#reader have a daughter

[magicalbunbun]

TWO BIRDS AU

[yeyinde]

John deciding to blow off steam by subscribing to a cute camgirl's onlyfans account and quickly becoming the top contributor. a harmless way to relax, and spoil a pretty girl with gifts and money, the sort of thing he doesn't have time for in his personal life but craves. hungers for. pays for lingerie and toys, private shows and videos. eagerly devours any time she has to spare on him, but the more he gets to know her, the more obsessed he becomes. the more possessive. wanting. monopolizing all of her time so that she never has a minute to spare on others.

and then she sends him a birthday video. congrats on your fortieth, she whispers into the camera, wearing the ensemble he bought for her. a mould of his cock in her hands, a whim he decided to go for after she pouted at him for a few minutes about how she wanted to feel him inside of her. or a (not so) cheap imitation, anyway. it's good. so good. she's perfect. and all his for tonight.

but she makes a mistake. his kitten is so good at hiding her face, her features. keeping herself a mystery. but as she gives him the sexiest performance he's ever seen, she slips up. shows more of herself than she wants to.

wish i could say happy birthday in person, she winks at him through the cheap plastic of her mask. a fox. isn't she coy? but it's an invitation he won't turn down.

after all, it'd be rude not to give the cute little secretary that greets him every morning exactly what she asked for, wouldn't it?

[cowboy1ikereid]

sweet creature ~ s.r.

‘Wherever I go, you bring me home’

Summary: Spencer calls you when he’s missing home.

Warnings: pregnant!reader x husband!spencer, reader is in her second pregnancy and they already have a 3 y/o daughter, spencer is, again, a huge softie, calls you sweetheart, he's called away on an urgent case and misses you, reader is almost in third trimester, they fall asleep on the phone, cuties, inspired by sweet creature by harry styles, fluff and comfort

Category: Fluff x Comfort

Word count: 1.1k

Author's note: Spencer Reid deserved to get married and have children but he has to be a girl dad and I don't make the rules. I just know he would be the most sweet, caring and loving husband/dad in the world. Anyways I kind of had to do something to this song because I saw it live (Wembley N4 I’ll miss you forever). Enjoy!!

You were exhausted, both emotionally and physically. Being 7 and a half months pregnant and taking care of your 3 year old daughter alone had never been part of the plan. In fact, Spencer was supposed to be working either in office or from home during the later stages of your pregnancy, but a serious case meant that he was needed urgently by the BAU. With only 8 hours notice he was in Florida, and suddenly he was approximately 920.4 miles away from you.

It was around 9pm, and you’d been eagerly awaiting a phone call from your husband. You’d blame your anxiety on the hormones, but you knew it wasn’t just that. You’d always been like this whenever he was away, and you never quite managed to properly adjust to how much travelling his job required. Lizzie, your daughter, was laid next to you in the bed you and Spencer shared, asleep on his side of the bed. She was the same as you whenever her dad was away, even if she didn’t quite understand his job. She was a daddy’s girl, and if sleeping on Spencer’s side of the bed helped her to feel that little bit closer to him when he was away, you would let her. Her curly light brown hair was sprawled across the pillow which she drooled on, unconscious.

Your phone was on silent so the ringer didn’t wake her up, but as soon as you felt the persistent buzzing and Spencer’s name appeared on the screen, you stood, stretching slightly before leaving the room and quietly closing the door behind you, simultaneously swiping the button to answer the call.

“Hi.” You whispered softly, cautious not to wake up your sleeping three-year-old who was in the next room.

“Hi sweetheart. How are you?” Spencer’s sweet voice spoke over the phone.

“Hanging on. I managed to settle Lizzie after she cried because you couldn’t tuck her in tonight.. Little one has been quiet for now, but I just know that she’ll start getting active as soon as I attempt to sleep.” You spoke with a soft smile on your face at the thought of the little life growing inside of you whilst you tiptoed down the stairs and into the living room, sitting down on the sofa with a hand on your round bump, rubbing it gently.

You heard Spencer sigh over the phone. “I miss you. I saw the three of you this morning and it feels like I haven’t seen you in months.” He chuckled. Spencer was alone in his hotel room, and it felt strangely quiet. Unfamiliar. If Spencer was home, you’d be asleep in his arms by now, your soft snores echoing in the darkness of your bedroom. Pregnancy was tiring, after all. But you struggled to sleep without each other, and you knew that. Your house may as well have been cold and empty to you without him there. Your house wasn’t your home. Spencer was, and you knew that he felt the same way about you. That was why he’d called.

“Any new symptoms? At around the seven month mark, you should expect to experience some shortness of breath, discomfort which may lead to difficulty moving, frequent urination, lightheadedness caused by the baby putting pressure on your blood vessels which can slow blood flow, fatigue-” He began to reel off pregnancy symptoms until he was cut off by your sleepy laugh.

“Spence, you’ve been gone for less than a day. You don’t have to worry about me. I feel the same as I did earlier.” You giggled.

“And that is?” He questioned. You could picture him furrowing his eyebrows, and the thought of it made your heart warm.

“Achey, tired, like a whale, hungry..” You listed, and you already knew he was going to give you advice on how to deal with your symptoms. He’d done more than enough research on pregnancy when JJ was first pregnant with Henry, and since then he’d unexpectedly found himself helping a woman give birth on a case.

“You need to rest. It’s late and that’s one of the only things that could help with your symptoms right now apart from physical activity, but I doubt you’d want to do any exercise at the moment,” He instructed, and you knew that he was being serious, even with his light tone. You’d think that you’d know more about pregnancy than Spencer, with you being mid-way through your second pregnancy, but he knew everything. Whilst anybody else might have been surprised by that, you weren’t. He’d done extensive research on the topic, after all, and he continued to. “And I can also guarantee you that you don’t look like a whale.” He added, and you could hear his smile in his voice.

“That’s what you think. I can hardly move, and when I do I waddle. I waddle, Spencer!” You pouted, and you could hear him laugh.

“Well I’m sure you look beautiful whilst you waddle.” He teased.

After a few quiet conversations between the two of you, 9pm turned to 11:30pm, and you could feel your mind wanting to drift off as your conversations slowly turned into Spencer spouting off random facts whilst you listened, his voice soothing you as though he was there with you. You decided to go back upstairs and tuck yourself into bed whilst he talked, placing your phone on the nightstand. He wasn’t really next to you, but it was close enough. You knew Lizzie wouldn’t wake up between Spencer’s soft words, the low volume your phone was on and her tendency to be a heavy sleeper. However, Spencer soon realised you were responding to him less and less.

“Sweetheart?” He said quietly, and you hummed in response, already drifting off. “Do you want me to hang up?” He asked, and your eyes snapped open. “No. Uh, I mean, I’d like it if you could just… stay on the line.” You said quietly, and he understood what you meant.

“Of course,” He responded, “Good night. I love you.” He said, and you said it back.

Soon enough, you fell asleep, and if he closed his eyes, he could picture you there next to him, your soft snores echoing around his hotel room. That was all he needed to relax, and Spencer soon found himself drifting off to sleep, feeling like he was at home. Feeling like he was with his home.

You brought him home.

[melanchol1cs]

WHAT GOOD IS SORRY?

ex husband!leon x f!reader

word count: 3.3k summary: why does one wound those they love so deeply? masterlist | taglist | wips

18+ MDNI. mentions of divorce, cheating/infidelity, awkward leon stuff, guilt, yearning, leon and reader have a child together — and i named her denise for whatever reason, getting stood up by a date, drunk texting, kissing, oral(r!receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, bittersweet ending(?) i guess.

a/n: old wip,, this was supposed to be super gut wrenching and angsty but for some reason, my brain didn’t want to cooperate and decided that this would be the ending. also, i’ve been contemplating whether to address this or not and even tho its not a big issue, PLEASE interact with my posts. it’s the only way i’m able to know that you guys actually like the stuff i write, and ever since i’ve started writing on here 7 months ago, i’ve been noticing a decrease in interactions. im honestly losing motivation to write because i truly don’t know if people actually read my shit and like it. anyway, enjoy my mediocre writing ^___^

leon regrets everything he’s done up to this point. running into ada on a mission, going to the bar with her afterwards, and the kiss. the stupid kiss that eventually led up to this.

the divorce.

it all felt wrong, so wrong. yet here he was, driving his car to your doorstep, his stomach in knots despite having done this several times before.

for the sake of your daughter, the two of you had decided that shared custody would be the best option.

he stands at the door, hesitating before knocking, his knuckles hovering anxiously. clearing his throat, he gently raps his knuckles against the door, hoping for an answer. he's already second-guessing himself, wondering if he should have texted or called first.

your door eventually opens, and he's met with a familiar face. you.

you greet him with a civil smile, pressing a kiss into your daughter’s hair before ushering her inside.

he fidgets, adjusting the brim of his leather jacket nervously as he takes in the sight of you.

you reach to shut the door, catching a glimpse of him awkwardly hovering over you porch.

“you okay?”

he tries to find his voice. "yeah, i just, uh... i was just thinking..”

he looks down at his feet, kicking the ground with the side of his scuffed boot, as if trying to buy some time or maybe just willing the floor to swallow him up. when he speaks, his voice is low and sheepish. “when i was— last night, i thought… uh, do- do you remember when.. shit. are you free this weekend?”

”what?” you muse at his question. “leon, i really don’t wanna have this conversation with you again,”

he winces at the rebuff, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets as a defensive measure.

leon’s adam’s apple bobs up and down as he swallows hard, his ears burning at your words. he looks anywhere but at you, his eyes darting over the porch railing, the foliage, the sky — anywhere but your eyes. oh, those eyes he adored so much.

"no, wait, hear me out,”

"listen..." he takes a deep breath, steeling himself for whatever fallout this might bring, knowing he's already on shaky ground. “i just wanna talk.. to you.”

he shifts his weight, glancing up at the roof of the house as if the heavens themselves could offer a solution. when he does meet your gaze again, his eyes are pleading, his jaw clenched with a mix of anxiety and something akin to desperation.

“i’m sorry, leon. i’m busy,”

he scoffs and his face scrunches up, a pained grimace contorting his features as he cuts you off. “c’mon, please?” he's standing too close now, invading the personal space he once knew so well. “i.. i know it isn’t what we do anymore but—“

“no, seriously. i literally can’t. i have something up.”

“oh.” he deflates slightly at your dismissal, shoulders slumping in defeat. a soft, regretful sigh escapes his parted lips, and his eyes drop, gaze wandering aimlessly. "can- can you can you cancel? is it really important? what about on sunday-? i’m sure we can..“

“leon.” it's not a question this time, you stare at him with the tiniest hint of pity. “i have a date.”

ouch. he freezes, his chest constricting as if he's been punched. a date? the words echo in his mind, each syllable like a dagger to his pride, his ego, his everything. a muscle in his jaw twitches, his hands clenching and unclenching in his pockets. leon swallows hard, his throat suddenly parched.

"oh," he repeats, the sound barely above a whisper. he takes a shaky breath, trying to calm the storm brewing inside him.

he rubs a hand over the back of his neck, jaw working in agitation as he grapples with the blow of your words. a snarky retort rises in his throat, a cutting remark to deflect the sting, but it withers on his tongue, a futile attempt at salvaging pride he knows is misplaced.

leon swallows hard, his mouth opening and closing a few times before he finally finds his voice, laced with a wry bitterness. “yeah, no worries.. guess that's that," a bitter, hollow chuckle escapes him as he shifts his weight. his tone is flippant, trying to mask the sting of rejection, but the defeat is palpable as he turns to leave. he starts down the porch steps, his boots thudding against the wooden slats.

you finally close the door on him, standing by the door, hand on the knob, unease prickling along you skin like a thousand tiny needles, each one stinging with the weight of guilt. you sigh, rubbing the bridge of her nose as she tries to process her feelings. guilt, regret, a twinge longing — it's all so confusing, so messy.

the weight of his pleading eyes, the desperation in his tone — he had no right acting like a dejected puppy after he cheated on you.

you shake your head, face between your hands. he made his choices, just as you had, and now it was time to move on. you squared your shoulders, took a deep breath, and stepped away from the door, determined to let go of the ghost of what was and focus on the life you were building. for you, and your daughter.

but it’s not really easy.

not when you’re sitting alone at a restaurant, waiting for a date that never bothered to show.

your phone buzzes and you hold your breath. hoping for some sort of confirmation, but it's quickly snuffed out.

‘hey, sorry i couldn’t make it. something important came up’ the simple text reads. the same stupid excuse. every. single. time. your heart sinks, a dull ache forming in the pit of your stomach.

a bitter, derisive chuckle escapes your lips. serves you right. you knew he was trouble from the start. yet, your heart aches, a dull throb of pain and disappointment. you feel so foolish, sitting there, waiting for someone who never shows. though, it isn't really new.

now you lay in your bed, having already kicked off your heels and changed out of the uncomfortably tight dress you wore.

you pull the blankets up to your chin, suddenly feeling cold. you toss and turn, brooding and wallowing in misery, and it seemed like you’ve been doing it for hours till you’re startled out of your fitful doze by the buzz of your phone.

it's a text from leon, of course it is. it’s another one of his ‘where are u? i miss u’ ‘can’t stop thinking about you. please let me c u’ meltdowns.

he's drunk again, you can tell by the sloppy caps and the desperate pleas. every time he has a rough night, he always thinks coming over will magically fix everything. and you always refuse, knowing he’s only drunk and alone. but tonight, you feel particularly lonely.

your thumb hovers over the keyboard, and before you know it, you're typing. ‘come over.’ you hesitate, then send the message.

by then, he’s already halfway out the door, stumbling out and nearly falling as he trips over his own feet in his haste. he takes the stairs two at a time, a goofy, shit-eating grin plastered on his face. when he reaches your door, he pounds on it with a fist. his breath comes out in short puffs as he waits, anticipation making his heart race.

click.

the door creaks open a fraction and his eyes lock onto you, looking all soft and domestic in a robe. leon's breath catches in his throat as his eyes drink you in.

he tumbles in, arms outstretched as if he's about to catch something. he's immediately in your space, arms around you in a tight, needy embrace. his face buries itself in the crook of your neck, breathless with relief and something else, something suspiciously like love.

“leon—“ he smashes his mouth against yours, tongue pushing past your lips, the taste of beer and regret in his breath. his hands roam, sliding up your back, gripping your hair, fingers splayed wide as if to assure himself you're real. a low, desperate sound escapes him, half-groan, half-moan as his body presses against yours. he's desperate, sloppy, but undeniably passionate. when he finally breaks for air, he rests his forehead against yours, eyes glassy with drink and longing.

“missed you s’ much, baby,” he presses a kiss to your neck, tongue tracing the pulse point with a reverence that borders worship.

“let me make it up to you, please,” he looks up at you with those big, puppy-dog eyes, an expression so pathetic it’s comical. yet, the desperation behind them makes it anything but.

his hands skim down your sides to your hips, fingers digging in as if to keep you anchored to him. his face buried in the crook of your neck as his hands knead the meat of your ass, claws digging in through the fabric of your robe. his breath hitches as he nuzzles into you, inhaling deeply as if committing you to memory.

he trails a string of open-mouthed kisses down your neck, pausing to nibble on your collarbone before continuing his journey south. his hands never stop moving, roaming over your body with an insatiable hunger.

you let out a soft whimper, arching into his touch. "bedroom," you breathe out, and he happily obliges.

once inside, he kicks the door shut behind him and spins you around, backing you up against the bed. he begins to undo your robe with shaking fingers, your heavy breathing and the rustling of silk the only sounds in the charged silence between you. when the robe falls open, he pushes it off your shoulders, letting it pool at your feet.

the thin, sheer fabric of your nightgown offers little resistance as he practically rips it off you. a shaky breath escapes his parted lips as he reaches for you again, fingers grazing your skin as if he's not quite trusting his own touch.

he guides you to the bed, pushing you to sit on the edge. he immediately drops to his knees before you, face between your legs.

“these ‘re pretty,” he slurs out, before he fucking tears your underwear off.

“leon!”

he chuckles at your reaction, a low, rumbling sound in the back of his throat. “sorry,” he murmurs against your inner thigh, his hot breath causing goosebumps to rise in its wake. “gonna buy you new ones,”

his stubble scrapes against your sensitive skin as he slowly trails open-mouthed kisses up your thigh, savoring every inch of you that you’re willing to give him.

he buries his face between your legs, licking and sucking with a single-minded devotion that makes your toes curl and eyes roll back in your head. his scruffy cheeks hollow as he sucks a hickey into the soft flesh of your inner thigh.

god, it’s been so long. the feelings practically foreign.

his tongue begins to lash at your slit, long and flat, with a dexterity that belies his level of inebriation.

“you still mine?” he huffs. “‘course you are, ‘m the only one that can get ya this wet,”

slurp, smack, suck, repeat.

his tongue is relentless, probing your entrance, swirling around your clit with increasing fervor. he's sloppy, uncoordinated, but it only serves to heighten the intensity of it all. every time he pulls back, you can hear his heavy breathing, feel the vibrations of his moans against your most intimate flesh. your fingers thread into his hair, tugging him closer as your back arches off the bed. a keening whimper escapes you, the sound muffled by your clenched teeth as you struggle to maintain some semblance of control.

“fuck, leon—” your words trail off into incoherent mumbles as he drives you closer to the edge, tongue darting in and out with a pace that’ll make a grown woman go crazy. “d-denise, were gonna wake her up,”

a low growl rumbles in his chest as he responds to your whine. there's a hint of accusation in his gaze, but it quickly morphs into a look of raw, desperate need. “don’t matter,” he's relentless, persistent, refusing to back down even as you tremble and writhe beneath him.

he grunts, his attention snapping back to you, blue eyes squinting as he looks up from between your thighs. his tongue is a damn metronome, lapping and smacking with a relentless rhythm that has you chasing the edge of oblivion.

it's like every drunken fantasy he's ever had is being poured out onto you. messy, uncoordinated, desperate. and you’re eating it up. “gonna make you forget all about that stupid date," he mutters through slurred words. "’m the only man who can make you feel this good,"

he's not wrong. the way he's attacking you with his tongue, it's like he's trying to prove a fucking point.

"leon, please," you gasp out, and he takes it as an invitation to continue. your entire body is wound up tight, a taut string ready to snap. he slips a finger in, then two, curling them just right so that they’re pressing against that spongy spot that has you seeing stars.

your legs wrap around his head, fingers threading into his hair as you pull him in as close as humanly possible. his name is a chant on your lips, a prayer to the gods of pleasure. "leon, leon, leon,". denise could come in right now and catch you like this — legs splayed, back arched, eyes squeezed shut in bliss. he's that good. or maybe that bad. you dont know. and you don’t care to find out.

"yeah, just like that," he praises, voice a low, gravelly growl. "love my fingers in this greedy little cunt, don't you?"

your thighs clench around his head, heels digging into his back as you ride out the pleasure. "gonna cum, leon, please—“ yours words trail off into a wail, a keen of pure, unadulterated euphoria.

your back arches, toes curl, and your fingers dig into his hair, holding him to you as the wave crashes over you. he tugs you down to the edge of the bed, practically burying his face in your groin. he laps at your slit, in and out, in and out, until the last bit of resistance melts away.

he lifts his face from between your legs, eyes hazy and unfocused as he fumbles to unbuckle his pants. once he has it off, he's back, pushing your legs apart as he kneels between them. the thick of his length throbs against your lower belly, and you can feel his racing heartbeat through every inch of him that's in contact with you.

he notches the head of his cock at your entrance, pressing in just enough to make you feel the pressure, gathering your juices before giving a long, slow stroke up and down, coating himself in you. he's throbbing, pulsing with need, and you can practically taste the desperation in your mouth.

he presses in, just the tip at first, then a bit more. slow, shallow strokes, in and out. his hips rock against yours, the motion slow and languid. one of his hands cups your cheek, thumb brushing over your closed eyelids to check if he was dreaming. the other hand palms the small of your back, fingers digging in as if to anchor himself. your legs wrap around his waist, ankles locking behind his back as he slowly sinks into you.

he's quiet for a moment, just holding you, his heart racing in his chest as if he's trying to communicate something without using words. his hips move, the action slow and lazy, as if he's trying to spoon you into submission.

he pulls out, just to the tip, before pushing back in. the motion is slow, sensual, a deliberate teasing that has you whining and writhing beneath him.

sweat beads on his brow, tracing down the lines of his face, but he doesn't slow. if anything, he's driven by a desperate need to make up for lost time, to prove himself worthy of you. your back arches, hands scrabbling for purchase on the sheets as he pistons in and out, the force of his thrusts rocking your entire body. he's not gentle, not soft, but rough and demanding, just like he always used to be when he was trying to stake his claim.

he nips at your earlobe, his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh before he sooths it with his tongue. “fuck, feels so good,” he gasps out, his words punctuated by the slap of skin against skin. “can't believe i ever let you go.”

"leon," you whimper, the name a plea, a prayer. his lips find yours in a sloppy, frantic kiss. he's drinking you in, devouring your mouth, your moans, your gasps, trying to consume every ounce of you.

he's sweating, hair a mess, face scrunched up in concentration, but those blue eyes remain locked on yours.

you're lost in the sensation, every nerve ending on high alert, screaming for friction, for relief, for release. "leon, leon, gonna cum," you pant, your voice raw, your throat dry. "please, i—" but your pleas are swallowed by his next thrust, his cock dragging against your sensitive walls.

he leans forward, his forehead pressing against yours, noses nearly touching. his hot breath mingles with yours, the scent of his beer-soaked breath and the musk of his arousal mingling together in the most intoxicating way. "love you," he suddenly whispers, the words a quiet, a desperate confession that hangs in the air between you.

“love you, love you, fuck—“

the way your walls squeeze him when you cum drags his own orgasm from him. for a long moment, he stays frozen, buried to the hilt, his chest heaving against yours as he tries to catch his breath.

the heat of your body seeps into his skin, chasing away the chill of the night air. he collapses against you, a boneless heap of satisfied male. his cock throbs, pulses, and drips onto the bed between your legs as he tries to catch his breath. the room is silent, save for your joint heavy breathing, and the occasional groan as his softening length slips out of you. eventually, he rolls off, lying on his back beside you, one big hand coming to rest on your stomach, thumb stroking in a slow, idle pattern. his eyes are hazy, unfocused, but they find yours and hold. a small, sheepish smile tugs at his lips.

"sorry," he slurs out, the word garbled and slightly off-kilter. "i shoulda been better, should’ve tried harder, i... i‘m gonna make things right, i swear,"

he peppers your neck with soft kisses, his stubble rasping against your tender flesh. he's warm, solid, and comforting. gentle and tender, a stark contrast to the desperation that drove him mere moments ago.

he's not reaching for grand gestures or flowery declarations. he's asking for something simple, intimate, and achingly human. a chance to hold you, to sleep beside you, to maybe, begin to rebuild something from the rubble of what once was.

and for a moment, you let yourself believe that he’ll be different this time. that he's not just trying to relive past glories, but genuinely wants to make amends, to start anew.

tags: @crowleyco @withonly-sweetheart @fanilkychae

[younswnn]

[Nat and her daughter (Y/n) on parents day at school.]

Teacher : Okay! Now, how about words that ends with -ie!

Student 1 : Sweetie!

Student 2 : Cutie!

Teacher : Those are very good! Anyone else?

Y/n, without looking up, brushing her Barbie’s hair with a strange smile : Die.

Teacher : [looks at Natasha]

Nat, getting weird looks from the other parents, trying to save the situation : Or you could say Barbie, Y/n.

Y/n whilst taking off her Barbie’s head : Die.

[marzipaint]

an enjolras because i miss him

[aesthetic-bbyg]

I miss avenger fics😔.

[fairytwles]

ya'll, if Hollywood ever needs a father-daughter casting, CAST MGG AND ELLA PURNELL I SWEAR

I don't know if anyone else will see the vision, but I do

[fanwarriorfictions]

Not Again - Part Ten

Summary: Azriel and Y/n both are left reeling from the fight and revelations that morning.

Warnings: ANGST!!!! Shes a little spicey, Smut (oral, f receiving), this is probably the longest chapter yet

Series Masterlist

-Part Ten-

Azriel was gone until well after dinner, she’d eaten alone in the dining room when the house had seemed sick of her wallowing and forced a plate of food in front of her. Y/n was half tempted to refuse but she felt the scolding presence and decided arguing wasn’t worth it.

The fight had drained from her in the hours she’d spent in that seat, staring at the wall. She didn’t have it in her, the fire from her argument with Azriel dying out, turning to ice in her chest until she felt nothing at all.

Once she finished every last bite of the meal, the house whisked away the plates and she was left with nothing again, just that cold empty silence. She felt the fire tugging on her, felt it like a faint echo of what she’d felt this morning, begging to be rekindled, to keep fighting until she won, that was her mother’s temper, her father’s resilience. But she wasn’t them, she wasn’t strong enough to be them, her parents had taken on the world and won, fighting for a dream that they got to achieve. Y/n? Y/n had lived through nothing but peace. She was trained as a warrior, she could fight and win, but what was there to fight for? To get home, to fight some faceless god that wanted her dead for a sin that wasn’t her own, to die anyway? What was the damned point of it all.

Alone, she was so fucking alone, and it was eating her alive.

“You’re still up.”

Her heart lurches in her chest, “Gods be damned, don’t do that.”

Azriel glides across the room, in that deadly silent way, spymaster indeed. She hadn’t even felt his approach like she usually did, that heavy feeling of being under his gaze, that feeling in her heart that whispered, he’s close. It was like it was suppressed, submerged under water, still there, but so so faint.

“I’m sorry.” He gives her a small grin that says quite the opposite, “Did I startle you?”

“Not at all,” she says, frowning up at him, “Where have you been? Babysitting not fun enough for you anymore?”

It’s easy to throw on that mask of sarcasm and arrogance, anything to hide the crushing weight on her shoulders.

“It was never fun to begin with.” He shrugs, taking a seat across from her, a glass of deep red wine appearing on the table before him, “I was dealing with court matters.”

She leans across the table and plucks the glass into her own hands, “Sounds riveting.”

The wine is sweet on her tongue as she drinks deeply, her eyes closed and her head tilted back. It soothes some of the rough edges of her, chips away at that ice.

She sighs as she finishes the glass, her eyes finding the male in front of her, who’s hazel gaze is firmly planted on her sighing lips. There’s a darkness in his gaze, different than the usual shadows, it’s deeper, it kindles that fire in her, a singular spark that could turn into a blaze. Maybe, it would be enough to burn away the thoughts that threaten to drag her down, down, down.

“That was mine,” he says quietly.

She smiles sweetly, “Was it? I’m sorry, I didn’t realize.”

His eyes don’t move from her lips, “I’ve had a long day, Princess.”

“Oh do tell.” The glass in her hand fills on its own, a gift from the house, she sips slowly. “I do hope you weren’t sulking all day.”

Azriel leans forward, arms resting on the table between them. Earlier it had felt like the only barrier keeping them from tearing into each other, now, it felt much the same.

“Sulking over what, exactly?” His head tilts to the side, examining her, “Over a stubborn female who’s ready to run head first into her death?”

And just like that the fire turns from a gentle heat to a roaring in her blood, and not in the way she wanted it to. There was something about the way he looked at her, the infuriating way he’d looked all morning during their fight, that has her fire burning again. Fight, fight, fight. She wanted to fight and burn and take all of this storming emotion inside of her out on him, and it would seem he was finally ready to do the same.

“I see you’ve still got your panties in a twist over this,” she grins, showing off her canines, “Did you think you could just kiss me and I’d fall at your feet and let you go over protective fae male on me?”

His eyes drop to her lips, “I’d think you’d have wanted to actually survive long enough to make it home to your family.”

“That’s what I’m trying to do,” she snaps, “But you and your busybody court won’t get out of my way.”

“So you can get yourself killed?” His gaze is darker, filled with that rage and something more, “So you can throw yourself in front of a vengeful god that wants you dead, leaving the portal open to it, get all of us killed in your reckless, idiotic, selfish attempt.”

He’s right, she knows that, whatever god has it out for her won’t stop until she’s dead, and after that, who knows what it will do with the lock. She sees his reasoning, she understands it, but she’s geared for a fight and that fire fuels her.

“If you’d let me try,” she snarls, “give me the damned book and figure out how to open the right gate-“

“No.” His voice is soft, a simmering heat lacing it, “You are not going anywhere near that book, you are not trying that fucking gate again, you are not leaving-“

“Leaving what, who? Leaving you?” There’s a raging fire in her eyes, in her blood, in the pit of her stomach, it begs for her to burn with it, she chases the feeling so she doesn’t feel the emptiness from before. “Was my mouth so good that you can’t stand to let me go?”

That narrow focus on her mouth sends a thrill through her, “Is it so shocking that I actually care about your wellbeing, you absolute fucking brat.”

Her grin is feline, “I have a feeling you like brats, shadowsinger.”

Azriel is standing, leaning over the table, wings flared in the perfect picture of a wrathful god. Her eyes skate over him, down those sculpted arms to the hands that look ready to wring her neck. He could easily wrap one of his large hands around her throat and squeeze the life out of her, could make her see stars.

When her eyes travel back up to his, she could melt with the heat in them. This is exactly what she wanted, rile him up, get him to either punch her or fuck her, she didn’t quite care which, only that he made her feel something other than nothing.

“Listen, Princess.” Gods his voice was gravely, laced with anger and something that made her toes curl in her boots. “I see what you’re doing, and it’s not going to work.”

“And what exactly am I doing, Azriel” she lets her voice drop low when she says his name, lifting that glass of wine to her mouth.

His hand snaps out, practically ripping the glass from her hand, “You think you can get under my skin, make me angry enough, make me want to put you in your damned place.”

She was on fire, burning and burning. A noise almost slips off her tongue as he turns the glass, placing his mouth directly on the spot hers had been, and throws the whole thing back, the strong column of his throat on perfect display to her. A primal part of her wants to sink her teeth into the flesh and leave her mark on him.

Azriel slams the glass down on the table, a crack forming in its stem, “You want me to make you feel something, you want to act like a brat to hide how fucking scared and lonely you feel.”

The heat stops, everything stops as he continues, “You want me to be your gods damned distraction from that fucking void in your chest.

“Fuck you,” she snarls, standing to copy his stance, leaning across that table like she’d jump it and tear his throat out instead of laying her claim, “you’re a piece of shit, shadowsinger.”

He leans in closer, close enough she can smell the wine on his breath, “I’ll take you when you’re done being a coward, Princess.”

And like it meant nothing, that soul baring sentence, he turns and stalks out of the room, shadows trailing behind him like they were trying to stay.

The glass is flying through the air, shattering on the arch of the doorway, and those lingering shadows scatter.

He felt like he was that glass, exploding into a million pieces. It took every ounce of self control to keep walking, to keep dampening that bond he could so strongly feel now that he was aware of it. He could feel her on the other side of that tendril of shadow, raging, desperate, scared, and lonely. So gods damned lonely.

Azriel understood the feeling, he’d felt it all day since the moment Rhys has spoken those words, his mate. He’d collapsed, no longer able to support himself and he’d spent those agonizing hours crying, letting Cassian and Rhys bear his weight. How cruel was fate to bring her to him, this female of pine and snow and fire that reminded him of home, this female that would eventually have to leave him.

His mate, a storm of ice, wind, and fire on the other side of that tendril of shadow that connected them. His mate, the warrior who’d handed him his ass on more than one occasion, who could get beneath his skin more than anyone he’d ever known. His mate, the most beautiful female he’d ever seen.

He’d felt her from the River house, the way her thoughts had spiraled out of control, the rage draining into nothingness, it scared the shit out of him, enough that he’d started to pull himself together, using his brothers to haul himself off the floor. It had taken longer than he would’ve liked to make himself presentable, to force his wings to work to take him to her, to dampen that bond so she wouldn’t feel the agony he was in.

When he’d seen her there, broken and lost, he needed to get her back, desperately needed her to come back from that edge. He was willing to shove his own agony into a box and put on a mask. He tugged once on that bond, begging her to fight it. And when she'd started to come back, when she started to play with him, he kept going, stoking that fire anyway he could, he brought back the rage from that morning, the desire in his blood, and they fought and pushed at each other.

He felt that primal urge to claim her right then and there, but he couldn't. He could feel her on the other side, feel the lust and fire, feel the despair hidden beneath. She wanted a distraction, not him, she wanted to hide from everything she was feeling and Azriel desperately wanted to do it, to take her over that table, over and over, to scream that she was his mate, to claim her as his. Instead he’d called her a coward, he really meant it about himself.

Azriel was terrified, to bare his soul only to have it ripped away through a gate across the stars. He would fall at her feet and she would still leave him, he wasn’t enough to make her stay, he knew that. She had a destiny, she would be a Queen in a far away land, and she would one day find a consort who would be able to stay by her side, love her, cherish her.

He felt sick. Barely making it to his room and into the bathroom before he heaved the contents of his stomach into the bowl. Azriel couldn’t breathe, couldn’t stop the spasms in his abdomen, couldn’t stop the tears streaming down his face.

The mother was cruel, so very cruel.

Y/n couldn’t go back to her room, couldn’t be that close to him, she wasn’t sure what she would do if she was. Would she take her dagger to his throat, would she take all the rage in her blood and kill him, or would she cave into the desperate need to kiss him, to turn that anger into passion. Both options were bad ideas, enough that she begged the house to show her to a room as far away as possible.

When she woke with the sunrise, the unfamiliar room nearly sent her into a panic before the night before crashed back into her. All the pain and longing, the fire and rage, the numbness and loneliness. It was to much, these feelings, she felt like she was drowning in them, she needed to get out, get as far away as possible.

She was dressed and out the door, practically running down the halls to the closest balcony. The door was already open for her, the breeze welcoming her as she shifted and leapt of the edge, flying into the sunrise beyond.

She didn’t turn back, didn’t look to see the male who’s gaze she could feel like a brand across her back.

Two days had passed since Azriel watched her take off from the balcony across the house. He’d nearly flown after her, with how fast she was he wasn’t sure he’d even be able to catch her. But instead he just watched, watched as his mate flew as fast and as far away from him as she possibly could.

He’d waited for hours, scanning the skies for that majestic hawk form, but she didn’t come back. The bond grew fainter and fainter as she drifted farther and farther away. That was when the panic had set in. She didn’t know these lands, the creatures within, the fae who lurked in the shadows. Y/n was a warrior, a talented one at that, yet Azriel couldn’t help the fear that she would be hurt.

Cassian had found him on that ledge, had forced him inside, had forced him to eat, to sit down and gods damned breathe for a minute. And he’d stayed with him the rest of the day, through the night and the day after. The only thing that kept Azriel from losing control completely was that thread, no matter how faint, he could still feel her on the other side.

She was alive, burning, those swirling emotions screaming down the bond. Anger, despair, loneliness, longing, fear, so many emotions that mirrored everything Azriel felt. He wondered how much of it was her and how much of it was him.

By the end of the second day, sheer exhaustion had him falling into bed, his brother closing the door behind him to go find his own bed, his mate in it. Azriel was to tired to say anything, even the thank you Cassian deserved for staying with him, for holding him together.

Sleep took him, and he welcomed the blissful darkness.

Wake up, wake, she’s back, wake up, she’s here, outside, back. His body jolts, startled awake by the whispering shadows around his head. Even without them telling him, he knew she was back, could feel her close on the other side of that tether. Closer and closer she grew, coming down the hall towards him. He didn’t think, didn’t stop, just ran to the door, hauling it open to see her standing there, her back turned to him, hand resting on her own door.

“Where the fuck have you been?”

His voice is gravely, still heavy with sleep and lingering emotions that comes to the forefront as soon as her scent hits him.

“None of your business.” It lacks her usual snark, no heat behind it, “It’s late, I’m tired.”

His hand moves on its own, fingers wrapping around her bicep and pulling, rougher than he meant to be but in that moment he didn’t have it in him to care. He’d spent the last two days worrying, scared shitless over where she could be, he couldn’t control the fierce heat that rose in his blood.

She looks up at him, eyes ice cold, “What do you want?”

“Where have you been?” He repeats, each word sharp and short, “You can’t just disappear for two days and expect me to just-“

“Oh fuck off,” she snarls, “I don’t owe you shit, shadowsinger.”

He can feel the spark of anger in her, and it mirrors his own. She’d ran away, flown off to who knows where, and left him. She left him.

“It’s a simple question, Princess.” He pulls her closer to him, looking down at her, “Why do you have to make everything so difficult.”

She gives him one of those sweet little smiles that makes him see red, makes the reins on his control snap. His hand shoots up, wrapping behind her neck and gripping a handful of her hair, pulling so she’s looking up at him. Her mouth opens, most likely to yell at him, to snarl and snap those lethal teeth at his throat, but he doesn’t give her the chance.

Their lips crash together, viciously devouring each other. Azriel pours every emotion he had felt in the past few days into it, the heat and anger, the despair and loneliness, the desire. He decided then that he didn’t care, he would take what she would give him, would be her distraction, would lay his soul bear for her, would let her rip his heart from his chest to bring it with her when she left him behind. He didn’t care that it would kill him to let her leave, to let her leave and never know that he was her mate, he didn’t care, he needed her, needed to feel her, to worship her.

He holds her to him, wrapping one arm around her waist, the other gripping her hair to keep her exactly where he wants her. Her hand grips his arm, nails digging into the flesh, her other grabs the collar of his shirt and pulls him impossibly closer.

There was no softness, no gentle touch and soft passion, it was hard and painful. Her teeth drawing blood from his lip where she bites him, his hand bruising her sides where he holds her.

“You’re a fucking prick,” she snarls against him, pulling away just enough that he can still feel her lips against his.

The hand in her hair roughly pulls, forcing her back so that he can look her in the eyes, he notes the small moan that she tries to hold back, “You’re infuriating, Princess.”

She presses closer to him and he almost hisses at the contact, “I can feel just how infuriated you are, shadowsinger.”

He lets go of her hair, reaching down to her thighs to hoist her up. Her legs wrap around his hips as he presses her body into the door behind her. The sound she makes almost brings him to his knees. He can feel her pressed against him, his cock straining in his leathers.

“I can’t stand you.” Her head falls back against the door, letting him trail his lips and tongue down her throat, “You insufferable male."

He finds her pulse and nips at the sensitive spot. It draws a heady sigh from her lips, he does it again just so he can hear that sweet sound. She claws at his back as he wraps is lips around that spot, writhing against him as he leaves a deep purple mark. Azriel has to grip her thighs even harder to keep her still, or he’d lose his mind completely and take her against the wall.

“Gods,” she pants, “Azriel please.”

He kisses that claiming mark, “Please what, Princess?”

She lets out a soft growl, pushing his face away from her neck. Her lips find his again, her nails digging painfully into his cheek. He groans into it and holds her up with one arm, using the other to unlatch the door. It swings open and he takes them inside, slamming it shut behind him. Only the soft moon light illuminates the space, Azriel doesn’t need it to find her bed.

He practically throws her onto the center of it, grinning at the feral hiss she lets out, “I’m not a damned rag doll, you bastard.”

Y/n props herself up on her elbows, looking up at him with those eyes on fire. She looks delicious in the soft light, hair a mess, lips swollen, that mark on her neck a deep dark purple. A sick sense of purely male pride overwhelms him, she would walk around with that bruise for days, and everyone would know she belonged to him.

“No of course not,” he smirks, slowly crawling onto the bed, over her, caging her in, “A rag doll wouldn’t talk back this much.”

“I hate you,” she sighs, glaring up at him.

“That’s fine.” It wasn’t, it was the opposite of fine. “You can hate me all you want.”

He doesn’t let her respond, doesn’t let her wield that poison tipped tongue to open the wound in his heart anymore. Instead, his scarred hands grip the soft material of her shirt and rips.

Azriel groans at the sight, and Y/n gasps as the chilled air drifts across her exposed chest. Soft and perfect, large and heavy, Azriel takes her in, the valley between that leads down to her belly, the curve of her waist, he devours her with his eyes. Her arms lift to cover herself but his fingers wrap around her wrists and pins them roughly above her head. He wouldn’t let her hide from him.

“Beautiful, so gods damned perfect,” he growls, leaning down to capture one of the peaks in his mouth.

Her back arches off the bed, pressing closer to his tongue, to his teeth that pinch the little bud, drawing a sharp gasp from her. He keeps her wrists in one hand, the other trailing down to her chest, gripping the soft flesh in his palm and squeezing. He groans against her, keeping his hold on her wrist despite the way she writhes and pulls against him. The most devastatingly melodic sounds fall from her lips, moans and pleading sighs.

“What do you want, Princess?” He asks, trailing kisses across her soft skin, leaving those claiming bruises as he goes, “Tell me what you want.”

“More,” she groans, hissing when he takes a nipple between his fingers, squeezing and rolling it without mercy, “More, I need more, I need to touch you.”

He grins, “Don’t be greedy, Princess.”

She growls and pulls against the hold on her wrists, desperately trying to break free of his iron grip. Of course she’d fight him, even now when he was ready to lay the world at her feet, she would fight him. He lets her win, lets her rip her hands from his, lets her use those claws to rip at his shirt, tearing it from his body like he’d done to her.

“Did that make you feel better?” He taunts, smirking at the way her eyes take him in.

“Shut up.”

Her hands trace the tattoos across his chest, nails dragging across him with just enough pressure to draw a hiss from his lips. Violent, wicked, beautiful. She was perfect, so damned perfect.

He drops his lips to the valley between her breasts, kissing down the plane of her stomach while his fingers deftly work at the ties of her leathers. Her hands drag through his hair, tugging at the strands as she gasps and moans at every touch.

Azriel makes quick work of her leathers, roughly tugging them down her thighs, throwing them behind them without care. Her scent washes over him, sweet arousal that has him growling low in his chest. The delicate black fabric covering her center is easy to tear off her body, revealing all of her to him.

“Look at you,” he groans, sitting back on his heels so he could see all of her, “Perfect, absolutely perfect.”

“I told you I was your type,” she breathes, that saccharine on her lips.

Azriel shifts, placing himself directly between her legs, his scarred hands pushing apart her thighs so he could see her dripping for him. His fingers dig into her strong thighs, more bruises for her to wear.

“Az,” she whines, glaring through her heavy lidded eyes, “don’t just stare, do some-“

Her pleas turn into desperate moans as he drops his head to her, laying down between her thighs so he can properly worship her. He runs is tongue directly over her center, tasting her like she was his last meal to savor. So impossibly sweet, her taste has him growling against her.

“Fuck, Az,” Y/n practically screams, rolling her hips as his tongue circles the bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs.

He could do this for hours, flattening his tongue against her, sucking, biting, bringing out those noises that sound like music to his ears. The hands in his hair pull and push like she can’t tell if she needs him closer or to stop, he has to pin her to the bed with his arm to stop her from writhing away.

He can feel her on the other side of the bond no matter how hard he tries to dampen in, can feel the intense pleasure, it ripples through him, making him strain against his leathers uncomfortably. He has to press his hips into the bed to relieve some of the pain of it.

“Gods damnit,” she gasps, “Az, I- fuck.”

He’s half tempted to taunt her for the way she stumbles over the words, but to do that he’d have to take his mouth off of her and he wasn’t willing to do that. Instead, he takes is free hand, softly tracing it up her thigh, until it’s posed at her entrance. He uses a single scarred finger, dragging it through her wetness. Her hips desperately try to chase the digit and he laughs against her, sending a shiver through her at the vibration.

“Please,” she begs, and it’s the sweetest sound he’d ever heard, “Az, please.”

Azriel doesn’t hesitate to plunge into her, groaning at the feeling, grinding his cock into the bed. She’s moaning and cursing as he curls his finger to find that spot inside that would make her see stars, that would have her coming undone on his tongue. When she screams his name, he knows he’s found it and he keeps brushing the spot over and over as his mouth devours her clit. He adds a second finger, the tight stretch around them nearly enough to send him over the edge.

“Az, don’t stop,” Y/n gasps, head thrown back in pleasure, “please I-“

There on the other side of that tendril of shadow he feels the band in the pit of her stomach tighten and tighten. His tongue flattens against her, his fingers curl, and that band snaps.

He doesn’t stop, keeps rolling his tongue over her, keeps moving his fingers as the shocks run through her, his arm pinning her down as she writhes beneath him. Wave after wave after wave until she’s pulling away from him, trying to escape the pleasure that slowly turns into delicious pain.

“Az, please,” Y/n sobs, “I can’t, fuck, please.”

It takes more effort than he’s willing to admit to pry himself away, the way she gasps as his fingers pull out of her makes him want to go right back in. Addictive, she is absolutely addictive.

Y/n goes limp beneath him, panting like she’d ran a marathon, he’s half tempted to tease her for that too if she didn’t look so tired. Eyes heavy like she was fighting to stay awake.

It only hits him then that she had been out, Mother knows where, for days, flying far enough away that he could barely feel her through the bond. She had to be exhausted, and Azriel had throughly worn out any energy she might have had left.

He pulls away, tugging down the rumpled sheets. She doesn’t acknowledge what he’s doing, not until he’s carefully wrapping his arms around her, one behind her back the other below her legs. She’s almost limp in his arm as he gently lays her at the head of the bed.

“What are you doing?” She asks, voice hoarse, “What about you?”

His cock was begging for attention, begging for her hand, for her mouth, for her cunt. He’d need to take care of himself to get rid of the aching need.

Azriel brings the duvet up to her chin, “I’m fine, Princess. You need to sleep.”

“But-“

He grins down at her, leaning down to brush his lips across her cheek, “Don’t worry, I’m not done with you yet. I have a whole list of ways to ravish you. You’ll be begging me to let you sleep.”

A soft whine, “Az, I want-“

“Sleep, Princess.” He stands, moving towards the door, “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Azriel has to force himself to take each step away from her when everything in him is screaming for him to turn around and take everything she had to offer. His shadows plead with him to stop, to do just that, pulling back towards her against the tight reins he keeps on them.

“Az.” The softest whisper, he almost doesn’t hear it, “Stay, please.”

Y/n looks at him, those eyes still heavy with sleep and an emotion so raw, so open, that he can’t help it when he says, “Of course, Princess.”

Tag list

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[diyasgarden]

been on a baby kick for some reason, so how about tashi and reader being mommies hcs!?

Tashi has the baby's nursery planned perfectly. She started working on it before the baby was born, so she wanted something warm, cozy, and gender neutral. The walls are a light green and has little animals drawn on the wall, a lot of plushies around the room too. All in all it looks straight of an Ikea display.

When you both can, you put your little girl to bed together. One of you would be cuddling her and the other reading a bed time story. You alternate who does what each time.

Anytime you match clothes with the baby, Tashi insists on taking as many photos as possible. Her two favorite people!! She has a digital camera just for this purpose.

And you just love taking pictures of her and your daughter in general. She could just be holding the kid in the kitchen, and your camera roll would go up fifty pictures.

In the universe where Tashi is never injured, you both go to all of her games. Dressed head to toe in merch for her. And if this is the universe with the injury, Tashi loves randomly talking to you both about who is coaching and how it is going. Do you or your daughter understand the technical stuff? No, not really, but it's sweet either way <3

[mschievousx]

now and then | b.b.

pairing: benedict bridgerton x ofc, anthony bridgerton x ofc (platonic)

summary: loraine silva always knew she was not normal. she loves unusual things. she loves her father's guns, horses, boxing, climbing a tree, falling from a tree, engineering, astronomy... oh, and a man eleven years older.

completed

series masterlist:

prologue

i. one

ii. two

iii. three

iv. four

v. five

n. interlude

vi. six

vii. seven

n. interlude

viii. eight

ix. nine

x. ten

n. interlude

xi. eleven

xii. twelve

epilogue

author's note

i have no inkling as to what i am doing. i want to write. i want benedict. why ever not combine both?

highly encouraged to drop insights, questions, or even propose scenes. i will surely fit them in. also, i have no self-control. so, when i finish writing, i simply press select all, copy, then paste. i, myself, am annoyed with grammatical errors at times because they ruin the feel of the story. if you ever find one that you cannot just read through, do alert me. thank you.

lastly, benedict is a fox of romance—the slyest of them all.

[bimboyaoi]

I can't stop thinking about babies and pregnancy so Butcher with a very pregnant partner...

• Not letting you do anything. Like, he'll see you standing up to grab something and will immediately scowl and sit you back down and get it for you.

• Treating you like you're made of glass. He's so overprotective it actually starts to piss you off cause you just want to take a piss in peace but he'll stay by the door looking at you like some kind of knight in shinning armor.

• He'll be super insecure about being a bad dad but he doesn't let it show despite you trying to talk to him about it, he'll just switch the subject.

• But he's also super excited. Buying every onesie that has something like "Daddy's princess" written on it. He also 100% gets matching shirts/onesies for him and the baby.

• He literally LOVES how you look pregnant. Literally worships your body and every time you get upset about your body changing because of the pregnancy, he goes on a rant about how gorgeous you look.

• You're craving something weird in the middle of the night? He's already out the door going to buy/make it for you.

Idk I just got him and pregnancy on my mind

[thirtysomethingloser92]

..…But instead, what you got was a man leaning against a brick wall, exhaling smoke from a half-burnt cigarette, his eyes focused on something else entirely. He looked tired, worn down by life, his clothes rumpled and his hair falling in loose strands around his face. In that moment, he was just a man, shoving a bundle of what you assumed was cash into his coat pocket with a practiced ease. His eyes were dim, distant, as though weighed down by years of survival.

“You’re a hard man to find,” you said, your voice cutting through the quiet like a blade.

He turned sharply at the sound of your voice, the lighter in his hand glowing faintly purple as he flicked it closed. His eyes scanned you, guarded and uncertain, but there was no immediate spark of recognition. No sudden epiphany. Just a cautious wariness, the kind that came from too many years of living on the edge. “We met?” he asked, his Cajun accent thick and weary, the words dripping with suspicion.

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could, his attention shifted. His gaze slid past you, landing on the figure standing beside you—Laura.

His entire body went still.

“Laura?” he breathed, his voice barely more than a whisper, but the raw emotion in it was unmistakable. His cigarette fell, forgotten, to the ground as he stepped forward, his eyes wide, disbelieving.

Laura didn’t say a word. She simply nodded, taking a step toward him in return. And then, in a moment that took you completely by surprise, she moved forward and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into a tight, desperate embrace. Gone was the tough exterior, the guarded, hardened warrior she usually appeared to be. In that moment, she was just a young woman who had found someone she thought she’d lost forever.

You watched as Remy’s arms came up around her, holding her close, his expression softening in a way you hadn’t expected. His hands were gentle, a stark contrast to the rough edges of his appearance. He clutched her to him like he was afraid if he let go, she might disappear again, like she had before. His chin rested on the top of her head, and you could see the tension in his shoulders ease, just a little. The two of them stood there, locked in that embrace, the world around them forgotten.

You could feel the emotion of the moment pressing in on you, heavy and bittersweet. You remembered the way Laura had described Remy to you—the way he had taken on the role of protector in the Void, looking after her like a father would, keeping her safe when everything else was falling apart. And now, seeing them together, it was clear just how much they had meant to each other. Neither one of them wanted to let go, both of them terrified of losing the other again.

“I told you,” Laura whispered into his chest, her voice muffled but filled with emotion. “I told you that I’d find her if I ever got out.”

Her words seemed to pull Remy out of the moment. His eyes, which had been focused solely on Laura, flickered back to you. And this time, there was something different in them. You could see the recognition flood his gaze, like a dam breaking, like all the pieces that had been scattered across time and space suddenly fell into place.

He didn’t say anything at first, but the way he looked at you—like he was seeing something he had been searching for his entire life—made your heart clench. It was as though everything Laura had told you, everything you had felt but never truly understood, was reflected in his eyes. The bond, the connection, the years of isolation and dreaming of someone he had never met but had always known—it was all there, written in the way his gaze softened, the way his entire posture shifted.

He didn’t need to say anything, because in that moment, you both knew.

Laura’s words echoed in your mind, the ones she had shared with you during those long conversations where she tried to help you understand just how much Remy had believed in you, even before he knew you.

He believed in you more than he believed in anything else.

You took a slow breath, your throat tight, as the reality of the moment settled around you. This wasn’t the way you had imagined it. It wasn’t the grand, sweeping revelation you had pictured—there was no dramatic spark, no instant recognition that knocked you both off your feet. But maybe it didn’t have to be.

Maybe it was enough that he was standing there, looking at you with the quiet realization that you were real. That you had found him, just like he had always believed you would.

Remy’s gaze lingered on you for a long moment, his expression unreadable, but there was a softness in his eyes, a quiet understanding that spoke of years spent dreaming of this moment, even if he hadn’t known it would come like this. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and hoarse.

“I didn’t think you were real,” he admitted quietly, almost like he was confessing something he hadn’t dared say out loud before. “Thought you were just somethin’ I made up to keep myself goin’.”

You swallowed hard, your chest tight. “I’m real,” you said softly. “And I’m here.”

He nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. “Guess I should’ve known,” he added, a trace of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Felt you all this time. Should’ve known you’d come lookin’ for me.”

The weight of his words settled over you, and all the uncertainty, all the fear you had carried with you melted away. This was it. This was the moment you had been waiting for, the moment you had been chasing across the multiverse. And now, standing here in front of him, you realized that maybe it didn’t matter how difficult the journey had been. Maybe all that mattered was that you had found him.

You gave a small shrug, the weight of the moment still hanging between you and Remy, but you needed to break the tension, to pull you both out of the whirlwind of emotions that had just passed. “Yeah, well,” you said, your voice carrying a hint of dry humor, “we broke about six multiversal laws getting here.” You threw your thumb behind you, gesturing vaguely toward the chaotic path that had led you to this point. “So, uh, I’m kinda expecting my buddies from the TVA to show up any second now.”

Remy’s brow furrowed, his gaze flicking to the space behind you as if expecting a swarm of time-traveling agents to appear at any moment. The lighter in his hand flickered purple again, a nervous habit you realized, though his face remained calm, unreadable.

Laura, still standing close to Remy, glanced between the two of you. She looked back at Remy, her expression softening, though her voice remained steady. “We’re gonna take you back with us,” she said, her tone leaving no room for argument. “Back home. It might not be your home, but she’s there,” Laura nodded toward you, her eyes full of unspoken meaning, “and I’m there too.”

Remy’s eyes darted to you, then back to Laura, conflicted. You could see the hesitation in his posture, the uncertainty that came from years of being lost, of never really knowing where he belonged. You felt a pang in your chest—he had been fighting his own battles for so long, without knowing you were out there, fighting yours. But now, everything was different. You were offering him a way out, a chance to be part of something again. You were offering him you.

“Where’s home?” Remy asked, his voice low, cautious.

“Earth-616,” you replied simply, as if it was the most normal thing in the world to explain multiple realities. To you, it had become second nature, but you knew it would take him time to adjust. All of it—the multiverse, the TVA, the fact that you had crossed dimensions to find him—it was a lot to take in. But you didn’t have the luxury of time to ease him into it.

Remy raised an eyebrow, clearly not familiar with the technicalities of multiversal cataloging, but before he could ask any more questions, your watch beeped, cutting through the moment like a siren. You glanced down at it, your heartbeat quickening. The TVA wouldn’t be far behind; you had made too many ripples in the fabric of reality for them to ignore.

“I’ll explain everything once we’re back in my apartment,” you said quickly, urgency creeping into your voice. “But right now, we really don’t have the time. We’ve gotta go.” You turned to Laura, who was already standing at the ready, her eyes sharp, understanding the gravity of the situation without needing further explanation. “Now.”

You took a deep breath, focusing your energy, feeling the familiar pull as you raised your hands. The air around you shimmered, and with a swift, practiced motion, you began to rip a hole into the fabric of reality—a portal between worlds, a doorway back to Earth-616. The swirling energy hummed with the power of the multiverse, opening into the familiar space of your world, your home.

You turned to Remy, your eyes locking onto his. "You coming or staying?"

For a brief moment, you held your breath, watching the flicker of emotions cross his face—hesitation, curiosity, and then something deeper, something that resonated with the bond you had always felt but had never fully understood until now. You knew this choice wasn’t just about leaving, it was about stepping into the unknown, trusting a connection that had tied you both together without either of you ever knowing why.

But Remy didn’t hesitate for long. His decision was already made, written in the way his shoulders relaxed slightly, in the way his eyes softened when they met yours. He knew, just as you did, that wherever you went, he would follow. He would follow you to the ends of the universe if it meant being by your side….

[pencil-n-pen]

little mood board I made for something i have in the works <3 scrolled through his tag and it was JUST smut. people please know your eldest daughter hurt/comfort queen is coming :) it’ll be a long one so stay tuned :]

edit: fic is up! read it here !

[late-nightfalls]

Think about Bruce Wayne trying to do his little girl's hair before she goes to school.

The girl wanted a pretty braid or she wouldn't go to school, no way!

Bruce has no idea how to do this. He's in trouble!

Alfred is not participating! He can't!

Alfred can only watch from afar as Batman faces one of his biggest challenges: Brushing his daughter's hair.

"Boss Bruce, maybe you should ask for help"

"Negative"

He asked for help shortly afterwards.

[pretty-toru]

˖♡ - ̗̀ ⇢ 𝐠𝐨𝐣𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐝𝐚𝐝

Satoru coming into parenthood wished that he knew little daughters have a way to grab daddies heart unlike anything else in the world.

He didn't know he could like a million special drawings and the fairytale story that entails you and him and your daughter living in an enchanting castle. The flowers that she will carefully pick for him and decorate on his head because it matches or complements his blue eyes or snowy hair when the three of you are having a nice picnic. When she's at the age where she becomes craftier and makes him heart-shaped sugar holders or cute frog plant pots. Even though there's some flaws and imperfections he loves that it's made for him and not a day goes by where he doesn't use it.

There's also the time where Satoru stumbles across his daughter playing with your makeup and he asks his little sweetheart what she's up to now, and she explains that she's getting ready for a princess tea party with Terrybear and Elephanty (Megumi named his gifts to her). When she returns to applying blush on her cheeks, she turns to him again and goes, "Daddy, do you want to look pretty too? And join the tea party?" Say no more because he's already slipping beside her and he'll never decline to spending time with his precious angel.

You can hear soft giggles and laughter coming from your bedroom so you'd check up on your two babies (yes, Satoru is baby) to find them getting all dolled up and you love that they're having so much fun together because he's usually away from home to maintain the balance of the world. Satoru tells you later that night how he loves being a dad and gushes about what a wonderful and beautiful daughter you both have.