#i have a feeling this maintenance will cost an arm and a leg

[six-of-ravens]

oh it turns out my dealership has online booking now so I didn't have to put this thing off for 2 weeks out of fear of getting a mean receptionist again

[mouschiwrites]

Hi, I was wonder if I can make a request for a oneshot idea on security breach.

I was an idea of reader being an animatronic kind of like mangle on how they were a pull apart and put back together toy for young children, with their attraction being near the daycare.

Name ideas could be like "{reader}'s Friends and Play!", or {reader}'s dress up station". Something with a play on words with dressing up or play.

Because they are like one of those take apart and put back together toys were you could swap certain parts of the toy like hair, clothes, accessories, etc. And kids would come to the readers play area of have fun changing the design of the reader. It being marked twords younger kid key it being by the Daycare.

But we all know kid could be a little to forceful or rough with reader, leading them to break and having to go to part and serves/maintenance almost everyday to get fixed.

But since it cost money and time to fix reader, the Pizzaplex just desided it would be better to just discontinue reader and close off there area under the pretense of repairs. But reader area never opened back up. And like the Glamrock + the Daycare Attendant just gradually forgot about reader.

Than one day one of them just stumbled apon readers area and it just like closed off, with the inside being really dusty with tarp covering everything. Everything but reader who's slouched in a corner, broken looking like mangle with different part of her body making up her body in placed they shouldn't be.

It just feel like it would be hella angsty and a good oneshot for some angst and burn.

Get back to me as soon as you can, thank you for reading this^^

So sorry for the wait!! But this was a really cool idea, and I had some fun with it! :D

Word count: 1k

Security Breach - Forgotten Attraction (Glamrock Bonnie x forgotten animatronic reader)

It had been dark for a while now.

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d actually heard it, but sometimes you thought you could hear the ghosts of laughter drifting among the dust particles in the air. They danced like mice in front of you, putting you in a trance.

Laughter and children, colors and candy. Sticky fingers that tugged and pulled at your parts, replacing them constantly. The children never could agree on what you should look like, but you always found their squabbles adorable.

“Now, now, children. I do have two arm sockets, you know. Why don’t we do one of each?”

The grins you’d get when you spoke to them warmed you enough that you forgot about the pain.

Ah, yes, the pain. You were built to be dismantled and customized, but it was painful. So painful. At first you had tried to scream and cry when the interns tested your mechanics, but it wasn’t in your programming. All you could do was stare. Eventually you learned to smile through it.

Even now, hunched over, not quite sure what you even looked like, you felt the pain. One of your joints was only halfway attached. Your leg socket ached with that empty feeling you got when you were missing an appendage. You weren’t smiling now.

The faded colors of your home were nearly gray with the thick coat of dust. The dust reminded you of the repair chamber; you had spent so many hours there. You would’ve considered that your second home, were it not for the horrible pain you always felt when you went there. It was even worse than the vague constant aches you always seemed to have. Whenever those aches turned into stabbing pains, or when your insides started to feel funny, it was straight to the repair chamber with you.

They never told you what was wrong. You heard them muttering behind the glass, but they were never loud enough for you to understand. All you knew was that they sounded quite frustrated during your last visit. How long ago was that?

You stared at a pink bin across the room. Well, it used to be pink. All the colors used to be so vibrant, bringing a real smile to your face. The children would dress up to match you, galloping around the room in bright pirate costumes and princess dresses of every hue. There was no color now.

You blinked slowly. Every movement was a labor these days. It’d been a while since you’d been in your charging station. You used to wonder when someone was going to come help you get inside, but you had long forgotten that hope. Now all you wanted was for those ghosts of children’s voices to be real. Just once more…

You blinked again. Your eyes didn’t open for a long time.

“Y/n. I remember them.”

One eye opened. The other didn’t.

“It’s so dusty in here…”

You saw a stripe of light on the floor. Raising your gaze, your eye flashed as it adjusted to the bright light coming from the door. The door. It was open!

“H-h-h-” you tried to give your classic greeting. When all that came out was a glitching hiss, you felt your brows lower sadly. You refused to give up. This was your chance to make one more kid smile.

“H-h-h—hi—”

“Hi there!” Someone mimicked, matching the exact tone you always used. “Y/n, is that you?”

Your eye finally adjusted to the light. It was Bonnie. Not a kid. Your disappointment wore off as he jogged to your side, hopping over parts strewn all over the floor.

You knew Bonnie. The memory felt sluggish coming up, but you remembered him. He was the one with the bowling alley. Kids always told you about the milkshakes they served at his parlor, too.

“Y/n! Can you hear me?”

“H-h-h.” It was all you could manage.

Bonnie looked at his fingers after shaking your shoulder. “Aw, geez, when was the last time you got charged? Come on, let me help you.”

Your one good eye was jostled shut as you were lifted off the ground, and you saw no more, but you felt strong arms holding you, their warmth almost numbing the pain.

You suddenly felt a rush, and your body started to gain back the feeling you didn’t know you lost. Bonnie talked loudly so you could hear him in the charging chamber.

“I had completely forgotten about this place… I mean, it closed a long time ago.”

“How long..?” You rasped, gaining some energy.

“I wish I could tell you. I have no idea,” he chuckled, bringing an automatic smile to your face.

Bonnie’s ears perked up; you could see him staring through the chamber’s little window. “Hey, there’s that smile! Ah, I didn’t even realize how much I missed it, haha!”

His laughter was bringing that old warmth back into you. Or maybe it was the charger.

Bonnie looked around your room. It was trashed; you had the energy to realize that now. He seemed to notice it, too. Well, he was noticing something. His face was falling; quite uncharacteristic for him, at least from what you knew.

“They were talking about closing down my place, too, you know. I heard them.”

You blinked. “I’m sorry.”

He didn’t say anything. He was still staring at the dusty mess that used to be your paradise.

“Is this what will happen to my alley?”

You leaned forward to get a better look around. He glanced at you, and though neither of you were programmed to show negative emotions, you could see sadness and fear in his eyes.

“I don’t know.” You put a hand up to the glass, ignoring the pain. Bonnie stared for a moment, eventually bringing his own hand up to meet yours.

“Whatever happens, I’ll be here for you.” Perhaps it was a little cruel, but you were glad to have someone to share your misery with.

And Bonnie laughed again. It was a sad, exhausted, barely audible chuckle, but you managed a smile in response.

You couldn’t have the children, the colors, the laughter, the old life you once had. But you were given a blessing; the only thing you could ask for in your fallen glory. A friend.

Thank you for this request! And thank you for reading, take care honey bunches <33

(divider by saradika)

[onlylostphysics]

@ofmdjanuaury Day 11: Trains, Planes, & Automobiles

Some kind of Wacky Races/Around the World in 80 Days AU?

---

The train starts to move. Steam is billowing down the tracks and it's this unscheduled, unknown train or be stuck in the middle of nowhere for the next twenty two hours and hope he can make up the difference somewhere else along the line.

Why not, Ed thinks, and grabs hold of the handrail, swinging himself on his bad leg and grunting as he lands, hard, in the corridor.

The carriage is empty when he peers through the window, just bunkbeds with the curtains pulled back, no sign of any luggage. This is the last carriage in a chain of three, the steam engine up ahead, and maybe this is just a maintenance run, or stock being moved around, or —

"Oh, hello!" says a bright and cheery voice when Ed opens the door to the second carriage, the rattle of the couplings still loud despite the wall between him and the whistling wind. "I fear you might be on the wrong train."

"Shit, maybe," says Ed, frozen in the doorway. There's a man sitting in an armchair by the window — because this is the sort of train with armchairs, apparently — who looks like an explosion in a candy factory, all pastel neons and shiny lines. He's smiling, eyebrows high and interested, and he's the only person Ed can see.

I could take him, Ed thinks, and really hopes he won't have to. He'd probably have to jump off the train afterward, in case anyone else came through from the first car, and his knee is already complaining.

Ed eases himself into his loosest stance, his arm resting high on the doorframe, and tilts his head like he has every right to be here. "Where's this one going?" Ed asks, his voice casual in every way his heart isn't.

"We're non-stop to the next coast, I'm afraid, but I may be able to ask the driver to stop somewhere. Where are you headed?" the man says, getting to his feet with an easy smile on his face, all of him bright and open and friendly, and Ed thinks, Ah. Rich, then.

"Next coast sounds good," Ed says, and tilts a smile at this mad person who thinks you can just ask the train driver to stop wherever you like. Which Ed has done, of course, but not without a lot of flirting or bribery or threats beforehand.

"Oh," the man says, his wide eyes suddenly going, somehow, wider. "You're one of my competitors! How exciting!"

"One of your — you're doing Race Around the World?" Ed says, as one thing makes sense and a lot of things suddenly make less sense, like dominos tumbling.

"Yes! Goodness, this really is a pleasure. I've seen some of our fellow competitors in passing, but everyone's in such a rush, you know, even when we're all stuck on the same ferry for several hours. It's not as though we could cheat just by having a chat, is it?"

"Yeah," Ed says, blinking, and then, "How'd you know about this train?"

The man grins, like he's been waiting for someone to ask that. "I wrote ahead and made some special arrangements for this leg of the trip. There's nothing in the rules which says you can't commission a whole train!" says the lunatic who commissioned a whole train.

Ed can feel himself smiling. Fuck, he didn't think anything could surprise him anymore. "How much did this even cost, man?"

"Oh, that's not important."

"Mate, the prize money's only twenty grand."

"Well, that's not the point, is it? It's about taking part! It's about the adventure!"

"Is it?" Ed says, grinning despite himself. The people who do this usually talk big about the chance to see the world and then fuck it all by sprinting stupid across the shortest routes, killing themselves with two dozen changes in as many hours and usually stumbling across the finish line half-dead with exhaustion. Ed's smarter, better at finding the long routes which get him there quicker, but this leg was going to be a long and dusty slog on a packed train. The long stretch across this country suddenly feels like a sun-drenched opportunity.

"You alone?" Ed asks, glancing around the train. There's an open book on the table by the armchair, an empty cup with a saucer beside it, and literally nothing else. Not even a bag. Not even a wallet.

"At the moment, yes," the man says, and sighs. "It's rather annoying, actually — I did have my secretary with me, someone to jot down my adventures, my thoughts, my philosophies, that kind of thing, but I seem to have misplaced him somewhere along the way."

"That… sucks," Ed says, carefully.

"It does! I still have the journal, thank goodness — Oh, would you like to sit down? Please, do make yourself comfortable — but I can't be expected to experience the wonders of the world and find time to write it all down, can I?"

"Nah," Ed agrees, sitting down in the opposite armchair.

"I do hope he's not dead," Stede says, frowning out at the passing view. "That would really put a downer on the whole adventure."

"Maybe you'll never know. Maybe it'll be a mystery you have to come back and investigate."

"Oh, do you think so?" he says, his eyes lighting up. "That could be fun! This is my first time exploring the world, you know, it hadn't even occurred to me I could maybe do it twice."

"This your first time in India?"

"First time getting out of my home town, really!" he says. "I've always wanted to travel, but, well, things happened."

"And you decided to do the Race Around The World?" Ed says, fascinated.

"Of course! No better way to start, I thought!"

"Of course," Ed echoes, grinning. Fuck, this might even be fun. The man looks him over, a thoughtful wander of assessment as he wets his lips in a quick, unconscious gesture. It makes Ed want to stretch, maybe show off a little skin, because the warmth of being wanted is flickering pleasantly over his belly — but then the guy catches Ed's eye again with a complete lack of heat, nothing but innocent curiosity in his gaze, and Ed tries not to feel disappointed.

"What made you sign up to this wild enterprise, then?"

"Oh, you know. The money," Ed says, laying out half the truth like a blanket, covering what's underneath.

"Ah," the man says, and then he looks at Ed out of the corner of his eye, sly and dramatic like he learnt how to be a person from the movies. "You wouldn't be looking for a partner, would you?"

Yes, screams every part of Ed that wants to be fucking comfortable for once. "I dunno," Ed says, leaning back in the armchair. Oh fuck, that's soft. He stretches out his leg as far as it can go, absolutely nothing in the way to stop it, and his knee aches deep and satisfying. "Depends what's in it for me."

"Well, I could use a guide! I have all the maps but I was rather relying on my secretary for the fiddly changes and so on. I can pay our way if you can plot it for us and, hmm, we'll split the prize money?"

"Hmm. You don't need it," Ed points out. This could work -- he'll ride along until they're close to the end and ditch him, obviously.

"Or I could stop the train and kick you off in the middle of nowhere?" the man says, sweet in the same way as candied citrus is sweet, all sugar wrapped around something dry and bitter. Ed laughs, delighted.

"Split the prize money," Ed agrees, and reaches out a hand. The man takes it, grinning.

"To a wonderful partnership!"

"To the start of something great. I'm Ed, by the way," he says, still holding his hand, warm fingers soft against his palm.

"Stede," Ed's meal ticket says, and Ed grins.

---

the rest of my JanuAUry fics can be found on tumblr or AO3!

[lorrainesletters]

Museum dillemas: Make it free or keep it paid?

Article by Mariz Lorraine | Uploaded on 20 May 2024

I was one of the many Medford High students that were forced to pay $80 out of pocket to go to this new aerospace museum in Houston. Did I sign up for it? No. Did I want to go? No. Even though I would rather sit through 2 hours of Pre-calculus than learn about the types of rockets, I still had to hand my life savings over to the school. This begs the question of should museums, no matter how interesting or boring they are, be made free? This article will explore the views the profit-hungry museums and we, the financially starving students, may have.

Expensive cost of being bored

The main reason that people would want museums to be free is that museums do not look or feel like they are worth spending an arm and a leg for. Not all of us want to roam around looking at weird depictions of Victorian women for hours. The boring experience of just aimlessly walking on the dimmed and cold hallways feels like an experience that should not be paid for. Would you really pay an institution to make you bored? Trust I won’t. Most museums do not even have guides or audio tapes that explain the abstract painting on the wall; you might have to just sit there with your thoughts and guess what Picasso tried to portray. The experience of going to a museum itself can be very independent, but for the amount of bands we’re handing over to them, we definitely expect royalty treatment. I would have most definitely enjoyed the aerospace museum if I had my personal Nikola Tesla explaining beside me. If museums were to become free, more people would be attracted to visit these museums because they do not have to sacrifice their hard-earned money for a dull experience.

The price of knowledge

Museums are places where amusing art, interesting information, delicate discoveries, expensive equipment, are all displayed and open for the public to look at. These museums are often visited by the people who are interested in the things on display (excluding students like us who go there due to our obligation). However, people have different income levels therefore not everyone interested in Vincent Van Gogh can pay $100 to visit the exhibits. Government officials believe that information should be accessible for people, so they make public schools free of tuition and make public libraries. But the niche information that many people desire is trapped behind dollar bills, making it hard for people to obtain it. If we were to make museums free, we would ensure that everyone can access these museums and access the knowledge and art that decorate it.

Money runs the world

Museums like the Louvre in Paris or the Metropolitan Museum in New York City bring in hundreds of thousands of visitors annually. All these visitors had to pay money in order to experience the art in these museums. These visitors, willingly or unwillingly, contributed their dollars to the millions of dollars in revenue that these museums get. This money is then enjoyed by future visitors because the money is used for museum upkeep and maintenance. Your $50 ensures that there are security officers guarding valuable paintings, that there are janitors to keep the building clean. Taking into consideration that art is very valuable, there certainly should be a hefty amount of money allocated to keep it looking like it did thousands of years ago and maintain its alluring appeal. Paintings cost millions of dollars, so museums have to recuperate the costs in ways that are easy – making visitors pay.

Accountability and responsibility

Handing over money to enter a museum is an act of commitment. Your money is now forever gone, in the hands of the cashier, never to be seen by your wallet ever again. This sacrifice makes you feel like you now have to go and see every single painting, sculpture, fossil, artifact in that museum to make your experience worth it. The payment also acts like a social contract: you have given your money, so you are given the privilege of going into the museum and now you have to act accordingly. Not everyone can afford to go to museums, tickets don’t come cheap. Therefore, the sole fact that you are able to hold that paper ticket on your hand and walk through the mahogany doors of the British Museum, is something that you should appreciate. The museum expects you to appreciate your privilege by making sure that you either go through all their curated pieces and appreciate the effort curators took or to make sure you act with proper decorum during your hour there.

So what's our final verdict?

We should not make paying to enter museums the norm solely due to the fact that it sustains the existence of the museum itself. Museums can get their funding through many other ways such as through donations, government tax money, and even through charity events. The prospect of more people enjoying the contents of a museum because it is free should be put into higher regard than revenue generation.

[how2fit]

Like many people, I ended up in a fitness rut in 2020, and after missing my studios for months, I purchased a Peloton bike. Though I enjoyed having a piece of equipment in my home—and Peloton does offer a variety of classes beyond the bike itself—there was still something missing. I struggled to stick to my routine, and unfortunately, my shiny spin bike, once a beacon of hope, became a shrine of shame in the corner of my living room. But last summer I got the chance to try a new piece of at-home workout equipment, the LIT Strength Machine, that promised to get me back on track when it come to working out. Part rower, part Pilates apparatus, part…something else entirely. By using water for resistance, a sliding carriage, and different resistance bands, the single machine is able to offer a host of exercise options. Because this isn't a connected device, there are no attached electronics—or cords—which has allowed me to enjoy outdoor workouts in the California sun, and I can use the arm attachment to hold my iPad for guided workouts, which come as part of your monthly subscription to LIT's fitness app. To boot, it folds up, so as long as you have about two feet of space (wide) for the base of the machine, and at least seven-foot tall ceilings, you can keep it stored upright when it’s not in use. At $1,800, it’s definitely still a pricey piece of equipment, but if you combine the costs of buying a hydro-powered rowing machine and a reformer, you'd be spending that much (most likely more) easily—and have to figure out where to store two pieces of equipment, which may or may not be a deal breaker depending on the size of your home. (LIT also offers financing, FYI.) Aside from the cost of the hardware itself, you're looking at $25 a month (or $240 per year) for a subscription to the platform's digital fitness library. With that being said, you don’t necessarily need the class subscription, though I do recommend it. The workouts So as you’ve probably already gathered, you’re not just doing rowing workouts on this machine—the app offers over 2,500 classes, ranging from 10-minute to one hour, with popular music, and a dozen instructors—though rowing makes up a significant category and is truly such a powerful (and underrated!) exercise category, in my humble opinion. Astronauts use rowing machines to train in space because they’re so damn effective, and use so many muscle groups simultaneously, including the legs, back, arms, and abdominals. During a rowing stroke, the muscles that are used the most are the back muscles, quadriceps, hamstrings, and glutes. The arms, shoulders, and abdominal muscles are also used to help generate power and control the rowing stroke. Then you’ve got Pilates, which is, of course, another full-body workout—the LIT Method machine has components of a classic Pilates reformer, using the seat as a small carriage, with resistance bands added into different routines. On top of that, there are injury recovery classes, core and conditioning workouts, stretching sessions, postnatal options, and even barre. If you don’t feel like doing a guided class, there are also "scenic rowing" videos where you can virtually row yourself through aquamarine seas or tropical lakes. My experience using the LIT Strength Machine One of my favorite parts about this machine is how low-maintenance, straightforward, and ass-kicking it is. Yet it starts out feeling like a "lazy’ workout"—I roll out in pajamas (not even athleisure) and no shoes, sit on the carriage, slide my bare feet under the foot straps, and start rowing. Whether I use one of the guided row workouts, or do my own combination, the result is always a full-body, sweat-soaked experience that hits every major muscle group in my body. I love doing a simple 10-minute endurance row with Jazmin R on the app, or two different 10-minute sessions back to back. She teaches a lot of foundational skills that build proper form and strength to prepare you for other classes (both on and off the machine).

The music is typically electronic, pop, and hip hop (think: anything from a Hardwell dance anthem to Snoop/Dr. Dre’s "The Next Episode" to something vibey by SZA). I dial into my rowing form and movement pattern; she’ll remind me about my grip and posture; and I'll work through a series of smooth power strokes, as well as sprints. Jazmin’s energy is electric, so even the most basic beginner classes still feel strong and uplifting. You can adjust the resistance with a dial on the water tank (which, IMO, is so cool… it’s all based on water!). This allows you to manage how challenging your workouts are, and make changes as needed. Then there's the Pilates classes—I missed the studio reformer workouts so much, and was craving a return to my favorite form of exercise. One memorable class I took was set to a Billie Eilish/Cardi B soundtrack (a winning combo) and used the seat and resistance bands with handles to replicate the long straps and carriage on a reformer. I did a core series sitting on the seat, a strap handle in each hand, using a spinal twist motion from side to side and the strength of your arms to pull the carriage in and out. We also did an "elephant," which is a signature reformer exercise, again using the seat as the carriage. We finished with some lateral lunges with one foot on the seat. These classes are dynamic, challenging, form-focused, and never boring or monotonous. During the pandemic years, small (virtually insignificant) barriers to entry felt insurmountable—to me, at least! Something as simple as needing to put on cycling shoes and clip in was, for whatever reason, something that got in the way of working out more than once. With the LIT Strength Machine, I don’t even wear shoes half the time. I can just sit down and start rowing… no class, no shoes, no additional equipment necessary. I’ve literally done workouts in my pajamas, barefoot, multiple times. All in all, the LIT Strength Machine offers some of the safest, most powerful, effective, and accessible forms of exercise that anyone can benefit from. The variety available keeps it interesting for your brain and body, and the instructors keep things positive and encouraging, while still helping you feel somewhat held accountable. The capacity to store it upright (or outside), and use your own up-to-date technology as a screen make this a home gym option that can evolve over time and work for a number of settings and lifestyles.

[the-fandom-crossroads]

I know Disability Pride Month is almost over but I decided I wanted to share some of my Disabled OCs. Specifically the one's with physical disabilities as all of them have some sort of mental disability. AKA I have ADHD and physically can't write characters with a normal brain cause i still don't understand how those work.

Disclaimer! I am not personally an amputee and I don't currently require mobility aids. So if my descriptions of scifi versions of these aids are missing something you think a scifi version Must have. I apologize.

Feel free to share your Own disabled OCs in the reblogs!

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Deaf Ship Maintenance Tech (They/Them)

Universe: Star Wars

Born in the Clone Wars Era this kid grew up under the thumb of the Empire. They've always wanted to fly ships but settles for working in a ship yard. The Empire nor the Rebellion want them. The Droid binary to text screens are deemed to be to slow of a way to translate comm chatter between ships in the middle of an emergency. And fellow crew members would literally need all hands to navigate those situations and wouldn't have time to pause to sign orders.

I like to think they eventually join a civilian crew and become it's solo repair tech. The ship gets it's lights upgraded to RGB so instead of just changing colors for a red alert they have other alerts too. A civilian ship is rarely getting into dog fights (unless it's secretly a rebel ship) and the Techs job would be to focus on any damage the ships computer reads out and determine what needs to be fixed then and there.

Communication wise they know BSL Basic Sign Language and the 1's and 0's of binary even if they can't hear the beeps of it, and can speak basic but rarely do. Working in a ship yard it is assumed there are loud noises around that would drown out their voice. Their work goggles have a prototype version of the ship lights alerts installed. They light up and then dim when a message is coming through the comms. This gives them enough time to look at their wrist comm to text screen as the message comes through. The Yard Manager has a custom color to warn them the message is urgent.

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Double Amputee Black Market Android Doctor (She/Her)

Universe: Detroit become human, but it also fits cyberpunk 2077 just fine

She was working her way up to being a legit Android medical professional up until an accident in college cost her, her legs. On her way to getting her cybernetic replacements she learns how corrupt the system truly is and decides to go without the replacements. She finishes college but instead of working for one of the big companies she goes off the grid. She instead repairs deviant androids in the city and is the only Doctor any of them trust.

She's sort of a Doctor meets Hacker since the companies go the John Deer approach to right to repair. Making it impossible to fix any code related virus' without knocking down a few firewalls.

She has two chairs. A smaller one for use in her apartment that's more like a computer chair with a roomba for legs aka omniwheels that just needs a remote control joystick to move through the apartment in all 4 directions. And a larger more traditional one for leaving her apartment. This one is the super scifi tricked out one that basically has an entire computer strapped to the back of the chair to allow for on location hacking. can switch from self propelled to motorized with steering attached to each arm rest like some mowers.

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Last one is a Mute Druid Cleric (They/them, He/Him)

Universe: Fantasy, but the ttrpg side of fantasy

This one isn't as well fleshed out, but think Little Mermaid meets Sandman from Rise of the Guardians. In making a packed with his god for more magic he gave up his voice. Druids are known to be able to entrance people when they speak so losing their voice is cutting them off from half of their spells. But the deal does double his magical reserves for other spells and he develops simple image illusions like Sandman for easier communication. Allowing the party to communicate with NPCs that don't speak common and none of them know the language of. Also allowed for silent party communication during stealth missions.

They cast spells based on hand signs and ancient runes. He also had a telepathic link with his patron deity so he could call upon it for boosts to his current spell casting.

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Like I said these aren't All of my disabled OCs. just the ones that stuck out off the top of my head. For example I was in a Sci-Fi table top campaign and I slipped a prosthetic leg into her character sheet design. But the campaign didn't go passed 2 sessions and so it wasn't brought up. The character also just sounds like a mesh of the first two and I didn't want it to seem like a rehash.

But what do you guys think of these guys? If there's anything I got wrong in my wording or is an unhelpful stereotype. Please kindly leave a correction in the comments. I love to learn about this stuff and I never want to speak over someone who has actual experience with these disabilities.

But please feel free to describe your own disabled OCs! I feel like Disabled OCs should be discussed just like canon disabled rep is discussed during this month. That normalizing disabled OCs can be just as helpful at making fandom spaces inclusive.

[kaayakalpclinic]

Laser Hair Removal In Kolkata: Top 10 Benefits

Still, stuck at the old and painful methods of body hair removal? Try laser hair removal in Kolkata to experience upgraded body hair removal. Forget the hassles of regular waxing, shaving, tweezing, threading, and plucking.

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Read this article to find out the top 10 benefits of laser hair removal. We bet you cannot resist booking an appointment for laser hair removal!

What are the advantages of laser hair removal?

Laser hair removal provides umpteen benefits. This blog will explain to you in detail the advantages of laser hair removal.

Time-saving process:

You no longer have to be late to be able to wear that dress for your office meet. Thanks to advancements in technology, the process is completed so much faster!

Remember those times you had to spend extra 15 minutes or even half an hour to shave? Or, when you couldn’t wear that favourite short dress to your friend’s bachelor party because you didn’t have time for waxing?

With laser hair removal in Kolkata, remove all that unwanted body hair within a few minutes! That’s right! The duration of your session depends on the body part you want to remove hair from and your body hair density. On average, a laser hair removal session lasts anywhere between 5 minutes and 45 minutes. For only eyebrows, upper lips, facial hair, armpits, or bikini line, the duration is just about 5-15 minutes. Laser hair removal for both arms and legs can take up to 30 minutes.

2. Painless:

You no longer have to worry about shedding tears at the parlour. The laser hair removal procedure in Kolkata is painless. If you have sensitive skin, you may try a numbing cream. Usually, there is a sensation of a rubber band snapping on your skin. But due to the short tenure, it does not affect much.

3. Accuracy:

The laser hair removal process targets specific zones of the body. So, if you follow the prepping protocols, there will be no stray hair remaining on your body part.

4. No ingrown hairs:

Laser hair removal destroys hair at the roots. Hence, there is no chance of ingrown hairs or new hair curling within.

5. Hassle-free:

Say goodbye to messy wax with laser hair removal in Kolkata.

Safe:

Laser hair removal is a dermatologically certified procedure. Hence, it is safe.

This is contrary to razor shaving where nicks and cuts are a common occurrence. You do not have to deal with skin rashes caused by chemicals in wax.

2. Skin benefits:

Over the age of 25, our skin begins to lose its suppleness. This is because regenerative proteins of the skin reduce in quantity. Laser technology heats the layers of the skin. Therefore, it stimulates healthy collagen production. This results in skin tightening. It brings about an enhanced glow and softness to the skin.

Thus, when you opt for laser hair removal in Kolkata, you are also choosing skincare!

Ever felt this way with shaving or waxing?

No bumpy rides:

With shaving, the skin felt bumpy a few days later, did it not? New small hair was the main culprit. It feels rough to touch the skin at that time.

This is not so with laser hair removal. Laser hair removal prevents stubble formation.

2. Hair growth reduction:

Tired of having to shave or wax every week or every fortnight? With laser treatment, you need not worry.

You will see a noticeable difference in hair growth after your first session itself. The next time body hair grows, it will be much lighter and softer.

Laser hair removal in Kolkata does not provide permanent results. But the results are not as temporary as other body hair removal methods. You will need around 6-8 laser sessions for semi-permanent body hair removal. After the initial sessions, you will need maintenance sessions every six months or a year!

3. Cost-effective:

You will be surprised if you compare the cost between traditional hair removal methods and laser hair removal techniques.

The total amount of money you spend on razors or waxes or tweezers in your lifetime is more than double of laser treatment! Still, wondering why you should go for laser hair removal in Kolkata?

Are there any negatives to laser hair removal?

You may face the following discomforts:

Immediate:

You may experience redness, swelling, bruising, or discolouration in the treated area. This is normal. It will only last for a few minutes up to a few hours. You can try cold compression or aloe vera gel for relief. Your doctor may prescribe you oral or topical medication to alleviate them.

2. Late:

There may be permanent discolouration on the skin surface of the treated area. It may appear as a hypopigmented or a hyperpigmented patch. To avoid this, follow the preparatory guidelines your doctor suggests. Do not forget to use sunscreen.

3. Adverse:

In very rare cases, one may experience rashes, blisters, scars, burns, or infections. There is a very bleak chance for this. Highly photosensitive individuals are prone to such extreme adverse reactions. But all these complications are treatable.

Is laser hair removal safe?

Laser hair removal is 100% safe under the following conditions:

It is performed by a skilled and certified medical professional

Proper safety measures are undertaken, for example,

You follow the protocols for before and aftercare

Laser hair removal is best suited for persons having light skin and dark hair. The contrast allows laser beams to infiltrate into the melanin pigment of the hair. However, research is ongoing for improvement in laser treatments. Currently, it provides effective results for all skin tones.

Best laser hair removal clinic in Kolkata:

Kaayakalp is the top clinic providing the best laser hair removal in Kolkata.

Our team of doctor are highly qualified. They are specialists in laser therapy and have trained under the guidance of the esteemed Dr. V. S. Rathore. Our clinic provides modern amenities in terms of patient service. Kaayakalp is equipped with state-of-the-art laser technology.

Book your appointment today and say yes to a confident you!

The article was originally posted on: Laser Hair Removal In Kolkata: Top 10 Benefits

[livingdmd]

Flight

Flying as a person with Duchenne Muscular Dystrophy (DMD) is an arduous experience. Because of my diagnosis, I need a wheelchair to move around. I prefer a powered one, because, due to my weak muscles, I can’t push a manual wheelchair. Power wheelchairs are very expensive ($40,000 to $80,000) and also do not fit in the cabin on an airplane. What this means is that, if you want to bring a powered wheelchair on a flight, it will be placed in the cargo hold with the rest of the luggage. Boarding before the rest of the passengers, I first have to take my wheelchair down to the bottom of the jet bridge where it will be gate checked. Here I am required to transfer to what is called an “aisle chair”. This “aisle chair” is basically a super skinny wheelchair with a hard seat that can fit in the small aisles in an airplane. I am then strapped in to this chair with a series of straps, so I can be brought through the aisles without bumping my arms, legs, and torso into the seats. Once I reach the row where I will be seated, I am then transferred over from the aisle chair to the seat. This entire process is tiring, time consuming, and leaves me feeling robbed of part of my dignity as a person. When I arrive at the destination, I am always the last off the airplane. I have to wait for everyone else to exit the plane before the reverse process can begin, where I transfer back into the aisle chair and am taken off the plane. Then, at the bottom of the jet bridge, I transfer to my powered wheelchair. This is what it looks like when everything goes smoothly. However, as we all know, not everything goes according to plan. Sometimes the aisle chair isn’t at the bottom of the jet bridge and I have to wait for them to find one and bring it over. Sometimes you have to deplane and repeat the process because of a minor maintenance issue. Sometimes when a person with DMD arrives, they find that their powered wheelchair has been damaged beyond repair, due to rough handling while being loaded on the plane. Reading this, your first thought might be about the cost. Thankfully, the airline is most often required to pay for the replacement chair. Now you might think that would be the end of it. However, it can take 6 months to a year get a new chair through this process. Meanwhile, the person with DMD is required to find another wheelchair to use in the meantime. This is not paid for by the airline. Families and individuals with DMD often have to rent a temporary manual or small powered wheelchair. This often robs the individual of much of their independence for the time they are waiting to get a new chair. People who need to use powered wheelchairs often avoid flight entirely because of the relatively high chance of this happening. Many, like myself opt for cheaper travel chairs that are far less comfortable, but aren’t as much of a loss when broken. All of this could be simply remedied by changing a few simple things on an airplane. The first of these would be widening the entry doors and expanding the galley area to fit powered wheelchairs. Secondly, airplanes could have several seats near the front of the plane removed. The system used to secure the airplane seats in place, is the same system often used to tie down a powered wheelchair, so it would be simple to secure the chair. Lastly, providing some kind of access to a bigger bathroom, that could allow an individual with DMD to use the lavatory if required. The biggest reason this hasn’t been done is that airlines want to pack as many people as they can on each plane, and this would require that airlines remove several ticketed seats from every flight. So in the end it comes down to money. This is only part of the many inconveniences I face when flying. The trip through security is almost always troublesome. Wheelchairs can’t go through the scanners, so this means that every time I fly the TSA subjects me to a security pat down. This is demeaning and often requires that the I be shifted around uncomfortably in my seat to accommodate the TSA employee. Once I get through security, I have to take a moment to recollect myself and my things and then make a carefully timed trip to the bathroom. I can’t use the in flight lavatory, because it is not accessible for me by any means. If I need to urinate on a plane, I have to use a portable urinal. This is extremely awkward in a public setting. If I need to do anything else, I’m shit out of luck. I have a flight day routine that I follow to avoid this on flights longer than 1 hour. Starting from the night before, I simply don’t drink any liquids until after the plane lands! Simple, right? This is definitely not healthy, but I really don’t want to have to go on the plane. Once I’m past security, I carefully watch the time so I can be sure to use the restroom as close to boarding as possible. By this time I am definitely dehydrated, but I get on the plane and pray I don’t need to use the restroom. I spend part of the flight worrying that drinking water in flight will prompt me to use the restroom, but I often drink it anyways because I know I need water to live. Depending on the source, delays can throw a very large wrench into all of this. If we have to deplane and reboard, I often don’t have time to go to the restroom again. Recently I spent 3 hours waiting around completely unsure if I could use the bathroom again before we took off. The first plane I got on ended up having a broken AC, so after waiting on the tarmac for an hour, we had to deplane. This meant I would have to repeat the entire boarding process, but I’d have no idea when we would board the next flight! This meant I could either use the restroom and risk missing the start of boarding or continue to wait. If I missed the start of boarding, this would require that I board the plane last. You might think that’s not a big deal, but it is for me since I then have to be dragged down the aisle like a piece of luggage in front of everyone and be stared at while I transfer to my seat. So I just had to hope that the added 3 hours wouldn’t result in me needing to use the restroom on the plane. Flying is a massive pain, but driving several days to get anywhere is too. I just hope that I eventually see a day where I can take my chair into the airplane cabin and that current advocacy efforts to make that a reality succeed.

[acevedohorner71]

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[spidrrweb]

Kids

glamrock freddy x reader — 983 words — also on ao3

so fuckin fluffy man — fnaf masterlist

this was a heavy self indulgent accident im not sorry

A heavy sigh leaves your lips as you collapse onto the soft couch in freddy's room. Honestly it was a real shame to leave such nice furniture to a robot, but you were grateful it was here when you dropped by. Your head rested on the arm while your legs curled up, leaving a little bit of space for freddy to sit next to you. "So, what'd you call me here for today, big guy?"

Depespite your little gesture he didn't take it. Instead he sat on the ground in front of you; legs crossed and hands in his lap, like the little rhyme you sang as a kid. "Are we hanging out before we close?" You asked, he shook his head. "Well, your maintenance is up to check, I haven't noticed any bugs today...are you feeling any?" again, he shook his head, this time with his ears twitching down. "It's none of that, though I appreciate you for asking."

You nod and say it's no problem. "well if it's not to report a problem, or hang out, which ouch I can't believe you didn't want to, what is it?"

Freddy sighs and places his paw on your side, "it's not that I don't want to hang out," he starts, fingers tapping against your body "but you seemed so off today, at the 2 o'clock party, when I scanned you it said sad but you didn't look sad, so I wanted to ask you if you were."

You click your tongue and mentally cursed at him for being caring enough to scan you but also, for him being nosey enough to do so without permission. "Well, it wasn't necessarily me being sad, just kinda...iffy?" You shrug, hoping he'd get the point and move on.

"Iffy? Well, that can't possibly be better than sad," he argues, "what's this thing making you iffy? Work schedule? Did someone make you feel like this—don't tell me it was one of the kids who did, they seemed so sweet." You laugh at his rambling and pat his paw to reassure him, causing his ears to spring back to their neutral state. "No, it wasn't a kid fred i promise, though they did give me a headache," you sigh and rest your hand against his. "Then what?"

You stay quite for a moment, looking away from the anxious bear in front of you. "You know how you work with kids all day and you just start...watching them?" You try to explain, looking back to see him nodding, eager for you to continue. "And you watch their parents just...embrace them. Kissing and smothering them with love and it makes you warm and then you're just...like, you just..." your finger taps against his hand as you think, but nothing comes to mind. Groaning loudly in frustration you cover your face and murmur a string of "never mind"'s.

Freddy rubs your side again before moving his hands to pry yours from your face. "No, no, keep going I think im getting it," he reassures with a smile and a quick wiggle of his ears, "and you feel like what superstar?"

"Like you want that!" you finally exclaim, face hot and bothered like you're embarrassed to tell him. "I hate the reality of wanting to be a parent but seeing the simpler things like...these parties, all the love and seeing how close some of them are just, makes me want a kid, y'know?" You intertwine your fingers in between the gaps of his large ones as you wait for his response.

"So...why don't you?" he asks, ears once again shifting down and up, how cute was he. "I think you would make an excellent parent, maybe a super one at that, I see how nice you are to these ones and they're strangers! Plus, you would still work here right? You could bring them on their birthday or let them play around–they could even meet us!" You could practically hear the happiness bouncing off his robotic voice as he went on and on.

"Oh so, you want me to have kids just so you could see them?" You joke with a small laugh and the shake of your head. "And having kids isn't easy, they're a handful and cost a lot of money that I don't have right now, not to mention a real pain to have."

He lets out a gruff sound and lowers his head, "I thought it would be nice."

You nod and let go of his paws, watching him look back up at you as you do. "It would be nice, but I'm not ready for all that just yet..." you trail off and readjust yourself on the couch. "Hey, freddy, have you ever thought about being a human and having kids of your own?"

The bear sits up straight, eyes staring at his lap as the thought about it. Being a human was never something he just wondered about but, now that you mentioned it..."Not until now, no." "Huh," you hummed, "well, if you were, I think you'd be the best, you're like, the ideal dad."

His hands bunch up against his kneecaps and he leans forward, "you think so? What makes you say that?"

"Well, look at how you are with kids," you move to sit up, "you're always so supportive, caring, it's really admirable, plus you're just naturally good with them-"

"Yes because I am programmed to!" he butts in.

"Well either way, programmed or flesh and blood, you'd be a good dad," you smile down at him and give a little shrug, "if I had a kid, I'd make you the god father a hundred percent."

He hums and lays his head against your leg, "I like that idea..."

You chuckle and place your hand on his head, rubbing it softly, "yeahhh...me too..."

©montyweb 2022. thanks for reading loves, reblogs are always appreciated <3 please dont copy, steal, repost, translate or use my works for asmr without permission.

[giorno-plays-piano]

Material Girl

Pairing: Dabi x reader

Warnings: yandere, violence, home invasion, allusion to dubcon.

Words: 1.5k

Summary: Looking around, Dabi smirked at the sight of a pretty princess sofa, pink pillows, toys, a lovely dressing table with shiny little bottles and cosmetic jars on it, and a huge white wooden wardrobe that was full of dresses, he was sure of it. Huh, so you were daddy's princess, a spoiled little girl who was always getting whatever she wanted.

P.S. All characters are adults.

___________

When he's landing on a windowsill of someone's house, it's late night, and the deep wound on the right side of his torso hurt so much Dabi wanted to howl like an animal. The blood loss made everything blurry, forcing him to grab the window frame not to fall down.

Dabi had no idea where he was, but heroes had finally lost him, and it's the only thing that mattered. Now he needed to patch himself up and return to the League before he would faint from pain.

Of course, he had no time for looking at his surroundings, but he's forced to when he felt a movement somewhere in front of him, on a large bed covered by a pink blanket - Dabi watched as you lifted your pretty head from the fluffy pillows, blinking and trying to understand what awoke you in the middle of the night. Shame, he thought when he looked at your cute face, wondering if he had to burn you right here right now if you decided to scream, waking up the whole house and giving heroes a chance to trace him again. You, however, stayed silent even when you saw a wounded villain sitting on your windowsill.

Yawning, you slowly got out of bed, and now Dabi could fully appreciate the sight of your alluring body covered only by a see-through nightgown as he stared at your every curve. In any other time he'd definitely comment on the beautiful bends of your body and your bare legs, but his bleading wound was ruining all the mood.

"Aren't you the one from that League of Villains?" You asked him suddenly with curiosity of a kid seeing their favourite hero on TV, showing no fear when you came closer and then stopping right away when you saw the red stains on his coat, his arm pressed tightly to the wound to stop the blood loss. "Oh. You're hurt."

"Thanks for noticing," he said between gritted teeth, thinking if you asked one more stupid question he would definitely burn your house to the ground.

You blinked a couple of times, staring at his blooded arm, then rubbed your eyes, smacked your pouty lips like a child, and slowly moved back to your bed, getting on all fours to grab something from beneath it.

A gun? No, you looked far too calm for someone who was going to defend herself against a villain like him. It was something else, and the curiosity took over his anger when he watched you pulling out a little metal case. What the hell was that and why you weren't scared of him the slightest bit? You certainly knew who he was. Were you so dumb you didn't understand he could kill you because you were in the wrong place at the wrong time?

"What the fuck are you doing?" He finally asked when you turned to him with a case in your hands.

"I'll patch you up," you yawned again as you stepped closer to him, opening the case to demonstrate it was a first-aid kit with bottles of antiseptic, bandages, pills, and all other stuff, "or you're gonna bleed all over the carpet, and daddy will get mad at me."

For the first time, Dabi thought he was in a strange fucking house with a strange fucking family living in it. What the hell did you mean by that? Who was your daddy if seeing blood on the carpet in his daugther's room would make him angry and not scared? Some kind of villain or something?

Looking around, Dabi smirked at the sight of a pretty princess sofa, pink pillows, toys, a lovely dressing table with shiny little bottles and cosmetic jars on it, and a huge white wooden wardrobe that was full of dresses, he was sure of it. Huh, so you were daddy's princess, a spoiled little girl who was always getting whatever she wanted. Dabi finally realized everything here, including even that subtle scent of perfume coming from your hair, was crazy expensive.

Ah, so you were mob's lovely daugther. Now he could understand why the sight of blood didn't scare you.

"Are you used to patching up your daddy?" He grunted when you forced him to take his hand away from the wound, assessing how severe it was.

"I've been doing it all the time when I was younger", you muttered under your breath, seeing how bad the blood loss was and sighing. "I don't have anything to numb the pain, so you'll have to endure it. Just a second."

Then you brought him an opened bottle of martini, and Dabi let out a husky laugh, the pain becoming so unbearable he barely made a sip - and then emptied the fancy bottle with a one long gulp. Taking something hard you gave him to hold in between his teeth, he squeezed his eyes shut.

He didn't remember what happened afterwards when you cleaned his wound and stitched it. He didn't even remember the feeling of your soft sheets and blanket on his skin when you put him on your bed, although he heard you saying something he needed to leave before 7 am next morning because that's when your daddy was going to come up to your room. What he remembered vividly was a dream he saw where he was laying on a meadow with wild flowers blooming in between his burnt fingers.

By the time you woke up just before 7 in the morning, the stranger you were patching up half of the night was long gone, and the window was sealed shut.

________

When Dabi looked at a shiny diamond necklace he stole earlier, Toga whistled behind his back, staring at it with wide eyes.

"Woah, where did you get this?" She asked, jumping in front of him and poking the necklace with her tiny finger. "And for whom is it? Is it for some girl?"

Dabi winced, hiding the necklace carelessly in the pocket of his pants as if it didn't cost more than anything he ever held in his hands. He cared little for luxury and these expensive trinkets, but you, certainly a high-maintenance girl, would appreciate something like this, he's sure. He planned to visit you again after his wound healed - not so much to say thank you, but because he liked you, daddy's dumb little girl who wasn't scared of all the burns and wounds on his body. In truth, Dabi was fucking dreaming to lift your pink nightgown and get in between those beautiful thighs of yours.

Funny enough, you didn't look even the least bit surprised to see him on your windowsill again as you drank tea from a fine china cup, half-lying down on your fancy Italian sofa. Seeing him smirking at you as you wore a pink dressing gown that was slightly see-through too, you sent him a flirty stare.

"Hello, Mr. Villain," you smiled, putting your cup on a coffee table but not changing your position, obviously to attract his attention.

Little slut, he thought as he stepped down the fluffy carpet in his combat boots. You were tempting him despite knowing who he was, not showing any signs of being repulsed with his clearly intimidating appearance. Well, you did patch him rather nice, considering the conditions.

"Did I leave any bloodstains the last time?" He asked you, smug.

"A little."

You gestured him to sit on your lavish bed - it was so huge it could probably fit him, Spinner, Shigaraki, and one Nomu altogether, and some space would still be unoccupied.

Snickering, he landed on your pink blanket with casualty as if pretty girls were constantly trying to get him into their beds. You were either incredibly brave or very stupid, he didn't decide it yet.

"Oh, is it for me?" you perked up as you saw something shiny slipping out of Dabi's pocket onto your bed, and he threw the necklace to you like some trinket as if he could get something like that every day with ease.

You proved to be agile when you caught the necklace without leaving the sofa, looking at it with pure admiration in your eyes: you had a good idea how much these diamonds cost, and you immediately put the necklace around your neck, standing up and rushing to your dresser. Judging by the expression of sheer happiness on your face, Dabi chose a right gift for you.

"It's so pretty!" you clasped your hands together, laughing. "Thank you! Oh dear, I certainly have to put a price on my medical services..."

"It's not my payment for that night," he cut you off, standing up and walking over to you until he put his hands on your shoulders, enjoying the heavenly feeling of a fabric of your dressing gown against his skin.

You raised your head, blinking in surprise, "It's not?"

"No. It's your present for today, babygirl," he whispered into your ear, his hand taking the dressing gown off your shoulder.

[voiceless-terror]

More than Enough

For @tma-mspec-week Day Three: Polycule

Characters: Jonathan Sims/Sasha James/Tim Stoker/Martin Blackwood

Rating: Teen

Summary:

“But what if-” Once again, Jon struggles to find the right words. He knows their situation is unorthodox to most people, and the thought of Martin looking at him differently is too much to bear. “What if he doesn’t understand?”

“Then explain it to him,” Sasha relays patiently, her hand never leaving his. Things are always so clear to her, Jon envies that. “You’re my partners, you’re dating Tim, sometimes me and Tim have-”

Or: How One Became Four.

It starts with Sasha and Jon.

She’s fresh off six months in Artefact Storage, shell-shocked and stand-offish. Jon starts a few months later and they learn the ropes together. She warms up, divulges little tidbits of her time in the other department that Jon devours. He’s young, hungry for answers and Sasha’s already jaded by her few years in academia. This is just a transitional job, she assures him. It pays better than most research gigs and allows her to keep up a certain lifestyle. 

“I’m looking at other places, putting out feelers,” she confides in him one day over coffee. It’s become their daily ritual, a mid-morning break where they can commiserate on the staid academics that ask too much of them and the fanciful statements that end up on their desk. “Whatever you do, don’t get stuck here.” She leans back in her chair, gives a cynical little smile. “Or maybe you should. It’ll be different for you, you’re a man.” He starts a protest but she cuts him off. “It’s an old boys club and you know it. Besides, I know all about your extra meetings with Bouchard. He’s never done that with anyone else. Who knows - in a few years you might be my boss!”

He scoffs at that. Jon feels like he’s treading water. He’s a great researcher, sure, but he hasn’t exactly made himself popular among the others. He’s quick to bite, dismissive, blunt. It’s why he and Sasha get along so well, tucked away in their own little world. Of course she would notice the attention from Elias; Jon’s flattered by it, even if he stammers his way through every interaction. Elias seems to find this amusing, but Jon wants to impress him. 

Though not at the cost of his friendship with Sasha. “I always mention your work to him. I’m rubbish with technology, but you-” She rolls her eyes.

“Don’t, he’ll see right through that. Manipulation’s not your strong suit.” Jon stares down at his rapidly cooling drink, an embarrassed flush spreading across his features. But her hand reaches out to grasp his and a fond smile lights her features. “Thank you, though. It’s sweet of you.”

Jon likes Sasha. Their personalities occasionally clash, but never for too long. Jon’s quick to forgive and Sasha’s too fond to hold a grudge, though she’s loath to admit it. So when her roommate suddenly moves out and she’s left in a bind, it’s only natural for Jon to take her place. He’s been rent-poor, living paycheck to paycheck in a shitty studio that’s still an hour’s commute. Sasha’s closer and her flat’s substantially nicer; she offers and he accepts, easy as that. It’s a practical move, and Jon has to admit his lonely little flat is starting to feel suffocating. 

They fit together easily, like pieces of puzzle slotting in place. Sasha’s brutally efficient in her personal matters; bills and maintenance that Jon finds overwhelming and confounding she takes care of with ease. He’s heard her on the phone in that light, practiced tone of hers as she casually threatens the landlord for necessary repairs. Jon finds himself relaxing bit by bit, feeling comfortable in his own skin as she snarks at the dinner table over a dish he’s made. He used to cook for Georgie like this. Now he cooks for Sasha.

“You’re good at this,” she comments one night over chana masala. “Loads better than the frozen meals I’m used to.”

“It’s nice, having someone to cook for. Harder to do it for one.” He feels a bit uncomfortable with the admission, though he knows he shouldn’t - this is what it’s like, when you love someone.

He’s never said that to her, of course. He gets attached too easily but never knows quite how to show it. And it’s not his usual sort of love, he doesn’t want to date her. She’s more than a friend, and Jon’s never had many of those; he has no metric to measure this against. He thinks he could stay in this flat with her forever, so long as he could see her smile every morning and yawn every night. 

On a Saturday morning she stumbles out of bed and makes her way over to the kitchen. “Morning,” she grumbles, as she reaches for the coffee pot and kisses his forehead. Jon doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to.

On a Wednesday night Jon drinks too much. 

“Sasha,” he slurs, her arm the only thing keeping him from falling off his stool. “I want you t’ know…”

She smiles indulgently, takes a sip of her drink. “Yes, dear?”

“I-I love you.” She pauses and Jon’s heart drops. “N-Not like that, but like friends. Good friends. Very good friends. But m-maybe not.” She’s still smiling, that’s got to be a good sign, right? “I-I just love you, okay?”

And then she laughs, puts an arm around his shoulder and pulls him close. “I love you too. Stay with me forever, okay?”

He takes her hand between his and promises, with all the solemnity a drunken man can muster, that he’ll stay with her forever and then some. The next morning, while they’re both nursing massive hangovers, Jon broaches the subject again.

“Did you mean it?” he asks tentatively, trying to keep the worry out of his voice. “What you said last night. Do- do you want me to stay forever?” She turns to look at him, bleary eyes suddenly alert.

“Yes.” There’s no tease in her words as she leans into his side, a warm weight on his shoulder. “I don’t think I’ve ever meant anything more.”

Jon stays.

______

Two years later, Tim joins the Institute.

He’s handsome; charming, but subdued. He’s been assigned a desk near theirs, invading the quiet little corner that had become their world. Tim greets them both with a smile and a perfunctory handshake before settling down at his desk and powering up his laptop. He doesn’t speak to them again.

Jon watches as he goes back and forth between circulation and his desk, building an impressive stack of books- The Pantomime Life of Joseph Grimaldi, The Congress of Clowns and Other Russian Circus Acts. Sasha told him he worked in publishing, Jon knows she got that information through her usual nefarious means. Perhaps he’s writing a book, Jon says. Sasha thinks otherwise.

“He’s one of those,” she says over sandwiches and tea. She invited Tim, but had been turned down with an apologetic smile. 

“Hmm?”

“Like you.” She sets her drink down, eyes him with her steady gaze. “He’s got a reason.”

Mr. Spider doesn’t like it.

Jon shivers at the reminder. Sasha never brought it up after he initially confided in her one vulnerable night last year; she just held him through the shaking and the tears. He’s only told the story twice; once at eight, again at twenty five. It never got easier.

“No one believed me,” he whispered, tucking his face into her shoulder as his body itched from phantom legs skittering across skin. She squeezed him back.

“I do.”

They’re friendly enough to Tim, giving him his distance while still trying to be helpful. Jon points him in the direction of texts and scholars who might be useful, Sasha teaches him a few of her more invasive tricks that Jon refused to learn. Slowly, bit by bit, he opens up. Never shares his story, no- but he smiles, jokes around with them, accompanies them on their lunch breaks and eventually entices them to after work drinks. 

He’s handsome when he smiles, Jon thinks to himself as Tim regales them with stories of dates gone wrong. Sasha catches his eye and winks. He wonders if she’ll tire of Jon now that Tim’s around. He’s everything Jon’s not; good-looking, confident, secure in his intelligence. Sasha laughs so freely around him. He could ground her where Jon cannot- they can be a chaotic force, the two of them. It’s why they keep to themselves.

But at the end of the night it’s Jon’s hand she takes, swinging it gently with hers. “Stay with me forever?”

He smiles. “Forever.”

They invite him over to their flat one night in spring, when the trees are blossoming and Jon’s allergies are acting up. He’s sniffling miserably on the couch, Tim sprawled next to him as Sasha pours some wine. Despite his misery, Jon’s content.

Tim nudges him with his foot. “So what’s your deal?” he asks in a wheedling tone, though his smirk betrays an almost imperceptible anxiety. It’s strange. “You and Sash. Dating, roomies…?”

It’s Sasha who answers, handing Jon a glass of wine and standing before Tim, tall and proud. “Jon’s my partner.” It’s matter of fact, and Jon can’t help the warmth that floods him. “We’re not dating. I’m not interested in that.” She hands him his glass with a smirk. “But if you want to romance Jon, feel free.”

Jon sputters as she laughs- he’s transparent, as usual. They’d talked about it briefly- Sasha’s fine with him dating other people, but Jon’s never felt the need to. Sasha’s enough. She still is, but he can’t deny the way his heart swoops whenever Tim aims that smile in his direction. Sasha likes him too, in her own way.

Tim’s still gaping at them and Jon can’t help but join in on the laughter, as embarrassed as he feels. “Is the great Timothy Stoker nervous?” Sasha says in between giggles. “Guess we know how to shut him up now.”

“L-Look, can you blame me?” Tim says, a smile growing on his face. “You two can be very intimidating, not to mention gorgeous-”

Jon kicks at his leg. “Don’t joke.”

“No, we are.” Sasha interrupts, daring him to disagree. She turns that deadly smile back on Tim, delighting in his falter. “So what’ll it be, Stoker?”

There’s silence, Jon can feel his heart racing. They’ve got this all wrong, Tim doesn’t want him, Tim’s going to leave, Tim doesn’t understand-

“Can I take you out to dinner tomorrow night?”

Jon blinks. “Uh, yes?”

“He likes Thai!” Sasha calls as she walks over to her bedroom, leaving the two of them on the couch, laughing nervously. 

“So you’re bi, then?” Tim asks, scooting closer to Jon and throwing a blanket over their legs and an arm around his shoulder. It’s warm in all the right ways and Jon leans closer, the awkwardness dissipating at the touch of his hand. 

“I prefer pan,” he replies. It’s the first term that felt right to him. Georgie used to make some stupid joke about a ‘gender buffet’ and him ‘having one of everything.’ It still makes him smile. “And- and you should know I’m also ace. So there’s some things I won’t be able to do for you.” He looks for disappointment in Tim’s eyes and finds none. “I hope that’s alright.”

“Of course.” Tim smiles like he means the words and Jon feels light, almost dizzy. “Are kisses alright?”

He nods shyly, and Tim takes this as his cue to pepper him in obnoxiously loud smooches- one in his hair, another on his nose. Jon manages to bat him away after Tim almost gets him in the eye. 

So Tim and Jon are dating. Tim takes him out to dinner, the movies, one memorable night of karaoke. Sasha joins in when she wants; they go to museums and lectures. One night she laces her fingers through Tim’s, smiling at his wide eyes.

“What?” she says innocently, doing the same with Jon. “I’ve got two hands.”

On Wednesday nights Tim goes to the gym. Jon sits at the table, passes Sasha a bowl of reheated spaghetti before settling down in his chair. He fidgets, not touching his fork.

“What is it?” Sasha asks, setting her own fork down. “You’ve got that look on your face.”

“I-” he stutters, sighing as the words won’t come. Just tell her like you practiced. “I’m not trying to, well- hmm. I don’t want to insinuate anything-”

“You would never.”

“But, I’ve noticed- I’m not- Tim is very handsome.”

Sasha smiles indulgently. “Mhm. Go on.”

“And I’ve noticed. I don’t- if you wanted to-” Goddamnit. Pull yourself together. “I wouldn’t mind it, if you were to - that is, if you’d like to engage in-” He closes his eyes, purses his lips in frustration. “Please stop me.”

“Why Jon,” she replies, her voice coy and teasing. “Are you giving me your blessing?”

Jon sighs, his face warming as he opens one eye- she’s grinning, just as he expected. “...Yes?”

Six months later, Tim moves in.

_______

“Jon wants to bring a boy home!”

Jon smacks him in the arm and scowls. “Tim, don’t-”

“What, it’s true!” He leans back in his chair, a self-satisfied smirk on his face. Jon wants to knock the smile off his face and maybe onto the floor, if he can get a good kick in. “I don’t blame you and in fact, I encourage it. Martin’s a catch-”

“Martin?” Sasha perks up. “Finally!”

“Not you too-”

“Jon, he’s a very sweet boy-”

“-good-looking, too!”

“And if you want to bring him over, please do.” She reaches across the table to give his hand an encouraging, if condescending, squeeze. “I’ve seen the way you look at each other.”

“But what if-” Once again, Jon struggles to find the right words. He knows their situation is unorthodox to most people, and the thought of Martin looking at him differently is too much to bear. “What if he doesn’t understand?”

“Then explain it to him,” Sasha relays patiently, her hand never leaving his. Things are always so clear to her, Jon envies that. “You’re my partners, you’re dating Tim, sometimes me and Tim have-”

“I don’t think I’ll need to go into that much detail just yet,” Jon cuts her off, ignoring Tim’s snicker. “It’s just...what if he thinks it's weird?”

“Weird can be good. And if he doesn’t agree, well - he’s not worth your time.”

If only it were that simple.

It’s been about three months since he first ran into Martin in the break room. He’d seen him around plenty of times, but despite his hulking form, the man can make himself very, very small. It wasn’t until he quite literally ran into him, causing him to drop his newly organized files, that Jon got a good look at his face.

It was a nice face. Soft, kind, with big blue eyes and curly red hair that fell across his forehead. He wanted to touch it, tuck it behind Martin’s ear and he almost did, despite the man’s rambling apologies and meek demeanor. He stood there, frozen, even as Martin handed back the file with a bashful smile.

“Sorry, I’m pretty clumsy. Are you alright?”

Jon was fine. He should probably say that.

“Y-Yes. I’m Jon.” Wow. Smooth.

“I know.” Martin put a hand behind his neck, nervously chuckling. “You’re quite known around these parts.” His eyes widened and his face turned red. A nice red. “N-Not in a bad way, of course! You’re- you’re just very smart and- and direct- and oh Lord, that’s not a compliment, is it-”

“Thank you for my file,” Jon replied robotically, his eyes trained somewhere over Martin’s shoulder and not on his very, very blue eyes. “I have to take my leave now.” Why are you talking like this?

Their next few encounters were similarly stunted and awkward. Martin made tea at ten every morning, coincidentally when Jon got his yogurt from the fridge. He started making Jon a cup as well; he wasn’t sure if Martin was particularly excellent at making tea, or if it just mattered that he was the one making it. Jon tried not to dwell on the sentimentality of it all. 

He shouldn’t want another partner. He’s got Sasha, who he loves, and Tim, who he also loves, albeit in a different way. They should be enough for him. They are enough. But Martin makes him tea and asks him how his day is going and smiles at him and people don’t do that. He tells himself he just wants a friend, but he finds his mind wandering- Martin’s hand in his while they walk down the street, Jon nestled into his side on a movie night and Tim’s there too, because Martin is very comfy and handsome and warm. Sasha’s in her armchair reading a book because tonight they’re watching a romantic comedy and she hates those. Jon hates them too but Martin likes them, of course Martin likes them-

No. He’s getting distracted. And he’s standing in front of Martin like an idiot, saying nothing. This is going terribly. Why did he ever think this would not go terribly-

“Jon? Are you alright? You look like you’re about to have a stroke.”

“I’m not having a stroke,” Jon responds on auto-pilot. “I’m trying to think of a clever way to ask you out but you are very distracting.”

Shit. Martin stares at him, mouth open in shock. He’s got nice teeth. Very straight.

“Um- I-I thought you were with Tim?” Martin squeaks out. Oh God, I’ve scared him. Do I keep going? “Or- or Sasha, oh! I’m not accusing you of -”

“No, you’re correct,” Jon grinds out, willing himself to be calm. He doesn’t want Martin to think his frustration is aimed at him. “Sasha’s my partner and I’m dating Tim, and sometimes Sasha and Tim-” No! Abort! “-sorry. We’re together. But, um, I-I also like you, and I think Tim likes you but he hasn’t said- I’m sorry, this is going all wrong.” He looks down at the floor, clenching his jaw. “I understand if you say no.”

“I’m not saying no,” Martin’s voice is lower now and Jon feels a hope rise in his chest. He’s not? “So it’s, it’s like an open thing? You’re accepting applications?” Jon would laugh at the joke if he weren’t so paralyzed with fear.

“Not really? It’s, we aren’t dating around or anything, but I suppose it is open, in a way.” He pauses, takes a deep breath. “Open for you.”

Martin’s smiling like he can’t believe his luck, and it confuses Jon because who wouldn’t want him? Kind, handsome Martin who makes him tea and doesn’t laugh at his stupid jokes but rolls his eyes affectionately and tells his own in turn. Jon doesn’t think he’ll ever understand his humor but it makes him smile and that’s important. And now Martin’s taking his hand and he- oh fuck Martin’s taking his hand Martin’s got his hand and it’s warm, just like he knew it would be-

“I-I think I’d like that.” A squeeze. Jon dies but only a little. “Wow, this is sort of crazy for me, y’know? You’re all so, so intimidating and good-looking-”

“Yes, we are,” Jon agrees, squeezing his hand back. “But we’d like to buy you dinner, if you’re amenable.” Martin laughs and says yes, he’s very, very amenable. It feels right holding Martin’s hand. It feels right to see him with Tim and Sasha, smiling and joking. It feels right to lean into him at the end of the day, to nudge his side in the night and apologize in the morning.

Martin’s lease expires in seven months. They start looking for a new apartment after three.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29032062

[lannister-slings-and-arrows]

I and Love and You

The fifth in Rafael Barba/Reader/Frederick Chilton threesome verse written in collaboration with @pascalispretty . Mood board also by the lovely and talented @pascalispretty !! Yep. We did this. Was it necessary? No. Did we enjoy it? Sometimes. Are you going to read it? I sure hope you do and that you like it! Cross posted on ao3!

Part Five of the series So Much Easier than You Realize

Warnings: Total and complete tooth rotting fluff. Schedule an appointment with your dentists, ladies and germs. Rafael is, as always, a bit of a jackass. You will probably have an incurable craving for breakfast food. And the teeniest tiniest mention of daddy kink. Rating: E for everyone because there is nothing objectionable in this at all, I did not think we could actually write something this sweet lol. Word Count: 3725 Summary: Mornings are for cookies and contemplation.

When Rafa wakes up, he spares a moment to sympathize with his growling stomach. More than one moment, if he’s being honest with himself. He isn’t normally an early riser but his stomach wouldn’t be so empty if he’d been allowed to have his bedtime snack and not rudely distracted by his two partners and an ingenious application of his second favorite blue tie. The result is pleasantly sore abdominal muscles and the rare opportunity to wake up in time to see the both of them still peacefully asleep in bed next to him.

Fred’s back is pressed close to his chest and his legs brush against Rafa’s as he levers himself up onto his elbow to look at her on Fred’s other side. Her face is tucked against Fred’s neck and the doctor’s arms are wrapped tightly around her, and Rafa smiles at them both, still asleep in the soft grey early morning light.

Fred shifts, and an irritable frown passes over his face the longer Rafa uses him to balance himself to stare at the two of them, so Rafa quickly presses a kiss to his temple before settling back down with a sigh.

It’s too early to be up, really, but he’s starving and is not getting back to sleep without eating something. He grunts and sits up before pressing another kiss to Fred’s shoulder. He swings his legs out of bed and grabs a pair of grey sweatpants.

Rafa trudges down the hall to the kitchen. There were still Bugles hidden in the back of Fred’s Tupperware cabinet. Oh shit, had he eaten them all? He flicks on the light to the kitchen and huffs a quiet laugh when he finds a sticky note on the door of said cabinet in Fred’s small, precise handwriting.

Sorry, I ate the last of your chips two days ago. In my defense, counselor, you left them in my house and I was having a very stressful day. I made you cookies instead, they’re on top of the microwave. I figured you’d be up before the both of us this morning since you didn’t get your snack. --An Apologetic Psychiatrist who feels like he shouldn’t be apologizing for eating food in his own cupboards.

Rafa runs his fingers over the note a few times, smiling like an idiot, his heart feeling full and warm and about seven sizes larger than it was when he woke up. He turns his head and sees a plastic container (with a green lid because the green Tupperware was for storage of baked goods as Fred was constantly reminding him) right where Fred said it would be, and when he steps over to investigate it further he finds a batch of white chocolate macadamia nut cookies. Another note is stuck to the lid.

I know these aren’t your favorite. I know that you don’t really enjoy white chocolate. Consider this my attempt to make sure you don’t eat all of these in one sitting. Please limit yourself to two; you aren’t in your 20’s anymore, Rafael, and it’s not even a normal time for breakfast yet, much less cookies. --A Not Apologetic Psychiatrist who doesn’t want your first heart attack to be in his apartment, thank you very much.

Rafa rolls his eyes and peels the lid off, smirking as he deliberately takes three out of the box. He doesn’t hate white chocolate, after all, and he does love macadamia nuts. And he has always had a problem following instructions.

Standing at the kitchen counter, Rafa eats his cookies with a pleased groan, once again thanking whatever saints or angels his mami appeals to for sending him a partner that bakes. Not that he thinks his mother would have prayed for someone at all like Fred. Fussy, officious, arrogant, snobby, and, well, a man. His mother would have had someone like their younger lover in mind however. Smart, pretty, and willing to stand up to his attitude. Most of the time anyways. Well, what did Lucia Barba always say? You can make as many requests of God as you want to but remember that He has a sense of humor too? She got him a little extra than what her original request probably specified.

Rafa snorts at the thought and brushes crumbs off his bare chest, leaning back against the counter and surveying the kitchen in the growing light. He’s still hungry but he knows he’ll hear about it if Fred wakes up and all of those cookies are gone. And today is supposed to be the one day this whole month the three of them can spend just being quiet together with no plans, no work, and no prior obligations. He’d rather not spend it all dodging Fred’s passive aggressive jabs and her pouting looks and quiet pleas to please just be the bigger man and apologize.

He stretches his arms out on the counter behind him and tips his head back, staring absently at Fred’s kitchen ceiling as he contemplates making his way back to bed and napping until Fred wakes up and decides to order in breakfast. He’s nearly settled on that plan when he catches sight out of the corner of his eye of the bright blue note on the cupboard. He doesn’t remember Fred spending any time in the kitchen before the two of them dragged Rafa into the bedroom to put his ties to a much more interesting use. He must have gotten out of bed after Rafa fell asleep to put this together, and Rafa can’t help the smile that spreads over his entire face.

Rafa slaps his palms on the counter and shoves himself off, making his way over to the fridge to see what Fred has in the way of actual food. He’s already awake; the least he can do is make breakfast.

He finds the ingredients for pancakes easily enough--Fred is a stickler for organization. Rafa tries not to make a mess as he moves around the perfectly arranged and spotless kitchen. He stirs the batter by hand rather than risk the noise of the KitchenAid but pauses over whether or not to put chocolate chips in.

She would be pleased, her sweet tooth nearly rivals his own, but Fred would almost definitely be annoyed. Especially because Rafa has already had chocolate earlier in the morning. With a fond sigh, Rafa puts the glass jar back in the cupboard, though not before tipping a few of the chocolate chips out into his hand.

It reminds him of cooking in Fred’s beautiful house in Baltimore, his sweet girl laughing and dancing around the kitchen in one of Fred’s shirts, barely being any help at all. All three of them adore the big, beautiful house that Fred had shyly shown them--as if they could have done anything else other than fall in love with it.

Fred relaxed slightly when it became clear that his guests found the house as beautiful as he did. Rafa tried to help her in slowing Fred down as he showed it to them, asking questions about particular objects or features and pointing out the things they especially admired. Every sincere compliment kept a gratified little smile plastered on Fred’s face--and there was plenty to compliment him on.

It’s clear that it holds a special place in Fred’s heart. It’s so him, every inch of it reflecting back the man who poured so much time and effort and money into making it a home. From the collection of antique medical texts carefully displayed on the shelves to the exact shade of teal velvet upholstery on some of the armchairs, Fred had lavished attention on the house to surround himself with things he loved and found beautiful. It amused Rafa to wonder if he’d taken that into account when he’d invited his partners over; whether they’d laud the elegant aesthetic he’d established in his home.

Shifting the spoon briefly to give his right hand a break from mixing, he smiles at the memory. He’s never actually admitted to Fred how much he likes playing house with his two partners there. Rafa is fairly certain that the kitchen in the Baltimore house is larger than the apartment that he grew up in and he knows that a wine cellar is an absurd luxury. But it’s a place where the three of them are free to be themselves, without worrying about nosy neighbors and doormen.

Rafa snorts quietly, folding the batter briskly to get out all the little flour bubbles. That pretty well explains how he feels about Fred too. Fred is too high maintenance, too abrasive in all the ways Rafa normally hates, too… prep school, but Rafa can’t help but smile indulgently every time he turns his nose up at a meal that costs less than fifty dollars, or every time he gets that prissy stubborn look on his face, or juts his chin out and point blank refuses to admit that he’s wrong (even though Rafa can tell that he knows that he is).

He never apologizes either. Ever. He’ll be proven wrong, he’ll hurt both their feelings, and the closest to any sort of acknowledgment of wrongdoing that the both of them will get will be a cup of coffee in bed the next morning, one of Fred’s most handsome smiles, and the complete and sudden cessation of all hostilities like the fight never happened. Rafa knows that with anyone else that kind of behavior would be a relationship killer.

Rafa looks over the batter and nods to himself, satisfied with the consistency, and balances the spoon against the side of the bowl. He stares at the oven and frowns. Just pancakes hardly make breakfast. Going over to the fridge, he grabs bacon out of its particular place, rolling his eyes as he does so, and tosses it on the counter next to the pancake batter, reaching under the silverware drawer for a frying pan.

Maybe it’s the way Fred ‘apologizes’ with the perfect cup of coffee instead of actual words. Maybe it’s that same perfect cup of coffee that somehow manages to find its way onto his desk at work when he’s too swamped to go out and get one--just because Fred knows he needs it. Or a sandwich from his favorite deli and a quick flash of that handsome smile on Fred’s lunch break.

Rafa gets started on actually cooking said breakfast, hissing and swearing quietly when he gets a first-hand demonstration of why you shouldn’t fry things without a shirt on. Fred would have more than a few words to say to him about the relative intelligence of what he’s doing right now. He grins. Maybe that’s it--the way he cares while trying desperately to make it seem like every time it’s an inconvenience of the highest order.

Maybe Rafa loves Fred because every once in a while, when he’s very drunk, very tired, or the perfect combination of both, Fred slips a little and calls the both of them by those cute, ridiculous southern pet names that before now Rafa would have put money on being more myth than fact. And how embarrassed he is when it is pointed out to him that he just called a forty-something year old man ‘pickle’.

Fred is arrogant, prickly, particular, and both overindulgent and overly judgmental of vices depending on if he himself shares in them. He is a pain to get along with most of the time and sometimes treats the two of them like they’re made of spun gold--things to be cherished and well looked after and shown off to the best of his ability. He’s a contradictory monster and Rafa loves him.

He has a feeling that the smile on his face is sappy and ridiculous, but as he turns the bacon and settles to wait a few more minutes, he shrugs. There isn’t anyone else around this early to see him; his reputation as a son of a bitch and a jackass won’t be ruined. He loves Fred. He loves her. He loves both of them--sometimes so much it’s hard for him to keep it to himself and wait for them to come to the same conclusion. Their individual faults, foibles, and perfections and the way they mesh with each other and fit so surprisingly well in his own life.

Like getting new book recommendations from her--whenever he has the time to actually read something for fun. She leaves them on his home desk with a brief explanation why she thinks he’ll like them. That almost always makes up for the numerous occasions he has gone looking for one of his own books and found it had mysteriously jumped off its shelf and walked itself three rooms over, or managed to find itself completely out of order.

He drains the bacon onto a paper towel covered plate and gives the pan a quick rinse. He loves finding packets of M&M’s in his briefcase or in his suit coat pockets, loves knowing they’re from her and that she braved Fred’s ire to indulge his habit of constant snacking. A habit Fred particularly despises. He loves--most of the time--being a couple minutes late to work some mornings because she got into a nearly incoherent argument with him about what color tie he should wear. He loves that she loves his wardrobe as much as he does.

Rafa loves ganging up with her to tease Fred and loves that she can take some teasing herself. He loves that she just rolls her eyes and plays along when his puckish side emerges and he can’t help but be an asshole even though he can tell she would rather he didn’t.

Rafa starts pouring pancake batter, chuckling to himself when he recalls the mood she’d gotten into the last time his sense of humor had gotten the better of him. While waiting for a table in a restaurant, a strange woman had made a snide comment about ‘men dating women young enough to be their daughters’ and Rafa had been unable to resist feigning outrage and asking what was so terrible about a man taking his daughter out for a nice birthday dinner.

The woman had been mortified, and Rafa had enjoyed the look on her face so much that he’d only hammered the point home further, telling her it was hardly his fault he was a widower and a single parent. He hoped it had taught her a valuable lesson in boundaries. His sweet girl had been so embarrassed but it had been so worth it.

Flipping the first pancake, he thinks about the flaws that come with her youth. She’s always the first one to joke about having daddy issues and Rafa can hardly deny how much he enjoys hearing her call him papi--and Fred daddy--in bed. He just has to try not to think too deeply about it. Not that Rafa really has a leg to stand on where difficult paternal relationships are concerned. But her jokes mask an insecurity and a clinginess that Fred has a habit of overindulging. More than once when he’s been trying to work she’s tried to distract him or cuddle up to him and then gotten sulky when he had to gently but firmly rebuff her.

When he finally finishes work on those evenings, he usually finds her wrapped around Fred instead, giving him a wounded look when he finally emerges from behind his case files. Those looks are wordless guilt trips every time he’s on the receiving end of one--no matter how right he feels in his decision to work instead of play.

And yet somehow she’s worked the same magic on him that Fred has. A flaw that in anyone else would have stopped any idea of a relationship in its tracks is something that he’s come to love about her. Her clinginess comes from a place of emotional fragility and it must be hard to let her partners see that. The fact that she trusts them enough to be so vulnerable around them makes Rafa’s heart swell. He can’t help but love her, even when he’s dealing with her pouting and huffing.

Fred talks about it like Rafa is somehow being ungrateful, that he should drop everything to spend time with his beautiful, smart, young lover, and it drives Rafa crazy. He knows that Fred generally means well when he tries to appeal against his more workaholic tendencies, but he also knows that Fred could retire now and live off his trust fund if he wanted. It rubs him the wrong way when Fred tries to discourage him from working hard because he’s never needed to understand why Rafa works as hard as he does.

He starts stacking the cooked pancakes on a plate on the stove and furrows his brow in concentration. Fred gleefully indulges her in her clinginess, dropping everything to scoop her into his arms or take her to bed. They’ve even taken to napping together with his cock still tucked inside her, as if they can’t bear to be anything other than as close as physically possible. He’s stubbornly blind to the fact that Rafa can’t just drop what he’s doing. If Fred misses a deadline for submitting a journal article the worst that happens is it gets pushed back an issue. If Rafa misses something in his case files or submits something late or fails to prepare as fully as he should, it can ruin lives. Dangerous predators can be let out on the street to offend again. People don’t get the justice they deserve. And even in this day and age, a poor boy with a Spanish name is granted a lot less leeway with employers than a rich boy with a nice American name and family money.

They come from very different worlds, even if Rafa has carefully and thoroughly infiltrated Fred’s, and Rafa loves and hates it a little that Fred forgets that most of the time. Rafa has to always be ‘on’ and can’t afford the same kind of laxness that Fred can.

Sometimes he even has to be ‘on’ at home when he’d rather put his fist through a wall or wrap himself in every blanket in the apartment with a bottle of scotch and pass out. Like when he walks into whichever apartment they’re spending the night at to find Fred in a screaming match with her that he has to moderate. She likes to complain that he and Fred can really get into it like a pair of children, and he isn’t saying she’s wrong—they definitely can—but she and Fred are just as bad. Frankly, the three of them are cut from the same cloth when it comes to being pig headed and it makes for some rather loud and spirited fights.

Like the frequent battles she has with Fred over her occasional smoking habit. They always start out with Fred gently chiding and somehow end up with Fred snidely pulling out his “I went to medical school, therefore everyone else is a moron” voice and her reminding him that he couldn’t cut it as a real doctor and she’ll “smoke a goddamn fucking cigarette every once in a while if she fucking feels like it.” Rafa tries to interfere before it descends to “as much as you like to act like it sometimes, Frederick, you aren’t my father” and “maybe if you knew how to make better choices you wouldn’t be constantly seeking validation from older men,” but he doesn’t always get home in time and instead walks in to the both of them glaring icily at each other or shouting as many deliberately hurtful things as they can.

He likes to leave his courtroom face at work, but it’s generally the only thing that will defuse those battles, or at least calm them down into cold wars. Rafa doesn’t particularly enjoy playing mediator on the best of days, especially not when one wrong word from him will have one or both of them turning on him as another enemy combatant. He likes his occasional cigarette too, and he snacks constantly, and eats terribly; all things that Fred will use to drag him into a fight.

But while he hates trying to calm them down enough to at least stop yelling, he has to admit he loves having people around to yell in the first place. Yes, these fights mean he has to put on his lawyer face when he’d rather get drunk and pass out. But he has people in his life to break up fights between. He can come “home” to people who care about him. People who, when they aren’t screaming, see him come through the door and smile. People who would, and have on occasion, drop what they are doing to bring him something he left at home and needs now. People who drop a sandwich on his desk when he’s working and quietly--most of the time-- leave him to it.

People who care and appreciate him.

Rafa finishes setting plates and cutlery out on the island and starts the coffee maker. He loves having them a few rooms away. He loves knowing that they like him enough to put up with his “shoebox sized apartment”, with him being an incurable workaholic, with the fact that when he gets stressed or angry he lashes out at anyone around him. With the fact that when he does he can be more than a little cruel.

Rafa makes his way back into Fred’s bedroom, wincing as always at how bright it gets when the morning sun fully hits it. He smiles when he sees them still tucked against each other just like he had left them. He loves this view the most.

Rafa grins mischievously. They put up with his innate tendency to be a complete and utter jackass, and that is one more thing he loves about them.

“I just rearranged every single cupboard, bookshelf, and drawer in your entire apartment, Frederick!” Rafa informs the room in general. Loudly.

Fred’s eyes snap open and he sits up, dislodging his sleeping companion without a second glance. His gaze lands on Rafa, who is smirking next to him, and his eyes go comically wide in horror.

“Rafael Barba, you didn’t.”

Tag List: @sassyada, @dreamlover31, @prurientpuddlejumper, @storiesofsvu

[oh-for-fic-sake]

Would you ever write something about daddy Henry giving his little maintenance spankings to make sure she behaves (because she's a little brat)?😋

Summary: Maintenance spanking for a naughty little girl who didnt want her icecream after dinner.

Warnings: DDLG, Spanking, Swearing, Temper Tantrums, a Waste Of Ice Cream

Tagging: @viking-raider

"What the hell was that young lady?" Henry growled as he thundered down the hall hearing your foul language.

After throwing a tantrum in the kitchen about eating veggies you'd had the audacity to get up from the table without being excused and thought he let you eat ice-cream instead.

It was a ballsy move, opening the icebox freezer when he had told you not to and fishing out ice-cream he had forbid you from eating before finishing your dinner.

Henry had enough by that point, you'd done all this in front of him with a haughty little expression

You thought you'd be spared a spanking because of your tooth ache but you were wrong, very wrong.

After standing up and confiscating the spoon you'd got to eat your icecream you'd run off whilst he called for you to sit down and eat your dinner.

You huffed and left the kitchen tipping over your chair on the way out prompting him to follow.

And now here he was standing at the door to the living room where you had stormed off to and was now sulking.

"you want to repeat that to my face little one?" he growled hearing the half muttered curse words you were calling him.

"N-nothing daddy" you gasped panicking slightly eyes wide as you realise your little fit may have just cost you.

"Oh no go on daddy's a what? Come on tell me" he grunted tipping his head at you frowning non to impressed with you cussing him out under your breath.

"Go on princess what is daddy?" He grunted staring at you

"A... very handsome amazing king?" You tried to backtrack and pretend that you hadn't just been cussing him out to Kal who was sitting in the corner giving you the 'ooo your in trouble' eyes.

"Really because it sounded to me that you called me an asshole?" Henry asked shifting on his feet casually looking huge and intimidating by the door blocking your only exit.

"No daddy I-I'd never do that!" you spoke voice going high as you realised he may be serious this time.

"And lying too? Oh no poppet! No no no!" He growled crossing the room.

You squeaked and turned on all fours trying to scamper away over the sofa.

You were fast but he was faster henry managed to cross the room and sit on the sofa capturing your ankles and dragged you back as you whimpered yelling as he held you face down over his lap.

"Now here we go, a little brat needing a reminder~" he hummed striking your up turned bottom in a loud slap, the sting was instant even through the jeans.

"And why? Because daddy is an asshole that wont let you eat a whole litre tub of caramel ice-cream after refusing to eat your dinner" he huffed holding you down with one hand as you made a fuss.

"No I'm sorry daddy no!" You whined kicking out trying to find some leverage to kick off and escape.

Henry moved propping his knee higher so you wouldn't kick the table beside the sofa and knock everything off.

"Now now none of that, after all I'm an asshole and wont listen" he said in a jovial mood despite you being rude?

"bu-but daddy my tooth hurts!!??" you yipped trying to fight him but he was just to big and strong.

"and now your ass will too!" He muttered moved quickly tugging your jeans down as you squirmed wriggling your hips trying to get away only managing to help him pull them over your bottom dragging your small knickers with them leaving you bare.

You cried out covering your bottom only for him to tuck both wrists in one hand holding them in your back before letting out a chuckle.

"Oh baby look at this pale little rump~" he teased patting the still cold cheeks rubbing a little heat into them.

"Noo daddy please don't! I'm sorry!" you cried out as he move popping your cheeks a few times letting a slow warmth creep across them.

"Nothing says sorry like a little red tushy and you haven't had one of those in a while love its why your being a brat!" he commented before landing heavier spanks across your bottom.

You kicked out but it was futile, you whined in defeat hanging your head sniffling resigning yourself to a spanking.

"Good girl, now you hold still while daddy sees to this very naughty botty" he said cheerfully before beginning to administer a proper thrashing.

Your sobbing began quite quickly as he began to impart a lesson onto your vulnerable cheeks scolding you all the while about being rude and naughty.

You squirmed as he lit a fire in your ass giving you something to be sorry about, leaving stinging burning swats over the whole of your ass without breaking a sweat.

"there we go! A very red bottom~ Something to be embarrassed about"

"oh baby your butt is soo cute all red and hot~ like a tiny rip cherry daddy is tempted to take a bite" he teased as you wailed below the sting was to much and your bottom was swelling already.

" there we go! A very sorry little princess...Now you will be marching right back to the table and eat your veggies without the attitude!" he scolded finally tipping you up to stand you your own two feet beside him as you sobbed into your hands trying to hide your shameful tears in your palms.

"y-yes daddy... B-but my tooth really did hurt daddy" you offered pitifully as you wiped your face on your sleeves.

"i know, you have a trip to the dentist tomorrow for an emergency appointment" he explained slowly bending over to capture your knickers and began shimmying them up your legs.

"nooOOOoo daddy i dont wana goo!!!" you complained at him shaking your knees trying not to stomp at him before your undies were even covering you.

"well thats a shame isnt it? Your going now come on up we get" he drolled finally pulling your knickers over your bottom but made you step out of your jeans

"daddy?- I want-" you pointed to your thick jeans that would offer some protection should he decide to give you a few more swats.

"nope, these are staying off, its warm enough and means I can get to you easier if you start acting up again now into the kitchen" and stood up pointing to the door.

You blinked at him eyes still wet with tears, lip quivering but he raised a brow prompting you to spin and head for the door at a snails pace.

"mush" he said walking behinde you patting your tender ass making you yelp and move faster.

"now you will finish half of your mash potato and all of your carrots! Daddy made soft veggies specially for you tonight and your sore tooth" he instructed leading you over to your seat whilst fetching your plate out of the oven where henry had put it to keep warm before chasing you.

You sniffed but took the offered fork and began eating small bites feeling sorry for yourself.

Henry moved to the sink quickly rinsing his own plate once he was sure you were eating nicely.

"oh look? The icecream you were trying to sneak is all melted now well that is a shame isn't it?" he said whilst picking up the drenched ben and jerry's carton you had been trying to steal.

He shook his head and stepped on the peddle of the bin

You whined tearing up as the carton hit the bottom of the bin with finality.

Instantly you burst into tears again holding your arms out making grabby hands to him.

"come on love eat your dinner" the scolded nodding to your half full plate.

"b-but daddy that was a full carton?!" you cried out loud upset over the loss of your special icecream.

"yes well brats don't get icecream now finish your dinner" he said with no remorse what's ever

"but what about pudding?" you whimpered moving to nibble another baby carrot as slowly as you possibly could.

"you get none, now hurry and eat before daddy thinks you need another reminder to do as your told" he threatened calmly leaning back on the counter watching you closely as you picked at your food.

You looked down in self pity and began to eat a little faster

"if you finish everything on your plate you can have some chocolate custard" he caved unable to see you so miserable but wanted to remain firm.

"r-really daddy?" you sniffled peering at him shyly

"yes poppet but only if you clean your plate" he reiterated making you smile softly to yourself and nodded before eating your dinner nicely.

[btsqualityy]

I can see Yoongi always going to the girls to get hints one what Mama Min wants for her birthday or mother’s day, like he already knows his wife so well but he also knows that she’ll go to Kins and Kam to let them know what she wants him to get her exactly 😭

Yoongi: Alright what does your mom want this year, I know she already told you both to give me hints

Kam: She wants a range rover

Yoongi: *chokes*

Kins: And that LV bag

Yoongi: What’s wrong with her car now? It only cost me an arm and both legs?

Kins: Daddy you guys have been married forever, how does it still shock you that your wife is high maintenance?

Kam: That’s not high maintenance, a new car and a purse are essential!

Yoongi: Kammie everyday you remind me more and more of your mother

Kammie: …Im not sure if I should take that as an insult or compliment but i’ll see how I feel about it later 🤔

Yoongi: Anything else she want? A personalized jet? The Mona Lisa?

Kins: Nah i think the car and bag should be enough daddy

Yoongi: Thank God

I can definitely see this happening lol and I can see her purposely asking for crazy things in order to get the little things that she really wants 😭🤣

[luminescencefics]

stubborn love

Ask and you shall receive! Here’s a little blurb about this post, filled with an angsty y/n and an adorably dimwitted Harry. Oh yeah, also smut. Enjoy!

2.6k word count

My masterlist // read below:

***

If there was one thing about you that Harry hated, it was how stubborn you were. And if there was one thing about Harry that drove you absolutely mad, it was when he left arguments incomplete—choosing the easy way out instead of finishing the conversation you ultimately started.

It was with good cause, though. After being together for three years, the little things started to surface every now and then. And with the aid of liquor coursing through both of your veins, it was only a matter of time until a fight started.

They never lasted long. And it was usually cured by sex, but sometimes, Harry did things that drove you absolutely bonkers, leaving you wanting to punish him a bit. Like tonight, for example, when you had to remind him three times that he had to be ready by eight o’clock in order to make it to your best friend’s birthday dinner on the other side of town. You watch by the vanity as you finish applying your nude lipstick, observing how he scrolled through his phone aimlessly on the bed with just a towel wrapped around his waist. His outfit was laid out beside him, his hair still wet from the shower he had recently gotten out of, and the time on the clock read 7:42.

“Harry, please get dressed. We’re supposed to be out the door in five minutes,” you remind him, sitting on the bed beside him while you buckle the strap of your heel around your exposed ankle. He nods absentmindedly while texting Jeff about scheduling radio interviews for the upcoming album, seemingly ignoring what you were telling him.

“Harry.”

Your tone is laced with annoyance now, and immediately his eyes snap over towards yours, taking in your completed look for the first time since slipping on the black dress you decided to wear this evening. His eyes rake your body instantly, and because of the years you’ve been with him, you know exactly what he’s thinking already. But you don’t have time for this, and when you stand up abruptly and saunter towards the door, you try to ignore the pout he shoots in your direction.

“Don’t be like that, baby,” he says slowly, sitting up straight and facing the door you were currently standing in. 

“Harry, please just get dressed! I promised Catherine we’d be there early,” you say tightly, giving him a pointed look until he surrenders and gets off the bed, reaching for his briefs in the dresser on the other side of the bedroom.

“Jesus, what is with you always needing to be early? You know Catherine’s always late, anyways,” Harry says in a clipped tone, shoving his long legs through the navy trousers laid out on the bed. 

“Don’t start. This is important to me, and I don’t need your lack of time management ruining Catherine’s birthday dinner that I’ve been planning for weeks.” You knew that you were being a bit over dramatic, but the stress of making your high-maintenance best friend happy was weighing down on you. Coupled with the fact that Harry was leaving again for a few months, you were under a lot of stress to make everybody happy.

“What do you mean ‘lack of time management?!’ We’re talking about Catherine for Christ’s sakes! The girl who showed up late to almost every event you’ve hosted in the past two years! I think she’ll manage us being a couple of minutes late.” Harry speaks while finishing putting on his outfit, and for once, you really don’t have it in you to argue. Because arguing costs time. And time is something you are lacking at the current moment.

Your silence is what causes his head to snap in your direction, giving you a confused look. “Oh are you giving me the silent treatment now?”

You know that he doesn’t mean it, but his words are causing you to seethe in your heels. Before you can make a comment that will cause another argument, you start heading towards the stairs, grabbing your keys by the table near the front hallway and throwing them into your clutch.

“Oh, come on! Catherine probably won’t even be there for another hour anyways!” His voice is right behind you, and before you can even think about it, you’ve pivoted on your heel, your hair whipping against your neck with the sheer force of your movements. 

“Enough! I’d like to get there before my perpetually late friend, and I don’t need you breathing down my fucking neck about it! Can you do that for me? Please?” You really didn’t mean to snap at him, but he’s been egging you on ever since you’ve asked him to get ready hours ago. 

You know that your boyfriend means well, and that he’s got enough on his plate as it is, and going to your forgetful best friend’s birthday dinner is probably the last thing of importance on his list—but you’ve done so much for him. You’ve flown out to shows, you’ve gone months without seeing him due to his demanding schedule, you’ve practically uprooted your life to accommodate his throughout your relationship. And, of course, it was all worth it—because he’s worth everything. But sometimes, especially times like this, you wish he would realize that and just do as you say.

And with one clipped nod, the nod he gives you when he’s surrendering to the argument, he reaches behind you for the front door and holds it open, allowing you to walk in front of him and head towards the car at the end of the driveway, trying your hardest to let the anger seep out of your skin.

***

You hate to say it, but Harry was right. Catherine was forty-five minutes late to her birthday dinner, and before it was over, she was already drunk enough to completely forget to thank you for putting the entire thing together. 

But you were far too proud to show your boyfriend that he was right, so instead of acknowledging the smug look he was shooting your way, you decide to order another drink and continue swallowing them down until you were drunk enough to forget how annoyed you were at the entire evening. When Catherine announces moving the party to the new club that opened downtown, you decided you were done, choosing instead to end the night early.

While you were waiting for the valet, you notice that Harry wasn’t as drunk as you were, but he was definitely drunk enough to let his hands rest low on your hips while his body enveloped yours, seemingly protecting you from the cold. His lips would brush your neck every now and then, and while you appreciated how touchy he got when liquor was in his veins, you were still annoyed at the unfinished argument the two of you had hours earlier.

“You look so beautiful tonight, baby. Can’t wait to take you home,” he whispers in your ear. You blame the shiver that racks your body on the wind, even though your insides were burning at the feeling of your boyfriend’s lips against the shell of your ear.You’re silent the entire car ride home, resting your head against the window as Harry’s hands splay against your exposed upper thigh uncovered by your short hemline. With every stop light, he would look over towards you, and you could feel the heat of his gaze every time he ogled your body in the short garment.

Ignoring Harry when you were mad at him was an entire feat in itself.

When he pulls into the driveway, you’re the first to spring out of the car, determined to put enough distance between the two of you so you aren’t tempted to let him win the argument. Harry knows this, because he knows how stubborn you can be. He loves this little game of yours that you play, and while he knows he’ll ultimately apologize to you in the end, watching the way you battle yourself with touching him and keeping your distance makes him only want to rip your clothes off more.

He sits on the loveseat in your bedroom while you rip your heels off and place them on the shoe rack in your closet. You're aware of his gaze, watching every step you take as you remove your earrings, plug your phone into the charger, run to the restroom to wash your face. His silence is irritating, but you’d be damned if you were the first to break it.

It’s once you’ve finally stripped out of your dress when Harry breaks.

“Christ, can you come here, please? You’re killing me, baby.” His voice is rough and you can hear the frustration laced in his words, and it’s enough to make you stare at him head on, hands gripping the undergarments gracing your hips, looking down at him with a stern look.

Harry does his hardest to hide the growing bulge in his pants at the sight of you.

“I’m still upset with you,” you utter, walking towards the loveseat slowly. You purposely matched your bra with your underwear, and it’s enough to cause Harry’s eyes to wander the expanse of your skin, holding back a groan at the sight of you.

“I’m sorry.” His voice sounds miles away, and you can tell that your body is distracting him. He’s not even looking into your eyes, and once his big hands reach out to grab your hips and pull you down on top of him, you immediately back away, removing his hands from your body.

“No touching. Not until you’ve apologized properly.” You know it’s wrong to tease him, but sometimes your boyfriend needs a little reminder of how to treat you when he’s been a bit unfair towards you. 

He frowns instantly, crossing his arms against his chest like a petulant child. It’s enough to cause you to snort, before crossing the room and laying on the bed, your back towards him and your front facing the window.

You can hear him shuffling around, most likely removing his clothes in favor of wearing his briefs to bed. And once the overhead light is off, just the light of the moon filtering through the room, you can feel his body hovering over yours in the bed, his hands gripping your waist tightly.

“Hate when you’re a tease,” he whispers against your neck, rolling your body so that you're completely under his, staring up into his dark eyes. 

You lock your arms around his neck. “Hate when you’re a prick,” you reply back, trying your hardest to suppress the moan urging itself out of your throat when his hands trace the swells of your breasts, before settling at the tops of your underwear.

“How many times do I have to apologize?” He says, his eyes locked on your body instead of your eyes. You know that he’s been wanting to see you naked all night, and while it makes your skin prickle with goosebumps, it’s not enough.

“Until you mean it.” You watch as he swears under his breath, before moving his hands behind your back to the clasp of your bra. He’s cautious, testing to see how you’ll react, wondering if this is still a game for you. And when you’re quiet, he takes that as affirmation, ridding you of your top layer before pressing his mouth against your newly exposed skin.

You bite your lip so hard until you can taste the metallic flavor of blood, trying your hardest to ignore Harry’s bulge growing against your upper thigh. His mouth is moving lower and lower, his hands kneading your exposed flesh, and it’s driving you absolutely mad to stay silent. But you’re still angry. And stubborn as a bull.

“You know I’m sorry. I never wanted to hurt your feelings,” his lips are ghosting over your clothed center, and when your body twitches under his, he takes that as a sign to pull the lace from your skin, tossing it over his shoulder.

“Yeah, well you did, Harry.” Your voice comes out much more high-pitched than normal, and you know that it’s due to your boyfriend’s proximity to your heat. It’s coursing now, and Harry’s eyes flicker from your eyes to your exposed center.

“Didn’t mean it,” he’s distracted again, and before you can yell at him, you watch as his ringed fingers trickle from your navel down to your clit, before swiping against your folds. He’s testing you, wondering how long you’ll be upset with him. You’re still silent, because he doesn’t deserve you at your full-capacity, not when he’s still so cavalier about the way he treated you earlier.

When he removes his briefs and teases you with the tip, your hands immediately grip his shoulder blades forcefully, and the sting is enough to make him look at you for longer than a few seconds.

“You can’t stay mad at me forever…” he’s teasing you, knowing that you’ll eventually break. But your boyfriend is completely underestimating your stubbornness, and when he tries to turn you over so that your front is pressed into the pillows and your backside is in the air, the position that he craves the most, you clench your abdominal muscles and anchor yourself to the mattress.

You won’t be giving him that luxury today.

He says your name breathlessly, but you ignore it. Instead, you bring your mouth closer to his, before speaking instead of kissing him. “Need you to mean it, baby.”

Harry groans against your lips, his tip slipping in when you moved closer to his chest. His mind is moving a hundred miles a minute, trying to remember the exchange of words you both had hours earlier, wondering what he did to make you so upset.

You can tell that he’s thinking, and you decide to reward him by wrapping your legs around his waist, allowing him to slip further inside of you. You’re not that much of a monster.

“I do mean it! I’m sorry I made you late,” he’s stuttering and his eyes are completely blown out, and normally you’d kiss him at this moment when his length is almost completely enveloped by your heat. But he still isn’t understanding it. And you’re still mad.

“Not why I’m angry with you,” you say against the corner of his mouth, your breath hitching once he’s completely bottomed out inside of you. His brain is clouded over with lust, and trying to apologize at this moment is damn near impossible.

His hips start to rut against yours, and when he pulls back out and pushes inside of you once more, gathering a gentle rhythm, you dig your fingernails deeper into his skin to remind him that you are, in fact, still waiting for a decent apology.

Harry’s breathing your name in between moans, his lips inching towards yours desperately. He normally kisses you during sex, tangles his tongue with yours, pulls his teeth against your bottom lip, anything he can do to get closer to you. But you’re denying him of this luxury, and he’s growing more and more frustrated with each pump into you.

“Harry!” You’re not sure if it’s from pleasure or from the fact that he still can’t come up with the reason why you’re so upset with him. But once you’ve stilled under him, his eyes snap to yours, and he’s realizing then that he truly has been a bit of a dickhead tonight.

“Didn’t mean to make you late. Didn’t mean to egg you on. I know—fuck, I know Catherine is always late but that doesn’t mean you are. I know this was important to you. ‘M sorry I was such an asshole. You’re important to me. I love you, fuck baby, I love you too much. Can’t stand you being mad at me. Please.” He’s desperate, his words falling over your cheek in hot pants. His eyes dart between both your pupils, and you can tell that he needs you to understand his words. That he truly means them. That he needs you to fucking accept his apology because he’s about to burst inside of you, and his heart can’t take you not kissing him and looking at him the way you normally do.

You smile then, removing your hands from his shoulders and tangling them into his hair, bringing your lips to his. He sighs in your mouth, relief coursing through his veins. He starts pumping into you again, and you’re finally reciprocating, kissing his cheeks and his neck, whispering his name into his skin, telling him that you love him with each press further into the mattress.

And when he finally comes, you reward him with an open-mouthed kiss, your tongue tangling with his, whispering “I love you” until it settles into the back of his throat.

Because even though you’re stubborn, and even though Harry can be dim when it comes to apologies, you wouldn’t have it any other way. You love him far too much to let him go that easily, and when you’re cuddled into his chest and he’s running his fingers down your matted hair, you fall asleep knowing that you’re safe in his arms.