it out just a moment longer. the kiss is tender, soft at first—he feels your breath mingle with his, the warmth of you close, the way you fit against him. it’s not rushed, not for the camera. it’s real. it’s something he’s wanted to do for so long, but this—this feels more like an act of love than just a kiss on a jumbotron.

you smile into it, and jake can’t help but grin too, the way your happiness settles deep in his chest. he knows the crowd is cheering, but all he can hear is the soft, breathy sound you make, the one that means you’re happy. the one that makes everything inside him flutter.

when he pulls away, the roar of the stadium hits him like a wave, but it feels distant, almost muted. you tuck yourself into his side, the sound of your laugh soft and light. there’s no turning back now. the world can know, and in this moment, jake couldn’t care less.

‘operation: no hate, just date’ has done its job.

he presses a quick, sneaky kiss to your temple, his grin still lingering, all warmth and love. he wraps his arm around you, pulling you just a little closer, the moment between the two of you nothing but pure joy.

alright. maybe jake is not the chill guy he thought he was. but in this moment, he doesn’t need to be.

all he’s ever wanted to be was a lover boy, and now it feels like he’s finally on the right track.

taglist: @jakeslvt @username-111222333444555 @pjselee

#jake sim x reader #sim jaeyun x reader #jake sim #sim jaeyun #sim jaeyun imagines #jake sim fanfic #jake sim fluff #jake sim imagines #sim jaeyun fluff #enhypen #enha #enhypen imagines #sim jaeyun x y/n #jake sim x y/n #jake sim x you

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mediocre-shark-tales · 1 day ago

Text

Abu Dhabi GP part 2

Masterlist

Trigger Warning- slow burn of increasing themes including sexism, SA, depression, and implied grooming

Returning to the paddock in the morning, I made my way over to Max, my heart swelling with a mixture of excitement and happiness for him. As I approached him, I couldn’t help but notice the proud smile on his face, a grin that could light up the whole paddock. It wasn’t just the usual confidence I’d grown accustomed to seeing on him—it was something deeper, something more personal. He’d recently announced that he was going to be a father, and it was clear that the news had changed him.

“Max,” I called out, a grin pulling at the corners of my lips.

He turned toward me, his eyes brightening when he saw me approaching. “Hey, hey! You know, I was just waiting for you to come over. You’re one of the few people I’m actually letting say congrats first,” he teased, pulling me into a brief hug.

“I’ll take that as a big compliment,” I joked, my smile wide. “Congratulations, though. I know how big of a deal this is for you.”

“Thanks. It’s... well, it’s everything,” he said, his voice softening just for a moment. Then, as if the weight of his words hit him, he gave a playful shrug. “Guess it’s a whole new chapter, huh?”

“Definitely. I’m so happy for you, Max. You’re going to be an amazing dad.” I could feel my heart swell with warmth as I said it. He deserved all the happiness in the world, and knowing that he was about to experience this new chapter of life brought a contentment I hadn’t realized I needed.

He grinned, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, I’m not gonna lie, I’m a little nervous. But hey, if I can handle a racecar, I can handle another little one, right?”

“Of course,” I chuckled, reaching out and giving his shoulder a squeeze. “But seriously, you’ve got this. Just look how well you have done with P so far.”

I hung around for a bit longer, chatting with a few other drivers, congratulating them on their season’s success and the upcoming race. It was a strange feeling, moving through these conversations now. After everything that had happened, after the battle I’d fought, it felt like I had finally found a space where I truly belonged. I was part of this grid, not just as a competitor but as a person they respected. And that made all the difference.

Eventually, I excused myself from the small group and made my way to my driver’s room. The quiet space felt like a refuge, a place where I could let my thoughts settle and regain my focus before the next race.

Once inside, I took a deep breath, running my hands over the smooth surface of my helmet bag. It felt like a lifetime ago when I first started designing this helmet, trying to find the perfect way to express everything I was feeling, everything I had been through.

With a slow, deliberate motion, I unzipped the bag. The familiar smell of paint and resin greeted me, mixed with a slight trace of rubber from the tracks I’d raced on. Inside, my end-of-season helmet sat, waiting for me.

I lifted it out carefully, like it was a treasure, and set it gently on the desk. News design had always been personal, this time it was a mix of everything that had defined my season. The white background was a stark contrast to the intricate tiger stripes that adorned the sides. They weren’t just any stripes—each one was purposeful, a symbol of the tracks I’d conquered, the battles I’d fought, and the victories that had come from resilience.

Some of the stripes were just outlines, tracing the shape of the tiger’s face, while others filled in fully, their bold black lines representing the fierceness I had found in myself. The flags from each track where I’d finished first were woven into the design, carefully placed within the outline stripes. It was my way of paying homage to the races that had defined me this year—the places that had witnessed my comeback, the moments when I’d pushed through my hardest battles.

But it wasn’t just about the victories. There was a blank space at the top of the helmet, an empty void. Through it, the words “My Future is Racing” stood in bold letters, the promise of what lay ahead, what I was still striving for. It was my reminder that this wasn’t the end. It was only the beginning.

And then, on the back, there was the large shadow of a gold turtle, the image filling the space with its quiet strength. The turtle, which had become something of a personal symbol for me over the last few months, sat there as a testament to my journey. Slow, steady, but always moving forward. Always evolving. But most importantly it was a symbol of my mother who would always be with me.

I ran my fingers over the intricate design, feeling the raised edges where the paint had hardened, and for the first time in a long time, I felt something close to peace. This helmet wasn’t just a piece of equipment—it was my story. Every stripe, every detail, every word and image had been a part of me, and now, it felt like it was ready to tell the world who I had become.

I stood there for a while, staring at it, letting the weight of the season settle on me. I had done it. I had survived. And now, I was stronger.

I reached over and grabbed the helmet again, holding it close to my chest for a moment. I had a race to prepare for. But more than that, I had a future that was just beginning, and I was ready to face it, no matter what came next.

The tension was palpable in the paddock as the grid lined up for the final race of the season. The sun was high in the sky, casting a golden glow over the track, and the sound of engines roaring to life reverberated through the air. There was something almost electrifying about this race, as if the entire season had been building toward this moment. I could feel my pulse quickening, the adrenaline already starting to course through me. This was it—my final chance to prove to everyone, and more importantly to myself, that I belonged here.

As I sat in the cockpit of my car, I could hear the roar of the engines around me, but all I could focus on was the task at hand. The past was behind me; this race was a clean slate. I had nothing to prove to anyone but myself. I was ready. The lights went out, and we were off.

The first lap was a blur of motion, tire screeching, cars jostling for position. I rocketed off the line, weaving through the pack, feeling the g-forces pushing me back into my seat as I hit the first few corners. Every instinct I had honed this season kicked into overdrive, and I could feel the momentum building within me. I was so in the zone that I barely noticed the chaos unfolding ahead.

Max Verstappen and Oscar Piastri, two cars ahead of me, were engaged in a fierce battle for position when disaster struck. As they approached a tight corner, their cars locked wheels and slid out of control. Max’s car bumped into Oscar’s, sending both of them into a spin. It was like time slowed down as I saw them coming toward me, but in a split-second decision, I veered to the right, avoiding the wreckage by inches. My heart skipped a beat, but my focus never wavered. I couldn’t let this moment slip away from me.

With the first lap behind me, the adrenaline surged even higher. I was in the midst of the battle now, dodging traffic, threading the needle between cars, and making every pass count. I could feel every turn in my bones, the weight of each corner, the rush of acceleration on the straights. This was what I lived for. This was where I thrived.

The laps ticked by, each one blurring into the next as I pushed harder and harder. I was in P5 by the midway point, but the top four were just within reach. Lando Norris was in P3, looking steady as ever, and I could see Carlos Sainz just ahead in P2. But the car beneath me was coming alive, responding to every flick of my steering wheel. I knew I could do this.

With every corner, I reeled in the pack. I was finding my rhythm, my flow. I overtook car after car, my confidence growing with every successful pass. The crowd was roaring, their cheers reaching my ears even through the helmet, spurring me on. I pushed harder, trusting in the car, trusting in myself.

By lap 50, I had made my way into P2. Lando was just ahead of me, and though he was a formidable competitor, I could see the slightest hint of pressure in his driving. I wasn’t going to hold back now. The finish line was within reach, and all I had to do was give it everything I had.

As I came up behind him on the penultimate lap, I could hear his radio crackling with instructions, the team urging him to keep his pace steady. But I wasn’t going to let up. I lined up my move, staying tight behind him as we approached the final stretch. My heart was pounding in my chest, my hands steady on the wheel, my mind laser-focused. I had one chance.

With a burst of speed, I pulled out from behind him on the final straight, going for the inside line as we approached the final corner. My tires screamed against the tarmac, and I felt the car sliding slightly, but I held it together, cutting across the apex with precision. For a moment, time seemed to freeze as I passed Lando and shot into the lead.

Crossing the finish line in P1 was like nothing I had ever experienced before. The world seemed to come to a halt as I threw my fist up in victory, my heart hammering in my chest. I had done it. I had won my final Grand Prix of the season.

Lando came in right behind me in P2, and Carlos Sainz rounded out the podium in P3. The sound of the engines dying down was replaced by the roar of the crowd, their cheers shaking the very foundation of the circuit. The celebration was already underway, but I couldn’t help but feel a sense of overwhelming relief. This was my moment. This was what I had fought for.

I climbed out of the car, my hands shaking from the sheer intensity of it all. I stood on the halo, the crowd erupting into cheers. The adrenaline was still coursing through my veins, but it wasn’t until I saw the camera flashes and the thousands of fans shouting my name that I realized what this victory meant.

Landon reached me with a huge grin plastered on his face, his eyes sparkling with excitement. Without saying a word, he handed me my new all-black cowboy hat. It wasn’t just any hat; this one had been decorated with Aston Martin green gemstones, perfectly matching the team’s gear. The contrast of the black hat with the vibrant green accents made it stand out, almost like it had its own presence.

I balanced the hat carefully on my helmet, trying not to mess up the celebratory moment. My fingers were still buzzing from the victory, but I felt a surge of joy when I grabbed the flag from Landon. The US flag. It was tied tightly to a pole, and as I waved it above my head, the crowd's energy seemed to intensify. Cameras flashed, capturing the moment from every angle, and I took a few seconds to savor the moment. This was my victory, and I was going to share it with everyone who had believed in me.

As the flashes slowed, I took the flag off the pole, the fabric still rippling in the wind, and handed it back to Landon. He smiled, nodding in approval, and I felt a sense of pride wash over me. But the real fun came next.

With a cheeky grin, I jumped off of the car, the adrenaline still buzzing in my veins. I unfurled the flag and draped it around myself like a cape, letting it fall over my shoulders as if I were some hero emerging from a battle. The colors of the flag were vivid and bold against the backdrop of the circuit, and I twirled a little, letting the fabric catch the breeze.

Lando came over first while I was removing my helmet and balaclava, his smile wide as he clapped me on the back. “You did it! You really did it!”

I grinned, barely able to contain my excitement. I placed the cowboy hat back on my head before responding sarcastically. “Yeah sure, I won a race again, But you my friend just won the constructors team championship!” I said, turning to give him a quick hug yet unable to contain my adrenaline as I bounced a little.

Finally we were on the podium and handed our awards. The US national Anthem echoed through the circuit before finally ending as the more exciting part came.

Carlos and I had whispered a small plan to each other beforehand. I was super excited to put our plan into action. I grabbed the bottle, shaking it up with a grin, and before Lando could even react, I drenched him in champagne just as Carlos did the same from my left. His laughter echoed through the air as I sprayed him from head to toe, the bubbles foaming up as he tried to shield himself. “You look great in champagne, Lando!” I laughed, my heart light with joy.

The crowd was still roaring, but there was something more important in that moment—the team had done it. McLaren had finally taken home the Constructors’ Championship, and Lando was grinning like the Cheshire cat. “I can’t believe we finally did it!” he shouted, wrapping me in another hug. I laughed and quickly responded. “I am so proud of you and Oscar for finishing the fight so strong!”

Carlos joined the hug soon after, a proud smile on his face as we celebrated together. The atmosphere was electric, a mix of excitement, joy, and pride. This was what it was all about. It wasn’t just the individual victories—it was the team effort, the long road we had all traveled to get here.

I stood there, on the top step of the podium, looking out over the sea of fans who had witnessed the culmination of my rookie season. I had fought for this, and now, I was holding the trophy in my hands. It felt like the start of something incredible, the beginning of a journey that I couldn’t wait to continue.

But for now, I took a moment to let it all sink in. The cheers, the champagne, the podium—all of it. I had earned this. This was my victory, and it was only the beginning.

The post-race interview began, the energy in the room was electric. The top three finishers—Lando, Carlos, and me—sat side by side, basking in the glow of the race's excitement. The usual round of questions came through: How did you feel about the race? What was going through your mind during those final laps? It was light, easy stuff, designed to keep the mood celebratory.

But then, as expected, the big question came. The interviewer, a woman with a big smile and an even bigger curiosity, turned to me with a gleam in her eye.

"So," she began, "your helmet today was an interesting touch, hinting at something big for your future in racing. Any chance you’d like to share what’s next for you?"

The question hung in the air, and I could feel the weight of it. My eyes flicked over to my PR manager, who was standing off to the side, looking calm but focused. She gave a subtle nod, signaling that it was time.

I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself for the big reveal. "Yes," I said, the word hanging in the air as my heart raced. "I’ve signed a contract with Cadillac for 2026. I’ll be joining them when they enter the grid, but for the 2025 season, I’ll be loaned out to VCARB to help them finish strong in these current regulations before the big changes come. I’ll be working with them to help find the places they may want to improve while also helping train a driver they are thinking about making their reserve or 2026 driver. I can’t tell you more than that when it comes to VCARB as I don’t even know who they are basically asking me to mentor or what role I am mentoring him to do best.” That was a lie of course but I loved a little mystery and I am sure their media tema would love to keep some mystery still. “This is a huge step forward in my career, and I’m incredibly excited about what’s to come."

The moment I finished speaking, I felt a rush of emotions. There was relief in finally being able to share this chapter of my story, but there was also something else—hope, excitement, and pride.

Carlos, sitting next to me, let out a loud, joyous laugh. "Aha! That’s amazing!" he exclaimed, his usual smooth confidence replaced by genuine enthusiasm. "I’m so glad to hear that you’ll still be around! You’ve been a fierce competitor, and it’s going to be even better having you on the grid next season."

Lando, sitting on the other side of me, gave me a playful shove. "I knew you weren’t going anywhere," he teased, a grin on his face. "I would’ve missed you too much. Who else am I going to mess with during race weekends?"

I laughed, appreciating the lightheartedness they brought into the moment. "Well, now you have even more reason to train hard, huh?" I replied, smiling warmly at Lando who looked confused before I responded again. “Can’t mess with me if you aren’t on my level.” This caused laughs to erupt around the room, the most noticeably being Lando who covered his face in embarrassment.

"But seriously," Lando added, his voice softening just a little, "I’m really happy for you. You deserve this. I don’t know what we would’ve done without you next season."

Carlos nodded in agreement, his smile genuine. "You’re going to be a real asset to VCARB. We all know how tough it’s been for them, but with you there? They’ll definitely be making waves. And then, in 2026 with Cadillac, you’ll be unstoppable."

I smiled at both of them, feeling a deep sense of camaraderie. "Thanks, guys," I said, my heart full of gratitude. "Having you both here makes all of this even more special. You’ve been such great friends, and I couldn’t have asked for better people to share this journey with."

The interviewer smiled, clearly impressed by the camaraderie among us. "Sounds like the grid is about to get a lot more exciting with you around, huh?" I nodded, feeling the excitement bubbling up once again. "Definitely. It’s going to be a wild ride, but I’m ready for it. And I can’t wait to see how everything unfolds."

As the interview wrapped up and we stood to leave, Lando gave me a quick side hug. "See you out there, future Cadillac champion," he joked, winking at me.

Carlos gave me a fist bump, his eyes filled with respect. "We’ll be seeing you, no doubt. And you better bring that fire to the grid next season." The room seemed to buzz with energy as I sat smiling, the weight of the future feeling lighter now that I’d shared it with everyone.

The night was alive with energy, the celebrations wild and unrestrained as the entire paddock let loose. The adrenaline from the race still pumping through my veins, I couldn’t help but feel free, the weight of the past season finally starting to lift off my shoulders. People were cheering, laughing, dancing—everything was so vibrant, so alive. It felt like a world away from the intensity of the circuit, and for once, I let myself fully indulge in the freedom, the joy of it all.

Alcohol flowed like it was water, glasses clinking around me in toast after toast. I felt light, tipsy but happy, letting the music take over as I danced with my friends, lost in the excitement of the moment. I wasn’t thinking about the past. I wasn’t thinking about the things that had tried to break me. I was just living in the present, in this incredible victory.

But then, of course, as the night wore on, the crowds became a little more chaotic. People spilled out from the bars and clubs, mixing together in a sea of celebration. The music grew louder, the lights flashing in an almost hypnotic pattern. I had found Max earlier in the evening, sharing a laugh with him and a few others, but now, as I stood in the middle of the crowd, it became hard to spot him.

The buzz in the air shifted. I could feel it in my chest. My senses heightened. Maybe it was the alcohol or maybe just the lingering unease that had followed me through the past season. But then I saw him.

A man—someone I didn’t recognize—was making his way through the crowd. His eyes locked onto mine, a smirk spreading across his face. Something about the way he looked at me made a shiver run down my spine. It was as if he knew something about me, something I didn’t want him to know.

His presence reminded me too much of Henry—the way he exuded a sense of control, a sense of entitlement. The way he was acting like I owed him something, like I was just another piece in a game he was playing. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, and my stomach twisted. I tried to brush it off, but the encounter left a bitter taste in my mouth.

I wanted to get away from him—fast.

In the crowd, I started moving, pushing through the throngs of people, my heart pounding a little too fast for comfort. But my vision kept flickering back to him, his eyes following me like a shadow. He wasn’t going to stop, I realized. He was going to keep coming closer, keep circling until I was backed into a corner.

Panic started to rise in me, a feeling I hadn’t let myself truly experience in a long time. I pushed through the crowd again, trying to find someone—anyone—to break the tension. That’s when I finally spotted Max again, or at least I thought I did. His familiar figure was just ahead, but in the chaos, I lost sight of him before I could reach him.

The frustration bubbled up. The fear mixed with confusion, and my mind started to race. I wasn’t about to let myself spiral again. Not now, not in front of everyone.

But just as I began to panic, my phone buzzed in my pocket, a lifeline in the midst of the crowd. I pulled it out quickly to check who it was—Lando. The message was simple: Where are you?

I felt my chest loosen a little, just knowing someone was looking for me. I typed back, trying to keep myself steady: lost in the crowd, send help lmao

Before I could type any more, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I spun around, ready to react. But it wasn’t the man from before. It was Franco, a look of concern on his face as he pulled me into a quick, tight hug.

“You good?” he asked softly, his voice steady, calming, like a balm to the rising anxiety in my chest.

I nodded, trying to keep it together. “Yeah. Just needed a minute.”

Franco didn’t let go of me, but his presence was grounding. I felt the tension in my body begin to ease, even if just a little. “I know something has affected you but I am here now, you don’t have to say anything, I’m just here,” he murmured into my ear as he gave me a small soft hug.

I pulled back just enough to see his face. “Thanks,” I said quietly, feeling a strange mix of relief and something else—something warm, safe.

But before I could say anything more, another voice cut in. Lando had appeared from behind Franco, his usual cheeky grin on his face, though it didn’t hide the concern in his eyes. “There you are! We’ve been looking everywhere for you,” he said, his tone light but with an underlying edge of worry.

“I’m fine… now, I’m fine now that you two are here with me.” I replied, allowing myself to be honest with them. The past few minutes had left me feeling rattled, but now, with Franco and Lando here, I couldn’t help but feel a little more secure.

“You know we’ve got your back, right?” Lando added, his expression serious for a moment. “We’re not letting you out of our sight again.”

I smiled, the tension in my body slowly dissipating as I realized just how lucky I was to have people like them looking out for me. They didn’t have to care, didn’t have to be there for me like this. But they were.

Franco stepped back slightly, glancing between Lando and me. “We’re staying with you tonight. No arguments.”

And somehow, even though I was the one who was supposed to be strong, it was exactly what I needed to hear. It wasn’t about being strong on my own. It was about knowing I had people to lean on.

Lando wrapped an arm around my shoulders, and Franco placed his hand on the middle of my back, both offering me a kind of comfort that, despite my earlier unease, made everything feel a little bit better. We walked together through the crowd, the sounds of celebration continuing around us. And as I walked through the crowd with Franco and Lando flanking me, I realized just how far I had come—and how much further I was ready to go.

The crowd around us was cheering, music was blasting, and the air was thick with excitement. Yet, amidst all the noise and the chaos, I found myself focusing on the quiet moments between Lando and I, those small exchanges where our eyes locked just a little too long or where the corners of our mouths twitched upward at the same time.

Lando’s presence was comforting, grounding in a way I hadn’t expected. Since the Vegas crash, he had been there, providing an anchor when I needed it most. Now, celebrating together felt… different. I couldn’t help but wonder if something deeper was quietly blooming between us. I caught his eye as a slow song began, and for a second, the noise of the crowd seemed to fade. I smiled, and he returned it with that knowing grin that made my heart race. It felt almost like an unspoken connection, a quiet bond that neither of us had put words to, but one that was palpable all the same.

Before I could dwell on it for too long, I felt a tap on my shoulder. Turning around, I found Franco standing there, grinning widely. "Hey, I just wanted to say, that race—was incredible," he said, his eyes alight with admiration. There was something in the way he said it, like he was seeing me in a new light.

"Thanks," I replied, my voice softening as I looked at him. "It felt like everything finally clicked today."

Franco nodded, his eyes not leaving mine. "Yeah, I could see that. You’ve come a long way." His gaze lingered a little longer, and I couldn’t help but feel the warmth between us. It wasn’t just the celebration, it wasn’t just the race—it was something unspoken that seemed to grow stronger the longer we stood there.

For a moment, it felt like we were the only two people in the room. The world around us slowed, the noise dimmed, and all that mattered was the shared understanding between us. But just as I was about to say something, the spell was broken.

From behind, I heard an all-too-familiar voice—drunken and loud—"Oi! What’s going on here?" Liam stumbled into our little bubble, his eyes narrowed, and a playful but protective smirk on his face. "Don’t think I didn’t see that, Y/N. What do you think you’re doing, huh?" His tone was teasing, but there was an edge of possessiveness in it.

I let out a small laugh, but before I could say anything, Hannah appeared beside him, her expression a mixture of exasperation and amusement. "Liam," she said, her voice firm but gentle, "you’re drunk. Let them be." She turned to me, her eyes softening. "Can you talk some sense into him? He’s been talking about you like you’re his lost puppy for the past half hour."

Liam pouted, his arms crossed over his chest. "I’m not drunk!" he protested, but his slurred speech said otherwise. "I’m just looking out for my best mate here. You can’t just steal her away, boys." He pointed to Lando and then Franco, who each raised an eyebrow in response but remained silent, clearly amused by the situation.

I couldn't help but chuckle at the absurdity of the situation. "Liam, I’m not being stolen away. I’m not sure I could be stolen if I tried," I said with a playful wink. But my words only seemed to confuse him more.

Hannah sighed, shaking her head. "Just, come on. Let’s get you something to drink so you can calm down before you make a fool of yourself." She turned to me and smiled apologetically. "Sorry about this."

Liam’s pout deepened, but he finally let Hannah lead him away, though he shot me one last confused glance. As he stumbled off with her, I turned back to Lando and Franco, who were both watching me with soft smiles on their faces.

"Don’t worry," I said to them, shaking my head with a laugh. "Liam’s just protective. He’s like a big brother who doesn’t know how to share his toys."

Franco laughed, but there was a knowing look in his eyes as he added, "Well, it seems like you’ve got a lot of people looking out for you."

Lando chimed in, his voice teasing, "Guess that’s a good thing, huh? Just be careful—Liam might come back and try to hide you away in some hidden sanctuary."

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t suppress the smile forming on my lips. "Let him try."

The moment was lighthearted, but something about it made my heart flutter. Lando, Franco, and even Liam—though drunk and ridiculous—had all been there in their own ways. It felt like more than just a victory in the race. It felt like a new chapter was unfolding in ways I hadn’t expected.

Helping Liam back to the hotel room was no easy feat. The moment we stepped into the hallway, his weight became a deadweight. Hannah and I shared a look of exasperation, but underneath it, there was an unspoken bond that made this all feel oddly familiar. We had done this before, back when Liam had first been called up to F1. His excitement and nerves had been a mixture of pure joy and overwhelming tension, and we'd found ourselves stumbling through late-night talks and drunken strolls across hotel corridors more times than I could count.

Tonight, though, the mood was different. He was drunk, but there was something behind his eyes, something deeper, that made the whole situation feel heavier than it should. We had been so used to his joking nature, the sarcasm and laughter, but tonight—well, tonight, he was different.

I smiled at Hannah as she helped support Liam's other side. "Remember when he got that call? The one to race in F1? He was practically shaking, and we couldn’t even get him to eat dinner that night."

Hannah chuckled softly, her eyes softening with the memory. "How could I forget? I thought he was going to throw up just from the excitement. He didn’t sleep for two days."

I let out a quiet laugh as we managed to shuffle him into the hotel room. Liam was mumbling, half incoherent, and definitely not in the mood for a joke now. The energy in the room had shifted, the weight of the night sinking in with the silence that followed.

When we finally got him onto the bed, we let him flop onto his back, the bed creaking under the shift of his weight. He let out a loud sigh, his eyes blinking rapidly as if trying to focus on the ceiling before ultimately falling onto me. But there was no humor now in his face. Only something deep and aching.

Hannah sat on the edge of the bed, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear, watching him with concern. I stood near the door, waiting, unsure of what was coming next. I was ready to laugh it off, ready to tell him that he was just drunk, and it would all be fine in the morning—but then, something in the way he stared at me stopped me.

"Liam?" I said softly, my voice low, trying to gauge where his mind was at.

He turned his head slowly, blinking at us like he was seeing us for the first time. The tears welled up in his eyes, and my heart dropped. He wasn’t drunk in a carefree way anymore. This was something deeper, something raw, and it made me uneasy.

"I… I need to say something," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I… I’m so sorry."

I frowned, stepping closer to the bed, sitting down beside Hannah. "Liam, what are you talking about?"

His face twisted, his hands trembling as he reached up to rub his eyes. "I—when I caused the crash in Vegas, I—" He let out a shaky breath. "I thought I… I thought I just—hurt you. Or worse… killed you, Y/N."

His words hit me like a punch to the gut. I hadn't expected this. He had always been the jokester, the guy who tried to keep everything light, but now—now I could see the weight of the guilt and fear he had been carrying for the last month. His words were slurred, but the meaning behind them cut straight to my core.

"Liam," I started, my voice barely above a whisper, trying to keep the crack out of it, "It was an accident. You didn’t mean for that to happen."

His eyes locked with mine, full of guilt and pain. "But I did cause it. I never should’ve been that aggressive during a practice session. I saw you flipping… I saw you, and I thought—" His breath caught in his throat, and his voice faltered. "I thought I just ruined everything. I thought I lost you forever."

The weight of his words hung in the air like a thick fog, and for a moment, I didn’t know how to respond. The racing world could be so harsh, but I had never realized just how much it affected the people closest to me.

I reached out, my hand gently resting on his shoulder. "Liam, listen to me. I’m here. I’m okay," I said softly, trying to reassure him even though I wasn’t sure if I was comforting him or myself in the process. "That crash—it wasn’t your fault. It was an accident. Nothing more."

"But I still felt it," he whispered, his voice breaking. "Every time I see you, I’m reminded of how close I came to losing you."

Hannah sat quietly beside him, her eyes soft and full of understanding. She knew what this meant. She had been through this with Liam before. The weight of racing, the pressure of what we do, and the responsibility that came with it, often left us carrying invisible scars that nobody else could see.

"You need to forgive yourself," Hannah said gently, her hand squeezing his. "It wasn’t your fault, Liam. You’re one of the best people we know, and this is just… one of those things that happened. You can’t carry it forever."

I nodded in agreement, my voice steady now. "You’re not alone in this, Liam. You never were. You’ll never lose me. Not like that."

He closed his eyes, a few tears slipping out. He didn’t say anything more, but I could see the relief slowly washing over him. The guilt, the fear, all of it—it wasn’t going to go away in an instant, but maybe this was the first step toward healing.

"I’m sorry," he mumbled again, his voice barely a whisper. "I just didn’t want to lose you."

"You haven’t," I reassured him. "And you won’t."

We sat there for a few more minutes, letting the weight of the moment settle in. Hannah continued to comfort him, and I stayed close, watching the man who had been there for me through thick and thin slowly let go of the burden he had been carrying for far too long.

Eventually, his eyes fluttered shut, and the alcohol seemed to lull him into a fitful sleep, his body relaxing into the bed. The room was silent for a moment, save for his steady breathing.

I leaned back, letting out a soft sigh. "He’ll be okay," I said to Hannah, though I wasn’t sure if I was trying to convince her or myself.

She nodded, her eyes soft. "He will be. You’ve got each other."

And in that moment, with the faint hum of the hotel air conditioning and the quiet of the night around us, I felt a sense of calm I once never thought possible. Being here with my two childhood friends, sharing a moment that reminded each of us, just how much we were willing to do for each other. "I’m here, Liam," I whispered, more to myself than anyone else. "And I always will be."

#x reader #driver!reader #f1 #f1 angst #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 fic #formula 1 #max verstappen #charles leclerc #oscar piastri #lando norris #franco colapinto #lewis hamilton #carlos sainz #george russell #grill the grid #f1 grid x reader

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amethystarachnid · 8 hours ago

Note

Now that you have finished the Holiday Special, I would like to request a part two of "Second Chance", please. I would love to see more of their love 🥺 living together, getting married, kids, all the cuteness possible! Thank you

SECOND CHANCE - part II

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

ᯓ★ Pairing: Anthony “Tony” E. Stark x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, fluff

ᯓ★ Request from: MARVEL Holiday special

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 11k ( I can't believe the either)

ᯓ★ Summary: what the ask said <3

ᯓ★ Part I

ᯓ★ TW(s): none I think (?)

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

The mornings in the Stark Tower penthouse always start the same: sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows, soft music humming in the background (Tony insists on curating daily playlists because "waking up deserves a soundtrack"), and the smell of coffee brewing in the kitchen.

Your life has settled into a rhythm, an odd but comforting blend of luxury, chaos, and unfiltered love. It’s been over a year since you moved in, and even though the world now knows you as Tony Stark’s girlfriend—a title that comes with its fair share of public scrutiny—it still feels a little surreal when you wake up next to him.

This morning, you’re the first to wake, your cheek pressed against his chest. His arm is draped lazily around you, his breathing steady, a slight snore rumbling now and then. You stifle a laugh as you carefully extricate yourself from his hold, but before you can fully escape, his fingers tighten around your wrist.

“Where do you think you’re going?” His voice is thick with sleep, and his eyes are barely open.

“To get coffee,” you reply, smiling. “Unless you’re planning to hold me hostage all morning.”

He pulls you back against him, burying his face in your hair. “Tempting. But if you’re making coffee, I might let you go.”

You laugh, wriggling free and padding toward the kitchen. By the time the coffee is ready, Tony has shuffled out of bed, his hair a mess and his Stark Industries-branded pajama pants slightly askew. He leans against the counter, watching you with a sleepy grin as you pour two mugs.

“This is why I keep you around,” he says, taking the mug you hand him.

“Oh, really? Not for my sparkling personality or my unparalleled charm?”

He smirks, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “That too. But mostly the coffee.”

Living with Tony means life is never boring. Between his work at Stark Industries, his time with the Avengers, and his natural tendency to attract chaos, there’s always something happening.

Take last week, for example. You came home to find a half-assembled Iron Man suit sprawled across the living room, with Tony perched on the couch, wearing the gauntlet and testing out some new tech.

“Tony, why is there a missile launcher on my side of the couch?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

He looked up, completely unbothered. “Oh, that’s not a missile launcher. It’s a miniaturized EMP. Totally harmless unless you’re an evil robot.”

You sighed, stepping over a piece of armor. “And what about this?”

“That’s a missile launcher,” he admitted, grinning sheepishly. “But don’t worry, it’s deactivated. Probably.”

Despite the chaos, there’s a sweetness to your everyday life. The little moments, like when he sneaks up behind you while you’re cooking, wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing kisses to your neck. Or the nights when you curl up on the couch together, a bowl of popcorn between you, as he insists on watching “classic cinema” (which, in Tony’s mind, includes Die Hard and Back to the Future).

And then there are the spicy moments. Tony has a knack for turning the most mundane situations into opportunities for seduction.

Like the time you were trying to reorganize the pantry, and he walked in, shirtless and smirking.

“Need a hand?” he asked, leaning casually against the doorway.

“I’m fine,” you replied, reaching for a high shelf.

But then his hands were on your waist, lifting you effortlessly so you could grab the jar you were reaching for. When he set you down, his hands didn’t move, and you found yourself pressed against the counter, his lips brushing your ear.

“Are you sure you don’t need help with anything else?” he murmured, his voice low and teasing.

Needless to say, the pantry didn’t get reorganized that day.

Of course, being Tony Stark’s girlfriend also means attending more fancy events than you ever thought possible. Charity galas, board meetings, tech expos—you’ve seen it all.

The prep for these events is almost as much fun as the events themselves. Tony insists on helping you pick out your dress, claiming he has an eye for fashion (which, annoyingly, he kind of does).

“What about this one?” you ask, holding up a sleek black gown.

He tilts his head, considering. “It’s nice. But I think something with a little more… drama.”

“Drama?”

He grins, pulling a shimmering gold dress from the rack. “Now this says ‘I’m with Tony Stark.’”

“You mean it says ‘I’m a disco ball.’”

“Exactly.”

In the end, you settle on a dress that’s somewhere between glamorous and understated—enough to make you feel confident but not so flashy that you’ll blend in with Tony’s usual flair.

When the night of the event arrives, he’s already dressed in one of his custom suits, complete with a matching pocket square. He watches you as you get ready, leaning against the doorway with a look that’s equal parts admiration and mischief.

“Are you going to stare at me all night?” you tease as you apply your lipstick.

“Absolutely,” he says without hesitation. “Have you seen yourself?”

By the time you arrive at the event, the cameras are already flashing, reporters shouting questions as you step onto the red carpet. Tony slips his arm around your waist, pulling you close as he waves to the crowd, his confidence as effortless as ever.

“Smile, sweetheart,” he murmurs in your ear. “We’re the hottest couple in the room.”

Inside, the atmosphere is just as dazzling—chandeliers, champagne, and a sea of well-dressed guests. Tony works the room like the natural showman he is, introducing you to CEOs, celebrities, and politicians as if you’ve been a part of this world forever.

But even in the midst of the crowd, his attention is never far from you. He’ll brush his hand against yours as you pass each other, steal a kiss when no one’s looking, or whisper a sarcastic comment about someone’s over-the-top outfit, making you stifle a laugh.

And when the night finally winds down and you’re back home, kicking off your heels and collapsing onto the couch, he pulls you into his lap, his arms wrapping around you as he kisses you like he’s been waiting all night to do it.

“You were amazing tonight,” he says, his voice low and sincere.

“So were you,” you reply, smiling against his lips.

Your life with Tony isn’t perfect—no relationship is. There are arguments, moments when his work takes over, or when the pressure of being in the spotlight feels overwhelming. But through it all, there’s an unshakable bond between you, a sense that no matter what comes your way, you’ll face it together.

Like the time you had a fight over him missing dinner—again—because he was working on a new suit. You stormed out of the lab, fuming, and didn’t speak to him for the rest of the night. But the next morning, you woke up to the smell of pancakes, Tony standing in the kitchen wearing an apron that read “Genius, Billionaire, Pancake Enthusiast.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, holding up a plate of slightly burnt pancakes. “I suck at balancing work and life sometimes. But I’m trying. For you.”

You couldn’t stay mad at him after that.

And then there was the time he got you your own lab space in the tower, complete with every piece of equipment you could ever want.

“You didn’t have to do this,” you said, your voice soft with awe as you took it all in.

“I wanted to,” he replied, his hands in his pockets as he watched your reaction. “You deserve to have your own space. Somewhere to build, create, do whatever you want.”

You turned to him, tears in your eyes, and he just shrugged, trying to play it off. “What can I say? I’m a sucker for you.”

The sun is setting, and the sky outside the penthouse windows glows in a palette of oranges, pinks, and purples that melt into one another like watercolors. New York sprawls out below, the city alive with its usual energy—traffic buzzing, lights flickering on, and the faint hum of life that never seems to rest. But up here, in the warmth of Tony’s bedroom, the world feels far away, like it belongs to someone else.

You’re standing at the window, your arms crossed lightly over your chest, wearing nothing but one of Tony’s old Black Sabbath shirts. It’s oversized and soft from years of wear, falling just enough to graze the tops of your thighs. Your hair is slightly messy from the day’s lazy lounging, and your bare feet sink into the plush rug beneath you. The scene feels like something out of a dream, the city sparkling in the distance and the man you love moving behind you.

Tony’s voice breaks the silence, a quiet rumble that makes you smile without even turning to look. “You know, you’re ruining the view.”

You glance back at him, raising an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“I said what I said,” he replies, lounging on the bed with a lazy smirk. His head is propped up on one hand, his shirt unbuttoned and his tie hanging loose from earlier in the day. He looks like he’s stepped out of a photo shoot for Genius, Billionaire, and Dangerously Handsome Quarterly. “I mean, who’s going to look at a city when you’re standing there looking like that?”

You roll your eyes, fighting the grin that tugs at your lips as you turn back to the window. “That was smooth, Stark. Really. Ten out of ten.”

“Only ten?”

You don’t answer, just shake your head with a soft laugh, and you hear him shift behind you, the mattress creaking slightly as he gets up.

A moment later, his arms slip around your waist from behind, his chin resting on your shoulder. You relax into him instinctively, your hands coming to rest over his. The warmth of his touch seeps into you, grounding you in a way that only he can.

“Do you ever get tired of it?” you ask softly, your eyes still on the view.

“Tired of what?”

“This.” You gesture out at the city. “The attention. The pressure. Being… Tony Stark.”

He’s quiet for a moment, and you feel him press a kiss to the curve of your neck before he answers. “Honestly? Sometimes. But it’s easier now. Because I have you.”

The simplicity of his words catches you off guard, and your heart swells in your chest. You turn in his arms to face him, your hands resting lightly on his chest.

“Is that your way of saying I make your life easier?” you tease, your voice soft.

“Among other things,” he replies, his lips quirking into a smirk. But there’s something in his eyes—something vulnerable, raw, and unguarded—that makes your teasing falter.

“Tony…”

He steps back, his hands slipping from your waist as he reaches into his pocket. You furrow your brow, your curiosity piqued, but before you can ask what he’s doing, he lowers himself to one knee.

Your breath catches, your hand flying to your mouth as the realization hits you.

“Wait. Are you—?”

“Shh,” he says, holding up a finger, though his grin gives away his own nervous excitement. “Let me do this, okay? I’ve been working on my speech all week.”

You can’t help but laugh, your heart pounding as you watch him pull a small velvet box from his pocket. He opens it, revealing a stunning ring that catches the fading sunlight, its brilliance almost as dazzling as the man holding it.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he begins, his voice warm and playful. “‘Tony Stark, on one knee? Is this an elaborate ploy to market a new Stark tech product?’ And honestly, fair question. But no, this isn’t a ploy. This is me—just me—asking you to let me be the luckiest bastard on the planet for the rest of my life.”

Tears well in your eyes as he continues, his usual cockiness tempered by a sincerity that takes your breath away.

“You’ve seen me at my worst,” he says, his voice softening. “And for some insane reason, you stayed. You saw the man under the suit, the flaws, the baggage, all of it, and you still chose me. I don’t know how or why, but you did. And I can’t imagine my life without you in it.”

You laugh through your tears, shaking your head as he grins up at you.

“So,” he says, tilting his head slightly, “I figured, why waste any more time? Let’s make this official. What do you say?” He pauses, his grin widening. “And just so you know, the ring is fully customizable. You hate it, we’ll get a new one. We’ll get a dozen. Whatever you want.”

You let out a watery laugh, shaking your head as you kneel down in front of him, your hands cupping his face.

“You are ridiculous,” you whisper, your voice trembling.

“Yeah, but you love it,” he replies, his grin softening into something more tender.

“I do,” you say, nodding as tears spill down your cheeks. “I love you, Tony Stark. And yes. Yes, I’ll marry you.”

His eyes light up, and before you know it, he’s pulling you into a kiss, his arms wrapping tightly around you as if he’s afraid to let go. You laugh against his lips, the sound mingling with his own as he holds you close.

When he finally pulls back, he slips the ring onto your finger with a precision that makes you laugh again.

“Look at that,” he says, holding your hand up to admire the ring. “Perfect fit. Must be fate.”

“Or really good measurements,” you tease, your smile so wide it hurts.

“Hey, don’t ruin my moment,” he says, feigning offense. But his grin gives him away, and he pulls you into another kiss, the world outside forgotten as the two of you bask in the quiet, overwhelming joy of the moment.

Later, as the city lights twinkle beyond the windows and the stars begin to dot the night sky, you find yourselves tangled together in bed, the ring still sparkling on your finger.

“Did you really practice that speech all week?” you ask, tracing patterns on his chest.

“Absolutely,” he replies without hesitation. “You think I just pull that kind of romance out of thin air?”

You laugh, your hand resting over his heart. “Well, it worked. So, congratulations, Mr. Stark. You’re officially stuck with me.”

He smirks, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Best decision I’ve ever made.”

And as you drift off to sleep in his arms, the city a distant hum beyond the glass, you can’t help but think that he’s right. This—this love, this life, this man—is the best decision you’ve ever made, too.

The decision to get married in Italy happens almost instantly, and of course, it’s Tony who suggests it. One evening, just a week after the proposal, you’re both curled up on the couch, sharing a pizza and brainstorming wedding ideas. You suggest something small and simple, maybe even local, but Tony scoffs so dramatically that you almost choke on your bite.

“Small and simple? Sweetheart, this is a Stark wedding,” he says, gesturing grandly like he’s unveiling a master plan. “We can’t just have a backyard barbecue and call it a day.”

“I wasn’t suggesting a barbecue,” you argue, laughing. “Just… something intimate. Lowkey.”

Tony narrows his eyes as if he’s trying to comprehend an entirely foreign concept. “Intimate, sure. But lowkey? Where’s the drama? The pizzazz? The flair?” He stands abruptly, grabbing his tablet off the coffee table and pulling up images of sprawling Italian villas, sparkling lakes, and rolling hills. “Italy. Lake Como. Picture it: sunset ceremony, wine that’ll make you cry tears of joy, and a backdrop so gorgeous it’ll make even me look like an afterthought.”

You lean over the tablet, your fingers brushing his as you swipe through the photos. You hate to admit it, but it does look incredible.

“Lake Como, huh?” you say, tilting your head.

“Trust me,” he replies, already beaming like he’s won. “You’ll love it.”

And just like that, you’re planning a destination wedding.

The next few months are a whirlwind of activity, full of laughter, occasional bickering, and more spreadsheets than you ever thought possible. Tony hires an elite team of wedding planners, but true to form, he insists on being involved in every detail, much to their dismay.

One morning, as you’re going over the guest list, Tony lounges across the couch, sipping an espresso and scrolling through his tablet.

“Okay, so I’ve narrowed down the guest list to 150 people,” you say, looking up from your notebook.

Tony raises an eyebrow. “Only 150? What about the Stark Industries board? Or the press?”

You groan, throwing a pillow at him. “Tony, this isn’t a corporate launch party. It’s our wedding. We’re not inviting the press.”

He dodges the pillow with a laugh, setting down his tablet to pull you into his lap. “Fine, fine. No press.”

Moments like this—when it’s just the two of you, teasing and laughing—make the chaos of planning worthwhile.

The dress becomes a point of contention about halfway through the process.

Tony insists on knowing every single detail of the wedding, from the floral arrangements (white roses with touches of blush pink) to the menu (a five-course Italian feast that he swears will ruin you for all other food). But when it comes to your wedding dress, you refuse to budge.

“You’re not seeing it until I walk down the aisle,” you say firmly one afternoon as you finalize plans for your first fitting.

Tony stares at you like you’ve just announced you’re canceling the wedding altogether. “Wait, what? Why not? I’m paying for it!”

“And it’s going to be a surprise,” you say sweetly, patting his cheek.

“Surprises are overrated,” he grumbles, crossing his arms.

“Not this one,” you reply, leaning up to kiss his cheek.

Despite his protests, you stick to your guns, and Tony spends the next few months sulking every time the dress is mentioned. You catch him trying to bribe your best friend for details once (“Come on, just tell me if it’s got sparkles”), but she doesn’t crack, much to your delight.

Planning a wedding with Tony Stark also means dealing with the occasional unexpected distraction.

Like the time he accidentally blew up part of his workshop while testing a new prototype. You were on a video call with the wedding planner, discussing seating arrangements, when the explosion rattled the entire tower.

“Tony!” you shouted, rushing down to the lab.

When you got there, he was covered in soot, grinning sheepishly as Dum-E sprayed him with a fire extinguisher.

“Don’t worry,” he said, coughing. “It’s under control. Mostly.”

“You’re going to be late to the cake tasting,” you scolded, dragging him upstairs.

He laughed, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “You love me even when I’m a disaster.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you muttered, though you couldn’t hide your smile.

Before you know it, the big day arrives.

The villa on Lake Como is even more stunning than you imagined. The ceremony is set up on a sprawling terrace overlooking the water, with rows of chairs draped in white fabric and flowers adorning every surface. The air is warm and fragrant, the sound of the lake gently lapping against the shore creating a serene backdrop.

As the sun begins to set, painting the sky in shades of gold and lavender, you stand in a quiet room with your best friend, your dress perfectly fitted, your heart pounding.

“You ready?” she asks, smiling as she adjusts your veil.

You nod, taking a deep breath. “I’ve never been more ready for anything in my life.”

Meanwhile, Tony waits at the altar, looking dashing in his custom tuxedo. But for all his usual confidence, there’s a nervous energy about him as he glances toward the entrance. Rhodey nudges him, grinning.

“Relax,” Rhodey says. “She’s not going to stand you up.”

“Shut up,” Tony mutters, though he can’t help but smile.

When the music starts, and the doors open, everything else fades.

You step into view, and for a moment, Tony forgets how to breathe. You’re radiant, your dress a perfect blend of elegance and simplicity, and the look in your eyes as you meet his gaze is enough to make his knees weak.

As you walk down the aisle, your heart swells with love and anticipation. When you reach Tony, he takes your hands, his eyes shining with unshed tears.

“You’re stunning,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” you reply, smiling through your tears.

The ceremony is beautiful, filled with laughter and heartfelt vows that make everyone in attendance misty-eyed. Tony’s vow, in true Stark fashion, is equal parts romantic and funny.

“I never thought I’d find someone who could put up with my nonsense,” he says, his voice warm. “But then you came along and not only put up with it, but somehow made me better. You’re my partner, my equal, and the love of my life. And I promise to spend the rest of my days loving you—flaws, genius, and all.”

Your vows are just as heartfelt, and by the time you exchange rings, there’s not a dry eye in the house.

The reception is a blur of joy and celebration. Guests dance under strings of twinkling lights, the food is every bit as incredible as Tony promised, and the speeches are both hilarious and touching.

But for you and Tony, the highlight of the night is the quiet moment you steal away from the crowd. You find yourselves on a balcony overlooking the lake, the stars reflected in the water below.

Tony wraps his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“So,” he says softly, his voice filled with wonder. “We did it.”

“We did,” you reply, leaning back against him.

He turns you around, his hands framing your face as he looks at you like you’re the only thing in the world. “Mrs. Stark,” he murmurs, the words sending a shiver down your spine.

You smile, your hands resting on his chest. “I like the sound of that.”

He kisses you then, slow and sweet, the kind of kiss that feels like a promise. And as the stars shine above and the world falls away, you know that this—this love, this life, this man—is everything you’ve ever dreamed of and more.

The first days of being married feel like a dream you never want to wake up from. The wedding was magical, but the aftermath—the quiet moments where it’s just the two of you—is even better. You wake up the morning after the wedding in Tony’s arms, sunlight spilling through the villa’s curtains. His hair is an endearing mess, his face softened by sleep. When he finally stirs, the first thing he does is pull you closer, murmuring a sleepy “Good morning, Mrs. Stark.” The words make your heart skip a beat every time he says them, and he takes full advantage of that, slipping the phrase into every conversation for the next several days.

“Mrs. Stark, do you want pancakes or waffles?” “Mrs. Stark, are you aware of how incredible you look in my shirt?” “Mrs. Stark, could you pass me that screwdriver? Thanks, you’re the best wife ever.”

You let him have his fun because, truthfully, you love it.

The honeymoon in Italy stretches on for a few more days, spent exploring charming lakeside towns, indulging in decadent food, and stealing kisses in picturesque corners like a couple from a movie. Tony insists on spoiling you at every turn, booking private tours and surprise candlelit dinners. He claims it’s to celebrate “locking down the deal of a lifetime,” but you know it’s because he can’t resist going all out when it comes to you.

When you finally return to New York, reality hits in the form of a media frenzy. The press had already been obsessed with your relationship before, but your wedding—Tony Stark marrying the woman who tamed him—has become the headline of the year. Paparazzi swarm the tower, headlines range from heartfelt to ridiculous (“Genius Billionaire Finally Meets His Match” and “Mrs. Stark: Who Is She, and How Did She Do It?”), and fans on social media dissect every detail of the wedding pictures that somehow made their way online.

Tony, of course, takes it all in stride, basking in the attention like it’s his natural habitat. He gives you a cheeky grin one morning as he reads an article aloud, his feet propped up on the kitchen counter. “‘Tony Stark’s wedding sets new standard for billionaire romance.’ Sounds about right, don’t you think, Mrs. Stark?”

You roll your eyes, stealing his coffee cup and taking a sip. “Are you going to call me that forever?”

“Forever,” he replies, leaning over to kiss your cheek. “Get used to it.”

Despite the chaos outside, life inside the tower settles into a new rhythm. You fall into a comfortable routine with Tony, your days filled with work, laughter, and the kind of love that feels almost too good to be true. The other Avengers quickly adapt to your new title as well, with Clint jokingly saluting you as “the boss’s boss” and Natasha subtly slipping “Mrs. Stark” into conversation whenever she can just to see you smile.

The real surprise comes a few months later. You’re in the middle of a particularly lazy afternoon, curled up on the couch with a book while Tony tinkers with something in the lab, when you start to notice a pattern. You’ve been unusually tired lately, your emotions swinging wildly between laughter and tears, and then there’s the morning sickness that hit you out of nowhere. At first, you chalked it up to stress or maybe a lingering flu, but now… you have a feeling there’s something more.

The thought sends a jolt of excitement and nervousness through you, and the next morning, you quietly sneak out to buy a test. When the results come back positive, you sit on the edge of the bed, staring at the little plastic stick in disbelief.

You’re pregnant.

The realization hits you like a tidal wave. You and Tony are going to have a baby. The thought fills you with so much joy you can hardly contain it, but it’s mixed with a flutter of nerves. How do you tell the man who built a suit of armor to protect himself that he’s about to become a dad?

That evening, after mulling over a dozen ideas, you settle on something simple but quintessentially Stark. You order a tiny baby onesie online and have it customized with the words, Iron Baby No. 1 on the way, ETA nine months. When it arrives a few days later, you hide it in a gift box and wait for the perfect moment.

The moment comes one evening when Tony’s in the kitchen, making what he calls his “famous” grilled cheese. He’s in a relaxed mood, humming along to the playlist he’s put on, and you decide this is it.

“Hey,” you say casually, walking over with the box behind your back.

He glances up from the stove, his face lighting up when he sees you. “Hey, gorgeous. What’s up?”

“I got you a present,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady.

Tony raises an eyebrow, setting down the spatula. “A present? For me? What’s the occasion?”

“Just open it,” you say, handing him the box.

He grins, clearly intrigued, and tears into the wrapping paper like a kid on Christmas morning. When he lifts the lid and sees the tiny onesie, his expression shifts from confusion to realization, his eyes widening as he reads the words.

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything, just stares at the onesie like it’s the most precious thing he’s ever seen. Then he looks up at you, his eyes shimmering with tears.

“Are you serious?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nod, tears welling in your own eyes. “I’m serious. We’re having a baby.”

Tony sets the box down carefully on the counter before pulling you into his arms. His embrace is so tight it nearly takes your breath away, but you don’t mind. You can feel him trembling slightly as he buries his face in your neck, his emotions pouring out in a way that’s so rare for him.

“I’m going to be a dad,” he says, his voice cracking. “Holy shit. I’m going to be a dad.”

“You are,” you whisper, your hands running soothingly over his back.

When he finally pulls back, his face is wet with tears, but his smile is brighter than you’ve ever seen it. He cups your face in his hands, kissing you deeply before resting his forehead against yours.

“I love you,” he says, his voice full of awe. “I love you so much. And I love…” He places a hand gently on your stomach, his touch reverent. “I love this little one already.”

You laugh softly, brushing a tear from his cheek. “I had a feeling you’d be happy.”

“Happy? Are you kidding?” He laughs, though his voice is still thick with emotion. “This is… this is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. To us.”

Over the next few weeks, Tony shifts into full-on protective mode. He insists on accompanying you to every doctor’s appointment, interrogates the OB-GYN like they’re a candidate for a top-secret Stark Industries position, and starts researching the best baby gear money can buy. You come home one day to find him in the nursery he’s set up, designing what he calls “baby-safe tech” to keep the little one entertained and protected.

“Tony,” you say, laughing as you lean against the doorframe. “You do realize we’re not raising a baby genius in a lab, right?”

“Speak for yourself,” he replies, not looking up from his holographic blueprint. “This kid’s going to be the smartest, safest, most spoiled little Stark in history.”

You shake your head, your heart swelling with love. Seeing him like this—so invested, so excited—makes you fall for him all over again.

As the weeks turn into months, the excitement grows, both inside the tower and out. The press catches wind of the pregnancy, and the news spreads like wildfire. Headlines range from adoring to absurd, but you and Tony take it all in stride, focusing on the joy of building your family together.

One night, as you’re lying in bed, Tony rests his hand on your growing bump, his fingers tracing lazy circles over your skin.

“You know,” he says softly, his voice laced with wonder, “I used to think I’d never have this. A family. Someone to love me for who I am, not what I can give them.”

You reach up to cup his cheek, your thumb brushing over his stubble. “And now?”

“Now I know I was wrong,” he replies, leaning down to kiss you.

The idea for the gender reveal is Tony’s, though it surprises you because he’s usually one for grand gestures. But as he gently suggests the idea of keeping it just the two of you, something in his voice—soft, hopeful—makes your heart melt.

“You’re sure?” you ask one evening, resting your hands on your growing belly as you sit on the couch. “No big party? No fireworks shaped like an Iron Man suit?”

Tony grins, sitting beside you and wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “Sweetheart, I’ve done the fireworks. I’ve done the parties. But this… this is different. This is us.” He pauses, glancing at your belly with a tenderness that still catches you off guard. “I want it to be about you and me and the peanut.”

“Peanut?” you tease, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, peanut for now. Until they grow into something more Stark-like. Maybe ‘genius’ or ‘CEO.’”

You roll your eyes, but your smile betrays how much you love him. “Fine. Let’s do something just for us.”

A week later, you’re in the kitchen with Tony, standing before a modest but beautiful cake. The frosting is plain white, with delicate swirls along the edges. Inside, the baker promised, is either blue or pink to reveal the baby’s gender.

Tony’s practically buzzing with excitement as he hands you the knife. “You do the honors, Mrs. Stark.”

You take the knife, your hand trembling slightly, but before you can cut, he places his hand over yours.

“Wait,” he says, his voice softer now. He leans down and presses a kiss to your temple. “No matter what, this kid’s going to have the best parents in the world. Okay?”

Tears sting your eyes, and you nod, smiling up at him. “Okay.”

Together, you press the knife into the cake and lift the first slice, your breath catching as the color is revealed.

“It’s a girl,” you whisper, your voice trembling with emotion.

Tony stares at the pink cake, his mouth slightly open. Then his face breaks into the most radiant smile you’ve ever seen. “A girl,” he repeats, as if testing the words. He looks at you, his eyes shining. “We’re having a little Starkette.”

You laugh through your tears, setting the knife down to wrap your arms around him. He holds you tightly, his hand gently cradling the back of your head.

“I hope she’s just like you,” he murmurs against your hair.

“And I hope she’s just like you,” you reply, pulling back to meet his gaze.

“God, I hope not,” he jokes, though his voice is thick with emotion. “The world can barely handle one of me.”

In the weeks that follow, Tony becomes even more attached to your growing belly. Every evening, without fail, he rests his head against it and talks to the baby.

“Hey, Starkette,” he says one night as you lie in bed, his hand gently rubbing circles on your belly. “It’s me, your dad. I just want you to know that you’re already smarter than half the people I’ve ever worked with. And that’s saying something.”

You laugh, running your fingers through his hair. “Tony, she’s not even born yet.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he replies, pressing a soft kiss to your belly. “She’s already a Stark. Genius is in her DNA.”

Sometimes, he sings to her—soft, off-key renditions of songs that make you laugh until your sides hurt. Other times, he reads aloud from baby books, though he always adds his own commentary.

“Oh, look at this,” he says one evening, flipping through a parenting book. “‘Babies cry to communicate their needs.’ Really? That’s groundbreaking information. Did we pay for this book?”

Despite his jokes, you can see how deeply he’s invested in this new chapter of your lives. The sight of him doting on you and the baby makes you fall in love with him all over again.

Choosing a name becomes an adventure in itself.

Tony suggests everything from obscure historical figures to names of constellations. At one point, he even suggests “Arc,” claiming it’s a nod to his arc reactor and “totally cool.”

“Tony,” you say, barely suppressing your laughter. “We are not naming our daughter after a piece of tech.”

“Fine,” he replies, pretending to sulk. “But don’t come crying to me when she asks why she doesn’t have a cool name.”

After weeks of debate, you finally settle on a name that feels perfect: Morgan.

“Why Morgan?” Tony asks one evening as you lie together on the couch.

You shrug, smiling softly. “It’s strong but sweet. And it feels… right.”

Tony repeats the name under his breath, testing it out. Then he smiles, nodding. “Morgan Stark. Yeah, that’s perfect.”

The day Morgan arrives starts like any other. You wake up to the sound of Tony tinkering in the lab, but by mid-morning, the first contractions hit.

“Tony!” you shout from the living room, clutching the back of the couch.

He appears within seconds, his eyes wide. “What? What is it? Is the tower on fire again?”

You glare at him, though the pain is already making you wince. “No, you idiot. The baby’s coming.”

For a moment, he just stares at you, his face going pale. Then he snaps into action, grabbing your hospital bag and practically carrying you to the car.

The ride to the hospital is a blur of Tony panicking and you trying not to laugh between contractions.

“Do we have everything?” he asks, his voice frantic. “The bag? The paperwork? Did we forget anything? Oh God, what if we—”

“Tony,” you interrupt, reaching for his hand. “It’s fine. I promise. Just focus on driving.”

When you arrive at the hospital, Tony is a mix of nerves and excitement. He holds your hand through every contraction, whispering words of encouragement and pressing kisses to your forehead.

“You’re amazing,” he says as you breathe through the pain. “You’ve got this. You’re a freaking superhero.”

The delivery is intense, and at one point, you think you might actually break Tony’s hand with how tightly you’re gripping it. But he doesn’t complain, just keeps murmuring reassurances and brushing your hair back from your face.

And then, after what feels like an eternity, you hear the first cry.

“It’s a girl,” the doctor announces, holding up your squirming, pink-faced baby.

Tears stream down your face as they place her on your chest. Tony stares in awe, his eyes glassy as he leans down to kiss your forehead.

“She’s beautiful,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion.

You nod, your heart overflowing as you gaze down at your daughter. “Hi, Morgan,” you murmur, your voice trembling.

In the hours that follow, Tony can hardly take his eyes off Morgan. He holds her like she’s the most precious thing in the world, his large hands surprisingly gentle as he cradles her tiny form.

“She’s so small,” he marvels, staring down at her. “How can something so tiny have such a big impact?”

You smile, resting your head against his shoulder. “That’s what love does.”

Tony looks at you then, his eyes full of gratitude and adoration. “Thank you,” he says softly. “For her. For us.”

Over the next few days, the tower becomes a hub of celebration. The Avengers take turns visiting, each one fawning over Morgan in their own way. Even Clint, who jokes about having enough kids of his own, is smitten.

But at the end of the day, it’s the quiet moments with just the three of you that mean the most.

One evening, as you sit in the nursery, watching Tony rock Morgan to sleep, you feel an overwhelming sense of peace.

“Welcome to the world, Morgan Stark,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to her tiny forehead.

The first days at the hospital are a whirlwind of exhaustion, joy, and learning curves that neither you nor Tony could have anticipated. You’re still lying in the hospital bed, Morgan nestled in your arms, when the nurse comes in with a soft smile and an armful of pamphlets. She explains everything from feeding to burping, swaddling to diaper changing. You listen attentively, but Tony’s focus is entirely on Morgan. His hands are gentle but a little awkward as he cradles her tiny head, his face full of wonder.

When the nurse shows him how to hold Morgan correctly, Tony nods along seriously, but the second she leaves, he looks at you with mock indignation. “I think she thought I didn’t know how to hold a baby,” he says, feigning offense.

You laugh softly, your body still sore but your heart full. “Do you?”

“I’m a genius, remember?” he says, lifting Morgan a little higher, though he holds her like she’s made of glass. “But… okay, I might have needed a little help.”

It becomes clear quickly that while Tony can invent world-changing technology, mastering baby care is a completely different challenge. He spends fifteen minutes trying to figure out how to swaddle Morgan properly, only for her to immediately kick her legs free. “It’s a conspiracy,” he mutters, trying again as you laugh from the bed. “I’m telling you, she’s already smarter than me.”

Feeding Morgan proves to be a team effort. The nurses show you how to breastfeed while Tony hovers nearby, asking a million questions that make the staff chuckle. “Is she getting enough? How do we know? What if she’s still hungry?”

“Tony,” you say gently, placing a hand on his arm. “She’s fine. Trust me.”

He sighs but nods, his shoulders relaxing slightly. Later, when it’s time to bottle feed, Tony insists on being the one to do it. He sits in the chair beside your bed, Morgan nestled in his arms, and looks up at you with a proud grin. “I think she likes me,” he says as she sucks greedily on the bottle.

“She’s a Stark,” you reply with a smile. “Of course, she likes you.”

The nurses come in periodically to check on you and the baby, and each time, they offer more advice. By the end of your stay, your head is swimming with information, but Tony’s enthusiasm makes it easier. He takes notes—actual notes—and even sketches out diagrams for things like diaper changes.

“Who knew being a parent involved so much engineering?” he jokes, but there’s a genuine determination in his eyes.

Finally, after a few days, you’re cleared to go home. The excitement of leaving the hospital is quickly tempered by the reality of the paparazzi camped outside. News of Morgan’s birth had leaked almost immediately, and now the world is desperate for the first glimpse of Tony Stark’s baby girl.

You sit in the hospital room, holding Morgan close, while Tony stands by the window, peering through the blinds. “It’s like a circus out there,” he mutters, turning to look at you. “They’re not getting a single shot of her face. Not until we decide.”

You nod, your protective instincts flaring. “How do we get past them?”

Tony smirks, his confidence returning. “I’ve got a plan.”

The plan involves Happy pulling up to the hospital’s front entrance in a decoy car while you, Tony, and Morgan slip out through a back exit. Wrapped in a soft pink blanket and nestled securely in your arms, Morgan is hidden from view as you rush to an unmarked SUV waiting in the alley. Tony shields you both, his arm around your shoulders, and Happy drives like a man on a mission once you’re inside.

By the time you arrive at the tower, the paparazzi are still circling the hospital, none the wiser. Tony grins as he steps out of the car, glancing at you. “Mission accomplished, Mrs. Stark.”

Inside the tower, the chaos of the outside world melts away. The nursery is ready, every detail meticulously planned by Tony. The walls are painted a soft, calming gray, accented with touches of pink and gold. A custom crib sits in the corner, along with shelves stocked with books and toys.

You place Morgan in her crib for the first time, your heart swelling as you watch her tiny chest rise and fall. Tony stands beside you, his hand resting on your lower back.

“She’s perfect,” he whispers, his voice full of awe.

The first night at home is… an adventure. Morgan wakes up every two hours, her cries piercing through the quiet of the penthouse. You take turns getting up with her, though Tony insists on doing most of the work.

“You just gave birth,” he says, gently taking Morgan from your arms when she cries again at three in the morning. “I’ve got this. You sleep.”

You don’t argue, though you can’t resist peeking into the nursery an hour later. You find Tony sitting in the rocking chair, Morgan cradled against his chest as he hums softly. It’s a sight that makes your heart ache with love.

In the days that follow, you and Tony fall into a rhythm. It’s far from perfect—there are diaper disasters, sleepless nights, and moments where you both feel completely overwhelmed—but there’s also so much joy.

One afternoon, you walk into the nursery to find Tony lying on the floor beside Morgan’s playmat, his finger grasped tightly in her tiny hand. He looks up at you with a goofy grin. “She’s got a strong grip,” he says. “She’s going to be an inventor. Or maybe a pilot.”

You laugh, sitting down beside him. “Or maybe she’ll be an artist. Or a writer.”

“Whatever she wants,” Tony agrees, leaning over to kiss your temple.

Mealtimes become a highlight of your days. Tony insists on taking charge of the bottle feeds, claiming it’s “bonding time” with his daughter. He talks to her as she eats, telling her stories about his adventures as Iron Man and the time he built a robot that accidentally tried to take over the world.

“Don’t worry,” he says, his tone light. “We’ll teach you to build better robots.”

When Morgan isn’t eating or sleeping, she’s the center of attention. Tony spends hours playing with her, making silly faces and inventing little gadgets to keep her entertained. One evening, he proudly unveils a tiny Stark-branded mobile that lights up and plays lullabies.

“Look at that,” he says as he hangs it over her crib. “Custom-made for the best baby in the world.”

You smile, leaning against him as you watch Morgan’s eyes widen at the softly glowing lights. “You’re going to spoil her rotten.”

“Absolutely,” he replies without hesitation, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

Despite the exhaustion, these first days are some of the happiest of your life. There’s a quiet magic in the way your little family is coming together, in the small moments that remind you of how much love surrounds you.

One night, as you sit on the couch with Morgan asleep in your arms, Tony comes over and sits beside you. He leans down to kiss Morgan’s forehead, then rests his head against your shoulder.

“We did good,” he murmurs, his voice soft.

You smile, your heart full. “Yeah, we did.”

And as you sit there, with your daughter in your arms and your husband by your side, you know that this is just the beginning of a beautiful journey.

Morgan’s first year is a series of milestones that come at you faster than you’re ready for. One morning, as you’re feeding her in the kitchen, her tiny fingers gripping the edge of the high chair, you notice something new. She’s gnawing relentlessly on one of her teething rings, a tiny scowl of determination on her face.

“Tony,” you call over your shoulder. He’s tinkering with some gadget at the counter, but he looks up immediately.

“What’s up?”

You motion toward Morgan, who has abandoned her teething ring and is now attempting to bite the tray of her high chair. “I think we’re entering teething territory.”

Tony sets down his tools and comes over, crouching to her eye level. “What’s going on, little Starkette? You trying to eat your way to freedom?”

Morgan responds with a high-pitched squeal that makes both of you laugh.

Teething quickly becomes a challenging phase, and Morgan is not shy about letting the world know how much she dislikes it. She chews on everything—her toys, your fingers, Tony’s hoodie strings. One night, as you’re watching a movie together, she grabs the edge of Tony’s expensive leather belt and shoves it into her mouth.

“Hey, hey!” Tony says, gently pulling it away. “That’s Italian leather, kiddo!”

You laugh, handing her a proper teething toy. “Welcome to parenthood. Nothing is safe.”

Tony takes the challenge of teething head-on, dedicating hours to researching remedies. He orders every teething toy imaginable and even develops a custom one that vibrates slightly to soothe her gums. When he proudly presents it to you, you can’t help but roll your eyes.

“Only our child would have a high-tech teething toy,” you tease.

“Hey,” Tony says, holding up a hand. “If she’s going to chew on something, it might as well be Stark-approved.”

Despite the sleepless nights and the constant need for gum-soothing gel, there are sweet moments too. Like the way Morgan clings to you when she’s particularly cranky, her tiny hands fisting your shirt as she nuzzles into your chest. Or the way Tony sings softly to her as he rocks her in his arms, his voice low and soothing even when he’s dead tired.

One morning, as you’re sitting on the living room floor with Morgan in your lap, she surprises you by letting out a string of sounds that almost—almost—sound like words.

“Ba-ba-da-da,” she babbles, her little fists waving excitedly.

You gasp, looking over at Tony, who’s lounging on the couch with a cup of coffee. “Did you hear that?”

Tony grins, setting his mug down. “Of course I did. That’s pure Stark genius right there.”

“She’s just babbling,” you say, though your heart swells with pride.

“Don’t sell her short,” Tony replies, scooping her up and lifting her high in the air. Morgan squeals with delight, her chubby arms reaching for him. “She’s probably already working out her first patent.”

As the weeks pass, Morgan’s babbling becomes more frequent and animated. She talks to her toys, to you, to Tony, and even to Dum-E, who dutifully beeps in response. One day, as Tony is feeding her, she looks up at him with her big brown eyes and says something that sounds suspiciously like “Dada.”

Tony freezes, the spoon halfway to her mouth. “Did you just… did you just call me Dada?”

You’re watching from the doorway, and you can’t help but laugh. “I think she did.”

Tony’s face lights up like it’s Christmas morning. He sets the spoon down and pulls Morgan into his arms, holding her close. “That’s right, baby girl,” he says, his voice full of emotion. “I’m Dada.”

Not long after, Morgan starts to show signs that she’s ready to crawl. She spends hours on her belly, wiggling and rocking back and forth as she tries to figure it out. Tony, ever the innovator, decides to “help” her by building a tiny baby-sized robot that moves just out of her reach, encouraging her to chase it.

“Tony,” you say, crossing your arms as you watch him test it in the living room. “You can’t engineer her milestones.”

“I’m not engineering,” he insists, though his grin betrays him. “I’m motivating.”

Morgan seems to agree because within a few days, she’s crawling across the floor with surprising speed, determined to catch the little robot. You cheer her on, clapping and laughing as she finally grabs it and lets out a triumphant giggle.

From that point on, nothing in the penthouse is safe. Morgan is everywhere, pulling herself up on furniture, opening cabinets, and exploring every nook and cranny she can reach. Tony installs baby-proofing measures at an alarming rate, though he still insists on letting her “experiment” within reason.

“She’s curious,” he says one evening as Morgan pulls herself up on the edge of the coffee table. “That’s a good thing.”

“It is,” you agree, though you keep a close eye on her as she wobbles precariously.

The day Morgan takes her first steps is one you’ll never forget. She’s standing near the couch, holding onto the edge for support, when suddenly she lets go. You and Tony are sitting on the floor, a few feet away, watching her with wide eyes.

“Come on, Morgan,” Tony coaxes, holding out his hands. “You can do it.”

She wobbles, her little legs unsteady, but then she takes one step. And then another.

“Tony,” you whisper, your hands flying to your mouth.

“I see it,” he says, his voice filled with awe.

Morgan takes three more steps before tumbling into Tony’s arms, giggling as he scoops her up and spins her around.

“You did it!” he exclaims, pressing kisses all over her face. “That’s my girl!”

You’re crying by the time he looks at you, and he grins, holding Morgan out toward you. “Your turn, Mom.”

You pull her into your arms, kissing her forehead and whispering how proud you are. It’s a moment that feels almost too perfect to be real.

As Morgan grows, her vocabulary starts to expand. Her first word, unsurprisingly, is “Dada,” which Tony proudly declares is the best thing he’s ever heard. But her second word, “Mama,” quickly follows, and you feel an overwhelming surge of love when she says it for the first time.

She picks up other words too—“up,” “no,” and “cookie” become favorites—but her babbling remains a constant source of entertainment. She has long, animated “conversations” with you and Tony, complete with hand gestures and facial expressions.

“She’s definitely your daughter,” you tease Tony one evening as Morgan waves her arms dramatically, babbling at the top of her lungs.

“She’s got your sass,” he counters, smirking.

Through it all, the two of you marvel at how quickly she’s growing and changing. Every milestone feels like a little miracle, a reminder of just how much love and joy she’s brought into your lives.

And as you watch her toddle across the living room one evening, her tiny feet padding against the floor, you realize that this is what happiness truly looks like. A life full of love, laughter, and the sweetest little girl in the world.

Life with toddler Morgan is a delightful mix of chaos, laughter, and the kind of exhaustion you wouldn’t trade for anything. She’s a whirlwind of energy, always exploring, always asking questions—or rather, yelling, “Why?” in her tiny voice as she points to every object she can find. You and Tony quickly learn that raising a toddler is a whole new kind of challenge, but also, it’s endlessly rewarding.

From the moment Morgan wakes up in the morning, she’s a ball of energy. She’s in the phase where she wants to do everything “by herself,” which means you often find her trying to pull on her socks upside-down or insisting on pouring her own juice, resulting in small floods on the kitchen counter.

“Did we adopt a tiny Tony Stark?” you ask one morning, watching her stubbornly refuse your help as she attempts to zip up her jacket.

“Excuse me,” Tony replies, sipping his coffee while lounging against the counter. “She’s a perfect blend of your determination and my brilliance.”

“Uh-huh,” you say, arching an eyebrow as Morgan gives up on the zipper and stomps her foot in frustration. “Your brilliance is why we now have a child who insists on building towers out of every item in the living room, including the remote and your sunglasses.”

Tony grins, crouching beside Morgan to help her with the zipper. “Don’t crush her creativity, babe.”

The penthouse is now toddler-proofed to a degree that feels both excessive and still somehow inadequate. Every corner has been padded, every sharp object locked away. Still, Morgan manages to find ways to keep you both on your toes. She’s discovered the joy of climbing, which means nothing is out of reach—not even the countertop.

One afternoon, as you’re folding laundry, you hear a crash from the kitchen, followed by Tony’s panicked voice.

“Morgan! No! You can’t—oh, my God, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

You rush in to find Morgan perched precariously on a stool, reaching for the cookie jar on the highest shelf. Tony is holding the stool steady, looking both impressed and horrified.

“She’s got determination,” he says, glancing at you with a sheepish grin.

“She’s going to give me a heart attack,” you reply, scooping her up and giving her a stern look. “No more climbing, little miss.”

Morgan giggles, clearly unbothered by the reprimand. “Cookies!” she declares, pointing at the jar.

“She’s definitely your kid,” Tony mutters, earning a playful swat on the arm from you.

Despite the chaos, you and Tony try your best to find moments of intimacy. It’s not always easy with a toddler running around, but you both know how important it is to keep your connection strong.

Late at night, after Morgan has gone to bed, you often find yourselves curled up on the couch together, sharing a bottle of wine and talking about everything and nothing. Sometimes, Tony pulls you into his lap and kisses you like it’s the first time all over again, his hands sliding over your back as if he can’t get enough of you.

One night, as you’re lying in bed together, Tony turns to you with that mischievous glint in his eye.

“You know,” he says, trailing his fingers along your arm, “we make pretty amazing kids.”

You smile, already knowing where this is going. “Oh, do we?”

“Yeah,” he says, leaning in to kiss your shoulder. “Morgan’s a genius in the making. Imagine if we had another one.”

You laugh softly, turning to face him. “Are you suggesting we try for baby number two?”

“Maybe,” he replies, his voice low and teasing. “I mean, why stop at one when we’re so good at this?”

His hand slips to your waist, pulling you closer, and you roll your eyes even as your heart flutters. “You just want an excuse to keep me barefoot and pregnant, don’t you?”

“Absolutely not,” he says, feigning offense. “I want an excuse to have more of you.”

His words send a shiver down your spine, and before you know it, he’s kissing you deeply, his hands roaming your body like he’s trying to memorize every inch of you.

“Tony,” you murmur against his lips, but he silences you with another kiss, his intentions clear.

Needless to say, the idea of a second baby becomes a topic of serious discussion—and action.

Meanwhile, Morgan keeps you both busy during the day. She’s entered the “why” phase with a vengeance, questioning everything from why the sky is blue to why Tony’s suit can fly. Tony, ever the teacher, takes her questions as opportunities to explain science in the simplest terms possible.

“Because, kiddo,” he says one afternoon, crouching beside her as she pokes at one of his gauntlets, “when air moves faster, pressure drops, and that helps create lift. That’s how planes—and my suit—stay in the air.”

Morgan looks at him with wide eyes, nodding solemnly before asking, “Why?”

You laugh from the couch, watching Tony try to answer her endless stream of questions. “You’re in for it now,” you tease.

“Don’t worry,” he replies, winking at you. “She’s a quick learner, just like her mom.”

One of your favorite moments comes when Morgan starts to show an interest in music. She’s discovered Tony’s collection of old records and insists on playing them every evening. Watching her dance around the living room, her little feet stomping to the beat, fills your heart with a joy you didn’t know was possible.

“She’s got moves,” Tony says one night, pulling you into his arms as Morgan twirls around in her pajamas.

“She gets that from me,” you reply, grinning.

Tony laughs, spinning you around as the music plays. “Sure she does.”

Despite the busyness of raising a toddler, you and Tony make time for yourselves as a couple. You sneak away for date nights when Happy or Pepper can babysit, though you always end up talking about Morgan within the first ten minutes.

One evening, after putting Morgan to bed, Tony surprises you with a romantic setup on the balcony—candles, champagne, the works.

“What’s the occasion?” you ask, leaning against him as you gaze out at the city lights.

“Do I need an occasion to spoil my wife?” he replies, pressing a kiss to your temple.

Moments like these remind you of how lucky you are to have him—not just as a partner, but as the most incredible father to your daughter.

As the weeks go by, you find yourself wondering if maybe, just maybe, another little Stark would be the perfect addition to your family. And judging by the way Tony looks at you every time Morgan does something adorable, he’s thinking the same thing.

It’s one of those mornings where the world feels calm, rare moments of peace in the Stark household. The sun is streaming through the windows, and Morgan is sitting at the kitchen table, coloring in her book with her usual level of intensity. Tony is at the counter, making what he swears is “the best pancakes you’ve ever had,” wearing pajama pants and a T-shirt that Morgan insisted he wear because it matches hers—bright pink with a cartoon unicorn on it.

You’re leaning against the counter, holding a mug of tea, trying to figure out the best way to tell Tony the news that’s been buzzing inside you for the past week. You’ve been keeping the pregnancy test hidden in your nightstand, waiting for the right moment to share it. And now, as you watch Tony flip pancakes with Morgan’s enthusiastic commentary in the background, you know the moment is here.

“Hey, Tony?” you say, setting your mug down and crossing the kitchen.

“Yeah, babe?” he answers, not looking up from the griddle.

You slide your arms around his waist from behind, resting your cheek against his back. “I need to tell you something.”

“Hmm?” he hums, turning his head slightly to glance at you over his shoulder.

You pause for a moment, your heart pounding with both excitement and nerves. Then, you step back and pull the small onesie you’ve been hiding out from your pocket. It’s white, with the words “Iron Baby No. 2 ETA: 9 Months” printed on it in bold letters.

Tony turns fully to look at you, his brow furrowed. His eyes fall on the onesie, and it takes a second for the meaning to click. When it does, his jaw drops.

“Wait. Are you—?!”

You nod, unable to keep the smile off your face. “We’re having another baby.”

Tony stares at you, completely still for a beat, before his face lights up with that signature Stark grin. He lets out a laugh of pure joy and scoops you into his arms, spinning you around right there in the middle of the kitchen.

“Another Stark genius on the way!” he exclaims, his voice brimming with pride and excitement. “Oh my God, babe, this is—wow. Just wow.”

Morgan, still at the table, looks up from her coloring book, her little face scrunching in confusion. “Daddy, why you spinning Mommy?”

Tony sets you down gently, his hands still on your waist, and crouches down to Morgan’s level. “Well, peanut, we’ve got some big news to share with you.”

Morgan blinks, her crayon poised midair. “Big news?”

You kneel beside Tony, taking her tiny hand in yours. “You’re going to be a big sister, sweetheart. Mommy’s going to have a baby.”

Morgan’s eyes go wide, and she looks between the two of you. “A baby?!” she squeals, her face lighting up with excitement.

“That’s right,” Tony says, pulling her onto his lap. “There’s a baby growing in Mommy’s tummy right now.”

Morgan stares at your stomach like she’s expecting to see the baby immediately. “Right now?” she asks, her little hands gently pressing against your belly.

“Right now,” you confirm, smiling at her curiosity.

Her expression shifts into something thoughtful, and then she asks, “Can I share my toys with the baby?”

Your heart melts, and Tony lets out a laugh, hugging her tightly. “That’s a great idea, peanut. You’re going to be the best big sister ever.”

Over the next few weeks, Morgan becomes completely obsessed with the idea of the baby. She asks a million questions—“How does the baby get in there?” (to which Tony coughs and quickly changes the subject), “When will the baby come out?” and, most frequently, “Is the baby going to like me?”

Tony takes every opportunity to reassure her. “Of course the baby’s going to love you,” he tells her one evening as they’re building a block tower together. “You’re going to be their favorite person.”

When you find out the baby is a boy, Morgan’s excitement reaches new heights. “A baby brother!” she exclaims, jumping up and down. “I’m going to teach him how to color and how to play with Dum-E and how to eat pancakes!”

Tony grins, pulling her into a hug. “That’s my girl. He’s going to be one lucky little guy.”

As the months pass, the preparations for the baby kick into high gear. Tony insists on designing the nursery himself, turning one of the spare rooms in the penthouse into a space that’s both practical and beautiful. Morgan helps as much as she can, picking out toys and decorations and offering unsolicited advice.

“I think the baby would like stars on the ceiling,” she says one afternoon as Tony is painting the walls.

“Stars it is,” Tony replies, pulling up a design on his tablet and letting her help choose the layout.

You spend hours together as a family, getting everything ready. Morgan loves to help fold tiny clothes and stack diapers, even if her “help” usually results in more work for you later.

When the day of the birth finally arrives, it happens in the middle of the night. You wake up to contractions and gently nudge Tony awake.

“Tony,” you whisper. “It’s time.”

His eyes snap open, and he immediately jumps into action. “Time? Time for—oh my God, it’s time!” He stumbles out of bed, pulling on clothes and grabbing the hospital bag you packed weeks ago.

Morgan wakes up in the commotion, rubbing her eyes sleepily. “What’s happening?”

“You’re about to meet your baby brother,” you tell her, smoothing her hair.

Tony calls Pepper, who comes to stay with Morgan while you head to the hospital. As you’re leaving, Morgan gives you a big hug and whispers, “Tell the baby I love him, okay?”

Labor is intense but thankfully not too long, and soon enough, baby Jake Stark makes his grand entrance into the world. He’s a perfect mix of you and Tony, with a head of dark hair and big, curious eyes that already seem to be taking everything in.

When Tony holds him for the first time, he’s completely overcome. Tears fill his eyes as he stares down at the tiny baby in his arms. “Hey there, little guy,” he says softly. “I’m your dad. And you’ve got the coolest mom and the best big sister waiting to meet you.”

When you return home the next day, Morgan is practically bouncing with excitement. The moment she sees Jake, her face lights up, and she immediately runs over to you.

“Can I hold him?” she asks, her voice filled with awe.

You settle on the couch with her, placing Jake carefully in her lap. Her small hands gently cradle him, and she stares at him with wide eyes.

“Hi, baby brother,” she whispers. “I’m your big sister Morgan.”

Tony sits beside her, his arm around her shoulders, watching the two of them with a smile that’s equal parts pride and pure love.

Jake lets out a little coo, and Morgan gasps. “He likes me!”

“Of course he does,” you say, brushing a tear from your cheek.

From that moment on, Morgan takes her role as big sister very seriously. She insists on helping with everything, from feeding Jake to picking out his clothes. And while life with two kids is undeniably hectic, it’s also more wonderful than you ever could have imagined.

Watching Tony with your children, the way he adores them and you, makes your heart feel like it could burst. Your family is complete, and every day feels like the greatest adventure yet.

20 notes · View notes

syntheticavenger · 2 days ago

Text

Splinter - Three

Two

Dark! Alpha! Thor x Omega! Female Reader

Word Count: 3K

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, world building, Alpha/Omega dynamics, intimidation. We get some Breakable and Fragile mixed in here as well. I know I said the last part was going to be tame and this is… sort of tame but we’ve lit a match for sure with this powder keg.

Summary | Your dream job provides prestige, security and a chance to shape your future. When one little mistake leads to Thor saving you in a time of crisis, his past promise comes back to haunt you.

As if on cue, the three warriors bow to you, Paloma’s eyes widening as her hand covers her heart. They place their fists on their chests, tapping twice. You’ve seen it once before, a long time ago in Asgard.

What she finds as a sweet gesture, you know the importance of what it means.

An unbroken promise.

“It’s been a long while,” Volstagg says with a heavy nod. “You’ve done well for yourself. A peacekeeper in a time of uncertainty. Much like our Thor. He’s taught you well.”

The trio laughs, Paloma joining in before your eyes narrow at his comment.

“He did not teach me to be a peacekeeper. I know my own way.”

Their laughter ceases at your censure, Paloma clearing her throat to try to ease the tension. It’s obvious that she’s enthralled with the men in front of her. They look massive standing next to her, their eyes still on you.

“They’ll make sure you’re safe,” Paloma reminds you, giving you a careful gaze of a reminder to not lose your temper. “That reminds me… there’s a dinner tomorrow, I believe the Ambassador to Sakaar has invited you to a dinner to discuss their opportunity to bring sanctions to the Scrappers.”

”Sakaar,” Hogun repeats, turning his head at the mention. “What do they want with you?”

Before you have a chance to answer, Paloma rushes in.

“The Sakaarians have a bit of a problem with people being stranded on their planet,” she says quickly. “With the creation of the IDD, the Intergalactic Diplomacy Division, they are looking at a possible goodwill tour of how they are perceived in the general universe.”

“Does Thor know about this?” Volstagg questions.

“No,” you answer. “And he doesn’t need to know because there will be a full security detail, including yourselves apparently, to make sure that the meeting does not go off the rails.”

”Sakaarians,” Fandral repeats to Volstagg. “They’re not to be trusted.”

”Well,” you say loudly, interrupting their side conversation. “Since you’re deemed to keep me safe, be on your guard then. But I’m going. This is my job, you’re here to keep me safe at my job and that is that.”

Their silence unnerves you when you continue down the hallway, hearing Paloma clap her hands together before speaking.

”Shall we order take out?”

⚡️

“The Intergalactic Diplomacy Division is kicking off the first of their initiatives, created by President Miriam Sharpe to attend to the universe’s complex societies after they were first discovered over ten years ago. Congress voted to create the division after much speculation surrounding trades with other planets,” a news reporter says, Steve looking up at the TV.

”I don’t like it,” Steve says, crossing his arms over his chest. “Since when does the government lean into diplomacy?”

“Since you decided to ignore everything about the Sokovia Accords,” Clint reminds him.

“Didn’t make sense then and it doesn’t now,” Steve counters. “What about her?”

He points to you, standing next to a senator and a person identified as a Zehoberi, a green skinned man wearing a formal suit as you smile for the camera as they sign a declaration of peace.

Thor doesn’t look up from what he’s doing, reading a message from Fandral before he hears his name being called again.

“Let her believe that she is creating peace in worlds that I know will never see it,” Thor says with a shrug. “What is the harm?”

”First the Zehoberi,” Clint chimes in. “Then what, the Sakaarians? They’re next on the list, aren’t they? They shake hands with the Kree and -”

”It won’t happen,” Thor snaps. “She wouldn’t betray us, meeting with the Kree.”

“Does she know the history? With Steve’s wife stepping down from her director spot, the job hasn’t been filled. Not for lack of Fury trying. All these threats,” Clint reminds him, slapping a hand on Thor’s back. “Makes sense this diplomacy division is suddenly created if we’re trying to scramble to make sure every society is on their best behavior.”

”That’s our job,” Steve replies, meeting Thor’s gaze. “She’d tell you if she met with any of them, wouldn’t she, Thor?”

”She has a security detail,” Thor answers with a simple shrug. “They’ll tell me before she does.”

Steve seems to relax for a moment, Thor showing him his phone as there is a picture of you sitting down and going over a stack of reports, Volstagg in the background. Your expression is tense, your eyes focused on the giant man sitting behind you.

”Warriors Three,” Steve says with a smile. “Why didn’t you say so?”

⚡️

At the knock of the door, you open it to find Hogun standing in front of you. He says nothing at first, giving you a once over before he finally speaks.

“For your event tonight, will the Sakaarians accompany you there or are they sending you transportation?” He asks.

“I have my own,” you reply, Hogun nodding at your response. He seems a little relieved but you know there is more under the surface of his calm demeanor.

“Do you think it’s wise to meet with them? Sakaarians do business with the Kree.”

“This isn’t about the Kree. This is about the Sakaarians trying to make amends for the people who have been stranded on their planet.”

“Stranded,” Hogun repeats. “Is that what you think?”

“It’s what I know. Scrappers drop them off at a planet and the Sakaarians are forced to take care of them. It is a strain on their resources but they continue to do so out of goodwill.”

“Forced to take care of them? Is that what the ambassador told you? You are a smart woman. I would have expected you to do your own research.”

“Asgardians have an understandable grudge against the Kree that goes back centuries, maybe more. Sakaarians may do business with the Kree but I’m not sitting down with the Kree, am I?”

“Not yet,” Hogun counters. “Not that it would matter. I highly doubt you would kowtow to the Kree, even if you and Thor are no longer together.”

“Is that why you’re guarding me? To make sure I stay in line?”

Hogun stands at his full height, giving you a hard look.

“I have to tell him you’re meeting with the Sakaarians.”

“No,” you snap, shaking your head. “You do it and you’re no longer part of my security detail.”

“We don’t answer to you. We answer to Thor, who provided us to keep you safe. When he tells us that we can go, we’ll go. But he’ll want to know that you’re determined to meet with them.”

“Determined?” You echo. “It’s my job, Hogun. I’m sorry that you can’t understand that. I’ve worked for years to get to where I am and I’m not letting anyone, not even an Asgardian God, stop me from what I’ve worked for. Tell him that.”

“Does the Ambassador know about your designation? They are a sensitive sort, nearly primitive in a way. You might want to think about that as Paloma has blocked out your calendar for next week, hasn’t she? Thor has made it clear he wants to help you. I can’t see this boding well for you if you don’t take heed of what is happening biologically.”

“I can take care of myself.”

Hogun simply cants his head toward you before walking away.

Closing the door, you lean up against it, opening your shirt to inhale your scent. Gripping the collar, you close your eyes in defeat, knowing your upcoming heat cycle will be here soon. Hogun is right - Sakaarians could hold it against you, especially if you find yourself fending for your designation.

There’s only one way out of this and you know you won’t be able to get past the three of them by going out the front door.

Opening your bathroom medicine cabinet, you spy the suppressants in the bottle, only a month away from expiration, leaving two pills left. It had been for emergencies, you’d told yourself, popping the top off before you pause, looking in the mirror.

This was one of those times.

⚡️

Even though you don’t see them, you know they are hiding somewhere in this upscale restaurant, Paloma following you to the table. She’s been oddly quiet, so much so that you’re beginning to wonder why she’s changed in such a short amount of time. Perhaps it’s the fact she has to wrangle three burly men without much of a plan, navigating their directive to guard you and get you to your events in a timely manner.

“Ah, welcome,” the Ambassador to Sakaar greets you, shaking your hand as he motions to a woman in a tuxedo, her hair slicked back as she gives you a cold smile. “This is General Topaz. She is the direct head of the Sakaarian Guard and personal assistant to the Grandmaster.”

Paloma freezes at the statement, watching you extend your hand to General Topaz.

“It is a pleasure to meet you,” you begin, General Topaz warming to you by placing her hand on top of yours.

“The Grandmaster is very sorry he could not be here today.”

“He was going to be here?” Paloma sputters, gaining a concerned look from the Ambassador and General Topaz. “I… I’m sorry, I just didn’t know that he was planning to come. Was the IDD notified? This is a big deal.”

“He was planning on making it a surprise but he was held up, as the Grandmaster seems to be more often than not,” General Topaz admits. “He extends his best wishes and hopes that you will visit him in Sakaar very soon.”

The Ambassador narrows his eyes at the invitation, shaking his head slightly.

“How very flattering,” he says, assisting you into your seat. “I’m sure there will be time for that, one day. Right now, we are here to discuss an on-going issue, one that General Topaz is extremely passionate about.”

General Topaz shifts in her seat, looking at the champagne being poured in the glass.

“You have shimmering water here,” she says in awe. “Very dangerous to drink on Sakaar when it flows from the mountains.”

“It’s champagne,” you correct, the General picking up the glass to sniff it, looking at you for a moment before she takes a small sip. She pauses for a moment, looking back at you and the Ambassador before she takes another.

“Not poison,” she grunts with a laugh. “Dry… but good.”

”General Topaz, please tell me about Sakaar and some of the issues you’ve been facing.” You want to get back to business, feeling eyes on you that you know won’t reveal themselves until they are ready.

“Most think of us as a scavenger planet. That all we do is pit the stranded ones against each other in a fight to the death. We are so much more than that,” General Topaz declares. “The system is designed for them to have dignity. Those who survive, continue on to be greatly well regarded in our society. Much like your… people on the… televisions, you call it?”

“You’re still allowing them to fight?” You question, giving the Ambassador a look. “Under Title 4, I believe Sakaar had promised they would not be pitting survivors against each other.”

General Topaz downs the champagne, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

“We’re scaling back.”

“Scaling back?” You question the Ambassador. “Were you aware of this?”

“That’s why I asked you to come. We need your assistance, your counsel in this delicate manner,” he says in a near plea, Paloma shaking her head in disbelief.

“Delicate manner? You’re killing the stranded! I fail to see how I can assist you. You’re due to sign a treaty in three weeks, pledging peace.”

“Then you understand that time is of the essence,” General Topaz agrees. “I know that we have a lot of work to do but I assure you, we will cease fighting in the arena.”

“That’s not a promise that you will cease your fighting altogether, General,” you point out, General Topaz nodding.

“That would be for the Grandmaster to decide.”

”Then you need to go back and demand him to stop it.”

General Topaz lifts an eyebrow at your command.

“You want me to demand him to stop it,” she repeats. “He takes no orders from me. Only counsel.”

“Then counsel him to cease the fighting or there will be no treaty.”

General Topaz’s polite demeanor fades, her eyes narrowing at the Ambassador as she speaks rapidly in a foreign tongue. Whatever it is, you know she’s not pleased, the Ambassador nodding as he replies back in the same tongue, stopping the conversation to sigh, giving you his full attention.

Before he can speak, you look up to find a man standing there, placing his hand on the Ambassador’s shoulder.

”Ambassador De Wren, what a surprise running into you.”

The Ambassador looks up, pushing back his chair at the sight of Sergeant Bucky Barnes, shaking his hand as the two men greet each other.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Sergeant Barnes continues. “I heard some commotion and I wasn’t sure if I needed to assist.”

“A spirited conversation,” General Topaz interjects with an embarrassed laugh. “The sparkling water, it makes my tongue loose.”

”And you, advisor?” Sergeant Barnes asks, looking right at you. “You’ve been very popular in the political circuit. You’ve done well for yourself, all things considered.”

“Considered as what?” You ask.

“The Intergalactic Diplomacy Division is a fledging government branch and yet, you sit here with General Topaz herself. Outstanding work for someone who started out as a local journalist. Thor must be happy.”

You refuse to correct him, knowing that he is aware that you and Thor are not together. Paloma greets him, breaking your irritation for a small moment to slide in a small jab.

“Fury must be happy to find a new surveillance director, I’m sure. Seeing as you were up for the job, I’m sure it must be a relief to know that you’re being utilized for other positions.”

Becky’s smile fades as you take a sip of your champagne, Paloma nudging you under the table with her foot.

“I’ll let you all attend to your meeting. Good to see you all.”

When he leaves, you follow, seeing him look toward the right as you spy Fandral sitting with his back to you. The simple reminder that you’re being watched only sours the mood, leaving General Topaz to continue to the subject at hand.

“Let me get back to you on the Grandmaster’s agreement on ceasing the fighting. We can continue this at another time.”

Before you can stand, Paloma smiles brightly as a camera somewhere snaps.

“It has been a pleasure, Ambassador De Wren and General Topaz,” you bid in a farewell, a full smile on display. “I look forward to our next meeting.”

When you stand, Paloma follows suit, Fandral, Volstagg and Hogun standing up nearly in unison as you walk out, feeling them following behind you.

“I want them gone, Paloma,” you instruct through bared teeth, smiling for the cameras snapping once you open the door.

“This is dangerous,” Paloma smiles back, waving to the photographers. “Once they find out what’s happening, the treaty is off the table.”

“Then it’s off the table,” you answer. “The IDD won’t have blood on their hands.”

“I’m not worried about that,” Paloma says, leaning close to you as the car door is opened, looking back at the three men behind you as they whisper to each other. “I’m worried about you.”

⚡️

Scrolling carefully, you stop at a picture of a woman, smiling cautiously while out in the field, her S.H.I.E.L.D. badge on display as she stands with Nick Fury, celebrating a win over a takedown of communications that were in the hands of HYDRA.

S.H.I.E.L.D. Surveillance Director Goes Missing

Clicking another article, you find a picture of her again, a grainy photo of her at a grocery store.

Saved By Captain America, Former Surveillance Director Gives Up Job for True Love

Narrowing your eyes, you remember the whispers, the gossip of how quickly she had disappeared after rising in the ranks to be Fury’s right hand. There had even been talk to have her join the IDD to help with their translations and training.

Fury Still Looking For Top Spot Of Surveillance at S.H.I.E.L.D. - Still Mum On If Former Director Will Ever Return

She stays on your mind on nights like this, thinking back to when Thor had threatened you. Largely, it’s been out of mind, out of sight but seeing Sergeant Barnes sent you right back down the rabbit hole to find out what happened to her. S.H.I.E.L.D. had been rocked by illegal drugs dealt and sold within the ranks, Steve Rogers himself going after the suspects. While she had not been named as a suspect, the rumor had been that the rampant illegal suppressants and drugs had happened right under her nose. Fury had disputed this, fiercely until the rumors had stopped and she had been seen with Steve, renouncing her role as surveillance director and giving no interviews.

For the usual Omegas, it seemed like a romance novel come to life - the hardworking Omega falling for a strong Alpha who could take care of her. The parallels had seemed too good to be true, at least when you looked at yourself and Thor.

At least you knew the truth - Thor wanted you to fall in line and you were never that sort.

At the knock of the door, you close your laptop, padding to the door to open it to find Volstagg. He seems apologetic, finally looking you in the eyes before he speaks.

“I come with good news,” Volstagg says in a whisper. “Grandmaster is apparently going to cease all fighting. Not just in the arenas.”

“What?” You ask, Volstagg tapping his finger to his lips.

“They want the treaty,” he says.

Exhaling softly, you feel like you can finally breathe.

“That’s great news,” you finally say. “Thank you Volstagg. You made my night.”

“Get some rest. I’m sure tomorrow they’ll announce it and you’ll get to travel to Hala to see it in action.”

Nodding sleepily, you give him another smile of thanks, closing the door.

Hala. A name you’ve heard before but barely, mostly by political commentators.

You’ll research tomorrow, you tell yourself, climbing into bed and falling asleep.

#thor x you #thor x female reader #thor x reader #alpha! thor #dark alpha! thor #fragile au #dark a/b/o #alpha/omega

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shawtuzi · 5 days ago

Text

thinkin’ about dry humping w your sweet husband nanami after he had a long day at work :((

cw include: a lot of kissing, dry humping, fondling , nanami is so in love w reader <//3 , abrupt ending im sawry

nanami always liked kissing you.

he liked the way your lips were soft to the touch, feeling like velvet against his own. he liked the way you sucked on his bottom lip whenever you wanted him to slip his tongue in your mouth. he liked the way your kisses always tasted sweet, like strawberry chapstick or your favorite sour candies. what he really liked though was swallowing up your whiny moans while you two pleased each other.

“mm ken,” you sighed against his lips, hips bucking forward when he settled you right against the bulge in his slacks. nanami hummed into the kiss, his hands lazily settling on your ass. you were wearing a baby pink nightgown with nothing underneath—just the way he liked.

his hands felt searing hot against the skin of your behind as he rubbed it tenderly, goosebumps rising in their wake. “so soft,” he muttered, tracing a heart on your left ass cheek.

he groaned when you slithered your tongue in his mouth, the faint taste of mango making his mouth water. “did you get into my mango icees?” he chuckled, giving your ass a sharp smack. you giggled, grinding your lower half into his out of instinct. “maybe . . . i couldn’t help it ken, i needed something sweet,” a laugh bubbled in kento’s chest, his heart clenching at how fucking cute you were.

“m’happy you were able to satiate your sweet craving,” he grinned, his thumb pushing down on your chin to open your mouth. your lips parted, tongue sticking out the tiniest bit. nanami sucked your tongue into his mouth, his hand cupping the back of your neck to keep you close. you couldn’t stop your eyes from rolling back, your pussy feeling stickier by the second.

kento pushed his hips up, his grip on you tightening when he felt the warmth of your pussy against his poor, straining cock. your hand fumbled with his belt frantically, “d-do you wan’ me to—”

“nah nah it’s okay, wanna stay like this with you,” his lips captured yours in a kiss once more, his free hand now gripping onto your hips to start a steady pace. every time you’d try to pull back for air he’d pull you back, too greedy to let even a second of this moment go to waste.

a particular movement had you gasping wetly, back arching into his touch. “ngh that feels s’good,” you were boarder line slurring your words and he hasn’t even properly touched you down there yet. “mm it does doesn’t it,” he purred, sloppily kissing his way down your jaw to your neck. you tilted your head, giving your husband more room to kiss, lick, and suck to his hearts content.

“off . . . wan’ this off,” you whined, tugging at his dress shirt. nanami muttered something about you unbuttoning it for him so you made quick work to undo every button, your hands running over his naked chest the second you were finished. he shuddered when he felt your nails brush on his nipples—he was always so sensitive there. his tongue sloppily traced hearts into your neck, the sweet smell of your vanilla scented perfume making him dizzy.

“love you—love you s’much. most perfect thing in this world, fuck. my fuckin’ wife,” nanami growled into your ear, both of his hands now finding purchase on the fat of your ass. the front of his armani dress pants were now a sticky mess due to your sopping cunt, but he didn’t give a fuck in the slightest—shit if it was socially acceptable to walk around with your wives cum stains on you trust he’d already be doing it.

“keep talking,” you whimpered, wrapping an arm around his neck to pull him impossibly close. kento’s lips lifted into a lazy smirk, “heh, you’re so fuckin’ cute. y-y’know i was doing a lil shoppin’ for you at the—fuck, a-at the office.” although you were mildly fucked out your ears perked up at that.

“saw these real pretty pearls, thought they’d look—ngh, darling on you . . . thought about them bouncin’ around while i’d be fuckin’ you silly.” you moaned at the last part, your fingers tugging at the hairs at the nape of his neck. nanami groaned, licking his lips before sinking his teeth into your neck, his warm tongue sticking out to soothe the mark afterwards.

nanami bunched up your nightgown to your hips, his eyes locking onto the sight of your cunt soiling his pants. your cream was smeared all along the crotch, adding to the wet, sticky noise that echoed throughout the living room. the second he got home he didn’t even have time to put his keys on the hook before you were dragging him to the couch, finding your rightful place on his lap.

“could just eat you up,” he muttered, his middle and ring finger slipping between your folds to collect your wetness. his eyes slowly drifted to yours, fingers coming up to his kiss swollen lips to suck the essence off his fingers. your eyes widened the tiniest bit when he stuck his tongue out, his hazel eyes darkening. nanami groaned rather loudly when you sucked his tongue into your mouth, his hips now bucking wildly into yours.

“s-shit shit shit!” nanami let out a guttural groan, his hips pushing up to grind more into your pussy. the rough material of his pants rubbed deliciously against your swollen clit, your orgasm following soon after his.

your body went limp against his, your face nuzzling into his neck. “take some deep breaths hon, i gotcha,” you heard nanami whisper into your hair, his arms securely wrapping around your waist. he was still hard of course, his cock not fully satisfied until he’s filled your cunt with all the cum he had to offer.

you whined when nanami laid you down, his body now finding place between your thighs. “you really do have the prettiest cunt, wife,” he said it so possessively, so hungrily that it had your pussy clenching around nothing. you were his wife. his wife to love, praise, spoil, fuck. all his.

#nanami and erwin smut coming after this i promise *kiss kiss*#nanami kento smut #nanami smut #nanami x reader #nanami x black!reader #nanami x black y/n #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x black reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x black reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk smut #jjk x black reader #jjk x reader

6K notes · View notes

ham1lton · 2 months ago

Text

X MARKS THE SPOT!

pairings: retired f1 drivers x retired f1 legend!yn.

faceclaim: jessica alba.

summary: being the first-ever female f1 world champion was hard enough. writing a tell-all about it, including all the details of your beef with that former driver? let’s just say the track wasn’t the only place things got heated.

warnings: mentions of misogyny. like a lot. so if that is something that makes you uncomfortable, please don’t read!! your comfort comes first <3

author’s note: ignore timeline issues!! this was all inspired by that one anon who said something about yn writing a tell-all. if you liked this, maybe send me an ask? :D

now part of a trilogy!

────── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

liked by vogue, jimmyfallon and 2,837,018 others

yourinstagram: it was so fun talking to jimmyfallon about writing my memoir ‘lucky girl syndrome’! i talked about getting the call that i was being signed, getting name dropped in a kdot song (thank you for making me cool to my nephews!) and the legacy i want to leave behind. check it out!!!

view all 298,727 comments

user1: MOTHERRR

user2: omg i’ve already pre-ordered my copy!!

-> user3: i’ve reserved it at my local library 🫡

user4: i hope she spills all the tea. i wanna know exactly who the misogynist motherfuckers are.

user5: she’s the goat female driver idc!! first female championship winner!!

-> user9: during her time in mclaren, jenson was carrying her. but yeah let’s talk about that one rigged championship 😂

user6: she still looks so hot. my first celeb crush.

-> user7: i had pictures of her all over my wall. i think my mom still has them up 😓

user8: worst driver of all time. only there because she looked good in the race suit.

-> user11: if she wasn’t hot, no one would care about her driving.

user10: this was always going to happen when you allowed women into f1. ruined the sport. she was nothing but a distraction on the grid.

-> user12: she was incredible. she clawed her way to a championship when everyone doubted her. she proved that women can do anything. the only distraction are people like you.

user13: please please please tell me she says that her and jenson were a thing. i always used to ship them so bad. the photoshoot for british vogue was imprinted on my thirteen year old brain.

-> user14: ANOTHER JENSONYN SHIPPER!!! baitclaren was my fav mclaren era. y’all can have your twinkclaren!!

-> user15: remember when jenson shut down a misogynistic reporter who tried to imply that yn wasn’t a good driver?? that was his girl frfr!!

user16: i’m so proud of u yn. you’ve been through so much and i’m excited to support you.

*liked by yourinstagram.*

────── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

“SHE’S NOT THAT FAST — SHE JUST GETS LUCKY SOMETIMES. THAT’S ALL IT IS. RIGHT CAR — RIGHT TIME. LUCKY GIRL SYNDROME.” — a senior mclaren engineer.

dedicated to everyone who ever rooted for me. thank you.

────── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

EXCERPT FROM LUCKY GIRL SYNDROME.

by yn yln.

when i signed with mclaren in 2013, i thought i was living my dream.

i was the only female driver on the grid, paired with jenson button—a world champion, a household name, and, to some, a certified heartthrob. they already loved calling him “promiscuous” in the press, and suddenly there i was: the pretty young woman who happened to drive fast. to them, we weren’t drivers—we were a brand. two good-looking people in shiny cars. and that label stuck.

from the start, i wasn’t taken seriously. i’d show up to meetings and realize they’d given me the wrong time—jenson would already be there, halfway through strategising with the team. he always looked uncomfortable when i walked in late, knowing i wasn’t told the same things he was.

“you’re here now,” he’d say, smiling politely, trying to ease the tension. i liked him. he wasn’t the problem. he was respectful, and if anyone made an offhand comment about me, he’d interject with a joke to cut through the awkwardness. but even his kindness couldn’t fix what was fundamentally wrong.

my first podium was a moment i’d worked my entire life for. it was a race where i drove faster than jenson, faster than most of the grid. but the photo they posted of me on the team’s social media wasn’t of me crossing the finish line, or holding my trophy.

it was me in the garage, leaning over the car, my race suit unzipped halfway down. the caption didn’t even mention the podium. it was just… my body. i couldn’t stomach looking through the comments.

i’ll never forget calling my dad that night. he was furious. he asked me why i didn’t make a fuss. why i didn’t storm into the team’s office and demand better treatment. but what he didn’t understand was that it wasn’t that simple. you’re the only woman in a room full of men, and they’re already waiting for you to slip up. waiting for you to show too much emotion, to prove them right when they think women are too “dramatic” to handle the job.

so i kept my head down. i smiled at the cameras, laughed at the jokes, and drove my ass off every weekend. and every time i was faster than jenson, every time i outqualified him or finished ahead, they’d say, “she got lucky.” when he beat me, they’d say, “see? this is why she doesn’t belong here.” it was a game i couldn’t win.

being the first woman on the grid wasn’t just about being fast. it was about being everything they didn’t expect me to be: calm, collected, agreeable. i couldn’t afford to push back because i knew they’d use it against me. so i swallowed it all, every little slight, every dismissive comment, every missed opportunity. i thought if i just kept my head down and drove, eventually, i’d earn their respect.

but now, looking back, i realize… they were never going to respect me. not really. not as a driver. they respected what i did for their brand, for their image. they respected how well i played the part. but as a person, as an athlete? i was just another pretty face to them. nothing more. and that’s what hurt the most.

────── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

r/books

Discussion Thread:

“Lucky Girl Syndrome” by YN YLN: Thoughts, Reactions, and the Drama It’s Stirred Up.

──────────────────────

u/checkeredpast: just finished lucky girl syndrome, and WOW. she did not hold back. calling out mclaren for the way they treated her, the “wrong meeting times” sabotage, and the completely inappropriate podium photo… i can’t believe this stuff actually happened.

u/fastlaneandfurious: the part where she talks about the team using her as a “walking brand strategy” instead of a driver broke my heart. like, they wanted her to be the face of the team but refused to actually treat her like a serious athlete.

u/f1fanfiction: let’s talk about the fact that she outsold literally every sports memoir in history. 2 million copies sold in the first week. yn doesn’t just break records on the track, apparently.

u/nosteeringallowed: her calling out the media for labeling her as “lucky” after she beat half the grid is ICONIC. “they didn’t call my male teammates lucky—they called them skilled.” like, yes queen, drag them.

u/ynsthegoat: what got me was the chapter about the infamous team dinner where they wouldn’t even let her speak during strategy talk. then she went out and out-qualified jenson the next day.

u/overqualifiedandundervalued: “they said i was lucky, but luck doesn’t drive faster laps or win races. luck didn’t make me the first woman to win a championship—it was skill, it was hard work, and it was me.” CHILLS. absolute chills.

u/gridgossip: is no one going to talk about the tea she spilled on that one driver? the “polite but condescending” comments she got from him while he constantly undermined her. we KNOW it’s about seb.

u/wheresthefinishline: @ u/gridgossip no no no, it’s def about fernando. she’s been shady about him for years, and the way she described the “overly competitive teammate who couldn’t handle being outpaced by a woman” fits him perfectly.

u/holygrailpodium: the inappropriate photo after her first podium makes me so mad every time. she’s standing there in tears, holding the trophy, and they choose to post a picture of her leaning over the car with her suit half-open?? disgusting.

u/gaslitandgridlocked: her dad being her biggest defender was such a beautiful part of the book, though. “why do you stay quiet when you’re the fastest in the room?” hit me right in the heart.

u/podiumqueen: not me crying over how she kept driving through all of this, knowing they didn’t want her there. like, the strength it must’ve taken to win races when her own team wasn’t even rooting for her.

u/championshipenergy: the way she calls out how different her career would’ve been if she were a man was SO POWERFUL. “they didn’t need me to be fast, they needed me to be pretty. they got both, and they still weren’t satisfied.”

u/mimosasontherace: i can’t stop thinking about the last chapter where she talks about winning her first championship and how no one in her team even hugged her when the cameras switched off. like, they couldn’t even fake happiness for her.

u/driversanddivas: this book isn’t just a memoir; it’s a reckoning. yn exposed everyone who doubted her and proved that no matter what they threw at her, she came out on top. lucky girl syndrome my ass—she EARNED that title.

u/lightsoutandread: imagine being on the grid right now, knowing you were one of the people she called out. the absolute awkwardness.

u/trophiesandtrauma: if you’re on the fence about reading this, DO IT. it’s not just about racing—it’s about breaking barriers, sexism, and resilience. honestly, it deserves all the success it’s getting.

u/checkeredpast: she’s already announced a limited series deal with a streaming platform. you KNOW it’s going to be messy when they dramatize the “wrong meeting times” scene.

u/bookishracer: “lucky girl syndrome” is officially my book of the year. yn didn’t just tell her story; she made sure no one could ever erase it again.

────── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

liked by f1stan, ynstan and 1,837,928 others.

ham1ltonshaderoom: f1 legend and now best selling author, yn yln, took to harper’s bazaar to discuss writing and her career. however, her memoir went viral for more than its record breaking sales. yln mentioned that there was a certain driver that would be her biggest fan in public and then undermine her in public. it has been dubbed ‘x marks the spot’, with the hashtag gaining major traction on social media. what do you think ham1ltons? and who do you think the supposed driver could be?

──────────────────────

‘there was one driver who always seemed to go out of his way to remind me i didn’t belong. he wasn’t on my team, but his presence always lingered—sharp, dismissive, condescending. let’s call him x. in interviews, he’d say all the right things, calling me a “trailblazer” and claiming he respected what i brought to the sport. but in the paddock, it was another story. during press conferences, he’d interrupt me, throwing in some smug joke that made everyone laugh but left me feeling small. once, during a rain delay, he walked past my garage and casually remarked to my engineer, loud enough for me to hear, “well, at least she’ll look good sliding off the track.” and when i won my first race, beating him in the process, he didn’t say a word. no handshake, no congratulations—just a quick glance and he was gone. i’ll never know why he went out of his way to belittle me, but in the end, i didn’t care. that win wasn’t for him. it was for me.’

──────────────────────

view all 23,727 comments

user1: it’s definitely fernando. they’ve never liked each other, and he’s always been salty when anyone’s faster than him.

-> user2: nah, it can’t be fernando. he’s competitive, but he’s never outright disrespectful. i’m thinking nico.

-> user1: girl that’s the point 😭 x was never openly disrespectful.

user3: okay but what about lewis? we KNOW their relationship wasn’t always great. remember how tense they were in interviews back then?

-> user4: no way it’s lewis. he’s literally said she’s one of the most talented drivers he’s raced against.

-> user5: lewis can say nice things now, but what if he wasn’t like that back then? she didn’t say the guy stayed disrespectful. she also said x was nice in public, who knew what he was saying in private.

user6: everyone’s ignoring seb, but she’s shaded him before. what if it’s him?

-> user7: yn has ALWAYS defended seb. if anything, he was one of the few drivers who actually supported her. it’s not him.

user8: it has to be fernando. the whole paragraph is giving fernando energy, and you know it.

-> user9: nah, i still think it’s nico. remember when he threw shade at her in a press conference after she outqualified him?

user10: you’re all wrong. it’s michael. she’s talked about how intimidating he was to race against, and she never got along with him.

-> user11: yn literally called michael one of her idols. she’d never write about him like that.

user12: y’all are missing the obvious answer—kimi. he’s the only one who would say something that blunt and not care about the fallout.

-> user13: kimi didn’t even talk to her half the time lol. i can’t see him caring enough to belittle her.

user14: okay, what if it’s no one we’re expecting? maybe it’s some random mid-grid guy like grosjean or massa.

-> user15: yn wouldn’t waste a whole chapter on someone irrelevant. it has to be one of the big names. my money’s on fernando or nico.

-> user1: fernando for sure. yn’s always been lowkey bitter about him, and this just proves it.

-> user2: it’s not fernando!! why can’t you just accept that some drivers are cocky without it being him??

-> user3: okay but if it’s not fernando, who else would it be?? the smug comments SCREAM his vibe.

user5: we’re all arguing, but yn’s probably laughing at us right now. she KNEW we’d be doing this.

user16: yn ‘attention whore’ yln.

user17: at least we know it wasn’t my king jb 😻

user18: idk who tf yn is but this tea is so juicy 😭

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[setting: thanksgiving dinner, complete chaos. plates of food are half-eaten, wine glasses are full, and cousin jess is recording everything on tiktok. the family is deep into an argument about “x marks the spot,” using jess’s infamous powerpoint as reference.]

uncle bob: jess, i still don’t get why you made a whole powerpoint about this.

cousin jess: because the people need to know, uncle bob. yn’s memoir is the drama of the decade, and you’re welcome for organizing all the evidence.

aunt carol: honestly, it’s that fernando. slide four proves it. all the press conferences where he interrupted her? it’s right there.

aunt fiona: fernando wasn’t that bad. he even congratulated her in, like, 2017. i think it’s nico. slide eight, jess literally wrote “petty king energy” under his name.

uncle hamish: it’s not nico. you’re all overthinking this. i say it’s jenson. didn’t he once call her “intense” in an interview?

cousin matt: jenson literally defended her against the media every other week, hamish. you clearly didn’t listen to slide six.

grandpa: i still don’t understand why this yn person didn’t just punch the guy.

grandma: because she has class, unlike this family. pass the stuffing.

aunt bobbi: wait, what about lewis? slide ten said they were “friendly but complicated.” maybe he was fake-nice to her.

uncle craig: fake-nice? lewis was the only one who liked her, bobbi. slide nine has like five examples of him hyping her up in interviews.

cousin jess: uncle craig, you’re wrong. he was supportive, but there’s that one time he ignored her after she beat him in qualifying. it’s suspicious.

aunt carol: you think it’s suspicious? no way. lewis isn’t smug enough to be x.

uncle hamish: oh please, you’re all just picking names because they sound dramatic. if anything, it was sebastian.

aunt fiona: seb? absolutely not. slide seven shows he called her “one of the best drivers on the grid” multiple times.

uncle bob: that’s suspicious. who compliments people that much unless they’re guilty?

grandma: compliments aren’t guilt, bob. stop eating the cranberry sauce straight from the bowl and get a grip.

aunt carol: you’re all wrong. slide four, people! fernando cutting her off mid-sentence! the man’s guilty as sin.

grandpa: why does anyone care about this? it’s all rich people in fancy cars. sounds like nonsense.

cousin matt: rich people drama is the best kind of drama, grandpa.

aunt bobbi: jess, why is kimi’s slide just a picture of him smoking with “#needthat” written under it?

cousin jess: because kimi’s innocent. everyone knows he doesn’t care about anything but being my dream man.

uncle craig: so why isn’t yn on the slide about drivers who were universally liked?

cousin jess: because she wasn’t universally liked, uncle craig. she was fast, hot, and female in a male-dominated sport. they were all salty.

uncle bob: well, now they’re all posting about how much they respect her.

grandma: of course they are. it’s called covering their asses.

uncle hamish: if i were yn, i’d name names. all this mystery is just fueling conspiracy theories.

grandpa: or she could just leave it alone so we don’t have to argue about it at thanksgiving. what the hell even is f1? is that nascar?

uncle craig: formula 1, dad. jesus, keep up.

grandma (snapping): if someone doesn’t pass me the cranberry sauce right now, i’m gonna be the next x.

[jess pans the camera to her grandma glaring at the table, muttering under her breath as the family keeps arguing.]

cousin jess (whispering into her phone): y’all, my family is losing it over x marks the spot. happy thanksgiving.

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liked by landopriv, ynupdates and 4,738,918 others.

ham1ltonshaderoom: an update on the ‘x marks the spot’ speculation. it started over who exactly is x, from f1 legend yn yln’s memoir and it is causing a stir! with former/current drivers taking to social media and journalists to prove their innocence. kimi räikkönen, when asked, said ‘yn deserved every win she got. people talked too much, but she let her driving do all the talking. always respected that about her.’

mick schumacher released a statement via instagram, with a montage of photos of him and his dad with the first female championship winner: ‘my dad always believed yn was one of the most talented drivers he’d ever seen. he admired her strength, her skill, and her ability to prove everyone wrong, time and time again. he spoke so highly of her and what she brought to the sport, and i know he’d be so proud to see her telling her story.’ when sebastian vettel made a rare appearance to the grid, he confirmed that he had bought a copy and thought that he was proud to watch yn ‘make history’.

now the sudden flurry of support is making fans of the sport wonder just who is genuine and who is covering his ass? what do you think ham1ltons?

view all 2,983 comments

user1: the way literally everyone is tripping over themselves to prove it’s not them is SO funny. one of you is lying, and we will figure it out.

-> user20: exactly!! the fact that EVERYONE is suddenly posting/talking feels so suspicious lmao. someone’s definitely guilty, and they’re trying to throw us off the scent.

user2: kimi’s response is so him. short, straight, and unbothered. it’s definitely not him.

-> user22: we’re all analysing this, but kimi’s out here just vibing like always. love that man.

user3: mick’s statement is beautiful and wholesome as always, but also low-key throwing shade at the others?? like, ‘my dad always supported her’ is giving ‘can’t say the same for you lot.’

-> user21: honestly, mick’s post is the only one that feels 100% genuine. his dad was always so supportive of yn.

user4: seb really said ‘i bought the book’ and dipped. man didn’t even deny anything outright. sus??

-> user5: nah, seb’s always been a yn fanboy. remember when he called her ‘the most talented driver on the grid’? it’s not him.

user6: the lewis and nico posts are giving major ‘damage control’ energy. both of them trying WAY too hard to sound supportive.

-> user7: facts. lewis called her a ‘trailblazer’ like we wouldn’t notice how cold things were between them back in the day.

-> user17: tbh, i don’t think it’s lewis. yn has said before that he was always encouraging her, and they’ve stayed friendly.

user8: fernando’s post feels so rehearsed. like, when has he ever gushed over yn like that before??

user9: low-key think it’s nico. man was so salty about literally everything back then, and the ‘petty king’ vibes match the memoir perfectly.

-> user10: yesss, especially the part where she said he didn’t congratulate her after her first win. sounds EXACTLY like something nico would do.

user11: not enough people are talking about jenson. just because he was her teammate doesn’t mean he’s innocent. the whole ‘answer my texts’ thing was cute, but he’s a smooth talker.

-> user12: nah, yn always spoke highly of jenson. he had her back when mclaren was treating her like a sex toy. i’m ruling him out.

user13: so we’re all just ignoring that fernando spent YEARS shading her in press conferences? india ‘13 is permanently engraved in my brain.

-> user18: can’t lie, if it’s fernando, i’ll be disappointed but not surprised. his 2013 energy was… a lot.

user14: honestly, they’re all acting sketchy. the sudden love bomb of support is too much. one of you is x and we will find out.

user15: plot twist: what if x isn’t even one of the obvious names? imagine it’s someone random like felipe massa lmao.

-> user16: watch it not even be one of the main suspects and we’ve been dragging the wrong guy this whole time 💀

user18: it’s giving ‘we need to get ahead of the narrative’ vibes, and i’m here for the chaos.

-> user19: everyone’s pr team is in OVERDRIVE rn lmfaoooo

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