Max Mayfield

Sup.

[maxmayfield98]

Guys im debating whether to write this

Its a series about a girl whos name is y/n who dosent know that shes from a rich family btw her family passed away from an accident and she is an orphange. Shes related to the watinwanich family so shes related to p'lom, p'fai, p'nam and p'din. Guyss btw im kinda new to writing so i might suck :)

[maxmayfield98]

Framed

Maya bishop x reader x carina deluca

a/n: hey guys I'm pretty much new to writing, hopefully you guys enjoy this oneshot story :)

The sterile white walls of the facility seemed to mock you. You couldn't believe this was happening. Carina, her face a mask of concern that you now saw as manipulation, and Maya, her usual fiery spirit dimmed by what you perceived as a betrayal, had brought you here. "This is for your own good," Carina had said, her voice soft but firm, as they guided you through the imposing doors. Maya hadn't met your eyes, her silence a heavier accusation than any words.

Rage simmered beneath your skin. How dare they? How dare they decide this for you, without truly understanding? You were angry, hurt, and utterly alone in this place that felt like a prison. You turned to face them, your voice sharp, "You can't do this to me! This is insane! I hate you both!" The words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of your fractured trust.

Maya finally looked at you, her eyes filled with a pain that mirrored your own, but it was too late. The damage was done. Carina stepped forward, reaching out a hand, but you recoiled as if burned. "Don't touch me," you spat, your gaze fixed on Maya, the one person you thought would always have your back. "You both just signed your own death warrants in my book."

The days that followed blurred into a monotonous cycle of therapy sessions, medication, and forced group activities. You remained defiant, your anger a shield against the perceived injustice. You refused to engage, to open up, to let them see the vulnerability that lay beneath your hardened exterior. Each therapist's attempt to "reach" you was met with stony silence or biting sarcasm. You saw their concern as a performance, their understanding as a lie.

Maya and Carina visited, their faces etched with a mixture of worry and a weariness you couldn't bring yourself to empathize with. Maya would try to speak, to explain, to apologize, but you'd cut her off, your words laced with the bitterness of your betrayal. "What do you want me to say, Maya? That I forgive you for locking me up? That I'm grateful for this 'help'?" Carina would attempt a gentler approach, her voice laced with a practiced calm, but you saw through it. "You think this is going to fix me?" you'd sneer. "You're just trying to control me, both of you."

You found yourself watching them, analyzing their every move, searching for any crack in their facade. You noticed the way Maya flinched when you spoke to her, the way Carina's smile never quite reached her eyes. It fueled your anger, solidifying your belief that they were orchestrating this entire charade, perhaps even enjoying your suffering. You were determined to make them regret this, to show them the consequences of crossing you.

One afternoon, during a particularly grueling individual therapy session, the dam finally broke. Not in a way that led to understanding or healing, but in a torrent of raw, unfiltered fury. You unleashed every ounce of your resentment, your pain, your accusations. You screamed at the therapist, at Maya and Carina who were observing from behind the one-way mirror, at the very walls that held you captive. You hurled insults, replayed every perceived slight, and declared your unwavering intention to make them pay. The outburst left you trembling, spent, but with a chilling sense of clarity: you would not be broken here. You would find a way out, and when you did, they would face the full force of your wrath.Six months later, the sterile white walls of the psychiatric facility finally receded, replaced by the stark, unforgiving reality of the outside world. You walked out not with a sense of freedom, but with a cold, hard resolve that had solidified during your involuntary stay. The time spent institutionalized, though meant to break you, had instead forged you into something sharper, something more dangerous. You had meticulously observed, learned, and planned.The police academy became your new battleground. It was a place where your controlled anger, your sharp intellect, and your newfound ruthlessness could be honed into a weapon. You excelled, driven by a singular purpose: to gain the power and authority to ensure no one could ever control you again. You pushed yourself relentlessly, the grueling physical and mental demands a welcome distraction from the lingering shadows of your past. You became a ghost in your own life, expertly weaving a narrative of a reformed individual, all the while harboring a deep-seated plan.Maya and Carina became distant memories, deliberately erased from your life. You changed your number, moved to a different part of the city, and severed all ties. When chance encounters were unavoidable, you’d offer a polite, almost imperceptible nod, your eyes holding a chilling emptiness that made them recoil. You saw their attempts to reconnect, their hesitant smiles, as pathetic pleas for forgiveness you would never grant. Their concern was a brand you refused to acknowledge, their past actions a debt that remained unpaid. You were on a new path, a path paved with justice, and they were no longer part of its landscape.

The air in the fire station clinic was thick with the scent of antiseptic and the low hum of emergency equipment. You stood by the double doors, your posture rigid, a silent sentinel. The weight of the uniform felt both foreign and familiar, a new skin you were still getting used to. Your gaze swept over the room, cataloging every detail, every potential threat, every exit. This was your domain now, a place where order was paramount.Then, the doors swung open, admitting a wave of concerned faces. Among them, you saw Maya and Carina. Their expressions were a mixture of relief and apprehension, a stark contrast to the controlled calm you’d cultivated. Carina’s eyes widened in surprise, and Maya’s breath hitched, her hand instinctively reaching for Carina’s arm. They looked at you, a stranger in uniform, guarding a doorway that had once been a threshold to a shared life.You met their gazes, your expression unreadable. There was no flicker of recognition, no warmth, just the cool professionalism of an officer on duty. You offered a curt nod, a silent acknowledgment of their presence, before turning your attention back to the doors, your duty calling you away from the ghosts of your past. The clinic was a place of healing, but for you, it was a post, a barrier, a reminder of the distance you had placed between then and now.

The sudden commotion shattered the clinic's fragile peace. A patient, eyes wild and unfocused, lunged at Maya, their movements erratic and violent. In an instant, your training kicked in. The controlled calm you projected evaporated, replaced by a surge of protective instinct. You moved with a speed that surprised even yourself, intercepting the attacker before they could inflict any real harm.Your hands were firm but not brutal as you subdued the struggling individual, bringing them down to the floor with practiced efficiency. Carina rushed to Maya's side, her face pale with fear, but Maya, though shaken, was unharmed. You remained positioned between them and the now-restrained patient, your gaze sharp, assessing the situation."Are you alright, ma'am?" you asked Maya, your voice level and professional, betraying none of the complex emotions churning beneath the surface. You met her wide, startled eyes, the shared history momentarily flashing between you, before you refocused on your duty, ensuring the immediate threat was neutralized and the clinic returned to a state of order.

As the adrenaline subsided, a tense quiet settled back into the clinic, punctuated only by the muffled sounds of paramedics attending to the agitated patient. Carina, her arm still around Maya, finally looked at you, her eyes filled with a mixture of gratitude and a dawning recognition. Maya, catching her gaze, followed suit, her expression shifting from shock to a profound, unspoken understanding.You maintained your professional demeanor, your gaze sweeping the room to ensure no further disturbances. "The situation is under control," you stated, your voice steady. You offered a brief, almost imperceptible nod to Maya, a silent acknowledgment that passed between you, a flicker of the past in the present. Then, with the practiced economy of movement, you stepped back, resuming your post by the doors, the silent guardian once more, leaving Maya and Carina to process the unexpected reunion in the sterile confines of the clinic.

The sterile air of the hospital room felt heavy, thick with unspoken questions. You sat on the edge of the bed, the crisp white sheets a stark contrast to the turmoil in your mind. Carina and Maya had been evasive, their stories riddled with inconsistencies, but today, something felt different. A fragile resolve had settled over them, a shared decision to finally lay bare the truth.Maya began, her voice soft, almost a whisper, recounting the days leading up to your admission. She spoke of your mother's visits, her increasingly frantic pleas for you to be "helped," her descriptions of your behavior growing more alarming with each telling. Carina added details, the doctor's consultations, the fabricated reports of suicidal ideation, the manufactured evidence of self-harm. It was a carefully constructed narrative, designed to paint you as a danger, a narrative your own mother had so expertly crafted.The realization hit you like a physical blow. Your mother, the person you trusted most, had orchestrated this. The betrayal was a bitter pill, a sickening twist of the gut. Tears welled, not of sadness, but of a cold, hard anger. You looked at Carina and Maya, their faces etched with remorse and a shared burden, and understood. They hadn't wanted this, but they had been manipulated, caught in the crossfire of your mother's desperate, misguided actions. The hospital wasn't a place of healing; it was a prison built on lies, and the architect was the one person you never suspected.

You took a deep, shaky breath, the anger slowly giving way to a profound sadness. You looked at Carina and Maya, their faces a mixture of guilt and relief. You reached out, your hand finding Carina's, then Maya's."It's okay," you said, your voice raspy but firm. "It wasn't your fault. You were just trying to do what you thought was right. And Mom... she was probably scared. Scared of things she didn't understand." A small, sad smile touched your lips. "We'll figure this out. Together."

[maxmayfield98]

Cassie McKay x reader

Cassie McKay ran a hand through her already-tousled hair, her eyes—usually so sharp and focused—clouded with a weariness that had nothing to do with long shifts. She leaned against the cool metal of the examination table, the sterile scent of the clinic doing little to soothe the knot in her stomach. "Look," she started, her voice softer than usual, "this isn't easy for me to say, and I know it's not easy for you to hear." She met your gaze, her own filled with a mixture of regret and resolve. "You're incredible. Truly. Smart, kind, funny… everything anyone could want. But you’re just starting out, and I… well, I've been doing this a lot longer. The age difference, the different stages of our lives… it’s just too much. I can't, y/n. I just can't."The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. You’d felt the rejection, a cold wave washing over you, but seeing the genuine pain in her eyes made it a hundred times worse. You mumbled an excuse, a desperate need to escape the sterile room and the even more sterile truth of her words. Later that night, the alcohol burned a path down your throat, each swallow a desperate attempt to drown out the echo of her voice, the image of her sympathetic, yet firm, expression. The hospital’s quiet hallways seemed to mock you, a constant reminder of the place where your heart had been so carelessly, albeit kindly, broken.You found yourself staring at your reflection in the darkened window of the break room, the fluorescent lights casting harsh shadows on your face. Tears, hot and stinging, blurred your vision. It wasn't just the rejection; it was the unfairness of it all. She was right, of course. You were young, still finding your footing in the demanding world of medicine, while she was a seasoned professional, her life already carved out. But knowing that didn't stop the ache, the hollow space that had opened up inside you. You took another swig from the bottle, the cheap liquor doing little to numb the sharp edges of your disappointment.

A fresh wave of nausea, unrelated to the alcohol, washed over you. You stumbled back from the window, the break room suddenly feeling too small, too suffocating. You’d thought the night couldn't get any worse, but then you saw her. Cassie. Laughing. Her arm slung casually around another girl’s shoulders as they walked down the corridor, bathed in the dim emergency room light. The other girl was pretty, no doubt, with a bright, easy smile that Cassie seemed to be genuinely returning.

It was a simple gesture, a friendly one even, but to your intoxicated, heartbroken mind, it was a dagger. The casual intimacy, the effortless connection, it was everything you’d just been told you couldn't have. You felt a hot, bitter surge of something akin to jealousy, mixed with a profound sense of loneliness. You hugged the bottle tighter, pressing yourself further into the shadows, a silent, miserable observer of a happiness that felt so out of reach.The sight of Cassie and the other girl together was a punch to the gut. You turned away, the alcohol blurring your vision and making your movements clumsy. You needed to get out, to escape the hospital, to escape the ache that was now a dull roar in your head. You fumbled with your keys, your fingers thick and unresponsive. The hallway seemed to stretch on forever, the polished floor a slick, treacherous expanse.You took a step, then another, your head swimming. The world tilted. Your foot caught on something – a discarded IV stand, perhaps, or a stray piece of equipment. You cried out, a sharp, involuntary sound, as you lost your balance. Time seemed to slow as you pitched forward, the cool, hard linoleum rushing up to meet you. A searing pain shot through your ankle as you landed awkwardly, your head striking the floor with a sickening thud. Darkness, thick and absolute, swallowed you whole.

[maxmayfield98]

Guyss let's talk about Cassie McKay chain necklace like omg I'm dying 😭 shesss soo pretttyyy 😩

[maxmayfield98]

Love this twooo😝 credits to @endjoyed tiktok

[maxmayfield98]

Trinity santos x reader

The sterile smell of the clinic always made you a little uneasy, but today, it was mixed with the sharp tang of antiseptic and the underlying scent of Trinity's familiar perfume. You sat on the examination table, your ankle throbbing, a dark bruise already blooming. Trinity, in her crisp white coat, moved with a practiced efficiency, her brow furrowed in concentration as she examined your injured leg."Hold still for me," she said, her voice calm and steady, the professional tone a stark contrast to the genuine concern you saw in her eyes. She gently palpated your ankle, her touch precise and reassuring. "That's a nasty twist you've got there," she observed, her gaze meeting yours. "Did you hear a pop or a snap at all when it happened?"You shook your head, wincing as she applied a little pressure. Her hand lingered for a moment, a silent gesture of comfort. "It's going to be sore for a bit," she continued, her voice softening. "But I think we've avoided anything too serious. We'll get this wrapped up, and I'll give you some instructions for rest and ice." Even with the professional distance she maintained, you could feel the worry radiating from her, a warmth that eased the ache in your ankle more than any medication could.The cool, firm pressure of the elastic bandage wrapped around your ankle was a welcome sensation, a tangible sign that Trinity was taking care of you. She tied off the end with a neat knot, her movements economical and sure.

Trinity gently finished wrapping your ankle, her movements deliberate and careful. As she tied off the bandage, her fingers brushed against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine that had nothing to do with the pain. She looked up, her eyes soft and filled with an emotion that went beyond professional concern.

"You know," she started, her voice a low murmur, "I really don't like seeing you hurt." She reached out, her thumb tracing the line of your jaw, her gaze unwavering. "It makes me worry." The clinical setting seemed to melt away, replaced by an intimacy that crackled in the air between you. She leaned in, her lips brushing yours in a kiss that was both tender and full of unspoken feelings. "Let's get you home," she whispered against your lips, her arm sliding around your waist, "and I'll take care of you."

[maxmayfield98]

Hopper: my house my rules

Y/n: my knife your life 😇