#but my obgyn is really booked and even squeezing me in/getting me in sooner is two weeks away

[dragongeek1]

well friends I have officially joined the Chronic Pain Club, it’s not great to be here, there’s a chance it’s only temporary but my gut says ‘hmm many doubts’ and I won’t really know for a couple of weeks anyway until my doctors appointment. So. Been navigating that for four days and well we’re navigating at least

[milady-pink]

Waitress AU

Warnings: Food/baking, domestic abuse, unplanned pregnancy, cheating

Summary: Working at a dead end job, waitress Christine soon finds herself with a new problem: an unplanned pregnancy. Life is all about trying to find the sweet spots and luckily this pie genius has a new (and pretty adorkably sexy) OBGYN, who isn’t too happy at home either.

TL;DR Quirky cute and sexy Erik as a doctor, lab coat and all.

Word Count: 1869 || Graphics: @firefly-graphics

"You Will Still Be Mine "

Recipe Book

AO3

Christine opened the rundown screen door letting it slam shut as she walked through the house to the kitchen. But on the way she notices a familiar slouched body sitting on the beaten up couch watching something on the outdated tv. Although all she really wanted to do was hide away in the kitchen baking, Christine knew she had to address the elephant on the couch sooner or later.

“Raoul,” she approached cautiously, “whattaya doin’ home this early? You forget it’s Tuesday?” She tried to tease, but regretted it immediately when he groaned sitting up in his spot. As long as he doesn’t get physical, everything will be okay.

“Well, you can thank my asshole of a foreman cause it looks like I’m gonna be home a lot more now.” Christine feared what he meant but bit her tongue to keep herself from saying anything, waiting for him to sip his beer before continuing. “The guy says I’ve been late one too many times and straight up fires me! So I told him, you can take your toolbox and shove it up your ass! I don’t even want this goddamn job, nevertheless your shit attitude. He even had the audacity to call me arrogant, can you believe that! Loser’s been waitin’ since high school to stick it to me.” He trailed off.

Having already guessed that this would happen when she first noticed his presence hours earlier than he was expected, Christine was thinking of a pie. Over the years of their not-so-happy marriage, Raoul has inadvertently been the muse to many of her most uniquely flavored pies. Case in point, today the sloppy workman gave inspiration to a savory pie; lined with thinly sliced potatoes, filled with onion, chive, and cream cheese filling. Left in the oven a tad too long because you took a nap and forgot to take it out on time, giving it a slightly charred flavoring.

But, as is always the case, Christine didn’t voice any of these frustrations to her husband. Instead she tried to appease to his hurt ego for being fired by saying, “Raoul I’m so sorry, we’ll figure out somethi—”

He cut her off angrily, always hating when someone was disappointed in him but never said it. “Don’t feel sorry for me, I’m fine! I’m so fine in fact, I’m celebratin’! And seeing as how you’re gonna be the bread— pie winner around here, best time to show me how we did today.” Taking the hint, Christine searches through her bag and pulls out the small wad of bills she earned today. His displeased face as she handed it over told her no good would come from this. “That it?” She nods. “You gotta be shittin’ me!”

“Today was slower than normal.” She defended.

“Well,” he said placing the money into his back pocket, “maybe you should start movin’ a little bit faster…. Where’s my kiss sugar pie?” She places a chaste kiss on his lips, the scruff a little longer today scratching her chin uncomfortably. Instead of being satisfied by what little she wanted to offer, he grabbed her by the shoulders and held her to him. “Kiss me like you mean it, damn it, I’m your husband.” He told her, gruffly.

Christine knew too well that Raoul would stretch a mile from an inch, and the last thing she wanted right now was to be intimate with her husband who berates her and lost his job. “I’m not feelin’ too good today, Raoul, I’m sorry—”

His rough hands grab handfuls of her body, squeezing and massaging, non of which felt good to Christine. “You feel pretty good to be, baby.” He dismissed her, “Help me relaxe, take away my bad day.”

Trying and failing to get out of his arms, Christine tries to redirect his attention, knowing from past experiences it’s worked before. “H-how about I get you somethin’ to eat, huh? I brought leftovers home from work—chicken pot pie—”

But he didn't relent in his hold, keeping her body to his in a vice grip. “You think I’m stupid, that I don’t know what you’re doin’ huh?” His voice is getting steadily louder right in her ear, upset that his wife should refuse him and his wants.

“No I—”

“No?”

Thinking fast so he doesn’t get worked up too much, Christine tries to reason him enough to think clearly, or at least calm him enough so she can run to the bedroom and lock the door, like has happened in the past. “No I just thought that after such a hard day of work, you’d like some warm pie an—”

“I told you I’m not fuckin’ hungry!” He uses his strength to push her away, at least granting her a small wish. Christine stumbles a bit and regains her balance by placing a hand on the back of the couch.

By this point of his rage there was no use in strategic thoughtfulness, no choice but to do or say anything to get her husband to either leave her alone or…

“Raoul, please calm down.”

Like gas to a flame, he does anything but what his frightened wife asks. “Calm down? I’ll show you how to calm down.” He rears his dominance hand back, gearing up to use it on her, not for the first time. 

With all of her reasoning out the window, Christine said the one thing that could save her from a black eye, or worse.

“I’m pregnant!” She yells from behind her hands shielding herself from her husband's hand, scared out of her wit that it might make matters worse. 

A silence overtook the little ranch house, all of the chipped fine china in the cupboards stood still, the peeling floral yellow wallpaper didn’t dare move. Everything frozen in time as the pregnant waitress waited for her husband to land a hurtful blow upon her.

But it never came.

Instead, he speaks so quietly that Christine almost thought she imagined it. “Pregnant? Well, when were ya gonna tell me?”

Peeking out from behind her arms, she looked over to him to make sure the coast was clear and another violent outburst wasn’t luring her out from safety, ready to attack. 

“I-I know you’ve been under some pressure for a while now. I was just waitin’ for a window of time to tell you.”

He huffs out a breath, “What perfect timing!” Running his hands through his hair he responds.

Still cautious that he could flip on her again, Christine apologizes to keep her in his good graces. “I’m really sorry Raoul.”

Apparently crashing from his surge of anger, he flops down onto the couch and puts his head between his hands. It’s quiet for a while until he looks back up and breaks the silence. “That’s why you’ve been lookin’ so tired all the time—” shifting his gaze to Christine, who still stood behind the couch. He motions her over to him telling her, “C’mon sit down babe, carrying a child and all.” Following his orders to keep him happy, she rounds the couch and sits by the arm rest, as far as she can get without upsetting him. 

“My God, look at that— I’m havin’ a baby! Lil’ Raoul Junior, the family name lives on!” He startles Christine by placing his hand on her stomach, softly, even though it’ll be weeks until she starts showing. She watched his face intensely, ready to run if he showed even the slightest bit of anger again. 

Instead of anger, a mixed look of accusation and envy crosses his features. “Wha-what if you start lovin’ on this baby more than me?” He takes his hand off of her, thankfully, but the relief she feels from that is replaced by caution as she looks into her eyes. “Ya know women do that all the time. Have a baby and say, ‘to hell with the man’ and get a divorce.”

Trying to understand the situation right, Christine asks him, “Are you jealous of the baby?” Slowly speaking so he can tell her she’s being stupid and she can stop her sentence right there.

Raoul’s face scrunched up in disgust, unamused with what she questioned him of. “No I’m not jealous, that’s way below me. Just, talkin’ my feelin’s out is all.” Then, so suddenly it scared Christine who was still jittery from almost getting hit, he fell to the floor. With his knees on the ugly shag carpet they couldn’t afford to get removed, he took her hands between his own. “Sugar promise me,” he said, speaking directly into her eyes, “that you will not love this baby more than you love me.”

“Yeah, sure Raoul..” she agreed, hoping to soothe his fragile ego.

“No, say ‘I promise’.” He insisted.

“I said yes, Raoul—”

“Christine,” he interrupted, “I need to hear you say this. It’s you and me before anything, yeah? Just like when we were kids.” He finished and stood up to his full height, then left Christine to go grab his prized guitar that was sitting next to the faded orange armchair. It, like most of the furniture and appliances in their home, were given to them by Raoul’s family when his dad passed and his mom moved away.

He strummed a few chords on the acoustic guitar that he paid a little over $2,000 dollars for in high school, back when he wanted to be a professional rockstar. The notes rang out into the living room as he started speaking to his wife. “Remember, back in school when I showed off my clean shaven face to everyone? Huh, boy, times have changed.” He took one hand off the guitar to scratch at his chin before resuming his strumming. “The second I got this bad boy,” referencing the guitar, “I wrote love songs to impress the little baking prodigy in home ec., trying to get a piece of the pie.” He wiggled his eyebrows at his suaveness.

“You loved that sad one, I sang all the time.” He continued, much to Christine’s shagrin, adding a small melody to his voice. “Remember that one line, something ‘bout sunshine, you made me sing it on repeat.” He leaned in to Christine, “Sing it baby…”

So, she did, because Christine was tired and didn’t want to fight anymore; not even for herself. 

“Till the sun don’t shine, you will still be mine.” Her light soprano voice always sounded like honey to his gravelly bass.

Raoul went on singing about how everything was changing, for the better, and what a different person he’s become because of it. He kept singing, mostly the old refrain from their days at school, reminding Christine that she’s never going to leave him. 

Even if she had the money, or won the pie contest, or if someone swooped in to save her, Raoul was always going to be a present constant in her life. She had a baby with him, another human being that might have his eyes, or his smile, his angry fists. 

She will always have his angry words as scars written on her heart, even after years without him, she will still be owned.

“You will still be mine…mmhmmm…..

….Mine.”

[essiefreds]

I wrote this a couple of weeks back, after watching OutDaughtered on TLC. I don’t know if it could also turn into a series. Probably, if I wanted it badly enough. 

Obviously, the idea came from the show, and from this prompt over @thefandomimagine

I know y’all Steve Rogers fans are waiting on Part 17 of Step By Step, and she’ll come, I promise. I’m just... not sure when. So, hopefully, this tides everybody over? 

Word Count: 3442

Maria Grace Stark weighed three pounds, four ounces when she was born at thirty two weeks, two days gestation, which was very, very small. So small, in fact, that Tony was close to refusing to hold her, strictly because he was afraid of breaking her.

“She’s not going to break,” you’d told him, when the NICU staff told the two of you that she was healthy enough to be held skin-to-skin, about two weeks after she’d been delivered. “She’s a tiny human, and yes, she’s more fragile than a big human, but -”

“More fragile,” Tony said, cutting you off even before you could make a case. “That’s all I need to hear.”

You sighed to yourself, and looked at your daughter, who was currently nestled against your chest. Her eyes were closed, and you frowned a little, listening to how raspy her breathing still sounded. You didn’t say anything, because you knew that they would not have taken her off the big oxygen machine if she still needed it. The staff knew what they were doing; if they didn’t, Tony would not have let you have Maria at this specific hospital.

Still. It was worrying.

“She’s so small,” Tony said, and not for the first time.

You glanced up at him, and smiled slightly. “Smaller than your head,” you agreed.

In response, he’d stuck his tongue out at you, in a very non-CEO-of-a-company way. You chuckled, and Maria shifted, slightly. You glanced down at her again, just to make sure she wasn’t uncomfortable, but her tiny expression hadn’t changed. She was still fast asleep.

You relaxed, and glanced up at the ceiling of the hospital room.  

Her birth had been scary. Obviously. No one wanted to have a baby early, and it was even more terrifying for you, when you’d already dealt with a miscarriage. When you’d started to feel contractions about thirty hours before Maria was brought into the world, you panicked, which was something you weren’t supposed to do.

Unsurprisingly, Tony had been the level-headed one, calmly assuring you that things were going to be fine, that you were going to be fine, and most importantly, that the baby was going to be fine.

Still, that hadn’t helped when she’d been delivered via cesarean section, and you’d heard her struggling to breathe, even with how drowsy you were from medication. The tiny cries that came with each battle for breath were heartbreaking. She’d been so small.

And then she’d been taken away, hurried to the NICU instead of your arms, and you hadn’t seen her again until the next morning.

And then you’d only been able to see her through a plastic box, like she was some kind of precious piece of art in a museum. You weren’t arguing that she wasn’t precious, because she was… you only wanted to hold her, and you weren’t allowed to.

But then the second week had arrived, and you were given permission to hold her. Even though she was still small, she had gained several ounces since she’d been born, which put her at a healthier weight. She wasn’t eating the way she was supposed to, still, but the NICU staff assured that she was improving with every feeding. She was gaining weight everyday, at any rate, and that was good.

Still, even as you relaxed, Tony seemed to grow more worried. He confided that it was just because he wanted to get her home, but you wondered if there was more to it. Because he was stubborn, and you couldn’t handle the stress of a baby in the NICU and a moody husband, you did not pressure him into talking about it.

You had had a shaky start with Tony. The two of you had attended MIT together, and from the beginning, it was a battle for who would be the top of the class. In the end, neither of you had been, but that was just because you’d ended up wrapped up in one another, instead of your studies.

It was kind of strange; you hadn’t thought you wanted to marry Tony, ever. He did not seem the marrying type, and it had just… never been a plan, with him taking over Stark Industries, and you handling your own projects for different cancer research centers. You’d just assumed that you’d both be too busy to have a wedding, start a family, and for the first ten years or so after graduation, that was how it had been.

Until the two of you had taken a trip to Italy, and Tony had proposed during a private dinner at a small bistro. In the end, you hadn’t said no, and the wedding had taken place five months later, because you had not wanted it to be a lavish affair.

The first pregnancy hadn’t been planned, and the miscarriage had been unexpected. When Maria suddenly came into the picture, as a second pregnancy, both you and Tony had immediately decided to do everything you could to make sure she developed properly, and for the complete timespan that Mother Nature typically called for.

Sometimes, though, things didn’t work out the way that you hoped, despite how careful you’d been to follow both your OBGYN’s instructions, and every other tip that you received. It was confusing, though; sometimes, tips would contradict one another, one baby book would suggest one thing, while another suggested something else. It was hard, to know exactly what the best thing was for the tiny baby you were trying to protect and help grow.

So, when you’d started experiencing contractions two months before you were meant to, it was… not a great feeling.

But everything was good, now. She was being taken care of in the NICU, with the best staff that the hospital had to offer by way of neonatal care. She was going to be fine.

Even though she still had a breathing device on her face, and she was still being fed via a tube.

Eventually, you had to give her up, so that she could be returned to her incubator. Tony watched her get wheeled away, and then he turned to you.

“I feel helpless,” he said. “Like, I know there’s really nothing I can do, but let the people who know how to help her do their jobs, but… she’s my daughter. I feel like I should be doing something.”

“You’re not the only one,” you replied softly.

He reached over and slid his hand into yours, inhaling slowly. You ran your thumb against the back of his hand, wishing that there was more you could say to make things better.

The truth was, things wouldn’t be better, until you could take her home. Even then, there would always been the threat of something happening to her. Preemies were fragile; any little thing could eventually turn into a big thing.

“We’ll have eighteen years of taking care of her,” you finally managed, and you smiled slightly when Tony let out a chuckle in response.

“Yeah,” he said. “That’s true.”

Silence fell while you changed out of the hospital gown they had asked you to put on while holding Maria. Tony gazed down at the floor, clearly deep in thought. As you finished pulling down on the skirt of the sundress you were wearing, you looked at him.

“You okay?” He shook his head, after a moment, and you walked over to where he sat in a chair, placing a hand on his shoulder. You gave it a comforting rub. “What is it?”

“Just - everything, I guess,” he murmured. One of his hands lifted to wipe at his eyes, and the other one reached up to cover where yours was resting on his shoulder. “I just worry, about her now, about her later… did they tell you?”

“Tell me what?” you asked, frowning slightly.

Tony exhaled, shakily, and then he glanced up at you. “There’s a chance she’s going to grow up with asthma, because of how underdeveloped her lungs still are.”

“What? I thought things were on track.”

“I don’t know,” he sighed. “One of the nurses told me that they think she should be breathing on her own, sooner rather than later, but every time they try to take her off the machine, things go badly.”

You rubbed at the spot between your eyebrows, and Tony squeezed your hand. “I just - they’re supposed to help… help her develop, the rest of the way,” you mumbled. “If her lungs aren’t… aren’t growing, then what - what are we doing?”

Tony pulled you over until he could make you sit down on his lap. The two of you sat like that for a moment, him holding you, and you gazing into the middle distance, your thoughts with your daughter. You almost wished that Tony hadn’t told you what he’d learned, because now your nerves were frayed even more. Asthma was far from the worst thing a child could grow up with, but underdeveloped lungs could lead to a number of problems further down the line.

“Hey,” Tony finally said, softly, after several minutes had passed. He brushed his hand through your hair. “She’s gonna be okay. We can take care of her, no matter what happens.”

It was true, you could. You did not lack the resources to help make sure that Maria was as healthy as possible, even if she was faced with complications as she grew older. The notion of that, however, made you think about the parents with babies in the NICU that couldn’t take care of their kids, pay the bills that would come with care currently, and later on.

“We can,” you murmured, “and that’s good for us, but what about everyone else?”

The hand he had in your hair stilled. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, we can take care of our baby, but what about the parents who can’t take care of theirs?” You lifted your head from where it had been resting on his shoulder, to look at him. “I mean, no one chooses to have a baby in the NICU, and some people can’t afford it.”

Tony exhaled a breath. “I know what you’re getting at,” he said, “and maybe we can do something to help, but… can’t we talk about this after we have our daughter home with us?”

You relaxed, a little. At least he hadn’t immediately turned down the suggestion. “Yeah,” you said, smiling at him. “Of course.” You placed a brief kiss against his lips. “Thank you.”

“You should get home,” he said quietly in response. “You’ve been here all day.”

“I know.”

“Y/N, you need to go home and get some rest,” Tony said, his tone growing firm. “You’re already stressed; stressed and exhausted is not a good combination. The last thing we need is for you to get sick.”

He was right. If you wanted to be able to visit the following day, you needed to head home and relax, maybe even get some sleep.

“You’re staying here?” you asked him, moving off of his lap to retrieve your bag.

He nodded, standing up. “I want to. I can’t do much, obviously, but I don’t… I don’t want to leave her here alone.”

You managed a small smile for him, and walked back over to where he was. You kissed him again, and then hugged him. He held you close for a long moment. You closed your eyes, willing for time to pass quickly, so that neither of you would need to stay behind at the hospital for much longer. You willed for the day that you were able to take your daughter home to arrive sooner rather than later. 

The day did arrive, sooner rather than later, but only after you were informed by a doctor that Maria was at risk for developing something he referred to as bronchopulmonary dysplasia. Thankfully, he called it BPD rather than the other name it was known by: chronic lung disease. That name was just… too scary for you to hear over and over again.

He explained, and not for the first time, that Maria’s breathing problems were partially due to the underdevelopment of her lungs, and also to the fact that her body was unable to produce enough of the liquid that lungs needed inside of them in order to keep from sticking together when she exhaled. As such, oxygen was provided to her, in order to prevent such a case in which she was unable to breath for herself, and she was still breathing through a machine by the time that she was six pounds, four ounces, and big enough to go home.

Almost four months after she’d been born, you and Tony were able to bring your daughter home, along with a breathing machine that she would need to be hooked to at night. The nurses in the NICU had given the two of you a course on how to work the machine. You were glad that the two of you were handy with such things, because it made it a bit easier to understand how to use it. They’d assured that, after a check-up two months later, Maria would most likely be able to breathe on her own. You and Tony were both determined to make sure of that.

The first night was an experience. Although both of you were grateful to finally have her home, the stress of making sure that she was comfortable and all of her needs were met was grating. It did not help that sometimes, her breathing would sound like a wheeze, and you’d panic immediately, wondering if she needed her mask.

“Babe,” Tony said, more than once, “she’s fine. They said it might happen, remember? We don’t have to worry unless she starts to cry.”

You’d nod in agreement, and force your heart to stop racing.

Maria was a precious baby. She did not cry as much as you’d expected her to, and you thought that it was because it exerted too much of her energy. The doctor had also said that, because of how her heart had needed to make up for whatever work her lack of lung development created, she was a lot smaller than she should have been, for how long she’d been in the NICU, and how old she technically was.

As such, most of her energy was reserved for meeting all of her body’s needs, rather than for dealing with external issues. Because of this, you and Tony had to be on top of her schedule, both feeding- and bathroom-wise. Diapers were changed five times a day, and she was fed as often as possible, which had been recommended. Her lung problem made it more difficult for her to suck, which meant she did not eat as much during each feeding as a normal baby. As such, she needed to be fed more often, to compensate.

Which meant two middle-of-the-night feedings, instead of just the one that other parents dealt with.

You didn’t mind. How could you? She was home, and she was your daughter. You’d wanted her to be home for so long; there was no way you could be upset with any of the stress that you had to deal with because of her.

Tony felt the same, you knew, but you also knew that things were harder for him. He had a company to run, not that he really ran it, normally. Still, you knew that he needed time to himself; his brain worked too hard on a regular basis to be surrounded by people and other stressors at all times. It was something that you’d grown to accept about him.

When it came to Maria, however, you needed his help. He couldn’t disappear into his lab for hours on end on a daily basis. You needed him with you, present at all times. And it was wearing him thin. You could tell, just by looking at him. You also knew that he wouldn’t tell you so, because he cared too much about you, and about how much you were already doing without his help. He could be stupidly selfless when he wanted to be, especially when it came to you. In fact, you’d only ever known him to be truly selfless when it came to you.

And it was annoying.

About a month after you’d brough Maria home, you walked into the main room of your home in Malibu, to find that Tony was seated on the couch. Maria was cradled on his thighs, and he was clapping her hands together, gently, smiling down at her all the while.

You watched him with your daughter for a moment, grateful that he hadn’t seen you. It wasn’t often that he was alone with her; usually, he was the one to leave you alone, but only when you asked him to. You’d known that he would make a wonderful father, but seeing him in moments like this… well, it merely confirmed it. You were so incredibly grateful that he was the one that you were doing this with.

Eventually, he realized you were there. His smile softened, a little, as he met your gaze. “Hi,” he said. “Have a good shower?”

“Yeah, thank you,” you said, moving towards where he sat on the couch. “I needed it.” You settled down next to him, and rested your chin on his shoulder, one of your arms around his waist. The two of you gazed down at Maria for a moment in silence.

Her eyes were open, big and brown, just like Tony’s. She was looking around her, and you wondered what she could be thinking as she gazed around the space, saw the big windows, took in the sunlight. Her hair, which was growing in as a soft, dark fuzz, was a little disheveled. You reached over, and gently smoothed it down.

“She looks like you,” you commented idly, returning your hand to where it had previously been resting on Tony’s arm.

“No,” Tony said, grinning. “She’s too gorgeous; it’s all you.”

You chuckled, and then pressed a kiss to his temple. “We need to feed her,” you said.

“Ah.” Tony immediately started to slip his hands beneath her, in order to pick her up and transfer her over to you. You shook your head, however, and moved away from him, standing up. He blinked at you.

“You’re gonna feed her.”

He frowned. “No?”

“Yes,” you retorted, and you moved away towards the kitchen before he could argue further. As you walked into the darkened room, the lights came on, and you smiled when you saw that the bottle warmer that sat on one of the counter tops was already on, waiting.

“Thanks, JARVIS,” you said to the AI that helped run the house, and Tony’s lab.

“You’re welcome, madam,” the British voice responded. “I’d like to congratulate you on remembering this feeding time without a reminder.”

You smiled, retrieving one of the prepared bottles of breast milk from the fridge, and carrying it over to the bottle warmer. You set it down, and then set the timer for thirty seconds. “It ingrains itself, eventually.” The timer went off, and you pulled the bottle out again, shaking some of the formula onto your hand. It was warm enough. “Is he panicking?”

Immediately, a screen appeared on the wall in front of you, showing you black-and-white footage of the living room. Tony was holding Maria in his arms, now, had moved a pillow beneath his elbow in preparation for the feeding.

“Good,” you said, more to yourself than to JARVIS.

“He does seem to have adapted well to parenthood,” the AI replied all the same. “It’s quite impressive. I wouldn’t have expected it of him.”

“Can you expect things of him?” you queried. The silence that followed the question was telling enough. “Right.”

You carried the bottle back into the living room, and you passed it off to Tony. He held it for a moment, glancing between it and you. You offered him an encouraging nod, and he sighed, before he lifted the bottle, and held it towards Maria.

Immediately, she latched onto it, and you listened as she hungrily sucked down the formula that was inside of it. She was improving. That much was obvious. She did not wheeze as often, and the coughing that sometimes followed an eager feeding had stopped happening. You’d seen progress happen in the NICU, but you hadn’t thought about what it would be like to see it at home.

For a moment, you allowed yourself to think that things might eventually be normal.

[supervalor]

Kismet: Chapter Four

Sorry for the wait, I’ve been busy! Epilogue will come in a day or two.

Title: Kismet

Pairings: Karamel/Sanvers

Chapters : 4/5

Previous: 3

It was three days after Mon-El’s return when he finally came out to the public…for the first time, technically, since the future hadn’t happened yet. They were actually in the middle of one of Kara’s check-ups at the DEO when they were alerted about a possible hostile alien running wild in the middle of National City. J’onn was already out as Supergirl preventing a nuclear disaster on the other side of the country and Clark was busy in Metropolis.

“I hate to break it to you guys but we’re on our own with this one”, Winn told them, having been the one to inform them of the situation to begin with after interrupting Alex waving the ultrasound stick over Kara’s belly, who was wearing a blue kryptonite bracelet to allow this to happen.

When Mon-El had first seen the technology he’d been bemused but amazed that he was actually going to be able to see his children. Alex had just about managed to turn the machine on and begin the ultrasound when the tech guy barged in and was on the receiving end of three dirty looks. He’d apologised, stammering out the reason why he was there but feeling guilty for ending the intimate moment so abruptly.

“Well I hate to be the one to break this to you but Kara is in no condition to go out fighting”, Alex retorted, giving her very round belly a pointed look, making Kara feel self-conscious of her size. She’d burst into tears the first time she realised how big she was getting but when Alex pointed out that Beyoncé was expecting twins, Kara immediately cheered up though still insecure since she didn’t feel like she was up to Beyoncé’s standards. “You’re Supergirl. Don’t be stupid” was all her sister would say in response.

“I never said she was but with J’onn away, you’re the acting director”, Winn reminded her and she jolted, clearly realising that he was right and that she was not just in fact her sister’s makeshift  OBGYN and doting Auntie to be.

Alex sighed and began to clear the gel off Kara’s belly. “You’re right. I’ll get a team dispatched and we’ll take this bastard down. I’m going to shoot him in uncomfortable places just for taking me away from my sister”.

Suddenly Mon-El stood up. Even though he didn’t want to leave Kara’s side or miss the babies check-up, he also didn’t want Kara fretting about Alex and possibly raising her blood pressure. Mon-El knew he was more than capable of handling one alien by himself and he was bound to start with the heroics again sooner or later. Why not now? “Wait, I could go?”

The older Danvers shot him a grateful look even as Kara began to protest.  

“Really?”

“I’ll be back before you know it”, he said, speaking more to Kara to reassure her than anyone else in the room.

“Promise me you’ll be safe. I only just got you back”, Kara begged, her blue eyes watering with tears.

“And you’ll still have me. I’ll be back in a second. You won’t even know I was gone”.

“Trust me, I’ll know”.

With a brief kiss to her lips, Mon-El super sped out of the room, changed into his super suit and headed towards the streets where a giant purple alien with a horse-like head was causing chaos, throwing people around and breathing literal fire in their direction. “Hey Pegasus over here!” he yelled and became the creature’s new target. It didn’t take long before Mon-El was able to use his strength to hold it still while he injected it with a tranquillizer before carting it back to the DEO and putting it into one of the containment rooms.

“Kara, I’m back”, he announced walking into the medical room, still dressed in his costume. Alex looked up and smiled while trying to keep her sister still.

“Don’t move, sis. I’m not done with you yet”.

“Hey babe”, Mon-El was quick to come over to her and give her a long, reassuring kiss.

“You were two minutes. I’m impressed”, she smiled.

“Well I really wanted to get back here and meet our kids”.

“Daddy, meet your son and daughter”, Alex declared causing Mon-E to turn his head to look at the screen in front of them. Immediately his grey eyes grew round.

“That’s amazing…I’ve never seen anything like this ever”.

“Me neither. Kryptonians and Daxamites didn’t reproduce this way traditionally back on our planets”, Kara pointed out with a large smile on her face. “Even though this way is so much better”.

“I always thought I’d end up donating a bit of DNA like a strand of hair or something with some stranger I was forced to marry for political reasons”.

Kara squeezed Mon-El’s hand, able to empathise with him. “I was promised to one of my father’s colleague’s sons who was a scientist. I was never given a choice either”.

“I love you and I’m so lucky that you found me”.

“We found each other”, Kara corrected him and they went back to staring at their children with love and awe.

Later that day, Mon-El went out and patrolled National City while Kara worked on her article that was due the next day…an article that was all about National City’s latest hero. By the end of it she had named him and was feeling proud of herself.

After she sent it to Snapper, she also tagged Cat Grant in her email, hoping for her opinion on the name. All she got was a four word response. I AM SO PROUD. With a large grin on her face, she made her way to bed but she wouldn’t be sleeping. She’d be reading as she waited for her boyfriend to return.

Mon-El was exhausted from patrolling all over the city for hours on end and was relieved when he got home and dropped into bed with his sleeping girlfriend, who’d clearly tried to wait up for him but had fallen to sleep with a book over her face. He moved the book onto her nightstand before wrapping his arms around her protectively.

As long as he was alive, nobody was going to harm her or their children. He imagined his mother suddenly coming back from hell (which is where he imagined quite happily that she’d gone to) to attack them and felt a rage like no other. It made him wonder how his mother could have ever done anything to harm him or his cause of happiness. He would never be able to do that this own children.

Morning came quick and with it, a copy of that day’s issue of Catco magazine. Kara had passed it to him over breakfast (which he had made obviously) and his eyes took it in with a grin.

VALOR RISES! NEW HERO COMES TO THE AID OF NATIONAL CITY CITIZENS.

Written by Kara Danvers.