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frosty-mage · 2 years ago

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How to hold a Yu-Gi-Oh! event hostage

Important note before we begin: while this does not technically fall under the stated definitions of slow play or stalling, I cannot say with absolute certainty that the head judge will not give you one of these penalties anyway. Generally, don't do this, since it's a dick move to everyone involved. Okay? Okay.

Right now, here's the rules for loops in Yu-Gi-Oh!:

Basically, if a mandatory loop occurs, then either it ends the game (in which case you proceed to the state that it will reach and end the game as described) or it doesn't (in which case, the offending cards are removed from the field). However, there are some problems with this definition: namely, it's not always easy to determine if it will end the game, or if it will, how the game will end.

By exploiting this, we can create scenarios that can take arbitrarily long to play out, and assuming our opponent plays for a win, will have to be played out. However, this means that everyone else will have to wait for your game, thus "holding the event hostage". Details below.

Let's introduce our primary culprits:

The combination of these two forms a particularly heinous loop. If Morphing Jar #2 (hereafter MJ2) is flipped face-up while All-Out Attacks (AOA) is active, if you have no monsters in your deck, it will summon itself, which makes AOA flip it up, which makes it activate again. This will continue endlessly. Without any other monsters, this is a mandatory loop that won't end the game, so a judge is called over and sends one of the cards (probably the AOA) to the graveyard. However, the advantage of this is that we can trigger monsters' flip effects, and they will also activate each iteration.

Enter the murder weapon:

If we also have Dice Jar on our side of the field, we can have it repeatedly activate. This will push players' life totals downward, so this will end the game, no matter what the starting life totals are.

While some of these scenarios are a bit far-fetched, just remember that there are plenty of combos that allow you to force pretty much any board state you want. Execute one of those and politely ask your opponent to not concede.

SCENARIO 1 (simple and clean):

Through some prior combo, you have given your opponent 1 million life and yourself 2 million life. You then get this combo on the board and activate MJ2. This will repeatedly resolve Dice Jar. Your opponent will take an average of 600 rolls to die, while you take 1200, so odds are very good that your opponent will die first.

Problem:

This scenario does work within the rules as described. The scenario will have to play out and you will have to resolve Dice Jar several hundred times. However, in order to comfortably be in a winning position, you need to give yourself a large initial cushion, or else it can rapidly dwindle if you're unlucky. And putting yourself as far ahead as described above will make your opponent likely to just concede, rather than play it out.

However, we can make our opponent less likely to concede if we play with fire. Say hello to the healer:

Yes, I realize that this is really obtuse. Sadly, Galaxy Mirror Sage (GMS) is the only card that can gain us enough life on a flip effect.

SCENARIO 2 (Mutual Cooperation, possible termination):

It's the same scenario as before, but in addition to the previously mentioned cards, both players have a GMS that they own and each has 4 Galaxy monsters in their GY. Also, the starting life totals are lower, around 20000 apiece. MJ2 is activated.

Problem:

While it is worded poorly, the rule for infinite loops requires that the game ends with 100% certainty in order for judge intervention to not be required. While this can end by either player getting unlucky, it is very likely to not do so, since each player will gain life on average. (The average Dice Jar activation does between 1500 and 2000 damage.) Since this isn't guaranteed to end the game, a judge will remove one of the cards, probably the AOA.

Also, this requires you to be playing against a friend who is also playing this, making it less viable than scenario 1.

SCENARIO 3 (Calculus is your friend!):

Your opponent is at 1 trillion LP, while you are at 10000 LP. You control GMS, MJ2, Dice Jar, and AOA. You have 4 Galaxy monsters in your graveyard. You flip MJ2 down and up again.

As a result, you are net gaining life on average, but can always get unlucky a few times and lose. Your opponent's life never goes up. Eventually, this will end the game.

Problem:

Sadly, "eventually" isn't good enough here. While the game will end with 100% probability, there is theoretically the possibility that you lose all but finitely many Dice Jar flips (and somehow don't die to its activations before your opponent does). YGO's rules don't take limits into account, so a judge could make the argument that this loop won't necessarily end the game, preventing you from holding up the event for an hour.

SCENARIO 4 (Perfect, if complex):

Same setup as scenario 3, but we also have a Poison Mummy on the field.

Now, we give our opponent a sliver of hope that we'll get unlucky and lose, but really, we're quite likely to survive. Since Poison Mummy inflicts damage to our opponent, the game will definitely end within 2 billion iterations of the loop, no matter how bad the dice get.

This means that the only way to see the winner is to play it out... but that could take a while. As long as you want it to, really. (Or until your opponent sees the writing on the wall and gives up.)

And in the meantime, the entire tournament is being held hostage.

#ygo #morphing jar 2 #this is a really stupid scenario #long post #please don't do this in tournament #but you can if you must

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hatshepsut9 · 3 months ago

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Ughhh the ones that look like the second to last photo make me stand there for ages thinking it’s a rough-legged but then they fly and they’re red tails

it’s crazy how much diversity there can be in one species…these are all pictures of the same bird species (red-tailed hawk)

#all dark morph hawks have to put a quarter in the confusion jar

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lightseoul · 2 months ago

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a/n. once again, i have been inspired by a random instagram reel. i didn't even watch it, really—i just saw the keyword and was immediately spurred into writing this. enjoy <3 (0.9k)

you feel his gaze on you before you even think of meeting it.

“what,” you state more than ask when he doesn’t let up after a minute, not bothering to look up from the book you’re reading.

a scoff resounds from his direction. then: “too lazy to even move your shitty eyes?”

“don’t have to,” you retort as you finally close the paperback, shifting in your bed to regard him. “you’re boring holes into my face with all that staring.”

from where he’s seated at your dining table, bakugou grumbles, although he doesn’t deny the allegations. your face softens when you realize belatedly that he’s being awfully quiet—a jarring juxtaposition to his usual brashness.

something’s up.

but you know better than to pry it from him.

you mentally sigh. the roundabout way it is.

“what, am i extra pretty today?” you joke out of your ass, and that catches him off guard because he chokes on his own spit. that wasn’t part of the plan but you can’t help it—you laugh as he coughs his lungs out, somehow managing to throw in a curse or two in between rasps.

“shitty fucking—” he hacks some more, and when he finally recovers: “i don’t know why i fucking put up with you.”

you shrug, not at all hurt by the otherwise scathing statement. he’s said that to you too many times to count and yet, he’s still here. hanging out with you in your apartment on a friday night, no less.

you don’t point out any of that, though, confident that said knowledge is true enough for the both of you to leave it unspoken. so instead, you continue down the jesting route. “you wouldn’t know how to talk to girls without me, that’s why.”

“fuck off,” he tosses without missing a beat. “i can get the fuck by without your shitty ass guidance.”

that makes you grin, because no, he definitely can’t. how can he when he refuses to do the very first step? as in, choose a girl to talk to?

you know, someone who isn’t you.

his reluctant (best) friend.

and as if he read your mind, he shoots you a pointed look. “and i told you,” he hisses, “you use up all my fuckin’ tolerance. can’t have another girl around because you drive me crazy enough.”

“thanks, kats. i love you, too.”

“whatever,” he answers petulantly as he looks away, although you catch wind of the faint tinge of pink spreading across his cheeks like it always does when you shower him with affection—to his chagrin.

“so…” you start when neither of you says anything for a moment, “am i extra pretty today? or do you wanna share, i don’t know, something.”

“if i spit it out, will you fucking stop badgering me about how you look? you haven’t even showered today, for fuck’s sake.”

a pillow is flung across the room before you can think against it.

“wha—” he gets out instinctively before dodging it with ease. you roll your eyes as he flashes you a victorious smirk. of course. of all the jobs he could have in the world, he had to be a pro-hero and have the signature pro-hero reflexes.

his countenance then morphs as he stares at you expectantly, waiting for an answer, and you have to bite back the fuck you that’s dangling at the tip of your tongue. instead, you give him a curt nod, feigning nonchalance to further coax him into spilling whatever’s in his mind.

“go on,” you press when he doesn’t follow it up immediately after.

“i’m getting to it, alright? jesus.”

a pause.

then, another.

and when you’re finally convinced he’s just playing with you and won’t reveal whatever secret he’s got hidden behind the vault he calls his lips, he says it.

“i’m getting a vasectomy.”

you blink at him.

that was not what you were expecting.

“wh—what?”

you can only watch him in utter bewilderment as he flushes, covering up his fluster with a glare. “you heard me.”

“but, kats,” you begin, not knowing how to say the next bit, “…you’re a virgin. and you’ve never been with anyone romantically.”

the pink from earlier instantly deepens into a scarlet. “so what, hah? you’re the one to talk!”

“no, no,” you manage to respond, slowly shaking your head. you have no idea what’s happening. “that wasn’t meant to be a roast. like, at all. it’s just…why?”

bakugou doesn’t answer right away, instead choosing to press his lips into a thin line.

“you said it yourself, didn’t you?” he says after a while, voice uncharacteristically hushed, as if he doesn’t want you to hear him. you lean in ever so minutely, straining to listen from a few feet away.

“said wait?” you ask, matching the stillness of his tone.

“that birth control fucks you up.”

at that, you barely manage to school your shock into a neutral expression, although it’s definitely your heart that’s suddenly hammering wildly against your chest at his admission. you open your mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. his gaze is dizzyingly penetrating as you struggle to get your words out, until you finally manage a warbled “y-yeah.”

he probably meant that birth control fucks you—women—up, and not you you.

yeah, that’s definitely it.

with this new strand of knowledge, you’re able to muster a genuine smile his way. “that’s very thoughtful of you, kats.”

and just because you like to be sure of things, you throw in the next thing for good measure.

“she’ll be very lucky to have you.”

silence.

“hah?!”

(the keyword was vasectomy lol) (petition for more birth control methods for men)

˖⁺‧₊ as always, reblogs, replies, and tags are appreciated <3 feel free to drop an ask, too—i'd love to chat with you. have a nice day!

tagging. @bunnysaursushii @yawnzzzzzzzz @cholios @kashee-h @iluv-ace @lotuslovers @elarakive @sugurusmoon @napbatata @k0z3me @h0ngh0ngh0ng @honeyoru @yoongiwithglasses @hellokitty-doll @lilsebnem @tetsuukuroo @crangrapel0ver @syrhra

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melon-fodder · 5 months ago

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-> KINKTOBER MASTERLIST <-

♡ WARNINGS: reader has a pussy and tits, rough sex, multiple orgasms, creampie, demeaning pet names (doll, sweetheart, bitch), outdoor sex, forced proximity, toji is insufferably hot, kinda dub-con

♡ WORD COUNT: 3.5k

♡ NOTE: was so hoping I would get this one done and I did, so ha! For anyone who has been brought here by this piece, please know I do not regularly post JJK, so sorry! Enjoy reading~

This cabin is a joke. Unliveable. He shouldn’t be in a shithole like this. Toji comes from money. He’s used to living in luxury–penthouses with big screens and full bars, king-sized beds with sheets made from Egyptian cotton.

So the goddamn cot in this fucking Lincoln Logs-ass shack is frankly insulting, and if he wasn’t in hiding, he would march right into his pretentious boss’ office and give him a piece of his mind and maybe the barrel of his gun.

The only good thing about Toji’s current predicament is that he’s not alone. You are also with him, two assassins laying low in the middle of bumfuck nowhere. Of course, he may as well be all by himself; it’s not as if you’re actually paying him any attention.

You’re pissed at him, acting like a little bitch because he may have almost botched a job the two of you were on. So what? The guy is still dead. Riddled with a few too many bullets, sure, but that’s neither here nor there.

At least Toji still gets to ogle you, watch you shuffle around the cabin in leggings and loose sweatshirts. No bra, either. Yeah, he’s seen the way your nipples peek out from under the material. Fucking tease. Just as tempting as the way spandex hugs your ass and, in some cases when Toji is lucky, perfectly outlines what he knows must be the prettiest little pussy.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you bite out, glaring at him from over your mug of steaming tea.

Toji smirks, spread out on the threadbare couch while you stand in the shitty kitchen about six feet away from him. “Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, doll.”

“Oh, fuck you. You’ve been watching me like I’m your next target. I’m getting tired of it.”

“Well, boo-fucking-hoo,” he sneers. “There’s nothing better to do in this pile of shit. May as well enjoy the view.”

You set your cup down too forcefully, liquid sloshing out from the side, then stomp over to him, leaning into his space in an oh-so tantalizing way. You’re putting yourself in a real precarious position, he thinks, smart enough to keep his mouth shut as you fume.

“You even think about putting your hands on me, and I swear I’ll turn you into a fucking Ken doll.”

Toji grins sideways. “That mean you’ll touch it?”

The force of your slap is a little jarring, he has to admit, but not at all surprising. You’ve been riled up since the two of you arrived days ago, and Toji is not doing anything to help you relax on your little getaway. The complete opposite, actually. Truthfully, he’s a little impressed that it’s taken you this long to hit him.

But, you made the first move (he loves that in a woman), so he has no choice but to retaliate, swiftly pulling you into his lap, unashamed of his now half-hard dick.

“Jesus Christ, you’re sick,” you yell, struggling in his grip, rubbing your plump little ass all over his cock. “Let go of me!”

“Keep squirmin’ like that, and I’m gonna make a mess in my pants, babygirl.”

Unlikely–he’s not some teenager who’ll cum at a little grinding–but the way your face morphs with disgust is too good. “Would you clean it up for me if I asked nicely?” he teases further, grunts when your heel comes down hard against his shin.

His grip loosens enough for you to escape his hold, and Toji mumbles a dejected, “tease,” as you shoot to the other side of the very small room.

“I will kill you right fucking here if you ever do that again,” you grit through your teeth, hands shaking where they’re balled into fists.

Toji shrugs, annoyed, unsatisfied, and throbbing in the confines of his sweats. “Try it. I’ll have you pinned faster than you can even reach your gun.”

You huff, knowing damn well he’s right. You’re good at killing; he won’t deny that.

He’s just better.

Toji starts playing with you more after that, seeing how many of your buttons he can press without actually facing your promised wrath.

It’s the way he stares at you, casually brushing up against you in seemingly innocent ways. He walks around shirtless, making it impossible for you to not look at him.

Really, he just takes up as much room as he possibly can, ensures that you don’t get a moment’s peace. It’s obviously affecting you. He watches you get more and more restless as the days go by. You’re both bored out of your minds with only a few channels on the fucking box television to keep you entertained.

There is literally nothing to do but sleep and fuck. Toji’s been doing a lot of both (though, he wishes it was your pussy he was fucking and not his fist in the shower).

You, however, choose walking over sex, going on long strolls around the perimeter. You say that you’re being vigilant, but Toji knows you’re just trying to get away from him.

“You know, if you’d let me, I could help you relax,” he offers one day, trying to tune out the sound of your never ending footsteps as you pace back and forth. “Seriously, you’ve gotta simmer down.”

“You realize there are several bounties out on both of us right now, right? Like, does that not bother you?”

“Not really,” he replies. “People have been wanting to kill me since I was born. This ain’t nothin’ new.”

You stop pacing and look at him, eyebrows pinched in adorable confusion. “That’s… actually kinda sad.”

“Right?” Toji agrees, pouting dramatically as he tries, “wanna help me feel better about my sad, sordid life?”

He laughs when you groan, scrubbing your hands down your face. “You just won’t fucking quit, will you?”

“Not until I get to feel your pussy squeezin—”

You cut him off, “just stop!” voice all pitchy and grating. However, the next thing out of your mouth is like music to Toji’s ears: “if I let you fuck me, will you get off my back about it?”

He lifts an eyebrow, ignoring the way his cock twitches, then lies through his teeth, “absolutely,” because he already knows that once he’s had you, he’s gonna want you over and over and over again.

Sucking your teeth, you cross your arms over your chest and grumble, “fine,” as your mouth twists downward. “But later. For now I need to be… not around you.”

“Whatever you gotta do to get ready, sweetheart. You know where to find me.”

Except Toji doesn’t stay still for long. He waits for just a few minutes, long enough for you to let your guard down. Long enough for you to get a head start. And then takes off in the same general direction that you did.

You’re nowhere in his line of sight, but you’re easy to follow especially since you don’t actually know you’re being tracked. Your boots leave trails in the brown, fallen leaves, steps echoing off every branch that surrounds you.

A chilly breeze whistles through the trees, but Toji is too hot to really feel it. You may be covered up head to toe in a flannel and tights, but you won’t be for long. Soon, he’ll strip you down, and by that time, you’ll be thankful for the wind.

You move slowly, absentmindedly, look lighter now that you think you’re alone. Your shoulders aren’t as tense, and your fingers move as if you’re rehearsing a song. Different from the high-strung little bitch he’s had to live with for the past week.

Too busy watching you, Toji isn't focused on the ground beneath his feet. The sound of a twig snapping may as well be a gunshot, and you drop into a crouch immediately, neck practically snapping as you twist to find the source: him.

You lock eyes with each other, and something must flash in his, something dangerous—something hungry. He stays still, watching you watch him. Assessing. Registering him as the threat that he is.

“You gonna run from me?” he taunts, and you answer by doing exactly that, taking off at a sprint.

It makes Toji’s blood race in a way he’s only experienced when holding a weapon, when spattered with blood. It’s the rush he feels when he’s holding someone’s life in the palm of his hand.

He hurries after you, not quite at his full speed—that would end this too quickly—but fast enough to keep his heart pumping, quick and heavy where it rattles in his ribcage.

You veer left and he follows, giving you enough space to make you feel like you just might outpace him, that maybe you’ll get somewhere safe.

Boots slipping on the foliage underfoot, you careen forward only to catch yourself on your hands and push forward like a track star. Toji is locked on to your every movement now, the pump of your legs and arms, the way your hair whips around your face, the panicked little noises that slip from your mouth that you think he can’t hear.

Oh, but he can. He hears and sees it all, and he wants it. He wants you.

You have no fucking idea how cute you are like this, eyes widening when you chance a glance over your shoulder to find him gaining on you.

A high pitched shriek, and then he sees it—the ghost of a smile, a hysterical giggle bubbling out of your chest.

Toji feels his face split into a manic grin, desire coursing through his veins, clogging his arteries, making his mouth water and his dick twitch. When he gets his hands on you…

“You havin’ fun?” he calls from behind you, blessed with another look from you, craning your neck to catch a glimpse of him, and it’s that curiosity that cuts this little game short.

You trip over a root and go down hard this time, grunt when all the air is pushed from your lungs. He doesn’t give you the chance to get back up, just puts his foot in the middle of your back to keep you in place.

Toji clicks his tongue in an admonishing tsk, presses down on you with a little more weight when you start to wiggle.

“I see why you’re so scared about those bounties,” he muses, “you’re way too fuckin’ easy to track down.”

“I wasn’t—hh—” he pushes harder just for the fun of it and is rewarded with a little squeak of desperation. “—wasn’t trying to hide.”

“No?” Toji removes his foot only to lower himself, squatting over you as he slinks a hand around your neck and tugs you toward him so that your back bends into a painful arch. “Why’s that?”

“Fuck you,” you manage to gasp, your fingers curling into the dirt, feet scrambling for traction to relieve some of the pressure he’s putting on your spine.

He laughs darkly, “you wanted me to catch you, didn’t you? This your idea of foreplay?”

Without letting you answer, he lets go of you and flips you over, takes in the sight of your heaving chest and the wild look in your eyes.

“Tell me, doll, did that get your pussy wet?” He reaches between your legs, rubs your mound through your tights and smirks at how much heat is radiating from your core.

“Not so much fight in you now, is there?” he teases, licking his lips when you rub yourself against his palm.

“Would you just… nng fuck—just get on with it,” you grit.

“Get on with what?”

“Just fuck me!” you plead. It comes off as a demand, but Toji knows better, appreciates the position you’re in. You’re nothing but a scared dog, snapping at a hand that’s only trying to feed you.

“Right here?” he questions in fake surprise, “in the woods? Dirty girl.”

“Toji, I swear to God—”

He shuts you up with a harsh kiss, the kind that bruises, leaves lips split, swollen, and slick with spit. The kind of kiss that makes you chase him after he’s pulled away.

“You talk too much,” he states plainly, and all you do is slowly blink at him.

Yeah, he’s got you now. You’re fucking hooked, gazing up at him with blown out pupils, bottom lip caught between your teeth.

He’s nearly fully hard, grinds his cock against your stomach so that you can feel what you’ve gotten yourself into. You whimper and roll your hips, baiting him further, but he doesn’t go for it. Not yet.

Instead he sits back on his knees and paws at your tights, starting to pull them down before he gets impatient and simply tears. It doesn’t take much effort; they’re made of cheap material and Toji is, well, stronger than the average person.

You make a noise of protest, but it dies in your throat when he spreads your legs and stuffs your already dripping cunt with two of his fingers.

“I knew you were getting off on that—just like I knew you’d have the most gorgeous fuckin’ pussy,” he drawls, watching the way his fingers split you open and groaning at how warm and soft you are. God damn, you are going to feel divine wrapped around his cock.

“Come on, baby, tell me you liked it…” he licks a stripe up your neck, his free hand slipping under your sweatshirt to grope your tits— “heart’s beating so fast. You excited?”

You shake your head and buck your hips all at once, and when Toji leans close again, you surge up to catch him in another cruel kiss. This time, you fist your hands in his hair, tugging hard enough to make him grunt.

He lets you think you’re at least halfway in control, but the longer you taste him, the faster he fingerfucks you, his palm slapping against your clit as he increases the pace until you start to grow tense beneath him.

He knows that look, that tell-tale coil of muscles. You stop kissing him, breaths getting short and quick, but Toji keeps his face close to yours, growls at you to, “look at me while you cum,” as he pulls your first, messy orgasm from you.

You truly are a sight to behold, whole body spasming as your cunt sucks at his fingers. You break his gaze when your eyes roll into the back of your head, lips trembling around poorly formed pleas.

It feels like his last shred of sanity snaps. Seeing you run from him was one thing, triggered something primal in his brain that made him chase—hunt—but this, having you laid out on the dirt and the leaves…

This is how it was always supposed to be, Toji thinks to himself as he pulls his cock free from his pants. It throbs with every beat of his heart, pulsing in his palm and leaking pearly precum.

You’re soft and pliant from your orgasm, offering only a whimper when he readjusts and hikes your leg over his shoulder.

“Gonna be good for me, yeah?” he huffs, lining himself up with your sopping entrance, thick head prodding at your squishy ring of muscle. “Just take it like a good girl, just—”

He cuts himself off with a groan as he starts pushing in, bullying his way into your perfect cunt and reveling in the noises it makes. You suck him deeper and deeper, and Toji laughs at the expression painting your pretty face: shock, maybe a little fear as you struggle to look down at where you’re attached, watching as he fills you inch by inch.

Your body stretches around him, makes him feel like fucking Moses the way your spongy walls make room for his girth.

“Fuck… fuck, Toji, you’re—”

“Sh, sh, I know, sweetheart, just a little more,” he lies. He’s maybe halfway in, but there’s no way he’s stopping now, not until his cockhead is bruising your cervix.

You whine, back arching, and Toji tries to soothe you with a clumsy kiss only to hiss when you catch his lip and bite hard.

He grunts, tries to pull back, but you keep him still, drawing blood from his mouth first then his ribs when you claw at him. He can feel his shirt cling to the shallow wounds and growls when you release him, the sudden loss of pressure just as painful as the initial bite.

“Jesus, woman…”

“You—hah—deserve it,” you choke, stained mouth opening wider and wider with every inward thrust.

Your cry echoes in the woods when he bottoms out without warning, and Toji immediately sets a merciless pace. He watches you coat his thick shaft in cream, your poor little fuckhole so leaky and stretched. The noises you’re making are more animal than human, needy whines and pained grunts as you take everything he has to give.

Toji fists a hand in your hair, gives your head a little shake and watches the way your eyes slowly roll to meet his. Your lips are swollen, still red with his own blood, but they part when he tells you to, “open wide,” so he can spit on your tongue. Toji grins when you swallow, finally finally too out of your damn mind to talk back.

“That’s a good bitch,” he mutters, and when he sees your mouth twitch into a little smile, he pushes further, “that’s all you wanted, yeah? You just needed to be put in your place, huh, baby?”

He throws your other leg over his shoulder and locks both arms behind you, hands curling up your back to grip your shoulders. Rutting into you relentlessly, Toji kisses and bites all over your neck and chest, licking up the drool that slips from your mouth.

You’ll be in a world of pain tomorrow, but you’re tough, so you’ll live. And even if he has to listen to you bitch and moan, it’ll be worth it after feeling your sweet pussy wrapped around him, gushing all over his fat cock with every orgasm he forces out of you.

“T-Ji…”

It comes out more as a cough, one that Toji ignores as he feels his climax approach. He uses you like a toy, fucking into you over and over and committing the sticky squelch of your pussy to memory. He’s gonna replay this masterpiece over and over for years to come, fucking his fist while imagining the way you look right now—tears streaming down the sides of your face, lips spit slick and swollen, skin all bruised up from his own mouth and fingers.

Fuck, you’re gorgeous. You’re gorgeous, and you’re taking his cock so well, pussy swallowing him up and squeezin’ so so nice, he has to let go. He has to—

“Oh fuck, baby, gonna fill you up so good. You ready?”

You respond with a sort of gurgle that Toji takes as confirmation, and after a few more thrusts he empties his heavy balls inside of you. He doesn’t think he’s ever cum so much or so hard in his life, hot white painting your guts in viscous ropes until it starts seeping out around his cock.

Your poor cunt is so swollen, lips all puffy and messy with slick and cum. And that fat little clit—Toji pinches it, probably too mean, and coos at you to relax and take it when you start to sniffle.

“Sorry, baby. Gotta make sure you get yours too, right?” He knows you already have, but he can’t help but toy with you a little longer.

Besides, you’re being so good for him now, so docile as your body twitches, jaw moving like you want to say something but can’t, eyes rolling all around your pretty head until your muscles seize up and you cum for him one more time.

“There we go—that’s a good girl, see?” You blink teary eyes at him, a deep breath shuddering through you as one, maybe two senses return to you. “Feel better?”

You nod slowly as if confused. Or high. Probably the latter considering Toji is feeling pretty stoned too, a little dizzy as he sits up straight and leans back on his heels.

“Good. Next time you need the attitude fucked outta ya’, just tell me instead of actin’ like a bitch, ‘kay?”

A little smirk curls onto your face, and before Toji can react, you’re sitting up with two hands wrapped around his throat.

“Call me that again, and I’ll show you what a bitch can really do.”

Your palm presses against his windpipe in a threatening way. Your eyes shine with dark promise.

And Toji’s cock twitches at the idea of riling you up all over again.

#toji x reader #toji fushigro x reader #toji smut #jjk x reader #jjk smut

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cloudcountry · 9 months ago

Note

ok so obviously leona fic, did we ever expect anything else, recently ive been thinking a lot about childhood friends aus with leona so how about that as a trope. THANKS POOKIE THIS EVENT KICK STARTED A MASSIVE LEONA RAMBLING FOR ME SO EVEN IF I DIDNT WIN THIS WOULDA BEEN AWESOME <33

2ND PRIZE WINNER, LOSER

— CHILDHOOD FRIENDS WITH LEONA KINGSCHOLAR (1117 words)

please note that the expressions of love in his this fic are platonic, but can be read as romantic pining if you wish!

Leona’s ears twitch as your footsteps echo down the halls, coming right up to his door before stopping. His tail starts swishing, almost absentmindedly, but the happiness he feels about you visiting is not absentminded in the slightest.

“Leona!” you whisper yell, cracking the door open as sneakily as your clumsy hands can, “Psst, Leona!”

He smirks, blatantly ignoring you. He hopes the swishing of his tail seems lazy, not happy. Overjoyed, even. Leona knows you won’t mind when you find him out—you’ve always been just weird enough to find him fun to be around and his attitude charming. He wishes more of the palace staff were like you.

“I know you can hear me, goofball!” you whisper louder, sliding into his room through the open door, shutting it softly behind you.

“Huh?” Leona drawls, turning around in his chair, “I thought that was a fly. You sure do a lot of buzzing for a herbivore.”

You purse your lips and pout at him, looking more amused than livid. Your acting always sucked, but he doesn’t tell you that in fear of you swatting at him and whacking his tail again.

It’s sensitive.

“The kitchen is empty. We could totally go in there and grab snacks.” you say, and the pout melts off your face like butter on a saucepan, “You’ve been studying all day, you haven’t had any time for me!”

Leona huffs, tail gently smacking against your cheek. You yowl dramatically and rub your cheek like he punched you, glaring at him with the smallest of smiles on your lips. You’ve always been that blunt with him, saying exactly what's on your mind even though you get scolded for it again and again. You’re the only one in this wretched place who doesn’t bow to him every time you see him, or hold your tongue every time you have an idea. You speak freely, happily, and Leona is thankful to have been with you since the two of you were in diapers.

Even if the gap between you would never be bridged.

After all, a person of your position should not talk that way to royalty, even though he’ll never be anything but a prince.

You drag him out of his thoughts and consequently, out of his room, glancing around the halls to check and see if anyone is there. Leona rolls his eyes but the action holds no malice, not when you grab his hand and yank him down the hallway, giggling quietly as if you’re about to steal cookies from the cookie jar.

Which, considering your destination, may just be your scheme.

Leona doesn’t get soft often, he doesn't get that heart-thumping loving feeling, but when he looks at you, that changes. He loves you, he knows that much. You’re his only friend in this suffocating palace, where he shoulders the burden of being the second born with every step he takes. But with you, his best friend, his only friend, he starts to feel like he’s plain old Leona.

Nothing more, nothing less.

It’s so easy to sneak around with you, even if you are a bit clumsier than he is. And sure, maybe it’s because he purposefully trips you on his tail (only for you to whisper that you thought his tail was too sensitive for that with mock anger in your tone) but that’s nothing you can prove.

Over the course of your childhood, there are plenty more of those moments. You and Leona both grow, even though sometimes you wish you could stay kids forever. It isn’t easy watching him mold to fit his role, watching the usual easygoing smirk he has on his face morph into a constant snarl and frown.

You think you’re the only one in the palace who sees him as Leona anymore.

It isn’t long before he receives an offer to go to a school called Night Raven, which he considers with careful attentiveness. You hesitantly watch from afar, not wanting him to leave you behind but also knowing deep down he’d be so much happier if he did.

Soon enough (too soon), you’re helping him pack his suitcases.

You hug him goodbye, face buried in his clothes, squeezing him tight. He promises to call you every night in a voice only you can hear, gruff and reassuring.

Of course, he has to add a jab about you looking like a puppy without its owner so he doesn’t seem too soft. You just blink back tears and agree with a choked up laugh. His expression goes soft once more, and you take it in like you’ll never see him again.

Once he boards, you watch his carriage until it disappears and there’s no one left watching beside you.

Leona keeps his promise and calls every night, telling you about the upperclassmen and how he got sorted into Savanaclaw, to no one’s surprise. You speculate which dorm you’d be put in if you were to go to Leona’s school, and he tells you “soft hearted herbivores like you would end up in Octavinelle or something like that.”

He sounds like he’s having fun. You’re glad.

There’s a small part of you that toys with the idea of going to NRC yourself—training your magic to the point of being one of those exceptional mages the Head Mage seeks out. It’s not like you’ll never see Leona, he’s taken the necessary measures to ensure that you can visit campus whenever you please (oh, how he spoils you so) but it’s different. Things aren’t the same anymore and you know they never will be.

(That doesn’t stop you from training in secret. Leona always put everything he had into himself, so why wouldn’t you do the same?)

You don’t bat an eye when the carriage arrives again, standing stationary outside the palace. If anything, you figure it’s Leona coming back for some sort of official business, or at least that’s what you thought before the palace staff starts to whisper your name.

Your luggage, much like Leona’s exactly one year ago, is crammed into the entryway of the palace before you know it.

You’re in a daze the whole trip, painfully aware that you’re sixteen now, going to Night Raven College, you’re growing up more and more and there’s nothing you can do to stop it.

But there’s also excitement, laced with a fair share of anxiety.

You’re going to see Leona again.

And this time, you two will be equals.

It’s the most difficult thing, composing yourself before you’re sorted by the mirror. It’s even more difficult keeping your head straight and not whirling around the room, looking for a pair of green eyes and a lazy, flicking tail. It’s even more difficult not to acknowledge the thrill that jolts through you when your name is called, knowing that Leona heard it, wherever he is in the room.

“Soft hearted herbivores like you would end up in Octavinelle.”

You hope, wherever you end up, you can be close to him like always.

-> leona's napping buddies . . . @vivigoesinsane @dove-da-birb

#auburn's summer raffle <3 #auburn's fics <3 #twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twst x reader #disney twst x reader #disney twst #leona kingscholar fluff #leona kingscholar x reader #leona kingscholar #leona x reader

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moonstruckme · 8 days ago

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Maeeeeee, would you maybe write something about reader being self conscious about not having like, “flawless” skin like maybe there’s some bumps from acne or KP on her body and she’s worried that her bf won’t want to touch her bare skin or cuddle because of it? Could be with Steve or tasm!Peter if you feel at all inspired. If not, no worries :-) <3

Ty <3

cw: reader has insecurities around body acne

tasm!Peter Parker x fem!reader ♡ 786 words

Peter slumps onto his bed, hardly noticing the two kernels of popcorn that tumble out of his bowl. He cozies right up to your side.

“Let me in there.”

You lift the blanket around your shoulders, allowing him to slip underneath and situate the popcorn between you. Peter’s room is slowly becoming your favorite haunt in the city. He’s got a great view, with a window that looks out at the skyline but is too far up to get much street noise. His bed has been worn down to peak comfort, with a springy mattress and sheets washed to soft perfection. And when he lays against you like this, the light of a movie’s opening credits coming from his laptop to wash his face in an ever-morphing gradient of colors, you really just cannot think of any place you’d rather be.

Peter kisses your head like he knows what you’re thinking, grabbing a handful of popcorn before gathering you close to his chest. His arm comes around your shoulders. When his fingertips brush over bumpy skin, you shift sideways, drawing in a breath. It’s not terribly dramatic, but it’s enough to cause concern.

Peter looks down at you, colors morphing from green to blue on one side of his face. “What’s up?”

“Nothing, sorry—just, I have some acne there.”

“Oh, shit, sorry.” Peter’s hand falls away. He presses pause on his laptop, and you feel awash with embarrassment. “It hurts? Want me to have a look?”

“No, it doesn’t really hurt.” The movie has stopped on a dark orange color, likely adding a warm hue to your now warming face.

“Okay.” Your boyfriend looks confused. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” you say to reassure him. “It doesn’t hurt, it’s just that it’s…bumpy.”

He nods for a moment. “Right,” he says slowly. “So it bothers you when I touch it?”

“I…no.” Suddenly, you realize that you have no idea where you were going with this. You feel stupid for bringing it up at all. “It doesn’t bother me, necessarily.”

“Okay.” Peter relaxes back into his previous position, his arm around your shoulders. But he doesn’t touch your bumpy skin, as though still exercising caution. “Then what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“You jumped like I’d electrocuted you when I put my hand on your shoulder.”

“Well, I didn’t think you’d want to touch it.”

His head cocks to the side. “Why not?”

“Because…it’s…” It feels weird to say out loud. There’s something about voicing insecurities that makes them worse than they are in your head. “Peter,” you say in a soft voice. Pleading a little, because your boyfriend is smart. Surely he can put it together without your help.

The sympathetic line of his mouth reveals that Peter has, in fact, put it together. “I promise you,” he says, “I don’t give one single shit what your skin feels like. Or what it looks like.”

“It’s okay if you do.”

“I don’t. Seriously. I just want to hold you, is that okay?”

“Of course it’s okay.” Your voice has turned quiet, caught between shame and fondness. “I just didn’t want you to be surprised, or to…for you to think you had to put up with it if it grossed you out.”

“Oh, my god,” Peter groans theatrically. “Shut up.” He kisses your head, then your cheek, then slouches to hit your shoulder. “I love you, but shut up. I never want to hear you say ‘gross’ in relation to yourself ever again, do you get that?”

“Okay,” you murmur sheepishly.

“Good.” He drops another kiss on your shoulder for good measure. “Even if it had surprised me, sweetheart, it’s not like it would have been so jarring. It happens, it’s normal. I don’t care.”

“Okay.”

“Are you hearing me? You’re perfect. Exquisite. There is no part of you I don’t want to touch. Not that I’m, erm, suggesting anything other than movie-watching tonight, but. You know.”

Your lips tug. By the way Peter smiles back, with relief, you wonder if that was half the plan.

“The only thing I care about,” he goes on, voice dropping into a more sincere register, “is that I’m not touching you anywhere you don’t want me to. So, are you sure you don’t mind?”

“I’m sure,” you say. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“Are you kidding me?” Peter gives you a good squeeze, hand settling comfortably over your shoulder again. “Don’t be sorry. The only thing I love more than feeling you up is listening to you talk. Actually, maybe we should scrap this whole movie and you can just monologue to me.”

“I’m good.”

“No? I feel like it’d be really fun.”

“No, I don’t think so. Press play, Peter.”

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pmpmyread · 27 days ago

Text

A/N: This little fic is dedicated to my friend @cmdrfupa, for her birthday today!! To the lovely Lu: I wish you the happiest of birthdays and a year filled with love, joy, and everything you ask for! Pairing: Nanami x Reader WC: 4.2k Summary: Nanami is acting awfully suspicious. You endeavor to get to the bottom of this.

For as long as you’ve known him, Nanami Kento never compromised on a good night’s rest. He maintains impeccable sleep hygiene practices; he rarely ever snacks past 8 pm, avoids using his phone right before bed and has a routine that sees him get up and go to bed at more or less the same time every day.

A deeply ingrained sense of vigilance makes him a rather light sleeper, something you’ve quickly noticed as you watched him wake up countless times at the lightest rustle on your part, but he does tend to fall back asleep effortlessly, usually snuggling closer to you or readjusting your covers before slipping back into slumber with ease.

So you don't think much of it at first when you wake up one night to find his side of the bed empty. A quick glance at the clock indicates it is only 3:07 AM and you figure he’s probably just in the restroom.

You comfortably snuggle back under your covers, relieved that there is still plenty of time before your alarm goes off. It’s good timing, you think to yourself, that you’ve woken and that you’re catching him out of bed and that you will be able to reclaim your favorite big spoon position.

Five minutes pass, then ten, then twelve, thirteen. The sheets on his side are ice cold, and now you wonder how long he’s been gone. Impatience morphs into slight concern and trumps somnolence, so you decide to get up and check on him, sliding into your slippers before crossing the distance to the ensuite bathroom door and giving it a light tap.

“Hey, you good in there?”

No response. You knock again.

Only now do you notice the notably missing sliver of light that usually peeks through the edge of the door, a telltale sign of Nanami’s absence.

How odd.

“Kento?” you call out, this time to the rest of the house.

In the hushed stillness of the night, the gentle click of a kitchen cupboard door closing served as a barely audible response. The distinctive sound of the fridge opening for a few seconds before shutting again resonated through the hallway as you tiredly stumble your way towards the kitchen, where you find Nanami leaning against the counter, in the dark with only the dim light from his phone screen illuminating his features.

“Hey, what are you doing up?” he says, his fatigued eyes straining to discern your form in the dark.

“I was looking for you…” you mumble, your voice thick with sleep, a confused scoff escaping your lips before you flip the question on him. “What are you doing up?”

“I developed a craving.”

“This late at night?”

Nanami sets his phone down, his response coming out as a barely audible low hum as if a testament to his own incredulity. Now better accustomed to the darkness, your eyes find the familiar jar Nanami holds in his hand, and you watch him pick what you now recognize to be a small jalapeño pepper and pop it into his mouth.

“And you were craving encurtido?” It’s an uncanny sight, one that has you questioning whether you are dreaming, but the increasingly clear sound of your voice grounds you in the reality of your wakefulness.

“I figured for the electrolytes...” he replies, deadpan.

“The electrol—Straight from the jar, Ken?” You retort, decidedly baffled.

“In my defense, my intention was to only have a few, so I didn’t bother…” he replies, trailing off.

“Okay… Do you not want to eat something more consistent? Was dinner really that lacking last night?” You say, finally feeling lucid enough to match his playful stride.

“Dinner was fantastic, you know this. No, I’m only having a few of these and then I’ll head back to sleep.”

Nanami’s phone auto locks, plunging the two of you into complete darkness. You pat at the wall beside you and flip the switch on, and head towards the cupboard to pour yourself a cup of water, now that you’re positively awake.

You lean your back against the counter, mirroring his stance as you join the spot across from him and from which you observe him out of the corner of your eye as you slowly sip from your cup. He appears to be absentmindedly picking at the pickled vegetables, visibly distracted.

Ever the observant man, Nanami notices and arches an inquisitive eyebrow at you as he catches your gaze.

“This will not bode well for your stomach, big guy. Please take an antacid after this, you’re not invincibly young anymore.”

“I’ll be fine. I just got a little hungry.”

“I don’t know, Kento, this is so unlike you. I can’t remember the last time you had yourself a midnight snack, let alone spicy food, of all things.”

You can barely contain the laughter now bubbling within you, realizing now that this newly formed memory of the near absurd state in which you’d caught him red-handed will be the source of your endless amusement, of his relentless torment over the next few days.

You add, now laughing in earnest. “Are you sure you don’t want me to quickly fix something for you?”

“Thank you, I appreciate it, but I assure you I’m sated now,” he closes the jar, leans over to your side to plant a kiss on your forehead, and continues, “I’m sorry I worried you. Let’s go back to bed.”

For the few minutes you find yourself in bed waiting for Nanami once more as he brushes his teeth and freshens up for the remainder of the night, you rack your brain to try to figure out what could have possibly prompted this uncharacteristic mid-night adventure. You’d watched him eat dinner, and he’d cleaned off a healthy portion of your homemade chili potato bread. Surely he couldn’t be that hungry, right?

He was visibly on his phone before you walked in and he looked quite a bit distracted, even a bit shifty. Perhaps there was something he wanted to surprise you with? Your birthday has just recently passed, and you are still months away from your anniversary.

You skirt around the least likely justifications until the most plausible one, the one that eventually presents itself like a road appearing through dissipating fog, makes itself evident; of the strong possibility that Nanami Kento is concealing something from you.

Your sentiment is one of overwhelming curiosity more than anything else, one that lingers still in the back of your mind by the time Nanami emerges from the bathroom and finds his spot lying down facing you.

You audibly clear your throat and he looks up at you, freezing mid-movement as he rearranges the covers and you sense him searching your eyes in the dark.

“Yes, my love?”

“I’ve got big spoon now. My turn, remember?”

“I question whether this switch is warranted, but it’s late, so I’ll let you have this one.”

“You’re not letting me have anything, Kento, you know the terms. If anything, we were both out of bed just now, so it absolutely counts, doubly so.”

A chuckle of surrender escapes him as he flips over, his warm body pressing into yours as you slide your arms under him and place your hand over your hands.

The weight of your concerns begins to lift, leaving behind mostly the blissful oblivion of sleep and for the rest of the night, all is well.

A couple of days later, you’re enjoying a rainy Saturday afternoon indoors, the soft glow of your lamplight casting a warm, inviting ambiance against the otherwise gray backdrop outside.

You’ve completed your to-do list early, and the feeling of accomplishment has since settled over you, along with the promise of a relaxing afternoon, one that you and Nanami get to spend together; one hand holds your book while the other gently tangles in his soft hair as he lay quietly on your lap, equipped with a book of his own.

You’re about an hour in when he shuts his book and rests his eyes, staying still for a minute before breaking the silence.

“We should watch that show.” He says with his eyes still closed.

Still engrossed in your novel, it takes you a few seconds to pull your gaze towards him and to register his words. He speaks again before you get the chance to respond.

“Tossed salads and scrambled eggs…” He says impassively, and you blink at him a few times before he opens his eyes, looks directly into yours, and adds “Oh my.”

You burst into uncontrollable laughter at Nanami’s deadpan rendition of one of your favorite show’s theme songs.

“You want to watch Frasier?” You ask in between giggles, “Now?”

“It can be later. Or now. Only if you’re up for it.” He says, his voice finding its usual tone again, which only makes you laugh once more.

“Oh, I’m up for it. I’m just surprised, it’s usually that baking competition show you watch on the weekends.

“I figured I’d mix things up a bit.” His eyes peer up at you once more between strands of tousled hair falling across his forehead.

“Alright Mr. Adventurous, let’s get to it, then.”

He sits up and reaches for the remote as you shuffle around, finally settling into a comfortable position on the worn couch in front of the TV screen.

Just after the third episode starts, Nanami stretches slightly and gets up.

“I’m going to make coffee. Would you like one?”

“Actually, would you mind brewing me some of that oolong grape tea?”

“Sure thing,” he says, a hint of surprise in the subtle arch of his brow.

“I’m mixing things up,” you say, playfully mimicking his tone from earlier, a slight smirk playing on your lips.

You reach for the remote to pause the episode.

“No need to pause it. I’ll just set the water to brew and be back.”

You turned your attention back to your episode, while you heard Nanami busy himself in the kitchen.

This series… You can recite most of these scenes word for word and yet each rewatch still captivates you as if it’s your first time watching it. By the time you’re near the end of your episode, the rich, warm aroma of velvety robusta coffee has decidedly wafted over to find you where you sat, filling your senses in a comforting blanket of scent.

The low whirring sound of the electric kettle has long since ceased, and you no longer hear Nanami’s rummaging on the other side of the wall. Just as you have half a mind to call out to him, you stifle a yawn, a feeling of drowsiness beginning to read its unwelcome head. You’d planned to take a nap later on, but now you’re determined to see this watch session through. A concluding thought comes to your mind; a cup of coffee actually sounds perfect right now.

Needing to stretch your legs anyway, you decide to get up and get it yourself.

“Hey Ken—”

You peer around the corner to find the kitchen empty.

On the counter, you find your tea bag still only halfway assembled, loose leaf almost spilling out of the unsealed bag, sitting next to the coffee machine, where his cooling cup sits.

Where the hell did he disappear to? you wonder.

Your question is answered a mere seconds later, as Nanami emerges from the hallway, looking somewhat more disheveled than he’d left, his sleeves are pulled up rather than carefully rolled back, and his hair is downright messy, as if he’d just wrestled with something. He speaks before you get the chance to say anything.

“I went looking for the oolong. I thought I’d brought it to my office the other day.”

Your eyes narrow in suspicion and without thinking, you open a drawer just beside you, where you distinctly remember seeing the oolong tea box this morning only to find it now notably missing, an empty space that screams its obvious absence.

Your eyes return to Nanami, who is now holding up the familiar packaging.

“Turns out I was right,” he says with a slight smile. “Sorry for the delay in service,” he adds playfully.

You know this man well, so you sense it, in the nervous quickness in his step, in the barely perceptible aversion of his gaze, that this is not the full story.

You know this man too damn well, so you witness the realization hits him; he freezes in his movements for the briefest of moments, but you catch it. Your eyes settle on Nanami’s hands as they hover over the overflowing, half-assembled tea bag, loose oolong leaves spilling onto the table in a noisy refutation of his unconvincing tale. Your eyes travel to his face and you watch as a minute twitch of his lips, as a small sharp inhale and exhale through the nose, betray some kind of amusement he appears to be trying to suppress.

This scene juxtaposed with the Fraiser ending theme now blaring in the background can only be humorous to you, and can only add to the perplexity of the situation.

“So—” you start.

“Did you prepare them differently?” Nanami cuts in, casual as ever, as he fastens the tea bag and gently places it in your cup, and reaches for the kettle, setting it on once more, his movements now carrying a relaxed fluidity.

“What?” You ask, only now realizing that this is your first word in what you feel like has already been a long exchange.

“The cookies you baked yesterday,” He repeats, speaking a bit louder to be heard over the increased whirring sound of the kettle, as the already boiled water quickly comes to ebullition. “Did you add a secret ingredient or something? They are particularly amazing.” He reaches for one in the box you’d stored them and takes a bite as if to emphasize his point.

“Nutmeg…” You say cautiously, eyes narrowing on him as you watch him casually pour the boiling water into your cup.

“I see. So you added nutmeg?”

“No, the nutmeg was always there. I just dosed it differently this time around and I—Actually, you know what? No. I’m keeping this one to myself. Secret recipe.”

“That’s a shame,” he says his tone laced with mock disappointment as he hands you your cup, with his left hand twisting it around to ensure you can grasp it at its handle, and offers you the second half of his cookie in his right hand, letting it hover over your lips, a mischievous smile on his face, “and here I thought we were all about sharing here.”

You narrow your eyes at him once again and yet also take the entire remainder of the cookie into your mouth, a move that visibly surprises him. You chew as you try to formulate a retort that you don’t bother delivering, as he picks up his coffee cup and guides you back to the living room to resume your watch session.

Both of you pretending that you didn’t detect his obvious play at a deflection.

Both of you ignoring the obvious untruth you’d caught him in.

It only comes to your mind much that evening, long after you rolled credits on the seventh Frasier episode, long after an enjoyable dinner, and long after you’ve tucked into bed, wrapping up the captivating book that had you staying up into the early hours of the morning as Kento slept soundly beside you; a theory that you are now incredibly eager to test in the morning.

“I can’t believe they want you in the office on a day like this,” Nanami mutters as he looks out the window at the large snowflakes beginning their descent through the gray morning sky. “Surely it’s not advisable ahead of a damn snowstorm?”

“Yup, I can’t believe it either. I only have early meetings, though, so I should be able to wrap up before the worst of it comes down early this evening.”

The rest of the weekend flew by; two days have elapsed, and it is now Monday. Even as you sit on the ottoman in the vestibule, focused on fastening your second boot, you can sense Nanami’s concerned gaze shifting to you.

“And you’re sure you can’t work from home?”

“I told you, this is orientation week. They want all of us newbies on site.”

“You should call out.”

“It’s really not that bad yet and I’ll be back before you know it.” You reply, offering him a reassuring smile to alleviate his apprehension as he approaches you, towering over where you’re still seated.

“Then, at the very least, let me drop you off.”

“I appreciate your concern, Ken, I really do. But I’ll be fine, this isn’t my first rodeo. Besides, don’t you have that important call later? I need you to lock in and stop worrying about me.”

“If there’s anything off, anything at all—” You stand up and reach out to him.

“I will call you. Promise.” You press a kiss to his lips, and you indulge in his lingering hold for a short moment before you pull away and head out to your car. It’s in moments like these that the depth of his care for you is the most palpable; you can discern so much better these days, level-headed as he is, the worry betrayed by his voice, the concern visible in his eyes.

Kento is so good to you. He is so good, period.

Except when he’s not.

Nanami waits a couple of minutes. It’s not until after the distinct sound of your car’s ignition, followed by the garage door’s mechanical whir and thud are made audible that he finally gets to moving.

Finally. How long has it been? A week? Six? Seven days of poking and prodding, of observing and watching? An arduous week peppered with moments of weakness spent wondering if the prize was worth the trouble he was going through, worth the opponent he has to make of you; moments that have no longevity whatsoever, as he’s quickly reminded of the phantom taste he is now convinced he will be unable to shake off.

And you are good. You are too damn good at this extreme variant of mental chess, it’s almost unfair. He’s always known you to be a brilliant woman, it’s part of what he adores so much about you, but this is another level. Where is the line between extreme cleverness and unrelenting cunning?

You are too good.

But not infallible.

Because now that he is reasonably sure that you’re gone, he makes his way back to the room that doubles as your home office and brings the door to a half close, turning to face the shelf that sits behind it.

He crouches down, emulating the position he’d found you in less than twenty-four hours ago, to the bottom row, labeled ‘Taxes’. He pulls out the 2021 filing box, and he knows to pull this one because you’ve led him to it, yesterday, when he finally caught you in a scene he’s since gleefully replayed over and over again in his mind.

Nanami opened the door to your home office, inadvertently lightly bumping you in the process.

“Ouch!”

“Darling? Shit, I didn’t see you there. I’m so sorry. Are you hurt?”

He peered around the door, just in time to see you replace a filing box and to rise from your kneeling position. Grabbing your arm where the door had bumped you.

“I’m fine. It’s my fault, I should have shown some sign of life when I heard you approaching,” you say sheepishly.

Nanami moved your hand and rubbed your bare arm where you held it. As he cast his gaze down to your arm to examine it, something on the floor immediately caught his attention.

A small torn piece of paper, the familiar red markings on a yellow wrapper, stood out like a sore thumb against the deep brown hardwood floor, one he would now recognize anywhere. He must have let his gaze linger too long because he noticed you following, your eyes widening ever so slightly as you locked onto the damning piece of evidence.

He watched as you suddenly pulled your arm away from him and averted his gaze.

“I was just looking for an old banking document I need to bring it to HR tomorrow.”

Nanami watched, oh he watched as you discreetly kicked the wrapper under the shelf as you moved around him

“And did you find it?” He asked after you, turning only his head towards you.

“Find what?”

“The document you just mentioned?”

“Oh, no I haven’t. But I have the digital version somewhere, I’ll just have to find my old login, but don’t worry, I’ll figure it out!” You said before skittering out of the room.

There it was again, the taste of smooth coffee-flavored cream with a milk chocolate coating. It’s been days since his first bit, but Nanami remembered it still, the gentle crunch of a wafer preceded by the slightly bitter coffee essence, followed by a creamy chocolate richness that balances out the coffee notes. So light, so airy, so sweet, but not too sweet. The perfect balance.

The last he’d seen it was when you yanked the bag away from him, as he went for his fourth piece in a row. Or was it the fifth?

“Alright enough, Kento, these are limited, so we clearly need to ration them.”

“You don’t trust my discipline?” He’d said in mock offense.

“Your firm grip on this box tells me everything I need to know. Give it.” Stifling a shocked laugh as you yanked it from him in earnest.

“Oh, I see. So you’d selfishly hide your little stash from me?”

“Sir, this was a gift addressed to me! You know damn well they don’t carry these rare candies anywhere in this country, and I am intent on not speed running these in a day, so you best back off and behave if you want me to share this!” You couldn’t contain your laughter anymore. You’d never seen Nanami so obsessed over anything, let alone some sweets.

“Unfortunately for you, your first mistake was to let me taste this one.” He says as he neatly folds the wrapper he’s still holding. “You won’t succeed in hiding them for long, I fear.”

“Watch me.”

And oh, did he watch you. Throughout the week, observing as you snuck two pieces for each one you would bring out to share with him, seemingly out of nowhere. Nanami knew this was silly, that he was being irrationally ridiculous over a few sweets.

He couldn’t place what it was, whether it was your assertiveness and confidence in keeping this away from him, the underlying challenge this posed him, or whether it was that this chocolate simply tasted too damn good. Whatever it was, it was driving him insane, and all he knew was that he had to locate your secret stash.

Not even the passing thought that he was behaving like Gojo on a sugar rush had sufficed to deter Nanami from his singular mission, a passing thought that made him scoff in disbelief.

None of it mattered anymore. He had a lead.

But now, unburdened by your observant eye, untethered by the running risk of you walking in on him as you’d already done over the course of the week, nearly exposing his efforts, he feels the taste of victory.

He reaches under the shelf and laughs to himself as he retrieves the damning manifestation of the one mistake you’ve made.

He opens the filing box.

It’s empty, barring a piece of folded paper.

It’s a note he quickly unfolds, immediately recognizing your handwriting, his eyes dancing over the single line of the message, the one that spells out:

“I have bested you, Nanami Kento.”

Nanami flinches at the sound of your voice, he almost topples over when you step into the room, holding your boots in your hands and tiptoeing in your socks.

He chuckles lightly as he stands up.

“If you’re telling me you set this up…”

“Off some snacks, Ken?” You said, releasing the burst of laughter you’ve been holding for a hot minute now.

“Pretended to leave…”

“All this off some freaking candy?” You’re laughing hysterically now.

“It wasn’t the candy, love, it was that one chocolate… Coffee Crunch something...” He’s chuckling now too, eyes closed as he shakes his head as if he’s trying to place the taste.

“Coffee Crisp. Don’t I know it! Made you lose your damn mind.”

“The deception of this is…”

“Well-warranted, I’m now convinced! ”

Nanami sighs, visibly defeated.

“I don’t know what they put in that bar—Wait, aren’t you going to be late now?”

“Oh, I’m not driving in that mess. I was going to put in a work-from-home request last night, but found that they’d already told us not to come in any way. Besides, who will distribute this if I’m gone?” You add as you pull one of the coveted coffee and chocolate bars out of your coat pocket and wave it into his face.

You watch his eyes widen, his pupils dilate as he makes a grab for it, but you pull back just in time to have him watch it slip through his fingers.

“You have to share.” He says almost too solemnly.

“I really don’t. But maybe… you can earn it? Work for it.” You say teasingly as you hold the bar behind you while making your way towards Nanami, not stopping until he hits the edge of your desk.

“Another challenge?” He asks, his voice now a low timbre. “Careful, love. This one I’m intent on winning.”

#nanami kento #nanami x reader #nanami kento x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk fluff #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x you #nanami fluff #nanami x you #nanami kento x you #nanami kento fluff #jujutsu kaisen nanami #jjk nanami #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #pmpmyread #lu's bday

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mapis-putellas · 2 months ago

Text

𝑩𝒖𝒕𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒋𝒐𝒌𝒆/𝑩.𝒎𝒆𝒂𝒅

Autistic!reader. I tried my best to make this as realistic as possible. Hopefully it came out okay.

It was supposed to be a good day. A nice, relaxed afternoon with Beth and her friends; Leah, Kyra, Alessia, and Katie. Beth had convinced you it would be fun, saying they all liked you and wanted to get to know you better. You had been hesitant at first, the idea of socializing with a group of people you weren’t entirely comfortable with making your stomach twist in unease. But Beth’s insistence, paired with her reassuring smile, had eventually won you over.

It had started off well enough. You had sat next to Beth on the couch, her hand resting lightly on your thigh as the others chatted animatedly around you. Occasionally, they’d turn their attention to you, asking questions about your interests. At first, you answered earnestly, your voice soft but steady. Alessia asked about your favorite book, and you’d immediately launched into an enthusiastic explanation about the most recent book you’d read that had become your favourite.

After that, the questions kept coming, and you kept answering. And it was okay, at first. Until you started noticing a pattern. A pattern that made your stomach twist further. Every time you finished talking, both Leah and Katie, laughed.

At first, you thought they were laughing because they found your answers amusing or endearing. Beth always said your enthusiasm was one of her favorite things about you. But as the conversation continued, the laughter didn’t feel warm anymore. It felt pointed. Katie and Leah especially seemed to find every answer you gave funny, even when you weren’t trying to be.

Your confusion began to morph into something heavier; something cold and sharp that settled in your chest. You were used to people misunderstanding you or finding your honesty a little jarring. It wasn’t new. But this felt different. You weren’t sure why at first, but then it hit you: they weren’t laughing with you. They were laughing at you.

You felt the humiliation rise in your throat like bile. You weren’t stupid. Naïve, maybe. Socially awkward, definitely. But you weren’t stupid. And yet, the way they looked at you, the way they giggled and shared glances after every response you gave, made you feel small.

Beth hadn’t noticed. She was too busy chatting with Kyra about something else. You glanced at her, silently willing her to look your way and see the discomfort etched across your face. But she didn’t.

“I’m just going to the bathroom,” you murmured, standing abruptly.

No one seemed to notice except Beth, who glanced at you with a small smile. “You okay, love?”

You nodded quickly, not trusting your voice, and hurried down the hallway. Once you reached the bathroom, you shut the door behind you and leaned heavily against it for a second before beginning to pace.

The humiliation was suffocating now, and you couldn’t stop the way your hands flapped slightly at your sides as you tried to calm the storm brewing inside you. Your chest ached with frustration and hurt, and you felt tears prick at the corners of your eyes.

Beth had said they liked you. She’d promised they liked you. But clearly, that wasn’t true.

There was a soft knock at the door a few minutes later, and you froze.

“Love? It’s me.” Beth’s voice was gentle, but you didn’t respond. You didn’t trust yourself to speak.

The door creaked open slowly, and Beth stepped inside, her eyes immediately landing on you. Her expression shifted to one of concern as she took you in.

“Oh, babe,” she said softly, stepping closer.

You wanted to push her away, to tell her to leave you alone. You were mad at her. She’d lied to you. But when she wrapped her arms around you, the familiar pressure was grounding, and you couldn’t stop yourself from leaning into her.

Beth leaned back against the sink, letting your weight rest against her as she held you tightly. One of her hands stroked your back in slow, soothing circles, while the other rested on the back of your head, cradling you gently.

“What happened?” she asked after a while, her voice low and careful. “Talk to me.”

For a moment, you didn’t say anything, focusing instead on grazing your fingers over the soft skin of her back. The repetitive motion calmed you, anchoring you as you tried to sort through your thoughts.

“They laughed at me,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

Beth’s hand stilled against your back. “What?”

“Your friends.” You pulled back just enough to look at her, though your gaze didn’t meet hers. It hovered somewhere over her shoulder instead. “They were laughing at me. They think I’m stupid.”

Beth frowned, her eyes searching your face. “Why would you think that?”

“Because it’s true,” you said bluntly. “They laughed after every answer I gave. Even when I wasn’t trying to be funny.”

Beth’s arms tightened around you, her expression shifting to one of anger; not at you, but at the situation. “They don’t think you’re stupid,” she said firmly. “I promise you that.”

You shook your head, your hands still grazing over her skin. “You lied to me. You said they liked me.”

“They do like you,” Beth insisted.

“They don’t,” you replied, your voice breaking slightly. “If they did, they wouldn’t have laughed at me.”

Beth sighed, her forehead resting against yours as she tried to figure out what to say. “They’re just…they don’t know you like I do,” she said after a moment. “Sometimes people laugh because they don’t know how else to react. It doesn’t mean they think you’re stupid.”

You didn’t respond, your fingers continuing their gentle exploration of her back.

“I’m so sorry, love,” Beth whispered, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I should’ve noticed. I should’ve said something.”

You shrugged slightly, still not meeting her gaze. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine,” she said, her voice firm but still gentle. “You shouldn’t have to feel like that. Not ever.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, so you stayed quiet. Beth’s hand moved to cup your cheek, tilting your head up slightly so you had no choice but to look at her.

“I love you,” she said, her blue eyes earnest. “And I think you’re brilliant. If they can’t see that, that’s their problem, not yours.”

Her words made your chest ache in a different way, and you felt your lip wobble slightly as you fought back tears. “I’m mad at you,” you said, your voice small.

Beth nodded. “I know.

“You lied to me.”

“I know,” she repeated. “And I’m sorry.”

You studied her for a moment, searching her face for any sign of insincerity. But there was nothing there.

“I just…I wanted you to feel comfortable,” Beth continued. “I didn’t think…I didn’t think they’d act like that.”

You nodded slowly, your fingers trailing up to her shoulder. “It’s okay. But I don’t think I want to hang out with them again.”

“Okay,” Beth said without hesitation. “You don’t have to.”

The weight in your chest eased slightly at her words, and you let out a small sigh as your lips quirked up into a tentative smile. “Thank you.”

Beth smiled softly, her thumb brushing over your cheek. “Anything for you, love.” Even though you were still a little mad at her, you couldn’t help but lean in and brush your lips against her own. Beth’s smile widened just slightly as she cupped your jaw to lightly coax you forward into a proper kiss. Your eyes fluttered closed at the sensation, your fingers toying with the baby hairs at the nape of her neck.

After a few quiet moments, you leaned back into her embrace, letting her warmth and steady presence soothe the lingering hurt. You pressed a kiss to her neck, feeling the way she squeezed you tightly in response.

After a while, she pulled back, pressing a playful kiss to your nose. You couldn’t help but smile in response, and Beth retuned it as she lead you back through to the bedroom with the promise she’d be back in just a few minutes, and you nod, curling up on her side of the bed with your book, just as you always did.

You trusted Beth to handle it. If there was one thing you knew about her, it was that she never let anyone disrespect you. But even that thought wasn’t enough to soothe the turmoil in your mind completely. But I would ease. It always did.

In the living room, Beth stood in front of her friends, her arms crossed over her chest, her lips pressed into a tight line. Alessia and Kyra sat quietly on the couch, their expressions uneasy, while Katie and Leah leaned back in their seats, clearly not expecting what was coming.

“I hope you’re happy with yourselves,” Beth began, her accent more pronounced in her frustration. “Do you have any idea how upset you made her?”

Leah tilted her head, a half-smile playing on her lips. “Come on, Beth. We were just joking around. It’s not that deep.”

Beth’s eyes narrowed. “Not that deep? Leah, she left the room practically in tears because of the way you two were laughing at her. How is that not deep?”

Katie leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “We weren’t being mean. She’s just-well, she’s a bit literal, isn’t she? It’s not like we said anythin’ bad.”

“That’s not the point!” Beth snapped, her voice rising. “She’s literal because she’s autistic. Did either of you even stop to think about that? Or did you just decide to laugh at her for being different?”

The room went silent. Leah blinked, the words hitting her like a sudden gust of wind. Katie opened her mouth to respond but closed it again, for once unsure of what to say.

Kyra shifted uncomfortably, her gaze flicking between Beth and the others. “Beth, we didn’t mean to upset her. Alessia and I didn’t even say anything…”

“But you didn’t stop them, did you?” Beth shot back, her glare moving to Kyra and Alessia. “You sat there and let it happen. You know what those two are like. You could have said something, but you didn’t.”

Alessia’s cheeks flushed with guilt, and Kyra nodded solemnly, their silence a quiet admission of responsibility.

Beth turned her focus back to Katie and Leah, her voice colder now. “Because of the two of you, she doesn’t want to see any of you again. Do you realize how much that hurts her? How much that hurts me?”

Katie frowned, her arms crossing defensively. “She’s being a bit dramatic, don’t you think? It was just banter, Beth. She’ll get over it.”

Beth’s hand slammed against the back of a chair, startling all of them. “Don’t you dare call her dramatic,” she seethed. “Do you even hear yourselves? She’s not dramatic. She processes things differently. She doesn’t understand your so-called banter the way you think she does. And instead of making her feel included, you made her feel like a joke.”

Leah leaned forward, her voice softer now. “We didn’t know…about her being autistic. You’ve never mentioned it before.”

“I shouldn’t have to mention it!” Beth exclaimed, her voice breaking slightly. “You should treat her with respect regardless. But now that you do know, you better think long and hard about how you’re going to make this right.”

The weight of Beth’s words settled heavily in the room. Leah ran a hand through her hair, looking genuinely remorseful, while Katie’s defensive posture began to soften.

Beth took a deep breath, her shoulders dropping slightly. “I love you guys, but I also love her,” she said quietly but firmly. “And I will not tolerate anyone making her feel less than. If you can’t understand that, then you’re not welcome in our lives.”

The room remained silent as Beth turned on her heel and left, not sparing them another glance.

Tags:

@ceesimz @marysfics @girlgenius1111 @codiemarin @simp4panos @silentwolfsstuff @goldenempyrean @xxnaiaxx @liloandstitchstan @ktgoodmorning @chelseacult

#beth mead x reader #beth mead #Beth mead x you #woso community #woso x reader #woso appreciation #woso imagine #woso one shot #woso fanfics

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brummiereader · 13 days ago

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Sweet Dreams, Darling (Part Five)

Summary: As you and Tommy struggle to reconnect after a tense reunion, you begin to see the lasting effects the war has had on him as the distance between you continues to grow. But as the evening rolls in, reignited desires have Tommy swooping you away to the privacy of his bedroom to share a passionate moment that only ends up driving you further apart when you discover the written thoughts he brought back from the trenches.

Warnings: Language, angst, mutual pining, PTSD, hallucinations, depictions of war, 18+ descriptions.

Word Count: 3.5K

[Masterlist] [Previous Part] [Trailer]

Tired? Adjusting to being back home? Back to life's routine? Back to you? Wait, was it you? Did he no longer want you?, you felt your heart suddenly hit the pit of your stomach as the kaleidoscope of morphing questions left you with one you had yet to contemplate. One that had a rush of warmth fill your cheeks. An alarm of panic deafening your ears, that you, you alone, were the sole reason for Tommy's solemn mood since his return from war.

" 'eres to booze, boobs and home!" Arthur's slurred speech and raised glass were met with both rolling eyes and hearty cheers in the crowded terraced house, filled with family and close friends celebrating the three brothers' heroic return.

" To home!" the gathering of people tossed back their glass tumblers in unison as your eyes drifted down to your paling hand grasped between Tommy's fingers, bobbing against his shaky leg under the large dining table for the past hour.

" To home..." Arthurs' joyous demeanour petered out into silence as he swirled the glass of amber liquor in front of him. Embers of ash, of flames, catching the crackling fire through the crystal tumbler, transporting him back to the battlefields of France. To the haunting cries of men screaming for their mothers. Screaming for home as the enemy's earth flattening retaliation burnt their skin.

As a heavy silence settled above the nervous sea of darting eyes, you suddenly caught Tommy's as you looked up from his leg restlessly shaking against the wooden floorboards.

" Tom..." you quietly mouthed as he watched your concern for his wellbeing hone in on his bouncing limb.

Leg suddenly coming to an abrupt stop, Tommy released your numbing fingers from within his hand as he cleared his throat of embarrassment and the agitated display that had slipped past his control.

" Right" Polly rose from her seat, ringed fingers folding the patched tea towel in her hand as her eyes darted towards each brother's hunched bodies. Each set of eyes cast down with a thousand-mile stare looking into nothingness.

" Food" she announced, abandoning her attempts at a crisply folded towel as she shoved into her pinny, eyes silently ushering you and Ada to the kitchen and the buffet of food she hoped would not only starve off the men from drinking themselves into unconsciousness, but cushion the effects of Ireland's finest whiskey she would be the one left to clean up after.

Quick to follow, you left the pokey room of people for the safe confines of the kitchen. If not only to help prepare the platters of crustless sandwiches and cuttings of ham. But to escape Tommy's somber mood and the one worded conversation you were struggling to maintain with him.

"Polly..." you hovered next to the Shelby matriarch, nervously twiddling your fingers with troubled thoughts as you watched her speedy hands garnish the large platter of food with leafy greens.

" Mustard" she pointed to the small ceramic jar next to you as she arranged each trimming with a knitted brow of concentration, when her shared concerns had her deserting her attempts at a fanciful display of finger food.

"Shit" she sighed, tossing the last sprigs of useless greens to the side with a hand to her hip as her hazel eyes, filled with her predicted fears, drifted towards her nephews.

" Tomorrow's another day" she answered your unspoken worries with a reassuring hand to your arm before returning to her role as hostess and the feigned smile she'd wear for the remainder of the evening.

With you and Ada left to arrange the copious amounts of food Polly had prepared, you watched from over the sea of pork pies to Finn sat on the edge of the wooden coffee table. Bum scooting along the carved furniture with eyes of admiration and a wish to hear about the battles his brothers had bravely fought in. A wish that was left unfulfilled when his Aunt pulled him away by the scruff of his neck to the tray of Bakewell tarts she hoped would occupy his curious mind and not the troubled ones of his older siblings.

" Y/N?" Ada murmured with a tug of your arm as you caught Tommy's rising eyes over the glass of whiskey he'd been nursing since his arrival.

" Cover for me tonight?" she quietly asked, darting stare surveying those within earshot of hearing her plans for the remainder of the evening as her unhelpful, and unobservant hands, saw the plate of your carefully arranged cakes look like the work of a toddler high on sugar.

" Freddie?" you whispered back with a giggle she quickly hushed with an elbow to your ribs as Tommy leant back in his chair. Pining eyes held back by the unkept promise to return sound of mind, watching a youthful smile pucker your cheeks.

" He wants to see me" she looked up through her tightly concealed grin of excitement with a blushing face. An excitement you wished you could share, rather than the emptiness you felt after Tommy's cold shoulder towards you that morning.

" Will you?" she entrusted you to keep their anticipated reunion from her family's knowledge as your eyes numbly drifted from Tommy's watchful gaze to your fingers rearranging the small desserts scattered across the silver platter. " Y/N?"

" Anything for you" you sent her a smile of confirmation before quickly dragging your wobbly legs to the corner of the room. Teary eyes making it just in time before anyone saw the sobs of sadness slip past your cheeks. Or so you thought, that was.

For as your pooling eyes shielded themselves from discovery, another's were watching through the shuffling of bodies in the adjoining room. A pair of unyielding crystal blues that hadn't once left you throughout the entirety of the evening. Tommy's.

As the night rolled in, the warmth from the logged fire not only brought a comforting peace to those left in the living room at Watery Lane, but tales from before the war. Memories of simpler times, where the only worry the Shelby children encountered was the location of their mother's frying pan and the telling off that would come when she found it.

" Got a good hiding after that one, ay Tom?" Arthur chuckled through the whiskers of his growing moustache as his oldest brother recalled the story of Tommy's deviation away from his mother's shopping list and the scolding that followed.

" That I did" a breathy laugh slipped past Tommy's lips as the reminder of his youth relaxed his tense muscles into the comfort of his chair. Fingers softly threading through the ends of your locks in a touch so gentle, a longing gaze at you so subtle, that your solemn eyes and far-away thoughts had missed his show of affection.

As the laughter about times before tapered out, the crackle and pop of firewood snapping, left room for a gentle silence to descend over the room. One you found yourself unable to bare as your own noisy worries began to scream at you from within.

" Eh?" Tommy's hushed voice leaned in as you sat with eyes cast down at the scattering of crumbs on your plate. Silently counting each one to distract your whirling thoughts. " You ok?"

"Uh huh" you hummed, tears threatening to reveal your growing emotions as you reached for the mountain of mismatched plates yet to be cleaned.

" Finished?" you turned to him with a snap of your head. Your upset over his coldness towards you, heard through your equally snapping voice of frustration, you found yourself unable to contain.

" Yeh" Tommy sighed as his fingers fell from the ends of your hair, jaw tethering as he watched you abruptly rise from your seat with a handful of dishes.

Keen eye observing the growing tension between you, Polly slipped from her seat to the kitchen where you were stood furiously scrubbing away at the basin full of plates and cutlery.

" Scrub any harder, and my fine china won't be so fine anymore" she teased with a quirk of her brow at the dishes flying one by one onto the wooden rack beside you at lightening speed.

" I don't know what I've done wrong, Pol" you dropped the handful of forks into the murky water, eyes scrunching shut as your soapy fingers came up to brush the bar of stress that had settled on your brow.

" I think he might be asking himself the same thing" she sighed with a shake of her head as she turned to see Tommy's face ducked between his broad shoulders, hands threading through the lengths of his hair in thought.

" Give him some time, love. He'll come around" she turned back, fingers brushing a bubble of soap from your cheek with a nodding head of encouragement for you to soldier on through the difficult day back together on home soil.

" Right. Come on" she shot you a wink, tying her apron around her waste in a knot before taking on the task in hand as your eyes returned to the greying water, away from the hooded stare of Tommy silently watching you.

Lost in the factory line of repetitive movements, you and Polly worked your way through the kitchen, cleaning each used piece of dinnerware she possessed. All under the drifting gaze of Tommy's eyes, honed in on you as he thumbed the pads of his fingers over his parted lips.

How long had it been?, Tommy thought to himself as he watched from afar, silently observing each move you made. Each reaching hand to the shelf of neatly stacked china that saw your blouse peak open. The glittering film of hard work that had settled on your heaving chest. Your flushing cheeks red with exertion.

How long had it been, my darling?, his eyes sparked with a desperate need to reconnect in the only way his bogged mind would let him. A primal urge within him to secure what was his before the coldness he had shown you saw you seeking comfort in the arms of another.

Stubbing the end of his burning cigarette out into the glass dish beside him, Tommy rose to his seat with urgency. Each long stride to the dimly lit kitchen, a step closer to sweeping you away to the privacy of his room.

" I'm tired" Tommy stood beside you, hand out for you to take as his eyes darted from the open frills of your blouse to your knitted brow, unexpectedly taken aback by his eagerness to suddenly be alone with you.

"I'll be up in a minute" you wiped the back of your hands on the front of your skirt as you watched him impatiently step from foot to foot, head snapping to the pile of cutlery left to put away.

" I'll finish up" Polly nodded to you as you felt yourself being pulled past the incoherent rambling of Arthur and Johns heated debate over the correct way to drink yourself into oblivion without the stomach turning effects that came with it.

Hand grasped tightly within his palm, you were led up the creaky wooden stairs to the landing hallway. Each guided step, each squeeze of his fingers causing your stomach to flutter with anticipation. A rush of excitement over his keen display, leaving you giddy with school girl nerves.

" Where you going?" his breathy neediness pulled you back to his searching lips as his fingers glided over your turning back.

"Tom..." you giggled as he swept your hair over your shoulder, peppering kisses along the curve of your neck with shuffling feet following you to the weathered chester draws.

" I'll just be a minute..." your hand flew to your back, silky purchase hidden in the drawer of clothes now concealed from his curious eyes as you left him with a kiss to the cheek.

Adrenaline and lust pumping through his veins, Tommy quickly smoked his way through a freshly rolled cigarette. Head dipping down to your small vanity mirror with a huff at his disheveled appearance as his fingers brushed over the stubble emerging through his chiseled cheeks. Fuck...

"Fuck!" you fussed as you stood in the bathroom, scrunched brow criticising your recent purchase as your tugging hands nervously pulled at the delicate lingerie. Fingers rubbing the overzealous application of rouge from your cheeks.

For God's sake, get a grip, your eyes darted up to your reflection in the mirror and the barrage of questions emerging behind them.

This was a bad idea, you thought of the few words you had spoken to each other, when all sensible thinking suddenly made way for a desperate need to reconnect by any means possible.

" Hey..." you slipped back into the room, hands gripped around the brassy knob handle as the lock clicked shut with a step back against the door's wooden frame.

"Hey" Tommy lifted his head, eyes roaming over the silky one-piece as he walked along the creaky floorboards to the center of the dimly lit room for a better view of the unexpected gift he was eager to unwrap.

" This all for me, eh? his brow cocked, corners of his mouth creasing into a boyish smile as he stepped forward to weave his fingers through the lace ties keeping your gown in place.

" I just wanted to do something special for..." you cut yourself off, suddenly feeling embarrassed by your last minute buy. The teasing glint in his eye misjudged for one of mocking, your sensitive emotions had you believing.

" I'll go change" you turned for the door, only to be spun into his arms, wanton lips crashing onto yours.

"Fuck, I've missed you" Tommy moaned between each breath, strong frame walking you back to the bed as your hands became a tangled mess of fingers desperately trying to unbutton his pressed shirt. All worries, all screaming thoughts silenced as your tongues collided, pressed bodies yearning to feel every inch of each other.

" Tom..." you gasped as he pulled your hips up to his growing erection, when your tip-toeing feet and clumsy footing had you stumbling back into the chair draped in his uniformed jacket.

" Shit" you bent down to pick up the tailored coat when a bundle of letters fell between your feet.

"You saved them for me?" your face lit up, curling the dozen sealed envelopes addressed to you between your fingers as Tommy's lips fell silent, panicked eyes cast down at the words he wished to never reach you. Words he should have left in the trenches of France.

" Y/N..." his jaw clenched, hands reaching over your shoulder to the bundle of letters as you spun around with a playful giggle.

"...Y/N, give them to me" Tommy snapped, voice of panic suddenly replaced by a commanding order suited to his retired rank. One that came too late for your nimble fingers.

Eyes darting across the scribbled thoughts Tommy had written to you, your hand went limp at his worded desire clutched between your fingers. A desire to run over the line into the fields of barbed wire. To receive a pelting of bullets to his chest and be rid of the faces of men he had killed. The tunneling sounds of the enemy closing in that haunted his sleep.

"Tommy..." tears fell to your cheeks as he snatched the letters from your hand, throwing them into his bedside cabinet before his rigid body and piercing eyes turned back to you with irritation." I'm sorry, I..."

" Would you just leave it, eh!" he ignored your apologies with a snap of his voice as he pulled back the patterned duvet, eyes pulling away from you with a breathy exhale of annoyance as you gingerly slipped into bed.

With the passionate moment having come to a screeching halt, you both lay silently in the small metal-framed bed as your eyes sheepishly darted to Tommy, thumbing the guilt for the way he had unfairly lashed out at you from his scrunched brow.

" Darling, I'm..."

" Goodnight, Tommy" you hiccuped with a turn of your head, rolling away from him and the shame of being told off once again for the day you alone, had seemingly ruined.

" Goodnight..."

Eyes firmly shut, your silent tears saw you off to sleep as Tommy lay beside you wide awake with his thoughts buried in the mud and dirt of the many tunnels he had dug. Straining eyes and tense muscles, still in the fields of the Somme. In the trenches waiting for the whistling call to go over into no man's land.

For the need for sleep had evaded him that night, only to be replaced with the fear of facing the very horrors that came with the setting sun and you now beside him. Ones that saw him to the top of Small Heath cemetery with a bottle of whiskey, and an emerging worry that you would push him away when you awoke to him gasping for air, pale face drenched in a film of sweat, calling your name.

" Sergent Major" Arthur announced his presence as he weaved through the aging gravestones to the patch of grass where Tommy sat tossing back the contents of a bottle of whiskey down his throat. " Knew you'd be up 'ere.The rest ain't far behind"

" Been thinking, Arthur" Tommy handed Ireland's finest liquor to his oldest brothers rolling eyes.

" Bloody hell, first day back and you're already at it. Go on then, let's hear it" Arthur plopped himself down beside him with a grunt, eyes squinting through the film of fog to the maze of terraced rooftops. Bricked chimneys funneling smoke to the large cloud of rain on the brink of breaking open.

" About the family business. I've got a plan" Tommy's need for distraction had his mind raking over ideas that would line their pockets more than any stolen railway tracks or small bets placed on Sundays' races.

" A plan..." Arthur shook his head, thumb circling the rim of the glass bottle in his hand as he leant back into the soft padding of the freshly cut grass, catching the lowered stare, filled with troubles in his younger brother's eyes. Troubles that had begun to appear in his own. Ones he'd subdue with the numbing effects of the bottle in his hand until his hazy eyes saw the glassy bottom of it staring back at him.

"What you doing up here, anyway?" Arthur glugged back a mouthful of whiskey as Tommy's straining eyes, rimmed red with fatigue, looked down at the crowd of stumbling punters descending onto the street after the Garrisons' last call of service.

" Thought you'd be at home with, Y/N" the eldest Shelby sniffed as he leant the weight of his body onto his propped elbows, eyes scanning over his claimed territory he called home.

"Can't bloody sleep, can I Arthur?" Tommy mumbled through the cigarette perched between his lips as his fingers came up to pinch the throbbing headache that came with little to no rest between his brows.

" There's other things you could be doing that are more... satisfying than sleeping, ay Tommy?" Arthur shot him a wink as his head craned behind him to the sound of approaching footsteps.

" Ay up. What did I tell ya? Welcome to our little picnic fellas!" Arthur's heavy hand came down onto the muddy ground beside him for John and Danny Whiz-bang to join them in their impromptu gathering.

" Where's Freddie at?" Arthur's searching eyes were met with Johns shrugging shoulders as they sat beside each other on top of the hill they had all sought out for a moment of reflection after having been thrusted back into civilian life.

Silently watching the flashing lights of a storm slowly approaching over the sea of flickering streetlamps, the men passed the dwindling contents of the bottle of whiskey from hand to hand until nothing was left to soothe the buzzing agitation slowly surfacing in each of them with every crash of thunder rolling in.

" Like fucking bombs being dropped on us! And not one of those bastard lot in sight! Only orders telling us to push on" John shot up with swaying legs, pointing out to Small Heath with pent up anger for the ranking officers that escaped the hailfire of explosives that reigned down on his battalion's heads when they were called to advance.

" Easy John Boy. "It's just lighting" Arthur's head snapped to his youngest brother, eyes catching sight of Danny Whiz-bangs fingers clutching his peaked cap, manically mumbling the harrowing orders that would come down the line before they went over.

" Fix baronets..." Danny mumbled, scratching fingers clawing at his head as he rocked back and forth.

" Come on lad, you're alright" Arthur tried to snap him out of his mumbling trance, the empty bottle of whiskey had him and everyone else tethering on the edge of madness as John lunged forward, holding Danny's thrashing arms back from acting on the whispering orders in his head. Orders that were silently humming in the head of one of their own kin.

Fix baronets. Fix baronets, Tommy's own madness began to soundlessly chant the command as his fixated stare drew to a blurry point of blackening blindness.

As Danny's melody of death muffled in his ears, each heavy breath Tommy took became deafening. Each beat of his thudding heart unbearable, until he finally gave in to the horrors of war that wished to be heard.

Suddenly thrown back into the trenches of France, to the sound of his comrades being shot to the ground one by one, to the occurring nightmare of you falling victim to a plane of explosives flying over Birmingham. Tommy sat silently on top of the slope overlooking Small Heath with eyes flickering behind his closed lids at the harrowing images cruelly being shown to him by his traitorous mind.

" Danny you're home!" John spluttered, shaking the shellshock from his fellow soldiers shoulder as a downpour of rain began to fall.

"You're home, Danny..." Johns' chest heaved for air as he let go, falling onto his back onto the muddy ground beside him. "We're home. We're all home..."

Home, Tommy's eyes flew open, scrambling to his feet with the adrenaline of a soldier in the mist of battle still pumping through his veins.

"Tommy! Tommy where you going?" Arthur shouted after his brother with arms flying into the air as he watched him race out the cemetery back to Watery Lane. " Shit..."

"Y/N! Y/N!" Tommy shouted your name as he sprinted home, eyes darting up at the clouded skies for the enemy's aircraft, his resurfacing nightmares had him convinced was seconds from flying into British airspace.

" Fuck..." Tommy gagged as a surge of panic and chugged whiskey came up his throat onto the cobbled streets. Fingers scratching at the bricked wall on the corner of Watery Lane to steady his wobbly legs.

"I'm coming, darling..." his voice strained as his eyes darted to his childhood home and the window of his bedroom where you peacefully slept, unknowing of the dangers his mind had tricked him into trusting.

Scrambling into the middle of the street, Tommy spun on his shuffling feet. Darting eyes searching the heavens for the enemy when his back hit the door of your shared home. An unlikely sight that went missed by all those on Watery Lane, but one. One that was lurking in the shadows, chuckling with enjoyment at the fallen soldier succumbing to the horrors he had brought home with him.

"Y/N!" Tommy flew through the front door with racing feet to the wooden stairs. Disoriented steps, crouching with arms shielding his head at each crashing sound of thunder rattling against the walls of his home.

With one step away from the door to your shared room, Tommy suddenly caught sight of his reflection in the hung portrait of his mother on the papered concrete wall. A reflection of a man dressed down in civilian clothes with manic eyes and a ghostly face staring back. Him.

"Fuck, fuck!" he muffled his embarrassment with a clenched fist to his mouth as he shot down onto bended knees with a sob. Eyes staring at the brassy handle of his door he was moments from barging through and revealing the effects war had taken out on him.

Fingers brushing down his sweaty face, Tommy rose to his feet as he quietly pushed the wooden door open to see you sound asleep, clutching his feathered pillow tightly against your chest.

Suddenly thankful for the rumbling sounds of thunder that had his hollering voice go unheard, Tommy slowly sat down on the edge of the bed beside you. Fingers pinching the bridge of his nose as a stifled cry and stream of tears fell to his lap with mumbled apologies for the promise he was unable to fulfill and the shell of a man that had returned to you.

" Sweet dreams, darling" he whispered with a croaky voice as he turned to you with shaky fingers reaching out to brush a lock of hair from your face before he retired to the corner of the room and the chair he would sit in for the remainder of night, watching the gentle rise and fall of your chest until his eyes grew heavy and he lulled himself to sleep with a new chanting melody that would reassure his troubled mind.

You were safe. You were safe.

*I'd love to hear your thoughts on this chapter in the comments below 💚*

[Next part]

Tag list: @mischievouslittlecreature @peakyswritings @jbrownta @youngbananamilkshake @meadowshelby

@dragonsneversharetheirtreasure @novashelby @tiedyedghoulette @strangeobsessed @justrainandcoffee

@bruhidkjustwannaread

#tommy shelby #thomas shelby #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x reader insert #tommy shelby x you #tommy shelby x y/n #tommy shelby x fem!reader #tommy shelby x female reader #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby fanfiction #tommy shelby series #peaky blinders #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders series #peaky blinders fanfiction #tommy shelby smut #cillian murphy

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minhosbitterriver · 8 months ago

Text

𑁍ࠬܓ 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐁𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 ( stray kids )

❛ In which the members of Stray Kids navigate the world of fatherhood without you.

𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐲 𝐤𝐢𝐝𝐬 + female reader ೯ ( 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 ) 4.4k

꒰ 💌 ꒱ ミ This request was absolutely devastating to write, thank you! I hope you guys enjoy, reblogs and feedback are much appreciated! ── ( 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 )

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Y/N has passed away, each member is a single father still in love with you, mentions of grief, some of the kids fall under the LGBTQ+ community.

( 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 ) ( 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 & 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 ) ( 𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬 ) ( 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 )

꒰ 🫙 ꒱ ミ Tip Jar!

방찬 ── BANG CHAN.

Chan's office was bathed in the soft, amber glow of the desk lamps, casting a warm yet somber light across the room. The gentle hum of the night time silence was broken only by the rhythmic, soothing breaths of his three-year-old daughter, who lay peacefully on the worn leather couch. Her tiny face, so serene in slumber, was a haunting mirror of your beautiful features, stirring a profound ache in Chan's heart.

As he watched her, tears began to silently trace their way down his cheeks, each drop carrying the weight of his sorrow and longing. He could still hear your final, trembling words: "Love her twice as much in my absence." The memory was a dagger, twisting with the relentless guilt and grief that had become his constant companions. The sight of his daughter's innocent face, so reminiscent of you, only deepened his anguish.

Today had been especially trying. Chan had promised his little girl a joyous outing to the park, a precious respite from his hectic work schedule. But the day took an unexpected turn when Changbin called in a panic, frantically searching for the nearly completed recording of their latest song. What Chan had hoped would be a swift resolution morphed into hours of desperate searching, only to end in the devastating realization that they would have to begin the recording anew.

All the while, his daughter’s patience wore thin. She had no toys, no distractions, just the suffocating boredom of waiting. Her disappointment was palpable, a silent reproach that cut deeper than any words could. Chan felt like he was failing her, failing in the promise he had made to you. Driven by the need to make amends, he gently woke his daughter. Her initial crankiness gave way to curiosity as he apologized for breaking his promise and proposed a sleepover at home. Movies, games, a fort, and endless cuddles — her eyes sparkled at the thought, and her frown dissolved into giggles.

At home, they transformed the living room into a magical fortress of pillows and blankets, a sanctuary just for them. They watched animated tales, played games, and reveled in the simple joy of being together. Wrapped in the cozy embrace of their fort, she eventually succumbed to sleep once more, nestled against him. Her hair, a tousled mess, and a small trail of drool on his shirt were endearing reminders of her tender age and boundless trust in him.

Chan held her close, his heart swelling with love and a bittersweet yearning. She was the living embodiment of his heart, and as he gazed at her, he whispered a vow into the stillness of the night. He promised to love her with all his might, carrying the weight of both his love and the part of you that would forever reside in their lives. In that quiet moment, amidst the echoes of his promises, he felt a fragile sense of peace, knowing that as long as he held her, he was keeping your memory alive.

이민호 ── LEE MINHO.

Minho lay in the dim, soft glow of his bedroom, shadows whispering across the walls as the twins slept peacefully beside him. Their tiny forms had claimed your side of the bed, filling the void where your presence once brought warmth and comfort. The night he returned home with the babies, he had attempted to sleep alone, but the emptiness was unbearable. He tossed and turned, haunted by the silence, until one of the babies began to cry, inevitably waking the other. In his desperation to soothe them, he gathered every pillow he could find, crafting a makeshift crib in his bed. Their delicate features softened in the calm of his presence, and they finally drifted off to sleep.

As Minho gazed at their angelic faces, hands entwined even in slumber, his heart ached with the weight of your absence. How could he begin to process this loss? You had spent almost ten months nurturing these little miracles, only to be taken away before you could revel in the beauty of their existence. Ten months of creating life, and you would never witness the serene way they held hands in their sleep. Ten months of dreams and hopes, and you would miss their first birthdays, graduations, weddings. It was unbearably cruel, and Minho’s soul was tormented by the thought.

You wouldn’t even be here to laugh about the pregnancy mix-up that had both of you convinced it would be a boy and a girl, only to welcome two beautiful baby girls into the world. His friends had offered to stay and help, but he had declined, needing the solitude to grapple with his grief. Now, in the stillness of the night, he questioned if he had made the right choice.

Tears welled up and spilled down his cheeks as the full weight of his new reality settled over him. He was to raise these precious little princesses on his own, and the responsibility felt crushing. Yet, as he watched their peaceful slumber, he knew he had to summon every ounce of strength for them. They were his world now, the living, breathing remnants of your love. He vowed to cherish them, to love them fiercely, and to guide them through life with unwavering dedication, for they were all he had left of you, and he was all they had.

In the hushed silence, he whispered promises into the night, pledging to be the best father he could be. He would ensure they knew how deeply you loved them, even if you couldn’t be there to tell them yourself. And as he held them close, feeling the rise and fall of their tiny chests, a fragile peace washed over him. He knew that in every laugh, every tear, and every milestone, you would be there in spirit, guiding him, loving them, always.

서창빈 ── SEO CHANGBIN.

The sun was setting, casting a warm, golden glow over the park as Changbin and his 13-year-old son sat on a weathered wooden bench, savoring their ice cream. The park buzzed with the laughter of children, their joy mingling with the gentle rustle of leaves in the summer breeze. Parents lounged on the grass, basking in the last light of day, while Changbin watched his son’s face light up with a blush as he received a message.

Changbin couldn’t resist teasing him. "Who’s got you smiling like that?" he asked, his voice laced with playful curiosity.

His son’s cheeks reddened further, and he looked away, trying to hide his smile. "Just a girl from school," he mumbled, glancing at his phone. "She texted to congratulate me on today’s soccer game."

Changbin’s interest was piqued. "A girl, huh? Do you like her?" he inquired gently, but his son just rolled his eyes, keeping his thoughts to himself.

After a while, his son broke the comfortable silence with a question that took Changbin by surprise. "Dad, how did you know Mom was the one for you?"

Changbin's heart swelled with a bittersweet mix of love and nostalgia. He took a deep breath, the memory washing over him like a tender wave. "Well," he began softly, "it was before you were born. Your mom and I had only been dating for a few months. One evening, we decided to take a ride on my motorcycle to grab some food. On the way back, she spotted a bookstore and got all excited. She tapped my shoulder and pointed it out, her eyes sparkling like a child's. I couldn't say no to that."

He smiled, lost in the memory. "We stopped, and I handed her my card, telling her to get whatever she wanted. She promised she’d come out empty-handed, but I knew better." He chuckled, remembering your sheepish yet triumphant expression as you emerged with a bag hidden behind your back. "She ended up buying two books and couldn’t stop talking about them, her excitement contagious. When I told her I was glad she found something, she did this little dance of joy before climbing back onto the bike. She had to hold the bag since her backpack was already stuffed with our food, but she was too happy to care."

Changbin’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. "That’s when I knew she was the one. It wasn’t some grand gesture; it was her pure joy in the little things, her passion for life. I wish you could have known her. She loved you so much, even before you were born."

His son’s eyes mirrored his own longing and admiration. "I wish I’d known her too," he said softly. "My goal in life is to find my soulmate, like you found Mom. I want to love someone as much as you loved her."

Changbin’s heart ached with pride and sorrow. "You deserve to have someone by your side for a long time," he said, his voice thick with emotion. Then, with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, he added, "Who knows, maybe this girl from school is your one."

His son groaned, a playful smile tugging at his lips as he nudged Changbin, causing his ice cream to topple onto the ground. Changbin laughed, a deep, hearty sound that echoed through the park. His own ice cream slipped from his grasp, joining his son’s on the pavement, and they both burst into laughter, the joy of the moment a soothing balm to their hearts.

In that golden hour, surrounded by the simple pleasures of ice cream and shared memories, Changbin felt a profound sense of peace. Despite the heartache and loss, he and his son would continue to find love and joy in the little things, just as you had taught him. And in those moments of laughter and connection, he felt your presence with them, a silent guardian watching over their journey, smiling at their shared happiness.

황현진 ── HWANG HYUNJIN.

Hyunjin sat alone in the dimly lit room, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting a warm, golden hue over the familiar surroundings. The air was thick with memories, each piece of furniture and every stroke of paint a testament to the love and labor he had shared with you. His heart ached with a bittersweet nostalgia as he looked around, his mind filled with the echoes of laughter and the whispers of cherished moments.

He remembered the countless hours spent building the furniture, the frustration and triumph mingling as he struggled with stubborn screws, while you sat nearby, reading the instructions with a patience that never failed to calm him. The nursery walls, painted in a tapestry of happy themes, bore the marks of your combined artistic talents, creating a sanctuary for the new life you both awaited with eager anticipation.

The night he returned home with the baby, your absence a gaping void beside him, was etched into his soul. He had sat in the rocking chair, the one he had bought especially for you, cradling the fragile bundle in his arms, paralyzed by the fear of being alone. Many nights, he had dozed off in that chair, too afraid to leave its comforting embrace, haunted by the silence that your departure had left behind.

A wistful smile tugged at his lips as he recalled the day he found your child drawing on the walls, their tiny hands busy creating a colorful mural over your delicate paintings. It had pained him to see your work altered, but the sight of their concentrated little face, so much like yours, had softened his heart. He had chosen to let them be creative, to express themselves freely, even if it meant sacrificing a piece of you.

He thought of the time his six-year-old had cried in his arms, their tiny body trembling with confusion and hurt because they didn't fit in with the boys or the girls. Hyunjin had held them close, whispering reassurances, his heart breaking at the familiar pain. It had been a long journey, but he had worked tirelessly to make their home a sanctuary of love and acceptance.

The memories came in a flood, each one a cherished gem: the summer in middle school when they returned home with bags of new clothes and put on a fashion show, proudly displaying their androgynous style; the pride parade, where he meticulously placed sticky rainbow gems on their face, their giddy excitement lighting up the day; and finally, the day they graduated and moved out, leaving behind an empty room filled with the ghosts of the past.

Tears rolled down Hyunjin’s face as he sat in the rocking chair, now old and creaky, thinking of all the moments he had cherished yet wished he could have shared with you. The weight of the memories pressed down on him, a heavy, inescapable burden.

Suddenly, his phone rang, startling him from his reverie. He hastily wiped his tears and saw it was a FaceTime call from his child. He answered, and their beaming face filled the screen, the excitement in their eyes mirrored by the twinkling fairy lights in their new apartment's bedroom.

“Hey, Dad! Look at my new room!” they exclaimed, panning the camera around to show off their new space, their voice bubbling with pride and joy.

Hyunjin’s heart swelled with pride and love. “It looks amazing, sweetheart,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.

“I miss you,” they confessed, their eyes shining with unshed tears. “Can we spend the first night together, through the phone?”

Hyunjin chuckled softly, trying to mask his lingering sadness. “Doesn’t that defeat the purpose of moving out?”

They laughed, a sound that was pure and unfiltered joy. “Maybe, but I know you’re in my old room crying already.”

He laughed too, the heaviness lifting just a bit. “You got me there.”

They didn’t hang up, staying connected through the screen as the night deepened. Hyunjin lay back in the rocking chair, his child propped up in their new bed, both finding solace in the familiar presence of each other. As they talked and laughed, Hyunjin realized that though you weren’t physically there, your spirit lived on in these moments, in the love that continued to bind them together. And for now, that was enough.

한지성 ── HAN JISUNG.

Jisung found his seven-year-old child hidden within the treehouse that the three of you had built together. This small wooden sanctuary, once filled with laughter and joy, now bore the heavy weight of sorrow. They were still in their funeral attire, the black clothes contrasting sharply against the soft glow of the setting sun. The murmurs of the guests lingering in the backyard became a distant, indistinct hum as Jisung climbed into the treehouse, his heart burdened with grief and a simmering anger at the universe for taking you away so cruelly.

His son's youthful face was etched with a grief that seemed too profound for such a young soul. Jisung felt a surge of helplessness as he reached out, pulling his child close, wrapping him in an embrace meant to shield him from the cruel world outside. “I miss Mom,” came the soft, heart-wrenching whisper, each word a dagger to Jisung’s already shattered heart.

“I miss Mom too,” Jisung murmured, his voice thick with unshed tears. They sat together in silence, the weight of your absence pressing down on them like an insurmountable force.

It had been nearly a year since you had fallen ill, the sickness so severe that the doctors had given you only a few months at most. Yet, you had defied their grim prognosis, your spirit burning brightly despite the frailty of your body. Jisung remembered the countless nights spent by your side, swallowing his fears and anger as you spoke of your impending death with a calm acceptance that had always made him furious. To him, it felt as though you had given up, but he knew deep down that wasn’t the case. You hadn’t wanted to waste what little time you had left fighting an unwinnable battle. Perhaps if he had truly listened, if he had embraced those fleeting moments instead of railing against them, he might have cherished your final days more deeply.

His son, too young to fully grasp the concept of death, struggled with the finality of it all. He understood that you would never return, yet accepting it was a different matter entirely. Jisung’s heart broke anew each time he saw the confusion and sorrow in his child’s eyes, a mirror of his own torment.

Holding his son tighter, Jisung wished he could find the right words to ease the pain, to make sense of a world that had suddenly lost its light. But words failed him, crumbled under the weight of their shared grief. Instead, he let the silence speak, hoping the strength of his embrace could convey the love and comfort his words could not.

The treehouse, once a symbol of their shared joy, now held their sorrow. The walls, which had echoed with laughter and dreams, now seemed to absorb their pain, standing as silent witnesses to their loss. But within this small, sacred space, surrounded by the memories of happier times, Jisung hoped they could begin to heal. He would be there for his son, a steadfast presence in the storm of their grief, guiding him through the darkness with a love that, while tested, remained unbroken.

As the last light of day faded, Jisung held his son close, both finding a semblance of solace in each other’s presence. In the quiet, grief-stricken aftermath, they began to forge a new bond, one tempered by loss but strengthened by their enduring love. And in that silent communion, Jisung found a glimmer of hope that they would eventually find their way through the darkness together.

이용복 ── LEE YONGBOK.

In a home where the relentless energy of three young girls and their single father painted every day with hues of joyous chaos, peace was a fleeting visitor. The air thrummed with the symphony of exuberant laughter, the vibrant discord of simultaneous chatter, and the relentless rhythm of youthful exuberance. Yongbok would never trade this tempestuous world for anything, yet a hollow ache lingered for the presence of the one who had been the steady heartbeat of their lives.

Your sudden departure had cast a profound shadow over their once lively abode, transforming it into a quieter realm where your laughter’s echoes were replaced by an oppressive silence. As time wove its delicate fabric over the jagged edges of grief, the house gradually adjusted to a new cadence, yet the weight of your absence hung heavy in every corner.

Despite this, Yongbok discovered fragments of you embedded within the fabric of their daily lives. He saw your essence in the selfless nurturing of his eldest daughter, who had seamlessly stepped into the role of co-caregiver. Her quiet acts of love and responsibility were a poignant echo of the devotion you had always shown, a continuation of your spirit in her every gesture.

In the middle child’s vibrant monologues about obscure topics, Yongbok glimpsed your enduring influence. Her unquenchable thirst for knowledge mirrored the intellectual curiosity you had nurtured, each passionate explanation a living testament to your legacy.

The youngest, with her mischievous gleam and boundless spirit, kept Yongbok perpetually on his toes. Her playful antics and joyful mischief were a vivid reminder of the vivacity you had infused into their home, a living echo of the light you had brought into their lives.

In the quiet moments, Yongbok could still feel your presence. The post-it notes left in his lunch bag by his eldest daughter, each inscribed with a simple message of love, were imbued with your warmth. The tender strokes of his middle daughter’s fingers through his hair during their movie nights were a silent connection to you. And in the gentle inquiries of his youngest, her head peeking around the door to ensure he was alright, he felt the deep compassion you had instilled in her.

Though you were absent from the milestones and daily rhythms, your essence lived on through them. In the small, tender acts of affection and love, you continued to be a cherished part of their lives, an enduring presence in their hearts.

김승민 ── KIM SEUNGMIN.

Seungmin had been absent through the vast expanse of your pregnancy, the relentless demands of touring keeping him away. He returned just in time to witness the birth, only to be swallowed by the crushing weight of your absence. The pain of missing those precious moments with you, of not being there to share in the miracle of your last days, was a wound that never healed. This haunting regret followed him, a constant reminder of a future lost.

The day you passed, Seungmin left Stray Kids, unable to bear the weight of the stage without you by his side. He couldn’t find solace in the bright lights or the rhythms of his music. Instead, he focused on his two sons—an older one, now sixteen, and a younger one, now twelve. The older boy, once a vibrant spirit, had retreated into the shadows of his room, his once lively demeanor replaced by a sullen silence. The baseball games that had once bound them together now lay abandoned, and Seungmin, despite the storm within, knew he had to reach out.

Determined to bridge the chasm that had grown between them, Seungmin planned a day just for the two of them. He left the youngest with his closest friend, Jeongin, and took his older son out. The car ride was a quiet procession of unspoken thoughts, the weight of their shared grief hanging heavily between them. When they finally arrived at their destination, Seungmin braced himself, ready to face the tender fracture of their relationship.

It took patience, but eventually, the silence broke. The older boy revealed his feelings for a boy at school, emotions that he struggled to understand. Seungmin was taken aback, but he remained calm, his heart aching with a blend of surprise and concern. As his son’s tears fell freely, Seungmin pulled him into a tender embrace, his own heart aching with a mixture of empathy and love. He whispered reassurances into his son’s hair, promising acceptance and protection, vowing to stand by him no matter what.

The boy, still tearful but comforted, then showed Seungmin a small journal. Inside was a song he had penned, a poignant melody woven with the threads of his conflicted feelings for the boy at school. The song was hauntingly beautiful, a reflection of his son’s delicate soul and burgeoning talent. Seungmin’s heart swelled with pride and love as he listened, recognizing the echoes of his own musical spirit in his child’s creation.

As the day drew to a close, Seungmin received a snapshot from Jeongin—his youngest child, covered in dirt and beaming with the joy of a day spent playing baseball. The image was a burst of pure happiness, a vivid reminder that even amidst the sorrow, moments of light and joy persisted.

As the sun set, Seungmin felt a renewed connection with his older son, a fragile yet precious bond rekindled through their shared experiences and heartfelt conversation. Though the regret of not being there for you lingered, he found solace in the fact that he was striving to be the father you would have been proud of. In the quiet moments of the evening, he hoped, with all his heart, that wherever you were, you watched over them and felt a deep pride in the man he was becoming—a father striving to honor your memory through the love and strength he gave to your family.

양정인 ── YANG JEONGIN.

Jeongin’s youngest daughter was a restless spirit, her stubborn yet carefree nature a constant reminder of the love she once shared with you. Each burst of laughter, every defiant flicker of joy, was a living echo of your vibrant presence. In contrast, his oldest son was a mirror of Jeongin’s own meticulous nature, his life meticulously ordered, each ambition carefully planned.

Lately, Jeongin’s heart had been heavy with worry. His daughter, brimming with reckless exuberance, frequently dashed off to meet a boy Jeongin knew was unworthy. The thought of her entangled with someone without a future gnawed at him, leaving him adrift in a sea of concern. As he lay awake at night, the silence seemed to taunt him, and he often found himself wondering how you would have navigated these troubled waters if you had still been there to guide them.

One night, as the moonlight spilled softly through the window, Jeongin was wrenched from sleep by the unmistakable sound of muffled sobs. His heart raced as he followed the cries to his daughter’s room. He paused at the door, the murmur of his son’s voice cutting through the silence. The room, once a sanctuary of dreams, was now a cocoon of whispered regrets and stifled tears. His daughter’s voice wavered with the weight of her shame, confessing her feelings of foolishness for having trusted the boy. His son, with a soothing calmness that mirrored your gentle strength, reassured her that she wasn’t foolish, merely swept up in the exhilarating tide of young love. He told her she deserved better than a boy with no future, his words a soft balm to her wounded spirit.

Jeongin’s heart ached with a mixture of pride and sorrow as he heard his son’s comforting tones, the echoes of your nurturing spirit resonating in his voice. After a few moments, he gathered the courage to step into the room. His eyes were tender with understanding as he took in the scene: his daughter’s tear-streaked face, her hands buried in her lap. Her cries grew louder as she saw him, her embarrassment palpable as she shielded her face with her hands.

Jeongin knelt before her, his expression a blend of love and compassion. Gently, he reached for her hands, drawing them away from her face to hold them in his own. His touch was a lifeline, a silent promise of unwavering support.

“You told me so, I know,” she choked out, her voice a trembling whisper.

“I would never say that, my love,” Jeongin murmured, his voice rich with tenderness. He wrapped her in his arms, pulling her close against his chest. His gaze met his son’s, a shared understanding passing between them.

“I know it hurts,” Jeongin whispered into her hair, his voice a soothing melody against her ear, “but this isn’t the end.” His embrace was a warm cocoon, a sanctuary of love amidst the storm of her emotions. The night unfolded in a delicate tapestry of comfort and hope, a testament to the enduring love that bound them together, even in the quiet absence of your guiding presence.

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