#but I wanted to put down my notes on these

[cressidagrey]

White Horse - Chapter 19: June 2024 - Part 1

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Isabelle Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

Max Verstappen is a World Champion. Isabelle Leclerc is invisible.

She watched her family give up everything for Charles’ career—Arthur’s karting, their father’s savings, even her childhood horse. She understood. She never asked for more.

But Max does. He notices the things no one else does, listens when no one else will, and puts her first in ways she never imagined. With him, she isn’t an afterthought—she’s a choice. And for the first time, she realizes she doesn’t have to be invisible.

Warnings and Notes: 

we have now moved on from Charles bashing to bashing his whole family, Discussions of toxic past relationships, talk about loosing a childhood pet, toxic families, mention of the loss of a parent

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

Leclerc Family Group Chat

(Members: Arthur, Isabelle, Charles, Pascale)

Pascale: Arthur, darling, don’t forget to pack your jacket for Montreal. It’s still chilly in the evenings.

Charles: It’s Canada, not the North Pole.

Arthur: I HAVE a jacket. You think I’m five?

Pascale: You never pack socks. I am allowed to worry.

Charles: Speaking of packing, who stole my hoodie?

Arthur: You left it at my place. 

Charles: Anyone want to do dinner after the race weekend? I think I’m staying a few extra days.

Arthur: Yes! Let’s do something simple. Pizza night?

Lorenzo: I’m in.

Arthur: I’m not paying.

Charles: No one asked you to.

Pascale: Isabelle, do you still have that panna cotta recipe from Mémé?

***

If her family noticed she was avoiding them, Belle didn’t care.

She wasn’t answering texts. She wasn’t returning calls. She wasn’t engaging in their attempts to “check in.” Because checking in should’ve meant something before they forgot her birthday. Before she had to celebrate Charles’ win while pretending that it didn’t sting that not a single one of them had thought of her.

So she ignored them.

Instead, she focused on work, throwing herself into her projects with meticulous precision. Deadlines were met early, site visits were scheduled without hesitation, and her inbox was clear before lunch. 

And when she wasn’t working, she was at the stables.

Her horse—her horse—was the one thing she allowed herself to fully indulge in. She spent hours at the barn, grooming Fleur, talking to her like she could understand every word. In some ways, Belle thought he did. Fleur huffed at her when she was tense, nudged at her pockets when she forgot treats, stood steady beneath her hands when she just needed a moment to breathe.

She could feel the foal kick against her hands when she brushed her, nudging her like he or she was already telling Belle, Hey, I am here!. 

The quiet routine of it soothed her. Mornings spent at the barn, afternoons dedicated to architecture plans, evenings curled up with Max.

Belle had always been the one to reach out first. The one who swallowed her pride, who made the first move, who convinced herself that things didn’t hurt as much as they did. She had spent years pretending that being forgotten, being an afterthought, didn’t matter.

She wasn’t pretending anymore.

Max was watching her, concern evident in the way he leaned against the counter, arms crossed but not in frustration—just waiting. Because he knew she wasn’t okay. And Belle hated that she couldn’t just brush it off, hated that the words I’m fine stuck in her throat like splinters.

So she said nothing.

“Belle.” His voice was gentle, coaxing. “You can’t avoid them forever.”

She let out a humorless laugh, setting her bag down with more force than necessary. “I’ve spent my whole life being easy to ignore. Why should it be any different now?”

Max frowned. “That’s not—”

“They forgot my birthday, Max.” The words tumbled out before she could stop them, sharp and raw. “All of them. My brothers. My mother. They were so busy celebrating Charles that not a single one of them thought about me. Not for a second.”

He stayed quiet, letting her speak.

“I was standing right there,” she continued, voice shaking. “Smiling, hugging them, celebrating with them—and not one of them realized.”

Max’s jaw tensed. He had realized. He had held her that night, had felt the way she trembled when the weight of it all became too much.

“I kept thinking—this is it. This is the moment one of them is going to remember. But they never did.” She swallowed, shaking her head. “And now they’re texting me like nothing happened, like I’m just supposed to let it go because that’s what I always do.”

Max stepped closer, reaching for her hand. “You don’t have to let it go.”

Her fingers curled around his, gripping tight. “I don’t know how to talk to them without feeling like I’m screaming into a void.”

He squeezed her hand, grounding her. “Then don’t talk to them. Not until you’re ready. Not until you want to.”

***

Text Messages: Alexandra Saint Mleux & Charlotte Di Pietro

Charlotte: Okay. We never actually solved the Isabelle dating mystery.

Alexandra: Because it’s unsolvable. She’s a vault. I think even Charles doesn’t know.

Charlotte: Especially Charles doesn’t know. That man wouldn’t notice if she got married in front of him unless she handed him the bouquet and told him to hold it.

Alexandra: He’d probably ask why she was dressed up and where the catering came from.

Charlotte: Anyway. New tactic. We include everyone. Even the cursed options.

Alexandra: This is going to end in slander.

Charlotte: And that’s why we’re friends.

Charlotte: Charles – her brother. Illegal. Next.

Alexandra: Carlos – Has a girlfriend. Also I feel like he treats her like he treats his baby sister. 

Charlotte: Lando – is single. But is also too loud and too twitchy…

Alexandra: Put him on the list of possibilities regardless. 

Alexandra: Oscar – too sweet. He’d ask for permission to hold her hand. Also has a girlfriend. And Belle and Lily are friends. That would go against every girlcode. 

Charlotte: George – Carmen would kill her. 

Alexandra: Lewis – strong contender. They’re both calm. They like dogs. She could thrive in that quiet glam lifestyle.

Charlotte: And he has major “treat her like a queen in private, say nothing in public” energy. She’d eat that UP.

Charlotte: Okay. Now. Are you ready?

Alexandra: Oh no.

Charlotte: Fernando.

Alexandra: CHARLOTTE.

Charlotte: Think about it. Dominant. Mysterious. Daddy issues magnet. She likes men who speak softly but could ruin you.

Alexandra: And he would call her “bella” and offer her an espresso without saying a word. That’s dangerous.

Charlotte: She’d pretend to be annoyed by the attention and then buy a silk robe for his apartment.

Charlotte: I’m just saying. He has retired situationship energy. She’d never admit it, but she'd love it.

Alexandra: Lance Stroll -No.

Charlotte: Why not?

Alexandra: She’d get whiplash from how inconsistent his energy is. One day he’s moody spa dad, the next day he’s a TikTok e-boy in tactical fleece.

Charlotte: She’d spend half her life trying to figure out if he’s okay and the other half hiding his outfits.

Alexandra: Agreed. Logan Sargeant…Honestly I don’t think she ever even talked three words with him? 

Charlotte: Can’t see it either.  Alex Albon - also has a girlfriend. Isabelle doesn’t poach. She’s got morals.

Charlotte: Max Verstappen- …I mean it’s Max Verstappen. Power couple. Silent and intense. They’d communicate via eyebrow raises and telepathy.

Alexandra: Too risky. She would never do that. Also, Charles would die. Like actually. His soul would leave his body. And doesn’t he also have a girlfriend?

Charlotte: But isn’t Isabelle weirdly close with his sister?!

Alexandra: I think that’s only because they understand how it feels to have a brother in F1, right?

Charlotte: Sergio Pérez - too married. 

Charlotte: Daniel Ricciardo -  Too loud. Too chaotic. Too… Daniel.

Alexandra:  Agreed. 

Alexandra: Yuki Tsunoda– she’s too introverted for that kind of chaos. She’d cry trying to keep up with his snack schedule.

Alexandra: Zhou Guanyu – also a real option. They’re both elegant, soft-spoken, and I’ve seen her actually laugh at something he said. A real laugh.

Charlotte: That’s practically a proposal in Isabelle language.

Alexandra: And he’s calm enough not to flinch when she’s in her “I will disappear to the mountains with a book” era.

Charlotte: I want this one to be real. I could live with Zhou as my unofficial brother-in-law.

Charlotte: Valtteri Bottas -  He has a mullet and a calendar of his own butt. It’s not happening.

Charlotte: Nico Hülkenberg – too tall, too German. Married. 

Charlotte: Kevin Magnussen– Also married. 

Alexandra: Pierre Gasly – Charles would actually kill him. And Kika would fight Belle for even trying to flirt with him. 

Charlotte: Esteban – Also has a girlfriend, no way. 

Alexandra: Okay. Final contenders:

Zhou

Lewis

Lando

Fernando “surprise daddy issues” Alonso

Charlotte: Do you think she’d go that rogue?

Alexandra: Honestly? Apparently she once dated a sculptor in university who thought emotions were “bourgeois illusions,” so… yes.

Charlotte: God, she would be Alonso’s beautiful mystery woman.

Alexandra: She’d show up to a race weekend in his Aston Martin hoodie and say it was a gift from a friend and never elaborate.

Charlotte: And Charles would just go, “I didn’t know you liked green.”

***

“I got married.”

Simone blinked once. “That’s a strong opener.”

Belle smiled faintly. “Surprise.”

Simone leaned forward just a little, resting her notebook on her lap. “Want to walk me through that one?”

Belle exhaled, tilting her head back against the cushion. The ceiling fan turned lazily above them. Everything smelled faintly of lavender and old books.

“It wasn’t planned,” she said. “Well, not by me. I mean, Max proposed. And we’d talked about getting married, eventually. But then after everything with my birthday and the race and… all of it, I just didn’t want to wait anymore.”

Simone nodded, quiet and listening.

Belle picked at the label on the water bottle. “So we got married at city hall. The next day. Just our closest people. No announcement. No drama. No press. Just… us.”

“And how did that feel?” Simone asked gently.

“Like peace,” Belle said. “Like a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. I didn’t feel invisible. Not for one second.”

Simone smiled softly. “That sounds like something worth holding onto.”

“It was,” Belle said. Then, after a pause, “It is.”

She sat in the quiet for a while, her gaze drifting to the window. A breeze moved the curtain like an exhale.

“But it came right after…” She hesitated. “They forgot my birthday. All of them. Charles. Arthur. Lorenzo. Maman. I was in the garage all day, and not one person remembered.”

Simone’s expression didn’t change, but Belle could feel her listening more intently.

“I didn’t want to be upset about it. It was Charles’ race—his first win in Monaco. I didn’t want to make it about me. But I stood there, in Ferrari red, and I felt like I didn’t exist.”

Her voice stayed even, but there was a rawness beneath it. “Carlos remembered. He asked me if he should tell them. I said no. Because if you have to remind people you exist, what’s the point?”

Simone waited a beat before responding. “That’s a very old wound, Belle.”

Belle looked down. “Yeah.”

“And how do you feel about marrying Max right after that?”

Belle gave a soft huff of breath. “Grateful. He reminded me I mattered. That I was seen. And it wasn’t because I asked for it. He just… knew.”

Simone nodded, watching her closely.

Belle was quiet for a beat. Then she blinked, shook her head a little, and murmured, “Sorry. I feel weird. Lightheaded.”

Simone straightened slightly. “How long have you felt like that?”

“I don’t know.” Belle pressed the water bottle to her cheek. “Since yesterday? Maybe the day before. Just a little dizzy. I figured it was stress or adrenaline. But it’s not going away.”

Simone raised a brow. “Are you eating? Sleeping?”

Belle nodded. “Yeah. Not perfectly, but enough. I had an iron deficiency a few years ago. Anemia. Maybe it’s that again.”

“I think it would be a good idea to get it checked,” Simone said gently. “Sooner rather than later.”

Belle nodded slowly. “I will. I promise.”

Simone smiled. “Good. You don’t need to power through everything, Belle. Not alone.”

Belle looked down at her hands.

“I’m not alone anymore,” she said softly. “That’s the part I forget.”

And for once, saying it out loud didn’t feel like tempting fate.

It felt like the truth.

***

Group Chat: HELP ME

 (Members: Daniel Ricciardo, Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri, Lewis Hamilton, Carlos Sainz Jr., George Russell, Alex Albon, Nico Hulkenberg, Nico Rosberg, Sebastian Vettel, Mark Webber, David Coulthard, Sergio Pérez, Fernando Alonso, and Kimi Räikkönen)

Carlos: it’s been A WEEK ONE. WHOLE. WEEK.

George: You’re kidding.

George: I thought for sure someone would realise by now??

Oscar: They haven’t. Max said she hasn’t heard a single thing from any of them.

Daniel: I’m starting to believe they genuinely think Belle sprang fully formed into existence.

Lando: like Athena but in heels and with perfect emotional regulation

Carlos: I’m losing my mind. HIS OWN SISTER??? he FORGOT??

Alex: That’s actually unbelievable. I’m offended on her behalf.

Daniel: What do you MEAN the entire Leclerc family has just… ghosted her birthday like it never happened???

Carlos: No text. No call. No retroactive Instagram story with a cupcake emoji. NOTHING.

Sebastian: I can feel my blood pressure rising.

Nico R.: I am this close to sending Pascale an anonymous calendar.

Sebastian: Have they ever remembered without her prompting?

Oscar: Nope. Historically, Isabelle Leclerc was the family reminder system.

George: So now that she’s gone radio silent…

Lando: They’re just drifting through life like brainless goldfish.

David: The woman literally held that family together with calendar invites and emotionally intelligent sighs.

Fernando: They have lost their lighthouse. They are adrift in darkness.

Nico R.: Honestly, it’s kind of poetic.

Carlos: no. it’s INFURIATING. i saw her that day. she was STANDING THERE. in the garage. in red. 

Carlos: And she told me not to say anything. Said she “didn’t want a pity cupcake.” I think about that sentence every night before I sleep. 😠

Daniel: My blood pressure rises every time I remember this.

Oscar: She’s being so graceful about it and I hate that for her.

Sebastian: She deserves better. I hope Max gives her the world.

Lando: He gave her a horse and a wedding. He did okay.

Lewis: I think we need a plan. A coordinated operation.

Oscar: Operation: Make Charles Realise He’s a Disaster?

Alex: That might take longer than we have.

George: Can we start a countdown clock?

Alex: How long do we wait before Charles realises?

George: End of the season. Final race. Then we riot.

Fernando: Or we leave clues like a scavenger hunt. See how long it takes him to get to: “YOU FORGOT HER BIRTHDAY.”

Lewis: And when they finally do remember?

Oscar: Too late. She already married the only man who actually treats her like she matters.

Carlos: damn right she did.

***

Gianpiero Lambiase had been through a lot with Max Verstappen—championship battles, rain-soaked qualifying sessions, angry radio rants, and more tire compound debates than he cared to remember—but nothing could’ve prepared him for this.

The meeting was already running five minutes behind schedule, which—by Red Bull standards—meant it was practically a full-blown rebellion. Christian was flipping through his notes with a sense of purpose usually reserved for press briefings and budget cap discussions. Helmut was sipping black coffee like it owed him money. Checo was leaning back in his chair; and poor Gemma from PR was already clutching her notepad like it was a life raft.

GP sat with his tablet open, notes prepped. 

Max was… Max. Legs kicked out under the table, hoodie on, the faintest hint of smugness clinging to him like tire rubber after a street race.

They made it through power unit updates and marketing commitments before Christian asked, “Anything else we should know before we head to Canada?”

Max sipped his coffee. “Yeah, actually. I got married.”

Silence.

Utter, complete, stunned silence.

Gemma dropped her pen. Christian choked on his coffee. Checo looked like he’d just been told the sky was blue—zero reaction. Helmut blinked so slowly GP briefly considered calling a medic.

GP didn’t flinch.

Because, of course, he already knew.

Christian blinked. “You… what?”

Max nodded. “Married. Last week.”

“To whom?” Christian asked slowly, voice rising like a man realizing he’s stepped into a minefield.

“Isabelle Leclerc,” Max added, like he was announcing a new cat.

Gemma made a noise that GP could only describe as deeply managerial despair.

The room exploded.

“CHARLES’ SISTER?!” Christian yelped, almost standing.

Helmut Marko didn’t speak. He just turned his head, very slowly, and stared at Max like he was an alien.“You’re telling me… you married Charles Leclerc’s sister?”

Max nodded like they were discussing tire strategy. “Mhm.”

Gemma actually put her head down on the table.

“To clarify,” GP said calmly, “he’s not joking.”

“YOU knew?” Christian turned to him, utterly betrayed.

“I’m his race engineer,” GP replied, deadpan. “He tells me everything. Whether I like it or not. And I was the best man.”

Gemma made a small, distressed noise and began frantically flipping through her calendar. “Do we—do we have photos? An announcement plan? A press strategy?! Oh my God, do they even know in Maranello?”

“No,” Max said calmly. “We haven’t told anyone outside a few people. We like our privacy.”

GP didn’t even flinch.

Checo raised a hand. “I knew.”

Christian whirled. “You also knew and didn’t tell me?”

Checo shrugged. “I like my life. Also Belle looked beautiful in white.”

Helmut still hadn’t blinked. “And Charles?”

Max smiled, utterly unbothered. “He has no idea.”

Christian looked like he was about to combust. “You MARRIED Isabelle Leclerc, and Charles doesn’t know?!”

GP finally looked up. “You should’ve seen the garage in Monaco. She was invisible to them all weekend.”

That shut the room up.

Gemma put her head in her hands.

“Don’t worry,” Max said, far too cheerfully. “We’re going to post something soon. We just wanted it to be ours first.”

Christian sat back down like his soul had left his body.

Helmut finally spoke, voice low. “Just make sure we beat Ferrari in Canada.”

“Obviously,” Max said.

“I’m adding a press briefing to the schedule,” Gemma muttered, already reaching for her iPad. “And a PR damage control plan. And possibly a defibrillator for when Charles finds out.”

“I’ll bring snacks,” Checo offered.

Christian slumped back in his chair. “Next time, just send a memo.”

GP simply took another sip of his coffee and updated his notes:

Action Items:

Tire compounds

Charles may attempt murder – suggest more security in hospitality

Of all the chaos they’d weathered over the years, this might’ve been the most entertaining.

And somehow, exactly what he expected from Max.

***

Leclerc Sibling Group Chat

(Members: Arthur, Isabelle, Charles and Lorenzo)

Arthur: Mum just sent me this video of a duck in a raincoat.

Charles: I love that duck.

Lorenzo: Wait send it here.

Charles: He’s precious. His name is Biscotte.

Lorenzo: I’d die for Biscotte.

Arthur: We should get a duck.

Lorenzo: We cannot get a duck.

Charles: You sound just like Isabelle.

Arthur: Where is she, anyway? Haven’t seen her in like, weeks.

Lorenzo: She’s probably fine. You know how she is. Independent.

Charles: Yeah. Classic Isabelle.

***

The examination room was cool, almost too quiet, and Belle’s fingers twisted together in her lap as the doctor tapped something into the computer.

It had started as a check-up. Just routine. She hadn’t even told Max she was going—he had left for Canada, and she didn’t want him worrying over what she was sure was just her old anemia flaring up again.

The dizziness had crept up slowly—barely-there lightheaded spells, then the bone-deep fatigue, the occasional shortness of breath that made her pause halfway through brushing her hair. All things she’d felt before, years ago, when the iron levels had dropped low enough to make walking up a flight of stairs feel like climbing Everest.

She wasn’t worried about the dizzy spells. Not really.

She chalked them up to everything else: exhaustion, stress, not enough proper meals, the emotional fallout of a birthday that had quietly broken something inside her, and—most likely—a return of her old anemia. That had always been the explanation before.

Until the doctor, a middle-aged woman with a kind voice and gentle hands, glanced at her latest blood test results and hummed quietly to herself.

Belle shifted in her seat. “Is it bad?”

“No, not bad,” the doctor said, clicking through a few more pages. “Your iron is a little low again, but there’s something else. These hormone levels…” She looked up with a smile. “Have you taken a pregnancy test recently?”

Belle blinked. “A what?”

The doctor laughed softly. “I’m guessing that’s a no.”

“I came in because I thought I needed more iron.”

“You might,” the doctor said gently. “But these levels are more consistent with someone in the early second trimester. I’d like to do a quick ultrasound, just to check.”

Belle was still frozen when the nurse came in and helped her onto the examination bed. Still blinking in disbelief when the gel hit her skin. And completely silent when the screen next to her flickered to life with soft static… and then, suddenly, a tiny form.

And a heartbeat.

A heartbeat.

The doctor smiled again, reassuring and calm. “Well,” she said, adjusting the probe slightly, “there’s your explanation.”

Belle stared at the screen. The curve of a head. The flicker of movement. A little person, whole and real and—God—already so much bigger than she would’ve thought.

“You’re measuring right around twelve weeks,” the doctor continued. “Healthy heartbeat. Everything looks very good.”

Belle’s hand drifted hovered just above her own stomach like she was trying to connect the dots between what she was seeing and what her body had kept quiet for nearly three months.

“I didn’t know,” she said quietly. “I had no idea.”

“It happens,” the doctor said, kind. “Especially when the signs are subtle or easily mistaken. You’ve been under a lot of stress?”

Belle let out a hollow laugh. “You could say that.”

“Well,” the doctor said, pulling off the gloves, “Congratulations, Mrs. Verstappen.”

Belle just stared at the screen, the tiniest flicker of a heartbeat echoing through the room like a secret being whispered for the first time.

Twelve weeks.

Twelve weeks of carrying a life she hadn’t even known was there.

She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

So she did neither.

She just pressed a hand over her mouth and closed her eyes.

Twelve weeks.

Her heart was still racing, her brain still catching up—but even through the shock, something bloomed warm and steady in her chest.

A heartbeat. 

A beginning.

A family.

***

Text Messages: Belle Verstappen & Emilie Abadie

Belle: Can you come over tonight?

Emilie: Of course. Do I need wine, sugar, firewood, or to hide a body?

Belle: Just you. Maybe chocolate. But mostly you.

Emilie: 👀 I’m bringing brownies and a hug and zero questions until you’re ready.

Belle: Thank you. I just… yeah. I need you.

Emilie: On my way as soon as I finish work. And I swear I won’t interrogate you (until at least the second brownie).

Belle: Fair.

***

Belle sat on the couch, knees drawn up beneath her, a soft throw blanket pooled in her lap despite the mild spring air drifting in from the open window. Her fingers twisted the corner of the fabric absently. Across from her, Emilie sat cross-legged, a steaming mug of rooibos tea cradled in both hands, watching her with quiet concern.

Belle didn’t look up.

Didn’t breathe in a different way.

Didn’t preface it with a sigh or a story.

“I’m pregnant,” she said.

The words hung in the air, crisp and absolute, like the crack of thunder before the rain.

Emilie blinked. “I—wait. What?”

Belle raised her eyes, slow and steady. “Twelve weeks.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then:

“Twelve weeks?!” Emilie nearly dropped her mug. “Belle! How—?”

“I thought it was anemia again,” Belle said, voice steady, almost clinical in its explanation. “I’ve been tired. Dizzy. It’s happened before. I booked a check-up just to be cautious, and then…” Her breath hitched. “The doctor said it was normal in pregnancy. And then there was… an ultrasound.”

Emilie’s face softened, mouth falling open slightly. “Oh.”

“I saw everything,” Belle whispered. “There was a heartbeat. Just… fluttering away. A baby.” She paused. “My baby. Ours.”

Gently, Emilie placed her mug on the coffee table and reached over, her hand brushing over Belle’s in quiet support.

“Have you told Max?”

Belle shook her head. “He’s in Canada. I couldn’t tell him over the phone. Not this. It’s too… big.”

Emilie nodded slowly. “Yeah. That’s not a FaceTime conversation.”

“He’ll be back in a few days,” Belle murmured. “I keep thinking I’ll feel ready by then.”

“And do you?”

“No.” A pause. Then: “Yes. A little.” She smiled faintly. “We talked about it, before. Not in any serious planning way. Just… someday. After everything settled. But we weren’t trying.” Her hand drifted unconsciously to rest over her stomach. “I think part of me always hoped it would happen anyway.”

Emilie’s thumb moved gently over Belle’s hand. “You’ve always wanted this.”

Belle nodded. “And now it’s here. And I don’t know if I’m terrified or just… in awe.”

“You’re both,” Emilie said softly. “And that’s okay. You’re allowed to be.”

“I just needed someone else to know,” Belle admitted, her voice barely more than a whisper. “Before him. Just… someone who could sit with me in this and not panic.”

Emilie’s smile was wobbly, but warm. “I’m doing my very best not to burst into tears or scream into a pillow, so you’re welcome.”

Belle laughed—a soft, wet sound—and wiped at her eyes. “You’re doing great.”

“You’re going to be a great mum, Belle.” Emilie’s voice didn’t waver. “And Max… Max is going to be ridiculous about it. Protective. Soft. Maybe a little panicked. But happy.”

Belle leaned into her, resting her head on Emilie’s shoulder. “I hope so.”

“He loves you,” Emilie said. “He’ll love this, too. It’s you. It’s his. That man would rebuild the planet if you asked.”

Belle closed her eyes and let herself breathe.

She wasn’t alone.

She never had been.

And when Max came home, she’d tell him.

The rest?

They’d figure it out together.

***

Instagram Post: @/f1hq

Comments: 

@/f1girlie: imagine marrying max and not telling the world. 

@/paddocktea: red bull pr team needs a drink and a nap IMMEDIATELY

@/f1lore: sooooo is this the soft launch or the chaos launch??

@/weheartgp: somewhere GP is just sipping his tea like he’s known for months. because he HAS.

***

Nico Hülkenberg was halfway through his second espresso when he spotted Kevin Magnussen exiting the Haas hospitality with his usual determined stride and a very distracted-looking PR intern trailing behind him.

Nico grinned.

“Hey, by the way,” he said cheerfully. “Did you know Max is one of us now?”

Kevin paused, raising an eyebrow. “Us?”

Nico tilted his head innocently. “The married ones. He got hitched.”

Kevin blinked. “Wait—Max Verstappen is married?”

“Yep,” Nico said, popping the “p” with far too much glee. “Secret wedding in Monaco. City hall. Small guest list. Lando dropped the photos like a grenade on the group chat. I’m still emotionally recovering.”

Kevin stared at him. “You’re kidding.”

“I never kid about matrimony, Kevin.” Nico leaned in slightly, lowering his voice like they were conspiring in a back alley. “It gets better. Wanna guess who he married?”

Kevin gave him a look. “Some model I’ve never heard of?”

Nico beamed. “Charles Leclerc’s little sister.”

Kevin actually stopped walking. “What?”

“Oh yeah,” Nico said. “Apparently she’s been dating Max in total secrecy for over a year. Nobody knew. Not even Charles. Especially not Charles.”

Kevin blinked. “So Charles doesn’t know his colleague is now his brother-in-law?”

“Correct,” Nico said, clearly delighted.

Kevin ran a hand over his face. “Oh my god.”

Nico sipped his espresso. “Welcome to Canada. The drama is international.”

Kevin exhaled. “I need a drink.”

“Oh don’t worry,” Nico said, already walking again. “The next group chat explosion is just hours away. I can feel it.”

And with that, they disappeared into the paddock chaos—two dads, too much gossip, and a rapidly approaching press session neither of them were emotionally prepared for.

***

Press Conference Transcript – Canadian GP

 Participants: Max Verstappen (Red Bull), Lewis Hamilton (Mercedes), Nico Hülkenberg (Haas), Lance Stroll (Aston Martin), Pierre Gasly (Alpine), Oscar Piastri (McLaren) Moderator: Tom Clarkson

Tom Clarkson: Okay, gentlemen. Thank you for being here. Let's get started. First question comes from Emily Zhang at The Race.

Emily: Hi everyone. This question is for Max—there’s been a lot of buzz this week because people spotted you wearing a ring. Are congratulations in order?

(Max looks up calmly, shifts slightly in his seat. Oscar stares straight ahead like he’s seen this movie before. Lewis bites back a smirk. Nico Hülkenberg snorts into his water bottle.)

Max: Uh… yeah. I got married.

(Pause. Lance blinks. Pierre visibly chokes on air.)

Pierre: You what?

Lance: Wait, seriously? Like, married married?

Max: Married married.

Lewis: (grinning) About time someone noticed.

Tom: Okay, wow—so this is breaking news?

Oscar: Not for all of us.

Tom: Right. Okay, so… Max, who’s the lucky person?

(Max raises an eyebrow and doesn’t answer. Lewis covers a laugh with a cough.)

Nico: I mean, should I tell them? I feel like I should tell them.

Pierre: Wait, wait—you knew too?!

Oscar: I was at the wedding.

(Lance audibly gasps.)

Pierre: Oh my God. What is happening.

Max: I just like to keep my private life private. That’s all.

Tom: Okay, okay, I have to ask—do you plan to make a formal announcement?

Max: Eventually. Maybe. Depends how nosey you all get.

Lewis: Don’t look at me. I kept the secret. Like a vault.

Nico: I, on the other hand, told Kevin Magnussen immediately. Because this is cultural.

Tom: …Cultural?

Nico: We, the Married Drivers™, must stick together.

Max: I didn’t realize this came with a club membership.

Nico: There’s a newsletter. You’ll love it.

Pierre: Wait wait wait—who did you even marry??

Max: Next question?

(The whole room erupts into chaos.)

***

Meanwhile on Twitter: 

@/f1teaaccount: MAX VERSTAPPEN JUST SAID "YEAH I GOT MARRIED" IN THE MOST CASUAL WAY POSSIBLE. DURING A PRESS CONFERENCE. OSCAR WAS AT THE WEDDING. PIERRE IS HAVING A LIVE MELTDOWN. I NEED A MINUTE. 🧍‍♀️🧍‍♀️🧍‍♀️

@/f1files: Max Verstappen casually breaking the internet mid-press conference and then saying “Next question” like it’s someone else’s problem is the most Verstappen thing I’ve ever seen.

@/chaosinthepits: Lewis Hamilton being smug. Nico Hülkenberg declaring a Married Drivers™ club. Oscar sipping his coffee like this is season 6 of a show he binged in one night. And Max? Max is just sitting there like he didn’t cause a media earthquake. Peak F1.

@/ferns_and_flags: me: trying to work max verstappen: married married also me: clears my schedule to investigate who tf the mystery spouse is

@/leclercsbiceps: pierre gasly's descent into madness upon hearing "i was at the wedding" from oscar deserves an emmy this is theatrical cinema #f1 #canadiangp

@/tifosipanic: Not Lance Stroll gasping like someone just spoiled the end of Titanic 😭😭😭 I love this sport.

@/formulawtf1: max: "I got married." lewis: grinning like a proud older cousin nico: "there’s a newsletter." oscar: "not for all of us." pierre: actively combusting this press conference has more plot twists than Drive to Survive #F1

@/wagsanonymous: me at 3am putting together a suspect board of all women max verstappen has ever spoken to in the past five years 🧵🧵🧵

@/journaldupitlane: MAX VERSTAPPEN IS MARRIED AND WE DON’T KNOW TO WHO F1 TWITTER IS ON FIRE I REPEAT 🔥🔥🔥

@/slowpitstop: “Max: Married married” “Pierre: WHO” “Max: Next question?” AND THEN HE JUST MOVES ON?? sir this is not a soft launch this is a strategic war tactic

@/oscarstanclub: Oscar Piastri has officially become the F1 Gossip Bestie™ he KNEW. he ATTENDED. he’s just sipping tea and watching chaos unfold like a pro

@/beyondthegrid: dear @F1 release the wedding photos. or the drivers' group chat logs. ideally both. sincerely, everyone

@/vettelismyco-pilot:

Lewis Hamilton saying “I kept the secret like a vault” with a grin should be illegal. I’ve never trusted a man more.

@/estebanoconstan: Pierre: “Who did you even marry?” Max: “Next question.” ME: screaming, crying, throwing the entire WDC leaderboard.

@/wheelsequalfeelings:  Okay but what if Mrs. Verstappen is Isabelle Leclerc. Just hear me out.

Private ✅

Gorgeous ✅

Speaks French✅

Likes Horses ✅ Coincidence? I THINK NOT.

@/gridgossipgirl:  Theories so far on who Max Verstappen married:

Isabelle Leclerc

A secret childhood friend who lives off the grid

A Red Bull engineer who’s been hiding in plain sight

That girl he looked at for 0.5 seconds in Austria 2023

Himself, for tax reasons

@/piastrivision: Oscar “I was at the wedding” Piastri refusing to elaborate is the most powerful move I’ve seen this year.

He knows. He’s watching the chaos. He’s THRIVING.

@/gridwivesanonymous: Okay but Max wearing a wedding ring, dropping “I got married,” and then pulling a Next question? is a level of chaos we were not prepared for.

It’s giving: she’s untouchable. 

@/itsyasminmf: My favorite part is Max being so calm. Like, “yeah I’m married.” No further explanation. No photos. No name. No vibe check.

Who is she??

Where did she come from??

Does she know the power she holds??

***

Charles Leclerc had been weirded out since he arrived in Montreal.

It wasn’t anything obvious—no one was throwing punches or shouting across the paddock—but there was a definite chill in the air. People were polite, yes. Just… distant.

Carlos barely nodded at him that morning in the garage. Alex made a joke during the drivers’ briefing, but his eyes hadn’t flicked toward Charles once. Even Lewis had given him a smile that felt more strained than usual.

And Daniel? Daniel Ricciardo, who normally greeted everyone like a long-lost relative, had given him a thumbs-up from a distance and then walked off like he had somewhere better to be.

It made Charles feel like he’d walked into a conversation halfway through and everyone had forgotten to tell him the plot.

“You’ve noticed it too, right?” he asked Pierre later, in the Alpine hospitality.

Pierre looked up from his espresso. “The weird vibes?”

“Yes! Everyone’s being so—so strange.”

Pierre squinted. “Maybe they’re just grumpy. Travel hangover or something.”

“Carlos barely spoke to me,” Charles said. “Carlos. He gave me a nod.”

Pierre raised a brow. “Okay, yeah. That’s definitely weird. Did you say something dumb in a press conference again?”

“I—non! I have no idea. Everyone’s being all secretive. Like I missed a group chat.”

Pierre leaned back in his chair. “You think it’s about you?”

Charles gave him a look.

Pierre nodded. “Okay, fair.”

There was a pause, the sound of engines in the background, mechanics shouting somewhere beyond the fence.

“Oh, also,” Pierre added, like an afterthought, “did you hear Max got married?”

Charles blinked. “What?”

Pierre sipped his coffee. “Yeah. Quietly. No media. I think only a few drivers were invited. No one knows who the girl is, though.”

Charles frowned. “Max? Married?”

“Mhm.”

“And no one knows who to?”

Pierre shrugged. “Some say it’s someone he met through racing. Others think it’s someone from his childhood? I don’t know. It’s weird how no one’s said anything.”

Charles rubbed his temple. “Why is everyone suddenly getting married and giving me the cold shoulder at the same time?”

Pierre grinned. “Maybe it’s karma. Did you forget someone’s birthday or something?”

Charles scoffed. “No!”

***

Esteban Ocon had absolutely no intention of eavesdropping.

In his defense, Charles and Pierre weren’t exactly whispering. They were sitting two tables over in the Alpine hospitality area, sipping espresso like it was a wine tasting, and talking with that animated, slightly too-loud energy that came from a mix of jet lag and general Ferrari drama. Esteban was halfway through a protein bar and minding his own business when Charles’ voice shot up in pitch like he’d just been electrocuted.

“Max? Married?”

Esteban blinked.

He wasn’t sure what possessed him to tilt his head slightly, but something in Pierre’s very casual, very smug, “Yeah. Quietly. No media. No one knows who the girl is though,” caught his attention.

Max Verstappen. Married.

And apparently to someone so top-secret that even Pierre Gasly didn’t have a name? That was either the most carefully managed PR move in Formula 1 history—or something else entirely.

Esteban took another bite of his bar and stored the information in the mental folder marked “Paddock Chaos,” which was currently bursting at the seams.

Later, in the Aston Martin hospitality—peaceful, air-conditioned, and full of cucumber water—Esteban leaned toward Lance Stroll and casually said, “So, apparently Max Verstappen got married. I overheard Charles and Pierre talking. Charles looked like he’d swallowed a wasp.”

Lance paused mid-scroll through his phone. “I heard,” he whispered, sounding like he had seen an alien. “Max admitted it in the press conference. No one knows to whom.”

There was a long pause.

Then a voice behind them: “Yes, we do.”

Esteban turned—and immediately felt like he was twelve again and caught doing something he shouldn’t.

Fernando Alonso stood there, arms crossed, eyebrow raised like he’d been waiting his entire career for this moment.

“You do?” Esteban asked, cautiously.

Fernando just nodded. “Max married Isabelle Leclerc.”

The silence was immediate. Lance’s mouth fell open. Esteban blinked like someone had slapped him.

“Isabelle?” Lance said, voice almost cracking. “Charles’ sister Isabelle?”

“Mm,” Fernando said, looking entirely too satisfied. “The quiet one. The one who brings Charles coffee and vanishes into walls.”

Esteban just stared. “Does Charles know?”

Fernando tilted his head. “Do you think we’d be having this conversation if he did?”

“Oh my god,” Lance muttered.

Esteban could feel the chaos building like a weather system. “Wait—so Max married Charles’ sister, and no one told Charles?”

Fernando smirked. “Let’s just say… the Canada GP is going to be memorable.”

And with that, he walked off, leaving Esteban and Lance to sit there in stunned silence as the paddock spun on without them.

Esteban blinked. “I really didn’t mean to eavesdrop this hard today.”

***

Zhou Guanyu had seen a lot in Formula 1.

 Petty rivalries. Heated debriefs. Drivers throwing silent tantrums in hospitality. But nothing—nothing—prepared him for the strange, simmering weirdness between Charles Leclerc and Carlos Sainz on the Thursday of the Canadian Grand Prix.

He’d noticed it in the paddock first.

 Carlos, standing stiff near the Ferrari motorhome, arms crossed, chewing through a conversation with his engineer like it personally offended him. Charles, twenty feet away, pretending to be very absorbed in his phone, except his jaw was tight and his responses to the press were… terse.

Too terse.

 Even for Charles.

Zhou didn’t consider himself nosy. But he was a driver, and therefore professionally attuned to weird vibes.

So when he found himself beside Oscar Piastri and Logan Sargeant near the McLaren espresso bar a few hours later, he didn’t waste time.

“Okay,” Zhou said, keeping his voice low. “What the hell is going on between Charles and Carlos?”

Oscar glanced up from his coffee. Logan nearly choked on his protein bar.

“What?” Oscar asked, too casually.

“They’re being weird,” Zhou said. “Weirder than usual. Did they fight? Did Charles forget Carlos’ birthday? Did someone dent the other’s scooter?”

Oscar sighed and looked over both shoulders. “I shouldn’t say anything.”

Zhou raised an eyebrow. “So you know something.”

Oscar hesitated. “It’s… not public.”

“That’s never stopped you before,” Logan added helpfully.

Oscar gave him a look. Then, under his breath, he said:  “Charles forgot Belle’s birthday.”

Zhou blinked. “What?”

Oscar lowered his voice even more. “Like. Fully. Forgot. The whole family did. On race day. In Monaco.”

Zhou stared. “He forgot his sister’s birthday… at his home race?”

Oscar nodded grimly. “She was in the garage. Literally standing there in Ferrari red. And they didn’t say a word. Carlos was the only one who remembered. And he didn’t even say anything until after the race because Belle told him not to.”

Zhou blinked. “Wait—then why’s Carlos mad now?”

Oscar shrugged. “Because it’s been over a week and they still haven’t remembered. Not one of them.”

Logan muttered, “That explains the ice vibes.”

Zhou dragged a hand down his face. “Okay, but… why do you know all of this?”

Oscar coughed into his coffee. “I… may be in a group chat.”

Logan stared. “A group chat?

Zhou’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of group chat?”

“A support group for emotionally traumatized drivers who’ve witnessed Belle’s family be completely unaware that she exists,” Oscar deadpanned. “It’s also basically an emotional early-warning system for when Charles is about to get throttled.”

Zhou stared at them. “You people need hobbies.”

Oscar sipped his coffee. “We have one. It’s watching Max Verstappen become the most unproblematic romantic lead of 2025.”

Zhou blinked. “Wait. Max is dating Belle?”

Oscar grimaced. “No, he married her.”

“Oh no,” Zhou muttered. “Oh, no.”

And just like that, Zhou understood:

 Something deeply unhinged was happening under the surface of the paddock—and he had officially fallen headfirst into the softest, most dramatic subplot of the season.

Logan looked like he’d just been hit by a rogue space hopper. “That’s… that’s insane.”

“Everyone else knows,” Oscar added. “Lewis. Checo. Even Fernando.”

Logan buried his face in his hands. “No wonder Carlos looks like he wants to strangle someone.”

Zhou leaned back, stunned. “So Charles forgot his sister’s birthday and has no idea she’s married to Max Verstappen?”

Oscar sipped his coffee. “Correct.”

“Jesus,” Logan muttered. “This is like… F1: The Soap Opera.”

***

Oliver Bearman wasn’t technically supposed to be paying attention to the drama.

He was here as a reserve. A professional. Focused. Ready.

But also? He was eighteen, observant, and currently watching what felt like a Cold War being waged in broad daylight between two of the most recognizable drivers on the grid.

Charles Leclerc and Carlos Sainz were not speaking.

Oh, they technically were. There were nods. Professional exchanges. Brief, clipped updates in front of the engineers. But no banter. No inside jokes. No calm debriefs over espresso machines.

It was like someone had taken a blowtorch to their famously chill teammate chemistry and then just… walked away.

Oliver couldn’t stop watching it unfold.

And he also couldn’t stop talking about it. 

Kimi Antonelli was his newest victim, while they were both in hospitality rinking whatever disgusting protein shakes their trainer thought they should down. 

“Hey,” Oliver whispered, “Have you seen this?”

Kimi blinked. “Seen what?”

Oliver gestured subtly. “Them. Carlos and Charles. They haven’t smiled at each other once today. That’s not normal.”

Kimi squinted, as if only now registering the frosty atmosphere. “Maybe Carlos is angry that Lewis took his seat?”

Oliver rolled his eyes. “It’s not that. They’d be more dramatic if it was about contracts. This is personal.”

Kimi shrugged. “Maybe Charles forgot Carlos’ birthday?”

“Carlos’s birthday was in September.”

“Maybe it’s delayed rage.”

Oliver narrowed his eyes. “No. This is fresher. I’ve been watching. This started in Monaco.”

“You studied it?” Kimi said, raising an eyebrow.

“I observed it,” Oliver corrected, because he was a responsible adult and definitely not gossiping like a paddock housewife.

Kimi tilted his head. “Okay, so what’s your theory?”

Oliver took a deep breath, eyes darting toward where Charles was pretending to read a telemetry report while Carlos muttered something to an engineer without so much as glancing in his direction.

“Alright,” Oliver said. “Theory one: Charles borrowed something from Carlos and never gave it back. Like… his espresso machine.”

“Espresso theft is serious,” Kimi acknowledged.

“Right?” Oliver nodded. “Or maybe—maybe Charles spoiled the ending of Drive to Survive before Carlos got to watch it.”

“That’s unforgivable.”

“Exactly. Or—and this is my strongest theory so far—Charles forgot something important.”

“Like what?”

Oliver’s eyes narrowed. “A birthday. An anniversary. A godchild’s christening. Something personal.”

Kimi shrugged. “Or maybe Carlos just found out Charles uses oat milk.”

“Now that would cause a meltdown.”

The two sat in silence for a moment, watching the two Ferrari drivers pass each other like ships in the night—professional, poised, and ice cold.

Finally, Kimi said, “You know what this reminds me of?”

Oliver turned to him, intrigued. “What?”

“That one time in karting when I called my teammate’s sister hot and he didn’t speak to me for two weeks.”

Oliver froze. “Oh my God.”

“What?”

“Kimi.”

“What?”

“WHAT IF THAT’S IT?” Oliver hissed. “What if this is about a sister?”

Kimi blinked. “Wait… Charles has a sister, right?”

Oliver nodded slowly, his eyes wide. “Isabelle.”

They stared at each other, the full conspiracy blooming in their minds.

“Oh my God,” Oliver whispered. “What if Carlos has a crush on Belle? And Charles just found out.”

“Or worse—what if someone else does, and Charles blamed Carlos?!”

“Holy shit.”

They stared back out at the garage where Charles and Carlos now stood side by side, not speaking, not looking at each other, arms crossed in near-perfect symmetry.

“This is better than a Netflix doc,” Oliver muttered.

Kimi popped his gum. “Think we’ll ever find out what actually happened?”

Oliver shook his head. “Nope. But I’m gonna keep guessing until I die.”

***

Belle pushed open the door to the boutique, the delicate chime above it greeting her like an old friend. The shop was quiet, tucked into a sun-drenched corner of the Rue Grimaldi, all pastel walls and honeyed wood. The kind of place that didn’t advertise but always had exactly what you didn’t know you needed.

She took off her sunglasses and slipped them into her bag, her fingers tightening slightly around the strap.

This was supposed to be simple.

 A gift for Victoria.

Victoria’s baby girl was due any day now. And Belle had promised herself she’d find something special. Something lovely and thoughtful, because of course Victoria’s daughter would be surrounded by love, but Belle wanted her to have a gift that came from her aunt—not just from "Max’s wife."

She found a dress first—a pale pink with hand-stitched flowers at the collar. Classic. Sweet. Then a matching blanket, soft as clouds, and hat with the same hand-stitched flowers. 

She set it gently in her basket together with a and a plush teddy bear so soft it felt like clouds in her palm.

Belle wandered slowly through the narrow aisles of the baby boutique, her fingers trailing over soft fabrics and pastel cotton. The shelves were filled with impossibly tiny clothes and lullaby-colored blankets, everything arranged just so, with little signs in looping handwriting that read “organic muslin” and “hand-knit in Provence.”

She wasn’t in a rush. She never was in here.

A shelf of plush toys caught her eyes:  Stacked in a neat row: lambs, bears, bunnies…

And one lion.

It wasn’t particularly large, or fancy. Just soft and golden, with a slightly crooked smile and a fuzzy mane. There was something in its face—warmth, maybe. Bravery. A kind of quiet fierceness.

Belle stepped closer, hand reaching out before she even realized what she was doing.

Her fingers curled around the lion’s little paw, and something inside her chest ached.

She hadn’t meant to buy anything for herself today. Or rather—for the tiny secret she was carrying. The one Max didn’t know about yet.

Belle pressed her palm against the curve of her stomach, still small, still subtle, hidden beneath a loose linen blouse. She wasn’t showing yet—not really—but she felt it now that she knew. The flutter of exhaustion that settled in her bones, the faint nausea in the morning, the warmth that bloomed behind her ribs when she thought about what was coming.

Max was still in Canada. Still flying around corners at 300 km/h like gravity didn’t apply to him. And this… this wasn’t news she wanted to deliver over FaceTime, with a lagging signal and the sound of tire guns in the background. She wanted to watch his face when she told him. Wanted to see the softness break across it. The quiet awe. The love.

Twelve weeks.

 She hadn’t told him. Not because she didn’t want to—but because she did. 

Desperately. Properly. Face to face.

She’d imagined it already. A hundred times. Max, sitting across from her, some ordinary evening in Monaco. A quiet smile, a hand on her belly, eyes gone wide and soft. Maybe he wouldn’t say much at first. Maybe he’d just hold her. Maybe he’d cry.

He’d be terrified. He’d be overjoyed. He’d be Max.

The lion toy was still in her hand.

Belle looked down at it and smiled. “You’ll be ours,” she whispered, voice barely audible. “You’ll keep the little one safe.”

She added it to the pile at the register without a word. The shop assistant didn’t ask—just wrapped the plush in soft tissue and placed it in a separate bag.

Two bags.

She left the boutique with two bags.

One for a niece Max already loved.

And one for a child he didn’t even know existed yet.

But he would.

Soon.

When the moment was right.

***

Text Messages: Belle Verstappen & Max Verstappen

Belle: You really said “I got married” like you were ordering lunch.

Max: Was it too casual?

Belle: You caused a paddock-wide meltdown in under 10 seconds. Pierre choked on air. Lance gasped.

Max: Oscar didn’t blink.

Belle: Oscar’s soul left his body at the wedding, he hasn’t blinked since.

Max: Lewis was proud of me. Nico welcomed me to the Married Men Club™. Apparently there’s a newsletter.

Belle: What’s in the newsletter?

Max: Tips on DIY crib assembly and how to hide sim rig receipts, probably. 

Belle: I should’ve seen that coming.

Belle: You handled it well.

Max: Thanks. I miss you.

Belle: I miss you too. But I did something today. Thought of you.

Max: Hmm?

Belle: Went shopping. Picked up a gift for Victoria’s little one.

Max: You didn’t have to do that, Schatje. 

Belle: I wanted to. It’s a little dress and a swaddle. Very soft. Very pink.She’s going to look like a marshmallow.

Max: She’s going to love it. Vic and the baby.

Max:Few more days and I’m home.

Belle: Bring yourself. And a trophy.

Max: Bringing all of it. And coming home to you.

Belle: We’ll be here waiting ❤️

***

Group Chat: HELP ME

 (Members: Daniel Ricciardo, Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri, Lewis Hamilton, Carlos Sainz Jr., George Russell, Alex Albon, Nico Hulkenberg, Nico Rosberg, Sebastian Vettel, Mark Webber, David Coulthard, Sergio Pérez, Fernando Alonso, and Kimi Räikkönen)

Carlos: it’s been 12 DAYS.

Carlos: AND CHARLES STILL HASN’T REALISED. 

Lewis: I’m genuinely losing my mind. 

George: At this point it’s not forgetfulness. It’s performance art. 

Daniel: Has anyone told him yet?? 

Carlos: NO. SHE SAID NOT TO. 

Alex: we made a pact. 

Oscar: I made a pact. and i’m regretting it. 

Nico H: update: i told Kevin. 

Carlos: WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT 

Nico H: Seemed fair. 

Lando: ...fair tbh. 

Daniel: ADD HIM 

Nico Hulkenberg has added Kevin Magnussen to the chat.

Kevin: what the fuck did I just walk into 

George: emotional support group 

Alex: for max & belle truthers 

Lewis: and leclerc accountability 

Kevin: cool cool. carry on

Oscar: ...i may have also told Zhou and Logan. 

Lando: YOU WHAT.

Oscar: They were there. They asked. I panicked.

Daniel: OH MY GOD 

Oscar Piastri has added Zhou Guanyu to the chat

Oscar Piastri has added Logan Sergeant to the chat

Zhou: hi. very honoured to be here. 

Lando: legend.

Logan: I’ve made popcorn. This is better than any paddock drama I’ve ever seen.

Fernando: I also may have mentioned it to Esteban and Lance.

Checo: So we’ve just abandoned secrecy entirely. Dios mío. 

Fernando Alonso has added Esteban Ocon to the chat. 

Fernando Alonso has added Lance Stroll to the chat

Esteban: hello chaos

Lance: why are there this many people here 

Carlos: because Belle deserves a small country’s worth of defenders

George: we are the UN now 

Sebastian: united in silent rage

Lewis: should we… start a betting pool? 

Oscar: on when charles remembers?? 

Carlos: yes. i’m taking “not before summer break” 

Nico R: i’m taking “not until their first baby is born” 

David: CHARLES IS GOING TO FIND OUT FROM TWITTER 

Lando: it’s what he deserves. 

Mark: belle’s not saying anything. max isn’t saying anything. and none of us are allowed to say anything. 

Zhou: so we just watch. 

Daniel: and judge. silently. supportively.

Kevin: this is better than Drive to Survive

Lance: you people are terrifying 

Esteban: and yet i feel comforted

George: long live the chaos

Lewis: I am going to tell Valtteri. 

***

Text Messages: Lewis Hamilton & Valtteri Bottas

Lewis: Valtteri. You up?

Valtteri: I’m in a ice tub with a beer, so yes.

Lewis: You’re gonna want to sit down for this. …Or float. I guess.

Valtteri: Alright, hit me.

Lewis: Max Verstappen got married.

Valtteri: I know. 

Lewis: To Charles Leclerc’s sister.

Valtteri: Isabelle?

Lewis: Yep. Belle.

Valtteri: does Charles know

Lewis: No.

Valtteri: oh my god. oh my GOD

Lewis: He forgot her birthday. The whole family did. She was in the garage. No one said a word.

Valtteri: i need to be in this group chat immediately

Lewis: I got you.

***

Group Chat: HELP ME

 (Members: Daniel Ricciardo, Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri, Lewis Hamilton, Carlos Sainz Jr., George Russell, Alex Albon, Nico Hulkenberg, Nico Rosberg, Sebastian Vettel, Mark Webber, David Coulthard, Sergio Pérez, Fernando Alonso, Kimi Räikkönen, Zhou Guanyu, Logan Sergeant, Esteban Ocon and Lance Stroll)

 Lewis Hamilton has added Valtteri Bottas to the chat.

Valtteri: hello i have arrived this is the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me

Carlos: Welcome. We suffer here.

George: We scream in lowercase.

Daniel: You missed the “Oscar accidentally told Zhou and Logan” arc.

Oscar: IT WASN’T AN ARC IT WAS A MOMENT OF WEAKNESS

Valtteri: do i get to place a bet

Checo: Please. The pool is open.

Valtteri: i’m taking “charles finds out from a post-race interview when someone asks how he feels about being a brother-in-law to max verstappen”

Lando: OH THAT’S A GOOD ONE

Kevin: I’m taking “Belle shows up to Silverstone with a baby bump and he still doesn’t get it.”

Valtteri: this is the best chat i’ve ever been in

***

Fred Vasseur was many things—an engineer by trade, a strategist by necessity, and a reluctant babysitter of million-dollar egos by circumstance. But above all, he prided himself on reading people.

That was why the current state of the Ferrari garage was driving him mad.

The tension was unmistakable.

Carlos was stalking around with that sharp, clipped energy he usually reserved for backmarkers who didn’t move out of the way. He wasn’t being unprofessional—no, that would’ve been easier to handle. He was being polite. Controlled. Cordial. The worst kind of angry.

And Charles?

Charles seemed... confused. Like he didn’t know what he’d done wrong, but suspected the crime was high treason. He greeted Carlos like nothing had happened, and in return got a nod that could freeze the Tiber.

Fred watched it all from the corner of the garage with the growing sense that he was trapped in the middle of a drama he hadn’t been invited to.

Eventually, he'd had enough.

He cornered Carlos near the espresso machine, away from the engineers and the endless telemetry screens.

“Carlos,” he said, voice low and sharp, “is there something I need to know about?”

Carlos didn’t answer right away. He didn’t even look surprised. He just stared into his tiny paper cup like it had personally betrayed him.

“Because if this is about strategy or some setup disagreement—”

“It’s not,” Carlos interrupted.

Fred blinked. “Then what is it?”

Carlos exhaled through his nose. “It’s Charles.”

Fred folded his arms. “Yes. I noticed.”

“He forgot her birthday,” Carlos said, eyes tight. “Not just him. The whole family. But him especially. She was in the garage. Right there. And he didn’t say a single word.”

Fred blinked. “Whose?”

Carlos looked up, jaw clenched. “His sister’s. Belle.”

Fred stilled. “She was in the Monaco garage. Quiet, like always. Wearing red. Not one of us said a word. And Charles—her own brother—walked past her like she was invisible.”

Fred’s throat tightened. “It’s been two weeks.”

Carlos nodded. “And he still hasn’t said anything. Still hasn’t realized.”

Fred sat slowly in the chair across from him, face unreadable.

He liked Isabelle. Always had. She’d been around for years—gracious, observant, unfailingly kind. She never asked for anything. Never wanted attention. And yet she had always been there.

Fred remembered when she was a teenager, sitting quietly at the back of the motorhome with a sketchbook in one hand and race notes in the other. How she brought pastries to the engineers during triple headers. How she remembered everyone's birthdays.

And no one—not one of them—had remembered hers.

Not even Charles.

“She deserved better,” Fred muttered.

Carlos hesitated. “She has better now.”

Fred looked up. “What do you mean?”

Carlos went still. And then—realizing too late—he winced. “Oh. That wasn’t supposed to—"

Fred’s eyes narrowed. “Carlos.”

“She’s with Max,” Carlos said, resigned. “They’ve been together for over a year. No one knew. It was private. But now? They got married. After Monaco.”

Fred blinked. “Max Verstappen.”

Carlos nodded. “Yeah.”

Fred stared at him.

Carlos winced. “...And Charles has no idea.”

***

Ten minutes after Carlos had dropped the truth on him like a live grenade, Frédéric Vasseur was walking—no, storming—across the paddock with the kind of grim determination usually reserved for breaking up fistfights or walking into meetings with Ferrari’s board.

The anger in him wasn’t loud. It was cold. Controlled. A heavy thing sitting low in his chest.

He didn’t bother knocking. Just swept through the entrance to the Red Bull hospitality like he owned it. No one stopped him.

Of course they didn’t. Everyone knew better when a man looked like that.

Christian Horner glanced up from his table, mid-sip of some expensive-looking sparkling water. The look that bloomed across his face wasn’t surprise. It was familiarity. Expectation. Like he’d been waiting for this confrontation.

“Fred,” Christian said, all false calm and executive charm. “Everything alright?”

Fred didn’t sit. Didn’t smile. Didn’t play the game.

His voice was low and razor-sharp.

“Why has your golden boy married my golden boy’s sister?”

There was the smallest flicker in Christian’s eyes—like a spark caught in glass. Then he leaned back in his chair, lips curling into that infuriating little smirk he always wore when things went exactly as planned.

“Ah,” Christian said lightly. “So it’s out.”

Fred’s jaw tensed. His hands clenched at his sides, itching for something to hold onto—control, maybe. Or the version of this reality where someone, anyone, had thought to tell him what was coming.

“Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

Christian raised an eyebrow.

“Because it wasn’t our secret to share,” he said simply. “Max and Isabelle wanted privacy. You know how Max is—he keeps what’s important close. And Isabelle?” He paused. “She didn’t want the attention. Didn’t want the headlines. Didn’t want to be part of the circus.”

Fred opened his mouth to argue—then closed it. Because he knew that about her. Always had.

Isabelle Leclerc had never courted the spotlight. Not like Charles, with his fanbase and flashes of brilliance. Not like Arthur, clinging to the family legacy. She was the quiet one. The one who stayed in the background. The one who did the work, remembered people’s birthdays, brought homemade pastries into the garage because “the people deserve it.”

And they’d forgotten her.

All of them.

His shoulders sagged.

“I always liked her,” he said finally, the words tasting bitter in his mouth. “She is smart. Steady. She helps with setups in hospitality  sometimes. Not even on payroll. She didn’t need credit. She just… cares.”

Christian’s smirk softened, just slightly. “I know.”

Fred looked at him, his expression somewhere between fury and shame.

“She stood in the Monaco garage,” Fred said, his voice quieter now, rougher. “Wearing Ferrari red. On her birthday. And no one said a word. Not Charles. Not the team. Not even me.”

He rubbed a hand down his face. He felt old. Tired.

“Charles has no idea,” he added. “No idea what he missed. What he keeps missing. He’s going to find out the wrong way—through gossip, or a headline, or worse—and he’s going to implode.”

Christian didn’t argue. Just watched him, cool and quiet.

“And when he does,” he said finally, “I hope he understands something.”

Fred looked up. “What?”

Christian’s voice was steady. Not smug now. Just… resolved.

“It’s not Max he should be angry with.  It’s everyone else who made her feel like she didn’t matter.” A pause. “Including him.”

The words landed like bricks.

Fred stood there for a long time, letting the weight of it all settle on his shoulders.

The truth was this: Isabelle Leclerc had given them grace, patience, loyalty. She’d loved this team, and this team had forgotten her.

And Max? Max Verstappen, of all people, had seen her. Held her close. Protected what mattered to her. Not for the cameras. Not for the brand. But because he chose her.

Finally, Fred exhaled. It wasn’t anger in his chest anymore. It was grief. It was guilt.

“We failed her,” he murmured.

Christian nodded once. “You did.”

He reached for his glass, took a sip, and said—almost gently:

“Look,” he said, “you and I have dealt with our fair share of driver drama. But this? This isn’t about racing. This is about someone who was ignored by the very people she’s always stood up for. And Max… say what you want about him, but he saw her. Chose her. Cherishes her.”

Fred said nothing. He didn’t have to. The truth was sitting in his gut like a stone.

Christian smiled again—wider now, but not cruel.

“We take care of our own, Fred.”

And somehow, that—that—was the final blow.

***

Interview Transcript – Post Canadian GP 

Karun Chandhok: Charles, congratulations again on your Monaco GP win! That must have been an incredible moment for you.

Charles: grinning Yes, thank you! It was a very special race for me. Winning at home, in front of my family and the fans, was an unbelievable feeling.

Karun: And it happened on your sister Isabelle’s birthday too, right? That must have made the celebrations even more special!

Charles: smiling automatically Yes, it was— pauses —wait.

Karun: laughs lightly A birthday and a race win on the same day, that’s pretty memorable!

Charles: eyes darting to the side, like he's mentally calculating ...That was— his expression suddenly shifts, his smile faltering

Karun: noticing Charles?

Charles: blinking rapidly No way.

Karun: chuckles, confused

Charles: quietly, more to himself We forgot.

Karun: hesitates

Charles: more urgently We forgot her birthday.

Karun: awkwardly I mean, I’m sure—

Charles: shaking his head, visibly spiraling No, no, no. We were all celebrating, but not her. Not for her. We didn’t say anything.

Karun: off-camera crew shifting nervously

Charles: running a hand down his face Oh my god.

Karun: Um—

Charles: turning toward someone off-camera Do you have my phone? I need to— shaking his head, exhaling sharply I need to fix this.

***

[disneyprincemuke]

randomantic * op81

it's just oscar being randomly romantic, because that's the type of person you make him

pairings: oscar piastri x fem!reader

word count: 1.6k

notes: noelle don't write an oscar fic that's not entirely filled with silliness and nonsense fluff challenge

(f1 masterlist)

you close your eyes and suck in a deep breath. you stand at your front door, having just inserted your key into it. you let out a shaky breath as you stare down at the door knob.

you’ve just had what felt like the longest day in a while. it feels like nothing has gone right for you at all — it’s so overwhelmingly irritating. you just know that the smallest thing will set you off and on the other side of this door is the most loving and doting man you’ve ever met in your life.

a man who doesn’t seem to have had a bad day in years, always donning a wide smile on his face with a composure you could only wish you had. you don’t want him to be the scapegoat that gets the brunt of your bad day.

you compose yourself with one last deep breath before unlocking the door. you try to sport a small grin as you push the door open. “i’m home.”

oscar’s grin meets you right at the kitchen door, leaning against the door frame as he wipes his hand on a towel. “i was wondering when you would come inside — i heard you fumbling with your keys a few minutes ago.”

“oh,” you try to laugh it off as you kick your shoes off and walk over to him, “i was trying to recall if i’d forgotten something at work.”

which, now that you think of it, is very possible. did your water bottle ever make it into your bag before you left the office?

“you’re back there in a couple of days,” oscar mutters, arms spread wide as you walk further into your apartment, “if not, i’ll go over and pick it up for you.”

he wraps you into a tight and firm hug, making you feel relieve, even if it was just a little. he grabs either side of your cheek and mushes his lips onto yours. “i made us dinner.”

you hum and furrow your brows as he takes your hand to lead you in. “what? but it’s my turn to make dinner.”

oscar shrugs with a small smile. he looks over his shoulder and gives you a quick wink. “i was feeling inspired.”

you almost burst into tears when the dining table comes into view — two plates with a bottle of wine and a bouquet of flowers on the clean table. you’d been wrecking your brain for dinner options tonight. you’d considered ordering in, but it’s oscar’s crunch time right before the season so he has to watch his diet.

“do you like it?” oscar beams, puffing his chest proudly. he grabs the bouquet and reaches out to you. “and some flowers — we can’t have a date without that.”

“i love it, oscar,” you smile, reeling him in to press a kiss on his lips. “thank you so much.”

you wake up alone in your bed. oscar had an early morning, heading into a busy day.

you briefly remember sitting up for 5 seconds, long enough for him to give you a quick kiss and a tight hug before bidding you goodbye. though you wish you’d have woken up slightly earlier or stayed awake for longer to be with him.

you feel a sense of dread at the empty day ahead of you, working from home in an empty house is daunting for the week you’re having. you can almost tell how much you wouldn’t get done at all with the pit in your stomach and the numbness at your fingertips.

you wanted to send him a text, asking him to take the day off and come home to be with you. but you refuse to be that person.

you can’t simply ask your busy boyfriend to drop his obligations just to spend time with you because you’re a little under the weather. it’s not always about you.

sighing, you turn over to face oscar’s side of the bed. you pull the blankets around your body a little tighter.

you flinch at the stuffed bunny sitting upright, probably put there by oscar before leaving, with a bright orange post-it loosely stuck to its paw.

‘good morning, my love :)’

you smile. these little post-it’s are rare to find during this off-season, but they are always appreciated wherever they are.

the good morning note, however, is a first. oscar’s made a habit of leaving a few as reminders for you for days that he has to separate from you at the crack of dawn. they are often sweet, usually just reminders, but always in such a loving manner. how he manages to make simple post-it reminders sound so thoughtful, you’ll never know.

when you make it to the kitchen, there’s another stuck to the door of the fridge.

‘left some documents behind and had to u-turn. i got you breakfast on my drive back <3 fridge, second shelf’

you open the fridge and sure enough, there’s a sandwich with a cup of iced coffee sitting pretty on the second shelf. there’s another post-it.

‘eat well, pretty’

you proceed to eat breakfast with the biggest grin on your face.

oscar walks into the room, in the midst of dressing up for his busy day. you’re sitting by the edge of the bed, slouched as you type away on your phone. probably answering some emails before you head right back to sleep.

he grins to himself and creeps across the bed over to you. when he realises you hadn’t acknowledged his presence, he softly hums and gently presses his lips on your bare shoulder. his other arm is slung over your stomach as he pulls you in.

“what’s got my girl so busy this morning?” he hums against your skin, reluctantly pulling you back down to lie with him in bed. “it’s too early for you to be up.”

you groan and throw your head back, throwing your arms back. “answering a silly important email that was sent at 3am.”

“ridiculous,” he mutters. he tightens his arms around you and sigh. “i wish i could lay in bed with you all day. i’ll miss you today.”

“i’ll miss you too. i hate working from home when you’re not around.” you wiggle in his arms to face him, grabbing the sides of his face. “i should shrink myself so you could put me in your little pocket.”

he laughs at the absurdity of your idea. though, he doesn’t entirely hate it. he leans forward and nudges your nose with his. “i told you: quit your job. follow me around all day — i promise i’ll treat you like a princess.”

oscar jokes about this often: getting you to quit your job so you could simply be by his side all the time. while it sounded fun and relaxing, it simply is never as easy as just quitting and being his fulltime wag that watched him in the garage every weekend.

it’s just not a life that sounds like it would be for you at all.

“don’t be silly,” you whisper. you nuzzle your face into his shoulder with a soft sigh. “i can’t just do that.”

“ah, i know.” he squeezes your hips, thinking of a way he could somehow manipulate his day into ending earlier. perhaps there’s something he could forgo so he can come home earlier to you? maybe he’ll skip the gym and go tomorrow instead. “you know what?”

you hum, “what?”

“let’s go for a fancy dinner outside tonight,” oscar giggles. “i’ll call in for a reservation, okay? just show up and i’ll take care of the rest.”

you raise an eyebrow. it’s not that you don’t often go on dates with oscar in a week. in fact, you would love to argue that you and oscar go on more dates than an average couple does.

this week just feels different. perhaps you’re just having a worse week than usual. you start to wonder if he can tell that you’re having a hard week.

“are you sure? aren’t you busy?”

“never for you,” oscar smiles. “so, i’ll pick you up at 7, okay?”

not a lot of people could have guessed that oscar is one of the biggest perpetrators of hogging a karaoke mic.

your week has finally ended, and oscar has dragged you along to a small outing with his group of friends for a quick hang out before the season starts. you don’t even remember who suggest the thought of renting a room to do some karaoke; could have been fred, or maybe even oscar himself.

“oh, man,” logan throws his arms into the air when a familiar beat comes on. he holds his head in his hands in defeat. “who let him have the mic?”

“i swear i didn’t let him queue this many songs!” fred defends himself with a soft cry, pointing at the central machine in front of him. “they’re all love songs too!”

his friends’ groans echo in the room as oscar picks up the mic proudly. he puts his cocktail down on the table in the centre of the room before he turns over to you, sly smile and the mic pointed over at you. “this one’s for my beautiful girlfriend.”

logan scowls. “gross.”

“shut the fuck up,” oscar mutters, before walking over to you. he holds a hand out to you and grins. “don’t mind them, they’ve just never been loved the way you love me. get up, you’re the lucky girl i get to serenade for the rest of our lives.”

fred scoffs, a hand over his chest. “okay, ouch.”

@foreveralbon

[imagines-r-s]

☆somewhere only we know☆

dr. jack abbot x reader

author's note: i will say, i have so much love for this fic. def one of my favorites that i've written, so i hope you all enjoy!! (also i might write the smut to this eventually, i don't know yet though friends)

wc: 7.9k

warnings: mutual pining, crazy tension, no one doing anything about their feelings, a bit of angst?, stubborn old man

(gif not mine)

You’re not sure how the nickname came to be, but at this point everyone was saying the same thing about Jack Abbot: he had become your bodyguard. Every time that there was any sign of harm near you, low and behold, he was no more than two steps behind you to back you up. Even if you weren’t in harm, he immediately jumped into protective mode. 

The first time that it happened was at the beginning of night shift. You always got there at least 10 minutes early, just so that way you were able to stop at the cafeteria and get your usual tea, while having long enough for it to be cooled down by the time that you dropped it at the nurses station - because for whatever reason, they made their drinks piping hot. 

Today though, you were running late. Not late to the extent that it interfered with the beginning of your shift, but late enough that your tea was still piping hot by the time you made it to the Emergency Department. Even if it was placebo, you needed at least some of your tea before your shift, but you weren’t able to do that, so you were practically dragging yourself around the Emergency Room. 

”What’s wrong with you?” Abbot asked, noticing the dragging of your feet as you paraded around the nurses station for a moment. 

“My tea was hot,” you grumbled, suddenly irritated at anything and everything, which only earned a confused look in response. 

“Is it… not supposed to be?” he said, carefully examining the contents of the thermal cup that sat in front of you. 

“I mean, it’s supposed to be hot, but the cafe makes it too hot sometimes and I usually get here with enough time for it to cool off and I-“ you paused, watching as he grabbed your small pink thermal and walked over to the lounge. “Abbot, I didn’t mean throw out what I already had.”

”I’m not, kid. I’m just getting you an ice cube or two so you can calm the fuck down. I don’t want one of my best residents dragging the whole shift.”

You simply looked at him for a moment, “you think I’m one of your best residents?” A smile slowly growing on your face. 

”Don’t let it get to your head, I just don’t want you burning your tongue.”

☆

Here and there more mundane things happened, but it still showed the care and consideration that he had for you. 

The next significant time that it happened was when a multi-patient trauma came and it was all hands on deck; all hands on deck including a particular surgeon that Abbot just could not get along with. 

”What are we looking at?” she asked, storming in as if she had been seeing this patient the entire time that you and Abbot had been working on her. It was a teenage girl that was struck by the car on the passenger side of the vehicle. 

”We got this one, Walsh. Pretty sure I heard someone needed a surgeon in trauma 3,” Jack said, not wanting to deal with Walsh at this very moment. He also had the perfect opportunity to teach you something new, but he knew Walsh would immediately interfere. 

”You can’t just put your trust in any resident, especially one you show favoritism to, Abbot. It’s not wise and could kill a patient,” she said, calmly. Even though her words didn’t bother you, you still hesitated for a moment when you were handed the scalpel. 

”As I said before, Walsh, this doesn’t look like trauma 3. Go harass whatever patients are in there,” he spoke, turning towards you,”I wouldn’t let you do this one if I didn’t know that you could do it, kid. Now we don’t have time for whatever she has to say right now.”

You looked up to grab the scalpel from him, “thank you.” You earned a simple hum in response. 

You didn’t notice the way that his actions immediately caught the attention of everyone in the room, not just Walsh. Perlah made note to talk to Princess about it later. 

☆

Although you usually worked night shifts, you got called in to help just a bit earlier today - only by a few hours. Only unfortunate thing was whenever you got called in, you needed to get there as soon as you could, so that meant no tea today. 

Jack also got called in, but he was close enough to the hospital that a quick stop to the cafe wasn’t going to throw off his day - he knew you were likely 10-15 minutes out still, so he made sure that he grabbed the tea on his way in. 

Hustling in, you made sure to set your things in your locker before making it back to the nurse’s station. It wasn’t rare for you to see Dana, but it was rare for you to see her for more than 15 minutes at work.

”Dana, hi,” you immediately rounded the station to give her a hug, “I feel like I only see you in small doses anymore.”

”It’s good to see you, too, hun. No tea?”

”You know me too well, but no. I was running late in general, plus I hate being late whenever I get called in, so I didn’t-“ your words stopped in your throat as you saw a small black thermal pop into view. 

“Here, kid,” and before you could even say thank you, he caught up to talk to Robby - who didn’t miss the interaction either. 

“Oh, well. Nevermind, then?” you said, a confused look on your face, which only made Dana laugh more. “He did say I was one of his favorites, but I didn’t know that that entailed getting me my tea?”

”You’re definitely something to him,” she spoke, in true Dana fashion. “Maybe more than a favorite.”

”No, he just said I was one of his favorite residents, it wouldn’t be anything more than that,” you said, taking a sip of your tea, only to be met with silence, “Right?”

”That’s a question for him, hun. Let me know how asking goes.”

You knew you weren’t going to ask - this was just one of those mundane things that he did for you. 

“You know, I don’t get any of my residents their ‘morning’ drink,” Robby said, as he walked beside Jack. 

“Okay, well news flash, it’s actually 4:30 in the afternoon, so no morning drink here, brother,” he spoke, keeping his voice even. In all honesty, he didn’t know why he had gotten you tea. It wasn’t like he even got himself a coffee or anything, he just knew that you would need the pick-me-up before today’s shift and felt inclined to do so - for whatever reason. 

“Still doesn’t give any reason for you getting her tea,” Robby said, a slight smirk on his face, simply brought on by his friend deflecting. 

“I don’t really need to give you reasoning. I just need my favorite resident to be on point.”

”Oh, so she’s moved on from ‘one of your favorites’. I see.”

Jack could only roll his eyes in response. Of course that’s what Robby picked up on. 

☆

Loss wasn’t foreign to you. Especially in this profession - but today it hit harder. You were no stranger to the idea and concept that you can’t always save people, but for whatever reason, today was a day where you couldn’t deal with the loss. 

You had an older patient, she came in stable for a simple procedure, but something went wrong. You had walked away under the impression that she was stable, and she was, but when you were checking on another patient, you heard the nurses call and code. This had you sprinting through the ER and giving compressions for 40 minutes. 

She should have been fine. She quite literally was here for one of the easiest procedure you could perform in the ER, yet it wasn’t enough. You stayed in her room a bit too long before Jack found you. 

“You know, it’s not your fault,” you had found a point on the tiles that was more interesting than anything else. 

“Yeah, so why does it feel like it?” You hadn’t meant to be short with him, but you just couldn’t deal with it right now. You didn’t need comfort or patience, you needed someone to yell, scream, anything other than sympathy. It was somehow more draining than if someone just yelled at you. 

“Kid,” he said, stepping closer to you. He reached a hand out to your shoulder, but you nudged him off and left the room. He could only watch you walk away. He had never gotten that kind of reaction from you - part of him wanted to leave you be, but the other part was ready to chase you down to offer some kind of comfort. 

You just weren’t in the mood for it today. You were no stranger to self soothing, growing up in a place where it was every man (or woman) for themselves, so Jack trying to offer something threw you off. It wasn’t that you didn’t want the comfort, it was that you simply couldn’t accept it. 

Another reason that he wasn’t shocked to see you up on the roof, not on the side of the railing that he usually stood on though - which gave him some peace of mind. So he simply stood beside you, a peaceful silence taking over the both of you. 

He didn’t say anything, only moving his hand over just enough to where your pinkies were touching each other. 

☆

“Hi, I’m Dr. y/l/n, what brings you in today?” you asked, pulling the curtain closed, only to see one of your ex flings in the bed in front of you. It hadn’t ended badly, just ended because the mixed work schedules made a difference. ”Oh, hey, Lucas.”

”Hey, y/n/n,” the familiar nickname left his mouth as though nothing had really ever ended between you two. 

“What brings you in?” 

“Well, note that I wasn’t skateboarding at night, but I did skateboard earlier and the issue just got worse. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to check that my favorite doctor was working tonight to help me out though,” he said, which only earned a laugh from you - loud enough that someone else in the ER heard. 

Jack’s ears perked up at the sound of your laugh, “which patient is she with right now?”

Ellis simply laughed in response, “don’t ask questions you don’t want to know, Abbot.”

”What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

She could only smirk in response, only because she knew exactly who you were with right now because she had seen the name when checking boards, “she’s with Lucas, if I recall correctly.”

”Who the fuck is Lucas?” he said, a look of disgust crossing his face. He thought for a moment, as he process Ellis had spoken like he should know who she was talking about. “Wait, as in that Lucas?”

She couldn’t help to hide the smirk on her face, “maybe.” The smirk turning into a laugh as she watched him shoot up from the nurse’s station to go check on a patient that likely has a simple sprain. Before he knew it, he was moving the curtain back to see you and Lucas talking. 

“No, but it’s not like anything crazy, just a small get together. We also wouldn’t have to exclusively stay with Marcus and them, I didn’t plan on it at least,” he spoke, glancing up to see the older Doctor behind you. 

“I mean, I can see what I can do. No promises though, remember, I’m a very busy woman,” you spoke, checking the bandages on his ankle. Feeling a presence behind you, you moved to check behind you, only to see Jack there. ”Oh, hey?”

”Hi,” he said, tone short and voice laced with something you couldn’t recognize. He simply kept his eyes on the patient in front of you. 

“This is Dr. Abbot, by the way. Usually, he’s at least a tad bit more personable, but he’s not really trained to deal with some people, so give him grace,” you said, earning a laugh from Lucas. 

“I gotcha. Hey, man. Are you one of her teachers or?”

”Something like that.”

Sensing whatever tension was there, you quickly just to dissolve the tension. I’m going to go check back on some results though and I’ll be right back. Dr. Abbot?” you asked, nodding your head outside of the curtain,”care to explain what the fuck that was?”

”I don’t know what you mean,” he said, looking anywhere but your face. You took a moment to examine the expression on his face before you smiled. ”What is it?”

”Did Ellis tell you who Lucas was?”

”No, but he’s been mentioned before in passing,” he spoke, tone still short. 

You couldn’t help but laugh, “You’re jealous?” He couldn’t say anything in response - he wasn’t a liar. “Oh my god, you are. I was just saying that. Wait. I have so many follow up questions.”

”And I have no follow up answers for you, y/l/n.”

☆

“Okay, wait, so you mean to tell me, that he did all that and didn’t say anything else after you said you had questions,” your friend asked. 

“I can respect top tier avoidance, but doing that without actually clarifying did not help me one bit,” you had today and tomorrow off and your friend hit you with a ‘going out, you wanna come?’ text - so who were you to say no. 

“Hmm, you know what I sense, a planned drunk text,” she said, taking another sip of her margarita. You guys had made a stop at the bar before you would go to the club, mainly to rehash, but also make sure you had enough food in your system. 

“I don’t know, that’s a little much for knowing nothing for sure,” you said, but you had already been contemplating it. 

“Okay, so then, let’s get fucked up, so you can forget about your indecisive-hot-older-doctor crush,” she said, calling the waiter over to you, so you could get your checks. 

The two of you elected to meet some more friends out at the club, mainly for the safety of having a bigger group. As the night went on, the drinks kept coming and the music kept playing, but it was a much needed break after the tension filled days and thoughts of the doctor in your head. 

By the time that your friends were considering leaving, you knew that you were done for. The thoughts of Jack that were in your head weren’t going away - in fact, your drunk, delusional brain was starting to convince you that the idea of calling him was the best idea ever. 

“Should I call him, guys?” you said, your words somehow rushed and slowed simultaneously. “I kinda want to call him.” You were immediately met with mixed reactions, but your brain chose to ignore those disagreeing. 

Before anyone could even process, your phone was open to his contact and you were pressing the call button. It might not have been your smartest decision, but here you were. The phone rang once, twice, but on the third ring he picked up.

”y/n?” his voice sounded concerned - of course it did, you never just randomly called him.

”Hi, Jack,” you said, a smile grazing your face, even though he couldn’t see it. “I just wanted to, um, to talk to you.”

”Where are you?” 

“I’m out with friends.”

”Friends? Or Lucas?”

You giggled at that, “wouldn’t you like to know, pretty boy.”

A deep chuckle rang out from his side of the phone, “you think I’m pretty?”

”I think a lot about you, a lot. But, I’m not, don’t think I’m complaining about it.”

He simply sighed, “you have a safe way home?”

”Yes sir,” you said, he wouldn’t admit that it did something to him. 

“A sober driver?”

”An uber,” you said, getting into the car with your friends. The laughing in the background alerting him that you were on your way. 

“Let me know whenever you get where you’re going safely. Okay, sweetheart?”

”You called me sweetheart.”

”I know. Goodnight, y/n.”

”Goodnight, Jack,” and it wasn’t too late after that that he received a slightly misspelled text that you were home safe. 

Luckily, you were someone that didn’t get hangovers, but that didn’t make the pain of acknowledging the outgoing call to ‘Jack Abbot’ or the mistyped message saying you made it home any easier. You silently cursed yourself as you spent the day to yourself, knowing that you would have to see him tomorrow. 

Going into your shift, you prepared yourself for anything, you weren’t prepared for the small black thermal to be filled with your favorite tea, with a note signed off from ‘pretty boy’ on there. You could only shake your head knowing exactly who the note and tea was from, along with the knowledge that he probably signed it off that way because of you. 

“Pretty boy? That’s an interesting sign off,” Dana spoke from behind you. 

“Yeah, it’s something,” you spoke, folding the note and putting it in your pocket, you simply sipped on your tea. It wasn’t until you saw both Jack and Robby walk out, a smirk on both of their faces. “If you have something to say, just get it out now.”

The two of them could only cackle in response before Jack finally spoke up, “look, I just didn’t take you as the type to drunk call, y/n. That’s all… or call me pretty boy for that matter.”

You could only drink your tea and walk away in response. “I’m sorry, sweetie. I’ll make them leave you alone,” you heard Dana say from behind you. 

Before you could process it, Jack had fallen into rhythm with you. “Where are you going, sweetheart?” 

“Nowhere in particular, pretty boy.”

”Look, I know I made fun of it, but I can’t say I hate it,” he speaks, honestly. 

“I didn’t hate you calling me sweetheart either.”

☆

 You tried to avoid her, you really did, but unfortunately Gloria was the type to always find a way to you. “Dr. y/l/n, I’m glad I could catch you before your shift actually started.”

You simply smiled, sipping on your tea, “crazy stuff, Gloria. How are you?”

”I’m good, I wanted to bring something up with you,” you remained silent, letting her continue. Looking behind her to see Jack already looking at you, “I was making sure that you knew, due to excellent patient satisfaction ratings on your part, you’ve been invited to our annual gala.”

”The one that is primarily only attendings?” you were surprised that it was being brought up to you. 

“Yes, some of the board members were extremely impressed by a lot of things on your record - patient satisfaction ratings being one of the bigger ones - but they like to see that you genuinely care about things that happen in this hospital and they were wanting to see some new faces.”

You laughed at the last part of the sentence, knowing that implied they were tired of seeing Jack and Robby being the main ones there every year. “I don’t have a choice, do I?”

”You always have a choice, Doctor, but there is a wrong answer here,” she said, handing you the paper invitation. 

“Gee, thanks.” Now you had to find a dress. 

The next day, you texted Dana asking if she would be free at some point to go dress shopping with you soon before the gala, to which she was ecstatic to go with. So, the next day there was crossover in your days off - which was way too close to the gala for your liking - you went dress shopping. 

“Look, honey, all I’m going to say is that old man you’re into is going to lose it,” she said, laughing to herself once you stepped out of the dressing room. The dress was simple, but enough. A simple, long black dress with a white bow in the back to contrast. 

“Dana.”

”You know I’m right, you look good, kid.”

☆

Jack didn’t want to be here. He knew Robby didn’t want to be here either, but here they both were. Him with his whiskey, Robby choosing against drinking. “I still hate these things, I’m just waiting for Dana to get here, so she can talk shit with us like she usually does,” Robby said, speaking up first.

”Yeah, I don’t think these things will ever get anymore interesting, especially when all these donors care about are the surface level issues, never what actually matters,” Jack spoke, his eyes scanning the group of people that were here. “I just need Dana to get here to at least make sure I’m not falling asleep during all this.” 

“You know this is y/n’s first gala,” Robby said, gauging Jack’s reaction. 

A confused look came over his face, “wait, she was invited?”

”Yeah, your favorite resident isn’t just your favorite. Her patient satisfaction scores were above everyone. I know she didn’t learn that part from you.”

“Shut up, you already know that she’s one of the best that we have. She’s going to go far with whatever she decides to do,” he said, turning back towards the bar to set his now empty glass up. “I can’t wait to see where she goes in life.”

”You being a part of it? Or?” Robby wasn’t a stranger to asking Jack about you anymore. He knew his friend well enough to know that he was only hesitant of where things would go, in fear that things would end badly. Jack didn’t want to risk losing you to any extent. 

“If she wants me to be, I will be there.”

”If who wants you there, you’ll what?” he turned at the sound of your voice. His jaw dropped at how gorgeous you looked. Dana stepped into the circle after she finished talking to one of the donors. 

“She looks nice, don’t you think, Jack?” Dana asked, but she could clearly see that you had, in fact, left him speechless.

“Yeah,” he paused to gather his thoughts, “you look gorgeous, y/n.”

”Thank you, Jack. You don’t look too bad yourself,” you said, as if you weren’t absolutely losing it over the way he looked in a tux. “I really feel out of place here, I think I only talked to one other resident so far - and that was out of the five people we had to talk to to get over here.”

”You deserve to be here, sweetheart. Don’t worry,” he left it at that, watching as Dana and Robby left to go check in with Gloria. He came closer to you, unsure of what to do. He considered reaching for your hand, but as he go closer and the smell of your perfume hit him, all he could do was ball his fist before flexing his hand. ”I can’t even think straight around you during a work day, you have no idea how hard it is for me to keep my thoughts together right now.”

A smile grew on your face that he had seen countless times before, but this time was different. You weren’t any different, but the smile on your face meant something different. 

Before he could say anything else, he was interrupted by Gloria swooping in, “Dr. Abbot, Dr. y/l/n, I’d like to introduce you to Mr. Palmer. He was the one that saw some of your records and made sure that you were invited today,” she said, leaving the three of you alone. 

“Dr. y/l/n, I was extremely impressed when I saw and heard certain things about you. Patients love you, other doctors are incredibly impressed by you, you have a lot of potential,” he said, a cocky grin on his face that screamed ‘I have money and I hope that it shows’.

”Thank you Mr. Palmer, that means a lot,” you could feel Jack’s eyes on you. 

“Yeah, of course. You look stunning tonight, I would never miss the opportunity to ask someone so beautiful to dance,” he said, moving his hand for you to take. “Can I have this dance?”

You paused, not missing the glare that was sent in Mr. Palmer’s direction. You wanted so badly to object, but you knew this wasn’t the place that you could. “You may.”

Jack was heated. No. Correction, Jack was fuming. He could tell based off the way that he was looking at you, he wasn’t actually impressed, it was a base level statement. Unfortunately given context of time and place, he couldn’t do anything but watch from a distance. 

Robby and Dana had watched the whole interaction, moving closer to talk to Jack, but not before placing bets on how long he would last before cutting in. “You okay?” Dana asked, softly. 

“Just peachy,” his eyes didn’t leave you. He watched as the two of you started dancing, keeping watch of where he decided to set his hands - moreso how badly he wanted to be murdered. 

“You know, I told her whenever she bought the dress that it would catch your attention. Goals were achieved tonight,” Dana joked, hoping to add light to the situation, but he was still laser focused on you. 

“Yeah, it definitely caught my attention.”

You smiled to keep face, but truth was Mr. Palmer, who ironically was in fact named Chadwick, was a cocky son of a bitch that did not seem to have respect for you or any doctor for that matter. Conversing with him was nauseating, to say the least, but you knew that you had to keep up appearances - especially being a specially invited person. 

You were letting him go on and on about his recent golf experiences, when he suddenly changed the subject to you and how you looked in the dress - you knew immediately where he was going to go with this. You knew you were right when he talked about wanting to get out of here eventually and he tried to move his hand lower on your waist. 

“No, sir. I don’t think so,” you said, attempting to pull away, but he pulled you tighter. “You’re not getting what you want, even if you try pulling me tighter.”

”Oh, I would hate for something big to mess up that star reputation of yours, wouldn’t you?” he spoke, you had seen this move too many times. A very unfortunate abuse of powers, you were stuck.

“I know how good my reputation is, you can’t tarnish that, you prick.”

”Oh, but one word to Gloria and I can easily get you taken out of a program. I’d be cautious.”

“Yeah,” a familiar voice spoke from behind you, “I would be cautious, too. Get your hands off of her.” 

You didn’t know, but Robby and Dana had also moved in closer. You felt yourself let out a breath of relief. You stepped back and were on your way back to the bar when he had the audacity to say something else, “damn, I didn’t realize you got this far by fucking your ‘mentor’.”

The wire snapped. Anything that was holding Jack Abbot back from letting the man in front of him have it disappeared and before he knew it, the man was on the ground from a mean right hook. “Watch your fucking mouth.”

You stood there in awe. So much had happened in a short timespan, you didn’t even have the chance to recollect your thoughts. Robby had simply pulled Jack back just enough for him to process what was happening, “Jack, not here.”

Jack simply looked back and grabbed you, both of you immediately leaving. ack didn’t know what to say, the only thing keeping him in line right now was the click of your heels behind him. 

“Jack, wait up.” It wasn’t until you two had stepped outside that you had said it, but the only thing that let him know that was the cooler air hitting his face. 

“I’m not apologizing for defending you, sweetheart. I don’t care, he had no right to say what he did to you. I should have done way worse,” he kept going. Ranting on and on about the man that had disrespected you.

”Jack.”

“And him using, well attempting to, use the money thing against you made it even more of a dick move.” He kept ranting. 

“Jack, look at me,” you said, stepping closer to him. 

“What is it, sweetheart?” and before he knew it, your lips were on his. 

☆

Robby was going to hurt Jack. Not that he did anything specific, but after the events at the gala, he went MIA. He didn’t completely disappear, but he made an adamant point to avoid you and anyone he could at work. He was simply in a clock in, clock out mode. 

You tried your best not to care, you really did - it just took a lot to go from bits of nothing to the events of the gala back to square one. You missed seeing his black thermal next to your pink one or his little notes. Or him, for that matter. 

It was a total switch up from the emotional roller coaster that you had been on for the past eight months. How could he just go from this to normal? How could he just go from this to nothing with you?

It seemed too easy for him. Maybe it had been. 

Dana had made the suggestion that maybe you switch to days for a little bit, that way you weren’t constantly pressed on the issue that was Jack Abbot. She was also on the verge of attacking the man verbally - maybe physically - for what he was doing to you. 

Robby knew. Robby knew exactly what had happened, but he also knew his closest friend well enough that he couldn’t press on the issue in fear of making it worse. Jack was scared. You had eased him out from behind certain walls, but the certainty of a kiss made him want to build them back up. 

Jack knew, too. He knew that he was hurting you, but he couldn’t stop himself. He had his walls built up for a reason: to protect himself and you - but unfortunately, he was just harming you in the process. You switching from night shift for a few days per week is what made him immediately regret the decisions he had made after the gala. 

He showed up an extra 40 minutes early when you worked the day shift, just so that he could see you for longer than what he had been. He found peace in the night and darkness, but you were the one that was bringing him light for the time being. 

“I expected to find you up here,” he heard Robby say, eventually sensing him right behind him. 

“I know. I knew someone would know I was up here.”

”She knows too, she’s who sent me up here to make sure you didn’t jump,” Robby said, making Jack turn to face him. “You should talk to her. She’s holding it together, but she’s not doing good, man. I’m not going to say it’s your fault-“

”But you want to though.”

”Yeah. You might be her mentor, but at least she didn’t pick up on your small lack of emotional intelligence.” 

“I fear it’s too late for her to forgive me. I don’t want it to be, I-“

”You love her?”

”Yeah, I do.”

”So, you have to fix this, Jack,” and before he could respond, Robby left him on his own.  

☆

It started off gradually. You went back to working just night shifts, tired of letting him get to you. You were cordial, you did your job, and at the end of the day you immediately went home. 

The way that you and Jack worked together didn’t change, he still rightfully encouraged you to be the best doctor that you could be - he would blame himself if this directly hindered your career. 

“Sweet cheeks, why so glum?” you heard Myrna’s voice ring out from behind you. 

“I’m okay, Myrna. Also, sweet cheeks?” you questioned, sending a confused look her way. 

“You’re sweet and-“

”You know, I’m okay without you elaborating.”

”Suit yourself. You seem upset, who hurt ya? I can hurt them like I hurt my husband,” she said, making you glad she was still in cuffs. 

You smiled at the older woman, “I appreciate you, Myrna, but I promise I’m okay.” You removed yourself as far from her as you could, but when you heard the doors open, you made direct eye contact with him. You didn’t miss the two thermal cups in his hand. 

It was a silent exchange, he didn’t say anything else; opting to simply set down the mug and send a nod your way before he went to talk to Robby for handoffs.

“Have you two talked any since the gala?” Dana asked, pulling you away from your thoughts. Simply shaking your head, she let out a sigh. “I don’t like to see either of you hurting like this, especially you. He’s just too stubborn for his own good.”

“I know,” you said, sadly. “I just don’t feel like it’s my place to try and fix things as he’s the one that MIA, I just miss us - not that it was anything for sure, but it still felt like enough.”

“He’ll get it eventually,” Dana said, putting her jacked on and grabbing her bag, “I just hope sooner than later. Alright, hun, I’m heading out. Holler if you need anything.”

With that, it was you and the rest of night shift - and Robby, who couldn’t leave on time to save his own life. You fell into rhythm with Chen and Ellis as they walked during handoffs.

”Haven’t seen you with your bodyguard recently,” Chen said, his tone even. 

“My bodyguard?”

Ellis made a face and Chen could only laugh at you, “Abbot.”

“He’s not my bodyguard,” you grumbled, choosing to ignore the two of them. 

“That’s not what I heard, especially with him punching some guy out for you at that gala. A non-bodyguard wouldn’t do that,” Ellis said, a pointed look on her face. 

“Whatever.”

☆

Dana had decided to have a small, sweet get together for her birthday; she was able to leave her daughters with a babysitter and just wanted to spend some time with the people she cared about most. This led to you being sat near Heather, Robby, Frank, Cassie, Samira, and Jack, at a table in one of Dana’s favorite bars. 

You elected to ignore the ongoing sense of Jack’s eyes on you as you talked to Samira and Cassie. Cassie was ranting about her ex making a stop in the hospital for something as stupid as the skateboarding accident, but her voice kept fading into the background as you looked to see Jack’s eyes already on you. 

“Can you guys just make up already? The tension is actually insane,” Samira whisper-shouted to you. 

“Please, we’re begging,” Cassie added, “it even makes my heart beat witnessing all of this. It’s tiring. Just kiss, make up, maybe do more, we sure as hell won’t stop you.”

You laughed, “don’t you guys have jobs? My life and relationships should not be the primary focus of your day. Now, I don’t know about you guys, but I need a drink - will one of you guys come with?” 

Samira was already getting up when Cassie spoke up, “I’ll come with you, but I won’t get anything.” She told the table where you guys were going before she caught up to you. “Wait, y/n/n, isn’t that, uh, what was his name? That fling you had last summer?”

”Who? Lucas?” you asked, looking up to see him on the other side of the bar, you sent a small smile his way that he immediately reciprocated. He moved away from some of the friends that you recognized and headed your way. ”Hey, Lucas. How are you?”

”I’m good,” he nodded towards the two other girls around you as you introduced them. “You ladies getting anything to drink? They can be on me. y/n, you want your usual? Or are you drinking drinking tonight?”

You didn’t miss the smirk that was on his face, “I’ll have my usual, but I wouldn’t be opposed to a round of shots for us, too. Don’t think you’re going to get lucky though just for buying us drinks, Lucas.”

”Can I not just buy a pretty girl drinks without any ulterior motives?” he spoke, smoothly before turning to the bartender. “Four shots, a strawberry mojito, and - would you ladies want anything else?”

”I’ll have a tequila sunrise,” Samira mentioned. 

“I’m not drinking, but thank you,” Cassie added. Lucas nodded before getting the order finished. 

“I’m going to go back to the table, are you cool here with Samira?” Cassie asked, looking to you for a response. 

“I’m good, thank you though. You think I should drink the extra shot?”

”As long as you can handle it, y/n/n,” she said with a laugh. Turning back to the table, she let out a cackle at the sight in front of her: Dana and Robby watching Abbot, trying to hide the smiles on their faces as Jack looked like he was about to lose his shit - if he hadn’t already lost it. 

Once Samira got her drink and took the shot with you guys, she turned back to the table to already see most eyes on you and Lucas. “Oh, I’m not saying I can see steam rising from Jack’s head, but the man could very easily have steam coming from his ears.”

”He can’t get mad if he’s not going to say anything about how he feels,” you spoke honestly. Lucas turned and immediately recognized the doctor that had been looming the last time he had to go to the ER. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever gotten a look like that from a man that wasn’t in love,” Lucas said, taking a sip of his beer. 

“What?” 

He shrugged, “He wouldn’t look at me like he wants to kill me, if he wasn’t in love with you.”

“Random man does make a fair point,” Samira said, “can I please have your permission to stir the pot some? Just to see what the old man does?”

Lucas laughed at that, “just don’t get me murdered if you do, I have a lot to live for.”

”I don’t know what you have planned, but do what you have to do at this point,” you said, mentally preparing for what could happen. 

When Samira sat down, she immediately turned and told Cassie what was going on - she didn’t exactly have a master plan, but she did know it wouldn’t be difficult to get him to his breaking point. 

“Why’d you leave her up there, Samira?” he said, blinking slowly before taking a sip of his water. 

“She seemed okay up there, plus I’m not one to interfere on romantic matters,” Samira said, earning a laugh from Cassie and Dana. Robby could tell based off of Samira’s face that nothing was actually going on, she was just saying stuff at this point. Jack simply rolled his eyes before going back to his y/n watching. 

“I remember them being a thing,” Heather added to the mix, “they were cute, it didn’t work out just because of schedules though. Honestly, if his job changed any, I don’t think they should avoid trying again.”

Jack’s face remained still, but everyone at the table was on the same page: push his buttons just enough for him to do something. His attention was brought back to the bar at the sound of your laugh, which was usually one of his favorite sounds, but not when it was because of another man. ”He can’t be that funny.”

Everyone at the table could barely contain their laughter anymore, continuing to say things in hopes that it would finally make him get up and talk to you - but for whatever reason, nothing was working. Maybe it was just simple self control?

Jack kept his eye on the table, the noise of the bar drowning out as he waited for you to return to the table. He didn’t see you come back, but the smell of your perfume had has head snapping up, “you have fun, sweetheart?”

You smirked, the nickname usually kept between the two of you. “Yes, I did. Thank you for asking.” You continued talking to everyone at the table, but didn’t miss the feeling of eyes dancing between you and him. 

“Jesus Christ,” Robby muttered, shaking his head and you thought you could see Dana’s eye twitch. 

“Bitch,” Samira said, eyes wide, “I swear to god, if you do not leave tonight with him, I will hurt both of you.”

”Same,” the collective said.  

More time passed, but nothing happened. Jack didn’t really say anything else to you and you assumed that he had given up on whatever there was with the two of you. Before you knew it, another hour had passed and the table that was full before was down to just you, Robby, and Jack - everyone else going home together so they made it back safely. 

Robby looked at both of you before he started, “You guys need to figure your shit out. If you need me here to talk it out, cool - note, I won’t stay past anything other than conversation though.”Jack didn’t say anything. You didn’t know if that made you feel better or worse. “Okay, so this is the part where the conversation happens, if you were unaware.”

He stayed silent again, this time you weren’t having it though. “I appreciate the attempt, Robby, but I think everyone has tried hard enough.” You tried your best to keep your voice even, turning to grab your purse and move your chair, you were ready to make the walk home or get an uber home. 

“y/n, wait,” Jack’s voice finally said, “I- Can I drive you home?”

You looked from Robby to Jack, “I was just going to get an uber. It’s all good though.”

”y/n. Please,” at that your eyes turned to him. He was pleading with you, saying a million things at once. A million things that he had intended to say, but you saw it - you knew him well enough to see it. 

“Okay.” 

“Well, kiddos, if that’s all settled, I’m headed out. Let me know when you guys make it back safe though. I’ll see you guys at shift change,” and with that it was just you and Jack. 

”Are you ready to head out or?” you asked, breaking the silence that had taken a moment to settle between the two of you. 

“I’m okay staying for a second,” another beat of silence, “you look beautiful tonight, by the way. I just didn’t want to add fuel to the fire that our friends were waiting on, only reason I didn’t say anything sooner.”

”Yeah, there’s a lot of things you could have said sooner.” Was the comment a bit mean? Maybe. Warranted? Yes.

He sighed, “I know. Trust me, I know.”

”Okay, so if you knew, why? Why did you drag this on, push me away, all of that? I would much rather you just said that you didn’t want something with me than drag me along.”

”Sweetheart,” he said, reaching his hand across the table to yours, “trust me, I want you. So bad that I fear it could kill me. I just- I pushed you away because I was scared and for that I’m so sorry. In no way did I want you to feel unwanted.”

”Scared? Of what?” you weren’t even mad at him anymore, you just wanted answers. 

“Scared that, if I admit how I feel about you that I would lose you.”

You stayed silent a moment, tilting your head in confusion, “you thought you would lose me? So you pushed me away?”

”It sounds stupid like that, but I’ve lost so much in my life already. You mean so much to me and I didn’t want to risk losing that. I love you, y/n, and me admitting that made it real. And when it’s real, I have something to lose,” his eyes met yours again, “I can’t lose you.” 

You didn’t know how to respond. He had just admitted that he was in love with you and all you could do was look at him for a moment - his hand on yours was the only thing grounding you. ”I love you, too, Jack. I just didn’t deserve you pushing me away. You mean too much to me for that.”

”I know, and I’m so sorry that I put you through that,” a small smile appeared on his face, “I’lll make it up to you, I promise. Let me get you home.” 

You didn’t know if you should, but all disagreements flew out the window when you saw the way he was looking at you. “Okay.”

☆

As the sun eased into the room the day after, you felt yourself pulled back towards the body behind you. You felt at ease, at peace. A night of repeated ‘I love you’s and ‘I’m sorry’s to make up for lost time. A morning routine that the two of you developed in a few hours, him making breakfast for the two of you and you being the comforting presence he needed in that moment. 

The two of you made up for lost time before you had to prepare for work. Stopping at your apartment so that you could grab your scrubs and work bag, he looked at the pictures you had around of friends, family, and the memories that you had made - his mind immediately going to the new ones the two of you could make. 

Opening your cabinet to grab one of your thermal mugs, he saw the multiple pink thermals that stayed there, “I didn’t realize you had a problem.”

“I have at least one for every day of the week and then some for if I don’t feel like washing them, it’s a system that works” you said with a shrug of your shoulders. He let out a light chuckle at your ‘system’, but he couldn’t ignore the way that seeing two of his black thermal mugs in there made him happy. 

“I see I’ve made guest appearances here that I didn’t even know about,” he said, placing his hands on your waist from behind. “Are we stopping for tea before work?”

”Of course, pretty boy. Your favorite resident can’t be dragging,” you said, heading out. 

The two of you made your way through the cafe and into the Emergency Department, not missing the way that Dana’s face lit up at the two of you entering together. 

“I see the two of you finally made up,” Dana said, a smirk on her face, “and based on the way your skin is glowing, maybe more than just a make up.”

“Thank God, you guys needed to do something,” Robby said, nearing the nurses station. “I was genuinely so close to actually losing it, you have no idea.” 

------

taglist: @dayswithoutcoffee @dragonsondragons @literazine

hope you guys enjoyed!! feedback is always welcome

xoxo

ash

[spaceyaemonds]

pairing: dr. jack abbot x reader

sum.: you meet a few of jack’s coworkers.

warnings: age gap (jack is late 40s, reader is 23), slightish angst?? just incase?? i don’t think it is but just incase, unplanned pregnancy, jack is divorced, not a widower, and it is mentioned that he previously did not want kids. minors DNI.

notes: okay so this is not what i had initially planned for this part, but i could not get what was supposed to be the second half of this to flow how i wanted so i am scrapping some of it and putting into part 6! also, there will definitely still be a lot of teasing and stuff said by the ED staff!!! i just didn’t know how to incorporate everyone here quite yet, but it’ll come! starting with part 6, they will be slightly longer pieces (but all less than 4-5k words) so we can get more into the drama of the story. in the next part, there will be slight angst (that was supposed to be here LOL, i’m sorry!) AND smut! i also have a few more drabbles for this universe that i hope to post this week, but parts 6 (and possibly 7) will be taking priority along with the schedule i posted yesterday. unedited. and as always, any feedback is extremely appreciated, it helps keep me motivated. especially reblogs/comments/asks!

wc: 1k

prev next

Unfortunately, immediately after getting off the phone with you and getting his keys to Dana, an ambulance pulls up with a trauma, which not only means he is probably not going to be able to see you, but you’re meeting Dana alone.

Which leaves you in your current situation, standing awkwardly in front of said nurse while she looks you over, studying you.

Of all the things she was expecting when Jack Abbot told him a girl was coming to pick up his keys and drop hers off, you are not at all what her brain came up with.

Not that there’s anything wrong with you, except for the fact you look a little young for Jack. But she definitely didn’t imagine you.

“So, you’re borrowing Jack’s truck?” Her tone is friendly when she asks.

She seems nice, but she makes you nervous. Being here makes you nervous. You don’t know what Jack has or hasn’t told his coworkers about you or this situation.

You nod, a small smile on your face despite your discomfort, “Um, yes. I’m buying a new desk and my car is too small to get it home,”

She nods politely, “Are you neighbors?”

She knows the answer, that you are definitely not neighbors, but she’s curious about what you’ll say.

You bite your lip, “Uh, something like that?”

She raises her eyebrow at the way you word your answer as a question, but before she can speak up, Samira says your name.

She’s smiling brightly, “I thought that was you! Are you doing okay?,”

You smile back at her, “I’m good,”

“How’s the baby?”

You freeze, glancing at Dana out of the corner of your eye, praying to god that she doesn’t put it together.

Dana’s brows raise to her hairline, looking between you and Samira, and then briefly glancing at trauma two. No fucking way.

“Um, good- great actually. Just a little grape in there,” You chuckle, gesturing to your abdomen before turning to Dana, digging your keys out of your purse and clipping the key to your apartment off the chain.

“Anyway, um, can you just make sure Jack gets these, please?”

Dana nods, “You sure you don’t wanna try and wait for him?”

You look between her and Samira, a slightly anxious look in your eyes, “Yeah, no. He’s gonna be by later anyway so I’ll just see him then,”

You wince, why the fuck did you say that?

That causes Dana to smirk, “He’ll be over later,”

“Yeah, well I mean, maybe. He’ll have to get his truck back at some point. Probably tonight, but I mean who knows, ya know?”

In the midst of your rambling, you don’t realize Jack has finally wrapped up his case and is standing right behind you.

“What are you going on about?”

You about jump out of your skin, “Oh my god!” Your hand is on your chest as you take a deep breath, dramatically trying to calm yourself down, “You scared me,”

He laughs with a cheeky shrug, mumbling a small sorry as he squeezes your shoulder gently before taking your keys from Dana. He bites back a laugh at the lip gloss attached to your keychain, “You aren’t gonna need that?”

You smile, the anxious feeling finally leaving you, “No, I have a few in my purse.”

Jack briefly catches Dana’s eye as he places his hand on your shoulders and guides you out of the ED, her eyebrows are raised in question, glancing between the two of you. He shakes his head at her and mouths later and continues walking you to where he’s parked, not realizing the storm he’s started up at the nurses station.

“Now, don’t go lifting this desk by yourself or anything like that. It’s not good for you or the baby,”

You glance up at him, “I already places the order for it, they’re just going to put it in the truck when I’m ready and a neighbor said he could get his son and they can bring it up for me,”

He tries not to bristle at the mention of your neighbor that he hasn’t met yet.

“Alright, well I can help you get it put together tonight and make sure your equipment gets all set up.”

His offer makes you smile brightly at him, “Are you sure? I know you’ll be tired after working,”

He shakes his head, “I wouldn’t offer if I couldn’t do it, honey.”

There’s that name again. You love it when he calls you that, it makes you feel warm inside.

He bites back a smirk as he watches you squirm, already knowing you well enough to know your cheeks feel hot.

“Well, if you insist. I’ll have dinner and beer ready when you get to my place,”

“You sure know the way to a man’s heart, honey.”

“Just yours, anyway,” You don’t give him time to respond, leaving quickly and not even realizing the impact your words just had on him.

When he gets back inside, Dana is giving him a side eye, and try as he might, he just can’t ignore it.

“Just say what you need to say,”

Dana hums, “She’s young,”

Jack sighs, running a hand down his face before scratching at his jaw, “Yeah,”

“She pregnant?”

There’s no judgment in her question, she watches silently as he pulls out his wallet to hand her the photo of your ultrasound.

“Yeah, ten weeks.”

She sighs softly, looking at the baby, “Yours?”

Jack just grunts in response. Not sure what to say or how to say it.

Dana puts a hand on his arm, squeezing softly, “I thought you didn’t want kids?”

He closes his eyes, “I didn’t. This wasn’t exactly planned. But I’m taking responsibility for this, for her,”

“Does she want you to take responsibility for her?” Dana’s question is valid, and Jack knows that.

“I told her I wouldn’t abandon her. And I won’t.”

“You’re a good man, Jack,” She gives his arm one final squeeze before pulling her hand away, “She seems nice,”

He smiles, “Yeah, she is. Real fucking smart too. And funny,”

Dana feels her chest squeeze at how Jack looks when he talks about you, unable to recall if he’s ever been this way before.

They sit in silence for a few moments before glancing up at Robby when he makes his way up, devilish glint in his eyes.

Jack sighs, already knowing what’s coming.

“I didn’t realize your babies mom is in her twenties, Jack,”

“You mad I got more game than you or something?”

Robby laughs, “Is that what we’re calling it?”

[luv-lock]

ㅤֹㅤ⊹ㅤ #ㅤDUMB PUPPYㅤ.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ PAIRING : Batboys x Fem Reader

☆⁠ SYNOPSIS : When You Give Them A Collar.

☆⁠ CHARACTERS : Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Damian Wayne, Terry McGinnis, Male Barbara Gordon, Male Cassandra Cain, Male Stephanie Brown.

☆⁠ NOTES : Kinda spicy. English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

— BRUCE WAYNE ⋆

You present it in a little velvet box. All black leather. Expensive. Sleek.

“It’d look so good on you, baby.”

He raises a brow like you’ve lost your mind.

“You expect me to wear that?”

“I expect you to kneel too.”

He glares. Refuses. Walks away.

But next night you find him in the dark, shirtless, wearing it. Doesn’t say a word.

He won’t bark or crawl. But he’ll let you hold the leash while he eats you out on his knees.

“I’m still in control,” he growls.

“Keep telling yourself that, pup.”

— DICK GRAYSON ⋆

You don’t even have to explain. You show him the collar and leash combo and he’s already wagging his metaphorical tail.

“Oh my god, is this for me? You want me to be your puppy???”

“Down, boy.”

He wears it proudly. In the apartment. On video calls. At brunch. He’s your golden retriever boyfriend and he’s LIVING for it.

“Can I get a tag with your name on it? Maybe like a bell?? Ooh! A harness???”

He lets you walk him on all fours, panting, tongue out. When he misbehaves, you tug the leash and he whines.

He even sends you selfies in it, after jerking off, with cum on his chest. Caption:

“Bad boy waiting for your punishment.”

— JASON TODD ⋆

You toss the collar on the bed like a challenge.

“Put it on.”

“You think I’m a dog, princess?”

“I think you bark a lot.”

He fights it. Glares. Snarls.

But five minutes later he’s shirtless. Leather collar snug around his throat. Chain leash in your hand.

“You gonna make me sit too?”

“No. I’m gonna make you beg.”

He growls when you tug him. Tries to act feral. But the flushed ears? The panting? The trembling thighs? You’ve turned the Red Hood into your whimpering pit bull.

— DAMIAN WAYNE ⋆

You present it like a gift. He looks offended.

“I am not some mutt to be paraded.”

He resists. Until one night, in private, he kneels at your feet and presents his neck.

The collar clicks. The leash dangles. His breath is shaky.

“This is… humiliating.”

“And yet your cock is hard.”

You walk him around the room like royalty leading her chained beast. He never breaks eye contact. You slap his thigh—he growls. You make him crawl—he obeys.

And afterward? He stays in the collar. Lays his head in your lap like a cat.

“I belong to you. Don’t ever remove it.”

— TERRY MCGINNIS ⋆

You pull out the collar, sleek black with red accents to match his suit, and flash him a grin.

“You wanna be my pup tonight?”

“...I mean… only if you call me ‘good boy.’”

Terry is SO down bad for you it’s ridiculous. One little pout and he’s on his knees with the leash between his teeth, wagging his ass.

You tug the leash and he yelps. You make him crawl to you and bark? He does it. And he looks hot as hell doing it.

“Is this degrading or kinda hot?”

“It’s both, baby.”

He loves the attention, the control, the way you stroke his hair and say,

“Such a pretty little pet.”

He will wear it under his Batsuit. Just a little secret between you two.

— BARRY GORDON ⋆

You show him the collar and he snorts.

“Oh? You finally decided to leash your man, huh?”

“I’ve always owned you, Barry. This is just proof.”

He acts like it’s a joke. Makes snarky comments the whole time.

“Ooooh nooo I’m your pretty little pet now, what ever shall I do?”

But when you buckle it around his neck and yank the leash? His eyes flutter shut.

And when you murmur,

“Mine,”

he goes silent.

It breaks something in him—in the best way.

After? You find him wearing it while working at his computer, casually.

“Don’t mind me. Just a man in love.”

— CASSIAN CAIN ⋆

You don’t even ask. You just hold the collar out. Cassian looks at it… then slowly gets on his knees and bows his head forward.

No words.

You buckle it around his throat and hook your finger in the ring. He follows you without resistance. Crawls behind you silently. His body lean, powerful—but tamed.

You speak gently:

“My good boy…”

His breath catches. His fingers twitch. He nuzzles into your thigh like a trained dog.

Cassian doesn’t speak during it. He just moans. Whines. Purrs.

And afterward, he sleeps at your feet like a contented panther.

— STEPHEN BROWN ⋆

You show him the collar and leash and this man practically jumps into your arms.

“OH MY GOD is this real? Do I get to be your pet??? Please tell me you bought the matching ears too???”

He’s running around shirtless with the collar jingling like a bell.

“Bark bark! Ruff! Ruff! I’m such a good boy, aren’t I??”

“Stephen, sit.”

immediately drops to his knees wagging his ass.

He is the definition of “enthusiastic consent.” You walk him around the house. You make him beg. He even licks your hand.

“You gonna feed me treats next? Or am I the treat?”

The leash is practically glued to him. He even wears it during movie night and cuddles in your lap like your oversized lapdog.

— MASTERLIST ☆

— © luv-lock. Don't copy, use or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆

[endstar]

꧁𖦹"Well… okay, that’s a lot… she was… skittish? That’s how most would describe her, but I think it was fair with nine Gods hunting you down, along with having a small child in tow… ma was… quick, and constantly nervous and nonconfrontational. She could send someone through hell if she wanted too, but throughout my life I only saw her ever do it… ONCE… To avoid conflict, she wandered through the permafrost where there was little to no sunlight, to protect us from the other Numen. They wouldn’t dare follow us, because it would put us at risk of starving, and put them at their weakest… though it made Ma really sick. Though she was willing to go through that to protect… me. She never told me that was why but…"𖦹꧂

She pauses. Thinking

꧁𖦹“I knew it was… she was kind. In her own quiet way. She never spoke of her kindness or boasted. She was the type to leave flowers for someone with no note… lay food quietly on a table or do thing you love behind your back to make you happy. She would do that even when she was at her sickest… I hated it.”𖦹꧂

She looks up at lucifer.

꧁𖦹“I had to take care of her at one point. I begged for us to leave that place, because she was starving to death… but she refused. Said it was too dangerous. She said there were far more dangerous things than starvation… she said she’d be damned if THEY killed her and would rather have her body eaten by the polar animals, and her child safe, than her child dead, and her fur a rug.”𖦹꧂

The multiverse is full of infinite possibilities...

Most worlds tend to connect through similar builds. Through stories, people, themes...

It's no surprise seeing a stranger to the multiverse. What IS surprising, however, was his condition. Covered in deep wounds, limbs twisted and torn, and he appeared to be drowning in his own blood by the time he was found. Holy weapons were embedded in his skin, and the flesh sizzled liked bacon around it.

He had red skin, gray hooves, horns that looked far too round and circular to have normally grown out of his head. His long pointed tail is covered in hand prints, and there are bones exposed out of his back. He lays face first in a pool of his own boiling blood, barely breathing or moving.

@ask-underfazverse

Cry’s come from the mass amounts of strangers, many just back away to cowedly to do anything, but a few step up, and begin to heal him. Mainly the younger, less evil Malak’s, a few Doug’s that are just simply concerned, and only one Bierce.

Dream Malak very hurriedly takes him to his hospital, with the help of the others.

[bbokicidal]

Joyride | [B.C]

Synopsis: You hear a familiar voice line coming from your boyfriend's phone.

Notes: Thought this would be a fun little drabble between my 4K event posts! I thought of this while playing this month's Hunter Challenge or whatever they're called lol. Pairing: Bang Chan x GN!Reader Warnings: None Genre: Fluff Word Count: 646

Just as you had passed the living room to head into the kitchen you'd caught sight of your boyfriend sitting on the couch with his feet on the coffee table, his posture as horrendous as it could possibly get. His chin is tucked down against his chest, his thumbs tapping away at his phone screen when it's turned sideways in his hands.

He's focused, eyes darting across the colorful landscape displayed on his phone - and you automatically assume he's playing Genshin Impact from the noises coming from his speaker.

"Two stars," Chris huffs quietly under his breath, making you giggle as you open the fridge door and reach in to grab the juice. Shutting the door, you unscrew the cap with your free hand and set the bottle on the counter, continuing to listen to the sounds emanating from his phone.

"Whatcha doin', baby?" You coo, knowing it'll be at least a few seconds before he answers when he's caught up in his game. "Do you want to help me make lunch or should we order in?"

Chris lets out another breath before he answers, blinking rapidly at his screen as a white light flashes over it and the 'Victory' title displaying as the battle comes to an end. "I can help - Just give me one sec."

Just as you're about to reply and offer up some ideas for what you could cook together, something from his phone catches you off guard; A voice line you were all too familiar with.

"Are you up for a joyride, later?"

"Where do you want to take me?"

"Guess."

You whip around at the counter, one hand staying on it to keep you stable when you stare over at him. "Are you playing Love And Deepspace?"

Chris looks up, eyes wide and mouth pressed into a thin line as if caught red handed. "Maybe," He quips, giggling shortly after when you begin to approach him. His smile pulls at his cheeks and makes them dimple, the couch cushion creasing under your weight as you kneel beside him.

"Show me what outfits you have on the boys!" You grin, reaching to tap at his screen to try and get back to the main page. You want to see what guy he has to greet him, what outfits he puts the guys in, and how many Kitty Card badges he's collected! "Do you have any 5-Star Memories?"

Chris giggles, this time a little more sheepish as he taps into his Memories and tips his phone to show you four out of the five from this year's Valentines Event; The Event where the boys were all dressed up in chains and black leather outfits; The Event that introduced everyone to the characters with deliciously styled mullets. "I have these? But I don't have that many other ones," And he's a liar; Lying right to your face when you can see how many memories he has for Rafayel. Your jaw drops in disbelief and you grin, laughing out breathily at the sight of just how into the game your boyfriend was - and the fact that you had no idea.

"I cannot believe you," You breathe out, clicking through his memories while leaning into his side to see what all he has. And he welcomes it; Truthfully, he loves how into mobile games you are. It makes him feel better knowing sometimes he can spend hours on Genshin while you ogle pretty men in LADS while you lay in bed next to each other.

Chris smiles down at you while you're distracted, watching you go through his game to see all of his collectibles. Though, he's not going to address the fact that he's already level 93 - Nor is he going to mention why his affinity level with Rafayel is Devotion: 160.

He's wholeheartedly devoted to you, of course; But... come on; It's Rafayel.

Permanent Taglist :

@dwaekkicidal @possum-playground

@thatonedarkskinnedsiren @oc3anfloor @theyadorevalerie

@jeonginsleftcheek @pixie-felix @hwangjoanna @skzophreniic

@silly250

[lover-of-mine]

You should use your color theory powers to prove that Bobby is still alive

Okay, not exactly color theory but stay tuned to step into denial land with me.

One thing about the show is that it loves breadcrumbing. They do a lot of stuff that will make you go "oh, that is what that was" upon rewatch.

So, I made myself rewatch the lab stuff and from that we get Argument Number One: we never saw a body. We saw him pass out and a body bag. Bobby passing out does not mean he is dead because Chimney fully passed out and Chimney was bleeding a lot more than Bobby. And Chimney is alive. The seeing the body is important because we usually do see the body. We see Patricia's body, we have focus on Eddie with Shannon's body, we see Emmett's, we also Marcy's.

In other instances, like with Karen, Denny, Buck, we saw a monitor flatlining or some other confirmation that there is no pulse.

With Bobby we cut from him laying on the table to a body bag when they could've done a dramatic shot of Athena against the glass to parallel Bobby losing Marcy.

Argument Two: the song choice. Licensing Work Song by Hozier has to have been extremely expensive. And honestly, that song after the leaked scripts that he was gonna be buried alive was so...

When my time comes around Lay me gently in the cold, dark earth No grave can hold my body down I'll crawl home to her

Like, come on.

And not only that but the way the song overall can be interpreted as an suicidal alcoholic finding something to live for in love.

Boys, when my baby found me I was three days on a drunken sin I woke with her walls around me Nothin' in her room but an empty crib And I was burnin' up a fever I didn't care much how long I lived But I swear, I thought I dreamed her She never asked me once about the wrong I did

And the second verse catches my eye when we go back to Sick Day and we go back to bathena's dream house being an empty nest and Athena overall being the thing that tethers Bobby to life. Bobby wanted to die but starting to date Athena is the start of him accepting he found more to life than the things he lost. It all makes the choice of this particular song even more insane. He doesn't want to leave her. He will crawl back to her.

Argument Number Three: Bobby's halloween costume. He's a vampire.

An undead creature. An undead creature that in a lot of versions of the myth needs to go in contact with the virus venom then bleed out to be reborn. And coming back to the leaked script, in a lot of versions of the myth, the person needs to be buried to wake up in their second life.

Argument Four: Still on the buried alive line of thought, this happened in 811. Please note the way she grabs Bobby. We literally had someone be buried alive.

Argument Four bleeds into Argument Five: CDC recomendation for CCHF is to no autopsy, embalment, or do anything with the body beyond put the body bag in the coffin. @muddiedfoxglove has a more detailed post on that here. The situation in 811 is that the husband gave her cyanide, which should have killed her, but didn't, and buried her before checking for sure she was dead. Sounds familiar to everyone assuming the virus killed Bobby and not checking and him being buried with his full gear that includes his phone and will let him call 911 when he wakes up from this thing that should have killed him but did not?

Argument Number Six: the copilot from the plane disaster. In particular Athena's part in keeping him alive. He's powering through because there no other pilot, but then his heart stops. There's the whole effort to keep doing cpr while Athena fixes the situation and lands the plane, and then Athena chooses to stay in the plane, even thought it is on fire, to continue that and he ultimately makes it. Kinda like the way Athena fixes the situation with Chimney and is the reason Bobby has to stay alive.

Argument Number Seven: this parallel.

There's also the way Buck was dead, his light was on, Bobby's isn't on. We also had the full helmet in frame for Buck, and that did not happen with Bobby. But Buck makes it out of it alive.

Argumemt Number Eight: Jesus. 911 has added a lot of Jesus symbolism to Bobby this season. And it makes me wonder after meeting his mother in a church. And the fact that the episode aired on Holy Thursday. And the fact that the funeral is being filmed on the Hall of Crucifixion and Resurrection. The Easter of it all points to resurrection.

Edit: Wait, no, Argument Nine: 808 and the way Brad's character was supposed to be dead but has a "miracle recovery" no one could explain. Also plays into the Jesus of it all.

I think this is all I have for you. Hope you join me in denial land if you read this.

[izzih22]

Azzi seeing Paige at the press conference today and gets all hot and bothered seeing P look so good in the hat and uniform. that she mayyyyy ask her to do a certain something tonight in that hat and uniform…not asking for smut but lots of teasing and tension ;)

Leave the Hat On

Note: this is kinda shit I’m sorry 😂

Azzi had seen the outfit.

Her phone blew up the second Paige stepped out in front of the cameras — texts from teammates, friends, even her mom, all saying the same thing:

“Have you SEEN Paige?”

“Your girl’s a problem today.”

“The hat? The FIT???”

So when Azzi finally pulled up the stream on her laptop in her hotel room, she wasn’t exactly unprepared. Paige was in her new WNBA jersey — crisp, fitted, with BUECKERS stamped across the back. And then, as if that weren’t enough, someone handed her a cowboy hat.

And Paige — smirking, cocky as hell — actually put it on.

Azzi sat straight up. Blinked. Replayed the moment.

“…You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

Because it wasn’t just the outfit. It was the way Paige wore it. Casual. Confident. That barely-there smile tugging at her mouth like she knew exactly what she was doing.

Azzi didn’t hear a single word of the press conference. Her mind was otherwise occupied.

⸻

That night, Paige FaceTimed her from her new apartment. No furniture, boxes still stacked, but she looked relaxed — hoodie now, hair up, legs crossed on the floor.

“Hey,” Paige smiled. “Did you see the presser?”

Azzi stared at her through the screen for a second too long. Then said, very calmly, “Where’s the hat.”

Paige blinked. “What?”

“The hat, Paige.”

Paige narrowed her eyes, catching the tone. “You’re blushing.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’m hot.”

“You’re bothered.”

Azzi let out a slow breath, dragging her fingers through her curls. “I need you to do something for me.”

Paige leaned in, like she already knew. “Yeah?”

“Next time I see you… wear the jersey again.”

Paige raised an eyebrow. “You want me to wear my own jersey?”

Azzi tilted her head, smile slow and deliberate. “And the hat.”

Paige laughed, shaking her head. “You’re unreal.”

Azzi bit her lip, eyes darkening a shade. “I mean it.”

“Are you—” Paige’s voice dropped. “Is this, like… a request request?”

Azzi just smiled wider. “Consider it a… favor.”

Paige stared at her for a second, caught between amused and wildly intrigued. “You’re serious.”

“Dead serious.”

There was a pause. A beat of silence thick enough to crack open.

Then Paige smirked, that same lazy confidence from earlier sliding back into place. “So I wear the jersey. The hat. And then what?”

Azzi’s eyes flicked down, then back up slowly. “You’ll find out.”

Paige sat back, grinning like the cat that caught the damn sun. “I’m never throwing that hat away.”

“You better not,” Azzi muttered.

“Do I get anything in return?” Paige teased, voice low.

Azzi’s smile was dangerously sweet. “Yeah. You get me trying real hard not to rip that jersey off in under thirty seconds.”

Paige blinked.

“See you soon, cowgirl,” Azzi added.

Paige didn’t recover for a full minute.

[maddie0101]

the storm between us

summary: you can’t stand watching dean flirt with another woman—so you storm out of the bar, walk back to the motel in the pouring rain, and ignore his phone calls. when he finds you, angry and worried, the tension between you suddenly snaps.

tags/warnings: smut (mdni), best friends to lovers, heated argument, jealousy, angst, fluff, basically porn w little plot, worried!dean, angry!dean, angry sex, oral (fem receiving), p in v, dirty talk, overstimulation, squirting, nothing but pure filth in this fic, wrap it b4 you tap it plz, cussing, we love freaky dean! 🙂‍↔️

word count: 5k

note: I wrote this running on four hours of sleep—with a tiny cup of coffee, so I hope this is as decent as I think it is? literally about to put tape on my eyelids to hold them open 😭 but enjoy the pure filth I've written!

It started raining halfway through your walk back from the bar—cold, sharp, and unrelenting.

At first, you didn’t even notice. It wasn’t like the rain could make you feel any worse than you already did. Your skin was still hot, buzzing with anger, frustration, and something deeper that you couldn’t shake.

Dean flirting with a woman at the bar wasn’t anything new. You’d seen it a million times before, the way he always seemed to have that natural charm with everyone. But tonight, it hit different.

You hadn’t meant to just walk out without saying anything, but the moment felt like it swallowed you whole. All you’d needed was air, a little bit of space—anything to escape the sound of her laughter, the way Dean was looking at her like she was the only thing that mattered. It was like a punch to the gut every time he smiled at her.

By the time you made it back to the motel, your clothes were soaked through, clinging to your skin in that uncomfortable, heavy way only rain can manage. Your feet felt like lead as you walked down to the room.

The door to the room creaked when you opened it, and the faint hum of the old heater kicked on, almost like a sigh of relief.

You tossed your jacket by the door without even thinking, the fabric slapping against the floor. The room was dark, almost too quiet, and it felt like everything in it was holding its breath—waiting.

You stood there for a second, letting the stillness settle over you, the weight of everything pressing down. But then you didn’t even get a chance to catch your breath before the door flew open with a bang.

“Where the hell have you been?” Dean’s voice hit you like a slap. His eyes locked on yours, fire burning behind them. His clothes were soaked through too, water dripping down his face and into his eyes, his chest rising and falling like he’d just sprinted a mile.

You crossed your arms over your chest, trying to shield yourself from more than just the cold. Your heart was still racing, but now it wasn’t from the rain—it was from the anger that bled through his voice.

“I walked back,” you muttered, doing your best to sound unaffected. “Not like you were gonna notice.”

Dean shoved his way inside, slamming the door so hard it rattled the frame. “Are you serious right now?”

You couldn’t hold it back. “What?” you snapped, voice sharp. “I didn’t want to interrupt your fucking night.”

His jaw tightened, fists clenching. “You walked off in the middle of nowhere. Alone. In the fucking rain. Without telling me, without answering your phone. What if something happened to you?”

You scoffed. “I can take care of myself, Dean.”

“That’s not the damn point!” His voice cracked, and it hit you harder than you expected. “You think I wouldn’t notice you were gone? You think I wasn’t tearing this goddamn town apart looking for you?”

You stood there, frozen for a second, the weight of his words crashing into you. The room felt too small, too close, and the reality of how exposed you were, how vulnerable, made your chest ache.

Dean’s eyes never left you, but now they flicked over you, lingering on the way your soaked shirt clung to your skin and the hurt in your eyes.

His body was rigid, fists still balled tight at his sides “You think walking off like that was smart?” His voice dropped lower, almost dangerous. But it wasn’t cold—it was trembling with something else. Restraint. Like he was holding back a storm.

You could see the frustration and fear in his eyes, something raw and real. The tension between you two was so thick you could almost touch it.

Dean took a step toward you, his breath coming fast, but he stopped himself. The anger in his voice wasn’t just about the situation—it was everything. And in that moment, it hit you just how much he cared. And maybe, just maybe, how much you mattered to him.

You stood in the middle of the motel room silently, drenched from the storm, chest heaving, arms wrapped tight across your body—but it wasn’t from the cold. It was from the fire crawling up your spine.

“You’re seriously not gonna tell me what the hell that was?” he snapped. “You walk off, don’t answer your phone, vanish into the goddamn night like I’m not gonna notice?”

“Why do you care?” you shot back, eyes burning. “You seemed plenty occupied.”

“You think I wasn’t looking for you?” His voice was rising. “You think I didn’t panic the second I turned around and you were gone?”

“I didn’t ask you to come after me!”

“Yeah, well, you didn’t have to! I always do!”

You flinched, just a little, but your anger flared right back. “You don’t get to act pissed off when I didn’t want to stand there and watch you drool over some other woman like I wasn’t even in the room!”

Dean’s eyes narrowed, nostrils flaring. “That’s what this is about?”

You didn’t answer—just glared at him, your pulse pounding in your ears.

“You think I wanted her?” he growled, stepping toward you. “You think I gave a damn about her when you were sitting there looking at me like I ripped your heart out?”

“Then why the hell do you keep doing this to me?!”

“You don’t get it, do you? You never have!”

“Then spell it out, Dean, because I’m so goddamn tired of pretending this doesn’t mean anything!”

And suddenly, he grabbed you by the waist and slammed his mouth to yours, lips crashing together in a brutal, breathless kiss.

His hands were everywhere—digging into your sides, fisting the fabric of your soaked shirt, pulling you into him like he couldn’t get close enough. Your fingers tangled in his hair, yanking hard as you kissed him back with just as much fury. Teeth clashed and your bodies collided, raw, unfiltered, and burning with months—hell, years—of built-up tension.

Dean’s growl rumbled against your lips as he slammed you into the nearest wall. His hips pressed into yours, the heat between you undeniable, and still, your mouths never broke, never slowed. There was no time for air, no time for anything but the frantic push and pull of everything you both had been holding back.

“You make me fucking crazy,” he panted against your jaw, dragging his mouth down your throat. “Every fucking day.”

You gasped, clutching at his shoulders. “Then do something about it.”

Something dark flickered in Dean’s eyes—need, frustration, everything he’d been choking down for years. His hands gripped your thighs tighter, lifting you with a grunt and slamming you back against the wall, mouths crashing again in a brutal, breathless kiss.

He was everywhere. His hands, his mouth, the press of his body—there was no room to think, only feel. His hips rolled against yours, slow at first, but full of pressure and intent. You gasped again as the friction sent a sharp bolt of heat straight through your core.

“You want this?” he growled against your lips, his voice rough and wrecked. “Tell me.”

“Yes,” you breathed, barely recognizing your own voice—so desperate and needy it scared you.

He cursed under his breath, one hand gripping your ass, grinding harder into you now. You felt the hard line of him through his jeans, rubbing against you in all the right, devastatingly wrong ways. Your soaked clothes added to the intensity—everything sliding and pressing, heat bleeding through the chill of the rain.

You whined softly, the sound coming out involuntary leaving your throat before you could stop it.

Dean kissed you again, slower this time but deeper, like he was trying to memorize the way you tasted when you were falling apart. His hips kept moving, grinding into you with a rhythm that had your body straining toward him without thought.

“That’s it,” he murmured, lips brushing your jaw. “Just like that.”

Your head dropped back against the wall, eyes fluttering shut, thighs tightening around him. You could feel your body spiraling, every drag of friction building pressure you couldn’t escape from, couldn’t stop chasing.

“Dean—” you whimpered, barely able to speak.

“I know, sweetheart,” he rasped, voice thick. “I know. He wasn’t teasing or smirking. He looked wrecked—just as desperate as you were. His forehead dropped to yours, hips still rocking, and you were both panting like you just ran a marathon.

You clutched at his shoulders, nails digging in, legs trembling. “Please—”

“I’ve got you,” he said hoarsely, voice breaking. “I’ve got you.” Dean kissed you again, slow and searing, like he couldn’t bear to let go of your mouth. “I need you in that bed,” he muttered, voice rough with want. “Need to feel you come for me right.”

You barely had time to respond before he was carrying you across the room, setting you down on the mattress like you were something precious—but the heat in his eyes said he wasn’t done ruining you just yet.

He hovered over you for a breath, gaze flicking over your face like he was memorizing every shiver, every sigh. Then he was on you again, pressing you into the sheets, kissing you like he meant to ruin you. His hips ground into yours just right, and you gasped against his mouth.

“Dean,” you breathed, already unraveling.

He pulled back just enough to look down at you, eyes dark, lips swollen. “You know how long I’ve been thinking about this? About getting you underneath me, stripped down, spread out, begging?” His voice was low and rough, full of heat. “Gonna take my time with you, sweetheart.”

His hands found the hem of your wet shirt, fingers sliding under the fabric as he slowly dragged it up your body. You raised your arms instinctively, heart pounding in your chest, and he peeled it off with a determined, almost desperate urgency. The shirt was discarded without a second thought, but his gaze never left you—eyes dark, burning with need.

With one hand, he reached behind you, unclipping your bra, the straps falling away as if they were nothing. The moment your breasts were exposed, he couldn’t help but pause, his breath catching in his throat. He stared at you, his eyes drinking in the sight, and you could see the raw, desperate hunger in them. He was barely holding it together, like the sight of you was enough to make him lose his mind.

“Fuck,” he muttered, barely able to keep his hands steady. His fingers brushed over your skin, as if he needed to feel you, needing to touch every inch of you now that you were completely in front of him “You’re so fucking perfect.” Dean muttered, like he’d been punched.

He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss between your breasts before dragging his lips slowly up to one of them. His breath was hot against your skin as his mouth moved over the delicate curve, and then, without warning, his teeth grazed lightly against your nipple. A sharp jolt of sensation shot through you, and he couldn’t help but smile at the reaction.

Dean’s hands came up to cup your breasts, fingers flexing, rolling your sensitive flesh between his palms as his mouth followed suit, kissing and sucking, leaving dark, bruising hickeys that would sting the next day. He pulled away for a moment, just enough to watch you squirm, eyes flashing with that devilish glint.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he growled, before his lips returned, more urgent now, sucking harder, biting gently, marking you like you were his. His other hand slid down your side, teasing the waistband of your jeans, his touch light but deliberate—slowly driving you crazy with anticipation.

His mouth moved to your other breast, his fingers working at your nipple as his lips left another hickey, more forceful this time. “You like that, huh?” he whispered between kisses, his voice low and thick with desire. “Tell me you like it.”

You moaned softly, your hands gripping his hair as you arched into him, the teasing sensation driving you mad. Dean just smiled, continuing to mark you, not letting up, until your body was trembling beneath his touch.

His kisses trailed lower, soft and teasing as his mouth ghosted over your stomach. His hands were quick, fingers working at your waistband, unfastening your pants with a slow, deliberate rhythm. “Lift your hips,” he ordered, voice rough, and when you obeyed, he dragged your pants down, taking his sweet time, like he was savoring every second of it.

When he finally got them off, his eyes went straight to what you weren’t wearing underneath, and his breath hitched. “No panties?” he groaned, his voice low and dark, a mix of frustration and something else. “You tryin’ to kill me?”

You smirked, feeling a rush of heat at the intensity in his eyes. “Maybe I am,” you shot back, voice teasing, but the truth was, you were just as desperate for him.

Before you could say anything else, Dean dropped to his knees at the edge of the bed, dragging your legs apart like he couldn’t wait another second. “Look at you,” he murmured, eyes dark as they locked between your thighs. “Drippin’ for me already. You want this, baby? Want my mouth on you?”

“Dean—please.”

That was all he needed to hear. Dean dropped his head, moaning low as he dragged his tongue up your center in one slow, torturous strip. His hands slid under your thighs, lifting you up and holding you wide open for him as his lips latched onto your clit. When he sucked—hard—you cried out, the sound escaping you before you could stop it. Your head fell back against the pillow, body trembling from the force of the pleasure.

“God, you taste so fuckin’ good,” he growled against you. “Could stay here all night, make you come over and over until you forget your own name.”

Your hands shot to his hair, fingers tangling in the mess of it as he devoured you, his mouth working against your skin like he hadn’t eaten in days, desperate and hungry. He licked, sucked, and kissed with an urgency that left you breathless, as if this was the one thing he needed to survive.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he muttered, his voice rough and breathless against your skin as your thighs began to tremble, his hot breath sending shivers across your body. “Ride my face, sweetheart. Let me feel how fucking close you are.”

And you obeyed—hips rolling, your breath catching in your throat as your body strained toward that overwhelming, inevitable edge. His tongue moved faster, rougher, relentless, sending waves of electric pleasure coursing through your veins, pushing you higher with every flick.

“Come for me,” he rasped, voice thick with desire. “Make a mess all over my face. I wanna taste everything.”

And just like that, you shattered—loud, wrecked, and completely undone. Your thighs clamped around his head, your body convulsing as you came so hard, your vision blurred and everything else in the world seemed to fade away. But Dean didn’t stop. His mouth was still on you, licking and sucking through your release, groaning like he was starving, desperate for more—like he couldn’t get enough, like he’d never stop unless you begged him to.

Even as your body still twitched, the aftershocks rippling through you, Dean kept going. His tongue never let up, continuing to tease, to coax, until you thought you might just lose your mind.

“Thought you were done?” he murmured against your soaked skin, breath hot. “Oh, sweetheart… I’m not even close.”

He flicked his tongue over your clit again—light, teasing, just enough to make your hips jerk. A soft whimper caught in your throat, but before you could pull away, his hands gripped your thighs, holding you firmly in place.

His tongue moved in slow, torturous circles, dragging across your sensitive skin, sending waves of pleasure so deep you couldn’t think. Your legs started to shake, muscles trembling from the effort of trying to hold still.

“Too much?” he asked, his voice dark, heavy with something wicked, like he already knew the answer.

You tried to nod, tried to say yes, but all that escaped you was a broken, desperate moan, your body betraying you as you desperately tried to ground yourself in the sensation.

Dean’s grin widened—a wicked thing, full of trouble, the kind that made your heart race in anticipation. “That’s what I thought,” he murmured, voice thick with desire. “You’re gonna beg for it. Again.”

“Then I guess you’d better hold on.” He didn’t give you a second to recover. His mouth was back on you, tongue lapping at your swollen clit with slow, deliberate strokes—just enough pressure to make your body twitch, to send you teetering on the edge again before you could even catch your breath.

Your hands flew to his hair, trying to pull him back, but he only groaned and pushed deeper—tongue fucking you, one hand spreading you open while the other slid up to your chest, rolling your nipple between calloused fingers.

“You’re so fuckin’ sensitive now,” he murmured, almost in awe. “Look at you—shakin’ for me.”

Your body bucked, a second orgasm building fast, sharp, overwhelming. “Dean—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he growled. “You’re gonna come again. Right on my fuckin’ tongue. Give it to me.”

With a loud sob and a helpless cry of his name, your entire body arched off the bed as another orgasm ripped through you, even stronger than the first. Your legs trembled, your lungs burned, and your vision went white at the edges.

Dean only pulled away when you collapsed against the mattress, limp and panting, utterly ruined. He kissed his way back up your body, mouth slick with you, a satisfied smirk tugging at his lips. “You okay, baby?” he asked, voice low—gravel and heat laced with just a hint of concern, like he knew he’d wrecked you and wasn’t quite finished.

You nodded, barely, still trembling beneath him. Dean leaned in, brushing his mouth against your temple. “You’re doin’ so good for me. Such a good girl”

Then he sat back on his heels, and that’s when you really took him in—his hair damp and messy, clothes clinging to him from the rain. Water dripped from his shoulders, his jaw, glistening over the veins in his forearms as he reached for the hem of his soaked flannel.

He peeled the shirt off slowly, deliberately, revealing the solid cut of his chest, the ridges of muscle gleaming with rain. You couldn’t look away, your eyes tracing every line of him.

Dean tossed the shirt aside, watching you, his grin turning smug. “You just gonna stare at me like that?”

You leaned in, voice dripping with desire as you looked him up and down. “Yeah, I am. Just thinking about how badly I want you to fuck me right now.”

Dean’s expression darkened, the cocky grin falling into something more predatory. “Oh, I’ll make you wish you hadn’t said that.”

His hands went to his belt next, unbuckling it with maddening ease. He kicked off his boots and jeans, all slow, deliberate movements like he was giving you a show—and he was. Every soaked piece of fabric hit the floor with a wet slap until he was left in nothing.

You swallowed hard, heart hammering as he looked down at you—completely bare, flushed, and still throbbing from the two orgasms he’d already pulled out of you.

Dean smirked. “Look at you,” he murmured. “Still shaking. You gonna let me in, baby? Even now? When you’re all sensitive and messy and perfect?”

He leaned over you again, slow and warm, body radiating heat. His lips found yours in a lazy kiss, tongue tasting you, teasing, while his hand skimmed down your side and slipped between your thighs again.

You gasped when his fingers brushed over your still-pulsing clit, hips jerking. He pulled back just enough to watch your face.

“Still sensitive, huh?” he whispered, voice rough with want. “Good. I wanna feel you fall apart on me again. Wanna feel you squeeze around me while you’re still all wrecked.”

He nudged your legs apart with his knee, settling between them with a slow roll of his hips. You could feel him now, heavy and hard, dragging against your entrance but not pushing in yet. Not until you begged.

“Tell me you want it,” he said, voice a rasp, eyes locked on yours. “Tell me you want me to stretch you out, fill you up, make you come one more fuckin’ time.”

You whimpered, legs twitching around his waist, the slick heat of him teasing your entrance making it impossible to think straight. “I want it,” you breathed, barely a whisper.

Dean’s eyes darkened, a low groan vibrating in his chest. “Nah, sweetheart. Say it like you mean it.”

You blinked up at him, flushed and trembling, but when you spoke again, your voice came out clearer—needy. Honest. “I need you, Dean. I want you to fuck me.”

His jaw clenched, eyes locked on yours as he slid forward—slow, thick, deliberate. The stretch burned in the best way, and you gasped, nails digging into his biceps as he filled you inch by inch.

“Oh, fuck,” he hissed through his teeth. “You’re so tight. So fucking wet f'me.” He paused once he was buried to the hilt, letting you adjust, his head dropping to your shoulder as he fought to stay still.

“Feel that?” he rasped. “Feel how deep I am in you right now?”

You nodded, voice caught somewhere between a sob and a moan. “Dean—move, please.”

He lifted his head, that cocky smirk curling at the corner of his mouth again. “Anything for you, baby.”

He pulled out slow, just to the tip, then thrust back in—deep and smooth, grinding his hips against yours so you felt every inch of him. You cried out, overstimulated nerves flaring again, pleasure punching through your core like a live wire.

“That’s it,” he groaned, thrusting again, harder this time. “Fuckin’ take it. You’re doing so good. Such a good girl”

Every stroke was slow enough to drive you insane and deep enough to leave you aching. He knew exactly what he was doing—drawing you to the edge again, letting you feel it build. “You gonna come for me one more time?” he rasped, lips hot on your ear, voice thick and wrecked. “I wanna feel you come all over my cock this time.”

“Fuck—Dean—yes, please, I’m so close—” you gasped, hips jerking beneath him, too sensitive, too needy, but unable to stop. Every drag of him inside you felt like fire, like you were being split apart in the best possible way.

He grunted, grinding into you hard and deep, one hand gripping your thigh, the other slipping between your bodies. His fingers found your clit, and the pressure made your whole body jolt.

“That’s it,” he growled. “God, you’re so fuckin’ wet. Drippin’ down my cock, makin’ a mess all over me.”

You moaned, the words hitting you just as hard as the thrusts. “I—I can’t hold it—Dean, I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he said through gritted teeth. “You’re gonna give it to me, baby. Come for me. I wanna feel you lose it.”

And then he hit just the right angle, hips snapping up with brutal precision, fingers rubbing you fast, filthy, relentless, and your whole body snapped. Your orgasm hit like a lightning strike, your back arched, a cry ripped from your throat, and then it happened.

You gushed around him, soaking both of you, legs trembling as your body convulsed with pleasure that went beyond anything you’d ever felt.

“Holy fuck,” Dean growled, slamming into you deeper, harder, as you squirted all over him. “That’s it—that’s my fuckin’ girl. Look at this mess you’re makin’. Goddamn, you’re so fuckin’ hot.”

You sobbed his name, barely aware of anything but the pulse of your release and the stretch of him inside you. But Dean didn’t stop or slow, he fucked you through it, messy and rough and so good, chasing his own high now.

“Could watch you do that all night,” he groaned, pace getting erratic. “So fuckin’ tight, fuck—I’m gonna come.”

You grabbed at him, dragging him down for a kiss just as he let go, hips jerking, cock twitching as he spilled inside you. His whole body shuddered, a low moan torn from his chest as he rode it out with one last hard thrust.

“Jesus Christ,” he panted against your mouth. “You just—fuck—you nearly killed me.”

You were shaking, soaked, wrecked in the best way. “Good,” you whispered, grinning breathlessly. “You deserved it.”

Dean chuckled, low and breathless, his forehead resting against yours. He didn’t pull away just yet, instead brushing his lips softly against yours in a kiss that was slower, more tender, but still carried all that heat.

He ran his hand up your thigh, brushing the wet mess between your legs with just a light touch. “Shit… you made such a mess, baby. God, I love it.”

You flushed, the heat spreading through you, and you couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped. “Yeah? You liked it when I squirted all over you?”

“Liked it?” Dean shook his head, eyes dark with affection and something else. “Baby, I fuckin’ loved it. You’re unbelievable.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, and suddenly, the weight of everything between you two hit. It wasn’t just about the sex—it was everything that had been building, the connection, the pull that had been there from the moment you’d met. The way he couldn’t get enough of you—physically and emotionally. And now, with your bodies still tangled beneath the sheets, it felt like the storm inside you was finally passing, leaving something deeper in its wake.

Dean’s fingers brushed against your skin, tracing soft lines along your side, and you could feel the tension still humming in his movements. He wasn’t just holding you. He was clinging to you, as if he needed the reassurance that you weren’t slipping away.

He let out a breath, his voice thick with emotion, and it made your heart ache. “I love you,” he whispered, his lips just grazing your ear as he spoke. The words were so simple, but they carried so much weight, and you could feel the sincerity in every syllable. “I love you, and I’m sorry for yelling at you. I shouldn’t have done that. I—fuck, I was just scared.”

You blinked up at him, your pulse quickening as you processed his words. The heat between you wasn’t just physical anymore—it was raw, emotional, a need that ran deeper than anything you had expected.

“Scared?” you repeated quietly, lifting your head slightly to meet his gaze.

Dean nodded, his eyes dark and intense, but softened by the regret. “When you left the bar—when I couldn’t find you, I…” He trailed off for a second, trying to collect his thoughts. “I didn’t know what to do. And then I couldn’t get ahold of you? Fuck, I thought I lost you. If anything happened to you, I—I would’ve lost my mind. You mean more to me than I can even say.”

The weight of his words hit you hard, a lump forming in your throat as your chest tightened. You took a shaky breath, your heart racing in your chest, feeling every inch of the vulnerability between you. The fear in his voice, the rawness, it was more than you had expected.

“I love you too, Dean,” you whispered, your voice trembling just slightly. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. I don’t want to lose you either.”

Dean’s eyes softened, and for a moment, the anger, the tension from before. Everything seemed to dissipate. All that was left was this undeniable connection, this pull between you that was stronger than anything else.

He exhaled slowly, his expression a mix of relief and something deeper, something almost painful. “God, you have no idea how much that means to me,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

Without another word, he leaned down, his lips brushing softly against yours. The kiss was slow, tender, barely a whisper of contact, but it held so much. It was the kind of kiss that spoke of everything unsaid, everything felt but never fully expressed.

Dean pulled back, his forehead resting against yours, his breath warm against your skin. His eyes searched yours, filled with so much love and something close to pain, as if just looking at you was almost too much.

“I’m so in love with you, it hurts,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. The weight of his confession lingered in the air, and it made your heart flutter, a mix of joy and relief washing over you.

You smiled softly, feeling the same overwhelming love in your chest. “I’m in love with you too, Dean,” you said, your fingers gently tracing his jaw, memorizing the feel of him in this moment. “Always have been.”

Dean let out a breath, his body sinking into yours as he held you close, his arms tight around you, as if he never wanted to let go. “Then I’m never letting you go,” he whispered, his lips grazing your temple. “You’re mine, and I’m never fucking letting you go.”

You smiled against his skin, your heart at peace for the first time in what felt like forever. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

Dean kissed you again, this time deeper, a kiss that was all reassurance and love. When he pulled away, he rested his head against yours, his fingers lazily trailing up and down your back. “I don’t deserve you,” he muttered, his voice filled with awe. “But I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to show you just how much you mean to me.”

You couldn’t help the soft laugh that bubbled up. “You don’t have to prove anything. I already know. I love you, and that’s enough for me.”

He squeezed you tighter, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead as he held you in silence. And for the first time in what felt like forever, everything was perfect.

author’s note:

well, I hope y’all enjoyed this filthy fic I’ve created whilst running off of fumes! (I haven’t proofread it honestly, so I hope it’s up to par) 😅 my hormones are getting the best of me so I decided to write this smutty oneshot 🤣 lmfao. (this was supposed to be a drabble. I swear I’m trying to write more drabbles but I get carried away :)

If you’d like to send in a dean or soldier boy request, please don’t be afraid! ❤︎

— requests are open.ᐟᅟ please read request rules.ᐟᅟ

tags:

@freeluigihesbae @aylacavebear @supernotnatural2005 @bettystonewell @lieutenantchaos @bejeweledinterludes @ambiguous-avery @star-yawnznn @exansation @darkrose064 @megara0224 @saturnsooya @miss-marmalade @xo-zeze @kamisobsessed @megara0224

@cupidzbunny @imsiriuslyreal @jollyhunter @kimxwinchester @julsvdamxn @tinas111 @acesdiary @sapphic-destiel @callsign-ember @ladykitana90 @h8aaz (lmk if I’ve missed anyone or if you’d like to be taken off the taglist)

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my works

© maddie0101 do not copy or repost my works without my permission

[writing-girlie]

Just for tonight

Pairing: Jack Abbot x Fem!Reader

Blurb: When Jack finds you sitting around after shift he doesn’t ask you to explain, just offers a drink and a moment of quiet. No expectations, no pressure.

WC: 1k

Warnings: [Soft] smut, unprotected sex, I think thats all?

Notes: I don't know where this came from. I can't stop writing for this man.

You had reached the end of another shift. This had been your life for a few years now and you loved it but it was a lot. You’re hunched over on the bench, elbows to knees, staring down at your fidgeting hands. Jack stops walking when he sees you.

“Your shift ended nearly half an hour ago.”

You exhale a slow breath, “Yeah. I know.”

“Rough day.” Jack leans against the wall across from you, arms crossed. You let out a soft, dry laugh.

He stays quiet. You finally glance up. There’s no sharpness in your voice, just tired honesty.

"I just needed to sit for a moment. Breathe before I go home like this. I didn’t want to bring it with me.”

“Most of them are. I just want something that feels good. Something real, even if it’s just for a night.” You shake your head, embarrassed by the words as soon as they leave your mouth. “It’s stupid. I know. This isn’t exactly the job for comfort.”

Jack looks at you for a long time, like he understands exactly what you mean.

“No,” he says finally. “It’s not stupid.”

You blink up at him.

“Come to my place, just for a bit. We’ll have a drink. Sit down. You can breathe.”

You nod.

The drive to his place is quiet but not uncomfortable. When he opens the door you follow him to the living room. His apartment is calming, lived in but organised.

“I’ll get you a drink” he says, his voice quieter now.

You nod, sinking into the couch. You let your head fall back and close your eyes. Jack’s footsteps softly echo to the kitchen and back again. When you open your eyes, he’s holding out a glass of whisky.

“Thanks.” He sits down, not too close, not too far. You both take a sip.

“I didn’t mean to come off desperate earlier.”

“You didn’t.” He’s quick to reassure you.

You exhale, eyes still forward. “I just- I go home, force down a bite of something, I barely sleep, and when I do stop moving, I feel like I’m going to break.”

“You don’t have to keep doing it alone.” He softly says.

“You say that like it’s simple.”

“It’s not,” he agrees, glancing your way now. “But neither is walking around with all that weight and nowhere to put it.”

You hold his gaze for a second too long. Then you both look away at the same time. You place your drink on the side table to stop yourself from taking constant sips just because you don't know what to say.

When your eyes meet again, it’s different. You both lean in at the same time, your lips meeting in the middle. It’s not what either of you expected when you agreed to come over. You feel his hand come up, settle against the side of your face, thumb brushing your cheek, and when you pull back just slightly, your forehead rests against his. You don’t say anything. Neither does he, but he knows what to do next.

He gets up, places his drink down, and reaches for your hand. When you take it, he leads you down the hallway to his bedroom. You just stand for a moment, fingers laced in his. He reaches for the hem of your shirt slowly; he moves with care, giving you every chance to pull back, but you don’t. You lift your arms, letting him pull the shirt over your head.

You do the same for him. Your eyes trace over his well-built frame, the freckles that are speckled over his shoulders, and the soft rise and fall of his chest. Piece by piece you undress each other; nothing is rushed. You both know that this is about feeling something real and grounding.

Jack guides you back a few steps. When you lie back on the bed, Jack follows, bracing himself over you. He presses a kiss to your shoulder, then over your collarbone. With the soft kisses, he reaches down and lines his hard length with your pussy. He pushes inside inch by inch, filling you completely, your arms wrap around his back, and your nails softly trace over his skin.

You both stay still, just embracing how you feel until you whisper his name. He starts to move, setting a gentle rhythm. You can feel every part of him, and for the first time in weeks, you don’t feel like you’ll break. You lift your head to kiss him again, and your hand then naturally finds rest in his hair. His pace never falters or speeds up. It feels like he’s trying to remind you that you’re still worthy of softness.

The space is filled with the sound of shared breaths and a quiet creak of the bed. His eyes meet yours again, and something about it makes your heart beat faster. You move one of your hands from his back to besides your head to hold his hand. He holds your hand, gently squeezing it.

Your legs wrap around his waist, holding him closer as you feel yourself get closer to the end of this moment. Your voice is barely a whisper.

“Don’t stop.”

Jack's hand tightens around yours briefly, silently telling you that he won't stop. He rests his forehead against yours, your breath mingling. He lets go of your hand and slips it beneath your back, holding you closer.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers, his voice husky, and that’s when you feel yourself slipping, unravelling into the safety of his arms.

Your breath hitches as you reach the peak, and soft moans follow. It hits you gently, like rolling waves, and it leaves you trembling, your body pulsing around him. You nod at him, and mumble a please. You feel Jack's body tense as he fills you up. He buries his face into the crook of your neck.

After a moment he lifts his head and presses a kiss to your lips. He rolls onto his side, pulling you with him. You snuggle into his embrace, your head resting on his chest, his arms wrapped around you. You listen to his heartbeat with the sound of the city as background noise.

In that silence it’s just him and you, and the quiet realisation that maybe this isn’t just a one-night escape.

[ceoofglytchell]

To Yearn Is But To Know The Ache

Summary: Ever since his childhood, Aegon knows you to be reliable. You are his maid and you have helped him hide his love affairs for as long as he can remember. You are always there, until one day you aren’t anymore.

Pairing: Aegon II Targaryen x Maid!Reader

Word count: 5177 words

Warnings: no description for the reader except she’s female, longing, yearning, infidelity, brief abuse from alicent, forbidden love, friends to lovers, soft!miserable!aegon, bittersweet ending, open ending, no mention of Y/N

Notes: This is based on this request. I hope you like it, even though I changed some things about the ending. Likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated. Enjoy 💛

The first time you helped him hide his love affairs was when he was fifteen.

You, a young maid of the castle, personally dedicated to him because you were his age, came unannounced to his room one morning, believing he was still asleep.

Instead, you found him in bed with a woman considerably older than him. She was naked, and so was he.

You had accidentally dropped the tray containing his wine and breakfast, and the loud sound of a plate breaking on the hard stone floor of the castle had immediately jolted him and the whore awake.

His eyes had widened when he saw you standing in the doorway, so confused and innocent.

"Apologies, I—I did not mean to disturb you," you stammered uncertainly, already stumbling back a step.

"No, stop, wait!" the young prince quickly called after you, while the woman was already getting up, putting on her thin dress, and counting the gold coins the prince had drunkenly pressed into her hand the night before.

You stood there, confused, looking down at the floor with flushed cheeks, as he was still naked and you could see almost everything of him.

"I—" he began, but then stopped again. What could he possibly say in this situation? You saw it.

"She has to get out of here," he finally said pleadingly.

You stood in the doorway for another moment, wiping your clammy hands on your already dirty apron. He did not want to know how much work you had already had to do while he was still lying in bed, sleeping peacefully next to the woman who had taken his virginity the night before. It was the first time he had ever slept with a woman.

The prince's gaze was pleading, and you could not help but quickly rush to the chest where the laundry was kept. You pressed several dirty sheets into the woman's hands before heading straight to His Grace‘s wardrobe.

You pulled out a rather unassuming brown cloak and draped it over the woman's shoulders, concealing the thinness of her dress. The front was concealed by the amount of linen she was carrying.

Aegon admired, wide-eyed, how quickly you acted and how quickly you seemed to know what to do.

It was still clear that this woman did not belong to the castle, but since it was early morning, you simply hoped that the people milling around would not pay any special attention to the two of you.

No one paid any attention to the servants.

"You follow me, keep your head down, and do not say a word, understand?" you asked the strange woman, who was almost two heads taller than you.

She scoffed: "Why should anyone listen to you, little one? It seems to me you only recently started working here if you think this will actually work."

Your gaze lowered again, but Aegon sat up in his bed, the sheets wrapped around his waist so his lower half would be covered.

"And you are a whore I paid to follow me into my chambers. She is in my service. You will listen to her and you will ask no questions," he commanded in a firm voice he hardly recognized himself as using.

The woman bowed slightly. "Of course, my prince."

A small smile played at the corners of your mouth, and you curtsied as well. "Thank you, my prince."

With these words, you finally turned around and hurried out of the chambers with the woman in tow, hoping you would not be approached.

And you were lucky.

No one noticed you smuggling the prince's whore out of his chambers.

They did not notice the second time, nor the third, nor the fourth. The fifth time, you thought you were invisible, because how could it be that no one noticed the two giggling ladies who were still drunkenly following you around before you released them onto one of the secret passageways?

The years passed, and you continued to serve the eldest prince. You brought him breakfast and wine, laid out his clothes, made his bed, and smuggled the women he paid to sleep with him out of the castle.

It made him happy, and you enjoyed his gratitude.

However, something also changed as time passed.

You were no longer just his maid, but also his friend. The only one he had.

You were like the only shining star in a dark night sky. Like the single ray of moonlight that fell through the clouds at night.

He was your prince. The man to whom you were subordinate and to whom you had to show obedience, otherwise you would lose your work. You truly liked him, with all your heart and soul, but you knew you could not allow yourself to dream. You were merely a servant, and if you were gone, he would probably simply replace you.

A knock on the wooden door to your small chamber awoke you, still in bed, startled because for a moment you thought you had accidentally overslept and left your prince waiting.

But to your surprise, it was still the middle of the night.

Sleepily, still wearing only your thin nightgown, your hair loose and messy, you trudged to the door and opened it, only to find Aegon standing before you, a grin on his lips.

"Good morning, my little mouse," he greeted you in a mischievous tone. The one you knew all too well.

You were both grown up by now. He was married with two children, and you were still his favorite handmaiden. His only friend and the only person he trusted wholeheartedly.

"My prince? It is the middle of the night," you said sleepily, even stifling a yawn.

"True, yes. And please, call me Aegon. I have been telling you that for years," he replied with a sigh as he leaned against the doorframe, his amethyst-colored eyes looking you up and down.

He so rarely saw you without your uniform. He thought you were much prettier without it.

"And I keep telling you that I cannot."

A theatrical sigh escaped him and he hung his head. Why did you have to be so stubborn?

"Why not? We are alone right now, are we not?" he asked you, shaking his head, which made his already uncombed strands of hair even more tangled.

"That is true, but someone could come by at any time, and if they hear me call you by name, I risk losing my job," you explained seriously, folding your arms across your chest.

"But no one is coming right now!" the prince argued.

Now you were the one who sighed. "Why are you here, Aegon?"

When he heard his name roll off your tongue, he immediately looked back up at you, his eyes shining as if you had just breathed new life into them.

"I came because I wanted to ask you, my dear, if you would accompany me to the city?"

You looked at him as if he had lost his mind.

"Are you mad?" you asked him, your eyes widening, your fingers tightening on the handle of your door. You could slam the door in his face at any time, because you knew he would not report it. He needed you so you could hide all his affairs.

But you did not know that he did not need you just for that. He needed you like a flower needs the sun.

"Possibly," he replied with a chuckle. "So, what is your answer?"

"No!" you said immediately, perhaps a little louder than necessary.

"Shhh, little mouse, not so loud," he quickly countered, placing a hand over your mouth, which you quickly removed.

"Do not call me that," you said quickly, feeling a blush spread across your cheeks.

"What? You mean mouse? But that is what you are. My quiet little mouse," he replied instead, a smile forming on his lips and a playful gleam in his eyes.

"You are awful," you said instead, which made him chuckle in turn.

"So is that a yes or a no?" he asked again, leaning a little closer, causing your breathing to quicken.

"A no," you answered, and he nodded.

He had known you would not come with him. You would not make it that easy.

"Are you sure?" he asked with a mischievous grin.

Oh, you hated that grin.

"Go away, you fool," you giggled, closing the door with rosy cheeks.

The prince sighed, turned, and disappeared into the entrance to the secret passages known to few in the castle.

He hoped he would be able to show them to you thoroughly one day.

The next time Prince Aegon knocked on your door in the middle of the night, it was neither quiet nor discreet. It was panicked and loud, and you jumped out of bed the moment you heard it.

You rushed to the door, your nightgown wrinkled and not quite right in places, and your hair a disaster, and opened it, and what you saw broke your heart.

Aegon stood at your door, tears streaming down his porcelain cheeks like waterfalls and a fear in his eyes that made you tremble.

"My prince?" you asked cautiously, and just as you were about to lean toward him and place a gentle hand on his arm, he practically threw himself into your arms.

His face was buried in the crook of your neck and his arms wrapped around your waist as if you were the only thing keeping him alive.

You were overwhelmed. What was happening?

"Please, please, I do not want to—I cannot—" he cried desperately.

Your hands wandered into your hair and you tried to calm him by running your fingers through his mane.

"What do you not want, my prince?" you asked him in a gentle voice, even though you were more confused than ever.

"I do not want to be king, please, please—I cannot," he sobbed, his whole body shaking.

His crying grew louder, and you took slow steps backward, pulling him with you, until you were finally able to close the door and you stood alone with him in your dark, small room.

He had only been in here once or twice before, but he would stay here forever if it meant he would not have to wear the crown.

"What happened?"

He did not answer, just shook his head and watered your thin nightgown with his desperate tears. Meanwhile, he held on tight. The warmth of your body mingled with his and your scent filled his nostrils.

You were so warm and soft and all he wanted was to lose himself in you.

"Aegon?" you begged as you began to stroke his back tenderly, choosing to call him by his name this time.

Another sob escaped him before he finally managed to take a deep breath: "My father is dead."

Your eyes widened and his shoulders tensed, your hands no longer roaming his back.

You were holding the soon-to-be King of the Seven Kingdoms in your arms. You. A simple servant.

Since the moment the queen chose you as his maid, since the moment you first helped him hide his love affairs, you were his friend.

A good friend. Probably his only one.

And, by the gods, he needed you. When you were not there to brighten his days, he did not know what to do.

"They will crown me king, but I... I do not want that," he whimpered through tears that still wet his cheeks and made his face shine in the soft moonlight.

You nodded understandingly, because you have had this conversation before. The last time a few weeks ago, the first time three years ago.

"I want to be free, I want to live my life," he finally said, leaning back slowly so he could look into your eyes.

Your beautiful eyes, in which he could lose himself day after day and which he dreamed of at night. Over and over again, as if he were cursed.

But even if you were a witch, he would still run after you. Even if you had him under a curse, he would still come back to you again and again.

"Why are you here?" you asked him gently, tilting your head. You probably understood him better than anyone else, but you did not know why he had come to you tonight.

Deep down, you probably did know, but you did not want to admit it.

"I need help. I want to get away from here. I want to live a different life somewhere, a better one, and I wanted to ask you for help."

You shook your head, but he was not finished.

"Help me escape, darling."

"No, I—" you immediately tried to contradict him, but he was once again faster than you.

"Please, I beg you. I need to get out of here. This life… it is killing me."

"But your family?" you asked him cautiously. He would miss his mother, his brother, and his sister-wife, not to mention his little twins, whom you thought were so adorable.

Sometimes, when he was playing alone with them, he would ask you to come over. He was always happy with them, and you had never seen him smile so radiantly as the time little Jaehaerys wanted to be held by you.

"Mother will be furious, Aemond probably even happy, and Helaena... she will be better off without me. She deserves rest," he explained, a small, rueful smile creeping onto his lips. It held no humor at all.

"And your children?" you asked him, tenderly taking his hand in yours.

A year ago, you would never have taken his hand just like that, but, like everything in the world, it developed slowly.

Like the sun slowly rising over a hill. Only yours had not risen yet, but was just peeking over the hill.

"I love them. They are everything to me, but my sister is a wonderful mother. She can handle it," he said with a nod, and it almost seemed as if he would want to convince himself.

"Aegon—" you tried again, but he interrupted you again.

"Please," he begged. "I am desperate. I am afraid."

Another single tear rolled down his cheek, and in that moment you knew you would do anything he said.

Not because you had to, because he was your prince, but because you wanted to.

Because he was your friend.

You let go of him and hurried to your wardrobe. You pulled out two cloaks. A brown one for you so you could accompany him to one of the exits, and a light blue one for him so he could hide his silver hair under a hood out there.

He took it and wrapped it around his shoulders, buttoning up the cloak, and pulled the hood over his head while you did the same.

Silver strands of hair stood out, and a gentle smile spread across your lips.

You walked over to him and carefully tucked the strands into his hood, so that it would not be obvious that he was a Targaryen at first glance.

He smiled, and you smiled back.

And for a moment, Aegon's world made sense again.

"Come with me," the prince suggested as you stood together before one of the many entrances to the secret passages.

He held out a hand, one foot in the doorway and the other in the hallway where you still stood, your cloak wrapped tightly around your narrow shoulders. The expression on his handsome face was hopeful, and his eyes shone.

"I do not think that is possible," you sighed, clasping your hands together.

"Why?" he asked, always persistent.

"I work here. This is my life," you said, because that was what you truly believed. You did not consider that he could give you a new life. One by his side.

A shadow fell over his face, but still he nodded and took another step into the dark corridor.

"Good luck, Aegon," you said in a tender, loving voice.

"Good luck, little mouse," he replied, and you closed the door.

Aegon straightened his shoulders and took a deep breath before turning and running.

He did not hear one of the guards suddenly grab your arm, how you argued, how you pleaded.

He ran and you cried.

They found him drunk under the altar of the Mother in the Great Sept.

The White Worm had promised to hide him, but instead, Arryk and Erryk found him, followed by Ser Criston and Aemond.

He begged Aemond to let him go, to let him find a ship so he could sail away, but instead, they dragged him back to the castle against his will.

His mother had been disappointed; she hit him, told him he should eat something, and that a servant would be here shortly to help him wash and dress for his coronation ceremony.

The door to his chambers opened, and he did not even turn around. He was used to this. He knew you would probably come now, put a hand on his shoulder, and tell him everything would be all right.

But none of that happened.

"How would you like your bath, Your Grace?" a strange voice asked him.

He immediately turned to the person, his eyebrows furrowing as he realized you were not there.

Another maid stood at the door. Young, pretty, but she was not you.

No one was like you.

"My maid. Where is she?" he asked in the most authoritative tone he could muster.

The servant shook her head and looked down at the floor. "She is gone, Your Grace."

"Gone?" he asked immediately, standing up so quickly that his chair creaked across the floor and the girl jumped.

"Where is she?" he persisted, clenching his hands into fists.

"In the dungeons, Your Grace," the new servant answered him honestly.

"And what in the Seven Hells is my maid doing in the dungeons?" he asked, his voice becoming increasingly harsh.

"She was seen helping you escape. The queen had her banished to the dungeons as punishment."

Aegon could not believe what his ears were hearing. You, his little mouse, the light of his life, were rotting like a common criminal down there in that dark, cold, rat-infested hole, all because you helped him escape, which, to his dismay, ultimately failed.

"What?" His voice was quiet, full of disbelief, and his breath was coming in short gasps.

You did not deserve this.

You deserved all the happiness in the world, and now you were locked up.

Because of him.

"Your bath?" the girl reminded him, and he nodded, but his mind was far away.

He thought of you and of how disappointed you must be for him. How frightened you must have been right now.

His coronation had been a complete disaster. For the first time in his life, he felt seen and loved by people, and then suddenly a dragon emerged from the ground and almost killed him and his entire family.

He now stood alone and lost in his new chambers—his father's. The stench of the Milk of the Poppy still polluted the air, and the large model of Old Valyria, which his father had spent years building instead of playing with him or his siblings, still stood proudly in the center of the room.

The Conqueror's Crown heavy on his head.

He hated it. He hated everything about it.

But most of all, he hated that he could not help you.

In the carriage, he had asked his mother what her plan was for you. She said that the dungeon was a just punishment for treason against the crown. She had not listened to reason. He had tried so hard.

Suddenly, an idea came to him. He was the king. His word was law. He could do whatever he wanted.

Without thinking about anything, he hurried out of his father's chambers and headed toward the dungeons. Ser Arryk shouted something in his direction, but he did not hear.

He simply wanted to see you.

The dungeon was cold, wet, and dark, and your cell was no exception. You huddled in the corner, arms wrapped around your knees, which you held against your chest to give yourself some warmth and comfort.

You had been stripped of your handmaid's clothing, so you sat there in only your thin undergarment, which was now soiled.

You were told that the dungeon was only a temporary punishment and that Lord Larys Strong was still thinking about what to do with you.

Perhaps he would cut out your tongue? Have you whipped? Deny you food and drink so that you would wither like a flower? All of these things were possible, and you believed the man was capable of all of them.

He was frightening.

Suddenly, you heard footsteps in the distance, and you were already worried that your punishment awaited you. It would probably be even harsher than you could have imagined.

You had only wanted to help Aegon, and yet in the end, it had not achieved anything. Yet in the end, he had been crowned.

Your sacrifice had achieved absolutely nothing.

"Darling?" you suddenly heard a worried voice speak, and your eyes immediately widened.

"Aegon..." you whispered in disbelief.

He stood outside your cell, his hands clasped around the iron bars and the crown on his head. He looked beautiful, regal. But also sad.

"This is my fault," he said, shaking his head, causing a few strands of his silver hair to fall across his forehead.

"No," you replied immediately, sitting up slightly so that the light from the torches in the corridor cast shadows across your face. "You could not have known. I did not even know myself until the guards grabbed me."

Aegon let his forehead sink against the iron bars. "You should have come with me."

A soft laugh escaped you and you nodded. "Perhaps I should have, yes."

"We could have escaped together. We would probably be across the Narrow Sea by now. Imagine it. The two of us together in Essos or Yi Ti."

For a moment, you allowed yourself to dream. You imagined you two sailing across the sea together on a ship, reaching the shore of a city, finding a home, and starting a new life.

Together.

You rose from the dirty ground and walked slowly toward your prince—your king. His gaze softened, and you could see that he longed to hold you in his arms.

"What would we have been?" you asked him cautiously, and you too wrapped your hands around the cold bars of your cell. Your little finger almost touched his.

A smile played at the corners of his mouth. "What would you have wanted us to be?"

For a moment, you fought the urge to roll your eyes, but he was still the king. You had to show him respect, even if you were behind bars.

"We would have been friends... and maybe one day more than that," you confessed honestly.

He placed his little finger on yours, and you could feel warmth spreading across your cheeks. Blush. You blushed for him.

"I can imagine. We could have had a drink together one evening in a tavern or maybe a brothel—"

"I would not have gone to a brothel with you," you replied quickly, raising an eyebrow playfully. You knew of his lascivious nature and you would not have stopped him, but you certainly would not have gone to such a place with him.

"Fine, then to a tavern," he sighed. "We would have drunk wine together, and at one point I would have taken your hand. Of course, you would not have been able to resist my charms."

You just shook your head again and continued listening to him detail his fantasy.

"I would have leaned toward you, very slowly."

You had to swallow the lump in your throat as you pictured it in detail: "I would have put a finger on your lips and told you you were an idiot."

He laughed, and you saw that it came from his heart. For the first time since he came to you, his eyes sparkled again, and your heart leaped.

"I would have taken your hand and pressed a kiss to your fingers and told you you were the most annoying, beautiful woman in the world."

You leaned your head next to his and could feel your heart shattering into a thousand pieces. If only you had come with him. If only you had fled together.

"I am so sorry, Aegon," you said softly, but you meant it.

"Do not apologize to me, sweetling. Apparently this life was not meant for us," he said, turning so he could press a gentle kiss to your temple. He had never kissed you before, and he could only dream of what your lips would feel like.

"Aegon, I—"

Before you could utter the words that had been burning in your soul for years, a sudden clearing of the throat sounded not far from the two of you.

The king turned and stood across from Lord Larys Strong, the lord of Harrenhal. The man leaned on his crutch and regarded you with a knowing gaze. A shiver ran down your spine, and Aegon was not sure how to speak to him.

"Forgive me, Your Grace, but I came to speak with the prisoner," Larys said calmly.

Aegon had to bite back a scathing comment that would have insulted the man: "And I came to restore her to her previous role as a handmaiden."

Larys stepped closer to you, the echo of his heavy foot on the dungeon floor making it hard for you to breathe. "My king, she committed treason by helping you escape in the night."

"But I am back. I am the king. I decide the fate of my prisoners," he replied to the older man, who smiled in a way that made him instinctively stand up straighter.

"Just imagine the image this decision would paint. It could give villains the courage to break into the castle without fear of punishment. Servants might reconsider their loyalties. Do you really want to be seen as weak?" Lord Larys asked him in the same calm voice as before.

"No, certainly not," said the king. He needed you around him and he could not bear to see you in this cell, but perhaps the castle was no longer a place for you.

Perhaps you finally deserved better than this.

He looked into your eyes—into those beautiful, pure eyes—and he knew he had made a decision, even if you would not ike it.

"Can you be discreet?"

"Very discreet, Your Grace."

"Take her away from here. As far as possible, so she will be safe. She will live in a house, be treated like a lady. She will want for nothing," he said firmly.

Your eyes widened and you grabbed his hand. You could not believe it. You did not want to leave. All you wanted was to stay with him and continue to be his servant.

"No, please—"

"I will have her taken to Essos. I know a place. She will be fine there," Strong assured his king with a nod.

The cell keys jingled loudly as he pulled them from his cloak. You watched as he opened the cell door and placed a hand on your arm. You obeyed without a word and stepped out of the cell.

The cell door slammed shut behind you, and without wasting a second, Aegon wrapped his arms around you, holding you tightly against his chest.

"I will leave you alone for a moment," the lord said, hobbling a few steps toward the dungeon exit where he would be waiting for you.

Your king's face was buried in your hair, and he held you so tightly it almost hurt. Your arms were also wrapped around him, and all he could think about was that he could not let you go.

You were one of the only things keeping him alive.

"You cannot go. You cannot," he murmured into your curls.

The mere thought that you would not be there to shoo him out of bed in the morning, to choose the right clothes for him, spending hours looking for him and talking to him about everything and nothing was frightening.

He did not want to imagine it.

"He is right, you know? I do not want people to see you as weak. You will be a good king, even without my services," you whispered gently.

You did not want to leave him either. Especially not now, but Lord Strong was right. It might be a way to shed real light on him if he reinstated you as his servant. After all, you committed treason against the crown when you helped him escape.

"I do not know how I am going to manage this."

A smile formed on your lips and you stroked his back. "You have an experienced council that will support you. You just have to lean into them."

The young king shook his head: "I do not know how to act."

"You just did it. You took action, and your decision is good. It is the right one," you answered him calmly and as gently as you could.

He hugged you even tighter. "But it does not feel right."

You leaned back and looked into his eyes, placing a hand on his cheek. His skin was warm and soft, and you wished you had had the courage to talk to him before.

"I love you," you finally said, your words honest and long overdue. You loved him when you were just a young girl and he was still the prince who woke up drunk and in bed with a new woman every day.

You saw the exact moment his eyes filled with tears and he realized he should have dragged you along against your will so you could now be together forever.

"Seven Hells, I love you too. I love you more than anything," he said, leaning his forehead against yours.

Even though you were dirty, cold, and would rather be anywhere but the dungeon, you were happy in his arms.

He leaned down to press his lips against yours in a gentle kiss, but you placed a finger on his lips.

"Kiss me when we meet again," you whispered, and he took your hand in his and pressed a kiss to your fingertips instead.

This was not a tavern, and you had not had anything to drink, but the moment was the same one you had talked about.

"I promise you, little mouse."

He watched you leave, and he could practically hear his heart breaking and feel his smile fade.

You had never been happier than you were in Essos, on a small estate as the lady of the house.

And Aegon?

He promised himself that one day he would see you again, so he could finally steal the kiss you had promised him.

Even if he was half-burned and full of shame.

The Divider is from the wonderful @zaldritzosrose !

Taglist: @bey0nd-1he-stars @sassypain @hisfavegirl @dahaenatargaryen @sylasthegrim @danytar

[bibli0thecary]

love in loaf form ౨ৎ

pairing: baker! joel miller x reader

In a world with no outbreak, Joel Miller runs a popular bakery—grumpy, flour-dusted, and way too serious about sourdough. His daughters, Sarah and Ellie, are either helping or causing chaos behind the counter.

Then there’s you—a stressed-out grad student who starts doing your thesis in his cozy café. You only came for the pastries… and the baker.

p.s this might be a series to heal us all from season 2 :)

update: it is a series! baker! joel miller masterlist

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．

The bell above the door jingled softly, announcing your arrival into Miller’s Bakery.

A wave of warm, sugary air wrapped around you like a hug—vanilla, cinnamon, and fresh sourdough mingling in the air. Your shoulders, stiff from the weight of grad school deadlines and thesis stress, loosened with your first deep inhale.

“Hey,” called a familiar voice—Sarah, all bright-eyed and friendly behind the counter. “Your usual table’s open. Dad already put out a fresh batch of lemon scones.”

“Tell your dad I might marry him for those scones,” you joked, shouldering your bag and heading for your usual corner.

“You’d be his favorite customer then,” she teased with a sly smirk. “Not that you aren’t already.”

You settled in, pulling out your laptop, your thesis notes, and a mechanical pencil. Just as you were about to start typing, a shadow fell across your table.

Joel Miller stood there—broad, flannel-clad, dusted with flour and something else warm. He held a plate in one hand, a mug in the other.

“You forgot your coffee,” he grumbled, setting it down. “And I threw in a scone. No charge. Don’t argue with me.”

You blinked, heart skipping for no good reason. “Thanks, Joel.”

He gave you a half-nod and turned to walk away, then paused.

“You writin’ that big paper of yours?”

“My thesis. Yeah. Trying to.”

He grunted, nodding toward your screen. “You want quiet, might need headphones. Ellie’s comin’ in soon. She’s got opinions on frosting. Loud ones.”

As if on cue, the door slammed open and in strolled Ellie—sarcastic, sharp-tongued, and already arguing with one of the employees about whether brownies should have walnuts or not.

You smiled. “I think I’ll manage.”

Joel watched you a second longer than necessary, then muttered something about checking the ovens and walked off, rubbing the back of his neck.

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．

You’d been coming to Miller’s for weeks now. At first, it was the ambiance—a cozy, sun-washed café tucked at the corner of campus life. Then it became the lemon scones. Then it became the people. Then—though you wouldn’t admit it out loud—it became him.

Joel Miller was… complicated. Gruff and quiet. Witty when he wanted to be. He moved like someone who’d done a lot of hard work in his life—hands thick, arms strong, eyes always observing. There was something in him that made you feel steady. Like the world could be falling apart, and he’d still make sure the bread rose, the coffee brewed, and your thesis stress was met with a fresh muffin and a muttered, “Eat somethin’.”

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．

One evening, when the bakery had mostly emptied out, Joel came to your table again, flour on his cheek and a tired look in his eyes.

“You been sittin’ there for four hours,” he said.

“Deadlines,” you answered with a sigh.

“You eat dinner?”

You blinked. “No. Forgot.”

He rolled his eyes, muttered something that sounded like “goddamn kids,” and returned with a sandwich, a cup of soup, and a soft expression you hadn’t seen before.

“You’re too good to me,” you said gently, the steam from the soup warming your face.

He looked at you a long moment. “Nah,” he said. “You just… you remind me of someone. Someone I’d wanna look after.”

There was a quiet between you then, the kind that said more than words.

You smiled. “You’re not as grumpy as you pretend to be.”

“Don’t fall for me.”

Too late. You were already falling.

₊˚⊹♡

[saatorus]

had the brightest idea…sukuna x tattoo artist reader..😪😪

wc: 1.4k

warnings: smut (unprotected sex)

authors note: anon anon anon. i need to pull your head off so i can get access to your brain like kenjaku so that i can give your smart brain a lil smooch. this was fun to write :3

The first time he walked into your studio, he had zero tattoos. Just scars from what looked like getting into fistfights and that sharp, cocky grin.

You didn’t think he was serious. Guys like him—too smooth, too smug—usually just wanted to flirt and bounce. But he picked a design off your wall, pointed to his chest, and said, “Right here. First one. Don’t fuck it up.”

You didn’t. In fact, he looked almost… reverent, watching you prep. Like he wasn’t used to being touched gently.

You assumed he’d be a one-and-done. He was not. He came back the next week, shirt already off when he walked in. “What’s up, picasso shawty. Wanna do my ribs next?”

You rolled your eyes so hard it hurt, but you let him sit. Again. And again.

He kept coming back. More tattoos. Bigger pieces. One on his back. One winding around his thigh. Some you designed just for him—your art permanently etched into his skin.

Your studio’s small. One chair. Walls covered in sketches and post-it notes. Half your tools are secondhand, but your work is crisp—clean lines, solid shading. Sukuna never comments on it directly, but he never lets anyone else touch him. Not once.

You pretend not to notice how he watches you set up. The way he stares at your hands like he’s memorizing every move.

He’s always saying dumb shit.

“If I say something filthy mid-session, will you mess up on purpose?”

“If you talk while I’m doing linework again, I’m putting a Hello Kitty on your ass.”

“Tempting.”

You keep it professional for months. Years. But it’s not cold—it’s comfortable. Inside jokes. Dumb snacks during long sessions. Him crashing on your couch once when it got too late. You drawing a fake tattoo on his thigh with sharpie “just to mess with him.”

One night, you’re doing a detailed piece low on his hip. He’s quiet, for once. Then:

“You ever think about how many hours you’ve spent touching me?”

You blink.

“You ever think about shutting the hell up?”

But your voice cracks a little.

The shift is small. He starts showing up without appointments. You don’t kick him out. You start drawing designs with him in mind. You stop correcting him when he calls you “baby” just to mess with you.

One night, it’s late. Like should’ve closed an hour ago late. The shop is quiet, just the soft hum of the fluorescent light and whatever chill R&B playlist is still looping from your phone. You’re cleaning up after a late session with Sukuna—again. He’s lounging in the chair, shirt half-on, scrolling on his phone like he lives here now.

“You know I have other clients, right?” you mutter, wiping down your machine.

He doesn’t look up. “Yeah? You tattoo them like you do me?”

You pause. “What the fuck does that mean?”

He looks up now, real slow. Smirk twitching at the edge of his mouth. “Means you get real quiet when you're working on me. Like you’re focused or… like you’re trying not to think too hard.”

You toss the rag on the tray, annoyed. “I don’t know if you know this, but that’s actually called doing my job.”

“You’re shaky sometimes,” he adds, casual. “Especially when I’m shirtless. Or when I ask for spots you gotta like, get on your knees for.”

You scoff. “You think you’re hot shit.”

He stands. Walks up, real close. “I know I am. But that’s not the point.”

Now he’s right in front of you. Not touching—but close enough that you feel him. Heat off his skin. The scent of his cologne and smoke and something distinctly him.

“You wanna do it or not?” he says, voice low, like he’s done waiting.

Your stomach flips. “Do what?”

“Come on,” he mutters, like he’s tired of the game. “You’ve been looking at me like you want to fuck me since the third tattoo. You gonna keep pretending or you gonna let me fuck you in that chair of yours?”

Your throat goes dry. You stare at him—cocky bastard, red eyes burning into yours, hands flexing at his sides like he’s holding back too.

You don’t say anything. Just grab the front of his hoodie and pull him in. Not your proudest moment professionalism-wise, but he kissed you like he’d been waiting for this.

The kiss is messy. Too fast. All teeth and tongue and breathless gasps. You don’t know who moans first—doesn’t matter. His hands are already on your ass, pulling you in like he’s starving.

You shove him back into the chair. Straddle him. His hands slide up your shirt, palms hot and rough, and he mutters, “Been jerking off thinking about this for months, fuck.”

Your fingers are already at his belt. “Shut up.”

“Not a chance,” he laughs, voice wrecked. “You’re gonna hear how bad I wanted this.”

You sink onto him right there, still half-dressed, the whole thing rushed and reckless. The studio smells like ink and sweat and skin. He’s gripping your hips like he’s afraid you’ll vanish. And you’re riding him like you’ve been needing it just as bad.

No soft words. No slow build. Just the creak of the chair. His filthy mouth in your ear. Your nails digging into his shoulders. And that broken sound he makes when you clamp around him, whispering “Fuck, don’t stop—”

Before you know it, you’re clamping down on him, hard, your orgasm washing in pleasurable waves over you. He follows suit, a final thrust of his hips, emptying his load inside of you.

The only sound is your breathing—still uneven—and the low thrum of the playlist you forgot was even on. You’re half-naked in your own damn studio, still straddling Sukuna in the chair, clothes tugged out of place, skin flushed and sticky with sweat and everything you’d been ignoring for way too long.

You shift off him with a wince. “Holy shit. That chair is not designed for fucking.”

He groans and leans back like he’s broken. “Speak for yourself. I’m thriving.”

“You’re gonna walk outta here bow-legged.”

“Shut the fuck up. I’ll limp home with dignity.”

You tug your shirt back down and start reaching for paper towels, the reality of what just happened catching up to your brain.

“Yo—chill,” Sukuna mutters, standing up behind you and gently taking the paper towels from your hand. “I got it.”

You blink, thrown off.

He gives you a flat look. “I just fucked you in your sacred little tattoo chair. Least I can do is wipe you down…and the damn chair down too.”

You snort, but your stomach flips at the way he says it—casual, like it’s no big deal, but not teasing either. 

He gently parts your legs, a grin on his face when he sees himself seeping out of you, wiping the mess clean. You lightly push your foot against his chest when he continues staring and he finally relents, snickering and grabbing your disinfectant spray.

He grabs a fresh towel, sprays down the chair, even gets the floor where one of you knocked over the rinse cup. You watch him for a second—shirtless, pulling on your pants and standing up—shakily— still flushed, watching the glint of his rings on his fingers as he moves. Like this is just part of the routine now.

“Don’t get used to this,” he says, not looking at you. “I just—y’know. Respect the tools.”

You raise an eyebrow. “So what, fucking me is now a line item on your cleaning checklist?”

He grins, tossing the used towel into the bin. “Only if it’s a recurring event.”

You scoff and toss him a water bottle. He catches it midair without flinching, cracks it open like this is just… normal now.

And maybe it kind of is.

He walks back over, presses the cold bottle lightly to your cheek with a smirk. “Still blushing?”

“Still annoying.”

“Still wet?”

You swat him, laughing despite yourself, but you don’t pull away.

There’s a weird quiet after that. Not awkward—just new. Like something’s shifted and neither of you’s pretending otherwise.

You break it first, voice lower now. “So… you still want that piece over your heart?”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “If it’s your name? Yeah.”

“You’re so corny. That trend died in 2015.” You roll your eyes, but the smirk tugging at your mouth gives you away.

And when he leans in and kisses you again, actually moving his lips against you with a soft precision, different to how his tongue had been plunged into your mouth just minutes before. He grins—sharp— before uncapping the water bottle.

After a sip of the water, he looks at you over the bottle. “So… you free next week?”

You narrow your eyes. “For what?”

He shrugs. “Tattoo. Fuck. Hang out. Whatever. Don’t pretend you’re not thinking about doing it again.”

You groan. “You are so lucky you’re kinda hot.”

He winks. “And marked up like your own personal sex doll. Admit it—you liked the dick.”

You’re smiling this time. It’s different now. Maybe him being a regular wasn’t so bad at all.

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

Babe I need a pick me up pleeasassseee

can I please request Simon and wife ! Reader want to go out for a long weekend for their anniversary, Simon (unfortunately ) trusts and puts Gaz and soap in charge of Tommy while they are gone

Chaos ensues

Boys on Their Worst Behavior

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Wife!Reader

Warnings: Fluff, chaos, dad!Simon, uncle!Soap and uncle!Gaz disaster babysitting, minor swearing, a child on a sugar high, a destroyed couch, accidental hair dye, offscreen spicy anniversary celebration, hangovers, absolute mayhem

Author's Note: Warning, do not leave your child with their two chaotic uncles! Otherwise you get chaos, now with 200% more poor decision-making and loving regret. Enjoy!!

Summary: You and Simon want one long weekend for your anniversary. Just one. He’s hesitant to leave Tommy behind—but you convince him to trust Soap and Gaz, who are way too eager to babysit. Unfortunately, you both severely overestimate their parenting skills.

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

It all started on a Thursday afternoon.

The living room was warm, Tommy was building a Lego fortress in front of the TV, and you were curled up in Simon’s lap with your head on his shoulder, scrolling through hotel listings on your phone.

"Look at this one." You angled the screen toward him—a cozy little cabin by a lake, complete with a private hot tub and no internet service. "Three nights. Quiet. Remote. Romantic."

Simon made a thoughtful noise but didn’t say yes.

You tapped your finger against his chest. "Come on. We never get time like this."

"We’ve got time now," he murmured, nosing behind your ear and making you giggle. "Tommy’s busy, the house is quiet—"

"Yeah, for twenty minutes. Then someone’s throwing a tantrum because we won’t let him wear his Spider-Man costume in the bath again."

Simon huffed a quiet laugh, rubbing circles against your back. "Don’t want to leave him with strangers."

"I wasn’t thinking strangers," you said, lips curling into a grin. "I was thinking… Soap and Gaz."

He pulled back and looked at you like you’d just suggested setting the house on fire for fun.

"No."

"Simon—"

"Absolutely not."

"They love him," you said. "Tommy loves them."

"They once let him eat ten mini cupcakes and then put him in a cardboard box to race down the stairs."

"That was kind of my fault."

"He called it the ‘S.S. Yeet Machine.’"

You grinned. "Tommy’s creative."

Simon muttered something under his breath, but you weren’t giving up. You climbed fully into his lap, facing him with your hands on his shoulders and your best sweet-eyes stare. "It’s one weekend. Our anniversary. Remember? The one where we swore we’d actually get away this year?"

His brows knit together. "What if something happens?"

"We’ll leave emergency numbers. A whole list. I’ll prep all the food. And I’ll bribe Soap with those lemon bars he likes."

He stared at you for a long beat. Then at Tommy, who was now making explosion noises and knocking over Lego towers.

"…you’re really gonna bribe them with lemon bars?"

You kissed his cheek. "Already made them this morning."

—

The Drop-Off

When Friday morning rolled around, you and Simon packed the car with overnight bags and a cooler full of carefully prepped meals. Simon triple-checked the emergency folder. You left sticky notes on the fridge, the bathroom mirror, and even the dog.

Gaz and Soap were waiting on the porch when you opened the door—matching grins, sunglasses, and a terrifying amount of confidence.

"Operation ‘Cool Uncles’ is a go!" Soap declared.

Tommy ran past you in a blur, launching himself into Soap’s arms. "UNCLE JOHNNY!"

Soap spun him around. "What’s up, gremlin?!"

Gaz took Tommy’s bag and gave you a hug. "Don’t worry, love. He’s in excellent hands."

Simon squinted. "Define ‘excellent.’"

"Alive, fed, entertained," Gaz said, ticking off fingers. "In that order."

Simon gave you a look that screamed this is a terrible idea.

You smiled sweetly and kissed his cheek. "Let’s go, soldier. We have a lake waiting."

As you drove off, you glanced in the mirror and caught a glimpse of Tommy jumping on the couch with a Nerf gun, Soap cheering him on, and Gaz trying to remove a juice box from the DVD player.

Simon groaned and muttered, "We’re never gonna see the house in one piece again."

—

Day One: Descent Into Chaos

By 9:13am, you were sitting on the porch of your lakeside cabin, coffee in hand, soaking in the quiet. Simon was beside you, surprisingly relaxed—until his phone buzzed.

Sparklez Man✨🤩: He ate three toaster waffles and a handful of marshmallows. He’s vibrating. Help.

Simon stared. "What the hell do they mean vibrating?"

Ten minutes later, a video came through: Tommy sprinting in circles around the living room in his dinosaur pajamas, blurting out something about a secret mission and how his new name was "Agent Blue Lightning."

Soap was laughing in the background. "He’s got so much energy! Think we broke a record!"

Sparklez Man✨🤩: "He’s speaking in tongues."

Simon gave you a look that screamed, ‘We’re going home.’

You tugged him back down. "Nope. You’re going to drink your coffee and pretend we don’t have a son for 72 hours."

—

Later That Day

Gaz attempted bath time. You knew this because at 7:12pm, Simon’s phone buzzed again.

Sparklez Man✨🤩: We tried to do bath time. He escaped. He’s hiding under the bed and hissing like a cat.

Bubble Head🧼🫧: He bit me.

Sparklez Man✨🤩: He’s literally holding us hostage with a plunger.

Simon set his phone down, deadpan. "I changed my mind. He is feral."

You, very happy that you had the chance to say those infamous words to Simon. You didn’t hesitate when, "Told you so," slipped from your lips.

At 8:00pm, a final photo arrived: Tommy passed out on the couch, a fake mustache drawn across his face, wrapped in a blanket like a burrito.

Bubble Head🧼🫧: He fought valiantly. But we won.

Simon shook his head and whispered, "He’s biding his time."

—

Day Two: Mistakes Were Made

9:00am – You were lazily tangled with Simon in bed, sharing breakfast when another ping hit.

Sparklez Man✨🤩: He asked to dye his hair like Uncle Johnny. I thought he meant temporary spray. Soap gave him semi-permanent blue. It’s... very blue.

Simon sat up like he’d been shot. "They what?"

You choked on your orange juice. "Please tell me it’s not—"

Another message came in. A video.

Tommy stood on the table, shirtless, now sporting neon blue hair and wielding a plunger like a sword.

"I AM UNCLE SOAP JUNIOR!"

Simon immediately sent a message,

Skull Head💀💍: We’re coming home.

Best Mama✨💍: Just make sure Tommy is alive please when we get home!!

You, laughing so hard you cried: "We are not. This is the best anniversary ever."

—

Day Three: Silence Is Never Good

By midmorning, you noticed something strange.

No texts. No chaos. No updates.

Simon frowned. "Either they’ve finally figured it out or they’re unconscious."

You were still debating when your phone buzzed.

Bubble Head🧼🫧: We’re alive. Barely. Your child put gummy bears in the coffee machine. We now serve ‘Espresso à la Diabetes.’

A follow-up message from Gaz had you concerned.

Sparklez Man✨🤩: Couch is broken. Don’t ask. Just know Tommy learned how to suplex.

And finally: a photo of Tommy knocked out in a blanket fort, Gaz face-down beside him, and Soap sitting on the floor, eyes vacant, ice pack on his temple.

Bubble Head🧼🫧: He won.

—

Coming Home

You pulled up to the house Sunday afternoon. Everything was... quiet.

Too quiet.

The door creaked open. The living room looked like a war zone. The couch listing to one side. Juice box puddles on the floor. A slice of cheese on the ceiling.

Tommy ran straight into Simon’s legs, shouting, "DADDY! I HAVE A NEW NAME! I’M THE WARRIOR KING!"

Simon blinked.

Soap walked in holding a mug that read #1 Uncle, looking like he hadn’t slept in years.

"Welcome home. He’s yours now."

Gaz dragged himself in next. "We’re not having kids. Ever."

Simon turned to you. "Next time, we’re bringing him."

You laughed, grabbing his hand. "Next time, we leave him with my sister."

—

That night, in bed, Simon lay flat on his back, staring at the ceiling.

You curled into him, completely blissed out. "Best anniversary ever."

He grunted. "They dyed his hair."

"He looks cute."

"They broke our couch."

"He learned how to suplex."

He paused. "…That one’s on you."

You smiled against his chest. "Still. Worth it."

He looked down at you. And despite it all—despite the hair dye, the Nerf guns, and the chaos—he nodded.

"Yeah. Worth it."

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

[alisonwritesimagines]

Sick Day ~BatFamily Imagine~

Summary: You get sick but it's a good thing your kids take care of you.

Author’s Note: I finally thought of something after having writers block for how long?

BatFam Masterlist

Reader’s Pronouns: She/Her

Warnings: none

Do not repost this anywhere!

Ever since they knew you, the kids could rely on you no matter what. Really. If they were sick, you would hold their hand as they took medicine and watch movies until they felt better. If they were badly hurt, you would kiss their booboos and they would suddenly feel better. If they were sad or overwhelmed, you would either give them ice cream or go for a walk. No matter what, you were always there for them.

So when you came down with a bad cold and fever, the kids were on top of it.

"Mom, I brought you some chicken noodle soup," Dick said as he walked over with a bowl that Alfred made.

"Thank you sweetie," you whispered. Along with the cold and fever, you had a sore throat. You were sitting on the couch, not in the mood to be on the bed. Normally it was comfy. But currently, it felt uncomfortable during the day.

Dick placed the bowl down on the side table before placing a cup of water next to you.

"Gotta stay hydrated mom. Do you want me to stay with you?" Dick asked.

"No. I can't get you sick," you whispered to him.

"I'm wearing a mask. It'll be okay if you want the company."

"I'm okay sweetie. I'm gonna just binge watch that show Barbra recommended to me," you tell him.

"Okay. I'll come get the bowl soon," Dick said, kissing your head.

Once you had finished your soup, Jason came by to check on you.

"Hey ma. Did you take your medicine already?" Jason asked.

"Not yet," you whispered.

"Gotta take it so you feel better. Want me to hold your hand like you used to do with us?" Jason asked.

"Sure," you smiled weakly.

Jason poured some Dayquil for you before handing you the small cup. He held your hand while you quickly chugged down the thick liquid. You made a face in disgust before handing it back over to Jason.

"Need me to get you anything? Tea? More water?" Jason asked.

"Probably more water please," you whispered.

"On it."

You lied on the couch as you continued to binge watch the show. Jason came back with the water and set it to the side.

"Want some company?" Jason asked.

"I'm okay. Don't want to get any of you kids sick. I'm just going to rest my eyes for a little while," you tell Jason as you switched the TV to YouTube to listen to some lofi calming music. After Tim had introduced lofi music to you, you had it on as background noise or when you needed to sleep.

"Okay. I'll let everyone know," Jason said, kissing your head before walking out of your room.

You woke up from your two hour nap feeling slightly better. You walked out of the bedroom and headed downstairs. You put on a mask so you didn't get anyone else sick.

"Mom! You shouldn't be out of bed," Tim says as he rushed over towards you.

"I need some fresh air. I'm just gonna sit outside for a bit," you tell him.

"Are you sure?"

"I'll be fine," you smiled softly as you walked outside to the backyard.

You sat under the gazebo as you noticed Cassandra and Stephanie sparing.

"Hey mom! What are you doing out here?" Cassandra asked.

"Just needed some fresh air," you tell her.

You took off your mask to breathe in and out. You noticed Duke walk out with a mug before handing it over to you.

"I heard hot water with lemon and honey can help with a sore throat," Duke tells you.

"Thank you, Duke. I appreciate that," you smiled.

"I gotta finish on some homework so I'll be inside if you need anything," Duke said.

"Okay," you nodded.

"How are you feeling?" Stephanie asked me.

"A little better. But I am still feeling a little light headed," you tell them.

"Did you eat?"

"I had chicken noodle soup earlier. I should get some more though."

"I'll grab you some. Do you want to eat out here or inside?" Stephanie asked.

"I'll eat inside," you tell her.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. I just needed some fresh air for a little while. I've been cooped up all day in the house," you explained, taking a sip of your drink afterwards.

"Okay. Coming right up," Stephanie said as she headed inside.

"I'm gonna shower up," Cassandra told you.

"Okay. I'll be in soon," you tell her.

You continued to sit outside, enjoying the peace and quiet. You drank the sore throat remedy Duke made for you which helped your throat. You heard footsteps walking over, making you look to see Bruce with Martha.

"Hi honey," Bruce greeted.

"I don't want Martha getting too close to me. Don't want her to get sick," you tell him.

"Okay. Stephanie told me you were outside for some fresh air," Bruce said.

"Yeah. The kids have been taking care of me all day," you tell him with a small smile.

"That's good. After all, you've always been the one to take care of us. Now it's our turn to take care of you," Bruce smiled.

You smiled back at him before seeing Damien walk over to you. He was wearing a mask as he marched over towards you.

"Did you let Stephanie get you chicken noodle soup?" He asked.

"Yes. She offered to get a bowl ready for me," you tell him.

"Tsk. She's sweaty. I got the bowl ready for you along with water. I heard Duke got you that hot water with lemon and honey. If you need it reheated, I can do that for you as well," Damien tells you. You smiled as you put on your mask.

"Thank you Damien. I'll eat right now," you tell him as you got up. Damien held your hand before leading you back inside.

"Father. Please make sure Martha is not near ummi. We can't have both of them sick," Damien tells Bruce. Bruce chuckled as he nodded.

"I'll make sure Martha's not near mom," Bruce tells him.

"Good. Come on Ummi."

You chuckled as you walked inside. You sat at the table where Damien had everything set up for you. The kids were setting up the rest of the table for dinner. You ate the soup while Damien watched you.

"Is there a good ready to why you're watching me?" You asked Damien.

"I just want to make sure you get better," Damien tells you.

"I'll get better soon Damien. Remember? The doctor you made me go to said that I will be better in a couple of days," you reminded him.

"I don't want anything to be risked," Damien says. You ruffled his hair before taking another spoonful of soup.

"Hey mom. Feeling any better?" Dick asked as he sat down.

"A little. Thank you kids for taking care and checking up on me."

"Of course. You've always been there for us, it's our turn to be there for you," Tim said.

"I am going to shower and go to bed. You kids eat and stay safe on patrol," you tell them as you stood up. You grabbed your bowl before heading to the kitchen to put it in the sink.

You walked upstairs but heard someone follow you. You looked over to see Bruce walking upstairs with you.

"Everything okay?" You asked.

"I just want to make sure you're okay," Bruce said.

"I'll be fine Bruce. I'd give you a kiss but you turn into a bigger baby than Jason when you get sick," you joked. Bruce smiled before giving you a quick kiss.

"Don't care. I'll do my best to come back from patrol early today," Bruce tells you.

"Okay. Goodnight. Stay safe please," you tell him.

"Of course. I love you."

"I love you too."