#Dog playpens

[tahthetrickster]

took her under four hours to ditch her cone, which is a new record around here

[ignisgayentia]

PROOF that my puppy looks like a penis when she sploots

[gar-a-ash]

Trying indoor leash time and good god is this creature a menace. Definitely comes from bitework lines (the amount of times I've picked him up to potty and he just latches onto my shoulder ffs).

I think next time we try leash time Tassie's going to go into her crate so she doesn't rev him up lol, the point of this is to teach him to be CALM in the house.

[trinkettes]

gotta stop reading comments on anything where people are asking for dog behaviour tips, keeping your dog in a crate is not allowed here and it's sooo jarring seeing people saying "it's the only thing that works!"

[gzprodigy]

Portable play tent for kids

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[julymusings]

i could be yours part one

i could be soft and sweet, i could be hard and loud, i could be anything you ever need somehow.

prequel to simplicity!!!

or; an entire summer of chance encounters with the so-called prince of gotham [9.5k]

Jason todd x f!reader warnings: intoxication & vomiting (w/ description), suggestiveness, discussions of toxic relationships (cheating, emotional manipulation, misogyny); special dedication to @fluffy-anna who inspired this au with the ask that started it all‼️‼️😳

part one | part two | series masterlist

June 12th

Jason finds his brother at the entrance of the event, waiting for him with crossed arms and looking displeased.

“You are very late, Todd.” Damian looks up at him. His face is shadowed in front of Jason, whose head blocks the sun from Damian’s view. He wears a t-shirt with the Wayne Animal Sanctuary logo printed across the front and a name tag on the left side of his chest.

“Sorry, kid,” Jason says, and he means it. “Traffic.”

“No matter. I have a job for you.” Damian turns toward a table with a sign that reads, ‘Volunteer Sign-in”, but Jason stays rooted in place.

“What? No, I’m not letting you put me to work,” Jason scoffs.

“Why else would you be here?” Damian asks, looking affronted.

“You asked me to show up, I showed up. Isn’t that enough?”

“It is not, Todd. All you have to do is sit in a chair and ensure no one steals a dog. Is that too much work for you?”

“If someone manages to steal a dog from you of all people, they deserve to keep it.”

“Flattery is not going to get you out of doing work. Do not push me.”

Jason snickers. “Don’t push you? Or what? You’re half my size. I’m so scared.”

Damian huffs. His bright eyes narrow to something more menacing. He takes a sharp breath in for what Jason thinks is an attempt at puffing his chest and appearing intimidating— he’s wrong.

“Wow, Todd,” Damian bursts out loud enough for the surrounding tables to turn their attention. “You think we should send them to a kill shelter? Shame on you!”

Jason can feel the scathing stares shot at him without breaking his glare at Damian. “Funny. That’s really funny, Damian.” Jason says, sarcastically. “I’m leaving now.”

“You think we should abandon them on the side of the road?” Damian shrieks. “That’s low even for you.” He shakes his head disapprovingly.

Jason doesn’t engage, only turning around to walk back to his bike. He stops short, however, when he sees a little boy looking up at him with widened eyes. He's frowning, one tiny hand fisted in the hem of his cat-decorated shirt. The other is wrapped around the fingers of another man, presumably his father. Though Jason towers over him, the father looks at him with disgust.

He stifles a groan and turns back to Damian, who sports a brilliantly cheerful smile. Jason drops his head and sighs. “Where do I go?”

“You have to sign in, first.” Damian leads him to the center table, and Jason accepts a pen from the stink-eyed woman behind it to add his name to the list.

“Will you be making a donation?” Damian asks. When Jason hands back the pen, the woman purses her lips in contempt. Jason glares at Damian, but he is unmoving in his fake oblivion.

Jason reaches for his wallet.

“You could at least pretend you’re excited to be here.”

You hold your hand in front of your face, shielding it from the brightness of the afternoon. “Why?” You grumble. “I doubt the animals care.”

“Of course they do!” Your friend is much too bubbly for someone who stayed up until early morning drinking wine and watching reruns of nineties sitcoms on cable. “They can literally smell your emotions. They’ll know if you hate them.”

“I don’t hate them.” You roll your eyes, though it’s blocked by your large sunglasses. “I would just really rather be in bed right now. And I’m surprised that you wouldn’t. How are you not hungover?”

“Um, maybe because I didn’t drink an entire bottle all on my own.” He takes your hand and leads you through the throngs of people gathered around playpens of cats and bunnies.

“Did I drink that much?” You say it quietly, more to yourself than to him, but he picks it up anyway.

“Yeah…I only drank, like, two glasses? You didn’t notice?” He’s stopped at the end of a line leading to a pen of small rescue dogs.

You tilt your head, squinting at him through your sunglasses. “Does it look like I noticed?”

The line moves up as others clear out, having had their fill of playing with the dogs. The late spring sun beats down on your neck and arms, the light and sounds intensifying your headache, and you can’t help but sigh.

“Oh, what now? I planned this for you. I thought you wanted to adopt a dog.” He says, lifting up your sunglasses to get a peek of your eyes before you swat his hand away.

“To adopt a dog, you need a place to live.” The two of you move up forward in the line. “I’m sleeping on your couch right now.” Your stomach twists, and you’re not sure if it’s from the hangover or the reminder.

“Right now,” he reminds you. “But you’ll find a new place, and a new guy, and then you can take it on walks to your old place and make it poop on the lawn.”

Your forehead crinkles as you draw your brows together. “The guy or the dog?”

“Whichever one you want.”

This earns your first (sober) smile all week, and he brightens up.

“I don’t think I want a new guy just yet,” you say, crossing your arms.

“Well, you don’t need, like, a serious guy,” he says. “Just, like, a rebound.”

“A rebound? Seriously?” You scoff at the idea.

“Yeah, seriously. Just to get back out there, you know? Take your mind off of…” His voice fades out, both of you already knowing where he was going.

“I don’t think a rebound is what I need right now,” you say, avoiding his eyes. “I just need to find a new place to live.”

“Not even if it’s him?”

You follow his gaze to the person manning the area, his face coming into view as more patrons clear out.

“Damn.” Your friend fans himself as he comes into full view.

“You are so dramatic,” you say, but you can’t stop your gaze from sliding across his broad shoulders.

“Oh my god, I think I’m about to pass out. He looks like marble.” He grips your arm, pushing his weight onto you with a pleading cry of your name. You swat him away. “Please. Please. If not for you, for me.”

The man is…well, he really could pass as marble. His face is composed of sharp angles and rigid features, with a hard facial structure and crooked nose stolen from David himself. He sits in a chair next to the playpen with a relaxed posture, his arms crossed and legs stretched out in front of him. He looks indifferent to the noise around him—lazy, even—but there’s no mistaking the alertness of his eyes, the way they scan along the length of the park, surveying each passing patron with mechanical precision; as the line moves up and people speak to him, he studies their faces, eyes falling to their hands, their pockets, and their shoes. It earns him some uneasy glances— the discomfort his probing, baring gaze causes, but he doesn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he does, and he just doesn’t care.

By the time it’s your turn, the crowd has lessened. The sun is just past its peak, and the late-afternoon drowsiness has set in for most people. The dogs are romping around in the shady grass underneath a tent to protect them from the heat, and you’re grateful to get a break from the harsh sunlight when you approach, finally able to lift your huge sunglasses and rest them atop your head.

The man—Jason, the sticker on his shirt reads—takes your tickets and you let yourselves into the playpen. He looks you up and down with the accusatory eye of a trained spy; you begin to feel guilty for things you never did, every small mistake you’ve ever made coming to the front of your mind. He looks at you like he can sense it. Now that you’re seeing him up close, there’s a small tuft of white hair at the front of his hairline that, from afar, looked like a reflection of sunlight. It’s a bit jarring, making someone so young-looking stick out in a crowd. You catch yourself staring, and so does he. His jaw tenses and he looks away.

“Five minutes,” he says.

Immediately, you and your friend are overrun by small and medium-sized dogs jumping onto your legs and climbing over each other for your attention. 

“Okay, wow. Hi there!” You squeal, kneeling on the ground as they crowd around you and your friend. All the dogs have tags on their collars with their names and the Sanctuary logo on the front. Your friend zeroes in on an excitable retriever puppy who jumped into his lap and is licking all over his face. 

“Lucy,” he reads from her name tag. The dog’s tongue lolls out, teeth baring in a smile as he scratches under her chin.

“Cute,” you say, watching their interaction. Lucy jumps into his arms and he coos, attacking her with kisses.

“Isn’t she?” He scoots closer to you. “Aren’t you feeling better?”

“I guess so,” you sigh, patting another dog's head before it notices two other dogs fighting over an enticing twig and scampers away to join.

“You know what would make it even better?” He asks, and you raise your eyebrow, though you know where he’s going.

He jerks his head towards Jason, eyes widening suggestively. When you stare at him, unamused, he scoffs and smacks your arm with the back of his hand.

“Come on, he’s perfect!” He whisper-shouts. “Just look at him. God, if I were single…”

You roll your eyes but look at him anyway. He looks flushed from the sun. That, or his decision to wear jeans and a leather jacket in this weather.

“I’m not sure I trust someone who dresses that warm in June,” you reply.

“Why worry about how he’s dressed? Just worry about un-dressing him.” Your friend snorts at his own joke, and Lucy startles at the sound, sniffing around his face for the source.

“Besides,” he continues, “I’m not sure you’re in the place to judge what he’s wearing.” His gaze drops to your shirt. “Like, I get the whole ‘putting-in-no-effort-post-breakup’ thing, but what is that shirt? Why is there a cockroach on it? And why is he holding a briefcase?”

You’re a little offended by that. “It’s…it’s The Metamorphosis. We read it in high school. Together.”

He narrows his eyes. “You know I blocked out everything from before I turned twenty-one.”

You press your lips together. “Fair enough.”

You spare a quick glance back to Jason, but he’s busy staring down someone walking by. Near his chair, in the corner of the pen, you notice for the first time a slightly older dog sleeping under small streaks of sunlight that seep through holes in the corner of the tent. It’s almost silly how it mirrors Jason— dark, furry legs sprawled out in the grass against black denim doing the same. Its ears flop open, just like the black waves that stick up in some places. The dog is even graying around its nose, white whiskers stark against the expanse of black fur.

You shuffle over on your knees, and the dog’s ears twitch, brown eyes opening to peer at you.

“Hi,” you murmur, palm outstretched for him to sniff. His tail thumps against the grass. You rub his belly and he rolls completely onto his back, tail wagging harder. 

You can’t help but giggle. “What are you doing all the way over here? Didn’t want to play with your friends?”

“Senior dogs aren’t as popular.”

You look up; Jason’s gaze is fixed on you, calculated, yet unreadable. You feel warm under his stare.

“Sorry?”

“He’s a senior dog. Most people prefer the puppies. More energy. Cuter.” He looks across the pen, to where your friend is holding multiple puppies in his lap. “Easier, emotionally speaking. ‘Cause they’ve got more life left.”

Your heart sinks as you look down at the dog in front of you. He pushes himself onto his legs, and it's clear he moves much slower than the younger dogs, but he’s just as adorable. His nose pushes at your hand— a request to keep petting him.

“That really…sucks.” You scratch behind the dog’s ear and his back leg twitches.

“Not much we can do about it.” He sounds aloof, but he rubs at a spot over his chest as he says it.

“Well, I’d adopt him if I could. Little…” You check the tag hanging from his collar, leaning closer to make out the engraving. “…Monster…Truck?”

Jason’s brows knit together. “Seriously?” He turns toward you, and you show him. He laughs— it surprises you. He looks so different when his face is broken into a smile. Nothing like the guarded, indifferent look he wore until now.

Jason looks behind you, squinting. “He seems…eager.”

Your friend is lying on his back, laughing as the dogs climb over him.

“He is.”

“Good idea to come here,” Jason notes. “Seen a lot of couples around; fun place for a date.”

Your lips quirk up and you shake your head, opening your mouth to correct him when you’re interrupted.

“NO!”

You both whip around and see your friend bolting upright. The dogs skitter away from him, and he crawls over to you.

“We are not a couple, I guarantee you.” Your friend is close to shouting. “I’m actually—” He flicks his wrist down, and you stifle a groan. “And also taken. So this—” He gestures between the two of you. “Not happening.”

Jason nods. “Oh, okay. Um…sorry.”

He points to himself. “Not single,” he says, then points to you. “Single. Not single,” he points to himself again, then back to you. “Single.”

“I think he got it.” You keep your eyes locked on the ground in front of you.

“Just making sure! You know, we’re in the middle of a misinformation crisis. So, you should always be fact-checking.” He pats you on the back and looks Jason right in the eye. “She is single.”

You face him, eyes wide with pursed lips. “Thank you,” you say, through gritted teeth. “For that.” 

“Anytime,” He flashes a bright smile and shuffles away.

You take a steadying breath and slowly turn back to Jason. He looks confused more than anything else.

“Sorry.”

“No—no worries.”

You stay silent, patting ‘Monster Truck’ on the head.

“Nice shirt, by the way,” Jason says, after a minute of silence.

“Oh! Thank you,” you grin. “Do you…like Kafka?”

“Yeah, I do. Is The Metamorphosis your favorite?”

“Definitely. Although I might be biased; I have a preference for tragedies.”

Jason leans closer. “You think it’s a tragedy?”

You tilt your head. “How is it not? Gregor never wanted to become what he did, but his parents still blamed him for it. They hated him, hurt him, and were relieved when he died when all he wanted was to keep being their son.” The dog rests his head on your knee, and you move your scratches to his back. There’s a quirk in Jason’s cheek, like an almost smile. “But the tragedy is that, in their eyes, he stopped being their son the second he changed. He was a monster to them, and he stayed that way until he died. He hoped that they would love him again, but he was doomed from the day he changed.”

“You don’t think Gregor was a monster?” Jason asks amusedly; you didn’t mean to get so passionate about Gregor Samsa today, but he’s clearly not complaining.

“Of course not,” you scoff. “Do you?”

“No, not at all.”

“Good. I’m surprised you don’t think it’s a tragedy. What is it to you?”

He shrugs. “Horror?”

You narrow your eyes. “Okay, sure.”

He chuckles. “You don’t agree?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Seems like you don’t,” Jason teases.

“Please don’t put words in my mouth, Jason.”

He laughs again, louder this time, and it sounds like music. You can’t help it; you break into a grin—something about his laugh is so contagious. You want to swallow the sound and be drunk on it for days.

“Seems unfair that you know my name and I don’t know yours,” Jason says.

A high-pitched squeak sounds from behind you, followed by a gruff throat-clearing, and a mumbled Sorry. You ignore it, eyes squeezing shut in a silent prayer that he can’t sense the sheer amount of heat radiating off of you.

You tell him your name, and he repeats it quietly to himself. Like it’s something special to be held close.

He tears his eyes away from you when more people approach the pen, a line beginning to accumulate. You realize you’ve been here way longer than five minutes, and stand, brushing grass and dirt from your knees.

“We should probably…” You nod towards the people waiting.

“Yeah,” Jason agrees, sounding disheartened.

He stands, offering a hand so you can step over the playpen walls. His skin is rough, but warm, and your skin buzzes under the contact. As you swing your legs over, Monster Truck whines and paws at the walls of the enclosure.

You frown, leaning down to give him one final scratch under his chin. “Sorry buddy, I’ll miss you.”

Your friend climbs out after you, but steps away, giving you some distance.

“Maybe, um…” Jason’s hand comes up to rub the back of his neck. “I’ll see you later?”

You nod, smiling. “Definitely.”

The sun is setting, and you’re drowsy and sun-tired from spending the day walking around the park. At every table and tent you visited, application forms for adoption and fostering taunted you from their piles, and you thought about little Monster Truck, old and lonely in his cage at the shelter, while there’s nothing you can do about it. Then you thought about Jason, his interesting views on literature that you’d love to hear more about, and how good he looked under the dappled sunlight shining down on him through the trees. Maybe he could be a good rebound, you think as you walk around the park, stealing glances at where he sits in the hopes of catching him as he leaves. But the more you think about him, the more your traitorous mind, too romantic for your own good, spins ‘rebound’ into possibilities of ‘casual’ into ideals of ‘relationship.’

Your friend is pulling the car around when you spot him a few tables down, an easy smile on his face as he talks to a beautiful woman with red hair and glasses.

He’s standing so close to her, you notice. He laughs at something she says. It’s the same laugh he gave to you. It leaves a bad taste on your tongue.

How much do you even know this guy? One conversation isn’t enough to gauge his character. You were presumptuous to assume he was flirting with you; there’s no way someone like that is single. Looking at him now, you’re brought back to days as a bright-eyed tween girl with a crush on the pool’s college-aged lifeguard. In other words— delusional.

He leans down and kisses the top of her head.

‘Relationship’ suddenly follows a thread of lies, manipulation, and excuses, all woven into a tapestry bearing nothing but three wasted years.

And for what? Ideals?

Shame sinks into your stomach, burning through to the surface of your skin. It’s like he can feel your stare because he looks up and his eyes immediately find yours. Frustrated tears prick at your eyelids as he squeezes the woman’s shoulder in goodbye and makes his way over.

Two seconds too late, the car pulls up to the park's edge. Your friend waves you over, and you’re half-tempted to make a run for it. But Jason calls to you, and on instinct, you turn.

“Hey, I was looking for you.”

You manage a strained smile, unable to form any words.

“Are you leaving?”

“Mhm.” You give him a nod.

The minute tilt of his head tells you he knows something is off.

He rubs the back of his neck. “Okay, well, there’s a good place for coffee not far from here. If you’re interested.”

“I’ll be sure to check it out.”

There’s a shift in the air. You both feel it.

“Actually, I meant…if you wanted to go now,” he says.

The fucking nerve of this guy.

“Why would I want to do that?”

This gives him pause. He looks at you with those calculating eyes, searching for something you refuse to give him. After a few too many seconds, he responds.“I thought you maybe wanted to—”

“Oh my god, Jason, no!” You spit. The force of it catches both of you by surprise.

He clears his throat, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Okay. Sorry to bother you.” He walks away before you can say anything.

Your legs carry you through your haze of indistinguishable emotions and into your friend’s car.

“What was that?” He asks, as soon as your seatbelt clicks into place.

“I don’t know.”

You spare one last look at the park. You have a clear view of Jason through the crowd, back with the same woman and now joined by another man. He’s shorter than Jason, and a little more tanned. He claps Jason on the back in a warm, familiar fashion. He and the woman’s hands are interlaced, and from the way she looks at him, it’s clear you made a mistake.

“Oh, fuck me.” You lean back against the headrest, taking a deep breath to soothe the stabbing pain in your chest.

“Do you want to go back?” Your friend offers. He peers at you sympathetically, and that only makes you feel worse.

“No. No, please just drive.” You drop your face into your hands, voice cracking.

His palm finds your shoulder. “Maybe it’s for the better. Like, everything happens for a reason, you know? For all you know, he could be a murderer. Or something.”

You want to find comfort in his attempts, but you just can’t.

“Drive. Please.”

“Things are gonna get better for you. I can feel it.” He shifts gears and peels away from the curb. The park disappears in your rearview mirror, and you can only hope he’s right.

June 30th

Things got worse.

On one particularly difficult day, you drag yourself back to the animal shelter because you just couldn’t get Monster Truck out of your mind.

“For the record,” the employee says as he leads you to his enclosure, “We just call him Monty.”

Monty, having already heard your voice as you approached, was waiting at the gate with wide eyes. His tail swung from side to side, and the sight of him had you melting.

The employee unlocks the gate and Monty lumbers out, panting happily and jumping onto you as you kneel.

“Hi, buddy!” You smush his face between your hands. “I missed you.”

“Have you filled out an application?” The employee asks.

“Oh.” You flush. “I’m sort of…in the process of moving right now. So…no.” It’s a half-truth. Your stuff is all in boxes and ready to be moved. You just don’t know where yet.

“That’s okay, you can still fill one out now! The process might take some time, anyway. Where are you moving to?” He has an unsettlingly bright smile. You feel like he’s already judging you.

“I’m…not sure. Yet.”

“I see.” He smiles even wider, somehow. “Then where are you living now?”

You blow out a sigh. “At a friend’s.”

“So, you’re essentially homeless?”

“Woah, dude.”

“If you aren’t planning to adopt, then you can’t visit the animals as you please. This isn’t a petting zoo.”

You share a few choice words with the employee, including a not-so-whispered ‘jackass’ (to which he says, ‘I heard that’ and you shout a ‘You were meant to!’) on your way out the door.

Later on that month, you heard about a modest one-bedroom apartment from a friend of a friend, whose friend knew the landlord; a little above your price range, but you could manage. You went through all the proceedings— references, background check, credit check, coming up with the money for a deposit—you were all ready to sign the lease and move in when you got the call.

These things fall through sometimes, the landlord said. Sorry it didn’t work out.

So tonight, when your friend, sick of your week-long pity party on his couch, hauled you into his Uber to join his date night, you thought, what the hell. Sure. 

Your friend and his boyfriend are insufferably cute. Normally, you’d smile at the way they’re all over each other on the drive to the club; kissing each other’s palms and stroking one another’s hair. 

Now it feels gloating.

Although this, you suppose, is your normal now, and while you can bear their playing footsie in the Uber, bear the hands in each other’s back pockets while waiting in line, bear playing photographer for them over the first round of shots, you draw the line at the sensuous, touchy dance moves happening three feet away from you. Not wanting to be the jealous and bitter third-wheel, you manage to grab their attention long enough to point to the bar and make your escape.

Still fairly early in the night, most of the stools are empty. You slide into one, and the bartender, a dark-haired woman whose name tag reads ‘Luisa’, approaches with a smile.

“What can I get you?”

You order a shot and, after a quick glance back to your friends (they’ve escalated to full-on grinding), you add a cocktail.

You throw back the shot with barely a grimace and start downing the cocktail. Luisa whistles.

“Everything okay?”

You merely shrug, not bothering to remove your mouth from the glass. Or breathe. The liquid level lowers at a steady speed until you’re left with only a few ice cubes.

Someone from a few chairs down scoots over to the seat next to you. 

“Wow.”

You don’t look at him, but the voice sounds male.

"I like a girl who can handle her liquor. Can—"

“No,” you say, not lifting your eyes from the counter.

You hear him scoff from beside you. “You could at least—"

“Nope.” You swish the straw around in the glass, pushing the ice cubes about. They clink against the corners of the cup.

“There’s no need—“

Something about this guy, and every guy to ever exist, fills you with exhaustion and rage. You drop your head into your hands, and groan. Loudly.

You hear his footsteps receding, as well as some curses flicked your way, but take an extra minute to hide in your hands. You think to yourself, when did men get so much audacity?

Another glass is set down in front of you. You look up; it’s Luisa. She wears an understanding grimace.

“Thanks,” you mumble.

“Break-up?” She asks, and you nod. “This one’s taken care of.”

“By who?”

“Don’t worry about it. Though, I do expect a generous tip later.” She winks, and you crack a smile for the first time that night.

“Why are men so…” You pause, searching for a word that adequately sums up what you’re feeling, but come up with nothing. She seems to get the point.

“Trust me, I know.”

“Yeah? What happened to you?” You sip the drink; the glass is cold in your hands, and it feels good against the humidity of the packed club.

She sighs, resting her forearms against the bar counter, fingers playing with the edges of her apron. “What didn’t?” At your sympathetic look, she continues. “I was with this guy for a few months, and everything was great. He was so sweet and loving. I thought he was, like, the one. Met each other’s families and everything. He started talking about moving in together…I was worried we might be moving too fast but he kept pushing it, saying stuff like ‘I want to be with you for the rest of my life, and I want the rest of my life to start right now!’” She accentuates her imitation with finger quotes and a high-pitched voice.

You squint at her with furrowed brows. “Isn’t that…When Harry met Sally?”

She laughs dryly. “Yeah. I hadn’t seen it. You want another?” She nods toward the glass you set down, now empty.

“Please.”

While assembling yet another cocktail for you, she resumes her story. “So I agreed, and he moved into my place, and then…” Luisa trails off, muddling mint and lime juice at the bottom of a shaker.

“Then…?” You prompt.

“Well, I found out that the day he started pressuring me into moving in together…that was the day he got his first eviction notice.”

“No.”

“Yes.” She pours your drink into a fresh glass and adds a straw, then slides it over the counter to you. “And I found out because he was four months behind on rent, and the landlord came to my place looking for him.”

“Oh my god!” You gasp, your chest burning with anger on her behalf. “What did you do?”

“I called my sisters. While he was at work, we changed the locks, packed up all his stuff, and left it on the curb.” She smiles at the memory. “Then I never saw him again.”

You snort into your hand. “So…you evicted him.”

“Essentially,” Luisa shrugs. “What about you?”

You huff. “Cheated,” is the only word you can get out, shoulders sagging as you fiddle with the straw.

“I’m sorry,” Luisa says.

"S'not your fault," you slur. Your three drinks are catching up to you. That doesn't stop you from ordering another.

Later into the night, when the crowd density around the bar has almost doubled, Luisa excuses herself to tend to the rising drink demand. You miss talking to her as soon as she leaves, but it's no matter because you're not sure your speech is even intelligible at this point. You're left with a grand total of three cocktails and two shots, the empty glasses surrounding your personal pity party at the bar. You're entertaining yourself by stacking the glasses atop one another when you hear a second set of footsteps behind the counter, though you're in no condition to comprehend the exchange.

"Hey, have you gone on break yet?"

"No, not yet."

"Okay, go. I'll cover you."

Your phone vibrates, and it takes a few tries for your clumsy hands to wrestle it out of your jeans' minuscule front pockets.

Unknown Number hey i want to fix this we can't throw away three whole years just because of one silly argument

You sho is yhid

Unknown Number i had to get a new number because you blocked me

You new nuumbrt who ids oj

Unknown Number wait are you drunk right now?

You y7es

Unknown Number i can't believe you, i'm trying to fight for our relationship and you're out drinking?

You fuvk ogg twat

"New number my ass. D'you see this shit?" You hold the phone up, facing the screen to Luisa. "How much you wanna bet he jus' borrowed— oh."

When you look up to where Luisa's face was, you're met with...nothing. A black void encapsulates your entire field of view.

"Am I passing out?" You ask, to no one in particular.

"What?"

The sound comes from above the black, and you follow it.

"Oh, shit."

You find a pair of green eyes narrowed at you, scanning you up and down. If you were more sober, you might feel somewhat intimidated by the burning stare. But any hint of sobriety has been thrown out the window and apparently took your filter along with it.

His face is somewhat blurry, but the unmistakable streak of white hair has you ninety percent confident that it’s...him in front of you.

Jason. From the animal shelter. Who you got along with, and then treated like shit.

“Woah! What’re you doin’ here!” It comes out as an exclamation more than a question and your words blend together, the alcohol making any speech require ten times the usual effort.

“What am I doing here?” It’s not accusatory, but rather genuinely confused. His voice is even, distant. Not a trace of the warmth you had last time to be heard.

You mimic his expression. “Do you, like…work here or something?”

He stares at you, dumbfounded. His face reads, this must be a prank. His mouth reads, after a moment’s pause, “…Or something.”

You sweep another look down his body. A black, short-sleeve T-shirt, well-loved jeans, and a pair of work boots grace his deific figure. You linger on his arms for a few seconds.

He clears his throat, and you’re drawn back to his face. He raises his eyebrows, unamused. The morning will be clouded by a haze of regret for how openly you check him out. But the morning’s not here just yet.

“You’re the barten—the bar…bar-man?”

He opens his mouth to respond, but you answer your own question.

“Nah, you’re…you are…can’t be bar-man. You don’t gotta apron!” You point at him, jabbing your finger so aggressively it shakes your whole body—a clear mistake from the way it makes the alcohol slosh in your stomach.

He says nothing and steps away to deal with the other customers. You return to your cup-stacking but, a moment later, the glasses are pulled from your reach. Your arm follows them with a whining protest, and a tall glass is placed in your hand.

“I didn’t order any more rum.”

“This is water.” Jason begins to turn away, but stops. “Did you think I brought you a full glass of rum?”

“Maybe. I don’t know. I’m kinda drunk,” you mumble. You take a few sips, and then place it back on the table. 

“Oh, are you?” His tone has a bite to it. You look down at the cup, tapping your nails against the glass. You don’t give yourself the right to be offended; you deserve it, you think, as the events of that day replay in your head.

“Sorry for being such a bitch.” It comes out quieter, scarcely audible over the raucous sounds of the club.

“All you said was, ‘You’re not wearing an apron’.”

“Not now. Before. Last time.”

He doesn’t say anything. Then, “Just drink the water.”

“No, I’m gonna go throw up.”

“Wait—”

You jump from your stool, threading through the hordes of sweaty bodies to round the corner and bolt for the bathroom. You barge through the first door marked ‘vacant’ that you see and hurl in the toilet. Several times.

When your stomach is finally empty, you sit back against the wall, head hitting the tiles. A mixture of vomit and spit dribbles down your chin and onto your top. You take a deep breath, but the air stinks of sweat and smoke and you retch, but there’s nothing left for your body to purge.

The cold tiles do little to soothe your damp, heated skin. You need water. Water and fresh air and maybe a time machine, so you can go back and warn yourself to eat something before going out, or to pay more attention to what’s right in front of you, or maybe just go back and make sure you never say yes in the first place to that fucking—

“You in here?”

A swift knock on the door. Stern enough to knock you to your senses, and also rouse some shame. The amount of times you’ve embarrassed yourself this month alone— it brings another wave of nausea.

You don’t answer—you can’t, not with the acid and bile burning your throat and your head spinning from the glaring fluorescent lights. The door handle is pushed down achingly slowly, rusty hinges screaming in protest as the door is cracked open. Jason peeks his head in, the familiar tuft of white poking out from behind the door first, followed by the rest of him.

“Can I come in?” 

You nod. He leaves a crack in the door and approaches carefully, as if you’re a wounded animal in the wild, ready to bolt at the first sudden movement. He squats down to eye-level, careful to avoid touching his knees to the floor. Smart, you think, becoming acutely aware of your shoes sticking to the ground by way of some mystery substance.

“Sorry ‘bout this,” you croak, closing your eyes in the hopes that it will relieve some of the ache.

“It’s fine.”

“No,” you slur, “’s not. Can’t stop embarrassing myself.”

“Believe me, I’ve seen much worse.”

“Doubt it.” You open your eyes to look at him. He remains a respectable distance from you, so his features are still a bit fuzzy, but you can make out the thin line of his lips pressed together. He’s indecipherable, and you wonder if it’s on purpose that he hides himself, or if that’s just his face.

“Can you stand?” He asks, rising back to his full height. Still delirious, you manage a soft groan from the back of your throat and extend your arm to him. He gets the message, taking ahold of your elbow and pulling you to your feet with ease like you weigh nothing.

You hobble over to the sink and splash cool water on your face, wiping at your mouth and neck and cursing at the stains on your shirt.

“Do you need a new one?” 

It almost doesn’t register over the ringing in your ears, which is only compounded by the loud bass that bleeds through the walls and reverberates through your skull.

“You…hm?” Your voice crackles as you turn to face him. He’s oddly relaxed in his stance where he leans against the door, hands in his pockets and watching you intently. 

“I can give you a shirt. If you want one,” he says. His voice is soft, but whether it’s from sympathy or pity, you can’t tell. 

“Yeah, sure. Fine,” you reply, breaking eye contact to stare at the grimy wall behind him. More than anything else, you want a break from the way he looks at you; as if he’s peeling back your layers and staring right into the center of you. It makes you feel like a scolded child, walking to the principal’s office with a pit in your stomach and no idea what you did wrong, but knowing there must be something.

Your hands feel cold, suddenly, and you flinch at the unexpected sensation. Looking down, you see Jason pressing a bottle of water into your hands. You hadn’t even noticed he stepped closer.

He slips out the door, closing it behind him. You rinse out your mouth a few times, but the dry, acidic burn in your throat remains, so you go for the water bottle, but your fingers are too weak and shaky to remove the cap. You set it down forcefully on the sink’s edge and lean your weight against the sink, hands gripping the porcelain so hard your knuckles turn white. You stare at them, unable to bear your own reflection. You can feel the pressure building behind your eyes and screw them shut, clamping a hand over your mouth to muffle the choked-out sob that breaks from you.

“Fuck,” you mutter to yourself, wiping away at the moisture. “Get it together.”

You’re trying to steady your breathing when he knocks on the door, his request to come in muffled through the wall.

A stiff “Yeah,” is all you can manage; it’s so quiet you don’t think he heard you, but a moment later the door creaks open again and Jason’s head peeks in. You steal a quick glance at him in the mirror, and that’s all it takes for him to notice the shine of your red-rimmed eyes. He freezes, hovering halfway into the bathroom, unsure if he should come in or give you your privacy.

“Here,” he says quietly. You turn around at the light rustle of him holding out a large, light blue t-shirt, and a plastic grocery bag. “I’ll let you—”

“Wait,” you say, without thinking.

He looks at you expectantly, and after a few seconds of silence, you realize you need to say something.

“Can you—” You fumble for the water bottle that sits on the sink and hold it out to him. “Can you open this?”

He twists the cap open and hands it back to you. You take a small sip. The two of you stare at each other.

“Is there…anything else?”

“I, uh…”

There is something else. But you’re not sure what it is. The only thing your drunk—and clearly stupid—mind can think about right now is how much you want him to stay.

“You remember Monty?”

“Monty?” Jason raises his eyebrows.

“Yeah, you know. Monty.” You lean against the wall, resting your head on the tiles that are definitely carrying some kind of virus. At least they’re cold.

“No, sorry.” He shakes his head.

“Jason.” You cross your arms. “Monty!”

“I don’t…know who that is.” His ears are turning pink as he looks you up and down, likely wondering if the bacteria in this bathroom can cause hallucinations.

“Monster Truck. The dog.”

You can see the gears turning in his brain, and the moment the light bulb flickers on. “Oh,” he sighs. “Yeah.” His shoulder leans against the doorframe, and he pushes the door open a few more inches.

“Y’know I went to see him?” 

He hums in response and tilts his chin up, signaling for you to continue.

“Motherfuckers kicked me out.”

At this, his mouth falls open. “They…what?”

You nod vigorously, grateful that you’re not alone in your outrage. “Said if I don’t have a place to live, being there’s basically loitering.”

At his silence, paired with his microscopic frown, you wonder if he agrees. It occurs to you that this is the first he’s heard of your living situation—you rush to defend yourself.

“I had a place to live. Then I moved out. Was about to move into this new place, literally jus’ had to sign some shit, but this old bitch pulled it out from under me. Worst part is, she’s not even gonna live there. Just wanted it ‘cause it was around the fashion district, an’ I guess she just wanted a place to, like, put her feet up or something after a long day of shopping.”

If Jason wants to cut in, you don’t notice. You’re fully aware that you’re rambling, but can’t bring yourself to care; it feels nice to finally get all this out. Even if it is making you look even worse in his eyes.

“And you wanna know the worst part? I had the apartment. Was basically mine already. But then she had to go and bribe the damn landlord with all her…damn rich lady money!” Your volume increases as you go on, getting angrier at the injustice. “And then he lied to me about it! Said it just ‘fell through.’ Then I showed up to talk to him in person about it, and he broke like a…like—like something that breaks easily, I don’t know. Like, if you’re gonna fuck people over, at least be good at it. Don’t be a snitch!

“And, apparently, the lady—she said that she wanted that apartment because it was ‘the safest she could find’ and she didn’t wanna ‘get mugged,’” you say, using air quotes. “Bitch! If you wanna live somewhere safe, get the hell out of Gotham!” You’re practically yelling now, and Jason suppresses a smile. You know it’s probably mocking, but still, he listens patiently to your rant.

“But, actually, she was kinda right. It was a nice place. On Tyler Street. Totally bougie—the muggers don’t even come out ‘til after midnight.”

He actually snorts at this, and you feel yourself smiling at it.

Your eyes fall to the shirt in your hands. You hold it up to get a good look. It’s an icy-blue color with a monocled cartoon penguin in front of an iceberg. Underneath is written ‘The Iceberg Lounge: Gotham Waterfront.’ 

It’s so cheesy, you can’t help but laugh. “Why do you have this?”

“From the gift shop.”

“What kinda club has a gift shop?”

Jason shrugs. “This one.”

He steps out, shutting the door behind him. You peel off your old shirt and stuff it in the plastic bag before tugging on the new shirt; it’s soft and surprisingly good quality. After a few moments of deliberation, you decide to stuff the plastic bag in the trash—it’s not like you’ll miss it.

You open the door, startled when you see that Jason is waiting outside.

“I’m good, you can go back to work,” you tell him.

“How are you gonna get home?”

“‘S fine,” you mumble. “I’ll jus’ call an Uber.” You drag yourself out of the bathroom, leaning one hand against the wall for support. Jason follows, hovering like an anxious parent. You shoot your friend a text letting him know, and he replies telling you to call him from the car.

“That’s—” He rests his hand on your back and maneuvers you around a flock of drunk dancers whom you’re too absorbed in your phone to notice. “I can give you a ride.”

“It’s okay. You’re working.” You don’t listen for his answer, making a beeline for the exit. He stays on your tail, and you realize as he guides you in the opposite direction that you don’t actually know your way around this place.

“Not anymore.” He pushes open the front door and holds it for you.

“You can’t just leave in the middle of your shift, Jason.” The door swings shut behind you, and sounds of traffic and light chatter replace the ear-splitting music. Jason nods to the bouncer at the entrance before turning back to you.

“I wouldn’t worry about it.” He leads you around the side of the building.

“No, I will worry about it. You already hate me enough. I can’t be the reason you get fired.”

Jason stops walking. “You think—”

“I’m calling an Uber.” He tries to interject, but you don’t let him. “Look! George is three miles away, and he has a five-star rating.”

“I don’t want you getting into some rando’s car. I can take you home.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “What’s your problem? You don’t like George?”

“I don’t trust anyone in Gotham this late, and neither should you,” Jason says firmly.

“Then why should I trust you?”

He opens his mouth, then closes it. You scroll through your recent messages, surprised to see your ex’s ‘new number’ has called you four times in the last hour. Two of those calls have voicemails.

You skim through the voicemail transcripts. “Fuckin’ weirdo,” you seethe.

“What’s wrong?” Jason asks.

“Nothin’.” Your shaky fingers try to navigate to the ‘block’ button, but the screen shifts to an incoming call. It’s him. Again. You decline it. Not even a moment later, he calls again.

“Leave me alone,” you mutter, rushing to press ‘block’ before he can call again.

Releasing a heavy sigh, you drop to the curb, head falling into your palms. After a moment, you hear Jason sit down next to you.

“Is someone bothering you?” His tone is rigid, and it’s a shocking switch, abrupt and cold enough to send a chill down your spine. You lift your head to look at him. “If you don’t feel safe—”

“No, it’s just my stupid ex. Probably only calling ‘cause his fuckin’ mistress finally left him. Good for her, I guess. Bad for me, though. Now he’s lonely and won’t leave me alone.”

“How many times has he called you?”

“I don’t know, five? It’s fine. He’ll give up.”

“Are you sure?”

You nod. His shoulders relax. Barely. You don’t miss the way his jaw tightens, or how his hand flexes as he stares at your phone.

“If he keeps harassing you, tell someone.” At the way he speaks, you almost fear for your ex.

“I…don’t know if I’d call it harassment. He’s just an idiot.”

Jason looks you in the eye. “That’s not an excuse.” His gaze is sharp. You look away, something burning in your chest.

Quiet settles in the space between you.

“Feels like you’re judging me,” you murmur.

“I’m not judging you,” he says gently. “Why would I judge you?”

“I don’t know, just…for being with someone like that.”

It takes him some time to respond.

“People change.”

“And what if I told you he was always like that?”

“I still wouldn’t judge you.” This time, his reply is immediate.

“Maybe you should. I was with him for three years.”

“Why?” He asks, but it’s not critical; it’s curious.

“We were friends for a while first. I guess I was kind of a late bloomer if you wanna call it that. Never got much attention from…whatever.”  The alcohol’s lingering effects weigh heavy on your tongue, making all your admissions come too easily. “Then one day, that changed. He was the first guy who asked me out. Claimed he’d ‘always had a crush on me’. Guess I got excited, or something. I was so high on the feeling of being…wanted. Never noticed how selfish he actually was.”

“What did he do?”

“It was subtle. He wasn’t the only one who started noticing me; I started getting approached more. But it felt worse, almost. ‘Cause it’s like…I don’t know…I didn’t even change anything.” You hug your knees closer to your chest. “But then all of a sudden I was getting all this attention. And I didn’t know why, and he was like, ‘you really don’t know? You got super hot over the summer.’”

You hear Jason wince next to you. You tilt your head back and take a deep breath, filling your lungs with fresh air when all the remembering brings a familiar pressure to your chest.

“And I know it was supposed to be a compliment,” you continue, feeling yourself sobering at the memory. “Every time it happened, I would tell him about it, thinking we could laugh, but then he’d say some shit like, ‘Well they only like you now. I was the only one who liked you even before.”

“So, until now, you…lived with him?” Jason’s eyes are on the side of your face, you can feel it, but you don’t dare to look at him.

“Yeah. Moved in together after graduation with a lease in his name ‘cause I didn’t know any better.” You chuckle self-deprecatingly. “Found out in the spring that he’d been cheating on me for months, so I moved out. Been moving between friends’ couches ever since.”

A bout of heat runs through your veins as the gravity of everything you’ve told him settles in. You breathe out a long sigh, keeping your eyes trained on the sky above. There are no stars in Gotham, not since the sudden boom in factories and highways and airborne bio-weapons, and the moon is barely visible, waxing on the edge of a new moon. The sky is an endless expanse of gray.

“What about you? Don’t make me the only naked one here.”

The blinking light of an airplane catches your attention, and you track it across the sky. The alcohol has slowed your cognition; it’s nearly a full minute before you realize Jason hasn’t responded. You finally look at him—his lips are parted, eyes narrowed.

You frown. “What?”

“…Naked?” He asks.

“Yeah.” You shrug. “Never heard that before? It doesn’t mean naked naked. It means, like…naked.”

His face remains blank.

“C’mon, Jason, I have no interest in seeing you naked naked.” You look him up and down with distaste, hoping to support your statement, but get caught—again—on his arms. But who can blame you? You’re drunk, and lonely, and his sleeves are hugging his biceps like that, and they look big enough to crush your head.

When your eyes find his again, his jaw is tensed.

You dart to your feet, too quick to help your dizziness and burning with embarrassment.

“Whatever, can we go?”

“Please,” he says, and leads you down the street.

You stumble, tripping over your own feet as you walk and almost crashing into him. Jason huffs and reaches out to wrap his hand around your upper arm. His grip is firm, but not painful, and it holds you upright for the remainder of the walk. In the back of your mind, you wonder if he’s holding up your entire body weight in one hand.

“Wait a second–wait.” You freeze in the middle of the sidewalk, and he jerks to a stop. “That thing? ‘M not gettin’ on that.” You swallow back the lump forming in your throat as you stare at the massive motorcycle parked at the side door.

“Why not?” You can tell he’s getting antsy now, having to look after you like a babysitter, but not even the fear of being a burden can outweigh the uneasiness that comes from…that.

You take a step back. “That’s—you know how dangerous those things are?”

He looks to the sky, taking a deep breath. “Only if you don’t know how to drive them. I do.”

“Look, I get it, you got that whole thing goin’ on, with the bike, and the leather, and the big muscles—” His eyes widen a bit at that last part. “—But do you know what the chances are of being injured when you’re in a motorcycle accident? Do you, Jason? Ei—”

“Eighty-two percent,” he cuts in.

You jerk back, narrowing your eyes. “How’d you know that?”

He scoffs. “How did I know that? You don’t even have a motorcycle!”

“You don’t know that!”

“I do,” he snaps. “Because if you did, you wouldn’t be throwing a fit right now. So please, just get on the bike so I can take you home.” Jason shoves the helmet out to you, his expression fiery and pleading in a way you’ve never seen before. Still, you hesitate, chewing on your bottom lip and looking between him and the helmet.

Your eyes meet, and he sighs. “I’ll drive slowly.” He speaks softer, and somehow, it settles some of your nerves.

You take a deep breath and take the helmet, sliding it over your head. Jason tightens the strap below your chin, and his fingers brush against your neck. You feel dizzy again, your eyelids drooping with sleepiness. With him standing so close, you can smell the cologne wafting from him, layered on top of something deeper; a mixture of fresh soap and natural musk. 

“You smell good,” you murmur.

He snaps your visor shut.

“Good?” He asks.

“Good,” you say, though it’s muffled through the helmet, so you nod.

Once you’re both on the bike, you wrap your arms around his waist, squeezing tightly for fear of falling off. You feel his body vibrate as he says something, but you’re too tired to worry about what it is.

He revs up the bike and takes off, circling back to the front of the building and merging onto the main road. And yeah, he’s not going that fast, but it’s fast enough to leave your stomach a few feet behind. You cling to Jason, pressing yourself impossibly tighter to him.

Your eyes are closed the whole way, but the cold wind blowing against you feels nice on your skin. You’re so lost in the hum of the engine sending relaxing vibrations through you, how soft Jason feels, and the helmet drowning out the sounds of Gotham traffic that you don’t even notice when he stops in front of your friend’s building and takes off his helmet. When the light taps to your knee don’t work, he squeezes your leg with a stern call of your name. You jump in surprise, knocked out of your reverie, but pry yourself off of his back.

He gets off first, holds his arm out to offer stability as you clamber off, then undoes your helmet. By now, you’ve sobered up considerably, but you still lack just enough of your senses to stand on your toes and throw your arms around his neck. It’s a split-second embrace, so quick that you barely catch the fresh earthiness of his scent before pulling away. You swear the air feels heavier on your lower back, warmth bleeding through fabric where a hesitant touch hovers, but when you step back his arms are firmly at his sides.

Looking up at him, the tips of his ears are dusted with pink, and his eyelashes flutter in a gust of summer wind. 

“Thanks for putting up with me,” You mumble through a drowsy grin. “‘Specially after I fumbled you that badly.”

Jason blushes harder. “Get some rest,” he says, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “And call your friend,” he calls as you climb the steps. You wave goodbye, and he just nods, waiting until you get through the door to mount his bike again. 

He’s just about to kick it into gear when he pauses. He stares at the door for several seconds, fighting with himself, before groaning out a string of curses, pulling out his phone, and searching up Tyler Street.

divider

there are so many notes bc this was so long omg. it ended up being longer than i anticipated so i split it into 2 parts don't hate me🫥

omg...the birth of an au...i still can't believe so many people liked the first part, this is a prequel for how they met. ty for reading my writing🤭i looove writing iceberg lounge jason!! part 2 of this fic and more parts coming soon!!!

so uh...maybe i'm going crazy but i could've sworn that wayne animal sanctuary was a canon thing when i started this, but then i tried to look it up and couldn't find anything :/ but then i included it anyway bc i'm The Author and i can do whatever i want!

the metamorphosis shirt is based on this "working bug" design that i ❤️ (i have the sticker!).

the motorcycle accident stats were for 2013-2017 from the new jersey division of highway traffic and safety website- basically if you were in a motorcycle accident in those years you had an 82% chance of sustaining injuries from it. wasn't sure if it was clear😬

[lemonlover1110]

Girl Dad

Dad Series

Kento Nanami

Warnings: Pure Fluff

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi

Taking care of a baby and a five-year-old isn’t easy, but Kento has it covered. You have a bad cold, the man can’t let you near his daughters. You need to rest and he won’t risk having the girls sick. However, Kento didn’t realize how much of a handful they would be.

Suki herself is enough to fill up Kento’s plate, but having a ten-month-old baby on top of it makes his job even more difficult. Suki loves her little sister, don’t get her wrong, but she will ensure that she’s the favorite daughter even if that includes sabotaging a toddler. Kento knows it, that’s why he keeps his eyes on her.

But Kento can’t keep his eye on Suki at all times, especially when you’re sick. He’s trying to cook a nutritious meal, he can’t hold a baby that loves to touch everything. The easiest solution is to put her in her playpen while he gives Suki something to entertain herself with. It’s usually his phone, giving her a game to play before he begins his other duties.

Sometimes the phone isn’t enough to entertain her. Suki loves to wander around the house, painting on the walls, playing with your decoration, making “potions” with your lotions and perfumes– The list goes on. But sometimes all of that isn’t enough to entertain her.

“Daddy, can I paint your nails?” Suki asks, walking to the kitchen where Kento makes lunch for everyone. Soup for you, something bland for his picky daughters, and then something simple for himself. In other words, his hands are full.

“Later, Suki.” Is all he says, and Suki stomps her little feet, walking back to the living room with her kid nail polish. Her little arms are crossed, and she looks around for something to do, something that will express her anger. She looks down at her nail polish then she hears some cooing from the playpen, and a lightbulb turns on.

Not even five minutes pass, and Kento hears his eldest daughter yelling at the baby. He turns off the stove and walks to the living room to hear Suki yell, “Bad, Chichi! Bad!”

“She’s not a dog, Suki. That’s your baby sister.” Kento corrects her because Suki treats the baby as her dog. Kento walks over to the playpen, where Suki reprimands the baby. Suki’s nail polish is spilled in front of the baby, and before her chubby hands can lay on top of the puddle, Kento picks her up from the playpen. “What happened here?”

“I climbed into the pen to play with her but she grabbed my nail polish and started to throw it around. Like usual.” Suki is a great actress, sticking out her bottom lip and crossing her arms.

“Is that true Chichi?” Kento softens his voice while talking to the clueless, happy baby. She smiles, causing Kento to smile back at her. He kisses her chubby cheek before putting his attention back on Suki. He hates to reprimand her but he can’t let her get away with everything anymore. “I’m not a dumbass, Suki. You can start doing bad things and blame it on her when she’s two or three, right now that won’t work.”

“I’m telling the truth!” She claims, but Kento is hearing none of it. She knows it’s not believable but her daddy usually believes her every word, so she hoped this time around he would believe her again.

“Get out of there, Suki, and stop lying before I put you on timeout again.” Kento can’t believe the words he’s saying. Timeout? Really? He hates it, he’s supposed to support her with everything, not reprimand her.

“Can I go with mommy?”

“She’s sleeping. Now go sit down on the couch and wait for the food.” He’s very serious, she can tell, so she won’t challenge him anymore.

“Can I play with Chichi?” Suki asks as Kento walks back to the kitchen with the baby. He looks at his sweet smiley baby, who reminds him so much of Suki. And to think Suki blames everything on a replica of herself– But he reminds himself that he’s the reason she acts like a little brat.

“Next thing you’ll do is put your mother’s makeup on her, you’ll blame it on the baby and we all get yelled at. I won’t risk it.” He clicks his tongue. 

Kento has to find a way to get Suki to stop blaming everything on the baby, but he has a feeling that’ll take a while.

[allywthsr]

LEO LECLERC | (c.leclerc)

summary: you and Charles get a dog

wordcount: 1.8k words

pairing: charlesleclerc x fem!reader

warnings: dogs

notes: how cute is Leo? My goodness.

You and Charles had been together for quite a while now, while he was busy racing all over the world, you were staying at home and working, sometimes you would join him for a race but most of the time, you couldn’t just get off work. Even with meeting your friends and being busy with your own work, you still felt lonely, especially at night. You never knew what could happen, due to having your address leaked by a few fans, you had people ringing the doorbell at two am. Sometimes friends slept over, but you needed someone to cuddle with when Charles was gone.

You‘ve always thought about having a dog, and all the cute puppies on your Instagram page had you swooning, just like Charles, he had always kept a close eye on your phone whenever you went down a rabbit hole of looking at cute dogs, seeing what kind of dogs you loved and spent hours of watching, he secretly always watched videos as well, but he also knew that a dog meant more work than it seemed in the videos.

It wasn’t like you two were seriously talking about getting a dog, sometimes the topic would randomly occur and you fantasized about the life with a dog, but you weren’t even sure if Charles would be a hundred percent okay with a little companion.

Until one Thursday evening, it was an off week for Charles and you were cuddling on the couch, watching some Netflix, when his phone rang. Joris was calling and Charles left the living room, you heard him mumble something in French, but you couldn’t hear him clear enough to fully hear what he was saying. Shortly after he came back and sat down again, you looked at him, he normally never left the room when he received a call.

“Joris called to tell me something.”

That made you sit up, nudging him slightly to talk more.

“I know how lonely you felt these last few weeks when I’m not around. And I know that you love dogs, so I aske-”

“You got us a dog?!”, you screeched in his ear, to which he shifted a little more far away, so he could keep his hearing ability.

“Not yet, Joris knows someone whose dog accidentally got pregnant and wants to sell some puppies, I thought we could go there tomorrow and see if any puppies like us?”

With tears in your eyes, you nodded and hugged him tightly, this was your dream, a little someone to take care of, a new best friend.

During the night you had trouble falling asleep, too excited to look at the dogs, so when the clock hit 7 am, you got up and took a shower, after you prepared some breakfast and woke Charles up, the faster you could get there, the better.

You both were nervous during breakfast, this was a big decision, a dog was a responsibility for several years, but you knew he or she would have the best life in your home, and your lives would also get better. There would always be a little cuddle buddy, someone to play with, and someone who needs your attention twenty-four-seven.

Joris didn’t say what breed it would be, only that the pregnancy wasn’t planned, but the puppies were adorable, and you didn’t doubt that for one second, every puppy was a cute creature.

The drive was rather short, only thirty minutes until you reached the family home, when you rang the doorbell, you could already hear dogs barking, and when the door opened and an older lady smiled at you, you could hear little puppies crying. You introduced yourself to the woman, whose name was Margarete, and she welcomed you into her home. After she offered you a coffee, she led you into the room where a big playpen was standing, and five little light brown puppies were sleeping. The little golden retriever dachshund mixes had the cutest little floppy ears and the softest-looking fur you had ever seen.

You quietly gasped after seeing these angels, and the first one lifted his head, after hearing a strange noise, and got excited when he saw you and Charles, waking his siblings in the process. After the puppies were awake and barking at you, you couldn’t wait anymore and carefully got in the pen, immediately you had four dogs crawling all over you, and the fifth one was sitting in the corner, crying for his mother, he was smaller than his siblings but in perfect health. Margaret told you she was currently training them to be separated from their mother, and so they could be crying, but when Charles joined you in the pen, the little fella walked over to him and sniffed at his knee, before getting up on Charles leg and finding a comfortable spot to sleep, after all, he was a small puppy.

From that moment, you knew this puppy had your heart, seeing how comfortable he was with Charles, and how he was crying for his mama a second ago, these two had a special connection.

Charles also fell in love with the little boy, he picked him up carefully and the puppy started to lick his face, which Charles commented with a chuckle. You two looked at each other and you knew what he was thinking, you found your little love. Charles gave you the fella and he also started sniffing you, giving you small licks on your chin, when you held him close to your chest.

Margaret came in and saw you cuddling with the dog, she knew you made a decision when you looked at her, “That’s Leo, you can change his name if you want to, but my grandson named him that way.”

Leo fit him perfectly, Leo Leclerc.

Charles and you took your time to cuddle some more, really making sure Leo liked you and wasn’t scared.

After doing all the paperwork with Margaret and learning about the needs that a little puppy had, you two left the house and went straight to the pet store, you still had to wait two weeks until you could pick him up, but you two were way too excited to not go and shop for Leo.

The cart was almost full when you waited in the queue to pay, food, toys, leashes, beds, and more stuff waiting to be used by Leo.

The next two weeks were going by slower than you’d hoped. Every day you chatted with Margarete and she sent you pictures and updates from Leo, the little puppy was doing great and got his last few shots at the vet, now he was ready to come home to you.

It was a Saturday when you picked him up, Leo got excited when you had him in your arms, licking everything he could reach, while Charles paid for Leo, and signed the last papers. Now he was officially yours, your own little puppy, to cherish and love.

On the way home you spilled some tears, while the little angel was sleeping on your lap, this was a dream come true. Now you wouldn’t be as lonely anymore when Charles was gone, but you also had a little companion when you two were together.

The first few steps Leo did in his new home were wobbly, he was a little scared, so you and Charles settled down on the floor, just to make sure Leo didn’t feel lonely and had someone he could go to if he needed emotional support. But he was a brave boy, and even if his steps were slow, he still looked around the apartment, sniffing all these new smells and he already found his favorite spot, which was underneath the piano, where a furry rug was lying.

You let the little puppy sleep and started making dinner, Leo must’ve been exhausted, he left his old home and his family, and now he was with strangers in new surroundings, but he felt comfortable, or otherwise he wouldn’t be sleeping like he was now.

The evening was spent cuddling with Leo, when you and Charles were lying on the couch, watching TV, Leo tried to get up on the couch and when Charles picked him up, he settled on your belly, where he took another nap.

The first night was nerve-racking, you had read a lot of articles, so you prepared for the worst. Leo and you two went to bed at around eleven pm, the little puppy lay down in his dog bed that Charles placed in the corner of the room, and two hours after you fell asleep, you got woken up by little whines that came from Leo. You grabbed him and put on his leash, and Charles and you went outside, where Leo did his business. Charles held your hand, while he had the leash in the other hand, he looked adorable with his jumper pulled over his head.

Back at home, you laid in bed again, but before you could fall asleep, little whines came from Leo again. Charles let out a sigh, “Do you think he needs to go outside again?”
“But he did his business, maybe he misses his family? They slept cuddled together every night after all.”

So he got up, picked Leo up, and came back to bed with him, when Leo settled between you, he stopped crying and fell asleep.

The next morning started off early, Leo licked all over your face and started playing with your hair, even if you were sleep deprived, when you opened your eyes and looked at Charles with Leo, all of this was worth it. The way Leo’s tail was wagging when you filled his food bowl with the puppy food, you think you died from diabetes, but Charles wasn’t any different. You already caught him way too often when he sneaked a treat to Leo, and you only had him for a day.

You also caught Charles cuddling with Leo while he was doing sim work in his simulator at home, or while taking a nap on the couch, or how Leo followed him everywhere Charles went. He already loved his new dad. Just as much as he loved you.

The ice cream launch was when you wanted to introduce Leo to the world, the little baby was frightened by the flashing lights, but when Charles held him, he calmed down again, in general, he felt most calm when he was in Charles’ arms.

Leo loved small walks, he couldn’t walk for long, he had small legs and was exhausted easily, so you all could walk for fifteen minutes before Leo had enough and wanted to be held, that's why you and Charles were often seen holding him.

You couldn’t wait to see Leo grow up and have the time of his life, especially Charles couldn’t wait for him to join him at a race, Leo would be his emotional support dog, in these hard times at Ferrari.

[porters-fangs]

aster presents

giving the redacted couples a pet !

operating under the assumption that they eventually move in together/establish a relationship if they haven’t already ofc :3

(this is very headcanon heavy, so if you’re allergic to other people’s opinions pls keep scrolling 🫶)

• David & Angel - Guinea Pigs

You’d think that the wolf shifters would have dogs, and you’d be wrong. They actually get incredibly antsy when there’s another dog in the house, replacing their scent. It’s their territory, and it feels like a threat when another canine comes along - even another member of the pack.

And so, when Angel came home with two squeaking guinea pigs one day, toppling over each other to crawl into his lap, David was thrilled pleasantly surprised.

• Asher & Baaabe - Pigeon

Asher found a pigeon on the side of the road on his way home from work, cowering by the curb, one of its wings broken and bleeding. Being the tender person that he is, he bundled it up in his hoodie and drove home with it in his lap, muttering over and over about how everything would be okay.

Babe gave it a bath while Asher made up a little bed for it, and they called the vet in the morning to see if there was anything else they could do. Long story short, that pigeon is the luckiest bird in the world.

• Milo & Sweetheart - Chinchilla

Now, of course they have Aggro. But that’s too easy. Either as an alternative (or an additional pet, why not)-

Sweetheart has always been a huge fan of exotic pets. As a child, they had practically every animal under the sun - except for their dream pet.

Milo was more than happy to oblige, and they spent a few months converting one of their spare rooms into a the perfect space for their new baby. Sweetheart spends every day after work doting on the little fluffball, sat in the large playpen to let the stress of work seep from their bones.

And Milo wasn’t unhappy with the arrangement either. He’ll regularly hand the little guy a post-it note (usually something along the lines of “fuck you chrissy”) take a picture, and send it to the group chat. Christian isn’t a huge fan.

• Sam & Darlin - Chickens

As a kid, Sam used to have a gorgeous border collie that he had to leave behind when he ran away, and that kills him inside. But he’d never subject Darlin to feeling on edge in their own home for the sake of reliving that bond.

So they have chickens.

Does Darlin threaten to storm the coop every time Sam makes a good point in an argument? Maybe

But Sam also finds them asleep in the hen house after a long day of work, leaning against the doorframe fondly as he watches them snore beneath a pile of feathers.

• Vincent & Lovely - German Shepherd

A stunning couple needs an equally stunning dog.

Do they really need a guard dog? No, not at all. But that beautiful dog and its sleek black coat could rip a man’s arm off almost as easily as they could themselves.

Lovely handles the training, and Vincent watches from a distance, mildly intimidated by the both of them, but also in awe of how gorgeous they are.

• Porter & Treasure - Calico

You can thank my beloved Vinn (@vind3miat0r) for this one 🫶

Treasure has a cat. They found it in an alley after a rough night of their own, hissing and backed up into a corner. It reminded them of themself. They coaxed it back out into the light, bundling it up and driving it home, forgetting all about their friends, still drinking themselves to death in the club.

Before they even met Porter, their adorable little calico kitty kept them sane, nuzzling into their face and lapping at their tears every time they found themself sobbing in bed.

Porter always thought of himself as a dog person.

Porter was wrong.

Porter loves Cinnamon Toast Crunch more than life itself.

Treasure has come home multiple times to find the vampire sprawled out on the sofa with their cat snoozing on his chest, and they swear they fall in love all over again.

• Gavin & Freelancer - Betta Fish

Unfortunately, much to the Freelancer’s chagrin, Gavin is terrified of cats. So, instead, they have a huge fish tank in their kitchen. Call it a compromise.

The Freelancer comes home with more and more fish every time they go to the pet store just to get food, claiming that “it looked so sad :(”

And Gavin had to agree. The way these fish were treated truly was inhumane, and he was more than happy to help the Freelancer name every addition to their tank that came through their front door.

He was also far more fascinated by them than he’d ever anticipated being. He could stare at that tank for hours.

• Lasko & Dear - Frogs

Dear loves frogs. Lasko? Not so much.

When they moved in, he wasn’t expecting the uninvited guests that came with them. He never complained, of course, but he did insist that the tank would reside in the spare room and not the bedroom that he slept in every night. For practical reasons. Not because those bugged eyes and those webbed feet unsettled him.

Not at all.

Although, Dear could’ve sworn they heard him yelp when they opened the little tub of mealworms for feeding time…

He’ll warm up to them.

• Damien & Huxley - Collie

As if Huxley wasn’t enough of a bundle of energy, these two decided that they wanted one of the most active dogs on the planet. It works out surprisingly well for both of them, though.

It joins Huxley on hikes, bounding up the trail ahead of him, tail wagging impatiently as it waits for him to catch up as he laughs into the trees.

It sits at Damien’s side as he pores over his notes, and when the furrow in his brow deepens, it’ll nudge its nose into his hand until he drops the pen, tugging him outside for a walk.

And when they all collapse onto the couch in the evening, a pile of fur and giggles and a thumping tail, everything feels right.

• Elliot & Sunshine - Lovebirds

The pun isn’t lost on me.

They have a gorgeous, bright, mated pair of lovebirds. Whenever the couple catch them nuzzling beaks, Elliot pulls Sunshine’s face to his and brushes his nose over theirs.

Sunshine makes jewellery out of the feathers that molt around the house, and they both have matching necklaces that they wear everywhere.

• Blake & Bestie - California King Snake

Bestie walks around the house with it curled around their neck. Blake thinks it’s hot.

That’s all I have to say.

• Avior & Starlight - Maine Coon

Starlight has a black maine coon named Urania, after the Greek muse of astronomy. She is their pride and joy.

She gets along with Avior incredibly well, and even though he was initially very intimidated by her size, he quickly realised that meant she was in fact the softest and warmest cuddle buddy he could ever ask for.

She sits on Starlight’s lap when they’re reading, purring even after she’s fallen asleep, sometimes reaching out to paw at the pages.

• Anton & Lover - Hedgehog

Another rescue story, except Lover found this little cutie in their backyard while Anton was still away at work. They were too nervous to let it back outside even after they’d nursed it back to health, since its front paw was still a little crooked, so they decided to dedicate a little space for it in their office to keep an eye on it.

When Anton came home a few weeks later, he fell in love with the hedgehog. Literally just spent hours playing with it, giving it little snacks (even after Lover insisted it’d had enough)

And so they gained a new member of their family to keep Lover company when Anton had to go away again. And again.

• Hush & Doc - Stick Insects

Doc loves bugs. This is a fact.

Hush loves bugs. He never knew this.

Doc has a tank of stick insects in their bedroom, and the first time Hush spent the night he asked them why they kept an empty tank. And so Doc pulled out one of their precious babies to show him. And he was absolutely fascinated.

“It’s a living stick?”

“No, it’s an insect that’s adapted to look like a stick. For protection.”

“…Can I touch it?”

They sat on Doc’s bed with the bugs for hours.

• Vega & Warden - Dobermann

Vega values loyalty and obedience. And he adores his dobermann like you wouldn’t believe. If he ever had a soft spot for anything other than Warden, it was that dog.

He trains it meticulously, despite having every capability to protect himself, and praises every milestone.

When it first met Warden, Vega was expecting the usual wariness, for the dog’s ears to flick forward as it appraised them.

Not at all.

For the first time that Vega could remember, it broke heel to launch itself at Warden, licking at their face in excitement. And he didn’t reprimand it. Why would he?

After losing his memories, Vega found a strange familiarity in that dog as it stood by Warden’s side, as though protecting them… from him.

• Guy & Honey - Ferrets

I feel like I don’t need to elaborate.

I will.

They have three.

Honey loves playing with them. They have that macaroni bath and the ferrets love wiggling around while Honey laughs until their ribs hurt.

Guy slips them pizza scraps after his shift, putting his finger over his lips and warning them to stay quiet or else Honey might hear them snacking.

• Aaron & Smartass - Belgian Malinois

It lays under Aaron’s desk while he works from home, nudging his foot with its nose every so often to remind him to take a break.

He often comes home from the office to find Smartass stretched across the couch, having fallen asleep while trying to wait up for him, the dog in their lap. It looks up when he closes the door behind him, clearly unimpressed with his poor punctuality.

That dog has a favourite.

• Ollie & Baby - Hamsters

They have two and both seemed determined to end their little rodent lives early. Ollie and Baby both love them so much, but they’ll wake up to find one with its head poking out between the bars, precariously close to choking, and another just passed out in the wood chips.

The vet bill? Ridiculous.

• Geordi & Cutie - Rabbit

In another life perhaps, they have a very sweet grey rabbit with an attitude. Thumping its paws whenever it isn’t allowed outside immediately when it asks, whenever its dinner is two minutes too late, whenever it’s woken up from its very important nap in the sunlight.

Geordi jokes that it reminds him of Cutie.

• Morgan & Seer Obscura - Mice

Seer Obscura actually saved these mice from lab testing as part of a charity program, and they were planning to adopt them out to close friends - but instead ended up with six mice that they love very much.

They scatter across their shoulders, and sometimes when Morgan brushes a lock of hair back from their face, a little fuzzy nose will poke out from behind their neck, sniffing around.

• Azmidi & Sweetie - Boa Constrictor

Scares the shit out of any visitors they have round.

They enjoy that very much.

Sweetie will fully poke their fingers into the enclosure when feeding it, and has not yet been bitten by some miracle.

No survival instincts, I tell you.

———

okay thank you for joining me on this wonderful journey! i do apologise if any of these are out of character or deviate from the canon - i don’t listen to all of the redacted boys but i do like to try and be inclusive 🫶

[rudyking]

One little word:

JJ works hard to get his baby boy to say his first word- specifically, 'Dada'.

Pope Heyward, perpetually stressed but ever dependable, adjusted his glasses, peering intently at the eight-month-old human potato currently gumming on a teething toy shaped like a miniature surfboard. John B Routledge, perpetually tanned and perpetually up for anything, dangled a set of car keys, jiggling them enthusiastically in front of the baby’s face. And JJ Maybank? Well, JJ was practically vibrating with anticipation, kneeling inches from his son, Jax’s, chubby face.

“Okay, buddy, listen up!” JJ said, his voice pitched somewhere between a stage whisper and a pep talk. “This is it. The moment of truth. Say it with me. Da-da.” He enunciated slowly, dramatically mouthing the syllables, his deep dimples flashing as he grinned.

Jax gurgled happily, batting at the keys with a chubby fist. He then proceeded to shove the surfboard teether further into his mouth.

“Da-da,” JJ repeated, pointing to himself with theatrical flair. “Daaa-daaaa. Like, your favorite guy in the whole world? The one who gives the best airplane rides?”

Jax blew a raspberry, sending a spray of drool towards Pope, who recoiled with a mock shudder. John B snorted with laughter.

“Dude, maybe try ‘Pogue Life’?” John B suggested, still jiggling the keys. “He’s gotta be picking up on that by osmosis, right?”

“John B, ‘Pogue Life’ is two words,” Pope pointed out dryly, adjusting his glasses again. “Let’s stick with single syllable sounds first, shall we?”

JJ ignored them both, his blue eyes, the exact shade of the Outer Banks summer sky, focused intently on Jax. “Okay, maybe ‘Dada’ is too sophisticated. Let’s try ‘Ball’. Baaaall. You love balls. You’ve got, like, a million balls in that playpen.” He gestured to the colourful plastic balls scattered around the living room floor.

Again, only gurgles and happy baby noises emanated from Jax. Frustration, a familiar friend, began to prickle under JJ’s skin. He loved his son fiercely. The tiny human was a miniature, droolier version of Yn, Jax’s mom and the anchor of JJ’s sometimes chaotic world. Jax had Yn’s gentle eyes and sweet disposition, but with JJ’s mischievous glint already starting to sparkle in them. He was perfect. Except… he wasn’t talking.

“Maybe he’s just not ready yet, JJ,” Pope said gently, sensing JJ’s escalating tension. “He’s only eight months. They say some kids don’t say anything until closer to a year.”

“Yeah, chill, man,” John B added, finally pocketing the keys. “He’s probably just soaking it all in. Like a little sponge.”

JJ knew they were right, logically. Yn had said the exact same thing just this morning, her voice calm and soothing as always. Patient, like always, JJ thought, a wave of affection for Yn washing over him. But logic and patience weren't exactly JJ’s strong suits. He was impulsive, driven by feeling, and right now, he felt like Jax should be talking. And he felt like it should be ‘Dada’.

“Nah,” JJ said, shaking his shaggy blonde hair out of his eyes. “He’s ready. He’s a Maybank. We’re advanced.” He puffed out his chest, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. “We’re gonna crack this code. Operation First Word is a go!”

Thus began “Operation First Word,” a comedic saga that would be talked about (and probably slightly exaggerated) by the Pogue crew for years to come. John B, ever enthusiastic, suggested mimicking animal sounds. This resulted in John B bleating like a sheep, Pope making a surprisingly realistic cow moo, and JJ attempting a dolphin click, all while Jax stared at them with wide, unblinking blue eyes, occasionally dribbling drool down his chin.

Pope then brought out flashcards, convinced that visual learning was the key. He held up a picture of a dog. “Dog,” Pope stated clearly, pointing at the picture and then at a dog plush toy. “Say ‘dog’, Jax.”

Jax reached for the flashcard and tried to eat it.

JJ, ever the pragmatist (sometimes), decided to appeal to Jax’s stomach. He held up a piece of banana. “Buh-nana,” he said, drawing out the syllables. “Say ‘buh-nana’, and you get this delicious treat.”

Jax, who was indeed partial to bananas, just reached for the banana with both hands, effectively snatching it from JJ and smearing it all over his face.

John B, in a moment of questionable inspiration, decided to get physical. He started doing jumping jacks, chanting, “Up! Up! Up!” He was convinced that if Jax associated the sound ‘up’ with the exciting motion of jumping, he would be motivated to speak.

Jax, fascinated by John B’s flailing limbs, just pointed and giggled.

The afternoon descended into chaotic hilarity. Neighbors probably thought the Pogues had lost their minds. Yn, arriving home from her shift at the art gallery later that evening, found the living room in a state of joyful disarray. JJ, Pope, and John B were sprawled on the floor, exhausted and covered in baby food, while Jax happily babbled to himself, seemingly oblivious to the linguistic chaos he had just inspired.

Yn surveyed the scene, a gentle smile playing on her lips. “Having fun, boys?” she asked, her voice laced with amusement.

JJ looked up, his usual smart-alecky grin softening as he saw her. “Yeah, well, Operation First Word is… ongoing,” he admitted, running a hand through his already messy hair. “No breakthroughs yet. But we haven’t given up!” He said this with a renewed burst of faux enthusiasm, earning a laugh from Yn.

Yn scooped up Jax, kissing his banana-smeared cheek. “He’ll talk when he’s ready, JJ,” she said softly, meeting his blue eyes. “You just need to talk to him. Read to him. Spend time with him. That’s all he needs.”

Her words, as always, were calming and insightful. JJ knew she was right. He was being his usual impulsive self, pushing too hard, instead of just enjoying the moment. He looked at Yn, holding their son, her kindness radiating from her, and a wave of gratitude washed over him. He had Yn, he had Jax, he had his friends. What more could a guy ask for?

The next few weeks saw a shift in JJ’s approach. Operation First Word was officially disbanded. Instead, JJ just… spent time with Jax. He’d babble to him about everything and nothing – the waves, the boats, the annoying tourists, the best surf spots, his crazy friends, how much he loved Yn. He’d read Jax stories, silly ones with lots of voices and dramatic pauses. He'd simply hold Jax close and hum made-up tunes, his deep voice rumbling against the baby’s small chest.

Slowly, subtly, something started to change. Jax started babbling back. Not just random baby noises, but sounds that seemed to mimic the rhythms of JJ’s speech. He started to watch JJ’s mouth intently when he spoke, his little brow furrowed in concentration. One afternoon, as JJ was changing Jax’s diaper, he was singing a ridiculous sea shanty when Jax suddenly made a clear “Bah” sound, looking directly at JJ.

JJ froze, his hands hovering over the diaper tabs. “Did you… did you just say ‘Bah’?” he whispered, his heart suddenly thumping in his chest.

Jax gurgled again, then repeated, “Bah.”

JJ’s deep dimples appeared, wider than ever. “Bah! Like… ball? Is that what you mean?” He grabbed a soft toy ball and held it up. “Bah-all?”

Jax reached for the ball, his fingers grasping at the fuzzy material, and made another attempt at the sound, a slightly clearer, “Ba-ah.”

JJ whooped, scooping Jax up in a joyful hug. He twirled him around, laughing. "He's talking! He's trying to talk!" He wanted to call Yn, to call Pope and John B, to shout it from the rooftops. But he just held Jax close, feeling a profound surge of love and pride.

That night, after Yn had gone to bed, exhausted from a long day, JJ was putting Jax down in his crib. He’d read him his favorite book, a worn-out copy of “Goodnight Moon,” his voice soft in the dim light of the nursery. Jax was drowsy, his eyelids drooping, but his blue eyes were still fixed on JJ.

JJ leaned over the crib, tucking the blanket around Jax. “Goodnight, little man,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re the best.” He kissed Jax’s forehead, feeling the soft baby hair under his lips.

As he turned to leave, a small, clear voice, filled with the innocent wonder of discovery, echoed in the quiet room.

“Dada.”

JJ stopped dead in his tracks, his breath catching in his throat. He slowly turned back to the crib, his blue eyes wide, searching Jax’s face in disbelief.

Jax was still looking at him, his eyes sleepy but bright. He repeated the sound, a little softer this time, but undeniably there.

“Dada.”

JJ felt a lump form in his throat, emotions rising up, a mix of pure, unadulterated joy, overwhelming love, and a touch of something akin to awe. He knelt beside the crib, reaching in to gently stroke Jax’s cheek.

“Yeah, buddy,” he whispered, his voice cracking with emotion. “Dada’s here. Dada loves you so much.” He blinked rapidly, fighting back tears, a rare and vulnerable display for JJ Maybank.

He stayed there for a long moment, just watching Jax, listening to his soft, even breathing. “Dada,” his son had said. His first word. And it was perfect.

JJ finally stood, a soft smile illuminating his face, his deep dimples cutting lines into his cheeks. He left the nursery, closing the door gently behind him, his heart full. Operation First Word might have been a chaotic failure, but in the end, the most beautiful words always came when you least expected, when you simply let love and connection lead the way. And for JJ Maybank, that word, "Dada," was the sweetest sound in the entire Outer Banks.

[schlatt-love-bot]

The Babysitters Club

Babysitter Schlatt x Babysitter Reader Headcanon

Had a quite a bit of fun writing this one, paternal Schlatt really gets my heart going LMAO

Enjoy!

You and Schlatt were best friends in high school, and being best friends with a future entrepreneur only meant one thing–you were in for a LOT of money making schemes

“Well, we tried the lemonade stand, got told we’re too old…got fired from our bodega jobs for goofing off too much…what is there left for us to do?”

You could see the gears in Schlatt’s brain begin to turn, as all of a sudden he perked up. He came up with something

“Hmm…you like kids, right (Y/N)?” 

“Uhh…I guess you could say that? Why?” 

“I know the perfect business for us.”

Lo and behold, Schlatt and Co.’s Babysitting Service was created 

Schlatt would arrange a babysitting schedule for you, and most of the time you would go out on your own, babysit the kids, and split profits with him for managing your schedule

Sometimes, though, depending on how many kids were in one home, or how many sessions you had in a day, Schlatt would step up and give you a hand

Today was one of those days, as he scheduled you to solo-babysit one toddler from 12 to 3, but at 5:00? You had 5 children to keep an eye on, one who was only a few months old and the eldest being 9-almost-10 years old

Knowing you’d have your work cut out for you in the beginning of the day, chasing a toddler around a park while Mom and Dad were at a meeting, Schlatt decided he would be a kind best friend and boss and help you out

Not to mention, this was an overnight babysitting venture, and Schlatt was looking for any opportunity to spend a little extra time with you 

“So, how was the kid this afternoon?” 

“Good! He just wouldn’t stop running around, I felt like I was chasing a dog all afternoon.” 

Schlatt knocked on the door to your next house, the parents frantically opening the door, rushing you in to give you the basic breakdown before rushing out

“If you need anything, there’s our emergency contact numbers posted on the fridge, there’s a binder of basic information on our little monsters on the wet bar in the kitchen, next to that is some money to buy a pizza for dinner tonight. Need anything, call Grandma, she lives up the street. Thanks, see you both in the morning!” 

They practically ran out of the house, as you heard the 5 month old let out a whining cry, and the two eldest children began running laps around the two of you

You looked at Schlatt, your eyes wide, this was definitely going to be your biggest challenge yet

“You take the youngin’s, I’ll take the older shits?” 

“Yes, please!”

You made your way over to the crib, which housed the 5 month old, and sitting next to the 5 month old inside an adjacent playpen were a 2 year old and a 5 year old, playing with various toys

You picked up the 5 month old and instinctively began to rock the baby, making small talk with the other two kids about what toys they were playing, and other things they generally seemed interested 

“Is screen time okay for these two, or are we going the organic, touch grass way with these rugrats?” 

“Hmmm, check the binder. Mom and Dad probably have rules about screen time, maybe after dinner?” 

You heard the two kids, and Schlatt, let out a sigh of disappointment, as you watched Schlatt convince the two boys it was perfect baseball weather, and out they went

“Say, girls, do you want to go and play with some of your patio toys? It’s such a gorgeous day out, we shouldn’t waste daylight!” 

You were met with many tiny “yes”s, walking with the baby still wrapped tightly in your arms

You and the girls began to play with some of the chalk they had laying out on the patio pavement, teaching the girls how to draw out squares for hopscotch, telling them how to play

You couldn’t help yourself from sneaking glances every once in a while to Schlatt and the other two kiddos out on the lawn, Schlatt tossing low balls to the boys, acting like they knocked them out of the ballpark and insisting they “ran the bases” around him 

A smile crept up on your face, you began to grow a little jealous of whoever would be spending their lives parenting with him

“Man, you like him don’t you!” 

You whipped your head around, seeing the 5 year old staring at you, as her 2 year old sister stood behind her, snickering

“W-what? Absolutely not, we’re good friends. What do you know about liking someone, hmm?” 

“That’s the same look my mommy gives my daddy every single day!” 

You felt your cheeks begin to heat, needing to figure out a way to avoid these two little children from grilling you any further 

“Girls, why don’t we go in and get you cleaned up, you’re covered in chalk. Maybe we can see what’s in your cupboards and make ourselves a little treat, huh?”

The girls were eager to do so, running past you and into the house

The little one in your arms wound up a bit fussy, so you placed her into 

All washed up and ready to go, the girls drug you over to a box of cake mix, insisting that you help them make cupcakes 

You didn’t want to use anything without permission, though, so you sent a quick text over to mom and dad to make sure they were okay with you using the box mix with the kids

They were ecstatic you weren’t just shoving their tablets in their faces, so they absolutely allowed you to bake with them

The girls were excited, donning their little aprons they had stored in the pantry

Baby started to get interested in what was going on, peering over the edge of the playpen, so you picked her up and carried her (and a toy, just in case) over to a high chair in the kitchen

The girls excitedly showed you were everything was that you would need, and you let them have total control over adding things to the mixing bowl (fishing out egg shells, when necessary)

By the time the cupcakes went into the oven, the boys came walking into the house, dirty and sweaty, and their pants definitely stained from sliding in the dirt outside

“Schlatt!”

“What? He needed to slide into home plate, otherwise he would’ve gotten out! You wouldn’t understand!” 

Despite the unexpected bath times, the rest of the night went rather smoothly

Schlatt and yourself wrangled the kids together for some pizza dinner, allowing them to decorate their own cupcakes for dessert afterwards, and once their bellies were all full, it was time to wind things down for the night 

You tucked the baby into her crib, heading to the girl’s room to tuck them in and read a little story to them

On your way there, you glanced into the boy’s room, seeing Schlatt making sure that both the 7 and 9 year olds were set and ready for bed, telling them tales from his baseball experiences (he was the best first baseman in your school, after all) 

You didn’t want to get caught staring, so you continued forward and to the girl’s room

You helped the two put on their pajamas, tucking them in their beds before sitting in the rocking chair by both of their beds, having “Goodnight Moon” picked from the shelf to read tonight 

“Goodnight stars, goodnight air…Goodnight noises everywhere!” 

By the time you finished, both girls had their eyes closed tight, peacefully asleep

You smiled to yourself, content with how the evening has gone, looking up to see Schlatt leaned against the doorframe, the same smile painted on his lips

Heat crept up your cheeks as you placed the book back on their bookshelf, heading out of the room and downstairs to the living room with him

“So…that wasn’t so bad after all, huh?”

“Well, toots, we sure do make a pretty good team…” 

He slung his arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer 

“Y’know…I think I saw a new side of you today. You playing ball with those two…I never seen you so…soft before.” 

“What can I say, baby, kids have a special way of makin’ a person soft...” 

He hesitated continuing, but your raised brow made him go on

“And…seeing you with that baby on your hip, the girls in the kitchen…you’re gonna be a perfect mom some day, (Y/N).” 

You began to blush, looking up at him, wondering if he was feeling the same way you were 

Before you could ask, Schlatt excused himself to the kitchen, coming back with two cupcakes in his hands, handing you one before sitting back down on the couch 

“You worked hard on these with the girls, you deserve a little treat too, princess.” 

He smirked, before swiping his cupcake against your nose, making your jaw drop

“Hey! What was that for?” 

“Whoops, here, let me get that…” 

He leaned forward, kissing the icing off your nose, his eyes plotting 

“Hmm, hold on…I think you’ve got a little something here…” 

You took this opportunity to smoosh your cupcake against his mouth, and before he had the chance to speak, you quickly leaned in, kissing him on the lips

He didn’t back off, answering your question from earlier as to if he felt the same

In fact, he swiftly put his cupcake down on the coffee table in front of you, grabbing your cheeks to deepen the kiss

“Ewww!”

“I told you so! Mommy and Daddy do the same thing after we bake together!” 

You quickly backed up, looking up the stairs to see all 4 of the kids out of bed, peering over the banister 

“Little shits, I swear to God…” 

You laughed, wiping the icing from your face before heading upstairs to put all the kids back into bed, making sure they stayed asleep this time, before heading back downstairs to see Schlatt fast asleep on the couch 

Sighing contently, you crawled onto the couch next to him, placing your head nearby his chest before slowly falling asleep yourself, feeling an arm wrap around you to pull you closer

[fawnsflowerbed]

A/N: MY FIRST COMMISSION AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH FLOPS ON THE FLOOR AND ROLLS BACK AND FORTH!!!!!!!

This was a request from my lovely sunshine anon, following the shenanigans of Vendetta Leon with his hybrid puppy girl!!! Please enjoy <3

Warnings/content: 2nd person (you/yours), fem pup hybrid reader, Vendetta Leon is referred to as daddy! Some mention of strict leon but he can’t stay mad at u, lots and lots of fluff!!! Headcanons!!!

Word count: 2,250 approx.

╴╴╴╴╴⊹ꮺ˚ ╴╴╴╴╴⊹˚ ╴╴╴╴˚ೃ ╴╴

╴╴╴╴╴⊹ꮺ˚ ╴╴╴╴╴⊹˚ ╴╴╴╴˚ೃ ╴╴

What does he do when she has zoomies at night like the lights are all off and he's in bed and she won't stop running around LMFAO

Zoomies in the Kennedy household are either a joy or a NIGHTMARE. It truly depends on how Leon’s feeling.

Often he finds it adorable. After a long day of work, climbing into bed after shutting the house down for the night, he hears a THUD followed by several thump thump thump thumps of you rushing off from wherever you were sleeping, most likely your bed in your playpen, but sometimes right in front of the fireplace in winter is too tempting. Your feet - or rather paws, as he jokingly calls them to see you puff, huff, and giggle at him - scurrying around the house, sliding across wooden floorboards, following the headlights of passing cars when the beams rush across the walls through the windows. Running back and forth between the rooms to squish your face up against the glass at squirrels or birds, whining quietly because you know you have to be a good girl and stay quiet but that crow is staring you down and you WANT to bark at it! A yip or two might, just might, slip past your lips. He can’t help but roll his eyes with a tired smile on his face, listening to you try so very hard to not disturb his slumber.

Soon enough you hear a short, brief whistle, ears perked up at the sound. It makes your feet pad from side to side, whimpering at the concept of him being awake - both out of worry and excitement. You’re quick to zoom your way over to his room, peeking your head over the edge of the bed with a quick wagging tail.

Leon’s voice is warm and rasped as he ruffles your hair, a gravelly chuckle rumbling from his throat. “Got some leftover energy there, sweetheart?” You nuzzle right up into the touch, loving the affection as always. “Gonna need to buy melatonin at this rate, pup. Either for you or for me.”

On the off days where he’s tired or grumpy you get a bit of a glare, but he just can’t stay stern with you no matter how hard work has been on him. He spoils you, he knows he does. But how could he be strict on you when you stare at him so apologetically with those big puppy dog eyes? Doing little paces back and forth around his bed to work off the extra zoom in your bones, he sighs and pats the bed for you to curl up next to him with a happily tapping tail thump thump thumping against the bedsheets.

What would he do if she played too rough with him and bit or clawed too hard? (She'd feel bad ofc)

Wuh oh! Tug-of-war and fetch are two high things on Leon’s more favoured games to play with you. He gets a bit of a workout, whilst making sure you get plenty of exercise so you’re nice and tuckered out for bed. Plus listening to you growl and giggle, shaking your head back and forth excitedly. You just love him, you love spending time with him, yapping happily and sprinting after the ball to plop at his feet with a big grin. Throw it again, Leon. Throw it again, and again, and again for the next 20 minutes, Leon.

 But you’re still a puppy hybrid after all! So sometimes you get too ahead of yourself, and you grab at his hand too hard with your canines when he’s trying to take the ball off of you to throw it, or you reach out your hands and scratch a bit too roughly at his forearms to get an advantage in tug-of-war. 

He’s always quick to pull away with a hiss or a quick sound of pain, giving his hand a shake out, rubbing over the scratched skin. He reacts fast so you have time to realise what’s happened, just to be sure no other injuries occur. And it’s like a switch flicks in your little dog brain. Immediately you’re climbing between his legs with big sad eyes, whining and whimpering out apologies and pawing gently at him, your ears pressed to your hair sadly. You hurt him! Oh no, no, no. That wasn’t supposed to happen, you were playing!

Usually it’s not too bad, nothing a bandaid and a good clean won’t fix. Often it works as a good reminder for him to cut your nails or give you a few extra bones and toys to gnaw on, but that broken look on your face makes his heart hurt every time. Especially if you start crying over it if it’s pretty bad. After ensuring it’s not the end of the world he’s always running his hand over your floppy ears, shushing you as you hiccup out sorry over and over. He knows you don’t mean to hurt him, you’re a good girl.

“No no no, hey,  it’s alright darlin’, no tears. Just means you got strong teeth, that’s a good thing. Means you’re taking care of them. Let’s save it for the ball next time though, ‘kay? Teeth don’t belong in daddy.”

“You’re still my good girl, puppy. Just go easy on me, daddy’s not exactly getting any younger here.”

How would he go about things if she was more quiet than normal/sad?

That would be odd for him. He’s gotten so used to you being this bright, bubbly thing full of life and laughter. Pawing at the door and yapping happily at him coming back home, spinning in little circles with a whipping fluffy tail. Back when he first got you it threw him off guard, how smiley you were, but he grew to love it dearly.

But today you’re… off. You look up at him from where you’re flopped on the couch, tail tapping softly, as you give him a small smile. And he has to admit, it aches a little. Watching you pace the house rather than sprint around it, how you stare at your food rather than truly digging in and chowing down, embracing your dog-hybrid side. It’s especially clear with how much you sleep. Napping around the house wherever you can, your posture a mess, eyes droopy with bags under them. That’s when he realises something’s up.

He tries to initiate from time to time, rolling a ball in your direction. “You wanna play ball, baby? Wanna fetch?” Nothing. Won’t even run at the sound of the treat bag shaking.

It’s like a sledgehammer to the heart seeing you dejected. No night zoomies, you rarely join him for cuddles in bed, gnaw sluggishly on your chew-toys and you simply stare out the window with slumped ears. He just can’t keep going with it. It’s too different. 

“Here puppy, c’mon.” It’s a brief call from the living room, and he listens out for the sound of your collar jingling with each slow step. He can already see the way you’ve forced the corners of your mouth up into a plastered smile. But your eyes, those puppy-dog eyes, are glossier than usual. And he frowns.

“What’s going on, huh? What’s wrong, sweet thing?”

He knows the nicknames get you good. And soon enough you’re climbing up into his lap with a low hanging tail tucked between your legs. He can’t help but chuckle softly, oh how quickly you cave. You’re a cuddly thing after all, snuggles are your weakness. “There’s my clingy girl, there we go. There she is.” He’s pushing the hair out of your face, a quiet sigh passing from his dry lips. “Talk to me, sweetpea. C’mon, tell daddy. I wanna listen, wanna know what’s wrong with my girl.”

And it’s true, he does. 

What if he's trying to work from home/read some files but she keeps bugging him for attention/affection or to play?? :3

Working from home was supposed to be easier for him since getting a puppy hybrid. And sometimes it is. You lay by his chair in his at-home office, one large calloused hand running over your silky ears, your soft snores or the light tap of your tail making the perfect white noise for him to get paperwork done. 

But, once again, you’re still a puppy. So sometimes he hears you wander your way in to sit by him on the floor with a thump. And then come the eyes having a little look-see at the papers he has spread out, a small mumble of “Whatcha doin?” passing your lips. 

That’s how he knows you want something.

It only evolves from there. Pushing his reading glasses up onto his head to ruffle your hair. “Workin, pumpkin. The usual. Go on now.”

You do not in fact ‘go on now’. He thinks you do, assumes you do, by the sound of your feet trotting out of the room. Likely to find something else to do.

Wrong.

He feels you nose at his elbow, soft yet demanding in your own sweet way, and he arches a brow at you. There you are, again, sitting at his feet with a ball in your mouth. In your lovely puppy brain you associate Leon’s work with his stress. And stress is bad for your Leon. But playing always makes you feel better, so it must be play time! And at the thought of playtime, now you have to play or your tail will wag so fast it flies from your jittery body.

“Play?”

He scoffs just a little. “No, not play, darlin’. Work.” Of course he humours you, takes the ball and turns to toss it down the hallway. Soon enough you're dashing after it happily, very convinced your plan is working. And so you come back to him with the ball in mouth, dropping it at his feet. Only this time he gives a short shake of his head.

“No, puppy. It’s not play time. It’s work time.”

“But I don’t like work.” You whimper meekly up at him. It’s true. Work takes him away from you for hours so you have to wait by the windows for hours. 

“I know baby, but daddy has to work so he can get you all the stuffed animals and treats you want.”

“But I don’t want those, I want daddy.”

Owch, that hurts a little, he won’t lie. Why do you have to be so damn sweet? You’re giving him a cavity by just being next to him. So he caves. He always caves. He’ll get the work done once you’ve had half an hour of running around and you conk out cold on the couch. 

“How about this, hm? This is called a.. Wait fuck what’s it called- a compromise. Yeah, a compromise. Don’t repeat that f word, though. No- no stop giggling and listen, silly girl.” Two hands gently clasp your own, shaking them gently to keep your attention as you laugh your sweet laugh. And yes, he can’t help but smile too.

“I’ll give you all the play you want if I get half an hour’s worth of work in, okay? Every ten minutes if you’re extra good I’ll throw in a few rounds of fetch.”

That’s a done deal for you.

A few of my other headcanons are that puppy reader is HORRIFIED of the vet.

It either goes two ways, in which Leon has to stand there holding your hand as you shake like a leaf the entire time. Picking you up like a baby since you go rigid once you realise this is in fact NOT the park!!! You have been LIED TO!!!! DECEIT!!!!!! Staring him down with big pathetic eyes at his act of treacherous betrayal. “I know, I know, but you need your shots.”

You don’t bite, you don’t growl or bark, you just stare wide eyed at the wall like you’ve seen a ghost. Whimpering during the whole appointment, he usually has to grab your chin several times so you’ll actually look at him rather than the posters on hybrid health that might freak you out even more. And if they even try to give you a vaccination you’re clambering up his body as if he’s some sort of chiselled, stubbled tree in a leather jacket. And yeah, every time he can’t help but laugh.

“Oh come on, sunshine. It’s just a prick, you’ll be alright. You’re my brave girl, aren’tcha? You my brave girl, yeah? Yes you are, you’re my sweet girl, my brave baby.” He pries and coos so the veterinary nurse can jab you, plaster a hello kitty bandaid over the spot, and hand you a treat. Thank GOD that’s over.

In other cases you have a regular checkup with female vets who coo and coddle over how pretty you are, your tail whipping happily between your giggles. Usually Leon just leans against the wall and watches as the nurse takes your jaw and tells you to say ‘ah’, with the ladies gasping out a ‘Oh look at those clean pearly teeth!’ so you wiggle around. Yeah, those times you like the vets. 

Squirrels are your arch nemesis. Especially since Leon won’t let you take the time to learn how to climb a tree. Let’s face it, seeing his puppy girl halfway up an oak trying to catch a chipmunk would give that poor man a heart attack.

You’re an end of the bed sleeper when he first gets you warm to him, and then he can’t get you out of his bed. Not even in a like, innuendo way, he just comes home in winter to you curled up under his covers waiting for him to get home. You're a huge cuddler, a giant snuggle bug. Yes, you do two or three little circles before lying down.

Every yawn is accompanied by a deep coo of “Aw, sleepy girl.” from Leon, and every stretch given a “Oo, big stretch.” Yeah, he’s that kind of puppy owner.

And he loves you to absolute bits!!! He never thought a puppy was exactly what he needed in his life <3

[irisintheafterglow]

suggestive. (yes i'm listening to too much epic: the musical again)

the tell-tale clang of a metal hat being set on your table reaches you in the kitchen. you can hear his shit-eating grin from around the corner and use a considerable amount of effort to keep your voice nonchalant. "where were you?"

"i'm flattered you missed me," he drawls, unbothered by your crossed arms and withering glare as you enter the dining room. "i know you have a soft spot in your black heart for me."

"you're putting words in my mouth," you grumble as he continues to float carefreely around you, gliding along like there was nowhere else he'd rather be. his lips twist into a mischievous smile and he's about to retort something suggestive when you cut him off. "if you say something foolish, i will sic my dogs upon you."

"you're no fun," he says with an exaggerated pout. with the back of his calves resting on the nearest ceiling beam, he hangs upside down in front of you like a fruit bat; his bright white hair and ice-blue eyes stand out among the dim candlelight of your home. "if you must know, i was with a mortal." he knows the effect of his phrasing, even if you try to hide the irritated twitch of your eye as you brush past him.

"i don't wish to hear of your...escapades," you deadpan.

"it was a man," god of mischief!satoru amends, but you're still skeptical.

"he wouldn't be the first."

"hey!" you finally crack a small smirk at his indignance but quickly wipe your face into blankness. "he's my great-great grandson."

"a hero, then?"

"you could call him that." you roll his eyes at his cryptic answer and continue to take inventory of various spell ingredients as a way to deprive him of attention. "c'mon, there's no need to be jealous," he says in that melodic voice that had your knees weak and simultaneously made you want to send him to the underworld.

"i feel nothing of the sort," you say through gritted teeth, which only makes him grin further. you turn and lean back against your kitchen counter as he noiselessly lands on the floor to stand in front of you, resting his hands on the counter at your sides. "this isn't going to work, you know."

"you've told me that before and still ended up in my chambers," he says in a hushed tone, leaning close enough to brush his nose against yours. your cheeks flush hot and your heart hammers in your chest, but you refuse to back down. it certainly doesn't help that his tunic is draped in such a way that accentuates his broad shoulders and barely covers the bottom half of his chest. damn you, god-bod satoru.

"i mean, you're not getting off that easily for stealing," you state dryly, placing your hands on his chest--taking care not to touch any exposed skin or you'd be compromised instantly--and pushing with just enough force to escape.

"stealing? i've done nothing of the sort!" he protests. you sense him reach for your wrist a split second before his fingers make contact with your skin and you feel his irritation when you pull away just before he grabs you. he groans like you'd told him he wasn't allowed dessert after dinner and you can imagine him stamping his feet behind you childishly. "you're being cruel."

"and you're lying to me," you reply. "though i can't say i'm surprised, considering you treat everything like a toy in your playpen."

"you're not a toy to me," he says with a gravely serious tone. you hum, unconvinced. stealing moly wasn't the harshest slight, not by a long shot, but the opportunity to have the great god of mischief groveling at your feet was too good to pass up.

"almost bought that one, but good try." something shifts in his expression that makes your stomach flip involuntarily.

"i'm serious. you've never been temporary to me," satoru reiterates, attempting to charm through your defenses again. "go ahead, cast a spell on me. order me to tell the truth and what you hear will remain the same." he takes a careful step forward and, by some miracle, you don't take a step away in turn. "well? cast it."

"that...that won't be necessary," you mumble, fully aware that your guard was crumbling with every inch he closed the distance between your bodies. when he's close enough that you can feel the pure sunlit warmth radiate from his body, you avert your eyes and study the gaps between the paving stones. "i'm still mad at you," you remind him when you let his finger tilt your gaze to face him. his expression is gentle, vulnerable in a way that he wouldn't dare to act with any other. "and i won't let you kiss me until you admit your crime."

"crime is an exaggeration," he attempts and you shrug, abruptly turning to leave when his hand shoots out with inhuman speed, finally catching your wrist and spinning you back to face him. "fine. yes, i stole the moly."

"what did you do with it?"

"i gave it to that hero we were talking about," he says a little too quickly to be considered innocent.

"and?" he blinks at you and hopes you would let him off the hook. you tilt your head ever so slightly to the side and he relents.

"anditoldhimtouseitagainstcircebecausehemadeareallygoodspeechandithoughtitwouldbefunnyifhefoughtherusingmoly." your jaw hangs open and you have no other option but to stare at him, incredulous.

"you gave my most powerful root to a mortal...because you thought it was funny?" you echo in disbelief.

"in my defense--"

"no, not 'in your defense' satoru," you huff as he sputters to give you a reasonable explanation. "if you're going to play with the mortal world, leave me and my work out of it." his shoulders sag in defeat and his lips dip into a pout. he's one more word away from grabbing his hat and never bothering you again when you speak--

"now kiss me before i remember how much you vex me."

lit up like every constellation combined, he wastes no time in grabbing your hips and pulling you flush against his body. he cheekily attempts to tease you, leaning just close enough to brush your lips, but fails at his own trap and ends up kissing you more fervently. threading your fingers into his hair, he hums into your mouth and takes your breath in a way that becomes more addicting than any concoction you could create in your kitchen.

"so," he murmurs when he lets you take a breath, "am i forgiven?"

"take me to bed and ask me when the sun appears."

[diapereddoe]

I’m pretty sure I’m going to go live tonight again. But I was told I should either do it in the cage or the playpen so I’ll let you all decide

[earl-grey-teacake]

Love the new headcanons for the Baby!Loscar au!! Though the second Logan and Oscar start walking they are going to need leashes or they're going to runaway to find their best friend and get lost in the paddock

Thank you!!!

They will absolutely be leash kids. Kids are curious by nature and they want to explore the world around them with no understanding of consequences. Sure, some may frown upon it saying children aren’t dogs but they are people who have never had a child run into the direction of an oncoming vehicle.

Logan and Oscar are adventurous and bold, which is great for karting. It is not great for their parents’ blood pressure. There is a limit of how many times Oscar or Logan can book it out of hospitality before someone puts their foot down. Learning how to walk is one thing but walking and being able to open the doors of their rooms and playpens is another.

At the first the parents frowned upon it with Carlos and George saying their children were not dogs. That sentiment quickly changed when Logan booked it across the parking lot and almost gets hit by Toto’s Mercedes. Now since it was a parking lot, the car speed tends to be slower but that did not help anyone’s blood pressure that day.

So Logan and Oscar get little leash backpacks, bear and koala respectively. Logan tries to fight it like all toddlers do, kicking, yelling, rolling on the ground but his parent’s will not budge. He does give up, and relents to bring on a leash. No matter how cutely Logan begs and clings, neither James nor Toto or Jenson will free him from it.

Oscar does not kick or scream but he will lie on the floor in protest until his parent pick him up and carry him. He also gives in once he realizes no one will take pity on him. He has tried to run to Williams a couple times but was stopped by McLaren staff and Andrea Stella who carried him back like a sack of potatoes.

The other drivers vary on levels of amusement. Alonso and Max find it hilarious, especially when the kids try to book it while attached to the leash. Lewis feels bad for the kids but he was there when Logan almost got hit by Toto’s car so he doesn’t feel that bad. Charles almost frees them a couple times because they plead with him to but is quickly stopped by others.

Thank you for the ask!!! I know it took me a while to answer 😅