#to tag this about this possibly being William taking steps to not be so insecure inadvertently

[ponds-of-ink]

I want to draw MXES observing Dr. Scraptrap having a crisis about his appearance, but I am so sleepy.

Like imagine a ‘younger’ MXES is training for his “job” in Ruin when he has to encounter that frazzled rabbit. And when they do meet, the poor doctor’s frantically scrounging for something to cover his face.

And for a moment, something strikes a cord within MXES. Maybe not an exact memory of feeling insecure (though he definitely got weirded out when he saw what he looked like for the first time), but definitely something that stirs up the closest thing to sympathy in his programming.

So when they do finally see face-to-face, MXES just.. stares. Like a kid focusing all their attention on a ladybug.

Dr. Scraptrap is understandably puzzled, but at least he can tell that this state isn’t out of malice.. Which is a lot better than what he was dreading.

…I dunno, I’m going to bed.

[extasiswings]

WIP Wednesday

Tagged by @eddiediass.  More from my post-6x13 fic, which is kicking my ass so you can have an extra-long snippet as a treat.

“You don’t know.” The thought slips out before Eddie can call it back.  “You’ve never told a partner what to do or asked for something specific because you don’t even know enough about what you like to ask, do you?”

Buck’s a terrible liar when he’s actually trying.  His face is too expressive, his tells too obvious—it’s the way he was fine bluffing during the poker game when it came to the actual cards, but when Chief Williams started implying that he was counting cards, he’d failed utterly at not giving everything away.

Eddie can see everything.  And it’s killing him.

“I’ve asked for things during sex before,” Buck insists weakly after a weighty pause.

Eddie shakes his head and pushes off the counter.  

“I don’t mean things like suck my dick or fuck me now,” he replies, and tries to ignore the hitch in Buck’s breathing, the way Buck’s eyes widen as he swallows hard and straightens in his chair. Tries and fails. “Nothing that’s basic dirty talk.  I mean…guiding someone to the sensitive spots that make you shiver and begging them to kiss them all…covering their hand with yours and showing them exactly how you want to be touched…whispering encouragement when something feels unexpectedly good…or…asking to be pinned, to have your hair pulled, to be…told what to do…”

Eddie’s voice gets rougher the longer he goes on, lower—Buck’s cheeks are flushed, even in the darkened kitchen, and Eddie takes step after step forward like he’s being pulled along on a string.  Buck’s eyes flare with heated curiosity, and Eddie—

He nearly knocks over his leftover water glass when he grabs it instead of allowing his hand to reach across to Buck’s cheek the way he wants.  The water does little to cool the embers sparking in his blood, but it does soothe the sudden dryness of his mouth.  

“Are you sharing examples from experience, or listing things you think I’d like?”  Buck asks, his own voice low and rough enough to make Eddie shiver.  It’s a marked shift, the anxiety and insecurity that have littered the conversation fleeing in the wake of a new energy—potential, possibility, curiosity.  Eddie wonders what Buck sees, wonders if his newly uncovered math skills have kicked in, have finally caught up and put together the variables that comprise the barely-concealed love and desire that Eddie feels like bleed from his pores every time he so much as glances in Buck’s direction.

Either. Both, he thinks, almost laughing when he recalls their first conversation about Buck’s “superpowers” and the way he had been grateful that at least Buck couldn’t read his mind.  

Tagging @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels @tripleaxeldiaz @evcndiaz and anyone else who wants to should consider themselves tagged :)

[spencers-renaissance]

tell me how to balance my coins

Summary: When Spencer falls down the stairs one morning he decides not to tell anyone, his insecurities about not being enough winning out. Too bad insecurities don't matter when they end up trekking through miles of barren land on a search and rescue mission, and his injuries finally become too much. The team knows exactly how to make it better.

Tags: hurt!spencer, whump, hurt/comfort, hiding medical issues, insecurity, angst with a happy ending, fluff, team as family TW: self-esteem issues

Pairing: GEN / Spencer Reid & Derek Morgan

Word Count: 3.2k

Masterlist // Read on AO3 // Bad Things Happen Bingo

Set in S1 but there's no Gideon because he didn't really fit the plot, so it's just the five other field agents here. This entire fic was inspired by this post by @i-write-whump so credit goes to them for the premise! Title from this poem by Zahraa Surtee <3

Maybe it’s embarrassment that stops him from telling the team. Spencer runs headfirst into dangerous situations every day, puts his life on the line repeatedly and escapes unscathed more often than not, but his nemesis this time is the single flight of stairs in his apartment building he descends each morning.

He’s later than he usually is, and already feeling a little flustered from both his toaster and coffee machine breaking, leaving him with a cup of instant coffee and an overripe banana from breakfast, which only makes the situation worse. As if lying sprawled out in a public stairwell wasn’t bad enough. He gingerly pulls himself up, catching a glimpse of a “Caution: Wet Floor” sign he somehow missed, and winces as pain floods his body.

His ankle is screaming at him, throbbing and burning, and for a moment Spencer has to close his eyes against the gut-wrenching pain of a twisted ankle flaring up his calf. A couple of thankfully undisturbed minutes later, the pain eases enough for him to open his eyes and inspect the damage. It’s already swelling slightly, and he’s certain he’ll be covered in bruises by tonight if the aching of his entire body is anything to go by.

For a brief moment he considers calling Derek or Penelope or someone else on his team; maybe even calling in sick, but he quickly pushes that thought away. It’s not embarrassment that stops him from telling the team. It’s a good cover story to keep him from addressing the real reason, but it isn’t the truth.

The truth is that the only time he ever feels valuable is when he’s contributing to a case. That cruel voice in the back of his head will waste no time in piping up, telling him how worthless he is, what a burden his friends see him as, how insignificant he is to the team if he doesn’t suck it up and head into work.

Fighting back the tears burning hot behind his eyes with ardent determination, he drags himself up by the stair handrail until he’s upright. His ribs ache and his ankle burns something fierce, but he compartmentalises it, breathing deeply and taking a few tentative steps, one at a time until he’s limping towards the train station.

The moment he walks into the bullpen, JJ grabs his elbow. “You’re just in time, Spence,” she says, marching towards the briefing room with a pace Spencer can’t quite keep up with. “We have a new case. Rural Kentucky.”

Everyone’s already seated at the round table, and no matter how much he tries to disguise his limp, putting far too much weight on his battered ankle, he can’t get it past a room full of profilers.

“Hey, pretty boy, you alright? You’re limping.” Derek’s tone is light, carrying the cadence of joking banter, but he can see the concern in his eyes, and that’s just unacceptable. He can’t have people worrying about him: he’s not worth their pitied looks or vapid attempts at comfort, especially not when they have a far more important case to be focusing on.

He slips into a seat, and manages to conceal a wince at the movement of his ankle swinging forward. “Oh, uh, I just stubbed my toe pretty hard on the way in.” It’s not convincing even to his own ears, but luckily it’s enough of a time-sensitive case for JJ to barrel on regardless, drawing everyone’s worried glances away from him and towards the board full of grizzly crime scene photos.

Even though he’s been on the team for close to three years now, he still feels like the new kid. Elle is newer than him, but she’s still far more confident in her place on the team than he is. He suspects that’s probably because someone like Elle doesn’t have trouble fitting in anywhere. It’s never been quite that easy for Spencer.

Pushing his insecurities aside like he always has to do in these meetings, he reads the case file thoroughly before offering his own contributions. The unsub is snatching young women from bars and clubs and holding them for weeks before leaving them to succumb to the elements in the rural countryside of Kentucky. With a missing woman and the expected deadline for the unsub dumping her fast approaching, they don’t waste any time in boarding the jet and flying the short way to West Kentucky.

It’s a short enough flight that there’s no time for personal conversation — no time for Derek (or anyone else for that matter) to confront him about his blatant lie and obvious injury — since they spend the whole journey discussing the case. Thankfully, throwing himself head first into theories and hypotheses keeps his mind off the pain a bit, but he can’t fully keep it from bothering him.

He’s just thankful that he has enough experience in disguising his true emotions that no-one’s attention is drawn to him by poorly hidden winces.

They dive straight into the investigation when they arrive at the sheriff’s station, everyone laser focused on finding Marissa Williams. By mid-afternoon, though, Spencer’s gritting his teeth as he forces himself to persevere through the pain despite it increasing incrementally every hour, and he curses himself for not being able to dedicate 100% of himself to the case. If he can’t help everyone find this woman, then what is he good for? His stomach twists at the thought.

“You gonna tell me what’s really going on, Spence?” Derek asks him as it approaches 4pm, cornering him at the coffee machine.

Spencer looks around as subtly as he can for an escape, but he quickly succumbs to his fate. “I’m fine, Derek,” he promises. It’s so far from the truth he wants to cry.

The concern in Derek’s eyes only intensifies at that. “Seriously? You’ve been quiet this whole case, I catch you wincing when you think no-one’s looking, and you’re still limping. A stubbed toe wouldn’t do that, kid, and you know it.”

He sighs, knowing the jig is up. “It’s nothing I can’t handle, Derek.” He’s not sure it’s the truth, but it’s close enough to it that it doesn’t bring burning tears to the backs of his eyes.

Derek’s about to say something when JJ calls out for him. They both turn to look at her, Spencer feeling relief flood his chest, while Derek’s expression quickly morphs into one of frustration, sighing heavily as he curls his hands into tight fists.

“This isn’t over,” he says, levelling him with a serious look before walking back over to JJ, leaving Spencer to stir his bitter coffee in peace. It definitely doesn’t make him want to cry.

They finally get a break in the case at nightfall, a call on the tip line combined with their profile leading them to a secluded wooded area down by a small river. Knowing there’s nothing more for them to do at the office, Hotch gathers them all up, insisting they join the search party to find the poor, beaten woman currently suffering exposure, awaiting their rescue.

Spencer’s heart sinks as everyone gathers their equipment, and he’s almost relieved when Derek speaks up.

“Reid can’t go,” he insists to Hotch, only barely in earshot of Spencer. If he doesn’t go out in the rescue party, then he’s still served his purpose hasn’t he? He helped with the profile that narrowed down the area she’s likely to be in, he worked the case until this point, he can rest and still be worth something. Right?

Besides, it’s not exactly like he can don the heavy walking boots everyone else is pulling on. If he goes out, he’ll have to wear the same loafers that have been squeezing his swelling joint all day, and that’s hardly going to work. Hotch will let him stay back, and for once, he’ll accept the rest he’s offered.

His hope is quickly dashed. “We need all the manpower we can get,” Hotch says, clearly distracted in the same way he has been throughout the entire case. Spencer likes his boss but he has a tendency to wear blinkers when on a job, not noticing anything that doesn’t pertain to the ultimate solution. “He’ll be fine.”

Derek sighs again, clearly frustrated.

“I’ll be fine,” he says as Derek comes over to sit with him, not sure who he’s trying to convince. His ankle is still burning in pain. The last time he checked it, it was bruised and swollen, tender to the touch. It’s nothing short of a nasty sprain.

“You stick close to me, Spencer. I mean it.”

He can’t help the small smile that crosses his face, genuine happiness warming his heart at the concerned protectiveness of his friend. “Sure, Derek,” he says softly.

The pleasant temperature of the mid-Spring day drops to almost freezing as the sun sets, the moon and stars taking over the clear night sky. Even Spencer’s thickest coat isn’t enough to keep him from practically vibrating with the force of his shivers as they trek across the miles of terrain, staying as quiet as possible to listen for anything that could indicate their victim’s whereabouts. They’re spread out a little, but for the most part they all walk reasonably close together, the beams of their torches criss-crossing as they fight their way through the windy countryside.

Thankfully, it’s only a couple of hours into the search and rescue mission that a call crackles over the radio, telling them that Marissa had been found, beaten and weak but alive. Spencer can’t even bring himself to feel any kind of victory or relief, nothing being able to penetrate the haze of pain he’s in. Everyone else chatters happily enough as they converge back together for his silence to go mostly unnoticed.

His obscurity doesn’t last long, though.

“Are you ever gonna tell us what happened to your foot, Spence?” JJ asks, raising an eyebrow at Spencer’s heavy limping and Derek’s worried hovering. By the second mile of their walk, Spencer had given up trying to hide the limp, instead focusing on gritting his teeth and breathing through the pain as it flares up his leg.

She’s clearly voicing what everyone else is thinking, judging by their worried expressions. Part of him wants to give in and tell the team, but the part that wants to continue to hide his embarrassment away, the part riddled with fear and insecurity wins out. He stubbornly shakes his head, closing his eyes tightly. In the kind of terrible timing so emblematic of the life of Spencer Reid, in the short second he has his eyes closed he manages to stumble into a small divot in the ground, and he trips, twisting his ankle all over again as he falls down.

His vision whites out, the pain suddenly all-consuming, punching nausea through his stomach and he can’t help the cry he lets escape as he lays helplessly in the grass.

“Spencer!”

Derek crouches next to him, laying a hand on his shoulder as he checks him over frantically, and Spencer can’t help but lean up into it, craving the kind of comfort he can only get from his best friend. Hotch joins them quickly as JJ and Elle stand close enough to offer support without crowding him.

“That’s it, Spencer,” Hotch says firmly, blinkers well and truly off by now, “you need to tell us what’s going on.”

As the blinding pain slowly fades into something minutely more bearable, Spencer forces his eyes open to face the team. “I fell down the stairs this morning,” he finally admits, sullen and teary. “Pretty sure I sprained my ankle.”

Hotch wastes no time in gently rolling his trouser leg up, exposing his ruined loafers and the bruised, swollen joint to the torches of his teammates. Derek audibly winces as he positions himself behind Spencer, supporting his back as his tired, aching body starts to collapse.

Hotch levels him with a stern glare after he finishes his tender inspection of his ankle. “Spencer, it was incredibly irresponsible to hide something like this. You not only put yourself in danger, but you put the rest of the team at risk, too—”

He doesn’t get any further in his lecture before the tears he’s been holding back all day, finally spill over and a dry, sudden sob, his bruised and aching rib cage heaving as he starts to unravel at the seams. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

Softening immediately, Hotch puts his leg down gently and shuffles closer, taking Spencer’s hand in his. “Hey, it’s okay, I’m sorry for yelling,” he says soothingly, watching as Spencer presses closer into Derek’s hold. “You’re not in trouble, I’m just worried about you, Spencer. Why didn’t you tell us you were hurt?”

He squeezes his eyes closed again: it’s as much dignity as he can hope for when his face is crumpling and he’s sobbing on the cold, hard ground as it nears midnight. “I just… I just wanted to be worth something.” It’s an admission he’ll regret later, he already knows that, but he’s so so tired and all he wants is the comfort that only his team can provide.

Derek pulls him into an even tighter hug before anyone can react, holding him against his chest fiercely while his hand plays gently with his hair. “Spencer, you are worth something whether you’re injured or fully intact, you hear me? We’d love you with a broken leg, with a bad case of the flu, if you quit the team tomorrow and decided to never work again. But most importantly, we love you now, kid. No matter what. Nothing can change that, alright?”

“He’s right, Spence,” JJ says softly, sinking to the ground along with Elle. “I know you think we only tolerate you because of your brain and what you bring to the table on a case, but you’re so much more than that. We love your nerdy rambles and your awkward waves and the way you love so openly and protectively, no matter how many times you’ve been hurt before. We love everything about you, Spencer.”

“Yeah, if you’re hurt, Reid, we wanna know,” Elle chimes in, sounding a little hesitant as the one who’s known him the shortest amount of time, but firm in what she’s saying nonetheless. “I know I haven’t been on the team that long but this is a group of people that watches out for one another, that supports each other, that builds everyone up leaving no person behind. That includes you, Spencer Reid, even when you don’t feel like it.”

“Everyone is right, Spencer,” Hotch says softly, still holding his cold and shaking hand protectively in his gloved one. “I’m just sad that you still prioritise your work over your own health. You are not this job. You are an incredibly talented and multi-faceted person that oftentimes needs a little TLC, and until you’re willing and able to do that for yourself, we’ll be here to do it for you, okay?”

Tears are streaming down his face as he nods, feeling warmer than he has all day despite the cold dark night they’ve found themselves in. The strangest part about it all is that he’s actually starting to believe them. It’s not like they haven’t all said similar things before, but hearing them all vehemently corroborating each other’s stories, hearing it all laid out in front of him as they promise him with earnest expressions that they’re telling the truth is doing something to shift the leaden weight of insecurity and low self-esteem that presses on his chest each and every day.

“Now, come on,” Derek says. “Let’s get back to base and I’ll go with you to the hospital to get you checked out, make sure it’s nothing more than a sprain.”

He shifts behind Spencer, using his already firm hold on his waist to help gently pull him up to a standing position, taking most of his weight as Spencer whimpers at the pain that swiftly reignites at the movement.

Derek turns around and bends at the knees slightly as Spencer leans on Hotch, before looking over his shoulder, his signature grin returning. “Hop on, pretty boy.”

“What— Derek! I’m way too heavy!”

Everyone immediately breaks out in amused laughter, even Hotch chuckling fondly.

Derek rolls his eyes. “Come on, Spencer, you’ve gotta weigh what, like, 140lbs? 150? You can’t exactly walk on that ankle anymore and it’s the only way we’re getting back without calling for a search and rescue team of our own.”

“Reid, I’m pretty sure I could give you a piggy-back ride,” Elle points out, raising her eyebrows. “Just let him carry you back.”

Let us take care of you is implicit enough in everyone’s words and expressions that it doesn’t really need to be said, but Spencer hears it anyway.

Hotch helps him up onto Derek’s back and they begin the long trek towards the search and rescue base, and Spencer’s never appreciated the easy banter they all share more. Hotch is visibly relaxed with the case solved and his youngest team member soon to be taken care of, so he joins in with the conversation, his light and happy expression that he only ever wears around his family or the team on rare days and nights off, replacing his focused frown.

Spencer clings on tightly to Derek and presses his face into the space between his neck and his shoulder, closing his eyes as he listens to the conversation, the vibration of Derek’s laugh and the shameless flirting between Elle and JJ taking his mind off the pain that throbs in his ankle with each step Derek takes.

When they finally get back to base, they all gather round the ambulance that’s been designated to take Spencer and Derek to the hospital.

JJ steps forward to give him a hug first. “Love you, Spence. Let us know what they say, okay?”

Hotch surprises him by stepping forward and wrapping him in a hug as well, forgoing the macho pats on the back for a short but close embrace that feels fatherly enough for tears to prick the back of Spencer’s eyes. “We all love you, Spencer. Remember that okay. And actually listen to what the doctors tell you. Morgan, you’re my eyes and ears.”

“Well now I want a hug, too,” Elle says dramatically, squeezing him in a tight embrace for just a moment before stepping back, lining up with JJ and Hotch to present a united front of people on his side.

“We’ll see you both in the morning,” Hotch says as the paramedic starts prepping for the journey, moving Spencer onto the gurney and rolling him in.

“Hope they don’t keep you too long!” JJ calls just as the doors close, making them both chuckle.

Derek takes his hand in both of his, staying out of the paramedic’s way as she quickly places a line of mild painkillers before sitting back, knowing that there’s not anything more she can do for Spencer until they get to the hospital.

Derek must see the anxious look on Spencer’s face, because he’s quick to reach a hand out and brush his cheek gently. “Hey, I’ll be with you the whole time. I’m not gonna leave you on your own, okay? You’ll be alright, pretty boy, you’re gonna be just fine. I promise.”

And on the flight home the next morning he realises that Derek’s promise was kept. He’s fitted out with a crutch and a temporary wrapping around his ankle, resting comfortably with his head in Derek’s lap while his foot sits elevated on a pile of cushions carefully built by JJ, surrounded by people who swear up and down that they love him while proving it to him in a thousand little ways, and he’s really not sure it gets any more alright than that.

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith @negativefouriq @makaylajadewrites @iamrenstark @hotchseyebrows @temily @jellejareau @reidology @spencerspecifics @bau-gremlin @tobias-hankel @garcias-bitch @oliverbrnch @physics-magic @sbeno22 @im-autistic-not-stupid (taglist form)

[fanfics-for-the-hockey-fan]

My Treasure - William Nylander

Request: Can you do one where you are pregnant with William nylanders baby and getting hate and he makes you feel better

Getting pregnant at 24 was definitely not a part of my 5 year post college plan. Then again falling in love wasn't one of my bullet points either. But when my period was over a week late I knew that everything was about to change. William was thrilled when he saw the bolded word on the pregnancy test, immediately wanting to tell anyone he could. I was a little more hesitant to share the news.

I knew that I wanted children someday and those feelings intensified once my relationship with William became serious, I just figured we would be married and I would be a little more secure in my teaching job before we would add a baby to the mix. We told our families first and they were all excited and happy for us, same with friends and teammates. The real problem came when we started to share the news with the rest of the world. On William's social media everyone was happy for us and wishing us well, but mine is where all of the hate went.

She probably got knocked up so he couldn't leave her.

Hopefully you don't gain too much baby weight, you could already stand to lose a little.

You're not even pregnant with his kid I bet, just went to the guy with the biggest paycheck.

I did my best to delete the comments as soon as I saw them, hiding them from William so he wouldn’t get upset. Some people didn't get the hint after the first deleted comment and I would end up blocking them. Two weeks after announcing our pregnancy the nasty comments were outweighing the nice ones of my post. My pregnancy hormones went crazy one day when my pants didn't fit for the first time of the pregnancy and William was away on a road trip until the morning.

I canceled my plans to go get dinner with some friends and instead had a pity party in some of William's clothes with ice cream and reading through all the horrible things that were being said about me.

I can't believe he is still with her, she is not pretty enough for him.

Fat cow

You are going to ruin his career with the child.

I cried myself to sleep on the couch after midnight and didn't wake up until someone was brushing some hair out of my face. Slowly opening my eyes I saw a concerned William kneeling on the floor in front of me. "Ellie, what’s wrong? Were you crying?" I sat up, making room for William next to me before he pulled me into his lap. "Your friends texted me last night and told me you skipped on going to dinner with them. Is everything okay? Is the baby okay?"

"The baby is fine, I just couldn't find anything that fit comfortably with the bump. I had a pity party with ice cream and must have fallen asleep." Everything I said was true, I just left out one major thing.

"I'm sorry babe, but can I finally buy you some new maternity clothes? Please." He gave me puppy dog eyes as he begged, causing me to laugh and turn to face him more.

"You love shopping more than I do."

"Is that a yes? I'm taking that as a yes. Go get ready, shopping might take all day." With that he was carrying me down the hall, laughing the entire way. When he finally set me down I managed to find a t-shirt dress that wasn't too uncomfortable and proceeded to get ready.

***

After a full day of shopping William took me out to dinner at our favorite Spanish restaurant. I excused myself after we ordered a bunch of small plates to share to run to the bathroom and when I got back William was standing at the table with a large plastic bag and shaking hands with the owner. "What's going on?" 

"I thought you might be more comfortable if we went home and ate. I've kept you busy most of the day so I know your feet must be bothering you." His tone was off but I brushed it off as we headed out. The drive home was a tense silence without even the radio playing.

I didn't say anything until we were in the apartment and William started slamming cabinet doors as he got plates. "What's wrong?"

"I just don't get why people spend so much time trying to make other people down! Like, what does it do for them?" He had a fire in his eyes I had only ever seen on the ice, and I wasn't sure what was causing it.

"I'm going to some more context here. Did something happen at the restaurant?"

"Before we left the last store I took a couple of pictures for our shopping day and posted them to Instagram. I thought it was no big deal, just sharing what I was up to on a day off. And then when you were in the bathroom your phone started buzzing like crazy so I thought someone was trying to call you. But all of your notifications were for Instagram, and I know I shouldn't have opened the app on your phone but I thought maybe it was your girlfriends' group chat and Sophie finally got engaged." I let out a small chuckle at that, we basically were taking bets on when her and her high school sweetheart would finally take the next step.

"I'm guessing that isn't what you saw." I knew what he was going to say next but I was hoping with every fiber of my being that I was wrong.

"No, I saw the worst of humanity in your DMs. I just- how can people be so cruel?" William slumped into the bar stool next to me at the island as I reached for my phone having to see what was sent to me now. "Ellie…" I ignored his worried warning as I opened up the app, going to my DMs.

Fat cow, you only got pregnant so that you could lock in some who is far too good for you. I hope he sees he could do so much better and kicks you out before that baby ruins his career and life!

So you are just using him for his money. I bet the baby isn’t even his, probably a teammate who makes less. Whore!

Bitch, why are you even with Willy? He is a literal hockey god and from what i can tell you are just some stupid high school math teacher. He can do so much better than you. 

There were over 50 messages just like those, all sent within the last hour. I didn't even dare look at the comments on my latest post, even though it was a few days old the braver trolls put their nasty messages there for the whole world to see.

"How long has this been happening?" I had hopped off my stool, going to plate up the food we brought home and trying to avoid the conversation I knew we needed to have. "Ellie… Please talk to me. How long?"

"Honestly, since we started posting that we were dating. It's gotten worse since we posted that we are gonna be parents."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because part of me thought that if I just deleted the messages and comments that it wasn't real. That if I was the only one who knew that I could just pretend that it was all in my head. Then there is that stupid voice in my head that likes to play up my insecurities, that made me feel like if you saw what people were sending me that you would believe it. And I know that thinking that is stupid and unrealistic but it can sometimes be the loudest thing in there." William also got off his stool, coming to stand right in front of me. He kissed my forehead before cupping my cheeks and holding eye contact.

"Min skatt, never feel like you have to hide this from me. You are the one I am in love with and want to spend the rest of my life with. You are the only one that can make me smile and laugh when I am in a bad mood after a game. You are the only one I see myself growing old, and possibly bald with." I let out a gasp at the word bald, he was so protective about his hair.

"See, the rational part of me knows all that."

"Well, let me make it clear to every part of you. I love you with every fiber of my being and as soon as I meet with your father next week to ask for his blessing, I will be asking you to marry me."

"Will…"

"But I am going to need you to act surprised when I ask." That got a small chuckle out of me. 

"I'll do my best." William's stomach growled then, making both laugh. "Let's eat before your stomach starts communicating with us again." William just nods, a thoughtful look on his face that I'm sure would cause problems later but right now I just wanted to live in the happy moment.

After reheating the food and settling at the kitchen island to eat, I went through and deleted all the DMs and comments. I barely registered what they said as I deleted. What I didn't know was Will was looking at the comments as I deleted before pulling out his own phone. It was only when my phone buzzed with another notification that I found out what he was doing. 

@williamnylander tagged you in a post

The post was two pictures side by side; the first was from our first date at a Christmas market, all bundled up and snuggled into each other as we took the photo in a mirror. The other picture was a selfie he took of us at my last doctor's appointment for the pregnancy, both of us were all smiles as I sat on the exam table with a picture of the sonogram on the screen behind us.

Two pictures of the love of my life. One from our first date, where I was a clutz and spilt hot chocolate all over her light grey coat and she still agreed to a second date. The other from a few weeks ago when we got another look at our baby. 

I can say without any doubt that having Ellie in my life has only made it better. She has become my sounding board for when I'm frustrated, my motivation to score more goals, and my ray of sunshine on any cloudy day. 

I knew from that first date that Ellie was the one for me, no one can tell me otherwise. And now she is carrying our first child. My heart continues to grow and fall in love with this amazing, kind, dedicated, caring, loving, and perfect woman each day.

I am so lucky to spend time with you each day and anyone who says otherwise is wrong and jealous of what we have.

Min skat, I am so excited to watch our family grow and experience the joys and challenges of parenthood with you. Ellie I love you and can't wait to see where we go next. 

Together.

The tears started flowing before I even read the caption, the pictures enough with my pregnancy hormones. But the words William managed to write push me over the edge, I was crying at the love he put into the words but also laughing at the not so subtle 'fuck you' to all the nasty people who sent you messages.

"Did I overstep? I don’t want to embarrass you."

"It's perfect. You're perfect. I love you."

"I love you too, and I plan on showing you that everyday. Even if it is something as simple as an Instagram post."

"It's not just the post, it's that you are saying to all the people who see your pictures and then come trash talk to me that you know about them. And that will probably stop some of them from doing it again. And anyone who doesn't get the message gets blocked."

"Good. Now, let go watch some TV and cuddle." Nodding grabbing my plate of food, following William to the couch before curling into his side.

As William pulled up the next episode of a show we were binging, I thought of something. "You never have told me what 'min skat' means."

"It means 'my treasure'. And it reminds me how lucky I am every day to have you in my life."

[jaimehqs]

Did you see the moving van outside? It looks like there is a new resident moving in. There’s a new name on the resident directory and it’s JAMES ‘JAIME’ CARMICHAEL. They are a 34 year old PEDIATRIC NEUROSURGEON (CURRENTLY IN FELLOWSHIP) and they seem quite cool. Well, they come across as someone who is COMPASSIONATE, RECLUSIVE & DEMURE but they can also be VERBOSE, WORKAHOLIC & STUBBORN.

TRIGGERS

as a disclaimer, below you will find triggering content, chief among them is CHILD NEGLECT and MENTIONS OF WORKING IN A HOSPITAL. my overall trigger warning tag to blacklist which will be used on ALL of my tw posts will be: hey don't look at this, but i will be tagging specific tags too.

                 PSA: if you’re interested, please check out my CONNECTIONS page !

BASIC INFORMATION

FULL NAME: james alexander malcolm carmichael

NICKNAME(S): doesn’t particularly mind his birth name, but at times people have often called him jaime.

BIRTH DATE: september 25, 1986

AGE: thirty-four

ZODIAC: libra

GENDER: cismale

PRONOUNS: he/him

ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: panromantic

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: demisexual (  it isn’t so much so that cris is completely disinterested in sex (he’s got a perfectly good libido, thank you very much), he just doesn’t find himself sexually attracted to people based on physical appearance or initial impressions. instead he finds personality, intellect, and existing emotional attachment considerably more compelling )

NATIONALITY: british

ETHNICITY: english, dutch-german jewish

OCCUPATION: pediatric neurosurgeon ( currently in his fellowship program )

POSTIVE TRAITS: independent, versatile, adaptable, curious, inquisitive, intelligent, divergent thinker, anti-authoritarian, self-actualizer, flexible, original, ambitious, charismatic, creative, loyal, thoughtful, warm-hearted, respectable, compassionate

NEGATIVE TRAITS: stubborn, unconventional, uncooperative, assertive, cynical, temperamental, withdrawn, restless, insecure, jealous, intolerant, naïve, impatient

BACKGROUND

BIRTH PLACE: england, united kingdom

HOMETOWN: oxford, england

EDUCATION LEVEL: went to university of oxford and majored in human physiology, went to medical school at ucl for 4 years, did residency for 7 years, and now is currently in last few months of pediatric neurosurgeon fellowship program

FATHER: william carmichael

MOTHER: diana carmichael

SIBLING(S): two older brothers and one older sister: nathaniel, matthew, and sarah

CHILDREN: none

PET(S): female ragdoll call named ginsberg ( yes, she’s named after allen ginsberg )

OTHER IMPORTANT RELATIVES: cecelia and grant ( grandparents on mom’s side )

PREVIOUS RELATIONSHIPS: 2 serious romantic relationships in the past

BACKSTORY

— TRIGGER WARNING BEGINS —

- when someone hears the name carmichael, they automatically think of words like prestigious, wealthy, and perfect. and who wouldn’t? with the father being a lawyer and mother owning her own real estate business, you had to think like that. in the public eye the carmichael family was flawless. everyone wanted what they had. jaime carmichael, was born into a world where perfection was of the utmost importance. the carmichael family is one of those prestigious families that has always been full of wealthy and high-class snobs, and jaime’s parents were no exception. he grew up learning how to be charming and how to be well behaved. jaime’s childhood years consisted of him sitting restlessly at various fancy parties and dinners, while his mother kept him from all the fancy treats so that he would grow up to be fit and strong. jaime’s parents were always cold and emotionally isolated from him, only after a perfect son to show off to the world. 

- as a young, restless little child, jaime sought escape from his shallow, chilly life in the form of a friend. his friend taught him that there was such a thing as warmth and friendliness, told him lots of stories of greek mythology, and he learned that his parents had been lying about “tactless individuals” being horrible people. however, when his father found out about his associations with his friend, within a week, the boy mysteriously disappeared. since then, jaime kept all his unapproved-of friends to himself except from his grandparents on his mom's side who loved him unconditionally and were his best friends.

— TRIGGER WARNING ENDS —

 - jaime is the youngest child of the 4 carmichael children & although there are age gaps between him and his siblings he doesn’t feel as though he’s the stereotypical ‘forgotten child’. this reason is solely base off the fact he typically makes himself scarce anyway to go off to do his own thing lmfao. 

- for most of his adolescents up until adulthood, jaime always has had a rather tranquil personality. he never was one to act on emotion or impulsiveness, which meant most of his time he was seen in the his father's den reading about art history, helping his mother around, etc instead of learning the family business like his other siblings. it never personally interested him, so he never thought to pay much attention.

 - because of his serene behavior, also came the fact that he’s mostly reclusive and demure, too. one would think being of carmichael blood would mean one would act diplomatic in all situations, but not for jaime. when given the chance, he will most likely be in the back listening rather than participating unless addressed, making him a great observer of his surroundings because of this skill. he prides himself on being a great listener in important situations even if people may believe he’s not particularly interested. 

- a lot of people have come to believe over the years that because of his reclusive personality, he must be unapproachable.

 - which he would clearly tell anyone that rumor is further from the truth. it’s not that he’s unapproachable, per se, it’s more of the fact he doesn’t typically go up to people to spark conversation unless it’s for work or art related means. otherwise, his conversational skills are subpar at best and he doesn’t mind much.

 - as unfortunate as people’s misconceptions are when people do have the courage to approach him, they’re always surprised he’s rather civil, zen, and all around friendly and not at all like the rumors make him out to be. he always has to laugh at those kinds of things, of course. 

- but besides that, he’s also witty and sarcastic. he likes to crack jokes and puns ever so often, even though he can have pretty dry humor at times. his sarcastic remarks are never meant to be harsh, but because of his dry humor undertones, he can sometimes come off rather offensive.

 - although jaime has patience, he’s still a carmichael through and through, which he will not let anyone forget. he is unafraid to stand up for himself when he feels he’s in the right–or at least, attempt to do so. and although he strives to contain his zen aura, he can fall into fits of frustration and annoyance quite often when his family are involved ( which happens to be quite often ). 

- jaime doesn’t care to raise his voice or scream his head off when he’s upset, because frankly, he doesn’t see that as a reason to make his point come across effectively. but when he does become upset, his silence speaks louder than any person’s words could muster. it’s actually quite scary how the atmosphere around him drastically changes when he becomes angry. in simple terms, he’s somewhat like a praying mantis in the ways he becomes very still & silent. one look can be a 1,000 words unsaid. if he’s upset at you, his silence will cut deeper than anything. 

- importantly, jaime’s romantic sexuality is panromantic, meaning he would pursue both sexes and beyond romantically. when it comes to developing a far more intimate relationship, however, jaime is demisexual. meaning it is not so much so that he is completely disinterested in sex ( he’s got a perfectly good libido, thank you very much ), he just doesn’t find himself sexually attracted to people based on physical appearance or initial impressions. instead he finds personality, intellect, and existing emotional attachment considerably more compelling.

 - although he often makes himself scarce when it comes to familial ties, jaime is fiercely protective and loyal to his family. no one will ever come between him and his family. 

- he was born and raised in oxford, england. 

- when he graduated from secondary school, he pursued a higher education by going to university of oxford. in the beginning, he wasn’t sure what he wanted to major in. the possibilities were endless, of course, but he wanted to pursue something he loved and also make a decent living on his own two feet when he graduated. at first, he thought he would be interested in something to do with the arts, but that dream died rather quickly when he rationalized how he didn’t want to make his passion for art into a full-time job that he would come to quickly hate in a few years. so, after some thought, he weighed his options and fell into step with human physiology. he always believed he had an eye for helping people and it was also a perfect career to fall into when it came to making a really great income. from there he studied his ass off by finishing university in 4 years, went to med school at ucl medical school, did his residency in 7 years, and is currently in his last few months of his pediatric neurosurgeon fellowship program. 

- to put it plan and simple jaime is an art ho. jaime always loved anything artistic. even when he was little, he would go around with his disposable camera and take pictures of everything and then take to paper to draw the things he had taken pictures of as well. 

- he’s like a hippie dippy child of the universe. no joke. no seriously, his place at home is full of sensual shit and art. it’s getting out of hand and somebody needs to stop him soon. 

- he strongly believes that art is an umbrella term that relates to expressing oneself ( not just through photography and painting ) and that everyone has the freedom to express themselves however they please. because of his beliefs, he chooses to break gender roles like bread and wears whatever the fuck he wants because yolo. 

- his appearance pretty much represents his hippie dippy lifestyle with him wearing all sorts of cute hipster shit. he’s clothes are v flow-y but don’t let that fool you. he doesn’t miss the opportunity to represent his upper-middle class within his style, so he does dress to impress, let me tell you ( he’s a fashion ho too ). his hair color changes sometimes too depending on his mood but it’s generally never too eccentric.

5 RANDOM FACTS

1. to put it plan and simple jaime is an art ho. jaime always loved anything artistic. even when he was little, he would go around with his disposable camera and take pictures of everything and then take to paper to draw of all the things he had taken pictures of as well.

2. he’s like a hippie dippy child of the universe. no joke. no seriously, his place at home is full of sensual shit and art. it’s getting out of hand and somebody needs stop him soon. he strongly believes that art is an umbrella term that relates to expressing of oneself ( not just through photography and painting ) and that everyone has the freedom to express themselves however they please. because of his beliefs, he chooses to break gender roles like bread and wears whatever the fuck he wants because yolo.

3. has a female ragroll cat named ginsberg. he named her after allen ginsberg because he’s obsessed with the dead poets society and sometimes deems himself as a member.

4. sometimes when he’s nervous, he will tap his leg pretty quickly.

5. jaime is never one to get drunk ever. he’s usually the one to always babysit the drunk ones ( he’s the honorary dad friend ), but he thought one day he would have a little solo party in his apartment on the one saturday night he had off and watch the lizzie mcguire movie for nostalgia purposes. long story short, he eventually ended up drunk on wine and recorded a whole music video of myself dancing to the ‘what dreams are made of’ song. let’s just say that video recording will never see the light of day.

OCCUPATION & INCOME

PRIMARY SOURCE OF INCOME: being a pediatric neurosurgeon.

SECONDARY SOURCE OF INCOME: when he has the time, he’ll usually do photography and/or art commissions. but it’s mostly only as a hobby and when he feels like it.

CONTENT WITH THEIR JOB (OR LACK THERE OF)?: it’s a tiring job, but well worth it.

PAST JOB(S): during high school, he used to help his mom with her real estate business by handing out flyers and during med school, he would work as a tutor.

SPENDING HABITS: mostly he spends money on his hobbies such as photography and art supplies. he also spends spoiling his cat, too. if he’s really feeling like a ‘treat yo self’ moment, he’ll splurge on a designer outfit or a shit ton of food.

MOST VALUABLE POSSESSION: when he was about 10 years old, his grandmother gifted him a book on the history of art because she knew he had a passion for it. it’s a bit tattered and dog-eared but it’s well loved when it comes to looking for inspiration.

SKILLS & ABILITIES

TALENTS: painting, being ambidextrous, somehow waking up at the ass crack of dawn every morning.

LANGUAGE(S) SPOKEN: english, french, and a bit of korean.

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE & CHARACTERISTICS

FACE CLAIM: ben barnes

EYE COLOR: deep brown. his eyes are as hickory as rich as the earth’s soil; stained with the color of hot chocolate on a cold winter night that wraps around you like a blanket; engulfs you in its warmth and makes you feel at home.

HAIR COLOR: warm brown. his hair is a lovely whisky, the color of fallen leaves browned and sleek with the first rain of autumn.

HAIR TYPE/STYLE: thick, full, and silky to the touch. shaved and shortened on the sides. primarily put into a curly contemporary quiff. sometimes grows out his hair to shoulder length and then puts it into a bun.

GLASSES/CONTACTS?: wears contacts and glasses.

DOMINANT HAND: technically both, but uses the right more.

HEIGHT: between 5′10-5′11.

EXERCISE HABITS: goes for a 2 hour run/jog every saturday morning, but let’s be real, he doesn’t exercise much lmao.

TATTOOS: currently doesn’t have any, but wants to get one someday.

PEIRCINGS: as a rebellious teenager, he once got his tongue pierced on a dare ( long story ), but ended up liking the look of it anyway ( he doesn’t wear it any longer but will sport it out once in while just for shock value ). he also has industrial piercing on his right ear and both lobes pierced.

MARKS/SCARS: probably? but nothing too big or noticeable.

NOTABLE FEATURES: has particularly long eyelashes.

USUAL EXPRESSION: neutral??? 

CLOTHING STYLE: light and flowy high fashion displayed throughout an extensive wardrobe, mixed with dark and elegant taste. commonly paired with rings of all sorts and simple necklaces.

JEWELRY: varies rings and necklaces.

ALLERGIES: none

DIET: predominately pescatarian.

PHYSICAL AILMENTS: none

PSYCHOLOGY

MORAL ALIGNMENT: true neutral and occasionally teetering on chaotic good.

TEMPERAMENT: delicate and unfaltering, never without a sense of poise. posture tall, a prominent feline sway in his walk – every move is calculated. appears very energetic and optimistic when first meeting, but has a very apollonian vibe once you get to know him well. very much of a flower child, as you will. he expresses his tranquility in his persona and actions.

MENTAL CONDITIONS/DISORDERS: generalized anxiety disorder.

OBSESSION(S): his cat, food, binge watching soap operas and sci-fi shows, baby yoda aka grogu, sleeping when he can.

COMPULSION(S): buying too much art supplies and home décor.

PHOBIA(S): coulrophobia ( fear of clowns ).

ADDICTION(S): none that he’s aware of.

DRUG USE: smoked weed once and thought he was gonna die. moral of the story, he never touched a drug again.

ALCOHOL USE: social drinker

MANNERISMS

SPEECH STYLE: can range from intimate, formal, to casual.

ACCENT: british

QUIRKS: refuses to hurt any animal, including insects, fights for human rights, belongs to a fan club, enjoys jokes with puns, has an obsession with a particular TV show, series, film, or franchise, gardens, is always reading, paints, takes pictures of everything, practices calligraphy, must drink coffee or tea to “wake up”, is “organized chaos”, loves to hug, taps foot when bored or nervous, sleeps during the day, always answers a question with a question, always answers a question with a question, goes off on tangents, is extremely sarcastic, 

HOBBIES: photography, painting, anything art related.

DO THEY CURSE OFTEN?: like a motherfucking sailor.

FAVOURITES

ACTIVITY: anything art related.

ANIMAL: cats, red pandas, ferrets.

BEVERAGE: tea or coffee.

BOOK: and then there was none by agatha christie

COLOR: blacks, greys, purples, mustard yellow.

DESIGNER: balenciaga and dior

FOOD: salmon or tilapia

FLOWER: sunflowers

HOLIDAY: halloween

MODE OF TRANSPORTATION: train or car

SCENT: vanilla or lavender

WEATHER: fall type atmosphere

[aggresivelyfriendly]

A Premonition of Love-Chapter 10

Hi Babes! That week long hiatus did me good, I hope the wait was ok for you, lol. Here is the real chapter 10. It’s a special day, and in a moment I’ll share my SOTT memory as @emulateharry tagged me to! thank you so much for the beta, Char! Thank you @bleedinglove4h and @dirtystyles for everything, for a year!

Thank you to everyone still with us, we are nearing the end of our little happy story! Mwah- Enjoy!

Chapter 10-Isshokenmai

“God dammit!" Ada cursed under her breath and hoped Harry didn't hear it.

It's not exactly that the words would indicate he had won. He knew that she had been stressed, all caps, since they came back from Kyushu. He wanted to help her alleviate that stress in his very Harry ways. Solicitous and thoughtful, full of intent, his ways always were. Like he'd relieved her again and again while they were filming on the island location. But that was a different kind of pressure.

She may have been lightly stressed at the Onsen, but production went well, and Harry had her feeling very relaxed. Repeatedly. He'd been trying to recapture her languid openness since they got back to Tokyo.

It had been fleeting, situational and geographical.

She'd made it back to Tokyo and immediately started having trouble with her lighting union.  Then there was a flu going through the catering peeps which was a nightmare. Ada delegated, but as the boss at the top, all of it wound up on her plate a some point, or at least the back of her mind.

It was all slowing them down, and now more that ever she felt like they could have a nouveau classic on their hands. However, the Elvis scene seemed intrinsic to that distinction. Ada had a rewrite to include it all ready to film. But they had to make up the time they'd lost to when Harry was more Babe Ruth than Ted Williams; some great takes, but lots of strikeouts to get to them. Now he was giving her frequent doubles and triples, occasional grand slams, on and off set. It was not enough though, they were still behind. The sickness and the Union issues where making her pissy.

Currently, Harry was in his scene, and he was doing well. He'd loaded the bases for sure, but she needed a triple so they could move on.  When he was pressured he got anxious and she was too anxious to give him the feedback and patience he needed. She was a shitty base coach right now.

The first several scenes had homes smoothly, bits of dialogue laid flat and well. They'd been having trouble for the last hour though.

"Ada, Ms. Scott." Well, Harry hadn't called her that, in public, before. "Can we step off set and chat? I'm having trouble here." He gestured by the trailers and she sighed and got up, followed him to the more secluded area.

"What's up Harry? You're doing fine. Let's get it done." She was impatient and had one foot pointed toward where he stood politely, and one back to the scene they were working on.

"I know I'm doing fine." He gave her a look. "You aren't. You're vibrating, and not like last night from the lelo." She didn't laugh at his vibrator call back. "What's up Ada?" He put his hand on her shoulder, the only comforting touch she would accept, though maybe a step too far, on set.

"Nothing. I'm fine!" She asserted. He was quiet. She sighed. "I'm fine, really, it's alright. We just have so much to finish. And well, I'm sick of bitching about it. The only way out is through. So let's go get it done." She started to go and he caught her hand. "C'mon Harry." She shook him off. He was so sweet, that face, but not discreet. And they needed to be working.

"Smokes!" He dropped her hand and put both of his up. "Sorry! Ada, you're putting everybody on edge. You gotta calm down. Let's take a break. A couple hours. You can go for a run, or eat or....." he grinned at her. That would calm her ass right down.

"Styles?" She had one brow up and if she wasn't so beautiful the look could be called a snarl. "There is absolutely no way we have time for a two hour break. Half the kitchen is sick, which means my crew and cast are next and the union....." she kept talking, her tension about to boil over.

She could feel herself getting emotional. She wasn't a crier, not for sadness usually, but she did when she was really mad or frustrated. Hated when anybody saw, which of course made her more frustrated, and the tears would come out like diamonds from tectonic movements, slowly with great pressure. They had to get this scene and get it right now! She was just about to lash out when she watched Harry's head swivel around like a squirrel on the defense and then his mouth was on her.

God! He tasted...he tasted like mint, because he jawed at gum like he channeled all the insecurity he bottled up into his Wrigley strips. There was a piece of it in his mouth when he opened for her and she slipped her tongue to retrieve it. She forgot herself and her day and her place. He made her feel like that. Made her forget her early mornings, forget she would pay for late nights, was paying for late nights, forget that they were on a tight schedule and under a microscope from the studio. This whole thing was a gamble and she would gladly bet the house on his pony anytime he put some part of him on her, especially if that part was his mouth. He had her in his arms, and she nestled in for just a moment and burrowed her face into his neck and took a giant sniff to fill her nostrils with the smell that had come to linger in her bathroom.

She heard a noise and startled away from her boyfriend. Holy hell? Was Harry her boyfriend? Secret boyfriend? She looked up at him, and his brow was earnest and she almost smoothed it with her thumb before she heard a PA coming for them.  Ada jumped back.

"We can't take a break, Harry." She nodded, assured herself that she was right. She was always right. He bit his lip and gave her something like agreement.

"Tonight - we need to get you relaxed though." He said and smiled at the runner as she walked by. The girl tittered and Ada had to smile. She had no idea. Ada was tittering inside, she just had a hard boiled public face.

"I don't know how to relax. Not until we are done. I want this to be so good, and I've become convinced it's the Elvis scene, you singing, that will single it out. We just..."

"So we do the scene. We will get there Ada, I promise."

"You can't promise that, Crybaby."

"Crybaby?" She saw he didn't know that movie, they'd have to change that. "I can promise that, I will give my best, which you know is very good." He smirked. "And then we will find the time, it's one scene."

"Um, no, we have to have a transition, not a hard cut; a flow into the scene. It kinda makes a whole new ending to the movie, but I think it could be the difference between this being another remake or rom com and being a beautiful homage.  While being a piece that stands on its own, But the producers - I'm not sure who they think they are risking it all on, you or me - but they aren't budging. I don't think they are willing unless it's basically no consequence to them. Though Jocelyn had heart eyes on the Skype call - mmphf."

He pushed his mouth against her again. And she fell into it, again. This time, rather than flavor, all she could feel was the sensation of her lips yielding to his.  When she was about to submit enough to count the surfaces of his tongue, she pulled out of the kiss. Their lips smacked wryly when she broke the suction.

"Are you going to make this a habit, the kissing to shut me up thing?"

She wasn't sure how she felt about it. Well, she loved kissing him, but him kissing her on set?

"Well, you get going and your anxiety just ratchets up. But when I kiss you," he gently ran a finger over her shoulder. "It stops the nerves and these come down." Then he quickly chucked her chin and sighed. "If it's just another movie, we will get praise for that, just not awards. And the feedback from the internet and 'them' will be scathing, but short lived. It will be alright. If we get the scene, amazing. Ada, we can make a good movie, maybe a great one, but only if you chill."

She watched him do that stare thing he did when he was connecting. It worked a charm. He might be a far. Did the Japanese have a version of that? The charm worked on her now, maybe not a month ago, but she took a big inhale and felt her tension leaking out. Not all of it, there was a definite set to her shoulder that she knew was going to stay until they wrapped, probably even through press if she couldn't realize her vision. But, he made it better

Harry felt a little out of his depth. Ada was both the cause of his recent bouts of anxiety and the cure. He assumed she could say something similar about him. Though maybe frustration over anxiety in her case. Whatever was making her wind up like a toy, unable to whirl joyously, was only adjacent to him. He was involved, but he was doing well, and they had made great progress. She was fixated on her new creative vision. Couldn't see the forest for newly developed trees. He could relate - he'd been there.

One day, Jeff Bhasker had to pull him out of the studio. He'd been plowing away at a fun song. Harry had been sure that the album needed a light moment, he was still convinced of that, years after the fact. Trouble was, Harry hadn't had much fun. He was creatively fulfillled and doing what he loved, but he hadn't performed, he hadn't gone out, he hadn't been to a show, and he hadn't fucked in a really long time.

He'd been creating, but not doing anything worth writing about.

Jeff had driven him to a liquor store, grabbed tequila and taken him to a beach. They'd drank and wound up swimming like dolphins. Then the next night Jeff, the original, had sent him on a date with a friend of Cam's Harry had fancied the picture of.

It was fun, and young, light. And it helped him. He wrote something that he loved that captured the possibility and a personality. He didn't see the girl again, but he was thankful, to her and good friends and inspiration. Ada needed that.

He watched her the rest of the day. She called cut a ton, and he watched her drink matcha like it was her job. By 3:30 she ordered herself a coffee.

Uh oh.

He had to give her a new focal point long enough for her main one to come into focus. But, really, much as he'd watched her, and apart from knowing how to take her apart in the bedroom, they were new. He might not know her well enough, yet. What would help her, best and fast.

He thought about Ada, went to his trailer and thought about her like a friend - not someone he was trying to woo. What would make her smile, despite her anxiety, despite herself? He thought about little things she'd mentioned, phone calls he accidentally eavesdropped, her music, and stuff on her walls from when they'd continued sharing personal pictures beyond embarrassing adolescent snapshots.

Ah! He knew, she'd made mention of her tactics a couple times, her relaxation ones. Then, if the platonic ones worked, he'd introduce his own technique.

Well, he'd implied those earlier, so they were guaranteed.  They were tested and approved.

He checked with Jeff, got a vote of confidence, and headed back to the hotel room. They'd consolidated when they came back from Kyushu. They were only using one. His was slightly bigger, he'd l silently been smug. Harry had raised an eyebrow and her pupils touched the crown of her head in response. Her eye rolls were impressive.

He laughed. She laughed at him. He loved her throaty laugh. Her throaty voice. He was pretty sure he loved her. He'd certainly fallen, right into their possibilities. Maybe more.

Harry liked to spoil people. It drove his mom crazy when he did it with money. But she loved gestures, he'd gotten really good at gestures.

Time for a grand slam.

He felt completely ready by the time he expected her. Was bored and chilly an hour later, asleep when he heard the door go at 8:30.

He shook out of his sleep. Was glad he had that ability to sleep and wake on command. It served him as well on tour and filming Dunkirk as right now.

He swished his way over to the door, with the wine that was now very aerated and the room service menu. He had the kitchen on standby with her favorites cued.  She just had to pick and he'd send the message, voila.

"Buenas tardes, Señorita!" Harry said brightly and checked his face in a reflective surface. His painted on mustache was still curled and unsmudged. "Welcome to Casa Surreal!"

"Are those my panties?" Ada interrupted his little speech.

"Well, right now they are mine. But I'm only borrowing them. I'll be sure to launder them before I give them back. Now come on Señorita, come in. We have and evening of entertainment before us!"

"Why are you speaking rudimentary Spanish?" She was smiling at his absurdity at least, he liked that. She reached forward and slipped her fingers beneath the suspenders he'd connected to the brightest thong of hers he could find.

Oh, he liked that.

"What's with the suspenders?" Ada snapped one and it hit his nipple and he was afraid they were gonna skip all his preparations and go straight to the main course or dessert. He was certainly feeling appetized.

"I thought they made the outfit!" He stepped back to show her his pink panties and black suspenders and the Calvin he thought of as his cowboy boots. "Don't you like them?" He liked the way her eyes climbed over him like he was a robust tree.

"Oh, I like them!" She raised an attractive brow after she glanced at his crotch in her inadequate lacy thong. "We both seem to like them! That what the get up is for?"

"No. Though I'm glad we both LIKE my outfit! Let's look at yours." he steered her along to the ensemble he had in the bedroom.

Half an hour later, he'd filled in her eyebrows and sat her at an easel and turned on the tv. Her wine was at her elbow. His was in his hand.

"Here's to creativity!" He saluted and she adjusted her flower crown and gave him a winged smile. He could see the Atlian weight had fallen off her scapula for a time.

"We're painting?" She had been trying to guess his plans for a while.

"Why yes Ms. Kahlo, we are painting!"

"I don't know how to paint. I wish I did. It was like a dream of mine at one point, actually. I feel like you've exposed one of my inadequacies here." He notes her fake laugh. "I started exploring other creative fields when I failed at painting. Those who can't, direct." He could tell she was talking in a happy voice but saying something sad. That was one of his favorite writing tricks. Heartbreak, but make it a bop.

Harry stopped setting up the Netflix to check her face. There were kernels of doubt he'd have to heat up so they popped and he could devour her insecurities with truth later. But not right now. She was still smiling. She was still with him, buying into his lost weekend mentality. Even if they only had a couple hours. He was going to provide a great distraction, and relax her very tightly wound self, so they could get the scene she wanted. He wanted.

They wanted.

"Well, luckily," he dimpled gleefully, then crossed his eyes to make her laugh, it came from so deep in her neck it warmed his belly. Her laugh he'd always call up, no matter their outcome and into their possible forever. "I've got us a teacher."

He hit play on the episode he liked best.

"Oh my god!" We're those tears in her voice? Shit, big misstep. But she didn't looked anguished. "How did you know?"

"Know what?" Harry asked as he swished his way to the table top easel and sat as close as possible to her, in case these weren't tears of joy, while giving room for painting. He was wondering if he could paint her. Probably not. The show taught mountains and woods he thought.

"That I love Bob Ross! That's what I watch when I need to decompress!" She looked like she had found a treasure; he knew he had.

"Didn't." He shook his head. "I just, well, I thought you could laugh at me and we could do that painting and wine thing my mum loves together, but we can't go out, not really, not like, discreetly. So I figured I would make it fun here, and get really comfortable!" He raised his eyebrows to amuse her. Her painted unibrow danced while she chuckled. "And there is no one to teach us. But Jeffrey, a high strung individual if I've ever seen one, introduced me to Bob Ross. I turned up at his house and he was coming off a bad day watching this in his boxers. I took all the piss out of him. But, like, he was right, it's soothing. Thought he could teach us and chill us out."

"Yes, great plan." She kinda flounced. Ada didn't flounce. God he was charmed.

"I also have some edibles, but that was absolutely a last hope, because I'm fairly certain we will go to sleep much earlier than I'd like."

"Oh, yeah, no, no edibles for me, for us." She snapped his suspenders. "I wanna paint and then put these to use!" She made big eyes at him.

"Yeah, like what kind of use?" He leaned in to steal a kiss.

"Nope, not happening Styles." She shook her head and took up a paint brush. "I have some learning to do." She brushed black paint between his brows. A brow to match hers.

Harry felt his heart speed up and he got his brush ready. Caught her chin in his hand. A moment later he sighed,  "Stop smiling! I can't paint your face like that!" He flashed his arms up.

Bob talked in the background, made happy little trees and happier accidents. But Harry and Ada's paint wound up more on each other. Ada complained she didn't learn anything new. Harry told her that was definitely not true from his trussed up position on a chair.

And by the end of the night, Harry's suspenders wound up around Ada's wrists too, bound at her low back with her bent over the couch end.

They both had inch and a half wide marks on their asses by morning too. Suspenders were inspiring.

It would have made Ada's director's chair much more uncomfortable, if she wasn't so damn relaxed!

[markusstraya]

Slow You Down

MASTERLIST | Support Me!

Pairing(s): 11th!Doctor x Insecure!Reader, Amy Pond x Rory Williams, Amy Pond x 11th!Doctor (Platonic)

Warning(s): Lying, Injury, Not sure what else

Word Count: 1296

Summary: One of your old injuries returns, and you’ll do everything to keep the Doctor from finding out. It’s not until you meet a certain Amy Pond, that you admit, out loud, how you feel.

Request(s): Anon -> Hi could you maybe do a 11dr x shy reader maybe the reader is really shy and insecure bc they have a limp/walking disability and thinks they’re ugly and unlovable and a burden and somehow the dr finds out and gets all protective and proves them wrong and it’s just really fluffy I could really use something like that thanks anyway Xx

Authors Note: So this took a while to write. I’m sorry. I really am. I was telling myself to get it done ages ago, but I just lost interest, and writers' block hit not long after. It wasn't until yesterday when I went to a family friends’ book signing, and I listened to her inspiring speech, that I realized I could do this. So here it is. I’ll be attempting to write out as many requested fics as possible today, with my goal to have started all of them.

Please remember that this is my first time writing for Doctor Who, so bear with me. I’ll also like to accept any constructive criticism! Let me know if you want to be tagged in anything!

It had been another successful adventure to another random planet with the Doctor. Thankfully, you didn’t have to run as much this time, as hiding your limp had become more and more difficult due to the rigorous exercise you both participated in on the daily. As you walked through the TARDIS doors the Doctor races in front of you, and you smile, watching him dash around the control panels. He flicked switches and pressed buttons in a silent race against himself. Silently, you chuckled. You always loved to watch how he would hurriedly run around like a mad man, even though he was, as he tried to fly the TARDIS by himself. Suddenly, the TARDIS rocked, which knocked you off your feet. Your arm darted out to grasp onto something, anything. You’d managed to grab onto the cold railing, which you’d meant to do before the Doctor had sent the TARDIS into motion. Before you knew it, the ship stabalised, all movement ceasing. You let out a shaky breath, hoping that the sudden movement didn’t cause your injury to flare up.

“(Y/N)?” You could see the Doctor looking worried as he searched for you. You raised your hand, as you began to sit yourself up. “Oh, there you are! Are you alright?” You nod while he grasps your small hand in his large one, as he helped you back to your feet.

“Thanks.” You thought your leg was fine, but as you take a step forward, you can only to pull it off the ground as you hissed in pain. Great. It just had to get worse. You could hear the Doctor walk towards you again, a concerned look on his face. His green eyes scanned you as his hands grasped your upper arms. “What’s wrong? (Y/N), are you sure you’re okay?” You sighed as you shake your head. Your brain searches for the easiest way to tell him what happened all those years ago, but you blame it on your fall.  “I must have hurt it when I fell. It was-it was fine before.” Not a complete lie, but not the whole truth either. He raised a brow at my theory but accepted it anyway. I knew it was only a matter of time before he figured it out.

“Well, in the meantime, I propose that we go see some old friends of mine.” Now it was your turn to question his antics. As he noticed your look of confusion, he exclaimed, “We’re going to visit the Pond’s!”

 --

 Your arm wrapped around his shoulders, as he helped you out of the TARDIS leading you to the house ahead. You’ve never admitted it to yourself before, but you loved being this close to him. You swore you could feel a cluster of butterflies as they flapped their wings in your chest. You were just being ridiculous. A 900 plus-year-old alien falling for you? Nonsense! You couldn’t even attract any human men, let alone a Time-Lord. Still, one could hope.

The door ahead had swung open, the force had it swung into the wall, as two figures ran out. A man and a woman. The Pond’s, you supposed. “Doctor! Doctor, you’re back!” The woman shouted in her unmistakable Scottish accent as she shoved me out of the way to give him the biggest hug you’ve ever seen. The man, who had initially run out with her, had grabbed you in time, holding you steady as you recovered, smiling apologetically. “Ah, yes,” The Doctor’s voice had everyone’s attention focused on him, “Amy, Rory, this is (Y/N). (Y/N), this is Amy and Rory…the Pond’s!” You smiled as best as you could through the pain that began to shoot up your leg, as you waved slightly.

The pair led you both back to the house as the Doctor had moved back his previous position as he helped you to walk. “So, what’s the story with you two showing up out of nowhere? I mean, you,” She pointed to the Doctor, “Haven’t visited in three years.” You could see how uncomfortable he looked. He always hated to have to come back into the lives of those he traveled with, you knew that. Nervously, he focused on straightening his bow tie, obviously lost in thought about how to answer, when you spoke instead.

“I’d injured myself on the TARDIS after it had one of its weird episodes, so the Doctor thought that it would be a clever idea to have a short break and come visit you two.” You glanced over at him and gave him a wink. I’ve got your back. Rory had decided to busy himself with other, more important things, as he excused himself from the room, whilst his wife just stood and looked between us. “How bad is the injury?”

“Not bad, I just hurt my-“

“She hurt her leg pretty bad. She hasn’t been able to put any pressure on it. I’ve had to help her walk around.” Just spill the beans, why don’t ya? Her head turned to face me, her eyes scanned my legs as though she could see through my initial lie of it is because of the TARDIS. She gestured for us to head into, what I assumed, was a spare bedroom, where the Doctor helped me sit on the edge of the bed. It was kind of funny to watch him being unsure of what to do. I could tell he wanted to pace, to try and think of a way to help. But I also knew that he wouldn’t be able to.

“Okay, Doctor, I think it’s best if you leave while I see how bad it is. Go to the park or something, we have this covered.” He didn’t look convinced. Looking behind Amy, his eyes caught yours in a silent question. Are you sure you’re going to be alright? You nodded as you put your thumbs up, adding a smile for reassurance. He turned to walk out the door, before he again made sure that you were fine, only leaving with a promise to be back shortly. You shook your head at his antics.

“So, you going to tell me what the issue with this leg is?” Sighing, you patted the spot next to you, beginning your tale as Amy sat down and comforted you.

 --

 It had taken you a total of thirty minutes to re-tell the story and answer Amy’s questions, although you had to admit, it was nice to have it off your chest. She’d left shortly after having comforted you, saying something about cooking dinner for the four of you. You lay on the bed, eyes closed, as you think back to what she’d said about telling the Doctor when the door creaks open. “You could have told me, you know?” You sit up in panic, eyes locked onto the Doctor’s as he steps forward.

“And you could have minded your own business.”

The room went silent, as you both considered the others’ words. He fiddled with his tie,  before he sat on the edge of the quilt-covered mattress, lost for words. You sighed as you take a deep breath, and start again.

“I’m sorry for not telling you, I just…” he looks up at you, hands coming to rest at his sides, “I just don’t want to feel like a burden.”

Eyes widening in shock, he leans forward and grasps your hands. “You, my dear (Y/N), will never be a burden. You understand?” Shaking your head, he gathers you in his arms, hugging you tightly. “You’re the only one who understands what being different is like, you know? We’re all different. Some of us more than others, and that is a good thing. You are a good thing.”

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