#had to make it ST version

[morganee]

Last two BTS posts be like:

[medicalunprofessional]

never change, man !

[thealterscrolls]

and what if self care IS others harm?

[cherrycuttles]

haii.. thinking ‘bout them again [cute]

[gothmikewheeler]

girl i have fanfics in my head u wouldnt even dream

[teethpaste]

Ugh

[cannibalismyuri]

coming out as a passive jopper hater bc the insane level of capitalist pandering they did with s3 (with ERICA who is like. one of the worst, stereotyped portrayals of a black girl ive ever seen, bless her heart) was truly crazy. combine that with the copaganda and the general attitude of hopper in s3 which was played off as 'awkward loser guy doesnt know what to do with Feelings more at 8' was a bit .... Eh :/ to me. because it is so obviously a fictional character and show but like. disliking hopper/jopper bc of the ideals st is perpetuating and the fact that they arent compatible at All in s3 (to me, atleast) is valid. some ppl might just think that jopper is unhealthy and/or 'overrated'. because they do sort of pay a disproportionate amount of attention to jopper, compared to the other canon romantic ships (afaik, bc of the screen time counter) and that can be Weird, esp with the... how should i say this? balancer/savior role hopper takes in the relationship (we constantly see him placating joyce, sometimes even being slightly patronizing, and also they place a lot of importance on him saving joyce from a lot of stuff, which is cool and sick if it wasnt for the fact that it directly correlates with him being a cop, yk). and the general power imbalance bc he's a Cop and abuses his position of power constantly, and that is exactly Why anything that joyce does is seen as a #insane girlboss category 5 woman moment because she simply has the short stick in the power race and when she does manage to make an impact DESPITE her economic/social/'general uselessness in say in Major decision-making when it comes to authorities' shortcomings it is seen as an amazing win. hopper on his own is extremely fleshed out as well, because we get to see his arc play out with his relationships with his daughter and ex-wife and el and re-learning how to be a parent and how to not let love allude him, and that is lovely! it's so great to see the adults in the show being focused on! but joyce is absolutely disregarded and underdeveloped as a character of her own right outside of her relationships with hopper or her kids. we see that she is determined and a force to be reckoned with and that she cares very deeply for the people she loves and would go to insane lengths for them but all that doesn't Mean anything, because we never see a backstory for her. we never figure out who she is without her family or hopper, or what her motives and aspirations and emotional shortcomings and stumbles and mistakes are. for a character to be fully fleshed out, they need to be an interesting, refreshing and palatable character On Their Own without their relationships with other characters, and we just don't see that with joyce. like u have Thee winona ryder on ur show, and u forsake developing her character in favor of developing hopper's character with /not the best taste/ and causing her to be a blank slate of a mother, lover, woman and friend, but not a PERSON. all she's been reduced to is a Mother and Hopper's Girlfriend, and honestly, that's the worst decision they could've made in relation to her and her relationship with hopper.

anyway, all this to say; these are my thoughts on the matter, but i'm definitely not hating on people who enjoy jopper passively and DEFINITELY not any by/ler (the most predominant fandom im part of in the parent fandom of st) who enjoys them as a ship with their own dynamic separate from canon. because the by/ler fandom is NOT a monolith and nobody is obligated to agree with me or change their opinion if it doesn't align with mine or be forced to look at my opinion and feel bad for shipping anything. im not going to act Holier Than Thou for expressing my opinion and u should definitely continue shipping jopper if it makes u happy! as long everybody recognizes the copaganda and capitalist mindset grind propaganda shit in st (which is Pretty Obvious) and respects that while shipping what they want, i have no problem with it. all that is to say; peace and fucking love. can we (the by/ler fandom) stop fighting abt jopper we all have our own opinions this is bc we are Not a hivemind or a monolith and not obligated to have the same opinions relating to all aspects of st just because we happen to ship one thing. i am a hater and a lover

[hollowsart]

@choppedcowboydinosaur

Moe Howard is the stooge you're thinking of, but yes! I see both. It's mostly just the fact they both have that bowlcut. I wouldn't be surprised if that's the case to what inspired his design or not. we'll never really know.

Either way, his appearance is still iconic and memorable!

[no-144444]

the grid: dealing with your childhood stuffed animal!

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featuring: Oscar Piastri, Lando Norris, Lewis Hamilton, George Russell, Alex Albon, Franco Colapinto, Logan Sargeant, Daniel Riccardo, Liam Lawson, Charles LeClerc, Carlos Sainz, Arthur LeClerc, Ollie Bearman, Max Verstappen, Paul Aron, Jack Doohan.

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Oscar Piastri: cutie pie 

Bro is a gentleman through and through

He will tuck it in 

He always grabs it if it falls of the bed

When he washes it he calls it a ‘spa day’

Cutie patootie

During sex he does usually push it off the bed, but he puts them back after. (he understands it doesn't want to see that).

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Lando Norris: drama queen 

Could he complain more? 

He’s not even that jealous of it, he just doesn’t like when you’re cuddling with it instead of him.

When you do that, he will cling to you like his life depends on it, sighing and groaning every time you laugh at him. 

“Wow, I wish I had someone who could hold me right now, too bad you’re busy cheating on me..”

Drama queen. 

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George Russell: tentative 

He’s friendly with it, but he’s not its biggest fan. 

When he came into your room for the first time, he was quite startled by it.

But he’s grown to appreciate it. 

He knows all its name for sure, and when he’s putting it back, he puts them with its ‘friends’ 

(Bro has made up story lines in his head about it and your other teddies). 

Definitely got the stuffed-teddy version of himself that Mercedes has and gave it to you. 

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Lewis Hamilton: chill guy

He’s chill with it. 

He doesn’t make it a big deal, but sometimes if Roscoe isn’t in the room, he’ll talk to it about you while you're taking ages to get ready. 

Like pretending it can hear him and complaining like a sassy man.

You almost always throw a pillow at both of them.

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Kimi Antonelli: confused but supportive

Supportive, but he doesn’t really get it. 

He likes it, but when it ends up on the floor, he’s not immediately picking it up to take care of it. 

He does take lots of photos of it when you’re away.

It becomes his buddy when you have to travel, he brings it everywhere.

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Alex Albon: very much into it

Bro understands 

He also has one. 

They’re also in love.

When you both have to go away, you send each other pictures of your stuffed animals ‘missing’ each other. 

That’s what happens when you date someone for a long time. 

Cringe shit. 

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Logan Sargeant: complainer! 

Supportive, but will shove it off the bed every night. 

When you go looking for it, he’ll whine about  “You have me right here!”

Which never ends well. 

He ends up on the other side of the bed with a pillow between the two of you. 

But he always sneaks back over. 

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Franco Colapinto: gossip over anything

Again, supportive but confused. 

At the beginning he was like ‘that’s for kids’, but when he sees how much joy and comfort it brings you, he changes his tune. 

He loves that thing.

Like Lewis, NO.1 gossip partner when you’re taking ages to get ready. 

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Daniel Riccardo: IT’S A PART OF THE FAMILY 

Treats it like your child. 

Brings it everywhere with you

Even jokingly ra children buggy for it.

Made an Énchante design with it on it. 

Loves it. 

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Liam Lawson: menace to society 

His no.1 enemy. 

Hates it.

Hates that it gets more attention than him. 

Cannot stand it. 

Literally fights it. 

Throws it away from you at any chance he gets. 

He is a menace. 

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Charles LeClerc: hot and cold 

He’s on the fence with it.

Sometimes they’re on good terms, sometimes he chucks it across the room.

Will cuddle you and push the teddy away sometimes but will also go and find it for you if you need it. 

Duality of man!

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Carlos Sainz: liar

Literally makes fun of you for it, despite loving it himself.

He will bring it on bike rides and all that shit, only to take pictures of it for you.

But the second you start looking for it.

“Aren’t you a bit old for that?”

And every time you remind him that he takes it on bike rides, to which he responds “only for you!” which always ends up in a play fight of some sorts where you both are trying to get the stuffy. 

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Arthur LeClerc: beginning of his villain arc

He hates the damn thing.

He will hide it.

He will take it.

He doesn’t care. 

He hates it. 

Every fibre of his being hates it, only because you treat it like him. 

You tuck it in, cuddle it, always have it close. 

He is so jealous. 

When you kiss it? 

He actually screams. 

He demands like 5x more kisses than whatever it got. 

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Ollie Bearman: ummmm

Supportive, but also kind of tough-guy about it. 

“You don’t need that, you have me”

Rolls his eyes when you ask him to go find it because you know he hid it and you’re already comfy in bed. 

Goes and grabs it anyways

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Max Verstappen: passive aggression!

He’s fine with it.

Chill but not the biggest fan. 

Doesn't hide it or anything, just make passive aggressive comments when you cuddle it instead of him

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Paul Aron: he is a father 

Cutie patootie 

He again, treats it like your child. 

Takes it away with him sometimes.

Takes photos of it, and with it all the time. 

The teddy had gone on many a boys night, all of them taking photos with it. 

You have the entire F2 grid holding it for photos with Paul. 

Even fans know about it and love it. 

Brought it to the FIA gala and took photos on the red carpet with it since you couldn’t be there. 

It has become a legend in the F1 community so even the team principals and drivers asked to be in photos with it. 

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Jack Doohan: thief! 

Would rather die than admit that he love sit

Hides it, complains about it 

But secretly would kill for it. 

You find him cuddling with it sometimes.

He takes it on trips as a ‘reminder of you’, but you know it’s actually because he likes it a lot.

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navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

[siriuslylantsov]

be my valentine

pairing: spencer reid x reader

description: in which, spencer asks you out after a hearty but incomplete info dump on the history of valentines day.

tags: fluff! idiots inlove, gn!reader, reader is briefly described as shorter than spencer, teasing!spencer, grumpy!reader, penelope is an angel and i love her so much, reader shitting on valentines day and raising some very valid points.

a/n: based on this request, second fic for the event!! i know its still four days till valentines day but! if i didnt get this done now it would've been late. i rewrote this THREE times... but i rlly like how this version came out! happy reading :)

wc: 2.1k

it's your lunch break and you’re glaring at yet another sappy couple that walks by you. grumbling, you take another bite of your blueberry muffin. spencer laughs from his seat in front of you, amused by how your lip curls into an irritated pout. the two of you had walked to a cafe, a brief reprieve away from the frenzied police department you were stationed at for this week's case. 

“motherfuckers,” you seethe, still chewing your food. “i hate valentine's day.”

he laughs again, his tone sarcastic, “really, i never would’ve guessed.”

your glare shifts to him as you cross your arms. his grin is still there, annoyingly persistent, you hate that it doesn't affect him as much as it should. if you told him this, he would’ve told you that it didn't pack much of a punch. 

you roll your eyes and continue with a heavy scoff, “it's just another fake holiday, you know. like mother's day. created by greeting card companies trying to commercialise a day that shouldn't even exist honestly. every day should be dedicated to showing your loved ones how much you care, not just 24 hours in the middle of february.”

he accepts your cynicism with a smirk, completely accustomed to it. he knows you don’t mean it, not entirely, you just like to rant. “you know valentines day actually goes back about 2000 years. i’m sure greeting card companies weren't around back then,” he corrects, biting his lip in suppression.

your eyes narrow into slits, feeling the faint shift in the air of an incoming info dump. you ignore the way you want to hear what he has to say and take a sip of your coffee instead. you stall to torture him a bit, it's funny how he squirms.

“really,” you drag out, stroking your chin in exaggerated contemplation. you stare at him knowingly, he wants to continue but he's waiting for you to give him the green light. you laugh quietly, mood already improved, “go on.”

spencer visibly brightens, sitting up straighter and hands springing into action. “well, valentine's day has a really fascinating and somewhat convoluted history,” he starts, almost giddily. “the earliest accepted theory can be traced back to the roman festival of lupercalia, which was celebrated from february 13th to 15th. it was a fertility festival dedicated to faunus, the roman god of agriculture, and it included a ritual where men would sacrifice a goat and a dog, then use strips of the goat’s hide to whip women-”

“wait, they used goat skin to whip women?” you interject, eyes widening incredulously.

“yes! they willingly lined up for it too, believing it would make them more fertile,” he explains, far too animated considering the context, but it's okay. you like his enthusiasm. 

you grimace, “weird.”

“right. however, the day of love that we now recognise was brought by st. valentine, though which valentine is unclear—there were at least three martyred saints by that name. the most famous story involves a priest in third-century rome who defied emperor claudius ii's orders by secretly performing marriages for young soldiers,” he pauses to take a breath. you use it to bring your coffee back up to your lips, hiding your smile.

“claudius believed single men made better warriors, so he banned them from marrying,” he clarifies to which you nod. “when valentine was caught, he was executed on february 14th, which is why he’s the namesake of the holiday. some versions of the story even say that he sent a letter to his jailer's daughter signed ‘from your valentine’ which could be the origin of the modern tradition.”

“huh,” you pick your lip in thought, spencer hides the way his eyes dart down to them as you do it. “but that’s still an execution, how did it-”

the shrill tone of your ringtone interrupts you. “mhm, okay,” you respond when you pick up the phone. “we’ll be right there.” 

spencer stares at you expectantly, reaching over to grab your bag. he secures it over his shoulder and stands up. 

“it was jj,” you explain, stuffing the last bits of muffin into your mouth. “wi’ness ‘howed up.”

the food-muffled words make him chuckle and hold out a hand for you to get up. you let him pull you up with a dramatic huff, still holding his hand as you dust crumbs from your lap. you realise it a little too late and let go with a start, frown returning when you realise he isn’t going to let you carry your bag.

the walk back only took about five minutes before but this time's slower pace makes it a longer ordeal. comfortable silence brackets the two of you until it doesn’t when spencer speaks up.

“so, there's actually a lot more to the history of valentine's day. for instance, how the day became one of romance instead of, as you said, one that marked a martyrdom. we could, i don't know, discuss this properly over dinner. or drinks? or ice cream, i know that you like ice cream-”

filler words... he’s nervous. amid his rambling, he doesn't realise that you’ve stopped in your tracks. 

“-we can do whatever you want, i don't mind.” when he looks beside him and doesn't find you, he turns around. he can scarcely read the expression on your face, he usually can. this causes a little bout of concern to bubble up, “what is it?”

“are you asking me out?” your question is immediate, blunt, as a confused crease forms between your eyebrows.

well shit, he was. his lips part as he processes what he just said, he looks a little like a deer in headlights the way he stares back at you. was that too much? are you mad? did you want him to ask you out? what if you say no? he should say something. what if he messes everything up? he can’t-

“spencer,” his name rings out softly, pulling him from his spiral. 

his eyes snap to yours, searching, desperate to read between the lines, to piece together what you’re thinking like he always does—except this time, he can’t. he squeezes his eyes shut before opening them again, “yes.”

he swallows hard and adds, “on a date.”

“i got that,” you murmur, stepping closer to him, and closing the distance that he unintentionally left.

his head dips, voice small. “i didn't mean to make you uncomfortable.”

your head tilts slightly, studying him. “you didn’t.”

the reassurance eases him a little but not enough as the anxiety claws at him while he waits for your answer. your phone sounds again from your pocket, this time a text from morgan. you quickly type out a response–got lost, be there in 2. it's a pathetic excuse, if you focused, the station was in your direct eye line. but you needed to say something. 

“okay.”

he can't help the sign of relief that slips out of him, you giggle at the sound. when he looks at you again, he's unmeasurably happy to see your poorly concealed smile, breaking out in his own matching one. 

“yeah?” he asks sheepishly.

you nod, chewing your bottom lip, “yeah.”

your eyes squint at the corners, a side effect of the same grin that those sappy couples had been sporting, the same one that you’d been complaining about a little while ago. it makes you want to kick yourself, so you do the next best thing. you take hold of spencer's hand and drag yourself back to the pd. spencer shuffles somewhat behind you, trying to keep up with your stride. it doesn't take him long with those long legs of his.

his thumb strokes your knuckles gently–deliberately, you feel–but he pretends it's an unconscious action with the way his eyes are trained ahead. it makes you roll your eyes. when you near, you reluctantly let go of each other, the moment being the last time the two of you are alone for the rest of the day.

-

the team ends up solving the case a few hours later, taking the jet home where a valentines day baking spread is set up in the briefing room. all set up by the resident tech savvy. penelope tells you later that it took a whole week of convincing on her part, insisting that it would be quick and she’d clean up, and that everyone would get home to their own valentine's day plans in no time. 

there are a few heart-shaped helium balloons floating in the corners, and pink streamers in easy to reach places. the room is drastically more inviting, maybe the tones of fuschia and bubblegum have something to do with that. a cake and a bowl of suspiciously dyed punch reside on the table, along with pink plates and cups.

“penelope,” you gasp when you see them.

perfectly curated baskets of chocolate and cookies and associated items for everyone. you pick up the one with your name on it and inside you find: a candle, your favourite candy tied together with a little bow and a letter signed ‘happy valentines day, sweetheart. love, penny xx’. 

oh my god, you could kiss her. 

“it's like christmas,” emily muses from the other end of the table. you hear jj mutter something in agreement. you peek over at spencer, it's probably the hundredth time that you've snuck a glance his way. his eyes were already on you every other time, only now they were accompanied by a pair of red heart-shaped glasses, the clear plastic lenses offering a perfect view of his hazel orbs. the picture makes you laugh to yourself, you can barely hear it echoing from his end. 

-

about 30 minutes later, only the stragglers are left. in better words, the single people. the individuals with partners having rushed off to their own respective plans. you're making small talk with another girl who worked around the office when you feel a light hand on your shoulder, spencer nodding his head toward the elevator to signal your leave. you politely wish her goodbye and walk out with him. 

“cute glasses,” you tease, bumping his shoulder with yours, though the height difference makes it so you're nudging his upper arm. 

“yeah? i might get the lenses medicated, switch them out for my regular ones,” he jokes, his elbow nudging yours gently as he pushes the bridge of the glasses up the slope of his nose instinctively. 

“good idea,” you nod.

“you think?”

“mhm.” 

once again, he beats you to your bag, swiping it from your chair and carrying it along with his own. you meekly toy with the hem of your shirt as the two of you walk to the elevator. 

“so, bummer that neither of us have plans today. it’s so early,” you say, being blatantly obvious with what you're suggesting.

spencer only offers you an indifferent “yeah, bummer” in response, walking in when the doors slide open. when you look at him though, he's anything but indifferent, the corner of his lip pulling up in a crooked smile, irritatingly smug. you don't know where he gets off on being so at ease but the expression on his face makes you scowl as you follow him in. 

he is silent the whole ride down. you become increasingly annoyed, only faltering slightly when his hand reaches down to hold yours. his fingers thread between yours and you not-so subtly curl yours over his, ignoring the way he looks down at you. 

you try not to smile at the domestic picture of the two of you walking out hand in hand. thankfully the basement is empty. he pauses between your cars and mutters a quick “see you monday” before loosening his fingers and turning to walk away.

“spencer,” you groan, almost a whine as you squeeze his hand before he can let go.

he responds immediately, without missing a beat, “yes, angel.”

fuck.

you want to melt but you don’t want to give him the satisfaction. “would you like to do something tonight?” you grit out begrudgingly.

“i would love to,” he agrees, pulling you closer with your hand. your gaze darts to the two bag straps on his shoulder and you realise he had no intention of letting you go just like that. so you shove him, a little hard that he stumbles a bit. he huffs a laugh and you shake your head dismissively. 

he slowly, tentatively, dips down to press a soft kiss to your cheek. your eyes flutter shut at the contact. 

“how does thai food sound?” he asks, that same bashfulness creeping into his voice that you love so dearly. 

“sounds perfect.”

you share another sweet smile that would probably make you gag from an outside perspective but now it just makes you feel dizzy. he leads you back to his car, muttering something about how he’ll pick yours up tomorrow morning. you want to argue with him but that same dizzy feeling stops you.

you can't help the dreamy sigh that slips out when he connects your hands again over the centre console. thank god for st. valentine, you think.

reblogs and replies are appreciated :) | m.list

divider from @saradika-graphics

[goobstars]

𝐉𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐁𝐎𝐘

summary : when ragatha's suggestion of a softball game comes into play, you find yourself befriending a player on the opposing team—evil jax—without the knowledge that your jax was watching from afar.

tags : romance, reader & jax are dating, no maid outfit jax just to spite you all, jealousy, censored profanity, and violence.

note : this was a request from mistycomma, so i hope you enjoy, and thank you for the request!

you found it funny.

everyone was up against evil versions of themselves—minus you and gangle, for some reason. though, you weren't really complaining.

as the field was getting set up—the evil versions taking their places—you couldn't help but just find the whole thing amusing. evil ragatha just laughed a whole lot while talking in an odd accent, evil pomni seemed more relaxed while cursing every now and then, evil kinger—or coach dictatorer—did nothing but shout, and you didn't even know what was going on with bazooble.

yet, the one you found most hilarious of all? evil jax.

could you even call him evil? the boy seemed incredibly shy and antsy, and he always had one hand gripping his arm while he looked around.

you leaned against the bench—sitting beside jax as you continued to examine the evil versions of everybody.

kinger was giving a quick peptalk to everyone, and while it made no sense, you could tell he was just trying to hype everyone up. you nodded at his words before you heard someone clear their throat.

you peered up from kinger and noticed evil jax was standing at the bars of the dugout.

"h-hey, guys. i-i hope we all have a fun game, no matter who ends up winning."

you gifted evil jax a smile, "good luck out there." the boy gave you a nervous smile back before walking away, and you looked up at jax once you noticed his quietness.

jax's eyes darted towards you, then back at evil jax before his eyes narrowed in disgust. "i wanna kill that guy."

"why? he's sweet!" your words only made jax mumbled incoherent things as kinger called ragatha to the field, and you smiled at her once she waved at you before going onto the field.

jax only wrapped an arm around your shoulder, and he shot a scowl at evil jax once he noted the boy gifting you glances.

he leaned in closer as your eyes remained on ragatha while she batted, and he slightly nudged your head with his own.

when you didn't respond, he nuzzled into your shoulder. it got a slight reaction out of you as you leaned your head onto his, but he wanted more of a reaction. he wanted you to pay attention to him and not the game that had that stupid evil jax in it.

you continued to watch the game as you witnessed ragatha hit the ball right into pomni's glove, but before you could make a comment about the loss, you felt jax nip your neck.

"what are you doing?"

your question got no reply as he only pushed his head more into your shoulder, and you didn't know what to do. you didn't know why he was acting like this, and you certainly didn't know what to do about it.

"[name], you're up next!"

you pulled away from jax as soon as kinger announced that you were up, and you watched him slightly frown at your actions. yet, you didn't have time to acknowledge them as you were handed a bat and sent out to the field—rubbing your neck with your free hand.

jax stood up from the bench as he walked over to the bars, and he gripped them as he watched you play.

you were a bit far from where he was, so he couldn't hear you much, but all he knew was that you were talking to evil jax. the boy would say something and you would laugh—which resulted in you missing the hit. why were you joking with him? he was on the opposing team, and there was no way he was that funny to where you would miss the ball.

jax watched as you swung again, and when you missed, he swore he heard evil jax say that you were doing good. why was he being so nice? why couldn't he just shut up and leave you alone?

when it was your final swing, you actually managed to focus this time, but you still missed.

despite the fact you didn't get a single hit, evil jax clapped and cheered you on, and only irritated jax more.

since you had struck out, you walked over to the other side of the dugout, and evil jax followed you.

why was he following you?

jax gripped the bars of the dugout as he scowled at evil jax, and he watched as the boy leaned over the bars to talk to you.

and you were happily talking back.

why were you talking to that guy when jax wasn't that far from you? why did you walk over to the other side of the dugout? did you want to talk to that guy?

"why do you look so bothered?" the sound of zooble's voice made jax roll his eyes as he continued to watch you talk to evil jax, and zooble seemed to catch onto his gaze as they watched as well. "evil jax is a whole lot nicer than you, huh?"

"no, he's just a coward who doesn't know when to mind his own buisness." jax's words were sharp, and zooble let out an airy scoff before crossing their arms. "you know, you weren't acting like this until he started talking to [name]..."

"so what?" jax snapped back, but when he let go of the bar and turned to face zooble, he was met with the sight of them leaning forward on the bench with an eyebrow raised.

"are you jealous?" zooble's words were filled with taunt, and jax's face only flushed as he glared at them. "I AM NOT JEALOUS!"

his pupils were scrambled while he stared at evil jax, and zooble hummed. "i don't think i've ever seen you this bothered before..."

jax only ignored their words once kinger announced that it was his turn to bat, and he harshly grabbed the bat out of kinger's hands as he made his way onto the field.

he noted the way you waved at evil jax before the boy walked back to his spot on the field, and for some reason, that only bothered jax even more. why was he so bothered by this? it's not like you were interested in that guy.

right?

his hands gripped the bat tighter as he took his stance, and he narrowed his eyes at bazooble. "let's see what you're made of!"

bazooble's words made jax's eye twitch, "SHUT UP!"

"i-it's okay! i think you'll do great!"

the sound of evil jax's voice made jax's head snap towards the boy, "I WANT YOU DEAD!"

his gaze flickered towards you, and he noticed how your eyes were wide from his words.

"strike one!"

jax narrowed his eyes before he realized bazooble had thrown the ball, and he frowned. "COME ON, JAX!"

kinger's shout only made him roll his eyes before he slightly lifted the bat, and he lazily swung the bat.

oddly enough, he hit the ball, but it didn't go in front of him. instead, it went behind him, and a large centipede in the crowd caught it.

which it then ate the ball.

"huh, i guess there's no more ball—we're done."

as jax trudged back to the dugout despite kinger's worried shouts for him to go back, but jax just handed the bat to zooble before walking over to you.

you could hear him grumble a few things underneath his breath before he plopped down beside you, "are you okay?"

"i'm fine." jax snapped at you, and you only blinked at him a few times before standing up from the bench. his ears slightly moved down as he straightened up his back, "where are you going?"

"you seem annoyed, so i'm going to give you some space and go talk to evil jax for a minute while they try to find a ball—"

you felt his hand grasp your wrist before pulling you back down on the bench, and he wrapped his arms around your waist. "no."

"why not?"

"because he's annoying and i'm gonna kill him."

"jax, it'll only be for a second—"

thump.

your words were cut off as jax tensed up, and he pushed you away while you eyed his leg. "did—did you just thump at me?"

he looked away from you, and you felt a smile cross your lips once you took everything into consideration.

the nudging, nipping, and thumping gave it all away.

"you're jealous." you teased him while his face heavily flushed, and his eyes flickered towards you in a glare. "i am not."

you only raised your eyebrows at his words, and you slightly scooted away before hearing that noise again.

thump.

his glare only harshened as you let out a laugh, yet your laughter was cut off once he wrapped an arm around your waist before he hid his face in your shoulder. "shut up."

you let out a quiet sigh before placing a kiss against his cheek, and you felt him relax against you.

you watched as ragatha went up to bat again, which confused you, but you didn't even know if you could call it her 'batting' due to the fact bazooble was laying on the ground for some reason.

"ANOTHER HOME RUN!" caine announced, "THAT CONCLUDES THE GAME!"

ragatha looked at caine in confusion, and his words honestly made you even more perplexed too.

yet, when jax shifted his head against your shoulder, your confusion vanished.

the opposing team griped about how they lost while evil ragatha quite literally melted upon losing, but while they were doing that, you felt jax lift his head from your neck with dialated pupils.

"i'm not a vegan anymore."

you watched as jax hastily shot up from the bench before dashing back onto the field, and you were confused as to what he was doing before you noticed him heading straight towards evil jax.

the boy waved at jax before his face was filled with fear, and you heard screams erupt from him once jax bit him and started shaking him around.

you only leaned your elbows against your knees as you placed your face in your hands, and a quiet sigh left your throat while you watched the scene.

as odd as jax was, you loved that boy.

and it made you happy knowing that he loved you back.

[arkaiveofurown]

Carrying Your Love With Me

Pairing: Portgas D. Ace x Reader

Ace always carries the ones he loves—Dadan’s bead necklace, a hat that reminds him of Luffy’s, a jolly roger tattoo for Whitebeard and a crossed-out “S” for Sabo. He doesn’t talk about it, but it’s written on him. So when he asks you for something to carry, it means everything.

Word Count: ~2,300

tags: fluff, ace is sentimental

my masterlist here ♡

The thing about Ace is—he doesn’t say much when it matters most.

He’ll laugh louder than anyone, challenge five men at once, eat half a kitchen’s worth of food, and fall asleep mid-sentence in a sunbeam like a cat.

But when it comes to love? He wears it quietly.

Ace was half-asleep in the sun, back resting against the mast, a soft breeze teasing his black hair. His hat tipped down, shielding his eyes, but his hands—calloused and sun-worn—were fiddling with the red-beaded necklace around his neck.

You’d seen him do that before.

He’d trace the beads slowly when he thought no one was watching. Each one had a scratch, a mark, like it had been through battles with him. You didn’t know much about it until Marco once offhandedly mentioned it was from Dadan—his foster mother. She’d shoved it into his hands the day he left.

The hat wasn’t just a fashion choice, either. He’d picked it up because it reminded him of Luffy. It made him feel closer to his little brother, even from across the sea.

The “S” in his ASCE tattoo? You didn’t need to ask twice. The answer came quietly when he talked about Sabo—his voice a little rough, his thumb brushing over the ink like it kept a piece of his brother alive.

And the bold mark on his back—the Whitebeard tattoo—wasn’t just pride. It was loyalty. Family. Proof that he’d found something worth following. Worth protecting. He bore it like a banner, never once hesitating to call Whitebeard “Pops.”

Ace didn’t talk about his life often. But he wore it. Carried it. Clung to it.

Just like how he chose to carry the name “Portgas”—a quiet, powerful tribute to the mother who sacrificed her life so he could live.

He loved hard. Deeply. Fiercely. And even when he didn’t say the words, he wore them—for the people he never wanted to forget.

And it made your heart ache in the best way.

——

You sat together on the edge of an island cliff that evening, looking out over the sea. The sky was painted in orange and crimson, the kind of colors that matched the fire in his hair and soul.

“I don’t usually ask for things,” Ace said suddenly.

You turned to look at him. “Okay…”

“But I’ve been thinking,” he added, eyes still on the water. “I’ve got stuff from my brothers. Dadan. Pops gave me this tattoo. But I realized I don’t have anything from you.”

Your heart stuttered. “You want something from me?”

“Something small,” he said. “Something I can carry.”

You tilted your head. “You’re sentimental.”

He snorted. “No I’m not.”

“You are,” you teased. “You literally never take off that necklace.”

“That’s different,” he mumbled, ears going pink. “She’d kill me if I lost it.”

You bumped your shoulder against his. “So what do you want from me?”

“Anything,” he said quietly. “Just… something that’s mine.”

You looked at him—this wild, flame-hearted boy who tried so hard to seem carefree while his whole heart was full of love he couldn’t say.

“Give me a night,” you said. “I’ll make something.”

He turned, brows lifted. “Seriously?”

You nodded. “If you promise to keep it.”

“I never break promises to people I love,” he said. Then, flustered, he added quickly, “Care about. People I care about.”

But you caught it.

And you smiled.

——

You stayed up late in the ship’s workshop, using scrap bits of red and white metal you’d bartered for on a past island stop. The pieces weren’t perfect—one side was a little dented, and your hands shook slightly while linking the thin plates together with wire—but it was solid. Clean. Strong.

Like him.

You shaped the metals into a linked, band-style bracelet—red and white alternating, polished until they gleamed. When the light hit it, the colors glinted like fire and bone.

You made two.

The next day, Ace met you in your usual spot on deck. The wind tugged at his open shirt, and the sun made his freckles glow.

You held out the bracelets. “Here.”

He blinked. “You made these?”

“Metal, so they won’t burn,” you said, placing one in his hand. “Yours is slightly lighter. Mine’s got the dent on the fourth plate.”

He turned it over, slowly—fingers careful, reverent. “Red and white,” he murmured. “White for the crew… Red for—?”

“You,” you finished. “The color of fire. Passion. And—”

He looked at you.

“Love,” you said.

For a moment, he didn’t speak.

Then, with trembling hands, he slid it onto his wrist and looked at you like he was seeing the sun rise for the first time.

“Help me put yours on?”

You nodded, and he carefully clasped it around your wrist, fingers lingering. “This means a lot,” he said, voice thick. “More than I know how to say.”

“You don’t have to say it,” you whispered.

You already knew.

“We match,” he said, voice warm and soft. “You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to,” you replied.

Because you wanted to carry him too.

——

It became a habit.

Before meals, he’d touch it.

Before battle, he’d glance at it.

When he was nervous, his thumb would rub over the plates—red, white, red, white—like counting seconds.

“Hey, firefly,” you teased one day. “You keep petting that thing, it’s gonna shine right through the deck.”

He shot you a look. “It helps me focus.”

“Really?” you asked, leaning in. “Or does it remind you of someone?”

Ace flushed but didn’t deny it.

“It keeps me steady,” he said. “When I’m scared, I remember you made it. And then I’m not.”

Your teasing fell away.

You stepped forward and placed your hand over his.

“You’re never really alone, you know,” you said. “Not as long as I’m around.”

Ace looked at you like the sun had risen for the second time that day.

——

He was gone for three weeks.

Scout mission across the Calm Belt. You stayed behind on the Moby Dick, bracelet clinking against your wrist like a whisper.

You touched it when you missed him. Slept with it curled under your hand.

And then, on the 15th night, it cracked.

A single metal plate split down the edge with a soft ping. Your stomach dropped. You didn’t know why—but you felt it in your chest.

Far away, Ace stumbled during a fight. Mid-flame.

He winced and looked down—his bracelet glowed red, the smallest spark skimming its surface.

“Ace!” someone yelled. “You good?”

He caught his breath. “Yeah. I just… felt something.”

He touched the bracelet. It was warm. Warmer than it should’ve been.

He gripped it tight.

“I have to go back.”

——

You waited at the harbor, wind biting your cheeks.

And when you saw him—bruised, exhausted, hair wind-tossed—you ran.

Ace caught you mid-stride, lifting you off the ground like a lifeline. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders, hands gripping his back.

“You felt it too?” you whispered.

He nodded, face buried in your neck. “Cracked. I thought something happened.”

You pulled back enough to show him your bracelet. “It did. I missed you.”

He touched the crack reverently, like it was a scar you both shared.

Then he kissed it.

“I’m not letting it break again,” he promised. “I’ll fix it. Even if I have to melt it back together with fire.”

You smiled through your tears. “You’ll burn it.”

“I’ll burn everything else first,” he said. “But not this. Never this.”

——

Years later, the bracelet was a little darker, a little scratched. But it was still there.

He never took it off.

Not even in storms. Not in fights. Not when the fire got wild. The red and white gleamed like memories.

People thought the beads were his style. The hat, a statement. The tattoos, just ink.

But those who knew him—really knew him—understood.

Everything he wore was love.

And when he glanced at his wrist, when his fingers brushed metal and his eyes softened—you knew.

He was carrying you with him.

Always.

[thewitchblue]

"Are you... reading Twilight?"

You had asked Jason, who broke into your apartment while you were gone grocery shopping. He only gave you a hum and continued reading as you set your grocery bags on your kitchen table.

You watched him turn the page and felt a sense of dread. It was your copy from when you were 13 years old. It had notes and doodles in the margins. Did he read your notes? Of course he would. He reads the annotated versions of Jane Austen he has for fun. Why wouldn't he read your notes? The world seemed to be against you this day.

You were so mortified you didn't even hear him laugh at a doodle you had of Edward biting a dog with the word "nom" next to it. He was almost done with the book.

You've only been dating for a handful of months. Would the notes break up your relationship? You don't remember the majority of them.

You haven't touched the trilogy since school, and you originally didn't even want to read it. The social pressure from your friends became to be too much, and it felt like a religious experience at the time.

You had forgotten about the book entirely in the years you've had it crammed in a bookcase next to the rest of the series, which, with great horror, you saw he also pulled out to read.

"Don't tell me you're enjoying the book."

You said in disbelief. The memories run through your head of your blushing cheeks at simple words on pages while the girls ganged up on you to ask which team your on. What team is Jason on? Or has he read this before behind closed doors? He shrugged and simply replied,

"I am."

You wanted to bolt out the door, but you had melting limited addition candy cane ice cream in your grocery bag.

Instead of running away, you bravely start putting away your groceries with your eyes trained on Jason. He seemed to genuinely enjoy your trashy romance book that's so incredibly dated. This is so bizarre to you. He's a fan of the classics and loves books that he can revisit without cringing.

The book appeared partially destroyed by the abyss of your backpack with a torn cover and a broken spine, but it drew Jason's attention. Of course, it would draw his attention. He always said a well loved book is one you take everywhere. A book with a broken spine and torn cover is going to make him curious.

He never had the normal teenage phase, so he's never read the book. He was curious, and he was rewarded so far. He understands now why teenagers like the trilogy so far.

You decided to break into the ice cream. You tensed at every page turned. What did you write in there? You tried to remember. You vaguely remember writing "yummy muscles" on a page. You cringed. Oh, the horrors of a horny teen.

The ice cream was as delicious as you expected it to be. How could you look him in the eyes ever again? Will he tell the whole family? You were stress eating.

Jason finished the book and went to pick up the next one, but you plucked it out of his hands before he could open it and grabbed the final book as well.

"I'm seriously going to throw these in the shredder."

Jason smirked at you. He enjoyed your little doodles and notes. It was as if he was meeting you when you were kids. He pointed out,

"I think they are too big to shred, pipsqueak."

You pouted, which only made him more amused. He pulled you into his lap and kissed your cheek. You huffed,

"I can still try."

He laughed. You were so adorable. He might have to embarrass you more. He murmured to you,

"I especially enjoyed your note of 'delicious dog meat.'"

You groaned and held your face in your hands, making the books fall to the floor. You hated your past self in this moment. Why did you keep those books? For Jason to show up and read them?

The feeling of dread eventually went away the more he kissed you. You filed away the fact you can know for a fact Jason read Twilight now, and part of you wondered if he'll spiral into the hellscape of fanfiction as a result. You are going to burn those books.

You like to think you ended up with a better love story than Twilght. Sure, you may be dating a zombie instead of a vampire or werewolf like teen you had wanted (if we can have Superman, we can have a sexy vampire or werewolf), but your zombie is perfect in his own ways.

[angelluv16]

Hi! Could I have a fic where reader is Chr*st**n H*rn*r's daughter and she doesn't have the best relationship with her dad (especially after the allegations) but she has a wardrobe malfunction during media with her tube top (which, fun fact, is called a boob tube in the UK (I think)) and the nearest garage is Mercedes so she heads there and comes out wearing a Mercedes kit and all hell breaks loose with her dad? It could be Kimi Antonelli x reader (or George Russell x reader, whatever you prefer)

Wrong Team

✩: No one except your close friends knew you were dating a Mercedes driver until a little accident happened that revealed it all

Want to be added to my taglist? (new version): Click here

pairing: Kimi Antonelli x reader

warnings: Christian Horner (🤮), Flashing? argument (chirstian being an ass like always)

A/n: I'm so so sorry this is so so bad. It's really late, and I decided to do it now since I have school tomorrow and I won't be able to write then. But Your my third ever request I love writing for you guys I love writing in general I just really suck cuz Idk what to write about haha

Butterfly Banner- @bernardsbendystraws

This day was officially the worst.

Media duties were already hell, especially when half the reporters were still throwing shady questions about your last name at you. But then, as if the universe was personally out to get you, your top decided to completely betray you in front of the entire paddock.

One second, you were answering some pointless question about Red Bull’s performance. The next—pop. Your stupid strapless top slipped at the absolute worst moment, and the cameras? Oh, they caught everything.

Panic took over. You bolted from the media pen, arms crossed over your chest, not stopping to think about where you were going. Just away.

Which, in hindsight, was how you ended up here.

Mercedes.

“Uh—hey?” One of their mechanics blinked at you, completely confused as you barged in, looking like you’d just escaped a disaster (which, to be fair, you had).

“Long story,” you muttered, shifting uncomfortably as the cold air hit your now-exposed shoulders.

Thankfully, someone—bless their soul—threw you an oversized team shirt. You yanked it on immediately, sighing in relief as the fabric swallowed you whole. The crisis somewhat averted.

Or so you thought.

The second you stepped outside, still wearing the Mercedes shirt, you heard it.

That voice.

“What. The. Fuck.”

You froze.

Slowly, you turned to see your father—Christian Horner—staring at you like you’d just committed actual treason.

His face? A deep shade of red. His jaw? Clenched so tight you were honestly concerned for his teeth.

“What the hell are you wearing?” he demanded, his voice low but dripping with fury.

You glanced down at yourself like you’d somehow forgotten the giant Mercedes logo now printed across your chest. “Uh—”

“Are you kidding me?!” He took a step forward, eyes burning into you. “You just humiliated yourself on live television, and your first instinct was to—what? Run straight into the enemy’s arms?”

“It wasn’t like that—”

“Oh, really?” He scoffed. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you couldn’t wait to ditch Red Bull for our biggest rival.”

You clenched your jaw, frustration bubbling in your chest. “Dad, seriously?”

But he wasn’t done. “Do you have any idea how this makes me look? How it makes the team look? My own daughter, parading around in Mercedes gear like she’s one of them—”

“Okay, first of all? Parading is a stretch,” you snapped. “Second, maybe instead of worrying about your precious reputation, you could ask if I’m okay?”

Christian exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re fine.”

You let out a humorless laugh. “Wow. Thanks, Dad. Great to know my well-being is second to your ego.”

Before Christian could spit another sharp reply, a familiar arm draped over your shoulders.

“Everything alright here?”

Kimi.

You didn’t even have to look to know he was enjoying this. His voice was calm, but you could feel the smug energy radiating off him.

Christian’s entire body tensed immediately. His glare shifted from you to Kimi, eyes narrowing into dangerous little slits.

“Why the hell are you touching my daughter?”

Kimi didn’t move his arm. In fact, you swore his grip tightened slightly—just to piss Christian off more. “Problem?”

Christian’s gaze flickered between the two of you, realization dawning fast. “No,” he muttered, voice cold. “Tell me this isn’t what I think it is.”

You sighed, leaning a little further into Kimi’s side. “That depends.”

“On what?”

“If you think Kimi and I have been seeing each other for a while now… then, yeah. It’s exactly what you think.”

Christian just stared. You could see the gears turning in his head, but whatever response he wanted to throw at you never made it past his lips. He just inhaled sharply, turned on his heel, and walked away without another word.

You blinked. “Okay, that was… unexpected.”

Kimi chuckled, finally turning to you. “I was expecting more yelling.”

“Same.” You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “I give it ten minutes before he finds a camera crew to rant to.”

“Should we place bets?”

You laughed, leaning into him a little more. “I’d rather not lose money today.”

Kimi just smiled, pressing a light kiss to your temple. “Guess we don’t have to keep it a secret anymore.”

“Guess not.”

You exhaled, glancing down at the Mercedes shirt again. “You know, the worst part is, I actually like this shirt.”

Kimi smirked. “You should keep it.”

You grinned, wrapping your arms around his waist. “Might as well. Red Bull’s probably already burning my team kit.”

And honestly? You didn’t even care.

Taglist: @ihtscuddlesbeeetchx3 @greantii @norstappenvibes @mary-op81 @Karmahnicolas @nichmeddar @honethatty12 @mynameisangeloflife

[bumblingbabooshka]

Do you think Kes' ability to pick up on things so quickly is linked to her being an Ocampa? Like, since she's 2~ years old in canon (and has distinct memories of her father) I imagine her species doesn't spend much time as children and I wouldn't imagine they'd have formal schools (like entire buildings for schooling) and would instead learn from like, primarily parents or other elders. In that case learning things very quickly would be extremely beneficial for their survival. Kes: Oh yes, childhood...what a lovely few days~ Kes was a baby like for a day and then the next day she was up and ready to learn. Kes meets Naomi and every day that passes she becomes more and more amazed that she's still a baby. Wow! It's been like two months and she still can't do anything?? The doctor told her it was normal but wow. What I'm saying is they should have had Kes as a jack-of-all-trades character who could slide into pretty much any of the teams on Voyager. The Doc misses her when she's not in sickbay though!

[777bae]

ALL THE LITTLE MOMENTS JACK HUGHES

Summary :: You watch as Jack tenderly cares to your daughter’s every beck and call.

Warnings :: none

Word count :: 3.2k

You’re roused from sleep by the soft sound of little feet padding against the hardwood floor, the gentle creak of the bedroom door as it pushes open. The light streaming through the curtains is warm and golden, signaling that the day is just beginning. You stretch and turn over in bed to find Jack still asleep, his dark lashes resting against his cheeks and his breathing slow and steady. He looks peaceful, almost boyish, and you can’t help but smile. It’s rare to have a morning like this—no early practices, no flights to catch, just the three of you. These moments are your most cherished, the ones you hold closest to your heart.

Before you can savor the quiet any longer, your attention is drawn to the tiny figure standing by the bed. It’s your three-year-old daughter, her tousled curls wild and free, her big, bright eyes filled with excitement. She’s holding her favorite stuffed animal—a worn, floppy bunny Jack had bought her during a road trip to Boston last year.

“Mama,” she whispers, her voice soft but insistent, as though she’s worried about waking Jack. “Is Daddy awake yet?”

You smile and shake your head, reaching out to gently beckon her closer. She climbs onto the bed, her small hands gripping your arm as she snuggles into your side. Her presence is warm and familiar, her curls tickling your cheek as she leans against you.

“Let’s let him sleep a little longer, sweetheart,” you whisper, stroking her hair gently. She nods solemnly, but the glint of mischief in her eyes tells you she has other plans.

It takes only a minute before her patience wears thin. She wriggles free from your grasp, crawling over to Jack’s side of the bed. With the determination only a three-year-old can muster, she pokes his cheek softly at first, then a little harder.

“Daddy,” she whispers, her voice rising to an excited squeal. “Wake up! It’s morning!”

Jack groans dramatically, keeping his eyes closed as though he’s still deeply asleep. You can tell he’s fighting a smile, his lips twitching slightly. His hand shifts under the covers, reaching out to “catch” her as she pokes him again.

“Daddy!” she insists, climbing fully onto his chest now. “You promised pancakes!”

That does it. His eyes flutter open, and he looks up at her with a playful grin, his arms wrapping around her tiny frame to pull her closer. “I did, huh?” he asks, his voice gravelly from sleep. “I don’t remember making any promises…”

“Yes, you did!” she says, her curls bouncing as she nods emphatically. “You said pancakes today! With syrup!”

Jack glances over at you, his expression softening as your eyes meet. He reaches out to squeeze your hand, his thumb brushing against your skin. “What do you think, babe? Pancakes? Or should we just stay in bed all morning?”

You laugh, shaking your head at his teasing tone. “You better get up before she starts bouncing on you. I’m not responsible for any injuries.”

Jack chuckles, sitting up and pressing a kiss to your temple. “Alright, pancakes it is,” he declares, hoisting your giggling daughter onto his shoulders as he climbs out of bed. He looks back at you with a lopsided smile, his eyes full of warmth. “Come on, Mama. Let’s make this a family effort.”

The kitchen is soon filled with the sounds of laughter, clattering bowls, and your daughter’s delighted squeals. Jack moves around the space with a relaxed confidence, his hands deftly gathering ingredients while your daughter “helps” from her spot on the counter. She’s wearing her favorite apron—a miniature version of the one Jack wears when he cooks, complete with a little hockey puck design embroidered on the front.

“Alright, chef,” Jack says, handing her a small whisk and a bowl of flour. “Mix this up for me. We need the best pancake batter ever.”

Your daughter takes her job very seriously, her tongue poking out in concentration as she stirs. The bowl is almost comically large compared to her tiny hands, but she handles it with determination.

“Careful, don’t spill,” Jack warns, leaning in to steady the bowl. His free hand brushes against yours as he does, and he pauses for a moment, turning to you with a soft smile. “Thanks for letting me do this,” he says quietly, his voice filled with sincerity. “I know I’m gone a lot… I just want her to have these memories.”

You place your hand over his, squeezing gently. “You’re here now,” you say, your voice equally soft. “And that’s what matters.”

He holds your gaze for a moment longer, his thumb brushing over your knuckles, before your daughter’s excited voice pulls him back to the task at hand.

“Daddy! Can I crack the eggs?” she asks, her wide eyes full of anticipation.

Jack glances at you, silently asking for permission. You nod, and he carefully hands her an egg. “Okay,” he says, crouching slightly to meet her eye level. “But I’m going to help you, alright? No shells in the batter.”

Together, they crack the egg, and your daughter’s face lights up with pride when the yolk slides cleanly into the bowl. “I did it!” she exclaims, looking up at Jack with a grin.

“You sure did, kiddo,” he says, ruffling her hair. “You’re a pro.”

You lean against the counter, sipping your coffee and watching the two of them. Jack’s gentle patience, the way he encourages her and laughs at her little jokes—it all makes your heart swell. He’s not just a good father; he’s an exceptional one. And he’s your partner, your love, your everything.

The rest of the morning passes in a joyful blur of giggles, sticky syrup, and playful banter, and soon the three of you find yourselves outside, soaking in the crisp autumn air. The breeze carries the earthy scent of fallen leaves, mingling with the distant hum of neighbors raking their yards. Your backyard is alive with the vibrant colors of the season—deep reds, golden yellows, and burnt oranges scattered in piles, creating a picturesque backdrop for the day’s adventures.

Your daughter darts toward the largest pile of leaves, her tiny legs moving with excitement as she shrieks, “Watch me, Mama! Watch me, Daddy!” She leaps into the pile, sending a cascade of leaves flying into the air, her laughter ringing out as the colorful flurry falls back down around her like confetti. Jack chuckles beside you, shaking his head as he takes in the sight. “She’s fearless,” he says with pride, his lips curling into a soft smile.

“She gets that from you,” you tease, nudging him gently with your elbow. Jack grins, but before he can respond, your daughter grabs two fistfuls of leaves and tosses them into the air again, her curls bouncing as she twirls beneath them. The sheer joy on her face makes your heart swell.

Jack sits beside you on the porch steps, his arm draping naturally around your shoulders as he pulls you closer. The warmth of his body cuts through the chill of the air, and for a moment, everything feels perfectly still, like the world beyond your yard has paused just for you. Jack presses a kiss to your temple, his lips lingering there for just a beat longer than usual. His tenderness is so effortless, so genuine, that it makes you fall in love with him all over again.

“She’s so happy,” he murmurs, his voice low and filled with awe. You turn to look at him and see the softness in his eyes, the way they follow your daughter as she plays. “I can’t believe we made her,” he says, almost to himself, as though the thought still amazes him.

You smile, resting your head against his shoulder. “She’s perfect,” you say softly, your gaze fixed on your daughter as she collapses into the pile of leaves with a fit of giggles. “Just like her dad.”

Jack laughs under his breath, a sound that’s warm and familiar, and his hand moves to rest on your thigh. He squeezes it gently, a small but meaningful gesture that sends a flutter through your chest. “I don’t know about perfect,” he says with a playful lilt, glancing down at you. “But I’m trying.”

You tilt your head to look at him, a smile tugging at your lips. “You don’t even have to try,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “You’re amazing.”

Before Jack can respond, your daughter’s voice interrupts, loud and full of energy. “Daddy! Chase me!” she calls, standing at the edge of the yard with her arms outstretched. “You have to catch me!”

Jack stands, rolling his shoulders dramatically like he’s preparing for a big game. “Oh, you’re in trouble now,” he says, his tone light and teasing as he takes a step toward her. She squeals with delight, spinning on her heel and taking off as fast as her little legs will carry her.

Jack takes off after her, his long strides making it easy for him to catch up, but he lets her think she’s outsmarting him. She zigzags behind trees, dives into piles of leaves, and shrieks with laughter as Jack pretends to just miss her, his hands swiping at the air.

“You’re too fast!” he calls, feigning exhaustion as he slows his pace. “I don’t know if I can catch you!”

She giggles, glancing over her shoulder to see how close he is. “You’ll never get me, Daddy!” she taunts, her voice full of glee.

Finally, Jack picks up speed, closing the gap between them in an instant. He scoops her up into his arms, spinning her high into the air as she lets out a delighted scream. Her laughter is infectious, and you can’t help but join in, clapping your hands together as you watch the scene unfold.

Jack holds her above his head for a moment, her tiny arms outstretched as if she’s flying. “Gotcha!” he says triumphantly, bringing her back down and pressing a kiss to her cheek. She wraps her arms around his neck, still laughing, her head resting against his shoulder.

From your spot on the porch, your heart feels like it might burst. You can see how much he loves her in every gesture, every laugh, every moment of attention he gives her. And you can see how much she adores him, how her little face lights up every time he’s near.

Jack walks back toward you, your daughter still clinging to him, her curls damp with sweat from all the running. He sets her down on the porch steps, brushing a few stray leaves from her hair. “Did I do a good job, Mama?” she asks, looking up at you with wide, eager eyes.

“You did an amazing job, sweetheart,” you say, leaning down to kiss the top of her head. “And so did Daddy.”

Jack sits down beside you again, pulling you close as your daughter nestles into his side. You glance over at him, his face flushed from running and his smile soft and genuine.

He catches your eye and leans in, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that’s sweet and lingering. “I love you,” he whispers, his forehead resting against yours for a moment.

“I love you too,” you reply, your voice steady even as your heart races.

As the day winds down, the warm glow of the living room lamps casts a soft light over the space. The three of you are nestled together on the couch, wrapped in a large, fluffy blanket that smells faintly of fabric softener and home. The quiet hum of an animated movie fills the room, but the real focus is on the way your daughter is snuggled up between you and Jack, her small body pressed tightly against his side. Her head rests on his chest, rising and falling gently with his every breath as her tiny hands clutch her well-loved stuffed bunny.

Jack’s arm is draped securely around your shoulders, his fingers tracing slow, absentminded patterns along your skin. It’s a gesture that feels like second nature to him now, an expression of love so subtle yet so deeply comforting. You lean into him, resting your head against his shoulder, the familiar scent of his cologne mixed with the faintest trace of maple syrup from breakfast lingering in the air.

Your daughter’s eyelids droop, her determined effort to stay awake slowly giving way to the pull of sleep. She shifts slightly, curling deeper into Jack’s chest as a soft, contented sigh escapes her lips. Jack tilts his head to look down at her, his expression filled with quiet awe.

“She’s almost out,” he whispers, his voice barely audible. You glance up at him and see the tenderness in his eyes, the way they soften as he watches her. There’s something about the sight of Jack as a dad that makes your chest tighten with love. You reach out to smooth a curl from your daughter’s forehead, and Jack’s free hand covers yours for a moment, his fingers warm and steady against your skin.

By the time the movie ends, your daughter is fully asleep, her soft breathing the only sound in the now-quiet room. Jack carefully shifts, his movements slow and deliberate as he gently gathers her into his arms. She stirs only slightly, her tiny fists curling into the front of his shirt before she settles again, her head tucked under his chin.

You follow Jack upstairs, your steps light as you trail behind him. The hallway is dim, the only illumination coming from the faint glow of the nightlight in your daughter’s room. Jack moves with practiced ease, cradling her close as though she weighs nothing at all. When he reaches her bed, he kneels carefully, lowering her onto the soft mattress with a gentleness that makes your heart ache.

He tucks her in with a precision that comes from years of practice, smoothing the blankets over her tiny frame and making sure her bunny is nestled beside her. She looks so peaceful, her features soft and angelic in the dim light. Jack crouches beside her, his hand brushing a stray curl from her face as he leans in to press a kiss to her forehead.

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” he whispers, his voice filled with love. “I love you.”

Your daughter stirs slightly, her lips forming a sleepy smile as she murmurs, “I love you too, Daddy,” her words so quiet they’re barely audible.

Jack stays there for a moment longer, his expression tender and unguarded as he watches her. His thumb lightly brushes over her cheek, and you can see the depth of his love for her in that small, simple gesture. It’s a look you’ll never forget, one that reminds you of just how much Jack treasures being her dad.

Later that night, the house is wrapped in a comfortable hush, the kind of silence that comes only after a day well spent. The soft glow of the bedside lamp bathes your bedroom in a golden light, casting faint shadows on the walls as you settle into bed beside Jack. The warmth of the blankets and the steady hum of his breathing create a cocoon of safety, a quiet space where the rest of the world feels far away.

Jack shifts closer to you, pulling you into his arms with an ease that speaks to how natural it feels for him to hold you. His embrace is strong yet gentle, his hands warm as they press against your back, pulling you tightly against his chest. He leans down, brushing his lips softly against your forehead. The kiss lingers, a tender gesture that feels like a silent promise, one filled with gratitude, love, and unspoken devotion.

When his lips find yours, the kiss is slow and deliberate. There’s no rush, no urgency—just a pure expression of love. He cradles your face with one hand, his thumb grazing your cheek as though he’s savoring every second. The way he kisses you reminds you of every reason you fell in love with him—the tenderness, the care, the quiet passion that never falters.

As he pulls back slightly, his forehead rests against yours. His breath is warm, his voice soft and laced with emotion as he finally breaks the silence. “She’s getting so big,” he says, his words filled with both pride and a bittersweet wistfulness. “I feel like she was just a baby yesterday. I blinked, and now… she’s running around, making jokes, cracking eggs for pancakes.”

His words make you smile, though a small ache settles in your chest at the truth of them. You lift your hand to his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm. “I know,” you whisper, your voice just as soft. “But she’s still your little girl. She always will be, no matter how big she gets.”

Jack tightens his hold on you at your words, his arms wrapping around you like he’s afraid to let go. He buries his face briefly in your hair, inhaling deeply, as though he’s trying to commit this moment to memory. His hand begins to trace slow, soothing circles along your back, the repetitive motion calming and reassuring.

“I wouldn’t be half the dad I am without you,” he says, his voice low but earnest. “You make all of this possible, you know that? You’ve given me everything—her, this life, all of it. I hope you know how much you mean to me.”

The raw sincerity in his tone makes your throat tighten, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. You tilt your head up to meet his gaze, and the intensity in his eyes takes your breath away. There’s so much love there, so much gratitude, that you can feel it radiating from him without him needing to say another word.

“Jack,” you say softly, your voice trembling slightly as you try to hold back your emotions. “You’re an amazing dad. She’s so lucky to have you… we both are.” Your hand moves to cup his cheek, your thumb brushing gently over his jawline as you smile through the tears threatening to spill over. “You don’t even realize how much you mean to us.”

He shakes his head lightly, a soft smile playing on his lips as he leans in to kiss you again. This time, the kiss is deeper, full of emotion that words could never fully convey. His lips are warm and tender, and when he finally pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours again, his breath mingling with yours in the quiet space between you.

“No,” he says quietly, his voice steady and sure. “I’m the lucky one.”

The way he says it, the way his eyes stay locked on yours, makes your chest tighten. You don’t argue with him, because in this moment, you both know the truth: the life you’ve built together, the family you’ve created, is a gift you’ve given each other.

As Jack pulls you closer, tucking you against his chest, his hand continues its slow, soothing rhythm along your back. You can feel the rise and fall of his breathing, the steady beat of his heart, and it lulls you into a peaceful state.

As you drift off to sleep in his arms, your heart full of love and gratitude, you know with absolute certainty that he’s right. You’re all lucky—to have each other, to share this life, to be a family.