#third wave coffee

[thomaswyrmwood]

I Promised Coffee Didn't I?

Specialty coffee has to be one of my greatest comforts. Each morning I get to participate in a morning ritual, drink a delicious cup, and know that the money I used to pay for the bag of beans actually goes to the right people — the farmers.

However, this obsession (addiction) had a surprising starting point. My origins for specialty coffee beans came from a video game of all places. Persona 5 has this one great mechanic where the main character Ren can make pour-over coffee and then bring it into the field where they can use it to restore SP outside of combat. What makes this mechanic so memorable for me is that as you progress through the game Sojiro, the owner of Cafe Leblanc, will teach Ren about different specialty coffee beans.

The above characteristics of Persona 5 are what got me into specialty coffee. Before I was just an ignorant high schooler just throwing pre-ground Starbucks roasts into my parents' French Press (Plunger for you British and British colony citizens). I mean... a better start for most high schoolers, but still... I was ignorant. After this game, I continued to learn about varietals, blends, and heirlooms of beans, and oooh boy, did I get into it.

However, I am not here to thank Persona 5 for getting me into this admittedly, to be honest, addiction, but to pay homage to the game by going over every varietal in their own blog post. In each upcoming blog post, I'll go over 1.) The variety, region, and tasting notes 2.) Can you buy these from an ethical source 3.) The price range 4.) My own personal review of these varietals if I can buy them without going broke.

Between these posts, I'll also write a summary of a folk creature originating from the same region as these varietals. If the region has a creature represented in Persona 5 I will automatically choose to do a summary of said creature. Maybe with a twist. Maybe I'll describe the said creature as a varietal of bean and what tasting notes it would have? Maybe I'll discuss how effective a barista the creature would make? Who knows!? I certainly don't because I haven't decided yet!

[coffeestore]

☕ The Secret Coffee Diaries of Kazakhstan ☕

We didn’t choose the coffee life. The coffee life chose us.

Fun fact: Before we became specialty coffee roasters, we were just two caffeine-deprived souls in Almaty, drinking that instant coffee with Soviet-era condensed milk (you know the one). Then we tried real Ethiopian Yirgacheffe.

The rest is history.

Now we: ✔️ Smuggle rare beans through Central Asian borders (legal-ish) ✔️ Brew coffee in a 1970s Soviet percolator (it’s elite) ✔️ Put horse milk in flat whites (don’t knock it till you try it)

Question for you: What’s the weirdest coffee tradition where YOU live? (We once served a customer who added butter to espresso. It was… an experience.)

[Tag 5 friends who need to know about Tajikistan’s strawberry-chocolate coffee.]

— Your caffeine dealers, CoffeeStore.kz

[Reblog if you’d risk it all for the perfect cup.]

[youthchronical]

Third Wave Coffee’s first outlet in Chennai has cold brews, snacks, and a Holi menu

A view of Third Wave Coffee As temperatures rise, we are always on the lookout for cold drinks that are refreshing and energising. One sip of the lemon cold brew at the recently opened Third Wave Coffee at Palladium in Velachery can do just that.  Lemon cold brew | Photo Credit: Special Arrangement “As summer approaches, we knew that a version of our popular citrus orange cold brew would be a…

[sagocukaan34]

İstanbul Beyoğlu'ndaki En İyi 5 Kahve Mekanı

İstanbul’un en ünlü ilçelerinden biri olan Beyoğlu’ndaki en iyi kahve mekanlarıyla sizlerleyiz! Beyoğlu, İstanbul’un en ünlü ilçelerinden biri. Şüphesiz ki bu ün, birçok insanın buraya akın etmesiyle sonuçlanıyor. İstanbul’un Beyoğlu ilçesinde bulunan bu en iyi 5 kahve mekanı, kahve tutkunları açısından en ideal mekanlardan oluşuyor. Orjinal kahvelerin tadına bakabileceğiniz, dostlarınızla…

[sampungmgadaliri]

A chilly afternoon and a cup of cappuccino

The afternoons were special for me. There was always this tingling feeling that came from knowing that the day was almost over and we had our fill of happiness and excitement. Afternoons were promises that there will be a new day where we, as kids, will enjoy ourselves again. This whole sentiment was perfectly captured by an illustration from a children’s book that my mom has given me back in…

[hcvenrose]

Okay I’m gonna be honest guys. The first time I visited Third Wave Coffee it was a pretty bad experience and I’ve pretty much avoided that place till today when I visited it with my best friend. And OH MY GOD YOU GUYSSS I tell ya the strawberry lemonade delight thingy (I don’t remember the name) was AH-mazing!! The virus iced tea was not so far behind it. Plus the cinnamon bun thingy and the brownie were good enough too. MUST TRY I’d say!!

[rotmanprwriter]

While supplies last, local roasters still have tasty holiday blends in stock

[jasper-borealis]

It’s great working at a small coffee shop and roasters part time, because I’m in the loop just enough to understand this, but sometimes I wished I wasn’t because this sticky note is legitimately hilarious out of context.

[thirdwavewater]

Third Wave Water: The Perfect Coffee Water, As Seen on Shark Tank

When it comes to brewing the perfect cup of coffee, many coffee enthusiasts know that water quality plays a critical role in the final flavor. This is where Third Wave Water comes in, offering an innovative solution for achieving that ideal brew. Whether you're a home barista or a professional coffee maker, the right water can make all the difference. Let's dive into why Third Wave Water is the best bottled water for coffee and how it stands out, even featuring on the hit show Shark Tank.

What is Third Wave Water?

Third Wave Water is not your typical bottled water. It’s specifically formulated to enhance the brewing process of high-quality coffee, especially for those who enjoy the nuances of third wave coffee. This type of coffee is focused on highlighting the origin flavors and intricacies of the beans. However, the water you use can either accentuate or mask those flavors. Third Wave Water has found the sweet spot in creating water that works seamlessly with your coffee, allowing the beans to shine in their full glory.

Why Water Matters for Coffee?

You might be wondering: why is water so important when making coffee? After all, it makes up about 98% of the final cup! The composition of the water directly impacts the extraction of flavors from the coffee grounds. Minerals in water, such as calcium and magnesium, can enhance extraction and bring out the rich, subtle notes in high-quality beans. On the other hand, water that is too hard or too soft can lead to under-extraction or an imbalance of flavors.

This is where Third Wave Water comes in. It’s designed to provide a balanced mineral profile that complements the complex flavors of third wave coffee. Unlike regular bottled water, Third Wave Water gives you exactly what you need to ensure that your coffee tastes as good as it possibly can. Whether you're brewing a dark roast espresso or a lighter blend, the right water ensures that each cup delivers the perfect balance of flavor.

The Secret Behind Third Wave Water’s Success

The company Third Wave Water was founded to provide coffee lovers with a water solution that could deliver optimal brewing results. Located in Herenweg 15, 3602 AM Maarssen, Netherlands, the brand’s mission is simple: to give you the best possible water for brewing third wave coffee. With their scientifically balanced water formula, they’ve become the go-to choice for coffee enthusiasts worldwide.

Third Wave Water was even featured on Shark Tank, where it garnered attention for its innovative approach to coffee brewing. The company’s success story is a testament to how a high-quality, specialized product can disrupt the coffee industry, offering an easy and convenient solution to one of coffee’s most overlooked components: water.

How to Use Third Wave Water for Your Coffee

Using Third Wave Water is simple. The product comes in convenient packets that you mix with distilled water to create the ideal water profile for your coffee brewing. The water is designed to complement the full range of flavors found in third wave coffee, from fruity and floral notes to the more earthy, chocolatey flavors. Whether you're brewing a dark roast espresso or using a pour-over method, the right water can help bring out the best in every brew.

Whether you’re brewing with a pour-over method, an espresso machine, or a French press, Third Wave Water ensures your coffee will taste its best. The company offers several different options to suit various brewing preferences, making it a versatile choice for coffee lovers.

FAQ about Third Wave Water

Q1: What is third wave coffee? A1: Third wave coffee is a movement that focuses on treating coffee as a craft. It emphasizes the appreciation of coffee's origin, flavor profiles, and sustainable practices. Third wave coffee seeks to highlight the nuances of different coffee beans and bring out their unique flavors.

Q2: Why is water important for brewing coffee? A2: Water makes up 98% of your cup of coffee, so the quality of water directly impacts the taste. The right mineral balance in water can improve extraction, while improper water can lead to poor flavor and under-extraction.

Q3: How does Third Wave Water differ from regular bottled water? A3: Unlike regular bottled water, Third Wave Water is specially formulated to enhance the flavors of high-quality coffee. It has a precise mineral content that balances extraction, bringing out the best in your coffee beans.

Q4: Can I use Third Wave Water for espresso? A4: Yes! Third Wave Water works perfectly for espresso, as it’s designed to enhance the subtle and complex flavors found in third wave coffee beans, which is essential for high-quality espresso.

Q5: Where is Third Wave Water located? A5: Third Wave Water is based in Herenweg 15, 3602 AM Maarssen, Netherlands.

Conclusion

The pursuit of the perfect cup of coffee goes beyond just the beans and the brewing method—it’s about having the right water too. Third Wave Water has revolutionized how coffee lovers can enhance their brewing process, providing the best bottled water for coffee to elevate your third wave coffee experience. Whether you’re looking to perfect your pour-over or improve your dark roast espresso, Third Wave Water offers a simple and effective solution. With its thoughtful formulation and its appearance on Shark Tank, it’s clear that this company is dedicated to helping coffee enthusiasts brew their best cup yet.

If you’re serious about coffee, it’s time to experience the difference Third Wave Water can make in your cup. Ready to elevate your brew?

[thomaswyrmwood]

The Indonesian Kopi Luwak

Find Prior Posts In This Series Below Intro: I Promised Coffee Didn’t I?

Firstly, I need to give credit where credit is do. I will be using this Reddit post by u/chapsthedude where they listed all the coffee trivia facts from Persona 5. I will be exploring the coffee on this list and copy/pasting the trivia.

Now onto what I feel like is a... snobbish and (spoilers) unethical and disgusting coffee bean.

IN GAME DESCRIPTION

"This rare coffee is made by collecting coffee beans that have been through the digestive tract of the Asian palm civet. Although very expensive, Kopi Luwak is said to have a full aroma and rich flavor due to the civet’s digestive enzymes." - Sojiro Sakura.

Yes, that is correct this coffee bean comes from an animal's rear end making it one of the few non-vegan coffee beans out there.

REPORTED TASTING NOTES

Kayakopi.com reports that Kopi Luwak, "is noticeably not bitter and is intensely aromatic. It has a complex flavor profile that is smooth, earthy and sweet with a hint of chocolate." The universally agreed upon reason is that a healthy civet's digestive enzymes break down the proteins that cause bitterness after brewing.

There is science that supports this idea as James Hoffman discusses in his video Kopi Luwak/Civet Poop Coffee: Disgusting or Delightful? However, in the same video, he discusses his personal experience with the Kopi Luwak describing it as similar to lower-quality coffee to paraphrase. There are reasons for the lower grade taste such as the civet feeding on a poor quality coffee bean or... ...

CAN YOU BUY IT FROM AN ETHICAL SOURCE?

In short. Good luck. Kopi Luwak is plagued by snake-oil salesmen selling low-grade coffee beans disguised as Kopi Luwak. Worse still is the practice of animal cruelty in the industry. Large producers often participate in caging civets and force-feeding them a diet that is exclusively coffee cherries, "On top of being inhumane, this results in inferior coffee because the civet's digestive system is wrecked from an unbalanced diet. Part of the magic of Kopi Luwak comes from the healthy enzymes from the luwak. If the diet is deficient, this enzymatic process won't be efficient," as kayakopi.com reports.

You will also find unsafe imitators such as a man who attempted to sell coffee beans that went through his own digestion track. Yes, that actually happened.

Now kayakopi.com reports that their Kopi Luwak coffee comes from wild free-range civets and that they follow Fairtrade's International guidelines, but... I have found no third-party independent sources, articles, or reports that have confirmed or refuted this claim.

WHAT IS THE COST?

Small bags of only a few hundred grams could cost you anywhere in the ballpark of 30$ to 60$ USD. Larger bags at 1 kg can cost up to 650$ USD. Yes... that is right... Six. Hundred. Fifty. Dollars. USD for a kilogram.

DID I TRY IT?

No. Not only do I feel uncomfortable with the costs I feel uncomfortable with the industry itself. Also, whenever I think about this coffee my mind immediately goes to this quote from Monk Of Mocha by Dave Eggers, "Coffee from assholes, for assholes."

Sources:

[a-cheetosandroid]

me: looks at the flies and mosquitoes on the ceiling

also me: looks at the spider ALSO on the ceiling

me again *to the spider*: I GIVE YOU ONE JOB

[incorrectbatfamandfriends]

Headcanon that since Jason can’t go out with his family publicly, what he does instead is show up in random disguises.

Bruce is chatting up some socialites at a gala, talking about the joys of fatherhood and how rewarding it is. Meanwhile he made eye contact with Jason disguised as a waiter twenty minutes ago, and is currently trying to stop his eye from twitching.

Dick is speaking to a third grade class as a part of the Bludhaven Police department outreach program, except when he walks in Jason is sitting behind the teachers desk, playing the role of substitute.

Babs can’t help but stare when Jason hands her a coffee from behind the counter of her favorite coffee shop. (His name tag reads Peter, and for a second she thinks she’s actually lost it).

Tim walks into Wayne Towers one day and on his way in, he waves to his secretary- lo and behold Marjorie has been replaced by Jason. It takes him three hours to notice.

Cass walks into ballet class to discover her teacher had to take a sick day- his replacement is Jason in a beret who talks in a terrible French accent the entire class, only to drop it at the very end to talk in a thick New Jersey accent. Her entire class talks about it for weeks.

Stephanie hails a cab on her way home one night, only to find Jason driving. She’s not sure how he pulled it off or how he got a cab, but her mind is effectively blown.

Duke is on a school trip to the natural history museum, and when the tour guide introduces himself, Duke can’t help but role his eyes. Jason gives a surprisingly good tour, even throwing in some tidbits about a robbery that went down just last week that the Signal stopped.

Damian’s encounter happens when he’s with Jon in metropolis. He’s watching Jon play baseball, and when Jon steps up to bat, he can’t help but notice a the umpire looks a little familiar.

[shortnspidey]

JUNO

Bucky Barnes x Fem!Stark!reader || WC: 6.3K

SUMMARY: Everyone’s drawn to you, it’s part of what makes you so special, and one of the first things Bucky fell in love with. He admires the way you light up every room, the way people naturally gravitate toward you. But it also means he's constantly sharing you with the world. So one weekend, he decides to take you away from it all, just you, him, and the time he's been craving.

WARNINGS: INCLUDES SMUT (18+) Literally all fluff, clingy Bucky, platonic everyone x reader, set after Thunderbolts* but there are NO spoilers, lots of sexual tension & kissing, unprotected p in v, body worship, oral (female receiving), breeding/praise kink, possessive!Bucky

A/N: Based on my Collateral Hearts series but can be read as a standalone! This is my first time ever writing smut so please proceed with caution! Miss Sabrina has corrupted me with her sensual songs! Who else is excited for Man’s Best Friend?! 🙋🏻‍♀️

➩ main masterlist

➩ series masterlist

➩ bucky barnes masterlist

Bucky loved that you were well-liked, adored, even, especially by his new teammates. People naturally gravitated toward you. You had a natural charisma that allowed everyone to feel comfortable around you in a short period of time. Hell it was on of the many reasons as to why Bucky fell in love with you. But right now? He all but hated it.

Ever since moving into the Watchtower, it felt like he barely saw you anymore. Mornings used to start with you curled up beside him, the soft rhythm of your breathing syncing with his, your fingers finding his even in sleep. Sunlight would filter in through the curtains, casting lazy patterns across your tangled limbs and the bare stretch of your shoulder where the blanket had slipped.

Now, half the time, he woke up alone, your side of the bed already cold. The bed always felt too big without you in it. Sometimes it was Yelena who stole you away before dawn, coaxing you into early-morning workouts with the promise of post-training pancakes. Other times, it was Ava, needing a 'worthy' sparring partner. You took the hits, gave them back twice as hard, and came home with bruises you waved off.

Then there were the weekends you spent away, Pepper and Morgan. No matter how much he wanted to go, it always seemed like last minute missions dragged him away. You’d always call him, voice chirping through the phone promising to be back soon. But “soon” never felt soon enough. Sometimes Kate or Peter whisked you off into the city, for coffee, errands, or just something spontaneous and chaotic.

You always said yes, always too sweet to turn them down, even when he could see the exhaustion in your shoulders. Even when he wished you’d stay. Then there was Alexei, roping you into helping with one of his latest “experimental” kitchen masterpieces. You played along, though Bucky was pretty sure your true motivation was making sure the kitchen didn’t spontaneously combust. He’d watch you from the hallway, laughing through the chaos as you tried to wrestle a spatula from Alexei’s hand.

Bob was quieter, more subtle, inviting you out to bookstores or record shops with that shy smile of his, slipping you away for hours without anyone noticing. Bucky noticed. He always noticed. Even Alpine, your spoiled, smug little cat, got more time with you than he did. She curled into your lap like she owned you, purring contentedly as you worked or read, giving him that self-satisfied feline stare that somehow made him feel like the third wheel in his own relationship.

He didn’t blame them. Not really.

He knew what it was like to want to be near you. You were the kind of person people clung to without realizing they needed to. He understood that better than anyone. But still... call him spoiled, call him selfish, but he had grown used to having you all to himself. The soft silences. The late-night whispers. The quiet reassurances no one else got to hear. Which is why he had a plan to keep you all to himself. Bucky had been awake long before the first hint of dawn began to warm the skyline outside the Watchtower’s windows.

For once, he wasn’t watching the clock tick down to your departure, he was preparing to stop it altogether. About an hour before your alarm was set to buzz, he reached across the nightstand in the dark, silencing it with a flick of his thumb. Then, with a quiet exhale, he shifted toward you, strong arms sliding around your waist and pulling you back against the solid heat of his chest. Your skin was warm and soft beneath the covers, your breathing still deep and even.

For a few precious seconds, he simply held you, burying his face in the curve of your neck, breathing you in. The faint scent of your shampoo clung to your hair, sweet and familiar, something he swore he could never get enough of. He pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder, then another to the space just below your ear, scruff brushing against your skin as he did. You stirred, just barely. Your body tensed for a split second, instinctively aware it was time to start your day.

Your internal clock, honed by routine, nudged at you to slip out of bed and head down to the gym to meet Yelena and Ava. But of course, your super-soldier fiancé had other plans. Plans that involved making it incredibly difficult for you to leave. Before you could so much as stretch, Bucky tightened his grip, strong arms flexing around your waist to pull you back flush against him. The warmth of his bare chest pressed to your spine, the beat of his heart slow and steady against your back.

His nose nudged into the crook of your neck, scruff tickling the sensitive skin there as he mouthed lazy kisses along your pulse point, soft, lingering, possessive. A soft sigh escaped your lips, your head instinctively tilting to the side, offering him more skin, more of you. His metal hand found yours under the blankets, cool fingers intertwining with your warmer ones. You didn’t resist. You never did when he touched you like this, slow, intentional, like every movement was a vow.

His legs tangled with yours beneath the sheets, thigh sliding between yours in a way that made it near impossible to move. Not that you wanted to, not when his body heat seeped into every inch of you, not when he was anchoring you so completely to this moment, to him. “You’re not going anywhere,” He murmured into your skin, voice rough with sleep, lips brushing against the spot that always made you shiver. “Not today, doll.” A small, sleepy smile curved your lips as your fingers tightened around his.

You could feel the way his breath hitched just slightly when your hips shifted back, nestling closer. Maybe Yelena and Ava could manage without you this morning. Just this once. You lips curled with amusement and affection, loving just how clingy Bucky was in the mornings, how much he needed to wrap himself around you like a super-soldier sized blanket, as if keeping your body close could somehow shut out the rest of the world. Oh, how far the two of you had come. “Big, bad, brooding super soldier…”

Your voice was soft, still heavy with sleep, but laced with teasing warmth as you turned in his arms to face him. Your legs shifted against his under the covers, tangling tighter. Your arms slid up around his neck, fingers brushing over the edge of his jaw as you pulled him in until your noses nearly touched. The heat of his breath mingled with yours, slow and heavy, like neither of you was in any hurry. "You’ve grown soft, Barnes.” You whispered, voice dripping with playful smugness.

Bucky’s eyes flickered down to your lips, his gaze hooded and hungry. “Mmm,” He rumbled, head tipping slightly into your touch as your fingers raked through his messy, sleep-tousled hair. He let out a low groan, that deep, gravelly kind that always made your skin prickle, especially when you scratched at his scalp just the way he liked, nails grazing along his roots with just enough pressure to make him shiver. You arched a brow, smirking. Point proven.

“Can’t help it, doll,” He murmured, voice dipping even lower, his mouth already dangerously close to your jaw. “You’ve got me all spoiled.” Your laugh came out as a soft, breathy exhale, a little too breathless to be innocent. And before you could fire back with something cheeky, Bucky leaned in and pressed his lips to the curve of your neck, slow, open-mouthed kisses that sent shivers cascading down your spine. You tilted your head instinctively, giving him room, your grip around his neck tightening slightly.

He took full advantage, grazing his teeth against your pulse point before sinking them in just enough to make your breath hitch. “Bucky,” You whispered, half warning, half plea. He chuckled against your skin, low and satisfied, before soothing the bite with a slow, deliberate sweep of his tongue. The heat between your bodies thickened, the space beneath the covers was suddenly too warm. You shifted again, hips brushing against his, the tiniest movement, but enough to feel the way his breath caught.

“As much as I love where this is going…” You murmured between soft, uneven breaths, your voice catching slightly as Bucky’s teeth gently tugged at your earlobe, sending a shiver cascading down your spine. His tongue flicked over the spot to soothe it, and you let out a soft moan, fingers curling instinctively into the hair at the nape of his neck. “I’ve gotta go downstairs before Yelena breaks down the door.” You whispered, trying to sound authoritative.

Yet, the conviction in your voice faltered when he pressed himself closer, all muscle and heat, pinning you beneath the weight of his affection. Bucky shook his head slowly, deliberately, his stubble scraping against the sensitive skin of your neck as he exhaled a warm, lazy breath. “Not today,” His voice didn’t leave room for argument. “You’re mine for the weekend.” You tilted your head, brows raising in amused disbelief, though your body betrayed you, arching subtly, craving more contact, more of him.

“Oh?” You teased, breathless, your fingers dancing down his spine under the sheets, feeling the way his muscles flexed in response to your touch. “And what exactly does that mean, Sergeant?” He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes smoldering with a look that made your stomach flip. His gaze flicked down to your lips, then dragged slowly back up to meet your eyes with a lazy, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I already packed our bags,” He brushed his nose against yours, voice dipped in that slow, rough drawl that always turned your knees to jelly.

“You and me. Hotel suite. Privacy. Room service. A giant bed with no interruptions. And a whole lot more of this.” His hand slid from your waist to your thigh, fingers gripping and pulling until your leg was hitched over his hip. The shift brought your bodies impossibly close, so that you could feel a very prominent bulge, between you both. His metal hand cradled the back of your neck, the coolness contrasting deliciously with the heat building between you. Then he kissed you, not soft, not teasing.

His mouth claimed yours with a hunger that had simmered beneath the surface all week. Lips parted, breath mingling, and then his tongue slid against yours in a slow, deliberate sweep that made your toes curl under the sheets. He tasted like sleep and warmth, like something familiar and utterly addictive. You responded just as eagerly, pulling him closer with a quiet, breathless whimper, your fingers tangling in his hair again, nails dragging against his scalp to coax out another low groan from deep in his chest.

His teeth grazed your bottom lip, catching it just enough to make you gasp, and then he soothed the sting with a lazy flick of his tongue, sensual, unhurried, like he was savoring every inch of you. The kiss deepened, grew slower and heavier, full of unspoken promises and heat that made your thighs clench around him. By the time he finally pulled away, his lips were swollen, his chest rising and falling just a bit faster, matching your own ragged breath.

His forehead rested against yours, and when he looked at you, there was nothing but lust and devotion burning in those storm-blue eyes. “Privacy, huh?” You whispered, grinning against his lips. “That sounds dangerously tempting.” He grinned back, eyes flickering with a flash of lust and mischief. “Good. Because I’m not sharing you this weekend. Not even with Alpine.” You let out a laugh, breathless and light, your fingers brushing over the stubble along his jaw. “She’s going to be deeply offended.”

“She’ll live,” He shrugged, kissing your cheek, then your jaw, then down your neck with renewed purpose. “But me? I might not. I need you, doll. All of you.” And from the way his hands roamed, slow and possessive, from the way his mouth claimed your skin like he was memorizing it all over again, you believed him. You lay together in a haze of half-lidded glances and lingering fingertips, your thigh draped over his hip, his hand splayed low on your back, as if letting go of you might break the spell.

The silence was soft, intimate. A kind of quiet only earned by two people who knew each other completely. Every now and then, his mouth would brush your shoulder, your collarbone, the hollow of your throat, not with urgency, but reverence. Like he was reminding himself that you were really here. That he didn’t have to share you yet. Eventually, as much as neither of you wanted to move, the idea of privacy, true privacy, pulled you both from the comfort of the sheets.

You slipped out of bed first, bare legs brushing cool hardwood as you padded to the dresser, and Bucky’s gaze followed you like a shadow. His Henley, the one you’d stolen off his side of the floor, hung loosely over your frame as you gathered what you needed, catching his smirk in the mirror when your shoulder peeked out from the stretched collar. He moved slower, watching you beneath hooded lids as he tugged on a dark t-shirt, one that clung just right to the lines of his chest.

His fingers brushed yours more than necessary while you finished packing, every accidental touch lingering too long, every stolen glance speaking volumes neither of you said out loud. Before leaving, Bucky moved to the nightstand and, with deliberate ease, turned both of your phones off. Then he tossed them into the drawer and shut it with a soft click, a clear, quiet declaration. This weekend wasn’t for notifications. For distractions. For anyone else.

With that, the two of you slipped down the hallway like a secret, hands brushing, steps slow and careful. The tower was quiet for once, the buzz of conversation strangely absent. You passed the main floor where the sunlight pooled in warm patches across the tile, and just as you reached the elevator, a quiet rustle of pages caught your attention. Bob sat in one of the oversized armchairs by the couch, a book in one hand, the other cradling a half-empty mug, brows raising as he looked up.

He didn't say anything, just gave the two of you a knowing look over the rim of his cup and turned the page, eyes dropping back to his book. Bucky didn’t even glance over. He just reached for your hand, lacing his fingers through yours and pulling you gently into the elevator. The doors slid closed with a quiet chime. The car ride was calm, quiet. You rested your head on Bucky’s shoulder, fingers still twined as they rested on your thigh, the city slowly unfolding outside the tinted windows. The farther away you got from the Watchtower, the more your shoulders dropped.

Maybe you really did need this.

The hotel was tucked away in the quieter part of Manhattan, tall, sleek, with understated elegance. Marble floors, tall windows with sheer curtains that caught the light, staff that didn’t ask questions when Bucky checked in under an alias and insisted on the penthouse. He kept you close at his side, his hand firm at your waist as you walked through the lobby, brushing against you just enough to keep your body warm with anticipation. The elevator to the top floor was silent, save for the soft chime as you rose higher.

You could feel his eyes on you the entire way up, as if he was counting down the seconds. The suite itself was breathtaking. Floor-to-ceiling windows wrapped around the room, bathing everything in soft, ambient light of the heart-shaped candles. The bed was enormous, dressed in layers of cloud-like linens and plush pillows. A fireplace flickered in the corner, and beyond a set of French doors, was a balcony, offering the hush of the city far below. Bucky didn’t say a word as he dropped the bags to the floor.

He simply walked past you to the windows, drawing the curtains slowly, blocking out the world in measured movements. The light dimmed, shadows deepened. And you could feel it again, that weight between you. The heavy, unresolved tension that had followed you all morning. The quiet wasn’t awkward. It was thick, charged, humming with the ache of everything you hadn’t done yet. You stood there, still, your pulse tapping just under your skin, watching the way Bucky’s broad shoulders moved as he stepped back toward you.

His eyes locked onto yours like you were the only thing in the room that mattered. He stopped just close enough for you to feel the heat radiating off him, his hands hovering, not quite touching, as if waiting for permission. You gave it, without a word. He stood there, quiet and still, but his eyes said everything, dark, slow-burning, full of hunger. His hands lifted, finally closing that small space between you, one brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear while the other rested at your waist, thumb pressing gently into the dip of your hipbone.

He kissed you like the world had stopped. Like there was nothing else, no time, no place, just the two of you, and this quiet room. It started slow. His lips moved against yours with aching patience, savoring you. You found yourself clutching his shirt, pulling him impossibly closer. You could feel the restraint in the way he held you, the quiet tension in his shoulders, in his hands, like he was trying not to overwhelm you, not to take too much too fast. But you didn’t want restraint, not today.

You wanted all of him.

As if reading your mind, he lifted you into his arms without breaking the kiss, carrying you to the bed like you were something priceless. He laid you down gently, settling in between your thighs like you were sacred. His eyes never left yours as he hovered above you, thumb stroking over your cheek as you instinctively wrapped your legs around his hips. You could feel the restraint in the way he held you, the quiet tension in his shoulders, in his hands, like he was trying not to overwhelm you, not to take too much too fast.

"Bucky," You gasped against his mouth, your voice thick with need. “Stop being so damn careful. I need you, all of you.” You nipped at his lower lip, a sharp spark of impatience. A low growl vibrated in his chest, a sound both feral and tender. Your plea finally snapped the last fragile thread of his restraint. He pulled back just enough to look at you, his gaze blazing with sudden intensity. The tenderness didn't vanish; it transformed, becoming possessive, hungry.

His hands slid down your sides, palms rasping deliciously against the thin fabric of his your shirt before finding the hem and pulling it up and over your head in one smooth motion. Then, with a quiet exhale, he leaned back on his heels just enough to reach for the collar of his own shirt. You sat there, breath caught, watching with parted lips as his fingers gripped the hem. And then he lifted. It was deliberate, the kind of slow that made your mouth go dry. The fabric peeled upward, revealing inch by delicious inch of golden skin and muscle.

Every flex and ripple beneath smooth scars catching in the soft light. His abs tensed with the motion, the deep ridges carved with perfect symmetry. His metal arm gleamed with subtle reflections, a stark, beautiful contrast to the warmth of the rest of him. When the shirt finally cleared his head, he tossed it aside without looking, his eyes never leaving yours. You stared. Blatantly. Breathless. You’d seen him shirtless hundreds of times. After training, after missions, in bed beside you in the quiet haze of morning light. But somehow, this felt different.

Intimate. Like every inch of him was bared just for you, not just in body, but in trust. He didn’t smirk. Didn’t tease. He just stood there, letting you look, chest rising and falling as if he felt your gaze like a touch. And you were in awe. Of the sheer strength written into every line of his body. Of the scars he didn’t hide. Of the way he looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered. Your fingers twitched, aching to touch him.

He took a step forward, quiet and slow, and as he knelt onto the bed in front of you again. Your hands rose on instinct, palms flattening against his chest. The heat of his skin radiated beneath your touch, his heart thudding strong beneath your fingertips. Cool air kissed your skin, but it was instantly replaced by the searing heat of his stare as he drank in the sight of your bared torso, clad in a blue lace bra. His flesh hand spanned your ribcage, thumb brushing the underside of your breast.

While his vibranium fingers traced the delicate line of your collarbone with astonishing sensitivity. “You’re so fucking beautiful.” He breathed out dipping his head, not to your mouth this time, but instead to the pulse fluttering wildly at the base of your throat. His lips pressed there, hot, wet, and open-mouthed, then traced a slow, searing path downward. He worshipped the slope of your shoulder, the valley between your breasts with lingering kisses that made you writhe in pure pleasure.

He took one of your peaked nipple into his mouth through the lace of your bra, sucking gently at first, then harder. The wet heat and the scrape of his teeth sending jolts of pure lightning straight to your core. You cried out, fingers tangling in his dark hair, holding him there as he lavished attention on first one breast, then the other, peeling the bra aside with infinite care to expose flushed skin to his hungry mouth and tongue. "Every freckle," He murmured, his voice a low rasp that vibrated in your bones.

"Every curve, I have memorized." His lips followed his hands, kissing a slow, burning trail down your sternum, his tongue swirling around your navel before dipping lower still. He made quick work of your jeans and underwear, stripping them down your legs with efficient grace. “Soaked for me already, and I’ve barely even touched you,” He rasped against your damp skin, his breath ghosting over your sensitized nipple. “Just like I knew you would be.” And then he was kneeling on the floor at the foot of the bed, broad shoulders parting your thighs with gentle insistence.

He paused for a long moment, just looking at you spread bare before him in the dim light. His gaze was dark, possessive, tracing every curve and fold with agonizing slowness. “Mine.” He stated softly, the word a vow that resonated deep in your bones. Then he lowered his head. The first touch of his tongue was a revelation. Not tentative, not teasing, but a broad, flat stroke from the very base of your core up to your clit, gathering your slickness with a low groan of appreciation that vibrated through your entire body.

You arched off the bed with a sharp cry. Bucky Barnes didn’t just go down on you; he worshipped you. His mouth was relentless. He lapped at your entrance, savoring your taste, his tongue delving inside in shallow thrusts before swirling back up to circle your clit with exquisite pressure. His vibranium thumb joined in, rubbing firm, knowing circles just beside that aching nub while his tongue focused its attentions lower, fucking into you with slow, deep strokes that made you see stars.

He alternated, broad licks that covered your entire core, focused suction on your clit that had your hips bucking wildly, deep penetrations with his tongue that mimicked the thrusts you desperately craved from another part of him. His metal hand slid beneath you, gripping your ass, lifting you slightly, angling you perfectly for his mouth. His flesh hand joined the mix, two fingers sliding deep inside you with effortless ease.

They curled upwards in that devastatingly perfect come hither motion that hit just the spot. He hummed against you, the vibration traveling straight to your core, intensifying the coil tightening unbearably low in your belly. "Taste so fuckin' sweet," He growled, his voice muffled against your flesh. "Gonna make you come all over my face. Gonna drink every drop you give me." His eyes, blown with lust, flicked up to yours, holding your gaze as he intensified the pressure, his tongue pressing hard, rapid circles directly on your clit while his fingers pumped deep and fast.

“B-Bucky, I-I’m close.” You moaned out, hands fisting the sheets, knuckles white. “Come for me.” As if his words were a direct order, the orgasm crashed over you like a slow-building wave finally breaking shore, utterly consuming. Your back arched, a choked cry tearing from your throat as your inner walls clenched rhythmically around his fingers. Bucky moaned against you, lapping eagerly, drinking down your release, his tongue gentling to soft, soothing strokes as the tremors subsided, prolonging the aftershocks until you were breathless beneath him. 

Before you could even catch your breath, Bucky surged up over you, his eyes wild with need, lips glistening with your arousal. He shoved his own jeans and briefs down just enough to free his cock, thick, flushed red, veins standing proud, and already weeping at the tip. The sight alone sent a fresh surge of desperate heat through your spent body. He rose above you, his chest heaving, his cock thick and flushed, veins standing proud, glistening with pre-come.

The candlelight caught the silver of his dog tags where they lay against your sweat-slicked chest, shifting slightly with each breath. His gaze fixed on them, then slid to the diamond ring on your finger. A possessive, primal satisfaction settled over his features. His metal hand reached out, not to touch you, but to gently lift the chain of his dog tags, letting the cool metal slide through his fingers before letting them fall back against your skin. "Right where they belong," His thumb then brushed over your ring finger, tracing the band.

"This too." He leaned down, capturing your lips in a deep, claiming kiss, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. "My future wife." He positioned himself at your entrance, the broad head nudging against slick, swollen flesh. “Need to be inside you,” He growled, his voice ragged. “Need it like air. It's been far too long and I’ve waited long enough, baby.” There was no question of protection; the raw need in his eyes, the possessive set of his jaw spoke of something deeper, primal.

He pushed forward with excruciating slowness, his eyes never leaving yours, watching every flicker of sensation across your face. You felt every ridge, every inch of his impressive girth stretching you, filling you impossibly full. He paused when fully sheathed, buried to the hilt, his hips flush against yours. The feeling was profound, a deep, aching fullness, a sense of being utterly claimed. He paused there for a heartbeat, forehead pressed to yours, breathing ragged. “So damn perfect,” He choked out. “Like you were fuckin’ made for me.” 

He began to move then, withdrawing slowly, almost completely, before sliding back in with that same deep, deliberate glide. His thrusts were long and slow, a powerful, rolling motion of his hips that ground his pelvis against your sensitive clit with every deep penetration. His metal hand braced beside your head, his flesh hand slid down to grip your hip, fingers digging in possessively, pulling you onto him with each thrust, ensuring he reached impossibly deep.

He kept his eyes locked on yours, watching every flicker of pleasure cross your face. "Look at you," He groaned, his gaze raking over your face, down your body to where you were joined. "Taking me so deep, so fuckin' perfect." His rhythm remained measured, but each thrust carried undeniable power, a claim. He shifted slightly, angling his hips, and the next deep glide brushed directly against that sweet spot inside, drawing a sharp cry from you. “B-Bucky!” You gasped, reaching to place your arms around his shoulders, nails digging into the flesh, needing something to ground you. 

"There?" He rasped, a feral grin touching his lips. He repeated the angle, hitting that spot with unerring accuracy on every deep stroke now. Each powerful stroke sent a shockwave through your core, forcing a ragged gasp from your lips. "Yes! Bucky, yes! Right there!" You cried out, the words dissolving into a high, desperate whine as the sensation intensified, stealing your breath. "Gonna make you come again, right on my cock, gonna feel you milkin' me."

The pressure built again, coiling tighter, fueled by the relentless friction against your clit, the deep stimulation inside, and the raw possessiveness in his voice and gaze. His thrusts grew fractionally harder, deeper, the bedframe groaning softly in protest His big hand slid from the curve of your hip, fingers digging possessively into the soft flesh of your ass, lifting you higher. He angled you perfectly, driving himself impossibly deeper, stretching you wider.

You wrapped your legs tighter around his sweat-slicked hips, heels digging into the small of his back, anchoring yourself as your head thrashed back against the pillows, a sob tearing from your throat. "Please, Bucky! Need it!" His breath scorched the shell of your ear, his growl a possessive rumble deep in his chest. "Wanna fill you up," He promised, punctuating each word with a brutal shove of his hips that made you see stars. "Wanna pump you full, mark you deep. Make everyone know you’re mine. Only mine."

You felt the primal truth of it in the desperate clench of your own muscles, in the slick gush of arousal coating his cock with every withdrawal. He grunted, a harsh sound of pure lust, his rhythm becoming a frantic piston, slamming into that glorious spot relentlessly. The wet slap of skin on skin filled the room, mingling with your choked cries and his guttural groans. You could feel the tell-tale tightening in your belly, the flutter becoming a frantic pulse triggered by his words, and the exquisite torture of his cock stretching and stroking your inner walls.

"G-Gonna c-come ag-gain." You sobbed, your words barely intelligible. “Oh God, fuck! I'm coming!" The coil snapped. Pleasure detonated, white-hot and shattering, radiating out from your core in violent waves. Your body seized around him, milking him frantically. Feeling your release, his thrusts became frantic, powerful pistons driving deep. He buried himself to the root with a final, guttural groan, his body locking tight as he pulsed hotly inside you. You felt the distinct, thick spurts of his release, flooding your walls, impossibly hot.

He held himself there, buried impossibly deep, grinding his hips against yours as the last pulses left him, his forehead pressed to yours, his breath ragged gasps against your lips. "Mine." He whispered, a satisfied rumble vibrating through his chest and into yours. His metal hand drifted up, his fingers gently tracing the chain of his dog tags resting on your sweat-slicked skin, right over your pounding heart. His thumb found your wedding ring again, rubbing it slowly. "All mine. Filled with me. Marked by me."

He stayed buried inside you, his weight a comforting, possessive anchor, his release a warm, claiming presence deep within, sealing the promise whispered against your skin. A low hum vibrated deep in his chest as he pressed a feather-light kiss to your temple. "Easy," He murmured, the rasp in his voice gentled but still undeniably him. His thumb traced the curve of your cheekbone, wiping away the dampness there, sweat or tears, it didn't matter.

"Just breathe with me, alright? Deep and slow." He demonstrated, drawing in a long, shuddering breath, encouraging you to follow. The overwhelming intensity of release still shimmered through your limbs, leaving you boneless and trembling. With infinite care, he finally slid out of you, a soft, wet sound accompanying the withdrawal that made you whimper softly at the sudden emptiness. You felt the slick warmth he'd pumped into you trickle free onto the already soaked sheets. "Shhh, I got you." He soothed instantly, his big hands moving with surprising tenderness.

One arm hooked beneath your shoulders, the other beneath your knees, and he gathered you close against his chest as he carefully rolled onto his side. The movement brought you flush against the hard planes of his body, skin sticking where sweat hadn't yet dried. Your eyes fluttered shut, letting out a slow exhale as Bucky reached blindly towards the nightstand, fumbling for the soft cotton washcloth. He’d always come prepared. With meticulous care, he began to wipe the sticky evidence of your shared pleasure from your inner thighs and the swollen flesh between them.

The cloth was a shock at first, then soothing against your overheated, sensitive skin. He paid gentle attention to every curve, every fold, his touch reverent now instead of demanding. The sight of his seed mingled with your own slickness on the cloth sent a fresh wave of possessive satisfaction through him, visible in the slight tightening of his jaw before his expression softened again. A slow, utterly sated smile touched his lips as he tossed the cloth aside and pulled the sheet up over both of you, tucking it around your shoulders.

You subconsciously molded into his side as he kissed your forehead, lingering this time. "My good girl.” Nestled against him, surrounded by the scent of sex, sweat, and him, you felt utterly safe. The room was quiet now, save for the soft hum of the city beyond the windows and the steady rhythm of your breathing as you lay tangled in each other under the soft weight of the duvet. Bucky’s arm was wrapped snugly around your waist, holding you to his chest like he was afraid you might slip away again.

Like if he let go, someone else might steal you back. Your fingers traced lazy, aimless patterns along the metal plates of his left arm, marveling at how gentle something so cold and strong could feel. After a long stretch of silence, you finally broke it, your voice low and hoarse, still coated in the haze of what had just passed between you. “You really went all out, huh?” You teased, tipping your chin up to look around the suite, your lips curving with soft disbelief.

It was breathtaking. The kind of romantic gesture that felt pulled from a dream, except it was real, and it was him. The sprawling king-size bed behind you was draped in white linens, now rumpled from your bodies. Champagne rested in an ice bucket on the nearby table, condensation dripping slowly down the glass. Heart-shaped candles flickered across the space. Bucky looked down at you, his expression softened with something that looked like pride, but not the cocky kind. Something quieter. Earnest.

A hint of bashfulness pulled at the corners of his mouth, crinkling the skin at the edges of his eyes in that way you loved. "You deserve the world," He declared quietly, voice rough. “I figured… if I had a whole weekend, I’d make it count.” You bit your lip, emotion swelling in your chest. That was the thing about him, underneath all the muscle and metal and history, he was tender. Thoughtful. So hopelessly, endlessly in love with you. You nestled closer, letting your forehead rest against his collarbone.

Your breath ghosted against the hollow of his throat as you exhaled, pressing a featherlight kiss to the sensitive skin there. Your hand rested over his heart, fingers splayed, feeling the strong, steady thump beneath your palm. His heart. Your home. “You know I’m already marrying you, Bucky.” You whispered against his skin, as the diamond on your ring finger caught the candlelight. You felt it instantly, the subtle stutter of his heartbeat, the breath he inhaled just a little too sharply. His grip around you tightened.

His hand slid up your back, slow and deliberate, fingers spreading wide between your shoulder blades, anchoring you to him like he needed the contact to stay grounded. He held you there, close, like he was trying to memorize the feeling of your body against his. “I know, but I just… wanted to remind you how much I love you.” You lifted your head then, meeting his eyes, eyes that had seen too much and still looked at you like you were something precious.

You kissed him slowly, lips brushing his with quiet gratitude and a love too big for words. “You do,” You whispered when you pulled back. “Every single day. And I'll spend the rest of our lives expressing how much I love you too.” He smiled, that small, rare smile only you ever got to see. Then, without another word, he pulled you into his arms again, pressing his lips to your temple, content to hold you in that quiet, candlelit room where for once, the world had nothing else to ask of you. No missions, no alarms, no interruptions.

Just Bucky and you, exactly where you were meant to be.

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[jellyfishsthings]

I have a grandchild?

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WARNINGS: none really, just funny banter

requests are open

dividers by @cafekitsune

Jason Todd liked to think he wore many masks.

The city knew him as Red Hood. To his brothers, he was the snarky, trigger-happy one. To Bruce, a question mark with a temper. But every Tuesday and Thursday, in a tidy, sun-filled classroom, he was something else entirely:

Mr. Jay.

He taught third grade English Lit. Paperbacks. Book fairs. Glitter-covered essays. Small chairs. Lots of stickers.

And somehow? He loved it.

Jason never expected to find peace in a room full of tiny, chaotic humans, but here he was—"Mister Jay" to twenty-four third-graders at Gotham Academy’s lower school, reading Charlotte’s Web with more expression than he thought humanly possible.

He wore cardigans now. He drank peppermint tea. He even had a bulletin board labeled "Our Word Wall."

And he hadn’t told a soul in his family

Not because he was ashamed—he actually liked it. He liked the simplicity, the structure, the way little Brian Jennings waved at him with both hands every morning and offered him a friendship bracelet made of rainbow rubber bands. He liked the chaos he could understand for once.

“Okay, who can tell me what the monster in Where the Wild Things Are really represents?”

Rory’s hand shot up first—Rory with wild curls, a constant sprinkle of glitter on her cheeks, and a reading level two grades above her age.

Jason grinned. “Hit me, Rory.”

“His FEELINGS. Because Max was MAD and monsters are mad feelings!”

“You nailed it.” Jason gave her a fist bump. “A plus level insight. Someone write that down.”

Rory beamed like she’d just won an Oscar.

It started during the fall parent-teacher conference, when you arrived ten minutes late, breathless and apologetic, your daughter’s glitter-covered backpack slung over your shoulder.

Jason took one look at you—coffee-stained shirt, wild bun, tired eyes and soft voice—and immediately short-circuited.

“Sorry—my car wouldn’t start, and then I had to stop Rory from feeding goldfish crackers to a raccoon.”

Jason blinked. Smiled. “Sounds like a Tuesday.”

“Sorry again,” you huffed, taking a seat. “I’ve had a long day.”

He blinked. “No problem. Uh, Rory’s doing great.”

You sighed in relief. “She talks about you all the time. Mr. Jay says this, Mr. Jay says that. I was starting to think she liked you more than me.”

Jason laughed—and it was a real one, the kind that crept into his ribs and stayed. “Don’t worry, she just likes that I let them write haikus about dragons.”

“Haikus?”

“Very serious educational practice.”

You smiled. Something clicked into place.

It started slow. A cup of coffee after conferences. A chat outside after school pickup. Then, one Saturday, he ran into you and Rory at the Gotham public library. Rory sprinted into his legs, squealing “MISTER JAY!!!” loud enough to startle nearby birds.

That day ended with the three of you at a bakery. Rory passed out with a cookie in her hand. You gave him a look—surprised, amused, softened—and said, “She’s never warmed up to someone like this.”

Jason didn’t say anything. Just wrapped Rory’s scarf tighter and said, “She’s a good kid.”

What he meant was: I’d do anything to keep her happy.

Jason fell hard. Harder than he’d fallen in years. He kept it quiet at first, didn’t want to spook you with his baggage, didn’t want Bruce to send a drone overhead and “investigate” why his second-oldest son was skipping crime fighting for PTA meetings.

He just wanted this one thing for himself.

And somehow, it worked.

You dated quietly. Rory loved him instantly. He helped her with spelling words and listened to her detailed theories about dragons living in Gotham’s sewer systems. He fixed your heater when it broke and always remembered your favorite snacks.

By the time spring rolled around, he was yours, completely.

Jason was...gone. Just absolutely a goner. He’d found a rhythm in the chaos—dinner with you, homework with Rory, bedtime stories, and night patrol. It was weird and messy and full of glitter.

And it was home.

He was there when Rory lost her first tooth. When she scraped her knee on the playground and insisted only Mister Jay could clean it. When she had a nightmare and called him, not you, because "Daddy Jay fights monsters."

He didn’t correct her. Not once.

You saw it—how she clung to him, how he always bent to her level, how she crawled into his lap like it was the safest place on earth.

You asked him once, “You sure you’re okay with this?”

Jason kissed your forehead. “She’s my kid, too. Blood or not.”

So when you had an emergency work trip and your usual babysitter canceled, you didn’t even hesitate.

“You sure you don’t mind watching her overnight?” you asked, handing him a list of instructions and emergency contacts longer than a novel.

“Go save the world, I have this covered.” 

You kissed his cheek, hugged Rory tight, and left.

“Alright,” Jason turned to her. “Movie or fort?”

Rory’s eyes sparkled. “BOTH.”

Jason kissed your cheek. “She’s my favorite kid. We’re going to build a pillow fort and eat suspicious amounts of mac and cheese. Go save the day.”

What neither of you accounted for... was Bruce Wayne.

Two hours later, the living room was a pillow apocalypse. Jason wore a glitter crown and had his nails painted purple. Rory was asleep, snuggled in his hoodie, soft snores muffled under a blanket castle.

It started at 6:37 p.m., when Bruce—who was supposed to be on a League mission—showed up at Jason’s apartment.

The door creaked open.

Jason glanced up.

And froze.

Bruce Wayne stood in the doorway.

“I need to talk to you about the armory in Blüdhaven,” Bruce said, standing in the doorway like the world’s most dramatic bat.

“Uh.” Jason didn’t move. “Hey.”

Bruce’s eyes flicked to the bright pink tiara sitting crookedly on his hair. The glitter smearing his cheeks. The empty sippy cup peeking out of his pocket.

Jason, his Jason, was wearing a pink apron that said “Kiss the Cook” and holding a bowl of glitter slime, staring at him dumbfounded. “Now?”

Then Rory ran into the room with a towel-cape tied around her shoulders. “JAY. THE UNICORN IS UNDER ATTACK.”

She froze when she saw Bruce.

Bruce froze when he saw her.

There was a long, loaded silence.

Jason opened his mouth.

Bruce narrowed his eyes. “...Is there something you want to tell me?”

Rory looked up at Jason and whispered, “Is that Batman?”

Jason sighed. “Yeah, that’s Batman.”

“COOL,” she whispered loudly.

“She looks like you,” Bruce said.

“WHAT?!”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you WHAT?!”

“That you have a child.”

“She’s not—! I mean—! I’m babysitting!”

Bruce narrowed his eyes.

“I’m serious! She’s not mine!”

A pause. Then a tiny voice mumbled, “Daddy Jay?”

Jason died.

Bruce looked like he had transcended.

“She calls you—”

“She’s SIX and I READ TO HER. It’s a TITLE OF AFFECTION, not a PATERNITY CLAIM!”

“She has your nose.”

Jason screamed, his arms wildly flailing. “She has a BUTTON NOSE!”

Bruce just stated “I expect pictures at Christmas.”

Rory interrupted cheerfully, “He’s dating my mom!”

Bruce looked like he aged ten years in one second.

“...You’re dating a civilian... with a child… and didn’t tell me?”

“She’s not mine!” Jason repeated, clutching the slime bowl like a lifeline. “I’m just babysitting!”

Rory handed Bruce a plastic tiara. “Do you want to be the princess or the dragon?”

Bruce stared at it. Then at Jason.

Jason shrugged helplessly.

Bruce sighed. “Dragon.”

When you came back the next morning, you were greeted by a sight you would never forget:

Jason, asleep on the couch, Rory curled up beside him like a cat. The apartment was a war zone of glitter, tiaras, and cookie crumbs.

And Bruce Wayne, sitting in a tiny plastic chair at Rory’s tea table, wearing a paper crown and reading a bedtime story.

He looked up at you. “She made me tea.”

You blinked. “Is it real tea?”

“No. It’s glue and glitter water.”

“Ah.”

“She named me Sparkle Dragon.”

You smiled. “Fitting. What happened?”

“Your kid called me Daddy Jay. In front of Bruce.”

You blinked. “Okay. And?”

“He thinks she’s my biological daughter.”

“... Did you correct him?”

Jason stared at you. “She said I have her nose. Bruce believed her.”

You covered your mouth to hide your laugh. “Well... she has told people you’re her ‘real’ dad since February.”

Jason groaned into his hands.

You kissed the top of his head. “It’s okay. Honestly... I don’t mind. You are kind of her dad.”

Jason looked up.

You met his eyes. “You show up. You care. You paint her nails and make dragon haikus and fight the blender when she wants smoothies. That’s more than biology.”

Jason’s chest tightened. Then softened.

“I love you,” he whispered.

You smiled. “Love you more”

Jason opened one eye. “Tell me you brought coffee.”

You laughed. “Only if you tell me why Batman is babysitting my child.”

Jason sighed into the pillow. “Long story.”

Bruce stood. “She’s a good kid.”

“She’s a menace,” Jason mumbled fondly.

Rory woke up and shouted, “GLITTER PANCAKES?”