concrete girl

not a native english speaker. latina, 27. i write mainly bad omens fanfiction. my asks are always open for your thoughts and ideas. kpopper and metalhead.

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hey, i’m Iris!

she/her — 27y — latina

you can send me thoughts, ideas, suggestions and all that.

for now, only write about bad omens.

stories:

BAD DESIRE (noah sebastian x bassist reader) - on going - 15/?

ECHOES OF NIGHT part 1 and part 2 (dad! noah sebastian x ex!hookup reader) - part 1: 21/21 | part 2: coming soon/?

MIRACLE (single dad! noah sebastian x kindergander teacher reader) - coming soon

GHOST TOWN (ghost face! noah sebastian x ofc) - coming soon

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you'e such a good writer <3

Thank you so much <3 I'm really trying my best to write good stories 🥹

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CHOES OF NIGHT - PART 2 - CHAPTER THREE

Pairing: dad! Noah Sebastian x reader

author's note: none

masterlist

The days after that kitchen conversation settle into a careful, tender rhythm; the kind you’ve come to cherish in the two years since everything changed. Mornings begin the same way they have since you moved into this house: Kara’s small feet pattering down the hallway before the sun is fully up, her voice a sleepy but insistent demand for “Daddy pancakes with extra smiley faces and chocolate chip eyes that actually smile, not the weird ones from last time.” 

Noah is always the first one out of bed, hair tousled and eyes still heavy with the remnants of whatever late-night melody kept him in the studio, but he moves with that quiet, unwavering devotion that never fails to make your chest ache in the best possible way. You watch from the doorway, still in one of his old hoodies that smells like him and the faint chlorine from the backyard pool, as he lifts her onto the counter with effortless strength. Her curls are a wild halo from sleep, Bee tucked securely under one arm like a loyal knight, while she “helps” stir the batter with a wooden spoon that’s twice the size of her hand, sending flour dusting across the granite like fresh snow.

Today is no different on the surface, except for the undercurrent of everything unsaid still humming softly between you and Noah. The conversation about another baby lingers like a gentle shadow in the corners of the room; beautiful in its possibility, terrifying in its weight, not resolved but not ignored. 

You want it. 

God, you want it. 

The image of Kara as a big sister, protective and bossy and overflowing with love, fills you with a warmth that makes your eyes sting. But the fear still whispers in the quiet moments between pancake flips and giggles, reminding you of those lonely early years when you wondered if you were enough, if you could ever trust someone enough to share the weight again.

Kara chatters through breakfast at the kitchen table, her little legs swinging under the chair, maple syrup already smudged across one cheek like war paint. She talks a mile a minute about her plans for the day: showing her teacher the new drawing she made of “Daddy singing with bees on stage and a big guitar that shoots sparkles,” trading her special rainbow stickers at recess with her best friend Mia, and demanding you pick her up early so she can swim in the backyard pool before dinner and practice her “super loud princess voice” for the next time Uncle Jolly, Uncle Nick and Uncle Folio visits. Noah listens like every word is the most important thing he’ll hear all day, leaning forward with his elbows on the table, asking thoughtful questions about her friends and promising to practice her princess voice with dramatic flair during his next studio session. “We’ll make it so loud the neighbors will think there’s a concert in the backyard,” he says solemnly, earning a delighted giggle that lights up her whole face.

You watch them both across the table, gratitude swelling so fiercely in your chest it almost hurts. 

This is your routine now. 

This is your life. 

The one you built together after years of fear and distance. Mornings like this, with syrup-sticky fingers and laughter echoing off the walls, feel like the reward for every hard choice and every leap of faith and it’s more than you ever let yourself dream of during those lonely early years when it was just you and a tiny baby who looked so much like the man you’d convinced yourself you’d never see again.

After breakfast, the three of you move through the familiar, comforting dance of getting ready for the day. Kara insists on wearing her sparkly rain boots even though the sky is a clear, brilliant blue, stamping her feet proudly on the tile until the lights flash. Noah kneels down without hesitation, helping her zip her favorite jacket, the one with the bee patches you sewed on together last month, while she tells him a very serious story about how Bun-Bun had a nightmare about dragons last night and needed extra cuddles. You pack her lunch with the care of someone who knows every preference by heart: apple slices cut into stars because that’s how she likes them now (no circles, “they’re boring, Mommy”), a cheese stick, carrot sticks with ranch in the little dipper container, and the special note you always slip in with a doodle of a bee wearing sunglasses. Noah kisses the top of her head, breathing her in for a second longer than usual, before you all pile into the car for the short drive to school. Kara sings along to one of his songs from the backseat, off-key and proud, her voice filling the car with pure joy. You catch Noah’s hand on the gear shift, squeezing once. He squeezes back, thumb brushing your knuckles in that silent I’m here, we’re okay gesture that has become your language.

The school drop-off is quick and sweet, the kind of moment you treasure because it feels so wonderfully normal. Kara hugs you both tightly at the curb, her small arms surprisingly strong, then bounds toward her classroom with her backpack bouncing against her back, turning once at the door to wave with both hands like she’s sending you off on a grand adventure across the ocean. You and Noah linger in the parking lot for a moment longer than usual, watching until she disappears inside the colorful doors. He pulls you close right there beside the car, pressing a soft kiss to your temple, his breath warm against your skin.

“She’s going to be the best big sister,” he murmurs against your hair, the words carrying both quiet hope and that familiar ache you’ve come to recognize in his voice; the one that surfaces when he thinks about all the firsts he missed with Kara. You don’t answer right away, just lean into him, letting the solid warmth of his body chase away the morning chill and the lingering whispers of fear from last night.

The rest of the morning passes in comfortable domesticity, the kind of steady routine that feels like healing. You work from home on merch orders at the dining table, finalizing designs for the next drop, simple, elegant tees with subtle bee motifs that fans have been requesting since Kara’s influence started showing up in Bad Omens’ social media posts. Noah disappears into his home studio for a few hours of writing, the faint strum of his guitar drifting down the hall like a lullaby. He emerges around lunchtime with takeout from your favorite Thai place and a new melody on his phone he wants your opinion on, humming it softly while you eat together at the kitchen island. 

You talk about everything and nothing: Kara’s latest obsession with drawing dragons that look suspiciously like Jolly with extra “fluffy hair,” the upcoming band meeting where they’ll discuss the next album cycle, how the pool filter needs cleaning before summer really hits and the backyard becomes her kingdom again. The conversation about the baby hovers unspoken but present between you, a gentle tension that neither of you pushes today. There’s time. For now, there’s just this; your life, steady and full and yours.

Until your phone rings mid-afternoon, sharp and insistent against the quiet hum of the house.

The school’s number flashes on the screen, and your stomach drops like a stone. Noah looks up from his laptop across the room, brow furrowing instantly as you answer, his body already tensing like he senses the shift in the air.

“Mrs. Davis? This is the front office at Oakridge Elementary. Kara’s complaining of a stomachache and she’s running a bit of a fever, nothing alarming on our end, but we think it’s best if someone picks her up. She’s resting comfortably in the nurse’s office with her stuffed animal.”

You’re already standing, heart hammering against your ribs. “We’re on our way. Thank you so much, tell her Mommy and Daddy are coming.”

Noah is moving before you even hang up, grabbing his keys from the hook by the door and shrugging on his hoodie in one fluid, worried motion. Deep lines of concern etch across his forehead, the same protective fear you’ve seen flash in his eyes since that terrifying night in Oregon when Kara spiked a fever and he was half a world away on a bus. “Let’s go. I’ll drive, I know the fastest route.”

You nod, gratitude and love swelling so fiercely in your chest it almost hurts as you follow him out to the car. He’s already in the driver’s seat by the time you slide into the passenger side, the engine roaring to life with a low growl. His hands grip the wheel tightly, knuckles pale under the tattoos, jaw set in that determined line you’ve come to love and rely on. The drive to the school is short, barely ten minutes on a normal day, but it feels endless today, the usual streets stretching longer under the weight of worry. Noah’s knee bounces slightly beneath the wheel, a restless rhythm he can’t quite control, his eyes flicking to the rearview mirror every few seconds like he’s already imagining Kara curled up small and miserable in the backseat.

“She was fine this morning,” he says, voice tight with that raw, paternal worry that always tugs at something deep inside you. “Running around the backyard, laughing, demanding extra syrup on her pancakes. What if it’s something more than a little bug? What if we should have kept her home today? I should have noticed if she wasn’t feeling right at breakfast, maybe she was quieter than usual, or-”

You reach over and rest your hand on his thigh, squeezing gently, your thumb tracing soothing circles over the worn fabric of his sweatpants. “Hey. Breathe, babe. Kids get sick. It happens fast sometimes. We caught it as soon as the school called and you’re here now. That’s what matters most.” Your voice stays steady for him, even as your own heart races with that familiar maternal panic. Admiration fills you as you watch him navigate the turns; this man who once commanded stages in front of thousands of screaming fans, now white-knuckling the wheel and muttering under his breath because his little girl has a stomachache. He chose this life. He chooses it every single day, without hesitation.

He exhales sharply, covering your hand with his own for a brief, grounding moment at a red light. His palm is warm, calloused from years of guitar strings, and it steadies you both. “I know. I just… I hate when she’s hurting. I hate not being able to fix it instantly with a hug or a song or one of those ridiculous voices she loves. After missing so much of her early years, it feels bigger now. Like I’m still catching up, like every little thing is a reminder that I wasn’t there when she needed me most.”

You squeeze his thigh again, heart so full it feels like it might overflow. “You’re not catching up anymore, Noah. You’re here. You’re her dad in every single way that counts,  the one who makes the magic soup and does the dragon voices and shows up the second the phone rings. And you’re incredible at it. I see it every day. I’m so grateful for you.”

He glances over at you briefly, the worry softening just a fraction into something warmer, more vulnerable, the corners of his eyes crinkling in that way that still makes your stomach flutter after all this time. “Thank you for saying that. I needed to hear it today. More than you know.”

The school comes into view around the next bend, the familiar brick building with its colorful playground flags waving in the breeze. Noah parks quickly but carefully in the visitor spot, both of you hurrying inside hand-in-hand. The nurse’s office is bright and cheerful, walls covered in posters of smiling cartoon characters and encouraging messages about handwashing. Kara is sitting on the edge of the small cot, looking small and miserable with flushed cheeks and a downturned mouth, Bee clutched tightly in her lap like a shield against the yucky feelings. The second she sees you both in the doorway, her face crumples completely, big tears welling up in her eyes.

“Daddy… Mommy… my tummy hurts and it’s all yucky inside. I want to go home.”

Noah crosses the room in two long strides and scoops her up without hesitation, holding her close against his chest like she’s the most precious thing in the universe. “I’ve got you, bug. Daddy’s here. We’re taking you home right now, okay? Medicine, cuddles on the couch, magic soup, whatever you need. No more yucky tummy today.”

Kara buries her face in his neck, her small arms wrapping around him tightly as another wave of discomfort makes her whimper softly. You sign her out at the front desk quickly, exchanging polite thanks with the nurse while your eyes stay fixed on them; gratitude swelling again in your chest as you watch Noah rub soothing circles on her back, murmuring nonsense about brave bees flying to find special healing flowers and magic soup that will make everything better in no time. He carries her to the car like she weighs nothing at all, buckling her carefully into her booster seat with gentle, practiced hands while you slide into the passenger side.

The drive home is quieter, the tension easing slightly now that she’s safe in the car with you both. Kara dozes fitfully in the back, one hand still loosely holding Bee, her breathing a little shallow but steadier than before. Noah’s hand finds yours across the console almost immediately, lacing your fingers together tightly. You watch him drive, focused and worried, jaw set, but so undeniably present, and feel a rush of love so strong it steals your breath for a moment. This is the man who once stood on massive stages under blinding lights, commanding crowds with his voice. Now he’s white-knuckling the wheel on a suburban street because his daughter has a stomachache, murmuring quiet reassurances even though she’s half-asleep. He chose this. He chooses it every single day, without hesitation or regret.

“You’re a good dad,” you whisper when you’re almost home, the words slipping out unbidden from that deep well of gratitude inside you. “The best one. I see it every day, in the routines, in the way you worry this much, in how you show up the second anything happens. I’m so grateful, Noah. For all of it. For you.”

He squeezes your hand, his eyes soft despite the worry lines etched around them. “I’m grateful for you. For trusting me enough to build this life together. Even when it’s scary. Even when the fear creeps back in.”

Back at the house, you settle Kara on the big sectional couch with a mountain of her favorite blankets and pillows, her head eventually finding its way into your lap as you rub slow circles on her back. Noah disappears into the kitchen to make the promised magic soup, chicken noodle with extra star-shaped pasta because that’s what makes it “extra magic”, and you hear him humming one of her favorite lullabies under his breath while the pot simmers. The fear from last night still lingers in the back of your mind, the what-ifs about another baby swirling like quiet storm clouds, but watching him now, so steady and loving even in these small, ordinary moments, it feels a little less overwhelming. A little more possible. A little more like something you could face together, the way you’ve faced everything else these past two years.

Kara drifts off again between spoonfuls of soup, her flushed cheek warm against your thigh, one small hand loosely fisted in your shirt like she’s afraid you’ll disappear. Noah sits on the floor beside the couch, long legs stretched out, one hand resting protectively on her leg while the other reaches for yours across the cushions. The afternoon stretches quiet and warm around your little family, the soft glow of the TV playing her favorite show on low volume, the angst of unspoken futures mixing gently with the simple, profound gratitude of right now.

taglist: @theanarchymuse95 | @platespaghetti | @enbytarin | @heavilyfadingpower | @pipidoll | @swimming-selfishes | @lowergroundfloor | @shayseeker | @mrslumi | @itsfarbettertolearn | @branika182 | @leosunshine | @chipotlebagnoah | @buttercupbabyyy | @chey-h | @mushrumink | @haileebluee | @alwaysfightforwhoyouare | @flowery-mess | @r3prise | @lost-in-stereo72

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ECHOES OF NIGHT - PART 2 - CHAPTER TWO

Pairing: dad! Noah Sebastian x reader

author's note: Once again, I'm so thankful for all the support EON part 2 is receiving, thank you so much for all the love!!

masterlist

The kitchen feels smaller tonight, even though nothing has changed about the space itself. The same wide island where Kara once stood on tiptoes to “help” stir pancake batter two years ago, the same fridge covered in her evolving artwork: purple family portraits that have grown more detailed with time, with stick-figure versions of you, Noah, and herself holding hands under increasingly elaborate suns, complete with bees buzzing overhead and sparkly rain boots on everyone’s feet. You stand at the island now, arms wrapped tightly around your middle, fingers tracing the edge of her latest drawing like it might anchor you to the present and quiet the whirlwind in your chest.

Dinner is long over. The house has settled into that gentle post-tour hush you’ve come to crave after months of rumbling equipment trucks, echoing arenas, and the constant low buzz of life on the road. The low hum of the fridge, the faint creak of floorboards upstairs where Kara is finally asleep after demanding three stories and an extra song about brave bees, the distant murmur of the city beyond the windows. Noah wipes down the counters with slow, deliberate movements, giving you time. He always does that now. He’s learned when to push and when to wait, just like you’ve learned how to let him in without the walls slamming shut out of old habit.

You’ve been thinking about his words since he said them earlier in the golden afternoon light, the quiet confession that had settled deep in your bones: I want another baby with you.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said,” you start, your voice soft but carrying that heavier edge you can’t quite hide tonight. The words feel heavy on your tongue, laced with two years of love, growth, and the lingering shadows you’ve never fully outrun.

Noah sets the dish towel down and turns to face you fully. His boba eyes meet yours across the island, a flicker of hope and nerves twisting there in equal measure. He leans against the opposite side, arms resting on the cool granite, giving you space but clearly aching to close the distance. “Yeah?”

You exhale shakily, finally meeting his gaze head-on. 

The last two years flash through your mind in a rush of vivid snapshots: the chaotic move from Oregon to LA, where Kara’s eyes had lit up like stars at the sight of her new room with the bee-themed walls you’d painted together late into the night while Noah steadied the ladder and cracked jokes to keep her giggling; the first full tour where you officially stepped into the role of the band’s merch coordinator, juggling inventory spreadsheets on your laptop in green rooms while keeping a curious toddler entertained with sticker charts and stories about “tour bus magic”; the quiet nights in cramped hotel rooms where Noah would collapse beside you after shows, sweat still clinging to his skin, pulling you close like you were the only thing keeping him grounded amid the chaos of screaming crowds and endless travel.

Kara has grown so much in that time, her routine now a beautiful, chaotic rhythm you’ve all settled into like a well-worn favorite song. Mornings start with her bounding into your shared bed (or the tour bus bunk when you’re on the road), her wild curls a halo around her sleepy face as she demands “Daddy pancakes with extra smiley faces and chocolate chip eyes.” Noah makes them religiously whenever he’s home; sometimes deliberately burning the edges just to hear her dramatic giggles and declarations that “they’re adventure pancakes now!”; School drop-offs are followed by backyard adventures where she rules over her stuffed animal kingdom like a tiny queen, narrating epic battles between Bee, Bun-Bun, and whatever new plastic dinosaur she’s claimed as Sir Stomp that week. Evenings wind down with storytime, her little body curled against Noah’s chest as he does all the voices with theatrical flair, her insisting on “just one more chapter, Daddy, please” until her eyelids grow heavy and she drifts off mid-sentence about brave bees flying to the moon.

She’s bolder now, more confident than the three-year-old who once poked his neck tattoos with wide-eyed judgment in that grocery store aisle. She’s learned to swim without floaties in the backyard pool, proudly showing off to her “uncles” during visits and earning cheers that make her beam with pride. She’s started asking deeper questions during car rides or quiet moments; why Daddy has to leave sometimes for “big stages with loud lights,” why the fans scream his name like he’s a superhero, why she has his nose but your smile. Two years of watching her bloom has been everything you never dared dream of. And yet the fear still lingers, sharp and insistent, like an old scar that aches when the weather turns.

“It’s not that I don’t want it,” you continue, the words tumbling out in a rush now that the dam has cracked. “God, Noah, part of me does. so much. Watching you with her these last two years… the way she lights up when you walk through the door after a long day at the studio, how you’ve become her safe place, her storyteller, her superhero who makes ceiling pancakes and sings the bee song perfectly off-key even when you’re exhausted from rehearsals… it makes me ache for more of that. For us to give her a sibling to boss around and protect. For you to have all the firsts you missed: the kicks, the cravings, the overwhelming joy of that first cry in the delivery room.”

You pause, swallowing hard against the lump in your throat. Your gaze drops to the floor, tracing the familiar grain of the wood you’ve walked a thousand times during late-night feedings or anxious pacing when Kara had nightmares after a particularly loud show.

“But I’m scared. Really scared.”

The words land heavy in the quiet kitchen, thick with the weight of everything unsaid. You see the way Noah’s shoulders tense slightly, a flicker of hurt crossing his handsome features before he schools it into something gentler. He steps closer but stops just short of touching you, leaning against the island, his hands flexing at his sides like he wants to reach for you but is giving you the room you need.

“Talk to me,” he says gently, though his voice carries that raw undercurrent you’ve come to recognize as the place where his own vulnerabilities live. “What are you scared of, babe? All of it. I want to hear it.”

Your fingers tighten on your arms until your knuckles whiten. The memories flood in unbidden; the raw panic of those early pregnancy days alone in your old bathroom, staring at those two pink lines while your world tilted on its axis; the bone-deep exhaustion of solo parenting through colic nights and teething fevers while wondering if you were enough; the quiet tears in the shower so Kara wouldn’t hear you breaking. “Everything,” you whisper. “I’m scared of doing it again, the pregnancy aches, the exhaustion that makes you feel like you’re moving through molasses, the fear that something could go wrong and I wouldn’t know how to fix it. But mostly… I’m scared of what it would mean for us. For Kara. For you.”

You look up at him, eyes glistening with unshed tears. “These last two years have been this beautiful, hard-won balance. We finally got to a place where the distance doesn’t tear us apart anymore. You chose us over the tour when it mattered most, flying home in the middle of everything because Kara needed you. You’ve been here for the tantrums in the green room, the milestones like her first lost tooth on stage side, and the late nights when she wakes up scared from a bad dream. Kara’s routine is stable now, but another baby… it changes everything again. Sleepless nights multiplied, endless diapers, the constant worry that you’re not splitting yourself evenly enough between them. What if the label pushes back harder next time, saying a family of four is too much for the road? What if touring with two kids becomes logistically impossible? What if I can’t be the merch girl and the present mom at the same time without dropping something important?”

Your voice cracks on the last words, raw and trembling. “And what if… what if you realize it’s too much? I kept Kara from you for three years because I was terrified you’d leave or resent me. I built those walls high because I didn’t trust that you’d stay through the hard parts. Now we’re here, and it’s good; so fucking good, with our routines and our little traditions and the way Kara calls you Daddy like it’s the most natural thing in the world, but part of me still waits for the other shoe to drop. Another baby would mean trusting you with even more of my heart. Trusting that you won’t miss the important parts this time, even when the world and the tours and the expectations pull at you from every direction. I know that’s unfair. I know you’ve proven yourself over and over, showing up in ways I never dared hope for. But the fear is still there, Noah. It lives in me, quiet most days, but loud when I let myself imagine it all again.”

Noah’s jaw tightens visibly. 

Sadness blooms sharp and deep across his features; not anger, never anger directed at you, but a quiet, aching hurt that settles in the lines around his eyes and makes your chest constrict painfully. He looks away for a long second, jaw working as he processes the sting of it: the implication that after everything, after choosing you both, after putting his name on her birth certificate, after two years of showing up, he still carries some shadow of that old doubt in your heart.

“I get it,” he says finally, his voice low and rough, like the words scrape against something tender inside him. He meets your eyes again, and the raw vulnerability there nearly undoes you completely. “I do. You carried her alone for so long. You made every hard choice by yourself because you didn’t trust me enough to let me in back then. And now… even after I flew home in the middle of a tour, dropping everything because she was sick and you were falling apart, even after I put my name on her birth certificate and fought for both of you, even after two years of choosing you both every single day, some part of you is still waiting for me to disappear when it gets hard again.”

You feel your face crumple, fresh tears burning hot behind your eyes. “Noah-”

“No, let me finish, please.” He steps around the island, stopping just short of touching you, though his hands flex at his sides like every instinct is screaming to pull you close. “It hurts. It hurts because I love you so much it feels like my chest is cracking open sometimes, like there’s not enough room for how big this feeling is. Because Kara is my whole world, the greatest gift I never knew I needed, and the idea of another little one… God, I want it so bad I can taste it. I want to be there for the cravings and the ultrasounds and the 3 a.m. feeds where I’m the one rocking them while you finally get some sleep. I want to watch you grow round and glowing and exhausted with our baby and know I’m not missing a single second of it. I want Kara to be the best big sister in the world: bossy and protective and full of love, teaching them all her bee facts and how to make Sir Stomp dance.”

His voice wavers, the sadness deepening into something exposed and achingly tender. “But I understand why you’re scared. I do. I missed so much of her beginning. You had to be strong enough for both of you when I wasn’t even a thought in your life. That fear you carry? It makes complete sense. It’s not unfair, it’s what kept you and her safe for years when you had no one else. I just… I wish you could see how much I’ve changed. How much we’ve changed together. I’m not the guy who left after one night anymore, chasing a dream that didn’t include diapers and midnight feedings. I’m the one who wants to build a life with you. The one who would burn every tour date to the ground if it meant being here when you need me. The one who lies awake some nights just listening to you both breathe because it still feels like a miracle that I get to do that.”

Tears slip freely down your cheeks now. You reach for him then, hands fisting in the soft fabric of his hoodie, pulling him close like you need the solid warmth of him to steady the storm inside you. Noah wraps his arms around you immediately, one hand splaying across your back while the other cradles the back of your head, burying his face in your hair. He holds you like you might slip away, like he’s afraid the fear might pull you under if he lets go even for a second.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper against his chest, your voice muffled and thick with emotion. “I do trust you. I trust you more than anyone in this world. You’ve shown me over and over what that looks like. But becoming a mom again… it brings it all rushing back. The panic of those first months alone, staring at pregnancy tests in a campus bathroom while my whole future shifted. The nights I cried in the shower because I was terrified I wasn’t enough for her, that I was failing her by giving her only half a family. The fear that one day you’d wake up and realize this life wasn’t what you signed up for when you met a nervous girl at a show four years ago and invited her back to your hotel room just to talk.”

Noah pulls back just enough to cup your face in his hands, his thumbs gently wiping away the tears tracking down your cheeks. His own eyes are wet, glistening in the soft kitchen light, the sadness lingering there but softened by the deep, unwavering love that has always won out between you. “I signed up for you,” he says fiercely, his forehead resting against yours, breath mingling warm and steady. “All of it. The beautiful parts and the terrifying ones. The late nights and the laughter and the fear. I missed Kara’s beginning, and that ache will always be there, a quiet shadow in the corner of my heart. But I’m not missing ours. Not this time. Not ever. If you’re not ready, we wait. We take all the time you need. If you decide you never want another, I’ll love the family we have with everything I am, Kara, you, our routines, our imperfect perfect life. But if even a small part of you wants this too… I’m here. Every craving. Every fear. Every joy. Every 3 a.m. feeding and every milestone. We do it together, love. No more oceans. No more waiting on the other side of a screen. Just us.”

You stand like that for a long time, wrapped in each other in the quiet kitchen, the weight of two years of healing and growth and lingering scars settling between you like a shared blanket. Upstairs, Kara sleeps soundly in her room, dreaming of bees and big sisters and the family that finally feels whole and unbreakable.

Later, after Noah has slipped upstairs to check on her one more time; his low, murmured goodnight carrying faintly down the hall even though she’s already deep in sleep, you slip into the guest room with your phone, needing to hear your mom’s voice. She answers on the second ring, warm and steady like she always has been, the familiar anchor you’ve leaned on through every storm.

“Hey, sweetheart. How’s my grandbaby doing after that tour? She sounded so excited in her last video about the pool adventures.”

You sink onto the edge of the bed, knees drawn up, and the words spill out before you can stop them; the conversation with Noah in the golden afternoon light, the raw ache in his eyes when he talked about the firsts he missed, your own swirling fears that feel both valid and unfair all at once. You tell her how much you want it too, how the idea of another baby with him fills you with a terrifying, beautiful longing that makes your chest tight. How you can already picture Kara as a big sister: protective and bossy and full of endless love, teaching a little sibling all her bee facts and how to make Sir Stomp dance in the backyard. How Noah has been everything you never dared hope for these past two years: present, patient, choosing you both even when the label grumbled and the tours pulled.

But the fear is still there, sharp and insistent, refusing to be ignored. The panic of those early days alone. The exhaustion. The worry that you won’t be able to balance it all again without something cracking.

Your mom listens without interrupting once, her breathing steady on the other end of the line. When you finally run out of words, she sighs softly, the sound full of maternal understanding. “Oh, honey. Wanting it and being scared don’t cancel each other out. They can live in the same heart, side by side, fighting for space. You’ve carried so much alone for so long. It makes complete sense that trusting him with even more of that responsibility, with another piece of your heart, feels huge. It brings back all those old shadows, doesn’t it? The nights you wondered if you were enough, if you were failing her by giving her only one parent.”

You nod even though she can’t see you, fresh tears slipping free and tracking down your cheeks. “It does. I keep remembering how terrified I was back then, staring at those two pink lines and knowing exactly who the father was but too scared to reach out. And now… I want this with him. I want to see him experience it all; the first kicks, the cravings, the joy of holding a newborn. I want Kara to have a sibling to love and protect. But what if it’s too much? What if the fear wins again and I push him away without meaning to?”

“That fear doesn’t make you weak, sweetheart,” your mom says gently, her voice wrapping around you like a warm blanket. “It makes you human. And from everything you’ve told me these past two years. how he flew home mid-tour when Kara was sick, how he’s been there for every milestone since, how he looks at you both like you’re his whole universe, he’s shown up. Every single time. Maybe this is the next step in trusting that he always will. You don’t have to decide tonight. You don’t have to be fearless. Just honest with him, and with yourself. Wanting another baby doesn’t erase the scars. It just means you’re ready to build something new on top of them.”

You let out a shaky breath, the ache in your chest easing just a fraction. “I do want it, Mom. I want our family to grow. I can picture it; Kara being the best big sister, Noah finally getting all those firsts he missed. It’s beautiful and terrifying all at once. I just… I need time to sit with the fear first. To let it breathe without letting it win.”

“That’s okay,” she says, warm and reassuring. “You’ve got time. And you’ve got him. And you’ve got me, always. Call anytime, day or night. I love you, sweetheart. Give my grandbaby an extra hug from Nana.”

When you hang up, the ache feels lighter, more manageable. Down the hall, you hear Noah’s low voice murmuring one last goodnight to Kara, even though she’s already fast asleep. You press a hand to your stomach, imagining for a moment what it might feel like again, the flutter of new life, the shared joy, the fear met with his steady presence.

The fear is still there, sharp and real. But so is the hope.

And for the first time tonight, they don’t feel quite so impossible to hold at the same time.

taglist: @theanarchymuse95 | @platespaghetti | @enbytarin | @heavilyfadingpower | @pipidoll | @swimming-selfishes | @lowergroundfloor | @shayseeker | @mrslumi | @itsfarbettertolearn | @branika182 | @leosunshine | @chipotlebagnoah | @buttercupbabyyy | @chey-h | @mushrumink | @haileebluee | @alwaysfightforwhoyouare | @flowery-mess | @r3prise | @lost-in-stereo72

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I saw these guys at Ikea today and thought of Kara🥹🥹 it's probably not a bee, but a bumblebee, but I don't care, I thought she'd like him anyway🥹🥹

OH MY GOD, SO CUTEE! She would absolutely love it 🥹🥹

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ECHOES OF NIGHT - PART 2 - CHAPTER ONE

Pairing: dad! Noah Sebastian x reader

author's note: Once again, I'm so thankful for all the support EON part 1 received, thank you so much for all the love!!

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The late afternoon sun filtered through the tall windows of their Los Angeles home, casting long golden beams across the hardwood floors. Dust motes danced lazily in the light, undisturbed by the quiet rhythm of a family finally settled after months on the road. Bad Omens had wrapped their latest tour two weeks ago, and for the first time in what felt like forever, the house breathed with them; no suitcases stacked by the door, no frantic last-minute packing, no tearful airport goodbyes. Just home.

Noah stood barefoot in the kitchen, sleeves of his faded black hoodie pushed up to his elbows, stirring a pot of spaghetti sauce with the same focused intensity he once reserved for late-night studio sessions. The scent of garlic, basil, and simmering tomatoes filled the air, mingling with the faint sweetness of the chocolate chip cookies baking in the oven; Kara’s request after she’d declared tour bus food “not real food, Daddy.”

Two years.

It still hit him sometimes, like a quiet wave rolling in during the still moments. Two years since that chaotic grocery store aisle had upended his entire world. Two years since he’d crouched down to a three-year-old girl with his eyes and his nose and felt his heart crack open in the best possible way. Two years of learning how to be a father, a partner, a man who chose his family over everything else.

Kara Y/L/N Davis was six now, almost seven, as she loved to remind anyone who would listen, even though she just turned six. She was a whirlwind of sparkles, questions, and boundless energy, with curls that refused to be tamed and a smile that could light up an entire arena. In the two years since they’d made it official, she had grown into a little girl who collected rocks “because they have secrets,” who demanded bedtime stories with “real dragons, not the boring ones,” and who had somehow charmed the entire Bad Omens crew into being her personal army of uncles.

The transition hadn’t been seamless, but it had been theirs.

The first year had been a beautiful kind of chaos. Moving from Oregon to LA had meant packing up the small apartment Y/N had built her life in, saying goodbye to familiar daycare routines, and stepping into a world where Noah’s fame sometimes cast long shadows. But they’d faced it together. Y/N had become the band’s official merch coordinator, handling designs, online shops, and tour logistics with a quiet efficiency that left the guys in awe. It meant she and Kara traveled with them, turning tour buses into rolling homes filled with crayons, sticker charts, and late-night FaceTime calls to grandparents when the time zones got tricky.

Kara’s adventures during those two years were the kind of stories Noah would tell for the rest of his life.

There was the time in Europe when she’d snuck backstage during soundcheck, climbed onto Folio’s drum kit, and declared herself “the loudest princess in the whole band.” The crew had cheered so loudly the venue security had come running. Or the night in New York when she’d lost her first tooth right before a show and insisted on showing it to the entire audience from the side of the stage, holding it up like a trophy while Noah beamed with pride from the mic; even though the fans weren’t able to see from the pit. She’d started calling the band “my uncles” with such authority that even the most hardened roadies melted when she demanded group hugs after shows.

There were quieter milestones too. The first time she’d read an entire book by herself, The Very Hungry Caterpillar, and insisted on reading it to Noah before bed, her little finger tracing each word with fierce concentration. The way she’d comforted Y/N during a particularly rough bout of tour exhaustion by making her a “get better card” covered in glitter and bee stickers. The endless questions about the world: Why is the sky blue? Why do bees dance? Why can’t Daddy stay home forever?

They had grown together, the three of them, in ways Noah still marveled at.

Y/N had blossomed in the role of partner and mother on the road. She balanced tour life with a grace that left him in awe; mediating toddler meltdowns in green rooms, designing merch with Davis that fans went crazy for, and somehow still finding time to steal quiet moments with him in hotel rooms after shows. Their relationship had deepened into something steady and profound. Late-night talks about the future, lazy mornings tangled in sheets when Kara slept in, the way she looked at him like he was her safe place after years of carrying everything alone. They fought sometimes: about tour schedules, about how much to shield Kara from the public eye, but they always came back to each other, stronger.

Kara had grown from the tiny chaos goblin who’d once poked his tattoos in a grocery store into a confident, empathetic little girl who protected her stuffed animals with the same ferocity she showed when defending her “uncles” from imaginary monsters. She’d started kindergarten last fall, coming home with drawings of their family that always included a tall figure with neck tattoos and a smile. She’d learned to swim in their backyard pool, mastered riding a bike with training wheels, and developed an encyclopedic knowledge of every Bad Omens song lyric (much to the band’s amusement when she’d belt them out during rehearsals).

Noah had changed too. The man who once poured everything into music and late nights now prioritized school drop-offs when they were home, bedtime routines, and quiet family dinners. He still wrote and performed with a passion that hadn’t dimmed, but it was different now; every song carried a piece of them. The ache of the missed years had never fully left him, but it had softened into something he could carry without it breaking him.

Until moments like this.

He watched Kara through the glass doors, crouched in the grass with her toys, her laughter carrying on the breeze. She was narrating an epic battle, Bee leading the charge against Sir Stomp, the dinosaur. Her curls bounced with every dramatic gesture, and that familiar pull tugged at his chest: the quiet grief for all the moments he’d never get back.

Y/N’s arms slid around his waist from behind, her chin resting on his shoulder. She’d always known when he drifted into those thoughts.

“You’re doing that thing again,” she murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the side of his neck.

“What thing?”

“Staring at her like she’s going to disappear if you blink.”

Noah let out a breathy chuckle, but it didn’t quite hide the weight behind it. He turned in her arms, hands settling on her hips as he pulled her closer. “I can’t help it. She’s… God, she’s so big now. Talking in full sentences, making up stories, asking questions that make me realize how much I still don’t know. Two years, and it still feels like I blinked and she went from three to six.”

Y/N searched his face, her expression soft with understanding. “Tell me.”

He glanced back at Kara for a moment before meeting her eyes again. “I keep thinking about the beginning. The parts I missed. Rubbing your back when the nausea hit. Watching your belly grow. That first ultrasound. Hearing her heartbeat for the first time. I wasn’t there for any of it. I wasn’t the one holding your hand in the delivery room, or changing her first diaper, or rocking her at 3 a.m. when nothing else worked. I see the videos and photos, and I’m grateful for them, but… it’s not the same. I missed her first smile. Her first word. Those wobbly first steps across the living room. I missed being scared with you when she got her first fever, or celebrating when she finally slept through the night.”

His voice cracked slightly, and he swallowed hard. Y/N’s hand came up to cup his cheek, thumb brushing gently over his skin.

“I know I can’t change that,” he continued, voice quieter now. “And I’m so fucking thankful for what we have. You gave her the best start. You were everything she needed when I couldn’t be. But there’s this ache, Y/N. This space where I wish I could go back and do it all with you. Experience every little thing. Not just hear about it later.”

He paused, searching her eyes. The kitchen smelled like dinner and cookies, the house filled with the kind of peace he’d fought hard for. Kara’s laughter drifted in again, bright and alive.

“I want it again,” Noah whispered, the words finally spilling out after months of turning them over in his mind. “Another baby. Not because Kara isn’t enough… She’s my whole world, the greatest gift I never knew I needed. But I want the chance to be there from the start this time. To feel every kick. To watch you glow through the pregnancy. To hold our child the second they’re born. To see Kara as a big sister, the world’s sweetest, most dramatic big sister. I want to build more memories with you. All of them.”

Y/N’s breath caught, her eyes shimmering with emotion. She didn’t pull away. Instead, she leaned in, forehead resting against his.

“Another baby,” she repeated softly, like she was tasting the possibility.

Noah nodded, vulnerable in a way only she ever saw. “I know it’s a lot. Touring, life, everything we’ve built. But I can’t stop thinking about it. About us growing this family together. About giving Kara someone to boss around and protect. About doing it right this time. From the very first heartbeat.”

Outside, Kara let out another triumphant laugh as Sir Stomp claimed victory. Inside, Noah held Y/N close, heart laid bare, waiting for her answer in the quiet space between them.

The life they’d built these past two years had been everything and more. But in that golden afternoon light, with their daughter’s joy filling the house and the future stretching wide open before them, Noah dared to hope for one more chapter; one they could write together, from the very beginning.

taglist: @theanarchymuse95 | @platespaghetti | @enbytarin | @heavilyfadingpower | @pipidoll | @swimming-selfishes | @lowergroundfloor | @shayseeker | @mrslumi | @itsfarbettertolearn | @branika182 | @leosunshine | @chipotlebagnoah | @buttercupbabyyy | @chey-h | @mushrumink | @haileebluee

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About Bad Desire:

I'm going to take the chapters down for a while so I can revise and polish them, but I plan on reposting them soon.

In the meantime, I'll be posting Ghost Town, which has been waiting its turn for quite a while now, and the part two of EON.

I really hope you guys enjoy it. ❤️

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ECHOES OF NIGHT - PART 2 - NOAH SEBASTIAN x READER (series summary & taglist)

Pairing: dad! Noah Sebastian x ex!hookup reader

Series resume: Two years after making things official with you and officially making Kara his sweet Kara Y/L/N Davis, Noah couldn't have been happier with the life you'd built together. He was still touring with Bad Omens, releasing the music he loved, but now you were their merch girl, which meant you and Kara were always by his side.

No distance would ever keep the three of you apart again.

But no matter how full his heart felt, there was still one quiet ache he could never seem to let go of.

He had missed so much.

He wished he had been there from the very beginning: to rub your back during the exhausting months of pregnancy, to drag himself out of bed in the middle of the night because you suddenly craved pickles and ice cream, to experience the overwhelming joy of holding his newborn daughter for the very first time. He often found himself wondering what it would've been like to witness every little milestone as it happened: her first smile, her first word, her first wobbly steps... Every tiny moment that parents only get to experience once.

And while nothing could ever replace those memories, Noah realized there was one thing he wanted more than anything else.

Another baby.

Not because Kara wasn't enough, she had always been, and always would be, the greatest gift he'd ever received, but because he longed for the chance to experience every moment he had once dreamed of. To watch you become a mother all over again.

To be there from the very first heartbeat.

And, perhaps most of all, to watch his precious little girl embrace the role she had been preparing for her entire life: becoming the world's sweetest big sister.

Warnings: As always, I want to remind you guys that I'm not a native English speaker, so please forgive any grammar mistakes or awkward wording. I do my best to use translators and other tools to make everything as readable as possible, but sometimes it fails and I fail as well.

I've been thinking about writing something new with EON for a while now, and @lowergroundfloor's ask finally gave me the push I needed to go for it.

This one is mostly fluff since it's a part two to EON, and maybeee... just maybe... I'm planning one smut chapter (nothing too heavy, though, to keep the tone).

It also won't be as long as EON. I'm only planning a handful of chapters, but I really hope you guys enjoy it.

Since I'm not sure if everyone from the original taglist wants to be tagged for this story too, I'm starting a new one! Just reply to this post, and I'll add you.

TW: it's mostly fluffy.

chapters:

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Hiii I couldn’t stop thinking about big sister Kara since you answered that ask 🥹 would you consider writing a oneshot about it? 👉🏼👈🏼

I miss that little family already. 🥹

Absolutely!!! I can do a miniseries, maybe??? From the "maybe we should try for another one" talk to Kara being the sweetest big sister ever, I miss them so much as well 🥹

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Would Noah and the reader in EON have another child, or do you think they would stick with just Kara?

That's a really good question. I think they really love their life as a family of three, and Kara is more than enough. However, I guess Noah might ask for another one so he could be present from the start, maybe they would try another baby after two or three years together

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ABSOLUTELY more single dad noah !!!!!!! omg

I'm already planning the story, I really hope you guys like it!

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I have to admit, I have a few more fluffy Noah fanfic ideas, including one where he’s a single dad and not a musician (I just haven’t figured out what he’d do for a living yet). I really loved writing him as a dad, don’t judge me 😭 What do you guys think?

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Why do you have it as Final? Ik you said its not the end so whats the reason? <3

Hi!! I marked it as complete because the main storyline is over, and they got their happy ending. But I still plan to write some special chapters about their life afterward (their official move to LA, Kara’s birthday, some surprises, well, a lot of stuff.)

I have lots of ideas, I just consider the main storyline finished for now

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ECHOES OF NIGHT - Chapter 21 - FINALE

Pairing: dad! Noah Sebastian x ex!hookup reader

Series summary: Noah didn’t expect that his one night stand from 2020 would keep a secret from him for years. But now, in 2024, as Bad Omens is back in Oregon, he wasn’t expecting to run into you while trying to buy some energy drink so he could endure the tour.

You looked even prettier, yes, but what caught his attention wasn’t your beauty, or the fact that you looked like you’d just seen a ghost just by looking at him.

It was, in fact, the little girl holding your hand, telling you she liked his hoodie. He really wasn’t prepared for was seeing himself reflected in that little girl who loved bees and cookies, not expecting to change his entire life for good.

author's note: It's not really the end of EON as I plan to keep posting more about our favorite little family and their life together. I'm so thankful for all of your support!

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Chapter Twenty-One

Morning light spilled gently through the half-drawn curtains of your small Portland apartment, casting warm golden stripes across the worn living room rug. The space that had felt so hollow and echoing during the long weeks of Noah’s absence now hummed with quiet life. The scent of coffee brewing mixed with the sweet buttery aroma of pancakes on the stove. For the first time in what felt like forever, the air did not carry the sharp edge of worry or the heavy silence of missing someone. It felt like home, or at least the beginning of one.

Noah stood at the stove, sleeves of his black hoodie pushed up to his elbows, revealing the familiar ink that mapped his arms. The sweatpants you had lent him rode high on his ankles, making him look endearingly ridiculous and impossibly dear at the same time. He wielded the spatula like a conductor’s baton, flipping pancakes with theatrical flair while Kara sat cross-legged on the counter beside him, her sparkly rain boots (worn indoors, cause, of course) kicking happily against the cabinet doors. Bee was tucked securely under one arm, its fuzzy wings slightly damp from where Kara had been hugging it through the night.

“Higher, Daddy! Make this one do a flip like a superhero!” Kara commanded, her voice still a little raspy but bursting with that unstoppable three-going-on-four energy. Her cheeks held a faint flush, but the fever had broken sometime in the early hours, thanks to the antibiotics, the nebulizer treatment, and most importantly the solid, steady presence of her father wrapped around her like a human shield.

Noah grinned, that soft crooked smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes and never failed to make your heart stutter. “Superhero pancake, coming right up. Watch this, bug.” He gave the pan an ambitious toss. The pancake sailed in a wobbly arc, landed with a soft plop half on the plate and half on the counter, chocolate chips scattering like confetti. Kara threw her head back and laughed, the full-bellied, uninhibited sound that had been missing for days. It filled the kitchen like sunlight.

“Almost!” Noah declared, sliding the slightly crumpled pancake onto her plate and carefully arranging extra chocolate chips into an enormous, lopsided smiley face with big buck teeth. “Ceiling pancake attempt number four: technical success. Aesthetic… we’re working on it.”

Kara clapped her hands, Bee bouncing along with the motion. “It’s the happiest one yet! Look, Mommy! Daddy gave him big teeth like he’s laughing at a joke.”

You leaned against the doorframe, arms wrapped loosely around yourself, just drinking in the scene. Your body still ached with residual exhaustion from the urgent care night, but watching them together mended something deep inside your chest. Noah glanced over his shoulder, his expression softening instantly when his eyes met yours.

“Morning, love,” he said, voice low and warm, like it was a secret meant only for you. He reached out with his free hand, and you crossed the room without hesitation, letting him pull you into his side. His arm settled around your waist, thumb brushing slow circles against your hip through your sleep shirt.

You pressed a kiss to Kara’s forehead, cool and clammy now, no longer burning, and she tilted her head up with a beaming smile. “Mommy, sit! Daddy’s making special ones for you too. With extra syrup rivers.”

Noah plated a stack for you, adding a slightly crooked smiley face that made your eyes sting with sudden, grateful tears. The three of you ate at the tiny kitchen table, knees bumping, Kara chattering nonstop about how the pancakes tasted better when Daddy made them because “they have magic in them.” Noah listened like every word was gospel, asking questions, laughing at her dramatic retellings of Bluey episodes, and stealing glances at you that carried entire conversations of relief and love.

After breakfast, Kara insisted on “helping” clean up, which mostly meant smearing syrup across the counter and demanding Noah lift her so she could reach the sink. He obliged without complaint, holding her securely while she splashed water everywhere, her giggles echoing off the walls. You snapped a quick photo on your phone, the image blurry from laughter but perfect in its imperfection.

When Kara’s energy started to flag, Noah carried her to the couch, bundling her in blankets and propping pillows around her like a tiny fortress. “Rest time, Queen Bee,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her curls. “Daddy and Mommy are right here. Close your eyes for a bit, okay?”

She nodded sleepily, clutching Bee and Bun-Bun, already drifting as a Bluey episode played softly on the TV. Noah watched her for a long moment, his hand resting gently on her back, before turning to you. His eyes held a depth of emotion that made your breath catch.

He took your hand and led you back to the couch, pulling you down so you were curled against his chest, legs tangled together. The apartment felt cocooned in quiet intimacy, the rain from last night reduced to a soft patter against the windows.

“I meant every word I said last night,” Noah began, his voice low and rough with exhaustion and sincerity. His fingers traced idle patterns along your arm, grounding both of you. “I’m done choosing anything over you two. The tour, the label, the expectations, none of it matters if it costs me this. I flew home because nothing, no stage, no crowd, no career milestone, could ever be worth missing another night like last night. Kara reaching for me through a screen, you carrying everything alone again. I can’t do that to us anymore.”

You swallowed thickly, pressing your face into the soft fabric of his hoodie, inhaling the familiar scent of him mixed with airport travel and faint chlorine from memories of the LA pool. “I was terrified, Noah. Not just about her fever. About everything. The distance made every fear louder. I kept thinking about the three years I hid her, how I convinced myself it was safer, and then wondering if I’d ruined our chance at this. What if the band needs you? What if the fans turn ugly again? What if being a dad and being with me complicates everything too much?”

His arms tightened around you, one hand coming up to cradle the back of your head. You felt his heartbeat, steady and strong beneath your cheek.

“I know those fears. They’ve kept me up every night on that bus. I replayed every missed call, every time her voice sounded smaller through the phone. The guilt of those three lost years, it eats at me. You protected her when I wasn’t there to do it. You built this beautiful, strong life for her on your own, and I will never stop being grateful for that. But I’m here now. Not as a visitor. Not as someone who shows up when it’s convenient. As her dad. As your partner. I love you, Y/N. Not just because you’re the mother of my child, but because you’re you. The woman who laughed at my dumb jokes in that hotel room four years ago. The one who raised our daughter to be fearless and kind and obsessed with bees. The one who still let me in even after all the fear and time apart. You make me want to be the man she deserves to look up to. The man you deserve to lean on.”

Tears slipped down your cheeks, soaking into his hoodie. You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, which were bright with unshed tears of his own. “I love you too. So much it still scares me sometimes. I spent years convincing myself I could do it alone, that loving her loudly enough would fill every gap. But these last weeks showed me how much brighter it is with you here. The ceiling pancakes, the way she lights up when you walk into a room. I don’t want to go back to doing it without you. I’m ready to move. To build this with you in LA. No more hiding. No more oceans between us.”

Noah’s hand cupped your jaw, thumb gently wiping away your tears. “No more oceans,” he echoed, voice thick. “We’re packing this place up together. Slowly, on her timeline. We’ll paint her room whatever color she wants, probably something with bees and sparkles. I’ll be there for every daycare drop-off, every tantrum, every bedtime story. And for you. The quiet nights when it all feels heavy. The good mornings and the hard ones. We’re doing this as a family. Messy, real, forever.”

The space between you vanished. The kiss started soft, reverent, almost hesitant, like both of you were afraid the moment might shatter. But it deepened quickly, years of longing and weeks of separation pouring out. His lips moved against yours with quiet desperation and profound relief, hands sliding into your hair as yours fisted his hoodie. It tasted of salt from shared tears, maple syrup from breakfast, and the unshakable promise of choosing each other every single day. When you finally parted, foreheads resting together, breaths mingling, Noah let out a shaky laugh.

“God, I’ve wanted to do that properly for so long,” he whispered. “Not rushed in a kitchen or stolen in an airport. Just us.”

You smiled, watery and bright. “We’ve got time now. All the time.”

A small voice interrupted from the couch. “Mommy? Daddy? Are you kissing again?”

Kara had woken, rubbing her eyes with one fist, Bee dangling from the other. Her smile was sleepy but genuine, the kind that lit up her whole face and mirrored Noah’s so perfectly it still took your breath away.

Noah opened his arms without hesitation. “Come here, bug.”

She scrambled over, nestling between you with a contented sigh, her small body warm and trusting. Noah wrapped one arm around her and the other around you, pulling you both close. Kara patted his chest importantly. “You stayed. No more airplane for a long time?”

“No more airplanes for a while,” he confirmed, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Daddy’s home. We’re gonna pack up all your toys and go back to the sunny house with the pool. You can have your own big room, and we’ll make pancakes every single morning. Deal?”

“Deal!” Kara declared, then yawned hugely. “But first, more Bluey. And you have to do the voices, Daddy. The ones that make Bee laugh.”

Noah chuckled, the sound rumbling through all three of you. “Anything for my girls.”

You spent the rest of the morning like that, tangled on the couch, Kara drifting in and out of sleepy contentment while Noah performed ridiculous voices for every character. You caught him watching you both with quiet awe, like he still could not believe this was real. When Kara demanded a group hug, the three of you squeezed together until she squealed with laughter, her tiny arms surprisingly strong around both your necks.

Later, as she napped again, Noah helped you start sorting through a few boxes, Kara’s drawings, her favorite clothes, the little Supergirl costume. Every item came with a story: the time she tried to “fly” off the couch, the crayon portrait she had drawn of “Daddy before I met him” with wild dark hair and a big smile. Noah listened to each one, eyes shining, adding his own memories from the short time they had together in LA.

By afternoon, the rain had stopped completely. Sunlight streamed in, warming the apartment. Kara woke demanding “outside time,” so the three of you bundled up for a short walk around the complex. She rode on Noah’s shoulders, pointing out every puddle and bird, her laughter ringing clear. You walked beside them, Noah’s free hand laced with yours, swinging gently.

As the sun dipped lower, painting the sky in soft oranges and pinks, you returned home. Noah cooked a simple dinner while you gave Kara her medicine. Bedtime was slow and sweet: Noah reading two stories instead of one, complete with sound effects, until Kara’s eyes grew heavy. She reached for both of you, pulling you close for goodnight kisses.

“Love you, Mommy. Love you, Daddy. We’re a family forever, right?”

“Forever,” you both whispered.

Once she was asleep, Noah pulled you into the hallway, backing you gently against the wall. The second kiss was slower, deeper, filled with the quiet joy of survival and new beginnings. His hands roamed your back, yours tangled in his hair, bodies pressed close like you could seal the promise physically.

When you broke apart, he rested his forehead against yours again. “Thank you for letting me be here. For trusting me with both of you.”

“Thank you for coming home,” you replied.

The night settled softly around your little family. Tomorrow would bring more packing, more plans, more steps toward the house in LA with the pool and the future you had chosen together. But for tonight, in this imperfect apartment filled with syrup-sticky counters and crayon drawings and love so big it filled every corner, everything was exactly as it should be.

Noah Sebastian had found his way back to the one-night stand that changed everything.

And now, the three of you were finally, beautifully, home.

taglist: @myexistencesucks | @lacy1986 | @ofcannibalsandbadomens | @tosoundlessdarkistare | @theanarchymuse95 | @renegadebirch | @sullyselena | @lyinginbetween | @moonlightintheconcretejungle | @flowery-mess | @palesworrdsman | @alwaysfightforwhoyouare | @punkprincess1999 | @ami-gami | @badomenslawyer | @chey-h | @amelia-acero | @pipidoll | @fivedicksinatrenchcoat | @astronoids | @hedonist-k1l | @dream-machine-love | @newport23 | @escapingthefrontier | @astraea89 | @curse-bearing-hips | @daemontargaryenwife | @romanreigns-supreme | @lonelydragonlady | @shuiguans | @h4tef6ck | @respectfulrebel | @badomensrose | @super-btstrash-posts | @xxkatsatwatwafflexx | @nojoyontheburn | @kenjipepsi1 | @swissy23 | @sallyba3 | @enbytarin | @bluehairpunklol | @choogachoogachoochoo | @justdamnpeachy | @bruce9818 | @lowergroundfloor | @whenyouwannafindlove | @anything-morethan-human | @audreexx | @kimb3rley95 | @sgold | @engie115 | @awkwardalex | @meddleabout2 | @givemesomethingbeautiful | @branika182 | @leosunshine | @platespaghetti | @itsfarbettertolearn | @swimming-selfishes | @manebabe | @badtishomens | @idwtmoney| @peace-of-mind-is-less-than-never |

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SO HAPPY YOUR DOING BETTER!!

THANK YOU, your guys support really matters a lot to me. <3