#my dad was so confused as to where that came from I had to explain the scene bcuz why would they bring that out of nowhere

[scary-noodlesblog]

Soulbound Ch 8

Death Takes A Holiday

The coming weeks were...a lot. Filled with other creatures leaving no room for Castiel to show up from his search for Anna. We mistook a little, feral child for a ghost. Then we had to deal with magicians and their scams, until one tried to saw me in half. Ya know, the saw the 'saw the lady in half' bit. After that we went to Sam and Dean's old high school, and I nearly gagged at Dean's gym teacher shorts. Turns out the kid that bullied Sam was a vengeful spirit. Then came a siren. Nasty little fucker made men kill the most important women in their lives. Nearly made the boys kill me if Bobby hadn't shown up. 

That thing made the boys spew some awful things to me, I know that it was the effects of the siren but dammit it hurt. 

"You hold us back."

"We don't need our punk little sister getting in the way."

"You're an annoyance."

"I wish Bobby never adopted you."

Now we are in a diner, new random little town in the middle of buttfuck no where. Dean is over at the jukebox, Sam is on the phone with Bobby, his laptop in front of him, and I'm next to Sam, eating my food. I hear Dean thump the jukebox as Sam says, "No, no, no, you're right, it's definitely weird...okay, Bobby thanks."

Sam puts his phone away as Dean walks back over to the table, "So what did my dad say?" I ask Sam.

Dean sits down across from Sam and I, the younger Winchester typing away on his laptop. "Bobby found something in Wyoming."

DEAN taps a button on the jukebox, then thumps the jukebox. SAM is at a table, laptop open, talking on the phone.

"A job?" Dean asks.

Sam's eyebrows furrow, "Maybe." He pauses as Dean takes a bite of his burger. I pop a french fry in my mouth as he continues, "Small town, no one's died in the past week and a half."

"That so unusual?" Dean questions with a mouth full of food.

"Well, it's how they're not dying." Sam continues to type on his laptop, "One guy with terminal cancer strolls right out of hospice. Another guy gets capped by a mugger and walks away without a scratch."

I raise an eyebrow, "Capped in the ass?"

Sam reads the article that he has pulled up, "Police say Mr. Jenkins was shot in the heart at point-blank range by a nine-millimeter."

"And he's not a doughnut?" Dean asks, continuing to speak with his mouth full.

"Dean..." I scold gently, making him look at me like 'what?'

Sam glances up at his brother briefly before looking back at the screen, "Locals are saying it's a miracle."

"Okay." Dean says.

"It's got to be something nasty, right? I mean, people making deals or something." Sam asks.

I tilt my head, "You think?"

"What else would it be?" Sam's eyebrows furrow more.

I shrug, eating another fry, "I don't know."

"All right." Sam packs up his laptop, gesturing to my food as Dean stands up. "Get that to go." He sighs when I don't move, nudging my arm, "Come on."

Dean grabs a to-go bag and bags up his food as Sam swings his laptop bag on his shoulder. Dean looks up at me, "What?"

"Sure you want me going with you?" I ask, eating another fry.

"Why wouldn't we?" Dean's eyebrows crinkle in confusion.

"I don't want to be the punk ass little sister, holding you back or nothing." 

"Dude, we've told you a hundred times, that was the siren talking, not us." Sam says, his voice gentle. "Can we get past this?"

I push the basket of food away, appetite gone, "Yeah, we're past it." I get up from the table, leaving my food there as I walk outside.

~~~~~~~

"Now, you said you three were bloggers?" Jim Jenkins asked as we sit at his dining table, his wife and daughter are in the next room.

"Yes, sir. Floored by the Lord dot com." Sam says. 

I clear my throat to cover up a small laugh as Dean adds, "All of God's glory fit to blog."

Dean grins as Sam continues, "Um. Some of the people around town are saying what happened to you was a miracle."

Jim nods, "It was. Plain as day."

"How can you be so sure?" I ask, my eyebrows furrowing.

Jim glances between the three of us, "How else do you explain it? The doctors can't. There's a bullet in my heart, and it's pumping like a piston."

Dean shrugs, "Well, how do you explain it?"

Jim hesitates and glances over at his daughter, "Look, honestly. I was nobody's saint—not exactly father of the year, either."

"Okay..." Dean trails off, wanting Jim to continue. 

"But when that guy shot me and I didn't bleed a drop? I just knew the Lord was giving me a second chance." 

"That so?" Dean asks, not believing him.

"I had this feeling—like angels were watching over me." Dean nods as Jim says, "I wouldn't expect you guys to understand."

I give Jim a polite smile, "Well, we'll just have to try."

"You wouldn't have happened to have swung by a crossroads in the past week or so?" Sam interrogates gently.

Jim gives Sam a confused look, "No."

"Maybe you met someone? With black eyes? Or red?" The younger Winchester continues.

"Who'd you guys say you were again?" Jim leans forward, his tone suspicious.

We all look at each other and I stand up, "Never mind. Thank you for your time." The boys follow me out to the Impala.

~~~~~~~

Dean is sitting at a table on the laptop when Sam and I walk into the room.

"Hey." I greet.

Sam closes the door behind us as Dean looks up, "Anything?"

I sit on the bed, untying my boots, "That cancer survivor? He was clinically dead, his wife pulled the plug, and now he's taking her out for their twentieth anniversary."

"Any sign of a deal?" Dean asks.

Sam shakes his head, "No. What about you? Found anyone dying around here?"

"Not since Cole Griffith. He dropped ten days ago. It was the last death I could find." Dean replies, clicking on the kid's picture, enlarging it.

My eyebrows furrow as I look at it, "Damn, poor kid."

"So, what are you thinking?" Sam asks.

"Eh, maybe it is what the people say it is." Dean gets up, walking across the room to the coffee pot.

Sam scoffs and sits down where Dean was sitting, "Miracles? Dean, our experience, when do miracles just happen?"

"Well, there's no deals. There's, uh, no skeevy faith healers," Dean pours coffee into his mug, "I mean, these souls just ain't getting dragged into the light."

Dean pours another mug of coffee, making it how I like and handing it to me, which I graciously accept. Sam looks down in thought for a moment, "Maybe 'cause there's no one around to carry them."

I take a sip of my coffee, "What do you mean?" 

"Well, grim reapers—that's what they do, right? Schlep souls? So, if death ain't in town—"

Dean interrupts his brother, "Then nobody's dying. So what? The local reaper's on strike? Playing the back nine? I don't know, Sam." He takes a drink of his coffee.

"Well, then, let's talk to somebody who might." Sam says. 

"Well, last I checked, huggy bear ain't available." Dean grins.

"No, dude, the kid." Sam gestures to the laptop.

"The kid? The kid's a doornail."

"Exactly. Look, if he was the last person to die around here, then maybe he's seen something. We should talk to him." Sam shrugs.

"I love how matter-of-fact you are about that. Strange lives." Dean says as he drinks more coffee.

~~~~~~~

Sam, Dean and I are at a gravestone engraved "Beloved Son Cole Griffith 1997 – 2009 Forever In Our Memories". Five candles are arranged around a pentacle drawn on a cloth spread over the grave. Sam puts a bundle of sticks in the center of the pentacle. Dean sits on another gravestone and flips through John's journal as I stand between him and Sam. It's cold, a thin layer of snow on the ground and we can see our breaths.

Dean looks up from John's journal, "You sure this is gonna work?"

"No. But if his spirit's around, this should smoke him out." Sam shrugs, glancing up at Dean and I from his crouched position.

Sam pours an ingredient into a bowl in front of the headstone, Dean closes John's journal, making Sam look at him again, "What?"

I turn to look at Dean as he replies, "This job is jacked, that's what."

I cross my arms over my chest, both to preserve body heat and to give a little attitude, "How so?"

"You want me to gank a monster or torch a corpse, hey, let's light it up, right? But this? If we fix whatever this is, people are gonna start dropping dead. Good people." Dean says.

Sam stands back up to his full height, "Look, we don't want them to die, either, Dean, but there's a natural order."

"You're kidding, right?" Dean asks.

"What?" My eyebrows furrow, getting a little more agitated, mostly from the cold.

"You don't see the irony in that? I mean, you and me, we're like the poster boys of the unnatural order. All we do is ditch death." Dean's voice raises a little.

"Yeah, but the normal rules don't really apply to us, do they?" Sam argues.

Dean stares at us for a moment and chuckles, "We're no different than anybody else."

"I'm infected with demon blood. You've been to hell. (Y/N)'s soul is bound to a freakin' angel," Sam retorts. Dean looks away as the younger Winchester continues, "Look, I know you want to think of yourself as Joe the Plumber, Dean, but you're not. Neither am I. The sooner you accept that, the better off you're gonna be."

Dean looks up towards the night sky, "Ah, Joe the Plumber was a douche."

"You gonna help me finish this?" Sam asks, making Dean stand up with a sniffle, the cold making our noses run slightly.

"Hey!" A man shouts from behind us, making us all turn towards him on high alert. The man points his flashlight at us, "What are you doing here?"

"Uh- Just take it easy." Sam says.

The man steps closer, looking at Cole's grave, "What the hell is this?"

"Okay, this—this—this is not what it looks like." Dean chuckles.

"Really? 'Cause it looks like devil worship." The man tilts his head, glancing down at the grave again and back up at us.

I scoff and giggle nervously, "What? No! No, this is not devil worship. This—This is—this—this is, uh—" I trail off, looking at the boys, "I don't have a good answer."

"We're leaving." Sam says.

The man shakes his head, "You're not going anywhere." Sam frowns as the man takes another step forward, "Ever again...Sam." The man's eyes roll back, turning completely white.

"Alastair." Dean says, a little afraid. The demon's eyes go back to normal as Dean continues, "I thought you got deep fried, extra-crispy."

Alastair shakes his head, "Nah. Just the pediatrician I was riding. His wife's still looking for him. It's hilarious. Anyway." He looks at me, then at a very pissed off Sam, "No time to chat. Got a hot date with death." The demon flicks his hand, sending Dean flying into a tombstone, knocking him unconscious. "Dean!" Sam and I yell. I yelp as I'm thrown against a nearby tree, landing on my stomach at the base of the trunk. My vision goes dark around the edges and I let my eyes close, unable to keep them open.

~~~~~~~

I flinch awake when I hear the door close, relaxing again when I hear Sam ask, "How you doing?"

"I'm in pain, that's how I'm doing. I think I have a concussion." Dean replies.

I groan at the pounding in my head, sitting up slowly, trying to shake the bit of nausea pooling in my gut. "(Y/N/N)?" I hear Sam call. I grunt and prop myself on my elbow.

Sam looks at Dean and I, "You want some aspirin?" I nod, Sam handing me two little white pills and water.

Dean sits up, taking the ice pack off of his head, "No thanks, House. So, demons, huh?"

Sam shifts his weight to his right leg, "Yeah. So much for miracles."

"And what the hell happened with Alastair?" I ask, leaning over the side of the bed as the nausea starts to subside.

"He tried to fling me or whatever." He makes the hand gesture, walking over to the coffee pot, "And it didn't work, so he bailed."

"Well, how come he couldn't fling you? He chucked you pretty good last time." Dean says.

Sam turns toward Dean and I, "Got no idea."

Dean is quiet for a moment, then speaks again, "Sam, do me a favor. If you're gonna keep your little secrets, I can't really stop you, but just don't treat me like an idiot, okay?"

Sam looks at his brother incredulously, "What? Dean, I'm not keeping secrets."

"Mm-hm. Whatever. So, did you go back and q-and-a the dead kid?" Dean asks. 

I sit up fully, a hand to my pounding head as Sam walks over with a thin notebook. "Didn't have to. Bobby called. He did some digging." He says.

"And?' I grumble.

"He thinks I'm right. Local reaper's gone. Not just gone—kidnapped." 

Dean nods slightly, "By demons? Why?"

"Listen to this," Sam opens the notebook and reads from it out loud, "'And he bloodied death under the newborn sky—sweet to taste, but bitter when once devoured.'"

Dean tilts his head, "Swanky. What the hell's that mean?"

"Well, it's from a very obscure, very arcane version of Revelations." Sam informs.

I sigh, looking at Sam, "Which means what I think it means?"

Sam closes the notebook. "Basically, you kill a reaper under the solstice moon—tomorrow night, by the way—you got yourself a broken seal."

"How do you ice a reaper? You can't kill death." Dean's eyebrows crinkle.

Sam shrugs, "I don't know. Maybe demons can. Where the hell are the angels is what I want to know. We could use their help for once."

I take a breath, praying in my head to Castiel. Sam is right, we could use their assistance. I roll my eyes when I get no answer. Dean looks at me, like he knows what I tried to do. "It looks like we're gonna have to take care of this one ourselves." He says.

"What are we gonna do, just swing in and save the friendly neighborhood reaper?" Sam asks.

"You got a better idea, I'm all ears." Dean retorts.

"Dean, reapers are invisible. The only people that can see them are the dead and the dying." I sigh again, taking another sip of the water Sam handed me.

"Well, if ghosts are the only ones that can see them..." Dean trails off.

Sam nods, "Yeah?"

"Then we become ghosts." Dean brings the ice pack back to his head with a smirk.

"You do have a concussion." I scoff and chuckle.

Dean nods, "Sounds crazy, I know."

"It is crazy." Dean's smirk only grows as I ask, "How?"

~~~~~~~

Sam opens the door, I stand behind him as Pamela walks in, shaking her head, "I can't even begin to tell you how crazy you three are."

Pamela feels around the furniture as Sam says, "Well, Pamela, you're a sight for sore eyes."

She turns towards us, pulling down her sunglasses to reveal her white, plastic eyes. "Aw, that's sweet, grumpy." She puts her sunglasses back on, "What do you say to deaf people?" Dean looks down at his feet while Sam cringes, I smack Sam's chest making him flinch. "Which one of you brainiacs came up with astral projection? I know it wasn't (Y/N)."

Dean raises his hand, "Yo."

Pamela scoffs, "Of course. Chachi." Dean turns to Sam and I, mouthing 'Chachi' questioningly. Sam shrugs and I giggle as Pamela continues to speak, "So, let's be clear. You want to rip your souls out of your bodies and take a little stroll through the spirit world?"

"Mm-hm." Dean hums, nodding his head.

"Do you have any idea how heavy-duty insane that is?" She asks, folding her arms over her chest.

"Maybe, but that's where the reaper is, so..."

Pamela interrupts Dean, "So, it's nuts."

"Not if you know what you're doing." Dean says.

"You don't know what you're doing." The psychic retorts.

"No, but you do." Dean nods.

Pamela's voice drips with irritation, "Yeah, I do. And guess what? I'm sick of being hauled back into your angel-demon, Soc-Greaser crap."

"Look, I'd love to be kicking back with a cold one, watching Judge Judy, too." Dean continues.

"Nice. More blind jokes?"

"You know what I mean. We're talking the end of the world here, okay? No more tasseled leather pants, no more Ramones CDs, no more nothing." Dean pauses for a moment, "We need your help."

~~~~~~~

Sam closes the curtains. Dean flicks closed a lighter and drops it on the table next to some of the several candles burning around the motel room. He brings one of the candles over to a bedside table, shielding the flame with one hand. Pamela is sitting on a chair between the beds. I sit next to her on one of the beds.

"Tell me something, geniuses. Even if you do break into the veil and you find the reaper, how you gonna save it?" Pamela asks.

Sam closes the curtains to the other window as Dean holds out his arms in a 'bring it' kinda way, "With style and class."

Pamela scoffs, "You're gonna be two walking pieces of fog who can't touch or move anything. You'll be defenseless, hotshot."

Sam turns around a retorts, "I seem to recall a bunch of ghosts beating the crap out of us."

"Yeah, well, they had plenty of time to practice." Pamela sighs.

"Well, then, I guess we got to start cramming." I grin.

"Wow, a few heroes. All right." Pamela pats the bed I'm sitting on, "Lie down. Close your eyes."

I do as I'm told, laying down sideways on the bed, Dean laying sideways next to me, Sam lays on his bed diagonally. 

Pamela begins to speak in Latin, "Animum vult decipi, ergo decipiatur. Vis, vis, vis. Okay, guys. That's it. Showtime."

"Well, nothing like shooting blanks. What's plan B?" I hear Dean say. I open my eyes and sit up, my eyebrows furrowing when I see Dean's body next to me. I look up and see Dean's...spirit? I guess? Sam's spirit stands on the other side of him. "Oh, I'm so feeling up Demi Moore." Dean says, making me cringe.

I stand up and walk over to Sam as Pamela says, "All right, so, I'm assuming you're somewhere over the rainbow. Remember I have to bring you back." She stands up, walking over to where Sam's body is, "I'll whisper the incantation in your ear." She leans over Sam, whispering something in his ear, making him chuckle. 

I raise my eyebrow at him while Dean turns to look at Sam, "What'd she—What'd she say?" 

Sam shrugs as Pamela walks over to my body, leaning over it. She whispers something in my ear that makes me crinkle my eyebrows in confusion, "Don't trust that angel of yours." 

~~~~~~~

The boys and I walk down the street, looking around. A jogger goes right through Sam without noticing. 

"Whoa." I grin looking at Sam then at the jogger.

Dean chuckles, "That was wild." Sam looks at him incredulously before Dean sticks his arm into Sam's chest up to his elbow. Sam looks down at his brother's arm, Sam not looking amused. "Am I making you uncomfortable?" Dean asks. 

I laugh softly, "Dean, you're not helping a cow give birth."

"Get out of me." Sam demands.

Dean pulls his arm back out, "You're such a prude. Come on." Dean keeps going, Sam and I following after him.

~~~~~~~

A while later, we cross the street, still looking around us for any sign of...well- anything.

"Oh, man, we've been spooking this town for hours. No demons, no black smoke. I say we hit Victoria's Secret and get our peep on, huh?" Dean smirks. Out of instinct I go to smack his chest, but my hand goes through him, making him give me a smug, "hah!"

"Hey. Three o'clock. Kid in the window." Sam says. Dean and I look up, following his gaze to see a young boy in the window of a house. "Am I crazy or is he looking at us?" Sam asks.

"It's 'cause we've seen him before." Dean informs.

"We have?" I cross my arms over my chest, raising an eyebrow at him.

Dean nods, his eyes never leaving the kid, "Newspaper. Cole Griffith, the last person to die in this town." Cole vanishes, the boys and I looking at each other.

~~~~~~~

The boys and I walk upstairs to Cole's room where his mother runs out screaming, going right through us. Cole stands by the dresser, throwing balls at us. I duck right as one almost hits me in the face.

"Stop! How are you doing that?" Dean yells.

"Who are you?" Cole asks.

"Relax, Cole. It's okay." I try to reassure him, my hands out in surrender.

Cole's eyebrows crinkle, "How do you know my name?"

"Look, this isn't gonna be easy to hear, but...you're—dead. You're a spirit. Us too." Sam explains, his tone a little panicked. Dean glances back at Sam and I for a moment.

"Yeah, thanks, Haley Joel. I know I'm dead." The kid replies sarcastically, "What do you want?"

I smile softly, "We just want to talk."

"About what?"

~~~~~~~

Sam, Dean and I sit at the dining table, watching Cole's mother sip from a glass of vodka. Cole leans in the doorway, watching her sadly. "I was outside all morning." He says, turning around to look at us. "They tell you to be careful when it's cold."

Dean looks at the boy with sympathy, "Cold air can cause an asthma attack?"

Cole nods with a shrug, "But then I was in my room. It happened so fast. I called out for my mom, but nothing came out. Everything started spinning, and then I was just standing there, looking down at my body." He leans on the table.

"And that's when you saw the man?" I ask softly.

"Creepy old guy in a black suit. He wanted me to go with him, but..." Cole looks back at his mother, "I didn't want to go."

"Reaper." Sam says, Dean and I nodding in agreement. "How'd you get rid of him?"

Cole shakes his head, "I didn't. The black smoke did."

Dean's eyes widen slightly, "Black smoke?"

"It was everywhere. I hid in the closet, and when I came out, it was gone, and so was he."

Dean leans forward, "Do you know where the smoke went?"

"No. But I know where it is." Cole says. The lights around us start to flicker, the boys and I looking at each other as Cole's mother looks up at the ceiling in confusion. "They're back." Cole's voice is laced with fear.

I stand up, taking a few steps towards Cole protectively, "Who?" Cole disappears. I look around, a large gust of wind blowing past the boys and I. A white, misty figure goes passed and up the stairs.

"Another reaper." Sam says, him and Dean standing up and following me to the stairs.

"Hey! Hey! Wait! We need to talk to you!" I yell after the reaper. A woman comes down the stairs, looking down at the three of us.

"Dean." She greets.

Sam and I glance at Dean in confusion, Dean's eyebrows furrowing with the same emotion, "Do I know you?"

The woman grins, "We go way back." She walks into the kitchen, us following after her. She turns around, looking at us once more. "You don't remember me?"

"Honestly, if I had a nickel for every time I heard a girl say that..." Dean trails off, "You're gonna have to freshen my memory." She takes a few steps forward, pulling Dean down for a kiss. My eyebrows shoot up in surprise and I glance away. After a moment, she pulls away. Dean watches her for a second, "Tessa."

"That's one of my names, yeah." Tessa replies.

Sam puts his hands on his hips, "So, you do know her."

"From the hospital after the accident." Dean explains.

"The accident with Dad?" Sam asks.

Dean nods and I look at Tessa, my arms crossing, "So, this is the reaper that came after you."

"Yeah." Dean says, his eyes on Tessa.

The reaper looks at Sam and I, "Well, this was fun." She turns back to Dean, "Now, if you'll excuse me—"

She goes to turn away but Dean stops her, "Wait, wait, wait, wait, you can't—you can't take the kid."

"Why?" Tessa asks.

"Demons are in town, that's why." Dean explains. "They've already snatched your reaper pal. The kid knows where."

Tessa shakes her head, "So?"

"So, you should shag ass. For all we know, they could try and snatch you, too." I reply, my tone full of sass.

"Except that this town is off the rails." Cole's mother walks in, grabbing her purse and putting up her hair before leaving. Tessa watches her for a moment before continuing, "And someone has to set it straight."

Dean nods, "Yeah, we understand that, but these are special circumstances."

Tessa scoffs, "What? Your whole angel-demon dance-off? I could care less. I just want to do my job."

"Right, yeah, and, look, we want to help you do your job. So, if you would just bail town—" 

Sam gets interrupted by Tessa, "No."

"Well, then, could you hold off until we fix this? Please." Dean asks.

Tessa lets out a sigh, "All right, but just so we're clear, when I start reaping again, I'm starting with the kid."

Sam nods, "Understood. I'll find him." 

Sam turns to the stairs before I stop him , "Wait, wait, wait, wait. What—" Sam turns to me, "What are you gonna say to him?"

"Whatever I have to." Sam sighs, going up the stairs.

~~~~~~~

I sit on the stairs, waiting for Sam, Dean wanting to have a conversation with Tessa. I look up as I hear Sam, Cole following behind him. 

"What are you doing out here?" Sam asks, reaching down to help me up out of habit until he remembers he can't touch me.

"Dean wanted to talk to Tessa," I shrug, standing up, leading Sam and Cole to the kitchen. 

Sam clears his throat as we walk in with Cole. "Hey, guys."

Tessa gives the boy a smile, her tone soft, "Hey, Cole. I'm Tessa. I'm not going to hurt you."

"It's okay, Cole. Just tell them what you told me." Sam reassures.

"I saw the black smoke at my funeral."

Sam and I glance at Dean, then I look back at Cole, "At the cemetery?"

Cole shakes his head, "At the funeral home. It was everywhere."

The lights start to flicks again, all of us looking around, Dean looks at Tessa, "You doing that?"

"No." She replies, shaking her head.

The front door slams open, black smoke spilling inside. It comes into the room we are in, surrounding us as we take cover.. Once it dissipates we look glance around again, Tessa is missing.

"Tessa!" Dean calls.

I look at Cole, "Cole, you okay?"

Cole nods as Dean asks, "Well, how the hell are we supposed to fight that?"

Sam shrugs, "I don't know. Learn some ghost moves?"

Dean scoffs. "By tonight? Yeah, sure. I'll meet you back at Mr. Miyagi's." 

"Who's Mr. Miyagi?" Cole asks, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

The boys and I glance at each other and I sigh, "We are so fucked."

~~~~~~~

The boys, Cole and I are out on the porch, Dean staring at a windmill and trying to move it.

"It's not gonna move if you don't concentrate." Cole says with a small grin.

Dean grumbles, "I am concentrating."

Sam and I stand by the front door, Dean turning to glare at us slightly as Sam's eyebrows raise and I chuckle. Dean looks back at the windmill and goes back to focusing. I laugh a little, "Dude, you look constipated." Sam smirks as the windmill makes a quarter turn.

"Ah, here we go, baby." Dean celebrates.

The windmill stops it's partial spin. Cole looks at Dean with a chuckle, "You pull a muscle?"

Dean sniffs, "All right, Yoda, let's see what you got."

Cole stares at the windmill, it starts to spin but it doesn't stop like it did with Dean. Next to Sam the porch swing also starts to sway and a windchime starts to chime behind Dean.

Dean breaks into a big grin, "Dude! You are so Amityville."

Cole smiles, "This isn't even the good stuff."

~~~~~~~

Cole punches Sam in the stomach, making him grunt, "See? If you want to hit something, you just got to get mad." I giggle, sitting on the couch behind Dean, watching with amusement.

"Yeah, got it." Sam replies in a strained voice.

Cole looks over at Dean, "Now you try. Hit me."

"Uh, I think I'll stick to just picking on somebody my own size." Dean gestures to Sam. Cole then bitch slaps Dean across the face, making Sam and I burst out laughing. Dean rubs his face as Cole goes over to Sam, "Hit me as hard as you can."

"Dude, I'm not gonna do Fight Club with a twelve-year-old." Sam chuckles, making Cole hit him in the face as well. I laugh again as Sam says, "All right, cut it out."

Cole grins, "Make me." He takes another swing, but Sam blocks it this time, going to throw his own punch. Cole vanishes, the boys and I looking around for him. He reappears next to me, still smiling.

The boys and I grin, Dean pointing at him, "Whoa. Whoa, you got to teach us that."

~~~~~~~

The door to the funeral home is open, a building covered in glowing blue sigils. Dean and I follow Sam inside, walking to a big open room. We stop around the corner so we aren't seen by a demon who's standing guard over Tessa and the first reaper, who lay in a Reaper's trap on the ground

"Dude, check me out." Dean says before flickering out of existence. He reappears behind the demon, tapping him on the shoulder and punching him as he turns around. The demon swings at Dean but he's gone. I concentrate, disappearing from Sam's side and reappearing by the demon. I tap him on the shoulder like Dean, sending a punch to his jaw. 

The demon spins with the punch, Dean hitting him again. Sam turns him, kneeing him in the stomach and I punch the demon to the floor. The demon scrambles behind the dais where a coffin is sitting. The boys and I follow him up.

"You know, this ghost thing, it's, it's kind of rad." Dean says.

Another demon comes out from the side, groaning in pain, his skin burning as a chain wraps around the dais. It serves as a distraction long enough for the first demon to get free. The chain is now trapping us on the dais.

"It's iron." Sam states the obvious.

A third demon walks into the room, "Winchesters and Singer. Find the place okay?" His eyes roll back, turning white.

"Alastair." Now it's my turn to state the obvious.

Alastair steps forward, a demon handing him a shotgun. He examines the gun for a moment before aiming it at Dean and firing. Dean lets out a grunt and disappears. I gasp, Sam glaring at Alastair. "Rock salt's not so much fun anymore, is it?" The demon asks.

Dean reappears, "Alastair. You bastard."

"Well, go on. Why don't you try some of your mojo on me now, hotshot? It's hard to get it up when you're not wearing your meat, huh?" Alastair taunts.

"Go to hell." Sam retorts.

"Ah, if only I could." Alastair turns away, crossing the room, "But they just keep sending me back up to this arctic craphole."

"To kill death?" I ask.

"No, to kill death twice. It takes two to break a seal. I figured another one would show up, though. They're like lemmings." The demon explains. He pumps the shotgun and shoots Sam, who disappears with a grunt. "By the way, it's, uh, good to see you again, Dean."

"You can shoot us all you want, but you can't kill us." Dean smirks slightly as Sam reappears, an arm wrapped around his torso.

Alastair nods, "Ah, that so?"

We watch as Alastair grabs a scythe, "Anyhoo..." He turns it over in his hands, "Moon's in the right spot. The board is set. Let's get started, shall we?

"You're gonna kill a reaper with that? It's little on the nose, don't you think?" Dean asks.

"Is it? An old friend lent it to me. You know, he doesn't really ride a pale horse? But he does have three amigos." Alastair walks over to the Reaper's trap, "And they're just jonesing for the apocalypse!" He kneels next to the older male reaper, "It pays to have friends in low places." He grabs the reaper by the collar and hauls him up, putting the scythe to his neck. "Don't you think?" 

The demon starts to speak in Latin, "Hic cruor messorius, illud sigillum, quod luciferem reverendum obstringit, aperiat ut resurgat!" He slices the reaper's neck, thunder roaring outside. Sam gets mine and Dean's attention, gesturing to the chandelier on the ceiling. Alastair hauls up Tessa next, she's now awake, "Stop!"

The three of us concentrate on the chandelier as Alastair chants again in Latin, "Hic cruor messorius illud sigillum, quod luciferem reverendum obstringit aperiat ut resurgat!" The chandelier falls, breaking the Reaper's trap. Tessa disappears and then reappears by the chain, setting us free.

Dean grins, "Bye-bye."

The four of us vanish out of the room.

~~~~~~~

Tessa and I reappear outside, looking around.

"Where are your brothers?" She asks.

I shrug, "I'll find them, get out of here."

She nods and vanishes. I jog to the alleyway, seeing if Sam and Dean were there. "Sam! Dean!"

"You can't run." I turn around, seeing Alastair in the alley with me. "I was hoping for Dean. But I guess you'll have to do. That's the norm for you right? Being an after thought? The consolation prize?"

I take a few steps back from him as he advances. A white-blue lightning like bolt strikes Alastair, making me shield my face from the brightness. When I look again he's gone, "What the hell?"

"Guess again." A familiar voice says.

I turn around and breathe a sigh of relief, smiling, "Cas...What the hell?" I repeat.

"What just happened? You and the Winchesters just saved a seal. We captured Alastair. (Y/N), this was a victory." Castiel says. 

"You were here the whole time?" I ask.

"Enough of it." He looks down at the ground. "That script on the funeral home—we couldn't penetrate it."

"That was angel-proofing." I nod in realization.

"Why do you think I recruited you and the Winchesters in the first place?"

I raise an eyebrow at him, "You recruited us?"

"That wasn't your father Bobby who called, (Y/N). It wasn't Bobby who told Sam about the seal." He explains.

"That was you?" He looks down again. "If you want our help, why didn't you just ask?' I ask softly.

"Because whatever I ask, they seem to do the exact opposite." He says. "I know you would've done it, but I won't allow you to alone."

"So, what now, huh? The people in this town, they just gonna start dying again?" My eyebrows crinkle as I cross my arms.

He nods, "Yes."

"These are good people. What, you think you can make a few exceptions?" I plead.

"To everything there is a season." Castiel says.

"You made an exception for Dean."

"He's different." He argues, his voice becomes almost pleading, he seems scared? Sad?, "You're being recalled, now please, I don't want to see your soul out of your body again, for a very long time." 

~~~~~~~

I gasp a deep breath and sit up, looking around to see the boys and Pamela. Pamela is bleeding profusely from her abdomen. 

"Pamela, I'm so sorry." Sam says.

I get up and sit next to her, "Oh God no." I mumble

"Stop." Pamela strains, taking off her sunglasses.

"You don't deserve this." Sam mutters.

Pamela scoffs, "Yeah, I don't. I told you I didn't want anything to do with this. Do me a favor? Tell that bastard Bobby Singer—to go to hell for ever introducing me to you three in the first place." She coughs as guilt covers my features.

"Take it easy, Pamela. If it's any consolation, you're going to a better place." Dean says, mirroring my guilty expression.

She turns her head and looks at him, "You're lying." The boys and I look at each other. She breathes heavily as she continues, "But what the hell, right? Everybody's got to go sometime." She beckons Sam closer, "Come here." She whispers something to him, making fear travel over his features.

Pamela starts coughing again, blood trickling out of her mouth. Her head starts to fall to the side weakly. Sam calls to her softly, "Pamela?"

"Pamela!" My hands make their way to her shoulders, shaking her slightly, tears welling in my eyes. Sam wraps his arms around me, pulling me from her and allowing me to cry on his shoulder, guilt and sadness wracking my brain. I faintly hear Dean ask Sam what she told him but I don't register it as I grieve the loss of my friend.

Soulbound Taglist:

@fairy-alix @ltotheucy @delusional-paradise @moon-trash1507 @harryssatellitee @bakusquadobsessed @cnme2003

[outofmymindbebacklater]

the audacity of the witcher Netflix creators to take iconic scenes from the book and then surround them with things that make no fucking sense

[ari-ana-bel-la]

hiii how are you ?

can I request a dad Charles where his daughter tells everyone that she French instead of Monegasque (just like Arthur) and Charles is just losing it every time she says it

She's Monegasque, not French

It started innocently, as most things with toddlers do.

Charles was sitting in the Ferrari motorhome, his three-year-old daughter Yn nestled comfortably in his lap, her tiny hands clutching a crayon-streaked drawing of what she insisted was “Papa’s race car.” The sun was bright, the paddock buzzing with media and mechanics and laughter as the summer European leg of the season carried on in full swing.

And then it happened.

“Papa,” she said sweetly, tilting her head up at him, eyes wide and so heartbreakingly sincere, “I’m French.”

Charles blinked.

“Quoi?” he said, pulling back slightly, eyebrows lifting in gentle confusion. “Ma chérie, no, you’re not French. You’re Monegasque, like Papa.”

Yn looked at him, lips pursed, deep in thought. And then she gave a little shrug. “Non. I’m French, like Uncle Thur.”

Charles groaned softly and let his head fall back against the couch. “Not this again.”

From across the room, Arthur—lounging lazily in a chair, eating grapes like he was Caesar in a past life—choked on his laughter.

“I didn’t teach her that,” Arthur said through wheezes. “She came up with it on her own. Genius, really.”

“You encourage it!” Charles accused, pointing an indignant finger at his younger brother. “You always say you’re French!”

“Well, I am French,” Arthur said with a grin. “Monegasque passport and everything. And clearly, Yn has excellent taste.”

“Excellent taste in traitors. And Monaco is not France,” Charles muttered, pulling Yn closer as if cuddling her tightly would somehow absorb her back into Monegasque pride.

But it didn’t stop there.

No, Yn had decided. French it was.

She told the Ferrari PR team she was French when they asked where she was from. She announced it proudly to the camera when someone tried to film a cute moment with her and her dad. She whispered it solemnly to Carlos while sitting in his lap eating strawberries.

“Papa’s sad ‘cause I’m French,” she told Carlos.

Carlos, eyes sparkling with mischief, leaned in conspiratorially. “That’s okay, Princesa. I’m Spanish, and he still talks to me.”

“Does he love you?” Yn asked, dead serious.

Carlos blinked. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Then maybe he’ll still love me even if I’m French.”

Behind them, Charles face-palmed.

The drivers got wind of it quickly—because of course they did.

By the next day, the jokes were relentless.

“So,” Lando said at breakfast in the hotel, stirring sugar into his coffee like he was preparing to deliver a monologue. “Do I address her as ‘Mademoiselle Yn’ now or...?”

“She’s not French,” Charles groaned.

“She told my engineer she wants her birthday cake in the shape of the Eiffel Tower,” Max deadpanned, walking by and tossing Charles a sympathetic look. “Good luck with that.”

Even Seb, who was visiting that weekend with his kids, gave Charles a comforting pat on the back. “At least she’s not saying she’s German. Yet.”

And then there was Esteban.

“Oh, this is fantastique,” Esteban beamed, scooping Yn up in the paddock one afternoon. “You’re French, just like me!”

Yn squealed and threw her arms around his neck. “Oui!”

Charles practically melted into the tarmac. “Mon dieu…”

But it was Arthur who reveled in it most.

He started wearing a beret. A beret, for god’s sake.

One afternoon in the hospitality tent, he presented Yn with a baguette and a small fake mustache. “For my fellow French citizen,” he declared proudly.

“Merci, Uncle Thur!” Yn beamed, sticking the mustache crookedly on her nose.

“I am living in a cartoon,” Charles mumbled into his hands.

No amount of explaining helped.

“But Monaco is in France,” she argued one night while Charles tucked her into bed in the team’s motorhome. “It’s right there.”

“No, chérie,” Charles said gently, brushing her curls back. “It’s close, but it’s its own country. Like Papa said before, remember?”

“I like France better.”

He sighed and tried the next best tactic: bribery.

“If you say you’re Monegasque again,” he whispered conspiratorially, “Papa will buy you ten ice creams tomorrow.”

Yn narrowed her eyes, suspicious. “What kind?”

“Any kind. Strawberry. Chocolate. All of them.”

“Hmm…” she tapped her chin with exaggerated thought. “I still wanna be French.”

He clutched his chest. “Traitor.”

The situation hit a new peak during the Saturday driver briefing. Yn, accompanied by Carlos and Charles, had been allowed to come along briefly before things got official. She toddled in wearing sunglasses way too big for her face and a little Ferrari cap.

Yuki crouched down to her level with a big smile. “Bonjour, Mademoiselle Yn.”

“I’m French!” she declared proudly, striking a pose.

Yuki laughed. “That’s so cool! Then you must know that Uncle Pierre is also French!”

Yn froze.

All the drivers went still.

Charles raised his head slowly, eyes narrowing.

Yn’s nose scrunched up.

“…Uncle Pierre?”

“Yes,” Yuki chirped, unaware he was about to break the world’s most stubborn three-year-old. “He’s very French. Like super French.”

The silence that followed could have swallowed a pit lane.

Charles watched her face shift—concentration, confusion… and then determination.

She took off her sunglasses, turned to her father, and declared solemnly, “Papa. I’m not French anymore.”

Charles blinked. “You’re not?”

“I’m Monegasque now.”

“...Why?”

She folded her arms. “I don’t wanna be the same as Uncle Pierre.”

“WHAT?!” Pierre shouted from across the room, utterly betrayed.

Arthur was on the floor, laughing so hard he nearly cried. “Nooo! The French alliance has fallen!”

Carlos, barely holding it together, whispered, “Monaco wins.”

Charles scooped Yn up with the biggest grin he’d worn in days. “You have made Papa so proud.”

Yn patted his cheek. “Do I still get ice cream?”

He laughed, hugging her tight. “You can have all the ice cream you want, mon amour.”

Behind him, Pierre was muttering in disbelief, “What did I do? What did I do?”

And from that day on, Yn was proudly, defiantly, loyally Monegasque.

Until next week, when she decided she wanted to be Italian because “Papa’s car is red like Italy.”

And Charles just sighed into his espresso.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hey loves. I hope you enjoyed reading this story. My requests are always open for you.

-🩷🎀

[81pastrys]

Lost at a Race

Summary— when Lando’s wife goes on a business trip, he has to bring his little girl to the paddock with him. However, when he got distracted she wondered off.

Warnings— none

A/N— I was inspired by someone else’s fic, if I find it I will be tagging the original!! I added a little Carbono too.

Dad Lando List

Lando didn’t like his wife’s idea of having his little girl at the paddock without her, but he had no choice. She was out for a business trip and he had free practices to do. When it came down to it he took his eyes off her for not even 10 seconds and she was gone.

“Where did she go?” He asked, slightly panicked. Hoping she just went to Oscar’s side of the garage. “I just had her next to me.” He went on. Oscar noticed his panicked teammate and trotted over.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost, mate.” Oscar stated. Then it hit him, where’s little Norris? “Wait, where’s your daughter?” His eyes widened and they split up to look for the little girl.

The garage hadn’t noticed their drivers disappear, let alone scrambling around looking for a toddler. When they did, the drivers were already jogging from garage to garage asking for her. “She looks just like me? Did she come in here?” Lando asked a Ferrari member. A shake of their head was all he needed to move on.

“Little curly headed baby, looks like Lando?” Oscar asked a RedBull mechanic. The guy looked towards the pit lane and then back to Oscar. “I need an answer Lando’s going nuts right now.” He spat out quickly to show the urgency. The mechanic shrugged his shoulders with a no.

However in the Williams garage, Carlos was holding the little girl. Her favorite uncle. He was showing her around and explaining things. Alex had joined in, seeing how adorable she was and couldn’t resist. “She’s adorable, Lily would die seeing me with her.” He joked.

Carlos took a picture of the three of them and it was sent to their girlfriends along with Lando. Lando had made it to Haas before he got the message, severely panicked and shaken up by losing his little girl. He had called his wife at this point and had her freaking out from a different country. “Fucking wanker.” Lando mumbled seeing the text.

“What?! Did you find her?” His wife rambled on, still freaking out. “Lando!” She yelled. He sighed before slowly making his way to William’s. He motioned to Oscar, who was confused seeing as he had no little girl.

“She’s at William’s with Carlos, my love.” Lando said defeated. “He just sent me a picture of him and Alex holding her.” He explained. She went on yelling at him about responsibility, she was so loud he put his phone on speaker, then turned the volume down. “I love you, but I’m at Williams though so I have to go get her.” He said tired of her nonsensical yelling.

“She’s not very happy.” Oscar mentioned walking to McLaren, leaving Lando at Williams hospitality. The Williams workers looked confused as Lando walked in like it was his team. His anxiety from his little girl missing was smashed by seeing her giggling in her uncles arms.

“Dada!!” She squeaked seeing him approaching. Carlos relinquished the baby to her father with a chuckle. “Uncle los!” She pointed to Carlos.

“Yeah?” Lando said with a smile. “I see uncle Carlos, sweetheart.” He nodded and she hugged his neck. “Please don’t ever do that again.” He whispered to himself sighing with relief to have her tiny arms wrapped around his neck.

“She’s a pleasure to have around.” Alex joined. Not understanding how the little girl even got into Carlos’s possession. “Why do you look so pale?” He asked Lando, who gave him a seriously mean look. Alex recoiled and walked off.

“Cabron, be glad she found me.” Carlos joked. “Liam would throw a tantrum if she found Max.” He stated, which was true. Liam wasn’t fond of anyone other than redbull employees strolling on in to their garage.

“I know, but she nearly gave me a heart attack.” Lando mentioned. He walked back to his garage and held her the rest of the evening until he had to get in the car. “If you lose her you’re dead meat.” He warned his trainer.

“Like you did?” Jon joked. The death stare he got was not worth it. Jon, in fact, did not lose the little girl. He sat in Lando’s driver room with her while they watched free practice.

Lost - Carlos pov

Carlos had went to Ferrari to wish Charles and Lewis luck during the practice. On his way back to Williams he spotted a little head with curls. He stopped and crouched down. “Los!” She squealed. Of course, McLaren and Ferrari were right next to each other. “Dada’s in there.” She explained in toddler babble. She was right near the exit of McLaren, how she got through the maze of an exit he’ll never know.

“Is he sobrina?” He asked. He picked the little girl up and went on his way to the Williams garage. He didn’t think it was too big of a deal. He showed her his helmet and Alex’s side of the garage. “This is Alex, sobrina.” He explained seeing Alex light up.

“Why hello!” He greeted her with a smile. “Sobrina? Is that her name?” He asked. The little girl giggled as Alex tickled her.

“No, it means niece in Spanish. This is Lando’s daughter.” Carlos explained. Alex had shown her his helmet and then they went on to take a picture and sent it to Lando and their girlfriends.

A few minutes later Lando was in his garage. “She nearly gave me a heart attack!” Lando explained. The little girl was returned unharmed.

‘cabron’ means multiple things apparently, but it is used casually like dude in this fic 😳. ‘Sobrina’ means niece as Carlos mentions.

[sunboki]

⎯ for eternity longer. ⟡ featuring christopher bahng

🍼 : Christopher Bahng x implied! fem. reader

TROPE. pregnancy! au, dad! channie au, overall so so fluffy, comfort, slighttt angst if you squint

WORD COUNT. 6.4k words ☆ 30 minute read

WARNINGS. worry about delivery complications, cursing (??), anxiety, implied intercourse, regards to gender

AUG'S NOTES. i think channie would be an amazing dad :) just a thought i decided to place to paper (in this case, digitally). thank you for waiting so patiently!! please enjoy <3

PLAYLIST.

SYNOPSIS. Christopher Bahng had intentions upon one day being a father, but when the news of a little one on the way becomes the forefront of a life he’d initially spent with one world, you, he’s quickly introduced to the second world he’ll come to adore, a baby.

or alternatively :

Blossoming beginnings, and the bump.

“Channie, baby,”

His name is whispered between sleepy breaths, brows knitted where your eyes attempt at focusing amidst a slumbering haze.

The meager vision granted from a candle paves view to your husband, currently resting his cheek against the soft bump of your belly, pressing the occasional kiss there.

“It’s so cute,” He mumbles, tracing shapes along the skin, eyes crinkling into the dimpled-smile you’ve come to adore.

“‘S late.”

Offering the remark, you smooth a thumb along his jaw, dipping down to trace his bottom lip and earning a small peck against the digit in reply, chocolate irises flickering up to your face with so much love you fear you’re melting.

“I know,” Chris whispers where his lips press to your thumb, voice muffled. “I’m sorry just—“

One chaste kiss to your belly later and he cracks a smile.

“Just love it.” 

Another kiss, then another.

“Love you, love this. I’m so happy.” 

You are my world, he professes wordlessly, and you scorn the heaviness of your eyes in shielding him from view, the inability for your vocal cords to utter those same three words as you drift back to sleep.

And this is my second world, Chris thinks to himself, fighting slumber to gaze at you just a moment longer, savor. 

Because he couldn’t explain how lucky he is, and how beautiful you are, and how warm he feels, his head fuzzy and jumbled into mushy bliss.

A baby, and the thought alone makes him want to squeal.

Chris had yet to ever be hit by a tsunami (thank goodness for that), but he thinks he’s found an equivalent to the feeling.

That equivalent being a particular call while in the studio, an unsettlingly studious Han Jisung seated behind him on the couch while Changbin stands in the recording room, pointing out things in need of fine tuning.

So when you call, he’s led to believe it could be regarding dinner, maybe a date preposition away from his busied schedule.

Yet, upon hearing a sniffle, his eyes round to the size of saucers, index aptly missing where he’d click his mouse, drawing the attention of his fellow producers, their eyes narrowed in mild concern.

“Chris.. baby, I know this is so.. so sudden but,” Between your hiccups and his heart racing, he reruns everything that could’ve gone amiss. He knew you were running late when it came to your period thanks to the cycle-tracking app on his phone, but then again, usually it’d miraculously show up.

Maybe he’d said something? Forgotten something?

Birthday, anniversary, a family member passing?

His head fills with a plethora of possibilities, too many to pinpoint.

“Baby I,” You pause, and Chris rises up to slip to the corner of the room, shushing you gently.

“Hey, hey honey, ‘need you to take deep breaths, okay? It’s okay, it’s gonna be okay. Tell me whenever you’re ready.” He consoles, shifting from foot to foot in a futile attempt at warding the nerves.

A sharp inhale and then-

“We’re having a baby, Chris. I’m pregnant.”

It’s hard for you to even believe, and Chris swears his stomach jumped to his throat for a moment, making hurried eye contact with an evidently confused Han and Changbin from across the studio.

Pregnant.

Immediately abandoning his work, he grants the two a hurried nod they simply wave in response to, fervently racing from the building and somehow managing to avoid a ticket on his 20-mile-over-the-speed-limit drive home, rushing through the doorway to scoop you up into his arms and hold you close, let you cry as much as you need.

Hell, he’s not the one carrying the baby anyway. You’re the one in need of all the fretting.

As if he didn’t fret over you anyway.

Tender fingers ease back the strands of hair from your face, pressing kiss after kiss to your sniffling frame.

If you want to keep the baby, if you need time to think, time to be alone, he’s ready for that. All of it. 

Though contraceptives were always in play when it came to the bedroom, it seemed some things would remain out of control.

“I’m.. hic.. I’m keeping it, okay?”

And he’s okay with that, okay with anything his beloved decides upon, thumbing the tears from your pretty face to place a slow kiss to your lips.

On this presumably routine Thursday of his, Chris finds out he’s going to be a Dad.

If there was an acute title to cover the months of your pregnancy, it would be: Ways Christopher Bahng Has Lost His Mind, A Saga. 

Plus the bump, of course.

As for today, at a darling twelve weeks, Chris’s cup of coffee grows cold the longer he entertains a call from Jisung—currently being berated for failing to give them even the slightest clue what was going on until dropping the news.

..In which ensues a screaming Hyunjin in the background, Minho’s snide jokes, Changbin’s silent shock, and the evident awe of the surrounding members leering by the phone where the friend group went for drinks.

Minus the dad-to-be.

”So.. Daddy-O, how’s the father thing going for you?” Jisung offers after a moment, his snickering followed by Chris’s bemused scoff. 

“A dream,” He replies, running a hand through curly brown strands wound into charming coils from earlier steam, having stepped from the shower moments ago.

It was true, every bit.

To think that you, his love he’s worried more about than anyone, spent countless nights awake thinking of has now granted him the greatest gift of a lifetime leaves him elated. 

Trust, the first ultrasound he cried as if he was the baby.

Of course, failing to give their leader a second of reprieve, his remark earns a cacophony of swooning and cringing in response to the sappiness.

Nonetheless, since the announcement he’s organized an update in schedule. More work from home, more paychecks cashed into maternity magazines and things he learns with time in order to support your pregnancy, and tagging along to each and every checkup.

With you already sleeping and him returning late from the studio, the night is slow, quiet. 

Well, after he hangs up.

”Hey sweetness, ‘sorry for waking you.”

Watching your face crinkle up as the bed dips beneath his weight, he reaches a hand forward, sweeping the hair from your face as your husband spoons you close to his back, exhaling a heavy sigh of relief.

Your smell, your warmth, touch.

He’s far too smitten to be healthy.

But then again, is there any remedy to adoration?

“Busy at the studio?” You murmur from your curled up spot, only just beginning to get used to sleeping on your side.

Of the many adjustments.

“Mm,” A nod nudges at your back, his fingertips—oh so careful as they roam—settling on your stomach, holding the skin with reverence you can’t help but hum in response to.

“I cannot believe you,” Begun with a bemused scoff, you earn your husbands grunt of confusion and yet another laugh on your end.

“There’s barely a bump and they’ve got you wrapped around their finger already.”

This, predictably, results in Chris’s boyish whine. 

“‘S not my fault,” He groans like a petulant teenager, nosing at the nape of your neck. 

“Just love you.” 

His voice is a mere utterance amidst the fan overhead, and you have to crane to hear him.

“And I’m going to be learning to love someone else soon.”

A soft squeeze to your belly.

“How exciting.” 

Twenty weeks, and your big journey comes in the form of grocery shopping, something you insisted upon doing alone (much to Chris’s fretting).

Although he tries his best in not being a mother hen, it’s beyond difficult without his instinctive worry butting in, so nervous for a reason he himself can’t even pinpoint.

Is he worried about you? Is he excited about the baby? 

Endless questions swim in his mind, dappling a world he once knew as black and white into shades of pastel, with charming rubber duckies and pacifiers to boot.

It’s a new world, one full of unfamiliar things and little surprises along the way. 

But he’s made his promise to lay off the stressing as much as he can, knowing you need time for you most of all before becoming new parents.

Crouched over the tiny home studio he’s procured, your husband arduously searches through files—sending the majority over to Jisung and Changbin for revisions back at the main studio.

From the corner or his vision does he see you and—

Ah.

There you stand, clad in a sweater of yours tucked into a long, flower-patterned skirt—just enough to show off the bump, and he swears he’s looking at you with heart-eyes.

Gorgeous.

If not more.

Yet another reason why Chris has lost his mind.

You’re more beautiful than anyone he's ever seen, and he doubts that factor will change for the rest of his life. Even when you’re emotional and begin growing insecure, when your feet hurt or when your cravings grow too volatile, he adores.

Too much sometimes he fears his heart will beat from his chest. 

“Hi, sweetness.” 

The words are a bit hoarse, spoken as if he were uttering the endearment through a tube. 

“Hi, Channie.”

Shoot him.

Joking.

Kind of.

You’re too cute. He’s going to have a heart attack. 

Looking like that, cupid has his job cut out for him.

“You headed out?”

Reaching for your bag does Chris rise from his chair, padding over to gather your face in his hands and press a slow kiss to your lips you soak up, your own hands winding into curly strands he groans in response to.

“Mm,” He begins after a moment, kiss after kiss pressed to your jaw, down your neck, by your earlobe his teeth nip at. “I’m getting déjà vu on how the baby got here, hm?”

Spurring your laughter and a light smack to his shoulder in response, his warm hands slip down to cradle your belly, a final touch followed by one last kiss before you’re off.

It’s much too easy to fall in love with this man over and over again.

.

.

.

Of many surprises throughout your pregnancy, Lee Minho knowing about babies happened to be yet another. That, and seeing him at the grocery store in the first place.

The baby food aisle is more than daunting, and while the determined part of you crooned about “making it yourself” and taking the time to mash up each and every carrot and apple slice, the sensible part knew the moment you were discharged from the hospital after delivery, there was no chance you’d take on such a task.

“This one’s good.”

Having been greeted with a small wave of his hand and quieted footsteps approaching close, the dancer peers into your cart, brows lifted in silent acquisition where he points to a brand of mashed banana purée. 

How he knows this baby food is good is beyond you. 

Then again, Minho has always been peculiar.

“Hm? Any other recommendations?” You ponder, deciding to entertain his conversation and gaining plenty of recommendations whilst roaming about in the process.

Though, that’s before a frivolous little boy comes blindly tottering along, his clumsy limbs aimed straight for you prior to Minho’s careful step shielding you, the panicked mother steering the toddler away with endless apologies.

About to thank him, he seems to beat you to it.

“Mm? Need to sit down?” Observant eyes flitting over your form, he places an assuring hand to the middle of your back you can’t help but feel appreciative of.

It’s not that Minho isn’t kind, he’s usually just.. more subtle about it. Putting extra food a member likes on their plate without them noticing, making sure everyone feels included during dinners.

So for him to be a bit more upfront about it is.. sweet.

Well, until a wry smile tugs at his lips in amusement.

“‘Think you can handle that? A toddler like that?”

And.. there’s the Minho you’re used to.

“I think..” The thought comes to you as you venture, his hand remaining where it lingers upon your sweater-clad back as you make for the checkout line.

“The baby will look more like Chris.”

This beckons a cocked brow, evident mischief on his face.

“What, balding at twenty-six?”

You were thinking cute, with Chris’s curls and big brown eyes but— yeah, that too apparently. Your husband would both burst out laughing and burst into tears if he were here, the mental image bringing a smile to your lips.

Nevertheless, you spend your time with the feline-like companion cracking not-so-funny jokes and snide but playful remarks, a silent “thank you” mouthed when he lifts the grocery bags from your hands to carry to the car.

“Say, what’re you doing over here anyway?” 

“Mmh?” He perks up, fluffy bangs fringing beneath a bucket hat upon his head, the slow gust of an occasional breeze announcing Winter’s gradual departure, moseying on to Spring.

“Ah,” Bunny-like teeth peek from his upper lip when his lips part, hoisting a single bag of his own upward. “Food for the kitties.” 

Of course.

The corner of your lips quirk into a grin.

Though, before you’re given the chance to slip into the front seat, he points again, regarding your bump this time.

“Should stop by sometime,” He starts, pausing before glancing down to your feet. “Or I can come to you two if you’re not up to it.” 

There it is, the tiny shred of consideration you treasure, one so swift you may miss it if you aren’t listening closely that warms your heart effortlessly.

“The kitties would knead your belly,” Mumbled quieter than the rest, a giggle stirs from his chest, wishing you off after a few moments the same way he greeted you: a wave and a small, awkward, tight-lipped smile.

And on your ride home, you decide upon giving Chris a call.

“Do you think the baby will start balding early?”

A chaste silence and some crackling from the other side of the line and then- 

“What.”

“‘M outside the studio, baby.”

“You’re what?”

A second “what”, after the balding question those few weeks ago.

Chris wants to think tricks are being played on him after having pleaded for you to stay home and wait to be pampered when he returns, but it seemed the leader—with his own stubborn tirade of seven—had forgotten his wife was equally as stubborn, and that if you were adamant on something, there’s no chance you’d budge.

And so, as the ultimate pushover(which he’ll admit himself) of a husband, he simply sighs, awaiting your precious, slightly-waddling figure making towards them from the elevator.

Ah, right. 

The waddle.

Oh if it doesn’t make his heart soar.

You’re almost surreal, with your soft, rounded frame and sweet, sweet eyes making him simply want to keep you in a hug forever.

From beside him, Hyunjin starts into a sing-song cacophony of: “The Mrs.’s is here” in tandem with your entrance, resulting in Chris’s light smack to his friend’s shoulder and the reddening of his ears as he both tries (and fails) to focus on new tracks.

So now, in occupying the couch behind him with Han on one side and Felix on your other, you spend your time giggling over videos on the freckled blond’s phone, chowing down on a bag of potato chips placed between you and Han, entertaining light conversation with Changbin, and sharing those momentary glances with your husband.

Quiet looks, with his face drained from the workload not failing to light up where he meets your eyes, your own warming happily. 

“Come home,” does your eyes speak.

“Just a little longer,” he replies without words.

 As the day stretches it’s exhaustion, waning a warm hue into evening sunset, Chris pads over, slow and wary where your sleepy form props upon the couch, fuzzy-sock-clad feet elevated on a pillow courtesy of Hyunjin’s matter-a-fact scolding to lower the swelling.

“I’m letting the little one listen,” He whispers, this squeaky, cheery giggle leaving his lips where he places the headphones once in hand overtop your belly, the low hum of their newest, unreleased track faintly resounding against the skin you can’t help but grin at.

It’s a scary thing, you think for a moment.

And then, just happy.

So you’ll cling to that happiness, no matter how fleeting. 

And a tiny nudge against the skin, a kick, tells you someone else is clinging to that happiness as well.

“Yah.. even if it’s almost spring, there’s still some breeze! Stay warm! Don’t try being a spring chicken!” Clicking his tongue in softened contempt, Han claps his hands resolutely, face scrunched up in conviction as the ever-adorable maknae, Jeongin, eases his jacket over your shoulders.

Resulting in the group’s ace’s squeal of affection and a harsh smack to Minho’s thigh, the older of the two fixes him with a glare Han fails to notice through his cooing, too busy admiring the bump peeking through the jacket.

It seems Chris isn’t the only one growing into a worried mess, and your trip home from the studio you press to take alone is filled with their hollering and well-wishes, the group having opted out for drinks knowing you’d be the odd one out with your mug of water relative to the bubbling of a beer, a matter you find heart-warming.

No less, you spend your night anticipating the arrival of a very sleepy Chris, busying yourself trying to follow a recipe without gagging at the most random of things.

Feebly managing through placing the tray in the oven, you deflate as a pair of long-awaited, warm arms come wrapping around you.

A mere lift from his hands, holding the weight of a nearly 30-week bump feels heavenly, and you simply groan, head lolling back against his shoulder, welcoming the kisses pressed to your cheek, neck.

Because as much as his own nerves are afire, Chris knows more than anything it’s pivotal for you to be taken care of as well. Making breakfast before heading out in the mornings, sending you little texts to remind you to stay hydrated.

Tiny things you hold close to your being, even if he isn’t aware.

Thank you, spoken amidst his subtle care.

I know, I love you, answered upon joining you in your nightly skincare.

“Ah? Really?”

Chatter after chatter fills the small bathroom, your spare bedroom already ransacked of its contents in making room for a nursery.

As for the conversation at hand, Chris fills you in on his dango pudding obsession while you busy yourself in applying moisturizer to his skin, a silly, matching headband to yours pulling back the hair from his face.

“Jisung got me hooked on it,” He grumbles, lashes fluttering down to fondly watch where you press a kiss to his lips before applying vaseline there, his fingers instinctively reaching for your pajamas like a clingy child.

You don’t mind.

“How’re you feeling?” He murmurs after a moment, head tipped quizzically, the slight knit of his brows in concern you wish to scowl at.

Sometimes it’s harder not swooning when it comes to your husband.

“You know me,” You start, scorning your ability to hear each thump of your heart in your chest within the quietness of the room. “I’m okay, yeah? The fatigue is just a pain, that’s all.”

His arms finding purchase on either side of the bathroom counter where he cages you in, you’re quickly reminded how this pregnancy came to be the longer you stare at his biceps, the veins littering upwards from his hands.

Not fair.

“You tell me, hm? If you need me to work from home more days, yeah? I will, you know that, honey.”

And of course he’s like some sort of forbidden fruit, so sweetly wholesome, sweet generally, when he looks so good. 

Too good.

For a time again, not fair.

“Chris.”

Screw it. You’re pregnant, and rightfully hot and bothered.

A little thing about pregnancy that no one had bothered to let you in on? There’s never been a greater time in your life that you’ve felt this horny.

Plus, an okay from the doctor is an okay to you. 

The other okay is his arms, and the utterly obscene things running through your head just looking at them as your hand finds his jaw to hold.

“I’d cry from how good you are to me if it weren’t for the fact I’m unbelievably worked up right now.”

Slowly do your arms loop around his shoulders, pulling him closer where a smile tugs at your lips, watching his own lips part in a shaky exhale, pupils dilating tenfold as your words sink in.

And it’s Chris’ turn in reminding himself how the pregnancy came to be.

“So let’s do something about it, hm?”

The press of his nose into your neck causes your lashes to flutter, cursing the streaks of sunlight peering through the blinds muddling already bleary vision. A warm grip beckons you closer snuggled against his bare chest, hands instinctively coming to soothe over your belly.

Habitual touch, comfort.

A dream, last night had been. As for now, you bathe in the afterglow, his scent enveloping you like an embrace you can’t bring yourself to pull away from.

“Think I’ll be a good dad?”

And then comes the quiet conversation. Soft and nearly inaudible, his breath tickling your shoulder.

“I know you will,” Comes your own reply, muffled against the pillow, a kiss pressing to your shoulder in appreciation.

“I just-“

He takes a breath, weighing the thought. 

It’s a coarse silence, one you know not to interrupt. He considers his words like this, a characteristic you’ve come to adore over the years. The blinking fast, the hesitant humming.

“You know how much I look up to my Dad, and I worry I just- I won’t live up to tha—“

Now it’s your turn to step in, before he goes over his head and blames himself again and again for a matter never his responsibility. The selfless one, who you remind must take care of himself too. 

Amid simple kisses or compliments scribbled on sticky notes, you find love between the lines.

“Chris. Chris, baby, listen to me. This baby loves you, I hope you know that. And I hope you know that I love you, and whatever happens next happens next.”

Inhaling slowly, you roll over to face your husband.

Covers drawn up to see only his eyes, it’s near foolish the smile you let on.

“You said it yourself, we’re in this together, okay? If we change, we change together. We move? We move together.”

His fervent nod, dearest eyes gleaming all watery make your heart clench.

“This is our first time being parents, you can’t expect to be perfect, yeah? All we can do is try,”

Careful hands come to cup his face, kissing his lips through the fabric of the bedsheets.

“And you’re trying so hard, so thank you. I don’t feel like I praise you enough for all that you do for me, hm?”

He’s quiet before soft, heart wrenching sniffles are heard, swiping at his eyes with the back of his hand and grumbling to himself like a toddler.

“I feel like.. such an idiot.. crying when you’re the one carrying the baby.. hic.. Plus ‘s my.. my job to take care of you, yeah? ‘M your husband..”

Gently smoothing along his waterline in hushed reassurance does the man pull himself upward, slow to climb atop your form, littering your face in feverish pecks you can’t help but laugh at while the heels of your palms gently push at his jaw in playful aversion.

“I’m gonna make some breakfast,” He noses at your chin, the only sound between the both of you slow breaths and the occasional sniffle, the heat of his skin burning through you like wildfire. 

Chris has become a warm blanket for your cold winter, even more so during the pregnancy.

“And you are going to eat eggs.”

In which earns your groan, regarding the food scornfully for its rude manner of sparking nausea. Of the many things nauseating you these days. Volatile in manner.

“‘S good for the baby. ‘Just a bite.”

Another groan, swatting lightly at his shoulder in retaliation.

Prior to an ingenious idea breaching the forefront of your mind.

A tiny detail you’d been holding in, with your lack of fondness for an extravagant baby shower or a gender reveal, you’d planned a morning-in to be the perfect timing for an announcement.

Now coming to be this morning.

Because while Chris had been running to the car, you’d been in the thick of a sonogram all those weeks back, a dirty little secret having been told that the nurse swore to keep quiet.

“Chris.”

Eyebrows lifting in gentle curiosity, you want to hate the way your mischievous streak is melting, the stubbornness fading into your own glossy eyes and trembling lips, and a whole rush of distress and concern washes overtop the man above you like a bucket of ice cold water.

“It’s a girl.”

A sharp gasp, a choked sniffle.

“We’re having a baby girl.”

To say Chris cried like a baby for an additional time that morning would be a mass understatement.

Cried and cried and cried endlessly, before calling his parents first and crying more, then Hannah, then the guys.

Face all puffy and happy, you spent your day waltzing around the kitchen to the low buzz of the radio seated upon the far corner of your counter, sharing kisses he can’t seem to get enough of and too much smiling it made your cheeks ache.

.

.

.

Currently thirty-six weeks and perilously close to the awaited due date, the faint clatter in your periphery earns a startled huff of air, once-napping eyes flickering open, lids heavy from past slumbering.

A common occurrence, the constant sleeping, fatigue overboard. Although morning sickness has graciously subsided, the sleepiness is endless in her torrents.

As for now, each slow lull of the rocking chair the guys had assembled a few minutes prior continues her magic in beckoning you sleepy and sleepier.

“Shh dumbass— you’re gonna wake her up!”

And… beckons whisper-screaming from the group who had insisted upon helping set up the nursery. 

“Don’t curse in front of the baby!”

Han and Felix’s grumbled argument is returned with a scolding “Shh!” from Seungmin, inducing yet another—however brisk—silence, the faint hint of a chortle from your husband falling upon near deafened ears while drifting in and out of consciousness.

Nonetheless, the group continues to build, having now moved onto assembling furniture after the room’s paint had been finished. A mellow pink, not too muted nor saturated, highlighted when the room grows aglow with drifting rays of sunlight.

Hitched just to the right of the window, the crib’s being assembled, Changbin arduously working to follow directions, Minho taking a break on one of the couch cushions with a popsicle lodged between his lips.

Surprising, considering the slow shift in temperature. Autumn makes its entrance, summer waving a goodbye hand in the now-shorter days and a subtle breeze detected in early mornings. 

A September baby, it seems.

“Corner guards? Do we have corner guards?”

An ever organized (and rather caffeine-frenzied) Hyunjin reviews the list once more, having spent his night prior holed up in the studio for recording, obstinate in participating in the nursery despite the ushers to get some sleep instead.

“I have to be here, it’s my duty as an Uncle”, were his exact words, haughtily prancing about as if some entitled interior designer.

And yet he brought alive an enthusiasm like no other. So the guys let him stay without dragging him back home.

In the distance, a low strum of a guitar echoes, Seungmin’s soulful cadence recognizable amidst any crowd.

A lullaby for the baby, but you had yet to know of that just yet.

“Alright… curtains.. ‘gotcha…” Felix mumbles after taking a break from the crib-squabble between Han, his brows furrowed in concentration where Jeongin aids in lifting the canopy portion planning to hang above the crib, Chris organizing the small things. 

A baby mobile with stars and little planets, a crescent moon rug.

And a tiny feature you take note of while awakening more and more, the little stars painted on the ceiling, like this miniature galaxy. 

It’s so…Chris.

It’s perfect.

The thought makes your lips tug upward, a certain fondness blossoming there.

His world, he’d called the baby.

Fitting, isn’t it?

One week to the due date with the autumn equinox around the corner, your days slip together in a melody of fluffy jackets and fuzzy socks, warm cider Chris ushers instead of coffee—“for the baby”, he says, but begrudgingly fixes you a menial cup after the cocked brow you fix him with. 

A baby-bag is packed up for the awaited day of your delivery, and this journey of yours drawing to a close leads to an even more frazzled husband of yours.

Constantly peeking in on you, his lips parted without a question needing to be asked until the bathroom door is slammed in his face after peering in worriedly for a fourth time, earning a squeaky: “sorry!” in reply.

You love him, yes, but not enough to allow a spectator during your bowel movements.

The gesture is appreciated, trust.

Nevertheless, with a now-evident waddle you despise that Chris utterly fawns over, you head to the downtown bakery, motivated by your relentless craving for a cinnamon roll and the feeble determination in battling the dropping temperatures, Seoul’s seasonal shifts as intermittent as your mood swings.

“Two?” You mumble, index extended to the steaming cinnamon rolls in thought, currently using the coat-clad Chris behind you as support, his warm hands steadying your hips, gentle thumbs tracing circles along your sides over his jacket you’d donned.

Nodding into your hair, the man weighs his chin atop your head, granting the kind older woman working the register a small smile, her eyes flickering to the prominent bump fondly prior to fetching the highly-anticipated cinnamon rolls and inquiring how many weeks you were.

“Thirty-nine weeks,” Came the reply, giggling like children on the way home, cheeks flushed pink from bitter winds, sniffling in with each bite of the napkin-held pastry.

“Yah! I should’ve said I wasn’t pregnant and acted all offended, shoot!”

The words followed by a feigned tantrum, Chris has to hold in his laughter, snorting futilely.

“You’re cruel, y’know that?” Scoffing his exasperation does your husband continue to crack even crueler jokes than that of yours on the walk home, acting as an anchor to your aching bones and tirelessly pained back until the sink of the couch cushions beneath your frame serve as the perfect solace.

It’d been the blueprint for an ideal night in. Cinnamon roll long-since digested, a to-die-for massage provided by your husband, and the expectation of doing purely nothing for the remainder of your night.

Until the blueprint went awry upon brushing your teeth.

Curse that damn toothbrush.

Kidding.

“Channie.”

Between Chris, Channie, and terms of endearment, your husband could be an ex-convict with so many names.

Yet he responds to every and all, and at this very moment you’re more grateful than ever for that.

This time, his peeking-in is greatly appreciated.

“I either peed myself or my water just broke.”

It was meant to hopefully lighten the atmosphere, but your efforts prove feeble watching the color drain from his face, white as a sheet.

And just like that, the journey came to its close, in a finale neither of you were expecting, but one your husband confronted head on, trying his hardest in keeping both himself and you calm while loading up all the prepared things.

Baby bag, your printed out birth-plan discussed all those weeks ago while sharing a bath, extra clothes, nursing bras, all the required cards, and a billion other things Chris doesn’t even bother to search for in helping you into the car, reminding himself he could ask someone else to drop by or pick it up after.

Right now, you would remain his sole focus.

That, and the little one who’s decided to make her grand entrance a week from his birthday.

An early present, it seems.

Everything’s too fast, too hurried. The beeping of machinery, hurrying nurses in their scrubs, the nauseating scent of antiseptic overwhelming the hospital. 

You and the baby, you and the baby, you and the baby.

Those four words run rampant in his mind, like some sadistic form of tunnel vision.

Luckily swift in their efforts, you’d been wheeled off to the nicest room available, your husband blind to the price of anything at the moment where he follows you back, guiding each sharp gasp while you work through hellish contractions, squeezing his hand like a vice he vows to never let go of.

Though initially as smooth as a delivery could go, the process is seemingly endless, and Chris curses the exhaustion wracking his frame after the eighth hour stretches on, menial complications requiring moments longer to the already strain-inducing process. 

And of course, to the words he’d never heard you utter before.

“You FUCKER!”

In which earns your jittery-husbands wobbly smile, smoothing strands of hair where they stick to a sweaty forehead, whispering praises on autopilot.

At this rate, he can’t even tell who you’re referring to, but that thought lies in the very back of his mind.

“When I- shit- get out of here I expect to be- FUCK!— worshiped- ‘cause this hurts like a bitch!”

This earns the midwives equally exhausted smiles, working tirelessly with each push. 

By the ninth hour, you shakily assure him to go get a drink, take a walk, a matter he curses beneath his breath yet follows through with no less, legs like jelly, hand aching from your crushing-hold where your husband slumps into the chair opposite to the vending machine, caught in a weary daze. 

Then a hand finds itself on his shoulder he has to stave back the reflex to flinch from, and an out-of-breath Minho stands there—unfamiliar in the utter seriousness of his expression, the lack of teasing usually exhibited—alternatively familiar faces of his friends jogging after the second eldest. 

His first surprise of the night.

Of two, but the second surprise had yet to occur.

“We took the closest taxi,” Jisung manages, out of breath. “You.. You said there was complicat-“

Like a deer in headlights, the shrill wail of a baby rings out, gathering his full attention in split seconds. 

And somehow, he knows that’s his.

Yours, together.

Chris’s second surprise.

His heart stops.

In all his life, Christopher Bahng doesn’t think he’s ever seen someone so pretty.

With seven curious faces peeping in from the doorway behind him, he takes slow steps in approaching you, ethereal with your breathlessly proud smile and the tiny, swaddled thing to your frame, comfy and cozy in their mother’s scent.

Pink blankets. 

And although he already knew it was a girl, the way he chokes up without a word being spoken earns both yours and the nurse’s laughter, tainting his ears a reddened shade of embarrassment.

“I’m so proud of you,” He murmurs, wiping tenderly at tear streaks littering those darling cheeks of yours. “So, so proud.”

An angel, he swears, pressing a long, slow kiss to your lips, then a small peck to your forehead. It appears the wailing fit had subsided, and as for now, this precious little one curls up to your chest.

His baby.

A sob wracks his chest, and in the distance a giggle (likely Minho) is faintly audible that Chris doesn’t even bother scolding, each and every feeling imaginable snuffed to nothing when those eyes pinch open.

Chocolate brown, just like her daddy’s. That perfect, so, so perfect honeyed hue.

Precious.

“She’s.. hic.. so beautiful..”

It’s downright pitiful the manner he cries, like a child, trembling hands reaching for her after your whispered assent, assurance, cradling the baby to his chest.

And remarkably enough, she smiles.

This gummy, delighted smile.

Right then and there, the gravity of the moment punctures his chest, and a silent vow is made that with everything in his being, he will protect her. His daughter.

“Your Daddy loves you.”

Barely heard yet understood all the same, an oh so careful kiss is pressed to those unruly curls, unbelievable in their resemblance to her father’s.

A splitting image, with your charming nose and his puffy lips.

You were right. That time at the grocery store.

Oh to adore.

His second world, who he’ll clap for all cheerfully upon her first steps, her first words, all of it. Through the good and the bad times and everything in between.

His second world, with a father who already loves her, unconditionally. 

And who knows he will for the rest of his life.

Ensuring you’re cared for those four days before discharge, Chris spends his time easing you through each painful endeavor, helping you through the saddened and elated moments, those private moments where all you wish for is to be held.

He holds you, for as long as you need.

Despite the challenges and hardships to come, the man can’t help but think of just how beautiful you are. With your stretch marks, the baby weight, the things you hate, the things he loves. Reflecting how hard you worked, bringing this precious baby girl into the world.

It’s impossible for you to be anything but breathtaking.

His wife, he mumbles into your hair, a habit of his, whilst swaying you from side to side in slow rhythm, the little one fast asleep in her bassinet.

The first night home with the baby, Minho’s already taken to the kitchen, preparing dinner regardless of your sleepy beckoning for him to head home where you stand by the doorway, awakened by the unusual silence where your little girl’s normal squeals would be ricocheting off the walls. 

It seems the Uncles are already smitten.

Fuzzy sock-clad feet thump to your next destination: the nursery.

And there lies your greatest loves, with Chris’s steps weighing side to side just as he’d always do when dancing with you, a bottle in hand held to her lips where she sleepily suckles, a smile of adoration tugging at his lips opposing the circles beneath his eyes.

You don’t think you’ve ever been so enamored before.

And just as that evening in building the nursery, Seungmin’s quietly composed lullaby drifts from the speaker on the changing table, its lyrics like that of the sweetest hymn.

‘My little girl, will you ever know how much I love you?’

‘As much as the stars in the sky, and the grains of sand on the beach.’

‘You are my universe, and I shall love you.’

‘Love, love, love.’

‘For eternity longer.’

sunboki, may 2022 ©

FIC TAGLIST. @manuosorioh @captainchrisstan @bowsnbang @sh1ny4lex @alisonyus @certifiedchangbinlover

[clockwayswrites]

Fledgling Birbs, part 35

masterpost please no editing or concrit, not read over, just trying to survive the week

“Ah, hi there,” Danny finally managed to say. He gave a little wave of his fingers at the small face staring at him from around Jason’s legs. He also tucked his wings closer against his back. The wings had to be what had them looking at him with that sort of shocked wonder like that. It wasn’t every day—

“New grandpa?!”

Danny blinked. “I—sorry, what?”

The child dashed out from behind Jason and over to him where they stood at his feet with their hands up. What else was he supposed to do? He picked them up, perching them carefully on one of his arms and keeping his other hand behind their back to balance them. Unconsciously, one of his wings curled around them, but they didn’t even seem to notice. They was too busy pressing their small, chubby hands against his cheeks.

“Have Grandpa Bruce—” (which came out more like ‘Bwuce’) “—and Grandpa Oli—” (‘Ohwee’) “—and Greatpa Alfie!” (‘Owfee’) they explained. “You are old like Bruce and Oli and not so so so old like Alfie and you are here and that means you are a new grandpa! What’s your name?”

Danny could feel the blush heating up his face. “I’m Danny, but—”

They threw their arms up in the air and Danny scrambled to keep them balanced. “Grandpa Danny!”

A bit panicked, Danny looked up at Jason only to freeze. Jason wasn’t amused or confused or embarrassed. No, Jason was afraid.

Danny set the little one down and squatted down to their height. “Hey little kinglet, why don’t you go say hello to Grandpa Bruce and then I’ll be right over, okay?”

“Okay!” They shouted before they ran off to Bruce, shouting his name.

“Is that Lian?” Bruce asked with an exaggerate gasp and scooped her up.

Danny turned back to Jason, his smile dropping. “I’d never hurt her, I promise. I wouldn’t hurt any child. I know that… this other form can be frightening. It frightens me too. If you want me to leave the Manor, I’d get it.”

It would hurt, but he’d get it. He’d been meaning to leave, after all, for days now, but there was always something stopping him. Danny let there always be something to stop him. He’d gotten the best sleep he’d had in years at the Manor and… it wasn’t lonely. It was never lonely.

Jason sighed. It was a heavy sound. “I don’t want to drive you off.”

“But you’re afraid of me.”

“Yes,” Jason agreed easily, unapologetically. Danny didn’t blame him. “Lian is important to me. I know I’m not actually her dad or anything, but I’ve been around since she was basically dropped on Roy’s doorstep. The others can take care of themselves well enough, if you did something, but she couldn’t. Some of that’s about you and some of that’s just how I feel about her with anyone I don’t know that well. You can’t believe how much looking into people I did finding a preschool for her.”

Danny tucked his hands into his pockets and gave a little shrug. It was okay, this was fine. “I bet I maybe can believe it. I’ve got a two year old niece and calling my sister ‘a bit intense’ is an understatement. I’m being serious you need me to leave, at least while she’s here, I will. I leave if that will make you feel like she’s safe. That’s more important. If that’s too much, I’ll just stay scarce. I can pretty easily make sure that I’m not left alone with Lian.”

There was a long, quiet moment of Jason watching Danny, who made sure to meet his gaze steadily. Then Jason shook his head. “You deserve to be here too.” There was a harsh, electronic sound and Jason yanked his phone out of his pocket. “Shit, have to go.”

Danny watched as Jason hurried over to where Lian was showing Bruce a flower and bent down by the little girl. Danny quietly went the other way. As soon as the doors to the yard closed, Danny pulled his hands out of his pockets.

Fine, black feathers dusted his skin.

[couldeatthatgirlforlunch]

The Lost Condom

Synopsis: You were in the middle of a spicy time with your boyfriend, when something odd happened: the condom disappeared. Inside. Of. You.

The solution? Go to the hospital.

The problem? Your family didn't know about your relationship.

Pairing: Jon Kent X Gn!AFAB!Reader; Platonic!Batfam

Tw: 18+; Only mention and slight description of genitals and sex, but nothing too explicit; All characters are aged up of course; English isn't my 1st language.

Word count: 1,8k.

Requested? Nah.

Extra notes: This isn't an original idea of mine, it's based on a real life story someone told me. Also the family finding out scene was inspired by this fanfic from @dccomicsimagines and this scene from Megamind. Also, eventually I will work on the asks waiting for me I swear 😭

General masterlist

So… You were in the middle of… Having fun… With your boyfriend… When suddenly, he said something that really confused you.

— Hmm… Babe… Where’s the condom? — Your head snapped back to look at him, since you were on all fours.

— Where's the ‘what’? — Your eyes were wide, unconsciously. Jon was blushing intensely, looking from your eyes to your entrance. He didn't know how to explain.

— I-I-I put it inside with the condom on, but now it's… Gone! — You narrowed your eyes. You watched him wrap and then enter you, you didn't feel him pull out at any moment, and even if he did, why would he tell you that he pulled out, took the condom off and then put it inside again secretly while you were still going at it?

You were both silent for a few seconds.

— Search for it! — You practically yelled at him, making him scramble to get off of you. You laid with your back down and legs open, looking at the ceiling, trying to calm down and not feel embarrassed. You felt him entering you with his fingers and searching around for minutes, grumbling and getting frustrated. The sensation was good… But you had bigger priorities at hand!

You huffed and changed positions a few times. A pillow underneath your butt, legs up, on all fours. Nothing worked. You even searched around the room and the bed, just to be sure. At some point, you both defeatedly decided it was best you go to the hospital.

The thing is, your relationship was still new, and no one in your family was aware. Lois and Clark already knew and approved, and you thought Cass suspected you were seeing someone, but you hadn't told them yet.

Especially Damian.

You and Jon knew each other years before Damian was even part of the family, since Bruce raised you since your birth — you were the product of one of his affairs, your biological mother didn't want to raise you, but she also didn't want to abort, so she and Bruce agreed that he would have you as soon as you were born — and he's best friend was Clark. Although, you didn't see each other much back then. It was after the Supersons became a team and besties that he started frequenting the manor more. You always had a childhood crush on each other — Jon thought you were beautiful and nice, and you thought he was cute and sweet, very different from the gross and rude boys from your school. —. Until you were each other's first kiss, then years later, first relationship, and first time. Of course, all in secret from Damian. The older family members only knew about your crush because of your physical language, but since you grew older and learned to hide, they assumed it was just a childish crush from the past.

Lois and Clark knew and approved, but they also always reminded you that you needed to tell Bruce soon, or at least Alfred, especially after you started being sexually active.

Unfortunately, the day came. Yes, you and Jon were old enough to have sex, but too young to be mature and brave enough to go to the hospital by yourselves. Lois was in another country for work, Clark was in the Watchtower in a League meeting, your dad was there too. Leaving the 2nd best option: Alfred — the best would be Lois, then Alfred, Clark, Cass, and then you would have to discuss which one of your other family members would it be.

Since you were in Metropolis — again, no one knew. More privacy wink wink —, Jon flew you back to Gotham, and you both almost cheered when you realized you were completely home alone, except for Alfred, of course.

Poor Alfred knew something was up when you suddenly were back from your “shopping trip”, with messy hair and clothes, red face and Superboy looking almost sick. He released a long sigh.

— Mx/Miss/Master (Y/N). Young Mr. Kent… — You cleared your throat.

— Alfred… We need help…

After you explained everything, Alfred looked ten years older. He didn't comment on anything, but his face showed how unimpressed he was. He just gestured for you to follow him to the garage, took the keys and started driving.

— Let me warn Master Bruce while we are-

— NO! — You yelled, started. He looked at you through the rearview mirror disapprovingly.

— Should I remind you that he will see the hospital bill and go after the truth? — You bit your lip.

— No, I know that. Just… Can't we pay on cash? — You smiled at him hopefully and nervously, but it was more like a grimace. Alfred was silent. You groaned. — I will tell him okay! Tonight! — Jon’s eyes snapped to yours, wide. — Relax! You're not gonna die!

— Yeah, until Damian whips out a kryptonite sword… — He groaned, hiding his burning face in your neck. You huffed, now wasn't time for him to be adorable.

— He doesn't have a kryptonite sword. Dad didn't let him do it. He would have to build it first. That would give him enough time to calm down. — Jon looked at you, indignant. Alfred cleared his throat.

— While we're there, I can't make any promises that if your father asks, I will hide the truth. He will know. — You and your boyfriend groaned, rubbing your faces with your hands.

— Yes, Alfred, I know…

Two hours later, you were finally laid down in position for the doctor to begin the procedure. Since if wasn't anything serious, you were on the emergency and there was only a curtain separating you from the rest of the patients outside. Alfred was sitting just outside, waiting, while Jon was standing by your side, holding your hand, as if you were about to give birth. The doctor was amused by your story, and her jokes helped you calm down.

She searched around you for a few minutes, the instrument she was using inside you being a little uncomfortable. Jon was silently horrified when he saw, you were startled too, but maintained the composure.

— AHA! Found it! It was really deep inside, almost on your cervix! — When she pulled out the condom, you both let out a breath of relief you didn't know you were holding.

You quickly put your clothes on again, you and Jon chatting as everything seemed lighter, and then left.

What you didn't know was that when Bruce got home and you and Alfred weren't there, it made him call, finding out just that you were in the hospital. Alfred refused to say much more than reassure him that it wasn't urgent and that he would soon know, thus he didn't have to crazily drive all the way there. That didn't stop him from alerting all your siblings.

When you got home, your whole family was there.

— Jon?! What're you doing here? — Alfred kept a straight face. Wow, he really wasn't going to help.

— Hmmm... — Jon subtly and subconsciously hid behind you. You shifted from one foot to another. Damian got up with a threatening scowl. You just came from the hospital. With a kryptonian.

— Kent! If you hurt my sibling I will-

— I didn't! — Jon almost yelled, then covered his face with his hands.

— Then, what is happenning here? — Bruce got up with a raised brow, analyzing the situation.

You thought for a moment. You either told them now and made things easier, or you spent all the way to dinner with them bothering you to tell. You could take it, Jon couldn't.

You took a deep breath.

— JonandIwerehavingsexwhenthecondomdisappearedinsideofmewecouldn'tfinditanywheresoweaskedAlfredforhelpandwenttothehospital.

They blinked.

— … What?

You huffed.

— Jon and I were having sex, when the condom disappeared inside of me. We couldn't find it anywhere, so we asked Alfred for help and went to the hospital. — You said, slower this time, although uma lower, more abashed tone.

Silence.

— … But… It was stuck inside? Weren't you wet, though…? — Tim's analysis broke the silence.

— SEX?! — Dick and Jason exclaimed.

— YOU WERE HAVING SEX WITH MY SIBLING?!

— Knew it. — Cass smiled and nodded, proud of herself.

Bruce heaved a sigh and sat down again.

— I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU DID THIS! — Damian threw Tim's coffee mug in your direction and Jon zoomed in front of you. The mug broke. Jon had a sheepish expression.

— Tim, go grab kryptonite. — Jason ordered and got up, walking toward the hidden compartment in the shelf where he kept his guns. Dick held him back while Damian threw a flower vase at Jon.

— No! Don't do that, Tim. — Dick ordered back. Tim shook his head.

— I wasn't going to anyway… — He mumbled. Damian threw the center table.

— YOU ACTED BEHIND MY BACK! YOU TRAITOR! YOU- OUCH! PENNYWORTH STOP! — Alfred tutted, pinching his ear.

— I'm sure civilized conversations don't involve breaking the forniture. — Alfred shot a pointed look at Bruce. — Master Bruce! Say something! — Your dad just kept gazing at you and your boyfriend.

Cass sighed, stepping toward Bruce and sitting beside him.

— (Y/N)’s happy. He’s good. They're careful. — Bruce nodded, finally showing some reaction and looking pleased. Jason stopped struggling against Dick and looked at you.

— I don't care. I'm going to kill him. — Damian growled, starting to pace around the room in anger. Jon silently sighed in relief that Damian kept his distance by being on the other side of the room, the couch and the whole family serving as a barrier. You stepped forward.

— It's not casual. We've been together for almost two months now. — Everyone but Alfred and Cass gasped. Damian burned holes in Jon’s head with his eyes and your dad looked at you, masking his mix of emotions.

Cass tsk.

— So clueless. Many signs. — She shook her head.

— (Y/N), why didn't you tell us before? — Dick asked carefully, walking in your direction and stopping in front of you. Jon fiddled behind you. You shrugged.

— Didn't want to deal with you all while we were just starting things. Especially if it didn't work out.

— When were you planning to tell us? — You pouted.

— I don't know… In a month or two? You guys probably would find out by yourselves. — You shrugged.

— You've been sneaking out a lot… — Tim spoke up for the second time, catching everyone’s attention. He was fiddling with his laptop, likely doing his own investigation. The ones closest to Tim looked from the monitor to you again.

— When did you go to Metropolis?! — Jason exclaimed, indignantly.

— Hehe…

Damian growled.

— So that's why you've been ditching me?! — Damian pointed a finger at Jon, who scratched the back of his head.

— Surprise...? — Jon weakly sang the word.

Bruce cleared his throat.

— So that's why Clark’s been acting like he was happy he knew something I didn't… — He got up and pointed at you. — No more sneaking out. Ask permission before going anywhere. — You opened your mouth to protest, but he stopped you. — Either that or you're grounded. — You pursed your lips and nodded in defeat. — Now we will talk about birth control…

Comment, like and reblog 🥰

DC Taglist:

@wandalfnation @vadersassistant @h0rr0r-10ver-69 @hxsun4 @silverklaus @toast-on-dandelioms @bluewillbon

[eeksburner]

Oh, Baby

Husband!Simon Riley x PregnantWife!Reader

(Note: I'm going to be honest, I wasn't planning on posting here very much, but seeing all the likes and reposts I'm getting is boosting my ego and dopamine #ExFanficWriter)

Not proofread

Simon would be the best Dad. After everything with his father and the rest of his family being killed, he would be extremely hesitant to start a family of his own. It took a lot for him to open up to you and get married, so when you told him your dreams of having a sweet baby with him, his heart dropped. Simon holds a lot of love in his heart and he, too, had his fantasies of being the best daddy to a little babe, but he never thought that it would be a possibility for him. He is the most doting husband to exist, so it wasn’t hard for him to notice when you started sending one less letter a week when he was working and when he saw you less on the cameras installed at home. Simon was convinced you were cheating. It hurt initially, but he used his learned ability to become cold and set himself apart from things to get over it and finish his current mission. When he was on his drive home in his perfectly kept truck, he couldn’t help but grip the steering wheel so hard he thought it might break. After he realized the sneaky things you were doing he stopped checking in on the cameras. This was to your benefit, however, because you were able to decorate the house with pink in your pretty little maternity dress. No need to cover the cameras with towels like you had. As it turns out, two and a half months can help you develop a bump, at least in your case. As he pulled up, Simon prepared himself for the worst, bracing himself to see whatever abhorrent thing lay in the house. You stood in front of the door, ultrasound in hand, house teeming with pink balloons, pregnancy decor, and pink treats. Simon took a deep breath as he approached the eerily quiet house. He twisted the knob and opened the door to see you and everything you set up. “Surprise!” Simon’s ears were ringing and his vision blurred from a mix of anxiety and relief. Your smile faltered as you watched his unchanging expression and his rigid body stay still, staring, for a couple of minutes. Normally it wouldn't take him so long to react to something even if he was stunned, considering his training, but everything was so jarring and emotionally involved he couldn't help but need a minute. He was expecting to walk into boxes of your things, an empty house, or a man with you in the bedroom. You were expecting him to scoop you up in his arms and spin you around. Right when you were going to drop your smile and ask him what was wrong, he gained his bearings. He took slow, heavy steps towards you, eyes brimming with tears. He fell to his knees in front of you and sighed a deep breath of relief, hugging you to his body and shoving his face into your abdomen. “Si?” You couldn’t be more confused by his reaction. A muffled, “I love you so much,” came from Simon. You swore you could feel a wetness where his eyes were on your dress. “Are you happy?” you asked. Simon looked up at you with reddened, wet eyes and said, “Love, you have no idea how ecstatic I am for us, for our little lovey growing inside you.” Now it was your turn to cry, relief and love filling you. You hugged him as he stood up to give you a proper embrace. You guys eventually worked it out and Simon explained his reaction to you. At first, you were upset that he would ever think you could do that to him, but you understood after you realized where he was coming from with both his trauma and the statistics on cheating and failed marriages for military couples. If you thought he was thoughtful and dedicated before you were pregnant, he’s 10x more during and after your pregnancy. You gave birth to a healthy baby girl and named her Josie in honor of his nephew. 

Timeskip 

You sat on your couch with a deep smile on your face, the sun warming your body and your home. It was a warm summer day and you were listening to the harmonious giggles and screams of your 3-year-old daughter as her daddy chased her around the house. Your heart couldn’t feel more full as your husband and baby basked in the sweetness of love in your sanctuary. Your favorite song is hearing Josie say "Mommy" and "Daddy" in her little voice. She really is the sweetest thing you've seen. Of course, she has her moments, but she's so polite and helpful (in her own way). Minimal discipline is needed and both you and Simon handle her gently. Simon doesn't know if she's actually his kid with how even tempered she is. He made it a commitment to never shout or be rude to you or your baby and he has kept good to his word. Your pregnancy was emotional for both you and Simon. For you, it was knowing you were giving Simon the life and love he always deserved but didn’t always get. For Simon, it was knowing he was so vulnerable and putting his (now) two loves at risk with his job, but doing it anyway in the name of love and trust, something he didn’t have the privilege of truly experiencing until he met you and saw the sonogram of your Josie. He waited on you hand and foot, giving you anything you wanted or needed to ensure the smoothest experience for you. Simon didn’t know firsthand what it was like to be pregnant, but he did do hours of research on it and knew you were changing everything for and about yourself so you could have a bundle of joy. Now, he is the most doting husband and daddy. He takes Josie on daddy-daughter dates, spoils her endlessly, goes to all of her gymnastics practices, and even partakes in parent-toddler gymnastics nights. He buys her all of the best clothes and makes sure you have everything you need for her health and happiness, all while taking care of you even better than he did before. He makes sure you’re still healing from post-partum even 3 years later. He has so much love in his heart and it’s his job to share it with his two favorite girls.

[celestialgalaxyglow]

Batfam and Danny, Part 12

Danny: Hey Alfred, I was going through some old files and I was wondering if you could explain something to me.

Alfred: Sure thing Master Daniel.

Danny: How long were each of the Robins, Robin?

Alfred: Well Dick was Robin from the time he was 14 till he was 17, when he decided to become Nightwing. After that your father was Robin from the time he was 14 till 16, when the Joker... killed him. He was gone for six months but by the time he retuned Tim had become the new Robin so your father become Red Hood. Tim was Robin from the ages of 14 to 17, Till Steph came to us and he gave the mantel of Robin to her and became Red Robin. Steph was Robin from the age of 17 to 18, she gave up the mantel to Damian when he was dropped off by Miss al Ghul and took the name Spoiler. Damian took up the mantel of Robin upon his arrival at the age of 10 and has been Robin for the last two years.

Danny: Ok, how old is everyone?

Alfred: Dick is 25, Jason is 22, hopefully you knew that one, Tim and Barbara are 20, Steph, Cass, and Duke are 19, Damian 12, Master Bruce is 34, and my age is classified information.

Danny (laughing): How do I gain clearance to access that information.

Alfred: I grant the clearance.

Danny: Can I have clearance?

Alfred: No.

They laughed.

Alfred: I must ask Danny, what brought along this line of questioning?

Danny: It's the way Bruce talks about the former Robins. The official reports state their ages the way you told them, but between the lines, and the way Bruce talks about their times of Robins I imagined they were all around ten when they took up the mantel.

Alfred: That's a reasonable conclusion to reach. Even though everyone, except Damian, were already teenagers when Bruce took them in, he's always talked about them as if they were little kids. And in all honesty he still does.

Danny: Hmm, interesting. Wait so Bruce took on Dick in when he was 24?

Alfred: Yes. Not even a fully grown adult, the brain doesn't fully develop till the age of 25, but yet Bruce decided to adopt a kid 10 years younger than him.

Danny: Our family is strange.

Alfred (sipping his tea): That it is.

Later at Jason and Danny's apartment.

Danny: Dad can I ask you something?

Jason: What is it kid?

Danny: How did everyone react when you came back to life?

Jason: Oh, that is a story! So after I fought my way back to the Land of the Living I woke up in my coffin and dug my way out. I was a bit disoriented, but somehow made my way around the manor to the front door. I remember nocking and Alfred opening the door and that's it. This part I got from Alfred, I feel into his arms, he called for Bruce, and I was sent to a medical bed in the Batcave. When I came to, Bruce, Alfred, and Dick where next to me. They were happy to see me again, but very confused as to how I came back to life. I explained my story, and Dick started laughing, saying only I of all people would fight my way back to being alive. Bruce on the other hand would not stop apologizing for my death, no matter how many times I told him I forgave him. That's also when I learned that Bruce had killed the Joker.

Danny: What about Tim?

Jason: Tim was hiding behind a wall. Poor kid thought I'd be mad at him for stealing my job as Robin. I told him I wasn't mad and that I was done with all the vigilante stuff for the time, and wanted to take a break. He was also a little worried that Bruce would kick him out but we all put a stop to those concerns, he was part of the family and he wasn't getting rid of us that easily. Anyways, the next day Bruce tackled my legally dead status by creating a fake body of me and putting it in the coffin. So when the police asked questions, they saw a very alive me, and a very fake body in the coffin, and Gotham being Gotham, they didn't ask further question, and my legally dead status was revoked.

Danny: Really? No further questions? Like where you've been for the last six months?

Jason: Nope. But I was allowed to keep my death certificate.

Danny: What about Gotham high society and the general population?

Jason: We told this story that some madmen had kidnapped me and that I managed to escape and make it home. Everyone bought it, or at least knew better than to question it.

Danny: Honestly, that checks out.

Jason: Anyways, after that I started helping Tim train, and after two months of rest I decided to jump back to work and took up the name of Red Hood, and started infiltrating Gotham's criminal underground and quickly rose the ranks. Keep in mind I didn't tell anyone, so Bruce got concerned about this new guy taking over Gotham's criminals and sent Tim to spy. I quickly caught him and brought him for an "interrogation." I expected Bruce to send Tim so I prepared an evil monologue and everything. After I was done monologuing I removed my mask and started lecturing Tim about how easily I caught him, and that Bruce, Dick, and I taught him better. Tim got mad and we started having a screaming match. Shortly after that Bruce arrived and saw us. Bruce was not happy that I decided to go back to vigilante business without saying anything, but he was proud of the work I was doing, so I got away with it. And that's more or less everything.

Danny: I love this family.

Jason: Yeah, we're great. I still have a grave, right next to grandma and grandpa. ... Please don't tell Bruce I called his Martha and Thomas, grandma and grandpa, poor guy will start crying and hugging me while calling me his son.

Danny (laughing): Don't worry I won't.

(Master Post)

Current ages

Bruce - 34

Alfred - [Classified]

Dick - 25

Jason - 22

Tim - 20

Barbara - 20

Steph - 19

Cass - 19

Duke - 19

Danny - 16

Damian - 12

[yoonjae20]

Ric(hard) Fenton; Part 1

(Once again slightly inspired by @saltymarshmall0w 's prompt.)

Read on ao3.

Masterpost. Next.

“B, didn’t you promise us as you’d tell if there was a possibility of another secret child?” Tim asks as he stares at the black haired boy, who looks like he had been to hell and back to get here, with blue eyes — because of course, they are blue —  in front of the Manor’s door. 

He can’t help but feel unnerved by the way the boy evaded their security measures and how he hasn’t said a single word since Tim opened the door even when he can see the boy’s hands tremble.

“Yes?” Bruce's voice floats from further in the Manor, his barely audible gaunt drawing near.

“Then who the hell is this?” he asks just as the man turns the corner. He freezes at the sight of the kid, literally blue screening as he takes him in. 

“Actually he’s mine,” a too chipper voice announces and Tim nearly jumps out of skin as he turns to Dick.

The young man must see both Tim and Bruce doing the mental calculations in their heads because he interrupts before they can draw the wrong conclusions.

“If Bruce can go around adopting children, I can do the same.” Then he turns to the boy. “You can come in, Danny.” 

Tim is eerily reminded of a wary, frightened cat as the boy — Danny moves inside. His steps are too silent for a mere civilian. 

Bruce and Tim share a look and Tim knows that they are both asking themselves when Dick met the boy and why he never mentioned him with how familiar he acts around him as he easily tucks him into his side. 

Although neither of them wants to accept it, Dick has changed since the one year where he disappeared without a trace. He’d told them that he was shot leading to him to lose his memories and that he only retained his memories a few days before he came back, but Tim always had a feeling the older man was not telling the whole truth, hiding it behind an easy-going smile. He didn’t speak a single word about what happened during that year, claiming he didn’t remember much of it ever since his memories returned.

Not only that, but it had become even rarer than before that any of them would meet Dick at the manor (even Jason was at the Manor more often) — and when he was present he was always studying them with an intense stare as if he was searching for something in their expressions.

“Dick,” Bruce starts but the man waves him off.

“Later,” he says. “I need to see if I have any fresh clothes for Danny.”

Dick pulls the boy away and they head up the stairs. Tim gives it a minute before he follows, nodding at Bruce, who does the same. He hears them stop in the hallway and he pauses in his steps.

“What’s going on?” Tim hears the man's question and he sneaks closer when he can’t hear the boy’s response. He subtly uses his phone’s camera to peek around the corner. 

“What about Mom and Dad?” Dick asks in a hushed whisper and Tim knits his eyebrows together — confused about who his brother is talking about.

Danny winces with a pained expression.

“The GIW got them in custody for affiliating with and aiding an ectoplasmic entity,” he explains. “You are my only chance.”

“Jazz, Sam, Tucker?” Dick almost seems desperate and when the boy just shakes his head after each name, he runs a hand through his hair and curses. 

“And you are sure we can’t go to them?”

Tim can’t help but ask himself who they are talking about that Dick’s voice is so full of disdain. Danny vehemently shakes his head, eyes squeezed together like he is remembering something painful and when he speaks his voice is shaky.

“I don’t know what to do, Ric,” he says, clutching the top of his shirt like his heart is hurting and Tim’s eyebrows climb to the top of his hairline at the unusual nickname. “I can’t- I can’t do this alone…” 

“Fuck.” Dick takes a deep breath as he hugs Danny. “Okay. Yes, of course I’m coming with you, baby ghost. Just let me grab my things and then we’ll go on our way.” 

“You will not go anywhere.” 

Bruce steps in Dick’s path before Tim can stop him and he narrows his eyes at the pair. Danny flinches away from the man and Dick steps protectively in front of the boy.

Tim knows Bruce and Dick had their rough patches in the past but never like this. Never had Dick looked at Bruce like he was a threat. 

“I’m not in the mood, B,” Dick warns sharply. 

“And I’m not about to let you go off with someone that I haven’t vetted.”

Dick lets out a bitter huff of a laugh.

“Of course that’s the only thing you would focus on.” His voice is cold. “You’ll bulldoze your way through, and prod and condemn, not caring if you hurt someone innocent in the process as long as you can justify your actions. I don’t even know why I’m surprised at this point. It’s what happened to Jason after all.”

Bruce reels back like he’s been punched. 

“Now if that is all, I have to go save the people who actually treat me like family.”

This time nobody stops Dick as he leaves the house, Danny in tow. 

“Master Bruce, Master Tim,” Alfred’s voice tears Tim out of his trance and startles Bruce who froze in his spot. “Where is Master Dick?”

Dick trembles with barely suppressed fury as he leads Danny to his car.

He wanted to believe that Bruce was better — that he wouldn’t have led the Justice League on a hunt after a child, but the longer he is back in Gotham as Richard Grayson — the longer he is around who were supposed to be his “actual” family, the more he grows unsure about that fact. There is no easy trust between them — not the steadfast determination that no matter what happens, they’ll take his side. Not like the Fentons have. (It’s been barely 2 months and he misses being Ric Fenton — misses being Jack and Maddie’s son and Jazz and Danny’s older brother.)

Bruce has contingency plans about them for fuck’s sake. And while he understands that there might be situations where they would be on other sides — the time where he and the Teen Titans had to fight their mind controlled mentors comes to mind — it’s a scary thought. For the first time since ages — since Bruce had taken Robin away from him — he feels like he is on his own. 

Back then he had turned to Clark — to Superman. He was the one who gave him the name Nightwing but Dick is plagued by the nightmares he witnessed Danny having. He doesn’t think he can look at his uncle ever the same again. 

At the same time, he doesn’t know if Danny and him can do this alone. He glances at the boy as he drives out the gates to the manor — he looks incredibly drained. He’s even paler than usual and there’s a sheen of sweat over his whole body as he leans back in his seat, breaths shallow. 

As he drives through the streets of the Bowery a sudden thought comes to his mind. He tears the steering wheel around, tearing Danny out of his doze. He blinks at Dick, eyebrows knitted together when he sees that they are still in Gotham.

“Where are we going?” he asks and Dick gives him a smile that is all teeth.

“Just a little pit stop.”

Jason and Dick don’t talk much — or to be more precise they don’t talk about the important stuff. Not about the — ‘I broke down when I heard about your death and I blame myself for not being there’ or ‘I was sure you hated me and you were glad I was gone’. They barge into each other's apartments, spar or get drunk together and cling to each other when they are sure the other isn’t awake to witness it. It’s not quite healthy — but it’s something better than when Jason was still Robin.

So when the door to one of his safe houses gets slammed open, Jason isn’t concerned. He knows Dick had been off the past few weeks and had been expecting his visit for quite a while now. 

The look in Dick’s eyes is different this time around though. It’s not quite the mix of depression coupled with anger he normally expects — it’s something stronger — righteous fury.

“I need your help,” Dick demands before Jason can question what’s going on.

Jason knits his eyebrows together. 

“What about Bruce?”

There’s a dark look in the man’s eyes for a moment before it passes and that’s the moment Jason realizes that this something more serious than the usual spats he normally has with B. 

“You are the only one I can trust with this.”

He spins around on his heels and is out of the safe house before Jason can blink. Getting a bit impatient and angry about Dick not getting straight to the point and still expecting him to follow — Jason storms out. What he doesn’t expect is the passed out half-dead kid in the passenger seat. A tinge of green enters his vision as he glares at Dick.

“What the hell is going on?”

The story Dick tells as they speed on the highway leaves Jason reeling. If the man’s tone wasn’t carefully monotone as he spoke about Ghosts and an entire town being shifted to a different dimension, Jason would have already declared that Dick finally snapped. He wants to question why he lied to the rest about losing his memories about the year he went missing, but the desperate look he sends him and the way his hands shake on the steering wheel hold him back. It’s only the boy’s quiet snores that have Jason’s volume not climbing above a hiss.

“Are you sure this all happened? That this is real?”

“I was there, Jay,” Dick’s tone leaves no arguments. “I almost watched Danny die, again — fighting Pariah Dark. I would have never forgiven myself if another of my brothers…” He gulps and shakes his head. “I was there this time. I should have made a difference and once again I was helpless”. He slams a fist against the radio, cursing when it turns on, blaring loud music. 

He quickly turns the volume down and both of them wait with bated breath as Danny stirs in his seat, before he goes limp again. Dick lets out a deep sigh.

“How do you think I felt once I realized the situation?” Dick questions. “I was in the middle of nowhere with no recollection of who I was. If the Fentons hadn’t found me-” He shakes his head. “Next I know I’m watching a kid fight fucking Ghosts twice his side and getting thrown around like a ragdoll like it’s a normal Tuesday. That shouldn’t happen Jay, it just shouldn’t.”

Jason stays silent.

“And worst of all, I still knew how to fight,” Dick barrels on. “But no matter how much I tried to help Danny and teach him, it was useless because it wasn’t humans or even metas he was up against. How could my moves counter beings that can fly and go intangible and invisible at will?”

Jason still can’t fathom why Dick hid this from them all — but he knows enough to understand why he needs his help. 

“So what’s the plan?”

Dick shoots him a relieved smile.

“We still have 12 hours of driving ahead of us,” Dick glances at Danny. “I’m reckoning he’s gonna be out cold for at least half of it if not more. I need you to switch with me after half of the drive so I can get a power nap in, then I’ll take over again.”

“Not trusting me with the car?” Jason teases.

“Show me your drivers license and maybe I’ll reconsider.”

They start bickering, and for a moment Jason can convince himself that this is a normal road trip.

Jason’s at the wheel when the boy wakes up. Dick is out cold and despite the man’s protests Jason can drive normally if he wants to. There’s no reason the man has to over exhaust himself.

They had tossed their phones once they crossed the border to Illinois and Dick had withdrawn a couple of thousand bucks. Jason had questioned why they hadn’t done sooner if they wanted to keep Bruce off their trail, but the man told him he’s not the one he is worried about. Considering what Dick told him about the elusive GIW, Jason can harbor a guess on who he is talking about. It’s after that, that Jason wrangled him into another nap — Dick was in no condition to drive any further. 

“Ric?” Danny questions sleepily as he sits up and Jason keeps an eye on him out of the corner of his eyes.

“He’s asleep,” Jason answers and it’s only because he’s used to Damian that he blocks the instinctual kick as the boy realizes he’s not alone. 

“I can see that Dick kept you sharp” Jason huffs out a laugh. “I’m Jason, in case he didn’t mention me.”

Danny blinks at him and shifts so he is sitting cross legged. He knits his eyebrows together, clearly thinking.

“You were the pit stop?” he questions.

“Apparently.” Jason shrugs. “Great work, by the way. It’s been a while since I’ve seen Dick this pissed.”

The boy frowns, gnawing at his lips as he stares out the window.

“You’ve died too, haven't you?”

Jason suppresses his initial reaction to snap at the boy. Instead he grits his teeth as he stares straight ahead, the road blurring together. 

“And?”

“Ric shouldn’t have let you come.”

He grips the steering wheel until his knuckles are deadly white, green hazing his vision. 

“They’ll cut you open too.”

It takes the wind out of his anger and he lets out a curse. The brakes screech as he stops at the side of the road, nearly catapulting them forward with the force of it. Jason finally turns to look at Danny properly. The boy peels down his t-shirt to reveal a gnarly, ugly red Y-shaped scar as he gulps.

“Ric doesn’t know,” he says as he releases the hem of his shirt, covering the scar once more. “I haven’t told him.”

“Then why me?” Jason’s voice rises without his consent.

“Because you’ll get it,” the boy murmurs. “How it feels to die.”

The boy leans back, turning away from Jason to look at the corn field.

“How it haunts you.”

Jason wants to puke and he lets his forehead fall onto the steering wheel.

“Fuck,” he says emotionally and the boy laughs — broken and hysterical. Jason doesn’t comment on the tears streaming down Danny’s face.

Jason starts up the car again, leading the car back on the road.

“Next time Dick asks for my help, I’ll send him to hell.”

Jason hides a smile when the boy snorts at that. 

Dick comes to himself as they are about to cross the border into Amity Park. Jason and Danny are quietly talking and he wipes away a little bit of drool as he sits up. It’s dark outside and Danny directs Jason as they enter the city. He leans forward as he enters the conversation.

“You’ll think the GIW’s detectors will sense us?”

Danny glances at Jason, before he turns his attention to Dick.

“We should be fine for a few hours at least as long as I don’t have to turn ghost,” he says. “Half of the town is liminal at this point so you and Jason shouldn’t raise any alarms either. They had too many false alarms in the months since you left.”

Jason looks at Dick strangely once they park where they can hide for the night.

“Since when did you have contact with Lazarus Pits?”

“Never,” Dick retorts. “But living above a portal to the Infinite Realms for a year will do the trick.”

Jason's face scrunches up.

“Who the hell builds a portal in their own basement?” 

Both Dick and Danny snort. 

“Gotta love Mom and Dad,” the boy says as Dick nods in agreement. “Only they are insane enough.”

Dick makes a face.

“I could do without reanimated meatloaf for the rest of my life though.”

“Don’t remind me,” Danny shudders.

Jason stares at them in bafflement. 

“You do know how crazy that sounds?”

“Crazier than Ghosts?” Danny questions with a smirk and Jason pinches the bridge of his nose, shaking his head

“To give it to Mom and Dad they did stop storing samples in the fridge after we lectured them about it,” Dick adds. At Jason's aghast face he just shrugs. “They are passionate about their work.” 

“Insane, absolutely insane,” the man mutters and Dick suppresses a smile.

It had taken him a bit to get used to the Fenton's and their flavor of insanity and chaos. At first he had been worried about them being neglectful at best, but it turns out that they just needed someone to remind them when they got into “hyperfixation” mode. He and Jazz had to stage an intervention and both Maddie and Jack were embarrassed once they realized they took it too far. Dick doesn’t know who is worse — them or Tim when he’s awake for more than three days. 

He was very relieved when his initial hunch didn’t turn out to be true after Danny revealed himself as Phantom to his parents. They did a whole 180 on their research, focusing on learning about the intricacies of the Infinite Realms, their culture and even politics instead — resigning from their high positions in the GIW. That’s when the trouble really started. 

Dick hadn’t lied about getting amnesia after he was shot and it was also true that his memories had only returned — thanks to Frostbite — two months ago. But the only reason he went back to Gotham had been to get Danny help (the longer they waited the worse the situation with the GIW became) — to find out if the Justice League could be trusted. Once he heard what happened with Freakshow and the Reality Gauntlet (and had the memories to properly realize what that meant) he had been horrified. He had given himself a deadline to — if need be, confront the Justice League by the time Danny’s birthday came around and find out the truth. (He had desperately hoped that this was all a misunderstanding, but Bruce’s words still taste bitter on his tongue.)

Dick knows bringing Jason along was a risk — considering Danny’s theory that the Lazarus Pit were corrupted ectoplasm, but they need the manpower to get through the GIW’s defenses. Even if he’s scared shitless about what they’ll do to Jason when they find out just how liminal he is. He knows this is a death mission. But it doesn’t have to be for Jason.

“We need to establish some ground rules,” Dick says reluctantly and Jason narrows his eyes at the wording.

“If we get captured, I want you to save yourself, Jason.” Jason scoffs and Dick raises a hand, silencing his retort before it can come. “I’m the sole reason you got involved in the first place. Me and Danny may be willing to die for them, but I’m not letting you sacrifice yourself for something that isn’t even your problem to deal with.”

“If you think I’m gonna agree to those, you are more than stupid than I thought Dick,” Jason’s voice is scathing. “It started being my problem when you came to me for help and we drove for 12 straight hours to get there. If you say those people are your family — then they are mine as well.”

His lips perk into a smirk.

“Besides, I want to meet the people that might be even more batshit insane than B and got you to call them Mom and Dad.”

Dick flushes slightly — the Fenton’s had always insisted on him calling them Mom and Dad and he doesn’t know when the titles became genuine. Even with his memories restored, Ric Fenton feels more alive  — more loved — than Richard Grayson ever did. 

Danny just shrugs as he leans back, arms crossed behind his neck and feet rested on top of the glove box. 

“I guess I have not only two sisters but two older brothers now,” he adds cheekily. 

“Brat.” 

Jason playfully shoves Danny and Dick gapes at the fond tone in his voice. 

“How?” he stammers — they should barely know each other. “When?”

Jason tucks Danny into his side, angle a bit awkward, but grinning as he ruffles his hair.

“You missed a lot, sleeping beauty,” Jason jests and Dick groans.

“I was only asleep for 1 hour!” he bemoans. 

“Two,” Danny corrects and Dick glares at him, raising a finger.

“Don’t you two dare gang up on me!”

“This is sweet revenge for when you and Jazz teamed up against me,” Danny grins.

“We were literally trying to help you!” Dick complains, shoving Danny’s face away as the boy cackles, Jason watching on with amusement.

Dick might have to leave Ric Fenton behind for good now that his two worlds have collided, but maybe he can still be Richard “Dick” Grayson-Fenton instead.  

[gh0stsp1d3r]

I definitely need more Dad!Logan and or Pregnant!Reader! Anyway we can get something where Logan and the reader are married and they are teaching at the school (different classes) when the reader suddenly passes out during a lesson and it causes a frenzy and when she’s taken to med bay and tests are ran, it’s discovered she’s pregnant and she hadn’t been showing any symptoms until she passed out? From there we see some sweet moments through her pregnancy (also would it be Logan if he didn’t threaten Scott for getting too close to his family? 🤣)

sight to see

a/n: love this sm anon

Warnings: pregnancy, dad!logan

MASTERLIST | KOFI

It started off as a seemingly normal day, you say bye to Logan, giving him a kiss before you walked into your classroom, where all your students “ooohed” at you, causing your cheeks to heat and your eyes to roll, waving them off.

The lesson had started normal as well, you pointing to the chalkboard in front of you, making sure they were writing it down.

“So-“ you paused, suddenly feeling a wave of lightheadedness, your eyebrows furrowing.

“Mrs. Howlett? Are you okay?” You heard one of your students ask worriedly, all of them staring at you in confusion.

You smiled, swallowing before nodding, and trying to continue on with the lesson. Your ears rung, your vision getting slightly blurry, and your breathing picking up.

You suddenly dropped to the floor, the lead thing you heard being your students concerned voices in the back.

“Listen, kid, that’s not my prob-“ Logan stopped his sentence upon seeing multiple students rush into his classroom, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion, hearing all their voices overlapping as they spoke.

“Woah, woah, woah, one at a fucking time.”

“Mrs. Howlett, she fainted in the middle of a lesson.” He heard one student say, to which he immediately shoved through the other students blocking him, practically running to your door.

He slammed it open, seeing Charles and Jean over you. He swallowed thickly, looking to the both of them.

“What the fuck happened? Is she okay?” He asked, walking over to them.

“She’s breathing, she’s fine. I just might need to take her down to the lab, run some tests.” Jean responded.

“Fuck.” He mumbled, running a hand through his hair, following Jean and the professor down to the lab.

Jean and Hank looked at the screen and then at each other. Logan sat impatiently next to you, his leg bouncing up and down, his hand holding yours.

Hank finally walked out and over to the both of you, Logan looking at him for answers.

“If what we’re seeing is…correct,” he glanced down at the picture in front of him before speaking. “Y/n is pregnant. 5 weeks pregnant.”

“What?” Logan spoke, confused out of his mind at the moment, in disbelief. “That’s not…. She hasn’t been showin’ any signs or nothing, I don’t- are you sure?”

“Uh.. here.” He handed him the picture, pointing to a little figure that showed up.

He looked at the picture and then at you, sighing and falling back into the chair, holding his face in his hands. He wasn’t prepared for this at all.

Hank swallowed, and decided to walk away, letting him think for a moment.

It was then that you woke up, letting out a groan and your other hand going to your head.

He looked up at you, standing up and going to your side.

“What the hell happened?” You asked groggily while he leaned down to press his lips to your forehead.

“You fainted. Your kids came in and told me.”

You sighed, looking up at him. He still held your hand in his, he sat back down.

“What? Why’d i faint?”

He sighed again, staring at you while he spoke in a low tone. “You’re pregnant.”

“I’m what?!” You squealed, whether out of confusion, happiness, or fear, you had no clue. Jean and Hank quickly came back in when they heard you were awake, explaining everything much better and clearer.

It took Logan a while to come around to the idea, to fully accept and grasp the fact that he was going to be a fucking dad. It seemed like something straight out of a dream to him. Something he never thought he would have.

He loved you, he always would. And although he was scared, he knew you were probably just as scared- if not more. That first night you found out, he fell asleep with his arms wrapped around your stomach in the small med-bay bed.

And for the remaining months, he was careful, he was even more doting. All the kids loved to tease him, calling him whipped and such. He just told them to shut up, but they never missed that small smile on his face.

And of course, once the baby did finally pop out, she was the most adorable little thing. Logan adored her. He never wanted to let go of her.

It was a sight to see, the usually gruff Logan howlett being soft with his wife and tiny baby.

He was the most overprotective dad and husband ever- especially when it came to Scott. He caught him looking at the both of you once, and he pulled out his claws.

But you would have it no other way, really. <3

[chheolie]

dad seokmin forgot to keep his promise

seokmin was having one of those days where he planned to spend the entire afternoon entertaining his son with the most outlandish games he could think of. full of enthusiasm, he turned on the toy fire truck, which started zooming across the floor with its lights flashing and siren echoing throughout the room.

"look at this, buddy!" he exclaimed, excitedly, calling his little one over to watch the toy in action.

but to his surprise, his son, sitting on the floor with a surprisingly firm look, just crossed his arms and put on an expression that looked way too serious for a three-year-old. his little lips pushed out into a dramatic pout, as if he was experiencing the worst day of his life.

seokmin raised an eyebrow, confused, trying to decipher the unexpected reaction.

“is he mad about something? or maybe he just doesn’t like fire trucks anymore?” he thought, watching his son curiously.

determined to keep trying, he brought the truck closer and attempted to get him excited again.

"let’s put out the fire, son!" he said in an upbeat tone, waving the toy from side to side, trying to make it as fun as possible.

to his complete shock, the little boy, still with his pout intact, kicked the truck with his chubby foot, sending it sliding across the rug until it bumped against the couch leg. the kid’s angry face only grew, and the pout? somehow, it looked even bigger.

seokmin had to try really hard not to laugh. he felt his lips tremble with the urge to let out a chuckle, but he held it back. he didn’t want to make his little one any more upset.

"okay, my love… you don’t want to play with the fire truck," seokmin said in a softer, more paternal tone. "how about we go for a walk outside?" he suggested, smiling as if it was the most amazing idea ever.

the boy looked at his dad with a mix of disapproval and stubbornness, then turned his face away, crossing his arms even tighter.

seokmin sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, feeling clueless. he tried everything he could think of – he even offered to go outside and watch the “big trucks” his son usually loved to see, but nothing worked. feeling at a loss and a little desperate, he finally picked up his phone to call for help from the real expert: his wife.

with quick fingers, he typed a message, and soon his phone buzzed with a reply.

seokmin: babe, help.

he saw the typing bubbles pop up and then the message appeared.

seokmin: i think i just became our son’s number one enemy. 😩😩

y/n: 🤨 really? why?

seokmin: he won’t talk to me. won’t play with his favorite fire truck, doesn’t even want to go outside…

y/n: did you ask him why? maybe it’s something important

seokmin: babe… he’s only three. how’s he supposed to know how to explain what he’s feeling? 🥺

y/n: 🙄 ASK HIM, seokmin.

seokmin was ready to finally fix the situation, but he couldn’t resist asking his son one more time, now that the little boy seemed a bit less upset.

"son, did daddy do something wrong? why are you so upset?" he gently held his son’s tiny shoulders. "is there anything daddy can do to make you not be mad anymore?"

the little boy looked at him, still pouting, and said in a slightly teary voice, "you… you pwomised… stwawbewwy ice cweam… and you fowgot!"

seokmin had to cover his mouth to hide his laughter. of course, it was about food! and he vaguely remembered mentioning something about ice cream the night before, but with all the excitement and games, he’d completely forgotten.

"oh, son… i’m really sorry! daddy forgot about the ice cream!"

seokmin quickly grabbed his phone and texted his wife, almost as if he needed her to witness what he’d just discovered.

seokmin: babe, he said it

seokmin: i promised him strawberry ice cream after lunch, can you believe it? 😩😩

almost immediately, her reply came in.

y/n: really? i’m a witness.

seokmin: i forgot i’d promised that 😳

seokmin: but… how could he remember that? he’s just a baby!

y/n: he’s your son, seokmin. your legacy: selective memory for sweets and pizza.

seokmin: 😅😅😅😅😅

y/n: give him his ice cream before he packs his bag to run away from home.

laughing at the thought of his son packing a bag and searching for a new home that took ice cream promises seriously, seokmin headed to the kitchen to prepare the long-awaited treat. he grabbed a small bowl, added a few scoops of strawberry ice cream, and went all out: strawberry syrup, colorful sprinkles, and of course, a cherry on top. he carried the bowl back to the living room like it was a trophy, still imagining which uncle his son might ask for refuge with. maybe vernon? surely he wouldn’t forget a promise.

"here it is, buddy! your strawberry ice cream, with everything you deserve!"

the little boy, now with bright eyes, immediately dropped his pout and grabbed the bowl with both tiny hands, amazed by what he saw.

"yummy!" he said, fully focused on the ice cream and visibly happy.

seokmin crouched down beside him and asked hopefully, "so… do you forgive me for forgetting?"

the child nodded, but he was so engrossed in the ice cream that seokmin wasn’t sure if the forgiveness was genuine or just temporary. the ice cream was clearly priority number one.

he quickly sent another message to y/n.

seokmin: he forgave me…

seokmin: but i’m not sure we’re totally okay yet… i think his heart’s still divided between the ice cream and the grudge.

y/n: hahaha, i’m glad for you, babe.

seokmin watched as his son enjoyed the ice cream, and with each spoonful, the little boy let out a happy “mmm!” while seokmin watched, relieved to have made things right.

when his little one finished, he held up the empty bowl and grinned.

"was it good?" seokmin asked, smiling back at him.

"good, good!" he replied with his sweet little voice and eyes shining with joy.

suddenly, the boy got up, handed the bowl back to seokmin without much ceremony, and ran over to the fire truck still sitting on the floor.

"wooo woo woo woo!" he started imitating the fire truck siren with excitement, waving his dad over to join the game.

seokmin wasted no time. he ran to the kitchen to put the bowl down and, in seconds, was back in the living room, ready for the new mission to save the world. he pretended to put on an invisible firefighter helmet and gave his son a salute.

"firefighter seokmin reporting for duty!" he announced with a determined, goofy expression. "what’s the emergency, chief?"

his son held onto the toy truck, looking at him with serious little eyes.

"fire! big fire! daddy, come!" he shouted, running around the room with the truck while seokmin followed, pretending to turn on a siren.

the house transformed into a "fire station," and the two of them spent the next several minutes saving stuffed animals from the imaginary blaze.

seokmin: babe, we’re friends again

seokmin: we’re playing firefighters

y/n: alright, mr. firefighter, don’t make promises you won’t remember to keep

seokmin: 🫡🫡🫡

[neil-gaiman]

Hello Neil, my name is Zalean. If you have a few minutes, I wanted to tell you a little story. Not really a question and I’m not sure how to use tumblr but I wanted to say thanks so much for coming to Florida a few months back and talking with Art Spiegelman. It was my first time ever figuring out how to buy tickets for something. I lived in, middle of nowhere, Vermont for most my life and had no idea what I was doing, I had never been to anything before, nothing had made me excited enough to do the 5 hour drive. And then you just appeared 20 minutes away from where I am living now.

See, I was just starting to get to know your books and work because I fell in love with Good Omens so deeply when I discovered it during season twos release. Funny thing is, I knew of you all along without even realizing it, Stardust has been my favorite book and movie since I was a kid because it was my dad’s favorite story. Finding out my two favorite things were actually connected, I started trying to get hands on as many of your books as I could. I hadn’t read in years before finding your books. It was eye opening.

The talk event at the Dr.Phillips Center was sold out by the time I knew about it, someone had asked me if I knew of the event when they saw my Good Omens keychains my mom had made me. I called the box office because there is no harm in asking. I explained how I’m an art student at UCF and desperately wanted to be inspired and learn from you both. The customer service people were amazing and ended up calling me back to get me a seat in the orchestra pit before they were released to the public. I drove alone, I walked there alone, I sat alone, and it was worth it. I was so thankful to get a seat and grateful to my professor who was a bit jealous he didn’t know about it but let me leave class early to go because of course the art professor would be understanding for any learning opportunities in the arts. And it was truly wonderful, it seemed real and that’s what I wanted. I didn’t want a show. I just wanted to hear, in some sense, that you were like everybody else. I brought a notebook and pen for any information or story’s that I thought made a difference to my little life. The other people around were wonderful, you inspire kind people.

Like I said, I had never been to anything like this and I didn’t know what to expect. I didn’t know you would have signed books and I only found out because the people next to me came in late. I asked them why they brought the books after it was over and the lights turned on. They did look at me like I had three heads for a moment until they realized I didn’t know there were books to buy, they looked kinda sorry for me but they were so nice. I had never really thought about the importance of someone’s scribble before this but it’s something that proves you were there. It says “Remember when this person made you happy? Remember when they changed your life? Remember when they gave you hope? Look at this and remember.” I hope to see David Tennant and Michael Sheen to get an autograph now that I understand the meaning behind it a bit more but honestly I just love diving into everyone’s projects, the wonder you all create. Oh what fun it is to live a life full of stories!

The people that were sitting next to me let me look at their signed books and hold them. I flipped through some of the big ones, handed them back and expressed my gratitude just to be in the theater. I showed them all my little quotes I wrote down, I never want to forget why I create things and you say so much about never stopping, always creating. Then the women handed me a different book, a smaller book, but when I tried to hand it back, a bit confused, she softly placed it back in my open hands and said “I want you to have it, we have plenty and I want you to love these stories just as much as we do. It’s just starting for you, I want you to remember who started it”. The book she handed me being“The Ocean at the End of the Lane”. The first book I decided to read by you and had just finished a week before. The women had no idea she given me a signed copy of the book that made me want to read again. Your books make the world better. For such a big theater and such a big stage, I just wanted to tell you my little point of view.

The story you told about wishing you enjoyed the past more than you did, I hope you get to enjoy it now, and I hope you want to. And thank you, to you and to Terry Pratchett for creating something special. I convinced my dad to watch Good Omens with me over December break, he loved it.

I forget sometimes that everything is someone's first time, and then I read something like this and feel like I need to remember that better. I'm glad the people beside you were kind.

[mari-the-bimbo]

First things first. I love your writings. Especially the ex-husband ones❤

Two I hope you don't mind me requesting a ex-husband geto?

-🌼

Ex husband Geto

A/N: Ohhh you ATE with this idea I’m getting butterflies just thinking about it 😫 Happy late valentines my loves!! 🫶🏽💗

Ex husband Geto is a terrifying blend of ex husband Gojo and Nanami’s worst traits. He is extremely unhinged like his white haired best friend but good at playing nice guy like Nanami.

He’s ‘respectful’. Always paying a sum of money to spend on yourself as well as child support, always bringing chocolates when visiting, always insisting to stay over and help out with your daughter when you’re on your period (he knows your cycle because he refuses to log out of your Flo partners account from back when you were married hehe), and he does it all with a small smile on his face.

He loves his precious baby daughter so much! She inherited his dark hair but your enchanting eyes and smile. His eyes soften at the way she giggles just like you when he presses kisses to her rosy cheeks. His little girl loves playing with her dad’s long black hair. He was born to be a girl dad.

However Geto still struggles with boundaries. You try to shake it off when his fingers touch your waist or when he ‘accidentally’ still calls you sweetheart. “sorry bad habits” he dry chuckles. He’s admitted he’s struggling to get over his feelings for you so you try to be nice about it.

But what you can’t shake off is the way he always happens to know where you are, or he always happens to turn up just before a date, or the way he always whispers a question to your daughter when you leave the room.

Geto’s fixation with you definitely makes his own mental wellbeing spiral, but this man is self aware, this man knows the effect you have on him since the day you left.

So if you ever had the audacity to break his heart and see another man behind his back, it’s over for you.

You’ll be confused when you hear the doorbell ring at 11 in the night. Once you spot the familiar black Bugatti, you open the door, “Geto? The kids are at my moms so-“

“And why’s that y/n?” he cuts you off, his chilling voice suddenly calling you by your actual name rather than sweetheart, as he barges into the house and towers over you, black stands of his hair falling forward.

“You just throw your daughter away to go on dates?” He accuses you and the change from his usual gentleman demeanour unsettles you as his dark eyes burn into you.

“W- what are you talking about? I’m allowed to go on dates and take my daughter to her nans Geto! And how did you know I-“

“You knew-“ he seethes as he inches closer to your face. “You knew I’m struggling to get over you but I’ve been so nice to you and this is how you thank me?”

Some part of your subconscious knows you don’t owe him anything but the rest of you wants to give in. You gulp down your nerves but it was futile in front of a man who could easily have his way with you.

You take a deep breath before beginning, “listen Geto, I’m sorry.. I didn’t mean to hurt you, that’s the last thing I want.” Is it?

“Don’t let it happen again” he says in a voice that is so soft, contradicting his threatening words. But you know best not to take it lightly.

See that’s the thing with ex husband Geto, he lures you in with his sweetness so well, you become too scared to get on his bad side, you always want the good side.

You watch him place a bouquet of Japanese pink camelia flowers on the table, making your eyes widen. “Geto-“

“I came here to give you some flowers for valentines” he explains quietly, “all I wanted was to show you my feelings are sincere whether we’re married or not” he guilt trips you and you know you’re falling for it when he towers over you and holds your face in his large hands. You always do when it came to your beloved ex husband.

So you’re complicit when you picks you up and places you on the sofa, his large hands move to your thighs, groping and kissing them, chuckling when you gasp at his fingers fiddling with the lining of your underwear.

“I know you just needed some love sweetheart, but you don’t have to go to other men, that’s what I’m here for” he convinced you as he ties up his long black hair but his eyes are still interlocked with yours.

And that’s how you always end up getting fucked by your psycho ex husband. Legs dangling in the air as you scream while he gets all the right spots with that skilful tongue of this.

Pink camellia flowers (aka/ tsubaki) are known to express a deep romantic longing and persistent desire.

[iamasimperyk]

Gold Digger

Summary: Someone told your stepson you would be a gold digger.

Warnings: Age gap, fluff, kid being a little brat, not proof read, English is not my first language

Pairing: Older!Rafe x Younger!reader

You married Rafe when you were 21 while he was 31. Before you came into his life, he was already married once and had a six-year-old son.

It was a big step for you to be with someone who had his life all sorted out, but it didn't stop you from being with Rafe in the first place.

The two of you met a few years ago in a cute little Café where you worked to get some extra money. You lived in a small flat, trying your best to pay your bills.

Since you were Rafe Cameron's wife now, you never had to pay for anything anymore. Your husband always made sure to provide you with everything you needed.

You were on your way to pick up Lucas, Rafe's son, from school.

The little boy was as charming as Rafe and saw you as his mother. His biological mother left the moment Rafe decided to divorce and never thought about her son ever again.

You remembered the day Lucas turned four. It was his first birthday without his mother. He didn't stop crying, asking constantly about his mother and why she couldn't be here on his special day. Rafe tried his best to calm his son, but nothing worked.

That moment broke your heart, and after it, you made sure to provide Lucas with all the love you could give him. That was also something Rafe noticed, and unknowingly to you, it made him fall in love with you even more.

"Mommy!" Lucas shouted as he came running out of the school entrance.

One day after he came home from kindergarten, he started calling you 'mom' all of a sudden. You looked at Rafe, who seemed as surprised as you before he started grinning.

That memory will always have a special place in your heart.

"Hey, buddy, how was your day?" You asked, leaning down a little to hug him.

"I learned a new word today." He smiled proudly.

"Oh really ?" You asked, a little confused.

Lucas nodded, "My friend, Marc, told me."

Marc. Rafe and you didn't like that boy one a bit. He was quite good at manipulating and often responsible for all sorts of trouble.

"He said you are a golddigger." Lucas smiled at you.

You were aware of the fact of what the word meant, but it seemed like Lucas wasn't.

"Oh, and why am I a gold digger?" You asked him calmly.

"Because you always look so beautiful, like gold." He gave you a grin that looked similar to your husband's.

It was clear to you that the little boy had no clue about what the word actually meant. You let out a sigh, "Sweetie, a gold digger is someone who is in a relationship because of money. Do you think I am with your dad because of money?"

He quickly shook his head, "Marc said you are a gold digger, but he didn't explain why. I just thought he said it because he thought you are beautiful."

"Sometimes people will say things you don't understand, but it's important to ask about the meaning of the words," You told him, "Also, I want you to know that Marc maybe is not a real friend if he calls someone in your family a gold digger."

"I am sorry, mom." He apologized immediately and hugged you.

"Don't worry. I just want you to know that I am no gold digger. I love you and your dad a lot." You smiled brightly and took his hand to lead him to your car.

As you told Rafe later that night about the incident, he had enough of this Marc kid and made sure your son never had to deal with him again.

[the-dumpster-fire-of-life]

His Second Chance

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Everything was groggy when you finally came back, a sting in your neck making it painful to move.

Ignoring the pain the best you could, you looked around, only to see you were back in Miles' room.

But, not really. This wasn't your world.

Once it hit that you didn't wake up back at home, in bed with your Miles you sat up quickly, trying to move out of bed only to see your hands were tied and your ankles.

They weren't tied harshly, like the one who tied them with care, careful not to hurt you even when you moved around but strong enough you couldn't get out.

"What- what the fuck…" you muttered, trying to pull your hands free or get the knots undone before you heard a chair squeak and you froze.

"Don't worry about it. Can't get 'em off. Stop trying."

You turned your head quickly to Miles' chair, the back turned to you as a familiar deep and stoic voice spoke.

"Won't know if I don't try." You quipped back, trying to make whatever light of the situation you could, at least try to get you and Miles out alive.

And you could swear, you heard almost a chuckle come from behind that chair, quickly ended by the one sitting in it.

"...Why are you here?" He asked, quickly getting to the point as you scoffed.

"You're the one holding us here? We just wanna get home." You put it bluntly, going back to working on your toes as he wasn't looking.

"No." You could hear him say, the chair turning around as you worked faster before he saw.

"I mean, why are you here?" He asked, demanding as the chair finally turned.

You couldn't help but freeze as you saw his face.

It was Miles.

Your Miles.

But, not really. This Miles was visibly different and you could tell. This Miles was cold. This Miles just stared at you instead of smiling like yours did.

He was not your Miles.

Your Miles was knocked out somewhere, and needed you to get out of here.

"How are you here when you're not even supposed to be breathing?" This Miles brought you back from your shock, watching the confusion and realization sink in.

This was his world. The world where you guys disrupted the canon. The one with no Spider-Man.

So now you were forced to look at his suit, a suit similar to one Uncle Aaron wore when he was dubbed the Prowler.

"I'm not…we're not supposed to be here." You muttered, looking at everything and how similar it was to your Miles' room, down to every last picture of both of you in every same place.

"But you are." Miles bluntly reiterated, staring at you, his eyes going over and over your face like he was trying to find any similarities and any differences, he found all of one.

"You're the Prowler…? You can't be- you can't be the Prowler." You denied, stumbling over your words out of shock and shaking your head.

"Wanna know how I became the Prowler?" Miles somehow was amused by your shock and confusion, standing up to walk to you.

You couldn't find it in yourself to back away as he leaned down to you on the bed, his face close to yours as he stared into you.

"Because my dad died. And you died. Know what it's like to watch your girlfriend crushed to death with your dad on TV?" Miles muttered, his gaze never leaving you.

"And finding your body under all that?" Miles kept going, watching every reaction you did, your eyes darting around as you took in the new information.

"Now you're back…" Miles muttered, a small smirk can't help but to make its way onto his lips as he kept thinking of all the possibilities, the second chance he had now in his grip.

"Looking just as pretty as the day you left." Miles complimented, his smirk only growing as he used his fingers to pull your chin up to look at him.

"You think I'm gonna let that go?" Miles chuckled, amused at how you wanted to just leave, because he wasn't gonna let you.

"Miles. I'm…I'm not your (Name). I'm sure she loved you- but I'm not her." You tried to explain, shaking your head.

"But you are in some multiverse way. Right?" Miles laid the sarcasm on, his smirk slowly leaving as he heard how much you denied.

"Please. Just let us go home. I'm sure I loved you as much as you did me here, but you're not my Miles and I'm not your (Name)." You shook your head, a plea to understand.

"So please, let us go home." You begged one more last time as Miles just now stared at you, face blank the more you went on about leaving him.

Again.

"...How come he gets to have you and everything while I'm stuck here with what could've been avoided?" Miles scoffed, his hand making its way onto your cheek, feeling your skin he hadn't felt in so long.

"It doesn't work like that." Miles muttered, staring into your eyes, his hand lingering before he pulled away, turning his back to you and to the door.

"Miles! Please, just let us go! I- we don't belong here!" You yelled after him, desperate for him to understand as he activated his mask.

"You did once before. You'll do it again...But he won't."

Miles out on his glove, his mask over his face as your pleas fell onto deaf ears as he walked away.

He wasn't losing his second chance.

Not to that Miles, not to anyone.

You weren't leaving him again.