#his wife likes to rest her head on his chest after a long day and ask him how his day was

[silverselfshippingchaos]

tired? tired.

[moralesispunk]

I think you're either team ghost x civilian wife! reader where the rest of the 141 have no idea you exist or team they know and it's a very familial like and I'm the first one

simon who does everything he can to keep you his secret, even more so when your family starts to grow. when he's finished with a mission he will spend the next 48hrs barely sleeping, moving around to make sure no one is on his tail before making it home into your arms.

it's not that he doesn't trust the 141, but you and your family are far too precious to trust anyone with. you've heard the stories of all of the other men, are sure you would need only one look at them to be able to guess which man belongs to the many names he's told you over the years, but you're aware they don't know that you exist.

that on the rare nights simon ventures out to meet them for a sole pint between missions they think he's holed up in some bachelor flat back in manchester, perhaps with a string of women that come and go, but they couldn't be more wrong with his wedding band hidden under his gloves when he's home like now or safely in his drawer at home when he's on missions.

and it's not that he doesn't wish he could shout about you from the rooftops. everyone in your town knows that the big scary man whose face is always conveniently hidden in the shadows has a missus at home who brings your chubby babies to the toddlers and drops your kids off at school.

but the 141 don't know about you, not until enough time has passed since simon retired to consider it safe enough. simon with his aching joints and trembling hands, the ringing in his right ear and back pain that requires at least two, hour long soaks in the bath a week. simon the husband and dad who has butterfly clips in his hair and at least one nail painted from the game of hairdressers his oldest likes to play, a bright pink plaster on his knee to match the youngest, and one hand on your belly at all times with the third (and final in your opinion but simon is working on that) of your brood.

simon who is out for drinks with the 141 three years after retirement and slips and says something about moving house and the hassle, the rest of the men deciding they will help and so simon decides it's finally time. but he doesn't forewarn them about his family before the day, standing in the garden of your packed up house that your family has outgrown while the men stumble out of the van they hired only to stop dead in their tracks when they see you.

you who is waving in the doorway, a toddler on your hip and looking like you're about to pop while another child - maybe six or seven by their guesses - swings from simon's arm, with a dog jumping up paws on his chest. and like the man he is he doesn't explain, just jerks his chin towards the piles of boxes and empty moving van he's started to pack.

"think you can start making a move on that?"

a few hours later and still no explanation from simon, he's in the first van packed with all the furniture and bigger boxes with you and the kids and the guys follow behind, slack jawed and still confused as they stay speechless until they pull up at the new house.

they're still staring at you as you pile out of the first van and you're shaking your head, elbowing simon in the ribs and muttering a "put them out their misery, Si" and they swear they almost drop dead when they see how gently he handles you, an arm around your waist and a kiss to your temple as he guides you and the two gremlins towards the guys while the dog starts sniffing around its new home.

"fellas, this is the missus and kids," he says and you roll your eyes, holding out your hand towards them and introducing yourself by name, adding on the kids who beam up shyly at these strangers.

that seems to shake them out of it. john takes your hand first, shaking and turning to simon with a "you hide her away in case we try to steal her from you?" he winks and you and only grins wider when simon's hand on your hip seems to squeeze tighter. gaz and soap are bending down and coaxing your two girls out of their shyness, complimenting their light up trainers and asking if it makes them run faster before cheering them on as they run to the front door and back.

they set you up on a fold out chair and do all the heavy lifting as you point them and the boxes in their arms to their correct rooms. later, Simon treats them to dinner (a takeaway) and has you sitting on his knee with the girls in bed and for the first time he spends a night with the guys telling you stories of Simon "Ghost" Riley.

"they're lyin' love," he'll mumble in your ear at every story, "don't believe them do ya?" his hand strokes up your back, squeezing your neck.

"yeah, babe, believe you," you say while smiling at the men around your new dining room table, men who have saved your husbands life more times than he can count, and you find yourself curling closer to simon because of that

[pearlywritings]

In father’s embrace

synopsis: HSR men as dads and what your family dynamic is like.

pairings: Blade, Gepard, Loucha, Sampo, Jing Yuan x fem!reader (separately)

tw: fluff, established relationship, implied initial mortal x immortal in Blade’s

word count: 5.2k words

a/n: Luofu Xianzhou timeline is hell, so Blade’s one is quite vague. Here’s the Genshin version!

Blade

Blade tends to say that he has no connection to his past, but that is not true and very few (mostly Kafka) know he is lying. Even with his life and death fucked up he can't simply let go of someone his heart has been always full with, of someone who he promised himself to by the altar, even if under another name, of someone, who gifted him the joy of both his previous and current life - your daughter.

The blade - a cold weapon with no feelings - should not experience being lucky, but that’s what he was, when you clutched him in your arms the first time after his return from the dead and sobbed in his chest, telling him how much you missed him, how much his little angel missed him.

Back then he should've left without a trace, maybe even coming to you in the first place was a mistake, but he just couldn't. And his resolve crumbled completely when a white-haired toddler in your arms gazed at him with the same soft eyes as yours and reached out to his face, hesitantly asking "dada?".

As much as Blade is capable - he loves you and your daughter. He is quite absent due to his involvement with the Stellaron Hunters, but you understand how important that magenta-haired woman's ability is when it comes to restraining the mara in his body. After all that's the reason why he can visit without fear of hurting you or his little girl.

Some other sacrifices had to be made - one of them was moving from the Lofu Xianzhou, but that was alright and your daughter loved her new environment. Besides, dada has been visiting more often ever since you moved! And no one really bothered or chased after you (after all, you are still registered as his wife and higher ups of Lofu know), which, you assumed, was somehow connected with a young girl that once came with Blade.

Kafka once brought up a proposition of moving you two to the Stellaron Hunters' base for Blade's easier access, but he declined. At least his loved ones should have a peaceful everyday life.

With a tired sigh the black-haired man lowers himself on a sofa in the living room of the house you two purchased to start a seemingly new life. The red-hot iron in his eyes disappears behind the heavy eyelids and for a moment Blade allows himself to relax. The little wonder, that is his daughter, ran to your bedroom to fetch some hair accessories, after you encouraged your husband to let her style his long locks.

He doesn’t move when you sit next to him, hip to hip and heart to heart. He welcomes your sneaking fingers, curling his, creating a secure lock of hands. The weight of your head resting on his shoulder is grounding and he can’t help but press his cheek against it.

It’s soothingly silent.

It almost reminds him of the past.

“For how long will you be staying this time?

Even your question, spoken in a tender, understanding voice, is familiar. You used to ask him the same thing in-between his Cloud Quintet-related missions. 

These days it’s difficult to sneak and see you during breaks though.

“Fifteen days,” his breath is even, and eyes are still shut, but he senses a smile that tugs on the corners of your lips.

“That’s a lot. She will be so happy,” and he knows that you are as well.

The rapid stomping of little feet bursts into your peaceful serenity, and you simultaneously glance at the doorway. Low and behold - the soon-to-be hair stylist is proudly running into the room, tightly clutching your jewelry box with various hair pins inside.

“Dad, I practiced! Mom says I’ve been making huuuuuuge progress!”

A tiny smile touches his pale lips - it’s such a miracle that a monster like him is blessed to have the most adorable child in the whole universe. With her and you by his side, this life gets more and more bearable.

“If mom says you’ve been, then it must be the truth,” he nods, letting go of your hand - but not before giving it a little affectionate stroke with his thumb, - sliding down and onto the floor, turning his back to the girl.

Giggling excitedly, she gives you the box, which you quickly unlock, and starts looking through the many intricate pieces of jewelry (many are your beloved’s presents), until finding the perfect one.

Having his hair being touched is weird. He was aware that the white luscious locks used to draw attention, but only you were honored to run your fingers through them, and only his baby was allowed to tug on them, making her father wince. Now it’s different - she is oh so careful, brushing, collecting stray locks and braiding, not once causing him pain.

Blade sighs again, but looks at you from the corner of his eye, catching you snickering in your palm upon gazing at something that your daughter is turning his hair into. Well, that’s concerning.

But at this very moment he can’t bring himself to care. If he gets fifteen whole days before his next mission, he is going to savor this time with his family - no matter how disastrous he’s going to look by the end of it.

Gepard

A family man. So no one was surprised when in the end the leader of the Silvermane Guards ended up with three kids - two sons and a daughter. Partly it was dictated by the rules of nobles and his family among them, but ultimately it was your mutual sincere decision.

It’s obvious he is not there for many of his kids’ first times, as sometimes his duties prevail and even the Supreme Guardian cannot help it, but he really-really tries to be there as much as possible. He appreciates the videos you send him, has every single one stored in his phone’s memory and sometimes, when there is no communication, in his spare moment he replays them to remind himself that soon he’ll return home and see his kids and you.

Only one time he really fucked up because of work - during your first pregnancy you both underestimated the soon arrival of your due date and he left on a mission with his troops, reassured that he’ll be back before the day you go into labor. The snowstorm was severe and the connection was cut, so the message Serval sent him when your water broke was not delivered. His soldiers would bring to their graves the image of a deathly pale Gepard, when many hours later he checked his phone back at the base and nearly broke the screen, trying to type his sister’s number.

After that he started taking paternity leave seriously.

You do not keep in touch with his parents a lot - there were instances where they disapproved of you, but all of his siblings are always welcomed in your house and to see their nephews and niece, because they supported your relationship from the moment they met you in flesh.

Serval is an enormous help when it comes to babysitting. It’s like her part-time job honestly - you even offered to pay her, but she declined, suggesting offering her a helping hand whenever she’d need instead. Oh, and to be the first one out of all the Landau siblings (after her brother, of course) to know about the latest updates on your kids.

The kids that are adorable. All three won the ‘blue eyes’ lottery, which, given the previous generations of Landau, is not a big surprise; both boys look like Gepard, while the girl took more after you in appearance. The man really doesn’t want to play favorites, but sometimes he is just too weak for his little princess, who looks just like her mom. She is the youngest too with a pretty big age gap between her and her brothers, who were born a year apart, so there is literally no jealousy, because your sons took their father’s example and became her protectors.

Even from a 'big bad dragon' that is their aunt…

When you step inside your house and hear the kids still fussing somewhere in the rooms, involuntarily your gaze falls to the old grandfather’s clock in the foye. Almost midnight. All three should be long asleep with Serval sending you a notification of her success. Which you didn’t receive and for that reason had to cut your date short and hurry back home.

Your husband looks as concerned as you are, locking the door and straining his ears to determine what’s going on. With both your coats abandoned, you carefully step further into the house, making your way to the line of light coming from under one of the doors.

Two jaws almost kiss the floor when you see Serval lying on the floor tied and gagged with a scarf. Alone. For a moment you fear the worst.

Rushing inside, you let Gepard search the other rooms for intruders. Helping your sister-in-law to sit is no problem, but the knot behind her head is awfully tightened. In the end you manage to yank it down to free her mouth, quickly switching to the rope constricting her hands.

“Y/n, oh my god,” she gasps, finally able to speak. “Who taught your sons to tie knots like this!? I didn’t know a sixteen- and fifteen-year olds can be so strong-”

“Come again?” Stunned, you stop untying her wrists, looking at the woman with widened eyes. Your boys did what?

“My precious nephews - whom I really do not want to strangle - took the game of knights too seriously, and when - maybe a half an hour ago? - I decided to play the dragon who was stealing the princess - my niece of three years, - they attacked and tied me!”

“Huh…” is all you can say, feeling relief wash over you. At least there are no burglars or kidnappers and your kids are safe.

When, listening Serval’s huffs of complaints, you move to untie her legs, the heavy steps of your husband are heard in the hallway, accompanied by the boys whining and begging their dad not to come to the living room, because the dragon would eat their sister.

His tall figure appears in the doorway, with your daughter in his arms, looking very sleepy, and two almost carbon copies of their dad pulling at his jacket to give them their sister back.

“Serval, what in blazes have you told them?” The judging tone and the squint of his blue eyes are directed at his elder sibling.

“It was just a game, Geppie! A silly game they turned into reality.”

“Aunt said she’d eat her,” your oldest pouts, eyeing her cautiously. “And she told us stories about the cannibals the other night-”

“Serval, you what?”

“Hey, they asked me to! Oh, thanks, Y/n,” she shrugs the loosened rope off of her. “Where did you even get this?”

“Aunt Lynx gave us,” the second son chirps, hugging Gepard’s side. “She showed us how to do knots.”

“This little-”

Suddenly you feel a headache coming. With big family come big challenges, but something of this caliber hasn’t happened in a while. It makes you smile though - you almost forgot what it was like - to raise two boys. Seems like your girl brings the borderline naughtiest out of them.

Loucha

To begin with it's worth mentioning that your and Loucha's marriage started as an unpredictable necessity. You both needed to enter the world that allowed only married foreigners' access. So, quickly figuring that your goal matches, you got married on a neighboring planet, spent a month there to make the marriage more believable in the sense of its duration and learning more about each other. Yeah, all of that just to fulfill your respectful jobs. You invented and rehearsed all the possible answers to the questions, perfected your affectionate act and were actually feeling quite comfortable around each other.

It was almost funny, when on the 'how many kids do you plan to have?' Loucha confidently answered 'two', and a couple of years later your first son was born, and then, after 7 more years, another one was too.

Admittedly, the oldest one was kind of unplanned, but at that point you traveled so much together, shared so many memories, even ended up caring for each other on a lover-like level, that you decided to give it a shot, just like you did with the continuation of your marriage.

And Loucha couldn't be more pleased. Surprisingly, he found the peace of those first years he spent settled down to raise your boy delightful. And there was something exciting about having a little wonder with a perfect mix of both of your features in your arms, as your husband's hand is resting on the small of your back, leading you through the crowds of the new planet's lively market, as the child's eyes shine with marvel, taking in his surroundings.

When Loucha suggested having another one it simply felt right.

Your sons are so lucky in the sense of seeing the universe, because their father is a traveling merchant. Sure, he doesn't always take you and your two boys with him, but whenever his deal allows him enough freedom and your kids are doing great in school and can be taken on a little vacation - you three are going with him.

Usually he gets to take care of the youngest one, since only Loucha's vast knowledge can satisfy his curiosity, while the oldest one calmly walks hand in hand with you, content with listening to their conversation and pointing out to you the things he already knows himself, receiving a soft praise from you and an approving nod from his father.

Back home the roles reverse - the oldest is spending most of his time with Loucha to learn all about medicine and healing techniques, while the youngest is more interested in sharing your hobbies. 

The two hardly ever quarrel as siblings tend to do, and it must be because of the overall serene atmosphere of your family dynamic, your soft nature and your husband's tranquil behavior. 

More than a decade ago Loucha wouldn't have imagined himself with a wife and kids. Nowadays, however, he doesn't like the thought of not having the three of you by his side.

It is a quiet afternoon. A little house you rented for a little vacation has a nice yard - perfect for the kids to have fun outside. You occasionally glance at them from the window of the kitchen to make sure everything is fine, while your hands never stop moving - washing, cutting, stirring.

At some point you are so caught in the moment of tranquility, that you do not hear your husband walking in, until he softly hums to alert you of his presence, and puts his palms on your waist.

“Smells delicious,” you smile, feeling his chin on your shoulder, and grab a piece of a tangerine you are meaning to use for dessert, offering it to him.

“Mhm, I am trying to cook what we had yesterday at that restaurant.”

Ah, right, the restaurant the kids enjoyed. He remembers how you sneaked to the kitchen and came back with a little less credits, but with new recipes and an excited smile on your face.

“Hopefully my rendition will be to our boys’ liking. And don’t think I forgot about you - those Loufu Xianzhou-style noodles are already on their way!”

“So thoughtful of you, darling,” his silky voice caresses your ear and not a second later a kiss is pressed to your cheek. “Do you need any help?”

“Weren’t you busy?” You decide to clarify, clearly recounting how he locked himself in one of the rooms earlier that day to test something. To your question Loucha shakes his head.

“All done already. And I missed you and the kids.”

“Then go and play with them,” you urge, turning to face him to offer a sweet smile. “I’ll handle it here, but the boys could use some quality time with their father.”

“You say that as if they didn’t drag us all around the city yesterday and then climb into our bed and refuse to leave.”

“I mean, it’s the first time in two months they properly see you. That last deal of yours was exceptionally time-consuming.”

“You kept me updated on them so well and those video calls we had… it didn’t even feel like I ever left.”

You only huff and return your gaze to the stove, yet leaning into his chest a little. For a minute it’s quiet, and the man is taking his time before parting from you. That is until he takes a deep inhale and nuzzles his face in your neck.

“Thank you, Y/n.”

“What for, handsome?” There is that teasing lilt in your voice he came to love. Over the course of your lives together he discovered many things to love you for, and if not for that desperate decision to get married - he thinks he’d hardly ever feel the same about his life.

“For everything.”

He leaves your side with a kiss on your shoulder and the next time you glance out of the window again - he is already there, hoisting his youngest in one arm and chasing after the oldest one with his hair swaying in the gentle wind. And your heart is at peace. 

Sampo

In all his life Sampo has managed to never impregnate a single woman and he considers that a success. For all the crap people speak about him Sampo is not an idiot, even though he acts like a fool at times. He is extremely self-aware and bringing a child to this world is probably the last thing on his list.

But no one said anything about someone else’s child, right?

Your and Sampo’s relationship is… strange, not going to lie. One evening you happened to help a scared woman to escape from some drunkards (whom you lately found out were the Silvermane Guards, sober and on duty), only for the long wig to slip and the heavy coat to slide down, revealing shortly cut but nicely styled hair and obviously male broad shoulders. The only thing the man managed to get out was a sheepish “hehe”.

And boy did that “hehe” change your life.

That day Sampo Koski got off the hook, since you didn’t comment anyhow and just let him go, which, given you were an overworlder, he found intriguing. So he dug a little bit, out of pure curiosity. Besides, this man didn't like staying in debt to someone and he needed information to see how he could pay you back.

That’s when he found out you were a single mother. An opera singer, but divorced and with full custody over a six-year old daughter.

And honestly, he didn’t give it much thought at first. He simply arranged a nice bouquet of red roses for you, paid Natasha a little for a handmade plushie and left it all at the door steps with a ‘thank you’ note.

Until a couple of weeks ago, disguised again, he didn’t stumble into a group of kids obviously bullying a little girl, mocking her for not having a father, and throwing something among themselves that she tried to catch. And he recognized the toy. And one glance was enough to see how much she looked like the woman he met only once. And against his better judgment Sampo walked to the children, easily snatching the toy and effectively scaring everyone off. Only with that little girl still being there, eyes full of unshed tears and fingers digging in the skirt of her pretty dress.

That tiny ‘thank you’ when he handed the plushie back to her and she hugged it tightly to her chest made the conman’s heart clench, and for the second time that day he sent his plans to hell, keeping her company near the house you lived in until you arrived from work.

That day he learned many things - how much your daughter loved the toy and what a sweet little thing she was, how tired a person can look and how much a throat can hurt from the whole day of singing during rehearsals, how nice a home-made dinner can be once you are invited, but most importantly - how even such a damned man like him can be gazed upon with gratitude and not from one, but two people.

From that day many other instances happened, but in the end he just stuck around. It was strange, it was new, but in a sense it was comforting, especially when you would come home - on Friday, for example, - and he’d be there, entertaining your daughter and then greeting you with a smile and a silly wave of his hand.

You don’t have a husband, and your daughter doesn’t have a father - but with his presence Sampo Koski manages to fill those voids even if a little bit.

Aeons you love days off. A morning to finally sleep in and do not run around like crazy in attempts to get yourself and your kid ready. Even breakfast wasn’t on you today, because the ‘silly man’ stayed the night and told you to get your sleep, assuring you with that confident puff of his chest that the Sampo Koski would offer you his best service, which effectively made you giggle.

Tonight he even cuddled with you, letting you bury your face in his neck and be a little vulnerable in the arms of a man with whom you had the most peculiar relationship ever. But after such equally peculiar moments you really start thinking of suggesting moving from the couch in the living room to your bedroom permanently. It’s been months already, who would’ve thought.

Barefoot and not even glancing at the robe on the chair near the window you leave the room, rubbing at your eyes and brushing your hair away from your face. You are craving the cup of your morning drink, and so you let your legs carry you to the kitchen at first. However two voices coming from your wardrobe room instantly peak your interest and make you halt in your walking. What on earth could your daughter and your clown of a man be doing there?

And soon enough you find it out.

“Sit still, please!” The girl begs with an eye shadow palette in one tiny hand and a huge brush in the other. “It’ll smudge if you keep turning to the mirror!”

“Just can’t wait to see how beautiful I am, princess, ‘s all~”

There, on the floor among the rows of your clothes and shelves with beauty products and accessories, none other than Sampo is sitting, willingly offering his face to your daughter’s practice of applying makeup. And gods he looks absolutely hilarious.

But that’s not what exactly concerns you.

“Is that my dress?” You point at the red shimmery thing snuggly sitting on the man in front of you and that’s when the two notice you.

“Yes, mommy!”

“Say I pulled it off, right?” With a smirk the green-eyed menace winks at you and it looks even worse with poorly done lashes. You have to stifle your laughter. “Though I must admit, we had to keep it unzipped - my chest appeared to be bigger than yours-”

And that’s when you regret not bringing slippers with you - one flying in his head would be of great help.

“Sometimes I really hate you.”

“Nuh, sweet thing, you love me!”

“Well,” you step closer, grabbing a tissue to try and fix at least the overly bright blush on his cheeks, “maybe. Maybe I actually do.”

Suddenly Sampo is tongue-tied and silent, trying very hard to fight off the stupid grin forcing its way onto his face. But with thoroughly smeared red lipstick on his mouth it looks so damn comical.

“Mom, do you think pa looks pretty?” Your daughter hopefully asks, putting aside her tools, and that little two-letter word doesn’t go unnoticed by either of you. You feel a real blush burning under your deft fingers.

“Yes, sweety, Pa-mpo looks very pretty,” his head whips in your direction like you’ve just told him to go and surrender to the Belobog’s esteemed order keepers.

“...Pa-mpo?”

“Would you prefer Da-mpo instead?” Cocking your head in question, you smirk at him, relishing in the pout he is wearing at the moment. “Or maybe Sam-pa?”

“No, thank you very much,” he huffs. “Little princess called me ‘pa’, so be nice and respect it.”

And now it is you who is surprised. You haven’t really discussed with Sampo who he was to your daughter, and who she was to him - but if he is making this step of acknowledging the matter, then who are you to spoil it? Who knows, maybe things will work out quite pleasantly in the end.

“Alright, pa, I will respect that.”

“Hey! For you I am your precious popo baby, a koskiss to your lips, the love of your-”

“Don’t even dream of it.”

Jing Yuan

Yanqing would be enough of an answer to the kid question, but it is not. Sure, his young disciple is practically a son to the General, but it doesn't mean the man doesn't want his own children.

He does and he has. On multiple occasions Jing Yuan's subordinates walked in on him with a small figure sitting in his lap or perched on his strong arm, observing what the dad's been up to with his plans and documents. You scolded your husband for this many times, but the bastard only smiles and keeps stealing his daughter to work to keep him company. Or she sneaks on her own - that caused you many almost heart attacks when she was no older than a couple of decades.

For Jing Yuan it’s all good though - he gets to spend time with his baby and have you inevitably join him in search for your adventurous child.

The General has a separate folder for all the pictures of his daughter on his phone - every single one he takes and every single one you send him when he couldn’t bring his girl to some of his meetings (yet he really tried, until you put your foot down and saved many of his subordinates from the prolonging of said meetings). Even the background, hidden from prying eyes behind the passcode of your and her birthdays, is his little one, cradled in your arms, as the two of you are watching kites flying in the sky.

Yanqing at first was set on treating her with the same respect he does his mentor and you, his wife, but you quickly put an end to it, basically turning the boy into her older brother. He didn’t mind at all - if anything he is sometimes way too eager to push the two of you to go on a date so he can babysit. Often you would return to the two fast asleep either on the girl’s bed or cuddled to Mimi with toys scattered and at least two books lying on the floor. The huge lion adores the girl - sometimes you feel like it thinks of her as its own cub, and the thick mane of hair your daughter got from her father does not help.

And it appeared to be as eager to steal your daughter from you as your husband is…

“Y/n!” You practically jump when the doors to your bedroom fly open and Jing Yuan bursts inside. Immediately you notice his disheveled state - hair down and a mess, the robe he wore this morning for comfortable work in his home office is falling off one of his shoulders and a shoe is missing from his foot.

“Aeons, Yuan, don’t scare me like that,” you put a comb down on your vanity table and fully turn to face him. “What happened?”

“Is our precious baby with you?” He steps further into the room and starts looking around frantically. Okay, now that got worrisome.

“No? You took her earlier this afternoon after lunch to play in your study while you work. Have you really forgotten that? My love, you are getting old.”

You hear clearly as he curses under his breath, raking thick fingers through his hair. The golden eyes look at you and in them you spot a flicker of anxiety.

“...Jing Yuan, don’t tell me that you managed to lose our daughter.”

“I didn’t, I swear,” he winces at the full name usage, watching you rise from your seat and quickly approach him. “She was right by my side, watching the animal videos on my phone, but then I got immersed in the latest reports from the Sky-Faring Commission and when I finished whose - she was gone!”

“Uh, want me to call your phone? Maybe she still has it.”

To that he puts a hand in the robe’s pocket and brings out his device. Oh god.

“It was lying on the floor, still playing videos.”

“Okay, deep breaths,” you are not sure if you are telling it to him or to yourself, but you too take an inhale, meanwhile busying your hands with adjusting his clothes. “Even buried in work you’d still notice if a human sneaked in, right?” He nods. “And you’d notice if she left - she would’ve warned you about that.” He nods again, lips pursed and eyes staring at one point. “Yanqing is not as skilled to come unannounced and take her, and he wouldn’t do it without your permission, so-”

“Wait,” his hand catches yours and realization flashes in his features. “Mimi came.”

“...Mimi?” Before you can ask him to elaborate, your husband turns around and rushes out of the bedroom. Concerned and a little bit intrigued, you quickly follow.

In one of the rooms of your huge house the two of you finally find the lion, and Jing Yuan almost drops on the floor in relief when his girl is spotted in the animal’s embrace. 

“Is she…sleeping?” You ask, glancing from behind his broad back.

“It appears so. Hey, Mimi,” the maned head lifts, two ambers taking in your appearances and a pleased huff is let out through the nose upon recognition.

“Well, my dear,” you pat his shoulder, shaking your head, “it appears that people were right - like the owner, like the pet. Congratulations, your lion took your habit of stealing our daughter to heart. Good luck prying her from it.”

“You say it like it’s something hard to do,” there it is, a confident smile is back on his face as he strides closer to the animal, ready to bend down and get his girl. Only for that lift of the corners of his lips to be gone when Mimi growls at him in a warning and shields your daughter’s little body with its head.

You only smirk and leave the scene to go and get your phone - there is no way you are not filming your husband dealing with the consequences of his own behavior.

[gojoshooter]

Homesick Husband: Gojo Satoru

Pairing : unsealed!gojo x wife!y/n

A/N : here's my contribution to the return of our beefy gojo satoru's headcanons! enjoy ^^

WARNINGS : crying, established relationship

Unsealed!Gojo whose first thought after being released is to look for his wife

Unsealed!Gojo who forgets he has powers to teleport, running & stumbling his way home

Wife!y/n who just like the past eighteen days, sits on the dining table resting her head on it as gojo's plate of food get's colder

Unsealed!Gojo who runs his frantic hands all along your body for any sign of hurt or injury

Wife!y/n who mirrors his expression and action with reciprocated feelings

Unsealed!Gojo who pulls you a little too hard towards himself and feels your head bump into his chest

Wife!y/n throwing weak punches anywhere she can on gojo and biting on his biceps

Unsealed!Gojo whispering gentle sorries and promises to never leave again in your ears

Wife!y/n who after a good hour of sobbing into his husband's chest realizes just how buffier his body feels against her

Unsealed!Gojo who realizes his wife has only got skinnier and weaker

Wife!y/n who asks if he'd like his food reheated clearly unable to think how to act in the moment

Unsealed!Gojo who would shake his head with a chuckle as he sits on your seat placing you on his lap instead

Wife!y/n who's still crying so hard she can't chew on her food

Unsealed!Gojo who rubs your back gently and slowly reminding you to take it easy as he offers another spoonful

Wife!y/n refusing to eat anymore of it and burying her face in the crook of the man's neck, taking in the comforting scent she so longed for

Unsealed!Gojo who finishes both their plates with silent tears and a fast asleep wife in his lap

Wife!y/n who unconsciously clutchs the front of his black tshirt as he takes her to their room bridal style

Unsealed!Gojo who puts you and himself in your favourite couple pajamas ready for the bed

Wife!y/n who wakes up crying and shaking profusely in the middle of the night whisper shouting, "please s-satoru, don't be a dream" along her many incoherent words

Unsealed!Gojo who snuggles impossibly close to your fragile figure pressing long assuring kisses on your face and lips knowing they calm you down

Wife!y/n 's futile attempts at scooting away from her husband because this wouldn't have been how he expected her to react

Unsealed!Gojo who only brings your kicking legs together with his thighs, telling you to breathe from your nose before diving in for a particularly long kiss that doesn't end until you're sleep and sound...

A/N : n that's it! hope u liked it ^-^ likes & reblogs are appreciated ♡

Tags : @nanamikentoseyebags @maybekoya @luckimoon

[chrisevansonly]

Playing With Fire

Max Verstappen x Female Reader

summary: you and stella are max’s world, and he’d be damned if he let his father speak ill of either of you.

warnings: angst, jos (ew), angry max, slight mentions of crying, fluff at end

a/n: this is a re-upload to see if it shows up in the tags 🥲

When Stella was born, it was one of the best days ever for Max, seeing his baby girl come into the world, and the way she practically latched onto him from the minute she was welcomed into the family. He knew right then and there he would be the absolute best father to his daughter, just as he was the best husband to you, and always had been.

If there was one thing Max nor you completely enjoyed it was family events when everyone got together, including Jos. Max’s father.Max and his father have a complicated relationship, in a way they seem close but there’s always that edge to his dad that keeps all of you on the edge of your seat. You in particular seemed to still be an issue to him, and every once in a while, you’d become the punching bag at the dinner table.

Stella was sleeping in your arms as you sat next to Max at the dinner table, Jos across from you both and his mother on the other end with the rest of his family and some friends that had joined for the monthly get together.

“So when is the next Verstappen coming?” His father asked looking at you. Stella was only 6 months old so you and Max were happy to just enjoy the time you have with her now, not even thinking about another baby.

“Oh, well i’m sure someday we’ll have another…”

“We’re in no rush” Max butted in, assuming it would stop his father’s line of questioning.

“Yes well, it’s just you had a baby girl…there has to be a boy in the equation…”

You furrowed your brows, fixing Stella’s blanket as she continued to sleep, oblivious to the rising tensions in the room.

“I don’t think so? There’s nothing wrong with having girls..”

“Who’s supposed to carry on the name?”

Max sat up straighter, his hand squeezing your knee gently

“Stella will just as our next baby will eventually, regardless of their gender.”

Jos shook his head taking a sip of his water as he sighed, before looking back at you.

“All i’m saying is you should be trying for a boy.”

“Well it doesn’t work that way.”

The table was getting quieter as the father and son squared off, Jos not backing down and Max not about to let his father attack you in anyway. Not on his watch.

“I knew the second you had a daughter it would make you weak, let alone marrying her and having that baby! She’s useless if she can’t have a boy! You’re wasting your time Max, I knew from the second I met her it would ruin our family.”

Used to his harassment you didn’t cry, but it didn’t stop tears from welling up in your eyes as you almost deflated in a way, hugging Stella closer to your chest. The minute your eyes looked to Max, long gone was his soft stare and gentle smile, replaced was a look almost predatory as he looked to his father.

“Watch your fucking mouth when you’re talking about the mother of my child.”

“Max-”

“No, get out.”

“Excuse me?” Jos’s eyes widened and he shook his head

“GET THE HELL OUT!”

Max yelled, slamming his hands down on the table, seconds later Stella stirring before whimpering in your arms. The dutchman froze and looked apologetically at you as you excused yourself to go up to the nursery, only then turning back to look at his father.

“If you ever so much as think about speaking about my wife and daughter again, it’ll be me coming after you. Now get the fuck out.”

Jos didn’t even offer to say anything else, pushing back his chair and storming out, effectively cutting the dinner to an end as everyone left, Max’s mother sticking around to help clean up and of course comfort you afterwards. She had always been close to you and Max and in a way she was like a mother to you too.

“Baby?”

Turning at the sound of your husbands voice you smiled, still holding Stella in your arms, only this time she was much calmer, her eyes lighting up as she spots her dad.

“Hi, everything okay?”

“I should be asking you that…”

Shrugging you let him take Stella from you, his demeanour much more relaxed with his baby girl in his arms as he placed a few kisses to her cheeks.

“I know what your father is like, yes it hurts but I love you and you love me and that’s all that matters…we have a beautiful baby girl, and that man will never be able to change what we have.”

Max nods, bringing you into his side and leaning down to kiss you softly

“You’re right, he can’t. I’ll never let him ever disrespect you like that ever again. No matter what I have to do.”

“I know you won’t Maxie…and I love you very much for it, Stella too, huh baby?”

Stroking her cheek gently she babbled happily, leaning on Max’s shoulder, her hand patting his chest gently

“My girls…I love you both so much, i’ll always protect you both, with my everything.”

Nothing else needed to be said in the moment, all Max needed was his girls and he felt whole. Nothing else mattered because to him he had everything he’d ever wanted in his life. Despite what he went through growing up, Jos had never made his heart turn cold, he made it big enough to hold the love he had for you two, and would always hold, no matter what happened.

Besides, everyone knew messing with the Verstappen girls, was playing with fire.

[hollyskywalker]

Worst nightmare

She had him wrapped around her little finger.  

Coriolanus knew she did. He's no longer the same teenage boy trying to wrap his head around what this achy feeling in his chest is. He no longer convinces himself it's hunger, or that he's just confused. He knows the feeling is longing, desire, lust, or maybe even love.  

After everything that happened in District 12 with Sejanus, with Lucy and the people he left behind he had hoped he'd never have to go through this again. A foolish hope, he realizes now. He's a human being and it's almost unavoidable there are people out there who would know just the right thing to say or just the right thing to do for him to lose his ambition focused mind in the fog that is love, or obsession in his case. He's not sure there's really a difference between the two.  

But he thought he knew better than to let someone in again. He hadn't liked how Lucy made him feel vulnerable, and how it had hurt when he realized she'd left him in the woods.  

Yet here he was, pressing this infuriating woman against the wall with her legs wrapped around his hips, their lips barely parting to breathe before pulling the other back in. 

She was perfect.  

Absolutely perfect.  

She was also his close friend's wife. 

He always thought of himself as a gentleman. Sure, he did questionable things and studied under the most questionable woman of Panem during his time at university, but at least he was polite about it. Or at least, he acted in the way one would expect a gentleman to act. 

Kissing your old classmate and close friend's wife is not very gentleman-like. He knows this but when she tangles her hand in his hair the way she does, he can't find it in himself to care.  

“Festus will come find me” she murmured into the kiss. He ignored her and started to kiss his way down her neck. He's not going to acknowledge another man's name coming from her mouth when his mouth is the one making her keen so sweetly. 

She repeated her words and when ignored her once again she gently nudged him back a bit so she could look into his eyes “Coriolanus, you know he can’t catch us. Everything will be ruined” 

He thought he might start laughing. He honestly pities the tree somewhere out there whose single purpose is to replace the oxygen her husband wastes. “Festus Creed does not have the capability of ruining anything for me” 

She hummed and brushed his hair off his face. “Your mood before we came here seemed pretty ruined to me” 

His grip on her waist tightened at the memory of Festus drunkenly clinging to her, embarrassing her, during the entirety of the evening before Coriolanus had cleverly thought of an excuse to whisk her away. 

“Very daring, to take me away from my husband in front of all those people” she whispers, her hands coming up to rest gently on his shoulders.  “Not at all like you to take that kind of risks” 

He didn't bother responding to that and simply rested his head in the crook of her neck, pulling her body as close as possible to his. She rolled her head to the side, giving him better access as her eyelids fell shut. His nose grazes up and down the length of her neck, breathing her in. 

It had been a long day. His path to becoming Panem's president was set and he was prepared to wait for the perfect moment now that he has the right people on his side. He was not an impatient man, but so close to his goal it was hard not to long for time to speed up just a little bit. 

That's why he'd already been annoyed when he arrived at this fundraiser which must be the 10th this month, and then he had to watch Festus wrap his arms around her. It was just too much.  

When they are together, it's like all the noise is cancelled out and he can finally feel at peace. His mind finally rests and he enjoys when they focus solely on each other and nothing else.  

“Marry me” she murmurs in a voice like honey.  

He's taken aback, pulling away from her to look at her wide-eyed. He hardly noticed anything around him; he felt disorientated, dizzy. His mind worked feverishly. Did she really just ask that? Did he imagine things?  

It takes a moment for him to gather himself enough to answer her. “What?” 

She tilts her head to the side with a grin, linking their hands. “Marry me. You want to become president and you have all it takes to become one except for a wife. People will expect you to have one by the time the campaigning truly starts, and you know no one works a crowd better than me. I have them hanging onto my every word within seconds,” she pulled him down slightly so she could comfortably wrap her arms around his neck “With my family name, and influence, and your talent as a natural leader, combine the two of us and Panem would be yours by the end of the year” 

He stared at the wall on the other side of the room.  

Laying her fingers on his left cheek, she turned his face to look at her. “Just imagine how powerful we could be together as a couple” 

He was imagining it. But... 

“They'd never allow you to divorce Festus” he said with certainty. This he knew for sure. The family name and influence she spoke of would not be as impactful if everyone knew she divorced someone from the Creed family. They'd call her crazy, and steer clear of her.  

“We could not marry unless Festus were dead” 

Her eyes darted between his, her hand cupping his face. She truly was ethereal.  

“I know”  

Her response is entirely too calm and he frowned at her.  

During events he would often watch her socialize and play the crowd just like she said, until they were hanging onto every word that fell past her pretty lips. She always seemed so genuine when she talked to people, but he had caught the glint of ambition in her eyes, just like him.  

She was an impeccable liar without a tell. She could lie to whoever she wanted to. Despite that she tended to be a very honest woman. He knew he would be able to count on her if she was on his side. Her, with her always impeccable appearance and her fashionably styled hair wearing nothing but lavish clothing standing out blindingly, concealing her still very much venomous nature.  Perfect. Absolutely perfect she was.  

Festus was undeserving of a woman like her. He'd always thought it but now he was sure of it. 

He could already picture it. Him, waving down at the crowd with her by his side, the envy of Panem. There would always be people against him and his tendency of making unethical choices. But how could they doubt his leadership if a woman as good as her was married to him? They'd believe she'd keep him on the right path. 

She was working her way to the top, and she was succeeding. So it would only make sense for her to ask him. Festus had his sights set on presidency too, but if she believed Coriolanus had a better chance... Coriolanus tried not to let it get to his head.

Was she insinuating he kill Festus for her? So they could marry and she could become Panem's First Lady? Did she know he'd killed before? If she did, she obviously wasn't bothered by it or scared of him because of it.  

But then there was Festus. Coriolanus didn't particularly like the guy, in fact, seeing Festus trip was the highlight of his day not even a week ago, but could he kill the Creed heir? He had killed before but in this situation it's less trivial. It's not about survival, nor about making it to the top. He was sure he could make it without her...but still... did he want to, without her? Is she not worth it? Is having her by his side worth killing Festus Creed for? 

She's not worth it, he thought and tasted the lie as soon as it crossed his mind. 

He met her eyes and thought of her smile – the smile he can't ever seem to get out of his head – and- 

He was going to kill Festus Creed.  

Memories of Sejanus flashed across his mind. Sejanus had been in the way of him ever returning to the Capitol. So he took choices that haunted him, but he didn't regret. Just like he wouldn't regretting ridding her of her infuriatingly incapable husband.  

Truthfully, Coriolanus was surprised Festus was able to stand with a spine that weak. Always following what others told him to do, never thinking for himself, so easy to manipulate. Yet he saw himself suitable for presidency?

His hands have settled on her waist seemingly out of pure instinct. His throat felt dry, and he swallowed several times before he tried to speak. 

“Yes” he nodded, decision made “Alright” 

Something bright flared in her eyes as she looked at him. After a pause, she practically launched herself at him, knocking into him so hard that he had to take a step back. He laughed quickly. One of his hands is still on her waist, but the other cups the back of her neck as his thumb strokes over her throat.   

She tilted her head up and pecked his lips. Something horrible tugged at his chest, and he knew. There's no one more dangerous in the world than her. Because he's obsessed and in love as she gazed up at him through her lashes. 

The blood was thundering through his brain. Happiness filled his chest; a dizzying sensation and his head swam with emotion. His arm slid around her waist, his hand coming to rest on her hip. 

“Mrs Snow” he whispered like a promise, smoothing his thumb over her cheek.  

"What is it?" she chuckled "Why are you looking at me like that?"  

He leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers, roughly but passionately. 

"You are my worst nightmare and the woman of my dreams all at once" 

[aemondsbabe]

Come What May

summary: aemond gets his first true taste of battle, you comfort him in the aftermath.

pairing: aemond targaryen x baratheon!reader

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, reader is described as having long black hair to suit baratheon standards but no other physical descriptors are used, spoilers, mentions of canon character injury but no gore, angst, breast/nipple play, fingering, oral (f receiving), piv sex, unprotected sex, dirty talk, slight breeding kink, slight possessive aemond, soft aemond, vulnerable aemond, we love men who cry

word count: 5.8k

a/n: i've had this idea in my head for the longest time and i think it turned out much more delicious than i was expecting! hope you all enjoy!

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

gif creds to @aemondtargaryensource

divider creds to @targaryen-dynasty

❤️my masterlist

🌟add yourself to my taglist to be notified when i post new fics!

“My love, surely Ser Criston can hold his own,” you plead, wringing your hands nervously as your husband reads from the small scroll that was delivered to your chambers only moments ago, “It’s already been days, surely if they were going to retaliate, they would’ve done so by now.”

“We made the mistake of underestimating my sweet sister and her traitorous lot once before,” Aemond sighs, lilac eye scanning over the rolled parchment once more before before holding a corner of it to one of the many dripping wax candles housed on the small desk in your rooms, “It’s an error we can never afford to make again, not after what happened to little –” The muscles in his jaw clench as he cuts himself off with another harsh sigh, tossing the burning paper into a small metal bowl before turning to you. 

“It’s an official summons,” he continues, voice softer now as he swiftly crosses the room until he stands before you. “I can’t simply ignore the Hand, nor my brother,” he murmurs, pulling a sigh from your lips as his hands wrap around your waist. You let your eyes slip closed for a moment when he leans down and presses a sweet kiss to the top of your head before resting his forehead against yours, your own hands gripping tightly to the front of his black tunic. 

“I understand,” you say softly, swallowing thickly as you try to ignore the tightness at the back of your throat, a million unsettling what if’s playing in your mind's eye, “I just want you to come b-back to me.” 

Upon hearing the break in your voice, Aemond pulls away with a tight smile. “Shh, little wife,” he whispers, gently wiping at the corner of your eyes as tears begin to gather, “I will return to you, I swear it.”

A slight flush covers the apples of your cheeks as you peer up at him, still so cautious of being weepy and emotional so soon into your marriage despite the prince’s many assurances that he was more than happy to have you exactly how you are. After a moment, you manage to blink the tears from your eyes and steady your breath, giving your husband a reassuring nod just as the doors open and a flood of servants and squires rush in to assist Aemond with his armor. 

Leaving them be, you step out onto the balcony of your chambers, grateful for the cooling breeze rolling in from Blackwater Bay. Resting your hands atop the rough stone wall, you gaze out over the calm waters, watching as the sun rises and paints them in shades of orange and pink. Each time you spot a stray seagull, your heart clenches tightly in your chest – worried for a moment that it’s Meleys and her rider, come to finish what they started at Aegon’s coronation. 

You startle as rough hands wrap around your middle from behind, a small gasp leaving you as your eyes pop open, seeing the sun a bit higher in the sky now before you look over your shoulder. 

“Dare I ask where your pretty head was?”

“Praying,” you answer your husband with a smile, turning in his grasp, “Asking the Seven to protect you, to bring you back to me in one piece.” 

Chuckling, Aemond tenderly cups your jaw with one hand, the smooth leather of his glove soft against your skin. “I assure you they will,” he says, dipping his head and kissing you with a small sigh, the metal plate armor on his torso cool against your skin, even through the fabric of your nightgown. “I do not fear this battle, sweetling, not with Vhagar at my side – she has more years of experience fighting in wars than either of us could dare imagine, many more than that old cunt or her beast. I trust her to know what’s right.”

Nodding, you follow him inside, a small smile on your lips while you listen to him talk about his dragon, finding endless amusement in the way he always speaks of her with such reverence. The two of you stand together in the low, flickering light of the many candles in your chambers, the early morning light from the drawn curtains casts faint shadows across the room as you look over your husband, unused to seeing him in true armor. 

“I suppose you’re ready, then?” You ask, glancing over the fine black plates, each custom made to hug his lithe form perfectly. 

“Almost,” he says, the corners of his lips quirk into a small smile in the same instance that familiar, mirthful glimmer takes residence in his eye. 

“Oh?” You question, already familiar with where this is going; the smile on your lips only grows as he takes your hand and leads you over to your vanity table by the wardrobes. 

“Braid my hair,” he says, always one to keep his requests of you simple, “As you do before I go riding… please.”

It’s the small please that always gets you, a courtesy Aemond so rarely bestows upon others. With a small nod, you watch as he sits on the small silk-covered chair, his lilac eye watching you from the mirror as you lean forward to grab the ornate metal hairbrush Alicent had gifted you after your wedding to her son. 

Meeting his eye in the mirror once more, you give him a small smile before focusing on his hair. You run the brush through the pale, silky strands with a practiced ease; before you, the prince hadn’t dared to let anyone do his hair, and was quick to snap at any of the servants if they tried. But with you, he was quite different – much more vulnerable behind closed doors than many would expect. 

Glancing up in the mirror as you brush through his long hair, the smile returns to your lips when you see his eye closed, a small sigh leaving his lips as he allows himself to relax for a moment more. It’s easy to fall into a rhythm in the quiet of the early morning, your hands steady as you run the fine brush through section after section of hair, humming a song to yourself as you go. 

Finally, you set the brush back down and carefully section off a lock of hair at one of his temples, already knowing how he usually preferred it be styled. Just as you have it separated into three sections, however, one of his hands closes around yours and you lift your eyes up to his in the mirror.

“Is something the matter?”

“No, no,” he replies softly, his one eye glancing away from you, almost nervously, “I simply have a favor to ask of you, my lady. Something I’ve been unable to get off my mind, not since the threat of war became real.”

“Ask it, then.”

With a small sigh, Aemond turns in the chair, moving to face you as he takes your hands once more, calloused thumbs rubbing gently over the backs of them. “I know it is a strange request but… I would like a lock of your hair, sweet one, to braid into my own.”

Your brows knit together at his words, having not expected a request such as that, and your head tilts to the side questioningly, “I see no problem with doing it, but may I ask why?”

“I am not a superstitious man, as you well know,” he starts, smiling when you nod along with his words, “However, I have come to think of you as a good luck charm, of sorts.”

“A good luck charm?” You echo, a little blush coloring your cheeks as a shy smile tugs at your lips, your heart racing at the thought of being something so precious.

Aemond squeezes your hands and nods, “These past few moons have been difficult, between my brother adjusting to the crown and everyone else shuffling about, and the horrors that my sweet sister endures, little Jaehaerys, the numerous threats from Dragonstone, everything, I…” He pauses, brows furrowing as he stares at the stone floor, jaw clenched. 

Your heart clenches in your chest as you raise a hand to his cheek, thumb stroking over the scarred skin just below his sapphire eye, the sight of it mystical to you even after so many months spent with him. Studying his face, you can’t help but notice the darkness under his eyes, a product of the many restless nights he’s faced, though a small sad smile claws at your lips as he leans into your touch – eye closing briefly as he savors it, practically purring like a housecat. 

“Your presence has been the only thing that brings me comfort,” he murmurs finally, lilac eye peering up at you as he makes no move to lean away from your touch, “I find my spirits lift when I’m around you – your touch, your sweet scent, they… they calm my mind, steady my heart.”

“Oh, Aemond,” you breathe, heart racing in your chest at his words. 

“I would like a piece of you with me always,” he continues, lilac eye brimming with sincerity, “To calm me when you’re away.”

You’re nodding before he can even finish his sentence, “Of course, my love, of course we can do that.” You sniffle, trying your hardest to keep your emotions at bay as the backs of your eyes sting with love-filled tears. 

Again, Aemond watches as you quickly walk over to the small side table where you keep your needlework supplies. Shuffling through the small woven basket they’re stored in, you locate the small scissors used to cut thread and make your way back over to the vanity. 

Bending at the waist a little, you look into the mirror, briefly meeting your husband’s eye again as you select a small lock of hair toward the back of your head, one that will be easily hidden among the rest as it grows back. With practiced motions, you quickly knot the fine strand into a thin braid before getting the scissors as close to your scalp as you dare. You carefully cut away at it until it comes away, the bundle of strands clutched tightly between two of your fingers. 

Returning the scissors to the basket, you grab a small bundle of thread, close to the same dark color of your hair, and return to the prince, quickly tying off both ends of the braid before holding it up with a small smile. 

“Good?”

“Good.”

Quickly taking your place by Aemond, you once again separate a lock of his hair into thirds, adding your own strand to the mix before easily winding them together in a long, silvery braid, the black of your own hair standing out strikingly against your husband’s. Finally, you gather the rest of his hair into its usual half up and half down style, thick braid skirting down one side of his head before joining the rest as you secure it with a thin leather cord. 

“There,” you breathe, stepping back just enough for Aemond to stand, “All done.” 

“Perfect as usual, sweetling,” the prince smiles, tight lipped, “Thank you.” He murmurs, again, a courtesy reserved for you.

“Of course,” you all but whisper, both you and Aemond pausing as you stare at one another, neither of you wanting to say goodbye first. 

You nearly jump out of your skin as a knock interrupts the moment, both of your heads swiveling to the doors of your chambers as they creak open. 

Ser Willis Fell, a member of Aegon’s Kingsguard steps into the room, bowing politely as he addresses you both. “Prince, Princess,” he says curtly, one hand balanced on the pommel of the sword that hangs from his waist, “I apologize for the intrusion, I’ve been instructed to inform the prince that he is to depart for Rook’s Rest immediately – King Aegon is already waiting at the Dragonpit.”

Aemond nods with a heavy sigh, turning back to you. Before he can get a word in, you practically throw yourself at him, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck as the doors click closed once more. “Please come back to me,” you breathe against the crook of his neck, tightness once again taking residence at the back of your throat as his arms wind around you, one hand rubbing soothingly up and down your back. 

“I will, my sweet girl, I swear it,” he promises lowly, long arms squeezing him to you as tight as he dares, not wanting to bruise your skin against his armor, “I swear upon the Seven I’ll come back, I will not leave you, I refuse.” 

Nodding, your breath catches in your throat as you slip away from him, just enough to angle your face up to his. His eye glances over your face quickly before he presses his lips against yours, both of you desperate to pour as much emotion into the kiss as you can as your lips move together for a moment. 

Finally, he pulls away with a pained sigh, holding your face in his hands. “Avy jorrāelan,” he whispers, the very first Valyrian phrase he taught you. (I love you.)

“Avy jorrāelan tolī, ñuha valzȳrys,” you reply, the practiced phrase coming easily to you after all these months. (I love you too, my husband.)

With one final kiss, Aemond departs, the walk toward your chamber doors seeming like the longest of his life. 

The rest of the day passes by painfully slowly, though you do all you can to entertain yourself. Everything from taking a much longer time than usual to eat meals, forcing yourself to stomach what little you can with your belly in nervous knots, to spending hours walking through the Red Keep’s gardens. 

Which is how you find yourself now, in front of the fire in one of the many ornate sitting rooms, wiling away the time by half-heartedly working on a needlepoint. Alicent sits next to you on the small sofa, restlessly reading over a small stack of letters as Helaena paces, wringing her hands and mumbling to herself under her breath, a common sight following the death of her son. 

With a tired sigh, you put down your embroidery hoop, fingers too sore and overworked to continue. “I just want him to come back,” you mutter, staring vacantly into the fire, “Or to get some word, some update. Just to know.”

“He’ll come back, sweetling,” Alicent murmurs softly, setting the letters aside as she places a comforting hand on your knee, “They both will.” She finishes, glancing over at her daughter with a longing stare, wishing there was anything she could do to ease her pain. 

The both of you sit for a while longer, the navy sky outside growing steadily darker, before Alicent sighs and looks at you with a sad half-smile. “You may as well go to bed, dear,” she says softly, “Staying up worrying won’t do any good.”

Knowing she’s right, you quickly bid her goodnight before taking your leave.

You lay in bed, tossing and turning for a long while, thoughts filled with nothing but your husband, before sleep finally takes you. Even then, it’s not restful, dreams filled with visions of blood and fire, of the sounds of screaming and swords clanging together. 

It isn’t until the wee hours of the night, almost sunrise, that a sound wakes you – clanging again, only soft this time, like metal on stone. 

You blink your eyes open, a little groan leaving your lips as you rub at them with your fists before –

“Aemond!” You breathe, scrambling under the blankets to get to him, nearly toppling off the bed in your haste. 

He makes a small “oof” noise as you throw yourself against his chest, catching you in his arms and holding you tightly. “Careful, love,” he laughs softly, letting his eye slip closed as he kisses the top of your head, breathing in the familiar lavender scent of your hair. 

“You came back,” you breathe, winding your arms around his waist as you kneel at the edge of the bed, knees digging into the plush mattress. Upon hugging the prince, you come to realize that the small clanging noise that woke you had to have been him quickly untying his plate armor and stripping off his chainmail, leaving him in a soft tunic and pants – the aforementioned garments lying haphazardly on the floor, their sheen reflected somewhat in the dim glow of the fire. 

“Of course I did,” he murmurs, stroking a hand over your back, “I swore I would, didn’t I?”

The two of you fall easily into a comfortable silence, arms wrapped securely around one another as the only noise in the room is the sound of soft breathing and the crackling from the hearth. You can’t help but notice that Aemond smells smokey, much like he does after riding on Vhagar but stronger now, no doubt having been around dragon fire for hours. 

After a moment, you peer up at him, eyes finally adjusted to the low light. When you do, you can’t help the small, pitying little gasp that leaves your lips and one hand rises to gently cup his cheek. You’re no stranger to seeing him after a long day training in the yard with Ser Criston, but this is wholly different. 

In the pale light, you could make out small dark splotches on his face and neck and upon skirting your thumb over one on his cheek, you come to realize it’s remnants of ash, staining not only his skin but the bits and pieces of his tunic and pants that weren’t covered by armor as well. His hair was still fixed how you’d left it, though messier now – windswept and slightly dusty as well, many of the white strands stained a faint grey, the flash of black from your own braid still cutting through the paleness of his like a knife. 

But what really stopped you was his eye, his lilac one; you frown when you notice the uneasy look in it, full of a bitter sadness. “My sweet husband,” you say softly, brows furrowing when you notice a few scant tear stains on his cheek, their paths carved through the spots of ash, “What happened? What did they do to you?” You question, heart racing at the thought of the horrors he must’ve seen – his first real taste of battle.

The prince gazes at you for a long second, his lips parting as one of his hands comes to rest at the nape of your neck, fingers threading through your hair. All at once though, the sadness in his eye changes to a familiar fire, one that makes your heart race for an altogether different reason and desire curls in your belly, coming to rest like a cat in a sunbeam. 

“Aemond?” You question, blinking up at him. Suddenly, his lips are on yours, hot and insistent and you’re all too eager to comply, easily melting against him. A whimper leaves your lips, instantly swallowed by his mouth as it moves against yours. 

The kiss is more teeth and tongues than anything else, your husband’s slipping against yours with a practiced ease. His hand threads more harshly through your hair, making you moan against his lips as your hands cling tightly to the dark fabric of his tunic, a growl reverberating under them as it emanates from his chest. 

“Need you,” he breathes raggedly as his lips part from yours, leaving a trail of wet kisses down your jaw and to your neck. You shudder against him as his teeth nip gently at your skin before his lips suckle at it gently, painting bruises on your throat that match the many he surely has. 

“But –” you start, a myriad of questions swirling in your mind despite the pleasure threatening to blot them out. 

You’re stopped mid sentence as Aemond suddenly cups one of your breasts, palming eagerly at the tender flesh in a way he knows makes your head spin and don’t miss the ghost of a victorious smirk on his lips at the way you cut yourself off with a small, shuddered moan, squirming in his hold as his thumb skirts over your nipple through the thin fabric of your nightgown. 

“Please, sweet one, I need this,” he mumbles, voice muffled against your neck. His hand at the nape of your neck slips down to wrap around the small of your back, arching you against him, “I need you, I need to feel… t-to feel something good again.”

Once more, you’re nodding before he can even finish his request, chest heaving as you fight to keep your eyes open, wanting to keep him in your sights as if he may disappear again if you don’t. “Then take me,” you sigh, a broken moan leaving your lips as he kisses down your neck and across your chest. The hair at the back of your neck raises on end as he mouths over the fat of your breast, dampening the front of your nightgown.

Both of your hands claw desperately at the back of his head, tangling into his long hair messily just as his lips close around your nipple. “Gods!” You cry as he suckles at it needily, still pawing at the other one, savoring the feel of it in his hand. 

Just as your thighs begin squeezing together, your center aching, Aemond pulls away, smirking when you whine. Impatient as ever, he quickly pulls at your nightgown, tugging it up and over your head, and tosses it onto the floor with his armor – delicate silk pooling over hard metal – before quickly undoing his tunic, eye glimmering proudly at how you always stare at him with such reverence. 

“Fuck,” he growls, hands descending passionately against you once more, one again kneading at your breast as the other slides against your hip, long fingers digging into the fat of your ass, “You get more beautiful every time I see you.” He whispers against your lips, strands of silver hair falling loose from his braid and fanning around his face. 

His lips press against yours once more, teeth teasingly nipping at your lower lip as your nails dig into his shoulders and chest, anxious for more even as you blush at his words. Always one to please, the prince wastes no time in trailing kisses back over your neck, pausing to nip and suck once again at his marks from earlier, needing to see remnants of himself on your delicate skin.

Again, he traces a bath down across your chest before licking over your nipple, needing to give attention to the breast he’d missed earlier. His tongue laves over it greedily and you moan at the feel of his length, hard and hot against your lower belly even through the cotton of his trousers. 

Just as his teeth nip softly at your taut bud, the hand on your hip shifts toward your center, making your breath catch in your throat. Suckling at your nipple once more, Aemond gently runs his fingers through your already dripping folds, pulling a loud, whiny whimper from you as his lips curl into a smirk, a pleased hum radiating against your breast. 

“Husband, please,” you whine, finding your voice once more as he rests his forehead against yours, chuckling at your cries. 

“Seems I’m not the only one that needs this, hm?” He teases, eye glancing over your face as his fingers lightly rub against your aching bud, your breaths mingling together. 

“A-Always need you,” you say breathily, your hips moving of their own accord as he plays with you, your own hands clutching at him like an anchor, “I’ll always, fuck! I’ll always need you, Aemond.” 

He feels his heart skip in his chest at that and once again grows restless, the need to have you, to feel nothing but you burns through him like fire. Distantly, in the back of his mind, he thinks how the sincerity in your tone reminds him of your wedding vows, whispered to him in the Sept as if the two of you were the only people in the universe – how he wishes that were true. 

With a grunt, he presses his lips harshly against yours once more before leaning forward, pressing himself over you until you have no choice but to buckle and fall to your back against the bed. Unable to think of anything else, he wastes no time in kneeling at the side of the bed, knees against one of the many fur rugs dotted over the floors of your chamber. 

A squeal leaves your lips as the prince clutches at your ankles and pulls you toward him, until your ass is nearly hanging off the edge of the bed. A breathy whimper leaves you as you peer down at him, resting back on your elbows as your teeth bite into your lower lip. 

Your hips buck as Aemond kisses up your thighs, long hair tickling your soft skin, and you whine as he licks at the curve where your thigh and center meet. A breath leaves him as he uses his thumbs to part your folds, licking his lips at how your arousal already coats them, wetness catching in the dim light of the fire. 

“The Stranger himself wouldn’t be able to tear me from this,” your husband murmurs lowly, nearly growling as he glances between your face and your dripping heat like a starving man looking over a feast. 

With a groan, he finally dives in, moaning nearly as loud as you do as he greedily mouths at your cunt, tongue licking harshly over you from bottom to top. Every muscle in your body seems to seize as lightning bolts of pleasure crackle up and down your spine. 

Your head flops back against the bed as Aemond licks and suckles at your folds, burying his face against your center as he licks into you, nose pressed tightly against your pearl. Your fingers tangle into his hair once more, back arching as he groans into your heat, all but fucking you on his tongue as obscene wet sounds echo about the room. 

“Oh Gods, f-fuck,” you whine, hips rutting against his face as the heat in your belly threatens to boil over already. Your eyes roll back as he chuckles against you and licks up to your bud, suckling at it eagerly, making you clench around nothing.

“Gods, you taste good, so sweet,” the prince mumbles against you, lapping at your pearl as he runs two thick fingers through your folds, coating them in your arousal. “I would kill Death himself for this, my love,” he rasps, leaning up to watch the expressions on your face as he presses his fingers into you, impatiently crooking them up in just the way you like, fucking and rubbing them against the sensitive spot within you with practicied ferocity. 

“Please, please, please,” you pant, belly knotting tighter and tighter at his words, the gruffness of his voice, head so clouded you aren’t even entirely sure what you’re begging for. 

Aemond smirks and licks and sucks at your bud for a moment more, savoring every whine and whimper he pulls from you. “Let go, my love,” he murmurs, grinning at the way your heat clenches tightly around his fingers, “Peak, let me feel it.”

You wail as the cord within you breaks, shuddering and babbling the prince’s name again and again as pleasure washes over you, your muscles tensing and relaxing in a dizzying rhythm as he works you through it. You nearly peak again as he groans against you, lips wrapped around your pearl as he suckles, gradually slowing his fingers within you.

Finally, you come down, though the fire within you still burns brightly, still aches for him. You watch through half-lidded eyes as he rises from the floor, lilac eye looking over your disheveled form proudly as white strands of hair cling to his face, still sticky with your arousal. 

His chest heaves as he quickly undoes the ties of his trousers and tugs them off his long, lean legs. He wipes at his lips with the back of his hand as he leans back over you and you whine when you feel the heat of his length pressing against you, trapped between your two bodies, the tip already red and leaking against your belly. 

“You’re so good to me,” he murmurs softly, leaning forward to kiss you as he savors the little gasp that leaves your lips as he reaches down with one hand, positioning his cock at your sensitive entrance, “My perfect, sweet girl.” 

You nod your head, hands cupping his face as he pushes into you. Your mouth falls open in a loud gasp and you tremble in his hold as he presses forward, sheathing himself inside of you completely with a pleased groan. 

“Oh, my love,” you finally pant, savoring the way his length feels within you, pressing against every part of you as he fills you completely, “You feel so good, husband, always so good.” 

He growls at that, the breathiness of your tone making his eye flutter shut as he begins rutting against you, grinding his hips against your own. “You were made for me,” he muses, groaning when you begin kissing over the pale column of his throat, “Made to be mine.”

“For you,” you agree between kisses and licks, heart fluttering at the way his thrusts stutter each time your teeth graze over his skin, “Only for you, my sweet prince.”

Aemond groans above you and settles into a practiced rhythm, thick cock spearing into you again and again as your legs wrap around his hips, holding you to him as if he would ever dream of pulling away. One of his hands rests at the nape of your neck again, holding you against his throat as the other grabs at your waist, marveling at the way your breasts move against his chest, bouncing lightly with each thrust. 

The thought of them full of milk, your belly swollen with his seed, flashes across his mind and he growls low in his chest, cock twitching within you. 

As you squirm beneath him, your husband can tell you’re close, as if the steady pulse of your core around his length wasn’t warning enough. “I would go to war for this cunt,” he groans, locking eyes with you as your foreheads press together once more, “I would burn whole villages to the ground just to have you like this, sweetling.” 

His words cascade over you like lava, making your brows furrow together as you gaze up at him, mouth agape. You all but forget to breathe for a moment before a loud, whining moan tears itself from your lips, chest heaving as you fight for air. 

“A-Aemond, Aemond, Gods,” you babble, legs tightening around his waist as your nails scratch down his back, making him grunt above you. After only a few more thrusts, you break once more, writhing beneath him. 

Distantly, you hear the prince groan and grunt above you as your cunt squeezes around him, determined to hold off his own pleasure long enough to watch you peak once more. 

Finally, unable to hold back any longer, Aemond surrenders to the fire within him and moans, voice breaking, as he lets it consume him. Your eyes flutter open as you feel his cock kick inside you and you watch him, mesmerized, as warmth fills you, his seed adding to the sticky mess between your thighs. 

He collapses against you, hips still rutting against your own in broken, twitching movements as his own high fades. The two of you lay like that for a moment, panting as you catch your breath, until you realize your husband’s shoulders are shaking beneath your hold, his breath coming in unsteady bursts against your neck from where his head rests against your shoulder. 

“My love?” You question, cupping his cheek and bringing his face up just enough to see him. Your heart nearly breaks at the sight of tears pooled in his eye, a few already running down his cheek, “What is it? What’s wrong?” You question, quickly glancing over him, searching for some injury, some source of pain. 

Aemond merely shakes his head and sniffles, blinking to dispel his tears as his cheeks flush – he hates the thought of you seeing him so weak. “I’m… I-I’m sorry,” he chokes out finally, holding you against his body tightly despite his embarrassment. 

Immediately, you shake your head, pressing a hand against his shoulder until he rolls over, pulling you with him. A soft gasp leaves your lips at the feel of his softening length slipping from your drenched folds as he comes to rest on his back, you at his side, one hand across his chest.

“Shhh, husband,” you murmur, cupping his cheek once more as you lean up on an elbow, “You needn’t apologize to me.” He nods, somewhat half-heartedly, at your words and sighs deeply, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he swallows thickly, trying to chase away the tightness at the back of his throat. 

You stay silent for a moment, giving him time to calm down, and let your eyes sweep over his form. Aside from the blotches of ash on his pale skin, and some bruises here and there, he looks nearly untouched. A small smile tugs at your lips despite the situation when you see your lock of hair still wound into his, pale braid practically falling apart by now, most of it pulled free of the leather tie holding it together. 

“What’s happened?” You finally ask once his breathing evens out some, your thumb rubbing soothingly over his cheekbone. 

“Aegon,” he chokes out, jaw clenching once more as tears run down his cheek yet again. 

Your heart clenches as a shot of adrenaline all but knocks the wind from your lungs, “He’s not… h-he didn’t –” You start to question, stopping yourself once Aemond shakes his head.

“No, no,” he confirms, voice ragged and soft as his chest heaves with a sniffle, “Almost, but no.”

“Almost?”

“He… He’s hurt,” Aemond starts, barely a whisper as his eye finally meets yours, “Badly. I don’t… I don’t know what comes next, o-or what to do, what’ll be expected of me, of you –” He mutters, breath picking up as panic rises within him, regretting each time he’d looked at his brother with envy – saw the black crown atop his head, glimmering with red rubies, and thought bitterly that it would suit him better. 

“Shhh,” you breathe once more, draping yourself over him like a blanket and pulling a tired sigh from his lips as your touch immediately slows his racing heart. You run your fingers through his hair, black intertwined with white, and press a soothing kiss to his cheek, “I don’t care what comes next, my love.” 

Your soft words draw his attention and he looks at you, brows furrowed in surprise, “You don’t?”

“Not at all,” you murmur, steeling yourself to be strong for him regardless of the future, “Whatever happens, I shall face it with you. That’s enough for me.”

gen tags: @helloworldiamnotarobot @drakonflames @marysucks-blog @watercolorskyy @valeskafics @iamaegontargaryenwife0 @aemshaircare @1997babyyyy @lovellies @little-moonbeam-666 @blackswxnn @wickedfrsgrl @echos-muses @imawhorecrux @avidreader73 @marvelescape @rae-11 @ms-morningstarr @chaotic-fangirl-blog @grsveeth0m @twglitching @hb8301 @delulumhaggy @burntliquorlips @fan-goddess @cl-0-vr @kittendoll05 @beautbuck @eponaartemisa @trshngyn @brettlovessuckingcocks @alerisc @moonriseoverkyoto @wolfdressedinlace @do-double-g @kennafild @cruelworldlana @mheraxes @eternallyvenus @chaotic-fangirl-blog @simp-hub-bro @badxbabyyy @venchi-cremino

aemond tags: @demirunner @iloveslasher @neithriddle @moneypriestess @anak1nsx @angelinap09

hotd tags: @cuddlejeongin

(tags are based on your answers to my google form; if you were mistakenly tagged, please contact me & update your answers on the form! thank you!)

[hurthermore]

Could you write something quick for Your Alastor x reader where she’s ovulating! (Horny week ;)) he asks her what she wants to eat as he’s making dinner and she’s like you while palming his crotch?? PLS IM ON MY PERIOD AND ITS KILLING ME

YES OK OK SEXUAL CONTENT BELOW

"What would you like for dinner, my darling wife?" Alastor had asked you after wrapping his apron around his waist, fully intending to make you anything you desired; just as he did every night.

He was a man of passion, one that craved to show you how dearly you meant to him, and the act of cooking was one of the many ways he exhibited that.

It was such an attractive trait, one that had you swooning over your husband more and more as ever day passed. But as you contemplated his question, you couldn't help how your cunt pulsed in want as you thought of having your husband for dinner; not in a cannibalistic sense, but in a sexual one.

Walking behind him ever so slowly, you pressed your chest against his back before etching your hand against his clothed, soft cock that began twitching in want as your mere touch doused him. "I want you." You had moaned against him as you continued to massage your palm against his pelvis.

You could hear him panting as you touched him, and as you looked up, you witnessed the hinges of his jaw tensing ever so slightly as his hands grasped the rim of the counter side.

“Will you let me, my handsome husband? Will you let me eat you?” You had asked as your hand snaked under the belt that held his trousers up. Slipping your hand underneath his clothes before your fingers grasped round the hardening fat cock that was yours and yours alone.

“Fuck, yes.” He had groaned in that seductive voice that you loved oh so much; the same voice that sent trembling shivers down your spine and tickled your core.

Quickly, your husband unclasped his belt before helping you remove his heavy sex from the confines of his clothes. You could feel his cock spring out as you had turned him around to face you all too quickly before falling on kneecaps in front of him.

His expression was filled with want and lust as he looked down at you, his darling wife, his hand resting against the crown of your scalp before you had moved his apron to the side; only to caress his cock against the side of your face, your lips ever so slightly swiping against his length.

Groaning, Alastors eyes stayed fixated on you, watching intently as your tongue licked along the entirety of his length. He always tasted so good, and you couldn’t help but moan as the taste of his salted cock sunk into your taste buds.

It didn’t take long for your husband to thread his fingers through your hair before guiding you to take his cock in your warm and wet mouth; something your desired more than anything in that moment.

He had forced you to choke on him as he guided your head back and forth against him, forced his cock to slam against the back of your throat before ultimately splattering your oesophagus with his salty cum.

Alastor, your husband, would always be your favourite meal.

[skipper19]

Imagine this..

Gojo absolutely loves the look of his pregnant wife wobbling around the home. He loves it a lot more than he thought he would. Gojo takes so many pictures of you. From the day of the big news, all the way to today.

"Satoru sto-Op!" You squeaked and giggled as you spoke. "I am allowed to dote on my pregnant wife, thank you very much." His low voice spoke very smugly into your ear. Despite your outward complaints, you still looked to the phone sitting on the kitchen counter and smiled. You blinked when the flash went off, and you rubbed your eyes.

"You take too many pictures of me.." You grumble. "Especially when I look like shit." You pouted and rested your hand on your swollen stomach. Gojo gasped and put a hand to his chest. "Shit? You're the most gorgeous woman I have ever met," He leans now and cups your jaw in his hands. "Especially in the mornings." He whispered softly before kissing you. You smiled into the kiss and felt your shoulders relax.

"Mm..if I wasn't already pregnant, I would drag you to bed until I am.." You mumbled happily against his lips. Gojo snickers and rolls his ocean eyes. "Keep talking like that, and I will drag you back to bed, despite already being pregnant." He smirked with lidded eyes. "Even if I'm 5 months pregnant?" You whispered. "Especially when you're 5 months pregnant." He pulled you into a passionate kiss after the words left his lips.

You both didn't leave the bed again until 6 pm.

-----------------------------------------------------♤

Gojo hurriedly washed his hands and ignored grabbing paper towels as he left, deciding to wipe his wet hands off on his pants instead. He was in too much of a rush to care anyway. His pregnant wife was all by her lonesome in the grocery store as he dealt with his bladder problem. He hated to leave you alone. He hated leaving you alone around other people even more.

Gojo sensed your cursed energy in the nearest aisle and quickly returned by your side. He smiled when he spotted you looking at the baby shoes that were huddled in a small pile on the corner of the shelf. Gojos eyes glanced to the clearance sign above the shelf and playfully rolled his eyes. "Didn't I say I wanted our baby girl to have the best quality clothes? Why are we in the clearance section?" He playfully scolded as he leaned his shoulder against the shelf with the shoes.

"Well, I remember saying that it doesn't have to be expensive, as long as it looks adorable on our baby boy." You retorted with a sly smile. Gojo huffed and shook his head. "Our baby girl has the best, strongest, and wealthiest father in all of Japan. I think she deserves to be spoiled." He crossed his arms, making you glance at the faint sight of his veins popping out. Amusement laced his eyes behind the dark shades adorning his handsome face.

"And I think our baby boy will care nothing about being spoiled, as long as it's comfortable." You shot back and quickly looked back down to the pair of shoes in your hand. Gojo felt his heart leap when you placed the boy shoes in the shopping cart before reaching back onto the shelf and grabbing a feminine pair of shoes as well. Gojo pushed himself from the shelf and walked behind you to wrap his arms around your growing belly.

"You are going to be an amazing mother." He whispered softly into your ear. Heat rose to your cheeks, and you smiled bashfully. "You think so?" You placed your hands onto his. "I really do."

-----------------------------------------------------♤

It didn't take long for Gojo to realize you weren't in bed with him any longer. He was normally hyper aware when you would leave the warmth of his arms at night, but he had been even more of a light sleeper after you hit your 7 month mark.

Gojo didn't want to think of what he would do if something had happened to you.

He threw the covers off of himself before leaving the inviting warmth of the sheets. He quickly makes his way to the kitchen, only to find you quietly sitting at the marble island in the center of the room. You were minding your business as you nibbled away at your odd snack, a soft tune playing from the radio nearby. Gojo always insisted on buying speakers. That way, he could blast music from the TV, but you denied him every time. You always said that the radio was much better.

Gojo sighed and quietly walked up to you, his eyes grazing over your plump form. He couldn't help but smirk. You just looked so lovely as you sat there, munching away on your food, his shirt barely covering your body. Gojo was head over heels in love with you, that was obvious.

"Sneaking away from me just to get you a snack? How rude." Gojo softly said as he pouted. You jumped as his arms snaked around your body. You swatted at his muscular arms and shot him a glare over your shoulder. "Dont sneak up on a pregnant lady! You nearly made me drop my pickles.." You mumbled. Despite your annoyance, your body still leaned back to relax against his warm chest.

Gojo glanced at the food in your hands and resisted the urge to shiver. Pickles and marshmallows. "Mm, I wouldn't want to have to throw that snack away.." You rolled your eyes at his sarcasm and plopped the pickle and mini marshmallow in your mouth. "Shuddup."

-----------------------------------------------------♤

"You're doing so good, baby, just a few more pushes." Gojo encouraged you with soft spoken words and swift fingers caressing your hair. You wanted to yell at him to just shut up, but the pain you were feeling inhibited anything other than pained sounds.

Gojo hated seeing you in so much pain. Especially when he couldn't do anything to quell it. "Just one more push." The doctor said. If it weren't for the situation, Gojo knew better than anyone how embarrassed you would be right now. He leaned down closer to your ear. "One more push, sweetheart, and then we can meet our beautiful baby." He whispered softly. You gripped his hand tighter, thankful that his infinity was lowered, his touch grounded you. It kept you sane on a normal day, and you needed him more than ever right now.

"I can't.. I can't!" Your voice was hoarse and weak as you sobbed aloud. Gojo shook his head and kissed your temple, his lips resting against your skin as he spoke. "Yes, you can. I know you can. You're strong, the strongest woman I have ever met, I know you can do this." His words replayed like a symphony. You can do this. You are strong. You can do this. For your baby.

One final push, followed by a shout of pain, led to the cries of your baby echoing in the room. Gojo smiled and gulped down his nerves as he watched the nurses take away his baby to be cleaned.

You weren't in the same condition.

Your ears rang as your head pounded. You know your baby was finally delivered, so why couldn't you hear them? Your glazed eyes panicked to search the room for your child. "Sa-satoru?" Your voice weakly called out. His ocean blue eyes cast down to your face to see the concern and tears. His hand moved from your hair to your face as he wiped away your tears and tilted your gaze to meet his.

"I can't hear them crying. Are they okay?" You hiccuped. Gojos eyebrows furrowed slightly, yet he kept a warm smile on his face. "They are fine, don't worry." He reassured and kissed your sweaty forehead. His eyes glanced to the doctor, only to see a reassuring smile sent back his way. "It's normal for the mother to be disoriented after giving birth. It's a lot of strain on her body." The doctor said quietly.

Gojo sighed and briefly closed his eyes as his lips lingered against your forhead. His attention was directed to the nurse as she walked back with a small bundle in her arms. "Mrs. Gojo," the nurse called softly. Your eyes fell to her, then the bundle of life in her arms. A wobbly smile formed on your lips as you weakly reached out your arms for your baby. The moment the baby was rested against your chest, tears fell from your eyes like a waterfall.

Gojo couldn't help but tear up.

"It's a boy." The nurse spoke up. You tearfully giggled and gently ran your finger over your baby's cheek. "My baby boy.." You mumbled, a soft kiss landing on his head.

After a few moments of skin to skin contact and appreciation, you looked to Gojo. He didn't need you to say a word. He eagerly held his arms out for you to gently place his baby boy in his warm hold. On instinct, the man handled his son with nothing but gentle touch. You just knew he was going to be an amazing father. "God, look at you.. beautiful, just like your mama.." He cooed. You rested your hand on his arm. "Handsome, just like his daddy." You whispered with droopy eyes. He shakily sighed.

This is his family.

-----------------------------------------------------♤

"Thank you.. Thank you so much." Gojo mumbled into your ear. Your mind, despite being fogged, was able to register his words. "F-for what?" You gasped, your nails drawing blood from his pale skin. "For giving me a family." His words reverberated in your spine, causing your ears to tingle and your eyes to close in pleasure.

"I want to be selfish.." He spoke again. His movement picked up speed, quickly sucking the words from your throat. "I want one more. Give me one more -please baby, just one more.." But Gojo has always been a greedy man. One was never enough, and you knew this all too well.. "Please~" He begged, almost pathetically. You moaned aloud and grasped his face in your hands, pulling his lips to your own from where they once were on your neck.

"Give me it, Satoru.. give it to me."

[barefoothighlander]

Hi luv! Can you please do some headcanons of ghost having a civilian wife who is an absolute RAY of sunshine, but he keeps the fact that he’s married a secret even from 141. And when they do find out they’re just like??? How??? She’s like so cute???

yes ugh, soft!ghost has my heart, he'd be such a cutie obsessed with his wife, I love this, also obsessed with gossipy Soap and Gaz, they'd be so invested in Ghost's life

warnings: none just fluff

You and Simon had been married 3 years, meeting 5 years ago while he was on leave back home and you were visiting family

You bumped into him on accident after losing all sense of direction on a back street.

He was intrigued because most people are frightened by his outward appearance, but you just smiled at him apologizing profusely.

He had awkwardly asked for your number and you gave it to him, going on a few dates before he fell madly in love with you. Completely enamoured with your smile and personality, always giggling and happy, a stark contrast to how he usually was.

You made him see things in a softer light, constantly dragging him to farmer’s markets and gardens, he followed your every whim, just happy to spend time with you.

He had proposed a year after the two of you became official, deciding he couldn’t go another day without being married to you.

A week after the proposal he had to deploy, it broke his heart to leave you but it made him even more eager to come back to you.

You knew most of what his job consisted of, he spared you the more gory parts as they always made you squeamish. The two of you making it a rule to keep your relationship secret, even from the rest of the team.

After you married he made a point of calling you every day from base just to check in, even though he’d see you right as soon as he got home.

On a particularly difficult mission, Simon had gotten hit in the head, his helmet knocked off and thrown to the dirt, a small piece of paper falling out.

Soap rushed over to him to make sure he was okay, noticing the small paper and grabbing at it as Simon reached to tear it from his hands. It was a photo of you, hair messy from the wind, skin glowing from the sun outside, bright smile plastered on your face as you smiled at your husband behind the camera.

“Lt have’ya a lass,” Soap asked, dodging Ghost’s attempts to retrieve the photo. “Tell me and I’ll give it back”. Sick of Soaps games Ghost submits. “She’s my wife”

Word spread quickly through the team on behalf of Soap’s loudmouth, all the men rushing to question Ghost about his secret relationship.

“No shot you married her, she’s so.. Cute? Smiley? And you’re so” Gaz is cut off by Simon’s dark stare.

All the men pestered Ghost about meeting you as he continued to decline, Price offering a simple ‘congratulations son’

One day you came to base to drop off some gear that Simon forgot at home, immediately greeted by Soap. “No way” he says, stepping towards you with open arms, pulling you into a hug. You hug him back confused. “Sorry, have we met” “No but I’ve heard a lot about you lass”

Simon rushes out of the base practically tearing Soap off you, giving him a warning with a quiet stare as you tug on his jacket, reaching on your toes to lift his mask slightly, planting a kiss to his lips and smiling before handing him the bag of gear which he takes before running a hand softly over your back.

“This is so strange” Soap responds taken aback by the sight of you two, one tall and brooding, face covered by a skull mask and the other a practical ray of sunshine, wearing a long flowing dress that leaves the top of your chest open to the breeze.

“I will say, you’re much prettier in person, the picture doesn’t do justice” “That’ll do” Simon warns as you giggle.

Against Simon’s wishes you invite the team over for a dinner, the weather was too nice to not eat outside as you got to meet each member, learning more about them than Simon would ever tell you.

“I’m sorry it just makes no sense,” Gaz says as you quirk an eyebrow in question. “I just mean you’re so nice, and the Lieutenant is so daunting” you laugh, “trust me, he’s not so scary with the mask off,” He bows his head in embarrassment as you break down his strict facade.

“So what do you two even do? Gasp does Lt cuddle?” Soap asks almost giggling, Simon swears that he could kill Johnny right there. You spare a glance at your husband before meekly nodding in Soap’s direction as he and Gaz are taken in a fit of laughter, you shrug your shoulders in a silent sorry to Simon.

The team made it a tradition to now show up at your home at least once a week to have dinner and some drinks, or just play some board games, intent on getting to know you better, almost punishing Ghost for keeping you a secret.

Cleaning up dinner Simon slides behind you wrapping you in a hug, a small show of affection he had been holding off on while the team was in view. “You’re telling them too much” As he kisses the base of your neck, you turn your body to him, “It’s nice to get to know them, I like seeing you around your friends” he scoffs as the term, then thinks about it shit maybe we are friends.

The time spent after at work Simon was constantly pestered about when he’d make Price and Soap uncles while Gaz had proclaimed himself as your future child’s fairy godmother.

Simon grew tired of the constant interrogation but felt like a weight was off his chest finally being able to be open about your relationship, though he’d never let the team hear the pet names you call him in private, nor would he let them in on the more tender moments of your time spent together.

The team always telling him that he was nicer when you visited or called him, always nagging to see pictures of the two of you (there were barely any, maybe one where he didn't have his mask on but it was kept secure in the house), and wanting to know when you'd visit.

Ghost was relieved that the team was so nice to you, he'd kill them for even saying a bad word, but he wasn't surprised given your ability to get along with almost everyone, always stopping to say good morning to people on the streets.

They teased him for days after you dropped him off some lunch one time, he had acted angry but he loved the domesticity of your lives, he loved seeing you in his office, a bright figure in such a beige world, he couldn't help the smile that crept on his face at the mere thought of you.

So the two of you welcomed the team into your lives, enjoying the company after living rather solitary. Spilling secrets with Soap and Gaz as Price and Simon looked on, Price with a small smirk on his face, happy that Simon finally found the love he deserved, while Simon sat unamused at Soap's jokes.

[hazbinwhoree]

So I though I had after reading "failed 3 for 3" is if Adam ever had a nightmare about reader leaving him(are nightmares even possible in heaven?idk).

So basically Adam has a nightmare about us leaving him for Lucifer just like his 2 ex-wifes did. He wakes up and panick (bonus poits if we aren't in bed when he wakes up cuz we needed a drik, go to the bathroom, or something and Adams like "Holy shit it actually happened").

So naturaly like a good wife we are, we need to comfort our little problematic person.

AND I KNOW WHY ALL THE ADAM HEADCANON ARE LIKE "oh he won't let you be a big spoon, no chance" BUT I JUST NEED TO HAVE HIM LAY ON MY CHAEST WHILE I STROKE HIS HAIR, KISS HIS FOURHEAD AND WHISPER SWEET NOTHINGS INTO HIS EAR. ITS A PAIN </333333333

Sorry for any gramer or spelling errors English is not my first lenguage.

I love you'r writing and have a good day <3

Failed 3 For 3

Part 2/2

A/N: Short but sweet.

Adam tossed and turned. His dream was particularly unpleasant. It was replaying the events of today except in this dream, (Name) fell for Lucifer’s flirting, and he lost her. Adam watched on helplessly as (Name) and Lucifer leaned in to kiss… then woke up with a gasp.

He immediately reached for (Name), only to find her side of the bed empty. His heart dropped. What if that wasn’t a dream? “(Name)?” he calls out weakly.

She doesn’t answer, but he hears the toilet flush in their connected bathroom. Then running water, then the door opens and (Name) steps back into the room. “Adam?”

Adam clambered out of bed and picked (Name) up, squeezing her like he might lose her. He wrapped his wings around them like some sort of shield. (Name) pressed a long kiss to his cheek, running a hand through his messy hair. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Adam mumbled. “Well this sure isn’t nothing,” (Name) said. Adam set her down, and she took his hand and led him back to their bed. She sat, patting the spot next to her.

Adam sat down. “It was just a bad dream,” he said nonchalantly. “About today?” (Name) asked gently. Adam rolled his eyes but nodded. “Aww, baby,” (Name) teased. “I fuckin’ know, okay?” Adam snapped.

(Name) crawled into the bed and laid down on her back, opening her arms. “Come here, big guy.”

Adam crawled over to her and laid down on top of her, his head resting on her chest. (Name) wrapped her arms around him, and Adam calmed, listening to her steady heartbeat. (Name) began to run her fingers through his hair with one hand, and Adam sighed contently.

He loved when she did that.

She kissed the top of his head.

“It was just a silly dream,” she whispered. “I’m right here and I’m not going anywhere.” Adam hummed.

(Name) continued to whisper reassurance and sweet nothings, lightly scratching his scalp, and it didn’t take long before Adam’s weight became dead with sleep on top of her.

(Name) smiled.

Her big baby.

[togrowoldinv]

Each Other

Natasha Romanoff x Female Reader

You always know what Natasha needs

Note: it’s just some soft stuff. Enjoy!

Natasha Masterlist 1, Natasha Masterlist 2, Natasha Masterlist 3, Main Masterlist

“Hey baby,” you say as you lean on the doorframe of Natasha’s home office.

She spins around in her chair and smiles up at you. You never tire of seeing that beautiful grin.

“Are you saying hi to me or the actual baby?” She jokes.

“Both of you.”

You walk further into the room and make grabby hands for your six month old daughter. Nat hands her to you, knowing she’s hungry and wants to see her other mom.

You kiss her forehead and hold her against your shoulder. She presses her head against your neck and whines softly.

“I know, sweetheart,” you coo, trying to soothe her a bit. “Are you coming, Mama?”

“Soon,” Nat replies. “I need to finish up a few things.”

“Don’t take too long please.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

You share another smile with your wife and leave to go feed your baby girl. The process takes a while, but the bonding is very much worth it. She is ready to burp by the time Natasha makes it to her nursery.

“Let me do it,” she says. “You’re still work clothes and we both know this girl will spit up all over you.”

“Thank you, honey,” you reply. She usually makes fun of the pet names but today she doesn’t say anything.

She helps the little girl burp and does in fact get covered in spit up in the process of doing so.

“You okay?” You ask her.

“Oh yeah, I love being covered in this,” Nat says dryly, but not seriously.

You take Ali back and feed her more. Nat sits on the arm of the rocking chair you’re sitting in.

“No, I mean are you okay?” You ask, placing a hand on her thigh. “You haven’t teased me about the pet names since I’ve been home today.”

“I know,” she says. “I think I’m too exhausted. I’m sorry.”

Her voice sounds distant and worse for wear. You hate seeing her like this.

“Hey, come on baby tell me what’s going on,” you say. “It’s just me.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Natasha,” you warn. She knows she needs to just be honest. You already can tell something is off with her.

“The team needs me to go on a mission,” Nat admits.

“Oh.”

“And I know we discussed me having a whole year of desk work once Ali was born,” Nat continues. “But this one is just out of my control. I’ve been working overtime to try and figure a way to get the intel I need without going.”

“But it’s not working,” you finish for her.

“No it’s not,” she agrees. “I’m so frustrated.”

“Natasha, you can’t always fix everything.”

“But I want to,” she says unreasonably.

“I know, baby. It’s going to be okay.”

You lean your head against her arm. It’s the best you can do for now as you juggle an eating baby in your arms.

Ali finishes and Nat takes her back into her arms. You go to the living room to sit together. Nat puts Ali in her play chair.

You two sit together and watch her giggle and play.

“Call Steve and the team,” you say after a few minutes. “Tell them you’ll go on the mission.”

“But-“

“No buts,” you interrupt her. “I can handle baby girl. And you won’t rest until you’ve figured this out.”

“You know I love you, right?” Nat asks.

“And you know I love you, right?” You counter.

“It’s one of the few things I’m sure of these days,” Nat says.

“Come here, Natasha,” you say, holding out your arms for her to fully snuggle into.

You kiss her lips softly before she snuggles into your chest. You hold her tight for as long as she wants.

Everything will be okay as long as you have each other.

[d4ndylionn]

Beauty is in the Eye of the Beholder.

In which your all-time-favorite cannibal starts her day by insulting your attempt at a new look, your husband doesn’t take kindly to such insults.

Warnings - Body shaming, swearing, insecurities, Susan ugh Susan, Alastor in general, suggestive themes at the end

“You look absolutely fantastic, cher!” The Radio Demon loudly proclaimed, his trademark smile pulled wider than usual as he took in your form out of its usual wear.

“Stop, you. I’m only wearing this because it looked sad sitting in the closet.” Your reasoning was silly in his opinion, “Clothes have no expression!” He would’ve said but kept to himself to refrain from making you sad.

“Well, worry not, my dear!” Alastor began, taking your hand into his and pulling you towards him at a surprising speed. “Alastor!” You yelped as he twirled you in your new dress, closing his arms around you as soon as your back hit his chest.

“You’ll always look delectable in whatever you wear…”

His voice lowered as the static in his throat rumbled from behind you, making the hairs on your neck stand on end as you squeak and noticeably shiver. “My! Stop teasing!” You finally break away from his hold and slap his bicep, scolding your husband for his behavior while he only chuckled. “Alright, alright, cher, let’s go on an outing today. Rosie will absolutely adore your look once we visit Cannibal Town!”

“Oh my stars! Alastor! Sweetie! So nice to see you lot around here again!”

Once you and your husband stepped foot into Rosie’s Emporium and into the long lines of cannibals waiting to see their overlord, the said woman weaved through the crowd with a bright smile before gasping loudly at the sight of you,

“Oh honey! You look absolutely divine, you gorgeous, gorgeous girl!” Rosie quickly held both your shoulders and gave you a little twirl with how giddy she was about you. “Oh dear, we’re doing a lot of spinning today!” You muttered as the Cannibal Overlord settled you down on the ground while dusting your shoulder off with a pat. “I told you she’d love your look, cher.” Alastor chided in with a smug grin, leaning on his cane as he waited for Rosie to stop gushing over his beautiful wife. (He’d have to wait months before the smiley woman would ever stop). After an hour of conversing, Rosie had taken her leave to continue on with her work, leaving you two alone to stroll around outside the emporium.

“You look good, girl,” A voice as rough as sandpaper spoke from behind and down your gaze was the lady in blue that you know and hate love. “Thank you, miss Su-“

“For a waitress, that is!”

Well you were caught off guard and so was your husband, “A what now?” His eye twitched as he tilted his head, the hands that were gripping his microphone now dented it. “Your little wifey here looks like she could lose a few of those tubs workin’ at a diner! No husband would wanna stay with this.” Susan gestured to you, specifically your torso. So embarrassing, really, you were so humiliated that you unconsciously pulled at the fabric covering your stomach to at least let you gain a sense of non-exposure. It was all for naught when you felt Alastor’s hand snake around your waist, the fabric under his arm pinned to accentuate your hips.

“Maybe try and aim to be someone like me! A natural beauty! Unlike your sorry excuse of a-“

“I admire the concern, Susan!” Alastor’s ever-present smile felt as if he was baring his teeth at her instead, he pulled you closer to him in the process as he narrowed his eyes at the cannibal. “Certainly big talk for a woman with a big mirror for her equally big, sagging mass of skin she calls natural beauty!” With each venom he spat, he got closer to her face, the static in his voice becoming too loud for the rest of his insults to be heard, leaving Susan to just scoff and walk away from you and your husband. Even when he had the last word though, he still gave his last word, “We’re glad you had room for a conversation with us! I was worried that you wouldn’t be able to fit!”

“Slow down, Buck, the woman’s already leaving, let’s go home.” However amused you were, the lingering sense of humiliation gnawed at you, unnoticed by your husband who continued ranting about Susan. “Big talk! Haha! I was on a roll there, cher!” A laughing track played from his cane and when he received a hum in response was when he noticed your soured mood.

Night had fallen in Hell and the two of you spent it inside your shared hotel room, the gentle breeze of the bayou that took up his room did little to cool the burning sensations in your body. “Alastor, please, I-“ “No way in Hell are you listening to that ornery old bitch, dear.” The Radio Demon trailed his claws along your stomach before he gripped your hips tight, “Your body was made to be worshipped, not insulted.” he led his hands up to rest one hand on your neck and the other intertwining with yours. “Praised by me alone.”

Your throat constricted in the way you knew well enough and as his hand left your throat, a ghostly-green chain was left in his wake.

“I alone own you, body and soul.”

[confused-wanderer]

I saw this the other day and couldn’t help thinking about how the batboys first felt when they had to be the comfort/protector or how for they might’ve felt the first time children ran to them for protection.

Dick Grayson was a performer long before he was a protector. Even on his first night as Robin, he kept an eye out on the darkest streets for people in despair. Not even three hours into his first shift as Robin, comes the opportunity.

He knows how to hypnotise people, to make them forget about the world, about reality, even if it was just for a little while. And little did he know just how much he’d use it for the rest of his life.

And there’s the guy in front of him, robbing a store with a knife in one hand, tears streaming down his face. His wife is dying, and he needs the money and Dick falters. He remembers that feeling of helplessness.

But then there’s a child cowering away from him, and runs screaming towards Dick, arms outstretched with a plea. And his hesitation vanishes, before taking down the man in one fell swoop.

He then spent the time with only one goal in mind. Make the kid laugh. He cracked jokes, displayed few acrobatic endeavours and is only satisfied when the kid looks at him with joy, the fear long since burned away. It fills his chest with pride, and a warm flutter that stays with him for the next few months.

Jason never expected anything to happen. He was the new Robin, he was here only to protect, not chit-chat. He’s heard what others thought of him, and he couldn’t care any less. He did his job, made sure they were safe and unhurt, and then left.

And then one late night, finishing up on patrol he sees a glimpse of color out of the corner of his eye. There’s a young woman, hiding three figures behind her. He raises his head, and immediately sees the way they scramble away in fear. So he looks away and waits, muscles tense and ready, pretending not to notice them come closer.

He’s quite taken aback when the woman timidly asks him to walk her back home. It’s a trap. He thinks. But he sees the look on their faces, and decides it’s worth the risk. Along the way he makes a few dry sarcastic quips, and before he knows it the air is filled with laughter and chatter.

It takes a while for him to notice two kids were holding each of his hand, and the third was tugging on his cape. And the mother was smiling softly, eyes crinkling in fondness and vulnerability.

They felt safe, he realises with a start.

They felt safe with him

They trusted him.

And something in him stirs. He feels something similar to what Dick had recalled on his first encounter with children, but instead of a warm flutter it’s like his heart has forgotten its rhythm. It’s banging against his rib cage, warmth and love pouring out. He always had a bleeding heart.

When he comes back from patrol, he absentmindedly runs his fingers across the cape where they’d held it, and sees tiny wrinkles there.

He refuses to iron it, and when Tim first sees his suit, the first thing he sees are the thousands of wrinkles, dozens of smears and dried up trails of tears.

Tim, who didn’t know what the fuck he was doing.

He was good at the crime job. Children.. people? Not so much. Especially when he wasn’t trying to lecture them or take them down. He knew how to make them tick. But not how to make them talk.

Alas, when batman is stuck interviewing a father about a home invasion, Tim finds himself on kid duty.

He looks everywhere, on the ceiling, below the bed, when he finally notices a heat signature coming from behind a desk.

The kid is hugging her knees, cowering and clutching themselves as close as she could, squeeze themselves into the tiny space, and keeping heavy boxes and chairs to block any people or light from entering.

And Tim just sits there. He tries talking, engaging in conversation before realising how awkward it sounded and that he wasn’t helping. So he falls quiet.

He notices posters of marine life on the child’s bed, and after a while of silence he starts to slowly talk again. He talks about the ocean, about its inhabitants and the most peculiar creatures hidden inside. It is a while before he falters again, noticing his rant, but with a quick glance he can see that the child has slightly shifted towards him, hanging onto his every word.

And so he continues, bringing up holographic displays to show the amazing characterisers and traits they acquire. He hears the pitter patter of footsteps after a while, and then the kid pops up beside him, staring at the display. The kid was there, tense as a deer, and ready to sprint at any sudden movement, but there.

And so at the end of the night, that’s how Bruce finds Tim sitting on the floor, kid fast asleep and sprawled across his lap, using the cape as a blanket.

Tim was a grounding presence. He wasn’t there to judge, wasn’t there to speak. He was just.. there. And that mattered a lot more to children then he realises.

He remembers coming home in almost a daze, seeing the wrinkles on his cape before remembering Jason. His breath hitches, fingers running over the wrinkles, truly realising why Jason’s suit still stubbornly portrayed its wrinkles. It’s stories.

Jason was better at this. Jason cared. And tonight, he’d taken the first step towards truly honouring him. And he had no intentions of letting the second Robin’s legacy die.

Dick had described it as warmth that left you giddy. But this, this was terror.

Tim was scared.

Dick had always been an empath, Jason arguably more, and it was their legacy that he’d have to carry on. The children were counting on him. Batman was counting on him. But the most terrifying realisation was that Jason was also counting on him. And so was Dick.

So he lets the wrinkles stay on, subtly highlighting them in the cape to remind himself of his purpose, a feeling of protectiveness burdening him- not only towards the citizens, but also towards his brothers. He was NOT going to let them down.

Each of them made kids feel safe with them, in their own special ways. Because there was a broken kid in each of them too, that craved to make sure no one else was hurt the way they were.

[elioslover]

Baby Fever- Harry blurb in honour of him becoming an uncle!

More Dadrry / Other Writing

Harry just got back from spending the day meeting his new, teeny tiny niece, and he'd hardly been able to look away- absolutely besotted by her wide and curious eyes, soft hair, and total newness to the world. His heart feels so full it could burst and all he wants is to sprinkle this overwhelming love with those most important to him.

Even on the drive home and for a good hour after arriving home, Harry can't shake the stirring of paternal possibility- especially in the presence of his wife, so lovingly and endearingly sharing supper with him. He's so infatuated with the wholesomeness swelling within, fascinated with these sudden fantasies of bringing home his own baby- a teeny, breathing product of a love so strong- being blessed by the gift of his wife, whom herself, was enough of a gift as it was.

She notices Harry's struggle to focus long before he- chalking it up to the overwhelming excitement of the day, certain that her husband was just as giddy at the arrival of his niece as she always predicted he would be. It was hard enough walking past a cute toddler without his desire to stop and coo taking over.

When asked about it, Harry sighs out contently and simply reassures, "'M just thinkin'..."

Oh, but this type of thinking isn't so easy to shake and follows Harry all the way to bed, burying itself beneath the covers beside him, tugging at his heartstrings with sweet scenarios where he cradles a sleepy infant to his chest, soothed by the softest of snores, watching his wife giggle along to incoherent baby babbles, celebrating milestones, watching them grow, and growing alongside.

Even as the next three days drone on, Harry feels like the universe had 100% overheard his secret daydreams- taunting him with anything and everything resembling children- every where he goes, every thing he does is sidelined by the aching feeling of starting a family.

After what must have been the fourth stroller rolls past, Harry cuts his run short. Realisation that this stirring within will not be going anywhere, solidifying into the desire to say it out loud, to announce and welcome this want- need- to start the next chapter of his life.

He practically bounds through the front door, sneakers squeaking along the hardwood as he urgently calls out in search of his wife., though by the time she sings back a greeting and says "In the nook" Harry has already found her- the same place she usually hides- a book balanced between her fingers, wedding ring flickering from the rays of sunset, luring him closer until he's standing right before her.

Harry drops to his knees before she has the chance to give him a proper greeting, his palms splaying out atop her thighs, and though his eyes are aflame with desperation, a hopeful smile continues to creep up and spread along his lips until his cute dimples are on full display.

Discarding her book to the side, his wife's hands find a home in his curls, gently kneading stray tufts of his silky curls, and Harry's head dips on instinct, forehead resting against her exposed leg, pressing his cheek into her fleshy skin- this only evokes a soft chuckle that slips past her lip as she smiles at him with enamoured curiosity, "What's gotten into you, huh?"

He mumbles against her skin, breath tickling and pricking goosebumps along her thighs, his hand reaching on and wrapping loosely around her calf- thumb stroking circles into her skin.

"Speak up, sweet boy," she coaxes and even after he projects, his words are still muttered into incoherence, her legs bouncing along with her chuckling chest, waiting for him to find the words.

Harry wallows in her patience for as long as it takes to just build up the confidence to match his certainty, unable to soothe all of his nerves, even by the time the rest of him has conjured up enough bravery, his statement is so soft, so vulnerable,

"Wanna have a baby." He still can't muster the courage to look her in the eye.

"Is that so?" The giddiness coursing through her is present in her tone, hiccupping her sentence, hands continuing to play with his curls, "You wanna be a daddy?"

His face feels flush with bashful excitement at the mere sound of 'you' and 'dad' in the same sentence. Harry enthusiastically nods once more against the expanse of her thigh before his face finally tilts back up to meet her fond gaze, she's beaming down at him with newfound hopefulness.

"I wanna be a dad," he finally admits aloud, and it feels so fucking good to say it, "really really wanna have a baby with you."

The sweetest smile creeps well past his wife's lips and crinkles the corner of her eyes as they twinkle back at his own with wonderment. Her nails massage along the nape of his neck before her palm gently cradles his blushy cheek and she hums contently, "Well, that's the best idea you've ever had."

[little-diable]

DIABLE. I feel your lack of inspiration deep within my soul as I, too, have been struggling.

That being said, I'm back on my Cillian Murphy bullshit and would love to see some domestic Tommy, maybe after a really long day of blood and gore he comes home to a plush world of softness and love and consideration and he can turn it all off.

My darling, thank you for sending this in, it definitely inspired me! I hope you enjoy this little drabble. <3

Summary: Tommy will always do what his wife asks of him, especially when he needs a few calm moments himself.

Warnings: nothing, just nudity, full on fluff and fun

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x fem!reader (about 800 words)

Somewhat of a follow up Drabble

It was a mild August evening, a day that had been too hot for (y/n)’s liking which had passed all too slowly. Perhaps it had been the fault of all the running around she had done – whatever it was, the second the kids had been put to sleep, she had told their staff to leave for the night, desperate for a few hours of silence.

The second she had been left alone, (y/n) had hurried outside, shoes long forgotten as she dragged the old, ceramic tub through the garden. Sweat had pooled on her forehead, forming pearly drops that dripped down to the ground, but she had been determined, set on cooling off while watching the sunset.

She had run back and forth to fill the tub, arms and legs begging her to slow down and rest for a minute or two. But (y/n) hadn’t stopped moving until the tub had been filled to her liking. And with a satisfied grin glued to her lips, she had shuffled out of her dress, underwear following moments later.

Her squeals had echoed through the evening as she had sunken into the cold water, unable to stop her laughter from clawing through her. She had been grateful that nobody else was around, they surely would have called her a hysteric madwoman, calling the doctors on her for the childish glee the cold water had shot through her veins.

(Y/n) was too focused on the sunset to hear the call of her name, she was also too distracted to pick up on the confused expression tugging on Tommy’s features as he spotted her through the windows. With a cigarette between his lips, he slowly stepped outside, undoing the buttons of his jacket as he moved closer.

“What a nice view to come home to, eh?” She jerked in surprise as Tommy spoke up, forcing her wide eyes towards her grinning husband. Tommy’s gaze wandered down her throat, watching the water drops stick to her soft skin. The water was clear enough to expose every inch of her body, leaving Tommy groaning as he dipped his head down to kiss her. “Tell me, how did that tub end up right here?”

“Well, what do you think? I doubt the faeries miraculously carried it over here.” A deep rumble of laughter vibrated through Tommy, momentarily reminded of the stories he had read to their children the night prior, feeding their obsession with faeries and mystical creatures. “Will you just stand there or join me like a good husband would?”

Tommy watched her for another moment before he threw his cigarette to the ground and began to shrug out of his clothes, exposing his body inch by inch. (Y/n) pulled her knees to her chest to make room behind herself, grinning in excitement as he began to step into the tub.

“Fucking hell, do you want me to freeze my cock off?” His curses left her giggling, eyes sparkling with mischief. But Tommy kept on moving with curses rolling off his tongue, till he finally got into a seated position. He pulled her against his chest with a hum, pressing a kiss to her cold cheek. 

“How was your day?” (Y/n) murmured her words, eyes closed, head resting against Tommy’s shoulder. He interlaced his fingers with hers, letting his thumb run over the back of her hand with slow movements. 

“Exhausting, sometimes I wonder if I’m still made for this life. I’m getting old, eh?” She froze in his grasp, let her eyes shoot open and slowly turned towards him. Her eyes wandered over Tommy’s exhausted features, instantly able to pick up on the hurt flushing through him, the anger he couldn’t shake, and the greedy desperation he had never been able to feed well enough. 

(Y/n) cupped his cheek, she pressed a kiss to his lips before she began to speak up, “You’re anything but old, dear husband of mine. And trust me, if I’d feel like you’re getting old, I’d instantly sell you to the faeries.” 

Loud laughter rumbled through him, a sound so carefree, (y/n) hadn’t heard it in a long time. And with a widening grin stuck to her lips, (y/n) pressed another kiss to Tommy's lips, knowing that their evening together was just about to get exciting.