deathlyweird

[deathlyweird]

synopsis ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ when you’re too sick to care for your baby, nanami brings her to the office strapped to his chest—calm, efficient, and completely unfazed as he gives presentations with a pacifier on his tie and a baby on board.

tori’s notes ᝰ.ᐟ this is ridiculous i’m warning you

nanami doesn’t even flinch when you croak from under the covers, voice raw and pitiful: “ken, i can’t—i think i have a fever, and she won’t stop crying unless i’m holding her.”

your voice cracks halfway through the sentence. you look like a ghost of yourself, half-sunken into your nest of tissues and blankets, hair a disaster, eyes glazed and watery. the baby’s red-faced and sniffling too, sprawled across your chest like a little heater, tiny fists grasping your shirt like she knows you might try to hand her off.

nanami, standing in the doorway, calmly adjusts his watch.

“i’ll take her.”

you blink. “you… you have three meetings today.”

“and now i have three meetings with a baby,” he says, already crossing the room like a man with a mission.

you can’t even protest properly before he’s kneeling beside the bed and gently peeling her off you, expertly switching to his papa voice — warm and low, as if he’s de-escalating a tiny, fussy hostage situation.

“there we go,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to her forehead, then yours. “we’ll manage. rest. you know what medicine you should take. call me if you need anything.”

ten minutes later, he’s at the front door in his usual tan coat, baby carrier strapped securely to his chest like she’s a very warm, very giggly piece of office equipment. she’s wearing one of those obnoxiously frilly headbands you swore you’d never put on her — but she screamed when he tried to take it off, and he’s not here to pick battles today.

diaper bag over his shoulder. bottle packed. pacifier clipped neatly to his tie. hair combed, shoes polished, baby securely swaddled and babbling.

“don’t let the interns try to hold her,” you wheeze weakly from the hallway.

“i would rather die,” he replies without missing a beat.

as he walks out, you hear him murmur to her, “no loud commentary during the finance report. we must suffer through it in dignified silence.”

cut to: the morning finance meeting, 9:01 a.m., in a fluorescent-lit conference room downtown.

the projector is humming. spreadsheets fill the screen. half the team is slumped in various degrees of caffeine withdrawal.

nanami kento walks in, perfectly on time, baby on his chest like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

he doesn’t explain it. doesn’t apologize. he walks straight to the head of the table, clicks open his laptop, adjusts the projector, and begins speaking with the same calm, measured cadence he always uses—

except this time, there’s a tiny foot sticking out of the carrier, gently bumping his blazer.

“moving into Q3,” he says, clicking to the next slide, “we’re forecasting a moderate increase in asset reallocation—”

the baby lets out a soft, inquisitive coo.

nanami glances down at her, gives a very small nod, and says to the room, “correct. the Q3 projections are, in fact, unfortunate.”

silence.

well—almost silence.

from somewhere near the coffee machine, an intern tries to whisper, “is that a—?”

nanami turns his head fractionally. just enough to shut it down.

“yes. she’s here in lieu of her mother, who is unwell. please direct all questions to me or her, depending on the topic.”

no one questions it.

she doesn’t cry, not even once. in fact, she seems thrilled. she clutches his tie like it’s her personal emotional support ribbon and waves her tiny hand every time someone shifts in their chair. at one point, she lets out a high-pitched giggle, and nanami simply pauses mid-sentence, gently pats her back, and continues like nothing happened.

someone tries to make eye contact and smile at her—

she beams and throws her toy at them.

nanami takes back the toy and sighs, “don’t encourage her. she’ll never stop.”

the entire time, he keeps presenting with his utmost precision, occasionally glancing down at her to tuck the headband back into place or swap her pacifier like he’s been doing this his whole life.

he wraps up right on time.

“any further questions?”

dead silence.

even the regional manager just gives a tight nod. no one wants to risk being shamed by a baby.

—

back home, it’s late afternoon when the door creaks open.

you’re still buried in blankets, half-delirious and clinging to a half-empty box of tissues. you blearily lift your head at the sound of keys in the bowl.

nanami walks in with the same exact expression he had when he left: calm, unreadable… except there’s a little extra softness at the corners of his eyes.

the baby is still strapped to his chest. fast asleep now, one hand gripping his tie, the other curled against his collarbone. she’s drooling slightly. he hasn’t removed the headband.

“she was very well-behaved,” he says quietly. “arguably more professional than half the team.”

you laugh — or try to, but it comes out as a croaky wheeze.

he crouches beside you, brushing a bit of hair from your face. “how are you feeling?”

“like death.” he nods and kisses your cheek.

you glance over at the baby. “how was she, really?”

“chatty,” he says, straight-faced. “opinionated about quarterly earnings. but otherwise excellent.”

he lifts her hand gently, unhooks her fingers from his tie.

“you’re insane,” you whisper.

he leans in to kiss your forehead, gentle and lingering.

“efficient,” he corrects.

then, after a beat—

“also… she now technically works in accounting.”

you blink. “what?”

he shrugs.

“someone handed her a spreadsheet. she drooled on it. that’s more than my latest intern did today.”

you laugh again, properly this time.

he finally unstraps her, carefully settling her into the bassinet. she doesn’t stir — not even when he tucks her blanket in with military precision.

you lie there watching him move quietly around the apartment, sleeves rolled up, tie chewed, hair slightly out of place, and realize:

papa nanami could take over the world with a baby strapped to his chest and a pacifier in his pocket, and he’d still be home in time to fold the laundry.

[deathlyweird]

you’re lying in bed with nanami, skin still warm from the shower, legs tangled under the sheets. the night is quiet, city buzz faint behind thick windows, the kind of calm that only settles in when the world’s already asleep.

he’s on his side, propped up on one elbow, thumb brushing slow lines along your hip. the bedside lamp casts soft gold over his face, and for a second you think you could look at him forever and never get tired of it.

“can i ask you something?” you murmur, voice muffled against his chest.

“of course.”

you hesitate, not because it’s a hard question, but because the quiet between you feels so delicate. like it might shatter if you speak too loudly.

“when did you know you liked me?”

he’s quiet for a second. thinking, not avoiding. and then—

“i think it was the first time you fell asleep on me,” he says, voice low. “you were talking about something—i don’t remember what—but your head was on my shoulder and you just… drifted off. you trusted me enough to do that.”

you glance up at him. “that’s it?”

his mouth twitches. “you drooled on me, too. just a little. really cute.”

you groan and try to hide your face but he catches your wrist and kisses your knuckles, laughter in his breath.

“no, really,” he says, quieter now. “i liked you before that. but that night… it settled something. i knew i wanted you forever.”

you smile into his chest, tracing lazy shapes into his skin.

“what about you?” he asks. “when did you know?”

you hum, pretending to think, even though you’ve always known.

“when my shower broke.”

you feel him shift slightly to look down at you. “your shower?”

you nod. “remember? i called you. it was like, stupid late, and i barely knew you. but you came over anyway. you didn’t even ask questions, just showed up and fixed the whole thing like it was nothing.”

he blinks. “i do remember. you looked… distressed.”

“i was so close to crying,” you laugh softly. “and then you showed up and just handled it. and i was standing there like, god, i should probably offer to suck him off or something.”

his laugh is a quiet rumble under your cheek.

“i didn’t,” you add, mock stern. “i had some self-control.”

“that’s very admirable of you.”

you shift a little, looking up at him again. “i mean it, though. you could’ve just told me to call a plumber in the morning.”

he’s looking at you like he’s trying to memorize you, every blink and curve and whisper.

“it wasn’t a big deal,” he says.

“it was to me.”

he pulls you closer, his hand pressing against your back, grounding. steady.

“always calling me a sap— you’re a sap too, aren’t you, kento?” you murmur, but your voice is fond, teasing.

he kisses your forehead, lingering.

“i’m in love,” he says simply. “what else am i supposed to be?”

you don’t have an answer. just a full heart and a man who never lets you fall apart alone.

and for once, that’s more than enough.

[deathlyweird]

@important-cat-pics

[deathlyweird]

[deathlyweird]

[deathlyweird]

Dracula...this man will forever be my crush. I love him in all his versions but the Van Helsing design is ♡

[deathlyweird]

The problem with commercial F/M romance is that it's written by the most heterosexual women alive and reading it you feel yourself slowly suffocating from the Gender of it all like a fish in a eutrophying lake. And what we actually need as a culture is F/M written by insane bisexuals violently allergic to heteronormativity

[deathlyweird]

kitty needs a $250,000 yearly allowance

[deathlyweird]

personally I don't think if you're a kid you should be using your real name on the internet. very easy for people to find out too much about you. instead you should spend years using a different made-up name that becomes part of your persona to an arguably even greater degree than your actual name and then when you grow up and find out you're trans you have a ready-made name to switch to even if it's probably like Leaf or something

[deathlyweird]

[deathlyweird]

obsessed with the thought of simon’s version of punishment being orgasm denial.

like i’m actually kicking my feet and giggling thinking about the parallels that are him and price. price will overstim you until you’re sobbing and begging and babbling your apologizes - clit in full blown agony from the amount of back to back orgasms before he finally, finally fucks you.

simon on the other hand, he won’t wait.

he’ll fuck you. he’ll fuck you hard and deep and so goddamn good you’re seeing gods you don’t believe in. he’ll get you soaked and pliable and dumbed out, right to the fuckin edge - but he ain’t gonna let you cum.

oh, no. not until you’re cryin.

something about simon when he’s fuckin to prove a point - different beast altogether. he’ll have you bent over the counter, cock in your guts and he’ll be babbling in your ear about how tight you are and how good you feel - he’ll know just how close youre getting, he’ll know just the right things to say and do to get you there - then he’ll pull out.

and you can’t protest it either because you’ll be on your back in seconds and then he’s inside you again, dragging you right down to that dangerous edge. buries himself deeper, pins your wrists tighter, talks even filthier. he’ll tell you to beg and you will, because you’d do anything just to fucking cum, but he still won’t be satisfied.

he’ll flip you again, make you call him all sorts of names. daddy, sir, master, fuckin hell - whatever he’s in the mood for. he’ll drag slow at your walls, tease your clit, taunt you with the tip. he’ll coax you closer and closer, tell you only good girls get t’cum. you, sweet’eart, are a goddamn devil.

and when you’re finally sobbing with it, finally delirious and dumbed out from every position possible - he’ll let you have it. let you take that orgasm while thanking him over and over and over for it.

he’ll love on you, when it’s over. because he knows you’ve learned something. tha’s my girl. don’t y’ever forget it.

[deathlyweird]

[deathlyweird]

[deathlyweird]

Your children's show unfortunately has the absolute wrong take on tackling fascism. Yeah the power of friendship angle is showing a dismal lack of understanding of Marxist theory or even intro-level Leninism. Yeah my only two interests are children's media and online leftist discourse so this is gonna be a problem.

[deathlyweird]

[deathlyweird]

Congratulations to Brooke from Let's Not Date for winning Father's Day.

[deathlyweird]

dear lord, please take all life problems and responsibilities away from fanfic writers but also make them financially stable and happy with nothing to worry about so they can happily focus on writing and posting fanfiction. amen