#and I didn’t want to ask because I felt bad

[mercvry-glow]

staying is harder than leaving

parings. jack abbot x reader

summary. you'll never understand what brings you back to jack abbot, all you know is that you want to stay.

warnings. age gap (jake late 40s reader early 30s), bitter sweet, reader and jack are really bad at feelings, mention/illusions of sex, mentions of smoking and cigarettes, overall just a bit angsty with a soft fulfilling ending, let me know if there's anything else!

notes. I'm so sorry this was all I could get out, but I'm pretty happy with it. I'm like the danny mcbride of angst, everything has closure in one way or another and it's always a good feeling at the end. as always any and all feedback is appreciated!

wc. 3200+

You didn’t know how you got here.

Lying in the bed of a man you had no business being with. Not really. Not ever.

Jack Abbot wasn’t the kind of man people fell into by accident—he was deliberate, sharp-edged, the type you saw coming and still couldn’t avoid. Older. Hardened by the Army and the ER and everything they took from him. Gruff in the way only someone who’s cared too much and been burned for it could be.

And your boss.

He was supposed to be off-limits. But lines blurred late at night—between empty hospital corridors and frantic hands, between the quiet moments when he looked at you like you were the only thing holding him together.

Maybe it was the sex. Maybe it was the way he let his guard down in fragments only you got to see. Maybe it was the ache in your chest that whispered this was more than just bodies colliding.

But whatever it was, it was getting harder to breathe in his space without losing a part of yourself.

The room was dark, swallowed whole by the blackout curtains. Still, you could feel the hour—it was too early for anything but regret.

Jack was asleep, sprawled on his side, one arm tucked under the pillow, the blanket barely covering his hips. His back was turned to you, freckled and scarred, every mark a map of a life lived hard.

You’d spent too many nights like this. Drawing constellations across his skin with your fingers, trying to make sense of something that never really did. Pretending he was yours. Pretending you weren’t drowning in the quiet.

But now, with your heart thudding too loud in your ears and the stillness pressing in, reality came creeping.

Your skin prickled with the kind of unease that settled deep—shame curling tight in your throat, dread rising like smoke.

You didn’t belong here. Not in his bed. Not in his life.

And deep down, you knew—he was never going to stop you from leaving. Not because he didn’t care.

But because he didn’t know how to ask you to stay.

It was overwhelming how much you felt for him. How much more you wanted to feel. And the worst part was having nowhere productive to put it.

You were just as much a workaholic as he was—another lifer in the ER, made of pure grit and sleepless nights, proud of the scars you earned under fluorescent lights.

The golden R4 of night shift. Jack’s prodigy, the way Frank had been Robby’s. People used to joke that you were cut from the same cloth as Jack—sarcastic, unflinching, impossible to impress. You’d hated how right they were.

Because somewhere along the way, he stopped being just your mentor.

 And you stopped pretending you didn’t want more.

What you had wasn’t exactly a secret, but it sure as hell wasn’t something, either. At least, not in the daylight.

You weren’t his girlfriend. You weren’t his anything, besides a damn good doctor. Just someone who knew what to say when he couldn’t talk. Someone who understood the blood-soaked language of trauma. Someone who stayed long after her shift ended because she didn’t want to go home alone.

And it was killing you.

Piece by piece.

Because in the quiet moments like this—before the rest of the world stirred, before the next shift started—you wanted to reach for him. Say something stupid like Don’t let me leave again… Or I don’t want to keep pretending I don’t love you.

But you couldn’t. Because you already knew how Jack operated.

He let you in just far enough and then he shut the door, quiet and clean. Like it had never opened in the first place.

Your eyes burned, your chest heavy with unsaid things.

The same weight it always carried. 

You shifted under the covers, moving slowly, carefully—like if you breathed too loudly, this entire illusion might crack open. Jack didn’t stir. His breathing was steady, slow.

You watched him for a moment longer, memorizing the way his jaw slackened in sleep, the faint scar above his left shoulder blade you never had the nerve to ask about.

He looked peaceful like this. Human.

And that only made it harder.

You slipped out of bed as quietly as you could, bare feet hitting the cold floor, limbs stiff and aching. Every inch of your body protested—tired, sore, reluctant to leave him. 

But your heart was louder.

You bent to collect your clothes off the floor, holding your breath, hoping he wouldn’t wake up. Because if he did—if he so much as whispered your name—

You didn’t trust yourself not to stay.

All you slipped on was a loose t-shirt—his, you realized halfway through pulling it over your head. It hung off one shoulder, collar stretched from too many late nights and maybe a few desperate hands.

You didn’t have it in you to put on the rest.

Just the pair of panties you’d had on hours ago, still faintly wrinkled from where they’d been discarded in the dark.

You needed a cigarette. God, you needed a cigarette.

You weren’t even a regular smoker, not really. But nights like this—mornings like this—you craved one. Not for the nicotine. For the ritual. For something slow and quiet and burning between your fingers to focus on instead of the way your chest felt like it was caving in.

You padded out of the room silently, careful not to step on the floorboard near the dresser that always creaked. The hallway was cold. Sparse. A stark contrast to the warmth of the bed you just left.

Jack’s apartment was neat, lived-in but impersonal. A few books shoved onto the built-in shelf. Stacks of old med journals. A photo of him and Michael on some fishing trip ages ago, both of them sunburnt and squinting and younger than you’d ever seen Jack look.

You bypassed the kitchen, went straight for the balcony. Slid the door open just enough to squeeze through.

The city was still asleep. Pittsburgh before sunrise had a strange, almost sacred hush to it—still full of steel and ghosts.

You leaned your elbows on the railing, the hem of Jack’s shirt fluttering around your thighs in the early morning breeze.

You didn’t even have a cigarette. Just the craving.

The silence. The ache.

You let your eyes slip shut for a second, trying to slow your breathing.

Tried not to think about how badly you wanted this to be something it wasn’t. How stupidly, hopelessly in love you might be with him. And how deeply you hated yourself for it.

You wrapped your arms around yourself, bare legs prickling against the morning chill, teeth gently worrying your bottom lip. The city stretched out below—silent, gray, and endless.

It was terrifying how much you wanted him.

Not just his hands, not just the way he whispered your name when he was too tired to keep up the act. You wanted all the messy, sharp-edged parts of him. The things he buried beneath sarcasm and coffee and barking orders in trauma bay one.

You wanted the man who rolled his eyes at residents but stayed a few hours after his harder shifts ended to check on critical but recovering patients. The man who never flinched in chaos but looked like he might unravel every time you brushed your fingers through his curly hair.

And you hated that he had no idea. Or worse—he did, and chose to ignore it.

Because you weren’t asking for everything. You would’ve settled for something.

Something real. Something honest.

Even just a reason to stay.

You let out a shaky breath and rubbed at your arms, suddenly aware of just how little you were wearing—and how much that shirt still smelled like him. Soap and antiseptic. Jack Abbot in every thread.

You were so lost in your head you didn’t hear the door slide open.

“Thought you were gone.”

His voice was low. Rough with sleep. And somehow still managed to scrape down your spine like he meant it to.

You didn’t turn around right away. Just stared out at the skyline, eyes burning. “Didn’t want to wake you.”

Silence stretched for a beat. Two. You could feel him behind you, the weight of his presence like gravity.

“You didn’t.” He sounded closer now. “You cold?”

You shrugged, not trusting your voice.

Jack stepped beside you, his hand brushing your elbow, the warmth of his skin startling after the chill. He didn’t say anything. Just stood there.

Looking at you like he wasn’t sure what you were doing out here. Like maybe he was afraid to ask.

Like maybe he already knew.

And it would’ve been so easy to say nothing. To go back inside. To pretend.

But pretending was starting to feel like slow suffocation.

The silence stretched, long and taut, like the few inches between your bodies were holding back something massive—unspoken, unbearable.

Your arms stayed crossed over your chest, but your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt like it might anchor you. The wind picked up slightly, brushing your hair across your face, but you didn’t move to fix it.

You blinked hard. Once. Twice. But it didn’t stop the way your throat tightened or how your eyes blurred at the edges.

You weren’t even sure why you were crying.

Maybe it was exhaustion. Maybe it was standing next to someone who could make you feel so much and give you so little in return.

Maybe it was the way he was looking at you now—concern buried beneath the usual guarded expression, like he knew something was wrong and didn’t know how to fix it.

Your chin wobbled, just barely, and you tried to suck in a breath. Swallow it down. Pretend it wasn’t happening. But then your shoulders hitched, and the first quiet sob slipped out before you could stop it.

“Shit,” you muttered, brushing at your face, willing yourself to hold it together. “God, I’m sorry—just—ignore me. It’s fine.”

But Jack didn’t move. Didn’t walk away.

He was still as stone beside you, until he suddenly wasn’t.

You felt it before you saw it—the weight of his arm slipping around your shoulders, pulling you into the warmth of his chest like he didn’t even think about it. Like it was instinct.

You froze at first, breath caught mid-sob, body stiff. But he didn’t let go.

His other hand came up slowly to the back of your head, fingers threading into your hair, cradling you gently—like you might shatter if he held you any other way.

“You’re not fine,” he murmured against your temple. “Don’t do that. Don’t lie to me, not here.”

You let yourself fold into him then, tears soaking into his shirt—his damn shirt—your hands fisting into the fabric like it might hold you together.

And for a minute, he just held you.

No tension. No boundaries. No pretending.

Just Jack. Warm and quiet and there.

You didn’t know how long he held you.

Long enough for the sobs to taper off into something softer—just a tremble in your chest, the occasional sniff as your face pressed against his collarbone.

Jack hadn’t said anything else. He didn’t need to. His hands had found their way to your back, slow and steady, like he was grounding you the way you’d done for him more times than you could count.

You were the one who finally pulled back. Not far—just enough to see his face.

The early morning light caught the edge of his jaw, the tired lines under his eyes, the hint of wariness there. Always. You could practically hear his thoughts spinning—calculating, retreating.

You could see him closing the door already.

So you asked quietly, breaking the hush between you both: “Do you ever think about what we’re doing?”

It wasn’t accusing. It wasn’t dramatic.

Just honest.

His brow furrowed slightly. His hands didn’t move from your back. “You mean... right now?”

You gave a small, tired laugh. “No. I mean this. Us. What this is.”

Jack was quiet again. But his jaw tightened. That always came first with him—before the words, before the honesty. His body braced like he was expecting a blow.

“I try not to,” he said finally, voice low. Raw. “Because if I do, it scares the hell out of me.”

Your heart stuttered at that.

He looked away, gaze fixed on some point out across the balcony railing. “I’m not good at this,” he added. “I’ve never been. And with you…” His throat bobbed, the muscles in his neck tensing. “It’s not casual. Not for me.”

You stared at him, not sure if you’d heard him right.

“It hasn’t been for a long time,” he said, softer now. “I just didn’t know how to tell you without ruining it.”

You felt like you couldn’t breathe. Like something in your chest had split open, but not in the way that hurt.

“Jack…” you whispered.

He looked at you then. Really looked at you. And for the first time, he wasn’t guarded.

Wasn’t hiding.

Just a man, standing barefoot on a balcony at five in the morning, holding the only person who had ever made him want to try again.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he said. “But I don’t know how to keep you either.”

You didn’t say anything at first. You just watched him.

Jack Abbot—brilliant, maddening, insufferably closed-off Jack—was finally cracking open, right in front of you. And not because you pried him apart. Not because you caught him in a weak moment.

Because he chose to.

And God, that scared you. Maybe even more than the silence had.

You swallowed, voice still hoarse from crying. “I wasn’t going to come back after last time.”

Jack blinked. “What?”

You gave a small, sad smile. “After that shift where I got pulled to peds… You didn’t say a word to me for almost 48 hours. Didn’t even look at me unless someone else was around. I told myself I was done.”

Jack ran a hand over his face, guilt flashing across it like a burn. “I remember.”

“I thought maybe I imagined all of it,” you whispered. “Everything between us. That maybe I made it into something it wasn’t just because I wanted it to be.”

His hazel eyes met yours, sharp and searching. “You didn’t imagine it.”

Your chest pulled tight.

“Every time I shut down, every time I pulled away—” He shook his head, jaw clenching. “It wasn’t because I didn’t feel it. It was because I did. Too much.”

That silence came again, but this time it wasn’t as heavy.

You leaned your hip against the railing, arms still folded loosely, the edge of his shirt catching in the breeze. “Then why push me away?”

“Because if I let myself want this…” He exhaled like the words tasted bitter. “If I let myself want you—then it’s real. And if it’s real, it’s not just sex or more shared shifts… Or a warm body in my bed when the world’s too loud. It’s something I could fuck up.”

You stared at him, something raw blooming beneath your ribs.

“You’re not fucking it up,” you said quietly. “But you will if you keep treating me like I’m  something to be afraid of.”

Jack didn’t answer at first. Just looked at you with something unspoken in his eyes—hope or regret or maybe both.

“I don’t know how to be what you deserve,” he said finally. “But I want to try.”

You let the words hang there. Let yourself feel them.

Then, slowly, you reached out—your hand finding his, fingers curling around the calloused warmth of it. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

He looked down at your joined hands like it was the first time he’d been touched. Then back at you.

“Then stay,” he said, voice rough. Barely a whisper. “Just… stay.”

He didn’t say another word.

Just looked at you—eyes tired, earnest, open in a way you’d almost forgotten he could be. And then he laced his fingers fully with yours, squeezing gently like a silent promise.

Then, without fanfare, he turned and led you back inside.

The balcony door slid shut behind you, sealing out the cool morning air and the hum of the waking city. Everything inside was still—soft shadows spilling across the floor, quiet warmth clinging to the apartment walls like it had soaked into the bones of the place.

Jack didn’t let go of your hand. Not even when you passed through the living room. Not when your bare feet padded across the hardwood. Not when the bedroom door came into view.

He didn’t rush. Didn’t speak.

He just brought you to the bed—unmade, sheets rumpled, still heavy with the weight of what had happened between you hours before.

But this time, he didn’t pull you down onto it like he usually would.

This time, he turned to face you fully, and with the same careful touch he used when someone flatlined under his hands, he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

“I’m not good at a lot of things,” he murmured, voice so low it barely carried in the stillness. “But I’ll be better. If you let me.”

You nodded, throat thick, and he bent to press a kiss to your forehead—tender, reverent. The kind of kiss that didn’t ask for anything. That just was.

Then he gently guided you down with him, one arm curled around your waist as he pulled the covers over both of you.

There was no urgency. No edge. Just the press of his body behind yours, solid and warm and present.

His hand rested at your hip, not possessive, just there. His breathing evened out slowly, and after a while, so did yours.

You didn’t say anything else.

You didn’t have to.

Jack’s breath was warm against the back of your neck, steady now, like the storm had passed through him and left something quieter in its wake.

You shifted just enough to turn toward him, your nose brushing his chest. He looked down at you through half-lidded eyes, sleep tugging at the edges of both of you, but neither quite ready to let go.

You watched each other in that stillness. No shields. No walls. Just two people, bruised in all the same places, finally giving in.

His hand came up to your cheek, thumb brushing gently beneath your eye, as if to wipe away what your tears had left behind. You leaned into the touch without thinking, heart slow and aching.

Then, slowly—like he was asking permission with every breath—he kissed you.

Soft at first. Barely there. A whisper of a promise pressed to your lips.

Then deeper. Warmer. Like he was pouring every word he hadn’t said into the shape of your mouth. It wasn’t hungry or hurried. It didn’t ask for anything more.

It just was.

When he finally pulled back, you were still close enough to feel the words rumble against his chest.

“Sleep,” he whispered. “I’m not goin’ anywhere, and you aren’t either.”

The last thing you saw before your eyes fluttered closed was the faintest trace of sunrise creeping through the edge of the blackout curtains—soft, golden light spilling into the room like forgiveness.

And with his arms around you, breath synced with yours, you let it pull you under.

For once, you didn’t fight it.

You just stayed.

mercvry-glow 2025

[sinofwriting]

Engineer in Law - Max Verstappen

Words: 1,758 Summary: Max and GP are far more close than most race engineers and drivers, which might have to do with the fact that Max is dating his daughter. Note(s): Takes place in 2021. Reader is GP’s daughter. Reader is 21, Max is 23. I don’t know what GP’s wife’s name is IRL but in this fic her name is Sarah. Also, reader is only given one physical descriptor which is that she has GP’s eyes, apologies if (like me) you don’t know have that eye color, but we can imagine and/or wish! This might end up getting a part two.

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“You're happy.”

It’s not something GP normally comments on, Max’s moods. Not unless it’s to make a sarcastic comment about how thrilled he looks to be going to a press event or something of the sort, but Max is beaming like he just won a race. It’s an odd look on the young driver, an unusual one, sadly.

“I asked the girl I was seeing to be my girlfriend, she said yes.” Max’s voice is quiet and GP leans in, his eyebrows going up at the news, at the soft but excited tone the words hold.

He smiles at the younger, reaching forward and clasping him on the shoulder. “That’s fantastic, mate. Want to tell me about her?” It’s a rather stupid question because if Max didn’t want to talk about her, he wouldn’t have said anything. And GP is rather happy to sit here and listen to Max talk about this new girl in his life.

“She’s amazing, GP. I mean really smart, funny, and she never backs down. She always has a response to anything I say. And even if I’m in a bad mood, she doesn’t let me just sulk. She knows exactly how to get a response from me and she knows it. She’ll get this little smirk on her face after I snap back at her and she’s great.”

GP has to stop himself from clearing his throat at how head over heels in love Max looks. It was oddly like looking in a mirror when GP was just four years younger than him and seeing his wife holding their newborn daughter.

“I hope you're not snapping at her too much.” His dad mode is in full force, nearly shuddering as he thinks of his twenty-one year old daughter getting snapped at often by a boyfriend. He further shudders at the reminder she currently has a boyfriend.

“Not like that.” Max reassures. “It’s kind of like us in the simulator.”

GP lets out a laugh.

It wasn’t often he joined Max in the simulator but every time they did, other people would gather around to hear the pair mock argue with each other.

“Well I’m happy to hear she’s keeping you on your toes.”

—

Max is practically vibrating in his seat as he waits for GP to sit down.

“She planned a date.”

GP stills from where he was about to reach for his water.

“Like a whole date. From everything, the food, the drinks, what we watched and it was all stuff I liked and fit in my training plan.”

He watches the younger closely, hearing something off in his voice.

“I thought I missed something. Like an anniversary or something, even though we’ve only been together five months.”

GP eyes shut for a second, rage threatening to overtake him. Max was never treated kindly enough and Max had never really talked about his few previous relationships before and he can’t help but wonder if this is why. Because Max never felt truly happy in them. Always something just wrong, always on the edge.

“She just wanted to do something nice for me. Said it wasn’t fair, I had been planning most of our dates.” Max looks confused, but there’s a slight flush to his cheeks.

“Y’know, my wife and I trade off.”

Max tilts his head a little.

“I mean, we only do a date about once a month, but we trade off. I did the last one, so tomorrow, she’s planning our date. We used to do the same with vacations, but the whole thing stresses her out a little too much, so I plan them and get the travel plans sorted while she handles looking at things to do and places to go while we are there. It's a partnership, Max. It should be an equal give and take. And that doesn’t mean that it has to be you guys both are giving and taking the same thing equally, you just need to find the balance that works for you. Like you take out the trash, she does the dusting.”

“She has a dust allergy. And we aren’t living together yet.”

GP smiles, coughing to hide his laugh. “Yet, I see. And if she has a dust allergy she needs certain pillowcases and sheets, I’ll send you the ones I bought for my daughter last Christmas.”

“Thank you, GP.”

“I’m always here for you, Max.”

—

“You were out again.”

“Good morning to you as well, dad.” His daughter says, eyebrows raised even as she steps closer to press a quick kiss to his cheek before going to the fridge.

He glances at the clock, slightly miffed to see it is just after eleven am. “Closer to the afternoon.” He comments.

She signs, leaning against the counter, a Red Bull in hand, and he watches as her fingers play with the tab but not open it. It’s a habit he’s never seen from her before. “Dad,” He looks at her face at the sound. “Is me having a boyfriend bothering you that much?”

He softens a little. “No, well, yes. It’s just I don’t know anything about him. All I know is you have a boyfriend and that’s it. I don’t know his name, how old he is, what he does for a living, if he treats you well. And you're spending an awful lot of nights as his and I’ve never met him.”

Her fingers still against the can’s tab. “Is that something you want?”

“Well I’d prefer to meet him before you fully move in with him.” He gives her a look. “But yes, I would. He makes you happy.” It was a hard pill to swallow, the reason for his daughter seeming to be so happy being a boy, but that was the reason.

“Alright, I’ll text him and maybe tomorrow we could do lunch?” She offers.

“I’d like that.”

—

“I’ve been listening to Max talk about our daughter for months.”

Sarah’s lips thin as she struggles not to laugh, running a soothing hand over her husband’s back. “You said it was sweet how he talked about her.”

“Well, I didn’t know he was talking about our daughter then did I?”

His head somehow manages to drop further into his hands. “He talked for thirty minutes straight about her eyes. Her eyes, Sarah. She has MY eyes.”

Sarah can’t help the laugh that spills from her lips. “Well at least it was just her eyes you heard about.”

GP’s face screws up at that remembering the hickey he had seen high on Max’s neck last week and apparently he had some interesting scratch and bite marks as well. Those thankfully he had not seen. “Please, love, put me out of my misery.”

His hands fall into his lap and he presses his face against his wife’s neck, smelling the slightly faded scent of her perfume and her lotion.

“Oh hush.” She says, lightly swatting his shoulder. “It could be much worse. You like Max, you know Max. He’d never hurt our baby.”

GP softens, pressing a kiss to her neck before sitting straight, his back thanking him for it. “No, he wouldn’t. I just,” He sighs. “This is serious for Max and it’s obviously serious for her. She’s never invited a boy around the house that she’s been seeing. When she said lunch, I thought she had booked our usual table.”

“I know. You were all ready to go, wallet and keys in hand.”

“She let me think that as well you know.”

Sarah hums, “I wonder who she got that from.”

He smiles at her. “No clue, love.”

Her eyes give a slight roll and then she’s leaning forward. Brushing their lips together. “Max is good for her and it’s obvious that she is good for Max as well with what you’ve told me. And just think you always joked that Max was like a son. Now it’s just more official.”

“Oh my god, they’re going to get married.”

Sarah laughs at the horror and awe in her husband's voice. “I’d say don’t get ahead of yourself, but you saw exactly what I did at lunch.”

—

“Max, if you talk about my eyes one more time, I’m going to report you to HR.”

Max snickers at the older’s expression. “But, I’m not talking about your eyes.”

“She has my eyes.” GP cuts him off immediately, already knowing his defense. “We have the same exact eyes.” He holds up a finger, silencing Max. “And don’t even think of starting to list the difference between them.”

He kicks a little at the ground, faking a sigh. “Fine. Can we at least talk about you talking in the braking?”

GP sighs, but nods. “Yes, we can talk about it.”

They both fail to notice the Sky Sports camera that had been filming the conversation until much later, when Max is sitting in his driver’s room, chuckling at the broadcast that had just ended and the tweets on his phone.

“Listen to this one, Sky Sports seriously reporting that a female employee is threatening to go to HR because of Max’s comments while playing the video of audio of GP, his MALE race engineer, is seemingly joking about going to HR, is sending me. How is this a serious news source?”

GP snorts, looking at his texts with his daughter. “She just sent me this one, ‘Sky is doing nothing but proving their British bias and stupidity. How much do you think they suck Lewis’ dick for every year now?’ Honestly, they have a point.”

“More than a point.” Max says, tossing his phone to the side. “It’s one thing to say I’m a shit driver that shouldn’t be anywhere near Hamilton, but this? This is ridiculous even for them. They have the footage and audio, aired both, and are saying that it’s a female employee. Vicky is having the time of her life right now, and so are my lawyers.”

“Your lawyers?”

Max shrugs. “They’ll be working with Red Bull’s as well, but this is more than that.”

“It is.” GP agrees. “Sarah was with her when it aired. She was livid.”

“I could tell.” The driver chuckles. “My texts are filled with it. She wants to come to the next race, well, two.”

“Team home race. That’s a statement.”

His cheeks are a little pink. “She wanted to wait for Zandvoort to officially come as my girlfriend, but she wants to be with me for these next two now.”

“It will be nice to see her at both.”

[katemoneymartinsgf]

hiii can I request a pazzi fic based on that game against villanova wherein paige hurt her leg? tysm 🫶🏼

Villanova |pazzi|

Paige felt it before she hit the floor.
Just a shift — the wrong angle, the wrong amount of pressure. A collision that shouldn’t have mattered but did. Her foot caught, her knee wobbled, and everything buzzed for half a second.

Her hand went to her left knee immediately.
Of course it did.
It was always the left.

She didn’t cry out. Didn’t grab at anyone. Just… laid back and stared at the rafters.

Don’t panic. Don’t give them a reason to panic.

So she sat up.

“That’s a flagrant foul,” she muttered. Dry. Controlled. A little too loud.

It wasn’t funny. But it gave the bench something to breathe out.

She stood on her own. Walked off.

Her knee wasn’t screaming — yet. But she didn’t look at anyone on the way back to the bench.
Especially not Azzi.

Azzi hadn’t blinked since the fall.

At first she thought maybe Paige was just slow getting up. That maybe the contact had thrown her balance off. But then she saw her reach for that knee — that knee — the one they spent so long rebuilding-and Azzi’s stomach dropped.

It wasn’t dramatic. Paige never made scenes.

But Azzi had watched enough of her rehab to know what a bad landing looked like.

Her whole body felt like it was vibrating under the surface. Like if she moved even a little, it would all come spilling out — panic, adrenaline, fear she didn’t have words for.

She stood, towel still clenched in her hand, forcing herself not to move farther. Not yet.

Because Paige would want her to hold it together.
Because Paige was walking.
Because Paige smiled — joked, even.

But Azzi saw how stiff her shoulders were.
How her steps weren’t even.
How her jaw was locked.

It didn’t matter that she walked off.

Azzi already knew it wasn’t fine.

-

Azzi didn’t move when Paige sat down. Not right away.

She watched the trainers wrap the ice, watched the way Paige clutched the edge of the bench with both hands like her fingers might give away what her face wouldn’t.

From the outside, it looked calm.

From Azzi’s seat she could see every single thing that wasn’t.

She stood slowly. Walked over. Sat down beside her — not too close.

Paige didn’t speak. Her legs bouncing from nerves.

She was pushing into the palm of her left hand, like she always did when she was nervous.

Her jersey was pulled up over her mouth. Her eyes were straight ahead.

Azzi reached down, opened a water bottle, and held it out. Paige took it automatically. A few sips. No words.

Azzi’s eyes flicked to the wrap. The tape had already started to slip.

Typical.

She adjusted it — slow, careful. Her hand brushed Paige’s leg, but she didn’t pull away. Azzi let her palm settle gently on her thigh after.

She pressed her hand a little firmer. Not enough to stop her leg from bouncing. Just enough to say I see you.

Paige’s leg stilled.

Neither of them spoke. Azzi leaned forward, elbows on her knees. She wasn’t pretending to be okay — she just knew Paige would need this silence more than she’d ever say.

Inside, though, Azzi was already planning.

What happens if she can’t walk tomorrow.
What happens if the scans say something worse.
What happens if I have to carry her again.

-

Paige wasn’t in pain — not really. Not the kind that screamed. But something about the cold wrap pressed into her skin felt familiar in all the worst ways.

She sat in the corner with her phone. Not texting. Not reading. Just scrolling.

She knew the locker room would quiet down. She knew Azzi would show up.

She didn’t look up when the door opened.

“I’m fine,” she said first.

Azzi raised an eyebrow, “i didn’t ask.”

Silence sat over them for a second

“You’re doing the jaw thing,” Azzi said.

Paige istantly relaxed, her face softening

“You always do it when you’re lying.”

There was no bite in it. Just knowing.

Paige looked away. Her hand gripped the hem of her jersey again.

She looked up just in time to see Azzi crouch in front of her — calm, still, like she was checking the floor for cracks.

“You okay?”

“They don’t think it’s torn. They said that right away. But… I don’t know.”

Azzi reached out. Her hand rested lightly on Paige’s knee, careful as always. Then the other came up to her cheek — warm and steady.

“I’m not okay,” she said, and it came out so quiet it didn’t sound like her at all.

Azzi’s heart didn’t spike. Didn’t race. It just sank — because this was the version of Paige that scared her. The one who didn’t need help, but finally asked.

“When are the scans?”

“Seven-thirty.”

Azzi didn’t say anything back. She sat beside her, took the soaked towel without asking, and replaced it with a fresh one. She worked quickly, gently, the way someone does when they’ve done it before — not just physically, but emotionally.

Paige didn’t move. She kept her eyes on the floor like looking up might break the spell.

“You’re still doing the jaw thing,” Azzi said quietly.

Paige exhaled through her nose. “Yeah, well.”

Azzi didn’t need her to crack. She just wanted her to breathe.

She adjusted the wrap again, this time slower, her hand settling on Paige’s leg as she leaned forward just a little.

“Hey,” she said, voice soft. “You don’t have to give me the version of you that’s fine. Not right now.”

Paige didn’t answer. But the corner of her mouth twitched — like she was trying to decide between deflecting and just… resting.

Azzi let the silence hold.

Then Paige said, quieter:

“It’s not supposed to feel familiar.”

Azzi nodded once. “I know.”

“It didn’t hurt. Not bad. But I knew.” Paige’s voice was tight now — still quiet, still in control, but slipping just slightly. “I knew what it was before I stood up.”

That landed heavier than anything else.

Azzi didn’t push. She reached up, fingers brushing Paige’s cheek like a reflex.

“I hate that it’s your instinct now,” she said gently.

Paige blinked fast. Kept her jaw tight.

Then finally, quietly:

“Will you come with me tomorrow?”

Azzi’s hand stayed where it was — grounding, steady.

“Already planned on it, baby.”

That cracked something open — not enough to fall apart, just enough for Paige’s shoulders to finally drop.

She leaned forward until her forehead pressed against Azzi’s shoulder. Azzi didn’t move, didn’t rush to wrap her up — she just let her be there.

“You don’t have to talk,” Azzi said after a beat. “But I’m gonna say something, and you’re not allowed to argue.”

Paige let out the ghost of a laugh. “I make no promises.”

Azzi smiled. “You’re allowed to be scared.”

Paige didn’t respond right away. But after a long breath, she said:

“I wasn’t scared until I thought about you.”

Azzi closed her eyes for a second, then kissed her temple.

“You were the first thing I thought about when I went down,” Paige added, voice muffled now.

Azzi’s response was instant, soft and sure.

“You’re always the first thing I think about.”

They stayed like that — shoulder to shoulder, breath syncing up, silence folding around them.

Not broken.
Not fine.
Just… together.

And right now, that was enough.

[sergeantbarnessdoll]

Okay uhm 😌

Can I request something where the reader is afraid of storms and thunders? And she has been anxious because of the weather warnings. In the evening it starts to thunder and Bucky is just there for her and comforts/soothes her? With a lot of cuddles/hugs and kisses. He is just the sweetest and he wants that she feels safe. Please? Thank you ❤️

🌸

Thunderstorm » Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

Pairings: Boyfriend!Bucky Barnes x Girlfriend!Reader

Summary: Bucky comforts you during a thunderstorm.

Warnings: Fluff, language, kissing, pet names

A/N: Thank you for the request 🌸 anon🩵

Written on my phone. My apologies for any mistakes.

Header made by @buck-star

GIFS ARE NOT MINE! Gif credits go to the creators.

You’ve been scared and anxious all day. You got a few weather notifications on your phone about a thunderstorm that’s coming sometime tonight. It’s not a really bad thunderstorm. It’s just a normal thunderstorm. You don’t like thunderstorms. You never did. Bucky doesn’t know that you’re scared of thunderstorms. You made sure to keep your phone charged and texted Bucky every so often while he’s at work.

You: What time do you get off work?

Bucky🩵: 7:30pm

You checked the weather alerts. The thunderstorm starts a little bit before 7:30pm. It made you even more anxious.

You: Do you think you can come home earlier?

Bucky🩵: I wish I could, but I can’t. I’ll be home before you know it

You: Ok

Bucky🩵: I love you, doll❤️

You: I love you too, Bucky Bear❤️

You let out a shaky breath as you shut your phone off. You took a quick glance out the window. You then turned the TV on and put a random movie on, trying to focus on something other than the thunderstorm.

As it got closer to the time it was about to thunderstorm, you got another weather alert on your phone, saying that it was going to start raining in a little bit, along with thunderstorms. A small whimper left your lips. You checked what time it is on your phone. It’s a half hour before Bucky gets home from work. You refocused your attention on the TV again.

About 15 minutes later, you heard saw lightning at the corner of your eye and heard a small rumble of thunder, making you jump a bit. You could hear the rain hitting the house. Your hands tightly clutched the blanket that’s draped over your lap. A few minutes later, you heard a loud crack of thunder, making jump more than you did the first time. You then covered your ears to block out the sound of the thunder and closed your eyes.

A half hour goes by and it’s still thunderstorming. The good thing is that Bucky just walked in the door, but you didn’t hear him due to you having your ears covered with your hands.

“Doll, I’m home!” Bucky announces.

Bucky frowns. You usually greet him at the door when he comes home, even if it’s late at night. He heard the TV in the living room. He went to the living room to see you covering your ears and slightly shaking.

“Babydoll?” Bucky gently taps on your shoulder.

You let out a small scream and uncovered your ears. You turned around to see your boyfriend standing behind you. Bucky seen tears on your cheeks.

“Bucky!” You whimpered.

You climbed over the back of the couch and hugged him tightly, not wanting to let go of him. You hid your face in the crook of his neck. You couldn’t care less that his clothes were wet from the rain. You just wanted to be in his arms. Bucky wrapped his arms around you and picked you up. You wrapped your legs around his waist, locking your ankles together.

“Did something happen when I was at work?” He asks softly.

Another loud crack of thunder erupted outside before you could answer him. Bucky felt you jump in his arms. That was enough to tell him that you’re scared of thunderstorms.

“Are you scared of thunderstorms?” He asks.

“Yes.” You say against his neck.

Bucky rubbed your back and told you that everything was going to be fine as he walked to the bedroom to change out of his rain soaked clothes.

“You’re going to have to let go of me so I can change my clothes.” Bucky says softly.

“No!” You whined.

“It’ll only be for a minute, doll.” He almost whispers.

You loosened your hold on Bucky as he sat you down on the bed and then you let go of him so he can change into more comfortable clothes. As he was doing so, thunder rumbles outside, making whimper.

“Why didn’t you tell me that you’re scared of thunderstorms?” He asks softly, sitting down next to you on the bed.

“I thought you were going to think it was childish of me to be scared of thunderstorms as an adult.” You say quietly.

“I don’t think it’s childish, babydoll.” He says.

“You don’t?” You asked.

“Not at all.” He almost whispers.

Bucky caresses your cheek, rubbing his thumb against your skin. You jumped when a loud crack of thunder erupted outside.

“Focus on me.” Bucky says softly.

You gazed in his blue eyes. It helped you forget about the thunderstorm. Bucky leans in and kisses you passionately. That made you forget all about the thunderstorm.

“How do you feel now?” He asks, putting his forehead against yours.

“Better.” You answered quietly.

“Do you want to watch a movie?” He asks.

“Yes.” You replied.

You and Bucky went back to the living room to watch a movie. There was small rumbles of thunder here and there throughout the movie and Bucky held you the whole time and said nothing but sweet things to you. You were so focused on the movie that you didn’t see Bucky get on his phone to check the weather.

“Looks like the thunderstorm is just about over.” Bucky says, showing you the weather for the thunderstorm.

“Good.” You say, looking at the weather on his phone.

Bucky shut his phone off and put it on the coffee table next to yours.

“Wanna take a break from the movie and get some snacks and something to drink?” He asks softly.

“Yes please.” You answered.

Bucky paused the movie and you two went to the kitchen for a snack and something to drink.

“Bucky Bear?” You say as Bucky rummages through the pantry for a snack.

“Yea, babydoll?” Bucky asks as he continues to rummage through the pantry.

“Thank you for comforting me during the thunderstorm.” You say.

“You don’t have to thank me, doll. I’m more than happy to help you through anything.” He says softly.

You smiled and stood on your tippy toes and kissed his lips.

“I love you, Bucky Bear.” You almost whispered.

“I love you too, babydoll.” Bucky whispers back.

🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵

-Bucky’s Doll

[darkmatilda]

𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐲 | 𝐬. 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: in which one spencer just wants to have his quiet moment with a book and coffee in the morning, but the universe (or more specifically a certain someone) demands his heroics instead.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐭𝐰: spencer reid x diva!chemist reader, ARACHNOPHOBIA! (talk about spiders but no real spiders lol)

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 1.9k

𝐚/𝐧: request marathon masterlist

Spencer’s day started off very well.

He woke up feeling well-rested, so the coffee he grabbed on the way was more for the taste than for the guarantee he’d survive the next few hours. Even his step was somewhat lighter when he arrived at work among the first, only running into Derek and Rossi, who were engrossed in a discussion about cigars.

"JJ told me she might be a little late," he informed them, taking a seat nearby and placing a large white mug on the table.

His friend had indeed called him about fifteen minutes earlier, asking him to pass the message along. Henry had suddenly fallen ill, and she had to find someone to watch him at the last minute. The two he addressed didn’t even react, too deeply immersed in the universe of cigars to concern themselves with the outside world.

Rossi was just raising one hand and leaning forward slightly, as if about to deliver a piece of life wisdom recorded somewhere on ancient scrolls. Morgan, listening intently, barely blinked, as if he feared missing some secret hidden in Rossi’s every move.

Reid rolled his eyes.

If he tackled a crossword puzzle with that much dedication, he’d be greeted with a cheerful morning, nerd.

He decided to take advantage of having arrived early and bury his nose in a book for a while, but before he could pull it out of his bag, his phone rang.

He reached for it, briefly thinking it might be JJ again, calling to say she’d be even later. But the number flashing on the screen wasn’t hers — it wasn’t even saved in his contacts — yet he recognized it.In fact, very few numbers in his phone were saved, and when they were, it was formally, with full names. Most of them, though, he simply remembered.

Just like this one.

He looked at the phone and sighed.

There was a good chance that, right at that very moment, his good morning was coming to an end…

“Come here,” ranged out a sharp order, just as he pressed the phone to his ear.

“What?”

Had they agreed to meet and he’d forgotten? Maybe she’d told him she would pass him some results that day. Still, if it was work-related, there was no way he would have forgotten. Which left him more than confused.

“To my lab,” the woman said, her words coming out through clenched teeth. She let out a breath through her nose and, still with a strange tension in her voice, added, “You need to come here.”

He stayed silent for a moment, pushing his lips out in thought.The coffee and the book sitting in front of him were practically looking at him with puppy eyes, and who was he to abandon them for someone who was probably about to use him for something weird?

Maybe she actually needed a test subject.

Either way, he didn’t really feel like going anywhere just because she said so.

“S-sorry, can’t hear you, bad–conne-ction,” he muttered into the phone, cupping his hand slightly over his mouth to create that robotic, crackling effect. “S-ome interference…”

“You fucking asshole,” she hissed so sharply he felt a shiver run down his spine. “I want you here in five minutes. If I’m still alive by then. It’s an emergency, Reid.”

After those words, she simply hung up, leaving him staring at his phone. Emergency, she’d said. And she had sounded like something serious had actually happened.Spencer cast one last, longing look at his book and coffee, then rose from his seat.

Rossi and Morgan didn’t even notice.

On the way to her lab, he wondered what could have possibly happened so early in the morning. A few potential theories crossed his mind, but none of them seemed very likely.

Besides, if it had been something really dangerous, she probably wouldn’t have been able to reach for her phone. And even if she could, he would have been the last person she’d call. She’d rather be rescued by Strauss riding a white horse than by him.

He assumed she was lying to get him there. For some reason.

He pushed the door open with a sigh and...stopped dead in his tracks at the sight that greeted him. His eyebrows raised. The woman shot him an angry look, suggesting she had expected him earlier. He might have been scared, if not for the fact that she was standing on the counter, both feet planted firmly, looking down at it as if it were her boat in a vast sea.

"Kill it,” she said.

Spencer, still confused, looked around. The lab was empty, and perfectly safe.

"IIs there a serial killer hiding here or something?”

“Worse,” she replied, shaking her head seriously. He continued to stare at her, more than skeptical, at which point she sighed in irritation. “Don’t look at me like I’ve lost my mind. I didn’t just jump on this damn table for sport.”

“Well, there are different kinds of hobbies. Not everyone has to hit the gym...”

"There’s a spider,” she interrupted, pointing at a spot on the floor. She took a breath as if preparing to recount a traumatic story. “I dropped something, I bent down to pick it up, and it ran across my hand.”

Watching her shudder, Spencer nodded in understanding, giving her exactly six seconds of silence for her dramatic performance.

He then snorted.

“And this is the emergency you called me for?” he asked with pity.

She crossed her arms over her chest, which, in its own way, looked impressive but mostly funny, considering she was still standing on the counter. Her posture remained perfectly straight and proud; he had to give her credit for that.

“Yes, this is the emergency because this…pest is preventing me from doing my job. And my job is connected to your job. You know, for your own benefit, just kill it.”

They stared at each other in prolonged silence. She, clearly frustrated by his lack of response. Reid… unexpectedly finding a source of amusement in the whole situation. After all, it was rare for him to be the one on the mocking side of their interactions. What a wonderful feeling.

So he decided to have a little more fun, standing in a relaxed, unhurried posture.

"How big was it?” he asked in a matter-of-fact tone.

She rolled her eyes upward, at the ceiling not that far from her head.

“It’s important that it was there. Not important how big.” After these words, her thoughts wandered for a moment, blinking. “Probably the only time anyone has said that seriously, actually meaning it.”

Spencer couldn't understand why anyone would have never said something like that about spiders before. He shrugged, continuing.

"What color was it?”

"For heaven's sake…”

"Black, brown, gray…”

“Black!”

“Was its abdomen more round or elongated?”

“WHAT DOES THIS HAVE TO DO WITH ANYTHING—”

“I’m trying to identify what species it is,” he spread his arms. “I need to know what I’m dealing with.”

She took in a deep breath, frustrated.

“Why are you acting like catching a spider is harder than catching an unsub?”

“Unsubs are usually a little bigger,” he pointed out, using two fingers to indicate the size of a typical spider that sometimes makes its way into a house. “It’s easier to, you know, notice them…”

“Oh, why did I have to call you?” she asked, burying her hands in her hair in regret over that decision, her voice dripping with exhaustion from the situation.

Unable to stop a satisfied grin, Spencer shrugged.

“I’ve been wondering that myself,” he admitted.

She stood there for a moment, hands furiously on her hips, her eyes gleaming with the question of whether he was ever actually going to do anything. He held her fiery gaze for a second, before sighing in surrender. His coffee and book were still waiting for him, and since he'd decided to take on this side quest, he might as well deal with it quickly.

Feeling her watchful eyes on him, he moved toward the spot she had pointed to as the monster's lair. He leaned over, trying to spot it in the shadow cast by one of the cabinets. After a moment of analysis… he scoffed.

He picked up the black, hairy thing and turned toward her.

At the sight, she instinctively took a step back, nearly falling off the counter. She spread her arms out to the sides to keep her balance.

"How can you touch that…”

“It’s not a spider,” he interrupted, holding out his open hand. His eyebrows were raised with a mix of genuine amusement and sarcastic mockery. “It’s an eyelash.”

He took a step toward the counter where she stood so she could take a look. With an unreadable expression, but her jaw slightly clenched, she leaned in to get a closer look, still not coming down from the counter. She did it slowly and carefully, as if suspecting he might be joking and actually holding a spider.

Her jaw tightened further as she realized.

“It’s an eyelash,” she confirmed with a barely noticeable nod. “A fake eyelash. It must have fallen out of one of my team members.”

She avoided his gaze, which Spencer deeply regretted. After a minute of silence, without a word, he extended his hand toward her, offering to finally help her down to the ground. Only then did she catch his eye — and he deliberately hid his smirk for a moment. Slowly, she accepted his offer, placing her hand in his, and grabbed onto his elbow as her other foot touched down, still seeking her full balance.

Before she could say anything, Spencer tilted his head slightly to the side.

"So the fake eyelash ran across your hand?” he asked.

She yanked her hand out of his grip.

“Oh, fuck you.”

“What an irrefutable argument.”

"That was the last time I ever asked you for help with anything. The real spider probably escaped while you were interrogating me about what it had for dinner!”

He actually gaped at her, impressed she still managed to turn this whole situation against him. At that, the corners of her mouth curled up smugly.

He shook his head.

“Fine. And that was the last time I saved you from a spider.”

"Fine!”

"Fine!”

"Your fine was completely unnecessary.”

“I’m not giving you the last word.”

“Oh, babe, how could you give back something you never had?”

Her scoff sounded louder in his ears than it should have, and combined with the mischievous glint in her eyes—and the fact that her face wasn't exactly far from his—it made swallowing feel like a real task by the time he finally turned to leave.

"You’re even later than I am,” JJ noted when he finally returned, eyeing him with surprise.

It pulled him out of his thoughts. He hadn’t caught all of what she said, but he figured she was commenting on the fact that he’d been the lastto show up — the rest of the team was already there.

He scratched at his forehead, fighting off a small, traitorous smile that had decided to creep onto his mouth without asking for permission. Or consent. He cleared his throat.

“Yeah, I had a…minor emergency.”

He grabbed his abandoned coffee cup. His smile disappeared as fast as it had come. The coffee was stone cold.

[helen-with-an-a]

Hot Mess

This was a request I got ages ago but I've lost the ask. The anon wanted more Captain Kimmy so here's some sister!Kim.

AWFC x Reader ; Kim Little x sister!Reader

Description: R is fed up with constantly being told she needs to be more like Kim

TW: brief talks of alcohol consumption; implied bad mental health (just vibes, nothing specific)

Arsenal was the dream. The goal. The be-all and end-all. A chance to play alongside Kim again, sharing the pitch with her just like the good ole days. It was supposed to be everything you ever wanted.

But now you found yourself stuck in a four-year contract with a team that you hated. Well, that was a bit harsh. They had certain … expectations … expectations that you just didn’t meet. They wanted a carbon copy of Kim; calm, poised, patient, a leader.

Except, you weren’t. You weren’t a hothead, not really … but you didn’t exactly have her easy-going nature either. You didn’t shy away from confrontation – if someone was in your way, you weren’t above getting in their face. You held your ground, pushing back just as hard as you were shoved. You’d fight for every inch, throw yourself into every challenge, and if that made you seem a little rough around the edges, so be it. The team admired that, that was for sure. You could feel the respect they gave you. But they were always telling you to ‘cool it’, ‘be more like your sister’, ‘relax, take a leaf out of Kim’s book’.

Maybe that was why you felt like a stranger in the changing rooms. You were good. You were nice enough. But you were never Kim. To make matters worse, you weren’t even a regular starter. Most games saw you stuck on the bench, only brought on in the final ten minutes when Arsenal needed to either hold the line or add a bit of bite. You took every second you got with grit and determination, but it was hard not to feel like a side note. Kim’s little sister. The Other Little. A no one.

Beth always said things happen for a reason. And maybe that was true. The day had been a rough one, training had been upped in preparation for the final push of the season. You were tired, running off of little sleep and mentally drained.

Twist. Pop. Snap.

You didn’t even feel the pain. Not at first. It was like you were so tired, so ready for a break, that your body was numb. It wasn’t until you took another step that the icy hot tendrils of fire wrapped itself around your knee.

“Don’t worry, kiddo.” Katie smiled down at you, crouching by your head, a head resting on your hair. “We’ve got ya,” Steph winked, although concern flooded her features. “Kim will help with everything.” Leah added.

Of course she would. Perfect Captain Kimmy. Ready to help another member of her team. Another ACL for Arsenal to work through. You didn’t want Kim. You had seen how hard the recovery process was. The last thing you wanted was Kim, smiling with too much kindness as she laid out your training schedule, your recovery programme, you diet, your appointments, which exercises you weren’t doing quite right, which weights you were allowed to you and when.

Turning to partying wasn’t the best idea you ever had. And deep down you knew it. The injury had sidelined you in more ways than one; unable to play, you could barely walk without wincing, yet each night you found yourself in a dimly lit bar, a drink in hand, the haze of alcohol blurring the frustration that had taken root in you. Kim had, without even asking, taken the reins of your recovery. She’d moved you into her place with a gentle firmness, her kind, understanding smiles only reminding you just how far you were from what you wanted – or needed.

You knew it was only because she cared. You knew it was her way of showing you love. But to you, it felt like a prison. Your every move was tracked. What time you went to bed, what time you woke up, how much water you drank, how much you ate, what you ate, when you ate, what your schedule was, when you were expected at Colney, when you were at the gym, when you were in the medical room. You were ready to scream.

A couple of friends from back home had finally made the move to London and they were more than willing to help drown your sorrows. It started out small, sneaking out your front door like you were 16 again. But soon, the occasional nights out turned into an almost nightly adventure. Yes, you were still on crutches. Yes, you could hardly move without being in some kind of pain. But there you were, sitting in one of the many London bars, downing another drink.

Drinks took the edge off; they numbed the ache in your knee and the pain in your heart. They quietened the voices in your head, ones that sounded far too similar to your sister. You couldn’t pinpoint when football had gone from the best thing in your life, the only thing you wanted to do, the thing that made your heart so full of joy, to the thing you despised most in the world. It once was your everything, your reason for being. There was nothing that could match the feeling you had when a ball was at your feet. You weren’t sure what hurt more, your knee, your head or your heart.

Now, you felt nothing but resentment. Hungover, exhausted, weighed down by the clunky crutches, everything was just too much. You hated it, you hated everything about it. The rehab, the repetitive exercises with very little to show for it, the hovering, the phone calls, the media, the fake smiles, the feeling of being an outsider.

You hated the cold, sterile physio room, the fluorescent lights and weird smell. You hated the gym that always blasted music too loudly and was slightly too cold. You hated the football pitches with their perfectly manicured grass and clean white lines. You hated it. You hated yourself.

You wanted nothing more than to leave it all behind – to walk out of Colney, of North London, of England and disappear for good. Maybe you would become a goat farmer in the remote regions of South America. Kim wouldn’t be able to micromanage you from all the way out there. Maybe … leaving it behind wasn’t a bad thing. You knew football was the cause. It had been since well before your injury. Maybe just disappearing would be best for everyone. Kim wouldn’t have to stress about you, the team wouldn’t have to deal with an angry defender who spent more time as a bench warmer than on the pitch. Sure, Arsenal Management might be angry, but they would get over it. They wouldn’t have to pay you, so they weren’t losing out financially.

You felt the tears roll down your cheek.

“And what time do you call this?” The voice was unmistakable – Kim, standing by the doorway with her arms crossed and that familiar look of disapproval etched across her face. Of course, it was her. She’d made your schedule, down to every exercise, every physio appointment, and every check-in. She knew the exact minute you were supposed to be here, and she knew you were late.

"Fuck off," you muttered, not even bothering to look her way as you rolled your eyes, limping slowly toward the medical office at the back of the room. You couldn’t handle her lectures today, not with your head pounding and your knee screaming with every step.

"Don't talk to me like that," Kim said, her voice steely.

"Whatever," you huffed, pushing forward, the sound of your crutches on the floor echoing loudly.

Kim’s eyes narrowed, and you could feel her studying you, taking in the bleary eyes, the tired face, and the way you swayed slightly. "Are you drunk?" she asked, her tone blunt as ever, arms folded tight against her chest, her disappointment radiating from every pore.

"No." The word came out more defensively than you’d intended, and you hated how it only made you sound guiltier.

"So just hungover, then," she said, her lips pressed into a thin line. "This isn’t what you’re here to do, you know. You think you’re helping yourself by wasting the night away at some bar?”

You wanted to fire back, to tell her she didn’t understand, but the words seemed trapped in your throat. You stood there, feeling small and exposed, like every flaw and frustration was laid out under Kim’s scrutiny. She looked at you as if you were nothing more than a project, a mess she had to put back together, whether you wanted it or not. And the worst part? A tiny part of you couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe she was right.

“Well, we can’t all be St. Kim now, can we?” you muttered bitterly under your breath.

“What?” She straightened, her eyes narrowing, daring you to repeat it.

“Nothing,” you dismissed, turning away, hoping she’d let it slide.

But she wasn’t one to back down. “No, what did you say?”

You felt your frustration bubbling over, unable to hold it back any longer. “I said we can’t all be St. Kim,” you exploded. “The perfect one with all the answers and the flawless game, the one everyone thinks I should be more like.”

Kim took a sharp breath, her expression unreadable. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“That I’m not you!” you spat out, feeling a strange relief in finally saying it aloud. “I know that, okay? But apparently no one else does. All anyone ever says to me is that I need to be more like perfect Captain Kimmy who has everything under control and knows exactly what to do, as if that’s so easy!”

“No one expects you–”

“Oh really?” You cut her off, the words flying out of you. “What was it Jonas said before he left? Oh, right, if I just played more like Kim, maybe we wouldn’t be losing. What did Renee say when I asked about her plan for me? Hmm, our back line is stacked, but if I wanted to try and play more like Kim, I might get more minutes. Or what about the girls, every single day with her little comments? ‘Keep going, Y/N, or I’ll tell Kim you’re slacking off’, ‘What would Kim say?’, ‘Don’t make me get Kim’. And the girls back at Scotland? They all say the same damn thing: be more like Kim, or I’ll never make captain. Like being more like you is the only way to be anything in this game. So yeah, I’m sorry if drowning my sorrows in a bit of alcohol isn’t up to the perfect Kim Little standard!”

Silence filled the room. Tears streamed down your face as you looked at your sister. For once, she didn’t look composed. For once, she wasn’t the perfect Kim Little, calm under pressure. Kim stood there, momentarily stunned, her mouth opening and closing as if she were struggling to form a response. The silence stretched between you, heavy and charged, as you braced yourself for the inevitable flood of disappointment or anger.

You were breathing like you just ran a marathon. You were in pain and terrified. Terrified that you had just fucked up the best relationship you ever had.

"You really think that’s what I want for you?” she asked quietly,

“What else would you want?” you shot back, though the sharpness in your tone had faded. "You’ve always been the standard, Kim. You’re what everyone wants me to be. Hell, even you’ve hinted at it.” She blinked, taking a slight step towards you. “Look, I know it feels like…like everyone’s comparing you to me. And maybe that’s true. Maybe it’s unfair. But it’s not what I want, okay? I just want you to be you.”

You shook your head, the bitterness still lingering. "Then why are you always pushing me, always hovering, always making sure I’m on top of every little thing? It’s like…it’s like you don’t think I’m enough on my own.”

Kim’s shoulders slumped slightly. "Because I know how hard this is for you, honey. And I know that pushing yourself to heal, to come back stronger, isn’t easy. I thought…I thought if I could help make it a little easier, then maybe you wouldn’t feel so lost.”

“I don’t need you to fix me, Kim,” you replied, feeling your voice crack. “I need…I need to figure things out on my own, in my own way. And right now, I don’t even know if this is what I want anymore.”

Her eyes widened, a flash of panic crossing her face. “You’re saying you don’t want to play?”

Did you want to play?

“I don’t know. I thought this is what I wanted. I thought Arsenal was going to be…I thought it would be us, working together, playing like we used to. But now, everything just feels…wrong. And I don’t know if it’s worth it anymore.”

For a long moment, Kim didn’t respond. You’d just said out loud what you hadn’t even allowed yourself to think fully: that maybe football, the thing that had once been your life, no longer had a place in it. You heart hammered in your chest.

“Oh, honey.” Kim sighed, moving to come at stand in front of you, her hands outstretched. You blinked, another tear rolling down your cheek. Without hesitation, she pulled you to her, your head falling onto her shoulder as you let the tears fall again. “If you need to step made, then that’s what you’ll do, yeah? Everyone goes through rough patches, especially after an injury.”

“But, what if it’s not just a rough patch.” You blubbered. “What if I don’t want to come back?”

“Then you don’t,” she said with certainty.

You swallowed. “You really think I can just…step back? That I won’t be letting everyone down?”

You felt Kim press a kiss to your temple. “It’s your life. You’re the only one who gets to decide. And if that means taking a step back, then take it. If it means hanging up your boots for good. Then do it. You aren’t letting anyone down, I promise.” You squeezed your eyes shut.

“Can we go home?” You mumbled, voice tired.

“Of course we can, I want sister cuddles anyways. I haven’t had them in a long time.”

[do-androids-dream-ao3acc]

“You look fine in that suit.” Tommy pauses briefly, then he adds, a little more subdued, “I’m sorry. That’s inappropriate today.”

“You’re not even looking at me,” Buck says, confused. That much is true: Tommy, standing on the station’s rooftop terrace with his arms crossed, doesn’t turn around. He looks like a man enjoying the sun and the view, but Buck knows that’s not true. Without saying a word, he takes a few steps to stand next to Tommy. The view is spectacular, but they’re standing a little too close to the edge for his taste. Perhaps that's ambiguous.

“Noticed you earlier.” 

“We’re all wearing the same uniform,” Buck remarks, and Tommy just shrugs. 

Buck realizes that it was a small, very gentle and spontaneous confession, and he wishes he could tell Tommy that he understands, because he felt the same way. He wishes he could tell him he noticed Tommy, who, even though he will be one of the pallbearers, quietly slipped in through the door and kept himself in the background. He hasn't exchanged words with the others, not even with Chimney, and he hasn't looked at Buck, just like he’s not looking at him now. But Buck has seen him, and he wishes he could tell Tommy about that little sting in his heart, back then. Yet his throat is tight—not because he thinks it would be inappropriate to say anything, but because the reason they are here is only minutes away. The atmosphere downstairs is so devastating that Buck desperately needs a break.

“How did you know I was here?” Tommy asks.

“Well, if you're running away, where else would you go but up?”

Maybe that came out a little too harsh, because now Tommy turns his head, surprise and a little hurt in his gaze. 

“I-I mean...” Buck struggles to find the right words. Happens a lot lately, ever since Bobby’s death. “I get it. Nobody wants to be here today.”

“A lot of people want to pay their last respects to the captain, Evan.”

“Yeah, but that makes it so final. Tommy… I'll never see him again. None of us want to be here today. Chimney is tearing himself apart because he blames himself. And to be honest, Athena was pretty mean to him. I know it's just grief, but she was also close to not even showing up for the funeral because she said she had to solve a case. Can you imagine that? At Bobby's funeral?”

He pauses briefly, sniffs, and then continues in a staccato, as if all these words have to come out right now. 

“I would have preferred to stay at home either, honestly, but Eddie and his constant nagging about the changes I made in his house drove me out. Well, him and Ravi, who’s way too serious. He shouldn’t be so serious. Everyone is so sad, Tommy. Hen is crying all the time, and I wish I could too.”

Tommy's smile is gentle and sad. “Hold on a little longer,” he says softly. “Just… try. For Bobby, okay? I don’t think I can stand to see you cry again…” He trailed off, looking in the distance.

“W-what do you mean?” Buck asks with a frown.

“The military had the lab’s surveillance cameras on monitor. You didn’t know?”

“No. Wait. You saw Bobby die? That’s horrible, Tommy.”

Tommy looked ready to shrug it off, but this time, Buck wouldn’t have it. He's reaching out, because it's the right thing to do; he's pulling Tommy into a hug. They stand like this for a while, heartbeat to heartbeat; without a word, not moving. Grief unites, someone had once said to Buck, and now he understands what that means. Finally, Tommy gently withdraws.

“Thanks,“ his voice is merely a breath.

“We should talk. Later,” Buck urgently returns. Tommy raises a brow, “Do you really think so?”

“Of course I do,” Buck insists. “It's long overdue. We're really bad at it, but that’s no excuse.”

Tommy smiles indulgently, like he always does around Buck. “True. I just don't think this is the right place or time.”

“Oh,” says Buck. “You're probably right. Well. W-what are you doing on Saturday?”

[maidragoste]

deserves better

Jacaerys Velaryon x Aegon’s Widow!Reader

continuation of i am making you feel sick?

I'm happy to share more about Jacaerys and this reader. I hope you all enjoy it. If you like it, please don't hesitate to leave a like, comment, and reblog. The comments and interactions always motivate me to continue writing 🥰🥰💖💖

If you have any ideas, questions or headcanons you want to share, my inbox is always open 🤗💖

Disclaimer: English is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes.

I hope you have a good reading!

Jacaerys was surprised at the entrance to the chamber to see you sitting vigil over the child. He expected to find the handmaidens or the maester watching over him, not you. He felt guilty for thinking so little of you; of course, you would worry about the child once you found out he was sick. However, you wouldn't be spending much time with him. Jacaerys didn't blame you for not wanting to see the child that much; after all, he also avoided his own son because he couldn't help but see your Jaehaerys in his face. It's not as if it were a secret: the future heir to the throne seemed to be being raised by the handmaidens instead of his parents. Even Jaehaera and Egg seemed to be spending more time with the child than you two did. Except now because neither you nor Jacaerys wanted them to catch winter fever.

“I was praying,” you said, looking at him with tired eyes, but that was nothing new. Since your last pregnancy, you almost always looked tired. “You can join me if you want,” you decided to extend an olive branch. This wasn’t a time to argue. If this was his son’s last night alive, then you wouldn’t deprive Jacaerys of being with him in his final moments. You weren’t that cruel.

Jacaerys swallowed, feeling a little nervous. He was used to you avoiding him, to you rejecting him. “I would like that,” he said before sitting down in the chair next to you. Had you been waiting for him?

He watched as you clasped your hands and closed your eyes. He knew he had to join in your prayer, but he couldn't help but stare at your hands. There was dried blood on your cuticles. You may seem serene now, but that detail told him the situation was weighing on you. He couldn't imagine what was going through your head. It must have been traumatic for you. You'd already lost two sons; the gods couldn't be so cruel. Jacaerys felt a lump begin to form in his throat. You didn't deserve this.

Jacaerys closed his eyes and asked the gods to have mercy on you and to let their son live.

You both fell silent as the two of you continued your prayers. It wasn't a tense silence, but it wasn't harmonious either.

“If he lives, we have to be better,” you declared, breaking the silence, your eyes meeting Jacaerys’s. “I will be a better mother to him,” you promised.

“You are a good mother,” he said, because he couldn’t bear to hear you speak ill of yourself. You had done the best you could. He couldn’t hold you responsible when he and the kingdom forced you to bear a child you didn’t want in the first place.

“Don't lie,” you cut him off instantly. “I was terrible to him, to Jaehaera.” The tremor in your voice was like a blow to Jacaerys. “But I will get better and you should too. Our son deserves better.”

Your words hurt Jacaerys because he knew you were right. His son deserved a better father. Someone present, caring, and someone he could trust. It was ironic how before the war, Jacaerys imagined himself a loving father and ended up being an emotionally neglectful one. His mother would be disappointed. He, himself, was disappointed by his actions, by putting you and innocent children in this situation.

For the first time in years, you felt sorry for Jacaerys, seeing the tears and pain in his eyes. You still disliked being married to him, but the child you share is more important than any bad blood. Perhaps there could be a new beginning between you two, for their family.

Taglist for all my House of the Dragon works

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hotd masterlist

[gohyemi]

"Is It Love or a Scent?"

teaser

"Get out," Joshua snapped, pulling over to the side of a deserted road. The street was mostly empty, save for a few dimly lit shops casting eerie glows into the night. The silence felt heavy—too heavy.

"I’m sorry—please, I didn’t mean to. I didn’t pour the drink on her, she—"

"Oh, what? You're going to say she did it to herself now?" he cut her off sharply, his eyes glinting red with fury in the glow of the dashboard lights.

Without another word, he reached into the backseat, grabbed her phone and purse, and threw them onto her lap. The gesture wasn’t just dismissive—it was cold.

"You really pissed me off today. Get out."

She froze, too stunned to speak. Her chest tightened, her heart aching in a way that felt deeper than usual. Joshua’s temper was something she had grown used to—fleeting, like a passing storm. But tonight felt different. It's making her eyes sting, but she refuses to let it out.

Silently, she opened the door. Her heels, which had already left blisters on her feet, scraped against the rough pavement as she stepped out. The purse in her arms felt heavier than usual—maybe because it carried more than just her belongings. It carried the weight of realization.

She was already emotionally drained, and now, standing alone in the cold, she felt stripped of every last bit of energy. As she closed the door behind her, Joshua sped off without a second glance, the roar of the engine disappearing into the night.

She stood there under the dim streetlight, shivering—not just from the wind, but from the sudden emptiness Joshua left behind. Then, a rumble of thunder cut through the silence, low and ominous.

“Well… shit,” she muttered, slipping off her heels. Better to walk barefoot than make the blisters worse. The pavement was rough and cold, but it was still better than the sharp sting in her feet. She hurried toward the closest shop, feeling the first drops of rain tap against her bare shoulders like a warning.

And then, in the blink of an eye, the sky opened up.

The gentle drizzle turned into a downpour, sheets of rain hammering the street as if the sky itself was angry. She stood under the awning of the nearest shop, hugging herself tightly, trembling. The cold crept into her bones.

Just as she was wondering what to do next, the door behind her clicked and creaked open.

“Come in, young lady,” a gentle voice called.

She turned to see an elderly man standing in the doorway, a folded blanket in his arms, his smile warm despite the chill in the air. His eyes crinkled kindly at the corners, like someone who’d seen many storms—both outside and within.

She hesitated. “I’m fine, really,” she tried to say, her voice shaky.

But the thunder roared again, and the rain showed no signs of mercy. And Joshua—her so-called husband—surely wasn’t coming back.  ‘asshole’

Realizing she had no choice, she gave a small nod and stepped inside.

The shop was filled with vintage treasures, each item seemingly telling its own story. A row of watches caught her eye—old, yet timeless. Nearby, a delicate vase stood beside bottles in different shapes, some worn with age. But what drew her in most were the small bottle with flowers carved around it. They sat on a wooden shelf, their contents faintly visible—just a little water left inside.

"You like it?" The old man’s voice broke through her thoughts.

She nodded absentmindedly, still mesmerised by the bottles.

"What is this, ajusshi?" she asked, lifting one of the bottles in her hand. She studied the flower pattern—once white, but now its paint had faded to a dusty yellow, as if time had not been kind to them.

The old man smiled softly. "It’s perfume, if you want to know."

Her brow furrowed in confusion. "Isn’t it expired? Doesn’t it smell bad?" she asked, tilting her head in curiosity.

The old man chuckled, a warm, knowing sound. He turned away, heading toward the back of the counter "Come, take a seat," he said, his voice gentle but firm. "I’ll tell you a story."

As she stood there, still holding the bottle, the old man reached into a drawer and pulled out a pair of fluffy slippers, handing them to her. "Here," he said, offering them with a knowing grin. "Put those heels aside. I can see your date’s an asshole for making you wear that."

She blinked in surprise at his bluntness, but there was something about his words that made her laugh, despite everything. Her shoulders relaxed a little, and for the first time that night, she felt a hint of comfort. Without hesitation, she slipped off her heels and put on the soft slippers, grateful for the warmth they provided.

The soft slippers muffling her steps. She took a seat on the cushioned stool in front of the old man, pulling the blanket tighter around her shoulders, ready to listen.

The old man settled opposite her with a sigh, his fingers gently tapping the wooden surface “This bottle of perfume,” he began, gesturing to the one still in her hand, “was once crafted by a woman who lived in a house surrounded by the most beautiful flowers you could ever imagine.”

His voice lowered, almost reverent, as if the memory of that woman still lingered in the scent trapped inside the dusty bottle. The rain outside continued to pour, but in that moment, the only world that existed was the one the old man began to unfold.

---------------------------------

Once i'm done with Jeonghan's story then I will publish this one I'm back with another mystery vintage shop series. should I stop until Joshua or continue the story with other members as well🧐 Once i'm done with Jeonghan's story then I will publish this one Check out my other creations on the seventeen list. for sure you guys love it too~

[wendichester]

♡‧₊˚ ⋅⋆ all the quiet places you left behind,

summary. castiel visits you in heaven.

pairing. castiel x reader genre. fluffy fluff

wordcount. 648

Heaven looks like the last place you ever felt safe.

Not the actual house, or the actual day — but the feeling. It stretches around you like golden thread, each moment stitched together by memory. A porch swing creaks in the distance. The sky is soft and always blushing. The wind carries the scent of something familiar, though you can’t quite place it — like childhood summers and coffee at dawn and someone who once loved you deeply.

And today… today, the air hums different.

You feel him before you see him.

“Cas?” you call, already turning.

He’s standing just beyond the garden gate, the same beige trench coat you always teased him about flaring slightly in the breeze. His eyes — ancient and endlessly blue — drink you in like he’s been dying of thirst.

You laugh, breath catching in your throat. “You came.”

“I had to,” he says simply, voice wrapped in reverence. “I needed to see you.”

He steps into your Heaven like he belongs there. And maybe he does.

You walk toward him, barefoot in the grass. Every step you take, the world around you shifts — your favorite trees in bloom, the wind chimes you loved so much tinkling from a porch you haven’t stood on in years. He notices. Of course he does.

“This is what you made for yourself?” he asks softly.

You shrug, shy. “It just sort of… happened. It built itself around what I missed.”

Cas smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You’re everywhere here.”

He’s right. Your touch lingers on every leaf, every light ray, every warm detail. Even the shadows feel gentle.

“Is that bad?” you ask.

He shakes his head. “No. It’s beautiful. You’re beautiful.”

There’s something in his voice that makes your heart tighten.

You study him for a moment, then tug him gently toward the porch swing. He follows without protest. You sit side by side, the old wood groaning sweetly under your combined weight.

“I wasn’t sure if angels could come up here,” you say after a beat. “I thought you were sort of… grounded.”

Cas glances at you, then back at the horizon, his profile painted gold. “I’m not supposed to. But I asked. And Jack… he said yes.”

Your throat stings unexpectedly. “Why now?”

He hesitates.

Then: “Because I missed you. And I was afraid I was starting to forget the way your voice sounded when you were happy.”

You blink fast.

Silence blooms between you, full and unhurried. The sky melts pink behind the hills. Somewhere, wind stirs a windmill you once watched as a child. Time doesn’t tick here — it sighs.

“I thought it would help,” he admits after a while. “Seeing you. Letting go.”

“And does it?”

He turns to you, his expression soft and wrecked all at once. “No.”

Your breath catches.

“I didn’t expect you to be here like this,” he says. “So… alive. So real. You made Heaven a place I don’t want to leave.”

You smile, eyes shimmering. “Maybe that’s what love is.”

Cas looks down at his hands, suddenly unsure. “I shouldn’t stay.”

“Why not?”

“Because the longer I do, the harder it will be to go.”

Your fingers brush his. He doesn’t pull away.

“Then don’t go.”

His breath shakes. “I have duties. People to guide. Pain I haven’t healed yet.”

You nod, understanding. You always understand. That’s part of why it hurts.

“Okay,” you whisper.

He turns to you again, heart in his throat. “I’ll come back.”

“You better,” you smile, brushing your thumb against his knuckles. “You’re my favorite part of this place.”

Cas closes his eyes like that’s something sacred. He leans in — not urgent, not desperate, just sure — and presses his forehead to yours.

No wings. No lightning. No miracles. Just warmth. Just him.

“Even in Heaven,” he murmurs, “you feel like home.”

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

[rafesbuzzcutseason]

wicked game

chapter 10 - charming

synopsis: y/n is sarah’s roommate and the embodiment of sunshine. rafe, on the other hand, is her complete opposite. when the boys place a bet that he can't win her over, rafe takes the challenge without hesitation. after all, he never backs down from a dare. the closer rafe gets to y/n, he finds himself drawn to her warmth in a way he never expected, and for the first time, he wants to be more than just the guy with a bad reputation.

but secrets don’t stay hidden for long, and when y/n finds out the truth, rafe is left to face the consequences. now, he has to prove that somewhere along the way, the bet stopped mattering, because losing her was never part of the plan.

masterlist

cw: language, alcohol

it was a long, exhausting night after lucas left. you felt numb, empty, lost. but a part of you felt relief. and you felt so guilty for feeling that.

you didn't let the girls come over straight away, you wanted to deal with it yourself and process it, but you knew you needed to go out tonight to stop yourself from moping.

by the time the evening had had arrived, your chest still felt heavy, but the grief had dulled into something quieter. something you felt able to carry.

you allowed yourself to get dressed up, promising the girls you would meet them there as you just needed to take your time.

you stared at the dress hanging on the back of your chair that sarah had given to you back when you first became roommates. "wear this when you want to feel hot. trust me." she had said to you that night.

this was one of those nights.

you put it on, did a quick once over and decided it was good enough for right now.

the kappa tau house was, as always, buzzing and full of energy by the time you got there.

you found kie and cleo, who both did a quick double-take when they saw you, expressions flashing from surprise to concern to that unspoken thank god you’re here kind of relief.

"you made it,” kie said, immediately pulling you into a hug. "how are you?" she asked with sincerity.

you gave a weak smile. "ask me after drink number three."

cleo handed you a red solo cup like she’d already prepared for that answer. "you don’t have to talk about anything if you don’t want to."

"i know," you said, taking a sip. "i just want to be with my girls tonight."

"speaking of..." cleo nodded towards the corner where john b and sarah were making out. "she's been a little preoccupied."

you laughed, "so they're official huh?"

"apparently so. they're fucking whipped." kie sighed.

"she's never in our dorm anymore. always at his." you smiled softly, glad she had someone like him. "i'm happy for her." they nodded in agreement.

for a little while, it was easy. you laughed, danced, and let the negative thoughts stay hidden. but as the night went on, you felt yourself overwhelmed and in need of a break.

"i'm just gonna go get some fresh air for a bit. you guys carry on." you said to the girls.

"are you okay? do you want us to come with you?" kie rushed, always the first one to worry.

"i'm fine! i promise. just getting a bit sweaty."

"ok, but we're here for you, yeah?" cleo spoke with concern.

"i know i know. i'll be back shortly." you stepped away, slipping through the crowd in the living room and making it out to the garden. it was quieter, darker, with the slight flicker of cigarettes being lit and phone screens.

you exhaled deeply, the cool air hitting your skin like a reset button. you leaned against the wall, letting your head fall back, eyes closed, just trying to feel something besides the dull ache in your chest that comes back as soon as you're alone.

"you always sneak off during our parties?"

the voice startled you, pulling you out your trance.

"i didn’t know you were out here," you said quietly.

"didn’t know you were either. guess we both needed a break."

you glanced at rafe for a moment before returning your gaze to the backyard. "you always this good at finding people when they want to be alone?"

"not really. just tends to always be you." he shrugged, "why do you want to be alone?"

"just not really in a people mood right now."

he tilted his head slightly, watching you. "rough night?"

"lucas and i broke up." you responded bluntly.

rafe didn’t say anything at first, just nodded slowly. no told you so. no smug comment. just a shift in his expression. shock and a hint of sympathy.

"you okay?" he asked after a few minutes.

"yeah," you said finally. "i think it wasn't good for a while. he wasn't like, bad or anything. we just grew apart. it felt pretend. and that's exhausting in itself."

he didn’t push you for more. "i get that," voice softer now. "sometimes it’s easier to fake it than admit it's kinda falling apart.”

you looked over at him then, his face barely lit by the glow of the inside, his eyes steady on yours. there was no judgment there. just a weird kind of understanding.

"you always this philosophical at parties?" you let out a small laugh.

he cracked a smile. "only when i run into pretty girls in gardens."

you rolled your eyes, but your lips tugged into the faintest smile, "charming"

"you smiled," he said, "that’s gotta count for something."

"we seem to end up together at parties away from everyone else quite a lot." you said, sitting down against the wall.

"is that a problem?" he sat beside you, close but not too close.

"not really," you said after a beat, voice quieter now. "just… interesting."

he hummed in response, resting his arms on his knees, head tilted slightly like he was trying to read between the lines of your words. "maybe it’s a sign."

you looked over at him, brows raised. "a sign? for what?"

"that you secretly like my company," he said, glancing at you with the smallest smirk, but it didn’t come off cocky. "or maybe you just keep ending up in the same places i go when i’m trying to get away."

"away from what?"

"the pressure of being a frat guy."

you both burst into laughter, you swatted his shoulder, but rafe caught your hand before it could hit him. and he didn't let go. holding it before slowly brushing his hand against yours, just gently. just enough for you to decide.

you hesitated, then turned your hand over, letting your fingers curl lightly into his. it wasn’t romantic. it wasn’t even flirtatious. it was steady. grounding. quiet.

his thumb grazed your knuckles, barely there. "you’re allowed to feel relief," he said softly, his voice low and warm. "even if it hurts. even if it’s messy."

"you always like this when you’re not pretending to be an asshole?"

he let out a small laugh. "don’t tell anyone. ruins the brand."

you smiled again, this time more real.

"i'm glad i keep bumping into you." you whispered after a while.

"yeah." he replied, just as quietly. "me too."

a/n: i hate this chapter wahhhhhhh anyway how much of this is bet rafe and how much is real rafe mwahahha

🏷️: @heartzshiftamy @hoefordrewstarkey @luvrclub  @leleee3 @yktayy9669 @miumiuestmoi @anacamofficial @cokewithcameron @bloodofadoll @shorttandsweett @mysticbby2009 @emmiesummers @wintercrows @drewrry @starkeyxcameron @xxbirkindoll2 @stoned-writer @drewstarkeyslover @hannieskzzz @verycherryblossomhideout @letstryagaintomorrow @@jjsbbg7 @mariamadison6-blog @laniirackssss @xeneasworld @countryclubwhore @drewsphswife @mattyskies @moonywhisp3rs @starkeygirls @lmaolmaos @thereallifebambi @emeloyy @vcnillafairy @rafecameronswhoore @st8rkey @angeldiaryy @therealfairybatman @drewsephrry @vanessa-rafesgirl @dreamybabbyy @pogueprincesa @happy-mushrooms @hannaa20002000 @whoismxtti @darlingstarkey @mattssweetheart @wuluhwuhmaster @harringtonsbowgirl @my-name-is-baby @rrosiitas @davinashifts333@cinnamqnnlatte @fastlovela @stelleduarte @fastlovela @deeninadream @moond0llie @dylsdaily 

[itsnesss]

hi! how are you? i was thinking maybe max x reader where reader just needs a hug. like maybe someone has made her feel bad and she just can't help but crumble into his arms, sobbing in his chest. hurt-comfort kinda :)

𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐭 | max verstappen × fem!reader

summary | you come home shattered after a rough day. max sees through your silence, holds you as you break down, and comforts you with quiet love

warnings | emotional distress, crying, hurt/comfort themes, mention of self-doubt/insecurity, soft fluff and vulnerability

word count | 1.3 k

🖇 more mv1 🖇 f1 masterlist

The day had started like any other. You woke up to the sound of your alarm, answered a few messages, even dared to wear that sweater you love so much the one Max always says makes you look “ridiculously adorable.” But as the hours passed, something inside you began to crumble, as if the world was mocking your efforts to hold yourself together.

It started with an offhand comment, one of those disguised as a joke but aimed straight at the heart. It wasn’t the first time someone questioned your place, your decisions, your way of being. But today, it caught you off guard. The words cut deep, right into that corner of your chest where you keep all your insecurities, that place Max tries to fill with his affection, but that sometimes just opens up on its own.

You pretended to be fine. You smiled. You nodded. You even made a joke yourself, as if it didn’t matter.

But it did matter.

It mattered so much that the moment you walked into the apartment you share with Max, everything felt heavy. You dropped your keys on the entryway table, like always, but you didn’t take off your shoes. Or your jacket. You just stood there, back against the wall, feeling your eyes well up with tears without permission.

Max was in the living room, checking something on his tablet—maybe telemetry or a strategy for the next race. When he saw you, his expression changed instantly.

"Love?" he asked softly, setting the tablet aside. "Are you okay?"

You couldn’t answer. You just shook your head, trying to say yes, but your lips trembled and your eyes filled completely with tears.

Max reached you in two steps, quick but unrushed, with that way he has of respecting your space without staying too far.

"Hey… look at me," he whispered, his hands gently cupping your cheeks. "What happened?"

And that was it.

Your body trembled. Your lips broke into a muffled sob. You shut your eyes tight and threw yourself against his chest as if it were the only safe place on earth.

Max held you without another word. His arms wrapped around you with firmness, as if he could hold together all the shattered pieces you were trying so hard to keep intact. His chin rested on your head, and he began to sway you gently, while your tears soaked his shirt.

"You’re here now," he murmured into your hair. "I’m with you. You don’t have to say anything yet."

Your fingers clutched his back as if you were going to disappear, and he simply held you. Patiently. Calmly. Lovingly.

Because sometimes, understanding isn’t what matters. Just being there.

You don’t know how long you stayed like that, in his arms, your face buried in his chest as your world melted into tears. The silence between you was warm, soft, as if Max knew exactly that you didn’t need solutions, just comfort.

When your crying slowly began to ease, you felt his hand stroking your back in slow circles, and his other hand interlaced with yours.

"Do you want to tell me what happened?" he asked quietly, no pressure, just leaving the door open for you to step through when you were ready.

You took a deep breath. You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. He wasn’t in a rush he just looked at you with that tenderness that seemed reserved only for you. And then the words began to come, halting, with pauses and knots in your throat.

"It was something stupid…" you murmured, hating how vulnerable you felt. "Someone said something. Like a joke. But it hurt. It made me feel… like I don’t matter. Like everything I do is a joke."

Max frowned. Not in anger toward you, but toward whoever had made you feel that way.

"Who was it?"

You shook your head. You didn’t want to cause trouble. You just wanted the pain to go away.

"It doesn’t matter. It’s just that… I was already holding in so much. And that was like… the last drop."

Max brought your hands to his lips and kissed them slowly, never breaking eye contact.

"Of course it matters," he said, his tone firm but full of care. "Because if something hurts you, then it matters. Don’t let anyone convince you otherwise. You’re not a joke. You’re not less. And if someone made you feel that way, they clearly don’t know who you really are."

His words broke you a little more, but this time in a different way. As if each sentence was unraveling the knot of guilt you carried in your chest.

"Sometimes I feel like I don’t fit in," you whispered. "Like I’m less than everyone else. Like I don’t have the right to be tired, or sad, or hurt."

Max shook his head, eyes locked on yours.

"You have the right to all of that and more. You don’t have to be strong all the time. Not with me. I’m here to hold you up when you can’t anymore. Always."

And then he hugged you again, tighter this time, as if trying to rebuild you from scratch with nothing but his embrace.

"You fit with me," he added, whispering in your ear. "In my life, in my world. And if the world doesn’t see how lucky it is to have you, then the problem is with the world not you."

A silent tear rolled down your cheek, but this time, it wasn’t from sadness.

It was relief.

After that hug, there wasn’t much left to say… but Max still wasn’t ready to let go of you completely.

He helped you take off your jacket, took your hand, and led you to the couch as if you were made of glass—not out of pity, but out of genuine care. He made sure you were comfortable, knelt in front of you, and studied your face for a moment in silence, as if checking for any shadows that still lingered.

"Don’t move, okay?" he asked with a half-smile.

"What are you going to do?"

"Trust me."

And you did.

A few minutes later, the sound of the coffee machine filled the quiet of the house, followed by the soft crinkle of a cookie bag. It wasn’t anything grand. It wasn’t an expensive gift or a surprise trip. But when Max returned to the living room with your favorite cookies, a mug of warm milk, and a blanket in the other hand, you understood something important.

It wasn’t the gesture itself. It was the way.

It was how he remembered what you liked when you were sad. How he knew exactly what to say without pushing. How he looked at you—as if even after seeing you fall apart, you were still his favorite person in the world.

He sat next to you and wrapped the blanket around you with a care that felt like pure love. Then he handed you the mug and settled beside you, pulling you against his chest while his fingers played with your hair.

"Did I tell you today how brave you are?" he murmured suddenly.

You shook your head with a shy smile.

"Well, you are. A lot. But even brave people need to rest. Cry. Feel bad. That doesn’t make them weak. It makes them real."

You rested your head on his shoulder, feeling more at peace than you had all day.

"Thank you, Max."

"Always," he whispered, kissing your forehead. "This is your place. And no one—absolutely no one—has the right to make you feel otherwise."

He didn’t respond with more words. He didn’t need to. He just hugged you tighter, let the silence speak for you both, and for the first time all day… you felt like you could breathe again.

[babyjinsu]

son-in-law

pairing ; husband!anton x fem!reader || wc ; 2.5k

warning ; manipulation, gaslighting, anton is a bad son-in-law, slight angst if you squint, death, might be missing more honestly but nothing nsfw...

there’s something about their son-in-law. they’re sure of it.

they don’t have the proof yet, but… a parents’ intuition is never wrong. 

when you first introduced your boyfriend to them, he was almost too perfect. not to say you couldn’t bag someone like him, no—you’re their perfect, golden child. but your boyfriend… he smiled so sweetly it almost seemed forced. the way he pulled out the chair and complimented her garden like he’d grown up tending roses and lilies himself—it was all just a little too smooth. too studied.

you’ve had a few boyfriends before. your parents hated them all—loud boys with foul mouths and bad manners—but their flaws were honest. this one was like a mask fitted to your dreams.

“anton,” he said, extending his hand across the dining table. his voice was soft and polite.

your father shook it with a glance he thought you didn’t catch, but his wife did. she brushed it off as she served the meat, but from that first dinner, the house felt different whenever he came. 

she couldn’t explain it but—somehow, the air got thinner, and the house got colder. the way anton looked at you when you watched the television, or when you’re playing with the housecat—it was not out of genuine love. more like a prize. a claim. a stake. 

“what do you think?” you hummed, letting out a shy, flustered giggle. “he’s nice, isn’t he?” you said afterward, washing the dishes with a dreamy smile. you never liked washing dishes.

your mother just watched you with furrowed brows and hands damp with dishwater, a tight feeling bloomed in her chest. she didn’t say anything, just nodding her head in reply as she switched the topic—can you put this back in the drawer? 

maybe because of the way you looked around anton—that your parents never had the chance, or the heart to tell you what they really felt about your boyfriend. 

you’d always been headstrong, but never stupid. but with anton—your mother saw how you leaned into him like your body didn’t know how to stand without his arm around your waist. it wasn’t just love. it was dependence. it was devotion. 

so they bit their tongue, hard. how could they said it? how could they risk becoming those kind of parents when you so clearly thought you’d found your forever? 

and when your father said carefully, “there’s something about his silence that makes me a little nervous, sweetheart,” you laughed, covering your mouth and shaking your head like it’s funny. “pa, you always need someone to challenge you, don’t you?”

or when your mother asked, “honey, why did mrs. jung saw anton’s car outside of our house at three in the morning?” you looked at her like she’s weird, “mrs. jung’s like… 90. does she even know what anton’s car looks like?”

that was the last time they brought it up. 

still, you got married. their daughter was glowing in your dress, big bouquet in your hands, and a shiny, heavy diamond ring around your finger. anton looked at you like salvation. 

your father gave you a toast that night that sounded more like a warning. “our sweetheart has a good heart,” he said, voice tight around the edges. “i hope it’s never taken for granted.”

anton smiled, sipping on his champagne. but his eyes didn’t.

your mother wanted to try again after the wedding, but you were already moving out. 

and anton was so helpful—packing boxes before anyone else woke up, putting them in the backseat of his car, making lists in that neat, perfect, handwriting of his. 

he handled your life like he’d already lived it. 

——

“channie?”

you brushed your fingers through his damp air, still tousled from the shower. he turned from the mirror slowly, towel around his neck with water dripping onto the bathroom tile. 

“mm?” 

“ is it okay if ma and pa stayed with us for a few weeks?” you smiled.

he blinked, wiping his neck with the towel. “stayed?”

you nodded. “yeah. there’s a leakage at the house. a burst pipe or something… pa tried fixing it himself but it’s under the floorboards now. they called the plumber but he said it might take a while, so i offered.” you shrugged, giving him a cheeky smile. 

anton didn’t answer right away. he moved to the sink and started drying his face with the towel like he hadn’t heard you. 

“they could stay in the guest room,” you continued. “just for a bit. i feel bad when they said they could stay over auntie’s for the time being.”

anton dropped the towel over the counter and looked at you through the mirror. he wasn’t smiling, but he was calm. “of course,” he said, a second too long. “they’re my parents too.”

you smiled in relief and wrapped your arms around his bare waist, your cheek pressed against his damp back. “thank you baby. i know they can be a little—”

“they can stay,” he interrupted, gently. “i’ll move things out of the room tomorrow.”

“oh, you’re the best. i know you’d understand.” 

he touched your hands, resting over his stomach. “i’ll call other plumbers for them. maybe they forgot to check the water heater. easy to miss if they’re not paying attention.” he smiled, turning to kiss the top of your head.

there was something strange in the way he said it, but you didn’t catch it. too happy and busy thinking about the preparations to greet your parents when they stayed over. 

later that night, after you’d fallen asleep—anton sat in the dark of the living room, staring at the hallway leading to the guest room. it hadn't been used ever since they moved. 

but now it would be. 

and he’d have to pretend again. smile again. wait again. 

he flexed his fingers. two weeks. maybe three—if they’re shameless.

he could manage. for you.

——

the first three days were normal.

anton would come home from work one hour earlier than you, which meant he’d have to be alone with your parents from around four to five every evening.

you didn’t think much of it. you didn’t think it’d be a problem at all. they’d all be in the living room, maybe your dad reading on the recliner while your mom chatting in the kitchen while anton made tea for them.

but by the fourth evening, something shifted.

your mother was quieter when you got home. her smile was tight-lipped and brief and she barely touched the dinner anton made. she excused herself early and went to the guest room with a mug you hadn’t seen her fill.

when you peeked in an hour after freshening up, she was already in bed, lights off.

your father began misplacing things. first his reading glasses. then his phone. then his wallet. then strangely, the leather pouch he kept his medicines in. “must be my age,” he joked, but you didn’t laugh. anton did. 

“maybe you’re just not used to the space yet…” you said, soothing his back to comfort him. “new house and all…” anton stood behind you at the time, his hand on your shoulder. “i can start labeling the drawers, if it helps you, pa.” 

your dad gave him a smile. “no, that’s alright. i’ll manage.”

that night, when you and anton got into bed, you turned to him. “thanks for being so patient with them… i hope it’s not too stressful…” 

anton brushed a hand through your hair, murmuring, “it’s fine, love. it’s only temporary.” he kissed your forehead. 

by the sixth day, anton came home late. 

he was meeting an old friend after work—you’d been a little surprised. anton didn’t go out often. he was always home and always near.

sometimes you thought he didn’t like other people.

so it was just you and your parents that evening. the house felt a little lighter, as strange as it sounds. you had dinner together, your mother went for seconds. your father carried the conversation and cracked jokes over stew and rice.

“you know,” he said, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “i noticed something strange yesterday.”

you hummed, looking up from your bowl. 

“you have a little camera by the bookshelf.”

you blinked, nodding your head. “yeah. safety.”

your dad squinted his eyes at you. “safety?”

“yeah. you know, just in case? break-ins, or if we’re ever away.” you chuckled, eating your rice. “anton’s kind of paranoid about that kind of stuff.” 

your dad’s gaze didn’t waver. “but there aren’t any cameras outside. usually people put cctv cameras outside, right?”

you shrugged. “i think there used to be one,. but it broke.” you answered, now sipping on your soup. 

he frowned, shaking his head. he wanted to say more but his daughter didn’t seem bothered by it at all. instead, he just muttered a small mm, and stood up to get water. your mom didn’t say anything either. she just kept peeling the mandarins—every now and then, her eyes glanced at the camera in the living room.

when anton came back a few hours later, the three of you were lounging in the living room. “how’s dinner?” he asked, dropping his coat onto the rack and kissing your cheek. “everyone alive?” he joked.

your father didn’t laugh, but you did. nodding and smacking his forearm playfully. 

your father held his gaze. 

anton smiled wider.

—​​—​​

on saturday morning, your dad came into the kitchen to find anton already there. 

he was seated at the table, still in his pajamas, and sipping on his coffee. “morning,” he said, not bothered to look up from his phone as his thumb scrolled. 

your dad nodded and muttered a small morning in reply, then went to the cabinet to grab a mug. he reached for the top shelf, but the mug wasn’t there. not in another cabinet, or the other. 

“you reorganised the kitchen,” he said. anton smiled, his eyes still on his screen, “yeah.”

your father turned to look at him. “why?”

“thought it’d be easier. you kept forgetting where things were.”

there was a pause. 

“i didn’t forget,” your dad replied evenly. “i just don’t live here.”

anton tilted his head, finally glancing up. “yeah, exactly,” he stood, slowly, and walked to the sink, placing his cup down right beside your father’s unwashed one from last night. “i asked my friend who’s a plumber to take a look at your place,” anton said, rinsing his mug under the tap. the water hissed between them. “he said the leak shouldn’t take more than a day to fix.”

your father nodded. “that’s nice. the one i usually called said—”

the son-in-law interrupted, turning slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was holding back a smile. “mhm. it’s odd they didn’t start the repair yet. it’s almost like… someone didn’t want it fixed right away.” 

he turned the faucet off and looked at your father, full now. the silence stretched. 

“but that’s alright. once they’ve fixed it, you can go back. you’ll be more comfortable at your home anyway, won’t you?” he smiled again, with teeth this time. nothing kind behind the way he said it, or his expression.

your dad didn’t answer. he watched as anton neatly folded the damp dish towel and draped it over the sink’s edge. like… like this was his kitchen, his house, his life, his wife, and there was no space for another. let alone, two. 

anton stepped back, nodding as if something had just been confirmed for him. “i’ll follow up with him again. maybe he can get started on it tomorrow. i just want to make sure you two aren’t stuck here longer than you have to be.” 

there was a moment where your dad almost said something. 

but anton reached for a clean cup and placed it on the cabinet with a soft thud. a small twitch in his eye. “enjoy your coffee.”

—​​—​​

when you got home that monday evening, your parents were no longer there. 

no texts, no calls, no nothing. just gone.

you stood in the hallway for a moment, keys still dangling from your fingers. you had expected to see your dad in the living room, and your mom tending your garden. but no. 

you went to the guest room, staring at the door slightly ajar, bed made too neatly. 

“channie?” you called.

“kitchen, pretty!” he replied, cheerfully. 

you walked in to find him standing by the stove, his sleeves rolled up (he hadn’t changed), a wine glass already poured for you on the counter. anton turned his head slightly to look at you and smiled softly. “why don’t you take a shower first?”

“where are they?” you asked. 

he stirred the gravy in the pan, then turned the heat low. “they went home. the pipe’s are all fixed.” 

you blinked, tilting your head slightly. “they didn’t even say goodbye?”

your husband dried his hands and came to you, pressing a kiss to your temple sweetly. “maybe they forgot,” he murmured, his lips warm against your skin. “you know how your dad is when he’s in a rush. they’re just excited to go back home.”

you frowned. “i helped them pack.” he smiled as he returned to the stove, giving the gravy a final stir. you hesitated. something didn’t feel right, but it wasn’t a big of a deal. 

anton walked past you to set two plates on the table—your favourite dish, perfectly and beautifully plated. a candle already lit. he pulled your chair out with a little flourish. “why worry? i paid for the repair and drove them back if you’re worried about that.” he let out a soft chuckle. 

you sat, anton across you. like usual. 

“i thought we could celebrate.” 

“celebrate what?”

he leaned in, eyes locked on yours. “just the two of us again.”

——

five days after your parents left your house, you received a phone call from an unknown number. 

your parents—gas leakage. home. carbon monoxide—

the words scattered in your mind like marbles rolling across the floor, impossible to catch. to stomach all information at once. 

“dead?” you repeated, not even realising you’d said it outloud.

the voice on the other end paused. then gently, “i’m so sorry. it looks like it happened overnight.”

you stared straight ahead at the dresser in front of the bed. 

anton walked out of the bathroom, towel draped over his neck. 

“channie, ma and pa…” you whispered, lips trembling as your eyes brimmed and pooled with tears. 

your husband’s eyes widened with perfect sorrow as he immediately walked towards you. anton wrapped his arms around your shaking body, took the phone from your limp hand, and ended the call for you. “oh, sweetheart…”

you buried your face into his shoulder, wetting his body with your hot tears. “they were just here,” you mumbled and hiccuped. “they were just here.” 

“i know,” anton whispered, lips pressed to your hair. “i know.” he held you tighter, rocked you in an attempt to comfort and slow down your sobs. “i’m here, sweetheart,” he mumbled, placing his hand on the back of your head. 

“i’m here.”

and as you cried, anton smiled ever so softly, it barely even touched the corners of his mouth. 

💭 i feel like i haven't written for so long... this is probably bad but i hope you guys enjoy nonetheless! i didn't want to get comfortable with not-writing.

[motorsportbarbie13]

Hurricane - Part Six

{Liam smirks as he watches Max slide the reformer bench back and forth experimentally. “I still don’t know how you got him to agree this, Emma. He hates doing these kinds of things for content.” “It’s because he’s fucking obsessed with her.” Lando crows, smug grin back on his face as he baits Emma on purpose. She gasps, smacking Lando’s bicep as hard as she can. Lando yelps loudly, “Jesus Christ, woman! You have an arm on you.” “Because I do pilates three times a week, you asshole!” “You’re going to look at me and tell me that I’m wrong though? We can all see it. He’s down bad for you, miss ‘I’m wearing this dress for him and he won’t pay any attention to me.”}

warnings/notes: no warnings on this one. as always, big thanks to @lestapiastrisgirl for keeping me from walking into traffic and listening to me beat a dead horse for being in my flop era with this story. pairing: max verstappen x emma meyer (female OC) word count: 4.3k

hurricane master list main master list ask me anything

The jet engine hummed steadily, creating a blanket of white noise that settled over the elegantly decorated cabin of Max’s private jet. Towards the back of the plane, Emma sat curled up in one of the captain’s chairs, decidedly removed from the rest of the chaos that played out in the front of the cabin. She had chosen the spot in the back of the plane, as far away from Max as she could manage, on purpose. The pre-weekend notes and schedules on her laptop screen blurred into meaningless lines as she stared, unseeing, at a spot unseen in front of her, replaying the events of the night before with relentless, agonizing clarity. 

She still couldn’t believe she had slept with Max last night. Well, not slept with Max in the colloquial of course, she corrected herself mentally, but the distinction felt flimsy and paper thin against the truth of the overwhelming intimacy of what had happened last night. The memory of waking up to the soft dawn light, the lingering warmth of Max’s body haunted her even now. The almost unbearable sense of peace that had settled over her as she had laid there, listening to the steady, even breathing of a sleeping Max, nearly lulling her back to sleep. 

It had all been too much for her. 

Too real. 

So she had ran. 

A shiver totally unrelated to the cool cabin air, fluttered down her pine. It wasn’t just the physical closeness that had her utterly distracted this morning, although the memory of Max’s arm pulling her close as she had slipped into bed in an attempt to calm her anxieties, sent a treacherous flutter through her stomach. It was the vulnerability she’d shown him, the quiet strength with which he’d held her as the storm had blown through the city center. He hadn’t dismissed her fear, hadn’t minimized her feelings. Max had simply been there, a steady, grounding presence in the face of her overwhelming anxiety. 

And that was the problem, wasn’t it? That was what had sent her spiraling into this terrifying cortex of confusion and panic. She wasn’t used to that kind of…care. That kind of soft, tender concern to ensure that she was okay instead of just brushing off her feelings as ‘too much’ was something that she was completely unaccustomed to. Her parents, with their detached disinterest and thinly veiled disappointment, had taught her that love was conditional, a fragile thing that was easily broken by the simplest mistakes. Even her past, (always very brief) relationships had been characterized by a cautious distance, a preemptive retreat before what she knew would be an inevitable rejection. 

Max was different though. She felt that in her bones, even if she didn’t want to fully admit it to herself. He’d shown her a depth of kindness and understanding she’d never experienced before, behavior she couldn’t come close to being able to process. He was her boss after all and she was desperately trying to remain professional. She valued her job, her independence, the freedom that she had and if they crossed the line that had come so perilously close to smashing the night before, all that would be in jeopardy. 

Emma knew, deep down, that Max had feelings for her. How could she not know? With the way he looked at her, the almost possessive protectiveness he’d displayed several times over the course of the time they’d spent together, albeit relatively short. The lingering touches, the way his voice softened when he said her name, the way he watched her for hours on end while she sat in his apartment playing the piano at night. 

It was all there. 

Undeniable. 

And Emma? 

There were feelings there for her too. How could there not be? They were all tangled up in a fascinatingly confusing blanket of attraction, admiration and a distinct sense of belonging. Like her soul was content when she was around him. Those feelings had become crystal clear last night when she had fallen soundly asleep to the sounds of a thunderstorm, tucked neatly into his side, the steady beat of his heart the thing that calmed her to sleep. 

But Emma didn’t trust it. She couldn’t trust it. Couldn’t trust herself. Her past had taught her that she was unlovable. Unworthy. Her own parents, the people who were supposed to love her unconditionally, couldn’t manage it why would someone who didn’t have to love her, choose to love her? Why would someone as successful and confident and strong choose her? 

And if he chose her now, what’s to say he wouldn’t change his mind in a week? Six months? A year? And then where would she be? Without a job, right back at square one where she’d been when Max had first found her. Except then, she’d have no one else to come save her. 

So Emma had decided in that early morning light, as Max had wrapped his arm around her middle so tightly her chest ached with the comfort of it, that retreating was the safest thing to do. It was safer to hide behind the walls of professionalism, to focus on her job and to keep Max at arms length. 

It was easier this way. 

Simpler. 

Safer. 

While Emma sat alone in the back of the plane, an island of quiet indifference to the chaos that was taking place near the front of the cabin, Max pretended that what was happening didn’t bother him. He tried to lose himself in the incessant chatter that was the lethally annoying combination of Lando Norris and Carlos Sainz, but even the mindless prattle about which golf course in Miami was the best couldn’t distract him from what had happened last night. 

At first, when he woke to his alarm this morning, Max had thought it had all been a dream. The way that he had woken up to the storm and found Emma baking in his kitchen to sooth her anxiety, the way they had nearly kissed, lips barely touching in the lightest touch imaginable, the way he’d felt Emma relax into his arms and finally, finally he’d felt the way her breath had steadied against him.

 It all seemed like some distant dream that he’s made up but when he woke up that morning, there were signs that he hadn’t conjured up the fantasy out of thin air. The way he wasn’t in his normal spot in the middle of the bed, the rumpled second pillow that was usually untouched, the smell of Emma’s cinnamon and vanilla perfume that lingered on his sheets. It was going to be hell washing them now, he realized. He didn’t want to lose that smell. 

He’d woken up alone and stumbled into the kitchen, calling out her name to a silent apartment. For a brief, horrifying moment Max had thought Emma had packed a bag and left him completely. He’d found a note on the counter though, handwritten in her loopy, feminine half cursive, half printing handwriting, just as the anxiety of the possibility had clawed at his throat.  

Went out to do some last minute errands before the flight this morning. Made some breakfast sandwiches for you, they’re in the fridge. Be back soon. ~ Em 

As relieved as Max was that she hadn’t skipped town, the fact that she hadn’t even woken him up to tell him she was leaving grated at him. She’d been back with barely enough time to spare before they’d had to leave for Nice and with them driving with Lando and Carlos to the private airfield, there had been no time to talk. 

Now on the plane, the silence that stretched between them was thick and tangible, a weight pressing down onto Max’s chest so heavily he was fighting to breathe. He kept stealing glances of Emma in his peripheral vision, not wanting to blatantly swivel his head towards her in an obvious way. She was practically curled in on herself, her gaze fixed on the laptop nestled in her lap, a wall of professional composure firmly held in place. Sure, it was Emma but it wasn’t his Emma. It wasn’t the Emma who leaned into their flirty banter, who knew exactly how to push his buttons to get him to do the exact thing he didn’t want to agree to, who knew how to soothe his frayed nerves during a difficult season full of challenges. She had become his comfort without him even realizing it and now that she’d distanced herself, Max was spinning wildly, desperate to be back into her gravitational pull. 

Had he misread everything? Had the intimacy of her agreeing to try to fall asleep in his bed been a desperate attempt to do something to assuage her anxiety, only to seem too wrong in the morning light? Had he been so desperate in his desire to protect and be with her that it had colored his perception of everything? The thought sent a cold wave of dread through him. He’d never been good at this, at reading other people’s intentions and emotions but he had thought he’d gotten it right with Emma. Thought he’d read her correctly but as he sat pretending to listen to Lando and Carlos argue about the merits of using a 9 iron in the middle of a fairway, Max was beginning to question everything. 

He felt Lando’s gaze on him suddenly, as if he was just realizing Max wasn’t all there in the conversation. A steady, knowing look lingered just a moment too long, like Lando was seeing the distress on his friend’s face for the first time that day. Max offered him a tight smile, hoping to throw him off the scent of his brooding. He didn’t want to get into this now, not with Emma just a few feet away and within earshot. He knew Lando meant well, but it just wasn’t a conversation he was ready to have at the moment. 

Max was too trapped in his own head. A whirlwind of ‘what if I just…’ and ‘did I cross a line?’. He replayed the near-kiss over and over in his head, the fleeting brush of their lips, the way Emma had jumped back when the thunderclap had shook the entire building. Had he ruined everything but suggesting she sleep with him? He hadn’t meant for it to come across as anything but a genuine desire to make her feel better. Maybe it had been too far and she had felt forced into it. But at the same time, he knew what he had felt when she had slipped between his sheets. The way Emma had looked like she belonged there all along. The way that she had melted into him when he laid down beside her. He had been hesitant at first, not wanting to make her uncomfortable but it had been Emma that had shifted closer to him after a few moments. When he had taken the risk and wrapped his arm around her middle, she had leaned into him then and he thought it was okay. Thought it was what she wanted. 

As he watched her far away stare pretend to focus on the laptop in front of her though, Max wasn’t so sure of anything any more.  

Chaos seemed to be the order of the day Thursday morning. PR interns fluttered around the sleek, modern pilates studio, setting up various cameras, making sure the drivers were properly mic’d up, and getting some behind-the-scenes photos to share to various social media channels. Emma stood quietly in the corner as her now-favorite intern Laurie clipped a mic discreetly to her navy athletic crop top. 

She wasn’t quite sure how she had ended up here, getting ready to be featured in a F1 video featuring the drivers from Red Bull, Racing Bulls and McLaren but, here she was. Sure, it had been her suggestion in the first place but the suggestion had been more of an off-handed remark while she’d been sitting in hospitality one way back in Japan after watching Max and Yuki film an even sillier video. Emma had thought it would be a fun way to showcase the drivers’ athletic abilities beyond the confines of the cockpit. 

And then the media team at the F1 HQ had picked up on the idea and suggested that they turn it into a special feature video with three teams. It had been natural to pair Red Bull up with Racing Bulls, of course but the suggestion to add McLaren had been Emma’s idea, wanting to give Lando a little payback for teasing her relentlessly after she missed her pilates class after their night out the week before. 

“I don’t know why everyone thinks this is going to be difficult.” Lando crowed from where he sat on one of the reformers, sliding idly back and forth on the padded bench. 

Emma raised a brow at the smugness in his voice, “Have you ever done this kind of pilates?” 

To his right, Liam chuckles. “Have you seen his lack of flexibility? There’s no way he’s going to make it through the entire class.” 

Lando stood, frown on his face and hands on his hips, “What are you talking about? You’ve never done this stuff either.” 

Liam shook his head, “No, but Hannah has been doing it for years. I did a class with her while I was in LA during the winter break. It’s no joke.” 

Lando’s frown deepened as he seemed to second guess his enthusiasm. Before he can form a smart remark, Max and Yuki walk into the room, matching in their coordinated Red Bull athletic wear. 

Liam smirks as he watches Max slide the reformer bench back and forth experimentally. “I still don’t know how you got him to agree this, Emma. He hates doing these kinds of things for content.” 

“It’s because he’s fucking obsessed with her.” Lando crows, smug grin back on his face as he baits Emma on purpose. She gasps, smacking Lando’s bicep as hard as she can. Lando yelps loudly, “Jesus Christ, woman! You have an arm on you.” 

“Because I do pilates three times a week, you asshole!” 

“You’re going to look at me and tell me that I’m wrong though? We can all see it. He’s down bad for you, miss ‘I’m wearing this dress for him and he won’t pay any attention to me.” 

Liam does a poor job of hiding his laugh behind a cough. Emma goes scarlet but recovers quickly, turning up her nose at the British driver. “Don’t be mean, I’ll tell the instructor to make the class more advanced just for you.” 

Lando grins but there’s a definite touch of fear in his eye, “You wouldn’t dare.” 

“Try me, Papaya Boy.” She hisses, wicked grin winking over at him. 

Before Lando has a chance to make a retort, Max walks over to where the three are standing in the middle of the studio. Max runs his hand through his hair, eyes bouncing nervously between Emma, Liam, and Lando. “Can I talk to you for a second?” He asks. “Alone?” 

Max looked a little worse for wear, Emma notices for the first time that morning. It wasn’t anything alarming, nothing that anyone else would’ve probably picked up on, but she knew. His eyes were just a bit red-rimmed, skin a touch paler than usual. It was like he hadn’t slept well the night before. Emma worried at the corner of her lip, conceded that his distress was because of her. She was supposed to make his life easier as his assistant. If she kept causing him problems, it wouldn’t be long until he let her go, Emma was sure of it. 

Lando’s brows lift but he just smirks, memory of Emma’s threats curbing any smart ass remark he might want to make. Max looks pointedly at Liam and Lando, as if to say ‘get lost, you two’. Liam is the first to make a move, tugging on Lando’s elbow to give the pair some privacy. 

Max shifts his weight as he searches for the words he wanted, his eyes darting everywhere but on Emma. “You don’t have to do this, you know. I can tell them you’re not feeling well or something.” 

Emma’s gaze softens slightly at his unexpected concern, warmth blooming in her chest briefly before she quickly smothers it. They hadn’t said much to each other during the drive from the airfield to the hotel last night and she had stayed in her room until the very last minute this morning, preventing any awkward attempts Max might make at bringing up what had happened back in Monaco during the storm. 

“I’m okay, really.” She says, but Max clocks how her voice lacks it’s usual playful edge.

Something inside him squeezes at how differently she’s treating him, the sudden distance a painful reminder that he crossed a line the night before and made her feel uncomfortable. He wanted to apologize for everything, for doing something that made her pull away but Max just hadn’t had the chance. Now wasn’t the time, not in the middle of all of this chaos going on around them. He didn’t want to push her away further so Max knew he had to bide his time. It was just too bad patience had never been his strong suit. 

“Besides,” She continues, pulling Max’s attention away from his anxiety spiral. He lifts his eyes to look at Emma and his heart stutters. “I was the one who suggested this entire thing, got you all into this. I should at least participate, right?” She shrugs awkwardly, her movements stiff and automatic, nothing like how he’s used to her behaving around him. 

The truth was though, the thought of being in such close proximity to Max, of the potential for accidental touches and shared glances, was making her stomach churn with a maddening mix of anticipation and anxiety. She craved his eyes on her, craved the way Max looked at her like she was someone special, someone that mattered. But she didn’t trust herself around him, didn’t want to ruin this opportunity he’d given her, didn’t want to lose him as a friend in her life because she’d come to rely on him even in such a short time. 

“I guess someone needs to make sure Lando doesn’t actually break the equipment.” Max teases gently, hoping they can slide back into the easy banter that he’d come to expect from his interactions with Emma. 

A wry smile touches her lips as she nods, “I do have a way with the little gremlin, don’t I?” 

Max opens his mouth to respond but at that moment, Lucy, the PR person running the shoot steps into the room and calls for everyone’s attention. “Alright everyone, settle in, please!” Lucy calls as the camera crew slides into place around the studio, the camera lights flickering on. They had shot the intro earlier in the day when they had first arrived outside the studio with Emma being plopped right in the middle of the six drivers next to the instructor. She’d been nervous but hadn’t had to do anything other than stand there so it hadn’t been all that bad. 

“Chloe here is going to guide you through a typical beginners class…”

“Beginner?” Lando scoffs from where he’s sitting on his chosen reformer. “We’re all professional athletes here, and Emma does this like it’s her job too. You can challenge us, Chloe.” 

Emma chuckles, shaking her head. They truly had no idea what they were into. Chloe looks from Lando to Emma, whom she knows is a reformer regular. Lifting a brow in silent question, Emma answers it with a subtle nod of her own. This was going to be so fun. 

“You heard him, Lando wants to be challenged.” Emma desperately hoped the cameras were rolling to capture those famous last words. 

“I would just like the record to formally reflect that it is Lando and only Lando requesting to be challenged.” Liam mutters with a roll of his eyes. 

“Don’t worry, Liam.” Emma claps him on the shoulder, struggling to hide the laughter in her voice, “If it’s to difficult for you, you can take a break. Chloe can show you some modified moves.” 

Liam frowned at the chorus of chuckles that rippled through the room from the other drivers. “I didn’t say that I’d need help, I could totally keep up with an advanced class too.” 

“Oh this is not going to end well.” Oscar mumbles. 

“This is going to be so much fun.” Emma practically giggles. 

“Okay, I think the cameras are all set up and ready to go.” Chloe’s eyes flick to Lucy, who gives her a nod, before she turns her attention to Emma. “Since you’re the most experienced, why don’t you take this reformer up in the front so you can demonstrate if needed.” 

Emma nods, moving gracefully to the reformer Chloe had pointed to. She adjusts the straps with an easy confidence that does’t go unnoticed by the drivers, particularly Lando, who’s earlier confidence and bravado seems to be waning. Max follows her, choosing a reformer a few down from hers, gaze lingering on the effortless way she moves. 

Chloe switches on some soft music, waiting to get the go ahead from the sound guys standing at the edge of the room. Once the mic’s adjust, Chloe begins. “We’re going to start with a simple foot press…” 

The first bit of the class starts out deceptively easy. The drivers, encouraged by their competitive natures and a healthy dose of huge ego, all look relatively confident for the first few exercises. Lando in particular, starts hamming it up for the camera, exaggerating his movements and murmuring things like ‘see, this isn’t so hard.’ And ‘God, I wish she’d challenge us.’ 

Mumblings that don’t go unnoticed by Chloe. 

As the class progresses, the smugness begins to fade. The controlled movements and emphasis on core strength prove to be far more challenging than anyone (anyone other than Emma, that is) initially anticipated. Yuki lets out a series of increasingly strained grunts, his earlier enthusiasm replaced by a pained grimace. Even Max, whose physical conditioning is usually top tier, is visibly working hard. 

The only one who seems to be handling the class well enough to keep up with Chloe’s pace is Emma. She moves through the class with fluid grace that speaks of someone who has spent a significant amount of time perfecting the flow of the class and getting the most out of the equipment. She occasionally offers a quiet word of encouragement to Liam or a helpful adjustment cue to Oscar, her natural easy highlighting the drivers’ comparative awkwardness. 

Lando, mid-attempt at a particularly challenging hamstring curl, lets out a groan that’s only half-acted. “Jesus.” He pants, face flushing a bright shade of crimson. “I might have underestimated this a little.” He glances over at Emma, who is doing the same move effortlessly, slight smile on her lips as she listens to the boys struggle. “How are you having such an easy time with this?” He groans. 

Emma takes a deep breath before flicking her eyes to Lando in the mirror. “I’m not having an easy time, I’m just not being a whiney baby about it.” 

Max snorts a laugh from his spot on the reformer and Emma grins under his attention. 

“Okay, that was mean.” Lando whines. 

“She wasn’t wrong though.” Max teases breathlessly. He wasn’t going to admit it but he was having issues keeping up too. This class was much harder than he had anticipated but he’d never say anything of the sort out loud. He’d managed to muscle through the most of the class simply by watching Emma. He allowed her to take up all the space in his head so he couldn’t focus on how badly his muscles were burning. It was a pretty good coping mechanism, if he was being honest. 

Yuki, attempting a side plank on the reformer, wobbles precariously before collapsing in a dramatic fashion, “My core is dead.” He looks over at Emma, who is again, holding the position with perfect form, a serene expression on her face. “You are an actual machine.” 

Despite his own struggles, Max can’t help the small smile that plays on his lips as he continues to watch Emma. Her quiet strength and effortless grace in this new environment is yet another facet of her that he finds himself magnetically drawn to. The contrast between her ease and the drivers’ comical struggles is proving to be the hilarious content the PR was hoping for when this idea was approved by the teams. For Max, however, it’s also a reminder of the determination and strength that lies beneath Emma’s seemingly calm and unassuming exterior. 

The way that Lando is looking at her as she wraps up the cool-down moves Chloe is walking them through as the class winds down, doesn’t go unnoticed either. A familiar flicker of possessiveness stirs within him, a subtle reminder of the complicated feelings churning beneath the surface of their professional relationship that will need to be sorted out sooner rather than later. 

YouTube Comments

User029 I love how Lando went from ‘this is easy’ to ‘someone put me out of my misery SO QUICK >>>user009 he was so cocky…and for WHAT >>>user111 and Emma reading him for FILTH calling him a whiney baby User444 I fear I am Stan now >>>user000 she put those boys to SHAME  >>>User232 and those shy little looks at Max??? WE SEE YOU TWO User4333 I am OBSESSED with the way Max watches Emma.  >>>user199 he is so smitten with her, its so cute to watch  >>>user0054 its weird to look at your employee like that though >>>user423 not everyone is Christian Horner…  >>>user9928 they’re obviously friends outside of work User566 I love a good workplace romance trope User888 I am DYING at how Emma put them all to shame User722 I have not laughed that hard in so long. Whoever came up with this idea needs a raise 

[moonflsh]

Arguments can be resolved with a quickie ❤️

18+ Minors DNI

pairing: Suho of Weak Hero Class (Choi Hyunwook) x F reader

Warnings: half public sex (it’s in a car).. I think that’s it, maybe a tiny little bit of sadism considering he loves your teary eyes and it turns him on

Genre: virgin reader + virgin Suho (obv both of age in the story), car sex, oral m receiving

“You can’t just ignore me like that!” Suho’s temper was running out, “what an attitude you’ve got!”

“So what! why does it bother you now” you sniped at him whilst entering Suho’s parents’ car as your boyfriend indicated

Suho huffed in disbelief before shaking his head. “You’re making it awkward, everyone thinks we’re in this big fight right now”

You were giving Suho the cold shoulder, it was the only way he’d give you attention. “I’ll just stay here, go back to play your little friends” you said enhancing the word friends with a disgusted look to you, heart aching a little.

“Is that it?— you’re jealous because I’m spending time with my friends?”

You didn’t think tears would rush to your eyes so quick, maybe you missed your boyfriend more than you could realize. In attempt to keep in the tears from falling you just ignore him again, avoiding any eye contact as your eyes got glassy.

“Hey, you cryin?” Suho’s bitterness immediately turned into worry as he got closer to you, back facing him with your arms crossed.

“Baby..” he put a hand on your thigh that you immediately brushed off. He wouldn’t give up now though, your tears probably hurt him more than they hurt you.

He tried to hug you lightly which you fought off again but too strongly and accidentally pushed yourself back against him. Thinking you were going to fall off your seat, your hands travelled quickly, trying to grip anything.

“oh uh-“ “Won’t you just shut it!” You didn’t let him finish his sentence

“Babe.. you should move a little” You thought he was arguing again “And why would I-“ you looked down at your hand, fully grabbing his clothed crotch.

“oh!” You immediately removed your hand, leaving him even more embarrassed than you. “I didn’t mean that”

Suho didn’t seem to care even a little, he was so focused on making things better with you,

“You know y/n, I would leave my friends anytime for you right? Next time, just ask me.”

You felt guilty, it’s true that Suho always drops everything he does when you call him, you were just feeling bitter at him, maybe jealous of his friends because you can never get enough of him, and wish for all of him every second.

Suho would be lying if he said that your pretty and sad eyes didn’t melt his heart. All he wanted was to make you feel better. But it always played with his mind a little.

Suho leaned in for a sweet kiss, breaking your loud thoughts. His lips felt like the perfect fit for yours, and his kiss felt intimate and so genuine, it only fed into your guilt.

“m’ sorry Suho” you said breaking the kiss

“I love you, and I’m also sorry“

His voice was slightly shaky, “Babe I think you should go now” “what???” why was he kicking you out now??! “I’m sorry it’s just- I have something to do” “right now? In this car? Alone?”

Suho pressed down in between his legs whilst looking away “you wouldn’t get it” the bulge under his shorts couldn’t go unnoticed, he couldn’t cover it completely

You sat there for a few seconds, thinking of what to do, you couldn’t just leave him to himself now

“Suho, I’ll help you.” his head turned back to you in surprise. It must’ve taken him a few seconds to process what you just said, you had already kneeled down, body in between his spread legs.

“You aren’t doing this out of guilt right?” Last thing your boyfriend would want is for your first time to be a bad experience for you.

You nodded a no and his hand let go of pressing on his harden crotch. He swallowed loudly, your submissiveness turning him on much more than necessary.

Nibbling around his shorts zipper, he was hesitant to pull it down, still unsure of wether you really wanted this or no

You took the matter into your own hands and unzipped his shorts (which to you was a bold move) and, little by little, pulled down his boxers just enough for it to be let free.

You have never seen another dick before, so you didn’t exactly know how different your boyfriend’s was form others. It was.. long and large? Slightly curved? You didn’t know that curve you soon have you gagged.

Your lips reached his tip, figuring out how to give him release. Suho, on the other hand, was going absolute nuts. And it would show, his hands trying to grip on the head rests on both sides of him, holding on not to bust all over your pretty face.

He wants this moment to last as long as it could, but your flushed cheeks, teary eyes and glistening lips weren’t helping.

When you finally take his length in your mouth, Suho’s lips part and he growls. “Ughh—“ his own vision getting blurrier from the feeling. This was also new to him, but it felt right, because it’s with you.

Contrary to beliefs, Suho is a respectable young man. Still a man.. but a respectable one. When he previously had sudden images of you, intrusive thoughts of how pretty you’d look, lips wrapped around him, he’d brush the idea away. He likes to think of you as his little princess, and he treats you so.

In this very moment, seeing how his sweet love is gagging and crying on him, he’s about to lose it. Fingers finding their way to your hair, he brushed them off your face, tucking them behind your ear as you try your hardest to please him.

“Doing so good for me, shit-“

His hips snapped upwards and back down, sudden thrust into your unused throat causing you to cough on it. Suho’s head rolled back, his eyes closed shut, one hand still tangled in your hair, he looked like he was practically panting for air.

“Babe I’m gonna-“ “babe-“ “babe!” You were rocking your mouth quicker and stronger than before, sending him over the edge within seconds. His body shaking under you and you felt a jet of liquid rush in your mouth.

Suho’s body fell heavy on the seat, you let go of his dick and gave it one last kiss.

Suho wouldn’t leave your side the rest of the day, being especially clingy to you, a little softer and less jokey. Best to say your first blowjob had also touched his heart a lot.

[gallavichsreddie1128]

Bad Memory (John Walker)

Description: The Thunderbolts witness a bad memory of Y/N’s.

Word Count:756

Author’s Note: Please send in requests for John or Bucky!!

How she got the shield was beyond her. John was a super soldier for crying out loud and she managed to get his shield and have him in a position where he was about to get killed. Y/N was panting as she held the shield up in the air, getting ready to kill him with it. He stared up at her in shock and he was genuinely scared. “Y/N, No!” Bucky yelled to his friend. Bucky and Sam ran to her and quickly pulled her off of John. “No, let me kill him. He’s a piece of shit.” She growled. It was surprising to John that it took two grown men to hold her back. He slowly stood up and watched her plead to her friends that he was useless at this point. “I get it, he’s a piece of shit and you wanna kill him but we don’t do that. Not anymore.” Bucky said to her. She shook her head and walked up to John, causing him to step back. “You’ll never be Captain America!” She said, pointing a finger at him. She walked away, leaving the three of them.

Y/N watched the memory play out with tears in her eyes. She hated that memory so much and it’s all she’s seeing right now in the void. It’s her 3rd or even 4th time reliving it and she noticed it the first time she looked Bob in the eyes. The only difference was, everyone else was seeing it too. She wasn’t the only one reliving this memory. Tears streamed down her face, she was scared to look at the others. “Hey.” She heard John whisper, trying to get her attention.

She let out a sob and he pulled her into his arms, “It’s okay.” He whispered and she shook her head, “It’s not.” She sobbed, “I almost killed you.” John lifted her chin, “But you didn’t.” He said, softly. His heart broke at her expression. She never, ever wanted to relive that memory. She had managed to push it out of her head until now. “How can you love me after that? Why do you love me after that?” She asked him. He gave her a small smile and cupped her face, “Because I do. I’ve been in your position except I actually killed the person. You are better than me. It’s me who should be questioning why you love me.” He joked and she smiled through the tears, “Awwww.” Alexei said, ruining the moment.

“As cute as this is, we need to try to find a way out.” Ava said. Y/N nodded and pulled away from John before he pulled her back for a quick kiss. They smiled into the kiss before pulling away, “Let’s get out of here. I never wanna be back here.” She said and they started walking. 

Once they were out of the void, they saw Val. “I go kill that Lady now.” Alexei said and Y/N grabbed his arm, “Alexei, she definitely deserves that but we have to turn her in.” She said and both Bucky and John smiled. All of them started walking towards Val who was scared for her life, “Now if you just wait a second.” She started as she walked on the other side where the press was.

Y/N gasped as Val stepped up to the podium, cameras flashing everywhere and she grabbed John’s arm. “What the fuck is happening?” She asked as they all looked around. “Meet the new Avengers!” Val announced and the crowd went wild. Yelena went up to her and whispered, “We own you now.” Alexei and Bob being the only ones excited while the rest were confused. 

“Alexei, I don't know if I can wear this.” Y/N told him as she held up the tracksuit in her size, Avengerz printed on it. Sam wanted to sue them for using the name Avengers so Alexei had this great idea to change the s to a z. It was cute though, she thought. She felt arms wrap around her, causing her to gasp, “I think you would look really good in that.” He mumbled, his lips right by her ear. “You think?” She asked, holding it up.

He turned her around, making her drop the tracksuit, “My wife would look good in anything.” He said and she leaned up to kiss him before they were interrupted, “Get a room.” Bucky said and she laughed before looking at him. “Great idea.” John said before picking her up and carrying her to their room.