#Your on your own kid. Yeah you can face this. Your on your own kid. You always have been.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Chook and Gremlin

Kewis x Child!Reader (Chook) x Gremlin

Summary: Gremlin's your future best friend

Kristie watches warily as Katie and Caitlin's daughter goes stomping around her living room.

It's the first time they've babysat Katie and Caitlin's little Gremlin before and, despite Sam insisting you'd get along with the little toddler, Kristie still has her doubts.

You seem a little wary too, shuffling on your feet and clutching a dinosaur in your hand as you watch as Gremlin explores her new surroundings.

"You don't have to play just yet," Kristie says, hand carding through your hair gently as you hide behind her leg," We'll go at your own pace, chook."

You nod, a slight up and down motion of your head that Kristie barely feels against her hand.

"Mommy," You whisper," Does she like dinos?"

"I'm not sure. Do you want to go and ask?"

"I...I have another dino mask. We could be dinos together?"

"It's sweet of you to share your toys."

"I go get them?"

"Of course."

You disappear into your bedroom and Kristie sits at the kitchen table supervising Gremlin's exploring.

You don't really have any friends outside of those at school and you certainly aren't friends with someone so many years younger than yourself.

But there's a baby coming, another little presence that you have no idea about. A baby is coming and Kristie can't help but worry that she's made a terrible decision and already ruined your life.

She and Sam had floated the idea, of course, about how you would feel having a little sibling. You'd been dismissive and uncaring with only a quick question of 'do I have to share all of my toys?'.

You'd given no indication of your feelings on the matter. No indication if you had suspicions on why you'd even been asked.

Kristie had never seen you interact with kids younger than you before and yet, here is one now.

A little toddler with a face like thunder and a little wrinkled nose as she attempts to climb the cat tree to pet Helen.

Kristie goes to stand but Sam's quicker, crossing the room and plucking Gremlin away from harm by the back of her overalls.

"Cats can scratch," She warns," If you pet them wrong."

Gremlin's little face scrunches up. "I know! Have two cats at home! Coopurr an' Spicy!"

"Mommy!" Kristie's attention shifts from Sam and Gremlin to your voice and she finally heaves herself up to walk the path to your bedroom.

"My chook? What's wrong?"

"Can't-Can't find my other dino mask! Jus-Just the dragon one!"

You look distraught, your velociraptor mask in one hand and your dragon mask in the other.

"That's alri-"

"No! What if she doesn't like dragons?"

"I'm sure she'll love dragons." Kristie sits on the floor, gently reaching for your waist and drawing you forward until you're standing in front of her. "What's wrong? Huh? What's got you so worried?"

Your bottom lip wobbles dangerously and Kristie can see your eyes get all watery like you're about to cry.

"What...What if she thinks I'm broken?"

"Broken? Why would she think you're broken?"

You look down, silent for a moment as you shuffle your feet. "Because I'm sick," You whisper," And sometimes I'm not really here..."

"Oh, chookie...You're not broken. I promise. You're not broken at all. You're just a little different to other kids and that's okay. I promise that Gremlin won't think you're broken at all and I'm sure she'd love being a dragon instead of a dino."

You sniffle. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. Do you want a cuddle before we go back out there?"

"Yes, please."

When you finally end up back in the living room, Sam is dangling Gremlin by the back of her overalls while the toddler giggles hysterically.

"You've got this," Kristie whispers to you," You and Gremlin are going to be great friends. I know it."

You shuffle forward slowly, tugging on Sam's leg so she knows to let your new friend down.

"Here," You say, handing over the mask," It's a dragon. They breath fire."

"Dragon?" Gremlin asks, head cocking to the side.

You nod. "Dragon. They're like dinosaurs but with big wings and fire."

Gremlin grins. "I like dragons. Dragons eat people!"

She turns to look at Sam as she pulls the mask on.

Her eyes dart to your velociraptor mask. "Dinosaurs eat people too?"

You nod. "They can." You slip on your mask.

"Good," She says," Now, we eat auntie Sam!"

[nerdygirlramblings]

Ren wants her story told, y'all 😂 She keeps feeding me ideas.

previous

The pounding on your door wakes you. "Need to get scran 'fore the mess closes!" Johnny bellows.

You disentangle yourself from the covers and roll out of bed, shaking off the remains of sleep. Captain Price had you training on the rubble last night at 2300 hours. He wanted to be sure things were dark enough. He sent you in alone or with one of the others practicing with the night vision goggles, a first for you, and following directions blind. He also had you with him, being Soap's or Ghost's or Gaz's eyes. "Never know who's gunna be where when shit goes sideways. Need to know you can follow the path even if ya can't see it. An' tha' ya can get the others ta safety."

Well not as physically demanding as the training had been, the night had been grueling nonetheless. The green glare of the night vision goggles through you off more than you expected, and despite listening well, you still ended up covered in bruises from when you accidentally walked into a wall or other debris. By the end of the night though, you were proud to say that you'd gotten a sense of distance without a visual and how it differed man to man so when Ghost told you, "Take 10 steps then turn right," you knew to account for his stride and took 15 to avoid collisions.

Giving directions was the hardest for that same reason. Your stride and your frame so much smaller than that of the men on the team that you were constantly correcting your own calculations. You knew it would take a little bit of time, but you hated the thought that you were holding them up.

"Nae worry," Johnny said when he overshot the opening you were trying to get him through. Thankfully, he knew the terrain well enough not to go galavanting off and was able to backtrack to where he needed to be.

It was on one of the stretches where you were practicing your instructions to better fit the task force that you realized how cold you were despite the jumper you wore. Sometime after half two, Gaz tapped your shoulder and held out a plain grey ASDA fleece blanket.

You'd somehow missed the small stack of them on the back seat of the golf buggy, but you recognized the ASDA tag on the blanket at the bottom and took what was in Gaz's hand gratefully. Though thin, the blanket somehow held all the warmth of home. You wrapped it around your shoulders anytime you we're in the buggy with Price, making a note to yourself about triple checking the weather before your next training and to speak to Adam about top layers in your size.

Now the blanket, along with the borrowed jersey and overly large top layers, lay piled on the top of your bed. Since he'd pulled the jersey from what you assumed was a communal footlocker, you felt you had to bring it back to the barracks once clean. From how Price talked about them, you don't think the top layers need to be returned. The blanket you planned to keep because it was so warm and so easily replaceable.

You crack open the door and see Johnny's smiling face in the hallway. He leans against the jam as you turn to get ready. He looks avidly around your room, but you don't invite him in, and he respects the sanctity of your space. "C'mon, lass, brekkie ends soon. Ye doan wan' tae miss a meal when we'll be trainin' 'gain later."

You refrain from groaning but had hoped Price was only kidding when he said you'd be back out at the training facilities again in the afternoon. Instead you ask, "Do I have time to get cleaned up?"

He makes a big show of looking at the time on his phone. "Aye, Ah guess." You grab clean clothes and hoist your shower tote as he says, "Meet us in the mess in 10, yeah?" He heads off towards the mess as you dart into the bathroom.

As you quickly clean up, Soap heads to the mess to grab a tray of food for you in case the mess lines close before you get there. He quickly piles two plates full. He's watched you at meals and knows how much you gravitate to fruits and vegetables, so he dumps a double portion on your plate. He adds a bowl of yogurt and granola so you have protein for the day. His plate is covered with rashers and eggs.

He finds the team and puts both plates down. At Price's raised eyebrow, Johnny comments, "Ren was still sleepin' when Ah went tae find 'er. Told 'er to be here in ten. Ah think trainin' is wearin' 'er down."

Price hums. "Maybe we can find a way for a break soon."

Ghost hasn't taken his eyes off Soap since the Scot sat down. "What else, mutt?" He leveles a glare at the man. "Ya look like yer schemin'."

Soap smiles wide at his pack, leaning over the table to draw the others close. What he has to share isn't for others to hear. "All yoor things are on 'er bed." He pauses, long and pointed, before delivering the news he is giddiest to share. "Almost looks like she's makin' a nest."

next

~~

taglist: @sirbonesly @z-wantstowrite @thriving-n-jiving @cecelia97 @theycallmevalen @boogeysmoth @cryingpages @riley13 @luxylucylou @lucienofthelakes @ilyztwo @chaosundcoffee @lostintransist @thegreyjoyed

[shanastoryteller]

Happy Valentine's Day! I love your work! fma? Something with havoc? Or something with Leon from Merlin?

a continuation of 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11

They spend a lot of time talking with Ed, but not that much time talking about him, comparatively. It's like the bar is it's own private space, somehow separated from the real world and all its accompanying complications. It's like Ed's pulled a piece of Resembool into Central through the force of is presence alone.

Which means Havoc's not expecting it when they're all at the office working late, except for Roy for reasons the rest of them are trying not to worry too much over, and Maes leans against his desk and says, "So. Edward."

His head pops up, looking around, but it's just the rest of their office who's also staring at Maes.

Maes rolls his eyes. "We're not bugged right now. It's fine."

The right now should really concern him more than it does. "Okay. What about him?"

"You're the one that knew him first, right?" he asks.

He nods warily.

"Did you know about his brother?"

Havoc stares. Like anyone could know Ed without knowing Al. The two of them had been joined at the hip as kids. They still were, really, since Ed is willing to tolerate city life so Al can teach at the university. "Alphonse? Yeah. What about him?"

"Did you know that he's an alchemist?" Maes asks.

There's a beat of disbelieving silence and then Havoc's laughing in his face.

He can't help it. Maes is dumbfounded and everyone else is looking at him like he's crazy, but it's ridiculous. Does he know that Al is an alchemist? Does he know that Alphonse Elric is an alchemist?

"Jean," Riza snaps finally and he waves at them, wiping the tears from his eyes and forcing himself back under control.

"Hughes, man, come on," he says. "Are you messing with me? Yeah, of course, they've been doing alchemy since they were knee height. They redirected the town river before I'd left. On request, but still."

"They?" Breda repeats. "Are you saying Ed's an alchemist too?"

They can't be serious. Has it never really come up? He casts his mind back, but Ed doesn't do alchemy at the bar. Well, not that he's noticed anyway, and Ed's good enough that he wouldn't notice if Ed didn't want him too. "Ed's the scariest alchemist I know."

Sure, both of the Elrics could bend bedrock to their will and transmute seemingly anything out of thin air, but Al at least had the restraint to ask if that's something he should do before acting. Ed rarely bothered.

Roy had been a weapon during the war, like all the other state alchemists. But they should all count their lucky stars that the Elric brothers had been too young to be drafted.

[luvst4rc0r3]

CAN YOU WRITE A JINX X F!READER WHERE READER HAS A KID AND JINX DOESNT KNOW IT YET??

TY IF YOU DO

Yess I love this request

“Unexpected Visit”

It’s a Saturday morning, the sunlight spilling lazily through your kitchen window as you scramble around trying to keep things in order. Your little one is still sleeping, curled up on the couch with a blanket tangled around them like a cocoon. You’ve got a coffee in hand, a mountain of laundry to fold, and the last thing on your mind is anything chaotic—until the doorbell rings.

You freeze.

Jinx.

You glance at the clock. It’s just past noon. No one ever visits unannounced, except… her. You didn’t expect her to pop by today, especially after the week you’ve had. You wipe your hands on your apron and head for the door.

When you open it, she’s standing there, her hair a mess, an eager grin stretched across her face. Her eyes are wide with excitement.

“Surprise!” she says, bouncing on her heels like a kid on Christmas morning. “You ready for some fun?”

You blink, caught off guard. “Jinx, uh… what are you—?”

But then you hear the soft snoring from the living room, and her gaze flickers behind you. Her eyes narrow with curiosity.

“What was that? Was that…?” she trails off, tilting her head.

“Shh,” you hiss, quickly stepping back from the door. “Keep your voice down. My kid is asleep.”

Jinx blinks, the words hanging in the air for a moment. Her expression shifts from playful confusion to something… more cautious. “Kid?”

You wince, realizing you didn’t exactly mean to spill that detail yet. It’s been a while since you thought about your situation as anything more than normal. You didn’t think Jinx would show up today, much less find out about your life outside of work or your occasional hangouts.

“Yeah, a kid,” you say, trying to keep it light. “I’m a single parent, Jinx. Didn’t think I’d need to mention it yet.” You let out a small laugh, but she’s staring at you, completely silent.

She steps into the doorway without waiting for an invitation, glancing around at the cozy, somewhat cluttered home. A few toys are scattered on the floor, and the smell of pancakes still lingers in the air.

“So, uh,” she begins, sounding awkward for the first time in your memory. “Is this like, uh… what, a big secret or something?”

You shake your head, letting out a soft sigh. “It’s not a secret. It’s just… complicated. And, I wasn’t really planning on telling anyone about my kid yet.”

Jinx’s eyes soften, and she rubs the back of her neck, looking around the room in an almost shy way. “Well, you’re, like, a lot cooler than I thought if you can handle that all on your own,” she mutters.

You blink at her. “What do you mean?”

She looks at you with those familiar, mischievous eyes. “You’re doing everything. The mom thing, the work thing… and you still let me come over and drag you into my chaos every now and then. That’s cool.”

Your heart flutters a little, a mix of amusement and warmth spreading through you. Jinx wasn’t always the best at expressing her feelings, but you could tell when she meant something.

“Well, someone has to,” you reply, grinning. “And I guess I’m the lucky one.”

She bites her lip, eyes darting toward the couch where your child is still snoozing, peaceful and unaware of the chaos outside.

“Can I… meet them?”

You pause. You weren’t sure how she would act in this kind of situation, but something about the way she asked makes you want to say yes. You nod, feeling your nerves settle a little.

“Okay, but you have to be quiet,” you whisper as you lead her toward the living room.

When she sees your child, her whole demeanor shifts. Her usual manic energy quiets, her eyes softening as she looks at the little one. Jinx crouches down, her fingers hovering just above their sleeping form, unsure of what to do.

“I don’t… I’ve never really been around kids,” she admits, voice barely above a whisper.

You smile, a little surprised at how gentle her tone is. “It’s okay. You don’t have to do anything.”

Jinx nods, standing back up, her eyes lingering on your kid a little longer. For once, the wildness that usually marks her movements is replaced with something more reserved.

“Your kid’s cute,” she says quietly.

You laugh softly. “Yeah, they are.”

Jinx’s eyes flicker back to you, an almost awkward pause settling in the air. “I didn’t mean to, you know… show up uninvited or anything. I just… wanted to see you. Didn’t realize you had all this going on.”

You smile, your heart swelling just a bit. “I didn’t expect you to be so… calm about it.”

“I’m not that bad, right?” Jinx pouts, then grins. “Just… got a lot of energy. But if you need help with anything… I’m pretty good at keeping busy, y’know?”

The offer hangs in the air, and for a moment, you just stand there, watching her. There’s a sincerity in her words that catches you off guard, and you realize she’s not just offering to be part of your world for the fun of it. She genuinely wants to be involved, even if it’s in her own chaotic way.

“Thanks, Jinx,” you say softly, smiling at her. “That means a lot.”

She grins back, her usual playful spark returning. “No problem. Just, uh… don’t expect me to start doing kid stuff. I’m good with fun stuff.” She winks.

The little one stirs on the couch and yawns, rubbing their eyes. Jinx freezes mid-wink, watching them. You turn your head to see your kid slowly sitting up, eyes blinking in confusion. They take in Jinx’s appearance with curious eyes before looking at you.

“Mommy?” they ask softly, still half-asleep.

You bend down and smile, your heart melting. “Yes, sweetie?”

“This is…?” They gesture to Jinx, clearly confused but eager to know more.

Jinx crouches down to their level, her usual mischievous grin back in full force. “I’m… mommy’s special friend!” she says, her tone dramatically exaggerated as she holds out a hand. “Jinx”

Your kid blinks at her, then looks back at you, as if making sure it’s all okay. You give them an encouraging smile.

“Mommy’s special friend,” you confirm gently. “Jinx is a bit… crazy, but she’s a good person.”

Jinx’s eyes widen at your words, a small blush coloring her cheeks. She looks at your little one again, her expression softening. “I promise, I’m more fun than I look,” she says with a playful wink.

Your kid tilts their head, then gives a shy smile, stretching their arms. “Okay, Jinx! Can you make pancakes like mommy?”

Jinx’s eyes sparkle at the challenge. “Oh, pancakes? I definitely can do that.”

And just like that, she’s included—welcomed into your little family’s world in her own chaotic, Jinx-y way. As the morning slips into afternoon, you can’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, having someone like Jinx around isn’t the worst thing that’s ever happened.

This was a cute request

I want food

[candycandy00]

Once Upon a Time - A Toji x Reader Fanfic Part 2

Retold fairytales featuring the JJK men! This is Snow White featuring Toji! You live in a snowy village and have a crush on your handsome neighbor Toji, unaware that he’s been hired by the queen to kill you.

Part 1 | Part 2

Read Choso x Rapunzel Here!

Read Sukuna x Sleeping Beauty Here!

Read Gojo x Cinderella Here!

Smut. 18+. Fem Reader. Reader as Snow White. Age gap (Reader is early 20’s, Toji is mid 30’s). Rough sex. Slight size difference kink. Death of side characters.

Dividers by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more and @benkeibear!

You awake the next morning to the sound of a fire crackling. For a moment, you wonder how your father managed to tend the fire without your help, then you remember you’re not at home.

Rising up from the rug on the floor, you first notice Toji’s coat falling from your shoulders. Then you notice that you’re naked beneath it. Oh. So that really happened. It wasn’t just another of your dreams. 

You find your dress a few feet away and begin pulling it over your head and tying the laces at the front. A sound comes from behind you, and you turn to see Toji in the kitchen area, standing over the small stove. There’s a kettle being heated. 

“Thought I’d make us some coffee,” he says.

You nod numbly, still processing the night before as you look around. The cabin looks different in the light of day spilling in through the two main windows. What seemed warm and cozy last night looks gray and dull today. 

Looking out a window, you see that the storm is over. There’s no snow, no wind, only the silence that follows a blizzard as the woods are buried under a blanket of heavy white. Trudging through that snow will be difficult, but you feel certain you and Toji can do it. 

You join him at the small table, taking a warm cup and letting it heat your hands for a moment before taking a sip. 

Toji takes a drink of his own, then sits his cup on the table. “We need to talk.”

You look up in alarm. His tone is serious enough to make you worry. Is this going to be the part where he ultimately rejects you? Tells you last night was fun but it can never happen again? 

Taking a deep breath, you steel yourself and say, “Okay. What do we need to talk about?”

The next words out of his mouth are the last ones you expected. 

“What’s your connection to the queen?”

You blink. “The queen? I’ve never met her.”

He leans slightly over the table, toward you. “Are you sure? Think really hard. Maybe you met her when you were a kid.”

You find yourself drawing back a little from the table, unsure of where he’s going with these questions. “If I ever met her, I don’t remember it,” you say. “Why would you think I have a connection to the queen?”

“Because she hired me to kill you.”

You freeze. What did he just say? Surely you heard him wrong. “Huh?”

His eyes are focused on yours, trapping you in his steely gaze. “The queen hired me to kill you. She told me to make it messy, so it seems personal.”

Your heart begins racing, a spike of fear shooting through you as the warm mug in your hand begins to tremble. You sit it down on the table, nearly spilling it, then look toward the door of the cabin. Could you make it out? 

“Relax,” he tells you. “If I was gonna go through with it, you never would’ve woken up this morning.”

Your eyes return to his face. In a small, shaky voice, you ask, “Why didn’t you?”

His serious expression relaxes a little. “I just decided I like you better alive than dead.”

Hearing him say that calms your nerves a bit. It’s true that it would have been incredibly easy to kill you while you slept, so if Toji was going to murder you, he would have done it then. 

“But why would she want me dead?” you ask. 

Toji leans back against his chair. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out. At first I thought it was because you’re prettier than her, but-“

“I am?”

He almost smiles at you. “According to her weird magic mirror anyway.”

Now you’re even more confused. “She has a magic mirror?”

“Yeah. Every day she asks it to show the most beautiful woman in the kingdom. A couple days ago it showed you.”

You feel yourself blushing. Are you that beautiful? You’ve never seen yourself that way, and you don’t recall getting any extra attention in the village. You wonder if Toji agrees with the mirror, but you’re too shy to ask. 

Apparently he can take a hint. 

“I don’t know about the whole kingdom, but you’re definitely a lot more beautiful than the queen,” he says. 

The comment makes your heart skip a beat, but you don’t have time to focus on that. You look up as Toji continues what he was going to say. 

“It’s not just the mirror,” he tells you. “She called you a threat to her rule, then referred to you as a loose end. There’s some connection there.”

Your mind is racing. You’ve never met the queen, unless it was before you were old enough to remember. But why would you have ever met her? “I should ask my father,” you say. “He might know something.”

Toji shakes his head. “It’s a bad idea for you to go back to the village. The queen will have people watching.”

“But I can’t just hide here! My father is ill. He can’t make it on his own. Please, take me back to the village just for a little while, so I can check on him and ask someone to look after him while I’m gone.”

Toji looks at you, at your determined, worried expression, then sighs. “Fine. I’ll take you back, but you can’t stay long. If you wanna live, you’re gonna have to hide out for a while.”

You stand up from the table and move over to hug Toji, who doesn’t hug you back but doesn’t pull away. “Thank you.”

After pulling on your cloak, gloves, boots, and scarf, you join Toji outside the cabin, who is looking out over the forest. “I don’t think anyone followed us here,” he says. “The weather was probably too bad.”

You nod, taking his word for it. The snow is much thicker than the night before, all traces of your footprints long gone. Trudging through this to get back to the village won’t be easy, but you have to do it. You have to check on your father, and ask if he knows about some connection to the queen. 

The trek back is a quiet one. Toji doesn’t talk much, and you feel a bit awkward. Last night you felt so close to him, but today he seems so distant. Did he lure you to the cabin to kill you? If so, what made him change his mind? Was it your love confession? Or the sex? So many questions haunt your mind as you move through the woods. 

When you reach the village, it looks mundane compared to the wild revelations you’ve had this morning. Most villagers are inside, probably huddling around their fireplaces. A few of the men are working to make walking paths through the thick blanket of snow, a couple are hauling firewood into their homes, and a group of children are playing by tossing snowballs at each other. 

It’s all so very normal, you feel perfectly at ease as you open the door to your house and shake the snow from your cloak. You pull off your gloves as you walk through the living area, noting that the fire is going strong. The neighbor must have added more wood last night before leaving. You hear Toji step inside behind you and close the door, but he doesn’t follow you as you make your way to your father’s room. 

Until you scream. 

Because your father is lying in his bed, a sword standing straight up, impaled through his stomach and pinning him to the straw mattress. Blood has soaked the covers and now drips from the bed, making a small pool on the floor. 

Toji rushes into the room, then immediately pulls you into his arms. “Don’t look,” he says, one strong hand rubbing your back. 

After a few seconds, he pulls away and says, “Let me go see what happened.”

You nod, keeping your face turned away as he goes over to examine the scene. Tears are flooding your eyes, no matter how much you wipe them away with your hands. “Who could do this?!” you cry. “He was just a sick old man! He never hurt a soul!”

You hear Toji’s voice from across the room. “This is a standard issue sword for royal guards. The queen must have ordered-“

His voice cuts off, and before you can question it, you hear his footsteps approaching quickly. Then all at once he’s standing right in front of you, his hands firm on your shoulders. 

“Listen very carefully,” he says, looking at you intently. “Your father is still breathing. He looks like he wants to see you. But he is dying. There’s nothing we can do to stop that.”

Your eyes shift over to the grisly scent once again. You nod weakly to Toji, but you can’t stop the hope blooming in your heart. He’s not dead yet! Maybe… maybe you can do something to help him! 

Carefully, with Toji by your side, you step over to the bed. Your father is staring up at you, and his eyes tear up. “My darling…” he whispers, reaching one trembling hand toward your face. 

You grab his hand and hold it tightly, kneeling down to hear him better. “I’m here, father!”

“I have to tell you… who you are…”

“It’s okay! Don’t strain yourself, please!”

His eyes focus in on you, and he seems to gain a bit of strength in his determination to speak to you. “You were born… to the former king and queen… my closest friends…”

You freeze. “What?”

“Your mother died in childbirth… that was true. Your father… wanted a mother for you… so he married the current queen. He died… only two months later.”

Tears are overflowing from your eyes. “You’re my father!”

He smiles, but squeezes your hand and goes on. “The new queen ordered your death… but I begged her… to spare you. She agreed, if I would take you to a remote village… and never tell anyone the truth. You were barely taking your first steps… so I resigned as royal advisor… and raised you as my own.”

Your father pauses and coughs, blood speckling the collar of his shirt. “She broke the agreement,” he says desperately, his grip on your hand tightening. “She fears you will claim… your rightful place as queen! She will come for you!”

Suddenly he lifts his free hand and points toward the dresser on the other side of the bed. “There… in the bottom drawer!”

You press your lips to his forehead. “I understand! I heard you! I’ll be careful and I won’t let the queen kill me!”

A look of relief passes over his pained face. “I was… so proud… to be your father.”

You smile through your tears. “I and I have felt so fortunate to be your daughter!”

A second later, his grip goes slack, his hand sliding from yours and dropping at his side. His eyes are closed now, and you know they will never open again. 

You let out a sob, collapsing across his bed, just above the sword, not caring that blood is staining your dress. 

Minutes pass with no sound in the room but your cries, until you hear Toji’s voice again. You almost forgot he was here. 

“I’m sorry, but we have to go. If you want to keep your promise and not get killed, I need to get you back to the cabin.”

You rise up and look at your father’s face, then toward the dresser. “Wait,” you say, wiping your face again, “he said something about the bottom drawer.”

Toji steps over and yanks the drawer out, his hands rifling through the contents. He holds up an envelope with your name on it, scrawled in your father’s handwriting. “This must be it. You can open it later, but we need to go. The queen no doubt has someone watching your house, and once they report that you’re here, she’ll send a whole company of soldiers.”

“What? Why so many?!”

“Because by now she knows I didn’t do the job, and I’m with you,” Toji says. “She knows she’ll need a fuck ton of soldiers to deal with me.”

You wonder about that, about how Toji knows the queen so well. He was just a Huntsman, right? But you don’t have time for questions now. You rush to your room and shove some clothing into a bag, then meet Toji at the front door. You glance back a toward your father’s room. “What about his burial?”

Toji is opening the door and ushering you toward it. “A neighbor will find him and take care of it. He’d much rather you get away safely than make sure he gets a proper burial. Trust me.”

You wonder if that’s his opinion as a father, but remain silent as you step outside. Just as you do, you hear a strange sound, like something moving quickly through the air. You turn to your right, where you see a thin blade stabbing straight toward you. 

Toji sees the attacker before she even turns. He reaches forward and catches the blade between his thumb and fingers, then wrenches it free of the soldier’s grasp. Before the soldier can even react, Toji has slammed an elbow into his face, shattering his nose and knocking him to the ground. 

The soldier clasps one hand over his bloody face, staring up at Toji with wide eyes. 

Toji holds the blade up, quickly examining it. “Wonder why you’re using your side dagger and not your sword,” he says, meeting the soldier’s indignant gaze. “You’re the one who killed the old man, aren’t you?”

The soldier removes his hand and yells in a broken voice, “I did what my queen asked of me! Unlike you, you traitorous dog!”

Toji’s eyes slide over to his lovely neighbor, curious what sort of reaction she has to this conversation. Will she be horrified? Sad? No. When Toji sees her face, there’s only rage there. Hell, if she had a weapon she’d probably kill this guy herself. 

That’s surprising.

But they don’t have time to indulge her. Toji flips the dagger around to point the blade downward, then rams it into the soldier’s throat. Blood bubbles up from the man’s mouth, his body jerking as he dies. 

Toji grabs her hand and pulls her along with him, taking her back into the woods where they can disappear. The queen probably has at least one more agent in the area to keep watch, but there’s no way they’re half as familiar with these woods as Toji is. 

An hour later, the two of them are back in the cabin. It should be safe for now. Only local hunters know about the cabin, and it’s located deep in the woods. 

Toji isn’t sure what to say to the crying young woman who quickly went into the bedroom and closed the door behind her. He’s never been great at consoling people. When his wife died, he didn’t want anyone to speak to him. Even hearing someone breathe nearby made him angry. But he moved on, eventually. He never stopped thinking of his wife, never stopped missing her, but it got easier as the years went by.

Over the next few days, Toji doesn’t see much of his “housemate”. She comes out of the bedroom occasionally to eat the food Toji hunts and cooks or to use the bathroom. She doesn’t talk much, except to thank Toji for his help and say she has a lot to think about. 

For his part, Toji is uncertain how he feels about her, how much time and energy he wants to put into protecting her. She’s the true heir to the throne, and he’d love nothing more than to see the queen lose her crown, but this heir is so sweet, so naive, he doubts she’ll decide to pursue it. 

And if she doesn’t… well, he likes her but he’s not going to risk his life for someone content to hide for the rest of her life. 

After five days have passed, she emerges from the bedroom and stands in front of Toji in the kitchen, the envelope he found in the drawer clutched in her hand. 

“It’s a letter from my father,” she says, “explaining what he told me in more detail. He thought the queen had the king - I mean my birth father - killed, but could never find proof.”

Toji sighs. “Sounds like something the queen would do.”

She holds out a silver necklace. “He also left me this. I think it’s supposed to be important.”

Toji takes the necklace and looks closely at the pendant. He recognizes it instantly. It’s in the shape of a cross that ends in an anchor, with golden vines wrapped around it. “This is the royal family’s crest,” he tells her. “Every kid born to the royal family is given one of these. It’s basically proof you’re the heir.””

He hands the necklace back to her and she stares at it numbly. All of this must seem surreal to her. A week ago she was just a normal young woman living in a small village. Today she’s the rightful queen of the land. 

She looks up at him, meeting his gaze. “Toji, can you please help me?”

Here it comes. She’s going to ask him to protect her, to help her hide or perhaps escape to a neighboring kingdom. She’s such a pure, sweet woman, but he’ll turn her down. 

“Help you do what?” he asks, already knowing the answer. 

“Kill the queen.”

Toji blinks. Did he hear her right? 

She goes on, unbothered by his confusion. “She killed both my fathers, and wants to kill me. I can’t forgive that, and I can’t just walk away. I don’t even know if I want to be a ruler, but I know I can’t tolerate her sitting on the throne.”

Toji can’t stop a grin from spreading over his face. “Tell you what, if you pay off my gambling debts once you get access to the royal treasury, I’ll kill anyone you want.”

She steps closer, putting one hand on his arm. “Thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without your help. You’ve saved me twice now. I knew I was right when I said you’re a good man.”

There’s a spark of something kinetic between them, and Toji thinks she’s much more attractive now than she was a few days ago. The fiery resolve in her eyes is intoxicating. But he laughs as he says, “A good man who just agreed to kill someone for money.”

“Someone who deserves it,” she says back, her body inching closer to his. 

Toji’s arms wrap around her, pulling her up against him. “I like this new side of you,” he says.

She looks away almost shyly, but seems to relax in his arms. “I don’t think it’s new. Something just had to drag this side of me out.”

He leans down and kisses her, lightly grinding his hips into her. “I can drag something out of you alright, but only if I can ram it back in.”

Her eyes flick up to his face again. In a small voice, she says, “You can do whatever you want to me. Because I love you.”

Toji suddenly pushes you against the nearest wall, your back scraping the wood of the cabin. His hands are tearing your dress open and jerking it down off your shoulders. His movements are hurried, as if he can’t wait to get you undressed. It’s so very different from the way he touched you before. There’s an urgency this time. 

Maybe last time he was just indulging a love struck young woman. Now it seems like his passion has truly been ignited. 

You pull at his shirt, eager to see that perfectly sculpted body again. He obliges you, ripping the fabric open so fast that the buttons are sent scattering across the floor. Your hands glide over his chest, feeling the muscles there, feeling his heartbeat. 

He pulls your dress the rest of the way down, letting it pool at your feet, then down go your panties. You step out of the pile of clothes and kick them out of the way, then wrap your arms around Toji’s neck as he pick you up. Your legs move around his waist as he settles you in the right position against him. 

When his throbbing cock plunges into your drenched pussy, you cry out, then bury your face in his shoulder. He fucks you against the wall, your body sandwiched tightly between it and Toji’s firm body. With each thrust, your back hits the wood again. You know you’ll have bruises tomorrow, but right now you don’t care. 

You just want to forget. In these moments of mindless pleasure, you want to forget your father dying before your eyes, your burdensome lineage, the fact that your life has been turned upside down. You only want to feel Toji inside you, filling the emptiness you’ve felt the past few days. 

His hands are on your thighs, his fingers leaving imprints in your skin, his mouth finding yours and devouring your lips. His thrusts become harder, rougher, leaving you whimpering his name and begging for more. You want him to claim your body, make it his, reduce you to a crying mess so that you won’t have to think about anything else. 

His skin is so hot against yours, his muscled abdomen rubbing exactly the right spots to send you over the edge. When you cum, he’s kissing you, eyes open and staring at your face, his grip on your thighs tightening almost painfully. He doesn’t stop fucking you, his hips continuing to buck into you as you go limp against his chest. 

Before he cums, Toji pulls out of you, splashing the wall with his seed before easing you back onto your feet. You fall into blissful oblivion as he places your exhausted body on the couch. 

It’s late in the morning the next day when Toji tells you he’s leaving the cabin for a few hours. “I know a few former guards who hate the queen as much as we do,” he says. “They might be willing to help us.”

You nod as you pour yourself a cup of tea in the kitchen. Any help at all would be very welcome. Even if it’s just someone to distract the guards while you and Toji sneak into the castle. 

Toji gives you a quick kiss on the top of your head before stepping out, and you settle into the couch to read a book you grabbed from home. The first couple of hours pass uneventfully, the only sounds in the cabin being the crackling of the fire and the pages of your book being turned.

But in the afternoon, there comes a knock at the cabin door. You freeze, wondering who it might be. Toji wouldn’t knock. Is it a hunter from the village? Or, the more frightening possibility, a royal guard or soldier who spotted Toji in town and knows you’re alone? 

You quietly get up from the couch and creep over to the door, hoping to hear some clue that could help you determine who is on the other side. There’s a knocking again, and it strikes you that it’s not a very hard knock. Then you hear a voice. 

“Hello? Is anyone here?” 

It sounds like an old woman. It’s a weak, frail voice. Still, you can’t be too careful in this situation, so you don’t answer. 

“Please, if anyone’s here, could you help me?” the voice pleads. “My legs gave out. I just need somewhere warm to sit and rest for a bit before walking back home. I saw the smoke from the chimney.”

You move to the nearest window and peek out, toward the door. You don’t see anyone. No soldiers, no hunters. You don’t have a direct line of sight to the woman, but if there was anyone with her, you’d probably see them. 

After a few more moments, you hear soft footsteps crunching snow, and a small old lady steps into view as she limps away from the door. She looks so pitiful, so weak, you find yourself running to the door and opening it. 

The woman turns around and looks at you, then smiles. “Oh, bless you, dear!”

You hurry over and take a basket from her hand, noting it’s unusual heft, as you help her inside. 

“What are you doing out in the woods alone?” you ask her as she eases herself onto the couch with a groan. 

“I was crossing through from town back to the village,” she says. 

You fix her a cup of warm tea and sit down beside her. “That’s an awfully heavy basket you’ve got.”

She laughs and pulls the basket into her lap. “I’m a fruit seller,” she says, opening the basket and revealing several red, shiny apples. “Would you like one?”

“Oh, that’s alright!” you tell her.

She pulls one apple out and reaches it to you. “Consider it a gift for letting me warm up in your cabin.”

You hesitantly take the apple and sit it on a small table beside the couch. “Thank you. It looks delicious.”

The old woman smiles kindly. For the next half hour, she sits and chats with you, telling you about her husband who died two years ago and her no good son who refuses to help her sell fruit. Then, she slowly gets to her feet and bids you farewell. 

After watching her disappear into the forest, you close the door to the cabin and return to the couch, picking up the apple as you go. 

Toji is in town, waiting to meet up with a former guard he was friendly with, when a hunter he recognizes from the village approaches him. 

“Hey, Toji. Are you still using that old hunting cabin in the woods?” he asks. 

Toji’s eyes automatically narrow. “Not recently,” he lies. “Why?”

“There was an old fruit seller asking if anyone lived out in the woods. I told her about the cabin but stressed that no one’s usually there. I think she went anyway.”

“A fruit seller?” Toji asks, feeling a sense of dread in the pit of his stomach. 

The Hunter nods. “An old woman. She had a basket full of apples.”

Toji frowns. “Apples in the dead of winter?”

The man shrugs. “I guess she had a late harvest.”

Toji leaves. He wastes no time with small talk or goodbyes. He simply runs as fast as he can back to the woods, because he remembers something the queen told him years ago. Something he’d dismissed as delusional fantasy at the time. 

She said that if she utters a specific incantation in front of the magic mirror, it can change her appearance to look like anyone she wants. 

If that was true, then the old woman could have been…

He stops thinking, only focusing on running. He tears through the woods at inhuman speed, and in record time he arrives at the cabin. He throws the door open and runs inside. 

There he finds her, his young lover, sprawled on the floor in front of the couch, a half eaten apple lying a few inches from her outstretched hand. 

[whambambatfam]

Webs of a Wing

Chapter 3

It's scrunkly time.

I hope you guys like it, I wasn't so sure about this one. T∆T

Reader ages 12 - 15

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Not long after Grayson's departure from the manor... He came along, Jason Todd.

Coming in, rough around the edges, and bringing joy to the hollow halls. Ones you've roamed like a ghost on your own for years. He's got more adolescent defiance than your whole clique put together. The type of energy that shook up the old bones of this old house and awakened hope in your heart once again.

This was the kid's first time having a solid roof over his head, warm bed to sleep in, decent food to eat and people to worry about him, a real home. Unlike Bruce, who couldn't come to terms with your relations or Dick, who felt threatened by it. Jason was loud and clear in his intentions, he wanted to make the most of his new family. Including you.

A boy with black hair, blue eyes, and a stocky build for a twelve year old stands besides Alfred. “Master Jason will be living with us in the manor. He'll be a brother of sorts to you, just as Master Dick.” but you didn't want this to be like your and Dick's unstable relationship.

Alfred smiled at the determination set on your face as you gave him your name, “It's nice to meet you.” your hand quickly outstretched to the boy, “Uh, I hope.. we can be.. friends?”

Jason's face lights up your offer, taking your hand in his, “Yeah, friends. ‘Never had a sibling before.” Tugging you closer, his hand in yours pulls you along, “Come on, show me around.”

From then on, your days spent with only Alfred for company had a new, refreshing addition. 

Alfred has allowed the two of you to start cooking your own breakfast unsupervised. Given that you don't burn the kitchen down. “How many times have you done this?” Jason huffs as he picks egg shells from the bowl he's whisking. They slip through the tongs of the fork as he scrapes them along the side.

Pouring your egg mixture into the frying pan, you smile teasingly at him. “Only a few.” You take the bowl from his frustrated hands, “Try this, it might be more your speed.”

He accepts the wrapped loaf of bread with a scowl. Pulling out the toaster with a grumble, “I'm not an idiot, I know how to fend for myself.” 

“I never said you were. I've seen you do all kinds of stuff.” You move to the sink, wetting your fingers to pluck the last bits from the bowl. “

Jason turns away, stuffing four slices into the double toaster. “So it's just cooking that i suck at?” He drops his head on the counter, arms crossing as he grumbles.

Returning to the stove, you move your own cooking egg to the side. “No! You're the best at, like, everything you do.” Tipping the contents into the pan it sizzles to life again. “A few shells won't change that.”

There's pink clinging to his ears at your praise, “I'm not good at everything..”

“Oh my- obviously!”

“What!?” Sputtering, he whips his head around.

“It's bruning!” Yanking the plug from the toaster, the blackened squares pop up together. Three out of the four of them come out half charred. 

“Tha-that doesn't count.” The heat creeping up his neck flushes his face. “You distracted me!” 

“Uhuh, yeah.” You slide the omelet onto a plate for Jason as he replaces the burnt bread. “Your eggs are done.”

Jason is quick to deflect the old butler's inquiries on the smell of burnt bread. You'd hate to have your kitchen privileges revoked. When you offer to teach him how to crack eggs and use the toaster, he tells you to shut up with an obscured smile.

You were happy. Even when the newest boy wonder was busy training his nights away with the Bat. Talking about Bruce, spending time with him, connecting with him like you never could. Even when Dick started to hang around again. Coming to the manor, eventually joining the occasional patrol. Now Nightwing, protector of Blüd Haven. Brand new spandex, stupid big collar, and everything.

It didn't hurt to see him appear to come around slowly to his successor. Eventually accepting his replacement with relative ease. When you would always just be a thorn in his side, locked in a one-sided fight for first.

"You know how to fight, right?" The two of you were sitting outside. It was as muggy as Gotham usually is but it felt nice to be out.

He snorts, tossing a stone hard across the water. "Of course. Can't get by on the streets without." The small rock hops only twice before sinking.

Swiping a smooth stone from the shoreline, you run your finger along it, inspecting each divet and groove. "Can you.. teach me?" 

Sure, you were trained in martial arts but, being on the mat differs from being on the street. While your work in Gymnastics has helped you slip through and run when need be. You knew you might have to fight back one day. Maybe you wanted to.

There's a huff of exasperation behind you "Yeah, no, not happening." 

Dick Grayson's approach was silent until he wanted you to know he was there. Arms crossed and face already set in an unimpressed look.

“What?!" Jason jumps to his feet, making his way swiftly over, "I could totally do it!" 

"Then what?" With a raise of his brow, he scoffs, "Get grounded forever?" 

"It's not like I'm gonna take them-" Dick cuts him off with a raised hand.

"Stop, Jay. You're only going to get the both of you in trouble." The older siblings' hands make their way to his hips.

Tossing your rock across a water's surface, it skips along three times before sinking. “I'm not exactly new to it.”

You're almost surprised when Dick actually responds. "I'm sorry, kid. Bruce isn't going to be happy about it either.” 

As if he would even notice. "You wouldn't have to be so.. worried if I could be taught to defend myself.” Sighing in irritation, you turn your gaze back to the water.

“You don't need to, we can protect you just fine." Dick steps up behind you, patting your head. The contact catches your breath painfully and you have to fight the urge to swat it away. "And if you really don't want anyone to worry. Stay home. Stay safe." Stay out of the way. 

When he finally leaves, you feel like you can breathe again. Jason's abrupt grasp pulls your attention back to him, "Dickie and the old man can blow smoke." His grin was brighter than the sun, his hand clasping yours as he pulled you to your feet, "Let's go."

You can't fight the pull at your own lips, feet stumbling to catch up to his sudden pace. "Right behind you."

No, it didn't hurt. Because you won't let it, because, despite it all, he always came back to you. 

After packing your schedule with martial arts training Mondays and Wednesday before stitch work and knitting circle with Alfred. Gwen decides to join your gymnastics, her studies leaving her sitting at a desk too long. Tuesdays you drag both girls to self defense classes, you've seen enough shit go down with the birds. Also, it's Gotham, they should be better equipped to handle themselves. Your photos with Mj for the paper is due Thursday morning in time for the paper to come out on Friday. That leaves the weekend up for grabs. This one in particular was claimed by both your friends and brother.

“Whatcha readin’?” 

Jason jolts in his seat, slapping his hand over his mouth to subjugate any embarrassing noises. With a bark of your name he whips around to find you snickering over his shoulder. 

Cerulean eyes narrow as he grumbles at you. “How do you do that.. it's unnatural.” 

It was unnatural to he who trains under the Bat. You used to hate being unintentionally sneaking. Mj and Gwen can pick you out of a crowd of clones, there's no way you could sneak up on either of them. But, other people? Shrieking when they finally realized you were in the same room as them. That only made you feel even more invisible, and not in the ways you wanted.

You scoff, “That's dramatic.” Now, with Jason, you can finally get a laugh from it. Settling down on the couch beside him, you recognize the book in his hand, “Hey, that's one of mine!”

Swiping it away before you have the chance to snatch it, “Ha! Shouldn't have left it out.” he lifts the novella over his head, tongue stuck out at you.

“It was in my room, on my bed.” You huff, jumping for it as he stands, holding it over your head. 

“Yeah, it was, wasn't it?” Jason smirks, waving the book just out of reach, “Y'know, you actually have taste. Sometimes.”

“Give it back!" Grabbing his forearm you try pulling it down but do better at lifting yourself off the ground.

"I'm almost done." He chuckles into his fist at your frantic cat like swiping.

"Wow. So, this is the totally cool brother you've been talking about?” At the sound of a new voice, he snaps his attention to Mj. Arms crossed as she leaned against the archway to the living room.

“Dunno.. Sounds like a bully to me.” Gwen chimes in coming up besides her. She mirrors Mjs stance, doubling the judgemental

The book falls from Jason's hands and you catch it. Tucking it away safely under your arm.“Wha- uh, no! I am totally cool, ask them!” Jason whips around to hiss at you, face flushed with mortification, “Why didn't you tell me you were bringing your friends over?”

You roll your eyes, “I did. That's, like, the one thing we talked about before school this morning.” You can just barely hear the strained ‘Oooooh, right.’ as he mumbled something about a long night under his breath. Of course, he tries to make a ‘smooth’ recovery only to be blasted by your friends. You do, eventually, come to his defense.

It's nice to bring these two sides of yourself together like this. Jason may make an ass of himself but at least he knows how to not lose face completely. It makes you proud when, at the end of their stay, they sing his praises. Insisting on involving him again in their next visit to the manor. 

He came home, he sought you out, he wanted that connection you craved. The one thing you wanted, for one of them to look away from the stage of their busy lives and find you there. Waiting at home, creating that solace from a bustling world beyond these solid walls.

Creeping your door shut, you slide the lock closed. Having someone walk in on you was never a worry before. Now, whether it be doing homework together, exchanging books, deciding anything, general complaining and gossip, avoiding chores, especially hiding from Bruce and occasionally just to annoy you. Your brother struts in whenever the whim strikes him. The prick.. Shuffling to the bed, you land on it heavily alongside your bookbag. Books, pencils, and such escape their confines, your camera ferried out on top of the pile.

With a stretch and sigh, you get ready to nip pick. Three folders, each with a plethora of candids, articles, and notes. One in particular is becoming just a smidge overcrowded. Threatening to spill its contents every time it's jostled a bit too much.

What can you say? Your brother serves more than just justice in that cute lil Robin suit, and his action shots are the best. The guy is out there having fun and it shows. Your friends even agree when you can't help gushing over your late night photography sessions.

Well, after calling you crazy for going out at night in this city. Especially, with how close to the fighting you had obviously gotten. It may have taken a while to convince them that you weren't going to get yourself caught up in the middle of a Riddler maze or Two-face shoot out.

Deciding which should go in and which should come out is always a tedious process. The one with better exposure or with neater composition? You've already got a shot of him perched on that same gargoyle but, this one's a year old now. Maybe you could keep both, like a comparison, but you couldn't possibly.. maybe.. Then you'd go over your count and need to tosse another and you'd have to pick which and-Your cell rings. 

Lost in thought, the noise makes you jump like a cat at the loud sound. Swiping the noisy thing off the sheets, you answer with a huff.

“Heyyyy.. Sorry, I can't make it tonight..” Jason's voice came through the phone with tight regret, “I've got, uh... something came up. Tomorrow, I promise.”

It was a phrase you've heard before, more times to count. They'd use such weak excuses, only for tomorrow to never come. There was no later.

“Yeah, it's okay Jay.” The response was automatic, coming without a thought. How could you deny their call to action? There were always going to be things more important. “I get it. Just.. be safe, okay?”

“Of course, not like I'm doing anything crazy. I'll be with Bruce, we're fine.”

So, it didn't hurt that he tried keeping you in the dark like they did. You knew his concern was real, his care genuine. At least you want to know that he meant it, that he wasn't trying to push you aside. You'd just have to trust him.

“Up there! It's Batman!” A young boy yelps and tugs at his mother's arm, finger raised to the sky.

Eyes cast upwards, you watch as they jump from one building to the next. Capes billowing in the wind behind them. Following close, you run along sidewalks and duck through alleyways to keep up.

Pulling your camera up, you snap shots of Robin as he leaps off a rooftop. Capturing him mid-air, bright yellow fluttering behind him. The domino hardly masking his face of sheer joy paired with intense focus. His were always your favorite, filling his folder was easy. You wish you could show him some of the pictures you have of him. Maybe someday the two of you could go through it together. Would he find it creepy? Hopefully not...

You would never dare voice it but, you were envious of them. When they took to the soggy Gotham skies, gliding with ease above it all. Mouth hung agape, you watched the wind blowing through Jason's hair, and Dick with his flips and twirls. Even Bruce, using his cape to glide alongside them.

Well, maybe you told- “Alfred!” Your ride’s here and your mad dash through the city has been cut short.

“Crime alley is no place for an upstanding teen.” He tuts with a smile as you reach the car. Always a pinch of sugar with his scolding, “Come along, let's get home.”

Hopping in beside him, you can't keep your eyes off the stars. “I want to fly like them one day...” With a hum, He drives you two back to the manor.

Life is feeling better by the day. It's as if everythings clicked into place. The years you get with him are the most whole you feel. The only real sense of normalcy throughout your youth.

That night, he was home late despite not being on patrol. You overheard, well eavesdropped, that Jason was put off duty. Still he was out on his own, positively pissed, and came home after dark. Heading straight to his room, he brushes off Alfred, insisting on being left alone.

You can't help finding yourself standing anxiously at his door anyway. It didn't feel right, letting him fester in his anger alone. Knocking yields no results but, calling out his name softly earns you the same in return.

Opening the door slowly you peek in to see him, sitting on his bed with a box. His face is grim but he waves you in, motioning for you to sit with him. You do, placing yourself at the foot of his bed. Across from him with a box of papers and photos between you. Jason fiddles with an old looking photo, scanning it over and over. 

"I know you don't like talking about it, but," He swallows thickly before his eyes can meet yours pensively. "You, um, got a mom, right?"

It feels like the wind’s been knocked out of you. Yeah, you didn't like to talk about it, let alone think about it. "I guess, technically." You shrug it off the best you can, "I mean, ya know, everyone's gotta come from somewhere."

He rolls his eyes, dropping the picture back into the cardboard. "Yeah, no shit, that's not what I'm saying."

Really? You came to check in on him. Now you’re being snipped at over something he knows you're sensitive about. "Well, then, I don't want to know if your just-" Before you can fully lift yourself off the bed, he's gripping your wrist.

"Wait! I'm sorry, don't go!" His fingers tremble around his hold on you. He tries not to squeeze you too tightly while still keeping you close. "I-I just.." His other hand grips the box enough to crumple the cardboard under it.

"Jay..." You sigh, this unusual distress from your brother making giving in easier "I don't know. Maybe before but, I don't remember back then." Just nightmares of things you couldn't grip the memory of fully. Thinking of your mother and what she may have gone through with you? Only if it could help with whatever's eating at him, "I can't remember anything before being here. Blurry faces, locations I can't place. I didn't even know what her name was. Can't remember her face.."

When you sit back down he finally releases you. A hand runs through black curled, "I shouldn't have asked. Sorry if it's..."

"No, it's whatever. Who cares? Just..." You shrug, looking over the darkening Gotham sky, "Must not have been anything good." Fingers twist into the sheet below you in unease.

It did hurt though, every question slipping through your finger never to be answered. Flitting past your mind painfully when you linger too long on the past.

Your eyes are drawn back to Jason as he pulls a paper from the box. "I got some stuff earlier and..." He shows you old documents and photos that he was given by an old neighbor. You recognized the little Jason with, from what you're told, his father and stepmother. 

His explanation paused as you cooed at his baby face, which he does not appreciate. So, the woman who raised him, who passed, wasn't the same as his birth mother, who's alive. "I think I can find her but I don't know how long it'll take. I"

"That's," Blinking a few times at plie of evidence towards his childhood, you look back at him. "alot, but I'm sure if anyone could do it, that's you."

"You're not gonna.. try to talk me out of it?"

"Would you listen?" You raise a brow at him, his shoulders shoot up in turn, guilt evident. "Exactly." With a smirk you help him pack away everything. His face still knit pensively even after he sets the box aside, you scan the partly packed suitcase. It starts to feel too real but you know there's no helping it. So, you offer him all you can, taking his hand in yours, "Look, I don't know where you're going or what you're doing exactly but,” You squeeze his fingers and he returns it, “I trust you and I'll always be here for you."

Jason pulls your connected hand, rigging you into a tight embrace. "Thanks." His chuckle waivers against your shoulder, arms constricting around your midsection.

You repay his embrace in kind, forgiving the crushing weight of his hug as you blink away tears. "Just, please, stay safe. Okay?"

"Of course, look at who you're talking to, I'm the definition of cautious." He pulls away enough to give you a winning grin and you return it with your hardest 'You're joking, right?' face. "Alright, fine. I'll be careful. I'll be safe. Promise.”

“So, how are you getting there?" You sit crossed legs on his beds as he packs his bag. Chin resting on your palms you tilt your head as his rifles around his pocket.

“These!” He presents her a literal handful of credit cards. "I'll be flying, first class, duh” he notices your dropped jaw. "Please don't tell Alfred..." 

Teeth snapping shut, hands dropping to your lap, you blink at his little card haul, “Jason," you sighed, exasperated, “Where are you going?"

“The.. middle east?” Chuckling nervously as he stuffs them away, he watches the concern grow on your face at just how far he would be going.

“Your- Please, if you listen to anything I say. Jason.” You grab his shoulders, setting him with your sternest look “Do not die.”

“Oh my- Seriously?!" Rolling his eyes he shrugs your hands off, “I'm not gonna die!"

───── ⋆⋅ 🕸 ⋅⋆ ─────

Tag list?!

@butratherbutrather @dorkatron-2000 @mys0cksrwet @nervousalpacalady @notsamaira @facelessisnthere @danir2006 @ryuushou @sirenetheblogger @l3v1us @jsprien213 @crazycaoticsimp @shadowytravelerlover @whatamoodhoney @alittlelostmoonchild @tiarea @tsxukikami @levi-09 @stardustnightfall @antov828 @awawage @kaitense1 @1abi @d3nnji @yhin-gg @ithoughtthinks @cherrydaisymanic @bat1212 @shycreatorreview @mikusamsan @strwberryglass

[stvrnioloslvt]

hi! I'm the anon from Figure skater!reader and hockey!Matt, please write about them and my soul will be yours

from this request, with a little twist to it...

⊹ ࣪ ˖⋆˚࿔ ── #bringbackdryhumping

❛❛ ⛸️ + 🏒 ❞

-...still some imperfections, but your chemistry is over the roof. good job guys- you hear your coach saying as the ringing in your ears slowly subdues, swallowing down the lump in your throat. carefully, your partner, alexander - called alex by everyone - puts you down, holding you firmly in his arms until he’s sure you’re okay to stand on your own without falling to your feet. training had been hard, and partnership wasn’t easy either, but overall the small appreciation given by your coach was a good sign that you and the man beside you were doing a discrete job, at least.

-alex and baby go rest, i want you both to repeat the routine in about ten minutes. who’s next? ah yes, cherry, come here- and while cherry was ultimately examined by the hawk eye of your coach, you slumped on the bench not-so-gracefully, groaning tiredly.

a hand reached in front of your eyes, shaking a bottle of energade to catch your attention, -doing alright?- you nodded, grabbing the bottle from your partner’s hands. -yeah, ‘m alright, just tired. think coach will let us go after this one?-

-pretty sure she has to, isn’t there the kid’s lesson in twenty minutes or something? she can’t keep us here.- you nodded again, zoning out for a couple seconds before scoffing, murmuring -she might kidnap us, though. throw us in a bag and force us to perform for her 24/7-

alex chuckled, shaking his head before adding -what, make us act like we have the dancing plague?- you turned your head ready to reply, but stopped midtrack as you caught alex’s smile drop slightly, his eyes fixed on his phone. -everything fine?-

his eyes snapped to your face, inhaling deeply before putting his phone back on the bench, shoulders slumping ever so slightly as he ran a hand through his face, nodding mindlessly before saying -yeah, yeah. just the same problems with my girlfriend… i told you i caught her cheating, right?-

-yep, and i still don’t get why you would go back to her.- alex smiled softly, but sadness dripped from his eyes. -and i hope you’ll never know why, baby.- you stood silent at that, turning your gaze back to the rink where cherry had ended her routine with an elegant bow to the imaginary public. your sweet, beautiful best friend. you couldn’t help but remember that time when she, too, got cheated on by her ex boyfriend. she had no problem dumping him on the spot, and had no regret at all after that, which made you question why it was so hard for alex to do. it left you wondering, but never judging.

soon, it was your turn to perform again.

your routine embodied everything you could wish to see in a couple: it was intense, both in the storytelling and the steps. it was intimate, it was soft and hard, fast and slow. limbs twisting around limbs, hands desperately looking for each other, grabbing the flesh of the other. eyes holding eye contact so intensely that many had told you before that they felt like they weren’t supposed to look, almost too embarrassed to witness such a performance, while others were more straightforward in their questions, asking if you and alex were a thing outside of the rink, too.

alex’s left hand held you close to his body while he lifted you by your leg, his right hand on your inner thigh. you counted down the seconds, holding the final pose until your coach screamed -and done!-, breathing out in relief as alex carefully put you down. -you can go home, guys.-

you exchanged a knowing look with your partner, biting back a laugh as he mouthed -no kidnapping- while sliding away gracefully. you shook your head, catching in that moment a small movement at your left outside of the rink. your head snapped towards the source of disruption, stilling as your eyes took in matt’s tense figure, his gaze burning holes through you. you noticed his jaw tightening when alex quickly greeted you goodbye before bolting out of there, ready to get under the warm water as soon as possible.

with a quick nod of his chin towards the locker room he was out of there, not even waiting for you to catch up to him.

-wait- matt! why are you run- mmph!- a strangled sound escaped your lips as matt locked your lips in a heated kiss right as you entered the locker room, pulling back just to mutter -gather all your things, we’re leaving.-

-what? but i have to shower- -don’t care, you can shower at mine- and that’s basically how you found yourself in your current position, straddling matt’s lap on his couch, still wearing your little leotard. your hips rolled smoothly, feeling his boner stir with each stroke.

you sighed in relief as your boyfriend began attacking your neck in kisses and soft nibbles, sucking and licking the same spot over and over again. -fuckin’ hate how touchy he was- he muttered, punctuating each word with a kiss.

it finally doomed you: his tense demeanor, the fiery gaze, the need to pull you out of there as soon as possible. you grabbed a fistful of his hair, pulling him back gently until you were eye-to-eye level. -matt, are you… jealous?- his icy eyes bore into yours, pupils blown both in lust and jealousy. -it’d be worrying if i weren’t, don’t you think?-

-matt,- you cooed sympathetically, fingertips tracing his torso and travelling south by the second. -there’s nothing to worry about, i promise. let me…-

-no- he interrupted you, grabbing your wrist to stop you from taking his pants off. you looked at him puzzled, asking -you don’t want to?-

matt stared at the wrist he was holding for a moment before his eyes came back up, a dark smirk on his pretty lips. -oh i do, love, but do you deserve it?- and, as taken back as you were, you couldn’t do anything else than opening and closing your mouth like a dying fish. -i don’t think you do.-

you sucked in a shaky breath, shifting around uncomfortably as more arousal pooled in your thong. cause, even though he was punishing you, you couldn’t deny the effect he had over your body, leaving you yearning for more.

-please,- you whimpered, -it aches.- matt hummed, leaning back against the couch carelessly. on his face was plastered the look of total enjoyment, smirking at your need for his body. -yeah? i guess i could be nice and give you something for that- he concluded huskily, his voice thick with lust. he grabbed your waist, moving you back and forth on his lap, letting you grind on his painfully hard boner. your brows scrunched at the sensation, at this point a hundred percent sure that you had wet your baby blue leotard, but you couldn’t care less. all you wanted was to finally cum, regardless of how, when and why.

your hips picked up the rhythm, head coming down to nuzzle in the crook of his neck as you whined and whimpered, hoping that matt might break character and fuck you like you need him to.

-poor little thing you are, hm? feels good, though, doesn’t it?- you nodded, wrapping your arms around his neck as you got closer to your orgasm, feeling matt’s cock throb in his pants. -c’mon, baby, more- fuck- more, like that.-

-i- oh f-fuck, matt, matt, please…- -let go, love- your body shook in matt’s arms as ripples of pleasure broke through you, leaving you a panting, whining mess, your mascara smudging and running down your cheeks. you sniffled lightly, still shaking from the aftershocks while matt held you lovingly, stroking your hair and wiping away the tears stains from your face.

-did so good, my love, such a good girl, my good girl.-

© stvrnioloslvt

[cowboyschumi]

MUSE

Summary: Oscar is known for being bad at padel, which is why he tries other hobbies, like photography. Now, he clearly needs something to take photos of.

Author's note: Oscar trying to play paddel 🤏

I'm a huge fan of taking inspiration from songs, so you can listen to this. Don't forget to enjoy the reading and show some love. <3

Warnings: None ig.

————————————————————————

COWBOYSCHUMI | 2025 All rights reserved. Do not copy, translate, or upload on other platforms.

————————————————————————

Oscar had to be grateful for being that good of a driver. Man, he was really bad at other sports. Everyone pointed it out and made fun of him, some people even pitied him or found it cute. He even tried golfing, but that racket was his last straw. He was a bit frustrated, but Oscar wasn’t the type to get frustrated and give up. He just accepted the fact that he wasn’t gifted enough.

His Instagram was— for his luck because he wasn't a media guy— managed by a social media professional, who made him posts and even took charge of taking pictures. Yes, none of his dumps, captions, or stories were posted by his own hands, which was crazy. He wanted some sort of control over that, after all, he had a voice and a platform. Not taking advantage of that would be a shame, besides there was no fun and genuine part if he wasn't the one behind his Instagram. So he decided to take it more seriously, it made his brain hurt in the most untolerable ways but he started to post more, engage with his fans.

Instagram dumps are such a religious thing for some people, he wasn't in that group until now. Having a picture perfect Instagram would let people have more connection with the places, his interests— perceive him differently and not some boring and flat boy with not much to say.

Like any driver, he had a stylist, a PR team, and other fancy stuff—which he didn’t like much because the main focus was on him, physically. His content was different now; it was full of sunsets, yachts, cars, and food pictures. He had to thank his team for lending him a professional camera—it made the quality ten times better.

"It's a lost cause." Oscar spoke as he carelessly dried his hair with a towel.

You vividly remember the first time he stepped into one of your classes—the typical shy kid who barely spoke. Other drivers came along with him, doing most of the talking, but they weren’t consistent in attending. For them, padel was just a way to kill time. Oscar, on the other hand, wanted to know everything about it—from the size of the court to executing the perfect shot with his racket. A few weeks after his first class, he started booking lessons on his own, demanding more focus and dedication.

He came around twice a week, and seeing him so often, you quickly grew close. So it wasn’t surprising to find him frequently emerging from the showers at the padel club. You had even learned to tolerate his wannabe tennis grunts when he hit the ball. At this point, you had already seen the worst of him.

"You’re just being hard on yourself. Not everything has to be perfect."

Like in any common locker room, there was a bench where people placed their clothes after showering. You sat there as you two talked.

No matter how comfortable you were around Oscar, you respected him, so you made a point of not looking at his shirtless torso.

"Don't give me a pity speech. I’ve heard enough of that." He really did sound tired of hearing it. But it was true—no one should be too hard on themselves for not meeting their highest expectations. Striving for perfection in everything wasn’t normal. Oscar’s mindset was too rigid, and being optimistic felt like an impossible task for him.

"Webber told me you started… photography? He even sounded worried about what you might do with that." Chuckles and laughter echoed through the warm changing room.

"Yeah, I mean, it’s pretty great. Still got a lot to work on," he admitted sincerely, making that classic uncertain face he always did when he wasn’t sure about something. His facial expressions were always amusing. "I got bored of photographing the plants on my balcony at home. Took some photos of Lando, and Hattie doesn’t even want the lens near her."

Laughter filled the room again—it felt like a comedy show at this point. But when it faded, you exchanged a tense glance, as if communicating telepathically. A mischievous smirk lit up his face.

"No." Your answer was immediate and firm, anticipating what was coming.

"I haven’t even said anything!" He raised his hands in mock innocence, his guilty smile still in place. Oh, you knew him too well.

"I won’t. I’m not photogenic."

"Please, just one time."

Oscar always swore on one-time things. But when something felt good, you tended to repeat it. He knew exactly how to take advantage of your kindness, always asking for harmless favors—because, in the end, you never said no to him.

————————————————————————

And there you were, in his Monaco apartment, on a morning when rain was pouring outside. Oscar always pointed out the differences between his current lifestyle and the one he had in Australia, the daily longing for home. That small place in Europe had its charm, and he wouldn’t complain, but he missed the wide-open spaces, the warmer weather, and even his mom’s cooking. Now he lived on the highest floor of the busiest avenue, in a cramped apartment so small that he barely had space to walk around.

"I brought donuts and coffee," You announced while cleaning your boots on the entrance mat.

"Cool, thank you. Would you mind sitting by the window? The light is majestic." His attention was focused on his camera, probably adjusting some tricky settings.

"Already bossing around?" Unbelievable. The kid already thought he was a professional photographer, giving orders and having the worst attitude.

You had a big trench coat on, surprisingly still soaked after the unstoppable rain. And it kept coming—people still struggling with their umbrellas, cars almost floating down the street. That’s what you could see from how high his apartment was.

The brown-eyed boy placed his face behind his huge, intimidating camera, yet somehow, you didn’t feel intimidated by it—after all, he was the one taking the photos. But then, an unexpected expression of discontent crossed his face, confusing you. Your brows furrowed instantly, maybe you weren’t pretty enough to be photographed. You relaxed your body, stopped posing—that was it. At least you tried.

"Take it off." Oscar’s index finger pointed at my jacket, his face continued hidden behind the camera. The view was limited, but his expression remained unreadable—no emotion, all seriousness. Clueless.

"It's freezing cold outside, you're insane." Despite your protest, you did as he told you—just like always, hating yourself for it. Your body leaned against the nearly immense open window, the breeze sneaked through with ease, making your skin shiver. Your face card wasn’t your main attribute, maybe your toned padel body was. Still, you couldn’t quite grasp why he chose you, considering all the contacts and friends he had. Favors were an unbreakable thing between you two, but, of course, you never owed him a thing.

A few more adjustments, and his camera was down again, poker face still tattooed all over him. With slow, measured steps, he walked closer until he stood right in front of you. His mannerisms were always soft and gentle, like he had been written by a woman. Not exactly naive, but delicate enough to make you feel safe and comfortable in his presence.

Oscar set your coat aside, draping it over his vintage couch. His whole place had that aesthetic. You especially loved the Abu Dhabi carpet that stretched across the floor, its deep reddish tones were delightful. His eyes couldn’t help but dart down your slim silhouette. Your white sleeveless shirt, drenched from the rain, clung to your curves, turning entirely translucent against your skin.

Finally, your eyes connected, and you desperately searched for answers, whether in his gaze or through words. The driver was entirely focused on his task, calculating angles, observing the natural lighting, and analyzing your body. Over-analyzing your body.

You knew that look—the one men gave when they stared too long, leaving a disgusting feeling. But Oscar wasn’t like that. Yes, he was staring, but with such admiration and adoration that, for once, you didn’t mind. For the first time in a long time, you felt pretty. Feminine. Reaching that level of femininity wasn’t easy. Padel and sports had always shaped your image, conditioning you to appear tough, stereotypically masculine. But under his gaze, all of that melted away.

You broke eye contact as the staring became too overwhelming for your liking, exceeding your daily dose of attention. You couldn’t just escape him because he was there, and you were working, or something like that. Your breathing hitched, and you involuntarily let out a low gasp at the feeling of his fingers brushing against your skin. His touch was cold, just like your body. The only warmth came from the fire igniting in your cheeks. His fingers hooked around one of your white straps, which had fallen out of place.

God, you wished you could say a word, anything, but you were petrified.

“You look gorgeous.”

“You just say that hoping I’d say yes to another photoshoot. Your guinea pig.” The back-and-forth banter and sarcastic flirting didn’t end, but now you were playing silly enough to avoid any heartfelt compliment. You didn’t like those types of things because you never knew how to react, especially when they came from him. His contagious laughter filled the room and your world turned upside down.

Something always lingered between you two, and it was the expectedly obvious, taking into account the amount of time you spent together—padel mornings or sometimes afternoons, dinner nights if class ended late, and when he actually managed to wake up to his multiple alarms, cycling together. But it was casual because you never knew what could cross a man's mind; spending a whole day together could mean nothing to them, maybe he even saw you in a sisterly way. So you tried to chill, not giving it much importance—because, again, a compliment could mean nothing.

His free hand found its way to your nape, resting his palm there, barely cradling it. You had no choice but to regain eye contact; he had you cornered with his gaze—physically, too. Any cold once brought by the winter weather had vanished. Your skin was hot, almost burning. Oscar's gaze didn’t reflect frenzy or desire; he looked lost, even stunned.

“Let me kiss you, please.” He murmured hopelessly, his words caressing and sweetening your ears in the most shivering way.

“Oscar, professionally is not the best to-” It was just a matter of seconds before he silenced you in the most cliché way possible. His kisses mirrored his personality—timid and shy, as if he were afraid to go too far. Yet, at the same time, they were sweet and innocent, like a first kiss, completely inexperienced.

Something that you clearly weren't used to.

Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him even more close, letting each other feel how you teetered, how you edged by just a kiss. Your consent gave him more confidence, turning the encounter into something deeper, sloppier. His lips parted against yours with more urgency, the hesitation melting away as the two of you let each other get lost in the moment. His breath was uneven, intoxicatingly mixing with yours. The kiss grew needier, desperate, and hungry. The sound of your teeth crashing messily together was secondary as his tongue brushed against your lips, savoring, tasting, before he dared to explore further. The slick warmth, the breathy sounds between kisses, the way his body pressed against yours—it was thrilling in the best way.

“I never really liked padel that much, nor was I good at it. There was no chance of improving. But you know why I kept coming back.” Oscar's smile emerged in the middle of the kiss, his tone playful, hinting that he knew he’d been doing something wrong just for the fun of it. Paying for extra classes just to see your face more than once a week? Genius move.

“Oh, I'm so gonna kill you.” You warned him, still in disbelief, that he’d been such a fool, especially since you would’ve said yes to any date prior if he’d only had the courage. There was no need for this extreme and unnecessary padel. But, still, seeing him struggle was part of your routine—and you enjoyed it. Not wanting to hear any lame excuses, you pulled him in, deciding to stay glued to his lips for a very long time

[multiverse-peterbparker]

He looked away from the chamber at last, pulling his hand away finally. Peter tilted his head, a puppy-like frown on his face. “I gotta help people, Mr. Stark. Whether or not it’s a danger to myself. Some people can’t protect themselves, and I’m not just going to walk away and let them get hurt cause I’m worried about myself.”

Peter hummed softly as he turned away once more. “You know me, sir! Always getting into things I shouldn’t. I’m a kid, after all, what do you expect from your favorite intern?”

He pulled his hand away fast when that was said to him. He didn’t want to lost a hand. Well, not yet. It could be cool to have an arm like Bucky…. He shook his head quickly to himself, shoving the thought far back in his mind.

He lit up a bit. Yeah, he lit up. He wasn’t scared, nor was he cautious of the potential dangers or repercussions. He was excited, and it definitely showed all over his face. “Really? You’re working with that kind of stuff? I mean… of course you are! It’s you. The smartest guy in the world…” he carefully backed away from it and towards Tony again. “Big boom.” He repeated quietly. “Big boom.” He titled his head as he stood in front of Tony. “So leveling entire cities is a possible outcome… if we— uh… you, screw up? That’s… exhilarating.” Science. This kid loved science. He’d always loved science. From a young age he’d idolized Tony, even before the man was Ironman. Well, maybe not the playboy lifestyle, but the tech advancements and such. When he was six he tried to create his own Ironman suit… it failed miserably, but it was an attempt at the very least. And that’s what… possibly, fueled him wanting to spend time with the man. That and he thought of him as something similar to a father.

He nodded vigorously. “Yeah! I’ll listen. I won’t mess up, I swear Mr. Stark! I won’t. I can do this. I won’t set anything on fire! Not uh… not with this anyways!”

200th Park Avenue, Midtown Manhattan, New York City. 02:43:27 A.M - Laboratory Room. ____________________ (listen to the music to improve the reading experience.)

_____________________

Tony Stark had always thrived in chaos, but this was different. This was a kind of entropy that clung to his bones, settled into his lungs, and refused to let go. Seventeen days and fifty-two hours—long enough for the world outside to twist into something unrecognizable. The weapons division was back, and so was the backlash. The media called him a war profiteer, a fallen hero, a traitor to his own ideals. The ring from a certain someone, that once held promises now lay forgotten in some drawer, and Serena’s voice still echoed in his mind, raw with anguish. Hunter was out there, bullet chambered, mark set.

It didn’t matter.

What mattered was here, now, in the icy stillness of his lab. He’d shut out the noise, ignored the ghosts that clawed at his conscience. Instead, he stared into the heart of something unknown.

A transparent, human-sized chamber stood at the center of the room, its neon-lined edges casting eerie reflections on the steel walls. Inside, a rippling void hovered—a bright streak, like lightning frozen in time, a tear between dimensions. The air buzzed with energy, a whisper of something just beyond reach. He had calibrated every parameter to the most precise degree, pushing past theoretical impossibilities.

This wasn’t about weapons, not really. It wasn’t about escape, either. It was about the spark. The one thing that had eluded him in everything else.

“Sir, I must remind you that exposure to the anomaly beyond its current containment field presents a high probability of destabilization.”

J.A.R.V.I.S.’s voice, crisp and composed, broke through the quiet hum of machinery. The AI had been monitoring the experiment with unwavering precision, cataloging every fluctuation, every surge of energy, every anomaly.

Tony exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. “Noted, J. But if I don’t push this further, I’ll never know what’s on the other side.”

“There is a fine line between discovery and destruction, sir.”

A wry smile ghosted across Tony’s lips. “Yeah, well. I’ve never been much for fine lines.”

J.A.R.V.I.S. hesitated, as if calculating the odds of Tony actually listening to reason.

“Would you like me to prepare emergency protocols in case of—”

“No.” Tony cut him off. “We’re not failing today.”

He adjusted the temperature again, a frigid cold settling into the room. His breath ghosted in front of him, cheeks pinkening from the artificial winter. He didn’t move. He barely blinked. He only stared, waiting, hoping, needing something to break through the weight of failure that had consumed him for far too long.

And then—it happened.

The spark.

Small, fleeting, yet infinite in its implications. A shimmer that pulsed through the tear in space, dancing along the edges of the anomaly, illuminating the abyss with an unearthly glow. Maybe it was just a reaction. Maybe it was nothing at all. But for the first time in days, something worked.

His fingers twitched, as if reaching for it, for the proof that something still remained. Something untouched by betrayal, by war, by loss. Maybe it was just physics. Maybe it was just a trick of the mind.

Or maybe—just maybe—it was the proof that between every rupture, every break, every tear, there was a space where something new could exist.

And so he stared, unblinking, as the dimensions split just long enough to let the spark linger.

Because maybe—just maybe—there was still something left to salvage.

The air around him hummed as the neon streak pulsed once more, sending out thin tendrils of energy that wove through the air like living things. He exhaled slowly, eyes narrowing as he adjusted the stabilization settings on the console beside him. If he could just hold the split open long enough, he might be able to measure the properties of whatever existed within. Maybe even step inside.

The thought was reckless, but he had always lived on the edge of recklessness and genius. There was no denying the pull he felt—no denying the possibility that on the other side of that tear, something awaited. Something better. Something more.

But there were risks.

The algorithms were still incomplete, the equations still not fully understood. The chamber’s integrity was holding, but for how long? And if he lost control, what would happen to the lab? To the world?

“J.A.R.V.I.S., run a full diagnostic on the containment field.”

“Processing,”

The AI responded smoothly.

“Energy stabilization at 84%. Containment holding, but fluctuations increasing by 0.7% per second.”

Tony frowned. That wasn’t great. He had minutes at best.

He should stop. He should shut it down and walk away.

But he couldn’t.

Because for all the ways he had failed, for all the people he had let down, for all the things that had slipped through his fingers—this, this, was still in his grasp.

He clenched his fists, jaw tightening as the cold seeped deeper into his skin. The glowing fissure flickered, almost as if it, too, were waiting.

He stepped closer, the hum growing louder. The streak of light stretched and curled, forming delicate arcs that shimmered against the steel walls. His pulse quickened. He reached out, fingers hovering just inches from the anomaly, the energy tingling at his skin.

“Sir, I must reiterate—”

“J, shut up.”

The lab was silent, save for the faint vibrations of the machinery. No voices. No outside distractions. Just him, standing at the precipice of discovery—or destruction.

He took another step forward, heart pounding in his chest. The anomaly pulsed, its radiance fluctuating like the heartbeat of something alive. If he crossed the threshold, if he reached into the unknown, would he find answers? Or only more questions?

The machine hummed one last time before he exhaled and stepped back. He reached for the console, fingers hesitating over the shutdown sequence.

Then, with a final glance at the spark still flickering within the anomaly, he pressed the button.

The energy curled inward, collapsing in on itself until all that remained was the cold and the silence.

J.A.R.V.I.S. spoke first.

“Experiment concluded. Data has been logged.”

Tony turned away from the empty space, running a hand down his face.

Seventeen days and fifty-two hours. That’s how long he had been waiting for something to go right.

The weight in his chest shifted, just a little.

Maybe there was still time to make something of it.

_______________

( Tags so that this just doesn't die: @oh-to-be-a-murderer @the1-and-only-peggycarter @crazyinlovewithmarvel @thatone-midgardian @over-bi-the-wayside @its-nate-the-sharpshot @multiverse-peterbparker @clintbarton-thearrowguy @spidey-sensed-ur-follow @lunamarvels @insomniac-lifestyle @playgirlgenius @the-iron-rose @little-lost-prince )

[a-sin-to-be-rin]

The Guy Who Always Wore Blue

Jason Todd is finally settling in at the manor, but no one bothered to tell him about the stranger who seems to think the Wayne residence is public property.

---

Jason has been Robin for three months when he first sees the guy. The guy with the effortless beach waves. The guy with the thrift store backpack. The guy with the perpetual frown.

Of course, Jason doesn't know that the guy has any of these features at first. All he knows is that some dark shadow is taking up space on his favorite couch in the living room.

Heart in his throat, Jason flings two batarangs at the mystery figure hiding in the dark. It's panic, more than anything else. Maybe a bit of paranoia from listening to Batman for too long. But what Jason really knows is that Batman is still out on patrol, and Alfred is in the Cave, so whoever the shadow is, they're trespassing.

Faster than Jason can blink, the shadow reacts, throwing up their cape - or maybe it’s just a blanket? - to deflect the projectiles. Then they groan, stand up, and flip the light switch on.

“Who the hell are you?” Jason growls, winding back a batarang threateningly.

The man (or maybe teenager?) blinks at him, entirely unphased. His dark hair is mussed from sleep, and his jeans and biker jacket are still speckled with raindrops. He takes one look at Jason before sneering. “Oh. It’s you.”

Jason raises an eyebrow. “And who are you?”

Instead of answering, the guy grabs his backpack and heads for the side exit.

“Wait!” Jason hurries after him. “You can’t just break in here and then leave! We’re not done talking!”

“I am,” the man says dismissively, throwing the door open and stepping out onto the patio. “Do me a favor: don’t tell Bruce I was here. Not that he would care.”

“Wh-?” But the door slams in Jason’s face, and he’s left staring at the door’s intricate mahogany carvings.

Jason tells Bruce later, if only to spite the man who broke in. But Bruce doesn’t get upset the way Jason thinks he will.

“Oh,” Bruce replies in a small voice. He stares at the wall for a moment. “I see.” And then he retreats to the Cave for the remainder of the day.

---

Jason meets the guy again two months later. The guy with the cool motorcycle. The guy who walks into every room like he owns it. The guy with a never-ending supply of blue t-shirts.

But it’s different this time. This time, the guy isn’t sleeping on a couch. This time, Jason hears him before anything else.

“It’s not about that, Bruce! It’s never been about that!”

Jason jumps up from his spot in front of the Batcomputer, rushing over to the garage. He isn’t sure why this guy is hassling Bruce or how he snuck into the manor and found his way to the Cave, but Jason is putting a stop to it. Now.

“Please, tell me again how I failed you!” Bruce shouts back. “Remind me how saving you from that detention center ruined your life!”

“You can’t keep holding that over my head, B!” As Jason descends the stairs, he realizes that the strange man is nose-to-nose with Bruce, one angry finger poking Bruce’s shoulder for emphasis. “I never asked for your help! I never wanted you to bring me into this!”

“What, was I supposed to let you run into danger on your own and get yourself killed?” Bruce seethes. “Would you be happy then?”

“I was a kid, Bruce!”

“Hey!” Jason calls again, doing his best to look bigger and scarier than his five-foot-nothing frame permits. “I told you to get out of here!”

The guy snorts. “Yeah. Don’t worry. I’m done here.” He turns heel and storms over to an unfamiliar motorcycle idling beside the Batmobile.

“We are not done,” Bruce warns, but the new guy just ignores him, swinging a leg over the bike and fitting a helmet over his head.

“We’re done,” the guy repeats. Then he knocks the kickstand back and speeds up the ramp towards the exit.

Jason looks at Bruce, but Bruce just stares at the spot where the man’s motorcycle was.

“Bruce!” Jason cries. “What was that guy doing here? How did he know about the Cave? Why was-?”

Bruce silences him with one sharp hand motion. “He’s no one. Go do your homework.”

“But I already finished-”

Alfred materializes behind Jason, guiding him out of the Cave. “Let’s leave Master Bruce alone for the moment,” he says, though it’s definitely a command, not a request.

“How did he know about the Cave, Alfred?”

Alfred sighs. “That’s not for me to say.”

Jason pesters Alfred all night. He never reveals the truth. But that’s okay, because Bruce trained Jason for just such events.

It’s time to solve a mystery.

---

A week later, Jason has him figured out. The guy who knows about the Batcave. The guy who hates Bruce. The guy Bruce seems to hate just as much.

“Robin didn’t die,” Jason says at breakfast.

Bruce doesn’t react outwardly, merely glancing over his newspaper (what an old man thing to read) and setting his coffee down on the table. “What do you mean?”

But Jason is worked up about this because he had to dig for this information. Bruce didn’t want him to know, for some reason, and it feels a bit like betrayal. How can they be Batman and Robin if Bruce is keeping secrets from him?

“That was Robin,” Jason ventures. “I mean, that was the original Robin.”

Bruce sighs heavily. “Who was the original Robin?”

“That guy. The guy that yelled at you in the Cave.”

“Hm.” Bruce sips his coffee, unbothered.

“Well?”

“Interesting theory. Tell me more.” He’s challenging Jason, and it makes Jason wonder if maybe this has been a test all along.

“Everyone thought your old Robin died. He got shot by the Joker. I saw it on the news, and then no one ever saw Robin again.”

“Robin did die,” Bruce says simply, laying the newspaper down and giving Jason his attention. “How else could you be Robin?”

“I dunno,” Jason says, not liking how the questions are being turned back on him, like Bruce has no idea what happened to the old Robin. “Maybe he quit.”

Bruce pauses, lips pressed tightly together and fingers clasped. After a moment, he replies, “He didn’t quit.”

“School starts in twenty minutes,” Alfred interrupts, waving Jason over. “Brush your teeth and get your bag.”

Jason groans, but he knows better than to argue with Alfred.

---

Bruce avoids questions about the old Robin and the strange guy (the guy with blue eyes and cool black boots and a sharp, mysterious air) for another week. He changes the subject or leaves the room. Sometimes he just ignores Jason’s theories altogether. But on the plus side, Bruce has been more attentive than ever, supportive of Jason’s interests and patient when Jason messes up on patrol.

But then an opportunity to work solo (an unapproved opportunity to work solo) crops up, and who is Jason to deny justice? He follows clues to a coke lab in the Narrows, smirking as he looks through the skylight at a bunch of idiots about to get busted.

Or so he thought. The guard on the roof seems to disagree, hitting hard enough to send Jason through the glass of the skylight and into the lab. He lands on his back but quickly rolls onto his feet. Men crowd around him, each brandishing his own weapon. Nunchaku, baseball bats, knives-

THUMP.

The guard from the roof falls through the new hole in the ceiling, drawing Jason’s would-be attackers’ attention.

“Oh, man! The kid’s not alone!” one man gasps.

“It’s got to be-” But before the second man can make a guess, a costumed vigilante drops down from the roof. His suit is skin-tight and made from various shades of blue. A mask - more elaborate than Robin’s but far simpler than Batman’s cowl - is pressed to his face above a harsh frown.

“Not Batman,” the newcomer admits, but the way he says Batman makes it clear that Batman isn’t someone he’d want to be. “But let me assure you: you’d be better off if Batman came instead. Step away from the kid now, and you might leave with all your teeth.”

One particularly bold thug points at Jason accusingly. “Don’t get tough with us, dude! We’re not the one trespassing!”

“What?” Jason whirls on the man. “What are you trying to pull? Any idiot could see that this is a coke lab!”

“Oh, yeah?” another man goads. “Mind telling me where the cocaine is, then?”

The mystery vigilante steps between Jason and the thugs and tosses one of the criminals a rubber-banded roll of cash. “My friend has made a mistake,” he says apologetically. “This should more than cover the damages. We’ll be going now. Any objections?”

The criminals glance at each other, but none say a word.

“I didn’t think so,” the newcomer mutters under his breath. He grabs Jason under the arm and drags him out the front door.

“But we can’t… I mean…” Jason looks back at the thugs, some of whom smile and wave at their departure. It’s demeaning, and Jason feels every drop of embarrassment that they’re trying to evoke.

“Don’t say another word,” the vigilante growls.

Once they’re out in the streets, Jason turns on the newcomer. “What was that all about?” he demands.

“No need to thank me,” the vigilante replies, lips smiling, but his eyes don’t reflect the humor in his statement. “Just saving you from a huge mistake, shorty.”

Jason bristles. “Mistake??”

“You can’t bust someone for possession if they’re not in possession of anything.” The vigilante starts to walk off, but Jason grabs his arm.

“We didn’t even search the place!” Jason argues. “How do you know they don’t have a stash in there?”

The vigilante turns around, shaking Jason off him. “Because you can smell an active processing lab a mile off. Those guys are waiting for the raw material. My sources say that’s not due to arrive until tomorrow night. And now that you’ve spooked them, they’ll change locations.” He looks off at the skyline, as if trying to determine which building the thugs will be in tomorrow.

“What’s the big deal?” Jason insists. “We’ll just find their new place and bust them again!”

“Wrong.” The vigilante crosses his arms and sends Jason a severe glare. “I’ll find the new lab by myself. You’re going home to tell Batman how you screwed up tonight.”

“Come on,” Jason groans. “Who even are you?”

But the vigilante shakes his head and stalks off. “No one important. Tell Bruce I said hi.”

Something cold sinks in the pit of Jason’s stomach. He’s suddenly itching to race back to the Cave, even if he’s in for the lecture of a lifetime. He can’t handle an identity breach on his own. He needs Bruce’s help. Now.

---

Bruce is no help. He isn’t even concerned. He just waves off Jason’s worries and returns to the computer. Like a mystery vigilante (the vigilante in all blue, the angry vigilante, the vigilante who hates Robin) knowing that Robin is associated with a man named Bruce isn’t a major threat to their identities.

“Why is it so important to keep our identities secret if you don’t care when they get out?” Jason demands.

“I’m…” Bruce sighs heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m acquainted with the vigilante you met tonight. He’s known my identity for… a very long time.”

“But who is he? How does he know that? Superman doesn’t even know.”

Bruce seems to age ten years in an instant. “Not exactly.” He gestures above them. “Go finish your homework.”

“School finished last week.”

“Then go to bed,” Bruce amends, attention back on the computer.

Jason huffs but doesn’t argue. Bruce is weird sometimes, and there’s a very real possibility that this is a test. He probably wants Jason to figure out who this guy is.

So that’s exactly what Jason does.

---

“How do you know Nightwing?” Robin asks Batman as they wait through a stakeout.

Batman’s jaw tightens. “How do you know that name?”

Robin laughs under his breath. “He’s that guy from the coke lab.” (The guy with the not-too-fancy mask. The guy with the strength to throw a massive guard through a window. The guy who knows Bruce’s name.) “He’s all over the news in Blüdhaven. It’s not like he’s hiding his existence very well.” In his long day of research, Robin had found article after article about Nightwing, all accompanied by plenty of pictures. It’s like the guy was posing for them. Not only is he not hiding his existence, but he seems to be actively attracting attention.

“I see.”

“Oh, and he’s with that new vigilante group. The Titans.”

“I’m… aware.”

“So?” Robin watches Batman carefully. “How do you know him? How does he know… y’know… you? Like, you-you?”

Batman keeps his eyes on the bank below them. “What did I say about talking during stakeouts?”

“‘Only when necessary,’” Robin recites. “But-”

“But nothing.”

“C’mon. How are we supposed to be a team if you’re hiding things from me?”

“Hn.” Batman folds his arms, allowing his cape to swallow him up. “We’ve collaborated in the past. We didn’t end on good terms.”

“Oh.” It’s more than Batman has ever given him, but something about it feels dangerous. Feels wrong.

So Robin is quiet for the remainder of the stakeout.

---

Two weeks later, Robin has completely forgotten about the guy (the guy who showed up at the Cave and yelled at Bruce, the guy with a constant glare, the guy with no fear) and is starting to forget about the vigilante (the vigilante who thinks Robin is stupid, the vigilante that poses for paparazzi pictures, the vigilante named Nightwing). But then he spots something strange on patrol.

“Batman! Down there!” Robin points below into an alley. There’s a flash of movement from inside a dumpster. Someone groans, loud enough to reach Robin’s ears despite the wind rushing past.

Batman moves faster than Robin ever could, swooping down and landing silently on the dumpster lid. Robin does his best to keep up, but by the time he gets there, Batman is already dragging a body out of the dumpster.

“Whoa!” Robin shouts, expecting a cat or a rat or anything but a full-grown man.

“Batman to Cave,” Batman says, pulling the man’s arm over his shoulders. “Send the Batmobile to my location. Get the med bay prepped.”

“You or the boy, sir?” Alfred asks over comms.

“Neither.” Batman grunts, dragging the limp man along as he drops onto the pavement. “It’s Nightwing. Looks like he beat me to Penguin’s weapons deal.”

Robin does a double take, because he hadn’t even realized that this was the same guy who told him to drop the coke lab investigation. He’s bloody and unconscious and not at all the threatening figure from the week before.

“I thought you hated him,” Robin says.

The Batmobile rolls up, its back door hissing open. Batman drops Nightwing in the backseat, tapping the vigilante’s face uselessly. He gives up after a couple seconds, climbing into the driver’s seat and motioning for Robin to join.

“I thought you hated him,” Robin repeats.

“Hn.” The moment Robin clicks his seatbelt on, Batman speeds out of the alley, heading back for the Cave. “I don’t hate him.”

Robin raises an eyebrow, looking between Nightwing and Batman. “You don’t? I thought you ‘ended on bad terms?’”

“We did.” He’s being painfully vague, and Robin wishes he’d just say what he meant.

“Okay. But why are you helping him?”

“It’s…” Batman sighs, shaking his head. “Just… Just be quiet, okay? I’ll… We will discuss this later.”

And Robin is shocked into silence. Because it sounds like Batman is… bothered by something other than injustice. And Robin was under the impression that Batman didn’t get rattled. That nothing before or beyond a criminal act could bother him. So this side of Batman is… unsettling.

When they arrive at the Cave, Alfred is quick to take charge, giving orders and taking vitals and searching for hidden injuries. Robin helps a bit, but Alfred takes a long moment to look at him with… regret? Worry? Remorse?

“We have things handled here,” Alfred finally says.

And Batman cuts in to remove the vagueness of the request. “Write your patrol report. Then shower and bed.”

Normally, Robin might put up a bit of a fuss. After all, he’s a part of this team too. Batman doesn’t need to protect him, least of all from some goofy vigilante feud. But the way Batman is looking at Nightwing… The way he’s pulled the cowl down and tightens his jaw as he applies pressure to the worst wound…

It’s unsettling. And it feels like something Robin shouldn’t be present for. Like the two are far, far closer than Batman ever let on. Like…

Robin’s heart skips a beat. Does Bruce have another son?

Rather than confront the question, Robin retreats to write his report. He can’t think about this right now.

---

Jason wakes up with his face pressed against the Batcomputer’s keyboard and a blanket draped over his shoulders. He sits up groggily, noting that his patrol report is now seven hundred pages long, most of which consist of nothing but the letter “f.” It makes him wonder just how long he’s been asleep, but then an infinitely more interesting question strikes his mind:

What happened to Nightwing?

But a quick jog to the med bay reveals that Nightwing isn’t even here anymore. The guy in the blue suit is gone. But who is curled up on the first cot in the bay?

The guy. The guy with the motorcycle and the boots and the hair. The guy Bruce pretends not to know about. The guy who was probably the other Robin. The guy who is now obviously Nightwing.

Jason knows the med bay protocol. He knows that he’s not supposed to bother people without Alfred’s permission. And bothering people who are asleep? Well, that’ll land you washing dishes for the next month.

But Alfred isn’t here, and Bruce seems to hate (maybe?) Nightwing enough that he’d take Jason’s side on this.

“Hey. Wake up.” Jason shakes the guy’s shoulder harder than necessary.

The guy opens bleary, glassy eyes, eyebrows lowered. “Oh, god,” he groans. “It’s you.”

“You keep saying that. You don’t even know me.”

A half-dry, half-crazed laugh escapes the guy’s lips. “I know way more about you than I want to. Now get out of my face.”

Jason doesn’t back down. “What’s your deal? You’re awful snotty for the guy who would’ve died if I hadn’t spotted you last night.”

The guy presses one palm to his forehead, squeezing his eyes shut. “I don’t need this.”

“Why are you such an ass? I didn’t do anything to you!”

And that was the wrong thing to say. The guy’s eyes snap open, his loathing hitting Jason with the intensity of a pressure washer. “You took my life,” he sneers. “I spent ten years following his orders, and all I got was a grunt. You spend ten minutes in the manor, and he adopts you and gives away my-” He takes a second, one arm wrapping around his injured ribs. He takes a few semi-deep breaths, stares longingly at the ceiling, and then looks at Jason. His eyes are broken.

Jason’s theory is proven. This is the old Robin. Nightwing is the old Robin. But now for the real question: who’s this guy? Why hasn’t Jason heard of him before?

“I’m… I’m sorry,” the guy whispers, like saying it louder would make the humiliation worse. “This is… I’m not…” He grits his teeth and takes another slow breath. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” It sounds physically painful for him to admit this, but that might just be the broken ribs talking.

Hesitantly, arguably inadvisably, Jason sits on the edge of the cot. “I’m sorry.” He doesn’t know what he’s sorry for, but something about this… Even if the guy says he didn’t do anything wrong, he feels like he has. Robin was his life. And Jason had assumed Robin was dead, so he gladly took over. He enjoyed the benefits of Robin when the… the original Robin was missing every second of it.

The guy coughs, winces, and sighs. “No. No, you don’t need to-” He shakes his head. “It’s not your…” Another sigh. “What’s your name, kid?”

“Jason Todd,” Jason replies. “What’s yours?”

“Dick Grayson.”

“Bruce never mentioned you.” As soon as Jason says it, he wishes he could take it back. But the guy - Dick - doesn’t seem all that bothered by it.

“Yeah. Figures. He let you think I was dead?”

“Well… Robin, anyway. I didn’t know you were even a real person. I guess I… I didn’t really think about it.” And then he feels guilty all over again. “I’m sorry. I should’ve asked.”

“No,” Dick says immediately, the word sharp and unflinching. “Don’t be sorry. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“But I’m the reason you’re mad at Bruce, right? You’re mad he replaced you with me.”

“Among other things,” Dick mutters. But then he waves Jason’s concerns away. “I’m mad at what he did. You’re not… I mean, I’m not thrilled to see someone else… Whatever. I don’t hate you. Anymore.”

“Oh.” Jason stares at his hands.

“Look, I’m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. This is… It wasn’t okay.”

“It’s whatever,” Jason says dismissively. He’s not a baby. He’s Robin. He doesn’t need to be coddled or apologized to. He’s a warrior.

Dick watches him for a moment before swinging his legs over the side of the cot. “D’you know where Alfred put my shoes?”

“Um, no. But should you really be-?”

But Dick ignores his concern, limping across the med bay to the neatly-folded pile of clothes on a side table. He pulls the boots on without unlacing them and throws the jacket over his t-shirt.

“Wait, you’re leaving?”

Dick slides down the railing to the Cave’s garage, and Jason is left running after him.

“Hey, you can’t just-!”

“Chill,” Dick says, digging a Batburger receipt and a pen from his pocket and scribbling down a phone number. Then he hands the receipt to Jason. “If you need anything, call me. Especially if Bruce is being an asshole. I know how he can get.”

And before Jason can reply, Dick has stolen the Batcycle and is zipping out of the Cave with a lazy hand up in goodbye.

So. Dick Grayson. Nightwing. The first Robin. The guy who hates Bruce and is kind of a jerk. But he’s also… He might be a pretty cool big brother. With time.

And Jason is willing to give it time.

[dilfismz]

Meeting Eunwoo

Second (and final) part of THIS

Summary: Sangwoo meets Eunwoo and the interaction melts your heart.

Pairing: Cho Sangwoo x reader

The next day, Sangwoo stood at the edge of the park, trying to keep his cool. He wasn’t nervous—no, that wasn’t it. He just hadn’t done this before. Meeting your son for the first time wasn’t exactly in the life manual.

The park was lively, with children running through the grass, parents chatting nearby, and dogs chasing frisbees. Near a shaded picnic table, he spotted you waving at him, a warm smile instantly grounding him. Next to you stood a young boy—Eunwoo.

Sangwoo took a breath and walked toward the two of you. Eunwoo turned to look at him, his big, curious eyes taking in every detail. His dark hair, slightly messy, framed his face, and his posture was confident but approachable.

“Hey,” Sangwoo said as he reached you. His gaze flicked to you first, and you gave him a nod of encouragement before he crouched down to Eunwoo’s level, “You must be Eunwoo. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Eunwoo tilted his head, his expression cautious but not unfriendly. “Who are you?” he asked simply, glancing at you for answers.

Sangwoo smiled. “I’m Sangwoo. Your mom’s friend.”

Eunwoo studied him for a moment, then shrugged. “Okay. Do you like ice cream? Mom said we could get some later.”

Sangwoo chuckled, surprised by the straightforwardness. “I love ice cream. What’s your favorite flavor?”

“Chocolate,” Eunwoo replied instantly. “What’s yours?”

“Mint chocolate chip,” Sangwoo said with a grin. “The best there is.”

Eunwoo made a face. “Mint? That’s like eating toothpaste.”

You burst into laughter, covering your mouth, “He’s got a point.”

“Alright, alright,” Sangwoo said, raising his hands in surrender.

Instead of immediately running off to play soccer or climb on the playground, Eunwoo tugged at your bag and pulled out a book, “Mom brought this for me to read, but it’s boring.”

Sangwoo raised an eyebrow. “What book is it?”

Eunwoo held up a science book, the kind filled with facts and diagrams about space. “I like the pictures, but the words are too hard.”

Sangwoo’s smile softened. “Space, huh? You into planets and stars?”

Eunwoo nodded enthusiastically, setting the book on the table. “Yeah! I want to be an astronaut.”

“An astronaut?” Sangwoo repeated, impressed. He sat beside the boy and opened the book, flipping to a page with a detailed image of Saturn. “That’s a big dream. Do you know what planet this is?”

“Saturn,” Eunwoo said quickly. “It has rings made of ice and rocks.”

“Smart kid,” Sangwoo said, genuinely impressed. He pointed to a smaller planet. “What about this one?”

“That’s Mars! It’s red because of the iron in the soil.”

Sangwoo whistled. “Alright, you definitely know more about space than I do.”

Eunwoo beamed, clearly proud. “You can learn, though. Mom says learning is for everyone, even grown-ups.”

“Your mom’s right,” Sangwoo said, glancing at you with a fond smile, “And I’ll need you to teach me. You up for that?”

Eunwoo nodded eagerly. “I can show you everything! Even the galaxies!”

The two of them spent the afternoon going through the book, Sangwoo asking questions and Eunwoo enthusiastically answering them. At one point, they began drawing their own versions of planets and spaceships, Eunwoo giving Sangwoo tips on how to make his drawings “look cooler.”

“You’re not bad at this,” Eunwoo admitted as he colored in a rocket ship.

“Not bad?” Sangwoo repeated, pretending to be offended. “Come on, this is art.”

Eunwoo laughed. “Okay, maybe it’s good. But mine’s better.”

Sangwoo leaned over to inspect Eunwoo’s drawing. “Alright, I’ll give you that. You’re pretty good, kid.”

Eunwoo grinned, clearly pleased with the compliment.

As the sun began to dip lower in the sky you glanced at your watch, “We should probably head out soon. It’s getting late.”

Eunwoo pouted. “But we’re not done yet!”

“We can finish next time,” Sangwoo offered, ruffling Eunwoo’s hair gently.

“You’ll come back?” Eunwoo asked, looking up at him with wide eyes.

“Of course,” Sangwoo said without hesitation. “Whenever you want.”

Eunwoo’s smile grew, and he turned to you, “Can he, Mom? Can he come back?”

You looked at Sangwoo, expression soft, “I think that can be arranged.”

As they gathered their things, Eunwoo tugged on Sangwoo’s sleeve. “You’re not boring,” he said seriously.

Sangwoo laughed, crouching down to his level. “Thanks, buddy. You’re not boring either.”

Eunwoo giggled, then ran ahead to chase a butterfly, leaving you and Sangwoo standing by the picnic table.

“He really liked you,” you said quietly.

“I like him too,” Sangwoo admitted, his gaze following the boy as he laughed and ran through the grass. “He’s amazing.”

You smiled, “Yeah, he is.”

As you walked toward the car, Sangwoo felt a strange sense of peace settle over him. For the first time, he wasn’t just Sangwoo, the man wandering through life. He was someone’s dad. And that was a title he was determined to live up to.

[spider-ghoul]

Big brown eyes w luke castellan (they hate each other but theyre desperately inlove)

(Go listen to Lola young btw)

Cw: mentions of sex stuff but no real smut, kissing, idk

----------------

You really wish it had been anyone else.

Seriously, anyone.

It was on the brink of obsession with how tightly you were wrapped around Luke Castellan's finger.

One look and you'd be sneaking out to meet him at the strawberry fields, the edge of the woods, the beach, or anywhere he found that he thought would give the two of you enough privacy for the night. One note slipped into your pocket (you still weren't quite sure how he did that), and you'd be leaving campfire early to slip away with him. The power he had over you was definitely a problem.

He was cocky, and arrogant, and such a flirt with everyone he deemed pretty or handsome enough- and you'd ignored all of that because of those big brown eyes and how'd they look at you, with his hand guiding your lips to meet his while his other wandered to tug on your belt loops and grip your hips.

If anyone were to find out, you'd blame him. You'd deny anything that pointed to you watching him teach some new kid a sword drill, waiting for him to take a break so you could ask him to meet you tonight. You'd deny being as desperate for him as you were. You'd deny it being anything other than late night sessions. You'd deny wanting his hands to hold yours in a more tender way.

Having a crush on Luke Castellan was definitely an accident, quickly turning into a problem. Especially when his hands pawed at your thighs and your hands were in his hair.

You knew he was aware of your eyes on him. There was no way he didn't notice your gaze on his camp shirt, the way it scrunched around his arms didn't go unnoticed.

Though, what you didn't know was how much it distracted him. How much he felt your eyes glaring into him, making his chest tight. How early he ended that kid's practice (sorry Ness) to go bother you.

You had to suppress a small smile when he approached the stands.

"You like what you see?"

You scoffed, "You wish, Castellan." Your voice was dry, but tense. He knew the tone.

You scoffed harder when his grin widened.

"So tonight?"

You groaned.

"Can you say that any louder?" You muttered, rubbing between your eyes, "Yes, asshole."

"If you keep being so mean about it we could reschedule," he was calling your bluff, and he had that stupid smile to prove it, "no weight off my back."

"I despise you." Then, quieter, "Tonight."

He grinned, "Yeah, yeah, I've got it. Usual spot?"

"Yes, fine, whatever."

He laughed at you, a sound that made your stomach swirl almost as much as it made your blood boil.

------

You jumped a little at the sound of foot steps on grass, snapping you back to reality when you saw Luke next you.

By the time you'd actually heard him, he had gotten close enough to wrap his arms around your waist. It had to be some Hermes thing, being so good at moving around without a sound.

"I should put a bell on you-" you sighed, turning to face him, is arms still snugly around you waist.

"What? I like seeing you jump."

You huffed, though before you could make another remark at him, his lips were pressed on yours and you decided to be rude later.

He pulled you a bit closer to him, humming when your hands found his shirt. After a moment, he pulled away. Looking at you for a long moment of content, he sighed happily.

"Dammit, sweetheart," he whispered, "I can't stay away from you anymore." His smile dropped for a moment.

You watched his face, his eyes were on yours, his eyes flicking over your face as if it was the last time you'd ever seen it.

"You aren't exactly staying away right now, are you?"

"That's not what i meant."

"Then what did you mean--?"

Luke sighed, letting his arms drop from your waist. He seemed uncomfortable. Wow. Making Luke Castellen uncomfortable must've been some sort of accomplishment.

"Luke?" You pushed a bit further, letting your own hands find his, holding them lightly. You were looking at his hands in yours when he spoke up.

"I want you, sweetheart." He whispered, his hands twisting to intertwine with yours. Your eyes flicked up to his.

"You have me." Your hands complied, letting his hands consume yours and squeezing his hand once.

"I want you more than..this." He said it so quietly, dropping your hands.

You paused, hands now colder, and heart stopped in your chest. you reached for his hands again.

"You can have me. More than this." You whispered, bringing one of his hands up to cup your face, "As much as you want."

He tugged your face closer, kissing you again, softer this time.

You got a few weird looks when you showed up to breakfast the next day, holding Luke's hand and wearing one of his shirts.

[mr-tony-stark]

The sound of Bucky laughing is not a sound he’d ever expected to hear.  The guy was always so angry and miserable looking all the time. He had the kind of face that you’d point out when someone asked what resting bitch face was.  It takes Tony by surprise and hits him with such a strong feeling of cognitive dissonance.  It’s such a beautiful sound and yet it’s coming from the guy who causes him such pain every time he sees him.

Tony lifts his head and looks at him, his own lips twitching at the corners.  “Bucky’s positively normal compared to the names people I know have used for their kids.  One complete loser named one kid just a string of fucking letters.  One of them is that ash letter?  You know the one that’s like a and e joined together? It’s in the original spelling of encyclopedia.”  He shook his head.  “One thing I found out the hard way, is people like me, we end up in bubbles where no one tells us no and so our bad ideas just keep spiralling out.  I think there are a lot of rich people who could use a grand awakening.  I mean, I don’t want to say they could use a stint in a cave,  I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.  But also… they could use a stint in a cave.” 

He can feel Bucky’s eyes on him while he works, and once again, he’s starting to think that Bucky might not be completely straight.

He raises his eyes again, his hands paused in place as he holds one of the plates in place on Bucky’s arm.  “Yeah…” he said, the cogs slowly spinning in his mind.  He wondered if Bucky knew he was pansexual.  It wasn’t something that he hid, but it also wasn’t something he bragged about either.  Generally he’d be seen out with women but there had been men, though usually the press didn’t make the connection that they were fucking.  Especially when Tony was rarely seen with the same person twice.

He thought he’d just probe, see if the gaydar that was currently ringing needed to be recalibrated or something.  “I mean that was a drastic change and he is incredibly hot now.  I mean that ass…”He volleyed the ball into Bucky’s court.  The topic wasn’t a great one.  If you truly saw someone as such a close friend they were practically your brother, it was hard to see them as hot.  But maybe at the very least, he could gauge Bucky’s reaction to finding out Tony was queer.

Truthfully, Bucky did not want Tony to apologize. God the minute he hears this guy say sorry, Bucky wouldn’t know what to do with himself. He genuinely just needed a minute to get over being triggered, it didn’t happen very often nowadays. They shouldn’t be apologizing to each other, fuckin’ HYDRA should be apologizing to him. He wishes he could drag Alexander Pierce back from the dead just to kick an apology out of him.

He glances up at the mention of removing the memory, “Hell, one less memory of what those HYDRA fucks made me do, I wouldn’t complain,” he says with a faint smile. He goes back to watching Tony work now that he felt mostly back to normal. But Tony was right, they’d feel like they were missing something which would make them hunt it down and jesus the look in Tony’s eyes when he first saw the video, he didn’t want to see that look on his face again. The story of the child’s name was absolutely not what Bucky had been expecting, he can’t help the laugh a bit, covering his mouth with his flesh hand because it was still a serious conversation and laughing felt wrong. But he can’t remember ever really laughing around Tony, they were usually just shit talking each other. If anything he would laugh derisively or in a fed up sort of way. “I can’t believe you know anyone that would name their child that. I thought Bucky was bad enough for a nickname,” he chuckles as he shakes his head.

Half a smile is still there when Tony mentions a different association. His eyes drift down to Tony’s chest and then his arms again, remembering the heated thoughts from earlier. “A different association huh?” he says with a faint smirk as he meets Tony’s eyes again, he was starting to think that he wasn’t imagining it. The assumptions that Tony was straight, that was not how a straight guy looked at him. The way he bit his lip, Bucky can’t help the way his eyes slid down to watch, and out of the several loud thoughts in his head at that moment, the loudest by far was the desire to bit that lip himself. He clears his throat quietly, finding something else to stare at as Tony goes back to his work. He makes sure his bunched up shirt is in his lap just in case before speaking, “I get what you mean about the weird names becoming normal, but finding a different association for the two of us would have to be pretty..intense given that the current one is the most intense I can imagine,” he points out, “I used to associate Steve with thoughts like scrawny or underdog, and then he went through the most extreme transformation and became a completely different person, so those associations disappeared.”

[lazylittledragon]

what if i broke all the bones in your legs actually

[everytaylorswiftsongisaboutcats]

[fumifooms]

You’re the resident chilchuck expert, so I was wondering about it there’s any canon evidence that he did smoke or drink alcohol when the kids were younger. I always thought it was something he picked up due to the strain of long jobs, when the kids were already older, but you seem to think differently and I was wondering if there was anything in canon that made you think that way!

Now that you mention it I guess it’s true there’s no evidence he did. Smoking we literally only know he does at all because of one post-canon panel where he has a pipe, so no, maybe this stick-looking thing in the panel below too though, I’m not familiar with medieval blunts eh. We’ve only gotten one panel of him and his daughters interacting when he was younger so that’s not too insightful on that end, and every time we see him young and freckled it’s in a job context so again not really where we’d expect him to be drinking. The earliest proof (/heavy implication since we don’t see inside his cup I guess) is 3 years before canon when Laios hired him, where he’s at a bar, classily placed in front of all the bottles ✨

Yes alcohol is almost certainly a way through which he copes especially with stress, so if we go with the theory he started around when work got stressful, well… Chilchuck started working as a dungeon diver ~10 years ago so when he was ~19, making Mei, Fler and Puck ~6 and ~4 respectively, so from that draw the ‘stressful enough to start drinking’ line wherever. We don’t know what he did before that with any certainty, and it could be he did odd jobs, lived off mostly mutual aid and community work, or just focused on only raising the girls. Half-foots tend to be poor and I see a lot of that in Chilchuck specifically so I don’t think he could have afforded to not have some paying work though.

Alright, so then why do I think he did drink when the girls were younger?

I give a more complete rundown of the info we do have on his alcoholism & his family with panels and references + all the speculation I make from it here. But the most targeted and objective answer I can give is:

Of course there’s just very very little we know of Chilchuck’s life with his family, and I think that’s by design too. I think the details being up in the air is to allow more nuance of the topic, like, will trying to reconcile go well, is their relationship salvageable? We don’t know, because we don’t know. So the message of giving hope a chance even if it’s a long shot, that things could truly go either way, is more relevant, impactful and meta in that way. How long was he usually away for work travels into dungeons here and there? How did he act with them? All we can really do is "it’s likely that", it’s a game of which way we think it’s more implied. There’s no right and wrong answer, it’s all Marcille-like larping the events out.

My main reason for thinking he did is that his father died from overdrinking and Chilchuck is very aware of that. He mentions his death casually in the extra about their stance in alcohol and in his Adventurer’s Bible profile, etc. He acts towards the alcohol presumably the same way his father did: with abandon, uncaring for the health effects, probably happily too considering Chil says "dying doing something you love is a good way to go". Very nonchalant. So you see what I’m saying here right, wether he started early or late, his view of alcoholism is very influenced by what he saw of his father growing up, it’s something he’s always been aware of and saw in a mostly positive light, something that was inherited you could say. It’s something that was normalized to him from a young age. Regardless or where it goes from there I do think this part is pretty inarguable. If he views it positively and we know that in the present alcohol is his favorite food that he loveees, why would he have held out on it? Personally that all makes me think he started drinking very young, especially since I don’t think they limited alcohol to age as much as modern standards (and I mean, teen drinking is obviously still a thing). And here you could argue, maybe his father only started being more alcoholic later when Chilchuck moved out, or something! And to that there’s nothing I can say except I think that’s a strained theory, and that Chil might even have largely cut contact with his family after moving out (since he and siblings are listed as almost strangers and he doesn’t seem to have much emotional attachment to his parents, but also we know he rents out his place to "a relative"), but it’s true we have no evidence. "I’ve picked up the same unhealthy substance abuse as my father haha! No big deal right haha" repeated several times to me just reeks of intergenerational trauma, & the alcoholism gene as they call it. Like effortless sliding into drinking as if it’s second nature, it’s natural after all, it’s normal after all, it just makes sense, it makes you feel good and that’s what matters.

BUT from my interpretation then we have a whole other layer: Alcohol is of course not all bad always. I think he’s always liked alcohol and drank it on occasion and it brought him joy etc etc, but I think here the implication in the question is, how much effect did his drinking have on the family relations and how early? And that isn’t so much about when him drinking started but when the alcoholism started. Addiction is defined by a habitual need, that has negative effects from filling that need (physical, psychological, social, etc) and negative effects from withdrawal. If Chilchuck drinks to cope and he can’t not cope without it, that’s addiction, if it affects his relationships, if it’s a need he has, it’s addiction. Addiction can be very insidious or look very casual, and how much people around the person are affected by it is case by case. Cheerful drunks can be sooo annoying and uncomfortable though let me tell you. Drunks are drunks. And this sounds harsh, but even if people around them don’t mind drunks it’ll still have some effects here and there, living with one can be such a challenge, ily drunks good luck with everything much like Chilchuck you deserve good things 🫡　

Ok so with the dad thing and the "ok well maybe he’s always drunk casually but it grew worse with time around when he started working as a dungeon diver" precision made, the other bit of info we have that can inform this is that Chilchuck is on a harsh diet and that alcohol is a hunger suppressant. We know Chilchuck "used to be fine not eating for two days", that literally on screen to quench his hunger so it doesn’t keep him awake he goes to drink water, drinking is his instinct to hunger. Again alcohol is a hunger suppressant and if you want info on that the internet has a lot of research and anecdotes about it. He diets to be light enough to not trigger traps, so it’s something he’d have started after dungeon diving most likely. Between the stress and the diet, yes it’s extremely likely he started going harder on alcohol after he started working in dungeons. There’s arguments on wether two days without eating is less bad for half-foots than humans, but apart from smaller portions there’s nothing that indicates half-foots should get less than 3 meals a day. They need less food but that’s because their bodies are smaller: the need is proportional to the body, not smaller than others’ races, the % of need is similar even if the kg amount of food isn’t. There’s also a popular headcanon with support basis that half-foots run hot and have a faster heartrate and whatnot, and that points towards a faster metabolism rather than a slower one: a bigger need for eating rather than a smaller one. He has the same bmi, 18, as Mickbell, but perhaps because Chil is much taller he’s less intensely visibly underweight with ribs showing than Mick during the bath extra, it’s most apparent when he becomes tallman.

Alcohol is something so important and omnipresent in his character that I have trouble believing it’s something that was part of only a small fraction of his life. It’s his immediate go-to, his no-brainer solution to a good time, I’ve sort of always assumed especially after looking at his family that it’s something he discovered decently young. Like he just acts like someone who’s always had alcohol to fall back on and started young idk. Alcohol is one of his 5 keywords. Alcoholism is very ingrained into his world view and life, his "it doesn’t matter" stance his ‘work hard play hard’ mentality his idea that the world is harsh so you get relief where you can, so it just makes sense to me that it’s always been in his life, if not actively then at least looming.

So yes, in summary, my take: Alcohol was always something he wholly enjoyed to an unwise level, but it could have been considered casual until he started working into dungeons and his need for it on a regular basis intensified. Alcohol has always had positive association to him as far as we see, so when it started being a problem he didn’t see it as such. To quote him, "I drink anytime I get the opportunity to". Why always? Approval of father’s alcoholism. Why alcoholism at all? Diet + stress & coping mechanism & emotional stunting + relationship issues, and she decided she had enough after they went out for drinks.

Conclusion

Chilchuck having drunk from a young age makes sense to me and it’s the strongest narrative angle I see on the table, but that’s objectively a me opinion, yes! There’s no evidence, moreso there’s canon basis and supporting info, but it’s all very left up to interpretation. I’ve made my own interpretations of things from the scraps we see, like everyone else making Chilwife and daughters content. Wether you have a stance on the topic or prefer to leave it vague in your takes, it’ll be a matter of what you think makes most sense, or what you’d rather believe I suppose (which is literally fine)

There’s a lot of subjectivity in even just setting up causal links like you probably noticed during this and I was careful with my word choices, because we’re just extrapolating from what we see and unless Kui states it explicitly from a reliable mouth all we can do is have informed opinions on most things. This particular interpretation is influenced by other details I’ve come to form about my interpretation of Chilchuck too, the more psychological and emotional sides of him and the timeline and how his marriage even happened, unplanned pregnancy imo. Like I hope you see what I mean, this wasn’t supposed to be a speculation post just a quick simple answer but there’s sort of just no other and concise but complete way with the subjectivity nuance to put "maybe it could be yes because of this but maybe it could be no because of this" haha

Edit: Wait the phrasing on this… Interesting. "In recent years"— This does imply that if not just his alcohol consumption increasing then the diversity and quality of it did, so either he indeed did start drinking more (not necessarily meaning he didn’t drink before) assumedly because of his wife leaving, or he started drinking other/more different kinds of alcohol maybe due to the union he formed + his experience gave him greater salary than he had previously (and no wife and family to provide money for), a mix of both perhaps.