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amyelevenn · 3 months

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heyy any chance i could request 25 ("Don't get in my way") with Max and Red Bull driver!reader?

winner of what?

PAIRING; Max Verstappen x Red Bull driver!reader

SUMMARY; Max thinks you are going to ruin his chance at a fifth World Driver's Championship, and he can't let that happen. set in 2025, but doesn't necessarily follow the schedule

WARNINGS; small description of violence of a crash, angst, manipulative Max

A/N; thank you so much for this request! I hope I did your idea justice:)) also the longest fic I have ever written? thats crazy

not proof read

3.7k words masterlist

.・。.・゜✭・♥︎・✫・゜・。.

.・。.・゜✭・♥︎・✫・゜・。.

You were new here. You were an outsider. You knew that, and you hated every moment of it.

Despite knowing most people on the paddock by now, you couldn’t get rid of the lingering feeling that some of the mechanics or others despised you for taking Checo’s seat, even though you had rightfully won it. You knew that no one actually thought that, but the idea always sat idly in the back of your mind.

The season had barely begun (if you count pre-season testing as the start of the season), and yet here you were, already finding new ways to doubt your own abilities.

After a rough season with RB and Daniel, you were more than ready to actually be in the fight for podiums and wins, rather than measly points. Even with a one-year contract, you were determined to make this season yours, proving to Red Bull that they should keep you around for a little while longer.

Your new teammate, Max, was just coming down from a high of winning his fourth DWC and constructors’ with Red Bull, and you couldn’t be more excited to join the likes of these champions.

You hadn’t really met or had a chance to interaction with him, despite the many team meetings and social media outings you did together. He never really introduced himself; was there really any need too anyway? You knew he was Max Verstappen, 4-time world champion, and that was all you really needed when it came to him. You had raced with him on the grid for a few years now, so it brought you a little comfort to be able to say you at least were familiar with the surface level version of him.

From what Daniel had told you, the persona the media had given him was far from the truth; he wasn’t a villain, a monster out to make everyone’s race a living hell. No, Max was a pretty stand-up guy. According to Daniel, he was “just your type” and the two of you would “vibe like crazy” when you finally spoke to each other.

In fact, it was your ex-teammate who was the one to take the first initiative and introduce you to each other. You were at a season launch lunch, sitting by yourself at your table when Daniel, dragging Max along behind him, sat himself down beside you.

“It had recently been brought to my attention that you two have not been formally introduced, so I am going to do it for you,” he grins, almost proud of himself. Patting the seat on your other side, you look up a Max, silently offering him a seat.

He politely refuses, but the glare Daniel gives him is enough incentive for him to quietly take the seat.

“Now talk to each other.” The Aussie stands, taking his leave. “I am going to go back to the bar an get some more drinks, but I better see both your traps yapping or I’m not gonna be happy.”

An awkward silence entails, neither of you knowing where to start after he walks away.

“…He can be very bossy when he wants to be,” Max chuffs, being the one to break the silence. You laugh quietly in agreement, and the conversation flows pleasantly for the next few hours.

It isn’t until the sun begins to set that you realise how long you had been talking, and that Daniel never did come back. In the most subtle way you can manage, without disturbing Max who was looking on his phone for the best photos of his cats, you peer around the luncheon in hopes of finding your ex-teammate. Spotting him sitting at the bar, he was already looking your way; smirking, he taps his watch, and you can almost hear him say I told you so.

It’s the opening race of the season, and what a stellar start it was for Red Bull; a front row lock-out in qualifying, and a 1-2 podium, Max triumphing for what was the first time this year. It was exhilarating, being up on the podium with the others, especially considering it was your debut race with your new team. It wasn’t your first podium, of course, but this time around it felt much more earned, like you were finally getting recognised for your achievements.

At the debriefing, Max off-handedly mentioned the team going out to celebrate the win and asked if you wanted to come along. It was a stupid question, and he knew it; who were you to turn down the opportunity to commemorate your maiden podium?

You were out all night, not officially going back to your hotel room until the sun had risen the next morning. Although you didn’t remember much, there were multiple accounts recounted to you that you had been glued to Max’s side for majority of the party, including from the man himself. Photos of the two of you swarmed your messages and social media; his hand on the small of your back, yours grasping his shoulder for dear life.

He bought you drinks; you bought him drinks. It was a sweet cycle that had you both wasted within a couple hours, you more so than him. Even with your foggy recollection of the night, you knew that Max and you were getting closer, and you didn’t mind one bit of it.

The second race saw a similar fate; P1 for Max and P2 for yourself again, and the afterparty leading to very close proximity for the pair of you. Whilst you didn’t drink as heavily this time, you still felt just as intoxicated from the mere presence of him so near you.

“I know it’s only two races into the season, but you are already by far my favourite teammate that I’ve had,” you laugh, sure that he would barely be able to hear you over the blaring music.

He laughs too, leaning closer to you to be able to whisper in your ear, “same goes for you, Liefde.”

You didn’t even know what the nickname meant, but it sent chills down your spine. You didn’t question it, letting the mystery of his native language sway with you to the bass of the music.

The next few races would follow the same pattern; Max would finish the race above you, he would invite you to a party, and you would dance together much closer than two friends ever would. Even after coming second to Charles in the Monegasque’s home race, Max kept up this new tradition you had created.

Outside of the clubs and bars, he never acknowledged his behaviour. And because he didn’t, you didn’t either. No one asked about it, so it never got brought up, but people knew enough to expect it during any afterparties.

Interviews, podiums together, and in the cool down room, all that the public would see is two teammates celebrating each other’s achievements.

It wasn’t until you were actually able to give Max a run for his money for P1 after he had a poor pit stop that there was a falter in the routine. It all came down to the final lap; you overtook him at turn 1, he retaliated into turn 3, you got a better jump from the hairpin, but ultimately, he was the one who crossed the line ahead of you, even if it was only by a couple tenths of a second.

The cooldown room was tense, a state it had never been before. Even Carlos, known for his non-stop yapping, was quiet, knowing that something wasn’t quite right between the two of you. Of course, he didn’t know what it was, but honestly, you didn’t either – to your understanding, you were just having a good, competitive race, but Max must’ve thought otherwise.

He didn’t invite you to any celebrations afterwards, but others did. It made no difference either way who you went with; he was nowhere to be seen.

You didn’t talk to him much during the doubleheader, focusing more on the want to finally get your first win. With how well the car had been performing, and the statistics showing that you were closing in on Max more and more every race, a win this week was well within the realm of possibility.

With 5 laps left in the race, Max was leading with you hot on his heels, and Lando hot on yours. But all it took for everything to spiral into a flaming hot mess was for Max to cut you off, not leaving you enough room. It resulted in sending you spinning and crashing hard into a wall. Max, struggling to regain his composure, was overtaken by Lando. Red flags were waved, and the Brit was the first to see the checkered flag, trundling along behind the safety car.

To say you were heartbroken was an understatement. Nothing could describe just how angry and devastated you were that you didn’t even get to finish the race, and how willing your teammate was to just blatantly cut you off, all but forcing you into the wall.

Honestly, you wanted to cry, but you held yourself together throughout the media conferences, restraining yourself from diminishing Max’s performance today. As much as you wanted to, and boy did you really want to, a manager pulled you away before you could express your true feelings.

For whatever reason he thought it was appropriate, it was the Dutchman who invited you to celebrations of his win. You declined, being as polite as you physically could, claiming you just wanted to go back to your hotel room and sleep the night away.

He muttered some sweet nothings about ‘it not being the same without you,’ and ‘the party will be such a bore if you aren’t by my side,’ as if nothing had happened between you.

The stark contrast between his personas almost gave you whiplash, but regardless of you left by yourself. You tired and tried your hardest to convince yourself that the reason you weren’t partying tonight was because you just wanted to forget about such a poor end to such an amazing weekend. But in your core, you knew it was because you didn’t want to be with Max, to fall into his traps, be seduced by his niceties.

Were they even real? You weren’t sure what they were anymore.

You were in a new country within a day of the last race, completing videos for Red Bull’s socials, some even with Daniel by your side.

Naturally, he questioned your relationship with your teammate once the cameras were off.

Stunned silence was the only answer you could give him. With some gentle coaxing, he gets some information out of you.

“It’s just… I don’t even… I’ve never delt with anything like this in my life. Normally I can separate my outside life and racing, but he is just there. Always there,” you sigh, not realising how heavy the situation was weighing on your chest.

He hums in understanding. “I think you need to talk to him about it all.”

“I tried, once. He just pretended like he didn’t know what I was talking about, as if there was nothing happening between us,” you say. “It isn’t like a want a fully committed relationship with him or anything, I just… I’m so confused, I don’t know what to do. I really like him Dan. I don’t want to stop hanging out with him, he’s become a good friend, but I also don’t want to keep being led on like this. If that is what this even is?”

You collapse on your chair, covering your face in shame. The Aussie doesn’t have much to offer except some quiet consolations, softly rubbing your back in hopes of bringing you some comfort.

Your confidence had taken a hit, and it showed in your race results. Finishing P5 behind Max’s P1 wasn’t exactly a poor result, but for consistently being on the podium this season, you were not happy. You wanted to blame the car, or the slow pitstops (they were actually the two fastest of the race), but you knew deep down it wasn’t either of those.

A knock on your driver room door made you falter, unsure of who even knew you were in there.

“Who is it?” you ask, not bothering to move from your position.

The door creaks open, and you look over your shoulder to see the handsome smile that belonged to the one and only.

“What do you want, Max?”

“‘Congrats on the win Max, you had a great race.’ That’s so sweet, thank you,” he mocks your voice, laughing as he leans against the doorframe.

You don’t laugh, finding no humour in the situation.

“We are going out again tonight, to Frankie’s. you heard of it?” he continues, as if you weren’t glaring daggers at him.

You turn yourself to face him. “Who’s we?” you ask, ignoring his question.

“You and I, of course,” he says, as if it is the most obvious thing in the world.

“I’m not going out with you tonight.”

“Sure you are, we have to celebrate my win!”

“No, Max. And that’s final.” You stand, grabbing the door to usher him out.

“I’ll pick you up at 8, sound good?”

“No.”

“I’ll see you then,” he grins, walking away to his own room.

And true to his word, he is at the door of your hotel room, three minutes to 8. You don’t bother answering the door, leaving him knocking and calling your name. He leaves not long after, and you’re left to spend the night alone.

Finally, it was time for the Spa Grand Prix, the reigning World Driver’s Champion’s home race. You knew this race was important to Max, and what better way to one up him than to beat him in his home country?

You out qualify him in every possible way – free practises, Q1 and Q2. When it came time for Q3, you wish him luck as he jumps into his car. He grants it in return, but you know it doesn’t hold much value to it.

You complete your timed lap first, clocking the fastest time the last two days have seen. Max is on track to beat it, but understeers around one corner, leading him to…qualify the same time as you?? No, that couldn’t be right…

You sit in shock, looking at the checkered flag was waved. You. In P1. You would start the race up the very front for the first time in your career. You would start ahead of Max. in his home race.

He didn’t have much to comment on it, knowing that the actual competition would come during the race.

The night was a blur, and before you could prepare yourself, the five lights were out, and you were racing in Spa.

You lost the lead before the first lap was even over, and of course it was to Max. You tried to not let it damper your hopes for the win, fiercely fighting him for first place. Halfway into the race, the pair of you were over 30 seconds ahead from Charles, running in P3. You couldn’t remember how many cars you had lapped, but it had to have been at least half of the grid.

With only tenths between you, he crossed the line first. Your heart shattered, but at least you had the fastest lap, right?

Content with the weekend, you took Max up on his offer to go to a party together that night. It didn’t take much to convince you to have a few drinks, and it wasn’t long until you were out on the dance floor. The Dutchman accompanied you, not nearly as drunk as you were.

You let him run his hands down your waist, eventually resting your hips. It made you queasy, how easily he could control every thought you had. You wanted nothing more than this night to ever end, and that was only aided by the sweet nothing he would whisper, only for you to hear.

“I missed having you here with me,” he murmurs, barely audible over the drone of the packed bar you were in. “You’re the only reason I enjoy celebrating my wins.”

A blush creeps up your neck and cheeks, pulling him closer to you. The proximity has you weak, supported only by his hold. You let him sway you side to side, enjoying this side of him. This side you only saw when he was drunk, and you were too.

You couldn’t help but fall back into the rhythm of your relationship with Max. His sickly intoxicating words were music to your ears, leaving you wanting more and more every time. It never escalated into anything physical, but the illusion that it might had you holding onto this faux reality so tightly.

The season was coming to an end, only a few races left on the calendar. One of which was your home race, and you had never been more excited to be a driver in your life. Qualifying saw you on pole for the second time and, a surprise twist for everyone, saw Max sitting in P4, behind the likes of both Ferrari’s.

The thought of him being so many cars behind you brought some comfort to the nerves racking your body. You had never felt so anxious in your life, not even when you were on pole in Spa. You were so, so desperate for this to be your first win.

Red Bull were secure in their Constructor’s Championship, winning for the fourth year in a row. The Driver’s Championship, however, was still anyone’s game. It would be hard for Charles, who was sitting in third, to come back and win it, but it was still a possibility. Sitting in second, you were miraculously only 24 points behind Max. That was close enough to give you hope, determined more than ever. He, on the other hand, was not a happy chap.

On the racetrack, he didn’t really acknowledge you unless he had too. Off the racetrack? Max was a completely different person, never one to break the routine that had begun again.

During the formation lap, you felt the nerves and cheers radiating off of the crowd, supporting you in their wake. Being their only representation, you had a lot sitting on your shoulders.

The lights flicked on. One by one, taking what felt like forever to finally disappear. And when they did, you got the best jump of the group, leading the grid into the first, second, third corners and what would be the next 30 laps of the race.

Max had made up positions, closing in on you in first. It wasn’t until he made a stupid, irresponsible decision to try and overtake in a corner that was not made for two cars, causing a collision that his car couldn’t walk away from. Yours was in much better shape, only having damage to the front wing.

Whilst yeah, you lost multiple positions, his DNF sparked so much hope in your chest that there was almost nothing stopping you from winning this race.

Within record time, you jumped from ninth to first, giddy at the idea of actually winning for the first time in front of your home crowd. With only 1 lap to go, you were crying. You couldn’t lose it now, with whoever was running second so far behind you there was simply no chance of them catching up. You vision was blurred, but you could still see the checkered flag clear as day. People were screaming over the radio, but it all muddled together.

Stepping onto that first-place podium and hearing your national anthem was a dream come true. Literally. Sweat mixed with champagne, and for once you didn’t dread being sprayed. Revelling in the cheers of the crowd, you were overwhelmed with emotion that you couldn’t even form coherent sentences.

Someone, you aren’t quite sure who, mentions that because of your win, you were now first in the Driver’s Championship; Max’s DNF cost him the lead. How ironic.

Back in the team garage, you’re pulled away before you can get a big team photo.

Surprise is the last thing you feel when you see your teammate being the one to lead you away from everyone.

“What are you doing? We need to take the photo, Max. I don’t want to miss the photo,” you whine, laughing from the absurdity of the situation.

The door of whatever room he’s pulled you too slammed behind him, a loud bang you weren’t expecting.

“What the hell were you doing out there?”

“…what?” you ask, confused on what the hell he was talking about.

“Your shitty driving pushed me into the wall. Your shitty driving cost me the championship.”

“No, Max, the incident was your fault. Not mine.”

He looks like he’s holding back from strangling you. “No. I told Christian that you would ruin everything, and here we are. What a surprise, I was right.”

“There is still like 3 races left in the season, and I’m only a couple points up. You could very easily come back. No need to freak out.”

“Do not get in my way of my fifth championship, or else I’ll make sure you never race for any team, ever again.”

He had never been this mad, not in front of you.

“Fuck you, Max. At this point in time, I hold the title. Not you. It is not yours to claim,” you retaliate, fed up with him ruining your day.

“I bet you grinding your ass on me every night was a manipulation tactic, wasn’t it? To get in my head, fuck with my races.”

“What?? You were the one asking me to come with you, not the other way around. Do not try and turn this around on me Max.”

Down the hall, you could hear people calling out for you. He notices it too, opening the door with much gusto. “This isn’t over. Get in my way again, and I will personally see to you never getting in a car again.”

He stalks off, nowhere to be found for the photo. You tell the team not to wait up for him, knowing he would not be coming.

Safe to say that this weekend, this race that you had dreamed of for your whole life, was ruined.

Yeah, you were a winner, but a winner of what?

.・。.・゜✭・♥︎・✫・゜・。.

as always, feedback is appreciated!

#x reader #reader insert #formula 1 #formula one #max verstappen #angst #max verstappen x you #max verstappen imagine

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russilton · 2 years

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I am sooooo pumped for the Redbull!george au! I am loving all of the little snippets and it’s getting me so excited! I know that it is gonna be one of my favourite all time fanfics already!! <3

Any chance we could get a little fluffy snippet about George coming to trust Lewis or Lewis comforting George or maybe just a summary of Lewis comoforting George! Pretty please!

And also I was wondering whether George is out in this fanfic or if that is something that you might explore in the story?

Hope you don’t mind me being nosy? I am just so excited!

Anon I very much don’t mine nosiness! But I will warn you all, it looks like I’m about to start a new job, so my fandom output is probably gonna drop back a bit! But I will have 45 minutes on a train every morning I have a shift so maybe that will be productive who fuckin’ knows.

ANYWAY, what some of you have been waiting for

Redbull AU spoilers below the the cut!

Okay so short question first: is George out?

Short answer: Nope

Long answer: he’s barely out to himself let alone anyone else. George is gay, but, he doesn’t think too hard about his sexuality because he doesn’t really date much. George was still just growing out of his awkward gangly stage when Red bull signed him, he’s had a few high school girlfriends before deciding women weren’t really for him. He’s fooled around with some other karting and single seat drivers, and that’s closer to what he enjoys but after 2017 George doesn’t really DO dating. The RB junior drivers academy is intense, and George doesn’t really manage to leave his job at work like some other drivers do.

He has a few one night stands at parties and after going clubbing with Alex and Pierre before promotions start happening, but outside of racing George is kinda aloof because he’s very awkward. If he gets tipsy enough it’s easy to follow someone home, get railed and bail before the sun comes up, but he doesn’t really feel the desire to sleep about often. He certainly doesn’t want to date, that would require devoting time to someone else. His schedule is non stop training and sim work, he has to work so hard on himself he thinks trying to navigate a new relationship would distract him. He has friends, he doesn’t need a partner.

When all the drama with Pierre, Alex, Daniil and the ever changing seat happens, he doesn’t sleep with anyone for a while. He’s so intently focused on this job, this is his entire livelihood, he’s not wasting time trying to find someone to fuck, and he’s under no illusion that Red bull finding out he’s gay would stop him ever getting a chance at the top seat; and that’s if they don’t fire him. It burns something in him, but he’s been hiding who he was since he was a teen. His family probably wouldn’t care, but then they’d ask why he never brought anyone home. It’s easier to just pretend he’s straight and say that there aren’t many opportunities for dating in his career. He can’t really say he has many friends anymore, but he doesn’t care. His single drive and focus is getting that top f1 seat, he’ll make friends when he starts winning.

Then he’s him that top seat, and now he has to keep it. He wont fuck this up now trying to date someone who could out him, and most people don’t really get him.

It’s pretty wild then to consider how quickly he takes to Lewis, but Lewis challenges him, he feels desirable having Lewis’ angry eyes on him, he feels powerful. With Lewis he doesn’t have to worry about being outed. He thinks Lewis is the greatest racer ever, and a better human than George certainly is, he wouldn’t ever out him. Lewis is the reason he took this seat. The first time they make out it’s like a dream for George, he’s been teasing Lewis for a couple races, hell george even finished above Lewis in his second race. In Portugal george comes third, but he and Lewis have a mild scuff off the starting line and when George says he would have thought someone with Lewis’ skill could avoid him, Lewis gets a little eye twitch and tells George that maybe he should remember who’s corner it was.

Lewis only looks at George when George is being a pain, and George finds his attention makes his skin simmer, so he follows Lewis after, tells him he took x corner wrong and he should really improve that. Lewis rounds on him a little like, who the fuck are you man (they have met several times but this is their first time alone together), he’s trying to be nice but Georges clipping incident nearly cost him the win and he’s still coming down off the stress of having max all over his ass. George says he’s Lewis’ next biggest threat bc George is full of ego and he also knows it’ll piss Lewis off. Lewis tells him his attempt at an overtake was shoddy, George tells him his defence should be better, Lewis kinda backs him into a wall and says he’s got a lot of mouth for someone who only just got his seat, and should rlly try shutting up

George tells Lewis he should shut him up himself. Next thing either of them know they’re making out, rough and firm. Fighting for dominance as George tries to figure out what he’s feeling, till Lewis backs him into a cleaning cupboard and cages him against the wall and he submits. They give each other hand jobs and then George leaves feeling better than he ever has in his life. Lewis wonders if that was maybe the worst idea ever but George is rlly hot when he’s moaning under Lewis and he can’t stop thinking on it.

George likes lewis dominating him, knowing he’s a good enough racer to make lewis fuckin hamilton lose control. He doesn’t want to date Lewis, he wants his attention (yes he does have daddy issues, it’s part of becoming a Red bull driver even if you like your dad). He gets it when he wins, when he wins he gets vindication for all the long hours and bruised ribs. Red bull have fostered his ego, he feels like a prince, he’s gonna keep doing well, and if he gets to submit to Lewis after, well he’s one of the big kids now, he can do what he wants… right?

———

Now, Lewis comforting George: I’ll warn you I’m running low on preplanned notes, so congrats, you’re helping in the writing process, but details are subject to change

That takes a long time to happen, for a couple reasons. The first is that George certainly isn’t going to Lewis for comfort in the first half of the season, at least not verbally. Lewis starts to notice how Red Bull are prioritising max around Styria, but he uses it to taunt George and make their sex hotter. George wants to push him on track? Lewis is going to fuck George over a table and use him. George gets off on being slut shamed and has made it clear to Lewis that frankly he doesn’t care what Lewis says, he’s as involved as George is. But when Lewis points out mid thrust that redbull had used him to tow max to a good quali without any trade off, and now Lewis is using him too, maybe he just likes to be used, he can see something twitch in George’s expression.

At silverstone George is angry, it’s not at Lewis, but he pushes Lewis to dominate him. He wants to stop feeling angry, betrayed by his team, Lewis always makes him forget everything, if he pushes hard enough Lewis will make him forget this to. And don’t get me wrong Lewis uses him. Calls him all sorts, but then he goes and ruins George’s post orgasm bliss by pointing out how Red bull are treating him. George swears a lot at him and leaves. It is now clear to Lewis that things are not all okay at Red bull racing.

Summer break happens, George won’t even look at Lewis after, he’s different. He’s more subdued, more flinching, he practically runs from Lewis after Spa, something about the team needing to see him. He’s a completely different driver on track, unpredictable, Lewis can’t trust him anymore. He doesn’t see George at all after zandvoort. The next time lewis sees George is actually after Monza, of all places.

It’s later, he’s in the media area, he’s got a murderous headache from max parking a car on his head, he really wants a fucking nap (he’s been checked for a concussion, he’s fine) but he needs to be on a plane to the met gala in a couple hours, so he needs to get his press done and leave. He’s just taking a breather in a bathroom when George comes in. He looks pale, his eyes have bags, and he looks frantic almost, till he spots Lewis and all the breath runs out of him. Lewis just looks at him, on one hand, George looks like shit, but Lewis kinda doesn’t want to be anywhere near a Red Bull right now, so he asks if George is coming to defend his teammate to him, because he can fuck off now if he is.

But George flinches and stutters out a No, then cuts himself off and just stares at Lewis, who has too much of a headache to be dealing with this. He asks George what he needs if not that, and George says he needed to see Lewis was okay. He sounds like admitting that is the hardest thing he’s ever done but now Lewis can see just how scared George looks. It was a scary looking crash, he can see why it might upset another driver. He steps over to gently grab George’s arms, look him in the eye, and tell George he’s okay, no concussion, his neck is stiff but he’s fine, okay? The last thing Lewis is gonna do is let max be the one to take him out

George chuckles wetly and most of that scared look is gone but Lewis is tired himself and decides fuck it, and tugs George into a hug, rubbing his back firmly and telling George he’s fine. George burrows his head in Lewis’ collar for a second just to feel grounded. But then he hears the door behind them click to open and he jumps away from Lewis and is striding out of the bathroom past a baffled looking Yuki before Lewis can even blink. Yuki then distracts him asking about it himself and Lewis has to let it go.

#britcedes #gewis #4463 #mark’s fic tag #anonymous #asks #redbull george au

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hersweetrevenge · 3 years

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Annabel!!! How’re youuuuu ~ ?

I’m doing it again :(

Been up since 530am, had a 7h shift in which SO MANY THINGS had to be done and it seemed like everyone wanted something and it was a loud & stinky day bc my entire workplace is being renovated, then I went food shopping and grabbed the bare essentials because I just wanted to be home, had dinner, did my chores, showered, and now I’m watching HOW at almost 11pm and I’m so tired I’m yawning every few minutes & I feel light headed but heavy at the same time and the only reason I’m awake is because I want to see the boys.

I’ve just seen sweet Lester, but I MISS Bo & Vincent and I’m gonna stay up until I see them. If I fall asleep at my desk, so be it. I just wanna see them. I can only imagine the lectures… (they’d be touched though🥺)

I hope you’re safe & well! I have a day off tomorrow and a butt ton to rb from you, so apologies but also no apologies for the notif spam you’ll get !!! You deserve it all and more!!!!❤️

Erika !! 💖 i hope ypu slept well 💤

ahh i'm doing okay,, classes started again and i'm processing that i have a lot of work coming. 👀📚

you're always so busy, and being busy is not conducive to my desired lifestyle so i do not know how you manage, but you do and you're brilliant for it. i've said it once and i'll say it a million more times: you work too hard !! i hope you know that you're doing enough (more than enough) and every single day i am proud as hell of you. 💖

you deserve HOW time !! i cannot tell you the strange and unusual movie i've fallen asleep to. and the amount of times i've fallen asleep with HOW in the background? countless.

and never apologise for notif spams, they make me all blushy and seeing you in my notifs is the best part of my day 😊😊 and i'm so happy that i can provide little bits here and thefore for you and the rest of our slasher fam 💕📚

now onto our boys. they'd miss you so much too !!

bo doesn't get up as early as you, but he does like to have a routine and understands that Responsibilities™ are a thing. if you fall asleep doing any work he is very unhappy and will tell you off, but its just a cover because he is concerned and cares so much about you. makes sure you go to bed if you've fallen asleep at your desk, and he won't admit it but he doesn't like to go to bed without you, you're schedules are similar enough that he wants to keep them that way -- who'd have thought that bo likes the company.

imagine falling asleep while watching vincent work, though 👀 he's very flattered, knowing his safe space is your safe space too 💖. but, he wishes you'd tell him when you need rest because he will make provisions for that, if he notices you getting tired, he's done with work for the day. tools go down, you are going to bed (he thinks you don't know, but sometimes after you've been asleep for an hour, he'll go back down to the basement and keep working, but he always comes back in time for you waking up in the morning)

lester works almost as hard as you! he's up early and home late. if you fall asleep waiting for him to come home, he tried to get you to bed without waking you up. if you do wake up though, he's a quiet as possible so he can still say goodnight but you'll be able to go back to sleep pretty easily 💤. he loves knowing that you're waiting for him, it makes him feel wanted and he hates getting up in the morning and having to leave you. if you're up at a similar time, he makes sure you're going to be okay for the day before he leaves, will not leave unless he knows you'll be okay 💖

all three of the brothers have a Thing™ about everyone being back home at night. their home(s) is there safe space, where they are normal and not playing up to anything. they have a strange way of showing it, and none of them would manage without the others to keep them in live, but they do believe ins self care of sorts. going to sleep in a bed or eating dinner together is how they make the rest of the days bearable. and with you there, you get the same care they give to any of their own.

#erika !! my love my darling !!#you work too hard #the boys know it and so do i #bo sinclair #vincent sinclair #lester sinclair #they care about you too much to let you not get the sleep you deserve #they do lecture but its because they love you #and they will drop everything to get you to sleep

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fear-before-valor · 3 years

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AU Ficlet: Jim, who was raised by the Order from the age of five, attends Arcadia Oaks High, for his first day of human high school. Weird things happen in Arcadia, though, and his appearance seems to be one such weird thing to the residents in this small, strange town...

Aka: How an Order-raised Jim met Toby and Claire

Words: 2939 II Warnings: none II ok to rb --

Jim dropped his backpack at the empty desk next to one Tobias Domzalski’s, one of the only people at school who’d been properly friendly to him so far. It was Jim’s first day of mortal high school, and he’d been vetted mercilessly by every student group but Tobias’s, though he was beginning to suspect that said group consisted of only Tobias.

Of course, Jim had been screening his peers right back, but it was still exhausting. He thought he’d been ready after the Order’s… extensive lessons on humanity, and how to fit in with the mortals like himself, but already, everything he’d done felt like it must have been a social faux pas of some kind.

Act quiet around the quiet kids? Then no one speaks, until the silence grows so long that it’s awkward, and starting up a conversation makes it feel painfully forced. So, okay, maybe find some louder kids and try to blend in with them. Except, they start to grow obnoxious, and at some point, the headache simply stops being worth it.

Jim wasn’t even going to dare try and bond with the overly studious; he wasn’t here to vie for valedictorian, nor was he all that interested in making grades that separated him from the pack. Not to mention, he much preferred whatever lessons the Order could teach him anyway. They were very practical things, going over philosophy, strategy, combat, computations. He was already conversational in Bellroc and Skrael’s original languages, and though he knew Spanish would be equally valuable, the Spanish teacher seemed… intense, in a way that Bellroc and Skrael, who could likewise be rigorous sometimes, were not.

In fact, the only class he was indeed eager to take was history—and, okay, perhaps physical education didn’t sound horrendous, so long as he was careful about holding back in certain areas—because while he could learn plenty of history from his very ancient guardians, to hear of human history from the mouths of humans, like himself… it sounded unique, in a way that he hoped was amenable, at the very least, if not genuinely interesting or entertaining.

As he sat down in the chair beside Tobias, the boy seemed to light up, beaming over at Jim, a reaction that he hadn’t expected from his peer. He’d thought he’d rather botched his first conversation with Tobias in homeroom that morning, as he hadn’t known anything about anything that Tobias had referenced (what on earth was Gun Robot?). But, evidently, he must have done something well—or at least, acceptably— because Tobias was leaning over and excitedly holding out his hand to show Jim something which clattered in his palm as he moved. Politely, Jim glanced over to see what it was, and—oh.

Oh no.

That was definitely the remains of a troll.

Tobias was holding out small, grey pebbles for him to see, on which Jim could just make out hints of tattoos that had been etched into the troll while they were alive.

Holding back his mild panic, he gave a tight smile and a nod, as his classmate diagnosed them incorrectly as gneiss—which, admittedly, Jim thought wasn’t a bad guess, really. It’s not like the other boy had any reason to think that the rocks he was holding were anything but an average metamorphic stone.

Tobias was looking to Jim for a response, though, so he opened his mouth to speak, breathing in—

—magic.

Jim froze once more. The distinct tingle of magic had just washed over his senses, keen and undeniable, unlike anything else he’d felt that day.

It was raw, underdeveloped, not yet bolstered by the right teacher, but it was there, and it spoke in tones of purple, pulsing with potential.

Jim was no wizard himself, much preferring combat to the arcane arts, having not a strong penchant for it or its intricacies and delicate, temperamental nature, but even still, he’d been raised with the three most powerful magic-users in the known world. They’d taught him from youth how to recognize when magic was present, how to glean as many clues as he possibly could about it, or who might have cast it, might be walking in it, based on its style and scent, its intensity, or its intentionality. He wasn’t quite the best at sensing the finer details, nor could he find it when it was masked, but when it was open, unhidden, he could feel it like a mild electric shock that one might get when touching a door handle in dry weather; he could sense it like the faint scent of ozone during a storm, or like a prickle on the hairs on the back of his neck, when lightning was about to strike.

What’s going on? He thought, as he turned his head in the direction of the epicenter of the magic. First, there’s troll remains in the hands of a classmate with the same schedule as him, and then there’s—the girl, there. The girl with the blue streak in her hair.

The witch.

She’d caught him staring, as she set her books down on a desk in the front row, a couple columns over from his. Beside her plopped down two more girls—her friends, Jim noted, as they chattered familiarly, cheerfully.

The girl gave him an awkward smile, then, and Jim realized that he must have been staring for a few moments too long, so he rapidly flicked his eyes back to the surface of his own desk, trying not to think about the flush he could feel splash across the back of his neck, or the tips of his ears.

Tobias did not grant him such grace.

“Ooh,” he grinned, smug as a cat in a sunbeam. “That’s Claire Nuñez. President of the drama club, valedictorian candidate, great actress. She’s tied with Seamus Johnson and Shannon Longhannon for top of the class right now, I heard. She’s wicked smart, and—Jim?” Tobias huffed, “Are you paying attention to me?”

Jim’s eyes darted back to his new friend, from where they’d been briefly studying Claire Nuñez’s back, trying to get a more in-depth read on her arcana. He nodded distractedly. “Yeah, yeah, smart, a president; I heard you.”

Tobias sighed, shaking his head. “Jim.”

Jim raised an eyebrow, indicating that he was listening.

“She’s out of your league.” He deadpanned. “She’s super popular, and you’re, no offense, definitely not.”

Jim shot Tobias a confused look, brow furrowing. “What do you mean?”

The boy stared openly at Jim. “What do you mean, ‘what do you mean’? Do you really not— Oh my god.”

Jim blinked. “What?”

Tobias shook his head. “Jim, you’ve kinda… scared a lot of the people in our class today. They don’t know what to think about you. You’re like a giant question mark! No one even knows where you came from—”

“Ohio.” Jim recited his cover story, which Skrael had helped him pick the night previous. They’d chosen a city that started with a c… right. “Columbus, Ohio.”

Tobias shot him a deadpan look. “Okay, fine, Jim Lake from Columbus, Ohio. Why’d you suddenly move to Arcadia, then? Why not L.A.? Why not Burbank?”

Jim frowned. “Do you interrogate every newcomer like this? My parents got a good job opportunity here.” He held up one hand, “And before you ask—real estate.”

“Oh yeah? How come I haven’t seen them put up ads, then?” Tobias crossed his arms. “I’m just saying, dude; I think you’re cool, but you freak a lot of people out with that brooding, silent thing you do.”

Jim snorted. “I do what?”

“Y’know—”

“No, I don’t know—”

“You act, like, all silent and mysterious when people try to talk to you.” Tobias shrugged. “I don’t think it’s a bad thing, but some people don’t seem as ready to brush it off as me. I’m only telling you so that you can make more friends here.”

“Well, I have you, don’t I?” Jim’s head canted.

Tobias blinked, floundering at that. “Well—y…yeah, I guess so, but—”

“I mean, we are friends, aren’t we?”

It was Tobias’s turn to go a bit pink, shaking his head in bewilderment. “If you want, yeah, but—”

“Then there we go. I have a friend.” Jim smiled.

Tobias tried to protest, “But—” only to find himself cut off as Mr. Strickler strode into the classroom at that moment, placing a leather briefcase on his desk with a decisive thump. Cacophonous voices incrementally petered out, as attentive heads turned to the front of the classroom, where Mr. Strickler had pulled out a stack of syllabi, handing them to the student nearest the door, with the instructions to “take one and pass them,” spoken precisely to the class.

Tobias looked like he wanted to say something when Strickler turned his back to write his name on the chalkboard, but Jim shushed him from the corner of his mouth, opening a fresh, blank notebook as he did so. This was the only class he’d bothered to buy a separate notebook for, and, to be frank, was the only class he’d even intended to take notes in at all.

Tobias looked chagrined, but not angry, as he rolled his eyes and went to fetch a pencil from his own bag. Might as well have something to do with his idle hands for the next hour.

—

As his first day was winding to close, Jim had to admit, having a friend at school did end up making it a little easier.

The rest of his time there had passed largely unremarkably, since a rather thrilling start to the history curriculum. Jim’s hand had shot up just as much as the apparent reigning top of the sophomore class, one Miss Claire Nuñez’s, had— a fact which had, according to Tobias, already begun to percolate across campus.

The lesson had only briefly covered the basics of ancient Rome, going over a bit of easy, more widely known trivia, to see what the class already knew about their oncoming first unit, but, nonetheless, Jim had been eager to jump in, to talk almost directly to Mr. Strickler, going back and forth in the form of a discussion. He’d spoken quietly, quickly, and he’d felt the eyes of his peers glued to his desk, but had ignored the sensation altogether, in favor of listening to what his teacher had to say about aqueducts, instead.

When the hour had finally come to an end, in fact, he’d packed up slowly, most of his classmates abandoning the room as quickly as they could—the lunch period was about to begin—though Tobias was kind enough to wait for him. As such, Tobias was the only other person present to hear Mr. Strickler stop Jim after class, paying a brief compliment to his performance that day, and accompanying his words with a poster for the history club. Jim didn’t think his furtive smile had gone entirely missed by the teacher, but as they’d exited into the now mostly empty hallway, he forgot to worry about it further, as Tobias wasted no time in asking him how the heck his new friend knew so much about history already?

Jim had shrugged it off, saying that it was his favorite subject; and besides, didn’t Tobias— “Seriously, dude, it’s Toby, by the way”— know more about geology than anyone else in their class? The compliment had made Tobias—Toby— preen, and he’d promptly dropped the topic, instead launching into an enthusiastic lecture meant to coach Jim through the cafeteria process. Jim, who had tried to jump in to say that he’d heard this at orientation the week prior, but Toby had shot him an appalled look at that, swiftly informing him that orientation did nothing to help the social side of things. Sure, he knew the motions, but did he know how to do them without standing out in the crowd? Absolutely not—in fact, the thought was almost laughable, according to Toby.

So, Jim had grinned, followed Toby’s lead, and had just barely survived the ever-important lunch line waltz.

The rest of the day had passed mostly the same way, in the end. Toby, having warmed up to Jim, took him through the whole rest of the day, guiding him through the intricacies of Arcadia Oaks High, and by the time the final bell was ringing, Jim almost felt like a normal student. Some of his peers had even started waving to him in the hallways; he’d broken the ice, after all.

Well. He’d thought so, until Toby had said goodbye, peddling away on his bike toward home, leaving Jim alone in the courtyard by the bustling lockers, surrounded by students eager to either go home, as Toby had, or to dive into after-school clubs and sports.

Jim opted to take his time, though, to enjoy the Southern California sun, as he strolled casually across the campus, toward the front of the school grounds.

As he rounded the corner, though, intending to head toward the Arcadia Oaks sign, where he’d stop and shoot off a text to the Order that his first day had gone well, and that he’d be home soon, he felt a tap on his shoulder, instead, and heard a throat being cleared behind him.

He knew who it was before he even turned to face her; her magic had given her away as soon as she’d reached a hand for him.

Despite this, Jim whirled as if she’d caught him by surprise, schooling his features into something startled but friendly, relaxing his shoulders as a polite smile crossed his face, upon seeing her. “Oh, hey. Sorry, I wasn’t expecting—” he rethought his words, shaking his head. “Never mind. …It’s, ‘Claire,’ right?”

She nodded, returning his smile. “Yeah! And you’re ‘Jim Lake’, hm?”

Something about the way she asked that question sent up a warning bell in the back of Jim’s mind, but he tried not to look unsettled; it was probably just nerves.

“Yup; just Jim is fine, though.” He added with a casual laugh.

Claire tilted her head, continuing. “So, you’re quite the history buff, huh?”

Jim’s hands dropped to his pockets, as he glanced at his shoes, then back up to her. “Uh, yeah, I guess so.”

“You guess?” She teased. “You were on fire in class today.” She lifted her chin, to look at him head on. “Do I need to worry about you unseating me, Jim Lake from Columbus, Ohio?”

Jim snorted, shaking his head. “No, no; it’s not like that. History’s just a hobby.”

“Pretty intense hobby, if you know half as much as you seem like you do.” She raised an eyebrow at him.

Jim grinned. “Intense? Like being the president of drama club, the vice president of debate, and the supposed shoe-in for the lead in the play this fall?” he recited, much to Claire’s surprise, who shot him an impressed look.

“Huh. You sure do pay attention, don’t you?”

He glanced around, making it a leisurely movement, concealing the way he was searching for anyone who could overhear, before his eyes met hers again, as he said, “Only to certain people.”

Claire blinked, cheeks reddening, mistaking his meaning. “Oh, yeah? What kinds of people?”

Jim rolled the dice. “Well, people who seem nice, or kind, who I could make friends with. People who do things I wanna do, too, so I can have an ‘in’. Like clubs, and things.” he clarified.

“And, uh…” his voice grew hushed, “Magic-users in the human world.”

Claire’s face fell. “What was that last one?” Her nose scrunched with the skeptical look that overtook her features.

Jim’s eyes darted to look for an exit, realizing coldly—fearfully— that he had grossly miscalculated.

“Uh…” Stupid. He chided himself. Think of a lie before you go backing yourself into a corner. Skrael would be disappointed in him if he were here.

“Did you just say ‘the human world’ like you… aren’t human?” She stared at him suspiciously.

Jim blinked. “What? No. I’m human. Of course I’m human.” He gave a strained laugh. “What else would I be?”

“…Someone who thinks they aren’t?” Claire’s brow furrowed.

“It was a rhetor- well. I mean, I guess that’s true. But I’m not!” He smiled weakly, and then froze for a split-second, rapidly adding, “Someone who thinks they aren’t human! I know I’m human!”

Claire’s eyes shot to the street, where, to her poorly hidden relief, her dad had just pulled up to the curb, there to pick her up. “…Right. Well, Jim Lake from Cleveland, Ohio, my dad’s here, so I need to go, but this has been… interesting.”

Jim nodded rapidly, shooting her one more smile— a sheepish, apologetic one— as he gave her a shy wave. “…Yeah.”

Claire hoisted her backpack onto one shoulder, giving him a half-hearted wave back. “…Bye, Jim.”

“Bye, Claire.”

As she turned to leave, Jim frowned to himself. He wasn’t sure why, but something felt wrong. He supposed it could have been the awkward manner in which he’d acted, but in a flash, he decided that wanted to see her again, just in case that wasn’t it. He couldn’t be too careful.

So, before he missed his chance, he called after her retreating back, “See you around?”

Claire stopped, hand poised on the handle of the passenger side door, freezing there for a heart-pounding pause.

Then, she shot him a look over her shoulder, one of interest, meeting his eyes deliberately. Jim got the sense that he should heed it carefully.

“Yeah. See you around, Jim.”

#(why yes I did mean to have claire say 'cleveland' the second time)#hopefully the next fic in this is how jim becomes the trollhunter but!! for now I hope y'all like this piece!#i may make an au introduction post as well but brain tired from editing so that'll come soon!#trollhunters au #trollhunters fic #trollhunters fanfic #jim lake jr #the arcane order #toa #toa fic #toa au #ok to rb

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harryhandstan · 4 years

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gotta get better

gif credit

This concept has been in my head for a while now and it took me like a month to write and edit and just get it all out! I had surgery two years ago today and it was one of the most emotional, stressful experiences of my life simply bc I’m just a big baby lol. This is just something to celebrate that day and the fact that I’m still so happy it’s all over! Fluffy af as usual cause that’s all I know how to write. :)

Thankful to @bfharry and @bopbopstyles for not only inspiring me with their amazing writing but pushing me towards finishing this and reaching (even going over) my personal 5k goal! I appreciate you both so much!!

I recently saw a post about tagging triggers properly so I’m gonna do it that way but if I do it wrong or it doesn’t work PLEASE let me know and I will fix it immediately (just want to be sure all my bases are covered)

// needles tw, pills tw (prescription), anxiety tw // (if I missed anything I should’ve tagged please please let me know!!) and I’m sure there are some medical inaccuracies bc that whole day is kind of a blur for me haha

as always likes/rbs/comments are welcome but absolutely not necessary :)

final word count: 7.1k

"Y'nervous, angel?"

"Hmm?"

"Bout to chew your finger off. I know there can't be much of a nail left."

Your hand drops back to your lap. You hadn't even realized you were doing it. A bad habit of the nervous child you thought you'd long forgotten. He offers his left hand and you accept it, thumb swiping over the cross painted across his skin. He knows it's one of your favorites and you're thankful for the comfort. You don't know how many times he'd teased you about how you would eventually rub it off one day and he'd have to get it redone.

"S'a routine surgery, I bet they do them all day. You're gonna be fine."

You'd been over all this a thousand times before. Harry had to ban you from looking up the procedure online at one point. You became obsessive with worry. What if you're still awake when they cut into you and you can't talk? What if you feel everything and can't tell anyone? What if you don't wake up? He had shot down every one of your horrifying theories.

"How much longer before they take me back?"

"Nurse said it would be about 10 minutes when we checked in. Shouldn't be too much longer. Want me to check the board again?"

Checking in had only consisted of a nurse taking your name and giving you your bracelet for the day with an ID number. The number would help Harry stay updated on where you were throughout the whole process. The "board" was simply a tv mounted to the wall that frequently cycled through each patient's last name and ID number.

"No, no," You cling to his sleeve like a desperate child, "Don't leave again. She said they wouldn't update anything until I went back anyway."

Harry had left you only briefly when you first arrived. Hands in his pockets, wandering around like a lost child around the big, open expanse of the waiting room. He stayed where you could see him and the whole time you had anxiously chewed your bottom lip until he returned. You hated it, but you knew he was just as nervous as you. So you let him have that moment. To check his surroundings and release some of the nerves so he could come back to you, calm and cool as always.

When the nurse does call your name, you almost jump out of your skin. You freeze, unable to move. Harry stands and flashes the nurse a quick smile before turning back to you and offering his hand.

You shake your head, "I can't do this, H. I feel like I'm gonna throw up if I move."

"You're not, promise. Remember those breathing exercises we practiced? Do those. C'mon..deep breath in. Pause. Slowly let it out. Do it while we walk."

Slow deep breath in. Pause. Slowly let it out.

You remember how silly you felt the first time you did it. How it made you giggle at first. This is never going to work. But eventually it did. Anytime you got upset or started to overthink about this day, Harry made you stop whatever you were doing and sit down. Breathe.

It was a little difficult to do while walking. Your body wanted to pause your steps when your breath paused, but Harry tugged you along, you almost hiding behind him until you made it through a set of heavy wooden doors to a small space with a hospital bed and a curtain drawn in front of it.

The IV had had been your biggest dread, the fear overriding any logic that it was something you needed, instead of something the nurses decided to do simply to torture you.

Your face twists into a wince of pain when the needle goes into your vein, Harry standing over you, his face a mirror of your own as you squeeze his hand. When the nurse pulls away with a triumphant "all done!" you flash a look of surprise between your arm and Harry.

"Not that bad, eh? Think ya overreacted a bit about how bad that was gonna be?" He raises his eyebrows, waiting for you to shoot him a nasty look for teasing you.

"Maybe a little." You pinch your index finger and thumb together, indicating a minimal amount.

"Tiny bit more, babe," Another nurse appears from around the curtain and he laughs before speaking to her, "it's all she's worried about all morning."

"Honestly that's everyone's least favorite part. The rest of the day should be aces if you can handle that!"

Harry settles himself into a chair while the nurse goes through a myriad of questions. Any other surgeries? Allergies to medications you know of? Do you smoke? Drink?

Harry snorts when you say no to drinking, but quickly clasps his hand over his mouth when the nurse's head snaps to look between you and him.

"The occasional drink is fine, no worries. Nothing this morning though, right?"

"No, ma'am."

Your eyes meet his, a mischievous grin still plastered across his face. He mumbles a quick "sorry" while you try to pull your concentration back towards the nurse and the remainder of her questions.

"Alright, time for the good stuff," she passes you a small clear cup with two white pills, "First one is just something to keep you calm and relaxed, second one is to prevent any pain after the procedure. They'll give you something to make you sleepy when you get to the OR, but this might make you a bit loopy for now."

"This should be fun." Harry claps his hand in front of him, rubbing them together quickly. He leans forward in his chair, as if ready for a show.

"Yeah? Is she a happy drunk?"

Harry had only ever experienced you high on any sort of prescription medication once, almost a year ago when you went on a girl's trip with your best friend and twisted your ankle in an attempt to make it back to her car after dinner out one night. You calling him from an unknown ER in the middle of the night had terrified him enough to start packing a bag to fly to you before your best friend could grab your phone and assure him you were fine and she would put you on a plane home to him in two days as planned. He had teased you endlessly when he picked you up from the airport and for the next few days afterwards as you limped around on a bruised, ACE bandage wrapped foot.

But after too many wine drunk nights to count, he had enough stories to humiliate you with and the thought of any one of them being told now had you sinking further into the hospital bed.

"You could say that. Last time she.." His voice trails off at the sight of your eyes, wide as saucers, begging him to stop.

The nurse grins, her face kind and sympathetic to your silent cry for help.

"We're a little behind schedule this morning so it may be about 20 minutes before they come transport you, okay?" You nod, the effects of the sedative already working its way through your system, "Keep an eye on her? Make sure she behaves?"

"Yeah, I got her. We'll be fine, thank you so much." He's closer now, standing next to you again, a hand sliding up your arm to settle on your shoulder. You manage a thumbs up and a sleepy "thank you" as an affirmation that you appreciate all she's done for you.

"You're more than welcome. You'll have a different set of nurses in recovery but if you need anything until they come get you, just let me know, alright?"

"We will, thanks." His thumb ghosts across the front of your collarbone, the lightest of touches to soothe you, his eyes still focused on the nurse.

"Good luck! You're gonna do just fine, I promise."

The second she's around the curtain, Harry nudges you lightly, "Scoot."

"Huh? What do you mean..Harry, there's not enough room for you in this bed." Your head feels too light to deal with his nonsense now.

"Yeah there is if you scoot. C'mon. Hurry before we get caught. M’supposed to be keeping an eye on you, remember? Gotta make sure you don't fall outta the bed."

He's already wedged himself next to you, trying to make his tall frame fit into the limited space.

You move over as much as you can, the rail of the bed poking into your hip.

He tucks one arm behind your head, the other one thrown behind his own as a cushion.

"You feel more relaxed now, lovie?"

You scrunch down in the bed, just enough that you can tuck your head under his other arm, "A little. I don't feel sleepy enough though," Your eyes dart up, seeking the comfort of his face, "I'm scared, H."

"I know you are, baby," the hand behind your head shifts to cup around your arm, pulling you closer, "Just pretend you're home with me and we're taking a nice little nap together, yeah?"

"But you won't be there with me, not really."

"I'll be there when you wake up though. First thing you'll see when you open your eyes, promise." He runs a finger along the curve of your nose, "Close your eyes. Try to sleep, hmm?"

You shake your head, turning towards him to hide your face in his side, inhaling his scent.

"Want me to turn the light off? Would that help?"

"No," You toss the arm that isn't trapped between you two over him, holding tightly to his shirt, "Stay."

"Alright, then. We'll just wait," He tilts his head to rest closer to yours, "Have you thought about what you want to eat after?"

"Not really. M'too nervous to think about food."

"We'll think of something good. Whatever you want."

"You're gonna get us in trouble, better scoot back to your corner like a good boy." Your words come out unintentionally slurred and you weakly push yourself up and away from him as he slides off. He doesn't sit though, just stands near you, an anxious look flashing across his features.

"Hey, c'mere. Gonna be fine, routine surgery, remember?" You stretch your arms out to him, a plea to be near his warmth again.

He sits on the edge of the bed, facing you. You tug lightly at the sleeve of his cardigan, a feeble attempt to pull him closer. He indulges you, his brow still creased with distress.

"Know ya gonna be fine, just hate you have to go through it at all. Wish I could take it from you without all this." He gestures to the IV he knows you despise so much.

"You have helped take it from me. All the sleepless nights you spent up with me, holding my hair back when I got sick. All the days after when I was too drained to get out of bed. You were there for as much of it as you could be. And you pushed me to go see the surgeon in the first place. You've helped me more than you give yourself credit for."

His fingers intertwine in yours, the pad of his thumb soothing over the front of your hand.

"Make sure you keep my phone with you, my mom will probably call you every 30 minutes for updates." A yawn stretches across your face, "She has your number too, bullied me into giving it to her last week when I called to tell her about the surgery."

He nods, patting his pocket to make sure both phones are still nestled there together.

Another yawn threatens to escape and you muffle it this time, more content to fight sleep to stare at Harry; his hair a perfect mess of curls under the harsh brightness of the hospital lighting. His face is more relaxed now, his eyes still focused on your fingers tangled together. He catches you, your eyes glazed over, too heavy and threatening to close.

"Darling, please close your eyes. I can see how tired you are," His fingertips sweep delicately over your nose again, as if he was lulling a baby to sleep, "You don't have to stay awake for me."

"Closing my eyes for just a second, alright? Not because you told me to though. I want to. Wake me up in 2 hours, don't wanna sleep too long."

Your eyes are already drifting closed, the last thing you hear is a chuckle; effortless, light as air, "I will, promise."

Soft kisses pressed across your face, "Sweet dreams, love."

His voice is the first you hear as you wake up in the dimly lit recovery room. Well, really it was more like a big cubicle, another space with a curtain drawn in front of it. Even with the floaty, dreamy feeling flowing through your system, you can still detect the worry in his voice.

"Harry?" It takes your mind a minute to catch up and process where you are and what had happened.

Oh yeah. Surgery day. No more annoying gallbladder. No more sleepless nights. Freedom to eat what you want and not be haunted by nausea and sickness from what you ate.

"How are you feeling? Any pain?" Suddenly a nurse in bright blue scrubs is there, way too animated and loud at the moment, "Pain scale 1-10?"

"I don't have any pain. Zero." You're aware of how high you sound and a giggle escapes through the haze. That earns you a smile from Harry, one that lights up his whole face and makes his dimples shine through.

"Awesome! Well then as soon as you're good and awake we're gonna get this IV out and go over some paperwork for both of you to sign. I want you to drink something for me too, so what would you like?"

You request a ginger ale and as soon as the nurse leaves to retrieve it for you, Harry scoots the chair he's sitting in as close to the bed as possible.

"How long was I out?"

"Couple of hours," He absentmindedly fixes your hair, looping various curls back around to their respective places, "Took a little longer than expected, you had a small infection so they had to make sure it hadn't spread."

"How much longer?"

"Long enough you had us all slightly worried." His hand trails down your cheek to cup your chin gently, urging you to look at him, "You sure you're not in pain? Now's not the time to do that stubbornly brave thing you do where you pretend nothing's wrong."

"I feel fine, really. Just a little tired, ready to go home."

He studies your face, trying to find any trace of dishonesty. When he's satisfied you're being truthful, he stands and extracts your phone from his pocket.

"Already talked to ya mum, but your co-workers were all texting you, asking how you were. Figured you'd want to handle that yourself, didn't know how much detail you would want to give them."

"Did you give my mother all the details? Infection and everything?"

"Um, no. I knew better than to do that. Promised her you would call when I got you settled at home."

"You promised or she demanded?"

"Okay..she politely asked that you call her when we get home."

"That sounds more like her." You roll your eyes, pushing yourself so you're sitting more upright in the bed.

"She just worries about you." He adjusts the pillow behind you, fluffing and tucking it where you direct it, against your lower back.

"I know. I'll FaceTime her when we get home to prove I'm alive."

"It's been a while since we've seen them, maybe we should plan a visit?" He plops himself back in the chair, leaning back as far as he can go; hands behind his head, eyes closed. You'd both gotten very little sleep the night before, you were too anxious and he was too gracious to let you suffer alone.

"Oh please, I'm lucky I even got time off to do this. My boss would never allow another break so soon."

"Maybe for the holidays?"

"Maybe..but only if you can go with me, you know they love you more than me by now anyway."

"They do not," He peeks one eye open at you, "They love us both equally."

You shoot a quick text to your co-workers, using the group chat between the few of you to make it easier.

I'm out! Feeling okay for now but that might change later lol

The nurse is back, apologizing for taking so long, "We've been so behind all day, it's crazy busy. I had to wait for your doctor to sign off on your release." She hands you a can of ginger ale, white bendy straw already poised and ready for you.

"Just need you to sign here," She holds a clipboard and a pen out to you and you balance the can dangerously in one hand while you scribble something that resembles your signature. Close enough. She gestures for you to pass the clipboard to Harry, "His signature goes under yours, just says he's responsible for you for the next few hours until everything wears off."

"This means I'm the boss, right?" He leans over to grab the board, a wink thrown in your direction. He's enjoying himself way too much at the thought of being in control of you for the next few hours. Smug son of a bitch.

She takes the clipboard back and pulls off a yellow sheet of paper, "This is just your copy of what you signed, and also has post op instructions for your bandages. Your prescription's been sent to the pharmacy, and there's a brief summary of pain management information on the bottom there just in case you need it."

"Thank you." You transfer it right to Harry's waiting hand, knowing he'll be the one surveying every word, making sure you follow everything to the letter.

"I know you mentioned earlier having a little bit of a drive home, so probably once you get her some food and pick up her prescriptions, it'll be time for another round of meds. Okay?" She turns to you again, "I know it sounds silly, but one of the most important things after this particular surgery is lots of walking. Otherwise you'll be miserable. Rest for a while when you get home, then get up every 10 minutes or so until bedtime. Don't let her skip that part, alright? Very important."

"I heard you weren't a big fan of this thing," She nods towards the IV in your right forearm, "So this'll probably be the best part of this whole process for you. We'll get this out and then you can get changed and we'll get someone to wheel you down and out of here, alright? Don't look and you won't even know when it's gone."

"Hey, think about what you want to eat, huh? Your first freedom meal. Yay!" He slips his hand into your left, raising your connected hands victoriously. You didn't think it was possible for you to love him anymore until this moment. The way he could so easily erase your fear was one of his many gifts you adored him for, "What are we having, babe?"

You don't even hesitate before answering, "Pizza, from Milano's. It's my favorite, other than that one place in Italy you took me to. Please? Oh and one of their salads, with the little bread knots on the side!"

He glances at the nurse, awaiting a reprimand for your meal choice.

"As your nurse, I feel I should remind you that while you can have anything you feel like eating, we usually recommend something small and light at first. Broth or soup with some toast, maybe. The salad may be fine, but the pizza might be a little heavy. Taking it slow would be best. But everyone is different."

"So..just cheese then? Maybe some mushrooms?"

You let your head fall back against the pillow, a foggy haze settling over you, "Plain cheese, no mushrooms."

"Alright, sounds good. Why don't I go call it in and pull the car around? Meet you out front?" He leans closer, a quick peck to your cheek before pulling his hand loose from yours and turning to leave.

"Hey, wait," You attempt to tug at his wrist, but fail, your brain still set to slow-motion. He takes pity on you and returns to your side, "Let's eat there. It's in the mall so we can window shop after we eat."

"You sure? You still seem a bit tipsy, honey."

You don't feel tipsy. Just tired, and hungry. Very hungry. As if on cue, your stomach makes a remarkably loud noise; an objection at not being fed for the past 12 hours.

"Alright, alright, calm down. " You let out an embarrassed groan when you realize he's talking to your stomach, "We'll eat there."

He kisses you again, closer to your mouth, "Missed."

"I did, huh?" He chuckles, close enough to your face now your noses are almost touching, "Let's try again."

This time his lips meet yours and you know he missed on purpose the first time by how amused he looks when he pulls away.

"One more for luck?" You can't resist letting the back of your hand wander over his face, before resting the palm of your hand against his cheek.

"I think I can handle that," He smiles before landing another quick peck to your lips, "Be good for the nurse while I'm gone. I'll have the getaway car ready in 10, yeah?"

You're certain Harry would have fed you if you would have let him, right here in the mall food court in front of everyone. But you refuse, insisting even, on carrying your own tray to the table. He chuckles when you pull your phone out of your sweater pocket to take a picture of your food, quickly uploading it to Facebook.

He watches you closely as you take the first bite, even pulling his own phone out to sneak a photo of you when you temporarily close your eyes to appreciate the indulgence of being able to eat one of your favorite foods again; free from that anxious feeling of whether or not it would settle right with your body later. You open your eyes the very moment after he captured the image.

"Harry!"

"You just looked so happy! I couldn't help it. You know I'll never post it anyway. Snagged a few of you earlier in your little blue cap they made you wear too." He flips back through to show you. You try to snatch the phone away, but he's too quick to pull his hand back and stash his phone in his pocket.

"When??"

"After you fell asleep, right before they came to take you back."

He takes a bite from his own generous slice of pizza in front of him before gesturing to your tray, "How is it?"

"Amazing. Even better than before, if possible."

His smile is bright, loving the satisfaction of seeing you actually enjoy food again.

Your plan to walk around the mall was cut short, you could barely make it through one store without yawning. You cling to Harry most of the way back to the car, his arm securely wrapped around you to keep you steady.

You doze off on the drive home, and when your eyes flutter open you find him opening the passenger door, offering a hand to help lift you out of the car and up the stairs into the house. Your foot stumbles on the first step, failing to make contact and you almost fall back.

"Easy," He giggles, an arm thrown behind your back to catch you before encouraging softly, "Try again."

When he's confident you're stable enough on your feet, he lets go to unlock the door.

You're greeted by a bouquet of flowers, a colorful arrangement of roses and lilies from Harry's band mates. You immediately recognize Sarah's handwriting on the card and make a mental note to shoot everyone a thank you text later. You don't know if it's the medication still in your system, the exhaustion of the day, or the overwhelming amount of love that makes you teary eyed.

Harry stands behind you as you admire the flowers and the card, arms curving around to hug you, careful of the large bandage on your upper abdomen and the two smaller steri-strips on your right side.

"How did they know pink roses were my favorite?"

"They love you, peach." He rests his chin on your shoulder, "Besides, you've only mentioned growing up with a pink rose bush in your Nanna's garden about a hundred times."

"I always loved it. Still do."

Your mind travels back to your earliest memories spent there; summers when you practically lived at the small house on the hill. Helping pick tomatoes and peppers from the garden, too warm afternoons spent with a book in your lap under the shade of a peach tree, your grandfather's corny jokes and loving smile. Your Nanna's too generous portions of food contributing to the few extra curves you still carried with you to this day.

You don't even notice the tears at first. They slip down your cheeks and land on his arm. Once you realize, you try to quickly wipe them away, but Harry sees.

"Hey..c'mon, I think your high's wearing off a bit, bub. Pajamas, meds, nap. Sound good?" He turns you to face him, using the sleeve of his shirt to brush away any tears that still linger at the corner of your eyes.

"What time is it?"

"Almost 3..why?"

"No nap. I'll never sleep tonight, and you know how grumpy I get when my sleep schedule is thrown off." Even with your declaration of not wanting a nap, you can't help but rub your eyes, a weak attempt to keep yourself awake. Any resolve Harry had to try to convince you to nap melts away. A smirk on his face, he knows you'll eventually crash later, most likely on his chest or in his arms. He's content to let you be stubborn for now.

"Okay, then. New plan. Pajamas, meds, movie. Better?"

"Better. You get everything ready and pick the movie while I change?"

"You don't wanna pick the movie?"

You wave him off, already shuffling towards the bedroom, "You're the boss today, remember?"

You take your time gathering what you need to get cozy for the rest of the day, selecting an oversized, well-worn tie dye t-shirt and leggings from your dresser. You even take a moment to dip into Harry's extensive sweatshirt collection, grabbing your favorite one. It's amazingly soft and still smells of him, a faint scent of his cologne and well..just Harry. You couldn't imagine anything more comforting.

In your pursuit to feel more lucid, you venture into the bathroom, taking a moment to wash your face. The cool water instantly refreshes you and pushes you closer to feeling like yourself again. Wanting your hair out of your face, you pluck a scrunchy from your shared collection of hair accessories. You quickly recognize that your arms still have that too heavy feeling of unconsciousness and after a few attempts to gather your curls into some sort of up-do, you give up and loop the accessory around your wrist to try again later.

Harry senses your frustration when you find him in the kitchen, two small green pill bottles sitting on the counter in front of him. He's already filled your favorite cup with ice water, and you gratefully take it and drink from it.

"What's wrong?" His brow creases with concern and you feel guilty for making him worry over something so silly.

"Nothing..just wanted my hair up out of my face but my arms wouldn't cooperate." You try to laugh it off to put him more at ease, "It's not a big deal."

You know it's only the weariness of the day still making you feel so emotional, clear-headed you would not be upset over something so small.

"Here. Let me try." He slides the scrunchy from your wrist and pulls you closer to him, moving behind you to gently work long fingers through your hair, gathering it all in a loose ponytail on top of your head before securing it around a few times with the scrunchy.

You let your shoulders drop with a deep sigh when he's done, it was such a simple thing, but it made you feel so much lighter. He spins you around to face him, a charming gleam of pride at his handiwork adorning his face, "Too tight?"

"No. Much better. Thank you, Harry. You take such good care of me always, but today..I don't know what I would've done without you. I made such a big fuss and probably made you miserable with all of my worrying." You're suddenly very aware that you are rambling, but when you catch a glimpse of his face, his smile is wide. So bright that the skin around his eyes is crinkling.

He leans towards you, lips stopping whatever words may have come next, arms wrapping around you to pull you closer in a soft, warm embrace. When he pulls away, his eyes bore right into yours, and your heart swells with more love than you could ever imagine having for one person. But he wasn't just any person. He was your person, your whole word staring back at you.

"I'm SO proud of you. You've been so strong today, always knew you had that strength in you, but seeing you take that leap of faith..doing something you knew you should despite your fear, that's all you, love. I can't take any credit for that. You've made me anything but miserable, trust me."

His face is still close enough to yours that you nudge forward, pressing your forehead to his, a silent appreciation of his affection.

"Any pain yet?" He pulls back, a thumb across your cheek, eyes still locked on yours.

"My head kind of hurts? And I still just feel kind of..drunk."

"You have always been a bit of a lightweight, babe. And a thief too, I see. S'that my sweatshirt?"

"Have not!" You swat playfully at his arm, "Maybe. Is that my hair clip in your hair?"

"Possibly." His eyes dart up to the swoop of curls on top of his head, a black plastic clip twisting it back and away from his face.

"Guess we're even then."

"S'pose we are." He tries to keep his eyes narrowed in a mock attempt of annoyance, but it quickly fades into laughter.

You decide against FaceTiming your family, hoping that hearing your voice will be enough. It seems to satisfy them at least for the rest of the day. You assure them that Harry is taking very good care of you and that everything went as smooth as could be expected.

He raises one eyebrow at you as you hang up, "As smooth as expected, huh? You aren't going to tell them the truth?"

"What's to tell? I had an infection and now it's gone. I'm fine, there's no sense in worrying them. We can give them the full story later."

He shrugs, fingers working to open one of the green pill bottles before passing one of the white pills to you, "For your headache, lovie. There's something here for nausea too if you need it. M'worried the pizza might've been too much. Maybe you should take one of these..just in case?"

"Harry, I promise I will tell you if I feel anything other than fine." Your hand runs from his shoulder down his bicep, squeezing gently, "Besides, I cannot take a whole one of those. If you think I'm a lightweight now..I'll sleep for the whole week if I take that."

He slips the bottle in his pocket, pulling you in to press a kiss to the top of your head, "We'll keep it close just in case, okay?"

"Sounds good," Your hand trails back up to his neck to work fingers through his hair, "Hey, thought we were watching a movie? What'd you pick?"

"Thought we could decide together. C'mon, let's get you comfy in bed."

"Ever the gentleman, always trying to get me in your bed."

"Hey! I am a perfect gentleman, thank you very much," He chuckles, a hand coming to rest on the small of your back, "Just thought you'd be more comfortable, you can prop up and stretch your feet out."

You let him tug you along for the second time today, thankful it's the luxury of your shared bed you get to settle into this time. He tucks you in softly, propping pillows behind your back and head.

"Comfy? Need anything else?"

"No, just need you to quit babying me so much and relax with me for a bit."

"Since when am I not allowed to baby you?"

You roll your eyes, "Never said you weren't allowed. Just want you to stop worrying so much, that's all."

"Good. Cause y'are my baby," No matter how many times you'd heard him say it before, it never failed to make you blush, "Do anything for you, y'know that, right?"

"I know," You look down at your hands, trying to slow your racing heart, "You never let me forget."

"Hey," He pokes your cheek, pulling your gaze back up to him, "I love you."

"I love you more, H."

He kisses your forehead, "Impossible. I love you most."

The reference to one of your favorite movies has you smiling at him, that dreamy feeling falling over you again, "Can we watch Tangled?"

"Sure, princess."

He sinks next to you, head propped up on your shoulder, navigating easily through Disney+ to find your requested movie.

Your eyes drift closed right about the time the lanterns are being released in the sky, a moment that normally leaves your face wet with tears, the soft vibrations of Harry humming along the perfect lullaby to push you further into your dream.

He wakes you later in the evening.

"Dinner's on the table if you want to join me."

"Time's it?" Your voice is still heavy with sleep.

"7. You were sleeping so deeply I didn't want to wake you, thought your body could use the extra sleep today."

"Yeah. It was nice, thank you." You stretch your arms forward, reaching for his hands to help pull you up.

"How do you feel?"

"A little sore. More sober, for sure."

Dinner is simple; a bowl of plain broth, salad, and toast. Exactly what the nurse suggested earlier. There's even a warm mug of tea waiting for you.

"With honey for my honey," He's so proud of his cheesy expression of love you cannot help but smile.

You look at him curiously when he sits next to you, the same boring meal set out for himself.

"Harry..you can eat what you want, babe. Seriously you've done enough today, more than enough to be supportive. It wouldn't hurt my feelings if you made yourself something different."

"Nah. S'fine. We're in this together, yeah?"

You raise your eyebrows at him playfully, "Did you have an organ snatched from your body today?"

"No, I didn't." He laughs, "I just meant food wise, love. It's vegetable broth, by the way, hope that's alright."

"It's perfect."

You nudge him lightly, an elbow to his side, shifting closer to ask for a kiss. He meets you the rest of the way, lips planted firmly on yours. When you don't pull away, he quickly adds another.

After dinner is done and you have another round of meds, the two of you end up in an awkward ball of cuddles on the couch. Harry flips through the channels on the tv before finding a show you both agree on.

But you're too restless, unable to find a position comfortable enough for you. You shift a few times, finally giving up and letting out a frustrated groan before tossing the blanket off the both of you and springing up and off the couch.

Harry doesn't panic, just grabs your hand before you can get too far away or lose your balance, keeping his voice low when he asks, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing hurts. I just can't get comfortable, and I don't feel right."

"What doesn't feel right, angel? Explain."

"I don't feel like myself. I don't know how to explain it. Just feel off."

He sees you're on the verge of tears and ascends from his spot on the couch, arms quickly enveloping you before placing a finger under your chin to pull your face up to look at him.

"It's probably gonna take a day or so to adjust, baby. Yes it was a minor surgery but it was a major change to your body." He's bending now to look right into your eyes, searching them, "How can we fix it tonight, hmm? What do you need?"

Tears are free flowing, falling on the front of your t-shirt and down to the floor.

"Take your time. Breathe." A large hand smoothing warm circles firmly across your back; a balm for your restless spirit.

You pause, deep breath in before slowly letting it out, "I think I just need to move around for a bit."

"Let's go for a walk, eh? A quick one and then back to bed. Your mind needs more rest. How's that sound?" He taps your forehead softly.

"Okay, yeah." You nod your head, an approval of his plan.

"Don't worry about it, okay? Everything's gonna be fine. You're gonna be fine."

You nod again, scared your voice will break if you try to speak. He knew that those words held a lot of weight for you, he'd repeated them often throughout this whole process and to hear them now was a reminder of how safe you were. That with him, you would always be safe and loved.

Being dark outside meant you gracelessly padding through the house, up and down the hallway a few times and back to the living room. Harry stays close, encouraging you along with little claps and kisses to motivate you. When your stomach starts to feel uneasy, he urges you once again to take something for nausea. You agree to take a half a pill, knowing it'll help you sleep.

Despite the nap you had earlier and only being awake for a couple of hours, it doesn't take much convincing for you to settle back into bed.

"Harry?"

"Hmm?"

He's already reclined next to you, book in hand, the soft light from the lamp illuminating one side of his face. You're smushed against him, drifting between that sweet space of almost asleep and wanting to stay awake to enjoy any spare moment you get with him. His hand working through your hair helps push you towards the former of the two.

"I'm sorry to be such a burden today," Your words are slurring together but you continue on, just needing to get your thoughts out before he can stop you, "I don't deserve you and I shouldn't have overreacted so much about something so simple."

"Hey, none of that now," He lays the book on the nightstand, careful to save his place for later before pulling you closer to him, "You were not, nor have you ever been a burden to me. Just because you needed a little extra help today does not mean you aren't deserving of me or my love. You will never have to earn that. It's yours, always has been, will be as long as you decide to keep me around."

"Thank you. For all of it. I'll always want you."

"Always? Y'might change your mind someday, angel."

"I won't. Promise."

"Yeah? Me either."

A kiss laid delicately to the top of your head has your eyes dangerously close to falling shut again before another thought navigates its way through your mind and out of your mouth before you can stop it.

"H..what am I gonna do with a full week off from work?"

"Let me take care of you?"

And that's exactly what he does.

Mornings spent sleeping in, late breakfasts made together and afternoon walks. Evenings consisting of the two of you preparing dinner together or ordering takeout from some of the forbidden places you couldn't eat from before. Mugs of herbal tea before early bedtimes, you sweetly falling asleep to the sound of his voice reading to you most nights.

But his favorite part was that the scent of lavender was no longer cursed for you. Some nights before your surgery, when you simply could not fall asleep the pain was so unbearable, you would fill the tub with hot water and lavender scented bubbles to try to calm yourself enough to be able to drift off afterwards. It never worked, the heat always doing more harm than good. Harry would always be waiting for you, open arms and a soft towel to wrap you in.

So the smell became one you hated, memories of sleepless nights and nausea. But now you were free to use it again for what you always loved it for before it was cursed. In your body wash, lotion, even your laundry detergent; spreading the scent all over your shared space in as many ways as you could.

He even mentions it one night after dinner, when the two of you are pressed impossibly close together on the couch. His nose buried into your neck, inhaling deeply, pulling away to announce, "You smell like you again, love. Missed it so much." He burrows back in, placing kisses from your neck to your shoulder, ignoring your giggles and protests of how much it tickles.

A week later, the alarm wakes you sooner than you've become accustomed to, reminding you of your return to work. Harry's arm thrown over your waist pulls you closer as you try to leave the bed, a sleepy "Don't go." mumbled in your ear.

You do your best to peel yourself away from him, admitting silently to yourself how much harder it is for you to leave the warmth of your bed as it is for him to let you go.

2 years later, you have a scar you swear didn't heal right, and a man who loves you even more because of it.

#harry styles imagine #harry x reader #my writing #so happy this is finally done and being posted!#soooooo many times I almost just deleted it bc I didn't know how to feel about it #but anyway hope y'all enjoy!

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thedumpsterqueen · 4 years

Text

Standards of Performance, Chapter 10: Accommodations

From the Beginning, Previous Chapter

AO3 Link

Thank you guys again for being so kind about the new posting schedule (or lack thereof). Your comments and messages and rbs always make me laugh and cry (in a a good way).This is just a lil chapter about them being awkward and cute after The Kiss, and introducing some bigger plot stuff. You'll wanna buckle up for the next one ;)

Summary: You’re the BAU’s newest intern, desperate to prove yourself amongst an established team of much more experienced profilers. Agent Hotchner, the seemingly infallible team leader, sets strict expectations for your performance. He commands your respect without even trying, but is there something more to your relationship than a simple desire to impress your stony-faced boss?

Chapter Summary: Some creep is stalking the team and all you can think about is kissing Hotch.

Words: 2059

Rating: Explicit, 18+. Warnings on AO3.

Pairings: Hotch x Reader, Hotch x You

The BAU had a stalker.

To put it in a way more relevant to your views on the matter: the BAU’s stalker was interfering with the (hopefully) budding spark between you and Hotch.

It wasn’t that you didn’t care that there was potentially unhinged maniac apparently obsessed with the team, it’s just that when you got the slightly panicked phone call from JJ that Morgan, Reid, Garcia, and herself had all found letters on their doorstep professing an alarming fascination with the members of the team, you couldn’t help but feel a bit irritated that the ordeal was bound to put a pause on the progress you two had made.

That is, until you went to leave your apartment in the morning and found an unassuming envelope shoved under the door. You opened it with shaking fingers to a note written on thick cardstock, scrawled in black, seeping ink as if written by an old-fashioned quill.

I’ve been paying attention to your team for some time - quite the impact you’ve made on the world of crime. The heroes of the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit! I’m sure the world wishes they had you during Bundy or BTK, hm?

Anyways, I had to see for myself. I must admit, finding you was much easier than I would have anticipated given your ‘status.’ I thought I’d drop you this note to say hi and propose a deal. A Game, of sorts.

The Game goes like this: I leave you notes, and you try to catch me! Easy, yes? This is day 1. How many days until you find me?

Xoxo Talk soon,

You put the note in your bag and, after double checking your door was locked (not that the flimsy deadbolt the landlord had installed would have done much to keep an intruder out anyways), you rushed to the office. You dropped your note on the table in the conference room where the team had gathered and pointed at it tremulously.

“I got one too. I touched it, I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking -”

“Don’t worry about it,” Rossi interrupted. “We dusted the others; there was nothing. I doubt yours was any different.”

Hotch plucked your letter up and scanned it quickly before tossing it back on the table. “It’s exactly the same as the others. Nothing identifiable.”

“Why didn’t we get them?” asked Prentiss.

“Access,” said Garcia, notably less cheery than usual. The team turned to her for clarification.

“You three are hard to get to,” she explained. “Hotch and Prentiss live in secure apartment buildings. Rossi has a gated property with security that can rival the President’s. Those of us who don’t live the high life are just... out in the open.”

“So that’s encouraging, right? That the unsub either couldn’t or wouldn’t go through the extra trouble of getting to all of us?” JJ asked, hopeful.

Morgan shook his head. “I dunno if you can interpret any part of what this creep is doing to intimidate us as ‘encouraging.’”

“Does it read as intimidation, though?” mused Reid.

“I don’t know, you tell me,” Morgan responded. “What’s your take on the language?”

Reid took a millisecond to reread the letter and pursed his lips. “Though the language isn’t directly threatening, the concept of a game implies either winning or losing. He - it’s almost certainly a he - doesn’t mention the consequences for either situation, which could imply that there are none, but that seems unlikely. There’s also the matter of separating himself from others in line three - ‘I’m sure the world wishes they had you during Bundy or BTK,’ not we. He’s trying to distinguish himself to us in some way, which means he wants to be noticed, and I don’t think there’s anything in this language that excludes the possibility of him doing something drastic in order to be.”

“So not encouraging,” said Prentiss dryly. “The question is, why us? Is this personal; did we put someone close to him away?”

“It could be, but the language in the opening seems sarcastic almost, like he’s mocking us,” noted Rossi.

Morgan nodded in agreement. “It’s a challenge. He’s trying to tell us we’re not all we’re cracked up to be.”

The analysis worried you, because you felt you were the only member of the team for whom that statement might have been true.

“So, what then?” you asked. “Review security footage and see if we can find anything?”

“Already did!” chirped Garcia. “Hotch had me up all night reviewing the tapes.”

For the first time, you noticed the dark circles under her standard coat of heavy makeup. You looked at Hotch, expecting to find some shame in his expression, but found none.

“If there was anyone weird creeping around your dwellings last night, I didn’t see ‘em. I even looked through the street cameras in the area. Granted, none of you have a security camera pointed directly at your door, which might not be a bad idea after this -”

“Hold on,” Morgan interrupted, “you didn’t check her apartment though, right?” referring to you. “Cuz she just found it this morning?”

Garcia perked up, but you shot her down with a shake of your head. “Sorry guys, my place isn’t nearly nice enough to have security cameras.”

The team looked unperturbed by that, except for Hotch, who met your eyes with a look you couldn’t quite place.

“What do we do, then? Wait for another letter?” JJ asked.

“That’s all we can do until we have more evidence,” said Hotch, visibly frustrated. He hated waiting, you knew that. You all hated it. It felt like watching a car without its parking brake on slowly start to roll down a hill.

“If that’s all, sir…”

Hotch nodded at Garcia. “You’re all dismissed. Business as usual for now. If he craves acknowledgement, best not to give it to him unless we have to.”

The team filtered out, and you made to follow them, but before making it through the doorway, Hotch called you back. He shifted feet, cleared his throat, and looked at you.

“About the comment you made earlier,” he started.

What comment? You wracked your brain trying to remember if you’d said something rude, or something that hinted at what happened between you two, but came up short.

He noticed the puzzled look on your face and clarified. “When you said your apartment complex wasn’t nice enough to have security cameras. I wanted to say that -” he ran his hand across his jaw, clearly uncomfortable, “- I know the internship salary isn’t impressive, and if you feel you’re unable to afford safe accommodation, I’d be more than happy to talk to Strauss about -”

“Oh, God, no.” You felt as if your face was on fire. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it that way, my apartment is fine - I mean of course there’s things that could be improved - but in no way do I feel unsafe.”

“Well, good. Okay then.”

Before you could make your exit and spare you both from the residual awkwardness of the interaction, he spoke again. “There’s one more thing. Given that whoever wrote this note has displayed his willingness to come to our doorsteps, JJ is staying with Emily for the time being, Reid with Rossi, and Garcia with Morgan.”

You smirked at the last pairing. Leave it to those two to capitalize on a stalker to bunk up together.

“I was going to have the Bureau get you a hotel in the meantime, since he did come to your apartment, but Garcia suggested that since we live so close, you could just… stay with me.”

Holy shit.

There was a pained look on his face as he finished the sentence as if he recognized what an utterly bad idea it was, but hadn’t had the good sense to reject it himself. He looked at you, expecting an answer despite the lack of a question mark at the end of that statement, and you struggled mightily to compose yourself to deliver an acceptance that didn’t appear uncomfortably enthusiastic.

You must have taken too long, because he immediately started to retract his offer. “I already told her it was completely inappropriate; the rest of the team is used to staying together for cases but given you just started, and after the last few days I completely understand -”

“No!” You cut him off. “Sorry, no, that’s not what I was going to say at all. I’d love to. I mean, I think it’s a good idea. I’d feel a lot safer…”

‘With you around?’ Is that too much?

Fuck it.

“... with you around,” you finished, and you swear you saw him push back a smile.

“Alright, then. I’ll let Garcia know.”

You made a mental note to send that woman a thank-you card.

***

As the workday wound down, you were surprised to Hotch turn out his office light and walk out at the same time as you did.

“Early night?” you teased as you walked to your cars in the parking garage, despite it being 7 pm.

He chuckled. “It would have been rude of me to keep you hanging around until I decided to leave.”

Right. You were leaving together. Because you were going back to his apartment. Together. The undeniable domesticity of the moment put a skip in your step, and you couldn’t help but wish this was happening under different circumstances.

“So I’ll just stop by my apartment and grab my things?”

“What? No,” Hotch responded, frowning. “I’m coming with you. The whole point of all of this is to avoid being alone.”

And that’s how you ended up speeding down the highway like a madwoman, leaving Hotch in your dust, taking the stairs two at a time, and frantically scrambling to get your apartment in order. It wasn’t terrible; not as if you had rotting food sitting out or something (probably because you didn’t actually cook enough for that), but the recent caseload and spending so much time with Hotch in the mornings had certainly pushed general organization to the wayside. You shoved the growing pile of dirty laundry into your closet, straightened up the coffee table, and were in the middle of packing your suitcase when you heard a knock at the door.

Giving the apartment a quick once-over to make sure you hadn’t missed something utterly humiliating, you opened the door to an unimpressed Hotch.

“I could have pulled you over for speeding, you know,” he said as he strode into your living room.

“Yeah, sorry,” you said sheepishly, “I wanted to make sure this place wasn’t a mess the first time you saw it.”

He cocked an eyebrow and you realized how that came out - the first time, as if there were going to be many more - and you coughed and looked away.

“Anyways. I’m almost done packing, just gotta grab a couple more things.”

He nodded and you hurried to it, wanting to get him out of your apartment as quickly as possible. Normally you’d have jumped at the chance to be alone in a quiet place with him, but the way his eyes were scanning the room made you nervous that he was learning more about you in a very short amount of time than you felt entirely comfortable with.

***

You walked into Hotch’s apartment for the second time ever to find it just as clinically neat as before, except for a set of sheets and blankets laid out on the couch. Grinning, you gestured to them.

“Thought you said you were sure I would say no?”

It was his turn to be shamefaced. “Just in case. Besides,” he shot back, grabbing your bags from where you’d deposited them by the couch, “You’re taking the bed.”

“Like hell I am!” you scoffed, forgoing propriety. “I’m not making my boss sleep on the couch in his own apartment.”

“Considering I, as you mentioned, am your boss,” he responded, “I will be making that decision.”

You plopped down on the couch. “Unless I just refuse to move.”

He stood a few paces away and glared, but gave up and dropped your bags all the same.

You could have sworn you heard him mutter “brat” under his breath, but that didn’t sound like something Aaron Hotchner would say, did it?

Taglist (I got a bunch of new ones so message me if I forgot to add you!): @stop-drop-and-drumroll @criminalmindzjunkie @xoprincessmel @cevanswhre @addie5264 @klinenovakwinchester @honeyshores @violentvulgarvolatile @masumiyetimziyanoldu @violetclifford @pipersaccomplice @itsmytimetoodream @groovygoob @captainhyenafan @thebadassbitchqueen

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all-the-tyler-talk · 2 years

Text

I see a lot of discussions, sometimes anger about TH and RM. Not on this site but another one. And I get it. We want the man to be single. Or at least in a meaningful relationship with a nice girl. Maybe someone like BT. Wholesome. Beautiful. Faithful. Dedicated wife and mother. Clean living. No scandal or anything explicit. We don't want a party girl for TH. But maybe RM isn't a party girl. Just because she poses in things like that doesn't mean she's wrong for him. Maybe she really is wholesome and that's just her career. I can appreciate a woman pursuing a career. So let's not be harsh on them. I'm a staunch Christian and became a fan of TH a few years ago because of his clean living. I fell for that. Then discovered this site and that other site, a few months ago and my love for him wavered a little. Many times I usually got over a celebrity when I see their real life is not the same as the character they play. So thought TH was different. Reading things on that other site made me realize he's not. But I'm not angry with him. I don't judge him. I still love him, but trying to get over him cause I know the more things come to light, it might have the potential to break me.

I know many are angry cause they feel he lied to them. That he pretended to be something he's not. A wholesome guy. Then these stories, hookups, models, all come to light, and we're crushed that he doesn't live up to the image of a perfect gentleman that we have of him. A real-life Clark Kent. And I think that's not fair to him. I don't think he lied. Maybe in the early days of TW he was that guy. I read that RBS came from a religious family too. And maybe that's why they connected. Then BS happened. And things didn't work out. Maybe the Hollywood limelight got to him. He stopped wearing crosses. And stayed away from the Christian way of life. He chose another path. His parents have a strong relationship. Maybe he wanted that then found his committed relationship doesn't live up to his expectation. And maybe feels safer and less pain in just doing casual hookups. I'm not American but I see many American shows talk about casual hookups as common. You sleep on the first date. You sleep with random people. I guess he's just following the norm. Maybe he sees nothing wrong in it. Not saying there's a right or wrong path. It's just a different path than what we were accustomed to seeing him. Maybe he now likes the party life. The hookups. The just enjoy the moment kind of living. Or maybe something happened to lead him away from that path. Or maybe his management wanted him to stop being the wholesome guy and do more daring characters, like EWS. No more Christian. More models. More Hollywood parties. And this is all PR to give him the bad boy image cause you know how Hollywood likes their bad boys. We would never know cause we don't know him in real life. We don't know what he's like. But so far none of his friends or cast members have outwardly spoken against him. Even when not asked about him, they still say good things about him.

I don't think he lied or just pretended to be something he's not. I believe he was then. The way we wanted him to be. The Christian guy. But then changed. People do change. Maybe he decided to just live his life. Enjoy all the aspects of it. Parties. Women. He probably needs a break from his heavy work schedule. At least he behaves on set. Works hard. Doesn't come to work drunk. Or be rude to the crew. Swearing at them. Or being violent to them. Let the man relax in the way he deems fit. Also maybe some of the things they gossip about is true. Maybe some are not. We would never know. I don't want to judge him. Just pray for him. That whatever he does with his life or who he chooses to be with, that he's happy.

Sorry for the long post. I just needed to get this off my chest. I worry for him. And feel sad for him. And really guilty judging him. Or the person he's with. Sorry if I offended anyone.

#tlh gossip #tyler x rm

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ohthatsviolet · 4 years

Text

Oasis

Pairing: Loba/Mirage

Words: 1,656

Summary: Their relationship was meant to be something easy and casual but when Loba begins to fall for Elliott, nothing scares her more than her own feelings.

Ao3 link will be in the RBs. Reblogs > Likes.

Loba could hardly bear to look over her shoulder at the sleeping individual behind her. Her nails dug into the mattress as she sat with hunched shoulders on the edge of the bed.

She was tempted, but she knew if she looked she wouldn’t be able to resist climbing back into bed with him, just to feel the warmth of his skin against hers. She couldn’t let herself do that. It would just make all of this so much harder. She could almost imagine what he looked like. He would be lying on his stomach, with one arm tucked securely under his pillow. He would have rolled out of the blankets and the sheet would be twisted around his legs and barely covering the curve of his backside; it was the way she’d wake-up to find him most mornings, which was the beginning of her problem.

Their relationship had begun as a fun, occasional thing. It was a nice way to spend her free time and that was all it was ever meant to be. But as the weeks began to pass, Elliott had begun to spend almost every night by her side. What was supposed to be the occasional night spent between the sheets to blow off some steam after a particularly long day, turned to quiet evenings spent listening to her favourite songs, over a candle-lit meal and a bottle of wine the trickster would have proudly chosen himself. He’d tell her stories about growing up on Solace and she’d listen and laugh along, but she’d do it genuinely; not the way she’d pretend to when cosying up to someone she wanted something from. He loved cooking for her, singing softly into her ear while they playfully danced around the penthouse and encouraging her to take her shoes off and just relax.

And she loved him for it.

She wished she could spit the words from her mouth and they’d leave her system and float away with the early morning breeze. She had to get out of there. It wouldn’t be the first time Elliott would awake in her apartment alone. She was a busy woman and he respected that. Bastard. Why did he have to be so...him? Loba had decided to take a walk to clear her head but ended up taking to the rooftops instead. It’s where she felt most at peace; sailing through the sky and stopping to occasionally perch herself somewhere out of sight, so she could look down at the world below. Usually, she’d do this when trying to spot someone with something she wanted. But today, she just wanted to observe. The city wasn’t very busy at this time of day, but there were a few people pottering around. They were probably just about to start their day, going to work and such; doing normal, everyday things. She wasn’t sure if she envied them or not. She definitely wouldn’t have once. But now...No. She couldn’t let herself fall into that mindset.

This was all Elliott’s fault. Her life had been so simple, in a sense, before he’d come along. She’d always known exactly what she wanted out of life. Her goal and life path was to avenge her parents’ deaths and put a stop to that demonio for good. But for the first time in many years, she felt so unsure. She wondered if they would have liked him. Mamãe would have. Papai would probably question him on what he had to offer her, before turning soft when he saw the child-like sparkle in her eyes whenever he was near. She felt like everything was so blurred now, like she was crawling through a storm and the only oasis she could see was him; but she couldn’t tell if she should waste precious time clawing towards him or accept that it was all just a mirage and move on. Hmph. How fitting. She shook her head as if trying to physically shake the intrusive thought away. She couldn’t think like this. She knows her parents would want her to stay focused on the job at hand. ‘Life can be hard. Especially the way we live it.’ She never quite understood the second piece of her mother’s advice until now. She had to deal with this while she still had the strength to do it.

It was late into the day when she’d arrived back at the penthouse. She was half-hoping Elliott would have taken a ship home by now. She wasn’t sure if he was scheduled to tend his bar tonight. Loba could feel the tension beginning to creep into her shoulders as soon as she stepped inside and heard the clattering of cutlery. Elliott was at the sink, washing up their discarded dishes from the night before. He looked up as soon as he heard the clicking of her heels on the tiles and smiled. “Hey. I thought you were gone on a job or something. If I knew you’d be back so soon, I would’ve gotten dinner started. You never replied to my text so I just assumed…” He trailed off when he noticed she wasn’t looking at him but was looking away and to the side, with her arms folded tightly over her chest. Elliott wiped the suds from his hands on a nearby dish towel before taking a tentative step towards her. “Is everything...okay?” She wanted to tell him that he was the problem but she knew in her heart that wasn’t true. None of what she was feeling was his fault. He’d been nothing but gentle and kind to her and it was killing her that she couldn’t offer him the same treatment. Elliott hadn’t done anything wrong; this was all on her.

“I can’t do this anymore,” she said, after an agonisingly long pause for the both of them. “I just...I want you to leave.” The trickster’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion. “Why...I thought...Did I do something wrong?” Her nails dug into her upper arm. She wanted to lie and say he had. She wanted to make up some excuse and say something that would make him hate her. She wanted to tell him that he was too clingy, too selfish and the thought of ever climbing into bed with him or being held by him again made her feel sick to her stomach. But she couldn’t bring herself to do it; the hurt that was slowly creeping into his features was almost too much for her to take as it was. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore. I want you gone. So leave.” She turned her back on him after that, unable to look at those sad, brown eyes for a moment longer. She waited to hear him drag his feet away but he took a step closer instead. “No.” “Excuse me?” “No, I won’t...I won’t leave. Not until you tell me why you want me to go.” Anger was beginning to boil in her stomach but it wasn’t directed at him. It was because of this situation she’d found herself in. Still, that anger needed to be unleashed somewhere and he was standing on her warpath, so it all came pouring down on him, like an over-boiling pot on a stove. “Just get out! Go home!” she began, whirling on him. “I do not want you here! What part of that can you not understand?!” “The part where you’re suddenly breaking up with me for no reason!” “I’m not breaking up with you because we were never together!” Loba hissed. “I’m simply putting an end to...whatever this is...was.” “Just...tell me why,” Elliott whispered, his tone desperate and the waver in his voice obvious. “Because I’m falling for you!” she said, before she had a chance to stop herself. “And that...that terrifies me.”

A stunned silence fell over them both. The space between them was so quiet, Loba could swear she could hear the trickster swallow before speaking up. “You know I...care about you too, r-right? This...isn’t a bad thing.” “It doesn’t matter,” she said, sounding utterly defeated. “It doesn’t matter how we feel. This...can’t continue.” “Stop saying that!” Elliott said firmly, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. “It can! We just continue on like we were! Nothing’s changed.” “I was stupid to let it go on as long as I have,” Loba whispered with a shake of her head. “I have Revenant to deal with and just being around me puts you in danger. I can’t...I won’t drag you into my mess.” The trickster stepped towards her and she allowed him to take her hands in his own. “You’re not dragging me into anything. I want to be here. With you.” “Elliott…” Her gut told her to pull away when he leaned his forehead against hers but her heart wouldn’t allow it. She blinked a few times in an attempt to hold back the tears that were beginning to form in her eyes, while Elliott closed his like he was about to make a wish. “Please don’t make me go.” Loba couldn’t resist the urge to reach up and cup his face, skimming her thumb lightly through his beard. “I can’t give you the life you want.” “You are the life I want.” She nodded in acceptance. If he was willing to fight for her, she should return the favour. She owed him that much at least. Loba sucked on her lower lip and inevitably lost the battle against her emotions. He held her close and she clung to him as tears began to stream down her face, her sobs coming out as broken, choked howls as years of anguish and loneliness crashed over her like a tidal wave. “Shhh, it’s okay. I’ve got you,” Elliott murmured into her ear, his fingers tracing gentle circles into her back. “I’ve got you.

#apex legends #apex legends mirage #apex legends loba #miroba #apex legends fanfic #angst

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chibisquirt · 4 years

Note

You don't have to answer, but if you wouldn't mind. What are some things you've learned about ADHD from Tumblr that are applicable to you, or others you may now? I've been reading more on it and how it manifests in girls/women and was curious when I read your rb on that post about Grammarly

I don’t mind at all! Fair warning: this is gonna be LONG.

I’m going to start by repeating something I mentioned in that post: I was diagnosed in third grade, which was over two decades ago. I had my diagnosis halfway through elementary school, much less high school and two rounds of college. So a lot of the old information about ADHD I learned as a young person, and those things are worth exploring, too.

Example: It’s not that I’m not listening, Mrs. Nock, it’s just that if I try to keep my hands still, then the only thing I will retain from the lesson will be keep your hands still and not the things you trying to teach, which are supposedly important!

(Mrs. Nock was the one who said to me, “I believe you believe you’re paying attention.” Yes, it’s been fifteen years. Yes, I’m still mad. If you can’t have basic respect for your students, don’t teach.)

I figured out half on my own, half because of the counselling that if I had a fidget tool that didn’t require words I would pay better attention than if I tried to sit still. (I still remember being mocked by my dad for fidgeting well after making that discovery, though. Apparently diagnoses should only inform compassion when they’re his.) On the same lines, I also figured out that music in the background wouldn’t work for me if it had words, and television is too distracting for me to use at all. (I have a friend, though, whose ADHD works the opposite way: he has difficulty focusing if there isn’t a television in the background. Yes, both are valid.)

So, the Classics:

I always had trouble with organization and cleaning, had trouble with schedules and calendars and managing my time. Those are the things they’ll warn you about, the things they’ll tell you in counselling are natural and normal things for people with ADHD to have trouble with. Trouble paying attention, sure. Trouble sitting still. Procrastination. Got it.

But if you turn those traits around and re-frame them, they become a new set of symptoms. Adaptations for these new symptoms are more personal and universally applicable in my life, and therefore, to my mind, more useful.

Take Procrastination. (No really: please take it.) That just means “putting it off until tomorrow,” and there are lots of reasons to do it: “don’t have the tool I need” is one of the biggies, “want to conserve steps” trips me up a lot, “I still have time to get to it” is HUGE for me... But a lot of times, these are just superficial reasons. The re-framed symptom is, Trouble making yourself do things you don’t want to do.

ADHD is an executive function disorder. That’s a phrase I first learned on Tumblr, by the way; it may have been mentioned by one of my earlier counsellors, but it definitely wasn’t taught.

This is why soooo many of us have struggled with the perception (including self-perception) that we’re lazy! But no one tells the kid in the wheelchair he’s just lazy for not playing basketball. (Okay, they totally do. People are terrible. Ignore that, stick to the point.) I reframe this the way I do because acknowledging this as a symptom, taking the blame out of it, makes it easier to find adaptation.

Now, this is a personal post. YMMV. But I have an easier time managing my conduct if, instead of calling myself lazy a procrastinator, I say, “I keep not doing that --> oh it’s because I Don’t Wanna --> how can I con myself into doing it?” (Strategies include bargaining, making it easier, powering through but then allowing yourself to stop afterwards, just acknowledging that I Don’t Wanna and allowing that to be valid...) Procrastination is an action, but “executive function disorder” is a disease and “I Don’t Wanna” is its trigger, just as much as an allergy and a clump of ragweed are. “Procrastination” is a powerful sphynx against which I’m helpless, but “I Don’t Wanna Disease” lets me start cultivating my metaphorical catnip and researching the answers to common riddles.

And while we’re talking about procrastination--and trouble with deadlines, and schedules in general--let’s talk about Time Insensitivity. Missed deadlines and perpetual lateness (perpetual) are external actions, just like procrastination, and they can have all sorts of explanations.

(Shoutout to Mrs. Pollack, who looked around a classroom containing thirteen-year-old me, and, knowing full well that I was chronically tardy, declared that “anybody who’s always running late, deep down, they just doesn’t care about anybody else’s time.” Great job with calling the thirteen-year-old a heartless bitch, Mrs. Pollack! As you can tell, I definitely forgot it very quickly, and didn’t at all have a self-critical breakdown about it, periodically revisiting the question of my own inherent selfishness for years!!!)

But ignoring the external actions, let’s take a compassionate look inside the head again. Executive function includes regulation of, and awareness of the passing of, time. Again: you can’t play the basketball with no legs. We literally do not realize what time is doing. Sometimes we do--if we devote enough of our attention to it, which may be a large amount for some, a small amount for others, or a variable amount for the same person. But our brains literally don’t process it the same way.

But hold on a minute--let’s go back to that analogy. Because actually, people with no legs can play basketball! It’s just that you have to use the adaptation of wheelchairs to do it--and that’s an adaptation for the game and for the players.

I use alarms. I’ve recently seen a post about audio memos as alarms. There are people who just slap clocks everywhere. When I was forced to work in a kitchen with no clocks, I used the multi-setting timer and set it for like four hours so I would know if I was keeping on schedule. I also chose a job environment where much of my shift is the same as itself, and rigid punctuality isn’t enforced--that’s adapting my environment, instead of myself. There’s all kinds of adaptations. But you have to know you have the condition before you can compensate for it.

Here’s a fun little story: when I was... oh, eleven? Twelve? My Quaker Meeting’s youth group (#7 whitest phrase I’ve ever written) went to the museum together. One of the stops was in the children’s section, there was a... a pegboard, I think? With some kind of problem on it. A puzzle. Me and a couple others sat down at it, and it took me a while, but eventually I solved it, and I looked up.

I blinked. “Where is everybody?” I said.

“They left,” said my mom. “Half an hour ago.”

I was stunned. “Half an hour ago?! But I couldn’t’ve spent more than ten minutes on this!”

“I promise you, it was half an hour.”

“Why didn’t you call me?? Why didn’t you say my name?”

“We did. Several times.”

To this day, I will swear myself blind that I never heard a thing.

Hyperfocusing. They’ll tell you about the problems focusing; oh yes. They’ll tell you allll about that one. But they won’t tell you about the flip side of it. They won’t tell you about the times when the rest of the world falls away, and the only two things in the world are you and whatever problem you’re trying to solve.

D’y’know what, I bet that’s the reason I test well. I just realized this now, phrasing it like that, but--I’ve always tested well, even when my actual practical applications of things are mediocre I do well with the classroom testing on it. I scored a 39 on the MCAT, back when it was out of 45 and not whatever it is now. (To those with the plain good sense not to want to be doctors: that’s pretty good.) And I just bet it’s because, once I get focused on solving the problems, the other problems--nerves, intrusive thoughts, anxiety--just don’t have room to get in. Hyperfocusing can be a superpower, if you can harness it.

But it can also blind you to everything else. And it works in smaller ways, too: once I think I understand something, it is very difficult for me to perceive information that contradicts that understanding. I still get the map of the Elflands backwards every time I read The Goblin Emperor, just because I pictured it one way, and every indication in the text that it was the other way just fell on deaf ears.

And this one leads right into the next, which is Rejection Sensitivity Disorder. RSD is hyperfocus, but it’s hyperfocus on how everyone must hate you. It’s delightful! I’ve been diagnosed with anxiety and depression, as well, and I do have both of those things, but for my money, I think that this one symptom of ADHD--which no doctor has ever even mentioned to me--has hurt me more than both of those conditions combined.

The last one I’m going to bring up is Auditory Processing Disorder. Now, I’ve gone and gotten re-diagnosed twice in my life, and the last time was just a few years ago, so they actually used this one in the test. The psychologist told me about it, she just didn’t use the phrase Auditory Processing Disorder, and she didn’t tell me that it was its own symptom--she just used it for the test.

What she did was, she gave me two hearing tests, one to test whether or not I could hear, and then the other a list of words that all sounded alike, and I had to mark which one I was hearing. The second part of that was very long, and very boring, and despite scoring perfectly on the first test, I got several wrong on the second. I was actually surprised by that; I at no point suspected I had heard any of them wrong. When she gave me the test, told me this was proof by contradiction, that we were ruling out hearing loss as an alternative explanation for my difficulties. It was only after the test was done that she explained that the pattern I showed was actually part of the diagnosis of ADHD; that we get bored, and stop really paying attention, and that we don’t even know we’re doing it.

...Okay, but you couldn’t have mentioned the part where I also do that every day in real life, lady?!?! It’s not just when we’re bored, it’s not just for long processes. I do this all the time. I actually tell people now that “I actually have a neurological condition that makes it hard for me to hear; I can tell that you’re speaking, but I can’t tell what you’re saying.”

This is 100% true. It is a neurological condition.

We label this a condition, but as a society, we don’t treat it that way. Society treats it as yet another excuse. It’s not. You’re not lazy, stupid or crazy. Neither am I.

I have a condition. Acknowledging that is the first step of treatment. Not five thousand sticky notes, not binders or filing systems or even taking all the doors off the cupboards (although I definitely plan to do that one as soon as I possibly can). Not counselling sessions with so many different people I can’t even name them all, for the love of god please understand that you can’t just fix it with pills.

(Although mad props to the people who thought Concerta would magically solve me at the age of nine! Spoiler alert: it did not do that! But it did mean that my parents felt comfortable blaming me for all my failures again, so it did at least some of what it was designed for, I guess. :) )

I have spent the last few years re-understanding my ADHD it as is: a neurological condition, a disability, and a simple fact of life. A starting place, instead of yet more proof of my own inherent insufficiency. And you know what? When you take the blame and self-hatred out of the diagnosis--when you stop cursing it as the cause of all your problems and start trying to work with it, instead--it gets a lot easier to manage.

#laexploradoraaa

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fullmetal-angelgrace · 3 years

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hwllo sorry i dont really follow spn but i do follow you so i get glimpse of it when you rb but I'm curious now after reading your rb with the list of things and i was wondering why the jenmish panel disappointed fans djfksks idk why but that got me interested

OH BOY. OK.

so basically GISH is a charity event that misha collins hosts, you pay to participate in, and then you do creative challenges given in prompt form (i.e. make the queen of england dance to dancing queen, make ur fave character with melted crayons, etc.)

for this online GISH there was a zoom event with guest speakers, and eventually a short half hour panel was with jensen and misha was announced where they would "reminisce & discuss beard grooming" and then the GISH twitter said it would be "reunion conversation" and to "ask your questions"

absolutely nowhere in any of the promotional media of it was supernatural mentioned, despite it being a reunion for the first time since spn ended

yet,

many, many supernatural fans assumed they would be talking about destiel, the confession, and/or the finale, i remember seeing several posts about people thinking they would talk about destiel and/or jensen's real feelings about the finale (that he didn't like it, despite him changing his mind and suddenly deciding that he liked the finale after he 'needed some convincing')

the actual panel was for some reason 3 hours earlier than planned during the opening ceremony with no explanation of why and there wasn't time for a Q&A, and then during the actual scheduled panel time, there was no heads up or anything, they said jensen had filming scheduling conflicts and couldn't show (even though in the opening ceremony he literally said he was going to spend the rest of the day in bed ftsgjs)

they didn't talk about supernatural, they just talked about quarantine life and what they had been up to for the last few months

i find it hilarious that so many people were angry they didn't talk about destiel or the finale, and thought they were queerbaited (i shit you not) or tricked into buying a $15 ticket for a panel that didn't talk about the thing they made themselves believe the panel was going to talk about (i guess some people could have been misinformed about it being an spn panel, but idk)

i will admit the whole timing thing was a mess, but i think it was a genuine mistake, this was an experimental GISH format that they had never done before so idk, shit happens

tldr: fans hyped their expectations up WAY too high and got upset when jenmish didn't talk about what they never said they were going to talk about

#i hope i don't start discourse up again with this #i sound like a crazy person anytime i try to explain spn drama. you always need so much context it's never simple lmao #ask tag #also i think most people were joking about them being queerbaited (i admit it is fun to play up spn drama. dramatically) but some im pretty #sure some were serious #please dont reply with discourse people i dont care *sprays #you with a spray bottle*

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builder051 · 4 years

Text

The NaNo project exceeds 33k words (actually by now it exceeds 34, but I coincidentally took the photo at 33330).

I’m finished with 12 of the first 14 chapters, which makes me nearly finished with the first half of the book. I plan to complete one of the hanging chapters today, then get to the other tomorrow. That’ll achieve my goal of writing half the book in the month of November, and then give me six additional days to get as many as 3ish more done. (I’m getting half to one chapter done per day, depending on how long they are, how much I have pre-written, and how clearly I know where I want to carry the story. I have a huge outline that I’m using as a guide, but it’s much more thorough in some areas than others.)

Word count wise, I’m hoping to exceed 40k by the end of the month. I think 50 is too much of a stretch this time around, but I can easily get 6k+ done in the next several days. That’ll put me well over halfway through the book, which will make me very happy. I’m going to lose a few days of work time when I have my surgery, and I’d rather be ahead of schedule.

I believe this book will be around the same length as Battle of Troy (70k-ish). It will have at least 29 chapters (that’s what it has currently; I may have to split one later on).

Anyhow. Progress. Sorry for all the statistics and yammering. I’m excited, and I want you guys to be excited with me.

And don’t forget to order your holiday cards! There are still a ton available. I’ll rb the form again here for your convenience.

#NaNo #nano update #nano 2020

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soccerlegendsme · 4 years

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Champions League 2020-21: Who will be kings of Europe? Our experts' predictions

Fifty eight days after Bayern Munich lifted the trophy in Lisbon, the Champions League is back.

Last season's disrupted competition ended with an unlikely final four of Bayern, Paris St-Germain, Lyon and RB Leipzig.

So who will triumph this time? And who will be the surprise packages? We asked our European football writers to make their predictions.

Champions League groups in full

Everything you need to know about this season's Champions League

Can you name every team in this season's Champions League?

If you are viewing this page on the BBC News app please click here to vote.

Andy West, Spanish football writer

What are the prospects for the Spanish sides?

Real Madrid are, of course, always dangerous in this competition and will have added motivation after failing badly in the past couple of years with consecutive last-16 exits.

Barcelona have started the season brightly but realistically the squad is too shallow and blighted by too many flaws for them to be considered among the favourites.

Atletico Madrid, though, could go a long way: they will be strong at the back as always, and if the new strike pairing of Luis Suarez and Joao Felix fulfils its potential they'll be hard to stop.

And Sevilla? Underestimate them at your peril.

Who is your tip to win the Champions League and why?

Right now it's hard to look past Bayern Munich, considering how superior they were to every other team at the end of last season.

But winning the competition two years in a row is notoriously difficult, and I have a feeling we'll see a very strong challenge from the team who historically like to believe they own this competition: Real Madrid.

Zinedine Zidane can call upon genuine world-class quality throughout the squad and has plenty of match-winning options in attack, especially if Eden Hazard can get fit, stay fit and start to show his true ability. So I'll take Real Madrid.

Which team could be the surprise package?

Sevilla have made the Europa League their own, winning it four times since 2014. And under the leadership of canny coach Julen Lopetegui, they look ready to step up to the Champions League. The Andalusians don't have the quality in attack to be potential winners, but they could go deep into the knockout stages.

Constantin Eckner, German football writer

What are the prospects for the German sides?

Bayern Munich addressed the issues regarding their squad late in the transfer window and remain among the strongest teams in Europe. They are capable of defending the title, but it is more likely we will see a slight drop in performance this season.

Borussia Dortmund should win their group and reach at least the quarter-finals if they manage to keep the defence healthy.

RB Leipzig could battle Manchester United for second spot in Group H. Even without Timo Werner, last season's semi-finalists are tough to beat thanks to Julian Nagelsmann's analytical mind and a squad full of highly athletic players.

Borussia Monchengladbach should see their participation in this year's competition as a chance to learn and grow.

Who is your tip to win the Champions League and why?

I don't see a clear-cut favourite this year, as the two previous winners have to deal with some issues that might hinder them from winning it again.

So my money is on Real Madrid. They are the total package with a mix of veteran players and rising stars, and an experienced coach on the sidelines.

Federico Valverde, Martin Odegaard and Vinícius Júnior represent the new generation, while Karim Benzema, Toni Kroos and Sergio Ramos have enough left in the tank to get one more Champions League trophy.

Zidane might not be the tactical genius that some of his peers are, but he knows how to manage a tight schedule and guide a team through the obstacles of a knockout stage.

Which team could be the surprise package?

Borussia Dortmund have the raw talent to be the dark horse in this year's Champions League. They are able to beat any team in the world on a good day and will only get better, as most of their key players are fairly young.

Phil McNulty, BBC Sport's chief football writer

What are the prospects for the English sides?

Liverpool, with their past record of success, are England's best prospect to win the Champions League. Manchester City have the talent but there is something about this competition that always seems to trip them up. Is it lack of belief? Is it Pep Guardiola's tactical mistakes?

I can see Chelsea making it out of a group that is relatively kind but in their current form and condition I do not see Manchester United getting anywhere near the knockout stage when faced with the likes of PSG and RB Leipzig. Things can change in that time for United, but they would have to change a lot.

Who is your tip to win the Champions League and why?

At this stage I would say my two favourites would be Liverpool and the holders Bayern Munich.

Liverpool still look so strong, although they did not get past the last 16 last season when they went out to Atletico Madrid, but now of course they have Thiago Alcantara, such a key figure in Bayern's triumphs.

The usual suspects such as PSG, Barcelona and Real Madrid will be involved but I will go for a straight fight between Liverpool and Bayern - with Liverpool my tip.

Which team could be the surprise package?

Hard to see anyone coming out of the traditional pack but Atletico Madrid, under the inspirational leadership of Diego Simeone, are always a threat, as Liverpool found to their cost last season.

Atletico have had so many near misses with the Champions League but they have added to their squad with Luis Suarez and no-one will want to draw them.

The other possibility? Sevilla - they showed once again what European specialists they are by winning the Europa League.

Ian Holyman, Ligue 1 podcast producer

What are the prospects for the French sides?

It's hardly sticking my neck out to suggest PSG will challenge strongly again.

Yes, they've lost Thiago Silva, but with Marquinhos replacing him in central defence and as captain, and Danilo Pereira's arrival in midfield, Thomas Tuchel's men are stronger and better balanced.

Andre Villas-Boas worked a miracle to get Marseille back into the competition for the first time since 2013-14, but even with Florian Thauvin fit again, the squad looks thin - a helpful draw might see them sneak into the knockout stages though.

Group-stage debutants Rennes will surely struggle with the step up in class, and grabbing third place would be a success.

Who is your tip to win the Champions League and why?

Can you look beyond Bayern Munich? The Champions League is a notoriously fiendish title to defend, but the 2019-20 winners' success in Lisbon in the summer will motivate, not sate, them. They have not stood still since either: Eric Maxim Choupo-Moting (don't laugh!) is great back-up to Robert Lewandowski, and though Thiago has left, Bayern already had an upgrade in Joshua Kimmich.

Their veterans, Manuel Neuer and Thomas Muller, enjoyed one of their best seasons last term, and young talents such as Serge Gnabry and Leroy Sane will only keep improving.

Hansi Flick's men will again be the team to beat.

Which team could be the surprise package?

They've been drawn in the toughest section of all, but Istanbul Basaksehir will be no meek victims of Group H. The Turkish champions - that already says something about their quality - have former Manchester United defender Rafael and ex-Liverpool man Martin Skrtel at the back, while ex-West Ham United, Newcastle United and Chelsea forward Demba Ba is up front.

Daniele Verri, Italian football journalist

What are the prospects for the Italian sides?

It is difficult to imagine an Italian club winning the Champions League.

You can't rule out a team fielding Cristiano Ronaldo but Juventus have a young manager in Andrea Pirlo, are in the process of rejuvenating their squad and lack quality in midfield. Their quest to end a 24-year wait will continue.

Inter proved their worth as they reached the final of last season's Europa League and have since signed Achraf Hakimi and Arturo Vidal. Their focus will be on the league title though, something Antonio Conte sees as a necessary step to form a winning mentality.

Lazio do not have the depth to fight on the domestic and European stage and will struggle to keep up on both.

Who is your tip to win the Champions League and why?

Not even the Oracle of Delphi can predict in October who is to win the Champions League in May! Form, injuries and Covid-19 will all play a role. Will there be another lockdown? Who is going to be the fittest when it really comes to it?

In my opinion, the eventual winner will come from England. Spanish clubs haven't invested enough, a second win for Bayern seems unrealistic and Italian clubs lack that extra bit of quality.

Liverpool and Manchester City, as long as Sergio Aguero recovers and Ruben Dias proves capable of filling Vincent Kompany's boots, are my favourites, with PSG their main danger.

Which team could be the surprise package?

Atalanta already reached the quarter-finals in their maiden Champions League campaign and could do even better.

The Nerazzurri have gathered European experience in the past few years and this will be Gian Piero Gasperini's fifth season in Bergamo. His team play with heart and are a joy to watch. If Josip Ilicic reaches top form they will be a threat to anyone.

‘SOCCERLEGENDS NEWSDESK’

#news #soccer #uefa #predictiction #victory

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glitterslag · 5 years

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Paris, Mon Amour - A Booty Call spinoff/Part 3

Back by popular demand. And because Paris Ben needed his own blurb.

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: language, some smut, lil bit of angst and a rogue dick-pic

Summary: You’re trying not to miss Ben, but it’s hard when there are pictures of him everywhere you look. Even your house-mate can’t shut up about him.

A/N: This was originally a spin-off blurb set in the Booty Call AU, but can either be read as a standalone or as a Part 3 of the main fic. LOTS of people have requested this over the weeks (super sorry it’s taken me so long to finally finish) so I’d love it if just as many people RB and comment! Enjoy x

P.S. my tag lists are a holy show at the moment so if you were/weren’t tagged and you did/didn’t want to be - SORRY!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Have you seen those pictures of Ben at the Oscars?”

You were kneeling on the kitchen tiles, up to your elbows in the bottom freezer drawer, hunting for a tub of ice cream. Jen’s voice floated down the hallway from where she stood at her bedroom mirror, taking off the last of her makeup.

Jen was one of those people who always kept her bedroom door open.

“The ones with Joe and Gwil?” You called back, smiling faintly.

You had post notifications on for all of your friends, Joe and Gwilym included. You had, of course, seen their instagram stories from the Oscars.

“No, no. The ones with the girl.” Jen said as she wandered through into the kitchen, towel on her head and her body wrapped in her fluffy purple dressing gown.

“Lucy?” You wondered, spoon in your mouth as you used both hands to rummage for the tub of mint choc chip.

“No, the beautiful blonde, the skinny one.”

“Lucy’s the blonde.”

You were starting to get a bit irritable now, fingers stinging with the cold of the freezer. Where was the bloody ice cream?

“No, not Lucy, another one - gorgeous. A model maybe?”

“I think you mean his stylist.” You said bluntly. “Iliara?”

“Noo no, not his stylist, the stunning blonde-“

“I GET IT SHE’S BEAUTIFUL!” You yelled, slamming the freezer door shut with a heavy thud.

Jen faked hurt.

“Well there’s no need to get so snappy with me. I was just saying.”

You honestly hated her, sometimes.

In truth, you did wonder about what Ben was getting up to every night at these glamorous parties, even though you knew you had absolutely no right to. You couldn’t help it. He wasn’t your boyfriend – far from it - you had only slept together a handful of times by now. And Jen knew that. You tried hard to just to be happy for Ben, and not think too much about him rubbing shoulders with all these beautiful women. But it wasn’t easy when she seemed to have this perfect knack for rubbing things in.

All the boys had said that they wished you could come tonight, but unfortunately not. Apart from Rami, they were only seated in the viewing gallery themselves, and none of them got to bring a plus one. Only having been an apprentice, there was no chance someone with your position would get invited to the ceremony.

You got texts and snapchats from the boys though, all night, making less and less sense as they steadily get drunker and you found yourself staying up way past bedtime to open their messages, despite having a lecture at 9am.

“Wish you were here to help me tie my tie. Keeps coming undone :/” read a particularly sweet one you received from Ben at about one in the morning, and it somehow calmed all of the fears you’d had before.

~~~

“Have you seen those pictures of Ben in Paris?” Came Jen’s disembodied voice almost the second you walked through the door, and you nearly jumped out of your skin.

“What are you, stalking him?” You said bitterly, ripping off your bike helmet and flinging it down onto the sofa.

Jen eyed you from the kitchen counter knowingly.

“Long day, was it?”

You shed your coat, scarf, gloves, hat, shoes, each one coming to join your helmet with more velocity than the last.

“Mm.” You muttered under your breath, stalking over with your arms folded to flick the kettle on. “Remind me again why I started back at this fucking uni..?”

~~~

You had seen the pictures.

Ben had flown to Paris for fashion week that morning, and by the time you sat down to have lunch at uni he was all over your Instagram feed looking like he’d barely slept. There were pictures of him with models. Sat on the front row of some Yves Saint Laurent show sandwiched in between them. The butterflies in your belly had started up again.

You hated yourself for being like this. Insecure was so not attractive. And you were never like that with boys. It’s just that other boys usually weren’t Ben fucking Hardy.

He didn’t look very happy. He hadn’t shaved, and there were dark circles under his eyes. You couldn’t help but feel a twang of concern. You wrestled with yourself for an hour or so before shooting him a little text, enquiring after his wellbeing.

He didn’t get back to you until midnight.

“Just got back to my hotel room. Exhausted.”

“No offence, but you look it.”

Ben had gone straight from the Oscars afterparty to the airport for a twelve hour flight to Paris. You were doing a presentation on colour theory for your Contemporary Cinema seminar when his text had come pinging through into the top corner of your MacBook, hooked up to the projector for your whole class of 30 to see.

Ben Hardy: Still pissed on the plane. Help me

They’d all giggled as you scrambled to switch off iMessage, struggling to regain composure and continue with your presentation, worth 50% of your grade for the whole module. It was a good job Ben had such a common name, as you had to laugh and brush it off when some kid in the back joked that you were “chirpsing the real Peter Beale”.

You recounted the tale to Ben now, hoping to give him a laugh, and indeed, the screen lit up your dark bedroom with a little line of laughter emojis only a minute later. You grinned, warmed. You might have been separated from him by the English channel, but compared to Los Angeles? You could kid yourself he was only next door.

You wanted badly to tell him you missed him, but you’d only just started admitting it to yourself.

“Sorry we keep missing each other.” He wrote, referring to the conflicting schedules you’d had over past few weeks, as well as the time zone issue. “It’s just been a mad one.”

That’s ok! I get it :)

You reply. And then:

You should sleep.

You worked out it would be past 1am there. He had to have been absolutely worn out.

Can’t.

Why’s that?

Kinda got a problem..

You waited for him to elaborate, sitting up and switching on your bedroom light.

You’re not in public are you?

Why??

You were curious now, closing all your other apps to focus solely on the conversation. Surely he knew that at midnight on a Monday you’d be home.

Just answer You at home?

I’m in bed

Even better ;)

You felt a flutter in the pit of your stomach. What was he up to?

Ben, what is it?

I wanna send you something

And then it dawned on you. He couldn’t sleep. Had a problem. Needed you to be alone.

Oh.

Only if that’s ok?? He replied, seconds later.

Yes

You put the phone down on your pillow, chewing on your nails as you waited for him to send it. There was no reason to be nervous. You’d seen his cock in person. Touched it. It just felt like a big deal somehow, having it on your phone. Risky.

He was lying in bed too. White hotel sheets, single bed against one wall, a mirror image of your cramped little student room.

The picture was nice.

I mean, of course it was – it was his, but even for him. He was naked, from the looks of it, lying on his back grasping himself in his fist, bright pink and hard against his belly. He looked gorgeous. You could barely close the picture long enough to tell him so.

You didn’t full-on sext. He was far too tired - and you far too shy - for that. But you did send him a picture of yourself, face cut off from the lips upward, of course. It was nothing too crazy. Just you lying in bed in your low-cut pyjama vest and French knickers (“Fitting ;)”).

After a few more messages back and forth your cheeks were stinging with heat, nipples hard through your pyjama top and a pool forming between your thighs.

He sent you a picture of his come, pearlescent white against his velveteen stomach in the camera flash. You felt your heart beating in your mouth and your fingers and your clitoris as you looked at it, wondering how that, something you’d never, ever imagined yourself wanting to receive from anyone, could be so beautiful to you.

You found yourself longing for his taste. To lick every last drop from the silky skin of his tummy.

Christ. You thought. What had gotten into you?

“What a waste” you typed.

~~~

The next morning you strolled into the kitchen with a spring in your step , and were pouring cereal into a bowl when Jen piped up from the kitchen table.

“Did you see those pictures of Ben?” She asked predictably, and you bit back a smirk. “The ones with the models? He’s at the Yves Saint Laurent show.”

As if you wouldn’t have known where he was.

She was on the gossip page of one of those glossy magazines, OK! or Grazia - that sort of thing. As she brushed toast crumbs away to pour over the celebrity news you caught a glimpsed of a harassed-looking Ben, walking down the street with his hood up.

“He’s at fashion week.” She added.

“Oh, I spoke to him last night, actually.” You said, attempting to sound offhand.

“Really?” Jen replied airily. “What’d you talk about?”

“He was just saying how tired he was. Couldn’t wait to get back to London.”

“He was probably saying it to make you feel better.”

She didn’t look up from the magazine as she bit into her toast. Still, you could tell she was put out.

~~~

Ben arrived back that night and invited himself over. Couldn’t be bothered to deal with the mess at his, he said. He could unpack tomorrow. Besides, Frankie was with his ex for the whole week anyway, so there was nothing for him to be back for. He said he’d dump his suitcase at home and then come straight round, but you didn’t realise how literally he’d meant that.

He looked bone-weary. Hair a mess, he wasn’t shaved or showered, still in his clothes from the flight and you thought privately that you might prefer this version of him the best. His nose and fingers and toes were cold from the outside, and you squealed in his grasp, trying to squirm away but he wouldn’t let you, nuzzling his icy nose into you on purpose, seeking your warmth. You got straight into bed even though it had only just gone 8 by the time he rocked up, and his lips were pressed against yours right away.

For once, there was absolutely no lust there. He didn’t try to roll on top of you, hands staying on your middle, rubbing up and down your sides gently instead of trying to wander downwards. Just kissing for the sake of kissing. It made your heart speed up to think it. You still couldn’t quite believe he was here. He’d never been round to your flat before.

You made out for what could’ve been ten minutes or an hour, before coming to a slow, mutual stop.

“ ‘M’too tired to do anything,” He said, voice thick with sleep as he pushed his face into your neck to smell you. “Jus’ wanna nap for a million years.”

“M’Kay.” You said, muffled against his soft green jumper. He smelled of the outside.

~~~

You woke up not knowing what century it was, and you assumed he’d feel the same.

It was about 7am, and you were positively toasty. The heating had kicked in overnight and you’d fallen asleep in leggings and fluffy bed socks. At some point, Ben had taken his top off and you’d eagerly taken it and put it on, keen for his body warmth that still clung to it.

You peeled yourself off him, feeling sweat sticking down your back from where his bare chest had been pressed against it all night. He was like a space heater at the best of times. You slipped your socks off your sweaty feet and kicked them far down the bed, losing them in the sea of duvet.

You wriggled around in his arms so you could bury into his chest and he wrapped them back around you again, even in sleep. You lay there for a while in the pitch black, playing at being a little mouse snuggled up in the burrow, lying side by side with its den mate in the dark earth. Only the smell and feel and taste of each other to rely on.

You almost didn’t want to wake him up. To prolong the pretence that he was your live-in boyfriend for just a little longer. That he didn’t have to leave in an hour or two and that then you wouldn’t see him again for god knows how long.

You realised you only disliked dark mornings when you were sleeping alone.

~~~

“Have you seen those pictures of Ben at the airport?” Jen asked as the two of you trailed into the kitchen.

Ben stepped out from behind you awkwardly, and her ears turned pink with embarrassment. She slapped her hand over her mouth. You realised this was her first time meeting him in person.

“Coffee?” She managed to squeak after collecting herself again, and everyone laughed.

“It’s a good job you’re back.” She said to Ben not long later, handing him the mug of black coffee which he grabbed gratefully. “She’s been in a mood all week!”

“I have not Jen!” You protested, mortified.

Ben just grinned and slung an arm around you, biting into his toast.

“I’ll keep her in check.”

He winked at you and you nearly died off.

You watched him across the kitchen table over breakfast, thumming at your shirt collar. You brushed your fingers over your sore collar-bone absentmindedly, poking at the skin there testingly, bruised from where he’d sucked and bitten it. There was a sort of soft shyness to the way Ben was looking at you; private, stolen glances over steaming coffee cups, Jen yammering on in the background, oblivious to the fullness of the atmosphere.

You’d never liked it in the morning as much as you did with Ben. Only an hour ago, you’d been giving him a sloppy blowjob under the covers, enjoying the perfect stillness of 7am while he ran his hands through your hair and sighed. Eventually, once he was a bit more awake, he’d hauled you up and then rolled on top, pinning your hands to the bed as he settled his warm, welcome weight on top of you.

You’d not been quite ready for him yet, legs slung over his hips and hooked under his bum as he wiggled into you, and the stretch felt so incredible it had been an effort to keep quiet, conscious of Jen asleep in the next room. His thrusts were slow, fingers laced through yours, holding you down as you kissed sloppily.

Then he’d let go of one of your hands to bring a thumb down in between your legs, fingers gripping at your hip gently as he brushed over your clit, feather-light. He slowly built you to a shivering, long drawn out orgasm, clenching on him violently as he trembled with the effort of staying quiet.

Eyes squeezed shut, pink lips parted, he approached his high, and you took him by the back of the head gently to place a long, soft kiss to his cheek to soothe him. He pushed into it, panting, little noises of appreciation escaping the back of his throat while he came.

~~~

“I’ll have to leave”.

You snapped him out of his reverie and he blinked at you, blushing. You didn’t have to be an expert to tell what he’d been thinking about.

“Lecture?” Ben wondered, and you shook your head.

“Nah, work.”

You told Ben he was free to stay and have breakfast after you left for your part time job at a cafe. However, it appeared that the idea of him and Jen being left alone together terrified him as much as it did you and he opted to walk out with you after you finished your coffee. You walked your bike with him to where he’d parked his car.

“I could give you a lift?”

“Nah,” you said casually, fastening your helmet under your chin. “traffic’ll be bad”

He nodded his head. Neither of you moved to leave, and he looked like he was about to say something until both your heads jerked around at the sound of a group of school kids shouting from across the road.

“Oi, weren’t you in Eastenders?!”

One of them came running across the road to where the two of you were stood, face to face in front of his car boot. The rest of them followed nervously. The two of you sighed and smiled.

“I’ll be late.” You said, mounting your bike. He shot you a pleading, apologetic look but you just grinned at him from over your shoulder. “I’ll have to go.”

You waved him off as the gaggle descended on him, cycling away before they could get too good of a look at you. You glanced back every now and then at his retreating form, trying his best to be polite as they each asked him for an autograph and a picture.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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