#carrying the weight of the world in his tiny pockets

[lyraeeee]

IM CRYING I NEVER KNEW HE COULD BE THIS HEAVY IN GAME?? 😭😭😭

each step is a whole damn earthquake

[connorsui]

Dad! Simon

You find him in the bedroom, sitting on the floor with his back against the bed, legs stretched out, a shoebox balanced on his thigh. And, scattered around him—like fallen leaves—are photographs.

You lean against the doorframe, arms crossed, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Planning a scrapbook?”

Simon doesn’t look up, but the corner of his mouth twitches. Not quite a smile. Just recognition.

"He’s gotten so big now," he mutters, lifting a picture between his fingers. He turns it toward you—your son, a newborn, swaddled tight, impossibly small in his arms. "Look at this—head barely bigger than my palm."

You step inside, lowering yourself beside him. The photos form a mosaic across the carpet—a timeline of a life measured in firsts.

First ultrasound. First bath. First wobbly steps.

His first birthday, cake frosting, smeared across chubby cheeks, fingers reaching for Simon’s.

His first time on Simon’s shoulders, tiny hands gripping his head, giggling like he’d never known a world without laughter.

You pick up a more recent one—your son at five, sitting on Simon’s lap, eyes bright, smile wide. He looks just like him. Same sharp gaze, same shape of the mouth. It’s almost funny how undeniable it is.

Simon exhales, slow and steady, his thumb tracing over the glossy surface.

"Simon ...do you want me to - "

His jaw tightens, just for a second, before he lets out a quiet huff. “No, it’s fine. Thinkin’ of puttin’ some in an album.”

You don’t catch him on the lie.

Because what you don’t know—what you won’t know for a long time—is that there will be no album.

The photos will go back into the box. Just like they always do.

And later that night, after the house has settled into quiet, after you’ve both gone to bed, he’ll slip the box under his side of the nightstand—within reach, always.

And when it’s time—when the bags are packed, when his boots are laced, when the house is still dark with sleep—he’ll take the smallest, most recent one.

-- where your son is missing a front tooth, grinning wide, arms thrown around your neck like he never wants to let go.

He’ll fold it carefully, tuck it into the pocket of his gear.

Because the thought of not having it, of not carrying that proof of life with him, is unbearable.

So he keeps them.

And sometimes, when he’s halfway across the world, when the silence stretches too long and the weight in his chest feels too heavy to bear, he’ll take that photo out.

Run his thumb over the edges.

Remind himself of what’s waiting for him at home.

Just for a little while.

Just to hold on.

[misswynters]

Ma Meilleure Amour

featuring. ekko x fem!reader

a/n. doing my duty as a writer to fill the ekko tag with fics of him only (it’s translated to my best love)

inspired by. the song Ma Meilleure Ennemie and the scene with ekko and jinx in act iii (listen to it while reading)

Everything felt different. The streets of Zaun had the ever-present haze of smog seem softer, its grim edge dulled by the warm hum of neon lights. The streets bustled with life, as they always did, but the night gave the chaos a certain charm. The glow of green and pink signs reflected off damp cobblestones, while the occasional flicker of a malfunctioning lamp sent ripples of color through shallow puddles.

You walked side by side with Ekko, your steps slow and aimless, as if the two of you had all the time in the world. You didn’t, of course. With how Zaun always had a way of reminding you that the clock never stopped ticking. But right now, under the swirl of lights and the faint hiss of steam vents, it felt like time had paused just for the two of you.

Ekko’s hand brushed against yours every so often, and though he wasn’t one to initiate touch easily, you could tell he didn’t mind the closeness. He always had this way of being effortlessly cool, his swagger and wit making it seem like nothing fazed him. But you knew him better than most. You saw the weight he carried, the pressure of being a leader, a fighter, and a kid all at once. And tonight, you were determined to remind him what it felt like to just…be.

“Ever think Zaun’s kinda pretty at night?” you mused, breaking the comfortable silence.

Ekko glanced at you, one eyebrow raised, before looking around. “Pretty? Dunno if I’d call it that. More like…gritty with a side of a green glow.”

You laughed, nudging him playfully. “You’re so dramatic.”

“Says the one waxing poetic about this place,” he shot back, his grin tugging at the corners of his lips.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “Fine, maybe I’m seeing it through rose-colored glasses. Or maybe I just like walking around with you.”

That earned a chuckle from him, the sound low and warm. He shoved his hands in his pockets, his shoulders relaxing as he leaned closer to you. “Well, when you put it that way…” The two of you wandered through winding alleys and across rickety bridges, the air thick with the scent of metal and oil. Every so often, Ekko would point out a shortcut he’d used for one of his time-bending escapades or share a story about an adventure with the Firelights.

But then he led you down a narrow path you hadn’t noticed before, his fingers brushing yours briefly to guide you. At the end of the path, you stepped into a beautiful hidden oasis. A rooftop garden tucked away from Zaun’s usual grit and grime. The first thing you noticed was the lights. Strings of mismatched lanterns crisscrossed the space, casting a soft, golden glow over everything. Tiny fairy lights were woven through the vines that climbed up makeshift trellises, their warm flicker like little stars in the night. The plants themselves were a mix of scrappy greenery and surprisingly vibrant flowers, their colors popping against the muted tones of the city below.

“Woah…” you breathed, turning to him with wide eyes.

He shrugged, trying to play it cool, but the faint blush on his cheeks gave him away. “It’s nothing fancy. Just a spot I’ve been working on.”

“Are you kidding? It’s perfect,” you said, your voice filled with awe.

He rubbed the back of his neck, his gaze darting away from yours. “Figured it’d be nice to have a place to get away, y’know? Somewhere quiet.”

You stepped forward, taking it all in. A small wooden bench sat in the center of the garden, its surface worn but sturdy. Around it, the plants swayed gently in the cool breeze, their leaves catching the light just enough to shimmer.

“Come on,” Ekko said, his hand lightly brushing the small of your back as he guided you to the bench. “I didn’t bring you here just to stand around.”

You sat down, the wood creaking softly under your weight. Ekko settled beside you, close enough that his knee pressed against yours. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the quiet hum of the lights and the distant sounds of Zaun filling the space. It was a working pattern. There was always a comfortable silence between the two of you.

“How long have you been working on this?” you asked softly.

“Couple months,” he said, leaning back with his arms stretched across the bench. “Takes a while to get plants to grow in a place like this. But I dunno…it feels good to build something, y’know? Instead of just tearing things down.”

You glanced at him, your chest tightening at the softness in his voice. Ekko didn’t let people see this side of him often though. I mean this was the boy who dreamed of a better Zaun, the one who carried the weight of his community on his shoulders.

“It’s beautiful,” you said, resting your head against his shoulder. “Just like you.”

He laughed softly, the sound warm and a little shy. “You’re laying it on thick tonight, huh?”

“Just telling the truth,” you said, closing your eyes as his warmth seeped into you.

The two of you sat like that for a while, wrapped up in the stillness of the garden. Ekko’s hand found yours, his fingers intertwining with yours in a way that felt natural, like you were always meant to fit together.

“Hey,” he said after a while, his voice quiet.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks. For, y’know…being here.”

You lifted your head to look at him, your heart aching at the sincerity in his eyes. “Of course,” you said softly while winking. “You’re worth it, Ekko.”

His gaze lingered on yours for a moment, the golden light casting shadows across his face. Then he smiled. It was real, genuine smile that made your chest feel light and full all at once.

“C’mere,” he said, pulling you closer until you were practically in his lap. His arms wrapped around you, his chin resting on your shoulder as you leaned into him.

“This is nice,” you murmured, your fingers tracing absent patterns on his arm.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice a little muffled. “It is.”

There it was again, the comfortable silence. The garden was quiet, bathed in the golden light of the mismatched lanterns. You rested your head on Ekko’s shoulder, feeling the steady rhythm of his breath against you. His fingers were still intertwined with yours, his thumb brushing small, absentminded circles against your knuckles.

It was peaceful, almost too perfect for Zaun, where tranquility was a rare luxury. The hum of distant machinery and the faint chatter of the streets below were a backdrop to your own private world. You thought this was it, that the night couldn’t get any better. But Ekko had other plans.

Suddenly, he shifted away from you, his weight leaving the bench as he stood. His warmth leaving your body. You blinked up at him, confused as he turned to face you, his signature grin tugging at the corners of his lips. He extended a hand toward you, palm up, the glow of the garden lights reflecting in his dark eyes.

“Dance with me,” he said, his voice soft but brimming with an irresistible playfulness.

You tilted your head, a laugh escaping you. “Dance? Here?”

“Why not?” He wiggled his fingers, urging you to take his hand.

You hesitated, glancing around. “Ekko, there’s no music.”

He smirked, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Oh, ye of little faith.”

Reaching into his pocket, Ekko pulled out a small, beaten up speaker, a relic salvaged from some forgotten corner of Zaun. He fiddled with it for a moment before a warm melody crackled to life, filling the air with a gentle rhythm.

You stared at him in disbelief, your lips parting in surprise. “You planned this?”

He shrugged, trying to play it cool but failing miserably as a proud smile broke through. “Maybe.”

Shaking your head with a soft laugh, you placed your hand in his, the warmth of his palm grounding you. “Alright, Clockstopper,” you teased. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Ekko pulled you to your feet, guiding you to the center of the garden. The music swelled around you, soft and sweet, a contrast to the chaos of Zaun. His other hand found its place on your waist, and he held you close, his movements easy and unhurried. At first, you tried to match his rhythm, your steps tentative as you followed his lead. But it wasn’t long before your foot accidentally landed on his.

“Oh, sorry!” you gasped, pulling back slightly.

Ekko winced dramatically, clutching his chest as if you’d mortally wounded him. “You’re killing me here,” he said, his voice laced with mock pain.

You rolled your eyes, a grin tugging at your lips. “Don’t be such a baby.”

“Baby?” He laughed, spinning you unexpectedly. You stumbled slightly but caught yourself, the sound of your shared laughter echoing in the garden.

The two of you continued like that, swaying and spinning under the lanterns. Every so often, you’d step on his foot again, and he’d exaggerate his reaction, making you laugh until your cheeks hurt. But then, as the song shifted to a slower melody, Ekko’s movements became gentler, more deliberate. He pulled you closer, your bodies impossibly near. You could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, the faint scent of zauns atmosphere lingering on him. Your eyes met his, and for a moment, the world seemed to fade away. The golden light reflected in his eyes, making them shimmer like they held their own constellation. There was something unspoken in his gaze, something raw and real that made your heart stutter.

“Ekko…” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the music.

He didn’t say anything, just leaned in slowly, giving you enough time to pull away if you wanted to. But you didn’t. Instead, you closed the distance, your lips meeting his in a kiss that was soft and sweet, filled with everything words couldn’t express. Your hands found their way around his neck, pulling him closer as his arms wrapped around your waist. The world seemed to tilt, the glow of the lanterns and the soft hum of the music swirling around you in a haze of light and sound.

Time felt irrelevant—ironic, considering who you were with. All that mattered was the way he held you, the way his lips moved against yours with a tenderness that made your chest ache.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your skin. He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through you. “I love you,” he murmured, his voice steady and sure.

Your heart swelled at his words, a warmth spreading through you that had nothing to do with the lights around you. Smiling, you leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I love you too,” you said, the words as natural as breathing.

Ekko grinned, his hands tightening around your waist as he pressed a series of quick, playful kisses to your face—your cheeks, your nose, your forehead. Each kiss was accompanied by a soft giggle from you, his affection spilling over in a way that was so uniquely him.

“Ekko, stop,” you laughed, trying to pull away as he kissed the corner of your mouth.

“Never,” he said, his voice full of mock defiance as he caught your lips in another kiss.

The two of you stayed like that, wrapped up in each other, the rest of the world forgotten. The music played on, the lights flickered, and Zaun’s ever-present hum seemed softer, almost distant. As the night stretched on, you found yourselves back on the bench, your head resting on Ekko’s shoulder as he absentmindedly played with your fingers. The garden felt like a dream, a little slice of peace carved out of the chaos. And in that moment, with Ekko by your side and the glow of the lanterns above you, everything felt right. Almost perfect.

banners. @anitalenia

taglist. @diffusebread @xxblairslairxx @thesevi0lentdelights

[skeltnwrites]

The Shape of Family ‧₊˚❀༉

As a single dad, Steve’s world revolves around school drop-offs, bedtime rituals, and tee-ball practices—and he's struggling to keep up. But you're always there, happily lending a hand when he needs it most. / masterlist

part one - you find out your work crush is a dad and offer to watch his mischievous little girl so he can get some work done 5.2k

a/n - penelope is a little shit and i love her dearly, general warnings/tags here

── .✦

“Hey, sorry to bother you, Steve. I just had a quick question– but before I forget, there’s this little girl in the lobby knocking stuff over. Do you know if her parents are here?” 

“Fuck– sorry. One sec.” 

He brushes past you with an urgency that is typical of Steve. As the community outreach coordinator, he’s naturally a busy man. You haven’t known him long– just the couple of months since you became a volunteer for the local rec center– but it’s clear he’s dedicated to his work. Always zipping from one end of the building to the other, juggling class setups, organizing meetings, or hunting down the next thing that needs fixing. He tends to add more to his plate than he can carry, at least according to another staff member, which is why you’ve been assigned to help him. 

You strain to match his long strides and nearly take out a trash can when he turns a corner unexpectedly. But you can’t lose him now– someone is always nearby to steal him for paperwork or performance reviews and all you have is a quick question. 

The lobby unfortunately looks like a tornado blew through the front doors. Cabinets are thrown open, papers are scattered like leaves across the floor, and a chair has been toppled over. And said tornado has her cheek pressed to the vending machine glass, an arm twisted inside the dispenser box to reach for a loose pack of Skittles. The scene is almost amusing until you remember you’ll likely be the one to clean it up. 

“Penelope!” Steve scolds, not loud but stern enough to surprise you. He’s consistently an embodiment of gentleness– always accommodating and rarely assertive. And while he’s still gentle with her, his tone carries a weight and firmness that’s a stark departure from his usual demeanor. 

The girl, Penelope, retracts her arm and spins around to face Steve. And if it wasn’t for the shit-eating grin pinned to her face, you might’ve felt bad for getting her in trouble. 

Steve’s hands snap to his hips. “I asked you to wait in my office.” 

She shrugs, “Need a snack.”

Steve huffs and rakes a hand through his hair– a habit when he’s stressed, which is most of the time it seems. By the end of the day, his hairspray will have been combed out and Steve will argue with the strands that curl over his forehead. 

“You can have one after you clean this up and if you stay in my office.” 

“Candy?”

“No, no candy. There’s snacks in your lunchbox.” He bends to scoop up a few pamphlets to hand to her. “Or I have pretzels. Do you want that?”

She pinches a page between her nails, weighing her options. 

Steve pries tiny fingers off, “Don’t rip those. Put ‘em away please.” 

And she listens for maybe the first time ever, it seems, cramming a stack of them back on the shelf. 

You gather your own stack of handouts and press them into Steve’s sleeve. He recoils a step, his eyes widening before rapidly shutting in a moment of realization. “Sorry! You had a question- I’m sorry.” 

Penelope abandons her organizing to plant herself at Steve’s left like a sidekick– anything to get out of cleaning up. She gazes at you with a familiar pair of almond eyes and then it clicks. Her hair is the same shade of brown and her jaw, though softer, is square shaped like Steve’s. The resemblance is indisputable. 

You redirect your stare to answer Steve. “Um, yeah– I just needed to borrow the storage closet key to grab some more chairs.” 

“Oh, of course.” He pats the front pocket of his jeans. “Keys are in my office– I hope.” 

Steve marches past you once again, a new mission in mind, tugging Penelope by the wrist and toeing a cabinet shut on the way out. Penelope’s poor little legs must be tired if he always walks this fast. 

“I don’t want pretzels,” she eventually decides. 

“Then you can have what’s in your lunchbox.” He glances over his shoulder to confirm you’re in tow, “This is my daughter, Penelope, by the way.” 

“Nice to meet you, Penelope.” You wave, not that she sees. 

A braid sits high on her head, swinging like a horse's tail with each hurried step. Her faded denim overalls ride up slightly, exposing just enough ankle to show off the bubblegum pink Converse on her feet. She’s a cute little thing, button-eyed and puffy-cheeked like a cabbage patch kid. 

Steve nudges her with his hip, “Say hi.”

She throws you an impartial glance. “Hi.” 

When Steve’s office is in sight, Penelope wriggles away from his hold to sprint down the hall. On her tip-toes, she flicks on the light, letting the door slam in Steve’s face. You catch him rolling his eyes as he stops the door with his foot for you. Penelope is clambering onto his chair like it’s a race and pushing off the desk to spin as soon as she’s seated. Steve steers her out of the way to search the drawers, passing you a set of keys when he finds them. 

“Just bring ‘em back, please. Dottie found them in lost and found last week.” 

“Thanks, I will,” you promise, eyes falling over Penelope again. 

It’s your cue to leave, but your feet remain anchored to the floor. Your mind is buzzing with questions that neither of you have the time to discuss. The rational part of you knows you should exit before you let your curiosity win. Yet, you find yourself lingering in the doorway, stalling just long enough for Steve to lift an eyebrow in silent inquiry.

And before you can rule whether or not it's a good idea, you blurt out, “I can keep an eye on her if you want?” 

Penelope peaks over the back of the chair, perched on her knees so she can see. 

Steve shakes his head, “No, it’s okay. You’ve got stuff to do. And Penelope is going to be a better listener for the rest of the day, right?” He ruffles her hair, earning him a glare. 

You bite back a smile. It’s a funny thing, seeing that frown and furrowed brows that resemble Steve’s so clearly because you can’t imagine him making that face at anyone ever. It’s cute, even if it’s meant to be mean, but you would never tell her as much. 

“I really don’t mind. She could help me tape the flyers up– If she wants something to do?” You direct the last part at Penelope. To a kid, being trapped in their dad’s dusty old office is probably boredom purgatory. 

Penelope blinks at you and then Steve for permission. 

“You want to?” He asks.

She nods, then adds, “Snack too?” 

“Yes, honey.” He sighs, faint but deflated, burdened by the guilt of not feeding her sooner. Steve fishes her backpack out from under his desk. A vivid shade of pink with a Barbie patch sewn to the front. Her tin lunchbox is similarly themed and only harbors a bag of fruit snacks. 

“Fruit snacks or pretzels?” 

Penelope’s features pinch in a way that says neither but she snatches the fruit snacks anyway. Decidedly dismissed or over the conversation, she hops off the chair and sees herself out. 

You can’t help the smile that finds your lips as you turn back to Steve.

He chuckles, “It’s been a day. Bring her back if she doesn’t listen. Good luck.” 

Penelope leans against the wall outside, popping a gummy in her mouth lazily. 

“We’re gonna make a pitstop at the supply closet and then you can help me with the flyers.” 

She doesn’t say anything, but she follows as you start walking, and that’s all you need from her. She’s strangely silent for a kid, especially Steve’s kid. Conversation seems to come easy to him, he likes to talk, which is one of the reasons you still can’t believe you didn’t know he had a child. On your first day as a volunteer, he’d crammed that he was on the swim team in high school, that he's from Indiana, and that he prefers the warmer months all in one conversation– the guy is an open book.  

And you’re quiet too because you’re focused on recalling where they put that damned supply closet. The rec center halls all sort of look the same still, bleeding into one jumbled image of wood paneling and old carpet in your mind. The building is practically a maze; constructed in the fifties, it still carries its historic charm—stubborn doors, leaky faucets, and all—issues the city claims they 'can’t afford' to fix. 

Penelope must get tired of going in circles because eventually she tugs on your sleeve and points down the opposite hall you were planning on going. When she leads you right up to the door you beam at her. For a second, she forgets to be brooding and smiles back. 

“You’re a smart little cookie, Penelope. How’d you know it was here?” You ask, unlocking the door. 

She shrugs nonchalantly, “I just know things.”

You laugh loud enough to draw eyes from a nearby meeting and determine Penelope is the funniest kid you’ve ever met. 

She holds the door open at your request, munching on her fruit snacks as you maneuver a stack of chairs into the hall. You make it back to the classroom without her directions, not to toot your own horn. She tosses her empty wrapper in the trash as you unstack the chairs. 

“Here,” you pass her a roll of tape. “Rip some pieces off for me?” 

She nods, ambling over to the wall with you.  

“So, Penelope, how old are you?” You ask, pressing a flyer against the wallpaper. 

She debates, flipping fingers up and down on her free hand before concluding, “Four.” 

“Ohh, very cool. You’re almost ready to go to school with the big kids, huh?” 

“Yes, at the big school. I’m in pre-school.” 

“Mhmm. Do you like preschool?” 

She hums no and strains to tear off a piece. 

“Here, like this,” you demonstrate, pulling in the proper direction. She copies you, ripping a neat line. The corners of her lips raise as she views her handiwork. 

“You don’t like school?” You ask, peering down. 

She hands you the slice of tape. “Only sometimes.” 

“Why only sometimes?” 

She shrugs and heaves a hefty sigh for such little lungs. She’s too small to be sighing like that, you think, and she definitely acquired it from Steve. 

“I only like work sometimes too,” you admit. 

Her eyes chase yours– all innocently wide and filled with disbelief. She rips off another square of tape, “Are your friends not nice?” 

You consider her question, answering truthfully, “Well, maybe sometimes, I guess.” 

“Meg was not a kind friend today.” Her tone is hilariously chastizing for a child. Kids are just like mini adults sometimes– collecting random phrases and mannerisms like trading cards.  

“No? Why’s that?” 

“She wouldn’t share. Daddy always says sharing is caring.” 

“That’s true. Did you tell your teacher?” 

Penelope shakes her head, tilting on her heels.

“Why not?”

“Meg told the teacher on me because I wasn’t being a kind friend either.” 

“Oh. Why weren’t you being a kind friend?” 

“Because I wanted to play with the dolls too,” she mumbles, upset wavering in her voice. To a child, these seemingly trivial matters really do feel like the end of the world, so you can’t help but empathize, even as you wish your worries were confined to sharing toys.

You crouch in front of Penelope, “We still should be kind, hmm? Even when our friends don’t want to share?” 

Penelope’s unconvinced, picking at her nail like the dirt underneath is a more important issue. But you’re at the end of your stack of cardstock and it maybe isn’t your place to have this conversation anyway. 

You get her set up at a table with printer paper and a box of crayons from the closet. She dumps them out immediately, spraying rainbow across her paper so she can find the “bestest” colors.  

“I can share,” she declares, sliding her extra sheet over to your end of the table. 

“That’s very sweet of you. Thank you.” You catch a crayon before it rolls onto the floor. “What should I draw?” 

“I’m coloring my family.” 

“That’s nice. I think I’ll draw a dinosaur.” 

“A dinosaur?” She cocks her head and giggles, bubbly and pure in the way that kids laugh. Your heart aches with happiness. “That’s silly!” 

“What? Why’s that silly?” 

She cackles like this is the funniest idea anyone’s ever had. “They just are!” 

“Hmm. Should I draw a serious dinosaur then?” 

“All dinosaurs are silly– Trevor says so.”

“What! Why does he think that?” 

Her words fuse into one smear of a sound as she shrugs, “I dunno.” 

“Well, my dinosaur is very serious. See?”

She presses into your arm to examine your quick sketch. “That’s not a dinosaur!” 

“It is! You can’t tell?” 

She nibbles on her lip, smile growing as she shakes her head. 

You pull the paper closer, as if a better angle might somehow improve it. “Hmm, I guess it does look a bit like an alien, doesn’t it?”

Penelope giggles and nods enthusiastically before returning to her work. Her crayon moves methodically across the paper, lips pressed together in concentration. After a long spell of silence, she kindly requests, “Can you draw a house?” 

“Of course,” you reply, “On my paper or yours?”

“Mine,” she says, her pointer finger tapping the corner of her sheet with emphasis.

The drawing is a riot of color, blending bold strokes of crayon to create two people and an animal. The taller, presumably Steve, is painted with orange and yellow hues– true to the the warmth he represents. Penelope, doused in cooler tones, carries their floppy-eared pet– a bunny or a dog, maybe? 

“Wow, Penelope! This is amazing!” You genuinely mean it; despite her young age, her talent shines through in little details like eyelashes and a set of heart-shaped earrings. “Is this you and Daddy?”

“Yes, and Cinderella!” she adds proudly.

“Oh, that’s wonderful,” you say, admiring her work. “Is Cinderella your pet?” 

She bobs her head animatedly. 

“Wow, she looks like a very pretty… animal in your drawing.” 

“She is a very pretty cat,” Penelope affirms and you are relieved not to have guessed incorrectly. She stares at you for a long moment. “Is Cinderella family?” 

“Well, does she live with you?”

Penelope scrunches her nose and tips her head, “Sort of?”

“She sort of lives with you?”

“Yeah. She lives outside mostly but sometimes I let her inside.” Her pitch fluctuates as she talks, the words lilting in a strange, almost sing-song cadence that kids do. 

“Ohh,” you smile. “Do you feed Cinderella?”

“Yes, Daddy buys her food in a can and it’s really stinky!” 

Penelope joins you when you laugh. Not because you are but because stinky things are just funny at her age. 

“Do you love Cinderella?” You ask. 

“Yes– except when she bites me.” She sobers quickly, forehead wrinkling. 

“Oh,” you chuckle, “Well, I think she’s family then.” 

“I think so too,” she states seriously, swapping a blue crayon for a green. 

“What color should the house be?” You claw through the rainbow spread.  

“White!” 

“Well, the paper’s already white but how ‘bout I outline the house in black so you know where it is?” 

“I guess so. There’s two windows and the door is red– Oh, and there are lots of flowers outside.” 

You nod, sketching her vision into existence. “Is this your house?” 

“Yes, and Daddy’s. And sometimes Cinderella’s.”

“Just you three? Is that your whole family?” Admittedly, it’s a self-indulgent question. You’re curious about Penelope’s mom. And you noticed Steve doesn’t wear a ring, checked multiple times in the last few weeks even. But that doesn’t refute the possibility he might be seeing someone. 

“Yes, Daddy and Cinderella is my family. Daddy says families come in all shapes and sizes.” 

You’re glowing with a fondness that’s impossible to hide– because everything about her is adorable– her chubby cheeks, her tinkling little laugh, even her attitude, though Steve would probably disagree with the latter. She’s different than Steve in a lot of ways: grumpier and more aloof, but, at her age, it’s cute. And still, she feels like his carbon copy. An echo of everything you’ve come to like about him. 

Him being a dad makes perfect sense in retrospect. To have overlooked such an important part of his life seems silly. A tenderness radiates from Steve, the kind only a parent could possess. He’s full of love– too much not to share. He pours lots into his work: late nights at the center, taking on more than he can chew, always with a smile. And the rest? It must go to Penelope. 

“Your dad is very right about that.” 

She smirks confidently, holding up her artwork, “I’m going to give this to him.”

“I bet he’ll love it so much, Penelope!” 

And his dad senses must be tingling at the mention of his name because his face appears in the door’s slim window not even a minute later. His lips curve into a grin as he realizes he’s been caught spying. 

The door clicks and Penelope turns. “Hi, Daddy.”  

“Hi, baby,” Steve strolls over to the opposite side of the table, “Are you being a good listener?” His attention flicks around the room, searching for any signs of misbehavior. 

Penelope shimmies up tall in her seat and nods until he meets her pleased gaze. 

Steve must believe the girl because he doesn’t press further, but you praise her anyway, “Very good. Penelope’s been an amazing helper this afternoon.” 

“Is that right?” He orbits the table to stand behind her. “What are you drawing, Nell?”

She flips over her paper, clapping the front against the table. “It’s a surprise!”

“Oh, sorry!” He paces back, redirecting his attention to you. “I didn’t see it.” 

Penelope twists around to confirm his eyes are elsewhere before proceeding to squeeze in a final set of details– grass blades and sun rays. “Here,” she thrusts the page into his hands. “For you.” 

“For me?” His face lights up like a Christmas tree before he’s even seen it. She could hand him a pebble, and he’d treasure it like a gem. And when his eyes do fan across the drawing, he melts. 

“This is so lovely!” He coos. “Where did you get all this talent from? This belongs in a museum, Nell!” He keeps his heart from bursting with a steady palm to his chest. And with his free hand, he flashes it at you just long enough to catch a glimpse before he reels it in to study some more. “And you got Cinderella’s stripes too. Wow.” 

He squats behind Penelope’s chair, throwing an arm around her middle, “Thank you for this. And thank you for being a good listener. That makes my heart very happy.” 

She slumps into his chest, peering up at the reflection of her own features. “Is it time to go?” 

His eyes leap to the clock hung on the opposite wall. “Couple more hours, babe.”

Penelope huffs. 

“I’m gonna hang this in my office. I love it so so much!” He sows a couple of kisses on her temple, straining to stand with achy knees. “You wanna come hang out with me or stay here?” 

She looks at you like you might object. “Here.” 

If Steve’s offended, he doesn’t show it. He’s still grinning like the Cheshire cat, high on the parenting win that is receiving willing affection from your child.  “That okay?” He asks you. 

“Of course. I’ll put her to work,” you reassure. 

“Good, keep her busy. It keeps her out of trouble.” He raises the drawing for another look. “I’ll be in my office, doing paperwork, yay.” 

You snicker, as he retraces the path he came. “Have fun with that boss!”

Just before the door slams shut, he yells back, equally playful, “I told you to stop calling me that!”

Penelope doodles some more, gifting you a vibrant rendition of the night sky– a collection of stars and circles and swirls. You’re so grateful you tell her it’ll go on your fridge, and it does as soon as you’re home. She sorts through toys and equipment in the gym closet and even holds your dustpan when you sweep. Her role as your helper is taken very seriously. 

The two hours pass faster than you expect. Time flies when you're having fun, as Steve would say. All his little phrases and cheesy jokes suddenly make sense in the context of him being a dad. 

She takes your hand on the way to Steve’s office, escorting you when you pretend not to know which direction it’s in. It’s as comforting as it is validating; winning the kindness and attention of four-year-olds, especially this one, is difficult. You knock on the wood frame even though the door’s propped open. 

Steve peaks up through a rare pair of reading glasses. Round, wireframes that match the golden shade his hair assumes when it catches the light. They highlight his eyes—warm and gentle as a summer breeze. But he swipes them off his nose, folding them with practiced care. 

A smile mends his frown as Penelope climbs into his lap. “Hi, sweetheart.” 

She wiggles into a comfortable position, nudging his chest until he reclines further to make space. “Hi.”

“Are you having fun?” Steve cradles her shin to keep her from slipping. “What have you been up to?”

“Cleaning.” Her tone is casual, dismissive even, like it’s nothing to fuss over; but her eyes are fixed on him, waiting for a reaction. 

Steve gasps, “No way! You were cleaning? I don’t know if I believe it.” 

“I was!” Penelope whines, tickled with glee. 

“Hmm, is this true?” He arches an eyebrow at you. 

You nod, delighted to play along. “It is. Penelope here is excellent at handling a dustpan. She even organized the dodgeballs by color.”

“Really? Because you never-ever want to clean at home.”

“I do!” She squeals, bending backward over the arm of his chair.

“Yeah right.” He blows a raspberry on her belly where her shirt has pinched up.

She shrieks, squirming and kicking her heels into his thigh. Steve’s dad reflexes must clock in because he blocks her knee just before it drives into his cheek. And he takes it as a sign to ease up before someone gets hurt– craning back up and scooping Penelope into a baby cradle against his chest. Her legs are long and lanky, dangling over his arms like uncooked spaghetti. 

“Do we need to invite them over every time you make a mess in your room? Will that solve the problem?” He teases, squishing her arms against his shirt so she can’t escape and peppering kisses from temple to temple. 

Eventually, Penelope comes to terms that no amount of writhing will succeed against his strength. She slackens in his embrace, surrendering to the terrible thing that is unconditional love. 

“Oh, here are your keys!” They rattle against the desk where you drop them. 

Steve nods into Penelope's crown, poking her side. “Can you say ‘thank you for hanging out with me?’”

Anticipating another round of tickles, she grins before parroting, “Thank you for hanging out with me.”

“Thank you for helping me clean!”

Her eyes sweep back over to Steve, “Can we go home yet?” 

His fingers tap rhythmically on the desk, a small sigh escaping as he glances at the paperwork drowning his workspace. “We’ll leave as soon as I’m finished.” He pecks the top of her head. “Promise.”

She rolls her eyes, moaning, “Daddy, come on it’s taking, like, a million years!”

“A million? Surely not.” 

“It is!” She elongates the sound until it’s less word and more noise. 

His shoulders droop, tension slipping from his frame as he agrees, “Okay. I’m ready to go too.” 

You don’t blame him for giving in so easily, Penelope’s puppy eyes are powerful. Her chunky little hands smoosh his cheeks– molding and kneading like it’s play-doh, “Is that why your face looks so sleepy?”

A hearty laugh bursts from his throat, “Yes, that’s why my face looks so sleepy.” He pats her arms, “Come on. Up.” 

Penelope scoots off his knees, gripping his wrist for balance. Steve ducks under the desk for his backpack and shoves the stack of paperwork inside. 

“Hey, I meant to ask you, is the new schedule working okay for you?” He asks you, always so thoughtful. 

You nod earnestly. “Yeah, actually, I like doing Fridays better I think.”

“Yeah, Fridays are fun. Fitness Friday has been a big hit with the high school's soccer team.” He slings his bag over his shoulder and lifts Penelope’s by the strap. 

“Oh, good! Did the new jump ropes come in?” Conversations like this, as mundane as they are, are fleeting– the next interruption always around the corner– so you savor it while you have him. 

“Mmmm, not yet. I think they’re coming next week– shipping delays or something.” 

You turn to leave but stop in your tracks, attention stolen by Penelope’s drawing. As promised, it’s hung up– a few pieces of scotch tape secure it to the wall across from his desk. 

“I’m gonna get a frame for it,” Steve passes you with a toothy smile, flicking off the light. 

Penelope chimes in before you can respond, “Can I play jump rope?”

“I don't know if you know how, babe. I can teach you.” 

“I can! I did at school!”

“You did? I didn’t know that.” Steve waves to a passing coworker. “Maybe we’ll buy one for home too then.” 

Penelope nods, hopping the last stretch to the front door. 

“Any fun plans this weekend?” Steve asks you outside, bumping the back of Penelope’s hand until she takes his. The parking lot is almost empty at this time of day, but a few stragglers remain inside after hours. 

“If you think laundry is fun, then sure.” 

“Oh, I know all about that, trust me.” He nods at Penelope, “This one goes through more clothes in a week than I do in a month.” 

Steve approaches a BMW, only a few spots over from your car. An older model, but well taken care of. It’s a nice shade of burgundy with a stick-figure family on the back windshield. It feels so him. 

You hum a happy sound. “What about you? Any plans?” 

“Besides laundry? Well, we’re actually going kayaking at Red Fleet tomorrow,” he unlocks the passenger door, tucking the backpacks in the footwell. 

“Oh, fun! Are you excited?” You ask Penelope. 

“I’m gonna look for frogs.” 

She wrenches the handle a few times before her door flies open. Steve intercepts mid-swing to prevent her from denting the neighboring truck at the expense of his fingers. 

“Ow– shit,” he grimaces, shaking his wrist. He visibly swallows any other swears when he sees Penelope gawking, “Nell, I’ve told you to be gentle with the door.” 

“You said we can’t say that word,” she points out, climbing into her car seat.

You scrub your mouth, not so inconspicuously erasing your smile. 

“I– yes,” he nods, “You’re right. We shouldn’t say that word. I just–”

“Even when we’re frustrated; that’s what you said!” 

Steve takes a deep breath through his nose, choking down his several feelings. She’s right, he did say that, to hopefully stop her from swearing at preschool, but the profanity policing is comical coming from a four-year-old. And he can’t be laughing right now– he has parenting to do– but he’s on the verge of breaking when he catches sight of your face.  

Steve collects himself as he buckles her in. “Yes, Penelope. I shouldn’t have said it. I’m sorry.” 

She pats his head, “It’s okay. We all do mistakes.” 

Steve softens. The irritation evaporates instantly, replaced by a surge of satisfaction. This is one of those rare moments where he can so clearly recognize the lessons he’s instilled taking shape. 

He lets himself chuckle then, “We do. We all make mistakes and that’s okay.” 

She nods as he tightens her straps, “Like when I spilled my juice this morning.”

“Exactly.” He triple-checks that all her limbs are safely out of the door’s reach before shutting it.  

He faces you, scratching his cheek– rosy and round with joy. “How much you wanna bet she swears at me tomorrow?”

“Hey, I don’t doubt it!” Your elation mirrors his. 

“If she can’t find any frogs at the park I can almost guarantee it.” 

“Better help her look then.” 

“Yeah, yeah. I’d invite you but it’s reservation-based. And I’d be surprised if there’s any spots open still… But we can sneak you in if you really want to go.” It’s meant to be a joke, but something in the way he holds your gaze suggests a level of seriousness. 

“No, that’s okay,” you grin. “The pile of laundry on my bed awaits.”

“Well, maybe next time.” 

You try not to read into it. Steve’s a friendly guy, he probably invites his coworkers out to things all the time. 

You nod, idling at the hood of his beamer. 

“I really appreciate you watching her today. You’re a lifesaver, truly,” he shakes his head, peeking at Penelope through the window. “She’s been a handful lately– I mean, I had to pick her up early today because she bit another kid, can you believe that?” 

“She’s a kid,” you shrug, “All kids do that at some point.”  

“I don’t know,” he pinches the bridge of his nose, “I’m honestly at my witts end. This is her third warning and if she gets kicked out of school— I don’t know what I’ll do.” 

“From what I saw today, she’s a really good kid, Steve. I can’t imagine they’d do that.” 

“I’ve just been so busy, you know, sometimes I wonder if she acts out because of that– and it’s just me so I can’t–” he pauses, wiping his face, “God– I’m sorry, you’re… I’m just dumping all of this on you when you’re trying to leave.”

“No! It’s okay, I don’t mind, really.” 

“It’s– Well, it’s a lot and I,” he’s cut short by Penelope knocking on the glass, impatience strewn across her features. 

He throws up his pointer finger to tell her one second. “We can talk next week. You’ll be here Friday?” 

“Yep. I will see you then,” you nod, backing up a step so he can cross over to the driver’s side. 

“Okay, thanks again,” he says, opening his door. 

You wave goodbye, “Of course. Have fun kayaking!” 

“You too!” He yells, then mumbles, “Shit.” 

“Dad!” Penelope’s voice scolds. 

A warmth simmers in your chest as you walk away– a fizzy feeling that had been bottled up and crammed into a forgotten corner of your body. But as soon as you’re settling into the privacy of your car, it boils over into this rush of giddy exhilaration, electrifying every inch of your skin. Giggles cut through the silence as your smile stretches wider, completely untamable. There’s no stopping this, not when you’re already fantasizing about a next time with Steve.

[m4rv3l-girl]

Forget Me Not

Bucky x Y/N

Bucky wants to pop the question. Except, he’s forgotten one very important thing…

Requests Open!

Warnings: None. Just fluff!

The night was perfect.

From the clear autumn sky dusted with stars to the way the city seemed to glow just for them, Bucky could tell this was their moment. He’d spent weeks planning, going over every little detail to make this evening unforgettable. But as he adjusted his shirt for the hundredth time, nerves began prickling down his spine.

Across from him, Y/N looked stunning. Her smile was warm and knowing, and Bucky could tell she’d noticed his antsy energy. She seemed suspicious, maybe even expecting something big, and he couldn’t help the soft grin tugging at his lips as he watched her. She always knew him too well.

“Kitten, you’re staring,” he teased, breaking the silence and reaching for her hand across the table.

She raised an eyebrow, giving him a playful look. “Me? You’re the one who’s been adjusting your shirt for the last five minutes. Is something up?”

“Just want to look my best for you,” he said smoothly, though his heart was pounding. He could feel the tiny box in his pocket, a little weight pressing against his chest with each beat. “Can’t a guy want to look sharp for his girl?”

“You always look sharp to me,” she replied, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “But there’s something else, isn’t there?”

Bucky swallowed, trying to find his calm. “Maybe. But I think it’ll be worth the wait.”

As the dinner continued, Bucky did his best to act natural, though every word and every touch felt like a countdown to the question he was about to ask. The restaurant was quiet, with soft music playing in the background and a gentle hum of conversations around them. He’d chosen this place because it felt intimate, a cozy spot tucked away from the rest of the world where it could be just them.

They had fallen into a comfortable rhythm, sharing memories, laughter, and quiet looks that spoke volumes. Bucky smiled, watching as Y/N took a sip of her wine, and felt his heart nearly burst with the quiet joy of being here, in this moment, with her.

“So, remember that time you tried to teach me how to cook?” she teased, raising her eyebrows at him over the rim of her glass.

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Oh, come on, Doll. I wasn’t that bad.”

“Not that bad?” she echoed, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Bucky, you set spaghetti on fire. Spaghetti. I didn’t even think that was possible.”

“Hey, the stove was more complicated than it looked,” he protested, his lips quirking into a grin. “Besides, who needs fancy pasta when I make such a good breakfast-for-dinner?”

“True,” she admitted, laughter still in her eyes. “I will give you credit for those pancakes. I mean, only a man as charming as you could convince me that a plate of slightly burned pancakes was a five-star meal.”

“‘Slightly burned pancakes,’” he muttered, feigning offense. “I prefer ‘crispy edges.’ And let’s not forget, you said they were the best pancakes you’d ever had. I still remember that.”

“Did I really?” she asked, a hint of a blush creeping up her cheeks as she glanced away.

“Oh, you absolutely did. It’s one of my fondest memories, Doll,” he said, leaning in slightly. His voice softened, carrying the weight of his sincerity. “Anytime I can make you smile like that…those are the moments I want to remember forever.”

She stilled, looking at him with wide eyes before a gentle smile softened her features. “You always say the sweetest things.”

“Only for you, Kitten,” he murmured, his voice low. He couldn’t tear his eyes away, captivated by the glow of the candlelight on her face, the way her eyes shone with laughter and warmth. In that moment, he knew without a doubt—this was it.

This was where he was supposed to be.

As they finished their meal, he decided it was time. He reached into his jacket pocket, feeling for the small box, but instead, his fingers met…nothing. His heart stilled, and a sense of dread clawed its way up his throat. He checked his other pockets quickly, all while keeping his expression neutral.

No box.

Panic settled in as he realized what this meant.

The ring—the one he’d spent days picking out, picturing the exact moment he’d slide it onto her finger—it was sitting at home, in his nightstand drawer. He’d been so focused on planning every single detail of tonight that he’d forgotten the most important part.

Y/N’s voice broke through his thoughts. “Bucky, you alright?”

His gaze snapped back to her, and he realized he was probably giving her the most ridiculous, deer-in-the-headlights look. He tried to smile, but he could feel the strain. “I…uh, yeah. Just…y’know. Maybe I’m just nervous.”

“Since when does Bucky Barnes get nervous?” she teased, her eyes sparkling with affection. She reached across the table, taking his hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. “You can tell me anything, you know that.”

His shoulders slumped slightly. There was no use hiding it from her, especially not with her looking at him like that. He took a deep breath, brushing his thumb over her knuckles as he held her hand.

“Alright, so, full disclosure,” he said, his voice low and a little sheepish. “I had this whole night planned out, Doll. Every little thing, down to the music they’d be playing and the wine we’d drink. And I was gonna…ask you something really important.”

He paused, watching her expression carefully. Her eyes widened slightly, a faint blush rising to her cheeks, and he could tell she was already piecing it together.

“You were going to propose,” she whispered, a smile beginning to form.

“Yeah,” he admitted, letting out a chuckle that was equal parts relieved and embarrassed. “Except…I forgot the ring. Left it right at home in my nightstand.”

For a moment, there was silence. Bucky braced himself, half expecting her to be disappointed or to tease him mercilessly for messing up such a big moment. But instead, she broke into soft, melodic laughter, her eyes filled with the same warmth that made him fall for her in the first place.

“Oh, Bucky,” she said, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. “Did you really think I’d care about a ring?”

He blinked, his heart hammering in his chest. “I just…I wanted it to be perfect. Wanted everything to be just right for you.”

She reached across the table, resting her hand on his cheek, her thumb brushing over his cheekbone. “You don’t need a ring to ask me. I’d say yes a thousand times over, even without it.”

He swallowed, a rush of emotion catching him off guard. Here he was, standing on the edge of everything he’d ever wanted, and she was telling him it was already perfect, just because they were here together.

“Doll…” he began, his voice rough with emotion. “You’re sure? No fancy ring, or the big speech…?”

She smiled, nodding. “Positive. Just you and me, right here.”

He got up from his chair, kneeling beside her with a grin, his hands cradling hers as he looked up into her eyes. “Then let’s make it official. Y/N, will you marry me?”

Her answer came in the form of a radiant smile, a simple “yes” whispered through her tears.

He pulled her into his arms, the two of them laughing and holding each other, oblivious to the other diners. She was everything he needed—everything he’d ever wanted—and in that moment, nothing else mattered.

They left the restaurant hand in hand, walking down the quiet street with the stars shining above them. Bucky looked over at her, feeling that familiar warmth flood his chest as he squeezed her hand.

“When we get home,” he murmured, pulling her close, “I’ll give you that ring. Promise.”

She laughed, leaning into him as they walked. “You could’ve proposed with a ring pop, Hun, and I’d have said yes..”

He grinned, pressing a kiss to her forehead, then her cheek, then her lips. “Doll, you’re my best girl..”

“Damn right.” She stated.

And as they strolled through the city, wrapped in each other’s arms, Bucky knew that forgetting the ring had been the best mistake he’d ever made.

[fanfictionismyaddiction]

So could you do a Star Trek one with Spock (or whoever you write for as I can’t find that post now😭) with an SO who is visiting home on earth and keeps on bringing him interesting rocks she finds?

Stones and Stars

word count: 940

Pairing: Spock x human!reader

Summary: Y/n visits her home on Earth with Spock, enthusiastically collecting interesting rocks and sharing them with him, while Spock patiently admires her fascination and offers scientific insights, deepening their bond.

______________________________________________________________

Y/n stood on the quiet shore of her family’s lake house on Earth, her bare feet sinking into the soft sand. The sun was setting, casting a warm, amber glow over the still waters, and the air carried the scent of pine trees from the nearby forest. It was a moment of peace, of home, far away from the busy corridors of the Enterprise.

Behind her, Spock stood observing the surroundings, his hands clasped behind his back. He had agreed to accompany Y/n on her visit to Earth, a rare chance for her to reconnect with her roots and for him to experience the human world outside of Starfleet’s structured environment.

Y/n bent down, running her fingers over a small, smooth stone nestled in the sand. She smiled, picking it up and turning it over in her palm. Its surface was streaked with tiny veins of quartz, glimmering faintly in the fading light. She approached Spock, holding it up for him to see.

“Look at this one, Spock,” she said, a playful grin spreading across her face. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

Spock raised an eyebrow, taking the stone from her hand with the precision of a scientist inspecting a specimen. “Indeed,” he remarked, turning it over slowly. “The mineral composition appears to contain a significant amount of quartz, likely formed by years of pressure beneath the Earth’s surface.”

Y/n chuckled softly. “You always know how to make things sound so... scientific.” She watched him closely, enjoying the subtle curiosity that flickered in his dark eyes as he studied the rock. It was a small thing, but seeing Spock’s fascination with something as simple as a stone warmed her heart.

After a moment, Spock handed the rock back to her, inclining his head. “It is an interesting specimen. However, I do not believe it holds particular significance beyond its geological properties.”

Y/n laughed again, more at the formality of his response than the words themselves. “It’s not about the science, Spock. It’s about the beauty of it. Sometimes, things are worth appreciating just because they’re nice to look at.”

Spock’s expression softened, a subtle shift that only Y/n had learned to recognize after all their time together. “I see,” he replied, his voice thoughtful. “You derive pleasure from observing the aesthetics of natural formations.”

“Exactly.” She beamed, slipping the stone into her pocket. “It’s a little piece of home.”

They continued walking along the shoreline, Y/n occasionally stopping to inspect another rock or shell. She collected a small handful of them, showing each one to Spock with the same enthusiasm as the first. Though he did not share her penchant for collecting seemingly random objects, he never dismissed her excitement, responding to each discovery with patient interest.

As they reached the edge of the forest, Y/n bent down again, this time retrieving a larger, rougher stone. Its surface was jagged, unlike the smooth pebbles from the beach, and it seemed to carry the weight of ancient time within its weathered surface.

“This one feels different,” she murmured, brushing off the dirt. “It’s heavier… older, maybe?”

Spock took the stone from her, his long fingers tracing the irregular contours. His eyes narrowed in contemplation, and for a moment, he said nothing.

“You are correct,” he finally said, his voice low and thoughtful. “This rock likely originates from deeper beneath the Earth’s surface, perhaps pushed upward by tectonic activity.”

Y/n leaned in closer, intrigued. “Do you think it’s volcanic?”

Spock’s lips quirked, the closest he ever came to a smile. “It is possible. The rough texture suggests it may have been exposed to intense heat.”

Y/n couldn’t help but marvel at the way Spock could transform an ordinary rock into something extraordinary with his explanations. She rested her head against his shoulder, content in the silence that followed.

“You know,” she began softly, “I used to collect rocks like these when I was a kid. I’d bring them back to my room and pretend they were treasures from some distant planet.”

Spock turned his head slightly to look at her, his gaze thoughtful. “Your fascination with these objects seems to persist.”

Y/n smiled up at him. “Maybe it’s just nostalgia. Or maybe it’s because now, with you, it feels like I really am collecting treasures from other worlds.”

Spock raised an eyebrow, his expression softening further. “An intriguing perspective.”

They stood there for a moment, the quiet of the forest around them, the distant sound of water lapping at the shore. Y/n reached for Spock’s hand, intertwining her fingers with his.

“I’m glad you came with me,” she whispered. “It’s nice to share this part of my world with you.”

Spock squeezed her hand gently. “I find it… agreeable to observe Earth through your eyes, Y/n.”

She laughed softly, knowing that was as close to romantic as Spock would get. And that was more than enough for her.

As they walked back toward the house, the last light of day fading into twilight, Y/n tucked another rock into her pocket. This one was small and round, polished smooth by the water, and it sparkled faintly in the moonlight.

“I think I’ll keep this one,” she said, holding it up for Spock to see. “A souvenir of today.”

Spock tilted his head, his dark eyes reflecting the silver of the moon. “You seem to have acquired quite the collection.”

Y/n grinned. “I’m just getting started.”

And as they walked hand in hand beneath the stars, Y/n couldn’t help but feel that every rock, every moment, was a little treasure they shared in their own universe, one that Spock, in his own unique way, understood perfectly.

[kissmenkillmen]

⎯ ♥︎⚔️ ， word count. 1,162 . . . ⎯ ♥︎⚔️ ， f!reader x yuta okkotsu bf. sfw — domestic fluff. post-it love notes. soft morning moments. sweet little gestures. mutual appreciation. love through actions.

It was the kind of quiet afternoon that felt like a cocoon, where the outside world faded into an afterthought. The apartment hummed with a peaceful stillness, broken only by the faint rustle of turning pages and the occasional creak of the couch beneath you. Yuta was stationed at the dining table, his head bent low over a cluster of books and notebooks. His glasses perched precariously on the bridge of his nose as he scribbled notes furiously into the margins of a well-worn textbook. He looked utterly absorbed, the faint furrow in his brow betraying his usual intense focus whenever he was in research mode.

Meanwhile, you were nestled comfortably on the couch, one leg tucked beneath you, a cup of tea cooling on the coffee table as your eyes flitted across the pages of a novel. The world around you seemed to exhale in unison, letting the two of you bask in the kind of companionable silence that only comes with deep understanding and love.

You were mid-sentence, just about to turn the page, when a small flash of color caught your eye—a scrap of paper sticking out from the corner of the table. A post-it note. You tilted your head in curiosity, setting the book aside as you reached for it. The adhesive was faint, the corner curling slightly, but it held fast enough for you to carefully unfold it.

The familiar, slightly messy scrawl of Yuta’s handwriting greeted you: “Take a break soon, I’m making lunch. Love you.”

Your lips curled into a smile, warmth blooming in your chest. Yuta had always had a knack for the small things, the quiet gestures that spoke volumes without fanfare. This note was no exception. He’d probably written it hours ago, a subtle reminder for you to take care of yourself, even when he was too wrapped up in his work to say it out loud.

You glanced over at him, still engrossed in whatever mystery he was trying to untangle in his notes. His brows knit together in concentration, completely unaware of the discovery you’d just made. Rather than interrupt him, you carefully set the note back where you found it and turned your attention to a plan of your own.

Quietly slipping into the kitchen, you opened the cupboard where Yuta kept his favorite coffee blend. The rich, earthy scent filled the air as you prepared a cup, adding just the right amount of cream and sugar—exactly how he liked it when he needed a pick-me-up. While the coffee brewed, you noticed another post-it on the refrigerator door.

This one was a bit cheekier, with a tiny heart doodled next to the words: “Don’t forget to drink water!”

You couldn’t suppress the laugh that escaped you. Yuta’s thoughtfulness always found a way to sneak into even the most mundane moments. Balancing the coffee carefully, you returned to the table and set the cup down beside him. At first, he didn’t notice, his pen scratching furiously against paper, but as the aroma reached him, his movements stilled. His gaze flicked to the steaming mug, then slowly trailed upward to meet yours.

Before he could ask, you slipped a note of your own from your pocket and placed it next to his coffee. His brow quirked in confusion, but the soft, curious smile tugging at his lips betrayed his intrigue. He unfolded the small square and read the words aloud: “You’re the best. I’m proud of you.”

The flush that rose to his cheeks was instantaneous, spreading like wildfire across his fair skin. He looked at you, wide-eyed and a little flustered, before breaking into a soft laugh. “What’s this for?” he asked, though his voice carried more affection than confusion.

You shrugged, your grin betraying you. “Just thought you deserved a reminder,” you said simply. “You’re amazing, Yuta.”

For a moment, he didn’t respond, the weight of your words settling into the spaces between you. Then, with a tenderness that always caught you off guard, he reached for your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles as he pulled you closer. “I’m proud of you too,” he murmured, his voice low and sincere. “You have no idea how much.”

The next morning dawned with the same quiet intimacy. Yuta had risen early, the soft clink of the kettle pulling you from the edge of sleep. By the time you padded into the kitchen, still rubbing the last vestiges of sleep from your eyes, he was already at the table, surrounded by his usual chaos of notebooks and scribbles. His hair was adorably tousled, his glasses slipping low on his nose as he scribbled something furiously into the margins of a notebook.

“Good morning,” you mumbled, leaning down to press a kiss to the crown of his head. The smell of fresh tea and the faint remnants of his aftershave filled your senses, grounding you in the comfort of home.

“Morning, princess,” he replied, his soft smile enough to make your heart skip. “Did you sleep well?”

You nodded, moving to the counter to fix yourself a cup of tea. As the water boiled, your gaze wandered, eventually landing on a small post-it stuck to the refrigerator door. Peeling it off, you read the words written in his neat, slightly slanted handwriting: “Have a great day today! Don’t forget to smile. Love you always.”

Your chest swelled with affection, and as you sipped your tea, you began to notice more of them. Little notes tucked into corners and crevices, each one carrying a fragment of Yuta’s heart. One on the coffee maker reminded you to drink water. Another hidden in a picture frame declared you his favorite person. The trail of post-its felt like breadcrumbs, each one leading you closer to the quiet, enduring love he wove into your everyday life.

Smiling to yourself, you decided it was time for payback. Grabbing a pen and your own stack of post-its, you wrote your own notes in return. One on his laptop encouraged him to believe in himself. Another on his notebook teased him about his cute handwriting. You even slipped one into his hoodie pocket, knowing he’d find it later when you weren’t around: “When you see this, know I’m thinking about you.”

By the time Yuta returned to his desk, the post-its were waiting. You watched from the doorway as he sat down, the note on his laptop catching his eye. The soft laugh that escaped him was music to your ears, and when he turned to you, holding the note with an expression that could only be described as glowing, your heart soared.

“Payback, huh?” he teased, but his voice was thick with affection.

“Just making sure you know you’re loved,” you replied, grinning as you walked over to him.

He pulled you into his lap, his arms wrapping around you as his forehead rested against yours. “I think I know,” he murmured, his lips brushing yours in a soft kiss. “But you can keep reminding me.”

And so, the post-it wars continued, each note a reminder of the small but infinite ways you loved one another.

[toshidou]

don't mind me, i'll just be sat here crying into my hands about girl dad!simon "ghost" riley who would do absolutely anything for his daughters.

girl dad!simon who watches with a fond smile as his children fail to mask their giggles from underneath the sofa, their little legs sticking out very obviously from their "hiding place" but acting as though they're nowhere to be found.

girl dad!simon who lets them apply the black smudging around his eyes, praising them with how gentle they're being, and only huffing out a laugh when he feels his youngest smear charcoal fingerprints down his cheeks.

girl dad!simon who always has time to play with his girls, going along with whatever game their imaginative minds conjure with not a single complaint. over the years, you've walking in on simon as a horse, a robot, a fairy godmother (you will never get the imagine of simon with one of your elasticated waist dresses on out of your head, the material fighting for its life to stay in one piece as simon merely stares at you, silently pleading you to not take any photos), there is nothing he won't do to make them happy.

girl dad!simon who never once hesitates to scoop them into his arms at the first sign of tears, battled scared and inked hands holding his daughter so carefully, though she was made of porcelain, rough fingers gently swiping across ruddy cheeks, "you're okay, sweetpea, it's just a little scrape, yeah? my brave girl can handle a tiny scratch like that no problem, ain't that right?"

girl dad!simon who has a photo of you and your daughters tucked safely in his pocket at all times, all his favourite people on one small piece of paper he keeps safe over his heart whenever he has to leave, making sure it never leaves his mind that 'this is who he's fighting for, this is who he's working so hard to get back to'

girl dad!simon who try as he might, always tears up when he finally arrives back, and hears his little worlds sprinting at him as fast as their stubby legs can carry them, screeching cries of "daddy, daddy, daddy's home!" echoing through the walls of his home, arms wide as he crouches on the floor and feels their small but mighty weight crash into him, finally whole, finally complete, watery eyes meeting yours where you lean against the wall, similarly emotional.

"welcome home, si."

finally, home.

[caplanbuckybarnes]

Unhappily Married (Jason Todd)

Summary: you're in an arranged marriage. You won't be unhappy.

Warnings: Flangst, Arranged Marriage

WC: 770

A/N: really proud of this one, ngl.

Read on Ao3!

--

The grand hall was cold, despite the warmth of the chandeliers overhead and the rich velvet curtains that adorned the windows. Your wedding gown, heavy with intricate lace and satin, felt more like a chain binding you than something meant to celebrate the happiest day of your life.

But this wasn’t the happiest day of your life.

Jason stood across the room, leaning against a table, his tux slightly askew, his hands shoved into his pockets. He was scowling—though to be fair, he was always scowling. But tonight, it felt sharper, the weight of the forced union hanging between you like an impenetrable wall.

The marriage had been arranged, a deal struck between families—his and yours. It wasn’t love, and you doubted it ever would be.

You walked over to him, needing to break the tense silence. "We should talk."

Jason didn't even look at you, his gaze still fixed somewhere out the window. "What's there to talk about?" His voice was rough, distant.

You crossed your arms, frustration bubbling to the surface. "I get that you’re not happy about this either, but we can’t ignore each other forever."

Jason finally turned his head, meeting your eyes with that intense, hardened stare he’d perfected. “I never wanted to marry you,” he said bluntly, his voice cold but filled with an honesty that cut through you like a blade.

You stiffened at his words, though they weren’t exactly a surprise. You had known, from the moment the arrangement was announced, that Jason Todd was not a willing participant. But hearing him say it aloud? That hurt more than you had expected.

“Trust me, I never wanted to marry you either,” you shot back, your tone sharper than you intended. “But here we are, so what do you suggest we do? Just hate each other forever?”

Jason sighed heavily, pushing himself away from the table and stepping closer. His eyes softened just slightly, though the tension in his posture remained. “I don’t hate you. I don’t even know you.”

“That’s the problem, isn’t it?” You met his gaze, refusing to look away. “We don’t know each other at all. And now we’re stuck in this… this marriage. I’m not asking for us to fall in love overnight, but we can at least try to make this bearable.”

Jason ran a hand through his hair, looking conflicted. “Look, I get it. This whole thing is messed up. But I’m not exactly great at… letting people in.”

You sighed, the weight of the situation pressing on your chest. “I’m not asking for you to pour your heart out, Jason. But I can’t be in a marriage where we’re just pretending the other person doesn’t exist. We owe each other more than that.”

Jason’s jaw clenched, his eyes flickering with something you couldn’t quite place. Regret, maybe? Guilt? He took a deep breath, stepping closer, his voice lower now, softer. “I never wanted to marry you… because I didn’t want you to get hurt.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the shift in his tone. “What do you mean?”

His eyes held yours, and for the first time, you saw the weight of the life he carried—his dangerous world, his enemies, the shadows that always seemed to follow him. “You don’t deserve to be dragged into the mess that is my life. I’m not exactly the kind of guy who can promise you some perfect, fairytale marriage.”

Your heart softened as the pieces started to click into place. Jason wasn’t just being difficult—he was trying to protect you. He was pushing you away because he was scared of what being with him might mean for you.

“Jason…” you said quietly, stepping closer. “I don’t need perfect. I just need honest. And I can handle more than you think.”

He looked at you, really looked at you, and for the first time, some of the hardness in his expression melted away. He still seemed conflicted, but there was a shift, a tiny crack in the armor he kept around himself.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he admitted, his voice low. “But I’ll try. For you.”

Your breath hitched, surprised by the vulnerability in his words. Slowly, you reached out, taking his hand in yours. His grip was hesitant at first, but he didn’t pull away.

“That’s all I’m asking,” you whispered, giving him a small smile. “We can figure this out together.”

Jason’s gaze softened as he looked down at your joined hands, and for the first time since the marriage had been arranged, there was a glimmer of something you hadn’t seen before—hope.

--

consider joining my tags list?

[petriwriting]

Vero amore - Theodore Nott X Reader (Part 1.)

Summary: Theodore is on trial for being associated with voldemort due to his father and family history, His odds arent looking so good. Luckily for him you are called to the stand to testify on his behalf, and you just might be the key to his innocence.

Fluff, established previous relationship, Exbf!Theo, Older!Theo and others. Post hogwarts.

A/N: My first longer(ish) story. Let me know if you want to be tagged for part 2 and if you like it overall, I always like feedback! also if it is poorly edited I will go back and change a few things here or there. nothing major though. Please heed my warning this will have a lot of time jumps and memories but it will all make sense in the end promise. (Mini Series is now a WIP)

Italic is memories

"This could be the end of me." 

Theodore sighs in defeat, he is exhausted, and takes a swig of butterbeer to calm his nerves. The years past had not been kind to the man, his shoulders were low, as if they were fatigued from carrying the weight of the world had weakened his posture. His eyes had sullen dark circles beneath them, and his hair was long and un-kept. There was a cigarette between his fingers, it was unlit, but waiting patiently. He wasn't so much nervous, as he was ready for this to all be over. He was more than ready to leave his family's reputation in the past and move forward to better things. He was slightly jealous of Draco Malfoy for that reason, Draco had even become much more acquainted with Harry Potter after the war, leaving his reputation in the past now as a mature adult. Theodore felt partially he hadn't matured enough, and that he was still the boy who was stuck in his 6th year. It was a harsh adjustment for everyone, but Theo was completely alone now, with his father pronounced deceased shortly after the war and an estate left to him. He was an only child, his mother was gone. He pushes away all his friends for the most part and had not bothered making new ones... Theodore Nott was a mess. With one hand holding the beer bottle and cigarette, his other hand found its way to his pocket, pulling out a tiny black stone, rubbing it between his fingers to self soothe. 

"Let's not be too dramatic." Blaise says, with a slighty comforting tone. luckily for Theodore, Blaise had been helping him through his depression despite his best efforts to push him away. It was an effort that was silently appreciated. "I doubt Y/N would lie to the council, especially since it happened so many years ago." He said, standing at the other end of the kitchen island looking over at Theo. 

"Well, considering my behavior... I broke their heart. I wouldn't honestly wouldn't be upset if they did, Maybe I deserve it.." Theodore said, running his hand through his messy curls. 

Things had been tense for him lately. The ministry began investigating all those who were suspected to be involved with Voldemort's operations, one by one. Some trials were famous for their unhappy endings, others not so much. With Theodore Nott being his father's son, he was one of the first people to be questioned, going through the lengthy process of trying to prove his own innocence. His fathers action had ruined his son's reputation. Of course many of his friends had tried to speak on behalf of his good character, but the court's jury still seemed unconvinced. They had called you to the stand to testify for him, and he was utterly terrified. Although some may argue that the odds were stacked against Theodore, with the trace of a dark mark still plaguing his arm, Though others stand to believe he was innocent. Many of his friends had gotten through unscathed, although due to his father's high esteem, Theodore felt conflicted and angry. He knew it wasn't right to put you in that position, especially after all the time that has passed. Being a pureblooded slytherin associated with all things evil, the cards were not exactly in his favor.

"Well, let's hope for the best, shall we?" Blaise says, after pouring himself a small glass to toast with Theo. They had managed to stay relatively close throughout the years, despite all the chatter.

*Clink. 

"thanks, I'll need it." Theodore says, finally lighting his cigarette.

.    .    .You were relaxing one evening when a stocky brown barn owl nearly crashed into your window, with it came a letter with a familiar silver wax seal. The ministry of magic. You were quite alarmed, as you had no reason in particular to be contacted by them. Was your wand permit expired? or maybe there was some urgent matter to attend to? These questions flooded your mind as you carefully opened the letter. It was a summons. "You are hereby summoned to testify in court regarding the alleged innocence and character of Theodore Nott."  Readinghis name made your heart flutter. 

You had to stop in your tracks, taking a deep breath. You would be in the courtroom, testifying on behalf of your old ex-boyfriend from your school days. You could not believe it. The rest of the letter was a blur, something about instructions and court behavior expectations and what not to bring. You and Theodore had had a very Illustrious history together. He was your first love after all. It was all you could think about, for days on end until the court date finally arrived. It felt like months of sitting and waiting in anticipation and anxiety. Your mind turned over every interaction you had that would somehow frame you in a bad way, you were scared they might open a case on you just for the affiliation. Part of you, maybe even the tiniest part, felt that this was some kind of fate. Perhaps you were simply destined to relive the past, even if it was some of the most painful memories, maybe you could finally progress and heal after this.

You ran your fingers over your hair, readying yourself for what was about to come about, how it could all blow up in your face, or worse... You simply had no idea what to expect. You didn't even know what Theodore was up to these days apart from the slight mentions you overheard from friends and gossip. Aside from everything you were scared to face the man who broke your heart.

With a sigh, you apparated to the ministry's main office. Rushing past you were business men and women, Aurors, and some office workers. everyone seemed in a hurry, which didn't help your heart rate at all. It was beating fast as the seconds ticked on by. You scurried through the busy halls to the elevator, you were instructed to meet outside courtroom Ten, on the tenth level. You approached the doors steadily although nervously. You were waiting to be escorted into the main room. This level was so silent, almost as if it was void of any people at all. 

Someone in a plumb robe appeared, with a soft smile. It was a much older woman, something about her was oddly comforting. "Alright love," she said, sensing how nervous you were. You were fixing your collar for the third time. "No need to be scared, You'll see a bright light, then I will escort you to your seat." she explained. "Very simple." you nodded along. You could feel your heart-beat in your chest, wanting to run away or apparate somewhere you were familiar with, but you managed to keep yourself collected. 

It wasn't that you were scared of the court or being sentenced, you knew you were innocent and that you had nothing to hide, but you were anxious about seeing Theodore. The clever and mischievous boy you fell in love with may not be in that room, he may have changed completely. You were scared of that change. For you, it was devastating, He was your whole world and you loved him with all your heart, but you were starting to think that you must not have been the same to him, as after the war he had moved away from the city with blaise, Never even bothering to send an owl or talk to you. You tried to justify it, maybe he had his own reasons. He was going through a lot, without a doubt. above all you were scared you would fold under the pressure of being on the stand.

"Alright dear." the old woman whispered, taking your arm. you were led into the hall, it was dark. The woman was truthful about that bright light, it was blinding, like a spotlight. You could feel the enchantments that had been done in this room, there was a fuzzy, but calming feeling washing over you. The jury were all dressed in the same robes, sitting in near rows of curved benches that opened up into a central clearing, where there was a large chair on a podium. That must be where they would question people, you thought to yourself. The bright light began to disappear more and more as your eyes adjusted, as most of everything else was dark. The Wizengamot stood, everyone followed suit. you were standing on the sidelines with your escort, there was so much going on you almost didn't see Theodore sat across from everyone. There were two Aurors on either side of him and he was in restraints. It pained you to see him treated like a criminal, especially after seeing how gentle he really was. He looked older, still as handsome, but tired. Exhausted even, with dark circles under his eyes and his curls a mess atop his head. For a moment, you saw him and your heart skipped a beat.

"Witches and Wizards of the court, we are gathered today for the testimony of Y/N L/N on Behalf of Mr. Theodore Nott. shall the information and insight given to us today be conclusive, we may not need perpetuation of this case."  The wizengamot says. "We will proceed with a brief summary of our evidence, and our trial shall commence with Mrs.L/N's Testimony."

A small, short stubby man wanders up to the front of the jury to recap the evidence. He explains the case in short detail. Theodore was being accused of being affiliated with his father's operations, and since his father worked for Lord Voldemort the evidence was conveniently stacked against Theodore. The first piece of evidence was Theodore's dark mark, and the jury had apparently stated that this was a choice made by Theo, although you knew deep down it wasn't. The second piece of evidence brought up from collections was a broken time turner, you could clearly recall the memory of this. Although that was the only physical evidence against him, The other witnesses were named. One of them was a Slytherin student who had a class with Theodore, but you quickly realized whatever she had said must have been against his innocence, since it was someone Theodore rejected countless times, and he even left her alone to pick up a project worth most of their grade during fifth year granted, he did have a good excuse it didn't matter. The other witness was named Theodore's neighbor, an old man who had been acquainted with his father. It was clear the old man hated the Nott family, having lived in silent hatred next to the Nott manor for many years. And then, the final witness was you.

After turning the thoughts over your head, and imagining all possible outcomes you realized that they were about to try Theodore Nott for an affiliation with Death Eaters that was not his doing. Theodore was about to become a criminal  .  .  . 

You knew in your heart that this wasn't right. It was unjust. You would be guilt ridden for the rest of your life if you didn't at least attempt to unravel these lies. You could disprove most of the evidence anyway, you also knew that it might not be enough. Your escort stood behind you as you stood on the central platform to be seated for the jury. The same man who spoke before and welcomed everyone to the trial turned to you. "Mrs. L/N," he said, you gulped and took a shallow sigh. "How do you wish to proceed?" he asked you. 

You looked at him for a moment, and then back to the jury. They seemed like they didn't particularly care about being there. Without thinking much, "I would like to request to present my memories as evidence." you said. "Very well." the man replied, receding back into the room. At this time, you had to be sure you were providing the best evidence even if it meant showing everyone in that courtroom your most vulnerable moments. It was a brave gesture. 

After a few moments of silence, some Aurors emerged into the room with a Pensive. A small silver bowl with runes and symbols carved on the inside and outside, within it contained a shiny silver liquid. It was placed in the center of the room. The Auror approached you, asking for your permission before proceeding with extracting your memories. You had read about this in school, but you had never seen one let alone used one for yourself. He placed his wand up to your head, twirling gently. You felt a tear escape your eyes, it wasn't painful, but it felt like a sudden rush and headache. The Auror added the memories to the silver bowl, and in almost an instant it began to glow.

"Mrs. L/N," one of the jury members began. "are you sure you wish to proceed?" they asked, you nodded quickly. 

You took a deep breath as you looked into the bowl, It was enchanted to allow everyone to see your memories, and the glowing ball of light sprung up to illuminate the center of the room, within it was your memory.  .  .

[ginxyy]

Midnight between the pages

The soft hum of jazz music floated through the air as you wandered the aisles of the tiny bookstore. It was a hidden gem, tucked away in a quiet corner of the city. Tonight, it was hosting a cozy New Year’s Eve gathering, complete with warm drinks, fairy lights strung along the shelves, and a scattering of people browsing through books.

You spotted Wonwoo in the corner near the philosophy section, his tall frame leaned casually against a shelf as he flipped through a hardcover book. He was a picture of quiet focus, the glow of the string lights catching in his glasses. It was such a “Wonwoo” scene that you couldn’t help but smile.

“Found anything good?” you asked, walking up to him.

He glanced up, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Maybe. This one caught my eye.”

You tilted your head to see the title: The Art of Stillness.

“Seems fitting,” you teased, leaning against the shelf beside him. “You always seem so calm.”

He chuckled softly, closing the book and tucking it under his arm. “Maybe on the outside. But it’s nice to slow down sometimes. Nights like this are rare.”

You nodded, understanding exactly what he meant. The world always seemed to move too fast, especially for someone in his position. Being here, surrounded by books and the gentle hum of conversation, felt like a little pocket of peace.

“Come on,” Wonwoo said suddenly, nodding toward a quieter section of the store. “I want to show you something.”

Curious, you followed him to a cozy nook with a small seating area. A stack of books rested on a coffee table, and a nearby window offered a view of the snow-covered street below.

“This is my favorite spot,” he said, sitting down and gesturing for you to join him. “It’s quiet, and you can read without being interrupted.”

You took a seat beside him, the soft cushions sinking under your weight. “I can see why you like it. It’s… comforting.”

He nodded, his gaze drifting to the window. “Do you ever think about how much can change in a year?”

You looked at him, caught off guard by the question. “I do. I think about it a lot, actually.”

He turned to you, his expression thoughtful. “This past year has been… unexpected. Busy, but good. And I’ve met people who’ve made it even better.”

Your heart skipped at the way his eyes lingered on you. “Like who?”

He smiled softly, not answering right away. Instead, he reached for a book from the stack on the table and flipped to a marked page. He handed it to you, his fingers brushing yours as he passed it over.

“What’s this?” you asked, glancing at the open page.

“Read it,” he said simply.

The passage was a quote about beginnings and endings, about finding beauty in the fleeting nature of time and cherishing the moments that make life meaningful.

“It’s beautiful,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Wonwoo nodded, his gaze steady. “It reminded me of tonight. Of this moment.”

The sound of the countdown reached you from the front of the store, muffled but distinct.

“Ten… Nine…”

Wonwoo leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “Can I tell you something?”

“Eight… Seven…”

“Of course,” you said, your pulse quickening.

“Six… Five…”

“I don’t usually do this—say things like this out loud,” he began, his voice quieter now. “But you’ve been one of the best parts of this year. And if there’s one thing I want to carry into the next one, it’s you.”

“Four… Three…”

Your breath caught, his words wrapping around you like a warm blanket.

“Two… One…”

Without hesitation, Wonwoo closed the distance between you, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was soft and lingering. His hand found yours, his fingers warm despite the chill in the air.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested lightly against yours, his glasses slightly askew.

“Happy New Year,” he murmured, his voice like a soft melody.

“Happy New Year,” you replied, your cheeks warm and your heart racing.

The distant cheer of the crowd signaled the start of the new year, but in that quiet nook, it felt like the world had paused just for the two of you. Wonwoo smiled, his thumb brushing lightly over the back of your hand.

“Do you think this year will be a good one?” you asked softly.

He nodded, his gaze steady and full of certainty. “I think it already is.”

And with the snow falling softly outside and Wonwoo’s hand in yours, you couldn’t help but believe him.

[decagondice]

༓ Whispers of the tide and wind ༓

Soft!Sukuna x reader, SFW, exchanging seashells

The sea stretched out before you, endless and shimmering under the late afternoon sun. The horizon blurred into soft blues and golds, the sky above tinged with the colors of a fading day. A gentle breeze rolled in from the water, carrying the scent of salt and sun-warmed sand, ruffling through your hair and making the world feel lighter, like the air itself was full of laughter. 

The two of you were alone on the beach, the shore stretching out for miles, untouched, save for the small imprints of your footprints trailing behind. The sound of the waves lapping against the sand came in slow, rhythmic whispers, their song carrying on the wind like a quiet melody. There was a kind of serenity in it all, an easy peace that wrapped itself around you, soft and warm.

Sukuna walked beside you, his presence as steady as the ocean itself. His hands hung loosely at his sides, his steps unhurried. The sun caught in his hair, turning the strands a deep, burnished hue, casting soft shadows across his sharp features. His usual air of power and intensity seemed gentler here, softened by the breeze and the quiet of the open sea. There was something calming in the way he moved, as though, in this moment, he was part of the rhythm of the world, as much a part of the landscape as the sand and waves themselves.

You bent down, fingers skimming the surface of the cool, wet sand as you searched for seashells. They dotted the shore like tiny forgotten treasures, smoothed by the tides and glistening faintly in the sun. Every so often, you found one that caught your eye—a delicate spiral shell, pale and perfect, or a small, broken fragment with edges worn smooth—and you picked it up, brushing away the grains of sand before holding it out to him.

"Look at this one," you murmured, your voice light with the simple joy of discovery. You held out a small, rose-colored shell, the edges chipped, but still beautiful in its imperfection.

Sukuna’s gaze shifted to the shell in your palm, and for a moment, he said nothing, his eyes tracing the lines of it. Then, with a quiet grunt, he reached out, taking it from your hand. His fingers brushed against yours, warm and calloused, a brief but familiar touch. He turned the shell over in his hand, studying it for a second before sliding it into his pocket, as though the act of keeping it was just as natural as breathing.

In return, he crouched down, picking up a larger shell—worn smooth by the tides, its surface ridged and patterned. He held it out to you, his expression unreadable but calm, his eyes flicking from the shell to your face. There was something almost tender in the way he offered it, the quiet exchange of these small, forgotten things that the ocean had left behind.

You smiled, taking the shell from him, the simple weight of it feeling like a secret shared between the two of you, something the world beyond the shoreline couldn’t touch. Your fingers lingered on his for a second longer than necessary, feeling the warmth of his skin against the cool breeze.

The two of you continued to walk, the conversation flowing easily, back and forth like the waves at your feet. The sun dipped lower in the sky, casting a soft, golden light over everything, turning the sea into a vast stretch of liquid amber. You spoke of little things, of nothing in particular, the kind of easy, meandering conversation that filled the space between you, requiring no deeper meaning. Every now and then, Sukuna would glance at you, his gaze softened in the warm light, and though he said little, the quiet moments of eye contact felt full, as though words weren’t necessary to understand the quiet contentment you shared.

As you walked, you felt the cool, damp sand beneath your feet give way to the drier grains farther from the shore. Sukuna stopped for a moment, his gaze drifting out to the horizon, his expression unreadable yet peaceful, as though he were lost in the vastness of it all. You followed his gaze, the sun now sinking closer to the water, the colors of the sky melting into shades of pink and soft lavender.

Without a word, Sukuna slipped his hand into yours, his grip easy but firm, like it was the most natural thing in the world. The breeze caught again, playful, tugging at the loose strands of your hair and his, the world around you bathed in that golden, fading light. The sea whispered on, endless and patient, as if it had been waiting for this moment to unfold.

“You’re terrible at finding good shells,” he muttered under his breath, his tone gruff but without its usual bite. There was an almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, hidden beneath his usual sharpness.

You laughed softly, the sound carried away by the wind. “And yet you keep taking them.”

He gave a small huff, his gaze still on the horizon, but the slightest tug of warmth remained in the corner of his eyes. The two of you stood like that, hand in hand, feet buried in the soft sand, watching as the sun sank lower, painting the world in its final shades of light. The soft intimacy of the moment wrapped around you like the breeze, and though no more words were spoken, the connection between you both was undeniable, woven into the quiet, shared space of the beach, the seashells in your pockets, and the endless, rolling waves.

Here, with the ocean stretching out before you and the soft rhythm of the world surrounding you, everything felt lighter—like the worries of the world couldn’t touch you, like the wind and the sea and the quiet were all that existed. And as the sky faded into twilight, you knew this moment would linger, as gentle and constant as the tide.

A.N. I realised I kept writing scenarios of them at home and felt claustrophobic. Though if this is really the right season for them to go out to the beach is questionable.

[darlinluxx]

𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐘 𝐍𝐄𝐂𝐊𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐄 | 𝐊𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐀𝐄 𝐁𝐘𝐄𝐎𝐊 ౨ৎ

pairing : saebyeok x fem!reader

fluff, tiny bit of angst

warnings : tiny bit of angst, pickpocketing

summary : you’re so in love with her, including her reckless behavior.

a/n : inspired by candy necklace by lana del rey

if you have any requests, feel free to message me <3

𝐓he weight of her hand in yours is a grounding force, a constant amidst the chaos that seems to follow Saebyeok like a stray dog. you love it, the weight, the warmth, the callouses on her fingers that you trace with your thumb when you think she isn’t looking. you love her. everything about her. even the parts that make your stomach clench with a mix of fear and exhilaration.

like right now.

the Seoul subway platform is a hive of bodies, a symphony of hurried footsteps and muttered conversations. you’re pressed close to Saebyeok, the familiar scent of her cologne a comforting smell. your eyes are fixed on her hand, the one that isn’t holding yours. it’s dancing, a silent predator moving with a practiced grace you both admire and dread.

you watch her fingers, long and elegant, slip into the pocket of a distracted businessman. a wallet, plump with bills, is extracted with the skill of a surgeon, disappearing into the folds of her jacket before the man even blinks. a thrill courses through you, a dangerous current that tugs at your heart. this is Saebyeok. this is the woman you love.

you know it’s wrong. you know you should say something, pull her away. but you don’t. you can’t. you’re mesmerized. it’s not just the skill, but the audacity, the utter disregard for the rules that she carries like a second skin. it’s a reckless flame that has somehow drawn you into his orbit.

“did you get it?” you ask quietly, your voice barely audible above the rumble of an approaching train.

her lips curve into a secret, almost predatory smirk. she doesn’t need to say a word. the slight bulge in her jacket pocket is all the confirmation you need. she squeezes your hand, the warmth of her touch a promise of excitement and perhaps something a little more dangerous.

you know the stories. the whispers of Saebyeok’s past, the things she did to survive, to get her brother out of the orphanage, to protect them both. you understand the desperation that fuels her, the hunger that drives her to find her way in a world that has never been kind to her. and while your soul may ache with concern, your heart swells with something akin to fierce pride. she’s a fighter, a survivor. and right now, she’s yours.

you’ve tried to talk to her about it before, about the risk, about the potential consequences. but her eyes would harden, her smile would vanish, and you’d find yourself silenced by the quiet, smoldering rage that burns beneath the surface. you know it’s not just about the money; it’s also about the power, the thrill, the feeling of taking control in a world that feels so impossibly out of her grasp.

it’s a complicated love. it’s a love that keeps you awake at night with worry, a love that’s often fueled by adrenaline and stolen glances. you know that one day her recklessness might catch up to her. you’ve seen the glint of steel in her eyes, the unspoken knowledge that this path can only lead to one of two outcomes: freedom or destruction. and you’re terrified of both.

but as the subway pulls into the station, doors hissing open like a hungry beast, she looks at you, her eyes softening, the hard edges of her face smoothed by a genuine affection you’re lucky enough to receive. she pulls you onto the train, navigating the crowd with a feline grace that makes your heart skip a beat. her hand, still warm, is back in yours, and in that moment, amongst the chaos of the city, you wouldn’t trade her chaos for anything.

you love her. you love the reckless, the dangerous, the unpredictable Saebyeok. and you just pray that one day, she’ll learn to love herself just as fiercely, and perhaps, just perhaps, she’ll learn to carry that fight in a less dangerous way. until then, you’ll be there, holding her hand, bracing yourself for whatever comes next. because that’s what you do for the person you love. you follow them, even into the fire.

[qqueenofhades]

Hwy dod we even need to send more money to Ukraine tho like we’ve already supported them plenty! But let Europe pull their weight and we can go back to spending that money on American policies

Do you read like, any news outside Tumblr, any Ukrainian perspectives, any basic analyses of the conflict, any rationale from Democrats or Congress, or anything? Because, in brief:

Ukrainians are currently facing a full-scale genocide. It has been going on for over a year and Russian military leadership has every plan to continue until fruition. If they stop resisting, there will be no more Ukraine or Ukrainians. So all the "appeasers" or "realists" insisting that Ukraine should "give up land for peace" (which notably worked so well with Czechoslovakia and Hitler in 1938) are basically deciding that it's fine to let the genocide be carried out, if it's even minorly inconvenient for us. Putin and cronies have repeatedly stated that if they are successful in taking Ukraine, they will go further. This is the exact scenario that leads to the "escalation" and/or WWIII that various people keep wringing their hands over. It is far more just and safe for Ukraine to be supported now and to stop that before it gets even worse.

America is not actually giving over buckets of black cash, regardless of what various bad-faith takes claim. They are handing over weapons valued at various amounts of money, along with some financial and budgetary aid. A lot of these weapons are older and would cost more to decommission than they cost to give to a sovereign democracy fighting for its life against an imperialist autocratic neighbor. This is some tiny amount like 5% (if that) of America's bloated military budget. And again: it's actual weapons valued at a certain dollar amount. These cannot be spent on American domestic policies.

The idea that helping Ukraine is directly coming out of our own pockets or preventing us from spending as needed on our own needs is propaganda. It is not good to repeat it.

I wrote this post the other day about why Putin is trying so hard to break American/Western support for Ukraine, and why the hard-right MAGA has enabled him in it. Putin's Russia is the motivating nexus, coordination, and funding center for Russian/European/American far-right theocratic fascism. This whole "America Only" is the exact rationale that appeals to said far-right domestic fascists and gives Putin and other imperial expansionist kleptocrats the justification to just throw away post-WWII international order and declare that any larger and more powerful state can systematically eradicate any neighboring country, claim its territory, destroy its government, kill its people, and get away with it. Because why would they stop, if there aren't any consequences and they are rewarded for it?

Putin has repeatedly interfered in American elections to help Trump and the Republicans. That should tell you something about who he sees as most favorable to his interests and what he would do again if allowed to emerge victorious.

Europe IS actually pulling its weight! They just brought all 27 defense ministers to Kyiv, they have been working on Ukraine's accession talks, they have committed all types of weapons (including the long-range missiles that the US still won't clearly authorize), they've committed a new tranche of 5 billion euros in long-term assistance, etc. But the whole "we should pull out of NATO and leave Europe to fend for itself" was a key isolationist and xenophobic Trump idea. We can see what that led to.

American aid is vital to Ukraine's continued existence as a sovereign country, period, and it is in American interests to continue to provide it as agreed upon. Not least because such an egregious betrayal of a democratic ally would empower the fascists of the world, both Russian and American, and because as noted, if this conflict was not stopped and got bigger, it would then involve American troops. It is a moral, democratic, political, and ethical imperative. This is not a difficult call or a complicated situation, regardless of what the Online Leftist tankies and the MAGA-world nutcases (because horseshoe theory) want you to think.

Слава Україні.

The end.

[dorikkiz]

Can you please please PLEASE do Niki x fem reader telling Niki they’re pregnant with his baby and they’re going through pregnancy journey together and they’re having a girl and reader goes into labor and has their daughter and Niki is aesthetic to be a girl dad?! Please?🙏🏻🥺

Bet

For her...

The room was dim, pulsating with loud music and vibrant lights that blurred the boundaries of good decisions. Ni-ki sat back on the couch, the bottle in his hand swaying slightly as he laughed at his friend’s joke. Across the room, Y/N caught his eye—hair falling just right, confidence in her step, her laughter contagious even in the chaos of the party.

By the end of the night, they found themselves in a room upstairs, lips brushing, the world a distant haze. One night, one choice, and they thought it would end there.

But it didn’t.

Three months later, Y/N stood outside Ni-ki’s apartment, her hands trembling as she knocked. Her heart raced when he opened the door, his face lighting up in surprise before shifting into something unreadable.

“Y/N?” he asked, stepping aside to let her in.

She didn’t bother with pleasantries, too consumed by the weight of her news. “I’m pregnant.”

The air turned heavy as his expression faltered, disbelief clouding his features. “What?”

“I’m having a baby,” she repeated, tears brimming in her eyes. “Your baby.”

Ni-ki ran a hand through his hair, pacing the small space. “How do you even know it’s mine?” he snapped, regret flashing across his face the moment the words left his mouth.

Y/N’s voice cracked as she replied, “You think I’d lie about something like this?”

His frustration spilled over. “I’m not ready for this. You’re not ready for this. We should—” He hesitated, the unspoken word hanging in the air.

“Don’t you dare say ‘abortion,’” Y/N cut him off, her voice shaking.

“It’s not about what I want. It’s about what makes sense,” he argued, his voice raising. “We barely know each other! How are we supposed to raise a kid?”

Her tears fell freely now. “I’m not getting rid of my baby, Ni-ki. If you don’t want to be part of this, fine. But don’t ask me to—” She choked on her words, grabbing her coat and storming out.

The days that followed were suffocating for both of them. Ni-ki couldn’t sleep, his thoughts spiraling into guilt and fear. Y/N’s world felt lonelier than ever, carrying the weight of her decision and the heartbreak of Ni-ki’s reaction.

But then, one evening, he showed up at her door.

“Can I come in?” he asked, his voice soft, almost hesitant.

Y/N nodded silently, stepping aside.

“I’ve been thinking,” he began, his hands fidgeting. “I freaked out. I shouldn’t have said what I did. This isn’t just about me—or you. It’s about… her.”

Her brows furrowed. “Her?”

He swallowed hard. “The baby. I don’t know why, but I keep thinking it’s a girl.”

Y/N’s lips curved into a small smile despite herself.

“I’m scared,” he admitted. “But I want to do this—with you.”

Her tears returned, but this time they were different. She pulled him into a hug, his arms wrapping around her tightly as if he’d never let go.

Their journey was far from easy. The pregnancy was a rollercoaster of emotions, arguments, and moments of pure joy. Ni-ki attended every doctor’s appointment, his heart skipping a beat when they first heard their daughter’s heartbeat. He painted her nursery, though it ended with more paint on him than the walls.

By the time Y/N went into labor, they were inseparable. Ni-ki was by her side, holding her hand as she brought their daughter into the world—a tiny, perfect girl with Ni-ki’s eyes.

“She’s beautiful,” he whispered, his voice breaking as he held her for the first time.

From that moment, Ni-ki transformed. He was completely, unapologetically a girl dad. He learned how to braid hair, carried tiny bows in his pockets, and let her paint his nails bright pink. He was wrapped around her tiny finger, from her giggles to her tantrums.

“Riri,” Y/N teased one day, watching him sit on the floor in a princess dress their daughter insisted he wear. “You’re hopeless.”

He grinned, his gaze never leaving their daughter. “Yeah, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Y/N smiled, her heart full. Despite everything—their rocky start, the uncertainty—they had built something beautiful together.

And for their little girl, Ni-ki would move heaven and earth.

[diekleinesuesse]

Moments of Light in the Shadow of Death

Grim was not a being given to sentimentality. After all, when you’re Death personified, emotions were rarely practical. Yet, somehow, Sunshine a mere mortal with a smile that could light up the bleakest void had wormed her way into his eternity. She was his anomaly, his warmth in a universe of cold inevitability.

It was one of those rare, quiet evenings when the world wasn’t demanding his presence. No souls to reap, no cosmic imbalances to address. Just him, Sunshine, and the little pocket of time they could call their own.

Sunshine was in the kitchen of their shared home, humming a tune that had been stuck in her head all week. Her apron, decorated with tiny daisies, was slightly askew, and a streak of flour painted her cheek. She was baking cookies an endeavor she had insisted on undertaking, despite Grim’s grumbled protests that she didn’t need to exert herself for his sake.

“I like baking for you,” she had said earlier, her eyes shining with a warmth that made his chest ache in ways he didn’t entirely understand. “It’s my way of showing I care.”

Now, as he leaned against the doorframe, watching her move with an effortless grace, Grim found himself mesmerized. Sunshine didn’t just exist; she radiated. Every gesture, every laugh, every tiny, inconsequential thing about her seemed designed to counterbalance the weight he carried. And in moments like this, he almost believed that balance was possible.

“Are you going to stand there brooding, or are you going to help me?” Sunshine’s voice broke through his reverie, teasing but gentle. She turned to look at him, hands on her hips, a smudge of dough on her wrist.

Grim raised a single, dark eyebrow. “I do not brood.”

“You absolutely brood,” she countered, a grin tugging at her lips. “It’s part of your whole ‘tall, dark, and mysterious’ aesthetic. Very swoon-worthy, by the way.”

He rolled his eyes but stepped into the kitchen nonetheless. “What exactly do you require of me?”

“Mix this,” she said, handing him a bowl of dough and a wooden spoon. “But gently. You’re strong, and I don’t need cookie batter flying everywhere.”

Grim took the bowl, his long fingers wrapping around the spoon with a surprising delicacy. He stirred, his movements slow and deliberate, as Sunshine returned to her work, shaping dough into perfect little spheres on a baking tray.

“I never understood your fascination with cookies,” he said after a moment, his deep voice breaking the comfortable silence.

Sunshine glanced at him, her smile softening. “They’re simple, but they make people happy. They’re like little bites of comfort. Besides, you like them.”

Grim paused, his hand stilling. “I don’t need to eat, you know that.”

“But you do. With me,” she replied, her tone light but her meaning clear. “That counts for something.”

It did. Though he would never admit it aloud, there was something undeniably grounding about sharing a meal with her. It made him feel… less other. Less an abstract force, and more a man. Or at least, something like one.

As if sensing his thoughts, Sunshine stepped closer, her hands dusted with flour. “You’re doing great, by the way,” she said, peering into the bowl. “Perfect consistency.”

Grim smirked. “Naturally.”

She laughed, the sound like sunlight breaking through clouds. “Okay, Mr. Perfect. Why don’t you preheat the oven while I finish these?”

He obliged, his movements fluid and precise, and soon the cookies were baking, filling the kitchen with a warm, sweet aroma. Sunshine leaned against the counter, her head tilted as she studied him.

“You know,” she began, her voice softer now, “I think you’re happiest when it’s just us.”

Grim’s eyes met hers, something unspoken passing between them. “Happiness isn’t exactly my domain.”

“No, but it can be,” she said, stepping closer until she was within arm’s reach. “At least for a little while.”

Her words settled over him like a blanket on a cold night, warm and reassuring. Slowly, almost hesitantly, Grim reached out, his fingers brushing against hers. She didn’t pull away instead, she intertwined her hand with his, her touch grounding him in a way nothing else could.

“You are… peculiar,” he murmured, his voice low and laced with a strange fondness. “A mortal who dares to bring light to Death.”

Sunshine smiled, her free hand resting lightly against his chest. “And you’re a reaper who dares to let the light in.”

The timer dinged, signaling the cookies were done, but neither moved. For a moment, it was just them, a timeless stillness that belonged solely to them.

Finally, Sunshine grinned and broke the spell. “Come on, Grim. Let’s see if my cookies are good enough to tempt even Death.”

“They always are,” he replied, his lips quirking into the faintest of smiles.

And as Sunshine laughed, pulling him toward the oven, Grim felt something stir within him a quiet, steady warmth that told him, no matter the inevitability of his existence, he would always have these moments. Moments where he wasn’t just Death, but simply hers