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pucksandpower · 3 months ago

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To Have a Heart

CEO!Max Verstappen x single mother!Reader

Summary: Max is a titan of industry, used to making grown men cry with one glance … then you and your daughter turn his carefully controlled life upside down

Warnings: descriptions of pediatric cancer

Max strides into his corner office, his Italian leather shoes clicking sharply on the marble floors. The floor-to-ceiling windows offer a breathtaking view of the Manhattan skyline, but he pays it no mind as he makes his way to the large mahogany desk.

His assistant, Clara, follows a few steps behind, her heels clacking nervously. “Sir, Mr. Henderson is waiting in the conference room per your request.”

Max doesn’t bother responding as he unbuttons his suit jacket and takes a seat behind the desk. With a flick of his wrist, he motions for Clara to leave. She gives the tiniest of nods and scurries out, closing the double doors behind her.

Taking a deep breath, Max presses the intercom button. “Send him in.”

A moment later, the doors reopen and a balding, paunchy man in an ill-fitting suit enters. Even from across the room, Max can see the bead of sweat rolling down the man’s forehead.

Good.

He should be nervous.

“Mr. Henderson.” Max says, his tone clipped. “Do you know why I called you here?”

The man — Henderson — fidgets with his tie. “Y-Yes, sir. The, uh, the Brighton acquisition ...”

“The $3.75 billion deal that was supposed to be finalized yesterday.” Max interjects, leaning back in his chair. “A deal that the company has been meticulously negotiating for over six months. A deal that would have been the largest hostile takeover in our firm’s history.”

Henderson gives a somber nod, his Adam’s apple bobbing. Max fights the urge to roll his eyes at the sad display.

“Because of your incompetence, that deal is now in jeopardy.” Max continues, his voice dropping to a menacing register. “Please explain to me how someone with three decades of accounting experience could possibly make the amateur mistake of misplacing a decimal point on the binding purchase agreement?”

“I … I missed it in the final review.” Henderson stammers out, sweat now visibly staining the armpits of his shirt. “The numbers, they all start to blur together after-”

“Do not insult my intelligence with your pitiful excuses.” Max cuts him off, slamming a fist down on the desk. He takes no small amount of satisfaction in the way the man flinches. “Because of your idiocy, we offered $235 million over the agreed purchase price. An overpayment to the tune of $2.5 billion with a ‘B’!”

Henderson seems to shrink into himself with each biting word. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Verstappen. It won’t happen again, I swear-”

“You’re damn right it won’t happen again.” Max growls, rising from his chair so quickly that it goes clattering backwards. He leans across the desk, getting directly in Henderson’s ashen face. “Because you’re fired. Effective immediately.”

The words seem to take a moment to register in Henderson’s mind. When they do, his eyes widen in panic and he starts shaking his head rapidly.

“No, no, please! You can’t fire me!” he cries, any veneer of professionalism crumbling. “I-I’ll work double shifts, triple shifts! I’ll volunteer for all the weekend audits, no overtime pay! J-Just don’t fire me, I’m begging you!”

Max recoils slightly at the outburst of blubbering, his lip curling in disgust. How pathetic, to see a grown man so thoroughly debased. He almost feels pity for the wretch … almost.

“This conversation is over.” Max says, his tone resolute as he straightens his tie. “You have one hour to collect your things and get out of my building. After that, security will escort you out.”

“B-But I have three kids!” Henderson sputters, tears streaming down his face now. “A mortgage. Alimony payments! You can’t just-”

In a burst of rage, Max sweeps his arm across the desk, sending papers, files, and office supplies clattering to the floor in a violent clutter.

“I am Max Verstappen!” He bellows, his face flushed crimson. “I do not make empty threats, Mr. Henderson. You are a miserable, costly disappointment. A failure. And I will not allow failures to remain under my employ.”

The words seem to drain what little fight was left in Henderson. His shoulders slump in defeat, and he lets out a pitiful whimper. Max feels his anger deflate, replaced with a tired disdain.

“One hour.” he repeats, falling back into his chair in exhaustion. “Get out of my sight.”

Henderson doesn’t need to be told twice. With trembling hands, he begins collecting the various objects scattered across the floor — pencils, paperclips, manila folders now slightly crumpled. His motions are slow, pained, like those of a man having just received a terminal diagnosis.

Max watches impassively as the sniveling accountant gathers his belongings. Part of him feels a twinge of … not quite guilt, but maybe the faintest pangs of empathy for the broken man before him. He quickly smothers that flicker of sympathy. This is the cost of doing business in the world of high-stakes acquisitions and mergers. There is no room for weakness or mistakes. Only results matter.

Finally, with his meager pile of office supplies clutched to his chest, Henderson straightens up. His face is blotchy and tear-stained, but he seems to have regained some small scrap of dignity. He meets Max’s cold stare for just a moment before turning on his heel and shuffling out of the office.

The double doors close behind him with a hollow thud that hangs in the air. Max lets out a slow exhale, suddenly aware of the tension that had been coiling inside him. He runs a hand over his face, then taps a button on his phone intercom.

“Clara, get me William Evans from legal on the line immediately.” he says, his voice steady once more. “We need to do damage control on the Brighton situation before it becomes irreparable.”

“Right away, sir.” comes the reply, his assistant’s voice tightly professional.

Max leans back in his chair, steepling his fingers as he stares out at the New York City skyline. This is far from the first firing he has issued, and it certainly won’t be the last. He is a great white shark, always needing to move forward or else he will drown in the depths of his own ambition.

There is a soft rap at the door, pulling Max from his reverie.

“Come in.” he calls out. Clara enters, her face schooled into a mask of polite disinterest. So much the better — he respects discretion.

“I have Mr. Evans on line two for you.” she says crisply.

Max gives a succinct nod. “Thank you, Clara. That will be all.”

As his assistant withdraws, Max takes a fortifying breath. He is Max Verstappen. He is the master of the corporate ocean. And he will not allow one flailing failure to capsize his empire.

Squaring his shoulders, he picks up the phone and begins issuing a stern series of orders and demands. After all, there is little time for rest when one aims to be a modern day titan of industry.

***

You take a deep breath and rap firmly on the door to the HR director’s office. “Come in.” a flat voice calls out.

Steeling yourself, you twist the handle and step inside the dingy, fluorescent-lit room. Janet, the red-haired HR manager, looks up from her computer with a practiced smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

“Ah, Y/N. What can I do for you today?” She asks in an overly saccharine tone.

You take a seat across from her cluttered desk, your knee bouncing with nervous energy. “I … I need to request some personal leave. Family medical reasons.”

Janet’s perfectly penciled eyebrows rise in bland surprise. “I see. And how much time were you hoping to take?”

Your throat tightens as you force out the words. “At least a month. Maybe more, depending on … on how things progress.”

The HR manager clucks her tongue as she shakes her head. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible. We’re in our busiest quarter and you know the company policy — no extended leave during crunch periods unless it’s a valid health emergency.”

You feel panic fluttering in your chest. This has to be a valid emergency! “But it is an emergency! My daughter, she’s ...” Your voice cracks and you swallow hard, desperate to maintain your composure. “She’s very sick, potentially terminal. I need to be with her right now.”

Janet’s face remains stubbornly impassive. “I’m sorry to hear about your daughter’s illness. Truly, I am. But unless you can provide official documentation from a medical professional, my hands are tied.”

The words hit you like a slap across the face. Of course they would require documentation to approve leave — it’s standard corporate policy. But how can mentally collect yourself to get paperwork in order when you’ve been spending every waking moment by your little girl’s hospital bedside?

Unbidden, your mind flashes back to two nights ago, watching in helpless terror as your daughter’s tiny body was racked with another severe seizure. You had screamed yourself hoarse calling for the nurses as the meds they pumped into her did little to stop the violent convulsions ...

You’re vaguely aware of Janet still speaking across from you, something about company guidelines and productivity expectations. But the words sound muffled and far away, as if you’re underwater.

How naive you were to think they might bend the rules, just this once. To think the faceless corporation you pour your life into might actually show a shred of human compassion during your hour of desperate need.

No. That’s not how companies like this operate.

They don’t care about you or your daughter’s life. All they care about is the bottom line, and you’re just an expendable number in their organizational flowchart.

You’re jolted back to reality as Janet raps her lacquered nails impatiently on the desk. “Well? Is there anything else or can I get back to work?”

Is there anything else? Oh, there’s so much more you want to scream at this unfeeling paper-pusher. You want to cry and rage and beg her to just show an ounce of basic human decency.

But you know it would be pointless. Janet is just a cog, same as you. There’s only one person here with the power and influence to authorize what you need.

Only one person who strikes abject terror into the heart of every employee with his infamous volcanic temper and uncompromising expectations.

The thought makes your stomach twist into knots, but you know what you have to do. For your little girl’s sake, you have to try.

So you rise from the chair, willing your legs not to shake. “Thank you for your time.” you mutter tightly, already turning on your heel and storming out of the office.

You don’t look back as Janet calls out something about proper procedure. You just keep moving, your footsteps fueled by a mother’s desperation.

The elevator seems to take an eternity, each second feeling like a little bit more of your daughter’s life trickling away. By the time the doors finally open with a mocking ding, you’re practically vibrating with pent-up nervous energy.

As the mirrored box ascends, your heart feels like it’s trying to batter its way out of your chest. You can hardly breathe past the constriction in your lungs. What if the infamous Max Verstappen laughs in your face? Or has you fired on the spot for daring to interrupt his billion-dollar dealings?

No, you can’t afford to think like that. This may be your only chance to get the time off you so desperately need. For your daughter’s sake, you have to be brave.

The elevator seems to crawl upward at a glacial pace. By the time the doors finally part with a soft chime, you feel like you’re going to be sick from anxiety. This is it, the executive floor — the lair of the terrifying Max Verstappen himself.

You step out into the plush, mahogany-accented lobby with shaking legs. Behind a curved desk, Max’s assistant Clara looks up, her expression instantly hardening when she recognizes you as some inconsequential employee.

“I’m sorry, but Mr. Verstappen is not accepting any visitors at the moment.” she says, her tone brooking no argument. “If you’d like to schedule an appointment for next week ...”

“Please.” you blurt out, hating how your voice trembles. “It’s an emergency. I … I need to see him. Just for five minutes.”

Clara’s manicured eyebrow arches skeptically. “I extremely doubt Mr. Verstappen would consider your issue important enough to warrant an unscheduled meeting. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a million things to-”

“It’s about my sick daughter!” The words burst from your lips before you can stop them. Immediately, you regret being so unprofessional, but desperation has eroded your self-control.

For a split second, Clara’s expression flickers with something that might be pity. But it’s quickly subsumed by her usual cool mask of professionalism as she shakes her head.

“I’m very sorry to hear about your daughter’s illness. But those are still not grounds for me to disturb Mr. Verstappen while he’s-”

“Please!” You plead, tears of frustration pricking your eyes. “I’m begging you. This could be my last chance! If he says no, I’ll leave, I promise. But I have to try!”

Clara regards you appraisingly for a long moment. Then, letting out a weary sigh, she presses the intercom button. “Sir? There’s someone here requesting an urgent meeting with you. A … personal matter.”

The line crackles with static for several tense seconds. You hold your breath, praying beyond hope that the infamous Max has a rare charitable impulse today.

Then, his unmistakable baritone growls through the small speaker. “This had better be good. Send them in.”

Clara winces almost imperceptibly before gesturing towards the double oak doors to Max’s corner office. “Good luck.” she murmurs.

You don’t need any further prompting. Drawing a shuddering breath, you straighten your spine and make your way to the doors. You pause just briefly, hands trembling, before rapping your knuckles firmly against the lacquered wood.

There’s no going back now. Either Max Verstappen is about to grant you a miracle … or utterly crush your last, fragile hope.

***

Max scowls as the intercom crackles to life, Clara’s hesitant voice filtering through the speaker. “Sir? There’s someone here requesting an urgent meeting with you. A … personal matter.”

He resists the urge to roll his eyes. Surely whatever this is can wait until tomorrow. Max is elbow-deep in paperwork and holding patterns, trying to do damage control on the Brighton acquisition fumble. He has no time for frivolous “personal” disruptions.

“This had better be good.” he growls into the intercom. “Send them in.”

With an irritated huff, Max leans back in his buttery leather chair as the doors to his office swing open. He’s already opening his mouth to berate whoever dares disturb him over something as trivial as a “personal matter.”

Then you tentatively step into the room and Max’s words die in his throat.

Even with your shoulders hunched inward and your makeup smudged from crying, you are utterly breathtaking. A fragile beauty drowning in an oversized blazer, your wide eyes darting around his opulent office with obvious intimidation.

An unwelcome jolt of attraction lances through Max’s chest and he quickly squashes it down. He cannot afford such distractions, especially from a lowly employee like yourself who should know better than to interrupt him during work hours.

“Well?” He finally finds his voice, aiming for a brusque tone to remind you both of your respective places. “You’re hardly someone important enough to be granted an audience. This had better be worth my time.”

The harshness of his words seems to make you flinch. You worry your lip between your teeth, shrinking back slightly.

“I … I’m so sorry to disturb you, Mr. Verstappen.” you begin haltingly. Already Max can feel his patience waning. He hates fumbling fragility and wants only confident decisiveness.

But then your next words come tumbling out in a desperate rush. “It’s about my daughter, sir. My little girl … she’s in the hospital. She has a brain tumor and her condition is deteriorating rapidly. I asked Janet in HR for some personal leave to be with her, but she denied my request and said I need official medical documentation which could take days I don’t have!”

Tears are welling in your eyes now, your voice rising to nearly hysterical levels. “Please, Mr. Verstappen! She’s only three years old and I’m a single mom. I’m all she has right now! I’m begging you … please just give me some time to be with her before … before ...”

You seem unable to voice whatever terrifying possibility lurks in the back of your mind. Instead, you dissolve into shoulder-shaking sobs, burying your face in your hands as you break down completely.

Max feels his earlier irritation softening in spite of himself. He’s seen grown men thrice your age become blubbering messes under his withering glare. But there’s something distinctly vulnerable and gut-wrenching about your anguished tears.

Part of him recognizes this as a prime opportunity to regain control, to berate you for such an unseemly display of emotion. His reputation as a merciless taskmaster practically demands he put you in your place.

But another part of Max … a part he barely recognizes … feels a rare pang of empathy pierce through his calloused exterior.

Perhaps it’s the thought of a scared little girl lying crippled in a hospital bed, scared and missing her mother. Or perhaps it’s the way you wear your devastation so plainly, managing to humanize yourself in a way most people never achieve in his eyes.

Whatever the reason, when Max finally speaks, his tone has lost its earlier bite.

“I did not realize the full severity of the situation.” he says, slowly rising from his chair. He moves around the desk, not missing the way you tense as he approaches.

Up close, he can see the puffy redness rimming your eyes, the despair etched into every line of your face. It stirs something inside him … an ancient ghost of an emotion he can’t quite place.

“I’m sorry you were dismissed so carelessly by HR.” Max continues, struggling to keep his voice even. “Perhaps if you had led with mentioning your daughter’s condition, instead of being so oblique ...”

He trails off as you sniff loudly, dragging the sleeve of your blazer across your nose. The motion is equal parts endearing and mortifying for him to witness.

“Here.” he says impulsively, plucking a crisp linen handkerchief from his suit pocket. He presses it into your hand, watching as you blink owlishly at the unexpected gesture. “Allow me to make things right.”

Without waiting for a response, Max turns and strides over to his desk. He snatches up the phone and rapidly punches in a extension code, holding the receiver to his ear as it begins to ring.

“Janet? Yes, it’s Max Verstappen.” he says crisply when the line picks up. “I’ve just been informed about an ... employee situation that requires your immediate attention.”

He pauses, glancing over at where you’re clutching his handkerchief like a lifeline. Your eyes are still glistening with tears, but you’ve gone utterly still — hanging on his every word.

“One of our marketing staff came to me in quite a state about needing extended leave to be with their hospitalized child.” Max continues, his voice hardening slightly. “A matter you seemed to dismiss without proper consideration for the … nuances of the circumstances.”

There’s a sputtering on the other end of the line, undoubtedly Janet trying to make excuses. Max doesn’t give her the chance.

“The decision has been made to grant the employee’s leave request, effective immediately.” he cuts her off. “They will be excused for … two months, with full pay and benefits.”

His announcement seems to render you momentarily stunned. You simply stare at him, eyes wide and unblinking, like you can’t quite process what you’re hearing.

Max clears his throat self-consciously, refocusing on Janet’s flustered response filtering through the receiver. “B-But sir, we have very strict policies about-”

“Which is precisely why I’m instructing you to make an exception.” Max interjects, his voice brokering no arguments. “This leave is to be coded as paid health and wellness time. I expect no push-back or foot-dragging on this, understood?”

There’s a meek murmur of assent from Janet’s end. Max can’t resist a tight smile of satisfaction.

“Good. I’ll leave the paperwork in your capable hands then. That will be all.” He punctuates the statement by firmly hanging up the phone.

As the clatter of the receiver breaks the tense silence, Max turns to find you staring at him with an utterly inscrutable expression. For a long moment, neither of you speak or move. He finds himself paralyzed under the weight of your intense, unblinking gaze.

Then, with a strangled cry, you suddenly surge forward and throw your arms around him. Max goes ramrod stiff as your slight frame collides with his, your tears dampening the front of his crisp dress shirt.

“Thank you!” You’re whispering over and over like a prayer, clinging to him with a desperation that should be uncomfortable. And yet ... “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

Max feels utterly transfixed, like a statue too stunned to react. He can’t remember the last time someone dared to encroach so boldly on his personal space, much less make actual physical contact. He’s not accustomed to such … warmth.

But before the unfamiliar embrace can start to grate on him, you suddenly pull back. Swiping at your eyes, you manage a watery smile up at him.

“You have no idea how much this means, sir. I … I can’t thank you enough for your kindness and understanding.”

He wants to scoff at the notion, to remind you that he is Max Verstappen — merciless and uncompromising in his corporate dealings. That this was merely an isolated instance of pragmatism to avoid a PR incident or workplace lawsuit, nothing more.

But something in your earnest gaze stops the curt rebuttal in his throat. For once, the infamously brusque Max Verstappen finds himself momentarily at a loss for words.

So instead, he gives a terse nod of acknowledgment. Already, his mind is starting to analyze how best to re-allocate your responsibilities for the next two months, which temporary hires to bring in for supplemental coverage.

But one stray thought continues to nag at the back of his mind, an errant curveball amongst the dizzying calculations.

For the first time in years — perhaps his entire adult life — Max feels almost … human.

It’s a strange and deeply unsettling realization, but luckily one he doesn’t have to dwell on.

Because in the next breath, you’re sweeping out of his office, a renewed vigor in your step and a brilliant smile lighting up your features. Max watches you go, an odd tightness settling into his chest.

He doesn’t have words — or perhaps doesn’t want to admit to any words to describe what he’s feeling in this moment. But one thing is for certain, for better or worse, you’ve well and truly upended Max Verstappen’s world.

***

Max remains rooted in place long after you’ve departed, his office now eerily silent in your absence. He should feel relieved to have some peace and quiet again after that … emotional encounter.

Yet instead of settling back into his usual all-consuming work flow, he finds his mind stubbornly replaying the scene on an endless, maddening loop.

The desperation etched onto your delicate features. The way your frame practically vibrated with barely-constrained anguish. The broken, pleading sound of your voice as you begged for his mercy ...

Despite his best efforts to dismiss it, the memory of your raw vulnerability has burrowed its way under Max’s skin, taking up an unwelcome residence. It picks and nags at the edges of his consciousness no matter how much he wills it away.

He has witnessed similar breakdowns from countless employees over the years — grown men and women brought to sniveling tatters by his uncompromising demands. But none of them elicited the same … response within him.

None of them made something twist so peculiarly in Max’s chest, unleashing that brief yet startling flicker of empathy from whatever dark crevice it lurks.

Gritting his teeth, Max paces behind his desk in tight, agitated circles. He prides himself on being a merciless pragmatist, unmoved by emotional pleas or babelling outbursts. Whatever decisions he makes are calculated toward the maximum profit potential and bottom line, end of story.

So why does this one case, this one instance of showing a bare modicum of human compassion, insist on gnawing at him so persistently? It makes no logical sense, no matter how he tries to mentally contort it.

Perhaps that’s the core issue — that for once in his life, Max’s motivations weren’t born strictly of logic or financial incentive. Something else had escaped from beneath, something primal and indefinable, when you broke down so nakedly in front of him.

The realization causes Max’s steps to stutter to a halt. His jaw works tensely as he runs a frustrated hand through his brown hair, disheveling the meticulously groomed coif.

He can admit to himself that some base part of his brain had been … affected by the rawness of your emotion. The way you had stripped away all artifice and propriety to plead so urgently and authentically.

Not many people manage to disarm Max Verstappen’s carefully curated expectation filters. But you had blown straight through them without even realizing it, battering down the reinforced walls he builds around his life. Just by being horrifically, unguardedly human.

It’s both impressive and deeply unsettling in equal measure.

Before Max can spiral any further down this rabbit hole of self-reflection, a sharp rap of knuckles against the door jolts him back to awareness. He straightens and clears his throat roughly.

“Come in.” he calls out, already retaking his seat and trying to project an aura of resolute control.

Clara slips into the office, her usual unflappable poise slightly ruffled as she catches the tense atmosphere. “You asked to see me right away, sir?”

“Yes.” Max says brusquely, watching her over steepled fingers. “I need you to do some … discreet digging for me into a personal matter.”

Clara’s perfectly groomed eyebrow arches inquisitively. But to her credit, she doesn’t comment on his evasive phrasing.

“And what exactly am I looking into?”

“The employee who was just in my office seeking leave.” he explains curtly. “The one with the hospitalized child. I need you to find out everything you can — where the child is being treated, their condition, prognosis, all of it.”

Clara’s perfectly glossed lips purse ever so slightly. “You’re aware I can’t exactly go through official medical channels without violating all sorts of privacy laws ...”

“I’m fully aware.” Max interjects with a curt wave of his hand. “Which is why you’ll have to take a more … unconventional approach. I don’t particularly care what methods you have to employ, just get me those details by the end of the day.”

His assistant regards him silently for a long beat, as if trying to suss out his motivations. Max meets her contemplative look with an unwavering stare of his own.

Finally, Clara gives a tight nod of understanding. “Consider it done, sir.”

With that, she pivots on the towering heel of her Louboutin and sees herself out of the office, the click of her footsteps rapidly retreating down the hall.

Max lets out a slow exhale, alone with his thoughts once more.

What is he doing? This bizarre crusade is so wildly outside of his typical conduct and practices. The lengths he’s going to, all for the sake of some random underling’s personal crisis ...

A smart, calculated part of his brain recognizes this entire situation as a fool’s errand, a waste of time and resources. He should be devoting every ounce of his focus toward extricating the Chinese investment group from the Brighton deal before their next earnings call.

And yet, he can’t seem to fully let this go. Your haunted, hopeless expression keeps flickering through his mind’s eye. The memory of your tears soaking into his suit lapel as you clung to him with a desperation that shook something deep within him.

It’s almost as if his body is acting of its own accord, driven by some urge he can’t fully parse or control. Like a murmured voice insistently compelling him to … to what? Help you? Offer some vague sense of solace or security?

The thought is patently ludicrous, and Max scoffs audibly at his own melodrama. Get a grip, he chides himself sternly. Since when do you care about coddling your peons?

He forcefully shakes off the uncharacteristic reverie and turns back to the stacks of paperwork and documents splayed across his desk. Focusing intently on running new financial projections for Q3, he manages to bury himself in the work for a solid two hours.

He’s in the midst of furiously scribbling margin and revenue notes when the trill of the phone line cuts through his concentration. A glance at the caller ID has him resisting the urge to sigh.

“Clara.” he answers crisply, leaning back in his leather chair. “I trust you’ve made progress?”

“Indeed.” comes the smooth reply, devoid of inflection as always. “Though I should warn you, some of these details are … concerning.”

Something tightens in Max’s chest, but he quickly tamps it down. “Just lay it all out for me. No need to editorialize.”

“Very well.” Clara acquiesces. “So the child, a three-year-old daughter, is currently a patient at Lennox Hill Hospital here in the city. According to my sources, she was admitted five weeks ago after experiencing severe seizures and hallucinations. An MRI revealed she has a large mass-”

“Let me stop you right there.” Max interjects, his brows furrowing. Even he can recognize those are less than encouraging signs. “What’s the official diagnosis then?”

“Grade IV glioblastoma.” Clara replies flatly. “One of the most aggressive malignant brain tumors, especially in children her age.”

A terse silence falls between them as the weight of that diagnosis sinks in. Grade IV … practically a death sentence wrapped up in clinical terminology. Max finds his hand unconsciously clenching the arm of his chair.

“And her prospects?” He finally prompts gruffly. “What’s the … prognosis for her case?”

Clara doesn’t answer right away. Over the line, he can hear her exhale slowly, a rare tell of emotional discomfort from his typically unflappable assistant.

“From what my contact at Lennox Hill said … if we’re talking full disclosure?” Her customary professionalism wavers slightly as her voice grows hushed. “They’ve given her three months at most, sir. Maybe less, if another seizure or bleed occurs before then.”

The words hang in the air like a guillotine blade against Max’s neck. Suddenly, all those intrusive mental flashes of your inconsolable despair take on a sharper, even more heartrending clarity.

Of course you were devastated, he realizes with startling empathy. How could any mother face their child’s death sentence with any measure of composure?

An unexpected swell of emotion rises in Max’s throat and he has to blink rapidly to keep it at bay. Now isn’t the time for such indulgences.

“Thank you, Clara.” he manages in a rough baritone. “That will be all for now.”

He ends the call without waiting for a response, abruptly severing the connection.

Alone once more, Max slumps back against the leather upholstery, an uncharacteristic weariness settling into his bones. He reaches up to loosen his already disheveled tie, suddenly feeling stifled within the confines of his suit.

Three months. Three paltry months for a precious young life to be snatched away before it ever really began. His jaw clenches hard.

That’s unacceptable. Not just unfair, but a complete and total injustice to all that is right and good in this world.

No child should have to suffer like that … and certainly no mother should have to face a future of unimaginable grief and emptiness once her only family is gone. Not if there was anything to be done about it.

And, at the end of the day, Max Verstappen has the means to quite literally move mountains with his wealth and influence.

An idea begins to blossom in his mind — one that feels daring and reckless and so utterly unlike his usual business-oriented self. But he finds himself drawn to it with a singleminded resolve he can’t quite explain.

Jaw set, Max snatches up his phone and punches in a number he never thought he’d use outside of donor galas.

“Roland? Max Verstappen here.” he says gruffly when the line picks up. “I need you to connect me directly with someone in Sloan Kettering’s pediatric oncology department ...”

Half an hour and multiple calls later, Max is finally patched through to one of the top clinical researchers in the field: Dr. Spencer Paulson.

“Dr. Paulson, thank you for making time on such short notice.” Max says, his tone polished yet clipped. “To cut right to it, I was recently made aware of a … sensitive case involving a terminal pediatric patient and some rather bleak estimated survival rates.”

Without preamble, he lays out what little he knows about your daughter — the diagnosis, the staging, the Lennox Hill prognosis that has already written her off for dead. All throughout, the doctor on the other end of the line remains grimly silent.

“So in your expert opinion.” Max finishes, realizing his hand has unconsciously tightened into a white-knuckled fist. “What would you say her realistic prospects for meaningful treatment or survival are?”

There’s a pregnant pause, then a grim sigh filters through the tinny line. “Based on what you’ve told me … I’m afraid the prognosis does indeed sound dire. Grade IV glioblastomas in children under five have approximately a 5% survival rate past twelve months with conventional treatment regimens.”

Max clenches his teeth, brutally unsurprised yet still floored by the frank assessment. Moments ago, he had still been clinging to a fool’s hope.

“However.” Dr. Paulson continues, his tone brightening slightly. “We do currently have an … experimental trial ongoing that might be an outside option to explore.”

Something akin to hope flutters in Max’s chest. “I’m listening.”

“Well, to put it simply, we’ve had some promising early results adapting viral gene therapies to target and destroy these aggressive brain tumor cells in young patients.” the doctor explains, shifting into a more clinical, lecture-style delivery.

“By modifying and re-engineering certain viruses to bind only to the specific mutated RNA and protein markers found in diseases like glioblastomas, we can theoretically use those same viruses as a delivery vector. One that can slip past the blood-brain barrier and directly infect the cancerous cells with a sort of … controlled payload, if you will.”

Max nods along, his mind working furiously to keep up with the technical jargon. “Some kind of treatment regimen then? Drugs or radiation therapy delivered directly to the tumor site?”

“Precisely.” Dr. Paulson confirms approvingly. “Only we’ve expanded past just chemo and gamma rays as the options. Thanks to the pioneering work of doctors like Bert Jacobs, we’ve now created an entirely new frontier of cancer treatments centered around gene therapy and mRNA editing.”

He rattles off a dizzying litany of polysyllabic scientific terminology that sails completely over Max’s head. Not that it matters — his focus is fully captured by the notes of guarded optimism finally creeping into Paulson’s voice.

“Of course, this is all still highly experimental. We’ve only managed to achieve remission in a handful of trial cases thus far.” the doctor cautions. “And we have no idea if the viral vector we’ve engineered will be equally effective against every variation of cancerous mutation out there.”

Max nods impatiently, waving a hand as if to physically shoo away the vague caveats. “I appreciate the need for clinical hedging, doctor. But let’s cut right to the heart of the matter.”

He draws in a fortifying breath. “If you were to take on this little girl as a patient, deploy these … gene therapy regimens of yours … would you give her a legitimate chance? At treatment, remission, survival?”

There’s a pregnant pause, as if Dr. Paulson is carefully considering the ethical ramifications of his answer. Then, “If she meets the selection criteria and baseline health conditions … and we get a bit of luck on our side ...” Another sigh, heavy with the weight of his responsibilities. “Then I’d say we would have a fighting chance, yes.”

Those five simple words crash over Max with the force of a tidal wave, hitting him squarely in the chest.

A chance. At life. At making it past those grim, dire prognoses.

After several moments of stunned silence, Max finally finds his voice.

“Say no more, doctor. Whatever it costs — money, time, logistics — none of it matters. I want this treatment option fully activated and prioritized immediately. Spare no expense, I’ll take care of the bill.” He utters the words with the same decisive confidence he handles his billion-dollar business dealings.

Because in this moment, it doesn’t feel like just some impulsive, emotionally-driven whim. Helping your innocent child — ensuring she gets the fighting chance she deserves?

It feels like the only choice he can possibly make.

***

You sit hunched in the hard, plastic visitor’s chair, your body angled protectively towards the small hospital bed. Despite the tubes and wires snaking from her fragile limbs, your daughter appears almost peaceful in her restless slumber.

She always was such a sound sleeper as a baby, you reminisce wistfully. Remembering how you’d regularly creep into the nursery just to watch the gentle rise and fall of her chest, assuring yourself she was still breathing.

Even back then, the ever-present fear of something going horribly wrong never truly left you. The world is far too cruel a place to let a mother relax, no matter how deeply you wish you could.

One slender hand rests atop the thin bedsheet covering your little girl, your thumb tracing soothing circles along her tiny knuckles. A silent, simple gesture of tenderness you hope she can feel even in sleep. If only you could so easily soothe away her pain and suffering as you could your own.

The quiet flutter of the heart rate monitor keeps beat, each mechanical beep another hammer striking your already shattered soul. You want to feel relieved, blessed even, that it continues that steady cadence. Instead, you only feel exhausted hollowness.

Because this morning, the doctors came to “discuss options.” As if their clinical detachment could soften the blow of learning your child is well and truly out of miracles.

“We’ve run every available scan and lab test.” Dr. Rhodes had said, failing to meet your desperate gaze. “I’m so very sorry, but the tumor isn’t responding to any of our treatments. At this point, we have to start considering ...”

You hadn’t let him finish, couldn’t let those hateful, unthinkable words pass his lips. Palliative care. Hospice. Just give up and let nature take its inevitable, brutal course while they pumped her full of numbing opiates so she could “comfortably” slip away.

The rage and anguish had bubbled up from some primal pit within your guts, hot and viscous like magma erupting from deep beneath the earth’s crust. You’d screamed incoherent denials until your voice was hoarse, begging and pleading through sobs for them not to take away your only hope.

In the end, they’d sedated your daughter fully so you could “calm down” and “process things rationally.” You know they meant well, trying to spare her from your outburst. But it only compounded your devastation, feeling like they were already treating her as a lost cause no longer worth fighting for.

So here you sit, after untold hours of cycling through various stages of grief, left only with bone-deep weariness cloaked by a fragile veneer of numb acceptance. You dimly wonder if you’ll ever truly feel anything else ever again.

Through the blur of tears constantly stinging your eyes, you keep a silent vigil over your daughter’s bedside. You memorize every delicate sweep of her sooty lashes, the tiny smattering of freckles across her upturned nose. Desperate to commit every last precious detail of her existence to memory before … before ...

A choked sob bubbles up from your chest at the thought, hot and acidic at the back of your throat. You quickly muffle it with the crook of your elbow, determined not to disturb your resting girl with the outward manifestations of your agony.

In through the nose, out through the mouth. An old meditative mantra you try to focus on, struggling to regain control of your tenuous grip on composure. You know your tears and hiccupping gasps for air are only harming yourself at this point. Better to conserve what little physical and mental strength you have left to simply be with your daughter while you still can.

The grief is an ever-churning sea just waiting to drag you under its dark, icy depths. But still you stubbornly tread water, unwilling to fully surrender just yet. Not as long as you can still feel the reassuring thrum of her pulse against your fingertips, a solitary lifeline keeping you tethered to the present.

You aren’t sure how much time stretches in that manner — minutes or hours, you cannot say. The days have all started blurring into one long, endless haze of sleeplessness and overwhelming sorrow.

So when the door to the hospital room suddenly clicks open, the sound manages to penetrate the cotton-muffled fog shrouding your senses.Instantly, you stiffen and blink rapidly, as if only just now awakening to your surroundings.

A stranger stands in the doorway — a tall, slender man in an impeccably tailored suit that looks distinctly out of place amongst the bland, sterile patient rooms. His face is sharp and angular, almost harsh in its sternness if not for the way his brow is furrowed with evident concern.

You open your mouth to ask who he is and what he wants, but he raises a placating hand before you can find your voice.

“Please, don’t be alarmed.” he says, words clipped yet softened slightly. “I know this is a terrible situation, and the absolute last setting you’d want an uninvited visitor.”

Now that he’s closer, you can see behind his obvious affluence lurks a cultured, aloof sort of demeanor. There’s no outward malice or disrespect in his manner, but he carries himself like someone long accustomed to privileges and deference. The sight of him sets you even more on edge amid your emotional rawness.

“My name is Spencer Paulson.” the man presses on, taking a few measured steps further into the room. “I’m actually a doctor, Ms ...”

“Y/N.” you automatically supply, dredging up the remnants of social graces. “Y/N L/N. And this is … this is my daughter, Olivia.”

Your voice cracks ever so slightly on her name, heated moisture already welling behind your eyes once more. You quickly dab at their corners with the sleeve of your worn cardigan, determined not to dissolve into fresh hysterics in front of this absolute stranger.

“Well, Ms. Y/L/N.” the man — Dr. Paulson — says, tone measured. “I realize I’m intruding on a highly stressful situation for you and your family right now. And for that, I truly am sorry.”

His apology seems sincere enough. But wariness still prickles along your nape as your overtired, over-protective instincts flare up. You clutch your daughter’s limp hand in yours a fraction tighter.

“Then if you don’t mind my asking.” you begin in a calculated tone, scrutinizing Paulson carefully. “Why are you here? And what business could possibly bring you to Olivia’s bedside unannounced?”

He regards you silently for a long moment, something inscrutable flickering across his features. When he speaks again, his words are deliberately precise, weighted down by their momentous gravity.

“I was recently contacted by … an interested third party about your daughter’s case.” Paulson explains, clasping his hands behind his back. “I was filled in on the specifics of her diagnosis — glioblastoma, grade four, extremely aggressive and largely unresponsive to standard treatment. Am I correct so far?”

You can only numbly nod, a chill prickling across your flesh. The man’s crisp, clinical recitation of your worst nightmare forces a painful convulsion of renewed heartache.

Paulson seems to catch your distress and quickly presses on. “Right, well, I’m actually here in an official capacity as the Chief of Pediatric Oncology over at Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center.”

The words hit you with all the force of a defibrillator charge, jolting your entire frame upright in the hard plastic chair. Your jaw drops open, already fumbling for a desperate reply that will somehow make this all make sense.

But Paulson continues before you can vocalize any of the hundreds of jumbled questions flooding your mind.

“I’ll keep this relatively simple, Ms. Y/L/N.” he says, holding up a forestalling hand. “My team at Sloan Kettering recently received permission to transfer your daughter over to our care as soon as logistically possible. You see, we’ve been working on an experimental new treatment protocol — a form of gene therapy designed to treat even the most aggressive, mutation-riddled forms of cancers like Olivia’s brain tumor.”

You blink owlishly, unable to fully process the onslaught of technical jargon being leveled at you. All you can do is continue sitting there, stunned into silence as the doctor launches into an almost dizzying explanation of re-engineered viruses, targeted gene editing, and “controlled payloads” being essentially the extent of modern medicine.

“... And while the trial is still in its early stages, we’ve actually already achieved partial and even full remission in a few key pediatric cases remarkably similar to that of your daughter.” Paulson continues, his tone growing faintly tinged with optimism and something akin to pride. “Which is why we’re reasonably confident Olivia could be an excellent candidate for our experimental therapies, if you allow it.”

He lets the weight of that statement hang in the air between you, watching you carefully for any visible reaction. But you’re frozen, fighting between warring tides of soul-rending hope and knee-jerk cynicism.

After all, you’ve come to reflexively distrust when desperation-stoking scenarios sound too good to be true over the past several torturous weeks. A small, rational voice in the back of your mind pipes up to remind you that you can’t afford to get your hopes up, only to be gutted yet again by the crushing inevitability of disappointment.

But another part of your wearied brain — the part that’s grown so fatigued by the oppressive feeling of hopelessness — recoils at dismissing any potential reprieve from the nightmare, no matter how fanciful or far-fetched.

So instead you hear yourself croaking out a single, wobbling syllable.

“How ...”

Paulson tilts his head inquisitively. “I’m sorry?”

You clear your throat, igniting the spark of desperate yearning flickering to life inside your chest. “How much would … would a treatment like this cost?”

For the first time since barging his way into your fragile world, Paulson’s aristocratic features twist into an unmistakable grimace. He lets out a tight sigh, clearly recognizing the gravity behind your simple question.

“Unfortunately, due to the experimental and intensive nature of this therapy … the baseline costs do run relatively high.” he explains in a precise tone, as if trying to distance himself from the crass logistical realities. “If approved for the trial and full treatment regimen, we’re looking at around $1.4 million in projected costs over the first six months alone.”

The astronomical number hits you squarely between the eyes, setting your head swimming with disbelief. One point four … million? The amount is so ludicrously exorbitant that it almost doesn’t seem real.

You open your mouth, fully intending to spit out the derisive scoff that such an impossible ask deserves. No amount of desperate wishing could ever make that attainable for a single, working-class parent already drowning in tens of thousands of medical debt.

But Paulson clearly recognizes the crestfallen defeat settling over your features. Because he quickly rushes ahead with his next words, effectively cutting off any vocal dismissal on your end.

“However, as I mentioned earlier, we did get some … special circumstances greenlighted regarding your daughter’s case.” he says, tone brightening with carefully cultivated hopefulness. “You see, there’s an anonymous benefactor who’s agreed to cover the full cost of treatment on a … philanthropic basis, let’s call it.”

The words punch you directly in the gut, momentarily robbing your lungs of oxygen like a cruel sucker-punch. You blink dazedly up at Paulson, struggling to make sense of what he’s saying through the roaring static in your ears.

“I … I don’t understand.” you manage to stammer out. “Someone wants to … pay for my daughter? All of it? But why? How could they possibly-”

“Hey now, none of that.” Paulson cuts you off, his voice softening with what might be the first hints of empathy and warmth creeping in. “The why doesn’t matter right now — only that it’s been arranged at no cost to you or your family.”

He moves closer then, resting one hand on your shoulder in an unexpected gesture of kindness that makes you flinch despite yourself. Up close, you can see the sincerity shining in his hazel eyes, pleading for you to simply accept this incredible parting of the dark clouds that have shrouded your existence.

“I know this is … well, frankly astounding news on top of everything else you’re already dealing with.” Paulson continues, giving your shoulder a gentle, reassuring squeeze. “And please, believe me, we want to avoid overwhelming you with undue complications. For now, I think it’s enough to simply feel that spark of hope again, yes?”

Despite your best efforts to tamp down the desperate yearning swelling in your chest, you find yourself nodding mutely in agreement. Because in this moment, you understand exactly the miraculous implications of his words.

After so many agonizing weeks of feeling utterly powerless, of watching your baby girl’s life slowly ebb away before your very eyes … there is a chance. An opportunity, a fighting possibility that everything won’t end in crushing grief and irredeemable sorrow.

And even just that single glowing ember of hope, no matter how faint, is enough to shatter the dam holding back your turbulent sea of pent-up emotion. Paulson watches in quiet acceptance as you finally break down in great, shuddering sobs — only this time, they’re threaded with the catharsis of relief.

Happy tears stream down your blotchy cheeks, unchecked and convulsive. You press your face into the cool, starchy sheets of Olivia’s bed, body wracked with a release of tension weeks in the making. It feels as though you’re being simultaneously unmade and reborn in this singular, messy instance.

Through the storm of your breakdown, you’re dimly aware of Paulson stepping away to give you privacy. And then, just before he slips from the room entirely, his composed baritone rings out one last time.

“We’ll make all the arrangements to transport Olivia to Sloan Kettering as soon as possible. Get her started on this treatment regimen right away, alright?”

You can’t even summon the words to respond, only nodding rapidly between hiccuping bursts of gasping and sobbing. But just before he exits, shutting the door silently behind him, you catch Paulson’s murmur.

“There’s a fighting chance now. That’s all any of us can really ask for ...”

***

Max rakes a hand through his meticulously styled hair as he strides down the sterile hallway of Sloan Kettering’s pediatric oncology ward. His eyes scan the room numbers tacked to each door, searching for the one he was provided.

456 … 458… ah, there — 460. Max pauses outside the closed entry, squaring his shoulders as he tries to tamp down the uncharacteristic fluttering of nerves in his stomach. Taking a fortifying breath, he gives the door a perfunctory series of raps with his knuckles.

Almost immediately, a muffled voice filters through from inside — your voice, he recognizes with a start. “Come in!”

Max’s brow furrows momentarily at the warm, chipper lilt to your tone. So unlike the brittle, devastated one he had heard that fateful day in his office. Though he supposes that’s only fitting, given the radically shifted circumstances these past several weeks.

Pushing his hesitation aside, Max takes the invitation and pushes into the hospital room. You’re seated in one of the uncomfortable plastic visitor’s chairs, wearing a soft cardigan and jeans — by all appearances the very portrait of a typical doting mother.

Well, not entirely typical. Because curled up on the bed next to you is a tiny, doe-eyed little girl whose resemblance leaves no question as to her relation to you.

Olivia.

As soon as the door clicks shut behind him, you glance up — and immediately do a double-take, eyes going comically wide. “M-Mr. Verstappen?” You splutter out, frozen halfway out of your chair like a hostess belatedly remembered her manners. “I … I didn’t realize you were-”

Max holds up a hand to stop the tide of nervous rambling, inexplicably touched by your visible shock. The effect is only compounded when Olivia shifts on the bed, eyeing him owlishly from beneath the cuddly weight of a stuffed unicorn nearly as large as she is.

“It’s quite alright, Ms. Y/L/N.” he says, offering you the barest hint of a disarming smile. An expression he finds shockingly easy to produce given the scene before him. “I admit I hadn’t warned you about my visit in advance.”

He pauses there, suddenly realizing the reason for his impromptu trip isn’t entirely certain, even to himself. It had begun as little more than a nagging impulse tugging at him throughout his days, growing more persistent and insistent until he finally gave in and scheduled some time away from the office.

And now that he’s here, standing in this dimly-lit hospital room, Max feels strangely … unmoored. Adrift in a situation his renowned business acumen didn’t even begin to equip him for handling.

But then your daughter is shifting again, curiosity winning out over her bashfulness as she props herself up on her elbows. “Who’re you?” She pipes up in a tiny, raspy voice that somehow bypasses Max’s usually implacable defenses.

Something pangs oddly in his chest at the innocent inquiry. He finds himself crouching into an automatic squat, bringing himself level with the bedside so he can better meet Olivia’s inquisitive gaze.

“You can just call me Max.” he says, injecting a gentle warmth into his tone that he didn’t even realize he was capable of. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

It occurs to him then that he’s been subconsciously clutching the bouquet of flowers still in his off-hand — an overly ornate spray of exotic lilies and birds of paradise blooms that probably cost more than a month’s rent for most families. He had ordered them from the city’s most exclusive florist boutique on pure aesthetic impulse, without pausing to consider the message such an excessive display might send.

This morning, holding the massive arrangement felt appropriate, a reflection of Max’s stature as a dominant business magnate. But now, watching Olivia’s large eyes track the oversized bouquet with open-mouthed awe, he feels suddenly self-conscious.

Hoping to recover some sense of propriety, Max clears his throat and holds the flowers out in front of him.

“These are, ah, for your mother.” he explains gruffly, avoiding your questioning gaze burning against the side of his face. “A small token of … of appreciation, one might say.”

He isn’t quite sure what prompts the carefully worded addition — perhaps an instinctive reflex to avoid showing any overt sentimentality. But either way, you seem to simply accept the generous offering with bemused grace.

“Thank you, Mr. Versta-” You quickly correct yourself at his mild arched brow. “Er, Max. They’re absolutely lovely.”

You bend to inhale the rich floral perfume, eyelids fluttering in evident delight at the fragrance. Max watches the childlike awe play out across your soft features, feeling an odd sort of satisfaction settle in his chest.

Having given you the flowers, he rises to his feet once more with a put-upon sigh of effort. Every bit of spoiled opulence and bravado that usually comes as second-nature to Max.

And yet, none of it lands quite with the affected solemnity he’s accustomed to projecting. Not when Olivia’s sweet-faced attention is still utterly transfixed by his every move and micro-expression.

Your daughter still hasn’t looked away from him even as you arrange the flower vase on her bedside table, entranced in a way only the very young can be. It’s … disarming, to say the least. But not entirely unpleasant, Max finds himself admitting.

“I, ah, got something for you as well, Olivia.” he announces impulsively. From behind his back, he produces a floppy-limbed teddy bear easily half her size.

He’s not even sure what prompted him to purchase such a pedestrian sort of toy. All he knows is that he saw the stuffed creature in the hospital gift shop window on his way in, and some impulse compelled him to acquire it for reasons he still can’t understand.

But any lingering uncertainty fades from his mind like a passing cloud when Olivia lets out an audible gasp of delight. Her little hands instantly shoot out, making desperate grabbing motions at the plush offering.

“Ohmygosh, thank you!” The words tumble out in a breathless, childish rush. Before Max can even react, she leans precariously over the edge of the bed, arms outstretched and grasping imploringly.

On instinct, Max takes a half-step forward, carefully depositing the stuffed bear into Olivia’s waiting embrace to avoid any accidents. She immediately snatches it to her chest, burying her face in the softness of its soft fabric with a contented hum that seems to vibrate in Max’s very soul.

He swallows hard past the unexpected lump that forms in his throat, watching a child delight in something so simple and innocent. How long has it been since he allowed himself to find joy in the pure, unbridled way that Olivia does? Far too long, he’s forced to admit.

Clearing his throat with an awkward rumble, Max tears his gaze away from your daughter’s cuddling. He levels his focus back onto you instead. Only then does he realize you’ve been staring at him throughout the entire interaction, an unreadable look painted across your face.

“I trust the medical team has kept you informed of Olivia’s progress so far.” he prompts in his usual clipped tone, struggling to reassert some sense of distancing professionalism. “I don’t have any special insight into the procedural specifics, but from what I’ve gathered, positive results are steadily accumulating, yes?”

You blink once, almost like shaking yourself out of a reverie, before offering a slow nod in response. “Y-Yes, you could definitely say that.”

Something sparks behind your gaze then — some dawning realization creeping over your delicate features. “In fact, Dr. Paulson himself said Olivia seems to have responded better to the gene therapy than almost any other patient yet. Her tumor reduction trend is so far exceeding their best models that they’re actually considering tweaking the formula for future tria-”

You abruptly cut yourself off, lips pursing into a tight line as you turn your focus back to Max. He holds your stare evenly, waiting for whatever it is you seem to be mustering the courage to say.

Then, almost in a whisper, “Max … are you the anonymous donor paying for all of this?”

The words hang in the air like a physical force between you, so full of implication and unvoiced emotion that even Max can’t find a way to deflect them. He stares back at you, utterly disarmed beneath the intensity of your scrutinizing gaze.

For a long beat, only the hum of hospital machines and equipment fills the weighty silence. Max’s jaw works tensely as he considers how best to respond. He wants to shrug it off, make some sardonic quip to reestablish the carefully curated aloofness that serves him so well in the business world.

But then Olivia lets out another joyous giggle as she squishes the plush bear’s paw, completely enraptured and undistracted by the silent standoff occurring across her bedside. And all of Max’s formidable defenses and calculated denials abruptly dissolve in the face of such childlike innocence.

So instead of evasion, he answers your question with a small, barely perceptible nod and a softly murmured, “Yes.”

He doesn’t have time to brace himself before you’re suddenly surging up out of the chair with a wounded cry. And then your arms are flung around his neck, your body slamming against his chest as you pull Max into a fierce and entirely unexpected hug.

The impact momentarily stuns him, freezing Max in place with his arms held useless at his sides. He can’t remember the last time someone dared to initiate such a brazen display of physical contact — perhaps ever, now that he racks his brain.

But just as he contemplates gently extricating himself from your clutches, your ragged voice rises to his ear in a trembling whisper.

“Thank you.” you’re whispering over and over like a fevered prayer. “Thank you, thank you, thank you ...”

With each impassioned repetition, Max can feel more of the tension slowly leeching from his frame. He finds himself sinking bonelessly into your embrace, one hand coming to rest against the small of your back in an automatic gesture of soothing.

Soon enough, heaving sobs are wracking your entire body against his. Hot tears quickly begin to soak through the fabric of his expensive dress shirt as you cling to him with the desperation of a fallen angel clawing her way back into grace. But Max doesn’t pull away, doesn’t extricate himself or put distance between your respective roles as worker and corporate king.

Instead, in a move even he can’t fully explain or justify, his free hand comes up to cradle the back of your head, pulling you in even tighter as you keen your grateful relief against the column of his throat.

“It’s … quite alright.” he finds himself rumbling in a low, soothing voice completely at odds with his usual persona. “No thanks are necessary. All that matters now is ensuring your daughter’s full and complete recovery … at whatever cost required.”

He isn’t sure whether his throwaway platitude is meant more for his benefit or yours at this point. But either way, you show no signs of releasing him from the crushing strength of your desperate clutch anytime soon. So Max does the only thing left available to him — he simply lets you cry and shake and cling to him for as long as you need.

Until finally, with a handful of watery hiccups and sniffles, you manage to tilt your blotchy face up towards his.

“I … I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you for this.” you murmur throatily. “For giving Olivia more than just some faint hope, but an actual chance to grow up and live the life she deserves.”

Tenderness isn’t something that often breaks through Max Verstappen’s shroud of callous indifference. He can count on one hand the number of times in his adult life he’s allowed himself to indulge in such sentimental trivialities.

But gazing into your puffy, reddened eyes, he finds he can’t quite summon any bitter cynicism. Instead, his voice remains low with a soothing gentleness that feels almost foreign falling from his lips.

“The only form of repayment I’ll require.” he says finally, “is your permission to take you to dinner.”

He blinks once, almost taken aback by the words that slipped unbidden from his throat. But you, for your part, seem equally dazed as your brows knit in bewilderment.

“Dinner? But … I haven’t left Olivia in weeks.”

At that, Max manages a wry smile, feeling as if he’s regained at least some fraction of his footing and composure. “Of course I don’t expect you to. I simply meant for the three of us to dine together … here, in the hospital. My treat, naturally.”

Your fingers unconsciously clench tighter into the fabric of his ruined dress shirt. But even with the hint of embarrassment pinkening your cheeks, he can see what looks almost like … excitement? Perhaps even coyness sparking behind your gaze before you avert your eyes demurely.

“I … yes, of course.” you murmur, sounding almost bashful. “We would be honored.”

Max simply nods, committing every little part of the interaction to his increasingly scattered memory for later dissection. For now, he withdraws himself from the gentle circle of your arms with what he hopes appears a natural sort of casualness.

“Very good then,” is all he finds himself able to say in response. “I shall make the necessary arrangements and return shortly with something to eat.”

With that, he turns on his heel and strides towards the exit, throwing one final look over his shoulder. You’re already back in your chair at Olivia’s bedside, shooting him another shy little smile as you start to idly stroke your now dozing daughter’s hair.

And before Max even fully processes the impulse, he feels the corner of his mouth tugging upwards into a warm half-grin in response.

A expression so unfamiliar on his usually dour features that it renders him momentarily unrecognizable, even to himself.

Shaking his head as if to cast off the dizzy sense of displacement, Max continues out into the hallway. He stubbornly refuses to dwell too much on the stirrings of contentment radiating through his chest.

Such indulgent notions are highly unseemly for a man of his stature and influence, after all. Better to ignore them entirely, as he always has.

Though even as the thought crosses his mind, Max finds himself picking up his pace with a renewed sense of purpose and determination. Because somewhere along the way, he realizes ...

Denial doesn’t appear to be an option anymore.

***

Two Years Later

The ornate grandfather clock in the corner ticks rhythmically, its pendulum swinging with measured precision. Max’s gaze flicks over to it briefly before returning to the stack of documents before him. Numbers and figures blur together as his eyes scan the pages, his brow furrowed in concentration.

A giggle from the corner of the room breaks his focus. He glances up to see Olivia sitting cross-legged on the plush carpet, curls bouncing as she plays with her Barbie dolls. A hint of a smile tugs at the corner of his lips at the sight of her innocent joy.

“What are you up to over there, kleine muis?” He asks, his voice gruff but tinged with affection.

Olivia looks up, her eyes sparkling. “I’m having a tea party with Barbie and Ken.” she explains, brandishing the dolls. “Would you like to join us, Maxie?”

Max chuckles softly. “Thank you for the invitation, but I’m afraid I have a bit too much work to do for a tea party right now.”

“Okay.” Olivia says cheerfully, returning to her imaginary festivities.

You had dropped Olivia off at Max’s office after her kindergarten class, needing to rush to an urgent marketing meeting. Max had insisted on keeping her company until you returned, despite the mountain of paperwork on his desk.

He watches Olivia play, mesmerized by her ability to create entire worlds from mere toys and her vibrant imagination. Her carefree laughter is a soothing balm against the chaos of his day.

After a while, Olivia looks up again. “Maxie, can I ask you something?”

“Of course, lieverd. What is it?”

Olivia fidgets with one of the doll’s dresses. “Today at school, we had to draw pictures of our families.”

Max’s heart constricts slightly at the innocuous statement, but he manages a reassuring smile. “Did you have fun with that activity?”

Olivia nods enthusiastically. “Uh-huh. I drew me, Mommy, and you.”

The words hit Max like a physical blow, stealing his breath away. He stares at Olivia, his eyes widening as a storm of emotions swirls within him.

Olivia, oblivious to his inner turmoil, continues, “But then Timmy said that you’re not really my daddy since we don’t have the same last name. Is that true, Maxie? Are you not my daddy?”

Max swallows hard, his throat constricting. He had grown to love this child as if she were his own flesh and blood, but he had never dared to assume the sacred title of father. The realization that Olivia saw him that way, despite the lack of biological ties, threatens to shatter his carefully constructed walls.

Pushing back from his desk, he rises to his feet and makes his way over to where Olivia sits. He lowers himself to the floor, his movements stiff and hesitant. Olivia watches him with curious eyes, still clutching her dolls.

“Olivia.” he begins, his voice thick with emotion he struggles to contain. “Even though we don’t share the same name, and I didn’t ...” He pauses, swallowing hard. “I didn’t have a hand in bringing you into this world, you are every bit as much my daughter as if you were my own.”

Olivia tilts her head slightly, considering his words. “So, I can call you Daddy?”

The simple question unlocks something deep within Max’s core, a part of himself he had locked away long ago. He feels moisture prickling at the corners of his eyes, an unfamiliar sting that he doesn’t fight.

“Yes, kleine muis.” he whispers, his voice wavering. “I would be honored if you called me Daddy.”

Without warning, Olivia drops her dolls and flings her small arms around Max’s neck, hugging him tightly. Max freezes for a moment, unaccustomed to such open displays of affection, before melting into the hug. He wraps his arms around Olivia’s tiny frame, holding her close as if she might slip away at any moment.

They stay like that for long minutes, Max’s shoulders trembling slightly as the dam he had so carefully constructed finally cracks. Tears slip silently down his cheeks, mingling with the softness of Olivia’s hair as he buries his face against her.

At last, Olivia pulls back, her eyes shining with joy. “I love you, Daddy.” she says simply, the words reverberating through Max’s very soul.

He manages a watery smile, brushing away the dampness on his cheeks. “And I love you, lieverd. More than you could ever know.”

Olivia beams at him before scrambling to her feet. “Oh! I almost forgot!” She darts over to her little backpack, rummaging through it eagerly.

Max watches her, his heart still thundering in his chest from the whirlwind of emotions coursing through him. He had built an empire, commanded boardrooms with an iron fist, and struck fear into the hearts of grown men … yet this innocent child had disarmed him completely.

“Here it is!” Olivia exclaims, returning with a piece of paper clutched in her small fist. She holds it out to Max, beaming. “For you, Daddy.”

With trembling hands, Max takes the drawing. A bright smile breaks across his face as he studies the crude but endearing figures — stick figures, but he can clearly make out Olivia, you, and himself, joined by vibrant swirls of color.

“It’s beautiful.” he murmurs, his fingers tracing over the lines with a tenderness he reserves only for her. “Thank you.”

Over the next few days, Max has the drawing professionally framed, the simple piece of artwork taking pride of place on the wall of his office. Whenever his gaze falls upon it, his heart swells with a love and sense of purpose that had been missing for far too long.

Beside the framed drawing hangs his business degree, a symbol of his power and influence in the corporate world. Yet, it is Olivia’s artwork that holds the most meaning, a reminder of what truly matters in this life.

Because Max is many things — a captain of industry, a force to be reckoned with, a man who has clawed his way to the top through sheer grit and determination.

But most importantly, he is a father.

And he has never been more proud of any achievement than to call himself Olivia’s daddy.

3K notes · View notes

thecouchsofa · 10 months ago

Text

You might be thinking, Tee, in your 2023 AO3 wrap up post, you said you wrote a ridiculous amount of HP fic this year - but what about reading? Well, thanks for asking, imaginary audience – as a matter of fact, I did indeed read a lot of Drarry fics this year. A fucking horrendous number of Drarry fics, in fact.

Below the cut are some of my favourites that were published in 2023, arranged by word count.

But first, a note: there is truly an overwhelming amount of talent in this fandom and this list only scratches the surface. These fics all gave me something that I was looking for and were my favourites for a number of different reasons. I hope you can find something new to love here (or reconnect with an old favourite), and that you enjoy these stories as much as I did!

If there’s a fic from 2023 that isn’t here but you really enjoyed, chuck it in the replies section so we can all see it!

🌸 AITA for being "obsessed" with my childhood nemesis? – @rainstormradish (4k, M) 🌸

Alrakis I [24M] attended a small boarding school in the UK. There was a boy in my year, a couple of months younger than me, and he became my nemesis after we developed an intense rivalry. My friend [25F] told me recently that our dynamic was "weird back then" and that "it’s even weirder" that I still think about him today. She argued that I talk about him all the time, but I believe the amount I talk about him is reasonable. AITA?

prongymcprongface i completely get what you mean. i had a nemesis (like a school one, separate to my other nemesis) and we had a dynamic super similar to what you are describing. having a nemesis is a very cool and normal thing dw about it. NTA

In which Draco asks the internet if he's being reasonable. Only one commenter is sympathetic. They start talking.

Read for: unique fic idea with a cool layout, humour, boys being idiots

🌻 Snug – @moonflower-rose (6k, E) 🌻

Potter can't keep his hands off himself. Draco can't look away.

Read for: Draco being Obsessed with Harry(‘s cock), Humorous Writing Style

🪻 Birds Behaving Badly – @peachpety (10k, E) 🪻

For eight years, Draco has been content living a quiet life of anonymity in Brighton, dodging pesky seagulls and enjoying the ephemeral boys of summer. And if these summer blokes just happen to resemble Harry Potter, it’s a mere coincidence—despite what his friends say.

But when a repeat one-night stand challenges him to face his desires, Draco thinks he’s finally over his years-long crush.

A seagull named Kevin thinks otherwise.

For: Unleashed!Fest 2023

Read for: hidden/mistaken identity, summer vibes, Kevin the seagull

🌸 Under the Confetti Mist – @azalealarae (12k, E) 🌸

Harry and Draco stay up late working on a Potions assignment in the poorly ventilated eighth-year common room, unaware that disinhibition is a side effect of the elixir’s vapor.

Read for: Sex Pollen, Drarry as Potions partners

🌻 Hellos, goodbyes, a thousand midnights – newskyillusion (13k, M) 🌻

The world, as Harry knew it, has ended.

At least he has a garden.

Harry and Draco live through the apocalypse

For: Drarry Let’s Play Fest 2023

Read for: body horror, cosy vibes (just trust me, lol), Harry gardening, Powerful Harry, Harry and Draco relying on each other.

🪻 Amorous As This Lovely Green – @annanother-thing (14k, E) 🪻

Harry hates being a celebrity. Draco cannot find a single model that fits his vision for his latest line. They both make the debatable choice of trusting one PA extraordinaire/best friend, Pansy Parkinson.

For: Harry/Draco Career Fair 2023

Read for: Harry modelling lingerie, Hot Harry

🌸 Help! I'm a Hopeless Romantic! – @peachydreamxx (14k, M) 🌸

Draco turns from the bar, eyes latching onto Harry. He surveys him, one brow lifting, and Harry, like a deer in headlights, throws his hand up with the world’s most awkward wave. Draco just weaves out of sight, and Harry’s face burns as Ron pats him on the shoulder, then steals a chip. “He gave you a look, didn’t he?”

~ how to get over your crush

~ places that sell cake after 11pm near me

~ how to tell if someone is playing hard to get

A year in the life of Harry's shared moments, and private thoughts

For: Wheel of Drarry Mini-Exchange Secret Santa 2023

Read for: Harry’s Google Searches, Humour

🌻 Cool About It – @oflights (M, 16k) 🌻

Harry is so excited for his first date with Draco. But what follows isn't so much a date as it is an all-night odyssey including a malevolent lift, a Gringotts heist, a Sleeping Curse, a trip to the kebab shop, a lack of dancing, a Muggle drug, a rooftop pool party, a black eye and, eventually, a sunrise over a Quidditch stadium.

Read for: Humour, idiots in love, first dates

🪻 The Eighth Sin – @thehoneybeet (16k, E) 🪻

When Draco is sentenced to five years of house arrest, without magic, alone, the only person to visit him is Potter. But Draco’s beginning to doubt whether Potter is really there at all.

For: HD Wireless 2023

Read for: dreamy/sad vibes, caring Harry, a beautiful exploration of a relationship

🌸 What’s Mine is Yours – @fluxweeed (17k, E) 🌸

Harry loses something important. Malfoy helps him get it back.

Read for: smut so hot it’ll light you on fire

🌻 O Come, All Ye Faithful – toomuchplor (19k, E) 🌻

Aunt Petunia died, that was what began everything.

Or rather, Aunt Petunia was dying. In the act of dying.

In which Draco finds faith in the church, and Harry finds faith in Draco.

Read for: Vicar Draco, Harry’s Vicar Kink, Beautiful Writing, Draco’s Hard Sanctified Cock

🪻 The Boys of Summer – @saxamophone (19k, E) 🪻

It's summer, and they're spending it at a lake, far away from everything. There’s swimming and a floating dock, cracked and warm in the sun. Fizzy drinks and fireflies. Sticky strawberry ice lollies and beach towels tangled under them.

Harry’s golden skin and love for The Grateful Dead and Fleetwood Mac.

Draco Malfoy is doomed, but what else is new?

For: HD Wireless 2023

Read for: delicious pining, summer vibes, beautiful romance, nostalgic vibes

🌸 Nature pricks them on to ramp and rage – @goblinmatriarch (E, 21k) 🌸

Lord Draco Malfoy may be a young man spending time in Dumbledore’s summer court, but that does not mean he needs to succumb to its licentious frivolity. He carries the burden of his lineage, the shadow of rumours, and the dignity of his betrothal to a good match. He is certainly not fool enough to be distracted by the dark curls and ready grin of the court’s stableboy, who seems to have taken up with every courtier who looks his way.

For: HP Bodice Ripper Fest 2023

Read for: Historical AU done right, Draco in a codpiece, more riding euphemisms than you can count

🌻 True Love Gave To Me – @epitomereally (23k, E) 🌻

It’s the first of December, and all Draco wants to do is make Christmas lovely for Scorpius. But then Harry Potter shows up, asking him to save the world, and it turns out they’ve almost saved the world a couple of times before. One-hundred and forty-four times, to be exact.

Or: what happens after the time loop?

For: H/D Erised 2023

Read for: time loop shenanigans, cosy vibes, adorable Scorpius (and his geese)

🪻 Nothing But You On My Mind – @moonflower-rose (29k, M) 🪻

Potter has been in Australia on an internship for almost a year, and Draco cannot wait for him to get back home. They'll finally have a chance to talk about their feelings for each other. What could possibly go wrong?

Loads, as it turns out.

For: HD Wireless 2023

Read for: Angst, Draco/Ron/Hermione Friendship, idiots in love

🌸 who will receive you in love's offices – @jtimu (30k, E) 🌸

A year in the life of Draco Malfoy, increasingly derailed by Harry Potter.

In the aftermath of it all, Draco opened an antiques shop. Sort of. Mostly, though, what he did was repair work. People brought him their grandparents’ charmed silverware or a pocketwatch which was meant to show the stars at your birth but now only held the time, and he would fix them. It was quiet work, a little lonely, but for the repeated intrusions of one Harry J Potter.

Read for: brilliant deep dive into magical theory, smarty pants Draco, enemies to friends to lovers (emphasis on the middle step), poetry references by the bucketful, a version of Draco that lives rent free in my mind

🌻 Half Sick of Shadows – @starquestingfordrarry (39k, E) 🌻

Harry and Draco have been sleeping together for months, and it's fine. It's enough for Harry.

But when things finally start to feel like the more Harry's been hoping for, a strange tapestry project has him worrying he won't ever get the chance.

Or: the one with sheep, dragons, and a whole lot of weaving metaphors.

For: H/D Career Fair 2023

Read for: Alvin the ram, Harry carving wooden dildos, magical tapestries, atmospheric vibes, an artfully created world

🪻 Now I Know In Part – @dodgerkedavra (39k, E) 🪻

Harry Potter is the savior of the Wizarding World. Draco Malfoy is a reformed Death Eater turned Ministry Curse-Breaker. Five years after the War, they're brought together by another mysterious curse.

Only this time, Harry's the one who needs saving.

More specifically, he needs Draco.

They have one month to break the curse, and the clock is ticking.

Read for: Draco taking care of Harry, Cottagecore vibes, bucketfuls of sweetness, great smut

🌸 Nothing Gold Can Stay – @moonflower-rose (40k, E) 🌸

One summer evening, Harry Potter vanished in the middle of dinner with his friends. Four days later he came back. Sort of.

Draco Malfoy is on the case.

For: H/D Erised 2023

Read for: Alternate Universes, Married Draco/Harry, Non-Painful Angst

🌻Sharper than a Sea Serpent's Tooth – @goblinmatriarch (40k, T)

Draco expects his research trip to Crete to focus on the ecology of ward design, with perhaps some cheeky visits to the elusive sea serpents and the odd sleepy beach day. Instead, he encounters a Past he's spent over a decade trying to outrun, and a familiar scowl under glasses and a scar. Featuring just so much imagining being on a hot, sunny beach for your winter pleasure.

For: H/D Erised 2023

Read for: Magical Creatures, Greek Mythology, International Location (Crete), Atmospheric Writing

🪻 LA, Who Am I To Love You? – @epitomereally (42k, E) 🪻

Harry’s summer in LA is not going as expected. Pansy Parkinson keeps inviting him to parties in the Hollywood Hills and harassing him to finally go to the physical therapist, Blaise Zabini keeps slipping new strains of his company’s magical weed into Harry’s pockets in hopes of an endorsement, and Draco Malfoy keeps having sex with everyone but Harry.

For: HD Wireless 2023

Read for: Werewolf Harry, Incubus Draco, Acquaintances to Friends to Lovers, Interesting Location (LA)

🌸 A Pulled Down Shade – fast_brother (43k, M) 🌸

Harry does not like Draco Malfoy, not even one bit. Never did and never will. That is, until he finds himself married to him.

For: HP Soulmates Fest 2023

Read for: HUGE Grounds for Divorce vibes! Angst, Harry working through trauma, Harry fighting for Draco

🌻 The Waiting – @oknowkiss (43k, E) 🌻

It’s been almost ten years since Draco Malfoy disappeared during a routine Curse Breaker training exercise. Harry, his partner in more ways than one, is determined to figure out why. As the past resurfaces and the present fades into confusion, Harry discovers the only thing more unreliable than memory is love.

For: HD Wireless 2023

Read for: Curse Breaker Partners, Angst, Secret Relationship

🪻 The Unplottable Time Conundrum – @writcraft (45k, E) 🪻

When the past starts bleeding into the present at Grimmauld Place, an old academic article pulls Draco Malfoy out of his life of luxury. Haunted by the memory of a fleeting post-war kiss and thrust into the ghostly spaces inhabited by Unspeakable Harry Potter, Draco’s easy life is about to get a whole lot more complicated.

For: H/D Erised 2023

Read for: House Magic, The Order of the Pheonix, Haunted House vibes, Drarry in their 30s

🌸 Our Objective Remains Unchanged – @citrusses (46k, E) 🌸

Harry Potter, returning member of the Oxford University Boat Club, has two goals for the spring of 2005: beat Cambridge, and beat Draco Malfoy. Perhaps not in that order.

Read for: Muggle AU, Sports AU, Competitiveness, Damn good writing

🌻 Everybody Hates a Tourist – @wolfpants (51k, E) 🌻

On a stag do in sunny Brighton with the Gryffindor lads, the last person Harry expects to run into is Draco Malfoy. After a glimpse of Malfoy’s Muggle life in Britain’s gay capital, Harry’s curiosity gets the better of him and he finds himself returning to the seaside again and again, drawn to the city, drawn to this new version of Malfoy that Harry barely recognises from school.

Meanwhile, Draco’s just trying to live his big and best queer life: working for the weekend, chasing hot men, getting lost in Brighton's nightlife, and making friends with the neighbourhood cats. Why does his former school rival and crush have to show up and spoil everything?

For: HD Wireless 2023

Read for: beautiful relationship building, Harry finding himself, Draco living his best life. I won’t lie, I’d read the back of a cereal box if wolfpants wrote it – do yourself a favour if you haven’t already

🪻 from love, obviously – bizarrestars (52k, M) 🪻

"I just mean, doing the right thing because it's right is better than doing it because…"

"What?" Draco challenges, amused. "Better to do it because it's right as opposed to doing it because it's not wrong? Please enlighten me on what the difference is."

"You're the difference," is Harry's answer.

(Or: Draco Malfoy comes up with a plan, drinks a lot of tea, and fails to fix a clock. Somewhere along the way, Harry Potter falls in love with him, which wasn't a part of the plan at all.)

Read for: Unhinged Draco, Harry being resigned to Draco’s antics, Weasley family feels, fast pacing

🌸 Terrible People – @getawayfox and @wolfpants (52k, E) 🌸

What happens when Harry and Draco end up on the same Muggle gay cruise? They certainly didn't plan for it to happen (but their friends might have). They're stuck with each other for a week, they might as well make the most of it, right?

Featuring a holiday-long game of Truth or Dare, a very ill-judged FWB proposition, decades-long pining, lots of gin, and a small pair of green swimming trunks.

Read for: Gorgeous Art , RomCom vibes, Gay Cruise, Friends with Benefits to Lovers

🌻 Nights With You – @the-sinking-ship (58k, E) 🌻

Draco is mortified when moments prior to departing for the most anticipated destination wedding of the year, he is cruelly dumped. But when he learns that Harry Potter has, at long last, split with his horrible boyfriend, Draco is certain his luck has changed. Never a man to squander an opportunity for revenge (and what would probably be a spectacular shag), Draco vows to make Potter his for the weekend.

Now all Draco has to do is convince him.

Read for: Fake dating, mild size kink, international location (Italy), mildly unhinged Draco, hot Harry

Note: This is the fic that made me set up a Doc for everything I’d read to make sure I wouldn’t lose it to the wide realm of the internet.

🪻 Rookie Moves – peu_a_peu (75k, E) 🪻

Aurors Potter and Malfoy crack the case.

Read for: Humour, Enemies to Coworkers to Lovers, Unhinged Draco

🌸 How To Train Your Malfoy – @fencer-x (93k E) 🌸

Good manners dictate that, when one’s best friend Apparates onto one’s doorstep holding the unconscious, haggard body of the schoolyard bully and begging for sanctuary, one ought to invite the two of them in for a cup of tea. Harry Potter sometimes wishes he weren’t so polite.

For: H/D Erised 2023

Read for: Dragon Animagus Draco, Harry taking care of Draco, brilliant writing, a funny as fuck premise – I wanted Draco to stay in his unhinged dragon form forever

🌻 Symptom of Your Touch – NoxNoir (115k, E) 🌻

St. Mungo's Healer Draco Malfoy is used to being pushed to his limits when providing aide to the ailing, but when an unexpected encounter with an out of character Harry Potter throws his life out of balance one night, he is forced to ask himself how far he's willing to push his own levels of discomfort to be of aid to a man in need of help that only he can provide.

Read for: Draco taking care of Harry, Pining, Unrequited love, buckets of sexual tension

🪻 Recursion – Tessa Crowley (132k, E) 🪻

A process is recursive when it defines or contains itself; e.g., the Fibonacci sequence, which determines the next number as the sum of the previous two.

But not all recursive processes are mathematical. Recursion can happen in a temporal context when, for instance, the powerful magical force that is true love drags you back in time so it can create itself, endangering the fate of the Wizarding World—not to mention the very fabric of space and time—along the way.

Read for: Canon Retelling/Divergence, time travel, Slytherin Harry, a truly insane amount of physics/magical theory/intelligence. This fic was too smart for me in the best way. If you liked Chaos Theory read this – it’s even better!

🌸 Cut From the Sky – @mallstars (150k, E) 🌸

"I'm stuck in a time loop, reliving November 2nd. This is the 111th time I've lived through today."

Draco stilled. His moody eyes, the tension in his hands where he gripped onto his umbrella, the careful mask of blankness flickering over his face — everything about him was so difficult and so very dear to Harry.

"Ah," said Draco, "and?"

Note: no rec list for this year could be considered complete without including this one.

Read for: Harry at his most loveable, a relationship story told a hundred different ways, atmospheric worldbuilding, Trans representation.

🌻 In the Blood – BiscuitBrunch (225k, E) 🌻

Harry Potter thinks Draco Malfoy is a slimy git of a defense lawyer, who couldn't care less about doing the right thing.

Draco Malfoy thinks Harry Potter is a filthy pig of an Auror, who couldn't care less about doing the right thing.

They fight, fuck, fall in love, and fight some more.

When they're on the brink of getting their shit together and starting a family, a blood curse surfaces that threatens the lives of Draco and their unborn child.

Read for: badass lawyer Draco, deep exploration of a relationship, working through trauma, slice of life, mpreg

#drarry #drarry recs #drarry fics #drarry fanfiction #hpdm #harry x draco #best of 2023

612 notes · View notes

repulsiveliquidation · 1 year ago

Text

Chosen Family

Leah Williamson x Reader x Arsenal Women.

word count : 2.8k

this was meant to be a blurb but oh well

warnings : mentions of death, swearing, it's kinda sweet...?

“While we have valued your skill addition to the team, we cannot find any reason to retain you and that it why we are terminating your contract, effective immediately; other teams will bid for your purchase by the end of the month.”

That was the last thing that you heard until you stopped listening. The room began to feel small. It was spinning, your head just immediately began to throb. Combined with the need to throw up was the cherry on top. You blinked at your agent, who was stone-faced but determined to fight for you, in a plea to let you leave. He nodded and leaned in to talk to you. “Go, kiddo. Find the girls, I’ll sort this out.”

You scramble out of the room, not caring what the board thinks. You run; fast. Tears are cascading down your face, hot and frustrated ones. Your legs knew where to run, where to find your beloved girls.

19 and fresh out of your first senior Lionesses call up, was a day you didn’t think would come. You were on the plane back home from the 2023 World Cup a little gloomy; a text from Leah changed the whole day around for you. It was a simple one, curt and just what you expected from the North London girl.

“Welcome to Arsenal.”

You were playing for Brighton Albion right now, while you loved it there, Arsenal was your well-known dream. Going through the academy was the best thing that ever happened to you but when you didn’t get moved up to the first team and instead bought by Brighton, you immediately made it known that if ever they were interested, you’d even transfer for free (your agent did NOT like that.)

The girls cheered and clapped, celebrations were in order for the youngest Lioness. They popped champagne (you sneaked a flute, Alessia winked at you), food was eaten with more enthusiasm.

When you stepped on that pitch for the first time as part of the First Team, you cried. Leah made fun of you for a week but you didn’t care. Your dream was now your reality. You made it. Your parents passed away when you were 14 from a car accident, they were both die hard Arsenal fans, it was your fathers dream to see you in an Arsenal shirt with your last name on the back. You were at this facility that day, that day was the hardest day of your life. Today came a close second.

“I’m sorry daddy.” You whisper, fresh tears pricking in your eyes. You push open the changing room door and walk in, the girls immediately quieten down when they see your tear-stained face.

“You’ve only been gone a half hour, you miss us that much?” Leah jumps up enthusiastically and walks over to you to pull you into the changing room.

“Leah, shut up. What’s wrong, kleintje?” Viv asks, pulling you into her arms. Everyone’s mood changes when they realize they’re sad tears.

“They’re getting rid of me.” You say quietly, muffled into Viv’s chest. She kisses the top of your head, rare affection from the Dutchwoman, before pulling your head away from her chest.

“Say again for me love?”

“They’re selling me, they fired me.”

“They can’t do that.”

“They just did.”

You’re crying again, now passed to Beth’s arms as Viv, Leah, Alessia, Katie, Lotte and Stina begin to march out of the room angrily. You beg them not to, crumbling to your knees.

“Please, you shouldn't have to fight for me. They’re just throwing me away…I-I thought I was good enough to b-be on the team! Like a fucking whore, sold to the highest bidder!” you’re heaving, their eyes soften and they rush to you; Leah getting to you first. She kneels before you and pulls you into her arms, cradling your crying head against her chest.

“Hey, stop that. They’re not selling you, we will make sure of it. They can’t, not like this.”

“What if you can’t? What if you can’t stop them?”

“We never play football again, darling. It’s that simple.” Piped in Alessia, anger seething behind her eyes.

“I couldn’t make you all do that.”

“Watch us. Every single one of us. I might bleed North London but no one treats my family this way. You’re our baby, no one messes with this family.” Leah said, everyone in the room nodding their heads in agreement.

“What did your agent say, darlin’?” asked Katie, coming up beside you to rub your back just as your agent walked in.

“You can ask him.”

“Cut the shit, Tony. What did they say?” Leah pounced on him, he only shook his head slowly.

“I told them that the transfer window was long closed. Turns out that that doesn’t really matter when you fire a player; they’re just sold like any other player that can be sold. I know you girls are mad for her; please don’t do anything stupid like all quit football altogether.”

“How the hell did you figure that out?”

“I’m an agent for a reason. I’m also her guardian, I know you lot well enough to know you’d do something like that for my Y/N.”

“Why the fuck are they selling our best forward then?”

“I don’t know. I’ll be damned if I don’t find out.” He walked over to you, the girls help you stand.

“I will not stop until I find out why, kiddo. I promised your father I would take care of you, I intend to do that. Do you trust me?”

“With my life, Tones.”

“Atta girl, I know you’ll be in good hands with these girls. I’m sorry, but training will have to be at home till I can find out why you’re out of a fucking job. I love you, Martha wants you over for dinner on Saturday; bring her some of your cookies will you? You lot are invited if you’re interested.” he kisses your forehead and walks out of the room, already calling people on the phone.

“Come on baby, let’s get you home.” Beth cooed, Viv immediately grabbing all your things from your cubby.

“Pack her a bag and take her to mine, she stays with me till this is over.” Leah tells the two, they nod and usher you out before you can make any form of protest.

The drive to your apartment was a quiet one, Beth sat in the back with you while Viv drove. You could tell she was mad, her jaw clenched as she was mumbling under her breath. You reached over an arm and grasped her shoulder, she visibly relaxed and looked at you through the rear-view mirror.

“We’ll figure this out, lieveling. Don’t you worry.”

Arsenal Women look to sell Y/N L/N to the highest bidder in a sudden dropping of her from the squad. Teams like Manchester United and Bayern Munich are among those highly interested in the prodigy forward from North London.

“Hi angel, the guest room is all set for ya. You’re welcome in my bed if you’d rather; fair warning, I am a snorer.” Leah winked at you, helping you take your bags into the house.

“I know you do, Kiera told me at camp one time.”

“That sneaky woman. I’ll be having a word with her, pet. Come on in, make yourself at home. The rest of the girls are on the balcony, they really invited themselves over you know; how rude, coming into our home like that!”

Our home, she said. You really didn’t need to worry with these girls, they’ve got your back.

Leah had to drag you to training although technically you couldn’t participate. It made your heart ache, being there but not being able to play. Jonas shot you a sorry look, allowing you to steal a football and kick it around on your own. The girls were all feeling sorry for you, one of them always coming over to check on you each hour.

Lotte walked over after their 6 a side scrimmage, spraying you with her water bottle before you shot up and chased her around the pitch.

You finally caught her, cursing her long legs. She merely side hugged you, kissing your warm, sweaty forehead.

“That take your mind off things for a bit, little bit?” she asked, her choice in nickname made you smile.

“It did, thanks Lotte.” You lean into her and say, both of you watching Katie spray her water bottle at Beth and before you knew it everyone was doing the same. It made you heartily laugh, all the girls more than happy to get their shirts soaked if it meant little bit was smiling for just a little bit.

“I’m afraid I can’t let you in here, Ms. L/N.”

“She’s with me, Ben.”

“I’m sorry Leah, she can’t be on the training pitch. Boss’ orders.”

“Well, she’s coming with me and we’re going to see about that. Come, Y/N.”

You trail behind Leah as she walks with determination to Jonas’ office. He’s in a meeting, she simply does not care.

“I’d like to know why she can’t come to the training ground and whose idea was it to do so.”

“It came from upstairs Leah, it was on my table this morning. I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t even try to do anything about it? She’s still a part of this team!”

“I’m sorry Leah, she isn’t. She can’t be here.”

“Go downstairs and put your boots on, Y/N. Un-FUCKING-believable.”

“Leah, I’ll just get an Uber and g–”

“I said, go downstairs and put your fucking boots on. Now.”

You walk out of the room and do as she says. She comes back out to the pitch 20 minutes later with huge smile on her face, winking at you.

“All sorted darling, nothing to worry about. Sorry if I scared you.”

You run and hug her, she merely smiles wider and kisses your head.

“Thank you Leah,” you whisper, only meant for her to hear.

“Anything for you, my love.”

“What are we feeling for dinner, darling?” Beth called as you were sitting in their living room playing Fifa.

“I don’t care, but a pizza sounds fucking delicious right now.”

“Language! Leah is a horrendous influence on you. Sausage and banana peppers?”

“Sorry, mum. Yes please.”

Beth walked in and rolled her eyes, picking up the takeaway menu stack near the tv.

“What is this that I hear that I’m a bad influence?”

“Leah!” you yelled, jumping up from the couch and jumping into her arms. You had grown quite attached to the older woman, her fierce protective nature from the start of your journey of international football along with the move to Arsenal had made you fall in love with her. It was a secret you were willing to take to the grave if you got to enjoy her and not risk losing her.

It had more to do with the age gap, it wasn’t monstrously large but it would turn heads either way with you being a teenager still. You turn twenty in less than a week anyway, maybe if you could muster up the courage you’d tell her.

“Hello, pea. Beth bullying ya?”

“No, she said my swearing is because of you. But we’re getting pizza!”

“That sounds lovely, angel. I love pizza, pizza loves me. Wanna see if you can beat me at a game while we wait?” she says, pointing to the paused football match on the tv.

“What’s in it for me?” you tell her cheekily, grabbing a second controller for her.

“You’ll have to beat me to find out, doll.”

Viv walked in, standing with Beth as they watched the two of you playing.

“So, who’s gonna tell them?” Viv asks bluntly.

“They’re right knobheads the pair of them. It could be written on their foreheads and they’d miss it.”

You were more than happy to have a little cake and a song for your birthday. Years without parents who died around your birthday made it a sore subject. Tony and Martha made it better though, both of them really did try their best to make sure you were well cared for and for that you were forever grateful. No one texted you all day though, you’ll be honest, it made you a little sadder. You were just about order some takeout when Leah walked into the house with balloons, cake, the girls, and much more. Katie led the chorus for ‘Happy Birthday’ so offkey you were sure your ears were genuinely bleeding. She pulled a party hat on your head and kissed your forehead, holding your face in her hands and she whispered, “Happy Birthday, little bit.”

You were crying, touched by their kind gesture. Only Leah knew the extent of why birthdays were a little sore for you, a proud smile on her face as the rest of the girls busied themselves with laying out the food and putting the decorations up. She smiled at you, eyes full of love like you were the only one in the room.

She walked up to you with the cake as Stina lit the candle, her bright smile on her face.

“Make a wish, pretty girl.” She said, you closed your eyes and made your wish. You blew out the candle; the cake was handed off to Viv.

She pulled you into her arms, kissing your nose. She had that same look of pure adoration on her face; you were scared of asking the question itching on the tip of your tongue. Luckily, Leah asked it for you.

“Happy birthday, special girl. Can I take you out on a date sometime?”

“You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to ask you that.”

“No time like the present, kiddo.”

She leaned in and kissed you softly, your lips molding perfectly to hers. The room cheered loudly, Beth yelling at the top of her lungs while Viv looked like a proud parent.

“Did your uncle ever mention that he was suing the guy who got into that accident with your parents?”

“No, I thought they didn’t know who it was.”

“Well, they do. He knows you too.”

“How the hell could he know me.”

“He’s the scumbag who hired you then fired you.”

“What are you saying, Tones?”

“When the lawsuit came in and the names were revealed he realized that someone leaked the information he tried so hard to keep buried and your name was in there. He thought you figured it out and were coming after him through your uncle. So, he fired you. Probably thought that would send a clear message that he could ruin you.”

“Tony, this is a lot to take in.”

“I know, kid. You leave it to me, you hear? Especially leave your new girlfriend out of it. She’s great but fucking scary.”

“Tony, it’s on speaker!”

“I know where you sleep Tony.” Leah supplied happily.

“Shit. Please kid, between the two of you only yeah? I love you.”

“I love you too, Tones. Send Martha my love.”

“Sure thing. Be safe, please?”

Click.

“What the hell am I going to do, Lee?”

“We’re gonna fight baby. Every single one of us. We got ya.”

“Tony literally just told you, you couldn’t kill the guy.”

“I will if I have to, you’re my girl now. You’ve always been my girl but now circumstances have changed. I know a guy who knows a guy; I’ll do it with my bare hands if I had to.”

“Tony was right, you are mad scary.”

Arsenal Board member sentenced to 10 years in prison for countless charges. The Plaintiff, Y/N L/N was rewarded with an undisclosed settlement for damages that caused the death of her parents 6 years ago, which turned out to be a massive coverup. Her position as forward on the Arsenal Women’s team had been reinstated effective immediately.

“We did it, little bit.” Lotte hugged you, the rest of the girls filtering into your home. Okay, it was Leah’s and she did just ask you to move in with her but it was nice to have someone to share a home with.

“I’m so proud of you, kid.” said Katie.

“You’re stronger than you look, Y/N/N.” said Stina.

“I have pictures of you on the stand!” said Alessia.

Their words were drowned out by the sound of a certain blonde and blue eyed, Milton Keynes accented, Lioness captain that was praising you.

“You did perfectly today, pea.”

“Thanks Lee. I couldn’t have done it without you. All of you.” You turn and face all the girls and continue.

“Without you all, I don’t think I would have been able to get through the past few weeks. You’ve all shown me what real family looks like and I can’t thank you enough. I love you all from the bottom of my heart.” You were crying, wiping away tears before Alessia yelled “Group hug!” and you were wrapped up in many arms.

Once they let go, Leah came up behind you and kissed your cheek. You lean back into her, rubbing her strong arms that were around you.

“Thank you Leah, for everything.”

“Anything for you, my love.”

#woso soccer #woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso x reader #leah williamson #leahwilliamson x reader #arsenal wfc x reader #leah williamson imagine #alessia russo #katie mccabe #lotte wubben moy #beth mead #vivianne miedema #stina blackstenius

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samkerrworshipper · 1 year ago

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Medication - Leah Williamson

fluff, little bit of angst, anxiety attacks, mentions of depression, 3500 words

balled my eyes out to black fridays by tom odell and then this was birthed.

blurb:

your a rookie on the lionesses squad, who suffers from anxiety and when you stop taking your meds after learning you are starting a game in the euros everything goes downhill for you.

i am so sorry for how vague this was lol i’m writing this and publishing at 2:30 in the morning

I’d never liked gamedays. Everything felt different, all the feelings and emotions heightened. The pressure was insurmountable, especially when you are playing for your nation. Especially when you are one of the youngest, one of the least experienced, one of the youngsters. Today, we were playing Norway, my first game as a Lioness where I was a part of the starting line-up. It was a must win game, the stakes were high for us to win these Euro’s, especially considering it was a home euro’s for us. If we wanted to progress to the finals we couldn’t lose, the pressure was on.

I’d understood that as soon as I’d been notified that I was to start the match, understood that everything changed as soon as you were actually on the pitch. Our one point win over Austria had been great, but we were all hungrier for more, hungrier for the points that we needed to get us ahead in the competition. Sarina knew that there was an expectation for us to win, we all knew that.

I’d been feeling it all week, feeling the anxiety thrumming through my veins as we practised and went about our normal routine for the week. Something was different, it was my first year as a senior Lioness and I’d never been named as a starter. That was a big deal, a really big deal. That was all I could think about. What if I fucked it up? What if I messed up and they told me that I wasn’t going to be welcome back. What if Sarina saw me on the pitch and thought that I was worthless, useless, bad. That was all I could think about as we were standing in the tunnel getting ready to walk out. I was sandwiched in between Lucy and Beth. My hands shaking in my pockets and my breath quickening subconsciously. If I wasn’t aware of it then apparently the defender behind me was, because just as we were about to walk out I felt one of her hands fall to my shoulder, pulling me back into her just enough for her to be able to press her mouth to my ear and whisper,

“You’ve got this amore, you’re going to do perfectly fine,” Lucy’s voice was so strong, but so comforting. She was like an older sister to me, and had been since my first day at training camp. She had been the first person to believe in me besides my Arsenal teammates, the first person to really advocate for my future. She was also the first person on the Lionesses team besides Leah to learn about my struggles with anxiety, adhd and depression. She’d been a light in my life, texted me to make sure I was keeping up with my medication, or just to check in.

In the wake of the Euro’s I’d stopped taking my anxiety meds. I took Lorazepam, which worked really well for me, but it also tended to make me really drowsy and fatigued. Things that are not ideal when you are training and playing almost everyday for your country. It had positive effects, I definitely found it a lot easier to train and play my hardest, but there were a lot of negatives. Like how I was feeling right now. Like my heart was going to beat out of my chest, my hands getting clammy with sweat and shaking non stop like I’d just shot up on steroids. The sound of the crowd at Brighton didn’t help either as we walked out onto the pitch. I struggled to get through the national anthem and the pre game pleasantries, my chest and body hurting from the anxiety that was building up inside of my body.

I was grateful but also not to step out on the pitch properly. It felt like I was on a different planet, my senses overly heightened and my brain short circuiting almost everything.

I could feel Leah’s gaze on me as we all lined up to start the game, she worried about me, a lot. I was also her Arsenal teammate and she’d taken me under her wing beyond football, we’d become very close in our time spent together. I ignored her sidewards glances though, tasking myself with showing our nation that I deserved to be where I was and some jitters weren’t going to affect that.

My first half was rocky, normally with the mixture of adrenaline and endorphins my anxiety subsided when I started playing but this time I must have been too far gone, too much pent up anxiety built up for it to just fade away. It reflected in how I was playing, but our forwards had been flawless, slotting in six goals which put us in a lead that was pretty much untouchable. Clambering into the rooms at halftime was a charade. Everyone besides myself seemed ecstatic and hyped about our lead, I was on the inside but I was also wrapped up in my own bubble. I took a seat on the floor of the change rooms, taking in Serena’s speech about keeping our heads and just continuing what we were doing. I allowed Lucy to pass me a drink bottle, obliging her request for me to hydrate myself. She could tell something was up, she’d been hovering around me on the pitch, covering me. When one of the Norwegian girls had taken my feet out from under me she had immediately been at my side, pulling me up and then yelling at the umpire about how it had clearly been a foul if not a yellow. Leah had to pull her away just to ensure Lucy wouldn’t get carded herself, all whilst I stood there absolutely helpless as result of the amount of effort I was having to put into not collapsing from the amount of pain in my chest.

Leah kept it pretty brief after Serena, sticking to what she’d said and putting an emphasis on a few things before we headed back out. She managed to snag a grip on my jersey though as I trailed with the girls at the back of the group.

“Are you okay?” There was a little bit of captain in it, but it was mostly gentle, her voice a little bit rugged from the amount of yelling she’d done on the field.

“I’m fine.” Her facial expression was enough to tell me she didn’t believe a word I was saying.

“I’m telling Serena to sub you off, you clearly don’t look well enough to be playing.”

“I told you I feel fine Cap, I can play out the rest of the 90, please let me play it out.”

Leah looked conflicted, conflicted with what to do and how to react to my plea. I wasn’t one who begged very often, I didn’t see the point in it.

“Fine but y/n, as soon as anything happens out there, you put yourself in danger or someone else in danger you are going off, understood?”

I didn’t have any other option but to nod at Leah.

“Yes, captain.”

My voice had held some sarcasm as I tore her hand from the bottom of my jersey and started jogging back up the tunnel to catch up with girls that I’d previously been chatting to.

The last ten minutes of the second half was when bad transitioned to really not good. My body began to catch up with my over exertion and every second on the field became a battle. It was a blessing that the ball wasn’t really travelling down my end, Less and Toony had both been substituted in and were having a field day in our forward half kicking it back and forth to run the clock down. The Norwegian girls were giving it their best but you could tell they knew it was over. As the minutes passed though and we went into extra time I could feel my body really starting to get heavier, you could blame it on the lack of hydration and the english heat that we were playing in but I knew it was my body betraying me. I’d been denying my body for too long and it was catching up with me. I didn’t even know how many minutes of extra time we had, my vision was slowly blurring, my steps becoming wobbly and the pain in my chest becoming overbearing.

I could hear my opponent, I think it was Maren, or was it Guro? Asking me if I felt alright. I didn’t really comprehend it though, I couldn’t hear anything properly, it felt like I was underwater, my ears ringing out and my vision blacking over as I fell face first into the turf. Maren managed to catch me before I fully face planted into the grass, helping my limp form down to the ground before starting to yell out for help. It was then of course that the whistles blew and the match ended. I could make out the sounds of the crowd going nuts, maybe even my teammates on the sidelines yelling in triumph. I couldn’t open my eyes though and I definitely couldn’t make out the voice of Maren on the ground beside me trying to ask me questions and attract the attention of a medic. It was all mellowed out as my body succumbed to a coma like state that I’d forced myself into.

Leah and Lucy were the first two from my own team to locate me, passed out on the ground with Maren trying to provide as much privacy for me as possible whilst also pressing her hand to my throat to make sure that there wasn’t anything seriously wrong. It was Maren, Guro had been subbed off at the 84’ minute mark. I remembered that because I’d silently been wishing at the time that Serena would do the same, but she’d made her final changes and taking me off apparently hadn't been one of them.

“Y/n, can you open your eyes for me? Or squeeze my hand?”

I could feel Leah’s own hand fall into mine and I squeezed it as best as I could, it was enough for me to tell her that I was conscious enough to make out what she was saying to me.

“Good y/n/n, the medics are about to be here, can you try and open your eyes and talk for me?”

I tried my hardest to crack my eyes open, when I did finally muster up the will to open one of them I was met with the brightness of the stadium lights. I groaned almost immediately, being forced to take in my surroundings. I was surrounded by our trainers, who were draping different towels over my body in an attempt to cool me down and cover me. My cleats had been removed from my feet and someone was soaking my socks in cold water, something that I was not pleased to be awakened by.

“Good sweetheart, stay focused on me yeah, eyes on me.”

My eyes snapped back up to Leah, who was crouched above my head, Serena and Lucy’s heads were beside her own, staring down at me.

“The medics are going to come look at you and you are going to let them, okay?”

I almost immediately shook my head at Leah but she kept her jaw clenched and her stern face up.

“I’m not asking y/n, you just passed out on the field, you need to be assessed.”

I shook my head again and Leah rolled her eyes at me.

“An-n-xiety.”

I could hardly make out my own words in the stadium full of noise and the words themselves made me realise how much I was struggling to regulate my own breaths.

Leah nodded knowingly, suddenly everything seemed to come into perspective for her.

“You stopped taking your medication, didn’t you?”

I gulped and nodded at her, trying to block out all of the distractions that were happening around me. She looked annoyed at me, I cowered a little bit with the glare that she was giving me. After the last time I went on a sabbatical from my medication I swore to Leah I would never do it again.

As the medics crouched down next to me I shut my eyes again, it all becoming too much for my head. I let the medics fuss over me, I blacked out somewhere in between them putting me on a stretcher and getting me off the pitch.

I reawakened with sweat dripping down my body, all of the oxygen depleting from my body and my chest aching like it never had before. I choked a little bit as I sat up from my spot, gasping for air to enter my lungs. It took me a few seconds to recognise where I was, sitting inside the makeshift medical room at Brighton. My head was pounding and my whole body was aching.

“Y/n, look at me, you're having an anxiety attack, deep breaths.”

“Wh-what.” The words came out in a gasp as I struggled to take in any air, looking at Leah for guidance.

“We’re at Brighton, we just played Norway, you had an anxiety episode on the pitch. You’re having an attack right now, I need you to take deep breaths, follow me, in and out.”

I watched Leah as she exaggerated some deep breaths, if it hadn't been for the circumstance I probably would have laughed at her.

As I slowly started to take in more air she tried a different tactic.

“Good y/n/n, your doing so well my good girl. Can you tell me five things you can see?”

It was deflection, something that Leah had picked up on from her therapist.

“Serena, you, the light, Lucy and a drink bottle.”

Leah nodded at me encouragingly, rubbing slowly up my back as she continued.

“Good, you’re doing so well, how about four things you can feel?”

“Your breath, the scratchy blanket, my wet socks and I don’t know.”

My words were still choken as I used up whatever oxygen I was taking in to get the words out.

“That’s okay, that’s good, you are doing so well for me angel, how about three things you can hear?”

I tried to focus fully on Leah, on her words, her rubbing my back, her breath against my neck.

“Serena tapping her shoe, the heart monitor and the music from the changeroom.”

It was faint but if you focused in enough you could just hear the sound of my teammates in the change rooms, getting up to god knows that with the absence of their captain and manager.

“Perfect, you are doing absolutely perfectly. How about two things you can smell?”

“Antiseptic and your perfume.”

“Good, last one, one thing you can taste.”

I could feel my breath and body evening itself out, it felt like I was a piece of linen that was slowly but surely being ironed out, all of the crinkles and creases leaving my body.

“I don’t know.”

“Last one y/n, I know you can do it.”

“Metal, the iron taste from blood.”

Leah nodded at me, plastering a kiss on my forehead. Her words and actions being enough to bring me back down to earth fully. I very slowly took in my surroundings properly, Serena, Lucy and Keira were all sitting at the end of my bed, watching as Leah did her thing. I was hooked up to a few different things, cords and wires poking out of my extremities. A saline drip, heart monitor and another machine that I wasn’t sure the purpose of.

“Hey my girl, you back here with us now?”

I pushed my head into Leah’s chest, trying to hide from the world that I was now a participating member of.

“No hiding, not here,”

I groaned as Leah pushed me out of her chest, annoyed by the loss of contact and the confrontation of having to be put in front of some of the people I respected most.

“You gave us a fright back there, I think you came close to killing Maren.”

I gulped nervously, hanging onto every word that left Serena’s mouth, just bobbing my head in agreement because what else was I supposed to do.

“M’ sorry, didn’t mean to, just wanted to prove that I deserved to be here.”

Serena’s face held a kind of understanding, like she’d seen girls before me who had been the same, willing to die to prove their worth to the dutchwoman who we all regarded so highly.

“You wouldn’t be here in the first place if you didn’t deserve to be. It’s one thing to push yourself but to the point where you black out on the field is another thing. If it ever happens again y/n y/l/n then I can swear to you now that you will be benched, am I understood.” I nodded meekly at Serena,

“Yes ma’am.”

She nodded at me, she’d gotten her point across.

“Leah tells me this happened as a result of you not taking your medication?”

I pushed my head back into Leah’s chest, grunting at her when she pushed me out of it. I couldn’t do much else but nod at Serena.

“I get side effects ma’am, it makes me drowsy and sleepy, I didn’t want it to affect my game.”

Serena was very quick to fire back at me,

“You take medication to ensure that you feel well, there is no shame in that. If you are having a problem with side effects then you are to bring it up with one of our doctors, not boycott your medication entirely. From now on I am going to be responsible for your medication, you will come to me everyday to take it so I can ensure that you are receiving the correct doses so something like this does not occur again, is that understood?”

I gulped and nodded at Serena. She smiled at me knowingly in return.

“You are an elite athlete y/n, it is imperative that you care for your body. Or something like this happens, something with such magnitude that it can’t be overlooked. Your health and wellbeing comes first, always.”

I nodded at Serena once again, allowing her to give me a hug before leaving the room to give us some privacy. As soon as the door closed behind her I shed a few tears, I hated confrontation, it was one of my biggest fears.

“She’s right y’know, this could have been a lot worse, what if you’d put yourself in a really dangerous position because you were in a bad headspace and ended up seriously injured, you can’t just stop taking your medication randomly y/n, it’s not safe.”

Leah’s voice was murmured against my forehead, her lips staying plastered to the oily and cold skin.

“No one else on the team relies on medication to function, I thought I would be fine, I feel so stupid always being the one having to rely on shit to get through the day.”

I could feel Leah rolling her eyes from above me.

“No one else on the team struggles with intense anxiety and depression like you do, we are all different, we all function differently. There is no shame in needing medication y/n/n, Lucy uses an asthma puffer, does that make her stupid?”

I looked over at Lucy, it was different.

“No but it’s different.”

“How?”

Leah’s answer was fired back at me and I struggled slightly to recover from her sudden reply,

“Lucy has a physical problem, mine’s just in my head.”

“What you went through today seemed pretty physical to me.”

I was stumped by that answer, looking across at Kiera and Lucy who nodded along with what Leah was saying.

“You struggle with your mental health, there is no shame in that. You rely on medication. So what? Good for you for listening to your body and acknowledging that you need that to help you make it through the day. Y/n, there is absolutely nothing wrong with using medication to help you. If I felt sick, with the flu, and I needed antibiotics or whatever, would you think that I was weak for using them?”

I shook my head at Leah almost immediately, the question was a no brainer for me,

“Exactly, because I’d be taking the medication needed to keep me well and functioning. All you are doing is the same thing y/n, keeping yourself alive and well.”

#leah williamson #lionesses #woso #leah williamson x reader #serena wiegman #lucy bronze #fluff #anxiety attacks #medication #angst #i love leah williamson #golden retriever leah vibes #supportive moms #england lionesses x reader #lionesses x reader

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my-autism-adhd-blog · 11 days ago

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Hi everyone,

It’s been a while since I posted any articles, so I wanted to share one I found about the similarities and differences between autism and BPD (borderline personality disorder).

According to the article:

Various research has shown an overlap between BPD and autism. A 2024 study from the Brighton and Sussex Medical School in the United Kingdom found that not only is there an overlap in the conditions, but that misdiagnosis of the conditions can have a significant effect on the individual.

The researchers found several key issues that came from a misdiagnosis. These key findings included:

Harmful treatment: Certain treatments for BPD, such as “masking,” were shown to be harmful to individuals with a misdiagnosis. Masking involves hiding certain traits, specifically autistic traits. This was linked to increased suicidal ideation and a feeling of powerlessness. Individuals felt they could not change the BPD diagnosis, even though they thought it was not correct.

Stigma: Individuals who received a misdiagnosis of BPD felt it introduced a certain amount of stigma and diagnostic overshadowing. It led to healthcare professionals neglecting the true underlying issues and imposing treatments that were unhelpful and potentially detrimental.

Diagnostic barriers: Individuals found there were substantial barriers to receiving autism assessments after receiving a BPD diagnosis. This delayed appropriate support.

One of the main findings of this research was that those who did receive a correct diagnosis felt it was “life changing.” It gave them access to proper support, which significantly improved their well-being and mental health.

BPD and autism key similarities

There are several key similarities between BPD and autism, including:

emotional dysregulation, which may involveTrusted Source:

intense mood changes

difficulty managing emotions

impulsivity

social difficulties, which may involve:

fear of abandonment

difficulty with interpersonal relationships

difficulty understanding other’s emotions

communication issues, which may involve:

difficulty understanding social cues

difficulty forming relationships

rigid thinking patterns, which may involve:

black-and-white thinking or viewing situations and people as all “good” or all “bad”

rigid routines, specific interests, and rituals

difficulty accepting and adapting to change

difficulty navigating complex social situations

Learn more about borderline personality disorder.

BPD and autism key differences:

Even though there is an overlap between BPD and autism, they are two separate conditions.

BPD is a personality disorder characterized by impulsive behavior, unstable emotions, and an unstable sense of self. Autism is a neurological and developmental condition that involves repetitive behaviors, challenges in social skills, and nonverbal communication.

I’ll leave the full article below in case anyone wants to read it:

#autism #actually autistic #bpd #borderline personality disorder #key differences and similarities #neurodiversity #actually neurodivergent #feel free to share/reblog #Medical News Today

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queertranshappiness · 3 months ago

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Here is this week's good queer and trans news (July 28th):

Tennessee will finally remove sex workers who have HIV from sex offender lists, after a lawsuit was settled in favour of sex workers, thank god (https://www.lgbtqnation.com/2024/07/tennessee-put-sex-workers-on-sex-offender-registry-for-having-hiv-they-will-be-removed/)

Trans Pride Brighton and London have recorded their largest attendances ever, with ~40,000 people and 55,000 people respectively marching through the cities to celebrate and advocate for trans lives (@/gaystarnews, @/londontranspride on Instagram)

Michigan has banned the 'gay/trans panic' legal defence, making it the 20th state overall to do so (https://www.lgbtqnation.com/2024/07/michigan-gov-gretchen-whitmer-signs-bill-banning-gay-or-trans-panic-defense/)

Queer Ass Folk, a live music night in Hastings highlighting queer songwriters and talent, has had a sold out first event, which is very good for queer culture (https://www.instagram.com/p/C9xdtgyCUwg/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link&igsh=MzRlODBiNWFlZA==)

The first ever trans and gender diverse film festival in Ireland has been launched in Dublin, TITE (Trans Image, Trans Experiences), with submissions open from next month, and the festival itself scheduled for April next year (https://gcn.ie/trans-non-binary-film-festival-ireland/)

Hypersoft, a European queer dance music label and collective, has released their first ever charity compilation album, Soft Power Volume 1, with all proceeds going to trans charities TGEU and Mermaids (it's primarily a tech and progressive house album, and you can support it here: https://hypersoft.bandcamp.com/album/soft-power-vol-1-protect-trans-youth)

And a new HIV drug, when taken twice a year, has been shown to be highly effective at preventing infections in AFAB people in phase 3 trials, which is a good sign for a new treatment (https://www.lgbtqnation.com/2024/07/trial-shows-that-shot-taken-twice-a-year-very-effective-at-preventing-hiv-in-women/)

(Credit to: LGBTQ Nation, @/gaystarnews and @/transpridelondon, @/notaphaseorg, GCN and Hypersoft themselves for these stories.)

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1dcommunityficrecs · 10 months ago

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University AUs!

It's the very first crowdsourced fic rec! We have 23 amazing fics listed here, about the trials and tribulations, the adventures and anarchy, the good decisions and bad decisions and downright terrible decisions that come with post-secondary education. We might have graduated high school, but we still dumb as SHIT.

Please enjoy, share, leave a kudos or a comment -- and get your reccing fingers ready for the next theme!

From Eight Until Late, I Think About You by supernope (35227, Explicit, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson)

Harry is juggling an English degree at the University of Brighton, a budding YouTube channel, and an intense crush on a fellow YouTuber.

Reccer says: It's so cute watching their feelings and their friendship grow, from flirting in the YouTube comments to texting to finally meeting up in person (oh my god they were (hotel) roommates)

you can hear it in the silence by imogenlee (234857, Explicit, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson)

When Harry Styles was accepted into a post-grad degree, he knew he could no longer afford his flat, leaving him with three options: 1) Move back into student halls. 2) Become homeless. 3) Move in with his best (and only) friend, Niall, and three of Niall's other mates. He went with the third option. But it was a close race. Or, two boys couldn't misunderstand each other more, but they want to.

Reccer says: The aaaaangst. The way they can't stop wanting each other despite the misunderstandings.

if it looks like, feels like, tastes like love by tempolarriefics (16600, Teen, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson) - fic post

harry and louis hate each other but pretend to date to be able to live in university ‘family housing’, zayn and liam are their nosy next door neighbors, and niall is the friend who made it all happen

Reccer says: this fic is such a cute read and the author included a lot of fun details that also have you cracking up throughout!

High heels on, 'm feeling alive by thebreadvan (14596, Mature, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson) - fic post

Harry damages a car when drunkenly stumbling home after a fun night out with his friends. Feeling horribly guilty, he tries to find the owner and make it up to him.

Reccer says: Harry wearing heels <3

Unbelievers by Isthatyoularry (136814, Explicit, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson)

Harry and Louis have always hated each other. Or not…

Reccer says: Sport AU, enemies to lovers, College AU

Speaking of marvels by Navigator, quitter (100585, Explicit, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson)

Harry is at university in California. On vacation with his parents in New Jersey, he meets Louis. Their story is only supposed to last through summer

Reccer says: This fic is in my opinion unfairly forgotten these days even though it is a Fandom Classic, just wonderful

Don’t have to go to the pool by Kingsoftheimpossible (40857, Explicit, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson)

Louis is the captain of the swim team, Harry is in love with him a bit, and there's this ritual before Big Meets. Everything goes fine.

Reccer says: A simple an effective plot, a joy to read

Search and rescue me by Wildhalos (17423, Mature, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson)

Louis never really paid attention to Harry until they get stuck in the locker room together.

Reccer says: The two characters who find themselves stuck in locker rooms, with all the sexual tension that goes with it. Perfect, right?

Your best line ever by Green_feelings (55116, Mature, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson)

University AU, in which Harry has a terrible job and lies about his name to drunk people, Louis is one of the drunk and has to move out of his flat, Liam shaves his hair because he fights with Zayn, Zayn protects Liam from creepy stalkers and Niall always has a solution, because he knows just about every person relevant!

Reccer says: Already, if Green_feelings writes something, we can already be sure that it will be good. This is even more true with a Uni AU

If walls could talk by Wickedarcher_08 (10028, Explicit, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson)

Harry is in love with his straight best friend. He thinks he doesn't have a chance, until Louis presents him with a challenge he can't refuse.

Reccer says: A short story with a simple, effective plot

My worst Nightmare by BooBear411 (191000, Explicit, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Niall Horan /Zayn Malik, Harry Styles/OFC)

they’re two students who struggle with what they feel. Harry is bisexual and has a girlfriend in the first part of the fic. They live in the same dorm and basically grow in love slowly, but steadily

Reccer says: Well written, the characters develop very coherently with the plot

Fading by tothemoonmydear (202000, Explicit, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson) Warnings: Eating disorder

Harry is a science student, Louis studies fashion and ask Harry to model for him. They get closer and develop a solid crush for each other. Harry gets it that Louis is hiding something and he can feel Louis is not completely open about himself. He will love him unconditionally.

Reccer says: Louis’ eating disorder is depicted in a very thoughtful way

The school of extraordinary lovers by Stylinsoncity (191000, Mature, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson) Warnings: Minor violence, domestic violence, past character death

Harry is a third-year witch and violinist at magical academy, with dreams of taking on the world, and hopefully breaking the centuries-old curse on his family while he's at it. he does not dream of facing off against his childhood rival and duet partner, but louis is back in town after six years abroad, so that's exactly what happens

Reccer says: Original plot, writing styles

Blue Moon by aquietlarrie (152907, Explicit, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson) - fic post Warnings: Slight mention of death and grief

1950s au - gentle & beautiful coming of age.

Reccer says: So beautifully written, character development, feels like you grow with the characters

Reeling Through The Fall by Zarah5 (40068, Explicit, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson)

AU. They hate each other. Except for when they don’t.

Reccer says: Zarah5 is always perfect

Anonymous Said by alivingfire (21158, Teen, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson)

Harry has a crush on the sweet boy who he sends anons on Tumblr. He also has a crush on the cute boy in the bookstore. Fortunately, they're both the same boy and they both like him too.

Reccer says: Watching Louis and Harry fall in love with each other TWICE in the same fic? my crops are watered my skin is clear my cows are fed 18/10 no notes

The First Year by parmahamlarrie (46972, Explicit, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson) - fic post

Harry and Louis are roommates, sunshine and punk AU.

Reccer says: The way they get together through it all, and the fluff that comes after *chef's kiss*

knock knock, I love you by beautlouis (86066, Explicit, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson)

Harry and Louis get kicked out of a statistics exam for passing a knock knock joke note, and subsequently fall in love. Harry's a virgin, there's a cat, a hot cocoa date, a lot of sex, even more knock knock jokes, and everything is lovely and happy.

Reccer says: It's wonderfully cheesy and fun! The perfect fluff! Just adorable, fluffy fic and a real serotonin boost

painted on jeans by QuickedWeen (6822, Explicit, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson)

Girl Direction sorority au, friends to lovers, perfect mix of fun and hot!

Reccer says:

like fires in the night by coldflasher (138520, Mature, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson) Warnings: Drug and alcohol use

Louis' got a secret stash of weed under the floorboards, his grades are going to shit and his mates keep getting pissed. There are secret passageways in the wardrobes and he can't stop thinking about the mysterious Harry.

Reccer says: a brilliant blend of absolute hilarity, angst and a whole lot of Very Bad Decisions.

Red Brick Heart by hazmesentir (98194, Explicit, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson)

Harry had turned up at the halls of residence expecting fun, new friends, and maybe a life experience or two. What he doesn't expect is a surprise roommate who's loud and dramatic and obsessed with tea and is maybe, actually, all he's ever wanted.

Reccer says: It has been a long time, but I remember loving this story quite a lot. Well written.

Soft Hands, Fast Feet, Can't Lose by dolce_piccante (112853, Mature, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson) Warnings: Homophobia, sharing of nude photos without consent, bullying

American Uni AU. Louis hates football players and Harry. Harry doesn't know why. Through a bet Harry and Louis get closer, but the bet might be what breaks them apart too

Reccer says: I liked Harry and Louis dynamic

Shake Me Down by AGreatPerhaps12 (208589, Not Rated, Louis Tomlinson/Harry Styles, Liam Payne/Zayn Malik, Niall Horan/Josh Devine) Warnings: Religious trauma, conversation therapy, homophobia/internalised homophobia, OCD and self harm

Harry's new to college, fresh out of Catholic school and conversion therapy camp, and Louis runs the campus LGBTQIA organization.

Reccer says: The dynamic between the characters, Harry's character in general and also the random famous people in the story

#university aus #category 1 #rec list #one direction #louis tomlinson #harry styles #liam payne #zayn malik #niall horan #tracksintheam #ficsfor4am #trackinghome #1dficvillage #1dsource #allwaswell16 #alwaysxlarrie #hlcreators #hlficlibrary

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bullet-prooflove · 5 months ago

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Ex!Joe Part Five: Wishes - Joe Velasco x Reader

Tagging: @plaidbooks @misscharlielulu @witches-unruly-heart @storiesofsvu @magic-multicolored-miracle @rosaliedepp @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @mysoulisasunflower @legit9thlunaticwarrior @thatesqcrush @mydarkestsecretlol @upsteadlogic @wooshwastaken @kiwiithecrazybird @justreblogginfics @anime-weeb-4-life @alwaysachorusgirl @telepathay @weiwei0210 @dancingonthebeachatdawn @spaghettificationandpretzels @nu1freakshow @trublu2u @yezzyyae @thiashazzywriting @altsvu @whateversomethingbruh @a-noni-love @collegegirl83

EX!Joe Series:

Part One: Left Behind - Joe’s life is thrown into turmoil when you show up in the Squad Room.

Part Two: Brighton Beach - Joe finds out why you’re back in Manhatten.

Part Three: History - You explain what happened all those years ago.

Part Four: Crash - Joe has a lot to think about.

Joe dreams of dark-haired children, he chases them around a garden that resembles the park that he goes running in. He hears their laughter in his ears, catches a glimpse of them as they duck behind the trees. He dreams of nights with you, the past and the future, hands teasing over sensitive flesh, lips caressing soft skin, the sound of his name as you come for him. He dreams of the family he could have had, the one that’s always been just out of reach.

He mourns their loss when he wakes up in a hospital room he doesn’t recognise. You capture his arm as he tries to untangle himself, preventing him from wrenching out the wires that are attached to him.

“Joe…” You say softly and he squeezes your hand tightly because you’re a soothing presence amongst the disorientation that assaults him.

Joe knows why you’re here, why out of everyone in his life you are the one they summoned to the hospital. He hasn’t changed his emergency contact. You must think that it’s an oversight but it isn’t. The truth is he doesn’t have anyone else in his life that he trusts to make decisions on his behalf, to understand his wishes, to fulfil them.

“How bad?” He asks, his throat scratchy, his voice a rasp.

“Nothing broken.” You reassure him, stroking his arm lightly. “You have some nasty gravel rash and a concussion, that’s why they’re keeping you here…”

Joe heaves himself up into sitting a position. Agony ricochets through his body. He hisses through his teeth as it sears through him, grating across his nerves. He yanks at the sensors that are attached to him, tossing them onto the bed.

“Can you get me discharged?” He asks you forcefully.

“You hit your head pretty hard even with the helmet on.” You tell him, raising to your feet. “They want to keep you in for observation.”

“Can you do it?” He repeats, his green eyes meeting yours.

He’s antsy you can tell. You’ve forgotten his phobia of hospitals, how they made him feel like he wants to crawl out of his own skin. He’d had a bad experience back in Juárez, he would never tell you the details but anytime he ended up being treated in a hospital, he’d sweat bullets, his jaw would tense and he’d clench his fists until his knuckles went white.

You sigh as you withdraw your badge from the pocket of your overcoat and drape it around your neck.

“I’ll do what I can.” ----

Joe’s apartment is an incarnation of his previous one. It’s neat and sparse with very little in the way of personal effects. You see it a lot with people who’ve spent the majority of their careers undercover. There’s a photograph of his mother and his priest in a slender black frame on the mantlepiece but that’s it. Everything else is boilerplate, the way it was when you first met him. He merely exists in this space, he doesn’t live in it.

“You don’t have to stay,” he tells you after you close the door to the apartment behind you.

“Kinda do.” You tell him, stripping off your overcoat and hanging it on the coat pegs installed alongside the front door. “That was part of the agreement about leaving the hospital. You have to be supervised for the next twenty four hours.”

He’s too tired to argue with you, instead he retreats to the bedroom, shutting both the door and you out. You don’t blame him, he’s had a lot of turmoil tonight. You know he’s overwhelmed at the moment, that he’s trying to process everything that’s happened. You’re probably the last person he wants here but there’s nothing you can do, you just have to make the best of it for now. You open his fridge and sigh, before withdrawing your phone to order groceries.

You cook for him, it’s a throwback to a time when the two of you lived together. He misses this, all of this, he’s been with multiple women since you but not one has come close. The problem is even after all this time he’s still in love with you. He knows how pathetic it is.

He doesn’t say anything when you rap your knuckles on the bedroom door. Part of him wants to tell you to leave, so that he can go back to the way things were but the reality is, that can’t happen. He knows why you left now, about the baby, about the depression you fell into in the aftermath of the miscarriage and he can’t blame you. Going through something like that, enduring it alone…

It fucks with you.

“I’ve made something to eat if you’re hungry.” You say as you open the door a crack.

“Come inside.” He finds himself saying as he sits on the edge of the bed. “I want to talk a sec.”

You comply, closing the bedroom door behind you.

“Joe…” You begin.

“Can I hold you?” He says quietly. “Will you let me have that tonight?”

“That depends.” You murmur as you come to stand in front of him. He takes your hand, his fingers entwining with yours as he tugs you down into his lap. “Are you going to let me take care of you?”

“Baby…” He mumbles, his thumb chasing along the line of your jaw as he looks into your eyes. “I’m sorry for what you went through, that I wasn’t there…”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” You tell him, cradling his face between your hands. He closes his eyes, and you kiss away the salt that ebbs down his cheeks. “It’s just something that happened, it’s no one’s fault.”

“I wish…”

That things were different, that we had a baby, a family, a life together. He doesn’t say those words but you know that’s what he means. You wish for the exact same thing.

“I know.” You whisper against his skin. “I do too.”

Love Joe Velasco? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

#joe velasco #joe velasco x reader #joe velasco x you #jose velasco #jose velasco x reader #jose velasco x you #law and order svu #svu #law and order special victims unit #law and order: special victims unit

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wolfstarhaven · 4 months ago

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Hi!!!!!!! Long time lurker first time asker here—do you have any interesting fics that take place in the summer? I feel like I've been losing myself in nostalgia for being a teenager since it started getting hot by me and I'd love to read a fic that compliments that feeling well!

Hi🌸 You read my mind, long time lurker — I’ve been thinking of putting together a proper summery-nostalgic list for some time now. Your request finally made me do it(: So here you go! My favourite summer wolfstar fics, all of them with that sweet, soft nostalgic touch☀️

the summer you let your hair grow out

by ladymemebeth (20k)

in which sirius decides to go to remus' house when he runs away, rather than james'. remus finds this situation to be trying in more ways than one. includes gratuitous references to twentieth-century cinema and music.

Themes: summer at remus’; pov!remus; disowned Sirius; pining; friends to lovers; first time.

*wonders bright

by unwholesome_gay (5k)

Sirius spends a few weeks at the Lupins' place during the summer after sixth year.

Themes: summer at remus’; pov!sirius; friends to lovers; fluff; first kiss.

*the apple caught between your teeth

by drowsyanddazed (13k)

The warm, July sun is unadulterated in its naked heat; blisteringly sweet and unbearingly heavy. It makes Sirius’ shirt cling to his chest, turns his bones lazy, and it colours Remus’ cheeks with a dusting of honey freckles.

So many freckles.

So many that Sirius wonders where they all hide in the frosty, winter months.

Themes: summer at remus’; disowned sirius; pov!sirius; friends to lovers; coming out; pining; so well-written I could cry.

*June, and Other Natural Disasters

by montparnasse (5k)

Sirius talks, begs, and bribes Remus into a spontaneous trip to Brighton the summer of their graduation. Remus loses all sense of direction; Sirius loses his shirt; Remus kisses the last moth-eaten vestiges of his sanity a long, sloppy goodbye.

Themes: summer trip; pov!remus; pining remus; friends to lovers; sexual tension and smut; poetic prose.

*Everything Under The Sun

by moongnome (26k)

The summer of '76. Remus wants Sirius. Sirius doesn't know what he wants.

Themes: slow burn; friends to lovers; shit communication; friends with benefits sort of; pov!remus; pining remus; this is technically unfinished but it can be read as finished!; I love this so much it’s crazy.

*A Brief History of Dragons

by eyra (23k)

Sirius moves to Cornwall for the summer and meets a rude, beautiful boy who is writing a book that may or may not be about dragons.

Themes: muggle!au; writer!remus; pov!sirius; strangers to lovers; Arthurian legend; everybody and their mother has read and loved this; but it’s very summery so it’s gotta be here!!

tomorrow, when the world is free

by turntechnodhead (2k)

Sirius, in a tour-guide voice: “The White Cliffs of Dover, part of the North Downs formation, is the region of English coastline facing the Strait of Dover and France. The cliff face, which reaches a height of 110 metres, owes its striking appearance to the composition of chalk accented by streaks of black flint-”

“Padfoot, mate, you never told us you could read,” says James. Sirius whacks the back of his head with the guidebook.

Themes: road trip; pov!remus; pining remus; fluff; pre-slash.

Camping, Comfort, and Clichés

by oliverdalstonbrowning (5k)

Remus goes on a camping trip with his friends, and discovers all the comfort and clichés that go with it.

Themes: camping; post-Hogwarts; sharing a bed; pov!remus; friends to lovers; jealous remus; fluff.

*Hard To Find

by accioromulus (13k)

The air conditioning is already broken, Sirius's back has been effectively glued to the leather seat via sweat, and this road-trip may have been a Very Bad Idea.

Themes: road trip; muggle!au; pov!sirius; pining; so so soft and summery; friends to lovers.

Out There

by halictus (21k)

Sirius has to go backpacking to fulfill a college graduation requirement. He is comfortable in his own skin, he has friends, he has passions. But he's still learning how to fit himself into loosely-defined spaces. Remus is a graduate student leading the trip. He loves nature, and backpacking, and being outside, and smiling, and having lots of energy. They both have some learning to do—not necessarily tactfully.

Themes: muggle!au; backpacking; nature; strangers to lovers; good discussion on privilege!

one for the road

by rojohbi (4k)

Piling into the car was uncomfortable and cramped, but there was something oddly satisfying about sitting on ratty blankets in the backseat, a box of fresh comfort food at his feet and Sirius’ legs splayed over his lap as the other backseat-inhabitant nestled himself into the corner and almost immediately began snoring. James met his eyes through the rearview, and this time when he saw the knowing smile, Remus smiled right back.

Themes: road trip; pov!remus; pining remus; self-esteem issues (remus); accidental confession; genderfluid sirius.

the private kind of purple

by greenscape (6k)

Post-grad summer. They are reaching for things they cannot name.

Or, it's four days out of Hogwarts and Sirius and Remus go wild camping in Scotland.

Themes: camping; light angst; soft and well-written af; friends to lovers.

*Beneath a Big Blue Sky

by eyra (68k)

Sirius and James accidentally find themselves on a Yorkshire farm during lambing season. The farmer’s son thinks that’s a bit annoying, actually.

Themes: muggle!au; sheep farm; pov!sirius; this is a must-read for everyone.

*Light in August

by orestesfasting (21k)

Summer, 1977. With the full moon approaching, Sirius heads up to the Lupins' countryside cottage to make himself useful. Or to make a complete and utter arse out of himself, because really, that's all he can seem to do around Remus these days.

Themes: THE summer wolfstar fic; summer at remus’; friends to lovers; pov!sirius; pining; sharing a bed; beautifully written it’s actually insane.

honey, i belong with you, only you.

by jeonism (4k)

remus was all honey brown hair and eyes that glittered golden in the sun, with a peachy flush across his freckles and legs that seemed to stretch for miles. sirius was screwed.

Themes: summer at remus’; pov!sirius; pining sirius; friends to lovers; lots of kissing; fluff.

*Our Blood, Still Young

by templeg (15k)

It's nearly the last day of fifth year, and Sirius really isn't looking forward to the summer.

Themes; friends to lovers; funny; pov!sirius; smut; awkwardness and fluff; it’s summer for most of it; a classic.

*Another Bright Day

by rilla (20k)

It's 1978 and the Marauders have just left school. James has fallen for Lily, Sirius is smarting about it, and Remus has complicated feelings of his own that he needs to work out during the last summer before they all have to find their way into the real world.

Themes: post-hogwarts; first war; holiday by the sea; pov!remus; pining remus; beautiful prose!!

Fearless Liabilities

by femme_de_lettres (200k)

Summer camp. Six weeks of planning activities, leading campers, and getting up to no good. It's no different than the last decade that Remus and his friends have spent in rural Wisconsin. Except Remus' heart keeps trying to tell him that he's in love with his best friend, Sirius can't believe he's fallen for the one person who he knows is unequivocally straight, James is starting to lose faith that Lily will ever actually consider going on a date with him, and Peter? Peter's just trying to keep his friends from getting in over their heads.

Themes: muggle!au; summer camp; long boy; American au; homophobia; panic attacks; fluff.

Heat

by LadyAmina (2k)

The summer air is too warm. The campfire isn't helping. Neither is Sirius's head in his lap. Neither is the burning blood in his veins. Remus is overwhelmed and something has to give.

Themes: camping; pov!remus; remus is jealous and very emotional about it poor baby; fluff.

blue, orange

by Avvu (5k)

It's the first summer after Hogwarts, and they have nothing else to talk about than Peter's dead father. / There are blue and orange postcards on the fridge door, and behind them, there are words Sirius knows by heart.

Themes: angst; first war era; canon compliant; the ending is sort of happy but also not that happy because you know what happens later yk.

Ocean Above & Sky Below

by grandilloquism (8k)

Sirius, adrift and floundering at the advanced age of 23, rents out a mansion by the sea— as you do— in an effort to recapture his happiness. It works surprisingly well.

Themes: post-Hogwarts; no war; pov!sirius; growing up; friends to lovers.

I'm Glad I'm Your Favourite

by aftgray (10k)

just a wolfstar get-together oneshot that takes place in the summer of 1976 (between the Marauders' fifth and sixth year)

Themes: post The Prank; disowned sirius; sharing a bed; fluff.

Motion Sickness

by oscarwildechilde (46k)

The Lupins are moving again, and Remus is determined to be miserable following his disastrous fifth year and the fallout of Sirius' prank. Not speaking to any of his friends, he's resigned to go at it alone. That is, of course, until he finds out that he's moved to the same town as Lily Evans.

Themes: post The Prank; centred on the lupin family; Lily-Remus friendship; disowned sirius; friends to lovers; fluff.

Reeled

by lunchbucket (5k)

Remus decides to finally spend a summer day with his childhood best friend, Sirius, after not seeing him for three years. But when old feelings quickly start to resurface, Remus is left feeling like no time has passed at all.

Themes: childhood friends reunited; pov!remus; pining remus; fluff.

(* = personal favourite)

I hope you’re all having a lovely summer so far🌸

xx Elliot

#wolfstar #wolfstar rec #sirius black #remus lupin #wolfstar fics #summer

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bethanydelleman · 1 year ago

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I keep thinking about Mr. Bennet when Elizabeth asks for him to stop Lydia from going to Brighton

“Already arisen?” repeated Mr. Bennet. “What, has she frightened away some of your lovers? Poor little Lizzy! But do not be cast down. Such squeamish youths as cannot bear to be connected with a little absurdity are not worth a regret. Come, let me see the list of pitiful fellows who have been kept aloof by Lydia’s folly.”

I kind of want Lizzy to whip out the letter and scream, "TWO MEN! We lost Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy." She has written proof! Those are clearly not "pitiful fellows".

Also, his daughters have one path out of financial ruin, how could he care so little about Lydia's behaviour and its effect on the others?

#jane austen #pride and prejudice #elizabeth bennet #mr. Bennet

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3terna15unshin3 · 1 year ago

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Consumption

Este sees 'Consumption' in person

2259 words

warnings: !! 18+ !! smut, minors dni, public unprotected sex, dom!matty if u squint, filth in general

—

a/n: Heyyyyy nobody requested even anything similar to this but I had a vision and needed to fulfil it ok thank u love u enjoy

(I wrote an entire 15 chapter fic of this universe! Read it here if you want more Matty and Este😌)

—

Luckily, by the time the UK and Ireland leg of their tour came around, Este was able to work remotely and travel along with them. It was cold and gloomy—London pulling through with its regular dreariness—so she was happy to have at least a bit of a change of scenery.

Until now, she was forced to watch from afar, only seeing photos and videos of the North American shows back in autumn. But of course, Matty was completely open with her as the show as a whole came to fruition; its set design and artistic concepts always shared between the couple. So none of it (even the parts that were as jarring as watching footage of her boyfriend chowing down on raw meat) came as a surprise for Este. That was until she got to experience it in front of her own two eyes.

Brighton was the first show. 8th of January. Her feet were perched to the side of the stage, swaying happily to the familiar songs and watching Matty perform them with an inflated ego and sly smirk on his face.

She thought the persona was quite hot. The heat in her cheeks heightened every time he made cocky gestures and pranced around with purposeful pride. Este had already seen plenty of videos of ‘consumption’, and had her own fun with them; teasing Matty about how much the concept exposed him and how crazy it made the crowd go. They were feral for him. So was she, to be fair.

Seeing his bare chest heave up and down—too similarly to how Este easily made it move when they were alone together—made her go insane. Her eyes stung when she refused to blink, busy staring at Matty’s hand trailing over his crotch. Este wasn’t expecting it to have such a strong effect on her, assuming that either the thousands of people also watching him or the fairly profound purpose of the act would water down the sensuality of it. But fuck, it was hot. She could practically hear the sound of his moans in the back of her ear even though he was metres away.

That first night was difficult enough; having to stand and look as if she wasn’t hot and bothered by what went on in front of her eyes. Watching it over and over, night after night, served even harder.

So over half way through the leg, now in Glasgow, Este couldn’t help herself. She’d been particularly touchy during the day but that wasn’t all that unusual, so Matty still wasn’t expecting her to whisper “Come fuck me after consumption,” in his ear before he went on. She meant business. The sentence replayed in the back of his mind as he strummed at his guitar, internally begging the set to move faster so he could climb through the little telly and flip the place upside down to find Este.

When the time finally arrived and he plonked his bum on the sofa, Matty imagined it was her hand on his skin and slipping past the waistband of his pants. He even discretely gave his nipple a quick squeeze and whined at the sensation. It wasn’t very convincing, feeling the roughness of his hand and how it contrasted to how delicate hers were, but fantasizing about Este wasn’t anything new to him—so he had to snap himself out of it before his arousal began to show.

Matty shook his head and chuckled to himself as he did press up after press up. The power those short 5 words uttered by his girlfriend was unfathomable. She knew it would make him less focused and throw him off his game; but that’s why she did it, and he could tell. Este wanted the upper hand. He considered giving in to it—but today he wanted to toy with her. It was only fair if she was clearly trying to toy with him.

So, right as he stood up after crawling off stage, he grabbed George and the first stage manager in sight.

“Loop the Too Shy intro. I need it to play twice,” Matty instructed.

They looked as confused as ever. “What are you on about?” asked the drummer.

Matty glanced past George and caught sight of Este. Leaning against a random doorway and burning her gaze into his. He didn’t waste any time and bee-lined towards her.

“Just do it. And maybe a warning through my ears at 90 seconds out? Please? I owe you one!” He trailed off, eventually turning fully away from them and jogging to Este with desperation. Before he could leave completely, Matty remembered to grab the small pile of clothes that sat ready for him, taking them with.

Este grinned at the conversation she overheard and at the state of Matty, who suddenly yanked her hand to drag them both into the room she stood in front of. It seemed to be a storage room, cramped full of random stage equipment and dimly lit. He slammed the door behind them.

“You found me.” She commented.

Instead of responding, Matty pulled her in by the back of her neck and kissed her with an open mouth. His new outfit for when he had to re-enter the stage was discarded to the floor. She smiled into him, grabbing his hips so they were flush against hers. Her back thumped onto the back of the door, Matty holding her there as their mouths moved in sync with hungriness.

They broke apart to gasp for air. “The fuck are you doing asking me to fuck you right before I go on?” he intensely whispered, dipping his lips down to her neck. Este panted and clenched her thighs together.

“I didn’t ask you to fuck me, I told you to.”

He continued nipping at her skin, then shoved his leg between Este’s—the top of his thigh rubbing her clit through her pants. She moaned, reaching her hand to grip him over his pants.

Matty shook his head and removed her hand from his crotch. “Uh uh uh. You don’t get to touch me,” he scolded, hearing her giggle in response. “Think it’s funny? Making me have to try and not get hard in front of all those people?”

She nodded.

Warmth grew in Este’s stomach within seconds, already wet beneath her knickers. His thigh kept at it as their lips reconnected and their tongues licked into each other’s mouths, before he reached a hand into the front of her pants, using his fingers against her instead. She moaned loudly, making Matty clamp his other hand over her lips. Even the now muffled noise made blood rush to his cock.

“I bet you always get this wet when you watch me up there,” He rubbed circles on her clit at a dizzying speed.

“I do,” Este whispered behind his hand, choking her words out as she tried to hold in her moans. “There’s no time to faff around. Fuck me, baby, please—“

Matty abruptly turned her around with his arm still wrapped around her and hand still down her knickers. His swollen lips pressed to the side of her jaw.

“Beg for it, then.” he breathily called next to her ear.

Mouth slack and gasping now that Matty’s hand was no longer trapping it, Este’s eyes rolled back into her head as he increased the pressure on her clit and teased further south to her entrance. It was slick with wetness and she clenched with need, whining at how empty she was.

“Fuck me now, Matty. Please, I need more. I need you,”

“So fucking needy. Such a slut for me,” He saw her face twist with at his words. “Think you can take it?”

He bent her over and held her wrists behind her back. With his other hand, Matty took down her trousers—pulling her underwear to one side and revealing her dripping core.

“Yes, I can take it,” she panted, “Use me however you want, please,”

Este looked over her shoulder to see him then free his cock; so hard it looked painful. He gave himself a few pumps before sliding in at an annoyingly slow pace. She gasped at how he filled her up.

“Fuck,” groaned Matty, revelling at the tight feeling around him. “Always so tight.”

He pulled out almost all the way just to shove himself back in at the same speed.

“More, baby,” Este begged, beginning to lean back to meet his sluggish thrusts half way, desperate for a quicker release. Matty listened, suddenly pounding into her relentlessly. He still had her wrists in the grip of his left hand while his right steadied her hips. In complete control, like he wanted.

The new speed and the sound of his hips slapping against hers slipped Este deeper into the trance of pleasure she was buried in. She felt him deep inside of her, grazing all of the right places over and over. Mindlessly, Este clenched around him, craving every inch of his cock and wanting to feel even closer to him.

The action drew a low groan from Matty’s throat and encouraged him to mutter, “You’re perfect, E,” with passion. He stared down at the way he disappeared inside of her and snapped his hips even harder.

Their heads were so hazy that they couldn’t tell if there were minutes until Matty had to be back onstage or if they’d been fucking for far too long. And at that point, neither of them really cared. But the thrill of having only a few thin walls and a bit of stuffy space between the two of them and thousands of other people had them both not lasting very long. The door wasn’t even locked.

Matty finally set her arms free, pulling her upright and sitting her head in the crook of his neck and shoulder. His chest pressed against her back. One hand found itself wrapped around her throat while the other teased her clit again as he railed into her. Este cried out at the sudden pressure on her sensitive core and leaned her head over to bite on his neck, in attempts to silence herself.

“Keep going and you’ll make me come,” she spluttered through the euphoria.

His bottom lip sat pinned behind his teeth, eyes closed in pleasure. “Good girl.” whispered Matty. He was focused—chasing his high as his girl milked him—wanting the same for her.

Este’s legs began to quiver, knees almost buckling beneath her, but the rush of Matty’s fingers pressing firmly on either side of her throat pushed her over the edge. The ecstasy in her lower belly snapped and she leaned further back in his neck, whimpering his name as she came.

He wasn’t far behind her; only seconds going by before he struggled to sustain the pace and force he’d set for himself, feeling the edge of his climax. The slickness that grew within her cunt as she was coming felt unreal around him.

“Where do you want me, love?” Matty grunted, now holding most of Este’s body weight up with an arm across her lower stomach—overstimulated and in so much pleasure it was painful.

“Inside me. Come inside me,” she pleaded messily, peering over her shoulder at him again. A few pieces of his hair stuck to his forehead with the layer of sweat that built there. He breathed with an open mouth and stared back at her, completely fucked out and looking like sex itself.

He listened, thrusting one last time and shooting his cum far into her. Este moaned at the warmth she felt when it happened. “Shit,” Matty said with a shriek.

Their hot and heavy breaths fell into sync with one another as they attempted to catch them, Matty still buried inside her. She grabbed his jaw to turn it and sloppily tangle her lips in his.

And before he could even pull out, he heard the stage manager through his inears, followed by Too Shy’s instrumental.

“90 seconds. Matty stand by, please.”

They froze in panic for a second but quickly realised that stopping was the opposite of what needed to be done. So, he pulled out—though he really didn’t want to—Este hissing at the overload of sensation. She bent back over, knowing the sight of his seed dripping out of her would rile Matty back up.

It did. And he didn’t appreciate her teasing him when he had seconds to get himself stage-ready. Getting hard again would be extremely inconvenient, unfortunately, thought Matty, as he tucked himself back into his boxers and began stripping completely to get into his second outfit.

Watching his white cum flow out of Este did hypnotise him. So the only thought that popped into his foggy post-sex brain was to take his tongue and lick it up.

Este gasped and whimpered once more at the feeling, before Matty turned her around and tugged her jaw open. Then, he forcefully spit it—a combination of his saliva and both of their cum that he’d just cleaned up—onto her tongue.

“Swallow it.” he commanded. She followed his word. “We always taste so good together, don’t you think?”

Slightly stunned, Este nodded her head up and down to agree. He pecked her on the lips, all while doing up the final buttons on his shirt and shrugging on the suit jacket. Then, he slipped out of the door.

“Break a leg,” she joked before it shut behind him.

Matty rolled his eyes with a smile and Este heard his hurried footsteps disappear towards the sea of Scottish fans.

#tbsg #blurb #meste blurb #matty healy #the 1975 #matty healy fanfiction #matty healy x oc #the 1975 fanfiction #matty healy fic #smut #matty healy smut

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theladyofshalott1989 · 8 days ago

Text

Mum’s the Word 🤫

(Modern AU Sebastian Sallow x MC One-shot)

Summary: Twenty-four hours after his long-term relationship goes up in smoke—just in time for his thirtieth birthday—Sebastian reluctantly tags along with his twin sister to a mysterious locale to, allegedly, secure himself a new love interest. Shenanigans ensue.

Or: How many pop culture references can one writer cram into a story? (Spoiler: far more than she’s willing to admit, even to herself.)

Word Count: 4420

[ AO3 Link ]

Author's Note: Alexa, play "Fireball" by Pitbull. 🙃🙃🙃 (Oh, and happy early birthday to the Sebastian and Anne in my head canon💚)

“No wallowing in misery on our birthday,” Anne said, her voice crackling through his mobile. Service had always been spotty in Sebastian’s flat. Tonight was no exception.

Anne rang mere minutes ago, rudely interrupting Sebastian’s horror film marathon. He currently had the telly paused on the best celebrity Chris—Hemsworth, obviously—riding his dirt bike into an invisible wall, moments before plummeting to his death. Sebastian was quite chuffed with himself that he managed to pause on such a perfect scene, although he always felt a slight pang of disappointment in recalling that this would be the last moment of the film in which Hemsworth graced the screen.

But back to Anne.

He sighed. “You’re not the one who was broken up with the day before your birthday.”

Elizabeth and Sebastian had been together for five blessed years. Blessed in a physical sense. Perhaps not so much, uh, emotionally. Elizabeth apparently agreed and had been quite vocal yesterday about how much of her life he had wasted. No mention of his life being wasted too. Typical of her, really. She’d even stormed out of his life, quite literally slamming the door shut behind her, leaving all of her belongings behind in the process.

To be fair, Elizabeth didn’t have a lot of items at his flat; Sebastian didn’t appreciate clutter and she’d been rather materialistic. It wasn’t like they had lived together either. God forbid. That would have been a nightmare, for Elizabeth had a fondness for bobbleheads. There was a whole wall of them at her flat in Soho. At least five shelves worth! Sebastian avoided that wall like the plague, averting his gaze whenever he was forced to walk past, which was quite often, since that wall, unfortunately, led to her bedroom. The bobbleheads’ beady little eyes would nod at him menacingly, as if they didn’t approve of his cavorting with their Elizabeth. Well, they must be happy now. No more Sebastian.

Come to think of it, Elizabeth had always been annoyed that he teased her about her ridiculous collection. Shelves were meant for books, not horrifying knick-knacks! That was probably one of the many reasons why she broke up with him, if not the main reason, as ridiculous as that sounded. Not that he’d ever ask. Not that she’d ever talk to him again. That bridge was effectively burned forever.

“I never understood why you were with her for so long anyway,” Anne continued. Sebastian could hear shuffling on the other end of the line. She was likely decluttering as she chatted with him. Multi-tasking was something Anne did a lot. It was something they had in common.

Sebastian managed to refrain from saying aloud, “She was a good shag,” and instead just grunted noncommittally, popping a handful of popcorn in his mouth and chewing vigorously.

“Come on, Seb. Humor me? I really want to go out and do something.”

“Go out for a bite with Ominis then!”

“He’s held up at work. Something about an important deadline.” Sebastian could hear Anne’s pout through his mobile. Anne and Ominis were married last summer in a lovely—albeit a bit saccharine for Sebastian’s taste—ceremony on the beach in Brighton. They’d been together for ages. Sebastian didn’t know how Anne managed. As much as he loved his oldest friend, Ominis could be a bit of a buzzkill. He was an accountant, after all.

“Tough luck,” Sebastian said in reply, knowing that Anne would not be amused.

He waited for Anne to give up, even though it was probably in vain. Anne possessed a stubborn streak that rivaled his own. Meanwhile, he unpaused the film, keeping the sound muted. He had it memorized anyway. He gave Hemsworth one last long, lingering look of appreciation, and then he was diving down to his demise.

“What if I had an idea?” Anne asked, a mischievous lilt in her tone. Sebastian’s shoulders lifted, a spark of attention flickering in his gaze as he shifted forward, the worn cushions protesting softly beneath him. Anne certainly knew how to pique Sebastian’s interest. It was probably a twin thing.

“What sort of idea?” he asked, reaching for the clicker and pausing the film once more.

“Well, there’s someone I think you’d very much like to meet. And now that you’re single…”

“Oh?” Sebastian interrupted, raising an unruly eyebrow. “Please tell me she’s tall, blond, and athletic.”

Anne laughed. “That’s for me to know and you to find out.”

Of course. “Right,” Sebastian said. “And where, pray tell, will she be on Halloween? A party, I presume?”

“Not exactly.”

Sebastian squinted at the telly, then glanced down at himself—his rumpled shirt, a stain on his joggers, crumbs scattered across his lap. He looked so unkempt, almost pitiful. When had he become so pathetic?

Get a hold of yourself, Sebastian! You’re thirty now. Go out and do something fun, the older and wiser version of himself shouted above his lizard brain.

Sebastian brushed the crumbs off his shirt. Might as well give Anne’s plan a shot. “Fine. Where to?”

The address Anne texted him was a gym, of all places. Good thing she’d told him to wear casual clothing.

In typical fashion, Sebastian was early, so he leaned against the wall near the entrance, waiting for his twin sister to arrive, attempting to ooze suave energy on the off-chance that the young woman Anne wanted to introduce him to was here, or arriving soon.

But why a gym? And on their birthday? And why would this woman Anne wanted him to meet— whoever she bloody was—be at the gym on Halloween? Unless Anne had taken his request for someone athletic rather literally. A man could hope.

Sebastian admitted to himself he was intrigued. He scrolled on his iPhone absentmindedly as he surreptitiously inspected the room.

The gym was more crowded than he expected, but he didn’t observe any young women around his age. Not yet, at least. A group of rather matronly, older women stood off to the side of the room near a door that appeared to lead to a fitness studio. They were chattering away like a gaggle of geese, their heads bobbing back and forth, much like his ex-girlfriend’s bobbleheads. Damn them! Damn those bloody bobbleheads! Why couldn’t he get them out of his head? They were a downright nuisance.

“Happy birthday, Seb!” Anne to the rescue, thank the universe. She pulled him into a short but sweet embrace.

“Right back at ya, sis,” he replied as he fumbled about with his mobile, stuffing it in the pocket of his hoodie.

“Good, you’re in joggers,” Anne said, nodding approvingly. “You listened.” She smiled and winked.

“I do that sometimes.” He paused. “Now, where’s this cheeky minx you wanted to introduce me to?”

Anne, also in joggers, although hers were one half of a forest-green set—Anne could be a fashion icon when she put in the effort—rolled her eyes. “No wonder Elizabeth broke up with you,” she said.

Sebastian mock-gasped, plunging an invisible dagger into his heart. “Et tu, Brute!”

“Oh, spare me, Caesar.” She pulled her own mobile out of her purse, glanced at it briefly, then nodded as she peered over Sebastian’s shoulder. “Good, we’re right on time. The class should be starting soon.”

Sebastian groaned. “A class? You brought me to one of your exercise classes?”

Anne had been taking exercise classes for years, ever since she beat breast cancer. When Sebastian asked her why—it wasn’t like she needed them, the wisp of a woman that she was—she explained it away as something she enjoyed doing, as she’d never had the stamina when she was ill. Sebastian understood to a certain extent, but he also didn’t appreciate being part of her devious scheme, whatever it entailed.

Speaking of that…

“Are you trying to tell me something?” he asked, glancing down at his very slight paunch. Sebastian enjoyed a good pint or two at the local pub every other night or so, as most of his colleagues at the university did. It was often the highlight of his day. Who knew that being an English professor could be so tiresome?

“Never!” she said through a chuckle. “I promise I didn’t lie. There is someone I want to introduce you to. But a class or two would probably do you some good,” she added as she walked forward, grasping his hand and pulling him along.

“Okay, where is she?” Sebastian asked, shaking his hand forcefully to release himself from her surprisingly firm grip. He didn’t need his potential new girlfriend to see him holding hands with his sister, of all things.

But Anne didn’t reply as she’d been accosted by the throng of matriarchs at the entrance to the fitness studio.

Wait.

No.

“Anne…” Sebastian began.

“Oh, Anne! We’ve missed you! Where have you been?” The old ladies bowled over each other, pulling Anne into hug after endless hug.

“And who is this?” a woman with bottle-red hair inquired, reaching out for Sebastian. She smelled like she’d been rolling around in a bathtub full of potpourri. He flinched and backed away.

“This is my twin brother, Sebastian,” Anne said. “It’s our birthday today!” Sebastian grimaced, his cheeks growing hot.

“Happy birthday,” another woman with a shock of white hair said to his left, patting his shoulder. At least she smelled normal. Sebastian ducked to the side regardless. Why were these women so affectionate? He was a literal stranger to them! For crying out loud!

The doors opened, saving him from being forced to verbally acknowledge the women. They all shuffled through, Anne leading the pack. Sebastian dawdled behind, his tattered old trainers squeaking on the shiny wood floor.

“Anne,” he said, as he slunk behind her—to the very front row. Dammit, this was dire.

“Yes?” She didn’t look him in the eye. She was too busy stretching. Apparently.

“What class is this?” Sebastian asked hesitantly.

She opened her mouth to reply but was interrupted by a booming baritone. “Welcome, everyone, to Zumba! It looks like we have a new face tonight.” Oh no…

Sebastian snapped his head toward the sound of the man’s voice, only to instantly freeze in place.

Standing before him was the most beautiful man Sebastian had ever laid eyes on.

Wait, that couldn’t be right.

Sebastian shook his head.

The man was simply very aesthetically pleasing, that was all. His eyes were a captivating shade of golden-brown, his hair blond, long and wavy, pulled back in a low bun, and his smile… His smile was dazzling, white and radiant, catching the fluorescent light above his head like a flash of brilliance. He even noticed that the man had a dimple on the right side of his cheek, but not his left. But most importantly, while he wasn’t slim, he was fit. Very, very fit. Chris Hemsworth’s perfectly chiseled body briefly flitted across Sebastian’s mind. He shook his head—bloody again —to disperse it. What was wrong with him today?

Sebastian blinked back to attention.

“I’m Damien, your instructor,” the man said, addressing the whole group, but Sebastian could swear his eyes lingered on Sebastian for a bit longer than everyone else. “Is everyone ready to dance?”

No, Sebastian was not, in fact, ready to dance. Sebastian Sallow didn’t dance.

The instructor—Damien—adjusted his headset, then fiddled with a clicker he fished out of his pocket. The music began.

God, were they really going to warm up to Pitbull? Sebastian shuddered. He was in deep, deep trouble. What had Anne been thinking?

Well, this was complete and utter shite. No surprises there.

“If you’re having trouble following along, start with the feet!” Damien exclaimed, his eyes firmly fixed on Sebastian. “You don’t have to do the arms.”

Sebastian struggled to keep his composure, but it was rather difficult under the circumstances; his brain was fried and he was already sweating bullets. Why was it so hot in this damned room? Where were the bloody fans? And, he suddenly realized he left his Nalgene on the Tube. When this class was over he was going to murder Anne.

To make matters worse, they were only ten minutes in! And where was this young lady that Anne wanted to introduce him to? It would be just Sebastian’s luck that she decided not to come tonight and his birthday would be a total loss. What bollocks!

In his mental grumbling, Sebastian lost his bearings entirely. He stumbled right in the middle of his grapevine like a baby giraffe learning to walk and crashed into the woman to his right—Mrs. Potpourri-Explosion, with her blazing red hair and a figure that could only be described as 'huggably plump.'

She yelped but recovered quickly, following it up with a polite, “It’s alright, dearie,” not once losing her rhythm.

How were these little old ladies so graceful? It was beyond comprehension.

The song—Sebastian vaguely recognized it as merengue—soon ended. Damien, ever attentive, sprinted over to Sebastian. Sebastian braced himself.

“You’re doing great!” Damien called out, flashing a grin. Sebastian desperately wanted to respond, but he found himself speechless, completely overwhelmed by the sudden crisp scent of fresh grass. And was that a hint of mint? Good lord, Damien smelled positively divine.

Clearing his throat, Sebastian glanced down at his trainers. “Thanks, mate,” he mumbled, but Damien was already off, dashing back to the front of the class.

Anne snickered to Sebastian’s left, but he was too distracted to verbally acknowledge her. The music had begun again, this time Michael Jackson’s “Thriller.” A classic for Halloween.

Did the instructors choose the songs? Sebastian hoped not. Most of the music thus far had been, frankly, uninspired. But, to be fair, he didn’t think the women in the room would appreciate his taste in music. They’d more than likely complain that it was far too loud and bassy. Anne had never particularly been a fan of Kasabian, The Libertines, or even Arctic Monkeys for that matter. Her loss.

Oh no, they had moved on to salsa. No. Absolutely not.

Sebastian mimed a drinking gesture to Anne, insinuating that he was stepping out of the room for some water. She nodded as she executed what Damien called a ‘right turn’ without missing a beat. Sebastian felt a wave of relief at his decision to escape the room, even if only briefly.

Sebastian thought he had fled alone, but as he made his way to the drinking fountain, taking a quick sip of water, he was gobsmacked to find Mrs. Potpourri looming behind him. He stumbled to the side.

“Is this your first time attending a Zumba class?” she asked, leaning down to fill her water bottle. It was bright red, almost as vibrant as her hair.

Sebastian nodded hesitantly. “That obvious, huh?”

She smiled. “You really are doing great,” she said, repeating what Damien had said earlier in the class. “I’m Mrs. Evans, by the way. But you can call me Mary.”

Evans. Sebastian’s least favorite celebrity Chris. Of course. He somehow managed to hold back a chuckle as he drawled, “You’re far too kind.” “I do try,” she said, her eyes sparkling. Was Sebastian imagining it or did the corner of her lips tilt up ever so slightly? Was she… flirting with him?

No, absolutely not!

Sebastian pivoted sharply and hurried back into the fitness studio. Anne finished an impressively complex turn, then shot him a triumphant grin. “Back already?” she teased, a shit-eating smirk on her face.

“You’re a menace,” Sebastian muttered.

“I know I am," she shot back, "but what does that make you?”

“A fool, obviously,” Sebastian said through a sigh. “Why I ever thought I could trust you…"

Anne had the audacity to shush him! The cheek of it!

And then they were back to dancing to a Pitbull song. What would Mr. Worldwide think of his music being such a hit among the geriatrics? He'd probably be less than thrilled, though the cash flow might help dull the sting a bit…

Mrs. Potpourri—erm, Evans, that is—piped in, scattering his distracted thoughts. “Oh, this song’s my favorite,” she said, very loudly, as if she wanted everyone to hear. “Thank you, Damien!”

Damien tossed another one of his stunning smiles in their direction, his eyes snagging on Sebastian’s once more. Sebastian jerked backward, swallowing nervously, then promptly choked on his own saliva. He burst into a fit of coughing.

The next thing he knew Damien was beside him, thumping him on the back vigorously.

“Breathe, breathe,” he said calmly amid thump after embarrassing thump.

Sebastian attempted to get a word in edgewise but he was too busy literally choking. Bloody fucking hell.

“What’s his name?” he heard Damien ask Anne amidst his hacking. Anne stood beside him looking as if she might burst into laughter at any second. Yes, Sebastian was definitely going to murder her after class. That was decided.

“Sebastian,” she answered.

“Sebastian,” Damien practically crooned. His voice was rich, as if it were dripping with honey. “Sebastian, take a breath.”

Sebastian did as he was told. He took another.

“Good, good.”

Once again, his nose was swept up in a sharp tide of grass and mint. He could almost picture himself at a football match on Christmas Day. God, why did Damien smell so good?

“I’m alright,” Sebastian finally managed to eke out. His whole body felt like he had just been thrown into a blazing fire. He knew his freckled cheeks had utterly betrayed him.

Damien looked away, perhaps embarrassed for him. Or maybe to stifle a laugh. Sebastian hadn’t the foggiest idea.

“We only have a song or two left before cool-down,” Damien said. “You can sit them out if you’d like and wait for your… sister?” he finished as a question. Anne nodded at him in affirmation as Sebastian shook his head vehemently. He was doing that a lot today.

“No, I can do it,” he stated firmly. Damien narrowed his eyes. Sebastian noted it seemed to be more of an inquisitive stare than a challenge though. “I can do it,” he repeated, probably lamely, but whatever. There was no possible way he was going to give up now. Sebastian didn’t care if he passed out cold on the floor from asphyxiation. He was going to prove to this man—his two left feet be damned—that he could finish his class. That he could keep up with his minuscule sister, with these elderly women.

His determination gave him pause though. Why did he even care? Surely Damien wouldn’t give him a second thought after this class was over. Sebastian wouldn’t be back. Sebastian wouldn’t think about Damien ever again either… right? Dammit, he was lying to himself if he thought that statement was true.

For there was something about Damien.

Something in the graceful way he demonstrated the moves for the class, the deep rumble of his voice as he called out affirmations, and then, of course, there was his addictive scent.

Damien chose that very moment to release his hair from his low bun. Sebastian couldn’t look away. Cascades of golden blond hair shimmered in the harsh fluorescent lighting, bouncing coquettishly against the top of Damien’s shoulders as he finished a move. Sebastian released a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding.

Oh my god.

Oh my god, was he bisexual? Had thirty years of his life passed him by and he’d never even realized?

Surely not. Surely not! No… Damien was just very feminine. Right?

Sebastian would know if he were into men by thirty years old, wouldn’t he?

And then it hit him. Chris Hemsworth. Why did he go to the cinema five times to view The Cabin in the Woods in the first place? Chris Motherfucking Hemsworth. It wasn’t like the man was a BAFTA Award-winning actor. He was merely a sight for sore eyes. He was eye candy. Man candy.

God dammit! Sebastian was very, very bisexual. And he was having this revelation during the middle of a Zumba class, beside his sister, sandwiched between at least a dozen middle-aged women, on his thirtieth birthday. Bugger it all.

He gulped as the final song ended. He couldn’t stay for the cool-down. He needed to get out of this room. Now. Right now. He grabbed Anne by the shoulder and practically carried her out of the fitness studio as she shouted out in protest. Sebastian averted his gaze but managed to catch Damien’s eyes widening before he whipped around and exited the room, irascible twin sister in tow.

Once the door clicked shut behind them, and ensuring they were out of earshot of the gym rats, Sebastian set Anne back down on solid ground.

“What are you doing?” Anne hissed, her eyes blazing.

Why was she angry? It was Sebastian who should be angry! Which he was. Extremely!

“Why didn’t you say something?” he demanded, crossing his arms across his chest.

Anne glowered back at him. “What are you prattling on about?”

“The instructor! Damien!”

“What of him?”

Sebastian glared. “You know what I’m talking about.”

“Out with it, then. I want to hear you say it.”

It took Sebastian far too long to realize he was tapping his foot on the floor furiously. “You were going to introduce me to him!”

“By Jove, he’s got it!”

Sebastian released an exasperated sigh. “How did you even know I’d be interested in a man?”

Anne paused. She tilted her head at him curiously. Then, to Sebastian’s complete shock and annoyance, she started to laugh. Why was she laughing? Dammit!

“You didn’t know you were bi?” she said through a guffaw. Sebastian merely stared back at her, his cheeks growing hot. Again. Her face slackened. Her expression shifted to complete astonishment. “You didn’t know,” she repeated, this time more seriously. “I figured you knew. I mean, I am, so why wouldn’t you be?”

“What?” Sebastian stammered.

“Oh come off it, Sebastian. Don’t play coy—you knew I liked women too.”

“I most certainly did not!”

“Really? Even back when Ominis and I were on a break at school?”

Sebastian shook his head. “Oh. Well, erm…Poppy and I…” “I don’t want to know!” He clapped his hands to his ears. “Stop right there!”

“I’m stopping, I’m stopping!”

She raised an eyebrow. “Ominis is bi, too, you know.”

“Excuse me?”

“Why do you think he hates Hobhouse so much?”

Absolutely not. Sebastian took a step back. “Now I know you’re messing with me,” he tried, hoping he was correct.

She burst into laughter. “Okay, okay. You got me there. But he did tell me he kissed Garreth once.”

“No!”

“Yes.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Swear down!”

Sebastian brought a hand to his forehead and began to rub at it vigorously. “At this rate, I’m questioning everything—myself included.”

“Someone has to.”

He gave her a good shove. “Rude,” she complained, but Sebastian noted her tone was light and airy. “Well, what are you waiting for?”

Now it was Anne’s turn to cross her arms and tap her foot impatiently.

“What do you mean?” he asked, frowning.

She nodded toward the fitness studio door, which was now open. The crowd of middle-aged women were already streaming out. Well, it appeared class had (finally) ended. So why wasn’t Sebastian relieved?

“Go on, then—go get him, tiger!” Anne laughed, giving him a firm push.

Sebastian gulped. How exactly did one approach a man? He guessed he was about to find out.

He had barely stepped through the door when Damien practically materialized before him. Sebastian’s heart nearly leapt out of his chest.

“Thanks for coming today!” Damien said, grinning. “It was nice to see a male face in my class for once.” He was speaking so quickly that Sebastian could hardly keep up—and he completely missed the last bit. But Damien was now looking at him expectantly. Shit.

“Uh…what?” Sebastian said, rather dumbly.

Damien chuckled, toying with a loose strand of his long blond hair. “I asked if you’d come again,” he repeated, his eyes glinting with amusement.

“Hm?” Sebastian’s attention had drifted, far too entranced by the way Damien’s long, slender fingers teased through his hair. Sebastian wanted to be the one doing that.

Oh god, Damien had asked a question. Shit! Shit, shit, shit.

He snapped back to reality to find Damien smiling, eyebrows raised. “Will you be coming to my class again?”

“Oh.” Sebastian hesitated, unsure of what to say. He didn’t want to lie, but he also didn’t want to let Damien down.

Perhaps sensing his indecision, Damien filled the silence. “No pressure. I was just curious.”

“To be honest…I don’t think I’m cut out for Zumba.”

Damien’s smile faltered very slightly. It seemed as if he was trying to keep his expression as neutral as possible. “Fair enough,” he replied. “Well, thanks for coming, then.” He gave a polite nod and started to turn away.

“Wait!” Sebastian blurted out. He was bungling this entirely. Why was he like this?

Damien turned back around and searched Sebastian’s face.

“I… erm…could I maybe have your number?” he heard himself ask, barely believing it.

Damien’s eyebrows shot up, but then a carefree grin spread across his handsome face. All of Sebastian’s thoughts emptied at once as warmth flooded through him from head to toe—and then some. Most notably, a steady pool of it settled low in his belly, just above his waistband. He shifted his stance, trying to ignore the uncomfortable pressure as he waited, pulse thrumming, for Damien’s reply.

“I thought you’d never ask,” Damien said, pulling his mobile out of his pocket.

And just like that, Sebastian Sallow was stepping into new territory: showing interest in a man. On his thirtieth birthday, no less. Truly, the universe had a sense of humor. Did wonders never cease?

Sebastian sauntered out of the fitness studio, feeling rather chuffed with himself. He spotted Mrs. Evans by the door, likely lingering to thank Damien for the class—she struck him as the exceptionally polite type.

“He’s all yours now,” Sebastian said with a casual nod. Mrs. Evans just smiled back, an odd twinkle in her eye that almost looked… mischievous.

She raised a hand in farewell, then called out, “Ready to go, Damien?”

Huh? Did Damien know this woman outside of class?

Damien whipped off his headset and began gathering his things. “Coming, Mum!”

…Oh. Oh. Well. That explained that, then. Damien Evans. It figured.

#hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow x oc #hogwarts legacy mc #hogwarts legacy sebastian #hogwarts legacy oneshot #hogwarts legacy art #hogwarts legacy fanfic #hogwarts legacy fanfiction #hogwarts legacy modern au #anne sallow #hogwarts legacy anne sallow #crack fic #kinda?#I'd like to thank my Zumba class of the past three years for sparking the idea for this fic #they are the true MVPs #not that any of them are on Tumblr LMAO #OH GOD I HOPE THEY'RE NOT

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