#Wooden Keepsake Box

[handmadegiftpl]

Wooden Tea Box with 12 Compartments Gustav Klimt Inspired

Wooden Tea Box with 12 Compartments Gustav Klimt Inspired, Japonism & Art Nouveau Style, Handcrafted in Europe Gift for women

[kalpanahandmadepaper]

https://kalpanapapers.com/collections/handmade-paper-box

[tsuyahandmade]

[meawmapottery]

Blue Siamese Fighting Fish in a Lotus Pond

[oneowlartist]

Jewelry Box | Wooden Keepsake Box | Gift Box

SOLD.

Visit Shop to get personalized gifts: https://www.zazzle.com/store/1owlartist

[fullerb]

I love keeping and collecting significant things for me, memories, photos. My bf knows me so well and he bought me a wooden keepsake box - a perfect storage for collecting memories and keeping stuff worth remembering.

[fromasgardandback]

keepsake letters

•

masterlist | stranger things summer

Eddie and Y/N wrote love letters to each other weekly. it was something they started when he asked her out. it began as something he did to woo her and she adored it, so she wrote back. eventually, it became a ritual for them. He would send letters to her work with flowers to surprise her. years have passed, and they were married with three kids and ten grandkids. Y/N kept her letters in her grandma’s wooden chest in their bedroom. she was cleaning it out one day with Eddie and she picked up the shoebox full of their letters. once they had the kids, it was hard to keep up with them, but he would still write her sweet nothings and she would do the same.

“Grandma?” their oldest granddaughter walked into the bedroom with a cup of coffee. Y/N gladly took it smiling up at her. “What are you looking at?” she sat next to her

“These are keepsake letters I have with your grandpa. We would write love letters weekly to each other when we started dating. He would write to me and I thought it was so endearing, I wrote back. Once we had kids, it fizzled out. But I kept them because of how loving and heartwarming they are.” she smiled taking the box downstairs with the family.

Y/N and Eddie read out loud some of their letters to their kids and grandkids. it was hilarious to see them get grossed out by some of the conversations they had, but neither of them cared.

“I loved you then this much, and I love you more each day that passes.” Eddie kissed her hand holding her close.

“You are my heart, soul, and all I breathe.” Y/N leaned into him as their family cooed in adoration.

[sehtoast]

Satisfy Me (Homelander x Reader PowerSwap!AU)

18+ | 3.4k, stalking, masturbation, mostly mutual masturbation, graphic violence, powerswap au, gender neutral reader | Fic Directory

Ask Prompt: Non supe hl x HL reader. Like the reader has his powers, and he's just a regular guy.

You find him by chance. Could've been any of those little ants down on 36 assigned to your old suit's preservation, but it was him. 

What an ordinary fellow he was, too, running around in those little blue sweaters over his dress shirts, his soft box-dye-blonde hair, those pretty blue eyes behind dark framed glasses. It drove you nuts, but that was the best part. 

John was the best part. 

You fixated on him from the moment you saw how he handled a literal part of you, how he touched your suit with care and grace, expressed how much of an honor it was to be picked to take care of you. 

And you? You were bigger than life itself! The fucking Homelander, for crying out loud. Of course he should be honored to preserve and maintain your old suit; it's you for fuck’s sake. So why was it that his anxious little demeanor was so endearing to you?  What was it that made his promise to keep something of yours in tip-top shape turn him into the center of your attention?

Why did you find yourself lingering on 36 far more often? Going down with the excuse of wanting to see progress on the display, but really just wanting to see him, talk to him, learn about him. 

Your gloved hand on his shoulder makes him nervous. You can hear his heart beat as quickly as a hummingbird’s wings as he glances up at you. His cortisone spikes, but not in the wrong way. You rile him up. 

It's adorable. 

You begin to watch him. You follow him along the route of the subway, trail him from his stop to the school where he picks up his son, then to his apartment. You float up at the same pace that they ascend the stairs until you're lingering outside the window to his bedroom, watching him sleep. 

This becomes your routine, and god help anyone who tries to take you away from it.  

You sneak in a few times when no one’s home. Roam between rooms, investigating every little piece of his life. You borrow a sip or several from the milk in the fridge, peek at the living room, investigate the bathroom. You learn the boy's name is Ryan from the little wooden letters mounted on the wall above his bed. There's not much of note in the kid's room save for action figures, lego sets, and a few stick figure doodles labeled ‘me and dad.’

John's room is where you have your fun. You start at his desk, sifting through papers and soon-to-be-due bills. You wiggle the mouse at his computer and find his desktop background to be a picture of himself and Ryan. You're almost offended that it's not a picture of you and all your star-spangled glory. 

Almost. There's better things to do than care about that. 

There's a closet full of clothes to run your fingers over, a drawer of underwear from which you can pick your new favorite keepsake.  You settle on a pair of dark red briefs, holding them to your nose to inhale deeply, groaning as the scent of him fills your lungs.  You make your way over to the nightstand where you find a drawer with a stroker and lube hidden inside a ball of paper towels.  You smirk and toy with it for a time, tongue jutting out to lave over the inside, hoping and praying that there’s even a drop of him left in there. 

And then there’s his bed, full of his scent.  You lay on it and press your face into his pillow, breathing in several deep, focused breaths.  Underneath a smell that is so uniquely him, you find a hint of something woodsy and herbal.  It tickles your nose sweetly but you focus more on his natural aroma than that of his products. You want to stay more than anything. You’re surrounded by him in every sense of the word. All of your senses are bombarded by parts of him; the only thing missing is the man himself.

You roll on your back, eyes shut as you picture what it would look like to gaze up at him from that angle.  How he’d look leaning above you, sweat on his brow as he drives into you over and over and over again… How he’d pant and gasp, exerting himself just to please you, just to pump you full of his love and devotion.

God, you hadn’t even realized you’d snaked your hand into your pants during the fantasy.  You shut your eyes and continue anyway.

Your mind wanders back to him. You’d touched yourself to the thought of him quite a few times, but doing it in his bed?

Delicious…

You imagine wrapping your legs around him, featherlight lest you crush his pelvis.  You roll him, straddling his waist as you come down hard on his cock.  Beneath you is where he looks best.  Squirming and panting, hips thrusting to meet you in desperate, sloppy motions.  You’d be so good to him, too.  You’d ride his cock until he saw stars, until the only word that could come out of his mouth is your name…  

You’d let him pump you full of however many loads that pitiful, human body of his could muster, until you’re dripping with his come and he’s yours inside and out.

Maybe you’d mark him up, too.  Leave some handprints at his hips, some bite marks where he’s soft… Wouldn’t be hard… Wouldn’t take much to mar that perfect skin with your claim of ownership.  Some hickeys at his inner thighs, maybe an extra special one right where his cock meets his groin.

Your salacious fantasies come to a head at the same time as your pleasure.  You grind against your hand as you picture what it’d be like to milk his cute little cock.  Suck him dry, watch him beg and plead, let him squeeze your head with his legs as if he could possibly make you stop.  You’d eat up every ounce of him and spit it back in his mouth.  Make him go down on you with a mouthful of his own come.

“Oh, fffuck!” You howl, writhing on his bed, fist gripping and pressing his blanket to your nose. Your underwear are soaked, but you couldn’t care less.  Not as you pant heavy breaths, your body blissful and surrounded by him.

You linger for quite a while, only breaking away for your regularly scheduled visit with him. 

You had asked for a lesson about The Federalist Era - not that you really gave a shit beyond getting to consume his time. John was all too excited at your sudden interest and he offered to stay late just for you. Ryan would be with his mother, as was the case for every Friday to Sunday, and he’d have nothing but time for you. 

He meets you in your penthouse with a textbook and it's everything you've got not to devour him whole. He’s so precious.  You keep your gloves off, brushing your fingers over his as you point to parts of the text you ‘didn't get.’ You do everything in your power to keep him red and blushing.  You scoot closer, hover in his space, lean over his shoulder.  You practically eye-fuck him every time you look at him.  You toy with him all night until he finishes his lesson.

He stays for another hour just for the hell of it. Just to spend time with you. It's not until he's yawning that he entertains the idea of heading home. 

“Why don't you let me fly you?” You offer, smirking at how he deeply he flushes. 

“Oh, I mean... I don't- I just-” He stammers. “I’m just a little scared of heights, you know?” 

You scoff a laugh at his confession, taking him by the hand and leading him to your balcony. He doesn't resist you whatsoever. 

“C'mon, Johnny! I won't let anything happen to ya!” You wrap your arms around his waist and begin to hover. You whisper in his ear, “I'll protect you,” and you can feel the way he shivers before nodding.

His arms wrap around your neck, textbook dangling from one hand as he presses himself against you. The higher you rise, the tighter he holds on. 

“Good boy.”  You breathe soft and low, thumb rubbing circles at his lower back.  “I’m a much better ride than the shit they got down there.”

He clings to you the whole way home, only realizing after you've dropped him off that you somehow know where he lives. 

You drive him wild. You stir a feeling in him that he hasn't had time to focus on in so long, and it's to your absolute pleasure that you get to linger and peer through his roof that night as he takes care of himself. 

John fucks his fist with reckless abandon, then his toy that he just can't help but imagine is your hole. You focus extra hard, trying to make your senses pick up on everything happening in that room.  You can smell the salt of his sweat, the pheromones in the air, the scent of his precum.  You hear every little gasp and moan, every groan that rattles out of his pretty little mouth.  The sound of lube squelching in his stroker riles you up so much more, and you’ve half a mind to burst through the fucking wall and mount him.  

You tease yourself in time with him, knelt on the roof so perfectly that no one could catch you.  You gaze through matter with hooded eyes to watch him, and it’s the most beautiful, tempting sight you’ve ever seen in your life.  You can’t remember a time you’ve been so fucking horny as you are right then.

He comes near violently, shouting, “H-Homelander!” as he does. Your eyes roll back and a quivering moan rips from your throat as you come apart with him.  He called your name.

He called your fucking name.

He’s already yours...

He works the next day for some overtime pay. Nothing stressful, just some extra document filing. You're preoccupied with filming away from the tower, much to your heavily expressed ire, and he's bored. 

He's bored for the whole day, wishing you'd come by.  He stays extra late, hoping beyond hope that you’ll meander in like you don’t actively choose to come down to such an insignificant level.  

But you don’t.

He’s thoroughly bummed out as he steps off the train, walking the rest of the way home in the dark.   He knows you didn’t forget about him; you’re just busy.  Even the world’s greatest superhero’s gotta take care of their commitments, right?  He’s deep in thought as he makes his way down the cold street.  The yellow glow of the streetlights sets a somber feeling deep in his heart as he shuffles further along, passing the occasional stranger, hands in his pockets.  He should’ve worn more than a sweater and a scarf.  He had no idea it was gonna be so chilly.  Or maybe he’s just so used to running hot after spending time around you.

God, had he really caught the attention of Homelander?  Like, really caught it?

He’s heard stories– god knows there’s enough to go around.  Was told by more than a few of his coworkers in the archives that it’s dangerous to even be around you.  That there was a good reason that the loneliest spot was always at the top.

He didn’t like that, though.  What he did like, however, was you.  The way you look at him as though he’s worth wanting.  You give him your full attention and fuck, you always come back.  It’s like he matters now.  He’s not just some orphan-turned-moderate-success trying to raise his son and keep from drowning under the oppressive cost of New York’s rent.  Well, he still is, but he’s all of that and he’s got the attention of The Homelander!

And he finds you sweet.  Like a big, scary dog that only likes him.  He wants to know more about you.  As much as he likes history, he’d love yours even more.

He’s so caught up in his thoughts that he neither sees nor hears the man sprinting up behind him to grab him by the scarf.  John chokes harshly as he’s dragged into an alley, kicking and thrashing to no avail.

He’s thrown on the ground and he wants to get back up, fight for what little good it’d actually do, but there’s a clicking sound directly in front of his face and–

He freezes.  Eyes go wide, skin chills far colder than the air alone could ever turn it.  A pit forms in his gut and oh god he’s fucking helpless.

“Empty yer fuckin’ pockets,” demands the gunman, motioning down with the barrel of the firearm.  He can barely see them as more than fuzzy silhouettes and he realizes that he’s lost his glasses.

He pulls his wallet and phone free shakily, laying them gently on the ground before raising his hands up in surrender.  He watches the man who grabbed him go through his wallet, and he hears a scoff.

“Twenn’y bucks?”  The man slurs exasperatedly.  “Yer life ain’t worth twenn’y, son.  Ah shit… we could sell ya!  I got a guy needs a good piece’a meat to throw ‘round in his dog fights.  Should see the way the mutts fight over fresh food.  Y’look like good bait.”

John blinks rapidly, eyes wide and panicked as each word settles in.  He tries to shuffle backward, but he’s grabbed by the ankle and yanked back.

“Bet he’d go for a few hundred.  He don’t stink.  Not a ton of meat on ‘im, but there’s enough,” the gunman muses.  “Shit, Gordy, we might as well.  Fuckin’ twenty bucks… Ain’t even worth the effort to–”

John hears a sound like fabric flapping, and suddenly everything goes silent.

Silent, until he hears you.

“Howdy ho, boys!”  You greet, though your tone couldn’t be further from inviting.  “Say, what’s got two idiot fucks like yourselves out tonight, eh?”

John pats at the ground, desperate to find his glasses. He needs to see this- needs to see you. His heart pounds in his ears so loudly that he can’t hear what the men say to you, only the sounds of shrill, agonized screaming.  Something warm splats against his cheek and a deep, unsettling feeling in his bones tells him that it’s blood.

“C’mon, boys!  It’s not that bad!”  He hears you chuckle, followed by a flash of red and more howls of pain.  “You guys! It’s not like I’m, oh, I dunno, feeding you to a pack of dogs?”

As he scrambles, he feels the cracked lenses of his glasses and puts them on in time to see just what you’d done.

His assailants kneel on the ground, their arms laying next to them. He swears he sees bones jutting out of their legs.  

You’re elbow deep in one’s chest, smiling sadistically with every crunch and squelch as you rip free a blood drenched length of bone and shreds of muscle.

His stomach should churn at the sight of you shoving the gunman’s body to the ground.  It folds in half without a spine to support it, and it’s objectively the most terrifying thing he’s ever seen. The other man whispers to himself, which must really piss you off.  He sees it in your eyes.  Yet, he’s not scared.  Not of you.

“Greedy little thing, aren’t ya?”  You muse as you stare down at the man.

John can hear him reciting a prayer.

“God? No.”  You kneel down to pat his cheek, staining his skin a deep red.  “No god. The only one in the sky is me.”

He watches you wedge your hands into the man’s mouth, effortlessly ripping his jaw and head apart, splitting him down the length of his neck.

John watches in a mix of awe and horror as you continue tearing all the way down through the chest cavity.  There’s a sick look in your eyes.  Like you’d done this before.  

Like you were comfortable doing this.

So why the fuck wasn’t he afraid when your gaze flickered up to him?  Why did the shakes of his body quell the minute your blood stained hands reached down to loosen the scarf still tight from when he’d been dragged?

You’re drenched in blood.  The pungent liquid soaks you, drips down your collar and into your suit. It’s all over your face, coating your hair, resting thick on your eyelashes.

His hands come to settle at your cheeks, thumbs smoothing through the viscera as he gazes up at you in awe.  Your grip on his arms is featherlight at most, and he’s amazed.

You are a creature of unfathomable violence.  You have ripped and torn through an incalculable amount of flesh, committed sins far greater than even his mind full of historical horrors could imagine, and yet…

You hold him as though you’re afraid to break him.

Even as you gather him in your arms and fly away, you’re so gentle with him.  Considerate and kind, courteous and caring as you bring him home.  Your boots leave bloody prints across the hardwood floor of his bedroom as you walk him to the bathroom.  You’re on autopilot and that nagging voice in your mind berates you for prioritizing some simple mud person over yourself, over the thrill of the kill. 

“Are you hurt?”  You hear him ask, and it leaves you deeply confused.  Are you, The fucking Homelander, hurt?  Are you, indestructible force that you are, in pain?

He forces you to sit on the edge of the bathtub as he scrambles around for supplies.  You’re not sure why you let him move you around.  Hell, you’re not even sure why you let him wash the blood from you.  

Worse yet, you let him strip your upper body bare.

You let him see the truth of your suit and what you lack beneath.  You’ve got the power of a god, certainly, but you’re so regular underneath the facade. But you can’t find it in yourself to care as he wipes you clean with a warm, wet cloth.  Not with the way he holds the back of your head and removes the evidence of just how far your love for him will push you.

At some point your eyes lock and his hands stop moving.  

Time stills, but he does not.  He leans forward and takes you in a kiss so soft that you wonder if it even counts.  Just a peck at first, barely even a graze of his flesh against yours.  When you don’t pull away, he comes back, this time brushing his lips to yours with the slightest bit of pressure.  His lips are soft, his kisses unsure until you finally reciprocate.

Then?

Oh, then he devours you with a need fit to rival your own.  His arm wraps around your upper body and pulls you against him, all while your own hands scramble to grab at him.  Your breaths mingle together, fanning hot and heavy against each other.  He tastes blood on your lips, and you taste the remnants of his afternoon coffee.  The scent of iron mixed with him surrounds you, and god it is the most exquisite aroma. 

His taste, his scent, his touch, his sweet little gasps…

You want it all.

He pulls away once he, fragile human that he is, gets dizzy.  John giggles breathlessly against your mouth, tongue sliding over his lower lip to lap at your lingering taste.  You smile in return, indulging in something you’ve never quite felt before.  His hands still roam, and you’ve a pretty good idea of exactly where this night will end up once he’s got the rest of that pesky blood wiped from you. For now, though, you’re satisfied even if you’re not entirely satiated.

After all, you’ve truly proven yourself to be–

“My hero…”

[julesthequirky]

The Choice: Chapter One

Summary: You find three of your favourite characters in your home. It shouldn't be possible, but there they are. In the flesh. How the hell did they get there? And surely there's a way to get them back? But as you get close to each one, the thought of sending them back proves difficult to comprehend.

Characters: You, Antiques salesman, mother, cute black cat.

Chapter Warnings: Pain in the ass mother, language.

W/C: 1,220

A/N: Soley thought of this idea just for that Spiderman meme.

The bell to the antiques store tinkled as you opened the door. As you stepped in, the proprietor of the store moved away from behind the counter. The place was cluttered, and everything in sight was for sale.

“Hi there, interested in purchasing something today?”

He was a kindly-looking older gent, who reminded you of your pops, and you couldn’t help but smile warmly at him.

“Potentially. Just browsing, for now.”

“Looking for anything in particular?” He enquired as you started to browse.

You shrugged. “Not really.”

He smiled then. “Ah. You won’t know what you’re looking for until it finds you.” He said with a twinkle in his eye.

You chuckled and nodded. Yeah, you could agree with that.

It didn’t take long for you to find something. Your eye had landed on a trifold oval picture frame. And for the price tag, you were tempted. Very tempted.

“Ah a lovely set. Baroque features in the detailing. Could do with a possible restoration, but a proper clean would also suffice.”

You fingered the tag again, it was a hundred dollars.

“Tell ya what. I’ll knock off ten bucks. How does that sound?”

You looked at him then.

“You don’t think I don’t know the look of someone finding an item they can’t walk away from? Darlin’ you got that look. You got it bad.”

It was just a picture frame. A dumb little picture frame, but why did it give you so much joy to look at? You weren’t much of a haggler and it would seem rude to haggle the price after he had already generously knocked off ten percent.

“Alright, you got yourself a deal.”

He shook your hand. “Excellent.”

He picked up the item and very carefully began meandering his way back to the counter with you following him. He set the item down gently and rung up the purchase.

“Such a pretty little find. And it was a shame that it had been hiding in a box, before coming here.”

You gave him a quizzical look and he held up a hand before disappearing into the back for a few moments and coming back with a small wooden box. He placed it on the counter in front of you. Your hands reached out towards it. The wooden box looked plain compared to the delicate and intricate detailing on the frame. It was finished with a dark varnish and what was with the strange script etched into the grain? Was it Elvish, or Sanskrit, or even Latin? You had no idea. A simple clasp locked the box. Easy to use. Either way, now you had a keepsake box also.

“It’s my understanding that the original owner had passed away and his living relatives didn’t want it and, well here it is.”

“Well, it’s their loss.”

“Of course, of course. If they hadn’t, then you never would have found it.”

He took your cash and then handed you the receipt. He bid you a good rest of your day as you lifted the box and the picture frame and made your way out of the store.

*

You placed the final photo in the frame. Slid the locks, and placed the frame on your sideboard, angling it so you could appreciate it all that little bit more. You sighed in contentment as three of your favourite fictional men smiled seemingly at you from beside your TV.

The door knocked and by the light raps you knew who it was. This time, you sighed heavily and muttered “God, give me strength” before going to open the door. You’d only opened it a crack before she started to barge her way in.

“Y/N, honestly, what are you wearing? Pyjama’s during daytime? I don’t know. Go put on some proper clothes.”

You looked down. Now you were annoyed. It was loungewear for God’s sake. Perfectly acceptable.

“Mother, what I’m wearing should be of no concern to you and its just gone five, and it’s a Saturday.”

She sniffed and made her way into your lounge. She tutted at the clutter.

“Don’t you ever tidy up?”

You rolled your eyes and sat down. “What did you come here for? To pick faults or was there an actual reason?”

“Your father—”

“Not my father.” You stated.

Your mother had married her partner not long after your father’s passing and now, she acted as though he had been in your life since birth.

She continued, like you hadn’t interrupted her.

“—and I have been talking. You know that nice young man that started last year, Cole—"

“Wait, you’re not seriously trying to set me up?”

Your mother looked a little put out.

“Well, it can’t hurt to get back out there. Get back on the horse or so to speak.”

You sat there shocked. Then it turned to anger.

“Are you ashamed of me? Are you ashamed that your one and only daughter is a divorcee!”

“Ashamed, no. Disappointed, yes.”

It was like a punch to the gut and the hurt stabbed at your heart. You’d suspected your mother had opinions on your divorce but to voice her disappointment a year and a half after finalization felt like a kick in the teeth. It left you speechless.

“Is that new? I have to say I don’t think it goes with the room. Who are those men? Are they from your shows? Honestly Y/N. I don’t know what to do with you sometimes.”

Your mother had continued to ramble on whilst you were still reeling from her comment. At that moment your all black cat slinked in, jumping up and made her way over to your mother’s lap.

“If you’re not careful, this is your future.” She said nodding to the cat.

You looked at her then.

“I think you should leave, mother.”

She turned her head, facing you. She looked like a goldfish with the way her mouth kept opening and closing. Then her lips pursed together, and she stood, with the cat leaping from her. She made a disgusted sound, discovering the amount of cat hair had malted on her. You handed her a nearby lint brush, and she furiously started scrubbing at the hair on her skirt. She then stood and bid you a good evening and purposefully walked to the door. Your mother didn’t wait, slamming the door on her way out. You scrubbed your hand down your face muttering about her audacity.

*

You plonked yourself on the sofa, grabbed the remote and turned on the TV. The cat had been fed and was currently God knows where, doing its own thing.

Halfway through Family Feud, a loud crash from what sounded like your kitchen alerted you. Your laugh cut short and Steve Harvey poked fun at a contestant's absurd answer, laughing on the screen. You jumped up, abandoning the snacks and ran to see the destruction, cussing your cat out along the way.

You stormed into the room ready to reem your pesky feline, grabbing a broom, threatening the extinction of treats for the rest of his life. But what you saw had you stopping in your tracks. Words died on your tongue. And what you saw, there was no rhyme or reason to it. In fact, it should have been physically impossible.

Dean Winchester stood in your kitchen, holding a case of pie.

[needforspeed161]

You loved him….didnt you (Teaser WIP)

It didn’t feel like two years, yet here Pete was, sitting in the living room of his house, a perfect San Diego evening, the skies golden with the gentle wisps of clouds being carried too and from with the salty ocean breeze.

Here Pete Mitchell was, tracing his fingers over a folded up flag that he’d had now for two years, a joyful laugh replaced with perfect stitching, warm skin replaced with rough vinyl, a sparkle in a pair of icy blue eyes traded in for 50 white stars on a field of blue….

Stifling back a quiet sob he opened a box, pulling out a few items and placing them on the table in front of him….a USNA hoodie, clearly worn quite often, but still in good condition with the embroidered logo fading in color but holding strong….

The light metal sound of not one, but now two pairs of dog tags hitting the wooden surface beneath. The weight of one pair all these years was heavy enough, and now here Maverick was with two….

A pair of eye glasses, cleaned and untouched since they last rested upon the gentle sloped bridge of a blonde man’s nose….

A framed picture, one that sat upon the desk of the COMPACFLT for many many years….it’s wooden frame being taken such

Good care of, aside from one scratch….

And lastly an old video camera. One from the 80’s sitting on top of a box full of tapes.

“Mav?”

A voice startled the man out of what he was doing, almost dropping the flag that set on his lap, Before he picked it up, setting it on the coffee table as well.

Quickly wiping away a couple newly formed tears he stood, smiling up at the young man who stood in his foyer.

“Bradley, it’s so good to see you” he brought the man in for a hug, smiling into the solid foundation of his shoulder. Giving him a slightly tighter squeeze before he let go.

“Thought I’d bring by some dinner….is all this-“ he trailed off, setting down the bags of takeout, looking at the table. “Is this ices stuff?”

Bradley took the liberty to sit down on the couch in front of Mavericks table of wonders, small nick knacks he’d collected over the years, now seemed more like a graveyard than keepsakes.

“Yeah….” The brunette trailed off, sighing softly with a small sniff, “yeah it is….”

Bradley looked at him, with those beautiful brown orbs, full of so much sympathy and heartbreak for his (essentially) father figure. Who had sacrificed so much to be there for him when he lost his dad, then later when he lost his mother, Maverick was all he ever had. Was there to stay up with him on nights when he couldn’t stop crying, take him to school on days he couldn’t bear to drag himself out of bed. Even help him enlist when he turned 18.

But now, it seemed Maverick was the one that needed him.

“Todays the-“

With a hand on his shoulder Bradley squeezed maverick softly, letting out a sharp sigh through his nose. “Yeah I know….its been two years today”

So that’s why the kid was here, well, much less of a kid now, closer to pushing 30. But Maverick will always see the boy sitting on the piano at the diner wearing his dad’s cowboy hat as they played the piano.

(AHHHH THANK YOU FOR READING!! I wanna continue this and upload it to Ao3! Let me know what you guys think and if you want more!)

[leclerced]

Lando givesaq his girl a plush toy on one of their first dates. He wins it for her or just buys it from a local shop with souvenirs and she’s absolutely obsessed with the little toy. She has it in her bed every night and cares for it as if it’s was definitely more valuable than it is in the eyes of other people. After some time of dating and going back and forth they decide to move in tighter so she ofc takes the plushie with her and when Lando sees it he’s like “why did you keep it? It’s years old and not even pretty” but she tells him that she loves it and has loved it since he gave it to her. When he was away she’d hug the toy and think about him, maybe even she stole his perfume one time and sprayed the toy so it would also smell like him. And suddenly Lando gets emotional because it was such a small thing and it meant the world to her. He asks if she kept anything else and she laughs and tells him that she has everything that he gave her throughout the relationship. Every note, every box, every ribbon even. She shows it to him and tells him from where and when the item came from

lowkey thats so me tbh i have adhd real bad and will keep things for years. i have a pencil with a brain eraser on it that i got nearly ten years ago. ive never sharpened the pencil or used the eraser. its purely for the vibes. a guy gave me a circuit board that he made for a car and i kept it for like 4 years.

they go to a local carnival and he wins it for her !! he completely forgets about it because it’s just a teddy bear from their first date, and he knocks it out of her hand and it falls in a puddle so he tells her she can toss it. then they’re moving in, she’s doing all the decorating while he unboxes the big things and arranges furniture. he goes to their bedroom while she’s unpacking those boxes and sees it on their bed and asks, “okay i hope this isn’t weird but does your childhood stuffed animal have to stay on the bed we have sex in?? it kinda creeps me out.”

she wants to cry because he doesn’t remember and he thinks its creepy. he sees how sad she looks and starts apologizing but she explains that it’s not from her childhood it’s from their first date and he suddenly remembers winning it. and suddenly hes like oh thats so cute oh my god!!!! he falls more in love with her then asks why she kept it bc if he remembers correctly he dropped it in a puddle of mud and told her she could toss it bc its just cheap trash. she tells him she hand washed it as soon as he left and he asks why bc it was their first date? she’s kinda embarrassed but she’s like “i’m just sentimental i guess? i keep everything.” and he’s suddenly worried he’s moved in with a hoarder so he asks what she means by that.

she disappears into their new closet and comes out with a wooden jewelry box, he’d seen it before but never looked inside. she sits on the bed and pats the spot next to her so he takes it and she places the box between them. she starts with the lowest drawers, and it’s an assortment of polaroids they’d taken. he has a few himself, tucked in his wallet and in the visors in his car. the secret few of her in lingerie or naked, or his cock in her, hidden safely away inside his suitcase inside a little locked box. those are his keepsakes. but she has every other one they took, tucked away inside this ordinary jewelry box. the first drawer is completely pg13, but the one next to it… he picks through and takes a few of them himself to take with him when he leaves again. and then the ones above that are full of slips of paper, sticky notes, cards from floral deliveries, any kind of love note he ever gave her is organized inside with dates written on the back in her own handwriting so she’ll have an easy way to keep them organized.

in the drawers above that, every random keychain he’s bought her from each city he’s been to is stored. he noticed she always used the newest ones and assumed she trashed the older ones. above that is full of rings, and then bracelets. the top compartment, he expects necklaces, but it contains cards from every birthday, anniversary, christmas, love letters, post cards from the cities he’s visiting. anything that didn’t fit in the drawers below is squeezed into the upper compartment. she tells him about each one and how she looks through it when he’s been gone for awhile, how she rereads the letters he sent her, reads all the love notes he’d hide around her home. how she’d search for hours on end when she had nothing else to do, hoping to find more, which reminds him to start doing it in their new home.

he’s so surprised by it bc he saved a few things, but she saved every little reminder of his love that he’d ever given her. then she’s getting up and getting another jewelry box and tells him it only contains jewelry because he buys her so much she had to get another, and then she’s telling him which ones are her favorites and he’s noticing patterns in the styles she likes the most, which gems and cuts. he asks her about the clothes he buys her and she admits she didn’t keep all of them, just his or her favorite items, because she didn’t have a lot of space in her old apartment but now that they have a walk in closet, she’ll be keeping just about anything he gifts her, so he better think wisely unless he wants to see her wearing a hideous sweater he jokingly bought he that she loves simply because it’s from him.

instead of being scared she’s a hoarder, he spends hours going through each one trying to guess the year and month he gifted it to her, she’s finding the box of snow globes he buys at souvenir shops, and he’s guessing on those too. he loves how much every gift he gives her matters to her, whether it’s a post it note hidden in the cutlery drawer that just says i love you or a matching set of diamond earrings and necklace.

[kalpanahandmadepaper]

https://kalpanapapers.com/collections/handmade-paper-box

[daisycoloredsims]

SHOP THE LOOK - dina caliente's night stands ♡♡♡

ONE: left nightstand ♡ TWO: concrete candle ♡ THREE: airpod pros ♡

FOUR: alarm clock ♡ FIVE: candle sticks ♡ SIX: keepsake box ♡

SEVEN: kitsch satin scrunchie ♡ EIGHT: oribe hand crème NINE: right nightstand ♡

TEN: tray w/ chanel hand crème, comb, scrunchie, clips, & earrings ♡

ELEVEN: chanel mademoiselle hair mist ♡ TWELVE: shell tray w/ earrings ♡

THIRTEEN: wooden wick candle ♡ FOURTEEN: cube lamp (snowy escape) ♡

FIFTEEN: square marble vase w/ greenery ♡ SIXTEEN: taped band poster ♡

thank you always to cc creators: @bbygyal123 @sundays-sims @13pumpkin31 @leosims4cc @aggressivekitty @plushpixelssims

[ofdrivensnow]

open to Livia Cardew. / MUTUALS OR NON MUTUALS.

He kept it in a box of keepsakes. One hand splayed underneath the cold wooden box, the lid placed to the side and glacier hues transfixing on the earring inside. The last item he had left of his songbird. It reflected off his hand, the sun's beams raying through the window next to him catching the honey glow of amber colored pieces embedded in the silver. In that moment he was back in those woods, going insane knowing she got away, and the insanity that STILL 𝑑𝑟𝑖𝑣𝑒𝑠 ℎ𝑖𝑚 ; 𝑀 𝐴 𝐷 of wondering where she may be now. Sound of the heavy door opening startled Coriolanus out of his thoughts and with the quick snap of his head, he especially in particular felt burning hatred TOWARDS the one who interrupted. Caught with it in his palm. The only option his mind quickly puzzled together was to tuck his fingers over the jewelry and play it off, "Do you not have PURPOSE else where? –Of course not." More venomous than usual ; and IF LOOKS COULD KILL.

[oneowlartist]

Wooden Jewelry Keepsake Box, Gift Box by 1owlartist on Zazzle

Customize this glossy Wooden Jewelry Keepsake Box with beautiful pattern design to keep your valuable jewelry safe & protected.

Perfect Gift for your wedding anniversary!

[ejzah]

Have you ever seen or written a story where Deeks opens the box right away. When Kensi first gives it to him in the bullpen and it’s her dads ring?

A/N: I modified the scene a little bit extra to fit my interpretation and vision. Hope you approve!

***

Everything You’ve Ever Wanted

Deeks stares down at The Box, which Kensi has just informed him is actually his box, sure this is some kind of trick.

“What's in the box?”

“Open it and find out,” Kensi suggests casually. Like she really doesn’t care either way. He’s not sure what she’s playing at, but it has him on edge. More than his false panic at finding the box on his desk.

“Listen, is this some sort of, uh, devilish trick that's payback for me snooping?”

“No, it’s a present. Which you should open.” She gives a nod to the box, settling back in her chair with a cup of coffee. “Or not. Thought it would be rude.”

“Alright, let us know when you’ve finished this fascinating debate,” Sam speaks up, rolling his eyes at them as he gets up. “C’mon G.”

“Where do you plan on going?” Callen asks, following after him.

“Somewhere that isn’t here.”

“Are you going to open it now that we don’t have an audience,” Kensi prompts a minute later.

Deeks sets The Box back down on his desk, vaguely amused that the words appear capitalized in his mind.

“So what you’re telling me is that you want me to open the infamous box that everyone from Hetty to Granger to that visiting agent we wouldn’t stand knows about. I can open this box now?” he checks.

“Yes, Deeks.” She watches him for a moment, then rises, reaching into her waistband. She comes back with a knife, smiling a little as she stops in front of him, and draws the blade through the plastic securing the pieces of cardboard in one swift movement. “There, got it all started for you.” She inhales sharply; it wouldn’t even be noticeable if she wasn’t standing close, and Deeks wasn’t so attuned to her.

When he glances up, his full attention shifting from the box, to her, he sees she looks slightly nervous. It’s a pretty rare sight.

“Do I get any hints?” He rests his hands atop the box, fingering the edges of the flaps.

“It’s something that you want more than anything else in the world,” she she tells him.

And isn’t that a loaded answer? Cause he knows for certain what he wants more than anything, and he’s pretty sure it can’t be contained within any box. He flicks a final glance at Kensi before he pulls the flaps open. There’s another, smaller box within, which turns out be filled with bubble wrap, rolled around a third, minute wooden box.

He raises an eyebrow at Kensi’s sense of humor as he slides the final (hopefully) lid aside, dumping the contents into his palm. It’s a burnished wedding band. That certainly wasn’t what he expected.

“You gave me a ring?” he says, and it comes out like a question.

“Yeah. It’s not just any ring though,” Kensi shuffles her feet, looking down for a few seconds. It’s been a while since he’s seen her so uncomfortable, which makes him think that the ring he’s holding has a hell of a lot more significance than he realizes. “It’s my dad’s,” she finishes in the softest of whispers.

“Your dad—Kensi,” he whispers, for once speechless. For the last three years they’ve danced around each other and laughed off any possible feelings, yet now she’s giving him a highly significant keepsake. “What does this mean?” he finally settles on, holding up the ring so it glints in the morning light.

Kensi swallows visibly, fingers twisting together, and takes a hesitant step forward. She untwines her finger to lift her hand, moving slowly like he might run off if she goes to fast. He watches her hand clasp cover his wrist, touch softer than it’s ever been before. When he lifts his head, they’re just inches away from each other.

“It means I’m hoping you’ll take the next step with me,” she says hoarsely. And then, there in the middle of the bullpen, she lifts her chin, and kisses him. Her lips are soft, gently searching for a few moments. When she drops back down, her eyes are soft with uncertainty.

Deeks curls his fingers around the ring, using his free hand to tug Kensi closer again. He presses a kiss to her forehead and breathes in deeply.

“You’re right, this is everything I wanted,” he tells her.

***

A/N: For the record, I’m in the camp that the ring was not the original contents of the box. That being said, this was fun to write.

Thanks for the prompt!