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hadesdaughtwr

4 months ago

SUKUNA AND HIS SHY DAUGHTER BONDING TIME WHEN?!?! Reader can be present and discreetly takes their pictures (sukuna pretends not to notice).

guided lines — ryomen sukuna x f!reader

a/n: congrats we now have cameras in the heian era and BIG BIG thanks to @bluebell33 and @soupie-writer for beta-reading <33

it’s a quiet afternoon in the heian household, the kind of stillness that comes after the chaos of the morning has settled.

the courtyard is bathed in golden sunlight, casting soft shadows along the wooden floorboards, and the faint rustle of the wind carries the scent of blooming wisteria.

you lean against the doorframe, peeking through the slightly open shoji screen into the courtyard where your husband and daughter are seated.

it’s a rare sight to see sukuna like this—relaxed, unguarded, the sharp lines of his usual stoicism softened as he sits cross-legged on the floor.

your daughter sits opposite him, her tiny hands clutching a paintbrush far too large for her delicate fingers.

the scroll of parchment between them is already half-filled with colorful smudges and haphazard lines, a far cry from anything artistic, but, hey, the effort is there.

“hold it properly,” sukuna instructs, his deep voice carrying just enough patience to make you pause in the hallway.

he reaches out to adjust her grip, his large hand completely engulfing her tiny one as he guides the brush to the paper.

she ducks her head shyly, murmuring a soft, “okay, papa.”

you bite back a smile, the term still so foreign yet so endearing coming from her lips.

sukuna doesn’t respond, at least not verbally, but his movements slow as he helps her make another stroke on the parchment.

you slip inside quietly, camera in hand.

sukuna had gifted it to you on a whim months ago, claiming he had no use for “trivial inventions,” but you’d quickly discovered his disinterest didn’t extend to being the subject of your photos.

he always pretends not to notice, but you’ve caught the subtle shifts in his posture whenever he knows your lens is trained on him—straightening his back, tilting his chin just slightly.

raising the camera to your eye, you adjust the focus, the scene coming into view with perfect clarity:

sukuna’s broad frame hunched slightly as he leans closer to d/n, his expression uncharacteristically soft, her tiny fingers smudged with ink and her lips pursed in concentration.

the sunlight catches the faint scar over his nose, the curve of his jawline, the tension in his hands as if he’s holding back his full strength.

click.

the sound is quiet, but his ear twitches ever so slightly, and you know he’s caught on. he doesn’t look at you, though, his attention remaining fixed on the little girl in front of him.

“what is that supposed to be?” he asks, nodding toward the splotchy shape she’s drawn.

“a bird,” she whispers, the pink in her cheeks deepening.

he raises a brow, and for a moment, you’re sure he’s about to tease her—sukuna’s sense of humor is sharp, often cutting, and you’ve had your fair share of exasperated sighs directed his way.

but instead, he tilts his head thoughtfully, as if trying to see it from her perspective.

“it…has wings,” he says finally, and her face lights up, a smile spreading across her features.

“you think so?”

“it’s obvious,” he replies, though his tone is far from dismissive. “draw another.”

you stifle a laugh, adjusting your position to capture another angle.

sukuna’s patience with a child isn’t something you’d ever expected to witness, let alone document, and it’s a side of him you treasure more than you’ll ever let on.

click.

this time, his gaze flickers toward you, just for a split second. it’s not a glare—more of a warning, the faintest quirk of his lips betraying his amusement.

you grin back at him, unrepentant, and he huffs quietly before returning his attention to your daughter.

“your brushwork is sloppy,” he comments as she attempts another bird, her little hands trembling slightly as she draws a lopsided wing.

“I’m trying,” she murmurs, her voice barely audible.

he leans back slightly, his arms resting on his knees as he watches her.

“try harder,” he says, but there’s no edge to his tone, only a challenge—a nudge toward improvement.

click.

this time, d/n notices, her wide eyes darting toward you. “mama, what are you doing?”

“nothing,” you lie, lowering the camera with a sheepish smile. “just admiring my two favorite people.”

she beams, but sukuna groans, dragging a hand down his face. “stop filling her head with nonsense,” he mutters, though the faintest hint of pink dusts his ears.

“it’s not nonsense,” you argue, stepping closer and crouching beside them.

d/n immediately crawls into your lap, clutching her brush in one hand and smearing ink on your sleeve in the process. you don’t mind, your focus entirely on the man in front of you.

she giggles, resting her head against your chest as you pull her close.

“papa’s really good at drawing,” she says, pointing at the bird he’d drawn earlier as an example. “he helped me with mine.”

sukuna shrugs, “someone had to make it look like a bird.”

you laugh, the sound light and warm, and his eyes linger on you for just a moment longer than necessary.

it’s subtle, almost imperceptible, but you know him well enough to catch it—the way his gaze softens, the way his shoulders relax just slightly.

later that evening, after your daughter has fallen asleep, you’re sorting through the photos on your camera, sukuna seated beside you on the porch.

he doesn’t say anything, but you can feel his presence, the quiet strength of him a comforting weight at your side.

“you know,” you say, breaking the silence, “I think these might be my favorite pictures yet.”

he glances at the screen, his expression unreadable. “you’re too sentimental.”

“maybe,” you admit, leaning your head against his shoulder. “but I can’t help it. you’re both so... precious to me.”

he doesn’t respond, and you take it as a sign for the comfortable silence to take over again.

but your husband presses a kiss to the top of your head that leaves you speechless till the end of the night.

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Steve and Max As A Sibling Duo

headcanons

Hiiii! Can You Do Hcs For Max And Steve Being A Sibling Duo Or Write A One Shot Abt Them?

summary: steve and max are the best sibling duo we could’ve asked for

pairing: steve harrington x max mayfield (platonic)

warnings: swearing, mentions of canon typical violence, mention of death/grieving

note: why are there no gifs of steve and max?? also there’s no reader insert here this is just my take on steve and max behaving as siblings !!

Steve and Max are absolutely the best sibling duo

Steve is the big brother that Max deserved and having Max around makes Steve feel less lonely

Steve always wanted a little sister !! He would beg his parents for a sibling all the time when he was younger but to not avail

Steve is obviously protective of all the kids but Max would literally kill somebody for Steve. Nobody is gonna ever hurt him while she’s around.

I feel like Max is already super protective over people she cares about but it’s just different with Steve. Like she’s already lost one brother and feels the guilt of that, she’s not gonna lose another.

The entire party is a found family for Max and somehow Steve fits in so perfectly.

They argue and she loves to rile him up, but they have such a strong bond that almost rivals Steve and Dustin’s.

Max isn’t affectionate at all and Steve knows that, so he tries to go about things differently with her. He makes her mixtapes (she absolutely roasts his taste in music but she secretly treasures them so much), he buys her little things that he knows she needs or likes, and he really tries to be there for her in ways Billy wasn’t.

Steve is the only reliable male figure Max has ever had and she still doesn’t really know how to express things to him.

Max’s love language is gift giving. She saves up months in advance to buy Steve something really nice for his birthday or Christmas. That usually means she’s on a budget for everyone else’s gifts but she really wants to show Steve how much she appreciates him, so it doesn’t matter to her.

Max knows that Billy was an awful person and he treated her like shit, but he was also her brother and she had some fucked up idea that she should have protected him. She feels so much guilt over his death. She’s not even really grieving, she just feels so guilty.

Steve knows this and, in one of Max’s moments of vulnerability, he confesses his guilt over Barb’s death. He’s come to terms with the fact that there was nothing he really could have done for her, but he can’t help but feel like he should have done something.

They have a little bonding moment over shared trauma and guilt.

Having a little sister is uncharted territory for Steve. He has Dustin, who is the equivalent of a little brother, but Max is so much different. She’s snarky and unaffectionate and a little mean sometimes. He really has to learn how to be there for her in a way that makes her comfortable.

Steve loves Max and he would voluntarily lay down his life for any of those kids but especially Max, who has been through hell and back for the last year and who he just wants to protect so bad.

Max is used to being the responsible adult and looking out for herself, so letting go of the responsibility and letting Steve Harrington, of all people, make sure she’s safe is really difficult for her at first.

I’m 100% convinced that Max’s letter to Steve is so sappy. It’s full of the things she was never brave enough to say to him.

She thanks him for looking out for her, for being the best big brother in the entire world.

By the time she’s finished writing it, the ink is slightly smudged by the tears rolling off her cheeks and onto the paper.

Then, in delicate handwriting, she signs it: “Your baby sister, Max”