#so far those are the ones I’m trying for

[earthtooz]

x : HAPPY ACCIDENT :*+ﾟ

in which: you let phainon know the consequences of when he doesn't give you any attention.

warnings: 1.2k wc, fluff, phainon is very golden retriever coded in this and of course very down bad, gn!reader, mydei appears, i already said this but like i said, HE IS DOWN BAD.

a/n: the p in phainon stands for puppy or pathetic, or maybe both. btw i haven't played the story quest thumbs up.

You should feel bad about unintentionally conditioning Phainon like an obedient dog- you just didn’t expect him to take it so seriously!

The incident happened less than a week ago, when you walked into the courtyard in search of the Chrysos Heir, and he was exactly where you expected. The resounding, piercing sound of blades colliding was the first tell that the man you wanted to find was indeed there, and the second was when you rounded the corner to find him shirtless and shining with sweat under the gentle sunlight. He had been there for hours already, and as much as you admire his dedication and diligence, you also wonder if he’s been training a little too hard recently, dedicating substantial hours of the day into refining his skills. 

It’s been making you feel lonely. 

The last time you saw him was before noon, and it's been hours since then! You can only entertain yourself by working and reading and managing affairs for so long.

He spots you in his periphery and waves enthusiastically, a gesture you return with a calmer one before you find a marble bench under the shade to sit on. Even if it’s Phainon’s undivided attention you want, watching him spar is still far more exciting than whatever document that sits unread on your desk. 

Half an hour later, Phainon dismisses the soldier he was sparing with, the two of them chattering briefly before the snow-haired approaches you, his muscles flexing with every step he took. 

“Hey, you,” you greet with a smile before standing up, raising your arms over your head to stretch.

“I missed you,” he murmurs before intertwining his arms around your torso, allowing your arms to fall around his neck comfortably. 

“You should bathe,” you say before parting, his skin still hot and sticky with sweat. 

“Do I smell?” 

“Awfully.” 

He frowns at you. “That’s not very nice.” 

“I’m only kidding,” you giggle, “you smell like a bed of fresh roses, just extremely sweaty and… testosterone-filled.” 

“I shall go wash soon, then. Care to join me?” 

“Do you invite everyone to bathe with you, Phainon?” 

“Only the ones I really like, so, please?” He’s pleading at you with those eyes of his, so bright, so innocent, so hard to say no to. 

Well, normally you have a hard time saying no, especially to an offer as tempting as bathing with your lover, but you remember your petty feelings of how he paid more attention to his claymore today, rather than you, so you decide to give him a piece of your mind. It’s what he deserves. 

You hum in exaggerated consideration, even scrunching your nose to make it seem like you were thinking hard, keeping him on his toes. 

“Pretty please?” The hero insists, anticipation shining in those bright orbs. 

“Depends on how well you behave,” you negotiate. “Now, sit down and change your shoes, I’ll get your clothes.” 

He pouts at you, signalling his dissatisfaction. “Alright.” 

You leave to pick up his outerwear from where he discarded it in the courtyard, probably thrown aside when it got too stuffy. Returning to him, the pout is still as present, and he seems to refuse to make eye contact with you, trying to get you to crack.

So, you drop the pile of clothes beside him and counter with a game of your own.

Standing between his legs, both of your hands go to rest on his cheeks, the skin warm and flushed underneath yours. Gently tilting Phainon’s head up, you think you hear his breath hitch as he obeys, looking up at you with those glossy eyes. Gone was the petulance, back was the puppy-dog expression as he stares at you with wonder, and you’re 90% sure that if he had a tail, it’d be vigorously swishing behind him.

He just might be the most simple man you know. Telling him that would only displease him, though, primarily because he doesn’t like it when you talk about other men. 

You giggle softly at the thought as you gently brush stray strands of hair away from his face. 

“I only accompany men who are good to me to the bathhouse,” you muse.

“I’m amazing to you- the best,” he flaunts. “Right?” 

Instead of responding, you slowly lean closer towards him, minimising the gap between your faces. First, you close your eyes when your nose brushes against his, and you keep going until your lips are so painstakingly close that you can feel his graze yours, skin ghosting against skin as you lure him in. Then, just before you can give him what he wants, you draw back, leaving Phainon to chase after a piece of a paradise you won’t grant. 

When he realises that the anticipated kiss wasn’t coming, his eyes slowly blink open. 

“Good boys don’t let their partner feel neglected by training for hours and hours,” you mumble, brushing his hair back before deserting him completely, letting your hands fall back to your sides before cruelly walking away. “You need to learn your lesson, Phainon.”

Still in a daze, he only just registers what you were doing before shooting to his feet. “Hey!” 

Leaving his precious claymore and clothes behind, he chases after your retreating figure.

Effortlessly, the Chrysos Heir catches up and winds his arms around your waist like a tight coil. “Y/n, darling, my light, I’m sorry, you’re right, I have committed a great dishonour today, I will amend it with my life.” 

Humoured, you turn to face him, a melting pot of determination and desperation swirling in those aquamarine eyes. “Well, you do not need to go that far, Deliverer.” 

“So then… a kiss? Or two? Or three? Please?” 

“How about you kiss that claymore instead? Since you spend so much time with it.” 

He whines in your ear, refusing to let you go when you try to slip away by pushing against his very muscular, very sturdy, and very naked chest. 

You spend a good few minutes rejecting his every plea, utterly amused by his growing desperation and how he offered the most preposterous things on Amphoreus for you to forgive him. So you pushed your luck as far as you could before giving Phainon what he wanted, and he breathed you in like air, insisting on wanting more again and again as he pulled you so close you thought you would merge into him.

When you feel his hands roam down your body, tracing your curves and lingering on your hips, you break away before he could get any more carried away.

“Next time you see me while training, you should know what to do, right?” Was all you said that day before moving on, going back to the courtyard to collect his items for him because he was too dazed to do it himself.

Now, you’re left wondering how hard that sentence hit him as Phainon obediently sits down, staring at you with intense eyes that indicated he wanted something from you. He was sparing with Prince Mydei a mere second ago, how did he drop his weapon as soon as you walked in and just… plopped down on the bench like that was the most natural thing in the world? And the other Chrysos Heir just agreed? 

Was there something odd in the air today? Normally these two would spar until there were chips in their weapons.  

Mydei gave you a firm nod in greeting when he walked past and you returned it with a slight bow, still left wondering what on Amphoreus just occurred as you watch his retreating back. 

Until a certain hero clears his throat, causing you to tear your gaze away and at your main source of bewilderment. 

“Did you send Mydei away because… of me?” You ask. 

He nods. 

“Why?” 

“Isn’t that what I’m supposed to do?” 

Your mouth falls slightly agape before the realisation hits. “I… I guess? I was hoping to watch you two spar.” 

He doesn’t respond, doesn’t even blink, only stares you. When you don’t give him what he wants, Phainon impatiently pats his spread thighs and you oblige, stopping before him and letting your hands rest on his face. 

“What am I going to do with you?” You whisper against his lips before sealing the words against his lips.

Well, this was your fault, after all, so you should just do your best to make him happy.

© EARTHTOOZ 2025, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[blessedbycoyotes]

On a moonless night, a stargazer traveling far afield made his way into a section of woods that was uninhabited for reasons known to the locals but not known to him. A familiar thought came to his mind as he walked: Some truths can be found in separation from others. Such is my craft. It was both true and a rationalization of his loneliness, he knew, but as he grew older, he found it harder and harder to become un-separated from the others. He and they had become too different.

Quietly, the stargazer began his work. From the forest’s edge, peeking from side to side, he walked toward the dead center of a clearing. Kneeling, slowly and aware of every rustle of grass, he set down his pack. Pencils and paper and glassware were set and arranged by feel alone on a leather pad he rolled out beside him.

The stargazer sat ram-rod straight and allowed himself a moment to breathe. He picked up his sextant so slowly as to not make one sound. Just as his eyelash was about to graze the glass –

Fwhumpf.

The stargazer and his lungs froze. He had never encountered something truly terrible from a noise in the night, but he was for some reason or other not inclined to test that theory.

Fwhumpf.

The spell broke. He rose to his feet as fast as possible, dropping the sextant onto his pad, and whipped around, straining his eyes for any sign of any thing.

Fwhumpf.

“Hello,” rumbled the dragon, only shaped by its silhouette of the stars behind.

The stargazer, to his credit, did not panic, despite the tension in his head. “Hello,” he said.

“Are you an astronomer?” it asked. Only now did the stargazer realize that he could see its eyes, which barely reflected what little ambient light was there.

“In a sense,” the stargazer replied in a tone usually meant for well-meaning strangers he did not want to talk to. “I am not a professional, if that is what you mean.”

“No matter if you do it for coin, I think.”

The dragon’s voice was gentle, but not for a lack of ability; its voice was more felt than heard, and it was clearly struggling in trying to push just enough air to move its massive vocal cords but not enough to disturb what little peace remained in the clearing.

It spoke again. “Do you watch the stars or not?”

“Yes. I do.”

“Would you like to watch together? I came out here to do the very same thing.”

The stargazer did not parse those words for a full ten seconds, stunned as he was by such an unexpected question. His mind then ran in circles, calculating risks and paths of potential escape and his odds of outrunning an animal he knew nothing about and oh to hell with it, he thought, nothing interesting ever came of running anyway.

“Very well.”

The dragon looked him in the eyes for a brief moment, before turning slightly away and tipping onto its side with all the grace of a felled tree. It squirmed, disturbing much grass, before it managed to lie on its back, facing the stars.

The stargazer laid beside it.

“Anything good tonight?” the dragon asked.

“Aye. Meteor shower, Orionids. A comet’s trail.”

“Excellent,” it purred, “I almost forgot it this year.”

The stargazer got the impression that the dragon was smiling, but could not make out anything of the dragon’s expression and would not trust himself to predict the emotions of a beast he was unfamiliar with.

“I am impressed tonight. Not often I get to see this much dust,” it said, slowly.

“Indeed,” the stargazer stated flatly. “It’s why I’m here.”

He traced Gemini with two of his fingers. Lucky stars.

“Why are you here?” he asked.

“To stargaze. Good meadow for it.”

“I mean - Do you live here?”

“Nearby.”

“Why?”

It rumbled. Do dragons laugh? “As opposed to what? Living near humans? That chance is gone now.”

“Now?” the stargazer asked again. “Did you live with humans once?”

“Decades ago, yes.”

“How?”

“I was one back then.”

The stargazer, incredulous, looked at nothing and furrowed his brow. “You used to be human?”

The dragon nodded. The stargazer did not see the motion, but that did little to stop his questioning.

“Were you cursed?”

“No. I chose this.”

“Chose?”

The dragon finally turned to face him. “You are alone too, are you not?” it asked back. “You shed your humanity by severing your connections with them. I have merely taken it a step further.”

The stargazer did not reply for a beat. He did not expect to be seen by a stranger. “Do you not miss company?”

“I do.”

“Then why become a dragon? Why stay here in perpetuity?”

“Some truths can be found in separation from others.”

Silently, the dragon turned its massive head to the sky.

“I was never a good human. Yes, I had scaleless skin, and I walked on two legs, but all the rest did not come to me naturally,” it growled. “Have you ever been in a play?”

“No.”

The dragon stared past the heavens as it began again. “Imagine you are suddenly thrust into one. We are short a man today, the troupe says, and pushes you onstage. You don’t know the lines. You don’t know how to mimic characters, or emotions, or even the fellow next to you. And so, you flounder, bouncing from stage left to right, actors pushing you around and whispering instructions in your ear that you cannot follow.”

“Sounds like a mess.”

“It was.”

“So,” the stargazer turned to look where the dragon’s eyes caught the starlight, “you chose to leave the stage.”

The dragon did not face him.

“Do you think it was it the right choice?”

Against the backdrop of stars, he saw the dragon’s brow raise ever so slightly; he saw it breathe ever so slowly.

“To this day, I am not sure. I do not know if I am happier out here, slowly becoming a legend of these woods, alone. But I can tell you this; dragonhood is much truer to me than my former life ever was. This body, this separate mode of being,” it sighed, “it feels like what I was made for. As if I were cast in the wrong mold the first time around.”

A sudden pain grabbed the stargazer’s chest.

“Why do you choose to be alone, astronomer?”

He struggled to form sentences until a moment had gone. Then, quietly, “The more I think, the more time passes, the more my thoughts differ from most people’s. The more I do not see myself in them. Their priorities, their methods… they seem alien to me nowadays.”

A sharp breath.

“Like I wasn’t one of them after all.”

The dragon turned back to the stargazer and held his eye until it saw something new.

“Would you like to stargaze with me again, sometime?”

“Yes,” he said, “I think I would.”

too many stories about turning yourself into a monster as a metaphor for pretending to be something you aren't and losing yourself in the process. not enough stories about turning yourself into a monster as a metaphor for choosing to openly embrace yourself even if it's strange to other people

[solxamber]

ougghrhehhbebf this valentines event is so cute!!!!!! I’m gonna be feasting on sol writing again nyehehehe

Malleus, platonic, with 蛍はいなかった/Fireflies never came by Harumaki Gohan please! do whatever you think fits the vibes :)

it's a little similar to the silver one but I hope you like my take on it <3

"Fireflies never came" || Malleus Draconia

𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭

𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐠: Fireflies never came by Harumaki Gohan

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 760

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: Angst with a Happy Ending, Reincarnation, Platonic Malleus x reader

Malleus Draconia had spent a lifetime watching the world from the outside.

It had always been that way—noble and powerful, a prince of the night, but forever set apart. The people whispered his name in reverence, in fear. They saw him as something more, something untouchable, something other.

And then you arrived, and the world changed.

You weren’t afraid of him. You never hesitated, never bowed your head in trembling obedience. Instead, you smiled at him as if he were simply Malleus. Not a prince, not a legend, just a friend.

And that was dangerous.

Because Malleus had never truly had a friend before, and he did not know how to hold something so precious without breaking it.

He remembers the first time you told him about the fireflies.

“They only shine for a little while,” you had said, your voice soft with wonder, eyes reflecting the night sky. “But that’s what makes them special. They live knowing their time is short, so they glow with everything they have.”

Malleus had listened, entranced by the warmth in your voice, by the way your fingers traced idle patterns against the grass.

“If they are so fleeting,” he murmured, “then we must go see them before they are gone.”

He had promised. And when he made that promise, you beamed at him—bright and beautiful, like starlight made flesh.

That moment had been so simple, so small. And yet, Malleus had tucked it away in his heart as if it were something sacred.

But the fireflies never came.

That night, the field was empty. The air was still, heavy with disappointment. He remembers how you had stared at the darkness, lips pressed together, and then—

You laughed.

“Guess we’ll have to try again next year,” you said, nudging him playfully. “I’ll hold you to it, Malleus.”

He didn’t know then how much those words would come to haunt him.

Because there was no next year.

One day, you were there. And then—

You were not.

Malleus had lived lifetimes, had seen kingdoms rise and fall, had watched stars burn out and turn to dust. He should have known that humans were fleeting things, fragile and brief, just like the fireflies you loved so much.

But knowing did not make it hurt any less.

For centuries, he walked the same paths you once did. He visited the places you had taken him, traced his fingertips over the carvings you had left on tree trunks, sat beneath the same moonlit sky where you had once whispered stories to him.

The world moved on. Time erased your footprints, wore away the echoes of your laughter.

But Malleus did not move on. He carried you with him.

And then—

One day, in a world far removed from the one you left behind, he finds himself walking toward the place where you had once promised to meet again.

He doesn’t expect anything. He never does anymore.

But then, he sees someone sitting in the grass.

A human.

A stranger.

And yet—

Malleus does not hesitate. He does not stop to think, does not allow himself to drown in uncertainty.

He walks forward, drawn by something old, something endless, something familiar.

You turn, and—

Oh.

Oh.

It is you.

Not just someone who looks like you. Not just a distant echo of what once was.

It is you.

His breath catches in his throat. His vision blurs. He does not know if it is from disbelief or the sting of unshed tears.

And then—

You smile.

And Malleus runs.

He doesn’t remember ever running before, not like this. Not as if his entire existence depends on reaching you, not as if the weight of centuries is finally lifting from his shoulders.

He stops just short, afraid, uncertain, and yet—

You laugh—soft, warm, real—and it is the most beautiful sound in the world.

“I told you we'd see the fireflies together,” you say.

Malleus swallows against the lump in his throat. He wants to speak, to tell you everything he has held inside for so long. But the words get stuck, tangled in the overwhelming tide of emotions that threaten to pull him under.

So instead, he kneels before you, his hands trembling as he reaches out, as if afraid that you will disappear if he touches you.

But you do not disappear.

You take his hands in yours—warm, solid, here.

And Malleus knows.

This time, there will be a next year.

And this time, the fireflies will come.

Masterlist ; Valentine's Event

[revelboo]

This is all your fault. 🤣 They have been so much fun to put together!

I am loving all your stories, especially Everything is Alright. The boys are such asshats! I'm looking forward to Reader putting them in their place.

The Blokees are adorable, especially the minis. I kind of want to just accrue them and let them ride on my dash. And reader is definitely not happy with any of them right now, but is beginning to realize they have leverage

Everything Is Alright Pt 124

IDW Starscream x Reader, Megatron x Reader, Soundwave x Reader

• Starscream expects you to yell some more. To get angrier. Instead you just offer them a flat, empty smile and make a show of looking over the edge of the berth. And a whisper of fear twists through his spark. Wings drawing tight to his frame, Starscream isn’t sure what that expression of yours is, but he doesn’t like it. Hadn’t meant to just say all that in front of you, but it’s out there now. Had meant to hurt Megatron, not you. And Soundwave is slowly approaching you, frame tense. What is he picking up from you?

• “It occurs to me that you two need me a lot more than I need you. And I’m just one little, helpless human, right? You can bully me into whatever you want and there’s nothing I can do.” Heart racing, you keep an eye on Soundwave. Because he’s clued in to your mindset and he’s edging closer in slow movements like you’re a stray he’s trying not to spook into running. Star’s wings flare out slightly with your words, but Megatron is just frowning at you. “But lots of things can happen to me. I could fall off of here. It’s a long way down, isn’t it?” Ignoring Star and Soundwave, you focus on Megatron. Watch those optics narrow. “I don’t think I’d cope very well if something happened to my world and my people, you know? But nothing’s going to happen, because you’re going to leave my world alone. As a wedding gift.”

• Wedding? A human thing? “You think you can make demands of me?” Megatron ask, fighting to keep from smiling as you stare him down. Why is your anger so appealing? Makes him want to provoke you just to see how far you’ll go, because he doesn’t believe for a moment that you’ll actually try anything. There’s your equally helpless sparkling you saddled him with to worry about. It’s an empty threat and maybe it bothers him that you’re scared enough to make it. Because you are right about one thing. Anything could happen to you and his life depends on you staying safe. And despite himself, he’d prefer you to be happy, so tired of fighting all the time and don’t want to fight you.

• “Not a demand. A present for your bonded mate,” you say, glancing at Soundwave as he stops short of you and holds out a hand. Asking you to come away from the edge, because he’s afraid you might accidentally fall. That Megatron might push you into something rash. “For our sparkling,” you add, look up at him, not Megatron. And it’s a relief when you place that little hand in his and let him pull you to him. Wishes you wouldn’t try to push Megatron, but understands why you’re doing it. “Because this is their home, too.” Understands the game you’re playing and doesn’t like it. And he’s the outsider here now, not bonded to you anymore because of Starscream. The first bond had been all need and desire. He hasn’t considered the consequences of his actions if you’d accepted him, but he still wants it. Still wants you. Even if it’s just this, trapped on the outside acting as mediator to keep you safe.

• Crossing the berth to you and Soundwave, his wings drop, flicking guiltily when you look at him. Knows you’re mad at him, too, but can’t stop reaching for you. And his spark aches when you take a slow breath and catch his hand, tugging him to you. “It’s a reasonable request,” he says, knowing it’s not his call to make, but he’d give you this if it would make you happy. Hadn’t really cared about this mudball beyond that you’re on it. Wants to ask what a wedding is, if it’s some kind of bonding ceremony, but he just looks at Megatron in challenge instead. Watches the warlord vent in exasperation at the three of you, optics fixed on you.

• Heart still racing as you lace your fingers with Starscream’s servos and glare defiantly up at Megatron. Still angry at all three of them, but Star and Soundwave are at least taking your side. Or they just don’t want you angry with them and are trying to get back in your good graces. It’s hard to tell with them sometimes. “You really are more trouble than you’re worth,” Megatron growls, shoving off the berth and striding to the door. “Mining and refining energon will continue as planned.” And your breath catches, fingers gripping Star’s servos as Megatron hesitates, back to all of you. “But I suppose this world could be declared a protected nature reserve. Since our species are compatible and I’d hate to wipe out any potential resources.” That’s sort of a victory, right? Why doesn’t it make you feel better, though? Because you might have saved your world but accidentally turned the Decepticons loose on your people to save their own declining race. Well, shit.

Previous

Next

[queen-of-deans-booty]

Would It Be Weird?

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.6k

Warnings: fluff

Summary: After a night of drinking, you and your friends stumble across a fire station crawling with firemen. One of them catches your eye, and your friends try their damnest to get you two together. It’s been a long time for you but maybe Dean Winchester will change all of that.

Square Filled: stranger au (2023) for @spnaubingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are greatly appreciated <3

x

“Bartender! One more round!” your best friend, Shelly, calls out.

Despite being busy for the night, the bartender refills more shot glasses and hands them over one by one. After the week you just had, you deserve to have a night out for celebrations. Hard work pays off, and your boss promoted you to a manager with a significant pay raise, and Shelly just got engaged. That is enough to call for a celebratory night out with friends.

“So, have you decided on a maid of honor?” you ask Shelly when she returns to the table.

“You, of course. Better do a good job or else I’m asking my sister to do it.”

“Hey, don’t insult me. You know I love planning a good party,” you grin.

“I can’t believe I’m getting married! This is so surreal! Janice, when is Parker going to ask you to marry him? You’ve been together, what, six years?”

“We’re taking it slow. We don’t mind,” she shrugs. “Don’t come at me without coming after Tina. The other day, I caught her and Ben doing it on the kitchen counter.”

“Tina!” you gasp with a smile.

“I can’t help it. We’re in the honeymoon phase.”

“You got married three years ago.”

“No kids make the honeymoon phase last forever,” she laughs.

“So we’re all in relationships except for Y/N,” Shelly smirks. “When are you going to let a man ruffle those perfect feathers?”

“Shelly,” you grit out.

“Don’t give me that look. You’re the only one out of us who isn’t in a relationship. You’ve been single for half a decade now.”

It’s true. The last relationship you were in just didn’t do it for you. You stayed with him for three years because you thought that’s what you were supposed to be doing. He wasn’t anything special. He didn’t make your heart race. He didn't make your skin hot and clammy. He didn’t make you weak in the knees. But being with him was better than being alone.

You know better now. Being single doesn’t necessarily mean you’re alone. You have a wonderful job, loving parents, funny siblings, and wonderful friends. You like being single, but there are times when you wonder if there is more for you out there than meaningless sex and hookups.

“Despite what you might think, I’m happy where I am.”

“Nope, don’t accept it. We’re going to set you up tonight. Girls, do you see potential matches?”

“Come on, don’t do this,” you sigh.

Your friends chatter amongst themselves as they seek out potential matches for you while you sit there like a bum on a log. You can’t be too mad at them. They want to see you happy. Plus, they might actually find your next love. Despite their best efforts, they don’t find anyone worth your time, but you do get free drinks by flirting with men.

By two in the morning, you and your friends stumble out of the bar in laughter. Your home is a few blocks away so you’re okay with walking back to your place even though you drove there.

“We’ll come back for my car tomorrow. Right now, all I want is pizza. I have some in my freezer,” you say.

You’re not so drunk that you can’t walk straight or you’re slurring your words but you are drunk enough not to be able to drive. Your friends, on the other hand, are more far gone than you are. Shelly is a giggle drunk, Tina is a loud drunk, and Janice is a sexual drunk. You’re a mom drunk, always trying to take care of those around you. It’s why you’re less drunk than they are. Someone has to be the responsible one.

“Let’s stop there!” Tina gasps loudly.

She points to a firehouse that has the garage doors open to let in the cool night are. Inside are about half a dozen firemen, all with big muscles and tight clothing. Your friends are already walking over to the station with you trailing behind.

“Hey, ladies. What are you doing out here at two in the morning?” one of the men asks.

“The bar just closed and we’re not done with our party,” Shelly grins. “We go every Friday night.”

“Why aren’t the firefighters in my distract as hot as you guys are?” Janice giggles.

You step into the station and immediately become sober when you lock eyes with forest green eyes. All the air is knocked out of your lungs, your body becomes warm with tingles, and butterflies erupt in your stomach. Shelly notices the look in your eyes and nudges Janice with a smirk.

“I’m Dean,” Green Eyes says.

“Y/N,” you smile back.

“What’s the party for, ladies?”

“I just got engaged,” Shelly grins and shows off her ring to them. “Y/N just got a promotion.”

“What for?” Dean asks.

“To be a manager. It’s more money and I’m in charge of a lot of employees.”

“I hope you’re a good boss.”

“A very good one,” you smile.

“Do you have any alcohol?” Tina asks.

She stumbles forward and knocks into you. You fall forward and end up in Dean’s lap. He’s leaning against one of the trucks, and he easily catches you in his strong arms. There go the butterflies again.

“Sorry,” you whisper.

“Don’t be. It got you in my arms,” he flirts.

You turn in his arms but he doesn’t let go of you. In fact, he wraps his arm around your chest. Shelly sees the blush on your cheeks and is mentally doing backflips at the thought of you finding your one.

“No, alcohol. Sorry.”

“Y/N, you have some. Let’s go to your place,” Janice says.

“We were heading there when you guys wanted to stop here and talk to the nice men.”

You look past your friends and notice the firefighter pole in the corner, and you gasp happily.

“You have a pole! I’ve always wanted to go down one,” you grin. “Can I?”

“Maybe when you’re not drunk,” Dean chuckles. “How are you guys getting home?”

“Walking. I live a few blocks away. We drove here but my car is going to be parked at the bar all night.”

“Let me drive you girls just make sure you make it home okay.”

“That sounds amazing. We’d love a ride,” Shelly says before you can say anything. “Can we take the firetruck?”

“Do you want to take the firetruck?” Dean asks.

You pull away slightly and look into his eyes. How are they so green? Damn, his parents must have great genes.

“Sure,” you giggle.

“Don’t let the Captain catch you,” one of Dean’s friends smirks.

“Don’t tell him and he won’t know. We’re taking the truck, ladies. Hop in.”

Your friends whoop and cheer as they climb into the truck, and Dean helps you into the front. Instead of driving them all home, he just takes them to your house. It’s a short ride but you feel more sober now than you did when you first arrived at the bar. There's something about Dean that makes you want to remember the night. You want to wake up tomorrow and remember how green his eyes are.

Your friends pile out of the truck and stumble to your front door. You toss Shelly your keys so that they can go inside while you hang back with Dean for a few minutes alone with him.

“Thank you for the ride, Dean.”

“Anytime, sweetheart.”

You open the door and hop out, but Dean doesn’t drive away like you thought he was going to do. Instead, he rolls down the window so he can get a better view of you walking to your house. A man who waits for you to enter your house? That’s a man you want.

“I’ll see you later, Y/N,” he calls out.

“Bye, Dean.”

Only when he sees you walk inside does he drive off. Dean hasn’t left your mind since that night, even after a week of grueling work in the office. As a new manager, you’re expected to do more work and manage more than half a dozen employees. It’s what you signed up for, but you didn’t realize just how much of your energy it was going to cost you.

By Friday night, you and your friends went to the same club to unwind. This time, you didn't drive to the club because you don’t ever want to leave your car here again. Reports of cars being broken into came from the bar. Luckily, yours was left alone but it was enough to scare you from keeping it here again.

“So, what happened with fireman Dean?” Shelly asks with a grin. “Did you kiss him?”

“Shelly! No,” you laugh. “He just gave us a ride. That’s it. I don’t even have his number.”

“Maybe we should go back and get it for you,” Tina smirks.

“Leave the poor man alone.”

This time, you don’t drink as much as your friends because you’re kind of hoping to run into Dean again. You want to remember every interaction with him as you can, and you figure you can always drink at your house. Time flies when you’re having fun and before you know it, it’s already two in the morning. You and your friends pile out of the bar but pause when you see the shiny red fire truck waiting outside.

“Hey, ladies. Want a ride?” Dean grins.

“Dean, hi,” you smile.

The girls giggle to themselves at the starstruck look in your eyes. Thankfully, they don’t comment on it.

“Thanks for the ride, Dean,” Shelly grins.

The girls take their seats in the back while you’re still standing on the sidewalk. You take two steps toward Dean and end up tripping over your own two feet. Dean is quick with his reflexes and catches you before you faceplant onto the concrete.

“Now, if I wasn’t here, who would have caught you?”

“No one,” you blush.

“Exactly. Now I have to be here every time to catch you.”

Once you’re in the passenger seat, Dean takes off toward Shelly’s house. You give him directions to each of their houses until you’re the only one left.

“Thank you for driving us all home.”

“No problem,” he smiles.

You spot a Sharpie in one of the cup holders so you grab it and grab Dean’s right hand. You write down your number in big numbers so he can’t miss it.

“Call me next time you want to pick me up.”

“I’ll be sure to do that.”

You lean over and kiss Dean’s cheek before leaving the fire truck. He watches you with a slight smirk, only driving away once he knows you’re safe inside your house. This becomes a routine for you and Dean. He’s always there outside the club with the fire truck, ready to drive you and your friends home. One time, you had an Uber all set up but Dean refused to let you take it. Your friends are having a field day with this. They tease you about your new fireman boyfriend even though you and Dean aren’t dating.

Could you two be? Sure. He hasn’t asked you out nor have you asked him out, and you two have never kissed. You’re flirting, dancing around the edges of what could be. It’s enough for you right now even though it wouldn’t be so terrible to date him. It’s fun to have a sexy stranger waiting for you.

One Friday night, you’re the designated DD since you have to help your brother move tomorrow. Being the only one sober is hilarious knowing how raunchy your friends can get.

“So, when are you going to fuck him?” Shelly asks.

“It’s not like that. He’s just giving us rides.”

“I bet you’d like to ride him,” Janice giggles. Your entire face goes hot, and she laughs at the look on your face. “Look how red she is! You like him!”

“Drink your drink, okay?”

Throughout the night, all you can think about is Dean and how good he’d look on top of you or beneath you. Curse your friends and their no-filter mouths. By the time two rolls around, you’re leaving the club with your friends. Dean is standing outside near his truck like he’s always done the past few months.

“I’m the DD tonight.” You hold up your key. “No drinking for me.”

“When are you going to fuck her?” Tina asks loudly. “Because it’s been a long time for her.”

“Tina!” you hiss and look at Dean. “Sorry.”

“It’s no problem,” he smiles, “but I am driving you all home. You can call me tomorrow and I’ll drive you back here.”

“Why would you do that? It seems like a hassle.”

“It’s no problem.”

The girls hop into the back while you take the front, as per usual, and Dean starts the drive to Shelly’s house. While he’s driving, you can’t help but stare at him. He has such a great side profile. His jaw is strong and sharp, and he has a delicious amount of facial hair. Not too long but enough to feel the burn on your skin. Dean side-eyes you and smirks knowing you’re watching him.

“Want to turn the sirens on?”

“Yeah! Turn them on!”

“Can I?” you ask with a grin.

Dean shows you the button to press, and you flip the switch. The sirens go off and the lights flash rapidly, and your friends cheer and shout. Dean turns them off before someone thinks there is a real emergency. Dean stops at your house once all your friends are gone, but you don’t rush to get out.

“Thank you for driving them home. You didn't have to.”

“I wanted to. I like driving you home.”

Now that you’re sober, you can feel the tension between you two. This is going to be something you deal with another time, so you lean over and kiss his cheek like you’ve been doing.

“Goodnight, Dean.”

You get out of the truck and feel his eyes on you the whole time. Instead of going inside, you stop by your front door just staring at it. What the hell are you doing? There is obvious chemistry between you two. Are you really just going to ignore it and wait for someone else to snatch him up?

“Y/N?” Dean calls from the truck. When you don’t turn around, he gets out and lightly jogs over to you. “Hey, you okay?”

“Why did you drive me home?” You turn to face him. “Now I have to go back to the club to get my car.”

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow and drive you over there. Not in the truck, unfortunately.”

“That’s not what I asked you.”

“You were drinking tonight.”

“I was the DD. Why did you drive me and all my friends home?”

Dean rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “Would it be weird if I told you I look forward to Friday nights knowing I get to see your smile?”

“No,” you mumble with a blush. “Would it be weird if I told you I only go to the club on Friday nights knowing you’re out there waiting for me?”

Dean steps closer to you with a smile. “No. Would it be weird if I wanted to kiss you?”

“It’d be weird if you didn’t.”

Dean pulls you into him and kisses you. It’s like how every romance author describes a first kiss. Sparks fly, euphoria flows through the veins, and you can’t ever see yourself kissing anyone else.

x

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[insidekatmind]

Student- Cho Sang-Woo

Wearning: +18,smut

Request:yes!

Business class ended five minutes ago, but you’re still there, sitting in your seat, slowly sorting through your notes. You know the other students have already left, that the classroom door has clicked shut behind them.

And you know he’s still there.

Professor Cho Sang-Woo is rearranging papers at his desk, his pen running through his fingers in a casual, precise motion. He doesn’t look at you right away, but you feel his presence like an electric current in the air.

“y/n”

The way he says your name is always the same: calm, controlled, with that hint of severity that makes your back stiffen and your breath catch.

You nod, not daring to look up.

“You were brilliant, as always.” He pauses, and you finally look up at him. His gaze is steady, but there’s something different today, an intensity that makes your skin burn. “And yet, it seems like your concentration is slipping.”

Your fingers tighten around the cover of your notebook. Your heart pounds in your chest.“I’m sorry, Professor.”

He tilts his head slightly, studying you. Then, slowly, he leans back against the desk, his arms crossed. “Are you sorry?” he repeats, and there’s a nuance to the way he says it that confuses you.

You nod. “Yes. I’ll try to do better.”

A small smile touches his face, but it’s not amused. It’s… something else. Something that makes you hug your legs under your desk.“I have no doubt about it.”

The silence stretches on, thick. The distant noise of students in the hallways seems far away from the tension that’s building up in here. You feel like he wants to say something else, that he’s carefully measuring his words before letting them slip out.

Then he moves.

He slowly steps away from the desk, taking a few steps in your direction. You only now realize that you are the only one left sitting, in an almost vulnerable position, while he towers over you.

You force yourself not to lower your gaze.Sang woo looks you up and down and smiles at your short skirt.

You look at him without saying a word. He smirks at your lack of reaction. He’s so close now you can almost feel his body heat and his eyes never leave yours.

His hand slowly travels up your bare knees and lands on your uncovered thigh. Sang woo leans in, his breath brushing your ear. “You’ve been a bad student, y/n. Very, very bad.”

You look at him confused. "What? Why?" you were afraid of disappointing him. You didn't understand why he said those words to you since you always behaved well and got very high grades.

He keeps his hand on your thigh, his fingers slowly tracing circles on your bare skin. His face is so close to you that you can smell his expensive cologne. “You have no idea, do you?” He chuckles, and the sound makes a shiver run down your spine.

You look at his hand on your thigh and feel a tingle in your core. Sang woo notices your reaction and his smirk widens. He knows exactly what effect he’s having on you, and he’s enjoying every moment of it. The circles he’s tracing on your skin become lazy strokes, his fingers slowly moving up and down towards your inner thigh.

He leans in further, his lips almost touching your ear. “You’ve been distracting me, y/n.” You shudder as his breath brushes your skin. “Distracting you?” you murmur, your voice soft and uncertain.

He chuckles again, his hand stopping just inches away from where you’re growing more and more sensitive. “You know perfectly well what I’m talking about,” he says, his fingers lightly stroking the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

“You’ve been wearing these short skirts, these tight blouses, and bending over your desk every class.” He leans in closer, his voice a low, tantalizing growl. You try to say something but no words come out. You feel the heat rising on your cheeks, and you’re painfully aware of his hand on you, so close to where you want it most.

He’s so close now that you can feel his breath on your neck, his lips almost touching your skin. “It’s almost as if you were trying to get my attention,” he murmurs in your ear, his fingers dancing over your skin. “And you’ve certainly got it.”

You struggle to keep up your composure, but it’s pointless. Your body is reacting to his touch, to his words, and you can’t hide it.

Sang woo chuckles again, noticing your attempt to repress your body’s reactions. He moves even closer, his hand slipping under your skirt, his fingers gently stroking the inner skin of your thigh. “Oh, don’t pretend it doesn’t affect you,” he murmurs, his voice a delicious tease. “I can see how it’s affecting you, y/n.”

His hand comes up, his fingers gently teasing the edge of your underwear. You bite your lip, biting back a moan, feeling your body betray your most basic instincts.Sang Woo’s breath brushes against your ear and he whispers, “You’ve been so…destructive, y/n.”

His words send another shiver down your spine, your body practically shaking under his touch. You feel like you're losing control, like he has some sort of power over you.He tugs at your earlobe with his teeth and chuckles.

You can feel Sang woo's fingers going inside your underwear and entering your pussy making you moan. He smiles and you can feel it on your skin. “Here it is,” he murmurs. “Let go, y/n. I want to hear your sweet sounds" he whispers sensually while with his other hand he unbuttons your blouse revealing your bra. "black lace" he whispers, or his eyes darken. "It's for me, right?" he whispers sucking on your neck .

You shiver, the combination of his words and his touch making your body feel on fire. “Yes,” you manage to say, your breath coming out in gasps. “It’s all for you.”

He hums in satisfaction, his hands slipping under your bra, teasing your sensitive skin. “Good girl,” he murmurs, his lips on your neck. “You’ve been so good, y/n. So obedient. But now I want to hear you moan for me.”

His words make you shiver, the commanding tone of voice sends a thrill down your spine. “Yes sir,” you manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper.

Sang Woo chuckles, the sound making your head spin. “Oh, you like when I call you a good girl, don’t you?” He asks, his hand running up your body, his fingers trailing over your skin. “You like when I tell you what to do.” His words make you moan softly, your body responding to his touch. “Yes,” you say, your voice cracking, “I like it when you tell me what to do.”

Sang Woo chuckles again, clearly enjoying the effect he’s having on you. “That’s right. You like being bossed around, don’t you? You like being told what to do and when to do it.”

Sang woo removes his hands from your pussy and you moan and he chuckles. "Easy babygirl, you'll get what you want" he says possessively.

Sang woo makes you stand up and drags you with him near his desk, he sits on the chair and drags you onto his lap, opening your legs and letting his hands go back into your pussy, making you moan. “Here you go darling,” he whispers.

You tremble and moan, your body pressed against his, legs spread across his lap. “Professor,” you gasp, arms wrapping around his neck. “Please–” You can't even finish the sentence, words failing as you let out multiple moans-

Sang woo sucks your lip making me moan. "Call me whatever you want to call me, honey. Don't be shy," he whispers. You whimper, his words making your body shiver. “Sang woo,” you finally manage to say, your voice low and needy. “Daddy.”

He moans, the sound making your heart skip a beat. “Oh, you’re my favorite student,” he says, and it feels like a whispered secret just for you. His hands never leave your body, they roam, touch, tease. “Do you want to be a good girl for Daddy?” He asks sucking on your nipple making you moan.

You moaned loudly holding onto him as he continued to tease your nipple. “Yes daddy” you murmur longingly. He grunts, his grip on you tightening. “That’s what I want to hear,” he says, his voice a low growl. “My good girl.” He leans in, his lips and tongue finding your earlobe, making you gasp."Say it again," he prompts.

"Daddy," you moan, your voice thick with desire. "Please..." He chuckles, the sound deep and almost sinister. "Please what, darling?" he asks, his hands roaming your body, leaving trails of flames on your skin.

You gasp, your head starting to spin. "I don't-" you manage to get out before another moan overtakes you. "Please, I need-"He smirks, clearly enjoying the effect he's having on you. "You need what, babygirl?" he asks, his fingers tracing your collarbone. "You need to use your words."

"I need you," you finally say, your voice urgent and needy. "I need you... Please, daddy."

Sang woo smiles and places you on the desk taking off your panties, putting them in his pocket "I'll take these" he whispers and opens your legs looking at you with lust. You feel a shiver run down your spine as he looks at you, his gaze hungry and demanding. You're exposed, vulnerable, and it sends a thrill through you as you see the lust in his eyes.

Sang woo lowers his head towards your pussy and gives it a lick and moans. “you taste so good baby” he whispers before continuing to lick your pussy and suck on your sensitive clit. Your head falls back, a muffled moan leaving your lips as he touches you with his mouth. “Daddy,” you gasp, fingers tangled in his hair as you drag him further into your pussy.

Sang woo continues sucking and licking your g-spot like a man who hadn't eaten in months and had found something to fill him with. You moan loudly raising your hips and grinding her pussy on his mouth. “Sang woo” you moan.

He moans, the sound sending another shiver through you. He grabs your hips, licking you once again making you come moaning loudly. "Babygirl, you sound like an angel" he growls, moving away from your pussy but keeping his hands on your hips. You whine, your body begging, your thoughts a mess. He chuckles, enjoying your state. "Don't worry, I'm not done with you yet."

Sang woo pulls down his pants and boxers, pumping his length with his hand and teasing your entrance by rubbing, but never entering. He looks at you with darkened eyes, his grip on your hip tight. "Beg me," he says, his voice demanding. "I want to hear you beg for what you need."

"Please daddy," you moan, your body yearning for him. "Please, I need you." Sang woo smiled arrogantly, rubbing his length against your entrance and letting his tip enter you but immediately removing it, teasing you.

You moan in frustration “please” you whisper and he smiled. “Be more specific darling,” he croons, thrusting his tip in and out of you repeatedly.

"Oh... oh god..." you whimper, your mind going blank. "Please," you moan, your voice so desperate that you almost don't recognize it as your own. "Please, I need you... I need you to fill me... To make me yours." Sang woo smirks, his grip on your hip tightening. "I like the sound of that," he says, still teasing you with his tip. "You want me to make you mine? To claim you?"

"Yes," you gasp, your body trembling with need. "Please, daddy, I want to be yours. I want to belong to you." He leans forward, his lips brushing your ear. "You already do, babygirl," he murmurs, his voice sensual. "You're mine. And I'm going to make sure you never forget it." He enters you making you moan.

You gasp, your body arching as he finally gives you what you've been waiting for. “You’re so tight,” he growls, his eyes never leaving yours as he thrusts forcefully into you playing, squeezing your nipples as he fucks you.

His words, his touch - all of it is overwhelming. You're completely at his mercy, and it feels like you're on the edge of something huge, something life changing. "Daddy, please, don't stop," you whimper with desire.

He smiles going harder, slapping your nipples making you moan. Sang woo pinches them again fucking you harder. "Bitch" he moans getting louder. His words send a jolt through you. You know he's not using them to hurt you - he's using them to make you feel things you've never felt before. "More," you gasp, your body trembling with need.

"Did you just demand more from your teacher?" he growls, but there is a playful edge to his voice. He's enjoying your enthusiasm, your submission. "Yes," you breathe, not afraid to assert yourself. You know he likes it. He likes it more than you think.

He smirks and grips your hip tightly. "You're a naughty student," he murmurs, but there's no real disapproval. Quite the contrary.

You moan feeling his thrusts get harder making me come. “Sang woo” you scream, scratching his back. He moans and cums inside you, filling you. He grunts, holding you tightly. "You're incredible," he whispers, his breath ragged. You can feel his heart pounding against yours. "Absolutely incredible."

You sigh heavily, trying to catch your breath and place your hands on his face kissing him. He kisses you deeply, his hand slipping into your hair, his body pressing against yours. You can feel his possessive grip on you, the way his body refuses to let go like he was trying to imprint himself on you.

After a while of just cuddling, he slowly pulls out of you, still holding you close. He looks at you, his gaze softened, and he runs his fingers through your hair. "Are you okay?" he asks, his voice tender. You smile nodding playing with his hair.

He smiles back, clearly satisfied. "Good," he says, his hand slowly tracing circles on your back. The room is quiet, the only sound your breathing and the distant hum of the city outside. "You're amazing," he murmurs, his eyes on yours.

You smile, feeling a rush of affection pour through you. "You're pretty amazing yourself," you say, running your fingers over his chest. "Who would've thought that the stern, no nonsense professor could be... this?" He chuckles, leaning into your touch. "I suppose there are a lot of things you don't know about me," he says, a small smirk playing on his lip. He's back to his usual self, but you know there's a softer side to him that only you get to see.

"I'd like to learn more," you say, snuggling closer to him. "I know I'm just a student, but... I want to know everything about you." He hums, his hand on your back moving down to your hip. "You're definitely not 'just a student.'" he says, his grip on you tightening. "You're someone special to me. Someone very, very special."

You smile, feeling your heart swelling with warmth at his words. It's clear to you that his feelings are more than just a passing attraction. He genuinely cares for you, and it means the world to you.

[vitalverstappen]

The Manuscript - F. Colapinto

summary: looking backwards might be the only way to move forward

pairing: Franco Colapinto x playwright!reader, Carlos Sainz x ex!reader

warnings: age gap (~8/9 years), mentions of sex, use of y/n

word count: 3.3k

a/n: after a brief hiatus, and one of my moots telling me I should post something, i'm BAAAACKKK

masterlist

the tortured drivers department masterlist

It had been a few weeks since you moved to Barcelona for work. You were a playwright, and were drawn into the bustling theater scene that the city had to offer. With your first production gaining worldwide popularity, the move had been relatively easy. 

You were in the corner of a cafe, the one down the street from your apartment, working on the next script. The warm air from the open windows blended with the fresh smell of espresso and pastries. Outside, the city hummed with life, the sound of bicycles ringing by, the chatter of locals and tourists mixing in the vibrant street. 

The notebook before you was filled with scribbles - ideas, dialogue, fragments of scenes that were still in their infancy. You were trying to catch the muse, to shape the story into something that felt right, but the words weren’t flowing the way they had before. 

“You know,” A voice said, causing you to look up from your notebook. “I’m not an organ donor, but I’d give you my heart if you needed it.” 

You rolled your eyes at the man’s remark, but gestured your hand to the empty seat in front of you. “Yeah, like you’re a professional.” 

“No, just a good samaritan” he said, taking the seat. “I’m Carlos”

“Y/n” you replied, closing your notebook, putting your full attention on the man in front of you. But if you were a good samaritan, you’d offer to buy another cup.” you teased, giving Carlos the invitation to flirt just a bit. The rest of the morning was spent learning about the man instead of working on the play. 

The coffee dates became a weekly thing. You’d get there an hour or so early to write and design, then when Carlos would show up, you’d put everything away and talk with him. You quickly learned he was older, a whopping thirty compared to your freshly twenty one. 

“You’re incredibly wise beyond your years” he had said when he learned your age. “I never would have thought you to be so young.”

Those morning coffees in the cafe soon turned into late night drinks at the local clubs. The same intelligent conversations flowed, but now they were accompanied by the hum of bass and the clinking of glasses. You didn’t mind the loud music or the flashing lights, but it was far from the quiet cafe mornings you had adored. 

But even then, the mornings are what stayed with you. You would wake up next to him, tangled in sheets, his body pressed against yours, skin to skin. The familiarity of it was comforting, yet there was a part of you that couldn’t shake that you were somehow too young for this. 

The simple act of sharing coffee - something so ordinary - soon transformed into something entirely different. No longer was it about caffeine and ideas. You found yourself sitting together at his kitchen table, him expertly brewing coffee with his French Press while you tried, and failed, to learn how to use it yourself. It took a few tries to get the method down, but now, after countless mornings spent in his kitchen, you were practically a professional.

One morning you found yourself alone in the kitchen, brewing a fresh pot of coffee in the French Press. The silence of the morning was peaceful, comforting even, reminding you of the life you had when you woke up alone. 

Your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps on the hardwood floor. Carlos wrapped his arms around you, nestling his head into the crook of your neck. 

“Morning” he mumbled, the sleep still thick in his voice. 

“Morning” you mumbled back, mimicking his tone 

You could hear Carlos laugh as he released his arms from around your waist. “God if only the sex was half as soon as the conversation was. We'll be pushing strollers soon.” he remarked 

But as soon as the relationship started, it was over. Thankfully, your job didn’t tie you down to the city, allowing you to fly back home and spend time with your family. You found yourself sleeping in your mother’s bed a little more than you’d like to admit, and most of your meals consisted of Lucky Charms and Coco Puffs. 

It took a few years, but eventually, you found yourself back in Barcelona. You don’t know why, but you felt the need to return, like the city was calling you. Maybe you needed another change of pace. The play you had written while you were involved with Carlos had been released and performed, but didn’t do nearly as well as your debut one did. Your spark had been lost, and you were having a hard time getting it back.

To occupy your time, you enrolled in a few classes at the University of Barcelona to try and spark something. The classes gave you a sense of structure amidst the chaos of the uncertainty. While the classroom setting was different - less free flowing than your usual writing process, but at least it was a way to sharpen your craft and relearn the discipline you had once thrived on. 

“For your next assignment,” your professor began, her eyes scanning the classroom, ensuring that everyone was paying attention. “I want you to write what you know. I want you to reflect on something in your life, and write a scene based off of it.” 

You sat up straighter, the weight of the assignment settling in. The professor’s words lingered in the air, as if the universe itself had conspired to drop the challenge in your lap. Write what you know. You had spent the last few years running from what you knew, avoiding the raw, messy parts of your life that still clung to you like a shadow. 

The sound of your professor’s voice faded to the background as you thought of the past few years - your time with Carlos and the messiness in the aftermath of it all. The late-night conversations, the mornings in the kitchen, the feeling of being caught between two worlds. And then, the way it ended. The slow unraveling that left you with more questions than answers. 

Your time in your mother’s bed, eating sugary cereal to numb the discomfort, was a chapter you tried to ignore. But now, it was all rising to the surface. You had never written about it, not in any way that felt real. You had always skirted around the pain, hiding it behind clever lines and distant characters. But this assignment - write what you know - gave you the chance to meet it head on. 

You found yourself back at the cafe you used to meet Carlos all those years ago. The familiar hum of the place, the clink of the coffee cups and the rhythmic chatter of clients, immediately transported you back to a time when things felt simpler. The same warm air from the open windows, the same scent of pastries and espresso, hung in the space. 

You were beginning to settle into the rhythm of writing, the ink flowed freely for the first time in a long time. The quiet hum of the cafe was broken through by a voice. 

“Is this seat taken?” 

Startled, you looked up to find a man standing beside your table, a half-smile on his face, his dark hair messy like he had just walked through a windstorm. His eyes were warm and inviting, the kind of brown that reminded you of autumn, deep and rich.

You got to know him, inside and out. His name was Franco, and he was a professional racecar driver. Getting to know him was like a breath of fresh air, a stark contrast to the cold nights you had spent with Carlos. He laughed at all of your stupid jokes, listened to your ideas, and supported you through your writing process. 

Late one night, the two of you were in his apartment, your boyfriend aimlessly throwing darts at the board that hung from his door, and you writing your next project. The class you had taken was long since over, but your professor’s words stuck with you as you wrote. Instead of trying to force something fantastical, from a world made up, you opted to continue with the scene you wrote, turning your experience with Carlos into a full length play. 

“How’s it coming along?” your boyfriend asked, throwing a dart in the process. It bounced off the board, landing on the floor in front of it. 

You looked up from your notebook, a small smile tugged at your lips as Franco picked up the dart from the floor and sat back down on the bed. The simple motion felt so at ease, so natural, a reflection of your relationship. 

“Honestly, really good. It’s nice to finally write everything down and let go.” you said. Franco knew about your ex and the baggage that came with it. It’s not that you didn’t feel comfortable telling him who it was, you just didn’t want to be the reason if things got awkward in the paddock with him. “Though the sound of darts hitting the floor is quite distracting” you told him.

He scoffed, pretending to be hurt. “Rude, I can make it.” he said, adding a little more force to the dart throw. It hit the board with a satisfying thunk, landing right in the middle. 

“See? Told you.” he grinned, leaning back on his bed, looking quite proud of himself. 

A laugh escaped your lips at your boyfriend’s antics, the light of the moment making you forget, even if just for a second, the weight of everything you were writing about. “Okay, okay, you win. You’re officially the dart champion.” 

Franco smirked, tossing another dart onto the board with dramatic flair. “I don’t just win, y/n. I excel at what I do.” 

You raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Right. Next time I need someone to win a race, or become the champ of something less pointless like darts, I’ll let you know.” 

He rolled his eyes with a playful chuckle, but there was a softness in his eyes that didn’t go unnoticed. 

As you continued to write, you stole occasional glances at him. The way he lounged on the bed, the ease in his posture, the quiet joy he took in the simple things - it was the kind of presence you had always needed, but hadn’t recognized before. It was different than what you had with Carlos, less intense, but much more grounded. It didn’t try to be everything. It just was. 

The pen moved fluidly across the page as the world you were creating started to breathe, taking on a life of its own. You weren’t just writing a play anymore. You were writing a part of your own healing process, turning the messy reality of your past with Carlos into something artful, something that could be explored and understood from a distance. The rawness of it didn’t feel like a burden anymore - it felt like a gift, a chance to move forward. 

Franco broke the silence, his voice light. “So, this play, is it gonna be your next big hit?” 

You looked up from your notebook again, the corners of your lips curling into a small smile. “Maybe. I think it’s more about finally getting it out there. I just need to write it and let go of everything.”

He took your hand, placing a soft kiss on your knuckles. “I’m sure it’ll be amazing.” 

It took a while, but you finally got the manuscript wrapped up. After countless hours of critiquing and editing, you found a venue, held auditions, hired a team, and got to work. Months were spent watching your written work come to life, scenes of your past relationship on stage. 

When Franco was in town, he’d come with you to rehearsals. He was quiet and attentive, sitting in the back of the theater, a comforting presence amidst the chaos. He’d watch as you worked with the actors, ensuring they were hitting their marks. He chimed in occasionally, making notes on the script, offering suggestions, but mainly stuck to observing how the scenes evolved. There was something about his focus that made you feel seen, like he understood the weight of what you were doing, appreciative he got to see this side of you. 

His support had become a quiet foundation beneath the entire process. His belief in you never wavered, even when the doubt crept in. There were moments, late at night, when you found yourself staring at the script, unsure if it was the right story to tell. And those were the moments when Franco would gently remind you that your truth was enough. That it was always enough. 

Opening night went beautifully. The audience laughed at the jokes, but cried during the heart-wrenching moments, the kind of tears that came from somewhere deep. You could feel their reactions, their collective breath held during the tense silences, the weight of the emotions filling the room. It was more than you had hoped for.

When the show wrapped up, you, along with the actors and the crew, were out greeting the audience members. Your family and friends had come and gone with praises and congratulations. You and Franco were walking out, when a voice spoke that you hadn’t heard in years. 

“Y/n!” 

You turned at the sound of the familiar voice, a rush of emotions flooding you before your eyes even found the source. Standing there, in the midst of the crowd, was Carlos. 

For a moment, everything seemed to freeze. The noise of the night, the laughter, the chatter of some of the people around you faded into a distant hum as you locked eyes with him. He looked the same - older, sure, but that familiar spark in his eyes was still there. His smile was still warm, though there was a quiet uncertainty in his expression, as if he didn’t know what to expect from this reunion. 

“Carlos” you said, your voice coming out a little softer than you intended. You hadn’t thought about him in so long, seeing him in person felt surreal. 

Franco, standing beside you, shifted slightly. You knew he was questioning how the two of you knew each other, but he said nothing, only moved his hand to rest on your lower back. 

Carlos stepped forward, “I had to come” he said, his voice genuine. “I heard it was your opening night… and well, I couldn’t not see it.” 

You smiled, a little awkwardly, but still, there was something comforting in his words. “It means a lot. Thank you for coming.” you replied, your gaze flickered briefly to Franco before returning to Carlos. 

Franco, having put the pieces together on how you and Carlos knew each other glanced at his fellow driver warily, then back at you. There was a brief silence between all of you, and you could feel the tension in the air, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was just… a remeeting of two different chapters in your life, coming together in one moment.

“I’ll let you two catch up.” Franco said, a smile in place, though his eyes held a different story. He placed a small peck on your cheek before he took a step back, giving you the space to reconnect with Carlos. 

You watched as your boyfriend walked away, feeling the weight of his gesture - giving you this moment, yet without a hint of jealousy or hesitation. It was something you admired about him. He trusted you, trusted that this was a chapter of your past that needed its own space. 

Turning back to Carlos, you found yourself smiling again, a little more genuinely this time. “I didn’t expect to see you tonight.” 

Carlos gave you a small chuckle. “I’m full of surprises.” He paused, studying you for a beat. “But seriously, I’ve been meaning to reach out. I heard about your play… and I couldn’t let it pass without coming.” 

You nodded, unsure of what to say next. There were so many things left unsaid, but somehow, it didn’t feel like the right moment to dive into all of them. 

“I’m glad you came.” you said finally, “It’s been a while.” 

Carlos smiled back, the kind of smile that felt familiar, yet still so distant. “It really has. But you’ve done something amazing here, y/n. I’m proud of you.” 

His words hung in the air, and for a moment, you let them settle into the space between you. The old hurt, the unresolved emotions - those things, for a moment, didn’t seem as heavy. Not with Carlos standing in front of you, not with the weight of the past turning into something more like a memory than a burden. 

“Well, thank you.” you said, feeling a weight lift off your chest that you hadn’t realized was still there. “That means a lot. It’s… it’s been a journey.” 

“Yeah, I can tell,” Carlos said softly, his gaze flickering to the stage behind you. “But I’m happy that you have someone who genuinely supports you, even if he is a few garages down from me.” he added, a small chuckle laced in his words showing there were no hard feelings. 

“Yeah,” you said with a soft chuckle, your gaze flickering over to where Franco was now talking to some of the actors. “I’m lucky. He’s been a big part of all of this.”

Carlos nodded thoughtfully, his eyes following your gaze. “I can see that. You two seem… good together.” 

Though there was no jealousy in Carlos’ tone, it was clear that he was reflecting on the changes both of you had undergone. The years that had passed between you, the people you had become. It was strange how time could shift things, yet certain parts of the past had a way of resurfacing, unbidden but not unwelcome. 

“We are, yeah.” you said, finding comfort in the truth of the statement. “It’s different, but it’s good.” 

“Well,” Carlos began after a brief silence, his expression shifting to one of lightheartedness as he shifted on his feet. “I’m sure you're busy tonight, celebrating opening night, and I don’t want to take up your time.” 

“No, of course” you said quickly, understanding where he was coming from. “Thank you for coming, Carlos. It really means a lot.” 

With that, Carlos offered a small nod and turned to leave, his figure slowly merging with the crowd as he walked away. You stood there for a moment, letting the quiet settle around you, processing the unexpected yet peaceful encounter. 

It took a while for you to make your paddock debut, the show’s performances conflicted with the crazy schedule of Formula One quite a bit, but when the championship made its way to Barcelona, you had no reason not to go. 

Most of your weekend was spent in the Williams garage, getting to know Alex, Lily, and Franco’s engineers and mechanics. The atmosphere was oddly similar to that of a production going through rehearsals - chaotic, messy, but building into something greater. 

You had a moment to slip away from the madness in the Williams garage to get a peek at all of the other teams. Of course, the one that stood out the most was the red of Ferrari, and one of its inhabitants. Not a lot of your time was spent there, just enough to drop off a present for the driver. 

It didn’t take long for Carlos to find it, the black cover stark against the sea of red surrounding him. Even though it had the name of your play on the front, he wasn’t too sure what it was until he opened the book up, reading the note inside. 

One last souvenir from my trip to your shores since the story isn’t just mine anymore - y/n

[creations-of-the-dreamlight]

I was inspired by @theoneandonlysourcandy’s The Doctor headcanons that I wanted to make a few for The Goop of All Time Doey (I’m totally copying you :3). Updated a bit and added some more.

🎩 He gives you the space you need to grow and learn, and they help from the sidelines and watch. He trust you on your own in the factory. They know what you’ve done and they respect how far you’ve come.

🎩 with ^^ being said, you often find them muttering to themselves about how worried they are about you. How much they wish they could keep you by their sides forever and never let you out of their sight

🎩 cold can be a big trigger for them due to The Doctors traps. Smetimes they will wrap a piece of dough around you- either entire body or just the smallest bit. He lies, saying he’s worried it’s too cold for you. But deep down both of you know they need your warmth.

🎩 Doey really enjoys music. When he isn’t doing his job as the guardian of Safe Haven, he likes to sing. You and them sometimes sing duets when you are patrolling together.

🎩 they have learned how to shape themselves perfectly to make the comfiest bed for you when you two are sleeping.

🎩 Doey pretty much has all the love languages except words of affirmation- most nice things are really a trigger to him. Being around you is different. You focus on action over words, and hardly speak. You’re not one of the ‘gentle voices’ to him.

🎩 Doey, as a personality, is a bit seperate from the three original kids. It’s not its own seperate personality, but kind of like a mask they put on that gained legs and can move on its own sometime. When you first met it was just this mask. You’ve gotten to know each one better.

⭐️ Jack is still a child at heart- and all he wants to do is play. When he’s with you he’s normally raring with energy. You either play with the other toys, play a game by yourselves, or read books together. You taught him how to make a chess board and then how to play it. He oftentimes falls asleep curled up around you while you read to him.

🍊 Even when it’s just him, and he has downtime, Matthew always has to be doing something productive. Deep down he feels bad- if anyone should have time to themselves, it’s Kevin and Jake- so he forces himself to ‘bring something to the table’ and be useful when he’s out. Nothing could deter him from this, so instead you just help him. Cleaning up, taking care of toys in medical, scrapping up food, you do it together. Your company means the world to him.

💥Kevin was the most suspicious of you. He held onto his suspicion for a long time. But who could blame him? He was the angry one, he was the one who had to snap on any potential danger. And they learned Everything was a potential danger. The first time you ever saw him on his own he was breaking down. For a moment he tried to fight you. But you’re more resilient than that. You toughed through and eventually got him to sit down. He sobbed in your arms for a long time. He doesn’t like to be out on his own, but when he is it’s normally with you, holding you in some way.

🎩 Jack eyes are more yellow when he’s front, Matthew’s orange, and Kevin’s red. If they are just Doey, their eyes are blank and hollow with no light in them.



Bonus one for my trans/gender fucky gang like me :3

🎩 They use their clay to help you with dysphoria (making different clothes, changing different parts of your body, helping to bind safely)

🎩 they spent months searching the factory for things to make comfortable clothes for you

🎩 Many of the toys only remember you from your time in the factory (pre-transition). Doey is gentle with those who don’t get and need to be explained, and fiercely defends you against anyone trying to be rude on purpose.

🎩 If they continue even after he told them off? Dinner is served, ig.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

A Man Called Danger 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You avoid drama, you avoid confrontation, and overall, you avoid men. But some men can't be denied. ~ short!late 30s reader

Characters: biker!Bucky Barnes

Note: I saw a photoshoot and lost my mind.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You sigh and set the phone down, tilting your head back as you close your eyes. Exasperation, frustration, helplessness.

This is why you never had kids of your own. Your own teenage years were tough enough. Well, life has continued to shout that lesson in your face; things don’t always turn out how you expect. Or how you want. 

Let her make her mistakes, you tell yourself. No, no, you can be passive in your own life but you took on this responsibility. You can’t just wait and see how it turns out. Not like your mother did. She only got lucky you didn’t end up on a corner or like her. 

You take a deep breath and run your hands over your face. Your mother taught you many lessons without meaning too. Men, kids, all that domestic stuff is just a trap. You’re better off without having to figure out the mistakes of others.

That’s why you did this right? Because you want your sister to learn the same thing, to avoid the consequences of youth and short-sightedness. To escape that family curse that keeps you so cautious. 

You grab your jacket from the front door. She’s nineteen. Nineteen. An adult. You’re not her mother. No, but you won’t let it happen. Not to her. Not to that baby you spent your nights bottle-feeding as your mother spent her stipend at the bar or drove around with Robbie from down the street. 

It’s underhanded. Not what you should do. Not respectful at all but after the last time, you couldn’t let it go. You open the app on your phone. The dot that is your sister’s phone pings in the map. You zoom in and squint as you stand on the doormat. Really? 

You lock the front door and come down the front steps. The deep blue evening is starless as only the yellow street lights offer clarity. Oh, everything is clear. The apple is not falling very far. 

You drop your phone in the cup holder and turn the engine. The grumpy old Honda chugs to life and the stick cranks loudly as you put it in reverse. You don’t have much but you have the one thing you always craved; stability. You manage with what you have. 

You ease your foot off the pedal as you catch yourself speeding down the forty zone. You idle at the sign before turning onto the next street. You make a zigzag onto the main road. Your nape itches with impatience. How the hell did she get all the way out there, anyway? 

You grip the wheel and snarl at the windshield. You’re not a mother. You don’t have a maternal bone in your body. You were raised to be wary. By the time your sister came around, your mother wasn’t present enough to make much of an effort or impact. You suppose neglect can be just as lingering as resent. 

You keep one hand on the wheel as you chew your thumb. For all your attempts to avoid this fate, you find yourself where you didn’t want to be. Maybe not technically or even legally, but you’re stuck cleaning up this mess. 

You pull up to the bar at last. Take a breath. You are not an angry person. Not like your father. Yes, the surge comes from time to time but you control it. You repress it until it’s only a flicker in your stomach. 

You get out and lock your phone. You pocket your keys as you approach the door. Nearly wenty years since you’ve been in a bar, never of your own volition. You stare up at the marque. 

You were the same age as your sister then. The place was glowing and hazy. You entered to the clink of bottle and the buzz of the old juke box. Darts pounded into the bullseye and cues clacked on solids and stripes. Your mother was there hanging off a greasy man in flannel. She was too drunk to answer your question as you held her child on your hip. 

“Mom, where’s the money?” 

It fades away with the voice from your left. The man stands with arms crossed, “ma’am, you can go in. I don’t needa see ID.” 

You shake your head and make yourself enter. Your reluctance slows you along with the overwhelming wall of noise. Voices all around, music, glass meeting each other and tabletops, laughter, coughing, and snarling. The dim is lit only by the bulbs beneath the black shades, hanging from the ceiling. You squint to see through the glazed din. 

This isn’t your place. This is never what you would do for fun. Drinking, talking to strange men, spending what free time you have rotting away in this pit. 

You hear a familiar octave. Eva trills with laughter. Not that sardonic snort she gives you when you try to offer her some sense, no, that tinkling noise she uses when she wants something. It’s not a surprise, there aren’t too many reasons for a girl her age to be here. 

You find her along the bar. She sits sideways on a stool, one leg draped over the other. She’s everything you’re not old. Young, slim, and tall. You never grew much after eighth grade and you can’t do anything to stop time from its work. 

You cross the bar as the man next to her chortles and winks at her. His hand is on her stool, just by her hip. He looks about your age. You grit your teeth. 

You’re not brave or bold. You learned to survive by staying out of the way but you can’t just walk away from this. You know what older men want from women half their age. 

You clear your throat as you come up next to them. Eva ignores you as the man sends you a sneer, “can I help you?” 

You cross your arms. You’re not good at confrontation. Not with strangers and definitely not with men. 

“Eva,” you focus on your sister, “I’ve been waiting for you--” 

“Don’t pay attention to her,” she flutters her fingers. 

“Eva. You said you’d be home at eight--” 

“Ugh, you’re not my mother, okay? We both know where she is so just go away,” she snarls. She’s drunk. When she’s a few deep, she gets mean. 

“She’s grown,” the man insists. 

“She’s my sister, I’m talking to her,” you turn so your back is to him and you’re almost between them. “Eva, I got that job lined up for you--” 

“She said fuck off,” the man growls. You tune him out. 

“It’s good. You can take the year to build the reference then apply to the community college--” 

“You’re embarrassing me,” she hisses. 

“Would you get out of here?” The man pushes you so hard you stumble. You hit a table and gasp as the edge jams against your ribs. The people sat their grumble at you for spilling their drinks. 

“Johnny!” Eva cries out. “What the hell are you doing?” 

“You told her to get off,” he sneers. 

“Yeah, but you can’t just do that,” she whines. 

You steady yourself and apologise to the patrons at the table. You hug your middle and swallow down the pain. You swore you would never be pushed around by another man. 

You turn and march up to the creep. “You feel big picking on women? Huh? You feel like a man going after teenagers? Cause a woman your own age wouldn’t put up with you?” 

Eva tugs on your arm and says your name, “please, don’t. What are you doing?” 

“Do it again,” you goad. The words come out naturally.

You’re shocked by yourself but your reticence is dulled by that hereditary spark. That flame you’ve been tamping out for decades. Not like him. You are not him. 

“Pfft, don’t be a bitch. You already cockblocked me.” 

“No, you want to pick on me, pick on me.” You spit. 

“What’s wrong with you? Why are you here?” Eva snivels. 

‘Why are you here?’ Your mother drunkenly slurs. ‘I’m just having some funnnnnn.’ 

You stare at her. Eva wriggles and cries on your hip. You hush her, trying to comfort her. She’s hungry. You don’t have anything left in the can. 

‘Mom, that money was for her. Mom, where is it? Give it back.’ 

She chuckles and caresses the head of the man she sits on, “go talk to Chuck at the bar, he might give you a refund.’ 

Your name draws you out of the past. Eva shakes you as you snarl at the man. Your hands ball to fists. 

“There a problem?” A gravelly timbre undercuts your rage. 

Eva babbles again. 

“Walker,” footsteps stomp closer and Eva pulls you out of the way. 

You watch as a dark-haired man pulls the blond from atop the stool. He has him by the scruff, “what’d I tell you about fighting?” He glances at you then the foamy spill leaking onto the floor from the table as a server tries to sop it up. “You hitting women in my joint?” 

You quake with anger. This man thinks he’s a saviour. You don’t need him to defend you. In here, they’re all the same. 

“You better not come back,” the brunette growls and hurls the blond onto the floor. “This is the last time I’m tossing your ass out.” 

You watch the man’s shoulders strain the leather of his jacket. He’s broad, taller than you, like most, and about your age. He faces you. His hair is pushed back, the tails winging out behind his nape, his beard is thick and laced with silver, and he wears a golden medallion around his neck. His blue eyes scour you and Eva. 

“You alright?” He asks with a stitch in his forehead. 

“Just fine. Leaving,” you say as you twist your hand around to grab Eva’s arm instead. 

“I don’t put up with that in here. I saw that man up on your daughter and I shoulda stopped it earlier,” he intones. 

You scoff. 

“Look, you can have a drink on the house--” 

“I don’t drink,” you show your palm. “Excuse me.” 

You step around him and drag your sister with him. Under the ripple of anger, is fear. These men are dangerous. You forgot that at some point. Don’t ever forget that. You just wish Eva could see the same. 

You take her to the car as she stumbles in her heels. You open the passenger door and let her go. She gets in and you resist the urge to comment on her outfit. She can wear short skirts and crop tops, she’s an adult, but it’s too cold to not have a sweater. 

You go around and get in the driver seat. You sit there and stare at the wheel. You close your eyes and inhale. 

“I’m sorry. Are you okay?” 

“Eva,” you snip and open your eyes. You brace the wheel as you look at her. “You saw what that man did. I’m a woman with no value to him, so when he loses interest, what do you think happens to you?” 

She mopes and looks at her lap. She twirls her thumbs round each other and sniffles. “I was only having fun.” 

“You can’t find someone your own age? Or maybe a hobby. Try the library,” you run your hands over your forehead. “I don’t want to be like this. I don’t want to act like your mother, I want to be your sister. I want you to do better.” You slap your hands down on your legs. “You can make your decisions however you like but I just want you to think before you do.” 

“I’m sorry--” 

“You’re sorry. Again. You keep doing it,” you relent and slacken against the seat. “You’re not a kid. We both have to accept that.” 

You jam the keys in the ignition and turn. You sit up and peer around the lot. Your eyes snag on the figure standing in the glare of the marquee. That man in leather with the medallion. He watches calmly. 

You lean on the gas and steer around the lot. As you come closer to the bar, he waves with two fingers and winks. You frown and put your attention ahead of you. You just want to go home and go to bed. 

[katuschka]

Stargazers

Jake Kiszka x f!reader 1.560 words

/#gvfvalentines2025 – watching the stars/

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, intended for adult readers. Any resemblance to real persons is purely coincidental. Also, if you're under 18, go find some other entertainment elsewhere.

Warnings (are spoilers): disappointment, Valentine's dinner gone wrong, tension, tooth-rotting fluff, kissing, tears, descriptions of vast spaces, comfort

“Please, just stop it already. I’m here. We’re here. It’s a date. Could you at least stop making those faces?” Jake downed his glass of wine and huffed through his nose. Now it was him making faces.

I tried, but I couldn’t help it. No matter how much I tried to rationalize it and just enjoy myself, I felt disappointed. And – seeing his annoyed face and seeming lack of understanding – almost miserable. He took me to a fancy restaurant – something which I never insisted on. What I really wanted was to spend the day with him. One whole day. Just once! I made the plans, I bought the tickets! All he had to do was to show up. And he did not. 

And thus we ended up eyeing each other sourly over a candlelit dinner. The food was delicious, but we lost our appetite. 

“You know, I even took a day off,” I mumbled reproachfully, while trying to murder the caramelized pear with my fork. 

Jake leaned back on his chair and started tapping his fingers on the table. Clearly, I was making him uneasy. Well, good…

“I already apologized. It was an emergency meeting.” 

“Jake, you’re a rock musician, not a member of a war committee. And the planetarium was much more important than this.” I should have gone alone. If he can prioritize his own obsessions and hobbies, so should I. I had been making compromises all the time. 

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I know I screwed up. I tried to leave, but they wouldn’t let me. And you know I’m not really into this kind of stuff.” 

By ‘this kind of stuff’ he meant conventional romantic gestures, no doubt. The problem is that I never demanded it in the first place. 

My eyes fell on the bouquet of blood red roses that lay on the table on my right. They were pretty, but I could do without them. What’s the point, anyway? What is it supposed to symbolize… to kill a flower? I already mourned how they would inevitably fade under my watch. Jake knew this about me, and therefore I knew it was a last minute, panicked purchase. “But that’s the point Jake. Me neither. I don’t need expensive wine, and I don’t need you to dress up like that… you look fantastic, by the way.” It made him smirk, but he refused to look at me, and my heart sank. I definitely didn’t want to make him feel like nothing was good enough for me. I just wanted him to understand. “All I wanted was to watch the stars with you,” I added mournfully. 

The sentimental confession contained in that last sentence was like opening the door to all the feelings I had been trying to suppress all day or maybe even longer. I felt suddenly overwhelmed. “Excuse me, I need to use the bathroom.” I felt the table perhaps too quickly, but I didn’t want him to see me like that, on the verge of tears. I still wasn’t completely sure they were justified, because Jake DID try to make it right. He DID apologize, and made amends. I just still felt that way. 

When I came back, composed enough to at least try to save the rest of the evening, I found our table already cleared and him standing next to it. I internally braced myself for another round of this passive-aggressive emotional fight, but he just smiled and offered me his hand. 

We drove for nearly an hour, leaving the city far behind, spending the whole time pretty much in silence. It was a pleasant kind of quiet, though. Jake was humming something that sounded a bit like Bowie and I just got lost in my thoughts. It was a clear, cloudless night and the muffled sound of the engine almost lulled me to sleep. I barely noticed that we exited the highway…

“Are we leaving? What is this?”

“It’s a surprise. Just please, come with me.” He simply led me to his car, opened the door for me and soon we were on our way to god know where. I asked him, but he wouldn’t tell me, just mumbled something about Josh ‘mentioning it once and then he remembered’… It didn't make much sense. 

Jake suddenly stopped in the middle of some field road pretty much in the middle of nowhere. Confused, I watched him turn off the lights, unfasten his seatbelt and get out of the car. He obviously expected me to do the same, because when I didn’t move, he walked around the vehicle and once again opened the door for me. 

“Jake…? You know, if you wanted to get rid of me, you could have just dumped me,” I tried to joke, but I think I must have looked and sounded alarmed, because he took and kissed my hand with a wicked smirk before he motioned to me to follow him outside the car. 

“Nothing like that baby, I’m simply fulfilling your wish.”

I understood what he meant the moment I straightened and looked around… or looked up, to be more precise, since there was nothing around to look at anyway. The sight took my breath away. We were far away from the city lights, so light pollution was significantly lower here. There were almost no trees around. Above us only sky, as the wise man once sang. 

Have you ever really looked at the night sky? I mean REALLY looked at it, as in trying to understand what you’re actually seeing… I’m pretty much a city girl, so my new and growing fascination with the Universe was based mostly on books and documentaries so far. I had seen the stars before, of course, but that was mostly just a few shiny dots on black nothing. The sea of wonders that was now extending above me took my breath away completely. 

All those feelings I had had while learning about planets and supernovas, quasars and different galaxies, it was all multiplied now as I watched the indescribable vastness of space with mixed feelings of awe and happiness and dread…

“Jake…,” I whispered, “this is so beautiful.” My eyes were slowly adjusting to the darkness around us, so when I looked at him, I could make out the outline of his profile, illuminated only by the tiny lights above. 

“I knew you’d like it… oh! Wait a minute.” He let go of my hand and disappeared behind the car, only to return a moment later with binoculars and a blanket that he kept folded up under his right arm. 

“It’s not much, but better than nothing. I tried it once…,” he tried to explain as he handed me the binoculars. “See the Pleiades there? We can see just seven of them with the naked eye, but try this.”

I did… and gasped. It felt almost like discovering a brand new reality. I must have spent a few whole minutes staring just at that one “tiny” spot. 

We were not dressed for an outdoor trip like that and I felt my heels sinking into the half frozen, muddy road. I started shivering too. Jake unbuttoned his coat and wrapped us both in it before he spread out the blanket with one swish of his arm and threw it over us. 

I leaned against him and rested my tilted head on his shoulder. It gave Jake an easy access to my exposed neck and he planted a soft kiss on my jugular, making me shiver again. 

“It’s funny how many cute names those coincidental star clusters have… Seven Sisters. They’re so far away from one another and yet they truly look so close from here. Some people call them ‘Chickens’, did you know that?”

“No…” was all I managed to whisper back. 

“Yeah, I think it’s all about making it less frightening and more familiar. When you name something ‘a flock of chicks’, you can forget that in reality, it’s a huge mass of deadly gasses in an inexplicably vast space… It somehow puts it on the same level with our daily reality, making it less irrelevant and mundane.”

It was exactly how I felt, and he was putting it to words. We were so tiny, so insignificant, and yet he meant EVERYTHING to me, simply because he was Jake. My Jake. 

“I think it’s the same with love,” he continued. “Love and hate are complex, abstract ideas, hard to understand sometimes, and often scary. Yet the names we gave them, respectively, make the difference. Pronouncing ‘love’ feels like getting ready for a kiss. But hate? You huff the word through your nose with disgust. We embraced love. We write poems and songs about it, all of it only to disguise the fact that it's a frightening concept...”

“Do I frighten you, Jake?” I asked tentatively.

He kissed my hair and then pressed his lips on my earlobe. “No, not you. You’re real. I can feel your heartbeat. You have a face. And a name. Your mind is a home, and your soul the hearth.”

I didn’t even realize I started crying, not until I could taste the salty tear on my upper lip. Jake held me tight, with his arms wrapped firmly around my shivering body. I was no longer trembling because of the cold. “I love you, too.”

@thewritingbeforesunrise @fleet-of-fiction @writingcold @lvnterninthenight @its-interesting-van-kleep   @takenbythemadness   @edgingthedarkness @myownparadise96 @gvfstuddedmajesty @jazzyfigz @sanguinebats @josh-iamyour-mama @lyndz2names @wetkleenex-gvf @peaceloveunitygvf @cheersdannyx2 @fleetingjake @lizzys-sunflower @emojakekiszka @gvfmarge @Dayumclarizzel @lipstickitty @clownstarr @gretasfallingsky @musicislove3389 @i-love-gvf @psychedelectable @allof--mylove @sacredsparrow @scarabsinthestardust @ironlotus90 @seenoversundown

[maxdibert]

1. We’re talking about a high-class bully considered an aristocrat in his world due to his blood status, who also operated with numerical superiority when attacking and, conveniently, had a working-class half-blood kid as his main target, whom he literally attacked for “existing.” The classist conditions are quite evident, and the power dynamics are clear. If you don’t want to see them because you need to justify your love for abusive, privileged brats, that’s not my problem. I fully acknowledge that Severus had plenty of flaws and a terrible personality, but what I won’t accept is blaming him when, in this dynamic with James Potter, he was clearly the victim and the one who was socially and economically at a disadvantage.

2. Excusing abusive behavior with “it’s just humor” is like excusing people making racist or homophobic jokes under the same premise. If we understand that one thing is wrong, we should apply it across the board. Making jokes with a misogynistic undertone that directly ties to the systematic, traditional abuse of women is not funny—it’s a demonstration of the power and impunity that privileged white men have over certain social groups, in this case, women. I’d love to see you defend the same attitude if it were Severus or Lucius Malfoy saying the same thing. You probably wouldn’t be saying the same.

3. Can you tell me where in canon it specifies that those spells were created for being a bigot? What we know is that they were created for “enemies,” and “enemies” can easily be understood as the group of bullies who had been tormenting him since he was 11 years old. Interpreting it as him creating them to target innocent Muggle-borns is something you’ve completely fabricated because nothing in the canon suggests that. It’s your own prejudice driving that interpretation. I’m basing this on canon, where his book specifies it was for “enemies.” Therefore, the knife analogy is correct: I carry a knife to protect myself from enemies, who in this case are guys who might try to do something to me at night. If those guys grab my knife and assault me with it, is that my fault? Victim blaming?

4. No, my dear, you started with the nonsense, so don’t come to me with excuses now. Sorry, but it seems like some of you get very upset when someone calls you out and debunks your fallacies. Well, that’s not my fault. Sorry!

5. James starts picking on Snape the very first day of school on their way to Hogwarts. Was he a bigot then? Did he butt into the conversation and mock him because he was a bigot? How did he know? Was he psychic and saw the future? Also, when the book explicitly states that he decided to publicly strip him because Sirius was bored? Why doesn’t it say they went after him because he was a bigot, but rather because Sirius was bored and his way of having fun was to find Snape alone and attack him two-on-one? Shall we also remember that what happens with Lily happens after they strip him and publicly humiliate him by choking him? Or are you conveniently skipping that part to keep throwing around argumentative fallacies at your convenience?

6. Basic concepts of character development 101: show, don’t tell. Rowling manages to show the reader that James could also be a terrible person through his actions, but when it comes to his “redemption,” she doesn’t show it—his friends just tell us about it, and they were clearly far from objective. Where is this change? Where is the maturity? Where does she show it? You can say something a thousand times, but it can’t be taken seriously if you don’t show it, and Rowling fails miserably at convincing us about James by not showing this so-called maturity she claims he has.

I love it when Marauders stans try to portray Lily as the ultimate feminist icon when any woman with half a brain and even the most basic understanding of gender studies knows that you’d be safer locked in a cage with a hungry lion than with a rich brat who publicly strips people and blackmails you into dating him in exchange for not committing sexual assault. Like, what world do you even live in? Seriously?

[briarberrythornedhart]

When you have Pocket Aces you don’t bluff

🦇 ♦️ 🦇 ♣️ 🦇 ♠️ 🦇 ♥️

Contains: fluff, Eddie Munson x reader

Your new roommate - or apartment mate - was a great guy.

He did dishes, he kept the bathroom clean, was uncannily good at fixing things, he made a lasagna that tasted like heaven, he never failed to cheer you up after shitty days at work, always paid his half of the rent on time. You truly had no complaints.

Except the one.

He was so hot. Too hot. But you could deal. You could be a good friend and roomie and not lust after his fine person constantly.

Probably.

Unfortunately- He was a big flirt. At first you thought it was just his usual way of speaking. Clearly he couldn’t help it. Or he was so pretty that everything out of his mouth seemed extra salacious.

But, after weeks of watching Eddie flirt at Steve, Argyle, Vikki, Murray Baumann, and the Sinclair siblings’ MOM -

until she told him to watch his fool mouth and be respectful!,

and recently with Joyce AND Hopper at the same time, well…

“Why don’t you flirt with me?” Came popping out of your mouth when you couldn’t take thinking about it silently for another second.

Eddie took a guitar pick out of his mouth. “Sorry? Say wha- now?” He’d been focused on practicing guitar - percussive playing with harmonics or something... but now you had his undivided attention. He turned toward you on the couch, eyebrows up high - hidden by his curly fringe.

“You flirt - a lot - with a lot of people - but not with me, what gives?” You leaned into it, damage already done by bringing up this thing that had been bothering you. “You’ll just sit on Argyle’s lap, you’ll tell Vikki she looks mega hot, You asked Steve if his lips tastes as good as they look...”

You watched Eddie swallow/gulp and he rubbed his fingers on his thighs. “I can’t just… “ he licked his lips, “...say whatever comes to mind with you, I’d go too far... you’d get mad.”

“Try me.”

Eddie’s body language transmitted his reluctance - like a full-body whine. “I really can’t tho!”

“Ah.” You took a breath. “Because you just... can’t think of me that way.” You said flatly. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have pushed. I should probably go do some laundry or something...” You needed to get away from this situation. You felt too vulnerable, too sad. Too foolish.

What the fuck were you thinking even bringing this up?? Things were so good! Why’d you always pick at scabs??

“Nooo!” Eddie scooted closer, stood up, too, put a hand on your arm which stopped you from running away. “It’s not that. Look. I love living here. You’re really the only person that will put up with my bullshit, other than my Uncle. Did I tell you he used to sleep on a cot - the man is nearly 50 he deserves his own real-ass bed. And if you get annoyed with my bullshit, I’ll be on his couch and...”

“I’m not sure what ‘bullshit’ you are referring to, you are a great roommate, actually.” He was.

“You are a great roommate, too.” Eddie twirled a lock of hair around his finger. “I know it looks like I’m hitting on lots of people, right? But It’s not serious. I’m clowning, because it’s safe. How I feel about you... is serious. Real. We are really close and it means the world to me. So I don’t ask you if those lips taste as good as they look - and they do look good - because...”

“Because you know I’d say ‘why don’t you find out?’ and call your bluff and it’d be a whole thing.” You sighed.

There was a dreadful silence - it felt like 50 years passed, but it was probably only 7-10 seconds or so.

Eddie bit his thumb. “You look really pretty today.” He said, nodding his head forward like a little bow.

“So do you. For the record.” you informed him.

“This outfit looks great on you.” he traced a finger around the neckline of your top.

“It’d look better crumpled up on your bedroom floor.” You suggested.

“If I fireman-carry you to my bed, and call your bluff, you gonna kick me out of the apartment?”

“Of course not. I’m not bluffing.”

“Neither am I.” Eddie licked his grinning lips, bent low and plowed into your stomach, picking you up and holding your legs to his chest. He stood there for a moment holding you- until you poked him in the back. And then he laughed and carried you to his bed.

[demigod-shenanigans]

Leo And Jason DoorDash A Baby

Summary: Jason made a displeased noise as the lights came on. He said something that sounded like half a nickname in garbled Spanish and grumbled about it being late and being abandoned to sleep on his own.

“Yeah. Sorry about that, Sparky,” Leo said. “More importantly, though: look at this baby I found.”

“Can you please come to bed first and make jokes at me after?” his husband complained, yawning. “I just want to cuddle for a bit.”

“I would, but I think we’ve got more immediate problems than me depriving you of cuddles. Namely: the fact that I’m holding a child.”

“Leo, I love you, but what in the world are you talking about?” Jason murmured, finally starting to untangle himself from the blankets.

Then the little girl in Leo’s arms started crying.

Jason sat up with a start, wide awake the instant it dawned on him that this wasn’t one of Leo’s jokes. “What did you do?”

Leo looked his husband dead in the eyes and said, “I cloned myself.”

—

Or: someone leaves a baby at the entrance of the Waystation in the middle of the night. It’s not quite how Leo and Jason expected this whole adoption process to work, but, well… when has anything in their lives ever gone the way they expected it to?

Word Count: 7.3k

Rating: Teen and Up (just to be safe)

CWs: mentions of past traumatic experiences, since those are gone into to a certain extend (Jason is not going to be okay about finding an abandoned child when he’s been an abandoned child in the past).

I have spent a lot of time waffling with @queenjunothegreat about this concept and had a lot of fun writing it out! Ended up quite a bit longer than I expected, but I’m not complaining.

Main focus of the fic is accidental baby acquisition feat. married Valgrace, but there is also some lost trio content (Piper is having a great time during that particular Iris message, lmao), and little Emilia McLean from this fic is also here, a little older now! There’s references to that fic in this one but reading it is not a requirement to understand this fic.

———

It was 3 am, and Leo was just trying to get to the bedroom after finishing up his latest magic object repair project in the workshop. As was the case with the Waystation sometimes, he tripped out the front door instead.

That was just how it worked, living in a magic building. Sometimes it was convenient, like when someone was hurt and the Waystation made the infirmary appear in the next room, or when Leo and Calypso had needed space after their breakup and simply hadn’t crossed paths for a week. Sometimes, it was a little less convenient, like when the workshop was suddenly next to the bedroom so Jason only had to cross one room if he wanted to drag his sleep-deprived husband to bed. Once, when Leo had neglected maintenance for too long, the Waystation had dropped him into the pool fully clothed. It had an attitude like that.

Currently, Leo couldn’t think of anything he might have done to piss off the building, though, so there was probably a different reason why he’d ended up out here. 

The air was cold enough that he pulled the large hoodie he’d borrowed from his husband a little closer around himself. He realized how stupid the impulse was a moment later—he could have just upped his body temperature instead. That was sleep deprivation 1, Leo Valdez 0.

It was a night of a full moon, and between the moon’s soft glow and the street lights, Leo could see alright. No need for a flashlight or to light himself on fire. 

He let his eyes wander, trying to figure out why he’d been thrown out of his home in the middle of the night. They didn’t have to wander far. 

Someone had placed a basket beside the entrance to the Waystation. And inside that basket…

“Holy shit.” Leo pinched himself, trying to confirm he wasn’t so sleep deprived he was hallucinating the whole thing. 

Nope, the basket was still there. And that was definitely a baby. What the hell?

He kneeled down next to the basket, looking at the infant that had been left here all alone, with no one but the moon to guard her.

They were wide awake, looking at him with large, dark eyes. 

“What are you doing out here, hm?” 

He scanned the area again, trying to see if there was a parent around who’d come back to collect their baby. He couldn’t see anyone. Not that leaving a child on some stranger’s doorstep to go buy groceries or something would have been peak parenting, exactly.

The wind was bitingly cold. And if it was that bad for him, Leo couldn’t imagine basket baby was doing much better, in their thin onesie and blanket.

“Okay, we need to get you inside,” he decided, reaching out towards the basket, then stopping suddenly as he spotted something tucked underneath it.

It was a small piece of paper, no larger than a postcard. He pulled it out from beneath the basket so he could take a look at it, slowly, so as to not startle the child in the process. Words had been hastily scribbled onto the paper. 

‘I can’t care for her, but I know she’ll be safe here. This is what’s best for both of us.’ 

Leo’s heart was hammering in his chest, aching for the poor kid and whatever demigod had dropped her off here—and it had to have been a demigod. No one else would think to drop their child off at what the general public considered to be a generic event space—never mind in the middle of the night—expecting her to be safe.

Leo folded the note and put it into one of his many, many pockets. 

He hesitated again, trying to remember whether he’d washed his hands properly coming out of the workshop. He decided better safe than sorry and went for the effective, if slightly unusual, disinfecting technique of temporarily setting his hands on fire.

Once he’d put them out and cooled them back down to a semi-normal temperature, he reached out to scoop the baby up out of the basket.

Thankfully, Leo wasn’t completely useless with babies. Em, his honorary niece, was three now, but he’d held her enough times as an infant to know how this went. Make sure the head and neck are supported first, then place the other hand under the baby's bottom and lift them up carefully.

He still remembered how Piper had first explained it to him, Reyna glaring at him from across the room like she was fully expecting him to drop the baby. That had made two of them.

He’d been weeping, still reeling from the declaration that the girl was named after him—as a gesture of love and because in a world where names had power, the name of someone who’d defied death twice and found his happy ending against all odds was good luck. He’d spent so long thinking of himself as a curse that someone choosing his name as a blessing hadn’t quite computed.

“Don’t mind my lovely wife. Rey’s just nervous,” Piper had whispered to him, patting his arm encouragingly while he held Emilia for the very first time. “You’re the first person aside from us and the hospital staff who gets to hold Em.”

Leo had understood nervous, then, with his best friend’s kid snuggled up against his chest. He understood nervous now, with this small, vulnerable human in his arms. Despite knowing exactly what he was doing, he was still anxious he might hurt her accidentally. This had to be terrifying for her, and the last thing he wanted was to make it even worse.

The Waystation roulette was merciful. After walking back up the ramp with the baby in tow, Leo found himself standing right outside his bedroom door.

Thank the gods. He really needed Jason right now.

Okay, technically Emmie and Jo would probably have been more convenient than Leo’s poor husband, whose experience with babies was about the same as Leo’s own—limited to playing with Em and babysitting for Percy and Annabeth back at uni. But Emmie and Jo weren’t here right now. They were in New Rome with Georgina.

The thought of Georgina at NRU was still weird as hell. Leo had known this kid since she was seven years old. The fact that she was attending university now would never, ever, feel normal to him. 

But in all honesty, even if his foster parents had been at the Waystation right now, Leo probably still would have wanted Jason. He was pretty sure wanting your husband there was a natural instinct when one found a child on their doorstep. He’d have to ask around for reference.

Leo pushed open the bedroom door with his hip, wincing as it creaked. He’d been meaning to take care of the rusted hinges for a while, but between the dracon incident last month and an emergency pegasus landing two weeks ago, he’d been preoccupied with other fixes and forgotten about this one. He hadn’t exactly thought to account for the inconvenience the issue might cause to any babies found on the doorstep in the middle of the night.

The little girl in his arms scrunched up her face like she might start to cry.

“Shhhh. Hey. You’re okay,” he tried to soothe her, bouncing her awkwardly. “That’s what I get for prioritizing fixing the person-sized hole in the roof over some rusty hinges.”

The baby didn’t start crying, though she still looked very unhappy about the entire situation. Leo couldn’t say he blamed her.

Jason shifted in his blanket heap.

Leo wasn’t surprised he’d woken up. Creaky door or not, he almost always woke up when Leo came to bed. His husband had always been a light sleeper—all too ready to jump out of bed with his sword drawn at even the hint of a threat. Even though more than a decade had come and gone since he’d been an active member of the legion, he’d never quite managed to break that particular habit. 

Usually, Leo felt bad for waking him. Right now, that he woke so easily was a huge relief. Having to shake Jason awake with one arm while balancing a baby in the other wasn’t an experience Leo was particularly sad to miss out on. 

His husband made a displeased noise as the light was switched on. He covered his face with one arm, said something that sounded like half a nickname in garbled Spanish and grumbled about it being late and being abandoned to sleep on his own.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Sorry about that, Sparky. More importantly, though: look at this baby I found.”

“Can you please come to bed first and make jokes at me after?” Jason complained, yawning. He patted the mattress next to him. “I promise I’ll laugh, even if I’m way too tired to understand the joke. I just want to cuddle for a bit.”

“I would, but I think we’ve got more immediate problems than me depriving you of cuddles. Namely: the fact that I’m holding a child right now.”

“Leo, I love you so much, but you know I don’t have the capacity for your sense of humor at this hour. What in the world are you talking about?” Jason murmured, finally starting to untangle himself from the blankets. 

As if on cue, the little girl in Leo’s arms started crying. Whether this was because she was hungry or cold or because the existential dread of being ditched on a stranger’s doorstep by the only person she’d ever known was starting to hit her, Leo couldn’t immediately tell.

Jason sat up with a start, wide awake the instant it dawned on him that this wasn’t one of Leo’s weird jokes.

He looked at the two of them, eyes wide as saucers. “What did you do?”

“I cloned myself,” Leo said, looking his husband dead in the eye. The joke didn’t entirely work. Her skin was a shade darker than his and the tufts of hair on the girl’s head were clearly brown instead of black.

He rocked the baby gently against his chest. 

“What?” Jason was out of bed at a speed that was honestly frightening, even for someone who had seen him go from zero to battle-ready in under thirty seconds before.

Jason looked frantic, apparently completely willing to believe Leo’s stupid joke, the obvious inconsistencies be damned. He moved to stand beside them.

“Kidding, mi cielo. I’m still working on cloning.” Leo grinned at him. He felt as terrified as Jason looked, and even now, despite the fact that he was supposed to be a semi-responsible adult and had been married for almost a decade, jokes were sometimes the only thing that helped. “I just ordered DoorDash. Not sure why they sent a baby. I’m pretty sure I just asked for fries.”

“Leo, whose child is that?” 

Okay, that was enough with the jokes. They might have been helpful for Leo, but it was obvious they were doing the opposite for Jason, and getting him even more worked up would probably not help the situation.

“I have no idea,” he admitted. He continued to rock the baby, but it wasn’t helping. She just wouldn’t stop crying. “It wasn’t DoorDash, but someone did leave her at the entrance of the Waystation with no intention of coming back.”

“Oh.” Jason’s posture immediately changed. The tension went out of his body, replaced with a kind of vulnerability Leo had only seen his husband show a handful of times. “But she’s so small.Someone just abandoned her?”

Leo’s chest constricted. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard Jason sound so utterly broken.

The parent that had left the girl here probably had their reasons—and, speaking as someone who’d spent a lot of time in the care of foster parents who hadn’t been fit for the job, sometimes not having a parent at all was definitely the preferable option.

But how could Jason have thought of anything other than the feeling of being that small, abandoned child, waiting in the woods for a mother who never came back?

Leo wanted to pull his husband to his chest and soothe him, but currently he had an armful of wailing baby, which made that a little difficult.

“Come on, let’s sit for a while, yeah?” Leo suggested gently. Jason nodded, and together they sank down onto the edge of their bed, the mattress creaking slightly as they did. “You wanna hold her for a bit?”

“I…” Jason hesitated, then nodded. “I do, actually.”

Leo very carefully handed him the baby. That made her crying even worse. Leo gulped, wondering if she thought she was being abandoned again.

“Hey, cariño, I’m not going anywhere, okay?” he said soothingly. “That’s Jason. He’s nice, I promise. I wouldn’t have married him otherwise.”

He gently poked one of the girl’s palms with his finger. She immediately grasped for it, meaning she had to be very little. He knew that because he loved being Em’s tío and had been endlessly bummed out when she’d grown out of automatically grasping his fingers at five months.

“Hey. You’re going to be okay,” Jason said to the girl, sounding almost shy. His voice was quavering as he cradled the child protectively. He looked at her with all the determination of someone who knew exactly what it was like to be abandoned and would have done anything to make sure it didn’t happen to anyone else. “I’m sorry. This is so, so much, and it has to be so overwhelming for you. But you’re safe. We’re not going to let anything bad happen to you, I promise.”

His voice cracked.

Leo wrapped his free arm around his husband, placing his head down on Jason’s shoulder. Jason was shaking.

“You’re okay, too,” Leo reminded him gently, pressing a kiss to the side of Jason’s head. “I’m not going anywhere. Expert at sticking around, remember?”

Jason nodded, smiling weakly.

“I love you,” he sniffled, leaning into Leo. His eyes were brimming with tears. “She’s so upset.”

“I know, Jase.”

Leo thought for a moment, then started humming the melody of an old lullaby his mom had sung to him when he’d been little, the words of which long since been lost to time.

Between this, Jason’s gentle rocking and Leo’s finger grasped tightly in her little fist, the baby startled to settle down, staring at them with large, dark eyes.

“There you go. That’s better. You’re way too young for that level of existential dread,” Leo joked, heart aching. “I could go find you a warmer blanket, if you want? You’re a little cold.” He tried to pull his hand back, but the second she lost her grip on his finger, she started crying again. “Or not! Maybe you’ll continue to hold my finger hostage instead,” he decided, letting her grasp it again.

She immediately quieted back down.

Leo’s tool belt wasn’t super helpful at producing blankets. It could do car covers and cleaning rags, but Leo wasn’t convinced those materials were baby-safe, so instead he leaned as far as he could off the bed without removing his finger from the girl’s little fist again and pulled a fresh bed sheet out of a drawer. Then, he asked the tool belt for scissors.

~~~

A few minutes later, Jason had wrapped the baby up in the remnants of a very wrecked bedsheet. She cooed happily, still hanging onto Leo’s hand, though he put a stop to it when she tried to stick his finger in her mouth.

“Trust me, kid. You do not want to do that. My hands are clean-ish, but you don’t know where I’ve been.” She scrunched her face up again. “Nope, I’m not budging on that. You do not need to know what oil tastes like yet. Spoilers: I’ve tried it. Do not recommend.”

He hummed at her again, which slightly soothed her offense at the terrible injustice of not getting to eat his fingers.

“I wish we had a pacifier we could give her,” Jason said quietly. 

“I’m not sure Georgina’s twenty year old pacifiers still exist, but even if they do, I don’t think they’d be any safer for her than my fingers,” Leo commented, sighing. “I wish we had something to give her, too. Her bio parent at least could have had the decency to dump her on our doorstep with some basic necessities.”

“They’re really not going to come back for her, are they?” Jason asked. He didn’t look like he was about to break down in tears anymore, but his breaths still came shakily.

“No,” Leo said, running his free hand soothingly down his husband’s arm. “The note they left made it sound pretty permanent.”

Looking at him—at the way Jason was smiling down at the child, so, so very gentle despite all his grief, and the way all three of them fit together—something in Leo’s mind began to click into place. 

Before he could decide what, exactly, that something was, Jason beat him to it.

“Can we keep her?” he asked suddenly, with no preamble or warning. He was tense, anxiety written all over his face. He continued hastily, “I know it’s not really how we planned to do this, but-”

“She’s here now. And she needs someone,” Leo finished, smiling at the fact that their minds had gone to the same place. They were like two gears in the same machine, running perfectly in sync.

Jason nodded. Some of the tension went out of his shoulders. 

“You don’t think I’m being completely ridiculous?”

“For wanting to adopt a child you met maybe ten minutes ago?” Leo beamed at him. “I mean, a little. But I can’t be making all the ridiculously impulsive decisions in this relationship.”

He pressed a kiss to Jason’s temple.

Jason smiled weakly. The grief in his expression started to melt away into something soft and almost hopeful. “So you’re saying we’ll think about it?”

That would have been reasonable. This was maybe not the sort of decision one should make at this hour of night. But Leo had never been the reasonable sort. Mostly, this had been to his benefit—if he had been reasonable, he would have been extremely fucking dead, and Jason with him.

Honestly, Leo made some of his best choices when he wasn’t overthinking things. 

Besides, considering how easily the girl had settled in his husband’s arms, and the soft way Jason was looking at him…

Well, fuck being reasonable.

“Eh, I’ve told you before that I try not to think too much. It interferes with being nuts.” Leo grinned. “So, I guess we have a kid now?”

Jason leaned forward and kissed him.

~~~

Maybe Leo should have been freaking out more. That seemed like the reasonable way to act when you’d suddenly become a dad from one minute to the next with no warning.

But apparently he’d gotten most of his frantic energy out of his system when he’d found the baby, and now that Jason was with him and they knew they’d be keeping her, the whole thing didn’t seem quite as ridiculously terrifying anymore.

When the baby started crying again—utterly inconsolable this time in a way that, from all their past baby experiences, made Jason and Leo agree she was probably hungry—he didn’t let himself panic. He briefly left his husband and the baby to go bother the nice mortal couple down the street about diapers and formula and a baby bottle, fumbling his way through an explanation about unexpectedly ending up with a Safe Haven Box baby. He figured that was close enough to the truth. 

Preparing the formula wasn’t too hard, but he was glad he had practice from babysitting.

When he got back to the bedroom, Jason was hovering—like, literally hovering a good foot above the ground—and talking to the baby in a hushed tone. 

“What in the world are you doing?” Leo laughed, raising an eyebrow at his husband.

“I don’t know. She seems to like it,” Jason told him, slowly floating back down.

The baby was still obviously unhappy, but she wasn’t crying quite as hard anymore. Huh. They'd have to put that down for future reference.

“Hey, cariño. I brought food.” Leo waved the bottle at her. “Jase, do you wanna feed her?”

Jason’s eyes gleamed. “Would that be okay?”

“I mean, it’s not like this is a one and done kind of deal. I can feed her next time. Besides,” Leo continued teasingly, “seems only fair that you take more of the baby feeding shifts. We both know I’m gonna be making most of her food once she grows out of formula and puree age. You’re a safety hazard in the kitchen.”

“You’re impossible,” Jason laughed, sitting back down on the bed and adjusting his hold on the baby to get her into a better position for feeding.

“I’m also right.” Leo smirked. “Remember that time back at NRU when you tried to make popcorn and somehow exploded the microwave?”

“That was ten years ago,” Jason pouted. 

“And you’ve since managed to fry our microwave a minimum of five times, and the oven at least twice. You are not helping your case, mi cielo.” He handed over the bottle. The baby looked at it suspiciously for a moment. “Solid instincts, cariño, but I made that one. It’s good, promise,” Leo told her, feeling incredibly smug when she started to drink.

Her tiny scrunched up face started to relax.

“There, that's much better, isn’t it?” Jason asked soothingly. 

“Look at that. A bit of Chef Leo food and she’s immediately content,” Leo announced, ignoring the fact that in this particular case, his specific input in preparing the food had been minimal. “I can’t believe she’s been with us for all of an hour and she’s already taking after you.”

His husband gently headbutted Leo in the neck, like he sometimes did. He was a fucking weirdo. 

But he was Leo’s fucking weirdo. Forever.

“Hey, it’s not our fault you’re a great cook.” Jason was smiling softly. “She’s gonna fit right in.”

“Yeah, she is.”

Leo was transfixed on the image of Jason holding their baby. Their baby. They had a daughter now. 

It was almost startling, how quickly the certainty of it had settled over him. How right it all felt. They’d been talking about adopting for a while, and it had felt more and more like it was the right time.

Her appearing on their doorstep now… it was something like destiny. 

Normally, the concept of destiny would have set off alarm bells in Leo’s head. For most of his life, destiny hadn’t been a good thing. So little of his and Jason’s lives had ever been coincidental. They’d both spent their entire childhoods tangled up in strings the Fates had woven for them.

But he figured after all the awful things he’d been destined to be—an orphan and a hero and dead—being a dad wasn’t a destiny he minded all that much.

“The note didn’t mention a name, right?” Jason asked as he put down the bottle. Leo shook his head. “Does that mean we get to choose one?”

Jason shifted the baby in his arms, holding her upright and gently patting her back to burp her. 

“Yeah. She seems very enthusiastic about being named.” Leo chuckled. “I’m partial towards Leo 2.0, personally, but between me and Em, that might get a little confusing, so 3.0 might be better.”

“Serious suggestions only, please?” Jason asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Sorry, if that’s your condition you’re gonna have to find a different husband.” 

Leo flicked him in the head, still grinning, but then he dutifully redirected his attention towards the baby. He thought back to the list of baby names they’d made—a list that he’d always figured they most likely wouldn’t need, considering most adoptees came much older than this, with a name already attached. Jason had insisted they make a list anyway, just in case. Leo hadn’t had the heart to tell him no.

And, well, considering their 3 am postal delivery baby, that was a point in favor of Jason’s incessant need to prepare for all possible scenarios.

Names—especially demigod names and the power woven into them via the Fates—were kind of a huge deal, and not a decision to make lightly. He was more than glad their past selves had narrowed it down.

“What do you think of Sofía?” he asked, tilting his head at the baby. 

She cooed at him. 

“She seems to like it. I think that’s a good sign.” Jason smiled, but there was a hesitation in his expression, like there was something more he wasn’t saying.

“Whatever it is, you can tell me. If you’d rather name her something else-” Leo started, but Jason shook his head.

“It’s not that. I think Sofía fits her. I just thought maybe she’d like a middle name.” He bit his lip, but then he looked right at Leo with those startlingly blue eyes of his that Leo loved so much. “We don’t have to, if it doesn’t feel right to you, but… what do you think of Sofía Esperanza?”

Leo’s heart skipped a beat.

It had taken him longer than he felt comfortable admitting to talk about his mom to Jason—to really talk about her. The good times they shared and the joyful memories and the stinging feeling of loss that still remained, despite everything.

Leo had gotten closure. He had a mother who loved him dearly, throughout life and beyond death. Jason’s mother had been such a dickhead that she’d made a point of breaking out of the Underworld to re-traumatize him. How was it fair to burden him with all this—to share his mourning for a kind of love Jason had never known?

But when Leo had finally fully shown that part of himself, Jason had held him through it, and gladly. Through the joy and the pain of it all. 

They carried each other’s burdens, the way they always had.

Jason wouldn’t have made the suggestion lightly. He must have been thinking about this for a long time. Maybe since they’d first made that list, back when the child in question had still been entirely hypothetical.

“Would that… is that really okay with you? I mean-” Leo stammered, struggling to find the words—struggling to find any words at all. His thoughts were failing him utterly. 

In his defense, it was almost 4 am, and they’d just adopted a baby on a whim. These things tended to turn one’s brain to mush even when they occurred separately.

“Of course I’d be okay with it. It was literally my suggestion, mi vida.” Jason smiled softly at him. “Besides, Esperanza means hope, right? If we’re worried about names having power, I think this one is powerful in a good way.”

And, as was the case far more often than Leo would ever admit out loud, his husband was right. They’d both learned a long time ago that hope was perhaps the greatest power of all.

“Wisdom and hope, hm?” Leo gently booped Sofía’s nose. “Guess we’re really trying to drive home the fact that you’re not related to either one of us.“ Sofía smiled up at him, catching one of his fingers in her little fist again, and Leo laughed. “Look, Jase, she’s got your reflexes.”

Her hand was warm and soft and her adorable little smile made Leo melt. 

Jason looked down at their daughter with pure adoration in his eyes. 

Oh, they were in so much trouble. Leo wasn’t sure how they’d ever manage to tell her no on anything.

On the upside: they’d make sure little Sofía Esperanza would never feel unloved a day in her life.

~~~ Leo was officially never sending a vaguely worded Iris Message again.

His first impulse had been to call Piper—because, well, it was Piper—which would have worked great if she had been awake, but that seemed like a long shot at this hour. The thing was: Piper slept like a log. When she was out, she was completely dead to the world, and if that was the case, they would be sent right to rainbow voicemail.

Going with “McLean household, Oklahoma. Just give me whoever is most awake,” had seemed like a safe bet at the time. If Reyna and/or Piper were up, they were good. If neither of them was, then they’d at least know that it was pointless to call again tonight and they’d just try again in the morning.

Except, well… Leo was currently looking at his three year old niece.

“Tío Leo!! Uncle Jason!” Em beamed at them. “I’m up!”

“We can see that.” Leo blinked at her. “Uhm, as awesome as it is to see you, could you maybe get one of your moms? Either one works.”

“But I wanna talk,” she pouted. Then she sat bolt upright. “You’re playing dolls? Without me?”

“I would never,” Leo said in mock-offense. “Also, that's a baby, not a doll.”

He shifted Sofía in his arms so his niece could take a proper look at her. Jason had handed her back to Leo when he’d gone to collect Georgina’s old bassinet from the attic that had mercifully decided to pop up next door, and Leo had been holding her since.

“A baby?” Emilia stared through the rainbow with wide eyes. “She’s so small.”

“Yeah. Babies are kinda just like that. They don’t come in too many different sizes,” he explained with a shrug. “This is Sofía. Say hi to your prima, cariño.” The baby just kind of blinked at Em, but she was smiling, which he figured probably counted. “Sorry. They don’t come very talkative at that age, either.”

Em didn’t seem to mind. She waved at the baby excitedly.

“Hi Sofía.” Her voice was full of wonder. “She’s adorable.”

“Yeah, she’s kind of perfect, isn’t she?” Jason’s voice was stupidly fond. Leo would have married him all over again in an instant.

Before anyone could say anything else, the door to Emilia’s room opened, light spilling inside from the hallway.

Leo made a little shushing noise at his niece, holding the baby just out of frame. Emilia giggled.

“Emmy, I thought we decided you were going back to sleep,” Piper’s groggy voice came from somewhere beyond the rainbow’s visual range. “Hang on, is that an Iris Message? What the-” A second later, her face appeared in the corner of the rainbow. “Leo? Jason?”

“Pipes! Hey!” Leo beamed at her. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“I say this in the fondest way possible, but I am literally going to kill you guys. I just managed to get her settled back in bed.”

“Sorry,” Jason said immediately. “It’s kind of an emergency.”

“What sort of emergency requires you to call my toddler in the middle of the night?” She looked at them incredulously “Leo, it’s four thirty in the morning. I know it’s a full moon, but can you please get your werewolf husband under control?”

“No, I cannot. May I remind you that you were the one who said if you wanted a responsible godfather, you would have picked someone else?” Leo asked with a grin. “Though, in our defense, we were technically trying to call you or Reyna. Iris just decided to be funny.”

“Uh-huh.” 

“I think you’ll probably forgive us, considering the circumstances.”

“What circumstances?” Piper narrowed her eyes, looking suspiciously from Leo to her giggling toddler, like she expected them to have hidden paint bombs across the house together.

Talk about bearing grudges. They’d only done that once. 

…okay, maybe twice. But still. 

Besides, Leo was halfway across the country right now. That made getting into trouble with his niece a lot more difficult.

“And what were you trying to call us about? Because you both seem way too cheerful for this to be an actual emergency.”

“It is an actual emergency. The good kind, though,” Jason explained, voice soft. He wasn’t even looking up at Piper. He’d gone back to smiling at Sofía. The little girl cooed happily at him.

“I don’t think that’s a thing.” Piper paused. “What was that noise?”

“Surprise! You’re an aunt now!” Leo lifted his armful of baby into the frame. “Sofía, this is Piper. Piper, Sofía Valdez.”

Piper rubbed her eyes. Then, apparently realizing that the baby was very much still there and not going anywhere, she stared at him in utter disbelief. “Leo, what the f-”

“No cursing!” Jason yelped, moving to cover Sofía’s ears.

Emilia burst into a fresh fit of giggles. “Mommy said a bad word.”

“Yeah, I did. But it’s a mommy only word, reserved for special occasions, so please don’t use it, okay?” Piper said quickly. She covered her face with her hands. 

“Okay, no saying fuck,” Em agreed, causing Jason to make a fresh offended yelping noise while Leo just burst into laughter.

“Not. A. Word,” Piper grumbled, glaring at him. 

Leo would have pointed out that technically, he hadn’t said anything, but figured that if he was planning to see his daughter grow up, he should probably leave it.

“Sorry, sorry,” he said instead, taking a few breaths to try and get himself to stop laughing. It was only semi-successful. “Emilia, listen to your mom, okay?”

“I am!” she pointed out, grinning. “No using the word. Just said I won’t.”

“Smart kid,” Leo said approvingly, which just made Piper glare at him even harder. Hey, it wasn’t his fault his niece had inherited Piper’s chaotic energy and Reyna’s ability to win political debates. His only crime was not discouraging her. 

And honestly, which decent tío would have? As far as he was concerned, she should be allowed to make use of her natural talents.

“Matters of teaching my child to curse at four thirty in the morning aside,” Piper sighed, shaking her head, “would you guys please tell me what in the world is going on? Whose child did you two kidnap?”

“She’s ours,” Jason said, completely matter-of-factly. “No kidnapping involved.”

“I’m a prima,” Emilia told her mom, beaming.

“That’s great, sweetheart.” Even through the rainbow filter, it was easy to tell that Piper was barely listening to Emilia. She looked from Jason to Leo to Sofía, wide-eyed, apparently reassessing the situation. “You two are actually serious.”

She sat down hard on her daughter’s bed. 

“Yeah. Why would you think we were joking about that?” Leo asked, shaking his head. “Gods, Pipes, I’m thirty years old, for crying out loud. Don’t you think I’m a bit too mature to prank call you at four thirty in the morning?” Despite the fact that she was obviously in shock, Piper still raised an eyebrow at him at that question. “Okay, fine, maybe I would do that, but what would the punch line even be in this case?”

“I don’t know!” Piper gestured vaguely. “Where did you guys get a baby at four in the morning?”

“Annabeth had Cooper at one in the morning,” Leo told her with a shrug. “Babies don’t exactly come with business hours.”

Sofía cooed in his arms. 

“That’s different!” Piper protested, clearly exasperated. “I saw you guys last weekend! If one of you had been pregnant, I’m pretty sure I would have known!”

“Someone left her on the doorstep of the Waystation an hour ago,” Jason explained, that same fragility from earlier creeping back into his voice. “She’s ours now.”

“Oh.” All the fight drained out of Piper in an instant. She turned to Emilia, putting a hand on her daughter’s shoulder. “Can you do me a favor? Can you go wake your mamá for me, sweetheart?”

“But I wanna stay,” Emilia pouted. “Sofía’s cute.”

“I know, honey. But she’s still gonna be here when you get back. And mamá’s gonna want to meet the baby, too.”

Emilia thought about this intensely for a moment. Then she nodded and climbed out of the bed. “Okay.” 

“Besides, mommy might need to use a few more curse words, and I do not want you around for that,” Piper muttered after her daughter had left.

Jason crossed his arms. “Hey, you can’t curse at our child, either.”

“She’s not gonna remember at that age,” Piper said. She looked a lot less confused and a lot more upset now. “Is she okay?” she asked, wringing her hands.

“Dunno. She had a bit of a crying fit when I brought her inside, but Emilia had a lot of crying fits at that age without you guys ditching her at a random event space, so I’m not sure that’s related,” Leo told her. He gently bounced the baby in his arms. Sofía was cooing at him again, waving her little hands around. Considering everything that had happened tonight, Leo was surprised she still had this much energy. “We’ll ask Nico if he can shadow travel Will over in the morning so he can check her over. She doesn’t seem hurt or sick, but we figured it’s better to be sure.”

“She’s really small. I don’t think she actually understands what’s happening,” Jason added. “But we’re gonna make sure she’ll be okay.” He said it in such a fierce, protective way, and Leo’s heart broke for his husband for the umpteenth time. 

“Are you guys okay?” Piper asked. She was looking directly at Jason now. “This is a lot.“

“We’re okay,” Jason said, in a way that made it blatantly obvious to both Piper and Leo that he wasn’t. “It has been kind of overwhelming, but I’m managing. Leo’s been amazing.” 

“Superman’s being unnecessarily modest,” Leo told Piper, shaking his head. “He’s doing a great job. He fed her and found her a crib and everything.”

Jason smiled weakly. “I- thanks.”

“She’s lucky to have you both,” Piper said. She still looked tired and seriously worried, but her voice was fond. “I mean it.”

“Yeah, yeah, we’re amazing, and you only want to kill us a little bit for Iris Messaging your toddler in the middle of the night,” Leo said, smiling at her. 

“Just this once, you’re pardoned due to extenuating circumstances,” Piper decided solemnly. “Besides, I’m not orphaning your child.”

“Thanks?” Jason said. It came out more like a question than a statement, but his voice was tinged with amusement, and after everything that had happened tonight, that was a huge relief. “We wanted you and Reyna to be the first ones to know. And, uhm. Maybe ask if you’ve still got some of Em’s old baby clothes?”

“We do.” Piper smiled softly. “Reyna couldn’t bring herself to get rid of any of them. She’s incredibly sappy at heart.”

“Oh, we know,” Leo said with a grin. “We’ve seen the way she looks at you.”

Piper sighed contently. She opened her mouth to say something else, but she was interrupted by the sound of a door banging open.

“Em said you used a bad word and also something about a kidnapping?” Reyna asked, sounding seriously concerned. “Who are you IMing at this hour? Is anyone hurt? Do we need to send out search parties?”

She stepped into range of the rainbow, but she wasn’t looking at the Iris Message. Her eyes were firmly on her wife, their daughter clutched protectively to her chest.

“No one’s hurt. No one’s missing, either.” Piper made a noise somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. “So glad our three year old covered all the important bullet points.”

“I got mamá awake,” Em reported, yawning.

Leo couldn’t blame her. It was almost morning. He was starting to feel seriously tired, too.

Sofía wasn’t. She was still wide awake, cooing and wiggling happily in his arms. Leo wasn’t sure if that was normal, but he figured it did not bode well for the amount of sleep he and Jason would be getting going forward.

“That you did, sweetie,” Piper said, smiling at her daughter. Then she looked up at her wife. “Morning, Love. I promise it’s nothing bad, but you might still want to sit down.”

“Hi Reyna,” Leo greeted her. “So, uhm, funny story. You know how Jason and I have sort of been talking about adoption for a while?”

~~~

By the time they got off the line with Piper and Reyna, it was well past six am. Em had dozed off on her mamá’s lap more than an hour ago. Sofía was somehow still awake, though she’d been wiggling a lot less and yawning a lot more in the last half an hour. 

In the end, it took a diaper change and a second feeding session for Sofía to finally start dozing off in Leo’s arms. By then, the sun was starting to come up.

He still held her for a while after, making sure she was well and truly asleep before swaddling her properly and gently transferring her into the bassinet. The sunlight through the window was tickling his face as he sat back down on the bed with a quiet thunk.

“I can’t believe she’s inherited my awful sleep schedule. That's not good,” he joked, letting himself sink into Jason’s side. “Make better choices, kid!”

“On the bright side, you probably won’t have any trouble staying up with her,” Jason said, wrapping both arms around Leo and pressing a kiss to his curls. “We’re really doing this, hm?”

“Yeah. Weirdest adoption circumstances of the century, maybe, but we are.” Leo laughed. “Man, this is so on-brand for us. We can never do anything the normal way.”

Jason laughed right along with him—a low, rumbling sound that reverberated through Leo’s body with how close they were pressed together. Leo loved that laugh. Loved that it wasn’t the suppressed chuckle that had been Jason’s default when they met. It had been so hard to make him laugh, back then. Not that it had ever stopped Leo from trying.

For a while, they just sat there, all wrapped up in each other as the sun slowly rose on the other side of the window.

“There’s so much we don’t know,” Jason said eventually, breaking the silence. Leo didn't have to see his face to know he was looking at Sofía. “Do we have any idea what we’re doing?”

“Do any parents? Especially demigods?” Leo asked, raising an eyebrow. When that just made his husband grow even more tense, Leo hugged him tightly. “Hey. We managed to save the world when you didn’t know anything except for your first name, sword fighting and whatever vague mythology fun facts your godly stepmom decided to leave inside your skull. Compared to that situation? I think we’ve got a lot to work with here.”

“I just don’t want to fail her,” Jason said, very quietly.

“I don’t think we’ve ever failed at anything we did together.” Leo paused. “Well, at least not when it comes to anything important. Despite your best efforts, I’m still a really shitty dancer,” he amended.

“You’re not that bad,” Jason insisted, pressing another kiss to his hair.

“Right. And you’re only a mildly terrible cook,” Leo teased, still holding on tight. “We’ll figure things out, Jase. We always have.” 

“You’re probably right,” Jason sighed, sinking into him and gently nuzzling Leo’s cheek. “Together.”

“Always. You married me, so you’re never getting rid of me now,” Leo told him, failing to suppress a yawn. 

It had been a long night, but he wouldn’t have traded it for anything in the world.

Leo looked back at Sofía, who was peacefully snoring away in her bassinet. 

If ‘together’ meant three of them instead of two of them now… well, he was more than okay with that.

Leo had faced the end of the world with Jason by his side. He figured they could probably handle parenting, too.

———

Fic Notes:

-Sorry about the extremely silly fic title. Juno made a joke about this to me forever ago when we were first talking about this concept and it just kind of stuck.

-Fun fact: I've been working on this fic on and off since last year! I cannot believe how long it ended up being, lmao.

-Family stuff is super fun to me, and considering Jason’s was abandoned as a little kid and Leo knows exactly what it’s like to not have anyone look out for you from his later childhood and teens, I always knew they'd somehow end up adopting. Me and QueenJunoTheGreat have been chatting about Sofía forever now, and I’ve made several tumblr posts about her, so it’s a little strange that this is technically the first fic I’ve posted about her.

-This kid has a lot of lore and thoughts attached to her (as does Em, though this is technically her second fic), so if you wanna read more about her you can always just scroll through my tumblr and specifically the (specifically the “pjo next gen” tag)! -Would actually love to write some more fics about these kids, but we’ll see how it goes.

Thank you so much for reading! Comments extremely appreciated!

[canideformed]

People need to realise that a trans person’s experiences with oppression are far more impacted by things that aren’t as black and white as what specific queer label they identify as.

Living in a community that respects your gender, having the ability to medically transition if you want, especially at a young/er age, being perisex, being white, being abled, being wealthy (inherently tied to how accessible transition is to you), having supportive parents, even the level of gender deviant you’re perceived to be by cis people.

When you’re trans and/or intersex, being straight and/or being a man aren’t privileges. We’re all viewed as gender deviant, and simply identifying as straight or as a man doesn’t change that. Sometimes, the ability to pass can change that.

I can personally attest that, the more I pass as my target gender on any given day, the better I am treated and the less transphobia I experience. If I have a beard and square shoulders when I’m trying to be perceived as a woman, people don’t like it. They also don’t like it when I wear clothes that emphasise my hips when I’m trying to be perceived as a man. This also applies to sexuality. When I was with my ex bf, I was treated better when I was perceived as a woman. This is regardless of my personal orientation (which is actually mostly gay man). Even as a transfemmasc intersex gay (wo)man, the times I was treated the best were the times I could pass for a non-gender/sex/sexuality-deviant woman and when I could pass for a non-gender/sex/sexuality-deviant man. When even one of those things changes, when I was seen as a gay man, or a lesbian, or a trans woman, or a trans man—people start throwing me looks on the street and sometimes even going out of their way to harass me.

And yes! Misogyny does exist. But all gender deviant people experience it (or homophobia, but imo those two are linked anyway, at least based on my experiences being perceived as a woman vs. a gay man).

Similarly, when one of my disabilities becomes visible (if I need my cane or have a shutdown or meltdown, etc.), it impacts the way people treat my trans identity. I deserve less autonomy, the demonisation/infantilisation/both intensifies vastly, etc.

The way these things interact is complicated. I have a complicated transition history due to being intersex and could technically be categorised as “transitioned young,” both on the axis of being transfem and on the axis of being transmasc (it’s complicated!), but it’s honestly not a privilege in that situation because it also came with medical abuse.

TL;DR, an individuals’ level of privilege and an individuals’ experiences with oppression are both complex dynamics that can’t be dumbed down to “men don’t experience misogyny” or “all men have male privilege” or “straight trans people are privileged over gay trans people” or any other black and white statement based purely on one’s personal identity that completely ignores the vast array of intersecting factors as well as simple luck and personal circumstance.

Also—trans people in places like North America or certain parts of Europe will always be privileged over trans people in places with cultural variations and slower acceptance of gender deviation, probably in ways we won’t be able to ever imagine. So listen to trans people who do have those experiences.

[05raine]

Human!Arcee

For the second installment in my human tfp transformers series, we have Arcee!!

She’s another one who’s design I revamped recently, so her design is a lot closer to what I originally imagined it to be, but lacked to talent to execute.

Design notes under cut vvv

Arcee was the second one I came up with a design for, and originally I tried to keep the sort of leather jacket a similarity between all the autobots, but I dropped that when I got to Ratchet and Bulkhead. However, I did try to keep that sort of cyber-punk/sci-fi/racer/mechanic look to them all to keep them true to their robotic origins.

With Arcee I tried to give her a motorcyclist/olympic runner build and look. She’s trained to run fast and kick hard!

It was also around this time of her first design where I tried to carry some of the transformer’s original designs through to their human ones, I did this through their footwear. I tried to mimic their original sort of leg designs with the shoes and it ended up with most of them having really cool looking boots if I do say so myself. They also help retain that sort of sharp, robotic feel to them all.

Arcee’s human design has a few scars here and there, and some tattoos to mimic her bike paint job. While her human design may come off a bit masculine, she still has a femme touch to her, long hair, heels, eyeshadow etc. I tried my best 😭

She of course has the autobot insignia as a necklace charm, and a few pins on her jacket. Yes, I head-canon her as a lesbian, sue me

It did actually take me a while to get her hair to a point that I liked while it stayed reminiscent of her original design, but I got there eventually!

This series has actually given me a lot of appreciation for shape language. Some transformers have sharper edges and shapes while some may have rounder or more squared edges, and translating that to a human design has been pretty fun!

And of course, as usual, here’s Arcee’s original 2023 design that was kind of horrendous and not as faithful to her original

I had designed her with far too many rounded shapes, and her torso was just way too small in proportion to what it should’ve actually been.

But I have changed, and grown, and learned, so I’m glad that I finally have the talent to do my girl some justice 😌

(jeez those eyes…*shivers*)

[pucksalotguys]

Unsteady

Featuring: Sidney Crosby

Enjoy chapter 1 of my new short fic, I won’t say much so you can all go on with a blind eye and get the full effect. Enjoy and let me know if you liked it 💙

It was the 3rd time that night that Sidney woke up in a cold sweat. He rubbed his face and looked over at the small clock that was on his bedside table, the one Emerson had gotten for him on their first anniversary, it was 3 am. The witching hour as he used to tease her about any time she woke up and bothered him to tell him about whatever dream it was she had. Back when life had meaning

He shook off the bad thoughts and went inside the bathroom as he settled for a steaming shower, the kind that was burning his skin. Somehow he should’ve known today would be hard yet he tried his best to push back all those negative thoughts and now here he was back at square one, mourning his dead wife

Time was fucked. Life was fucked. He looked at his reflection in his mirror and ran his fingers through his stubble. His eye bags were practically purple from all the sleep he had missed the last month. He looked like absolute shit and there was no point in hiding it. After getting him together the best he could he grabbed his bag and headed out the door.

It had only been a few months back at the apartment and slowly he was getting used to it, there was no way he’d be able to go back to his actual house. Not without Emerson. That house stayed empty, it was no longer a home after losing Emerson. He paid for it to get cleaned and kept everything in shape but actually living there again seemed far fetched. The apartment he was staying in now was all he needed, it was in a nice area and quiet and that was all he wanted

When he reached the hallway, he bumped into a woman in her late 20’s struggling to carry a large, awkwardly shaped box and watched as everything spilled “Oh god are you alright ? I’m so sorry” she apologized immediately 

He shot her a quick look. "I'm fine," he said curtly, clearly not in the mood for pleasantries “Be careful next time” “Sorry” she whispered “Uh see you around” “Let’s hope not” Sidney said back as he walked away from her

For the rest of the week, their paths crossed several times. Sidney would take the stairs, trying to avoid any interactions, but every time he did see her, she didn’t seem to get the hint he wasn’t in the mood to talk.

Finally, on a Thursday afternoon, Sidney was on his way to check the mail when he ran into her again. This time, she was standing near the door, fumbling with a package. 

“Oh hey” she said, offering her hand. "I’m Harlow, I live next door"

He hesitated for a second, then simply nodded “Sidney” he replied briefly, not giving much more

“Since we live on the same floor” Harlow continued, trying to push through the tension. “If you need anything, feel free to knock.” Sidney looked at her, his expression unreadable. “Thanks,” he said, and before she could say anything else, he stepped back inside his apartment, the door closing behind him

Harlow stood there for a moment, wondering what had just happened. Was he just a private person? Or had she somehow rubbed him the wrong way?

The next few days were no better. Harlow found herself thinking about the encounter more than she liked to admit. What had she done to upset him ? Was it her presence, the fact that she was his new neighbor ? It bothered her to no end

Finally, on a rainy Saturday, Harlow found herself staring out the window again, the loneliness creeping back. She settled for actually stepping outside on her balcony and simply stood there. Rain always brought back shit memories and more than anything it made her nervous. It brought her back to a time she wanted so badly to forget. She turned her head and that’s when she saw him and panicked for a moment.

There he was, also standing on his balcony, staring out into the mist as if was waiting for life to simply wake him up from whatever dream he was in. Without thinking, Harlow spoke first

 “It’s a miserable day, isn’t it?” she said, her voice carrying over the sound of rain.

Sidney didn’t immediately respond, but when he did, his voice was quieter, more tired than before. “I guess.” Harlow glanced over at her, unsure if he wanted her there, but something in his eyes stopped her from retreating. “You live here long ?” she asked. “It’s so plain around here”

Sidney gave a short laugh, but it didn’t sound like he was amused at all “Yeah okay” he responded before he turned away

“I get it,” Harlow said gently. “Grief’s a funny thing. It can turn even the most ordinary things into reminders of... everything you’ve lost.”

The comment made Sidney snap his head back towards her, his gaze darkened as he laid his eyes on her “The hell is that supposed to mean ?”

“I’m sorry about your wife,” Harlow said finally, her voice barely above a whisper “I know it’s been tough and I just wanted to say that I-” “Don’t mention her again” Sidney said coldly “Do you understand ? Just because you moved in and you wanna be annoying trying to talk to me all the damn time doesn’t mean I want to. Keep to yourself and stay out of my way” “Got it” Harlow nodded “I’m sorry” Sidney shook his head and stepped back inside. Perhaps he was too rude but the mere mention of Emerson did that to him. She should be alive, she should be with him. They should’ve been discussing when they’d start trying for kids, where they’d go to vacation that summer. Never did he think he’d have to live without her so soon. It was tearing him up inside and sooner than later he’d know he’d blow up

***************************************************

In the weeks that followed Harlow avoided Sidney every chance she could. If he took the elevator she took the stairs, if he was coming towards her she’d turn the other way. It wasn’t until one night that power went out in the building that she held her flashlight and walked out of her apartment only to see him slumped by his door “Mr.Crosby” she said softly “Are you okay ?”

Harlow took a step closer and flashed her phone light on him and that's when it hit her, he was drunk. She gently touched his shoulder and shook him slightly “Hey….hey Sidney, you okay ?”

“Em….Emerson” he mumbled batting his eyes open “It’s you” he moved his hand to caress her cheek “You’re here”

Harlow breathed heavily upon his touch and gently removed it “We gotta get you inside, where’s your key ?”

“Emerson why’d you leave me” Sidney slurred “I’m sorry Em, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I took longer, I’m sorry…come back please come back already”

She did her best to ignore him, looking for any sign of a key or even a wallet and found his pockets empty. For a moment she debated leaving him there or calling security to come get him but after hearing what she did on tv and how he was on sabbatical, she knew it wouldn’t be ideal so instead she took him to her place.

For once she was thankful a power outage had happened because at least then she couldn’t exactly see his face in her dimly lit living room. She lit up some candles on her dining table and sat there watching him. She had fallen asleep when she suddenly heard movement followed by cursing

“Holy shit” Sidney murmured as he tried to get up from her coach “Why is it dark ?”

“H-Hey” Harlow stuttered out

Sidney squinted as he made eye contact with her then widened his eyes “Why the hell are you in my apartment ? Are you fucking stalking me now ?”

“This is MY apartment” Harlow snapped “You’re in my apartment because you got drunk and lost your wallet and keys and you slumped right by your door like a slob. I brought you in here because I know security would have a bitch fest with you. Believe me I regret my decision immensely”

Sidney felt around his pants and pockets quickly, realizing he in fact had no wallet, keys or even his phone. He shook his head “I….I left everything back at the bar, I only had 2 beers”

“You don’t smell like 2 beers” she commented “Whatever happened clearly got the best of you, I should’ve just called security and they would have handled you”

“Why is your place dark ?” Sidney asked as he looked around “There’s no light”

“Power outage” Harlow nodded “Started around 2 this afternoon and it’s now 8 and still out, management downstairs said we’ll have it back by tomorrow morning at the latest”

He rubbed the back of his neck anxiously and nodded “I uh….sorry for yelling at you like that”

“It’s okay” she said “You were freaked out, I get it”

Sidney reached as he grabbed a candle that was on her coffee table and brought it up to his face so he could see her better “Harlow…Harlow what ?”

“Meyer” she answered quietly

“Harlow Meyer” nodded “I’m Sidney, Sidney Crosby”

“I know” Harlow responded “Thanks for helping me” he looked at her “Listen I know you probably know who I am but just….don’t mention anything alright ? I’ve been on a break and if somehow this gets to the team then they’ll ask me to take more time off and I don’t want that. I’m close to getting back and I don’t want anything fucking that up. If you want money I can give you some, just name the amount and it’s yours”

“I don’t want money,  you have my word I won’t tell a soul. I promise you” Harlow looked at him “I swear”

Sidney hesitated and nodded, looking down at his hands “So uh you’re new here ?”

“Yeah, just got here like a month ago” she answered

“You like it so far ?” he asked

“My neighbor’s kind of an ass but other than that it’s a pretty decent city” Harlow chuckled

Sidney laughed, he genuinely laughed at her comment and grinned, it seemed like it had been forever since he last did that and suddenly Emerson came to his mind and suddenly he felt like he was betraying her in some way

“Well I’m out” he cleared his throat “I’ll have some papers for you to sign tomorrow and what not” “Wait what ?” Harlow asked confused “I’m literally swearing I won’t tell anyone to your face and you’re gonna make me sign some document ?” 

“I don’t know you” he looked at her “I can’t trust you”

She shook her head in disbelief “I can’t believe I helped you out, I should’ve left you out there”

“Why didn’t you ?” he asked

“You looked a mess” she admitted “Clearly you’re struggling”

“I’m not some fucking weirdo alright ? I went to a bar, had some drinks and then when I walked back I felt it all. I’m not some alcoholic who gets drunk every day just to drink, that’s for weak minded people”

“People who struggling with alcohol have an addiction, they’re not weak” Harlow spoke “They can’t help it” “Yeah alright well I’m letting you know all I had were some beers and that this won’t happen again and I’ll have something for you to sign tomorrow” “Just leave already” she pointed to the door He hastily walked out and headed downstairs to get security to let him into his apartment after telling them he had lost his keys. He wasted no time once inside and immediately laid in bed as he reached for the framed picture on his nightstand of him and Emerson and hugged it tightly to his chest.

Today would’ve been their 3 year wedding anniversary and she was gone. Sidney was a widow before he was 40. He still remembered where he was when he got the call about her being rushed to the hospital and how he had convinced himself she was okay. How the heart attack was just minor and she’d be okay but that wasn’t true

The doctor's voice telling him she was gone played over and over in his head and soon he was crying, it was a nightmare he re-lived every single day that was taking over him. The same nightmare that caused him to fall asleep and wake up in that cold sweat every morning.

The next day he woke up and made his way to the bar to collect his wallet, keys and phone he had left behind. After paying his tab and giving the bartender a hefty check to not say a word he stopped by his usual coffee shop to grab something to eat and settled by a nearby bench on a park. It was then that he spotted her and sighed, she was like some tick that just wouldn’t leave him It was day time now and he had a better look at her, she was tall, fit with some brunette hair and seemed overly focused on counting all the donuts in her box. He finished his food and followed her for a bit and when he saw where she stopped and went in he felt his stomach drop. After last night’s fiasco and him talking down to her there she was walking into an AA meeting in the city's treatment center. He paused for a moment and looked down at his phone, his screensaver of Emerson lighting up his phone as if to tell him he knew what he needed to do. What he didn’t know was that he’d soon find out just how much Harlow understood him.