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faloulou · 1 year

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5 phrases innocentes qui peuvent nuire émotionnellement les enfants

Les enfants sont particulièrement sensibles aux messages verbal et non verbal que leur envoient les adultes qui les entourent. Les paroles que nous disons peuvent avoir un impact considérable sur leur développement et leur bien-être émotionnel. Certaines phrases, qui peuvent sembler innocentes, peuvent en réalité endommager le cœur tendre de votre enfant. Voici 5 phrases apparemment innocentes qui peuvent causer des dommages émotionnels importants chez les enfants.

Selon Peggy O’Mara, “La façon dont nous parlons à nos enfants devient leur voix intérieure “.

“Arrête de pleurer, ce n’est pas si grave.”

Les enfants ont besoin de savoir qu’il est acceptable de ressentir de la tristesse et de l’émotion, et que ces sentiments seront valables. Ignorer ou minimiser leurs émotions peut les amener à penser qu’il est mal de les exprimer.

“Pourquoi ne peux-tu pas être plus comme ton frère/ta soeur ?”

Comparer les enfants entre eux peut les amener à se sentir inférieurs ou à penser qu’ils ne sont pas assez bons. Il est important de célébrer les différences individuelles et les réussites de chacun.

“Tu es trop grand(e) pour faire ça.”

Cette phrase peut transmettre l’idée que les enfants ne devraient pas exprimer leur vulnérabilité ou leur besoin de soutien, ce qui peut les amener à se refermer sur eux-mêmes.

“Je suis trop occupé(e) pour t’écouter maintenant.”

Les enfants ont besoin de savoir qu’ils sont importants et que leurs besoins sont pris en compte. Ignorer leurs préoccupations peut les amener à se sentir rejetés et non valorisés.

“Tu es trop sensible.”

Les enfants ont besoin de savoir que leur sensibilité est une qualité positive et qu’il est acceptable de ressentir des émotions fortes. Les minimiser ou les critiquer peut les amener à se sentir mal à l’aise avec eux-mêmes et à réprimer leurs émotions.

En conclusion, les paroles que nous disons peuvent avoir un impact considérable sur le développement et le bien-être émotionnel des enfants. Il est important de prendre conscience des phrases que nous utilisons et de les peser avant de les dire. Les phrases apparemment innocentes peuvent causer des dommages émotionnels importants chez les enfants et il est important de les éviter. Il est préférable de montrer de l’empathie, de valoriser les émotions de l’enfant et de leur donner le soutien nécessaire pour les aider à grandir et à se développer en toute sécurité émotionnelle.

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#nuisance émotionnel des enfants #parentalité #education familiale #la parentalité #enfants #éducation bienveillante

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greenorangevioletgrass · 3 years

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red right hand (mob!harry x oc) 1/3

"I've been praying / I never did before / understand I'm talking to the walls / and I've been praying ever since New York / oh, tell me something I don't already know." -h.s., ever since new york

sequel to the honey pot | masterlist | kofi

Pairing: mob!Harry Holland x spy!OFC

Summary: after a complicated encounter, Harry and Bel try to plan an escape route as secret lovers. Unfortunately, life keeps getting in the way.

Word count: 3.7k

Warnings: so much yearning, fluff, smut!, oral (f), unprotected sex, a little angst

Notes: welcome, welcome to the sequel to the honey pot! I've enjoyed writing the first one so much, I couldn't resist continuing the piece and flesh out the story a little more. Special thanks to @tommysparker @angel-holland @terrifictomholland for helping me brainstorm and go on and on about this for ages! Hope you enjoy it! 💕

***

The farewell feels strange for Harry. The sudden loss is all too familiar --it feels like two years ago again. One moment she’s there, and the next, she’s gone. But instead of doing his damnedest to push it all away --the anguish, the heartbreak, the way she looks over her shoulder one last time-, he’s grasping at the seams trying to hold on. To the memories of her touch. Her gaze. Her words.

Bel had promised to find him. And she’d promised to tell him how to find her, wherever she is. And as terrified he is that she would just disappear again, he is somehow equally sure that she wouldn’t leave him this time. Not for good. He would just have to wait patiently until the time comes.

He doesn’t hear anything for a whole month.

One rainy Thursday afternoon, he gets a phone call from 'Peggy O’Mara' in his office. His assistant sounded confused, but he told her to put her through right away.

He hears the low buzz of conversations in a language he doesn’t speak. The clinks of glasses and scrapes of forks. He can hear a cash register nearby, too. But everything quiets down when he hears her say,

“Hey, kid.”

Harry’s heart nearly leaps out of his chest the moment he hears her familiar voice. Her name is on the edge of his lips, but he catches himself. Finds himself smiling when he says, “Peggy.”

“Missed me?” there’s a hint of a smirk in her question, like she knows he’s just as amused as he is about using her real first name. But above all, he could hear the excitement, the relief in hearing his voice again --and he’s not gonna lie, he feels exactly the same.

“Of course, didn’t you?” he teases quietly --the casual tone in their conversation is hilariously ironic, given how close to tears they both are.

“You can say that,” Bel chokes out a tearful laugh.

The line is quiet for a moment, save for the white noises. They’ve been waiting for a chance to talk to each other, but now that it’s here, all words are lost and all they want is to simply bask in each other’s presence. They’re together again, as together as they can be.

“Listen,” she speaks up again, “I don’t have much time, but I’ll be in town tomorrow night. Can I see you then? Maybe grab a drink or two?”

“Of course.” he answers immediately, barely letting her finish the sentence. “Tomorrow night?”

“Yes. I’ll be seeing you, Harry.”

“You, too… Peggy.”

He doesn’t sleep much the following night. The schoolboy-like anticipation before a field trip bubbles deep in his stomach, but his brain is turning just as tirelessly. There was no talk of where or when exactly they’re meeting; she simply lingered at his goodbye and then hung up. No clue whatsoever on how she’s gonna tell him. It’s all for safety and security reasons, he knows that. But he desperately needs to find a way to reach out to her, somehow.

“Sir?” his assistant knocks on his open door later that morning. “Ms. O’Mara left you a message while you were in a meeting. She’ll be at the Annabel at 9 tonight.”

Harry wants to sigh out and sink into his chair in relief. But no, he needs to maintain some sort of facade to the outside world. This secret stays between him and Bel alone. So he curtly quips, “Sounds great. Thanks.”

He arrives ten minutes earlier, even though it might as well be ten hours. Every minute drags on and the relaxed atmosphere of the swanky lounge is making him restless. The jazz trio plays a mid-tempo song on the small stage, the upright bass thrumming deep with the light clangs of cymbals. It emphasizes the violent drumming in his heart, so he turns to focus on the tasteful paintings and photographs on the wall instead. Splashes of color isolated in frames, so it doesn’t bleed out into the monochromatic pieces.

He sits with his back against the bar, sipping his gin and tonic, and studies the black-and-white photograph across the room. Two figures wrapped up together in white gauze, with only one’s mouth exposed. Open. He can almost hear it gasping for air, escaping suffocation. And he wonders if it’s harder breathing through the binds or breathing in the toxic air.

The patrons come and go and he barely notices them. But one woman stops right in front of the photograph, taking in the work from up close. Her dress blends perfectly with the art, muted white and sparkling jewels, and she almost seems like she’s bringing the image to life. It’s funny, he muses, it looks a lot like the one Bel wore when they first met. Harry feels like he’s looking at an entirely new work.

But she turns around towards the bar and he feels the air being knocked out of him completely.

She wears her hair in a sandy brown short bob this time. The makeup is bolder than he remembers she liked, too: the red lipstick glosses on her lips, her eyelids are painted shimmering brown and dark green. The colors immaculately smudge and smooth around her eyes like a camouflage, but those eyes are unmistakably hers.

Bel doesn’t even flinch when she spots him. She meets his gaze for a second and strides over to the bar, stopping right next to him.

He watches her order a dry martini, trying to gather the million things he wanted to say but stored away in the back of his head, and the only thing that comes out of his head is,

“Hey.”

“Harry,” she smiles, graceful and courteous. But she averts her gaze right ahead as she watches her drink being prepared.

"Bel," he utters it so quietly, he's not sure even she heard it.

"How have you been?" her voice softens and he wants to lean into her so badly.

"I'm doing alright, you?"

"Eh," she shrugs, smiling as she accepts her drink. Then, she looks at him with her warm eyes, "But I'm much better now."

And there they are, like a living embodiment of the photograph. Two figures so tightly wrapped up and entangled in each other’s mess-- more than happy to perish in each other’s embrace, yet having no choice but to breathe the outside air to survive.

Her left hand drops from the counter, hanging off of her side, and Harry finds it with his free hand. His little finger links with hers, and they both find themselves breathing easier. He swears the photograph before them swells in a generous inhale with them. It’s not the big reunion kiss that he was hoping for-- not here, at least. But it’ll do.

Then, she slips a key card into his hand, that she's been keeping under her sleeve.

"Wait for me upstairs at 1012," she says into her drink, low but clear. “I’ll be with you in 15 minutes, okay?”

He nods, gamely downs the rest of his drink and squeezes her hand before letting it go. He puts down his glass and some cash to pay before setting off with certainty in his steps.

Bel stares down at her clear martini glass, listening very closely until Harry's footsteps are lost in the noise. She times out every sip to every verse in the song the band is playing and counts the time she has. A little less than twelve minutes, she glances at the clock. Twelve minutes until she can breathe easy again.

When she has three minutes left, Bel finishes her cocktail and pays in cash, leaving a generous tip to the bartender before making her way to the elevator. She wants to dash through the hall and burst through the door, make a grand Hollywood-esque gesture for the boy she longed so much. But she keeps cool. She drums her manicured nail on the mirrored walls as the elevator takes her to the 10th floor. Keeps a steady pace as she walks down the quiet hallway. Reaches for her key card in the purse while she stands before 1012.

The room is warmly lit when she walks in. The light greys and pale blues are a calming sight to her eyes, but it doesn’t beat her main source of comfort. She sees a dot of orange outside, and she can make out the lit cigarette between the silhouette of Harry’s mouth on the balcony, facing out towards the river.

Bel kicks off her heels, takes off her wig, and pads over to the sliding door, openly laughing when he jumps a little when she knocks on the glass.

“Jesus Christ, you scared me,” he cusses out, putting out his stub on the metal railing.

“Ah well, what’s new.” Bel throws her arms around his shoulders, planting a brief kiss on his lips like she’d just come home from a day’s work.

“I mean, the wig, for starters?”

“You like it?”

“I do. But I like this, too,” he hums contentedly; his hand finds its way through her short messy hair, smoothing out the sticking out strands on top of her head. “I like you every which way.”

“You’re so cliche,” Bel rolls her eyes, but her growing smile betrays her. She chases the faint sweetness from the cigarette filter on his lips, giving him a proper kiss this time.

She’d been thinking about this moment since she boarded the train to DC a month ago. She’s pretty sure she’d memorized everything; how Harry melts into her touch, how his soft lips feel against hers, how his hands find home on the curve of her hips…

But her memory fails her. It pales in comparison with how the warmth emanates from his body, how his mouth moves with hers-- the ebb and the flow of the kiss. She wonders how she managed to survive without it for so long. And she dreads the thought of having to go on without this again.

As if he read her mind, Harry gently, barely pulls away. “How much time do we have?”

“Twelve hours, give or take.” she answers, and it makes her throat sting to admit that.

His gut sinks, but he had to ask. Just to brace himself. “How long will you be gone?”

“Five years. Maybe some breaks in between.”

He sighs. The past month alone feels like forever, but five years? It’s too late to veil the disappointment now, but he tries his utmost to not protest that it’s not enough. He has a feeling that she knows. She’s just as crestfallen as him.

Bel is famously good at what she does and MI6 goes to great lengths to maintain an asset like her-- and they go to even greater lengths to protect them. Which means she needs to be extra careful in her encounters with Harry. If she gets caught, it would reopen the Hollands’ old case and open an array of new ones; accomplice to a major crime, treason…

She needs time to cover her track and create a safe passage.

She reaches out for him, her palms cold against his flushed cheeks. “You know it’s not that easy, Harry. We can’t just-- I mean, do you even want to do that? Leave everything behind? We have to be smart here--”

“I know, I know.” Harry rests his forehead on hers, his eyes screwed shut as he tries to make sense of it all. “I just.. wish we had more time, you know?”

She blinks back the tear from falling, but it slips from under her eyelid anyway. “I know. Me, too.”

“Can we-- I-- is there any way I can still see you or even talk to you every now and then-- just to make sure you’re okay.” he tries to bargain, holding her in an almost childlike way.

Bel realizes what little they can get from this. Scraps of nothing from an overflowing plate. But she powers through and smiles, “As much as we can.”

The air feels heavy now. There’s no fooling each other now. They both wanted it to be like last time so bad-- to be so willfully ignorant of the world and just be together. Easy and content, if only for a night. But their emotions are all amok --they’re frustrated and terrified and torn apart.

And it only made them want each other more.

Bel kisses him softly everywhere. His creased up forehead, his shuttered eyelids, his adorable little nose. His tender lips, ever so slightly parted only for her. So willing, so ready to give into her that she needs to make sure he knows what he's getting into this time.

“Look, I don’t expect you to sit around and wait for me for... God knows how long. So if you ever-- if you want to see other people--”

He emits a soft chuckle. “Bel, I’m pretty sure you’ve ruined other people for me.”

“Don’t say that…” she groans, her heart dropping and leaping at the same time. Everything feels complicated and yet, Harry looks at her with the simplest, most earnest gaze.

“It’s true. I don’t want anyone else. Do you?”

She shakes her head, although she’s still searching for any sign of doubt in him. “You do realize that I might have to be… intimate with other people at my work, right?”

He’s quiet for a second. His mouth pressed into a tight line. But he looks up and says, “I don’t care. What we have is-- is real. The rest is… confetti.”

Bel couldn’t believe what she heard. People like her simply don’t get storylines like this-- people like him. They love and live and get what little they deserve. And then when the time runs out, they’d simply call it a day.

But Harry’s holding her face in his hand, his dark eyes boring deep into hers. Both of them searching for an answer in each other. A reassurance.

A promise.

He closes in, nudges her nose with his. “I’m all yours, Bel. If you’ll have me.”

Just like that, he surrenders himself to her whole-- and at the same time, determined to fight against time alongside her.

And the road might be hell, but she’s taking it anyway.

She kisses him, grabbing his waist and holding him like he’s sand slipping through her fingers. “Any day, kid.”

Harry relaxes into her embrace, his shoulders releasing the tension he didn’t realize he was holding. He lets her claim his lips, her kiss every bit as fierce and fiery as she is. She pins him against the glass door, and she could feel their hearts bursting out of their chests in sync. And there’s nothing they want more than to tune out the world until there’s only their touch, their breath, their desire.

Any day.

He’s all too happy to let her drag him into the room by his navy blue tie. He loves the way her hand wraps around it. He loves the little open grin she has on when she pushes him into bed, too. And as she lets the dress fall to the floor and reveals her naked self, he realizes something else.

He loves her.

Bel crawls up on top of him, teasing the pensive look on Harry’s face. “See something you like?”

“Mm, you?” he raises an eyebrow, reminding her of their first night together.

She sees the twinkle of a smile in his features and finds it so contagious that her cheeks are aching. This evening has been a rollercoaster of emotions, but she's all too glad to go through it all for this man.

Right now, she gladly lets his rough, calloused hands roam her soft, smooth curves as she chases his lips for an ardent kiss. Her hips grind into the stiffening tent in his trousers, and he squeezes firmly on her round ass. He inches towards her slit and his breath catches at the feel of her silky, slippery folds on his fingertips.

"Bel," he breathes, "Can I taste you?"

"Of course you can, baby." she sets out to lie next to him, but he stops her.

"Want you-- fuck, on my face. Please."

She gazes down at him, surprised and pleased at the same time, and Harry-- emboldened by euphoria, finds it in himself to give her a cheeky smack on her ass.

"Watch it," she warns him, although truth be told, she has no intention to punish him.

And in all honesty, he has no intention to push further either. She spreads her legs over him and her juices dribble down onto his face, and he can think of nothing else. They do not touch; yet electricity courses through their veins as he sticks out his tongue and catches the sweet drops of her arousal. His hand, this time, reaches out to her waist earnestly, his mouth ravenous on her core.

"Harry…" his name breezes out of her lips as she shamelessly rides his pretty face. Bel twirls a finger in his red curls, wordlessly demanding for more.

Harry twists two fingers into her silky cavern as an answer.

He feasts on her like his life depended on it. Licks and sucks at her swollen bud and caresses the sweet spot deep within her. It’s vile and filthy and sinful and yet, it feels like heaven. Her little sighs grow into breathless cries as she nears her high. Her sight blurs and the building heat in her core all but shatters-- his name filling her thoughts and spilling out of her lips.

She slinks down to his lap, wasting no time in aligning herself onto his aching cock. Spreading out the mess of sweat and arousals from between their legs. Bel takes all of Harry in at once, reveling in the delicious stretch inside of her.

“Bel.” he cups her face and sits up, and for a moment she wonders why he looks concerned. But he swipes his thumb across her cheek and she feels the steady wet stream from her eyes. She didn’t even realize she was crying. “Are you alright?”

Her heart’s a complete mess --elation and agony and God knows what else she feels all at the same time- and yet she feels… strangely alright. She’s flooded and enshrouded by Harry, and in it, she finds peace.

“I’m wonderful. I’m…” she trails off, swipes his glistening nose with a fond smile.

Harry gently takes that hand, kisses her wrist. And in a filthy turn of event, he puts her thumb in his mouth, sucks at it hungrily as she starts to roll her hips, meeting the eager rutting of his pelvis halfway.

They’ve missed each other terribly, and they miss each other already. But right in between the goodbyes, time finally lets up and slows down for them. And in turn, they’re allowed to just savor each other’s company. Every thrust, every touch, every twisted torment in their orgasm.

She lies on top of him afterwards, his spent cock still sheathed inside. Her fingers paint abstract patterns on his lean chest, dancing to his heartbeat. Slow and steady. Pulling themselves together before they figure things out.

And they do. They always do.

If it takes them five years to truly be together, then so be it.

Over the next five years, Bel and Harry would exchange secret letters when they can-- always handwritten, always under an alias, always carefully worded and sent. Sometimes they would use candle wax and put a lighter under the paper so they can read the invisible ink.

If they’re lucky, they’d talk on the phone. They would have a few minutes at a time at most, but it’s the highlight of their week --maybe even month. And if they’re really lucky, maybe they’d get to see each other. Maybe for just a couple of hours, like they did in Budapest, or a night-- like Tokyo. Or that time when they managed to spend a whole week in Marrakech.

(They try not to hold their breath on it. Chances like these are few and far between, and they’ve seen each other maybe three weeks in totals.)

And over those five years, between Bel’s espionage work and Harry’s mob business, they plan their escape. The identities they would use from then on. The places they would go. The things they would finally get to do. It's brilliant and foolproof and they can't wait to get started. Counting the days to be together again.

Bel doesn’t sleep all the way through her flight to London. It would be her final debrief before she tenders her resignation and disappears into obscurity with her secret lover. She’s too busy recounting her escape plan-- making sure she calculates every possible snag in her path. She’s not a daydream, but as she gazes out at the puffy clouds, she imagines taking Harry to bed without a countdown on when they have to get out.

But she gets into the company car and her longtime friend and colleague Dev greets her somewhat uneasily. Smiling stiffly, he grips his phone so tightly, she could see the veins on his arms flexed out. Something’s not right.

“What, you’re not happy to see me?” she pokes fun at him in an attempt to diffuse the tension.

“Oh no, I’m chuffed, it’s just-- we’ve had a major breach. The Hollands broke their deal-- they’re working with Russia. We’re arresting them as we speak.”

Dev drones on about the new situation that has come to light, but all Bel could think of is-- she couldn’t think. She was supposed to meet Harry in just a few hours; the first time she would see him in 10 months. The last time she would ever have to savor the rendezvous until the next time.

Or so she thought.

“It’s a whole mess. Anyway. How are you? Heard what you did in Indonesia-- well done. Are you gonna hop on to the next mission right away or are you finally gonna stick around this time?”

It takes her an extra second to fully register his question. “Don’t know. Maybe it’s time to do the latter, eh?” she doesn’t address the answer to him, per se, but damned if she’s not gonna be there for Harry, no matter how tough it gets.

Any day.

***

tagging the squad and the moots who are interested 💞 hope u enjoy! lemme know if you want to be added or removed from this series' taglist!

@tommysparker @allmyspideys @peterbenjiparker @unicorn-princess-1999 @miraclesoflove @spideyspeaches @calltothewild @more-like-reyna @hollanderfangirl @terrifictomholland @ethereal-beauty-p @annathesillyfriend @angel-holland @fallinfortom @kiwi-bitchez @kelieah @shipping-not-sailing @hotforharrison @chrisosterfield @hxrryhxlland @unsaidholland @multiholland @princessofguineapigs @duskholland @marvelouspeterparker @t-o-m-hollands @rebekkah4766 @galaxystern08 @the-panwitch @sovereignparker @geminiparkers @keenmarvellover @holland-styles @hazardosterfield @mischiefmanaged011 @parker-hollandx @slytherin-chaser @dummiesshort @marvelhoesworld @theliterarymess @siriuslyslyslytherin @lmaotshollandd @rosee-eemma 💞

#harry holland #red right hand fic #harry holland imagine #harry holland fic #harry holland smut #harry holland x oc #harry holland x ofc #ava writes

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