pinkpunkdynamite

[pinkpunkdynamite]

I know I couldn't handle having kids but if I was left in charge of some, I'd take them to the park to feed ducks. Not bread though, you shouldn't feed that to ducks. We're feeding them lettuce. Let the ducks going apeshit over lettuce show the kids that lettuce is actually awesome. When they go home, their parents are baffled by the fact that the kids are now willingly eating salad. In the most horribly animalistic fucked up way possible.

[pinkpunkdynamite]

18+ discovering his breeding kink… while inside you

the thing about satoru is that he never planned to be into this.

he loooved fucking you raw, sure—relished the stunned, glassy-eyed stare you gave him like you simply couldn’t believe he’d fit inside you. but he hadn’t walked into it thinking breeding.

the first time he came inside you, it was an accident. truly. he’d been mouthing sloppily at your tits, rutting into you while his brain was on vacation somewhere down between your legs. totally lost in the warm slick chokehold of your cunt. he barely got the apology out before he came again, within seconds.

“toru,” you breathed, “did you… did you just-”

“…yeah.”

“uh-huh.” legs thrown over his shoulders, your pussy raw and leaking around the length he hadn’t even pulled out yet. and he’d gone so quiet. not in a thoughtful, post-nut clarity; satoru was almost catatonic. staring down at where your bodies connected like your pussy had given him an epiphany.

“what,” you finally asked, gently nudging his cheek with your heel, “you freaking out? we have plan b-”

snowy lashes flicked up, then one hand dropped to your lower belly, pressing gently as if he could feel it take. “no,” he confessed, chest heaving. “i wanna do that again.”

“again,” you echoed, trying not to laugh.

“again and again and again,” he muttered. you should’ve seen it then. the switch flipping. it was the micro-expression of a man discovering a little too much about himself all at once. fingers hooked behind your knees, pushing until they were flush with your shoulders, cunt stretched wide and leaking. satoru buried himself in one hard thrust, the slick squelch so loud you winced.

three kids later, you’ve confirmed it: your husband’s ego is only rivaled by his virility.

[pinkpunkdynamite]

Four sounds that should never have met are about to resonate in one story.

We are TENBLANK. 🥁 GLASS HEART (2025)

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You're the only one who's straight-up asked me to form a band. The only person in the world.

(Glass Heart, ep. 9)

[pinkpunkdynamite]

Sho Takaoka in グラスハート (2025) | EP 1 & 2

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[pinkpunkdynamite]

smooth criminal

lee kang-soo x f!reader

synopsis: your man comes home. he's hungry for you, you're hungry for him.

warnings: MDNI 18+ smut. afab reader. established relationship. unprotected p in v. oral (f receiving). breeding kink. vulgar dialogue, pet names 'babydoll'.

your front door creaks open, and kangsoo steps into the dim light of your small one bedroom apartment. the man's frame isa little more leaner than you remember, but his eyes are still so familiar to you.

he’s home, finally, after a year behind bars.

you’ve been waiting for this moment, ever since he told you that his sentence got reduced. your heart was a tangled mess of relief and worry since he has been away from you.

the sight of him, tired but unbroken, makes your chest ache.

you rush forward, wrapping your arms around him, his warmth grounding you.

he smells faintly of cheap soap and something metallic, like the prison bars lingered on him.

“you’re back,” you whisper, voice catching. you pull back, scanning his face for signs of what he’s been through.

your man's jaw is stubbled, his hair a little longer, but he’s still kangsoo, still yours.

“i’m here, aren’t i?” he says, a half-smile tugging at his lips.

he drops a worn duffel bag by the door, and you notice how his shoulders slump, like he’s finally letting go of some weight.

you don’t waste time.

you’ve spent all day preparing, the kitchen filled with the aroma of his favorite dishes...kimchi jjigae simmering on the stove, rice steaming, and a plate of crispy jeon you fried up earlier.

you guide him to the small table, already set with bowls and chopsticks.

“sit,” you say, your tone firm and soft, “you’re eating. no arguments.”

he chuckles, easing into the chair.

“still bossy from what I remembered, huh?” but there’s warmth in his voice, and he doesn’t protest as you place steaming stew into his bowl.

you watch him closely as he takes a bite, his eyes closing briefly like he’s savoring it.

“damn, y/n. forgot how good you cook, I missed it every night.”

you sit across from him, barely touching your own food, too focused on making sure he eats enough. you pile more banchan onto his plate, nudging it toward him.

“you look like you haven’t slept properly in months,” you say, frowning, “were they starving you in there?”

kangsoo laughs, a low, rough sound that catches you off guard.

“starving? nah. i was doing fine. great, even.”

he leans back, chopsticks resting on the edge of his bowl, his gaze steady on you. there’s something in his tone, a confidence that doesn’t quite match the image of prison you’ve built in your head.

you tilt your head, confused.

“great? in prison? kangsoo, what are you talking about?” your voice is soft, but there’s an edge to it. there is a need to understand. you’ve spent sleepless nights imagining him cold, alone, fighting to survive.

he’s sitting here, looking almost… content?

kangsoo shrugs, picking up a piece of jeon and popping it into his mouth.

“let’s just say i had ways of getting by. made some… useful friends.” kangsoo's words are careful, deliberate, and you catch the hint of something else he did not say.

your mind races, piecing it together.

kangsoo’s always been smart, he could memorize everything you've always told him.

he was always known how to play angles others couldn’t see. suddenly, it hits you when you remember one of his old letters he sent you from prison.

it was around three months after he got locked up, when he told you that he got an offer.

you lean forward, voice barely above a whisper.

"kangsoo… were you snitching? helping the authorities?” your heart pounds as you ask, unsure if you want the answer.

it’s dangerous, that kind of game.

you know what happens to people who talk.

he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t confirm or deny. instead, he meets your eyes, his expression unreadable.

“aww you don’t need to worry about what i was doing,” he says, voice low, “i’m here now. that’s what matters.”

you’re not satisfied, but the way he’s looking at you that is steady, almost protective...makes you pause. you stand, moving around the table to him, and before you can stop yourself, you cup his face in your hands.

“just… stay safe, okay?” you say, your voice is trembling, “if you’re doing what i think you are, nobody can know. nobody.”

he reaches up, his hand covering yours, his thumb brushing your skin.

“we’ll be okay, y/n,” he says, “i promise.”

you lean down, pressing your lips to his, a quiet reassurance that he’s here, that he’s yours.

the kiss starts gentle, but there’s a hunger in him, a need that matches your own.

kangsoo's hands find your waist, pulling you closer, and the kiss deepens as you sit on his lap.

your fingers tangle in his longer hair, and his grip tightens, like he’s afraid to let you go.

sooner or later, he throws you onto the couch. just six feet away from the dining room table where his lips captured yours.

at this point, your pants were off. the only article of clothing still on your figure was a bra and matching panties. a matching black set, since nothing can go wrong with wearing black. black fits everyone.

kangsoo wouldn't tell you, but this set was his favorite one. he remembers when you wore it the night before his arrest. its been a year, yet he still gets worked up seeing you semi-exposed.

now, he needs to make you cum. he needs you to remember that you were still his while he was locked away.

it is written all over his face.

pulling your black laced panties to the side, you whimper at the cool air that hits your sensitive labias. the smirk kangsoo is producing as he makes heavy eye contact with you is strong as you begin to shift near his face.

kangsoo's long finger keeps your panties to the side as his plump lips latches onto your bundle of sensitivity. you moaned loudly, missing the feeling of him feasting onto you. its been so long, 371 days to be exact.

you're squirming left and right at this point.

of course, you've experienced the wonders of touching yourself and over the past year. however, your small fingers didn't make you as wet as kangsoo did.

kangsoo's was an eater, something you've learned while being with him throughout the past three years. however, he only has his hands to use on his cock during his year in prison. on his last day in prison, realizing that you could have left him but never did, kangsoo swore right then and there that nobody's hands and vagina beside the ones belonging to you could gift him the gratifying feeling that his cock could feel.

as his tongue moves from your clit and enters into your glistening walls, kangsoo grunted in satisfaction from the way you reacted to his touch, flinging your head back against the burgundy couch pillow.

happily, kangsoo continued to maneuver his tongue back and forth along your outer vagina. the yadang's large hands lightly scratched at either side of your waist, tapping his fingertips on your hipbone like a drum.

he started to make out, french kissing onto your bud of nerves as if he was hoping to watch you crumble.

you did, obviously. 

"kangsoo, pl-lease," you whined, "im gonna cum.."

you started shaking beneath his firm hold on your legs as his gave his signature smirk against your vagina.

"don't hold what i've been trying to get out of you for the last year, babydoll," he mumbles, digging his fingers into your skin, meeting your hole with his mouth.

he blew a light air against your bud, lightly hitting your lips and hole that clenched over nothing

that is when the floodgates broke loose. 

"fuck fuck soo, i'm cumming!" you exclaimed, struggling to see anything but stars when his lips came crashing down into you once more, his thick tongue darting out to stroke your near swollen clit.

once you've leaked all over the couch beneath you, kangsoo moves up a few inches and kisses your torso, just underneath your bellybutton. at the same time, you hear the sound of him unzipping his jeans, letting them fall down to his ankles before kicking them away.

he moves up and props your legs up slightly, your ankles just over his shoulders as his fat mushroom tip kisses against your clit hood.

you whimper lightly as you feel his tip just sliding his tip up and down, not penetrating you yet.

he was thinking about something, maybe he missed the feeling of having you after so long.

kangsoo sinks into in one push, eager to start thrusting knowing how impatient you've both been.. you gasp at the way he’s moving.

he’s so suddenly energetic with his thrusts, sometimes pulling out completely before thrusting right back-in.

you mold to kangsoo's cock so well, and kangsoo smirks when your wetness coats his shaft entirely.

“aw, you're so wet for me baby, have you missed me? I think she has..” kangsoo leans down, his lips grazing your earlobe as he stops balls deep into your walls.

you moan, knowing that 'she' is referring to your vagina, "I missed you so much, fuck!" you whimper as you bite your lip, looking into kangsoo's eyes as he continues to thrust in and out of you.

kangsoo keeps a steady pace, rolling his hips as he lets you lay there on the couch. its been so long, and you're moaning when you feel that familiar ache grow in your inner thighs.

your legs spread more intentionally, wanting all of kangsoo.

you start to lift your hips to help his meet yours.

“fuck! fuck! fuck! baby!” kangsoo chants out, he two of you are moaning loud.

he grabs both your wrist and places them above you. He does it gently, as gently as he can considering he’s starting to get angry at the idea of not having you for a full year.

when you clench around him, he starts to calm down.

he has you now, that is all that matters.

"cum in me." you moan, moving your legs from his shoulders to wrap around his waist, refusing to let him pull out.

kangsoo's eyebrows flare, unaware of this new kink inside of you.

"you want me to cum inside of you? give you a baby? make you have my kid?" kangsoo teases you, taking against the lips on your face as your mouth is agape with pleasure.

"yes, yes! please. its been so long!" you breath out, nearly whining.

you start to feel kangsoo's cock get harder, before twitching. it twitches as you feel his cum paint your walls white. you clench around his shaft, keeping eye contact with kangsoo as you squirt all over, your eyes full with tears of pleasure.

"I love you, I'll never be gone for that long again." kangsoo breaths out after a few minutes, staying inside of you and taking in the feeling of being with you again.

"I love you too, please don't make that mistake again." you plead, pressing a loving kiss to his lips.

masterlist

@j4desblurbs

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[pinkpunkdynamite]

don't cry over spilled milk ・l.f.

🌸 — felix who both teaches both you and your daughter "accidents happen" when she spills her sippy cup on his new rug.

🍼 — paring・dad!felix x mom!reader // genres・ hurt&comfort, angst, fluff // words・1.4k // warnings・abuse is a very heavy subtext in the readers reaction specifically fear of fathers, a pretty heavy panic attack, talks about trauma, pain, wounds and everything that goes along with that. felix is the most sickeningly sweet man alive in this.

a/n・ i recently got a notification that somebody reblogged this original story that i posted on my old blog last year around this time and i physically cringed because it was...so..bad...i'm in pain. i used so many words wrong like i used the word obscene in a sentence?? it was meant to be a happy sentence?? what was i thinking?? anyways haha i like this version a lot more and i hope you do too!! (am i off of hiatus? maybe? will probably drop off the plant for a little bit longer??) is this any better idk i'm anxious and sleep deprived so probably not

There was little validity to the statement—don’t cry over spilled milk—when your one-year-old just dumped her entire sippy cup on your husband's new six-hundred-dollar rug. There weren't enough adjectives in the English language to describe the horror that washed over you as the milk turned into a bright white stain atop the black furnishing.

It was completely irrational, you were fully aware of that, but the anxiety that coiled underneath your ribs and encased your lungs still persisted. You took a deep breath, desperately shoving away the memories that flickered underneath your clenched eyelids like a dying candle's rebirth. 

Your father, ever the perfectionist, never would have let something like this slide. Felix wasn’t like that. Felix was a good father, a gentle father. Lee Felix would never even utter the word—spanking—around your kid let alone act on such a thing; but as your trembling fingers pick up the sippy cup, cold, hard doubt pierces you.

The world swirls around you as you stumble towards the kitchen, cup clattering into a dirty sink. You worked through this. Damn it, you did! All of that was over. This was different. Felix was different. A broken cycle, a generational curse drowned in love and care. 

Then, why couldn’t you take a fucking b r e a t h?

Your clammy palms gripped the sink until your knuckles turned white. Until Ha-Yun stopped babbling in the corner and throwing cheerios onto the ground. Until you heard the deafening sound of your keypad—click, click, clicking. 

The door opened, and there’s this moment where the world is entirely watercolor. His gaze catches yours, and as he slowly sets his coat onto the arm of the couch, all you can see is your father. “Y/N?”

How could you have been so stupid? How could you have let him see what happened? It was still there because stains don’t magically go away, and spilled milk was something worth crying over. This was all your fault. 

You don’t dare look at him as you drop to your knees beside Ha-Yun, scrubbing at the white. It wasn’t coming off. It wasn’t coming off. You scrub harder, scrub until your knuckles burn and the tears drip down your neck. It still wasn’t coming off. 

“I’m sorry,” your voice cracks. “I’ll get it up. I’ll clean it right now, please just go take a shower. I’ll deal with Ha-Yun after. Please, j-just i-it’s fine, e-everything's f-fine—” You were not fine. It showed in the way your spine arched and trembled as Felix grew near. It showed when he curled his pointer finger around your chin, and gently eased your eyes up. It showed in the way, for a split second, you looked like you were five all over again, naive and terrified. 

Felix gasps, the sound soft and broken, and then, without a second thought, he drops to the floor and pulls you onto his lap, curling his arms protectively around your quivering figure. He didn’t say anything, he didn’t need to, his body said it all. 

He pressed his lips atop the crown of your head over and over, and you could finally breathe again, filling your lungs with the scent of his cologne and his sweet, sweet love for you. His love—the kind you had only dreamed of before him and knew you could never find again. Lee Felix was everything to you. 

He rocked you back and forth, brushing your hair out of your face to flash you a calming, comforting smile. “Wanna tell me what happened?” You must look like a wreck—face blotchy and red, snot dripping down your nose, tears straining your cheeks—and yet, he’s still looking at you like you’re the most beautiful woman he’s ever laid eyes on. 

Your face heats up and you bury your nose into his shirt, giving a small shake of the head. You were still dizzy from your panic attack and the thought of opening up was enough to make your stomach turn all over again. “No…I’m sorry”

Felix wasn’t oblivious to your past, if anything he helped you through many hard days, but you had never been this vulnerable with him quite yet. You thought you’d already gotten over it, but clearly, some wounds never heal. You would beat yourself up over it a lot. There were nights where you stayed with Felix at the kitchen table until sunrise, working through your issues. You hated yourself for how quickly you could unravel or how, even unto death, your father haunted your life. 

You were convinced that your past was something you should hide, and frankly, he thought that was bullshit. Felix would kiss every pain and doubt until all that you remembered about your scars was his love and the feeling of his lips. 

He’s still working on that father wound, though. He had a feeling he’d be working on that one for a while. 

Ha-Yun had other plans when she nailed Felix in the forehead with one of her cheerios, reminding them both that they had a life to live outside this little bubble. He would hold you until the sun set, but he had a baby and a mess on the carpet that would be ten times harder to clean if he left it sitting. 

“I’ll go get a towel,” You say, putting up those walls again as you brave face, sending Ha-Yun a dazzling smile that makes her laugh and smack her highchair in joy. Felix is having none of it. 

He ignores your protests when he scoops you up, cupping the backs of your knees and laying you onto the couch with a soft “oof.” You pout, crossing your arms like a petulant toddler. “Let me help you.” 

Felix kisses you once more, effectively shutting you up before pulling away with a mischievous grin. “You’re going to sit there and look pretty, okay?” 

He doesn’t wait for your stubborn refusals, he’s already heading to the kitchen, ripping off some paper towels and tossing them onto the mess before pulling Ha-Yun from her highchair. 

You jolt up, heart quicking instinctively. 

“I’m going to help her clean it up” Felix quickly reassures, voice kind and patient. “I’m going to teach her how to pick up a mess, that’s all. No pain and no punishment, I swear.” 

You slump back into the couch, a sigh of relief dispelling from your lungs, though you were still alert, eyes locked onto his every movement. Ha-Yun beams, all gummy and innocent joy as she spits incoherent nonsense that Felix pretends to understand very intently. 

“Is that right?” He gasps, setting her next to the spill. “You really, really wanna help me clean up your mess?” Ha-Yun’s face drops. She blinks, once, twice, before her entire face contorts into an absolutely devastating side eye. Felix’s jaw drops, and it takes him a solid twelve seconds to recover before he’s looking over at you and bursting out laughing. 

“You’ve got a lot of sass for a baby…probably got it from your mama,” His lip quirks up, glancing at you from the side to capture your reaction. 

You stop mid-laugh, offended,” Y’know what—” 

“—looking pretty.” He sings, interrupting you with a playful grin. You have to fight not to glare at him. Felix snickers before sobering up and placing his hands atop her tiny ones, gently guiding her to the layer of paper towels. “You made a mess, and that’s okay, but you’re going to have to clean it up now, okay.” The girl looks down at the mess, blinks, and you can see the gears turning in her head when she starts carefully moving her hands back and forth on the rug. 

“That’s it,” His voice is as warm as honey and as soft as silk, his eyes glow with pride and a fatherly smile spreads over his lips. “Accidents happen, Ha-Yun, you never grow out of them. You just gotta learn to clean them up.”

As you watch the scene unfold before you, you feel it from your head to your toes, the emotion that threatens to spill out of you. It was bliss, or perhaps something greater—something that tasted like contentment and the felt like his kisses sealing all your wounds shut. You weren’t healed yet, not even close, but as Felix said, accidents happen—you never grow out of them. 

And if he got to choose, he would hold your hand through every single one. 

[pinkpunkdynamite]

nerdy virgin!jisung fucking you for the first time & realizing how thick his cock is. he never thought about it before but now he can't stop staring at it as he's stretching you out... wide eyes locked on your cunt, drool dribbling down his chin because he's too hypnotized by the sight to notice anything else <33

[pinkpunkdynamite]

The Look Of Love - ˚꩜｡- Yang Jeong-in (양정인)

jeongin realizes he's in love with you ><

It’s just a normal Saturday.

That’s what Jeongin keeps telling himself as he watches you press your face just a little too close to the bakery display, glasses slipping down your nose as you squint at the tiny handwritten flavor cards. You ask him—voice light, curious—“Should I get the vanilla bean tart or the raspberry cream puff?”

But he doesn’t hear the words. Not really.

Not when your eyes widen in that way they always do when you’re excited. Not when the breeze drifts in through the open bakery door, ruffling your hair into soft strands that frame your face like you’re the main character in a shoujo anime. Not when the glass reflects soft golden light over your skin and your scent—vanilla, laundry-fresh, warm—lingers in the air between you.

You look up at him again, blinking when he doesn’t answer right away.

“Innie?” you ask, sweet and concerned. “Which one should I get?”

And he forgets how to speak.

His mouth opens, but nothing comes out, because his brain is looping one simple sentence:

“I’m in love with you.”

It crashes over him like warm sunlight. It’s not sudden, not really—it’s been growing in the quiet walks home, in shared hoodies and stolen bites of your food, in laughter that leaves his cheeks sore. But now, seeing you like this, something clicks.

Your cheeks puff just a little in impatience, and you point between the two desserts again. “Be honest. I trust your taste.”

And oh—God. He’s really in love with you.

He clears his throat. Tries not to sound like he’s short-circuiting.

“Whichever one you don’t get,” he says, voice soft, “I’ll get. We can share.”

Your smile could ruin him. “Okay, deal.”

You go back to deciding, and he watches you, chest tight, wondering how the hell he’s supposed to go back to being “just friends” when you look like that—like something out of a dream, like sugar and sunbeams and something far too soft for this world.

Yeah. He’s definitely in love with you.

And maybe… maybe soon he’ll tell you.

But for now, he watches the way your fingertips tap the glass, and he makes a silent promise:

You’ll always have my favorite flavor. Always.

okay okay okay ill stop writing yearning men (¬_¬")

[pinkpunkdynamite]

Sunflowers by Summer Rune

[pinkpunkdynamite]

You're having a baby. He's freaking the fuck out.

Gojo Satoru never wanted kids.

Too messy. Too unpredictable. Too dangerous.

All of the above if, god forbid, the kids pop out and end up like him. The idea of some tiny version of himself running around with cursed energy leaking out of their sticky little fingers has always made his skin crawl. Not because he couldn’t handle it – he could handle anything – but because the world couldn’t. Because he knows exactly how that story ends.

A kid like that wouldn’t get to be just a kid. Not with his blood or his power or his name. They’d be taken and dissected before they could be loved, worshipped before they could be understood or even understand how to. Thrown into a battlefield before they’d ever lose a tooth.

But worst of all – the fear that’s kept him up more nights than he’ll ever admit – is that they’d have his eyes.

Those unnatural, glowing, light-refracting things. A curse disguised as beauty. A beacon of danger. And what if his baby came out looking like him? What kind of life would they ever get to have?

No, he decided a long time ago: No tiny Gojos. No soft cheeks or first steps or lullabies. No cursed bloodline dragging another child into a war they didn’t ask for. He doesn’t want to leave a legacy.

He just wants peace.

So, of course, you had to go and ruin everything.

“You better not be crying,” you whimper from the hospital bed, your fingers squeezing his so tight he swears you might shatter bone.

“I’m not,” he lies. (He absolutely is.)

“You are,” you whine, breath catching in your throat as another contraction ripples through your body. “Satoru, I swear to– fuck! You’re not even the one pushing something the size of a watermelon out of your–”

“Okay, okay!” he blurts out, brushing his thumb over the back of your hand like it might soothe you. “I know, baby, I’m not leaving your side. Not for food, not for water, not even if Shoko threatens to kill me. Again.”

You blink up at him through bleary eyes, sweaty, furious, and glowing in a way that makes his chest ache. “I literally told you to get me ice chips five minutes ago.”

“Ignore past you,” he says solemnly. “Present you needs me more.”

You roll your eyes, the little curve in the corner of your lip sending a warm tingle spiraling from his heart to his fingertips.

He doesn’t know why someone like you could love someone like him. Much less want children with him. But you do, somehow.

The midwife says it’s time.

And when she tells you to push, you stare directly into your husband’s eyes like this is his fault – like your withering glare is some sort of karmic retribution for him cumming in you nine months ago (which is maybe not entirely untrue).

“Don’t look at me like that!” he squeaks, panicked, as you scream bloody murder and clutch at him like you want to take him with you. “You look so pretty all the time, especially when you're ovulating, I didn’t know it’d come to this–!”

But the words catch in his throat as a cry cuts through the room.

Small and sharp and alive.

The nurse is saying something, handing you something, but all Satoru can hear is the way the baby is crying. Loud and trembling and needy and pissed off. Exactly the way you cry and hide in his arms when you’re frustrated.

You let out a shaky sigh, settling down as you rock the little bundle in your arms.

There’s something in the shape of the face, the tilt of the nose, the set of the lips, that is all you. Undeniably, irrevocably, painfully you–

Oh.

It opens its eyes.

And for a second, he forgets how to breathe.

They’re bright blue. Too bright. His. The kind that twist the light around them into something gleaming. But there’s something different, too, something soft. Something gentle.

They shimmer like starbursts on water. Like they were made to reflect everything good in the world back at him.

And suddenly, he’s not afraid anymore. Because they aren’t just his eyes. They’re yours, too, in shape and in spirit and in the way they seem to say I’m here, I’m real, I’m yours.

Everything about this is unfamiliar and impossibly small and he’s terrified he’s going to fuck it all up somehow. But those eyes?

They’re beautiful.

You’re holding your baby like it’s made of starlight and miracles, and your lips are trembling like you’re about to cry but you’re too tired, and when you look up at him, it all clicks into place.

God.

You’re beautiful.

You, and your baby, and he loves you so, so much, it’s insane.

Yeah.

Maybe having kids isn’t so bad after all.

[pinkpunkdynamite]

i have more conversations inside my head than i do in real life

[pinkpunkdynamite]

— Telling Bf Toji that him still having his late wife’s last name makes you uncomfortable. (Angst with comfort)

You were quiet all evening. Toji noticed, of course but he didn’t press you about it. He trusts you’ll talk to him whenever you’re ready so he just let you curl up into his side while he watched the game, his heavy arm wrapped loosely around your waist, absently rubbing small circles over your shirt as a form of comforting you. But your mind wasn’t on the screen. Not even close.

You tried to shake the thought. You really tried.

It was dumb. So dumb. At least that’s what you kept telling yourself—Selfish, too. Why did it even matter? It was just a last name and it wasn’t like he could undo the past. He’d loved her once and that was okay. That wasn’t even what this was about.

But every time someone addressed you both as “Mr. and Ms. Fushiguro,” or when the idea of marriage came up—your marriage—you felt it like a pinch. A cold one, right under your ribs.

And it’s been festering so much lately so now you were in bed besides him, his broad chest rising and falling steadily—already drifting off to sleep but your heart was thudding loudly for a different reason.

You rolled over, pressed your face into his bare shoulder, and whispered, “Toji…?”

He grunted a little, not quite asleep yet but tired. “Mmm? What’s up, baby?”

Your lips tugged down. You hated how tight your throat was.

“I… wanna talk about something. But I don’t want you to think I’m being petty or… selfish”.

He blinked his eyes open slowly, looking up at you with that groggy but alert sort of concern. “You okay?” His voice was thick with sleep, but gentle. “What’s going on?”

You sat up a bit and toyed with the edge of the blanket, picking at a loose thread. “It’s about your last name”.

He raised a brow, sitting up with you. “My last name?”

You nodded slowly. “I know it’s stupid but sometimes I get sad thinking about…how you still have your late wife’s last name”.

Toji stayed quiet, watching you. His gaze never left your face.

“I know it’s not something you just think about every day and I know it’s not meant to hurt. I don’t think you’re doing anything wrong. I just—” you paused, pressing your lips together. “It makes me feel weird. Like… like if we got married, I’d be taking her last name. I don’t want that. I don’t want her name. I want ours”.

You looked down, blinking hard. “It’s so dumb, I know. She passed and it was a long time ago, and I’m not trying to replace her or pretend she didn’t exist or whatever. I just… I don’t want to feel like I’m walking in her shoes. I want my own. I want ours. Together”.

There was a beat of silence. Your chest tightened like you expected him to sigh or say you were being sensitive or even just brush it off.

But instead, Toji reached out and cupped your cheek affectionately, gently guiding your face back to his.

“You listen to me,” he said lowly. “That’s not dumb. Not even a little bit”.

His thumb brushed over your cheek. “I kept the name ‘cause of Megumi. Not her. Not even really for me. When I left the Zenin clan, I didn’t want their name anymore. I didn’t want anything to do with ‘em. Her name was the only thing that felt safe back then. I thought it’d be better for Megumi too, growing up with a clean slate”.

He exhaled, his brow softening. “But that name doesn’t mean shit to me now. You hear me?”

You nodded, biting your lip.

“I love you,” he said fondly. “And when we get married, I’ll change it to your last name, if that’s what you want. I’ll carry it proudly. Hell, I’ll even tattoo it on my damn chest if you want me to”.

You let out a watery laugh and Toji smiled, leaning in to kiss your forehead.

“That name—our name—it���s gonna mean something new. Something we build together. Not what came before. Just me and you”.

You sniffled and buried your face into his chest, clinging onto him with both arms while he wrapped you up tight.

“I love you,” you murmured against his skin.

“I love you too sweetheart. So much—We’ll go down to the courthouse next week and change it together, yeah?”

You nod against his shirt, heart swelling.

He rubs your back. “And when the time comes…I want us to both have the same last name like officially”.

You lift your head. “Like marriage?”

He smirks, brushing your nose with his. “Exactly like that”.

The next day…

Toji didn’t usually hesitate about much but this—it gave him pause.

He watched Megumi from the doorway, the kid sitting on the couch, legs crossed while flipping through some manga like always. The house was quiet, sunlight cutting through the blinds in soft stripes across the floor. You were in the bedroom napping. You’d cried a little earlier, relieved tears mostly but Toji knew it’d meant something big to you. Bigger than you’d let on at first.

So now, here he was. Scratching the back of his neck. Clearing his throat like a damn idiot.

Megumi glanced up. “What?”

Toji stepped in and sat down across from him, arms resting on his knees.

“I wanna talk to you about something”.

Megumi raised an eyebrow but didn’t put the book down. Typical. “Okay…”

“It’s about the last name,” Toji said.

That got his attention. The book closed and Megumi sat up straighter.

“I’ve been thinking about changing it,” Toji said, voice steady but serious. “Not back to Zenin. I meant…a new one”.

Megumi’s brows furrowed slightly, not in confusion but in that thoughtful, sharp way he’d picked up from Toji over the years. “Why?”

Toji leaned back on the couch, arm slung across the backrest. “When I left the clan, I didn’t want anything to do with ‘em. Didn’t want you growing up with that bullshit either. Your mom’s name… it felt like the cleanest choice. Safer—Not perfect, but better”.

Megumi nodded slowly, waiting.

Toji looked toward the hallway, where you were still sleeping. Then back at his son. “But now I’m with someone. Real serious about her, you know. We’ve talked about marriage and it bothers her, the name. Not ‘cause she’s jealous or weird about the past—just ‘cause she wants something that’s ours. Not a name that belongs to someone gone. Not a name that used to belong to a different life”.

Megumi was quiet, still processing what Toji was saying.

Toji rubbed his jaw. “So I told her I’d change it. When we get married, I’ll take her last name and start fresh”.

Megumi’s expression didn’t shift right away, but his shoulders relaxed a bit.

“I get it,” he finally said.

Toji blinked. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Megumi shrugged. “I mean it’s just a name. I know who my mom was. You changing your last name doesn’t erase anything and if it makes her feel like she belongs more—like you guys are really starting something new then why not?”

Toji felt something tight in his chest ease a little. He didn’t say much but he nodded, looking at his son with a little more pride than usual.

“You’re a good kid, Megumi”.

Megumi scoffed, opening his book again with that same grumpy expression like usual. “I know”.

Toji smiled. “You want me to keep it until you’re grown?”

Megumi shook his head. “You can change it. I’ll still be me. You’ll still be my dad. It doesn’t matter what name’s on the mail”.

Toji chuckled, deep and low. “Smartass”.

“Old man”

Toji leaned back, relaxed now. The hardest part was over and when you woke up later, hair messy and eyes still sleepy, Toji would kiss your forehead and tell you: It’s all settled. He understands. We’re gonna make it ours now.

And it’ll feel like the first day of something brand new.

[pinkpunkdynamite]

synopsis ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ you and nanami talk about your firsts.

it’s quiet. the air is thick with warmth and tired laughter and the buzz of the tv you forgot to mute.

nanami’s sitting against the headboard, half-dressed in a t-shirt and sweatpants, glasses sliding down his nose. his arm is heavy around your waist, and your legs are tangled up in his. there’s a leftover mug of tea on the nightstand, long gone cold, and the faint scent of his cologne clings to your sheets.

you’re laying on your side, head resting against his chest, listening to his heartbeat. it’s slow. steady.

“hey,” you say quietly, fingers brushing over his ribs beneath his shirt. “can i ask you something?”

“mm?” he hums, eyes still trained lazily on the tv. “you can ask me anything, sweetheart.”

you love when he says that. like there’s nothing he wouldn’t give you.

“when was your first kiss?”

that gets his attention. he tilts his head down, one eyebrow raised. “my first kiss?”

“yeah,” you smile, poking at his chest. “don’t act like you’re surprised. you knew it was coming.”

he exhales slowly through his nose, like he’s trying not to laugh. “you do have a habit of catching me off guard.”

“that’s part of my charm.”

“it is.” he pauses, looks thoughtful for a second. “it was in secondary school. i was fifteen.”

you blink up at him. “oh?”

he shrugs. “i was… quiet. the girls thought i was boring.”

you make a scandalized noise and grab his face in both hands. “i would have kissed you. every day. multiple times.”

he rolls his eyes but smiles. “i believe that.”

“so? was it good?”

he huffs a quiet laugh, like he’s remembering something embarrassing. “not particularly. i was nervous. i didn’t know where to put my hands. and it was over in about four seconds.”

you giggle, dragging your fingers along his jaw. “i wish i could’ve seen teenage kento. awkward and flustered.”

“you still can,” he says dryly, “whenever you decide to make me do anything public.”

you snort. “true.”

he runs his fingers through your hair, slowly, gently. “what about you?”

you bury your face in his chest. “do i have to tell you?”

he kisses the top of your head. “only if you want to.”

you sigh, your voice muffled. “it was… stupid.”

“i doubt that.”

you pull back enough to look at him. “i was thirteen. i kissed a boy at summer camp. he told me afterward that he only did it because his friends dared him to.”

the crease between nanami’s brows deepens.

“i punched him,” you add quickly, “right in the stomach.”

his mouth quirks. “good.”

“yeah.” you grin, pride lingering through it. “i made him throw up.”

“very good.”

you both laugh softly. it fades into something gentle and close.

“but it made me feel like i wasn’t… kissable,” you admit, eyes flickering down. “like something was wrong with me.”

nanami is quiet for a beat, and then he leans in, presses a kiss to your forehead, then your cheek, then your lips.

“there’s nothing wrong with you,” he says softly, against your mouth. “you’re the most kissable person i’ve ever met. annoyingly so.”

you smile against him. “annoyingly?”

“i want to kiss you all the time. it’s distracting.”

you grin. “poor baby.”

he kisses you again—longer this time, sweeter. his hand cradles the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair. when he pulls away, your lips are a little swollen, your cheeks warm.

you tuck yourself closer to him. “what about your first time?”

he pauses, breath catching slightly.

you lift your head. “too much?”

he shakes his head immediately. “no. no, just… you’re very good at asking questions that no one’s asked me before.”

you smile softly. “we don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want—”

“i want to,” he says, and his voice is quiet but sure. “it’s easy with you.”

you wait, fingers playing gently with the fabric of his shirt.

“it was in university,” he says eventually. “i was nineteen. i wasn’t… ready, really. but i thought i should be. everyone else had already done it. there was a girl in my economics class who was interested. we didn’t know each other well. she was nice. i liked her.”

he pauses, his hand still petting your hair.

“we didn’t talk again after that night.”

you look up at him, eyebrows drawn. “was it bad?”

“no,” he says honestly. “just… empty. i think i felt lonelier afterward than i did before.”

you press your cheek to his chest again. “i get that.”

“what about you?” he asks quietly.

you smile, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “i was eighteen. it was with my boyfriend at the time. high school romance. we thought we were gonna get married or something.”

“what happened?”

“he cheated on me,” you say simply. “with someone else in our friend group. and then told everyone i was ‘bad in bed’ to cover his own guilty ass.”

nanami’s jaw tightens along with his hold around you.

“i don’t really care anymore,” you say. “but back then… it made me feel like i’d done something wrong. like i’d messed it all up. like i’d been too much or not enough or something.”

you don’t say anything for a few seconds, and neither does he. his hand strokes your hair slowly. grounding you. anchoring you.

“he was wrong,” nanami says finally, and his voice is so firm, so steady. “so wrong. about everything.”

you look up at him again.

“you’re kind. generous. thoughtful. funny. beautiful. and—”

you hold up a finger. “if you say ‘good in bed,’ i’m gonna roll off the bed and die.”

he smirks. “i was going to say incredible in every way.”

you melt instantly, throwing your arms around him and hiding your face in his neck. “you’re so embarrassing.”

“you asked.”

“yeah, but i didn’t think you’d be so nice about it.”

he squeezes your waist. “what, would you rather i said something cold and detached?”

“maybe just a little unhinged.” you grin. “like ‘i’d commit tax fraud for your pussy.’”

nanami stares at you.

“…what,” you laugh.

he shakes his head slowly. “you are the most ridiculous woman i’ve ever loved.”

your heart skips.

you look at him, eyes wide. “you love me?”

he blinks. like he hadn’t even realized he said it.

“i mean, i—”

“no, no, you said it,” you grin, practically climbing into his lap. “say it again.”

he groans softly. “you’re going to make it weird.”

“kento,” you say sweetly, kissing his cheek. “say it again.”

he exhales. “i love you.”

you press another kiss to his jaw. “again.”

“i love you,” he says, a little more breathless this time.

you kiss his lips. “again.”

“i love you,” he murmurs against your mouth.

you smile so wide your cheeks hurt. “i love you too.”

he pulls you in tighter, hands warm on your waist, forehead resting against yours.

“can i tell you something?” you whisper.

“always.”

“i think… my real first time was with you.”

he goes very still.

“not like, that first time,” you clarify, cheeks warm. “i just mean… you’re the first person i’ve ever felt really safe with. the first person who didn’t make me feel like i had to perform or shrink myself or pretend. you were the first one to make it feel like… like maybe i wasn’t broken.”

nanami wraps both arms around you and pulls you tight against his chest.

“you were never broken,” he says softly. “you’ve always been whole. they just didn’t know how to hold you.”

your eyes sting a little. you bury your face in his shoulder and whisper, “you make everything better.”

he kisses your temple, your cheek, your nose.

“so do you,” he says. “you make me feel like i deserve softness.”

you smile through the lump in your throat. “we’re such saps.”

“terrible,” he agrees, smiling.

you shift so you’re lying on top of him now, your nose brushing his, your body warm against his.

“what about our first kiss?” you ask softly.

his eyes soften. “that was the best one.”

“really?”

he nods. “you were babbling nervously the whole time, and then you tripped and fell into me, and kissed me right on the nose.”

you groan. “don’t remind me.”

“i think about it every day.”

you kiss him. properly, this time, like you mean it. like it’s the last one or the first one or maybe both.

you pull back, just enough to whisper, “can i give you another first?”

he exhales, his hands already sliding up your thighs. “you already have.”

[pinkpunkdynamite]

" Indigo Bunting " // © Isaac B. Rosenberg