his wife and kids were there


For everyone talking about Cuba after Fidel Castro’s long overdue death.

For every white American news outlet and reporter (Buzzfeed, Michael Moore and even Anthony Bourdain) who wanted to paint Cuba as a Communist utopia with free school, free healthcare and therefore trivialize the countless hardships faced by real Cubans who can’t leave the island.

I’ve heard stories of my fiance’s grandfather whose legs rotted after being tortured for months in a pit of raw sewage for being a loan shark, my own grandfather who was a prisoner of war and was a Cuban refugee in the 80s who brought his two little kids and wife to America on a boat full of violent prisoners and the mentally ill, Castro’s own advisor of 17 years who was thrown into a pit of cockroaches for asking to resign (because he knew he’d be killed when his term was over). Castro and Che Guevara weren’t socialist pioneers, they were serial killers. Che isn’t a public figure who’s okay to wear on a fucking t-shirt because communism is a good idea to you, but this is the reason why so many Cuban-Americans are terrified of socialism and there isn’t a single American who should blame them.

Fidel was a twisted, almost king-like dictator who didn’t give a shit about his people, and his death doesn’t mean much when his legacy is still in place and our country is so much worse than it was just twenty years ago. Don’t say shit if you don’t know, if you haven’t been there. Please.

Day Eighty-Four

-Organizing children’s clothes, I find myself filled with great sorrow as I come to terms with the fact that I will likely not live to see the end of the Minions’ relevancy.
-An older man asked why anyone would purchase pants that were already worn out. His wife told him that it was simply the style this spring. I am glad to see that she is staying on top of everything.
-A toddler demanded that his parents let him try on a pair of gloves despite their persistent attempts to explain that they were too small. Once they gave in, he found himself stuck and immediately began to shout that the gloves were broken. Today has been a learning experience for us all.
-Parents continue to use me as a threat to their kids, saying that I will verbally and physically abuse them if they do not behave. Parents continue to make me uncomfortable.
-Three teenage girls roamed the store with a fart gun. They loudly discussed the idea of running up behind me and making it seem like I farted to everyone around. They then, with all the subtlety of a Scooby Doo villain, snuck up behind me to a respectful distance of ten feet, panicked as I turned around to look at them, blew the butt horn, and ran off giggling. These masters of mischief truly pranked me hard and well this evening.

Yesterday I woke up after a night of tears, and saw dozens of emails and donations in support of my work with LGBTQIA youth. 

Yesterday I wore my Nasty Woman t-shirt to the coffeeshop, and a black man came up to me to tell me he wanted to get one for himself and his son. I told him I would always fight for him.

Yesterday my mom called me in tears. She said she felt alone. She said she loved me. She told me I used to watch The Smurfs as a little kid, and I would look at her and say, “Look, mom, they are all holding hands. That is how you know they are gonna win.”

Yesterday I went to therapy.

Yesterday I blocked family members on social media.

Yesterday I cried. I held my wife, Jenny, close. I cried more.

Yesterday I did a livestream to create space for others in our community who were scared. We talked. We shared resources. Jenny sang The Rainbow Connection.

Yesterday I worked and I worked and I worked and I worked.

Yesterday I recorded a voice memo in an attempt to comfort a six-year-old who had woken up crying, and who asked his two moms how we could let a bad man be our president.

Yesterday I recognized and acknowledged my privilege as a white, cisgender woman.

Yesterday I feared for my brown, black, disabled, immigrant, undocumented, and Muslim friends. My trans friends. My friends who are survivors of sexual assault. My friends.

Yesterday was November 9, 2016.

Today I will fight. Tomorrow I will fight. 

I will never, ever stop fighting.

BTS As Dads


  • makes sure his kids and wife are always properly fed
  • type to steal his daughter’s princess tiara away from her so he can wear it
  • insists on cooking and baking for their birthday parties
  • allows the kids to help him cook (ex. wash the vegetables)
  • makes lots of embarrassing dad jokes, sometimes on purpose  sometimes not
  • let’s his kids paint his nails
  • loves to arrange play dates
  • the type to grill his daughter(s) boyfriend
  • would never admit in front of his kids that they were better looking than him but behind their backs he would gush about how they’re the gems of his world
  • would love to carry them on his shoulders


  • extreme soft spot for daughters (he’d feel more protective over them)
  • likes to take naps with his kids
  • often observes them from afar unable to believe they’re his
  • extremely understanding of the mistakes his kids make
  • tends to accidentally swear in front of them a lot
  • complains a lot but would lowkey like playing dress up with them
  • let’s them play with his hair and put make up on him
  • would encourage his kids to follow their dreams no matter what others thought of them, at the same time reminding them that he’d be proud and love them no matter what they chose
  • would constantly tell his wife they liked him more than her and that he was the cooler parent (lil shit)
  • when they were older, he’d constantly jokingly threaten to disown them whenever he was done with them lol
  • would teach his kids how to rap if they wanted to learn

Originally posted by aphador


  • loves to read them bedtime stories
  • since he loves fashion, you can bet his kids would look like little fashionistas
  • i can see him creating an instagram for them similarly to tablo and haru
  • helps them with homework
  • type to scare away the monsters hiding under their beds
  • being the accident prone individual he is, he’d be afraid they’d turn out the same so he would take extra measures to child proof everything for his kids sake and his own (knowing him though one sec he’d have his child on his lap the next they’d be on the floor crying)
  • helps them in whatever way possible to help them achieve their dreams
  • dresses up as Santa Clause for Christmas but instantly gets caught by his kids
  • loves to take them to get ice cream
  • would teach his children english
  • would teach his kids how to rap if that was something they were interested in


  • he’d be very affectionate
  • join in on his kids screaming (his poor wife)
  • even though he’s not the most studious he’d try his best to help his kids with their homework
  • he’d also be supportive af
  • he’d love to cuddle with his kids
  • he’d love to tuck them in and give them a good night kiss on the forehead
  • kisses their “boo boos” better
  • type to hang and even frame his kids drawings and keep whatever they made him
  • he would cry on any special day (ex. first day of school, graduation)
  • constantly remind his kids that they meant the world to him and he loved them unconditionally 
  • his kids would come out as extra as him 
  • teach his kids how to dance (he’d get so excited if one of them took an interest)


  • calls daughter his “little princess”
  • buys them a lot of gifts and unintentionally spoil tf out of them (his wife would need to intervene lol)
  • sings to his kids whenever they have nightmares
  • he’d always have a smile on his face when he was near them
  • loves to kiss his wife in front of them just to hear them say “ew”
  • loves giving them piggy back rides and pretending to be a plane
  • ruffles their hair a lot
  • goes all out for their birthdays
  • would always be fascinated by how small his kid(s) hands were
  • would constantly show them off to the other members (”look at how cute my kids are, they’re cuter than jungkook”)


  • who’s the parent again?
  • bends to his children’s will lol
  • takes a lot of pictures and likes recording important moments (ex. first steps)
  • he’d constantly be proud to call them his kid and show them off a lot
  • type to dress up as a clown for their birthdays and accidentally scare tf out of them
  • love to tickle them 
  • he’d have a lot of inside jokes with them that’d leave his wife curious
  • he’d love to play with them 
  • would never yell at his kids and if he did he’d feel bad immediately afterwards
  • would pinch their cheeks a lot
  • he’d love his children so much and he’d always remind them that he did


  • he’d be laid back but extremely protective at the same time
  • he’d tease his kids a lot
  • he’d love to sit them on his shoulders
  • the type to get scolded by his wife for using his kids as weights lol
  • loves taking them on adventures to the park, beach, etc
  • would probably turn his children into memes
  • goes crazy on their costumes for Halloween and building mini haunted houses with them
  • loves to travel with his family 
  • often saves the “i love you”s for important events so they’re more special
  • type to fix everything around the house
BTS Reaction - When their daughter gets jealous of affection/requested

Anonymous said: Bangtan reaction when their little daughter gets jealous of him when they kiss or hug their wife(kid is their both) ^^ Hope you get what I mean 😂



“I’ll see you later, babe.” Jungkook said as he pulled you close to him and kissed your lips. There was a small whimper below the two of you and Jungkook looked down, spotting his daughter staring up at the two of you with a pout on her face. He leaned down to pick her up, and planted a big kiss on her chubby cheek.

“Aw, there’s no reason to get mad. Daddy loves you just as much.”


You were making breakfast for yours and Namjoon’s three year old daughter, Seol, when he walked in and playfully grabbed you by your wrist. He pulled you into a quick kiss, and interlocked your fingers before planting a kiss on your knuckles. Your daughter squealed and said, “Daddy, no!”

“Oh, why not? She was mine first,” he laughed before hoisting your daughter up and kissing her forehead.


He had just gotten back from tour and you were standing at the gate of his plane, gripping yours and Hoseok’s four year old daughter’s hand. His mom stood slightly behind you, also anticipating Hoseok’s return. When you saw him, you said to your daughter, “Stay with grandma, Na Ri.” Before rushing to your husband and hopping into his arms. Fingers interlocked, your daughter ran from his mom and stopped short before saying, “I want you to hug me like you hugged mommy.”

“Of course, baby. I missed you so much.” Hoseok said with his arms wide open, then wrapping up his daughter in hugs and kisses.


It was early morning, and you and Jimin were awake and laying in bed. You were still sleepy and kept turning over and burrowing into your husband. He put his arm around you and held you close, before kissing your head. All was quiet before the two of you heard a little voice say, “Can you snuggle me like you snuggle with Mommy?” 

“C’mere, baby girl. We’ll snuggle with ya.”


The two of you had just finished doing the dishes when he got a call from the studio asking him to come in and finish up some choreography. He agreed, and kissed you before gently pulling you into a hug while mumbling, “Sorry, I’ll be back soon.” Your twin daughters started to giggle and kept looking at their parents. Jin smiled and hugged his little girls tightly.

“What are you two laughing at? I can’t give my love a kiss and a hug?”


You were helping your husband pack for the beginning of a short leg of the Wings Tour. He’d be back in two weeks - but it stunk going that long without him. You held your one year old daughter in your arms as you handed Tae a folded shirt. “I know you’re upset, I won’t be gone very long, I promise.” He said, pulling you towards him and kissing your lips. Your daughter began to whimper, signaling that she was about to cry. Taehyung laughed and brushed the hair from his daughter’s forehead.

“What, sweetheart? Are you going to miss me too, baby? I’ll be back soon, I promise.” He said, making funny faces at his daughter to try to cheer her up.


The three of you were in the car on the way to a doctor’s appointment. Today was the day you were getting an ultrasound to check on your second child’s health. You and Suga decided it would be okay to have your four year old come along to see her baby brother. During the car ride, Suga held tightly onto your hand and your baby girl blurted, “Daddy, I want you to hold my hand like that.”

Suga laughed and reached into the back seat to take hold of his little girl’s hand for the duration of the car ride. “See? All better.”

im emo this killed me

Ok but

Think about how loved Sasuke is.

How much Naruto loves him. How Naruto thinks of him as his brother. How they are brothers. How Naruto is willing to die for him and has been since they were kids.

Think about how much Sakura loves him. How she’s stood by him through thick and thin. How they’re married. She’s a loving devoted wife and she’s loved him since they were kids.

Think about Boruto. Think about how much he respects Sasuke. Think about how much he loves being his student and how much excitement he feels when they train.

Think about Sarada. How much she loves her Papa. How she loves him more than anything. How she went to find him at merely 11 years old. How she thought of their first meeting would go. How she was so overjoyed with love upon seeing him that her sharingan activated.

Think about Kakashi. Who tried his damn hardest to protect Sasuke. Who trained him as best he could and understood his pain unlike anyone else could. Who was brought to tears by his team’s laughter when Sasuke admitted defeat.

Think about how happy Itachi, Fugaku, and Mikoto would be to know that Sasuke is loved. That despite their demise, Sasuke is not alone. Sasuke is loved. Sasuke will always be loved.

when i was younger i used swapnote with 2 people that i didnt know at all. one of them was another kid and one was this, like, 30 year old dude.

he wasnt creepy at all he was really transparent about who he was. he had a job and a wife and i was always so enchanted by his swapnote messages because they always had his little bear character and they were so neat and tidy. it was really cool.


“I didn’t start to hate all women; as a matter of fact, I would venture to say I started to fall in love with every one of them. Every one of them became so precious to me ‘cause I wanted their friendship.”

Robert Hansen was born in Pocahontas, Iowa, and was a troubled child - he was known to wet his pants, commit arson, and shoplift. When he moved to Anchorage, Alaska, he followed in the footsteps of his father and opened up a bakery. When his wife and children were away on vacation, he began to stalk the areas where prostitutes were known to work, and he eventually began to murder them. He would sometimes pick them up in his truck and take them back to his house where he would rape and kill them. He was a licensed pilot, so at other times he would fly women out into the Alaskan wild, release them, and then hunt them down with his rifle or bow and arrow. When he was apprehended he admitted to seventeen murders, but Glenn Forthe, an Alaskan state investigator, believed that Hansen had most likely killed four or five women a year from the early 1970s until 1983.

He was finally caught when one of his intended victims escaped from his home, wearing only the handcuffs he had put on her wrists. During Hansen’s confession he went into great pains to rationalise his murders. He explained that he had always had problems with women, claiming as a teenager women refused to date him because of his acne and stuffer - “I was I guess what you might call very frustrated, upset all the time. I would see my friends and so forth going out on dates and so forth and I had tremendous desire to do the same thing.” He tried to make it clear that he always “loved” women but he made a distinction between good and bad girls. Bad girls were “fair game” to him - “I’m not saying that I hate all women. I don’t. Quite the contrary, if, I guess in my own mind what I’m classifying is a good woman, not a prostitute.”


Last year, NPR’s Ari Shapiro visited Toledo, Ohio, to talk to refugees settling there from Syria’s civil war. Recently, he returned to Toledo to check in on the community.

When we first met Omar Al-Awad and his family in the fall of 2015, they were among the newest refugee families from Syria settling in to life in Toledo, Ohio.

Back then, Awad was attending his first English class at a local church and couldn’t say much more than his name. Today he’s able to haltingly conduct a basic conversation in English.

He and his wife, Hiyam, also had a fourth baby — a boy, Salman, who just turned 1 and is a full-fledged American citizen. The other kids — Taiba, 5, Abdul-Jabar, 7, and Hammam, 10 — are now practically fluent in English.

But Hiyam says overall, this first year in the U.S. was tough.

In Toledo, Syrian Refugees Are Welcomed Amid A Difficult Immigration Climate

Photos: David Gilkey and Ari Shapiro/NPR

Raph coming out as gay in the family au like
  • Raphaëlle: Mom, I'm gay. Well, at least, I think so...I mean, I don't really like boys and-
  • Lena: Well, hi gay, I'm mom.
  • Raphaëlle: Mom...I'm serious.
  • Lena: I thought you were gay?
  • Amélie, facepalming: Mon dieu, Lena.
  • Lena: Aw, come on, love. I'm just kidding! So, Kitty, why's the questioning all of a sudden? You got a someone on your mind?
  • Raphaëlle: Well, there's this girl in my science class... [goes on to ramble about her crush for like 30 minutes]
  • Amélie, leaning over to whisper to her wife: Well, no doubt; she's gay.
  • Lena: [nods]

Steve X Reader
Summary: You’ve been self conscious about your tattoo since you were a kid, and Steve accidentally sees it.

Even after three years of being part of the Avengers, you had never shown them your tattoo: the tattoo that was supposed to match someone else’s, telling you both that you’re soulmates. Your tattoo looked like a simple house and you often wondered what that meant.

You’d seen, by accident, a few other members’ tattoos. Tony and Pepper had a strange, lacing pattern; Bruce had a complex drawing of a bush in his calf; Clint had, coincidentally, an arrow, and you assumed his wife had the same mark.

Your tattoo was on the back of your shoulder. To keep it covered up, you never wore a swimsuit without a shirt and you tried to avoid tank tops if you could help it.

Unless you trained with Natasha. Though you hadn’t seen here, she had certainly seen yours. She was the one who trained you when you first joined SHIELD, so why wouldn’t she have seen it?

You loved Natasha. She was like an older sister, always watching out for you. One day she did something that made you love her not so much.

You waltzed into the training area in a pair of running shorts and a spaghetti strap tank top. Ten minutes into the workout, you were getting into your “mind palace” when you heard a thud. Natasha stepped out of the way of a startled kick and you yelped, turning to see what made the noise.


“Nat!” you shouted, whirling around to face your mentor. “You could have told me to wear a shirt!” You glared at her and moved your hand to cover your shoulder.

“Y/N,” Steve said. He was suddenly closer than he was a few seconds ago. He lifted shirt to display the same mark on his side, right on his ribs.

Your blood ran cold and you felt at peace. Suddenly, your ability to work together better than anyone else on the team made sense. You had hoped that he would be the one, but you always felt too awkward to ask.

Suddenly, you reached out to touch the mark. Steve flinched. You knew your hands were cold (they always were), but they warmed instantly when they touched Steve’s warm skin.

“Three years we’ve known each other…” you whispered as your drew your hand back. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have hidden-”

“You have no reason to be sorry,” Steve interjected. “You were self conscious. But you have no reason to be. Now we’ll have to figure out what the marks mean.”

“Yeah,” you breathed.

Natasha took her leave, her hands held smugly behind her back as she walked.

Steve pulled back and let his shirt drop. He held his fists up in a joking matter. “Now let’s go. I don’t get to spar with you often.”

“You’re going down, old man.”

“Sure, kid.”

“I’m 19! An adult, Stevie!”

“Sure, kid.”


Request: Jason’s wife is shot accidentally when a street kid mugs her and Jason arrests the kid and takes his wife to the hospital and when his wife wakes up she convinces Jason to bail the kid out and let him stay in their apartment because she doesn’t blame him for shooting her and he’s just a kid who is trying to survive on the street. At first Jason doesn’t like the idea (because the kid shot his s/o) but then he realizes that the kid is kinda like him when he was younger and just family fluff

Warnings: Slight swearing

AN: There were other blogs with this request so I tried to change it up a bit to avoid copying.  Sorry.  Also sorry this took so long.

Pain was a bitch; something that you heard all your life.  Which was also, something that you never understood until now.  You had been walking home from the store when you were pulled into an alleyway.  By a kid with a gun pointing in your direction.  You put your hands up in to show you meant no harm.  Slowly, you walked towards him, being stopped by his shout.  “Don’t walk any closer or I’ll… I’ll shoot.”  

He didn’t mean it, there was no way he did.  The hand with the gun shook violently, along with his voice.  Calmly, you called back “I’m not going to hurt you.  What’s your name?”  He called back with a tremor “Jake.”  You stepped forward slowly “That’s great Jake, I’m Y/N.”  With the distracted boy, you reached towards your phone to call Jason.  And then you felt it.  A searing pain ripped through your side, making you fall to the ground.  You saw the blood pooling out and you laid there.  The last thing you heard was the boy apologizing repeatedly.  

When you woke up you heard the beeping of machines around you.  Your eyes were closed, but you could feel a pressure on your arm.  Struggling, you opened your eyes to see Jason asleep, on your arm.  You wiggled your fingers, which had woken him up.  He sat up and looked at you with red eyes.  He pulled you into a hug and said “I thought something happen-” You cut him off “Jason I’m fine. See?”

The nurse walked in with a smile and said  “Hello, you look fine so we’d like to release you today.  Any questions?”  “Where’s the kid?”  Her smile faltered for a second but her composure was regained when she answered.  “He’s currently waiting to be put into juvie,” she paused and then continued, “Ok let’s get into those discharge papers!”  

After the papers, Jason walked you to the car. You turned to your boyfriend and pleaded “We can’t let him go to Juvie.”  He replied “Y/N he almost killed-.”  You stopped walking and protested “But he didn’t. He was just like you Jason, do you want him to live like you did?”

He grumbled but let out a small ok.  Soon, the two of you were at the center to bail him out.  After paying the bail, you saw Jake pushed out of the door and towards you.  The guard scoffed when he saw Jake stand there.  “Do you want to go to juvie kid?”  Jason beat you to the kid.  He saw himself in the kid.  Which just made him want to help the kid. You walked over to the two of them and put your arms around them.  You smiled, “Hey Jake, this is Jason. We want you to live with us if that’s fine.”  He was confused.  He shot you and you wanted to adopt him?  He asked “But why?”  

You opened your mouth, but Jason answered first.  “Look kid, I get where you’re coming from, I lived it.  We want to help you.  But pull that shit again and you’re out.”  Jake smiled and hugged both of you, and thanked you.

It was weeks after you took Jake in.  And it was the best decision you made.  “Jake you’re gonna be late if you don’t hurry,” you called.  Footsteps were heard racing towards you and soon you were tackled into a hug.  Your son peered up at you, feigning innocence. “Can I stay home.  I feel sick.”  And he added a small cough just to be sure.  You laughed at his plan.  Faking shock you said “You poor sick thing.  You can’t go to school.”  Jason snuck up and slung Jake around his shoulders.  Playing along he said, “Oh no.  I guess you’ll have to stay in bed all day,”  “Doing nothing” he added with a grin.

Jake snapped out of his “sickness” and said “Me sick?  I’ve never felt better.  Well there’s the bus gotta go.”  And he raced out the door.  You turned to Jason and laughed “I’m glad we took him in.”  He kissed your forehead and responded, “You and me both.”

Soryu reuniting with MC and his son after she leaves him while pregnant. 

(In my old head canons he has a daughter, but since Voltage decided to make him a legit kid, I’ll use ‘em) 

You need more than just love to be a mafia wife.

Soryu’s choice in career was difficult for you to accept. However much you believed you could have a future with him, you found yourself corrected and corrected again.
He came home with injuries and blood on his hands, the grim look on his face striking fear and tremors into your hands as you cleaned him up.
You were happy that he came home to you, relieved that he was alive, but you didn’t dare think about how many times he could safely return in the future.
He told you not to worry, that he will be fine, but the more frequently he tried to reassure you with those words, the more empty they became. As you poured more of yourself into fostering your relationship with Soryu, the days started to drag back on your sanity.
Interest in things started to ebb. You applied for more shifts at your job, begging Eisuke to let you work, begging your coworkers to give you something to do to actively occupy your mind. Only when you were busy you could stop imagining, stop thinking of possibilities, stop fretting, stop torturing yourself with disgust and terror at Soryu’s organization. There seemed to be nothing left of you but work and housework, and it was for the better. It kept your mind from wandering. Just a bit.
Your boyfriend noticed it all, but he never had the words to help you. He was confused as you were, worried as you were, and his personality of little talk could only give comfort in his actions. He tried to spend time with you, cherishing moments of leisure spent together in the suite. His warm embrace, his low voice, the firm scent of his skin, the dark eyes, everything about him was a fraction of peace for the pieces your mind fell apart into. He tried, but he found no success in saving you from yourself.
The hours of agonizing waiting drew your thoughts away from food completely. You sat there, feeling the hands of the clock tick away your energy, feeling the loneliness and fear of the worst wrestle in your stomach. Or perhaps it was your stomach needing food, lashing out at you, haunting your mind with more terror as you left the hunger unanswered. You just waited, like a statue, an empty carving of a woman, hollowed by your own demons and desperately praying for your boyfriend to return safely to you. The moment he walks through the door is when you suddenly regain all ability to move, suddenly animated, suddenly alive.
He kisses you, caresses you, draws you close to him as every sense recovers momentarily from the numbness. You needed him.
But even as you lay in the bed under him, the man you love moving inside you, his lips raining steady kisses to your skin, you found no pleasure. It seemed too much like plain reassurance, like a form of reaffirming your reality rather than that blissful intimacy you once knew. No matter how he ravished you with his affections, your body hardly responded, stiff and awkwardly continuing in a familiar repetition of senseless intercourse. You just weren’t feeling it. Ever.
But you didn’t want him to stop.
The physical contact was nice. It kept you rooted in reality, kept you awake, kept you thinking of him.
You fell victim to your own mind, thoughts shattering in the way of your gloomy pessimism and fretfulness. Sometimes you would forget things, like leaving behind that extra ingredient you swore to buy, finding a pack of tiny pills on the counter that still contained the ones you thought you ate, running the washing machine when the only thing in there was a sock you forgot to remove from the last use.
You were done.
Done with yourself, done with the world.
There was one way you could think of to silence the horror of your mind, but you couldn’t do it before Soryu.
You packed up and left, trying to let him believe you would live on- away from him and safe. This was the one thing you could focus on in a while, packing all of your belongings into one suitcase and choosing a time where he wasn’t home.
You went straight to the water’s edge, knowing it wasn’t likely for you to be found here before you succeed.
Half a bottle of wine and strong pills later, you open your eyes in the hospital.
“She’s finally awake. Gosh.”
Ota’s annoyed voice sounded by your ear.
“She’s such a handful. Eisuke just had to send ME after her when HE thinks she’s looking off. And leave me with a puking mess.”
A handful.
Absolutely useless.
Luke gazed down at you calmly, with a gaze that subdued all the sinister and negative thoughts in your mind. He ordered you to rest, and informed you that he would speak to you when you woke again.
He spoke to you about your condition, your pregnancy, and your future. All three things came as a shock, a stunning sort of feeling that you didn’t know you still had the capability to experience.
You cried.
You haven’t cried for a long time, being so numb and lacking in emotion.
But you sobbed in Luke’s arms, begging him to help you, for once believing that you weren’t alone, suddenly desiring life more than ever as your hands clutch the photograph of your ultrasound. You begged him to keep it a secret from Soryu, pleading with the doctor that it would be safer for the child without the father’s background still looming over you. Luke didn’t like the idea, but was simply too frazzled by a sobbing, blubbering woman grabbing on to him for dear life, and complied.
He gave you a business card, and shipped you off to London along with a sum of money. As you tried to refuse the graciousness, Luke smiled sheepishly and stuck his phone in his pocket. You could have sworn you saw Eisuke’s name on the screen before it disappeared between folds of fabric.
“Consider it a gift from the baby’s two new godfathers.”
You cried again, and left him in a mess as you hugged him, thanking him and Eisuke for their support, weeping your endless gratefulness into his shoulder.


“Why did you let her leave?”
Soryu growled, masking his anguish and utter loss behind his fur as he grabbed his friend by the collar. Luke met his eyes with the same indifferent look he always seemed to bear.
“She’s killing her self by staying.” Luke shoved Soryu back off of him, and the man let go as a rush of weakness flooded him. “I sent her to the most qualified woman I know. That is my judgement as a doctor, and it is not your certification to judge whether she will recover at your side.”
The dark fire died in Soryu’s eyes, succumbing to the crushing defeat as he sank into the couch. He lost her. He pushed her to the brink of death and lost her to the fears he couldn’t quench.
“I know where she is staying.” Luke admitted. “She doesn’t want you to go seek her, but I can at least tell you that she is alive. “
“You think that’s a good thing?” Soryu snarled, glaring at the blond man. “I want her to be well, I want to protect her.” His voice cracked. “I’m supposed to. And now I have to depend on you to tell me she’s alive?”
“Or Luke could tell you nothing at all.” Eisuke cut in. “Soryu, there wasn’t anything you were doing for her. Luke sending her away is better. Give her time to recover, and you can bring her home when she’s ready.”
Soryu fell silent, his voice snuffed out in his throat as your disappearance settled into his chest as a permanent hollow.
“I can go find her when she’s better.” He muttered to himself in a weakly convincing tone.
“Yes, you can.” Eisuke put a hand on his friend’s shoulder, and gripped tightly.

Heartbreak and crippling depression was nothing when you had the guidance of Luke’s talented friend. And there was Ryusei to take care of. You could finally focus enough to push the fearful thoughts out of your mind, to overcome your anxiety as the environment around you was safer, simpler, and you could take care of your newborn son. He was born to you in the most beautiful London winter, and you felt a long overdue sense of peace as you held him in your arms and gazed past the foggy glass at the drifting flakes. With the help from Luke’s old friend, Ms Ziegler, you were steadily recovering. Things started to regain their vividness, happier, worthy of your emotion. Especially Ryusei. He was quiet and peaceful as a baby, rarely crying, always giving everyone a happy little smile when he was held. He was the joy of your life, that positive aspect you retained from your time with Soryu as the passing months washed away your anxiety.


“She what?”
Soryu roared.
“I don’t know where she is anymore.” Luke said quietly.
“You said you’d keep an eye out for her!” Soryu shouted his disbelief in the penthouse suite, pain twisting his words as they tore out of his lungs.
“Angela told me this morning that she left. Sorry, Soryu.”
“Where is she going?”
“I don’t know. Angela wasn’t even told.”


You had left a letter of love and thanks to your doctor before disappearing again with your son. You knew her connection to the people you didn’t want to contact in Japan, knew that she was keeping them updated about you, and you just weren’t ready to think about them again. You were not going to subject yourself that the environment that kindled your depression in the first place, not going to risk your son’s life with his father’s career.
You put together the remaining money from Luke’s gift, and flew to your cousin in southern Japan.


“She might be headed back here?”
Baba tried to sooth things over, but the calming voice wavered with his own uncertainty and worry at Soryu’s reaction.
Ota glared at his friend, knowing full well that the possibility was slim.
She wasn’t going to come back.


“Look, Ryusei, we’re home.”
You smile at your son in your arms. Your cousin pulled your small suitcase behind you, patting your shoulder.
“This place hasn’t been occupied for a while because the location isn’t that convenient. You staying here is at least giving it some purpose.”
“I’ll pay you rent when I find a job.” You promised. She only smiles and ruffles your hair.
“I’m in no rush for money. Do what you can, and I might just forget the rest, okay?” She winked and hugged you, giving you a familiar sense of family and hospitality that you missed so dearly.


She left London.
But she won’t come home to me.
She went somewhere without me because she can’t stand to be with me anymore.
She’d rather suffer on her own.

Soryu missed you.
He missed the sweet voice greeting him as he came through the doors, missed sharing his happiness with the cheery attitude, missed that supportive and energetic woman who kept him in check.
He was the one who killed that woman, who ground her cheerfulness away to brittle depression and fear.
It was his fault.
In the sheer helplessness, he tried to give himself hope, tried to convince himself that he had the power to fix things.
That perhaps, his effort could lead you home.


Ryusei was a wonderful child.
Mild tempered, polite, thoughtful, and appreciative of everything he had. It was never easy being a single mother, working at a restaurant, squeezing every paycheque to pay for food and necessities, managing to scrape a bit extra for rent as you didn’t like to abuse your cousin’s generosity.
There was still nothing better than spending time with your son. He always drew, sketching pictures of plants and the strays that loved to surround him. He was tall for his age, with dark hair and the same ink coloured eyes as his father. They rippled with a calm tranquility though, unlike the steely fierceness Soyru always had. You were pleased about it. Maybe your son had a chance to live a normal life after all. The eyes shone the brightest when he spoke of what he wanted to do, to adopt all the animals, to become a veterinarian, to be the best in the world, to be recognized for intelligence and skill.
You didn’t have the heart to tell him you couldn’t afford that sort of education for him. You would do anything you could to give him that opportunity, to let your son live up to what he can be.
Sometimes you couldn’t help but think that it would be easier to hand Ryusei to his father. Soryu was wealthy, easily able to give him the best upbringing, letting him have the background and support to pursue his dreams.
But you didn’t know how. You didn’t want to get Ryusei involved with all the crime that may set him on a different path. There were no guarantees of what could happen, and you couldn’t bear to leave your son so vulnerable.


It took Soryu a few years to fully detach himself from the Ice Dragons. He appointed another leader, oversaw the organization for a while, and withdrew his presence completely. He had other plans now, better plans, something that might give him a sliver more of a chance at reuniting with you.
He looked out across the busy room now at Inui. The new floor manager, the once obedient and nervous young fellow had grown into a confident and capable man, holding a clipboard and running through the restaurant doing his checks. The scents of soy sauce and meat filled the air, accompanied by that wholesome scent of freshly steamed buns.
People change for the better.
He can too.

“Hey boss.”
Inui passed Soryu a dish of shrimp dumplings fresh from the kitchen.
“How is it looking out there?”
“Lunch is rush is over. Cleanup is running pretty smoothly!” The man planted his hands on his hips proudly. “The new procedures actually streamlines the job.”
Soryu ate.
Inui grinned at his praise.
“How does the dumpling skin taste?” He asked.
“What do you mean?” Soryu looked down at his food.
“Just try it and answer me.”
“It’s chewy, but it doesn’t stick to my teeth.” Soryu paused and took another bite. “Very smooth too. But the lack of stickiness is very striking.”
“We’re trying a new non-stick recipe in the kitchen.” Inui handed Soryu some files. “It should make the skins smoother and more chewable so it doesn’t stick to the teeth and turn gummy.”
He flipped through the documents, reading the ingredient list and cost analysis.
“Good job.” Soryu nodded.


Days flew by with Ryusei at your side. Laughing days, saddening days, days of joy, and days of worrying over his feverish state. You were fully recovered, able to enjoy your life as it was.

You were walking to pick up your son from class one day when you say him sitting on the school steps, cradling a black puppy in his arms.
“Ryusei, where did you find it?”
“I don’t know, mom.” He looked up at you with those soft dark eyes. “It seemed hungry and sad and it came to me.”
It didn’t have a collar, and it buried its face into Ryusei’s shirt, letting the boy pet the matted fur.
Small animals really loved his father too, you recalled achingly. The similarities were starting to show through more as Ryusei began to express himself more through language and action. A natural leader, quiet steadfastness, the ability to sympathize with and care for small animals, the intelligence and calculation behind a calm personality.
“Let’s get it to a shelter.” You say gently as your son hops to his feet. The two of you head for the closest animal charity home, and some voices come around the corner.

“I don’t think this kind of place would be ideal to open another dim sum joint of yours.”
Eisuke looked around, arms crossed, eyes scanning skeptically around the area of plain houses, cafes, and convenience stores. It wasn’t a big city like Tokyo.
“The neighbourhood doesn’t have to be rich necessarily.” Soryu replied. “Our surveys say this is the most high demand location.”
He looked up and down the street, taking in the crowds and blinking vehicle lights. Amidst the people, he could almost swear he saw a familiar face dip into his vision and vanish again.
“__________.” He breathed out.
It was a name Eisuke hasn’t heard in a while. He looked at his friend in shock.
Soryu stared off into the distance, all thoughts lost, walking down the street in a trance like desperation as he looked for the glimpse he had and lost in the sea of people.

“Here we are, Ryusei.”
You smile and he trots up to the doorway of the animal charity house.
“Hey, no, wait!”
The puppy, as if recognizing the place, squirms out of his arms. The boy, caught off guard, loses his grip and the black pup dashes away in search of more refuge.

“Small animals love you, Soryu.”
Eisuke chuckled.
Soryu frowned down at the puppy at his feet, tail curled between its legs and whimpering sadly.
“Wait! Come back!”
A boy’s voice called after the puppy, and Soryu saw a young child tear down the street, hurrying towards him.

“Sorry, Mister!” Ryusei extended his arms to the puppy, wiggling small fingers, coaxing it with a gentle and adoring voice.

It’s been a while since Soryu has heard a voice like that, tender and affectionate, promising never to hurt, singing to a broken soul to heal and protect them. Just like you.
“Where’s your mother, boy?”

“Oh!” Ryes looked behind him, suddenly nervous at losing you when running. A breath of relief escaped him as he saw you catch up.

“Ryusei, you can’t just run off like that! You’re going to bump into people and hurt them and get lost!” You scold through hurried gasps of air as you grab onto your son. His young face was so bright, glowing up at you, a relief to see.

Soryu was speechless.

You raise your head at Eisuke’s voice sounding over you, and something seeps into you, freezing you from the spine down to your limbs. Your gaze drifts from him to the man beside him, the face you dreamed of so many times, the figure you never thought you’d see again in your lifetime. He was as stunt as you were, staring at you with open disbelief. Everything coursed through his mind, how he missed you, how he just wanted to hold on to you in the desperate fear of losing you again. He needed something to root him to the ground as the world around him whirled out of his control and left him to sink into a spiral of hope and hopelessness.
Every instinct told you to flee, and you grab Ryusei’s hand.
“Come on.” You say quietly, unable to retract your gaze from Soryu’s face. “We have to go.”
“The puppy!”
“We have to GO.”

You’ve dreamed of seeing him, longed to reunite, but you couldn’t handle a meeting like this. The fear of his reaction, the memories of your depression, the horrid images of blood and violence, everything you left behind seven years ago caught up to you in the same instant, and you almost screamed.
The silence dragged on in the streets, and Soryu shattered the unmoving scene as he gave in to his need and grabbed your arm.
His voice came out in a hoarse whisper.

You struggled, crying out in protest, begging him to let you go, wrenching your arm in his grasp. He stammered his own pleas, begging for you to listen, for you not to run away from him, for you to give him a chance. Voices flew between the two of you, missing their target of ears, lost in a simultaneous bout of expression for all the repressed emotions.

“Let go of my mom!”

Eisuke watched with amusement as the small boy punched Soryu in the stomach with all his strength. The child barrelled into Soryu, shoving him away from you, twisting on Soryu’s arm, trying to force him to release you. He did. Not because of the boy, but from the numbing chill at the terrified look in your eyes.

“Who are you?”
Ryusei yelled up at him, clinging to Soryu’s arm with all his strength, glaring daggers.
You shake your head at your son, rambling something about telling him to stop, that you had to leave, that he needed to let go and come to you. Words fell jumbled from your lips, frazzled in thought as you noticed, for the first time, the intense fire in the steel of your son’s eyes.

Soryu tried to reach for you, and Ryusei clung on, screaming.
“Don’t hurt my mom!”
Eisuke noticed the staring crowds, and turned to his friend .
Soryu let his extended arm fall to his side, staring at you with endless longing. Ryusei let him go and scurried to your side, standing in front of you protectively.
Eisuke was as composed and relaxed as ever as he raised an eyebrow at you.
“_________, care to join us for a coffee?”
“No! She doesn’t want to!” Ryusei snapped at Eisuke. “Why are you such a bully?”
You lay a hand on Ryusei’s shoulder to calm him, and he falls silent, grabbing your fingertips in search of some reassurance. You squeeze his hand.
“We have time for a coffee.” You manage to say.


The puppy had been brought with them to the cafe. Now it stomped over Eisuke’s shoes to curl up by Soryu’s legs.
Eisuke studied the face of the boy. He looked familiar, a faint glimpse of Eisuke’s own childhood friend on the young face.
“How old are you, boy?”
Ryusei pressed his lips together and said nothing.
Eisuke was not used to being ignored, and glared at the child. The child glared back.
“Ryusei is six.” You answered in his place.

Soryu sat there, his gaze fixed on you, picking up every detail about your face. The look of age ghosted across your face, a tired and strained look that tried to erode away the beauty he saw. But you were as beautiful as ever, perfectly genuine and loving as you held your son’s hand, perfect despite the seven years that escaped him.
Seven years.
He had lost you for seven years, letting you slip through his fingers, losing what he once held so dear.
And now you were here, sitting in a coffeeshop, looking back at him with an expression of unreadable mixture of feelings, reigniting the love he tried keep build for so long.
Here you were.

“You seem well, Soryu.”
You flinch at his curt answer, the shortness of the word.

Soryu bit back the pleas that shook his voice, not wanting to scare you again. He draws in a deep breath, and you anticipate him to speak. He just exhaled with a dropping sigh. An awkward silence ensued, you ducking your head to avoid eye contact.

“Seriously, you two, get to it.” Eisuke folded his arms over his chest annoyedly, glancing at his watch. “_________, are you going to explain why you’ve kept Soryu’s kid away from him for all these years?”
Soryu jolted in his seat as his attention finally went to the child sitting beside you.
His son?”
He could see the dark hair, the intense eyes under the bangs, churning with fire that sat beneath self control and patience. He did look a little like him.
But Soryu couldn’t believe.
You left him, you hated him, you went to seek a better life somewhere else, with someone else, certainly.
He looked to you with a questioning gaze.
“H-How do you think-“
Eisuke’s chuckle cuts you off.
“You’re as easy to read as ever.”
You chew your lip and turn to your son. He pats your hand gently, all the violence from him having retracted inside a decently behaved boy as he observed your attitude change towards the two strange men. He was a surprisingly mature child.

Soryu called for you, the sound of your name so quiet, floating on a thread of possibility.
“Is it true?”

You couldn’t look at him, not like this. Not after you and promised yourself you could be fine on your own, not after you tried to bury the unsettled feelings in your heart. You did love him. The circumstances took you away from him, forcing you to leave him and save yourself first.
You felt the tears roll down your cheeks before you could control them, slipping off your lashes and trailing in a trickle over your skin. A rare tremor shook your shoulders, shaking loose the pent up feelings and anguish inside you as you cried.
Soryu pressed against the table, leaning closer to you, trying to comfort you but losing his voice as the reality pressed onto him.
How could you do this to him?
How could you hide away whatever last chance he had at a family?
How could you be so cold to leave him hanging on broken shards of his heart, to leave his affections unanswered for seven years?

“I’m sorry…” You coughed out, wiping your eyes with the back of your hands, finding more teardrops the more you tried to rub them out. “I needed to leave, I couldn’t live like that- I- I was selfish…” You’ve built yourself up so well over these years, raising Ryusei on your own, depending on no one but yourself, hardening the delicate young woman into a strong mother. In front of Soryu however, you were just you. Ryusei clung to you, rubbing your arm, sadly whispering at your side.
“Don’t cry, mom.”
He shot Soryu the dirtiest look he had.
“Go away.” Ryusei spat out. “Go away. Both of you.”
Soryu looked at his son sternly and answered.
He reached out and took your hand in his. You gave it a yank, but he held tightly.
“Did Luke know about Ryusei?”
“Everyone knew but me?”
“Yes…” You couldn’t hear anything but coldness in his voice, scaring you to the core. He couldn’t forgive you. He wouldn’t. Not after everything you’ve done.
“How could you, ___________?”
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry… There was nothing else I could have done! I didn’t want to leave, Soryu.”
“You still did.”
“Leaving broke my heart.” You peer at him through the blur of tears. “But it kept me alive. It was for the better.”
“The better?” He sounded skeptical, frustrated.
“What could you have done? With a depressed girlfriend, an illegal career… what could you have done to promise your own child a safe life?”
He had no answer, pinned to his seat with guilt and uselessness. You finally caught his gaze, meeting the tormented grey irises that swam with prayers.
“Now… Now, ____________, can you come back?”
Your heart trembles at the plea in his voice, not quite young enough to flutter but not quiet hard enough to not long for him.
“Soryu is running a dim sum business now, if you’re wondering.” Eisuke said. “He thought he wanted to be the average person with a restaurant since you hated his job so much. Well, that was after he got over the stage of trying to murder Luke.”
You couldn’t help but chuckle, making a slight hick through your crying. The laughed sparked something in the air, making Soryu’s tensed form relax a little.
“Can you come back, __________?” He asked again.
“Come home.” He looked down at the table where he was still gripping onto your hand. “I’ve missed you.”


Thanks for the read!
Hope you liked!

This took me 5 forevers to write ugh

Oh! Oh! Can I request a Negan x reader fic where the reader just turned 18 and Negan shares her first drink with her which leads to the bedroom? I got my fingers crossed for a little freaky-Deaky. 🤞🏻❤️ @fandomfreak202

sorry this took a decade to get out! hope you enjoy! x 

“23rd February. Red circle? Shit. Why did I circle today?” you thought curiously, looking up at your calendar, you had purchased from the sanctuary’s ‘store’ with your hard earned points. You had the job of laundry, mostly just the wives dresses and lingerie. They frequently needed them washing, considering Negan got through at least a minimum of two wives a day. You couldn’t deny your jealousy, sitting on your ass all day and getting anything you wanted would be nicer than having to go outside and deal with the post-apocalyptic world. You knew Negan would never offer you the chance to become a wife, his pet names for you were ‘kid’ or ‘little one’, making you feel like a three year-old. He would never see you as a woman, always that kid.

You got ready for the day, grabbing your point’s sheet and heading down to the washroom. Your friend, Malia was already down there, working away without you. “Trying to get some extra points? Your a half an hour early.” She quizzed, looking confused. “No, I’m just a little forgetful today. I circled today on my calendar and I can’t remember why. Did I ever mention it to you?” Malia shook her head, folding the top she was holding. “No. I can’t remember you mentioning anything.” You sighed, feeling stumped. You knew that it would annoy you until you remembered why today was so special.

 You finished your 7 hour shift, placing the washboard back in its holder.  Malia had finished about an hour ago, saying good night to you as it was getting dark when she left. You wiped your face with a flannel, a slight sheen of sweat on your forehead.  You locked the door to the washroom behind you, placing the key in your back pocket. You began walking back to your room, located on the other side of the sanctuary. You took a turn to the left, walking down the corridor that had the saviour’s rooms along it. Going up the stairs, you came to the floor that housed the wives and their rooms.  A pain of jealousy hit your heart, knowing Negan was probably with one of them right now.

You came to your door, before Simon sneaked up on you from behind, wrapping his arms around you in a hug. “Happy birthday, sweetheart!” he exclaimed, as you turned your head to look at him. That’s what you had forgotten; it was your birthday today! You didn’t really see the point in celebrating birthdays anymore, but you didn’t want to put a damper on Simon’s mood. “Thank you Si. What did you need me for?” You asked, just wanting to get a nice bath. “Negan wants to see you in his room, asap.” he said, giving you one last hug before walking off back to his duties. You started to worry a little, if Negan asked you to visit him, it wasn’t normally good. Last time, Dwight had been burnt by Negan. You couldn’t think of anything you might have done to piss him off, so you hoped it wasn’t anything negative. You walked further upstairs, onto the floor of Negan’s room. This floor was reserved for Negan and his top guys, making you intimidated and not worthy of being here. Negan’s door was placed at the end of the hallway, every step you took felt like a mile. You approached the door, breathing in and out before knocking firmly on the door.  

“Come in!” you heard him shout through the door, firm and blunt. You pushed the handle down, opening the door with a slight creak.  You popped your head around the door, seeing Negan sat at his desk, leather jacket placed on the back of his suede desk chair. “You wanted to see me, sir?” you addressed him, not knowing what your words did to him. “Come on in sweetheart.” He beckoned you in with his fingers; you feeling yourself swoon at his nickname. You walked further into the room, his eyes watching your chest swell in the tight tank top you had on. “Don’t be nervous, darlin’. I brought you in here because…” he started, opening one of his wooden desk draws to reveal a bottle of whisky. “I want your first drink to be with me.” He pulled the lid off with his teeth, grabbing two small glasses. He guided you to the couch, sitting at the side of you. He placed the glasses on the glass coffee table in front of the couches.  He passed you one, clinking the glasses together before you both gulped them down. You heaved at the taste, feeling the alcohol burning your throat. “Don’t worry darlin’, you get used to the taste.”

“So you were a teacher? In a school? With children? And you didn’t get fired, ever?” you asked in disbelief, feeling tipsy from the whisky you and Negan had been sharing. “Hey now, I was a good fucking teacher. I do wonder what happened to my students sometimes though, some of them were fucking good but others were fucking shit.” He confessed, downing the leftover contents of the glass. “Did they call you coach Negan? Or Mr Negan?” you giggled, picturing Negan in a sports outfit, playing soccer or basketball. “Always fucking sir, sweetheart. They showed me respect, just like you do doll. I like that about you.” He smiled, edging closer to you. 

“You know, being 21 now. I don’t feel any different; I don’t feel like a woman. I mean, what 21 year old hasn’t had sex before?” you sighed, not realising what you had let slip to your crush.  “You’re a virgin, doll? Oh my goodness.” He said, getting up from the seat. “Please, don’t treat me like a kid. Negan.” You sighed, walking over to him, grabbing onto his t-shirt to make him stay. “I want this, I want you. I have for a while but you see me as some dumb kid, don’t you?” you cried, letting the alcohol mess with your emotions. 

“No sweetheart, I don’t see you as a dumb kid. I see you as an independent, sexy grown woman. I’ve always wanted you, hell more than my fucking wives. I’ve imagined you in every position possible, but I didn’t want to act on it because of your age. I didn’t want to be the creepy old pervert.” He explained, his eyes burning into yours. “Well, lucky for you. I’m into older guys anyway.” You whispered into his ear, beginning to kiss under his earlobe. You heard him give a low growl, picking you up, walking towards the couch again. He put you down, spreading your legs so he could get in-between them. He placed his lips on yours, his beard rubbing against your cheek. Your fingers ran through his slicked back hair, as his hands grasped your waist. You ran your hands down his chest, and put them up his t-shirt, silently begging for him to take it off. He whipped it off, disregarding it on the floor, his full attention on you. He placed his hands on his belt, undoing it so he could get to his zipper.  

He began to slide his trousers down his legs as you took your top off, throwing it down near his t-shirt. You straddled him, feeling his hardening cock through his boxer shorts. He ran his hands up your back, unclasping your bra. As soon as your breasts were exposed, he took your right nipple in his mouth, sucking and teasing. You moaned, grabbing onto his hair. You broke away from him, so you could take off the rest of your clothes. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this babygirl.” He gasped, pulling your naked body back on top of him. You put your hands down his boxer shorts, grasping onto his hard cock. He moaned, bucking his hips slightly as he lifted himself so you could slide them off his body. They fell like a pool at the bottom of his feet, kicking them off before climbing back on top of you.

 “Fuck, are you ready sweetheart?” he asked, you dripping with anticipation. “Yes fuck!” you begged, Negan admiring you from above. He slid into your opening, you fitting him like a glove. You felt a tight pain as he began at a slow pace, knowing he didn’t want to hurt you. The pain started to subside the faster he went, you easing more into it. “Fuck, Negan harder!” you moaned, wrapping your legs around him, allowing him to go deeper. “Fuck, sweetheart. You feel so fucking good!” he said, grabbing your legs from around him, placing them on his shoulders. You gasped at the new feeling, pleasure building up in your core. Negan could feel himself getting ready, not wanting to release before you.

 “Come on baby, let me see that pretty cum face of yours.” He growled, hearing your whimpers and moans bringing him closer to his own climax. You felt yourself let go, along with a loud shout of Negan’s name. “Fuck, sweetheart. Shit!” he swore, feeling him release inside you. He fell on top of you, making sure not to crush your body in the process.

“Fuck, baby. Can I propose to you now?”

Originally posted by lucifer-ellis

Requested by  ateliefloresdaprimavera <3
Prompt:  Yay! Ok, so I’d like to request a Lucifer Morningstar imagine where YN his wife, is also a fallen angel, but his complete oposite:likes people and specially kids, and they’re mad for one another
A/N: sorry for the latenesszzzz


You love kids. Lucifer…not so much. So when you told him for the umpteenth time you wanted to adopt a child he finally snapped. “No!” He yelled, the already empty room becoming ten times quieter as you felt your fingertips go numb. His eyes were a flaming red, “How many times do I have to tell you?! No kids!” Your shock was quickly replaced by anger and clenching your fists you sneered at him.

I convinced my fellow brothers to let you into Father’s garden. I fell from heaven for you. I took a vacation from hell with you. And you can’t…can’t even grant me one wish? You love Trixie. Why can’t…” Your tone turned bitter as you looked away, sighing, “Why can’t you…just…” You rubbed your temples, “You know what. Do what you want. Go play detective. I’m going to go and buy a new house because clearly your Lux apartment is not a healthy environment for a child.” With that, you spun on your heel, stalking to the elevator..

“You’ll adopt without me?!”

“Yes.” You pressed the elevator button.

“You cant do that! A child needs a father!”

“Then I’ll find a new man.”


“Wait! I’m sorry!” He blurred as you stepped into the elevator. “(Name)! Please, I was just joking! Haha, see? a joke! Please don’t leave me.” The doors started to close as he rushed to them, “(Name). Please. I’m sorry. Let’s go togetherIloveyou!” The doors closed completely on his words.

Requests are opened!

Please Be Okay (Spencer Reid x Reader)

word count: 1200

               “He’ll listen to me, Hotch. Let me go in there.” You were standing outside the suspects house. Inside with him were his two kids and his ex-wife, who were being held hostage. The team had tried negotiating with the murderer, but he didn’t want anything but revenge. “He’ll listen to me! He’s not use to a female being in a place of authority- “

               “No, you’re not going in.” Spencer grabbed your arm, making you look over at him. He could feel his heart racing, and the anger inside him growing. “We are not about to throw you in there! You are not dispensable!”

Keep reading

Daddy Holmes: Whatever she is, Mycroft, she remains our daughter!

Mycroft: She left a little boy to drown in a well, burned our family home to the ground, raped and murdered a nurse beyond recognition, blew up Sherlock’s flat, manipulated a man to kill himself to save his wife before killing said wife, murdered countless others, plotted with the world’s most dangerous criminal, tried to get my brother to kill me and then almost drowned the love of your son’s life.

Daddy Holmes: …On second thought, I did always think two kids were enough.

I grew up in a strict Catholic primary and high school education environment. They wouldn’t even teach us about contraception. But we *were* always taught about tolerating and loving others. My RE teacher (who was on the verge of becoming a priest before he met his wife) insisted on letting our school’s sole Muslim kid use the staff room for his daily prayers.  That was a brave thing for him to do.

So, no. No Evangelical who voted Trump ( 5 children by 3 different women and happily brags about grabbing p****) has the nerve to lecture me about anything