#How to write kids

[kaliina-catoe-blog]

Someone asked on reddit: "What is your biggest Fanfic Ick when you're reading?" and I saw a lot of other similar posts asking similar questions... I actually have a couple, but I'm specifically going to rant about my big one.

Children speaking either like full-grown adults or like they're much much younger than they are meant to be.

I was HORRIBLE about this for years, mainly because I wasn't around many kids younger than me (baby of the family). But now, as an adult who has been around children more? Omg. No. Please.

I've also taken some Early Childhood Development (ECD) courses since then, and I excelled in AP Psychology as a teenager- so I might not be an expert but I know the basics now. Honestly? If people who write children just take 5 (five) minutes to read up on the basic ECD milestones for speaking it would correct the issue completely I swear...

Most children start talking younger than you think! They babble and form basic monosyllabic or bisyllabic words by 1 year. (mama, Dada, baba, wawa, up, no, etc) [side note: I personally was talking in full sentences by 18 mo, but I am an outlier the size of Spiders George and should not be counted. I am hyperlexic, this post is about "standard" kids]

By 1.5 (18m) your baby should at least be speaking in basic monosyllabic and bisyllabic words and they'll still babble but usually with more purpose. What would be incoherent might start to sound more like they're attempting sentences. (EG: "Mama, I hab wawa? [Mama, I have Water?]") Technically babbling stage sentences, but they can be more or less easy to understand based on other factors. It is CRUCIAL to speak to your baby at this point especially, and even more important if you're attempting to teach the baby more than one language. Don't use baby voice- actually speak to them. Otherwise, they *will not* learn to say real words in time for school.

By 2 your baby is speaking in sentences! Maybe not always super clearly, but this is a good time in their life to begin introducing them to enunciation and basic language skills. (my examples here: "Mama, I need water, please." "Mama.. Need wawa, pease?" and then you repeat the sentence so they can try to copy your enunciation.) At this point, don't be too strict or you might unintentionally make them *stop* talking. Encourage them to pronounce/enunciate things correctly instead, and praise when they do well.

By 3, they should have a decent grasp on the language basics and should be speaking in full sentences at least mostly. They might still mispronounce things or not fully enunciate correctly. But they have the basics down and are ready to start getting hooked on phonics! (Idealistically, it's even better if you've been showing them educational content the entire time- with minimal screen usage. But like. I've seen Gen Alpha kids and I have Gen Beta cousins and nibblings. I'm not stupid. It's ALL screens. If you want your Gen Beta kid to do better than the Gen Alpha kids have been doing? GET BABY BOOKS. USE THEM. READ TO YOUR KIDS. This is why so many high school students are illiterate! It's because they weren't exposed to literature or basic phonics until they were fucking 6!)

Ahem. By 4, I was reading unassisted both out loud and silently. But normal children should be learning letters and numbers and how to count to 10. Your normal 4 year old should be capable of sounding out small words and should be able to spell their name and your name. I'm serious. First thing you need to teach your kid to read/write unassisted is their own name and your name. Before they start pre-K. If your kid ever gets hurt, or you get hurt? They need to know their name, and yours. It's not that difficult to teach your kid not to call you your first name- but it's hard to find them if they get lost and have no idea who they are or who they're looking for aside from "mama/dada/ren".

By 5, we have reached Pre-K! (or Kinder depending where you are ig). They should be speaking in full, mostly correct, sentences. There is no more "wawa" instead of water. They may still be saying "wah-duh" but they should be beyond "wawa". They should be able to say "Drink" and not "dink" (again, it may be a little more "dwink" but that's normal. If they know the word and can reliably say it and be understood fine? They're doing ok. If they have a speech impediment you're about to find out from their teachers or doctors so don't worry about it yet- or just bring it up yourself and ask them if they believe there's an impediment).

I repeat, because this is the age I see get the "baby talk" treatment the most, your 5 year old character should be capable of speaking in full sentences. FIVE YEAR OLDS ARE NOT 3.

By 6, we start to see a grasp on basic Grammar and spelling ideas- this is the age where some of those rules don't make sense, or are contrary to one another (like the "I before E except after C; unless your Foreign Science-teacher Neighbor, Keith, Receives Eight Weird Counterfeit Weightlifting books in the mail- sent by Feisty Caffeinated Beige aliens" rule... Or the dozen different ones about commas, and which commas are which, and why the fuck we have multiple different types of THE EXACT SAME CHARACTER- All of which go in literally the same place but slightly differently and for different reasons).

Yeah. Age 6 is wild, man. And the way 6 year olds talk? It reflects. This is the age of "Why is fart spelled like a smell?" and "Ren? How did I go in your tummy when I was a baby me?" and the ever-present "I runned-ed really fast!"... They know what the rules are, but they don't actually know how they *work*.

7, and we have reached a great age for conversation! 7 year olds can speak pretty clearly, and while they may still say things like "I runned" instead of "I ran", they do it a lot less... And usually not quite that obviously. This is the age where correcting their grammar/spelling/enunciation is going to be really important! We want to encourage them to come to us with words they can't pronounce in books, or ask how to spell random words that they hear in media/life, and we have to be kind about correcting errors. 7 year olds are soft and sensitive and a little bit whiney. They're still small enough to cry over a skinned knee, and ask for fit-it kisses, and they won't be this small ever again. Yes, the 9000000000 questions a day will get exhausting and annoying and "omgpleaseshutuppleasepleasejustgofindathesaurusandstopaskingme" but then we start to really see the fruits of our labour.

8 years old! They can read, they can write, and they can do basic addition and subtraction - maybe even a little multiplication and division depending on the school/home educational resources. They are finally old enough to be introduced to long multi-chapter books (as in, more than 15-20 chapters) for solo reading! Honestly, I was reading multi-chapter books LONG before 8. But I was also a very hyperlexic child, and a kid that is developing at a totally "standard" pace should be hitting this milestone ~around~ 8. Maybe they're 7.5, maybe it takes until they're 8.5. But 8 is a median age for independently reading long chapter books.

By 9, we are very independent. Almost double digits! That's practically grown! A 9 y/o is going to be so so super excited to do anything alone. They're still going to mostly listen to you, and they'll go to you directly for help/comfort/etc very openly. Enjoy this phase! It is not a long phase. Linguistically speaking, by 9 most kids are pretty much grown-out of minor speech impediments- the ones that stick are actual impediments and it's up to you are your child to decide if/what speech therapy is good for them. Smaller things, like "Dwink" over "Drink" usually go away by this age. More permanent impediments will be much more clear, and they're completely natural! There's no shame in having a speech impediment, and while your child develops a personality and tries to be more independent - it's your job to handle any speech impediments for them. Let them focus on being 9.

10! Double digits already? Wow. Seems like only 500 words ago we were teaching them to tie shoes and spell "duckie". By this point, they're talking pretty much like how you'd expect a 10 year old to talk. They're either going to be a swearer, or not, and that's 80% your own doing. The other 20% is literally everyone else in their life. Peers, teachers, aunts, uncles, rads, etc. (rad being what my nibblings should call me, because I think it's 😁😁 rad 👉👉)

After this point? Just. Keep letting them learn more and more big words. If you've done all of this right, they'll probably love reading! Just nurture that love, and you're set. 11 year olds are cringey- they use weird dumbass slang that adults don't understand, and we use their slang to embarrass them every chance we get. A tale as old as time.

Honestly the next "big shift" in how a kid talks, is puberty. The change in vocal register can mess with the way the speak - and can also make certain Speech impediments worse, so if you're someone whose kid has an impediment, make sure you've prepared them for that. Warn them that vocal changes might make them feel as though any speech therapy they've done is pointless, and work with them to encourage them and help them remember that these vocal changes are not *bad*. Make sure they understand that there's nothing wrong with it.

And then, again, next big change isn't really a change at all. They're ready. They're grown! 18! The most common "change" here is that they might get a little bit too comfortable swearing a lot more than what's appropriate. But they'll figure out what's "enough" swearing soon enough. The important thing isn't whatever might be going on linguistically anymore... You've done it. You have managed to bring an entire human being all the way through childhood and into adulthood. You created a whole entire person! Now sit back, relax, and wait for grandkids or a dog or something... And remember that if you get grandkids, you also get to repeat a large portion of all of the work you just did.

And you also get to know that you made a tiny human! And then that human became an adult all because of you! And they decided to make *another* tiny human!

Ok Ok... I could go on, but Im getting really off-topic. My point is:

Children develop sooo quickly! There's only 10-12 years before they're most of the way grown and beginning to hit puberty. Your 8 year old Dick Grayson should NOT talk like he's 4! 10 year old Dick Grayson is not about to be using words like "Rhetorical question" unless you've given us reason to believe that he is well-read enough (In English) to know what that means. He might understand the premise of "not a questions are supposed to be answered" but it's INFINITELY funnier and more realistic for that type of interaction to play as-

10y/o Dick: "Why do you call yourself penguin?"

Penguin: *starts to answer*

Dick, jumping his ass: "I didn't mean you had to actually tell me! It was-" *pauses to look at his dad* "Batman?"

Batman, amused: "Rhetorical."

Dick: "Yeah! It was Rhetorical!"

*keeps beating up Penguin, who is so confused*

And more!

Your de-aged Danny Fenton that's suddenly 2? Should not be super-conscious and speaking like he's 14. And! Even if he's mentally 14 still, 2 year olds babble mainly because their mouths are tiny and have like. Barely any teeth.

Even I, hyperlexic and learning to ask for things at 18mo, still mostly babbled until I had all of my teeth. [I know this because my mum and I are super close and I recently had to get a full medical history, including me and her doing the math to figure out exactly how old I was at all of my milestones- based on how old my brothers were and where we lived and what surgery/test/etc I was having done at the same ages].

Anyway. So even if he's fully conscious or wtv, he's not speaking like a teenager- he's limited to what he can physically pronounce as a toddler.

Also! In this same vein! Stop forcing the baby talk to be written out completely phonetically.... I'm so so so sick of reading

"An' I tol' mah da-da aaallll 'bout the fishes at da 'quarium" like. Seriously guys. Just. Fucking. Type it.

It makes more sense for a 5 year old to go "I told my daddy aaallll about the 'quarium and the fishes and the cool boat thingy we rided on!" than whatever that hell-fire bullshit is, that just ate the text off the other example.

Kids under 10 especially tend to speak in run-on sentences. They use "and" "like" "Uh" "um" and other filler words. Constantly. Have them say like 6 different sentences, with barely if any pause, and call it a fuckin day lmao. It's more accurate than you probably think it is. My favorite example is my little cousin, we'll call her Amie (real name of my real adult friend lmao, but idk any good fake kid names so) I'll also just call myself Kat for simplicity sake.

Amie(7): "Katkatkatkatkat!"

Me: "What what what what what?"

A: "Come look! I found a cool bug underneath this big ole rock in the backyard it's over by the trampoline and I almost squisheded it by accident but it's ok because I jumped off and then I moved the rock offofit and then I came to get you so you can see the cool bug thingy! Look!"

Me, looking at what appeared to be a huge ass beetle: "Oh, wow! That is amazing! Do you want to put it in a jar so we can show mom? Maybe she'll let us go release it in the woods, so it's safe from the weed whacker!"

A: "Oh yes! Yesyesyesyes! I wanna go find a really cool jar! A big one and we can poke holes in the top but we should probably poke the holes in before we put Jerald in it because that way we don't accidentally poke a hole in Jerald because I think that would be really sad. I like Jerald."

Me: "I like him too, kiddo. Let's find a jar for him to take a nap in until Mommy is back, okay?"

Anyways, that's just an example of my 7 y/o cousin. Be creative! Have fun! Just keep in mind that if you want other people to read it, you have to put a little effort into it. My biggest advice?

Read up on the age you're writing. What grade are they in? How big are they? How does being that size shift how they (literally) see things around them?

Maybe try to go spend some time with younger relatives if you have any! Or maybe go visit a library and go to the kids section for a few minutes to browse- Ive done this to get a physical sense of what a little kid's world looks like from that low lol. I literally went to the library, and shuffled around on my knees for like 10 minutes browsing an empty section of the kids' area. Nobody questioned me, nobody gave a fuck, nobody even looked at me because: everyone will just assume you're there for a kids book. You have free will! Just. Go research what little kids are like before you write them completely wrong and then get pissed off when nobody wants to read your piss poor attempt at writing kids. (I say this with love, I swear, it's just a topic that personally really frustrates me 😅)

Hell, use this post as a giant guide for raising your characters' kids!

Maybe don't actually use it as a real life parenting guide tho. I wrote it in that style because that's just how it made sense in my head lol... I am not a parent, I just really wish I was.

[inkskinned]

okay is she being actually immature or is it just a woman over 30 expressing a human experience you find to be immature.

like yeah. at certain ages... let shit go. im not defending the real immature shit. im not defending the karen you're picturing. i worked in retail i hate those people too. (once somebody got mad at me because she didn't like how our winter window decor was a snowman smoking a pipe. i wish i was joking).

but men at 57 will write books about how 17 year old girls are soooo sexy. they will invent worlds where women have to be naked for "armor reasons." they will write songs that treat women as objects. people rush to defend them. meanwhile a woman at 35 will be like "heartbreak is hard, actually" or "i feel betrayed by a friend" or "i am struggling with something emotionally." immediately people will say stuff like this woman is 35 by the way. by the way this woman is SO OLD to be experiencing this. BY THE WAY.

im 31, almost 32. the other day a poet was blasted online because at her "big age", she had written a poem about feeling unloved. top comment was "this woman is 29 by the way." this woman is too old to still be useful, by the way. she has to behave better . maybe if she was a good wife and mother she could stop existing loudly, and the story could continue on without her. this woman has served her purpose, by the way. she's so cringe, by the way. at 29 - so old! - she still hasn't figured out that her existence should be one of shame.

[kyri45]

We love MK, child of un-divorced. The next update will be more gay. And fluffier.

Shadowpeach Bio Parent AU (PREV / FIRST / NEXT )

before saying anything, read the stuff under the cut

About wukong and macaque

Both these bitches did wrong, but remember that MK saw the vision starting from the fight itself, not what happened before. He then read the chapters of the book and read that Macaque also attacked. I personally think he's mostly hurted by what Wukong did, not because it's worse of what Macaque did, but because he idolized Wukong for so long, and while he know he did so many wrongs in the past, his vision of a "hero" dissapeared in this moment. He s mostly dissapointed let's say. Of course it's not the best of things to put tour heroes on a pedal because you will always be dissapointed. I guess MK learned the lesson...

About what MK said in panel 8

Our monkey boy is remembering his own very stupid thing he sacrificied himself without trying to talk it out with the others AND using the circuit on Wukong.

About the posters

Yes they were Monkey King posters. MK ripped them immediately after the vision because he still was not sure was reality and vision and was scared.

About the eye

Because I would prefer no one dies of angst, his eye is fine, it s more like symbolism.

[ghostbsuter]

Those were quite the news to hear.

To think that the Duo of Jon and Damian would grow into a Trio...

He wondered how the girl did it, Elle Nightingale, she must have fit right in.

To say Clark and Bruce weren't surprised would be a lie when those two boys brought in their new third companion and proceeded to roughhouse Robin-Superboy style with her.

And she seemed to retaliate just as hard.

Both fathers wondered if she was the child of a former colleague or another vigilante, that or she was a meta/alien.

So when they went to Central City to meet Elle's parent and let the kids have their fun— well.

They didn't expect a young adult– barely out of the teenage years— greeting them with a grin in a hoodie.

"Sup."

And down the rabbit hole they went.

—

Over the weeks of meet ups, Clark and Bruce have gathered around 4 different kind of responses to their questions of Elle's other parent/relationship with elle.

It went like this:

("Brother? Aww, you flatter me. I'm her dad, actually.")

("Hm? Elle's other parent? She doesn't have one.")

(A shrug. "I decided I wanted to have a kid. Elle is the result.")

("Plasmius has always been a moron. Elle! On his next weekend, rob him broke!" To which he got an enthusiastic nod from said girl.)

They've gathered;

1. Danny and Elle weren't meta-humans. Instead, at least, half something/alien.

2. Whoever Plasmius is, he was involved.

3. The boys know. Elle seemed to have shared some of her past with them, and they're holding onto the promise of safekeeping and secrecy.

[bluerosefox]

Siblings Behavior

It's shenanigans time guys

So have this DpxDc idea.

So, the Justice League and the Light (OR villains in general) have two newish members, they've both been around for about a year and they're from the same plane of existence (a place called the Infinite Realms according to those who dabble in the occult)

And the two seem to have some serious beef with each other.

Wisp and Wrath are basicly feral cats hissing and hekles raised when they spot the other and their fights normally ends in draws. They're evenly matched and sometimes the two even fight to the point they are out of steam and just fist fight.

Needless to say everyone believes they totally hate each other and might one day kill (or end?) One of them.

So everything gets turned upside down when suddenly both factions of heros and villains are suddenly summoned to the Infinite Realms.

In a throne room.

In front of the Infinite King (or most commonly known as the Ghost King)

A King who looks very, very much like Wisp and Wrath (like yeah the two do sometimes look alike, like when they grin with sharp teeth and their hair color, but one has blue skin and red eyes for crying out loud!)

He's staring at them, glowing green eyes that seemed to just... know.

"Welcome to the Infinite Realms. I am King Phantom." His voice echoing in the throne room and seemed to rattle them deeply, like a sudden chill in the early morning.

"I have summoned you all here for a single reason." He continued to say "Tell me..."

Here he paused, closed his eyes before leaning back on the chair then he smiled big and cheerfully asked.

"How are my kids doing in your world? Dan and Ellie aren't causing too much chaos in their wake are they? They tend to go a tiny bit overboard sometimes but what siblings don't when they rough house you know. Tell me everything."

[gojoest]

ex husband gojo satoru on the brain….you have two kids together and after the divorce you get shared custody but the whole family gathers together only on special occasions like your children’s birthdays or important school events etc etc.

of course, this doesn’t mean you don’t cross paths with satoru for the rest of the time. on ordinary days he comes up with all kinds of ways to force his presence back in your life (and yours in his).

at least three times a week he drops by your house with a lousy excuse that “the kids forgot this, the kids forgot that” back at his place. other times he pretends to have forgotten that it’s your turn to pick them up from school, so you accidentally run into each other and he shamelessly invites himself over for dinner which you can’t bring yourself to decline because the kids are already too excited about spending time together.

even if you’ve parted ways on paper, satoru is still not over you, at all. in fact, he thinks he can win you back because you never stopped being his, not even for a second. you’re just being too difficult right now. you must’ve forgotten that it’s not really marriage that made you his to begin with, so divorce doesn’t change a thing. it stings him though, really it does, that you took the ring off and abandoned his name.

but it’s okay. you belonged to him way before he gave you the ring and his last name. those are only some minor formalities. it’s just back to square one. everything will fall back into place again, he just needs to remind you of the basics. but the order in which things fall into place will be different this time around.

if it’s the kids that bring you together, all he needs to do is make you give him another one. if he plays his cards right he will get to fuck you soon, he is certain. your heart might be confused right now, but your body seems to remember him way too well. he can smell it, the scent of your arousal whenever he’s around.

it’s just a matter of time. he’ll make sure to blow his load only inside you. multiple times so it works.

once you get pregnant again, he’ll use his unborn as an excuse to be around you all the time — “the baby is still in your belly, this is the only way i can spend time with my child”

he’s got 9 months to make you fall for him again, and by the time the baby is born, he’ll make it so your last name is gojo again. he’s already picked a ring.

[astearisms]

fionna and cake drawings before and after watching the episodes so far. it’s nostalgic and somehow cathartic and poignant and relatable and—it just started

[choccy-milky]

sometimes you gotta lure your overly-studious ravenclaw gf into spending time with you 🥰 📚 ( from 'Every Teardrop is a Waterfall' by Kat_12739 on ao3, GO READ IT!!! the first story is about seb falling sick and still pushing himself/not admitting he's sick until he ends up in the hospital, the second story is about the birth of seb and clora's daughter and seb's reaction to clora almost dying in childbirth, and the third is about dealing with a fussy newborn lewis😭🥹THEY'RE SO GOOD AND SWEET AND SOMEWHAT SAD (not to mention beautifully written) so go check it out!!💖💖 )

[anjanahalo]

Potential DPxDC Prompt

Danny survived high school with his identity intact. It wasn't easy, and it involved "Phantom" making a deal with his parents to help fight the ghosts in return for their amnesty if permanent banishment back to the ghost zone, but no one was getting zapped or gooped or vivisected, so it's all great! Meanwhile Danny Fenton, though his life, has perfected a near universal stain remover that's not just effective even post-washing, but is also environmentally friendly (thanks ghost zone chemists for working even after death on your craft). He decides to submit it to the Wayne Foundation's Innovations of the Future contest for a potential scholarship (Jazz was already teleprompting him from her college in sending out at least ten essays a week for scholarships from other sources). He gets a full ride to the University of Gotham, along with a hefty contract for exclusive rights to his stain remover formula. The issue? Danny knows the product includes a short-lived form of ectoplasm to work, and he is very, very hesitant to allow something as big as Wayne Corp to learn about that. His parents and their zeal caused so much harm just wanting to learn about the Ghost Zone. How dangerous would it be for an Entire Corporation, whose business is to exploit for gain, to learn about it? He didn't think this scholarship application through, did he? Meanwhile Batco is horrified and aghast that a civilian not only sent in something with Lazarus water in it for a fuckin' scholarship, it is actually useful for something besides raising the dead!

[bacchuschucklefuck]

they tried to rebrand as The Criminals but riz is literally the city council's treasurer and also turns out people in their late 20s don't really name their friend groups. so now they're The Intrepid Heroes

[inkskinned]

at some point it's just like. do they even fucking like the thing they're asking AI to make? "oh we'll just use AI for all the scripts" "we'll just use AI for art" "no worries AI can write this book" "oh, AI could easily design this"

like... it's so clear they've never stood in the middle of an art museum and felt like crying, looking at a piece that somehow cuts into your marrow even though the artist and you are separated by space and time. they've never looked at a poem - once, twice, three times - just because the words feel like a fired gun, something too-close, clanging behind your eyes. they've never gotten to the end of the movie and had to arrive, blinking, back into their body, laughing a little because they were holding their breath without realizing.

"oh AI can mimic style" "AI can mimic emotion" "AI can mimic you and your job is almost gone, kid."

... how do i explain to you - you can make AI that does a perfect job of imitating me. you could disseminate it through the entire world and make so much money, using my works and my ideas and my everything.

and i'd still keep writing.

i don't know there's a word for it. in high school, we become aware that the way we feel about our artform is a cliche - it's like breathing. over and over, artists all feel the same thing. "i write because i need to" and "my music is how i speak" and "i make art because it's either that or i stop existing." it is such a common experience, the violence and immediacy we mean behind it is like breathing to me - comes out like a useless understatement. it's a cliche because we all feel it, not because the experience isn't actually persistent. so many of us have this ... fluttering urgency behind our ribs.

i'm not doing it for the money. for a star on the ground in some city i've never visited. i am doing it because when i was seven i started taking notebooks with me on walks. i am doing it because in second grade i wrote a poem and stood up in front of my whole class to read it out while i shook with nerves. i am doing it because i spent high school scribbling all my feelings down. i am doing it for the 16 year old me and the 18 year old me and the today-me, how we can never put the pen down. you can take me down to a subatomic layer, eviscerate me - and never find the source of it; it is of me. when i was 19 i named this blog inkskinned because i was dramatic and lonely and it felt like the only thing that was actually permanently-true about me was that this is what is inside of me, that the words come up over everything, coat everything, bloom their little twilight arias into every nook and corner and alley

"we're gonna replace you". that is okay. you think that i am writing to fill a space. that someone said JOB OPENING: Writer Needed, and i wrote to answer. you think one raindrop replaces another, and i think they're both just falling. you think art has a place, that is simply arrives on walls when it is needed, that is only ever on demand, perfect, easily requested. you see "audience spending" and "marketability" and "multi-line merch opportunity"

and i see a kid drowning. i am writing to make her a boat. i am writing because what used to be a river raft has long become a fully-rigged ship. i am writing because you can fucking rip this out of my cold dead clammy hands and i will still come back as a ghost and i will still be penning poems about it.

it isn't even love. the word we use the most i think is "passion". devotion, obsession, necessity. my favorite little fact about the magic of artists - "abracadabra" means i create as i speak. we make because it sluices out of us. because we look down and our hands are somehow already busy. because it was the first thing we knew and it is our backbone and heartbreak and everything. because we have given up well-paying jobs and a "real life" and the approval of our parents. we create because - the cliche again. it's like breathing. we create because we must.

you create because you're greedy.

[awhoreintheory]

Circus Boy

Directly inspired by @erinwantstowrite 's art!!! post

Request from awesome amazing cool Anon

Over the years, circuses have lost their spark.

Dick would know— he’d literally grown up in one. Back then, the circus was a symphony of effort and artistry. Weeks, sometimes months, were spent perfecting routines. Performances were designed to dazzle, to inspire awe, no matter the country or culture of the audience. The comedy sketches weren’t just filler— they were genuinely funny, capable of drawing laughter even from the most reluctant parent dragged along by an excited child. Every act had a rhythm, a purpose, and above all, passion. The performers took pride in their craft, and the audience responded in kind, feeding off the energy, cheering and clapping until their hands were raw and their throats sore. 

Now? Now they were dull. Predictable routines recycled ad nauseam. Costumes that looked like they were bought in bulk from a clearance rack. Tents and stages slapped together with the barest effort to resemble grandeur. The magic, the joy—the soul of it all—had been replaced with a singular, glaring goal: profit. No one cared if the audience laughed, gasped, or even paid attention, so long as they paid their entrance fees.

But recently, whispers of something different had started making waves in Gotham: a circus gaining a reputation for being... well, different.

Dick’s curiosity was piqued. He hadn’t planned to go, at first. But the memories of his youth, of what the circus used to mean, stirred within him. Before he knew it, he’d wrangled (read: blackmailed) together as much of the family as he could to go see it. Which, wasn’t a whole lot considering quite a few were out of state currently, but it was enough to make him smile.

“Why must I come along? I do not see the point,” Damian groused, arms folded tightly across his chest as the group approached the circus grounds. Despite his protests, he made no move to make a stealthy exit.

“You’re coming because it’ll be good for you,” Dick said, ruffling Damian’s hair just to annoy him. Damian promptly swatted his hand away, glaring daggers at his adoptive brother.

“You don’t even know if it’ll be good,” Tim chimed in, hands shoved into his jacket pockets. “What if this thing is as boring as all the other ones you’ve complained about?”

“Then we’ll all get funnel cake and call it a night,” Stephanie said brightly, making it clear where her true excitement lay. “I’m in it for the food, anyway.”

Dick pouted. “You didn’t have to say the quiet part out loud!” 

“Don’t underestimate funnel cake,” Duke added with a smirk. “It might be the only thing saving this trip if the show’s a flop.”

Dick rolled his eyes, but his grin didn’t waver. “You’re all so cynical. Just... trust me, okay? I have a feeling about this one.”

Sure, a lot of the decorations seemed cheap thus far, but Dick can’t blame them. They’re clearly low budget, with only two shows a week, versus the seven to ten a week Dick was used to. The difference was the genuine passion and excitement in the eyes of the performers. And they were just doing pre-show stunts on the street to rouse excitement! 

Tim hummed thoughtfully. “This place has been gaining rapid popularity,” he said, the subtle edge in his tone making it clear he was already analyzing every detail. Dick saw his fingers twitch as if to take a picture. 

Dick glanced over at him but didn’t comment. He recognized that tone— Tim was in detective mode, quietly piecing together threads no one else could see yet. He did, however, take the opportunity at his siblings' distraction to subtly herd them in the direction of the tents, eager to get a good front-row seat. Damian noticed, but he didn’t do much more than roll his eyes.

Steph, however, rolled her eyes dramatically. At Tim, not Dick. “Can you just enjoy one thing without looking for a criminal conspiracy, Tim?”

Tim matched her with a roll of his own eyes, the two slipping into a bickering match that’d put an old married couple to shame if they weren’t so aggressively gay. Meanwhile, Dick let his attention wander to the stage, studying the equipment with the practiced eye of someone who’d lived this life.

Suspended high above was the trapeze rig, its bars wrapped in worn leather, the steel cables taut and secured to thick iron frames. The safety net below, while a little faded, looked sturdy enough to do its job. Not brand-new, but serviceable.

To one side, a highwire stretched across a dizzying height, its slim cable shimmering faintly under the tent lights. The rigging showed some signs of age— slightly dulled bolts and scuffed counterweights—but nothing that made Dick worry. It would hold, even if the daredevil walking it would need nerves of steel.

A teeterboard sat center stage on the ground, its spring mechanism ready to launch performers into flips and vaults. Nearby, a stack of brightly painted crates and barrels hinted at comedic skits. Clowns would probably tumble over them with exaggerated flair, while a sturdy seesaw-like prop suggested slapstick gags involving plenty of unintentional (and intentional) falls.

The whole setup had a charming scrappiness to it. The equipment could use a little TLC, sure, but Dick had no doubt it would hold up under pressure. He could tell the performers had put their trust in it, and that meant something.

For a moment, Dick felt a flicker of nostalgia. The way the crew moved, the crisp efficiency with which they handled the gear— it reminded him of home, of the way his parents had always treated the stage with reverence, as though it were sacred ground.

“Do you see how high that wire is?” Duke muttered, his voice tinged with a mix of awe and apprehension as he followed Dick’s gaze.

“I see it,” Dick replied softly, his heart tightening. He couldn’t help but wonder who had the guts to walk that cable, let alone pull off any stunts on it. He’d definitely have to stick around and chat them up, maybe have a little friendly competition. 

“Awe, man,” Duke sighed, visibly disappointed. “Guess we weren’t excited enough.”

Turns out “early” wasn’t early enough because the seating area was packed. The whole first three rows were aggressively claimed, forcing the group to settle for seats in the middle of the fourth row.

Steph and Duke promptly excused themselves to grab popcorn—or, more accurately, for Steph to scout for funnel cake. Dick had to respect the consistency.

Damian glanced at Dick, then at Tim with a withering look. “Drake, cease your ramblings. They sour my mood.”

Tim blinked, clearly taken aback. “Wait, just me? Steph was talking way more!”

Steph, who had been halfway out of earshot, whirled around with mock offense. “Excuse me? I wasn’t the one turning this into an episode of ‘True Crime: Circus Edition.’” 

“Yeah, because you’re too busy planning how to steal funnel cake from children,” Tim shot back, crossing his arms. Damian’s eyebrow twitched. Dick wondered why peace was but a mere illusion. 

“Oh, please,” Steph quipped. “You’d be the kid I steal it from, Drake.”

Before Tim could come up with a retort, and Damian became a convicted felon, the lights dimmed, cutting their bickering short. A hush fell over the crowd as the familiar low hum of a drumroll began to build.

The ringmaster strode into the center of the stage, clad in a dazzling coat of crimson and gold that shimmered under the spotlight. If you looked any closer than that, you’d see how tacky and cheap it was. His booming voice carried effortlessly across the tent.

“Ladies and gentlemen! Boys and girls! Welcome to a night of wonder, daring, and delight!” the ringmaster announced, his voice ringing through the tent as the steady drumroll built the tension. “Prepare yourselves for the extraordinary, the astonishing, the absolutely unbelievable! The show begins... now!”

The drumroll reached its peak, and with a dramatic flourish, the spotlight swept upward to reveal the first performer perched high above the stage. A man in a sparkling gold costume waved grandly to the crowd before swinging onto the trapeze. The audience clapped politely as he performed a few rudimentary tricks— basic flips and graceful swings that showcased control but lacked flair.

Two more performers joined him, each clad in similar glittering costumes. They moved with confidence, transitioning through formations and passing between trapezes, but the moves were predictable and lacked the edge Dick was hoping to see. Certainly, nothing that would make this rinky-dink circus as popular as it got so quickly. 

Tim leaned toward Dick, his tone flat. “You dragged us here for this?”

“Underwhelming,” Damian muttered, his expression neutral but his tone sharp.

Dick didn’t respond immediately, though he couldn’t disagree. The tricks were technically fine— safe, practiced, polished— but there was no spark, no passion. No magic. He resigned to going home disappointed and also to the inevitable flaming via siblings. 

But then, just as one of the performers finished an awkward landing on the platform, the ringmaster’s voice boomed again.

“And now, prepare yourselves for the prodigy of the skies, the one and only Amazing Arach-Kid!”

The spotlight shifted upward again, revealing a much smaller figure poised on a separate platform, high above the others. It was a boy— young and wiry, dressed in sleek crimson and black, his face obscured by a half-mask (not dissimilar to their domino masks, actually) that glimmered faintly in the light. For a moment, the crowd was silent, uncertain what to expect.

Without warning, the boy leaped.

The gasp from the audience was audible as the kid— Arach-Kid?— launched himself into a dramatic triple flip, his body twisting gracefully through the air before he caught the trapeze with flawless precision. The crowd erupted into applause, the energy in the tent shifting instantly.

He didn’t stop there. Swinging with a force that sent his trapeze soaring higher than any of the others had dared, he released at the peak of his arc and spun into a double somersault. Instead of catching the next trapeze, he landed neatly in the arms of one of the adult performers, who looked genuinely startled by the boy’s precision. He grinned, waving excitedly at the audience as they roared with applause. 

From there, the routine transformed. Arach-Kid became the centerpiece of the act, seamlessly incorporating daring flips, twists, and transitions between trapezes. He was passed between the adults with perfect timing, their previous mediocrity eclipsed by his sheer skill and energy.

“Whoa,” Duke murmured, leaning forward in his seat. “He’s... good.”

“Who is that kid?” Tim asked, his voice tinged with disbelief.

“Better than the rest of them combined,” Damian said bluntly, though his tone carried the faintest hint of approval.

The boy ended his routine with a jaw-dropping quadruple somersault, catching the final trapeze one-handed and hanging upside down with effortless control. Gasps and cheers erupted from the audience, their applause thunderous as he let himself swing for a moment, letting the crowd bask in his daring. Then, with a fluid motion, he swung back, releasing the trapeze bar for one final flourish.

Dick leaned forward, his breath catching as the kid’s body twisted into the unmistakable maneuver— the signature move of the Flying Graysons.

The crowd roared as he executed the technique perfectly, his form flawless, his timing impeccable. He landed with a clean dismount, arms raised triumphantly, and offered the crowd a playful bow before darting off to the wings. Even with the stage empty, shouts and applause echoed for a long time after the boy left. 

For a moment, Dick couldn’t move. His stomach churned as memories of his parents on that same trapeze flooded his mind. No one else knew that move. No one could. His parents had created it, and Dick had learned it from them. It was their legacy— his legacy.

So how, in the name of all that made sense, did this random kid just pull it off perfectly?

The lights shifted again, smoothly transitioning to the next act: a somewhat clumsy but undeniably entertaining tightrope routine. One performer started with a wobbling walk, arms flailing for comedic effect. Another joined, balancing precariously with a broomstick for support. The final performer added a unicycle to the mix, pedaling shakily across the thin wire as the audience laughed and clapped in delight.

It was… objectively funny.

But Dick barely noticed. His good mood had evaporated, replaced by a heavy knot of unease in his chest. At this point, they must have a hive mind with how they immediately filed out of the tent without a single word exchanged. 

“That was—” Tim started, breaking the tense silence.

“Dick,” Steph interrupted, her voice low, “did he just—?”

“That was your move,” Tim finished firmly, his eyes locked on Dick’s.

“It’s not possible,” Duke added, glancing at the now-empty trapeze rig. “Right? It’s your family’s thing. There’s no way some random kid from Gotham knows it.”

“I am more concerned with how he knows it,” Damian said, his voice cutting. His eyes darted to Dick. “This is your domain, Richard. You must have answers.”

Dick didn’t respond right away. He couldn’t. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides, his breathing shallow. In disbelief, he muttered, “I don’t.”

Steph frowned. “Okay, well... what do we do? Do we just ignore the fact that some kid pulled off your impossible secret family move?”

“No,” Dick said sharply, his voice colder than any of them expected. “We don’t ignore it. We find out who he is, how he learned it, and what the hell is going on.”

Tim’s brow furrowed. “Do you think someone’s trying to get your attention? Like, deliberately?”

Dick shook his head, though his face betrayed his uncertainty. “I don’t know. Maybe. I mean, it’s... it’s possible, but...” He exhaled through his nose, frustrated. “I need answers. This isn’t something you just pick up on YouTube.”

The group left the small but packed circus, their earlier excitement replaced by a shared tension. The cool night air did little to clear their heads as they walked in a tight huddle, glancing over their shoulders as if the boy would materialize out of the crowd.

“Something’s not right,” Tim said, breaking the silence.

“Obviously,” Damian muttered.

“I mean it,” Tim snapped. “Moves like that— you don’t just do them. It takes years to learn without a teacher.” He glanced at Dick. “You’re sure no one outside your family knew it? Like, absolutely sure?”

“Positive,” Dick said firmly. “The only people who knew it are gone. Except me.” His voice dropped as he added, “Or at least, they’re supposed to be.”

The group exchanged uneasy looks, about both the situation and Dick’s reaction to it. It takes quite a bit to rattle him, so to see him, well, rattled was weird. Beyond weird. It was downright wrong. 

“Either way,” Duke said cautiously, “we’re going to figure this out. Right?”

“Oh, we will,” Dick said, his voice grim. “We don’t leave things like this unanswered.”

As they disappeared into the Gotham night, paranoia settled over them like a second skin. Whatever was going on, it wasn’t going to stay a mystery for long. 

[ghostbsuter]

"I can see dead people." He mentions with a shrug, using the chopsticks to fish more noodles into his mouth.

Dick stares at him. "Huh."

"Is that why you help?" He asks, getting more spring rolls.

"Yeah. Once someone becomes a ghost, word gets out quick, and they come to me. Always tatling about unfairness and justice." The kid waves the words around, rolling his eyes.

Dick just pretens to he uninterested, despite his mind racing at the new info. He is piecing past moments together, every shadow leaping away, every note with tips, leads and—

Huh.

"Do you... like it? Doing all that?" Richard approaches thus carefully, brows furrowed at the kid opposite of him.

Danny moves his head, giving a 'so-so' answer. "It's not much to like, I can see ghosts, and they know it and use it. If it brings them to peace or whatever– well, that's just a plus."

Dick stares. He places his chopsticks down and looks at Danny worried.

In turn, the kid sighs. "Sometimes gifts become curses the longer you have it."

And Dick understands.

Mind made up, he throws a pair of keys at the kid, watching fondly as the other catches them with confusion.

"Next time use these, instead of entering through the window."

Danny mock-salutes with a shit eating grin. "Yes, Officer grayson."

[bluerosefox]

Young Justice's Luck Strikes Again

Batman sighs deeply and rubs a temple.

It was meant to be a simple space mission, nothing to big. Just a quick check and report back.

Only problem is the ones he would normally assign this to are all dealing with other things so he had to ask... Someone else...

Like...

The ones that were once Young Justice.

Look, they were the only only ones with a spaceship (How? He still had no idea, Tim keeps saying 'What happens in YJ, stays in YJ') that could go far out without problems, and even though he knew putting the old YJ team together might be a bad idea, he trusted them especially Red Robin to be just a bit more professional at least. Since they were no longer teens but young adults now.

And again it was meant to just be a quick mission.

Nothing big.

So...

So why was Young Justice currently wrangling two floating black haired toddlers, one with blue eyes while the other one had red, and a black haired baby.

Turns out they found these children floating in space on their way back from their mission, cryo sleeping in a ice block huddled and cuddled together around a well loved teddybear with a teal headband on its head.

Or they were sleeping in cryo sleep until Superboy brought the ice block in and the thing melted allowing the children to wake up.

Batman could feel a headache coming on when he noticed just how... attached Young Justice was becoming to the children as well and knew it would be a miracle if he could get them to separate from the children.

[chancloud8]

Keep Playing

Pairing: Bang Chan x Reader

Word Count: 2,8k

Summary: you tease chan while he plays the piano. he returns te favor, nearly destroying his piano in the process.

Tags: nsfw, smut, oral (m), a little touch denial, fingering, cumshot, piano s3x, just pure smut.

It started out innocent, with Chan playing random songs on his piano to help you relax. 

You've always enjoyed watching him play. You could sit there for hours, listening to the melody and watching his fingers move over the keys as he too got cought up in the music. When he played you could just feel the stress leaving your body, your muscles would relax and your eyes would automatically close. 

This time however. This time you're on your knees. 

'What are you doing?' Chan asks, his head cocked to the side and his eyebrows raised as he watches you settle on the floor between his legs. 

He stops playing and you pout up at him, patting his thighs with the palms of your hands. 

'Keep playing, babe,' you instruct him. 'Don't mind me. Just pretend I'm not here.' 

He raises his eyebrows at you as if to say 'Yeah sure, like I can do that?!' 

'You can,' you say as you slowly let your fingers wander over his thighs and towards the tied strings of his sweatpants. 'Please play for me baby.' 

Chan opens his mouth to protest, but when you stroke him over the fabric of his pants he closes his eyes in defeat and moves his fingers towards the keys of the piano again. Music starts to fill the room again and you smile in victory, moving your other hand upwards as well so you can grab the waistband of his sweatpants and tug a little. 

'Keep playing, but lift your hips,' you tell Chan, looking up at him through your lashes.

Chan swallows and does as you say, allowing you to slide his pants down. As instructed he keeps playing, but when you press your lips to the inside of his thighs, he messes up a few keys.

You giggle and push his thighs open further, watching goosebumps appear on his skin when you crawl even closer between his legs and kiss a trial towards the place on his leg where his boxers end.

'Y/N,' Chan whines when you pull at the fabric with your teeth before once again moving your hand up to trace the outline of his cock teasingly.

'Yes, my love?'

'Please don't make me keep playing, I want to touch you.'

You squeeze Chan's thighs and lift your head to look at him. 

'If you touch me, you can't play for me and if you don't play..' you nip at his thigh with your teeth. 'You won't get my mouth where you want it.' 

Chan groans and throws his head back in frustration, but his fingers keep moving on the keys, playing one of your favorite songs. He barely wavers when you press a kiss on his growing bulge so you decide to go a step further and close your mouth over his length, wetting the fabric of his boxers. 

'Fuck,' Chan mutters, his fingers slipping off the keys. 

You chuckle and wait till he starts playing again to tug at his boxers till it rips. Chan lifts his hips again and you easily slip the fabric off, freeing his long hard cock. There's a drop of pre cum on the tip and you happily lean forward to lick it off. 

Chan whimpers and messes up the melody again. You briefly wonder what the neighbours will think of the melody going up and down from good to bad, because they could definitely hear him play. 

'Y/N, please,' Chan pants. 'Please.' 

You know he wants to stop playing to touch you, to make you pay for teasing him like this, but you're not done with him yet. He'll get you back no matter what you do and you're already looking forward to it. 

'All in time babe,' you whisper. 'Just be good for me and I'll be good for you.'

He groans again and switches to a different melody, one you don't recognize, but it sounds pretty non the less. You don't give Chan any warning before closing your mouth around the tip of his cock, your tongue pressing against the underside as you softly suck and lick up another drop of pre cum.

'Fuck, fuck, fuck,' Chan mutters out, his body collapses forward and his fingers smash against the keys.

You wait till he finds the right notes again and gently wrap your fingers around the base of his cock while your tongue swirls around the tip. Even more salty liquid coats your tongue and you hum in delight at the taste. He might complain, but he sure as hell loves what you're doing.

'This is so unfair,' Chan moans, bucking his hips.

You ignore him and take his cock deeper in your mouth, bobbing your head as you messily suck and move your tongue up and down to slowly drive him insane.

The song Chan was playing ends abruptly and his hands find your hair, pulling hard. You let go of him with a wet 'pop' sound and look up through your eyelashes.

'What's the matter babe,' you tease, licking your lips. 'I thought you understood the rules.'

'Screw the rules,' Chan growls. 'If I have to suffer, you can at least take off your clothes.'

Chan's eyes are wild, his pupils so dilated that the black nearly swallows the brown. It's incredibly hot and you fight the urge to just stop this game and jump your very sexy boyfriend.

'Okay,' you nod and smile sweetly at him, bringing your hands up to cover his.

Chan's grip relaxes and he moves forward to get closer to you.

'Nuh-uh,' you shake your head. 'I didn't mean you could touch me. You're going to keep playing and I'm going to take off my clothes.'

Chan glares at you and you just know he's debating whether to give you your fun or if he'll take over control.

'You like my mouth on you, right?' You wink,  caressing his muscled chest with your hands. 'If you keep playing for me, I'll give you everything you want.'

'I already have you,' Chan counters. 'I'll play for a little while longer, but then you're mine.'

'I'm yours,' you grin, ignoring what he actually means.

Chan rolls his eyes and lets go of your hair so he can place his hands on the piano keys again. He starts playing the same song as before, his eyes locked on yours.

You bite your lips and try to look as sexy as possible as you pull your soft cotton dress over your head.

Chan makes a noise in the back of his throat that sounds like a mixture between a groan and a whine when he sees what you wear underneath.

Nothing but a black lace thong.

His eyes rake over your chest hungrily and his fingers twitch over the keys of the piano. He keeps playing though.

'Good,' you praise, leaning down again to reward him with a kiss on the inside of his thigh.

Chan's cock twitches against his stomach and you take it in your hands, slowly stroking the soft skin and leaning forward to lick a thick stripe all the way from the base to the tip.

'Do. Not. Tease. Me,' Chan let's out between pants.

You nod and take him in your mouth, enjoying the heavy feel of him against your tongue. He's warm, hard as a rock and the tip is soaked with pre-cum again. You circle your tongue around to tip to lick it up before taking him deeper.

Chan's hips buck forward at their own account and his pants get louder, but to his credit he keeps playing this time. 

You increase your rhythm and move your hand along with your mouth, coaxing more sounds out of Chan's throat. His leg tenses under your free hand and his hips buck forward again, more powerful than before, the tip of his cock grazes the back of your throat. You moan around him, knowing the vibration of the sound will make it feel even better for him.

'Aarghh,' Chan groans. 'Y/N, fuck.' 

Drool leakes from the corner of your mouth, but you don't care. This is about Chan, about his pleasure. 

'If you don't stop, I'll--' Chan starts to say, but you suck harder and twirl your tongue just the way he likes it to silence him. 

The music stops with a loud clunk of Chan's hands coming down so hard on the keys, that it hurts your ears. You look up from under your eyelashes to see the exposed skin of Chan's throat as he tilts his head backwards, his mouth agape in pleasure. 

It only takes one more twirl of your tongue and then he's coming in your mouth. Hot, sticky and salty. You swallow every drop as you caress Chan's thighs with your hands before letting go of him. 

'Now wasn't that fun,' you grin up at him, only to be met with a nearly feral looking Chan. 

The veins in his neck are clearly visible and he has this look in his eyes that makes you clench your thighs together. 

Uh. Oh. 

You don't get a chance to tease him some more as he pulls you up from under the piano by your hair. It doesn't hurt at all, all it does is makes heat pool in your belly. 

His lips are on yours then, hard and demanding while his hands roam your naked skin. You gasp when he lifts you up and his tongue wastes no time invading your mouth. The both of you groan and you climb into Chan's lap, wrapping your legs around his waist to get as close to him as you can. 

Chan's hands grab onto your naked ass, massaging the flesh as he kisses you like he's starving. It's messy and wet, but you don't mind at all, giving just as much back as he gives you, meeting his tongue for every stroke.

Without warning Chan stands up, bringing you up with him and the piano bench clatters to the floor at his sudden movement. You let out a squeal and pull back from his mouth to say something, but Chan won't let you, chasing your mouth and capturing your lips once more. 

Chan's hands move to your hips and you yelp into his mouth when your ass and back touch something cold and smooth. Goosebumps erupt all over your body. Did he just put you down onto his beloved piano? You get no time to think about it when Chan's fingers hook underneath the fabric of your thong and rip it from your body like he's the hulk.

You want to giggle, but once again Chan gives you no time to respond, licking into your mouth as his hands are everywhere. On your thighs, your hips, your breasts. He explores every inch of your skin with his big warm hands until you're a quivering mess and he hasn't even touched you where you most want it yet. 

'Chan,' you moan when he lets go of your lips to attach his mouth to your neck. 'Chan, please.'

Chan just hums and leaves a trial of open mouthed kisses from your neck to your breasts. He trials his tongue around your right nipple and you arch your back, wanting more, needing more. 

'Chan,' you whine, your fingers digging into the skin of his shoulders. 'Please, more.' 

You know you probably deserve his teasing after what you just did to him, but you also know that he loves it when you beg for him. 

'Tell me what you want baby,' Chan says against your skin, his breath tickling against the wet spot he left behind. 

Everything. You want it all, anything that he can give you. 

'I need your words baby,' Chan urges, scraping his teeth over your sensitive nipple. 

‘I- anything, please, just-’ you breathe out, tangling your fingers in the black strands of his hair. ‘I want- I need-, fuck.’

Chan chuckles and moves his mouth up to your neck again, licking and nibbling as he goes. 'I'm definitely planning on fucking you, don't worry.' 

You groan and pull on his hair, lifting his head up from your neck so you can look at him. It takes everything inside of you to take a deep breath and lift the lusty haze from your brain long enough to tell him exactly what you want. 

'I want you to touch me, I want your fingers inside of me and I want you to fuck me against your precious piano,' you say, your breath quickening with each word until you're nearly panting. 

Chan bites his lip and lets his eyes wander over every inch of your naked body. 

'You're so goddamn beautiful,' he whispers. 'How did I get so lucky?' 

You let out a whine and reach out for him. 'If you don't hurry up, I'm not sure how lucky you-' 

Chan doesn't let you finish. His soft lips are on yours once more and you sigh in relief, arching into him as he kisses you. His hands wander from your breasts, to your sides and finally to your legs. He pries your thighs open further and your heart rate spikes in anticipation, but then he pulls back again. 

‘Noooo,’ you whine. 

Chan chuckles and you instantly know it’s payback.

‘Look at you all wet and shiny, just for me,’ he says, slowly inching his fingers closer to your cunt. 

When his finger finally slides through your wet folds you moan in relief at the feeling. Chan chuckles again and moves forward to kiss your neck, his tongue slipping out to leave a wet stripe on your collarbone while he collects your juices with his fingers, moving up and down in a deliciously slow rhythm. 

‘More,’ you beg him. ‘Please.’ 

Your body jolts when he finds your clit, bumping it with his knuckle before repeating the same movement as before. He does it again and again until you’re a quivering mess, moaning his name and clawing at his back. 

‘More, Chan, please,’ you moan, grabbing onto his arm with one hand to try and move his hand. ‘I need you.’

Chan shushes you and slips his finger inside at the same time as he kisses you again, licking into your mouth. You gasp and your fingers fly to his hair again to steady yourself. He picks up the rhythm, flicking his thumb against your clit every time he plunges his finger inside.

Your body feels hot all over and your vision gets blurry when Chan crooks his finger in just the right way. 

‘Come for me, baby,’ Chan whispers against your breast before latching onto your nipple. 

And you do. Blackness fills your vision for a moment as your body goes taut before relaxing. 

‘Fuck,’ you whisper, feeling slightly drunk on pleasure. 

‘So beautiful,’ Chan grunts, moving you a little on the piano to get better access to you before plunging into you with one hard thrust, no warning whatsoever.

You let out a strangled moan, still sensitive from your orgasm and your eyes roll back into your head as your body tingles with pleasure. You wrap your legs around Chan’s waist for a better angle and the both of you groan when his long length pounds even deeper. 

‘Fuck, you feel so good Y/N,’ Chan pants, his hands on your hips to keep you steady. ‘So wet, so tight, so perfect for me.’ 

You capture his lips in a bruising kiss. It’s messy and wet, but it makes you feel even closer to him. Pleasure builds in your core deliciously and you pull back from his mouth.

‘I-I’m close,’ you moan, throwing your head back and giving Chan access to your neck instead.

His lips latch onto your pulse point immediately, sucking and nibbling at the skin. 

‘Me too, baby girl. Let it go.’

He pumps into you even harder, the piano creeks dangerously below your body but you give it no mind. He could break the damned thing as long as he wouldn’t stop fucking into you. 

‘Aaarghh,’ you cry out as overwhelming pleasure electrocutes your body. Your legs shake violently as Chan thrust into you once, twice more before coming deep inside you with a loud sexy as hell grunt.

You hold Chan close as you both come down from your high. Your fingers lazily trail his muscles as your eyes grow heavy. You always get sleepy after an orgasmn, and there's nothing you want more now than to curl up in bed under a pile of blankets and cuddle till you fall asleep.

'Carry me to bed?' you ask Chan, kissing his shoulder.

Chan slowly moves, still burried inside you. He presses his lips against your nose, your brow and then your lips, a little ritual he always does after the two of you have sex.

'Anything for you, love.'

*************

a/n: uhhh this was my first time writing y/n and m/f smut so i hope it's any good haha. please let me know your thoughts and be kind <3

taglist: @jaeminie-cricket

[umbrellajam]

de-aged baby Tim but it happens during Prodigal when he and Dick still barely know each other and are supposed to be holding down the fort in Gotham by themselves and also Dick's life is already in extreme early 20s shambles

Dick!Bats:

Baby Robin!Tim (with oversized domino falling off his face): (burbles) Dbbb? BUH-MUH-MUH.

Dick!Bats:

Dick!Bats: nope nope nope nope NOPE

Huntress (rolling up warily): hey...Batman. what was that lightshow - oh, that is a baby.

Baby Robin!Tim (waving his hands delightedly): He-ba-ba!

Huntress: ...Heb-- wait a minute, is that Robin's uni--

Dick!Bats (bundling Tim and the Robin uniform into his own Bat cape and using his best Bat growl): the situation is under control, move along. (sweeps away)

---

Dick: (reading the manual to the new Batmobile to try and activate the baby carseat configuration that has to be in here somewhere, please god)

Tim: (yanks on the end of Dick's ponytail and sticks it in his mouth)

---

Dick: (standing in front of Drake Manor gearing up to hand baby Tim over to his actual family, thank fuck this will no longer be his problem--)

Dick: (remembers (a) Jack Drake is still in a wheelchair and (b) Tim laughingly telling him the funny family story of how Janet left Jack in charge of Tim for one (1) girls night when he was a year old and came back to diaper rash because he hadn't been changed in six hours, haha Dad was so embarrassed, like "so by every two hours you meant every--??")

Dick: y'know what I've helped babysit Lian how hard can this be

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Dick (with formula in his hair, spit-up all over his shirt, juggling a red-faced wailing Tim and a corded phone held between his shoulder and his ear): ROY. ROY MAYDAY.