Not A Request But I’m Sorry To Nitpick Lol

Glasses !

SUMMARY: Y/N and Regulus take Harry to get glasses after he bumps straight into the door frame.

[Regulus Black x Fem Potter! reader]

warnings: Fluff, slightly humorous

words: 0.6k

-

It started with small things.

Harry missing his cup when reaching for his pumpkin juice at breakfast. Squinting at his books when Y/N or Regulus tried to get him to read. Tripping over his own feet more often than usual. At first, they thought it was just clumsiness—he was four, after all.

Then he walked straight into the doorframe.

Regulus, who had been sipping his tea, barely blinked as Harry let out a small oof and stumbled backward, rubbing his forehead. Y/N, however, immediately crouched down beside him.

“Harry, love, are you alright?” she asked, brushing his messy hair away to check for any bumps.

Harry pouted, rubbing his forehead. “The door moved.”

Regulus raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “No, it didn’t.”

Harry crossed his arms. “Well, it felt like it did.”

Y/N hummed, glancing at Regulus before looking back at Harry. “Sweetheart, have you been having trouble seeing things lately?”

Harry shrugged. “I dunno.”

Regulus sighed, setting down his tea. “I think we need to take him to the eye healer.”

Harry’s eyes widened in alarm. “A what?”

Y/N chuckled, adjusting her own glasses. “Someone who helps people see better. Like how I wear glasses, remember?”

Harry blinked, looking up at her. “Oh… but you look good in glasses.”

Y/N grinned. “And you will too if you need them.”

Harry frowned but didn’t argue.

The next day, after breakfast (which involved Sirius trying to convince Harry to wear an eyepatch instead of glasses because it was ‘cooler’), they made their way to St. Mungo’s Department of Magical Vision and Sight.

Harry swung his legs idly from his chair in the waiting area, glancing at Y/N. “Did you have to get glasses when you were little too?”

She smiled. “I did. I was about your age when my mum took me for my first pair.”

Harry considered this. “Did Daddy James wear them too?”

Y/N’s smile softened. “Yes, he did. Since he was a boy.”

Harry looked thoughtful. “Maybe I should get glasses… then I’ll match you and Daddy James.”

Regulus snorted. “As if you had a choice.”

Before Harry could respond, the healer called them in.

The eye healer, an older wizard with kind eyes, greeted them warmly. “Alright, young man, let’s see how those eyes are working.”

Harry went through a series of tests, from reading different-sized letters to following a floating quill with his eyes. He giggled when the quill changed colors but frowned when he struggled with some of the smaller letters.

After a few more checks, Healer Aldwyn nodded. “Well, my boy, you’re a bit nearsighted. Not too bad, but you’ll need some glasses to help you see clearly.”

Harry gasped. “Like Mama?”

Y/N smiled. “Just like me, love.”

Harry beamed. “Then I want glasses!”

At the attached vision shop, Harry tried on several pairs, wrinkling his nose at most of them.

“These,” he finally said, grabbing a pair of small, round frames. “They look like Mama’s, but smaller!”

Y/N’s heart melted. “Oh, love, you look adorable.”

Regulus smirked. “Now he just needs to start losing all of his books like you do.”

Y/N rolled her eyes and nudged him playfully.

As they walked out, Harry kept adjusting his glasses, looking around in amazement. “I can see so much! Look, Baba! The clouds are so fluffy! And the sign isn’t blurry anymore!”

Regulus smirked. “That is the point of glasses, Harry.”

Harry grinned up at Y/N. “We match now, Mama!”

Y/N ruffled his hair. “Yes, we do, love.”

Regulus glanced between them, then sighed. “Great. Now there are two of you.”

Y/N smirked. “Poor you.”

Harry giggled, and the three of them headed home—where Sirius, upon seeing Harry’s glasses, dramatically clutched his chest and declared, “MY GODSON LOOKS JUST LIKE JAMES! I’M HAVING AN EMOTIONAL CRISIS!” before proceeding to chase Harry around the house yelling, “NERD ALERT!”

Regulus groaned. Y/N laughed.

And Harry?

He just felt pretty cool.

-

previous chapter <- -> next chapter

The Battle of Hogwarts

The Potter-Black's fight in the Battle of Hogwarts.

Regulus Black x Fem Potter! reader]

word count: 815

warning: mentions of war, death, hurt/comfort, almost dying

The air crackled with curses and screams, the ground trembling beneath every explosion. Smoke stung Harry's eyes as he ducked behind a crumbling stone pillar, his chest heaving. His wand hand was steady, but his heart was racing. Across the battlefield, Death Eaters swarmed like shadows, their masks faceless and unforgiving.

“Protego!” Harry shouted, deflecting a curse aimed at Neville. He spun, firing off a Stupefy toward a masked figure. The spell hit true, and the Death Eater crumpled. He was about to move again when something caught his eye through the smoke.

There—at the heart of the chaos—were his parents.

Y/N and Regulus stood side by side, backs to each other, fighting with the synchronized precision of two people who had spent years learning each other’s rhythms. Y/N’s wand slashed through the air as fiery runes lit up the darkness, forming ancient symbols that struck down three Death Eaters in a single sweep. Regulus was a blur of defensive magic, shields shimmering like a protective cocoon around his wife as he deflected curses with ruthless efficiency.

“Come on, you bastards!” Y/N snarled, hurling a Blasting Curse that shattered a marble column, toppling Death Eaters beneath the debris.

Regulus cast a cutting hex, sending another enemy sprawling. His eyes flicked up for the briefest second—and locked with Harry’s across the battlefield.

The look said everything: Stay safe. Stay alive.

Harry gave a grim nod and turned back into the fray. But even as he fought, the image of his parents—unbreakable, untouchable—stayed with him.

Not far away, Danny, now 15, stood with her back to the Great Hall’s shattered entrance. Her hair was tangled, and her lip was bleeding. Her wand hand was firm, though, her father’s lessons echoing in her mind.

“Stay grounded, little star. Predict their movements. Strike hard. Strike smart.”

The Death Eater before her sneered beneath his mask. “Look at you. A little girl playing hero.”

Danny’s grip tightened. “Avia Ignis!” she shouted.

Golden, bird-shaped flames shot from her wand, screeching as they slammed into his shield. The Death Eater staggered. Danny didn’t hesitate. “Expelliarmus!”

The man’s wand flew from his grasp, and Danny followed with a swift “Stupefy.” He collapsed in a heap.

Breathing heavily, she turned—just in time to see the ceiling above her crack. Massive chunks of stone and timber groaned as they began to fall.

Her eyes widened.

Run.

She bolted toward the corridor, sprinting with all her strength as the ceiling collapsed behind her. The noise was deafening. A jagged block clipped her shoulder, sending her sprawling. She scrambled to her feet, heart hammering. A deafening crack sounded above her, and—

The world turned to darkness.

Hours later, the battle was over. The Dark Lord was gone, his forces scattered or captured. But Hogwarts lay in ruins, and the losses were staggering.

Y/N stood amidst the rubble, her hands trembling as she gripped Regulus’s arm. Her eyes were wild, scanning the battlefield for any sign of their daughter.

“She was there, Reg,” Y/N gasped. “Near the Great Hall. I saw her fighting.”

Regulus, pale and bloodied, pulled her into his arms. “We’ll find her.” His voice cracked.

Harry appeared beside them, face streaked with dirt and ash. “I’ll help look.”

The three of them moved toward the hall, stepping over shattered stone and fallen bodies. Y/N’s breaths came faster with each step. Her eyes landed on a collapsed archway, a familiar child-sized wand lying just beyond the rubble.

“No,” she whispered. Her knees gave out, and she collapsed with a broken sob. “No, no, no.”

Regulus knelt beside her, pulling her into his chest even as his own shoulders shook. Harry stood frozen, unable to look away from the wand.

The silence was suffocating.

And then—

There was a faint shift beneath the rubble.

A small hand, scraped and bloodied, pushed through the stones.

Harry lunged forward, yanking rocks away. “Danny! Danny, we’re here!”

The debris shifted further, and with a low groan, Danica emerged. Her curls were matted with dust, her face streaked with grime, but her eyes were bright and alive.

“Mama?” she croaked.

Y/N scrambled to her knees, pulling Danny into a crushing embrace. “Oh, my baby—my baby.” Tears streamed down her cheeks as she rocked her daughter back and forth.

Regulus dropped beside them, cupping Danny’s face. “You’re okay, starshine. You’re okay.”

Danny’s lips quirked into a wobbly smile. “Told you I was good at dueling, Baba.”

Harry barked out a watery laugh and ruffled her hair. “Yeah, Hazzy’s proud of you, squirt.”

Danny leaned against Y/N’s chest, eyes fluttering closed. “I’m sleepy,” she mumbled.

“That’s okay,” Y/N whispered, kissing the crown of her head. “Rest, sweetheart. We’ve got you.”

As the first light of dawn broke through the shattered ceiling, the Potter-Black family sat together amidst the ruins—bruised, battered, but whole.

previous chapter <-

𝐋𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐑𝐞𝐠𝐮𝐥𝐮𝐬 𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤: 𝐌𝐢𝐝𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐚

╰┈➤𝙰𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚖𝚘𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚘𝚐𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛, 𝚈/𝙽 𝙰𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢’𝚜 𝚜𝚎𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚝 𝚖𝚒𝚍𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚜𝚗𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚊𝚋𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚌𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚒𝚌𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚙𝚎𝚍, 𝚠𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚁𝚎𝚐𝚞𝚕𝚞𝚜 𝙱𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚔. 𝙲𝚘𝚗𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚔𝚒𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚗, 𝚁𝚎𝚐𝚞𝚕𝚞𝚜 𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚓𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚎-𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚊 𝚏𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚝, 𝚍𝚎𝚌𝚕𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚗𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚊𝚗𝚢. 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚕𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚕𝚎𝚗 𝚕𝚎𝚏𝚝𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜, 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚕𝚊𝚝 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚌𝚘𝚣𝚒𝚎𝚛.

warnings: fluff

[Regulus Black x Fem Avery! reader]

-

As usual, you quietly slipped out of your shared bed, careful not to disturb Regulus, who was a notoriously light sleeper. The hardest part was always getting in and out of bed without making a sound. You tiptoed your way to the kitchen, opened the fridge, and smiled at the sight of the leftover pasta Regulus had made earlier. He was an excellent cook, and his pasta was one of your favorites.

After piling some onto a plate, you popped it into the microwave. You were a pro at midnight snacking, always stopping the microwave just before the loud beep betrayed your secret. Except tonight, something went wrong.

The beep sounded, sharp and intrusive, slicing through the stillness of the night like a wand's hex. You froze, eyes wide, hoping against hope that Regulus hadn’t heard it. But before you could even take a breath, you heard the soft shuffle of footsteps approaching the kitchen.

Regulus appeared in the doorway, his hair mussed and a sleepy frown on his face. “Care to explain why my microwave is having a conversation with the entire flat at—” he glanced at the clock on the wall, “—three in the morning?”

Caught in the act, you froze with your hand still on the plate, a sheepish smile creeping onto your face. "I was hungry," you murmured, your tone equal parts innocent and apologetic, though you knew that wouldn’t fully appease him.

Regulus stood in the doorway, arms crossed and eyes half-lidded with sleep, though his expression carried more curiosity than anger. His tousled hair framed his face, and the way he leaned against the doorframe made it clear he wasn’t about to let this go. "Hungry? At three in the morning?" he asked, arching an eyebrow. "You couldn’t wait a few more hours until breakfast?"

You shifted awkwardly, twirling the fork in your hand. "Well... waiting didn’t seem like the best option," you admitted, avoiding his gaze. "And... this isn’t exactly new."

His eyebrow climbed higher. "Not new?"

With a resigned sigh, you gestured vaguely toward the fridge. "I’ve been doing this since we moved in. I just—well, I’m usually better at not getting caught. Tonight was... a fluke."

Regulus blinked at you, his expression unreadable for a long moment. Then, to your surprise, a slow smirk curved his lips. "So, let me get this straight," he said, his voice tinged with amusement. "You’ve been sneaking into the kitchen, raiding the leftovers, and using my microwave for your late-night escapades—all without me noticing—until tonight?"

You nodded, shoving a forkful of pasta into your mouth to buy yourself time. Maybe if you didn’t say anything else, he’d let it go.

Instead, Regulus sighed, the sound somewhere between exasperation and reluctant amusement. "You know, most people would just have a proper dinner instead of sneaking around like a thief in their own home."

"I did have dinner!" you protested, swallowing quickly. "I just—didn’t have enough. And your cooking is too good to resist."

He gave you a skeptical look but didn’t argue. Instead, he pushed off the doorframe, walked over to the counter, and grabbed a second fork from the drawer. "Well, you’ve ruined my sleep now," he said, sitting down across from you and helping himself to the pasta on your plate.

You stared at him, baffled. "Wait, you’re not mad?"

"Mad?" He gave you a look that was almost offended by the suggestion. "No. A little annoyed that you didn’t think to wake me up for midnight snacks sooner, maybe. But mad? Not really."

You blinked. "Why would I wake you up? You’d complain."

"Of course I’d complain," he said, his smirk growing. "But I’d still come. Midnight snacks are always better with company."

You laughed, the tension easing as you watched him steal another bite of your pasta. "You’re ridiculous, you know that?"

"And you’re lucky I’m such a tolerant flatmate," he shot back, raising an eyebrow at you. "Otherwise, I might have hexed the microwave by now."

You rolled your eyes, grinning. "Fine. Next time, I’ll wake you. But only if you promise not to steal all the food."

"No promises," Regulus said, twirling another forkful of pasta. "But you’re welcome to try."

As the two of you shared the stolen leftovers, the quiet of the flat felt warmer, cozier. Maybe midnight snacks were better with company after all. Or maybe, you thought with a smirk, it was just the challenge of not getting caught that made it so fun.

Would you be willing to write Regulus x reader who struggles with anorexia, where she's having a tough day and he helps them eat.

Don't if you're not comfortable tho

A taste of comfort

Y/N struggles with anorexia, and on a tough day, Regulus offers his quiet yet unwavering support, reminding her she’s not alone.

requested by anonymous

Regulus Black x female anorexic! reader

word count: 687

warnings: mentions of anorexia problems

masterlist, Regulus masterlist

Y/N could feel the weight of the day pressing down on her shoulders as she sat curled up on the windowsill, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees. The late afternoon sunlight streamed through the glass, casting golden hues across the room, but she hardly noticed. Her mind was consumed by the gnawing ache in her stomach, the relentless voice whispering cruel things in the back of her mind.

She had managed to avoid eating all day. It wasn’t supposed to be this hard. She had promised Regulus she was trying. She wanted to try. But today, the self-doubt had crept in like a storm cloud, and suddenly, the idea of food felt unbearable again.

Her struggles with anorexia had begun years ago, slowly and insidiously. What had started as a desire for control in a chaotic world had spiraled into something far darker. It had taken root in her thoughts, dictating her every decision. Every bite felt like a battle, every meal a war she was losing. She had pushed people away, convinced that nobody could understand the suffocating fear that came with eating.

And then, she had met Regulus.

They had crossed paths in the most unexpected way—a chance encounter in the Hogwarts library. She had been tucked away in a quiet corner, poring over a book she wasn’t really reading, when he had sat down across from her. At first, she had been wary. He had a reputation, a certain air of cold detachment that made people keep their distance. But there was something about the way he looked at her, something unspoken but deeply understanding.

Slowly, he had become a presence in her life. He never pried, never forced her to talk, but he had a way of making her feel seen. With him, she didn’t have to pretend to be okay. And somehow, despite the walls she had built, he had slipped through the cracks, offering her the quiet support she hadn’t realized she needed.

The door creaked open, and soft footsteps padded across the floor. She didn’t have to look up to know it was him.

“Y/N?” Regulus’ voice was gentle, but there was an edge of concern to it. He crouched down beside her, resting a hand lightly on her arm. “I haven’t seen you all day.”

She hesitated, then sighed. “I just… I needed to be alone.”

Regulus exhaled quietly, his thumb tracing soothing circles over her skin. He didn’t push. He never did. But she knew he saw right through her, past the carefully constructed walls and the forced half-smiles.

After a few moments of silence, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, wrapped piece of chocolate. He placed it in her palm without a word.

Y/N stared at it, her fingers curling around the wrapper. “Regulus, I can’t—”

“You can.” His voice was firm but kind. “I know it’s hard. But you need to eat something. Just a little.”

Tears burned at the back of her eyes. The idea of eating—even something as small as this—felt impossible. But then she looked at him, at the quiet determination in his grey eyes, the way his fingers curled around hers, grounding her. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t frustrated. He was just here.

With a shaky breath, she unwrapped the chocolate and broke off a tiny piece, placing it hesitantly in her mouth. The sweetness melted against her tongue, and though the guilt threatened to crash over her like a wave, Regulus was there, steady and unwavering.

“There you go,” he murmured. He brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m proud of you.”

A tear slipped down her cheek, and he caught it with his thumb, pulling her into his arms. She buried her face in his shoulder, his scent—familiar and warm—offering a comfort she hadn’t realized she needed so desperately.

“I don’t want to feel like this forever,” she admitted in a whisper.

Regulus tightened his hold on her, his lips pressing a soft kiss against her temple. “You won’t,” he promised. 

“I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

Timothée Chalamet on the Spanish steps in Rome✨

IG credit to holycolorfulpig

Eerie similarities

The eerie similarities between Danny and Baba, and, Harry and Mama

[Regulus Black x Fem Potter! reader]

word count: 779

warnings: fluff and a bit of humor

The Black-Potter living room was a study in contrasts. On one side, sprawled across the thick, emerald-green rug, Harry and Y/N lay on their backs, laughing breathlessly after what had been, according to them, an epic tickle war. On the other side of the room, Regulus sat on the couch, legs crossed, one arm draped casually over the backrest. Beside him, their six-year-old daughter, Danica "Danny" Potter-Black, mirrored his posture with unsettling accuracy.

Both father and daughter held books in their hands. Regulus was reading a dense, leather-bound tome about magical theory, his brows furrowed in concentration. Danny, meanwhile, had a picture book titled The Curious Cauldron Chronicles, but it wasn't the pictures she cared about. Her small finger traced the words on the page as she read quietly to herself, lips moving with every sentence.

"She's just like you," Y/N said from the floor, propping herself up on her elbows as she watched the pair. "Quiet, broody, and disturbingly good at everything."

Regulus glanced over the top of his book, a smirk pulling at his lips. "Disturbingly? I'm gifted, not disturbing."

"Baba," Danny said without looking up, "Mama's jealous that we're smarter."

Regulus chuckled. "That must be it."

Y/N gasped dramatically and flopped back onto the rug. "You hear that, Harry? Our broody geniuses think they're better than us."

Harry, sprawled beside her with his messy black hair sticking up in every direction, grinned mischievously. "Yeah, well, they probably can't do this." He scrambled to his feet and launched himself into a spontaneous, lopsided cartwheel.

Danny finally looked up from her book, unimpressed. "That's not hard," she said, setting her book aside and sliding off the couch. She attempted a cartwheel, landing with a heavy thud on her side. She scowled as her curls flopped into her eyes. "Okay," she muttered. "Maybe it is hard."

Y/N laughed and sat up. "It's okay, Danny-bug. We'll teach you."

"I don't need help," Danny mumbled, climbing to her feet and brushing herself off. "I just need practice."

"She's definitely yours," Y/N said, looking pointedly at Regulus.

"And Harry's yours," Regulus countered, tilting his head toward their son, who was now attempting to do jumping jacks while singing a made-up song about dragons.

"I'm like Mama!" Harry declared proudly, flopping down beside her again. "We're the fun ones."

Y/N ruffled his hair. "That's right, Hazzy. We cause the chaos while they sit around reading big boring books."

Danny crossed her arms, standing next to her father with an identical expression of disdain. "Books aren't boring," she huffed.

"Exactly," Regulus said, holding out a hand for a high five. Danny slapped his palm with the practiced precision of someone who'd done it many times before.

"See," Y/N whispered to Harry. "Broody, smart, and way too serious."

Harry giggled, but his eyes softened as he watched his sister sit back down beside their father. "I like it when Danny reads to me sometimes," he said quietly.

"Of course you do," Y/N said, kissing his temple. "She's your little sister. You're supposed to think she's cool sometimes. Just don't tell her that too often."

Harry nodded sagely. "Got it."

Across the room, Danny leaned into Regulus's side, her head resting against his arm as she picked up her book again. He angled the book slightly toward her, pointing out a tricky word when she hesitated.

Y/N smiled softly. "She's going to be just like you, you know."

Regulus glanced up. "Brilliant and devastatingly handsome?"

"I was going to say a stubborn know-it-all, but sure, let's go with that."

Danny, still absorbed in her book, gave a tiny smile at her parents' teasing. Harry, meanwhile, tugged on Y/N's hand. "Come on, Mama! Let's build a pillow fort!"

Y/N jumped to her feet with a conspiratorial grin. "Excellent idea, partner-in-crime."

As the energetic duo began dragging pillows and blankets from every corner of the room, Danny peeked over her book. "That blanket's mine," she said.

"Then come help us," Y/N said with a wink.

Danny hesitated. But when Regulus nudged her lightly, she stood and crossed the room, grabbing a pillow and placing it with calculated precision.

"We're going to have our hands full with these two," Y/N murmured as Regulus joined her on the couch.

Regulus draped an arm around her shoulders, watching Harry enthusiastically demonstrate the "proper" way to build a pillow fort while Danny corrected his measurements. "Yes," he agreed, pressing a kiss to Y/N's temple. "And I wouldn't change a thing."

Outside, the winter wind howled against the windows. Inside, the Black-Potter family remained warm, chaotic, and perfectly complete.

previous chapter <--> next chapter

𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐄 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐓

🌟 = 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 :

Movie night 🌟🎬 - At home movie date with step-father Timmy.

SERIES:

(not yet available)

BLURBS :

(not yet available)

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.

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About the blogˎˊ˗

what I do -> write fanfics and on some occasions, headcanons about timothée's characters

what I write about -> Harry Potter, Marauders, Characters played by Timothée, RPF, etc.

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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.