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miirily · 15 days ago

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Five Rules for Dating My Uncle (According to a Five-Year-Old)

Pairing — Ryomen Sukuna x f!reader

Synopsis — You meet Sukuna through your Sunday book club for preschoolers at the library and Yuji, his energetic, matchmaking nephew, immediately decides you should be together. So he gives you a list of “rules” if you want to date his uncle.

Content — modern!au, fluff, implied smut, Sukuna is down bad, uncle!Sukuna.

Word count — 5.8k

Sequel — Five Rules for Being the World's Greatest Dad

Sunday mornings smell like old books, glue sticks and whatever flavour juice box one of the children has crushed into the story rug this week. The children’s wing of the library glows in the soft wash of early summer sunlight, the kind that filters through dusty skylights and kisses the tops of tiny heads with gold.

You’re sitting on the big round rug in your favourite pair of jeans and a brightly patterned cardigan that a five-year-old once called “a unicorn sweater”, legs tugged beneath you. The picture book in your lap is open wide, illustrations of cartoon animals parading across the pages as you read with practised flair. You gesture with your hands, shift your voice up or down depending on who’s talking in the story: pirate giraffe today, because why not?

The kids are enraptured. Or at least, half of them are. One’s sucking their thumb. Another is attempting to braid your hair from behind with sticky fingers. But most are giggling, especially Yuji, who’s practically vibrating with excitement every time you lean into a dramatic voice.

You’re a teacher by trade, second grade, but on Sundays, you volunteer here, holding a weekly story-time club for preschoolers at the community library. No lesson plans, no assessments. Just pure, chaotic joy. You do it for them but also, quietly, for yourself.

Yuji Itadori is one of your regulars. Five years old. Big heart, bigger energy. All questions and elbows and wide-eyed commentary. He always arrives early, stays late, and insists on giving you a sticker after every session “for your teacher badge,” which he’s convinced is invisible and magic. Today’s sticker is a glittery dolphin with a bent tail, and you wear it proudly on the front pocket of your cardigan like it’s a medal of honour.

You're still helping a toddler locate Where Is the Green Sheep? (again) when Yuji bolts out of the room for his pickup. Usually it’s his dad or a tired-looking babysitter, but today—today, it’s someone new.

Yuji returns a few minutes later, charging back into the reading room like a storm, one small hand latched firmly around the wrist of a man he’s clearly strong-arming towards you. The stranger is tall, striking, even. His presence eats up the air in the doorway.

“All right, all right, I'm coming,” the man mutters, low and rough like his voice hasn’t woken up yet.

You glance up from where you’re crouched beside the book bins and pause. The man beside Yuji looks like someone who does not spend a lot of time in children's libraries. Dressed in black despite the heat outside, all sharp lines and coiled tension, he has a jaw like a comic book villain and eyes that flick around the room like they’re measuring exits. His hair is swept back, carelessly elegant. Tattoos curl out from under the sleeves of his shirt, inked patterns that almost draw your gaze too long.

Yuji, oblivious to the shift in atmosphere, points directly at you. “You two need to meet.”

The man freezes. You straighten. He looks like someone who hasn’t been 'introduced' to anyone in years.

“Uh,” you say, offering a friendly smile despite the sudden thud of your pulse. “Hi?”

Yuji beams between you like he’s conducting a wedding ceremony.

“This is Uncle Sukuna. He’s daddy’s brother. He never smiles at people. But I think he’ll smile at you.”

The man, Sukuna, apparently, raises a brow. There’s a beat of silence and then the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth, like he’s trying not to sigh.

“Sorry,” he says, deep voice laced with restrained amusement. “He’s been watching a lot of rom-coms with the babysitter lately. The animated ones, mostly. With matchmaking animals.”

“You’ll like each other,” Yuji adds. “I can tell. You read good and your hair smells like strawberries.”

You blink. “Thank you?”

Before you can fully recover, Yuji pulls a folded piece of paper from his backpack, creased, slightly damp, and covered in crayon. He shoves it into your hands like a sacred scroll.

“Here. These are the Rules for Dating My Uncle. You gotta read them.”

You cough into your hand to hide the laugh. Sukuna groans audibly.

“You’re not serious,” he mutters.

Yuji points at him sternly. “I am. You’re sad sometimes and she would make you not-sad.”

You glance down at the paper.

It reads:

Must like dogs.

Must be good at reading stories.

Can’t be scared of his mean face (he’s not mean).

Has to make him eat dinner that’s not just ramen.

Can’t break his heart. He already had a bad one before.

You look back up. Sukuna's watching you carefully now, his posture still, guarded, but not cold. There’s something wary in his eyes. Protective. Like a man who’s used to doors slamming before he even reaches them.

“I didn’t know I was applying,” you say lightly, folding the list with a small, amused shake of your head.

Sukuna’s lips twitch into an almost-smile, there and gone again like a ripple in still water. His gaze flicks down to the crayon-covered page in your hands, then away, his shoulders shifting like he’s preparing for impact.

“You can toss it,” he says, voice rougher now, quieter. “If the kid’s little matchmaking stunt is making you uncomfortable.”

Yuji immediately gasps like he’s just witnessed a federal crime. He puffs his cheeks and clutches onto Sukuna’s leg like a determined barnacle.

“Uncle Kuna! You can’t say that!” His small fists tighten around black denim, face scrunched in betrayal. “It’s my real plan. And you said I could believe in my plans now!”

Sukuna looks down at him with a sigh that isn’t nearly as annoyed as it tries to be. One big hand drops absently onto Yuji’s wild hair, smoothing it back with a kind of unconscious affection that tugs at something in your chest. He doesn’t argue, though. Doesn’t scold. Just lets the boy press his cheek against his thigh and pout like it’s his full-time job.

You try not to smile too wide, but you know it shows. You can feel it warming your cheeks as you gently push a strand of hair behind your ear, eyes lingering on the two of them.

There’s something oddly quiet about Sukuna’s expression now. No scowl, no sarcasm. Just a steady kind of watching, like he’s memorising something without meaning to. You meet his gaze for only a second, but it feels fuller than it should. Weighted. Like he sees something in you that he's not sure what to do with.

You look away first.

Gently, you tuck the note into your handbag, fingers lingering just long enough for Yuji to notice.

“I’ll think about it,” you say softly, offering the boy a small wink.

Yuji lights up. He lets out a noise that’s somewhere between a gasp and a squeal, spinning in a circle like he can’t contain the joy in his limbs. “That means yes! That means maybe-yes! That means probably-yes in movie rules!”

“I said think,” you remind him with a teasing lilt.

“But you smiled,” he says matter-of-factly, pointing. “You only smile like that when the giraffe gets the bananas back or when someone brings you those strawberry candies. So it’s a yes.”

You glance at Sukuna again. This time, there’s a real flicker of amusement in his expression, just a small tilt to his mouth, the barest crinkle near one eye.

He shrugs. “He’s... weirdly observant.”

“He gets that from you?” you ask.

He huffs out something between a laugh and a scoff. “Nah.”

The moment stretches, gentle and tentative, but heavier than a simple meeting.

The Sundays begin to blur together.

Not in a bad way. In the kind of way that sneaks up on you, slow, subtle and familiar. Like the scent of cedar from the library's story rug, or the whisper of little sneakers scuffing along the floor as preschoolers circle the reading nook like orbiting planets. The world spins the same, but something small has shifted in its centre.

Yuji is still a whirlwind, still hands you stickers that somehow always end up glittering on your sleeve, your sweater, your water bottle. But now, he’s being picked up more often by him, Sukuna.

Every week, it’s the same line, almost like a practised excuse. “Jin’s working late again.” Or, “Jin asked me to keep him a little longer this weekend.” Sometimes it’s just, “He’s been better with me lately.”

You nod each time, smile politely. You don’t press. After all, it’s not your business what Yuji’s family dynamics are, except the way he tugs Sukuna’s hand like he’s tethered to something unshakeably steady. And the way Sukuna always shows up on time, every time, even when his eyes look tired.

At first, it’s small things; his gaze lingers longer when he walks in. He never interrupts, just watches quietly as you finish up the last pages of whatever tale you’re spinning that week. Sometimes you catch him smirking under his breath at your more dramatic sound effects. Sometimes he pretends not to.

Yuji’s always thrilled to see him, crashing into Sukuna’s legs with full-force hugs that make the older man stumble just a little. He never minds. And then, every time, he stays. Just a few minutes at first. Then longer.

You’re usually cleaning up, stacking books, collecting sticker sheets, refolding the same felt blanket three times because the toddlers insist on wrapping themselves in it like burritos. Sukuna doesn’t help, exactly. But he leans on the edge of the low bookcase, arms folded across his chest and… talks.

At first it’s just about Yuji. Something he said. Something he broke. Whether he should be allowed to eat cereal shaped like ghosts for dinner. But then the conversations stretch. They slip into the spaces of your lives like spilled tea, spreading without warning, warm and a little messy.

He asks about your teaching job. About your students. About how you “put up with this many kids voluntarily on your day off.” You roll your eyes but you answer with a smile.

In return, you learn he works in security, sort of. Freelance. You’re not sure exactly what that means and he doesn’t elaborate. You don’t push. You just ask what kind of music he listens to when he drives Yuji home. (Heavy. Screaming guitars. Though Yuji apparently insists on bubblegum pop instead.)

Somewhere between the third and fourth week, you find yourself staying longer too. The last parents pick up their kids. The other volunteers leave. The lights dim overhead, one row at a time. But you’re still there, crouched on the rug gathering story cards, while Yuji is curled up in a beanbag flipping through a comic Sukuna brought him.

“He used to read them with his mom,” Sukuna says one Sunday, almost offhand. You pause, just for a second.

“I didn’t know.”

He shrugs one shoulder. “She passed a while back. Yuji doesn’t really talk about it much. But sometimes he’ll reread the same issue ten times in a row.”

There’s a softness in his voice you haven’t heard before. Not exactly sadness, more like reverence. Like holding something fragile and old that still matters. You nod. You don’t say I’m sorry. You just sit with it.

That night, you find yourself pulling the folded list from your handbag. It’s still there, still sticky. The crayon’s a little smudged now. But you haven’t thrown it away. You never even thought about it.

You trace your fingers over rule five:

Can’t break his heart. He already had a bad one before.

You wonder what Yuji saw in you that made him trust you with it.

The next Sunday, you notice Sukuna watching as you slide the list back into your bag after checking for your keys. His gaze lingers; not on the list, but on the way your fingers handle it gently, like a promise not yet spoken.

He says nothing. But when he says goodbye that day, his voice is softer than it’s ever been.

Then autumn arrives not with a shout, but with a slow hush, leaves curling at the edges like old book pages, skies bleeding grey, wind pushing around the corners of the library in sudden, impatient gusts.

That Sunday, the rain is relentless. It taps against the skylights in soft bursts, like a shy child knocking. You arrive damp at the edges despite your umbrella, cheeks pink from the chill, sweater sleeves pulled over your hands. The kids are rowdy from being cooped up indoors all weekend, sticky-fingered and stir-crazy, but you meet their chaos with your usual calm, rounding their attention back to the book in your lap with silly voices and warm patience.

Yuji’s extra cuddly today, curling beside you with his head against your arm during the final story. You don’t mind. You’ve come to expect that his love is physical, loud, and immediate.

Sukuna arrives just as you’re tying a tiny sneaker. His presence fills the doorway as usual, tall, imposing, tattooed and dark in contrast to the pastel chaos of the children’s section. But something’s different today.

He’s holding something in his hand and his expression is bordering on guarded.

Yuji spots him first. “Uncle Kuna!” he cheers, scrambling upright and flinging himself at the man with familiar, fearless joy. Sukuna catches him easily with one arm, as if the boy weighs nothing, setting him down just as fast.

“Hey,” he grunts, voice softer than usual, eyes already on you. His other hand is still in his pocket.

You offer him your usual smile, warm but unsure, like something in the air has shifted and you’re not sure which way the wind is blowing.

You’re picking up books, sorting them into their proper bins, when he steps closer. Not much. Just enough.

“Here,” he says, and it’s so abrupt you almost drop the stack in your arms.

He holds out a folded scrap of paper.

The rain outside drums louder.

You take it without thinking. Your fingers brush his just briefly, warm and calloused and unsure, and something tightens low in your stomach. You unfold the paper slowly. A phone number, scribbled in hasty, sharp numbers. No name. Just the number, like he couldn’t bring himself to write anything else.

You glance up, blinking.

Sukuna’s eyes flick away almost immediately, his jaw tense.

“Thought—” he clears his throat. “Thought if you ever wanted to talk. Or if Yuji forgets something. Or if you get sick of reading about talking vegetables.”

Your lips part, then curve into a soft, disbelieving smile. It’s almost endearing, watching a man like him—towering, broad-shouldered, covered in ink—look just a little uncertain. Like this paper weighs more than it should.

“Thanks,” you say gently, voice barely above the hum of rain. “I’ll text you.”

From the corner of your eye, you catch Yuji watching. Backpack slung over one shoulder, dinosaur keychain bouncing, his big eyes round and uncharacteristically quiet. He doesn’t say anything, not this time. Just hugs Sukuna’s leg and looks away, chewing his lower lip like he’s holding a secret.

You tuck the paper carefully into your pocket.

Sukuna meets your gaze once more before they leave. You nod. He nods back. It’s not dramatic. It’s not loud. But your heart beats faster anyway.

You text him that night. Nothing clever, nothing rehearsed.

Hi. It’s me. From the sticker battlefield.

The typing bubbles appear quickly.

Good to hear from you. And then another message: Dinner Saturday? No Yuji. No talking vegetables.

You don’t hesitate: Yes. I’d like that.

You stare at the screen for a long time after, your thumb hovering over the home button. Then you reach into your bag, pull out the now-fraying piece of crayon-marked paper.

Yuji’s Rules for Dating My Uncle. You’ve read them so many times they’re etched into your memory. But tonight, your eyes linger on the last one once again.

Can’t break his heart. He already had a bad one before.

You press the paper flat on your desk and smooth a finger across the wrinkled corner, your smile quiet, but real.

Saturday comes too quickly and somehow not quickly enough.

Your heart beats like it’s trying to warn you of something, too fast, too loud, but not unpleasant. There’s excitement under the nerves, the kind that curls in your stomach and rises to your cheeks as you check your reflection for the fifth time. Your make-up is subtle but intentional, and your hair falls just right tonight, smooth, soft, styled carefully like a secret you want him to notice.

You chose your favourite Italian place, the one tucked into a quiet corner downtown with soft lighting and ivy crawling up the brick walls like something from a storybook. It smells like rosemary and fire-roasted tomatoes and fresh bread when you step inside, and the cozy warmth of it wraps around you instantly, brushing away the chill of the night air.

You spot him before he sees you.

Sukuna is waiting just past the host stand, dressed in a dark, well-fitted jacket and a simple charcoal button-up beneath. His tattoos peek out slightly from the open collar, sharp and striking against the curve of his throat, but it’s his expression that makes your breath catch.

He looks good. Really good. But more than that, he looks almost hesitant. Like he’s not sure he belongs here, but he showed up anyway.

When his eyes finally find yours, they soften.

“Wow,” he murmurs, more breath than voice. “You clean up nice.”

You laugh, quiet, flustered. “Thanks. So do you.”

He steps forward and pulls the chair out for you without a word, like it’s instinct. Like this version of him, attentive and steady, is just as real as the one who stands like a shadow in the corner of the library.

He orders you red wine without asking, but not presumptuously, like he remembered when you mentioned it once in passing, and it stuck. That alone surprises you more than it should.

And then, somehow, the tension melts away. The conversation flows, easy and natural. You talk about your students, about the ridiculous puppet show you had to do last week because the story-time kids demanded “more drama.” Sukuna chuckles, really chuckles, and admits Yuji made him re-enact the same three-page comic five times last weekend.

“You had voices and everything?” you tease, tilting your head.

He huffs. “Did one voice. It was supposed to be the villain. Ended up sounding like a gremlin with bronchitis. He loved it, though.”

You laugh, full and delighted, and he watches you like you’re the most interesting thing in the room. Not the candlelight flickering between you, not the clink of wine glasses at nearby tables: you.

The food is amazing, but you barely taste it. Because every time his voice dips low in thought, every time his hand brushes the table too close to yours, your heart stumbles in your chest. He listens when you speak, really listens. And sometimes when you pause, you catch him just looking, like he’s filing away every detail of this moment in case it never happens again.

By the time dessert arrives, a slice of panna cotta drizzled in berry sauce, you’re glowing. Not just from the wine. From him.

You take a slow bite, licking a dot of cream from the corner of your lip before leaning forward, eyes teasing.

“Well,” you say, setting down your spoon. “At least I can check off Rule Four.”

His brows rise, intrigued. “Which one’s that?”

You grin. “Make sure Uncle Kuna eats something besides ramen.”

There’s a pause. His mouth opens, then closes. He looks away, and for the first time since you met him, Sukuna almost blushes. His ears tinge the faintest pink beneath the low restaurant light.

You cover your mouth with your hand, giggling. “Wait—seriously? You would’ve ordered ramen if you could have?”

Sukuna rolls his eyes but doesn’t argue. “Ramen’s perfect. Efficient. No one’s ever disappointed by noodles.”

“I might be,” you tease, leaning in again.

He matches your gaze then, and for a second, the air between you tightens, warmer, weightier. His voice is low when he answers.

“Noted.”

After your first date, Sukuna finds his way into your life the same way dusk seeps into the sky: slowly, silently, but without ever asking permission. And once he’s there, you can’t remember how your days looked without him filling the edges.

He still picks up Yuji almost every Sunday, like clockwork. He still leans against the bookshelf near the reading rug, arms folded, face unreadable but eyes always on you. The other volunteers joke that you’ve got a "scary admirer,” but you only smile, a secret tucked behind your lips.

Because they don’t see what you do.

They don’t see how, once Yuji’s buckled in the backseat, Sukuna lingers outside his car and brushes your hair behind your ear without saying a word. They don’t feel the warmth of his palm as it settles at the small of your back, grounding. Or the way he lets out the smallest breath of relief when you kiss his cheek goodbye.

And now, now you see him more than just on Sundays.

Sometimes it’s Wednesday night dinners after your longest work days. He shows up in his dark jacket, hair still damp from a shower, carrying takeout containers and an unreadable comic for Yuji “in case he drops by.” Sometimes it’s Saturday mornings when he brings you coffee and leans against your kitchen counter while you toast bread barefoot in your sleep shirt, trading soft smiles and shared silence.

Sometimes, it’s just being near each other. The closeness of his fingers brushing yours while you fold laundry. His voice low and warm against the shell of your ear when he reads over your shoulder. His breath catching when you run your hands across the ink of his ribs, tracing stories he still hasn’t told you yet.

It’s not dramatic. It’s not fast.

But it’s real.

You still can’t quite name what pulls you to him. There’s no single reason, no one defining moment. It’s the accumulation of small things, steady things.

It’s the way he listens when you talk, even when you ramble about nonsense. It’s the way he notices everything, the way your brow furrows when you’re thinking, the way you turn pages with your thumb tucked just so. It’s the way he calls you "sweetheart" under his breath when he thinks you’re not listening.

His steadiness is not quiet. It’s present. And you didn’t know how much you needed that, someone who sees you in the chaos and doesn’t flinch.

The first time he kissed you properly, not a chaste brush in passing, but a real kiss, deep and slow and intentional, it left you dizzy for hours. His hands were firm on your waist, his mouth reverent, and when you whispered his name like a prayer, he held you tighter like he needed the reminder that this was real. That you were real.

And now, lying curled beside him in the warm hush of your bedroom, you feel something in yourself loosen that had been tense for far too long.

His bare chest rises and falls beneath your cheek. One arm is wrapped around your waist, hand splayed at your hip, grounding you to him like a vow. His fingers occasionally trace lazy, absent-minded shapes into your skin as you lie there in the afterglow of everything unspoken but fully felt.

The soft, golden light of your bedside lamp spills over the sheets, turning his tattoos into rivers of shadow and ink. You run your fingers across the one over his heart, and he catches your hand, presses his lips to your knuckles like it’s instinct.

“I didn’t think I’d ever…” he starts, but doesn’t finish.

You don’t press. You just shift closer, resting your forehead against his collarbone.

“I know,” you whisper. “Me neither.”

And somehow, that’s enough. No fireworks. No declarations.

Just his steady heartbeat under your ear, his arms around you, the faint scent of cedar and rain still clinging to his skin. Your body against his, fitting like you were made to lie beside him.

You’ve let him into your life. And more and more, he’s letting you into his.

Winter comes and goes in quiet intervals, mornings wrapped in knit scarves and coffee steam, nights curled against Sukuna beneath your favourite blanket, his hand resting easily on your thigh like it’s always belonged there. Snow falls, melts, falls again. The holidays pass in a blur of cocoa-stained kisses, Yuji’s snow angels, and Choso’s grumbling when Sukuna nearly burns dinner. You spend New Year’s Eve on the couch with him, tangled together, warm, safe. It’s the first time in years he says he didn’t feel like the clock struck midnight alone.

And then it’s early spring when the air still carries a bite, but hope tugs at the breeze, and the library windows are cracked open just enough to let in the soft scent of damp earth and blossoms. Another Sunday morning slips by in bright colours and sing-song voices. The preschoolers are wired after too many jelly beans and fruit snacks, and your throat is hoarse from all the reading and laughing and directing of tiny hands and wandering feet.

Yuji’s one of the last to leave today, tucked into a hoodie with a smiling dinosaur on the front and smudges of marker down his sleeve. His father, Jin, arrives for pickup for once, tired, polite and smiling faintly as he waves you a quiet hello from the doorway. You nod back, wiping down the last of the table.

Yuji takes one look at his dad, then hurries over to you. You expect the usual wave, the quick, cheery “Bye!” with a lollipop in hand.

Instead he hugs you. Tightly.

His little arms wrap around your legs, and he presses his head gently to your stomach. It stuns you for a second. The room quiets. You rest a hand gently on the back of his head, fingers carding through his messy pink hair as he exhales slowly, like he’s holding in something far too big for his body.

“I’m glad you kept my list,” he whispers into your sweater. “You made Uncle Kuna not-sad anymore.”

Your chest tightens. Tears prick the corners of your eyes, soft and sudden. You bend down, crouch to his level, and cup his cheeks lightly as you meet his gaze.

“Oh, darling…” you say, smiling through the lump in your throat.

Yuji nods fiercely, as if there’s no doubt in his mind. “He laughs more now. And he doesn’t yell when my brother breaks something.”

You laugh at that, blinking fast to keep from crying. “Yeah? That’s good.”

“He lets me watch cartoons without saying they rot my brain,” Yuji adds, very seriously. “That means he’s not grumpy anymore.”

You smooth down his hoodie, then ruffle his hair, voice gentle. “I think a lot of that is because of you, you know.”

Yuji tilts his head. “But you love him.”

You suck in a small breath, because it’s not a question. It’s not a guess. It’s a child’s certainty.

And you realise, somewhere in your bones, that it’s true. You do. In the quiet, patient, warming way that love blooms after being watered slowly, not rushed. Not forced but real.

Yuji grins and scampers back to Jin, who lifts him easily into his arms and gives you a respectful nod. They leave, and the library is quiet again.

You sit down on the edge of the rug, palms resting on your knees, staring at the scuffed corner of the bookshelf. And then, without even needing to think about it, your mind goes to him. To Sukuna.

To how he looks when he first walks in your door after work, tie loose, brow furrowed from the day, but relaxing the second he sees you. To how he always moves closer to you in his sleep now, pulling you in before he’s even awake. To how he chuckles more easily, with his whole chest. How he’s started remembering people’s names. How he ruffles Yuji’s hair instead of sighing at him. How Choso only rolls his eyes now when Sukuna mutters, “What did I say about the microwave?”

And through it all you're there. A constant. A presence that doesn't push, doesn't demand, but simply is.

You don’t say anything about the list anymore. But it still lies on your desk, slightly curled, covered in smudges and taped once in the corner where it tore.

You keep it there like a compass. A silly, sticky artefact of what brought you here. Of what grew from it.

Sometimes, in the quiet lull between dinner and bedtime, when the house is heavy with warmth and the softness of shared comfort, you catch him looking at it.

Yuji’s list sits exactly where you left it on the corner of your desk in the small nook of your apartment you’ve fashioned into a workspace. It’s wedged gently between a half-burnt vanilla candle and a ceramic mug filled with mismatched pens and broken pencils. The paper has curled at the edges with time, stained faintly by what you suspect was juice from the Sunday Yuji brought it to you, and the marker writing is smudged in places, tiny fingerprints pressed into the ink like a child’s seal of sincerity.

You’ve never told Sukuna that you kept it. Not aloud. But he sees it. And you see him.

He never stops long, just a few moments as he passes by on the way to refill his glass or grab something from the coat rack. He’ll pause, hands in his pockets or fiddling with his phone, his eyes resting on the list like it holds a secret he hasn’t fully let himself unpack.

You’re never sure what’s in his mind when he stares at it. Amusement? Gratitude? But the expression on his face is neither cold nor mocking. It’s quiet, the way a heavy breath is quiet. Like there’s weight behind it he doesn’t quite know how to hold.

And you, well, you pretend not to notice. Until tonight.

The apartment is dim, lit only by the warm pools of amber from the floor lamps and the flicker of a documentary playing quietly on the TV. You’re curled up in your favourite spot on the couch, a knitted throw wrapped around your legs and the last half of a glass of wine cradled between your hands. The rain taps against the windowpane, steady and soothing, like the universe is giving the night a rhythm to fall asleep to.

Sukuna crosses the room from the hallway, bare feet silent on the wood flooring, still dressed in the black t-shirt and soft grey sweatpants he changed into after work. His hair is damp from a shower, pushed back haphazardly, and there’s something disarmingly domestic about the sight of him like this, relaxed and unguarded, like he belongs here in your living room. Like he always has.

But he stops. Right in front of your desk.

Your breath stills the moment you see his gaze fall on the list.

You watch him from the corner of your eye, heart thudding softly in your chest. He doesn’t touch it this time, just stands there, the muscles in his back tense under the cotton of his shirt, his head tilted slightly like he’s reading each line over again. Slowly. Carefully. Like the words still mean something.

Like they always did.

Your stomach flutters, not with nerves, but with something deeper. Something like ache. Like understanding.

Because it’s not just a list. Not anymore. It’s the thread that pulled you here. The little absurdity that bridged the space between a quiet, stubborn man and the woman who would come to love him.

He reaches out, fingers just brushing the corner. You hear the faintest sound, the paper crinkling beneath the weight of his hand, and then he draws back.

His eyes lift and they find yours.

He looks startled at first, caught. His shoulders stiffen, jaw tensing as if he’s expecting you to tease him, or worse, ask him what he’s doing.

But you don’t say a word.

Instead, you smile. Small. Warm. The kind that says, I see you. I see all of you and I’m not going anywhere.

Sukuna breathes out through his nose, barely a sound, but you feel it. The way something in him softens. Like muscle uncoiling. Like something brittle finally being let go.

He moves toward you, slow and steady, and when he sits beside you on the couch, the cushions dip with his weight. He says nothing, but his arm comes around you like instinct, drawing you into the side of his body. His touch is solid and sure, palm firm over your waist, like he needs the grounding as much as you do.

“Still can’t believe you kept that thing,” he murmurs finally, voice low and slightly rough from disuse. His breath tickles your temple.

You shift closer, nestling into him, letting the heat of his body seep into yours. “It worked, didn’t it?”

He huffs. A real laugh, faint and sharp-edged. “Tch. Kid got lucky.”

You glance up at him, smiling into the curve of his jaw. “Maybe we all did.”

He doesn’t answer. Not directly. But his hand moves, up your side, along your ribs, fingers tracing soft, thoughtful lines into your shirt like he’s reminding himself you’re real.

And you feel it. All of it. The gratitude he doesn’t know how to say. The tenderness he’s still learning how to hold. The quiet, relentless love that’s taken root inside both of you without fanfare or permission.

He shows you in how he listens. How he waits. How he touches you at night, not with hunger alone, but with reverence. How he learns your patterns and preferences, the books you reread, the sound you make when something moves you, the way your eyes crinkle when you’re smiling for real.

He shows you in the way he says your name, and in the way he says nothing at all, just presses his forehead to yours in the dark, arms around your body, like he’s finally found home.

And you—you love him.

With your hands. With your laughter. With the way you kiss his shoulder when you pass behind him in the kitchen. With the way you hold space for him even when he doesn’t know how to ask for it.

You keep the list on your desk like a compass.

Because even if it began as a joke, sticky, messy and childlike, it carried something true. Something sacred. And now, all these months later, Sukuna is still here. And you are still his. And the list is no longer a beginning.

It’s a promise.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jjk x you #sukuna x you #sukuna x reader #sukuna x y/n #sukuna ryomen #sukuna ryoumen x you #jjk fluff

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freshbabies · 1 year ago

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Please just use wool. If you don't shear wool just keeps growing till sheep tip and get stuck on there back. Wool used to be so valuable that my grandfather picked up every bit of wool he seen on the ground. Now i know people who don't bother to bag and sell it. They use it to cover field drains or burn it.

#sheep #wool sweater #Wool not plastic #Wellfair #Please i have so much wool but it from me

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karlachismylife · 4 months ago

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Simon Riley got his fingers fucked up. Time spent under Roba's torture messed up the joints, made his digits barely able to flex and curl and left him with chronic pain, especially once the temperatures start to drop. It's alright, not the worst thing he came out of that encounter with, he can live with it. Doesn't bother him even that much.

It's just that Simon Riley used to love knitting.

Soft, creamy white, thick yarn turning into volumunous sweaters with huge warm collars his mother and his brother's bird could wear, safe from the nasty winter chill. Stripey socks, comfortable hats, long fluffy scarves - he could and would do it all.

Roba took it from him. Knitting needles became almost impossible to hold properly, struggling over the yarn mess for more than 15 minutes pisses him off and makes him never want to pick it up again. He can barely make a couple rows of a shitty excuse of a scarf, let alone finish a single thing.

And then Soap brings his LT over to his family home for their joint leave - two whole weeks in a household full of bustling life, hearty food and loving banter. In the evenings, when Johnny and all the younglings of the family have already spent their buzzing energy and are snoring in their beds, sometimes piled up like tired puppies, Simon and Mama MacTavish both are kept up by their insomnia. In a pleasantly dimly lit living room, this beautiful woman with white hair and noble profile sits, kitting - soft white wool of Highlands' best sheep turning into a sweater in her hands.

Simon comes to sit with her, calmed down by the sounds her needles make and the hypnotizing movements of her hands. First couple of nights he just lets it lull him to sleep before Mama MacTavish sends him off to wam bed with her snoring son already sprawled across it like a starfish.

Then Simon picks up needles himself. It's a slow, torturous process, his grip slipping, threads coming apart, frustration and anger at his useless fingers building - yet Mama's hands always come to rescue. She soothes the pain in his fingers, helps fix uneven loops, tells him stories of Johnny's childhood to distract Ghost from his angry mind. It works.

By the end of the leave he presents Soap the ugliest knitted hat with pompoms stitched to it in a row resembling a mohawk, and you bet Johnny wears it all the time, flexing in front of everyone who sees him in this monstrosity. He takes it to all the places he shouldn't, stubbornly unwilling to part with the gift, and loses pompoms - yet somehow Simon constantly sees new ones pop up on the hat.

It's Mama MacTavish stitching them on, because she knows, Simon needs a little help with this painstaking work for now.

#banana leaves #no one gave banana #ghoap #soap x ghost #ghost x soap #ghostsoap #soapghost #ghost cod #simon ghost riley #soap cod #john soap mactavish #call of duty #cod #cod fluff

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peachylynnie · 7 months ago

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wolf in sheep's clothing

word count: 2k

synopsis: in which xavier acts innocent despite his not-so-innocent touches.

contains: xavier x mc!reader (early established relationship), he kinda gaslights you (but with no bad intentions really), freaky xavier (not smut tho), suggestive themes, mentions of violence and death, and cussing.

a/n: i had to write for my second favorite lads man at some point. i read somewhere that the official chinese description for xavier is "wolf in sheep's clothing," (don't quote me on that; i could be wrong) and i wholeheartedly believe he is. do NOT copy or translate my work. xavier does NOT endorse plagiarism.

you're convinced your boyfriend is a wolf in sheep's clothing. sure, his pure cerulean eyes and tender voice might convince you otherwise (they did at first). but, with the way xavier's been touching you, you're sure of it. your boyfriend is a wolf in sheep's clothing, and you have the evidence to prove it. countless pieces of evidence, actually. but let's look at the most memorable ones, shall we?

evidence #1

"welcome home, starlight," xavier greets you with open arms and crinkled eyes. your heart can't help but swell at the sight. nothing compares to seeing your boyfriend in a cozy white sweater after opening the door following an exhaustive day of battling wanderers. you swear you were this close to losing it after dealing with lemonette's stupid limes for what seemed like hours. yet, xavier, in all his ash-gray-haired, blue-eyed, soft-spoken glory, takes your pains away with just one simple gesture of welcoming you home.

"hi, xavier." you fall into him, basking in the warmth of his tight embrace. you could honestly die a happy hunter from this. "i missed you."

xavier chuckles, pulling away so he can look at you properly. "i missed you too," he caresses your face. "i missed you so much." he crashes his lips into yours, ardently seeking your taste, your scent, your everything.

you're taken aback by xavier's sudden fervor. but, you return the favor by opening your mouth, eagerly granting his tongue entrance. it's not the first time your beloved boyfriend has initiated such a passionate kiss. after all, you two love each other very much, to the point you're willing to die for each other. a kiss like this is natural to come by; you're blissfully used to it. what you're not used to is what xavier does next.

he weaves his fingers into your hair and tugs.

"ah!" you pull away, panting with wide eyes. what the heck was that? he's never done that before. why did he do that? it felt so good.

xavier blinks at you innocently before asking, "you okay?"

"uh yeah," you stutter, trying to process what just happened. "i'm okay. are you okay?" seriously, is xavier, your puppy-like boyfriend, okay? why did he pull your hair? by no means did it hurt. it was a single, firm tug, yet it did so much, as evidenced by your shortage of breaths and clenching of thighs.

xavier smiles brightly and nods. you close your eyes, expecting him to resume the kiss, totally not hoping to feel his slender fingers pull on your hair. instead, this motherfucker he pecks your cheek and walks away, yawning. "i'm sleepy," he has the audacity to rub his eyes. "let's go to sleep, yeah?"

your jaw drops. did he seriously just suggest you go to sleep?! staring at your boyfriend, you expect an answer for his confusing behavior. xavier blinks innocently, again. "you sure you're okay, starlight?"

you frown, growing even more confused. he's not dumb. you know he's not dumb. heck, he's the association's best hunter. there's no way he doesn't know what he's doing to you. you sigh and shake your head, concluding that perhaps xavier was just caught up in the heat of the moment and was genuinely tired. after all, he battles wanderers too, even more than you. "yeah, i'm okay, xavier." you walk past him and towards your shared bedroom, trying to relieve your mind of certain thoughts. "let's sleep."

unfortunately, you don't catch the amusement in xavier's eyes when you bid him goodnight and turn off the lights.

evidence #2

"how's the food?" xavier asks, whispering into your ear.

beaming at him, you nod excitedly. "it's great. nothing like hotpot with friends on a cold night, right?"

indeed, little to nothing compared to spending time with xavier and your fellow hunters at your comfort restaurant. you and xavier were shoulder to shoulder, sitting across from tara and nero. everything was perfect. the food tasted amazing, your friends were enjoying themselves, and most importantly, xavier was right next to you, with a hand on your thigh, of course.

you don't mind in the slightest. it's assuring, actually. the warmth his touch provides adds more to this delightful atmosphere. content from both the food and the mood, you can't help but rest your head on your boyfriend's shoulder. "thanks for being here, xavier." you murmur.

xavier smiles softly, resting his cheek on your crown. "of course, starlight."

you giggle, nuzzling into him. you love it when he calls you that. "starlight." though, you can't help but feel it should be you calling him that instead. like an actual starlight, xavier shines brightly wherever he goes. from hunting hundreds of wanderers to protecting hundreds of civilians, xavier illuminates the world and you can't help but be blinded at times. not that you mind. you would gladly be blinded by him a million times over if it meant being in his presence.

"okay, that's enough, you lovebirds," tara teases.

you roll your eyes playfully, lifting your head from xavier's shoulder. as much as you would like to stay there forever, you understand the occasional nagging that comes with public displays of affection. hoping to sit up properly, you go to cross your legs. with a click of his tongue, xavier grips your thigh, hard.

yelping, you jolt in your seat. immediately, you cover your mouth, embarrassed over the borderline wanton noise you just made. you stare at xavier, mortified. what the fuck was that?

"are you okay?" tara says your name in concern. she tries to reach over the table, but xavier stops her by handing you some napkins with his free hand and adding another squeeze to your thigh. it's taking everything in you not to squeal.

"she's okay," xavier answers, smiling innocently. "she just spilled some broth, right?" he turns to you, expecting you to follow along.

"yeah," you answer shakily. "sorry, just got a little clumsy, i guess." after pretending to wipe yourself with the napkins xavier gave you, you down a glass of water, hoping to relieve the heat in your face and also in between your legs. you're not sure what is happening anymore. he's never gripped your leg before, let alone touched you so roughly. it felt so fucking good.

for the rest of the night, xavier continued to squeeze your thigh, leaving you a flustered mess. it was torture having to sit through the gathering without making any noise. every so often, when tara or nero wasn't looking, you looked at your boyfriend desperately, begging him to stop (not really) or at least provide an answer for why he was doing this. instead, he would just inch his hand higher and flash that damned innocent smile. by the time the waiter came back with the paid tab, xavier's hand was threatening access to your hip joint. you're not sure how he made his arm look like it wasn't doing anything.

after bidding tara and nero goodbye, you immediately drag xavier outside. "what was that?" you ask impatiently. the freezing air was doing absolutely nothing to cool your heated face, and you're not sure if that pissed you off more or xavier's calm expression.

xavier tilts his head to the right, feigning confusion. "what was what?"

you're want to scream so badly right now. "that!" you snap as you motion to your leg.

xavier tilts his head to the left, gathering his lips into a pout. "i just wanted to massage your leg since it seemed sore from training."

what the fuck? dumbfoundedly, you stare at xavier. there's no way those squeezes could be called a massage. but looking at his pouty face, you can't bring yourself to argue. well shit, now you just feel like a pervert.

you sigh, taking xavier's hand and heading towards the car. "thanks for the massage, xavier."

you miss the smirk growing on his face. "anything for you, starlight."

evidence #3 (happening right now, send help)

"whatcha making?" xavier cutely asks as he wraps his arms around your waist.

you were at the kitchen counter of your shared apartment, rolling some dough with your flour-covered palms. "i wanted to try making some pizza," you answer, entirely focused on the task in front of you. "i saw a tutorial on tiktok. seemed simple enough."

xavier hums, burying his face in the crook of your neck. you giggle, feeling him inhale deeply. it's the quiet and domestic moments like these that make you imagine another life where you and xavier aren't hunters. just people free from the constant dangers of hunting wanderers and protecting civilians. you sigh, reaching across the counter for the tomato sauce. at the end of the day, you and xavier are evolvers. having an innate ability means protecting those who can't protect themselves, even if it means risking your lives. but, both you and xavier can agree the look of relief on people's faces when reuniting with their loved ones is worth the risk.

the tomato sauce is within reach until you jump back into place. why? oh, because xavier's right hand is inching towards the waistband of your panties. "xavier!" you turn around immediately, facing him with widened eyes and flushed cheeks. "what are you doing?!"

you've had enough. the last couple of weeks have been a literal hell with how much your boyfriend's been teasing you, filling your head with dirty thoughts, and acting as if he doesn't know what he's doing. it's as if he's purposely avoiding following through with his actions, not giving you what you fucking want even though he's the one that's been initiating things. not to mention, his hand is still in your pants.

xavier rests his left hand on the counter, pinning you in place. your breath hitches, feeling him rest his forehead on yours. "i'm sorry," he sulks. "i just wanted to touch your belly button."

"stop lying," you say immediately. "last time i checked, my belly button is NOT at my fucking panties." you don't care if you sound harsh. you want xavier to answer for his crimes—crimes being leaving you hanging and making you question your sanity.

xavier chuckles. this motherfucker he dares to chuckle while you look at him with furrowed brows and twisted lips. "it's not funny," you scold. "you've been weird the last few weeks-"

your breath hitches as xavier dips the tips of his fingers past your waistband. holy fucking shit. what is this man doing?! "x-xavier?!"

he doesn't answer. instead, he presses short yet sensual kisses all over your face, slowly trailing down to your neck. you try to stop yourself from whimpering.

"you know," xavier mumbles. "i've been waiting for you to say something." he continues to mouth at your neck, causing you to squirm.

"s-say what?" you ask trembling. fuck, you think you just felt his tongue peak out.

"oh, i don't know," he switches to the other side of your neck. "something like 'xavier please' or 'xavier more'" and with that, he returns both of his hands to your waist, lifts you up effortlessly onto the kitchen counter, and dives straight into your lips.

"xavier! mmph!" there was flour on the counter, meaning there was flour on your pants now. "you're making mmph! a mess!"

"that's not what i want to hear, starlight," xavier shakes his head as he pulls away from you. "it's like you want me to stop."

his fingers rub slow circles into your thighs, causing you to writhe uncontrollably. so this is why he's been acting so fucking teasing the last few weeks. he wanted to do things with you—take your relationship to the next level. but you had to be the one to say it. why? you're not sure. maybe it stroked his ego or something. you don't care anymore. you're pent up from xavier's antics, and all you want right now is for him to follow through. if saying "please" and "more" is what it takes, so be it.

you grab xavier's shirt collar, legs wrapping around his waist and pulling him to you. his eyes widen at your sudden rough actions. but there's a hint of amusement in his eyes, teetering on the edge between curiosity and arousal. though nothing could prepare xavier for what you do next.

"xavier," you whisper into his ear, stroking his nape with your index finger. "can you please give me more?"

xavier inhales sharply, his grip tightening around your thighs.

"i thought you'd never ask, starlight."

#this took longer than i wanted #it's fine #anything for xavier #xavier x reader #xavier x mc #xavier x you #love and deepspace #xavier love and deepspace #love and deepspace xavier #lads xavier #lnds xavier #xavier fluff #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace fic

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mrstellmeafuckingsecret · 6 months ago

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your remus lupin would take back a sweater sirius took from him if he was cold. my remus lupin would sheer sheep, collect wool, spin the fibers, dye it, knit it into fabric panels and sew it together to wear before inconveniencing sirius. we are not the same.

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waitingandwishing · 27 days ago

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Masterlist - Next Chapter

Word Count: 3.2k "𝖫𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝗂𝗇 𝖽𝖺𝗋𝗄𝗇𝖾𝗌𝗌, 𝖻𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗆𝖾 𝖻𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗇𝖾𝗌𝗌" ━━ Ever since you were a kid, all you wanted was to be cared for.

Crowds from all around Korea gathered to see Huntrix's Final World Tour Concert! The buzzing energy from the cheers and excitement practically filled the air with a golden glow. Something about tonight seemed different, like something would... Change (Though it might've been because Huntrix would soon take a long hiatus).

"Mira's my favorite. She's the visual and lead dancer of Huntrix. Nobody can move like Mira." A fan with glasses dressed in a pink Mira hoodie said with a smile. "Apparantly, she's the black sheep of her family."

"I don't know why because she's so cool." A fan with a sweater and beanie scoffed, "Who else could wear a sleeping bag to the Met Gala?"

"Yeah, she's our role model." A younger fan said with her other two friends behind her. The three all had straight faces on as they stared into the camera. "She's the best. Love her."

"We're here for Zoey!" A group dressed in green and carrying signs said excitedly. "She's the rapper and lyricist."

"She grew up in America. Somewhere called Burbank, USA." A boy with a bowl cut and freckles spoke.

"She's the cutest maknae!" The girl next to him smiled.

"But when she raps, she goes hard." The boy nodded.

"She gets really scary. Like, so scary, 'You better watch out'"" The girl said as if threatening the man holding the camera instead of giving an example.

"We love Rumi!" Two girls smiled. "She's pop-star royalty. Her mom, a Sunlight Sister, died when she was a baby. But Celine raised her and built Huntrix around her."

"Rumi's voice is just incredible, like..."

"It brings us to tears!" Three grown men holding and dressed in Huntrix's merch sobbed.

"Y/N's obviously the best!" A girl with her boyfriend squealed, "She's so sweet! Her and Rumi are rumored to have known each other when they were younger though!"

"It makes sense they grew up together." The girl's boyfriend nodded. "They both have really good voices."

"Even though Y/N and Rumi are usually grouped together, Y/N's her own person too! She's got more of a softer tone unlike the rest of the girls, which we love!" Three girls said in scary unison, "They're taking a break, and they need it, but we're gonna miss them so much!"

The three girls started to clap and cheer, the rest of the crowd along with them, as the concert was about to start. The stage lights casted strobing shadows across the city skyline, painting dancing figures on the rooftop ledge. Cheers for the kpop idols could be heard even when you were as far as you had been.

"Okay, this is our biggest show yet." Rumi said. The four of you were huddled together, serious looks on your faces as you tried to take in the anxiety clawing at your hearts.

"The most songs." Zoey grinned.

"The most moves." Mira said seriously.

"Which means the most carb loading." You chuckled.

The four of you broke the huddle, raising your arms to cheer. "For the fans!" The four of you shouted excitedly.

You were so happy you were here with your greatest friends. Something about always being with them made you feel so... Happy. Usually you'd never be this content and more jittery during something as nerve-wracking as this, but you couldn't help but feed off of the other girl's emotions.

"I need like 10,000 calories to get through the choreo." Zoey said, stuffing some kimbap into her mouth.

"A thousand percent. A gajillion percent." Mira nodded.

"Mira, that's not a real number." Rumi commented.

"It is for our fans." Mira said.

"Our fans deserve the best." You smiled, eating your food with much more decency than they were. Sure, you were hungry, starving even, but you really didn't want to risk staining your new costume for this performance.

You watched as Rumi shoved down a whole roll of kimbap before letting out a cough. You laughed before quickly patting her on the back. She coughed, wheezing for a moment before finally swallowing it with a sigh. "Thanks, Y/N," Rumi said.

"No problem." You smiled.

"Okay, time for our pre-game ramyeon!" Rumi announced, grabbing the four cups and handing them to the three of you. You held yours, the title "Amen to Umami" staring back at you. Zoey had come up with the funny wording.

"Happy fans, happy Honmoon!" The four of you beamed, cheering your styrofoam cups of ramyeon together.

"Wait, there's no water in these." Zoey realized, a sad expression now on all of your face. You sighed, standing up and going to the oddly tense flight attendant who was pouring... Coffee into a flower pot?

"Um, excuse me, miss?" You stood in front of her.

"Yes, Miss Hunter... Ix?" The attendant asked with a strained smile and oddly jerky movement.

"We asked for hot water-" You said before being cut off.

"Right away. You're welcome. Arrideverci. Goodbye." She said, quickly walking away. You furrowed your brows. You never liked being cut off. Something about it always made you feel like you were being ignored.

"Uh, oookay." You muttered, walking over and flopping down on the couch with a huff.

Rumi checked her phone, realizing it was their manager, "Hi, Bobby!" She said, sitting up next to you with her arm resting on your shoulder. You leaned into it, craning your head in the camera.

"Um, what are you doing?" Bobby asked, panic evident in his voice. You furrowed your brows, why was he so nervous? Was there a backstage malfunction?

"About to eat our pre-show ramyeon." Rumi said, turning the camera over to Zoey who was chomping on some fishy chips.

"Pre-show? What about the show-show?" Bobby asked, turning his camera over to the thousands of people waiting in the audience. You widened your eyes, about to say something before his phone was suddenly taken.

"Hi!" Four girls squealed, "We love you!"

"Oh, we love you too!" The four of you praised, trying to all fit into the camera. You loved your fans. They were so supportive and loving, you appreciated that so many positive people were drawn to Huntrix.

THe phone was passed on to the group of crying men, the four of you started to sob alongside them as well, "That's so sweet."

"Yo! I just got this!" A man said, snatching the phone and lifting his shirt up to show the tattoo plastered on his side. You, Rumi, and Zoey grimaced as Mira chuckled. That was going to stay on his body forever, what if he regretted it later on?

"Gimme that!" Bobby panted, finally being able to steal his phone back, "Why are you so late?!"

"Late?" You repeated, clearly just as confused as he was.

"Fifty thousand fans are waiting for you." Bobby said as the four of you gazed out the window to realize that the plan had flown past the concert where Huntrix was supposed to be performing. "They made cute signs and everything. How can you be late? I wish you were here."

You turned back to the flight attendants, a suspicious look on your face as well as the others. "Don't worry, Bobby. We'll be there in just a bit!" You said before Rumi hung up.

Rumi and Mira groaned while you pinched the bridge of your nose and Zoey continued to munch furiously on her snacks. "I didn't even get to finish my ramyeon!" Mira complained.

"Why do they always interrupt our snacking?" Rumi asked to no one in particular.

"They will face my wrath!" Zoey yelled.

You stood up to the woman, your arms crossed and an unimpressed look on your face, "You're a demon, right?" You asked, raising an eyebrow at her.

"What do you mean?" She frog-blinked.

"You're smiling all weird, watering plants with coffee, and those guys don't really look like they know what they're doing." You sighed.

"Oh, we were just-"

You cut her off like she did to you before, stomping on her foot to reveal her demon self. The demon working as the cart attendant then turned into a blue colored demon and two other ones appeared as well. "You and your friends are really mean for interrupting our snacking all the time." You said, stretching out your arms, "The rest of you can come out, we're in a hurry!"

A hulking red one appeared, large blue horns and carved out swirls on its skin noticeable. You wondered how the uniform could stretch large enough to fit his huge stature.

"Oh, you got the patterns." Mira said, feigning sympathy before saying, "Now you gotta die."

"The only ones dying tonight are your..." Mira burped, interrupting him. You held back a chuckle, letting it come out as a cough instead. "Uh, I said, the only ones dying tonight are your-"

Rumi's stomach gurgled and she quickly thumped on her chest. "I'm sorry, what?" Rumi asked. You stood there, still stretching out your body. This was also another reason why you didn't eat as fast as the other girls did.

"Your fans! We're gonna eat your fans!" The large one yelled angrily, his voice distorted and low.

"Whoa! No.

"No, thank you!"

"Oh... I don't know about that."

"No, no, no."

"Not our fans." Rumi said, a small smirk appearing on her lips as she placed her hands on her hips.

"When you mess with our fans..."

"We need to make it hurt."

Glowing lines of pulsing energy appeared, shimmering like a warning call to the demons.

"Ugh, you came at a bad time"

Rumi smirked, resting her arm on your shoulder. Your arms were now uncrossed, an unimpressed look on your face as you looked at the demons coldly. They shivered at the sight.

"But you just crossed the line"

Mira tugged on her fingerless leather gloves, her expression serious, while Zoey gave a sweet yet unsettling smile, stretching out her arms. This was going to be a good pre-show warmup.

"You wanna get wild?" Rumi's voice sharpened, "Okay, I'll show you wild."

As if on cue, Mira and Zoey broke formation, charging at the nearest demons with surprising strength and even more surprising movies. You confidently strutted beside Rumi, smiling to yourself as the two girls easily took down the demons.

"Better come right, better luck tryin', gettin' to our levels"

Rumi nudged your shoulder, signaling you to move to the kitchenette. You nodded, hands slightly shaky as you grabbed the kettle and filled it with water.

"Cause you might die, never the time, tryna start a battle"

A demon lunged. Rumi raised one finger in warning without missing a beat, watching the water slowly fill the kettle. Another demon came from the side and you turned mid-step, bashing the kettle into its face as Rumi caught another by the collar and threw it backward into the cockpit.

"Bleeding isn't in my blood, ppyeos-sogbuteo dallaseo—"

The kettle hissed, and you tossed it over to Mira, who caught the jug midair. She brought it down on a demon sitting in a passenger chair, metal clashing with flesh. You cringed internally at the smell of it's burnt demon skin.

"Beating you is what I do, do, do, yeah"

Mira tossed the jug across the aisle. Zoey caught it with one hand, smirking, already turning toward the next wave of demons. She poured the hot water into her ramyeon bowl, balancing it while elbowing one demon in the ribs and tripping another with the back of her heel.

"Body on body I'm naughty, not even sorry"

You regrouped together, the four of you standing in a slight circle as you filled your ramyeon with water. More demons charged, one from each direction. The four of you kicked simultaneously,sending them flying across the suddenly endless plane.

"And when you pull up, I'll pull up a little late to the party (Na-na-na-na)"

Mira raised her chopsticks and Zoey rolled her eyes playfully, both about to take a large slurp before Y/N stopped them. You pointed at the "Wait for 3 minutes" rule at the end of the directions, to which they sighed at before placing their cups back down on the coffee table.

"Locked and loaded, I was born for this. There ain't no point in avoiding it. Annoyed a bit? Bul-eul bichwo da bikyeo, ne apgil-eul ppaesgyeo!"

The cabin lights dimmed and an almost alive blue light rippled throughout the aircraft once again. You cherished its beauty and relished in its soft, almost singing, glow.

"Knocking you out like a lullaby"

Threads of light spun around you as weapons emerged from the glowing threads. Zoey's daggers gleamed as she trailed her hand against the threads to make them appear, Mira's spear shimmered as the tips of her fingers called out to the glow, Rumi's sword pulsed with energy as she pulled at the light, and your whip cracked against the floor of the plane.

"Hear that sound ringing in your mind. Better sit down for the show"

Demons began to scramble, clawing toward the emergency exits. Too late. Just like Icarus, they flew too close to the sun.

You raised your weapons, voices blending into a perfect chord. "Cause I'm gonna show you how it's done, done, done."

You slashed through the demons with fluid grace, their bodies a blur of motion.More demons appeared behind the curtains, from overhead storage. They struck with no etiquette, clearly just aiming to hurt and scare.

"HUNTRIX DON'T MISS!"

Mira impaled one mid-air as Zoey ricocheted a blade off a tray table. Your whip latched onto one of the scrambling ones, pulling it forward before plunging your dagger into its chest. You chuckled as it shimmered away in pink magic.

"How it's done, done, done! HEY! Huntrix don't quit! How it's done, done, done! Run, run, we run the town-"

You stumbled, falling back on the couch with wide eyes as the aircraft suddenly shook. Just as your styrofoam cup almost fell from the coffee table, Rumi caught it and handed it to you with a smile. You grinned, grabbing the cup and standing up from your position.

"Whole world playin' our sound."

You ran towards the windows and outside, the front half of the plane was suddenly... Gone?! Somehow, it had been torn clean off from two demons clinging to the wing and the flight attendant, which was also starting to rip away.

"Turnin' up, it's going down! Huntrix show this, how it's done, done, done"

The wing tore free. The girls walked towards the edge of the plane. Mira let out a sigh, shrugging as if this happened every day. Well, this actually did happen almost every day if you were being honest. "Yeah, this plane's trashed."

You exchanged a look before slurping their ramen in perfect sync. "Okay, let's do this," Rumi said walking towards the plane's door.

Wind kissed your exposed skin, causing you to let out a slight sigh at the cool breeze penetrating the hot sweaty air. "Yeah, something about when you come for the crown," You turned, leaning backwards with a smirk, "That's so humbling, huh?"

You waved to Rumi as you dived off the plane with the others behind her. You felt a rush of adrenaline fill your body, the nervousness evaporating from your skin as you saw the stage lights grow brighter.

"gabjagi wae geulae? meonjeo geondeulyeo, wae? ijeya pogihae, what? Nothing to us. Run up, you're done up, we come up from sunup to sundown, so come out to play"

Rumi dove like a bullet, her foot practically glowing from the speed of which she was falling. "Won either way, we're one in a million. We killin', we bring it, you want it? Okay—" She kicked a demon's chest, sending it flying even more than it already did. "Heels, nails, blade, mascara"

Rumi casually inspected her nails, tossing the mirror to you to which you quickly passed to Mira and took out your phone instead. "Fit check for my napalm era." You took a picture with Rumi in the background, a smile on your face despite the fact you were falling.

Mira brushed her hair and flicked a blow-dryer at a demon like a cannon. "Need to beat my face, make it cute and savage"

Zoey sat on the shoulders of a demon, concentrating as she used her makeup brush on it, applying blush to its confused face. "Mirror, mirror on my phone, who's the baddest? Us? Hello!"

She smirked before pushing off of the demon and penetrating it with her dagger. It poofed mid-scream. The concert came into view and you braced yourself to land, now diving down to the stage with your friends beside you.

"Knocking you out like a lullaby. Hear that sound ringing in your mind."

They landed, causing a fog to appear. The lights behind them created a silhouette standing above the three demons that were left.

"Better sit down for the show. 'Cause I'm gonna show you, I'm gonna show you! I'm gonna show you how it's done, done, done"

You parted the fog, jumping through and killing the last of the demons with your special weapons easily. The four of you walked with confidence, microphones now replacing the weapons in your hands.

"I don't talk, but I bite, full of venom, uh. Spittin' facts, you know that's how it's done, done, done—" Mira said confidently, eyes trained on the crowd.

Zoey stepped up beside you with a grin, rapping in tempo as she faced the camera pointed at her. "Okay, like, I know I ramble but when shootin' my words, I go Rambo. Took blood, sweat, and tears, to look natural, uh that's how it's done, done, done."

You and Rumi stepped forward into the center spotlight, hand in hand as you both stared at the pulsing threads surrounding the stage and eventually creeping outwards to the rest of the world. You needed to do this.

"Hear our voice unwavering. 'Til our song defeats the night"

You turned to the left while Rumi leaned over to the right side of the stage. You knelt, smiling at the crowd as you and Rumi's voice harmonized together.

"Makin' fear, afraid to breathe. Til the dark meets the light!"

The two of you hit the note, making the crowd cheer louder and louder. As Rumi continued on, you held out the microphone to the people near you with a smile before joining the rest of the girls in the center stage.

"How it's done, done, done. Run, run, we run the town! Done, done, done!"

You danced alongside them, circling and moving with grace and ease. You watched as the Honmoon glowed bright, shifting into another color that the four of you had been waiting for for a long time.

"Whole world playin' our sound! Done, done, done! Turnin' up, it's going down. Done, done, done!"

You exchanged glances with Zoey, gesturing to the golden shift, to which she excitedly grinned at as the others did as well.

"We hunt you down, down, down (Down) We got you now, now, now (Got you now)"

You stepped in front of the three of them, the last final notes of the song coming soon.

"We show you how, how, how (Show you how). Huntrix, don't miss, how it's done, done, done"

Rumi, Mira, and Zoey posed behind you as you knelt in front of the three of them, a smile on your face as you held up two peace signs for the final pose.

#fanfic #fanfiction #x reader #rumi #mira #zoey #rumi x reader #jinu x reader #kpdh x reader #kdh x reader #kpop demon hunters #kpop demon hunters x reaedr #rumi kdh #jinu kdh

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olailamajnoon · 7 months ago

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Jason appeared one morning on a summer's day. He was fresh and clean, and missing his customary violent tissue scars.

Bruce saw him enter the Manor, and held his breath. He didn't want to shake anything, shake the universe in any way to make Jason go away.

It's a dream, he said to himself. The Red Hood swallowed up my son. It's a dream.

Dream-Jason spoke up, munching Froot-n-Nuts in the kitchen. "Bruce. Where the fuck is everyone?"

Bruce stared in horror. Jason's face was clean of any hate. Why? He knew, then, that something was Very Wrong.

"No one is here," he said casually. "The house is empty, as you can see."

Jason nodded okay, and moved to go upstairs. "Jason," Bruce called. "What are you doing?"

"Going to my room!" Jason called. "I wanna see it! I know I don't live here anymore, but—I wanna see."

"Okay," said Bruce, already speed-dialling Dick. "Jason! Don't run up the stairs!"

"Okay," Jason called meekly.

Dick arrived in half an hour, to find Bruce and Jason sitting next to each other, watching Prince of Egypt.

"Wha—" he almost said, but Bruce shushed him with a finger. "Come, take a seat!" Jason called.

"Wha—" said Dick again, but then he caught Bruce's gaze from the corner of his eye. Bruce was warning him to keep silent.

When there was a popcorn break, Dick and Bruce conferred in the kitchen.

"The last thing he remembers," said Bruce, "is Zatanna."

"Zatanna did this?"

"She hasn't been answering my calls." Bruce roamed angrily, his hands tight by his sides. "She fucked with my son."

"She took away his anger! His—" Dick searched for a word.

"Hate," said Bruce. "That's what you're looking for."

"And without those things? He's like a lobotomized sheep!" Dick was angrier than Bruce had ever seen him. But then a sound came from inside the room, and both Dick and Bruce opened the door to find Jason playing with a sleepy Ace. The loyal old dog was licking Jason's fingers, and Jason was laughing.

Literally and actually laughing.

The two men looked at the boy Jason had become. The wonder and innocence in his eyes.

"Is this what he would have been like," Bruce murmured deadly, "if the world hadn't found him and taken him apart."

"I don't know," said Dick, with hot bitter desperation, "but that kid in there? That's not Jason. Not my brother."

"Hey Dick!" Jason called, and then snickered. "You remember how we used to take Ace out on walks while it was freezing, after making him wear the dog sweater?"

And Dick looked numbly at Jason's expectant, childlike face, and burst into tears.

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andragoras-in-vanity · 3 months ago

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i actually already sew, nost of my summer wardrobe was designed and sewn by myself! and i know how to sew by hand! i hate it, but i know how! but yeah im unfortunately familiar with fiber arts hobbies spawning more fiber arts hobbies 🙃

my issue is less gendered clothing though and more that i blend styles and 'masculine' and 'feminine' styles in ways that arent typically historical even if theyre based on historical methods of styles? and i dont like compromising on that (which im starting to see i may not need to as long as i do it properly) only because i dont feel good in loose clothing, it doesnt make me feel good about myself. for example i love the details and embellishments on womens dresses from a lot of European cultures, but its hard to blend that into comfortable masc clothing. but im starting to see a few ways to adjust my usual designs and draw from different cultural techniques!! id just need to verify with my local group before i commit

i am glad to hear its not as strict as i thought though, there are a lot of aspects id prefer some leeway with but not a lot of groups that are similar outside of the sca 😭 im also perfectly okay if this leads to sheep. theres no way i wouldnt be happy with getting sheep out of this...

but i also really love that where i could easily situate myself in a knitting circle, id probably wont end up an expert in anything, but id also be able to mend things for others or try baking using older methods to feed anyone who needs it (which have always interested me but alas the chronic fatigue disagrees)

i think of all the cultures id be most interested in, the celtic ones have the biggest draw despite having some of the worst methods of recording it or were wiped from existence by various invaders, so i was worried that maybe i wouldnt get to indulge that side but if everyone tends to gravitate towards different ones that interest them maybe ill still get to learn more!!

do you know maybe if theres anything i could take part in with regards to combat without having to actually do any physical fighting? thats something i heavily admire but i know i cant do, but all i can think of takes more physical abilty than i have other than mending garb 🙃

either way, im excited and i cant get out there fast enough, i wonder what my local group will be like🥰 but i do know everyone ive seen involved is just so friendly and ready to help!!

Hi!! unlike a lot of the asks youve gotten lately, i dont have any advice or answers for anyone, but i do have a few questions for you!

im not worried about titles or how id be treated in the SCA as a trans person given the demographics of my area, but i AM kind of worried about things like clothing. i know there are some somewhat neutral options but having to be historically accurate kinda kills my usual method of blending historical clothing into androgyny, do you think theres any leway for things like that or would it be up to my local group entirely what theyd allow?

i was also wondering if the SCA is always so focused on such a specific geographic history (everything ive seen is either very english or somewhat scandinavian), or again is it up to the individual as long as its time period accurate? i think my local group would be the canton of seashire/barony of ruantallan so im sure theres at least a few people whod want to deviate, i just want to join a group like the SCA but i dont have much love for the english....

i also have a disability that makes it hard to travel and do stuff like pitch tents, i sometimes have to skip events. is that something id be able to compensate the group for in other ways if i need a little extra understanding sometimes? i dont feel right asking for help and not paying it back when its my own fault.

thanks for always helping us when we want to know things, ive wanted to join a group like this for so long but the SCA seems so strict that a two hour drive for someone who cant drive wasnt worth it, but now im moving and this new group gathers down the road from where im moving to so i figure maybe id try looking into it again! (im sorry this sounded like an email 🙃)

Hello, friend!

I have great news for you. :) The only requirement for garb in the SCA is that you make SOME attempt at pre-16th century clothing. That's it. That's the rule. Some people interpret this for themselves as being as strictly as historically accurate as they can, while others interpret it as doing what they can with the resources they have. It all depends on how you want to play your game. The other good news it that, just like today, people then played with fashion to fit their specific needs. So if you want to adjust your garb to something that is more comfortable for you, then by all means - do it!

When it comes to fashion among the populace, there are definitely trends that happen. But, like I mentioned before, there's also necessity in fashion. There was a little ice age happening from approximately 1300-1800, and so fashions tended to be layered and well... warm. That doesn't really work in some of our modern climates. In warmer Kingdom's you'll see a lot of Roman or Anglo-Saxon happening in the summer. In the winter, Viking tends to take over. You also find that fashions that are easier to make and wear are usually preferred over ones that are more complicated, expensive, or just unsuitable for the event.

In my Kingdom, there was a trend for a little while for each of the reigns to be themed. We've had a Persian reign, a Landsknecht reign, a Viking reign - and then the populace made garb to coincide with the theme of the reign, which did add some diversity to looks. Right now, I've noticed that Landsknecht is definitely on the rise in our particular area after Viking had a bit of a strangle hold for a while. It still does, really, because it's such an easy fashion to make, and can be comfortable in all climates depending on the material you use (linen for summer, wool for winter).

Everyone has their skills and talents, as well as their limitations. You can absolutely find something to contribute to your group based on your own capabilities. Coordinating the hospitality, offering to watch little ones, heck - even being in charge of making the field space reservations would be ways that you can contribute to the group event experience. If you are a crafter, an artist, a performer, or even filling an officer position or assisting an office with their duties. And if you're none of those things, that's fine, too. Events are more fun just having people there to share the experience with. No one will begrudge you for not doing something you are incapable of doing. If they do, then forget them - I'm your SCA Mom now, and you can come play with me.

I'm so glad that you're closer to a group and are going to be able to be involved! I hope that you have an amazing time - please let me know when you go and how everything went! I'm so excited for you.

Welcome to the dream!

#hm #while typing i also remembered my mum and i did math on how many sweaters you can get out of one sheep #so now she wants sheep because i loathe artificial fibers #but i also am a crow and i like bright colours #which means i may as well learn to dye wool which means spinning wool and if i have yarn around anyway i might as well learn to weave #you cant believe how unfortunate it is for my wallet that theres a weaving studio near the town im moving to #looms are expensive #hell so are spinning wheels #but if we can trade equipment or tasks then ill still get to learn without having to commit to something i wont be able to make money doing #im also lucky to live in a gaelic speaking area so i may yet get some celtic exposure #i speak a bit but not fluently and as much as i plan to learn at the college i do want to learn from other people too #hopefully that will mean im not the only one situated in that fashion either #not that its a deal breaker its just a personal hope

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carmelves · 6 months ago

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I feel like Sylus would be the perfect partner for someone with a million hobbies

You want to learn archery? Good, you can never be proficient in too many weapons. He has a couple of different bows lying around in his armories, pick out the one you like best

Ballroom dancing? Buckle up, because he's coming with you and he's taking it seriously. The two of you will be dancing circles around everyone else in your class. (You might have to lead though, because he can’t stay on beat to save his life)

Piano? A keyboard is already on the way to your apartment, and he's hired the best tutor money can buy. He's also gotten a piano for his place, just in case you want to practice while you’re staying over. (Spoilers: you never manage to practice much at his place. It always seems to end with you bent over the piano… Good thing he bought a sturdy model)

Oh, you want to try boxing? Here’s a meticulously planned training regime for you to follow, including warmups, stretching, and rest days. He’ll be doing the teaching himself: only the best for you, after all.

Traveling? We already know he enjoys travel and does so often, so wherever you want to go, he’ll be right there with you. He’s happy to sit back and let you do the planning, enjoying how enthusiastic you are about researching destinations and drawing up timetables, but if you want to just enjoy some relaxation he’ll handle all the details, don’t you worry about a thing.

You want to… raise sheep? Sure, why not. He has a property out in the country he doesn’t use often, might as well turn it into something useful. Get as many sheep as you want. Some ducks too, while you’re at it, since you can’t stop talking about how cute they are. Hell, you might as well turn it into a whole farm. Don’t worry about taking care of it when you’re busy: he’ll find someone trustworthy to do the hard stuff. (and he’ll absolutely wear the first sweater you knit from your handspun yarn. Stop saying it’s lumpy, it’s cozy. Perfect to wear while cuddling with you.)

#brought to you by my never ending bucket list #and adhd #lads #lads sylus #love and deepspace #sylus love and deepspace

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zweetpea · 8 months ago

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Yandere Batfam X reader p2

Feat. the batfam! (Jason, Dick, and Barbara)

Part 2 of this!

Will be making a part three with Echo's birthday!

Tags: @sirentheblogger @xiqn04 @wpdarlingpan @midnightgrimoire @fantasyhopperhea @torye @sammydaboii @couldeatthatgirlforlunch @tatsuri-zomushiki @degenerates-posts @lostsomewhereinthegarden @ladylupuscrow @sheep-from-rad @pi1nkl0ver @roseytheteacup @justannie18

if you weren't tagged for some reason pls comment and i'll figure out how to fix it

You had been dropping Echo off for about half a year now.

For some reason every time you had dropped echo off Damian was the one who answered the door, despite the fact that he hated you. He even once told you that he’d rather have a wanted thief as a step mother than you.

Regardless, today he wasn’t the one to open the door. It was a tall man who had jet black hair in a hairstyle reminiscent of MatPat. He was rather muscular and had big blue eyes. He just stared at you with wide eyes and a slightly agape mouth. His outfit was kind of basic: just a white tee shirt, a blue racer jacket, and some navy blue jeans.

“Um… hello?” You pulled Echo closer to you while the tall new man stared at you awkwardly.

“Hi… Hi! Uh, hi! I’m Richard but my siblings call me Dick.” He smiled nervously and held out his hand to shake.

You ignored his hand. “Well, siblings can be cruel.”

Dick suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. “Heh, yeah.”

“So where’s the terror tot?” You said monotonously.

“You mean Damian? Him and Bruce left for a gala in Switzerland last night.” He smiled shyly at you.

You facepalmed and sighed. “Why didn’t he tell me?” You pouted, very annoyed at your baby daddy.

Dick sensed your anger and tried to distract you. “Well Bruce asked me and Jason to look after our sister!”

You stepped back slightly. “Sister?” You tilted your head cautiously.

“Hold on! We're doing what?!” Another man popped in from the doorway. He was slightly taller than Dick and had dark black hair with a long strip of white and blue eyes. He was wearing a worn-down bomber jacket, a black t-shirt and black ripped jeans.

Dick glared at him. “We’re helping take care of our little sister, JASON!”

He looked at you and propped one arm above his head against the door frame. He smirked at you and chuckled. “Oh so you’re the lovely lady Bruce can’t shut up about. Though I can’t exactly blame him. If you were mine I don’t think I’d ever let you go.” He looked you up and down with hooded eyes.

You and Dick gave him disturbed looks. Dick was the first to speak up. “Jason, stop being disgusting!” Dick smacked him on the back of the head.

“Can you blame me? She’s a beautiful woman! And she’s far too young for Bruce.” Jason looked at his older brother bored and slightly irritated.

“I’m standing right here you know!” You growled, very vexed.

Jason smirked again. “I know. How about you come inside and keep me company.”

She handed Echo over to Dick. “I’m late enough as it is. If I keep this up I’ll have my pay docked.” She turned to walk off.

“I have a trust fund! You could be my sugar baby!” Jason called from the doorway.

“You are so disgusting.” Dick glared at Jason.

Jason scoffs. “She’s hot. Plus I’m not wrong! She’s way too young for Bruce.”

Dick brought Echo in and set her on the couch. She had gotten used to the place thanks to Damian so she didn’t cry without her mom. She did try to crawl away when Dick started to scold Jason. She almost fell off the couch when a certain redhead caught her.

“You both are idiots.” Barbara held Echo under the little baby’s arms.

“BABS!” Dick came over and gave her a side hug before taking Echo. “When did you get it?”

She smiled. “Alfred let me in through the service door.” She had her hair tied back like usual and a green turtle neck sweater. She flopped herself on the end of the couch near where Jason was standing and smirked at him. “You boys would be lost without me.”

Jason glared at her. “Oh shut up!”

“Jason, be nice. We could really use the help Babs.” Dick sat next to her.

“I know.” She giggled. “So this is Bruce’s latest pet project?”

Jason sat perpendicular from them in the recliner. “You shoulda met her Ma, Barbie. She was a smokeshow. Way too hot for Bruce. In fact, I believe it’s my duty to take her for myself to make sure Bruce doesn’t get canceled for this inappropriate relationship.”

“JASON STOP!! You’re being inappropriate!” Dick scolded.

Jason rolled his eyes. “Oh shut up! I saw the way you were looking at her! You act all high and mighty but you actually want to do exactly what I’m saying!”

Dick blushed and looked away. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Jason and Barbara could tell he was lying from the way he furrowed his brow. “She’s Bruce’s. He already called dibs and I’m not going to go behind his back. And you know what? I’m going to make sure you don’t either, JASON!!”

“Fine! Fine. Let’s just take care of the kid.” Jason grumbled and leaned his head against his fist, resting against the armrest of the recliner.

Barbara looked at him. “She’s not just a kid. She’s your sister.”

“Whatever!” Jason threw his hands up.

A little later Echo started crying so the three of them took her into the Kitchen.

“So what do babies eat?” Dick asked.

Jason shrugged. “I have some burritos from last night.”

Dick looked away thinking for a moment. “Well Echo can’t have solid food so you’ll have to put it in the blender.”

Jason shrugged. “If you say so.” He picks up Echo.

“THE BURRITOS NOT THE BABY YOU IDIOT!” Dick screamed.

Barbara ripped Echo out of his hands. “Idiots, both of you. She left instructions for how to help Echo feed.” Barbara gave Echo her bottle and she started to suck. The littlest Wayne drank every last drop and Barbara burped her.

Dick smiled and gave her a thumbs up. “Wow! You’re amazing with her! You’re a natural!”

“Thank you, Dick.” Barbara leaves to put Echo into her nursery.

A few hours later you come to pick up Echo.

“Uh, Hello.” You grabbed your baby from Barbara. “It’s nice to see that she was in actually capable hands.”

Jason gasped. “Dick and I are plenty capable!”

You deadpanned at him. “Maybe so but Barbara was the first person in history to be awarded the Wayne Institute of Technology’s Scientific accolade while she was still in high school. I was very impressed with your work, Miss Gordon. Keep it up and someday you’ll be running Wayne enterprises for sure!” She shook Barbara’s hand and walked off with Echo.

Jason smirked and nudged Dick as Barbara was left their star struck. “I’ll share her with you.”

Dick looked down at his younger brother. “Deal.”

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