I Need To Vent, Guys. Pls Dont Mind This. TO MY SH*T PARENTS, PLS JS DIVORCE GOSH 😭🙏

My biggest strength is my biggest curse.

Imagination.

For the rest of my life it will plague me.

Writing stories of passion and romance that will never be real.

Never can be real.

I spin tales of love and in doing so I doom myself for thinking I could ever be the lucky character in my own story.

PROMPT LIST

I'm having writers block and I need you guys to help me. PLEASE.

-

A1: "I didn’t mean to fall for you… but here we are."

A2: "Stop looking at me like that; I might actually kiss you."

A3: "You're shivering. C’mere, let me warm you up."

A4: "I swear I hate you—no, I'm not blushing!"

A5: "You remembered my favorite flower?"

A6: "If we get caught, I’m blaming you."

A7: "Dance with me… just once."

A8: "Your hand fits perfectly in mine."

A9: "I’ve never seen you look so happy."

A10: "Do you think we’ll always be like this?"

-

B1: "You can't leave me now—not when I just realized how much you mean to me."

B2: "Is it too soon to say I love you?"

B3: "I bet you can't catch me!"

B4: "Wait, are you jealous?"

B5: "You’ve always been my safe place."

B6: "Please, don’t let go of my hand."

B7: "Do you trust me?"

B8: "You're an idiot—but you're my idiot."

B9: "I’m scared… but I know you'll keep me safe."

B10: "I didn’t know you could dance like that."

-

C1: "You look beautiful when you laugh."

C2: "Are we really doing this?"

C3: "You stayed up all night waiting for me?"

C4: "I dare you to kiss me."

C5: "I’ve never felt like this before."

C6: "Don't make promises you can’t keep."

C7: "You’re covered in mud—what happened?"

C8: "You always know how to make me smile."

C9: "I didn't think you’d remember."

C10: "You wore that just to drive me crazy, didn’t you?"

-

D1: "I think I fell in love with you somewhere between the arguments and the laughter."

D2: "You're my best friend… and maybe something more."

D3: "Can I kiss you?"

D4: "You look ridiculous. And adorable."

D5: "I made this for you."

D6: "Promise me you’ll come back."

D7: "You're ticklish? Oh, you’re in trouble now."

D8: "You’re the one thing I can’t lose."

D9: "This feels like home."

D10: "I've seen you at your worst, and I'm still here."

-

E1: "I saved you a seat."

E2: "You're staring."

E3: "That was my last piece of chocolate, and I gave it to you. That’s love."

E4: "Don’t leave me hanging—what were you going to say?"

E5: "You’re seriously going out dressed like that?"

E6: "I can't stop thinking about you."

E7: "You call that a snowball? Watch this!"

E8: "I’ll be right here when you wake up."

E9: "You're not getting rid of me that easily."

E10: "We’re not just friends, and you know it."

-

F1: "I’ve never seen you without your glasses before."

F2: "I didn’t think you'd notice."

F3: "You showed up… you actually showed up."

F4: "We’re a mess, but we’re our mess."

F5: "You’re freezing. Here, take my jacket."

F6: "Why do I always end up cleaning your messes?"

F7: "I thought you'd forgotten me."

F8: "You're the best thing that's ever happened to me."

F9: "We should do this more often."

F10: "I didn’t kiss you because I had to. I kissed you because I wanted to."

-

G1: "Hold my hand. They’ll never suspect a thing."

G2: "You were talking in your sleep… about me."

G3: "I thought you hated me."

G4: "Why are you looking at me like that?"

G5: "I don’t care about the risk. I care about you."

G6: "You're really bad at this, you know."

G7: "I wish you could see yourself through my eyes."

G8: "Let's run away together."

G9: "You remembered."

G10: "You're not just my partner-in-crime. You're my everything."

-

H1: "You’ve got something on your face—here, let me."

H2: "I can’t stop smiling when I’m with you."

H3: "You said you'd catch me. So catch me."

H4: "Are you cold? Or are you just using an excuse to cuddle me?"

H5: "I made you a playlist."

H6: "We always end up like this, don’t we?"

H7: "You make even the worst days better."

H8: "I didn’t mean to say that… but I meant it."

H9: "I’ll fight anyone who makes you cry."

H10: "You’ve always been the one."

-

I1: "I dare you to kiss me… again."

I2: "Is that my sweater you're wearing?"

I3: "I’ve never been this happy before."

I4: "Come on, slowpoke!"

I5: "You did this… for me?"

I6: "I can't believe you made me a mixtape."

I7: "You know I hate goodbyes."

I8: "You're the first person I want to tell everything to."

I9: "Stay. Please."

I10: "You’ve ruined me for anyone else."

-

J1: "You have no idea how much you mean to me."

J2: "You're the best thing that’s ever happened to me."

J3: "I don't need the stars when I have you."

J4: "Are you seriously tickling me right now?"

J5: "You're the only person who makes me feel like this."

J6: "You remembered my favorite movie."

J7: "I never believed in love at first sight… until I met you."

J8: "I could get used to this."

J9: "I didn’t want to need you… but I do."

J10: "We’re writing our own story now."

A Hogsmeade date

Y/N struggled with insecurity, but Regulus, hopelessly smitten, finally took her on a date.

requested by @misskity1912-blog

Regulus Black x Chubby Fem! reader

words: 944

warning: mentions of insecurity

note: part two to Hidden in plain sight

find more here: masterlist, Regulus masterlist

Regulus sat at the Slytherin table, utterly dazed, his chin resting in his palm as he stared dreamily across the Great Hall at Y/N. His porridge had long since gone cold, but he hadn’t noticed—he was too lost in his thoughts, replaying the moment she had said yes to him over and over again in his mind.

“I still don’t understand how she agreed,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

Barty groaned, throwing his head back dramatically. “Merlin, Regulus, this is worse than before! You’ve been staring at her for ten minutes straight. Eat your bloody food.”

Evan smirked as he took a sip of his pumpkin juice. “No, let him have his moment. It’s adorable, really.”

Regulus scowled, but it lacked any real irritation. “I just don’t get it. She’s brilliant, kind, beautiful—why would she choose me?”

Pandora sighed, ever the voice of reason. “Maybe because she sees something wonderful in you, just like you see in her?”

Regulus opened his mouth to argue but found that he had no response. He turned his gaze back to Y/N, who sat alone at the Ravenclaw table, her head bowed as she picked at her food. She never seemed to talk to anyone, always lost in her world. His heart clenched at the sight. She looked so lonely, and yet, there was something about her solitude that made her seem untouchable, as if she had built walls that no one had ever tried to climb.

“I don’t deserve her,” he murmured, barely audible.

Barty groaned louder, slamming his fork onto the table. “For Salazar’s sake, if you start getting all tragic and brooding about this, I will personally hex you. She likes you, Regulus. Enjoy it.”

Regulus sighed, though a small, reluctant smile played on his lips. Maybe, just maybe, Barty was right. For once, he allowed himself to believe that Y/N truly wanted to be with him.

Evan chuckled, leaning forward. “You should see yourself right now. It’s like watching a lovesick puppy.”

“I am not lovesick,” Regulus retorted, but his voice lacked conviction.

“You so are,” Pandora teased, nudging his arm. “And it’s sweet. Honestly, I think Y/N would be surprised if she knew how much you admired her.”

Regulus tensed at the thought. “You don’t think she thinks it’s a joke, do you?”

Evan sighed. “Mate, if she thought it was a joke, she wouldn’t have said yes. Stop doubting everything and enjoy the moment. This isn’t a strategy meeting; it’s a date.”

Regulus frowned, chewing over Evan’s words. It was true—Y/N had said yes. That had to mean something. Still, the fear of somehow messing everything up gnawed at him. But as he glanced at her again, watching the way she absentmindedly flipped through the pages of a book with a soft, distant look in her eyes, he felt a strange sense of peace settle over him.

Perhaps, for once, things were exactly as they were meant to be.

-

Hogsmeade Day had arrived, and Y/N stood in front of her mirror, adjusting the fabric of her oversized sweatshirt. It was comfortable, long enough to cover her hips, draping over her arms in a way that made her feel hidden. Paired with a flowing, ankle-length skirt, it was the perfect outfit—not too tight, not too revealing. Just safe.

She smoothed her hands over the fabric, exhaling shakily. No matter what she wore, she still saw the same girl in the mirror. The same girl with round cheeks, thick arms, a body that felt too large for the world she lived in. A girl who had spent years believing that no one could ever look at her the way she looked at them.

And yet… Regulus had asked her out.

It still didn’t make sense. She had replayed the moment in her mind countless times, trying to find some hidden joke in his voice, some sign that it wasn’t real. But there was none. He had looked at her with a certainty that she couldn’t comprehend.

She swallowed hard and turned away from the mirror. If this was all some cruel game, she wasn’t sure she could handle it. But if it was real… if there was even the smallest chance that Regulus Black wanted to spend time with her, she would let herself have this day. Just this one.

-

Taking a deep breath, Y/N stepped out of the castle, her fingers gripping the edges of her sleeves. The cold air nipped at her cheeks as she made her way toward the entrance gates, her heart hammering in her chest. What if he changed his mind? What if he took one look at her and regretted asking her?

Her thoughts were silenced the moment she spotted him.

Regulus stood just outside, hands tucked into the pockets of his coat, his sharp, elegant features softened by the small, cheeky smile on his lips. His grey eyes lit up the second they landed on her, and for a moment, Y/N forgot how to breathe.

“There you are,” he said, his voice warm. “For a second, I thought you stood me up.”

Y/N swallowed, hugging herself slightly. “I… I wouldn’t do that.”

Regulus tilted his head, studying her for a moment before stepping closer. “You look beautiful.”

A rush of warmth flooded her face, and she instinctively glanced away, refusing to believe he meant it. “You don’t have to say that.”

His brows knitted together in confusion before something in his expression shifted—gentle, yet firm. “I say what I mean.”

At the Three Broomsticks, the air hummed with chatter and the occasional clink of glasses. The scent of warm butterbeer and cinnamon lingered, wrapping them in a cocoon of comfort against the autumn chill outside. Y/N curled her fingers around the warm tankard, letting the heat seep into her skin. She took a small sip, savoring the sweetness and spice as she glanced at Regulus, whose own fingers brushed against hers more than once as they rested on the table.

Neither pulled away.

“I still don’t understand how you find Quidditch interesting,” Y/N teased, tilting her head as she took another sip. “It’s just people chasing a ball.”

Regulus gasped, placing a hand over his heart as though she had personally insulted his family name. “Chasing a ball? Y/N, Quidditch is an art.”

She arched a skeptical brow, barely holding back a laugh. “An art of nearly falling to your death?”

He smirked, eyes gleaming with amusement. “Exactly.”

She huffed a laugh, shaking her head before reaching for the book beside her. Its spine was new, the scent of parchment and ink still fresh. She flipped through the pages with reverence, her fingers gliding over the words as if they held something sacred. “This, though,” she murmured, “this is art. The way the author describes magic, it’s beautiful.”

Regulus leaned in slightly, his interest piqued. “Read me your favorite passage.”

She hesitated, her lips pressing together before she exhaled softly. With a knowing smile, she turned to a well-worn page and began reading aloud, her voice weaving through the air with quiet passion.

Regulus watched her, utterly transfixed. He wasn’t certain if it was the words she spoke or the way she spoke them—her voice dipping with emotion, her fingers lightly tracing the lines, her expression soft with admiration. Either way, he found himself hanging onto every syllable like she was telling the most fascinating story in the world.

When she finally closed the book, she glanced up at him. “You’re staring.”

A slow, lazy smile curled on his lips. “You make it hard not to.”

A light blush crept up her neck, and she quickly busied herself with taking another sip of butterbeer. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Black.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he mused, twirling his tankard in his hands. “I think it’s working just fine.”

They lingered for a while longer, talking about books, Quidditch, and anything in between. The fire crackled in the hearth, casting flickering shadows along the wooden beams, but eventually, the golden sky outside signaled that the afternoon had begun to fade. Reluctantly, they stepped out into the crisp breeze rolling through the village.

Without hesitation, Regulus shrugged off his coat and draped it over her shoulders. The fabric was warm, carrying the faint scent of cologne and something distinctly him. Y/N blinked at him, startled by the effortless gesture.

“Can I see you again after this?” he asked, hands slipping into his pockets.

She tilted her head, studying him. “You… want to?”

He chuckled, shaking his head fondly. “More than anything.”

Timothée Chalamet on the Spanish steps in Rome✨

IG credit to holycolorfulpig

The adventures of Danny and Hazzy

Harry and Danny growing up in the Potter-Black household.

[Regulus Black x fem Potter! reader}

word count: 4.1k

warnings: a lot of fluff, Y/N and Regulus kissing at the end

6 MONTH OLD DANNY AND FOUR-YEAR-OLD HARRY 

The Black-Potter household was filled with soft giggles and the occasional delighted squeal. Six-month-old Danica or Danny as Harry fondly called her, sat propped up with pillows on a blanket spread across the living room floor. Her dark curls were already forming wild ringlets, and her bright gray eyes tracked her big brother's every movement.

"Look, Danny! It's a flying hippogriff!" Harry declared, holding a stuffed hippogriff in the air and zooming it around with exaggerated whooshing noises. He had charmed it to hover slightly, the wings flapping as it circled Danny's head.

Danny blinked, then let out a squeal of laughter, her tiny hands reaching up to grasp at the toy. When the hippogriff dipped low enough, she latched on with surprising strength, pulling it down and gnawing on the soft beak with a satisfied coo.

"You're a natural beast-tamer," Harry said, lying down next to her. He tapped her nose gently. "But you can't eat a hippogriff, Danny. That's rude."

Danny babbled in response, releasing the toy to pat Harry's cheek with a slobbery hand. Harry made a dramatic choking sound. "Ah! Baby drool! My one weakness!"

He flopped backward with a groan, limbs sprawled dramatically. Danny stared at him for a moment, then let out a delighted shriek, her tiny body bouncing with excitement.

From the doorway, Y/N and Regulus watched the scene unfold. Y/N's arms were crossed, a smile softening her face. "I give it three seconds before she crawls after him," she whispered.

"Two," Regulus corrected.

As if on cue, Danny tipped forward, arms wobbling as she pushed herself toward her brother. Her movements were clumsy but determined, her little fists digging into the blanket.

"She's doing it!" Y/N breathed.

"Go, Danny!" Regulus encouraged softly.

Harry peeked through one eye when he heard the rustling. His mouth dropped open. "You're crawling!" he gasped, sitting up. "Go, Danny, go!"

Danny let out a gurgling laugh as she reached Harry's knee and promptly face-planted into his leg. Unbothered, she turned her head to grin up at him, her cheeks flushed with effort.

"You're the best little sister ever," Harry said, scooping her into his arms. He stood and turned toward their parents. "Mama! Baba! Did you see? She crawled!"

"We saw, sweetheart," Y/N said, wiping away a tear with the back of her hand.

Regulus stepped forward and ruffled Harry's hair. "Good job, big brother. Looks like she's trying to keep up with you already."

Danny babbled happily from Harry's arms, then stuck her thumb in her mouth and leaned against his chest, suddenly exhausted from her grand adventure.

"She's gonna be unstoppable," Harry said proudly.

Y/N wrapped an arm around Regulus's waist and smiled. "She already is."

TWO-YEAR-OLD DANNY AND FIVE-YEAR-OLD HARRY

The Black-Potter household was rarely quiet these days, not with a curious, toddling two-year-old exploring every corner and a protective big brother trailing after her like a miniature sentry.

"Hazzy!" Danny's delighted voice rang through the sitting room as she toddled across the rug on unsteady legs. Her chubby arms were outstretched toward her brother, who knelt with his arms wide open.

"That's me!" Harry said with a grin, scooping her up and twirling her around. "Hazzy is here to save the day!"

Danny squealed with laughter, her dark curls bouncing with each spin. "Hazzy! Hazzy!"

From the armchair, Y/N smiled over her cup of tea. "Still not calling you Harry, huh?"

"Nope," Harry said, plopping down on the couch with Danny nestled against him. "I've tried to teach her, but she just keeps saying 'Hazzy.'"

"It's cute," Y/N said softly, watching as Danny poked at the buttons on Harry's sweater.

The sound of the front door opening interrupted their moment. Danny's eyes lit up, and she scrambled out of Harry's lap, nearly tripping over her own feet.

"Baba!" she cried, sprinting toward the hallway.

"Danny!" Regulus's voice answered with equal enthusiasm.

By the time he entered the room, he had Danny perched on his hip, her tiny hands clinging to his collar. His usually composed expression was softened into a rare, tender smile.

"And how's my little morning star today?" he asked, brushing her curls away from her face.

"Hazzy play!" she announced proudly.

"Ah, yes. The famous Hazzy." Regulus's gray eyes flicked to Harry with a smirk. "How are you handling your new identity, son?"

Harry shrugged. "I've accepted my fate."

Danny giggled and buried her face in Regulus's neck.

"She's been chasing him around all day," Y/N said with a laugh.

"Hazzy run fast," Danny agreed, peeking out with wide grey eyes. "Danny run too!"

"Oh, do you now?" Regulus asked, raising an eyebrow. "Well, maybe Baba will have to race you later."

"Race!" Danny pumped her fists in the air.

Regulus sat beside Y/N, his arm resting along the back of the couch. Danny squirmed until she was back on the floor, wobbling over to Harry.

"Hazzy, run!" she commanded.

Harry gave his parents an exaggerated sigh. "Duty calls," he said before launching into a playful chase.

Y/N leaned her head on Regulus's shoulder, watching them with a soft smile.

"She's getting so big," she murmured.

"Too big," Regulus agreed. "And that name's going to stick, isn't it?"

"Absolutely," Y/N said, laughing as Harry darted around the coffee table with Danny hot on his heels. "Hazzy's here to stay."

And as Danny's delighted laughter echoed through the house, it was hard to imagine life any other way.

The soft morning light filtered through the curtains, casting golden patterns across the bedroom floor. Y/N stirred, her eyes fluttering open just as the door creaked. She turned her head and smiled softly at the sight of Harry and Danny standing in the doorway, hand-in-hand.

Harry's chesnut hair stuck up in every direction, defying gravity as usual, while Danny's black curls were tangled into an impressive bird's nest. The two siblings were still in their pajamas: Harry's covered in faded Quidditch brooms, Danny's patterned with tiny moon and stars.

"Hazzy," Danny whispered, tugging on her brother's hand. "Mama wake?"

"Yeah, Danny," Harry reassured her, squeezing her fingers. "See? Mama's awake."

Y/N sat up, tucking the blanket around her legs. "Good morning, my loves," she greeted softly.

Danny beamed, revealing the gap where her front tooth had recently fallen out. "Mama!" She let go of Harry's hand and barreled across the room, climbing clumsily onto the bed. "I had dream 'bout dragon!"

"Did you?" Y/N caught her daughter and pulled her into her lap. "Was it scary?"

Danny shook her head fiercely. "No! Big dragon, nice dragon! Hazzy say it like Uncle Charlie's dragon."

"Ah," Y/N chuckled, glancing toward Harry as he shuffled into the room. "Your brother knows a lot about dragons."

Harry gave a sheepish smile and climbed onto the bed beside them. "I just told her about Norberta," he said, leaning into his mother's side. "Danny likes dragons now."

"I see," Y/N mused, brushing Danny's wild curls with her fingers. "Maybe one day we'll visit Uncle Charlie in Romania and see real dragons."

Danny gasped. "We go? See dragon?"

"One day," Y/N promised.

The sound of footsteps interrupted them. Regulus appeared in the doorway, hair tousled and wand in hand, eyes sharp until he took in the sight before him. "Merlin," he exhaled, lowering his wand. "I thought I heard an intruder."

"Hazzy and Danny," Danny said proudly, throwing her arms wide. "Not 'truder!"

Regulus grinned and crossed the room, sliding his wand into his pajama pocket. "No, you and your brother are definitely not intruders." He sat on the edge of the bed and ruffled Harry's hair, not that it made any difference. "Why are you two up so early?"

"Danny had a dragon dream," Harry answered, tilting his head toward his sister. "Wanted Mama and Baba to know."

Regulus nodded solemnly. "Dreams about dragons are very important. Good thing you told us, Danny."

Danny's eyes sparkled. "I 'member the dragon name!"

"Oh?" Y/N asked. "What's its name, sweetheart?"

Danny scrunched her nose in thought, then declared, "Spork!"

There was a beat of silence before Harry snorted with laughter. "Spork? That's not a dragon name!"

"Is too!" Danny huffed.

"Spork the Dragon," Regulus said with mock seriousness. "A fearsome creature is known across the land for its...sporkiness."

Harry collapsed into giggles, and Danny clapped her hands in delight. Y/N just shook her head fondly. "You're encouraging her."

"Absolutely," Regulus said, reaching out to pull Y/N closer. "She gets her creativity from you."

Danny snuggled into Y/N's lap, thumb slipping into her mouth as the excitement wore off. Harry stretched and leaned against Regulus's shoulder.

"Family nap?" Y/N suggested.

"Family nap," Regulus agreed, flicking his wand to dim the sunlight.

Soon, tangled curls and messy hair were nestled together in a cozy, sleepy pile of warmth and love.

The snow had fallen thick and heavy overnight, blanketing the Black-Potter garden in a pristine, shimmering layer of white. From the warmth of the living room, three-year-old Danica Potter-Black pressed her nose against the frosted window, her wide gray eyes sparkling with excitement.

"Hazzy! Hazzy!" she squealed, spinning around and racing toward her brother. Her curls bounced wildly with each step. "Look! Snow! Lots and lots!"

Harry, now seven years old and quite proud of his 'big brother' status, looked up from the enchanted chessboard where his pieces were grumbling about his last move. He followed her pointing finger to the window and grinned. "You wanna go build a snowman?"

"Yes! Yes! Snowman!" Danny clapped her hands, hopping in place.

"Okay, okay! Let's get our coats."

The two of them bundled up under Y/N's watchful eye. Harry wriggled into his green scarf while Danny impatiently thrust her tiny arms into her puffy coat. Her mittens dangled from strings through the sleeves, and Harry helped her tug them on properly.

"Be careful out there, you two," Y/N called from the door. "And don't eat the snow unless you're sure it's clean!"

"Mama!" Danny giggled. "I'm not gonna eat snow!"

"We'll be careful!" Harry promised.

The garden was a winter wonderland. Their boots crunched on the fresh snow, and their breath clouded in the crisp air. Harry immediately started rolling a ball for the base of their snowman. Danny tried to mimic him, but her ball mostly crumbled.

"Hazzy," she pouted, "mine's not workin'."

"Here, like this." Harry knelt beside her, guiding her hands to press the snow gently and roll it across the ground. "See?"

"Ooooh! I do it!" Danny's face lit up as her snowball grew.

Together, they built a lopsided but proud snowman. Danny insisted he needed a 'silly face,' so Harry found sticks for the arms while she stuck stones into the snow in a haphazard grin. Harry placed his own scarf around its neck and stepped back. "What do you think?"

Danny squinted critically at their creation. "Hazzy, he's cold."

"Well...yeah," Harry said, puzzled. "He's a snowman."

"Needs a hat," she declared. "For warm!"

"Okay, let's get one."

The door opened before they reached the house. Regulus stood there, holding a knitted hat with a bemused expression. "I heard we have a cold snowman in need of a hat?"

"Baba!" Danny ran to him, wrapping her arms around his leg. "We made a snowman! Hazzy helped!"

"I saw," Regulus said, placing the hat on her head for a moment before transferring it to the snowman's icy head. "Looks like a very happy snowman."

Danny beamed and turned back to the snowman. "Now he's warm," she said with satisfaction.

Harry ruffled her hair. "Good job, Snow Queen."

Danny giggled, reaching for a handful of snow. Without warning, she flung it at Harry. It splattered against his coat.

"Oh, you're in for it now!" Harry scooped up snow in both hands.

Screaming with laughter, Danny tried to dodge but ended up flat on her back in the snow, her curls dusted white. "Hazzy! Noooo!"

Regulus shook his head with a smile, leaning against the doorframe as his children tumbled about in the snow. Y/N appeared beside him, slipping her hand into his.

"They're growing up so fast," she murmured.

"They are," Regulus agreed, squeezing her fingers. "But right now, they're exactly where they should be."

A snowball suddenly splattered against Regulus's chest. He looked down in shock to find Danny standing there, cheeks pink with cold and triumph.

"Baba!" she shrieked with glee.

Y/N burst into laughter as Regulus grabbed a handful of snow and raised an eyebrow. "Oh, you started it now, little star."

The snowy battle that followed became a memory they'd cherish for years to come.

FOUR-YEAR-OLD DANY AND EIGHT-YEAR-OLD HARRY

The Black-Potter household was quiet, the warm glow of the hearth casting faint shadows along the walls. Outside, the moon hung low in the sky, bathing the snowy ground in silver light. Inside, however, two little figures shuffled across the carpeted hallway, their steps careful and hushed.

"Shh, Danny," whispered eight-year-old Harry, glancing back at his sister. "You're being loud."

"I'm not!" Danny pouted, her black curls bouncing as she clutched her stuffed dragon tightly. "Hazzy, my feet are just squeaky."

Harry stifled a laugh. "Okay, just...less squeaky feet, alright?"

Danny nodded solemnly and adjusted her grip on her dragon. Together, they tiptoed toward the kitchen.

The kitchen door creaked as Harry slowly pushed it open. He froze, holding his breath. Danny copied him, her wide eyes fixed on his face. After a long moment of silence, they exchanged triumphant grins and slipped inside.

"Alright," Harry whispered, "the cookies should be in the blue tin."

Danny squinted at the counter. "That's really high," she said, voice heavy with skepticism.

"That's why we have teamwork," Harry declared, dragging a chair across the floor with a low screech. They both winced, then stared at the doorway. No footsteps. No Baba with his scary frown. No Mama with her disappointed head shake.

Harry climbed onto the chair, balancing with practiced ease. "Okay," he murmured, stretching toward the cookie tin. His fingers brushed the lid. "Almost...got it..."

Danny watched, her dragon tucked under her arm, her curls falling in her face. "Hazzy, careful!"

"I'm fine," Harry assured her. With a final stretch, he snagged the tin and pulled it toward him.

The tin wobbled. Harry's heart stopped. The container tilted and tumbled off the edge.

"No!" Danny gasped.

Harry lunged and caught it mid-air. "Ha! Got it!"

Danny clapped her hands silently. "You're the bestest," she whispered.

Harry hopped down and opened the tin. The rich scent of chocolate-chip cookies drifted into the air. "Okay, Danny, take one."

Danny's eyes lit up as she reached in and grabbed the biggest cookie she could find. Harry took one for himself, then replaced the lid and carefully slid the tin under the table.

They turned toward the door just as the kitchen light snapped on.

"And what do we have here?"

The siblings froze mid-chew.

Regulus Black stood in the doorway, arms crossed, dark hair mussed from sleep. His grey eyes were sharp, but his lips twitched at the corners.

Danny let out a muffled squeak and ducked behind Harry. "Uh-oh," she whispered.

"Uh-oh is right," Regulus said, stepping forward. "Midnight cookie thieves, I see."

"We're not thieves," Harry said quickly. "We're...we're taste testers."

"Yeah," Danny piped up, peeking around Harry. "Mama said cookies gotta be tasted."

Regulus arched a brow. "Did she?"

Harry gulped. "Well, not these cookies. But...cookies in general."

"Mmm." Regulus knelt down so he was eye-level with them. "Do taste testers usually sneak around in the dark?"

"Only when it's a secret mission," Danny whispered.

Regulus pressed his lips together, trying not to smile. "Well, in that case," he said softly, "I guess you'll need a lookout next time."

Harry's mouth fell open. "Wait...you're not mad?"

"Oh, I'm mad," Regulus said, though his voice lacked any bite. "But I'll let it slide this time. Now, off to bed, you two."

"Yes, Baba," they chorused.

As he herded them back to their rooms, Regulus glanced up and met Y/N's amused gaze from the top of the stairs.

"Told you they'd go for the cookies," she whispered.

"You set us up!" Harry exclaimed.

Danny gasped. "Mama!"

Y/N laughed softly. "What can I say? I know my little cookie monsters." She leaned down to kiss the tops of their heads. "Now, go to sleep. We'll discuss your sneaky skills in the morning."

As Harry and Danny shuffled into their rooms, Regulus smiled to himself. Nights like these made every sleep-deprived morning worth it.

FIVE-YEAR-OLD DANNY AND NINE-YEAR-OLD HARRY

The Black-Potter household was rarely quiet, especially with an energetic four-year-old like Danny and a lively eight-year-old like Harry running about. Laughter, footsteps racing down hallways, and the occasional magical mishap filled the air with a warmth that made Grimmauld Place feel more like home than it ever had before. But today, the usual harmony was broken by the sharp crack of a slammed door.

"You're mean, Hazzy!" Danny's tiny voice, thick with tears, echoed down the hall.

Harry stood frozen just outside his bedroom door, his chest tight with guilt. Moments ago, they'd been playing with his toy broomstick. Danny had begged for a turn, but Harry had refused, insisting she was too little and would just break it. When she'd tried to grab it anyway, he'd snapped at her.

"You're just a baby," he'd said. "You don't know how to fly right."

The words had hit harder than any hex. Danny's face had crumpled, her big gray eyes filling with tears. Then she'd run to her room and slammed the door, leaving Harry with the broomstick in his hands and regret in his heart.

From downstairs, Y/N heard the door slam and exchanged a knowing look with Regulus, who was levitating a stack of books onto a high shelf.

"Sounds like trouble," she said.

"Sounds like our children," Regulus replied, lowering the last book into place. "Shall I play the terrifying father figure?"

Y/N arched an eyebrow. "Terrifying? You?"

"I was once a Death Eater."

"Mm-hmm," she said, amused. "Why don't you try the compassionate father figure instead?"

"I'll give it my best shot," Regulus said, following her up the stairs.

They found Harry slumped against the wall outside Danny's door, twirling the toy broom in his hands. His shoulders sagged under the weight of his remorse.

"Rough day, kiddo?" Y/N asked gently as she crouched beside him.

Harry's bottom lip jutted out slightly, though he tried to hide it. "I made Danny cry."

Regulus sat down on Harry's other side. "Yeah, we heard," he said softly. "Want to tell us what happened?"

"She wanted to fly my broom," Harry mumbled. "I said no because she's little. And then she tried to take it anyway, and I... I said she was a baby."

Y/N winced. "Ah," she said. "Calling your sister a baby? That'll sting."

"She is a baby," Harry muttered, but even he didn't sound convinced.

"She doesn't see it that way," Regulus said. "She looks up to you, Harry. She wants to do what you do. Be like you. So when you said she was a baby, she probably felt like...you thought she wasn't good enough."

Harry's eyes widened. "I didn't mean that."

"I know," Regulus reassured him. "But sometimes, what we say doesn't match what we feel."

Y/N brushed Harry's hair back fondly. "Being a big brother is hard sometimes. You have to find a way to teach her without making her feel small."

"So...what do I do now?" Harry asked.

"Start with an apology," Y/N said.

Harry took a deep breath, then knocked on Danny's door. "Danny? Can I come in?"

There was a long silence. Then a muffled "Go 'way."

"Please?" Harry tried again. "I'm really sorry. I was mean, and I didn't mean to be."

The door creaked open an inch. One gray eye peeked through the gap.

"You called me a baby," Danny said, voice wobbly.

"I know," Harry said, his heart aching at the sight of her tear-streaked face. "I'm sorry. You're not a baby. You're my sister, and you're really brave and smart. I was just scared you'd fall and get hurt."

Danny opened the door a bit more. "You scared for me?"

"Yeah," Harry said. "'Cause I love you."

Danny's lips trembled. Then, with a tiny sniff, she launched herself at Harry, wrapping her arms around his waist. "I love you too, Hazzy," she mumbled into his shirt.

From their spot down the hall, Y/N and Regulus exchanged smiles.

"Think they'll remember this the next time they fight?" Y/N asked softly.

"Not a chance," Regulus replied with a chuckle. "But we'll be here to remind them."

And as Harry pulled Danny into his room to give her a broomstick-flying lesson, the warmth of family settled back into the house once more.

SIX-YEAR-OLD DANNY AND TEN-YEAR-OLD HARRY

The smell of buttery toast and sizzling bacon filled the cozy kitchen of the Black-Potter household. ten-year-old Harry sat at the table, munching on a piece of toast, while six-year-old Danica, her wild dark curls sticking in every direction, gleefully smashed her scrambled eggs with her spoon.

"Danny, you're supposed to eat that," Harry said, raising an eyebrow.

Danica grinned, her green eyes twinkling with mischief. "I am! But first, I have to make it flat. Flat eggs taste better."

Harry sighed dramatically but couldn't help smiling. His little sister always had a very particular way of doing things. "Whatever you say, munchkin."

As Danica resumed her egg-flattening mission, footsteps echoed from the hallway. Harry glanced up just in time to see his father, Regulus, stroll into the kitchen. His hair was slightly damp from a shower, and he wore his usual elegant but relaxed expression. Without a word, Regulus walked straight to where Y/N stood at the stove, flipping pancakes.

"Good morning, my love," Regulus murmured, slipping his arms around her waist from behind. He dipped his head and pressed a soft kiss to her cheek.

"Morning," Y/N replied with a smile, leaning into his embrace.

Regulus, however, wasn't content with just one kiss. He trailed a series of gentle kisses along her jawline, then down to the curve of her neck. Y/N giggled softly as he nuzzled the sensitive spot near her ear.

"Regulus Black," she scolded half-heartedly, "the kids are right there."

"Let them learn what true love looks like," Regulus replied with a smirk before pressing a kiss to her temple.

Across the table, Harry froze mid-chew. Danica stopped smashing her eggs. The siblings locked eyes, and without a word, both scrunched their noses and made loud, exaggerated gagging noises.

"Blech! Gross!"

"Ewwwww! Baba's kissing Mama!" Danica squealed, dropping her spoon and covering her eyes with sticky fingers. "Hazzy, make it stop!"

Harry clutched his chest dramatically. "I think I'm gonna be sick," he groaned, slumping over the table.

Regulus lifted his head and arched a single eyebrow at his children. "You two are impossible," he drawled, though amusement danced in his gray eyes.

Y/N laughed, turning to face him. "Told you," she teased.

"Kissing's gross!" Danica declared from behind her tiny hands.

"Yeah, Baba," Harry agreed, sitting back up with an exaggerated shudder. "Keep the mushy stuff private, will you?"

"Private?" Regulus echoed, feigning offense. "This is my home, my kitchen, and my wife. I can kiss her whenever I want."

"Not in front of us!" Danica insisted, peeking through her fingers.

Y/N leaned her head against Regulus's chest and laughed. "Maybe we should tone it down," she said.

"Hmm," Regulus hummed as if considering it. Then, with a devilish grin, he planted a loud, exaggerated kiss on Y/N's cheek.

"EWWWW!" Harry and Danica chorused.

Danica dramatically slid off her chair and collapsed onto the floor. "I've been poisoned!" she moaned, splaying her limbs across the tiles.

Harry followed suit, flopping onto the ground beside her. "We're doomed! Doomed by parental affection!"

Y/N pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle her laughter while Regulus smirked down at his children. "Ah, well," he said. "If you're both doomed, that means more pancakes for me and your mother."

Danica's eyes popped open. "Wait! I'm not doomed! I'm hungry!"

Harry sat up immediately. "Me too!"

"Mysterious recovery," Regulus mused as he helped them both back into their chairs.

Y/N plated the pancakes and set them on the table. As everyone dug in, Regulus reached for Y/N's hand under the table and squeezed it.

Harry saw the gesture but let it slide this time. Mostly because there were pancakes. And pancakes always came first.

previous chapter <--> next chapter

Movie night

At home movie date with step-father Timmy.

stepdad!Timothée x mom!reader

word count: 1K

warnings: BRIEF mentions of abuse, fluff

note: unedited lol

find more here: masterlist

The day had been long and grueling. Hours of filming had passed, and when you were finally done, your body screamed in exhaustion. Yet even in exhaustion, there was one thing that always made the end of the day worth it: picking up Alice from daycare.

As you pulled up to the small brick building, you could already spot your five-year-old through the glass doors, bouncing up and down on her feet when she saw you. The minute you came in, she ran to your arms, her little hands around your neck as you picked her up.

"Mommy!" she shrieked, her face breaking out in excitement. "Miss Jenna, let me finger paint today! I made you a picture!"

You kissed her forehead, enjoying the heat of her small body against yours. "I can't wait to see it, sweetheart. Did you have a good day today?"

Alice bobbed her head excitedly. "Uh-huh! And guess what? I didn't even take a nap!"

You laughed. "That's amazing, but I bet you're going to be tired later."

"Not a bit!" she protested, yawning right afterward.

You laughed, settling her on your hip as you scooped up her little backpack. "Okay, let's go home."

The ride home was dominated by Alice's constant talk about her day, and as you pulled into your driveway, you were relieved to see the familiar comforting view of home. You carried Alice indoors, unaware that a surprise awaited you.

As soon as you opened the door and walked inside, your breath was taken in your throat. Your downtown home's living room had been fully converted into a movie theater. String lights hung from the ceiling, and they provided a warm, golden light to the room. The blinds were closed, and an ice cream station had been established, complete with various toppings. A new batch of French fries was on the counter, and a popcorn machine was in the corner, the buttery aroma wafting through the air. In front of the couch, a blanket fort had been deliberately set up, packed with pillows and soft blankets.

"Surprise!" Timothée shouted out, his voice full of excitement.

You stood there in shock as Alice struggled free from your arms and ran towards him. "Timmy! You did this?" she cried out, her eyes wide with astonishment. Timothée got down to her height, placing his hands on his knees with a grin on his face. "Of course, I did! You and Mommy had a long day, so I thought, what better way to unwind than a special movie night?"

Alice let out a gasp, her small hands clasped together. "Best surprise EVER!" she shrieked before dashing over to the popcorn machine, her enthusiasm overflowing.

You looked over at Timothée, still in wonder. "You did all this for us?” He shrugged playfully. "Of course. You two deserve it." His tone was warm, full of sincerity. "I thought we could watch whatever Alice chooses, eat way too much ice cream, and just have a nice night together."

Your heart filled with affection as you moved closer, encircling his neck with your arms. "You're great, you know that?" Timothée smiled, hugging your waist. "I do my best."

Alice pulled at his sleeve before he could speak further. "Timmy, can we go now? I wanna choose the movie!"

"Sure," Timothée replied, hoisting her onto his shoulders as she laughed. "What do we watch?" Alice drummed her chin theatrically, then smiled. "Encanto!"

Timothée breathed in. "Awesome choice! But before that, do you want to get some ice cream?”

“YES!" Alice shouted. She jumped down and dashed towards the ice cream corner with Timothée close behind. You saw them with a heart full of love, aware that although Timothée was not Alice's biological father, he loved her as if she were his own. And from the way she gazed at him, with admiration and trust, it was apparent that Alice loved him just the same.

As the three of you finally nestled up under the blanket fort, ice cream in your hands and the movie beginning, you couldn't help but think—this was happiness. Simple as that. Your little family, where you were meant to be. 

Your mind wandered back to the past, to the life you had before Timothée entered it. Alice's real father had been another man, a man who should have kept you safe but who had become the reason you had to flee. The relationship had begun well, but with time, his temper had grown worse. The way he treated you, the way he behaved around Alice, had frightened you. When he had raised his hand, even once, you knew that you had to go. Not only for yourself, but for Alice. You battled for sole custody, refusing to leave her vulnerable and never looking back. It hadn't been simple, rebuilding your life as a single parent, but then Timothée had blundered in like a gust of fresh air. He had demonstrated to you that love was gentle, that love was safe. That a man could love a child who wasn't biologically his own as deeply as if she were.

As the first scene of Encanto was played, you turned your eyes on Alice, who was nestled between you and Timothée, her little hands clutching a bowl of popcorn. And after a while, you leaned over to her with a smile. "What do you say to Timothée, sweetheart?" 

Alice looked up with her big, expressive eyes at him and smiled. "Thank you, Daddy!" she chirped merrily before grabbing another bite of popcorn.

Timothée froze, his breath hitching as his eyes slightly glistened. He blinked a few times, a hand instinctively coming up to rub his face as a soft chuckle escaped his lips. “Anytime, sweetheart,” he murmured, pulling her close and pressing a gentle kiss to the top of her head.

You stretched out, fingers intertwined with his, a reassuring grip of his hand. He gripped it back, his eyes shining with love and appreciation. And as Alice sat through the movie, blissfully unaware of the depth of emotional response her words had elicited, you knew at that moment that Timothée would never be more than a step away, as her father, as your husband, as the center of your small family.

𝐏𝐀𝐔𝐋 𝐀𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐒

🌟 = Fluff, 🪐 = Angst, ✨ = mild spice, 🎬 = hurt/comfort

{𝚛𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝} → open ! || requests are usually open unless they get too much, then I will turn them off so that I could finish other requests ! ||

ONE-SHOTS :

𝙿𝚊𝚞𝚕'𝚜 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖 .ᐟ (1)

𝐏𝐚𝐮𝐥'𝐬 𝐉𝐨𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 (2)

SERIES:

(not yet available)

BLURBS:

(not yet available)

Uncle Moony and Siri 🌟

Uncle Moony and Uncle Siri visit

[regulus black x fem potter! reader]

warnings: fluff

It was a quiet morning at the Potter-Black household, the kind that Y/N had learned to cherish. The storm from the night before had passed, leaving behind a crisp autumn breeze that drifted through the open windows. Harry sat cross-legged on the living room floor, carefully stacking his wooden blocks, his tongue peeking out in concentration.

Regulus was sitting in the armchair, a book in one hand, a cup of tea in the other, looking as composed as ever. Y/N was beside Harry on the rug, sorting through his toys when suddenly—

BANG. BANG. BANG.

The front door shook under the weight of impatient knocking.

Regulus barely looked up from his book. “I am not answering that,” he muttered, sipping tea.

Y/N sighed, already knowing who it was. “If we ignore him, he’ll just keep knocking louder.”

Sure enough—BANG. BANG. BA—

“Alright, alright!” Y/N called as she stood up and approached the door, throwing it open to reveal a very smug-looking Sirius Black, leaning casually against the frame.

“Why, hello there, darling sister-in-law,” Sirius greeted dramatically. “Your favorite Black has arrived.”

Behind him, Remus stood with a patient smile, holding a small box wrapped in brown paper. “I told him to knock like a normal person,” he said apologetically.

“I did knock like a normal person,” Sirius said, grinning as he stepped inside. “With enthusiasm.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but stepped aside to let them in.

At the sound of new voices, Harry perked up. His little face lit up, and he scrambled to his feet. “Uncle Siri! Uncle Moony!”

Sirius let out a bark of laughter as he scooped Harry up, spinning him in the air. “There’s my favorite kiddo! Getting bigger every time I see you, huh?”

Harry giggled wildly, his tiny hands gripping onto Sirius’s robes. “Faster, Uncle Siri!”

“Not in the house,” Regulus said flatly from his armchair.

Sirius ignored him and did one more spin before setting Harry down.

Remus crouched beside Harry, handing him the small package. “I brought you a little something, Harry,” he said warmly.

Harry gasped, taking the package with wide eyes. “A present?”

“Just a little one,” Remus said with a soft smile. “Go on, open it.”

Harry eagerly tore into the paper, revealing a small enchanted book filled with moving pictures of magical creatures. His face lit up. “Wow!” He carefully flipped through the pages, watching a tiny Hippogriff flap its wings before running to Y/N. “Mama, look!”

“That’s amazing, love,” Y/N said, ruffling his hair. “What do you say to Uncle Moony?”

“Thank you, Uncle Moony!” Harry beamed.

“Anytime, little one,” Remus replied, ruffling his hair in return.

Sirius, meanwhile, flopped dramatically onto the couch, stretching his arms across the back. “So, where’s the good tea? Or—better yet—firewhisky?”

Regulus finally looked up from his book, narrowing his eyes. “It’s eleven in the morning.”

“And?” Sirius smirked. “I was up late doing very important things.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Sirius, was that very important thing a drinking contest with Mad-Eye Moody?”

“… No?”

Remus sighed. “Yes.”

Harry, still absorbed in his book, sat himself right next to Regulus in the armchair, leaning against him. Regulus instinctively wrapped an arm around the boy, holding his book in one hand while absentmindedly carding his fingers through Harry’s messy hair.

Sirius watched them with a smirk. “Never thought I’d see the day. My little brother—a proper parent.”

Regulus shot him a glare. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Sirius grinned. “It means I’m still processing the fact that you—the grumpy, brooding Black—ended up raising my godson instead of me.” He leaned forward, winking at Harry. “But don’t worry kid, I’m the fun uncle. When you get older, I’ll teach you all the best pranks.”

Harry giggled. “Really?”

Regulus scowled. “No.”

“Yes,” Sirius countered, nodding at Harry.

Y/N snorted. “No pranks today, at least. I’d rather not clean up whatever chaos you unleash.”

Sirius sighed dramatically. “Fine, fine. I’ll behave.” He paused, then grinned at Harry. “For now.”

Regulus groaned, rubbing his temple. “Why did I let you into my house?”

Remus chuckled, sipping his tea. “Because you secretly love us.”

Regulus scoffed but didn’t argue.

Y/N just smiled, watching as Harry curled up happily between them all, his laughter filling the house. Whatever storm had been outside last night, whatever nightmares had tried to creep in, Harry was safe here—with his family. Even if Sirius was a bad influence.

-

previous chapter <- -> next chapter

master list

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 😙

🌟 = Fluff, 🪐 = Angst, ✨ = mild spice, 🎬 = hurt/comfort

{𝚛𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝} → open ! || requests are usually open unless they get too much, then I will turn them off so that I could finish other requests ! ||

HARRY POTTER - MARAUDERS :

REGULUS BLACK

SIRIUS BLACK - (N/A)

REMUS LUPIN - (N/A)

JAMES POTTER - (N/A)

HARRY POTTER - (N/A)

DRACO MALFOY - (N/A)

DUNE :

PAUL ATREIDES

FEYD RAUTHA - (N/A)

LETO ATREIDES - (N/A)

CHANI KYNES - (N/A)

DUNCAN IDAHO - (N/A)

PRINCESS IRULAN - (N/A)

OTHERS :

TIMOTHÉE CHALAMET

WILLY WONKA

LEE (BONES AND ALL)

ELIO PERLMAN - (N/A)

KYLE SCHEIBLE - (N/A)

YULE (DON'T LOOK UP) - (N/A)

HENRY V (THE KING) - (N/A)

Timothée's tiny soulmate

Tiny hands, big love, and a dad wrapped around her finger.

pairings: Timothée Chalamet x Fem!reader

word count: 2.3K

warnings: Fluff, a bit of jerk Timothée for a few moments, childbirth

note: First chapter to my new series.. Girl Dad Diaries !

more here: Girl Dad Diaries masterlist, masterlist

You and Timothée had been married for two years, and today, December 27, just two days after Christmas, was his birthday. A week ago, you found out you were pregnant with his child. It hadn’t been planned, but neither of you was against the idea; if anything, it felt like perfect timing. To surprise him, you wrapped a small, slender box and tied a little bow on top. Inside, you placed five clean, positive pregnancy tests—your quiet, heartfelt way of saying, We’re having a baby. 

You also got him a new iPad for his birthday.

Why not? Right? Were you spoiling him? Maybe just a little. In five days, Timothée Chalamet was getting a brand-new MacBook, an iPad, and, though he didn’t know it yet, a baby. So yeah, you were spoiling him. But if anyone deserved it, it was him.

You woke up bright and early, long before he stirred. The house was still dark except for the faint glow of the Christmas lights strung across the living room, and the soft scent of cinnamon and pine lingered in the air from the candles you'd been lighting all week. Slipping out of bed as quietly as you could, you tiptoed through the house, grabbing your slippers and hoodie before heading out to the garage. That’s where you’d hidden the gifts—you knew he wouldn’t think to check your car.

Moments later, you returned with both boxes in hand. One was a sleek Apple box, the other longer and thinner, wrapped with extra care and a little satin bow. You placed the thinner one 6to the side for now. That surprise would come last.

Carefully, you placed the iPad box on the bed and leaned over him, brushing the hair from his face. You kissed his forehead gently.

"My love," you whispered sweetly.

He groaned in protest, rolling over and tugging the blanket over his head. "Nooo..."

You giggled. "C'mon, birthday boy. Wake up."

He peeked out with one eye. His curls were a mess, his voice groggy. "What time is it?"

"Too early," you admitted, laughing softly, "but I couldn't wait."

He sighed dramatically. "This better be worth it."

You grinned and placed the gift on his chest. "It is. Open it."

He sat up slowly, yawning as he pulled at the wrapping paper. The second he saw the Apple logo, his eyes widened.

"No way..." he murmured. "You got me the iPad, too?"

You gave him an innocent shrug. "I mean, you need something portable for travel. The MacBook is for editing and writing, the iPad is for movies and drawing. Practical, right?"

He just stared at you. "You're insane."

"Maybe," you replied playfully, crawling back into bed beside him. "But I love you."

He leaned over and kissed you, lingering a bit longer than necessary. "I love you more. You really didn’t have to do this."

"I wanted to. You deserve it."

He was already powering it on, a boyish grin on his face. "Okay, yeah. This is amazing. You're amazing. I feel so spoiled."

You smiled to yourself, glancing at the still-wrapped box on the nightstand.

"Oh," you said casually, "there's one more."

He blinked, still distracted by his new iPad. "More? Babe, you already went overboard. What is it, socks? A sweater?"

You chuckled nervously. "Not exactly. Here. Open it."

You handed him the smaller, longer box, wrapped with a delicate little bow. He looked at you suspiciously but took it, tearing the wrapping slowly.

He lifted the lid and stared.

Five pregnancy tests. All positive. All clean. Lined neatly in a row.

His jaw dropped slightly. He didn’t say anything for a solid ten seconds.

"Wait..." he finally breathed. "Are these... are these real?"

You nodded, heart pounding. "I found out last week. I wanted to tell you in a special way. Surprise."

He looked back down at the tests, then up at you, eyes glassy with disbelief. "We're having a baby?"

You smiled, your voice soft. "Yeah. We are."

He let out a breathless laugh, dropping his head into his hands for a moment before looking at you again, overwhelmed but glowing. "Oh my god. I... I don't even know what to say."

You leaned in and kissed his cheek. "You don't have to say anything. Just hold me."

He pulled you into his arms immediately, holding you tighter than ever.

"This is the best birthday of my life," he whispered into your hair. "A MacBook, an iPad, and a baby? I don't think anything could top this."

You laughed. "Well, don't get used to this kind of treatment every year."

He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes. "Too late. I'm officially spoiled for life."

The first trimester was a whirlwind of emotions and adjustments. You cried often—when your jeans didn’t fit, when nothing satisfied your hunger, or just because. Your body was changing fast, and so was your world. Timothée stayed grounded through it all, holding you close when you broke down, whispering soft reassurances. He even cleared out a guest room and began turning it into a nursery—the one with the big window you loved. Inspired by your love for stars, you both chose a space theme, spending countless hours researching baby essentials. Timothée was convinced it was a boy; you secretly hoped for a girl. You decided to wait until the birth to find out.

The second trimester brought a little relief from the nausea, but new aches took over. Leggings became your daily uniform, much to your embarrassment as a touring singer. Still, with Timothée’s unwavering support, you embraced the changes. You announced your pregnancy mid-tour, keeping the details private, and fans adored the mystery. Meanwhile, your craving for cucumbers spiraled—chopped, dipped, and topped with anything you could think of. Timothée kept a cooler of them backstage and even tried your wildest combos. You laughed, nested, your belly grew, and the nursery became a dreamy little galaxy.

By the third trimester, everything was harder. Sleep was a battle of pillows and shifting positions, and you were always too hot, too tired, or too emotional. Swollen fingers forced you to take off your rings—Timothée lovingly put them on a chain around your neck. Performing felt heavier, but fans cheered louder than ever when the baby kicked mid-song. Cravings got weirder, nesting became an obsession, and you repacked the hospital bag more times than you could count. Through it all, Timothée stayed close—singing to your belly, rubbing your feet, and reminding you how strong you were.

You were sore, swollen, and ready. Nervous, but full of love. The best part was just around the corner.

Then, the day finally came when your water broke. The hospital room buzzed with low voices and the steady beeping of machines, but all you could hear was your own heartbeat and the rhythmic sound of your breathing. Hours had passed in a blur of contractions and sweat, your grip on Timothée’s hand never loosening, even when your fingernails dug into his skin. He didn’t complain once. He stayed right beside you, brushing damp hair from your face, whispering encouragements through every cry, every wave of pain.

“You’re doing so good,” he kept saying. “He’s—uh—they’re almost here.” He still stumbled over the pronouns sometimes, trying to avoid guessing, but you could tell he hadn’t fully let go of the idea that it might be a boy.

You were too focused on surviving the next contraction to care.

Then, finally, it happened. One more push, one last scream—and the room exploded into sound. A sharp, high-pitched cry filled the air, and the doctor smiled as she lifted the baby up.

“It’s a girl,” she announced, beaming.

You blinked through your tears and turned to Timothée. But instead of the cheer or the gasp you’d expected, he went oddly quiet.

“A girl?” he repeated, more to himself than anyone else.

It wasn’t disappointment exactly—not in the way that stung. But for a moment, you saw the flicker in his expression. A beat of surprise. Of recalibration. He had been so sure. Had spoken to your belly like a boy was listening. Had joked about teaching “his son” guitar.

But before you could even speak, they placed her, tiny, pink, wailing, into his arms.

And everything changed.

Timothée looked down at her, and whatever expectation he had crumbled in an instant. His whole face softened, like someone had knocked the wind out of him in the gentlest way. His eyes brimmed with tears as he adjusted his hold on her, already protective, already in love.

“Elodie,” he whispered, like her name had been waiting on his tongue this whole time. “Hi, baby girl.”

Then he looked at you, and though he was clearly trying to be composed, his voice cracked as he admitted, “I thought I wanted a boy. But… she’s perfect. It was always supposed to be her.”

You smiled through your exhaustion, through your own tears, and reached for him, your daughter tucked between you like the softest miracle.

A week in the hospital felt like a slow dream, both calming and surreal. The days blurred into each other in a haze of soft lullabies, nurse check-ins, and the gentle hum of machines that beeped and blinked with their rhythm. Every few hours, someone would enter the room to examine Elodie, check your vitals, ask questions, and smile politely. The food was bland, the lighting too harsh, and the beds not quite soft enough, but none of that mattered. You had her. She was here.

Still, by day seven, you were aching for your home. For the nursery you'd spent months perfecting. For the quiet comfort of your bedroom, your candles, your robes, your slippers. And maybe, selfishly, just a little bit of time without a nurse barging in with a blood pressure cuff when the baby had just fallen asleep.

Timothée was practically bouncing by the time the discharge papers were signed. He packed everything up with the energy of a man who had trained for this moment his entire life. The hospital staff wheeled you down in a chair, your arms wrapped around the infant car seat where Elodie blinked sleepily, her tiny hat pulled low over her forehead. Timothée walked beside you like a proud golden retriever, loaded with bags, snacks, and the biggest grin you’d ever seen on his face.

He double-checked the car seat straps before you left the parking lot. Triple-checked them before pulling out. And then turned in his seat a dozen times during the drive, just to make sure she was still breathing.

When you finally stepped into your home, everything felt different. The air was warmer somehow, the rooms no longer silent but humming with new life. It was like the house had been holding its breath this whole time—and now, with her inside, it finally exhaled.

And from that moment on, Elodie was never far from Timothée’s chest.

You thought you’d be the one who couldn’t let her go, but Timothée became completely, utterly inseparable from your daughter. She was always in his arms, swaddled against his chest in that soft gray wrap he insisted on wearing everywhere. He wore her while making breakfast. While reading. While pacing the living room as she napped. He even wore her while brushing his teeth once. “She likes the vibration,” he shrugged, speaking like he was some kind of baby whisperer.

You joked that you were officially the third wheel now. He didn’t even argue.

Every few hours, when it was your turn to nurse or rock her to sleep, he’d hover just a few inches away. And the moment you were done, he’d scoop her right back up with a breathless, “I missed her.”

You laughed, but you understood. Because watching Timothée fall in love with Elodie was like watching gravity find him again. He melted into fatherhood. The actor, the performer, the dreamer—all of it quieted, softened, sharpened into something tender and fierce. She made him gentler. And braver.

He danced with her often, barefoot in the nursery under the soft light of the glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling. He’d sway slowly, whispering, “You know you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, right?” His voice cracked sometimes when he said it. As if he couldn’t believe she was real either.

One night, while you were still adjusting to night feeds and the ache in your body, you found him on the nursery rug with Elodie tucked on his chest. He was humming “Landslide,” eyes closed, tears glistening at the corners. When he saw you, he smiled and whispered, “She likes Fleetwood Mac. She's got taste already.”

He called her his tiny soulmate. You didn’t even mind that he barely looked at you anymore, because when he did, it was usually to say, “Look at her. Just look.”

He was so in love with Elodie that it was almost comedic. One morning, after pulling her gently from your arms, he sat beside you and muttered, “I’d throw myself in front of a bus for her.”

You blinked at him. “You just met her.”

He nodded, serious. “If there was a shooter, I’d use you as a human shield to protect her.”

You stared, speechless.

He gave a crooked little smile. “Don’t take it personally. You had your moment. This one’s hers now.”

But even in all the humor, you could see it. The way she had rewired something in him. His entire world now existed in the space between her breaths.

He wore her in a carrier everywhere: around the house, to the grocery store, even while standing outside in the backyard doing nothing but watching the sky. He kissed her head more times than you could count. He cried the first time she grabbed his finger with intention. He cried harder the first time she smiled.

And you watched it all—this beautiful, chaotic, overwhelming new rhythm of your lives—and thought: We’re going to be okay.

You had your little girl.

And she had the man who would move heaven and earth just to keep her warm.