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a/n ; do forgive some grammar mistakes and awkward phrasing, English isn’t my first language and I tend to just write and post without overchecking. also still undecided on the pairing so suggestions are very welcome !!
Doctors and nurses moved like clockwork under pressure, rushing from one patient to another with barely enough time to breathe, let alone think, as the stream of cases seemed endless and unforgiving. Monitors beeped in uneven rhythms, stretchers rolled in and out, voices overlapped, and yet somehow, in the middle of all that chaos, everything still functioned with practiced precision.
Santos sat at the nurse’s station, shoulders slightly hunched, eyes locked on the screen in front of her as she tried to finish what felt like never-ending charting. Every time she thought she was done, another file appeared, another detail needed fixing, another task demanded her attention, and it was starting to grate on her nerves more than usual.
It didn’t help that her focus kept drifting.
Her gaze lifted, almost absentmindedly, and landed on Garcia, who was walking around the floor with an unusual restlessness, as if she was waiting for something or someone. Maybe she had just been called down for a patient, Santos thought at first, but there was something off in the way Garcia carried herself, something subtle yet noticeable if you paid enough attention.
And Santos had been paying attention.
Ever since that night.
It had been quiet at Santos’ apartment, one of those rare moments where neither of them had the energy to talk, content with simply existing in the same space. The silence had been comfortable, easy, until it was broken by the sharp sound of a phone ringing.
Garcia’s phone.
The ringtone had been different—distinct, almost personal in a way that immediately set it apart from the usual notifications Santos had heard before. It was the first time she had ever heard it, and even without seeing the screen, Santos somehow knew the call mattered.
Garcia’s entire expression had softened the moment she looked at the caller ID, her lips curving into something quiet and fond, her eyes warm in a way Santos hadn’t seen directed at anyone else.
“Hey, I’ll take this call. Won’t be long.”
She hadn’t even waited for a response. Garcia had already stood up, already moving, making her way toward the balcony with a kind of urgency that felt… different. The sliding door shut behind her with a soft click, separating her from Santos, but not entirely shutting her out.
Santos couldn’t hear the words, not clearly, but she didn’t need to.
She could hear the tone.
Soft. Gentle. Careful.
There was a tenderness in the way Garcia spoke, a quiet steadiness that contrasted so sharply with how she usually was at work, composed but distant, kind but guarded. Whoever was on the other end of that call… they mattered. That much was obvious.
And Santos didn’t know what to do with that realization.
Jealousy felt like too strong a word, and yet it lingered, unwelcome and confusing. She didn’t even know if she had the right to feel that way, didn’t know what exactly she was feeling in the first place, but the question stayed, persistent and sharp at the back of her mind.
Who was it?
Eventually, Santos had turned away, forcing herself to lie back down, eyes fixed on the ceiling as she tried to will herself into sleep. But every time she got close, every time her thoughts started to quiet, the image of Garcia on that balcony, speaking in that voice, slipped back in and refused to leave.
She didn’t even realize when she had finally fallen asleep.
When she woke up, the memory was still there, just as vivid as the night before.
Santos turned her head slightly, instinctively looking for Garcia, only to find the other side of the bed empty. The faint sound of running water reached her ears, the shower from the bathroom confirming that Garcia was still there, just out of sight.
With a tired groan, Santos pushed herself up, her body heavy as she began getting ready for her shift, moving through the motions without much thought. It wasn’t until a notification sound cut through the quiet that she paused, her attention snapping toward the source.
Garcia’s phone.
It was resting on the table, screen lighting up briefly before dimming again.
Santos hesitated.
She knew she shouldn’t. She really, really shouldn’t.
But curiosity had a way of creeping in, slow and insistent, wrapping around her better judgment until it became harder to ignore than to act on. Her eyes flickered toward the bathroom door, the sound of the shower still steady, still masking any movement outside.
Before she could fully talk herself out of it, she found her feet moving.
Each step felt heavier than the last as she approached the table, her hand hovering just above the phone, fingers twitching with hesitation. For a brief moment, she considered walking away, pretending she hadn’t noticed, pretending none of this mattered.
But she didn’t.
With a quiet breath, Santos picked up the phone, lifting it just enough to see the notification.
Y/N: can’t wait to see you again later hehe.
Everything in her stilled.
Her thoughts scattered, overlapping and colliding all at once, but none of them fully forming into anything coherent. The words stayed on the screen, simple and harmless on their own, yet somehow carrying a weight that settled heavily in her chest.
She didn’t know what to think.
Didn’t know what to feel.
“Santos…?”
“Santos!”
Whitaker’s voice broke through her thoughts, pulling her back into the present as she blinked, the hospital coming back into focus around her. He waved a hand in front of her face, concern evident in his expression.
“What is it, Huckleberry?” Santos replied, her tone sharper than intended, irritation slipping through as she tried to steady herself.
“Nothing, you just seemed out of it,” Whitaker said, his voice patient, careful. “Just checking if you’re okay.”
“I’m fine,” Santos answered quickly, almost dismissively, turning her attention back to her work before he could press further.
She wasn’t fine.
But she wasn’t about to say that out loud.
The hours dragged on, the pace of the Pitt unrelenting as case after case came through, leaving everyone looking like they had just survived something far worse than a standard shift.
“You all look like shit,” Dana remarked bluntly as she moved around the nurse’s station, efficient as ever, her presence both grounding and commanding.
The comment earned a chorus of tired reactions.
“We only have four hours left,” Whitaker groaned, letting his head drop against the table with a soft thud. “But it feels like time’s moving slower on purpose.”
“Four hours plus overtime,” Santos added, barely glancing up from the stack of unfinished charting in front of her. “Because apparently, this never ends.”
“Robby!”
Dana’s voice cut through the conversation, drawing everyone’s attention as Robby stopped in his tracks and turned toward her.
“Yeah, everything good?” he asked, stepping closer.
“Sunny called. She said she’s coming in early.”
Robby frowned slightly, confusion flickering across his face. “She’s coming in? Doesn’t she still have a few days off?”
“You know how she is,” Dana replied with a small shrug.
That seemed to be enough for Robby, though the concern didn’t fully leave his expression. “Alright. Let me know when she gets here.”
As he walked away, the curiosity among the group was immediate and obvious, their attention snapping back to Dana expectantly.
Dana let out a quiet chuckle at their expressions before explaining, “Sunny is Dr. Y/L/N’s nickname.”
Recognition slowly dawned.
“Dr. Y/L/N…” Whitaker repeated, thinking. “I think I’ve heard Robby mention her before. Night shift, right?”
Dana nodded. “You probably haven’t met her. She was supposed to be here when you all started, but she joined an exchange program in the Philippines. It was meant to be six months, but she extended it to a year.”
“Then why does Robby look like that?” Javadi asked, glancing toward him in the distance.
“Not angry,” Dana corrected gently. “Just worried. She just got back and already back to work.”
Before anyone could ask more, a new patient was rushed in, bleeding heavily, and the conversation was immediately abandoned as everyone moved into action.
Time blurred after that.
It took nearly half an hour to stabilize the patient, every second stretching under pressure, every movement precise and urgent. By the time Santos stepped out of the room, her body felt heavier, her mind slower, exhaustion settling in deep.
And then she heard it.
Laughter.
It was light, warm, and completely out of place against the usual noise of the Pitt, enough to catch her attention immediately. Her eyes scanned the area, searching for the source, until they landed on the nurse’s station.
Garcia.
And someone else.
They stood close, their body language easy, familiar in a way that made something tighten in Santos’ chest. The way Garcia looked at the other person, the way she smiled—soft, unguarded—it clicked almost instantly.
Robby’s voice pulled her away before she could stare any longer.
But not before she saw Garcia pull you into a gentle hug, brief but meaningful, followed by a small wave as she stepped back.
By the time Santos approached, you were already facing them, and for the first time, she saw you clearly.
There was a softness to your features, a quiet brightness in your expression, and something else—something harder to name—that made people naturally gravitate toward you. It wasn’t loud or overwhelming, but it was there, steady and undeniable.
“Everyone, this is Dr. Y/N Y/L/N,” Robby introduced, resting a hand briefly on your shoulder. “Night shift attendant. Just got back from the exchange program with St. Mary’s Hospital in the Philippines.”
He gestured toward them one by one. “Whitaker, Mohan, Santos, Dr. King.”
“Hey…” you started, offering a small, slightly nervous smile. “Don’t be nervous—I’m actually more nervous than you are. It’s been a while since I’ve been here.” You let out a quiet laugh, scratching the back of your neck. “I promise I don’t bite.”
There was an ease to the way you spoke, something genuine that made it hard not to listen.
“Sorry in advance if I get in the way a bit,” you continued. “I just wanted to come in early, see what’s changed. And… it’s really nice meeting all of you.”
“Alright, back to work,” Robby cut in. “You can ask her questions later. Sunny, a word. In private.”
The group dispersed soon after, but Santos barely registered it.
Because now you were real.
Not just a name on a screen. Not just a message.
You were here.
Santos barely made it to the bathroom before the weight of everything hit her all at once. The stall door shut behind her with a sharp clang, the sound echoing louder than it should have as she leaned against it, trying to steady her breathing.
It felt like the air had been knocked out of her lungs.
You were here.
You worked here.
And whatever you were to Garcia—
Santos squeezed her eyes shut, her thoughts spiraling faster than she could keep up with.
She didn’t know if this was about the stress, the exhaustion, the endless work piling on top of her, or something else entirely.
As Santos stepped out of the stall, she moved almost on instinct, her feet carrying her toward the bathroom mirror before she could think twice. She gripped the edge of the sink, her knuckles paling slightly as she looked up at her reflection.
Baggy eyes. Tension carved into her features. A sour, restless expression she couldn’t quite mask.
For a moment, she just stared.
Because no matter how hard she tried to ignore it, the comparison forced itself into her mind—unwanted, uninvited. Your bright face, your easy smile, the way you seemed to carry light so effortlessly compared to the heaviness Santos felt sitting in her chest.
Her jaw tightened.
She hated that she even noticed.
She was so deep in her thoughts that she didn’t hear the door open at first, didn’t register the shift in the room until voices broke through the silence.
Your voice.
Garcia’s.
Santos froze.
Slowly, almost reluctantly, she lifted her gaze back to the mirror—and there you were, standing just behind her reflection, with Garcia beside you.
For a split second, no one spoke.
Then you looked at her.
“You’re Santos, right?” you asked, your voice soft, almost careful, like you didn’t want to startle her.
Santos swallowed, giving a small nod, suddenly aware of Garcia’s presence beside you, of the way her gaze seemed to linger, observant, searching.
“Whatchu doing here?” you added, a lightness in your tone that didn’t match the way Santos felt like she was being cornered.
“Needed to use the toilet,” Santos replied a little too quickly, her voice coming out flatter than she intended.
The second the words left her mouth, she regretted them.
In her head, she was already cringing, already mentally slapping herself for how stiff, how awkward she sounded.
Without giving herself the chance to make it worse, she turned on her heel and stepped back into the stall, the door clicking shut behind her.
“Ohhh, okay,” you said easily, as if nothing about the interaction had been strange at all, before moving toward one of the empty stalls.
The bathroom fell into a strange quiet after that.
But Santos’ mind was anything but.
She leaned back against the stall door, pressing the heel of her hand against her forehead, silently berating herself, replaying every second of that interaction and finding something wrong with all of it.
Too cold. Too abrupt. Too obvious.
God, she sounded stupid.
She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to calm the restless pounding in her chest—
And then she heard Garcia.
“Do you know Santos?” Garcia asked, her voice quieter now, stripped of the usual ease she carried.
Everything in Santos stilled.
Her breath hitched, barely audible, as she instinctively leaned closer to the door, as if that would somehow make the words clearer, make whatever came next easier to hear.
There was a brief pause.
A small one.
But long enough.
Long enough for her thoughts to spiral, for her chest to tighten, for something heavy and unfamiliar to settle deep in her stomach.
And in that moment—
Santos realized she wasn’t sure which answer she was more afraid of hearing.
(Another fic but this time for Dr. Jack Abbot. I wanted something light and fluffy and I was inspired to write this when I saw an old video of me playing at my dad's work when he was still alive.)
tw: domestic softness, married life, age gap, child character, light PDA (kissing), teasing, hospital setting, tooth-rotting fluff, tiny child being adorable, jack abbot being a soft husband/dad
To the moon, and then some
Jack Abbot x Younger!wife!reader
Dr. Jack Abbot was a very private man.
Not the “quiet in the corner” kind of private, but the “I live by rules, I speak when necessary, and my personal life is off-limits” kind. At The Pitt, that meant he was always calm, always professional, and always… untouchable. The night staff, Dana, Robby—they all respected it, never prying.
So when Jack walked through the sliding doors that night, it was only slightly surprising. What was jaw-dropping was what—or rather, who—he was carrying.
A tiny princess.
She was all pink ruffles and glitter, a tiara perched slightly crooked on her auburn curls, a small wand clutched in her hand like it was the most important instrument in the world. On Jack’s other hand was a small pink Barbie backpack—entirely at odds with his dark military-style backpack, and entirely adorable.
And yet—somehow—it fit.
The little girl beamed at the bright lights, immediately waving her wand like she was blessing the entire emergency department.
“Hey there, little princess!” Robby called out, already stepping forward.
The girl perked up instantly. “Uncle Robby!”
She wriggled out of Jack’s arms with surprising speed for someone so small, practically launching herself into Robby’s embrace. Jack barely had time to adjust his grip before she was gone.
“And Aunty Dana!” she added, twisting in Robby’s arms to reach for Dana.
Dana laughed, already smoothing down the ruffles of the girl’s dress. “My, my… what a special visit. To what do we owe the honor, Your Highness?”
The little girl giggled, tapping Dana’s arm lightly with her wand. “You are now a frog.”
Dana gasped dramatically. “Oh no. I always knew this day would come.”
Jack stood a step back, watching them. There was something softer in his expression—something that rarely surfaced here. A quiet warmth, almost protective, but also… relieved.
“Y/n had to take care of something,” he explained, voice calm as ever, though there was a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Last-minute. She won’t be long.”
Robby nodded, already bouncing the little girl slightly in his arms. “Say no more.”
Jack stepped closer, brushing a stray curl away from the girl’s face. “Lola, darling,” he said gently, “stay with Uncle Robby for a bit, okay? Daddy just needs to get ready.”
Lola nodded seriously… then immediately broke character to whisper loudly, “Don’t let him forget me.”
Satisfied, Lola leaned back against him, still swinging her wand around.
Jack handed over the Barbie backpack. “Her snacks are in there.”
“Of course they are,” Robby said solemnly, as if accepting something of great importance.
Jack gave one last look—just a second longer than usual—before turning and heading toward the lockers.
—
Across the station, Santos, Whitaker, and Javadi had collectively frozen.
“…Okay,” Santos said slowly. “What just happened?”
Whitaker blinked. “Was that… a child?”
“Not just a child,” Javadi added. “A princess.”
Robby, overhearing, grinned. “That’s Lola. Short for Lolita. Dr. Abbot’s daughter.”
That did not help.
Lola, hearing her name, peeked up—then immediately hid her face against Robby’s shoulder, though her eyes still curiously darted toward the trio.
Javadi softened first. “Hi,” she said gently, giving a small wave.
Whitaker followed. “Hey there.”
Lola watched them for a few seconds, then slowly lifted her hand and wiggled her fingers.
“Hi,” she echoed shyly.
Robby shifted her slightly. “These are Santos, Whitaker, and Javadi. They work here just like your dad.”
Lola tilted her head, studying them with intense seriousness.
“…Sanny. Whitty. Javvy,” she decided, nodding once.
Santos let out a short laugh. “I’ll take it.”
“I’m Lolita,” Lola added proudly. “I’m four years old!”
She held up her hand—five fingers stretched wide.
Whitaker crouched slightly. “That’s five.”
Lola blinked… then slowly folded one finger down.
“…Four,” she corrected, satisfied.
Javadi chuckled. “Future doctor?”
Lola nodded eagerly. “Like daddy!”
She paused, then added, “But prettier.”
Robby nearly choked.
—
It didn’t take long before Jack returned, now ready for his shift.
“Daddy!” Lola squealed, arms immediately reaching for him.
He picked her up with ease, pressing a quick kiss to her temple. “Miss me already?”
“No,” she said immediately.
Then, after a beat—“A little.”
Jack smiled, tickling her lightly until she dissolved into giggles.
Robby watched the exchange, something softer settling in his gaze. “Everything okay with the missus?”
Jack nodded. “Yeah. Just some trouble at the bakery. We couldn’t get a sitter on such short notice.”
“Well,” Robby said, patting his shoulder, “we’ve got you covered here.”
Jack inclined his head slightly. “I appreciate it.”
He adjusted Lola on his hip. “I’ll set her up in the break room. Hospital daycare is closed for the night.”
“Can I have juice?” Lola asked immediately.
“There’s juice in your bag,” Jack replied.
“Can I have *two* juice?”
“…We’ll negotiate.”
—
An hour later, the hospital had settled into its usual rhythm. Jack moved through his rounds efficiently—but then he spotted a familiar silhouette at the nurse’s station.
Without hesitation, he said, “Shen, can you cover for me a minute?” and walked away. Shen just chuckled, used to Jack’s sudden but decisive movements.
You were mid-conversation with Dr. Ellis, boxes of macarons in your hands. Jack’s hand slipped around your waist, and you jumped slightly before relaxing into his familiar warmth.
Jack.
“Well,” Ellis said, already stepping back with a knowing look, “I’ll leave you two to it. We’ll continue our pie debate next time.”
She glanced at the boxes in your hands. “And save me some macarons. Before Shen eats everything.”
Then, with a smirk—“Get a room.”
You rolled your eyes, but your cheeks warmed anyway.
Jack, meanwhile, had already taken the boxes from you. “You didn’t have to bring this many.”
“They’re extras,” you said. “And I know how much your coworkers love them.”
His thumb brushed lightly against your wrist—a small, absent gesture that lingered just a second longer than necessary.
“Where’s Lola?” you asked.
“In the break room. Come on.”
He took your hand without hesitation, threading your fingers together as he led you down the hall.
“You don’t have to walk me,” you murmured. “You’re working.”
“It’s fine,” he said simply. “Shen’s got it.”
You squeezed his hand. “How’s your shift?”
“Better now.”
You smiled softly. “The bakery’s okay, by the way. Thief’s caught. Just waiting on updates.”
Jack’s shoulders eased at that. “Good.”
There was a quiet moment between you—comfortable, familiar.
Then—
“Daddy!”
Both of you looked up.
Lola stood in the hallway, hair slightly messier now, tiara tilted dangerously, clutching her wand.
“Why are you awake?” Jack asked, brows lifting.
“I had a dream,” she said seriously. “That you forgot me.”
Jack crouched immediately. “Never.”
She studied him, then nodded.
“…Okay.”
Then she noticed you.
“Mama!”
She ran straight into your arms, nearly knocking the wind out of you.
“Oh, my baby,” you laughed, hugging her close. “You’re supposed to be sleeping.”
“I woke up,” she said, as if that explained everything.
“It does, apparently,” Jack muttered.
Lola pulled back, looking between the two of you. “Are you kissing?”
You choked.
Jack didn’t even blink. “Not yet.”
Lola nodded thoughtfully. “Okay. You can now.”
You covered your face. “Oh my God.”
Jack, very much amused, leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your lips anyway.
Lola clapped.
“Again!”
—
Eventually, she did fall back asleep—curled up in your arms, her wand still loosely held in one hand.
Back in the break room, you gently brushed her hair away from her face, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
Jack set the macarons aside, watching you both.
Really watching.
It hit him quietly, the way it always did.
He thought about how full his life had become—how these two little lives filled the corners of his heart he didn’t know existed.
You glanced up. “Honey?”
He blinked, pulled back from his thoughts. “Yeah.”
“You okay?”
He stepped closer, brushing his fingers against Lola’s cheek, then your arm.
“Yeah,” he said softly. “Just… thinking.”
“About?”
He looked at you—really looked at you.
“How lucky I am.”
Your expression softened instantly.
You shifted Lola slightly on your hip, reaching for his hand. “We’re lucky too, you know.”
He shook his head faintly, leaning in to press his forehead against yours. “I doubt that.”
You smiled, nudging him lightly. “You should believe it more.”
For a moment, the world outside didn’t exist.
Just the three of you.
Quiet. Warm. Whole.
Eventually, you sighed. “We should go. Let you get back to work.”
Jack nodded, though there was a flicker of reluctance in his eyes.
He leaned in, kissing you—slow, grounding, familiar.
Then he kissed Lola’s forehead.
“Drive safe,” he murmured. “Call me when you get home.”
“We will. We love you,” you said softly.
Jack smiled, brushing his thumb against your cheek. “To the moon and back.”
Lola murmured sleepily, “And stars.”
Jack chuckled, holding both of you close.
And for the first time in a long while, nothing else existed but the warmth of his family.
(So since I can't sleep here are some not well made fic about Park the Shark, I wanted to write some too for Jack Abbot but Idk really know what to write about so if guys have any suggestions.)
Park the shark x nurse reader
TW : controlling park the shark, mean park, my english not good, medical inaccuracies, hrs nightmare, power imbalance, workplace boundary violations, suggestive content, possessive behavior, medical/surgical themes (amputation).
Hook, Line and Sinker
Park the Shark was many things.
Mean. Villainous. Aggressive, especially as an orthopedic surgeon. He was controlling and possessive, the kind of man who believed it was his way or the highway, no exceptions.
He was arrogant too, without a doubt.
But to be fair… he had every right to be.
Park was one of the best orthopedic surgeons in the country. His reputation alone could silence a room, and his results spoke louder than any ego ever could. That was exactly why, when he crossed certain lines, HR tended to look the other way, as long as it didn’t become excessive.
And one of those “lines”… was you.
His personal nurse. Always at his beck and call. Practically his shadow.
Some people whispered about it, called it an abuse of power. But for you? It wasn’t like that. Not really.
You weren’t overwhelmed. Sure, he could be demanding, more than demanding really, but after three years, you had learned him. Understood him. Anticipated him, even.
Most of your work ended up being… lighter than expected. Assisting Park, making sure everything ran efficiently, making sure he never felt like his time was being wasted, especially with cases down in the Pitt.
Which was exactly why you found yourself there now.
---
“Hey guys, I’m here for a…” you trailed off, glancing down at your chart. “Ms. Emily Werner.”
“Just in time,” Doctor Robby said, already guiding you toward the patient as he quickly filled you in on everything that had been done so far.
Whitaker, meanwhile, noticed Ogilvie glancing at you more than once.
“Nurse L/N, she’s our contact in ortho,” Whitaker explained casually. “She’s assessing the patient for Doctor Park.”
Ogilvie frowned slightly. “But… why is a nurse doing that? Shouldn’t that be the doctor?”
It was a fair question.
Whitaker hesitated for a beat. “Doctor Park is… a rather busy man,” he said, trying to make it sound reasonable.
Right on cue—
“Park!”
Robby’s voice cut through the room as the man himself walked in.
That alone was surprising. Park rarely came down to the Pitt, he considered it chaotic at best, disastrous at worst.
Still, he acknowledged Robby with a simple nod, already pulling on sterile gloves as his sharp gaze scanned the room.
Looking for you.
And when he found you, his eyes narrowed ever so slightly, a flicker of displeasure crossing his expression.
“Park the Shark,” Whitaker muttered to Ogilvie. “Orthopedic surgeon.”
Park stepped closer, his presence immediately shifting the air around him.
“Is this a favorable amputation?” he asked, his tone clipped.
“Pretty clean cut,” you answered smoothly. “Sliced through like a guillotine.”
You handed him the X-ray, your fingers brushing for just a second. Barely anything, but enough. He shot you a brief look before focusing on the film.
“Not bad,” he murmured, studying it.
“Just tying off a couple arterioles,” Whitaker added.
Park didn’t even look at him fully—just enough to send a silent, cutting message.
Did I ask?
“I’m not blind,” Park said flatly. “Where’s the amputated leg?”
“Here it is, Doctor Park,” you said, gesturing toward the table. “Double-bagged on ice. Sterile saline in the inner bag, ice water in the outer. No direct ice-on-skin contact.”
A small nod of approval.
“What about antibiotics?” he asked.
“The patient’s received cefazolin and gentamicin,” you replied, checking your chart. “Doctor Robby and Doctor Garcia have also cleared her chest, abdomen, and pelvis, no other major injuries.”
Park hummed quietly, still examining the limb.
“So, y/n… is she good for replantation?”
“Well,” you began, a hint of confidence slipping into your tone, “the wound is clean, no crush injury, and transport time was rapid. She’s a good candidate.”
You couldn’t help the small, proud smile.
That was when he looked at you again, really looked this time, and a faint smirk tugged at his lips.
“Good.”
He turned, already moving.
“Since she’s a go for replantation, book an OR,” he ordered. “And irrigate the hell out of this. Three liters.”
“Three liters?” Whitaker echoed.
“Of saline, genius,” Park snapped over his shoulder before exiting.
“I knew he meant saline,” Whitaker muttered defensively.
You let out a soft chuckle at that, and unfortunately, Park heard it.
Because the next thing you felt… was his stare.
---
The elevator ride was quiet.
Just the two of you.
And the moment the doors closed, Park stepped forward, crowding your space until your back met the wall.
“You were gone for a long time,” he said, voice low.
“I was only gone for at most five minutes, Doctor Park,” you replied, eyes still on your chart, tone steady.
“Brendon,” he corrected. “I said call me Brendon.”
Before you could respond, his hand slid to your waist, firm, possessive, while the other squeezed your ass just enough to make your breath hitch.
Suddenly, there was no space left between you.
“That would be very unprofessional… Brendon,” you said slowly, testing his name.
Your hands rose to his neck, fingers idly tracing small circles against his skin.
For a moment, neither of you moved.
Then—
Ding.
The elevator doors opened.
Just like that, the moment snapped. You both stepped apart as if nothing had happened.
But the look he gave you—
That said everything.
We’re not done.
Later.
At his house? During work hours? Somewhere in between?
Who knew.
But the thought alone sent a thrill through you.
And as you stepped out, you shot him one last, knowing glance.
(So this is kinda inspired by a fic I read, in which like the reader is some kind of spoiled bimbo, in a good way, so this kinda made me think of like how Park the Shark is with her.)
Don't expect good writing.
Tw: medical inaccuracies, over the top PDA, bratty reader, bad writing.
"Javadi and Whitaker, patient at room 7, broken hand." Doc Robby’s voice made both of them stop mid-conversation.
"Finally, something easy," Javadi muttered, snatching the tablet with a little too much enthusiasm. Whitaker just shook his head and followed him, muttering something about never having an “easy” case in his life.
When they pushed open the door to room 7, they immediately froze. Not because the injury was severe, but because what they saw could only be described as… cinematic.
You were perched on the edge of the hospital bed like it was a chaise lounge.
Your legs crossed, high heels clicking softly against the floor. A skirt that was a scandalous mix of business chic and runway-ready fluttered slightly as you adjusted your oversized sunglasses on your head. Hair perfectly styled, lips glossy enough to reflect the fluorescent light, nails untouched by the horrors of the outside world. Every detail screamed: I do not belong here.
Then you looked at them, sunglasses now delicately dangling from your fingers.
"Uh… hi, I’m Dr. Whitaker, and this is Student Doctor Javadi," Whitaker said, swallowing hard. "We’ve been assigned to your case."
You tilted your head, inspecting them like a jeweler sizing up two potentially flawed diamonds. Javadi’s hair was in a ponytail that screamed “I tried but not really,” and Whitaker looked like he might disappear into the nearest vent if it opened.
“Ohhh, really?” you purred, letting your injured hand sway theatrically in its sling.
“You’re… both going to help me? That’s cute.” You smiled, and it was the kind of smile that could either melt a heart or send confidence fleeing into another zip code.
"Hey, so, um… can I like transfer to another room?" you asked, gesturing at the harsh overhead lights with your uninjured hand. "They’re just… not flattering. Not that I don’t look amazing in anything, of course, but still…"
Whitaker blinked. "Uh… unfortunately, every room is full. But we’ll try to make this fast and painless, Ms…?"
"Park. Mrs. Park," you said with a small pop at the end of your name, eyes running over them from head to toe.
"You both look tired," you observed bluntly.
They both blinked.
“It’s been a long shift,” Whitaker said cautiously.
“Mm,” you hummed. “It shows.”
Silence.
“Alright,” Whitaker said finally, breaking the tension. “Let’s see what we’ve got.”
Javadi stepped closer, careful but gentle as he held your wrist. “How did this happen?”
“I fell,” you said dramatically, gesturing with your other hand. “I tried to catch myself with my hands, and… disaster struck.” You glanced down at your perfectly polished nails. “My poor nails! They were just done. Oh my God, am I going to get a scar?!”
“Well, by the looks of it, it seems unlikely,” Whitaker said cautiously, gently moving your fingers to assess the injury.
“Seems like? SEEMS LIKE?!” you shrieked, fanning yourself with your sunglasses. “So you’re not 100 percent sure?!”
“Well… technically, there’s a very low risk of permanent damage,” Javadi stammered. “But we’ll need an x-ray to be completely certain.”
You gasped, clutching your chest. “An x-ray? Do you mean one of those machines? How am I supposed to look flawless in those? My hair, my nails, my entire aesthetic will be ruined!”
Whitaker muttered something about medical necessity. You ignored him entirely, instead leaning toward Javadi just slightly, making him take an involuntary step back.
“You… you’re cute when you’re nervous,” you said, voice softening like honey over steel. “Do you always wear your hair like that? Hospital chic, or…?”
Javadi coughed, high-pitched. “Uh… practical,” she stammered.
“Practical!” you echoed, nodding. “I like practical. But practical is boring. Fun is… essential. And I am fun. So you better have fun fixing my hand, or there will be consequences.”
Whitaker pinched the bridge of his nose. “Mrs. Park, our job is to make sure your hand heals. That’s it. Fun is optional.”
“Optional? My hand is optional? My happiness is optional?!” you cried, dramatically throwing yourself back onto the bed, hand flailing.
At that exact moment, the door opened. Calm, confident, and utterly unbothered, Park—The Shark—entered along with Doctor Robby. Park scrubs were immaculate, his presence alone enough to silence the room.
And Robby, ohhh poor Robby.
“Everything good in here?” Doc Robby asked, confused.
“Not really,” Whitaker tried, but you leaped in first.
“No! Nothing is good!” you wailed. “These people are… incompetent!”
Everyone became surprised seeing how Park the Shark went from wanting to eat them alive to soft like cotton when turned to you.
Park’s eyes flicked between the four of them, unimpressed. “Hmm… let me see.”
You practically leapt forward, dangling off your injured hand dramatically. “Park! My hand! It’s tragic! They’re… hopeless!”
Park raised an eyebrow, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. “Hmm… I see.”
You melted under his gaze, sighing contentedly as he brushed a stray hair from your face while examining your hand.
“Finally,” you whispered, “someone competent.”
Javadi and Whitaker just watched, utterly frozen, as the two of you shared a moment of over-the-top, unashamedly dramatic PDA.
“Don’t worry, darling,” Park said, adjusting your hand carefully. “We’ll make sure this heals perfectly. And I promise, no permanent scars.”
You tilted your head, eyes sparkling. “I knew you’d understand me.”
And with that, the room finally settled. Whitaker and Javadi with Robby quietly backed out, muttering something about never wanting to return, while you leaned back on the bed with a triumphant smile, Park at your side, hand gently cradling yours.
“See?” you purred. “Life’s better when someone competent is in charge.”
Park’s smirk grew. “And fun,” he added quietly, just for you.
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(A/N: English is not my first language, so don't expect anything great, I'm only doing this because I'm a simp. And I'm not really good at descriptions when it comes to hairstyles and outfits 😊)
With every step she takes, it seems like time is slowing down. The dark and gloomy hallway of the Red Keep seems to brighten up with her presence. No servants, knights, lord's or ladies could take away their eyes from the goddess incarnate that is Princess Rhealla Targaryen.
Her pink night gown flows so freely, her braided silver hair glint as the moon illuminated the halls of the red Keep.
It was in the middle of the night when news of the newly crowned queen starting started her labour. The queen's screams can be heard at every corner of the Red Keep.
The newly crowned King Viserys was pacing back and forth in the entrance of the their shared room. It was the multiple footsteps that gotten the King's attention towards his sister, Rhealla.
"Brother, is everything okay?" Rhealla asked, with a worried face. Reaching her hand out towards her brother.
"Please calm down, she needs you to be strong." She said softly, as she caressed his checks.
Viserys at that time was so lost in his sister's violet eyes that seems to twinkle in the dark like the night sky.
It wasn't until Aemma's grueling scream that Viserys snapped back from reality, after being almost lost to his sister's eyes.
Viserys turned around and walked towards the door, slamming it open and running to the side of the bed where Aemma laid, her white sleeping wear stained with blood along with bed. When Aemma saw Viserys get closer, she reached out her hand in which Viserys gladly took and softly squeezed it while whispering sweet nothing to her.
Rhealla watched both of them as the door to the room slowly closed. The love of a mother towards her children is undeniable, but to attain the affections of a father can be a gamble. There are some fathers that without mercy will sell their daughter, their blood and flesh, to the highest bidder without a second thought. But there are some who will go to war just to protect their previous little Tala. (Daughter)
'I wonder which one you are brother.'
She contemplated, before walking away. She was lost in thought when suddenly she heard a voice behind her.
"A jealous look doesn't look good on your pretty face sister." That easygoing yet mellifluous voice she knows so we'll.
" And being a creep isn't really a good description for a prince, now is it Daemon." She sarcastically answered back, as she turned around to face him. But Daemon just smirked. There was a few seconds of silence before the both of them started laughing.
"Walk with me brother." Rhealla requested, in which Daemon answered by walking towards her. When Daemon was finally beside Rhealla she hooked her arm in his and started walking.
"Such a beautiful night only to be ruined by an incessant screaming." Daemon exaggerating disgust was enough to make dear Rhealla laugh. "Thou it is an inconvenience should the child be a boy." Whispered Rhealla tightly aqueezing Daemons arm, as they're footsteps echoes in the long halls of the Red Keep.
"A fragile inconvenience, on which is easily disposable." Daemon said as they come to a stop upon an open terrace, with a view of Kings Landing.
"How cruel of you to speak such way Ñuha Raqiarzy." Rhealla said softly with a soft laugh, while gazing upon the land she has grown up on. There was a long moment of silence before Rhealla spoke again.
"Join me tomorrow brother. I'll be visiting the orphanage."
"Ugh, the orphanage!" Daemon said with frustration, thou not really declining.
"It will be good for building a raport with the common folk." Rhealla said as she caress Daemon face. "And please do visit your wife. They maybe Sheep's, as you like to call them, they are still a respectable family. Should you need support one day they can be an easy reinfocement."
"Well it already late at night, why don't we get some sleep so that we will have the energy for tomorrow's happenings." Rhealla said as she glance up towards the moon.
"Let me walk you back to your room." Deamon said. They then walked away, still whispering words with one another.
Well there go my WIPs being cast aside for brain rot once again, but this Armand x gn!reader is flowing. The brain rot is in control, I am not. One day I'll write in order and finish one fic before I start another. Today is not that day.
warnings: cursing, reader y/nsplains, jos is an asshole, fluff, barely proofread, logan tries to flirt, y/n's bestie is a tumblr girlie at heart, kiddo steals the show
Summary: Max has it all...right? Besides, he's too busy collecting trophies and completing side quests for anything else. Until... You moved across a whole ass ocean to start over, uprooting you and your son's lives to become social media admin for cars that drive in circles.
word count: 6833
auth.note: thank you all so much for the love for part 1!!! ily all and i'm having so much fun writing this
The paddock was relatively quiet so early in the morning. Unable to sleep, y/n had left the hotel and made her way to the track. She was taking the opportunity to explore the settings on the camera and getting her bearings since she didn't have any work duties to complete until later in the day. She had expected Kevin to want to come with her, but he'd opted to sleep in with Ellie, who would bring him to the track later. So she wandered, exchanging the occasional greeting with others. Stopping to take a photo of a bird perched on the fence in front of pit lane, she backed up, crashing into someone.
"Whoop, s'cuse me, sorry," she said, turning to apologize properly. She recognized the two men by their faces but her mind blanked on their names.
"It's alright, ma'am. Didn't mess up your shot, did we?" His American accent was a happy surprise.
"I don't think so." Smiling, y/n lowered the camera. "My fault, and I'll blame it on being new."
"Marketing?" The other man guessed.
Australian. And suddenly she remembered their names. "Social media. I'm y/n."
"So great to meet you." Logan tipped his head slightly. "Carolina?"
"God, you can take the hick outta Carolina, but you can't take the Carolina outta the hick." He grinned and she laughed. "North Carolina, yeah."
Oscar stared at Logan. "How did you guess that? She just sounds plain American?"
"No, dude, it's the lilt. It's like when George got pissed we couldn't pick up on the different English accents."
"Can he pick up on the different American south accents?" y/n asked.
Logan rolled his eyes. "He knows Brooklyn, Midwest, valley girl, and just south."
"In his defense it's hard to pick out each individual one," Oscar pointed out.
Y/n shrugged. "You've got a point. I sound different from people that grew up just an hour from me."
"Yeah! And I know mine's been butchered from so much time in Europe." Logan nodded.
"You still sound more like home than anyone else I've met."
"I was gonna say the same thing – you sound like home." He smiled, a soft, genuine smile that had her smiling in return.
"And what do I sound like?" Oscar asked with a grin.
"A magical place far, far away," y/n told him. She covertly checked the time and wondered if hospitality had finished setting up so she could get some coffee.
"Hear that? I sound like Star Wars."
"She's using southern charm on you, dude," Logan snorted.
"Well it's working, I'm charmed."
A giggle bubbled up her throat and she let it free, raising her camera and giving them a hopeful look. "Okay?"
"Hang on—" Logan fussed with his hair, and y/n laughed when Oscar reached to help him, then they both had to fuss with Oscar's hair. "Think we're presentable enough?"
She nodded, moving so the sunlight was beside them. She got several photos and thanked them. "I'll send them to y'alls social media teams?"
"You can just send it to me." Logan began patting his pockets for his phone.
"Unbelievable," Oscar muttered under his breath, and y/n barely heard it, giving Logan her number and adding him to her contacts once he'd sent her a text.
"I should get going – Sorry for bumping into you."
"Don't apologize, I'm glad you did."
As she walked away she gave her head a little shake, smiling to herself when she overheard Oscar's grumbling that Logan had flirted with fuckin' Red Bull's social media admin. Something told her to glance back and she did, amused to see Logan watching her. Don't show interest, don't show interest, don't—
He gave a little wave. And she smiled, waving back.
Fuck.
Ducking around the corner, she wandered until she found hospitality, grogginess taking over as she made her way to the back to fix herself coffee. She recognized a couple engineers and mechanics that she'd met in Milton Keyes and greeted them, settling into a corner to drink and look over the pictures she'd gotten.
She was on her second coffee, had uploaded the pictures to her laptop, and was editing the first batch for a short video when the chair across from her was pulled out, taking her shoe with it.
"Sorry," Max said when she yelped, chuckling as he bent to pick up her shoe. "Didn't know you were attached."
"Bad habit I'm afraid." Taking the shoe, she shifted to put it back on. "Picked it up when I was pregnant now I do it without thinking."
"For the swelling?" he asked, sitting down and taking a sip of his coffee.
"Yeah." After tying the shoelace she shifted, tucking one foot beneath her. "Good morning, by the way."
"Morning. Already working?"
"I'm gonna do a short photo tour of the track. I got some nice shots."
"You walked the track?"
"I woke up and couldn't go back to sleep, so… It's beautiful first thing in the morning."
Max nodded, picking up his coffee again. "Why couldn't you sleep?"
"Max, you should know that hotel beds suck. Especially with a three year old sleeping sideways and a snoring friend in the other bed. Is this where you tell me you slept great?"
"Haha, no. My sleep was shit but it wasn't because of the bed. I didn't get enough." He rubbed a hand over his face. "I was up late sim racing."
"Okay, explain sim racing to me," she requested, slipping one earbud in so she could check that the music she'd selected went well with the photos. Tweaking it as he began to talk, she realized she was barely paying attention to her work, exporting and posting the video to all the platforms then closing her laptop to focus on him. He talked with his hands. It was something she'd picked up on already, that if he was focused on the topic he used his hands. Maxplaining the fans called it. Finishing her coffee, she listened intently, propping her chin on one hand.
He smiled, almost shyly, as he finished. "It's something I truly enjoy. I'm not very sociable. I like going out once in a while, but I prefer to stay in, yeah? And I can spend hours in the sim without thinking twice."
"I spent the last few days watching a lot of interviews. Not just of you and Checo, but everyone on the grid," y/n said softly. "Leclerc talks about piano and his family, Norris talks about gaming and DJing, and Hamilton has his six hundred side projects."
"Yes?" He didn't look or sound impatient for her to get to the point, and she appreciated that.
"The thing is, they all have passions outside of racing. This – formula one, fastest cars, all that – is a goal, a dream, but they all have something else they love, that they can pursue now." She paused, meeting his eyes. "The only thing I've seen you passionate about is racing."
He blinked once, nodding his head. "Because it is my passion."
Y/n regarded him carefully for a moment. "You're very lucky, Max."
That must have surprised him, because his brow furrowed. "Why do you say that?"
"Not everyone is able to be successful following their passion. Being able to do what you love for both a job and hobbies is almost unheard of, yet you're doing it. You break records and win races and yeah you've had a few setbacks but you're still in love with this. And on your off time you're training to be better and studying tracks and you go home and race on your computer." She shook her head in amazement. "You're incredibly lucky, that your passion is not only something you're good at but something you can be immersed in nonstop, and that you haven't lost your love for it."
"I guess I am lucky," he said carefully. "But luck had nothing to do with me getting into formula one."
"I know." She held up her hands, not wanting him to think she thought he was in the position he was purely by chance. "I can't imagine how much work you've done over the years, or how many sacrifices you've had to make. It's just… In my experience, passion doesn't always equal financial stability is what I'm trying to say."
"What's that saying? Do something you love and you never work a day in your life?"
Y/n snorted. "That's bullshit. I love sleeping and yet I still have to work."
That made him laugh and she rolled her eyes, even though she enjoyed the sound. "Surely you love more than sleep."
"I love a lot of things. Maybe that's been my problem all my life. I find things and fall in love with them and when I think hey this might be it something new and shiny comes along and I fall in love with that."
"There's nothing wrong with being passionate about many things," Max said gently.
"That's what I keep telling myself. And yet—"
"Are you saying you don't love your job?"
She froze, a wave of panic rippling through her. "Uhmm… Since it's technically my first day I can't answer that."
"Okay. Do you love your social media?" he asked, leaning forward and resting his arms on the table.
The table which was, suddenly, smaller than she remembered.
"I like engaging others. I like creating conversations and seeing my work appreciated," she finally said.
"You sound like a PR person. Do you love it?" He enunciated each word slowly.
She couldn't say yes. The answer wasn't no, either, because she didn't hate it. "I personally hate it. But you've learned how to make it work for you, yeah? How to word things to spark a conversation among followers? What type of content people appreciate?"
"I like to think so."
"Stop being so unsure of yourself. You study it, right? At your last job when you posted a video and no one liked it what did you do? "
She exhaled harshly. "I compare it to ones that did well and pick it apart to see why it didn't work."
"Why?"
"Why?" she echoed.
"Why did you pick it apart?"
"Because I wanted it to do well," she said slowly.
"And these conversations you want to create, do you join in or sit and watch them happen behind the safety of your screen?" He reached over, gently turning her laptop so he could see the screen.
"I engage. I reply and ask questions to make the viewers want to keep the conversation going."
"Why?"
"Because—" She clicked the mouse, bringing up the comments below the video she'd posted to Instagram. "These comments? Come from people that love this brand – or sport. Some of them are trolls who just want to start up an argument to make their boring lives more interesting for a few minutes, but for the most part it's people who care. People who want to see this team do well. People who had the dream of doing it themselves but life got in the way. People who watched it with their parents and still watch to stay connected to someone they love. It's little kids who want to be like you. It's people who spend their hard earned money on a t-shirt or a hat or a ticket to see someone they admire live out their dream." She took a quick breath, scrolling through the comments. "If I don't like or respond to them, they feel like their opinions don't matter. And maybe they don't in the grand scheme of formula one. But they want to be seen and heard. When I click and they see that Red Bull Racing liked their comment or replied with an emoji or whatever, they have a few seconds of elation, and their support of this team is cemented just a bit more."
Max blinked at her, and she continued even though she heard him draw a breath to speak.
"I know very well how horrible social media can be. However, I've seen how it fosters growth for a company. You're not stupid, I'm sure you've seen how TikTok challenges or Instagram livestreams have brought in more support. Not to mention money. If a post of you wearing your Red Bull shirt gets a million likes, I can probably pull the data and show you that a hundred thousand people went to view the shirt on the official shop and probably twenty-five thousand ordered one. A silly picture of you arriving for race day or a new helmet design pulls people in and gets them excited. And, yes, it makes money. Which in turn pays the salaries of everyone on the team."
"Y/n."
She sucked in a breath. "I'm—"
"Passionate," he whispered before she could say sorry.
"I know what it's like to enjoy something and never feel included," she murmured. "So, yeah… I guess I love what I do, because I like that I can include people in something they love."
His hand covered hers briefly. "For a moment there, I even loved social media."
She watched his fingers squeeze hers before they slid away, wondering why his touch lingered. "Yeah?"
"It's easy to forget that there are real people saying nice things. Sometimes all you can see is the negativity."
"Negativity only breeds more negativity—"
"And when you look at it, it's all you'll see," he murmured.
"Well… So far everything I've posted today has been met with positivity."
"That's good."
"Okay, a few comments about wanting to see Lando on the podium. Thank you for letting me rant about why I do what I do," she said, glancing at his hand without meaning to.
"You let me do the same," he reminded her. Lifting his chin, he waited until she looked at him again. "Are you too busy to see what I was talking about?"
"I don't have anything scheduled until after lunch."
"Perfect." He lightly drummed on the table and stood. "Do you want to see my rig?"
"You do know I won't have a clue what anything but the computer and monitor are, right?" Smiling, she stood and began packing away her stuff.
Closing her laptop, he handed it over, catching her earbud when it fell off the edge of the table. "Maybe you'll like it so much you'll want one of your own."
*-*
He was rambling, he knew he was, telling her about the setup and his plan for the 24 hour race over the weekend and how he had everything scheduled so he could do two of the things he loved most. But he could tell she was paying attention, actually listening, as if she really cared. Rubbing his palms against his thighs, he finished and looked up at her.
"So this is your actual job and the f1 thing is just a hobby?" she teased.
Laughing, he got to his feet and got himself a can of Red Bull. "It's just racing, y/n."
"And racing is life."
"Absolutely." He watched her muffle a yawn behind her hand.
"Am I allowed to mention it in my posts? Because it sounds so badass. Sim race stint then qualifying, chug a Red Bull, sim race stint then race."
"You can mention it, not like it's a secret." He watched her hide another yawn and cleared his throat. "Looks like you need a Red Bull."
She shook her head. "Can I tell you a secret?"
Nodding, he checked the time. Just over an hour before he had to meet with his trainer. "Of course."
"I hate Red Bull," she whispered.
He choked on a laugh. "You what?"
"I've tried so many times! I can just about stomach one of the flavored editions, but the original? Tastes like battery acid to me." She looked embarrassed and covered her face with her hands. "Please don't tell anyone."
"You hate the drink. So you accepted a job with a team owned by the drink company." He wanted to laugh. It was so absurd to him.
"Yes," she groaned.
"That would be like me taking a job at Instagram."
"I know it's so bad. What makes it worse is I love Monster—"
"Of course you do," he said with a roll of his eyes.
"Please say you won't tell anyone. If corporate hears, I'll probably get fired. It's in my contract that I can only drink that while in pubic during race weekends which means I've got to either stick to water or learn to fake it."
"Your secret's safe with me," Max promised, breathing in the aroma of her perfume as she moved past him to get her bag.
"Thank you. I think Ellie would kill me if I told her I have to find a new job."
He didn't want her to go so soon. Ridiculous because he knew he'd see her in just a few hours. By the end of the weekend he'd be sick of seeing her. Sipping his drink, he finally sighed and cleared his throat. "You can take a power nap."
She whipped her head around, sending a wave of her perfume his way. "What?"
"A power nap." Before he could stop himself he was setting down his drink and taking her bag off her shoulder. "Thirty minutes, and you'll feel great."
"Max—"
"You need to be alert and focused, and I don't have a Monster for you to drink. Please, I insist." He motioned to his bed in the far corner, gently nudging her shoulder when she hesitated.
"You're sure?" she asked softly, and when he assured her he was she bent to take off her shoes, looking almost elated as she walked over to the bed. "Wait, I need to set an alarm."
"I'll wake you."
She lifted an eyebrow and he pulled out his phone to set a thirty minute timer. Satisfied, she sat on the edge of the bed, thanking him several times as she laid down and curled up on her side. "Thirty minutes."
"Thirty minutes," he murmured, sitting on the couch to answer emails. It was fifteen minutes before she stopped shifting and kicking, and when he heard her breathing even out he knew she was asleep. Resetting the timer, he stood and carefully pulled the blanket over her, then returned to the couch and tried his best to ignore that she was sleeping in his room.
Her phone started buzzing on the table. She didn't stir so he ignored it, focusing on his email. That was impossible though so he cleared out his unread texts, one foot bouncing each time he heard her breathe. A mistake. It had been a mistake. He jumped up when her phone began to buzz again and, glancing from it to her, he realized she would undoubtedly sleep through it. He picked it up and was about to silence it when he saw the name on the screen. Ellie. That was her friend that was helping with Kevin… Something could be wrong, so he answered the call and lifted the phone to his ear. "Hello?"
"Hey, we just— Who's this?"
"Max. This is Ellie?"
"…Yes…" The woman sounded wary. "Why are you – Oh! Max! Right of course. Um, is y/n okay?"
Max looked over at her, smiling faintly when she shifted. "She's fine. Taking a nap, actually."
Ellie snorted. "Of course she is."
"Is everything okay with Kevin?"
As though aware of the question, Kevin began chattering in the background. "Yeah, he's perfect. I was calling to let her know we just got here but I ain't got a clue where to go."
"Are you at the main entrance?" he asked, slipping out of the room so he wouldn't wake y/n. Ellie told him where they were and he nodded as he pulled out his own phone to text one of the team assistants. "You're going to walk down to the turnstiles, scan your passes and come through. Someone will be there to meet you and bring you to the motorhome."
"Ok perfect. Thank you so much."
"You're welcome. We'll be downstairs to meet you." Ending the call, he checked that the assistant was going to meet them then reentered his room. He closed the door and silenced his timer. "Y/n?"
She hummed in her sleep, and he smiled while he crossed over to the bed.
"Y/n," he called gently. She groaned, shifting to face away from him and it suddenly occurred to him that when he went to bed that night he would smell her on the pillow and the sheets. Maybe it hadn't been such a good idea, but it was too late now.
Would he be an asshole if he had his sheets changed before the end of the day?
Leaning down, he gently touched her shoulder. She inhaled sharply and he saw her eyes snap open. "You have company on its way," he said softly, tugging the covers back in case she tried to get comfortable again. His eyes swept down, locking on the skin bared by her shirt, which had ridden up in her sleep. "Come on, you had a nice nap, time to wake up."
"This bed is so much more comfortable than the one at the hotel," she mumbled, slowly sitting up and turning to face him. Smoothing down her shirt, she stretched and sighed, blinking as she focused on him. "Oh! Ellie and Kevin!"
He laughed as she leapt to her feet, his hands immediately moving to steady her. "It's fine, they haven't even made it to the paddock yet. I've sent someone to meet them."
"Oh," she murmured. "Thank you."
His hands were on her hips, and he forced his breathing to remain calm as she rested her hands on his forearms. The space, which had felt roomy and open, now felt tiny with how close she was to him. He was painfully aware of the scant space between them and each place their bodies touched, but more so of her. That heady floral scent of her perfume and the softness of her palms against his skin. The gentle lushness of her hips. He could hear every breath as his gaze traveled up from her hands to her face, lingering on her slightly parted lips before settling on her eyes. "You good?"
"Yep."
"Right. Sorry," he mumbled, releasing her hips and taking a step back. "I'll get your shoes."
What was wrong with him? It hadn't been so long that he got turned on like a teenager just from touching a woman… As he bent to retrieve her shoes he counted back, dragging a hand over his face in humiliation. What must she think of him? He'd brought her to his room, showed off his fancy toys, then let her sleep in his bed. She probably thought he wanted to fuck her—
You do.
—which couldn't be further from the truth. He was just being nice. Because she was nice. That was all.
Wasn't it?
And why, he wondered as he handed her shoes to her and told her about answering Ellie's call, did he care what she thought? Not caring was his specialty.
"How do you feel?" he asked, finishing his drink in one gulp.
"Refreshed. Thank you so much, Max." She tied her shoes and ran her fingers through her hair. Her lips moved but he didn't hear a word she said, watching her gather her hair and twist and twirl it, securing it with a band from her wrist.
Witchcraft.
"That okay with you?" she asked, slipping her phone into her pocket.
"Of course," he answered automatically.
She clapped her hands together. "Great! I'll put up a post asking for fan questions."
Max blinked, pinching his brows together. "Fan questions."
"Well we can't do an impromptu Q and A without questions." She had her other phone out now, fingers flying across the screen. "We'll do it this afternoon? Just let me know the best time."
Fuck's sake. What had he agreed to? More importantly, how had she gotten him to say yes? Everyone knew he had a low tolerance for marketing. He could take it back and say no, he couldn't do it today. He could tell her to get Checo to do it, that he would do it another time. He'd gotten out of marketing and social media stupidity without a problem plenty of times before. But he was already opening his calendar, going over his schedule, already telling her the open slot he had at 5, and was already putting Q and A with Y/n in that space.
"Perfect," she enthused, shouldering her bag and heading for the door, her fingers still tapping swiftly on the screen. "They should be here about now, right?"
Nodding, he followed her out the room and down, smiling when Kevin came through the front door with a woman he assumed was Ellie. The boy dropped her hand and sprinted over to y/n, who dropped down to hug him tightly. Max looked on, chest squeezing, searching for something that had been lacking, as mother and son talked and hugged, their words overlapping. They both understood each other perfectly, though, and he smiled at Kevin's excited retelling of what he'd had for breakfast. Introducing himself to Ellie, he reached to shake her hand.
"Mister Max!" The boy squealed.
"Kevin!" He was down in a split second, Ellie forgotten and chest constricting tighter as Kevin hugged him like a long lost friend.
"I saw two cats and a horse!" Kevin tugged at his shirt, grinning as he showed off his Red Bull merch.
"You did? What kind of cats?" he asked, taking the boy's cap and beginning to roll the brim for him while the boy described the cats and then the horse. Returning the cap, he enthused over animals, telling him about his own two cats and pulling out his phone to show him a few pictures.
"I miss Cotton," Kevin said with a small pout.
"Is that your cat?" Max saw his trainer approaching and gave him a quick nod.
"Yeah. We can't bring him to Eng-a-lund so Aunt Ellie's sister has him." Kevin's pout melted into a faint smile. "But she sends lots of pictures!"
"That's good. And maybe you'll be able to get him soon."
"Mama says it's s'pensive." The boy sighed as though he had to earn the money to bring his beloved cat to England.
"I know," Max sympathized. "Go with your mum, yeah? I've got to go train."
Kevin's face puckered in confusion. "Train? Like Shang?"
Y/n cleared her throat. "We watched Mulan on the flight last night."
"What did Shang do?" Max vaguely remembered the movie, but it had been years since he'd seen it.
"He made a man out of 'em."
"Okay, doodle bug, we have to let Max get his workout in," y/n said, flashing Max a smile. "If you ask another question he'll start singing the song."
Max stared at her then turned his attention back to Kevin. "What song?"
Because he had to. Because hearing her groan as her son began singing a song about being a man was priceless. And the dramatic way she hung her head when Ellie joined in made him laugh. Kevin giggled, cutting off his singing and looking at Max hopefully. "Will you watch it with me?"
"I—"
"Mister Max is too busy to watch a movie," y/n cut in.
"We'll watch it this weekend," Max promised, hating the sadness in the boy's eyes. Relieved when it disappeared in a flash, he gave him a high five and stood.
"Yay!"
He exchanged a look with y/n, who sighed and nodded, reaching for Kevin's hand. "I'll see you later," he said.
"5 o'clock," she reminded him as he headed out.
*-*
"So…"
Y/n groaned at Ellie's knowing tone. Watching as Kevin was snatched up by Lando so he wasn't crashed into by Charles in the impromptu game of football, she folded her arms over her chest. "So?"
"He had coffee with you."
God, here we go.
"Showed you his private room and his expensive computer setup… Let you take a nap in his bed—"
"He's just being nice," y/n insisted.
"And he's gonna take time out of his ridiculously busy weekend to watch a movie with Kevin." Ellie hummed, taking a sip of her tea.
Ignoring her, y/n looked on as Lando, Oscar, and Logan pretended to fight back the others while Kevin kicked the ball towards the goal. They were all shouting, dramatic and over the top, and above it all she heard the sweetest sound of her son's laughter. When the ball rolled into the net there was a roar that rivaled a championship game, and she joined in the cheering and applauding.
"You could do worse," Ellie murmured.
"Would you stop?" Y/n rolled her eyes, giving Logan a thumbs up when he gestured to the football and Kevin, understanding they wanted to have another quick game.
"He's cute."
"They all are," y/n muttered without thinking, lifting her camera for a few photos for her personal collection. Recognizing Checo when he suddenly appeared in the viewfinder, she snapped more photos, lowering the camera to watch.
"You know—"
"I can't wait for you to start your job so I can come and try to partner you up with a coworker," she huffed, snorting when Ellie gasped.
"You wouldn't."
"In a heartbeat."
"Besides, there's only one person in that group that's technically your coworker," Ellie said.
"I'm not here for that."
"I know." Ellie leaned against her briefly. "Wouldn't be me if I didn't encourage a delusion, though."
"Yeah…" Y/n laughed softly. "It's my first day, of course everyone's already in love with me."
"Exactly."
It was what she loved about Ellie. No matter what, she could make her laugh. Grinning, she watched Kevin bump into Oscar, who immediately collapsed with an exaggerated howl of pain, holding the leg that Kevin hadn't touched. "And they're all so good with kids."
"Total dad material, every one of them," Ellie agreed. "Not a stepdad, a dad who stepped up."
She choked on a laugh, playfully swatting her friend's arm. Because she knew Logan had overheard them. "Stop—"
"And probably more than willing to crack your back—"
"Oh my god." Clapping a hand over her face, she sensed someone approaching. "I have to work with these people."
"Only until they fuck a baby into you."
"Hey, y/n, your kid's so cool," Logan said.
Her face burned but she slowly pulled her hand away, giving him a weak smile. "Thanks."
He propped his hands on his waist, breathing heavy as he watched Kevin dart between Lando, Oscar, Checo, and Alex. "He always this energetic?"
"Fify-fifty. He's either like this or so quiet I worry he's up to something."
Logan chuckled. "Is he a troublemaker?"
"Nah, if he's quiet it's because he's focused on his cars or studying a bug."
"Christ! Get it away from me!"
Y/n's heart lurched at the sudden shriek from Lando, and she barely saw him sprinting away from her son, who was holding something in his hands.
"It's a frog, mate!" Oscar shouted behind him.
"Don't care!"
Kevin slowly walked over to y/n. "Mama, look!" he said, eyes shining with excitement. His cheeks were a little flushed from the hard play and he was giggling. "Mister Lando scared of a l'il frog."
"He's just not a country boy like you, honey," she soothed. "But maybe we should put the frog somewhere he'll be safe?"
"C'mon, Kev, I'll help you," Logan offered.
"Hmm," Ellie hummed once Logan had scooped Kevin up, cupping one hand over the boy's to keep the frog from jumping away.
"Shut it."
"I didn't say a word."
"Please, that hmm contained at least two paragraphs, ten innuendoes, and a pointed reference," y/n said, trailing behind Logan. Looking on as he set Kevin down near the tree line, she got a few pictures of them releasing the frog. She cringed when her son wiped his dirty hands on his shorts but Logan didn't seem to mind, lifting him up and carrying him back to her.
"He's free!" Kevin squealed. "Thanks, Mister Logan."
"Anytime, Kev." He tousled his curly hair after setting him down, flashing a shy smile at y/n.
She returned the smile, eyes following Kevin as he ran back to the game. "He's gonna pass out as soon as we get back to the hotel."
"He could probably run circles around all of us all night," Logan chuckled.
"True…"
"So like…" He cleared his throat. "Are you married?"
God, she loved Floridians. "No," she answered, turning to look at him. "Are you?"
"God no." He made a face at the thought. "So you're single?"
She nodded, already formulating how she would turn him down if he asked her out. She was too busy. Not interested in anything romantic at the moment. It never hurt to be honest, right? She couldn't lie and say she just had a messy breakup or—
"Would you be interested in – I'm not trying to hook up or anything," he said quickly when she opened her mouth. "Just, like, as a friend? I know how it is to feel like a fish out of water here. I'm kind of used to it but I can remember feeling like I was alone and surrounded by people who didn't understand my Americanisms."
"Oh." Aw. Damn it, she couldn't say no to that. "I… Yeah, sure, I'd like that."
He smiled. "Awesome. Maybe we can do something tomorrow after practice?" he suggested.
"Sure, sounds great. Text me?" she requested. Her phone alarm started going off and she pulled it out to silence it. "I gotta go. I'll see you later."
She waved to Ellie and mimed that she had to get some work done, waiting for her friend to wave back before making her way to the garage. While walking she got a message from one of the mechanics that the cars were photo ready and quickened her pace, envisioning the photos she would get of the mechanics and engineers. As she worked she asked questions, truly interested in what everyone did, a small idea forming that she'd run by Mr. Horner later. She knew that she would enjoy mini profiles on the team, with just the most basic of information like their names and where they were from. Maybe how long they'd been on the team, what had brought them to formula one…
"Thanks so much guys," she said as she finished up, declining the offer of a cold Red Bull. Her alarm went off again – twenty minutes to get ready to meet Max in the lounge back at the motorhome – and she switched off the camera, waving bye and turning to leave the garage.
She slammed into a human wall, grunting in surprise as she stumbled back. Twice in one day, really? The bump had caused the camera to slam against her ribs and she rubbed the spot gently. "I'm sorry! Wasn't looking where I was going."
She expected a chuckle, a reassurance that it was a hazard of the job. Maybe even an apology in return. Instead, the older man sneered at her, looking her up and down in such a way she felt like a child caught misbehaving. "You need to learn your place."
She gulped, fear prickling through her embarrassment. And even though she knew she hadn't done anything wrong, she found her mouth opening to apologize. "S-sorry."
"Horner know better than to hire amateurs," he muttered, scoffing. "He obviously didn't hire you for your looks."
She bristled at that. "I beg your pardon?"
"As you should." He brushed past her.
She felt weak. Clammy and cold. Shuddering slightly, she swallowed hard and left the garage, heading straight for the motorhome, where she was able to catch her breath. Who the hell had that been? He'd been wearing a Red Bull pass, so he had to be on the team. He was obviously important. She couldn't imagine him being considered her boss, not when everyone else had been so nice and—
"Ah, y/n, are you ready to do the Q and A?" Max asked.
Y/n felt her lungs burn and sucked in a breath, staring at the cup of coffee she'd made herself. "Y-yeah, I'll meet you up on the deck?"
Please go up, please go up, please go—
"What's wrong?"
Goddammit.
"Y/n?" He looked and sounded concerned, and she ducked her head as he walked over. "Hey…"
"I'm fine," she lied.
"You're a terrible liar," he said, leaning against the counter. "What happened?"
"Nothing, I'm just overreacting." Rubbing her hand over her face, she shook her head and reached for the coffee. "Just a run-in with an asshole."
"But I haven't seen you in three hours." Max's lips barely twitched at the corner.
"Not you, a different asshole." She felt her cheeks burn and groaned. "I'm not saying you're an asshole!"
"You don't have to, I already know I can be an asshole at times." Folding his arms over his chest, he met her eyes. "Who was it?"
"That's the thing, I don't even know. I was coming out of the garage – You know, I went down to get pics of the mechanics? Anyway, I was about to text you about the Q and A and wasn't looking where I was going and bumped into him."
"Who?"
"I don't know. Older, kinda tall? Sour faced." She raised a hand to the man's approximate height. "I apologized and he told me I need to learn my place, then said I was an amateur and Horner obviously didn't hire me for my looks – I didn't ask his name because I was in shock. All I know is he had a Red Bull pass."
Max's brow furrowed, and she felt him tense. Then, to her surprise, he described the man perfectly.
"Yeah, that's him." She bit her lip. "You know him?"
"Unfortunately," he muttered. "It's my dad."
"Oh." Y/n looked down at her coffee. "Sorry."
"Me too." He sighed, pushing away from the counter. "Don't listen to him, yeah? You have more right to be here than he does, and you're not an amateur. As much as I hate social media, even I can tell that you're excellent at your job."
"Thank you," she whispered. "I just… I've spent my entire adult life working to improve myself and discover my own worth as a human being, and I can give other women empowering pep talks, but I still freeze when a man that thinks he's better than me talks down to me."
"Fuck him," Max said simply. "He's not your boss, he can't control anything you do in your life."
"Either you're really trying to make me feel better or you really don't like your dad," she murmured. When he didn't reply, she slowly lifted her gaze. Seeing the muscle in his jaw twitch, she felt a pang of sympathy. If the man had been that rude to her, a stranger, she couldn't begin to imagine what he'd been like to his own son.
"If he speaks to you like that again, you let me know."
"I don't want to cause a fuss—"
"Not wanting to cause a fuss is why he thinks he can get away with it," Max pointed out. "I'll speak to Christian—"
"Max, no, it's literally my first week!"
"Which is why you have to set boundaries now. He'll either treat you with the respect you deserve or he'll be banned from the paddock."
Y/n blinked in shock. "You'd have him banned?"
"In a heartbeat." The look on his face told her he was serious, from the determined set of his jaw to the way he kept his eyes level with hers. "So either you mention it to Christian in the team meeting or I will."
"God," she groaned, knowing that this had to be just one tiny item among a long list of infractions for Max to want him banned. "Okay. I'll tell him before the team meeting tomorrow."
"Good. Come, let's do the Q and A. You ready?" he asked, taking her empty cup and throwing it away.
"Yeah." Grateful for the distraction, she walked to the stairs with him. "I did a clip of you looking confused and posted it on TikTok and Instagram that went viral because I captioned it When You Ask Max Verstappen About Anything But Racing. Oh and I found out Tumblr fans love making gifs of you laughing. Twitter likes making memes out of your face. Whereas Facebook is mostly a bunch of boomers commenting about how I'm ruining the integrity of the sport."
"I really do hate social media," he snorted.
"And that is why I'm doing social media," she teased. Halfway up the stairs, she slowed, turning to look at him. "Thank you, Max."
hey girlie!! idk if you're still taking requests but if you are, can you please do a max smau where fem!reader is an interviewer (specifically the one who asks the grill the grid questions). maybe max kinda just flirts with reader during grill the grid vids.
behind the camera | max verstappen social media au
pairing: max verstappen x reader
max was never a fan of his media commitments, but maybe there's a reason he perked up in the more recent grill the grid episodes.
masterlist if you want to leave a tip
maxverstappen1
liked by yourusername, alexalbon and 1,209,874 others
tagged: yourusername
maxverstappen1: somebody tell 2019 max that one day he'll thank the gods for "those stupid fucking videos they make me do", stick it out chief it's definitely worth it
view all comments
user3: alpha male tiktok flirting coaches fear him
user4: grill the gris is now love island???
yourusername: glad i could make you enjoy media duties ... though i will miss the sass, max and alex hating on the media is one of my comfort videos
maxverstappen1: comfort what?
yourusername: it's cute, but you're even cuter when you're having fun !!
maxverstappen1: please show me when i get back
yourusername: be prepared it's like 20 minutes long
maxverstappen1: @alexalbon maybe we should stop complaining ...
alexalbon: i'm happy you're happy but never make me sit through you trying to drop game again
user5: the way it wasn't even that bad ...
alexalbon: it was so bad they edited 90% of it out, you couldn't waterboard the shit he was saying out of me
maxverstappen1: it really wasn't that bad you're being dramatic albono
alexalbon: you said she should give you a chance because you are one in "emilian" you dork
yourusername: and i thought that was super cute, sue me
landonorris: ^^that is tragic mate
maxverstappen1: i haven't forgotten how you exposed me in that video, i'll have you know that was a heart felt christmas gift from sebastian
landonorris: oof my bad, though it was more about the spider
maxverstappen1: well i'm sure seb is against the unlawful deaths of innocent spiders
sebastianvettel: they are killed for the crime of being small
landonorris: are we reciting poetry right now?
yourusername: what happened to the original plot of the movie ?
note: ahhhh i hope this is what you were thinking!! i had so much fun making this though i suck at writing flirting (probably cause i never do it lol)
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something about this gif!! idk how to explain but not breaking the eye contact while max is moving towards him and he just moves backwards, giving his full attention to max JUST SOMETHING ABOUT THIS PARTICULAR GIF
Can we have a yandere neighbor who isn't friendly to anyone in the neighborhood.. but when reader moves in that neighborhood he started to find the reader interesting..
(Also im OBSESSED with your writings)
-Anon
yandere neighbour headcanons
author’s note: anon this is an amazing idea and you are too cute <3
so let’s consider house number 206: the home of a yandere neighbour who has a reputation of being a hard-ass
they don’t interact with any residents on the street
they barely acknowledge anyone, and if they do, it’s with nothing more than a judging glance and a scowl
nobody dares knock on their door, in fear of the scornful gaze that would meet them on the other side
god forbid a package arrives for them when they’re not in - everyone refuses to take it for them
if any other residents passed them on the street, you could cut the tension with a knife
and when you move in, the residents immediately warn you about house 206, home of the nightmare neighbour
but, when they approach you a few days after you move in, they’re a completely different person
they introduce themselves with a friendly gaze, a welcoming smile, and a helping hand
nothing like the horrid picture the others’ painted
but unbeknownst to you, they’ve been eyeing you up since you stepped foot in the neighbourhood…
you caught their attention the moment you first parked up into your driveway
they usually hate new faces in the neighbourhood (and any face for that matter), but not yours
it helps that they find you very attractive
they couldn’t take their eyes off you, studying you from their living room window as you unpacked your things
they’d lose track of time, losing hours of their day just to watching you
before they knew it, you ensnared their every thought
what were you doing? where do you work? what does the inside of your house look like? are you single?
it was a sign. they had to meet you.
and they would’ve done it earlier if it weren’t for the other goddamn neighbours getting there first…
they freshened up, put on their best smile, and walked over, welcoming you to your new home
you seemed cautious at first, they weren’t sure why…
they loved listening to you talk, they could listen to your voice forever
during your conversation, they saw another neighbour about to walk up to you both
they were downright offended! how dare someone try and interrupt their precious time with you! haven’t the other neighbours had enough already?
when you weren’t looking, they flashed a glare at them, and enjoyed seeing their eyes widen before they sheepishly walked away
then you mentioned how the other neighbours warned you about them.
they saw red.
it was clear to them now - the other neighbours were trying to keep you away from them, tear you two apart before they even had a chance to say hello!
like hell they were gonna let that happen
they knew they had to work extra hard to keep you close and the rest of neighbourhood away
they won’t let you be influenced by those liars again
you two belong together, and they won’t let anyone stop them from being with you
Summary: Julianna was Tyrion Lannister daughter from a random whore, she was as what others say a replica of the late Lady Joanna Lannister. But little Juli wasn't t just a simple child, no she was made for something greater. Even thou she was a bastard Tyrion still took Julianna in, in an attempt to ire his father, the great lion Tywin Lannister. And add to that, King Robert Baratheon legitimized her just to annoy the old lion.
Watch as how she changed the Game of Thrones.
(Warning: Game of Thrones literally is a warning itself, but this story consist of incest, murder, manipulation, death, etc.
A/N: So I'm a newbie author and English is not my first language. So don't expect anything great. This is merely to satisfy my Tywin Lannister obsession. And I'm not really that familiar with how the court works in GoT and I'm also not that in depth towards it's lore, so please forgive me should I mistake something, and do tell me so I could correct it.)
"A woman carry a life that could change history itself, so why is it that we are seen less. When it was from our womb that gave life to all."
"I'll show you grandfather that a woman isn't just for child bearing."
"oh poor unfortunate father, given how smart you are you still failed to realize that grandfather has replaced you. The child that I carry will be the heir to Casterly Rock."
"Joffery, my dear boy, do not be foolish. I am your aunt we cannot marry. My love, look at me you will not disappoint me. Do you understand?"
"You may be queen but I have the love of Tywin Lannister."
"I am capable of many things even kinslaying."
"You do not know the misery I have experienced in slums, so please forgive me should I do anything to make sure my children never experience what I have experienced."
"When you first brought me here I was imagining the life I will have with my father, but your constant drinking and debauchery has lowered my expectations."
"Don't expect big things you'll only disappoint yourself."
"Your needle work has greatly improved." Tywin said as he entered my solar. He walked up near me and sat at the nearest chair. Given that I was sitting on the floor with soft wool underneath me, I had to really look up towards him.
"It's been the same, grandfather." I said with a slight glare. He merely sighed, in which I turned back to my stitching. "Dare I ask where is father?"
"Probably whoring his way in some brothel." He answered with clear annoyance and disgust in his tone.
"Have you ever been in any brothel, grandfather?" I asked with real curiosity. Given how proud the old lion was, my guess is he never did, and if he ever did it won't be for pleasure as he is always about business.
He hummed, and seemingly contemplated for a moment but he didn't answer my question.
But I knew the truth, Tywin Lannister isn't so different from Tyrion Lannister when it comes to carnal desires.
It is truly interesting how a small vial could alter the course of history.
How a single night gave life to one of the greatest man, king, warrior and son.
He may be seen as a bastard in other people's eyes, but there is no doubt that the blood of a king courses through his veins.
It has been days after that night that Rhealla Targaryen have heard of what her brother, Viserys, has planned for her.
"How dare he!!!!, To throw me away like some common whore. I have given him everything and this is how he repays me!!" Rhealla shouted madly, with tears falling through the ground, as objects fly and crash into walls, floors and ceilings.
"Princess Prince Daemon is here to see you." Jeran announced, with Ser Redel by her side. Rhealla stopped and turned to look at Jeran, still crying.
"Princess, it may be best to changed first before meeting prince Daemon." Said Septa Morel. Rhealla may have disheveled hair, red eyes, puffed face and a loose, crumpled nightgown, all from her crying and outburst. But even with all of that, none of them could deny the beauty that Rhealla Targaryen is.
"No let him in." Rhealla said as she slowly walked towards her bedside and dramatically fall to the ground, then laying her head on the bedside, with her arms careesing her stomach while continuing to sob.
Tag List:
@chevelledahuman @stargaryenx
(So I plan to make a longer chapter for Chapter 1 sooo, all of my knowledge will be from the tv show and there might be some changes in the future so bear with me)
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A River of Blood - Prologue :The Begining of Greatness
Rhealla knows what she wants, and she knows how to get it. She's willing to do anything to get it.
With King Jaehaerys declining health. All eyes have been towards both Princess Rheanys, the King's oldest daughter, and Prince Viserys, the King's grandchild from his son Baelon. And everyone knows that, this kingdom would rather burn to the ground than let a woman sit on the iron throne.
Even with Princess Rheanys desperate fight of trying to put the young Leanor Velaryon on the throne, it was no use. So it was inevitable and predictable that the dying king choose Prince Viserys as heir.
Princess Rhealla's Bedroom
The princesses room was full of lavish and expensive objects, yet it gives the people a homely feeling. With warm feeling and comforts in mind.
Princess Rhealla can be seen near the window, sitting in a big and fluffy chair, stitching what seems to be a beautiful Oleander.
"Poor Rheanys, she must be heartbroken ." Rhealla said with such a soft voice that had you not been looking at her mocking face , you will believe she cares. "And now my dear Viserys is going to be king." She said with a smirk. Finishing her stitching
"But what about Princess Aemma?" Said her sworn sword, Ser Redel Sanfranks, a former Braavosi sell-sword later becoming the princess loyal guard nicknamed ' the black mamba'.
He was given this nickname by Princess Rhealla not only because of his knowledge in poison, which only the princess knows, but also because of his strength, speed and flexibility with any weapon.
"Hmmm our sweet dear Aemma, she does need to be taken care of. But given that she's carrying my niece in her womb, we'll have to postpone it for a little bit." Rhealla said, as she stood up and walked towards the window overlooking the whole of King's Landing.
"Is it ready?" She asked. "Yes, It has been delivered." Ser Redel answered.
She then slowly place her hand on top of her stomach, caressing it gently.
" One day the child that I carry will rule the Realm."
(it is kinda short , so sorry I guess,. I'm not really that knowledgeable about asoiaf I only know general knowledge, and I'm not a great writer, so if there is some mistake , any kind of mistakes, please do tell me. 🥺)
The Realm was blessed when Rhealla Targaryen was born. She who was birthed In a raging storm, who's first cry split the clouds to reveal a clear beautiful sky. They call her the "Gentle Dragoness" and in the near future the "Mother of Dragons". She was the object of envy and desire by both men and women, all because of her ageless beauty. Rhealla Targaryen was born for greatness, and she knows it, and from her womb came the greatest dynasty.
"Rhealla Targaryen has both the beauty and the golden heart, people loves her. They worship the ground she walks. But none could love her more than her brothers."
"I could never compete against her!"
"Forgive me mother, but if I have to choose between you and her. I will not hesitate to separate your head from your body."
"My loyalty towards you is something that is unquestionable."
"I will kill Harwin Strong for you , so please do not let tears fall from your beautiful eyes ever again."
Rhealla walked towards the Iron Throne, gliding her delicate hands against the sword. When she is finally Infront of it she turned around towards the empty hall with only the silhouette of a man present.
"My son will wear the crown and sit on the iron throne. I will not let that hightower bitch and that selfish whore take away what is rightfully my son's legacy."
Authors note: Don't expect anything great, English is not my first language and Im doing this just for fun 😊because I'm obsessed with House of the dragon 🐉
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